#saturnssnippets

[saturnsorbits]

Android AU where you purchase a discounted and broken Bakugo model.

He’s got limited movement in his right arm, a faulty ocular system and a series of burns that cover one side of his face and have made the middle of his chest all melted and tacky - the synthetic skin warped like scarred flesh, but he works well enough.

It’s nice, having him around. You cook together. Watch movies. Go on picnics. Hike. Dine out. Visit aquariums and museums. It doesn’t take long for people to start assuming…

Husband. Boyfriend. Fiancé. It’s all thrown round. An endearing misunderstanding that never garners more than a blush, or at least it was, until the feelings started.

It’s a growing debate, if the androids can feel like humans can, but you find yourself at his mercy anyway. You fall for him slowly, but definitely, lost to him in all of the ways you’d never thought possible.

You bottle it, lock it in your chest even when it becomes too much taking you in a choke hold and then one day, you just… Burst.

Ducking under the rail of the park, you cross the wood-chips and toss yourself to the curved rubber seat of the swing. Beyond the small park is the ocean - a small slither of wide open blue that crashes against the walls of the sea barrier before you.

This was your place, just your place and now, now you’re sharing it with him.

He sits on your left, pushing himself with the balls of his feet. In the shadow of the street light with his synthetic blonde spikes spilling over his forehead, he almost feels like a lover - like something more than he can be. ‘I like it here.’

‘I know.’ Bakugo turns, smirks. The social module downloaded into his brain makes it look perfect, tells him the exact angle his lips should stretch to for the chosen effect.

‘There’s something about the sea being so close, it’s…’

‘Calming.’

‘Yeah.’ You sigh, glancing over to Bakugo careful not to look too long. ‘It’s calming.’

‘You wanna know why?’

‘Sure.’

‘My search says it’s due to the broad nature of the sound, as it hits your ear...' He taps your tragus. 'It creates a deep tonal noise, which due to its processing ease in the brain creates a soothing effect.'

'Huh.' It’s strange, hearing him talk like this. Usually, he’s so informal, so blunt and matter of fact it’s strange when all of that wiring in his head kicks back in and has him talking like… Well like a robot.

‘Did it again, didn’t I?’

You chuckle. ‘Sometimes you just talk like we’re worlds apart.’

‘Sorry. I -.’

‘No, no…’ You smile, softly, before reaching over and resting your palm on his thigh.

Bakugo blinks, looking down at the hand wrapping his leg. Gingerly, he accepts it. Entwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes. ‘I…’ His voice is a whisper. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘Katsuki.’

Squeezing softly, Bakugo doesn’t lift his gaze when he talks. 'I don't love you.'

You laugh, the cold air stinging your teeth. ‘I don’t love you.’ It’s a half-truth, the emotion caught in your chest might not yet be love, but it’s too close to it for comfort. ‘You don’t have to love me.’

Bakugo breathes deep despite not needing to. ‘I - I don’t feel -.’

You cut him off, eyes wide, a softeness already burrowing into your expression. You can’t imagine what’s it’s like, to be filled with a thing you were born never to have - to be coming alive for the first time. ‘Katsuki… You do. I know that you’re more than just a robot… More than -‘

‘No.’ Bakugo tightens his grip on your hand, flicking his eyes up to meet yours. ‘I can - I do feel…’ He corrects. ‘I just don’t feel for you what you feel for me.’

#saturnssnippets

[saturnsorbits]

‘What are you doing?’ Kirishima’s eyebrows scrunch on his forehead, knitting together as he holds his hand out for you.

You’ve placed your palm flat against his, eyes roaming the surface of his skin with an examination so fine he feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

‘Mmm?’ You hum. Slipping your hand up, you feel his warmth against your fingers. The odd plain of his palm like a map, smooth and yet, hardy. Reaching the deep groves of his fingers, you slot yours into place and squeeze. There’s no give, just a strong pressure as he holds you back, confused, but allowing you to continue in your endeavour.

It’s strange, you think, as you unlace your fingers and stroke gentle down each of his digits; how someone so strong, so bold and large can be so… Gentle. His hand is almost double the size of yours. Long fingers that are thick at the joints, and a palm built for combat; but the only thing you’ve ever known from them is protection. The love and smooth caresses you’ve shared the only experience you’ve had with the jagged, cutting edges you see on the battle field.

Wrapping a hand around his wrist you bring his palm to your cheek and sigh as he cups your face. His thumb, gaining a mind of its own, ghosts across your bottom lip.

‘Babe?’ He cocks an eyebrow as the confusion in his eyes melts to molten adoration.

You blink at him. Twisting, you place a soft kiss against the smooth of his palm before nuzzling back against his skin, keeping his eye. ‘I just didn’t realise your hands where so soft.’

#saturnssnippets #I just think he needs soft touches and love; y’know.

[saturnsorbits]

Thinking about being childhood sweethearts with Bakugo.

About first crushes and awkward hand-holding, of stolen kisses and sweaty palms; of realising just how thin the line between ‘like’ and ‘love’ can feel at sixteen.

In the blink of an eye, you’re almost twenty-five with the whole world in the palm of your hand and a partner that you know almost better than yourself. You’ve seen Bakugo grow, helped him, eased his ego and pushed him to be everything you knew he could be and he’s done the same for you. You’re a powerhouse of a couple - almost ten years strong and the envy of all of your friends. There’s no question that there’s so much more ahead of you: a ring, a house and white picket fence, children?

He’s your person and you’re his.

…Maybe that’s why neither of you see it coming.

Falling out of love can be like that.

#saturnssnippets #I really want to write Bakugo falling out of love - just because I think it would ruin him. #He’d fight it tooth and nail. #Refuses to admit that he’s not head over heels for you because he’s always loved you. #He fell hard and fast and he it doesn’t compute in his head that it’s just not there anymore? #There’s been no arguments; no fights; no issues at all so why… Why doesn’t he…. #It eats him up. #Because he loves you. He knows he does. He’s just not sure if he’s in love with you anymore. #Idk. I’m thinking out loud - but badly. #I just don’t know how he’d navigate that situation… Bc you can’t convince me that heartbreak wouldn’t annihilate this man. #He’d rather you throw him off of a roof thank you very much - and if that heartbreak was his fault? #But not his fault because he has 0 control over it? #fuck.

[saturnsorbits]

Have a snippet of something I'll never finish, ft Ochako.

TW: F!Reader x Ochako, KiriBaku, MomoJirou, Suggestive, Bad Writing, Unedited, Opening Only...

Ochako shrugs. ‘I’ve never fucked a woman.’ The words are spilling from your tongue before you can stop them, a runaway sentence and a half unfurling from your tongue as you ask: ‘Do you want to?’ Ochako blushes that pretty shade of pink she reserves for when she’s really flustered and bats those long eyelashes twice before answering with another, coy-er, shrug.

Immediately, everyone’s eyes turn hungry.

Momo has her nails digging into Jirou’s thigh so hard they’re sure to leave a mark, her dark eyes shining like beetle backs as she clears her throat and pushes more of her chest onto the table for good measure.

Beside her, her girlfriend smirks - the idea of having two insanely attractive women wrapped around her fingers doing funny things to her stomach. ‘We could -.’

‘Knock it off.’ Mina snaps glaring over the lip of her almost-empty glass. ‘Give the poor girl some air, she’s barely admitted to being curious and you’re trying to get yourself a third.’ Momo huffs, Jirou scowls, but both drop whatever proposition was waiting at the back of their minds in favour of offering the table a warm smile and settling back to drink. Breaking the newly settled lul with a sledgehammer, Bakugo grunts into his pint; a bored grimace knotting his brows. ‘If you’re gonna fuck one of them Cheeks, pick quick and get on with it, yeah?’ Mina snorts, raising her eyebrows at Kirishima. ‘And you say he’s a romantic.’ ‘He is!’ Kirishima whines, slipping his hand into Bakugo’s under the table and pressing their shoulders together. Bakugo grunt, rolling his eyes even as a blush creeps across his cheeks to rival Ochako's. ‘Only for you.’ The entire table moons over Bakugo’s show of affection. Mina even, in a show of pure daring, leans across the table enough to pinch at his cheek; which in turn almost leaves her maimed. With the group settling back into its own brand of relaxed and the chatter finally turning to things like Kirishima’s new PR and Momo’s latest lingerie shoot - you feel the telltale heat of Ochako’s arm pressing into yours. She’s not drank much, still nursing her first sickly, sweet, strawberry daiquiri and yet, there's something more than just the signs of a soft buzz in her eyes.

Something you're quite sure you'd like to get more acquainted with.

#saturnssnippets #I'm tossing out WIPs but this wasn't that dreadful; so here it is... #I'm 100% not gonna finish it tho - there's no point in kidding myself. #I am working on a Mina piece and I'll probably write 'Chako at some other point though #I do wanna start writing more fxf #Lol I just wanna be able to write rn but; y'know - anyway...

[saturnsorbits]

Bakugo Katsuki, 28, wakes up to the sound of shouting.

Which is… Honestly, more common than he’d like.

‘I can’t believe you didn't tell me...’ You tilt your head and dig your fists into your hips.

Kirishima shakes his head, mouth opening and closing to expose the pointed tips of his teeth. ‘There’s nothing to tell!’

‘Yeah. We these aren’t mine...' Brandishing the pair of soft, lace panties you'd plucked from the dyer in front of his face, you cock an eyebrow. 'And Bakugo doesn’t date so -.’

‘I’ve never seen them before.’

Bakugo appears at the door, blinking sleep from his eyes as he tries to blink the pair of you into some kind of shape. ‘The fucks the yapping for?’

‘Kiri’s been fucking someone in our apartment and won’t admit it.’ You twist, catching Bakugo's eye.

‘I haven’t!' Kirishima complains.

‘What give you that idea?’ A dull smile tugs at Bakugo's lip as he slips into the kitchen, making his way over to you on socked feet.

‘I found these - in the washing machine.’ You lift the underwear again, dangling it from a finger.

‘Oh.’ Bakugo nods.

You frown. ‘Oh?'

'They’re not Eiji’s imaginary girlfriends.’

‘See.' Kirishima stretches out his hand, palm flat as vindication floods through his voice. 'Thank you!’

‘How do you -.’

Bakugo chuckles, finally closing the distance as he reaches up and snatches the underwear from your hand. Shoving the underwear into the pocket of his sweatpants, he pushes them just enough that a thin, lace strap is visible digging into the pale skin of his hips. He smirks. ‘Because they’re mine.’

#saturnssnippets #Bakugo in lingerie is top tier... #Bakugo in casual lingerie is better. #'They're comfier' - he says; when in reality he just knows he looks damn fucking good in them.

[saturnsorbits]

Tw: Angst, Suggested Death, Post-War.

After the war, the city of Musutafu constructs a monument.

In the middle of a park, not far from the grounds of UA Highschool, an obelisk stands. Tall and proud, stretching its arms up towards the heavens; a silent remembrance of all the cities fallen heroes. In the right light, the metal glows, guiding weary passers by to its feet where the names of the lost are carved in neat Japanese, side by side, the same way many of them where found.

It’s a sight to behold.

But, if you’re lucky and happen to pass by at the perfect time, you’ll see an even more heart-wrenching sight.

A man will stand at the base of the obelisk. His head bowed, cap pulled low over a neat blonde buzzcut - almost enough to disguise the pearl of a milky eye and the torn scar tissue that has taken much of high cheek bone and ear. His right arm has gone, replaced by the modest metal prosthesis he uses for the slower moments in life: grocery shopping, the school run, this. The other arm, still of flesh and bone, is roughed and muscled leading to a hand that holds another, smaller, hand.

The little girl beside him pauses. Looks up at the man and upon his nod, reaches out to splay her palm against the glowing stone.

‘Do you know what this is?’ Her dad asks.

The girl scrunches her nose and frowns.

‘This is for Musutafu’s heroes…’

She brightens. ‘Like the ones who saved you?’

The man swallows, bites his tongue to quell the grief he knows will never leave him. ‘Yeah. Those ones.’

‘And uncle Kiri!’

‘No.’ A rolling wave of sickness takes the man’s stomach. ‘Not yet… But, eventually.’

She hums as if considering something, but before she can speak again the man kneels beside her and places his hand over hers. The stone is cold, much like them, but it soothes his skin all the same. It always does. ‘Any time you walk past here, you come and touch this stone; yeah? It’s a tradition… A way to say thank you, to remember them, honour them.’

Restless, the girl leans into her father. Her eyes are simmering lava, full of questions she doesn’t have the words for yet. One day she will and those eyes will look even more like his than they do. ‘Do you do it?’

‘Yeah.’ The man smiles. ‘Every single day.’

#saturnssnippets #I’ll probably come back and add a few more insightful tags on this later… #For now; this is all I’ve got.

[saturnsorbits]

Kaminari has something of an undercover interest in fashion…

It’s undercover, because no-one believes him and maybe, just maybe he kinda likes that he gets to keep a hobby just to himself?

Sometimes, he ventures into town, alone, just to browse and feel the fabrics, creating outfits he’ll never wear in his mind. Most of the time, he never even buys anything, but weaving in and out of the rails is his happy place.

Or, it is until his peace is jeopardised by an all too familiar shock of ash blonde. He thinks about going to say hi, but that would mean sharing the rest of his afternoon and losing valuable silent window-shopping time; so instead he turns tail and runs. Hiding behind a small rack of leather jackets, he plucks mindlessly at a sleek black tennis skirt when someone speaks from over his shoulder.

‘That’d look good on you, kid.’

Kaminari squeaks, spins on his heel and then… ‘Mrs Bakugo?’

‘This…’ She takes the skirt off the rack. ‘With the shirt you where eying over there. Oh! I’ve seen the perfect boots for this too!’

‘Oh.’ There’s a buzzing at the base of his skull that he can’t quite shake as he tries to piece together what the Hell is happening, but instead of anything useful a lame ‘Okay.’ falls out of his mouth.

Mitsuki cocks an eyebrow. ‘Do you want me to show you them?’ Then, pauses. ‘You can tell me to fuck off, y’know kid. I won’t be offended, promise.’

Bakugo’s mum chuckles and breaks him out of his haze and honestly, now his head isn’t filled with static, he’s vibrating with excitement. Mitsuki Bakugo wants to shop with him. THE Mitsuki Bakugo. He’s followed her work since he was little and he has all of her covers - most of which he has to hide under his bed from Bakugo now. Excitement zips through his body, forcing him ram-rod straight. ‘Ah… Uh, I - fuck - Oh, sorry. I just… I loved your last fall collection. I would have killed to get my hands on one of those jumpers.’

A smile tugs at Mitsuki’s lip as she turns, gesturing over her shoulder for Kaminari to follow. ‘Y’know, I think I’ve still got one of those lying around somewhere… It’d be a touch big, lookin’ at you, but you’re more than welcome to it.’

Kaminari returns to the dorms almost five hours later, his arms laden with clothes from the Bakugo’s last collection. Mitsuki had insisted, complaining out the old lines taking up space in her garage, but that hadn’t stopped him thanking her profusely for the entire time they picked out the items.

It’s a dream come true and honestly, it takes a week of staring at the fall jumper he’d been gifted hung on his wardrobe for it to sink in. He kicks his feet on his bed when it finally does and then, promptly swears to never let Bakugo find out. He’d really hate for him to think he was using their friendship to get to his parents and their fashion connections, but that gets tossed out the window too, three weeks later when a familiar voice calls out to him from across another store.

‘Kaminari!’ Mitsuki makes short work of closing the distance, but when she does, she’s beaming. ‘You can say no…’ She starts. ‘But, I’m down an assistant for the run-through of the spring-summer launch and, I was just wondering if -.’

‘Yes.’

‘- It’s just a lot of holding things and sitting down and…’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘Oh. Brillaint!’ Clapping a hand on his shoulder she squeezes soft. ‘I can have a car pick you up next weekend at 6?’

Kaminari nods so hard it hurts his neck. His whole being is a live-wire, the idea of being able to not only see the launch, but shadow one of his icons for a whole day making his stomach cramp - in the good way. Still, even all the wishful thinking in the world wouldn’t have lead to him predicting just how close he’d end up to the Bakugo’s and the industry he’d only ever been able to dream about.

Three years on and it’s not unusual to find pictures of Kaminari at fashion week. He’s always sat on the front row, the latest fashion dripping from his shoulders as Mitsuki whispers in his ear and scribbles notes in the pocket-book on her lap. They even have plans for a collaborative collection, a smart-casual line of date wear that doubles as suitable for hero work called: Sparks Fly.

Of course, Bakugo finds out eventually. It was hard to ignore when he dropped by his parents studio one afternoon only to discover Kaminari fussing over one of the designs on his fathers desk.

‘What the fuck are you -.’

‘Don’t you dare -.’ Mitsuki intercepts her son before his palms can so much as crackle.

Bakugo shakes her off, glaring at a wide eyed Kaminari who looks scared for his life. ‘No, I -.’

‘Katsuki!’ A model smiles, peeking from around the door of her dressing room. ‘How are you? Your little brothers been telling me all about your hero work.’

‘Ha? I don’t have a -.’ Bakugo’s eyes narrow.

Kaminari squeaks.

‘We’re thinking of adopting him.’ Mitsuki jokes, moving to pat Kaminari on the back. ‘He’s been such a good help and -‘ She adds. ‘He’s the reason you haven’t had me screeching down the phone asking for you to come to the studio more often.’

Bakugo chews the inside of his cheek. Had he still been fifteen and hot headed, he might have chosen to ignore the embarrassed happiness bloomed on Kaminari’s cheeks and the somewhat surprising calm etched into his own mothers smile. So, instead of blowing up… He relents. If Kaminari being his mothers underling keeps her off his back, he supposes he doesn’t mind so much. Bakugo snorts. ‘She got you being a pin cushion for her new rags yet?’

Kaminari swallows, before laughing. ‘I’ve got holes in my legs for days.’

‘She used to have me stand on a stool for hours while she made adjustments - rather you than me, that’s for sure.’

‘I don’t mind it so much.’

‘Just as well.’ Bakugo let’s a small smile take his lip before slipping his back-pack off and dumping out a parcel of fabric. ‘Only came by to drop this off. There was a break-in by Toru’s shop… She gave me your order, asked me to swing by and give it to you.’

‘Oh! The new lace!’ Mitsuki is on the package at once, tearing the brown paper to expose the delicate designs inside. In a moment, Marsaru’s there too - chewing his lip as he lifts some of the reel to the light.

Shaking his head, Bakugo rolls his eyes as he watches Kaminari struggle to stay in place, eyes flickering quick from the package to Bakugo and back again. He turns, preparing to leave, but stops short before he reaches the door and snickers over his shoulder. ‘See you later, little bro.’

#saturnssnippets #The whole Bakusquad model Sparks Fly. #They all become like part time models for the Bakugo’s bc Kaminari asks really nice and promises to buy them all dinner. #and I think having Kaminari as a buffer really helps Bakugo and Mitsuki’s relationship too. #KamiBaku brothers forever. #I just think they’d be really fucking good for each other. #Bakugo brings so much to Kaminari’s life. #and Kaminari teaches Bakugo a lot; too - Helps him loosen up. #This is totally just a pointless snippet … #and totally just for me. To scratch and itch y’know.

[saturnsorbits]

Unspoken

TW: KiriBaku, Subtle Implied Reader x Bakugo, Angst, Unrequited Feelings.

The fire crackles as Kirishima tosses another log onto it's flames. Out here, in the middle of no-where on his first undercover mission for the commission he feels truly unstoppable. Excitement tingles under his skin, making his body buzz as he turns and looks at Bakugo.

Bakugo.

Kirishima tenses his jaw, biting softly on the inside of his lip to stop the butterflies in his stomach from escaping. He's had them for long enough that he's sure they'll always come back, but old habits die hard and Katsuki Bakugo has a way of making him feel like a naive love-sick teenager all over again.

'Can I ask you a question?' Bakugo cracks his knuckles, digging his elbows into his thighs as he leans forward towards the heat.

'You just did.' Kirishima grins, toothy and bright – almost forcing Bakugo to shield his eyes. 'But, go ahead.'

Bakugo inhales, slow and measured like he's steeling himself against his own words. 'Why're you here?'

'Huh?'

'They only needed one person for this mission...' He grunts. 'You could be back home, spending time with those idiots, but instead you begged to be out here freezing your ass off, on your way into fuck knows what with me.'

Kirishima shrugs, refusing to think about how heavy the stone had felt on the back of his tongue when Bakugo had announced he would be leaving for a month. A month. He'd put a request in that night, all, but demanding he be assigned the same charge. 'You're my friend.'

'Those idiots are my friends, too. Don't see them here, do you?'

'Guess I'm not like those guys.' Kirishima doesn't breathe.

Humming to himself, Bakugo stares into the fire and tries to ignore the way he can feel Kirishima watching how the flame dances in his eyes. Shuffling his feet, he shifts, but before he can move to speak, Kirishima is swallowing and spitting out another sentence.

'You're my best friend.'

Bakugo sighs, feeling his body tire. He rubs at his eyes, knuckles digging into the soft flesh as he struggles with the mess of emotions in his chest.

It would all be different if he just felt the same.

But, he doesn't.

And now... Now he has you.

Something acidic burns in Kirishima's stomach, threatening to sear through his skin. He dusts off his hands and fiddles with the leather of his new arm braces before turning back to the forest. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see whatever emotions are currently dancing across Bakugo's face. 'I'm going to get more wood.'

'Kiri...'

Kirishima stops, but doesn't turn.

'Eijirou.'

Breathing deep, he locks his jaw and sets his smile before twisting to look over his shoulder. Bakugo's standing now, his hands dug deep into his pockets. The firelight licks at his skin, sending odd shadows across his features that only serve to make him look prettier in the silence of wood. It makes Kirishima's heart stutter, just before it plummets to his feet.

'I can't give you what you want.'

'Huh?' Kirishima cocks his head, clinging to ignorance like a life-line.

'I can't give you what you want.'

A forced laugh grates against Kirishima's throat as he digs his fingers into his hips until he begins to feel them ache. 'I don't know what you mean, man. I'm just here because I wanted to make sure my bro had back-up.'

Bakugo freezes for a second before a sad smile forces his mouth to break into a grin. 'Okay... I just don't -.' He looks at his feet, reaching for emotions that still evade him. 'I don't want to lose you, you know.'

Kirishima blushes. The butterflies in his stomach bat their wings, reminding him of their existence and of an emotion he can't seem to let go. 'Katuski... I -.'

Bakugo stands and wipes his hands on his pants before making his way towards Kirishima. His strides eat up the ground as he advances past him and into the forest beyond. He pauses, flipping over his phone in his palm to expose the glowing screen. It's a picture, Bakugo and you pressed together and smiling. 'Sorry, – I, I told her I'd check in before we move out.'

Nodding, Kirishima can't quite seem to smile. 'Sure, man. I'll - I'll keep the fire going while you're gone.'

Bakugo reaches out, squeezing Kirishima's shoulder. 'Won't be long.'

Left behind, he watches as Bakugo answers his phone. His voice is soft and gentle, whispering sweet words to you in the darkness.

Kirishima touches his shoulder.

The warmth from Bakugo's hand has already started to fade.

#saturnssnippets #Just a little angst this afternoon… #Also: I hurt myself with this one.

[saturnsorbits]

Just a little snippet of something I’ve been working on ft Dabi.

#saturnssnippets #I’ve got a Kiri thing I may or may not post at some point too

[saturnsorbits]

Tag Guide:

#SaturnsOrbits - General Blog Tag, #SaturnScribbles - Original Fic Tag, #SaturnsSnippets - Rough Idea Snippets, #SaturnScrawls - Art Tag, #SaturnSays - General Chatter and Shit-Posts, #SaturnShips - Ship Tag, #SaturnSpeaks - Ask Tag, #SaturnServes - Request Tag, #SaturnSuggests - Fic Rec Tag.

➸ All blog maintenance, ordering or general faffery is done under the tag #SaturnSorts, so feel free to block it if I ever end up clogging your dash!

#saturnsorbits #saturnsorts

[saturnsorbits]

Bakugo can whistle LOUD, okay.

You know that thing where someone puts their thumb and index finger in the sides of their mouth and does that horrifically high-pitched, loud whistle? Yeah. That. He does that.

He spots you in the city, but you’re too far away, all the way down the street and getting further by the second? He whistles and you’re spinning on your heel because there’s only one person who can whistle that fucking loud.

You’re at a Hero event, dressed to the nines and about to step onto the red carpet to be photographed. The first thing you hear? That God-damn, fucking whistle. The paparazzi go mad for it, snapping shots of you half-turned towards the noise, a blush coating your cheeks as you search the crowd for the grin you know he's wearing.

He does it when you get your first promotion. You're stood in the corner of the bar, up on a chair because Kirishima had insisted on it with a glass held in the air as you're friends surround you and hold their own drinks aloft to toast. The applause after your thrown together speech is thunderous, almost drowning out the heavy bass of the music, but his whistle still manages to get through.

It's his way of celebrating. A way to tell you that he's so fucking proud, a way to make people look, to make it known that he's completely awed by everything you are and at your mercy, totally, always.

#It's the 'Look how fucking proud I am of my idiot' vibe #I had a friend who used to to this when I'd gone clear in a round and it just SCREAMS Bakugo energy to me. #saturnssnippets

[saturnsorbits]

Tw: Angst, Suggested Violence/Injury (Open Ended).

Pro-Hero Dynamight Retires Aged 25

No one believes the headline. In coffee shops and at kitchen tables, millions are scoffing, a dull chorus of ‘As if’ ringing clear through the crisp morning of an average Tuesday.

But, no matter what the masses believe: it’s true.

Somewhere in the city, Dynamight sits at the side of a hospital bed. He hasn’t changed, even though he knows he should. Rubble still rests on his shoulders, blood streaking his cheeks. His body aches, but none of that matters.

The machines beep. They’re so slow, lazy in their monitoring of your heart beat as his races, clattering against his ribs in reply. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sat there, staring, scared to touch you.

It’s all a blur, but he remembers the impact well. It haunts him. Your scream plays like a stuck-record, the look of terror on your face a photograph scratched into the back of his eyes.

He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t. It was already too late. You’d fallen into the path of his howitzer and he’d… Fuck.

He looks down at his hands and feels sick.

Destruction is in his blood, but for the first time in his life Dynamight thinks of his quirk and runs cold.

He did this. Him.

It’s all his fault.

#saturnssnippets #This is rough as fuck; but - #I’m thinking about a Bakugo who hurts you. #It’s an accident; truly no-ones fault - in fact; it’s technically yours but that doesn’t stop the beast it unleashes for Bakugo. #I’m thinking about the fallout. #A Bakugo who looses his thirst; who comes to hate destruction; what it does; his quirk; himself. #He goes back to keeping his hands in his pockets. Won’t touch you; or anyone or anything. #He gets special gloves made that can contain his quirk. #Never takes them off. #Explosions make him jump. Fuck. Loud noises make him jump. #It’s worse if you’re there when they happen. #The panic. The terror. It all comes right back and leaves him wrought. #He’s lost. Left with a question buzzing at the back of his head: #What do you do when you’ve lost the thing that makes you; you? #There’s a whole fic in here somewhere. Will I write it? Probably not. But it’s there.

[saturnsorbits]

🤔💭: Thinking about Chef!Bakugo having to lock himself in the walk-in freezer every few hours because your skirt rides up when you reach over the hot plate and he gets a perfect view every damn time.

#Is this the start of a restaurant AU? #Idk. But Sero is his sous-chef #Saturnssnippets

[saturnsorbits]

Two months into dating Kirishima, Bakugo gives you the ‘If you ever hurt him, I’m going to break your legs' speech and means it.

It’s late when he pulls you aside, takes a bruising grip on the turn of your shoulder and smushes your foreheads together. He’s a little buzzed, tipsy from the fruity cocktails Kirishima keeps plying him with, but all the words in his sentences ring clear.

‘He’s the best of us.’ He mumbles. ‘Fucking deserves it too.’

‘I know.’ It’s hard not to smile. You’ve not known Bakugo for long, but you don’t have to to know that he’s a closed book. The sudden display of emotion is explosive, but suits him and it warms your stomach to know that Kirishima has friends who are this fierce for him.

‘So you’ve got to be that, yeah, the best - for him… He -.’ A hiccough interrupts him. ‘He really fucking likes you, or whatever and…’

'I like him too, Bakugo -.'

He scowls at the interruption, tightens his grip on your shoulder until you wince. ‘And -‘ He continues. ‘If you ever hurt him - I will hunt you down and tear you limb from fucking limb… I’ll -‘

His threats get colourful after that, but you’re saved from a particularly vivid description of your evisceration when Kirishima brings back the drinks from the bar. 'What'cha talking about?'

‘Nothin’.’ Snatching his drink, Bakugo watches as you shift to give Kiri space. His hand falls to your thigh, thumb rubbing at the fat like it was made to be there and he has half a mind to condemn the subtle show of affection, but he won’t. Your eyes are shining, your lips forced into a pretty grin and when Kiri leans in to whisper something in your ear, you laugh like he’s the funniest person in the world.

Bakugo takes a sip of his cocktail and leans back. He doesn’t think he’ll be needing to explode your head or turn you into strawberry jam any time soon. In fact, he thinks you might just be it…

The best that Kirishima deserves.

#saturnssnippets

[saturnsorbits]

Hand Prints

Ft: Bakugo.

Tw: Grief, Discussion Around Death, An Awkward Metaphor, Very Bad Writing.

‘I know it doesn’t go away…’ You twist your fingers around each other until the knuckles crack and then, you twist some more. ‘But, I just want to know if it gets better.’

‘Easier.’ Bakugo mumbles. ‘On the good days, it’ll be easier.’

‘And on the bad?’

He lets out a hollow laugh. That’s all the answer you need.

‘I just - I fuckin’ - I hated her, y’know.’ Bakugo’s grip on his coffee mug tightens until the porcelain creaks, but he doesn’t let up. ‘And now that - now that she’s not here to hate anymore, I feel… I feel…’

‘Lost?’

‘Empty.’ He supplies.

You nod. There’s been something spreading in your chest for days now, something that has evaded your attempts to christen it, but empty, empty feels like a good fit.

‘I went… I went to the house the other day. The auld fella wanted me to look through the attic, see if there was anything I wanted to keep… And there was this, this fuckin’ mould she’d had done when I was little with all of our hands sunk into some concrete shit.’ He splays his hand out in mid-air, shifting it slightly as he dips them into the imaginary prints shining in his minds eye. ‘Mine where tiny. I must’ve been about three…’ A sob wriggles up his throat and chokes him, forcing his hand to fall. ‘She - she wanted to do it again, get them re-done when I was older, but - but I’d already started to hate her then. I always said no.’

You feel the shift before you see it. Grief stretches its wings, flaps gently to dislodge its cob-webs and then, reaches those tired, awkward talons around his shoulders. You watch as he leans into the weight, basking in the heaviness of an old friend before letting out a shaky breath. Beside him, your own grief ruffles it’s feathers. Yours is a younger bird, still preened and proper that nips, digging it’s beak into your shoulders. One day, it’ll look as old as his. You hope it’ll be as kind too.

Reaching into his jacket, Bakugo pulls out a folded piece of paper and opens it. It’s crumpled at the edges, curled through years of being stuffed into an inside pocket, but there isn’t a single blemish on the page when he presents it to you. Instead, three hand prints stand out, faded, but clear from the page. The first, a broad palm with stout set fingers, is coloured green; the last, a delicate, purple hand with arthritic knuckles and in the middle, underneath the other two, is a large, strong print of bright orange. Under them, in Bakugo’s ever-neat scrawl are names, although each hand print is more than easily identifiable. ‘I caved when she went into hospital. Couldn’t find any concrete or plaster on short notice, but one of the nurses swiped a bunch’a paint from paediatrics for us.’

You want to reach out, but you don’t want to disturb the bird still looming over his shoulders. It’s a fickle thing and liable to take off your fingers if you move too quick, but as you shift in your chair, you notice it lift its wing leaving space for you to offer out your hand.

Bakugo sinks into the palm you rest on the back of his tricep. Your thumb digs into the dip at his elbow and strokes gentle half-moons into pale skin. ‘You should get it framed.’

He nods, folding the paper back into his pocket. ‘Yeah. Not ready to part with it just yet, though.’

Eyes lingering on the covered memory, you wince as the bird on your shoulders digs in its claws causing guilt to ooze through your skin. ‘I haven’t even got around to going through any of his stuff yet…’

‘There’s time.’ Bakugo reminds you. ‘There’ll be time.’

Your cheeks are already wet by the time your voice remembers to crack. The rickety intake of air is harsh and scolds your throat, leaving you gasping in it’s violent tumult. Grief digs in it’s claws, tries to tear and rip away the pieces of you that hurt even though you both know that won’t do any good. His memory is nestled far too deeply inside of you for that. Hiccuping, you twist your hands in your lap, breaking skin with bitten nails as you try and mend the breach to stop the flood. Bakugo’s hand in yours comes as a shock. For a moment, your sure the bird on your back will attack him, will have you flinching away and yet, the moment doesn’t come. Instead, the beast observes him. It’s claws still dig deep, but it allows you the small comfort of a warm palm squeezing against your own. He doesn’t tell you that he’s sorry, or offer any condolences. You’re thankful for that. So is the grief.

‘Let me know…’ Your voice is scratchy when you break the silence.

‘Know what?’

Swallowing, you let your eyes rest on his jacket pocket. ‘I want to buy you a frame.’

#Saturnssnippets #This is really; really rough work. I’m sorry. #I don’t even know what I’m doing with this - I just needed to get it out; if that makes sense. #I won’t make these awkward; backward metaphor-ish sad pieces a common thing. Dw. #And; if this vanishes in a few hours/days - we’re just gonna ignore that. Yeah?

[saturnsorbits]

I’m having unsolicited domestic Uncle Bakugo thoughts today 😶

He’s the person Kirishima’s kids run to when they need straight up, no bullshit advice… They trust him with all of their secrets and he’s the first one they turn to when they’re in trouble…

It’s not uncommon to find a stray black-haired teenager crashing is his spare room, or as a tag-along on one of his lone hikes…

He gives them their first drink. Holds their hair when they overdo it at their first house party and teases them relentlessly about it after.

#I’ve started like seven drabbles for him today and they’re all soft as fuck… #I just think he’d be the best fucking uncle to Kirishima’s kids okay? #And I can’t stop thinking about it. #(The only downside is ALL of their friends want to fuck him… That is until they realise just how fucking smitten he is with his wife). #He’s the BEST uncle and I will die on this hill. #saturnssnippets