Bakugou X Y/n - Blog Posts

war paint | masterlist

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 27,765 words

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

deleted scenes: (requests for short drabbles related to the fic)

What was chapter 5 like from Bakugou’s point of view?

What is domestic life like for them after the fic?

Did they get married? What did Bakugou’s family think?

cross posted on ao3: here

holding out (just for you) masterlist

pairing: dragon!bakugo katsuki x reader (ongoing)

mentions: sfw, aged-up characters (24+), fantasy au, fem healer reader, descriptions of injuries, near death experience, cultural misunderstandings, fluff, second person, part of the bnha big bang collab

summary: after getting caught out in a vicious storm, you seek refuge in a dark cave, not knowing that it is already occupied by a large dragon who really doesn’t want you there.

too bad you aren’t planning on leaving anytime soon—not when he looks like that.

(or: in which you find a horrendously injured dragon in a cave and make it your duty to heal him, not knowing that he’s the infamous dragonshifter, bakugo katsuki, who has been cursed to remain trapped in his dragon form forever—unless the spell is broken)

with art done by the lovely @your-fellow-passerine !!! here is a link to the original post (give it some love!!!!) <33

also on ao3 and quotev!

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four - TBA

KIRISHIMA SPINOFF - TBA

MIDORIYA SPINOFF - TBA

TODOROKI SPINOFF - TBA

brighter than ever (we'll burn, baby) - SEQUEL TBA

𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard. Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー civil teammates ー genuine enemies ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄

❂ ー 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza (fmab) and many of the dynamics in this au are heavily inspired by their relationship! just gotta build up that trust first (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦

You terrify him and it breaks his heart.

𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩

In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞

Hats off to dying!

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.

𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone, and just how desperate you must appear for the prince to take such pleasure in destruction.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Would he treat you this way in the presence of others? Is it only when you're alone that hell raises?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

In the immortal words of your prince, this was a dogshit idea for a dinner party. You are haunted by blue flames and scarred ghosts no matter how hard you focus on work, and a punishment for your distraction is in order.

𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆.

(april 22.)

bkg slowburn partners to lovers excellence

fyi: aged up, drinking, not beta'd, deal w it

Cupid's Chokehold (3.7k)

"I'm falling in love with you."

It rolls off your tongue without a second thought, and you relish the relief of your confession. Katsuki can't control his surprise, and you can read his answer off his face, and for a brief moment, you regret making your move.

The sting of rejection is quickly numbed purely by willpower, and you laugh airily.

"You have a terrible poker face," you tease lightly. You steel yourself for the next part by deeply breathing through your teeth. "You aren't interested in me."

"It's not like that," Katsuki mumbles quietly, his ears turning pink. "I need to focus on my career. We both do."

"Gotcha," you whisper, looking off into space, head turned away from him. "No, you're right." You clear your throat and begin to wrap up your trash from your forgotten lunch.

Katsuki seems to want to stop you, but he's silent as he watches you step out of your seat and make a quick visit to the nearest trash bin.

"Look, we're good," you assure him as you prepare to end this shared meal. "Nothing's changed. We're partners."

Katsuki raises a brow at you, remaining in his seat. "Then how come you're leaving?"

You respond with a dry laugh, fighting down the pit in the back of your throat. "Give a girl a second to wallow, Bakugo," you huff. Shrugging, you awkwardly shift your weight back and forth between your stance. "At least I won't be so distracted during patrols anymore."

It's your weak attempt to lighten the mood. Although, it's hard to commit when trying to come to terms with your rejection. Unfortunately, Katsuki doesn't find it amusing, and his expression remains a combination of surprise and confusion.

"I won't be as weird tomorrow," you brush off sheepishly. "Get home safe." With a single nod, you turn to leave before anything can stop you.

You feel like you can breathe again once you shut your door and feel your car engine rumble to life. Before you can shift gears, a wave of embarrassment and shame washes over you, and you throw your head back against your seat.

Pressing your hands against your face, you let out a sound of anguish, feeling like a fool. Raking your fingers back through your hair, you sigh.

"You just can't shut up sometimes, can you?" Your voice is quiet as it disturbs the otherwise silence in your car. "Brush it off. You're not dying." You shake your head and quickly note where the alcohol in your apartment is for when you get home.

-

Katsuki doesn't notice anything different about your dynamic in the days following your confession. You make eye contact easily and banter with him like nothing has happened. You're civil and, for the most part, stay on task during patrol.

You're the perfect partner, and yet, Katsuki can sense something has shifted.

"You're late," he grumbles, glaring at you as you stride to your desk with a compostable coffee cup in your hands.

"Would you relax," you dismiss him with a flimsy wave of your hand. You drop your bag onto your chair and start peeling off your layers. "We don't start for another ten minutes. I'll be right back."

You disappear to change into your uniform, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to invade your privacy.

"You don't drink coffee," he states skeptically after bringing your cup up to his nose and taking a whiff. The stench from the coffee is strong but not enough to cover up the scent of your lipstick coating the mouthpiece. He didn't even realize you wore makeup.

"Hey, don't drink my drink," you chastise as soon as you return, adjusting the sleeves of your uniform.

"You don't even like coffee," he accuses, setting your cup back on your desk. You respond with an incredulous laugh.

"No, you don't like coffee," you correct him. "I'm perfectly happy drinking coffee."

"Why would you need to drink it anyways? Didn't you get enough sleep?" Katsuki's glare softens as he gives you a quick scan, picking up the exhaustion clouding your eyes and the tentative way you handle your stationery. "Did you at least eat something? I don't need you passing out on me during a fight."

"You almost sound worried," you say with a dry tone, covering it up with a hollow chuckle. "Where's the trust, man?"

"There is none," Katsuki bites back quickly, but the humored glint in your eyes relieves him. "Are you almost ready to head out?"

"Can we ever just start when our shift starts?" You groan with a roll of your eyes as you return your stationery to their respective spots on your desk.

"Being on time is being late," Katsuki reminds you of what feels like the millionth time since he's met you.

He can hear you poorly imitate him behind his back, but when he turns to glare at you, you're inspecting your nails and obviously feigning innocence.

It's all too normal for his liking, and he's unsure why. He should feel grateful that you're not awkward after your confession and that you've moved past it and carried on your professionalism, but he's not. Not entirely, at least.

A little part of him can't stop hearing your confession.

"I'm falling in love with you."

Every time he meets your eyes, there's a brief pause, and Katsuki can't tell if it's imagination. You glow whenever you smile, even if it's not directed at him, and he can't look away from you.

You still grab lunch with him after your shifts, although now there's a thin blanket of tension veiling your conversations. And, outside of work, there's no contact from you.

Katsuki misses the days when you'd message him in the morning before your shifts, asking if he wanted anything from the shop that you stopped by for quick meals. He'd never take you up on your offer, but now he'll see you walk in with a to-go cup and wonder if you forgot to text him. He knows the truth, though.

You're trying to get over him. He can see right through your efforts, no matter how subtle you're trying to be. Katsuki notices the way you freeze up whenever he brushes his hand against your arm or grabs at you to check for injuries.

Every time, without fail, you'll clear your throat and yank yourself away from him, avoiding his accusing glare.

"I'm fine," you grit out, holding your arm that's obviously in pain. "I'll be good. Thanks."

Just let me take care of you, Katsuki will think bitterly to himself, watching you stagger away and doing nothing about it. You never used to be this difficult when he was just trying to do his job.

You'd argue that caring for you wasn't part of the job, and he'd find every fiber of him disagreeing with you.

"What are you doing this Friday?"

You're obviously surprised once you comprehend what Katsuki is asking towards the end of your patrol. You look flustered and waging an internal battle in your head.

"My idiot friends are having their monthly get-together," Katsuki explains, uncharacteristically mumbling. "They asked if you wanted to join."

"What?" You laugh, amusement washing away your nerves. "You're inviting me? What are they holding over you to do this?"

Katsuki glares at you, irritated that you guessed correctly. Mina threatened him to invite you, otherwise, she'd show up unannounced at the agency and introduce herself.

Normally, he'd go unphased by her threats, but ever since your confession, Katsuki's felt a shred of anguish that you'll disappear one day.

Even if he couldn't give you the relationship you hoped for, he wanted to provide for you somehow. And, if he had to expose you to his personal life a little more, then he was okay with that. As long as it meant you'd stay with him.

"They threatened to ambush us during a patrol if I didn't."

You fail to stifle your laugh, and Katsuki hopes to elicit more of that from you.

"I appreciate the offer," you eventually answer, and Katsuki feels elated at your initial positivity. It quickly dissipates when you reject his invitation. "I have plans this Friday, actually. For once." You laugh at your deprecating allusion, but Katsuki maintains his aloof expression.

"Suddenly, you're too good for my friends?" It was meant to be a joke, but his abrasive tone reveals his vulnerable ego.

You visibly hesitate to respond, and Katsuki wonders what you're fighting yourself on. What are you holding back from him?

"I have plans already," you repeat with more force, finalizing your explanation, and Katsuki feels irritation bubbling in his stomach.

You didn't make plans that required you to leave your apartment often – Katsuki knew this. You lived with your best friend, so most of your time outside of work was spent at home. Whenever you managed to come across real plans that involved wearing nicer clothes than sweatpants, you'd normally chat Katsuki's ear off about your anticipation.

"Do you have a date?" He blurts his question out before he can comprehend the thought, and he can feel the tips of his ears get warm with embarrassment.

You can't fight back the surprise from reaching your face, and Katsuki knows the answer before you nod.

You laugh sheepishly at getting caught, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear – a nervous habit Katsuki has caught on to after two years of working with you.

"Yeah, I do," you murmur, looking everywhere but at him. "My roommate set it up with her boyfriend's friend."

How come you didn't tell me, he wants to ask, but he already knows. "Is he nice?"

"Yeah, he's..." He watches your eyes glaze over as you get stuck in your head before clearing your throat. "He's nice. Why?"

Katsuki shrugs, feigning indifference. Inside, he's frustrated, but he knows he shouldn't be.

You're his partner. His work partner.

As long as this random head that's taking you out doesn't distract you during your patrols – when you're with him – then he can't shouldn't complain.

"Will you tell me how it goes?" His question is quiet because he's embarrassed to ask, but he wants to know. He knows not knowing will bother him, and he can't explain to himself why.

"Um, sure," you hesitate to answer, almost questioning yourself.

You keep details of your date private from him after Friday comes and goes. The curiosity eats at Katsuki whenever he catches you glancing at your phone or smiling at yourself at your desk, but he keeps it to himself.

-

Your shift today was harder than usual. A few minor misdemeanors followed up with a villain attack.

You could tell that Katsuki was frustrated throughout the whole time, keeping quiet and growling to himself more often than usual.

After, when you were packing up your things to leave for the day, you noticed Katsuki sitting at his desk with his head hanging low. His arms are relaxed against the chair handles and you think he looks defeated as people walk past him without a glance.

"Trying to get food?" You pipe up, sliding past him to lean back against his desk. You keep your demeanor light, resting your hands against the surface and keeping your chin up. "I'm starving."

"You head out without me," he mumbles, flicking his hand.

"Nah," you hum, smiling at him with encouragement. "Come eat with me."

"Wouldn't that make your boyfriend uncomfortable?"

Boyfriend? You frown at your partner, tilting your head with a curious look.

"My nonexistent boyfriend would probably be more concerned with my obnoxious partner giving me attitude when I'm hungry."

Katsuki finally looks up at you, and you widen your eyes in exaggeration.

"Oh my god, finally," you rasp, holding your hand against your chest. "I was planning on getting you a vest for your birthday to help you with your posture."

"You don't even know when my birthday is," he answers with a sneer, but it doesn't phase you.

"Of course I know when your birthday is, Bakugo," you tell him. "Now, can we please go eat?" You bounce off of his desk and pat his bare shoulder, shortly relishing the satisfying warmth that emits from his body.

Katsuki catches you by surprise when he holds your hand against his arm, squeezing gently.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, knowing what his answer will be but hoping for a rare moment of vulnerability.

"Just tired," he mumbles, not looking at you. You smile softly, understanding where his exhaustion might be coming from, and use your other hand to pat his spiky head.

"You're working hard," you remind him with sympathy. "You did a good job today."

Katsuki doesn't say anything, just responds with a nod.

You start to pull away, but he holds you in place for another moment. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you're hit with a familiar wave of infatuation that you've been desperate to avoid.

"We did a good job today," he finally says. "We're partners."

"I know, Bakugo." As badly as I want to be more, we're just partners. "You're not getting rid of me, unfortunately."

You're forced to yank your hand out of his, avoiding his glare when he turns back to look at you.

"Let's head out already," you plead, creating some distance between you before checking back to see if he's following you.

You can't fight back your smile when you find him out of his seat and pacing over to you.

-

Katsuki hates seeing you in Mina's apartment. It's like his worlds are colliding, and he's still not mentally prepared after a week.

He's grateful you let him pick you up and take you instead of finding your way there. He's also quietly pleased that you're glued to his side because you don't know any of his friends.

"I hope your friend likes this wine," you nervously babble in his ear, and it makes his skin vibrate with how close you are. "How do you not know what alcohol your friends like?"

"Cause I don't care," he bites back, arms crossed over his chest and sending you his normal glare. "And you shouldn't either. Not like they're your friends."

That was obviously not the right thing to say, and Katsuki immediately regrets it when he watches your expression fall.

"Then, why did you invite me?" You sound frustrated and lean away from him slightly. "What am I doing here?"

"Saving me from a night of nuisances."

Katsuki thinks he hears you mumble "Typically," but doesn't respond because Mina and Eijiro approach.

"Hey, Bakubro," Eijiro greets with a wide smile, clapping a hand against Katsuki's arm. "And hello to you too!"

You give them your name with a polite smile and present Mina with your gift. Katsuki has to fight the urge to put his arm around you – to protect you from his friend.

"I didn't know what to bring, but I hope you like this wine."

Mina squeals in delight, taking the bottle from your hands and inspecting it before throwing herself at you. Katsuki's skin prickles at the sight.

"I love wine!" She cries with glee. "You're so considerate! Bakugo never brings me anything."

"When do you ever bring me anything?"

"When do you invite me over?"

The glare Katsuki sends Mina is fatal, but she's unbothered, much to your apparent satisfaction.

"Let's open this right now!" Mina drags you away by the arm, and your panicked expression is enough to bring a soft smile to Katsuki's lips.

"So, she's the partner?" Eijiro takes your spot next to Katsuki and nudges his arm. "Think she's into you?"

The question makes Katsuki scoff, sending his friend a silencing look.

"She is? How'd you find out?"

"She told me," he answers gruffly. "Over a month ago."

Eijiro's eyes almost bug out of his head with how surprised he is.

"Why didn't you say anything? That's awesome, dude."

"Why would that be awesome?"

"Because it's obvious you're into her too?" Eijiro's brows furrow as he looks at Katsuki, who feels a burning fire in his chest light up.

"Excuse me?"

Eijiro sighs, scratching the dark scruff under his jaw. "Come on, man."

"What?"

"You invited her to Mina's shindig," Eijiro points out. "You've been her partner for, what? A few years now, and you're finally bringing her around to meet us?" Katsuki just glares at him.

"Maybe you should mind your business," he tells his friend.

"You're defensive because you know I'm making a good point."

"When have you ever made a good point?"

Eijiro feigns offense when he puckers his bottom lip out in a pout. "I've been known to have good insight occasionally."

"This isn't one of those occasions." Katsuki notices you reappear from the kitchen with Mina, carrying four glasses of wine between you. He clears his throat obnoxiously, successfully silencing Eijiro with a look this time around.

"Hey, here's a glass," you tell him, handing him one from your hand. Katsuki takes it but isn't sure what to do with it.

"I didn't ask for this," he mentions as Mina hands Eijiro his glass.

"He means, 'thank you'," Eijiro answers for him.

"You don't speak for me," Katsuki barks, but your soft laughter kills his irritation.

"Don't worry, I know how he works," you tell his friends as you sip your drink. "He's actually holding my second glass for me."

Mina giggles at your statement, but the smile on your lips tells Katsuki that you aren't joking.

A short while later, after Mina moves on to her other guests and Katsuki has resituated you and him on the couch, you swap glasses with him.

You're invested in a conversation with Sero, angled away from Katsuki, but your legs are curled under you, and the fabric of your socks flick against his legs.

"I'll be back," he mumbles as he rises to his feet, empty wine glass in hand.

He finds himself in Mina's kitchen, a few guests lingering around and chatting. He comes across the wine you brought, empty in an ocean of half-drunk bottles.

Before returning to the couch, he refills your first glass with another wine he finds himself hoping you'll like. You're alone and on your phone by the time he comes back.

"Decide to join in on the fun?" You ask with a beaming smile once you realize he's returned. Katsuki finds himself pleased at the sight of you dropping your phone into your lap without hesitation as he falls into the cushion next to you.

"For you," he says plainly. "For when you finish that glass."

You frown at him playfully, taking another swig from his original glass. "You trying to get me drunk?"

"God, no," he exasperates. "Wanna make sure you're having a good time."

"Good call filling up another glass then," you laugh.

I know how you work too, he finds himself thinking.

"I am having a good time, though," you confess, resting your hand on his leg and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you for inviting me. I like your friends."

"I think they like you more than they like me."

"Everybody likes me more than they like you. That's how our dynamic works."

Our dynamic. Everything you tell him comes out more meaningful than he assumes you intend. Katsuki doesn't know when that started to happen.

He cherishes the dynamic between you, and for the first time, he's worried that it's in jeopardy. That it's been strained since you confessed to him, and, right now, he's on borrowed time with you.

"Thank you," he tells you. "For coming. You didn't have to."

"I did, though, " you correct him. "Mina tells me she would have shown up unannounced at the agency if you kept me from her any longer."

"Well, she's an idiot."

You give him a knowing smile, leaning against his arm. "Then, you're an idiot by association."

"Shut the hell up."

Your gentle laughter is muffled by the wine glass against your lips. You finish your drink in a single sip and immediately hold the emptied glass to Katsuki. He wordlessly switches your glasses.

He watches intently as you take an experimental sip from the wine he chose for you, and the satisfied hum you release tells him you approve of his choice.

"This is really good. Nice choice," you tell him, holding it out for him. "Did you try it?"

"I'm driving us, remember?" He glares at you for your ridiculous question, but you roll your eyes.

"It's a sip, Katsu-" You stop yourself midway, and Katsuki notices the flush in your cheeks, but not without actively searching for it. "it's just a sip, okay? Try it."

You're shoving the rim of the glass to his lips before he can call you out on your mistake. He reluctantly takes a little sip and his face twists in disgust.

"I don't like wine," he tells you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after you spill some against his face.

"Well, that's a shame," you sigh dejectedly, throwing back the remaining wine with a few swigs. Even Katsuki knows wine isn't chugging alcohol. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

And when you return a few minutes later, Katsuki notices you curl up in your seat a little further from him.

an: wrote this for @/sarahlovesseb ♡

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

disclaimer!! this is a rewrite/heavily edited version of the fic i have on AO3/the fic i posted from lookslikeleese in 2019-2020! this is not plagiarised or stolen (i probably dont need this disclaimer, but we shall see ahhdjdjjsjaj)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! college au-ish (UUA is the university, but they're still training to be heroes), explicit sexual activity, sneaking around, unrequited love, secret sex friends, fem!reader, reader is a firecracker & has a fire-related quirk, todomomo, bakugo swears a LOT (i am sweating at how much he swears bdnfjjd), angst, alcohol consumption & partying, more tba as the chapters unfurl

▸ ▸ ▸ word count: 30k-ish

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: i love this fic so much. it was my first foray into bnha and as such i want to talk about it more! aspects of the original fic don't align with my interests anymore and i really just love the story so im tweaking it a little. i hope you have fun coming on the journey with me (again, maybe)

chapter one: the cabin in the woods

wc: 6.3k | angst, making out

chapter two: the deal

wc: 7.6k | fingering, oral (m receiving)

chapter three: rumours

wc: tba

chapter four: loose ends

wc: tba

chapter five: epilogue

wc: tba

'The Forbidden Flame.' Masterlist Prince Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Synopsis: In a world where royalty are born and bred to sit upon a throne built by their ancestor's aeons ago, there is a prince who is destined to sit upon the throne but there is worry amongst those of the high council. Will this Prince ever be able to shake the shackles of his ancestorial rage and become a just and rightful King? Or will he simply be another spindle in the wheel that continues to crush those of lesser importance?

Warnings: Similiar setting to House of the Dragon (the era, how royalty works) but not entirely, dragons, eventual smut, deceit, violence, blood, all characters are over the ages of 18, mentions of different religions, misogynistic themes, character deaths. No beta readers, we die like kings. (Will update individual chapters with warnings also.) MDNI.

The Glossary

Chapter I: ['The Barbarous Prince'] [28/08/22] [5086 wc.]

Chapter II: ['The Summer Solstice'] [31/08/22] [6829 wc.]

Chapter III: ['Seeking Respite'] [04/09/22] [8181 wc.]

Chapter IV: ['Dance of the Dragon'] [10/09/22] [7677 wc.]

Chapter V: ['The Crimson King'] [15/09/22] [7469 wc.]

credit for the background image/banner: @vampyrsm please do not plagiarise, or recommend my work to places such as TikTok. Date format is DD/MM/YY.

cover shot (through the heart) | masterlist

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 16,521 words

summary: For years, you’ve been the only assistant in the business equipped to handle foul-tempered supermodel Katsuki Bakugou. That is, until he catches on to your weak point.

tags: model AU, sexual tension, snark, praise kink, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, implied lighter-skinned reader

note: In retrospect, this work is one of my least inclusive. A large portion of the plot depends on the reader’s blush being visible on her skin. I just wanted to make this clear to anyone looking to read this fic, and apologize to any potential readers that this excludes. Going forward, I will endeavor to do better! 

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

five

six

cross posted on ao3: here

NUMBER NEIGHBOR

— In which Bakugou Katsuki is a grumpy and sarcastic college student just trying to get his degree and you are his bubbly number neighbor who is determined to become his new “bestie.”

pairing: bakugou katsuki x f!reader

genre: college au, crack, humor, fluff

status: completed

updates: mwf @ 8/9pm pacific time

asks: 💫

a/n: this is my first social media au and i’m super excited for it!! pls enjoy grumpy grump’s world getting turned upside down when bubbly crackhead y/n messages him ;) [p.s. dates/times don’t matter unless stated!]

introductions

📞 part one - grow like a fungus

Keep reading

𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 masterlist

masterlist

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. (sm!au, angst, humour)

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one

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epilogue

Your Biggest Fan Masterlist

fan-site noun

a website about a particular performer, group, film, etc., that has been created by a fan(s).

↝ During the day you work under number one hero Ground Zero’s agency as a receptionist, but at night you run the biggest hero fansite wholly dedicated to the number one hero, Ground Zero himself. When Bakugou stumbles upon your fansite, he goes undercover as a fan using a fake account. Eventually, you both slowly fall for the other’s online alias, completely unaware of who’s behind the accounts.

© simplybakugou — all rights reserved. DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, TRANSLATE, OR EDIT ANY OF MY CONTENT ON HERE OR ANY PLATFORM

PAIRING: prohero!bakugou x fansite!reader (fem)

TAGS/WARNINGS: fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, humor, swearing, rated 16+, suggestive memes

STATUS: completed

UPDATES: tuesdays @ 4 PM EST & thursdays @ 3 PM EST

A/N: this is my first smau (other than my shitposts but those never had a real storyline lol) so bare with me a little on this lmao. A special thank you to @bnhatrashh for putting up with my rambling about this because I was nervous (I love you Izzy, I wouldn’t have been able to start this smau without your help). I hope you guys enjoy this! :)

📸asks | 📸submissions

introductions pt. i (bakusquad)

introductions pt. ii (readersquad)

📷PART I ↠ back on your bullshit

📷PART II ↠ the fuck’s a fansite?

📷PART III ↠ another great idea

📷PART IV ↠ 2% male

📷PART V ↠ my favorite hero

📷PART VI ↠ explain yourself cheater

📷PART VII ↠ sugar daddy katsuki

📷PART VIII ↠ speed things up

📷PART IX ↠ is that a promise? 😼🙈👁✨

📷PART X ↠ i may have made an oopsie

📷PART XI ↠ not yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

📷PART XII ↠ what the fuck is this feeling?

📷PART XIII ↠ wasn’t keeping up with ground zero

📷PART XIV ↠ operation finally get y/n a boyfriend

📷PART XV ↠ a pretty strong lead

📷PART XVI ↠ these feelings of mine

📷PART XVII ↠ i fucked everything up

📷PART XVIII (written) ↠ everything had changed

📷PART XIX ↠ gorilla grip cooch 

📷PART XX ↠ we’re dating

📷PART XXI ↠ my katsuboo 🥰

📷PART XXII ↠ couldn’t stop the fangirling

📷PART XXIII ↠ it’s not stalking, dingbat

📷PART XXIV ↠ i love you, katsuki

📷EPILOGUE ↠ your biggest fan

you don't know how much comfort your dragon king bkg drabble has given me ever since you posted it!! i keep reading it i love it sm 🥹

as it turns out, the man bakugou is — a bit harder to handle.

he sleeps like a heathen; you once thought the dragon bakugou to be a bit lazy, with how often he tended to curl up in the fields of grass, warm under the sun, but now — it would seem his little human form needs significantly less rest.

almost up all hours of the day, and when he does finally lay down, he's everywhere. a mess of limbs: one thrown carelessly out to the side and the other bent at an angle you can't believe doesn't hurt his joints. his head stays tucked into you somehow, either buried in your neck or pressed against your ribs — or you'll wake to find him nose-to-nose with you. he still snores like a dragon, however.

you're also beginning to wonder if there is a bottom to the pit of his stomach. he ate much before, whole fields of things, but you expected that appetite to dwindle, at least a little, now that his stomach has decreased considerably in size. and in number ? you're not even sure how many stomachs a dragon has; that's not something that was mentioned in the fairytales.

it burns through him quickly, gives him more energy than he needs, and it doesn't ever seem to affect his weight much. already, he's huge and thick with muscle and eating as much as he does never dulls the severity of his cut abdomen. not that you're looking all that much.

— not that you have a choice not to, as he seems to have little-to-no understanding of —

the door to the bathhouse kicks open, with enough force that you already know who it is without ever turning to look. you try not to shriek when you see him, because he seems to like that in some evil, impish way.

you've been alone to wash so far, thankfully, as the inn you'd managed to find was small and far enough out from the nearest kingdom that the occupancy was low — enough for you and your little brute.

the man bakugou comes to stand in front of the bath, blinking and huffing against the steam. finding clothes for him was — nearly impossible, and so the trousers you'd found hanging on someone's line outside fit above his ankles, a bit too tight around his waist. instead of a shirt, you've wrapped him in a scratchy linen, swaddled him up like a baby to cover the small smattering of scales that decorate his body, almost like freckles from the sun, though they gleam just as bright and red as they ever have. no matter his form.

a horn has started to sprout, on the right side of his forehead, and you've done your best to cover that, too.

you have no idea how long this man thing will last. if it's permanent or if he even has control over it. the last thing you need is for him to switch back, somehow, while you're in the middle of feeding him, absolutely demolishing whatever tavern you're in and calling all of king todoroki's guards to attention.

bakugou grunts, almost sleepy, and tosses a fat, weighty sack onto the edge of the bath. it jingles a certain jingle that makes your heart stop.

"oh, allfather—" you move for the edge, awkwardly keeping one arm against your chest despite the fact that he's seen it all by now. when you peek inside and confirm your fears, you lob it back to him furiously, as if it were a steaming potato. "where do you keep getting this stuff?"

things have started to turn up, miraculously. shiny things — like coins and rings and gems. things he could not have simply found rolling around in the dirt.

"go put it back!" you hiss at him, and the tone of your voice makes his frown deepen. you never realized how pouty he was, when he was still a dragon.

you think he understands you, and you're pretty certain he just chooses not to listen; instead of doing what you've told him in the slightest, he simply dumps the coin-purse to the floor, and then lets his linen and stolen trousers cover it as he unceremoniously undresses.

the biggest issue that you would say the man bakugou poses is — his complete lack of understanding of personal space.

"bakugou!" your voice wavers, shocked again by his nakedness. as if you haven't seen it all by now. "no, you — get out!"

but he does the exact opposite, which is hop into the steaming water, ignoring the arm you hold out to keep him away as he saddles up beside you. skin against scales, pressing a nose into your hair to huff out his annoyance, to make it something you can feel.

if anyone were to walk in right now, they would — probably think the lie you'd told the innkeeper was true. that you are a simple traveler and this is your mute, over-sized husband.

regardless, you think this behavior isn't polite. especially in a public bathhouse.

"bakugou," you try again, turning your face away as you speak to the wood-paneled wall. "i'm taking a bath, you have to wait your turn."

all you receive in response is another huff against your ear and a low rumble of disagreement from his chest.

he has yet to speak back, and has only used inhuman sounds as his points of conversation. the only word you've ever heard him utter is oi, which he does when he really thinks he needs your attention. you're starting to wonder if he's named you that in his head. oi.

curiously, you turn back to him and the movement has him pulling his face from your hair, just enough that he can look down at you, too. watch you, with the red-rippled sea in his eyes.

they're — amazing, you will admit. just as bright and detailed as they always have been. fit for a fairytale told by the fire, veiled by the soft-ash of his lashes. he watches you through them, half-lidded, and you wonder if it's something other than fatigue that has them so heavy.

"do you know what i'm saying?" you ask quietly, voice lacking the firm heat you want it to. instead it's heavy, too, weighted by something soft and unfamiliar and frightening. "can you even understand me?"

bakugou doesn't respond, not with a huff or a rumble or ever a purr, like the one he let out on the night he lay over you by the lake. you've only heard it sparingly since then, oftentimes in his sleep when his face is pressed into you.

you try not to frown at his silence, try not to let it disappoint you because it shouldn't; he's a dragon afterall, and you're not sure what it matters. the little horn protruding from his forehead catches your eye and you reach up to touch it gently, watching him blink away the water that drips from your wrist — and then he's turning into you again, too close.

beneath the water, you feel his hands skate up your bare thighs, wrap around your waist until your chest is pulled flush against his. you feel his huff, again, against the damp skin of your neck but it's slower, lighter. not laced with his frustration. some unknown thing you feel guilty for liking.

you drop your hand to his hair, rushing full force into all the damned things you've thought about doing but have been too afraid to. he's soft between your fingers, and you trace your nails lightly against his scalp until he groans quietly; a new noise, one you don't know how to translate.

your fingers stop when they brush upon little spines that have grown at the base of his skill, that have started to trail down the center of his back.

suddenly, tangled up in the bath with him, you wonder how much time you have left.

bakugou huffs again into your skin, a little fiercer this time, and it's because of his light jostling that you realize how rigid you've gone. you try to relax so that he will, too, though you must not do a convincing job, because a sharp nip comes to your earlobe.

"ow!" you squeal, but he doesn't let you go far, not even as you try to jerk away from him. in fact, the harder you try the more his teeth show: into your cheek and the point of your jaw and then dangerously low on your neck.

it's not until you finally freeze that he stops, huffing again, with a warmth that burns more than the steaming water.

and then, very quietly, he grumbles, "shitty wife," into your collarbone, just before biting you again.

PAIRING : katsuki bakugou x reader

STATUS : complete

RATING : sfw ☁️

GENRE : smau, crack, lil bit of angst, aged up, sexual references (suggested for a mature reader)

⤷ looking for a new friend after having moved to a new town, you dive into the world of ‘meeting strangers!’. Downloading a weird app called anonymous, searching for matches!

‘ profile:

▸ name: fuck you

▸ age: 19

▸ describe yourself: no

▸ interests: being better than you

↬ start talking talking to fuck you! ’

Yet, the guy you find is not the nicest but there’s an odd charm to him.

You proceed to exchange numbers after matching with a total stranger so that you wouldn’t have to talk over this cheaply made app, making him your source of entertainment in this very new stage in your life!

chapters:

0: 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧

1: 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙣

2: 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚?

3: 𝙨𝙦𝙪𝙖𝙙

4: 𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥, 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧

5: 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨

6: 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙤𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙚

7: 𝙙𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧?

8: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙘

9: 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙞𝙢𝙥

10: 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙨!

11: 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠

12: 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚

13: 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙣

14: 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 4𝙥𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙

15:  𝙞 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙤

epilogue

side warning: this was made at a time when i didn’t take into account the profile picture of y/n, so please be aware of that. I’m sorry for the mistake, my newer smau’s do not have this issue!! Be assured that the profile picture is not representative of the reader i had in mind and they barely look anything like me as well🥲

Love Comes Tsundere - ch.1

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader

Work In Progress AO3

I write for attention. <3

A complicated villain takedown puts Bakugou Katsuki in a cumbersome position with the Hero Safety Commission. To appease the commission, Bakugou reluctantly agrees to enter an arranged marriage with you, the quirkless daughter of a prominent member on the commission. Now you and Katsuki have to figure out how to live and maybe even learn to love someone you don't truly know.

Warnings:

R-18 Adults Only, Explicit Content, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Comfort, Strangers to Lovers, Gradual Romance, Eventual Smut, Tsunder Bakugou Katsuki, Female Reader, Loving Sex, Sweet Sex

Chapter 1 - The Catch of The Lure

The warm scent of freshly printed paper and the still silence of an empty office made for a boring wait, especially if you were a pro hero strongly accustomed to action. The drone of professional gray walls, chill of metal filing cabinets, and the reek of power from a fancy polished desk told the young hero that person who occupied this office was powerful but most likely impotent. On top of that, the office jackass was making the hero waiting damn near forever to talk about damage control. Inconsiderate bastard.

Finally, the door opened and the overcompensating ass himself walked in. "About damn time!" The young hero growled, his piercing red eyes shooting the older man a death glare. "I've been waiting for damn near an hour."

"My apologies, young Bakugou," The drawl of his false regret caused Bakugou's eye to twitch as the man moved past Bakugou's chair to sit at his desk, "it's quite a mess out there, you know."

"Of course I damn know!" Bakugou huffed, running a hand through his spikey, blonde locks. "I got stuck in the middle of all that damn shit and there was nothing I could do to stop it!"

"Yes, quite an unfortunate turn of events. It's a shame but also understandable, you were off-duty and were ill-prepared for dealing with the chaos. It is a bit of a complex situation but I think I can manage to resolve with minimal damage." The man's tone dripped with satisfaction and Bakugou couldn't help the feeling that somehow this guy had something over him and planned to use it against him. "I can have this whole little 'incident' cleared up for you in no time, but in return I have a request to make of you."

Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh, "Of course you do. Well, what the hell do you want?"

The smsug smile on the office bastards face made Bakugou's skin crawl. "Why, I'm so glad you asked. I've noticed that throughout your entire high school and rookie hero career, you've never had yourself a pretty little lady to swoon on your shoulder. Now that could be because you're waiting for the right little lady or maybe you feel as though you don't have time for petty relationships with your line of work and wanting to be number one, but I have my own theories... Personally, I think you just lack the drive for it. Instead of pursuing girls like most men, you chase after power and success. I've heard a few rumors that you're simply not interested in the opposite sex, but I think if that were the case you would have made a move on that Red Riot you used to go to school with. Either way-"

"Is there a point behind all this or do you just like hearing yourself talk?" Bakugou interrupted, disliking how the man brought up his love life.  Lack the drive? Bakugou's blood boiled. Unlike this impotent ass I don't need some random bitch to help me get off! Just 'cause I'm not chasing horny ass females like a dog in heat doesn't mean I'm impotent. And what the hell is he implying about me and Kirishima? Who the hell does he think he is? He'd never admit it, but he had always thought of Kirishima as a brother. He'd never thought of his red-haired friend in that manner before.

The man tapped his fingers on his desk and eyeing Bakugou and taking into account the blonde's obvious aggravation. He considered his next words carefully. "Yes, I suppose I should be getting to the point. I, and many of my colleagues, are not particularly thrilled at the idea of helping you clean up this mess, nor are we obligated to. That said, I'm willing to resolve the outside issue for you if you agree to marry my daughter." 

"You want me to do what?" Bakugou blinked, knowing full well what he'd heard but wanting to confirm it.

"Marry my daughter." A slimy, satisfied smile plastered the bastard's face. He turned a photo on his desk for Bakugou to see. "Marrying her off to a powerful, young hero is my best course of action for making sure she is cared for when I'm gone. You see, she's quirkless so she needs someone strong with a good head on his shoulders to take care of her."

Bakugou stared at the photo, the young woman in the picture wasn't terrible looking. Plain, [s/c] skin and simple, [h/c] hair framing a shy face with [e/c] eyes. She didn't look like she would be a bitch, she kind of looked like a nerd. Like damn Deku. He glanced back at her bastard father. What if she was like him? "What happens if I don't marry her?" He had to weigh all his options. Even if she wasn't horrible to look at and had a decent personality, he still wasn't overly fond of marrying a complete stranger.

"Well, let's just say without me to help clean up the mess then you'll likely lose your hero license and any chance at being a hero down the road. No one else will help you, especially if I tell them I tried to help you and you turned me down. Add to that the fact that you aren't exactly equipped with the tools for fixing this mess and your chances at getting everything resolved disappear completely and leave you and your hero career in the dust."

Bakugou stiffened, sparks popping from his hands. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"True, but the public won't see it that way." The man pointed out smugly, clearly not intimidated by the little explosions going off. " If it helps, you can think of it this way-you don't necessarily have to love her, just marry her and take care of her for the deal to be in place. If she doesn't satisfy your needs or neither of you are interested then just get you a little honey to keep on the side."

A long moment of silence passed before Bakugou spoke again, his head spinning. He hated how nonchalant the bastard was about implying having multiple girls to satisfy different needs. It certainly didn't feel right, but if he wanted to become the number one hero then he couldn't afford to lose his hero license even if only for a short while. With a defeated sigh he asked, "When do we get married?"

devil's glare || katsuki b.

pairing: demon!bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 8.7k+

mentions: modern au where there are supernatural beings hiding amongst the population, no pronouns mentioned i think!, tho there might be implied fem reader idk, pining & lots of it, fluff, kinda spicy/suggestive near the end, innuendos galore, human reader, salt circles keep out demons if u didnt know tht

a/n: idk why but i felt like boo boo the fool while making the banner LMAO this wasn't supposed to be this long but i couldn't help myself. special thank u to @/reddriot, @/cellotonins, & my homies in the jjgc for helping me w ideas and giving encouragement!! ly<3 hope u guys enjoy!!

✧˖° bakugou katsuki is a powerful demon that you have the pleasure of dating. but when he pisses you off one day, you decide to get back at him in a pretty petty way: drawing a salt circle around you to force him to apologize.

"Hey! Whatcha up to?"

You glanced up, your eyes landing on the familiar slim figure of Mina as she stood a few meters away from you. You gave her a wave, your body nestled comfortably in the green beanbag chair you had in your cozy little living room.

"Hey!" you greeted her as you sat up slightly and adjusted your laptop on your thighs. "How'd you get in here? I thought I'd locked the door?"

"Spare key, remember?" She grinned sharply at you, holding up a pink hand that had a tiny silver key pinched between her thumb and index fingers. Of course. You rolled your eyes, flapping a hand at her so she could tell you why she was breaking into your house on a Saturday evening. "Soooo.... I thought we could hang, but I see you’re a bit preoccupied."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" you asked dryly, raising an eyebrow at her from behind your laptop screen.

"Gee, let me guess." She hummed as she tapped her chin before looking pointedly down at the wooden floor. You followed her gaze. "Maybe the fucking salt circle you have around you?"

You sighed. "Yeah, I’m kinda pissed at Katsuki. I don't want him coming anywhere near me, is all. For now."

She pouted at you, her arms crossing themselves over her chest. "But the salt circle also keeps me out, you know."

You cocked your head to the side and squinted at her—her and her pink skin and pretty dark sclera. "I thought you were a shapeshifter?"

"Yeah, but I'm also part succubus," she said as she puffed her cheeks out like she was a toddler and not a fucking supernatural being, pointing to the yellow horns that stuck out from her pink hair. You only shrugged at her.

"Sorry Mina, but I'm not getting rid of the salt circle," you told her apologetically. You were very comfortable and safe inside of it, thank you very much. You wouldn't jeopardize that, even for her.

"How long have you been like this anyways?" she asked, leaning her body against the opening to the living room that led down to the front door. "And are you... okay?"

Your expression softened at her concern. "I'm fine, honestly! Just a bit peeved at him, but he's a brat, y'know? Maybe the salt circle will teach him a lesson." You glanced at the analog clock that hung up on the wall to your right, just above the T.V. "I've been here a few hours now." That was a lie. You've been like this for the entire day, waiting for when Katsuki would eventually make his way back home. You were patient, if not stubborn.

"Riiight," she rolled her golden coins for eyes at you, "and where's Katsuki?"

You shrugged. "Beats me. The last time I saw him was this morning."

"So he doesn't know you did," she waved her hand at the floor, "this?"

"Nope! We had a bit of a…” you paused, searching for the right word, “...disagreement, and then he went off to do… whatever he does."

"Actually I saw him like, an hour ago with Eiji," she told you, standing up straight to rock back and forth on her heels. A dimple formed on her cheek as she curled her lips to the side. "He might be on his way back here, I dunno."

"Oh," you blinked at her, then ran a hand through your hair, "he might be, yeah. He usually comes back home around this time."

"Yup, yup!" She gave you a thumbs up only for her expression to suddenly twist into a sad pout. "So I’m guessing no hangout night?" She made a sadder face that drew a small laugh from you.

You gave her an apologetic look and sank back into your beanbag, propping your feet up on the small coffee table you had positioned in front of the couch. You’d made the circle large enough that it contained a decent amount of space in addition to the table and couch. "Aw, I’m sorry. Maybe some other day?"

"Boo, fine!" She let out a dramatic sigh, raising the back of her hand to her pink forehead. “When will I ever have you to myself instead of stinky Katsuki, my love?” You rolled your eyes in good nature, giggling at her antics. She shot you a grin, her skin shifting into a light brown shade as she gave you a little salute. She turned on her heels to skip her way out of the front door, lest she get caught up in the raging hellfire that was Bakugou Katsuki. "Call me if you need anything! Laterz!"

"Bye!" you called out wryly, a bit amused at her coming to see you for what was literally five minutes. You felt a bit bad, but well, you had other things to deal with.

The moment the front door clicked shut, you felt that signature ripple through the air that made the hairs on your arms raise—the one that always told you he was near. The temperature in the room got slightly warmer and you sighed, returning your focus to your laptop. You could see, from the corner of your eye, the way the shadows of your home seemed to be drawn towards the corner of the living room that was the darkest, right outside of the salt circle. You huffed. He was so dramatic.

You ignored him as he stepped out from the darkness, all tanned muscle and sharp, sharp claws. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, to your annoyance, his sculpted torso with all its rough scars on full display. Leathery, burgundy wings unfurled from his back, stretching outwards before curling neatly above him. Burning crimson eyes scanned his surroundings, his mouth opening in a fanged snarl as they eventually latched onto your form.

"The fuck is this?" Katsuki hissed as he stalked up to the circle and glared down at it as though it had personally offended him, his mother, and his father all at once.

"What?" you asked innocently, your gaze trained on your laptop instead of him. He let out another snarl at your lack of attention. "The salt circle?"

"No, the fuckin' T.V.—yes the fuckin' salt circle!"

"It's to keep you away from me," you informed him cheerfully, removing your feet from the table so you could stretch them out on the floor. You looked up at him when he made an angry noise. He started prowling around the circle, likely looking for any gaps in its circumference. He wasn't going to find any—you were very efficient when making it. Though, he certainly looked quite scary, stalking around you like that. Thank god you made the circle kind of big—he couldn't reach you at all, even if he wanted to try.

"You're pissed," he grumbled. He came to a stop somewhere near the T.V., his long, ruby red tail flicking back and forth behind him.

"No shit." You frowned at him, setting your laptop on the table so you could cross your arms at him from atop your throne of a beanbag.

He growled at you, an intimidating thing that came from the deepest part of his chest. You only tightened your position, glaring at him as he glared back with enough heat to rival the sun.

"'M not fuckin' messing around," he snarled, making himself appear bigger as he opened his wings a bit more. The black horns on his head cast shadows across his face in a way that made his eyes glow brighter. Like gleaming red giants in the night sky. "Get rid of the fucking circle."

"I'm not either," you huffed back, adamant on your position. "You need to stop putting my shit on the shelves I can’t reach!!! It’s annoying!!"

"You’re overreactin’," Katsuki said gruffly, hands curling and uncurling at his sides. Smoke puffed from his palms, little clouds of grey that dissipated in the air. “S’not my problem you’re tiny.”

"Am I?" you replied in irritation. "Speaking of that—making fun of how small I am in comparison to you is annoying as hell too!!"

He huffed and bared his canines at you. "Jus’ get outta the damn circle." He wasn’t acknowledging what you were saying!! The nerve he had.

"No." You frowned at him. He shot you a grumpy pout and started prowling around again, steps so heavy you could nearly feel them echoing through the floor.

You eyed him warily, leaning back slightly. "Are you going to stop teasing me? And apologize?" The way he scoffed and directed his glare off to the side told you what his response would be. You harrumphed and turned back to your laptop, pulling it back onto your lap. "Then I'm staying in here, whether you like it or not."

He growled some more. "Babe." You ignored him, tapping away at your keyboard. "Babe. You're bein' fucking dumb."

"Insulting me isn't gonna get you anywhere, Katsuki," you remarked dryly. He glowered at you.

"This is fuckin' stupid," he sniped at you. When you didn't say anything he swore loudly and shot his hands forward, aiming them at the salt circle. His knees bent slightly as he took on a fighting stance. "I'll jus’ blast this shit away! No way it's stronger than me—"

You snapped your head up, seeing the way his palms glowed a hot orange. Oh, he was being serious. You shouted at him, "Bakugou Katsuki if you blast a fucking hole in my floor I'll draw a salt circle around the whole house!!"

"I'll fix it." He grinned sharply, wildly, hands igniting in a blazing tangerine color that was a bright white at the center of his palms. You had just enough time to throw your hands over your head before a small explosion erupted throughout the living room. Your ears rang in the aftermath, your breaths bated.

You made a surprised sound, peeking your head from your arms to see the smoke that had swirled around you. Only, it was blocked by something, not able to enter into your space. You stood up and placed your hands on your hips as the smoke parted to reveal a scowling Katsuki. And a still intact salt circle.

You raised an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. "That just made me even more unlikely to come out, you know that right?"

Katsuki only snarled, hands still popping with tiny explosions. The scent of burnt caramel permeated through the air. "Whatever. Y'can't stay in there forever."

"Watch me," you retorted, the glint of a challenge shining in your eyes.

---

Katsuki wouldn’t leave you alone.

He was always lurking at the very edge of the salt circle, glaring at you so intensely you would’ve been dead ten times over if he had any power to kill with his eyes alone. You knew he was doing something trippy with his powers, forcing the shadows to cling to him to make himself look even scarier. He stayed in his more demonic-looking form, too—both you and him knew he could look normal if he wanted. If he was trying to intimidate you into submission, it wasn't working.

You bid your time, doing your best to ignore him and his dark presence at the corner of your vision. You watched a show on your laptop and snacked away at the takeout you were smart enough to order while he’d been out of the house.

Maybe you were being petty, maybe you were being mean, but well, he deserved to get knocked down a few pegs. The way he sometimes looked down at you—raising his stupidly perfect eyebrows—just got on your nerves. And when he purposely put your cooking supplies on the top shelves so you’d be forced to ask him for help… He knew what he was doing! He never allowed you to climb on top of the cupboards or on a chair either, always swooping in at the right time to snatch you by the waist and set you on the ground like you were a child and not a fully-grown adult. It was annoying! And also kind of… demeaning? Intentional or not.

You knew Katsuki. You knew his pride would prevent him from properly apologizing to you, especially since you were acting so pettily by not allowing him anywhere near you. He was stubborn, if not petulant, and this was what led him to sit outside your circle, pouting heavily at you with puffed cheeks. You were playing a game to see who would last longer, with the consequence being touch-starvation. And by god, you were determined to win.

A few hours passed like this, with him not moving from his seated position to your left. He had an arm propped on one of his knees that was bent up close to his chest. The way he hid his lower face behind it made the depth of his stare infinitely more piercing. He was clearly trying to burn the side of your head off, with how intense he was being. Luckily for you, you were basically immune, having known him for so long. You glanced over at him, the distance between the two of you, then sat up on your beanbag chair. It was getting pretty late and you were slightly sore from sitting in the same spot for so long.

You placed your laptop neatly on the table and stood up, stretching your arms and back out. It drew a deep sigh from you, and you rubbed at your hip before you turned to walk the five steps it took to get to Katsuki. You stopped just before the salt line and looked down at him. Then you waited, an expectant look on your face.

He glowered and shifted his long legs around so he could slowly stand up. Your head followed the motion, watching as he rolled his thick shoulders and stood at his full, towering height. His shadow drowned you, his burgundy wings extending out so it could curl above you in a threatening manner. You looked at him, ignoring the way he purposely flexed his pecs and cracked his neck. That wasn’t going to work on you.

So there you stood, pretty little you, dressed in fuzzy socks, sweats, and a shirt with a little bunny on it, staring up at this bristling, scowling demon as though he didn’t look like he was about to murder you with all the strength in his arms.

Katsuki snarled and his large hand shot out as though to grab you now that you were literal inches away from him. But something stopped him, something that made a vein pop out on his forehead. The muscles in his arm strained, but he couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t touch you. And you simply smirked.

“Giving up yet?” you asked him slyly, crossing your arms.

“Fuck you, human,” he bit back harshly as he drew back his hand. His voice was deep and raspy, nearly sending a shiver scuttling down your spine. His tail flicked irritably behind him. “Ya gotta get outta there eventually. Don’t y’have human needs you need to take care of before sleepin’?”

“What, like brushing my teeth and stuff?” You rolled your eyes and took a step back from him. He growled at you once you did, eyes unwavering as he continued to glare at you. “I can skip a night, if I have to, demon.”

His chin wrinkled as he pouted. “S’not proper hygiene.”

“Yeah, but I’m not leaving the circle,” you replied cheerfully as you walked over to your laptop to shut it down. You took a drink of water from one of the bottles you had on the table, swished it around your mouth a bit, then sat down on the couch so you could lay yourself along it to sleep on for the night.

You made yourself comfy on your side, bunching one of the couch pillows under your head and arms. Like this, you were facing Katsuki as he stood at the same spot you’d left him. He slouched forward, tucking his clawed hands into the pockets of the black sweats you’d bought him a while ago.

“You know, all you have to do is apologize,” you reminded him. You curled your legs up closer to your chest. “Isn’t that hard.”

Katuski looked like he was chewing on his tongue for a moment, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkled a bit. You waited to see what he would do, but something shifted in his expression and he only huffed loudly. He turned on his heel and stormed away in the direction of your bedroom, his feet stomping away at the floor.

You only rolled your eyes at his attitude, nestling further into the couch.

---

Something smelled good.

You woke up to it, your eyes still closed as you inhaled deeply. It was familiar and you found yourself peeking an eye open slightly in curiosity. You hadn’t taken off the lights in the living room last night—the light switch was outside of the circle—so you had to blink a few times to allow your retinas to adjust. You sat up slowly, rolling your neck and shoulders to get rid of the stiffness that came with sleeping on a couch for nine hours. You squinted then raised your eyes to look at Katsuki, who was standing beyond the salt circle with a plate in his hands and your tiny apron wrapped around his equally tiny waist.

“Morning,” you told him sleepily, one of your hands combing through your hair in an attempt to fix it.

“Made breakfast,” was his short reply, nodding his head at the plate in his hand. He lowered it slightly so you could see it was your favorite. You raised an eyebrow.

“Did you now,” you hummed as you leaned forward to grab your phone from the table to check the time. It was almost nine in the morning. You yawned and stretched your arms up in the air. You didn’t know if it was a demon thing or a Katsuki thing, but he was ridiculously good at cooking and he knew it. You were strong, however. It would take more than a home cooked breakfast to get you to crack. “You resorting to bribery?”

He scoffed loudly. “If it’ll get you to leave the fuckin’ circle.”

You smiled at him but didn’t get up from the couch, only slouching into the cushions further. You switched your attention to your phone, back to ignoring Katsuki for the time being. You had to bite your lower lip when he growled and sat down on the floor, still holding the comically small plate in his huge hands.

You knew you would be able to last much longer than him. But you had a bit of a problem—something you could only solve if you got a bit of outside help. You navigated to the messages app on your phone and opened up the chat you had with Mina.

hey, can i ask you for a favor, you texted her. You only had to wait a few minutes before the little typing bubble on her end popped up.

sure thing bestie. what’s up? kacchan bothering u? >:((

can you and eiji distract him for an hour or smth? i hv to pee like… rly badly LOL. This wasn’t something you’d thought out very well, apparently.

LMAOOOOO YEA SURE KSDHFKSJ go piss girl!!!

my bladder and i thank you and him very much <33

You let out a breath of air and rested your head back on the cushion. While it wasn’t an immediate problem for you, you knew it would be eventually. If Mina and Eijirou could get Katsuki out of the house for a bit it could allow you to freshen up in the bathroom, maybe take a speedy shower. You scrolled idly on your phone for a bit, physically forcing yourself to not look up when you heard his phone let out a ding. And then another. And another. Damn, what was Mina doing?

You heard him grumble under his breath for a few minutes. Then, he stood up and paced to the kitchen. You pretended to read something as he came back into the living room while pulling on a black shirt with a skull on it. His wings and horns were gone, and when you peeked at his eyes they were no longer glowing that bright crimson color they always were when he was around you or his friends.

“Be back,” he mumbled, not looking up at you as you waved a hand at him as a farewell. He stomped his way over to the front door and pulled it open, then disappeared into the outside world. The temperature in the house dropped slightly with his departure. You waited a few minutes after the door closed, holding your breath and straining your ears to see if you could still hear him. Then, you exhaled and jumped up. You jogged over to the salt circle and hopped across it, making a beeline for the bathroom.

It didn’t take you long to brush your teeth and take a quick shower. You had to keep in mind that you had limited time to really do anything. You shuffled around in your bedroom, your towel wrapped around your body as you picked through your clothes. Should you go for something casual again or something… cuter? Maybe dressing up a bit would make him more likely to fold. You hummed as you pulled out a nice shirt and skirt, then shifted in your sock drawer to pull out a pair of thigh highs. Oh yeah. You usually saved those bad boys for dates—Katsuki absolutely loved how you looked in them, you knew that. Not that he would admit that to your face.

You snickered as you pulled on your outfit and sprayed some perfume he also liked. Maybe a bit of lip gloss while you were at it. A cute hairstyle. Was this going overboard? Oh well!

Once you were done, you exited the room and headed for the kitchen. Your expression softened as you saw the dishes drying on the little rack you had for them. You pulled open the fridge and took out the plate of food he had neatly saran-wrapped. The mere act of him cooking this for you had something tugging at your heart. Even if it was to lure you out of the circle, you still appreciated it.

You spent a bit eating what he’d made, keeping an eye on the time all the while. You should still have about twenty minutes before he would return—assuming Mina was going by the exact hour like you’d told her. You polished off the plate and washed it before you tucked it on the dish rack. After heading to your room to fix up your face again, you steadily made your way back over to the living room.

But just as you approached the opening that led to it, you heard the front door open—felt the temperature increase once more.

You froze, snapping your head to the entrance to see Katsuki standing there, fifteen minutes earlier than you’d expected. His crimson eyes immediately locked onto your form, his hand still gripping onto the doorknob of the open door. You blinked at him, the way he tensed his shoulders under his shirt. You could see the way his burning eyes moved from your clothed feet, lingered around the exposed parts of your thighs above your socks, hovered around your torso and shoulders, stared at your shiny lips, before they eventually landed on your eyes. A beat passed. Then another.

You lunged for the salt circle, arms extended out before you as you ducked into a roll over the line of salt. A yelp left your lips as you felt the graze of his claws on your back. He snarled something as you landed on the floor on your ass, your heart racing a hundred miles an hour at the close call you just had. You brought a hand up to your chest and let out a deep breath of air before you twisted yourself around on the ground to look at him.

“You little fuckin’ minx,” Katsuki snarled, his body tensed at the edge of the salt circle as he bared his fangs at you. There was a ripping sound, his wings erupting from his back through his shirt as his horns sprouted on his head. His eyes sparked to life again, both of his hands pressed against that invisible shield you had to protect you. His tail whipped in a frenzy behind him. “Fuckin’ cheater.”

“Welcome home, handsome,” you greeted him with a mischievous grin, heaving yourself to your feet so you could brush your clothes off and properly face him.

“Y’got Raccoon Eyes and Shitty Hair to distract me on purpose,” he hissed out as a response, his eyes narrowing at you.

You shrugged at him and turned around to plop down on your beanbag again. “I dunno, did I?” Then, as an afterthought, you added, “Breakfast was great, by the way.”

He only growled at you some more—an angry thing that made goosebumps break out on your skin. You wisely elected to ignore him, snatching your phone from the couch to peek at your notifications. There was one from Mina, sent to you about ten minutes ago:

he figured us out!!! he’s on his way rn bestie run!!

If only you’d actually taken your phone with you. Then you wouldn’t have had to parkour your way into the circle.

Small explosions erupted from Katsuki’s palms, sparks flying into the air above them. His voice was low, dangerous, when he spoke. “Get. Out.”

“Apologize,” you said in turn, giving him a pointed look. When all he did was scowl at you, you shrugged and set your phone to the side so you could grab your laptop. “Then no.”

Katsuki kept a closer eye on you after that.

In retaliation to your change in clothes, you found that he’d stripped down to his briefs to reveal this thick fucking thighs and calves. You wouldn’t have realized if he hadn’t thrown his fucking shirt at you, nailing you right in the face in a way that made you jump. Then, once he realized he could throw things at you, he did the same thing with his sweats, hitting you in the face once more as you spluttered and looked over at him.

He only gave you a pointed stare as he crossed his arms under his pecs and leaned against one of the living room walls with his wings folded behind him. He was goddamn attractive—he knew that, you knew that, he knew that you knew that... You were determined to not let that affect you, however, rolling your eyes at his actions. It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before; he couldn’t crack you like that.

You didn’t know how he wasn’t bored just standing there, watching you. At least you were able to keep yourself busy by doing work on your laptop or watching a show. But him? All he did was stare at you. It made you a bit self-conscious, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, could you?

At one point in the afternoon, he pushed himself off the wall and disappeared elsewhere in the house. You only spared him a glance, part of you wondering what he was up to this time. You got your answer when you heard a faucet turn on from the bathroom. Was he going to shower? You returned your focus to your laptop only to look up again when you heard him walk back into the living room ten minutes later. You immediately looked back at your laptop, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of your staring.

“Ran a bath with those dumb salts you like,” Katsuki grumbled, wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. Somehow that was worse than him parading around in his briefs.

“Yeah?” you responded in what you hoped was an aloof manner. Enticing you with a bath was not going to work either—even with the implication that he would join you for once. “Have fun.”

He lingered a bit, as though to see if you would cave. But when you didn’t and merely hit play again on the episode you were on, he scowled and stomped away. You had to suppress a smile as you listened to him curse to himself in the bathroom. Maybe after all of this you’ll treat him to something for all the suffering you were causing. Maybe.

You almost didn’t notice when he wandered back into the living room after his bath, one of his hands rubbing at his damp hair with a towel while the other typed away at his phone. He’d finally pulled back on some sweats, though his chest glistened with droplets of water that ran down the inclines of his chest and abdomen. You snorted a little to yourself, then paused when the doorbell suddenly rang.

You looked at the front door, then at Katsuki. “Are you expecting anyone?” When he shook his head no, you glanced at your phone to check if you had any notifications. You didn’t. You looked back at him to see he had reverted back to his more human-looking form. “Can you go check?”

He only raised an eyebrow at you, pocketing his phone. “No. You check.”

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Katsuki. Go check the door.”

“No.”

You sighed—you knew what he was doing here. Before you could open your mouth to argue with him, however, the door opened on its own. Both your heads snapped towards it to see who’d entered. It was Mina again, to your confusion, gripping that little silver key in her fingers as she paraded in with a few other people. You recognized the familiar red hair of Eijirou, along with the bright yellow of Denki and deep black of Hanta. They waved at you cheerfully as they walked over.

“What… are you guys doing here?” you asked in surprise, setting your laptop to the side so you could stand up and walk to the edge of the salt circle. They were all normal-looking, though as soon as the front door clicked shut, their appearances shifted to their more natural ones.

“A certain pink shifter let slip what you were doing with Kacchan over here,” Denki said slyly, his black tail lazily waving behind him. He took one long look at the salt circle, then over at the constipated expression on Katsuki’s face, before he broke out in rambunctious laughter. One of Katsuki’s eyes twitched, his teeth bared in a silent snarl.

“We thought you could use a bit of company!” Mina snickered, one of her fingers innocently twirling a strand of her pink hair. “Maybe some encouragement!”

“I almost didn’t believe it,” Hanta choked out through his cackles, kneeling against the ground as he banged his fist against it. He raised himself up to wipe a tear from his eye, a wide shit-eating grin on his face. “Holy shit, Kacchan you really did this to yourself, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki grunted and his arms moved to cross themselves over his bare chest, the towel thrown over one of his shoulders. He glared at his friends, but they only ignored him, laughing harder at his expression.

“Man, all you gotta do is apologize!” Eijirou told him through his own sharp grin, the wolf ears on his head twitching slightly as his friends cackled around him. “It’s not that hard!”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” you huffed, a smile on your face. Katsuki only gave you the stink eye. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“We—” Denki coughed into his fist, his cheeks red from cry-laughing. “We d-didn’t just come here to laugh, you know.”

“Yeah,” Hanta added in, picking his lanky figure up from the ground to give you a fanged smile. “We came bearing gifts.”

You raised an eyebrow at them. “Gifts?”

It was then that you realized Eijirou was holding a small, paper bag. Hanta and Denki both reached into it when Eijirou held out to them. You looked at them curiously, then let out a pfft when they each pulled out a carton of salt and a small water gun, respectively. Katsuki let out a snarl when he saw the carton of salt in Hanta’s hand.

“Hell yeah!” You grinned widely as Hanta did a dramatic wave with his free hand and brandished the salt at you.

“Hell no!” Katsuki rasped, swiping a clawed hand at Hanta who let out a yelp and leaped over the line of salt on the ground to join you in your circle. “Soy Sauce Face, I swear to All Might I'll shove garlic so far down your throat you’ll be shittin’ cloves for weeks. Get back here.”

“Man, how are you gonna do that from aaaallll the way over there?” Hanta grinned as he walked closer to you to throw an arm around your shoulders. You let out a laugh when he tugged you close to his side. “Sorry Kacchan but this is my lover now.”

Katsuki let out an animalistic sound, his hands pressing against the force that prevented him from crossing the salt circle. You only gave him a smile and watched as Hanta walked over to another part of the salt circle. He popped open the little nozzle on the carton and promptly turned it upside down. The salt spilled from it like a white, crystalline waterfall to add on to what was already on the floor. This was going to be a bitch to clean up.

“You know,” Mina giggled as she watched Hanta walk around the inside of the circle’s circumference, “I don’t think that's how that works.”

“It’s not but I appreciate the attempt,” you added amusedly, stepping away to give Hanta more room to thicken the circle.

“Stop that, right the fuck now,” Katsuki hissed as he attempted to grab Hanta as he walked by. He failed, of course. You almost felt bad for him.

“Or what?” Hanta snickered. “Gonna cry?”

“Piss your pants?” Mina cackled, then let out a small scream when Katsuki directed his glare at her. She stepped behind Denki, who was twirling the water gun in his hand, a wide smirk stretching across his face.

“Maybe shit and cu— WAHADHDFJG!” Denki yelped as Katsuki lunged towards him, snarling furiously. He pointed the water gun at Katsuki and pulled on the trigger to squirt whatever was inside it at the ash-blond. You snapped your head towards them when Katsuki let out a pained hiss and backed away from Denki as he clutched at his face.

“What’s in that?!” Your eyes widened, stepping closer to the edge of the circle so you could peer at Katsuki. He growled lowly as he looked up, the skin on his cheek an irritated pink. His wings extended out, crimson eyes practically glowing as he glared at Denki, who only raised his hands up in surrender.

“What the fuck, Discount Pikachu?!” Katsuki almost roared out, his hair bristling and his hands flexing angrily. “Is that fuckin’ holy water?!”

“It’s diluted!!!” Denki screamed as Katsuki pounced at him again, somehow managing to evade the irate demon. He ran around the circle to try to avoid Katsuki chasing after him with a dangerous growl. “It won’t hurt that much!!” You frowned at his words.

“How the hell did you even get that?!” you asked, your lips pulling to the side in a grimace.

“He asked Shouto for help blessing it,” Eijirou told you and you let out an ohh. Shouto was part angel, so that made sense.

“I told him not to bring it!!” Mina called out, her and Eijirou retreating closer to the front door in case they needed to make a mad dash out of it.

“Bro didn’t listen,” Eijirou said with a shrug, “Whatever Katsuki does is deserved.”

“Rude!!” Denki yelped again when Katsuki got a bit too close to him and sprayed the demon again across the chest this time. You hadn’t noticed before, but his skin made a slight sizzling sound when the holy water came in contact with it. Katsuki hissed but continued his stomping around the circle to try to grab Denki. Yeah, you didn’t think diluted holy water was going to stop him anytime soon.

“But aren’t you an incubus, Denki?” you asked confusedly, spinning in a little circle to watch said incubus run around. “Won’t the water hurt you too?”

“I got gloves on, it's fine!!”

“Done!” Hanta suddenly announced. You turned to look at him as he tossed the salt carton to the side and brushed his palms off. He gave you a wink and a bow. “Your circle has been reinforced!”

“Thanks,” you said dryly, then spun back around once Denki let out a small shriek. You hid a small smile behind your hand as Katsuki towered over Denki with a sadistic-looking grin on his face. You prayed for the incubus when you saw Katsuki had somehow managed to snatch up the water gun. He pointed it at Denki’s face, right between his golden eyes that crossed to look at it.

“Fucker,” Katsuki snarled through gritted teeth. He then leaned down closer to Denki’s face. “Run.”

“Aaaand that’s our cue to leave!” Hanta said cheerfully as Denki yelped and ducked away from Katsuki spraying the water gun at him. The incubus cursed and made a mad dash for the front door.

“Abort!! Abort!!” he yelled, waving his hands to get Mina to open the door for him. “Crazy demon on the loose!!”

“Get the fuck back here!!!”

“Bye!!” Mina called out to you as she opened the door to let Denki through, followed by a raging Katsuki who’d shifted to his normal form the moment before he left the house. “Keep us updated on this whole situation!”

“Stay strong!” Eijirou encouraged you, flexing one of his arms to emphasize his point. The wolf ears on his head disappeared, his teeth changing to look less sharp and more normal. “Don’t let him bully you into conceding!!”

“Good luck, soldier!” Hanta added, giving you a wave as he slouched his way to the front door as well, the fangs in his mouth shortening. You chuckled and gave them a farewell, watching as they disappeared onto the streets and headed in the direction of Denki’s faint screaming.

For a moment, a very quiet moment, you were alone. A faint smile lingered on your face as you looked around, sighing at the thick circle of salt around you and the discarded carton at the side. You walked over to pick it up and set it on your little coffee table, then wondered if you’d have enough time to use the bathroom. You might as well. So you jogged over to the bathroom to freshen up at lightning speed. If you inhaled too deeply, you could smell the aftermath of Katsuki’s bath—the caramel scent that hovered in the air. You shook your head and washed your hands, then headed back to the living room to plop down on your beanbag and wait for Katsuki’s eventual return once he got tired of beating up his friend.

Lo and behold, not even ten minutes later he came stalking back through the front door, grumbling under his breath about this and that. You looked over at him, expression softening, once he stormed his way into the living room and crossed his arms.

And the way he pouted at you, lines of irritated pink spanning across his torso and face from the holy water, nearly made you cave at that exact instance.

“I hope you didn’t mess Denki up too much,” you commented lightly, sinking down further into your beanbag.

Katsuki let out a low growl and pulled the water gun from his pocket to toss onto the floor. He stared pointedly at you, a deep huff escaping his lips. “Ya gonna leave or what?” Typical of him to ignore your statements. You nearly rolled your eyes at him.

When all you did was give him an expectant look and a raised eyebrow, he snarled, his fists clenching. The hair on his head bristled and his tail snapped to the side. He was starting to get even more irritated, you could tell. “I swear once ya get outta that damn circle, babe, ’m gonna fuck you up.”

“Oh?” You leaned towards him, tilting your head. You had to bite back a smile. “Is that a threat?”

A scowl spread across his face and you would rather die than admit that your heart rate spiked at his following words. “‘S a goddamn promise.”

---

It was getting harder and harder to ignore Katsuki as the time ticked by.

You’d been doing so well earlier, content with ignoring him and watching your show. But he seemed to have caught on to your shift in mood. You didn’t know how. You just couldn’t stop thinking of what he threatened to do to you—what he promised—and now you were slightly out of it, thanks to him. He knew, he fucking knew, that the way you kept zoning out was because of him. And he used that to his goddamn advantage for the next few hours. You had to plug in your earbuds to try to ignore him.

“Sweetheart,” he called to you in that dangerously low voice. The one that made something stir in the pit of your stomach. Your jaw tensed. He only used that particular nickname when he was up to no good. “Oi. Look at me.” You refused to. “Look at me, right now.” Nope, not going to happen, no matter how hot he sounded.

Something shot you in the face.

You spluttered, wiping a hand across your face at the water that had nailed you right in the forehead. Your eyes darted over to Katsuki, a grumpy frown sliding onto your face when you saw him holding that stupid water gun he’d stolen from Denki. He smirked at you as he leaned against one of the living room walls, sitting down on the ground in a way where one of his legs was bent near his chest and the other was splayed on the floor. He still had those pink lines across his face and chest. You wondered when they would fade away, only to jump when he shot you again with the water gun.

“Katsuki!” you seethed, using your fingers to wipe the water from your cheek. “Stop that! You’ll get my laptop wet!!”

He only smirked wider, crueler, and sprayed you again. You grumbled and rubbed your eyes. Diluted holy water kind of stung. “Look at you,” he snickered, “gettin’ all wet ‘cause of me, hah?”

“Katsuki!” you shouted, appalled at his choice of words. Something twisted in your stomach, heat spreading across your cheeks. “That’s not gonna make me leave!”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head and moved the gun so he could shoot water at your thighs. You glared at him, using a hand to wipe the droplets away. “Ya gotta eventually, babe. And once you do,” his teeth bared at you, sharp, “‘M gonna drag that pretty ass to the bedroom and rip that little skirt—”

“Katsuki!!”

“—right off those pretty legs and stick my fing—”

“No!!” You exclaimed, your face burning up as you snatched an empty water bottle from the table and chucked it at him. He lifted a lazy hand and batted it away, his smirk widening at your scandalized expression. “Bakugou Katsuki if you say another word—”

“You’ll what?” he drawled, leaning his head back against the wall. Crimson eyes pierced through you, reading you like you were an open book. “‘Cause I guarantee I’ll do worse.”

You clamped your mouth shut and fumed at him. You hated the way he could make you flustered with just his words. You let out a hmph and turned away from him, raising the volume up on your laptop so you didn’t have to listen to him anymore.

And it worked, for about an hour or so. You couldn’t hear him, couldn’t really entirely see him as he sat outside the circle. He sprayed you a few more times with the water gun, but you just ignored him some more and he eventually stopped. You were able to calm down and reel in your emotions, getting ensnared in the plot of the episode you were watching. You were aware of Katsuki pacing around outside the circle, and when you finally lowered the volume down once more, you could hear him cursing and growling. He was frustrated, terribly so, but you only sat there and waited.

Then the doorbell rang. Again.

You looked up with raised eyebrows, watching as Katsuki grumbled and slouched his way over to the front door. He wasn’t shifting to his human form, so you assumed it was someone he had called over himself. Sure enough, once he opened the door, you were greeted by the nervous figure of Izuku, to your surprise.

“Deku,” Katsuki grunted, stepping to the side to let said man in. “‘Bout fuckin’ time.” Izuku slid into the house and stammered out a greeting to the demon, before he walked over to the living room to greet you.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?” you asked him confusedly, setting your laptop on the table so you could stand up warily. Your eyes glanced from Izuku’s apologetic expression to Katsuki’s grumpy one. Something in your stomach sank slightly. This couldn’t be good for you.

“Well! Kacchan told me about, uh, what you were doing,” he scratched his freckled cheek as he glanced at the ash-blond, “and um, well, he kinda… kinda threatened? Me? To get rid of the circle. So! I uh, had to come over.” Your eyes widened and you glared at Katsuki for a moment—the bastard had the gall to smirk slightly at you—before you looked at Izuku who was shuffling closer to the circle. Part of you wondered how desperate Katsuki had been to have resorted to asking Izuku for help, even if they were on somewhat good terms now.

“Izuku, no, please don’t,” you nearly begged him, tensing your legs when he came to a stop near the circle and knelt down. “This is between Katsuki and I, you don’t need to—”

“Ah, I’m really sorry,” Izuku only grimaced at you, his green eyes darting over to Katsuki again before he looked up at you. “I’m really, really sorry. But I ah, I owe Kacchan a favor and um, I really can’t say no to him, either way. I’m sorry.”

“Izuku,” you tried one more time, then pouted when he touched two fingers to the salt circle. You took a couple steps back, your body tensing as Izuku’s fingertips glowed a light turquoise. The color spread to the entire circumference of the circle, and before you knew it, it had disappeared. Vanished, in a flash. Fuck.

Izuku stood up and gave you another apologetic look. You tensed up, eyes locked onto Katsuki who stared back at you dangerously. Warningly. “I’ll um, just head out. Bye! And sorry, again.”

You and Katsuki just continued to stare at each other as Izuku made his way back to the front door. You bent your legs, watching as Katsuki’s wings slowly extended out to make himself larger, his hands sharpening into claws. He bent forward, a wicked smirk on his face. There was nothing separating the two of you now. You swallowed thickly. His tail flicked side to side slowly.

The front door opened, then shut. A beat passed.

You shrieked as Katsuki lunged towards you, ducking down under him as he sailed over you. He snarled something, but you couldn’t hear what exactly it was over the sound of your racing heart. You rolled out of the way as he lunged for you again, his face twisted into a furious scowl.

“Babe, c’mere!” he roared out, swiping a hand at you that you narrowly dodged by leaping to the left. The temperature in the room spiked, the hairs on your arms stood up. And you turned on your heels and made a mad dash for your bedroom, trying to escape the sharp grip of Katsuki.

But well, he was a demon. And you were not.

A hot hand latched onto your arm. You yelped as you were tugged back and around. Katsuki twirled you so that you were facing him and both his hands clamped down on your arms. You were forced to look up at his frowning face as he loomed over you, drowning you in his form, his scent, once more. You let out a huff.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said flatly as you turned your head and stuck your nose up at him. He growled, something you felt through his chest as his hands moved so that he could lower himself down further and wrap his arms around your waist, pressing you against him. He nudged at the side of your head with his own. You continued to ignore him, stubbornly staring out at the side instead of at him.

“Hey,” he nudged you again, “hey, look at me.”

“No,” you replied sternly, turning your head further when he started to nose at your cheek. You were limp in his hold, not reciprocating his affections as he bopped your head with his own and dragged his nose down the side of your face, your neck. You had to suppress a shiver at the feel of his hot breath along your exposed skin. “I said no Katsuki!”

He grumbled and pressed a light kiss at the base of your neck. You leaned away, as much as you could, anyways. He let out a deep sigh. “Okay, ‘m sorry.” You peeked an eye open at him.

“For?”

“For movin’ your shit,” he replied shortly, pressing another kiss to the side of your neck, before he bit down lightly at your skin. You sighed quietly, and once he let go, you turned your head so you could look at him properly, one of your eyebrows raised.

“And?” you pressed on expectantly. Katsuki let out a huff.

“And makin’ fun of your height,” he added on begrudgingly, arms tightening around you. There was a moment where you just watched him, squinting your eyes slightly. He waited for your response, that signature pout soon forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” You wiggled your arms out from his hold and reached up to hold his face. He leaned further into your touch, closing his eyes when your thumbs ran over the pink marks still on his cheeks. “Aww, poor baby. You missed me that much, hm?”

“‘M not a baby,” he mumbled out as you raised yourself up so you could press a gentle kiss to his right cheek. Then to his left. You could see the tips of his ears turn pink. “Don’t y’ever do that shit again, got it?”

“Mmhm.” You hummed as you squished his face together between your palms and leaned away so you could look at him. Katsuki opened his eyes to look at you, and the drunk look he had made your heart squeeze in your chest. You raised yourself back up to press a soft kiss to his chapped lips, smiling into them when he held you closer. Tighter. If only the world knew that big bad demon Katsuki fell apart with a single touch from you.

When you pulled apart, you had but a moment’s notice before you felt yourself being picked up. You let out a small yelp, feeling yourself get tossed over one of Katsuki’s thick shoulders. You gripped onto his wings for dear life, feeling them flex under your touch.

“Katsuki, what are you doing?!” you muffled out, your face pressed to his bare back. When he responded, you could practically hear the sharp grin in his voice, one of his hands raising to give you a firm slap on the ass. Your face burned, gut bottoming out in anticipation.

“Made a promise, didn’t I?”

KEEPING UP WITH KATSUKI & SHOTO.

❝everyone knows katsuki and shoto shares absolutely no similarity at all. a complete polar opposites. until you had them thinking twice.❞

genre: fluff, angst, romance | pairing: katsuki x fem!reader x shoto | rating & tw will be mentioned in each respective drabbles | others: SIMPING BOYS , love triangle

Keep reading

Ok but I fucking love the idea of God of War! Bakugou falling in love with Goddess of Life! Reader but not being able to express his feelings bc of his role.

The man in charge of so much death and despair for his own amusement stumbling upon the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen silently crying in their haven as she re-sows burnt crops, sends rain to cease the flames that burned villages, and redirects lost children back to their family. She weeps because she knows that as part of her life, she must always be shadowed by Bakugou since Bakugou is a reflection of mankind. As long as there is man, there is war. As long as there is war, there is Bakugou.

He feels kinda shitty about it because he’s never had to look at the aftermath of his doings; victorious feasts of rich meats and wines always came after leading corrupt leaders into battle. Seeing something so divine weep over something so fragile makes his stony heart twinge a little. He knows he can never approach you fully to court you because of your destinies. It kills him inside, so he might reconsider starting that war over a stolen pig.

HELPPPPP WHAT IN THE FORBIDDEN LOVE/UNREQUITED LOVE/ANGST/GREEK GOD AU/COLD-TURNED-SOFT/BAD BOY X GOOD GIRL IS THIS 😭😭😭

You’re the hope women and children pray to in times of war, watching over their trembling figures as they clutched their shaking hands together and wept your name.

Nurturer of Battlefields, hear me!

Mother of Light, hear me!

Lady of Spirits, hear me!

Let your children live through the destruction of men!

Oh Goddess of Life, hear me!

Now save your children!

Nights they’ve spent, whimpering chants to you while their fathers and brothers and husbands and sons fought under the other watch of another god. It was either one side of women and children captured and raped when all their soldiers fall, or the other side safe with abundance of stolen goods.

What could you do but to let the god of war decides for himself—and you’re left to weep as fallen men rot to death on their own land; unable to enter the gates of the underworld as they wander Earth as silent souls.

Victory was taken while loss hammered the damned to death, a side of women and children were safe while the other is left to be enslaved to the people who killed their lands.

While on the other hand—bloody red eyes and golden blonde hair, the god of war celebrates the wins he’d side with. People would offer sacrifices of slain bulls and goats and goods for the aid of his on their side; humankind would do anything to not be killed.

Songs and chants were written to him every night as they offer their offerings, singing about how the strength of Bakugou is worth 5 thousand of the strongest warriors.

He had enjoyed victories for centuries while your tears turn into rain that put out the fire of burning cities. He cheered through blood that splattered all over his golden armour while your tears washed dried red off of the grass of battlefields.

Slowly as time went by, prayers to you by the women in hiding ceased. After all, centuries of prayers did nothing for their land. It was all in the hands of Bakugou—the god of war.

Lord of Destruction, hear me!

Lord of Fallen Cities, hear me!

God of War, hear me!

Now pity the lives of us and bring us victory!

Lord of Slaughter, hear me!

Slay the damned enemies!

They’d pray and pray, with clutched hands and hopeful eyes. And you’re forgotten as the nurturer of battlefields.

At last, when the men were planing to burn all their fiend’s offsprings and wives alive—you discarded the dignity of a goddess and knelt in front of Bakugou. Rain poured as you pled for the lives of the innocent.

The war god had seen mortal being bowing beneath him, kiss his feet as they cried for their lives. But it was a first for a goddess to kiss his hand as she begged for mere mortal lives. You were almost powerless beneath his strength.

Humans could live but war was bound to happen. And he was bound to shine as marble statues in temples.

That was the tragedy. War can only end if life simply never existed; and you were the true mother of war.

It was only because you were a fellow god, he thought, impossible to kill that he no longer is appeased with the killing of women and children—and the Lord of Destruction would send thunders that struck huts and horses if he was angered.

Soon, Bakugou finds himself spending his days when he’s not battling in the quiet temple of yours. He would disguise himself as a bird, resting on a tree that runs with your holiness. Your tenderness and warmth for humanity were rare amongst the Gods and Goddesses, and he finds the epitome of beauty in that.

But what could he do with his heart? He birthed war and you begged against it. He thirsts for blood and you use your tears to wash it away. Mortals pray to him for the befall of their own kind and they pray to you for the lives of their children.

The both of you were never supposed to be destined. So all he could do, with his heart that beats feelings for the Lady of Spirits, was simply watch afar at your marble statue in your temple and listen to your weeps as yet another city burns.

Three Nights Series Masterlist

three nights at a hotel with the roommate you slept with and his girlfriend? what could possibly go wrong?

read on AO3

Night One

Night Two

Night Three

fbi open up // my hero academia (social media au) [completed]

amongst search histories and private youtube videos

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: university/college au, fluff, crack, angst

warnings: swearing, sexual themes, adult stuff in general, jokes about dying, bakugo, slow burn, violence

disc: all pictures i used were found on pinterest and belong to their respective artists! i’ve only watermarked edits i’ve made!

taglist closed! thank you for your interest ;3

part one: todoroki shoto step on me

part two: squash me with your biceps

part three: this isn't about you anymore

part four: you can't threaten me with a good time

part five: we don't ice our drinks like pussies

part six: say sike rn

part seven: they're not so nice anymore

part eight: i'll do anything for a spicy man

part nine: payback for puking on my shoes

part ten: teasing and threatening

part eleven: i'll cut you

part twelve: how is he hotter when i'm sober

part thirteen: like some eboy

part fourteen: i don't really care if you're into turtle porn

part fifteen: "what i want shinsou hitoshi for"

part sixteen: bakugo this is not a drill

part seventeen: everybody press the red button

part eighteen: please put the baby aside

part nineteen: you're a menace to society, cupcake

part twenty: i haven't invited you yet babe

part twenty-one: oh

part twenty-two: you don't mean anything to me

part twenty-three: can't a girl crave some ramen

part twenty-four: being a bitch for bitch's sake

part twenty-five: hiding in your rooms like pussies

part twenty-six: what, no cupcake?

part twenty-seven: i’ll break all your teeth

part twenty-eight: i’m not whipped

part twenty-nine: it’s not very baby of you

part thirty: be my girlfriend

part thirty-one: who do you want?

part thirty-two: he says he doesn’t care

part thirty-three: a knife in my bedside drawer

part thirty-four: bubbly fun wheat juice

part thirty-five: can't cut carrots for shit though

part thirty-six: i'm going on a bird hunt

part thirty-seven: get in line bakuhoe (written)

part thirty-eight: don't be the dumbass now, love

part thirty-nine: i think my boyfriend's been kidnapped

bonus part forty: love you too babe

thanks for reading!

main masterlist

can we have another yandere bakugou bully? i have nothing unique maybe the common on where he likes to bully the girl severely all throughout highschool and then when they are abt to graduate that’s where he kidnap. If u want to add smut it’s okay but i don’t really mind i kinda just like the fear when u write like that little scared feeling THATS ITTTTT OMG I LOVE UR FICSSSSS

yandere bully ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, jealousy, stalking, obsession to the extreme, manipulation, blackmail, sexual harassment  angst, bullying, trauma, threats, death/near death of a third character, slut shaming

BAD GUY

How long had she known Bakugo? 

All her life. 

That was the short answer. 

He’s made himself known. Without fail, without break, without mercy. 

Childhood friends? 

Neighbours... 

That’s what she’d say.

As though there was nothing more to it. Like he wasn't a stain on her life. A stain no amount of bleach or vinegar-and-soda or peroxide-and-dish-soap could ever hope to remove.

Come to think of it, he was more like a scar than a stain. Or really, more like an open wound refusing to heal.

Which was why it felt like a rusty blade being twisted in her gut when she opened the door to find him the one who’d rung her apartment’s bell.

“I guess... what I’ve been trying to say- what I wanted to say... was... I’m sorry.” 

He’d been scratching the back of his neck throughout the entirety of what jumbled, struggled, sorry excuse for an apology he’d forced from somewhere unknown in the hard clump of ember he had for a heart.

Something which unsurprisingly made for an insulting effort to erase what effects he’d had on her childhood.

One staggering sentence after the other of frustrating confessions, wishes gone to waste, things he hadn't meant, things he would have done differently if only he were fourteen years younger, and he could start again right when his quirk manifested before he turned into a self-righteous narcissistic prick of human waste. One dedicated to making everyone revere him by fearing him.

“For everything.” 

He put his hands in his pockets, but she could still see how they twitched inside the hoodie and bet they were weeping with sweat, adamant about starting fires.

“For all the years I put you through hell.” 

He was taller now, she noted. While calculating how she’d have to call the police if she were to stand a chance of making him leave if he decided to do what he always did and make himself comfortable.

He was bigger as well. Probably thanks to UA, making him look like a true right and shining Hero... but all she could see was how it was as though he’d swelled like some blister or bruise, like some boil ready to pop and leak its nasty contents all over her life. 

“Well?” He urged, ripping her from her heavy train of thought.

She blinked. 

“Well, what?” She bit out. Still holding the door. Ready to close it if he were to try and step inside.

“Do you accept the apology?” He asked, leaning forward. Where, on pure survival instinct, she immediately drew back. While the gap between the door and frame became slimmer as she pulled it like a shield in front of her.

Her brows dipped. Eyes not daring to close. Not allowing him a single second of rest under her justified judgment.

“No.” She barked, only barely managing to avoid the scoff that wanted to follow, yet surprising herself with the strength her voice carried.

“W-what-” He started, but she wasn't feeling particularly eager to listen to any more of his dumb excuses or half-hearted regrets or too little-too-late so-called apologies.

“You fuck with me for eighteen years...”

It was strange looking directly into his vermillion eyes, watching him be the one to shrink away, him be the one to switch his footing, tense like a shamed pet under his owner's harsh, scolding voice. It almost wouldn't even have surprised her if he'd whimpered just a little with how round his eyes were, looking just like a kicked pup. 

“And you think some half-assed apology is just suddenly going to make everything okay?”

“W-” He tried, his gaze shifting to look down at his feet.

“No.” She stopped him.

Opening the door to its original cavity. She struck a dominant pose even though he was a full head taller, her eyes narrowing in something that could only resemble disgust. 

“You’re the reason I went through all of middle-school scared and alone.”

His ears drew back meekly. Feeling small under what look she was giving him. 

“I left classes early in fear of meeting you in the halls. I made sure to look around the corners before walking down them. I ate lunch in the bathroom and listened from behind the door in case you were out there waiting.” She confessed, her eyes still maintaining contact with his, firmer the more he shrunk away. “I ran home unless you hadn't already caught me, I cried myself to sleep, I lied to my parents every single fucking day because I was afraid that if they got involved with your parents, you’d have to face the wrath of your mom, and I didn't want that for you.” 

With water welling in her eyes now, she looked to the ceiling. Taking a breath, she clenched her jaw and almost chuckled at the absurdity of it. Not caring how Bakugo’s eyes seemed to widen even more. 

“I was afraid to play on our block ‘cause I knew you would come out and make me regret it.” 

She bit her lip, looking at the guy that would yank her hair to pull her inside his locker, leaving her there for entire periods.

Make her listen as he beat Deku up in the hall, his friends like goons on his side, laughing as Izuku snivelled. 

“People were afraid to be seen with me.” 

Knuckles were white and hot from how hard she clenched her fist at her side, the other gripping the door with nails marring the wood. 

“Not because I’m quirkless, but because of you.” 

Her hard gaze met him like daggers. Plunged right between his ribs into that thing that seemed to only beat faster the more she spoke. 

“You had me think that was my fault.”

A tear slipped its confinement and went dripping down her cheek, a thin stream following it.

Her breath shuddered on intake. 

“You made me think- you made think being quirkless was- was -a curse -a crime -a fucking abomination.”

Her shoulders grazed as she looked down to the ground and let more tears fall while Katsuki stood there frigid and so very rightfully uncomfortable. 

“You made me feel like I didn’t deserve to breathe.”

He opened his mouth but quickly swallowed it as he realized he would only be repeating what dumb unsatisfactory words he’d given her before. 

“You made me hate myself.” 

She couldn't possibly hate herself more than she hated him, he thought. 

“And if it wasn’t for Izuku... I wouldn’t be here.”

His thoughts flashed back to seeing her help the green-haired geek up off the floor each time he grew bored picking on him. After the halls had filled with enough smoke, it’d stain the walls grey, the scent of burning sugar a lingering reminder of who there runs the school.

“Still, you had the nerve to go about making him feel worthless too.”

She would shove him aside at once when he’d unlock his locker. She'd push at him to let her drop to her knees and tend to the green-eyed fucker who’d had the breath knocked from him. The twerp wheezing like a pathetic runt on the dirty school floors. So shamelessly unaware of how lucky he was to have someone like her tend to him.

Katsuki cleared his throat.

“I’ve talked to him too. We’re... working it out. Just tell me what I need to-” 

“I’ll accept your apology when I stop waking up in the middle of the night because I think I feel you breathing down my neck.” She cut him off again. “When I stop looking over my shoulder because I think I hear you coming. When I stop hearing your voice in my head telling me that I’m useless, that I'm worth nothing, that I'm better off dead.” 

Her eyes sized him up. Or, rather, took in his seemingly beaten state. Finding somewhat pleasure in the fact that there was at least one thing she could deny him. 

“Until then, all you need to do is leave me alone.”

At that, she shut the door and locked it.

Her back pressed against the wood almost immediately as she drooped like drying paint. Sliding down to the ground, she listened while bating her breath for the retreating steps of the boy on the opposite side. Fearing that her speech hadn't slapped him hard enough for him to go home and lick his wounds.

Katsuki stood there for a moment, and years seemed to pass.

Hood lifted over his head, his body slouched with the terrible looming weight that pressed down upon him. Feeling so fucking tired and worn and defeated as he lifted his boot to saunter back down the stairs and make his way home.

A home, which was now not right across the street like it was back when they were kids, but a whole car ride away. Seemingly lives away. A beaten track of heavy regrets and loud, blinding, bitter disappointments.

All to be blamed on him.

~~~

It had been quiet lately.

A few comments were hurled at Deku here and there. Though they were dismissible in their dynamic as rivals.

But, as surprising as it was to admit, Bakugo had kept to her wish.

Where, overlooking those times she could feel his red stare lingering on her and searing notches into her neck, he had left her alone.

He would even give her a smile when their eyes locked gaze. Nothing like those blood-dripping battle grins but soft toothless quirks playing at the corner of his lips. Pleasant and weirdly hopeful, as though she’d come over and talk to him. Like they were friends.

Suppose she should believe Izuku when he told her Kachan was better. That he’d actually gone and grown up. That the hero course was succeeding in grooming him to become a fine hero, with the merit someone talented as him should have. That even they had a fighting chance at moving on, going back to how they’d push each other on the swing set back when they were four. 

She doubted it. 

She bet he’d be strung in his rightful and true colors not before long. Just red on red in red. Slipping right back into his ugly habits of making the world his playground and the people his toys.

This was just an act.

Those smiles he gave her were nothing but bait. Nothing but lies that would ensnare her in yet another decade of living under his boot.

But time is a funny thing. Where as much as you try fighting it, it always passes.

And paranoia is a difficult plant to grow during droughts.

And with months flying by, summer break being sweetly perfect for once, she’d soon enough discarded the notion that it was a trail bound to error or the calm before the storm.

In fact... she’d more or less let it fade like normal memories should. The open wound that used to be Bakugou’s sinister grin keeping her company at night had stopped bleeding.

And in the healing and pleasant quiet, she’d allowed herself to... let loose a little.

Or perhaps she’d just forgotten to be cautious when she was swept up in those ocean-blue eyes and that diamond-bright smile.

Maybe the warm, fuzzy feeling purring inside her gut was worth forgetting and even forgiving Bakugou in favor of getting lost to something else, someone else. Something a little warmer than hatred and a burning way more welcoming than what explosions Bakugou could offer her.

.

Meanwhile... Bakugou was going insane. 

He’d been wrong. 

He thought quitting his torment on her would be easier than with Deku, but Deku proved to be the least of his worries. In some form or way... they were actually getting closer. Going back to their roots and almost amounting to something he could only call brotherhood.

But with her...

It seemed he was only drifting farther and farther away.

He saw her hold hands with some blue-eyed fuck at lunch the other day. Heard her laugh, which pushed him with such force, thrusting him back in time. Retrieving some faint yet precious memory of her and him drying in the sun after bathing in the quarry on a warm summer’s day, back when no one and nothing could be more important than hearing that sound.

A laugh so light. So fluttering and blooming and beautiful. Followed by a snort that stuck in her nose.

It was enough to make his eyes shimmer and his ears burn while hanging onto every sound, trying to ingrain it, memorise it. Trying to ink down how it made him feel. 

He made the mistake of finding her face in the crowd of what table she was seated at. Her small frame held inside the arms of the jerk she was pulled inside the lap of. A bright smile on both their faces, so bright he almost didn't even recognise her. 

But it was her.

It shouldn't have surprised him.

He’d already seen the pictures on social media when going about his normal routine of checking up on all her different forums. Already fully aware of how the bastard was some summer fling she was the poor victim of. 

He should have been prepared for it, but fuck....

It had hurt.

It had been loud and violent and jagged, like falling down a cliffside, yet so deathly silent as he sat safely in his room.

Kirishima and Denki were about halfway through their third or perhaps even fourth spliff. Laughing like clueless fucking morons without a shred or lick of issues and consequences. Having always just been nothing but laughs and smiles.

Fucking hell... He envied them so much sometimes. To be that dim. To be that careless and big-hearted and good-natured and... 

It doesn't really matter. 

Jealousy gets him nowhere.

He’s him, and they’re them, and fantasy is just that.

He knows this, and still, he finds himself fantasising about her smiling at him and giggling with him. Sitting in his lap. Whispering sweet little mischievous nothings in his ear and kissing him and talking to him and touching him and loving him.

He was so fucking frigid lately. So uncontrollably bothered and provoked and uncomfortable.

He’d even asked Deku who the fucker was. Had him spill all her dirty little secrets. How she’d been seeing the blue-eye fuck for a short while. How she thought he was really sweet and kind. How he made her happy. 

And the more he let himself think about it, let it fester like acid bubbling and foaming on his heart, the more blinding the pain became. 

And so following the pain, like it always does and always had with Bakugou...

Came rage.

She’d betrayed him. Broken his good will. 

He should have known...

Give a bitch some lee-way with her leash, and she'll take a fucking mile.

He’d been so fucking good. So fucking perfect...

Leaving her be, allowing her friends, letting her prance about in her short school skirt without any comment, not even as much a curt whistle.

And this is how she chooses to repay him?!

Fucking with some fucking fucker right in front of him?

Right in his fucking face?

Fuck, he wanted to bash his brains out. Wanted to burn him from the inside out, watch his stupid blue eyes melt like runny rotten eggs.

He snapped the cafeteria chopsticks as easily as one would a toothpick in one hand. His eyes twitched while his nostrils flared, burning the wooden splinters in his white-knuckled fist as he watched them flirt.

Her in her thigh-high socks and tight white shirt, rubbing down against his slacks. Where he bet something was struggling to stay down. Stay hidden inside the fucker’s boxers.

But looking at his face and that bright, innocent smile shining as though he wasn't a disgusting man with ulterior motives, he could see why she chose the guy... instead of him.

.

He couldn't defend why he had him pushed into the wall behind the gym.

He could try and fool himself and the scared boy by saying he had responsibilities as her eldest friend. Alike a brother has responsibilities for his sister.

But that would be the dirtiest fucking lie.

Bakugou had no right, and he knew that, he really did. He felt it in his hands as they balled up the collar to the guy’s uniform. Had the poor sucker lifted off his feet with his bright baby-blue eyes freaking out when levelled by his own deadly red stare. 

It wasn't done due to something noble like responsibility.

It was done out of pure toxic white-hot raging jealousy.

“Bakugou, man, what the fuck-” The guy tried, but the hero-course student was like a bull that saw red. Seething as he snarled into the poor boy’s face.

“Stay the fuck away from her.”

His knuckles whitened in their death-grip. Steaming with heat. Singing the fabric it clutched.

The poor boy kicked against the wall. Trying his best to reach down to the ground with the tips of his toes.

“Calm down- the fuck you talking about?” He screeched. His voice an unstable choked pathetic thing as he cowered in panic by the heat simmering close to his neck and the maroon slits that had him pinned.

“Quirkless.” Bakugou answered curtly. “Keep your fucking paws to yourself, shit-stain.”

“Quirkless?”

Split-second confusion narrowed into reliazation at the remembrance of what little information she’d given him about what strange relationship transpired between her and the loud hero-course student. 

“You mean-” He started, but was once again pulled and slammed into the brick wall behind him. Knocking his head with a wince.

“Just stay away from her!” Bakugo barked again.

“Me?” The boy objected. Though, not really in any position to further anger the fire-wielder. “What about you? You’re the one she can't stand.”

Bakugo swallowed. Stopping.

“She said what?”

His grip loosened a pinch. Allowing the guy to drop down the wall to stand on his own. Though he still remained close.

His head hung slightly. Looking at his shoes. Put-out and thoroughly ticked off.

Dangerously so.

Nose flaring as he felt his eyes sting. Wanting to break something.

Preferably bones.

Meanwhile, blue eyes widened in realisation.

“Man... you... you like her, don't you?” He asked, or rather accused. His ears drawing back and hands rising in defence.

“Shut up.” Katsuki voice grumbled from a place the other kid couldn't see. Only the wild ash-blonde bush of hair that seemed to shake with either seething rage or a building sob.

He made the mistake of thinking it was the latter.

“You’re too late, dude... years too late.” He scoffed. Unsure if whether his disbelief outweighed outrage or amusement. 

“I said-”

Bakugo lifted his head again. This time seemingly radiating with heat as sickeningly overwhelming as the scent of burning sugar. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

Though with the threat of being charred into a crisp, the boy still hadn't the smarts to know when to quit.

“Should have thought about that before treating her like shit." He mocked. "She will never forgive you, Bakugou.” 

Katsuki’s vision went blank at that, and the poor bright-eyed boy couldn't see anything but prickly spots of white in an otherwise sea of black.

Having had his head banged against the wall for one final time as he slumped down in a pathetic sack at Katsuki’s feet. 

“Beating me up won't help your case.” He coughed. Groaning in pain.

A crisp chirp was heard and Bakugou snatched the phone that had slipped from the guy’s pocket.

Reading the label of a sweet nickname which made his stomach churn and head burn.

The text doing little to ease his building fuming boiling rage. 

“She invited you to her apartment, did she? Tch- To watch Netflix.”

He put his fat military boot to the guys throat. Keeping it there with building pressure. Squeezing the air from his windpipe. Grinding him into the coarse bricks. Disregarding the weak hands that clutched to the fabric of his pant-leg desperately. 

“If the little slut wants cock, she shouldn't be asking someone like you.” He sneered. Typing something back.

“Sick-fuck, leave her alo-” 

The sweat boiling against his palm simmered in heatwaves, melting the phone before he finally ignited. Bits of glass and metal flying everywhere. Nicking his skin. Before he dropped the thing to the ground.

Unrecognizable. 

A good reference to what the boy at the end of his foot would look like once Bakugou was through with him.

.

He could hear every little thump of his heart in his head.

Pumping in the tips of his fingers. Hot and numbing.

Tongue heavy in his throat as his jaw strained. Teeth grit in his mouth.

Fist clenching at his sides. Stained with crimson.

Eyes blood-shot as they focused on placing one foot in front of the other. Counting the steps while lifting his legs.

Boots sounding heavy and substantial in their echo as he climbed the stairs to where she waited ever so unknowingly.

Ever so excitedly. With a heart hammering quite similarly to how his was pounding. For much of the same reason.

Yet hers with an entirely different person in mind.

A person that was currently struggling to breath behind the gymnasium.

He bet she was getting ready with every virginal anxious thought running on replay in her head.

If she was sexy and sultry and smooth enough? Yet, not too much, because then she'd seem like a slut. But perfectly cute and shy and girly. Timid but lustful, precious yet wanton.

She was probably practicing batting her eyelashes and pouting and biting her lips. And how she would run her hands on his skin. How she would touch, when and what to touch. What to say, what not to say. How she was going to say it. What tone of voice. Like a whisper or a moan or a needy little whine.

Wondering if she smelled good. If he liked her perfume or if it was too pungent. Maybe he doesn't like her signature scent of fresh apples.

Pondering whether her hair was nice or not. If her skin was smooth enough. If her outfit was the right choice or if she should make a quick last second change.

She's probably hid her plushies. Taken down some childish anime posters she didn't want embarrassing her. Changed the sheets. Cleaned up the kitchen, cleared out the bathroom. Tidied up so he wouldn't know what a complete clutter-head she is.

She was probably getting all hot and bothered waiting for that blue-eyed shit-stain.

Rubbing her thighs together. Letting her hand dance down between them as she lost herself to the softness of the mattress. Letting the cool air nip at her fiery hot skin, kissing her blushed red cheeks. Eyes drifting to a close. Slight soft smile on her face. Legs spread on top of the sheets.

He bet she had lighted candles. Bet she had pre-picked a handful of movies. The soundtrack to what she would be losing her virginity to. Bet she had bought sweets, and cider, maybe even wine.

Bet she was planning to make the night perfect.

Too bad he was going to ruin it.

Just like he was going to ruin her.

Just like he had been ruining everything else for the past eighteen years of their life.

Just like he was going to continue ruining her until the day they die. 

He banged on the door. Or rather, tapped a playful tune he thought would be similar to something the guy he’d bashed into a pulp not even half an hour ago would do. Something similar to what the girl behind the door was waiting to hear.

He heard her pad across the floor. Quick gleeful feet hopping to the entrance to swing it open with a great big goofy smile on her face.

Only to stop dead in her tracks.

Bakugou was taller. Bigger compared to what lean frame she was expecting.

Her eyes levelling at his chest, where she was expecting to see a familiar friendly face. Familiar pretty blue eyes.

Gaze rising to find him towering at the threshold to her home instead.

His sharp eyes looking every drop worth of red. 

“Happy to see me?” 

He pushed himself inside. Her along with him. Ever so rightfully in his stride. Stomping, like the floor beneath belonged to him. Like everything belonged to him.

“What are you doing here, Bakugou?”

Her tone was the same it always was when she addressed him. Annoyed and ugly. Like he was just another jerk. Just another face. Just another problem. 

“I heard you were serving up your virginity...”

Her face grimaced. 

“So... I came to have first take.”

Only now did she notice the blood.

Though not dripping from his fists anymore. The thickest parts were still glossy in texture. Still fresh. Whereas all else had turned sticky. Coating him like a second skin.

Her face shed its disgusted features and drained. Paled, chilled and tightened.

Scrutinising eyes turning wide like skies. Little flecks of shimmer flickering like starlight within the glossy pools.

Her mouth parted and hung open to let a gasp out as she eyed the blood-splatter on his jacket. Gaze glitching as she struggled to take in the maroon colour of his fists.

“Whu- what did you do? What did you do to him?”

She shook. Hands raising to level with her chest. Forming some type of feeble shield as she stepped away from the menacing man.

Bakugo simply followed. His dominant footing naturally succeeding hers. The space between them shortening quickly.

“Worried about your lapdog?” He laughed.

Stalking forward. He trapped her further into the apartment. Watching her petrified moves clumsily try and keep the distance.

“Don't think about it too much.”

“Get out, Bakugou. I'll call the cops.” She tried sounding strong even as she whimpered.

That made him crack a smile. And by All Might did it feel like it was the first time in such a very long time that he could finally breathe again.

“Why so hostile?” He barked out with another laugh. A growl like thunder behind that wide sharpened grin. “We’re friends, aren't we?”

His red-eyes gleaming. Just like they did all throughout primary-school. Just like they do when he’s about to beat the shit out of someone. Just like how they do when he can taste that addictive bitingly sweet flavour of victory on his tongue. 

“Besides...”

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her like he was admiring something. 

“You’ll never make it to the phone in time.”

She should have run towards the bathroom instead.

Granted, that’s why he’d made the comment.

Make her think that the phone was of importance. Where it laid blank and black on her bed. The exact destination he wanted her.

It was of no use to her smashed against the wall.

Nor was she ever in reach of it anyway. Not with Bakugo and his blood-stained hands keeping her down.

“I've wanted you our entire fucking lives.” He seethed.

Strong dedicated hands curled around her wrists. Pressing her down into the mattress. 

“I’m the only one who deserves you!” He roared into her ear. His words hot on her cheek.

Her eyes scrunched closed. Her face tight as she felt the heavy weight of the brute on top of her. 

“And no one-”

His grip tightened as his voice turned so gruffly dark it made her heart stop.

“No one is going to take you away from me.” He growled. “Especially not some blue-eyed shit-eating waste.” 

Greediness got the best of him this time as he dived in to take a kiss. One hungry, open-mouthed, wanting, lustful, desperate, raw and wolfish kiss. Where in all her fuelled panicked adrenaline, driving purely on blind instinct, perhaps also due to Bakugo not being used to handling something so much smaller, she managed to angle her legs in a way that gave her permission to knee him right in the groin.

Second chances are only given once. But she was a smart girl and knew she wouldn't make it to the door in time. Knew that her best hope was to lock herself in.

And if being quirkless had taught her anything, it was to hope for a hero to come to her rescue.

That her only chance was to pray for her blue-eyed angel to come and save her.

The bathroom was the safest bet for now.

He had to laugh as he grabbed his aching ball-sack through the slacks of his uniform. Torn between being impressed and pissed off.

He'd only barely missed grabbing her ankle before she slipped through the door and pulled it to a close. The click of a lock sounding off soon after.

“I was never good enough for you.” He growled. The sound muffled into the floor where he lied.

His fist clenched as he banged the shoddy faux-wood paneling.

“All our lives! Didn't matter what I did... you were always gonna hate me.”

She fumbled around the bathroom in a shaky frenzy. Eyes spiralling. Trying to find anything sharp. Anything at all she could use as a weapon if the door proved too weak to withstand the force of Bakugou. 

“You were always gonna fear me.” He scoffed. "Weak and quirkless- heh... heck... it wouldn't even matter if I was quirkless too. You'd fear me either way."

Her heart beating like a galloping racehorse. Mind reeling in on the fact that he was taking his sweet time. Just like predators do when they’ve already caught their prey.

Playing with her.

“More than Deku ever did... But I guess I fucked with him differently from how I fucked with you.”

All she found was an old nail-filer. Not exactly sharp and not really at all that long. But her best and only option.

She knew it wouldn't do shit in the end though.

And then it was quiet again.

And she shook as she held onto her tiny weapon. Tears burning down her damp aching skin while every shuddering breath she dared supply her lungs with felt like it would cause her to combust as though she was made out up of thin glass.

And yet, in the chaos of fear, it was still so dreadfully painstakingly quiet. 

Until he decided to break the silence again.

“He’s bleeding out where no one’ll ever find him...” 

His voice wasn't haunting. It wasn't amused, but dead and had the ability to make her feel dead as well.

Blood freezing over. Heart eerily sinking like a block of led inside her. Skin crawling. Cold and raw and naked.

She shook. Looking back at the door. Admitting the flimsy wood was as much defence as paper to the hellhound on the other side.

Though, in the light of his taunt, her safety seemed miles away from her biggest worry.

“He’s dying, Quirkless.”

She knew then all she could do was watch.

Watch the tacky white paint-job flake on the planks.

Watch the door and wait for it to come splitting and splintering to oblivion. Like there was no door there at all. 

But it hardly mattered...

What happens to her hardly matters. 

Just like running to safety when Bakugo caught Deku and her in the school-halls wasn't ever what she did. No matter how much Deku would plead for her to run. She wouldn't.

She would do anything to switch places with him. Anything so he wouldn't be the one limping home with a cut on his cheek and a broken rib. 

“And it’s all your fault.”

She whimpered at that. Nail-filer held tightly in her hand, but only for a couple more seconds until it went clattering to the cold tiles by her feet. 

“You know how this works...” He said calmly. “You come out here... and I'll make sure he survives.”

She took a step closer to his voice. Knees numb and weak yet steady. Her hand reaching out to the doorknob. Blood prickling where it rushed about. 

“You unlock the door. Step out in your pretty little dress... and I’ll go fetch the wine.”

She swallowed. Burning fingertips touching down on the icy metal of the knob. Trembling as she drew in a shaky breath, and pulled the trigger. 

He heard the click of the lock opening and scoffed out a curt chuckle. Lips curling into a smile that showed off his teeth as he watched her small bare-foot step out.

Shiny leg following. Knees then after. The hem of her skirt that frilled loosely around her thighs. Up and up to the swell of her breasts and her chest. Her collarbones and neck.

And that pretty defeated little face. 

He sauntered over to the kitchen nook where he’d spotted the wine. Washing the blood from his hands first while thinking it weird and silly and slightly shameful that he’d imagined this so many times.

Her in a pretty dress. Thin summer fabric, easily torn. Silky and form-fitting. Leaving just her natural silhouette.

Drinking red in a dimly lit room. The taste still on her tongue when he kisses her.

“Drink.” He commanded. His hand shoving the open bottle to her lips. Tilting it up and spilling it over her chest.

She gasped but did nothing to stop him. Not so much as backing away even.

She just stood there and bowed her head as the maroon liquid, strong in scent, stained her skin. Seeping through her clothing. Spilling down the valley between her breasts.

Making her shift uncomfortably as the stream trailed down to drip between her thighs. Soaking her underwear.

And then she sniffled. Biting her bottom lip, with brows curled into such an adorable woeful look it made him want to lick the tears off her precious little face.

He lobbed the empty bottle into a cushioned armchair. Hand returning to raise her chin with his knuckles. Pushing down on her lip with his thumb, hooking it onto the bottom row of teeth, making her gape as she looked up at him.

He had the thought of spitting. But, found that he didn't really feel like it.

“You never dared put a word to it.” He stated instead.

His red eyes somehow seeming so cold, so lifeless. His lips a stern firm line. Features blank beside the tension in his jaw. 

“You’re afraid to acknowledge it.”

Thumbing her lip a second time as he licked his own. He brushed her hair behind her shoulders with his other hand. Knuckles gliding over the spaghetti-straps to her dress. Amusing the idea of how easy they’d be to rip loose.

Then acting on that very same thought. 

Torn fabric pooled around her ankles as she stood there bleating. Still not daring to move a single muscle. Not with his thumb still in her mouth and the wine spilled on her skin still dripping down her legs making her shiver on a coat of goosebumps.

He licked his lips again with his eyes drinking in the sight of her glowing dewy skin. Looking to her face and how the hot streams of tears ran down her cheeks as silently as she could muster.

Removing his hand from her mouth. He turned around with a scoff.

Walking off to her bedside table. He sighed as he begun removing his rings. The ones that made it easier to split skin open upon impact.

She guessed she should have seen it as a relief. But, she couldn't bring herself to it. 

“You'd never say anything, but you knew.” 

He threw his grey blazer to the floor. Un-cuffing his sleeves before rolling them up to his elbows. Arms flexing while unbuckling his belt. Ripping the leather out through the reims and dropping it to the floor with a sharp clatter. Tugging loose his red tie to free his collar so that he could pop open the first three buttons of his shirt.

Getting comfortable.

“Shit- you must’ve known.” 

He returned to where she still hadn't dared move a muscle. Her eyes only skittering around as he preformed his rituals.

The wine drying to a sticky thick sheen on her skin. Tinting her with pink. 

“You never cried either.” He stated.

Though, it wasn't true. 

“Deku would fucking wail like a kicked bitch, but you’d just stare at me... So much fucking hatred in your eyes...”

His hands dropped to his sides and her eyes anxiously trailed the thick veins running like lightning across his bulging muscles. 

“No tears. No rage. Just hate.”

A tiny whimper sprung form the confines of her tight chest as he fingered the thin silky material of the lacy racy red panty at her hip.

Knees shaking as she bowed her head some more.

Toes curling into their own comfort. Trying to escape the threat of being crushed beneath his big heavy combat boots. 

“But you cried.. when I touched you in ways I really shouldn't have.” 

One time, she'd dared fall asleep at her desk. So tired from a night spent crying because she couldn't get Bakugou to stop dunking Izuku’s head in the nasty toilet bowls of the school bathroom.

Only to be woken up by Katsuki’s thick warm sluggish tongue gliding up her sore cheek as she hugged the desk.

Finding the video in her inbox of someone jacking off right into her unsuspecting sleeping face. Knowing it was Katsuki but having not a single way to prove it. 

“When it was just the two of us and I said things and did things, touched things-” 

He’d sweet talk with her mother. Acting so trivial with his handsome charming smile that would easily have any of the girl’s panties dropping if only he’d use it more often. Were it not for him wasting it on manipulating and arranging it so that he would be the one driving her home after school when he turned sixteen.

Brand new car and everything. Meant to impress her.

Perhaps she would have let herself fall for it if he hadn't put his hand on her thigh. If he hadn't locked the doors and trapped her in there with him.

Maybe she would have thanked him for the ride home if he hadn't made her beg him to get off her. Only allowed to go after he’d marked up her pretty neck and twisted a nipple or two once or twice until they were left sore.

“Made you do things, say things, give me things.” 

He’d bargain with her often.

Give him her panties and he’ll leave Deku alone at lunch. Give him a minute in an empty class-room with just the two of them and he’ll leave them both alone for a grand total of a day. 

And to no ones surprise. Feed greed and greed will grow like a weed. 

Soon small exchanges turned to threats.

Telling her to stop hanging out with Deku or else he’ll beat the nerd within an inch of his life. Come to his house after classes or suffer the nastiest of rumors being spread about her all around school. Send him a pretty picture and he won't leak what other pretty pictures he’s taken when she wasn't looking.

“I thought you’d call me out on it...”

She felt the puffs of his breathing hit against the top of her head. Her eyes dead-set on watching the movement of his hands that now had taken ahold of her waist. His thumb messaging around the hipbone. Pulling her closer before he stepped to her side. His large palm laid flat on her belly. The other gripping her midriff as he stopped behind her. Hot air running down her neck and spine where his breathing turned rugged. 

“Went over battle-plans in my head-” He chuckled. “How I’d say you'd become just as fucking obsessed with me as Deku. How you shouldn't flatter yourself. How fucking desperate you must be to be falling in love with your own fucking bully.” 

He wasn't always bad.

In all their years. In all fucked-up relations. He’d never let anyone else ever pick on her.

Where after fights. Sometimes drunken and other times not. He would never fuss when she rinsed out his wounds and patched him up. Instead always giving his thanks in the form of leaving in peace.

Sometimes she wonders if that was the reason he started getting into fights in the first place...

To have her stitch him back up again.

But she’d always deemed the thought foolish. And if not that then... scary.

She stopped at one point. After the time he’d fucked Deku up so badly, she hadn't enough bandages for the both of them. Favoring the freckle-faced one and his second-degree burns above the ash-blonde and the minor gash he got when she pushed him away and he fell to the ground.

But... still...

He wasn't always bad.

In fact, be it a brief moment. Sometimes she would even forget he was bad at all.

Sometimes he’d crack a few jokes when driving her home. Cackle out a laugh that somehow seemed to warm her gut. His eyes gentle as he peeked over at her from the driver’s seat. One hand held lazily on the wheel. Sun glowing on his face. Making him look like a dandelion in its prime.

So soft and so childishly happy.

Until and unless, of course. He’d lock the doors with her inside, and refuse to take her home. Sometimes leaving her on the side of the road when she wouldn't repay him for his kindness.

He’d come back though...

Sometimes.

He wasn't always bad.

Which is what made it hurt so much more when he was.

Sometimes he’d be sweet. Leaving cupcakes outside her home for her on her birthday. Offering her his jacket or hoodie on cold days.

So sweet. He’d ask her about things.

How her day was. What she’ll be doing once she gets home.

And seem truly genuinely interested each time she’d offer him an answer.

He’d even be cute on some days too.

When she’d ask him in return.

He’d talk up storms of ambition miles out of her reach. Of his hopes and his dreams and pursuits.

And she’d almost believe that the reasoning behind his quirk was passion and not violence.

He wasn't all bad.

Even when he’d forced her into yet another study-date at his house. He’d still provide much better tutoring than anyone else ever managed.

Patient and determined. As though he truthfully cared. Even with his hand drawing greedy circles on the fat of her thigh. With his fingers tickling over the thin fabric of her undies as he made her sit on his lap. 

He wasn't only bad.

Because when she cried. When he’d make her cry. He’d always stroke the tears away with his thumb.

He would hush and coo at her. Tread loose locks of hair behind her ears and put her head against his chest.

Squeeze her until she felt like a human being again. Until her breaths would calm down to let her settle fully into his embrace.

He isn't evil.

But...

If he thinks she would or could ever...

Fall in love with him...

Then he must be...

Insane.

She placed a small hand over his knuckles once the grip he had on her waist become more like a pinch than a caress. Soundlessly asking him to loosen up.

But, only succeeding in making him even more rowdy.

Her small body was pulled harshly back into him. Her back pressed firmly against his stiff warm chest as he nuzzled his chin into the nook of her neck.

Letting his nose run along her jawline. Rub against her ear.

His thick arms coiling around her like an overbearing hug. One that had his heart thumping brutally against her spine when beating out of his ribcage.

And dick growing warm and heavy and pointy against her ass.

“You never said a thing though... you just looked at me, with so much... horror.”

She winced.

Her hands ever so gentle. Laying themselves on top of his arms.

Feeling like toothpicks against steel.

But she couldn't very well do nothing when he was squeezing her lungs free of air. 

“You fucking hated me.” 

It almost sounded like he was crying. Like he was sorry. Like he was pained and in regret.

His head rubbing against her shoulder. Trying to hold her even closer. Lifting her to her toes as he hunched over her small breakable frame.

And she thought she heard a sniffle before he spoke up again. 

“So, I’ve been thinking...”

His tone was steadier now. Hot against her ear.

And even hotter as he flicked her lobe with his tongue. Making her cringe out a fearful whimper. 

“You want me to be the bad guy?” 

Everything stilled. 

“Fuck it- I’ll be the bad guy.” 

At that she was thrown to the bed.

Weak knees carrying her staggeringly. Receiving the edge of the foot-end with her hands.

Though not left slumped against the mattress for long as strong hands once again imposed on her being.

Pulling at her by snatching the band of her underwear and yanking her up to be placed on the bed with no hope of scurrying away.

“Please-” She whimpered.

Her tiny hands gripping the bedsheets for support. Trying to soothe the ache of the wedgie her childhood bully was giving her a great nostalgia trip with. 

He smirked sadistically down at her before dropping her down with a bounce on the bed. Pulling her arm to flip her over on her back.

“Is that the only word you know?”

He quickly got on top of her. Fitting almost immediately between her thighs. Kneeling whilst looming above her half naked vulnerable self.

His hand placed at her throat. Keeping her down.

Whereas the other stroked tentative fingers down the smooth skin of her stomach. 

“I think you know my name too, don't you?”

“Please, Bakugo-”

Her hands clutched onto his arm. Legs kicking though having no target to hit where they were spread out on each side of his torso. Looking like a ladybug on its back.

“No-” He clicked his tongue while his hand closed in on the elastic band to her perfect red lace-panties.

Ones that seemed entirely picked out for him. 

“That’s not what you used to call me.”

“Katsuki-” She sobbed. Wiggling beneath his touch. Trying desperately to shake him off like he was some bug leaching off her blood. “Please stop.” 

“Wrong again.”

Her efforts where ignored by the ash-blonde looming above her.

His hand utterly unbothered by her squirming. Brushing warm digits over the fabric to her pretty lace bottoms. Feeling her warmth seep through the thin silk as his fingertips ran up and down, dipping slightly into the squishy sensitive flesh. Almost as though he was cuddling with her tender sex. Coaxing for a reaction.

“Kachan, please.” She whined and he closed his eyes for a brief second to enjoy the sound of the nickname.

Such potent nostalgia making his heart fuzz and stomach warm. Pool with something sticky and sweet.

An appreciative soft hum slipped from him. Pushing his otherwise stiff lips into a small smile.

“There we go.... Perfect. Just like the good ol’ days.” He mused. His hand still rubbing abrasively large fingers between the space of her thighs.

Thumbing at where he felt her little clit wake up. 

“Keep begging. You’re good at it.”

Her throat buzzed with warmth beneath the weight and simmering heat of the hand wrapped tightly around it. Successfully keeping her down and pushed into her pillow with no hope of shimming away from the other dangerous venturing hand.

She blinked away more tears. Felt them trail down into her hairline by her temple, itching on her scalp. Whimpering at the feel of his teeth nip on her collarbone, his warm tongue licking at the bittersweet dried wine, and the surprisingly pillowy lips kissing at her shoulder.

“You don't have to do this...” She attempted when the hand around her throat moved slightly to grip her cheeks instead. His fingers pushing into each their cavity of plush flesh, making her pout like a fish. Her lips pushed into a makeshift kiss.

To no surprise he chose to ignore whatever pitiful plea she’d wasted her breathe on. Too focused on drawing patterns into the heat between her legs. 

“Fuck- I’ve missed this face.” He moaned. His breath hitting her lips as she shook beneath him. “This fucking adorable crybaby face.”

He licked his lips again, and his shameless wanton eyes stared lustfully down at her own glossy ones. 

“You look so fucking pathetic.”

His mind couldn't help but stray as his heart clenched with fear for a split second. Getting lost to the unsavoury memory... Wondering if that was what he had looked like when the sludge-villain had him neck deep in despair. When he couldn't breathe. And how the whole experience had left him wanting for a type of comfort he in no way deserved.

Where in the self-loathing...

Being a villain had never seemed quite so inviting.

She didn't expect the kiss to be so soft.

She thought he was going to bite and chew and swallow.

But he brushed his lips quite smoothly against hers. Swiping his tongue over her bottom lip before pushing gently through to taste her.

With it she forgot to breathe. And in that darkness and stillness of having her lifelong fiend kiss her with the care no one she’d ever kissed had given her, she was left listening to what soft hums left the brutish male on top.

Wondering why he so suddenly sounded like he was nothing more but a boy kissing his crush for the first time.

And perhaps she would have forgotten who it was completely...

If only it weren't for the greedy hand that had finally decided to push aside the flimsy lace and push through the tender neatly-shaven lips of her drooling virginity.

“Aww-” His voice scraped mockingly. Gutturally low and sadistically gleeful. Hot on her lips. “Did you get yourself all nice and ready for me?”

She winced out a whimper as he pushed a thick muscly finger into her hole, playing with the tightness for a moment before filling her up with the entire length of his large long-reaching digit. 

“So wet-” He commented, much to her embarrassment.

Though in her defence she had been awaiting someone else in silly thrill for the past hours, preparing like a little girl before the first day of school. 

“All hot and bothered, waiting for me to come?”

She sobbed in disgust as he started pumping and messaging her aching needy arousal. Her thighs trembling at how much the sticky warmth in her gut seemed to hum in utter betrayal by the blissful pleasure. 

“You. Little. Fucking. Slut.” He whispered.

A haughty smile carved on his face as he watched the way her cheeks pooled with red and the shaky intake of breath on her lips, while feeling her tightness clench and pulsate on nothing more but one measly lonesome finger. 

“How does it feel? Huh?” He panted against her cheek as she still ever so foolishly tried squirming away. “How does it feel to cum on my fucking hand? Same hand that’s been pushing you around your entire fucking life?”

She tried winding her thighs shut, but every shift had him sinking his finger in deeper and hooking it cruelly into her tightness. 

“I bet you like it. No, I know you like it.”

He sunk a second one in and she cried out a wince, biting her lip to try and suppress the terrible treacherous moan that wanted to bloom from her throat as her pussy clenched, sucking happily on the new digit taking up the taunt space inside her. 

“I can feel it plain and simple. Your slutty cunt clenching my fingers like your fucking life depends on it.” He snickered, knowing exactly what he was doing as he slid and slotted the two thick digits in and out while having his thumb pressing evilly into her clit, making her back want to arch off the bed as he kissed at her jaw, whispering his cruel words. “Fuck... I can even hear it.” 

She wanted nothing more but to twist away, thinking things wouldn't be half as bad if she didn't have his lips on her cheek and his words tickling her ear and his eyes watching her every move as he made her cum on his hand with that sick twisted smirk on his face.

All she could do was count her blessing that he didn't have the ability to read her mind, because then he’d also know of how the growl in his throat still somehow managed to make the adder in her gut coil and purr with pleasure and how it made her cry in disgust of herself.

But then she was there.

Lips parted to gasp out the last moan yet caught by his and locked in yet another soul-sucking kiss that she now had not the strength or the mind to fight because all she could do was think of the fluttering rippling from the little pressure point found beneath his coarse thumb, and how with every little flick it sent blitz shooting through her core, zipping along her thighs, making her back lurch off the bed and into his chest, where his heart was panicking like a fucking madman with a hammer on an anvil.

His stomach warming at the sight of her all silken and soft and coming undone on his brutish hand, with her lips caught between his teeth as he kissed her like he was pouring his soul down her throat. 

Until she woke up, after only a few passing seconds, a fleeting moment of bliss.

“You- you’re a fuck-king monster.” 

Pained bleary oceans looked up into scarlet bloodbaths, yet couldn't see the amount of awe found in them, or saw it only to feel a deep shudder of disgust on the account of it.

The hand around her throat, kept there like a noose or a collar, didn't take kindly to her words.

Far from happy at how she chose to rob him of his satisfaction a moment too soon.

And if there’s one thing people know about Bakugo, it’s how if one indecent desire isn't satiated, he’ll gladly indulge another.

The strong trained hand made to squeeze frail fragile pipes.

His lips turned grim and stiff. Bloodthirsty eyes beholding what he’d always wanted to call his. Spiteful and desperate to make his wishes come true by any means necessary.

“This is how easy it would be, Quirkless.” He commented while listening to her choking.

Scarlet eyes watched, seemingly indifferent to the sight of her hopelessly trying to gasp for the air his hand wouldn't allow passage through to her burning lungs. 

“It’d only take a minute and you’d be gone forever.” 

He squeezed tighter and listened to her squeak.

Her little useless hands loosening their hold on his larger paw. Giving out, before his fist detached and she sprung back to life.

Coughing and gulping for air. Her hand soothing her throat as she tried curling up into herself, though not allowed to go anywhere but where Bakugo wanted her. His hands finding new purpose in holding her by the hips.

He pulled her naked body closer to his, which had her tender slick-soaked mess brush against the rough fabric to his pants, and her sensitive nipples, perky from the cool air, rub on his cotton-shirt. 

“If I were you, I’d try figuring out ways to stay alive.” 

Her lips quivered. Brows furrowed as she looked at him, thinking she’d never seen him quite this stone-cold.

Feeling that little ounce of hope she still had left for the boy in her heart flicker with its last will. Snuffed out by how he dragged her off her back and made her sit on his lap.

His harsh fingers burying themselves in the dough of her hips while his erection laid like a large bump of scratchy material against her clit, making her cringe as she trembled with tears falling silently in thin streams down her cheeks. 

“Remember what you said to Deku when the shrimp tried fighting back?”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Feeling a hand leave her hip, and soon after the rip of a zipper being pulled. Her shoulders sinking as her breath shuddered. 

“He’s not worth it.”

She felt his thighs shift beneath her, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

All she could do was swallow and feel the cold air brush against her naked flesh as she heated up by the fact that Katsuki was pulling his dick out with the intention to sink it inside her.

“I slapped the old hag that day when she asked me what was wrong. Square across the face. She had burns for months.”

She whimpered when she felt his breath on her cheek, and recoiled back, though held firmly and painfully by the large hand on her hip. 

“You want me to slap you?” His voice was weirdly sweet whilst a knuckle went sliding against her cheek to pull the curtain of hair out of her face.

His lips soon pressing against her cheek as she choked on her own whimpering shallow breaths. 

“No, right?” He whispered and that’s when she felt it.

Plush like velvet, squishy and warm, burning, thick and rounded, bobbing against her clit, being pushed to slide through her folds, make her squirm on top of him. 

“So be a good slut and ride my fucking dick.”

He added pressure to the small of her back.

The slight inclination of heat and sweat in his palm telling her to move closer until she was hovering above something else that was radiating heat between her thighs.

Brushing up against her opening.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt it push, and she opened her eyes to look at him with the most pleadful expression she could muster.

Her lips trembling to their complete own accord, and brows joining the same dance of tremor.

“Kachan-”

But there was nothing staring back at her.

Nothing she could call human.

Not kindness nor mercy.

Not even pity.

“Come on, Quirkless. Show me what you were gonna do with that blue-eyed fuck.”

He didn't make a single move, as though he was waiting for her to do it for him. 

“Don't be shy. Come on, slut.”

His fingers dug into her hips and she knew, by the burning cold in his eyes, he was dead-set on making her feel every lick of his hatred. 

And it was hatred.

She couldn't allow it to be anything else.

She couldn't bare the thought of it being anything remotely similar to love as she lowered her hips slowly for him to fill her up inch by thick inch, sliding inside her wet virgin walls, all the way to the hilt, until his bulging head kissed sweetly into her screaming cervix.

It couldn't be love.

She didn't get a second to think before his hand once again grabbed ahold of her face.

His sandpaper fingers mushing her soft cheeks, making her stare into his bleeding-red look with those moon-wide tear-soaked horrified pretty eyes.

“Is this what it takes for you to notice me?” He puffed. “Huh? Can’t fucking focus without me threatening your life?”

She still flinched at the sharpness of his words. Feeling cold and tense and so very dreadfully alone, even with him twitching inside her. 

“Am I only worth it when I got my cock balls-deep inside you?”  

She closed her eyes but it was a mistake.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, fucking bitch!” He barked. Spit flying into her squished face a mere half-inch away from his teeth. “You want me to fuck you like one? Bend you over, make you take it from behind, on your knees with your face down, like a good for nothing cum-dump whore?!”

His other hand pulled her even closer, made her tits hug against his chest where he still hadn't bothered removing his shirt. Buttons sharp and abrasive against her flesh as she shook at the feel of his cock warming and stretching her out. Weirded-out with how it sat lodged so well inside the comfort of her pussy, and how she was unwillingly clamping down around the girth of him, sucking on him gratefully, happily and passionately like how they used to huddle for warmth at nap-time on playdates.

He kissed her again. His forehead pushing achingly into hers. Noses hugging. Lips strutting forward and pressing into hers like letting go meant dying, where even his breath shuddered as she could swear his eyes seemed a bit more glossy then than before. Though it could easily have been brushed off as just a trick of the light in the dimly lit bleakness of her apartment in the night.

"Do you-" He whispered in a voice like from a complete different person. “Remember our first kiss?”

It had been back when they were only four and having only the slightest clue what kisses even were, but she could never forget it. 

“You told me I sucked.” He added.

“I- I told you not to use so much teeth.” She whimpered. Voice weak and blubbering like it had been back in kindergarten. Soft and sweet and shy and only barely above a whisper.

“Guess I never learn...” 

He didn't pull away. Their foreheads still seemingly glued together. Noses bumping. Breaths cohesive. 

“You haven’t changed much since then either.”

That broke her heart. 

His hands tightened against her flesh.

“Now ride. Or next time I fuck you, blue-eyes rotting head will be watching us.”

TIP-JAR

Sugar Scorched | fic cover

Minors and ageless blogs, DO NOT interact with me or my work. Thank you!

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: You’re hired on as a temporary consultant to Katsuki Bakugou, renowned  chef patron of Ground Zero. As you work to improve the image of the  explosive chef, you quickly learn that if you can’t stand the heat, get  out of the kitchen.  

“Looking as strong and scary as ever.”

He crossed his arms, smugly. The action emphasized the bulk on his biceps. “You are what you eat after all.”

“Funny,” you said, inserting yourself into the conversation. “I  didn’t know you ate ass for all three meals of the day, Bakugou.”

Status | COMPLETE!

Content warnings: No Powers AU, cooking, angst, drama, smut

Tw: eating disorders, medical trauma

Sugar Scorched is only on AO3!

Return to

Curated Masterlists

Bakugou Katsuki’s Masterlist

|| m.list || part I || part II ||

⇢ pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

⇢ chapter: part III of III

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 19,678 [ao3]

⇢ warnings: hybrids, mildly dubious consent, biting, blood, knotting, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem receiving)

⇢ tags: wolf hybrid bakugo, aged up characters, slow burn, bed sharing

⇢ notes: please note the new warnings and tags before reading 

⇢ summary:

After the attack, the relationship between you and your hybrid Bakugo continues to grow closer and stronger. As it does, you can’t help but feel like the two of you are heading down an inevitable, slippery path towards something you can’t take back, until finally, you can’t bring yourself to fight it any longer. 

Keep reading

Before Number One: Masterlist

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Angst, Smut, Use of Ground Zero as Bakugo’s hero name, Happy Ending. Word Count: 20k, Status: Complete. Summary: Hero work leaves little time for anything that isn’t hero work. Bakugo knows that, but it doesn’t make him want you any less.

Chapter List

1) The First Time, 2) The Last Time, 3) The Time After, 4) Epilogue.

-> Masterlist

𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

feat. katsuki bakugo x fem! reader

cw: ansgt

˗ˏˋ+ ´ˎ˗ leaving y/n a series a voicemails, katsuki regrets not telling her how he truly felt for her.

❝to see you walk away.❞

+ wherever you are by ulrich schnauss

shoto's version

you have one new voicemail!

"hey... it's... katsuki bakugo. you remember me? that one loud mouth that never knew how to keep his mouth shut, or at least that's what you'd say. always talking back to me like i wouldn't man handle your ass. anyways, yeah, everything seems off.

"... your funerals tomorrow. after a week of you being gone, they're finally putting you in the ground. everyone's acting different. everyone stares at the front door waiting for your grinning face to pop up at any moment. i don't know why, but, i'm also waiting to see your face.

"can i see you tomorrow?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i gave my speech at your funeral. if you were here you'd say it's corny or some sappy shit. i think icy hot got a little mad. you remember him? your devoted little boyfriend. bet if you were here you'd be disappointed in him. he didn't even bother saying anything at your funeral.

"he just... stared at your empty casket. where you're supposed to be. i think he made himself believe that your body was still intact instead of... yeah. he didn't cry like everyone else did, i mean neither did i, but, he was silent. it was weird in a way. i couldn't stand the look in his face.

"do you see me?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"we got this new girl. it's eerie, she looks so much like you. half 'n half can't keep his eyes to himself. he thinks she's you. but i know better. she can never be you. she doesn't even reach where you're at. you two are on a completely scale. but you don't reach me.

"it pissed me off when aizawa had her sit in your seat. she probably thinks i like her because i keep staring back there. but it's not her that i'm staring at. it's your desk. because slowly, they're trying to replace you.

"what even pissed me off more, was when your dorm room, that used to be empty, was now occupied. for the new lousy american bitch. they're slowly getting rid of you. they're slowly getting rid of our memories.

"can you tell that i'll never get rid of you?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"aizawa can tell i've been slacking off. i can hear your sarcastic voice already saying, 'what, the katsuki bakugo, slacking off?'. he's trying to get us back into shape, not let another... mistake... happen again. but i can tell it's hard for him to. with his leg missing and his eye missing.

"i— this may sound corny, but, i kinda miss seeing your stupid face. i miss you talking back to me. did i tell you that the new girl talks back to me as well? i think she's trying to be you. the group, shitty hair, pink face, dunce face, and elbow guy don't like her.

"they said she's trying to be like you. i see it. i agree with them. she is trying to be like you. she's decorated her dorm room like yours. she even has that same poster from your favorite band. my instincts are telling me that your parents had left it by mistake and she took for herself.

"do you miss seeing my stupid face?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i still come see your grave. i leave your favorite flowers. shitty hair told me to stop seeing you. that i need to move on and focus on my career. but how can i move on when i all i think about is you? yea, you're right, i am being soft.

"but if i had told you how i felt about you, you'd probably laugh in my face. it's why i never told you about how i felt. because i was afraid you'd reject me. i didn't want to look like a fucking idiot.

"but then i remember the way you would stare at me. the way i would catch you looking at me when you thought i wasn't looking. i know you know how i felt about you. and it hurts, because you never said anything.

"can i see you in my dreams like i do every other night?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"okay, don't get mad. yes, it has been a two weeks, but that's because the old hag took my phone away. she say's that you being gone has mess me up. i don't think so. she say's i need to get out there more. but she doesn't understand.

"don't get mad. i may or may have not kicked icy hots ass. before i hear you yelling at me, just listen. he took that american girl on a date. they're dating. how unfaithful is he. while everyone was congratulating him, i glared at him. how could he do this to you? if you were with me, i wouldn't do that. i would never move on.

"i told him off. shitty hair and elbow guy had to stop me from doing more damage. he just stood there and took it. i think he also knows that i liked you. 'liked'... i don't know what i'm doing, y/n.

"do you think you can tell me that everything is going to be okay?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"do you remember when that day i went knocking on your dorm? i had told you to turn of your shitty music because i could hear it from my dorm. but that wasn't true. i didn't come knocking at your door because of your music. hell, i couldn't even hear it.

"i knocked because i wanted to hear your ugly voice. i was also scared. ever since i got kidnapped by the league of villains. you comforted me and told me everything was going to be okay.

"then we stayed up talking about the randomness shit ever. and then you told me your secret. it looked like you didn't care when you pulled me down to your bed and covered me with your blanket. we huddled up so close, that i swear you could feel the heat radiating off my cheecks.

"can we do that again when i see you?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"everyone forgot about you. even your boyfriend, scratch that, your ex. no one calls your name out, no one mentions you anymore, the posters on the walls are no longer there. they completely gotten rid of you. it hurts. so, so bad.

"shitty hair wants me to go to therapy. i don't know. he's funny. he can tell i'm still clinging onto you. he catches me looking at photos of you. he got upset when he found the confession letter that i have planned on giving you.

"he says it's not healthy. he sounds like deku. oh, yeah, you remember deku? ever since he disappeared and came back, our relationship has gotten better. i think he feels guilty of you dying. we don't argue as much. you got your wish.

"do you think if i accomplish all your wishes i get to see you again?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"you know what sucks, n/n. is that your selfish ass left me all alone before i even got to tell you how i felt. you are so selfish to save some random civilian knowing you would get killed in the process. you saw it coming. why did you push me away!?

"... what sucks even more... is that your own family killed you. he knew and yet he still did it. yeah, if you're wondering, i kept your secret. i'm kinda glad you told me it, it was the only thing keeping me closer to you. you trusted me.

"can you tell me if you're okay wherever you are?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"be honest with me. and no fucking jokes. if you weren't with that bastard and if you never felt any feelings for him, would you have accepted my feelings? a part of me tells me that you wouldn't, because i'm harsh and rude.

"but another part says that you would have, because as you said it yourself, you didn't mind my attitude. you said it's what made me, me. i think that's why i was so drawn towards you. you accepted me for who i was and never once tried to change me.

"it's why i fell so hard for you. it's why i call you at midnight when i'm having panic attacks. your voice calms me down. yeah, okay, you can laugh. i'd do anything to hear your voice one more time. call me a big fucking softy.

"do you want to hear me say those three words?"

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you have one new voicemail!

"i came across your parents house the other night. ... i had a dream of you. you were sitting on your front porch, smiling up at me as you offered my hand. you were talking but i couldn't hear you. you sounded distant. then the next thing i know, you kissed me.

"maybe dunce face is right. i am down bad for you. he would always say that when you walked by and i'd always glance at you. he doesn't say it anymore and a part of me wishes for him to say it. he avoids your name like the black plague.

"i hope your family has moved on."

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you have one new voicemail!

"can i see you tomorrow? do you see me? can you tell that i'll never get rid of you? do you miss seeing my stupid face? can i see you in my dreams like i do every other night? do you think you can tell me that everything is going to be okay? can we do that again when i see you? do you think if i accomplish all your wishes i get to see you again? can you tell me if you're okay wherever you are?

"do you want to hear me say those three words?"

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

you have one new voicemail!

"i don't know when your parents are gonna stop your phone services. so, before they do that, i want to let you know that... i, i love you. i know it's to late for me, but if you got a second chance i wouldn't hesitate to say those three fucking words.

"i wouldn't even care if anybody was around. i love you, y/n. i always have, since the first day i laid my eyes on you. i will always love you no matter where you are. i'm glad i got to met you. i'm glad you had bumped into me and talked back to me.

"i love you, y/n. i will always fucking love you."

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘

i'm sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. please dial back again to make sure you have entered the right number. goodbye.

sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! (though i don't state pronouns) reader summary: katsuki realizes his feelings a little too late contains: mentions of sex, angst (with a maybe happy ending) word count: 2.8k words masterlist

Under the shadows of the coming morning—the sun rising through the blinds of the bedroom windows in your apartment—Katsuki liked to pretend that you were his. 

Just his. 

He tended to be up earlier than you anyways—with years of waking up for hero work instilled in his sleep schedule—but he liked that time. It was quiet in the mornings; only the sounds of the early morning traffic and the birds nested in the tree next to your apartment to keep him company besides your breathing: breaths that were soft and sweet and slow. 

He would curl his palm over your cheek, pressing your figure closer to his as he watched your chest rise and fall under him, stroking your skin softly with his rough thumb—because you were his in that moment. 

Just his.

In those times, he would forget what the reality of his life was—the way you would stare at him tiredly every time he knocked on your door past 1 am, the lingering feeling of your fingers on his cheeks when he leaned in for a kiss, how you would oblige him no matter how many times you’d called him while drunk and upset, the kisses he left on your forehead before he left you alone the next morning—

—That you were not his and he was not yours, no matter how many times he liked to repeat it to himself.

It’s because of my work—he said to himself in the morning, stroking your hair out of your face.

It’s because I don’t have the time to commit—he whispered, nestling himself into the crook of your neck so he could smell the lingering scent of mint, strawberries, and sex.

If only we met under different circumstances… If only my job wasn’t so demanding… If only it was easier… If only I could commit…

If only…

After a while, you only nodded when he whispered those words at three am and your head was resting on his bare chest—like you believed him. 

(Before you would get upset, turn away, tell him to leave—and the cycle would repeat.)

You’d kiss his neck in acknowledgment, curling up in his arms like a cat would—uncaring, unaware. 

He wished he could do the same; just accept the reality in front of him. 

But it didn’t matter, because right now, you were his. 

Just his.

It was the complacency that let the cycle continue; but it was the complacency that became his downfall. He realized this when he stopped leaving you after ten minutes of waking up—waiting for the pink sky to turn bright, watching your eyes flutter open under the light of forthcoming day, the small smile that creeped into your eyes when you realized he was still there—mornings spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and sharing laughs while you paraded around in the sweatshirt he left the first time he came over. 

(It was his favorite in school—black and oversized with a small embroidered insignia of All Might above the right breast.

He didn’t even know he’d lost it until you came out wearing it one morning—and some of his old cologne was still lingering on the collar.)

He let himself forget—deluded himself—into thinking it would last. That he wouldn’t eventually have to pull away, and the dream-like haze he’d lost himself in with you wouldn’t end.

Just his.

It happened five weeks later, after a month-long mission: the morning after, and you were standing in a shirt that wasn’t his with a coffee mug pressed up to your lips like it would hide what you were about to say.

“I think… I think we should end this here, Katsuki.”

The words didn’t register at first, and he stood there staring—trying to come up with an answer.

“This?”

“...us.” Your lips pressed together solemnly, as if whispering a prayer under your breath—and you let out a tired sigh. So very tired. “Our relationship.”

He grunted, unwilling to open his mouth in retaliation. The fear that had been festering in his head began to rise, ugly and thick like bile coming up his throat—and he stood still, silently, staring at the coffee you made for him with too much sugar in the mug he got you from a mission a couple months ago. 

“...I’ve been seeing someone,” you let out—but Katsuki didn’t dare look at your face; Venom sat at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spit out—

—Because you were supposed to be his. 

Just his. “Don’t call it a relationship,” he settled on—enough spite in his voice that he knew it would deter you. “It never was one.”

He expected you to look relieved when he finally stared up at you again, but your expression seemed more soured than before: like you were expecting a different answer to push past his lips. It was quickly replaced though, by a smile that didn’t seem to meet your eyes like they did when you’d wake up in the morning to still find him in bed next to you, before taking another sip of your too-sweet coffee.

“Thank you, Katsuki.”

He didn’t know what you were thanking him for—your time together? For letting you go when you’d both been hooking up like this for almost a year?

And he wasn’t even sure why it felt so bitter. He’d known from the beginning that, whatever this was, wouldn’t last forever. 

Why would you stay in something like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to give you more than the little bit of time he already did? Why wouldn’t you want someone who consistently woke up with you in the morning to give you breakfast in bed, or brought you flowers after work, or could take you out in the evenings for dinner?

You deserved that—you deserved all of it. 

So why did he think (hope) you would settle for the little moments he offered you when you could have the world?

He kept his face blank when he left your apartment that morning—drilling the hole in his brain that had been dedicated to you in silence—simultaneously missing the sound of sobbing that came from your apartment as soon as he stepped out the door. 

He thought he would be okay—that in a week or so, it’d be back to how it was without you. 

But it wasn’t.

One week turned into two; two weeks turned into four; and four weeks turned into sitting at the bar, drunk while still in his hero outfit, with Kirishima sitting next to him as he rambled on about you.

You were the only thing he thought about, the only thing he could think about—he missed the scent of your body wash, the warmth of your skin on his, the small teasing smiles you’d give and the dimple that only appeared on one cheek, the too-sweet coffee he’d subject himself to drinking, watching the sunrise while feeling you laying next to him…

Everything about you felt like home.

He’d even gotten distracted the other day during a villain attack because there was a civvie who looked just like you in the line of fire and he’d panicked. 

“It was such a fuckin’ rookie, stupid ass mistake, and I still made it,” he took the last sip of his pint before letting out a small, frustrated grunt because it was finished. 

Eijirou moved to prevent Katsuki from flagging the bartender down for a refill—he was drunk enough after two pints; instead, he signaled for the check while Katsuki groaned in response.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

“Yes, you are,” Eijirou stared at him with a pinched expression. “You have patrol first thing in the morning—you’ll thank me for it then.”

Katsuki huffed under his breath in resignation—unfortunately Eijirou was correct. Not only that, but the upcoming lecture he knew would be coming from the higher ups would be infinitely worse with a splitting hangover. 

“I’ll pay for it,” Eijirou shooed him off his barstool. “Just go stand outside for a bit, maybe the cold will help sober you up a little before you go to sleep.”

Katsuki could only huff in response; his mind was swimming and blurred and his head felt heavy enough that he could only comply with what Eijirou had said—he’d have to pay him back for it later. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he trudged outside. 

The late-winter-early-spring winds nipped against his skin as soon as the door shut behind him, and Katsuki pulled the scarf he was wearing higher up to fully cover his neck and chin—shifting uncomfortably in the cold while he waited for Kirishima. The street was basically empty except for the couple people walking in and out of the bar; he guessed that it was too cold for people to be wandering around at night. Most of the shops on the streets were closed too, leaving the only illumination to come from the blinking street lamps that lined the sidewalk and the gibbous moon above.

“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long…” he muttered under his breath—trying to peer into the window to see what Kirishima was doing. 

When he turned back, he spotted a couple walking in the distance; though he couldn’t make out their faces, their intertwined hands and the closeness they exuded was enough. Katsuki could see his breath in the air when he sighed, loudly, mind buried in the memories of what could have been—until they were close enough that he could make out their faces: and he realized, it was you.

And you looked happy with the extra, he couldn’t lie—all cheeky, rosy smiles and giggles as he told you some joke that he could barely get through without laughing himself; you were holding a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips in one hand, with the other hand clasped in his (which he occasionally brought up to his lips to kiss the back of); he was carrying both the leftovers of the restaurant you both just went to and a shopping bag from a store you’d always liked.

You looked… at peace—with yourself, your situation.

But as happy as you looked, he couldn’t help the ugly, selfish feeling boiling in the back of his throat.

Because you were just his.

Because… that should’ve been him.

It should’ve been him—holding your hand, leading you through the night with confidence, and the other holding everything you wanted to buy while you smiled and giggled on his arm. 

You’d love teasing him. You’d loved spending time with him, as little as it was.

And though he’d refused it for so long, you’d loved him too.

He’d spent weeks, months, trying to ignore that fact when the two of you were together, if you could even classify it as that—and here he was, stuck in the same fucking position; he was destined to just watch you from afar as you moved on from the cycle he’d pushed you into, while he lost himself in it instead.

Maybe he was just selfish.

Katsuki didn’t even know when he started following you both, distantly (maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he just wanted to make sure you reached home safe)—Eijirou was an afterthought at that point—and when you’d finally reached your apartment.

The extra even offered to come up and drop the bags off so you wouldn’t have to carry them up the stairs yourself, but you declined: kissing him shortly before waving goodbye and watching him leave. 

Watching you kiss him seemed to wake Katsuki up, his glazed over eyes finally seeming to register his surroundings: the streetlamps overhead, the light from the apartments lining the building, the little crack in the paint of the building where he’d once apprehended a villain to save you, you staring at him—

—you were staring at him? Katsuki didn’t shift from where he was standing as you walked up to him, leftovers and shopping and tulips forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your apartment.

“Katsuki?” Your lips barely moved, and your hands were pressed to your sides. You were trembling slightly—and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or him.

He didn’t answer; he couldn’t will his mouth to open in front of you.

“Wh–What are you doing here?”

Even worse, he couldn’t bear to tell you the truth.

“I uh… I was on patrol nearby.”

You stared off to that little crack in the painted wall as if you were reminiscing, avoiding his gaze—your fingers rubbing together red in the cold with wobbly knuckles.

You were freezing.

“Here,” he grunted, slowly pulling his scarf from under his neck to hand it to you. Your expression instantly changed, and though you tried to dissuade him, the visible puffs of air coming from your nose were enough to tell him that it was something you needed.

“I… Thank you…” you whispered, letting him wrap it around you. “You always said you hated the cold, so…”

“Doesn’t matter. You clearly need it more than I do.”

This was his final act, he’d decided. He couldn’t hold you back any longer—not when he couldn’t give you what you wanted and needed out of him; no, it was what you deserved. Maybe his final act of stupidity would mean enough to him in the future that he’d be able to move on; and maybe one day the stupid scarf would just be a memento you had, instead of a reminder of the hurt he knew he’d brought.

And it was all so fucking dumb and poetic—standing in the spot you’d both met, saying your final goodbyes with your happy ending just waiting in the distance: waiting for him to get out of your life so it could be whole and right again.

But when you turned around, and started walking back towards the tulips he never bought you, leftovers from the restaurants where he never took you, and the clothes he’d never offered to buy—your apartment where his sweatshirt was laying in the first, top drawer of your dresser—the words were choked out of his throat.

Because you were supposed to be just his.

And maybe the alcohol in his system had the influence, but he couldn’t let you go: not when you were the best thing that’d ever happened in his entire life. 

The echoing sound of boots slapping loudly against the pavement and your name being called out by his heavy cries was enough to stop you in your tracks—and at first he thought it was because you didn’t want to see him again: but when he called your name once more and you turned around, he learned it was because you were already crying.

“I…I love you,” he whispered when he was close enough, fighting the urge to wipe your tears away like his own weren’t following quickly behind.

“Katsuki…” you smeared your cold fingers over your face, trying to wipe away the evidence that kept falling. “I-I…Y-You…Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for those words to come out of your lips?” you couldn’t really stop the tears from falling now—and he could only pathetically watch as they did. “Do you know how much I’ve fucking ached and cried over those three stupid fucking words? And now… Now that I finally feel okay, you’re standing here—pretending like you can make it alright again? How can you–”

“I love you,” he repeated, grounding his stance in the pavement. He couldn’t let you slip straight through his fingers. “I’ve loved you since I blasted that idiot against that wall to save you. I’ve loved you since you dressed my wounds in your apartment. I’ve loved you since we met at that coffee shop again down the street. I’ve loved you through every night spent together, and through every mission spent away…” He repeated your name once more, cradling your face in his rough, cold palms like he would an oath to his heart. “And—m’sorry… I-I know I was a fuckin’ idiot this whole time not realizin’ it, and you can hate me all you want but I… I just needed you to know, ‘kay?—I couldn’t let you walk out of my life without knowing.”

He couldn’t even face you anymore, not when he could feel the tear that’d begun leaking down his cheek at the thought of you rejecting his admission: a secret he’d kept close to his heart, burying it underneath years of repression and loathing.

And now it was out in the open, left for you to stomp on if you wanted to.

“You say that now, Katsuki,” you uttered, the tears now drying on your cheeks. “But we both know that whatever this is isn’t gonna last.” You scoffed bitterly, putting your hands over his—perhaps in an attempt to remove them from where they were plastered to your skin—but instead they just rested over his while your bottom lip wobbled dangerously. 

He knew you were right. He knew that everything you said was true.

And yet—

—he kissed you anyway. 

Because you knew: that you were just his and he was just yours.

ALT

A Place at Your Table — Chapter 3/7

Love is a place at someone you love’s table. Bakugou Katsuki… is still looking for that place. A Pro Hero!AU where Bakugou, after enduring a decade-long crush on one Todoroki Fuyumi, meets—you.

word count: ~10,750 tags: pro hero!au, aged up characters

There’s room for an invitation there, if Katsuki wants to make it. Instead, he hedges.

click here to read on ao3

other links: spotify playlist | fic tag | chapter recipe (yakisoba~)

Oh, and Happy Birthday @andypantsx3!

you’re the one that i haunt | master post

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Female Reader

status: complete

length: 15,000 words | 4 chapters

summary: Ghosts aren’t real. At least, that’s what you tell yourself when the spirit of pro hero Dynamight suddenly starts haunting your apartment.

(A Halloween adventure, in which your cooking is criticized, your showers are rudely interrupted, and you must work together with Bakugou Katsuki to figure out if his disappearance is a trick–or a treat.)

tags/warnings: romance, Halloween, snarking, (not actual) character death, aged up characters, eventual smut

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

cross-posted on ao3: here

jealousy, jealousy || b. katsuki

bakugo katsuki has a girlfriend, one that he didn’t tell you about. you’re resigned to giving him up, to live with your feelings alone. insert an enthusiastic senior who’s willing to help you find out if katsuki truly likes his girlfriend, or if he harbors any hidden feelings for you.

(aka, you’re an idiot for pining after another idiot, causing misunderstandings after misunderstandings, all because you decided to bring a fake-dating trope to life.)

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

completed by lytters / calyxso © do not plagiarise my works, repost them or use them in anyway without my permission

'cause i love the way you call me baby—

bakugou x reader

wc: 15.6k+

warnings: 18+, explicit language, spicy situations (no smut), bakugou is like really bad at feelings, kirishima continues to be a well-meaning menace, angst, fluff, pro hero au

< < < part one |

7:32 A

Bakugou is always so subtly punctual.

By the time you gather the will to meet the chilly morning head on, he is already sitting in your parking lot. The black SUV is idling quietly and he isn't rolling down the window, urging you to hurry your ass up or honking like he'd threatened to at work only days ago. His eyes, much brighter than yours this early, are already on you—as they seem to always be, these days—and you swear it is the cold bite in the air that steals the breath from your lungs.

Though the warmth of your apartment is enticing, you give him a small wave (that he doesn’t return) before locking the door behind you. There is a thin layer of ice covering the short walkway in front of the complex and you strain your toes in your fuzzy boots while stepping carefully, though the effort not to make a fool of yourself is wasted; the pro hero waiting safely inside his vehicle laughs, loudly, when your foot slides across the ice, hands going to grip the rail along the sidewalk so tightly, you fear it'll yank loose from the stud.

It's the first thing you hear out of him, so early in the morning, his brash laughter. Despite the offense, the giggle that bubbles out of you, too, can't be helped.

"Thanks so much for the help, sir!" Is the first thing out of you upon yanking open the door and scrambling in, eager to bask in the warmth of his vehicle (and him).

Immediately, the mischievous glint in his eye dissipates. "Don't start with that crap."

Though you're well aware of what he means, you tilt your head curiously; early morning be damned, you can always find the will to tease your boss. "Crap, sir? I'm afraid I don't follow."

Bakugou throws his car in reverse and leans close, putting his arm around your seat as he backs out of the parking lot. The muscle in his cheek is jumping as he grits his teeth, drawing your eyes to the sharp cut of his jaw, and the scent of his cologne almost makes you sigh audibly. It smells expensive, like orchids and spice and comfort, and sleep is still so heavy upon you that it takes genuine effort not to sink forward to bury your face in his chest.

With his arm still around the seat, he glares down at you. "You clock in this morning?"

"No sir, but—"

"Bakugou." He barks, lips pulling back slightly, enough to show his canines, enough to show how serious he is.

A small smile graces you, one that cools the flickering heat in his red eyes, and you say, "Bakugou."

His gaze lingers for another moment, another thud of your heartbeat, before he shifts in his seat and begins to drive. "The hell are we going, anyway?"

Yukiko—the Sports Illustrated representative who will be interviewing Bakugou later—has already sent you the address of the diner she'd like to meet at. The printed out email is folded into the small backpack you'd brought along for the day, but the location has been typed into your phone so many times, it's well ingrained in your memory at this point. The navigation app in his expensive, massive car could easily guide him, but he lets you pull up Google Maps on your phone, let’s you tell him to take a left at the next stop sign, let's you direct him.

(The back up camera on the dash of the SUV could have also helped him get out of the parking lot; turning around, putting an arm behind your seat, leaning close had all been a choice.)

(It's still a young enough morning that you're embarrassed for already falling prey to this giddy, school-girl manner—as you always seem to do, these days—though it's safe to say this isn't anything new, not with Bakugou.)

The route offers a 45 minute drive and this acknowledgement is met with a disgruntled groan as you say it. There's a weighted, guilty part of you that feels bad again that you've dragged him to do this bullshit ass thing, though Bakugou does little more than huff and sigh; days ago, when you'd voiced the penitent nerves gnawing at you, he'd said (with red ears),

"I'm not forcing you, if you don't wanna go, don't."

and that hadn't been what you meant and that's what you told him, to which he replied (eyes on his monitor),

"Then cram it. We're goin'."

It almost feels like he's just waiting for you to say something, because he sends you fleeting little glances everytime he checks his rear view mirror, ready to cut you off at the first chance should you start that crap again. It takes all your strength to bite back a smile, to keep your hands and gaze on the phone.

Things with your boss have changed—subtly. There's this air that settles between the two of you now—different than before, when every thought you had ended in a question mark—and it's almost a little awkward, like at any moment something could come forth from either one of you and it would be somehow both unexpected and yet not entirely.

The lock on Red Riot’s door has been replaced, it's no longer a hassle to open (one less struggle in your morning); administrator privileges have been granted to you in order to change the schedule easier, quicker ("might as well have 'em, since you bother me about it all the damn time"); a single cup coffee maker appeared on your desk overnight.

Bakugou has asked you to lunch one time—"you hungry or what?"—and if you hadn't already eaten with Reverse, you would have indulged him (and yourself). That snub—and the unreadable look on his face—has haunted you more than once late at night, springing your eyes open as your brain worked through all the things he might have said during a meal with a friend and not under the guise of a work related afternoon.

Maybe he would have complimented you, trying to remain indifferent while admitting he thought you looked nice, or maybe the afternoon wouldn't have ended, extending into the evening, the two of you unable to fall back into a routine that—somewhere along the way—began to feel limited.

"Oi!" He snaps, and you jerk your eyes from your reverie, away from the window and back down to your phone.

"Oh, um, oh, shit," the heat of Bakugou's glare is scorching the skin of your face, "you need to change lanes, like, now."

"Are you fucking kidding me—" He leans completely away (another choice, one that has you grimacing to yourself) while looking behind him, probably breaking several traffic laws because of your absent-mindedness. "Gimme that!" One of his hands completely encompasses your own, warm fingers sliding between yours and the phone before he snatches it away.

"Sorry." The sheepish smile you send him goes wholly ignored. "Am I fired, sir, from navigating?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Bakugou spits, "you're the worst."

Maybe he would have held your hand or paid for your meal, but maybe he would have swatted at you for trying to steal from his plate. Maybe he would have insulted your taste in food, or chastised your less-than-healthy meal option.

You would have enjoyed it all the same.

—

8:36 A

There's a handful of things you know about the interview:

The topic at hand is hero life after graduating

Absolutely no questions about any past, present or future cases

Absolutely no personal questions, such as religious views, political opinions, or the intimate details of Dynamight's notoriously private love life

The whole interview will be video recorded and released on YouTube later—along with a few behind-the-scenes questions—in a few months

The photo shoot will take place at a separate location

The diner the company rented out is nice, decorated with neon lights and posters of American icons: Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Martin Luther King Jr., and the like. It's a little tacky, you think, but cute.

Bakugou thinks it doesn't make any damn sense to have the interview here, considering it has nothing to do with hero work—his or any other in Japan. It’s a valid point; while you agree with the argument, there is a pink and white jukebox near the entrance that is just waiting for you to start throwing your paycheck its way.

"Would you rather it be at your apartment, or the office?"

It's gloomy out, skies a sleepy mixture of blue and gray, and the dim glow filtering through the windows compliments him; it's Bakugou in a different light, a tranquil one, as if the weather is any indication of his change in attitude from those feral U.A days.

"Fuck no," he grumbles, ever unrefined, slouching into the table as if it will swallow him up and deliver him from this personal hell of your own making.

Yukiko is a few minutes late—despite the two of you being a few minutes late—so you're sitting across from him, leaning forward so that neither of you have to speak loud or disrupt the morning lingering in the empty restaurant. There's a waitress behind the counter brewing a pot of coffee and you're tempted to ask for a cup.

"Then cram it, sir." The unstoppable smile that blooms is hidden behind your fist, trying in earnest to press your mouth against your palm so he won't detonate.

"Think you're real fucking funny, don't ya'?" His carmine eyes are impossibly small and, though the sight might have scared you at one point, all it does is roll your eyes to the window. When you look back at him, he's staring hard at your face; the annoyance is undeniable, but there's something lingering between the clench of his teeth.

His hands are resting on the table, only inches from yours, and the urge to reach out and touch him fills you so abruptly that even he notices the motion of your fingers.

But—like always, these days—the doors to the diner swing open and the sounds of technical equipment and cameras flashing tell you all you need to know without ever turning around.

"My hero!" Yukiko beams, though your boss visibly recoils.

The first thing you notice about her is how professionally stunning she is—and the second is the quick up-and-down scan Bakugou gives her.

With a poreless face and smile so bright you nearly need to squint, she greets the both of you in such a charming way, any frustration you'd held at her for being late is immediately soothed. Her hair is long and dark, thick, curled in a way that is meant to look effortless (and it does), falling near her collarbones where two dainty necklaces ornament her. The pantsuit she's wearing does wonders for her skin tone and you are reminded of your own slightly damp clothes, outfitted in a jacket that probably makes you look puffer than usual.

When she calls him Dynamight, he has the decency to nod once and grit out, "Bakugou."

Then she turns to you in the plastic, pink booth across from him and asks, "Mind if I sit here for the cameras? You look like you would enjoy a milkshake!"

Life isn't a competition, and Yukiko's overwhelming beauty and professionalism (and charm and fashion sense and cute laugh and manicured nails and fit figure) doesn't mean that you are any less than her, but the insecurity rising within you while sliding from the booth is remorseless. She looks like the type of person that's been cut from the pages of a magazine with a perfectly scripted personality and has been pasted over your own face in the image of you and Bakugou in the diner.

It's so ridiculous, you tell yourself over and over again, because it is, but she's known him all of seven minutes and already she's calling him by his name. You attempt to remind yourself that the seven months it had taken you were all by choice, but then Yukiko laughs when he insists his entire hero moniker be in the magazine and you’re pouting.

It's nine in the morning and you are drinking a milkshake at the counter, far out of the way of the camera, far out of the way of Dynamight and his little bubble.

Last night, as you were scrutinizing the directions to the diner fervently, you'd thought of a few different ways this day might go; feeling pitiful and drowning yourself in milk and ice cream was not a scenario you had considered.

Yukiko starts by asking him questions about the area, if he's familiar with it at all, and this dissolves into a small discussion about where he was born—Atami, near the sea (a fact you were unaware of)—though he moved to Musutafu when he was very young, due in part to his father's career.

Of course, nothing is as easy as your boss up and giving this information away; the representative is already beginning to look a little flustered at the thirty minutes it takes in order to obtain that much.

(An image is born into your imagination of baby Bakugou, diapered Dynamight, in tiny swim trunks by the ocean with a little, chubby tummy. It earns you a sharp glance when you laugh quietly at it, ruby eyes narrowed as if he knows.)

"I'll go where I'm needed." Is what he spits out, arms crossed, when Yukiko asks if he plans to stay in Musutafu for the rest of his life. The question takes a slight turn towards plans for a family and if he'll raise any children here, but his stubborn silence is enough of an answer.

That certainly wasn't an approved subject.

Another surge of guilt rises at how awkward he looks, more than uncomfortable with his shoulders up around his ears. You think he’d rather be at home, catching up on some rest—he surely deserves it—and the pit in your stomach deepens until she brings up the topic of that one day, with the sludge villain, and you think maybe not, afterall. Maybe he likes it this way, so far from the child he once was, so much stronger and different.

"I’m not worried about shit from way back then," he grunts, leaning a little further back in the booth, grasping for distance. "Thought you were supposed to be asking me about the present, how much 'm dominating the hero board right now."

Yukiko laughs—musical, pleasant, rehearsed—but Bakugou isn't joking. She spares the cameraman another look, something she's been doing frequently, and you assume it's an indication on where they'll need to cut certain footage.

One of the crewmen holding the lights pins you with an expectant look, as if you should perhaps be sheepish for his gruffness, but you just send the man a simple smile. You're not his handler; if Bakugou wants his own milkshake, you'll get him one, but you aren't here to school him on how to act, nor to ask for forgiveness either.

It makes you wonder if you've grown used to it all, being so close to the warmth of him. Nothing that he's said so far has taken you off guard or made you flinch, and you've even found yourself surprised at the look on the representative's face when her sculpted mask cracks. Maybe he's calloused you, gotten you used to the heat in which he constantly burns.

Something about that is comforting.

"It's almost intimidating, how fierce you are against competition, even when that competition is made up of heroes you graduated with—"

"My assist rate is nearly triple what it was last year."

"Hey," it’s not difficult to tell where she was going with her question and you definitely should not be hissing at him, but you can't help yourself. He looks at you almost instantly. "Stop interrupting."

The scowl he sends burns your face as if he'd touched it with his own hands, but he only grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to Yukiko. You may not apologize for him, but you'll definitely encourage him to mind his manners. Whatever surprise you think you might have seen on Yukiko's face is gone when you look at her, and she nods once in thanks.

If you let him walk all over you, he will, and you wonder if you should have warned her of that earlier. It's not like he means to, but he has the kind of innate confidence most people don't and sometimes it manifests as arrogance, but they should have known that, surely? Bakugou commands the attention of everyone when he steps into the room because his presence is massive, authoritative, the kind that villains cower in.

The kind that says I am here.

(or, I am here, you fucking bastard.)

"Does it ever bother you to hear that you are being likened to heroes like Endeavor or Snipe? The kind of men that leave certain people divided when it comes to their approach to heroism?"

“I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. They shouldn’t be comparin’ me in the first place.” Bakugou tightens his arms around his chest (you’re thankful he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt, though it only masks the tension in his biceps in the most minute way) and casts you a quick glance, anticipating your reaction to what he says next. “You worry about the crap people say about you?”

Yukiko sits back a little in her seat and smiles—practiced, restrained—before clearing her throat. She doesn’t answer, only asks, "Does it ever bother you to be compared to Deku, who is projected to be the next Symbol of Peace?"

The diner goes so silent that everyone can hear Yukiko's jewelry clink as she shifts. So silent that everyone can hear you choke on your milkshake (you aren't spared a glance, though, because you are still outside the bubble).

All you can think is that if Bakugou was going to blow the place to hell, he would have done so by now. At a different time in his life, you assume he might have gone berserk and shit talked Deku until people were having to hold him down in the booth—but now he just stares across the table, thinking.

The representative seems unable to look away and shudders; you're glad you can't see the exact expression on his face, though one you have seen comes to mind: in the bright lights of the conference room, footage you shouldn’t have been privy to still casting a faded picture on the wall, an unpleasant, clammy hand on your lower back. The memory heats you, almost the same way it had that day, though it’s less embarrassed now and more fond as you take in the jut of his chin, the line of his sharp nose in the downcast morning light.

("My hero!")

"I ain't gonna talk about that damn Deku."

Even if she wanted more from him, even if she meant to rile him up for some kind of sales-boosting answer, Yukiko only nods and takes a long pause before turning to the cameraman. Her beaming smile is wavering the tiniest bit—something obvious to you because you’ve been obsessing over her this entire time. "Quick break?"

Bakugou is up and out of the booth, stalking towards the door before her face has time to flatten, and you take that as your cue. The sky is still the same dismal shade, even though you've been at the interview for nearly an hour, and it dampens one of the sunny scenarios you'd imagined for today.

The warpath doesn’t end once he’s outside, nearly ripping the car door off its hinges so he can climb in and slam it shut behind him. The silence is so tense that you try your best to follow quietly, closing your door gently just in case it will reignite him somehow. Bakugou doesn't say anything, just throws his head back against the seat and tries in earnest to glare a hole through the ceiling of the car.

You go through a number of different ways to ask if he’s alright (“are you okay?” or “you good, man?” or “is there anything I can do, sir?”) but you can already tell that all of them would just be met with grunted, ‘m fine. So you try to approach him a different way, the kind of way you would a friend that was upset, saying weightless things just to steal their mind from anything stressful.

“I didn’t know you were born in Atami.” Rain starts to lightly fall against the SUV. “That sounds nice—do you ever go back there?”

“You askin’ questions now too?” Bakugou shoots, but it leads without malice, without bite as he keeps his eyes fixed.

Turning your head to watch the rain, you murmur out a quiet “sorry”, pressing your lips together to stop them from betraying you by frowning. He’s upset, and you would be too; constantly shadowed by other heroes, even when the topic of Dynamight only—Bakugou himself—is assured; triggers written down, buttons pressed, waiting just outside the blast zone for a response that will provoke the stereotypical headlines that readers go berserk for. It’s not his fault. At the sound of your voice, his hair shifts against the headrest as he turns to look at you, quick, before sighing.

“We used to go a lot during the summer, but I haven’t been back in years.” His voice is mild, extinguished for the moment. “Don’t have the time.”

“We should go,” you say it urgently, without thinking, trying to cling to something that will lighten the mood. “In the summer when it’s nice. If we plan it out right, we can maybe write it off as a work thing.” The grin on your face is probably embarrassing, but you wiggle your eyebrows playfully.

Bakugou huffs out a laugh, unsmiling, before his own brows pull down as the words, and their meaning, settle in his ears. “Doesn’t hafta’ be a work thing.”

Neither of you have spoken about what happened that day. Neither of you have spoken about what would have happened if Kirishima hadn’t shown up.

For a nerve-wracking, paralyzing moment, as your sweaty toes begin to curl in their boots, it almost looks like he’s going to.

“Look, I don't know—fuck—this is so fucking—” Bakugou’s hands go to the steering wheel and he grips it, the leather making an audible noise as his fingers tighten. He refuses to face you—mouth slightly open, surprised even though you thought you wouldn’t be—and instead glares forward at the diner, as if it’s somehow Yukiko’s fault neither of you know how to talk about this, about It.

After a moment of prolonged silence, you swallow thickly and realize he isn’t continuing because Yukiko is, in fact, standing in the window, waving the both of you back inside. When you nod at her, she crosses her arms but walks away, and Bakugou sighs.

“I’m sorry.” It blurts out before it can be stopped. A little bit of anger is left in his eyes and he directs it straight at you. “I’m sorry you have to come here on your day off and do this thing that you can't stand.”

He’s certainly tired of hearing your guilt about this, that much you’re sure of, but the expression that washes over him still surprises you; completely unhappy, even more so by what you’ve said, and almost—hurt that you keep apologizing.

“You’re so—” with a grunt, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, clearing it, before glaring at you. No, not glaring, not quite. Something softer. “You think I’m the kinda guy that does shit he doesn’t want to, idiot?”

“Bakugou, you hate this kind of stuff,” it sounds like you’re asking for absolution and it only makes things worse.

Bakugou just shakes his head again as if you aren’t understanding what he’s saying. Maybe you aren’t.

—

11:12 A

The first thing Yukiko says when the interview finally concludes is, “the company has already set up lunch at the arena, if we could all make our way there!”

And the first thing Bakugou says in response to this is, “as fucking if.”

But by this point, after struggling for two hours with him, she must be hardening up to his bark and bite, because she doesn’t say anything or try to stop him as he beelines for the exit. Which leaves you scrambling behind him, giving a half-bow to every disgruntled person you pass while muttering, “thank you, thank you so much, we had a great time, can’t wait to see the article”.

It’s finally stopped raining, but the sun is still hidden behind a wintery haze; there’s a chill inside his car, the kind that settles in unoccupied spaces (the kind that exists when Bakugou isn’t around). It seems to calm down your boss instantly—that, and the fact that all the questions are finally done.

“That wasn’t so bad!"

Near the end, Yukiko asked if Bakugou had any other plans for his future, if being a hero didn't work out somehow, and he looked between you and her, and then her and the camera, and then you and then her and then you and—

Then he said, "What kind of stupid fucking question is that?"

He's giving you that same look right now (bewildered, disbelieving, hassled). Still, you try to charm the expression off his face by smiling and telling him,

"You did great Bakugou, I'm proud of you!" It earns you a soft snort and relaxed, avoidant eyes. "Now, to the arena!"

"'m not eatin' at that place. Who knows what type'a tasteless shit they catered." He’s quick to catch you taking out your phone and snatches it away before you can unlock it. "I know where 'm going, I don't need you trying to kill us again."

An exaggerated pout works its way to your lips. "Aw, come on Bakugou, don't you trust me?"

He huffs but the use of his name doesn’t deter him, "I'm not gettin' a traffic ticket just because you've got your head up your ass."

Though you loathe to admit it, sighing comes easier now that the SUV is putting miles of distance between you and Yukiko. You're feeling a little more playful again, like the day is falling back into its usual routine, gearing up for one of the many scenarios you've imagined. The image of her figure in the pantsuit is still at the forefront of your mind, however, so you shuffle around until you can wiggle out of your puffy jacket. What you’re wearing isn’t anything as fashionable as her no-doubt expensive ensemble, but at least you’re less of a shapeless blob.

"I'll be good this time, promise." Impishly, you extend your pinky out towards him but he only grunts in response, shifting forward in his seat as he swallows—audibly. The movement allows his collarbones to peek out above the top of his shirt, growing your unfounded need to drag your fingers along them, maybe even your breath, maybe even your mouth.

The threat he mumbles goes unheard by you, but the baritone of his voice stops you from drooling like a pervert any longer.

Even he looks a bit more calm—jaw unclenched, shoulders back and rested, nostrils unflared—and his hand goes from the wheel to the gear shift between you. Long fingers cup it loosely, drumming against it as an afterthought, though the music he once had playing has been turned down low; on the ride over, you’d passed a towering, verdant dragon statue that could be seen from the highway and promptly squealed about it, reaching to tap his shoulder with urgency. The radio had quieted, his attention momentarily snapping to you before muttering “‘m driving,”.

Watching him now, Bakugou’s face relaxes further—the permanent crease between his eyebrows softens—and you wonder if he feels it, too, this effortless comfort that shrouds you.

From what you can tell, he's heading back towards Musutafu and it's only after about 20 minutes that you begin to genuinely wonder if he's decided to blow the whole day off, if he's sick of the questions and antagonizing, if he's speeding back to your icy parking lot to be rid of you—but then he's taking an exit, grumbling about slow drivers and old people, and turning down a street that definitely isn't yours.

It's a part of the outer city-skirts that you aren't all too familiar with, where the buildings are set too close together and the parking lots are too small, fitting six cars at most. Apartments look over thin alleys, fire escapes nearly creating a bridge between bedrooms. You pass a man sleeping next to the garbage, a family of stray cats, a blue rolling cart holding brown plants, a woman selling homemade crepes—everything about the area is intimate, and that realization has your stomach flipping.

Lunch with your boss, with Bakugou, for the second time; you find yourself both anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.

Bakugou circles a block twice before parking in a stray lot, grunting something about anyone daring to say shit to him while tucking the side mirrors of his car closer to the windows. No explanation is offered as to where the two of you are eating, but you don't miss the quick glance he gives your top, which makes you feel suddenly exposed and silly, as if he could read what you were thinking when you tossed your jacket to his backseat. There is a strange crease in the fabric near your tummy due to the seatbelt, and you throw it off and yourself out of the car so that he'll stop looking.

Before you can ask where he's going, he's turning down a thin alley ahead of you. It's nearly noon, but the day is so overcast, white-golden lanterns are still lit to guide the way past an izakaya that’s closed, a gentleman outside stacking empty Kirin cases on top of one another. There are two abandoned bikes, a sign leaning against a rusty ladder that advertises a shop for refurbished furniture and hand-stitched clothes. You can’t take a step without landing on a manhole, but the sewage smell is nearly drowned out by the fresh crepes—and something salty, too.

It's silent between the two of you, save for the rustling of a beaded curtain strung up in the middle of the alley as you pass through it. Bakugou holds it open for you to step under and then keeps a hand on your back, urging you forward, though you have no idea where.

Electrical wires criss-cross into a spider-web above your head, a strange sense of seclusion emanating from their disjointed design; other than the gentleman, you are the only two between the bricks. It feels like you are the only two in the world—far from Musutafu, far from Dynamight and Yukiko. Just you and Bakugou.

When you glance back up at him, he’s already watching you—as he always seems to be, these days—and his eyes are nearly orange in the lantern light, made up of something so entirely different than they had been in the diner.

"Kirishima Eijirou was your fellow classmate, is the co-owner of your agency, and has been a Pro Hero Partner of yours for sometime." Yukiko seemed to have a talent for not only segueing into question after question, but also wording them in a way that stoked Bakugou’s aggravation. "Would you say you have a hard time trusting other heroes, or even getting along with them?"

It's no secret that Dynamight has been controversial in the past, that people still look at him and see the wild beast of a child he once was, and though there is nothing you can do about it, it still gets under your skin to see him and his intricacies boiled down to misconceptions. Patience, understanding, you wanted to tell Yukiko, that’s all you need, though you can’t exactly imagine Bakugou would have appreciated you coming to his defense. More than likely, he would have protested you getting involved or making excuses: that much you know already, because you’re used to him.

You wonder if Yukiko, or anyone, would believe the way Dynamight—the explosion hero, number 5 on the hero board—looks in fond, untroubled moments like this one (half-lidded, citrine, peaceful).

Perhaps the only thing that can be done is be thankful, that they are reserved for you.

"Move it, dumbass," he murmurs, and the soft rasp of his voice makes you smile, draws his eyes—unashamed—to your lips.

(You want to tell him to finish it, what he started that day in his office. You want to tell him to kiss you.)

(You don't.)

There is a white neon sign that is lit up just ahead, though there isn't a name, only gyudon in black. It's the source of the salty smell and, when Bakugou reaches in front of you to shove the creaky door open, no one bats an eye at either of you. No one looks up as he comes in and no one says anything until he's chosen a booth at the back, near a large window that looks out into another cramped section of a street.

Winter peonies are hanging from a window box, blushing pink against the gray painted bricks of its apartment. You can see a stray shopping cart from a market out of sight, a handful of brightly colored signs (red, orange, black) advertising all manner of baked goods and beer, ready for the day to darken just a little more before coming to life. A woman carries her baby down a flight of stairs; a stack of books on the ground appear heavy, water-logged and forgotten near three tied trash bags; two boys in university sweaters take turns looking through a magazine, a half naked woman splayed across the cover.

(Just you and Bakugou.)

An older woman comes to the table offering water and tea, though she doesn't ask if or what type either of you would like before the clay pot in her hand thuds onto the wood. She leaves while muttering, “try the Jasmine Pearl”; your boss looks so unbothered by this, by her, that you come to the conclusion he must have come here before, maybe many times.

And maybe Bakugou knows you, too, because he says, “The owner’s kid almost died in a train crash a few years back, before I was—” he trails off while gesturing to himself sarcastically, but you know what he means: before he was Dynamight. It’s all said without looking at you, eyes on the flowers, the books, snorting when he sees the magazine. “I wasn’t looking for anything in return, that ain’t the point of this shit, but the old hag wouldn’t leave me alone until I ate at her place. Food's decent.”

A grin works its way onto your face, earning a glance from the corner of his eye. “So, you took me out for a free meal, huh? Cheap date.”

Bakugou’s eyes zero in on you as a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and you realize too late where you've gone horribly wrong. "Date?" He asks, hands clasping together atop the table as he leans across it, closer to you, "Who said this was a date?"

Now it's your turn to look elsewhere: the ceiling, the teapot, the signs (red, orange, black). "Well, um, lunch date, as in, just having lunch together. Like—you know, between colleagues, sir."

"Colleagues, huh?" The curl of his lips is sinister, too-sharp, has tea slipping down the wrong pipe in your throat and heating your entire body to a similar, boiling temperature. Some jealous part of you sings; Yukiko witnessed quite a few looks from your boss today, but she hadn't been graced with this one. "'s'that why you got all pouty about whatshername?"

Pouty?

"Pouty?" You gasp, jaw falling slack as your hands curl into fists on the table. It's as if he can see right through you, can read what you're thinking, as if you’re not the only one paying too much attention in all this time at the agency. "I was not pouty."

(You definitely were and you know it, which makes the accusation all the more worse.)

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he smirks, gently flicking one of your knuckles as you narrow your eyes at him. "Never seen you give me that look before."

You pause in the middle of sipping your water to stick your tongue out at him, unable to stop from grinning when he snickers. Amusement is an unseen string tying you together; it's impossible not to smile when he does.

He continues, though you aren't sure where he's leading the conversation, eyes flicking to the door, out the window, at his fingers brushing yours. If you didn't know any better you would say he almost looks— "and you've given me plenty in the last eight months."

Looks, he means, and it takes a moment to recover. Plenty of looks? No, if anyone is giving looks, it's him, not you. It's Bakugou with those eyes, orange and fox-like, watching you squirm like he's caught you in his trap, ripe for the taking.

(That analogy does little to settle your still flipping stomach.)

"What do you mean by that?"

It's a talent, how quickly his eyes can change, how they can go from desirous to unreadable in an instant. A part of you wonders if that's all Dynamight, a skill he's acquired since being forced into the public eye—but a part of you believes that's him, Bakugou, too accustomed to shielding his emotions.

"I mean they aren't the kind y'give a colleague."

An air duct rattles brokenly; birds land near the window; a group of school girls laugh without regard, standing together to peer at something on a phone (too close, you and Bakugou, anxious and willing, for whatever comes next).

"And what do they look like?" There are warning sirens going off in your head, vigilant in their duty to remind you of the line you’re knowingly crossing. Regardless, you unwind your fist, curl a finger around his. "Why don't you show me?"

Bakugou's eyebrows draw down, making him look pinched and offended—though you're used to that look, to him, and you know that's not how he really feels—and then the two of you are in the car outside the diner all over again, ready to talk about It.

But a shadow comes over the window, two palms flattening against the glass as the birds—and your intertwined fingers—scatter. It's the shadow of a man too large, too friendly, too red.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

"Red Riot!" The sight of him is so unexpected that the grin that paints you is entirely genuine, and you wave at him, laughing too loud for this compact, secret place when he presses his nose up against the glass. He waves back at you, then Bakugou, before dashing around the corner.

The door kicks open so fast that it bounces off the wall, jingling all the while, and that does earn Kirishima a few glares, which he meets with a sheepish wave. When his eyes land on you in the back corner, an expression so utterly smug and satisfied comes across his face that Bakugou lets out an incensed sound, signaling his impending implosion.

"Well, well, well, what do we have—"

"What. The fuck. Are you doing here." It sounds less like a question and more like a demand, as if Bakugou isn't really worried about the how or the why; he just wants Kirishima to answer so the response will stoke the fire currently flaring to life.

"I could ask you the same thing." Red Riot beams, trying to squeeze into the booth beside his partner, though the blonde doesn't budge. He almost looks like a feral cat, arching his back the closer his colleague gets. "C'mon man, this is the spot, we eat here all the time."

"Oh, do you?" At the sound of your question, Kirishima flashes you a knowing grin, though you aren’t sure what he’s so certain of: that Dynamight would bring you to this pace, or that he’d been jumpy about it. Bakugou’s neck turns the color of his eyes—which are far from orange and back to their usual blood-red hue.

The realization that he’s brought you here, to the spot, softens you considerably; allowing you into this cramped little space, behind a beaded curtain, across from a dingy apartment complex twenty minutes out of town, nestled into a web of privacy. It means something to him and Kirishima, which means something to you.

At the sight of him now, there in front of you, you're reminded of your previous conversation with the red head, how you'd argued that they didn't need your friendship, had never asked for it—and they still haven't, just placed you inside the bubble quietly, tenderly, without so much as a second thought.

"Kirishima," Bakugou grits out, and the sound of his actual name and not Shitty Hair surprises you (and the man in question), "you're supposed to be on patrol."

"I am!" Red Riot's voice goes up a defensive octave, holding out his arms and gesturing to his hero outfit. The look he sends you resembles one Dynamight had in the diner—like he doesn’t understand the charge against him—and your heart tightens without warning; they’ve been together so long, Pro Hero Partners for some time, and it shows in the finer details.

"Then why the fuck. Are you—"

"I was in the area, man, thought I'd scope this place out before lunch. Then I saw you two," he grins again, which is always the worst thing he could do in this situation, "and thought I would check on how things are going, you know, between you lovebirds—"

"Don't even—this is just a stupid fucking work thing." The finger he points is menacing; you're surprised he's not sparking. "Don't fucking say shit like that."

(And then your bubble pops.)

Bakugou is downright snarling, less like a hungry fox or feral cat and more like a rabid dog, and you can't stop the embarrassment flooding you as it comes crashing down that this abrupt change of pace is simply because Kirishima thought you two were on a—

—date—

—together as anything other than colleagues.

An instinctive voice inside your head pipes up to defend him from, well, yourself, that he's only being so vehement in his denial because he's embarrassed at falling prey to his partner’s teasing, but the immediate part of you, the emotional part, bites her lip to stop from frowning. You do the opposite—smile casually—though you can feel how forced it must be, like it doesn't fit on the curve of your lips in the moment. It must be obvious, you think, it must be.

"It's a work thing," you echo, nodding once (and you don't miss the hot look Dynamight slices you with).

Doesn't matter; Kirishima laughs slowly and winks, as if the three of you are all in on some secret joke, as if he knows Bakugou too well. "Of course, definitely! Work thing. I'll make sure to mention that to Mina later when I—"

"You aren't gonna say shit about this, unless you want me to tear you a new one." Bakugou's eyes widen a frightening amount, palm slapping against the table as he nearly upends it. Kirishima remains unphased and it makes you think of Yukiko again, of how indifferent you were to some of his answers.

(“In the past, it’s taken more than a little elbow grease to obtain an interview with you, despite being a household name. Do you find you struggle with the newfound fame of being such a public, top-ten hero? I don’t think it’s a secret that Dynamight likes his privacy.”

“I don’t have time for shit like this because I’m busy doing my job. I don’t know what else anyone wants from me, why they care how long I spend at the gym or what my beer of choice is. I save the fucking day and then I go home, what I do there isn’t their business.”

“...so you do struggle with being in the spotlight so frequently?”

“I don’t struggle with anything, because I ain't the one that’s bothered!”

Yukiko had, in fact, looked bothered, especially when you snorted and rolled your eyes at him, especially when he peered back to make an exasperated face at you, shaking his head like he didn’t understand how he wasn’t making sense.)

And that hurts, you can't lie, with how mortified your boss is at the prospect of anyone knowing you two are together, even during a work thing. It's ridiculous, but you have to blink once, and then twice suddenly, because you can't stop thinking about the up-and-down look he gave Yukiko, how well put together she seemed.

It's not as if you are neurotic enough to believe it was love at first sight, or that he's even minimally interested in her—by the end of morning, actually, you were almost certain he wouldn't have offered her a glass of water were she to spontaneously combust—but she was so chic and elegant. She probably knew 6 different languages and drove a car priced in the same range as his SUV, she had innate charm and structure, business aptitude, she was wildly impressive.

If even she couldn't entice him, then who could?

It's ridiculous. You're being ridiculous because he's your boss.

Before you're forced to try and interrupt the unhinged hissing going back and forth between your employers, the older woman returns and quiets both of them with a single look. Kirishima gives a shy smile and steps out of the way, far out of her way, and Bakugou sits back down, muttering out to her that yes, he would like two bowls of gyudon with kimchi (like always). There’s a story here, maybe many; suddenly bitter, you wonder if you could ever be authorized to hear them.

(You haven't even had time to think about what you want, but there's a yellowed, dimly lit menu on the wall and your eyes catch on chicken curry, so you repeat that and she's off again.)

The first thing Bakugou says to his partner then is, "would you get. The hell. Out of here."

(Again—it's not so much a question.)

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint—" (Dynamight growls his disagreement) "—don't wanna interrupt you two like last time, so feel free to start the smooching once—"

Kirishima cracks up when Bakugou shoots from the table, though a flash of something like panic smears out his smile. Even when he puts his hands up and starts backing towards the door, babbling all the while, your boss doesn't stop following him, palms curled the way they are when he's gonna blow something straight to hell, and he doesn't refrain from advancing until Kirishima is bumping into the door, scrambling to get it open.

And he still doesn't stop until they are both back out in the alley, for a long time.

The food arrives, the woman looking at you for the first time as she asks, "he ditch you?" When you tell her he hasn't—that you know of; maybe he did?—she mutters, "little punk" before stalking away. You wish she would have stayed to hear you agree, but you dig into the food to stop the pit deepening in your stomach.

Quietly, you go to war with yourself, arguing that it was Bakugou who had his hand on your neck and it was Bakugou with his eyes on your lips and it was your boss who insisted you call him Bakugou.

And it was Bakugou who was embarrassed by this, by you and your stupid little work thing.

You miss the jingle of the door when he returns, only offering your attention as he slumps back into the booth, red-faced. He doesn’t acknowledge you, only splits his chopsticks and stares at the still simmering bowls of food while holding his breath, before tossing the utensils on the table, wood clattering lowly as he shoves his fingers in his eyes. They dig forcefully into the muscles, as if he’s trying to stop a headache that won’t quit.

“Everything okay, sir?”

He looks stressed, more-than; another wave of guilt wracks you, though it’s hard to determine where it’s building from this time. The truth is out: he does hate this bullshit ass type of thing, and you wonder why he tried to insist he doesn’t; he should know that you know by now.

Bakugou's hand drops from his eyes to his mouth, where he pulls at his lips absentmindedly. Underneath the table, his knee won't stop jerking, just like how the fingers on his other hand won't stop drumming against the table; he's thinking, too hard.

If life were a scenario of your brain’s creation, you think he would lean across the table and take your hand fully, but instead he just kicks you lightly to get your attention. It’s so on brand for him, so Bakugou, that you realize instantly where your imagination was wrong and dare to smile, tucking your chin down to hide it.

Your boss is not smiling. "You—he's a fucking—" his struggle is almost painful, and you can feel the tug and pull of the words he wants to say and the words that are leaving his mouth. "Y’know what I meant, right?"

And it's not so much a question as it is a plea.

Yukiko calls three times before Bakugou digs into his second bowl.

—

12:24 P

The first two attempts go ignored, mainly due to the horrendous glare he gives both the phone and your hand, frozen mid-air, before he snatches it from you during the third call. He doesn't even bother with a greeting, just grunts "yeah, yeah, we're comin'," and then proceeds to eat faster than you've ever seen a human eat anything.

Some inane side of you has half a mind to bring your chopsticks together near your mouth and ask, "How many calories do you consume in a single day, Dynamight? Fans everywhere want to know," but things are still intensely awkward, made even worse now that you’re pressed for time, so you store that little funny away for later.

Later; all of your exciting scenarios have washed away with the returning rain and you'd like nothing more than to go back to the office, to return to the space with Bakugou, with Dynamight, that you know best. The ground is too unstable, shaking as easily as your breath every time he meets your eyes. It's a lot to handle, more than you expected, and that—like all things, these days—only brings back the guilt.

The entire drive back is quiet, save for a few vexed sighs, and he listens to the navigation guide in his car as you pick mindlessly at your cuticles; it feels like something's been ruined, and the silence makes you sadder than you expected, puts something in your throat that’s hard to swallow.

Sports Illustrated has rented out a stadium, one that's equipped to deal with any stray explosions that could bring about the savage cover shot they're looking for. It has a sleek and shiny gym, one prepared for an entire rugby team—which may or may not equal Bakugou and his immense presence—, a locker room, and even a small conference area that's been set up to look like a U.A classroom.

("Thought this was supposed to be about me now, not back then."

"It is," you said, standing in his office, reading from the itinerary Yukiko had forwarded. "How different you are.")

Freshly powdered and matte, she's waiting just inside the doors, looking appropriately in place against the gray-slate tiles and smile-white walls. "Welcome back to high school!"

Ahead of you, Bakugou grumbles, "fucking great."

"The makeup trailer is just down in the hall, so we can head that way! We'll start with the gym first, and then move to the 'classroom'." Just as you begin to follow him, she produces a lanyard with a plain white badge reading visitor and extends it out to you. "Just in case anyone says anything." She assures, back to beaming.

Bakugou rears his head as if she's attempted to slap him. "Who's sayin' something? She's with me."

"Oh, no, no!" Yukiko waves her hands urgently, trying to put out the fire before it starts. "Just in case!"

"Just in case what—"

"It's fine." You say, Miss Customer Service™, "I get it, it's fine." Bakugou is frowning when you look up at him, though you slip the cord over your head and flash him your best reassuring smile. Yukiko is given a warning glance, one that says this isn’t over with just his eyes before he’s stalking away.

You hope she’s not able to read that look.

It looks strange so empty, the arena, and your brain likens it to a carcass: the walls feel hollow and massive, the concrete echoing back every noise you tentatively make; you’re afraid to think too hard in case that, too, will reverberate. It’s entire design was born with thousands of people in mind, but it is just you three under a never-ending stream of LED screens, banners of sports teams COMING SOON!, closed coiling doors, blocking the advertisement of takoyaki, yakisoba and cold beer, syrupy kakigori. Bakugou eyes the portraits lining the walls, black and white candid shots of fans cheering wildly, and you don’t realize he’s slowing down until he’s right beside you.

Very vaguely, you remember the U.A Sports Festival, maybe had it on as background noise at a friend's house while chatting amongst yourselves, oblivious and uncaring to the quirk-blessed people that were using their talents to the fullest. It dawns on you how strange it is to be here, beside Bakugou, how far both of you have come. Any clear images from the three festivals he had been in are all recent, only replayed on your laptop after he'd become a household name, after he became your boss, after he started meaning something.

In an eight minute video you'd watched titled dynamight being dynamight, you remember his sixteen-year-old self standing at the microphone, saying something about winning that made every one of his peers furious, and it's just so him that you're forced to throw an elbow, smile and shake your head when he asks what your deal is

Hands shoved into the pockets of his loose, dark jeans, he elbows you back lightly. "Don't fuckin' laugh at me."

"Don't be so funny."

"Don't be so easy to amuse."

"Don't be such a child."

"Me?" The look he gives you is bewildered, though the rigidness of his eyes has melted. Muttering another threat under his breath, he leans against your arm like he's going to push you again, but he doesn't, he just stays. One of his hands comes out to gently flick the plastic badge, making a face at it like its very existence is an insult, and he looks away when it lands back against your chest, when you snort at his impudence.

"Nobody will question you," Yukiko affirms, smiling softly when you both glance back. You’d almost forgotten about her, embarrassingly enough, and she looks between you two and the lanyard before rolling her eyes, waving her hand like the idea of it is silly—even if she’d been the one to produce it. "Trust me."

The expression on her face reminds you so frighteningly of Kirishima’s, like she knows something you don't, and it only winds you up even further as Bakugou is ushered away into another exclusive bubble. Her heels click pleasantly against the concrete, between just the two of you, leading the way through a small twist of tunnels impossible to navigate without her. The floral scent of her perfume is intoxicating, filling up every cramped area she enters, and you’re ashamed that you can’t stop inhaling through your nose.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she says suddenly and offense is a reflex that rips through you, wanting to remind her that you two met hours ago, but you become distracted by the texture of her skin, more obvious now that she’s so close to you. How human; gorgeous, stunning, daunting—but perhaps not as high on the pedestal as you had placed her. "We've been emailing for a few months now."

"Oh," you blink, dumbfounded, "yeah, I guess we have."

"I meant what I said,” Yukiko stops and holds her hand out, letting you go ahead of her in the direction she's leading you. "It's easier to outrun Ingenium than it is to get an interview with Dynamight, so we have you to thank for setting this up."

"Oh," you parrot, then, quickly, before she thinks it's all you know how to say, "no, I mean, I was just as surprised that he agreed. Dynamight, uh—" she laughs at the sheepish smile you give her, "he hates these things."

"Does he? I couldn't tell." She makes such a cute face that you might have been jealous if you weren't laughing with her. It's less awkward than you might have expected it to be hours ago, less forced, and a feminist, eat-the-patriarchy side of you is immensely disappointed in yourself. "Well, we, the company, are blessed he has you to influence him."

Another dumb blink; you make a disbelieving face to yourself before looking down at your fingers. "I wouldn't say I influence him, maybe know how to wear him down, but,” you trail off as she laughs again, shrugging.

Of course you do, know exactly how to bother him, how to bug him and push every button that will set him alight; you almost want to tell her it’s in your job description to understand exactly how to get away with harassing Dynamight—and keeping your head.

Yukiko leans against your shoulder with the same sentiment Bakugou had, though you can feel the stark differences between her arm and his. “I think he’s lucky to have someone that understands him to such an extent. It’s very rare to have assistants that can accept people as they are, behind their hero persona. I'm sure you might be aware of that, though, working with others in the business.”

Around the corner is a set of large glass doors that she steps up to open, once again gesturing for you to enter, and you want to tell her to back-up, to rewind a minute or two. The gym is just as you imagined: spacious, set up for industrial sized workouts, stock full of equipment and weights that look as if they could snap your back in half, were you unable to work with them properly. The fluorescence—and the light boxes and white sheets and reflective umbrellas—confound you long enough that Yukiko whisks away further into the room, up to the cameramen from the diner and a new gentleman, one you easily conclude will be the photographer for the day.

By the time you regain your composure—and close your mouth—Bakugou is entering, cementing you to your spot, withdrawn from the attention behind a treadmill that sits taller than your head. Nerves begin to take flight in your stomach at the sight of him; upon first glance, he doesn’t seem any different than usual, handsome as ever, but then you notice how dark and long his eyelashes look, the light contour under his cheekbones erasing what little roundness there is to his rarely-seen stoic face. He looks all Dynamight: sharp angles and jutting edges, dangerously keen, ineffable.

With all the attentiveness of an enlisted serviceman, he scans each corner of the room until he lands on you, small and out of the way, and you give him a small wave (one he doesn’t return). It looks like he’s got something to say, something serious, something important, judging by the sincere expression on his face. It’s tired, worn-down, though not in the way you imagine it is when he’s had a long day of hero-ing; it reminds you of the look on his face that day in his office, when the both of you had finally let go of whatever was keeping you back, when you’d finally crossed a boundary together.

It’s longing, you realize, that look.

“—so, I think it will be best to get a few warm up shots, maybe just doing some light stretching.”

Shamefully, you realize you’ve missed the photographer’s name and are somewhat relieved he hasn’t acknowledged you outside the bubble; the idea of having to ask him to repeat it makes you want to sink into the floor, to be dragged down by the weights the size of your head.

Bakugou jumps on his feet a few times—sporting a pair of bright orange kicks—before extending his arms to the ceiling, bending them behind his back, rotating his shoulders in some deliberate way that looks almost painful. Yukiko comes to stand beside you then, unnerving you with that look on her face, and she only grins before asking, loudly,

“He looks great, don’t you think?”

He glances back at you lazily, eyes—which have darkened—trained on your face, and you begin to realize that he does, he does look great.

He looks—immaculate.

The pair of compression tights he’s wearing only highlight how strong his thighs must be and his legs seem unending, long and powerful underneath the black fabric. A loose, orange tank is covering his torso and, though you hadn’t thought much of it at first, it becomes apparent to you why it seems so slack on him: in all the places it would hug the average man, Bakugou’s body is tight, muscular, rigid. His shoulders are capped and you can see the curve of his traps due to how thin the straps of his top are, the tension in his biceps as he just stands, relaxed.

Oh my god, you think, horrified. You’ll have to wait there for the next two hours—maybe three—watching as he builds up a sweat, as he works out and grunts with effort and pants and—

“Uh, y-yeah,” the attempt to clear your throat only makes you choke, has your voice coming out as a pathetic squeak, “he—you look, yeah, great.”

The hungry sheen that will gloss over his eyes; the curve of his cheek with the smirk that rattles your knees; the poorly disguised want in his voice as he teases and taunts your revealing choice of words; any minute now he’ll spark to life, sweetheart on his tongue, taking note of the sweaty palms you run across your thighs—

But it never comes.

Instead his eyebrows pull down in that Bakugou way, jaw and fist clenching in tandem as his breathing changes, deepens, giving you that same up-and-down look that bothered you earlier. Now that it’s directed at you and not Yukiko, however, it has a different meaning, riles you up in an eager, impure way. Nothing else is said as he turns towards the weight rack, but the muscle in his cheek doesn’t release and his leg doesn’t stop bouncing until the photographer is kneeling on the floor to get a shot of him curling a dumbbell.

The ceiling becomes extremely interesting then and you spend the camera flashes and the “ooooh, great shot, just like that,”’s admiring the tiles above everyone, all 27, 28, 29, 30 of them. There aren’t any cuticles left on either of your hands by the time Bakugou sniffs, drops the weights to the floor with a sound that demands your attention—unfortunately; the photographer, bless him, whatever his name is, gets a wonderful shot of your boss’s abs as he uses the bottom of the tank to wipe the perspiration above his lip, over his eyebrows, down his neck.

You’re sure there’s a great shot of the white-blonde trail of hair leading from his belly button down into his shorts, because that becomes all too visible, too.

Oh my god, you think, horrified.

Or you think, you think; you actually say it, feeling sweat pool in all the uncomfortable spots against your skin when you realize everyone is looking at you, everyone; Bakugou’s eyebrows are raised expectantly, waiting for you to continue as he works his jaw.

“I have your headphones,” you say idiotically, as if that warrants the carnal thoughts digging through your brain, swiveling your backpack to hang in front of you for emphasis. “I—can he—does he want them? Or—I mean, do you, sir?”

Yukiko frowns apologetically, “I’m sorry, that would be like product placement and only certain brands were approved for the shoot.”

His eyes—dark, deep and dark—bounce between the two of you before he shrugs, “whatever, s’fine.”

“‘kay!” Synapses momentarily defecting, you give him a thumbs-up, smiling so hard that it hurts, until he snorts and turns around to rack the barbell.

Once again, Yukiko leans into you, flowery and smiling, and when she winks, you’re astounded by the sharp turn this situation has suddenly taken. It feels like only minutes ago you and Bakugou were eating in tense silence, too self-conscious to even look up from the designs of your plate. It feels like only minutes ago he was glaring at the badge around your neck, averting his eyes from your chest, elbowing you.

It feels like only minutes ago Yukiko was implying you were intertwined with Bakugou in some way no one else was.

I think he’s lucky to have someone that understands him to such an extent.

Understands him? No, you can hardly say that you do, why he works 100 hours a week, why he comes to the office early and stays late, why he won’t call Deku back, why he doesn’t find the time to go to Atami anymore.

Why going with you doesn’t have to be a work thing, but this does.

You don’t understand why he wants you to call him Bakugou, or why he cares if you still want to go to Backdraft’s charity event, why he tells you not to take the late train or why he gets mad if you work through lunch. You don’t understand what the hell any of this is, why he knows the kind of looks you give him and leans against you and says things like, “she’s with me”.

But you think he might understand you, to some extent.

Since you’ve known him, he’s always been too clever for his own good, too perceptive; he knows why you’re being pouty about Yukiko, notices when you shuck your jacket off, he had the locks changed on Kirishima’s door, though you’d never spoken a word to him about the effort it took to get inside, Bakugou knows—in the dark, lights off, during a meeting—when some cop has their hands around your wrist or resting on your back.

And he must know what you’re thinking, then, here, now, because he’s sitting on the bench, sweating, chest heaving, looking at you like—

—like he’s had enough, like he’s fed up with all the back and forth, the tug and pull. The looks, dancing around It, Kirishima and his hero sense, his precise timing. And you think you’ve had enough, too. You think you're anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.

“Alright, we have some good shots in here. Back to the makeup trailer, and then we can revisit U.A!”

It’s all been undone wordlessly, the ties holding you back, the wall you’ve both tried to build, and Bakugou stalks by you, eyeing you like the fox he is, like you’re the mouse caught in his trap. Before he’s fully out into the hall, he’s already pulling the tank up and over the expanse of his back and you have to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, because he knows; broader than you ever realized, embellished with pale scars, shoulders steady enough to hold the weight of Japan.

“Come on,” there’s a light hand at your elbow, manicured nails digging lightly into your sleeve as Yukiko tugs you from your trance. “I think you’ll enjoy the classroom set up.”

The corridors twist and turn again, your floral guide leading the way as she talks aimlessly about how many reps Bakugou can do—a secret she will keep to herself and away from the public, she promises with another wink. She’s kind and funny, easy to socialize with, good at making conversation; these recognitions are met with more compassion, more relief than jealousy.

As pointed as some of her questions may have seemed during the interview, it feels as if Bakugou is in good hands, that she won’t twist his words to make him out to be a jackass or a villain or someone the people shouldn’t look up to. All of her little glances to the cameraman; hopefully those footage cuts will be handled with care. You want to trust they will.

“He’s a natural, I’m surprised.” She comments, “He photographs very well.”

Not that you’ve spent any certain amount of time looking at Dynamight promo shots, but you’ve no reason to believe anything otherwise. “He’s beautiful, I think anyone would be hard pressed to get a bad photo from him.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re clapping a hand over it, trying belatedly to slap them back between your lips.

This little confession is met uneventfully, Yukiko only sparing you a glance at the sound before continuing down the concrete. She’s an angel, you realize, a god-send. “I suppose that’s a good point, Nakano has to spend at least 20 minutes with me in order to get a good headshot.” Another admission that makes her seem less superior. “It helps that he’s confident. Anyone would be, with a body like that.”

“Yeah,” you hum, noncommittal, eager to get as far away from this topic as possible.

The doors she opens are steel, painted white, and—though you’ve never been in a U.A classroom—it looks exactly as you would expect. Desks organized in four rows of five, cupboard at the back, a green sheet on the wall that Yukiko says will be edited to look like the field outside the school, a wide chalkboard that has DYNAMIGHT in an explosive font that’s meant to look hand-written.

(You want to tell Yukiko, and the others entering the room, that Bakugou has nice penmanship, better than what’s displayed on the board, if that’s meant to be “his”. It’s not any kind of cursive calligraphy, but his is neat, clean, professional.)

(Suddenly you want to tell Yukiko a few things, that Bakugou is confident, that he’ll walk all over you if you let him, but you want her to understand that he’s considerate, thoughtful in a way that the public could never comprehend. You want to tell her that he means well, that he tries in all the ways he knows how, that he asks questions that aren’t so much questions as they are pleas, you want her to understand he doesn’t do shit he doesn’t want to do.

You want to tell her that he’s made you accustomed to the heat in which he constantly burns, that his fingertips have left marks on the back of your neck, that he’s calloused you.)

And it must be written all over your face, these unsaid things that are bursting at your seams, because she smiles the same soft smile she had before you and Bakugou parted, like she understands, like she knows. A manicured hand squeezes your shoulder and then she’s exposing to you the purposeful look she gives the cameraman from the diner, a look so familiar, so pained and open you have to gasp. There’s a ring around his finger, you realize, but not around hers.

“Yukiko,—” you breathe, though there isn’t anything else that comes from you, there isn’t anything else you know how to say.

A sheen of tears fills her eyes as she shrugs, powdered mask never betraying her as she smiles complacently. “He looks great, don’t you think?”

This unspoken thing that has been laid out before you has you so shaken, so surprised that you don’t even realize she’s talking about Bakugou, that he’s arrived for class until she gestures to him with the hand that has led you here.

(He does, he does look great, you realize, he always looks great.)

They’ve dressed him in a school uniform, one that must be an oversized twin to whatever he wore in highschool—or was supposed to wear; already, he’s tugging so hard at the red tie around his neck, you fear he’ll yank his own head off.

An instinctive side of you, Miss Customer Service™, is meeting him in the middle of the classroom, waving his hands away so you can release him from his leash. “Stop thrashing,” you chide, receiving a grunt in response as he peers down at you. The starched shirt he’s wearing underneath his blazer is only buttoned up to the middle of his chest, giving you another view of his collarbones, of his clavicle, of the tendons in his throat.

When he swallows, his Adam’s apple absorbs your attention, hands halting in their movements as his own come down between you. You feel his fingers lightly brushing against your stomach, deftly working to undo the belt around his pants and all the blood in your veins stops—

—because what the fuck is he—

“Didn’t wear this stupid thing, either.” Bakugou mutters, eyes black in the studio lights surrounding you both. The clinking of the pin against the frame has you looking down, forehead just barely grazing the white-blonde hair lightly dusting his chest as he pulls the leather from around his waist in such a provocative fashion that you’re forced to—

You have to step away from him, the loose ends of his tie falling against his shirt as one of the desks digs into your back. It must look like he’s shoved you or startled you somehow, it must. Dynamight, your boss, Bakugou—he’s a sight, with his shirt half-open, tie undone, holding a belt in his hands as his pants sag down around his hips the way they always do, the way he prefers.

(It’s longing, you realize, that look.)

(It’s want.)

The photographer, Maybe-Named-Nakano—or is that the name of the diner cameraman?—steps in, a reminder that you two aren’t the only ones in the world, you and Bakugou, by instructing him to lean against the chalkboard lazily. Next to his name, which he insists ain’t really mine because it’s missing the “Lord” and “Explosion” and “Murder God”; just as you expected, just as you feared, his blood-lust gaze never leaves your face.

For some reason, you want to tell him about Yukiko, about what she’s shown you, about what she’s implied. The urge fills you so suddenly that you think you’ll explode if you don’t tell him right now, if you don’t grab him by the free collar of his shirt and shake him, meet the wistful eyes that have been ripping you to shreds all day, all week, for the past few months, longer than you can remember.

It feels like a warning somehow, this thing she has given you, that if the feeling inside you doesn’t find its way out of you and into him, you’ll be the assistant in the puffy coat, sitting off to the side, drinking a milkshake as Dynamight gets interviewed, as he twirls a silver ring on his finger because you didn’t have the fucking guts to just say—

“Fuck this,” Bakugou snaps, breathless, arms winding back to tear the gray blazer off. It makes you blink, this outburst, and you look at him as he looks at you, as he looks at Maybe-Nakano, at Yukiko, before tossing the jacket on the teacher’s desk in front of him. “I’m fuckin’ done,” he spits, already half-way out of the room.

Uh oh.

“Wait,” you call, though it’s too late, “You—I—,” instead, you just face all the raised eyebrows and the few fed up frowns (and those instantly put you on the offensive). “Sorry, I just—give me a minute! Be right back!” Miss Customer Service™ goes scrambling out into the hall, head whipping left and right as she tries to discern where her Hero(!) could have stormed off too. The only thing you see lingering in the carcass of the arena is the makeup trailer, though you hadn’t heard his feet on the steps or the slam of the door.

The berating doesn’t stop as you hurry across the lobby; what the hell is wrong with you? Clearly something has upset Bakugou, your boss, and you were too busy with your head up your ass to realize what’s ignited him. The day has been stressful enough for him, that much you managed to stay aware of, but somewhere in the costume change and makeup retouch, his mood has taken a downward spiral.

There are several jumbled apologies swirling around in your mouth as you bound up to the trailer, knocking once, then twice, before yanking open the door; if he’s that pissed, he wouldn’t have opened it for you anyway.

“Bakugou?” Empty; your voice bounces around the vacant space. It’s nothing particularly spectacular: a few vanities set up, one on the end near a sink in the event they need to wash or style his hair. The floor is carpeted and the lean-back chair looks comfortable, there’s a muted television in the ceiling corner playing videos from the Sports Illustrated YouTube channel.

God, you can’t imagine how you look, burdened by the emotional rollercoaster you can’t seem to dismount from. When you step up to the mirror, you see the bags under your eyes, not as well hidden by your concealer as you thought at 6 this morning, and only growing darker since then. However you’d attempted to style your hair is alright, not perfect, but it looks like you at least put some effort into it. All at once you are reminded of Yukiko, insecurity rising without your permission, but the shine in her professional eyes fights it off.

The door yanks open all too obviously, the same way he does his office door, his car door, and Bakugou stops on the steps as he stares at you.

Waiting, for you to say something, for him to say something, for either of you to crack.

“Hey,” you breathe, the tension in your shoulders dispersing at the sight of him. The two of you have been together all day, but it feels as if it’s been a while, too long, since you’ve talked to him, just him (just you and Bakugou). “Is everything okay?”

He’s still standing on the steps, hand on the door, glaring at you. The closer you look, you realize his teeth are tearing up the skin inside his mouth, the tie is still clenched tight in his hand, leg bouncing just enough. He’s thinking, too hard.

“Bakugou?”

The slam of the door echoes off the concrete in the lobby, making you jump as he crosses the few steps between you and him (his legs, unending, long and powerful beneath his loose slacks). A myriad of words splutters out of you, none of them quite formed or making sense, when he grabs the front of your top, forcing you back against the vanity, forcing you closer as he crowds against you. The smell of his cologne is exhilarating—expensive, like orchids and spice and comfort—and it just barely masks the lingering sweet smell he’s never without.

“What’rey’do—”

“You’re driving me fucking insane!” It’s like he’s had enough, like he’s fed up with all the back and forth, the tug and pull.

(You think you’ve had enough, too. You think you're anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.)

And then you both erupt, all at once; he presses his mouth to yours (hot, chaste, close-lipped), one hand moving from your shirt to the back of your neck to keep you flush against him. A small sound of surprise and sudden want has him curling into you, pushing you further into the edge of the table until you have to wince out a whiny “ow”.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grunts and it does something to you, has you scrambling to sit back on the vanity, opening your thighs wide, allowing him to crash so close that he chokes on his gasp. You aren’t sure if he’s aware of it, but his hips are knocking against the wood, straining to grind in tandem with yours.

Back against the mirror, you do your best to shift so that a hand can go up your shirt, splaying out against your ribs, just under your bra, but the table shakes with how aggressive he’s becoming, how unhinged now that the line has been crossed, and things clatter to the floor. Miss Customer Service™ is an idiot, one that turns her head to see bottles spilling onto the carpet, cotton pads and Q-tips strewn out amongst makeup wipes and brushes—a wet bite to your neck has you squealing, unintentionally rutting against the hard length of him as you return your attention back to the man between your thighs.

“—fucking damn it,” Bakugou groans, slanting his head so his mouth can capture yours entirely, parting your lips, tongue stroking yours in a way that has a moan slipping from you. “You’re—”

You’ve no idea what he means to say, but you’re too dizzy to care, agreeing with a breathy, “yeah” that sounds so pornographic, it has you freezing, silently fighting off the embarrassment that threatens to ruin the mood. It seems to spur him on, to ignite him, teeth meeting teeth as he growls like it isn’t enough, like it isn’t close enough, like he’s not getting what he needs.

One of his hands leaves your face to work on the buttons of his shirt, furiously trying to undo them while kissing you so deep, so hungry, but he pulls back to look down at his chest when he barely manages to get one open, “fuck!”

The sight of him so flushed, lips spit-slick and chest heaving like he’d just finished 27, 28, 29, 30 curls has you tightening your thighs around him, a hand going to the table to inch you forward to where you need the pressure of him the most. The look he sends you is threatening, lips curling back to bare his canines like the feral brute that he is, that you need in this moment, but it only eggs you on. You want him to give you that look and many more, new ones, heady ones, the kind that will sear into your eyelids.

“‘m gonna fuckin’ lose it,” he warns, buttons clinking against the mirror as he yanks the fabric apart, tearing the seams and tossing it to the ground.

“What does that look like?” It’s a little humiliating, how out of breath you are just from kissing him; you can’t imagine how it would be if the two of you actually— “Why don’t you show—me!”

Bakugou’s hands cup around the backs of your knees before you can finish, drawing you as close to the edge of the table as he can while rutting against you, hard. A sigh of bliss spills from his mouth into yours as he reconnects his lips, and one of your hands goes to his stomach, shuddering at how tightly it tenses under your touch. After spying it earlier, you can’t help it; he huffs through his nose when you follow the trail of hair underneath his bellybutton to the top of his briefs.

“You’re—oh, fuck—” He’s coming undone in the best way, hand shaking as it slips back into place behind your neck (his fingers are searing, leaving prints on your skin that burn down to your muscle and bone, that brand you), and you can’t believe this is happening, you can’t believe this is actually, finally, happening.

The two of you have put it off for too long, tried too hard to avoid this thing that’s been threatening to carbonize you and now the flame is wild, out of control, consuming you both.

“Bakugou—”

“Katsuki,” he rasps, he pleads, “jus’—you can call me by my name,” his nose nudges yours softly, taking you back to his office, your fingers stroking over his eyelids, him nodding urgently as you said what he wanted—needed—to hear.

You arch forward into him, chest to chest, sternum to sternum, bone to bone, and travel your hands up to his neck, to scratch against his scalp. It draws a groan from deep within his chest and he succumbs, leaning against you so that he can kiss you with significance, with purpose; it’s slow but deliberate, desperate, saying all the things he’s unable to.

“Katsuki,” you say, you yield, and you don’t care that the two of you are in a makeup trailer in a stadium rented out to Sports Illustrated; you don’t care if he’s your boss and you’re his assistant; you don’t care if Kirishima knows, or Mina, or Yukiko or Maybe-Nakano or the old woman from the gyudon place; if he burns, so will you.

Because he’s gotten you accustomed to the heat, because he’s calloused you.

“I don’t want to be Yukiko,” it’s whispered against his lips and he slows down the tiniest bit, trying to listen to whatever you’re saying, “watching you from the sidelines because I couldn’t say it when I needed to.”

Katsuki can’t know what you’re talking about, has no idea of what was revealed to you, but he shakes his head slightly, nipping your lip. “What sidelines? There ain’t any sidelines.”

When he tugs at your visitor badge—the horrible, rotten, loathsome thing—you grin so hard it hurts. “I’m with you?”

His hips rock into yours unhurried, as if you have all the time in the world (just you and Katsuki), and a breath stutters out in the space between you. “‘s’right.”

And then the bubble pops.

“Is everything alright in there?” Comes a voice outside the trailer, and you strain your ears desperately, pleading to the universe that it is not, somehow, Kirishima Eijirou. “We heard some crashing.”

Yukiko—the grin in her voice translates through the door.

Oh my god, you think, you say, horrified. Your hand slaps over your mouth as Katsuki rolls his eyes, stilling his hips but not yet leaning from you. When she knocks again, he grits his teeth and barks,

“We’re come—we’ll be out in a minute, damn it!”

The fit of laughter you devolve into has him scowling, fingers pinching your sides as he grumbles at you to shaddup, though his words are laced with fatigue; neither of you have the strength not to fall into whatever this is.

“‘m never doing this interview shit again, got it?” he groans, grabbing a stray button from the vanity to scrutinize.

Giving a playful salute, you say, “sir, yes, sir.”

Katsuki glowers, rolling his shoulders in that way that looks like it hurts, in that way that looks mouthwatering—and he knows it, by the smirk growing on his face. “If you keep that sir shit up, we’re gonna be in here longer than a minute.”

In your fuzzy boots, you sweaty toes curl, biting your lip to keep from smiling as he retrieves his ruined shirt from the ground—oh, god, how were you gonna explain that to Maybe-Nakano? “Is that a promise?”

His eyes widen furiously and he pinches you again, trapping you back against the mirror as his nose bumps yours, “are you. Trying. To drive me. Crazy.”

And it’s not so much a question as it is a confession.

—

8:13 A

The photos of Dynamight are, as expected, impeccable.

Yukiko had forwarded you a few of the unedited shots through her official email address—and she had also sent several winking emojis through her personal, which she had given to you not long after the shoot.

There are only three sample photos, stamped with an embossed, Sports Illustrated watermark that takes up the majority of the picture, but you’ve been peeking at them whenever Kirishima isn’t incidentally prowling past your office. He looks amazing, changed, grown, in the untouched versions, with scars peeking out on his chest and across his nose, the stubble he refused to let them shave shadowing his chin, the deep, permanent crease between his eyebrows—it’s all him, Dynamight, Katsuki, exactly as he is.

The wooden blinds in his office are pulled open, flooding your office with the fluorescent light burning through his, and when you look up to give him a wave (that he won’t return), his eyes are already on you—as they always seem to be, these days.

Alright already, he means, get your ass in here.

The low heels you're wearing today don’t require a clasp, so slipping them on is all too easy, and you peer out of your office warily—your clipboard and the folder with the photos hugged tight to your chest—while searching for any pesky redheads. When the coast seems clear, you hurry to round the corner from your office into his, leaning back against the door—which you realize has a bright green sticky note that says FUCK OFF, SHITTY HAIR—holding your breath until it’s safely shut.

Your boss is waiting, chin in hand, one ash eyebrow raised.

“Good morning,” you beam, waving the manila folder like a prize before setting it on his desk. “I can’t wait to show you these, they turned out great—”

It’s flicked back across the desk at you, “Not interested.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You whine, shoulders slumping, “don’t you want to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Decline.”

Tapping a pen against your lips, you narrow your eyes at him, biting back a smile when he frowns. “I’ll find a way to show you, somehow, anyway! Deku called at 2:37 yesterday—”

“Decline.”

“And he did not ask you to lunch, y’old grouch.” You smirk when his lip twitches. “I just wanted to gloat that he called and asked to speak to me—”

“What the hell did he say?”

Katsuki looks bewildered; you’re in the elevator, you’re raising the sack.

“Uh, sir, are you asking about my personal conversations with your fellow—”

“I’m not fuckin’ around, what did he say?”

He’s in the corner, hissing and spitting, but you’ve still got him in your sights.

The pen taps against your lips again and you hum, “I don’t really think it’s appropriate that I divulge that information to you, sir, but if you’d like to call him—”

“I know what you’re doing, y’little brat.” His chair flies into the file cabinet behind him with how quick he rises to his feet. “And it ain’t gonna work. When I want to call him, I will.”

Shit, eluded you again. Sorry Deku, you think, maybe next time.

“Okay,” you shrug, checking the box on your clipboard, “Best Jeanist called, he wanted to congratulate you on hitting the number four spot.”

He stands straighter, suddenly looking awkward, out of place, that he’s been acknowledged. “Well, it’s about fuckin’ time.”

Clearing your throat, you lean a little more into the door, keeping your eyes trained on a not-entirely-real to do on your list. “And your romantic partner, she would like to congratulate you also.”

“Hah? My—” Katsuki’s eyes narrow suspiciously at you as he comes around the front of his desk, taking measured, predatory steps as he looms closer. “Better be something other than—”

“Tuna-mayo, I know,” you pretend to read another Post-It before dropping the act, smiling up at him as his eyes dart down to your lips. “It definitely is.”

“When ‘m I gettin’ this congratulations?”

“Later, when certain heroes aren’t in the same—”

But Katsuki doesn’t care, relying on the note tacked to the front of his door as he captures your lips with his own. The hoodie he’s wearing is making him entirely too warm, spreading to you when his hands come up to hold your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks in such an affectionate way, you think to hell with Kirishima knowing.

The clipboard clatters lightly to the floor as you wrap your arms around his waist, hands coming up to rest in the comfort of his back (broad, scarred, steady enough to hold the weight of Japan). He groans lowly when you scratch him through the fabric, though it is more a sound of contentment than lust, and you giggle against him as he pulls back to peck you once, twice, three times.

“Sir,” you try to pout, but your lips don’t listen, “this is entirely inappropriate for—”

“Cut the sir shit, or else.”

“I am never, ever going to cut the sir shit, I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Your arms tighten around him when he tries to pull away, scowling down at you.

“Then you’re gonna get fucking railed in here one day, and I don’t want to hear shit about—and don’t you ask me if that’s a goddamn promise, ‘cause it is!” Katsuki goes to kiss you again, just to shut you up since you can’t stop giggling into the fabric of his chest. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh at—”

There is a wild banging on the glass window of your office, where the blinds are still open and revealing.

Where Kirishima stands, grin lighting up his smug face brighter than you think you’ve ever seen it. Just as he gives a giant, rewarding thumbs up to the both of you, Katsuki tears the door of his own office open, shouting out a raging—

“That’s it!”

—before Eijirou’s wild laughter can be heard echoing off the high-vaulted ceilings of the agency. The sound makes you laugh, feeling so full in your chest at the familiarity of it—Red Riot’s sunshine, Dynamight’s inferno—and it has you wondering if maybe you’ve been inside this bubble a lot longer than you realized, if maybe you’ve been inside it all along.

“Nerd (Affectionately)“ SMAU Master List

Bakugou Katsuki x Gn!Reader

Summary} You’ve been in love with Bakugou since you two were little. Pining after him for years gets tiring when all he does is push you aside. Maybe it’s best for everyone if you two stayed friends. It’s not like he’s going to have a moment of realization of his feelings for you…right?

Warnings} Quirkless!Reader, Angst, Fluff, Cursing, Asshole Bakugou, Humor, there is no Twitter Handle in this SMAU, also bad memes that humor me, SLOW BURN. (Please let me know of any typos/mistakes)

Status} Completed!

Chapter 1: It’s Simp Time

Chapter 2: Designer Boots

Chapter 3: Izuku Said “Ass”

Chapter 4: Friends It Is

Chapter 5: A Smelly Kind of Smell

Chapter 6: Movie Night

Chapter 7: Super Secret Plans

Chapter 8: The Photo

Chapter 9: Firework Show

Chapter 10: Lunch

Chapter 11: She’s Good For Him

Chapter 12: Back and Unpacked

Chapter 13: Plenty Of Evidence

Chapter 14: From Now On

Chapter 15: Pop Off Izuku

Chapter 16: Not Ever Again

Chapter 17: Effort, The Bare Minimum

Chapter 18: Making It Count

Chapter 19: By A Millisecond

Chapter 20 (Final): About Damn Time

Final Words

[Blog Master List]

As You Command Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Pairing: Dragon king! Bakugou x Fem Reader

Summary: Since you were children, Prince Bakugou has taken a special interest in making your life as hellish as possible. As his future advisor, it's your job to grin and bear it, no matter how much you wish you could teach him a lesson. When the chance for you to leave the kingdom presents itself and the Prince stops it, you're sure it's just another one of his poorly planned pranks that will end badly for the both of you. But could there be more to his actions than you realize?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, romance

Series Warnings: (I will add specific warnings to each chapter) this series will contain smut, cursing, violence, kidnapping, character death, drinking, and may mention dark themes (non-con/dub-con)

Based off this blurb

Schedule:

Chapter 1: February 1st

Chapter 2: February 7th