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#bnha angst
toji-bunny-girl · 23 hours ago
Thinking about…. (NSFW, noncon, abuse, fem reader)
Yandere!Bakugou who puts on a quirk-canceling device and pretty pink dog collar on you; whenever you want to use the bathroom or go anywhere in the house, he’s walking you to that place with a leash while you crawl on all fours like a cute little puppy
Yandere!Bakugou who punishes you by putting your food and water in a dog’s bowl, makes you pee outside in the yard, pushes you to sleep on the floor and fucks you doggy style since you want to act like a bitch and try to escape your master
Yandere!Bakugou who watches you break down and scream at him to let you go home with an ‘aw’ grin on his face as if he’s watching a toddler throwing a petty tantrum and carries your thrashing figure to the bed, forcing you to listen to bedtime stories and fall asleep in his arms because ‘the baby is tired’ when he’s feeling nice
Yandere!Bakugou who’s fucking your hole despite your struggling outcry for him to leave you alone; he only shoves his thick, rough fingers into your mouth in response and rams deeper and harder into your body until you feel your cervix getting sore that you don’t even know whether you should be crying in pain or pleasure
Yandere!Bakugou when you refuse to eat or drink, mind set onto dying as the only way out of his fucking grasp, he pinches your nose with a spoonful of porridge right in front of your mouth and wait until your face becomes beet red and tears are streaming down your cheeks only then he punches your stomach and shoves the food into your gasping mouth
Yandere!Bakugou who makes fun of your body saying that you gained weight regardless whether you did or not after being locked up in his house for months, only to be pulled into bed and have him start fucking you in different positions from night to day with the dumb excuse of ‘new exercise routine’ while he’s laughing and eating up your cute, sobbing face
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taiyakiiwrites · 2 days ago
— angsttober day #24: goodbyes
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pairing(s): katsuki bakugou x gn!reader
wc: 0.7k+ words
summary: saying goodbye is always hard, no matter what. with someone as stubborn as bakugou, it is ten times worse.
content: abandonment, one stubborn boi, open enough for it to potentially be a betrayal situation, and,,,, that’s about it—
notes: bam bam kachow we’re 6-days-left in it B)) i’m gonna try to have fun with the rest of the days to make it entertaining for all of us. hope you enjoy!
⇉ requests are open!! || main masterlist || angsttober masterlist || rules
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you stood with your back turned from the entrance of heights alliance, suitcase in hand. the night sky that surrounded you carried a slight breeze. unfortunately, you were only in your pajamas.
about five minutes have passed. part of you wanted to wait inside, but the texts you got insisted you wait outside. you sat down on the curb underneath you. no thoughts really passed through your head. everything felt paused in a way. there was barely any movement around you.
a raspy voice interrupted your blank state:
you froze for a second, then wrapped your arms around your legs. “what are you doing up so late? it’s well past your usual bed time.” you asked quietly as to not disturb the peace around you.
a yawn was heard behind you. “i heard someone walking down the halls. you know i’m a light sleeper,” he explained. you nodded.
“right.” you checked your watch. they should be here soon. you tapped your foot impatiently.
“what are you doing our here anyways?”
you let the question sink in, your foot slowing. a grim expression creeped onto your face. after a pause, you replied:
“… i wanted to leave quietly, but i guess i was a bit too careless with my escape, wasn’t i?” you let out a pitful laugh to yourself, hanging your head low.
“heh?” he started to walk towards you, but you stood up. he stopped his movements. “the hell are you talking about?”
still no sign of movement around you, you turned around to face bakugou. you smiled meekly. “i guess i don’t mind giving you a goodbye out of everyone,” you mentioned.
“‘goodbye’?” the words came out of bakugou’s mouth like a bitter melody, his digust showing visibly on his face. “the hell are you talking about?” he repeated.
your smile faded. you couldn’t tell bakugou what you were doing. you couldn’t tell anyone. only problem was getting caught in the act by him of all people made hiding the situation a lot harder. you sighed at the fact.
“listen: just make it easier for the both of us and go back to bed,” you replied, reluctantly pushing his constant question aside. however, you knew that he wouldn’t let it slide that easily—
“no!” he exclaimed. “no, tell me what’s going on!” his voice grew louder, demanding. you weren’t blind to the shine of in his eyes, though; the one of a mere kid, confused and ready to put up yet another wall or start up yet another fight.
yup. you couldn’t help the sullen frown that soon appeared on your face. “katsuki, i can’t tell you,” you insisted. “go to bed.”
“i’m not leaving until you tell me what you’re up to!” he replied. you wondered if he had waken up anyone yet with how loud he was getting compared to how silent the night was before. you couldn’t bring yourself to check the windows above you—it’d just remain as an unanswered question in your mind.
you felt your phone buzz. pulling it out, you saw a new message, the phone screen lighting up your face for a moment. they were just around a couple corners.
you were just a minute away from leaving. you were finally going to leave this all behind you… so why didn’t it feel right anymore? why was there now this sudden feeling under your skin that there had been a change of plans? it was too late to turn back though.
bakugou… what have you done?
you did your best to muster up a brave face. “it was nice knowing you, katsuki.”
you heard the rumbling of a car growing louder.
“y/n, you better tell me what’s going on right now.”
you saw the white lights dance in front of bakugou’s figure.
“a-are you going somewhere?”
you heard a car stop behind you, then felt a buzz from the phone in your hand. not needing to look at your phone anymore, you turned around and started to walk towards the black van.
the call punctured you like an arrow. you bit your lip. every little part of you wanted to turn around, to run back to bakugou, to run away from the predicament you were in with bakugou by your side.
you knew you lost that choice long ago.
“goodbye, katsuki.”
you heard a final cry out towards you as you made your way into the car and closed the door. you turned your head away from bakugou’s poor, confused face. as the car slowly started up again, you closed your eyes, trying to focus on anything else besides the muffled footsteps following you outside the car, slowly fading away into nothing. you slipped back into the emptiness of the city night.
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dayquil-nyquil · 12 hours ago
Please please pleeeaaaseee can I request a Tamiki Amaniki x f!reader where the reader thinks he has a crush on Nejire. Like, kinda Heather by Conan Gray going on, it could be angst or fluff, or both but pleeeease I am begging
you already KNOW i whipped out my sad playlist to write this LETS GOOOOOOOOOO - mod nyquil
angst, fem!reader x tamaki amajiki
word count: 1,720
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It was a silent, cold morning when you began walking to the UA campus. While the sun peaked out from the clouds, it did little to stop the chilling bite of cold seeping through your clothes. You shrugged your shoulders and rubbed your elbows in a lame attempt to warm up and trudged along the sidewalk. Passing the bare trees, you scolded yourself for not bringing a heavier jacket with you. Oh well, maybe I can run back later during lunch, you thought.
After walking a few more minutes, you heard quickened footsteps on the pavement and heavy breathing. Suddenly, someone called out meekly from behind you, "Hey! Wait up!"
"Huh?" You turned around and saw Amajiki running to you from down the road. You couldn't believe your eyes. Amajiki? Running to you? He hated running. Yet you couldn't stop yourself from feeling your heart squeeze at the thought of him wanting to push his boundaries just to be with you.
You've always liked Amajiki. You liked the way he was gentle and shy. You liked the way he was brave in the face of danger and fluttered around you to make sure you were okay after each battle. You liked the way he stuck up for his friends and ate lunch with you every day. Most of all, you liked that he liked you.
While you two never talked about it, there was an unspoken connection shared between you. It was most apparent whenever he would bring you lunch or walk you to school or... walk you to school. Shit. You were supposed to wait for him this morning.
As soon as he caught up, he bent over and rested his hands on his knees.
You looked down at him, watching the warm clouds escape his lips. "Amajiki?"
"Hah... hah... You didn't-" he gulped in more air. Just how far did he run? "-Wait for me." His cheeks were flushed pink as he straightened his spine and blinked at you, "Hi."
He nervously averted his gaze to the cracks in the sidewalk. "You didn't wait for me," He repeated, this time much quieter.
"Yeah. Shit. I'm sorry." You tried to catch his eyes and offered him a sweet smile, "I guess I was lost in thought. But I'm glad you caught me! How are you?"
Amajiki started walking which prompted you to follow along by his side. "I'm good. Wasn't expecting to run this morning though. I woke up a little late and whatever but yeah I'm excited for school today. It's a big day."
Was there something important going on today? Quickly flipping through the future events for the day, you came up with nothing. Maybe he's just in a good mood.
Amajiki continued, "How are you?" It was then that he finally looked at you. You couldn't tell if it was the wind or the soft, genuine gleam in his eyes that made you shiver but either way, Amajiki saw the way it run up and down your body and he frowned. "You're cold."
You felt your cheeks heat up, "No I'm not."
He squinted at your lie and moved to pull off his sweater over his school uniform, "Here take this. I don't want you to catch a cold."
"Amajiki, we're almost at school. It's no big deal," you protested.
He wordlessly pulled his warm sweater over your head and fixed the wrinkles on his shirt before sighing, "There's no use fighting me. You can give it back later today. Besides," he stared at the ground again, "it looks better on you than me anyway."
The distinct scent that could only be described as Amajiki washed over you simultaneously as the warmth spread over your body. Lavender, a little bit of a sweet cologne, and a hint of... calamari? You guessed he ate some this morning for breakfast to prepare for the day. The thought made you chuckle to yourself.
"Thank you."
Parting ways once you entered UA, Amajiki and yourself going to classes 3-A and 3-B respectively, you entered the classroom to see almost your entire class already in attendance and your mutual friend Mirio perched by your desk.
"Hey, bestie!" He called while waving his hand, "You're late! Homeroom is going to start soon."
You gave him a sheepish smile and pulled out the desk chair to sit down, "Yeah, sorry about that. I had to wait for Amajiki."
Mirio's eyes lit up at the mention of his friend, "Tama-Tama-Tamaki!" he sang.
It didn't bother you but hearing him mention Amajiki by his first name made you a tiny bit jealous. You're not the jealous kind but you wished Amajiki would ask you to call him by his first name. You would think he would've asked sooner considering how close you two were.
Mirio drummed his fingers on your desk, "So..." he hummed, "are you excited for today?"
Is there seriously something happening later today?
You raised your eyebrow, "What's going on?"
Before Mirio could answer, the bell for homeroom rang and Mirio moved back to his desk, "You'll see!"
When it was time for lunch, you and Mirio made your way to the cafeteria. Mirio didn't bring up whatever he was going to say that morning, so you didn't pry. Whatever he wanted to say, you're sure he'd tell you in due time.
After getting your tray and sitting at your usual table, you both ate and made small talk while waiting for Amajiki to arrive.
"Oh!" Mirio's head shot up, "Tamaki's coming!"
Turning to look over your shoulder, you saw Amajiki walking in your direction. His entire face was red and you could tell even from this distance that his body was trembling. He was anxious about something.
"Amajiki!" You greeted him happily, "Hey! What's up?"
His lips were sealed as he sat down beside you and his quivering was more severe up close.
"Are you okay?" You asked, placing a hand on his back to rub soothing circles.
"You bet he is!" Mirio said and clapped a band on his back too from across the table. "He's got a big day!"
Amajiki's head bowed forward to the table and he began to breathe deeply. After a moment, he looked back up and smiled at you, "I'm good. Thank you. Just nervous is all." He leaned into your side and rested his cheek on your shoulder. You petted his hair and felt him hum in happiness against you. His breathing slowed and he was calm. You wished you could stay like this forever. It was perfect until Mirio slapped the table suddenly and scream-whispered, "Tamaki, dude!"
Amajiki's head shot up and he immediately turned to look at the door. His eyes sharpened and that soft look that belonged to you alone focused behind you.
You turned in your seat to see Nejire from class 3-A walk in the cafeteria.
You always admired her. She was incredibly funny and kind, not to mention insanely gorgeous too. She was also top 3 with Mirio and Amajiki which was cool, and in some ways, made her your competition. But how could you hate her? She was such an angel. But then again, what you wouldn't give to be named the class's most promising heroes alongside Amajiki and Mirio. Besides that, you didn't talk with her much, but she was always sweet to you when you crossed paths.
You felt Amajiki's heartbeat quicken again and his breathing pick up. "I'll be back in a second," Amajiki announced as he suddenly stood up, making the table scrap against the floor, and made a beeline to Nejire. You watched them talk for a second before they both left the cafeteria.
"What was that about?" You asked Mirio.
Mirio laughed in awe, eyes still trained on the leaving pair, and stood up too, "Do you want to come watch?"
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Watch what?"
Wordlessly, Mirio grabbed your hand and pulled you to chase after Amajiki and Nejire.
You both stayed out of sight, tailing them through the empty school hallways, all while trying to force an answer out of Mirio. He ignored you until Amajiki and Nejire stepped outside into the cold, to which he then quickly pressed your back against the wall so you could hear them but not see them. "Mirio?"
He shushed you and looked over your shoulder toward where you could only assume Amajiki and Nejire were talking.
"Mirio." You said again, this time a little louder.
"Be quiet, it's about to happen," Mirio said, his eyes transfixed on the scene unfolding in front of him.
You began to sweat, why was Mirio acting so weird? What was happening? Why were Amajiki and Nejire talking somewhere private? Why did you let Mirio drag you out here? What was Amajiki doing that was so important?
You wrestled Mirio's grip off you and whirled around just in time to hear Amajiki say in the sweetest, most softest voice he could muster, "Nejire, I like you."
You physically felt your heart drop out of your chest.
You felt dizzy as your mind began racing at a mile a minute trying to rationalize his confession.
Is that why he was so nervous? Is that why he was so excited this morning? Is that why he was blushing? Then why did he give you his sweater? Why did he walk you to school every morning? Why did he eat with you at lunch and crack jokes and lean on you and smile and and and
Mirio interrupted your thoughts by jumping up and down and hollering, "Yeah Tamaki! Way to go, buddy! I knew you could do it!"
"Wh-" you blinked helplessly at the image of Nejire giving the biggest smile you've ever seen and leaning forward to kiss him on his lips. His soft, gentle lips. His lips you'll never get to feel for yourself. "What is happening?"
Before you could stop it, you felt tears escaping your eyes and running down your cheeks. The big, fat teardrops no one ever talks about. The kind that leaves your skin itchy and your neck tight. The kind those who only experience true heartbreak feel.
"Aren't you happy for him?" Mirio asked, shaking your shoulders back and forth, "He's been mustering up the courage for months now."
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verajaegr · 14 hours ago
i miss you, im sorry
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second part of ‘let’s love’
the song in this part is: I miss you, I’m sorry
prompt: after bakugou broke up with you, he realized how much he fucked up everything. he still thinks of you and can’t help but regret everything he did.
reader: gn neutral.
warnings: angst, swearing, bakugou sad:(, smoking, yelling, flashbacks of him being an asshole, crying, mentions of bakugou being drunk and I think that’s it.
note: keep in mind that english is not my first language so this might be shitty lol. also NOT PROOFREAD HEHE
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it’s been a while…
i feel awful since that day. everything after that terrible day feels so weird, like… unreal.
i mean, you don’t always scream at your partner the way I did just because you’re scared of them.
I still remember their beautiful eyes crying hot and sad tears in front of me, their pretty face turning into a face I’ve never seen before. I hurt them bad, really bad. It’s something that hunts me every single fucking day before I go to sleep.
I sometimes feel their arms around me, their sweet words and their beautiful touch that makes my heart sink every single time. It was so scary, they were so scary. I’d like to say they didn’t hold so much power in me, but they still can do whatever they want to me and I’d say thank you.
But me being a fucking asshole, fucked up everything. I hurt them right where I shouldn’t. I still can taste de venom of my own words: ‘I don’t want your shitty affection’
I lied.
I want it so badly. I crave it so much that it hurts, and what it hurts the most is the fact that I still think that I did the right thing. I wish I could turn back time and not fall in love with them, but I can’t. Because how on earth, anyone like them would like to be with someone like me?! I’m such an asshole, I treat people badly and I would never be the bakugou they wanted me to be. They’re just too much for me, and if I stayed with them, I would have ruined them even worse, because I know me so well.
I called them once when I was drunk.
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«I miss you so fucking much» he cried. you could hear the sadness in his voice and the way he was actually suffering. «I miss you, and I regret every single word I said to you. I didn’t mean it, nothing of that… it was just…»
And a cold silence got stuck between the speaker and your ear. You were waiting for his explanation, you wanted to believe in him, that he didn’t mean to hurt you so bad.
«it was just…?» you asked, holding onto the last hope of him being totally honest with you.
But he didn’t answer.
«Bakugou, goodnight»
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It was raining outside, the lightnings were so noisy while I was trying to get out of my head all my thoughts about [name]. The warm smoke of the cigarette was the only thing that reminded me of them, maybe that’s why I couldn’t quit it since they were gone.
Everything was gray and the ceiling of this unknown house was protecting me of this stupid rain. My phone was buzzing but the last thing that I wanted to do was seeing another fucking picture of denki on the group chat.
I stared at the fancy restaurant in front of me to spit on my reflection, but I saw them, sitting there, beautiful as always, with their new lover. I know they’re happy because of the way they touch his hands and the way they lean on him.
They used to do the same thing with me.
«Katsuki, do you prefer sunny days or rainy days?» you asked while intertwining your fingers with him.
«doesn’t matter, both fucking sucks»
«Love, can we cuddle?» you asked with the fear lingering in your voice.
«Why would I? Just hug a pillow or something»
«Katsuki, im so tired of asking for a little of your love every single time! I just want you to love me for one day» you yelled at him, trying to make him understand your pain.
«Can’t you fucking understand what I’m telling you?!! I’m not kissing you in public, why do you need to be so goddamn clingy all the time?!! I’m getting tired of YOU»
«I’m not even asking for a stupid kiss!! I just want a little of you!! I know you don’t like going outside, but maybe just a date indoors! just both of us»
Bakugou scoffed loudly. He was in disbelief.
«You think that I have the time to watch a shitty movie in this disgusting couch just because you want?!! Stop being so dumb, [name]»
You stared at him with so much pain in your heart. You felt your whole body was aching, you felt physical pain and it was all because of him.
«Then why are dating me?» you cried, your voice was trembling, feeling the knot in your throat choking you painfully. «If you can’t even watch a stupid movie with me, then why are we together? You don’t want me to touch, to kiss you. Hell, you don’t even want to sleep with me!! Then why are we together? Just broke up with me already»
I didn’t say anything that time, because I was scared. They really wanted me and I neglected all their efforts to make our relationship work.
Now they’re dating someone else. Someone who loves how touchy they’re, goofy and beautiful.
[Name], please, forget me and be happy with anyone you want. You deserve it. You deserve to be with someone who can make feel special and loved.
I pressed my cigarette into the floor and throw it later.
Today there wasn’t someone who can lend me their umbrella.
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sooo, it took me so long to continue this thing but I made it! I’m gonna tag the people who commented the first part bc I think they might like to read the second one 👀
(also I don’t think this gonna have a third part so yeah, the end ig…)
@jazzylove @power-house-fan12 @somber-light-carnation @bobaiztea @teklarn
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yesitsmewhataboutit · a day ago
Quiet Fear
Deaf!Bakugo x reader
Summery: Bakugo was strong. Strong enough he feels he can fight without his hearing aids. While he is a great hero, sometimes not having hearing still causes problems
Warnings⚠️: “angst” with happy ending, sad soft Bakugo
You run through the street, helping civilians and get them to the safe zone. Once your area is clear, you run to help Dynamight and Shoto with the villain. The villain's quirk was Multiple Paralyzation. He could clone himself, and if you touch the clone or the clone touch you, you get temporarily paralyzed, considering how much the cone wants to keep you down.
Dynamight and Shoto were fighting the villain for a while. They were struggling to tell the difference between him and his clones. Dynamight blasted into the air, waiting to jump down on the villain. From where you stood, you saw what looked like to be the regular guy, but from behind a corner, out of sight of Shoto and Dynamight, you saw the real guy. You looked back at Dynamight just as he landed behind the clone. You ran toward him, "Dynamight! Katsuki! Katsuki, WAIT!" You were almost there, but it was too late.
The clone grabbed him by his face, the clone's hand wrapped around Katsuki's mouth, and his body immediately went limp, and his face looked horrified, scared. You weren't even that far away, but you knew Katsuki never went to a battle with his hearing aids in. You always told him to, but he says the excuse that they could get damaged, and he didn't want to keep buying new ones. He would usually do a good job paying attention, but then there were times like these. There was nothing he could do.
You use your quirk to catch the clone off guard and blast it out of the way. You quickly run to Bakugo, crouching next to him. "Hey. Hey Katsuki, it's ok. I'm right here. It's ok." You say, moving his body so he can see you. "I- I can't move." He says, slurring his words, sounding more scared than mad. "I know, I know. Can you hear me? Try to stay calm, ok?" You say, holding his head, stroking your hand on his cheek. "N-no, no. I can't- s'quiet, c-can't." You could barely understand what he said. He was internally freaking out, looking more scared than you've ever seen him. You nod and sigh. You would try to sign to him, but you don't want to move your hands away from him.
Shoto finished off the villain, and help gets sent for Katsuki. They load his limp body onto a gurney and start rolling him away. You follow behind them, knowing if you go out of his sight, it'll be problems for all the doctors. When you get to the hospital, Recovery Girl checks him, seeing if she can do anything. You stay with him the whole time, signing for him what they say since his hearing aids are still in his car. "Recovery Girl said she can't do anything about what the quirk did. She doesn't know how long this will last." You sign to him. He tries to say something, but his mouth doesn't move. "Shh, don't try to talk. From everywhere he touched you are paralyzed. It won't work. The only reason you could before was since your adrenalin was high." You sign.
Katsuki sits there, eyes not leaving you. He can only move half his face, and through his eyes, you can see how scared he is. You step close to him, running your hand through his hair lightly, trying to calm him. You lean up, kissing his forehead, knowing that's one of the few places he can feel right now. You sit on the edge of his bed, pulling his head on your shoulder and rubbing it.
Later, the doctors come and say you can take him home, as long as you take care of him properly. You agree and get ready for him to go home. When you're home, you settle him in the bed, helping him undress from his hero suit. You don't leave his sight at all, but any time you try, he makes some weird noise, like a pleading whine, it's so sad, and you can't think to leave him.
There's a knock at your door, and you already know it's Shoto, so you pick up your phone and text him, saying the door is open. In no time, you hear him come in the door, and then he appears at your bedroom door. "Thank you, Shoto. For getting his car, and the aids." You say and sign at the same time. "No problem." He says. "How's he doing?" Shot asks, motioning to Bakugo. "Ok, I guess. These will help a lot though, thanks again." You say, signing and talking again. You glance at Katsuki, his usual scowl planted over his face, probably since Shoto was there. Shoto nods and says his goodbyes, leaving.
You walk over to Katsuki, securing his hearing aids in and looking at him. "Is this better? Blink if you can hear me." You say. He blinks, letting out a slow sigh. "You should be able to talk soon. It should be wearing off. I know this probably feels so weird." You say, stroking his hair. His eyes shift over to you, a tear slowly falling down his cheek. "Hey, hey, baby, what's wrong? Does something hurt? Blink once if yes." You say concerned. He blinks twice. "Are you... scared?" You ask. He blinks once.
Katsuki was scared. You've been with him long enough that you've seen a lot of things others haven't. You've never seen him cry once before, and him being scared was new too. "Aww, Katsu." You climb into the bed, pulling his body with you, cuddling him into you, rubbing his head, everywhere he can feel right now. You kiss his forehead, saying, "It'll be better soon, don't worry." You still feel tears coming out of his eyes, and eventually, he falls asleep.
"Y- Y/n."
You wake up to hearing your name. "Hm? Katsuki? What? Are you ok? What's wrong?" You ask, waking up more and shifting to look at him. "I just, um, sorry, this feels weird. I feel so useless." He says, his words still coming out a little weird. "It's ok. It could have happened to anyone."
"No. Anyone else would have heard the calls. But not me, I couldn't hear them, and now I'm a vegetable."
"It's not permanent. Just cause this happened doesn't mean you aren't an important hero, I promise."
"It felt terrible. I couldn't move. I couldn't hear. I hate that feeling."
"I know, I know. It'll be over soon. I'm so sorry."
"Thank you for sticking with me."
"Of course, I'll always be here. Just relax. I'm right here. Nothing will happen. Just relax and sleep."
He does a long sigh, closing his eyes, falling asleep.
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itachiyama · 2 months ago
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Bakugou overhears all class gossip, and while nobody thinks he does, he never misses a word. He’s got sharp ears and keen eyes and he never misses anything.
Which is why he’s reduced to a glum guy with wounded pride when he overhears the girls gossiping about how “Bakugou and y/n don’t seem like they’ll last.” He figures it’s true—deep down he realizes his prickly and harsh nature could never mesh well with your gentle and sweet one, but the words sting no less.
The truth is, Bakugou Katsuki has fallen hopelessly in love, and he wants to roll his eyes at himself, but he can’t. He can’t when it’s you, he can’t bring himself to do anything but soften his exterior as much as he can so you can see he’s trying. He’s trying and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all he’s got. He lets you grab his hand, and steal his snacks, and mess around with his gauntlets, and ruffle his hair, and he hopes it’s enough, but he knows deep down it’s not.
So when you sit next to him in the courtyard, plopping down quietly beside him as he looks ahead refusing to meet your eyes, he’s not expecting your hand to lay on his.
“Hey, Katsuki,” you whisper gently, and he can tell from your tone you know something’s up.
“Hmph,” he grumbles incoherently in acknowledgment, shoulders tensing as you get closer.
“What’s on your mind?” He’s silent for a moment, and even if he wanted to, Bakugou doesn’t even know how to tell you.
“Don’t say nothing.” Bakugou’s hand grips the fabric of his jeans tightly, and he’s trembling just the slightest bit, but the way your hand soothes over his arm in delicate circles grounds him just the tiniest bit.
“It’s none of your business,” he mutters. You raise your eyebrow unimpressed.
“Try again, babe.” And maybe it’s the way your palm is warm through the fabric of his blazer, or the way your voice is still gentle even when reprimanding, or the way you just seem to know, but he practically pours himself out to you. Because he needs you to hear, and he needs you to know—Bakugou’s trying.
“Those dumb girls can’t mind their business. They don’t think we’ll last—as if it’s their business,” he rants, and his voice is slightly tight—he’ll never admit it and you’ll never mention it, but you both can hear it. “Who asked, anyway?”
Nodding slowly, you lean your head on his shoulder, hand grasping his as you fiddle with his fingers. His cheek finds its way to the top of your head, and you both sit like that for a bit, you playing with his fingers and Bakugou peeking glances at you over his shoulder.
“Do you think we’ll last?”
“Do you think think they’re right? That we won’t last?” He wants to say yes, wants to admit that nobody would want to last with someone as rough and tough as him, that his words are just as abrasive as his actions and you shouldn’t tolerate it, but Bakugou needs more than anything for you to stick with him.
He needs the little cheek kisses goodnight, he needs the arm hugs while you walk together, he needs the tiny nose boops when he’s frowning—and he needs you.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I guess you shouldn’t really want us to, huh?” And he cringes a little when your head shoots up.
“What’s that mean?”
He simply shrugs and mumbles “I don’t know,” as he looks off to the side. But your hand grabs his jaw and gently forces him to look you in the eyes.
And his eyes are swimming with doubt, with anger, but mostly, a sense of defeat, and that’s unlike Bakugou. He never admits defeat, and it’s the one thing about him you love most.
“Katsuki. Don’t give me that,” you say gently, and the soft kiss to his nose makes him grip your waist tightly. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I want us to last?”
“It just makes sense.”
“And why’s that?”
And the dam breaks when he opens his mouth, eyes angry (and slightly wet, but you don’t mention it) as he pours his heart out to you.
“Because you shouldn’t want to last with someone like me, we both know that. I’m not cut out to be the way a boyfriend is, I don’t act like the way they should. Go find someone who does,” he mutters at the end, and you frown, watching as he fights the tremble of his lips.
He’s waiting for the blow, for the moment you admit he’s right and walk off and inevitably rip his heart out and take it with you, but it never comes.
“Hey,” you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into your chest, and on any other day, he’d pull away instantly, grumbling about how someone might see. But today, today he needs to be close, to hear your heart beat against his ear. “That’s not true, Katsuki. You’re a bit different, but I don’t mind. I know you love me,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.
“I’m not done, okay?” You poke his forehead, and he swats your hand away. “Like you said, it’s not their business. So they don’t know everything. You do a great job you know, you just make your own rules of how to do things,” you snort. “That’s okay though, it’s still plenty enough for me.”
“You sure?” His voice is gruff, but it’s still hesitant. Your hand glides down to grab his hand, lacing your fingers together as you peck his forehead.
“Of course. You look out for me, always make sure I’m safe, always try to notice how I can improve, always take the short end of the stick for me. Who cares if you don’t bring me roses or something? Do you love me?”
“Well yeah,” he grumbles, answer immediate.
“Do you want us to last?”
And his voice is a bit smaller this time when he admits a small “yes.”
“Good, I feel the same. And that’s it for that matter, don’t you think? It’s our business, and we seem to be on the same page.”
Almost instantly, his chest lightens at your words, and he registers the small circles you rub into his knuckles, and the gentle scratches at his scalp, and he thinks he’s found some place that he’s made his own, somewhere he’s himself and it’s enough and it’s cherished. And he realizes that maybe that’s what love is, not the stupid roses or the boxes of chocolates the damn girls are always telling him he needs to bring.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, but his hand squeezes yours. “You should’ve gone up to your room you know, dumbass. Don’t think I didn’t see you hit your leg during training,” he chides. His voice is still gentle, and you smile at the way he’s back to himself already.
“Sorry, I’ll be more careful,” you promise.
He mumbles a quiet good before he sits up, pulling you into him as he kisses the top of your head. And the way you lean your cheek against him with a smile, rubbing his chest softly makes him think maybe you will last— because he’s not letting you go any time soon.
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reblogs are really appreciated !!
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katsuphilia · a month ago
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bakugou smiles to himself when he feels a hand clutch his pants, small legs hooking around his as a tiny body tries to climb onto his lap. he turns back to his phone with a smirk, waiting for his daughter to climb up.
“katsuki, don’t just sit—”
“let her try,” he insists, watching as she stumbles back and grips his pants yet again.
he caves when he hears a small huff of frustration.
“daddy, lemme up!” with a snort, he places his phone down on the couch, grabbing her and seating her on his lap, staring down at two red eyes much like his. except hers are wider, more curious, they’re less narrowed and much softer.
he wants to protect their innocence till his last breath.
“what do you want, kid?” she smiles with her arms held wide, a happy giggle on her tongue as she leans forward.
“a hug!” and soon her head is on his chest while his arms are wrapped securely around her. she’s tiny against his body, hers almost drowned by his arms alone, and bakugou isn’t used to handling something so carefully. but he thinks it’s worth the gentleness when he stares down at her.
“what do you really want?” she looks up with a pout—it mirrors yours and he rolls his eyes.
“can i come with you tomorrow? please, daddy? i won’t touch anything.” he raises a brow, and his heart squeezes a little bit. he’s not used to this feeling, but he welcomes it more and more with each passing day.
she’s a lot bigger now, bigger than she used to be, and soon she’ll be climbing onto his lap without his help. and soon after, she won’t be climbing on at all, too grown to sit with him and ramble about her day. bakugou’s not ever been known for his patience, but her voice eases his mind in a way he’s only experienced with you, and he thinks he can handle a ten minute conversation about her favorite teacups if it gets her to smile like that.
“no, it’s too dangerous,” he says gruffly. “you might get hurt, and then i’ll get killed by that nagging demon over there,” he points to you, making you glare at him from your spot across the room.
“katsuki, watch it,” you warn. she giggles, staring up at her father as he scowls at you.
“see? a demon,” he whispers to her, tickling her neck gently as she squirms in his hold. you smile, watching as they laugh together, her hands on his cheeks, smooshing them together as bakugou pinches her nose.
“but i wanna see you get the bad guys,” she pouts, and his heart swells with a bit of pride, a smirk on his lips as he glances at you. you roll your eyes at his cockiness.
“i’m pretty cool, huh kid?”
“mhm,” she nods. and with a flick to her forehead, he tugs her closer to his chest, holding her tiny form for a bit as he appreciates her as she is. she won’t always be this small, and bakugou dreads the day she’ll be out on her own—without him, without you, fighting off threats by herself, hero or not. “wanna be like you, daddy.”
“you’ll be even better,” he murmurs. because if there’s one person he’d want to surpass him, to win if it means he has to lose, it’s her. bakugou presses a tiny kiss to her forehead before throwing her up, laughing at the way she squeals, his hands waiting to catch her—always.
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this is a repost from my old blog
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gaysimpsstuff · 8 months ago
Addidentally Injuring Their S/o
Part Two Here
YT Video Here (thanks @vanillaicedlatte-yt)
Genre: a n g s t
Type: Drabble/ Headcannons
Summary: in the heat of an arguement, after a battle, etc., they activate their quirk and Y/n somewhat permanently.
Warnings: gore, blood, fighting/ cursing, crying, burns, toxic relationships, 290 spoilers, endeavor
Other: This was meant to come out yesterday, but shitty mental health got in the way, so yeet. Also, I’m sorry these get worse and worse as they progress, that’s usually how things go for me. This was also inspired by a Tik Tok that I can’t find where Shigaraki accidentally dusts y/n who’s trying to comfort him. It was a Cosplay, if anyone can find it please let me know so I can link it and credit the creator.
Characters: Shigaraki, Dabi, Bakugou, Todoroki
Angst Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy (let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist)
Tomura Shigaraki
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It had started as a great day, a perfect day even. Everyone was listening to him, the league was getting news coverage, people were afraid.
Everything was too perfect.
Something was going to go wrong, he was sure of it.
He hated the way everyone was laughing and joking together, Toga helping Magne do her nails, Spinner playing video games with Twice backstage, and you were chatting with Dabi and Compress about the league’s next moves.
Kuroguri was off doing something or other, and he’d mentioned another ‘follower of All For One.’
But something felt off.
And of course you would notice him.
You were hiding at an abandoned theatre, and he was sitting on the edge of the stage, staring out at the empty audience.
You were with Dabi and Compress in the wings, and glanced away from them towards your boyfriend.
He seemed stressed, scratching at his neck vigorously. You sighed, standing up and heading over to him, sitting beside him.
You placed your hand on top of his spare hand, offering him a soft smile.’
“Hey, baby~” you cooed. “How’s my boyfriend doing?”
He grumbled, yanking his hand away from you. Your theory was correct, he was stressed about something.
He didn’t want to talk to anyone, especially not you. You always tried to comfort him and convince him everything was ‘okay’ even when it wasn’t.
“Go away.” He growled. “I’m trying to think.”
“Thinking about what?” You asked, scooching closer to him.
“None of your fucking business!” He snapped at you, and you flinched away from him.
“Tomura, I was just trying to help-“ you frowned at him. He could be immature and bratty at times he’s, but he usually made sure not to get that way with you.
“I don’t give a shit! I don’t need your damn help!” He stood up, marching over to the wings to head backstage. You followed suit.
Compress and Dabi quickly rushed off the stage when they saw Shigaraki heading towards them. Dabi stopped for a moment next to you, looking at you.
“Good luck with him.” He said, jerking his head towards Shigaraki. You shrugged at him.
Shigaraki overheard Dabi’s notion, anger and distress intensifying. Good luck? Good luck?! What the hell was wrong with him?
Dabi and Compres joined Toga and Magne in the red velvet chairs, Compress requesting that he gets his nails done in orange and black when she finished with Magne’s.
Shigaraki pushed aside the large heavy curtains blocking his way backstage, finding Spinner and Twice huddled near a small TV, an old PvP game loading onscreen
They both looked over their shoulders, staring up at their boss. You quickly darted backstage, crouching next to the ‘gamer boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis’ as they had nicknamed themselves.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered to them. “He’s in a bit of a mood. I’ll take care of it, okay?”
Did he hear you correctly?
A mood?
You’ll ‘take care of it?’
Of it?
“Say that again, to my fuckung face!” Shigaraki screamed at you. “Tell me I’m just ‘iN a MoOd’ again!!”
You turned to him, eyes wide and scared.
“I’m sorry, Tomura, I didn’t mean it like that- I just didn’t want our friends to worry!”
“They aren’t our fucking friends! They just work for us- they work for me!” He corrected himself.
You stood up, flicking your wrist to motion for Twice and Spinner to leave. They quickly turned off their game and rushed away.
“You might not consider them our friends, but they’re certainly my friends. And I won’t let you scare my friends.” You stood your ground, taking a step towards him.
He scoffed, turning around and marching back onstage. You sighed, following after him, again.
“Please, Tomura talk to me. I’m your partner I want to help you!” You exclaimed. “You’re worrying me, please!”
“Well I don’t want to fucking talk!” He shouted, “and I don’t have to!”
“Please, Tenko!”
He saw red.
His hand flew away from him before he could stop himself, a target missile. It’s destination? Your face.
You lifted your hands instinctively, and he grabbed your wrist, fingers curling around your skin.
In that moment, all he felt was relief. Thank fucking god you’d lifted your arms. It was the one thing that has saved you from him.
You screamed, pain shooting up through you from your arm. Your skin peeled, falling away in tiny fragments of dust.
The dust fell around his fingers, your hand and wrist were completely gone now.
You felt someone pull you backwards, and you saw a glint of silver as Toga quickly severed your arm, blood spilling onto the floor of the stage where the pile of dust that used to be your arm lay.
You fell to your knees, screaming, reaching up and clutching at your elbow- the point of separation- desperately, trying to will your arm back into existence.
“TOMURA!” You shrieked, tears falling down your cheeks. “TOMURA! FIX IT!!”
It was hopeless, you knew there was no way for him to un-dust you. You fell forward, forehead pressed against the floor.
Shigaraki took a step back, glancing at his hand. There were a few speckles of dust resting on his palm. His breath quickened, eyes widening as he cupped his other hand over his mouth.
He stared down at you, Blood staining your shirt as you screamed and cried.
It must have hurt.
He remembered the promise he’d made after you’d started dating, when he’d protected you from some assholes trying to mug you.
“I promise you, I’m going to protect you. Nothing, no one, will lay a hand on you ever again.”
It was a promised meant against anyone who posed a threat to you.
He never meant to become a threat himself.
Touya Todoroki/ Dabi
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Some days were always going to be better than others, that’s simply how it works when you’re recovering from trauma.
Today was one of the bad days.
He’d woken up with a thick, heavy, dark feeling in his chest.
He wasn’t even comforted by the warmth your body produced next to him.
Most days he’d roll over and wrap his arm around your body, pulling you close to his body to cuddle you.
This morning however, Dabi rolled away from you and climbed out of bed. You looked over your shoulder at him, confused and slightly hurt. Did you do something to make him upset last night?
You followed after your angsty boyfriend, walking out of the bedroom and down the hall into the kitchen.
He crashed at your apartment a lot, being a villain it was hard to get his own home. You didn’t know where he stayed when he wasn’t at your place.
He grabbed a box of cereal out of the cupboards, pouring himself a bowl. You pulled the milk out of the fridge, handing it to him with a smile.
He scrunched up his nose at your kindness, snatching the carton from your hand and angrily pulling the cap off.
You sighed, nervously pouring yourself a bowl as Dabi started to eat. He didn’t even bother to sit at the table.
“Hey, babe? You okay? You seem kind of... off today.”
Your boyfriend glanced down at you, cerulean eyes seemingly staring right through you.
“M’fine.” He grunted. Your frown tightened.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that.” You shook your head at him.
Dabi glared down at you in annoyance. His scowl deepening. You took a step back, concerned and scared.
“Dabi, please talk to me.” You pleaded with him.
“Uzéndayo.” He grumbled angrily. “Fuck off.”
“Please, you’ll hurt my feelings.” You scoffed sarcastically. “You can talk to me, y’know.”
“Don’t fuckin need to. Leave me alone.”
“Dabi, this is my place. I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Then I’ll leave!” He snapped, brushing past you and leaving his cereal on the counter to sog.
He snatched his jacket off the back of the couch, shrugging it onto his shoulders.
“Seriously, Dabi! What the hell’s going on! Did I do something wrong?”
It pissed him off further to hear you blame yourself. You always thought it was your fault, but it never was.
“Oh shut the fuck up for once! Quit thinking it’s all about you! It’s not always about you!”
“Dabi just fucking talk to me! I’m not letting you leave until you tell me what’s wrong!”
You stepped in front of the door, flinging your arms open to block ilhis exit. He looked you in the eyes, seething.
“Nothing happened!” He shouted “Sometimes I’m just angry for no reason! Get out of my way and I’ll take my anger out on some rando and not on you. Then I’ll come back and we can pretend this never happened.”
“Dabi I won’t let you just kill some innocent person because you’re upset! Just sit with me and we can talk it out and-“
“That’s always your solution! Quit being a wimpy pacifist and move!”
“I’m not a pacifist, I just don’t think you should kill without reason!”
“Well I have a fucking reason!”
“And what’s that?”
“I want to!”
“That’s not a reason!”
“Just get out of my fucking way or I’ll make you!”
“Dabi, just talk to me!”
It was the last thing you said before he grabbed your arm and pulled your body forward to meet his. Your chest pressed against his, his face right in front of yours.
It’d be hot if you weren’t so scared.
“Listen here you little shit,” he growled, low and angry “I’m stronger than you in every fucking way.”
“I could kill you in an instant if I so desired.”
“Incinerate your filthy annoying ass any day I want, so be fucking grateful for once and watch your damn mouth!”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN! I am superior to you in every way, you should be grateful I even share oxygen with you!”
“I DON’T CARE IF IT HURTS, LISTEN TO ME YOU DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER!” He screamed in your face, eyes wild with unchecked rage.
Tears flowed down your face as you sobbed, indescribable pain was shooting up through your arms.
Dabi’s eyes finally drifted downwards, and he froze, mouth falling slack.
Smoke was billowing off his hands, and his knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping you.
He snapped his hands away from you, curling them into his body as his eyes widened. He took a few steps back.
There were black scorch marks on your body in the shape of his hands. They looked real bad.
“Get out.” You whispered, so soft he couldn’t hear.
“GET OUT!” You screamed, pointing at the door despite the intense pain in your arms. “GET OUT OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE!”
“B-baby I’m sorry!” He shouted “I didn’t mean to, I promise!”
Dabi stumbled past you, quickly rushing out of your apartment and shutting the door behind him.
His back was pressed against the wood as he slid down, covering his face as he listened to your sobs on the other side, hearing your footsteps fade into the bathroom, probably to run cold water on your skin.
For a moment, all the could think about was the cereal on the counter, getting soggy.
“Fuck.” He muttered, eyes burning as they tried to produce tears without his tear ducts.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Shoto Todoroki
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Shit wrong emo scar boy with daddy issues, fire powers, and an evil older sibling with blue fire
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There we go
It was a shitty day. 
Well, most days were shitty days, but today was shittier than usual. 
A home visit, Endeavor trying to act like he was ‘upset about everything that happened,’ and pretending he was the victim in the situation.
It would be enough to set anyone on edge, especially Shouto. 
So it wasn’t much of a surprise when he returned to the dorms with a deep frown on his face.
Even when Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka tried to talk to him, he still seemed angry the whole time. There was really only one thing that should be able to cheer him up. Let’s hope you do your job well.
“Knock knock~ Shouto it’s me!” you stood on the outside of Shouto’s dorm. You knew Shouto must be stressed, so you’d gotten him some brownies from the sweets cupboard, Sato’s locks were easy to pick.
“I don’t want to fucking talk.” his response was blunt, clearly annoyed that you’d bothered his brooding. “Go away.”
You sighed, he could act like such a child sometimes!
“Shouto, I just want to cheer you up! Let me in, babe.” a moment later, he swung the door open, am annoyed glare on his face. You smiled sweetly at him, handing him the plate of brownies. His hands remained in his pockets, glancing down at the brownies then back up at you.
“Um... can I come in?” you asked quietly. He shrugged, stepping aside to let you in. You stepped past him, sitting on the edge of the platform bed, setting the brownies on the nightstand. 
Shouto closed the door behind him, turning to face you.
“Do... do you want to talk about it?” Shouto huffed, shaking his head and looking away from you.
“Do I look like I want to talk?” he snapped. You flinched, his tone was harsh.
“Shouto I just want to help, you don’t need to be rude.”
“I don’t give a shit if I’m being ‘rude.’“ He growled, arms crossed. 
His eyes stared coldly at you. Yeah, he was definetly upset.
“That’s okay, we can chat about something else. Oh, Sato probably needs to change the lock on the sweets cupboard, I kinda broke it getting you these brownies!” you looked up at him, smile faltering as he looked down his nose at you. “Are... are you mad at me?”
“Wow, you just noticed that.” he rolled his eyes. “I told you to go away but you didn’t.”
“I-I’m sorry, I was just really worried about you. You’re my boyfriend and I love you, I don’t like seeing you upset.”
“Then maybe you should try fucking listening to me for once. If I don’t want to talk, then you can’t make me talk.” You nodded, apologizing again.
“Oh my god shut the fuck up!” he shouted. “You’re always talking, always apologizing, you’re getting on my fucking nerves!”
“Okay!” you stood up quickly, lifting your hands defensively. “I’ll just leave!”
You brushed past him on your way to the door, hesitating on the handle. You glanced over your shoulder at him.
“Would you fucking stop with the pity?” you looked at the ground, not saying anything.
You heard the slap before you felt it.
The sting shot through your face, and you could hear Shouto shouting at you, but it was muffled. You didn’t know what he was saying. 
You lifted your hand to your cheek, hissing in pain. He didn’t just slap you,
He used his fire.
You choked on your words, turning to look at your boyfriend with tear-filled eyes.
Shouto was looking at you with a look of sheer horror on his face.
“I’m sorry...” you whimpered. “I’m going-” you slipped out the door, ignoring Shouto’s shout for you to turn back and talk to him
That it was an accident.
That he didn’t mean it.
That didn’t matter.
Katsuki Bakugou/ Dynamight
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Fuck Icy-Hot. 
Fuck. Him.
He said he’d gotten stronger since the Summer Camp, but he hadn’t at all.
He was still loosing to Todoroki, and no matter how hard he was working, he still kept loosing to him.
His hand was buried in his hair, tugging harshly every so often as he listened to you ramble about something that happened during your work study.
Even you were getting ahead of him, his own partner was getting stronger than him. He’d promised he’d protect you, but that would be useless if you kept improving faster than him.
“Then afterwords, FatGum took me, Kirishima, and Amajiki to this resturaunt, and the owner turned out to be a huge fan of FatGum, she gave us free desert! Oh my gosh the cake was so good!” you exclaimed, laughing a little.
Bakugou grumbled under his breath a little, keeping his eyes away from your estatic face. 
“Great.” you glanced back to your boyfriend from where you sat at your desk, eyebrows furroring. Usually, Katsuki would give you one of those proud smirks all like ‘that’s my partner,’ but today he seemed upset.
“You alright, Katsuki? Was your provisional licence class stressful today?” you asked sympathetically, moving your hand towards him to comfort him. 
He yanked his hand away from you, shooting you a pissed off look.
“Fuck no.” he growled. “Even if it was, I can handle it. I don’t need your damn help.” you rested your hand on your lap.
“I know, Katsuki. My boyfriend’s so strong!” you smiled brightly at him. Usually complimenting him would make him feel better, but today it seemed to only piss him off more.
“Shut up.” he hunched over, curling into himself more. He pulled one leg up to his chest, holding it under his knee. 
“Uh.. are you sure you’re okay?” you asked, cocking your head to the side gently.
“I’m fucking fine!” He snapped, keeping his eyes anywhere but on you. “I don’t need your pity!”
“Pity? Katsuki I’m not pitying you, I’m worried for you. You’re my boyfriend and I want you to be happy so-”
“Didn’t I say to shut up?” he stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Don’t give me your worry, fight me instead!”
“Why the hell would I fight you, Katsuki? I already know you’re stronger than me!”
“Fucking how? You got that new work study you’re constantntly talking about! How haven’t you gotten stronger than me?”
“Is that what this is about? I’ve only been at my work study for a few days, how in the world could I have leaped leagues in that amount of time to reach your level?”
“Then why even join that stupid work study if you’re not getting stronger?”
“I am getting stronger, just not fast enough to be at your level that quickly!” you explained. “Sorry?”
“Ugh just shut the fuck up!” he shouted, storming out of your dorm and down the hall to the common room. There were a only a few people in there,
Yao-Momo and Jirou in the kitchen, Kirishima and Kaminari on the couches, and Sero was leaning over the back of the couch. They all looked up when Bakugou stormed in with you on his tail.
“Katsuki, you’re confusing me! What’s going on? How can I help? Is it something I did?” 
“Just leave me alone, okay? Go away!” he shouted over his shoulder. Kaminari, Kirishima, Sero, Jirou, and Yaoyorazu all snapped their heads towards you and Bakugou.
“Katsuki, please! You’re scaring me!” you glanced over at your friends, Jirou and Yao-Momo glancing between each other and muttering. 
“Yo, Kachan, the hell’s going on between you and Y/n?” Kaminari asked, standing up. Sero hissed at him to sit down if he wanted to keep his head.
“I’m sorry, Kaminari, Bakugou’s upset and I don’t know why-”
“Don’t know why? Quit it with the lies! I hate liars!”
“I-I’m not lying! I really don’t know!” you reached forward, latching your hand onto his wrist. “Please just talk to me!”
“BULLSHIT!” he snapped his hand away from yours. “You’re a fucking liar!”
“Bakubro, calm down!” Kirishima stood up, briskly walking over to the two of you. 
“STAY OUT OF THIS!” Bakugou slammed his palm against Kirishima’s face, setting off a small explosion.
“KIRISHIMA!” You ran to his side as the smoke cleared, finding his face hardened.
“I’m okay, I’m okay!” he assured you. He offered you a small smile, suddenly, he yelped and ducked, avoiding another hit from Bakugou.
“LET GO OF THEM!” he shouted, and his hand sparked twice before setting off again. This time right next to your face.
You hit the ground first, then felt stinging pain across your face and shoulder.
You didn’t even hear your own screaming because of the fact that he blew up your ears.
You didn’t register Kirishima picking you up, or Bakugou staring after you in fear, or the others in the room scolding Bakugou or worrying about you.
All you knew in that moment was pain.
Pure, white hot, agonizing pain.
7K notes · View notes
radioshima · 23 days ago
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what he wishes he could take back
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feat. aizawa. bakugo. dabi. denki. kirishima.
genre: angst
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aizawa - “get your hands off of me”
aizawa swears he had a bad day, a bad week, a bad month, he really does. he didn’t mean to push you away whenever you wanted to soothe him, he didn’t mean to swat you away, he didn’t mean to yell at you like that. and now, as he looks around your - no, now just his - bedroom, realizing that you were being serious that you were in fact gone, all he wishes for are your hands, running through his hair and your quiet whispers, telling him that everything would be okay again.
bakugo - “you‘ll never be good enough”
bakugo wants to kick himself. he has always been hot headed, he was always easy to rile up, he was always one to blow up; yet he never regretted anything he said as much as this. bakugo hates lies, he always did and still he was the one to tell the biggest one in his entire life. because you were good enough, you had always been good enough. you were the one that somehow always knew how to help him calm down, you always knew when he needed space, you knew what he wanted, what he feared, what he craved, even if he never said it out loud. and now you were gone.
dabi - “leave and don’t fucking come back”
dabi wants to tell himself that it’s better this way. he knows he should be happy now with you finally gone, leaving no trace behind, just like he told you to. and yet he still finds himself aching for you, looking for you whenever his gaze flies over crowds of people. he says he’s unbothered, he swears he doesn’t care when he sees you one day, smiling just the way you did when you were with him, only it’s not him you‘re there with, it’s someone else, someone that seemingly made you happy, someone that made you laugh, someone that you gave all your attention to now. and dabi should be happy to because that’s what he wanted, right?
denki - “i don’t need you”
denki never felt so stupid. sure, he was never at the top of his class, but that never really mattered, since he didn’t have to do extremely well academically to fulfill his dream. he could still be a hero, a great here. that’s what you always said to him. he never noticed how much comfort he found in your words of affirmation, how well you treated him, how much you lifted his spirits. he didn’t think much of it, he thought it was normal, nothing special, only to realize the truth way too late. at the end of the day he does need you, more than anything else. he was just too late - too stupid - to realize that.
kirishima - “who could ever love someone like you?”
kirishima loved you. you we’re so pure, so so honest, so perfect for him that it physically hurts just to think about that. he knew about you, he cherished you much more than anything else in his life. he loved to lift your spirits when you felt down, he loved to cuddle you after a long day, he loved talking to you and hearing your voice. you were everything to him, you were the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life. so why did he say it? why was he the one to crush your soul? why did he shatter every bit of confidence, the same confidence he helped you to build, adoring how good it looked on yoh? that’s one thing he‘ll never find an answer too.
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tteokdoroki · 4 months ago
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ʚ♡ɞ SYNOPSIS: relationships are never easy. some are meant to last, blossoming into white weddings and white picket fences with a loud dog barking in the front yard. some part ways, love carried in their hearts as they walk separate paths. some are doomed from the start, breaking like glass from the slightest touch. and katsuki bakugou’s? well, his was never meant to last.
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ʚ♡ɞ PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.
ʚ♡ɞ WC: 14.8K.
ʚ♡ɞ RATED: mature, 18+, mdni.
ʚ♡ɞ GENRE: pro hero!au, angst, fluff + smut.
ʚ♡ɞ CW please read !   heavy!angst, toxic!relationships, mentions of violence, arguments, cheating, bakugou is a really bad boyfriend, heavy smut, literally 7K words of it sdhbfb,  ( characters aged up to mid-twenties ), heavy!body worship, heavy!cumplay, daddy!kink, dacryphilia!kink, praise!kink, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, kids ), oral sex ( female receiving ), handjobs, tummy bulges, choking, spitting, mindbreak. reader is picked up during the smut scene.
ʚ♡ɞ A/N: hello everyone!! good evening, today i present to you one of my favourite fics i’ve ever written, i’ve been meaning to write some angst for a while + this is my contribution for the bakugou prompt collab from the BNHAREM server! my prompt was ‘it wasn’t supposed to end this way’ (and yes i did base this off that one tiktok audio). please check out everyone’s works here ( thank you emme for the masterlist )
ʚ♡ɞ special special thanks to @bakugous-trauma​ and @doinmybesthere for beta reading some!
ʚ♡ɞ masterlist | requests | kofi
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from your seat in the cafe, you can watch the world go by. children running down busy streets with flustered parents in tow, businessmen and women and people chasing their trains with worried expressions— late for whatever boring meeting they have to waste the hours of the day on. you note the number of couples that walk by too, you look for the quirk in the corner of their mouths to see if they’re really smiling, the tight clasp of their hands so hard that their knuckles turn white. 
your hand warms on the clothes table, feeling empty and alone, even when you’re surrounded by many of the people you love.
katsuki’s friends are like family to you. they, mina, kirishima and ochako had all attended high school with one another— but mina you had known from freshman year of college, she decided to keep her options open despite being a pro hero in the making. when your boyfriend, katsuki, had told you he wanted you to meet his group of friends ( surprisingly enough, he still had them, ) and you hadn’t realised the world was so small.
you liked katsuki’s friends, and they loved you— treating you as if you were one of their own, much to your boyfriend’s chargen. so once a month, the four of you met up for brunch to catch up as your lives moved on and the world continued to spin on its own. 
to occupy your empty hand, you grasp at your silverware fork and twirl it around your basil pasta— mina had picked somewhere new to try, claiming she felt like treating herself over the success of graduating alongside her new fling. you couldn’t order your usual, but she’d told you the green stuff was always your best bet for a fancy, up-market place like this. 
“sooo, what’s she like?” you hear ochako coo to your right, leaning forward on her elbows with a dreamy twinkle to her chestnut eyes. the wistful tone to her voice pulls you from your lonesome thoughts about the dreary world and you shove your fork into your mouth to avoid conversation. 
mina grins brightly to your left, hands clasped together as she swoons. “i think she's the one, i might be in love with her!” 
“you say that about all the girls,” kirishima scoffs over a sip of some expensive looking cocktail— it was fruity, he always had a thing for the sweeter drinks in which you shared. after ashido, you’d consider the redhead your second closest friend, his bright eyes and kind smile were always quick to put you at ease. you felt safe with kirishima, and over the years he had helped you understand bakugou in ways you couldn’t in the early stages of your relationship. 
bakugou was a fire you couldn’t tame, not a droplet of water could control the havoc he wreaked. not even you. 
you slump and reach over to swipe eijirou’s drink as mina whines and gushes over her new love. romance talks never did you any good. “what?” she whines, brushing through the pink curls on the back of her neck— seemingly bashful. it must be love, you think, you’ve never seen her like this so it must be true. “i didn’t sleep with her til after graduation!” 
“now,” you wash down your pasta with what kirishima allows you to take and grimace as you tip the glass to your old time friend. “that’s a first for you,” there’s a teasing lilt to the tone of your voice, one that makes mina slap her hands down on the table in protest, the gesture followed by the rattling of expensive silverware. the esteemed guests of whatever the hell this place was called, shift their unimpressed gazes over to your rowdy crew and you shrink in your place, suddenly feeling shy.
“moving swiftly on,” mina comments, a burst of laughter teetering on the tip of her tongue.
ochako joins the other girl in her chuckling fit, replacing the cool atmosphere with a light happiness. “izuku and i are moving in with one another,” she comments while trying to suppress her laughter and you pretend it doesn’t hurt. to see two of your longest friends happy and in healthy relationships, with no one to relate to your struggles. it wasn’t easy to admit to yourself that you and bakugou were struggling to stay afloat— and you attended these brunches with the hopes of forgetting all the pain that you left at home with your significant other. 
but the love was everywhere— in the air, at your table choking you from the inside out. you were filled with a queasy mix of jealousy and hatred, one that you couldn’t shake even with more forkfuls of the pasta mina had recommended. you murmur a quiet congrats along with the rest of your friends, smile not quite reaching your eyes that flicker around the table in order to avoid sympathetic stares from those that know your pain. 
they all know what’s really going on with your relationship, they’re just too kind to say.
“kaminari’s as dorky as ever,” eijirou adds to the conversation swiftly to delay all attention landing on you. he knows and gives you enough time to push away the monster green with jealousy who sits contently in the base of your rib cage and toys with your precious heart. katsuki had called the sharp toothed redhead and his boyfriend ( denki kaminari ), the condiment duo. a complete pair of idiots destined for one another as he’d put it. 
your heart hurts because you so badly want that for yourself, to be seen as the couple who were made for one another and to never be apart, to share goofy smiles like you used to and tell jokes that only the two of you understand— but as the table of your most loved and dear friends shift their attention to you, you know that the ideals of kirishima and kaminari’s relationship is far from reach. 
taking a deep breath, you look to your expectant friends and allow a moment to pass. seconds tick by without a word from you, mina’s cool hand filling the empty space of your own so with your free one, you make a mad dash for your fork and scarf down another mouthful of four star rated basil pasta.
“hey, don’t do that,” eijirou scolds your bad habits, sensing your hesitation  while your eyes flutter shut and your mind tunes out the dark grey of the world outside— the basil tastes bitter, aligning with your mood for the entirety of the brunch. shaded with the colour of your jealousy too.
hesitating, you let kirishima pull the remainders of your food from in front of you, so you don’t pull another stuffing stunt again.  “katsuki and i…” you swallow, keeping your eyes closed as so not to see the hopeful expressions of your friends. “katsuki and i, we had another fight.” 
“really? what’s with this guy?” kaminari chooses this exact moment to return from his escapade to the bathroom, huffing through his nose at annoyance while he immediately finds his seat next to his boyfriend. his amber gaze lights up at the sight of your food next to kirishima however, and he dives right in, much to your display. “ooh! is this that new basil shiz? heard it’s to freakin’ die for babe, you order for me?” the blonde, a shade or two darker than your lover, sounds giddier the more he talks about the food, making you relent to kirishima’s apologetic smile, offering the food to his lover.
but you know that he only looks so apologetic since you keep taking hits. first you lose bakugou and now you’re freaking over priced lunch.
“god, i hate men,” kaminari snides.
“what was it about?” ochako asks quickly as your face twists with a pang of hurt. sympathy lines her sweet voice.
“just about his work, he’s always working late—“ you conjure up the excuse for your boyfriend quickly, wanting to drop the subject before the pink princess beside you cuts in.
before speaking, she gives your hand a squeeze, but your grip still feels empty, like it’s missing something. “think he’s cheating on you?” 
“he wouldn’t,” you try to laugh it off, stop the emotional lump in your throat from growing and keep down the bile of word vomit from spewing across the table— there’s so many things falling apart, ruining what you share with their high school classmate. but these are bakugou’s people, the only ones he has left from those days or bothered to stick around long enough to stand his foul attitude and the weird way that he shows love. no matter how much your failing relationship may hurt you and cause fresh wounds, you couldn’t dare taint the view his friends have of katsuki. “‘m sure he’s on the verge of proposing… there was a small box in his sock draw…” 
this time, you finally look up and meet the stares of the people you love. mina looks like she needs another drink, ochako looks nervous, eijirou looks upset for you and kaminari? he’s only gone and scarfed down your comfort food, brow quirked as he wipes his words giving you a reality check. “really yn?” he mumbles over a mouthful of pasta, earning an elbow to his ribs. “what? we were all thinking it!” 
“you don’t think i’m worthy of lord dynamight’s ring?” you try to joke, gulping down the rest of kirishima’s drink and sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck in an attempt to soothe the embarrassed heat forming there. 
ochako puts a calming hand on your shoulder, but it only adds to the lame resentment you feel towards her and her happy, bubbly relationship with izuku midoriya. “it’s not’s just we just think bakugou isn’t worthy of you.” she says gently, rubbing your shoulder slightly. this was a conversation you’d all had before at many brunches. your friends, his friends had been trying to talk you out of leaving bakugou for months— they all knew it wasn’t working, that it was draining the life out of you to keep up a smile and the facade of a blooming, rose tinted romance. 
but you couldn’t leave bakugou, you couldn’t let your friends hate him the way you hated yourself for staying. you deserved better but bakugou deserved to have genuine love and support around him. you wouldn’t let that be taken away because the spark you had, began to fade. 
“he’s a good guy, you guys are meant to be his friends!” you whisper and pull away from ashido’s and uraraka’s respective grips, chewing nervously on the chapped skin of your lips. 
“but—” kirishima hums and looks you dead in the eye— he was probably the closest to your boyfriend out of everyone at the table yet the most adamant for your break up. you suppose he hated seeing two people he loved fall out of love. “ he good enough for you?” 
the conversation falls flat from there as you spot a waiter from behind kirishima’s mop of ruby red locks, your boyfriend unfortunately in tow. you couldn’t miss the familiar blonde tuft of hair peeking out from underneath his black snapback— ruby eyes burning into yours even though he wears a mask. your friends follow suit with the flatline of everyone’s words when katsuki takes a seat with you all, throwing down his belongings against the table and pressing a brash kiss to your cheek. 
you feel tension rise to the ceiling of the room, smiling only just. “what the fuck did i miss?” bakugou growls, yanking away mina’s food and causing a pout to pull at her lips for the nth time today. 
get it together, you think as talk flitters through the group once again. taking katsuki’s hand in yours, the emptiness in your hand dissipates with his calloused one in yours. it’s stupid how much excitement you get from being near the man that you love after so long, after the emotional tourment your relationship puts you through. 
but you love him, you always will. 
“nothing, we were just about to have dessert.”
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fights with katsuki bakugou are nothing but explosive.
how could they not be with a man built so high with pride and a quirk that could shake the heavens? they were always so big, brutal and brash— traits that if you squinted, you could find laid bare in the DNA of the man that you loved.
vulgar words and harsh insults you’d tell each other you didn’t mean the very next day, laid out bare for all to see. accidents, mistakes thrown in your face like dashes of piping hot water, leaving burning reminders against your skin. there’s shrapnel everywhere, piercing your flesh and adding littering scars to what’s left of you after you both fall apart every single time. 
this fight had been katsuki’s fault, or so you liked to think. 
you had a reason to be mad, livid even, especially with the careless way your boyfriend treated his life. between the early mornings where you woke up in a cold bed to the late nights where bakugou would limp through your front door with bleeders the size of your fist leaking through his hero costume, dislocated joints and tired, red eyes as dark as his blood— you couldn’t take it. not anymore. 
it was hard not to miss the nights where katsuki would come home with flowers of your favourite kind instead of blossoming bruises, wine instead of open wounds. you wanted him back, was that too much to ask for? to be able to look at your partner and see the warmth of love written in the tiny brown flecks of his eyes— the ones you could only see if you were really looking at him. to be able to hold him and not feel him flinch under your delicate touch from loose and poor stitches, to be able to hold his hand and not worry about the scars of split knuckles. 
“i just want you to be safe,” you tell him the night prior, patching up a slice to his side as he bled crimson roses into your porcelain bathtub. it wouldn’t stain, there was bleach in the cupboard under the sink for situations like this. your voice warbles, breath hitching with every grunt from bakugou as the needle and thread passes through honeyed skin. “you keep getting hurt like this and it scares me.” 
tears start to build up behind the waterline of your eyes and you turn away from katsuki to grab some more gauze from the cabinet. an excuse not to let him see you cry, for he’d throw it right back into your face like battery acid.  “don’t start this shit again, babe.” he says cooly, his own special way of taming the flames before they spread.
“ would be nice for you to come home with a box of chocolates and some take out instead of a knee deep wound every once in a while, don’t you think?” beginning to shake from hurt or fear, you can’t tell, you slam the box of gauze down against the sink. you manage to find katsuki’s gaze in the mirror, but he doesn’t look at you— nostrils flared with annoyance. “don’t i deserve that, katsuki? to have you safe?” 
he’d scoffed and you’d finally whirled around, both of your chests beginning to heave from the impending explosion. you both sit in the crowded and tiled room like a ticking time bomb. 
“s’my fuckin’ job to keep the people out there safe, yn. if y’weren’t quirkless, you’d do the same fuckin’ thing.” your boyfriend sneers, a smirk on his face since he knows that it’s hurt you. and there it was, the words that came swinging down on your heart like a jackhammer, stopping its beating in place. sadistic, cruel and calculated— bakugou jabs at you with coordinated attacks in ways that he knows will win him this fight.
you ignore the painful sting that comes along with the reminder that yourself and katsuki will never be equals, he a pro hero and you his quirkless girlfriend. he above and you below. laughing the feeling away, you throw your hands up in defeat— having half a mind to throw the box at bakugou just to make him feel what you do. “it always comes back down to that, doesn’t it?” you spit and bakugou shrugs his shoulders, checking over his own remaining wounds and pulling parts of shrapnel from them with nonchalance to what you say. “i’m always just your pathetic quirkless girlfriend whenever i ask you to look out for yourself, because i can’t stop you from working until you die every single night. i’m worthless and quirkless because i ask you to come home in one piece so i don’t have to keep fixing you—“ 
“i don’t need you to fuckin’ fix me. ‘m not broken so quit acting like i need your shitty help. i don’t fuckin’ need you.” 
bakugou is never rational when he’s like this, saying whatever he can to keep you teary eyed and upset so you’ll shut up. it’s times like this where you hate that you’re so in love with him, that you’ll wait for the fight to blow over just to hold him again, to press rewind and start the record from the beginning. 
“right, of course.” you say weakly, looking anywhere but him. 
the pair of you go to bed angry that night, no words exchanged and no lingering touches. katsuki still struggles to sleep as he always has— plagued by nightmares from his days on the field, some as far back as his time at  U.A. the sports festival, when he was kidnapped. the blonde shuffles amongst the shared sheets, clawing desperately at the small strings of good sleep that are slipping from between his scarred fingers.
usually you would comfort him, roll over from your side into his dip in the bed— wrap your arms around his firm torso and let your hands rest on his warm chest, feel the lively beat of his heart beneath marked flesh. let your own body relax at the comforting thought that your boy was alive and well and safe. that was the only time katsuki bakugou would let you hold the vulnerable sides of him and his guard would fall away. 
but tonight you lay mad beside your boyfriend, holding in your gentle cries as the argument replays in your head.
because no matter how much you loved him, you would always be katsuki bakugou’s quirkless girlfriend— it would never be enough for your late night hugs to keep him safe.
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bakugou never likes to leave you after a fight. something about his overprotective nature of you and his lack of communication skills always led to this.
no matter how infuriated he is with you and vice versa, he never ever leaves your side. it could be anywhere between two days to a week, filled with awkward silences and hands that brush against each other when reaching for the coffee pot— quickly pulled away from one another followed by quiet grumbles of ‘good morning,’. into the silent  space of your apartment becomes mounted with an unbearable tension while bakugou broods and attempts to string his emotionally retentive words into a poor attempt at saying sorry. 
it usually stays this way until one of you apologises, katsuki through small actions— needy kisses and the sight of his muscled and shirtless back cooking a slightly less spicy version of your favourite food in your kitchen after work... and yourself through gripping his fingers and kissing a small ‘sorry’ into the corner of his mouth. 
and after all this, the shattered glass of your fragile and delicate relationship becomes glued together, sitting at a breaking point before your next fight.
but he sits next to you the day after your fight, an arms length away from you on the shitty couch your mother had gifted you as a housewarming present when you both first moved in with each other. it was old and from your childhood home, the missing spots of blue nylon material patched up with anything your mother could find. bakugou hated it, called it an eyesore in the middle of your apartment but he let you keep it because it made you smile, because it was soft against his back when he laid with you on movie nights. 
despite being only a breath’s width apart, you still miss the heat of katsuki’s body against your own— craving to curl up against him like you used to. even still, the blonde pro hero remains as intense as ever, staring blankly at the saturday morning news report flashing on TV, letting his presence flood your living room and burn every corner. 
neither of you say a word as the reporter recounts an incident downtown, an armed robbery with the assailants gunned down and around thirteen injured including some heroes. out of the corner of your eye, you see bakugou’s thigh twitch as if he’s desperate to get out onto the scene, despite the fact that today is his only day off for the next week. 
you rip your gaze from him and rest your head lazily on the palm of your hand, elbow on the arm of your couch. “that could have been you, y’know?” you tell him absentmindedly, anxiety settling in the column of your throat. it could, have been him— you’re not wrong. if your boyfriend had been on duty today— he could have gotten himself hurt way worse than you can handle, he could have even died, god forbid that even happened. but they were all possibilities you were forced to think about every time he stepped out of your creaky red painted door and left for work as a hero. 
everyday you’re forced to think about the infinite number of ways bakugou could die on the job and it’s been killing you slowly from the inside out for years. a black necrosis eating away at the tissues of your heart until it’s beating affection for pro hero dynamight starts to slow.
“i know.” bakugou tells you weakly, voice hoarse from sleep and not having spoken to you since last night. you don’t look, but you can feel the burning gaze of his on your left cheek for the first time in more than eight hours. his stare is hard and unmoving, but you don’t dare to budge on meeting it.
“you could have died,” you continue, picking at the sleeves of katsuki’s sweater that you wear. the news report continues; confirming izuku midoriya as one of the heroes injured on scene but thankfully stable, bullet just grazing his thigh. your body sags in relief at the fact that your friend is still alive. “you could die anywhere and i wouldn’t know, i wouldn’t see until it was written in big block letters for everyone else to see. but what about me, katsuki? what happens to me when you die? because i don’t have a quirk and you’re just—“ 
bakugou finally turns his body towards you, pulling your arm that rests on the couch cushion  until you’re collapsed in his arms and your noses are just barely brushing. “i know, baby...fuck,” he uses his freehand to brush through bed head blonde locks, letting it run over his face before using it to tilt your chin up towards him. “i know, ‘m sorry. you know that right? you know that i’m sorry…”
eyes closing, you nod and let him hold you— tuning out the noise from the report and listening for katsuki’s breathing, his heartbeat, the proof that he still lives. “i know…” 
“then you gotta know that, ‘m only ever fighting you like this, ‘cause ‘m tryna keep you safe,” you feel him nod with you, a sigh of relief passing from between his lips as he presses foreheads together. “fuck, baby i just want you safe. out there ‘m fighting the bigger guys to keep them out ‘n keep you away from harm.” 
you laugh breathlessly, wetly as katsuki finally holds you and gives you the soft affection that you’ve been craving. “you’re such an idiot, katsuki,” you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips and twitches at the corners of your mouth— especially when feeling your lover mirror the expression on his own. you let your sweater paw covered hands snake around the back of his neck, twisting in the baby blonde hairs at it’s nape before leaning up and finally, finally pressing a kiss against his lips. 
the hand that held up your chin slips to cup the back of your head— pulling you harder against him and letting his tongue trace the seams of your lips. he tells you he loves you without saying, you feel it spread throughout your body like a warm wave crashing on a white sandy beach, you feel it in your lungs and how they burn for oxygen despite how bakugou grips your waist to tug you onto his lap and kiss you harder than ever before. you feel it everywhere he touches, the skin where your sweater has ridden up, your bare thighs, your neck, your face. every inch of you. 
you love him, you love him and he loves you— more than anything and more than there are words. “fuckin’ love you,” he grunts between smooches to your raw lips, tugging them with his pearly whites, tongue sliding over yours.
you giggle. “i know,”
“say it back baby, wanna hear you say it.” he huffs, pinching your side.
“i love you back,” you manage, between even more fits of laughter— separating from bakugou to run a hand through his sun kissed locks. “i love you,” 
bakugou smiles, genuine and big with his eyes bright and teeth on display. 
“i know.” 
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katsuki bakugou tastes like burnt oak and whisky. 
it wasn’t one of his favourites, the whisky... but he’d been stuck on it since the night he met your father and they stayed against your childhood swingset in your back garden talking about katsuki’s plans for you both. he’d gotten your father’s approval that night. and yet, there’s salt on his tongue from the margarita you drank back at the restaurant on date night— two completely different drinks swirling together in perfect harmony. 
just like yourself. just like him. 
the pair of you stumble right through the front door, toeing off smart pointed shoes and uncomfortable high heels required for the dress code at the upscale restaurant katsuki had booked with all that pro hero money. the dinner was nice, the tiny portions and rare ingredients had been a right treat but you’d been eyeing something different for dessert. 
katsuki seemed to share the same idea, heated red stare never leaving your own— his large and built body cornering you in the booth that he’d paid for. you know that he’d planned that, judging by the sheer amount of privacy you had in the dim lit restaurant. god, you looked so delectable, so pretty— you’d gone all out in a pretty dress, skirt short, colours of his hero’s costume, lips painted red—so it was only a matter of time before bakugou’s hand slipped up the material and grasped at your doughy thighs.
pulled them apart under the dinner table, pressed white hot fingers against your thin lace panties and rubbed smooth circles into your clit— while both of you sipped your respective drinks and asked the wait staff for another basket of breadsticks. 
so that’s how you end up here, pressed up against the entryway table in the entryway— your legs hooked around the slender waist of your boyfriend, gasping for air at the feel of his sharp canines stamping their desperate way up your throat and marking it as his own, making sure that you and everyone else to see you in the coming days knows exactly who you belong to. with every bite comes a vicious bark from bakugou, hooded eyes mapping out every unmarked area of your skin— painting it with bruises that form beneath the surface, soothing it with laps of his heavy, wet tongue over each inflamed area. 
squeezing his waist tighter, you use your legs to drag bakugou’s lean form closer to yours— relishing in the way his body hangs heavily over yours. the antics from back at the restaurant sparked a fire deep within your lower belly, started an itch in your cunt that only the great katsuki bakugou can scratch. just having him like this, wandering hands and pointed teeth all up against you made you so incredibly needy. all for him, only ever for him. 
“y’fuckin’ eager t’night, baby…” katsuki tells you, voice thick with a slur and eyes dark, teasing and honed in on you underneath him. the temperature surrounding your bodies rises, especially with how closely pressed you are to one another—perfectly slotted together like it was meant to be. “what’s got you s’worked up? surely you can’t be losin’ your mind over a couple fingers, hm?” 
an attempt to rub your plush thighs together while having them wrapped around katsuki only pulls a gluttonous grunt from the man— his eyes fluttering shut as you accidentally press against his clothed hard on—trapping him close to the heat of your core. “don’ need to tease katsuki, you did enough of that at the restaurant,” you sigh, losing all control of your body and pushing up against the man again. you can practically feel his cock twitch through the thin linen dress pants that he wears, black in colour that you want off but bakugou won’t go down without a fight, not before clamping down on your neck once more.
“wasn’t teasin’ princess, ’barely took a fuckin’ finger back there,” he easily finds more of the spots that make your back arch off of the entryway table and your pretty pussy clench around nothing but hot air, lapping and sucking at them until your eyes are crossing and you’re gagging on your metaphorical competitive words. with rising hands, you force your fingers into bakugou’s blonde roots in an attempt to bring him back to your lips— not having tasted them since you walked through that door. everything is too hot, which you can’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or because of katsuki’s quirk, your patience is wearing far too thin and you miss the taste of him on your tongue as if you hadn’t loved each other like this for months. 
which you hadn’t. 
you whine in defeat, still tugging at soft blonde hair and lifting your hips to meet the impressive girth of your lover— but it’s not enough, you need him to give you all that you’d been missing through the bitterness of the last few months. “whas the matter? what’s the matter baby?” bakugou coos, kissing where your jaw meets your neck, tongue lolling over your pulse point. 
“need a kiss katsuki,” you huff, body reacting to the tenderness in his voice despite the contrasting roughness to his scarred and explosive hands that push the straps off your pretty dress off of your shoulders and pinch and pull at your sides and your tits. “aren’t ya gonna kiss me?”
your hands still in bakugou’s hair, his head lifting from your neck to look over your darling face— smudged ruby painted lips and bright doe eyes. fuck. ‘course he was gonna kiss you. especially when you looked at him like that. 
“s’that all you want, sweet girl? for your suki to kiss you?” with every question, the mocking lilt to katsuki’s tone rises and rises, earning warm pools of slick through your panties and onto his precious dress pants as you grind and grab at him— all for a kiss, all for him to press up against you as you sit prettily on the entryway table. you nod your head way too eagerly, pulling a sleazy chuckle from your man as he watches you pout and squirm. he debates on torturing you for a moment more, before leaning down and pressing your foreheads together once more. “c’mere baby, c’mon gimme a kiss, give suki a kiss.” 
you jump up excitedly but the large and marred hand belonging to bakugou encases the swell of your thigh and pins you down to the cool wood surface. he pinches you there once and you know to stay still, letting him swoop down and press his chapped lips against yours in a chaste kiss. for a second your body tingles with release and a pleasurable heat flashes through you with the taste of the whisky in his mouth— but as soon as katsuki came, he’s gone again— leaning over your now sweat slicked body with a daring smirk. 
“no, no, no,” the unimpressed whimpers pour from between your smudged lips, barely distracting from your now teary eyes. “wanted a kiss suki, you promised…” 
bakugou hums, cocking his head down at you innocently. “what? you complaining’ baby? after the pretty night i gave you?” he continues teasing you, mocking you while you succumb to your needy stature— he knows that you like it when he manipulates you like this, takes advantage of your fuzzy baby brain just to get some dick in your leaky pussy. he’s always so good at taking care of you when you’re high off of lust and alcohol alone, you missed the way he took care of you and let yourself indulge in all of him tonight. “didn’t make any promises to kiss ya either, yer jus a dumb lil baby aren’cha? makin’ things up— maybe y’had a little too much t’drink…”
you try to shake your head, but katsuki’s already caught you by your chin— pads of his fingers beginning to sink into your chubby cheeks as he angles your head from side to side, as if he’s inspecting you for the supposed lie you’ve told. meanwhile his other hand slides up what he holds of your thigh, reaching for your lace panties beneath the material of your short skirt— but the material is so tight around your curves it restricts his movement. 
“‘m not drunk suki— not that drunk, just please gimme a proper kiss, please, please…” your tears fall unwillingly down the apples of your cheeks from the way katsuki holds you— he doesn’t look like he’s going to budge, so you open your mouth to speak, to beg again only for bakugou to delve deep into your awaiting mouth. his lips mouth with an air of roughness this time around, giving you want you really want and he matches the pace of his kisses with the movement of his hips— slotting his dick against your now puffy folds, more defined as a result of the way you drool into your undies. 
you're so desperate for a little more than just a little roughness to your kiss, nipping at bakugou’s lower lip enough to draw blood in an attempt to pry open his mouth and get that bitter taste of whiskey once again. you force your way into his mouth, tongue twisting with the pink of his own and uncovering the warm and bitter flavours of his whisky from earlier. this kiss is much dirtier than before, spit swapped as your hands roam the rest of bakugou’s body— pushing at his fancy shirt and tearing through the buttons that keep it anchored over his well sculpted chest. 
the grinding doesn’t stop either, even as bakugou cups your throat to keep you pinned against the wall behind you— head hitting the mirror with a light thud, glass vase with a fresh set of your favourite flowers falling from the entryway table and hitting the floor to your left. you both start to move with more vigour, the oxygen leaving your brain to make room for the overwhelming thoughts of your boyfriend who hangs above you. 
your lungs burn with brightly coloured lust, in shades of fiery orange and red— the walls around you, trapping in the heat of you pressed against katsuki. it’s not enough to have his mouth on yours and his hand with cool rings locked around your throat, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to move any faster— withholding kisses and debauched touches from your starved body. so you take matters into your own hands, literally, fingers scrambling for the belt that keeps you away from bakugou’s dick. 
“slow down baby, you’re gonna rip through my pants with how fuckin’ needy you are,” katsuki tries to tell you with taunting voice but he choked on the tail end of his words when you finally break through his belt and half heartedly shove down his pants— stained with the nectar that dribbles from your destitute pussy. you grasp at his firm cock from over flimsy boxers, mouth practically watering as you get closer and closer to your goal. 
the pair of you share a hungry moan when you set katsuki free, his heavy girth hard and slapping against his tummy— only visible between his open shirt. beads of clear precum ooze from his sore red tip and you lean forward to spit against it, rubbing your palm over bakugou’s cockhead and shaft to create a lubricating mix of the fluids. a whimper, although small, bubbles on the seams of katsuki’s lips as his tongue darts out to wet them— his large body shuddering wholly as you finally take the weight of his cock into your hand, feeling for the prominent vein on its underside and reaching further into down to grasp at his heavy balls. 
“baby—“ he warns you, tip leaking hotly against your soft hands as you explore him. 
you look up at bakugou with big, innocent eyes, breathing heatedly into his mouth when he begins to collapse against you with every stroke of his cock. “missed how you feel, just wanna touch you suki, can i? please?” you ask him, even though he’d already nodding his head yes and whispering the ghost of praises against your cupid’s bow— wet from the sloppy kisses he gave. 
“fuck yes you can sweet girl, gotta finish what we started don’t we? make a mess of this cock ‘n i’ll—fuck— fucking ruin, that precious pussy of yers, yeah?” you know that he’s mindlessly babbling, beginning to leisurely thrust into your sticky closed fist— acting as a flesh light for his pleasure. “you’ve been s’good for me tonight, lettin’ me play with ya pretty clit ‘n mark you up, now y’givin me a handjob? dunno what i did to deserve you baby,” 
your heart flutters against your rib cage at the small slur of praise from your boyfriend, clit throbbing and cunt twitching all for some nice words nice words uttered from cherry bitten lips. “mmh,” you mumble, high pitched and desperate, “s’all for you katsuki, just wanna make you feel good,” 
he howls from deep within his chest, volume just above the raunchy slapping, damp sounds of your hand jerking his dick— squeezing occasionally to pull surprised moans from katsuki as he shakes above you and fucks your closed fist like it was your tight, pulsating cunt wrapped around him. a colourful ray of curses fill the air and you watch the show unfold between your bodies, saliva pooling on your tongue at the sight of bakugou languidly thrusting into your hand— a reminder for what’s to come later on in the night. 
you don’t dare to let up the pace of your hand, speeding up with every pull of katsuki’s hips away from your fucking heavenly grip— fat droplets of his precum hitting the floor with crude slaps from just how much he’s leaking, allowing your palm to glide up and down his shaft in smooth motions, bringing him closer to cloud nine. bakugou’s mind turns fuzzy and hazy, it shows in his face and the bliss that lines vermillion orbs— they flutter shut with every fervorous pant he lets out— your breath mingling together. 
his cheeks flush a shade to rival is enchanting ruby red eyes, strings of salvia joining the roof of his mouth to his strawberry tongue as katsuki throws his head back to let out alluring moans, like music to your ear. his adams apple bobs, tiny mutters of ‘fuck,’ and ‘shit, right there’ follow, and god he looks so beautiful like this, his fat cock in your hand and a line of sweat dotting his hairline. you want to commit the image to memory and let it burn in the back of your brain. 
“you’re gonna make me cum,” despite the fact that the word’s on the tip of his tongue are seethed in your direction, bakugou doesn’t let up up on the jump of his hips to meet your hand— letting you tug at his cock and fondle his breeders balls to orgasm. “y’don’t get my cum till ‘m inside you baby, you don’t get my cum…oh fuck, oh fuck yeah…” he chants even though he doesn’t stop, eyes snapping open to lock on yours. “greedy girl, just gonna keep jerkin’ me off to get what you want? told you ‘m not cummin’ till i get inside that needy lil’ hole of—“ 
“uhuh, just gimme your cum suki,” you cut him off with cheeky swipe of your thumb over his tip, coaxing the pro hero towards his high— you repeat the action as he shudders above you, swiping up more of his arousal before releasing him and lifting your hand to your mouth. you suck your tainted thumb between your lips, moaning lowly at the salty taste of your boyfriend against it and keep your gaze locked on his. 
“fuckin hell baby,” bakugou says, following your movements as he lets you spit on his cock once again, the glob running down his painfully hard shaft before you squeeze your messy head around him once more and piston it at an unforgiving pace. “fuck—fuck, you better fuckin’ stop, you better fuckin’ stop— holy shit, don’t fuckin’ stop fuckin’ this cock—!” 
you don’t stop despite his contradicting words, guiding katsuki through the messy terrains of his high as white hot light flashes behind his hazy eyes and a colourful stream of cursed tumbles from between his lips. his head drops heavily to your shoulder, the pace of his hips stumbling as he releases ropes of thick cum stain your hand, adding to the sheen that glazes it. you grin pridefully at the washy, imperfect mewls that come from your boyfriend while his hips start to slow and he pushes more of his white cum onto the floor beneath you both. 
“you came so much, katsuki,” you observe sweetly, letting him go once more to lick the remains of his release from your hand. bakugou doesn’t say a word as he comes back down, breathing heavily into your neck— still shaking. so you don’t expect his hands to forcefully grab your wrists, nails digging into the skin there as he pushes them above your head with a strong grip, your hands cooling against the mirror behind you. “suki—“ 
“daddy oughtta punish ya fer the stunt you just pulled pretty girl,” bakugou tells you breathily, steeling his voice although his face remains soft and wanting for you. “makin’ me cum over ya like some desperate fuckin’ dog. was gonna make you pay baby…but i just wanna get a taste of that sweet fuckin’ pussy, ‘cause i know s’been leakin for daddy this whole fuckin’ time…” 
you’re too delirious to deny bakugou’s claim, most obviously because it’s true. you’re sure that if he looked now your panties would be so soaked through that he could see the puffiness of your pussy and the way your clit pulsates, hanging onto every dirty word that drips from katsuki’s lips like liquid gold. that very same pair of lips is on you quickly, capturing your mouth in slow, sinful and sloppy kisses— spit trailing down your chin as his hands move to the sweetheart neckline of your dress that lies under your cold breasts exposed to the air, lacking attention. 
you don’t complain though, not about the lack of stimulation to your rock hard nipples— no, but the way katsuki tears right through your dress to easily get rid of the tight material restricting access to the treasure between your thighs. “my dress!” you shriek, body fully exposed to the hungry blood diamond orbs. “i bought that for you, dummy!” you pout.
“who the fuck cares? i’ll getcha a new one,” katsuki mumbles, sinking to his knees in front of you and your seat on the entryway table. he mouths over your thighs, pressing wet kisses to the tops of them where they swell and covering them in a clear gloss of his saliva. “don’cha want my tongue in you baby? can’t do shit like that with stupid dresses in my fuckin’ way…” slowly but surely, katsuki spreads your legs— kissing a path  from the little bow on the waistband of your underwear, right down to wear your clit would be. he bumps his nose against the sensitive nub, staring up at you to watch you twitch and grouse avidly— your own legs spreading apart even more. your hands, that hadn’t moved from above your head almost slip from their place, but with a quick spank to your unused sex, they jolt right back up. “hands where i can fuckin’ see them, baby girl.” 
“yes daddy,” you sigh, your entire body trembling with unadulterated excitement. for the first time in a while, you’re about to have crazy, passionate sex with the man who’s touch you thought you’d lost, your juices practically flow at the thought. 
pressing his lips to your juicy cunt, bakugou’s nose inhaled the saccharine scent of your sex at the same time— making you spasm in place. “that’s daddy’s good girl,” he hums into you shortly before pressing is tongue flat against your ruined panties, using the tip to trace a path up the length of your lower lips— just to get a taste and to pull a reaction right out of you. instinctively, your hips jump up from the entryway table, nudging katsuki’s tongue right down to your awaiting hole. you’re so fucking needy for anything, going so long without being touched or groped since you got back from the restaurant— the way he’d flicked your clit earlier in the booth had left you on the edge the entire time.
“oh-ho-ho, y’fuckin’ liked that, didn’t ya?” bakugou slurs, using the tip of his tongue to trace your hole— pushing it in along with the fabric of your underwear before sucking on the wet patch you’ve created just by gushing out streams of arousal. he tastes you through the lace barrier, listening out for your small gripes as your scent replaces all oxygen in the air and you expel hormones from his quaint little action. 
you nod in agreement, down to katsuki, hips bucking up for a while before he clamps them down to the oak wood table beneath your ass. “please…” 
katsuki tuts, spitting onto your puffy pussy lips from over the material as he pulls the waistband back and snaps it against your clenching tummy. “whaddya need princess? my tongue?” he asks lazily, flicking the tip of his tongue against your bud. you nod again but dumbly, unable to form enough words to tell him what you want. bakugou wastes no time from there, the hands on your hips snaking around to your ass, tearing through your panties from behind and yanking you towards his unruly mouth. 
he latches onto the entirety of your soaked slit, pink muscle finally breaching your tight entrance— curling immediately inside of your velvet walls to map out their ridges like he’s done so many times before. it feels so good to finally be worshipped like this again, the rough patch yourself and katsuki had been going through meant nothing but quiet quickies between shifts or on nights where neither of you could sleep. you had no choice but to miss this, the moments where either of you were overpowered by a sheer burning desire to become one, to fuck until your neighbours had complaints or the whole street had woken up. whether it’s pure passion or alcohol, you don’t care, just having katsuki between your thighs, suckling and slurping on your sex like his life depended on it— it’s  enough to make you lose your mind.
for the pro hero, having you clamp down on his tongue like it was his cock on those nights where he’d have you take him over and over, makes his hard on twitch to life. being the reason for your euphoria and amorous cries, caused dopamine to crackle across his brain— caused him to get addicted to the way you sound when getting fucked by him. it was like a high for bakugou.
you gush and gush, waves of arousal staining katsuki’s rose tinted cheeks— he could spend all of eternity working on pleasing you from between doughy thighs, sending you into sensory overload from each swipe of his hot tongue against your overstimulated clit. it’s all so obscene and messy, you’re sure there’s a pool of your own nectar sitting underneath you, a mix of your own fluids and your boyfriend’s spit running down your slit and to your ass. 
“feels so fucking good baby,” you keen over the sounds of your creamy cunt and bakugou cleaning you up, groaning sharply at your sweet-like-honey taste. you feel you might short circuit from how good your hero boyfriend makes you feel— owning your pussy as he thrusts is tongue in and out of your abused hole, never slowing down and only ever speeding up until your eyes cross and you can count the number of stars floating across your vision. 
you trap the pink muscle inside of you, let it wriggle about in search for your g-spot until bakugou lets up on your hips, allowing you rug aggressively into his awaiting face and smear a glaze of arousal over his chin. he keeps you plugged full with his tongue, letting you ride it as if it were his fat dick, held in place for you to use as your heart desires. 
“oh fuck baby, you’re so pretty when yer ridin’ my fuckin’ tongue like that,” bakugou says, catching his breath only after he pulls away from the heat of your throbbing mound. there he goes again, filling you with adoring praise that makes you feel so loved and so turned on all at once two fingers replace the roll of his tongue, rubbing fast and calculated circles along your nub until your thighs start to quiver around his head. “god, this pussy’s so good, love it baby. can’t believe s’all fuckin’ mine.” 
your body remains unsteady and shaky with nothing to hold onto, you practically squeal at the knot forming in your lower belly— the pressure there indicating an impending orgasm. “wanna cum daddy, can i cum? lemme cum—please, lemme...lemme cum…” you start to chant, losing your mind when your lover uses both tongue and finger to get you to heaven’s gates. “holy shit—katsuki!” 
“go ahead, can feel y’ready creamin’ on my tongue pretty girl…” bakugou says into your clamping cunt, laughing heartily as the dam finally breaks and your release washes over you. you convulse in your place, eyes rolling far back into your head as your arousal hits the floor with crude slap— merging with what katsuki left. he fails to stop either, slipping a single finger inside your hole and hitting your g-spot until your vision goes black and you’re begging him to stop. you feel as if you’re floating, tripping into orgasm chanting his name like a mantra.
“mnno—baby please, daddy— can’t, can’t—“ you wriggle; losing consciousness as a second orgasm takes control and takes you to cloud nine once again— syrupy cunt pouring cum like a river, the very sight enchanting bakugou. 
by the time you come to, katsuki is already standing up and making even more space between your soaked thighs to slip is cock into your raw and abused pussy. “daddy’s gonna fuck you now, kay sweet girl?” bakugou asks you, voice rough but the hand on your face, the one he uses to make you look at him is soft, domineering and gentle.
“mmkay daddy, wan’ your cock please,” you say sleepily, happy to be handled however your boyfriend wants. he takes to using two of his digits to press his shaft against your slick folds, riddled with the remainders of your precious orgasms. he glides through your folds with ease, sticky sounds dancing between your sexes as it tells the song of your passionate night. your ass is sore from being seated on the entryway table for so long, but all feelings are replaced by the new euphoria katsuki’s shaft creates just by brushing up against your overstimulated clit.
he spanks your breasts, letting the mound bounce before sharp teeth latch onto the other— grazing against your nipples to give them the attention they’d missed out on during your earlier sex crazed frenzy. “how d’ya want me baby?” katsuki whispers against the soft flesh, painting it in bruising shades. “wanna make you feel s’fuckin’ good,”
he pushes his dick through your swollen pussy lips until his tip hits your tummy, smearing globs of precum against it. you both shudder, relishing in the slick feeling of you grinding against one another bare. “don’ care,” you manage to find it in you to reply, cheekily dropping a hand  into mussed blonde locks to pull him into a chaste kiss. your brain is completely foggy, moments away from breaking and all you can think about is the taste of whiskey and salt in your mouth and the way katsuki heats you up from the inside out.  “jus want you,” 
those words seem to be all the permission katsuki needs to finally fuck you after so long, he pushes you by the shoulder to lean back against the cool painted wall— adjusting the position of your legs around his body until they’re hiked up high over his broad shoulders, ankles locking behind his head. you’re folded in two by the time he’s finished positioning you, cock drawn back from your tummy so his bright red tip, leaking feverishly with precum once more can be tapped against your sticky pussy— ground into your clit and teased into your puckering entrance ever so slightly. 
“want you too baby, s’fuckin’ badly,” bakugou murmurs lovingly against your lips, eyes closed and forehead pressed tholeo yours as he finally eases his tip past your entrance— stretching open your unused  from his thickness. he pushes in easily, thanks to your previous releases, and you’re so fucking warm and tight he thinks it might kill him.  the way you accept every inch of bakugou’s cock reminds him of how perfectly made you are for him— how he’ll never get another pussy, another girl like you in this life or the next. 
you’ll always be his pretty girl, and he’ll always have an insatiable need for you— to love you and protect you, no matter how much of an ass he is. 
“do i not fuck you enough, how the fuck are you so fuckin’ tight? must all be for me,” your cunt accepts bakugou into its soaked canal, walls spasming around him rhythmically before he’s even start to thrust. you ooze thick, viscous nectar while your core blossoms for him like your favourite flower but he presses on, until bakugou’s reached the hilt, fully sheathed inside of you. 
lifting your hips to lock him into your heat, selfishly, you add. “my pussy belongs to daddy, can’t be fucked open by anyone else but you,” the pair of you stay like that, revelling in your connected bodies and pressing light kisses to one another’s faces to prepare for what’s next. the alcohol in your system is well flushed out by all kinds of hormones and pheromones by the time katsuki pulls back his hips and slowly draws his cock out of the comfort of your ribbed walls— the only thing keeping you drunk is the way he stretches you out around him, pussy changing to accommodate his size and the pure love you have for katsuki bakugou in this very moment. 
leaning his large body over you, the blonde’s hands wander across your own as if memorising  every perfect detail about you— the light scar on your inner thigh because you hit a table corner when you first moved in together, the stretch marks, the beauty spots on your tummy and shoulders. bakugou presses a kiss to your sternum before looking up at you with big, loving eyes— eventually practiced and capable hands end up settling on the curve of your peachy ass, gripping it and moulding it as katsuki slowly pulls you back onto his cock. 
“hold on t’me baby,” he tells you lowly, face shoved back into your neck as if he doesn’t trust himself to not blow a load if you look at him. breath fanning warmly against the junction between your neck and shoulders, he continues. “ready?”
“oh god...please, please…” you feel like you’re going to cry, he’s right there— he’s all over you and all you want is to feel him where you need him the most. to have him take you again until all there is, is his scent on your body to match the love bites he left.
katsuki wraps an arm around your shoulders, large palm gripping the back of your head as he finally thrusts into your awaiting, gummy walls and meets the hilt. he pulls back, barely leaving the warmth of your pussy as he sets a slow and deep tone to the movement of his hips. “shh sweet girl, i’ve gotcha, kay?” he coos to you, followed by a seraphic moan that sends your sex into a series of flutters around him. “daddy promised to—fuck, make y’feel good…”
the edge of the hero’s words have a slight tremble to them, from where lewd sticky sounds echo in the entryway of your apartment— katsuki’s hips slowly rocking into you while a sheen of sweat sweeps over your joined bodies. he slips in and out of you so easily, forcing your cunt to accommodate for the sheer size of him. no matter how many times katsuki had fucked you, no matter which way, you always lived for the burn his dick created as it pushed its way into your puckered hole— moulded you into the perfect fuckhole for him to use.
“ohmygod—fuckin’ shit,” bakugou whines salaciously, using his grip on your ass to move you back and forth on his cock— matching the pace of his hips jutting in and out of your pathetically creamy sex. with every pull of his shaft out of you, your hips chase him to swallow him back up, keep him locked in your cunt until his tip that spews and smears clear precum against every ridge of your insides. 
hearing the man you love break above you fills you with a brilliant, bright and hot essence of delirious devoir— as he pulls away from your neck, vermillion eyes screwed shut you can see that sweat drips from his brow, which is furrowed in concentration, focused on bringing you to euphoria. bakugou’s honey skin shines under the dim lighting, flushed with only a light pink from his exertion, chocolate abs contracting with every stroke of his cock and rut of his hips into you. hair matted to his forehead, his arms flex, dragging you to meet his hips, skin smacking and breath mingling with the sex lingering in the air. 
bakugou is so fucking beautiful, you might mistake him for a mirage. if you were a desert, his sun and his golden sand, then he was an oasis— a forbidden drink of cool water, a vision of divine light. 
and you’re so lucky you get to be the only one who sees him like this, watch him break as he pumps you so full of everything he has to give you— see the vulnerability in his eyes as he slowly opens them to watch you mirror his darling expression. “you—you’re so pretty when you f-fuck me suki,” you tell him through earnest and teary hiccups, punctuated by his fervid driving hips, prodding harshly at your pleasure spot. 
katsuki tilts his head and swoops down to assault your bruised lips, famishedly tugging them between his sharp canines and running his tongue over the site of attack. you can taste yourself spread across them, laced with the saliva in his mouth before he spews it into your own— almost choking you while the grip he has  on your shoulders lifts you to meet him halfway. “yeah baby?” your boyfriend whispers lecherously against your temperate and impassioned mouth, as if he’s telling you a dangerous secret. “well daddy thinks yer the pretty one here, split open on my fat cock. y’so fuckin’ gorgeous, when ‘m fuckin’ you, when ‘m holdin’ you— daddy loves you so, so much baby,”
bakugou reminds you of his title, but there’s not a hint of anger or disappointment written across his perfect, chiseled features. there’s no hesitation in his thrusts as he pounds into you, hitting your g-spot and causing constellations to dot your vision. he doesn’t stop loving you, making love to you even if you’ve slipped up just a little. and it feels like bakugou never left, as he takes you like this on the entryway table— rocking it with the sheer force of his barbarous bombardment on your raw and sluice sex. it feels like home with him inside you, his dick basking in your slippery warmth. it feels like love again. 
tears start to brew in your eyes once again, clumping in your eyelashes and gathering on the hot apples of your cheeks as you become overwhelmed with admiration and love— heart thumping against your rib cage. “love you daddy, s’much, please don’t ever stop,” you beg, not bothering the clarify the fact you’re asking katsuki bakugou to never stop loving you, to never leave you high and dry nor empty...physically and emotionally.
because then you don’t know what you’d do if bakugou stopped holding you like this, stopped slotting his body against yours and claiming every inch of it as his, with every swipe of his tongue, every plunge of his cock into plush walls, every kiss and bite and touch. you’re sure that you’d go insane without him. you don’t dare to think of anyone else making love to him the way you do, because you’ve given him the key to your heart and he’s tossed it away, some place dark of his to keep. 
you don’t want this to be the last time, you don’t want the night to end. all you need is this moment in time, the first moment in many months where you can feel the flame in your heart burning the same heat as bakugou’s when he takes you. your hand brushes through his hair lovingly, your eyes sparkle with fresh sets of tears while your boyfriend’s intensity waves over you in scorching waves, soothing scratches and scars your relationship has given you over the last few months. tonight gives you hope that what’s broken can be fixed, that you still hold his heart like he does yours. 
“you’re mine, katsuki,” you writhe underneath him, stomach twisted in delightful knots— the tip of his heavy shaft tournenting your poor g-spot and his heavy balls slapping wetly against your ass, arousal running between your cheeks. “you’re mine, mine ‘n i love you, want you like this forever…” choked and greedy, your words come out in high pitched sighs, earning a deep keening groan from the man who pistons in and out of you. 
“‘m yours, huh?” katsuki replies, capturing your raptured gaze— blood ruby eyes lined with sobriety that dances amongst their dark brown flecks. he couldn’t be drunk now, he wasn’t. high as a kite only on the taste of your skin and the way you looked so in love with him stuffed full of dick and messed up with different layers of sweat, his precum and your releases. “damn right i am, ain’t no one gonna claim this pussy like i do, ain’t no one gonna fuck you like i do...ain’t no one—fuck baby, don’t clamp down on me like that— ain’t no one gonna love you like i do…” he growls possessivly, adoringly, gripping you by the ass and hauling you up into to his arms. 
you collapse forward, arms wrapping around bakugou’s neck to steady yourself as he pierces you on his length making it hit the deepest parts of your insides, practically splitting you wide open. your cunt throbs and your throat contracts in unison, a silent scream tearing right from it. “ohmygod! katsuki—“ 
“hold on tight f’me sweet girl, trust me, kay?” the pro hero murmurs into your ear in a candied voice, shaky from the new position and the way he’s lined up inside you so deep. he now holds you over his shaft in his arms, they flex as he slowly begins to lift you up and down on him by pure strength. his knees bend in order for him to bottom out inside you and churn up your syrupy insides. “god, y’feel so fuckin’ good like this, could cum like this baby...d’ya want that?” 
tucking your face into his strong neck, you pacify your flowing tears by pressing light kisses to his honeyed skin— sucking on him for the caramel taste that lingers there. “yes please, want all of you...never haf’ta ask,” you sob erogenously, all of your emotions and searing hankering for katsuki overwhelming your tired and fucked out body. 
you feel weak in his arms, trying your best to roll your hips back down on bakugou’s as he thrusts upwards and directly into your gummy pleasure spot— dragging you by the ankle to your third high. “don’t cry for me baby, already told you ‘m yours. don’t gotta worry ‘bout me goin’ anywhere,” bakugou nips at your earlobe, tracing his tongue stickily along your jawline until it reaches your cheeks and swipes away the stinging tears from your flustered face. “you’re fuckin’ mine, i love you. don’t worry about anything except how good i make you feel. fuck you’re so pretty, wrapped around my cock, cryin’ like this. so pretty, always,” 
the both of you start to lose it together, katsuki’s thrusts becoming impatient and feverish, juices from your pussy flowing down two sets of legs like niagara falls. a thick strand swings between your bodies where his cock plugs your spasming hole, the warm and opaque string finding purchase against your shiny and slick inner thighs. no one could do that to you except for him, no one could ever make you this wet and you weren’t prepared to let that go. 
“daddy—katsuki...can’t...c-can’t, i can’t,” you whinge in full volume, the squelching of your sexes so loud it could wake the neighbours. head shaking, you clamp down against your boyfriend and circle your hips, no matter how hard you try to prolong the night, your body can’t stop chasing the burning high and the white light— you need him to cum, to paint you with all that is him, all of his essence. it hurts so good, you want it so bad. “‘m so close, so fuckin’ close… need you to cum with me, i can’t hold it any longer…” 
bakugou isn’t fairing too good either, his grip on your thighs to manhandle you in a pace to his liking is starting to stutter and become languid— but still, he manages to reach over the swell of your upper thigh and burn shapes into your puffy clit. “whaddya need baby—fuck, just tell me ‘n i’ll fuckin’ give you to world, just wanna cum with you,” he says beginning to write his name; casting his signature over the most intimate part of your body to confirm that his heart and his desire belong to you. “yer gettin’ so tight,” 
lifting your head, with watery eyes you grab his cheeks and smile lazily, alternating the squeezes your sex gives to his cock. “need you to say you love me, suki…”
katsuki smiles, lustful and yet genuine, leaning forward until he’s hunched over you, still in his grip while he fucks shaft, swollen and red and about to burst in and out of your slick hole— wet skin smacking hard and fast against yours at an insatiable speed. 
“i fucking love you, my sweet fucking girl,” 
that’s all it takes for the flood gates to open and for the damn to break— you cup his cheeks and kiss him, tongues slotting against one another perfectly, nostrils flaring with struggling attempts to intake air and bakugou’s hips fail to slow, dragging so fucking deliciously against your inner walls as his seed spills into you, flooding your womb to the brim with so much potent white that you can feel your tummy bulge and see most of it run down your slit and between your ass cheeks, landing on the floor in a puddle with the rest of your prior orgasms. 
bakugou becomes blinded by bright lights and the sight of your pretty cunt swallowing his cock despite how much cum you’ve taken, his entire shaft covered in a thick layer of milky white as he continues to shove it into you, “fuck me baby, fuck me..” he gripes, tone whiny and high pitched while you cum for him, spewing your release against his thighs and abdomen, ruining your own. you cum so hard you feel the blood rush in your ears and the world around you falls away. your nails dig crescent moons into your boyfriend’s shoulders, you absolutely fucking lose it and burst into pleasure filled tears.
“suki—katsuki, baby, ‘m cummin’, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, don’t you ever stop,“ you babble brainlessly, your mind breaking even as his thrusts slow and the treasure between your thighs is coated with cum. bakugou presses down on your g-spot one last time, catapulting you straight into another orgasm and causing your chest to heave. you squirt hard, clear liquid ejaculating from your sex and covering you both in another messy layer of release— the force is so hard that you manage to push bakugou’s dick out of your contracting hole, he can’t bare to stay away from you for long however, sliding it right between your abused and dilated pussy lips. 
“shit pretty girl, did so good for me, feel so good ‘n you’re still fuckin’ cumming,” katsuki bumps your clit from time to time, watching you jolt in his secure and safe arms while you both collapse to the floor in a mess of souse and tired limbs. the aftershocks of your orgasms pulse through your exhausted body and you curl into your boyfriend, still crying. “shhh, s’okay, daddy’s got you baby, pretty baby— ‘m so proud of you,” 
you sniffle, twitching in katsuki’s embrace. “love you suki, so much,” 
he presses kisses to your hairline, whispering praises with each one and brushes the tears away from your arms. “fuckin’ love you too gorgeous, now let’s getcha up. need you to pee so ya don’t get sick, kay?” 
you nod and bakugou doesn’t make you stand on your own, hauling you back up into his arms and leaving your messy pile of cum and clothes to deal with later. he’s so good to you, you’re so lucky— you can’t help but think when he bathes you and rubs balm into your bruises and sore areas. maybe this didn’t have to end, maybe you’d both be okay after this night and it could go back to the way things were. 
at least that’s what you hope. it feels right to think like that, especially when you curl into his chest and his arm swings lazily over your waist in bed that night and he whispers. “you’re mine forever too,” 
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you wish you hadn’t gotten your hopes up. 
you wish that you weren’t so naive to think that a few good nights with bakugou could change what was months in the making. you wish that you weren’t so quick to fall for his charms and sweet gestures, the way his lips muttered i love yous and the way his hips would meet yours in the dead of the night, stardust and praise s scattered across your skin along with midnight blue bruises painted by him, along with various other shades.
you fucking wish that you weren’t so foolish to believe that cheap glue and false positives could hold together the broken relationship you tried so desperately to save. the pieces were too small, there was too much and crystal always shatters so beautifully anyways. your mother had taught you that.
you thought that you could last, you thought you had a chance but just like your friends had told you time and time again, you were too good a girl for a man like katsuki bakugou. you were too good to be stuck in an awful place like this. you deserved better and it was bitter to even think that you were the one to beg him to stay, to keep him tied down and in the end it was you to be the one that needed to cut yourself free.
you had the chance to escape. there were no such things as red strings of fate, so you knew realistically that you weren’t tied down. no matter how much you tried to believe bakugou was perfect for you, it was childish to even think so. besides, even if they were, yours was sure to have faded completely. you just couldn’t see yourself staying with him anymore.
it rains on the day you decide to finally do it. 
mina had helped you set up an apartment in her building on the other side of town, she had been so kind throughout the whole thing, held you while you cried and emptied her favourite bottle of pink gin until there were no tears left. the movers had been in and out of your shared place with bakugou all day, you hadn’t the time to buy boxes but kirishima and the guys he recommended had come with some. 
in that time you realised how much of the stuff in your home wasn’t yours— how you lived in a space belonging to someone you barely knew. it was all so surreal, you couldn’t bare yourself to move or to leave when the movers had packed up most of your things and were ready to go. you could leave— you had the time to before bakugou got back from whatever meeting he had, along with his post work run. you could have gone without a word.
but as much as you deserved better, deserved a new life, you knew that you deserved an explanation too.
the door handle wriggles and forceful steps sound from your entryway, but you can’t bring yourself to look up from the very thing that ended it all. that broke your rose tinted window and caused the glass to all come crashing down on top of you— reopening closed wounds. 
bakugou calls your name almost immediately, tearing your gaze from the colourful page. “what the hell is going on? why are there movers outside? where the fuck are they taking our shit?” the blonde bombards you with questions, anger frothing on his tongue as he rips out his head phones and unzips his grey hoodie— hot from rage. 
“her stuff,” kirishima answers for you when your tnroat goes dry and you can’t seem to think— because how the fuck do you talk to the man who broke your heart? your boyfriend notes the box his friend carries as he emerges from your bedroom, it’s probably the last one filled with your clothes, not a single article of his in sight. “i’ll be waiting for you outside,” the redhead adds with a nod in your direction, and you hum, weakly.
he leaves and then it’s just you and bakugou and everything you’ve been waiting to say.
“yn,” you grimace when he calls you by your first name, the gravity of the situation finally daunting on him. you don’t do things like this, in the spur of the moment. you’ve always been the planner of this relationship and the weight in the air tells him something is wrong. “what the fuck is going on? i come home ‘n there’s movers outside, our fuckin’ apartment is empty and fuckin’ kirishima is here?” 
you can’t stand the sound of his voice right now, you can’t believe it was something that once soothed you. that would calm you down within a second of whispering sweet nothings into your ear. so you say nothing, picking up the magazine that sits on your coffee table, freshly printed and brand new— you roll it up and almost gag at the scent of printer ink that brushes past your nostrils. one you’re done, you stand from your seat on your mother’s couch, you’d be taking it with you, and toss the magazine with all your might, hitting the blonde square in the chest.
“yn, why aren’t you fucking answering me? what is this shit?” his usually warm running blood turns freezing cold when he looks at you, reaching down with one hand to swipe up the magazine. he sees how lifeless you look, how dull and colourless your eyes are but he still avoids looking at the paper in his hands.
you swallow, looking away with a sniff and crossing your arms over your chest. the sweater you wear isn’t his, but one of kaminari’s instead. bakugou’s chest starts to hurt. “just read it, bakugou.” 
you don’t call him by a pet name, you don’t call him by his first name. you don’t even let your gaze trail back to the man you’ve loved for so many years. so anxiety sparks in his bloodstream and expels into the cool air of your emptier-than-usual apartment and katsuki bakugou finally looks at the damn magazine crumpling in his hands.
and sprawled across the front page in big angry red letters, an obvious picture to match is “PRO HERO: KATSUKI BAKUGOU— CHEATER?” along with a photo of him caught in a lip lock with your close friend ochako uraraka.
bakugou’s world stills. “where did you get this?” 
“so this picture is real? it’s not a PR stunt?” you answer katsuki’s question with a question, watching his red eyes dart across the page. you’re not a fool, you’d studied the picture for hours on end since the first time you saw it, you were with him long enough to know that the way he cupped ochako’s cheeks was the same way he held you before every kiss you’d ever shared for years. you can tell just from one look at the photo that there was love in his eyes when looked at her. 
and from the way his face falls, you can tell that your suspicions are far from wrong. 
you wish harder than ever, harder than the rainfall that you didn’t believe in soulmates. that you’d listened to your friends and to your mother. 
“baby, please—“ 
bakugou clams up, fear settling on his cursedly beautiful features. he takes two steps towards you, desperate to pull you into his arms and fill your head will more pretty lies just to keep you sedated and by his side— but you shake your head, throat hoarse from holding back tears. “no, no.” you tell yourself, more so than him, to stop yourself from forgiving him yet again. “i trusted you, i gave you so many chances to fix what we had and i trusted you to every single fucking time bakugou.” you take a deep breath to steady yourself, the world spinning as you start to grow queasy. “i loved you so much that i broke myself in two, i sat embarrassed by my friends because i was so in love with you, i believed you would change for me…” 
stupid heart, stupid love, stupid you. bakugou doesn’t say anything more, sits there and takes everything you throw at him because he knows what he did was wrong, beyond wrong. he knows that he fucked up. “‘m sorry, you know that i am, it didn’t mean anything,” he tries to defend himself, knowing his words will fall on death ears.
pausing your ramblings, you laugh shortly despite your watery red eyes and the knife of betrayal in your chest that stops you from breathing. you can’t think clearly, you can’t stand still and you know as you pace that bakugou is a smear in your mind where your heart has been ruined. “sorry isn’t going to fix it this time, you cheated on me bakugou, you cheated on me with someone we both called a friend—“ you throw your hands up, shaking your head in dismay, looking up at the ceiling to blink back your heavy tears and hide them from him. the last thing you need is finding the strength to break up with  katsuki bakugou only for him to see you as weak. “ochako…” you hum, through trembling lips. “her? really? how could you do that me, to deku? we’re two good people—“ 
“don’t you think i know that? fuck, i never meant to hurt you, i didn’t want to hurt you but holy shit i did and fuck—“ bakugou says, scrambling to find his words— running a hand through his damp locks with his chest pounding, realising the weight of his actions only now. he looks up at you, red eyes frenzied and panicked. “fuckfuckfuck, does deku know?” 
you sit down, just so tired. hearing that someone who meant the world to you, who was your everything and then some admit that he willing hurt you and broke you—puts a heavy weight on your shoulders. you don’t know where to go from here, what to do, just that he’s ruined you. “of course izuku knows, he’s the one who...who showed me the paper,” you whisper, biting your lip to gather yourself. you could leave now, knowing what did you did— but for some reason you wait to see if anything katsuki says could fix this. you wait for him like you always do. “ochako’s PR agent sent the magazine to their address, he opened it thinking it was their wedding magazine. their wedding magazine, bakugou. they were happy, we were happy—“ 
he shakes his head, slamming a fist down on the coffee table as he kneels opposite you. “we were lonely—“ bakugou shouts, pain filling the room easily just like his presence does. 
“you were lonely? i was the one who sat here waiting for you to come home every night, the one who patched you up, the one who loved you no matter what kind of shit you gave me or put me through, fuck you katsuki, honestly fuck you.” you start to shout through your sobs, hurting your vocal chords and you’re so loud you can see the movers flinch outside. “i loved you...doesn’t that mean anything to you?” 
he pinches the bridge of his nose and for the first time since you started dating, you see bakugou start to cry. “of course it did,” he hiccups lowly, barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him like you did. “fuck, yn, i loved you so much but so did she,” katsuki doesn’t dare speak ochako’s name in fear of setting you off and making you leave without a chance to explain himself. “she understood me, what it was like to be a hero and have everyone rely on you for your quirk where you fuckin’ nagged me for it.” 
“it always comes back down to the fact that i’m quirkless, you can never get over that. you never could since you went pro,” you scoff, licking your top lip to get rid of salty tears. the pro hero whispers an apology but you ignore it. “you say she loved long were you together?”
there’s a beat of silence before the blonde answers you. “months,” 
you cringe. “how many?” 
“did you love her?” 
“yn don’t fuckin’ do this—“ 
“did you love her, bakugou? hell, did you sleep with her too?” 
he chokes back a sob, looking away from you and pressing his palms together. “yes i slept with ochako, and yes i loved her, fuck but i loved you more—“ 
“that’s selfish,” you tell him directly, breathing shakily and willing yourself not to cry more than you already have in front of him. kirishima was sure to get an earful of it later. you feel sick to the stomach knowing that while he used you, held you, fucked you— he was doing the same to someone else.  “you don’t love in the day and her at night. that’s so fucking selfish. i should have listened all those times when your friends told me to leave you, i should have listened, but i wanted you so bad, i wanted to marry you and when i saw that ring in your sock draw, i thought you wanted me too.” 
you share a look with him, hoping that his eyes will reveal the truth to you just as they always had because if you could see in that ruby abyss that he wanted to marry you— just maybe, maybe you could stay. but then katsuki’s eyes twitch and you uncover the betrayal and the lies woven in with the dark flecks of his eyes and your stomach drops, your heart stops beating and time stands still.
“that ring wasn’t for me, was it?” you ask.
you shrink back when bakugou makes a reach for you, his chest heaving and pain on his face that probably mirrors yours. you back up on the couch, breaking into millions of tiny crystalline pieces as if the pro hero had dropped a sledge hammer on top of you. katsuki bakugou was never going to marry you, he was going to marry her. ochako uraraka. you see it all, it seeps from his pores and fills the room, which is suddenly too hot, you scratch at your arms, scrambling to stand up and gather your phone with your coat. 
you need to get out.
“baby, baby please— please listen to me—“ katsuki starts to beg as you gather yourself together, speeding things up as your heart breaks in your chest and you burst into loud, noticeable tears. “baby don’t leave, please don’t go, just listen…” he babbles and reaches out to grab you, his world practically ends when you flinch back. “you weren’t supposed to find out like this, it wasn’t supposed to end this way...”
“don’t. dont touch me, don’t talk to me, don’t you ever come near me again, you…” you stumble over the words in your head but keep them steady as you speak, shrugging your coat and hood on, ripping your body away from bakugou’s. “you fucking prick.” 
so you leave it all behind, running out of the apartment into the rain as it washes off all the memories you hold of you and katsuki together. you dash down the street and wave to the movers truck, signalling that they can leave— bakugou hot on your trail. in three short strides you reach kirishima’s car, tears swimming with the rain that sticks to your clothes and jump into the passengers side. 
kirishima jumps, throwing his phone into the cubby and looks to you while you buckle yourself in. “woah—hey! slow down,” eijirou tells you, reaching over to fix your seatbelt while you fumble with it, delaying your breakdown even more. “what happened? are you okay?” 
“no, just—“ you shake your head, drowning out bakugou’s cries for you in the street, catching him standing soaked in the rare view mirror. “please just drive, eiji,”  you whisper brokenly to your red haired friend, who nods and sets the car into drive— setting route for his place with kaminari instead of your new home. the movers will know where to go, they have your address and keys too.
slumping in your seat, you check the mirror one last time to see katsuki on his knees, on the floor in the rain— his form growing smaller and smaller the further you get from him.
you sniff turning off your phone to avoid any texts from him. “he’ll catch a cold,” you say to no one in particular, even though eijirou looks to you worridley. “not that… i should care anymore.” 
and you shouldn’t, katsuki bakugou isn’t your responsibility anymore. 
he only was when he loved you, really.
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graybabyxx · 3 months ago
katsuki x fem!reader
summary: Overstimulated bakugou headcannons. that’s it. that’s the post.
i saw @kingkatsuki blurb about this and NEEDED more.
their acc is amazing go look<3
mha masterlist!
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Poor baby would be so overwhelmed, but his hands would stay hooked around your hips as you sloppily rode his cock
His mind would be fuzzy, sweat forming over his chest, face contorted with pleasure.
Baku would fill you up the first time, expecting you to slip off his cock as usual, but no. His breath would pick up as you continued to ride him chasing you’re own high, oblivious to his overstimulated cock.
When you do notice, it’s a confidence boost, from the way he’s whining your name, asking you to slow down, or the way his grip on your hips tightens.
words would slip past his lips, little “fuck y/n..wait…” or “shit princess, gonna make me cum again..”
When he did cum for the second time, you followed, milking his sensitive cock, watching his eyes roll back.
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tsumooo · 3 months ago
hurt / comfort. reader does mention pregnancy
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Katsuki is angry with you, genuinely angry.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing, pulling a stunt like that!” He roars. His eyes are wide with fury and his hands are shaking by his sides, fists clenched.
“What the hell do you mean, stunt? You mean the rescue I successfully pulled off?! I was fine!” You yell back at him, matching his volume.
Much to everyone’s surprise it’s incredibly rare for you and Katsuki to fight, much less to get in a screaming match. He has always been honest with you and communicated well, so upsets didn’t really lead to arguments much. But today there had been a severe incident. Thirty two victims, twelve of which were children. You had run into the fray and used a new move, one you know you haven’t practiced enough, and only just managed to escape what could have been death.
It had been reckless, but it had also been your only option. And it was your job, your duty as a hero, to rescue people. You chose to trust yourself and take the risk and it had worked, even if just by a hair.
“You almost killed yourself and you fucking know it!” He spits.
“Give me a break!” You laugh sarcastically, throwing your arms up in the air in disbelief. “How many times have I had this exact same conversation with you? How dare you scream at me after all the shit you have pulled in the field”.
“This is completely different,” he growls, volume lowering but tongue still sharp and it cuts through you. “So you don’t trust me in the field, is that it? You think I’m weak?”
“You know damn well I don’t think you’re weak!”
“Then what is it?!”
“It’s because if you die I am fucking finished!” He yells, his voice breaking. You inhale sharply, not expecting that response from him. He shakes his head to himself and huffs a broken laugh, looking away from you. He looks defeated, and tired.
“Do you…” he gulps, his throat tightening. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
Words fail you as you stare at him in shock, your throat tightening with emotion. Across from you, Katsuki presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“I know I never fucking say it. That shit doesn’t come naturally to me. I know you know I love you but… shit, I really think you have no fucking idea what it would do to me, if I lost you” he croaks, hating how naked he feels in front of you.
“You’ve ruined me, for everyone. Or you’ve ruined everyone for me. Fuck, what am I even saying,” he trembles. You take a step closer.
“I would never be able to love anyone the way I love you. Never. No one would ever compare. I was so fucking scared when I saw you today, I knew that even if I blasted over I wouldn’t get to you in time. You would’ve died right in front of me”
Your hand touches his chest and he flinches, having not noticed your approach. Your cheeks are wet, tears slipping down your cheeks to your neck and your lips are quivering. “Katsuki,” you whimper quietly.
He takes you into his arms and pulls you tightly against his front. You return the gesture and lock both your arms around his waist, gripping the back of his shirt with your hands. He presses his face into your neck, his tears intertwine with your own and soak into the material of your costume.
Of course you’d known that Katsuki loves you. He shows you every single day how much he loves you. But you’d had no idea he was having thoughts like this, that he was certain he would never move on from you. But you understood it.
“I love you. I’m in love with you,” you murmur into his hair, nuzzling against it. “You’re not alone in your fears, you know. I don’t think I would ever move on from you, either. After all, there is no other man on this planet quite like you”.
Pulling back from your embrace, Katsuki presses his forehead to yours and takes a deep breath. “Always pictured that you’d marry some random extra and have a bunch of brats eventually. After a few years of me being gone, I mean”.
The image makes you uncomfortable, and angry. There was no version of your life that you could imagine without Katsuki in it, in some form. The thought of spending your life with someone else made you nauseous.
“Absolutely not,” you argue firmly. “I don’t want marriage, or brats, or the happily ever after if it isn’t with you”.
He grins slightly, his under eyes still swollen from crying. “You want all that with me, eh?” He teases. You scrunch your nose up at him in mock distaste.
“Dunno if I would want to carry a child for 9 months just for it to come out as a double of you,” you grumble. To your relief his grin grows wider.
“I love you,” he tells you affectionately. Warmth fills your chest at his fond expression. You run your hand through his hair and bring it to rest against his cheek, he turns his face in to it and kisses your palm.
“You’ve told me that, what, four times now? I’m getting a little overwhelmed here” you smirk. He rolls his eyes but there is an obvious pink tint to the tips of his ears.
“Don’t get used to it,” he nips at your fingers playfully. “I’ve filled the quota for the year now”.
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callmemrsbakugou · a month ago
Long Gone (7)
Pairing: Todoroki Shoto x Reader, Todoroki Shoto x Yaoyorozu Momo
Warnings: Has mature content, profanity, mentions of infidelity and divorce
A/N: We're a bit early today!! Hehe 🤭 we're getting close to the end but I feel like there's more I could put in the story? Let me know if you want to explore the plot more so I could add chapters? Anyway, sorry for babbling! Here you go, enjoy 🤍
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You have always been good natured. Too good, if you ask Momo.
She remembered thinking, is that truly possible? Can a person really be this nice? Especially someone like you who has been orphaned at such an early age and had to face everything by yourself? 
Turns out, Momo's gut feeling about you had been right all along. That you only play this sweet, innocent front but really, you're planning to take everything from her. 
Momo met you in middle school. You loved books and enjoyed reading. You were dependable, understanding, willing to listen to all her vents and you always had her back. Being friends with you was as easy as breathing. Momo even thought of you two as soul mates. You just get her. No one else did before you. You're the only one who saw past the image of the rich, privileged girl that everybody else sees. 
So when tragedy struck and you were left by yourself, Momo wanted to be there for you just as you had been there for her. She opened her home to you and her folks gladly took you in. Momo gave you a home when you're supposed to be all alone. And what did you do? You took more than what she was willing to give you. Her parents' love, her friends, the boy she liked. 
Momo recalls how tears burned her eyes when she got home from the hospital after Bakugo's rescue. Her parents' had her picked up by their fucking driver but as she got home, there they were in the dining table, fawning over you and some dumb prize you won in a science fair at your stupid normal school. 
When you turned to look at her, seeing her all bandaged up and injured, you had the nerve to feign concern. Running up to her, asking, "What happened? Are you alright??" As if the incident wasn't all over the news, as if her parents had not talked about her being at the hospital after the incident at USJ. 
"Do I look alright?" She snaps, making you mutter your apology. You ask instead if you can help her with anything or if she has had dinner yet, touching her gently on her arm and ushering her to the table. Momo huffs as she shrugs your hold off, glaring at her parents who only asked what the doctors said about her injuries. 
"They said it's all just minor injuries. I just need to rest." She mutters. She seethes as again when the only she response she got from them are, "That's great, dear." and then went on to gush about your stupid achievement at school. Momo doesn't get it. It was measly compared to her saving a classmate and fighting off a villain. Why are her parents like this? Why do they seem to take pleasure in making her feel inadequate? And why do you make it your mission to make her feel insignificant in her parents' eyes? 
But later that night, when she was all alone with her thoughts, she felt like she's being too harsh on you. Momo's parents have always been over attentive for all the wrong reasons like her posture, how she presents herself and other petty things, but they've been unfortunately negligent to things that mattered most to her, like her dreams and aspirations as a hero. 
So she gave you another chance. Shoved her insecurities because you have been nothing but good to her. Maybe she's just overthinking things. Maybe she's just jealous of the attention you are getting from her parents. 
But then Momo brings you to UA to meet her friends, you once again proved her wrong. 
All you did was steal all of their attention. Your sob story manipulating them to pity you. How do you fucking do it? How you naturally get everyone to bow to your every whim is a mystery to Momo. To make matters worse, the only guy Momo has ever liked is trailing you like a lost puppy and is asking about you. 
It's all about you. And it made Momo sick, drove her insane that everyone she has, you so effortlessly steal from her. So when fate presented her with a chance to take something of yours too, she did not hesitate. 
"Dear, have you seen Y/n lately?" Her mom asks as she sets her teacup on the saucer.  Momo's nostrils flare, shaking her head. "We haven't seen each other in years, mom." 
"I thought so. I will be coming over to her house this afternoon, to visit her and her little angel. Would you like to come with me?" She offered and Momo had to try her hardest not to roll her eyes. 
"No, I'm busy. But tell her I said hi." Momo was about to get up but what her mother says next kept her in her chair. 
"Oh that's too bad. I think she'd be happy to hear from you. I called her the other day to tell her I received an invitation for her in-laws' anniversary but she sounded off.." Her mother sighs, worry paints her face which Momo wishes she could get from her when she's having a hard time too. "And when I asked what's wrong, she said Shoto and her had been arguing a lot lately." 
Momo's ears burns at the new information. "I told her that's just normal. Your father and I used to fight a lot too a year after you were born because he felt neglected." Her mom waves her hand and makes a face, "And that was given! Of course, as a new mother, all my attention goes to my child-" After that, everything her mom says falls on deaf ears, Momo's eyes brightening with interest. 
And maybe life was finally giving her a chance to take back what's rightfully hers from you. Because that very same day, when she walked into the bar where she usually grabbed drinks after a long day at work, there Shoto was. Looking as handsome as ever and to her delight, responsive to her advances. 
That night, he worshipped her body like a ravenous man. Momo waited for the guilt to come, one that she should feel after sleeping with a married man. But it never came. She just felt overwhelming satisfaction when Shoto moans her name in ecstasy, praising her for how good she is to him, for giving him what you couldn't. 
She reveled in Shoto's attention, his affection that she longed for since they were in high school, of the fact that he now exchanges a night with you, his dumb wife, to be with her. Momo feels like she finally won. 
Momo really thought she did. How could she not? When Todoroki couldn't seem to get enough of her? When he rarely comes home to you and lies to your face just so he could spend time with her? When Todoroki himself told her that he loves her? When he fucking promised he'll divorce you so he can finally start anew with her? 
Todoroki built her up so high with his words that she hurtles back to the ground, completely off guard and chest searing in agony when he moans out your stupid name after finishing. 
"W-what," she chokes out, "did you just say, Y-y/n??" 
Todoroki fumbles. Eyes snapping wide open as he looked down guiltily at Momo, realizing what he had just done.
Yaoyorozu wanted to hurl as she pushed him off. Face getting hot in shame and anger. "Are you fucking kidding me, Shoto?" She shrieks, chest heaving and tears streaming down her face and neck. 
Shoto swallows hard, hands going through his hair. "I'm sorry." He mutters, keeping his gaze low. Momo got off the bed and hastily draped her robe on, her skin crawling as his voice muttering your name still echoes in her head. 
"You're sorry??" Momo asks incredulously. "You said you're leaving her! You said you love me!!" 
Her heart shatters as the broken man just shook his head, confusion and regret written all over his face. Momo's mouth agapes in disbelief. "Shoto! We've been together for a year! You can't just change your mind now!" 
Todoroki winces as Momo screams. He couldn't help but feel awful. How does he tell her now that he really thought he did love her? Only to realize now that he still loves his wife?
How does he tell her that he wants his family back? 
"Momo-" he murmurs, getting up from the bed and walking to her. He circles his arms around her and Momo sobs against his bare chest. "I am so sorry. I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess." 
"You said you love me, you said you'll leave Y/n." She cries. "Please, choose me." 
"I'm begging you.. please choose me." 
You stood in the shower longer than necessary, letting the cold water cascade down the skin as you try to forget how his touch felt. Over five years of marriage and you have never felt him that passionate for you. He kissed and held you as if his life depended on it. As if you were the very air he breathes, drinking you up like you're his only source of water amidst a drought. 
The only thing that made you keep your resolve was the searing pain in your chest at the thought that he did this to another woman. That Momo, someone you considered your own sister, was graced with the same kiss and passion by the man you love and married. As much as you still love Shoto, you don't think you could ever trust him again. 
As you crawl into bed, you allow yourself a good cry. Because no matter how hard you try to appear coldhearted to your husband, that wouldn't diminish the fact that you're still hurting. 
The following morning, you got up early to prepare for Yukio's family day. You sat in bed for a while and stared at your phone, having half the mind to call Natsuo knowing your husband would probably be indisposed judging by how wasted he was last night. With a sigh, you shake your head and decide to just tell Yukio it will just be you and him. After all, as much as it pains you, this will be a good practice for him. 
When you walk into the kitchen though, you can hear clattering and soft curses. And you smelled burning toast. Your brows furrow as you emerge from the corner.
You then see your husband, his thumb between his lips, face scrunched up in concentration as he watches the egg on the pan. The sight took you back to years ago, to when he first learned about your pregnancy and he desperately took over the cooking. Or at least try to. 
A sad smile pulls the corners of your lips. He probably burnt his finger again by taking the toast with his bare hand. It is still a mystery to you how someone with a fire quirk could burn his fingers over toasted bread. 
Shoto glances up from the pan seeing you walk towards him. "You're up already." He murmurs, watching you grab a glass of water from the fridge. "Uh, the eggs are almost done. I also made some miso soup. You like that, right?" He asks with a hopeful look on his face. Shoto smiles widely when you nod. 
"Listen, Y/n- about last night." He starts but you interrupt him by handing him over a bottle of pain reliever and a glass of water. "Here, I'll take that." You say, taking the spatula from his hand in exchange, taking over the cooking. "You were drunk. Let's forget about it." 
Shoto takes a tablet and he trails you as you plate the eggs and walks to the table. "I was drunk, but I meant every word." You swallow hard and try to keep your gaze on the table as he continues to talk. "I don't need you to forgive me. I just hope you'd at least let me try to make it up to you." 
You grit your teeth as you try to keep your resolve. Finally you met his gaze and sighed. "Do things for Yukio. Not for me." Todoroki's face falls but he nods anyway. He understands, of course, you'll need time. It's not like you could just forget everything he did overnight just because he apologizes and told you he still loves you. 
"Okay, I understand. But I'm here for whatever you need, Y/n." 
As you turn to face him fully, you take a second to really look at your husband. There was no doubt how sincere he is right now. So much so that it breaks your heart all over again. Why did it have to be this way? Why did it have to take ruining your marriage for him to realize he still loves you? 
"The program would start at 8am. If you think you can come with, be ready before then. Wear a blue shirt. It's the assigned color to our family." You say before walking past him to ready the food you'll be bringing to the school. Shoto stares after you, his lips twitching as he tries to suppress a smile. He couldn't help the tears that stung his eyes and hope blossoming on his chest hearing you say 'our family'. 
"So just like that it's supposed to be all fucking hearts and rainbows again??" You winced, Bakugo's loud voice making it seem like you put your phone on speakers. 
"Of course not!" You hiss, balancing the phone between your ear and shoulder as you close the picnic basket. "Yukio is so excited about his dad coming with us to this year's family day.. you should have seen the look on his face." 
Bakugo's scowl fades hearing your voice go soft. He could just imagine the sad look painting your face right now. "Icyhot better fucking win all the stupid picnic games then." He grumbles. "Call me if you need anything."
You nod as if he can see you. "Thanks. I have to go though. I still need to take a quick shower. We'll be leaving in a bit." You dust your hand before holding the phone properly. "Were you going to say something? Why'd you call so early?" 
Bakugo finds himself taking a deep breath. "Nothin'. Was just going to say I took the endorsement I was telling you about and I want to ask if you have any idea what foundation I should give the proceeds to." 
A smile graces your lips. You know Bakugo hated doing commercials so hearing him taking up projects like this for the sake of charity makes your heart swell with pride for him. "I still have contacts with the orphanage I stayed in for a bit. I'll send you the details." 
"Great. Thanks." He mumbles then bites his lip. "Y/n?" 
Bakugo sighs and shakes his head. "Nothing. Just, have fun today. Tell Yukio to beat his snotty classmates' ass in all the games." 
You giggle, rolling your eyes. "Alright. I'll rephrase it though." 
"Don't you fuckin' dare, the squirt knows how I talk anyway." He laughs a little. 
"He does. And he loves it unfortunately." You snort. "Well I really have to go." 
"Alright.." Bakugo breathes in deeply. "Take care, okay?" 
"You too. Bye Katsuki." You say before ending the call. 
Bakugo sighs again as he makes a u-turn, throwing his head back lightly against the headrest and glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror, all dressed up in the only light blue shirt he owns. 
Yukio was practically shaking with excitement as you drove to school. He rushes to his friends and points happily at you and Shoto, saying, "That's my mom and dad!" 
For a second there, your heart pangs with ache. Guilt flashing as you rethink your decisions. Are you doing your son a favor or just setting him up for more pain by doing this? 
You did not have time to ponder as the 4 year old grabs your hand, tugging you and pointing at the booths set up by the field. 
"Mom, let's have our faces painted and get pictures taken!" He says excitedly. Shoto squats and touches Yukio's back, "Can dad join too?" 
"Stop being silly, daddy. Sure, you can." Your son smiles as he takes his dad's hand too. 
The lingering doubts in your mind fades seeing your son have so much fun. Yukio is all smiles and giggles as he watches you and Shoto get your faces painted with a design that he chose himself. 
As the three of you sit at the photobooth, Shoto realizes how much of a happy kid Yukio is. He certainly didn't get this bubbly and outgoing persona from him and Shoto couldn't help but smile as his son asked him to do silly poses and wacky faces. He then glances at you as the countdown starts and he lets out a quiet laugh seeing you do it without hesitation. 
You laugh too as the first shot was taken, it flashes on the screen for a split second and you see your husband uncharacteristically lolling his tongue out and crossing his eyes. When the countdown starts for the next photo, you locked gazes with him and he smiles softly before making another funny face. Yukio laughed and mimicked his dad. With a shake of your head, you do the same pose. Flaring your nostrils and puffing your cheeks out. 
The camera flashes and in the countdown for the last shot, Yukio farts in between fits of giggles making you and Shoto laugh harder. 
When you were all walking back to your picnic table, Yukio was still staring at the photo in awe, he even rushed ahead to show it to his friends. 
"Wait, Y/n." Shoto says, grabbing your wrist and stopping you midstep. He suddenly got on his knee and went on to tie your shoelace that came undone. All around the other teachers and parents gush at the gesture making you self conscious. 
"Thank you." You mutter as he straightens back up. Shoto only smiles, that one smile you particulary loved, that you had to walk ahead before your stupid heart could start somersaulting. 
Todoroki on the other hand did as he promised. He ignores the lull aching of his head due to the drinks he had the night before and won every single game you three participated in. Yukio's smile made it worth it and to be blatantly honest, it gave Shoto some excuse to touch you and be close to you again. 
Shoto makes the most of each moment. Holding you close and tight during the paper dance, holding your hand in his during the family relay and even sneaking a kiss on your temple when the host announces that the winner for this year is the "Todoroki Family!" You were so engrossed with Yukio leaping in your arms that you barely noticed how he snakes his arm around your waist and brushes his lips on your hair. 
On the drive back home, you listen to Yukio recount his favorite moments of the day. Which was pretty much everything. You and Shoto take turns humming in agreement and laughing at all your son's side stories. When it suddenly becomes quiet, you notice that the toddler has drifted asleep. 
"Well, looks like he's finally knocked out." You say to yourself with a soft grin, reaching back to lean your son's lolling head against the rest of his car seat. 
"Thank you for letting me come today." Shoto murmurs, making you look at him. "And I'm sorry for missing last year's." 
You only nod as you settle back against your seat. There was a comfortable silence as you both just sat there, still on a high after today's festivities. After a while you say, "You can still come with us every year. After all, you're Yukio's dad." You let out a wry laugh. "And it is called a family day. So it only makes sense for you to be there." 
Shoto's grip on the wheel tightens. Now he only feels more adamant on fixing things with you. He just hopes you'd still change your mind. 
When Shoto pulls into your driveway, you look up in shock when he hurriedly gets off to open your car door for you. He hasn't done that in ages that you were gawking at him for a second too long. He then went on to take his sleeping son up in his arms, placing a gentle kiss on his head as he slings Yukio's school bag on his shoulder.
"Go on and rest, I'll put him to bed." Shoto murmurs as he meets you by the front door. You froze when he leaned down and kiss your cheek. 
You blink and watch him go up the steps, cradling Yukio's head and holding him lovingly. It's like someone had rebooted your husband. It made you feel so conflicted, your heart and mind in battle. You find yourself subconsciously tracing over your ring finger where your engagement and wedding band is placed for display as to avoid unnecessary drama for today. 
Is it worth it? Giving it all another chance? Giving him a shot to redeem himself? 
But then, 
And you turn around just in time to have Yaoyorozu's palm smack you against your cheek. 
@richkookie @mssuguru  
@kaacchaann  @samkysnks @yeahhemmings- @tumtumlolipop @naturakaashi @whorerificstuff @lawfulrhi @jessie9008 @adelheidvonschicksal @simi0603 @katherinereid   @fairywriter-oracle @cloudsinthecosmos @tspice283 @softbkg @kikis-writing-service @blxck-coffee @qtsuki @gallantys @cwlest @kyomihann @katsukisdaddy @kimokimopai @ebiharachan @ilovemollyweasley @katemocha @strawberrylips-1211 @iamsorrypapi @merinegoround @merina-chan @ayanbee @cardtak @denkirishima-san @myanxietyandme7 @aomi04 @beaniebanby @eijis-stuff @isentsworld @okie-doki-todoroki @simpforporcoandlevi @left-alone-yuki @let-love-bleeds-red @backoftheletter @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @megumiiichanie @kilalala3 @shanksfav @yaboiithewreck @puorin @originalgentlemenwinner  
905 notes · View notes
kakyoinsbunny · 13 days ago
𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨: 𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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established relationship, power dynamics, tentacles, inappropriate quirk use
Tamaki Amajiki x afab!reader
Even though you and Tamaki had been dating for a while, he still got flustered at your teasing. It didn’t help that the two of you worked at the same agency and he had to watch you prance around in your tight hero suit, doing everything in your power to get him to blush and stutter. Of course your wouldn't leave your poor boyfriend frustrated! So if he asked, you’d gladly let him take you into a secluded area and get you on your knees, that was your plan after all.
It took a lot for Tamaki to give in to you. He was too embarrassed to admit his desires and he’d do everything in his power to ignore his growing erection to continue going about his day.
But today. Today Tamaki was not having it. He had already not had the chance to eat and then ran into several villains on his way to work, one of them almost managing to break his arm before he could restrain him, and when he got to the agency he had learned that another hero had taken all the credit. He was upset, and all he wanted was for you to keep him company and calm him down.
Unfortunately you weren’t aware of his sour mood. You were simply excited to spend the day with your boyfriend and tease him for a bit of lighthearted fun. You brought in some food for him, teasing him and pinching his cheek while he ate. As you’re cooing at him, Tamaki pulls you onto his lap, holding your legs apart with a large tentacle.
“Tamaki!” you gasp at his unmoving expression. Usually by now he’d be blushing or stuttering, but as one of his fingers turns into another tentacle to tease you clothed cunt you can’t help but whine.
“T-Tama!” you whimper as a tentacle slides into your panties, teasing your sex.
“This is what you wanted isn’t it?” He pressed, rubbing the suckers along the lips of your cunt as he relished in your squirming. “You just can’t help but tease me and get me all riled up huh?” he grumbles. All you can do is look away bashfully, and he takes the moment to shove the length of the tentacle into your cavern, smirking at how you gasp and try to wiggle away
“Ah! ‘s too much!” you squeak, embarrassed at your hole squelches with each thrust of the tentacle inside you, the suckers rubbing against your sweet spot perfectly. He hums, keeping an eye on the door as he goes faster. He watches you pant and decides to extend the tentacle further, kissing your cervix and watching your tummy bulge. You cry out and press your lips to his messily, tears already forming on your lashes.
“I’m so glad you brought me takoyaki, (Y/N), so sweet of you” he pants into your mouth, adding a second tentacle into your hole. “But this was your plan wasn’t it? You can’t go two seconds without being fucked, so you needed me to help right?” You cry into his neck, shaking your head as you try to fuck yourself further onto the tentacles. “Don’t worry,” you hear the light sound of him undoing his zipper as he removes his digits from your cunt, the sound and sight obscene as he shoves the tentacle into your mouth, shoving it down your throat making you choke as the suckers latch onto you. He removes the tentacle from your legs to wrap it around your tits, making the fat spill out from its grip. Tamaki regains your attention by slapping his cock against your clit, dipping slightly into your hole before retreating to watch your hips fruitlessly buck into the air.
After enough teasing he’s slipping into you, taking the chance to extend and widen his cock using part of his quirk. You lurch forward, shoving the tentacle further down your throat as you sputter. You don’t have a chance to regain your composure as he’s starting thrusting wildly with both his cock and the tentacle in your mouth. Tears are streaming down your face and you keep clenching around his cock, the stimulation on every part of your body becoming too much as you start to squeal, your liquid spraying out onto his lap as he keeps thrusting without giving you a moments rest. Sweat rolls down your skin and Tamaki remove the tentacle from your mouth to move a sucker down to your clit, making your twitch as you gasp for air, digging your hands into his thighs. The suction becomes harder as his grunts become louder, until finally he’s releasing a shaky moan and spilling himself inside you, holding you down on his cock while you both catch your breath.
After a bit he lifts you off of him, his cock covered in the mix of your juices falling limp onto his lap. Your shirt is pulled back down but as you go to clean yourself up he shoves a tentacle back into your gaping hole, humming at how his cum spills out around it and makes you grip onto the desk as he starts thrusting into you again.
430 notes · View notes
inkykeiji · 8 days ago
help me now, i’m running on empty
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characters: shigaraki tomura, dabi, a hint of keigo
genre: smut and angst
notes: waaaaaah finally!!! this is the fourth part of break my bones but act as my spine. please, please heed the warnings on this and stay safe! | title cred: memory by kane brown ft. blackbear
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, depictions of severe metal illness including psychosis (delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech), one psychiatric assessment, family members that mean well but just Do Not Understand in the slightest, toxic relationships, cheating, extreme guilt, slight power play, minimal prep, size difference/belly bulge, slight coercion, dacryphilia, slight degradation/dumbificaition, marking, cum eating/feeding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, rough sex, reader is quite flexible, verbal fights, blood, daddy kink, drugs, 2 references to tarantino’s reservoir dogs that are relevant to the plot, keigo goes as both hawks and keigo
part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ series masterlist
words: 23.5k
And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi thinks Tomura’s about to spill his guts—to tear himself open and spew himself at Dabi’s feet, to bear his bones and blood and broken soul in a way Dabi knows he didn’t for those doctors. And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi hopes he will, the way he used to—the way they both used to—on those rare nights where they were feeling especially sick and saccharine, juvenile and jaded, free and fucked up.
But he doesn’t.
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Standing in the elevator threshold, he’s tall—so tall the crown of his smooth, bald head nearly brushes the chrome frame—and dressed sharply, just as he always is, in a pristinely pressed black suit, tailored to his abnormally large, hulking frame, stitches stretching just a little as he extends his arms out; an invitation.
Your feet know what to do before your mind can even send the signal—a pure, innate instinct, almost—as you gravitate towards him, so fast you stumble into his chest with an audible thud, fingers curling in the thick material of his jacket as a wailed, warped Daddy! lacerates your throat.
He catches you with ease, just as he always does, with a fond chuckle that seems out of place given the situation; that inspires an intense warmth to burst throughout your chest and flood your veins regardless.
Cocooned in large arms, you burrow your salt stained face into the soft cashmere of his white shirt, revelling in the comfort familiarity inevitably brings as his body vibrates with the baritone of his voice, reverberations sending sparks throughout your limbs to chase the warmth.
You can't tell who he's talking to—Dabi or Kurogiri, maybe both at once—words mostly drowned out by a harmonious concert of bellowing blood in your ears and cloistered cries in your chest; something about doctors and professionals, duties and procedures.
When he does finally address you—in a voice that’s so soft, so gentle, so incredibly patronizing it would seem offensive coming from the lips of anyone other than him—it’s to placate the shudders wracking your frame and pacify the jagged fragments of concerned sentiment that keep slashing at your tongue.
“Hush now,” he’s saying, words cascading over you like melted chocolate being drizzled over a warm cookie. “It’s okay, I'm here, it’s okay,” a heavy palm cups the crown of your head, thumb caressing the strands. “We’re going to figure it out, sweetheart,”
Finally, you pull back, just enough to gaze up at him through the filmy shield residual tears have lacquered across your eyes. “You promise?”
“I promise, darling,”
The elevator dings, and Dabi emerges, carrying a box overflowing with messy papers—documents and dossiers, notes scrawled on scraps, files with cracked spines and fraying edges filled with censored forms—chest heaving just a touch.
“Ah, wonderful. Thank you, Touya,”
Your gaze flies to Dabi’s, features crinkled in confusion; eyes squinted, brows knitted, mouth twisted.
But Dabi steadily and expertly avoids your stare, doesn’t even flinch at the use of the now foreign name, and nods, features a stern mask of professionalism, voice infused with utmost respect—more respect than you’ve ever heard in his tone before. “Of course, Sir. Trade you?” He holds out the box to his Boss as an offering, head nodding in your direction.
Tomura’s father chuckles, easily exchanging flesh for cardboard, a precious little squeak catching in your throat as the goods are swapped.
Dabi isn’t as warm as the Boss, lacking the padding strong muscles provide, but you cling to him anyway, fingers tangling in the cotton of his hoodie and lungs filling with the soothing scent of smoked hickory and tangy cinnamon.
 Another ding! attracts four pairs of eyes, chrome doors sliding open to reveal a large man with tousled ivory hair and irises that shimmer like gunmetal.
 “Sorry I’m late,” he’s saying with an amicable smile as he enters the penthouse.
 “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Dabi’s practically breathing out, dragging you towards the man as he falls into an awkward half-hug, one arm wound tightly around the man's neck, nearly trapping you between their chests.
 “Anytime, Nii-san,” the man is murmuring, too low for anyone outside your intimate little circle to hear. Dabi says something in response, muffled by the man’s broad shoulder, though you can feel the gentle vibrations radiating through his torso, quivers that turn into subtle tremors as they travel through his limbs. “I know, I know,” The man continues in a whisper, an arm hooked almost protectively around Dabi’s waist, large palm rubbing lopsided circles into his back. “He’s gonna be alright,”
 A tattooed fist tangles itself in the material of your dress, gripping you to his side as Dabi nods, giving the man one final squeeze before finally releasing.
 “I hope you’re right,”
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 Tomura knows it’s coming. Kurogiri had already told him, twice, what would be transpiring soon after landing on Japanese soil, and a voicemail from his father had confirmed it.
 And even though it’s expected, that doesn’t make it any less annoying, or infuriating, or terrifying.
 They decide to conduct in in his fucking bedroom of all places, all four of them shuffling through the heavy mahogany doors, all familiar faces—people he knows, people he should trust.
 It’s easier this way, his father had reassured him, after he had suggested they move to somewhere more professional, like his office.
 And so Tomura sits, like a fucking child, with his legs crossed in the middle of his massive bed, and he waits.
 Doctor Atsuhiro Sako, their resident psychiatrist, speaks first. He introduces himself, mentioning his title and education, politely and patiently responding to Tomura’s snarky huffed out remarks about patient confidentiality and invasions of privacy when he explains that they're only present because they're gravely concerned about you, Tomura.
 “Remind me why I have to do this again?” Ruby eyes narrow sharply as they focus on his father’s face, nose scrunching up in distaste.
 “It’s just a simple assessment,” the Boss says conversationally, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.
 “For what?”
 “To determine whether or not you would benefit from psychiatric treatment, or some sort of, you know, inpatient program,”
 “You...You want to send me to an institution?” he seethes. “You think I’m fucking crazy?”
 “We all just want the best for you, like the Doctor said,”
 “This is the best for me! St-Staying right here! I’m fine!” Panic sinks razored claws into his heart and squeezes, his breathing beginning to accelerate. No, he has to stay here, here with you, or else—
 “Son,” his father begins with a soft chuckle. “You totalled one of the most prestigious suites in New York, and slashed yourself to bits in the process, and not one of us has a clue as to why. That doesn't seem fine to me,”
 “Well, I wasn’t, then,” Tomura rolls his eyes, as if this is obvious. “But I am, now,”
 “And what, exactly, has changed in the past...” His father checks the glittering Rolex adorning his wrist. “Forty-eight hours?”
 Everything. Everything has changed. Now that he’s here, back home, now that he’s safe, it’s all suddenly crystal clear; it’s as if he can see the whole situation from afar, from above, in its totality.  
 “We care about you, Tomura,” Kurogiri chimes in, tone firmer than the Boss’s. “That’s it,”
 “Let’s not be hasty and jump to conclusions, now,” Doctor Sako says, quieting the room. “Nothing is final until I’ve fully assessed you, Tomura,”
 He perches gingerly on the ottoman in front of the bed, crossing his legs and humming, eyes scanning an impressive list of questions, safely secured to a plastic clipboard. The tip of his plastic pen taps once, twice, three times against the metal clasp.
 And then, he begins.
 Can you tell me today’s date? How’s your mood been? Are you sure? You’re not sad, frightened, upset, angry...? Alright, and how are your sleep habits? Are you sleeping at all? What about food? Are you adequately fuelling yourself? Grooming habits? How’s your concentration? Is there something on your mind that just won’t leave you alone? What about thoughts that enter suddenly and refuse to leave? Are you feeling confident in your sense of self? Any goals for the immediate future? I understand you were having difficulty meeting deadlines and completing work, such as the meetings you held in New York; why do you think that is? Are you feeling especially stressed? Do you think it’s impacting your performance? How do you deal with stress? Would you say drugs are a coping mechanism?
 Unsurprisingly, Tomura is overwhelmingly uncooperative, responding to all of the doctor’s questions exclusively with shrugs and single word answers.
 But Doctor Sako fires them off so rapidly, so tirelessly that Tomura’s head reels with it all, as if his brain’s some sort of malfunctioning projector, what was once playing a seamless sequence of smooth images now beginning to freeze, to flicker, to chop and distort and rewind as the slides judder and catch in a faulty machine.
 It’s beginning to feel like too much, overloading his senses and short-circuiting his thoughts as strains of words clash and collide, uncontrollably interrupting each other, ears ringing with each question spit from chivalrous lips, the doctor’s voice ricocheting off the walls of Tomura’s skull, mixing with all of the mundane, inconsequential sounds of everyday life that prick his ears, that he can’t seem to tune out no matter how hard he tries, hyper-focused and sensitive: the breathing of every man in the room, his own unstable heartbeat echoing in his ears, the gentle hum of the desk lamplight, the chirping of the birds outside, the cars zooming by below the penthouse, the scraping of the Doctor's teeth against plastic as he chews thoughtfully on the edge of his pen, the irritating skritch-skritch-skritch of the ballpoint tip against thick paper...
 And finally, he slips up, he shows weakness, he gives something of apparent importance to the insatiably vying Doctor, when he confirms his recreational drug use. Doctor Sako perks up at his response, shoulders rolling back, chest leaning forward, elbows digging into his thighs.
 “What have you been taking?”
 Tomura’s face puckers as his eyelids scrunch shut tightly, nails moving to automatically scrape at the scabs collaring his neck, the familiar burn bringing peace and silence with it, features relaxing.  
 “D-Dunno,” a shoulder shrugs in painful indifference, face morphed back into that mask of passive apathy, though a soft whimper catches in his throat, snuffed out and swallowed down before it can reach his tongue. “Coke and Oxys,”
 “And how much have you been taking?”
 “Did you take anything the night of the incident?”
 “You don’t remember?”
 Tomura’s head shakes, lips pressed in a thin line. “No,”
 Sako sighs, scribbling something, and Tomura’s nostrils twitch.
 “What about voices? Have you been hearing things that aren’t there? Seeing things that aren’t there, or that others can’t see?”
 “While high?”
 “Are you ever completely sober?”
 Tomura cracks a smile at that, eyes narrowing a touch. “No,”
 The Doctor nods to himself, humming and glancing down at the clipboard for a second. “Your father tells me you’re worried someone very close to you is in severe danger—”
 “She is,” Tomura scowls, glower floating to his father’s face. “You heard the calls! You both did!"
 “We did, son, we did,” the Boss agrees, calm and courteous.
 “But we haven’t received any contact in nearly a month—”
 “I have!”
 “The records—”
 “I don’t give a fuck about the records! I have been getting them!”
 "Tomura," Kurogiri begins slowly, cautiously, concern carved into his crumpled features. “We can’t find any traces of those calls, or texts, or emails, anywhere. Are you—Are you sure?”
 “Of course I’m fucking sure,” Tomura spits, though his voice breaks, words trembling under the burden of fear—of not being believed, of it being true. A dense film of tears glazes scarlet. “I can’t get them out of my goddamn mind, Kurogiri,” The confession tapers off into a cracked murmur, Tomura’s shoulders hunching in on himself, features wobbling under the combined weight of panic and agitation.
 “And what do these messages say?” Sako jumps in hastily, redirecting Tomura’s attention to him, chest beginning to heave slightly as a pen scribbles against paper, the Doctor’s eyes not leaving Tomura’s face.
 “Gruesome,” Tomura whispers, wincing as the word leaves his lips, as if the letters are made from razor blades, as if they slice his flesh on their way out. “The ways they plan to chop her up, what they plan to do with the pieces,” he swallows thickly, bloodied fingers threading through silvery tufts and pulling, a feeble attempt to quiet the reverberations of the threats, echoes that crawl through his brain like greedy little parasites, feeding off of his sanity, eyes clamped shut tightly.
 “Tomura?” Someone begins hesitantly, carefully, as if they’re speaking to a feral animal on the verge of losing control.
 “They’ve got to be deleting them, somehow,” he says after a moment, abrupt and unprompted, voice rough, lids finally lifting to reveal glassy crimson eyes, protected by a shield of rapidly collecting tears. “Th-That's the only explanation. We should—” he stops, eyebrows pushing together as if he’s confused, as if he’s suddenly lost the remainder of the sentence, a singular tear finally escaping his lashline, rolling down his cheek in solitude. “W-We should...refrain from using phones; they might have the lines tapped,”
 “We don’t even know who ‘they’ are,” Kurogiri sighs heavily. “We haven’t gotten a single lead, not one clue,”
 Tomura’s gaze snaps up, tears incinerated in an instant, fiery fury burning them to vapour. “But you—you heard them! They happened,”
 “They did, over three weeks ago,”
 “No, no,” he growls. “They didn't! I got them, just this past week! I got them during that horrendous trip you forced me to go on! I got them!”
 “Christ, we’re just going in circles again,”
 “The phone companies,” Kurogiri begins, voice rising, and Tomura flinches violently. Kurogiri inhales a breath, deep enough to fill his entire chest cavity, held for three seconds, then exhaled, slow and controlled. He tries again, softer this time. “The phone companies haven’t been able to find any traces of these alleged messages, Tomura,” A frown tugs at the corners of the older man’s mouth, staring at his charge with overwhelming pity in his bright eyes. “Nothing,”
 “Well, then, they—they must own the phone companies,” The words tumble from his lips hastily, the full thought spit out before it can be interrupted by the noises bouncing around in his skull, eyes blinking rapidly as Tomura tries in vain to quiet the indiscernible racket—the breathing and the heartbeats and the tapping—to calm the chaos in his mind.
 “Don’t be absurd, Tomura,” his father chuckles, the harmonious titter swiftly cutting through the disorganized turmoil in his head. And Tomura can’t believe he’s laughing, can’t believe he’s amused, can’t believe he’s so fucking nonchalant about the entire thing. “If there was an organization powerful enough to own the phone companies, down to having the ability of manipulating records, surely we’d know of them,”
 “We’d be them, most likely, Sir,” Kurogiri adds politely, head bowed as he speaks to the Boss.
 “Exactly,” the Boss continues. “If there were someone with monopoly over the phone companies—if there were someone tapping our phones at all, as a matter of fact—Tomoyasu would know in an instant; you know that, son,” Another deep chuckle vibrates in his chest, and he stares at his son with a peculiar little smile, head tilted, crimson eyes softening in patronization. “Really, Tomura, this is getting a little ridiculous. How much have you been taking lately?”
 “Is this—” he chokes out, breathing beginning to accelerate, wild ruby eyes flying from one face to another, between the two people he’s known his entire life, between the two people he’s ever known as family, head whipping back and forth with the motion before his dropped jaw snaps shut. “Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? Huh!?”
 Standing suddenly, Tomura’s fist slams down on the surface closest to him—a mirrored bar cart, mostly empty, reflective glass smashing upon impact—his chest stammering under ragged inhales, uneven breaths that blister as they barrel into his chest.
 “It's not funny!” he tries to shout, but his voice cracks, words fragmenting in his throat, jagged edges slicing the gummy walls and forcing a vicious cough. “The one person more important than—than anyone, than everyone combined—is in serious danger, and you’re—you’re laughing?”
 “No, Tomura,” Kurogiri jumps in quickly, attempting to pacify the swiftly escalating situation. “There’s nothing funny about anyone being in grave danger, especially her,”
 “Then...Then...Why are you laughing?” His chest hiccups with a hitched sob, half-swallowed, and he stumbles backwards, blinking rapidly as his blurry gaze flies between the two men who have raised him, more tears spilling over his lashes. “You don’t...You don’t believe me?”
 And it’s like a sharp slap to the face, this startling realization, their dismissal of the severity of the situation, fury reigniting in his chest, flames blazing higher and higher until they lick the back of his tongue, scorching his throat.  
 “I wouldn’t lie about something like that!” he roars.
 “No, we know you wouldn’t—”
 “Bullshit! I’ve been working my ass off, alright? Tirelessly searching for these motherfuckers, and I—I bet you haven’t even been trying, have you! Thought this whole thing was some big joke right from the start, huh!”
 “Tomura,” his father begins, booming voice forcing a jolt up the spine of everyone in the room, except his son. “You know that isn’t true,”
 “Prove it! Show me your research!”
 “I think that's enough for today,” Kurogiri murmurs to Doctor Sako, placing a hand on his shoulder and rousing the Doctor from his stupor.
 “What?” the Doctor looks up, frenzied scrawling halted, surprise evident in his cinnamon eyes. “But we’re finally starting to make progress!”
 The Boss shakes his head, signifying that the decision is final. “No, no, that’s enough for today. He’s clearly quite agitated,” three pairs of eyes sweep towards Tomura, who’s begun clawing at his neck again, fractured shards of the smashed mirror wedged in his flesh, viscous crimson flowing down his wrist to stain the cuffs of his shirt, trickling down his neck to begin pooling in the dips of his collarbones. “And I’d rather not exacerbate the situation any further,”
 “I’d like to treat his wounds and inspect his healing now,” Natsuo speaks up for the first time, drawing all of the gazes in the room towards him. “If that’s alright?”
 “Of course,” the Boss says amicable, features molding into a friendly mask. “We’ll leave you to it,”
 ✰         ✰         ✰
 On the other side of those doors, you sit huddled against Dabi, helplessly listening as Tomura’s fury builds from smoldering cinders to raging flames, consuming all in its path.
 Something shatters, and your entire body flinches, Dabi readjusting his grasp. His heart rattles the bones that cage it, and his head dips down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
 “Uh,” he starts unsurely, fingers playing with the material of your dress. “Maybe we should—”
 “No,” you cut him off, voice brittle and frail and not nearly as assertive as you wish it was. “I don’t want to—I won’t leave him,”
 “But I just think—”
 It’s supposed to be firm this time, strong and fearless and non-negotiable, but it comes out as more of a whine, as a plead, quivering and broken.
 And for once, Dabi doesn’t push, doesn’t argue or huff under his breath, simply responding with a single jerk of his head and holding you close.
 Another smash, another shout, and Dabi embraces you tighter, cradling you to his chest as his body curls in on your own, as if he’s trying to protect you, to shield you from all of the pain and the hurt and the fear.
 Gentle tremors crawl under your skin, wracking your entire form as you attempt to suppress the malicious sob mauling your chest, little fingers gripping his forearms, keeping his whole being wrapped up in yours as nails bite into his skin.
 “I’m here,” he whispers, so softly you nearly miss it, discerning it mostly from the light reverberations against your back. “I’m here,” he repeats, firmer. “I’ve got you, okay? I-I’ve got you, baby,”
 You nod, lips pressed together as that sob finally breaks free, barreling up your throat and crashing against the barrier of clenched teeth and sealed lips.
 And Dabi wants to tell you that it’s okay, wants to tell you not to restrain it, to let it escape, the way he gave you permission to shatter to pieces in his arms back in New York, but he can’t seem to form the words, tongue burning to ash as the letters sear themselves into the tissue, voice disintegrating to shreds in his throat, residual vapours of broken breath causing him to choke.
 Instead he just holds you firmly, safe and secure in his tattooed arms, offering you a comforting space to break down in while inked lips press chaste kisses to the crown of your head, chest quivering with the hum of a familiar tune you can’t quite place, lulling you into complacency as he rocks your bodies in a trancelike, soothing manner.
 Finally, finally, they exit, you and Dabi on your feet before the bedroom door’s even swung shut behind them.
 “Natsuo’s treating him now,” the Boss informs Dabi, who responds with a curt, wooden nod. “So, Doctor, what’s your verdict?”
 “Well, it’s hard to say,” Doctor Sako says, hints of irritation sewn into his tone. “Some sort of psychosis for sure, but whether it’s from the drugs or a deeper root, I can’t tell,”
 “If you had to take an educated guess,” the Boss encourages in an easygoing lilt. “Which would you say it is?”
 The Doctor blows a robust gust of breath from his lips, eyeing the Boss warily. “If I had to guess,” he begins, rubbing at an eye as he stares down at his clipboard. “I’d say it’s likely that there’s a more deeply rooted cause here, amplified or aggravated by the drugs,"
 “He’s sick,” you pipe up, face half buried in Dabi’s chest meekly.
 “It’s a plausible possibility,” the Doctor confirms. “But with what, exactly, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t afforded enough time with him to preform an accurate and thorough assessment, and Tomura was exceptionally uncooperative,”
 “S-So, what can we do?”
 “Ideally, stop the drugs and start him on anti-psychotics, and probably a mood stabilizer, too.” A frown tugs at the corners of Doctor Sako's mouth. “But he has made it very clear that he will not do so willingly,”
 “And that in-patient program you had mentioned...” the Boss trails off, head tilted curiously.
 The Doctor shakes his head. “Aside from the isolated crystal incident, he currently does not check many boxes for at risk of harm to himself or to others—meaning we cannot forcibly place him in a program without his explicit consent, because, technically, he doesn’t qualify. Not yet, anyway,”
 “What are our other options, then?” Dabi speaks for the first time, voice gravelly. You cling to him tighter, and he acknowledges your presence, his own fingers readjusting their grip around your waist, digging into the soft flesh.
 “Even though there’s no guarantee that he’ll actually take them, I can prescribe him some meds,” the Doctor says, through his expression is grim.
 “Anything else?”
 “I’m, of course, open to holding sessions with him,” he looks over to the Boss, gauging his reaction. “Either here, at the penthouse, or in my office; his choice,” he pauses, gaze flitting back to Dabi. “Other than that, all you can do is keep an eye on him. If his symptoms escalate, or he becomes exceedingly dangerous, call an ambulance,”
 “I’ll talk to him about the therapy,” the Boss nods. “Thank you, Doctor,”
 “What about work?” Kurogiri questions.
 Tomura’s father sighs, expertly polished mask of authority finally beginning to tarnish. “Regardless of what exactly this is, Tomura is evidently not fit to be managing a full workload,” Scarlet eyes assess Kurogiri slowly, who is already nodding. “We shall reduce his duties significantly, and allow him to work from home, where he feels much more comfortable—and where you can efficiently keep watch over him.”
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 They leave shortly after—all of the physicians and psychiatrists and family members—and Tomura counts; one, two, three dings—and then, Tomura waits, waits for the chaos in his head to diminish from blaring white noise to sizzling static, for the blood to clot and begin adding to the embellished choker collaring his neck, for the pain from his fresh wounds, new bandages overlapping older ones, to fade from sharp stabs to dull throbs.
 Finally, Tomura emerges, hair a haystacked mess, neck and wrists still trickling scarlet, the nail beds of his bony fingers stained with rust and stuffed with dead flesh as they absentmindedly pick at a bandage, fresh blood beginning to seep through.
 A precious gasp claws its way up your throat, and you’re on your feet in an instant—out of Dabi’s arms, into Daddy’s, little whimpers spilling past your lips as you fret over him, pillowy palms that smooth down fluffy tufts, tender fingers that catch crimson on their tips.
 Sunken ruby eyes meet glittering sapphire, and Tomura sighs, leaning heavily on you.
 This is it—Dabi knows this is it; this is the end. Tomura’s going to dismiss him of his glorified babysitting duties and permit him to return to the work he’s good at, to return to the work on the streets, to the grime and grit and ghouls, dwelling in the underground tunnels where he belongs.
 Tomura murmurs something in your ear, and Dabi watches as shock bleeds through your features—raised brows, an agape mouth, widening eyes—but you don’t defy him, nodding along to whatever he’s just demanded and taking your immediate leave. His gaze follows your movements, waiting until his heavy bedroom door has fully shut behind you, then turns back to Dabi and wordlessly holds out a hand in the vague direction of his office.
 “She would’ve been listening, had we spoken in the living room,” Tomura explains as they enter. “Little brat,”
 Wordlessly, Dabi nods, tongue lethargic and lifeless in his mouth, tiny spikes of adrenaline tingling through his veins, surging with his blood as his heart attempts to climb through the ribs that cage it.
 “Anyway,” Tomura continues, raking brittle fingers through his nest of silver, the loose corner of a bandage catching on the strands. “It’s not like it’s all that important,” he collapses heavily on the mauve leather couch with a sigh, head tipping back.
 Dabi follows.
 And Dabi waits.
 Head lolling to the side lazily, Tomura opens an eye to stare at his inferior. “Your duties are being reduced,”
 “You’ll still be bringing her to and from school, and wherever the fuck else she wants to go, but now that I’ll be working from home...” Tomura trails off, singular lid sliding shut again, words exhaled on a heavy breath. “I won’t be needing you here, in the penthouse,”
 “So, I’ve been demoted to chauffeur, basically,”
 “Yeah,” Tomura chuckles, though it’s nothing more than an exhausted huff, eye opening again, weak amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “A chauffeur.”
 Heavy despondency seeps into the floor of his stomach, taking root at the core of his soul and beginning to fester, to spread, to devour; weightless delight fizzes behind his sternum, tiny bubbles of sunshine—of your laugh, your eyes, your touch, voice, scent—that burst delicately, their warmth soaking into his flesh. They mix into something toxic, into something intoxicating, a bitter acid crawls its way up his throat, eroding his esophagus before dwelling on the back of his tongue.
 “That’s all, Dabi,” Tomura says softly, after a few moments of prolonged silence.
 Clearing his throat roughly, Dabi nods, palms pressed to his knees as if he’s about to rise from his seat on the cushion, a sudden tug on his ribs tethering him. “Hey, uh,” nimble fingers flex, nails digging into denim. “Are you—I mean, how are you?”
 Tomura’s head flops to the side, and he stares at Dabi through dense, fanned lashes. Crimson sears itself into his skin—scorching his cheeks and charring his neck—and Dabi shifts under the invasive gaze.
 “Fine,” Tomura says with a nonchalant shrug, but his fingers are toying with the fraying edges of a bandage wrapped around his wrist.
 Dabi doesn’t buy it, not even for a second, but he swallows his fragmented words.  
 There’s more he wants to say, more he has to say, but he isn’t sure how to say it, lost all ability to stitch letters into words, to knit words into sentences, to vocalize the thoughts tangling in his head with the wobbly voice lodged at the back of his throat.
 So he says nothing, delivering one curt nod before grunting and standing. Each step away feels worse than the last, feels wrong, like there are threads connecting him to the only person close enough to ever be considered a best friend, pulled taut and tight with every footfall towards the door, begging him not to go, not to snap those strands, so weak and worn.
 It’s only when Dabi’s hand is on the doorknob that they yank and force him to turn.
 “Tomura,” running his tongue along his bottom lip, he pauses, waits for his boss to look up, then swallows, voice thick and weighted. “Let me know if, uh, well,” A sharp exhale, a clenched jaw, a twitching nose. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, alright? You don’t—You don’t have to do this alone,”
 And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi thinks Tomura’s about to spill his guts—to tear himself open and spew himself at Dabi’s feet, to bear his bones and blood and broken soul in a way Dabi knows he didn’t for those doctors. And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi hopes he will, the way he used to—the way they both used to—on those rare nights where they were feeling especially sick and saccharine, juvenile and jaded, free and fucked up.
 But he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask Dabi to stop, to wait, to stay, and he doesn’t tell Dabi about the horrifying thoughts twisting the tissues of his brain into tight, tangling knots.
 He merely nods once; a slow, sleepy movement of his head, eyes slipping shut again, breathing shallow, affirmation slipping through licked-raw lips in a mutter, floating on the tail of a sigh.
 “Will do,”
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 Ambivalence chases, races, the blood in Dabi’s veins for the rest of the day; faster, higher, brighter with each second that ticks by, thrumming through his cells until his entire body’s ablaze, engulfed by the inferno sizzling under his skin by the end of the night, such scalding heat keeping him awake, alert.
 This day would come eventually, inevitably; he knew it would, carrying with it the bittersweet tang of relief and remorse, anticipation and anxiety.
 If he’s being truthful, now’s the best time for it to happen—he needs to get away from you. Really, he does—he should. You’ve barely been back in Japan for forty-eight hours, yet his best friend’s mind is decaying to rotting flesh, and Dabi—well, all Dabi can think about is you; the taste of your moans, the scent of your arousal, the sound of his name on your lips—and so, yeah, he should.
 Or should he?
 Because spears of terror pierce his heart any time he thinks about leaving you alone with Tomura—poor, unstable Tomura, who’s preoccupied trying to stitch together the remaining shreds his mind has decomposed into, who loves you so much he’s completely stopped granting you his attention, in a desperate and urgent attempt to protect you.
 Because that monster you birthed in his chest, all those months ago when all of this was just beginning, gnaws on his ribs and claws at his stomach, its eyes glowing bright jade at the thought of Tomura getting to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, whenever he wants to.
 Because icy tears sting his eyes and freeze into a sharp block in his throat when he realizes that he will no longer see you every single day, will no longer spend every waking moment with you—morning to night, dusk to dawn—will no longer get to eat all of his meals with you, or laze around taking naps with your head in his lap, or listen to you complain every time he throws on those sci-fi serials from the 30s that he loves so much.
 And that’s terrifying.
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 It isn’t like you had expected things to go back to normal, to go back to the way they were before, just because Daddy’s at home now. No, of course not; you knew he was a very busy man, even with his workload reduced to something more manageable.
 But you hadn’t exactly expected things to get worse, either.
 It was a silly hope—a dream, maybe—that Tomura might begin paying more attention to you now that you’re sharing the same space again; that Tomura might take notice of your presence and find some scraps of time for you: to eat a meal with you, or watch an episode of some stupid show with you; that, if you’re really well behaved, Tomura might even allow you to sit in his office with him as he works, cute and quiet and perfect as always.
 It was a silly hope that Tomura might want to do any of these things at all, that Tomura might care about anything other than ironing out the kinks and knots his mind has twisted itself into.
 And it isn’t like you haven’t tried, haven’t been trying, in conjunction with Kurogiri to get him to emerge from that godforsaken office, with its heavy mahogany doors and thick brass locks; to get him to eat, to take a break from whatever the hell it is he’s doing locked away in there all day.
But Tomura’s nothing if not brutally, infuriatingly stubborn.
 You still see Dabi, a few times a week for your classes and the like, but the rest of his time is occupied elsewhere, doing whatever it is he did before being assigned to protect you.
 But Dabi’s sudden absence from the penthouse itself affects you more than you anticipate.
 It feels as though everything has lost its purpose, as though everything has lost its appeal. No, you don’t want to watch those stupid wedding dress shows if Dabi isn’t there to harshly critique them with you. No, you don’t want to have dessert if Daddy isn’t there to lovingly scold you about your sugar consumption, or keep a watchful eye on how many cookies you’re nibbling on. And no, you don’t want to take a nap because you’re cranky; not if it isn’t safe and secured in a pair of their arms, not if it isn’t cuddled and clasped against one of their chests.
 And you feel it, his absence, both of their absences; a deep, dull ache that has drilled itself into the core of your very soul, that keeps tunnelling and tunnelling and tunnelling until it cracks the center and splits it wide open, filling the gash with ice, shards of it prickling through your veins every time your gaze catches on something that reminds you of them.
 And you know that’s exactly what it is that’s causing this constant throbbing pain, too; you know it is, because on those occasions when you’re privileged enough to catch in their light—Dabi’s weak flickers, or Daddy’s simmering embers—it thaws, and you feel alive again, right again.
 And, for a little while, that’s enough. For a little while, you can live with that, be alive with that, heart vigorously pumping boiling blood through your cold veins, blazing through the thick ice and alighting your entire body with that special warmth whenever Daddy has a few minutes to spare, whenever Dabi drives you to your classes.
 But eventually, flickers and embers aren’t strong enough to keep that frigid pain rooting itself within your chest from freezing your entire body.
 Eventually, you need more.
 It takes just under two weeks—eleven and a half days—until your resolve finally crumbles and your pride burns to nothing but cinders, until that loneliness threatens to engulf you from the inside out, snapping your body clean in half as it envelops you in its icy embrace.
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 You must stand outside that fucking office for hours, spending too much time debating whether or not this is the right choice; whether or not you’re just being selfish and needy, before spikes of ice shoot through your chest again, and you finally raise a trembling fist to knock knuckles against the wood.
 The first three times, he doesn’t answer.
 It’s expected, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
 A tentative hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning to twist, to tug.
 And for a moment, it’s silent. Then:
 A harsh chuckle splinters the mahogany wood, Tomura’s voice slithering through the cracks it created. “I know you didn’t just try to break one of Daddy’s most important rules, princess,” he calls, voice cold and condescending, garnished with just a hint of amusement.
 You know better than to lie to him.
 “I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, yanking your hand back from the brass knob as if it suddenly sprouted teeth. “I just—I miss—I haven’t seen you in over a day, and—Well, I’m...Worried?” your breath catches in your chest, stagnant and stiff, only releasing when he fails to respond. “I—I mean, have you eaten at all in the past twenty-four hours?”
 Another pause, another beat of tinny silence. Tears swell in your throat, thick and tingling, your words fighting to climb to your lips.
 “I made you some lunch,” everything sounds garbled, nothing more than a tangled mess of letters on your tongue as you glance at the silver cart, food protected under the intricate cloche no doubt gone cold by now. “I-It isn’t much, jus’a little something, but—“ you swallow. “It’s better than nothing. Try to eat, please? I-I’ll be with—I’m going out,”
 And then you’re off, barely able to get the whole sentence spit from your lips before you’re practically sprinting towards his bedroom, a vicious cry clawing at your chest. The door swings shut behind you in your haste, hard enough to rattle the art hung on the walls as you slide down the wood.
 If Daddy were in his right mind—if Daddy cared at all—such an action would’ve earned you a hefty punishment, full of tears and apologies, raw flesh and glowing rubies.
 But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, and you can’t stay here anymore, surrounded by him, by his waning scent and his perishing soul, swallowed up whole by his essence, rotting away in the belly of the beast.
 Trembling hands urgently scroll through your phone, quivering so terribly the device nearly slips from their grasp twice, frenzied and desperate to find his name, to end this erosion, to get out.
 Bringing the phone to your ear, you work hard to quell your sobs and quiet your sniffles, swallowing hard to suppress them, to keep them in your stuttering chest, to be strong and stoic.
 And for a second, you’re sure you’ve got it under control, emotions locked away in a cage of ivory, the only remnants of them present in the way your chest stammers unevenly as they thrash to escape.
 But it all implodes the moment you hear his voice, infused with panic, with passion; it all bubbles right back up again, thick tears blurring your vision and whole body shuddering under the weep you tried to tame, resolve burnt entirely to ash as a cracked wail of D-Dabi! tumbles past your lips.
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 It seems the city is caught under a perpetual drizzle lately, a soft rain whose droplets turn the world into nothing more than a landscape of hazy lights and monochrome.
 The sun, which has kept itself buried behind thick charcoal clouds for the entirety of the day, has nearly sunk beneath the skyline now, stowing away beyond skyscrapers and high-rises, gobbled up whole by the jagged teeth of the city.
 They’ve just finished their biggest job for the day, finding recruits—more accurately, test subjects—men and women desperate for something: money, a fix, an escape; men and women willing to do anything to get their hands on whatever it is they want, including agreeing to becoming AFOs personal lab rats.
 Most of ‘em don’t make it, a man by the name of Rikiya Yotsubashi had told Keigo his first official day on the job, which was coincidently the day Dabi & Co left for New York. Most of ‘em are junkies, criminals, people on the run, people who need something, he shrugged, shooting Keigo an appraising gaze from the corner of his eye, molars grinding pink bubblegum to goo. Y’know, people who won’t be missed.
 That was the most important qualification, Keigo had found out. He hadn’t exactly been shocked; it took the department years to catch onto what the medical conglomerate had been doing with its carefully selected candidates; individuals who disappeared frequently with no logical cause, who had no family or friends that would come calling for them or sniffing around, who society disdained, cast to the margins and forced to scuttle along the outskirts of civilization.
 The government was happy with it. It keeps the streets clean, Riyika had recited to him, quoting the prime minister. He donates generous sums of cash to keep our operations going, solely for that reason.
 It was revolting. The gluttonous greed of man is utterly disgusting, his boss had chuckled, clapping a large hand on his shoulder hard enough to make Keigo sway. Welcome to the real world, Detective.
 Keigo had thought he was in the real world, that he had already experienced the real world; a world full of contradictions and conspiracies, sure, but a world where Good and Bad were clearly defined, neatly sorted into easily digestible categories. A world where he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. A world where he could nonchalantly dismiss his own unsavoury actions in favour of the Greater Good.
 He isn’t so sure anymore.  
 He isn’t so sure, because this world, the underworld, the universe of corrupt riches, has managed to turn all of Keigo’s neat little notions on their heads.
 Because he’s witnessed why these people join such organizations; he’s seen it: the single mom with several mouths to feed, offering Keigo cake and tea regardless of her predicament the moment he step foot in her shabby home; the drug addicted father with the prodigy daughter who deserves the best education money can by, working three jobs to ensure her tuition is paid in full, and she can get those pretty red shoes she wants so badly; the barely legal teens who’ve been raised by these streets, who’ve raised their siblings on these streets, desperately searching for a place to belong, for a family.
 People who are the salt of the earth, the gold in the sun, simply doing what they can to survive, doing the jobs society has forced them to do then shunned them for it, doing their best to provide better lives for their loved ones, even if it means risking their lives and bloodying their hands to achieve it.
 Because he’s seen the innocent victims, too; friends and family that get caught up in it all as collateral damage; innocent little girls like you, that fall into the clutches of monsters, that happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; or maybe it’s the right place. Keigo can’t tell anymore.
 Keigo can’t tell anymore, because down here, in this world, the underworld, bustling beneath the feet of society, Keigo’s come to learn that Good and Bad aren’t so clearly defined. In fact, he isn’t quite sure they even exist as separate entities anymore, notions bleeding into one another until they’re neither, until they’re both, all at the same time, oozing into one another like messy watercolour on a chaotic canvas, creating a new colour entirely, something Keigo’s never seen before.
 And despite the fact that Keigo’s made next to no progress these past two weeks—his first two weeks officially ‘on the job’—it’s these thoughts that infect his mind for those fifteen days Dabi’s absent in New York. It’s these thoughts that burrow through the recesses of his brain, latching onto the tissues with sharp little teeth and burying themselves within the folds, never to be extracted.
 Dabi’s been back in Japan for just under two weeks now, and Keigo’s been instructed to ‘shadow’ him every day thus far.
 On this particular day, Dabi’s got his hands cupped protectively around the flickering flame of a silver Zippo, cigarette secured between two rows of ivory, when the call comes.
 “Fuck’s sake,” he huffs out under his breath, flipping the lighter closed with a sharp twinge and sucking hard.
 Keigo laughs a little as Dabi fumbles through his deep pockets, muttering a hasty Shut up, when Keigo remarks that this is an peculiar turn of events, that no one ever calls Dabi.
 But his features, pinched in irritation, relax the moment his gaze skims his phone, thumb practically slamming down on the answer button, fingers swiftly removing the cigarette from his mouth as he breathes your name into the receiver, followed by a near desperate What is it? What’s wrong?
 Keigo straightens up, too; he can’t help it, action almost automatic, attention perking up at Dabi’s disquieted tone.
 He’s unable to hear what you’re saying, voice so meek it has Dabi gripping his phone to the side of his head, pressed tightly against his ear as his eyes narrow in concentration.
 “You...What?” Dabi’s lids loosen, eyes widening—in surprise, or shock, Keigo isn’t entirely certain. “I mean,” Dabi coughs, clears his throat, tugs a little at the collar of his hoodie, ash from his steadily burning cigarette dusting his chest. “Did you ask your Daddy? ... What do you mean He doesn’t care? You know he does, princess ... He’s what? Busy? Too busy for you?”
 Lips wrap around the cigarette, and Dabi inhales deeply, like he’s unsure, burnt fingers threading through ink. “I dunno, baby,” he mutters, words hidden in heavy clouds of smoke. “I don’t think—No, listen—Hey, listen. I don’t think Daddy should be—He does, for Christ’s sake, will you stop that?” A pause, a thumb rubbing at an eye in exasperation, your voice beginning to rise in pitch, loud enough for Keigo to hear it—just a muddled shrill sound echoing from the phone—but not loud enough for him to discern any words.
 “I don’t think Daddy should be left alone,” Dabi says slowly over your speech, almost like you’re stupid, almost like he has to force the stubborn words from his tongue. “I know, I know, I miss you too, princess. It’s been—”
 And it’s then that Dabi becomes aware of Keigo’s prying, vying eyes, turning away from his inquisitive, invasive gaze and hunching in on himself a little. “It’s been hard on me too, you know,” he continues, a soft, self-conscious confession. “It’s been...” he stops, words strangling themselves in his throat. “Different, yeah,” he agrees in a huff of breath. “Different,”
 Guilt, thick and sticky, unfurls itself in the pit of his stomach; a rapidly spreading slime that engulfs his organs and twists, and Keigo averts his eyes, tries his best to stop listening.
 Because he shouldn’t be, truly, and the longer he does, the more he feels like he’s encroaching on something deeply personal, on something that’s none of his business and should be none of his concern, something he was never supposed to be privy to, or tangle his conscience up in.
 Because Keigo can tell that whatever you’re saying on the other line, with your escalating little please?’s and whiny little Da-bi!’s, is absolutely killing his colleague, struggling more and more with each breath you take, each exhale of smoke from his nostrils, to deny you.
 In the end, he loses, just as he always does. In the end, he finds himself lounging in the luscious lobby of Tomura’s condominium—of his own home, and yours—nimble fingers picking at a stray thread of the armchair he’s leaning against.
 One ding of the elevator, one gentle breath of his name, and he’s straightening up instantly, catching you snuggly against his chest, limbs wrapped almost protectively around your slightly trembling form.
 And it’s interesting, the way the two of you nearly melt into each other in a way that’s so intimate, so familiar, that Keigo can hardly believe you haven’t known each other your entire lives.
 It’s interesting, the way your bodies seem to knot together in a manner that’s almost graceful despite how tightly you’re clinging to one another, arms looped and legs locked, everything stitched together in one perfect present, one unbreakable entity, immaculate in the way it moves, ebbs and flows, breathes in singularity, in unity.
 Keigo takes this as his cue to leave, to allow the two of you some space and privacy, Dabi nodding his understanding over the crown of your head, face still nuzzled into him.
 “Hey,” Dabi says softly, once Keigo’s departed, palms cushioning your head in an attempt to draw your face up from his chest. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he commands gently, removing your face from its sanctuary, discerning sapphire sweeping across your face. “What’s going on?”
 Dabi’s face hardens, lips pressed in a firm line. “Don’t bullshit me,” he warns. “What did he do?”
 “N-Nothing, he didn’t do anything,”
 And it hurts, because it’s true—he really didn’t do anything. A scolding, silence as a response—not exactly anything out of the ordinary, not anymore.
 Rough palms find their designated place on your cheeks, cupping your jaw, delicate and tender as if you’ll crumble to dust if he isn’t cautious and careful. Calloused thumbs caress the flesh stretched over your cheekbones, and you find yourself nuzzling into his touch, a pathetic little hiccup breaking in your throat.
 Crystal eyes rapidly search your face, a cute crease between his eyebrows carved from concern. His head shakes a little, just minuscule movements, really, indicating that he doesn’t exactly understand, large hands keeping your gaze from straying from his.
 “He didn’t do anything,” you repeat through a thick swallow, words distorted with spit. “Th-That's the problem,”
 “Baby,” his voice breaks, as if it pains him to speak, as if it pains him to tell you that he doesn’t understand, that he can’t offer the comfort he so desperately yearns to. “I-I’m—I don’t—”
 “No provocation, no protests, no possession...No nothing. He just...He just let me go,”
 Understanding cracks through the confusion coating his face, pinched features melting as anxiety bleeds through them, replaced with the unsteady wobble of worry.
 But Dabi stays silent, because there’s nothing to say anymore, because you’ve heard it all before, opting to draw you into his arms and tug you to his chest once again, exhaling a weighted sigh against the crown of your head.
 And, truly, he wants so desperately to tell you that it’s okay, that it’s all going to be alright, that Tomura’s just in some pissy mood and it’ll pass soon, he promises, he swears, just like it always does; he wants to.
 Yet no words come, because he can’t, because he won’t, because he can’t find it in him to lie to you, even if only to provide a few moments of fleeting solitude.  
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 Over the next month or so, your presence becomes more and more of a frequent occurrence until it’s practically a permanent fixture.
 It starts with a mere call or two a week, asking if you can tag along with them, always promising you’ll be on your very best behaviour, always begging Dabi with those precious little pleads about how bored you are and how much you miss him. But it grows rapidly, in conjunction with Dabi’s steadily decreasing ability to refuse you, and before long, Keigo’s seeing you an average of five times a week.
 And, oh, you’re so cute, Keigo just can’t help but melt a little, warm a little, whole facade dropping the first time you meet when you ask, after hastily wiping those pesky crystal teardrops adorning lashes spiked with water and introducing yourself, if Hawks is his real name.
 “What do you think, songbird?” he had questioned, voiced laced with a hint of teasing as he flipped those windswept golden curls from his eyes. “Be pretty dangerous to work on this side of the industry without a code name, don’t you think?”
 But your increasing presence becomes a disruption.
 Because your time together shifts, evolves, blurring the lines between labour and leisure, morphing from you attending those standard jobs—mostly consisting of drug delivery to the higher-ups, quick and inconspicuous meet-ups with the white collar criminals, and the never-ending recruitment process—to visiting those greasy American style diners Dabi practically lives on after the work is done, time becoming languid and loose as you lounge on their glittering plastic seats, leaking into the wee hours of the morning. Or, sometimes you swing by those old movie houses, now nothing more than crumbling skeletons of the grand palaces they once were with their fraying velvet and peeling paint, to watch their midnight double features, often 1930s gangster films or those buddy-cop flicks from the 70s and 80s that Keigo just can’t seem to get enough of.
 Soon enough, Keigo’s accompanying the both of you home, the three of you huddling up in the theatre room Keigo’s so unabashedly fascinated with, with laps full of buttersalt popcorn and fingers encrusted with the sour-sweet sugar from those stupid gummies you love so much, barely paying attention to whatever show’s on the screen as you chat.
 Or you’re loitering in the kitchen, perched on the edge of granite countertops while greedy hands scour the innards of the fridge in search of something tasty and expensive; or lounging around the main living room, surrounded by scattered styrofoam and too much take-out, dainty giggles prying past your lips as the men debate philosophy and chuck dumplings and rice balls at each other.
 And it’s...It’s nice, Keigo’s horrified to discover. He knows Dabi’s mostly toying with him, intentionally wasting his time, knows Dabi still hasn’t conducted any serious business in his presence; just those tiny jobs that leave Keigo empty handed and frustrated, that lead to nothing of real use or significance.
 But when Keigo raises these concerns to his superior, worried he’s squandering precious and valuable time, Chief Yagi tells him not to worry.
 Infiltrating the penthouse is also an important part of your mission, he had said. You’re doing well, Detective, keep it up. Getting them to relax in your presence is crucial to this operation coming to fruition, he had promised.
 Sure, that makes sense; the more they lower their guard, the easier it’ll be for Keigo to wheedle information out of them, to go snooping and sniffing for clues.
 But what happens when Keigo feels like his guard is lowering as well, entirely against his will?
 Because throughout it all, Keigo observes, Keigo witnesses: just how much you and Dabi lean on each other, rely on each other; just how much you and Dabi hurt every time another slice of Tomura’s mind disintegrates—and Tomura himself.
 ✰         ✰         ✰
 It’s nearly a month—twenty-seven and a half days, to be exact—before Keigo finally sees him in the flesh for the very first time.
 And the portrait Keigo’s met with will be seared into his mind forever, carved into the walls of his skull, doomed to ceaselessly relive the scalding and the scratching when his sins haunt him in the middle of the night.
 The man walking across the room bears little resemblance to the Tomura Shigaraki he’s seen in photos and files. Knotted tufts of dull silver stand on end, mussed from bony fingers tugging, raking, yanking.
 Most of his muscle mass has disintegrated, leaving behind the shell of a man; hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks accentuating his sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, his silhouette nothing more than a collection of rigid lines and razored edges, a protruding collarbone peeking out from an ill-fitted cashmere button-up, bony wrists adorned with perpetually healing wounds, thin gaunt skin stretched too tight over slim hands.
 Blood seeps into the crisp white collar and cuffed sleeves of his tailored shirt, readily leaking from his gashed neck and gorged wrists and creating a grotesque painting in the fabric, artful blotches of crimson as bright as his eyes soaking through unblemished ivory in asymmetrical smudged patches, like bloody clouds in a bleak sky.
 And still, you’re scrambling the moment you lay eyes on him, struggling to pull yourself from Dabi’s iron grip with sweet little whimpers, feet clambering and fingers clawing your way free.
 “Daddy!” you breathe as you stumble towards him, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. “Oh my God, Daddy!”
 He barely even registers you until you’re barreling into his chest, hastily taking a wounded wrist between your tiny palms and cradling it like it’s special, like it’s precious.
 He seems as shocked as you are, belated surprise morphing his features, gazing down at his own gushing wrists as if his body isn’t quite his own, as if he doesn’t fully recognize it.
 But it is his, and these scrapes and scratches and hollows and hacks are from him, unkempt fingernails encrusted with rust and flesh.
 He doesn’t even feel it, he tells you, voice painfully monotone, dead and limp and dismal, stare never lifting. He hadn’t even noticed.
 “Wh-What? What do you mean—oh, gosh—Dabi,” you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, Tomura’s head finally lifting, confusion contorting his features. “Some bandages, please?”
 “Dabi,” he says, soft and slow, as if he’s tasting the name, rolling it around between his teeth, tongue curling around it protectively, before finally swallowing it down. “I thought I dismissed you?”
 “Oh,” Dabi breathes, avoiding scarlet eyes as he hastily searches for those bandages. “Well, you did, kind of. I, uh—”
 “I invited him over,” you say simply, little thumbs running across Tomura’s gouged wrists with the gentlest, barely there caresses. “And that’s Hawks, one of Dabi’s friends,” and your voice is so sweet, so soft, Keigo can’t help but deflate a little, just the way your Daddy does into your calming touch. “And don’t worry, Dabi screened him; he’s safe. We hang out sometimes, when you’re too busy ‘n all—they keep me company,”
 Tomura’s gaze doesn’t lift at all, refusing Keigo any sort of acknowledgement, head nodding lethargically as you and Dabi hold delicate wrists between your palms, wrapping each in cloth and gauze, ministrations doused in compassionate vigilance.
 Yes, that’s how it happens, the very first time.
 But fleeting interactions such as these are becoming more and more difficult for Keigo to stomach.
 Because the pain is fucking excruciating.
 It’s painful to witness this memory of a man—now nothing more than a wisp, a shell, a ghost—painful to watch the way your eyes fill with tears the moment he steps in the room, and the way Dabi’s avert, the way Dabi can’t even bear to look at him anymore without a twitching nose or a trembling chin.
 It hurts too much.
 Because although Dabi doesn’t say much, can’t say much, Keigo can tell that he yearns to, that he’s affected by this in unimaginable ways as well, that this whole situation is eroding him from the inside out, each sighting of Tomura dishevelled and deranged birthing another parasite to chew it’s way through his organs, to feast on his heart.
 It’s evident in the way he’s bit his bottom lip raw and picked his cuticles until they’re bloody, in the way he rubs aggressively at his eyes once Tomura’s gone, in the way his chest stammers with hiccuped words and half-buried whimpers on the rare occasion that he does speak to his boss.
 And it’s painful to witness you or Kurogiri gently asking Tomura when the last time he showered was, or if he’s eaten, if he’s changed his clothes in the past few days, a once pristinely tailored suit now all rumpled and stained as he looks down with a shrug.
 It’s painful to witness Kurogiri working tirelessly to pick up Tomura’s slack, reorganizing appointments, holding meetings in his place, and making executive decisions.
 From the fragments of hissed conversations Keigo catches, he’s come to find out that Tomura has completely dropped his executive duties.
 “He’s missing every single meeting we’ve set up for him,” Keigo had discovered Kurogiri whispering into a phone one dreary evening, the receiver cupped to his mouth as if his palms could stop the words from escaping, from reaching prying ears. “He is not adequately fulfilling his obligations as CEO; the promises he made to the company, the duties and demands he used to delegate so professionally. He’s failing to complete the tasks assigned, he isn’t showing up for appointments, he’s refusing to return calls…Such behaviour is beyond unsatisfactory—Sir, I—”
 That’s all he had managed to hear, before Kurogiri’s voice had faded into incomprehensible static, as he moved to another room.
 And it’s these memories that haunt Keigo—sharp shards and slivers of broken expressions; glassy sapphire eyes and violently quivering lips, hidden in the comforting necks and arms and chests of one another—that torment him the moment he’s finally alone in his bed, when his ears are ringing with phantom laughs and sobs, vacant whispers and whimpers, all etched into the tissues of his brain, all typical residue he brings home from the day.
 It’s these memories that swirl around in his mind, turbulent and disruptive, harassing him the instant he finds a shred of peace.
 Because it’s his fault.  
 It’s his fault you go to sleep with tears staining your pillow. It’s his fault Dabi can barely spare a glance at his best friend, much less talk to him. It’s his fault that Tomura Shigaraki has lost his fucking mind, tangled up in paranoid thoughts saturated with terror.
 And no matter what he does, no matter who he speaks to or where he is, Keigo cannot rid his mouth of this pungent sourness permanently woven into his saliva; Keigo cannot quell the bitter acid that continually creeps up his throat to sting the back of his tongue, corrosive and toxic as it seeps into the pit of his stomach and rots away his soul.
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 “I like Hawks,” you hum out in a breath one night, nearly asleep after Dabi’s finger fucked your brains out and you’ve swallowed his cum for the second time that week.
 Your head rises and falls in time with his slow, shallow breathing, his eyes half-lidded and body languid as the drugs course through his system. Your the same, more or less, though you don’t need any drugs to get this way, such a state achieved by Dabi pulling near-violent orgasms from you with those rough fingers, greedily chasing the dull, dim after-sparks as you halfheartedly grind against his thigh.
 “Yeah?” he murmurs, palm petting your head rhythmically.
 “Mhmm,” you sigh, readjusting yourself, gripping him closer, tighter. “Where’d you find him?”
 He chuckles a bit at your naiveness. “He found me,”
 Dabi shrugs the best he can, the motion causing you to jiggle. “Y’know, when you know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone…” he trails off. “S’how it is in this line of work,”
 “How’d you find Daddy?”
 The question, mumbled out past loose, sleepy lips, has him jolting with a frightening start, whole body going rigid, but you’re too fucked out to notice.
 “I didn’t,” he says after a while, not even sure if you’re still awake, voice sounding weird to his ears, off, infused with something he can’t quite place. “He found me,”
 “I, uh...Don’t get along with—My father and I—We just—He just—” he stops, eyes closing so tightly it crinkles his face, as if it’s painful to speak these words, to recall these memories, releasing a long, sharp, heavy sigh.
 A while passes, the drowsy post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate with each second he stays silent and stiff. Thick guilt begins to unfurl in your stomach with the growing terror that you’ve crossed some unmarked line, that you’re intruding, trespassing on memories that are not yours to know, not yours to relive, or to keep. You pull back slightly, blinking twice at him as your mouth falls open to apologize, to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about this if it makes him uncomfortable, if it’s too upsetting to utter, but his lids lift, and then he’s speaking again.
 “My father’s a real piece of shit, alright?” he exhales the sentence in one breath, words soaked in causticity, features screwed up in an expression you’ve never witnessed before, an expression that sends a scorching shock through you limbs straight to your heart, an expression saturated in pure hate. “And I just—I couldn’t fucking take it anymore,” A pause, a tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth in contemplation before releasing it with a soft pop!. “So I left,” he pauses, sucking the lip between his teeth again and biting hard, a feeble attempt to stop his chin from quivering. “At thirteen,”
 “That must’ve been really tough,” you whisper, eyes full of so much concern, so much compassion it scalds his skin, douses him in your endearing affection and eats through his flesh and bone like some sort of corrosive, bearing his imperilled heart to you.
 Sapphire darts away, whole head turning to take shelter from your gaze, an attempt to rebuild those walls you can seemingly knock down with a gentle breath and a pretty smile, barriers you can crumble with a tender hand on his forearm and a soft Dabi?.
 “Yeah, well,” he clears his throat roughly, a vain effort to rid his voice from that stupid tremble. “I managed, didn’t I?” he chuckles wryly, but it comes out dry, withering, strangled. “We aren’t all lucky enough to be born, or even adopted, into welcoming homes with—with tenderness and warmth and people who—” the word catches, shatters into sharp shards in his throat, but he barrels on. “People who care,”
 “No,” you agree quietly, thumb rubbing absentminded circles into his skin, squeezing gently. “We aren’t. But he found you,”
 “He did,” Dabi nods, swallowing harshly, resolve resuming. “He did.”
 “How?” you ask for the third time that night.
 Silence smothers the room, dense and suffocating as it encases the two of you in it’s haughty embrace. Sapphire stays focused on the flickering screen, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, shifting, clicking as he figures out how to proceed. And you don’t push, you don’t rush, opting to simply continue trancing nonsensical patterns into his scarred flesh—motions he can barely feel in some parts, but greatly appreciates nonetheless.
 “I was on the streets for three years; you know, they kept trying to put me in children’s homes and all that bullshit, I kept evading, or escaping,” The phantom of a laugh catches in his chest. “I was really sick by the time Tomura found me—it was winter, and I was curled up on the steps of a shelter, or something, half-alive and wrapped up in every article of clothing I owed. I had passed out, apparently, and when Tomura bent down to wake me, I was burning to the touch and unresponsive,”
 “Oh my God, Dabi,”
 A shoulder shrugs halfheartedly, as if it wasn’t any big deal, the motion jostling you slightly. “I really don’t remember it much; just waking up in this plush bed, with clean clothes, and thinking that—for a moment, that I had really died and gone to Heaven,” he pauses, huffing out a soft sardonic chuckle, lips curling up cruelly. “But then I remembered that people like me don’t get to go to Heaven,”
 Your lips tug down into a frown, protests getting lodged in your throat.
 “I hadn’t, of course. But what Tomura gave me was close,” he pauses, carding through the thoughts in his head. “He showed me more kindness in those first few months than—” and he has to stop, to pause and swallow the emotion thickening his voice. “Than anyone had ever shown me in my entire life,” He looks down at you then, finally, and you think you can see it—a thin film of water coating sapphire, catching in the frail silver light illuminating from the screen. “He gave me a place to stay, a car, a phone, a—a new name, new identity—and filled my bank account with 10 million yen to start, and—and—”
 And this is how I repay him.
 “He did a lot for you,” you acknowledge gently, tugging on his arm a little and garnering his full attention. “Because he saw potential in you,”
 Dabi nods, nostrils flaring with a shuddery exhale.
 “But you did a lot for him, too,” you continue in a whisper. “I don’t—He doesn’t tell me much about—about those days, but I know it wasn’t just him helping you,”
 Dabi supposes you’re right; knows you’re right, hazy fragments of memories slashing through his mind—men with ruby and sapphire for eyes and sharp ivory for teeth, talking, laughing, fucking, killing; dusty desert roads and luxurious hotels and crystal blue water; the creaking of king mattresses and echoes of gunshots; flashing sirens and viscous crimson, stained by soft powders and pretty pills.
 “He’s entrusted you to take care of me. And you have—you do,”
 He has; he does, the job morphing from some glorified babysitter to so much more.
 But at what cost?
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 It’s late, the night Keigo finally finds the courage to bring it up, to make it known, the far wall of the Chief’s office lined with glistening glass illustrating a vibrant cityscape against a pitch black sky—starless, moonless, cloudless; and yet somehow, someway, the small droplets continue to smatter against the windows, hurled by robust gusts of wind that rearrange them into a constantly morphing mosaic of bokeh—blurs of teal and fuchsia akin to tiny gems stuck to the glass.
 “Alright,” Chief Yagi is saying as he re-enters, an absurdly large mug of black coffee gripped in one massive hand. “What’s all this about?”
 Inhaling, Keigo takes a moment to find the right words, letting his lungs expand with them, holding them in his chest for a moment before finally releasing them, confession carried on a defeated exhale of breath.
 “I think we should stop with those nasty text messages,” he admits, and his superior frowns, brows furrowing as he takes a large sip, imploring Keigo to continue. “Look, this guy—Tomura, I mean—he’s really not doing well,”
  The Chief cocks his head, eyes squinted as if he doesn’t quite understand, words slow and smooth. “I would, if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve already ceased the messages,”
 “Mm,” Chief Yagi nods, humming around another mouthful and setting his heavy mug down with a thump. “Haven’t sent a text or a call since before he was in New York,”
 Adrenaline surges through his veins, blood thrumming with the hormone, and Keigo nearly chokes on his words. “You’re serious?”
 He hums out another affirmative, blue eyes careful and calculating as they observe his inferior. “The last one was sent—” a pause, the clicking of a mouse, the clacking of keys. “Two days before he boarded the flight,”
 Shock saturates Keigo’s features, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he shakes his head a little, in disbelief, in disagreement. Breath infused with potent guilt twines itself around his ribs, tangling in thin strands and tightening, crushing his lungs, his heart, his soul until he can no longer inhale, attempts sputtering in his sticky throat.
 It’s so much more severe than he could’ve ever imagined, and a sickening culpability, stuffed full of acid and spite and fault, roots in the pit of his stomach. Something is seriously wrong.
 “Then, maybe we should stop—no, no, suspend; maybe we should suspend this operation,” at the Chief’s questioning smirk of incredulity Keigo continues, pressing and urgent. “Just until he’s a little more stable,”
 “A little more stable?”
 “Chief, listen,” Keigo pleads, leaning forward in his chair, fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “That man is sick—” His boss snorts, but Keigo barrels on. “I mean it; he’s really sick; mentally sick. He barely leaves his office anymore, his personal relationships are deteriorating to ash, and all he can ever talk about on the rare occasion that he does emerge is ‘the enemy’—us, you; whoever’s been sending those texts—”
 “I told you, no one’s sent a text, or a call, or a letter in weeks,”
 “Not to Tomura! Not in Tomura’s mind!” The words exit as a shout, startling the large man sitting across from him, Keigo’s fingernails digging into oak wood. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s still receiving them. I don’t know if he’s hallucinating or what but Chief—” Keigo’s voice breaks, whole face crumbling under the weight of accountability.
 “Detective,” Chief Yagi begins, hands folding on his desk. “I know that whatever’s going on with Shigaraki must be difficult to watch, but this is precisely the time we should continue with this operation—because the head of the company is so unstable. If anything, such a turn of events should make it that much easier for you to infiltrate; to gain important information and intel. You’re in their inner circle now; you should be able to find a way into that office at some point,”
 “But Sir—”
 “Can I ask, Keigo, why exactly this matters so much to you?” Chief Yagi’s chest rumbles as he clears his throat, fixing the younger man with a levelled gaze. “What happened to my Detective; the one who solved project HIGH-END? The one that was ruthless and frigid, the one with an iron grip on his personal emotions, the one willing to do almost anything—certainly more than most—to restore peace, even if it meant soiling his own palms in the process? The one who understood what fighting for the Greater Good meant?”
 Shoulders deflating with a heaved sigh, Keigo shrugs, almost indifferent as he leans back in his chair, mouth settled into a wobbly line. He doesn’t know; he isn’t sure; he can’t quite explain it, the sudden phenomenon stirring to life in his chest, the concerning squeezes his heart gives every time he watches the light fade from that young woman’s eyes—from Dabi’s eyes—that accompanies each and every passing interaction with Tomura.
 Maybe it’s because he feels irrevocably responsible, this time. Maybe it’s because he knows Tomura’s on the verge of a full psychotic break, and this is all he can do about it. Maybe it’s because he’s positive they’re the cause; that they’ll be the trigger that forces him to finally snap.
 “Have you gone soft on me?” the Chief asks with a slight chuckle, redirecting Keigo’s gaze from his knees back to his superior’s face. “Have you developed some sort of soft spot for them? A particular fondness, perhaps?”
 And while it’s all teasing—the smirk that playfully tugs at the corners of his boss’ lips indicating so—Keigo is powerless to stop the rush of guilt, of shame, of terror the words inspire, bitter acid settling on the back of his tongue—because what if he’s right? What if it’s all true? What if he’s beginning to lose his touch?
 That grin is no longer dancing around the corners of his mouth, and Chief Yagi sighs, carding both hands through unruly golden hair. “Maybe you need a reminder of just how heinous these people are, hmm? Some concrete proof of just how crooked that conglomerate is,”
 Yanking open a deep drawer, the Chief shuffles through files and documents until he finds an overstuffed file, throwing it on the desk. It lands with a distinct thud against the wood, some of the contents falling loose, bits and pieces of information peeking out from the frayed edges—murders and human experimentation—hinting at what the folder holds.
 No, he doesn’t need to hear it again, to see what they did to those girls, barely legal and bloated on the side of the river, bodies twisted and mangled and pumped full of a cocktail of illegal substances. He doesn’t need to relive, to remember all of the children they’ve left orphaned and homeless for their own personal gain. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the so-called ‘lucky’ ones, the test subjects that were able to escape with scraps of their sanity in their clutches, sentenced to live out their days in institutions and homes, because AFO robbed them of their lives, of their livelihood.
 “I assume you don’t also require reminding that this is an internal investigation?” His boss continues after several beats of silence, Keigo’s unblinking eyes finally flashing to his face, sluggishly shaking his head.
 No, he knows that, too—knows that this is to be kept private and under wraps from the majority of the force, most of which AFO happens to own; knows that their small operative—only a handful of trustworthy people, really—have been working tirelessly to keep this whole thing quiet and discreet. Keigo knows that, essentially, they’re on their own with this.
 Not that any of this really matters anymore, since Keigo’s nearly positive Dabi knows exactly who he is—a fact that his superior had claimed held no significance.
 “It’s for the greater good, Keigo—remember that,” the Chief’s voice cuts through his thoughts, scalding and steaming. “Shigaraki will survive. Focus on the task at hand—the sooner we have that concrete evidence the sooner this will all be over.”
 Keigo hopes he’s right.
 ✰          ✰          ✰
 It’s a bad habit, the things you engage in at night.
it’s a bad habit—full of noxious ink and sharp fangs and poignant guilt, so heavy that it seeps through the floor of your stomach and slithers thickly through your veins, spreading to your blood and your heart and your brain until everything’s been engulfed, infected.
 It’s a very bad habit—one that scuttles up your throat with choked whimpers of his name and skitters across your skin with tattooed palms and blunt nails and calloused fingertips, stained from the flames of Zippos and the ash of cigarettes and the blood of dead men.
 It’s a bad, bad habit—one that laid its eggs in New York and hatched in Japan, nurtured and nourished by absence, hostility and preoccupancy—and the both of you are fucking hopeless in halting it.
 And it evolves. It morphs from grinding hipbones and fingers toying along waistbands to hands finding warm sanctuary between thighs and underneath clothing, choking on each other’s tongues and precious, pathetic little sounds throughout it all.
 It evolves until finally, finally, it reaches its terminal stages; the evolutionary form you had both been trying to desperately to keep it from growing into, the evolutionary form that was inevitable from the start.
 It’s been building all day, the buzzing of that bad habit, the insatiable creature it’s spawned, the sickness it’s poisoned your brains and bodies with; it’s been growing, all day, rattling against cages of ivory as it forces your chests to expand until you just can't take it anymore.  
 You aren’t sure why today is the day it decides to finally erupt, to escape from those confines; the pretty bone and soft tissue that had contained it, that had housed it. You aren’t sure why those gentle, platonic, typical touches that have become practically habitual at this point—an arm, twined around your waist under your spring coat; tiny fingers, tangled in the curls at the back of his neck; your cheek on his shoulder, his chin on your head—now send sizzling sparks zipping up your spine and through your veins to collect in your chest, in your skull, accumulating until you can’t breathe, can’t think about anything other than him, him, him.
 And each touch is worse than the last; each touch conjures a sharper spark, blazing brighter than the one before it, bolting through your body and leaving your blood boiling in its wake.
 No, you aren’t sure why it’s happening now, on this day out of all of the other mundane days it could’ve chose to burst, to break, but it is.
 Maybe it’s because Tomura snapped on you this morning, cruel and ruthless, harsher than he has been in a long time. Maybe it’s because Dabi witnessed the tail end of it. Maybe it’s because you’ve become so starved for attention, for love, that you’re seeking it out where you’re positive you’ll find it, latching onto it like some famished parasite.
 And maybe, maybe it’s because Dabi feels responsible in some inexplicable way, feels some sort of innate desire to protect, to care for and comfort.
 Dabi had been able to hear it, the screaming and the smashing, all the way from his floor, overlapping voices becoming more pronounced and in tune as he ascended the fire escape—his preferred route of reaching the penthouse, since it’s only one flight of stairs.
 “Nothing’s ever good enough for you anymore!” Tomura was seething, just as Dabi reached the top, eyes narrowed into slits, chest heaving forcefully with the flaring of his nostrils.
 “Nothing—” you began, the word nothing more than a garbled huff of breath, dripping with disbelief. “Nothing’s ever good enough for me? I can’t even get you to fucking glance at me anymore!”
 “I’ve given you everything. Everything!” A clenched fist comes down on the table, hard enough to wobble the legs, Tomura looking up with glowing ruby eyes, molars grinding together with such fierceness his jaw flexes. “What more do you fucking want from me?”
 “You, Tomura! I want you!”
 And that, that got him to stop, features puckering as he cast you a pitiful look. “Me? Me?” he chuckled a little, and it’s a callous sound, void of any mirth as it slashes through the air. “Sweetheart, you already have me,”
 “Do I?” Glistening tears cascaded down your face, collecting to drip off your jaw, voice cracking. “When’s the last time we went out? When’s the last time you shared a meal with me? When’s the last time we went to bed together? Watched a film together? Hugged? Kissed? Fucked? When?”
 “Oh, Christ,” Rubies rolled back in his skull, a sardonic little smirk carving itself into his face, paired with a sarcastic snort. “God forbid Daddy’s too busy working, working to keep you safe, to play with his needy little girl,”
 “P-Play? No, I—” your voice cut off, severed by the vicious sob hiccuped in your throat, Tomura’s frantic eyes finally catching Dabi hovering in the corner.
 “Great, you’re here,” he remarked dryly, regarding Dabi with disinterested apathy.
 Crimson eyes slipped shut, concealing Tomura’s scathing gaze as slim fingers moved to rub at his temples in a vigorous manner, as if he were attempting to piece back together the thoughts your argument had shattered.
 “Please, get rid of her for a few hours, so I can fucking think again,” lids lift slowly, penetrating gaze boring into your face. “And don’t bring her back until she’s ready to stop being such an ungrateful little brat,”
 And, oh, how you had wailed, how you had cried and clung to Dabi for the rest of the day, keeping your face half-buried in his chest as you whimpered and weeped, only emerging when you heard the familiar symphony of clacking against plastic, glassy eyes suddenly vivacious as you watched Dabi tap two pretty blue pills into his palm.
 No, he had told you sternly, staring down at you with an unyielding gaze. Not this time.
 Eventually, you calm, ferocious sobs dying down to feeble sniffles, but he doesn’t let go of you.
 Not even once.
 It drizzles for the entire day, a sprinkling of mist across the city that has gotten progressively thicker as the day advanced, morphing from gentle taps to aggressive pounding.
 Tonight, Keigo doesn’t even bother coming up to the penthouse as is usual protocol, opting instead to hurry home so he can peel drenched cotton and denim from his skin and steep in the steam of his shower, promising to send a text reassuring his safe arrival at his place.
 You can’t exactly say you blame him, shifting uncomfortably as the chrome elevator climbs from floor to floor, small space filled with a soft symphony of residual droplets rolling off your coats and incessantly chattering teeth.
 Dabi looks over at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he sucks it between ivory teeth, chewing. “We gotta get you outta those clothes,”
 “Speak for yourself,” you snort, gaze cataloging the inky wisps of hair plastered to his forehead and cheekbones, half-framing his face.
 Still, he has a point, your arms winding themselves tighter around your torso in a vain attempt to prevent more precious heat from escaping, inevitably hugging your doused clothing to your flesh.
 The torrent had been so rough, so robust that the downpour had managed to soak straight through the rubber of your cute rain jacket as well as the leather of Dabi’s, leaving the articles underneath to sop up the water until they were thoroughly wet, too, exposed skin beginning to pucker.
 It feels as though the chill of the rain has sunken into your very soul, rotting away the marrow of your bones, a violent shiver forcing the hollow structures to rattle against one another.
 The elevator dings daintily, and both of you call out cautiously for Tomura, alerting him of your arrival home with the intention to ask if Dabi can borrow some clothes (in spite of the fact that Dabi’s closet is only a floor beneath you), but you’re greeted with smothering silence, taking his non-response as a yes.
 “Here,” you’re saying as you emerge from the ensuite merely a few moments later, hair damp and messy from a hasty towel-dry, legs bare and body clad in a ratty Universal Monsters t-shirt—Dabi’s t-shirt, though he isn’t quite sure if you’re aware of this fact—hardened nipples peaking the worn fabric; before tossing a pair of Tomura’s grey sweatpants at Dabi, who’s perched gingerly on the edge of your Daddy’s bed.
 It’s shameless, and borderline perverted, but you don’t even bother averting your eyes as he shucks his waterlogged clothing. Dabi calls you out on it, too, shooting you a sly glance from the corner of his eye as he unsticks the cotton of his briefs from his skin, cute fragments of giggles bubbling in your throat.
 You find yourself in the theatre room, as it has become accustom in the past month or two, the both of you curled up on a singular mammoth seat, bodies stitched together as the roars of thunder compete with Dabi’s low, smooth voice.
 Before New York, you and Dabi had never used the theatre; the living room TV had been more than big enough, and you had been content to flop your head in a begrudging Dabi’s lap while the sparkling city skyline streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering light contending with the moon’s delicate beams.
 But Keigo had been so enamoured with it, so impressed by the fact that the penthouse had a fucking theatre room—it’s only got eight seats, Dabi had informed him, lest he expect a full-sized cinema—that you had begun spending more time there.
 It’s dark in the theatre, quiet in the theatre, intimate in the theatre. It’s almost as if everything changes in the theater—slows, stops, splits—reality bending and curving and twisting until it becomes some sort of warped, contorted version of itself, until it makes things like this night, and all of the nights that have come before it, okay, acceptable, normal.
 Well, that, and the fact that Daddy doesn’t have cameras in the theatre.
 It’s here, in your very own special, distorted version of reality, this personal liminality, that it finally transpires.
 Casablanca plays softly on the screen, a pretty mirage of silver and smoke, grey and graphite images that waver almost gracefully on the canvas, but you aren’t paying much attention; not when Dabi’s calloused fingers are tracing nonsensical patterns on the exposed skin of your upper thigh, not when your own are busy swimming in the waves of soft ink at the base of his skull.
 “Surprised you didn’t go home,” you mumble into his neck, voice thick with the threat of sleep.
 “Yeah?” he murmurs, and the word’s nothing more than a gentle rumble deep in his chest.
 “Mhmm, though you’d wanna change n’ stuff,” the words are slurred, and you hug yourself closer to him, leg hooked around his waist tightening protectively, possessively. “Why’d you stay?”
 “You know why,”
And he gets like this, late in the middle of the night, early in the wee hours of the morning. He gets like this, when it’s just the two of you in your haphazardly constructed, fallacious world—in the false safety of your mangled mirage of reality, conjured up in the betwixt hours of the night, that starts to disperse, fade, the moment sunbeams begin to creep and crawl over the city.
He gets like this.
Honest. Raw. Vulnerable.
“Because I want to be with you, stupid,”
And although the sentence is sighed out in a single breath, fading and fraying as it reaches the end, it is still stuffed full of sentiment, so much so that the words are practically bursting at the seams, fondness threatening to fracture the entire thing.
There are no words to accurately explain just how much you cherish these transient moments, stashing them away deep within the tissues of your brain, protected by layers of pulsating blood.
And he knows why you do it, too, why you poke and prod and provoke him like that, why you force him to spill the secrets that have been taking shelter in his chest for so many months now, like the selfish little brat you are.
He knows you need to hear them now, that you thrive when you hear them now. He sees it in the way your eyes glisten and smile softens; feels it in the way your limbs curl tighter around him, pulling yourself impossibly closer; hears it in the sweet little giggles that interrupt your responding words.
And he fucking loves it.
It’s silent for a while after his gentle profession, and for a moment he’s sure you’ve dozed off, practically straddling his lap now, and he adjusts you a little, getting read to carry you to bed, when you speak again, voice meek and frail.
“He...He was real mean today,”
“I know, princess. He’s just...” the words decay on his tongue, and you know, you know, he’s just stressed; but there’s only so many times Dabi can repeat them before they begin to lose their impact, their worth, their truth.
“How do we fix this, Dabi?”
It’s so soft he nearly misses it, quivering question fading into his skin as lips brush against his collarbone.
A chuckle pries its way past his lips, just an exhausted huff of disbelief more than anything else, head shaking a little. “I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you for it to finally settle in that pretty little head of yours,” he taps your forehead, accentuating his words. “But this is not for us to fix, baby,”
Dabi’s chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, annoyance sewn into his words as he tells you, yet again, that all you can do is offer help, that it’s up to Tomura to take it; no one can force him.
And you nod and hum and agree, because he’s right, you know he’s right, but it still hurts to feel useless, to feel helpless.
“I really don’t—” the words hitch in your chest, snaring on a trapped sob. A shaky exhale, an attempt to swallow past them, and you try again. “I really don’t know how I’d survive this without you,”
The confession is quiet and cracked with cognizance. It’s a perturbing realization, a petrifying realization, just how much you’ve come to rely on him, just how close you’ve grown.
Because—because it’s true; what would’ve happened to you, had Dabi not been here to weather this with you? What would you have withered away too, had you been forced to withstand this on your own?
Would there be any of you left at all? Or would you have decayed into nothingness, into a mere carcass of yourself, congruently with your Daddy, remnants fusing together as you both fell apart? Would anything new have risen from the remains? From the decomposing flesh and rotting bone and splintering minds?
You don’t know, you’ll never be able to tell, but one thing’s for sure: you truly don’t know how you would’ve survived this without him.
You won’t ever have to.
Sapphire blazes down at you, his chest rising and falling with short little breaths as his gaze studies your face. Lips part, but the words catch in his throat, burning up into nothing more than a disappointing huff of disconcertment.
You won’t ever have to.
He tries again, but the letters hook and burrow into the walls of his throat, leaving the flesh ripped raw and burning. Frustration seethes in his chest, rough as it rages against his ribs, and for a moment you look terrified, gazing up at him with wide eyes as panic tugs at the corners of your lips, mouth opening quickly to presumingly apologize.
But then he’s surging forward, crushing chapped lips to yours so fiercely, so ferociously it forces a soft whine to crack in your throat, lithe fingers splayed across your cheeks as his palms cup your face, curled around the hinges of your jaw and hauling you impossibly closer.
You won’t ever have to.
He prays you can decipher it, the promise he’s pouring into this kiss. He prays one day he can say it to you himself, in his own words and with his own voice, instead of forcing you to decode it though clashing teeth and dragging tongues and interspersed saliva.
Calloused fingertips and blunt nails nip at your skin, signing his name into your body in insignificant, impermanent little ways, and your responding kisses are filled with just as much fervour, messy and desperate as little hands paw at him, sinking into soft ink and knotting at the roots.
Fiery cinnamon and sharp nicotine sting your tongue, and you’re dimly reminded of how much spicier Dabi tastes, a stark contrast to your Daddy’s fresh mint and sour-sweet lemon. It’s tainted tonight, tinged with traces of bitter salt, tears rolling down soft cheeks to find refuge in the comfort of warm, wet mouths.
Boisterous hands push under your t-shirt, eager digits dipping into the waistband of your lacy panties, nimble fingers beginning to press and pull, to tear and tug, tips materializing through the dainty fabric as he grinds his cock against your inner thigh.
And you can feel it, hot and hard and throbbing through the thin material of the sweats, staining the grey fabric with sticky pre-cum as it strains and struggles against it, almost as if it’s yearning for you.
“Please,” he whispers, thumbs rubbing little circles into the flesh of your hips, the word so small, so fragile it’s scarcely a gentle wisp of breath exhaled into your mouth. It’s a question you’ve heard several times before, during three and four and five in the morning in compromising positions such as these, but tonight it sounds off, altered.
Because tonight, it’s different.
Because it isn’t a plead, desperate and urgent and heavy with beseeching, nor is it an order, wrapped up in the pretty and perfect guise of entreatment.
It’s an offer.
You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, the threat of tears thick in your throat, prohibiting your approval passage to your lips.
So you nod, just once, just a solitary quirk of your head—but, really, that’s all he needs.
Rough hands find the fraying hem of your—his—t-shirt, and he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy and low as nimble fingers begin to twist in the fabric.
“I want this off,”
Another nod, and your arms are raising above your head, aiding him in removing the garment.
Delicate fingers dance along the waistband of his—Tomura’s—sweats, and he chuckles, a gentle, fond little noise throttled out of his throat.
“Do you want these off?”
And you’re powerless to stop the shy little hiccup of a giggle that barrels past your lips as you nod, lifting your hips and helping him in kicking the pants off, cock bobbing a little as it’s freed from its confines.
Oh, it’s so pretty, you just can’t resist glancing down at it, marvelling at the way the cherry tip shimmers in the dim silver light, perfectly accented by a pearly dewdrop of pre-cum; at the way those veins, twined around the velvety shaft, dance harmoniously to the suspenseful thump of his heart.
“You want it?”
“Yes,” you choke out, the word grating your throat, glazed eyes finally finding his face.
The declaration is slurred from one mouth into another, and you swallow it greedily, a fierce flame of possessiveness sparking to life in your chest.
“Mine,” you nearly growl, small hand encircling his cock, squeezing a broken moan from his throat, a certain type of viciousness, voraciousness, veraciousness surging through your veins and alighting your entire body, because fuck yes it’s yours and you want it now.
There’s no bothering with prep; neither of you have the patience, Dabi’s adept fingers sneaking their way between your bodies to spread your cute little hole, guiding you to his cock, pretty pussy glittering in the chromatic silver spilling from the screen.
And the noise he makes as you finally sink down on him is nothing short of fucking breathtaking—a snuffed out whine that fractures in his throat, Adams apple bobbing with the effort as his head falls back with a heavy thud against the leather.
While he isn’t as thick as Daddy, the stretch is still incredible, a precious little hiss spit between the gaps of clenched teeth as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix. His hips shift immediately, impatient and desperate, the motion sending stinging pricks of pain searing through your abdomen, a wince twisting your features.
You can feel the delicate skin ripping, creating little fissures in the sensitive flesh, pussy pulsing around his cock. It feels like it’s splitting you open, feels like it’s stitching you shut, feels like it’s stuffing you full.
And you want more.
A half-swallowed moan catches in his chest as your hips wiggle, and you laugh, blinking bleariness from your gaze. A pair of tears escape your lashline, cascading down your cheeks in unison, and Dabi smiles; a wobbling, unsteady quirk up of his lips as he takes your face between calloused palms, thumbs catching the tears midstream.
After a few halfhearted bounces and a greedy whimper about how it just isn’t deep enough, Dabi halts you.
“Here,” he murmurs softly, palms slipping from your hips and skimming along your thighs, hooking under your folded knees and guiding them up gently, one by one, so your feet are planted on the plush leather, legs caging either side of his torso. “Better?”
“Y-Yeah,” you gasp, a palm involuntarily pressed flat to your gut, right between your hipbones, whining loudly as you grind down, swear you can feel him, can feel his cockhead as it pokes and prods with each rut against him as your hips grind down tentatively, a broken little whine spilling from your throat. “C-Can feel you in my tummy, Da-Dabi, I swear I can,”
“Good,” he breathes, forehead knocking against yours and lips parted slightly, sweltering little huffs ghosting over your own as ravenous pupils glitter in the flickering light, that thin ring of sapphire catching in the dim illumination. “Now,” he whispers, grasping fistfuls of your flesh, calloused fingertips gripping your outer thighs. “I think I’ve waited long enough. Show me how gorgeous you look creaming all over my cock,”
The demand is barely more than a tendril of breath, punctuated by the rocking forward of his hips, blunt nails pressing pretty indents of crimson and violet into your skin as he holds you in place.
The sudden action strikes an affirmative yelp from your chest, head nodding almost lethargically and body snapping into motion, eager in its haste to comply.
And, for a moment, it’s nice; it’s slow and easy and distracting, languid rolls of your hips meeting his as teeth clack and tongues lick and lips suck.
But the thoughts are beginning to creep in again, glowing ruby and soft silvery tufts slashing the thin veil of counterfeit comfort to shreds; and the tears are beginning to sting as they overwhelm your vision, casting the prettiest gleam across your eyes; and the choked hiccups are beginning to scrabble up your throat, claws tearing into your flesh as they struggle to reach your mouth, half-dead as they pry past your lips.
Salt water stains your tongue—yours, his, both, combining with variegated spit to create the most bittersweet viscosity; a heavy, heady substance that saturates the muscle—and he exhales a juddering breath into your mouth, blinking past the thick film of water shielding his eyes.
“Don’t think,”
It’s a plead, it’s an order, it’s an instruction, whispered out so softly, so brokenly against your lips.
And you follow, you submit, you obey, because you don’t want to think, don’t want to know, don’t want to exist in this reality at all, longing for the false ignorance and distorted escape you’ve sought out, you’ve created, so many nights prior, together.
You nod, urgent and frantic in your motions, almost as if you’re begging him to make it all stop, to put your morality on pause and your guilt on rewind, to erase it all, but another sob tears its way through your throat and into his, and Dabi sighs, pulling back slightly.
Gleaming sapphire studies your face, shining impossibly bright in the dim light, gaze sweeping across your features in one slow, fluid motion.
“Come on,” he whispers, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as his nose nudges against yours, incentive rasped against your lips, though it shakes as it leaves his throat. “Be good for me, yeah? Be good for me,”
And you want to—you so desperately want to, so desperately need to, craving that sickly sweet equivocal praise that is so distinctly him; craving anything to make this less abhorrent, anything to scorch the shame rapidly engulfing your ribs in a tarry embrace, thick and voracious and intoxicating as it mingles with sticky desire and coats the bones, the weight of it nearly splintering them clean in half.
“You can do that for me, can’t you, baby?”
And, Christ, it’s so patronizing, your head lolling stupidly in a poor imitation of a nod. Knuckles collide with your skin, sending sizzling spikes rippling through your backside, and you squeak.
“Use your words, princess,” he chides. “I know I haven’t fucked you that stupid yet,”
“I-I can do it,”
“Yeah?” he prods in a murmur, lips busy tracing the curve of your jaw, the word soaking into your skin. “Prove it to me,”
It’s the ghost of the challenge, and the promised praise that comes packaged with it, that has your resolve strengthening, teeth gritted against stubborn tears as you begin bouncing in his lap, using your planted feet for leverage.
“That’s it,” he breathes out, head tipping back to gaze lazily at you through lidded eyes, chin tilted up slightly. “What a good girl,”
And it’s pathetic, really, the high-pitched moan such sardonic praise, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with icing sugar, evokes; a pathetic little sound that catches in your chest and cracks upon impact, tapering off into a soft whimper, a nonverbal plea for more.
It doesn’t stop the tears—not fully, anyway—but it does make them bearable, does make them easier to ignore, gathering your respective strength and bunching it together to create a flimsy barrier, one that won’t last for long, but can withstand the rest of the night.
Because try as he may, Dabi cannot hide the glittering dewdrops adorning his lashes, clumped together and saturated in sticky salt, or the continual, involuntary twitching of his nose, or the subtle trembling of his chin, juxtaposed by the love in his eyes, pupils blown to hell and insatiable for everything they scarf down—all of your sweet little noises and precious little expressions, hastily etching them into the tissues of his brain—and the genuine smile stretched across his face, widening a little more with each precarious laugh you tug from his throat.
It feels intimate, feels adolescent, feels new, and you’re powerless to quell the little bursts of giggles bubbling past your lips, peppering your hiccuped sobs, weaving together with Dabi’s gentle chuckles and short sniffles to create a harrowing harmony.
He lets you have your fun, though, lets you roll and hump and grind, his hips pressing up to meet yours, to drag his cock against that one spot buried deep inside of you, to pull those cherished, cracked sounds from deep in your throat, sucking them from your mouth and into his and storing them deep in his chest, protected by cages of bone and walls of pulsating flesh, keeping a piece of you inside of him forever.
And, really, you should feel sick, should feel disgusted for the involuntary little flutters your hole gives as those tears finally break past his lashes, streaming down his face and clashing against the elation shimmering in his watery eyes, contrasting the ecstasy glimmering in his pearly smile. Leaning forward, your tongue darts out from between swollen lips to lick and lap at the salty substance, soaking his sadness into your tongue and swallowing it down.
But it heightens the whole experience, every pound up and plunge into and pump out of you more hypersensitive than the next, intermittent flares of pleasure fraying your veins as they race your blood.
Fingertips brand his name into your skin, prints painting asymmetrical galaxies of swirling navy and periwinkle, fleeting and much too temporary as he encourages you to speed up, thighs beginning to burn.
You can feel them, those flares sparking to life in the pit of your belly, each rock forward conjured by strong hands sending sizzling cinders shooting up your spine, each piston of his hips to meet yours fanning the flames, raging higher and higher and higher until they lick at your ribs, needy moans and pathetic whimpers floating up your throat, carried on their embers.
“C’mon baby,” he nearly whines, large hands inhibiting your hips from slowing, forcing you to ride him faster and faster. “C’mon, show me how good you are, how much of a little whore you are, show me—ah, f-fuck—show me how beautiful you are cumming on my cock, show me, baby, I-I’ve been waiting so long to see,”
And it’s that confession, groaned out in near delirium, that has you gushing all over his cock, body convulsing almost violently as your cunt clenches around him, tears obstructing your vision as you cum with a strained cry of his name, making everything blurry, hazy, dreamy.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, that’s my good, good girl,”
He praises you throughout it all, tells you how good you are, how perfect you look, hands still clutching your hips, forcing you to continue moving until tremors jolt through your body with each brush of your oversensitive clit against his pubic bone, small hands scrabbling at his shoulder as you whimper about how it’s too much, too much, and it hurts, Dabi!
Leaning back as far as he can, he looks down as if he’s in awe, breathing ragged and chest heaving.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, gaze glued to his half-hidden cock, shaft and base glistening prettily with your juices. “Fucking beautiful,”
Finally, his stare lifts, cobalt eyes dark and ravenous as he lips at his chapped lips, breathing still laboured.
“My turn, baby,”
And you’re too fucked out to truly register his words, body boneless and pliant as he seamlessly rearranges you, unbending your legs—first one, then the other, cooing at your resulting wince—hooking a palm under one of your calves and pushing up, up, up until your ankle rest on his shoulders, thigh secured snugly between your bare chests, hard cock still buried deep inside of you.
A whine slips past your lips at the stretch, face screwing up cutely, and Dabi’s resounding laugh is cut off with simultaneous gasps as he readjusts your hips, because God, it’s so deep, you’re positive you can feel him in your throat this time, senseless babbling falling past spit-slicked lips.
Leaning back, your hands find purchase on his thighs, shaky fingers gripping his flesh as your hips roll, slow and sluggish towards his.
But he’s too impatient for that, now.
Because it just isn’t fast enough, hard enough, rough enough for him, one hand gripping your waist, the other latched onto your thigh, clutch tightening as he yanks you forward, hips snapping with a thrust so sudden it has you choking on a yelp, half-lidded eyes flying open.
It’s downright ruthless, brutal and merciless and entirely unforgiving as he slams up into you with such intense strength you practically bounce in his lap, his grasp on you so hard, so vicious that his nails break the skin, staining the pads of his fingers and the beds of his nails with bright crimson. Each powerful thrust is more relentless than the last, hips bucking up with insane precision as they increase in speed, every rut into you shoving another gorgeous grunt or glorious growl from his chest.
Arms lock around his neck to steady yourself, fingers threading themselves in a sea of ink and tugging harshly, knocking a high whine of his own from his throat.
Sobs shatter as they pry past your lips, whole body beginning to tingle from the pleasure, from the position, muscles aching as Dabi forces you to stay folded.
Everything’s beginning to feel faded, tears casting a misty daze across your vision and softening the edges, leaking into your skull and enveloping your brain in the familiar haze of unconsciousness.
“Gonna cum again?” he pants, words a faded growl more akin to a demand than a question, voice slicing straight through the cloud in your head, eradicating it in an instant. “Huh?”
“Uh—Uh-huh,” you nod your head, lashes fluttering as your eyes struggle to stay open, to be good, to obey.
“You better,”
And it’s the threat that has you pulsing around him again, whole body shuddering into his, muscles seizing and shivering.
“Please, please, please, Dabi,” you’re babbling, words flowing from your mouth in a steady stream, so slurred they’re nearly incomprehensible. “Please, want your cum, Da-Dabi; please, gimme your cum, you promised, you promised you would, you promised you’d fill my whole body with it, please, please, Dabi,”
“Oh, f-fuck,” he cries, the curse fracturing in his throat.
“Please, Dabi, I need it, I need to be full, please,”
Sharp ivory buries itself in supple skin with a predatory snarl, bones lodged in the flesh of your shoulder as he pumps you full of scalding cum; a silent stake of ownership, a subtle signifier that you are his now, too.
His jaw flexes in time with the throbbing of his cock, driving his teeth deeper, deeper, deeper with each infinitesimal increase in pressure, until they snap through the smooth barrier, flooding his mouth with metallic crimson.
A tongue pries its way past blood-stained lips to sop up the substance, greedy and insatiable as thick, sticky saliva varnishes his minuscule masterpiece.
He pulls back to admire his creation, a beautiful piece of art etched into your very being, full of the prettiest periwinkles and deepest navies and outlined by swirling charcoals, scarlet pooling in the indents left by his teeth the perfect accentuation. The tiniest whimper breaks in his throat as his rough thumb skims over the bite, glittering eyes flashing to your face as you exhale a hiss, a breathless little smile saturated with pride gracing his lips.
You can feel it, hot and sticky and oozing out of you, whining at the thought of even wasting a single drop. Little fingers sneak between your heaving bodies, varnished with sweet sweat, to dip into your raw, abused little hole, gathering as much of the viscous substance as possible and bringing it to your lips.
It appears Dabi’s in some sort of trance as he observes your motions, tongue unfurling to lick along his swollen bottom lip, laving the inky, scarred skin with glittering saliva, unblinking eyes glued to your actions, gaze shifting marginally from the way your mouth eagerly sucks your fingers in, to the way your lids flutter shut as you moan around the taste, to the way you pull your fingers free, mouth puckering greedily around them, sure to suck clean every last drop from your skin.
“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice totally wrecked, and you can’t help the shy giggle that barrels past your lips, fingers moving to gather more cum when he catches your wrist in a large hand, halting it.
“No,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and strained, cock giving another weak twitch. “Let me,”
His fingers are better, you tell him with a cute, lethargic nod, because they’re bigger, longer, can gather much more than your own as they delve into your cunt again, deep enough to brush your cervix, curling as he tugs them free, heaping glops of thick, gleaming cream glistening on his fingers.
Your mouth drops open immediately, obediently, tongue curling around his fingers in a way that’s nearly possessive as it welcomes them into the warm, wet cavern, lips wrapping around them as you suck hard, tongue licking and lapping and laving over his skin, between the cracks and crevices of his fingers, the digits spreading compliantly to allow your tongue to work, to ensure that you suckle every little bit from his flesh.
And you repeat it, you repeat these actions over and over again until his fingers are shrivelled and pruned from so much saliva; until your chin shimmers with strands of drool and watered down cum, the pads of Dabi’s fingers generously gathering the residue and pushing it back into your greedy, waiting mouth; until your cunt is empty and clean, and his cock is hard and leaking again.
But you’re practically falling asleep now, exhausted from the sex and the emotional turmoil. You tell him he’s welcome to use you as you sleep, to fuck you to sleep—and he thinks he just might take you up on that offer, cock jumping eagerly at the prospect; but later, another day. Right now, you need rest.
Tender hands untangle you from his body, your own limbs limp and lifeless, gathering you in strong arms.
“No,” you murmur, shaking your head torpidly and smushing your face into his neck.
“No,” you repeat. “Not Daddy’s bed tonight,”
“If not Daddy’s—”
“Here,” you whisper, pressing a messy kiss to his neck. “With you,”
And, fuck, he’ll never be able to deny you a Goddamn thing.
✰          ✰          ✰
It’s unusually sunny, the next Thursday afternoon, deep azure sky void of any cotton fluffs or ivory strokes, the golden rays streaming through the penthouse’s mammoth windows diffused by the partially drawn chiffon curtains, haloing the living room in a hazy, gentle glow, catching on sapphire and topaz as they glitter and flash with smug smirks and menacing scowls.
“It’s so gorgeous out today,” you whine a little, throwing your head back against Dabi’s collarbone and gazing up at him with a rapidly forming pout. “Why do we have to spend it inside?”
“Because,” Dabi begins simply, slow and supercilious like you’re stupid. “I gotta kick this motherfucker’s ass, princess,”
“You wish!” Keigo scoffs, gesturing the game board perched perilously in front of him with a halfhearted sweep. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I already own more than half the world,”
“Game’s not over yet, bird boy,”
“Hawks,” you sulk, petulant, brows drawn and nose scrunched with the full force of your pout.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he reassures you without looking up, brilliant eyes scanning the board as if he’s calculating, cataloguing. “I’ll finish this quick, and then we can go outside, okay?”
“But—But the sun will have set by the time you guys are done!”
“Don’t whine,” Dabi warns, word fading into a growl, finally glancing down at you. “Don’t start being a brat now, not when you’ve been such a good girl all day,”
“Listen,” he begins, no room for negotiation, straightening up a little so he can glare at you properly, his shoulders hunching in, entire form engulfing your own and voice dropping an octave lower as he murmurs to you. “You have an awful lot of homework to do. Don’t think for one second that I won’t send you to Daddy’s bedroom to do it all, alone.” He pauses, cobalt eyes searching yours, allowing his words time to sink in. “And you know Daddy will let me,”
“Yeah, of course Daddy will let you,” you grumble, stubborn tears resurfacing, nose twitching as you exhale sharply, molars grinding in an effort to keep them from escaping. “Daddy doesn’t care about anything anymore—”
“Enough,” Dabi snaps, and you flinch. “You know that isn’t true. We aren’t getting into this now, alright? Just—” he sighs, eyes finally softening. “Be good for us while we finish, yeah?”
Be good. Be good.
“Meanie,” you huff, falling back against him with a thump and crossing your arms.
But his hands are on your hips, squeezing gently as thumbs grind lopsided circles into your flesh, a silent apology; and your fingers are curling around his, lacing them together in a messy embrace and wrapping his arms around your form, holding yourself tightly to his chest, a silent acceptance; and you’re snuggling into his neck as he rests his chin on the crown of your head, comfy and cozy in your consolidation.
You doze off after that, lulled to sleep by the vibrating baritones of Dabi’s voice and the victorious harmonies of Keigo’s laughs, only to be woken when things begin to get heated again.
The rumbling of Dabi’s chest rouses you, bleary eyes blinking as you catch the tail end of his threat, something about the game still not being over, about how things can flip even in the final seconds.
“Yeah, uh-huh, sure,” Keigo’s saying, waving a self-assured hand in dismissal. “You gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite? Cause I’ve been hearing a whole ton of commination with very little accompanying action,”
Dabi laughs loudly, shaking his head with disbelief, a sharp smile on his face. “Nah, nah, nah, buddy, if anyone here’s Mr. Blonde, it’s me,” He pauses, something dangerous glinting in his eye as his smile stretches to uncanny proportions, and Keigo blanches, amusement melting into apprehension, as if he’s anticipating something. “You’re more of a Mr. Orange, wouldn't you agree?”
Keigo swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion, and you rub at an eye cutely, straightening up a little in Dabi’s lap, features crinkled in confusion at the sudden change in atmosphere.
“Well, I—” 
Tomura’s sudden appearance saves him from answering.
“Wait,” he calls, voice hoarse from disuse, dry and cracked as it mingles with Keigo’s stuttering. Clearing his throat, he tries again, voice finally booming the way it normally does, commanding the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. “Wait, where’s that from?”
“That—That line; the—the doggy one,” scarlet eyes blink several times in quick succession, frantically scrutinizing their faces, sweeping between the two fluidly, akin to a pendulum. “Where’s it from? What’s it a reference to?”
“Oh, it’s uh, it’s a line from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs,”
“No, no,” he shakes his head, muttering to himself as his eyes squeeze shut, outgrown nails beginning to rake viciously against crusty wrists, raw skin stained with strokes of rust and embellished with shimmering scabs, collecting under his nails as fresh blood starts to flow. “That’s not right,”
“No, Tomu, it is,” Dabi says, slowly, gently, expression sobering, distress incinerating his delight in an instant. “You know, the one with the guy who cuts the cop’s ear off? You love that movie; we’ve reenacted that—”
“No,” he growls, crimson flashing dangerously as his eyes snap open, and you feel Dabi jolt under you, reaction automatic and involuntary. Tomura whispers something to himself, gory hands tangling in silvery tufts and twisting, yanking on the strands hard enough that his face crumples. Blood runs down his forearm and soaks into the soiled cuff of his shirt, fresh blotches of scarlet blooming amidst those that have blossomed from a bright carmine and died a dull burgundy.
Shaking his head again, Tomura continues to mutter to himself, voice harsh and hostile as if he’s conversing with someone, pivoting on his heel and stalking towards his office.
“Daddy! W-Wait!” you squirm in Dabi’s grasp, his arms tightening around you, a pitiful little sound of frustration spilling from your throat.
Your tiny cries cut through the haze in his mind, sharp and swift and clear, and Tomura halts, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, voice grave as he dictates. “Stay with Dabi, baby, you hear me?” His eyes flit from your face to Dabi’s, holding a silent, three-second-long conversation, before his gaze finally darts to Keigo again. “Do not leave Dabi’s sight tonight, princess,” he says slowly, unblinking stare still glued to Keigo, finally breaking away after a beat of silence, finding Dabi’s face again. “Keep an eye on her; do not let her out of your sight tonight,”
And you can feel it, can feel the way Dabi's chest stutters under the force of his thick swallow, can feel the way his voice strains under confusion, under fear.
“Y-Yeah, ‘course boss, always,” he nods, head tilted in puzzlement. 
“Always,” Tomura repeats like it’s a gentle promise, features beginning to soften, trepidation and treachery beginning to decay. “Always,”
✰          ✰          ✰
It doesn’t dawn on him until much later that night, locked away in the sanctuary of his office, collapsed in his massive plush chair as tired eyes once again obsessively comb through the records he possesses—tape recordings of messages left, transcripts of phone calls, original copies of handwritten letters—which has now become a nightly routine, by all accounts.
Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?
The words loop through his mind, lazy and languid as they wane and waver in and out of focus, vaporizing to a hazy fog the moment he tries to grasp them, blanketing his brain in a cloud of confused distraction the moment he tries to dispel them, receding to the back of his mind to tug at his conscious with giggles and taunts.
It’s infuriating, the sentiment ripping through his thoughts in undetermined intervals, varying in their volume as tired crimson eyes sift through the material, the evidence, hunting, searching, investigating...
But eventually, eventually it clears, this misty smog infecting his mind, eradicated by two tiny words, scrawled in black ink, carved into the thick manilla paper, an absurd laugh prying its way past his lips.
There they are, glaring up at him and engraved into the crumpled paper held between trembling fingers—the second letter he had ever received, the night after he had disposed of Giran.
Lil puppy.
And, truthfully, he can’t believe it didn’t click immediately, the moment the words had bubbled past that stupid kid’s lips; he’s got these messages and transcripts practically memorized at this point, is sure he could recite them backwards it asked, and yet...
And yet, it doesn't finally snap into place, doesn't fully show itself, this perfectly sculpted jigsaw piece, until the dawn of morning, just as gold is beginning to spill over the horizon, several hours after the phrase was uttered.
Lil puppy.
Frantic hands shuffle through the tapes littering his desk, endless copies of repeatedly annotated documents and letters crinkling as he sifts through them, several cascading off the edges of his desk like some waterfall of ink and ivory, until he finds the tape he’s searching for.
OCTOBER 17, written across a fraying piece of cloth tape in big block letters.
This is it. This is the one, he’s absolutely sure of it, can feel it in the core of his fucking soul, positive he’s on the verge of some massive discovery, something that’ll finally make it all make sense, head nodding to himself as he hastily pushes it into the outdated player.
The thudding of his heart rattles his ribs, the cage expanding and contracting rapidly with each ragged pant torn from his throat, the echoes of his own breath creating berserk symphonies with the jumbled words crawling through his brain, too fast for him to catch, too fast for him to halt.
He finishes slotting the tape into the machine, a quivering finger pressing play, his breath cutting off the moment the reels begin to spin.
The words crack and sizzle, imbued with static as they come to life, and Tomura swears he can see them scratching themselves into his wood-panelled walls, blood beginning to drip from the crude slashes as the walls heave.
Ya gonna bark all day, lil pup, or are ya gonna bite? Huh? Lil puppy? Or does Daddy do your biting for ya, too? Chew up all your food ‘n spit it in your mouth? A caustic laugh spills through the speaker, so corrosive it’s a marvel that it doesn’t erode the plastic. Well, Daddy can’t protect ya forever, lil puppy. And you, hah! You can’t protect her at all.
A slender finger slams down on the stop button, halting the recording before it can begin spewing all of those heinous threats he’s heard too many times now, overly descriptive in what they plan to do to you, painting grotesque pieces on the walls of his skull, renditions that haunt him the moment the chaos in his mind stops, quiets, a whole new type of torture.
Silence drapes itself across his office, the chattering in his mind dimmed to gentle titters and pushed into a dark corner of his head, brows knitting as he contemplates.
This is invaluable information, sure, and he feels fucking elated, feels like all of his tireless work has finally surmounted to something, like he’s standing on the edge of a sharp cliff, and he can nearly see the ground below, mist almost fully eradicated—but there’s still something missing, though; one last piece to complete this puzzle, to crack this case...
Frenetic hands shove at the mess on his desk, pushing, digging, pulling, wildly hysterical in their search for his phone, transcripts tearing, messages crumpling, plastic of the tapes cracking as their corners collide with his wooden floors.
“Dabi!” he practically shouts, hoarse and heaving, when Dabi answers halfway through the second ring.
“Uh, Tomura?” Dabi grovels, disoriented and stuffed full of sleep. “What are you—”
“Hey, listen, listen. Who’s that kid you’ve been bringing around lately?”
“Oh, now you wanna know? Tomura, it’s 5:55 in the fucking morning,” he groans. “Can’t this wait until the sun is up?”
“No time, Dabi, no time,” and he sounds nearly distraught as the words urgently tumble from his lips, voice strained and brittle and thick with excited tears. “Need’ta know now, Dabi, or they’ll overthrow us; gotta know now, or the dogs’ll attack! Gotta collar ‘n cuff ‘em before they can,”
“Who’ll—Wait, what?”
“Who the fuck is he, Dabi?” And normally, normally a question like that would be harsh, scalding and impatient. But today, today it jiggles and jumps with glee, twitching with hopeful anticipation.
“Oh, he, uh, he’s some tweety bird I’m playing with," Dabi explains, voice warped by a yawn. “Nothing serious, no one important,” he sighs out, as though he’s falling back asleep again. “Just kinda stringing the cop along, y’know? I’ll probably dispose of him soon, or something,”
“A cop,” Tomura whispers to himself as his eyes widen, feet skidding to a stop, entire body going stiff.
“A cop! He’s a fucking cop!”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? Could’a swore I told you,”
“The Chief! I knew I recognized that handwriting from somewhere. Yes—yes, it must be, it has to be; it all makes sense now, he’s had it out for us from the very beginning—he’s the big man, the alpha dog, it’s gotta be him,”
“Wait, Tomura, what—” Dabi begins, only to be interrupted by incessant muttering, too low to discern. “What? I-I can’t hear you, you’re mumbling,”
“The time...Going to work...Likes his donuts...cream-filled...Gun, where did I put it...Maybe a blade this time—Oh, but I hate blades...Although, maybe...”
“Tomura? Tomura, stop, listen,” And it almost sounds like he’s begging, suddenly alert, alarmed, high notes of distressed concern fracturing his hasty tone. “Tomura, listen to me, what’s going—”
“I've got to go, Dabi,” his boss cuts him off abruptly, voice suddenly calm, serene, like he’s made a decision, a startling difference from the overlapping mumbles jumbling through the speaker merely a few moments ago. “I’ve got a rooster to slaughter,”
“Hold on a second,” Dabi gasps, shrill and frantic. “Where are you going!”
But the line goes dead.
✰          ✰          ✰
In the dark of his own bedroom, in his own flat wedged under Tomura’s penthouse, Dabi sits frozen in bed, phone still clutched to his head, fingers gripping the device so tightly it’s astonishing the glass doesn’t crack, doesn’t shatter to sharp pieces in his palm.
Time seems to slow, seems to stop for a moment as Tomura’s words coil through Dabi’s mind, letters mangling themselves with each lap around his brain, spiralling into a noose around the organ and tightening until it hurts.
Flashes of teal and jade splinter through the cracks in his curtains, mixing with the night and drenching his room in a dense yet faded blue, shapes of the night moving, morphing, as Dabi stares out into the indigo abyss, his heart oozing through the ribs that cage it.
Something is gravely wrong.
His own heartbeat blends with his quickening breaths, congesting his hearing as he calls Tomura’s phone twice more, receiving his voicemail both times. 
He tries Jin next, who tells Dabi that he’s on the island for the next week or so, but that Dabi’s most definitely overreacting.
“Pop a couple roxys and go back to sleep,” he tells him, voice gentle and warm. “I’m sure Tomura’s perfectly fine; your paranoia’s playing tricks on you, makin’ you think you heard stuff and all that—footsteps and elevator dings. Truthfully, Tomura probably just fell asleep in his office, or something; you know how he gets after a night of sniffing and crushing,”
Dabi does, probably better than anyone else, but Tomura didn’t seem high; didn’t seem like he was suffering a drug induced episode. This felt like something entirely different.
He tries Chisaki next, who promptly tells Dabi to fuck off and to never call him at six in the morning for any reason ever again—he doesn’t give a fuck who’s missing, and then Tomura’s father, getting his inept personal secretary, who claims she has no idea where the Boss went, but that she’s sure he’ll return soon, and she promises to pass along Dabi’s urgent message.
Kurogiri lives a floor under Dabi, though Dabi knows his nights spent at the penthouse have been increasing with alarming frequency. After three calls and no answer, Dabi’s beginning to get agitated; Dabi’s beginning to get desperate.
There’s only one person left to call.
“Dabi? What’s—”
“I don’t have time to explain, bird,” Dabi nearly pants out, words snaring on a hiccup in his throat. “I think—There’s something going on—Something’s wrong—I think—” Another hiccup lodges in his throat, and Dabi’s lids squeeze shut, fighting back against the acidic water stinging his eyes. “I think Tomura’s gone missing,” he manages in a harsh rush of breath. “I need you to break down the office door with me, I can’t—You’re the only able-bodied man I could find,”
“Dabi, listen—”
“I don’t have the fucking time to listen!” he roars, finally erupting, ears ringing as his blood surges. “Get your ass to the fucking penthouse, or I swear to God, I’ll burn you alive Mr. Blonde style...Keigo,”
The other man’s breath stutters, echoing through the receiver, and then the line falls silent.
“Yeah, that’s what we do to cops who are uncooperative,”
Several moments pass, and then, soft and defeated:
“I’ll see you soon,”
✰          ✰          ✰
Large hands rip you from your slumber roughly, lithe fingers burrowing into your flesh as they grip your biceps.
Lids flutter to life, lifting slow and sticky to reveal bleary eyes, glazed with thick sleep that keeps knocking your vision out of focus. Bright azure and sharp ink begin to burn through the mist, a gravelly voice bleeding into your consciousness, realization forcing icy dread to freeze the blood in your veins.
“D-Dabi?” you whimper, fingers twisting in his hoodie, pulling yourself up a little. “What’re you—What time is it?”
“Do you know where Tomura went?” He practically heaves out, breathing erratic as sapphire frantically searches your face, fingers searing blotches of navy into your skin as they flex.
“I—What?” you blink, squinting against the light, Dabi’s expression fully eradicating the drowsy haze sleep had cast over you, notes of panic sown into your tone. “N-No? Tomura’s—”
“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, eyes squeezing shut as nimble fingers rake through onyx strands. “He didn’t—He didn’t like, wake you up for a moment to inform you of his leaving? Or leave a note?” Calloused palms begin patting the plush comforter, scrutinizing gaze searching for a scrap of paper embellished with Tomura’s neat scrawl.
“No, he didn’t. Uh, w-why?”
But Dabi doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with searching the bed for shreds of clues. Little palms encircle his wrists, tender in their touch, and bring both hands to your lap, drawing his attention back to you.
“Why? What’s going on?
“He’s missing,”
“What?” the word escapes your throat in a gasp, choked and full of spit, motions stilling. “Wh-What do you mean, he’s missing?”
“What do you think I mean,” he seethes, and you flinch. A sigh leaves his lips in a heavy exhale, body slumping into your touch, perching on the edge of the mattress. He inhales, holding the breath in his chest until his ribs feel like they’re splintering, swollen lungs pressing into the cage, and exhales the words. “I just—He called me, like, twenty minutes ago, going on about dogs and threats and how he has to—has to go kill a rooster, or something? I don’t know,” Dabi shakes his head. “It barely made any sense at all—I could hardly hear him—but now he’s fucking missing and I—I’m—”
His voice cuts off, words mutilating themselves into nothing more than a pathetic little squeak. And try as he may, he just can’t force those words from his mouth, can’t admit his concern, sentiments burning themselves to ash on the back of his tongue and clogging his throat.
But he doesn’t need to.
He doesn’t need to, because you can see it, can see it in his eyes, in the way they keep glazing over, terrified tears stubbornly resurfacing regardless of how ruthlessly he tries to blink them back; because you can hear it, can hear it in the infinitesimal tremors lacing his voice, in the way they keep causing him to stumble over his words; because you can feel it, can feel the thick distress patched up with unease practically saturating the atmosphere around him, cloaking him in it’s devastatingly hollow embrace.
“It’s okay,” you say softly, taking his face between pillowy palms, forcing his turbulent gaze to halt, holding his eyes with your own. “We’re gonna find him,” tiny thumbs swipe over inked cheekbones, Dabi’s eyes closing with the motion, leaning further into your touch, seeking comfort, reassurance, hope. “Alright? We’re gonna find him,”
And although there’s a quiver in your voice, he thinks he can believe you, thinks you’re right—you will be right.
And, for once, he affords himself a singular moment to become immersed in your touch, to surrender control just for a second and be weak, to open his arms and allow you to crawl into his lap and snuggle into his neck and sink small fingers into his hair; to cleanse his mind, his body, his soul, with your soft motions and gentle kisses and whispered affirmations, each one sinking into his flesh, each one a tiny spark, each one collecting at his core, satiating that creature—the one birthed from love and hate and jealousy and desire—with a warm fire.
But then the elevator dings, and Kurogiri speaks rapidly to someone in hushed tones, and large hands wrap around your wrists, bringing them down and pressing them to your chest, giving one final squeeze before he lets go.
Forty-five minutes and one fractured shoulder later, that thick mahogany wood finally gives way, cracking deep enough that Hawks can kick it open, splitting it clean in two.
Both you and Kurogiri have spent the past half hour pacing and calling and shaking, growing more fraught every minute the door stays standing, both having fired off several increasingly distraught texts to Tomura, neither getting any semblance of a response, from anyone.
It’s been getting harder and harder to keep those sobs locked away in a cage of shuddering ivory, vicious cries finally breaking free as the door falls open, revealing an image that will forever haunt the recesses of your brain, etched into your soul for eternity.
Paper litters the entire room—heaping piles of the scattered across the desk, the couch, the floor, so much so it’s impossible to enter the room without stepping on something, and you can see phantom footprints of Tomura’s loafers imprinted on the sheets—the documents covered margin to margin in Tomura’s neat scrawl, ink as brilliant as his eyes vibrant against the crisp white paper.
Dabi plucks a sheet from near his feet, bringing it close to his face. It’s a transcript of some sort—no doubt connected to the alleged mystery calls Tomura’s been receiving—though it’s nearly impossible to read the original wording, Tomura’s bright scarlet writing crisscrossing over it in overlapping annotations, accented with arrows and asterisks.
“How can he even read this shit?” Dabi squints, holding the paper further from his face in an attempt to view it in its entirety. “It’s just—It’s just nonsense,”
A tattooed hand snatches another sheet, eyes scanning it briefly, then grabs another, then another, then another.
“They’re all...” Dabi begins, and his voice sounds faint. “They’re all copies of each other—it’s all the same few conversations,”
You bend down, leaning into Dabi to examine the documents between his trembling fingers, then grabbing a handful of papers for yourself, shuffling through them slowly.
He’s right; the documents are merely replicas of themselves, rendered endless iterations, covered edge to edge in red pen.
“Oh my God,” you breathe, but the words are garbled, half eroded by the time they leave your lips, tongue melting to acid in your mouth, bitter and burning and bubbling as it eats away at your teeth.
Your vision wavers, fades, then clouds with blurry water, the whole scene beginning to swirl around your head, around your body—but strong arms latch around your waist to catch you before you hit the floor, their owner’s back vibrating against you as they murmur.
“Woah, woah, hey!” Hawks is saying as he tries to get your feet under you, hoisting you up to lean half of your weight on him. “You okay?”
No. You’re not okay.
You’re not okay, because the most concerning piece of the devastatingly deranged scene laid out in front of you is Daddy’s massive cork board, which has been stripped of all its confidential company research, its several calendars and meticulously organized sticky notes, and replaced with clippings from the documents dispersed among the room, pasted together to create illogical sentences and bizarre conclusions and sprinkled with notepaper and photos, comming together to create a harrowing mosaic.
With a photograph of the Chief of Police pinned right to the center.
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katsukikook · 5 months ago
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japan's sweetheart (bakugou x you)
influencer!reader x prohero!bakugou
3.7k, fluff & angst
synopsis: bakugou thinks you're absolutely gorgeous. so does the whole world. your life changes when he posts a photo of you on his instagram.
a/n: the title is bc this is set in japan like bakugou is lol !!! ITS BEEN A YEAR SINCE IVE WROTE FOR HIM LOVE U KATSU ! i wrote this over three (?) days i think the longest I’ve spent on a fic lol I usually write this much in one go. AND NO I did not (I kinda did) get the title idea from that lil huddy song
bakugou knew his girlfriend was pretty. the prettiest. of course he knew, why else was he obsessed so long before he got to know you. back at school from watching you float between friends and hearing your giggle from across the classroom, always managing to be everywhere at once and having everyone in your sight fall in love with you. if he was honest he was slightly intimidated by the fact you'd get confession after confession and multiple notes stuffed in your locker of people either asking you on a date or just letting you know that they think you're gorgeous. all to which you sent your thanks and politely turned down. always as if you were waiting for someone else. bakugou managed to gather the courage to talk to you once, asking for you to train with him, stumbling over his words like an idiot since you were literally glowing up close. you surprisingly filled with glee and accepted quickly. now many years have passed since his school days and he has since been able to fall in love with you beyond physicality for your quirks and idiosyncrasies. never in his life has he ever worked so hard for something, for you to finally be his and that was a lot considering he was japan’s number two hero.
so bakugou knew his girlfriend was the prettiest, most gorgeous being ever to exist and how the world would never let him forget it. shown in the way he’d get swarmed by fans and news reporters after he’d just won a battle with a villain, trying to answer a multitude of questions being thrown at him and still despite his own crowd he’d see random guys or even girls nervously shuffle their way over to you asking what you were doing here. bakugou believed it was a pathetic attempt of flirting. “dynamight always answers the pretty interviewers first. how come you aren’t up there?” bakugou could see the confident glint in their eye from where he stood, trying to butter you with their wack ass compliments. you’d always be polite, shutting them down and giving them a laugh. “does he now? i should talk to him about that considering i’m his girlfriend.”
another time was when bakugou decided to do a typical girlfriend post for his instagram. partly because he wanted to show you off so everyone knew you were the great dynamight’s beloved and also because his publicist was on his neck for a better image. it was a cute picture, one of those couple images that would be on a pinterest board. you in a long linen summer dress, one hand gripping your skirt to keep it down and another holding onto your straw hat so it wouldn't fly off with the sudden gust of wind. your hair was blowing away from your face, showing your features brightly to the camera. bakugou rested his head on your shoulder behind you and an arm wrapped possessively around your waist. you both had massive grins, bakugou's cheeks rosy and one of your eyes squinted shut from the sun. to complete the image, bakugou had his middle finger up towards the camera, a cocky aura to him opposed to your more innocent vibe. the picture was taken in a strawberry field a few weeks prior as you convinced him, kirishima and mina to go strawberry picking. bakugou posted the sweet image, complete with a simple caption, “my girlfriend and i”. so blunt and so bakugou. the picture was met with an overwhelming response, his most liked picture and most commented at a rapid speed. what he didn’t expect was how much the picture would be spoken about within the app and outside of it. though he mostly wasn't surprised the comments were all positive about you, sometimes at the expense of himself.
it was the day after he posted the picture and you were laying on bakugou’s king-sized bed in your comfy joggers and his hoodie with your boyfriend almost completely laying on top of you. his heavy head rested comfortably on your chest with his arm wrapped around your middle. he even entangled his legs with yours for optimum comfort, flicking through his multitude of streaming services to find something to watch. soft grumbles leaving his lips after finding nothing that interests him. you, on the other hand, had your hand perched in his fluffy wheat hair rubbing at his scalp as your thumb scrolled through your phone. giggles leaving your lips as you read your screen.
“whatchu laughing at?” his gruff voice asked, slightly lifting his head to see your face illuminated from your device. you had a double chin at this angle and bakugou fought the urge to stuff his face in your neck.
you looked up to meet his ruby eyes, a smile on your cheeks. “i’m just reading through my dms- you know someone asked me to send them a photo of my feet for…” you paused for a moment looking as if you were counting, “oh my god is that a million? and i think it’s legit too.”
bakugou was well aware that your following has increased greatly from his stunt, from major news reports even high end magazines asking you for interviews, not even about him and unsurprisingly multiple modelling offers.
“what? you don't need all that i can give you what you want,” he scoffed, shifting his head to look at your screen to see dm after dm either wanting you or wanting something from you. it made bakugou feel hot, burning from inside his chest. these people literally found you from a couples post and still, they are asking you for a date? bakugou grumbled even seeing some verified ticks, some lengthy very descriptive sexual ones and some even trying to convince you that they were better for you than him.
“i know you would baby, i can't believe this…. people are really desperate out here. nobody is better for me than you.” you sighed, shaking your head before switching your phone off and setting it down on the bedside table. the uncomfortable jealousy and anger that started to ruminate in bakugou slowed to a halt at your action, especially as you began to kiss along his face to smooth out the wrinkles from his frowning. you always had a sixth sense to your boyfriend, easily telling when he was beginning to get ticked off.
“right katsu?” you pressed him for a response, placing a palm flat on his toned chest. you began feeling him up as bakugou rolled his eyes, lifting himself to rest his forearms by your head, holding his body above you.
“obviously idiot. nobody would be able to deal with you as i can. or love you as i can.” his usual confident demeanour washing back over him. though the thought did fly around his head like an irritating bee as he stared down at you, grinning back at him. your teeth a shiny white and your pupils dilating at his proximity, looking at him as if you’d do anything if he asked. what if he wasn’t the best for you? you were more than perfect for him, the way you loved him so deeply and tenderly, how you gave him advice that was almost obvious but not in the way that it was predictable but that it made sense. how you matched his wit and humour, his outbursts and his harsh streaks. the whole world was already in love with you from not even knowing you, what if they did?
instead, bakugou ignored the thought, focusing on the way you fit like a missing piece under him, your lips with a slight pink shine to the chapstick you smeared on earlier. his own cologne from his hoodie you were wearing mixed with your sweet body wash filled his nose and he admired the way your nose scrunched as you asked him to move so you could take off his shirt.
you sent him an almost delirious grin as he did, your hands all over him, one finding its way to the back of his head to pull him down to meet your lips. the movement taking him off guard as he shifted his weight one arm and rested a hand on your stomach, moving to paw at your breast.
for you, every kiss with bakugou felt like your first, starting soft and sweet before one of you break, swiping your tongue across his plush bottom lip for more. you whine into the kiss as bakugou hums, breaking away with a string of spit between you both. you rest your palm on his face, your thumb rubbing at the stubble scattered on his cheek. your hot breaths fanned each other's faces, eyes flickering from his lips to his darkened vermillion eyes.
“i love you katsuki,” you whispered.
“i love you too baby.” bakugou wasn’t ready to share you with the world yet, but that honestly didn’t matter when he had you under him and giving all your love.
since then, you did take up many of the opportunities that were being offered to you, very graciously accepting this new influencer, socialite lifestyle. your face has appeared in many fashion magazines and interviews, discussing your style and inspirations with a few questions sprinkled in about your love life. every cover and spread were bought in bulk by your boyfriend, each one framed and hung up in his trophy room. perfectly complementing his own. soon after you were offered collaborations, invited to brand meetings and made your own little circle of friends in the industry.
bakugou loved it for you. he could see you thriving in this new environment and seeing your pretty face on a billboard while he was out on a patrol was always a massive benefit for him. he’d be happy to take your instagram photos, knowing your best angles and always patient when you’d want a couple more pictures. he’d even sit with you while you went through promotional packages testing new products and eating the complimentary cookies.
it was very common for you to be invited to brand dinners, dressing your prettiest for a free meal and drinks all for an instagram picture and tag in return; one of your favourite parts of your job. you were getting ready in katsuki’s bedroom, you preferred his home to your own as he had a massive closet with a collage of mirrors and great lighting. bakugou never complained about the fact one of his many wardrobes had been taken over by you. he also loved your presence in his home, reminders of you everywhere even when you weren't physically there.
“katsu! katsuki!” you called out from the other side of his apartment, breaking bakugous attention from the game he was currently playing with kirishima on his television. bakugou’s other two childhood and now pro-hero friends, midoriya and kaminari sat on the opposite sofa eating and chatting amongst themselves.
bakugou’s eyes were fixated on the screen and the controller gripped tightly in his hands, kirishima clearly beating him. “you're a fuckin cheat,” he groaned making the redhead beside him grin, “yes babe? what’s wrong?” he shouted back, hands flailing at the screen as kirishima won yet another match.
“you’re just shit at this bro,” kirishima chuckled, taunting him as his friend turned to punch him in his shoulder. too caught up with play fighting, he failed to hear the soft patter of your bare feet across the hall coming towards him.
you chuckled seeing the lump of spiky red and blonde hair on the sofa, still acting the same as they did back at school. your hands held a tangled dainty necklace around your neck, one bakugou got you for your first magazine front cover. midoriya noticed your presence first, always so sweet to you, “you look pretty y/n, where are you going?”
bakugou’s head whipped up with the mention of your name, his eyes immediately widening at your appearance. he untangled himself from his friend to swing himself over the back of his sofa to make his way towards you, almost tripping up on the way. you had a gorgeous long wine red dress that hugged your body with a slit on one leg. a cowl neck rested on your breasts framing them deliciously with thin straps to hold it all up. your face was also painted beautifully, your hair styled with decorative golden pins holding it all neatly together. times like these bakugou imagined he’d be much happier if he could keep you locked in his apartment only for him to see.
bakugou stepped in close to you resting his hands delicately on your elbows as both your hands fidgeted with the tangled necklace you wore. “fuck, you look sexy baby.” bakugou grunted, completely ignoring the little audience you had watching you both.
you shyly rolled your eyes whispering thanks. then another round of thanks and giggles when kirishima and kaminari went to compliment you too. “sorry to bother you, but could you untangle this for me please?” you looked up at your boyfriend sheepishly, him immediately getting to work on the tangle you made.
“course baby, you’re never a bother.” he breathed. bakugou took to work, his rough hands holding the thin chain and pendant, his hands so large you had to lift your head slightly to accommodate.
with a mouth full of chicken stuffed in his cheeks midoriya spoke up, “where are you going anyway, y/n?”
you glanced over to him, your head at an awkward angle as you tried not to move too much. soon enough bakugou circled behind you to try to reclasp your necklace.
“me? i have a brand dinner party thing, for this makeup brand. lots of big names tonight so i wanna look the part, you know?” the nervousness was evident in your tone as you responded, playing with the rings on your fingers. you could feel bakugou’s hot breath on your neck as he fiddled with the clasp.
“you always look the part, better than the part. so don’t come with that nonsense.” bakugou kissed your cheek as if to soften his words, finally letting go of the annoying necklace and centring it perfectly between your collarbones.
“yeah you look great, i’m sure it will be a fun time.” kaminari chipped in, the other two boys nodding in unison like birds.
bakugou stood outside his apartment building, holding both your hands and pecking your lips repeatedly. a car had come to pick you up, you could hear the rumbling of the engine behind you as bakugou drilled his words into you. “when it finishes or you’re tired or you just don't wanna be there anymore call me okay? i’ll come pick you up. if anyone tries anything on you call me and i’ll beat them up too, okay?”
you both looked out of place, his towering figure in his hoodie, joggers and slippers, holding you, dressed to the nines. you rolled your eyes at his words, loving your very caring and protective boyfriend. you returned his kisses, “i know katsu, i’ll call you if you’re not already sleeping.” you untangled yourself from him, making your way to the car.
“hey no! i’m not gonna be asleep, call me for anything okay! and text me when you get there.” he shouted to you as you opened the car door.
you nodded, giving him a wide smile back, blowing him a kiss. you watched him softly grab the air as if it was your kiss, then stuffing his hands in his pockets. bakugou mouthed a tender, “love you.” to which you copied heartily with a wave as the car slowly drove off.
something was definitely wrong. bakugou got a text from you roughly an hour and a half before the party was about to end from you asking if he was awake and if it was possible he could pick you up. and he did, fulfilling his boyfriend duties with ease, pulling stuffing on his driveable slippers and driving to the location you sent him.
he sent you a text to say he was outside and in less than a minute you were sliding into the passenger seat beside him with a blank look on your face and a stiff tension in the air. you still partly looked the same as when you left, your dress in place and your bag on your shoulder. maybe your eyeshadow had faded slightly and your hairpins weren't holding back strands as they did earlier. there wasn’t a smile to be seen nor a ramble of chatter like usual about how the event was as if your natural glow had dimmed.
“thanks for picking me up,” you said stoically, moving to put your seat belt on and facing forward, your hands in your lap. you couldn't even find it in yourself to comment on bakugou’s cute sleepy appearance, the back of his hair flat, suggesting he was probably in bed before you texted and his eyes less alert than usual.
bakugou leaned across the middle console to press a kiss to your cheek, “no problem, how was it?” he knew to tread carefully when you weren't your normal self, despite his desire to demand you tell him what was wrong right now so he could fix it.
“it was fine, like the usual.” your voice almost sad, coming off delicately like you mentally were in another world. bakugou switched the gears from park to drive, setting off back to his apartment.
“you sure? is something wrong?” he snuck glances at you, your face not giving away anything.
“no, i’m fine.” you still didn't meet his eyes, gazing out the window and watching the buildings pass in a blur.
“can i hold your hand?” it was common for bakugou to either have his hand resting on your thigh or hold your hand as he drove, though he never usually asked if he could. for him, it was a test to see if he did something wrong, waiting to hear a ‘no’ so he knows it was him.
you looked over to him for the first time, his eyes in a sleepy droop, bundled in his hoodie and sweatpants. you wish you stayed home with him instead of going out tonight. you gave him a soft nod, opening out your palm to which he quickly grasped and pulled to his lips kissing it with his eyes still on the road.
“you’re fuckin lying but it’s okay, you can tell me later. or tomorrow even.” he sent you a small smile, resting your linked hands in his lap as the car slid into a silence.
bakugou slowed to a stop in his apartment car park, switching his car off and his hand still clasped with yours. he turned to you, to see you looking at your feet, “you ready?”
you felt a little lighter than before, using the drive to think about the events of tonight. you let out a sigh, squeezing his hand softly. bakugou looked at you expectantly, his hand on the door handle to leave. he hummed to get your attention, a little encouragement to speak if you wanted.
you shifted your joined hands onto your lap and turned to him, with a deep breath you started, “i know it’s not much but i heard some of the girls there saying how i’ve only got this job and all these opportunities because of you. and i get it you know, that it is true if it wasn’t for you posting that picture of us nobody would be interested or want me. like everyone just sees me as dynamight’s girlfriend and… and… i can’t say i even disagree; i didn’t work for this from the ground up like them.”
you flicked your eyes up to bakugou, his eyebrows furrowed tightly and his eyes swimming as he was thinking over what you said. he grumbled under his breath, “those fucking idiots ruining your night,” before letting go of your hand and pulling you onto his lap, his fancy car spacious for the position. he placed one arm around your waist and another on your thigh allowing you to lean onto his chest. you snuggled into him, basking in his natural caramel scent and body heat.
“listen.” his voice a low rumble, his tiredness was looped within his words. a tone only reserved for you, “not everything in life has to be hard you know. you were given these chances, and used them and did it better than the rest of them. if anything, it felt crazy seeing you adapt so quickly to your new life, made me feel so proud of you.” he rubbed your arm as he spoke, soothing your sadness, “and yeah, this shit happened after i posted that picture because they saw something in you and so did other people considering your still booking major fucking brands months after. you hardly ever get asked about me i don’t know where they got that shit from, if anything i get asked about you loads now. last week someone wanted a picture of me and them by your advert in the mall.” he said it all like it was his genuine stream of thoughts; fluid and smooth.
you took your head from his chest and looked at him, his eyes already meeting yours. he looked so pretty in the dingy car park lighting, a harsh yellow light on the left side of his face. still, he continued, “and don’t say nobody would want you. even without all these followers and magazines, i’ll always want you. and i-i hope that’s still something for you?” the last line came out questioning, his head tilted unconfidently.
you gave him a small smile, gratitude filling you at having a lover like bakugou. one who has changed so much since you met him. clearing your worries was so easy for him and to then humble himself down endearingly at the end of it all. your words became a melody, the smile fluent in your voice, “your love is everything to me, katsuki.”
he rolled his eyes playfully, leaning his head back on the headrest to look down at you. “damn right it should be.” you kissed his velvet lips, the sleep settling into your limbs too. bakugou responded like it was second nature, sleepily pressing back.
“thank you for that. let’s get you inside before you fall asleep on me.”
“thank fuck, it’s way past my bedtime.”
why not try …
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itachiyama · 4 months ago
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request: “Okay how about mha requests since you get so many haikyuu ones ;) I was hoping if maybe you could write the holding their face like you did for haikyuu but with Bakugou, Todoroki, Hawks, Dabi, and Aizawa? We have the same favorites btw just thought I’d mention lol but I’m so ready for your first Aizawa piece!”
characters: bakugou katsuki, todoroki shoto, takami keigo, dabi, aizawa shota
genre: fluff
a/n: omgggg we do have the same favs you’re right !! i haven’t written for aizawa yet i was so excited when I saw this :,)
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✯𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎𝐔 sat with his arms crossed, nostrils flared as he finished ranting to you about his newest cause for irritation. He didn’t expect your hands to reach forward, staring at you with his eyebrows furrowed as he felt your hands softly cup his cheeks, thumb swiping over the apples of his cheeks. “Katsuki, relax, babe. It’ll blow over, okay?” His eyes focused on you, watching the smile on your face widen as he met your gaze, anger slowly fading away as all he felt was you. He’d never let anyone take care of him, yet with you, he found himself indulging, the feeling of your hands holding his face like home. “Yeah, whatever, dumbass,” he mumbled, eyes now focusing on his lap. But you noticed how he didn’t pull away from your touch— in fact, he leaned in ever so slightly.
✯𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀 was tired of grading papers, not wanting to go to bed until he had at least half of them done before his nightly patrol. His brows creased as he reread the same line over and over, frustration bubbling as he tried to comprehend what he was reading. Gently, his face was pried away from the paper, now being turned to meet your gaze. One hand held his cheek, the other moving a strand of hair behind his ear. Staring at you with tired eyes, he felt himself relax for the first time that day, comforted by your touch as he leaned into your palm. “Shota, you need a nap before you leave. The papers can wait,” you whispered, pecking his forehead after. He closed his eyes, face burying itself into your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist as you stroked his hair. “Only if you join me.”
✯𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈 was awoken from his nap by the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, eyes opening slowly as he groaned. His breath hitched when he felt a kiss being placed on the tip of his nose, so unfamiliar with soft gestures, ones that he hadn’t felt in so long. He stared at you with wide eyes as your hand lay on his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his scar, a smile on your face as you stared down at him. Your eyes were always so soft when they looked at him, so filled with love, safe enough for him to finally find a home in. “Time to get up, Sho. Wake up, baby.” Closing his eyes, he basked in your touch a little longer, craving just a little more affection, just a little more attention, if it came from you. “Five more minutes, y/n,” he whispered, hand laying itself on top of yours.
✯𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐒 collapsed on top of your body, a tried grin on his face, eyes bright and excited that he finally got to see you after a long day. Groaning as your thumbs kneaded his tense muscles, he tightened his grip on your waist, never wanting to leave the security of your arms. “How was today? Did you get the bad guys, Kei?” He laughed, looking up and meeting your eyes. “You know I did, dove. I always do, gotta keep you safe.” His laugh rang through the room once more when your hands clasped his cheeks, squishing them together and shaking his head gently. This was home, one he finally got to call his. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re around then, huh?” And this time, his heart skipped a beat as he stared at you, your palms cradling his face more carefully now as he noticed the way your eyes glimmered when they looked at him.
✯𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈 hissed as he felt you press a rag to his skin, the burning painful as he overheated after yet another over usage of his quirk. He noticed the way you pressed it into him harsher than usual, anger in your movements instead of the usual gentleness. “Why’re you being so harsh for?” Looking up, you glared at him. “Because you were supposed to be careful, Dabi.” Just as he was about to retaliate, he was cut off by your hands grabbing his face, forehead pressing itself against his. Finally, he noticed the worry in your eyes, a look he hadn’t received in so long. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m okay,” he tried to laugh off, slowly trailing off when he felt your finger trace the edge of his scars. “I worry about you, you know.” Sighing, he brought your closer, burying himself into your neck. You were the one person he’d grown soft for, he’d vowed to himself that he’d protect you at all costs, even if the price was the skin on his back.
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katsuphilia · a month ago
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Bakugou overhears all class gossip, and while nobody thinks he does, he never misses a word. He’s got sharp ears and keen eyes and he never misses anything.
Which is why he’s reduced to a glum guy with wounded pride when he overhears the girls gossiping about how “Bakugou and y/n don’t seem like they’ll last.” He figures it’s true—deep down he realizes his prickly and harsh nature could never mesh well with your gentle and sweet one, but the words sting no less.
The truth is, Bakugou Katsuki has fallen hopelessly in love, and he wants to roll his eyes at himself, but he can’t. He can’t when it’s you, he can’t bring himself to do anything but soften his exterior as much as he can so you can see he’s trying. He’s trying and maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all he’s got. He lets you grab his hand, and steal his snacks, and mess around with his gauntlets, and ruffle his hair, and he hopes it’s enough, but he knows deep down it’s not.
So when you sit next to him in the courtyard, plopping down quietly beside him as he looks ahead refusing to meet your eyes, he’s not expecting your hand to lay on his.
“Hey, Katsuki,” you whisper gently, and he can tell from your tone you know something’s up.
“Hmph,” he grumbles incoherently in acknowledgment, shoulders tensing as you get closer.
“What’s on your mind?” He’s silent for a moment, and even if he wanted to, Bakugou doesn’t even know how to tell you.
“Don’t say nothing.” Bakugou’s hand grips the fabric of his jeans tightly, and he’s trembling just the slightest bit, but the way your hand soothes over his arm in delicate circles grounds him just the tiniest bit.
“It’s none of your business,” he mutters. You raise your eyebrow unimpressed.
“Try again, babe.” And maybe it’s the way your palm is warm through the fabric of his blazer, or the way your voice is still gentle even when reprimanding, or the way you just seem to know, but he practically pours himself out to you. Because he needs you to hear, and he needs you to know—Bakugou’s trying.
“Those dumb girls can’t mind their business. They don’t think we’ll last—as if it’s their business,” he rants, and his voice is slightly tight—he’ll never admit it and you’ll never mention it, but you both can hear it. “Who asked, anyway?”
Nodding slowly, you lean your head on his shoulder, hand grasping his as you fiddle with his fingers. His cheek finds its way to the top of your head, and you both sit like that for a bit, you playing with his fingers and Bakugou peeking glances at you over his shoulder.
“Do you think we’ll last?”
“Do you think think they’re right? That we won’t last?” He wants to say yes, wants to admit that nobody would want to last with someone as rough and tough as him, that his words are just as abrasive as his actions and you shouldn’t tolerate it, but Bakugou needs more than anything for you to stick with him.
He needs the little cheek kisses goodnight, he needs the arm hugs while you walk together, he needs the tiny nose boops when he’s frowning—and he needs you.
“I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I guess you shouldn’t really want us to, huh?” And he cringes a little when your head shoots up.
“What’s that mean?”
He simply shrugs and mumbles “I don’t know,” as he looks off to the side. But your hand grabs his jaw and gently forces him to look you in the eyes.
And his eyes are swimming with doubt, with anger, but mostly, a sense of defeat, and that’s unlike Bakugou. He never admits defeat, and it’s the one thing about him you love most.
“Katsuki. Don’t give me that,” you say gently, and the soft kiss to his nose makes him grip your waist tightly. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I want us to last?”
“It just makes sense.”
“And why’s that?”
And the dam breaks when he opens his mouth, eyes angry (and slightly wet, but you don’t mention it) as he pours his heart out to you.
“Because you shouldn’t want to last with someone like me, we both know that. I’m not cut out to be the way a boyfriend is, I don’t act like the way they should. Go find someone who does,” he mutters at the end, and you frown, watching as he fights the tremble of his lips.
He’s waiting for the blow, for the moment you admit he’s right and walk off and inevitably rip his heart out and take it with you, but it never comes.
“Hey,” you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into your chest, and on any other day, he’d pull away instantly, grumbling about how someone might see. But today, today he needs to be close, to hear your heart beat against his ear. “That’s not true, Katsuki. You’re a bit different, but I don’t mind. I know you love me,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair.
“I’m not done, okay?” You poke his forehead, and he swats your hand away. “Like you said, it’s not their business. So they don’t know everything. You do a great job you know, you just make your own rules of how to do things,” you snort. “That’s okay though, it’s still plenty enough for me.”
“You sure?” His voice is gruff, but it’s still hesitant. Your hand glides down to grab his hand, lacing your fingers together as you peck his forehead.
“Of course. You look out for me, always make sure I’m safe, always try to notice how I can improve, always take the short end of the stick for me. Who cares if you don’t bring me roses or something? Do you love me?”
“Well yeah,” he grumbles, answer immediate.
“Do you want us to last?”
And his voice is a bit smaller this time when he admits a small “yes.”
“Good, I feel the same. And that’s it for that matter, don’t you think? It’s our business, and we seem to be on the same page.”
Almost instantly, his chest lightens at your words, and he registers the small circles you rub into his knuckles, and the gentle scratches at his scalp, and he thinks he’s found some place that he’s made his own, somewhere he’s himself and it’s enough and it’s cherished. And he realizes that maybe that’s what love is, not the stupid roses or the boxes of chocolates the damn girls are always telling him he needs to bring.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, but his hand squeezes yours. “You should’ve gone up to your room you know, dumbass. Don’t think I didn’t see you hit your leg during training,” he chides. His voice is still gentle, and you smile at the way he’s back to himself already.
“Sorry, I’ll be more careful,” you promise.
He mumbles a quiet good before he sits up, pulling you into him as he kisses the top of your head. And the way you lean your cheek against him with a smile, rubbing his chest softly makes him think maybe you will last— because he’s not letting you go any time soon.
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this is a repost from my old blog
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yanderechuu · a month ago
Honestly you’d think that eventually the reader would just drop out of UA
but that plot lacks flair, doesn't it? hear me out.
there are three scenarios i thought of that (y/n) would likely end up in after years of constant molestation and abuse from her classmates, possibly even from her teachers.
Warning: noncon, suicide
The first is that you - unsurprisingly - become a villain. You could have met Shigaraki in this case, and during your conversation he gives you the revelation of society’s hypocrisy, that heroes aren’t all dolls and daydreams and everything you’d thought of as a child. And you’ve seen that notion in your classmates, too - the way they act so hero-like and all, participating profoundly in work study and doing well in hero academics. But they could only put up that front for so long, and unfortunately their target of relief had been you.
You’ve begun meeting Shigaraki a little too often after that encounter. You two are pretty chill with each other, and against better judgement you decided that, wow, he wasn’t so bad after all. He was very nihilistic and wanted to see the end of superhuman society, sure, but he had a considerable reason for having that mindset. For crying out loud, you had a classmate who wanted to become the number hero simply because of his superiority complex. You had a classmate who wanted to become a hero just to get the girls’ attention! The villain you befriended, however extremist he sounded, was tragically reasonable.
Your conversations didn’t consist much of villainous and heroic ideals. You both talked like you were friends, actual friends who weren’t at each other’s disposal, and he liked it as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You’d ask him how his day was, and he’d answer and ask you the same question in return. Sometimes you’d treat him a snack under the ruse that why not? when you were just really, really grateful for him and the unexpected friendship he’d given you. You, after all, were deprived of it after spending so much time with your toxic classmates. After countless of your rendezvous with him, he finally figured that it wouldn’t hurt to invite you to his base, because you’ve proven much of your loyalty to him. Hell, you were immune to his (fake) threats of disintegrating you into nothingness!
There you met the rest of the league, being particularly wary with Dabi because you’ve had a firsthand encounter with him during the training camp attack. You’ve grown used to him, though, eventually spending every weekend with all of them. Toga loved that there was a new additional female to the group aside from Magne, even when you weren’t quite an official member. You lot always spent time indoors, never opting to go outside (unless for snacks, which you were usually in charge of. What? You had to feed your friends) due to the risk of being discovered by one of your classmates or pro-heroes.
It was at the time of Magne’s death when Shigaraki had actually proposed the idea of your joining LOV. As the group was still experiencing the grief of her loss, Shigaraki asked you to meet him in the alley of where you first met. Told you the news, and you felt a heavy dread in your heart, the reality of no longer being able to see her gradually sinking in. At your lowest point, he offered the idea, shrewdly expounding your hardships in heroism - was U.A. really worth it?
You said you’d think about it, and he told you to take your time, because you had until your third year to finalize your decision. You’d join villainy, advocate his ideals - though not at the present moment. You won’t participate in any of the advances LOV is doing. Instead, you’d be their insurance, carrying on their legacy in the future just in case things right now don’t go in accordance to his plan.
His words abused you for the rest of your high school years, and accompanied by the treatment you’d received from your classmates, it wasn’t a surprise when you had reached your limit.
Third year, graduation batch party. It was an afterparty party, actually, because U.A. students were still prohibited from drinking alcohol. Hosted by Mina and private place provided by Shoto thanks to his father’s connections, in which practically any schoolmate from U.A. could be invited (not teachers, quite obviously). You were no exception.
You weren’t quite invited to the afterparty party, more so dragged by Bakugou’s squad because the party simply couldn’t commence without you, they said. Upon entering the vicinity, though, music was already blasting loudly, and lights were colorful and blinding, hurting your ears and eyes. They dragged you to the dancefloor, and you were forced to dance with them, shame flushing your skin red, therefore earning prolonged stares from the rest of your classmates.
Later into the party, they got a little more... touchy, than usual. Fueled by alcohol, Shoto was first to advance, feeling up your midriff to get a grip on your waist. And then he started- he started humping against you - what the hell - and when you tried squirming out of panic, Bakugou had you in his arms, telling the boy behind you to fuck off, but not doing anything about it. You felt the sickening hard-on Shoto grew after being stimulated by your rear-end. Bakugou pulled your hand towards his crotch, yelling at you that he’d blow your head off if you don’t fondle it.
There wasn’t much you could do against the brute force they exerted in basically manhandling you. Next thing you knew, you had your back against the bar counter, having your first time getting eaten out by Izuku himself. Skirt flipped over, though panties still in the way, he sucked, nibbled, and lightly bit, getting a variety of lewd noises out of you - not that you could let out much, anyway, because Ochako had your mouth busy with her own, your hand entangled and squeezing hers whenever Izuku messed with your bundle of nerves.
They fucking cheered when you reached your climax, and amid the chaos and frenzied state of your mind, you were able to escape it all, stumbling your way out of the scene with quivering legs after having just experienced an orgasm initiated by some stranger to you.
You cried your heart out in the restroom, gripping your skirt harshly, nearly ripping it, burying your head on your knees. Your makeup was a mess, hairdo ruined, dignity stolen. With your fingers shaking rapidly, you pulled out your phone and contacted Shigaraki, only to have no one respond.
"Shigaraki..." you called out into darkness, breaking into a fit of despair. You virtually had no lean on. You didn’t know where the league was, what they were doing, if they were even alive by now. You just knew you needed them.
You practically disappeared from the face of the earth after that party. Days after, your guardian filed a missing person case on you, disclosing that you hadn’t shown up at home eight hours after saying you said you’d be back. It had tainted an inconsequential dirty record on the to-be heroes of 1A, exposing that they’d had an afterparty party, but what could U.A. do about it? They were no longer their students.
Even with plenty of resources Class 1A could utilize to find you now that they were pro-heroes, they couldn’t. It was like you had ceased to exist. Your guardian accepted that matter after several years, albeit hesitantly and ruefully, and arranged a funeral in honor of you.
The next time they got to see you, you’d be walking out of the Hero Public Safety Commission, leaving behind a building on fire starting from the top.
But do consider the second (safer) scenario in which you became a pro-hero, graduating U.A. with flying colors and devoting your life to the safety and comfort of civilians. Only that you’ve decided to become an underground hero, working behind the scenes and weeding out crimes that the public couldn’t picture to commend you.
Due to your nature of work, you often hid yourself from the public, so it was hard for your former classmates to reconnect with you, and it irked them to no end. The last time they saw you was during the afterparty party, where you’d let loose with alcohol courage. They’d deliberately left themselves sober, perhaps a only little bit tipsy because they wanted to consciously witness you absolutely squiffed, so nothing too licentious had happened (if you didn’t count the moment you gave Bakugou a lap dance when he’d requested it before you blacked out).
The first classmate who saw you after a long while was Izuku - now internationally and professionally known as pro-hero Deku - who met you in HPSC upon being requested there. He didn’t know you were (y/n), because your hero costume included a mask to conceal your identity. Your hair was now [shorter/longer], too, overall giving you a change in appearance. He would apparently have to engage with you in a hero collaboration in order to investigate a case of quirk trafficking in Osaka.
Yet when he’d try to take part in a conversation, you’d never answer, at best giving him a response by nodding or shaking your head - but in that way you’d only ever answer yes or no questions. You were selectively mute, the HPSC president explained. A result of abuse over a long period of time in your past. He sympathized, understanding your situation that there were really instances in which your subconscious refused to get over the trauma of your past, but never quite acknowledging that he had contributed in molding you into the way you are at the present time.
It was at the climax of the battle when he finally recognized your genuine identity. You were attempting to take down the quirk trafficking perpetrator, your quirk now showing a different nature and aesthetic as compared to how it did back in high school, yet Izuku could still determine a particular similarity to it. He was evacuating everyone within the vicinity, which was a bit difficult considering his known status; from the start, you should have been the one doing this in lieu of him. He’d just have to wait for emergency backup.
You took a large blow from the villain, and soon you found yourself stomped under their foot, incapable of movement. A yell of your hero name was heard from Izuku; still, you had your eyes focused on the villain on top of you.
“[Hero name].” They stated, snickering. “You’re quite the problem in the underground, you know, delaying black market productions and postponing drug shipments. If it weren’t for your lack of publicity then you’d probably already be considered the number one hero of this time.”
That halted Izuku’s thought process as he figured out away to get you out of your situation. He was predetermined the next number one hero by society - by the whole world - so he had his self-expectations high, optimistically pursuing not to fail all those who had sky-high hopes for him. Hearing someone - a villain, no less - acknowledge the likelihood of your being the number one hero hurt his ego only a bit. Just who were you, really?
“It’ll be a huge relief to finally find out your true identity!” The villain exclaimed, pulling your head up, having your face displayed to the cameras they knew were filming the whole event from helicopters due to pro-hero Deku’s appearance in it.
They harshly took your mask off, and, when your (e/c)-hued eyes revealed themselves to him, Izuku’s world came to a complete stop.
You were different. Your countenance no longer bore the one you always used to have, instead having a worn-out expression, skin seeming to have lacked nutrients for days, and the blood rolling down your forehead made matters no better. Your eyes didn’t hold the same vitality you had had back at U.A. You were no better than an empty shell of a human being.
Horrified from the abrupt turn of events, you lost your senses, only comprehending in your perception a green blob with flicks of green lightning exchanging attacks with the black one, which you assumed was the villain. What you did know as your vision adjusted to the thousand flashes of camera lights while your body was being delivered on a stretcher into the ambulance, was that Deku had won the fight, as expected. Yeah, he also already knew your identity.
You were given days off to spend in the hospital, depending on dextrose and an IV pump in lieu of food for the time being due an injury in the stomach that the villain had given you which caused a malfunction in your digestive system. During the weeks of your stay, your former classmates had visited you, having discovered of your re-existence by watching the battle occur in television.
They were different, you thought, healthier, livelier, and more mature versions of themselves as compared to high school. And there were you, who had reduced to becoming thinner, sadder, and worse than you had been back then. Momo was now a part-time model, you heard. Jirou cut her hair shorter, whereas Ochako got hers longer. Tsuyu apparently successfully established an agency by the port. Kirishima had grown bigger, bulkier, enough to carry you around like you were lighter than a handkerchief. Bakugou had less of a scowl on his face and more of a stoic expression, while Shoto was already more capable of showing emotion. Izuku had the nearest ranking to becoming number one hero.
And you were [hero name], underground hero, capable of saving everyone but yourself.
It was an emotional rollercoaster when they first saw you, nearly everyone giving you hugs you didn’t return. Tears were shed, ‘I missed you’s were told, and presents were given. They spoke of their achievements so far into the hero world, but you didn’t listen, instead unwillingly dissociating because your abusers were in the very same room as you were.
“-anyway, so you’ve closed the case of quirk trafficking in Osaka with Deku! Great work!” Ochako exclaimed.
You had your gaze focused on your hands, finding interest on the tubes stuck to your wrist.
“(Y/n)?” She called, slightly concerned.
Eventually, your eyes averted to her, and only then could she see the tiredness of your face; the brokenness of your soul.
“O-oh my gosh, are you okay?” She asked, alerting everyone else in the hospital room.
“Why? What happened?” Bakugou questioned.
“(Y/n), she...” Ochako paused, seeing your mouth quiver in attempts to talk.
But you were mute. Mute, and scared. You wanted to tell them to get out, leave the room, never come back again, but you lost your voice. Your eyes blinked rapidly from the sting brought by the tears threatening to fall down.
“(Y/n)? (Y/n)!” Quite suddenly, your whole body became limp, falling onto the zero gravity pro-hero’s arms. Some of your classmates were already outside calling a doctor, nurse, anyone to explain why you had suddenly collapsed, while the rest was hovering over you, increasingly concerned the more shallow breaths you took.
When you woke up, it was night from your view on the window, and they were no longer here. But you did see the variety of gifts settled on the coffee table in your room, a vivid memory of Iida and Shoto taking advantage of you haunting your mind endlessly. At length, you noticed a paper situated by your pillow, and you picked it up, unfolding it to reveal its content.
It was a letter addressed to you from your classmates, a list of apologies for all the things they had done. I’m sorry for hugging you when you didn’t want me to, I’m sorry for taking your panties, I’m sorry for touching you here, there. Sorry, sorry, sorry. You were sick of having your emotions manipulated by the guilt you didn’t even deserve to feel.
How could you easily forgive three years of abuse?
Third, last and shortest - the scenario in which you committed suicide amid your last year in U.A.
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writteninkat · 3 months ago
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The truth untold | Bakugou x Reader
w/c: 6.7k
summary: You've always had a crush on your best friend, but you never acted on it in fear of rejection and ruining your relationship. However, Katsuki is different. He confesses to you as soon as he realizes his feelings after hearing you have a boyfriend now. Cue pining, reader being an idiot and finally some amazing sex.
warnings: cheating (reader), choking, slight manipulation (??), degradation (katsu calling reader his slut), oral (f!receiving), quirk-infused spanking
a/n: @yoursorrynotsorrybabe thank you for the request, i freaking enjoyed writing this 😩🙏 ++ im one of ur faves??? i'm actually someone's fave wowie 🥺
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Bakugou Katsuki. Smart, talented, strong, so fucking handsome—and your bestest friend. You two go back, way back, even before he met Izuku. You were both there for each other's first steps, first words, of course Katsuki had his first before you. When he threw a tantrum, you would too. And when you giggled and laughed, he did as well, much louder.
As the both of you grew up, you two stayed by each other's side always, and Katsuki would never let anyone take your place in his life. No matter how many friends came and went in your lives, no matter how many changes you two went through, the one thing that stayed consistent in your lives were each other.
No matter how close you were with Katsuki, you defended Izuku as much as Katsuki bullied him, and your best friend would always leave with a click of his tongue whenever you interfered.
When you got your quirks, you were oh so proud of him for getting such a powerful and flashy one—it suited his dream well; to be a pro hero. When you got yours, however, you grew scared.
Yours was a healing quirk. You were able to heal detrimental wounds and sometimes even sicknesses, and your parents were proud of you for that, but you weren't.
For the first time in your life, you isolated yourself from Katsuki. Asking your parents to be homeschooled for a few years in middle school, you did anything and everything to stay away from Katsuki.
You were scared that Katsuki would push you away for being weak. For not having a flashy quirk that can break buildings, set forests aflame, drown cities and blow away cars—your exact words to Katsuki when he decided he'd had enough of your bullshit and climbed up your room himself, slipping through the window.
He pulled you into a tight hug, it was surely bone-crushing and blew your breath away, but Katsuki felt warm and safe and you felt at home. That night, you cried and sobbed into his shoulder as he stroked your hair, whispering calming nothings into your ear.
You saw a completely new side of Katsuki that night. A side that when you cried yourself to sleep in his arms, you dreamt of three kids running around the house as Katsuki burst through the door with a wide smile in his face, his tall and built form in a sharp suit for work.
He'd kiss you on your cheek, whispering "I'm home" as you giggled and pulled him into a warm hug. You awoke with fresh tears streaming down your face and Katsuki sleeping just inches away from you.
Your heart clenched at how selfish you thought of yourself; he was already an amazing best friend—you'd even argue that he is the best in the entire world. You were already lucky enough to have someone as amazing as him to be by your side, standing as your best friend, you can't ask for something more between the two of you.
As time grew, your feelings did as well. When you two graduated from middle school, you felt as though your heart was in your throat as the two of you walked together back to your homes.
The sunset lit his face in such a pretty manner, the view has the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. You clutched at your certificate of completion against your fhest as you pondered on whether you should be selfish or not.
You stopped at your task, catching Katsuki's attention as he raised a brow at you. It was quiet— the wind blew to the side, carrying some leaves with it. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed your hair to the bwck of your ear.
Okay. You can be a little more selfish, right? You've never asked anything from him once, this won't put you indebted to him, right? This won't make things awkward between the two of you, right?
As thoughts and questions of uncertainty raced in your mind, your mouth is opening even before you can think of the proper words to say. "I—"
"Bakugou-kun!" Your lips seal shut as soon as it opened and you turn around, following the sound of the young girl's voice.
You know her. Akane Miya. She's in the same class as a few of your close friends. Pretty, intelligent, kind, cute voice, and holding a pink envelope with a red heart sealing it closed. She bows down respectfully, holding the envelope with both hands out to Katsuki as she yells, "I like you, Bakugou-kun!"
You feel sick. Nauseous. Dizzy. Regretful.
Why were you taking so long to talk, anyways? Now someone beat you to it. You turn around to look at Katsuki, waiting for his response. Was he going to accept her confession or reject it?
Katsuki walks over to the girl, hand stuffed in his pants as he took the envelope from her grasp. She looks up at him, smiling and blushing before he's setting off his quirk, burning the letter into nothing but ask and smoke, draining Akane's face of any color.
He drops the burnt paper onto the ground and turns back around, leaving the poor girl heartbroken and to be fair, you as well.
If you had confessed to him, would he have trampled over your feelings as well? Would he have served you a lifetime of embarrassment? And it would have been your fault. Your fault for having feelings for you best friend. Your fault for even considering confessing to him.
Now you feel sick, nauseous, dizzy, but also kind of at ease.
The scene you've just witnessed brought you to a conclusion— you were never going to let Katsuki know about your feelings for him. Not when you know how harsh he can be when turning people down, not when your friendship is too precious to just throw away because of your idiotic feelings.
"You what?" He asks, eyes still looking out straight as you walked beside him, no longer clutching at your certificate. You raise a brow, looking at him.
"What do you mean?"
"A while ago. Before that extra said she liked me or something. What were you going to say?"
"Oh." You pondered over how to answer him. You had to fix this problem in your heart. As much as possible, you had to create some distance between the both of you, and you don't want it to seem intentional.
"I'll be attending Shiketsu High." Liar. You wanted to join UA, just like Katsuki.
He stops in his tracks for a moment, still looking out in front. He seems hesitant— something he doesn't usually show. It's now your turn to raise a brow at him, silently questioning him what was wrong.
"And I'll be attending UA."
The two of you look at each other in silence, both of your eyes filled with words you want to say to each other. You want to yell, scream, hit him with your feelings, cry out your confession and just shout all these unruly butterflies in your stomach that's making you restless whenever he's near you.
"This means we won't be able to see each other as frequently as we do." It's as if he's holding back on what he really wants to say.
You're smiling, on the verge of a word vomit but you clench at your certificate, holding yourself together. You smile at him, mustering up your brightest, most authentic fake-smile. "Try not to forget about me."
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Katsuki sighs, laying down on his bed as his muscles ached all over. Finally, he's home, after months of staying at UA.
He misses you. He misses your smile, your touch, your needy cuddles and hugs, your weekly demands for friday romance movie watching and forcing him to stay awake halfway through it, your adorable glares, just... you.
"Katsuki! Come downstairs, dinner is ready!" Mitsuki yells, earning a groan from her son. He stays laying on his bed for a while, just staring up at his ceiling as he tries to remember you. How long has it been since the both of you last saw each other? Five? Six years?
He doesn't even see you anywhere anymore, not when he's at home, not when he's at your favorite mall—it's as if you've vanished into thin air. As if you never existed.
When his mother calls for him a second time, he forces himself up and off of his bed, walking to the dining room where the aroma of his mother's home-cooked meals waft through the air. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, he missed his mother's cooking. And maybe his parents themselves too.
"Let's eat!"
The three of them talk amongst each other, updating each of their days, Mitsuki's were mostly rants about the other moms in the grocery store. Until it wasn't.
"Ugh, don't you just love seeing Y/n and her boyfriend together?" Katsuki freezes up at his mother's words. "The two of them look so cute together! A match made in heaven!" If you look closely, you'd be able to see the tear of joy that slips down the corner of Mitsuki's eye.
"What did you say?" Katsuki blinks at his food, suddenly not having the appetite to finish. "Oh, Y/n didn't tell you? Don't you guys keep in touch anymore?"
Katsuki feels his blood run cold and his stomach turn at the thought of his answer to the question. Of course not. We haven't spoken since we graduated middle school.
"She has a boyfriend. I heard they've been dating for almost a year now but only know was I told by her mom." Mitsuki continues to gush about you and your boyfriend to her husband, too caught up that she doesn't even notice Katsuki standing up and leaving the table; his food growing cold and barely touched.
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Your window fronts Katsuki's and back then, when the two of you still talked, when the two of you did what best friends do a hung out, either of you would always sneak into the other's room by dangerously jumping from window to window. It isn't that far by width, maybe three feet or so, but the drop is a good twenty-five feet.
Katsuki easily jumps from his window to yours, treating it as if it's one of his hero trainings throughout high school. Being twenty-one now, his body has certainly gotten built throughout the years. More muscles, more flexible, more agile, more powerful.
He tests to open your window, pushing it softly, chuckling at how you haven't grown out of locking your windows. You always did this—leaving your window unlocked and Katsuki always scolded you for it, cringing at how he sounds so much like his mother.
He steps into your room silently, scanning it. It's still the same as when you were kids, just lesser posters of the heroes you look up to and more pictures; polaroids to be exact. They were of your family, friends, and a few more that Katsuki hated which were either of your boyfriend or of you with him.
The sound of something dropping in your bathroom causes Katsuki to jump in surprise. He can hear you hissing and cursing, whatever had fallen must have hit a toe or two. You bathroom door flies open and you look up at his tall build, mouth opening in an attempt to scream but Katsuki clasps his hand over your mouth, shutting you up.
"Shhh, shhh! Your parents didn't see me come in! I came through your window!" Katsuki whisper-yells and you blink a few times, trying to let three facts sink in; One, Katsuki is standing in your room after five or six years of you successfully avoiding him.
Two, you're covered in nothing but a short towel which starts right above your breasts and barely covers your ass—you hadn't been doing your laundry lately.
And three, your heart thumped erratically in your chest, giving you the bad news that you still had feelings for him and that you feel like an idiot exerting that much effort for years, only for it to diminish into nothing.
You nod your head, telling him you'll be quiet and he slowly takes his hand off of your lips, as if he doesn't trust that you won't yell so he can shut you up again if you ever lied.
"What are you doing here?" Your question causes him to make a face. A questioning look that makes it seem like you asked him if he believed unicorns were real or if his parents role play when they have sex.
"No, no, no— what are you doing, Y/n? What the hell are you doing, avoiding me for six years."
Ah, so it was six years.
Katsuki's fuming, his face is slowly growing red, his fists are clenched together and he's seething. And you're still standing in nothing but a towel.
"Before we talk, can't you let me change first?" You raise a brow, holding your hand up and twirling your finger around, motioning for him to turn around. He does as told, facing the corner of your room as if he's some little kid getting punished for bullying his classmates.
With the towel still on, you put on your underwear, a large shirt and some booty shorts, respectively, before hanging your towel over your window to dry. "Alright." You sigh, sitting on your bed with your eyes on Katsuki's back. He's definitely grown since the last time you saw him. His shoulder are broader than before, his arms and chest are way bigger and he's not as tall as you now.
He turns around and looks at you dead in the eye, gaze demanding for answers. "So?" He shakes his head a little, raising an eyebrow as you nod your head slowly. Slowly and awkwardly. How are you supposed to tell him that you avoided him to keep your feelings at bay without telling him you have feelings for him? And especially now that you still have a boyfriend. A kind, sweet, loyal boyfriend, might you add.
"I thought you'd appreciate it. I mean—you're studying at one of the most prestigious high schools in all of Japan, hell, the entire world. You can't afford to spend time with me rather than studying and training." You shrug your shoulder and Katsuki gives you the modt insulted look you've ever seen.
"I would have appreciated it if you at least sent me a text once a week? That's already the lowest of the low, dumbass!" He's on the verge of yelling but keep him being in your room a secret, he forces his voice down.
You sigh, "I'm sorry, okay!" Pouting, you throw your arms over his shoulders. A habit you do with your boyfriend whenever you two have an altercation.
Your heart skips a beat at how close he is, at how his caramel scent wafts into your senses, how his eyes look a prettier shade of red up close. Katsuki feels his throat dry and his palms begin to clam up at the sudden feeling of your skin on his. You smell fresh; like the baby soap you always used even before. Your skin feels soft to the touch, as if one brush against his calloused hands might give you a scrape.
"You didn't text me either so I thought you were happy about what I was doing."
Katsuki continues to frown at you, "I thought you were bored of me already."
That shuts you up. You can never get bored of Katsuki. He's this surprise ball that is gifted to you every waking day and you're always expectant at what he has to offer you every day.
Katsuki Bakugou is one man who catches you off-guard every time, someone so unpredictable, someone who never fails to makes you laugh. He's always been there during your heart aches, during one of the happiest moments in your life, when you're in a pissy mood and he pisses you off even more.
When you're hungry he always tells you to stop eating but ends up buying you or cooking you food anyways. When you're bored he forces you to walk on his back for a 'massage' or he teaches you to skate, laughing loudly every time you fall.
When you're hurt he scolds you for being so clumsy and yells at you when you don't stay put when he's cleaning your wound. When you're sick, he skips school and gives you a lecture on why you're supposed to be taking your medicine and eating healthy and drinking lots of water everyday, dumbass.
He's your bestest friend, he's the one you love, and he's never gonna love you back. You smile sadly at him, bringing your hand up to graze your fingertips over his jaw. Was he starting to grow a stubble? How old is he now—like twenty-one?
"I missed you." It comes out as a whisper, so soft and quiet that Katsuki's unsure if he heard it correctly. Yet your tone is so hesitant and careful, you're scared he might disappear if you ever said anything.
"I missed you too." His hand rests on your hip and the voice at the back of your head keeps popping up. Kiss him! Kiss him right now if you're not a coward!
You want to, every fiber in your body is burning to kiss him, but you don't. Because you are a coward. Have been since the day you decided not to confess to him, but you stayed a coward for the sake of your friendship. It was either to become his or lose his trust, and you weren't taking any chances.
"That's why." You suddenly speak up, scaring even the blond guy. He chuckle at how he jumps on his seat, watching as you stand up and walk over to your desk. His eyes graze down your body; your ass looked amazing in those shorts and the shirt may be big, but it's on the sheer side and he can make out your hard nipples under the shirt. God he wants to take you right here and now.
You return to your bed and hand him a flyer, one of your friends gave it to you earlier this week. He scans the flimsy paper and raises a brow at you, "Costume Party?"
You nod excitedly, smile stretched across your face. "Yeah. It'll be fun. Since we've cleared out the air between the both of us, shouldn't we spend some time like we did when we were little?" You tilt your head to the side and Katsuki fight the urge to kiss you right now. You look adorable doing the head tilt and Katsuki wonders if he can get you to do that only when he's around.
"Alright. What are you going as?"
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Black high heeled boots, black thigh highs, fishnets, black miniskirt, black tube top and a white button down shirt with fake blood wiped all over it. You also placed some fake blood over your thighs, torso and some of your face before putting your hair up into messy pigtails and finishing your look with the movie's glowing neon mask.
You walk out of your house after yelling good bye to your parents, butterflies growing excited in your stomach as your boots clacked over the stone pavement as you make your way to Katsuki who was leaning against his car.
You told him you were going as a character from the purge and he decided he was dressing up as a killer who has free reign to do whatever he wants for twelve whole hours, too.
He has on a low cut old skool vans shoes, black pants that hug his thighs rather sexily, a white shirt with some fake blood, a black zipper up jacket with a hood on and a white mask with the eyes crossed off with black paint and the smile stretched out creepily.
As you eye him under your mask, he does the same to you under his. God, the things he'd do to get his face in between those holy thighs of yours. Shit, the things you'd do to have his hands around your neck.
He opens a door for you and you get in, thanking him for it. "Haru said he'd meet us in the party." You said, clicking on your seatbelt.
"Oh, I haven't mentioned to you. He's my boy friend. Haru Kenta."
Katsuki's grip on the steering wheel tightens in an attempt to calm himself down. Who the fuck was this Haru and is he able to fight? He'll probably cowar in front of Katsuki if he ever saw him. Katsuki's mind fills with questions and thoughts filled with rage as you sit patiently in your seat, looking out for the house in case Katsuki ever missed it.
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Haru seemed like a good guy to Katsuki. His height is average, his face is average, he has no sense of humor, he sticks to his friends a lot and barely gave you a kiss and Katsuki can't seem to pin point why you settled for less.
The ground vibrated as the party continued on deeper into the night. You've downed a couple bottles of beer, refilled your cup at least four times, visited the bathroom thrice and all the commotion around you has you growing dizzy.
"I think you've had enough to drink for tonight." Katsuki takes your cup from your hand and places it on the counter. "I've been in this house before. Let's go upstairs, they have a balcony that faces the pool, come on."
You don't have to be told twice. You let Katsuki pull you further into the house; the music grows muffled with every room you enter, with every wall that separates the both of you from the rest and soon after, you're greeted with crickets and the bright moon.
Having discarded your mask, you sigh, dropping yourself on one of the lounge chairs on the balcony as you cradle your head as if it were an injured animal. It didn't hurt, but you are so dizzy you felt the need to hold your head in a weak attempt to still your surroundings.
You feel something cold press against your forehead and you look up to see Katsuki pushing a cold water bottle against your head. "I was invited to this party too. The host is one of my classmates, Shinsou."
You silently nod your head as you down the refreshing bottle of water, sighing in relief as it cools down your throat which was being burned by the alcohol the entire night. "You know what." A spark of courage suddenly light up inside you. "Fuck it, I should just tell you why I avoided you for years."
Katsuki suddenly grows interested and turns all his attention to you. Blame it all on the alcohol, but drunk words are sober thoughts, after all. "I love you."
Katsuki feels as though his world has stopped. His eyes widen at your drunken state as you lean your head further back onto the lounge chair. "On the day of our graduation, I planned to confess. But as you know, someone else beat me to it. When you rejected her, I was both relieved and afraid. I was relieved that you rejected her, but I was afraid that if I were to confess to you too, you'd do the same thing to me." Your eyes traveled to the left, avoiding his surprised look. "And then you'd hate me."
It's silent, something similar to when you take an exam or when you're at a library. At least when you're in either of those situations, you had something to distract you from the silence. But right now, it was deafening. In your mind, you begged Katsuki to say something, anything. For him to reject you, for him to get disgusted, for him to insult you, just anything to break the silence.
"I love you too."
Your eyes widen, his words sobering you up real quick. You immediately sit up and on other occasions, this would have caused you to throw up, but not now. Not when Katsuki was saying such cruel lies.
"Don't lie—"
"I rejected that girl in front of you to show you I wasn't interested in anyone. Anyone who wasn't you. I needed you to know that I was available for you, all for you." He takes your hand in his, his thumb rubbing faint circles on the back of your palm.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you the entire time you were ignoring me, dumbass." He looks to the side, "Hurts real good when the love of your life avoids you like that."
You feel your heart shatter.
"You complete me, Y/n. I was never as happy in high school as I was when I'm with you. Fuck, you've turned me into this soft love-sick weirdo, you occupy my thoughts twenty-four-seven and I cry like a little bitch every night thinking it was you who created a distance between the both of us, not someone else."
Katsuki looks back into your eyes, his are glassy and on the verge of tears and for the first time ever, you don't hold back, you don't fight your urges, and you don't ignore the voice in the back of your head.
You lean in, pressing your lips against Katsuki's. The feeling of euphoria bursts inside you like fireworks. All those years of want, all those pent-up desires you never got to let out came crashing down like some meteor. Your senses feel overpowered as you can only feel his lips and his lips alone. The taste of him has your mind growing hazy, as though he's some type of drug, your own personal human form of heroine who you can't live without. His tongue is warm and soft and wet and so powerful as it demands for your submission. Your tongues danced and tangoed and are so in-sync, as if they were taught for each other.
Kissing Haru has never felt like this—so exhilarating, so passionate, so hot. It's been one big lazy sunday the moment Haru entered your life. He's the complete opposite of Katsuki. Boring, predictable and he just doesn't make you feel the way Katsuki does.
The blond's calloused hands squeeze your fishnet-covered thighs as if they were stress balls the dentist gives you. You moan and gasp into the kiss and you feel your body wanting more. Your hands traveled up and down his torso, feeling him up before deciding to just get on with it as you slip a hand under his shirt, the ripple of his abs feeling like heaven on your fingertips.
"Stop, stop." Katsuki whispers into the kiss and you push yourself up to get a better look at him. "We can't do this here." You breathe out in relief, for a second there you though he didn't want this. "Let's go to my place. My mom said she was bringing your parents along with my dad to our family rest house by the beach."
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Katsuki's room is still the same as always. His untouched all might posters stuck onto his walls and before you can make other observations, his hands are all over you once again, his lips firting onto yours perfectly.
"You should really break up with your boyfriend. He's boring. You deserve someone better." He pushes you onto his bed, trapping you between his arms as his eyes rake over your body.
You raise a brow at his suggestion, wanting to tease him a little. "Hm, really? Cause he's a really good guy. Treats me well."
You almost laugh at how his jaw clenches at that. "We both know you don't like good guys, Y/n. Does he ever touch you the way I do? Does your skin burn when he does? Does he kiss like I do?" He leans into your ear, lips ghosting over the shell as he whispers, "I'll fuck you so hard, you'll think of me when he touches you."
You bite onto your lip and tilt your head to the side, pressing your lips lightly against his ear. "And what are you gonna do if I accidentally say his name tonight?"
His hand is around your throat in a second and the butterflies in your stomach go haywire. His fingertips dig onto your skin and the pain has your cunt clenching around nothing. "Don't make that mistake. When you're with me, you're my dumb little slut. Got it?" You nod your head only for his grip around your throat to tighten even more. "Use your words, slut."
"Yes, Katsuki. I got it."
He presses his lips against yours, once again commencing his demand for submission while his other hand snakes down your breast, squeezing it before pushing your tube top up, exposing you. Katsuki keeps his hand around your throat as he trails kisses down your neck and collarbone before reaching a hill of your boob. His tongue laps over your hard bud once, twice, before his tounge wraps around it. Moans slip from your lips as you feel his tongue licking and slashing over the sensitive skin, your pussy growing wetter by the second.
"Oh fuck! Katsu!" You moan loudly, hugging the blond's head, pressing him even more onto your breast. His free hand slides down your stomach and he lets go of your throat first before hooking his fingers onto your skirt, pulling it down along with your fishnets and underwear.
"Fuck baby." It comes out hushed, as if his breath has been taken away at the sight of your pussy so pretty and so exposed all for him. He sticks his tongue out, licking up the juices that has spilled all over your cunt messily as his hand returns to your boob, squeezing it and flicking your sensitive bud with his index finger.
He sucks on the folds of your kitty, sucking on it and pushing his tongue inside, feeling your walls clamp over the soft muscle. Your legs shake on either side of his head making the blond chuckle, chest swelling with pride. "You already came? But we haven't even started yet." He sounds amused. "Don't worry, my little slut. I'll be fucking you soon. The night's young, I'll take my time with you."
He returns his lips onto your cunt, lapping up your slick before pushing a finger in. It slips in pretty easily, considering you've lubed yourself up. He doesn't wait to add another finger, making you feel it—his fingers curling inside you, pressing randomly, looking for that particular bundle of nerves. After a few seconds of looking, his fingertips brush up against your spot and you gasp as you feel some kind of electricity run down your spine.
"Found it." Katsuki sing-songs as he continues to push against your g-spot, scissoring you open as he does so. When he add another finger, another loud moan is ripped out your mouth, your hands flying onto his hair as he continues to finger-fuck you.
Your body grows even hotter than before, and you can feel another orgasm coming your way. Katsuki can either read minds or he's just well-versed in this, but he knows you're about to cum. He quickens the pace of his hand, thrusting it in and out of you, repeatedly pushing against your g-spot until you're clenching your thighs around his head, your sex pulsing as your second orgasm wafts out of you.
"Look at you, your legs sprawled open for me. As my good little slut should." His eyes are a few shades darker than when the night started, and he reminds you of some hungry predator with his target locked on you. As though he's a hunter and you're a deer with a big fat target sign on your back for him to shoot at.
"He doesn't treat you right, baby. But I will. M'gonna make you feel so good." For a moment, you rack your brain to process who the fuck he was talking about. Who's he? You almost ask, but immediately mentally slap yourself at the memory of your boyfriend. Ah, right. Him.
He rises onto his knees, pushing his pants down, allowing his cock to spring free. It stands, slapping against his toned stomach and for a second, a whimper slips from your lips. "How- how is that going to fit?" And you ask this not to tease or to boost his ego either, you're genuinely confused and concerned whether it will fit or not.
"Want me to show you?" He raises a brow and pulls you by your waist, aligning his cock against your entrance. "We align it first and then–" He pushes inside with no worries for him as he slips inside rather easily, but for you, the burn of the stretch of his cock has you gripping at the sheets. He'd already used three fingers and they still weren't enough to prepare you for his size. "–I push in. It's quite easy, actually."
His thrusts begin slow-paced. He's careful not to hurt you and makes sure you've adjusted to his size until he's adding up his speed. Soon enough, the sound of skin slapping and ushered moans and gasps fill the room. "Were you satisfied when you were with your little boy toy, hmm?" He asks, pounding into your pussy like a madman, branding it as his. You know what he's doing; he's fucking you so hard and deep to ruin you for other men, to make sure you'll think of Katsuki Bakugou when fucking other men, that you'll compare them to the sex god that is Katsuki Bakugou. And he's doing a hell of a good job doing it.
He leans over and grabs onto your face, squeezing at your cheeks, allowing his fingertips to dig onto them. "Answer me you fucking slut." He seethes and you whimper, your body burning of want for this man.
You shake your head no, thinking back at the times Haru left you on the bed unsatisfied. You weren't even reaching your highs, an orgasm never formed and you begin to question if it was what sex really was. But Katsuki is showing you other wise. Sex is passionate, it's hot, it's sensual, it's holding onto someone as you make each other feel god, it's wanting to share the feeling of euphoria with another person, it's addicting and it's mind-numbing.
Sex with Haru is as exciting as watching paint dry or watching avocado turn into guacamole with just the force of gravity.
But sex with Katsuki has fireworks exploding in your stomach, it has your heart fluttering one too many times, it's amazing, it's rough, it's nothing like the romance novels tell you about—rather, it is something so much more.
"He never makes you cum, does he?" When you shake your head almost immediately in response, Katsuki chuckles darkly. "Of course he can't. Let me show you what it feels like to cum on a real cock." He pulls at your arm, your body falling onto his as he continues pounding in you.
As you sit on his lap, allowing yourself to get lifted with every thrust, you feel his cock reaching unexplored grounds inside of you. Your eyes widen and your mouth opens to let out a moan, a whimper, a sigh, any kind of sound, but you're left speechless and muted at the elated feeling of having Katsuki push against places Haru could never.
Katsuki pulls your head closer, kissing you sloppily with teeth and tounge clashing together and saliva everywhere as he laps his tongue down your neck, sucking angry reds that'll slowly transition into purple tomorrow.
"Shit, Katsuki, I'm gonna cum! 'M gonna cum so hard!" You whimper, and with one particular angle he thrusts in, your thighs are shaking, you're pulling him closer and your walls spasm around him. The orgasm makes you feel like an idiot for wasting all those night with Haru, feeling no contentment and being left to clean up his mess on you and your bed.
"Ah, look at you. Cumming all over my cock like a good little slut. Ya like this cock better than your boyfriend's, don't ya?" Your body fall limp on Katsuki's and you fight the urge to nod your head. Your body aches all over, as if you've just ridden a roller coaster and you just woke up after passing out.
"What do ya think you're doing?" You raise a lazy eye brow at him. "I haven't cum yet."
He lays you on the bed, flipping you over and props your ass up in the air. Katsuki slaps your ass lightly, testing out the waters. When he catches sight of your sex fluttering at the feeling, a sinister grin stretches across his face as he slaps your ass again.
"Fuck, you like that so much, slut?" You're a drooling, babbling mess, unable to form coherent sentences as he continues to spank you. When his palm hits your ass, he ignites his quirk a little and the burn has you moaning loudly, ripping an unexpected orgasm out of you, making Katsuki chuckle.
"Oh this is going to be fun."
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The sound of a woman's muffled yells stirr you up. You squint your eyes at how bright the room is—Katsuki must have forgotten to close his curtains last night. Your eyes widen and you feel your stomach drop. Katsuki. Last night.
You push yourself up, the blanket falling off of your shoulders easily as you look around, noting Katsuki's sleeping figure beside you before looking down at your body filled with bite marks, hickeys and bruises from last night.
Katsuki groans and you watch as his eyes flutter open almost as if he's a star in some romantic comedy. He snakes an arm around your waist before pulling you down on him, laying your naked body back down onto his. "It's way too early. Go back to sleep." He mutters and you don't miss how the butterflies in your stomach flutter at the sound of his groggy morning voice.
"Katsuki, I don't think you get it. Your mom is—"
The door swings open and in comes Mitsuki Bakugou with a loud vacuum cleaner. "Katsuki Bakugou! It's eight in the morning, why aren't you awake yet–" She looks up and drops her cleaning machine at the sight of your bare back and scarlet face. Katsuki's arm around your waist as well as his naked torso and both your disheveled hair aren't hard to miss. She quickly puts two and two together before silently picking her vacuum up and leaving the room, not forgetting to close the door.
"Your mom knows we fucked." You say before you speak, making Katsuki chuckle.
"My mom's the reason we fucked." He corrects, "If it weren't for her telling me about your boyfriend, I wouldn't have went to your room. And if it weren't for her dragging your parents to some lame couple bonding trip, we wouldn't have had the house to ourselves. Long story short, she's cupid, she played us like dumb fools in love and got away with it."
Right, dumb fools in love. You're both in love with each other, and it makes you feel so bad for not for not having an ounce of regret for what you've done to Haru.
"Katsu, we need to talk about this. Haru, he–"
"–cheated on you. Last night." You raise your brow and he takes out his phone, showing you a picture of Haru kissing a girl sent by none other than Shinsou. You don't feel upset, rather, you feel relieved? Now you have a proper reason to break up with him, to end your relationship. The both of you are at fault, and you have no plans on blaming him for the fall-out.
"Who's the girl?" You ask.
"Check Haru's Instagram story. Shinsou says it's the girl on the third slide. The one in his arm."
You quickly pull out your phone and tap through a series of Instagram stories from your friends before clicking on Haru's profile. Your jaw hangs and a breathy chuckle leaves your lips.
"Who is it?"
"Akane fucking Miya."
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