Latest Posts by storiestoobsessover - Page 9

happy new yearsss here’s a post war dbhwks doodle

thank you for doing the last smau with the MHA boys getting into a fight because of you! can I request another smau with telling them "don't get mad okay"?

ღ"Don't get mad okay?"

ʚft.Deku, Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Denki, Shinsou

ʚCont: crack⤑Back to navigation

I don't know how many people will get the reference but here's some sketch of gloomy bear Toga

Watercolor practice!

good morning to hockey player! bakugo katsuki only.

not talking about the bakugo katsuki on ice though. i’m talking about him after his games, hair damp & sweat sticky despite the biting chill of the arena, copper in his molars & iron in his throat. games rarely go smoothly for the left wing—he has a bad habit of ramming players into boards & spitting on them for good measure when they get on his nerves. you know you shouldn’t, but you’re no better than a fangirl so you can’t help but find it attractive.

“hey you,”

katsuki bakugo trudges off the rink with sweat-soaked skin. he’s red-cheeked & bleary eyed & he keeps said eyes on the ground like his life depends on it. he trudges past you, shoulder bumping into yours as he wobbles past.

you bite back a grin at the sight of the grumpy forward. “gonna ram into me next ?”

“annoying,” he mumbles, turning back to pull you into him with a swift tug. you nearly topple over him but he’s quick to steady you, large gloved hands snaking around the curve of your waist & the front of your throat.

“eugh, you smell like sweat—“

bakugo crashes his lips into yours. he’s always rough after games, taking out his frustration on you with teeth gnawing your lips & tongue licking your canines. gloved hands glide from your neck to your jaw before his left hand sinks just to rise up your shirt, tugging at the clasp of your bra while you grunt between his lips.

“mmf, kats—“

“number 49! no pda on the pitch !”

katsuki releases your lips with a grumble. he glares in the direction of his coach, lips glossy & strawberry sticky from your chapstick, saliva dribbling down his chin.

“annoying.”

“i love how diverse your vocabulary is.”

he turns to you with a similar scowl. “shut up. car.”

“can we communicate in full sentences please ?”

he lets out an exaggerated sigh, head thrown back & gloved fingers pinching his nose. it’s taking everything in you not to giggle, especially since he’s your only ride home.

“you are so—“ katsuki grunts before dipping his head to kiss your neck, “fucking—“ his lips meet your jaw, “annoying.”

he settles his head in the crook of your neck, body limp & heavy breathing,

“i love you too,”

“shut up.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

orrrrder up! ft. touya todoroki

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

warnings&a/n: LOTS of kys jokes (teehee) you guys work in food service sorry, reader is in unhealthy relationship..., hiii this is my first smau and maybe the only one I'll ever do cus im very sporadic anyways enjoy yaaaay! link to part 2 here

orrrrder up! ft. touya todoroki (2)

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

warnings&a/n: more kys jokes because I'll never stop and bullying(?) thanks so much for the love on the last one!!!!! made me sososososo happy!!!! hope you guys like this one and HAPPY NEW YEARS

link to part 1 here

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who tries to be good for you

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who comes home from a long day at work and can't help himself when he sees you waiting for him all domestic like

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who uses you for stress relief even when he doesn't want to

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who can't think straight as soon as he is engulfed in your walls

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who breaks the headrest of the bed with how hard he fucks you

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who keeps fucking you as if he didn't just crack the wall

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who tells you how much he loves you as he fucks you both into overstimulation

Pro Hero Tenya Iidawho fills you to the brim not even caring about protection

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who gently cleans you both up afterwards

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who carries you to the spare bedroom and holds you close while you fall asleep

Pro Hero Tenya Iida who loves you ❤️

_______

Pro Hero Tenya Iida BEEN on my mind

Part 8 of my captured comic and the final part of the first “chapter”!! I’ll be back after a bit

Beginning | Previous | Chapter 2

ProHero Bakugou x UA teacher reader (best friends to lovers)

Part 8

Finding Katsuki asleep when you entered his hotel room was crushing. He hadn’t told you he was back or that he was going to sleep, and after enough convincing from Mina you planned to tell him how you felt entirely the good and the bad. But you knew he needed his sleep, so instead you take your food to the living area of the hotel room and turn the countdown on.

Seeing the New York streets buzzing with excitement made you jealous of every person whose experienced a new years in the big Apple. The music and atmosphere seemed captivating and as the clock struck zero and chaos erupts on the screen, you can help but sigh. This is the most depressing new years you’ve ever had. Alone, eating shitty hotel food and wishing your best friend was awake.

At 12:02, you decide to call it a night despite only eating half your food and not feeling the least bit tired. You came to watch the ball drop, and you did even if it was alone as Katsuki let out quiet snores on the other side of the room. So you close your take out box, and turn off the tv.

Moving to the side opposite of where he’d sprawled out, you plug your phone in and kick off your painful boots. You didn’t know why you’d even dressed up in the first place, now you had to sleep in an itchy top and skirt. You figured you’d stay up talking long enough you would notice the discomfort as you slept- but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

The skirt rides up as you lay stiffly beside him, making you pull at it in annoyance while also trying to be still. The shirt was rubbing your skin aggressively, torturing you as you bite back a groan. This was the worst new years ever.

“Why are you twitching?” Katsuki grumbles, causing you to jump, had your silent discomfort woke him? “What time is it?”

“12:12. Sorry for waking you.” You reply, opening your eyes. He was already looking at you, sleep covering his droopy eyes while he yawns. “My clothes are uncomfortable.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up, idiot?” His hand moves to rub his eyes as he pulls his phone from underneath him. “I’m surprised I slept at all with this thing goin off like this.”

“I can sleep on the couch- if I’m moving too much.* you offer, already blushing as he pulls himself to sit up. You do the same, reaching to adjust the skirt again as it rides up for yet another time. “I dressed up- it was dumb and now I’m paying for it.”

“You ain’t taking the couch, I’m gonna get up for a bit anyway.” His eyes travel across the room and to the balcony where New years fireworks color the sky. “Got a good view of the light show- wanna step out and watch?”

You mostly wanted to rip your clothes off and burn them for being so damn itchy- but you nod and pull yourself from the bed. He’s already outside by the time you’ve slid your boots back on, resting in the single chair that furnished the balcony and watching the fireworks with no emotion clear on his face. He looked silly, wearing pajamas and glaring at the sky- but you found it kind of cute, blushing as you think about it.

“They’re really pretty.” You smile, leaning over the balcony as the sky booms with new beginnings. “Fireworks always remind me of you, your quirk looks like fireworks sometimes.”

“Oh yeah?” He rubs his neck, looking up to see the fireworks lighting your skin in a warmth he’s grown to adore. He hated to be that guy, but he needed to know- to finally get some sort of relief. “Can we talk about it?”

Your stomach drops and your cheeks light up brighter than the fireworks you’d been so enticed with. You’d planned to talk to him, to lay everything out and move past this- but it still scared you all the same. He’s your best friend, the thought of losing him over this had made you worry more than you ever had.

“Oh, uhm sure.” You reply, still watching the sky as he stands to join you. Maybe it would be best if you started, told him how you felt and went from there? “I care about you, more than anyone- I do, but you hurt me a lot by choosing those women over me. That’s why this has been so hard for me to process.”

His jaw tightens as you turn to face him, noticing his hands clothing the balcony railing so hard his knuckles were turning white. You felt awful, but needed the whole truth to be told not just the part he wanted to hear. So you continue.

“You blocked me after telling me how you felt, and it hurt too. Then you confessed you’d been in love with me all this time and we didn’t speak for a bit, which also hurt.” You take a deal breath, placing one of your hands over his and seeing him stare down at them. “I don’t want you to be upset but I’m being honest. You’ve hurt me a lot recently and it’s going to be hard to move past it entirely to trust you enough to dive into romantic feelings.”

“I know that, I fucked up and kept fucking up even though I knew it hurt you. If I’m being honest, a part of me didn’t care because you being hurt by my actions got me the attention I’ve always wanted from you.” YOur eyes meet and you can see the pain and hesitation behind his beautiful ruby eyes as he continues. “I know I have a lot to make up for, and even if you don’t want to be with me-I will make it up to you. All of it.”

“I know you will.” You smile, leaning your head onto his shoulder. Maybe this would all work out? If he proved he was sorry, you both could end up happy. “I have feelings for you too, Katsuki. I want to be with you- one day, but you have to be patient with me and prove you’re trying. And not by putting my name on your dashboard. It was very sweet, but I want to know you’re trying.”

“Your names goin on the dash regardless.” He chuckles, moving to look at you. You can’t help but smile up at him as he looks at you with gentle fondness. “I’ll start being patient tomorrow.”

The fireworks in the sky were mere sparks compared to the explosive reaction you felt in your chest as his hand moves to tilt your chin. Time slowed around you, and the buzz that once filled your ears turned into a soft ringing as his face moved closer. You’d never felt gravity shift from a simple kiss before, not once, but as his lips find yours- your entire body seemed to lose its center. Your hands reach out to grip his tshirt to keep your feet on the ground.

His hand moves from your chin to your jaw line, holding you closer as your head spins. Is this what it felt like kissing him two years ago? When you had more alcohol than sense in your body? Was it warm and intoxicating? You were glad you were sober this time, savoring the softness of his lips as the buzz of the street returns and the fireworks bloom to life above you.

“Happy New Year.” He whispers, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. “The year I get to be someone you love.”

———

Sorry yall. I’ve been watching romance anime and I’m in a lovey mood.

Happy New year!

(2 more parts and an epilogue left)

-Parchy💖

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free falling is a taste of freedom

feat: keigo takami / hawks

warnings: language, heaviness, implications of reader and keigo being groomed by the commission, violence (if u squint), bittersweet

cache notes: i crashed out during this so many times omfg. but anyways heavily inspired by circles by pierce the veil and monsters by all time low (once we figure out why spotify links aren't working i'll link the songs heh)

m.list

the first day you met hawks, he was in the training gym working on some stupid trick of his– something about flipping forward and bringing his blades out at the same time and landing some stupid comic book hero– and you had to hide a laugh when he tripped over his own feet. he challenged you to a sparring match later that day, after the weekly commission meeting where you were properly introduced to one another; where he promptly kicked your ass with his fast reflexes and sharp wit. 

the two of you became fast friends after that. 

the first day you met keigo, he had found you on the roof, crying to yourself. that mask of indifference cracked almost instantly the second he saw you turn towards him with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. he doesn’t remember why you were crying, only the fact that the sight made his heart clench in a way that foreign and uncomfortable and he needed to do something about it. 

more times than not here recently, you receive hawks more than keigo. it hurts in a way that’s more nostalgic than anything, like remembering an old childhood friend that drifted away or a home-cooked meal whose recipe you can’t remember because the originator died years ago. 

a lot of people say that young heroes are very mature for their age. you don’t know if that’s just true for the females, or if it qualifies for any of the kids raised in the commission. in yours and hawks’ case; maturity was something learned far too young and quickly. death was a subject brought up before you even got to think about how the summer would feel spent on the side of the lake with a bottle of booze and grilled food. 

the two of you take turns every thursday at each other’s agencies to visit and spend some time with each other. you usually bring paperwork to thumb through, hawks brings coffee and distractions. this thursday, hawks is at yours. he’s got his wings spread so they cover a small portion of your office floor– which scatters feathers everywhere, but you’d scold and make him clean them up later– laying upside down on the small couch to the side of the room. 

he kicks his feet lazily as they hang over the back of the couch, humming as he scrolls through his phone. when he speaks, the sentence is so casual it causes you to choke on your own tongue. “we should run away one of these days.”

when you’ve managed to compose yourself, hawks is not looking at you. his eyes are still locked on the screen, the same look of relaxed concentration that you’ve seen all through childhood on his expression. 

your eyes narrow. “don’t be stupid,” you’re careful about how tight your voice sounds. your fingers pause their actions from typing on your keyboard, your gaze split from the document on your computer to his figure draped over your office sofa. “they’d never let both of us go at the same time.”

hawks barks out a laugh, though the corners of his mouth never fully lift to his natural smile. your tongue is pressed between your lips, biting back a snarky remark. it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious, or just yanking your chain. 

“you’re always so serious, [y/n],” he’s chuckling, still looking at the screen in front of his face. “just indulge me for once?”

your back meets the arch of your office chair as a sigh racks through your body. the blinking cursor stares back at you, taunting you to just continue working instead of diving into the silly hypothetical he’s proposed. but part of you wants to dabble in it– to hear him out. see just how far he’s actually thought into it, if he’s actually planned anything out or just talking casual shit just to have something to talk about like usual when he’s over visiting you. 

“say we did run. where would we go?”

you can see him pause for a moment in his scrolling. “leave the country, obviously. south america maybe?”

a snort leaves your lips, your grin is purely sarcastic. “south america?”

“hypothetical,” he replies, his eyes finally leave his phone and meet yours, flashing that signature grin of his. in the back of your mind you’re wondering if all the blood has rushed to his head yet. he’s been sitting upside-down for a while now, his face is still a normal color. 

“so we’re flying, i suppose?” 

hawks shrugs. he pulls his phone away from his face and lets his arms fall gently to the floor beside his head. “we can,” he starts, his bottom lip juts to the side like it always does when he says something he doesn’t exactly agree with. “or take another mode of transportation.”

a single eyebrow raises to that, and you let out a chuckle. “yeah, i can see you on a public bus very vividly.”

you don’t miss how his eyes narrow, his eyebrows knitting together as he glares at you for that response. he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s painfully aware of that. at eighteen he should be worrying about going to college or something, getting his driving license or other normal things teenagers worry about. 

“could always split it up though,” he offers, his eyes rolling the slightest bit as he adjusts himself. he slides a bit further– his shoulders now meet the floor. instead of looking at you, he traces imaginary shapes on the ceiling. “i could fly us part of the way and we hitchhike some of the way.”

“not hitchhiking,” you disagree almost instantaneously. your fingers find miscellaneous paper, fiddling with the corner as you swing back and forth in your office chair. “i’ve heard too many horror stories about that kind of shit.”

there’s a noise from the other side of the room. hawks slides the rest of the way off the couch, now moving onto his knees before righting himself– stopping once his eyes meet yours. “you act like i wouldn’t be there to protect you,” there’s a flash– almost as quick as his skills in the sky, he tries to cover it; but you see it. for just a moment, hawks lets keigo out, evident in his tone and vague possessiveness in his words. 

the corner of your mouth lifts, but it’s to alleviate tension. the small smile is not genuine and hawks can’t tell if it hurts more than it pisses him off. 

the next time running away is brought up, it’s not by his mouth. it’s by yours. 

you’re agitated. pissed off, pacing back and forth and walking with purpose towards his office like your life depends on it. you know he’s not on patrol at the moment– he’s been online posting so you know he’s in his office with his feet propped on his desk like he has nothing better to do. 

it’s not a thursday. he’s surprised to see you storm into his office, but he doesn’t comment on how hard you slam his door shut or how you look like you’re practically steaming. his feet merely drop from his desk to the floor and his eyebrow raises. he knows better than to open his mouth– something stupid would come out anyways. 

“let’s run away.” 

keigo reels back like he’s been slapped. he takes a good look at you– frazzled, eyes bloodshot from either stress crying or strained from overuse, hair mussed and not in the attractive way he’s come to find extremely endearing– he can’t tell if you’re of sound mind at the moment. but your voice– your tone– how you sound so sure of yourself, so firm and demanding–

it’s been years since he brought up the idea. the two of you were eighteen and fresh into the hero scene, keigo was a popular favorite and immediately in the top ten and since then he’s been steadily climbing through the ranks. you’ve been pushing the burning feeling of being left behind and stuck in his shadow to the back of your mind for a while now. 

“are you okay?” his tone is gentle, but it’s artificially sincere. you know this subject is a sore spot. there’s a reason it hasn’t been brought up since that day. it’s clear in the way his shoulders are tense, the muscles in his jaw taut and teetering over the edge of pulling the fight or flight card. 

there’s a distraught sigh that leaves your lips. “no, i’m not okay,” your tone is tight. your hands are clenched so hard that they ache and your knuckles are white. you’re pacing in short strides– back and forth, back and forth– your eyes wild as they pick out small objects on shelves. small objects. throwable objects. 

“we could hit the gym if you want–”

“i can’t fucking do this anymore, keigo!” 

you can feel the tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks and your tear ducts burn. the last thing your tear clouded vision sees is keigo surging towards you before your hands clap over your face, shielding your actively crumbling expression. 

“i’m stressed, there’s so much pressure,” you feel the sob rack through your body. “they want me on back to back patrols and then this mission in another city and then training the new hires at the agency–”

suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again. the way his hands cradle your jaw– bare fingertips because he knows how much you hate the fabric of his gloves against your skin– you didn’t even see him remove his gloves. the touch clearly rattles you, causing you to stiffen against his palms. 

keigo doesn’t allow you to move away. even as your hands slide down and off of your face, even as your forehead meets his own in such a tender form of comfort. suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again, out on the rooftop of the HPSC, comforting each other in the only way the two of you can when you’ve been abandoned by the people who had gifted you life. 

keigo’s nose bumps against your own, an intimate gesture that you’ve seen only reserved for yourself. the two of you had never talked about dating, or love or anything romantic revolving whatever kind of relationship you shared– you never had the time, nor the privilege to– but you knew what was there. he held you as if you were priceless, a treasure that he would fight tooth and nail before handing over. 

his lips part to speak, breath warm as it ghosted over your own; but the abruptness of his office door swinging open causes both of you to flinch and separate. it’s not like the two of you were doing anything lewd– but the wide eyed intern in the doorway couldn’t tell that. all she saw was the two of pull apart, a look of embarrassment and a flush on each of your faces before keigo clears his throat and addresses her. 

and as quickly as the moment is interrupted, it is forgotten. 

in the next years that follow, keigo rises to number two, you stay locked in the upper twenties of the rankings. the threat of a war sends your agency into a frenzy, more employees being sent out, more sidekicks on missions and more patrols passed around and shared. every hero is on high alert, not just yourself. 

you still catch glimpses of him, but its scarce. thursdays are practically empty now without the once welcomed noisy distractions in your office. your thursdays are now spent on patrol well into the night, stationed just on the outskirts of town where the league was spotted before. 

they never show up, you never get any action; but you don’t complain. it’s nice to have silence to yourself. 

this particular thursday, you catch a familiar flash of red and tan slip past your peripheral. whether he wanted you to catch him or not, you’ll never know. the surprise on his expression was hard to decipher once you finally did catch up to him. 

although you were elated to see him after so long, the first words out of your mouth were not praise nor sweet. “the fuck happened to your wings, keigo?”

you watch as his form pauses, stiffening at his given name before he turns– wide eyed and guilty– like you caught him doing something shady. and you hated how immediately your walls shot up, your muscles on guard and tense. this was keigo. he was not a threat. why was your body reacting the way it was?

“they’re fine, they just need some time to heal,” his voice is low– sheepish. the corner of his mouth lifts to create that boy-ish grin that wins screeches and squeals from crowds of women– but to you, it’s only manufactured. 

his hair, once long and shaggy with those few stupid curls that you always found annoyingly endearing; was now trimmed short and cropped closer to his head. it’s a jarring look, compared to how you’ve always known him– but you can’t help but think it looks better on him. 

the scar is also new. and granted, you’ve seen him on the news and during his press conference; you’ve seen his appearance change. 

but it’s earth-shattering, to say the least, to see it in the flesh. you want to reach out to the small appendages hanging from his back. to touch and feel them– see if they still react how they’ve always done to your touch and presence. 

keigo steps back from you, seeing your outstretched hand. the motion causes your hand to drop slowly, a ringing can be heard in the outer part of your ears. “what are you doing out here?” 

he knows what you mean. and yet he deflects it, “patrolling. our routes overlap, y’know?”

they don’t, and he knows that. you take a step towards him once again. “keigo.”

he takes another step back, forcing you into some kind of twisted dance. “[y/n].”

you hate being held at arms length. you can clearly tell he’s lying, hiding something from you. and granted, the two of you haven’t really been around each other the past couple years, but you grew up with him. this is your best friend, your first ally– the person you trust the most with the darkest parts of yourself. in some ways, you know you love him. of course you love him. you’re just not sure in what ways. 

“why are you being so weird?” the dance continues. you don’t miss how his jaw clenches when he realizes he’s got four more steps until you have him backed against the wall. he chews on the inside of his cheek– one of his tells you’ve been able to pick up over the many years of training and being around him– before he sidesteps and turns the tables. the edge of his blade rests carefully against your jaw for mere seconds before you take a shaky step backwards. 

with your back now facing the wall, keigo advances. his fingers flex around the handle of the blade and his steps are firm as they chase your own unsettled and rattled movements. “i’m not being weird,” he sounds like he’s forcing the words out. “stop itching for a fight, [y/n].”

your brows furrow with undiluted confusion. your body feels tense and rigid, uneasy with emotions that don’t connect coherently to thoughts. the complete flip of his mood and tone have you spiraling. you aren’t face to face with keigo anymore– this is a new side of hawks, one you haven’t had the ‘joy’ of meeting yet. 

“i’m not itching for a fight!” you hate how your voice trembles. like you’re scared. 

your back hits the wall and the tip of the crimson blade in his hand knicks your chin. there’s a dull stinging, but you can barely feel it over the roar in your eardrums. 

keigo is not normally an intimidating guy. yes, he can be, but you’ve rarely seen it or experienced it. and his little hawks persona is just the same as well— you’ve been on patrol with him before. you’ve seen him take down villains, you’ve seen him in training; you’ve seen every side of him. 

except this one. this intimidating, intense— frightening aura before you, you’re at a loss for words. 

“you’re pushing for information that doesn’t concern you,” keigo growls, his head dipping to meet your eyes. he holds a palm out—either to subtly pin you against the wall or grab at you if you choose to attack— you’re not sure. he adjusts his hold on the handle and fixes the tension in his jaw with a click. 

the both of you are close enough to share breaths, but far enough apart to know that there is something different between the two of you. you are no longer fourteen, eighteen, or fresh in your twenties. when you breathe in, keigo breathes out. 

your hand lifts, reaching forward— towards him— all the tension melts. instead of leaning into your touch like he would back then, his head surges forward and seizes your lips with his own. 

keigo had told you before that the freest he’s ever felt is in the skies. you’ve been flying with him before, you know exactly the type of exhilarating, adrenaline inducing emotion he’s talking about. with the lack of ground beneath you and the limitless sky above, keigo was exactly right. it was the closest thing to freedom he had. 

with his lips on yours, you feel like you are free falling, hurling towards the earth at untamable speeds and the impact into the dirt is the sensation of his mouth pulling away from yours. 

keigo might get a taste of freedom everyday, but it was nothing compared to the taste of freedom he had just given you. 

“i’m just scared,” he mumbles, his voice is small. he sounds so young, so impossibly childlike that you have to open your eyes a blink to make sure it was still him that was brushing against your lips with each breath and syllable. “i… i almost died. i got reckless and screwed everything up and—“ 

your hand moves to the back of his head— a twinge shoots through you when you remember the curls aren’t as long so you can’t hook your fingers through them— and your hand steadies at the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to rest against yours. “why didn’t you come find me?” 

it’s selfish of you to say that. it really is. but the two of you have been each other’s support systems since you were adolescents. 

keigo winces slightly at your statement. “i couldn’t face you like that, [y/n].” 

his blade is still against your jaw, cold and a firm reminder that you were supposed to be elsewhere. your eyes meet his, a silent exchange between the two of you. 

i’ve seen you look worse. 

you always have, haven’t you? 

the silence holds more words, but neither of you put the weight down. whether it be the risk and danger of speaking on it, or the action being a spur of the moment between two childhood friends trying to fit pieces in where they don’t quite fit yet. 

that night you get home from patrol and dream of the feeling of keigo’s lips. you wake up crying. 

you haven’t seen hawks face to face in years. when you finally do run into him at the office, both of you are visibly different from those early years at the commission. you’ve grown your hair out, he’s lost the plumage of red that used to hang behind him. you’re only passing through, grabbing paperwork for your own agency when the two of you stop dead in your tracks in front of each other. 

he’s only grown a couple inches, and he’s kept his hair short. the scar from the war has healed and faded into his skin, but the outline still shows. it makes him look more rugged, more defined. he had always argued with you that the facial hair he tried so desperately to grow did most of the work— the scar did it perfectly on its own. 

hawks is the first to speak. his eyes are shining in a way that’s hard to tell if he’s seconds away from bursting into tears or just looking at something brighter than the sun. “it’s been a while.” 

the inhale you take in is shorter than the exhale you push out. your smile is shaky, and your grip around the files in your hand tightens. “it’s been a while, yeah…” 

there’s a lot to be said. the two of you can’t continue to stare at each other with so much longing, so much emotion. 

there’s a stretch of silence, hawks shifts awkwardly. the katanas against his back slap against muscle and he raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. he can tell time is running out, with the way that you shift the files against your waist and the impending footsteps of employees and commission workers down the hall. 

“you ever wish that we did it?” 

your tongue feels dry. “did what?” 

“run away,” hawks whispers. he chews on the inside of his cheek and it forces you to pause. “we should’ve done it.” 

your vision feels sluggish, dragging up from his lips, to his cheek where his tongue pokes at the inside; up to his eyes. 

you don’t know if you’ll get that taste of freedom only he could give you ever again. 

“we’re still here,” you murmur. your tongue presses in between your lips and you watch hawks physically hold himself back. i’m still here. you’re still here.

by now, the group from down the hall has caught up. your words are rushed as you force them off of your tongue; “do you want to—“ 

he’s swept up by the commission workers before he can hear the latter part of your statement. he reaches for you as he brushes past, bare fingertips against your wrist that send static throughout your skin. you squeeze him back in the half of a second he gives you and you can see the corner of his mouth lift as he’s ushered down the hall. 

freedom was always so close to you, you realize. in your case, it wasn’t a feeling or an action— but a person. 

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

After 431 pt2/5

1 / [x] / 3 / 4 / 5

I just love drawing Bakusquad interactions 🤝💗

Soooooo guys, I did this minicomic

Pt 1/5

[X] / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Hope y’all like it

love when a mutual has a new blorbo and they keep putting posts on my dash that are completely incomprehensible. it's like watching a friend win a game show in a language I don't speak. I don't have a fucking clue what's happening to you but it's nice to see you happy

Momo 🏖️

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

Happy New Year!! This is a redraw of this!

i hope that in 2025 u get to take more walks, read more books, connect with more people whom u love and who love u, achieve ur goals (even if ur goals are having no goals and just living in the moment), exercise fun hobbies, move from a place of self-direction, and weave together a beguiling assortment of beautiful little moments. remember that no feeling lasts forever. love u

as the wind blows

I guess I’m never gonna finish this one 😂 I started it after that panel came out where baby Toshi just DWARFS poor Izuku

Leather and Lace

BikerBakugou x Ballet instructor

Part 4

(All photos from Pinterest)

You’d been grumbling to yourself as you balanced the bowl of water in your hand, swinging the door open with your other, in a rage you couldn’t quit place. As the wooden door flies open and you lean forward to place the bowl onto the porch Izukus cat had apparently claimed as home- a hand reaches out to grab the stupid Gatorade you’d tucked securely under your arm. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Bakugou, the black jeans and black sneakers you were eye level with were proof enough.

“Don’t you have illegal money you can spend on your own beverages?” You hadn’t quite settled from the shaking from your almost run in with the law, so seeing Bakugou with a smug look on his face made your anger worse. “Stop coming here, I don’t want t-.”

“I didn’t come here for the drink, just needed you to open the door.” You hadn’t even returned to your full height, but Bakugou was strolling past you and into your home that you hadn’t invited him into. “We need to talk.”

“Get the hell out-.” Your protests are cut short, and completely ignored when Bakugou places his phone to his ear and steps into your living room. “What the hell!?”

“I’m working on it, stop blowing my phone up.” You could see his shoulders tensing as a loud voice yells from his phone. Who ever he was speaking to, was not too happy and Bakugou clearly didn’t want to be speaking to them about it. “I told you it wasn’t her. Pull me from the roster and tell your damn investors to mind their business the only contract I’m signing is one that gets me far the hell away from you.”

Bakugou ends the call and shoves his phone into his front pocket, you didn’t know if you should continue trying to kick him out or question what the hell he’d been talking about. As the air stills around you and headlights pass through the living room Bakugou finally turns back to face you. The uncomfortable and tense moment he’d just experienced seeming to have passed before you’ve registered what was happening.

“You decorate this place yourself?” He asks, eyes roaming your colorfully decorated living room painfully. While his face twists in disgust seeing your choice in decor, you clear your throat to catch his attention. “Never mind, I can tell you did.”

“Why did you just let yourself into my home?” You weren’t expecting company and seeing the pile of dishes in your sink suddenly made you feel self conscious. “And can you leave now?”

The Gatorade he’d lied about wanting is set on your coffee table, being forgotten as Bakugou plops down onto your vibrantly yellow sofa. For someone who accused you of stalking him- he sure was making himself at home. You’d asked him to leave and instead he sat himself in your spot.

“Who else did you blab to?” A frustrated sigh escaped his parted lips, making you raise an eyebrow in disbelief. He came all the way here to ask that? That’s literally why they invented cellphones. “And what did they have to say?”

“You couldn’t have texted me? You have no issue texting me for a damn sports drink.” You’d already been in a weirdly angry mood before he showed up so his stupid reason for showing up was just the icing on the cake. “You need to leave.”

“I feel like it’s in your best interest I stay put.” Awfully arrogant. You scoff and cross your arms, sitting on the opposite side of the couch and glancing in his direction. He looked calm, but the twitch of his index finger resting on his thigh made you question if he was just pretending to be. “Someone mentioned you by name to me, heard about what happened with the cops.”

“Me?” No one had been around when Bakugou pulled up and got you out of there. Did Jiro tell someone else? She wouldn’t have, right? “I only told Jiro. All she told me was she was surprised you helped.”

“You understand that if you’d have stopped following me around this would have never happened, right?” His eyes stay trained on your bread shaped coasters while you fight the urge to scream. “Stop coming around and you should be fine.”

“You’re aware you showed up here, right? Maybe you should stop coming around.” The constant accusation that you’d been following him around was starting to make you boil with anger. “Let’s not forget, you continue to approach me. You continue to text me. I’m not sure what gave you the impression I’m obsessed with you, but I promise you it’s actually quite the opposite.”

Your feet tuck themselves below you, angling you to face the man who stared back at you with an angry expression. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was actually bothered you weren’t obsessed with him. He came here to talk about your name being brought up, so maybe he truly was obsessed.

“Look, whatever is going on will blow over eventually, I can guarantee I won’t be at another one of those races. Against my will or not.” You notice his finger that had been previously twitch now twists a black ring on his middle finger. Was he really this worried? Was it because he knew who your dad was? “Why are you worried anyway? Wouldn’t I be the one in trouble? You didn’t say they mentioned you by name.”

“If my suspicions are correct, you’re only being mentioned to attempt to drag me down when you fall.” What? Why would anyone assume he’d be the one helping you if you were in trouble over this? As far as literally everyone( including yourself) knew, you hardly even knew him. “You work at the dance place right?”

He had to have heard about it from Izuku, but you were still surprised he knew anything about you at all. Like previously mentioned, you hardly knew him and figured he hardly knew you either. Still, knowing he knew where you worked made you wonder if that day in the rain he’d only gone past you because he knew you’d be there. He seemed to have splashed you on purpose any way.

“Why does it matter?” You question instead. Figuring bringing up the rain incident would only piss both of you off more. “Looking for a job? I don’t think teaching little kids ballet would really suit y-.”

“I know someone who goes by there, I’ll have him keep an eye on you.” A hand runs through his hair, another sigh leaving his lips as he stands to his feet. “Stop letting raccoon eyes drag you out so much. It’s obvious you don’t enjoy it anyway.”

“Hold on- keep an eye on me?” You all but laugh, you weren’t a child who needed baby sat. Plus, if your name was brought up what could his friend do against the literal police? “Unless your buddies a cop I don’t see how he could be of much help.”

“Firstly, he’s not my buddy. He just owes me a few favors.” Looking up at him, you can’t help but feel a weird sense of relief. At least he seemed to want to keep you out of trouble. Even if it was trouble you never wanted to be a part of to begin with. “Secondly, he is a cop. Unfortunately for you though, I could care less if you got arrested.”

“Huh? Then why are you worried that someone knows my name?” He says nothing, watching you stand to your feet to follow him to the door. He came over to talk, yet he wasn’t giving you much information at all. “You’re sending me a baby sitter, that implies you care if I get arrested.”

His hand reaches for the doorknob, not commenting on what you’d said and ignoring you clear thirst for information. With little time to react and a thousand questions running through your mind, you reach forward and slide the lock before his fingertips can even come in contact with the metal. If he was going to show up, let himself in and then send someone to keep tabs on you- he could at least tell you why.

“I forgot, daddy probably never taught you to mind your business.”

His jab seemed to be spiteful, as if your relationship with your father had affected him somehow and throwing it in your face made him feel better about what ever it was that bothered him about it. Your eyebrows come together in confusion, not noticing him reaching around you to unlock the door and pull it open in one swift motion. The door comes in contact with your back, pushing you forward just enough to collide with his chest.

“Learn to stay out of things you know nothing about.” The embarrassment trailing up your neck reaches your face the moment he looks down at you. “It’s not the police I’m worried about, your dad would bail you out regardless of your lack of communication.”

“Then who are you worried about?” You couldn’t think of a reason he’d show up here if not for the police nearly catching you. You step back, tucking your hair behind your ears as you press further. “The police are the only people who’d be looking for me right? To try and link me to the racing or whatever, so-.”

“I don’t have time to explain this shit to you, so just carry on and stay the hell away so I can handle it without you showing up every time I leave my house.” Your eyes roll, watching as he steps onto the porch where, of course, Izukus cat laid happily. “Just take the damn cat in, he hates Dekus place. It’s not like you have company to worry about him anyway.”

You can’t help but feel annoyed as he reminds you that you don’t have company. He was probably just assuming, but hearing him acknowledge it was both embarrassing and infuriating. Your hand resting on the door begins to close it shut, not caring to properly tell this man goodbye.

“I guess your daddy never taught you to mind your business.”

———

-Parchy

———

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The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt3) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2

Katsuki Goes home.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : Bakugous perspective again, alot of sad internal thoughts here. Hope you like! thank you for the support on this yall.

Warnings : Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : ~5.8k

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

Katsuki loves to cook for you. 

It was your third date, and your first time at Katsuki’s house. Though he’d never admit it, he spent hours scrubbing down his small, somewhat cramped apartment (too much money went into his car, after all). Spending an absurd amount of time considering whether or not he should hide his All Might merch, before deciding to move it into his bedroom for safe keeping. 

Your last date had been at some overpriced restaurant downtown when he’d proposed the idea. “I’ll cook for you next time,” he’d said, cocky and sure. “Show you what real food tastes like.” You had laughed, and he had raised an eyebrow, because he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t lying about his food being fucking fantastic, cause it was usually, he just didn’t anticipate that he would be acting below optimally today. 

He didn’t confront it at the time, but cooking was proving difficult from the bubbling nerves in his stomach, the knife shaking in his careful hands. He’d already restarted the dish twice—first after dropping a whole garlic clove in, then again when he over-salted the sauce. And it was all due to his shaky fucking hands. 

He settled on katsu curry, a recipe from his dad. Simple, reliable, and good enough to impress without making it obvious how much effort he was putting in. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. You’d be there in 30 minutes. His pulse spiked, though he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—not for someone normal like you.

Not that he meant normal as an insult. You just weren’t a hero, or a celebrity, but you still had him hooked. And that was rare.

When he was younger he had been actively avoiding it, busy with more important things to be wasting his time on things he considered trivial. Then after, it was more he just wasn’t finding anyone that interested him, no one worth exchanging a second glance with. So now, with you, he feels like a teenager. 

It isn't until you take your first bite, when awe flashes in your eyes and you smile while you chew, that Katsuki finally feels air in his lungs and his shoulders drop.

“I’ll make you something even better next time,” he had said, and he meant it.

And he did. Over and over, he did. He liked seeing that look on your face. Liked making you happy.

Until… well. Until he stopped.

Now, he can barely remember the last time he made you and the girls a proper home-cooked meal. Maybe a year ago, when your parents came over for your birthday. He remembers the way you had come downstairs that morning, hair a little messy, eyes bright with surprise.

“Katsuki…?”

He had turned to look at you, but there was no warmth in his expression. Maybe even a flicker of annoyance.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I…” You had laughed nervously, shifting on your feet. “Just… um. What are you cooking?”

“Katsu curry.”

“Oh!” You had moved closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Wow… it smells really good. Like always.”

And that was it. No teasing. No awe. Just a small, hesitant smile, like you weren’t sure if this was something you were allowed to be happy about.

Like it had been so long since he did something like this, you didn’t know what it meant anymore.

He chops the onion harder at the memory, the knife clinking against the cutting board from the force. In the living room, the girls are still in their pajamas, curled up on the couch despite the time. He tries to recall what you would usually do to keep them entertained on a Saturday, chopping faster with each thought, each memory that feels further away.

After an awkward breakfast of pancakes—because pancakes felt like the safe choice, and all kids like pancakes, right?—he busies himself in the kitchen, prepping soup for lunch. Something simple. Something safe. Kids need their vegetables… or something like that. He had looked up recipes online, scrolled through a dozen articles about “healthy meals for picky eaters,” and gotten to work. Because the alternative (asking his own kids what they actually like) sits like lead in his stomach. They wouldn’t think twice about the question, wouldn’t realize it’s because their own father doesn’t know their preferences.

But Katsuki would know. And his pride won’t let him admit it.

His head is already aching when a sharp scream cuts through the apartment. He whips around, eyes immediately locking onto Koharu, red-faced and wailing. Riko is at her side, whispering something soft, trying to calm her down. Would she be doing that if you were here? Would she feel like she had to?

His chest tightens.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, quickly setting the knife aside and crossing the room. He lifts Koharu into his arms, cradling her close as he gently bounces her. “What’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny fists clutch at his shirt as the sobs shake her little body. He presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Don’t cry, baby. You’re breaking Daddy’s heart.”

His voice is softer than he thought it would be, almost pleading. He wipes the tears from her hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb, shushing her lightly. 

He rocks Koharu gently, her hiccupping sobs slowing, little hands still clutching at his shirt. He doesn’t know what set her off. Doesn’t know what usually comforts her best. When she cries like this, what do you do?

He can guess. He’s seen it, even if he never really paid attention. You’d take her into your arms without missing a beat, murmur something soft against her temple, rub slow, sure circles into her back. You’d hum, maybe sing—off-key, but the girls loved it anyway. Maybe you’d take her to the kitchen and grab her a snack, something small, something easy. Something she likes.

His stomach twists.

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead, hoping the words will be enough. “I got you, baby.”

She sniffs, breathing uneven against his chest, but she’s settling. He lets out a quiet breath. It’s barely past noon, and he’s already exhausted.

Kirishima had texted earlier, checking in. Said he could swing by if Katsuki needed a break. He’d almost said yes before he caught himself. You wouldn’t get a break. You never did.

His phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a different name.

[12:14 PM] The Hag : Don’t forget Katsuki, we’re expecting you all at dinner tonight. 

He exhales sharply through his nose. Right. Dinner at his parents’ house. You’d planned it weeks ago. 

“Your mom wants us over for dinner next Saturday,” you said, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Your voice was soft, like you weren’t sure how he’d take it. “She says the girls need a proper meal.”

Katsuki barely looked up from his phone. “They eat just fine.”

You let out a breath, pushing your fingers against your temple. “Yeah, I know, I just—” You hesitated, chewing your lip. “She thought it’d be nice.”

There was a pause, the words lingering, like maybe there was something else you wanted to say.

He scrolled idly through his screen. “You already told her we’d go, didn’t you?”

You let out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever.”

Silence stretched between you, but you didn’t move. You were watching him—he could feel it, that quiet, exhausted sort of stare. He glanced up just as you shifted your weight, like you were thinking about something, like you were deciding whether or not to say it.

“…You know, you could start cooking again.”

The words were careful. Like you were testing the waters, trying not to step on a landmine.

His brow twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, thumb pressing against your temple again. “It’s just…” You hesitated, voice quieter now, almost cautious. “You used to like it. Remember that?”

“I don’t have time to cook.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, your shoulders dropped slightly, a slow breath leaving you.

“I don’t either,” you finally murmured. “But I still do.”

There was no bite behind it. No anger. Just a fact. A quiet truth laid bare between you, almost too fragile to touch.

His eyes snapped up then, irritation flickering. “Not all of us have the luxury of free time you have.”

You flinched, just a little, but you covered it quickly, shaking your head. “No, I just…” Your fingers rubbed absently over a spot on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice, that’s all.”

He exhaled through his nose, barely looking at you now. “Okay, then.”

You nodded, like you hadn’t expected anything more. Then, without another word, you turned back toward the sink, shoulders drawn, something weary in the way you moved.

He never cooked that week. Or the week after.

And now, standing in the kitchen with his daughters waiting in the other room, that moment hits him with a new kind of weight.

It wasn’t just about the food. It never was.

~

He cleans up the living room while the girls start getting ready to head over to grandmas, barely keeping his eyes open. 

Katsuki rubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mother is going to take one look at him, at the girls, at the empty space beside him, and she’s going to know.

And she’s going to say something.

He can already hear her voice in his head. What the hell did you do this time?

Because Mitsuki Bakugou raised him. She knows every stubborn inch of him, knows exactly what kind of man he grew up to be. And she sure as hell knows you. She likes you too much not to notice the way you’ve suddenly vanished from the picture.

And if they don’t show up, if he even thinks about bailing, she’s going to lose her damn mind.

Not just because she’ll know something is off, but because she’s Mitsuki Bakugou, and the woman has no patience for bullshit. She’ll call, and when he doesn’t answer, she’ll call again. And again. And again. And if he still doesn’t pick up? She’ll just show the hell up at his front door.

A small sigh pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to see Riko standing in the doorway.

She’s already in the dress you picked out for her weeks ago, but her face is twisted in frustration, lips pulled into a pout.

“Daddy,” she huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I can’t do my hair.”

Katsuki blinks. “Huh?”

She groans, marching over to him and spinning around, pointing to the mess of tangles at the back of her head. “It’s all wrong.”

He stares at her. Then at her hair. Then back at her.

Oh.

Shit.

He suddenly realizes he’s never actually done her hair before.

You always did it. Every morning, without fail. Brushing it out, tying it up, pulling it into little braids or ponytails—sometimes you even put those dumb sparkly clips in it that she loved so much.

And now she’s looking at him like he’s supposed to know what to do.

He clears his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. What… do you want me to do with it?”

She lets out another dramatic sigh. “Just make it nice.”

Before he can respond, she’s already stomping off to her room, and he hesitates before following, comb in hand.

Riko plops onto the floor in front of him, and Katsuki crouches behind her, comb in hand. He squints at her hair like it’s some kind of puzzle, hesitating before dragging the comb through it.

Riko yelps. “Ow!”

Katsuki freezes. “What?”

“You yanked it!”

“I barely touched you!”

She huffs, twisting to glare up at him. “Mommy never pulls my hair.”

“Tch.” He exhales through his nose, loosening his grip. “Well, Mommy isn’t here, so quit whining and hold still.”

Riko grumbles but turns forward again, and in the mirror, she’s still glaring daggers at him. He almost smirks.

You always used to say she was a mini-him, loud and stubborn just like he was, but he’d never really seen it before. She’d always been his little princess. And sure, she’s still a princess—just one who’s currently scowling at him like she’d take him down if given the chance.

Yeah. She’s definitely his brat.

With a sigh, he works through her hair a little gentler this time, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest when he realizes how much work this actually is.

How much work you did every single day.

How much work he never even noticed.

When he finally finishes, the ponytail is a little uneven, but it’s secure. Good enough.

Riko turns, running her hands over her hair with a thoughtful expression. Then, to his surprise, she grins.

“It’s not terrible.”

He snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

She giggles, then suddenly launches forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Katsuki stills, caught off guard, before gently squeezing her back.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“…Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “Anytime, bug.”

He pulls back slightly, ruffling her hair with a smirk. “Alright,” he huffs. “Let me go wake up brat number two, and then we’ll get going.”

Riko gasps, scandalized. “I’M NOT A BRAT!”

Katsuki just snorts, already walking out of the room, smirk still firmly in place.

Katsuki wakes Koharu with as much patience as he can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t much. She whines, burrowing deeper into her blankets, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt when he tries to sit her up. Eventually, he manages to get her dressed, all while Riko stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, offering extremely unhelpful commentary.

By the time they’re in the car, Koharu is still pouting sleepily in her car seat, and Riko is humming some song under her breath. Katsuki grips the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw set as they pull out of the driveway.

He doesn’t want to do this.

He’d always complained about dinners with his parents, even back when you were first dating. It took him nearly nine months to introduce you, and it would've been even longer if you hadn’t come to him one day, quietly asking if the reason he hadn’t introduced you was because he ‘didn’t see this as something long term.’

It had hurt more than he liked to admit—he hated seeing that look on your face. So, against his usual stubbornness, he agreed. He suffered through that first dinner with them, and he continued to suffer through them for years after, because his mom absolutely liked you more than him.

She used to tease him about it, laughing softly when Mitsuki would pull you aside, talking your ear off about some childhood story Katsuki really didn’t need you knowing. You’d give him a little look over your shoulder, amused, like you knew he was barely holding it together. And later, when you two were alone, you’d tell him how nice his mom really was, how she just cared, and he’d scoff, grumbling about how you were wrong—but deep down, he liked that you got along.

Now, though? He’d take his mother favoring you over him in a heartbeat if it meant you were still here.

The drive is quiet, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the silence in the car. By the time he parks in front of his parents’ house, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tight. He barely has the chance to unbuckle before the front door swings open. 

“My angels!” Mitsuki wails dramatically, her arms wide as she stands in the doorway, a soft smirk playing on her lips. Behind her, Katsuki’s dad stands by the door, casually leaning against the frame, wearing his usual apron.

Koharu lets out a small whimper as Katsuki lifts her from her car seat, the little girl immediately burying her face into his shoulder. Riko, on the other hand, sprints over into her grandmother’s arms, dragging her little bag behind her, a grin on her face as Mitsuki scoops her up.

“I’m kidnapping you both, AND THAT’S FINAL!” Mitsuki huffs, smothering Riko with tight, exaggerated affection, but her eyes immediately scan past Katsuki, searching. She doesn’t find who she’s looking for.

Her eyes narrow, sharp as always. Then, they flick back up to him, and he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Where’s your wife?” she asks, her voice a little too calm, too knowing.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, shifting Koharu in his arms as he meets her gaze. “Busy,” he mutters, trying to keep the discomfort from creeping into his voice.

Mitsuki’s brows furrow deeply, the usual softness in her gaze replaced with something closer to concern. She takes a long, deliberate look at him, then at the girls, before her eyes settle back on him again.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get inside.”

It’s a temporary reprieve. He knows that. Mitsuki will press him on it before the night is over.

As his mother drags Riko inside, Katsuki gently follows, carefully toeing off his shoes with Koharu still in his arms.

“How are you doing, Katsuki?”

His dad’s voice is soft but full of that quiet concern, a gentle smile on his face as he watches his son carefully.

Katsuki adjusts Koharu in his arms, avoiding his dad’s gaze, and mutters, “Fine… fuckin’ busy or whatever.”

His dad steps a little closer, that calming presence always so different from his mother’s sharpness. With a tender touch, he strokes Koharu’s hair as she clings to Katsuki’s chest, half-asleep and unaware of the silent exchange happening between them.

“You shouldn’t curse in front of the little one,” his dad muses, his tone more lighthearted than critical.

“Yeah, 'cause she knows what I’m saying,” Katsuki mutters, glancing at Koharu, still resting in his arms.

His dad chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You look tired, son. Have you been overworking again?"

Whenever his dad uses that tone, Katsuki feels like he’s 13 again, and his dad is correcting him for the way he would talk to Izuku. In some ways, it hits harder than his mother’s loud words ever could, because she’s direct, and his dad—his dad can see right through him, in a way that makes him retreat into his shell even more.

“A little, not a big deal,” Katsuki mutters, his eyes drifting away, not wanting to meet his dad's gaze.

His dad doesn’t let it slide. "And Y/N? How is she?"

The question catches Katsuki off guard, the mention of your name feels like an unexpected weight. His dad’s gaze is soft, almost too knowing. Katsuki shifts Koharu in his arms, his mouth suddenly dry.

“She’s…” he trails off, staring down at Koharu, as if the answer is buried in her messy curls. “She’s fine, just... busy, you know?”

His dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press further. He just watches him quietly, giving him the space to either lie or open up. But for now, his dad doesn't press. He just watches him quietly, as if letting Katsuki decide if he’s ready to say something real.

The lie he’s telling isn’t even a good one, cause no matter how busy you are, you always made sure to make time for these sorta dinners. And his dad knows that. But, he doesn’t say anything in return, which is somehow worse.

He sighs quietly and reaches out, gently lifting Koharu from Katsuki’s arms. The little girl, now wide awake, babbles happily as her grandfather coos at her, running his hand through her hair. "Go settle in, son," his dad says, his voice soft, but firm. “I’ll take care of her for a bit.”

Before he turns to go, his dad adds, his tone gentle yet knowing, “But… maybe let’s speak later? Okay?”

Katsuki swallows hard, he hates that the way his dad is talking already makes him sound like a failure, like he already knows it was Katsuki that messed up. Like he can read through all of Katsuki’s bullshit and see the cracks he’s trying so hard to hide. It makes him feel like a damn failure, like it’s obvious to everyone that he’s the problem

“Why? You got something you need to say?” Katsuki snaps, the defensive tone escaping before he can stop it. His dad doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, just stands there like he’s waiting for the storm to pass.

The sharpness in his voice cuts through the house, and even the chatter from the kitchen quiets just a bit. Why is he making everyone walk on eggshells around him?

He isn’t a villain, he tells himself. So what if he… messed up a little? It’s not the end of the world, right? He could’ve done worse. He could’ve been unfaithful, or a bad provider, or—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as he meets his dad’s gaze.

His dad has always been the perfect role model. Attentive. Doting. Patient. And here Katsuki is, a mess of frustration, guilt, and pride that’s been spilling over more and more lately. He could never be like his dad.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, but something in him softens, ever so slightly, as he exhales a frustrated breath. He’s tired, so damn tired. One minute, things were okay—well, good enough, and then somehow, it all unraveled. Too fast.

He wishes, selfishly, that he could find a way to blame you for all of this. If he could just shift the blame, maybe he could breathe again, maybe he could sleep a little easier at night. But that’s not the truth. He knows it. You tried. For years. You tried to tell him, to show him how tired you were, how stretched thin, how hungry for something that was no longer there. And instead of listening, he put up walls, focused on his life, his goals, because what he was doing mattered. What you needed didn’t. Not to him.

And when he looks back, he hates himself for it. For all the moments he chose his work, his career, over you. Over us. Thinking that being a pro hero, providing for the family, ensuring everything was safe and secure, would be enough to make you stay. Enough to keep you from wanting more. But that was never the problem. He never saw it, not until it was too late. You didn’t care about the things he thought mattered, the things he believed were enough to prove his love. You wanted him. Just him. And now, that selfishness—his lack of attention, his ignorance of your needs—has landed him here. And still, despite it all, there’s a part of him that wants to blame you. Even now. If you’d said something earlier, if you’d tried harder…

But he knows that’s a lie, too. Deep down, he knows it was his choice to ignore it. To dismiss you. To push you aside. And that realization hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s the one who let it all fall apart, the one who took the love you gave and turned it into nothing more than routine, something he could neglect without consequence.

His breaths become shallow, and suddenly his vision blurs. He blinks hard, trying to force back the sting in his eyes. No, no, not now. He can’t do this. Not here. Not in front of his dad.

“Whatever,” he mutters through gritted teeth, the words coming out rough. His voice cracks, but he can’t let it break.

He shoves past his dad, stomping his way toward the bathroom, his hands trembling.

~

Katsuki has a gnawing feeling that his dad spoke to his mother about the little… moment earlier at the door. Because the hag doesn’t utter a word about you during dinner, which is weird. She keeps having these moments where she’s clearly about to say something, but hesitates, glancing at Katsuki before abruptly changing the subject. Every time it happens, he grips his fork a little tighter. It’s bizarre.

Despite that, dinner goes off without a hitch—or maybe it does, Katsuki wouldn’t know. He’s in a daze, zoning out through most of the meal.

Now, the kids are playing with toys on the living room floor, and Katsuki’s trying his best not to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him. He’s spent the entire dinner avoiding it, but now it’s starting to feel impossible. That’s when his dad touches his shoulder.

Katsuki jolts slightly, whipping his head around, quickly dropping his phone onto his lap to hide his shame. He scowls instinctively.

“Will you help me and your mother tidy in the kitchen, son?”

Despite it sounding like a question, it’s really not one. It’s an unspoken command. Katsuki grits his teeth, but he doesn’t protest.

His dad’s gaze flicks briefly toward the kitchen, the quiet message clear, before he looks back at him. Katsuki knows what’s coming, even before he enters that kitchen.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters, desperately trying to hide the shame coiling in his chest.

He stands up slowly, dragging his feet. He’s too damn tired to even bother trying to escape what’s coming. He knows this conversation is inevitable, and he doesn’t have the strength to avoid it anymore.

As expected, the kitchen is already spotless, and his mother is leaning against the counters with nothing but a blank face. 

Even though nothing about this situation feels casual, Katsuki decides to pretend it is. He strides into the kitchen, plops himself down in one of the chairs, and looks between his parents like he has no idea what's about to go down.

His mom doesn’t miss a beat.

“Katsuki, where is Y/N?”

Straight investigation style, he would laugh if this conversation wasn’t about to get very depressing. 

“She’s at some spa hotel, outside Tokyo,” he mutters, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

Her gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing as she presses on.

“And why is she there.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flaring despite himself. "Can’t my woman enjoy a weekend away? Jesus, you’re uptight." He leans back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. He’s not convincing anyone though, especially not his mom.

His mother, stays eerily calm, not biting back as she usually would to his behaviour. She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t demand an explanation. She simply waits.

"She’s been stressed," he mutters, almost as an afterthought, like he's trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Too much going on, with the kids, work... You know how it is."

It's a little more truthful, but still a half-hearted attempt to avoid the core of it. He leaves out the glaring factor—he is the unanimous source of most of this. His mom’s eyes never leave his, and he can tell she’s not buying it. Fuck.

“And what have you been doing, Katsuki?” Her voice is low, but the sharpness is there, cutting through the air.

“The fuck you think?” he mutters, his voice dripping with frustration. “You see me on TV. Same shit every day. I’m out there saving people, doing my job. What do you want from me?”

“For your wife, Katsuki,” she says, her tone firm and unwavering. “At home. What have you been doing for her.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s afraid to.

“The fuck I’ve been doing?” he repeats, this time more quietly, though his frustration still simmers beneath the surface. “I’ve been working, putting food on the table. Making sure everything’s... taken care of.”

His voice cracks slightly, though he tries to mask it. He’s avoiding the real question. Avoiding what he knows—what they all know.

His mother doesn’t let it slide.

“For her,” she presses, her voice a quiet, insistent reminder. “Not just for the house, or the girls. For her. You can’t give everything to the world and leave her with nothing, Katsuki.”

What’s he supposed to say to that?

“She needs you, son,” his mother adds softly, her eyes searching his for something he’s not sure he has anymore. “Not just as a provider, but as a partner. A husband.”

He doesn’t know what sets him off—whether it’s his mother’s tone, the warm laughter of the girls in the other room, or the weight of his empty phone burning in his pocket.

But in that moment, Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero everyone fears, breaks down in his childhood kitchen.

“I’m…” His voice cracks, unable to form the words properly. “I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to fix this.”

He hiccups his words, his father’s hands rubbing careful circles into his shoulders, trying to ground him, but it only makes him feel worse. He wants to pull away, to hide the vulnerability, but he’s too far gone.

He wishes you were here, the things he would sacrifice for it. To have you bring him close, to kiss the tears off his cheeks, to hear your soft voice telling him everything would be okay—that you know he’s trying, that you love him even in his mess.

But all he has now is his sniffling in the kitchen, the awkward silence pressing in, and his mother looking at him with nothing but pity. He’s never felt more ashamed in his entire life.

"Mom..." he starts, his words still coming out in ragged bursts. "I messed up. I... I thought I could handle it, but I didn’t. I thought... I thought being a hero was enough."

The words come like poison, the shame burning through his throat as his mother just watches him silently. 

She takes a long, steady breath, carefully considering her words, a rare softness in her tone. "I don’t know exactly what has been happening at home, son, but I know Y/N married you for a reason. She loved you when you were just a rookie, working constantly, because you made the time, you made the effort. She wants her husband back. It’s the little things, Katsuki. Don’t let your own neglect make you lose her."

"I know you can do it," she adds, her voice gentle but firm. "She loves every part of you. So let her see that again. Let her see you."

He wants to argue. To lash out and defend the way he’s been living. He wants to tell her he’s trying—he’s trying so damn hard—but the words don’t come.

Instead, he nods, stiff and uncomfortable, wiping his face with the back of his hand clumsily. 

He doesn’t know how to fix it all. He doesn’t know how to go back and make the changes he should have made years ago. But he does know this; the longer he waits, the further he drifts away from the person who used to be his everything.

~

After a shitshow of a day, he find himself crafting a text for you again. A new, sad, routine of his to feel close to you.

The message is light, almost mundane. Pictures of the girls at dinner and a small note about his mother asking after you.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, not really. But his sleepy eyes jump with surprise when he watches the typing bubbles appear. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : aw, my babies. tell them I miss them. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : I’m sorry that I missed dinner, your parents are lovely. 

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath, something warm spreading through his chest despite the ache that lives there. He can almost hear the words in your voice. If he allowed his selfishness to win, he would call you immediately just to hear it for real. But he knows it's not the moment. Not yet.

He types quickly, keeping the tone light, masking the vulnerability creeping through him.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki : they miss you more. All Koharu does is pout. Haha.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki :  dont worry about dinner. They will be here when you get back. 

When you get back. He adds it with a little more confidence than he feels, the hope that you will confirm, that you are indeed coming back, coursing through him.

[10:43 PM] Wifey : I should be home monday, the train comes in around 1pm. 

[10: 44 AM] Katsuki : Okay, looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up. 

[10:45 PM] Wifey : You don’t have to Katsuki, just because of how our last conversation went. I know you have work. 

Katsuki’s brow furrows as his fingers hover over the screen. He hates how distant that sounds. He doesn’t want you to feel like a burden.

[10: 46 AM] Katsuki : Do you not want me to? 

[10:46PM] Wifey : I dont want to force you

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: You’re not forcing me. I want to. I’ve missed you.

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: And if you’re up for it, maybe we can talk more when you get back.

[10:49 PM] Wifey : Okay, thank you. 

God, he hates how stiff and formal this has become. He swipes up to the previous texts, seeing how things have shifted over the past few months, and for the millionth time, he chastises himself. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

[10:50 AM] Katsuki: Goodnight Sweetheart. See you soon. 

You like the message. Progress. 

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

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(Hopefully i got everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, if you want added, let me know!)

Reblogs and comments appericated! Also, send me requests on how you want it to go... what you think might happen !

Bakugo is perfect for cuddling. Why? Cause he’s big and he’s warm.

I don’t mean just big cause he’s tall, I mean muscle, he’s a pro-hero after all, he’s gotta stay fit. So it wasn’t unusual for you to see his biceps practically ripping every atom of his compression shirt when he’d go out to the gym.

Despite coming back all sweaty the first thing he likes to do is lay on you and now convince you his germs have passed onto you so he has an excuse to shower with you. From there you guys find your way to your shared bed and cuddle. His muscles caging you in, his large calloused hands wrapped around your figure, and he couldn’t be happier. He keeps you warm too, thanks to his quirk his body is always warm/hot. (Thanks to this he also usually walks around shirtless.)

So it’s not uncommon for him to place his hands under your shirt, resting them gently along your sides as he uses just the right amount of heat to warm up his hands a bit. Usually he does it when you have cramps, he’ll have you lay your back to his chest and keep his hands on your lower abdomen while you rest. Such a good boyfriend.

“Cmere”

There’s no point in him saying that when he’s already got you thrown over his shoulder, taking you off the couch as if you weren’t peacefully reading.

“Kats-“ you can’t help but giggle, seeing he’s in one of his lovesick moods.

He gently places you on the bed before climbing on top of you, his head resting on your chest gently as you find your hand in his.

You smile seeing him find relaxation in your touch.

“I love you katsuki.”

His hand warms up a bit and you can see his ears turn a little pink.

—

“I love you too.”

CW// UA CollegeAU, Oral, Reader is a lil oblivious, Bakugo is his own warning

“Returning the Favor”

Bakugo owes you and he hates it. But you don’t know it.

He has been meaning to pay you back for months, but he simply can’t due to world literally hate him.

It all started just a few months ago when you offered your Blondie to go down on him after a mission.

He’s been more crankier than usual and when you exhausted google for answers; relaxing, taking a mental day, going to a spa, the list went on , but nothing worked.

you were left with an orgasm.

It releases stress and tension, plus it feels amazing it shouldn’t hurt right? Granted, you and your boyfriend never went as far as mutual masturbation, but when you offered he wasn’t very resistant towards it.

So you did, and even though it was your first time, he definitely didn’t think so! You gagged a few times sure, but that just added to the sexiness on you, and like Google said; it worked.

He wasn’t chipper or anything, but he was more calmer, pout still there as usual, but his eyes were more relaxed. Even when Denki kept touching at him (you assume he did it on purpose to make him mad) all he did was roll his eyes, call him sparky and walked away.

You did catch him staring at your mouth more because of this, but it was worth it seeing him be less annoyed and angry.

So here we are now 3 months later and it’s became a routine between you both; at least a couple times a week you let him come to your dorm and you ….handle him. It never goes any further than that though since neither of yall are ready to take that dive into real intimacy, but it was okay—

You don’t mind at all! Maybe you’ve developed an oral fixation, but ironically enough sucking his dick is a stress reliever for you as well. Some days you’ve just ask him if he wants to come over and you spend the evening taking care of him.

Little did you know Bakugo hates it.

He doesn’t hate you or what you’re doing to him, it drives him insane, a few days ago he got hard during a shower thinking about your pretty little moans on his dick so that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was for the past few weeks he has been wanting to express his appreciation towards you by going down on YOU, but every single time he attempts it’s always an interuption.

Jirou needs you for a problem she has, an emergency at one of the agencies you both work at, he remembers a few times he fell right asleep after cumming. It’s embarrassing!

So, Bakugo has been adding up the costs and he knows he owes you, it’s gotten to the point he feels like he is using you.

Sure he says thank you, takes you out, cleans you up, etc etc, but he wants to REALLY pay you back. The moment he moves his body to get between your thighs you both have to leave. It SUCKS. He hates OWING.

But it wasn’t just about paying you back he does think about eating you out. Embarrassingly so, in different ways too.

Maybe with a skirt on and nothing under? Bent over the bed? Sit on his face? Maybe 69? Side ways? He can’t stop thinking the different ways to eat that pretty pussy of yours.

He couldn’t take it anymore he HAS to at this point. So, once again you text him asking if he wanted to come over and of course he’s already on his way, but once you tug down his sweats he stops you.

“Baby—?—oh!”

No words needed he attacks your neck gently to distract you from how he was pushing you down on your comfy bed, “‘Suki you—“

“Just…shut up. Please. “ Luckily you were wearing just one of his shirts and a thin little thong, he kisses down and all around your tummy and thighs, indirectly teasing you, ‘Have to pay you back..”

“Pay ..me?”

He groans, knowing damn well he doesn’t wanna continue unless he asks for your permission, but wont get an answer until he answer your questions, “I been wanting to return the favor…but every fucking time I do we gatta stop and I don’t want you…to think…I don’t know that I’m using you.”

You blink, registering what he’s saying, “Katsuki you are using me.” When his eyes grew wide you started to giggle and shake your head, “Not in a bad way! You’re using me to help yourself. And I love to. I love making you feel good, it was my idea y’know…but I never did it so you can do it back to me. We’re in a relationship not a…deal.”

As much as it made sense Katsuki was just too stubborn (and hard) to accept it, “But…” you lie back, tugging off your panties and spreading your legs for him. His piercing red eyes were wide, stunned at even prettier your pussy looked last time he seen you. He swallowed hard when he noticed your lips already wet, were you playing with yourself earlier? “If you are offering you can, but I want you to do it because you want to not because I owe—-oh!”

Your boyfriend wasted no time holding open your thighs to latch his lips in your pussy. Granted he never done it before, but the weeks of looking at pussy eating videos helped him navigate where to lick and suck.

Sure. He didn’t necessarily owe you, but he sure as hell wanted you to know he loves and appreciate you all the same.

And with the way you were moaning his name, he knew he paid his debt.

i really think having an emotional connection is so important to bakugou sexually.

like, i think he has to be in the exact right mood in order to get off by himself at home alone. can't be too tired, can't be too stressed out, can't have too much on his mind regarding work or other things, and even if it's been a while and his body is sensitive and wanting for it—if his head is not right, he can sit there for hours and never reach his peak.

which is why i think ultimately he doesn't do it that often, because it pisses him off to waste the time and not find the release. makes him more agitated. i think porn for the most part doesn't help him because he's too picky, literature probably helps a bit more, but he's still picky, and his imagination can get him there, but his headspace has to be right.

i think he's slow to hands-on stuff, when your relationship starts, and you can tell he's going to be like that pretty quickly. he responds to your touch like it's an accident; you reach out to hold his hand and he pulls his back like your knuckles have knocked by chance, like you're too close. it's not meant to be a rejection of any kind, it's just—he doesn't want you to touch him if you don't want to. if you don't mean to.

but when he realizes that you mean to, that you want to—

it has him skyrocketing. surprises him terribly, the affect you have on his body, and how quickly, because not even he can always have that affect on his own body.

you reach up to push some hair out of his face and your fingers skirt his cheekbone and he feels like a stupid gross disgusting puddle of mush. you loop your arm through his and lean into him while you're walking and he feels like a prize, like he's yours and you're his and you want everybody to know and that gives him a rush of pride that makes his head woozy.

he's dropping you off at home after date number he-doesn't-know and you're staring up at him outside your front door and he knows he should kiss you so he does and his whole body lights up with a heat he doesn't recognize at all. just from that.

and then he finally gets it: that heart-aching, stomach turning, body shaking want he's only ever heard about, and now finally feels.

Part 7 of my captured comic!

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hiiii rue i love ur writing i will read anything u write! That being said, any form of Denki smau with exceptionally forward reader who makes him nervous… would be… very swag.

hes so paatheettiiccc but i also think he'd love getting his licks back like he's teeheeing and blushing and rubbing his hands together like a fly behind the screen thinking of a witty reply HEHE thank yew denki nation🫡🫡

show me how // denki kaminari

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mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis

despite being allergic to pollen, BAKUGO KATSUKI spends most of valentine’s day at the flower shop downtown. despite the itch in his throat and despite the sting in his eyes, he refuses to leave.

his fingers twitch as he reaches for a bouquet. would you like roses? too cliche. sunflowers? too tacky. what the hell are peonies, and why do there have to be so many options to choose from?

he exhales sharply through his nose (bad idea, now he’s sneezing too) as he stomps over to the counter.

he grumbles at the florist, rubbing aggressively at the bridge of his nose. “what do you recommend for..” his voice dips, almost like he’s embarrassed, “..someone you like?”

the old woman behind the counter smiles knowingly. “that depends,” she hums, closing the register. “what do you like about her?”

his mouth opens — then snaps shut. his face heats up. he hates this. but he hates the idea of letting you down even more.

“she’s, uh..” he looks away, jaw tightening as he tries not to sneeze again. “she’s a pain in the ass.”

the florist blinks.

katsuki scoffs, gaze drifting while he’s deep in thought. “she’s loud, annoying, never shuts up.” his voice softens slightly. “but she’s.. nice. laughs like a fuckin’ idiot. and-” he clenches his fists. looks up. “-she likes flowers. a lot.”

the woman chuckles, already putting together a bouquet. “sounds like you’ve got it bad, kid.” katsuki scowls, but doesn’t argue.

by the time he leaves, gift in hand, his allergies are destroying him. his eyes are puffy, nose red, and he feels like absolute shit. but when he sees the look on your face later that day, the way you light up as he stands on your doorstep — none of that seems to matter.

Part 6 of my captured comic!

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