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Emillia | my hero academia writing and art blog| NSFW/18+ content

[bythevay]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO SHINSO MY BELOVED 💜🎉💜💜💜🎉🎊

[canofpepsiwithoutpepsi]

this guy thinks hes so cool and hes NOT!!! LOOK AT HIM

[ice-cream-nekogirl]

@ashleigh-luvs-14cats

Best boy <3

[bythevay]

Happy Valentine's Day :3

[strawberry-nugget]

— when you sleep

Katsuki has already turned seventeen by the time you wake up from your coma. Despite the late nights he spends at the hospital by your side, when you wake up, he is inevitably, at school. You wake up to Mitsuki Bakugo holding your hand.

Tags/CW: Bakugo x fem! Reader, high school sweethearts, estab! relationship, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, reader in a coma after the war, class 2-A is a soft menace, mom (in law lmao) Mitsuki is mothering, spoilers for season 8.

Despite it being hard to accept at the state you find yourself in, or even realise it at first, Mitsuki is the one by your bedside when you wake up.

For a second you’re convinced you’re dreaming. The room is too bright, the sheets too stiff, and Katsuki’s mom is sitting there like she fought her way past three nurses and a steel door just to sit and stare at you. Which, knowing her, she probably did.

Her arms are crossed, but her foot is tapping like she’s been waiting a long time. Like she’s been worried. And that solemn look on her face is screaming an apology you don’t recognise yet.

“’Bout time,” she mutters, voice sharp but thin around the edges. “You scared the hell out of us, kid.”

Your throat tightens as you glance, puzzled, around the room. It’s empty, aside from Mitsuki's chair, your bed, and the iv attached to the tender inside of your elbow. No friends, no parents, not a begrunting boyfriend… just Mitsuki and a hospital room you don’t recognise.

In a swift movement, she clasps your hand inside her palms. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Your parents couldn’t make it to Japan yet.” she says and you blink at her. 

The lump in your throat starts bubbling in pain. Your lip quivers next, eyes watering at the fraction of a second. The moment you try to move, the dull ache in your ribs reminds you why you’re here in the first place.

“I’m so sorry,”

You try to speak, but find your lips feel like they’re glued together. It hurts when you pry them and it hurts even worse when you try to speak.

“Ka–”

Panic ensues at the sound of your voice. How long have you been here? You don’t even recognise your own voice. Where you could hear softness, you now hear raspiness, broken sounds that can’t form a word.

But still, you want to ask—The last thing you remember is watching Katsuki fall to the ground with his chest torn, you lurching towards Shigaraki with all you had and white hot pain everywhere in your body.

“Kats–Kaah–”

Mitsuki’s eyes flick to your abdomen, the monitors attached to you, then back to you again. Softer, barely “Katsuki? He usually doesn’t leave until he passes out sitting up. Brat’s got stubbornness.”

“Miss—Mitsuk—Mitsuki, my m—mom,”

The sound rips out of you like gravel dragged across concrete, and Mitsuki is already moving— one hand on your shoulder, the other hovering like she wants to fix something she can’t reach.

“Hey, hey— don’t force it,” she says, voice dropping into that hushed, frantic register only mothers have when something hurts their kid. Or a kid who might as well be theirs.

She reaches for the small cup of ice chips on the tray next to your bed, scooping a few with the spoon and pressing it gently to your lips. “Just this, sweetheart. Slow.”

The cold hits your tongue, sharp and clean, and for a moment it’s the only thing keeping you together. Everything else feels like it’s drifting —your memories, your breath, the distant echo of Nejire screaming your name before everything went dark.

Mitsuki watches you swallow, her jaw tight, eyes shining with things she will never say out loud.

“You’ve been out for a few months,” she adds quietly. “Masaru is trying to get ahold of your folks, along with the doctors but… you know how time zones are. And… circumstances.” Her mouth twists like she hates how uptight she’s being. Like practiced softness physically pains her. “We didn’t want you waking up alone.”

Your chest pulls tight. It shouldn’t mean as much as it does. But it does.

Your fingers clutch weakly at the blanket. “K–” The name falls apart in your throat again.

Mitsuki seems to understand anyway.

“He’s alive,” she says firmly. “He’s at school and he’s healing, but he’s alive. Stubborn little shit tried to pretend he wasn’t feeling okay just so they wouldn’t kick him out of your room last night. He’s been visiting everyday.”

Your breath shudders. Relief hits so hard you feel dizzy.

“And— just so you don’t freak out later—” Mitsuki adds, rubbing your hand with her thumb in a rare, almost guilty motion, “he might start crying a lot.”

That makes you freeze.

Mitsuki sighs, leaning back in the chair like the confession took something out of her. She stops herself from telling you the doctors had announced to everyone that you would probably not make it, not too long ago.

“Don’t tell him I said that. He’ll yell at both of us.”

She glances toward the door, then back at you. “He’s gonna be pissed you woke up without him here. Believe me. But, we’ll tell him after classes are over. You okay with that sweetheart?”

You nod, or at least you think you do. Your head barely moves, just a slow dip that makes the world tilt a little. You’re not sure if you’re agreeing or just reacting to the tenderness in her voice — something you’ve never quite heard directed at you like this, so softly, before.

“Good,” Mitsuki murmurs, like she was bracing for you to argue. Her hand squeezes yours gently, thumb brushing over the back in a slow, steady rhythm that feels like it’s meant to keep you anchored.

You swallow again, rough and painful. The word “classes” sticks in your mind like a burr. Katsuki is… at school. The school is alright if that’s the case, and maybe, your friends are too, your teachers, All Might. There’s so much you want to ask, but such little strength inside you.

Mitsuki watches your face carefully. “He wanted to skip,” she says, rolling her eyes as if the memory frustrates her. “Said he didn’t care about his damn education if you were—” She cuts herself off. Too sharp. Too honest.

Another small, guilty sigh. “Anyway. We made him go. The teachers insisted. Kid was a wreck. No sleep, no food… I swear he almost blew up a vending machine because someone told him to ‘keep his chin up.’”

Despite the pain, a weak ghost of a laugh bubbles in your chest — a tiny sound, but it pulls at your ribs like something tearing.

Mitsuki immediately notices. “Easy. Easy, sweetheart,” she whispers, leaning in, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. “You don’t have to talk yet. You don’t have to do anything yet.”

But you want to. You want to ask what happened, how bad it was, whether Katsuki’s really okay or just putting on a front because that’s what he does when the world is falling apart around him.

You try again, voice scraping out of you like rough smoke: “H–how…?”

She shakes her head fast, stopping you before the sentence can hurt you more. “Later. When Katsuki’s here.” Her voice softens, unbearably so. “He deserves to hear you first.”

Your breath stutters, the weight of that landing somewhere deep and tender.

Mitsuki reaches up and brushes a loose strand of hair from your forehead. The gesture is so gentle it barely feels real.

“We’ll tell him after school,” she repeats softly. “He’ll come running the second he hears. And he’s gonna be loud, and dramatic, and probably hug you too hard. But he needs this. He needs you.”

Her voice cracks just a little on that last word. Barely noticeable, unless you’re looking for it. And you are.

“Rest now,” she adds, settling back into her chair but not letting go of your hand.

______

Later that evening, the hallway outside your room is louder than it should be for a hospital — muffled bickering, restless footsteps, a sharp whisper that’s definitely Kaminari complaining he’s been standing too long. With your eyes barely opening from your earlier slumber, you can hear Kirishima gently shushing him. Someone — Mina, probably — keeps insisting they should “just peek in real quick because what if she’s awake?” 

You also catch the hissed argument that’s delivered as a response “Dude, stop— she might be asleep again!” and “I’m not stopping, you stop!”

Their silhouettes shuffle under the doorframe’s faint light, shadows overlapping like they can’t decide whether to crowd closer or bolt down the hall.

You blink slow, the world tilting for a moment, and the ceiling swims into focus. Your throat is dry. Your body feels like it’s made of bandages and cement. But your brain? Your brain catches up just enough to realize:

They’re here. All of them. A soft exhale escapes you— barely a sound, but apparently loud enough for the enhanced senses of teens with superpowers.

Mitsuki nods her head towards the door and chuckles. “They can’t wait to see you,” The commotion outside stops all at once, like someone hit pause. Then—

“Did you hear that?!”

“Kaminari, shut up—”

“Wait, wait— I think she’s awake—”

“Katsuki’s gonna kill us if we go in—”

“Oh my god. Just. Check!”

Kirishima’s voice breaks through the chaos; firm, gentle, leader-of-the-chaos-crew mode “Guys. Calm down. We’ll knock first.”

There’s a beat of silence and then three different knuckles rap on the door at the exact same time. Your chest shakes with a tiny, pained laugh that’s followed by a thunderous cough. The whispering begins again immediately.

“Bro— I said one person should knock!”

“That wasn’t me!”

“You literally have the loudest knuckles, Sero!”

“How do you even know that—”

Someone sighs. Hard. You recognise the sound as Izuku, doing that tight little anxious inhale before he tries to be responsible.

“Should I… um… should I ask Recovery Girl if we’re allowed—?”

“No, if Kacchan shows up and we’re gone, he’ll blast us into space—”

“Oh he’s definitely gonna show up—”

You try shifting, just enough to look toward the door. A small movement, but enough to tug at something deep in your gut. You wince, which apparently sends the hallway into frenzy.

And before they manage to organize themselves, one brave soul reaches for the door handle.

Mina’s whisper—undoubtedly its hers—cuts through the noise “Okay, on three—”

You have exactly one second to process that, and tighten your hold around Mitsuki’s hand as hard as you can, before a hand curls around the knob and another, much sharper voice snaps from down the hall.

“Touch that door and I swear to god you’re dead.”

Every single voice outside vanishes. You don’t even need to see him to know who said it. Katsuki.

Last time you laid eyes on him he was in a puddle of his own blood, chest torn, right arm destroyed. The thought alone is making your jaw tremble.

Your stomach flips; your eyes do that stupid thing where they well up so much that they sting and your heart kicks into a frantic rhythm, strong enough that the monitor beside you responds with a panicked series of beeps.

For a fragment, you come to believe this is a dream. An afterlife experience. Some sick and twisted purgatory. Some strange, cruel limbo replaying the moments before everything went black.

Mitsuki reacts before you do. She leans in, her free hand hovering near your shoulder as if she can physically hold you together while the monitor continues its frantic beeping. “Easy,” she murmurs, voice low. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re fine.”

Her thumb presses gently into the back of your hand, grounding you.

The footsteps outside slow, the scrape of rubber soles against the linoleum deliberate now, controlled in that way Katsuki walks when he’s trying to stop himself from running. There’s a muffled scuffle—someone tripping over someone else during their attempt to scramble out of his path.

The doorknob turns. Not violently, but slowly. Carefully. Like he’s afraid the world behind it might shatter if he enters too fast.

The door opens halfway, and Katsuki steps inside.

He’s out of breath, but it's the kind where he’s trying very hard not to show. His hair, shorter than you remember, is a mess from whatever fight he had with the wind on the way here. His uniform shirt is wrinkled, sleeves pushed up his forearms in uneven rolls, and his tie is gone entirely.

But none of that is what gets you. It’s the way he stops actually. Abruptly.

And not because Mitsuki is in his way or because your friends are whisper-squabbling just outside the door. He stops because he sees you.

Awake.

His eyes widen first, a stunned flicker of disbelief that washes over his face before he can hide it. Then everything in him seems to go slack for a moment — shoulders dropping, jaw unclenching, the tension dissolving so suddenly it looks like his legs might give out.

“No fucking way,” he breathes, so quietly it barely reaches the room. His gaze flits across your face, ignoring his mother’s plea for decent language.

Whatever strength he had walked in with drains from his posture all at once. His breath catches on a sound too close to a sob, and he stumbles two steps forward before genuinely stopping himself, like he’s afraid he might do the wrong thing and make you hurt again.

The monitor chooses that exact moment to spike again, a sharp, accusing beep-beep-beep echoing through the walls.

Katsuki flinches, just barely. His eyes flash to the machine, then to your hand clutching Mitsuki’s, then back up to you. Something like guilt — real, aching guilt — tightens his expression. His head jerks toward yours and in the same instant he looks completely gutted—like the beeping is some damning confirmation that you’re in pain because of him, that all those months of him replaying the footage of you almost getting torn apart in half, ignoring every warning from people who told him not to, all led to this moment right here: you trembling, terrified, trying to hold yourself together.

He tries to say your name, but it dissolves into a choked gasp. Tears are already spilling, hot and unguarded, not even wiped away. Katsuki Bakugo—who never cries—can’t stop crying.

Instinct drags you forward. You try to sit up, to reach for him, anything to close the distance, but the muscles in your abdomen seize. A bolt of pain rips through you so sharply your vision whites out, and you collapse back into the bed with a strangled breath.

“Stay still!” Mitsuki catches your shoulder before you can tear something, her voice shaking now too. “Sweetheart, you can’t move—”

Your hand slips from hers anyway, desperate to get to him.

“Hey—” His voice cuts off, a sob and cracks, embarrassing him. He swallows hard, trying again. “Hey. Take it easy, you dummy.”

He says it softly. Too softly for it to be an insult.

Katsuki kneels swiftly beside the bed, and his scarred hand hovers over yours. 

When he finally touches your hand, it’s feather-light, trembling with the same fear and relief burning in his eyes. He doesn’t grip, doesn’t hold too tight, doesn’t let go either. He rests his palm over yours, as if he’s anchoring himself to you while afraid that even the slightest pressure might hurt you.

You notice he’s holding a flower inside his other hand. Your eyes widen at the sight and he looks down at his hand too, muttering “It’s for you. A ‘get well soon’”

“Katsu–tsuk–ki” you breathe out, shakingly.

Your fingers twitch, wanting to wrap around his hand, to pull him closer, to fix the broken edges of him the way he’s holding onto you. You try to shift, to ease closer, but your abdomen flares with pain and you freeze, groaning softly.

He freezes too, instantly still, and looks at you with wide, frantic eyes. “Hey… hey, hey, I—I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking, almost pleading.

Then, slowly, he adjusts himself so he can lean against you without putting weight on your ribs. His hand over yours flexes, releases, flexes again, as if he can’t decide whether to grip or just stay connected to you.

His tears fall freely now, soaking your fingers, and the sound of him crying forces tears to come out of your eyes too.

All you can do is squeeze his hand back, as much as your pain will allow, and whisper his name again. 

He takes it, eve though his own hand aches like it’s being pierced, because the touch is not just an ember that you’re alive. It’s the undeniable fact that you’re awake.

And Katsuki is just so, so happy that this one good thing happens to him, he doesn’t even mind that the rest of the class storms inside minutes later and everyone sees him crying.

Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //

Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3

Dividers by @/cursed-carmine

[brunchable]

𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.

 ݈݇— pairings: The Creature(2025) x Duke's Daughter!reader  ݈݇— themes: Established Relationship. Friends To Lovers, Fluff, Gentle Giant, Self-Doubt (Adam), 1800s Era, Desire, First Kiss, Size Difference No use of y/n.  ݈݇— summary: Hidden beyond the your father's manicured gardens lies a secret only you know: a towering, gentle creature who saved your life and asked for nothing but friendship in return. A/N: I am playing it safe because The Creature is precious and deserves to be loved T_T Also forgive me, it ain't proof read.

You had a friend.

A peculiar one.

A friend who is tall, broad, and unyielding as the trees itself. He is a peculiar thing, indeed, for though he is large in a manner that makes even the pines appear diminished for a heartbeat, he is gentle and shy as a fawn startled in the underbrush.

He saved your life long ago, when a pack of wolves had made sport of chasing you through the frost-bitten dark. You would have surely perished had he not stepped between you and their snarling jaws.

After he saving you, he lingered only at the edge of the clearing, half-hidden in the shadows. You had been shaking, breathless, terrified, and yet something in his stance begged reassurance, not fear.

You offered him the smallest smile you could muster and whispered, “Please, come into the light. I wish to see the face of the one who saved me.”

It became a code. Your gentle call that told him you are safe with me.

You told him then that you owed him your life. When you asked how you might repay him, he had hesitated the way only Adam hesitates; almost frightened of his own voice.

He asked for a friend.

So you granted it.

Night after night, beneath the moon’s silver eye, you met him in the forest beyond your father’s gardens, arms full of novels, philosophy, and whatever academic curiosities you thought might delight him. And he always listened, knees drawn up, shoulders hunched, great hands folded as if unsure where else they ought to rest.

Tonight, you arrive early. A soldier had stopped you on the path back to the manor, handsome in a polished sort of way. He flirted boldly, bowing far too close, fingers brushing yours as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear.

You had smiled simply to be polite.

But in the trees behind him, unseen even by you, Adam watched.

He stood stiff as a plank. Unblinking. Arms tight at his sides. A strange, smouldering something burning low behind his dark eyes. He did not understand the word for it.

He only felt… wrong.

Later that night, the soldier forgotten, you step into your forest clearing and speak softly into the shadows, “Adam… come into the light.”

A breath.

A rustle.

And then he emerges, immense and hesitant, because he knows the code is only spoken when it is you approaching him.

You sit together beneath your usual tree. You finish reading to him and close the book upon your lap. The night hums. The air is velvet.

He is too quiet.

His voice breaks the silence.

“Why did your face alter,” he asks slowly, “when that man laid his hand upon yours?”

You blink. “…My face?”

He nods, gaze following the ground like he fears he has overstepped. “It moved. I know not the term for it. Yet… it changed.”

You let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “How so? What manner of expression did I wear?”

Adam considers the memory with earnest seriousness, brow furrowing.

“You appeared… startled. And warm,” he says carefully. “As though your breath escaped you.” He looks up, eyes gentle, confused. “Does touch compel such a feeling? When the one touching is… desired?”

The laugh dies in your throat.

Your heart seizes. Because you want him. You want him in ways you barely allow yourself to think, let alone admit in the open air.

His voice lowers. Almost frightened. “Tell me… what is it like, to be wanted?”

You freeze.

He is looking at your mouth. Or perhaps you are looking at his. You cannot tell, because the world goes silent except for your pulse.

Your breath hitches and you lean—

No.

No.

You scoot away from him so abruptly the leaves whisper under you, because you nearly did something catastrophically foolish.

His head lifts.

“I see you look at me, at times,” he says, tone soft as moss, deeply innocent. “It confounds me. Am I… displeasing to behold?”

You choke on nothing.

You are caught between You’re beautiful and I must throw myself into a swamp immediately.

He misreads your silence. Of course he does.

“I meant no insult,” he murmurs quickly, shoulders curling inward, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I am aware my form is… strange. I am—”

“Oh heavens,” you cry, hands flying up. “I think you’re beautiful! Inside and out. Must we suffer through this?”

He startles like you’ve hurled a stone at him.

“Beautiful?” he repeats, voice a low, incredulous echo.

You bury your face in your hands. “Yes. Beautiful—Handsome. Maddeningly so. Would you stop looking so wounded? You unsettle me, Adam. You unsettle me dreadfully.”

He moves then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like approaching a wild creature that might flee.

His fingers brush yours.

Barely.

Traced with hesitance, reverence, fear, longing, everything he does not yet have language for.

“Then… why did you draw away from me?”

Because his touch sets your world on fire. 

Because you want him with a weight that makes the earth seem too small. 

Because if you stay close, you might do the very thing you are terrified he will not want.

You swallow, voice a thin whisper.

“Because had I remained… I fear I would have forgotten myself.”

His brows pull together. “Forgotten… in what fashion?”

You meet his eyes.

They widen.

Very gently, he lifts your hand between both of his, treating it as though it is the most precious thing in creation.

“I wish,” he says quietly, “to understand such a fashion.”

Your breath leaves you in a rush.

You do not kiss him. But you lean just close enough that he feels the tremble of the need you carry for him alone.

And his thumb strokes once, reverently, across your knuckles.

“Would you show me?” he asks, voice unsteady. “What it is… to be wanted?”

The forest holds its breath.

You lift his hand to your lips and whisper, “Put your lips on mine, and I will show you.”

Then he leans in.

Very carefully. Very slowly. Like a man approaching fire with the knowledge it may burn him… yet choosing it anyway.

His lips touch yours.

A tremor goes through him so sharply you feel it in your bones.

This is his first kiss—You can sense it in the hesitant brush of his mouth, the fragile uncertainty of his breath, the reverence in the way he barely dares to touch.

You kiss him gently at first, soft and coaxing, because you do not wish to startle him, do not wish to overwhelm him. Your fingers find the side of his jaw, guiding him, telling him he is welcome in this closeness.

He answers you with a broken exhale.

Then his hand rises—slow, trembling—and he cradles your face.

His palm is broad, slightly cold, shaking as though the moment itself is too precious, too impossible to hold steady. He cups your cheek as though you are something divine, something he fears the world might take from him at any second.

You deepen the kiss by a bare breath, only enough for your lips to mold softly against his—and a sound escapes you.

A quiet, helpless little hum.

He startles.

His entire body jerks back as if struck.

Adam tears away from your mouth, eyes wide, chest heaving, gaze fixed shamefully on the ground.

“I… I did not mean—” He swallows, throat working. “Did I hurt you? Forgive me, I did not know… I thought… I feared I—”

His breath stutters, the words entangled in panic. “Your sound—I feared it was pain.”

Your heart breaks and swells all at once.

You reach for him carefully, your fingers brushing the back of his knuckles.

“Adam,” you whisper, soft but sure. “Look at me.”

He hesitates, shoulders drawn tight, but he obeys.

His eyes lift, and the fear in them is a living thing.

You cradle his face with both hands, mirroring how he had held you moments before, and your voice steadies.

“You could never hurt me.”

His breath shudders. “But you—”

“That sound,” you murmur, leaning close enough that your words warm his lips, “was not pain. It was… pleasure. It was want.”

His eyes flicker.

Understanding comes slowly, uncertainly—yet with a hunger that feels older than his bones.

You draw him nearer again, your lips brushing his as delicately as flower petals.

“This is wanted,” you breathe. “This is me… wanting you.”

He makes a low, astonished sound—and when he kisses you again, it is still gentle, still careful…but fuller. Warmer.

A trembling, reverent claiming from a man who has never dared to claim anything.

One of his hands stays on your cheek, shaking; the other settles at your waist, large enough to span nearly its whole curve, holding you.

Your lips move together slowly, sweetly, with a rising thrum of passion beneath the tenderness.

Not urgent. Not rushed. But something blooming—deep, molten, inevitable.

Every breath, shared. Every tremble felt. Every inch of him learning you.

And every inch of you, melting.

When you part, the air is warm between you, his forehead resting almost shyly against yours.

He whispers, voice barely more than a breath, “Is… is this what it is to be wanted?”

Your smile answers before your words do.

“Yes,” you whisper. “This is precisely what it is.”

And he breathes you in like a man starved.

You barely have time to savor the trembling stillness between you before he leans in again—less hesitant this time, more drawn, as though something inside him has unlatched and will not be shut again.

His mouth finds yours with new hunger. Still gentle…but no longer timid. A firmer press. A seeking. A wanting he has no name for, yet feels with every part of him.

His hand cups your jaw fully now, his thumb grazing the corner of your mouth in a motion that feels almost—possessive.

Your breath catches.

You kiss him back with equal fervor, lips parting for him just enough to draw a quiet, startled sound from his throat. He answers with a soft growl of need, the faintest hint of bite in the way he pulls you closer—your bodies brushing, your pulse thundering.

It is slow and deep and dizzying.

A kiss that tastes like discovery and hunger and that first spark of something far too dangerous to name.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket.

His other hand hesitates at your waist—then grips, warm and trembling, pulling you the slightest fraction nearer. The kiss deepens again, heat rising, your lips molding, parting, meeting with a rhythm that feels older than breath.

You make another sound—soft, wanting, shameless.

He echoes it, a low, rumbling answer in his chest that sends shivers down your spine.

You are just about to lose yourself entirely in the press of him—When a voice in the distance calls your name.

“My lady? My lady—are you in the gardens?”

You freeze.

Adam stills instantly, every muscle locking beneath your hands.

Another call. Closer this time. “My lady!”

You breathe out against his mouth, reluctant, trembling.

He draws back only a few inches, eyes wide and dark, the left iris glinting, lips parted, confused and almost wounded by the interruption.

You rest your forehead to his, breath warm between you.

“Adam…” you whisper, already aching for the kiss you have no choice but to leave behind.

His hand stays on your waist, gentle, uncertain. Yours lingers on his cheek.

The voices draw nearer.

You swallow, whispering, “I will see you again soon. Wait for me.”

He nods once.

And as you rise to slip back through the brush, he watches you with lips still swollen from your kiss…and longing blazing in his eyes.

[dear-dark-angel]

my midnight angel ᨳ☾⋆˙

pairing | stepdad!bucky x reader summary | during the holidays, you decide to come back home. instead of unwrapping christmas presents, you start unraveling for your stepdad, in more ways than one. warnings/tags | dddne, mdni (18+), stepcest, pwp, angst, hurt/comfort, brief mention of drinking, fluff, reader's dad is dead, nightmares, cheating, daddy kink, slight manipulation, finger sucking, fingering, praise kink, kissing, overstimulation, hand over mouth, pet names (angel, sweet girl, sweet angel), no use of y/n word count | 3.8k angelic whispers | hey, angel!! my first attempt at a slightly taboo theme, so please be kind. i low-key want to expand on their dynamic, so if that interests you, please let me know. well, happy gooning! dividers by me:)

a sweat-slicked body and your heart knocking against your rib cage—that was how you awoke, shooting up out of bed in a panic. it was as if your system knew something sinister was lurking just beyond the wall, and your mind still needed time to catch up. yet, you were safely snug in your bed, baby blue nightgown gathered up around your waist, and comforter tucked between your thighs from the act of kicking it off in your sleep.

you consciously understood that nothing bad was going to happen, but you couldn't seem to calm your ever-racing mind. you placed a palm just above your heart as if that might steady its wild rhythm. you flopped back down onto your mattress, staring at the ceiling of your childhood bedroom. the room that always seemed to bring you comfort, but now that you're older, it only makes you feel a deep sadness, hollowing out your chest.

you had come back home for the holidays in hopes that the stress of your everyday life might melt away. instead, it seemed to make you more anxious. your mother had moved on in her life, and she was doing it with or without you. the aching feeling in your chest hadn't gone away, not since your father's death, but it appeared his death hadn't affected your mom as much, since she went and got married a mere months after your dad died.

to make matters worse, you liked james—the man your mom married. by liked him, you meant the kind where a tingle would fizzle down your spine all the way down to your toes and make you lose balance every time he simply glanced in your direction, let alone open his mouth to speak.

raspy words would fall from his lips as he tried to carry on a conversation, which only led your treacherous mind to wonder how he'd sound while inside you. would his voice dip lower, muttering, "takin' me like the good lil slut i knew you were," as he railed you from behind? oh, and the delightful sound of the bed frame crashing against the plaster wall would complement his words so well. or would his tone soften, spewing praises like, "always knew you'd feel this good," as he held you like you were a delicate wildflower?

you tried—and failed—to stop your mind from going there, but it was no use when the greek gods themselves carved his face, all sharp lines and chiseled features. and since you arrived at the house, it's been hell trying to avoid him. james was around every corner, asking you how you were or if you needed anything. the more you ran into him, the more you were tempted to say, "yeah, your cock."

so, your bedroom had doubled as a tower, you'd locked yourself away in, not unlike when you'd dress up as a princess in your youth and act as though you were waiting for your prince charming to save you. however, this time your 'prince charming' was much older and had a metal arm.

after some tossing and turning, you eventually decided to get out of bed. wandering through darkened hallways, you made your way to the kitchen in your sleepy state.

"hey, angel," a voice cut through the quiet, causing you to nearly leap from your skin. you stopped in your tracks, turning towards the voice that haunted you in the daylight.

that nickname that graced your stepdad's lips sent you into a momentary spiral. he had been calling you that for some time, and it made your knees wobble without fail. it was always baffling to hear because he didn't give your mother the same treatment by giving her a cute pet name, not that you knew of anyway. but who were you to judge? maybe she didn't like the term of endearment as much as you did.

james was sitting comfortably on the couch, shrouded in shadow. he was leaning back, arm slung over the back of the sofa, with his knees slightly parted.

he brought the short glass of dark liquor that he held in his flesh hand to his lips, speaking into the mouth of it. "what're you doin' up?"

he sipped the liquid, then set it down on the coffee table with a dull clink. eyes never wavering from yours, he waited for an answer.

you swallowed hard, "uhh…couldn't sleep." the cold of the open air, and the weight of his stare, chilled your skin. a wave of goosebumps washed over your flesh in tiny dots, and your nipples pebbled beneath the sheer material of your nightgown.

his gaze shifted, catching the peak under the fabric. your cheeks heated, embarrassment etching onto your expression. lifting your arms, you crossed them over one another in an attempt to hide the fact that you weren't wearing anything under your sleep dress.

steel blue eyes flicked back to your face, but he certainly didn't seem perturbed by the knowledge that you didn't have a bra on. in fact, james seemed all the more smug, his mouth tugging up at the corners and adjusting his posture to sit up straighter.

with a strange surge of confidence, you teased him, murmuring, "i could ask the same of you."

he snorted, a light puff of air leaving his nostrils. "yeah, guess we've got somethin' in common. came out 'ere 'cause i couldn't stand lookin' at the damn ceilin' no more," he admitted.

a soft smile spread across your face at the realization that you were more alike than he knew. after a stretch of silence, he finally patted the space beside him. "c'mere."

you hesitated for a moment before your bare feet finally padded over to the sofa, and perched on the edge of the cushions, keeping a respectable distance between you. planting your sweaty palms on your thighs, you evaded his gaze by playing with the hem of your gown.

"why're you so far away? come closer," your stepdad instructed. you glanced up, and he had his arm out—an open invitation for his warmth. "promise, i don't bite. not unless you want me to."

your mouth went dry at the implication, stunned that he would be so bold. "'m only kidding," he said, but a smirk remained on his lips like he was still leaving the offer open.

after some contemplation, you shifted, inching towards him. he released a heavy sigh when you still weren't in the vicinity he wanted you to be in. once you were within reach, he gripped your waist and hauled you into his side.

you stiffened, your breath getting caught in your throat. you'd never been this close to him, rarely ever gave him hugs, so it was daunting. james enveloped you with his muscular arm, squeezing your hip in reassurance.

"relax," he drawled. "ain't gonna hurt you, angel."

you melted into his embrace, muscles unlocking as his warmth seeped into your shivering form. your craned neck eventually lowered onto his toned chest, nuzzling into him absentmindedly.

"better?" he asked. you nodded against him in response, causing him to hum in contentment. "good. now, how 'bout you tell me 'bout the nightmare you had."

quickly lifting your head, you gazed up at him in disbelief. "how-"

you didn't get the chance to finish your sentence because he cut you off, "i know that look." he reached up with his metal hand, black-plated knuckles running over your cheekbone. "horror permanently glazed o'er those pretty eyes. i know it 'cause i've lived it."

he lightly caressed your face, then took hold of your chin, forcing your eyes to stay on his. "wanna tell me 'bout it? 'm always here to listen," he offered, giving you a comforting grin.

unbeknownst to you, you opened up to him. you didn't know whether it was his earnest expression or the proximity, but you told him. "it was…my dad. i haven't had dreams about…that night in a while, and i guess being back here made them return," you mumbled sheepishly.

his eyebrows went upturned as his hand migrated to cup your cheek, thumb sweeping over the sensitive skin of your undereye. "'m sorry, sweet girl. 's there somethin' i can do to help?"

"this. this is helping," you confessed, leaning into his touch. it was strange how much comfort he brought you. you'd only conversed a handful of times, and each time you only ever shared surface-level information. now, you were admitting to the recurring nightmares you have about the day your father died.

james tugged you closer, drawing your head back down to rest on his chest. you pulled your legs up on the couch, curling them into your body. he hummed, sending tiny vibrations through the cheek that was smooshed against his pec.

his hand slid from your waist to your back, rubbing soothing circles into the silk of your gown. your body seemed to fall into a state of calm as his fingers brushed along your spine. studying the simple gesture took priority in your mind, the nightmare becoming a distant memory.

with each pass over your back, his touch got lower and lower. it was almost imperceptible with your carefree mood, but then his knuckles were grazing along the curve of your side. innocent touches turned daring as his calloused fingers danced along the hem of your sleep dress and skimmed your upper thigh.

your eyes fluttered open, but you didn't say a word, in fear of making this situation awkward. when you didn't comment on the action, he continued. his hand trailed over the slope of your thigh and tickled the inner portion of it. you shuddered, and heat pooled in your lower stomach, causing you to squeeze your legs together to dull the ache between them.

yet, his touch stayed persistent; he gripped your thigh, kneading it with his massive hand. his flesh hand snaked higher, your nightgown rising in the process. the fabric climbed up your hip, eliciting a gasp from between your lips. you pushed down the material rapidly before he completely exposed you.

"james-" you whispered, shock making your tone rise up an octave.

"bucky," he corrected before you could finish.

"okay, bucky. we shouldn't…" you trailed off.

"we're not doin' anythin'. 'm just tryin' to take care of you, so lemme do the work, angel," he cooed, attempting to open your legs with a tiny pinch to your thigh.

"no, this…is wrong," you insisted as if you were trying to convince yourself instead. you kept a strong grip on your gown, preventing him from lifting it, but your fists loosened slightly. he noticed, releasing a dark chuckle into your hair, before planting a kiss to the crown of your head.

"you're givin' me mixed signals," he muttered against your scalp. "that pretty mouth is sayin' one thing, but this beautiful body's tellin' me the opposite. you see my dilemma?"

your breath was coming in short, sharp heaves as the idea of letting your stepdad touch the most vulnerable part of you bounced around in your skull.

"can almost hear your mind, 's so loud. lemme quiet it," he coaxed in a gravelly tone as his hand wandered back to the blue silk across your thighs.

the words were lodged in your throat, and your hands shook where you held down your dress.

"hey, 's okay," james hushed. "how 'bout i help you decide, huh?" his metal hand wandered down your front, gatherings your wrists and pulling them away. with his other hand, he carefully peeled back the thin layer covering your figure.

you squirmed in his grasp, a weak attempt to escape; your body had seemingly already decided what it wanted, and your brain was left a scrambled mess. you raised your head, glancing down to watch with widened eyes as he bunched the material around your torso.

"tell me you don't want me to touch you, and i'll stop," he instructed, his mouth moving behind your ear as he spoke. "c'mon, use those big girl words, and tell me you don't want me to make you feel good. then, we can forget all this happened, and i'll even carry you back to bed, leaving you…aching f'me."

you gazed up at him, eyes welling up with embarrassment. you had tried to keep your attraction towards your stepfather under wraps, but it appeared he detected it quite easily.

he frowned mockingly, "you thought i didn't notice? oh, 's been the only thing on my mind, sweet girl. noticed every time you squeezed those thighs together just from somethin' as simple as my voice."

a tear slipped free, sliding down your cheek as your bottom lip wobbled. "shh, don't cry," he soothed, letting go of your wrists to catch the tear with a metal finger. "nothin' to be embarrassed 'bout. i feel the same way."

you sniffled, furrowing your brow in confusion. "so, you didn't notice?" he asked, tilting his head. "i've been thinkin' downright filthy things ever since you arrived. i feel like a fuckin' teenager with how hard you make me any time you're 'round."

cupping your jaw in his metal palm, his eyes flitted down to your lips as he licked his own. "you walk 'round in those lil skirts you wear, and expect me not to respond? could barely hold myself back from takin' you in the kitchen this mornin' right in front of your ma. you gonna deny me now that we're alone?"

the air felt too thick in your lungs, every breath choking you. though you knew you were waltzing on dangerous territory, you decided that this was something you wanted. he was something you wanted. "b-but w-what if she-" you stutter uselessly.

"don't worry, angel. you'll be quiet f'me, won't ya?" he smirked, his finger tracing absent-minded patterns on your bare hip.

"yeah, i'll be quiet," you found yourself saying, agreeing to this ridiculous idea.

"hmm, that's a good girl," bucky praised, digits trailing back down to your inner thigh. "now how 'bout you spread those perfect thighs f'me, so i can help you unwind?"

his metal hand fell to his lap, watching you expectantly. without much convincing, you planted your foot on the cushion and began parting your legs slowly. he assisted you, gripping your thigh to spread you open.

a low rumble erupted from deep in his chest at the sight before him—soaked lips exposed to the drafty air. "look at you. no panties on, 's almost like you wanted this to happen." he leaned into your ear before proceeding, "you wanted me to touch you, huh? wanted daddy to make this precious pussy feel good?"

you swallowed thickly at the sound of that title rolling off his filthy tongue. while nodding, you bit your lip at the obscenity you were admitting to. you observed closely, leaning forward as he traced your soft skin with a rough hand. he made zig-zags with his pointer finger, inching closer to the place you craved him.

with the same finger, he skimmed the area around your slick folds, not quite touching where you wanted him. you twitched, impatience clawing at your flesh like an untamed animal. "please, bucky," you whined.

"fuck," he growled. "i do love when you beg. just be patient f'me, though. you watch, i play, yeah?"

he splayed his two fingers into a v-shape, flattening the digits against the sides of your center and spreading the lips of your cunt. then, he pinched your lips between his pointer and middle fingers, toying with you. Your cunt glistened, even in the dim lighting, and the more he toyed with you, the more it wept like even it was begging for more contact.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy. she looks so perfect, all wet and eager f'me," he observed, punctuating the statement with a few kisses to the shell of your ear.

calloused fingers ghosted over your clit, and your hips jerked upward in search for more friction. with the lightest pressure, he rubbed your bud in languid circles like he had all the time in the world. you moaned as your head fell back into his firm chest, reveling in his gentle touch.

"that's it, angel, take what i give you."

exploratory carresses alter into solidified strokes of his fingerpads on your clit. the pressure increased as his pace quickened, giving you exactly what you sought out. you whimpered, turning your head to bury your face in his shirt as he continued his ministrations. every pass of his digits on your swollen bud extracted a new sweet sound.

ceasing his movements, he brought his fingers to your jaw and nudged you with them. you tilted your face up, a silent question forming in your gaze.

he brought his two flesh fingers to your lips, tapping on the bottom one, requesting access. "suck," your stepdad demanded.

obeying, you opened your mouth, and he slid the pair through the gap. he pressed down on your tongue, and you wrapped your lips around them. you sucked on them just like he asked, swirling your tongue around the two. he appeared to be pleased with your actions, parting his lips to release a rough exhale.

you looked up through your lashes as you took his fingers deeper into your mouth, the tips hitting the back of your throat. you gagged, spit sputtering from the small seam of your lips.

"ooh, messy aren't we, sweet girl?" he laughed in awe, saliva dripping down his fingers and onto his palm. he took the pair out from your mouth, moving them back down to their original position as he hooked a metal finger under your chin.

he tipped your head back slightly before closing the distance, murmuring against your mouth, "bet that mouth would feel even better 'round my cock, but we'll save that for another time. tonight is all 'bout you." he sealed his promise with a kiss. his lips moved hungrily against yours, practically devouring you.

meanwhile, his dampened fingers trailed down the length of your pussy until he reached your entrance. they spiraled around your welcoming hole, teasing you. then, his fingertips prodded into your cunt. you gasped, the sound getting rapidly swallowed by his mouth on yours.

slipping through your tight walls, he pushed in up to his knuckles. he stretched you out, shoving them all the way in. you broke the kiss, mewling from the sensation of his fingers deep in your pussy. he spread the inserted fingers, scissoring you open to make more room for his huge digits. you yelped softly, swiftly biting your lip after, to dull your sounds.

"feel that stretch?" bucky questioned arrogantly. "makes me wonder how you'd take daddy's cock. i'd have to work you open more than this before i'd make you take it. wouldn't wanna hurt my sweet angel."

he withdrew his fingers to the knuckles, and dove right back in. starting a steady rhythm, he thrust his fingers into you repeatedly. you tried to keep your noises at bay, but his touch felt like heaven. it was like the clouds were making way to bring forth a harmonic symphony—the wet squelch of him fingering you. the sounds only added to the pressure building in your gut.

"daddy," you whimpered pathetically, the title feeling like it was always meant for him. it felt right on your tongue, and he seemed to think so, too. not only did his eyes turn hooded, but his fingers picked up speed.

"yeah, i know. lemme take you there," he said, curling his fingers against your sweet spot. groaning, you arched your back into his touch, and you craned your neck back, your face upturned towards the ceiling. you desperately clawed at him, seeking purchase on something to hold onto. you finally grabbed his forearm, nails digging into his flesh and leaving behind tiny crescent moon shapes.

your cunt clenched around his fingers, teetering on the edge and threatening to fall into a pool of ecstasy. "ooh, i felt that. you close?" he rasped. words failed you, so you settled for nodding frantically.

"mmm, go on, cum on my fingers. soak 'em, make it all messy," he rambled.

with only a few more thrusts of his thick fingers, your pussy fluttered as the beginning of your climax washed over you. you opened your mouth in a silent scream as your orgasm wracked through your form in waves.

james worked you through it, ramming his fingers up into you. you were in a state of pure bliss as your mind went numb with pleasure. but pleasure began to bleed into overstimulation when he didn't stop. he hadn't even slowed down; he just kept driving his fingers into you over and over without a care.

"b-buck, it's…it's too much," you cried, shoving at his arm. yet, he never wavered. in fact, you swore he increased his pace, reducing you to a babbling mess. "p-please. please, daddy, i can't-"

your pleas fell on deaf ears as he added a third finger to your throbbing cunt instead of complying with your begging. you squealed, but before you could reach the peak of your scream, he placed his metal hand over your mouth, stifling your loud noises.

fingertips relentlessly bumped against your g-spot as he whispered, "gimme one more. i've waited this long to have my way with you, don't you think i deserve one more?"

you yelped helplessly into his palm as another orgasm formed, a coil winding tight in your stomach. your hips jolted up, and the heels of your feet kicked the couch cushion below you. it was all so overwhelming, but you couldn't do anything about it; you had to just sit there and take it.

before you knew it, your pussy clamped down on his three digits, your second release causing your body to shudder violently. you shrieked into his non-human hand until your throat was raw, and your vision flashed white. you felt lightheaded with the intensity of your climax, your head lulling to the side.

finally, he eased up on his ministrations, stopping when you went limp in his arms. you slumped against him, shivering as he extracted his fingers from your pulsating pussy. bucky removed his hand from over your mouth, giving you a moment to breathe.

as you came down from your high, he planted a kiss on your hairline, mumbling soft praises into your hair, "did so good f'me. 'm so proud of you."

after a couple of deep breaths, you eventually managed a soft, "thank you, daddy."

he chuckled, "no need to thank me. i'll always be here to take care of you."

shifting, he curled you into his side as he caressed your side. you went quiet, nestling into his chest as your breathing evened out. "i gotcha, my sweet angel. just get some rest."

with that, sleep pulled you under. despite the complication of this relationship and the risk of being caught laying on someone who wasn't yours, you rested easily knowing this man belonged to you for at least a few more hours.

[mirkoluvs]

★ “WRONG PERSON!”

characters: izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugo, shoto todoroki, eijirou kirishima, denki kaminari

notes: day two of textober! this ones a bit longer than usual lol

© mirkoluvs. please do not copy, modify, or repost on other platforms. thank you !!

[uravitypng]

chubby chaser kirishima who loves sleeping on his girlfriend's thick thighs. if he's having a nap after a hard day it's with his head resting on your lap and if he's sitting down he wants his head between your thighs, muffling all noise and your soft skin keeping him warm.

chubby chaser kirishima who picks you up and twirls you around, squeezing you in his strong arms and chuckling as you squeal and tell him to put you down.

chubby chaser kirishima convinces you to sit on his back while he does push ups. you have your phone with you and tell him that you're going to go on it while he's working out but instead you spend the whole time watching his arms and shoulders move, peeking in the corner of the room at the mirror so you can watch his face and see the sweat move down his forehead.

chubby chaser kirishima bites all over your body, his sharp teeth making a shiver run down your spine, biting your neck and soft stomach. he leaves small indents in your skin but makes sure not to bite too hard.

chubby chaser kirishima who calls you a goddess at least once a day. you pout and tell him he's more of a god than you are of a goddess, all those chiselled muscles, big arms, broad shoulders and strong jaw but he tilts his head confused- everyone knows your soft curves make you the embodiment of a greek goddess.

chubby chaser kirishima who likes it when you've got your ankles locked around his neck, his large palm holding tightly on your wide hip, the other gripping under your thigh so you don't move up the bed with each thrust.

chubby chaser kirishima who makes sure the mirror is pointed at the both of you so he can watch as you sit on his lap and moves your body up and down in time with his thrusts, watching in the mirror as your body jiggles and moves.

chubby chaser kirishima immediately presses his body against your back the first time you do anal, groaning loudly and breathing against your neck, tickling your ear. he wraps his arms around your middle, squeezing the pouch of your stomach in between his fingers, coming after a minute, spilling inside you and groaning your name.

[prticl3]

bakudeku 🍎✨

[casuallamppastapizza]

Evolution

[sugarwarachan]

LOOK AT HIM

[hitopia07]

Season 7 Hitoshi!

[sugarwarachan]

dating shinsou would feel so fucking solid - like you would never doubt that man's interest in you. not once. even when you're having a meltdown in his arms or howling with rage, like - he's there. he's gonna continue to be there.

he doesn't think you're too much; fuck, he's so in tune with every move you make that he's anticipating what you need before you even need it. dude is the type of guy to lock in with a partner and not let them go.

(plus the way his palm always sits right at the small of your back so he can slide between your shoulder blades to collar the back of your neck when you're getting overwhelmed out in public. like *topples over*)

[wonubby]

after a long, tiring day, all you wanted to do was cuddle with your sweet, aggressive and loving, hateful boyfriend, katsuki. the two of you haven't had any time for each other in a few days, so it was nice to finally melt in his hold.

you could hear his heartbeat against your chest, his strong hands wrapped securely around your waist with brent faiyaz playing from his speakers. these were the moments that you truly cherished. when bakugou was soft, calm and sweet. he reserved those feelings for you, and you only.

"i wonder what your friends would think if they saw the great explosion murder lord god dynamight becoming putty in my hands." you teased, nuzzling your nose into his chest as he grumbled a laugh.

"first, it's great murder god dynamight; get it right. second, they know better than to interrupt me at night." he said.

snorting at his correction, you sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his thighs. "you're such a fucking nerd." you giggled pressing a light kiss on his lips.

he scoffed at your accusation, pushing you off of him and onto his side as he reached for the snacks on his dresser. he opened the packet while grumbling about how 'you shouldn't group him with fuckass deku' and the fact that he was the 'strongest boy in our year, hell, maybe even UA.'

cocky bastard.

"okay mr huge ego, get back here; you're my personal heating pad." you whined, pawing at his back.

"clingy ass," he grumbled but reluctantly fell into your embrace, sighing as your limbs wrapped around his.

a few minutes of eating snacks and watching a shitty movie made the air peaceful. of course katsuki cut in time to time to comment on the shitty acting and ugly main characters, but you love him nonetheless.

just as your eyes began to shut and katsuki's breathing slowed, the door burst wide open, the faces of your friends filling the doorway. almost immediately katsuki grabbed his pillow and threw it at his friends, screaming at them to get out.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM!" his voice boomed, cheeks slightly tinted and eyes full of rage.

"oh, hell no!" mina yelled back. her phone was already in hand, so it didn't take her long to get a picture.

jirou giggled, leaning over denki's shoulder. the two of them had recently gotten together – not publicly, though – but they weren't very slick.

"ooo lala, is kachan of the bakugous seriously being a little cuddle bug right now." denki mocked, missing the flying remote that flew his direction.

kirishima, ever the peacemaker, quickly put himself in front of the group, hardening his skin to make sure the objects your boyfriend threw weren't actually hurting anyone.

"come on guys, you're interrupting our night!" you exclaimed, kind of upset that your once peaceful night had turned into a throw fest.

mina only laughed harder, clearly recording for her snapchat story that she loves so dearly. however, katsuki was fuming. he already grabbed his hoddie, dragging it over his had and marching towards the door. "i'm gonna fucking kill-"

"katsuki if you leave them alone, i'll give you infinite kisses for a month!" that caused the entire room to still.

pin.

drop.

silence.

and katsuki?

he was calculating the outcomes.

and slowly, very slowly, he took a step back. and then another. he just kept going until he was back on the bed.

the rest of the group?

dying of laughter. sero even called him a simp, playfully taping him to the bed before he ran away.

hi! not proof read sawry

[windyremedy]

your boyfriend held off on letting you meet his parents for awhile now. for reasons you don’t actually know, you thought maybe they were really protective or perhaps even strict with who he dates but turns out it was anything but that.

“pssst— it’s okay you can tell me.” she whispered, slightly nudging you.

“I’m right here hag.” bakugou would deadpan at his mother, barely able to keep it together.

sitting on the couch in between the two practical clones when you first saw them together. you let out a nervous laugh before turning to your most likely and probably definitely future mother in law.

“no mrs. bakugou he didn’t kidnap me, pay me or hypnotize me to be his girlfriend.”

her eyes wavered as she looked at you skeptically before turning her head to the side.

“if you say so— well then come here dear you can see all his baby pictures. just a fair warning this means you have to marry him.”

“mitsuki.”

“MOM!”

“oh what— we all know it!!” she yelled, ready to defend her soon to be very factual statement in the future.

“don’t scare her off.” his dad mumbled in gentle admonition, patting her back to ease her from the initial outburst.

“please masaru if she was even the slightest bit afraid she would have already come running at the sight of katsuki.”

at that his father held a look agreeing that she wasn’t wrong. suddenly she turned to you once more holding your hands this time.

“he’s loud and makes ugly, borderline scary faces at times but he means well sweetheart.”

“oh I know mrs bakugou but—“

“call me mitsuki dear!”

“ah! yes mrs mitsuki err mitsuki— ehm I was saying on the contrary he’s very handsome and really gentle.”

from the raised brow and slight frown it was clear from her expression that she was unconvinced.

“mmmm— well I get his majestic appearance, after all he got most of his features from me.”

you could see masaru nod along.

“but gentle? hmmm, probably from you masaru.” she nodded, slapping his knee.

“though are you certain? I’ve never seen him be quiet ever in his life, it was always boom boom boom.”

glancing at your boyfriend he seemed to have reached his patience, looking like he was ready to go toe to toe like he always does before you interrupted.

“yes he’s very sweet and thoughtful. I love him for any and every part of him, especially his unwavering passion.”

a pregnant pause took place before—

“actually katsuki you need our permission this time if you do ask her now.”

“WHAT!!!”

“well she’s basically my daughter now!! how kind and patient she must be to put up with you.”

“I’m literally your son.”

smiling even wider with pride and relief she uttered words he guessed was nice to hear.

“and as your parents we’re glad to see you find someone as great as you.”

@windyremedy

[rosereveries]

bakugou kisses you—for the lip balm

𖦹 content. k.bakugou x fem!reader. fluff

Bakugou wasn’t exactly a PDA guy. Everyone knew that. He didn’t do hand-holding in front of the squad, and he’d sooner blast himself into orbit than say something mushy out loud.

But damn, your lip balm drove him crazy.

You were sitting on the couch in his dorm room, legs tossed over his lap, scrolling on your phone while he pretended to focus on the show playing. Your lips were slightly glossy—he noticed immediately. A light pink tint, shiny and sweet.

He leaned in without warning, cupping your jaw and kissing you, firm and deliberate.

You blinked, caught off guard, but smiled into it.

When he pulled away, you looked up at him with an amused glint in your eyes. “Another kiss? That’s the third time in ten minutes.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, looking away like you’d just insulted him. “You talk too much. Had to shut you up.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Or… you just really like my new lip balm?”

He froze.

You smirked. “Cherry blossom. Figured I’d try something new.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he grumbled, but the way his ears turned red gave him away. “You’re just always putting that shiny crap on.”

You leaned closer, lips just inches from his. “You sure? Because you seem to kiss me more when I’m wearing it.”

He said nothing.

Then kissed you again.

Maybe twice.

And he still never admitted it.

©rosereveries

[esilek]

katsuki is scowling at you so so hard from the couch when he sees you walking across the common area, having just come out of the shower with freshly wet hair.

“the hell? are you trying to get yourself sick?” he voiced to you.

you blink. “what do you mean?”

he scoffs, as if he expected you to know exactly what he meant. “are you not gonna dry your hair?”

“oh! im letting it air dry.” you respond casually.

“tch. you’re gonna get yourself sick.” he stands up from the couch and begins going towards his dorm. “c’mon”

you raise an eyebrow at him, a little confused as you follow him. you both enter his dorm and you hear him mumbling something to himself as he rummages through his drawers looking for something.

you watch him pull out a hairdryer before he plugs it in and sits down on the end of his bed. he then moved his legs apart leaving a gap. “sit,”

a warmth spread across your face at this, realizing what he was doing. “aw wait, you’re gonna blow dry my hair for me katsuki?”

his jaw clenched. “jus’ cuz I dont wanna hear you yap when you get sick. s’all.”

you walk over and sit on the ground below him, and you feel him remove your towel from around your shoulders.

he dabs the towel against your head first, then you hear him switch the dryer on before pointing the nozzle towards your head. “let me know if it gets too hot for you”

katsuki is weirdly gentle with you, him picking up strands of your hair allowing the warm air to hit your scalp. he’s using his hand to shield your ears and neck so you don’t get burned.

it’s quiet for a while— the soft buzz of the hair dryer humming filled the room. you sigh, feeling yourself relax a bit. It actually did feel pretty nice.

katsuki’s fingers continue tugging gently through your hair, keeping it detangled as he worked section by section.

soon, you could feel your eyelids began to feel heavy and your shoulders were drooping. the warm. hum of the hair dryer along with katsuki touch wasn’t helping at all.

“oi. don’t fall asleep on me,” he fingers graze your ear, “I’m almost done.”

you tried to respond, but it was too late. your head was already bobbing to the side as your breathing began to slow.

katsuki caught your head in his palm, so he decided to guide you to rest on his thigh as he finished up.

a little grin appeared on his face as he stared down at you, before whispering to himself. “idiot.”

his touch was more gentle than before— being careful to not wake you. a few minutes later, he had finished and turn the dryer off.

he sat there gazing at you for a bit, before he tucked all of your hair behind your ears, out of your face.

“hey, wake up. you’re all done.” he’s running his fingers across your hairline softly, trying to wake you up.

you yawn, “mmh, already?” you lift your head from his thigh, practically still asleep. “thanks kats, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,”

his face flushes. “don’t mention it. let’s get you to bed now yeah?”

.ᐟ

[hvenlyang3l]

⟡ ݁₊ . Todoroki Shoto x Fem!Reader Headcannons ⋆˙⟡

Smoldering Touch: Shoto’s hand always lingers—on your thigh, your lower back, or your hipbone just beneath your shirt. It's never overly obvious, but it leaves you burning. “You always get so quiet when I touch you here. Why is that?” (His fingers skim the inside of your thigh, voice barely above a whisper.)

Eye Contact That Melts You: You catch him looking at you across the room—slow blink, jaw tight, lips parted like he’s holding something back. “I wasn’t looking at you like that.” (Pause. A quiet breath.) “I was imagining how you’d sound if I kissed you the way I want to.”

Subtle Heat Play: When you're cuddling, his hand slips under your shirt—warm, broad, unmoving. Not even trying to escalate. Just there. Burning. “Don’t move yet. I’m… comfortable like this.” (His palm against your stomach is radiating heat. You can feel how tense he is, despite the calm voice.)

Teasing Whisperer: Shoto doesn’t flirt often, but when he does, it destroys you. His words are blunt, quiet, and hit like a truck. He leans in, “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll lose my patience. And I don’t want to rush this.”

Fresh-Out-the-Shower Tease: Shoto steps out of the bathroom, towel low, steam curling off his shoulders. His hair’s damp and messy. He stretches—slowly. He notices her staring, “You’re acting like you’ve never seen me before. Or maybe you just like looking.” (Then that faint smirk appears.)

“Accidental” Sleep Positioning: His hand slips beneath your shirt in his sleep—fingertips splayed just under your waistband, not quite moving. But when you stir... he murmurs half-asleep, “Sorry... I was dreaming about you again. Guess my body remembered it better than I did.”

Backhugs With a Hint of Sin: When you wear one of his shirts around the house, he wraps his arms around you, lips brushing your neck. He knows what he’s doing. He says softly, “You keep wearing my clothes like that, and I’ll forget how to be patient.”

The Soft Jealousy: When another hero flirts with you, Shoto’s smile is polite—but his hand tightens on your hip like a warning. He says later, voice low and sharp, “You’re mine. I don’t care who they are. They’ll figure that out eventually—or I’ll show them.”

The Way He Says Your Name: You tease him—light touches, playful words. But then his voice drops, and his entire focus narrows in on you. He says, dead serious, “Y/N.” (Your name—sharp, slow. Like a warning. Like a promise.) “You’re testing me again.”

Post-Mission Closeness: After a dangerous fight, he doesn’t speak much. He just finds you, wraps you up, and holds you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth. He says quietly, against your shoulder, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was out there.”“I need you close right now. Just for a little while. Just… stay.”

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this is my first time writing shoto. i don't think it's better than my katsuki one but i tried😭😭

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST