synopsis. katsuki’s pride is no match for an aphrodisiac quirk
contents. nsfw! mdni. pro hero! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader. est rel. they’re dating. pwp. dubcon due to the quirk’s influence but it’s very consensual. m! mastürbation + rec öral. switch! katsuki. mostly sub he cries and begs. unprotected piv. reader’s on the pill. multiple orgäsms. implied aftercare. ࿐
katsuki never imagined that he’d be the kind of hero to get hit by a fucking aphrodisiac quirk. that’s rookie bullshit. the kind of thing that happens to sidekicks who aren’t paying attention, to extras who get caught slipping because they’re too damn slow and too damn soft. it’s not the type of thing that happens to him.
he’s the great explosion murder god: dynamight ™. with reflexes like lightning and situational awareness that’s second to none. he’s prepared for every kind of villain, every conceivable quirk. mind-control, strength enhancement. shape-shifting. but not once did it cross his mind to prepare for getting hit with a lust quirk.
at first, he’d been able to power through it. he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached and disregarded the heat that was flooding his veins like napalm. he obliterated the villain. secured the perimeter. signed off on the preliminary report with trembling fingers.
by the time he made it back to his agency, his sanity was threadbare. he tried taking a shower but the freezing water did nothing to quench the fire coursing through his veins. if anything, it made it worse.
he rested his forehead against the tiles and bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. his knees buckled as his hand, slick with soap suds and precum, slid all over his cock. he barely managed a few uncoordinated strokes before his hips were jerking uncontrollably. the relief lasted for all of three seconds before the blood came rushing righttt back to his cock.
he was still hard, still aching. and it was becoming very clear that this wasn’t a problem he could solve alone.
he stumbles out of the locker room, a towel slung low on his hips, his skin still flushed and steaming. he pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweats in a daze.
you’re the only thing his lust-filled brain can think of. he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t get to you, now. he needs you like he needs air to breathe. like he needs nitroglycerin in his palms. the thought of your face, your voice, your body on his is the sole thing keeping black spots from swarming his vision.
everyone who works at his agency knows that katsuki never leaves work early. he’s always the first to arrive and the very last to leave. he’s the one who stays late to pore over incident reports until his eyes burn. he’s the one who turns the lights off and locks all the doors behind him. but tonight he’s out of the building before the sun has even fully set.
not trusting himself to drive in this state, he hails a cab. the decision to not get behind the wheel is one of the few clear-headed ones he’s made since this whole ordeal started. his hands are shaking too much, and he knows that he’d wrap his porsche around a lamppost before he could even make it past three blocks.
he slumps into the back seat, the cheap leather sticking to his sweat-damp skin, and groans out your address. the driver glances at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening at the sight of great explosion murder god: dynamight ™ looking like he’s about to spontaneously combust in the backseat of his car.
on a regular day, katsuki would tell him to mind his damn business and fucking drive. but he currently doesn’t even have the energy to scowl at the old man.
after what feels like eternity, the cab screeches to a halt in front of your building. he doesn’t even wait for the car to stop completely before he tosses a handful of yen bills at the driver and stumbles out onto the sidewalk.
he practically sprints into your building. he’s too impatient to wait for the elevator. he takes the stairs instead, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, he nearly collapses once, catching himself at the very last second.
he can barely stand by the time he finally reaches your door. he’s so close to exploding right here in the hallway and you haven’t even touched him yet. he somehow musters up the energy to fish the spare key you’d forced on him months ago out of his pocket. his hands are shaking so badly, it takes him three tries before the tumblers click.
he limps into your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. every single one of his nerve endings is on fire as he leans against the door for a second. his head thudding against the cool wood. he can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, follow the line of his jaw, and drip onto his t-shirt. this is pathetic. he’s pathetic. he just wants to crawl into a hole and die. or fuck you until he can’t remember his own name. he’d prefer the latter. he’s so hard it hurts.
“kats ?” he forces his eyes open, vision swimming before it focuses on you. you’re standing in the entranceway to the living room, wearing one of his old t-shirts and little else. he wants to rip that shirt off and see what’s underneath, to map every inch of your skin with his hands, his mouth, until you’re gasping his name.
you take in the sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, the deep, feverish flush on his cheeks, and instinctively step closer. you reach up, your cool palm pressing against his burning cheek, and he almost sobs with relief. he leans into your touch like a starved man, a low moan rumbling in his chest. he could stand here all day and just let you touch him.
( he could probably cum in his pants, just from this, like a fucking loser. god, he wants you so bad. he wants your hands all over him. he wants his hands all over you. he needs to feel you. )
you lean in and press a soft kiss to his trembling lips. it’s supposed to be a sweet, simple greeting, but for him it’s feels like a match to gasoline. he fists his hands in the material of your shirt and pulls you closer. he can feel your body tense ever so slightly against his
“how was work ?” you ask, a little breathless when you finally manage to pull back just enough to look at him.
“fuckin’ terrible,” he manages to grind out. his voice is so tight and strained. he barely recognizes himself. he’s embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed. part of him doesn’t want to tell you. he could just make something up. say he’s tired. say anything but the truth. but the thought of deceiving you, even to save his pride, is unbearable. he rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he mumbles, “got hit,” the words practically scrape his throat raw. “with a quirk.”
“what kind of quirk ?” you ask softly. your hand coming up to rest gently on his bicep. he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing violently. he feels the heat in his cheeks deepen, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. he has to say it. he has to force the pathetic words out.
“some . . . aphrodisiac bullshit.” he looks away, unable to meet your gaze, “i blasted the punk the hell up right after but it was already too late. it’s. . . fuck, it’s bad.” he swallows hard, “it’s . . really fucking bad.”
a smile slowly spreads across your face. you can’t help but laugh. never in a million years did you think you’d live to see the day katsuki bakugou needed your help.
“you’re laughing ?!” he chokes out. he’s just confessed to being hit by a lust quirk. this is the most humble he’s ever been. stripped of all his pride, reduced to a nothing but a desperate, needy mess in front of the one person he wants to see him as strong.
he’s never been this vulnerable, this submissive, in his damn life. and you’re fucking laughing ? he wants to be angry. he wants to push you away and reclaim some semblance of his dignity. but he can’t. all he can do is stand there and tremble as your thumb brushes over his bottom lip.
“sorry, sorry, it’s not funny,” you murmur, though the smile playing on your lips says you believe otherwise. “how are we supposed to deal with it ?” you’ve got to be messing with him. he’s in utter disbelief. does he really have to spell it out ? after he’s already humiliated himself this much ?
“obviously i need to. . .” he trails off, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. he can’t bring himself to say the words. they’re too crude, too pathetic.
“you need to what, kats ?” you’re determined to make the most of the rare, once-in-a-lifetime chance to see your explosive, always-in-control pro hero boyfriend completely at your mercy.
“you know what. . ” he grits out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“i don’t” you frown, your eyes wide with mock innocence. “you’re gonna have to use your words, kats. tell me exactly what you need from me.”
he lets out a frustrated growl, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. “why are you doing this to me . . ?”
“because you’re adorable like this,” you coo, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the tremor that racks his entire body. “it’s a side of you i don’t get to see nearly enough.”
you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your expression softening slightly, though the teasing glint remains. “and because i need to make sure you’re not just asking because of the quirk. i need to know that you actually want me.”
( you might as well have asked him if grass is green )
“of course i do,” he chokes out, “how could you even. . . it’s always you. it’s only ever been you. even when my brain is fucking scrambled, it’s still just you.”
“okay,” you whisper, your hand sliding from his jaw down to his chest, right over his racing heart. you take his hand, fingers lacing through his, and lead him towards your bedroom. he follows you like a lost puppy, eyes fixed on the sway of your hips as you walk.
he’s on you before you can even shut the door. his hands grabbing your hips, pulling you into a hungry kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration.
your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. he stumbles the few steps to the edge of the bed, sitting down with a soft thud so you’re straddling his lap.
he can feel how warm you are through his pants. this is hell. this is heaven. he’s gonna die. he’s positive he’s actually going to die if you don’t move. the pressure of your weight against his aching cock draws a sharp inhale from between his teeth. you lean down, your lips finding his again in a kiss that’s anything but chaste.
you start to move, rolling your hips slowly, grinding your core against the hard, thick length straining in his sweats. a high-pitched whimper falls from his lips. a sound so foreign to his ears it takes him a second to realize it came from him.
( what. the. fuck. he doesn’t whimper. he doesn’t fall apart like this. he’s the one who makes you fall apart. )
he hates this. he hates the sound of his own voice. but he can’t help it. he needs more. he needs to feel you. his hands fly to your hips, thick fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force.
“katsuki,” you whisper against his lips. your tongue darts out to taste the salty sweat on his skin. he groans, his head falling back against your ruffled sheets as his hips buck up to meet yours.
he’s burning up, his skin radiating a concerning amount of heat. you can feel it through your clothes, through his. you trail your lips down the length of his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his pulse.
“are you sure you’re okay ?” you look down at him,face contorted with concern “maybe we should go to the hospital, get you checked out. . .”
he stares at you, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. you’ve got to be fucking kidding him. here you are, asking him about his health while your chest is in his face and you’re straddling his lap. you’re gonna be the death of him. he swears to god. but what a way to go.
“the hospital ? i’d rather die than let another soul see me like this.” he snarls, though it lacks its usual bite, sounding more like a plea. “and i’ll blow you up if you even think about telling anyone this happened to me.”
“don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me ,” you murmur, leaning down to press a soft, teasing kiss to his jaw.
your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, the fabric damp with his sweat. you peel it up slowly, revealing the hard, defined lines of his abs. his stomach clenches under your touch, the muscles jumping as your fingertips graze his skin.
he lets you undress him like a doll. you drag the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. his chest heaves as your hands return to his body, tracing faint scars, the ridges of his abs, the sharp v-line that dips down into his sweats.
katsuki’s trembling as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, breath hitching as his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. it’s flushed a deep, agitated red. his tip already beading with an obscene amount of precum that drips down onto his skin.
katsuki’s not one to feel self conscious, his confidence is as much a part of him as his quirk, but right now, under your gaze, he feels too exposed. he can’t meet your eyes. his gaze is fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he’s completely at your mercy, and you haven’t even touched him properly yet.
you reach out, your fingers tracing the v-line of his hips, your touch light and teasing. he shudders violently, his hips bucking up, seeking more of your touch.
“please,” he whimpers “quit teasin’ me” please. please please please. he’ll beg. he’ll get on his knees and beg. he’ll say please. he’ll say anything you want. he needs to cum. it hurts so bad. he’s gonna die. he’s gonna die if you don’t let him cum.
“but it’s so much fun,” you murmur as your fingers trail lower, brushing against the base of his cock. he lets out a strangled moan as you wrap your hand around him, your palm cool against his burning flesh.
you start to stroke him, slow and teasing, your thumb swirling around his head and spreading the slick fluid down his length. he can already feel his orgasm building, a tight, hot coil in his stomach, but you won’t let him have it. you keep him teetering over the edge until tears are brimming his waterline.
“please,” he begs, throwing an arm over his face, hiding his shame as he pleads with you. “please, baby, let me cum. i’ll do – fuuuck – anything, please.”
“look at me,” you say firmly. he’ll look. he’ll do whatever you want. just don’t leave him like this. this pathetic. this weak. he peeks at you from under his arm, crimson eyes sparkling with unshed tears. you’ve never seen him looks so fragile, so broken. the mere sight of him makes your heart ache, you can’t deny him any longer.
you shift, kneeling between his spread thighs. leaning down and wrapping your lips around the his tip. it’s a shock to his system. he cries out as you take him deeper, flushed tip hitting the roof of your mouth.
“shit . . . baby, please,” he chokes out, his voice a ragged, breathless mess. “i can’t. . . i’m gonna. . .” the afflicting aphrodisiac quirk amplifies every sensation. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. he’s trying to stay quiet, he really is. he’s biting down on his knuckles so hard he can almost taste blood, trying to muffle the obscene sounds falling from his lips, but it’s no use. every drag of your lips, every swirl of your tongue, pulls desperate whimpers and choked groans out of him
your tongue flattens against the underside of his cock as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off so hard it makes him see stars. you can feel him trembling, his thighs tensing under your hands as you take him even deeper and you know he’s not going to last much longer. you hum around him, the muscles in your throat constricting around his tip. and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge.
his body arches off the bed as he spills sticky ropes down your throat. you’re milking every last drop, until he’s a limp, trembling mess beneath you. you’re surprised by how sweet he tastes, like salted caramel, so much sweeter than usual.
“feeling better ?” you rasp as you pull back slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his flushed cock.
he’s completely wrecked, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, his face glistening cherry red. he’s never cum this hard in his life. he can barely breathe. his limbs feel like lead, his mind’s blissed-out and hazy. for a few precious seconds, he thinks it’s over. he thinks it’s worn off.
then he looks down and his heart sinks. his cock is still painfully hard. it hasn’t gone down at all. if anything, he’s somehow harder than he was before. he’s beyond horrified. he’s just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and it did nothing. the shitty quirk is still burning him alive, and he’s starting to think he might be stuck like this forever.
“feels worse” his crimson eyes are filled with a mix of fear and desperation. “it’s . . fuck. . it hurts more now”
he needs more. he’s too ashamed to ask, too proud to beg you again. his pride has already taken too many beatings it may never recover from tonight. but his eyes are pleading with you as you clamber to your feet. he don’t say another word. you don’t need him to. you already know what he wants. you know katsuki like the back of your hand.
without breaking eye contact, you slowly strip off the shirt of his you were wearing, then your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. his breath hitches as his eyes trail over your naked body. he reaches for you, large hands gripping your hips and pulling you between his spread legs.
you rest your hands on his shoulders as you straddle him again, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his bare thighs. his hands slide from your hips to grip your ass, pulling you even closer, grinding you against him slowly.
it feels so good. too good. and then he realizes why it does. he’s completely bare. it’s so rare for him to fuck you raw, a line he almost never crosses, and the fact that he almost did, that he was so lost to the quirk he forgot, terrifies him.
“no, fuck, we can’t. not without a c-condom” his voice straining as he reaches for his sweats. his hands shake as he yanks his wallet from the cotton pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. he flips it open, lithe fingers fumbling through the slots, but there’s nothing there.
he’s always so responsible, so prepared. a wave of despair washes over him, so strong it’s ridiculous. he was too out of it to check before he came here, too desperate to even think about stopping at a convenience store, and now . . . he checks again, more slowly this time, as if a shiny foil wrapper might magically appear. nothing.
a few hot tears spill over, tracing paths down his flushed cheeks, and it infuriates him. why the hell is he so damn sensitive ? he knows it’s the quirk fucking with his brain, his emotions, but it doesn’t make it feel any less real.
he tosses his wallet and sweats back onto the floor and rakes a hand through his blond hair, “i don’t . . . i don’t have one.”
he’s out. he’s fucking out. he’s always so prepared. he’s always so fucking responsible. and now, when he needs it most. he’s failed you. he’s failed himself.
you’re kissing his tears away, your lips soft against his damp skin. “it’s okay kats” you soothe, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over the jagged scar adorning it. “. . i’m on the pill, remember ?”
his crimson eyes, wide and vulnerable, search yours for any hint of hesitation, any sign that you’re just saying this to placate him. he finds none. he leans into your touch, his body trembling violently as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.
“are you sure ?” he chokes out, his voice muffled by your skin. he’s not asking about the pill. he knows you’re just as responsible as he is. he’s asking if you’re sure you want this, sure you want him bare, with nothing between you when he’s this much of a mess.
“i’m positive,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a kiss that ebbs all his qualms away. his hands are everywhere, roaming your back, gripping your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s not a sliver of space between you.
you position yourself over him, crying out as the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance. you sink down, taking him inch by inch. you’re so tight. so wet. and you’re taking him so well. all of him. bare.
“baby,” he whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut. “move. please. you gotta move.”
you shift your hips in a sensual rhythm that has him seeing stars. his hands are gripping your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow, but you don’t care.
“don’t stop,” he chants the phrase like a mantra. “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. every drag of your walls against his cock is both a blessing and a curse.
for a few precious seconds, he just holds you, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder as you ride him, trying to anchor himself to this moment.
but the lust quirk doesn’t care about moments. it only cares about the ache, the burning, relentless need for more. his hips begin to move on their own accord, a slow, shallow roll that’s more instinct than conscious thought. another whimper tears from his throat as he feels your slick walls grip him like they never want to let him go, “can’t. . . i can’t stay still,” he gasps
he drives up into you frantically. the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with his harsh pants and your breathy moans.
he’s completely consumed by the quirk and the mind-blowing pleasure of being inside you. his crimson eyes are half-lidded, tears of pure sensation and frustration leaking from the corners, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t.
“shit, look at you,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he forces his wide eyes open to watch you. the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your head thrown back in pleasure, your skin rippling with each brutal snap of his hips, is almost enough to make him cum again. “so fuckin’ pretty. . . takin’ me so well.”
his calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles over the sensitive nub. overcome by the need to make you cum. maybe, just maybe, your orgasm will trigger his own. maybe, just maybe, the feeling of you clenching around him will extinguish the fire burning him alive.
“c’mon,” he pants, his hips pistoning up into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt sucking him in reverberating in the room. he can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering and clenching as your own release builds. it spurs him on, his thrusts become even more erratic, more desperate. “that’s it,” he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “gonna cum ? gonna make a mess all over me ?”
before either of you can fully process it, he rolls, taking you with him. the world flips, and suddenly your back is pressed against the mattress, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body blanketing yours.
he settles heavily between your thighs, his weight pinning you down, his forearms bracketing your head as he looms over you. his pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the crimson of his irises, just a thin ring of red surrounding pools of pitch black. all traces of his earlier submission are gone.
he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, immediately picking up a brutal, punishing pace. his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin against skin louder and more intense than it was before. the thick head of his cock repeatedly kisses the spot inside you that makes your vision turn white.
his scarred hand slides down your body until his thumb finds your clit again. his movements frantic as he rubs tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. the dual stimulation of his cock hammering into you and his thumb working your clit sends shockwaves through your entire nervous system.
“mghh katsuki,” you’re screaming and moaning his name so loud, you know your neighbors are going to complain again. but you’re well past the point of caring. and katsuki’s never given a single fuck about your neighbors; he’d burn the whole building down if it meant he could finally feel you cum around him. tears are falling from his eyes again, tracing paths down his face as he completely loses himself in you.
“yeahhh, that’s it,” he cries. his thumb on your clit presses down harder, hips slamming into yours with renewed vigor. your headboard smacks against the wall with the force of his thrusts. “c’mon, baby, please . . . cum for me. i know you’re close. . . i can feel it”
he can feel your whole body tensing, your back arching off the bed as you teeter right on the edge. your cunt is clamping down on him like a vice, rhythmic pulses that make his own vision swim.
“fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans. he can’t . . . he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. he could stay like this forever, buried inside you, feeling you cum on his cock over and over again.
“one more” he’s panting against your neck, his voice wrecked. “jus’ one more, baby, i swear i can feel it wearing off.” his hips have a mind of their own now, inching impossibly closer to yours. you’re so overstimulated you can barely think, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body convulses with yet another wave of pleasure. your cunt is spasming around him again, and again, and again.
“s’too much,” you whine, “kats, it’s too much.”
“i know, baby, i’m so sorry . . .” he murmurs against your skin, “swear i’m gonna pay that extra a visit and send him straight to hell for doing this to me.”
a breathy giggle escapes your lips despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “that’s not – hah – very heroic of you,”
he lets out a shaky breath, his rhythm never faltering. “‘m not sure i can even consider myself a hero anymore after this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he presses his forehead against yours.
his thumb finds your clit again, circling the swollen bundle of nerves, sending both of you spiraling toward another peak again. he’s well past the point of shooting blanks now, his body completely wrung out, nothing left to give. his hips are faltering, movements growing sloppier. he’s barely propped up on his elbows, arms shaking violently with the strain of keeping his weight off you.
you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve both cum. you’re so blissed out, your mind floating somewhere far above the soaked sheets, nails digging crescents into his shoulders, as he falls apart for the last time.
for a moment, you both just lay there, breathing in the thick, humid air. there’s so much of him leaking from your folds, coating your inner thighs and soaking the already ruined sheets beneath you.
he can no longer ignore the mess he’s made of you when he musters up the strength to pull out. he makes a muffled, embarrassed sound against your skin, his face burning hot. “m’sorry. . . fuck, it’s everywhere.”
“it’s fine, katsuki,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the blond strands clinging to your fingers.
he lifts his head just enough to look at you, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. he glances down, his gaze tracing the mess on the sheets before flicking back to your face. “we can’t fuckin’ sleep in this,”
he pushes himself up with a groan, arms trembling so badly he almost collapses back onto you. he manages to roll to the side, landing with a thump on the mattress. the sudden loss of his body heat makes you shiver. he just lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling before forcing himself into a sitting position.
his vision swims as he inches towards the edge of your bed. he rises to his feet and his legs nearly gives out. but he’s still standing. you can see the fine tremors running through his thighs, the strain in his back as he straightens up with a pained grunt.
he turns back to you, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. his hair is a sweaty, tangled mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are barely open.
“c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand to you, “we’ve gotta shower. and then i’ll make you some dinner”
lust can weaken most men, can make them forget how to breathe, how to speak. but no shitty quirk can ever make katsuki forget his love for you. it’s in his bones, in his veins, in every fiber of his being. that’s why he’s pushing through the pain, why he’s offering you dinner and a warm shower – despite your feeble protests – instead of collapsing back into bed. even when his body is failing him, his heart is right there with you.
so… i just want to marry itachi, make sure he eats properly and tuck him into bed💝
plus a little baby. I dislike children but that man makes me insane. I can see him showing the little one the world, and pointing and explaining everything in his soft voice😭😭😭
a/n: nonnie, this took me much longer to answer than i wanted but please know this image has been haunting me non-stop 😭 giving him a little baby to carry around and explain the entire world to??? he'd be so gentle 🥹🖤 please accept this drabble as evidence of the damage you have inflicted on me
The butterfly settled on the flowering bush as lightly as a fallen petal and your little one saw it immediately. They went still against Itachi’s chest, round eyes fixed on the flicker of orange wings, and stretched one hand from the folds of their blanket to grasp at the sunlight between them.
“That is a butterfly,” Itachi told them softly.
The baby answered with an awed, bubbling noise.
“Yes,” he agreed. “It is quite beautiful.”
You lingered on the veranda, your forgotten tea cooling between your hands. Itachi had spent nearly half an hour walking your child through the garden, patiently introducing them to anything that caught their attention. So far, they had met three sparrows, a line of ants, and one exceptionally interesting stone.
The butterfly opened and closed its wings and you watched as your baby copied the motion with their hand.
“It can't stay for long,” Itachi explained. “Butterflies need warmth to move. When the weather becomes cold, some travel elsewhere.”
“Ba,” the baby replied.
“A reasonable observation.”
“Itachi,” you called, fighting a smile, “what exactly did they observe?”
He glanced over, perfectly composed. “That the butterfly is small.”
“Ah, of course.”
Your little one strained towards it again. Itachi shifted them securely against his chest and caught their reaching hand in his.
“Gently,” he murmured. “We may look, but we should not touch without permission.”
The baby stared at him. Itachi met their gaze with equal gravity.
“The butterfly has not granted it.”
Your laugh made the baby twist towards you, their face brightening in recognition. Both feet kicked beneath the blanket, the butterfly forgotten as they reached out with an excited noise.
The change in Itachi was slight enough that anyone else might have missed it—the easing of his mouth, the warmth entering his eyes as he watched your child reach for you. You descended the veranda steps and slipped your arm through his beneath the afternoon sun.
“What else have you learnt?” you asked.
The baby answered by seizing a fistful of Itachi’s collar.
“We're still working on appropriate handling,” he said.
You leaned against his shoulder as the butterfly lifted from the flower, its wings flashing through the sunlight. Together, you watched it rise above the garden wall and disappear.
Your little one looked expectantly towards Itachi.
“It has left,” he told them. “But there will be others.”
Their hand loosened against his chest. Itachi bent to press a lingering kiss to their soft hair, and you wondered whether he knew how safe he looked. No longer watchful or burdened, simply a father holding his child beneath the open sky.
The baby patted his cheek. Itachi turned towards them again with due solemnity.
“Yes,” he murmured, “we can continue our walk.”
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“so, you got any plans this weekend?” your coworker baits you with mischief in his eyes. bound by the shackles of office etiquette, you force yourself to fall for it.
“nothing much, unless sleeping and restarting the same show for the tenth time count.” you hardly look up from your 25 open tabs.
he forces a laugh, and you hold in a sigh. “well, as exciting as that sounds, how ‘bout i raise you something better? i’ve got two tickets to that metal show on saturday, and i was hoping we could—”
heavy footsteps and an eerie hush.
your only warning of what’s to come.
the blonde to your right has seemingly forgotten your existence. right now, he’s focused on much bigger things. “h-hey, chairman ao!” he stutters. “how are you today?”
bristling, you turn around slowly. there’s no way this is happening again.
narrowed amber eyes. a flat, indifferent facade that you see right through.
it’s happening again.
staring right at you, valko taps the wall of your cubicle, checking his watch in feigned urgency. “i need to see you in my office. bring the fiscal reports we were looking at last time.”
muscle memory works your lips into a courteous smile. “yes, sir.”
he nods and retreats to his office—the kind of lair only a chairman could have—as you grab your pre-prepared stack of papers and smooth down your pencil skirt. before you follow your boss, you call over your shoulder to your stricken colleague: “hold that thought, david. Sorry!”
──────
the biggest room at eoncore tech is no less ostentatious than the first time.
valko sits on his sleek wooden desk, wearing a troubled yet expectant look. as soon as the door closes, you fold your arms in front of him.
“don’t look at me like that,” he grumbles.
“like what?” you ask dryly. as you toss your stack of papers onto his desk, they scatter to reveal the contents: some spare handouts from six months ago, a few sheets that house all your doodles, and literally, some blank sheets of printer paper.
not a report to be found.
you work in the design department, for god’s sake.
“he was all over you, right in front of me! i mean, what kinda guy does that?” valko huffs.
“my team works on the opposite side of this floor, koko. it’s not his fault you have super-hearing.”
he scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “whose fault is it that he kept bothering my girlfriend?”
“a secret relationship doesn’t work if one party has no interest in keeping it a secret.”
he’s exasperated, like the distance is killing him. “why don't you just become my assistant? that way, you could move into this office with me. it’s roomy in here.”
“that’s a great idea!” you gasp. “or, i could become chairwoman, and you could be my assistant.”
his eyes light up, glittering gold. “that works, too. i can ask around and see what it’d take to get you the jo—”
“i was kidding.”
within a millisecond, his tan ears match the shade of his hair. “uh, yeah. i knew that.”
a long sigh escapes you as you shake your head and smile at him. “look, you’re not entirely wrong. it is annoying being hit on while i’m just trying to do my job, and it is nice having you to come rescue me. it’s just a little too obvious sometimes, and that makes me nervous. how about we come up with some kind of signal you can use to pull me away when you need to?”
he doesn’t even blink. “when someone gets too close to you, i pull the fire alarm.”
“no.”
“when someone gets too close to you, i distract them with a question.”
“better. let’s roll with that one for now.” finally, you uncross your arms and clear your throat. “am i excused, sir?”
slowly, he looks you up and down, eyes zeroing in on your exposed neck. “keep calling me that, and you won’t be.”
“i’m taking that as a yes,” you drawl, rolling your eyes as you turn to leave. “and valko?” you rest your hand on the door handle. “if you ever think about remodeling, you should invest in your privacy. with all these glass windows, i can’t kiss you when you’re pouting.”
“Saw you over there talking to Icy Hot,” Bakugou mutters around his drink when you slip back into the seat beside him, his voice low amongst the din of the gala.
Bringing your own glass to your lips, you raise a brow. “You’re observant.”
He flips a sugar packet between his fingers, shrugging. “Just seeing if you’re leaving me for the number two pretty boy hero.”
You turn to him, legs crossed, one bare knee showing through the slit in your dress. “I thought you didn’t want a PR manager anyway.”
Bakugou gaze starts near the floor, and as he drags it upward, he’s not quick enough to hide the way it briefly lags on your legs before flicking to your eyes.
“I don’t need one,” he mutters, annoyed as he glances across the room toward where you know Todoroki is standing amongst a gathered crowd. “But having you around is nice. I guess.”
You blink at him several times, at the honesty in his gravelly tone.
And then he adds, a little bitter—
“Do what you want though. Fuck if I care.”
He lifts his glass, and you see an agent you vaguely recognizing waving to get your attention out of the corner of your eye.
You stand, fingers gently coming to rest on Bakugou’s bicep as you lean in and murmur, “Why would I need to do that when I get to boss around the number one pretty boy hero every day?”
“For the last goddamn time,” Bakugou bites out, swatting away the makeup brush that’s hovering dangerously close to his face. “I don’t need a goddamn PR manager.”
The stylist beside him lets out a sigh of defeat, but he pays her no mind, eyes fixed solely on you.
You raise a brow as someone jogs by behind him and makes a one minute signal with their pointer finger, a clipboard clasped to their chest.
Someone else sneaks in between the two of you, quickly clipping a microphone to Bakugou’s hero suit. He nearly growls.
Rolling your eyes, you step forward into his space, and you catch the slight tick of his jaw as you do so. “I don’t really care what you want, Katsuki. Your agency is paying me to keep you on a leash.”
He scoffs, adjusting one of his gloves. “You’d have to get a collar on me first.”
Smiling at him sweetly, you reach out and drag up the mask that’s covering his eyes so that it’s pushing back his hair instead. “Your ratings always go up when you do the headband thing with your mask, you know. You look good like this.”
His face screws up in a myriad of emotions, his mouth opening as if to keep arguing, but suddenly he’s being ushered out past the backstage curtain for his interview before he can say anything else.
And amongst the general cheering that accompanies him as he walks out, there’s a distinct sound from the fangirls in the crowd when they see he’s got his mask pushed up.
Bakugou’s eyes briefly meet yours again from where you’re standing just out of view between the gap in the curtains. You place your open hand at the base of your neck, miming a collar as you wink at him.
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
