anyway i'm still thinking about barbarian bakugou. you vacationing at the edge of the realm in your little summer castle with your boring husband when katsuki turns the whole place upside down. he is going to marry you if it's the last thing he does because it means peace for his people after decades of war and you can run through the servant's quarters and slip through hidden doors and even get outside into the fields but he is going to take you.
summary: when you’ve been in love for as long as the two of you have, sometimes it’s easy to forget. sometimes you need a push, a reminder, even if it’s scary
warnings: slight angst, fluff, mentions of stalking, a bad date
a/n: hi, i'm alive. here's a gift. hopefully i don't disappear again for a while. k bye.
listen here
It’s stupidity and shame that drown you. Along with the third pitiful look from the bartender. If you’re going to get drunk alone, might as well be in the comfort of your own space. Leaving cash next to your full drink, you grab your purse and make your way to the door. You should have known better than to listen to Keiko and the others. They’re work friends, what do they know? You’d been in a relationship the whole time you’ve known them. They met Katsuki Bakugou one time and that was enough for them. They’ve jumped at any chance to get you out on the town and bring some new dick into your life.
Look at what that brought you.
It’s been almost four blocks and your feet are killing you. Guess that’s what you get for wanting to look nice. It’s been a long time since you tried this hard. You should have turned at the train station three blocks ago, but this was safer. It’s a voice in the back of your head that keeps telling you that. A gruff, annoyed voice that you haven’t actually heard in almost three months. But it’s that voice that keeps you moving — keeps you moving in hopes that you’ll find him, or anybody really. Fuck, you hope you find him.
The man following you keeps a steady pace, a decent distance. You know without a doubt that if you even thought about running, he’d be on you. So you don’t. You keep walking, even though it kills you. This is what you get for listening to your friends. You’re a total smoke show, live a little. You didn’t even want to go on the stupid fucking date. Lo and behold, this so-called “good guy” stands you up. Fucking figures.
The sound of a can scraping against the concrete is loud behind you. It’s not late, close to eleven o’clock, but late enough that there aren’t a lot of people out. The summer heat even at this hour clings to you. Sweat beads at your hairline, palms clammy from how hard you’d clenching them. All you want is your bed. Fuck. Your bed. Your bed that smells like him. Your home that is warm and inviting. Your fiancé. Your life.
With every painful step you’re reminded that nothing is what it should be. You should not be scurrying scared from a stand-up date. If anything, you should have called, but you’re scared.
Rounding the corner, blessed by a streetlight, you see it. You see the building that you’ve been trying to reach. From where you are, it looks dark, empty. Your heart slowly sinks in your chest. Your breathing picks up along with your steps. This is not the moment to give up, if anything, you have a whole arsenal of heroes you can call — hell, you know Kirishima will answer the first ring. You grab at your bag, fingers blindly digging into it. The dress was a stupid idea. Should have warn your best jeans — your phone would have been in your pocket —
As your hand grasps the device, you run into something — someone — hard. The familiar heat of his hands warms against the skin of your upper arms, his grip steady as he keeps you from toppling over. Instantly your hands wrap themselves in his shirt, pulling yourself into him, as close as you can possibly get. The familiar scent of warm caramel invades your senses. He doesn’t say anything, and you’re thankful for it. But you can still feel the unwanted gaze burning into your back, and it reminds you why you’re even here.
“You're late.” Bakugou raises an eyebrow, narrowed gaze reading your intense expression. Your eyes widen, head slightly tilting to the left. “Didn’t want to believe you stood me up. Knew I’d find you here.”
“I texted you.”
His grip tightens on you before he pulls you into him, tucking you under his arm. It’s the safest you felt in the last hour. You have to blink to keep your eyes from watering. He steers you away from the sidewalk and back into the building. You’re safe, you're safe, you're safe. Bakugou holds you tight on the ride up in the elevator, barely letting you go to open the door to his office.
Once inside, you crumble. It’s not because of relief, or the high of the adrenaline. It’s the pictures. A picture of you and Deku. A picture of you lost in your shared bed sheets. A picture of you and Mitsuki. A picture of you sandwiched between Bakugou and Kirishima. But it’s the picture on the desk that has you falling into the chair, shaking hands reaching out to get a better look. The two of you are standing together, Bakugou’s arm thrown over your shoulders holding you tightly to him. Your head is tossed back in a boisterous laugh, you can hear yourself cackling like a hyena. You’ve got your arm around his waist, body completely molded to him as he watches you. Red eyes looking down his nose in a soft gaze he only allows for you, lips slightly parted in a small lovestruck smile. It’s a snapshot of the pure adoration and love he holds for you.
It’s not something that he hides. It’s not a secret by any means. But fuck, you can’t even remember the last time Bakugou has looked at you that way. Your index fingers trace over him, a small sob breaking free. It’s ridiculous that someone was literally stalking you for over thirty minutes, but it’s seeing a photo of the love of your life that is your undoing.
“Sweetheart,”
Glassy eyes raise to meet him. Bakugou stands by the window, arms crossed over chest as he stares out into the street. You watch as he sucks on his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s trying his best not to let his anger overtake him. At least for the moment.
“You want to explain to me what’s going on?”
You swallow, fingers flexing on his desk, the ring on your finger catching in the light of the small lamp. “I was being followed home from a bar. He —” you glance down at your shoes and almost hiss as the pain comes screaming back to you. “He followed me for four blocks.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone?” You hear it — why didn’t you call me?
“I was looking for my phone,” the excuse is weak even to your own ears. “I-I came straight to you.”
“You didn’t even know if I was fucking here.”
He’s right. You know he’s right. The thought crossed your mind on the walk here. But it didn't sink in until now. What if something had happened? What if he hadn't been here? What if no one was? Then what?
Warm fingers grasp your chin, pulling your attention once again. His eyes have softened, his other hand grasping yours where it shakes in your grasp.
“Hey, it’s okay. M’right here.”
You don’t know what to do at this point. You don’t know how to fix this — but it’s so clear that he carries you everywhere with him. He loves you, and fuck, do you love him.
“Help me,” your voice is broken and desperate and doesn’t sound like you at all. “It’s been months, Kats, and —“ your head snaps to the window. “Is he still outside?”
Bakugou shakes his head. “I texted Red a few minutes ago. He was on patrol.”
No matter what you would’ve been okay. In the long run. But as you sit in Bakugou’s office, sobbing as he holds you like you’ll break any second, you’re not sure where you go from here.
“I miss you,” you whisper, breath warming against his neck. “I don’t want to miss you anymore.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Don’t.” This is what you had been avoiding. You’re not asking him to choose you over his career. You just need to see some balance. That you both are putting in the work. “I want you. I just want you, Katsuki. Tonight shouldn’t have happened.”
His gaze darkens, but you can’t stop. Not now.
“I shouldn’t have gone on a date. I shouldn’t have been stood up. I shouldn’t have been fucking stalked for four blocks. I shouldn’t have been afraid to call you. I should’ve just gone —“ you hiccup, hands clutching into his shirt, body begging him to keep you close. “I want to go home. I want my Dynamight mug. I want my bed sheets that smell like you. I want—“
You break, shatter. It’s deafening. Your knees give out, and Bakugou is there. Because where else would he be other than with you when you need him most?
“Ain’t nothing stoppin’ you from comin’ home.” His voice is a whisper in the shell of your ear, but it echoes in your head.
“It’s empty. It’s a shrine to us and what we should be.”
“What should we be?”
Red shot eyes meet his. “Together. In love. Happy. I’m not—I’m, I’m not asking you to give up anything. I’m just tired of being alone.”
Bakugou pulls back and stares down at you. His gaze a little harder than it was before. “You act like I’m the one that just up and left.”
“I know what I did. But how long did it take for you to realize I stopped coming home? No text messages. No phone calls. You were the one that gave the impression that you were perfectly fine without me.”
“I knew you were alright.”
“Do I look alright to you?”
You stare at each other in the silence. Moonlight glows around him, making him look almost magical. The longer you stare the more pieces start to fall into place. I knew you were alright. I knew you were alright. How many times over the last few months have you bumped into a hero? On your way home from work, to the gym, from your niece’s birthday party. He’d been keeping tabs on you. With perfect clarity, a stunned gasp escapes you. Eyes narrowing you’re not sure if you should be pissed off or not. Don’t know if you want to smother him or kiss him. You do know without a doubt Bakugou is the reason your date didn’t show up. He shifts almost uncomfortably when he notices the overwhelming emotion clear from your face.
He’s been caught.
“I was never in danger tonight was I?”
He doesn’t answer and that’s more than enough. You want to be mad. You want to scream and break things. You were terrified. But you can’t be mad — there’s no one to blame but yourself.
Falling back into his chair, you stare at the ceiling as you kick off your shoes. Stupid fucking death traps. They throb as you curl them under yourself. No longer needing to anchor yourself to the man in front of you.
Pain starts to throb behind your left eye. A stress headache. Not one that could trigger anything, this is a release. Every clenched muscle, every shed tear, every worry filled thought. None of it matters.
“Do you love me?” The look he gives you for even having the audacity to ask that out loud is an answer. You bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.
“Don’t be stupid.”
With a sigh, you wipe the tears and running mascara from under your eyes. Rolling your shoulders you stand, popping your neck before kneeling to the floor to pick up your heels. You’d rather walk over hot coals than put them back on your feet. Bakugou watches you as you move around the office. Pieces of you present everywhere.
“I need you to tell me. I can see it, Kats. Please, I only need to —“
“I love you.” Your breath catches, that sizzling scent of warm caramel overtaking you. “I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you. You were always mine. I love the way you read curled up on the couch. I love the way you kick everyone’s ass at Mario Kart. I love the way you take your coffee and burn the edges of the pancakes. I love the way you cling to me in your sleep. I love that even after I told you not to wait up, you’re still awake. Wide eyed, with a cup of coffee in nothing but one of my shirts with the news on TV. Sweetheart, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”
He turns you so you’re facing him, forehead pressed against yours, no way to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I love you more than this fucking job. It’s important to me, something I’ve worked my ass off for. You, I’m hopin’ to have you long after this job is done. My fault for letting you doubt that.”
You can’t stop the wobbly smile or the tears that follow. There’s no need to say anything, because he knows. Bakugou tilts your head up and wipes the tears and gently places a kiss to your forehead.
“Can I take you home now?” You raise an eyebrow and he huffs. “Deku was good for something. You were never in danger. Probably safer walkin’ around with him as your shadow anyway.”
You shake your head as a laugh bubbles out of you. Shaky fingers rake up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I fucking hate you.”
He has no time to respond. Your grip on his hair pulls his face down to yours. There's a heat that licks up your spine and pools between your thighs when his lips meet yours. Bakugou moans when your grip tightens. His own hands wrapping around your thighs and lifting you so you're pinned between him and the wall. His grin matches your own, both of you refusing to break this even for a moment.
Yeah, he’ll take you home, but you’ve got some catching up to do first.
summary: when you’ve been in love for as long as the two of you have, sometimes it’s easy to forget. sometimes you need a push, a reminder, even if it’s scary
warnings: slight angst, fluff, mentions of stalking, a bad date
a/n: hi, i'm alive. here's a gift. hopefully i don't disappear again for a while. k bye.
listen here
It’s stupidity and shame that drown you. Along with the third pitiful look from the bartender. If you’re going to get drunk alone, might as well be in the comfort of your own space. Leaving cash next to your full drink, you grab your purse and make your way to the door. You should have known better than to listen to Keiko and the others. They’re work friends, what do they know? You’d been in a relationship the whole time you’ve known them. They met Katsuki Bakugou one time and that was enough for them. They’ve jumped at any chance to get you out on the town and bring some new dick into your life.
Look at what that brought you.
It’s been almost four blocks and your feet are killing you. Guess that’s what you get for wanting to look nice. It’s been a long time since you tried this hard. You should have turned at the train station three blocks ago, but this was safer. It’s a voice in the back of your head that keeps telling you that. A gruff, annoyed voice that you haven’t actually heard in almost three months. But it’s that voice that keeps you moving — keeps you moving in hopes that you’ll find him, or anybody really. Fuck, you hope you find him.
The man following you keeps a steady pace, a decent distance. You know without a doubt that if you even thought about running, he’d be on you. So you don’t. You keep walking, even though it kills you. This is what you get for listening to your friends. You’re a total smoke show, live a little. You didn’t even want to go on the stupid fucking date. Lo and behold, this so-called “good guy” stands you up. Fucking figures.
The sound of a can scraping against the concrete is loud behind you. It’s not late, close to eleven o’clock, but late enough that there aren’t a lot of people out. The summer heat even at this hour clings to you. Sweat beads at your hairline, palms clammy from how hard you’d clenching them. All you want is your bed. Fuck. Your bed. Your bed that smells like him. Your home that is warm and inviting. Your fiancé. Your life.
With every painful step you’re reminded that nothing is what it should be. You should not be scurrying scared from a stand-up date. If anything, you should have called, but you’re scared.
Rounding the corner, blessed by a streetlight, you see it. You see the building that you’ve been trying to reach. From where you are, it looks dark, empty. Your heart slowly sinks in your chest. Your breathing picks up along with your steps. This is not the moment to give up, if anything, you have a whole arsenal of heroes you can call — hell, you know Kirishima will answer the first ring. You grab at your bag, fingers blindly digging into it. The dress was a stupid idea. Should have warn your best jeans — your phone would have been in your pocket —
As your hand grasps the device, you run into something — someone — hard. The familiar heat of his hands warms against the skin of your upper arms, his grip steady as he keeps you from toppling over. Instantly your hands wrap themselves in his shirt, pulling yourself into him, as close as you can possibly get. The familiar scent of warm caramel invades your senses. He doesn’t say anything, and you’re thankful for it. But you can still feel the unwanted gaze burning into your back, and it reminds you why you’re even here.
“You're late.” Bakugou raises an eyebrow, narrowed gaze reading your intense expression. Your eyes widen, head slightly tilting to the left. “Didn’t want to believe you stood me up. Knew I’d find you here.”
“I texted you.”
His grip tightens on you before he pulls you into him, tucking you under his arm. It’s the safest you felt in the last hour. You have to blink to keep your eyes from watering. He steers you away from the sidewalk and back into the building. You’re safe, you're safe, you're safe. Bakugou holds you tight on the ride up in the elevator, barely letting you go to open the door to his office.
Once inside, you crumble. It’s not because of relief, or the high of the adrenaline. It’s the pictures. A picture of you and Deku. A picture of you lost in your shared bed sheets. A picture of you and Mitsuki. A picture of you sandwiched between Bakugou and Kirishima. But it’s the picture on the desk that has you falling into the chair, shaking hands reaching out to get a better look. The two of you are standing together, Bakugou’s arm thrown over your shoulders holding you tightly to him. Your head is tossed back in a boisterous laugh, you can hear yourself cackling like a hyena. You’ve got your arm around his waist, body completely molded to him as he watches you. Red eyes looking down his nose in a soft gaze he only allows for you, lips slightly parted in a small lovestruck smile. It’s a snapshot of the pure adoration and love he holds for you.
It’s not something that he hides. It’s not a secret by any means. But fuck, you can’t even remember the last time Bakugou has looked at you that way. Your index fingers trace over him, a small sob breaking free. It’s ridiculous that someone was literally stalking you for over thirty minutes, but it’s seeing a photo of the love of your life that is your undoing.
“Sweetheart,”
Glassy eyes raise to meet him. Bakugou stands by the window, arms crossed over chest as he stares out into the street. You watch as he sucks on his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s trying his best not to let his anger overtake him. At least for the moment.
“You want to explain to me what’s going on?”
You swallow, fingers flexing on his desk, the ring on your finger catching in the light of the small lamp. “I was being followed home from a bar. He —” you glance down at your shoes and almost hiss as the pain comes screaming back to you. “He followed me for four blocks.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone?” You hear it — why didn’t you call me?
“I was looking for my phone,” the excuse is weak even to your own ears. “I-I came straight to you.”
“You didn’t even know if I was fucking here.”
He’s right. You know he’s right. The thought crossed your mind on the walk here. But it didn't sink in until now. What if something had happened? What if he hadn't been here? What if no one was? Then what?
Warm fingers grasp your chin, pulling your attention once again. His eyes have softened, his other hand grasping yours where it shakes in your grasp.
“Hey, it’s okay. M’right here.”
You don’t know what to do at this point. You don’t know how to fix this — but it’s so clear that he carries you everywhere with him. He loves you, and fuck, do you love him.
“Help me,” your voice is broken and desperate and doesn’t sound like you at all. “It’s been months, Kats, and —“ your head snaps to the window. “Is he still outside?”
Bakugou shakes his head. “I texted Red a few minutes ago. He was on patrol.”
No matter what you would’ve been okay. In the long run. But as you sit in Bakugou’s office, sobbing as he holds you like you’ll break any second, you’re not sure where you go from here.
“I miss you,” you whisper, breath warming against his neck. “I don’t want to miss you anymore.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Don’t.” This is what you had been avoiding. You’re not asking him to choose you over his career. You just need to see some balance. That you both are putting in the work. “I want you. I just want you, Katsuki. Tonight shouldn’t have happened.”
His gaze darkens, but you can’t stop. Not now.
“I shouldn’t have gone on a date. I shouldn’t have been stood up. I shouldn’t have been fucking stalked for four blocks. I shouldn’t have been afraid to call you. I should’ve just gone —“ you hiccup, hands clutching into his shirt, body begging him to keep you close. “I want to go home. I want my Dynamight mug. I want my bed sheets that smell like you. I want—“
You break, shatter. It’s deafening. Your knees give out, and Bakugou is there. Because where else would he be other than with you when you need him most?
“Ain’t nothing stoppin’ you from comin’ home.” His voice is a whisper in the shell of your ear, but it echoes in your head.
“It’s empty. It’s a shrine to us and what we should be.”
“What should we be?”
Red shot eyes meet his. “Together. In love. Happy. I’m not—I’m, I’m not asking you to give up anything. I’m just tired of being alone.”
Bakugou pulls back and stares down at you. His gaze a little harder than it was before. “You act like I’m the one that just up and left.”
“I know what I did. But how long did it take for you to realize I stopped coming home? No text messages. No phone calls. You were the one that gave the impression that you were perfectly fine without me.”
“I knew you were alright.”
“Do I look alright to you?”
You stare at each other in the silence. Moonlight glows around him, making him look almost magical. The longer you stare the more pieces start to fall into place. I knew you were alright. I knew you were alright. How many times over the last few months have you bumped into a hero? On your way home from work, to the gym, from your niece’s birthday party. He’d been keeping tabs on you. With perfect clarity, a stunned gasp escapes you. Eyes narrowing you’re not sure if you should be pissed off or not. Don’t know if you want to smother him or kiss him. You do know without a doubt Bakugou is the reason your date didn’t show up. He shifts almost uncomfortably when he notices the overwhelming emotion clear from your face.
He’s been caught.
“I was never in danger tonight was I?”
He doesn’t answer and that’s more than enough. You want to be mad. You want to scream and break things. You were terrified. But you can’t be mad — there’s no one to blame but yourself.
Falling back into his chair, you stare at the ceiling as you kick off your shoes. Stupid fucking death traps. They throb as you curl them under yourself. No longer needing to anchor yourself to the man in front of you.
Pain starts to throb behind your left eye. A stress headache. Not one that could trigger anything, this is a release. Every clenched muscle, every shed tear, every worry filled thought. None of it matters.
“Do you love me?” The look he gives you for even having the audacity to ask that out loud is an answer. You bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.
“Don’t be stupid.”
With a sigh, you wipe the tears and running mascara from under your eyes. Rolling your shoulders you stand, popping your neck before kneeling to the floor to pick up your heels. You’d rather walk over hot coals than put them back on your feet. Bakugou watches you as you move around the office. Pieces of you present everywhere.
“I need you to tell me. I can see it, Kats. Please, I only need to —“
“I love you.” Your breath catches, that sizzling scent of warm caramel overtaking you. “I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you. You were always mine. I love the way you read curled up on the couch. I love the way you kick everyone’s ass at Mario Kart. I love the way you take your coffee and burn the edges of the pancakes. I love the way you cling to me in your sleep. I love that even after I told you not to wait up, you’re still awake. Wide eyed, with a cup of coffee in nothing but one of my shirts with the news on TV. Sweetheart, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”
He turns you so you’re facing him, forehead pressed against yours, no way to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I love you more than this fucking job. It’s important to me, something I’ve worked my ass off for. You, I’m hopin’ to have you long after this job is done. My fault for letting you doubt that.”
You can’t stop the wobbly smile or the tears that follow. There’s no need to say anything, because he knows. Bakugou tilts your head up and wipes the tears and gently places a kiss to your forehead.
“Can I take you home now?” You raise an eyebrow and he huffs. “Deku was good for something. You were never in danger. Probably safer walkin’ around with him as your shadow anyway.”
You shake your head as a laugh bubbles out of you. Shaky fingers rake up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I fucking hate you.”
He has no time to respond. Your grip on his hair pulls his face down to yours. There's a heat that licks up your spine and pools between your thighs when his lips meet yours. Bakugou moans when your grip tightens. His own hands wrapping around your thighs and lifting you so you're pinned between him and the wall. His grin matches your own, both of you refusing to break this even for a moment.
Yeah, he’ll take you home, but you’ve got some catching up to do first.
summary: when was the last time he told you he loved you? that thought — that one, singular thought almost brings you to your knees.
warnings: angst, lack of communication, friends to lovers to slightly strangers
a/n: look at me writing angst. who is she? you’re losing me by taylor swift has been stuck in my head for days. I totally didn’t edit this, not sorry about it.
He’s so handsome as he stands there talking, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Nodding along to what the man in front of him is saying. He looks comfortable, confident, sure of himself. Your grip on the champagne glass tightens, free hand smoothing down your dress even though there isn’t anything wrong with it. Everything is immaculate, just perfect.
And you fucking hate it.
You’re standing in a room full of people you know and love here to celebrate your engagement, but you’re standing all alone. It’s slow motion almost, watching everyone around you. As they laugh, and gush over what a beautiful couple you are. How your union had been planned since you were in diapers.
That’s what really gets you, because you can’t tell the difference. Is it love? Or are you comfortable because it’s all either of you know. Your gaze falls to the ring on your left hand. It’s beautiful. It’s casting light from where the sun breaking through the windows is hitting it. Sparkling rainbows shifting with each twitch of your finger. But you know he didn’t pick it out. You’re not sure who did — not somebody who knows you.
Everything comes screaming back to you when you feel a warm hand on your lower back. Bakugou is standing next to you, barely a breath separating you. Some might raise their eyebrows seeing a newly engaged woman this close to another man. But no one pays you any mind. They never do. Sighing, you glance up at him, curious.
“A little weird for the soon to be bride to be all alone at her own engagement party isn’t it?”
You swallow, looking back across the room. Shouto is no longer there. What can you say to that? He’s not wrong. There’s no point in lying. Fuck it, you lift the lukewarm champagne glass and down it. The grimace rolls over you before you have a chance to stop it. The glass is pulled from your grip, the warm hand on your back ushering you away from the sea of people. You don’t look back as he leads you away. No one is going to miss you anyway.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m takin’ you home. Bullshit that I have to sit there and watch you like that.”
“It’s just another day.”
“Fuck that. Is that really how you envisioned your engagement?”
No. That’s not how you envisioned it at all. You used to daydream about it — just like you used to daydream what it would be like when you finally became a pro hero. But it all faded with time. You can’t think of the last time you thought about marriage, starting a family.
“Hey.”
The sight of your apartment makes your eyebrows raise; lost in your thoughts. Bakugou flicks your nose, making you wrinkle it. He’s watching you, gaze narrowed, eyes hard.
“If you need me —”
“I know.”
Bakugou nods, waiting as you exit his car and enter the building. You wave as the glass door shuts behind you. You've been alone most of the day, but you’re relieved to be back in your own space. But standing all by yourself in your shared space with Shouto while he was none the wiser still at your engagement party…
You spiral.
It’s late when Shouto finally walks through the door. His suit coat is hung over his arm, tie loosened, hanging freely off his neck. He looks worn, tired from interacting with so many people. You, on the other hand, are sitting on the couch. Three glasses of wine deep, an old UA tee on an excuse for your pajamas.
His eyes widen at the sight of you. “You look comfy.”
You don’t say anything, swirling the dark liquid in your glass before swallowing it down in one gulp. It's comical, watching him stand there, eyes wide. It’s like he’s never seen you before. Maybe he hasn’t.
“This is the comfiest I’ve been all day.”
You see it. The gears moving in his head as he realizes that he was at the party with you. That you should have come home with him. Shouto swallows loudly, shifting his weight. He’s never looked so uncomfortable before. You want to feel bad, but after today, you honestly don’t feel anything at all.
“Did you have a nice time?” You ask as you stand and head towards the kitchen.
He stands there, staring after you. “I…”
“You looked like you did.” You continue, not bothering to wait for a reply, as if he had one. “You looked content, happy, even.”
“When — how did you,”
“Katsuki.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps, and you turn away, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. It’s not the fact that he brought you home. It’s not even the fact that you left early. It’s the familiarity.
The room settles, quiet washing over you. You’ve had plenty of time to think, and you think some more as you wash your dishes and put the wine back in the cabinet. You think about your life and what you want. You think about your future, your past. You think about Shouto.
In every thought you’ve had he’s been a constant. He’s always been by your side, your most favorite person. How could there ever be anyone else?
But…
It shouldn't feel like this. The unbearable weight of being alone. Of constantly questioning whether he loves you. Does he love you? Does he know how? Was he ever taught? Has it been up to you to do that? You go round and round in your own head. When was the last time he told you he loved you? That thought — that one, singular thought almost brings you to your knees.
Hands slam on the smooth granite countertop, the air punched from your chest. Warmth consumes you as he surrounds you. Familiar palms placed on your hips, the smell of his cologne invading your senses, reminding you to breathe. Of course he’s right here, he always is. He always has been.
“What’s wrong?”
His worry drowns you, chokes you on your own tears. Uncertain, watery eyes meet his. “I—”
“Tell me what it is. I can fix it.”
You laugh, a hollow, joyless sound. Hands shaking where they grip the counter, tighter and tighter until it splinters in your grasp. Mirroring your heart as it falls apart in your chest. Your glassy eyes catch on your ring. Your beautiful engagement ring — a ring you know Shouto didn’t pick out for you, a ring you’d never pick out for yourself.
“Do you love me?”
It’s a whisper, words barely falling from your parted lips, but it might as well have been a gunshot. Shouto stares at you, but you cannot bring yourself to meet his eye.
“What kind of — of course I do.”
“Say it.”
“What?”
“Say it, Shouto. Say that you love me. Tell me you love me.” you push him away from you, but he doesn’t go far. “Come on, say the words. Because I cannot recall you ever telling me in all the years I’ve known you.”
“You know I love you.”
There’s no stopping the tears, falling like nuclear bombs destroying you with every sob. Every fear you pushed aside and ignored is staring you down. They are what’s been keeping you warm at night with familiar eyes as they watch you sleep.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
“What?”
“You don’t love me, sho. I don’t — I’m just here. You expect me to always be here because that’s what you’re used to. But I can’t — I cannot wear a ring you didn’t even pick out. As beautiful as it is, I fucking hate it, and as someone who’s known me for my whole life, you should know that.”
He trembles where he stands. Eyes wide as he takes you in, takes in your words. There is no denying you’re right. He’s never had to tell you, never had to reassure you. That’s what happens when you come to expect things. He expected you to love him. He expected you to always be there.
Shouto never expected this.
He watches as you fall apart. Years built up between you crumbling at your feet. There is no way to fix this. He can say the words, he can. But they’d be empty. Not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he doesn’t give them to you freely. Shouto has always been a man of action, running head first without a second thought of the consequences, figuring it out as he goes. But this — with you — you’re all he knows. How can it be anyone but you?
“I can’t lose you.”
“You’ll always have me.” You answer, wiping at your eyes. They’re swollen and you're getting a migraine. Nothing good is coming from this. “You’re my best friend, Shouto, but I think that’s all you’ll ever be.”
He looks lost. Defeated. This is not how either of you planned the night to go. Even though you’re a snot nosed mess, you have to admit that you feel lighter. You take a deep staggering breath before pulling him into you. Shouto clutches on to you as if it’s the last time. For all you know, it very well might be. You run your fingers through his hair, scratching up the back of his neck. No matter what happens you know without a doubt you love him. That’ll never change. For your own peace of mind, your own well being, you know you deserve to be loved in return. Openly, freely, frequently.
“How am I supposed to go on without you? What am I supposed to do? I don’t —”
“We’ll figure all that out later.”
He nods, his grip on you tightening. “Later then. Will you, could you please come to bed with me?”
“Of course.”
It’s later in the night, too late to be up and too early to be awake. You haven’t slept. Shouto is dead to the world asleep in your shared bed. You’re sitting on the couch, phone in hand with your thumb hovering over the familiar contact. You do not want this. You can’t do this. It replays and replays and replays in your mind.
He didn’t fight for you. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything except think of how all of this affects him, even with you laying bare and bleeding before him. Maybe there’s a reason Shouto never told you he loves you.
Sighing, you tap the contact and bring it up to your ear.
“Bakugou.”
“Hey, it’s me.” You sound broken even to your own ears. “Think you can swing by and pick me up?”
summary: when you’ve been in love for as long as the two of you have, sometimes it’s easy to forget. sometimes you need a push, a reminder, even if it’s scary
warnings: slight angst, fluff, mentions of stalking, a bad date
a/n: hi, i'm alive. here's a gift. hopefully i don't disappear again for a while. k bye.
listen here
It’s stupidity and shame that drown you. Along with the third pitiful look from the bartender. If you’re going to get drunk alone, might as well be in the comfort of your own space. Leaving cash next to your full drink, you grab your purse and make your way to the door. You should have known better than to listen to Keiko and the others. They’re work friends, what do they know? You’d been in a relationship the whole time you’ve known them. They met Katsuki Bakugou one time and that was enough for them. They’ve jumped at any chance to get you out on the town and bring some new dick into your life.
Look at what that brought you.
It’s been almost four blocks and your feet are killing you. Guess that’s what you get for wanting to look nice. It’s been a long time since you tried this hard. You should have turned at the train station three blocks ago, but this was safer. It’s a voice in the back of your head that keeps telling you that. A gruff, annoyed voice that you haven’t actually heard in almost three months. But it’s that voice that keeps you moving — keeps you moving in hopes that you’ll find him, or anybody really. Fuck, you hope you find him.
The man following you keeps a steady pace, a decent distance. You know without a doubt that if you even thought about running, he’d be on you. So you don’t. You keep walking, even though it kills you. This is what you get for listening to your friends. You’re a total smoke show, live a little. You didn’t even want to go on the stupid fucking date. Lo and behold, this so-called “good guy” stands you up. Fucking figures.
The sound of a can scraping against the concrete is loud behind you. It’s not late, close to eleven o’clock, but late enough that there aren’t a lot of people out. The summer heat even at this hour clings to you. Sweat beads at your hairline, palms clammy from how hard you’d clenching them. All you want is your bed. Fuck. Your bed. Your bed that smells like him. Your home that is warm and inviting. Your fiancé. Your life.
With every painful step you’re reminded that nothing is what it should be. You should not be scurrying scared from a stand-up date. If anything, you should have called, but you’re scared.
Rounding the corner, blessed by a streetlight, you see it. You see the building that you’ve been trying to reach. From where you are, it looks dark, empty. Your heart slowly sinks in your chest. Your breathing picks up along with your steps. This is not the moment to give up, if anything, you have a whole arsenal of heroes you can call — hell, you know Kirishima will answer the first ring. You grab at your bag, fingers blindly digging into it. The dress was a stupid idea. Should have warn your best jeans — your phone would have been in your pocket —
As your hand grasps the device, you run into something — someone — hard. The familiar heat of his hands warms against the skin of your upper arms, his grip steady as he keeps you from toppling over. Instantly your hands wrap themselves in his shirt, pulling yourself into him, as close as you can possibly get. The familiar scent of warm caramel invades your senses. He doesn’t say anything, and you’re thankful for it. But you can still feel the unwanted gaze burning into your back, and it reminds you why you’re even here.
“You're late.” Bakugou raises an eyebrow, narrowed gaze reading your intense expression. Your eyes widen, head slightly tilting to the left. “Didn’t want to believe you stood me up. Knew I’d find you here.”
“I texted you.”
His grip tightens on you before he pulls you into him, tucking you under his arm. It’s the safest you felt in the last hour. You have to blink to keep your eyes from watering. He steers you away from the sidewalk and back into the building. You’re safe, you're safe, you're safe. Bakugou holds you tight on the ride up in the elevator, barely letting you go to open the door to his office.
Once inside, you crumble. It’s not because of relief, or the high of the adrenaline. It’s the pictures. A picture of you and Deku. A picture of you lost in your shared bed sheets. A picture of you and Mitsuki. A picture of you sandwiched between Bakugou and Kirishima. But it’s the picture on the desk that has you falling into the chair, shaking hands reaching out to get a better look. The two of you are standing together, Bakugou’s arm thrown over your shoulders holding you tightly to him. Your head is tossed back in a boisterous laugh, you can hear yourself cackling like a hyena. You’ve got your arm around his waist, body completely molded to him as he watches you. Red eyes looking down his nose in a soft gaze he only allows for you, lips slightly parted in a small lovestruck smile. It’s a snapshot of the pure adoration and love he holds for you.
It’s not something that he hides. It’s not a secret by any means. But fuck, you can’t even remember the last time Bakugou has looked at you that way. Your index fingers trace over him, a small sob breaking free. It’s ridiculous that someone was literally stalking you for over thirty minutes, but it’s seeing a photo of the love of your life that is your undoing.
“Sweetheart,”
Glassy eyes raise to meet him. Bakugou stands by the window, arms crossed over chest as he stares out into the street. You watch as he sucks on his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s trying his best not to let his anger overtake him. At least for the moment.
“You want to explain to me what’s going on?”
You swallow, fingers flexing on his desk, the ring on your finger catching in the light of the small lamp. “I was being followed home from a bar. He —” you glance down at your shoes and almost hiss as the pain comes screaming back to you. “He followed me for four blocks.”
“Why didn’t you call anyone?” You hear it — why didn’t you call me?
“I was looking for my phone,” the excuse is weak even to your own ears. “I-I came straight to you.”
“You didn’t even know if I was fucking here.”
He’s right. You know he’s right. The thought crossed your mind on the walk here. But it didn't sink in until now. What if something had happened? What if he hadn't been here? What if no one was? Then what?
Warm fingers grasp your chin, pulling your attention once again. His eyes have softened, his other hand grasping yours where it shakes in your grasp.
“Hey, it’s okay. M’right here.”
You don’t know what to do at this point. You don’t know how to fix this — but it’s so clear that he carries you everywhere with him. He loves you, and fuck, do you love him.
“Help me,” your voice is broken and desperate and doesn’t sound like you at all. “It’s been months, Kats, and —“ your head snaps to the window. “Is he still outside?”
Bakugou shakes his head. “I texted Red a few minutes ago. He was on patrol.”
No matter what you would’ve been okay. In the long run. But as you sit in Bakugou’s office, sobbing as he holds you like you’ll break any second, you’re not sure where you go from here.
“I miss you,” you whisper, breath warming against his neck. “I don’t want to miss you anymore.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Don’t.” This is what you had been avoiding. You’re not asking him to choose you over his career. You just need to see some balance. That you both are putting in the work. “I want you. I just want you, Katsuki. Tonight shouldn’t have happened.”
His gaze darkens, but you can’t stop. Not now.
“I shouldn’t have gone on a date. I shouldn’t have been stood up. I shouldn’t have been fucking stalked for four blocks. I shouldn’t have been afraid to call you. I should’ve just gone —“ you hiccup, hands clutching into his shirt, body begging him to keep you close. “I want to go home. I want my Dynamight mug. I want my bed sheets that smell like you. I want—“
You break, shatter. It’s deafening. Your knees give out, and Bakugou is there. Because where else would he be other than with you when you need him most?
“Ain’t nothing stoppin’ you from comin’ home.” His voice is a whisper in the shell of your ear, but it echoes in your head.
“It’s empty. It’s a shrine to us and what we should be.”
“What should we be?”
Red shot eyes meet his. “Together. In love. Happy. I’m not—I’m, I’m not asking you to give up anything. I’m just tired of being alone.”
Bakugou pulls back and stares down at you. His gaze a little harder than it was before. “You act like I’m the one that just up and left.”
“I know what I did. But how long did it take for you to realize I stopped coming home? No text messages. No phone calls. You were the one that gave the impression that you were perfectly fine without me.”
“I knew you were alright.”
“Do I look alright to you?”
You stare at each other in the silence. Moonlight glows around him, making him look almost magical. The longer you stare the more pieces start to fall into place. I knew you were alright. I knew you were alright. How many times over the last few months have you bumped into a hero? On your way home from work, to the gym, from your niece’s birthday party. He’d been keeping tabs on you. With perfect clarity, a stunned gasp escapes you. Eyes narrowing you’re not sure if you should be pissed off or not. Don’t know if you want to smother him or kiss him. You do know without a doubt Bakugou is the reason your date didn’t show up. He shifts almost uncomfortably when he notices the overwhelming emotion clear from your face.
He’s been caught.
“I was never in danger tonight was I?”
He doesn’t answer and that’s more than enough. You want to be mad. You want to scream and break things. You were terrified. But you can’t be mad — there’s no one to blame but yourself.
Falling back into his chair, you stare at the ceiling as you kick off your shoes. Stupid fucking death traps. They throb as you curl them under yourself. No longer needing to anchor yourself to the man in front of you.
Pain starts to throb behind your left eye. A stress headache. Not one that could trigger anything, this is a release. Every clenched muscle, every shed tear, every worry filled thought. None of it matters.
“Do you love me?” The look he gives you for even having the audacity to ask that out loud is an answer. You bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning.
“Don’t be stupid.”
With a sigh, you wipe the tears and running mascara from under your eyes. Rolling your shoulders you stand, popping your neck before kneeling to the floor to pick up your heels. You’d rather walk over hot coals than put them back on your feet. Bakugou watches you as you move around the office. Pieces of you present everywhere.
“I need you to tell me. I can see it, Kats. Please, I only need to —“
“I love you.” Your breath catches, that sizzling scent of warm caramel overtaking you. “I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you. You were always mine. I love the way you read curled up on the couch. I love the way you kick everyone’s ass at Mario Kart. I love the way you take your coffee and burn the edges of the pancakes. I love the way you cling to me in your sleep. I love that even after I told you not to wait up, you’re still awake. Wide eyed, with a cup of coffee in nothing but one of my shirts with the news on TV. Sweetheart, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”
He turns you so you’re facing him, forehead pressed against yours, no way to escape the intensity of his gaze. “I love you more than this fucking job. It’s important to me, something I’ve worked my ass off for. You, I’m hopin’ to have you long after this job is done. My fault for letting you doubt that.”
You can’t stop the wobbly smile or the tears that follow. There’s no need to say anything, because he knows. Bakugou tilts your head up and wipes the tears and gently places a kiss to your forehead.
“Can I take you home now?” You raise an eyebrow and he huffs. “Deku was good for something. You were never in danger. Probably safer walkin’ around with him as your shadow anyway.”
You shake your head as a laugh bubbles out of you. Shaky fingers rake up the back of his neck and into his hair. “I fucking hate you.”
He has no time to respond. Your grip on his hair pulls his face down to yours. There's a heat that licks up your spine and pools between your thighs when his lips meet yours. Bakugou moans when your grip tightens. His own hands wrapping around your thighs and lifting you so you're pinned between him and the wall. His grin matches your own, both of you refusing to break this even for a moment.
Yeah, he’ll take you home, but you’ve got some catching up to do first.
You fling yourself around the corner, catching the door frame with your hand to stay upright. Shinso doesn't jump; he heard you stomping from all the way down the hall.
"I'm late."
He doesn't look up from his duffle bag. He's arranging the clothes carefully, placing each rolled sock in a row. "How late?"
"No, like-" You roll your hands in the air expectantly. "Period late."
Shinso glances at your feet and watches how you bounce on your toes with excitement. With a sigh. he looks up at you, expression set.
"How late are you?"
You stop bouncing. "It was supposed to come last night."
Shinso groans as he stands, pushing off of his knee for support.
"But, it's different this time!" you insist before he can say anything. "I feel different."
He sucks on one side of his cheek, pulling a dimple into his skin. He's still boyish in his features, even after all these years. Carefully, he measures his words, saying your name ever so gently.
"I just don't want you to get your hopes up again just for it to be negative." He taps his house slipper against his bag. "Because you'll end up testing again the next day, then the next day, just make sure it's really negative-"
"Hitoshi-"
"I just don't want you to break your heart again."
This song and dance must be getting old for him. Every month, you get excited, only to see that little line once again. Hitoshi's right: it always breaks your heart.
You think, maybe, he mourns it too. Silently. Privately. It's hard to tell. He's not like you. He's not expressive or outspoken, but je's always there to hold your hand and try again.
"Let's just wait a couple days." Hitoshi, as if he knows what you're thinking, reaching up and takes your hand. "If you're still late, I'll buy you as many tests as you want."
You swallow down your disappointment.
"How many days?"
"When I come back from this mission." He counts on his fingers. "Three days?"
"Three days? I'm supposed to not know if I'm pregnant for three days?"
Hitoshi shrugs and kneels back down, tending to his things. "Some people don't know they're pregnant the whole pregnancy."
Anyway i can't sleep so it's time to tell you that shinso truly falls in love with being a father figure to your son the night both of you are incredibly sick.
he comes over to your apartment unexpectedly; you hadn't contacted him all day, which was strange, but not alarming. when he arrives, he can hear the coughing for the hall.
the two of you are sick-- very sick. your son's lungs rattle with cough, burn with fever. your adult body handles it better, but shinso can tell by that look on your face that you have a migraine and probably the same damn sickness.
"hi, shinso," the baby creaks out, more docile than he's ever been.
"i should have texted you," you rub away tears with your palm. "it's been-"
"it's fine." He doesn't let you finish. "let me get you your pill for your headache."
"s'out."
your son coughs again and the sound hurts Shinso's teeth. he doesn't know what to do about that. children need special medications, right? he isn't sure.
and you don't seem very sure what to do either. shinso had forgotten that parenthood isn't instinctive, but learned. you always made it look so natural.
"what do you need?"
"sleep," you croak out. "but he keeps waking himself up with his coughing and I-"
"I'll stay with him. The clinic opens in a couple hours, I'll take him."
Usually, you'd argue a bit. You're so used to parenting alone that you aren't good at accepting help.
but illness sits heavy on you. you just nod and slink away to your room, leaving him and your son. the two just look at each other, eyes wide.
"can-" he has a sniffle and a whoop of a cough. "can you w'rub my back?"
and shinso does. he sits there for hours, with his wide hand against too hot skin, rubbing little circles over and over until the boy falls into more coughing fits.
in the morning, he wrestles the boy into his winter coat and bundles him in his arms before carrying him down the city streets. little arms circle his neck and cling on tight and ahinso feels this pang in his chest, this echoing feeling.
hes always cared for your son, but it's never struck him before that he loved him. he squeezes him tighter and adjusts his hood against the winter air.
the wait at the clinic isnt long, but your son fidgety and teary eyed. Through muddled cries and coughs, through the paper mask shinso's looped over his ears, he asks. "can you call my dad?"
shinso isn't hurt. not this time. he takes his phone and dials Monoma's number. (he had taken it from your phone in case of emergency. this felt like one)
the line rings, and rings, then goes to voicemail. He leaves a quick message explaining the situation, then calls again, hoping the frequency would urge an answer.
but monoma doesn't answer by the time they go back in the room. or by the time they make it to the pharmacy. or by the time they make it back to the apartment.
"can you call my dad again?" your son urges through tears. you're somehow still asleep- shinso let's you rest.
"after you take your medicine."
"is it gonna taste bad?"
"I don't know." Its the truth. "But you have to take it, okay?"
Theres no fight from the toddler. He takes it and grimaces, but doesnt spit or choke. instead he reaches for the sky, with grabbing hands and a warbling bottom lip.
"do you... want to be picked up?"
the toddler nods and grabs more wildly. shinso slings him on his hips and tries not to let his heart melt with those little hands clutch at him again.
"Shinso?" the baby whines after a while. "Are you gonna be here for my birthday?"
His birthday is months away- a strange question only a child would have.
"if you want me there."
"can we play Legos on my birthday?"
They will probably play with Legos tomorrow, when your son feels better. he'll be back to his usual self and want nothing to do with Shinso, but for today, shinso takes what he can get.
Did you know November is Epilepsy Awareness Month? 💜
It’s funny to think about because in November of 2017 I had my very first seizure. I thought I was doing well. All the tests were coming out fine even without medication. But, in May of this year I had my first seizure in over 6 years.
It’s a terrifying feeling, and I’m sure it’s scary to witness. It’s terrifying to think that I still don’t know (well, I have an idea) of why I have these seizures. Epilepsy is a life threatening disability. Even if it is a silent one.
SUDEP—sudden and unexpected death of an epileptic person—is the leading cause of death in epilepsy. It occurs in about 1 in 1,000 cases of epilepsy and this number increases to 1 in 150 in individuals with poor seizure control.
Epilepsy is under-researched, underfunded and very misunderstood. Show your purple power to support those fighting this monster and to honor those taken too soon.
Shouto slides his shoes off by stepping on the backs, not bothering to undo the laces, and places them in their spot next to the door, just like he does every day. He does his best to keep his gait normal. Socked feet are silent against the carpet and yet he feels loud, lumbering, deafening. The fabric of his pants ruffles, his breath buzzes in his ears: It all builds in his head like static, pressing against the inside of his skull until every sound in the apartment aches to process, until his teeth ache for no apparent reason and his stomach flips-
From your spot on the couch, you pat the empty cushion next to you.
You don’t bother with hello.
“Are you okay?” Todoroki walks over to join you, just like he always does, and plops himself on to the seat.
“Yes.” he answers before can process the question. He takes inventory: his body doesn’t ache despite the long day behind him, his lunch kept him full. Physically, it’s true. He’s okay.
And yet- “No.”
He slinks to your side of the couch, stretching out until his head rests in your lap and his legs fall off the other arm. Your chest hums with a coo, something wordless yet meaningful, as he melts against you, content in only this moment. Your fingers run through his hair over and over again, nails running over his scalp in uneven patterns, until the world is quiet again.
He’s almost nodded off when you speak. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“No.” Shouto speaks, then sighs at himself. His first instincts are always wrong. “Yes.”
You just keep stroking his hair, waiting.
What’s the poem? Love is patient, love is kind- Todoroki didn’t think that was true until he put his heart in your hands.
Before you, love was pressure. Love was fear of disappointment. Love was how his father’s hand clutched onto his mother’s arm much too tight, love was sitting at an altar to a sibling he never knew.
(The memories hold weight. Some nights he’s afraid he’ll drown in them, in the small moments where love and fear and pressure converged, tangled in ways he’s afraid he’ll never unknot-)
At one point, love was a boiling kettle.
“Why does it all still haunt me?” he speaks into your thigh.
Here, love is being able to talk, letting the static that builds in his brain dissolve. Love is a tender touch that he instinctively flinches from.
“It wasn’t-”
“I know none of it was my fault.” Shouto runs a finger over his scar, tracing the long healed edges. It’s grown with him, changed with age, but never faded. He lives with it. He’ll die with it.
Sometimes, when the temperature drops into blistering colds, the damaged skin flakes and scabs. It’s those days that he’s afraid to look into the mirror and see just how much he resembles Touya.
Even worst are the days he looks in the mirror and realizes that age has given him parts of his father.
“It wasn’t my fault.” Shouta can’t look anywhere but forward, staring at something and nothing all the same, “But why do I still carry the weight like it was?”
He turns to face you, but can only bare a moment of you concerned face, staring down at him with such care and pity that his chest constricts in a way he doesn’t recognize. He rolls over a little more, burying his face into your stomach.
“What if I never let it go?”
“Then…” you hum, “Then, I’ll help you hold it.”
His fingers tangle into your shirt. “Why?”
You run your thumb across the corner of his eye, sweeping away a tear he didn’t know was there, “Because I love you.”
Love is something you’ve worked to redefine for him.
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