smau with boyfriend katsuki bakugou! part 1 <3
takes place after this series! :)
happy birthday bakugou!! 🥳
thank you so so much for reading i hope you enjoyed!!
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@4everwithm3
smau with boyfriend katsuki bakugou! part 1 <3
takes place after this series! :)
happy birthday bakugou!! 🥳
thank you so so much for reading i hope you enjoyed!!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! final part + follow up oneshot!!!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9!
THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING!!! and double triple quadruple thank you if you read the one shot!! it’s abt 3.5k words
the next morning
You were awake before you opened your eyes. Your eyelids felt as though an outside force was squeezing them together, far too tightly to attempt to peel them apart just yet.
On top of that, your mouth was dry, almost sore in its need for water, and your head felt dazed and fuzzy in a woozy way. It was all in a manner you were frequently greeted by upon waking up; like many weekend mornings, you were hungover. (Most would argue that you, and a select few of your friends, drink and party far too often, but you never really cared enough to change that.)
Your nose, however… smelt an all too familiar scent. One of your favorite ones, in fact. Yet, not one that you often wake up to when in this state.
It was that of Katsuki Bakugou’s bedroom, of course. Of his sheets. Of him.
The boy you had been best friends with for the majority of your life.
The boy you had feelings for for most of that time.
And, of course, the boy you had been hooking up with for over a year now.
That ordeal started when a casually pissed off play fight turned a little too breathy and intimate, and led to an unexpectedly heated kiss that exploded with the unrealized tension that had built up between you over the years. So then, of course, said kiss led to a full-on make-out. It probably would have gone further, as it did in most every instance after the fact, had he not stopped for clarity’s sake.
(He abruptly yanked his body backward, dropping the hands that he had snaked underneath your shirt and around your waist as he pulled his now slightly swollen lips off of your own.
In tandem with his movements, your hands instinctively retreated from their place tangled up in his hair and moved to replace his hold on your waist, albeit much more nervously than his previous confident hold.
He looked at you with an expression you had never once seen him wear.
And it terrified you.
You had just made out with your long-term crush. Who was also your best friend. Who now looked like that— and you did not want to get your heart broken. So, you quickly got ahead of it, without thinking too hard about your words as you did, only mindlessly attempting damage control on your feelings-revealing actions.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That- That was really weird and- and stupid,” you started, immediately breaking eye contact and staring at his slightly heaving chest instead. “I don’t- I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I did that. Hormones and shit, I guess, you know?” you lied, trying as hard as you could to have it come off as just the awkward truth as if it weren’t the farthest thing from it. You could only hope that your clear nerves came off as the right amount to be appropriate to the situation, and they weren’t enough to raise any suspicions. “I’m sorry.”
He could tell that you were sorry.
That was pretty much all that he could pick up from you, though; he was equally as clueless as you. So he went with that.
“…Don’t be. If you got something to be sorry for, so do I,” he easily rationalized, to which your eyes remained nervously fixed on his chest, and you nodded slowly. “But- yeah. Obviously just fuckin’ hormones and shit. It’s not like-”
Your eyes then betrayed you, flicking up to his even though you weren’t ready for it. And you regretted it, as you still weren’t sure what to make of the look in his own. They bore into yours intensely as they reconnected.
“It’s not like I like you or whatever the fuck.”
He saw something flash on your face that he’s never seen before, and he almost regretted his words. But he wasn’t sure what the look meant, so he wasn’t sure if he should.
“I don’t even have any time for that kinda shit anyway,” he pointedly added, because it just felt right to say.
“Right. Yeah. Same,” you said simply with a short nod, proud of the way your voice didn’t falter. Because, on the inside, it felt like you were being torn to shreds.
It’s not like I like you was ringing in your ears painfully. You were cursing yourself out for ever even slightly believing otherwise could be true.
However, an ounce of hope was still buzzing within you, fighting to hold on to anything— and you did have something to hold on to.
You just made out. And, feelings aside, he was clearly into it. He’s still a boy, after all. And you… don’t think you’re unattractive, at least.
“But, I mean, that was kinda… fun,” you pushed yourself to say before you could overthink it, and you watched, hope increasing, as his brows shifted up a little at your words.
He stared, thinking.
“Yeah,” he then said, a little awkwardly, but your heart spiked at his agreement.
“We could… do it some more,” you said in a half-playful tone with a small shrug.
He thought with a pensive look for what felt like far too long before, fortunately, a smirk slowly took over his features.
He reached a hand forward to grab your chin as he leaned back in, and your own smile pulled itself together.
And that was that.)
Now, here you were, freshly awake and hungover and momentarily warmed by the realization of your place in the blonde’s bed, snuggling further into his pillow that was tucked beneath your head.
Until, of course, you quickly recalled, though not in precise detail, the previous night’s events that led to you being in this position.
The texts you had drunkenly and pathetically sent him.
His terse and vague responses, each of which prompted another drink out of you.
Your terribly desperate reactions.
The way that you could see, even through your drunken haze, that his face and his tone and his movements were far more careful and tender than you had ever seen when he found you amongst the crowd at the bar of the club you frequented and dragged you out by his side to his car.
The way that the silence was thicker than ever, veering on the edge of something that felt rather terrifying but equally exhilarating.
The way that he held you with arms that simply felt different, almost more protective, than usual when you wordlessly curled into him to fall asleep.
Unless, that is, you were simply too enamored with the boy and overly hopeful and drunk, and all you were sensing the night before was the pity he felt over the rejection he knew was coming your way. God, already, you were losing the hope the intoxicated version of yourself felt— because that must have been all that it was, right?
Your heartbeat sped up, and your eyes shot wide open.
Unfortunately, before you had a chance to really process or prepare for a single thing, you were immediately greeted by the sight of Katsuki sitting up and leaning towards you, staring into your eyes intently.
“Jesus,” you said, voice groggy, as you jumped a little.
You took the scare as an opportunity to act normally.
“Creepy much?” you sleepily quipped. You hoped your tiredness was effectively covering up your nervousness.
He laughed a little, a small and Katsuki-like thing.
“Not my fault your alcoholic ass slept in so late. Nothin’ to do but wait for you,” he said with an equally small smile, his voice chill and easy, like he didn’t feel the weight of the air anywhere near as heavily as you did.
You, however, could hardly bear it.
Usually, even when drunk, your muscle memory always succeeds in tucking your phone under your pillow when going to sleep. You hoped that would remain the case as you shifted away from him and his eye contact in order to reach under and feel around for it. Luckily, as you half-sat up while looking for it, you felt the thing, and immediately yanked it out to put in front of you and use as a further distraction and a way to prolong the confrontation you knew had to happen soon.
7:09 AM, read the time.
“What the hell? I didn’t sleep in late at all, you damn liar,” you said as your hand with the phone flopped down in tired exasperation, letting go of the object as it did.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Maybe I’m just impatient,” he admitted, to which you finally smiled a little at.
Until that smile swiftly faded when you realized what it was he was impatient over: setting you straight.
Restating and emphasizing what he’d said all that time ago.
He doesn’t like you like that. He doesn’t have time for you like that.
You knew this. You’ve known this. Why would it be any different now?
As you moved to properly sit up, you felt his eyes pour over you. You felt them too much, and it was making you become impatient as well. Your heart felt like it was becoming more fragile with each second, and you just wanted to go ahead and get this over with already.
“How bad’s your hangover?” he asked.
Simply. Harmlessly. Caringly.
But the thing was, you didn’t know if you wanted him to care. Not right now. Not about this.
Of course, truly, you absolutely did, but you just knew that he couldn’t care in the same way that you did, in the way that you would want him to. So, if he was going to split your heart in two, you didn’t want him to let you down easily. You wanted him to be angry and harsh. You wanted him to rip it apart and out of your chest altogether and all at once. That seemed easiest. Because if you could just see how little this– you, you tell yourself– meant to him, then maybe it wouldn’t mean so much to you either.
Maybe it wouldn’t wreck you as much as a gradual decline would, so that, just maybe, you could get over this faster afterward.
But no. Here he was, right off the bat, taking your heart into consideration and being as gentle as he was capable of being with it: calmly staring at you as you slept peacefully and then easing you awake with sweet words, before breaking the bad news that you already sensed was coming.
You couldn’t handle this.
You wished last night was just a dream, that you weren’t here right now, that you two could just continue on how you were without your dumb, unwanted feelings messing anything up.
But it was too late. Here you were, insides churning, as he asked nothing but a soft question.
One that you begrudgingly wrung out an answer to in your mind. But when you tried to actually say it, you found that you couldn’t get your mouth to move.
Could be worse, you said in your head. Over and over, trying to spit it out, but hearing nothing every time.
You finally felt your lips move, but not at all in the way that you wanted— Suddenly, they were trembling.
No.
The hands that rested limply in your lap slowly moved in order to tightly grip the fabric beneath them. You tilted your head forward in hopes that your hair would cover your face. You bit down on your shaky bottom lip.
But you still felt the slightest layer of tears brim at the edge of your eyes.
God, why did you have to be so sensitive? Why did you have to be such a stupid, careless drunk? Why was this happening?
You needed to hold it together, you knew that. You already looked pathetic enough; he didn’t need to see you like this on top of it. It was surely that last thing you needed.
“…(Y/N)?” he asked, of course, defying the events of your ideal scenario right now and noticing your not-so-subtle nervous mannerisms and shift in demeanor. And his voice was filled with nothing but more care. Concern, now. He was worried for you. And, again, that’s about the opposite of what you wanted.
You squeezed your eyes shut,, shook your head, and looked even more downward, trying to hide as much as you could. You felt yourself inching closer toward breaking and you absolutely hated it, hated that you could do nothing about it. You hated everything about the position you were in.
“What the hell is the matter with-” Katsuki started, but was quickly interrupted by the stun of seeing a tear drop down into your lap, making his voice catch in his throat.
He felt his heart sink painfully.
You mentally face-palmed at how badly you failed to hold yourself together. You couldn’t dwell on it for too long, though, before Katsuki spoke again.
“Why the fuck are you crying?” he asked frantically in panic, his voice loud and angry, but, really, that was only to cover up the clear unease at seeing you like this.
You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t speak, and even if you could, you didn’t know what you would say. Your mind was blank, only feeling the fear and dread in your heart as your tears continued falling.
Your fists tightened, nails digging into them with enough pressure to hurt your palms even with the fabric of your pants in the way. In fact, your hands began to shake from how hard you were squeezing them.
Katsuki immediately noticed your tremors, and he instinctively reached a hand of his own forward to rest on top of yours. He hated seeing you like this, and he didn’t understand why it was happening.
Your eyes opened at the feeling, and you hated the way it instantly calmed you. You hated that it always did.
You hated that you not only liked him, but you liked him so fucking much.
“I’m sorry,” you finally broke your silence, voice cracking and tears only picking up as you did.
“The fuck are you sorry for?” he asked, and the thumb of his hand over yours began to move back and forth. “...Don’t be sorry. I just fuckin’ hate seeing you like this.”
Even though it made your stomach flutter, that’s still not what you wanted him to say.
You yanked your hands out from underneath his touch and wrapped your arms around your torso. A small, strangled noise escaped his throat out of surpise as his hand fell onto your legs.
“Stop being so nice,” you suddenly burst out, both your cries and your frustration greatly seeping through the words, and growing as you continued. Your eyes clamped back shut. “Just be fucking blunt. Please. Just tell me I’m a complete and total idiot, that I was being desperate and pathetic and getting my stupid hopes up yesterday, and that you’ll never see me as anything more than your annoying best friend who you like to fuck for fun and could never actually like.”
Katsuki’s brows furrowed down more and more aggressively with each tearful word you forced out. He hated hearing you sound so defeated. So hurt. Especially when he was so sure you would be the exact opposite.
Was last night not enough for you to be sure of how he really feels about you? Not even on top of the fact that he pretty much hates most people, and there is not a single other person he treats the way he treats you, not a single friend of his who he is nearly as nice to and attentive of and clearly fucking attached to?
He inhaled slowly and silently as he gathered his thoughts.
“You are a complete and total idiot. But not for the reasons you think,” he began.
Your stomach flipped, your grip around yourself loosened a little, and your eyes opened again. Katsuki lifted his hand from your legs and released the fist he had formed, placing it softly on your chin and carefully turning your head to finally face him.
His face twitched at the sight of yours, all red and puffy. You noticed the minuscule movement, and you bit the inside of your cheek in anticipation of what he would follow up with. Any new tears ceased, now distracted by the new feeling in the air.
“I’m fuckin’ sorry I ever made you think that I could think any of that. I’m an idiot, (Y/N). I’m a fucking idiot.”
Your heart practically exploded, and your jaw slightly fell at his words. You couldn’t believe your ears.
Were you dreaming? Was this real? Were you real?
You felt like you were a lava lamp, with the way your insides were just tumbling all about. And it almost felt like you were without a brain, too, with how blank and still it was out of pure shock.
“I meant what I said last night,” he continued, despite your half-expectation that the next thing to happen would be you waking up. “I probably shouldn’t’ve said it while you were drunk. But… of course I wanna be your damn boyfriend. Of course I fucking like you. I… I’ve liked you for years, (Y/N).”
Naturally, uncontrollably, a smile overtook your features entirely.
“...Seriously?” you asked, just in case, your voice holding back a river of joy as you waited for one more confirmation that this wasn’t all in your head.
His own smile grew, and he laughed, short and breathy, before giving you the affirmation you sought out. “Fucking obviously seriously,” he said, clearly meaning it. He could have left it at that, but he felt an urge to say more. “When we first kissed. I just- I thought you regretted it. Only reason I said… whatever the fuck I said.”
You stared at him, deeply, as your emotions grew, before throwing your arms around his shoulders and leaning forward to press your lips to his. You kissed him more gently than you ever had. And when he kissed you back, which he instantly did, he did the same. And it felt different, to know it was real now. It felt so much better– and you honestly hadn’t known if that was even possible.
Quickly, you smiled into the kiss, unable to hold it back with how elated you were. You pulled back, then leaned your body further in, pulling him into a hug instead and laying your head on his shoulder, seeking more of his soft touch.
A small smile rested on his face as you moved to be against him, and he wrapped his arms around you securely.
“We’re idiots,” you breathed into his shoulder, smile remaining.
“Tch. Yeah,” he, almost tenderly, agreed.
“Ts’ my fault, really,” you felt the need to remind him. “That day, I’m the one who jumped to make an excuse for it and pretend like I hadn’t wanted to do that for ages. I was just scared, and I wasn’t sure what you were gonna say. And then when you agreed with me and shit, you just… seemed so sure.”
He noticed the way you got a little sadder again as you began to lament over the past, and he wasn’t having any of that. He only wanted to see you happy.
“It’s nobody's fuckin’ fault,” he confidently declared, even though he felt like it was his fault, really. He shouldn’t have been such a damn coward, keeping his feelings inside even though he wanted you so insanely bad, so much it felt like it almost killed him at times. But no way was he going to say any of that. “Who gives a shit about all that. We’re here now.”
Your smile returned to its previous magnitude, of which it had only momentarily strayed, and you tightened your grip around the boy.
“Yeah,” you said warmly into his shoulder. “We’re here now. …Which does mean we’re like official and shit, right? As in, dating? Boyfriend and girlfriend?”
He laughed a little and shook his head endearingly.
“Yeah, yeah, all of the above, nerd.”
You laughed as well before sitting your head back up, making it level with his once more. Then, you adjusted your whole body entirely, shifting your legs to straddle him. He aided you in getting into the position comfortably by sitting up more properly and bracing his hands on your hips.
You shared a look, his for once nearly equal to yours in its sweetness, before you leaned in once more to press your lips back to his.
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 9!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8!
second to last part!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 8!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 7!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 6!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5!
4 more parts left!! thank you guys sm for reading!!!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 5!
part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 4!
part 1, part 2, part 3!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 3!
part 1, part 2!
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 2!
part 1!
posting a part a day :)
texts with katsuki bakugou as your best friend turned friends with benefits/situationship!! part 1!
tried so hard to keep him in character but at the end of the day idfk what im doing and just did this for fun to make myself smile and hope someone else gets some enjoyment from it <3 happy easter :)🐰
can someone pls write a bakugou x reader fanfic where the reader şëłf ĥ@řms and bakugou finds out
I've read all the hurt/comfort stories about this already and life is not lifeing rn I rllllyyy need a story to relate to!!
pls tag me if u end up writing smth❤️
saw this and decided to write one cuz i’ve also read all the existing ones and like feel u fr @everyoneluvsanicia
but i kinda ended up just writing more for myself than anything else so TW the self harm is quite descriptive !!!!
if you’re reading this i love you please take care of yourself and know that you matter very much <3 <3
hope this is good i kinda just went for it ig
almost 8k words
It had been one hell of a day.
You were beyond exhausted.
From the second you stepped out of bed in the morning to the moment you finally retreated back to your room upon nightfall, you felt as though the entire world was out to get you.
Of course, that outlook was due in majority to the profoundly negative lens you had worn for the last week or two. Maybe longer, you weren’t really sure. All the days had started to blur together: one effect of practically everything about life seeming dull and pointless and more effort than it’s worth.
However, even prior to this, this general darkness was always there— always lingering and buzzing with dangerous potential just beneath the surface. In fact, you couldn’t really remember a time in your life when it wasn’t something you had to deal with to some degree.
Every now and then, though, things simply got more intense and harder to manage for a little while, without warning or clear reason.
Those stretches used to be significantly longer than they tended to be in the more recent couple of years. Back then, the very worst of your thoughts and feelings would remain at the forefront of your mind for far too many months at a time. It was absurdly unbearable.
So much so that, in a desperate attempt to cope with the misery, you turned to cutting yourself.
There was never much clear thought to it when you did. And never an ounce of healthy logic.
The first time it happened, you were mid-breakdown in your cramped bathroom after pushing everything down for a whole semester and finally getting sent over the edge after a series of unusual inconveniences. As you gripped the counter and looked down at it, your blurred vision caught a peripheral glimpse of your eyebrow razor. It made you think about how you had heard of self-harming before. In that moment, you began to figure that there must be a reason it’s a fairly common thing; maybe it really does help. You didn’t exactly think about it too in depth, though. After continually trying day after day, you were simply itching to feel even a little better, and you didn’t care about your physical safety in the matter. So, you hastily grabbed the razor and brought the blade to your wrist, hesitating for just a brief moment before pressing it down and gliding across. Just once, pausing to stare at the wound you had created as a strange feeling washed its way over you. Then you continued, doing it over and over with each movement growing more impulsive as you covered your forearm with slashes and blood.
And you liked to think that it did help— it didn’t really, of course.
You liked having pain to focus on that wasn’t emotional. You liked seeing tangible evidence of the invisible pain you felt inside. Really, though, all that meant, all that it caused, was more pain. Plus, it’s not like you weren’t aware that it was an objectively bad thing to do.
But it seemed like it helped. More or less.
So, you kept doing it every once in a while anyway, always impulsively and haphazardly. Until, eventually, you kicked the habit.
Mostly, that is.
It had been a relatively long time since you’d had any urge to do it again– Until this day. This dreadfully grueling day.
Too much was weighing on you, and it was all too familiarly overwhelming; the idea crept its way in, just like it used to. And you were much too tired to fight it.
So, you slowly pushed yourself up from where you’d plopped down on the floor and remained since closing your door, and ventured toward your bathroom instead.
On the way, you took off your hoodie and tossed it over to your bed, which it missed, and hit the floor with a light thud instead.
You opened a drawer and, out of it, grabbed the tiny but nonetheless high-potential-to-harm object which you bought specifically in case you ever felt the need to fall back on it in this very way. Not that you didn’t know that you shouldn’t, that that wasn’t smart or healthy or good in any way. You just couldn’t bring yourself to care enough to do anything about it. You had to manage to survive somehow, after all, and if any version of you thought that this was the way to do it, then so be it.
You positioned your arm over the bathroom sink, wrist facing upward, that hand balling into a loose fist.
Pausing, you took a moment to examine the existing lines that riddled the full surface from the top of your wrist to the pit of your elbow. Some were thicker, some were thinner. Some were still raised and some now flat. Some white and some remaining various shades of red.
You usually tried to avoid looking too closely at the healed slits. Open injuries were one thing— for some reason or another, their permanently lingering scars were often another.
After a minute or so of staring, you finally raised your other hand. It was the slightest bit unsteady as you moved the sharp metal toward your marked skin, preparing to make more.
You inhaled steadily as you roughly pressed the cold steel against yourself and slid it across your wrist with a harsh and swift movement.
You stared hard at the result, mind devoid of any clear thoughts, intentionally much more focused on your physical sensations.
Just like it always did, a strange mix of superficial relief and underlying guilt and shame rippled over you, both internally and externally, creating a heavy pressure on your whole being as if it were suddenly dragged deep under water. And just as you always did, you ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the tingling pain and the release of all too temporary happy chemicals your brain sent out in compensation for such.
Your eyebrows twitched and your jaw tightened as you watched the stinging gash pool up with your blood, with the life force that’s meant to remain soundly on the inside of you. It filled all the way up before spilling over, leaking out.
You exhaled shakily at the familiar feeling of the warm liquid rolling down your skin, the droplet almost feeling like a blade of its own.
The deep red fluid streamed its way to the other side of your arm and dripped off of you, plopping onto your shiny, pristine sink and staining it with a dark, messy splatter.
Your brows furrowed down as you watched the occurrence with a heavy chest. Soon after, though, you brought the small-scale knife right back down to your maimed flesh and placed it below the fresh slice. Again, you aggressively pushed into yourself, creating a second, parallel one, equally deep and angry and hurt. Then, beneath that, a third. Then a fourth. And so on.
Eventually, after continuing on and on with the disheartening ritual, the entire area in which your scars take up was covered in brand new wounds, adding to the littered mix. Blood gushed out of each one of them, covering your forearm entirely and much of the sink.
More commonly, your relapses consisted of much lesser amounts of damage at a time. However, it had been a particularly rough day.
You dropped both your arms to the counter, the messier of the two still over the sink and the other releasing its grip on the miniature, now-bloodied weapon and leaving it to clatter onto the counter sloppily. The movement splattered about more of the viscous substance that’s supposed to remain underneath your skin, not cover inch upon inch of your bathroom.
You closed your eyes, taking time to sit with the raw throbbing of pain burning all over the vast area of skin.
You sat, quiet and still, with your underlying multitude of complex emotions (which you always pretty much entirely neglected to actually process) humming over you uncomfortably. Rather, you only continued to focus on your current influx of endorphins that the physical harm released, reveling in the time-sensitive euphoric feel of it.
You remained just about entirely unmoving until each stream of your blood clotted up and ceased in its flowing.
With a drawn-out exhale through your nose, you slowly moved to turn on the sink’s faucet. You picked back up the tool you’d dropped in order to rinse it clean, then set it aside again. You cleaned yourself off next, having to use your other arm’s hand to help wipe away the crimson clumps of cells. After it was all washed off your person, you splashed the water around your sink to clear its basin. Then you grabbed a roll of paper towels from its holder, ripped a couple off, wet them, and used them to wipe the remaining stains off the counter before tossing the damp instruments into the trash.
You knew both logically and from memory that wiping away the clots would restart the blood flow, and simply rinsing your gaping injuries wasn’t enough to stop it; it would gear back up at any moment.
So, you quickly pulled out a heaping of paper towels one at a time, making a thick pile that you then carried back towards your bed. When you reached it, you tossed all but three of the disposable cloths on top of your comforter, and moved to hold those ones sturdily against yourself as you sat down.
Just moments after you sank into your mattress comfortably, an aggressive knock sounded at the door. It was one which you had long grown accustomed to and therefore instantly recognized— Katsuki Bakugou.
Your heart dropped at his untimely appearance, and a worried tingle shot throughout you. It wasn’t often that he came over without some sort of prior hint at such. You, on the other hand, frequently showed up at his dorm unexpectedly. Why did he have to pick now, of all moments, to follow in your footsteps in the matter?
You knew from experience that if you neglected to acknowledge his presence within the next ten seconds, he’d barge in without another warning. (He constantly scolded you for leaving the entrance unlocked, but he used the factor to his advantage when needed.)
So, with frantic movements, your hand that pressed the absorbent sheets against you pulled away and tossed the now slightly bloodied things atop the unstained ones, and then bent downward to grab your discarded hoodie and throw it back on. You winced a little at the pain of pulling your fresh cuts as you stretched to get into the article, and then again as you pulled the fabric over them. Then, you opened your nightstand's top drawer and shoved all of the paper towels into it, closing it right in time for Katsuki to swing the door open.
Once he did, you wrapped your arms around your midsection, the injured one pressing into your stomach and the other resting on top of it to cover it as much as it could.
He sauntered up to you with his usual scowl, just slightly more perturbed-looking than usual.
In truth, he was significantly more bothered than his face reflected. For the last week, he had been noticing the subtle ways your secret struggles had started to outwardly manifest, paying closer and closer attention whenever he picked up on something even minutely off about your demeanor or actions.
It started when you showed up to class only moments before it started, instead of your consistent 15 minutes earlier, and with your usually neat uniform clinging to your body in a disheveled manner. Once you were before him upon the class’s conclusion, he looked at you with a raised suspicious brow, and you gave a simple shrug and limited explanation: “Overslept,” is what you had nonchalantly said. Not only was that a rather uncommon phenomenon for you, but something about the way you said it just seemed off, wrong, nearly as though you had to force it out.
After that, each and every instance of unusualness, even the myriad smallest ones that were only noticeable because of just how hard he was looking, pissed him the hell off more and more and more– his version of being concerned. He wasn’t angry at you; he could never be genuinely angry at you. Rather, at whatever the fuck was causing you to act like this, and the fact that it wasn’t going away.
Today was his final straw. At lunch, as your friend group loudly chatted away and you, unfortunately, remained in your lackluster participation, he also noticed you were barely eating your food. You simply pushed it around on your plate instead, only occasionally taking a small bite that you’d move to your mouth with clear (to him, that is) hesitation and then chew for way too long. Once it was time to leave the cafeteria, your plate was practically still full. Mina pointed it out, and you brushed it off with an unbothered smile, claiming you just weren’t that hungry for some reason and you probably ate too big a breakfast. His jaw tightened when he overheard your excuse, seeing right through it. Not only had you never skipped a meal like that before, but your appetite has always been especially vast. Although, upon thinking about it, he remembered a decent few times in the past when he noticed you eating less than usual, but it never stood out to him as something to be troubled by, not until it was piled atop all your other strange behaviors. Now he wondered, angry at himself in the process, if he should have been paying more attention from the start.
So, the second he was free to do so, he finally stomped his way over to your room to demand that you explain.
Immediately upon entering, he noticed the strange expression on your face and the way it created an air of nervousness around you.
Each step he took to reach you was a far and fast-paced stride.
Once in front of you, he remained standing and placed his hands on his hips in an irritated fashion, glowering down at you.
Your gaze had followed his form across the room, your eyes remaining on his from your place on the edge of your bed as he settled into his stance.
“Hey,” you greeted him with a half-assed smile and as casual a voice as you could muster up while you curled your legs upward to create another layer between Katsuki and what you were trying to hide from him.
His face contorted further, quirking an eyebrow up as his eyes glazed over your figure and the way that you clearly attempted to make it smaller by the way you shrank into it.
Your hands gripped the fabric of your hoodie anxiously as you watched him observe you with his uncomfortably analyzing stare.
“The fuck is going on with you lately, huh?” he conclusively grilled, impatiently skipping over the act of greeting you back in order to get straight to the point.
Your heart sank.
He was clearly bothered by something, but in no world did you expect it to be that.
You thought you always did a good enough job at hiding the truth. At least, he nor anyone else had ever said a thing in the past, and it had been going on long enough (your whole life, that is) that you figured that meant that no one ever would.
You tightened your hold on your waist as you mentally cursed yourself out.
“What do you mean?” you asked in a gentle voice as you forced your expression into feigned lighthearted confusion with a small smile and a playful-esque cock of your head to the side.
“Don’t do that shit,” he pointedly spat as his eyes narrowed further, and you straightened out, shifting nervously. He huffed out an aggressive breath before adding in a much softer tone, “You know what I mean, (Y/N). Answer the damn question.”
Your smile faltered at his failure to accept your avoidance, but you willed it to remain intact, at least to some degree. Honestly, you were afraid you might let yourself start tearing up if you didn’t.
“I just…” you started as you mentally scrambled for a good cover story. You should have had one prepared, but you really never thought you would actually need it. You sincerely never imagined the prospect of anyone noticing enough, or caring enough if they did, to go out of their way to question you. “Everything’s just been a little overwhelming lately. Been kinda hard to keep up, I guess, you know? And I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep. So, yeah. I’m just exhausted and a little worn out, that’s all. There’s- There’s nothing ‘going on,’” you said unconvincingly with a weak shrug. You weren’t completely lying. Mostly, you were simply leaving a hell of a lot out.
His face twitched with frustration, hand in hand with distress, at your denial and obviously pulled-out-of-your-ass excuse. He remained in his place, feet planted on the ground right ahead of your spot on the mattress as he towered above you intimidatingly. That was his hope at least, wanting his formidable presence to push you toward telling the truth— though, you were incapable of ever being truly intimidated by the blonde, or ever seeing him as even a bit formidable (because, of course, all you see when you look at him is someone you love and admire). Nonetheless, he stood up as straight as he could while he moved his arms to cross them over his chest.
“Bullshit,” he declared with certainty.
You momentarily peeled your eyes away from him, glancing to the side instead as you breathily and exasperatedly laughed. “It’s not bull-“ you began to insist, but he quickly interrupted you.
“The hell it isn’t,” he sharply argued, bringing your visual focus back to him.
Re-met with an even more upset expression, your smile was finally wiped away completely. You bit the inside of your cheek, pausing for a moment to pull together the strength before replying. His chest coiled up uneasily as you did, awaiting what he hoped would be honesty.
Unfortunately, you only continued to attest to your story. “It’s not,” you steadily and falsely affirmed. “I don’t know why that’s so hard to believe. It’s like I said, I just-”
He didn’t need you to continue. He didn’t want to hear it. Again, he cut you off.
“I’ve seen you overwhelmed. I’ve seen you exhausted. I know what the hell you look like when you’re not sleeping. And none of that, none of it, is… this. You’ve been fuckin’ weird. And I need you to tell me why.”
In tandem with his final word, your heart plummeted to the very bottom of your stomach.
Not because of what he said, no.
But because you could suddenly feel that the warm blood still oozing its way out of your very open wounds had begun to seep through your sleeve.
Fuck, you mentally repeated over and over as your heart began to race.
Katsuki picked up on the way your anxiety suddenly spiked, noticing your increased alertness and the dilation of your pupils and the way you scrunched into yourself even tighter. Naturally, his head tilted marginally, and his brows creased further in confused response.
His visible reaction only made your heartbeat speed up even more. Your brows, too, furrowed downward, in your case out of pure worry as to what the fuck you were supposed to do right now.
He watched your progressively growing fragile state with worry of his own.
“Th- There’s nothing else to tell, Katsuki,” you continued to falsely claim, but now in a voice that was unexpectedly tenfold more nervous, much softer and suddenly shaky— to a degree that surprised even you, making your eyes drop down to his chest instead of his face out of embarrassment.
His muscles constricted apprehensively at the sound and at your new lack of eye contact, and a hurt shiver ran throughout him.
You swallowed your spit tensely.
“I don’t know what you think you’re noticing, but it’s all in your head or something,” you warily continued to lie. “So, if that’s all you came here to talk about, then- then you’re free to leave now, okay?”
Not that you truly thought he would, but you begged to any and every possibly existing god that he just might.
His heart uncomfortably skipped a beat at your unusual suggestion and accompanying tone. Not that he even thought it possible, but this only greater solidified his keen awareness that something was very wrong.
He sighed rather solemnly, dropping one hand down to his side and raising the other to rake through his hair.
Opposite to your plea, he took a diagonal step then plopped down onto your bed beside you.
You clamped your teeth down on the inside of your cheek once again, significantly harder this time.
For a fairly long stretch, he stared ahead, unmoving as he thought deeply and frustratedly about what the hell he could do next that might get you to open up.
You, on the other hand, were not thinking much of anything. Rather, all you could do and feel was sheer, utter panic. You wanted to look down at your stomach, see if the growing dampness you felt was in any way noticeable, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.
Fight or flight be damned, your brain entered freeze mode, too terrified to do anything but clench your muscles and feel the impossibly fast beat of your heart and near-nauseating lightheadedness of your brain.
Had you glanced downward, though, you would have seen the way that the blood was, in fact, all too apparent: It trickled upward, spreading into the absorbent material you adorned directly above where your arm pressed into your abdomen. It didn’t help that the top was so light-colored. Maybe if it were black, or some shade of navy, the contents of your insides spilling out and leaking into it would have blended right in.
But, of course, it wasn’t.
Maybe if he stayed in his spot across from you rather than by your side, the alternative angle, with your legs successfully in the way, would’ve at least prolonged the view.
But, again, he didn’t.
And eventually, even though he was yet to fully settle on something to say, Katsuki swiveled his head around to face you completely.
Another shot of acute anxiety rushed through you as you watched the movement from your periphery.
He opened his mouth to speak.
Before he could get a single noise out, the sudden, starkly contrasting color immediately caught his attention.
He clamped his jaw shut so quickly and harshly that the sound of his teeth hitting back together was loud enough to make you flinch ever so slightly.
It felt like the world stopped moving— for both parties.
The air stilled, and a deafening silence overcame the room.
Your gaze fixated hard on the wall you faced, vision going a little fuzzy as you waited for something to happen.
Katsuki’s stomach sank.
His face paled.
His mouth went dry.
He stared intensely at the reason, his gaze growing harder and his expression contorting further with each passing second.
He couldn’t yet think a single coherent thought, only seeing red, both literally and figuratively, as he was consumed by feelings he could never begin to truly name.
You mentally ran through the plethora, seemingly never-ending amounts of worst-case scenarios, watching them flash through your mind in vague, blurry, but no less intense visions.
“What…” he gutturally and slowly started, voice dangerously low and dark and, lacing both of those, scared, all in a way you’ve never once heard. Your thoughts cleared unnervingly, and your eyes squeezed shut at the startling sound. “…the fuck is that.”
He wasn’t asking. It wasn’t truly a question. But it was something he absolutely needed you to answer to.
Impulsively, you opened your eyes, stretched forward your legs, and stood up in lieu of a response, stepping forward with multiple strides and turning slightly so that your back was to him completely. You barely even felt yourself move, seemingly teleporting to your new spot across the room.
You couldn’t face him. You didn’t want to. He was never supposed to find out, especially not like this.
Instantly, he rose to his feet as well, but couldn’t bring himself to step forward, only staring at you intensely as he tightly balled his fists at his sides, his nails digging deep into his skin.
You roughly bit your lip and tried not to cry.
You didn’t know what to say, what to do, what to think, what he would say next, what he would do, what he was thinking. You didn’t know a damn thing, other than that you wished so badly that this was not happening. You hoped that maybe it wasn’t, that this was all some terribly vivid nightmare. It felt surreal enough to give you some hope that that just may be the case.
“You’re bleeding,” he gravelly stated the obvious, voice raising a bit but remaining in its equal parts bristling, worried, and horrified tone. “Your arm is bleeding.”
He was trying to fully absorb the fact, and mentally scrambling to configure any possible explanation that wasn’t the blaringly clear truth. He couldn’t properly process it. It couldn’t be true. It went against everything he thought he knew.
You wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t hurt yourself. Why the fuck would you ever hurt yourself?
Everything about the thought of it— the image in his head of you doing anything like that, of you feeling bad enough to even think of doing anything like that— felt so beyond, heartbreakingly wrong.
But he wasn’t stupid.
He knew it was the only thing that made sense, the only thing that connected with every other dot, that added up with your last week's worth of behavior and now your nervous, faux-relaxed vibe upon his entering your room.
He felt like he was going to be sick. He felt the most raw, powerful concern he had ever felt. And he was so genuinely scared— terrified, really— in a way completely foreign to him. Because what was he supposed to do about this?
You stayed silent and still, continuing to squeeze your limbs against your body as if it still mattered. After a long, tense pause, during which you internally tried to claw your way out of this dreadful moment in any way possible, you finally acknowledged his observation.
“Yeah,” you said simply, and the soft and trembling sound of it, along with your passive agreement, sent a shiver down his spine. “I know,” you added with a crack in your voice, killing him even more.
No part of him could deny it now. He knew without a doubt that exactly what he thought happened was exactly what did happen. And never once in his life had he felt so completely heartbroken, or so fucking useless.
How could he not have known? How long had he been in the dark? And now that he wasn’t, how was he supposed to help pull you out of your own darkness? This wasn’t something he could punch or kick or explode into oblivion. Unlike most things throughout his entire life, this was something he did not know how to handle. But he knew he had to do something– he knew he would do something. Talking about it seemed like the most logical first step.
“Why,” he demanded as his fists somehow tightened.
Your eyes finally welled up with tears at the query and the increasingly rough tone of his voice. You couldn’t say it out loud. You wouldn’t.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve figured that out already,” you quietly retorted instead, your voice growing in its instability.
Katsuki inhaled slowly before he took one hesitant, stiff step forward.
“That’s not what I meant,” he clarified through gritted teeth, stressed and uneasy. “I’m asking you why the hell you would ever fucking do that to yourself.”
His voice now quivered, too, the slightest amount.
You shuddered out a breath as your tears finally broke through, multiple cascading down your cheeks as you snapped your eyes shut again.
You didn’t know what to say, taking another long minute to think. Although you weren’t actually doing much of that, as you just continued to cry and be bathed in pure anguish. Most of the thoughts you did manage were you willing yourself to wake up and escape this, still praying against all odds that it wasn’t actually happening.
“I don’t know,” you sniffled, “It just helps,” was all you could string together, a vague and highly lacking response.
A sharp, hurtful pang spread throughout Katsuki’s chest at both the sound of your crying and at your terse explanation. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen you cry. It was by no means something he missed.
“Helps what?” he asked desperately, feeling more helpless as his fear only grew. He took another small step toward your slightly shaking, weak-postured form.
Your tears only increased at the question, your cries growing more audible. You shook your head vigorously, frustrated by your inability to provide an answer, even if you wanted to (though you definitely did not). This wasn’t something you had ever needed to properly put into words, and you were much too emotional and fragile and embarrassed and in utter disbelief to try now.
Each sniffle and muffled whimper created crack after crack in his increasingly fragile heart, furthering every difficult emotion he already strongly felt: anger, frustration, dread, debilitating sadness.
“You can talk to me,” he reassured, the more tender of his emotions now making their way through his tone, which you instantly picked up on and, honestly, felt a strong sense of relief at. Subconsciously, you had felt exclusively as though this whole time, he was only judging you and angry at you for this. Of course, in reality, neither was even remotely the case— you entirely failed to realize just how much he cares about you and your wellbeing, and how much he completely cherishes everything you are.
He took another step ahead, finally reaching the point just behind you. “Please just talk to me,” he uncharacteristically begged, his longing for you to listen growing clearer with the intensifying tone of each passing word, and making your intensely beating heart’s dismay slowly lighten up.
He raised a hand and released it from its wound-up position, slowly reaching forward to gently place it on your shoulder.
Once he did, you jumped at the unexpected feeling. Not much, but enough for him to nervously retract his touch. His hand remained hovering in the air, just an inch or two away from again making contact. Your heart stuttered at his unusual carefulness.
“Please, (Y/N). I just wanna help,” he now almost whispered, his pain softly seeping through.
Your heart lurched once more, and something inside you simply melted into his words and everything about the way he tenderly and longingly said them, especially with how rare it is to hear such qualities in the explosive boy.
He just wanted to help.
And you needed that— you needed help.
You had for a long time. Far too long. You always thought you didn’t want it, didn’t want to bother burdening anyone with feelings you weren’t sure were even capable of being dealt with, and that you never would. But now, as Katsuki pleaded for you to let him at least try, you began to realize how much you actually did. And maybe you always had.
Abruptly and with fervent movements, you swiveled around a swift 180 degrees and stepped forward to close the gap between the two of you. You practically threw yourself into his chest as your crying turned into full-blown sobs, the first one aggressively tearing its way out of your throat.
He stumbled a bit, his feet not planted on the ground quite firmly enough to immediately support your weight against him, and his eyes shot open widely in surprise.
Almost instantly, though, he regained his balance and brought both his hands to wrap around your frame protectively and securely, as tightly as possible without hurting you. His hands gripped you as well, every finger tip pressing into you firmly as he tried to be there for you as much as he could, be it only physically thus far.
He closed his eyes and released a quiet, shaky breath as you finally let him at least do something. He could only hope it was effectively helping you feel better to even the smallest degree, or bringing you at least some sense of solace.
He would be glad to know that it was.
Your arms remained clamped snugly around your own body, especially now as to not transfer the blood onto his unstained clothes, but you leaned all the way into him, his body fully supporting yours as you relished in his surprisingly comforting touch and continued to weep. Surprising mostly in the sense that you never would have expected to be okay with coming undone so messily in front of anyone, especially someone you thought so highly of and only wanted him to think the same of you.
You still could barely believe this was happening, but you finally stopped denying that it was. Maybe it wouldn’t lead to worsening matters, as you had worriedly assumed. Maybe it would actually be for the better to not have to do this all alone anymore, to have someone to just talk to and cry to, someone who cares enough to really listen and support you in whatever way you need.
And, god, did he care. Never in his life had he felt so protective or so innately empathetic. All he wanted to do was make sure you were safe and to lift away as much pain as he could from your shoulders. (Honestly, it almost already felt like he was taking some of it away from you, sucking it up himself, with the hurt he felt as his heart was continuously breaking at the truth he had discovered and the state you were in because of it.)
Only 30 seconds or so into your harder cries, Katsuki was already unsure how much longer he could handle bearing the upsetting sound of the pained, rough sobs.
He began to move one of his hands up and down soothingly as he whispered in a voice so gentle that, combined with what it is he said, you weren’t sure he actually said it at all or if it was just your head daydreaming it up, “I‘ve got you, okay? I’m here.”
Right then, you knew for sure that all your stress over him finding out wasn’t necessary. It was just as he said: he just wanted to help.
And turns out, he could. With just his presence and care, he could. Something inside you already felt lighter because of his support.
Your form went even more limp, now almost completely crumbling into his stable arms.
He sturdily shifted to better prop you up, and his face continued to scrunch up at your lack of control, and as your hearty cries only went on.
“You’re gonna be alright,” he reassuringly added. Although this time, it was more so for himself. He needed to tell himself that you would be alright, that you would get through this. He would make sure of it; every fiber of his being was determined to. He would do everything he possibly could to be there for you, and he would help you find the best resources for all the things he couldn’t do himself. And he needed to tell himself that explicitly if he was going to endure having to see you suffering so greatly (and actively seeing it was much more than enough for him right now; he couldn’t yet begin to think about how long you’ve been feeling just like this all on your own, all the breakdowns you’ve had just like this with no one but the walls to hear you and nothing but your duvet to wrap around you).
You wanted immensely to deepen your contact with the boy, to move your arms away from yourself to wrap tightly around him instead, but you refused to leave him with lasting evidence of your pain soaked into his shirt— the temporary wetness of your tears was more than plenty. While it felt as though the blood had stopped flowing, you couldn’t really say for sure, and you weren’t willing to risk it. It was hard to tell with so much going on, so many physical and emotional sensations bombarding you.
Speaking of, the juxtaposition of the sharp stinging of your forearm with the warmth and coziness of the rest of your body being held– by arms more tender than you could have ever prepared for right now– was almost comical.
You tried to focus on that more than anything. It felt like a good starting point for grounding yourself in the moment. Later (as late as you could prolong it, in fact) would be the time to worry about actually processing the fact that this was all currently actually happening. Right now, you just had to live it. And even though it still felt like a dream, you were, in fact, living it. So, you focused on what you found easy to. You concentrated on the loving touches of your favorite person, contrasting the self-inflicted pain of your skin.
Rather quickly, but still far too long in Katsuki’s opinion, the sounds ripping out of you slowed and quieted into only lingering sniffles.
The boy slowly, slower than he’s maybe ever moved, used his hold on you to guide you forward just enough for him to see your face.
You avoided eye contact, and even though he more or less understood why, he wished you wouldn’t.
He peeled his arms away from you, and your heart dropped a little. Until his touch returned, as he tenderly placed his hands on each of your cheeks, holding your face lightly and lovingly, his thumbs gliding back to brush away as much of the tears as they could.
Your eyes snapped to his at the feeling, and the smallest of smiles grew upon your lips. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding at the sight.
Your heart twitched at the expression on his face. It was one you had never, in all your days of clinging to his side, seen before. It was chock-full of pure, intense care.
You were already continuing to revel in his touch when he carefully pulled your face closer and leaned in before placing a rough, passionate kiss atop your forehead as one of his hands raked further back into your hair to grasp your head.
Your heart warmed at the feeling as the kiss reverberated across your entire body with a tingling jolt. Its sweetness and intensely genuine nature overcame you entirely, and you almost forgot what it was that brought you here.
Then, as he pulled his head back to its previous position, he reminded you, throwing you back into the reality where you knew you would have to open up to him, and likely others, sometime soon:
“Let me help you clean yourself up,” he said quietly, with his voice coming out far gruffer than either of the two expected.
Despite the topic at hand, your stomach involuntarily fluttered a bit at the sentence. And you reminded yourself that you didn’t have to talk about any of your emotions just yet. For the time being, you could just appreciate his help you were finally receiving, appreciate him, and place your worries to the side.
Though, too exhausted and mentally overwhelmed to say anything at all, you only nodded in reply.
“‘Kay. Good,” he retorted, entirely lacking in his usual pointedness and aggression. “You got any gauze?”
You shook your head at that, even though you knew the answer should be yes. You watched his face shift through some conflicting emotions. He bit the inside of his cheek before speaking.
“Fuck, alright. I have some in my dorm. I’ll- I can- Damnit,” he uncharacteristically stumbled over his words, not wanting to leave you alone for even a second, but wanting to bandage you up properly.
“It’s fine,” you softly reassured. “Go get it. I’ll be fine.”
“Right, ‘cause I’m supposed to believe that after this,” he said teasingly, and you appreciated the sense of normalcy his slightly more usual attitude brought to the situation that was anything but. He almost regretted saying it until he noticed how it made your smile grow minutely.
“Fine. Yeah. But I’ll be right the fuck back,” he added, and your smile grew even more as you gave him another curt nod.
He reluctantly peeled himself off of you, and his eyes stayed locked on your form as he stepped away and walked toward the door, which did something funny to your heart and chest.
Once he was gone, you subconsciously made your way back to your bathroom, flicking the light on as you faced the mirror.
You let out a long, shuddered breath as you took in your post-cry, post-self-harm, post-Katsuki-Bakugou-finding-out-about-your-self-harm form.
You didn’t look long before turning to the side, parallel with the mirror instead, and began taking your likely permanently stained piece of clothing off.
You winced as you peeled the soaked, sticky fabric off your injuries.
The blood had at least ended in its spilling, just leaving what was already out smeared all over you. You held your forearm out in front of you and stared down at it, hard and unwavering. You weren’t gonna stop it, but that didn’t mean you at all wanted Katsuki to see this.
You weren’t sure whether you were that out of it and slow, or if he literally flew to his room and back, but right after you plopped the hoodie down on the toilet seat, you heard your door whip back open.
Katsuki quickly panicked when he didn’t see you first thing upon entering, but his heart settled back into place as he noticed the bathroom door swung open with you inside.
Immediately after, though, his insides shifted once more as the vast bright red drew his gaze to where yours still was.
He inhaled rather shakily as he took relatively wobbly steps toward you and did the best he could (which was nowhere near enough) to prepare himself for what he was about to see.
He eventually reached the spot right before you, and, even as he put the roll of gauze and the ointment he brought down on the counter, his eyes were glued to the same spot yours were, which you were acutely aware of.
He clamped down hard on the inside of his cheeks as his heart violently tore in two. Knowing was one thing; truly seeing the damage, which was worse than he expected, was by far another.
You wanted to glance up, to see his face as he actually witnessed what he now knew, but you also didn’t. So you stuck to inaction, letting yourself stay in the dark on the matter. That didn’t take away your nerves, and the hand that lingered in the air with your bloody arm began to tremble.
He wasted no time in bringing up a hand of his own, which was only steady due to his strong willing of so for your sake, and taking yours in it. He held it firmly, and grazed his thumb gently over your soft skin.
You still couldn’t get yourself to look up, but you exhaled in a relieved way at the return of his comfortingly kind touch.
He held your hand until it stopped shaking. He pulled away only to grab your roll of paper towels from the counter. You wanted to tell him to go grab the ones from your nightstand instead, but you lacked the energy. So you let him pick off sheet after sheet, watching with your head still tilted downward to avoid his face.
He felt another pang in his chest as he noticed the blade resting right there on your counter. It burned into his vision as he fought the urge to explode the thing.
He forced himself to ignore it as he picked up the first paper towel to begin wiping you clean. He did so with all the gentleness he ever possibly could, taking steady breaths in and out as he did and hoping you were doing the same.
“That hurt?” he asked just to be sure, and he mentally cursed at the way his voice slightly cracked.
Your chest squeezed at his worry, and you shook your head as confidently as you could.
“No, you’re good.”
You almost made somewhat of a joke, that it didn’t hurt any more than they did on their own, but you didn’t think he would be very appreciative. Plus, you were still sticking to as few words as you could.
When he got most of the liquid off, he wet the remainder of the paper towels and wiped off the last of the color. He grabbed the ointment, slowly sweezing it out and using his finger to apply it to each of your deep, long wounds. He tried to ignore the facts of how they got there so he wouldn’t break down while trying to do the job.
Finally, with the cleaning agent applied, he grabbed the gauze and carefully began to wrap it around your full forearm.
Immediately after it was stuck into place, he gently pulled you forward and back into his tender embrace, exhaling massively as he leaned his head on your shoulder.
Though you hesitated, you happily returned the hug, glad that you were now able to.
“We have to talk about this, (Y/N). I’m not- I can’t- …I need you to talk to me. I need you to let me help you. I’m going to help you, (Y/N). Fuckin’ swear I will. …But you don’t gotta talk ‘til you're ready. For now, for tonight, just… just let me stay with you.”
You damn near started crying again.
“Thank you, Katsuki.”
Tearful and shaky, it was all you could get out.
And it wasn’t nearly enough. But for now, it was.
You held onto him tighter, and he did the same, and you stayed in those positions for a long time.
You only moved in order to get onto your bed instead, cuddling up for the rest of the night until you drifted into a deep sleep.
i need to spread my veronica x wallace agenda so i’m posting this on here and not just ao3
why does no one ship them i love them so much they have such good chemistry idgaf
here is wallace’s pov in s1 e16 when he finds out veronica is the one making his spirit boxes 😁 (about 2k words)
As Wallace strolls down the stretch of doors to the apartments before Veronica’s, he imagines what it is she’ll be doing once he gets there.
The girl rarely ever has free time, her life being the adventure that is— not that he’s usually very in the know as to everything that such entails.
He’s all too aware of how relatively little she shares with him. He tries not to care. Especially when he knows he gets more out of her than most, and it’s not like that doesn’t make him happy and, really, honored. But, still, he always finds himself wondering and wishing for more.
Not because he’s some nosy gossip or anything. It’s not like he cares about the details of other people’s drama. Rather, he just likes to know what she’s up to. And what she thinks about what she’s up to. How she’s feeling about what she’s up to. Whatever. Stuff like that.
That’s stupid, right? He thinks it’s stupid. Not like that stops him from feeling that way, though.
When he nears the door belonging to her residence, he sees that it’s already wide open. It is a nice day, after all. He turns to enter, and his heart feels lighter at the sight of his best friend.
She’s got headphones in. That’s not the part that surprises him, though. What does is her activity of choice: baking cookies. It feels out of character. Maybe they’re for her dad. Or maybe for someone she’s investigating, and one of them has, like, some kind of tracking chip.
He quickly picks up on how much concentration she has right now, and he comfortably leans against the door frame and waits for her to lose it just enough to spot him.
He watches her move with intent, focusing mostly on the look on her face. She was never exactly relaxed, but something about her seemed more gentle, more sensitive even, without the knowledge that someone else was around.
Eventually, she turns around and bends over to put a tray in the oven, and even though he makes it a point to keep the placement of his gaze respectful, it starts to feel creepy that she has no idea he’s here and watching her.
So when she turns back around, a second and finished tray in hand as she sets it down, he finally makes his presence known.
“That must be some good music,” he quips, with an easy smile at the sight of her head snapping toward him and finally realizing his presence in tandem with a somewhat surprised expression. Though, he’s certain she’s not listening to music. It’s more likely some audio file she dug up, or something of the sort, for one of the cases she’s working right now.
She pulls the headset down as she smiles at him in greeting.
“Could’ve painted the living room and you wouldn’t have noticed,” he jokes, ever so slightly hoping that the jive might segue into an explanation of what exactly it was that had her so distracted.
Of course, it doesn’t, and she stays silent while continuing to work the remaining cookie dough in front of her. She only keeps smiling in acknowledgment. Not that he’s complaining about that part.
“I left my algebra book over here,” he explains, feeling just the slightest bit timid as he does, before crossing the room to grab it. He leaves out that he left it there on purpose. It was an impulsive decision— she’s been just a little bit more distant lately and they’ve been hanging out less, so he thought it would be a good excuse to pop in and see her sometime.
Even though they see plenty of each other at school. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Not like that stopped him from doing it, though.
She still says nothing, even though he’s awaiting the soft sound of her voice, and he wonders what she’s thinking about. Her smile has now faded back to her resting look.
He says something else to try to initiate a conversation as he slides into the seat across the counter from her. It doesn’t lead anywhere either, though, and he tries to ignore the pang of neglect he feels.
With nothing to think about now but slight nerves and the tasty smell of cookies in the air, he lets his stomach make his next decision for him as he reaches out and grabs one of the right-out-of-the-oven sweets.
A little stupidly, he doesn’t think about just how hot they’ll be, so he takes a bite as quickly as he can before tossing the thing back with the others. He breathes in and out heavily as he chews it to try to cool it off.
Once he swallows it, and the intensity of the high-risk, high-reward scorching bite wears off, he quickly realizes what it was he just tasted.
“Wait a minute…”
He looks down at the batch again before looking back up at the girl keenly.
“These are snickerdoodles.”
She just smiles, captivatingly, and shakes her head slightly in response.
A wide smile forms on his face as his stomach flips in a way that was not caused by the cookie he ate.
“You’re the one who’s been making my spirit boxes?” he asks almost incredulously, aghast as the realization fully settles in.
She continues to smile as he does, and it works to increase the tender feeling that coated the words of his question.
“I used to be on pep squad, remember?” she asks back in confirmation.
His own smile grows at her retort and the undertone of an endearing ‘duh.’ Although, there was nothing obvious about the situation to him— in fact, he was more than a little caught off guard by the fact.
He laughs sweetly and a little nervously.
“But you think all this stuff is stupid,” he remarks, trying to spark more of an actual explanation out of her. Because his chest feels oddly tight in anticipation without one.
Luckily, she doesn’t hesitate to provide it.
“You don’t,” she says simply, breaking eye contact while she does before reinitiating it after the words have left her lips.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But it wasn’t quite that— the simplicity of those two words and their accompanying loving tone.
His heart flutters.
The coils in his chest unwind and disperse, leaving him to focus on the growing warmth he feels throughout him.
It’s a kind he doesn’t feel very often, and one that he wouldn’t trade for the world.
It spreads further and deeper into him as he processes it.
She’s been baking him cookies.
She’s been crafting and decorating a box to put the cookies in.
She’s been letting him go on without a clue that it was her doing so, just letting him be happy and get an ego boost and not making it about herself at all.
He’s touched that she cares enough to do all this for him.
He doesn’t know what to say, if he should or shouldn’t try to show his gratitude. Really, all he can do is smile.
Excitedly, he reaches forward to pick back up the cookie he took a bite of to have another.
As he does, Veronica harshly slaps his hand away. A tingling sensation lingers where she touched him, and he knows that that would be the case even if it were just a gentle touch.
“Hey, you wanna open your locker tomorrow and find an empty box?” she rhetorically asks.
He bashfully holds up one finger in plea.
She continues to stare before her smile grows with a breathy laugh, and she motions toward the snack in acceptance.
He happily picks it back up and takes another satisfying bite.
“Mm mm mmm,” he almost aggressively hums in a delighted manner at the familiarly delicious treat. In fact, they’re even better than usual by the fact that they’re fresh and warm. And, of course, more so by the freshly gained warming knowledge that she’s been the one making them the whole time. He honestly can’t wrap his head all the way around it.
“The girl can bake!” he exclaims in praise after swallowing his second bite.
That’s really no surprise, though. What couldn’t this girl do? He swears she gets more perfect by the day. There is no end to his admiration of her skill and prowess and success in everything he sees her do. Truly, he doesn’t believe there’s anyone else like her in the world. Sure as hell no one in Neptune comes even close to her level of, for lack of a better word, awesomeness.
“That she can,” she casually agrees, and he’s glad to hear it.
She never appears to be lacking in self-confidence, but Wallace is also acutely aware of how little she shares most any aspects of her non-positive emotions. So he can only hope she genuinely knows, to at least some degree, just how special she is.
In general, of course. But he also hopes she knows how special she is to him. Even if he doesn’t want her knowing just how much.
“Hey, are you picking your mom up from work today?” she asks suddenly.
His face drops slightly out of disappointment.
He hopes she doesn’t notice, but he can’t say he’s all that sorry if she does. It had been about two minutes since he arrived at her place, and about two seconds since they had a rather heartfelt moment of which they have few and far between, and now it was already right back to business as usual. He shouldn’t be surprised, but his elated thoughts and emotions caused him to be a little anyway.
“Yeah,” he answers easily, despite the gnawing feelings in his chest.
“Can you do me a weird favor without asking any questions?” she asks casually as she dusts off her hands and makes her way toward the living room area.
“Isn’t that the bedrock upon which our friendship was founded?” he half-jokes in lieu of a simple agreement, and a selfish part of him hopes that she’ll pick up the slight hurt behind it.
She doesn’t, instead going on to describe said favor.
Which, as always, he doesn’t at all mind doing. He could never have a true problem with doing anything for her. Because no matter what, she’s still her. His best friend. Veronica Mars. The girl who saved his ass before she even really knew him. The girl who’s only sentimental in her own weird ways and times. The girl who he will happily take what he can from: She is who she is, and he would never dare to try to change her.
So, he takes the massive house plant out of her arms and into his own, and turns toward the door she’s just motioned him towards.
He starts to walk out, but stops in his tracks. He half-turns back around, eyes momentarily fixing on the messy kitchen before reaching back to her.
“Hey,” he starts, making her eyebrows crease curiously, and already he’s mentally slapping himself for opening his trap.
But he can’t just let their previous moment and his uncovering of the truth go unacknowledged.
“You know you’re the best, right, V?” he asks vaguely as a way of saying thank you.
His heart skips a beat as he says it, but she smiles that smile that just lights him up entirely, and it starts beating faster now.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
He smiles back at her, his beating heart wildly going on as he takes in her expression, hoping a little pathetically that somewhere in it and in her words was the hint that she returns the sentiment.
Ugh, he’s being stupid. He knows damn well he’s being stupid. That didn’t stop him from saying what he felt, though.
And it’s not like he can really say he regrets it— she is, and always will be, the best.
i hope you enjoyed sorry it’s not that great
my ao3 is katsukutie 😛
i love you wallace fennel. i love you and your strong sense of justice and your love for the women around you and your kindness and your gentleness and your forgiveness. wallace fennel you are so dear to me.
happy (late) valentine’s day!!!
wrote this on vday a couple years ago and didn’t think til now to post it in celebration since i did not do shit else to celebrate #single
bakugou x reader established relationship fluff, abt 1700 words
"Let's do a massage train!"
You and your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou, were on your bed in your dorm room, enjoying doing nothing together. He sat upright with his legs stretched out, as you lay down with your head in his lap. The small T.V. atop your dresser played an old cartoon, which you had been absentmindedly staring at as he scrolled through Instagram.
"Huh?" He moved his phone out of the way of his face so that he could look down at yours, which you had just turned to look up at him. An uninterested look was planted on his face as he quirked up an eyebrow.
"A massage train. You know, you sit behind each other and, like, massage," you informed him, to which he responded by gently flicking the top of your head and quickly spouting his rebuttal.
"I know what a damn massage train is, smartass. But there's only two of us. That's a weak ass train. Ts'not even a train."
"Okay, fine, whatever. A massage…” you thought for a moment. “Truck!"
He rolled his eyes. "And I can be the front part where the driver sits, and you'll be the other part where they put all the stuff in."
"So, what you're saying is you that want me to massage you," he remarked.
"Well, duh. But after like 10 minutes or something, we switch off and keep switching off. If I just wanted a massage, I would've just told you to massage me," you replied matter-of-factly.
"You would've ‘just told me’? I wouldn't do it just 'cause you said so," he said, clearly offended by the insinuation that you had such control over his actions.
You sat up your upper body, his eyes and yours locked together as you did.
Slowly inching closer to his face, you slightly dragged out in a light voice, "Yes…" Soon, your lips were just about as close to his as they possibly could be without actually touching. "You would," you whispered.
The moment his eyes fluttered closed, and he intended to move his head forward and close the gap, you swiftly snapped your head the other way (giving him a brief face full of hair), stood up, and turned the direction of the door.
"Wha-” he stammered out. “Where are you going?" he asked in a burnt-up tone.
"Mina's room. If you won't massage truck with me, maybe she will."
Bakugou let out a prolonged sigh before grabbing hold of your wrist, causing you to turn back around and fight the urge to smirk at his caving in.
He switched positions to sit criss-cross applesauce and then pat the spot in front of him.
You smiled at him and clapped your hands together lightly before happily plopping down on that spot with a slight giggle.
"You're needy as hell, y'know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, don't pretend like you don't like it," you said as you gathered up your hair to pull it to the front of your chest and out of the way.
"Can we put something else on? If you're gonna make me do this shit, I should at least choose what we watch."
"I'm trying to relax, I don't wanna watch some loud, mindless action movie. I wanna watch quiet, mindless cartoons, thank you very much."
Not that he would ever say so, but Bakugou was weirdly comforted by the fact that you knew exactly what he had in mind. Though, he was also annoyed at your stubbornness. (Additionally, he was both surprised and glad that you hadn't recommended putting on a romance film, as you, unfortunately, knew he had a secret thing for those, and it was an excellent middle ground. You usually loved to rub it in his face that he was a romance fan and make fun of the way his cheeks turned light pink at the topic.
He mumbled a curse or two as he cracked his fingers in preparation.
You straightened your back in anticipation and excitement. Your back had been killing you lately for whatever reason. Plus, you hadn't had a massage in a long time. Honestly, you were surprised with yourself for not having asked him to do this earlier. You had been together for a while and-
Holy shit, in the span of 0.2 seconds, you suddenly ascended to heaven. Why had you not asked him to do this sooner? You couldn't be shocked at his talent, really, and you weren't. For starters, Bakugou was insanely jacked and obviously insanely strong. Then there's the fact that you were constantly proud of his ability to be amazing at everything he does; Why would this be any different?
You closed your eyes and slightly leaned your head to the side as he rubbed circles into your shoulders, and then your middle back, and then your lower back, and then your shoulders once again. You felt as if you'd been transported to a whole different world.
All too soon, his hands retreated from you as he said, "K, my turn."
"Ugh," you dragged out for a little too long. "Already? That was incredible."
"Duh," he replied as he stood up from the bed in order to swap spots with you. You sadly complied, scooting backward so he could sit in your previous spot.
Copying his actions, you cracked your knuckles and then got to it. You felt a little bad that you probably weren't quite as good at this as he was, but he did seem to be enjoying himself.
About 5 minutes in, your eyes wandered to his soft, fluffy, perfect hair. Unable to resist, you raked your hands into it and moved your fingers in a circular motion. You figured this would go under the 'yes' portion of the rules of massage trains, as you were still massaging him—just not his back. However, you soon fell further into temptation.
You pulled both hands away and gently grabbed a bit of his hair, separating it into three individual chunks. You then began to braid them. While his hair wasn't necessarily all that long, it was long enough to make cute little braids in.
"I thought we were pretending to be at a massage place, not a hair salon," he suddenly spoke up.
"Parlor."
"The fuck?"
"Massage parlor."
He sat in silence for a few seconds at your bluntness and non-answer.
"Tch- not the fucking point."
You remained silent, continuing to make more loose and untied braids throughout his head.
"Are you done?"
Smiling, you grabbed one of the braids and gently tugged it downward.
"Choo, choo," you imitated the sound of a train with two tugs of the "rope."
Glad you weren't able to see it, Bakugou smiled at your actions. He hated that he actually thought that that was kind of cute.
"I thought we were a truck," he quipped sarcastically.
With a smug look on your face, which he unfortunately couldn't see and use to prepare for your following actions, you then pressed down hard on the back of his head as if it were a steering wheel, shoving it forward as you made a loud, obnoxious 'honk' sound.
Before he could turn around and get back at you, you quickly snaked your arms around his waist and relaxed your head on his shoulder.
With a laugh that was more of an exhale than it was a laugh, he shook his head. "You're ridiculous."
"Yeah, you love it though."
He rested his arms on top of yours as you held onto him.
Content and comfortable, you stayed that way for a bit, enjoying each other's warmth as you pressed further into his back. The cartoons playing were simply background noise to your respective thoughts of only one another.
Picking up your head a bit, you planted one soft kiss on his lower neck.
One turned to two, and it continued to multiply as you moved your head up and down a small range of area.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the light feeling of your lips on his skin. He wasn't sure if things only felt as if they were in slow motion or if you were really just moving that slowly and gracefully. All that mattered, though, was that you were there with him, and he was happy, and so were you
Eventually, you returned your head to its placement on his shoulder, and he leaned his own downward to press against yours.
In a voice so quiet that you weren't sure he would even hear, especially over the sound of the T.V., you whispered, "I love you, Katsuki."
He lacked any kind of response for at least 30 seconds, causing you to think he hadn't caught that.
But then his hands, which were still on top of yours, interlaced with them, and he squeezed tightly. He then picked up his head and planted a passionate, heartfelt kiss onto your forehead before going back to the position it was previously in.
You smiled and tightened your grip around his waist.
He wasn't ready to say it, and that was okay. By no means did you want to rush things or make him feel the need to do so.
But you knew that he felt the same way.
The thing was, he didn't really need to say it.
He showed it plenty.
During training, he would always bring an extra water because he knows that you would forget your head if it weren't attached.
Whenever you started working on homework for a subject you struggled with, he would immediately start his so you could "work on it together," when he really just knew you needed the help.
At dinner, he would always make you a plate of your favorites and then clean up for you both as you raved over his cooking.
If he could, he would always squeeze your hand three times and rub his thumb into your palm when he saw that you were getting anxious.
When you shot awake in fear at absurd hours of the night, he would hold you as you sobbed into his chest until you fell back asleep.
He did all of this and more (much, much more) without being asked to.
And when you did ask for anything, he would shortly comply, and you could tell that he was happy to make you happy, even when he put up a front about it.
And that was enough.
yayyy thank you sm for reading i hope you enjoyed 😄
Jane and Kali died in a hell dimension created by their abuser. Robin’s only arc this season was propping up Will. She got together and broke up with Vickie offscreen. The only thing mentions for Max in the ending is that she’s still with Lucas. No one looks out for Erica because she’s “tough”. You can’t convince me this show doesn’t hate women.
karen stayed with her deadbeat husband & joyce also reduced to being hoppers wife
everyone was so super nice last time i posted on here!!
soo here is another fic i wrote called two times you resisted, one time you gave in:
you needed to keep your feelings in check. you and bakugou broke up for a reason, and a good one at that.
(about 5k words! also it's old and there's stuff i would've done differently if i wrote it now but i still like it fine enough andd if you read it i hope you do too!! muah!)
It was a Monday morning.
Bakugou had just arrived to class and sat down in his usual seat.
He looked beyond tired.
His hair was almost a literal rat's nest; spiky as usual, yes, but tangled about as well. His shirt was wrinkled and— was it on inside out? His head rested on his hand as his eyes dozed off and, god, was he drooling, too?
It was so unlike him. You were unable to hold back from staring at the display. Honestly? You thought it was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t help the butterflies that erupted within you at the sight.
However, beyond that surface-level feeling was an unshakable, deep-seated worry. You hadn’t talked to the boy in a while, despite living in the same dorms. On the same floor, even.
You missed his constant presence in your life.
Would it, by any means, be wise to rekindle what you had? Not at all. But that didn’t mean that you didn’t want to. And not in the slightest did that mean you didn’t care about him anymore. Some would argue that you cared too much, all things considered.
You stared at him more. He looked rather deep in thought for so early in the day. But, hey, you probably did, too, as you were thinking about him quite intensely.
A part of you wanted to run up to him right this second. You wanted to brush his hair’s knots away. You wanted to give him new, warm, freshly ironed clothes. You wanted to lift his head for him, wipe away his drool, and kiss him until he was incapable of thinking about any troubles he might have.
And it wasn’t a small part, either. You wanted that so bad. It was almost absurd. Scratch that— it was absurd.
Redirecting your gaze, you closed your eyes and wiped underneath them, then rubbed the temples of your head in a circular motion one or three or five times, as if you would be able to physically push out all of these thoughts. Like rubbing your head hard enough would permanently crush them into nonexistence.
Your efforts were not solely physical, no. Mentally, you used all your strength to will them away, trying to imagine yourself stuffing a trash can full of every single Katsuki Bakugou related thing in your brain. But, alas, it wasn't a trash can you needed; it was a landfill. There was just too much—years of memories, years of emotions. And, jeez, it was much too early in the morning to think about this. That never stopped you, though, despite a great deal of wishing that it would. No matter what condition you were in, Bakugou always managed to sneak into your thoughts when you were left alone with them. It was built into your system at this point.
Unable to help it, your eyes sped right back to where the boy sat. Continuing to take in his disheveled appearance, a wave of guilt soon crashed over you.
No, you scolded yourself. It isn't your fault. You did what was best for the both of you, you tried to remember.
You wanted to believe it, but you couldn't hold back the part of your brain screaming the opposite. Your mind betrayed you as it planted the idea that maybe, deep down, you did end things with him selfishly.
You looked at his face, narrowing in on his eyes (on his eye bags).
It's your fault.
He looked so tired. He looked sad. You can't remember ever seeing him this sad, as if he just might burst into a heap of tears at legitimately any moment. You'd only seen him cry a few times, and you wanted it to stay that way.
Your fault.
It killed you. It was eating you up inside.
Never in a million years did you want to see him looking so genuinely hurt. You wished you could take away that pain. You'd rather die than see him cry over something that you did. Or, really, to see him cry at all. The few times that you had would haunt you for the rest of your life, you were sure.
Whelp, so much for thinking he looked cute. (Though, of course, he always looks cute. But this situation is anything but.)
All you wanted for him was the best.
You wished that you were what was best for him.
You hated how desperate you sounded. You needed to think about something else, anything else, but you had been trying and continuously drawing a blank on quite literally any other topic. He was the first thing on your mind for a truly embarrassing amount of time.
Good god, how were you supposed to do math in this shit field state of mind?
————————
It was a Wednesday afternoon.
You were so tired, so insanely tired, and all you wanted to do was to relax.
Mina Ashido, though, was a force to be reckoned with; meaning, she was beyond pushy. Today, she decided that you and she would go to the gym together, and she wasn't taking no for an answer. In fact, it wasn't a question to begin with. At lunch, she had informed you of your after-school plans of which you had “no chance of getting out of.”
"Mina, I love you, I really do, but Jesus Christ, please fuck off," you begged after she tried to convince you to do a yet another set of leg presses.
"Ok, ok, fine, no more. Let's move on to bench presses!" she clapped.
"Mina, seriously, why are you pushing so hard? We usually only come here twice a week. We get plenty of training at school, y'know. Are you, like, okay?" you queried, feeling slightly worried. However, after seeing Bakugou so distraught lately, you had been overly nursing toward all your friends, frequently pressing them about their state of being. You were definitely projecting, but at least it wasn't any particularly destructive behavior.
Ashido sighed and walked up to you. As you gave her an inquisitive look, she picked up both of your hands with both of hers and pulled upward so your interlocked limbs were in between your chests.
"I am absolutely fine. Are you?"
Your eyebrows furrowed at her question.
"Wh- Yes? I'm fine?"
"Babe, c'mon. I hate to say it, but you're not as good at hiding your feelings as you think you are. You're clearly all torn up over whatever happened between you and Bakugou."
She was right, and you knew that. But this was not the time or place to discuss this. Did she really have to drag you here and then ask?
Sighing, you figured it'd be pointless to deny her claims. "Ok, yeah, I have a lot on my mind. Especially about Bakugou," she raised her eyebrows in a quick motion as to say 'duh.' "I'm dealing with it, though. I appreciate you pushing me to think about something else, or, I don't know, whatever your goal was, but I can get through this just fine on my own."
"I know you can figure this all out alone, but please, please know that you do not have to. Me and all the others are here for you," she gave your hands a squeeze. "I brought you here because I wanted you to just focus on yourself and your own needs and your own health. We don't have to stay if you don't want. We could just go watch a movie in my dorm if that sounds better. Or just whatever else you feel like doing. Anything. But let's do something that'll make you feel good, okay?"
You couldn't help but smile at how genuinely thoughtful she was. You really couldn't ask for a better best friend.
It was no lie that you had been sleeping horribly lately, and increased level of exercise is proven to help you sleep better. So, alright, why not?”
"Thank you, Mina. We- We can stay. Let's just maybe cool it a tad," you laughed.
She agreed, and you walked over to another machine. You did one set of ten reps, then traded places, and she began doing the same.
You had been drinking from your water bottle when, suddenly, you nearly choked on the liquid. You suppressed the urge to make a dramatic cartoonish face, where your eyes would pop out of your head, and your jaw would drop to the floor.
Bakugou and Kirishima had just entered the building.
Jesus Christ, it never failed to catch you off guard just how jacked he is.
Awooga-
You closed your eyes for a few seconds, shaking your head and mentally scolding yourself.
The whole reason you were brought here is to not think about him.
Goddamnit, of course he's here right as you are. You should stop having faith in the universe to let things work out for you.
"You good?" Ashido asked as she finished her set and grabbed her water bottle.
You simply shook your head from side to side and then motioned it toward the direction of your source of agony.
A confused look crossed Ashido's face until her eyes finally spotted the duo. "Damn, seriously? That's some pretty shit luck."
Unfortunately, you were just a touch too distracted to fully listen to her.
Because, holy fuck, those arms. Muscles, muscles, and more muscles. Muscles galore, wow.
You hadn't realized how much you missed this aspect of being with him (or that you even missed it at all, much too focused on the mushy stuff); he is hot. Ugh, and he knows it too. He was dressed in a tight-fitting black tank top, which did nothing to hide— well, anything. Additionally, he wore simple gray sweatpants. But even that was just— damn.
God, you needed to calm the hell down.
But how could you? You swore his arms looked at you first. Your mind filled with the idea of those very arms grabbing your wrists pinning them against the wall, one on each side, as-
"Girl, you're staring," Ashido said in a hushed voice.
"Shit, yeah," you said as you finally peeled your eyes away from the boy. Little did you know, it was perfect timing. Right when you turned your head away, he caught sight of you. It was better for the both of you that you missed the look that flashed across his face.
Ashido smirked as she noticed how red your face had suddenly gotten. "What were you thinking about, huh?" she said slyly.
"Sh- shut the fuck up. Get up, my turn."
Her hands shot up defensively, despite her teasing smile remaining.
"The thrown is yours, your majesty."
You suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to prove yourself.
You did as much as you possibly could have of the exercise until you physically couldn't anymore.
You sat up, Ashido giving you a confused and suspicious look as her eyes followed your movements and stayed on you for a moment as she hesitated.
"…(Y/N)?"
Previously zoned out, staring forward at nothing in particular, this snapped you back. "Hm, yeah?”
"Should we leave? I feel like maybe we should leave."
"No!" you responded quickly, making Ashido’s brows furrow unsurely.
"No," you repeated more calmly.
"We're fine, it's fine. Just, go on, do your reps," you urged with a wave of the hand as you stood.
She sighed before mumbling, "If you say so."
You cracked your neck, turning it all the way to the side. And you totally just needed to crack your neck, and absolutely were not hoping that your gaze would end up on a certain someone.
Oh! Look! It's Bakugou! What a coincidence!
You weren't sure what he did to get there, but he had now been drenched in a layer of sweat. Your eyes widened the slightest bit, practically unnoticeable.
Then, he lifted the bottom of his tank top and leaned his head down to use it to wipe his forehead.
Abs. Holy fuck, abs.
You could feel the drool pooling up in your mouth. Your brain turned to total mush. You felt like a toddler whose mom just took out a bunch of cake and ice cream, except, y’know, just a tad more inappropriate of an image.
Ok. Ok, maybe Ashido had been right. Maybe you did need to get the hell out of here because Jesus Christ.
You were so tempted to stay for the sole purpose of continuing to hardcore lust over your ex-boyfriend. But, no. You had to push away those urges, no matter how intense they were (and they were quite intense).
"Mina."
She had just finished her set.
"’Sup?"
"I need to leave," you nodded your head intensely.
To juxtapose your state, Ashido shook her head out of entertainment, bubbling with laughter.
"This isn't funny," you whined like a child.
"I hate to argue, but it so is. C'mon, let's get out of here before you go into heat."
You hung your head low, continuing to pout.
Ashido grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit.
Unable to help yourself, you turned back toward his direction one final time. He was lifting weights, and oh my god his back muscles-
————————
It was a Saturday night.
Though, if you want to get technical, it was a Sunday morning.
Precisely 2:15 in the morning.
You had mindlessly wandered out of your room upon your inability to fall asleep. This wasn't particularly unusual for you. Unfortunately, it was a relatively common ritual. Throughout your entire life, you struggled with what should be the basic and simple task of getting enough sleep. Lately, it had only seemed to worsen.
You found yourself sitting outside, on the steps of the Heights Alliance building, finding peace and comfort in the soft glisten of the moon and the light chirp of crickets. Your head rested in your hands, which were atop your knees, as you stared up into the aforementioned moonlight.
Your eyes fixated on a particular star in the sky as your mind rambled on about multiple topics at once.
You couldn't help but torture yourself by constantly filling your brain with an abundance of unpleasantries. You definitely had a knack for self-sabotage. Of all things to be good at, right?
The topic placed at the forefront of your mind would surprise no one.
You missed him. You really just missed having him around. His shitty attitude, no matter how shitty, would always feel so oddly comforting to you. You felt like you would never be able to move past this. You wanted more than anything for the two of you to work out. In the beginning, based on your friendship, you didn't think to have any doubts about how secure your relationship would be. Things were great; that was the honeymoon phase, of course (as honeymoon-like as Bakugou was capable of, that is).
Not much later, things started to slip. Every argument has now blended in your mind, a blur of screaming followed by tears— your tears, not his. You were always sensitive to anger. Any argument would send you into a mess of waterworks. You always tried to hold it in until you could storm off and cry alone. He would stay behind and blow off steam with his own destructive methods. Though, there were times when you couldn't quite stop the tears from slipping mid-argument. He would always shut his mouth the second he noticed. You would turn around in embarrassment, and moments later, you would feel a hand lightly on your shoulder. That gesture would turn into a hug, and the two of you would go to bed together, spooning without another word.
That's how you knew he cared, right? So, it was ok.
Yeah, no.
Things just kept descending into worse and worse conditions. You couldn't take it anymore, and you knew he couldn't either. It was as simple as that.
All of a sudden, the sound of a door opening harshly shook you from your stupor. Heavy footsteps moved toward your direction.
You turned your head to see who it was, but you didn't need to turn all the way to recognize the figure before you.
It was the man of the hour himself: Bakugou.
Both of you wordless, he slowly made his way toward you and joined you on the steps.
There was a long gap, filled only with the sounds of mother nature. You fiddled with your fingers, unsure of what to do or say. The air surrounding you both felt tenser than tense.
You wished you had been able to sleep. You wished this wasn't happening. You wished that literally anything else was happening right now. What did he want? You really didn't want to do this right now. You could barely handle just thinking about him, and now here you are, not even a foot away from him. You wished he would say something. Did he expect you to take the initiative here? He's the one who just showed up out of the blue. You were perfectly content being alone, thankyouverymuch.
"Hi," you finally said, brushing some hair behind your ear awkwardly.
Short, simple, and incredibly quiet. It could barely even be considered a whisper. For a moment there, you weren't even quite sure that you had actually said it out loud.
But eventually, disputing that thought, he responded.
"Hey," almost just as quiet, with a gruff and grainy voice. It wasn't hard to tell that he was equally as sleep-deprived as you were.
"Couldn't sleep?" you asked, intentionally keeping your word count to a minimum, creating as little conversation as possible.
He hummed in response.
So, he wasn't feeling very chit-chatty either. Good. However, that's kind of just Bakugou’s default.
"Are you..." he began but hesitated to go on. You didn't press, letting him take his time deciding just what to say. He didn't, though. He left his unfinished sentence to float around with no purpose.
"I miss you."
What?
Did you imagine that?
Or did he seriously say that?
He did. He said it. You were impressed by his ability to be so vulnerable, just like that. You had to admit that it was a nice change of pace.
You turned your head to look at him, suddenly having the courage to do so. He sensed your gaze on him and slowly returned the action with a choppy movement of his own (Bakugou never was very smooth when it came to anything romantic, but at least he tried).
The surely very stressed expression on your face immediately softened as you landed on his unusually still features. The gentle moonlight shone on his face, slightly lighting him up. He looked... pretty. He looked gorgeous. You could see his more docile side and it brought the coziest feeling to your chest.
His harder gaze had lightened at the sight of you as well, you noticed. A part of you hoped he had been thinking the same thing as you. You wanted him to think that you were pretty.
The two of you stared into each other's eyes, seeming to have an entire conversation with this action. An outside perception may assume that you both have some type of mind-reading quirk and were exchanging words mentally.
But, no. You were both just really enjoying the view.
His eyes slowly moved down your face until he was fixated on your lips. You unintentionally parted them slightly as a result. He flicked his gaze back toward your eyes as he moved in a little closer.
Not thinking properly (or, really, not thinking anything at all), you mimicked his actions and moved your head forward.
Soon enough, your lips were brought together with an intense delicacy and slowness, both of you nervous that some Earth-shattering event would occur were you to mess this up.
Luckily, nothing of the sort happened
Eagerly, as though it was now safe to do so, you both deepened the kiss almost immediately.
You pressed against each other in a desperate and frantic manner, like your entire lives had led up to this moment. Like you were each other's air.
God, you had been craving this for way too long.
Your hand slowly traveled upward along his shirt, and stopped at his chest, where you longingly clutched onto the fabric as tight as you could, not wanting this to end. Not wanting him to suddenly disappear.
Upon your actions, he raised a calloused hand to your face. Your ear was in between his fingers, and his thumb moved back and forth on your cheek.
When your mind eventually cleared up from the haze of the situation, though, you took in what was really happening and what it really meant.
You forced yourself to pull away both your face and hand, doing so quickly and harshly. You brought your gaze forward and looked down slightly, wanting to avoid eye contact. He kept his eyes on your side profile. From experience, you knew the expression likely on his face right was one that would throw all your rationality out the window. More so, it wouldn’t be stopped by friction; it’d keep going until it ended up in a black hole of a distant galaxy. You couldn’t have that. You needed to think properly right now.
“Stop. Stop, please. We can’t go down this road, Suki. Not again. It’s- We-” you sighed. “You know that we can’t. It isn’t good, for either of us. We aren’t good for each other. We work best as friends, and we need some time apart before going back to even that.”
He continued to stare, before inhaling a deep breathe.
"Fuck, (Y/N)," he laughed dryly. It was almost like he was trying not to break down. "I… I care about you. A lot. And we both know that that’s not exactly easy for me to say. Isn’t that enough? Why can’t that be enough? You make me fucking- happy or whatever," his words got more and more mumbled as he got through the sentences.
You needed a moment to collect your thoughts. You needed to be able to properly shut down any argument of his. You couldn't have him convincing you that you were right for each other. You knew that you weren't, and that fact had to stay cemented within you, even with his presence making all your reasoning begin to slip away.
"Jesus, I wish it was that simple. I swear I do," you started. "I care about you too. Also a lot. But c'mon, you know things just weren’t good, like, at all when we were together."
He hesitated, flashes of heated scenes appearing in his brain the instant you uttered those words. He knew that so much pain was inflicted upon the both of you over the course of your relationship. But he also knew that just because things were like that once, doesn't mean they always had to be.
"That was months ago," he said, causing you to let out a laugh laced with mockery. You hadn't meant it to be mean way, but rather severely questioning.
"Ok, yeah, a few months isn’t that much damn time," you raised your eyebrows in a 'no shit' way. "But I think that we’ve changed- or, y'know, we can change enough to make this work."
You closed your eyes and silently breathed in. "I wanna believe you but-"
"Then believe me," he shot back in record time.
You were already becoming frustrated by his persistence. "It’s more complicated than that."
"Why? Why the fuck does it have to be more complicated?" he was already getting angry by your refusal to even consider what he had to say. "That's stupid and you know I’m right."
You scoffed and rolled your eyes before spitting out, "No, actually. Believe it or not, you aren’t always automatically in the fucking right just because you're the Katsuki Bakugou,” you said with an air of mockery.
"You just don’t wanna end whatever bullshit fling you have with that dickwad, huh?" he defensively spit back in retaliation in mere seconds.
He never was able to just mind his business where he didn’t belong when it came to you.
"Oh my god," you said, exasperated, placing your palms over your eyes and rubbing them before you whipped your head to the side to look at him, finally making eye contact again. "Are you seriously bringing this up right now?"
"Yes, I am. I’m a million times better than him 'n you know it. Just dump his ass."
You didn't even bother to bring up the fact that you couldn't dump someone that you weren't ever actually with. It was just as he said; a fling.
"God, Katsuki, this isn’t about him. I swear to you that he didn’t even cross my mind 'til you just brought him up," you aggressively retorted.
He laughed with a smug, immature expression on his face. "As fucking if. I’d bet he’s all you even think about. You're always sneaking off and shit to go make out in some shitty hiding place. Everyone knows it, you aren’t exactly good at hiding it."
You grimaced and shook your head at him. "Would you just leave him out of this? That is not fair."
"None of this is fair. The fuck does that even mean, huh? You're the one who decided to-"
You cut him off before he could continue to whatever vulgar thing he had prepared on the tip of his tongue. "Will you stop it?! Please? God, I hate it when you act like this!"
He furrowed his brows. "Like what?"
Your eyes narrowed. "Like a jealous little bitch," you spat.
"The fuck do I have to be jealous of, huh? Like I said, I’m way fuckin' better than him," he arrogantly stated.
"And are you trying to convince me or yourself?" you said with a bitter laugh.
"Watch your fucking mouth." He inched a bit closer to you as he said it. You could feel his breath on your face.
You looked at him blankly, not sure where to go from here. All you were doing, once again, was arguing.
You looked away like you had previously, choosing to stay silent for some time. When you spoke up again, you consciously did so with a soft and cautious tone.
"Don’t you see what I’m talking about? Don’t you get it? This is always how things are gonna go with us. We piss each other off. We argue like hell over the stupidest things. It’s bad. It was really bad. This barely scrapes the surface of how bad our fights have gotten. I'm… almost surprised that things never got physical.” You got quiet for a moment. He felt a pang in his heart at that. He knew he’d never lay a hand on you outside of training. He’d always thought that’s something you’d both completely agree on. “That's bad, Katsuki. Can you please just admit that that’s bad? That it was bad?" You tried not to let it, but your voice began to raise right back up to a higher volume as you continued to speak.
He seemed like he was absorbing what you were saying, as he paused for a considerable amount of time. His heart squeezed painfully at your words. Still, though, he just couldn't agree.
"No, I cant."
Your previous attempts at calming yourself down were now fully down the drain.
You scoffed and flicked your neck back around to his face as you had now done multiple times. "Seriously? Are you doing this on purpose? Do you just want to disagree with me? Want me to be wrong?"
"No," he raised his voice defensively before bringing it back down slightly. "That isn’t it"
"Then what is it?" you heatedly challenged, not yet believing him.
"I just-"
He looked away, looking visibly uncomfortable. Like it was hard for him to push out his next words. "I just don’t want it to be true."
You softened. Immensely.
He suddenly seemed so fragile, like the other day in class all over again.
You didn't want to hurt him, so you made sure, harder than before, not to speak too harshly. "I get it. Neither do I.” Another momentary pause. “But it just is. I’m sorry.”
As he stared at the sky, you noticed him blinking an excessive amount.
He was trying not to cry.
Fuck.
You wanted to grab and squeeze his hand so badly. You were able to stop yourself.
"Look," you spoke back up. "Maybe one day, far enough from now, we can make this work. But for the time being, we’re both way too immature for that."
He nodded an extremely small amount. "You're already way ahead of me. You're mature enough to say that."
You smiled appreciatively. "Wow, Bakugou Katsuki admitting to a fault? I’m impressed."
"Shut the fuck up," he said with the slightest, practically imperceptible grin.
"That's a good thing," you assured the boy. "You’re capable of change. We both are. If this is still something we both want by that point, then we can have this conversation again in the future."
He didn't say anything.
"Deal?" you pressed, raising your eyebrows.
"Yeah. Whatever. Deal."
With a small but genuine smile, you lifted your hand and held out your pinky in his direction.
Seeing it in his peripheral vision, he turned toward you with an eyebrow raised.
"You're an idiot."
You didn't falter, simply pushing your hand closer to him.
He rolled his eyes before intertwining his pinky with yours, sealing the forever unbreakable promise.
And that was that. For now. Until you were ready. Until he was ready.
ahhh if ur here yayyy thank you so much for reading!! my ao3 is katsukutie if u wanna check it outsies