I just read one of your works "senku and ryusui attending reader's funeral in the suit they wore for their wedding" and of course the other part that explained how reader died..🤝
I wondered if you could please write one with them meeting someone that looks exactly like reader? I know it sounds stupid but bear with me🤓❤
I Thought I Saw Your Face Today
Word Count: 930
Senku Ishigami
Senku Ishigami does not linger.
He calculates, he observes, he moves on. That’s how survival works. That’s how the world keeps turning even after it takes something it had no right to. He learned that lesson the hard way.
So he’s annoyed with himself for standing still.
The streetlight flickers on as evening settles in, the glow catching on the back of a stranger walking ahead of him. Senku registers it automatically, height, gait, posture, his mind slotting data into place before he’s aware he’s doing it.
Too familiar.
His steps slow despite himself.
Same rhythm. Same unconscious habit of tucking their hands into their sleeves when it gets cold. Same slight hitch in their walk, like they’re always half a second lost in thought. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. The human brain is a disaster when it comes to grief, pattern recognition turned traitor.
Pareidolia, he tells himself. Seeing faces where none exist. Seeing you where you can’t possibly be.
Still, his chest tightens.
For a moment, just a moment, his world slips out of alignment, and memory overlays reality so cleanly it’s almost seamless. He remembers you walking beside him, talking too much or not enough, nudging his shoulder when he got lost in thought. He remembers the weight of the suit jacket at your wedding, how he hated formal clothes but wore it anyway because you asked.
And then the same suit, darker somehow, heavier, standing beside Chrome and Ryusui as they lowered you into the ground.
His jaw clenches.
The stranger pauses at a crosswalk, glancing back over their shoulder.
Senku freezes.
Same face shape. Same eyes, almost, wrong color, but close enough that his breath stutters before he can stop it. His brain short circuits, logic scrambling to reassert control.
Ten billion percent impossible.
Dead people stay dead.
“…Hey,” he hears himself say anyway.
The word is rough, unused. It hasn’t belonged to anyone since you.
The stranger turns fully now, confusion flickering across their expression. Up close, the differences snap into focus, different scar, different voice when they answer, different everything once the illusion shatters.
“Yes?”
Senku swallows. Heat creeps up his neck, embarrassment warring with something uglier and quieter.
“…Sorry,” he says, adjusting his glasses more sharply than necessary. “Thought you were someone else.”
They smile politely, already stepping back into their own life, and the light changes. They cross the street without another glance.
Senku stays where he is.
He exhales slowly, counting under his breath like he’s defusing a bomb. His hands tremble just enough to piss him off. He hates that grief can still ambush him like this, months later, like some unresolved equation refusing to balance.
The thought hits him without warning, soft and merciless. Not hope. Never hope. Just absence, echoing.
He turns away before the reflection in the darkened window can trick him again.
Science explains everything eventually.
It just doesn’t make it hurt less.
Ryusui Nanami
Ryusui Nanami has always wanted the impossible.
Treasure beyond reach. Skies no one’s mapped. A future so bright it dares the world to keep up. So when he sees you, or someone so cruelly close to you, it doesn’t shock him.
Of course the world would do this.
The harbor is loud with gulls and engines and people chasing their next desire. Ryusui stands at the railing, coat thrown over his shoulders, watching the water when the reflection catches his eye.
There,
Leaning against a post, hair lifted by the sea breeze, gaze turned toward the horizon like they’re searching for something only they can see.
You used to look at the ocean like that.
Ryusui’s breath catches, sharp and undeniable. His heart doesn’t bother with caution, it surges forward, greedy and hopeful and stupid. For half a heartbeat, he lets himself believe.
Same smile, soft and thoughtful. Same way the wind plays with their clothes. Same presence that once anchored him, that once made even loss feel survivable.
He moves before he decides to.
Each step closer strips the illusion thinner, reality bleeding through the edges. By the time he’s beside them, he knows. He always knows. But knowing doesn’t stop the ache.
“Well now,” he says, voice smooth but quieter than usual, “this is embarrassing.”
The stranger looks up.
Not you.
The resemblance is strong enough to sting, but the differences are immediate once he’s close, wrong eyes, wrong laugh when they respond, wrong energy entirely. The world settles back into place, heavier than before.
Ryusui chuckles, a soft sound meant more for himself than them. “Apologies. For a moment, I thought you were someone I lost.”
They offer sympathy, awkward and kind, and step away after a brief exchange. Ryusui lets them go without protest. He’s learned better than to chase mirages.
He returns to the railing, fingers curling around the cold metal.
The suit flashes through his mind, the one he wore when he married you, the one he wore when he buried you. He remembers thinking how unfair it was that the same clothes witnessed both the beginning and the end of his greatest want.
The thought doesn’t knock the wind out of him like it used to. It settles instead, bittersweet and familiar. He watches the waves roll in, endless and patient.
Maybe it’s cruel. Maybe it’s mercy.
After all, if the world insists on reminding him of you, at least it means you were real.
And Ryusui Nanami never regrets wanting something real, no matter how dearly it cost him.
Your top favourite animes? what and who do u enjoy writing the most? And which character do you want to write for in the future 😊❤️
Stop this is so cute thanks for asking! Here's my top five in order with my favorite characters from each
MHA: Bakugo, Mirio, Izuku, Tamaki
Dr Stone: Chrome, Senku, Gen
HunterxHunter: Killua, Kurapika, Knuckles
JJK: Megumi, Yuji, Choso
Blue Lock: Bachira, Isagi, Kunigami, Barou
Honorable mentions go out to Gachitakita, Solo Leveling, and Sk8 the Infinity. Yes, I know my favorites are all new gen animes, but I think they're good and if you don't agree that's your opinion.
I absolutely adore writing and reading fluff. It just makes my whole day better and puts me at ease in a way. I do love a good angst fic as well.
I'm sure you can tell by my page but I love writing for Senku and Bakugo. I love their characters and writing about them just comes so easy to me. Since I began writing for Senku I've learned so many random facts because when he goes on his "science rambles" I do real research to make it more authentic.
I'm not sure who I really want to write for in the future. I'd love to write more chrome fics as he is my favorite character in dr stone, but I get so nervous because I have a hard time writing him. Other than him I'd love to just expand the variety of characters or animes I write for, I think it would be really fun!
how many requests do you have lined up? And what are they about?
Hi lovey! My inbox is the most full it's ever been with eight different requests, but by no means am I complaining. Keep them coming people I love them!!!! Most of them are for Dr Stone, with more ryusui fics being the most requested. I also have a special Dr Stone Valentines Day request which I'm very excited to write about! Someone asked for a Yuta Okkotsu, which is a character I've never written before, so I'm a little nervous but excited.
Other than that I don't want to give too much away, I have to keep you all in a little suspense<3
Have a thing for amnesia and angst recently for some reason. Thinking of a mha boys x f!reader (not sure which, you pick your favorite!) where they were in a relationship but reader got nabbed by villains (readers a pro hero too) and a while later they find her but she has amnesia, doesn’t recognize her boyfriend and he’s heartbroken but doesn’t give up, maybe he takes the responsibility of taking care of her while she gets her health back, maybe she falls in love with him again even though she doesn’t remember him from before, maybe it ends with her remembering him, but whatever you’d like to plot it out as…
Kaythanksbyeeeeeee-
Forget Your Love
Katsuki Bakugo x Reader
Synopsis: After getting hit with an enhanced amnesia quirk, katsuki and you are left with the pain. You with the struggle to remember your past, and katsuki who remembers who you once were.
Word Count: 3,200
AN: I used Y/n a few times so sorry if that bothers you. Also if you'd like I'll make an izuku or any other character version!
The night air burned with smoke and salt from the docks, thick enough to sting Katsuki’s lungs with every breath. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, half-drowned by the thunder of explosions and the shriek of twisting metal as pro heroes clashed with the last desperate wave of villains. Dock cranes loomed like skeletal giants overhead, their shadows jerking wildly with every flash of light.
Katsuki didn’t slow down. He never did.
Instinct took over, muscle memory and fury guiding him as his palms flared bright orange. He propelled himself forward, blasting a snarling villain straight back into a stack of shipping containers. Steel buckled with a deafening crash, sparks raining down like fireworks. Another enemy rushed him from the side, gone in a split second, launched skyward by a concussive blast that cracked the pavement beneath Katsuki’s boots.
“Y/N!” he shouted, voice raw as it tore through the chaos.
His eyes snapped to where you should have been, scanning automatically, the way they always did in a fight. Left flank. Rear guard. Your presence had become as constant to him as his own breathing.
You were supposed to be right behind him.
A spike of unease crawled up his spine. He pivoted sharply, heart stuttering, and that’s when he saw you.
Too far away.
A villain with glowing purple hands lunged forward, a manic grin splitting his face. Katsuki’s blood ran cold. He rocketed toward you, explosions roaring as he pushed himself past his limits.
Too slow.
The man’s quirk activated in a blinding flash of violet-white light that swallowed your silhouette whole. The air warped, pressure slamming outward like a shockwave.
And then nothing.
The light vanished.
So did you.
“Y/N?!” Katsuki screamed, the sound ripping out of him like something torn loose.
Panic hit him harder than any punch ever had. It wasn’t sharp, it was crushing, all-consuming. His vision tunneled, explosions detonating wildly from his palms as he tore through the remaining villains with reckless, almost feral fury. He didn’t register their faces, their quirks, their screams. He only knew he had to end this.
The ground cracked. Fire lit the sky. Villains fell.
The fight ended quickly after that, too quickly, but Katsuki barely noticed the sudden quiet. The ringing in his ears drowned out everything except the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding violently against his ribs.
He spun in a frantic circle.
Then he ran.
He barely remembered who shouted your name first, or how long it took before someone yelled that they’d found you. All Katsuki knew was the way his legs burned as he sprinted across shattered concrete, the way dread clawed at his throat with every step.
They found you slumped behind a broken concrete wall, debris scattered like shrapnel around your body. You were limp, head tilted at an unnatural angle, blood trickling from a cut above your brow and down the side of your face.
The world narrowed to you.
“Move,” Katsuki snapped, voice shaking with something dangerously close to desperation as he shoved past a stunned hero and dropped to his knees beside you.
Up close, you looked too still.
His breath hitched painfully as he pressed a hand to your shoulder, then hovered there, afraid to shake you too hard. His eyes locked onto your chest, willing it to rise.
One second.
Two.
Then movement.
Your chest rose, slow and uneven, like each breath was a struggle.
Relief slammed into him so hard it left him dizzy, almost sick. His forehead dropped forward until it nearly touched yours, a shaky breath tearing out of him.
“Hey,” he said roughly, brushing dirt and blood from your face with trembling fingers. “C’mon, baby. Don’t do this. Wake up.”
For a terrifying moment, nothing happened.
Then your eyelids fluttered.
Katsuki sucked in a breath, hope igniting so fiercely it hurt.
And when your eyes finally opened, they locked onto his.
Not with recognition.
But with fear.
You gasped sharply, scrambling backward despite your injuries, hands slipping on the rubble as you tried to put distance between you and him.
“W-Who are you?!” you cried, voice trembling, eyes wide and frantic. “Don’t touch me!”
Katsuki’s hands froze mid-air.
The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t.
The noise of the docks seemed to fade, the world tilting violently as if the ground itself had dropped out from under him.
“Katsuki,” he said quickly, panic bleeding into his voice despite every instinct screaming at him to stay strong. “It’s me. It’s Katsuki.”
He leaned forward just a little, careful, like approaching a frightened animal. His eyes searched your face desperately, looking for anything, a flicker of familiarity, a spark of recognition.
Your gaze dragged over him like he was a stranger. Like he was a threat.
“I don’t…” Your voice broke. “I don’t know you.”
The words hit him harder than any villain ever could.
Something deep inside his chest cracked, then shattered completely, leaving behind a hollow ache that stole the air from his lungs. Katsuki Bakugo, who had faced monsters, gods, and death itself without flinching, could only kneel there in the rubble, staring at the person he loved as if he had already lost you.
And somehow, that hurt worse than anything else.
The hospital smelled like antiseptic and ozone, the sharp, sterile scent clinging to the back of Katsuki’s throat no matter how many times he breathed. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too cold, casting everything in washed-out white. Machines beeped softly beside your bed, an infuriatingly calm rhythm that didn’t match the chaos pounding inside his chest.
Katsuki stood rigid at your side, arms crossed, hands curled into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms. He didn’t move. Didn’t sit. Didn’t blink.
The doctors spoke in measured tones, careful words stacked on top of each other like fragile glass.
“A villain with an amnesia-type quirk,” one of them explained, flipping through a tablet. “Under normal circumstances, the effects would fade within a few hours. A day or two at most.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightened.
“But,” the doctor continued, hesitating just a fraction, “the villain had quirk-enhancing drugs in his system. That amplification changed the quirk’s output significantly.”
Your vitals beeped on, indifferent.
“There’s a chance the memory loss could last much longer than usual,” the doctor said gently. “In some cases… it may be permanent.”
Permanent.
The word slammed into Katsuki’s skull and echoed there, bouncing around like shrapnel. Permanent meant forever. Meant every shared laugh, every argument, every lazy Sunday morning was suddenly something only he remembered.
He nodded once, sharp and stiff, like that single motion was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Thank you,” he forced out, voice flat.
The doctors left him there with you and the humming machines and a future that no longer made sense.
You’d lived together for almost a year.
It hit him in flashes as he unlocked the apartment door later that night. Muscle memory guided him, keys tossed into the dish by the door, shoes kicked off without thinking. The apartment smelled faintly like laundry detergent and the spicy ramen you loved too much. Everything was exactly the same.
Except you.
You stepped inside slowly, hesitating on the threshold like crossing into unfamiliar territory. Your eyes moved carefully over the space, cataloging it like a stranger’s home. The couch. The low table with old hero magazines stacked unevenly. The balcony door, curtains half-drawn.
“This is…” you started, then swallowed. “This is my apartment?”
Katsuki turned toward you, the correction slipping out automatically.
“Our apartment.”
The word hung there between you.
He caught himself, throat tightening. “…Yeah.”
You nodded, lips pressed together, clearly unsure what to do with your hands. Your gaze drifted to the couch, lingering there longer than anywhere else.
“I can sleep there,” you offered quietly. “If you want.”
The suggestion shouldn’t have hurt. It made sense. It was reasonable.
It still felt like being punched.
“No.”
The word came out harsher than he meant, sharp enough to make your shoulders tense.
Katsuki scrubbed a hand through his hair and forced himself to breathe out slowly through his nose. “I’ll take the couch,” he said, voice steadier now. “You take the bed.”
He didn’t look at you when he added, “You don’t know me. I’m not gonna make you uncomfortable.”
For a moment, you just stood there, studying him like you were trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Then you nodded once.
“Thank you,” you said softly.
There was a pause.
“…Bakugo-san.”
The honorific hit him square in the chest, knocking the air clean out of his lungs.
You used to say his name like it belonged to you. Like it was natural. Easy. Sometimes teasing, sometimes whispered against his skin in the dark.
Now it sounded formal. Distant. Safe.
Katsuki turned away before you could see the way his expression cracked, shoulders stiffening as he walked toward the couch. He dropped his jacket over the armrest and sat down hard, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was bracing for impact.
Behind him, he heard you move toward the bedroom. The door clicked softly shut.
Alone in the dim living room, surrounded by a life you no longer remembered sharing with him, Katsuki stared at the floor and swallowed the ache burning in his throat.
He would give you space.
He would do this right.
Even if it killed him.
Katsuki took care of you in the only way he knew how, by doing.
He didn’t know how to sit and talk about feelings. Didn’t know how to reassure you with pretty words. So instead, he moved. Constantly. Purposefully.
He cooked every meal, filling the apartment with the rich, grounding smells of sizzling meat, garlic, oil popping in the pan. Real food. Balanced food. None of the bland hero-diet garbage he choked down when he lived alone. He remembered what you liked without thinking, extra spice, vegetables cut smaller, sauces simmered longer. He plated everything carefully, even when he pretended he didn’t care.
One evening, you took a cautious bite.
Then another.
Your eyes widened. “Oh wow… this is really good.”
Katsuki didn’t look at you, just flipped something in the pan a little harder than necessary. “Damn right it is,” he muttered.
You smiled, softer this time. “You’re an amazing cook. How do you know what I like so well?”
The spatula stilled.
For half a second, the only sound was oil crackling in the pan.
“…I just make stuff you used to like,” he said finally, voice low.
The room went quiet, heavy with things neither of you knew how to say.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, like the word might bruise him if it landed too hard.
“Tch. Quit that,” he snapped, but there was no bite to it. “Ain’t your fault.”
He served dinner like nothing had happened, but the air between you stayed fragile all night.
Sometimes, he forgot.
One early morning, the sun barely up, you wandered into the living room wrapped in sleep and warmth, wearing one of his shirts. It hung off your shoulders, sleeves swallowing your hands. You rubbed at your eyes, hair a mess, exactly the way you always used to.
Katsuki looked up from the counter automatically.
“Mornin’, baby,”
The word slipped out easy. Familiar. Instinctive.
You froze.
“Baby…?” you echoed, uncertain, like you were trying the word on for size.
Katsuki’s face drained of color. His breath caught.
“Shit. I-I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Habit.”
“Oh,” you said softly, offering a small, polite smile. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t.
That night, you lay in bed staring at the ceiling while the apartment stayed unnaturally quiet. Somewhere down the hall, the bathroom door shut harder than usual.
The shower turned on, soft sobs coming from that direction.
A few weeks in, you noticed his phone lighting up on the kitchen counter while he was in the other room.
You hadn’t meant to look.
But the screen was right there.
The lock screen showed the two of you bathed in golden sunset light, warm and glowing like something out of a dream. Your arms were looped around his neck, head tipped back in laughter. Katsuki had one arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other cradling your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours.
In the photo, you were kissing him.
Not shy. Not hesitant. Like you belonged there.
Your chest tightened painfully, breath catching as you stared. Even without memory, the moment felt alive, intimate, cherished. Something real.
Something you’d lost.
You wanted so badly to remember.
Katsuki came up behind you quietly, like he already knew.
“…Anything click?” he asked, voice careful.
You swallowed, blinking hard, and shook your head. “No.”
His shoulders slumped just a fraction. Just enough that you noticed.
“That was our two-year anniversary,” he said.
“I’m really sorry,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I wish I could remember. I hate that I can’t.”
He let out a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes turned away. “I know. I know you do.”
Time passed.
Not in leaps. In inches.
Things began to feel easier, not because your memories returned, but because the space between you shrank.
You stopped calling him Bakugo-san without even realizing when it happened.
Katsuki felt more natural in your mouth.
You started laughing at his blunt comments instead of flinching. Teasing him when he got loud. Sitting closer to him on the couch until your knees brushed, then stayed that way.
He noticed everything.
The way you hummed softly while brushing your teeth. The way you stole bites off his plate like it was instinct. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him, even when you didn’t know why.
Some nights, you caught him staring at you like he was memorizing something he was afraid to lose again.
“What?” you asked shyly.
“Nothin’,” he grumbled, cheeks faintly red as he looked away.
And somehow, without memories guiding you, without the weight of the past, you fell in love with him again.
Slowly. Gently.
Completely.
The gym smelled like rubber mats and metal, sharp and familiar, the air heavy with the dull thud of weights hitting the floor and the low hum of machines. Sunlight streamed in through high windows, catching on chrome bars and sweat-slicked surfaces. Normally, it was grounding.
Today, Katsuki hated it.
He kept you on light training, stretching, controlled movements, nothing strenuous. No surprises. He hovered closer than he probably needed to, arms crossed, eyes locked on you like he was guarding something fragile.
“You feel dizzy,” he said for the third time in ten minutes, “you tell me immediately. No pushing it. No ‘I’m fine’ bullshit.”
You rolled your eyes, lips twitching. “I know, Mom.”
“Tch.” He shot you a look. “Smartass.”
But his stance didn’t relax.
You were mid-set, holding a manageable weight, breath steady, when the sound hit.
A loud crash rang out across the gym as someone nearby lost their grip on a heavy barbell. The metal slammed into the floor with a sharp, echoing clang that tore through the space.
Too loud.
Too sudden.
The sound reverberated in your skull, and something inside you snapped.
Your vision flashed white.
Purple light, blinding and violent.
A man’s hands glowing unnaturally bright.
Heat and pressure exploding through your head.
Pain, sharp, tearing, unbearable.
“Katsuki!” someone was screaming.
You were screaming.
Your breath hitched violently as your grip loosened without you even realizing it. The weight you were holding slipped, tilting dangerously toward your chest.
Katsuki moved before thought.
He lunged forward, muscles straining as he caught the weight mid-fall with a grunt, teeth clenched as he slammed it safely aside. It hit the mat with a dull thud, harmless now.
“Hey, hey!” He dropped to his knees in front of you instantly, hands firm but gentle on your shoulders. “Look at me. Look at me!”
Your body was shaking uncontrollably, every muscle locked tight as tears streamed down your face. Your breaths came out sharp and broken, chest stuttering like it forgot how to work.
“I…I remember,” you sobbed, words tumbling out between gasps. “I remember something. The light, the villain, your voice, you were yelling my name,”
Katsuki’s heart slammed against his ribs.
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled you into his arms carefully, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped solidly around your back, anchoring you to him like gravity itself.
“Easy,” he murmured, voice low, steady, the way he sounded right before a fight. “I got you. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
You clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out.
“Stop apologizing,” he said firmly, almost fiercely. “You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”
Your breathing slowly began to even out, though your hands still trembled against his shirt.
“It was purple,” you whispered, eyes unfocused. “And it hurt. And then… everything went blank.”
Katsuki swallowed hard, jaw tightening as anger burned hot behind his eyes.
“That bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
But beneath the fury, under the fear that still hadn’t let go, was something else.
Hope.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands still steady on your arms. “You’re remembering,” he said quietly, like he was afraid saying it too loud would scare it away.
You nodded, wiping at your face. “Yeah. Just pieces. But… it’s something.”
His hands trembled just a little as he held you, the first crack in the armor he’d been wearing for weeks.
“Scares the hell outta me,” he admitted, voice rough. “But I’m happy too.”
You looked up at him then, really looked at him, the way his eyes searched your face, the way his grip never loosened, like he’d learned the hard way what it felt like to lose you.
“I think,” you said softly, “I’m remembering how much you love me.”
His breath hitched visibly.
“Tch… took you long enough,” he muttered.
But his eyes were shining, and he didn’t try to hide it.
That night, the apartment was quiet and warm, city lights flickering softly through the windows. You curled up beside him on the couch, tucking yourself against his side without hesitation, your head resting against his shoulder like it belonged there.
Katsuki froze for half a second.
Then relaxed, arm coming around you instinctively, pulling you closer like he’d been waiting for permission.
“Katsuki?” you murmured.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t remember everything yet,” you said carefully, honestly. “But I love you. I’m falling for you all over again.”
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
Then he wrapped his arm around you tighter, hand splayed warm and solid against your side, holding you like he was afraid the world might try to take you again.
“Good,” he whispered, pressing his temple to your hair. “’Cause I never stopped.”
And for the first time since the docks, the future didn’t feel so terrifying anymore.
Synopsis: Although you hate waking up early in the morning, you love when Rin has morning practices because when he comes home exhausted and barely awake, you get to share a rare soft moment with Rin.
Word Count: 1,180
The sky outside is still dark when Rin’s alarm goes off. Not the soft kind of dark either, the heavy, quiet kind where the world feels half asleep.
You groan quietly into your pillow.
Rin, beside you, barely reacts at first. He always needs a second. His brows knit together, lips pressing into a thin line like the sound itself personally offended him.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“…Tch.”
He reaches over and shuts it off, sitting up immediately like he’s been trained to do so.
You peek at him through half-lidded eyes.
His hair’s messy, sticking up in weird directions, eyes still tired but sharp underneath it all. Even first thing in the morning, Rin Itoshi looks the same, serious, focused, already thinking about practice.
“Good morning,” you mumble softly, voice thick with sleep.
He glances down at you.
“…Morning.”
Short. Quiet. But there’s a softness there he doesn’t give anyone else.
Some days, Rin wakes up early. Other days, like today, he wakes up earlier than early.The kind of morning where even the sun hasn’t bothered showing up yet.
You know you don’t have to get up.
Rin’s told you before.
“You don’t need to wake up every time. It’s not like I can’t feed myself.”
But you always do.
Because you want to.
Because you love him.
And because you love seeing the tiny pause he does when he realizes you’re up for him. So you slowly push yourself up, stretching your arms with a quiet yawn.
He watches you from the edge of the bed “…Go back to sleep.”
You smile at him, all warm and bright even though your eyes are barely open.
“Can’t. My boyfriend’s gotta eat before he becomes a soccer monster.”
He clicks his tongue lightly, “You’re annoying.”
But there’s no bite to it.
You slip out of bed, throw on one of Rin’s hoodies, way too big on you, and shuffle toward the kitchen.
Rin follows behind you silently, leaning against the doorframe as you move around.
The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the soft sounds of cooking. You move on autopilot at this point. Cracking eggs. Toasting bread. Heating up some soup you made the night before. Cutting up fruit.
Rin watches you.
He always does.
You hum softly while you work, a little tune you don’t even realize you’re making up.
The faint light from the kitchen lamp makes everything feel cozy.
Warm.
Domestic.
This is Rin’s favorite part of the morning.
He’d never say it out loud.
But it is.
“…You don’t have to go this far,” he mutters.
You glance over your shoulder with a bright smile.
“I want to.”
He looks away.
“Tch.”
But his ears are red.
When you finally set the plate down in front of him, it’s perfect.
Not fancy.
Just full of love.
“Eat up,” you say cheerfully.
Rin sits and starts eating quietly.
He always eats seriously, like it’s part of training.
But you notice how his shoulders relax after the first few bites.
You sit across from him, resting your chin in your hands, watching him.
“What?” he asks flatly.
“Nothing,” you giggle. “You’re cute.”
He glares.
“I’m eating.”
“That’s what makes it cute.”
“…You’re unbelievable.” But he keeps eating. When he finishes, he stands and grabs his bag.
There’s a short pause before he lets out a quick quiet, “thanks”
Your smile grows even wider.
“Anytime!”
He slips on his shoes.
“I’ll be back later.”
“I know. Good luck!”
He hesitates for half a second, then leans down and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.
Barely a second long.
But your heart does backflips anyway.
“Don’t overdo it,” you say.
“Tch. Like I would.”
And then he’s gone.
The apartment feels too quiet without him.
It always does.
You clean up, then go about your day.
Running errands.
Helping a neighbor carry groceries.
Texting Rin little encouragement even though he rarely responds during practice.
You don’t mind.
You know he reads them.
By the time the sun starts setting, you’re already excited because this is your favorite time. Rin after practice, exhausted Rin, soft Rin.
He finally comes home later than usual.
The door clicks open.
You immediately pop up from the couch.
“Rin!”
He barely gets a chance to set his bag down before you’re there.
“…You’re loud.”
But he doesn’t stop you when you hug him.
His body’s warm, muscles tense from hours of training. He sighs quietly.
“Tired,” he mutters into your hair.
“You worked hard today, didn’t you?” you say gently.
“…Yeah.”
You pull back and smile brightly.
“Come sit! I saved that show we’re watching!”
He grumbles but follows you anyway.
You both sink into the couch. You curl up beside him, leaning against his side. The show starts playing.
At first, Rin watches seriously.
Eyes focused.
Arms crossed.
But you can feel it.
Slowly.
His body starts relaxing. His head tilts slightly toward you. Minutes pass. His breathing evens out.
“…Rin?” you whisper.
No response.
You glance up.
His eyes are closed ,completely knocked out. You smile fondly at his calm sleeping form. Carefully, you shift so he’s more comfortable.
To your surprise, he ends up half laying on you, head resting against your chest, one arm loosely draped over your waist.
Your heart feels like it might burst.
This almost never happens. Rin doesn’t usually cuddle. He tolerates it but he doesn’t initiate it.
You stay completely still, afraid to wake him. One of your hands rests gently on his hair, it’s soft, way softer than he’d like anyone to know.
You run your fingers through it slowly.
He shifts in his sleep.
Then, without opening his eyes, his hand moves.It searches. Fingers brushing against yours.
Until he finds your hand.
And gently interlocks your fingers together.
Your breath catches, “Oh my god…”
It’s so natural.
So instinctive.
Like even asleep, he wants to hold you.
Your face heats up. Your heart pounds. You bite your lip to keep from squealing. It’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.
Rin Itoshi.
Soccer prodigy.
Cold, blunt, intimidating Rin.
Holding your hand in his sleep.
You squeeze his fingers lightly.
He doesn’t wake up.
Just hums softly, barely audible, and settles closer to you. You melt. You sit there for a long time, not moving, just watching the show quietly while holding him.
Thinking about how much you love him.
How hard he works.
How even when he acts distant, he always shows up for you in little ways.
You know if you ever told him about this…
He’d deny it, get flustered, probably never fall asleep on you again, so you keep it to yourself.
Your own little secret.
You press a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
“Good job today, Rinnie,” you whisper softly.
He shifts slightly and tightens his fingers with yours.
Almost like he heard you.
You smile, heart full.
And for the rest of the evening, you stay just like that.
I just read your ryusui and senku attending reader's funeral in the suit they married them in and I couldn't help not tearing up 😭 could you please write of maybe how reader died and how was life goin on before their death
Ishigami Senku
Senku always believed everything in the world had a cause.
Every reaction had a trigger.
Every problem had a solution.
So when the doctor told him you were gone, his mind refused to accept it.
There had to be a mistake. A variable miscalculated. A pulse they hadn’t checked correctly.
He stood in the hospital hallway with his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor tiles as if focusing hard enough could reassemble reality into something that made sense.
You had called him less than an hour before.
Telling him he worked too much.
Teasing him about the spicy ramen he always asked for.
Promising you would be home soon.
Senku had replied like he always did, distracted but smiling.
Then the phone rang again.
This time it was not you.
A drunk driver had run a red light.
Your car had been hit head on.
You died before the ambulance arrived.
It was so simple.
So unfairly random.
For days after the funeral, Senku kept expecting to hear your footsteps in the apartment. He kept reaching for his phone to text you about some new idea, some ridiculous experiment, some thought only you ever humored.
Your things were everywhere.
The hoodie you always stole from him hung on the back of the chair.
Your toothbrush was still next to his.
Your favorite mug sat untouched in the sink.
It felt like you had just gone out.
Like if he waited long enough, you would come back.
So he worked.
He buried himself in research and notes and half finished inventions, telling himself that productivity was logical. That stopping would accomplish nothing.
But logic did not stop the ache in his chest.
Sometimes he would turn in his chair to make a sarcastic comment, already forming the words, then remember there was no one there.
The silence that followed was louder than anything.
One night, exhaustion finally caught up to him. He slid down against the counter in the lab, staring at his shaking hands.
“This doesn’t add up,” he muttered weakly.
You were not supposed to be gone.
He could calculate rocket trajectories. He could map out the future of science. He could solve impossible problems.
But this had no formula.
“If I had left earlier…” he whispered.
If he had picked you up instead of letting you drive.
If he had not stayed late again.
If he had treated time like the precious resource it was.
A shaky breath escaped him.
“I’m supposed to be the smart one.”
Tears blurred his vision, frustration mixing with grief.
“I could change the world, but I couldn’t protect you.”
It was the first time he let himself cry.
Healing was not dramatic.
It came in small, painful steps.
The first time he finally washed your mug.
The first time he cooked ramen and smiled faintly when it came out too spicy.
The first time he sat on the rooftop where you liked watching sunsets and talked out loud, not caring if anyone heard.
“You would be yelling at me to stop moping,” he said quietly one evening.
A soft breeze brushed past him.
He closed his eyes.
“I’m going to keep living,” he murmured. “Not because it doesn’t hurt. But because you would want me to.”
Senku still missed you every day.
That never went away.
But slowly, he learned that loving you did not end with your death.
You became part of everything he did.
His motivation.
His strength.
His reason to keep moving forward.
“Ten billion percent,” he whispered with a small, sad smile.
“I will live enough for both of us.”
Ryusui Nanami
Ryusui always lived loudly.
Life was meant to be exciting, fast, overflowing with ambition. And you were the one person who kept him grounded when he flew too close to the sun.
Which made losing you feel like the world had gone quiet.
The last day he saw you, you had argued.
Not a screaming fight, just the kind that came from frustration and hurt.
“You’re never home anymore,” you said, eyes tired.
“I’m working for our future,” Ryusui replied, arms crossed.
“I don’t want some huge future if I don’t get you now.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Just give me some time.”
You looked at him like he was slipping away.
“Fine. We will talk later.”
You left.
And he did not follow.
It was the biggest mistake of his life.
You were crossing the street near your apartment when a motorcycle sped through the intersection.
The driver lost control.
There was nothing anyone could do.
Ryusui was in the middle of a meeting when his phone kept buzzing.
Annoyed, he finally answered.
By the time he arrived at the hospital, the world felt unreal.
He laughed when they told him.
Not because it was funny.
Because his mind refused to believe it.
“You’re joking,” he said. “Where is she?”
No one answered.
When the truth finally sank in, his knees hit the floor.
The man who always stood tall suddenly could not hold himself up.
At your funeral, Ryusui did not cry.
He did not smile.
He just stared at your coffin, hearing your last words on repeat.
We will talk later.
Later never came.
After that, everything lost its shine.
The cars he loved felt empty.
The deals he once chased meant nothing.
The world he had wanted to conquer suddenly felt too big without you in it.
Your side of the bed stayed untouched.
He caught himself reaching for you in his sleep.
Your laugh echoed in rooms that felt colder than before.
One night, alone in the apartment, he finally broke.
He sank onto the couch, clutching your jacket to his chest.
“I should have run after you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Tears soaked into the fabric.
“I should have said I was sorry. I should have told you I loved you.”
His voice cracked.
“You always waited for me, and I didn’t wait for you.”
The guilt wrapped around his heart tighter than grief ever could.
Slowly, Ryusui began to change.
Not because the pain faded.
But because he knew you would hate seeing him give up.
He stopped driving recklessly.
Started walking instead, letting himself think.
He visited your grave often, talking to you like you were just away on a trip.
“I’m trying to live better,” he said softly one afternoon. “For you.”
He volunteered at the shelter you loved, even though it broke his heart every time.
He cooked your favorite meals and left an empty chair across from him.
Some nights he laughed at old memories.
Some nights he cried.
Both felt necessary.
“You were my greatest treasure,” he whispered once, staring up at the sky.
“And you always will be.”
Life would never be the same.
But Ryusui learned that loving you meant carrying you forward into every dream, every adventure, every breath.
Synopsis: you find Joel in his workshop leading to a sweet, awkward moment in his workshop where his quiet affection shines brighter than any invention.
Word Count: 820
The workshop smelled like metal and oil, the familiar comfort of Joel Gear’s world.
You stepped inside quietly, careful not to knock over any half-built contraptions scattered around the room. The sound of soft clanking echoed from the back, where Joel stood hunched over his workbench, goggles pushed up into his messy blond hair.
“Joel?” you called gently.
He jolted.
“Wha! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that!” he snapped, nearly dropping the tool in his hand.
“Sorry,” you laughed. “You were super focused.”
“Tch. Focused means not listenin’ for footsteps,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Your eyes wandered and immediately landed on something unfamiliar sitting near the center of the room, covered by a cloth.
“What’s that?” you asked.
He froze.
“That’s uh nothin’. Scrap.”
“Scrap with a cloth over it?”
“…Yeah.”
You didn’t buy it.
Before he could stop you, you lifted the cloth.
Underneath was a beautifully crafted lamp, copper and bronze twisted together in elegant patterns, tiny gears lining the stem like jewelry. The glass shade shimmered with etched designs of stars and moons.
“Oh my gosh…”
Joel rushed over.
“Hey! I wasn’t done showin’ you. I mean it ain’t finished yet!”
You gently touched the switch and the lamp glowed to life, warm light spinning softly as the gears turned.
“It’s amazing,” you whispered.
His ears turned red instantly.
“Y you don’t gotta stare at it like that.”
“You made this?” you asked, already knowing the answer.
“Obviously,” he said quickly. “No one else could pull off that kind of precision.”
Then quieter, “I made it for you.”
Your heart skipped.
“For me?”
“Yeah well you complained about bumpin’ into stuff at night. And torches are unreliable and I figured I could design somethin’ safer.”
He gestured vaguely at it.
“So I did.”
You turned to him with a soft smile.
“That’s really thoughtful, Joel.”
He looked away.
“Tch. It was practical.”
“But you added stars.”
“…I like stars.”
You giggled.
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. His whole body stiffened.
“What are you doin’?”
“Thanking you.”
“…People don’t usually thank with hugging.”
“Well I do.”
There was a pause.
Slowly, awkwardly, Joel’s hands hovered in the air like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go. After a second, he carefully placed one on your back.
“…This okay?”
“Perfect.”
His shoulders relaxed just a bit.
“You’re warm,” he muttered.
“Is that a complaint?”
“No! I mean I wasn’t complainin’. Just observin’.”
You smiled against his chest.
After a moment he cleared his throat.
“There’s uh another thing.”
You pulled back.
“Another surprise?”
“Don’t call it that.”
He walked to his workbench and grabbed a tiny metal object, placing it gently in your hand.
It was a small mechanical bird, detailed with tiny wings and little bead eyes.
“Turn the side,” he instructed.
You did, and the bird fluttered its wings with a soft clicking chirp.
Your eyes lit up.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”
His face went bright red.
“Hey! Don’t say it like that! It’s a precision mechanism!”
“It’s a precision adorable mechanism.”
“Tch.”
But he smiled anyway.
“I made it when I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly. “Kept thinkin’ about how you hum when you’re walkin’ around. Kinda reminded me of a bird.”
Your chest tightened.
“That’s really sweet.”
“Don’t spread that around.”
You laughed.
You sat on a nearby crate while the lamp bathed the workshop in warm light.
“You’re really talented,” you said softly. “And you care a lot more than you pretend.”
He fidgeted with his gloves.
“…I ain’t good with people stuff,” he said. “Machines make sense. They don’t get embarrassed.”
You tilted your head.
“But you do.”
“…Yeah.”
You reached for his hand. He flinched slightly, then let you hold it.
“You’re shaking.”
“I am not.”
“Just a little.”
“…Okay maybe a little.”
You squeezed his hand gently.
“I like that you try.”
He looked at you, eyes softer than usual.
“You’re dangerous,” he muttered. “Make a guy wanna keep buildin’ stuff just to see you smile.”
“That sounds like a good thing.”
“…It is.”
The mechanical bird chirped quietly beside you.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, the warm glow of the lamp making everything feel peaceful.
Joel sat beside you, leaving a small space between you at first, then inching closer like he thought you wouldn’t notice.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly.
“Me too.”
He swallowed.
“…You can keep the lamp. And the bird.”
“Forever?”
“Yeah. Forever.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
He stiffened for half a second.
Then relaxed.
“…Don’t move,” he whispered. “This is nice.”
You smiled.
In a world rebuilt by science, Joel Gear wasn’t just creating machines.
He was slowly, awkwardly building something even better, moments filled with warmth, care, and quiet love.
hi!!! i have an idea for a married bakugo x f!reader fic/oneshot. reader isn't a hero, she can be anything else like a baker or smth idk, but not a hero. bakugo has to leave for a smaller mission before they go to sleep, so he leaves her in bed alone in her pajamas (which is just underwear and one of his shirts) and while he's gone villains break in to like, kidnap her. so they take her to their hideout and put her in a room where they have a few other civilians, including a young kid. and she's just kinda siting in the corner with her legs tucked into the shit curled up. she's scared, but putting on a bit of a brave face especially since there's a kid there, and she tries to reassure everyone that her husband will be on the way. and after a few hours, bakugo gets back to an empty house, messed up a little from her tryna fight back. and he goes crazy and sends everyone out to look for her, and they find the hideout so they do a whole search and theres two groups and the group that isn't bakugo's finds all of you guys, and they're like untying you and the others. and then they lead you all outside to meet up with the other team. mind you, reader is still wearing practically no clothes, so when bakugo pulls up to find her shaking from the cold and fear, and in her most vulnerable state, he's quick to cover her with his body and like, comfort her. that's pretty much just the whole idea. love your writing!!!
I'm Here, I Got You
Katsuki Bakugo x Reader
Synopsis: A late-night call pulls Katsuki Bakugo away from home, leaving you vulnerable to a kidnapping that tests your strength and heart. In the darkness, you hold onto hope, until the sound of heroes and the arms you trust most bring you back.
Word Count: 5,445
The apartment is quiet in the way only late nights ever are.
Not empty, not lonely. Just hushed, like the world has lowered its voice out of respect for the hour. Outside, the city breathes in muted rhythms. Cars pass far below with soft sighs of tires against pavement. Neon signs blink lazily against darkened windows. Somewhere in the distance, a train hums, low and steady, a sound so familiar you barely register it anymore.
Inside, the quiet feels warmer.
The lights are off, but the faint amber glow from a streetlamp filters through the curtains, painting gentle shapes across the walls and ceiling. Shadows stretch lazily, soft around the edges. The air still carries the warmth of Katsuki’s presence, heat soaked into the mattress, into the sheets, into you.
You are curled against his side, tucked into him as if your body has memorized the exact way it belongs there. Your legs are tangled with his beneath the blankets, bare skin pressed to solid muscle and comforting heat. You wear nothing but underwear and one of his old shirts, the fabric worn thin from years of washing. It hangs loosely on you, sleeves swallowing your hands, collar stretched wide and slipping off your shoulder no matter how many times you tug it back into place.
It smells like him.
Soap. Smoke. A faint trace of sweat and metal and something else you have never been able to name, something that settles deep in your chest and makes your shoulders relax without you realizing they were tense. The kind of smell that makes your body believe, without question, that you are safe.
Katsuki’s arm is draped over your waist, heavy and solid even in sleep. His hand rests just above your hip, fingers curled slightly, possessive even unconsciously. His breathing is slow and deep, chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. Every exhale warms your skin.
You trace lazy circles along his forearm with your fingertips, barely awake, barely aware of anything except the steady presence beside you. The world feels small in the best way. Contained. Held.
Sleep creeps up gently.
Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand.
Once.
Your brow furrows faintly as you stir, instinctively pressing closer to him, half dreaming.
It buzzes again.
Katsuki stiffens instantly beneath you.
The shift is immediate. His breathing sharpens. The muscle under your hand tightens. Even half asleep, his body knows.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, voice rough and low as he reaches for the phone.
The glow of the screen cuts sharply through the darkness, harsh against the soft room. It illuminates his face from below, carving shadows along his cheekbones. You blink, eyes adjusting as he squints down at the message. His jaw tightens. That familiar irritation settles in, the one you have seen countless times on the news and in training footage.
You lift your head slightly, resting your chin against his chest. “Mission?” you ask quietly, already knowing the answer.
“Tch. Yeah.” He sits up, mattress shifting as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. “They’re callin’ it small.”
You push yourself up onto one elbow. The blanket slides down your body, and the cool air brushes against your bare skin where his warmth had been. “You just got home,” you murmur. “You were barely asleep.”
“I know.” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to.”
You watch him pull on his pants, movements quick and practiced. There is nothing frantic about him, only efficiency. This is routine for him, even if it never feels like it should be. He grabs a shirt, hesitates, then pulls it on.
He turns back toward you.
Something in his expression shifts. The sharp edge softens, just enough that it feels like it is only meant for you.
“Lock the door,” he says, voice firm now. “Deadbolt. Chain. Don’t open it for anyone.”
“I won’t,” you promise immediately. “I never do.”
He studies your face, like he is committing it to memory all over again. Then he sits on the edge of the bed and leans down until your foreheads touch. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye.
“I’ll be back soon,” he mutters, quieter now. “Go back to sleep.”
“You better,” you whisper.
He huffs softly. “Bossy.”
He kisses your forehead, then your temple, lingering just a second longer than usual. You feel it even after he pulls away, like warmth pressed into your skin.
At the door, his hand pauses on the knob. He glances back at you one more time, eyes softer than he ever lets the world see.
“…Love you.”
“I love you too.”
The door clicks shut.
The sound echoes too loudly.
The apartment feels colder immediately.
You pull the blanket tighter around yourself and lie back down, staring at the ceiling. The glow from outside seems harsher now, shadows longer. You listen to the building settle, to the distant hum of the city, to the quiet where Katsuki should be.
You tell yourself he will be back soon. He always is.
Eventually, exhaustion drags you under.
Sleep comes in fragments.
It shatters too easily.
A sound pulls you back to the surface. Soft. Almost nothing. Something brushing against your awareness without fully waking you.
Your eyes open.
You stay still, breath shallow, listening.
There it is again. A faint scrape. Metal against metal.
Your heart starts racing before your mind catches up.
Slowly, carefully, you sit up. The blanket slides down your lap. The apartment looks the same, unchanged. Too unchanged.
You hold your breath.
Silence stretches thin.
Then a sharp click.
The hallway light turns on.
Your stomach drops.
Before you can react, before your body can move, the front door bursts open. The sound is violent, shattering the quiet. Heavy footsteps rush inside. Voices overlap, low and urgent.
Someone grabs your arm.
You scream.
Instinct takes over. You thrash wildly, nails scraping across skin, your elbow slamming hard into someone’s ribs. You twist and kick, panic fueling strength you did not know you had.
“Damn, she’s fightin’!” someone grunts.
A hand clamps over your mouth, cutting off the sound.
“Shut it.”
You bite down hard, teeth sinking into flesh. A curse erupts. The grip loosens just enough for you to shove someone backward. Something crashes to the floor.
Glass shatters.
Katsuki’s picture frame splinters across the tile.
“Katsuki!” you scream, voice cracking. “Katsuki!”
The name echoes uselessly through the apartment.
Something cold presses against your neck.
Your body reacts before your mind can. Terror spikes, sharp and blinding.
Your limbs go heavy far too fast. Your vision blurs at the edges, lights smearing into streaks. The world tilts violently.
“No, please,” you slur, words thick and slow.
“Night-night.”
Darkness swallows you whole.
When you wake, pain greets you immediately.
Your head throbs, each pulse dull and heavy. Your mouth tastes bitter and dry. Cold seeps into your skin from beneath you.
Concrete.
You blink slowly, eyes burning as they adjust. The room is dim, lit by a single flickering bulb that buzzes faintly overhead. Shadows stretch long and distorted across the walls. The air smells like dust, metal, and oil.
Your wrists burn.
You try to move and realize you cannot.
Your hands are tied behind your back, restraints biting into skin already rubbed raw. Your ankles are bound too, forcing you into an awkward curl on the floor.
Panic wells up in your chest, thick and suffocating.
You force yourself to breathe.
You look around.
There are others here. Civilians. A handful of them, scattered across the space. Some sit slumped against the walls, heads bowed. Some stare blankly ahead, eyes empty. Fear hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste.
In the far corner, away from the rest, sits a kid.
He is small. Too small to be here. Knees pulled tightly to his chest, arms wrapped around himself. His eyes are wide and glossy, darting toward every sound, every shift of shadow. He looks like he is holding himself together by sheer force of will.
Your heart twists painfully.
You inch closer as much as the restraints allow, dragging yourself across the concrete. Your body protests with every movement, but you ignore it. You stop a short distance from him.
“It’s okay,” you whisper gently. “I’m here.”
He flinches, then looks at you. His lip trembles. “I wanna go home.”
“I know,” you murmur softly. “Me too.”
You pause, keeping your voice calm. “What’s your name?”
“…Todo.”
“That’s a good name,” you tell him. “I’m glad you’re sitting near me.”
Laughter echoes outside the door. Loud and careless. Todo jerks violently and reaches out, grabbing the sleeve of Katsuki’s shirt like it is the only solid thing left in the world.
“They won’t come in,” you say quickly. “They’re cowards.”
He sniffs. “How do you know?”
“Because my husband’s a hero.”
His eyes widen. “A real one?”
“One of the strongest,” you promise without hesitation.
Time stretches painfully.
Minutes feel like hours. Your wrists throb. Your legs go numb, then ache as circulation struggles against the restraints. Todo shivers beside you, and you inch closer, pressing your shoulder against his, sharing what little warmth you can.
The lights flicker.
Then they go out completely.
Darkness swallows the room. Someone whimpers. Villains laugh somewhere beyond the door, voices distorted and cruel.
Todo breaks.
He sobs openly now, small shoulders shaking. You lean your forehead gently against his hair.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’ve got you. I won’t leave.”
To keep him focused, to keep him breathing, you start talking.
“I’m a baker,” you tell him softly. “I make cakes and pastries. My shop smells like sugar and butter all the time.”
“…That sounds nice.”
“It is,” you say. “People come from all over Japan. Families. Kids like you.”
“What do you make?”
“Everything,” you answer. “Cakes, cookies, bread. I make the best strawberry shortcake you’ll ever eat.”
He sniffs again. “Me and my friends play heroes.”
“Yeah?” you encourage.
“I’m usually the leader,” he says quietly.
You smile despite the fear. “Of course you are.”
“When we get out of here,” you continue, “I’ll make you sweets. And I’ll bring some heroes by the shop.”
The lights flicker back on, dim but steady.
“I hope we get out soon,” Todo whispers.
“We will,” you promise, voice steady even though your heart is racing.
You were in there for at least twenty four hours if not longer. You had no concept of time as you and the other victims were held captive in the cold dark room. You could hear the villains from behind the door sometimes, but they never came inside. Other than talking and comforting Todo no one else in the room really said anything. They were too afraid that the villains would come in and harm them further
Suddenly everything explodes into noise.
It starts faint at first, distant and muffled, like thunder rolling underground. A low vibration hums through the concrete beneath you, subtle enough that for half a second you wonder if it is just your pulse pounding in your ears.
Then it hits again.
Harder.
The walls shudder. Dust sifts down from the ceiling, drifting through the air in slow, glittering motes. Somewhere above, something crashes violently, followed by shouted orders and the unmistakable sound of impact. Metal screams as it bends. Concrete cracks.
Todo jerks violently beside you, fingers digging into your sleeve.
You freeze, heart slamming against your ribs.
Another explosion rocks the room. This one is closer. The light overhead flickers wildly, dimming until the bulb buzzes in protest. Shouts echo through the building now, clearer, sharper. Voices raised in urgency. In command.
You recognize the difference immediately.
These are not villains.
Todo’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps. His body trembles against yours.
“It’s okay,” you whisper quickly, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Listen to me. That’s them.”
“Who?” he sobs.
“The heroes,” you say softly. “They found us.”
The door rattles violently in its frame as something slams into it from the other side. Cracks spiderweb through the metal. Ice creeps along the edges of the walls, crawling like living frost, sealing exits, cutting off escape routes.
A blast of heat follows instantly after, scorching hot air rushing into the room, evaporating frost into clouds of steam.
Villains shout in panic somewhere nearby.
Then the door does not just open.
It is obliterated.
The explosion is controlled but devastating, ripping the metal clean from its hinges and sending it skidding across the floor. Cold air floods the room, sharp and biting, mixing with smoke and dust.
Silhouetted in the wreckage stands Shoto Todoroki.
Ice spreads outward from his boots, cracking the concrete beneath him, steam rising where fire and frost meet. His expression is calm, almost eerily so, eyes scanning the room in a single sweeping glance that misses nothing.
“You’re safe now,” he says, voice steady and certain.
Relief crashes into you so hard it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.
Behind him, more figures move in fast. Pro heroes flood the space with practiced efficiency. Aizawa’s capture weapon snaps outward, binding struggling villains before they can even react. Endeavor’s flames burn controlled and precise, herding enemies away from civilians. Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder by the second.
Todo clings to you, sobbing openly now, fear giving way to overwhelming relief. You lean into him, pressing your forehead to his hair.
“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You did so good. You were so brave.”
Heroes fan out across the room. One kneels in front of you, already reaching for the restraints binding your wrists.
“This might hurt,” he warns gently.
You nod, jaw clenched.
The moment the rope is cut, pain explodes through your arms. Blood rushes back too fast, needles of agony shooting from your wrists to your shoulders. You gasp sharply, swaying as dizziness washes over you.
Strong hands steady you immediately.
“I’ve got you,” the hero says. “Easy.”
Your ankles are freed next. You try to stand and nearly collapse. The world tilts dangerously.
Another pair of arms catches you.
You are guided out slowly, carefully, into the night.
Cold air slams into you like a wall.
Police lights flash red and blue across the street, painting everything in harsh color. Villains are shoved into the backs of transport vehicles, shouting protests drowned out by the chaos of the scene. Medics rush past with stretchers. Heroes bark orders into comms.
You suddenly feel unbearably aware of yourself.
Bare legs. Katsuki’s shirt hanging too loosely from your shoulders. The thin fabric offers little protection against the cold or the dozens of eyes around you.
Your arms wrap around your torso instinctively.
A shadow falls over you.
“Here.”
A blanket is draped firmly around your shoulders, thick and warm, tucking around you with surprising gentleness.
You look up.
Shoto stands in front of you, gaze respectfully averted.
“Thank you,” you murmur, voice small.
He nods once. “Medical will want to check you.”
You nod, but your eyes are already searching the chaos desperately.
You spot Todo nearby, wrapped in a blanket of his own, a medic crouched in front of him. He looks up when he sees you and his face lights up despite the tears.
He waves.
You wave back, heart squeezing painfully.
Then you hear it.
Your name.
Not shouted.
Not screamed.
Spoken with pure, unfiltered panic.
Your head snaps toward the sound.
“Katsuki!”
He bursts out of the building like a force of nature.
His uniform is scorched and torn, blood streaked across one cheek, gauntlets smoking faintly. His eyes are wild, scanning frantically until they lock onto you.
The moment he sees you, something in him breaks.
He runs.
He shoves past medics and officers without even noticing them. Someone yells his name, but he does not slow down.
“Hey,” he calls, voice cracking. “Hey, look at me.”
You barely have time to turn before he is there.
“Katsuki,” you sob.
The sound wrecks him.
He grabs you, hands shaking as they cup your face, your shoulders, your back, like he needs to feel you everywhere at once to be sure you are real.
“I’ve got you,” he says hoarsely. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Your legs give out.
He catches you instantly, lifting you off the ground and crushing you against his chest. You cling to him, fists twisting into his uniform as the fear finally pours out of you in broken sobs.
He holds you like he might never let go.
His body turns instinctively, shielding you from view. He adjusts the blanket around you, pulling it higher, tighter, making sure you are completely covered. His entire frame blocks you from the world.
“No one’s lookin’ at you,” he mutters fiercely. “No one.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.
“Are you hurt?” he demands softly. “Where did they touch you?”
“My wrists,” you whisper. “I’m just cold. I was so scared.”
“Tch.” His jaw clenches. “I know. I know.”
He wraps the blanket tighter and tucks your face into his neck, warm and familiar. You breathe him in desperately, grounding yourself in the smell of smoke and sweat and home.
“I told them you’d come,” you murmur weakly. “I told a kid. Todo.”
His arms tighten.
“A kid?” His voice drops dangerously. “Where is he?”
You lift your head slightly and point. “Over there. He was really brave.”
Katsuki looks. Sees the boy. Sees the medics. His jaw tightens, then he nods once.
“Good,” he says quietly. “He won’t have to be brave like that again.”
He shifts you carefully, lifting you fully into his arms like you weigh nothing.
“You’re comin’ with me,” he says firmly. “I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight.”
You rest your head against his chest, exhaustion finally crashing over you now that you are safe.
“You’re not leaving me again,” you murmur.
“Not a fuckin’ chance,” he answers instantly. “You’re stuck with me.”
He presses a kiss into your hair, lingering, protective, desperate.
Held against him, wrapped in warmth, surrounded by flashing lights and chaos that no longer touches you, you finally let your body relax.
Hi everyone I'm sorry to have to write such a formal message instead of my usual posts but something was brought to my attention that needs to be addressed.
I will NEVER ask you for any sort of money, funding, or any personal information.
Somebody seems to be pretending to be me and reaching out to those who follow me for such things. I'm trying to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible and I'm sorry that this is happening. Remember to keep all personal information to yourself as you never know who will gain access to all of your information and use it for bad intentions.
HEYYYY LULU I have a request! Pretty please could you write a story about Senku and/or Ryusui with a partner that’s going through really terrible period cramps? Maybe doubling over after trying to deal with it and they make them rest? You could include them having endometriosis if you want to! Thank you!!! ps sorry I noticed you just posted a Senku and Ryusui fic so I hope this is ok still 🫶
AN: hi love! I wrote this in more of a modern, non stone age AU because I thought it would fit better. I hope you don't mind
Ishigami Senku x Reader
Word Count: 578
You had been pretending all morning.
Pretending that the stabbing in your pelvis was not bad. Pretending that you were not sweating through your shirt from the waves of pain. Pretending your legs weren't shaking every time you stood. Pretending you were not about to cry in the middle of the lab Senku shared with you at the university.
And Senku, who was always observant and always annoyingly perceptive, had allowed you to pretend up until the moment you nearly collapsed.
He was scribbling equations across the whiteboard when he heard your quiet, shaky breath. You doubled over at the lab table, one hand braced against the metal surface, the other pressed weakly to your lower abdomen.
Senku didn't hesitate.
“Sit,” he said immediately. His tone was flat but firm, leaving no room for argument.
You tried to wave him off. “It is fine. I'm just cramping a little. It's not a big deal.”
“Your pain response is not mild,” he countered, already moving toward you. “Your pupils are dilated. Your skin is clammy. And you only say you are fine in that tone when you're definitely not fine.”
He guided you to the rolling lab chair. He didn't quite touch you, but he hovered with a level of concern that almost made your eyes sting.
You sank down with a shaky exhale.
Senku crouched in front of you so he could meet your eyes. His voice softened slightly. With him, even the smallest shift in tone was meaningful.
“Is it your usual pain, or worse?”
You swallowed. “Worse. It's pretty bad today.”
Senku nodded once, already recalibrating his internal variables.
“Endometriosis flare?” he asked.
“Probably.”
He stood in one smooth motion. “Then we're not staying here.”
“Senku, you don't have to take care of me like this.”
“I'm not letting my partner push through a pain level that clinically resembles organ distress,” he said while packing up his tablet and notebooks with quick, precise gestures. “Of course I have to.”
You groaned softly. “Did you memorize pain scales again?”
“Several,” he said as he slung your bag over his shoulder. “And you are currently presenting at least a six point five. Possibly a seven considering you can't fully straighten your spine.”
You hadn't even realized, but he always did.
Senku came back to your side. “Can you walk, or should I carry you?”
Your cheeks warmed. “I can walk.”
He raised a brow. “You didn't deny the second option.”
“Senku.”
He gave one small, amused twist of his lips. “Alright, walking it is, slowly.”
He stayed beside you the entire way back to your shared apartment, adjusting his long strides to your careful steps.
Once inside, he immediately shifted into problem solving mode.
“Lie down,” he instructed, placing your weighted blanket over you. “Heat will improve circulation.”
Within a minute he had warmed a heating pad, set a large glass of water beside your bed, and prepared two anti inflammatories.
He sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead with gentle precision.
“I can't fix the underlying cause,” he murmured, “but I can reduce your suffering.”
You caught his hand. “You help more than you think.”
He squeezed your fingers once.
“Rest. I'll stay right here.”
And he did. His hand remained over yours until your breathing finally steadied and the worst of the pain eased.
Ryusui Nanami x Reader
Word Count: 495
Ryusui Nanami had a flair for dramatic entrances.
Unfortunately, your uterus had terrible timing.
You were curled on the couch in his penthouse, wrapped in blankets, when he burst in with his usual confident energy. His coat was slung over one shoulder, his grin bright.
“Darling. I have returned, triumphant and ready to sweep you off your feet.”
He froze mid stride.
Because you were not smiling. You were not teasing him. You were hunched forward, face tight with pain.
Ryusui changed instantly.
His confidence melted, replaced by focused worry. He crossed the room quickly and dropped to one knee in front of you.
“Hey. Talk to me. What happened?”
You tried to laugh it off. “Just bad cramps.”
His eyes sharpened. “Not just. You look like you're barely holding yourself upright.”
“It's an endo flare,” you admitted. “A bad one.”
Ryusui cursed softly, a rare slip. He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your skin.
“How long?”
“Since this morning.”
“And you didn't call me?” he asked with a quiet ache in his voice. “I want to be here for you.”
Before you could respond, he slid one arm under your legs and another around your back.
“Ryusui,” you yelped as he lifted you effortlessly. “You don't have to carry me.”
“But I want to,” he said, carrying you to the bedroom with surprising gentleness. “Let me take care of you, my treasure, please.”
He set you on the bed as if you were something incredibly fragile, then tucked you in carefully.
“I'll get you tea,” he said while moving toward the kitchen. “And the heating pad. And your favorite snacks. And—”
“Ryusui,” you said quietly. “Just sit with me for a moment.”
He stopped immediately, then returned to the bed. He climbed in behind you and drew you back against his chest. His arms wrapped around your middle, palms warm against your abdomen.
“There we go,” he murmured. “Lean on me. I have you.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple.
“I hate that you are hurting,” he whispered. “If there were a way to buy this pain out of existence, I would do it without hesitation.”
“I know,” you breathed.
He held you close and swayed you gently, calming your trembling breaths.
Once your pain finally eased enough for your body to relax, he spoke softly into your shoulder.
“When this flare is over, I am taking you on a beautiful getaway. Somewhere warm. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere you can breathe without forcing yourself to be strong.”
You laughed quietly. “You make it sound like a business arrangement.”
“Everything is a deal,” he replied, tightening his arms around you. “And this one benefits me too.”
“How so?”
“I get more time with you.”
You sank back into his warmth, the ache still present but easier to bear with him holding you.
And true to his nature, Ryusui remained with you until your pain loosened its grip.
Hi everyone! I just updated all my masterlists so all the fics for each series should be in there. It is possible I missed some so please let me know if I did or if a link doesn't work!
Synopsis: After years of pro hero work, Bakugo notices the subtle changes in his body and wonders if you still see him the way you once did. A quiet morning turns into an unexpectedly vulnerable moment that reminds him love does not fade with time.
Word Count: 900
Bakugo didn't usually stare at himself in the mirror.
Sure, he checked his gear before patrols, adjusted his gauntlets, maybe grumbled about his hair being too damn fluffy today, but lingering in front of the bathroom mirror was not his style. Not when he had better things to do, like complain about paperwork or pretend he wasn't waiting for you to wake up just so he could see you first thing in the morning.
But today, for some reason, he was quiet.
You noticed immediately. The steam from your shared shower still curled around the room, clinging to his skin as he stood in front of the mirror with only a towel slung low around his hips. His brows were drawn together, hard enough to carve a canyon between them. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then planted his hands on the counter like he was trying to intimidate his own reflection.
"You good?" you asked from the bed, stretching under the sheets.
"Tch. Of course I am." His eyes did not leave the mirror. "Just checking something."
You pushed yourself upright. Bakugo Katsuki was many things: loud, explosive, annoyingly good looking, and mostly allergic to introspection. So the fact that he was staring himself down like he was about to pick a fight with himself was suspicious.
"What are you checking?" you asked lightly.
His jaw flexed. "Nothing. Drop it."
Which, of course, meant do not drop it.
He let out a rough breath, the kind he only made when something was actually bothering him. Then he muttered, barely audible:
"You still find me attractive?"
You blinked. "Huh?"
He bristled instantly. "Forget it. Didn't say anything. You're hearing things again."
You slid off the bed. "Katsuki."
"What?" He still would not look at you.
You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. He went stiff as a board.
He muttered again, a little louder, as if the words physically pained him. "My body's different, I know that, I'm not an idiot." His eyes flicked over his own reflection with barely concealed irritation. "Used to be more cut in high school. Had time to train every damn day. Now it's hero work, meetings, patrol leaders nagging at me about damage reports, you stealing the covers. You are lucky you are cute by the way."
"So that's what this is about?" you teased, lips brushing his shoulder. "You think I don't find you sexy anymore?"
His ears went red instantly. "I didn't, that's not, Shut the hell up!"
You snorted softly. "Katsuki, you literally asked me."
"Yeah and I said forget it" he barked, embarrassment making him harsher than usual. He turned his head away sharply. "It's stupid. I'm not talking about this."
"No" you said, grasping his arm and turning him around, making him face you instead of his reflection. "You're talking about it."
His eyes darted away, lashes lowering. A rare vulnerability flickered across his features, fragile and fleeting.
You softened. "Hey" you murmured, sliding your hands up his chest. "Look at me."
He hesitated, but he did.
Those eyes. Still the same burning red that used to make your heart race when you were teenagers. They were softer now, but not any less intense.
"Katsuki," you said gently, "you are not any less attractive than you were when I met you."
He huffed. "You're just saying that."
"No" you corrected, tugging him a little closer, "I'm telling the truth. You are still ridiculously strong. Still stupidly handsome, and your body?" You let your palms smooth down his sides, over the curve of muscle softened by years of work, stress, living. "Your body is so sexy, Katsuki. I love it. I love you."
His face exploded in color. "Don't say it like that, dumbass."
You grinned. "Why? Does it make you blush?"
"I am not blushing" he snapped instantly, which would have been more convincing if the tips of his ears were not practically glowing.
"You are totally blushing."
"Shut up."
You cupped his face in both hands, forcing him to stop trying to turn away. "Listen to me. I loved you when we were kids. I loved you when you were all sharp lines and pure attitude. And I love you now, stronger, steadier, and more comfortable in your own skin. I love every version of you. Nothing you look like could ever change that."
His eyes widened, a breath caught in his throat.
Then he scowled, but it cracked down the middle, softened by the way he leaned forward until your foreheads touched.
"You're such a damn sap," he muttered.
"You married me" you reminded him lightly.
"Worst decision of my life" he grumbled.
You kissed him. Soft at first. Then firmer when he melted just slightly, his hands sliding up your back with instinct he would never admit to having.
When you pulled away, his eyes were molten.
"But you still think I'm attractive?" he asked quietly.
Your smile was warm and immediate. "Katsuki, I think you are breathtaking."
He let out a tiny, strangled noise. Then:
"Tch. Whatever." He tried to push past you, but you caught his hand. He did not pull away.
Synopsis: After a night of raw honesty, Bakugo and the you have to learn how to navigate the fragile space between you, discovering a closeness neither of you know how to name yet.
Word Count: 3,230
The silence that followed you out of the dorm kitchen the night before had a strange weight to it. You’d never yelled at Bakugo before. You didn’t yell at anyone. The words had spilled out too quickly, too raw, like you’d been holding them in your chest for years. It made you feel exposed in a way you hated.
You spent the rest of the night curled under your blankets, lights off, trying to breathe slowly enough to settle your quirk. Losing control terrified you more than anything, even when it was just your emotions.
Bakugo had gone quiet last night. Really quiet. Not because he was angry, but because something you said had hit him hard. Hard enough to shut him up.
By the next afternoon, you still hadn’t spoken to him. Not a word. When you passed through the common room that morning, he’d been sitting with his breakfast, staring hard at his plate like it had personally offended him. He didn’t look at you directly, which was strange. Bakugo always looked at you. Especially if you were training with someone else.
Especially Todoroki.
But today, he was stubbornly focused anywhere except on you, even though you could feel his awareness tugging toward you the entire time.
You planned to avoid him. For the whole day if you could. But that evening, when you walked into the common room with a book tucked under your arm, your feet stopped.
Bakugo was already there.
He was slouched on the couch in gray sweatpants and a sleeveless shirt, an open notebook balanced on his knee. His pencil scratched across the page in short, irritated strokes. Even from across the room, you could see he was tense.
The moment he noticed you, he sat up straighter.
Your heart skipped. You turned halfway back toward the hall, but his voice caught you.
“Hey.”
It wasn’t loud or annoyed. It was rough, like he’d swallowed gravel.
You turned slowly. He exhaled in frustration, like your hesitation offended him.
“I wasn’t done talking last night.”
You walked closer but stayed standing near the arm of the couch. “We talked enough.”
“No. You yelled at me and then walked out.”
“You deserved it.”
“I know.”
Your breath caught. Bakugo admitting anything was rare. Admitting that? Almost impossible.
He nodded toward the couch. “Sit.”
It wasn’t gentle. It was more like a command he softened just a little for you.
You sat, but noticeably with space between you, your book resting in your lap. Bakugo shut his notebook.
“I shouldn’t have said that crap during training,” he muttered. “The stuff about you holding back.”
You didn’t answer. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “And I still don’t. But I get that it wasn’t my place.”
It was the closest he could get to an apology without actually giving one. You felt your chest loosen.
“I wasn’t angry because you insulted me,” you said. “I was angry because you acted like you understood something you don’t.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “Then tell me.”
You flinched. “I can’t.”
“Not all of it. Just something.” His voice softened by a fraction. “Give me something so I stop talking about stuff I shouldn’t.”
You looked down at your hands.
“I hurt someone once,” you whispered. “Badly. I lost control. I thought I had it. I always think I have it. But something went wrong.”
Bakugo’s entire body stilled.
“And after that,” you continued, “I promised myself I’d never let it happen again. So I don’t push myself. I don’t risk it. I don’t ever want to feel that fear again.”
Bakugo didn’t interrupt. He didn’t react. He just listened.
“I don’t talk about it,” you said softly. “Because if I do, then I have to think about it.”
He nodded once. “I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“And I’m not saying sorry,” he muttered. “Because that’s not what you want.”
You let out a quiet breath. He was right.
“But I won’t pretend I get it,” he added. “Not anymore.”
You relaxed slightly, and he noticed, even though he didn’t comment.
A gentle silence settled between you, strangely comfortable.
“Why were you jealous?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
Bakugo whipped his head toward you. “I wasn’t.”
You arched a brow.
He scowled. “Shut up.”
You bit back a smile.
He looked away, ears faintly pink. “I just don’t like when other people get what I want first.”
Your heart skipped. “What do you want?”
Bakugo went absolutely still.
“Training,” he said quickly. “I meant training.”
Neither of you believed that. Neither of you said anything.
Bakugo shifted, and the couch dipped slightly. You didn’t touch, but the proximity felt different now. Warmer somehow. Charged.
“Hey,” he said after a moment, voice softer.
You turned toward him.
“I meant what I said. About… waiting. I can wait for you to tell me stuff. You don’t gotta rush.”
Your breath caught. Bakugo, waiting. For you.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
His jaw worked a little. “For what.”
“For trying. Even if you’re bad at it.”
His lips twitched, like he wanted to smile but physically refused to let it appear.
Then he nodded toward your book. “You gonna read or not.”
“Are you asking?” you asked.
“No. I’m telling you to.”
You huffed out a quiet laugh and opened your book.
This time, instead of moving closer, Bakugo made a different choice. One that was more him.
He didn’t inch toward you. He didn’t try to brush hands. Instead, he shifted his notebook so he was angled in your direction, like he wanted to be close without actually doing something embarrassing.
The space stayed between you.
But the energy didn’t.
You could feel him there. Not touching. Just existing beside you in a way that was strangely comforting, like the quiet between you was something only you two knew how to share.
After a long stretch of silence, you whispered, “Katsuki.”
He inhaled sharply, eyes flicking up from his notebook. Color rose across his cheeks.
“Don’t just say it like that,” he muttered. “It’s annoying.”
“You like it,” you said quietly.
He didn’t look at you. “Didn’t say that.”
But he didn’t tell you to stop either.
The hours passed quietly. Peacefully. You read. He wrote. Sometimes your shoulders angled slightly toward one another, sometimes your feet brushed the edge of the carpet at the same rhythm.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing big.
Just comfortable.
For the first time, being near him didn’t feel like a battlefield.
Eventually, you stood to leave. “I’m going to bed.”
Bakugo looked up a second too fast. “Hey.”
You paused.
“If you ever wanna talk to someone,” he said, voice low and sincere, “you can come to me.”
Your throat tightened.
“Goodnight, Katsuki.”
He turned bright red. “Yeah. Night.”
You walked away with a warmth in your chest that wasn’t fear this time.
Bakugo stayed on the couch long after you left, staring at the space where you’d been sitting, looking like the smallest, nearly invisible smile was threatening to appear.
AN: let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
Ryusui and senku headcanons of how they will attend their lover's funeral wearing the suit they married them in (omg I can't imagine this is too sad 😭)
The Suit That Doesn’t Fit Anymore
Senku Ishigami
Word Count: 1,660
Senku had always despised formal wear.
Too stiff. Too constricting. Zero scientific benefit.
He had joked once, only half joking, that scientists should be legally exempt from collars tighter than a centimeter. You had laughed and told him he looked handsome when he suffered a little.
But every time some unavoidable ceremony rolled around, you would appear in the doorway with that patient, knowing look. Hands on your hips. Already deciding which tie would not clash with his hair. Already ready to fix the collar he always messed up.
You would mutter, “Come here, genius, you look like you're trying to strangle yourself,” and he would grumble about the inefficiency of buttons while stepping forward without hesitation.
He pretended to resist, but the truth was simple.
He liked when you fussed over him.
Liked the familiar press of your fingers tapping lightly against his throat as you straightened the knot.
Liked the way your brows furrowed with concentration, as if fixing his appearance was its own little science.
But today, the doorway was empty.
And today, he was alone with a suit that should have never been taken out of its box again.
The dry cleaners had ruined the other one. Some absurd chemical mishap he had not bothered to investigate, because analyzing it would require more emotional energy than he had to spare. The thought of running tests on fabric while your absence gnawed holes through his rationality felt unbearable.
So here he was, forced to wear this one.
The one you married him in.
He remembered the day you had surprised him by pulling the suit from its hanger and giving it a critical once-over before smoothing the lapels with your palms.
“It fits you perfectly,” you had said, beaming with a softness he could never put into words.
And just before the ceremony, in that quiet moment no one else saw, you leaned close and whispered, “Senku, you clean up surprisingly well.”
He scoffed. And blushed. Violently.
Now, the jacket no longer sat right.
Maybe it had shrunk. Maybe his posture had changed.
Maybe grief reshaped a person.
He tried to fasten the top button, but his fingers kept slipping.
Sweat. Tremors. Something worse.
“…tch. Useless,” he muttered, his breath hitching.
He hated the sound. It did not sound like him. It sounded fragile.
The tie would not sit straight.
The collar kept flipping.
His hands were not steady enough to make anything cooperate.
His chest tightened, and his mind, usually a calm and structured machine, felt choked with static.
Without thinking, he reached for his phone, the action so ingrained it bypassed rational thought.
“Hey, Y/N, can you…”
He froze.
The air around him went silent.
So brutally silent that it rang.
He felt it in his teeth.
There was no answer.
There would never be an answer.
Your contact photo, taken by you while laughing at something he said, smiled up at him like nothing had changed. Like time had not been cruel enough to tear you away.
Slowly, his hand fell.
“…right. You can’t.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, forehead pressed against the heel of his palm.
The world tilted slightly.
His breathing was wrong, too shallow and too quick.
He hated the feeling.
Hated the lack of control.
Hated that he could not process the loss like an equation with clear steps.
His eyes fell to the ring on his finger. Still there. Still shining faintly.
He twisted it once, twice. The metal was warm from his skin.
“Guess I’m still an idiot,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Still waiting for you to fix my collar.”
He tried again to get dressed. He forced his breathing into calculated intervals. He guided his hands through muscle memory rather than stability.
But his shoulders shook too much to keep the buttons lined up.
A sound escaped him, soft and sharp and unfamiliar.
A strangled, broken inhale.
He had not cried at the hospital.
He had not cried while planning the service.
He had not cried when everyone told him they believed you would not want him to be sad.
But now, alone, holding the tie you had tied for him on your wedding day, something finally broke.
His tears hit the fabric and darkened it.
“…dammit.”
He pressed the tie against his forehead, hoping to absorb some piece of you from it.
Hoping your warmth lingered there still.
“It’s just a stupid formal event,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “You always handled this stuff. I don’t… I don’t know how to do it without you.”
His voice fell to a whisper.
“I don’t know how to do anything without you.”
Even so, he forced himself to stand.
You had always loved his strength.
He had promised you, quietly and in the dark after the machines stopped, that he would survive this even if it broke him.
He put on the suit that no longer fit.
He fixed the tie as best he could.
He wiped his face with his sleeve even though you would have scolded him for it.
When he finally walked out of the house, he whispered into the quiet morning,
“Let’s get this over with, Y/N. I will try not to embarrass you.”
He did not look back.
He could not.
If he did, he knew he would not be able to take another step.
A Man Meant to Shine
Ryusui Nanami
Word Count: 1,430
Ryusui Nanami was not a man who faltered.
He was the type who smiled in the face of storms.
Who charmed entire rooms with a wink.
Who turned even tragedy into momentum.
He once said grief was just another wave to surf.
You had laughed and called him dramatic.
But today, his shine felt dimmed.
Not gone, never gone.
Simply muted.
As if grief had placed a hand on his throat and said, “You will move slower today.”
He stood before the mirror and stared at the suit.
The suit.
The one he married you in.
White. Tailored perfectly.
Adorned with subtle gold embroidery that caught the light every time he moved.
It was a suit built for a spotlight, made for triumph, designed for a man who refused to be anything less than radiant.
He had chosen it because it made you gasp and touch his cheek.
You had whispered, “You look like you stepped out of a painting…”
He had smirked and replied with his trademark confidence, “…I look worthy of you, my darling. That is all that matters.”
Now he traced the lapel with his fingertips. His hand slowed when it reached the faint scuff at the seam.
You had pulled him close by that very spot during the photos, tugging him in for one more kiss.
The memory stung.
Scent and memory wrapped around him like a fog.
The way you straightened his collar.
The way your fingers trembled as you slid the ring onto his finger.
The way his pulse thundered like a boy in love for the first time.
He put the jacket on.
It still hugged him flawlessly.
Of course it did.
Ryusui took care of his things.
He took care of everything.
Except this.
Except you.
He could not shield you from the one fate that charm, wealth, and determination could never bend.
His jaw tightened as he adjusted the golden cufflinks.
You had given them to him the morning of the wedding.
He remembered your fingers lingering on his wrist as you told him, “I wanted you to have something that would stay with you. Always.”
He had kissed your forehead then. He had joked that you had secured your claim on the great Ryusui Nanami.
He was not laughing now.
His reflection blurred. His eyes burned. Water threatened to spill.
He blinked hard.
“No,” he whispered. “Not yet.”
He smoothed his hair back, arranging every strand with precision.
But the difference was visible.
A faint slackness in his posture.
A tremor he tried to hide.
The exhaustion grief had etched into his bones.
A soft knock came from the doorway.
“Sir, the car is ready.”
Ryusui swallowed. Something jagged settled in his throat.
“Good,” he murmured.
He reached for the small bouquet he had arranged.
Not extravagant or showy.
Simple. Elegant. Sincere.
Exactly what you would have chosen.
It felt heavier than it looked.
As he stepped to the doorway, he paused and gripped the frame.
His knuckles went white.
“It should have been me walking into another party with you on my arm,” he said quietly.
“Not this.”
His breath trembled.
“But I will send you off the way you deserve. With style. With brilliance. With love.”
He straightened just enough to resemble himself again, even if it felt like a performance.
Ryusui Nanami had always dazzled any room he entered.
Even if today, shining hurt.
When he arrived at your funeral, all eyes turned to him.
He looked ethereal.
Tragic.
Beautiful.
A man cut from grief and gold.
He approached your photograph and let his fingertip brush the frame.
His breath shook.
He leaned in, as if trying to feel your warmth through the glass.
“I promised I would love you boldly,” he whispered.
“So I will grieve you boldly too.”
His voice cracked, but he did not look away.
“And I will keep shining, Y/N. For you. Because you lit me up first.”
He placed the bouquet beside your urn, gentle as if placing something priceless.
For the first time in his life, Ryusui bowed his head.
Not out of arrogance.
Not out of confidence.
But out of devotion.
And the room, seeing a man born to command light now standing swallowed by shadow, held still.
AN: stop I saw this request and set aside all other work to write it immediately.
What if senku and reader's child got poisoned or somehow got into a life or death situation (maybe that led to their pulse and breathing to stop) and how would senku react? and how would he calm reader down because they are crying and worried for their child?
Their child is really young (maybe 5-7) years old
Can you pleaseee make it angst :3 and thank you!
The Space Where Fear Lives
Synopsis: You quickly realize how fast your day can be ruined when your son suddenly has a severe reaction to something you're unaware of. You and Senku must preserve in this stressful situation, as your son's life depends on it.
Word Count: 1440
TW: blood, loss of pulse, shock, anaphylaxis, hospitals
AN: I do use y/n a few times and a lot of dashes to show like interjections and add some dramatics (please don't beat me up I know how people get when em dashes are involved)
The afternoon had been peaceful.
Warm sunlight through the windows. The quiet hum of Senku tinkering in his home lab. Your son, Byakuya, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, munching happily on the trail mix you had just bought.
You were rinsing a dish in the kitchen when you heard a strange cough.
At first you thought nothing.
Then another cough. Harder. Wet.
“Mom…?”
Something in his voice sliced clean through the air.
You turned and all the color drained from your body.
Byakuya was hunched forward, gripping his throat with both hands, chest expanding desperately as he tried to inhale. His little face was red, eyes wide with terror. He gasped again, sharp, wheezing, and a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
The plate slipped from your hands and shattered on the floor.
“Senku!” your voice broke like glass. “Senku!”
He was already running.
One glance, one single look at your son, and Senku’s entire expression shifted. His pupils blown wide, breath catching, mind working in frantic calculations even as fear cracked straight through his ribs.
“(Y/N). Step aside.”
He didn’t yell it. He didn’t have to.
His voice was razor-focused in the way only Senku could manage when confronted with his own nightmare.
Byakuya coughed violently, more blood appearing.
You screamed.
Senku grabbed a towel, gently wiping the blood away as he ran his fingers along the boy’s jawline, checking swelling, checking airway, checking everything at once.
“Throat constriction… hives… respiratory collapse onset…” he muttered rapidly, then:
“Damn it, this is anaphylaxis. Severe.”
The world tilted.
You staggered back, hands trembling uncontrollably. “Anaphylaxis? But—he doesn’t— we didn’t know—”
“We didn’t,” Senku snapped sharply, voice tight with emotion he couldn’t afford to let through yet. “But right now, he’s crashing.”
Byakuya gagged, choking on his own saliva, and suddenly slumped sideways.
Senku caught him instantly.
“(Y/N), CALL AN AMBULANCE. NOW.”
You scrambled to your phone, fingers barely working, a scream tearing from your throat when Byakuya shuddered violently, and then went limp.
Blood pooled in his mouth again.
Senku swore under his breath and immediately rolled him onto his side.
Senku mumbled under his breath, running possible at home treatments he could think of. Hewhispered urgently, supporting his head. “Come on, little man.”
When you looked back, he was pressing his ear to Byakuya’s chest.
His eyes widened.
“His breathing is obstructed,shallow, no, no, no. Don’t do this, Byakuya. Not now. Not to me…”
Your heart shattered.
“Senku?”
He turned him gently onto his back, checking for a pulse... and his face went pale.
You’d seen Senku calm during emergencies, during difficult times, during injuries.
But this?
This was different.
This was Senku’s nightmare made real.
“(Y/N)… he’s not breathing.”
The words didn’t seem real.
He immediately positioned his hands over Byakuya’s tiny sternum.
“I’ve got him,” Senku said quickly, terrified, determined. “I’ve got him. Count compressions, thirty-two breaths, keep his airway open, come on, kiddo—”
He began chest compressions, voice strained with every push.
“One… two… three… breathe, damn it, breathe—”
You sobbed into your phone, screaming the address at the dispatcher, begging them to hurry.
Byakuya’s head rolled slightly with each compression, his tiny hands limp at his sides. His lips were turning purple.
Senku’s voice cracked.
“You still have to grow up and surpass me, remember?” A desperate laugh escaped him, pained, wet. “You promised that, you little brat. You don’t get to break that promise now.”
No response.
Your knees gave out.
“Senku, please… please save him!”
“I’m trying!” he snapped, not at you, but at the unbearable horror of your child not responding. “I am trying. I am not losing my son today.”
Chest compressions continued, unnervingly steady, but Senku’s voice trembled now.
Then a weak, tiny sputtering breath.
Followed by a cough.
Then another.
Byakuya jerked suddenly, gasping, air dragging painfully back into his lungs.
Senku exhaled so shakily it broke your heart anew.
“There you go, there you go,” Senku whispered, pulling him up against his chest, supporting him carefully. “Atta boy, breathe for me, steady, you’re okay.”
You crawled to them, sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping your arms around them both as sirens wailed in the distance.
Senku held you tightly to his side with one arm while keeping Byakuya upright with the other, whispering quietly into the boy’s hair.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”
By the time paramedics rushed in, Byakuya was breathing, but barely, and Senku refused to let go until they forcibly guided him back to give them space.
“He stopped breathing for seventy seconds,” Senku said, voice flat but shaking beneath. “He needs epinephrine, airway monitoring, the whole protocol. Now.”
They worked quickly, confirming the signs, administering medication.
And soon Byakuya stabilized.
But you were still trembling violently.
Byakuya slept peacefully, tiny chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm that felt like the greatest sound in the world.
You and Senku sat beside the bed.
Your hand on your son’s.
His hand on yours.
Finally, the doctor spoke softly.
“He experienced a severe anaphylactic reaction. The epinephrine we administered and the CPR you gave him bought him crucial time.”
“We didn’t have Epi at home,” you whispered, voice still hoarse. “Senku, my husband… he… he had to do everything,”
The doctor nodded.
“Many parents don’t realize their child has a food allergy until a reaction like this. Based on the tests we ran today, your son is allergic to cashews. Strongly allergic.”
You sobbed quietly.
Senku’s thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand.
“We highly recommend having him undergo a full diagnostic allergy panel,” the doctor continued. “It’s possible he may have additional sensitivities.”
Your chest squeezed painfully.
“We also sent in a prescription for an epinephrine auto-injector to your pharmacy. Two, actually. One for home. One to carry.”
Senku nodded, eyes dark and serious. “We’ll keep them on us at all times.”
“Good,” the doctor said warmly. “You both did everything right. You saved his life.”
You broke.
Completely.
The doctor excused herself gently, letting the room fall silent.
Senku turned toward you.
You couldn’t look at him. You stared at your hands instead, stained with dried tears, tiny smears of your son’s blood.
“I’m a terrible mother.” Your voice splintered.
Senku’s head snapped up.
“Don’t,” he said sharply, and then softened his tone, moving to kneel in front of you. “Don’t you dare say that.”
“I-I gave him the food that almost killed him,” you whispered. “I didn’t recognize anything. I froze. You had to do everything. Senku, I was useless—”
He took both your hands, bringing them to his chest.
“You weren’t useless,” he said quietly, too quietly. “You were scared. And that’s normal. That’s human.”
You shook your head, tears falling again. “You saved him. If you hadn’t been there—”
“Then you would’ve called the ambulance sooner,” he interrupted gently. “You would’ve held him. You would’ve kept him conscious. You would’ve done exactly what he needed.”
You closed your eyes, voice breaking. “I was so scared…”
His forehead leaned against yours.
“I was too,” he whispered. “Terrified, (Y/N). When he stopped breathing—”
His voice cracked.
He swallowed hard.
“I felt like the floor disappeared under me.”
He brushed a trembling hand through your hair, tucking a strand gently behind your ear.
“But he’s alive because we fought for him together. Don’t take all the blame onto yourself. You don’t deserve it.”
You looked down at Byakuya, safe and sleeping.
Senku followed your gaze, then placed his hand lightly atop yours.
“He’s okay,” Senku murmured. “He’s okay. And from now on, we’ll have Epinephrine. We’ll have testing. We’ll know every allergy and every protocol.”
His voice softened to a whisper.
“You’re an incredible mother. And I couldn’t have done any of this without you beside me.”
You finally leaned into him.
And Senku wrapped an arm around you, holding you tightly as the fear finally loosened its grip.
With your son breathing softly nearby, the terror slowly gave way to relief.
And Senku’s quiet promise:
“We’re going home together. All three of us.”
AN: any tips on writing better angst is appreciated, but I hope this lived up to your expectations
