You Can't Makeout With Him Without It Leading To Sex. The Moment Your Lips Are On His For As Short As

LAST SEEN WITH:

LIKE A HIGH SCHOOLER, ATSUMU MIYA

DESCRIPTION: apparently, you know nothing about your best friend. apparently, she’s friends with nearly the whole national japanese volleyball team. she gets tickets and, oh, she’s inviting you?!

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION: profanity. pro vball player!atsumu. uni student!reader. ooc!yachi, probably. love at first sight if you squint reeeeeaaally hard.

word count: 2,072.

“yachi. yachi, yachi. yachi, what do you mean you have tickets for the fucking olympics?”

the blonde girl in front of you glances to the side, gauging the reactions from the nearby people in the coffee shop. “um,” she hesitates, letting out a little giggle. “i went to high school with some of the team? i was the club manager- haven’t i told you this before?”

“i mean, probably, but!” you shake your hands, obviously frazzled. you can’t wrap your head around the fact that you’re about to go to the olympics. “you never told me that they made it to the national team!”

she shrugs and takes a drink of her tea. “it never came up.”

two weeks later, you’re sitting in one of the front rows at the japan v. germany volleyball game, popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other. yachi sits next to you, decked out in merchandise from some players—a hat with bokuto koutarou’s number on it, a jersey with kageyama tobio’s number on it, and a large sign with a baby picture of hinata shoyo.

“this is insane,” you note, leaning forward to get a better look of the court. it’s huge, bigger than anything you’ve ever seen. “i mean- holy shit, yachi, we’re at the olympics.”

she laughs and nods. “i know, y/n. wanna know something even cooler?” you look at her and tilt your head. she leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “you get to meet the team after this.”

your eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to say something, but loud music erupts from the speakers and both of your heads snap to the court. from a door in the far corner of the arena, a crowd of men enter. they’re wearing red jersey’s and you realize it’s the japanese team. cheers sound from everyone around you, including yachi. when the german team walks out of the same door, you don’t pay attention; your gaze is stuck on your team, eyes roaming over their faces, trying to see who looks familiar.

hinata shoyo, bright orange hair; kageyama tobio, tall and bored looking; bokuto koutarou, loud; ushijima wakatoshi, intimidating.

you don’t recognize anyone else, but there’s a head of blonde hair that entices you to no end. he’s rough housing with one of the other players, laughing and smiling wide. and, even from your spot in the bleachers, you can tell he’s handsome. the kind of handsome that people only see in movies.

“who is that?” you point down at the court, turning to yachi. “number eleven, the blonde one.”

“uh.” her brows furrow and she follows your direction. “oh, that’s atsumu miya. he and shoyo are really good friends; they played on MSBY together. bokuto and sakusa, too.”

you don’t ask who sakusa is—you don’t care. you direct your gaze back to the blonde and are surprised to find him seemingly staring right at you. in fact, four or five of them are staring directly at you and yachi.

“yachi!” hinata yells from the court, waving his hands wildly.

you look at her just as red begins to creep up her cheeks. she sends a wave back at them, smiling nervously. it hits you that he’s not staring at you, he’s staring at yachi. disappointment fills your stomach and you shove a handful of popcorn into your mouth.

of course, japan wins. it’s a close call, germany tries their best, but to no avail. the aftermath is crazy—cheers from your side of the arena, groans and complaints from the other side. yachi is losing her mind, screaming at the top of her lungs, shaking you aggressively. you’ve never seen her like this, but, with a laugh, you decide you like it.

she drags you up by your hand, gracefully maneuvering through the crowd of people until you exit into an almost empty hallway. you’re not sure where you are—you’re not sure how yachi knows where you are—but anxiety thrums through your veins.

“uh, yachi? where are we going?” she’s still leading you by your wrist. “are we lost?”

“what?” she glances back at you, laughing. “no, we’re not lost. we’re going to wait outside the locker room.”

you blink a couple times at the back of her head. “w- won’t they have to, like, talk to the press or something? and- and sign stuff? kiss baby’s on the forehead?”

again, she laughs. “yes, they have to talk to the press. we’re going to wait until they’re done and then we’re going out for dinner.” she comes to a stop in front of a door and you nearly bump into her with how abrupt it is. she looks at you and smiles widely. “are you nervous?”

“me, nervous? just because i’m about to meet the entirety of japan’s national volleyball team? of course not!”

“perfect.” she rolls her eyes playfully, ignoring the sarcasm. there’s a pause and then she wiggles her brows at you. “not even nervous to meet atsumu? i saw the way you were ogling him.”

your head doesn’t leave its position, but you look at her out of the side of your eye, glaring. “that’s so not funny,” you say monotonously. “i wasn’t ogling him. what am i, a high schooler?”

she just hums, rocking back and forth on her heels.

after forty-five minutes of small talk and teasing from yachi, the door to the locker room opens and a gaggle of men all rush out, talking loudly to each other. your veins go ice cold, a stark contrast to how sweaty your palms get.

“yacchan!” a large man shouts—bokuto koutarou, you recognize. he rushes to the girl and sweeps her up in a hug, spinning her around. “we got gold, yacchan! did you see my awesome spike at the end? i totally won the game for us!”

he seems to have no volume control, and yachi doesn’t seem to care. “bokuto! yes, i saw! good job, you guys all did so good!” a couple other men walk over, parting from their team. hinata, kageyama, atsumu, a tall brunette man, and a curly-haired man.

you cross your arms over your chest and take a step back, hitting the wall. you want to give them time to visit, time to catch up. she regards them all by their names—suna and sakusa, the two men you didn’t know. they talk for a small moment before yachi turns to you, surprising you when she introduces you.

“this is y/n, she’s my best friend.” when you don’t move, she raises her brows. “say hi, y/n.”

you press your lips together, narrowing your eyes, then turn to the men and bow lightly. “hello. it’s nice to meet you all. you played a very good game.”

without meaning to, you let your gaze drift to atsumu. god. he’s still slightly sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead just a bit. now that you’re closer, you realize that, yeah, he’s hot. he smiles at you, wide and unabashedly, and you look away immediately, choosing to look at yachi again.

“nice to meet you, y/n!” hinata exclaims, pushing through the crowd to approach you. he sticks his hand out to you, presumably for you to shake, and grins. “i’m glad you could come and support us.”

you shake his hand, giving him a small smile. this is so overwhelming. yachi clears her throat, like she can read your mind, and claps her hands together. “all right, who's hungry?”

the restaurant is barren. you later learn that yachi had rented the entire place out, then briefly wonder how much money she makes to be able to afford that.

you’re sitting at the end of the table, yachi on one side, hinata on the other. atsumu is sitting across from you, sparing you quick glances every so often. he’ll look at you, smile, cover his face with a hand, then look away. if you’re being honest, it’s freaking you out.

you pick at the skin around your nails under the table—a habit you’ve never been able to get rid of. yachi leans forward, talking to bokuto, who sits next to atsumu. you haven’t said a single word, too nervous to join the conversation in fear that they’ll think you’re weird.

“so, y/n,” bokuto looks at you. the use of your name scares the crap out of you and your knee jerks up reflexively, hitting the table. he laughs and you feel your face heat up. “where do you work? with yacchan?”

you shake your head. “oh, no. i wouldn’t even know where to begin doing what she does. i barely know how to work photoshop.” it earns a laugh out of a few people and you exhale, feeling your nerves dissipate. “i work at an animal shelter, for now. i’m studying kinesiology at university though. i want to be a physical therapist.”

“no shit?” atsumu chokes out, setting his water down on the table with a clink. he coughs again and wipes the side of his mouth, cheeks getting red. “jesus- i mean, really? the team is looking for a physical therapist.”

“oh, well, i don’t have my degree in anything yet.” you shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh. “and i don’t think i’m quite experienced enough to work for the national team, y’know?”

he hums, putting his chin in his hand and leaning forward. his eyes bore into you, seemingly staring straight into your soul. the energy is so charged, so tense. you’re not sure how you should feel. you turn to yachi for help, but she just laughs quietly and returns her attention to bokuto.

“do you like school?” atsumu’s voice is quiet, barely audible over the chatter of the table. you meet his eyes—his beautiful brown eyes.

you swallow hard and shrug. “it’s okay. a little stressful, but, hey, i can handle it.” you laugh, hoping to calm yourself. “um, what about you? do you- do you like volleyball?”

“yeah,” he laughs, nodding, “it’s alright. i’ve been playing since middle school.”

suddenly, it seems like no one else is at the table with you. atsumu talks to you, his voice low and just raspy enough and—god, you’ve never felt this way when meeting someone for the first time. time flies by quickly, talking about family and high school and anything under the sun. before you know it, it’s 10 o'clock and sakusa is paying for everyone’s dinner. you all walk to the parking lot, talking loudly, as usual, and laughing. you walk next to atsumu, peering up at him as he recalls one of the many pranks he and his twin brother pulled in their childhood.

“—and she didn’t even see it, ran right into it,” he says, barely able to finish his sentence because of how hard he’s laughing. the story isn’t even that funny, but you can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of your throat. “god, we terrorized that poor old woman. we got in so much trouble.”

you laugh again, covering your mouth to try and be quiet, but it fails. he looks at you and, for a moment, it’s quiet again. you arrive at the passenger side of yachi’s car and a pang of disappointment shoots through you. is this it? you talked all night, but is it just going to end here? you look up at him and smile, tight-lipped.

“you’re real funny, y’know,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. the rest of the team is clambering into different cars, saying their goodbyes, promising to text yachi more.

you duck your head, smiling. “you’re funny too, atsumu.”

the car beside you rolls down its window, revealing sakusa, stone faced. “atsumu, hurry up. i will leave you here.” the window rolls back up and both of you laugh.

“can i–” he cuts himself off, taking a deep inhale. “god, that makes me sound like a high schooler. can i get your number?”

so that’s not it. he wants to talk to you again. you reach for your pocket, fumbling for your phone, before unlocking it and handing it to him. he punches his number in, then hands it back. “it was really nice talking to you, atsumu,” you say quietly, reaching for the door handle.

he smirks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “yeah, it was nice talking to you too, y/n. i’ll see you around.”

“see ya.”

OSAKITA

This is it- this is the main ship I will d!e on

stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

"ill bet you ¥8000 you’ll fall in love by the end of the month." synopsis: when you imagined finally being an adult, working at the convenience store was not what you had in mind. while trying to find a better job is one thing to worry about, matsukawa issei and his persistent flirting is a different one.

tags: matsukawa x fem!reader, mostly written + smau, betting trope, strangers/acquaintances to lovers, one-sided pining, happy ending

warnings: mentions of alcohol, kys jokes, suggestive, language, so much flirting -> check chapter notes for more warnings.

status: ongoing

taglist: open! fill out here.

mlist. 𖦹 pinterest

introductions: cloud 20 + kumonoue market / dickwads + the mosaic

𖦹 day 0: the prologue

𖦹 day 1: the bet

𖦹 day 2… coming soon

So the CONTEXT is that Xbox is releasing Diablo IV and they changed their logo to match that, BUT I'm CACKLING over the idea that Xbox decided 4 days of pride was enough and that the gays should burn in hell now

♡ 현진 一 photos by: hyunjin ꒱🥟

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IS IT CASUAL NOW?

issei matsukawa x f!reader

Casually asking your werewolf roommate to put his scent on you to ward off creeps is...well. It's platonic, until it's not.

wc: 2k tags: 18+ only, werewolf!matsukawa, roommates to lovers speed run, dry humping, mattsun's big dick, werewolf scenting -> 2k event

“Matsukawa.”

Your roommate looks up from where he’s idly scrolling through his phone on the couch, eyes widening a fraction once he sees your outfit. 

Self-consciously, you tug at the hem of the short dress, steeling yourself to ask the question that’s been idling in your mind all afternoon. “I’m supposed to be going to The Black Crow tonight for my friend’s birthday—”

“My condolences,” he cuts in, face blanching slightly as he puts his phone down on the coffee table. 

Sighing, you nod. “Yeah, it wasn’t my first pick either. But anyway, I kind of wanted to ask you for a favor.”

He winces. “Please don’t tell me your friend is still trying to get you to hook her up with me.”

It’s embarrassing how relieved you were when he shot that down months ago—not that you’d ever tell him that. 

You shake your head, snorting. “No, definitely not. I just…I want to have a good time without having to deal with the weirdos that always hang around there. And one of the girls in my lit class the other day was talking about how nice it is to have a were boyfriend, because she’s always scented when she goes out now. Nobody bothers her.”

Matsukawa waits patiently for you to continue.

“SoIwasmaybewonderingifyou’dscentmebeforeIleave.”

He blinks.

“As a friend,” you add, for good measure, to punctuate your mortifying word vomit. 

He blinks again, lips parting.

Heart pounding with embarrassment, you turn on your heel and squeak out, “God, I knew that was going to be weird. Forget I said anything please and thanks. Bye!”

“Wait.”

You’re stopped by a hand loosely wrapping its way around your wrist, Matsukawa leaning forward off of the couch cushions. 

Soul three-quarters into its journey of leaving your body, you slowly turn to face him once more.

“I don’t mind. I just want to make sure you know what you’re asking for.” 

There’s something slightly odd that wavers in his voice when he says it, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“You just have to like, hold me for a little bit, right?”

He looks up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to you. “Yeah, uh. It’s not that. You’re a human, so it might not affect you in the same way. But it’s…scenting is very intimate for my kind. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, if it ends up being too much.”

Crossing your arms, you furrow your brow. “We’ve been friends for like, eight years, Mattsun. We’ve hugged plenty of times. I’ll be fine.”

Scratching the back of his head, he nods, gesturing for you to come and sit next to him on the couch. “Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

He puts an arm around you, his skin warm against your bare shoulders. Your heart knocks against your ribcage at his proximity, as it always has, but that’s a secret you’ll keep firmly locked behind your teeth. You asked Matsukawa to do this because you trust him, nothing more. 

Slowly, gentle notes of pine begin to settle over you, drifting and settling like delicate needles atop freshly fallen snow. 

It’s subtle, but something inside of you stirs all the same, rising like dust motes in a cracked window’s breeze.

Your skin prickles.

Your toes curl. 

Matsukawa leans in, his nose pressed to the side of your neck, and like a carefully twisting dial, the smell is amplified. A sweet, herbal scent dances across your nostrils, tickling the back of your throat—lavender. A field of purple flowers sways delicately in the wind, and you feel warm all over.

Your tongue rests heavily in your mouth.

“Is this okay?” he asks, lips moving against your neck as he speaks.

Your ribcage shudders beneath the weight of what’s blooming behind it, a trellis for the edges of your fragile heartstrings. 

You nod.

Matsukawa inhales and begins to drag his nose down the side of your neck, the day-old stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin as he rubs his face against it.

Lemon. The clean scent of lemon trickles in, buried beneath the pine and lavender. You want to tip your head back and part your lips, feel drops of sour juice sink onto your tongue. 

(You want Matsukawa to grasp your chin, to slip his thumb into your mouth and hold your tongue there as you inhale—)

Your fingers dig into the couch cushions.

You swallow. 

Matsukawa’s wavy black hair is soft against your face as he moves to the base of your throat. And it’s funny, because you know the eucalyptus scent of his shampoo like the back of your hand, can picture the brown bottle where it sits nestled between your shaving cream and body wash.

But right now, while you specifically remember the sight of his dripping wet hair this morning when he walked into the kitchen after showering, right now—

You can’t smell it at all.

Not over the all-consuming scents that permeate you from head to toe. 

“Oh,” you gasp, unable to hold back the noise that slips out of you, gut churning at the sensation as his lips skirt your collarbone.

He pauses, slowly going to pull away, and before you can think better of it, you thread your fingers in his hair.

“No, no,” you exhale, a little dazed. “It’s fine, it’s…keep going.”

He’s still for a moment.

“Please,” you add.

Matsukawa breathes out, his breath hot and damp against your sternum, and you roll your shoulders.

Pine and lavender and lemon and heat—

“I should move to your other side to get the rest—”

You shift, not waiting for him to finish his sentence as you start to throw a leg over his lap, your body acting before your mind can fully contemplate the action. Matsukawa grunts, and the room sways as strong hands grip your waist, pulling you fully into his lap in one swift movement. Your dress is rucked up enough to allow your thighs to spread wide, and you try not to think about the way your panties are now on clear display. 

Forehead falling against his, you’re both quiet, save for the sounds of your breathing.

“Okay?” he asks, voice a little rough.

“Yeah.”

Matsukawa leans back in, bringing his face to the other side of your neck that he’s yet to rub his scent on. It’s more difficult to mask how affected you are by this, now that you’re straddling his lap. Your mind floats untethered in a lush forest, and you unconsciously press closer.

Something rumbles in Matsukawa’s chest, and the hand that’s still curled around your hip flexes, thumb pressing into your hipbone. His free hand slides up to the back of your neck, fingers slipping through the hair at your nape. 

Lush lavender interspersed with pine needles.

Matsukawa’s face strays a haphazard path as he scents his way across all of the exposed skin he can reach, his breathing going a bit ragged. 

Lemons and tall trees and a soft forest floor.

You tilt your head to the side, and he buries his face in the tender juncture between your shoulder and neck.

“Matsukawa,” you exhale. 

Matsukawa shifts, and teeth graze your skin.

You’re on the verge of combusting. 

“Issei, please.”

It was an accident, the slip of his name. But Matsukawa just shudders beneath you, one hand cupping the side of your face. “I can stop, if you want.”

He misunderstood.

And you’ve slipped so deeply into the cradle of his lap, his erection now lies flush against your cotton panties.

“No,” you whisper. “No, I don’t want you to stop.”

“Why?” he rasps. 

Your lips move of their own volition, “It feels so good.”

He growls, but the sound is somehow soft. It goes right to the simmering heat between your legs all the same. “Yeah?”

You nod, inhaling slowly as you run a hand over your sternum, body arching into his. 

“Then enjoy it,” he murmurs, both hands now on your hips.

He breathes hot and heavy against your shoulder, and you card your fingers through his black hair. Giving in to the urge, you tug, just a little. Just hard enough for him to—

“Hah—” he exhales, tongue sliding in a firm, broad stroke over the low neckline of your dress, skirting the swell of your breasts. 

Matsukawa rocks his hips upward, fingers pressing into your skin, and you gasp at the friction of his hard cock against your swollen clit. You belatedly realize just how wet your panties are, the material now soaked through with sticky arousal as it clings to your sopping folds. 

“You have no idea,” he grounds out. “How good you smell.”

“Me?” you ask, breathless. You thought scents were strictly a werewolf thing. 

He nods, dragging his nose from the hollow of your throat to the sensitive spot behind your earlobe. “Humans can't smell themselves, but wolves can.”

He inhales deeply.

“Salt water and oranges,” he groans.

Your chest flutters at this new information, and he nips at your earlobe.

“But when you’re—” He groans, rocking his cock against your clothed cunt again. “When you’re like this…”

In any other situation, you might be mortified over what he’s implying. But right now, all you can do is whimper as he places a hot, open-mouthed kiss over the corner of your jaw and tells you how you smell when you’re aroused with a gravel-rough voice that will fucking haunt you until you die, probably. 

“It gets sweeter…like a peach,” Matsukawa murmurs. “Drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

Oh.

Your cunt aches as you dry hump his erection, mouth watering at the sheer length of it. When you look down, the back of your neck heats up as you see the dark stain on his gray sweatpants, your slick arousal having soaked clear through your underwear.

He must see you looking, because one of his hands slides to the small of your back to urge you to keep going as he murmurs, “I don’t mind.”

You gasp when he presses up into you harder, and the zap of pleasure that ricochets in your chest and settles in your gut leaves you dizzy with need. Shiny precum pools on his abdomen, the head of his cock flushed red as it pokes out from the waistband of his pants. 

“Issei, can you—” your chest heaves as you try to get the words out. “Will you ki—”

Matsukawa doesn’t let you finish, one large hand cupping the back of your head as he brings his mouth crashing into yours. He swallows down your gasp of surprise, the moan of pleasure that leaves you at the feeling of his plush lips slotted against your own. 

His stubble caresses your chin as his tongue skirts the seam of your mouth, beckoning your lips to part. Matsukawa deepens the kiss, his other hand wholly palming your ass while you drag yourself up and down his length. It’s possessive, the way he’s touching you now. Your entire body shudders and trembles with pleasure, your raw nerves alight as your composure slips with each thrust.

Pine and lavender and lemon and Issei, Issei, Issei—

You don’t realize you’re crying out his name until you feel him cup your face and start to murmur your own, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you come in his lap. 

When you can finally breathe again, you look down to find thick ropes of cum all over his t-shirt as he tugs up the waistband of his pants to cover his spent cock. 

Pine.

Lavender.

Lemon.

Issei.

He blinks a few times, dragging a hand through his hair before he stares at you, dazed.

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, and there’s a banging noise at the front door, followed by the distant shout of one of your friends yelling, “Let’s paaaaaarty!”

But what the fuck just happened—

You glance between the door and Matsukawa, and he gives you a lopsided smile. “Go.”

Sighing, you start to pull yourself out of his lap, but a firm grip on your hip stops you. Matsukawa takes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before he adds, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Yuta is a switch idc what anyone says, one moment he'd be this sweet boy looking into your eyes while your riding him as his hands caresses your back and letting you do whatever you want to him, so eager and desperate for you to praise him and call him a good boy then a moment later he'd have folded forcefully in a mating press, his strong hands keeping your legs in tact as he bullies his fat cock deep into your tight needy hole fast and hard, heavy ball sacks slapping against your asshole as tears leak from your eyes as he fucks you silly while your clawing his biceps and back, your sweet loud moans filling the room as he tells you to be a good little girl for him and take it.

He'd manhandle you on his cock whenever he feels like him, while your riding him and he feels like it, you'd have big strong arms gripping onto your ass and forcefully lifts you up and down on his thick length, the action getting you off guard as you quickly wrap your arms around his neck for dear life while he stretches and bullies your cunt and use you as his ragdoll.

Megumi isn't one for public displays of affection, which is why you jolt a little when he suddenly winds an arm around your waist and pulls you so, so close to him.

"You alright?" you ask him, threading your fingers through his hand that tugs at your waist.

He squeezes, then makes a little sound deep in his throat. When you look at him, his pretty mouth is set in a line, and he's staring daggers across the room.

You laugh a little– nervous, a bit incredulous, watching the blush climb to the tips of his ears– then follow his line of sight to where a group of guys stands. They're sizing up Megumi, one of them smiling at you. When he meets Megumi's eyes, the smile seems to melt from his lips and he turns his back.

Oh.

Megumi's lips press against your jaw. You lift your chin and angle your body into his. "Did you think they were–"

"Checking you out? Yeah," he says, nudging your cheek with his nose.

You hadn't known him to be jealous before, and if you're honest with yourself, it's both flattering and maybe a little bit concerning. You aren't one to be possessed and controlled, but something about him protecting you from being objectified makes your chest swell with pride. It feels good to be wanted so intensely by someone.

So you take his face between your palms and make him look you in the eye. "I'm yours, Megumi."

His eyes flit back to the group. "Just making sure they know that."

You push a little harder, smashing his cheeks until his lips pucker. "Do you know it?"

He searches your face for a moment, his expression unreadable, if not a bit serious. After a moment, he visibly relaxes, then leaves a featherlight kiss on your mouth.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Ex-boyfriend Bakugou is heavy on the mind this evening.

Imagine you’ve been broken up with Bakugou for a few years now, and outside smalltalk between mutual friends, awkward gatherings and the photographs you see of each other on social media you’ve had barely any contact with each other.

So imagine your surprise when you get a call from Dynamight’s agency— and you hate yourself for the way your heart pulses at the thought that it could be Bakugou calling you. Instantly deflated when you hear the solumn voice of someone at his agency on the other end of the line, the realisation dawns on you that he’d forgotten to change his emergency contact as they begin to describe what had happened to him.

And even though you’re not together and it’s practically been years, you find yourself rushing across Musutafu to find him. Blurting your name across the desk to the poor lady at the hospital as she guides you towards his room— already imagining all these macabre scenarios in your head about what you’ll find.

Dating Bakugou over the years meant you’d definitely seen the man at his worst, from broken bones, comas, life saving operations, and even the after affects of some quirks that were more hindrances than anything else (one in particular which had his quirk coming out as little flowers for the next twenty four hours— you’d managed to make some floral arrangements for the entire house using them. Something that Bakugou hadn’t been too happy about.) but nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

Your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend. Sitting on the edge of the bed looking perfectly fine, save for a few cuts and bruises against his sooty skin. Crimson eyes widening in surprise when he noticed you lingering in the doorway, your feet not brave enough to step over the boundary.

And it takes everything in his power to stop himself from tearing out the IV drip that’s coursing through his veins and bounding over to wrap you in a fierce hug.

“They shouldn’ta called you.” He grumbles, obviously realising why you’re here. Knowing that it’s more from obligation than anything else.