h i r e i s y

24 | she/her | ♍ | there might be some 18+ content so beware

[caught-in-the-admire]

Paid In Full-STATEMENT

Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now you’re back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you haven’t told him he feels like he hadn’t paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.

tags: slowburn, mutual pining, fluff, SMUT! Unprotected p in v.

a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure. Again thank you for the comments 🥹.

In the tangled shadows of the manicured bushes, the two paparazzi hovered over the camera. The glow of the screen illuminated their grinning faces.

"Holy shit," one whispered, tapping the glass. "Look at the angle. He leaves the restaurant with Uraraka and tracks down some chick in a park to make out? We just caught Pro Hero Dynamight cheating."

"The tabloids are gonna lose their minds," the other hissed, already queuing up the upload link to their editor. "This is worth a fortune. Send it through."

Katsuki was standing at the stove, aggressively flipping eggs with a spatula, while you sat at the kitchen island, wrapped in one of his oversized hoodies, sipping your coffee.

You watched him for a minute but your eyes darted to the ruined couch, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips as you remember the absolute chaos of the night before.

"Hey, Katsuki?" You asked, setting your mug down.

"What?" he grunted, not looking back.

"Does your quirk go off... you know, every time you finish?"

Katsuki stopped, the spatula hovered over the frying pan for a tense three seconds before he slammed it down. He turned around, a bright blush creeping up from his collarbone all the way to the tips of his ears.

"No! It doesn't!" he defended, though his voice cracking, looking anywhere but you. "Look... I’ve never- I thought it’d be fine. The only other time that ever happened was when I was a hormonal teenager first figuring my shit out. When I’m by myself, it never happens. I have total control."

"Oh," you purred, leaning your chin on your hand, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "So what you’re saying is... I make you lose control?"

"Shut up," he muttered, turning back to the eggs. "It was a fluke. Sensory overload or whatever."

"Well," you joked, a playful smirk plastered across your face. "They do say practice makes perfect. Maybe we just need more practice."

Katsuki stopped again, he turned off the burner completely. He set the spatula down, his expression shifting from embarrassed to intensely predatory in the span of a single heartbeat.

"Yeah?" he murmured, stepping away from the stove. His voice had dropped to that low, gravelly register that made your stomach do flips. "You want to practice?"

He was across the kitchen. In one seamless, powerful motion, grabbing you by the waist and hoisted you backward onto the kitchen counter, knocking over a bottle of vitamins in the process. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders as he parted your legs with his hips.

"Because I'd love to practice," he smirked, kissing you roughly.

Katsuki didn't waste any time, his hand slid under your hoodie, his warm hand kneeding your breast. His other hand found your dampening panties, his thumb stoking your clothed clit, causing your hips buck forward. His thumb hooked around your panties, sliding them out of the way. His other hand left your breast to shuffle his sweats down.

He was already hard from the sheer thrill of having you right there on the counter. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in his neck as he slowly slid his tip up and down your folds pulling a soft gasp from both of you.

He slowly sunk into you, thrusting gently until he was fully inside you, finding a shallow slow rhythm. You let out a soft cry, your fingers knotting into his hair as your legs squeezed his waist tighter.

"Still in control?" You managed to gasp out, a mocking little smile on your lips. He smirked taking your words as a challenge.

"Shut up and hold on." He pulled his hips back before snapping them forward, pulling a gasp out of you. He set a fast, demanding pace, hitting that same dizzying spot that had you arching into him and your toes curling. His thrust desperately, trying to get deeper every time your hips met each other.

Every time you whimpered his name, his grip on your hips tightened, his thumb pressing into your hipbone with a needy, desperate possessiveness. His thrust got harder every time he felt your pussy flutter around him, his face pace faltered. Your back arching even more as his tip kissed your cervix. He was completely focused on you, his breathing turning ragged as you both started to reach toward that familiar, burning peak.

You were so close, the friction and heat blurring everything else out, when—

BRRRRRRR-BRRRRRRR-BRRRRRRR!

A loud, obnoxious, high-priority alarm blasted through the apartment.

Katsuki’s pace faltered, his chest heaving as he slowed. You groaned, your head falling back against the kitchen cabinet.

BRRRRRRR-BRRRRRRR-BRRRRRRR!

It was his agency work phone, sitting on the living room coffee table, vibrating so hard it was practically moving on its own.

"Noooo," you whined, your legs slumping slightly around his waist. "Please tell me that isn’t your work phone."

Katsuki closed his eyes, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder with a heavy, deeply defeated sigh. His shoulders slumped as he let out a long, annoyed groan. "Fuck"

With a final, annoyed huff, he slid out of you, leaving you feeling empty and pissed. He gently lifted you setting your feet back down on the floor.

Katsuki snatched the vibrating phone off the coffee table, so hard it’s a miracle the phone didn’t shatter.

"What the hell do you want?!" he barked into the receiver.

"What the hell do I want? I want a new career, Bakugo, but instead I'm dealing with you," Miura’s voice clipped through the speaker, entirely out of patience. The poor man sounded like he was pacing a hole into his office carpet. "We have a massive problem. Some underground forums just leaked photos of you in the park last night with some woman! The press is already running with it."

Katsuki’s jaw clenched, his eyes snapped toward the kitchen, locking onto you. A sudden, ugly jolt of adrenaline spiked through his chest. "The hell are you babbling about? I wasn't doing shit."

"You were kissing someone, Bakugo! It’s on camera!" Miura raised his voice. "Do you have any idea how much money we spent to secure that high profile dinner?! You were supposed to be at a five-star restaurant with Japan's sweetheart, but instead, you sneaked out the back like a teenager to make out in a public park!"

"I don't give a damn about your fake-ass dinner!" Katsuki shot back, the palms of his hands starting to heat up. "I told you I wasn't playing along with that corporate crap anyway!"

"Well, you're playing in the nuclear fallout now," Miura snapped, completely unfazed by the shouting. "The public thinks Dynamight is a cheating scumbag, your approval ratings are tanking. Get your ass to the agency! Now!"

The line went dead. Miura hung up with a vicious click, clearly refusing to give Katsuki the satisfaction of yelling back.

Katsuki stared at the blank screen, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

A text from Kirishima popped up in his banner: 'Bro, this doesn’t look manly. What the hell happen?!

Another texted followed, from his mother, Mitsuki Bakugo: 'You absolute dumbass! What did you do?!'

"Katsuki...? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Katsuki stopped mid stride, looking at you with a look of sheer dread. He swallowed hard, his voice angry and frantic. "The fucking paparazzi. They took photos of us last night on the street. The tabloids ran them. Everyone thinks I’m cheating on round face."

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Before you could even process the words, Katsuki was already a whirlwind of panicked energy. He ran to his bedroom and threw open the closet, ripping a clean shirt off the hanger, and bolted into the bathroom. You could hear him aggressively brushing his teeth, cursing around a mouthful of foam.

You follow him and reached for your own phone on the night stand. The moment your screen lit up, your stomach twisted into a tight knot.

The news had broken. Across every major media outlet, social media platform, and the notification banners were flashing in bright red bold letters.

DYNAMIGHT’S DOUBLE LIFE? PRO HERO SPOTTED CHEATING ON URARAKA WITH MYSTERY WOMAN!

Exclusive photos catch the hot-headed hero abandoning his romantic dinner date with Pro Hero Uravity to passionately embrace an unidentified woman in the streets late last night...

Scrolling through the comments, the public reaction was devastating. You through the live comment sections. The internet was a warzone. Half the people were violently throwing hate at Dynamight, calling him a arrogant scumbag, while die-hard fans were desperately denying it, claiming the photos were photoshopped or AI. Thousands of comments were pouring in offering deep sympathy for Uraraka, painting her as the betrayed victim.

Then you looked at your own notifications. Mina had sent a string of texts, followed by a missed FaceTime call.

"Hey!" Katsuki shouted, bursting back into the bedroom, fully dressed but his hair still a wild mess. He grabbed his keys off the dresser. "You’re coming with me to the agency. We’re sorting this shit out right now!"

"Right!" You jumped up, adrenaline overriding your usual morning stiffness. You quickly pulled on a pair of pants and a top, not even caring that your hair was a mess, and followed him out the door.

The drive to the agency was pure chaos. Katsuki gripped the steering wheel with one hand, while his phone sat on the dashboard on speakerphone. He was in a screaming match with Miura.

"I am not making a fake public apology for something I didn't fucking do!" Katsuki argued over the engine.

"Bakugo, look at the public perception!" Miura’s voice shouted back over the speaker. "The narrative is already set! If we don't handle this gracefully, your endorsements are gone!"

"I don't give a shit about the endorsements! I care—" he cut himself off, his eyes darting to you in the passenger seat, his hand white knuckling the wheel. "Just have the damn boardroom ready!"

While they argued, you sat in the passenger seat, your fingers trembling as you pulled up the official Hero Billboard Charts. The rankings updated in real-time based on public approval and media metrics.

Your breath hitched.

"Shit, hey…Kats..." you whispered, your voice cutting through his shouting match with the agent.

Katsuki glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

You looked at the screen, a heavy dread settling over you. "The charts. You... you already dropped. You were at 8, now you’re at 15…again."

“Tch, shit.”

The cost of last night was hitting hard, and you hadn't even reached the agency yet.

You knew he wasn’t mad at you, you knew he’d never blame you for this. But logic couldn't stop the sudden constriction in your throat, or the suffocating weight of a guilt that wasn't even yours to carry. Your mind began its familiar, spiraling trick.

I’m stressing him out…again. I’m just making his life more stressful and difficult. I should’ve checked looked around. I should’ve just stayed at home. Why’d I even-

“Stop.” his voice interrupting your mental spiral. “You’re quiet. It’s just paparazzi idiots being nosy as hell. I didn’t know they were there either.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling your hand up to press a soft, calloused kiss against your skin. He looked entirely out of his depth doing it, but the clumsy sweetness of the gesture anchored you anyway, quieting your mind.

The tires of Katsuki’s car screeched, echoing against the concrete walls of his agency's underground garage. He didn't even wait for the engine to fully die before he was out of his seat, opening your door and pulling you out as gently but as quickly as possible.

Outside the main entrance, a swarm of paparazzi and journalists were already gathering. You could hear them even from down here. Katsuki’s grip on your wrist was firm but completely mindful of the possible nerve pain that could potentially flare up thanks to the sudden stress. He guided you through the heavy security back doors, keeping you close behind him.

The moment the two of you stepped into the hallways, the entire atmosphere shifted.

The busy hum of the agency died suddenly and the air felt suffocating. Employees, sidekicks, and support staff stopped dead in their tracks. Papers lowered. Clipboards tilted. Every single pair of eyes burned into you, tracking your face, trying to match your features to the blurry, scandalous photos that had destroyed the internet an hour ago.

“Is that her? The girl from the park?”

“Who even is she? A civilian?”

“I think she’s a retired sidekick?”

“She looks familiar”

“Did Dynamight really throw away his reputation for a nobody?”

The whispers chased you up the elevator. Katsuki didn't look at a single one of them, but the terrifyingly loud sparks popping from his clenched fists told you everything. He was vibrating with a lethal, suppressed rage, as he kicked the boardroom door open.

Miura, his head PR manager, was pacing the floor, sweat beading on his forehead. On the massive conference table, three different tablets were face up, their screens a chaotic blur of live update on social media feeds. On the main wall screen, a speakerphone line was active, glowing with the logo of Uraraka’s agency.

"I don't care about the press release timeline!" Miura slammed his open hand on the table, spinning around as the door banged against the wall. His eyes landed on Katsuki, then slowly slid down to you. He stopped mid-stride, squinting through his glasses. "Wait. What. You... you look-? Who the hell is this?"

Katsuki stepped directly in front of you, completely shielding you from Miura's prying eyes. "Keep your eyes to yourself, you bastard," Katsuki muttered, his voice a low and annoyed. "Y/n J/n. Now tell me what the fuck the damage is."

The line on the speakerphone went dead silent. Kugisaki, Uraraka’s head PR agent spoke up. "Wait...l/n? That healer support hero from the UA class?"

"Yeah, that's her," Katsuki snapped. "Now start talking."

Miura sank into a chair, rubbing his temples, completely ignoring the weight of your name as he pulled up a tablet. "The damage is catastrophic, Bakugo. Look at the feeds. It’s a bloodbath."

He slid the tablet across the table. You leaned over slightly, your eyes catching the horrific headlines and top comments scrolling by at a dizzying speed:

[#DynamightIsOver] He really cheated on Uravity? After everything she’s done for the community? Men are trash.

[QuirkBro9821] Uraraka deserves so much better. Look at her charity work, and he’s out here humiliating her.

[riotlover1016] How are you going to be best friends with the Red Riot and still cheat?!😭

[HeroWatch] Dynamight’s agency is silent. Support for Uravity triples as fans rally around her.

[HeroGossip] Well he did place in top 5 in Heroes most likely to be toxic🤷🏽‍♀️

"They're painting you as a toxic, lying cheater, and they're treating Uraraka like a tragic saint," Miura sighed, leaning back.

"Uraraka’s agency wants to release a statement immediately confirming a breakup to save her image, which means you take the full heat. You'll lose your endorsements by tonight."

"We have to protect Ochaco's brand," Kugisaki, chimed in over the speaker. "We can't be dragged down by Dynamight’s... indiscretion. We need a clean break. We’ll say they grew apart, but the photo makes him look guilty."

"No," Katsuki growled, his palms sparking against the back of a chair. "We aren't releasing a single lie. The 'relationship' with round face was a fake PR stunt your agency begged for to boost her charity counseling drive. I only agreed to it because I wanted the paparazzi off my own goddamn back. We tell them the truth."

"We can't just say it was fake!" Miura countered, slamming his pen down. "If we just say 'Oh, it was a PR stunt,' the public will think you're both liars and frauds. They’ll hate you and Uraraka. We need a reason why it was fake. A reason the public will accept."

"Then make up a reason! That's what I pay you for!" Katsuki yelled.

The room fell into a tense, frustrating back-and-forth. For ten minutes, ideas were thrown at the wall and immediately smashed to pieces.

"What if we say it was for an undercover sting operation?" Kugisaki suggested.

"Stupid. The commission would have to back it up, and they won't lie for us," Miura shut it down.

"What if we say you and Uraraka were already broken up, and the timeline of the photo is being manipulated?" Miura offered.

"The photos are timestamped, moron. The internet already proved it was last night," Katsuki groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

You stood there, listening to them look for a way out of the terrifying reality of the public eye. Feeling nauseous and useless. You rack your brain trying to find a solution.

"Why..." your voice was small, you cleared your voice it cut through the noise.

Katsuki turned his head instantly, his eyes softening the second they landed on you.

"Why can’t we just tell them the truth again?" you questioned, your face feeling hot when the attention turned to you.

“Who did you say you were again?” Miura questioned, his mind trying to think of why your name sounded familiar.

“Y/n L/n, sir” You looked at Miura, your eyes wide with a quiet, building panic.

“Wait…l/n…l/n? You’re the girl that saved Bakugo! What was it? H/N?” Miura looked like he could kiss you. “Your name should be a household name? Why isn’t?”

Katsuki looked at you, searching for any sign of discomfort, any sign that you were overwhelmed.

"Oh, ah-well, after the war... I spent a year trying to figure out how to even live with this condition. The thought of trying to juggle the media on top of that felt overwhelming. the media attention was too much. I even left the country for a bit.”

You caught Katsuki’s eyes, your departure from the country was a still a major sore spot neither of you talked about, even though you both knew you couldn’t ignore it forever. You swallowed hard, your voice trembling slightly. "Over time people moved on and I enjoyed being out of the spotlight. I just wanted peace to recover and find my new normal."

Silence once again fell over the room. Katsuki stared at you, stepping closer, his hand coming up to gently rest on the small of your back, his thumb brushing against you to soothe your nerves. He hated this. He hated that the world was pry back into the quiet, safe sanctuary he had built for you over the last year.

On the speakerphone, there was a sudden, sharp gasp from Kugisaki.

"Wait... hold on. Look at it from that angle." Her voice completely changed tone, shifting from frantic panic to sharp corporate calculation. "Why did Bakugo agree to the fake relationship with Uraraka in the first place? To pull the media away from his private life. Why did he need privacy? Because he was hiding his recovering savior, who is also his love!"

Miura sat up straight, his eyes widening behind his glasses. "Holy shit."

"Think about it," she continued, the words spilling out fast and fluid. "The girl who literally put Dynamight's heart back together when he died in the final war. She traced her future for his. She wants peace. She's disabled, she's traumatized, and she just wants peace. Bakugo is fiercely protective of her. He sees the paparazzi circling him, so he coordinates a fake romance with Uravity—“

“His trusted friend!” Miura cut in.

“Yes! To act as a massive lightning rod. It draws all the media cameras away from his true love, away from l/n, giving her the quiet environment she needs to heal."

Miura was already nodding aggressively, his fingers flying across his tablet. "And Uraraka looks like an absolute hero of a friend. She agrees to the fake romance to protect a disabled war veteran’s privacy, while simultaneously using the media circus to fundraise for her quirk counseling program! It hits every single emotional, tragic, and heroic beat perfectly."

"The public wouldn't just forgive you," Miura said, looking up at Katsuki with a manic grin. "They would practically worship you two. A fake relationship born out of pure, desperate loyalty to protect the woman who saved your life? It turns a cheating scandal into the greatest love story of the decade."

"It works," katsuki agreed. He wasn't looking at Miura. He was looking entirely at you, his thumb still rubbing your lower back. While he hated the media and paparazzi, his priority, was and always would be, your safety. "It protects you. It keeps the damn vultures from calling you a homewrecker, clears my name as a cheater and it keeps round race from looking like a victim."

He leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "What do you think?”

You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat, nodding slowly. "Yeah...like I said, just tell them the truth."

"Brilliant!" Miura clapped his hands together, snapping back into full blown command mode. "Kamo! Get in touch with our top three media outlets right now. Control the narrative before anyone else leaks anything. Hoshi! set up the press release drafts, and then—"

Miura turned a unyielding smile directly toward you. "—we coordinate with you. To completely seal this and make it bulletproof, we’re going to need a joint, live-broadcast interview with Dynamight and H/N. The public will love it!"

Katsuki whipped his head around so fast it look like it hurt, subtly pulling you closer, before walking away.

"Are you fucking deaf?!" Katsuki stepped directly into Miura's personal space, his hands slamming onto the table. "Huh?! She JUST told you she doesn’t want the spotlight! She doesn't need to be dragged in front of a bunch of flashing cameras and a hundred lying ass reporters!"

"Listen, it's the only way they'll believe it's genuine—" Kugisaki tried to argue over the speaker.

"I don't give a damn what they believe!" Katsuki shouted. "She doesn’t have to do it! If she doesn’t want to. "

But as katsuki continued to yell, you stood there trapped, trying to process what he said.

The word interview bounced around the walls of your skull, echoing until it turned into a deafening roar.

A live broadcast. Cameras. Millions of people watching you, judging you, picking apart your expressions, all while you were being dragged out of hiding because of a toxic, messy cheating scandal. The sheer weight of it pressed down on your chest like a physical block of concrete. You wanted to throw up.

You could feel your heart rate climbing, a frantic, erratic drumming against your ribs.

Your breathing turned shallow, and a terrifyingly familiar tingling sensation in your lips and suddenly feeling light headed, the telltale sign of your nervous system misfiring under extreme stress. The boardroom began to tilt. Seeking an anchor, you reached out, your trembling hand brushing against katsuki’s shoulder.

"Katsuki..." you whispered, but the sound barely left your throat before your knees gave out.

"Huh-Y/N…Hey—!"

Katsuki’s sharp, panicked shout was the last thing you heard. His reflexes caught you before you could hit the hard mahogany floor. He scooped you up, his heart hammering violently against his chest as he laid you down gently on the long leather sofa at the back of the boardroom.

Instantly, the room erupted into chaos.

"Oh my god, is she okay?!" Kamo, the assistant, shrieked.

Miura scrambled forward, his glasses slipping down his nose. "Call 119! What happened? Did she—"

"Get the fuck back!" Katsuki commanded, making Miura freeze mid-step. Katsuki stood over you like a feral, protective wall, as he glared at the staff trying to crowd around. He locked eyes with his panicked personal assistant, Sato, a young man clutching a tablet. "Sato! Get some ice and a cold towel. Now! The rest of you, clear out before I blast you through the goddamn walls!"

Nobody dared to argue when he looked ready to murder. Within ten seconds, the boardroom doors clicked shut, Sato quickly slipping back in to set a bag of ice and a cold cloth on the table before practically sprinting back out.

Katsuki placed the bag of ice on your chest and the cool cloth on your head. Helplessly watching your body struggle to regulate itself.

You weren’t always like this. His mind unwillingly dragged him back to UA, to you running laps, laughing, using your quirk without a care in the world, living a normal, healthy life. You used to have boundless energy. You used to be untouchable.

And then the final war happened.

You had dragged him back from the edge of the afterlife, forcing your own quirk past its absolute breaking point to restart his heart. You saved him. And the cost of that miracle was paid out of your own nervous system, leaving you with a body that now misbehaved whenever it got too tired or too stressed, or even if you stood up too fast.

My fault, he thought, a heavy guilt dropping into his stomach. Every time this happens, it’s because of me. If I hadn’t been weak, if I hadn’t let myself get killed...

A soft shift in your breathing broke him out of his spiral. When your eyes slowly fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights of the boardroom nearly blinded you.

Then you saw Katsuki. He was kneeling on the floor right beside the couch, his large, calloused hand holding a cold cloth gently against your forehead. His face was closer than usual, his sharp features pinched with an intense, quiet worry that he rarely showed the rest of the world.

When he noticed you blinking up at him, he visibly relaxed and exhaled. His voice, dropped into a tone that was incredibly gentle, calm, and grounded.

"Hey," he murmured, his thumb lightly brushing against your cheek. "Stay still. Don't try to move yet."

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling incredibly dry as you looked at him. "I'm... I'm okay," you croaked out, trying to offer a reassuring smile. "Just... extremely overwhelmed. And, honestly... it probably didn't help that we had sex three times between last night and this morning and I didn't properly rest afterwards."

Katsuki stared at you for a second, completely caught off guard. Then, the corner of his mouth hitched. A genuine laugh broke through his chest, a rare, beautiful sound that instantly cut through the lingering tension in the room.

"You idiot," he chuckled, shaking his head as he carefully adjusted the cold cloth on your forehead. "It was like two and three fourths, we didn't even get to finish this morning."

That stupid arrogant smirk on his face brought a wave of comfort washing over you.

"Ugh, don’t remind me," you mumbled, a small laugh finally escaping your lips.

"Suffer," he murmured softly. His hands found your waist, and with practiced, effortless care, he helped you guide your body up into a sitting position. Before you could even complain about the slight dizziness, Katsuki took a seat on the couch right next to you.

He gently pulled your upper body back down, guiding your head to rest directly on his thigh, letting you lie back down in a much more comfortable position. His fingers began to weave through your hair to soothe your nerves.

"Listen to me," Katsuki said, his voice turning serious again as he looked down at you. "We aren't doing the live interview. I don't give a shit what Miura or Kugisaki say. I'm not letting them drag you out there."

He paused, his hand hesitating in your hair for a split second before continuing. "I don't want you pushing yourself for me...again. I spent the last year making sure that you’re as comfortable as possible. I’m not letting a bunch of parasitic reporters disrupt your peace. Unless you are okay with it.”

You listened to him, your mind spinning through the different scenarios, your fingers lightly tracing his hand. You loved him so much it ached. He was willing to let the whole world think the worst of him just to keep you safe in your quiet sanctuary.

But you didn't want him to carry the weight of a lie either.

"Katsuki?" you said quietly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"What if we compromise?" You shifted slightly, looking up at him. "What if... what if we take some like professional photos together? You know? show them we’re real. And instead of a live broadcast with a hundred screaming reporters, we do a private interview. Just us, Miura, and a single trusted journalist in a closed room. They publish an entire article on it along with the photos. But we should still look over it, and release it on our own terms. No flashing cameras, no surprise questions, and not on live TV like Miura and Uraraka's agents wanted."

Katsuki was quiet for a long moment, considering it, thinking it through. His eyes searched your face, checking for any sign of hesitation.

"If that’s what you want," he finally said, his thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles. "It'll work because I'll make it work. If anyone objects, I'll blast their ass all the way to hell ."

He leaned down, removing your cold cloth and pressing a kiss against your forehead. Still a bit clumsy and awkward but to be fair it was only your second day of dating.

"Your happiness and your comfort are what matter most to me, y/n," he whispered against your skin, his grip on your hand tightening. "The rest of the world can burn for all I care. We do this your way, or we don't do it at all."

TAGS🩵: @ghostinggecko @stereading @darhinadadragon @thel0v3hashira143 @lovehazelle @charityjoy22 @prettydivinegirl @tengensfavfourthwife @snoozebun @c0quin @nuo0n @atticuswastaken @takoyakitakii @womanloverxx @amayaaaxx @luvzbloomx @mruizsworld @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @woonhaesan @priaspalac3 @ressya @supernerdycookietrashblrr @marcelineee-tvq @esisfdunkelundkalt @eyesforbkg @lenaketchum @wooyeouu @hireisy @nice-nice-dazey @rayleeya @mxchiii @sillyhyperpuppy @s-viore @reluctantlyfracturedsamurai @lemonlimelolly @lenaketchum @madam-ri @themultifandomgirl @meowieees @nightmarenyxx @indigoxfeelings-blog @that-b-word-lol @kristend512 @lost444ariess @nanuloveskatsuki @hanalysis @taterstots @foolishmortalindisguise @risemydearfriend @floravaine @kaeyaszluts @sarah-luz @sleepheadd0ve @deadlydollsstuff @qardasngan @rukinamukami @randar8 @cheshirekatty @pinkangelprint @baddiebsora @66avish @nerdydancer08

[i-am-a-lazy-mess]

hate when I type :) and this 🙂 fucker appears. Go away you evil soul

[caught-in-the-admire]

Paid In Full- Terms and Conditions

Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now you’re back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you haven’t told him he feels like he hadn’t paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.

tags: slowburn and mutual pining

a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure. Again thank you for the comment 🥹 this is SO late. I’m sorry 🥲.

Over the next few weeks, Katsuki made a conscious effort. He watched the crime shows you liked, even if he spent half the time pointing out the forensic inaccuracies. He even took you to the farmer's market you mentioned.

"Look at these!" You called out, hovering over a crate of peppers.

Katsuki stepped up behind you, his chest brushing against your shoulder, causing goosebumps despite the warm weather. He reached past you, picking up the pepper and inspecting it.

“Skin's too thin. They’ll turn to mush if you sauté them wrong.”

"Then show me the good ones, Gordon Ramsey," you teased, bumping your shoulder against his chest.

He stiffened his brain short-circuiting at the casual contact, but didn't pull away. He stayed right there. He spent the next ten minutes meticulously picking out the perfect vegetables for you, grumbling about the crowded streets while secretly making sure he stayed close enough to touch you.

The sidewalk started narrow, forced into a bottleneck by a construction barrier. Katsuki grumbled under his breath, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, elbows a bit stuck out until he realized he was crowding you. He yanked his hands out to balance himself and as you both fell into step, the back of his hand brushed against yours.

His hand flexed and his breath hitched. He glanced at you, you didn't move away. In fact, you seemed to be drifting closer.

Just do it, dumbass, he told at himself.

He reached out, his fingers clumsy and stiff as he hooked his hand around you.

oh my god he’s holding my hand, you silently screamed in your head. You didn't pull away, you squeezed his hand to try and signal that you were okay with this. Katsuki could feel his heart in his throat and his mind raced with a sudden, suffocating awareness of you. The surge of adrenaline and your skin was too much. A sharp pop-crack echoed in the quiet street as a stray spark ignited in his palm.

"Ow! FUCK!" You yelled, pulling back and shaking your hand.

"Dammit!" Katsuki panicked, his face turning a violent shade of red. "I—it was an accident! I wasn't trying to—"

He cut himself off when he heard you wince. You were looking at you palm, which was slightly red with a first degree burn and soot-smudged but, but overall okay. You quickly used your quirk to heal your hand and then looked up at him with a lopsided grin.

“Ha…you’re literally sparking” you joked. What…the fuck was that? “You’re literally sparking” sounds stupid and corny as hell. You mocked yourself

He didn’t say anything and took a breath. He wanted to reach back out. His hand hovered in the space between you, twitching with the urge to reclaim yours, but the guilt he felt wouldn’t let him. He shoved both hands back into his pockets, his shoulders hiked up to his ears. He didn't touch you again the rest of the walk. You didn’t say anything.

"I told you to sit the hell down," katsuki grumbled, his hands were gentle as he guided a knife through a ginger root with surgical precision. "You’ve been on your feet for way too long. Your heart rate's gonna spike and then you'll be kissing the floor."

You rolled your eyes, your hand gripping the edge of the kitchen island for stability. "I’m just peeling the garlic, Katsuki. My tremors aren't even bad today."

"I don't care if you're feeling like All Might reborn," he snapped, not looking up. "Let me make a decent meal without you dying in my kitchen.."

You let out a dry laugh. "Oh, your kitchen? riighht. I forget the kitchen is your domain" you reached for a bowl, but your fingers twitched. The bowl slid, Katsuki’s hand was there steadying it before you even realized you were about to lose your grip.

He didn't pull his hand away immediately. He looked at your hand being cupped by his own. Yours were small and a bit scared but soft. Meanwhile his were scarred, rough and engulfed yours.

"You're a pain in the ass," he muttered, smirking.

"And you're a control freak," you countered, leaning your weight slightly toward him. "You know, most roommates just split a pizza. They don't prepare a five-course nutritional masterpiece because their roommate looked a little faint at 4:00 PM."

Katsuki snorted, finally looking you in the eye. "Most roommates are extras who can't cook for shit. If I’m eating, you’re eating. And you’re eating whatever I make."

"Is that right?" You teased, a small, genuine smile breaking through your fatigue. "Just admit it you secretly love having a co-chef?"

He turned back to the stove, shaking the pan with unnecessary violence. "Co chef? You peelin garlic and yapping doesn’t make you co chef.”

Secretly he was loving this, the domestic feel you brought whenever you were around. But he also hated how much he liked it. He hated that he had intentionally bought the expensive ingredients because he knew you liked it.

You stood there for a moment, the heavy labels of 'savior' and 'indebted' felt lighter, replaced by the simple, domestic friction of two people who were terrified of how much they actually needed each other.

"And... done. Look at that technique. Flawless execution."

You sat on the counter stool, sliding a small bowl of unevenly mangled garlic cloves toward him. You beamed with the unearned confidence of a toddler presenting a macaroni drawing.

"I really think we’ve found our rhythm, Katsuki," you continued, leaning your chin on your hand. "The Bakugo-(Name) duo. I’m basically your Co-Chef or sous chef or whatever at this point."

Katsuki huffed out an amused laugh. He looked at the garlic. It wasn't minced, it was tortured. Some pieces were the size of pebbles, others were practically a paste. It was a disaster that would ruin the even cook of any normal sauce.

"You massacred four cloves," he grunted. "And you spent ten minutes doing it because you got 'distracted' by a TikTok of a cat in a hat."

"It was a beret, Katsuki. Context matters," you chirped, hopping off the stool to peer over his shoulder.

You were too close. The scent of you was invading his lungs. Katsuki felt the familiar, irritating heat rise whenever you touched him.

"You’re a hazard," he muttered, though he stepped slightly to the side to give you a better view, effectively boxing you in between his arm and the counter. "You’re the 'Co-Chef' of nothing. You’re the kitchen mascot. Sit down before you trip over your own feet and sue me."

"Either way I’m still getting a taste-test, though," you reminded him. Katsuki picked up a wooden spoon, blew on a small sample and held it out. He was hyper-aware of his own pulse thudding in his ears. He watched your lips close over the spoon, you eyes fluttering shut as the flavors hit.

I can look at her lips this way without being weird, he thought. Her lips look so soft. Just once. Please.

"Oh my god," you whispered. "We are geniuses for real."

We. He turned back to the stove abruptly, the clatter of the pan masking the sharp intake of his breath. He grabbed the bowl of your mangled garlic and dumped it into the pan.

"Yeah, whatever," he growled, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Don't get used to it, garlic killer. Here cut the chives."

Katsuki looked down at the simmering sauce. He’d keep you in his kitchen forever, even if you never touched a vegetable again. For months, he’d played the role of the indifferent roommate, burying the sight of you in his peripheral vision like a secret he wasn't ready to tell. But watching you struggle with cutting the chives was the final straw.

He moved before he could talk himself out of it.

"You’re going to take a finger off like that, moron," he muttered. He stepped into your space, the heat radiating off him like a physical force. When his calloused hands slid over yours to steady the knife, he felt your entire body bolt upright. You went rigid, your breath hitching in a sharp, jagged inhale that made his heart hammer even harder than it already was.

Shit, he thought, his jaw tightening. I pushed too hard. She’s going to bolt, and I’ll to have to lie and pretend like it was a mistake to get closer to her.

But then, you didn't pull away. You exhaled a long shaky release of tension and let your weight sink back. You leaned into him, your spine molding against his chest as if you’d been waiting for the support.

Katsuki’s eyes widened, a gasp sound catching in his throat. Wait what? shit…okay…okay. she’s right here. He pressed forward, closing every millimeter of distance until you were flush from shoulder to hip. He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his pulse thrumming against the sensitive skin there.

She’s so small, he realized, the feeling of you pressed against him made his head spin and pants tight. Shit…her ass feels amazing. God, she’s so much warmer than I imagined. He felt the slight tremble in your hands beneath his, and it sent a jolt of primal satisfaction through him. Does this mean she wants me too?, he thought, his grip on your hands tightening ever so slightly. It’s not just me? She’s feels it too. Please let this be real. Please let me show you how much I love you.

The knife moved through the chives in a slow, forgotten blur, guided by his hands but ignored by his mind. Katsuki pressed his face deeper into the curve of your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

Don't move…please, he silently pleaded, the thought jagged and desperate. Please let me just hold you.

He let out a jagged, silent breath against your neck a silent confession of a year’s worth of hunger as he pulled you back as close as humanly possible, trying to bridge the gap between your souls with nothing.

Kiss her, this is the moment

The warmth he’d been worshipping vanished. The transition from "Co-Chef" to "Patient" happened in the span of thirty seconds. As your head lolled back against his collarbone, your skin turned ghostly and damp. Shit she wasn’t leaning into you, because she returned your feelings dumbass, she was leaning on you so she wouldn’t hit the floor.

"Floor. Now," he barked, not with angry but with anxiety.

"I ca-can... I-."

"You can shut up and get horizontal," Katsuki countered, dropping the knife and held you, his large hands hooked under your arms. He carefully lowed both of you to the ground, sitting with his back against the cabinets With one hand, he grabbed your ankles putting them on his shoulder to get your feet elevated and above your heart.

He reached into the freezer drawer and pulled out some ice packs to place around your neck and on your chest. You laid there your chest heaving as your heart tried to exit your ribcage. Then you felt something freezing and heavy land right over your chest and around your neck.

As the ice pack worked to calm your nervous system, Katsuki’s mind turned into a cage of his own making.

You fucking dumbass, his inner voice said, the self-loathing so loud it drowned out the hum of the refrigerator. You pushed her too far. You stood there like a freak, crowding her, breathing down her neck, and you were so goddamn pathetic for her that you convinced yourself she wanted you too.

He stared down at your pale face, watching your breathing. Every detail he’d cherished seconds ago, the scent of your hair, the softness of your body, now felt like evidence of a crime. He hadn't bridged a gap he had forced a bridge and watched it collapse under you.

“She feels this too,” he mocked his own earlier thought, the memory of his ego making him want to vomit. She wasn't you idiot. She was in pre syncope, but you were too focused on the feel of her ass and your own selfish desires to notice.

The realization that he had misread that moment made him physically cringe. He had spent a year memorizing you, or so he thought. But in his hunger, he’d seen a fantasy. He’d seen you leaning back into his embrace when, in his reality, he was looking at your nervous system failing under the weight of his intensity.

You opened your eyes fully regaining consciousness and shivered, chest heaving as you tried to regulate your breathing. The world felt thin and buzzy, like you were made of static. Then the coldness fully registered.

"Gah—cold!" you gasped, flinching.

"That’s the point, genius. Stimulate the vagus nerve," Katsuki said, now holding your legs against his chest with one arm. His palm covered the ice pack but his thumb grazed the side of your breast, your breath stopped from the contact.

"Breathe with me. Stop trying to talk."

He started exaggerating his own deep inhalations so you could follow the sound.

You slowly started to breathe with him, doing it slow enough hoping he wouldn’t notice. That his thumb is currently resting on the side of your boob. In reality both of you were very aware and neither of you planned on pointing out.

"I'm a... great co-chef," you rasped, your eyes squeezed shut as the ice began to dull the frantic thudding.

"Really... carrying the team." Katsuki let out a huffed breath. His hand remained steady on lowering your feet off of his shoulder. "Focus on the breathing. If you pass out again on my floor, I’m charging you rent for the space you’re taking up."

"Capitalist," you whispered, a small, weak smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah, yeah. Just stay put until your heart rate goes back down."

He stayed there on the floor with you, ignoring the smell of the perfectly cooked food cooling on the table. The food could wait. Right now, he’s only focused on you.

The silence settled with tension in the kitchen, a mix of medical concern and a year’s worth of unspoken pining that just broke through. But when the pager wailed, the bubble burst.

Level 4 Villain attack. Downtown. Sector 7.

"Go," you said softly. "I’m fine, Katsuki. Really. Go save the day."

He lingered, his gaze searching your face for any doubts. A heavy sigh, sounding more like a frustrated growl, escaped him. He knew you’d be okay but he really didn’t want to leave you.

"Okay," he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly warning. "But if I come back and you’re still on the floor again because you tried to finish or clean up, I’ll murder you."

Before you could retort, he leaned in. He didn't go for your lips, that felt too much like a confession he wasn't ready to voice and instead pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead.

Just stay safe, damn it, his mind command, even as his heart pleaded for you to wait for him.

He pulled back abruptly, his ears tinged with a bright rosy red. Without meeting your gaze, he moved your legs carefully from his shoulders, stood up turning off all of the food and then disappeared into the hallway. Moments later, the front door clicked shut, leaving the apartment in a ringing silence.

You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since he first pressed up against you. Slumping against the cabinet, you pressed a hand to your chest, your skin still humming where he’d been.

Holy shit.

You touched your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingered. Your face heated up as you replayed the scene. It wasn't the fainting that had your pulse racing now, it was the him. The way his chest had felt against your back, solid, wide and impossibly warm. The way he’d tucked his face into your neck, his breath ghosting over your skin until you'd shuddered. His skin smelling faintly of the expensive soap he used specifically because you’d once mentioned you liked it.

The way he had held your hand over the knife, the way you could feel him, leaving little to the imagination. The line between "roommates" and "whatever-the-fuck-that-was" hadn't just been crossed, it had been incinerated.

You looked at the half chopped chives and realized the pager had been a mercy. You needed time to breathe, and take in what all just happened. You looked at the clock 7:48PM, ugh it was a level 4 emergency so he won’t be back in time to talk. You weren’t sure of that was a blessing or a curse but you dragged yourself to the couch.

Hours later, the front door opened again. The apartment was dark, the adrenaline of the fight and the bore of the paperwork having bled into a bone deep exhaustion. Katsuki dropped his gear in the entryway, his eyes immediately scanning the living room.

He found you on the couch, where you had eventually migrated and promptly fell asleep.

He stepped closer with a quiet exhale, crouching beside you. For a brief second, he hesitated. Then he slipped one arm beneath your shoulders and the other under your knees, lifting you with a practiced ease.

You shifted against him, your head settling naturally against his chest. You didn't wake, just let out a soft sigh that vibrated against his collarbone.

"…Tch."

Katsuki adjusted his grip, holding you steady as he navigated the hall. His steps were slower than usual as if he were carrying something fragile and priceless. Which to him he was. When he reached your room, he nudged the door open. He lowered you onto the bed as gently as he could, and you instinctively curled into the pillow.

He lingered, staring down at you. The exhaustion weighed on him heavy and his eyes flicked from you to the empty space beside you.

I smell like a damn landfill, he thought, his gaze lingering on the empty space beside you. If I lay down now, I’m not getting up for three days. And I’ll get grit all over her sheets.

He stepped closer, a part of his mind urged him to just take off his suit and slide under the duvet. He wanted to feel the steady warmth of you against his chest, to prove to his overactive nervous system that you were both still here.

Just five minutes, he tempted himself. She wouldn't even know.

But he knew. He knew he’d feel like a creep for hovering, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he woke you up after you’d clearly stayed up late waiting for him.

He leaned over the bed, the heat from his sweaty body radiating in the cool room. Very gently, he brushed your hair away from your face, he pressed his lips to your forehead.

Sleep well, idiot, he thought with a smirk. I’m back. One day I’ll be able to climb into bed with you and hold you. I just want to hold you.

His jaw tightened as He pulled the blanket over your shoulders, tucking you in properly. Pressing another kiss to your forehead.

"…Idiot."

He straightened up, heading toward the shower. He had a reputation to uphold, after all, even if his heart was currently making it very difficult to leave the room.

He turned and retreated, the door clicking shut behind him. The quiet hallway was filled with the promise of a conversation that neither of you could avoid any longer.

TAGS🩵: @ghostinggecko @stereading @darhinadadragon @thel0v3hashira143 @lovehazelle @charityjoy22 @prettydivinegirl @tengensfavfourthwife @snoozebun @c0quin @nuo0n @atticuswastaken @takoyakitakii @womanloverxx @amayaaaxx @luvzbloomx @mruizsworld @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @woonhaesan @priaspalac3 @ressya @supernerdycookietrashblrr @marcelineee-tvq @esisfdunkelundkalt @eyesforbkg @lenaketchum @wooyeouu @hireisy @nice-nice-dazey @rayleeya @mxchiii @sillyhyperpuppy @s-viore @reluctantlyfracturedsamurai @lemonlimelolly @lenaketchum @madam-ri @themultifandomgirl @meowieees @nightmarenyxx @indigoxfeelings-blog @that-b-word-lol @kristend512 @lost444ariess @nanuloveskatsuki @hanalysis

[thecaptainkindofgirl]

My dad works at Home Depot and this one customer came in trying to return a lawnmower that wouldn’t start. Another employee asked the customer if he had put any gas in it and the customer was outraged, yelling that they should have told him it needed gas (it was in the manual) and the employee told him “Well it doesn’t run on hopes and dreams, sir.” That pissed the guy off more so he called the manager all “Can you believe this guy!? He told me it doesn’t run on hopes and dreams!” and the manager just said “Well, it doesn’t.”

[writingdose]

I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.

the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.

[unificsation]

the above is super important.

also i'd write an essay about how witch-hunting fanfic writers and accusing them of using AI is stupid and detrimental to fandom (as compared to blocking and moving on) but these people who go around finding someone to burn on a stake don't have reading comprehension anyway.

[chrisbambi]

shower markups katsuki bakugo blurb

hot droplets of water trickle down katsuki’s jaw, the water connected by katsuki’s lips on you. his teeth bite gently, taking his sweet time with you. careful not to rush, making sure he thoroughly uses his time with you. bakugo’s hands wander down your waist, gripping your hips in desperate want.

the glass of the shower is starting to fog up, a clear piece of evidence to prove just how long the two of you have been in here. your hands tangle roughly in his damp, blonde, hair. which earns you a groan from him. “easy, don’t rip my fuckin’ hair out.” he mumbles, but honestly? he doesn’t care all that much.

if anything he’s silently begging you’ll do it again. and you do, a small tug of your fingers at his hair. katsuki moves sides, giving the opposite side of your neck some love too. biting, sucking, kissing, everything he did on the other side. your hands move down to his shoulders and bicep, gripping at the damp flesh.

finally he pulls away, proud of the little marks he’d successfully planted onto your skin. katsuki also takes into account your disbelieved appearance. a loose strand of hair falling across your face, swollen lips, water falling down your face and chest.

katsuki admires for a moment, taking it all in like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you in a state like this. you take initiative and press a kiss to his collarbone and neck, returning the favor. and katsuki just silently prays you’ll start to mark him up like he did to you.

© 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[caught-in-the-admire]

Paid In Full-Emotional Interest

Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now you’re back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you haven’t told him he feels like he hadn’t paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.

tags: slowburn, mutual pining, smut-ish

a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure. Again thank you for the comments 🥹 sorry this is late the semester started back up 🥲 also this one is pretty long, I got carried away.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

The move-in was a loud, chaotic collision of boxes and quirk-enhanced heavy lifting. To Katsuki, it felt like voluntarily walking into a beautiful, high-stakes trap.

"Careful with that box, Moron! If you break the espresso machine, I’m breaking your fingers!" Katsuki’s voice echoed through the hallway of the new apartment.

"Geez, Bakubro, chill! It’s marked 'Fragile,’ I’m smarter than that" Kaminari defended as he wobbled past Sero, who was using his tape to create a makeshift pulley system for the heavier boxes.

In the center of the living room, you stood looking so vibrant and beautiful, that Katsuki had been stealing glances for the last twenty minutes. He wanted you here. He wanted you in every room, in every corner of his life. But the "roommate" label felt like a jagged piece of glass he had to swallow daily.

"Need a hand with that, Kacchan?"

Katsuki stiffened. Midoriya was standing nearby, holding a stack of boxes with a look of soft, infuriating intuition.

"I don't need your damn help! Loser can't even stack a box straight," Katsuki snapped, though the bite wasn't really there. He gripped the edge of a mahogany dresser, his knuckles white.

"It’s a great apartment," Midoriya said quietly, choosing to ignore Katsuki’s comment. "I’m glad you two found a place. You’ve always... looked out for each other."

Katsuki didn't respond. He couldn't. He was watching you across the room. You had just wobbled slightly when attempting to stand up a bit too fast, he was halfway across the floor, his hand out.

"Watch it, klutz," he growled, catching your elbow to steady you.

"Thank you, Katsuki," you said, looking up at him. For a second, the noise of Mina and Jirou arguing over where the rug should go faded into a dull hum as they both watched you and Katsuki painfully interact. Your eyes were bright while you looked up at him and for a fleeting, delusional moment, he thought he saw a reflection of his own desperation there.

She can't possibly want this as much as I do, he thought. She’s just being thankful. She’s just being a roommate.

“You should go sit on the couch. You’re going to send yourself into a flare up for the next 2 days.” Katsuki said, finally letting go of your elbow, rubbing his thumb and finger tips of where your skin had just been. He shook his hand out as if it had burned him.

"Bakugo! Check it out!" Kirishima shouted, throwing an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders, oblivious to the internal crisis occurring. "We got the TV mounted! This place is gonna be real manly!"

"It’s a co-ed apartment, idiot," Katsuki muttered, shaking him off.

"Really? Manly? Come on," Mina questioning Kirishima, sliding over to him. Kirishima looked down at her, quickly looking away as a blush started to spread on his cheeks. "We all know y/n has the better interior design skills..."

You walked over to the couch, shooting Mina a knowing smirk as you raise an eyebrow at the closeness of her and Kirishima. She glared before putting slight distance between them.

“Yeah from what i remember, your dorm room was pretty bare, with your only “decorations” being hiking gear” you playfully added.

"I said stay on the couch," Katsuki barked, not looking up as he shoved a bookshelf against the far wall with Sero.

"I’m moving pillows, Katsuki, not the fridge," you countered, your voice light but with a bit of push back that he both loved and loathed.

Despite his orders, you couldn't just sit still. You felt like a guest in your own life lately, and the need to be useful was an itch you couldn't scratch. You reached for a medium-sized box labeled Kitchen, your fingers hooking under the box. But as you stood up straight, the world did that familiar blur and tilt. Your blood pressure dipped, head felt light and lips felt tingly.

Just as you were adjusting you mistakenly stepped and your foot caught on a small box cutter. You gasped, the box slipping from your numb fingers as you started to fall.

You didn't hit the floor.

A pair of strong arms caught you by the waist, steadying you with practiced ease. It was the delivery driver, a guy in his early twenties who had been hauling in the last of the furniture.

"Whoa there," the driver said. He didn't let go immediately, making sure you had your footing. He looked at you with a playful smile. "You know, usually I'm the one delivering the goods, but I didn't expect to catch something this precious mid-air."

You felt a heat creeping up your neck, partly from the dizzy spell, but mostly from the blatant, unexpected flattery. You let out a soft, breathless laugh, using his hand as that final ledge to fully stand.

"Smooth," you joked. "Is that part of the premium delivery service, or do I have to tip extra for the save?"

The driver grinned, leaning back just enough to be respectful. "For you? It’s on the house."

You couldn’t hide the genuine smile that was coming. It felt nice to be flirted with by someone who didn’t know you were sick, to be seen as something other than your illness.

Across the room, the sound of a cardboard box hitting the floor was followed by the unmistakable pop-pop of nitroglycerin sweat igniting. Katsuki was there in a heartbeat, moving with a predatory grace that made the delivery guy instantly stiffen.

Katsuki didn't look at the delivery driver. He looked at you, his eyes scanning your face for signs of a seizure or pre syncope, his hands hovering near your shoulders but not quite touching.

"I told you to sit down," he said, his voice low with worry and annoyance that was covering the jealousy he was feeling.

"I'm fine, Katsuki. He caught me," you said, still smiling, unaware of the war raging in his chest.

Katsuki finally turned his gaze to the driver. The delivery guy absolutely knew who katsuki was, he was Dynmight, but right now he was afraid of seeing Dynamight’s well known aggression. Katsuki had the look of a man watching someone touch something that was simultaneously his entire world and something he felt he had no right to claim.

"The boxes are done. There’s no more furniture," Katsuki growled, his hand sparking just enough to be a warning. "I signed the stupid clipboard, it’s on the counter, get it and get out."

The driver, sensing the sudden shift from 'flirty afternoon' to 'imminent danger,' nodded quickly and vanished toward the kitchen.

Katsuki turned back to you. He wanted to yell. He wanted to tell you that you shouldn't smile at strangers, that you didn't realize how fragile you were, that he was the only one who knew how to catch you properly.

But then he remembered Kirishima's words.

“It’ll be because she chose you.”

He sighed his entire body deflating, he looked at the box you had dropped. He picked it up along with another box near by.

"Sit," he said again, his voice a raw, jagged edge of desperation. "Please. Just... let me do this."

The way he said it made your stomach drop with sadness and the familiar guilt you felt when he did something for you. You saw the look in his eyes as a look of someone who was tired and needed a break. I’m making things worse, all I had to do was sit. I’m just stressing him out…again. you thought.

But in reality Katsuki was looking at you with loving worry. He wanted you to be independent, but even independence has its limits. And he wasn’t going to lose you to what he viewed has carelessness. You nodded and went to sit on the couch telling Jirou what was what in the boxes.

As the apartment began to come together and the boxes disappeared, you all sat on the couch drinking and eating takeout. Katsuki retreated to the kitchen under the guise of getting water. He leaned against the counter, looking out at the living room.

The apartment was full of his friends, but his eyes only tracked you. You were sitting with Jirou eating noodles and laughing at Kaminari, looking perfectly at home. This was his dream and his private hell, you were finally under the same roof, within his reach, yet miles away behind a wall you had both built out of fear of losing what you already had. He’d spend every night in this apartment pining for a girl who was sleeping just a wall away.

The last of the Bakusquad had finally filtered out, leaving the apartment with suffocating silence. You decide to start helping clean up some of the trash. You were able to pick up exactly 3 pieces of trash before Katsuki saw.

"Sit. Down," Katsuki ordered, pointing at the couch.

"I can just help with the clean up—"

"I said sit," he growled, his voice dropping into that low, protective register that usually brook no argument. "You’ve been on your feet for hours, even with me telling you to sit. and I am not dragging your ass to the ER on our first night here because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re spent."

You sighed, the sound long and weary, and finally collapsed onto the gray cushions.

"Fine. You win, Doc."

Katsuki didn't comment. He was too busy realizing with exciting agony that you were alone. Together. No Deku to ramble, no Mina to gossip with you, no Kirishima to talk to him. He retreated to the kitchen, opening the fridge and staring into the glow of the light.

He didn't need a drink. He’d had three glasses of water in the last hour. He just needed a second to breathe without your scent making his brain short-circuit.

Roommates, he reminded himself, gripping the handle of the fridge. Just roommates. It’s not a big deal.

He grabbed a protein shake he didn't want and walked back into the living room. He saw how your head was lolling back against the top of the couch, your eyes closed, your breathing already slowing into the rhythmic cadence of sleep.

You looked at peace. His heart did a painful, complicated somersault. He wanted to scoop you up and carry you to your bed, but he knew the moment he touched you, his composure would crumble.

He moved toward the couch, intending to sit on the far end, but his body had other plans. He "accidentally" say close enough that he could feel the heat coming off of you. He sat down heavily, the cushions dipping under his weight. He held his breath, waiting.

Lean left, he thought, a desperate, silent plea. Just fall over. I’m right here. Use me.

You stirred in your sleep, your brow furrowing slightly. You began to tilt. Katsuki tensed his shoulder, leaning ever so slightly towards you. He was ready. He his foot tapping with the anticipation your weight against him.

Then with a soft sleepy mumble, you shifted. Leaning…the opposite way. You curled your legs up and rolled onto your side, your head landing on the far armrest, facing away from him. The rejection, even though it was unintentional, hurt his feelings. Katsuki sat there in the dark, clutching a protein shake, staring at the back of your head.

The longing was so heavy it felt like it was filling his lungs with lead. He could reach out and touch you, tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He could tell you that he wanted to move in with you because he was getting greedy. That he was tired of only seeing you a couple days a week, he wanted you everyday.

But he didn't. He just sat in the silence of your new home.

"Stupid," he whispered to the empty room, though he wasn't sure if he meant it for you or himself.

He sat for 20 minutes past his bedtime before you stirred awake, stretching and looking at him through tired eyes. You slowly stood up to go to your room and mumbled a groggy, "Night, Katsuki,"

as you padded down the hallway. He’d listened to the click of your bedroom door, though he felt like it was a vault sealing something that he couldn’t touch.

At 4:30 AM, the kitchen was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator and the aggressive scribbling of Katsuki’s pen on a neon-orange sticky note.

His current opponent was a piece of sourdough toast. He moved with a frantic, focused energy. He didn't just make breakfast he engineered it. He knew the sodium-to-potassium ratio you needed to keep your blood volume up.

He knew that if you woke up and stood up too fast to scavenge for food, your heart would hit triple digits before you reached the pantry.

A literal liter of water with electrolytes sat front and center. Beside it, a plate of eggs and heavily salted avocado toast was covered in foil to trap the heat. Then, he slapped the sticky note onto the water bottle. The sticky note was about 40% aggression and 60% genuine concern, masked by his aggressive handwriting.

He stared at the note. It was bossy. It was the only way he knew how to say how he spent the last thirty minutes worrying about you waking up in an empty house alone.

As he walked toward the elevator, he wasn't thinking about the patrol or the villains he might face. He was counting down the hours until coming back to the girl who thought he was just a grumpy roommate.

When you finally emerged from sleep the apartment was quiet, sunlight lighting the room You found the note on the counter:

EAT…but listen to your body don’t over eat because you feel like you have to.

Drink one ENTIRE water bottle BEFORE you even think about turning on the coffee pot. Coffee is NOT a substitute for Literally Having Blood in your veins.

I put your compression socks on the counter. PUT THEM ON. If I come home and find you dizzy on the floor because you were too lazy to wear them, I’m calling your doctor myself. Don’t forget your medicine, idiot.

- Bakugo

You couldn't help the light airy laugh that escaped you. You followed his orders, dutifully taking your medication with the water he left and eating your breakfast. But as your eyes drifted to the coffee pot, the rebellion set in. You knew the caffeine was bad, but the craving was a siren song. As the dark liquid began to hiss and drip, you slipped away to the bathroom.

Showering was a gamble, sometimes you would do just fine after a shower and other times, more often than not, it left you lightheaded and drained. Today was a mix of both but you were proud. By the time you were fully dressed, your energy levels started plummeting, you’d reached your limit.

Moving with practiced caution, you navigated to the living room. The "post-shower crash" was hitting hard, so you executed your plan of getting your laptop, blanket, and charger, with your water bottle and snacks within arm's reach. You flopped onto the sofa, propping your feet up high on the armrest to help your circulation.

Feeling a spark of domestic mischief, you decided to snapped a quick photo. To prove to katsuki that you followed his instructions. The photo was a blurry picture of your water bottle in hand and work laptop slightly on top of your thighs. You hit send with a text.

Y/N: Surviving thanks to your orders Doc.

Across town, Katsuki’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out, expecting a complaint or a smart ass comment. Instead, the image loaded, and the air left his lungs.

He had been there when you ordered those socks. He’d helped you pick the brand with the best compression rating, barking at the screen about "not buying cheap crap."

But seeing them on you? The black fabric stretched over your skin, your thighs thick and plush. It made him question if he would be able to handle this.

Of course it was a medical necessity for you. But to him, it was a devastating reminder of exactly how much he wanted to be the one using your thighs as pillows. His thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the line of your legs in the photo, his jaw set in a hard line to hide the fact that he was absolutely, hopelessly yearning for you.

Katsuki stared at the screen until the phone timed out. He clicked it back on immediately. His heart was doing that rhythmic, heavy thudding, the kind that he usually felt before an explosion. He looked at the mundane clutter of your space. It was so domestic it made his teeth ache.

With a grunt of frustration, he hit 'Save.'

The second the image vanished into his private gallery, the guilt hit him like a truck. His mind, usually a fortress of tactical strategy and discipline, was currently a riot of images he had no right to have.

He wasn't your boyfriend. He was your roommate, your friend, your self-appointed "guard dog", but he wasn't yours.

"Stop being a creep, you damn loser," he hissed at himself.

The heat in his face was unbearable, the tightness of his pants was worse. In a fit of desperate redirection, he hurled the phone across the locker room. It skidded across the bench and hit the padded wall with a satisfying thud, not enough to shatter the screen, but enough to put distance between him and the temptation.

He stormed out into the hallway, his boots stomping. He needed noise. He needed a fight. He needed Kirishima.

"KIRISHIMA! Get your ass out here! We're starting patrol early!"

He found the redhead tightening his gear near the exit. Kirishima blinked, startled by the sheer volume of Katsuki’s aggression, even by his standards.

"Whoa, Bakugo! We still have ten minutes. Everything okay? You’re looking a bit angry even for you."

"I’m fine! I’m focused! Let’s go!" He barked, shoving past him toward the street.

As they hit the pavement, Katsuki tried to lock the fuck in. He scanned the crowds, analyzed the exits, and watched for suspicious movement. But his brain was a traitor, his mind drifting to the photo.

She’s probably still on the couch. Ugh she probably finished the damn coffee even though it makes her dizzy.

"You're awfully quiet, man," Kirishima noted, glancing over as they turned a corner. "Usually you're yelling at the pigeons or something."

"I'm thinking about the patrol! Shut up!"

The worst part was the timeline. He was on the late shift. By the time he’d get back, the lights would be off, the apartment would be silent, and you would likely be in bed. He wouldn't even get to see you in them.

He scolds himself again, a silent, internal mantra. Focus. You're a pro. It’s just some damn socks.

Back at the agency, Katsuki sat on a bench in the breakroom, his leg bouncing with enough energy to power a small city. The silence of the room was his worst enemy.

In the quiet, his imagination ran rampant, filling the gaps of that photo with a sensory overload he wasn't prepared for. He closed his eyes and immediately saw himself there, on the couch.

Though he wouldn't just be sitting, he’d be pulling your legs into his lap, his hands sliding up your legs. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin, imagine the way you’d lean back and sigh his name. He’d lean over you, crowding your space until he could press a kiss to the pulse point in your neck, feeling the rapid, fluttering beat of your heart.

The thought of his mouth on yours, of his hands sliding under your shirt, and sliding up your smooth skin to your-

"DAMN IT!"

He jumped on his feet so abruptly the bench screeched against the floor. He let out a sharp, forced cough, looking around wildly to see if any sidekicks had witnessed his momentary lapse into insanity.

He marched into the bathroom, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, mocking him. He leaned over the sink and splashed freezing water onto his face, letting it soak into his hairline.

"Get a grip," he snarled at his reflection. Water dripped off his nose. "You’re a Pro Hero, not some hormonal brat in middle school."

He took a jagged breath, then another, forcing himself to calm down and respond to you. He couldn't leave you on read. That would be worse.

It would be a confession of how much the photo is affecting him. He deleted three different drafts before settling on something that felt sufficient enough for him.

Bakugo: Whatever. Don't get cocky just because you managed to put on socks. If that laptop overheats on your legs, don't come crying to me about the burns. Also I’m stuck on the late shift. Don’t wait up, just go to sleep.

He hit send and immediately shoved the phone back into his gear, refusing to look at it again. He couldn't risk you replying with something sweet, or worse, another photo. He had a city to protect, and he couldn't do that if he was busy wondering exactly how soft your skin felt above the line of those thigh-highs.

The apartment was bathed in the flickering light of the television when Katsuki finally stepped through the door. It was well past midnight.

He dropped his hero gear by the door with practiced silence, his eyes immediately darting to the couch. There you were, buried under a the heated blanket he got for you.

Katsuki felt a traitorous softening in his chest. He stood over you for a long minute debating. Part of him, the part that had been losing its mind all day wanted to just scoop you up, blanket and all. He could imagine the weight of you against him, your head lolling onto his shoulder.

"Hey," he muttered, reaching out to shake your shoulder gently. "Wake up. You can't sleep on the damn couch, your neck's gonna be trash."

You didn't move. He tried again, a bit firmer this time. "Move."

You groaned a sound of pure annoyance. Without opening your eyes, you swatted his hand away with the coordination of a sleepy toddler.

"Go 'way... leave me 'lone, Katsuki," you mumbled. "Mhmm-Shut up."

Hearing you say his name while half-conscious made his stomach flip. "Fine! Ruin your posture for all I care!"

He stormed off to the bathroom, the hot spray of the shower doing absolutely nothing to wash away the tension of the day. If anything, the steam just made him feel more restless. He scrubbed his skin until it was red, scolding himself the entire time.

Was moving in with her a good idea? Why is this so hard? I’ve been more disciplined than this.

It was simple, he’s never seen you this way in this way. This exposed. When he finally emerged, in low-slung black sweatpants and a towel around his neck, he found you finally awake. He went to make a smart ass comment but he froze.

You were standing by the couch, mid-stretch. As your arms reached for the ceiling, your oversized t-shirt rode up, exposing the hem of your tiny pajama shorts and the soft curve of your hips and those damn socks. He looked away, he was really trying to be respectful but you were making it hard for him.

You turned and caught his silhouette. You didn't seem to process that he was shirtless, you just gave him a lazy, limp-wristed wave.

"G'night," you muttered, your feet dragging as you shuffled toward her bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. As soon as you were in your room, your eyes shot open and you let out a breath.

Hewasshirtlesshewasshirtlesshewasshirtless. Oh my god. This was a bad idea right? Oh my god. the sweatpants. Was he har-? No no

You bit your fist from to try and contain yourself. Heading to bed and trying to get some sleep. Rubbing your thighs together, throwing your hand in awkward motions trying to decide if your hand was going below your waistline of your shorts or not.

Meanwhile katsuki retreated to his own room, shutting the door with a loud a thud that echoed through the hall. He winced, too loud, you moron, and threw himself backwards on his bed.

His phone was right there. He reached for it, his thumb hovering over the photo he’d saved earlier. His mind half of it lecturing him on the "creepy" nature of his pining, the other half replaying the sight of you stretching in the living room.

Should I have done this? he wondered, staring at the ceiling. Living with her? It’s only been ONE fucking day. I’m gonna lose my damn mind.

He rolled onto his side, crushing his pillow under his arm and squeezing his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the growing in his pants. This isn’t the first time that you caused this, but this was the most unbearable one.

I could just take care of it, it’ll be quick just to release the pent up energy. Help you focus. It been a couple weeks since…

Since the last time he jerked off, which was to you. His hand had made its way down to his dick, where he slowly began to work it in his fist. He began to finish out the thought he had earlier that day and imagining how your thighs felt around his waist. Once he’d finally finished he felt sinful and ashamed. Like he’d tainted you. He was angry at himself as he cleaned himself.

Stop doing this. You’re better than this, she deserves a friend, not a creep roommate who jerks off to her. Pathetic. No more.

He told himself it was the last time every time. He dragged his hands down his face, now that his ragging boner was gone all he could think about was how he just wanted to hold you. Sitting on the couch watching some stupid show with you curled into his side, laying your head on his shoulder.

"What the hell," he hissed into the dark, his voice a jagged edge of frustration.

"It's just y/n. Get it together."

But as he drifted toward a restless sleep, his brain unhelpfully reminded him that you weren’t just any girl. You were the only one who could make the him feel seen. The one who gave up your future for his.

He was staring at the shadows of the ceiling fan spinning overhead. He needed a blueprint, as his current lack of emotional structural integrity was unacceptable.

Is this a bad idea? The question popped up again, unbidden. Living together was one thing when you were in the UA dorms with twenty other idiots acting as a buffer. Not that he even noticed you in that way back then. Something that further proved to him that he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t even bother to know you and you still saved him.

No. It’s a good idea. Because it’s my idea. My idea to keep her close. To keep her safe

He knew your triggers. He knew when you needed more salt, when you’d pushed yourself too far with a hot shower, and when your blood pressure was bottoming out before you even realized it. If you were anywhere else, someone might miss the signs. He wouldn't.

He took a final, deep breath. He was going to take care of you. That was the primary mission. Everything else, the way his pulse spiked when you touched his arm, the way he wanted to pull you against him and never let go, that was secondary.

He would bury these feelings, deeper. He’d shove them into a box, weld it shut, and blast it into the stratosphere. He had the willpower to ignore a crush, even if that crush was currently sleeping less than twenty feet away in his guest room.

"Repress it," he whispered to the dark room, a command to his own soul. "Do better."

He finally closed his eyes, his mind already pivoting to tomorrow's breakfast. He needed to make sure he put the right add ins to your smoothie. It was a much safer thing to obsess over than the curve of your waist.

🩵TAGS: @ghostinggecko @stereading @darhinadadragon @thel0v3hashira143 @lovehazelle @charityjoy22 @prettydivinegirl @tengensfavfourthwife @snoozebun @c0quin @nuo0n @atticuswastaken @takoyakitakii @womanloverxx @amayaaaxx @luvzbloomx @mruizsworld @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @woonhaesan @priaspalac3 @ressya @supernerdycookietrashblrr @marcelineee-tvq @esisfdunkelundkalt @eyesforbkg @lenaketchum @wooyeouu @hireisy @nice-nice-dazey @rayleeya

[caught-in-the-admire]

Paid In Full- Debt Accrued

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now you’re back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you haven’t told him he feels like he hadn’t paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.

tags: slowburn, mutual pining, angst?

a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure. Again thank you for the comment 🥹 sorry this is late the semester started back up 🥲

After dropping you back off to your apartment to start the grueling process of packing, Katsuki sat in his car for a long moment. He pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial he hated to admit he used.

"Kacchan?" Izuku’s voice was hopeful and cautious.

"It’s done," Katsuki said, pulling out into traffic. "We saw the place. She’s moving in with me."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. He could practically hear Izuku’s brain whirring, analyzing, and ultimately being thankfully and accepting mumbling.

"I’m glad, Kacchan," Izuku said softly. "I really am. She needs someone who will keep her moving and safe."

"Of course I will," Katsuki muttered. "And Deku? Don't think this means you're off the hook. You’re still the one who has to drive her to those downtown appointments when I’m on double shifts. If I find out you’re late once, I’ll murder you."

Izuku laughed, a light, relieved sound. "I wouldn't dream of it. Does she know you've already memorized her seizure rescue protocol? Because I-"

"Shut up, nerd! I’m hanging up!"

Katsuki tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, right where you had been sitting.

"He said what?" Mina’s voice hit a pitch that could shatter glass.

She was practically vibrating with excitement. She had flopped onto your bed the second you had started telling her about your day, her eyes wide and hungry. She knew you were exhausted, but Mina also knew a breakthrough when she smelled one.

"He said 'us', Mina," you sighed, rubbing your temples. You had passed out a bit after getting home, waking up to find Mina already there, hovering like a beautiful pink guardian angel. "But he immediately corrected himself! He was just... being Katsuki. Oh…he told me to call him that, by the way."

Mina let out another high-pitched squeal, kicking her feet against the mattress. Across from you blinked being a bit startled, before giving her a weary smile.

"He’s just being protective because he feels like he owes me. He thinks of me as a mission. One he can't fail, because then he will crumble into endless self abuse.”

"A mission?" Mina snorted, rolling onto her stomach. You both knew he was emotionally vulnerable as a hand grande.

"Girl, we’ve known that explosive, angry pomeranian for years. He doesn't look at 'missions' with heart-eyes. He doesn't move his schedule around ‘missions.’ And he definitely doesn't give 'missions' permission to use his given name."

"He's being a good friend," you insisted, though the heat you were feeling told a different story. "He feels guilty about everything. Look at what he does for Edgeshot! He sees what happened to our bodies as things he caused. This is just his way of fixing what he thinks he broke."

Mina sat up going to grab another cardboard box, her expression softening into a knowing look.

"Listen to me. Bakugo doesn't do 'fix-it' projects for people he doesn't care about. If he just felt guilty, he’d write you a check and send a medical team. He wouldn't be the one driving you to doctor appointments or moving you into his apartment."

"It’s not like that," you whisper.

"It’s exactly like that! The man is in love with you," Mina stated, punctuating each word with a clap.

"He’s head-over-heels, world-ending, 'I’ll-burn-this-city-down-for-you' in love. He probably, and stick with me now, wants to marry you. I bet he’s already picked out a ring reinforced with titanium or some hero-grade crap."

A weak laugh escaped you. "No way. He’s a Pro Hero. And have you seen his fan forums? There are women who would literally throw themselves under a bus just for him to yell at them. I’m just... the girl who made sure he lived so he could be the best hero. And he loves a challenge, someone he can fight with. He needs someone who can keep up with him, not someone he has to carry."

Mina’s heart ached. She could see the invisible cage you had built out of hurt and fear.

"That's the thing, you dummy," Mina said, poking your forehead. "He wants to be the one to carry you. To him, you’re the strongest person he knows because you brought him back. He’s not pining for a sidekick. He’s pining for a wife, someone stable."

The word wife hung in the air, echoing the exact thought that had drifted through Katsuki’s mind hours earlier while he watched you in apartment walk through. Neither you or Mina knew it, but the sentiment was identical.

"Him thinking I’m the strongest person doesn’t mean he wants to marry me or be romantic in the slightest," you argued, looking at the string you’ve been fidgeting with. "He’s the most intense person on the planet. When he feels he owes someone, he doesn't just pay them back. He colonizes their entire life to make sure the debt is settled."

Mina squinted. "A debt? You’re joking, right? You still think this is a transaction to him?"

"Look at Deku!" You pointed out. "Katsuki is literally spearheading the fundraising for that multi-billion yen super-suit just so Izuku can be a hero again. He’s doing the same thing here…sorta. I saved his life, and now I have seizures and a deregulated body. He’s providing the specialists and this apartment because he can’t make me a hero agin. It’s not love. It’s... high-level atonement."

Mina opened her mouth to argue, to say that he didn't buy apartments for Midoriya or learn how to cook anti inflammatory meals for Edgeshot, but the look in your eyes stopped her. It was the look of someone terrified of having high hopes.

"He's a good man, Mina," you added softly. "The best. But he’s doing this because he’s honorable. Not because he wants me romantically."

Mina rolled her eyes and stood up, reaching for her phone. She knew that until you two idiots actually confessed, you and him would keep denying the obvious. And she keep going in circles with you.

“Sure. And I’m a professional ballet dancer.”

“I mean, you technically are a professional dancer… maybe not ballet…” you made a face, raising an eyebrow at her odd comparison.

“Shut up,” Mina smiled, her thumbs already flying across her screen as she texted Kirishima with a manic grin. “Just watch. When he shows up tomorrow with movers and a key to your heart, don’t forget that I was right."

She left to get more boxes. As the door clicked shut, you leaned back against your pillow, your heart still fluttering, not from your condition, but from the terrifying, beautiful possibility that Mina might actually be right.

The gym was emptying out, heroes and sidekicks clearing out leaving the hum of the ventilation system the only thing filling the space. Katsuki remained, pacing a small perimeter near the weight racks. He wasn’t training, he was working. He tapped a stylus against a tablet with aggressive precision, his brows furrowed as he finalized the checklist for a new apartment.

Kirishima sat on a nearby bench, catching his breath and scrolling through a flurry of texts from Mina. He looked up, watching the way Katsuki was hunched over the tablet, shoulders tense and eyes focused.

"Mina says the packing is coming along," Kirishima started, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "It’s seriously manly, man. Moving in with her like this, making sure she’s got everything she needs... your love for her is totally unconditional. That’s the peak manliness, for real.

Katsuki froze. The stylus hovered a fraction of an inch above the screen. He turned slowly, his eyes narrowing into challenging look.

"My what?"

Kirishima realized instantly he’d jumped the gun. The "L" word was a landmine in this friendship. "I mean! Your... uh, your dedication! It’s unconditional dedication! Like a sidekick!"

"Who the hell are you calling a SIDEKICK?!" Katsuki yelled, a small warning pop of nitro-sweat igniting on his palm.

Kirishima held up his hands, unbothered by the sparks, he was used to the blast zone by now. “Anyway, the apartment... you excited? Living with someone again? It’s gonna be different from living alone."

Katsuki let out a sharp, jagged exhale, turning back to his tablet to hide the way his pulse had spiked. "It’s not about being 'excited,' Shitty Hair. It’s about not having to worry every five minutes about if she’s fallen in the shower or hit her head passing out. It’s about control. I want her where I can know she’s safe. It’s practical."

He set the tablet down and went to go train again flexing his hands. Katsuki was aggressively re-wrapping his hands, his movements jerky and irritated after Kirishima’s "unconditional love" comment. Kirishima sat on the bench, watching the furious way Katsuki tucked the end of the tape. He didn't look away when Katsuki caught his eye.

"You’re doing all this move-in stuff," Kirishima said, his voice dropping the playful tone for something more grounded. "You’re picking the apartment, talking to the doctors, getting her medication. You’re basically playing the role of a significant other without the actual...romance."

Katsuki’s jaw set. "I’m taking care of what needs to be done. Like I said it’s practical that’s it.”

Your words from earlier today echoed through his head “We aren’t dating, we’re just roommates”

"No, I get practically," Kirishima countered, standing up. He stepped into Katsuki’s space putting a hand on his shoulder. "But you’re a guy who goes after what he wants. Always. You wanted to beat All for One, you did it. You wanted to be a hero, you did it. You wanted Midoriya to be a hero again, you’re doing it. So why aren't you asking her out? Why are you hiding behind a lease agreement and a apartment checklist?"

"I'm not hiding—"

"You are," Kirishima interrupted, his voice steady. "You’re acting like her bodyguard because it’s easier than being her boyfriend. Is it because you don't think she'll say yes? Or are you just scared that if you ask, you'll lose the control you think you have over her recovery?"

The "scared" comment was what did it. Katsuki opened his mouth to yell, to tell Kirishima to mind his own damn business, but the look on Kirishima’s face stopped him. It wasn't judgment, it was a soft concerned look, wanting Katsuki to be as "manly" with his feelings as he was as a hero.

The anger drained out of Katsuki, replaced by a hollow, defensive tightness. "It's not that simple," he muttered.

He turned to walk toward the punching bag, Kirishima followed him at a respectful distance. Quiet, but tense as Katsuki silently processed his emotions of being called out. By the time they reached the worn out bag, the "control" Katsuki had bragged about felt like a cage. He stood at the punching bag before taking out every frustration and pent up feeling he was having out on the bag.

"She’s vulnerable," Katsuki said, his voice strained but raw with honesty . "I pay for the meds. I provide the specialist. I drive her places. I try to make her life as comfortable and stress free as possible. If I... if I told her how I felt, how would she even know the difference between loving me and just needing me?"

He held the punching bag still and rested his forehead against it. "I won't have her feeling like she has to be with me because of everything I do for her. I’m not gonna trap her in a relationship built on gratitude. I’d rather be her crutch for the rest of my life than wonder if she’s only with me because she feels like she owe me."

Kirishima didn't say anything. He didn’t want to interrupt how vulnerable Katsuki was being right now.

"She matters that much to you," Kirishima said finally.

Katsuki didn’t look up. "Doesn’t matter." Lifting the end of his shirt to wipe his face. "I don’t get to want her. She already paid enough for me."

Kirishima’s expression settled. "You’re acting like her choice ended there. She chose to save you, yeah. But she also chose to keep going after that. She’s still here. Still deciding." He leaned forward slightly. "You’re deciding this for her... that’s not really protecting her."

Katsuki clicked his tongue, fully turning his head away from Kirishima. "That’s enough. Drop it."

The wall was back up guarding his heart but now more deliberate and solid. Kirishima recognized the line for what it was. He exhaled softly through his nose, choosing to push a bit more before stopping.

"If you tell her," Kirishima said anyway, his voice steady as he went to take his turn at the punching bag, "and she says no... that’s her choice. And if she says yes, it won’t be because she needs you. It’ll be because she chose you."

The room fell quiet, thick with everything left unsaid. Katsuki shook his head and walked back to the bench to check the tablet. Seeing if you texted back after looking at the checklist he sent. Gripping his water bottle a little too hard. Kirishima didn’t point it out. He took his turn at the punching bag, leaving Katsuki alone with his lists and his denial. Knowing that until you or Katsuki actually accept this for what it truly is that there was more he could say.

🩵TAGS: @ghostinggecko @stereading @darhinadadragon @thel0v3hashira143 @lovehazelle @charityjoy22 @prettydivinegirl @tengensfavfourthwife @snoozebun @c0quin @nuo0n @atticuswastaken @takoyakitakii @womanloverxx @amayaaaxx @luvzbloomx @mruizsworld @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @woonhaesan

[lanadelreylover11]

I feel like a virgin when I search up “x Reader” with a new character I like

[veenaly]

Always Came Back to Me - K. Bakugou

parings: regency-era AU, soldier!fiancé!katsuki x princess!reader summary: You’re a princess. Your soldier fiancé Katsuki Bakugo just returned from the war — bloodied, bandaged, one eye covered, but very much alive. While he was gone, the arrogant noble Kaito Takahashi forced himself into the palace, charmed your mother, ignored your father’s dementia, and declared your wedding a done deal. warnings: war injuries, blood mention, dementia, unwanted forced betrothal, possessive antagonist, mild angst, swearing, hurt/comfort A/N: I hope you guys like how it's developing so far. Still totally open to ideas/suggestions! 💚

2 – The Unexpected Messenger The first daylight was just creeping through the heavy velvet curtains when a knock sounded at the door. Polite, yet insistent. You tried to ignore it, and Katsuki pulled you tighter against him, but after the first knock came more.

You stirred under the blanket, still half caught in sleep, which finally woke him too. His body tensed like a drawn bowstring before you could even fully open your eyes. The aftershocks of war—and another knock.

“Stay down,” he muttered hoarsely, already half out of bed. He pulled on the fresh trousers you’d laid out for him yesterday—the ones he hadn’t bothered putting on earlier. His back was a wall of muscle and scars, gleaming golden in the morning light.

He didn’t open the door cautiously—he ripped it open with the decisiveness of a man who had learned in recent months that any surprise could be deadly.

Standing before him was a young man, perhaps one or two years younger than Katsuki himself. Average height, slender but not frail. Dark green doublet with the embroidered Takahashi crest at the collar, clean but plain livery of a personal servant. Curly dark-green hair falling into his forehead, and large emerald-green eyes that widened in shock for a split second before steadying again.

Katsuki sized him up from head to toe, arms crossed, stance wide and threatening. He knew every face in this house. The freckled cook, the old stablemaster, your mother’s lavender-scented maid. Every single one—but this one he had never seen.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked quietly, but so sharply the words cracked like a whip.

The young man didn’t lower his gaze. He gave a short, correct—but not servile—bow.

“Midoriya Izuku. Personal servant to His Grace, Lord Kaito Takahashi. I bring a message.” His voice was calm, almost gentle, yet something alert and intelligent lay beneath it—Katsuki felt it immediately.

Katsuki snorted. “Tell your fancy lord he can deliver his own damn messages if he’s got the guts. Now get lost.”

He was already moving to slam the door when you sat up in bed, pulling the blanket around yourself.

“Wait, Katsuki.”

Your voice made him freeze. He turned his head halfway toward you without taking his eyes off the stranger.

Izuku lifted his gaze, and the moment he saw you, his face brightened for a fraction of a second—a genuine, warm smile that vanished again as soon as he registered Katsuki’s glare.

“Your Highness,” he said softly, bowing deeper. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early. Lord Takahashi requests a private audience, if possible. He is waiting in the small salon in the east wing.”

You sighed quietly. “Tell him I’ll come to him in half an hour.”

Izuku nodded, but before he could turn away, Katsuki stepped forward, nearly filling the entire doorway.

“Hold on. Since when does a Takahashi man serve in this house?”

Izuku hesitated for only a heartbeat. “Since three weeks ago. Lord Takahashi brought me with him when he… took up residence here.”

“And you let him order you around?” Katsuki asked provocatively. “You don’t look like the type for perfumed letters and curtsies.”

Izuku gave a crooked smile. Tiny, almost sad. “Sometimes you have to serve in order to protect what matters to you. Even if you despise the master.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “Interesting. And what exactly are you protecting, greenhorn?”

Izuku met his gaze directly. “People. Not titles.”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Katsuki studied him again—this time more carefully. The posture was too straight for a simple servant. The hands too calm, too ready. The eyes too watchful.

“You can go,” Katsuki said at last.

Izuku bowed once more. His gaze flicked briefly toward you. “I’m glad to see you are well, Your Highness.”

Then he turned and walked away—quietly, quickly, almost soundlessly down the corridor.

Katsuki closed the door, turned the key, and leaned back against it. He took a deep breath.

“You know him,” he stated. Not a question.

You nodded slowly, pulling the blanket tighter. “Izuku. Midoriya Izuku. He’s… different from the others in Kaito’s employ. In the weeks Kaito has been here, Izuku often delivered messages. Sometimes he waited until Kaito was gone, and then… we talked. He’s clever. Kind. And I think he dislikes Kaito just as much as we do.”

Katsuki returned to the bed, sat on the edge, and looked at you. “Then why the hell is he crawling for him?”

“I don’t know exactly.” You hesitated. “He once said there were reasons. Family debts, maybe. Or something more personal. But he’s no coward. And he’s stronger than he looks. I once saw him disarm one of the stable boys—lightning-fast, and no one even noticed. He passed it off as an ‘accident.’”

Katsuki raised a brow. “A servant who can fight. And who can’t stand his master.” He gave a dry laugh. “Sounds like someone who could be useful.”

You nodded. “Like someone we could have on our side,” you said quietly.

Katsuki looked at you for a long time. Then he nodded slowly.

“Then go talk to Takahashi. But I’m walking you there and waiting outside. And if anything smells wrong…”

“…you get me out,” you finished.

He leaned in, kissed you—short but firm. “Exactly. And afterward we deal with the green brat. I want to know what he really wants.”

You gave a faint smile. “He probably just wants to survive. Like the rest of us.”

Katsuki stood, reached for his shirt. “Then let’s see how much longer he can manage that under Takahashi.”

As you dressed, you could already feel it: the day would not be a quiet one.

And Izuku Midoriya—the servant with gentle eyes and quick hands—was right in the middle of it. Whether as ally, threat, or something in between, you didn’t know yet.

But one thing you knew for certain: Katsuki would find out.

Izuku knocked once, briefly, on the heavy double doors of the small salon in the east wing before entering. The room was bright, flooded with sunlight, pale-gold silk wallpaper and a fireplace where a small fire crackled. Altogether a place that pretended at elegance but never truly felt warm.

Kaito Takahashi sat in one of the tall wingback chairs, legs crossed, a crystal glass of brandy in his hand even though it wasn’t yet noon. His clothing was immaculately perfect, yet his eyes were red-rimmed, as though he hadn’t slept.

“Well?” he asked without looking up. “Did she receive the message?”

Izuku remained by the door, hands clasped behind his back—a posture meant to look obedient.

“The message has been delivered, my lord. Her Highness will be here in half an hour. Alone. As requested.”

Kaito took a slow sip. “Good. And the soldier?”

Izuku hesitated for the barest fraction of a second—long enough for Kaito to notice.

“He was with her. In her chamber. He opened the door.”

Kaito set the glass down slowly.

“In her chamber,” he repeated tonelessly.

Izuku stayed silent.

Kaito rose. He walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back, and stared out into the garden where the first rosebuds were just breaking open.

“What did he say?”

“He wanted to know who I was. He knows every servant in this house—except me. He was very protective.”

Kaito gave a short, cold, humorless laugh.

“Of course. The great hero. Back from the mud and already in her bed again.” He turned. “Was he there all night?”

Izuku kept his eyes down. He didn’t answer.

“Midoriya.”

Izuku lifted his head. His green eyes were calm, almost expressionless.

“I was not inside the room, my lord. I only knocked.”

Kaito stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped, dangerously soft.

“You’ve been near her. These past weeks. You delivered messages. You talked to her. You saw her smile. And now—now she shares her bed with that… filthy soldier. And you tell me nothing?”

Izuku remained silent.

Kaito grabbed him by the collar. Not brutally, but firmly enough that the fabric creaked.

“Answer me, Midoriya. Did he touch her? Did he…” His voice nearly broke. “Did he take her?”

Izuku looked straight into his eyes. No hesitation anymore.

“I am not a spy in her bedroom, my lord. What happens between them is none of my concern. And it… should not be yours either.”

Kaito released him as though burned. He staggered back a step, face suddenly ashen, then flushed with rising fury.

“None of my concern?” he whispered. “She has been promised to me. For years. The whole house knows it. The court knows it. And now… now she lies there with him, naked, sweaty, and laughs at me.”

He laughed again—this time a choked, desperate sound.

“You knew, didn’t you? You’ve known the whole time and said nothing.”

Izuku stayed silent.

Kaito ran both hands through his hair, ruining the perfect part. His fingers shook.

“I sent her gifts. Letters. I waited. For months. And he… he just comes back, torn and filthy, and she opens her arms to him. As though I never existed.”

He spun around abruptly and slammed his palm against the wall paneling. The sound echoed through the room.

“He has no idea what he’s taking,” he hissed. “No idea who he’s challenging.”

Izuku took half a step forward—not threatening, but enough to force Kaito’s attention.

“Perhaps he isn’t taking anything, my lord. Perhaps she is giving it willingly.”

Kaito whirled on him. His eyes were dark with rage.

“Shut your mouth, Midoriya. You’re here because I pay you. Because your family owes me debts. Don’t forget that.”

Izuku lowered his gaze. Only for a moment.

“I don’t forget,” he said quietly. “But I also don’t forget who she is. And that she never agreed.”

Kaito stared at him. Then he laughed again—this time cold and controlled.

“You’re more loyal to her than to me. Interesting.” He returned to the chair and sat as though nothing had happened. “Go. Tell the others to be ready. And Midoriya…”

Izuku paused.

“If you lie to me again, or keep anything from me… I will remember why you are really here. And I will remind your family.”

Izuku gave a short bow.

“Understood, my lord.”

He turned and left the room.

Behind him, Kaito remained alone—the untouched brandy glass, fists clenched.

The rage seeped in slowly, like poison.

He had lost.

Not the war. Not the title.

But her.

And that drove him mad.

Outside in the corridor, Izuku stopped for a moment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly.

Then he walked on.

[m0ney]

Rihanna in 2006｡⊹ ♡.*࿐ ｡ ₊ ·

[kozumelts]

soldier bakugou x farmer reader? there's a war underway, and bakugou has been bred for it practically since birth. he is injured one day, and you come across him and nurse him back to health.. you want nothing more than for him to stay; to avoid the sure death of war.

The day feels so terribly mundane. It begins, as always, with farmwork. Bakugou is perfectly at ease on the farm, clothed in your brother's old overalls. He tags along with you as you carry out the morning chores, and the two of you banter and bicker as always; as if the time for him to leave was not approaching.

Finally, though, the time comes.

You stop him before he goes, pausing abruptly in the field. You've rehearsed this moment for days.

“You could have a life here,” you tell him. “Easily, too. I could house you, give you work–you’re skilled, Bakugou. And this land–” you gesture behind yourself, towards the gardens, teeming; the grazing lifestock– “will always require someone to tend it.”

His eyes follow the herd, their gentle, lazy movements. You watch the wind tousle his hair, the wheat-gold framing his face.

Bakugou’s life has always been a dutiful one, his fate bound to the king since youth. This was a man bred for war, as much of a weapon as a man; his triumph on the battlefield had made that fact clear. But you like what peace looks like on him. You like the pinkish, sun-kissed tones on his face; a farmer’s tan on his arms. Well-worn, dirt beneath his fingernails, smelling of hay.

The offer is selfish. Already, you know what he will say.

What you aren’t prepared for is how crestfallen he looks while saying it.

“I–,” he chokes out, not meeting your eyes. He runs a hand through his hair, fingers gripping at the roots. “I cannot.”

Despite yourself, your chest tightens.

But you smile for him, anyway. “After the war, then,” you tell him, hoping you sound light; unaffected. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Something in your words pulls a chuckle out of him. It’s a breathy sound, amused and exasperated all at once. “After the war,” he repeats, in disbelief. There’s a bitterness in his words. You could not have expected the child soldier to imagine peace. You think he might bite back, at first; chew you out for believing a fifty-year conflict would end in your lifetimes.

But then he shakes his head, and laughs–properly, with his chest. “Fuck it, yeah–I’ll come farm or whatever.” He looks to you, then, the light of day in his eyes. “I’ll hold you to it, though.”

You can’t help it; you’re grinning now, beaming at the very prospect. “I’ll be here,” you promise. "Just come back."

[kozumelts]

more on soldier bakugou staying with farmer reader.. (read more here)

Of all your morning jobs, Bakugou’s least favorite is tending to the chickens. Everything about them is too much: they’re too skittish, too unpredictable, too loud–

“Are you scared?” you ask, a lilt in your voice.

“Fuck no.” Instantly, he realizes his mistake; by answering too quick, he’s revealed his hand. “They’re just…”

“No chickens where you’re from, huh?”

He can tell you’re making fun of him, of course, but there’s no real malice in your tone, so he lets it slide.

“No,” he admits. There’d hadn’t been any on the castle grounds.

You hum at that. “Well, there’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re friendly enough, as long as you’re not coming after ‘em.” You hand him one of the buckets in your hands. It’s heavy, full of feed: grain and corn and whatever else happens to be laying around the farm. “Besides, they won’t pay you any mind once there’s food on the ground.”

“And the eggs?”

You shrug. “Just grab ‘em when you see ‘em.”

The two of you step into the pen, and, to his horror, the hens, chicks, and roosters come flocking with fervor. He stiffens, and expects you to do the same–but you don't stir at all. Instead, you take another step forward, as if you know they will part for you.

He watches you scatter the feed, little bits falling into the grass below. Deciding he should follow suit, he grabs a fistful of grain and tosses it clumsily on the ground.

Ravenous, the fowl feed, their clucking growing appreciative.

It's quiet between you both for a while. You seem to know exactly where the hens lay their eggs, because you set off with a purpose, collecting them with ease. Bakugou doesn't trust himself not to step on any, so he busies himself with feeding instead, eyes darting around to watch the birds scurry.

Finally, you speak up.

“Do you like fighting?”

The question stops him in his tracks, grain still pooled in his hands.

“Hah?” he says, all too eloquently.

“I mean…” You watch as he tosses another fistful out. The chickens scramble over it, too focused to realize there could be enough for them all if they spread out. “You must like it, right? If you chose to be a soldier?”

He scratches behind his ear. “I dunno.” You'd been full of questions since his arrival, but this one feels different; weightier. It puzzles him why you’re asking this of him now, of all times.

“Why’d you enlist, then?”

“To fight for my country,” he responds. The words come out instantly, honed after years of trained drills. Even he is stunned by the instinct. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Yeah, but..” You pull your bucket up to your chest. “But why?”

It feels so self-evident. Yet, to his dismay, he finds that he can’t form a single word. He stares at you, blank, unable to procure an explanation.

“Sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “Didn’t mean to prod. I was just curious.”

He barely remembers enlisting. Those first few days at the castle blur into his other childhood memories. He thinks he remembers them being difficult; basic training usually is, especially on the younger ones.

He was too small to have carried so much.

“My village,” he murmurs finally, “gets a stipend every month for my service.”

“Like, money?”

“Money. Grain.” He runs his hands through the seeds. He hesitates for a moment, and then continues. “My village is up north.” He hasn't thought about home in years. It feels so distant, that childhood of his; up by the mountains, where hardly anything could subsist; where hardly anything could will itself to thrive. “Snows half the year. ’S too cold to farm.”

You’d only ever heard stories about the Northern Lands. Most of them involved famine.

"They must be so proud of you.”

He shrugs. “I guess. Haven't been back since I left.”

"And when was that?"

"When I was ten, maybe?" He tosses the last fistful out, hoping to appear casual. "Doesn't matter anymore."

He pretends not to notice your stare.

[disteal]

shout out to everyone who participated in the january-february mass depressive episode

[disteal]

Thank you everyone for another great turnout to the january-february mass depressive episode

[morilikemidori]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 💥⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ SOMETHING LIKE SPITE | k.bakugo

↳ table of contents + ao3 link

previous | next

SYPNOSIS. The aftermath of the party leaves Bakugou reeling. Unable to shake the memory of your dismissal, he spirals into a week of obsessive "reconnaissance" (aka stalking) trying to figure you out. When his friends finally call him out on his misery, Kaminari proposes a solution that might just be the worst idea in history: a bet.

TROPES: College AU, 10 Things I Hate About You inspired, Bet Trope, Enemies to Lovers, OC has a backbone

TAGS: bakusquad being supportive but also roasting him, kirishima is the voice of reason, kaminari is chaotic evil, bakugo katsuki has never been rejected in his life and it shows, he is spiraling, DOWN horrendous, downright stalker behavior, if this wasn't fiction i would call the police, scary dog privilege is the only reason he hasn't been reported, sero almost died for this 😔, aizawa is tired, kaminari definitely started this bet just to watch the world burn, you remain unbothered as usual, quirk is a metaphor for your heart (🙂‍↕️), she ordered black coffee and he fell in love instantly, kaminari denki is the villain of this story actually (still love my boy though), kirishima is the only one sharing a brain cell with logic, mina is just here for the tea, men will literally enter a high stakes bet instead of going to therapy

WC: 9.7K words

Bet On It

Monday morning hit like a sledgehammer wrapped in bureaucracy.

Bakugou Katsuki had been awake since five—earlier than usual, which was saying something—staring at his ceiling and mentally cataloging every reason why the past three days had been absolute shit.

The party was Friday.

It was now Monday.

Seventy-two hours.

And he was still thinking about it.

Still replaying the moment in his head like some kind of fucked-up highlight reel he couldn't turn off. Your face. Your voice. The way you'd looked at him like he was background noise you'd already learned to tune out.

"You think being loud makes you right. It just makes you easier to ignore."

He'd heard worse. Had people scream at him, curse him out, throw actual punches. He'd been called every name in the book and a few that probably weren't even in print yet.

But no one—no one—had ever looked at him the way you did.

Like he wasn't worth the energy to hate.

Like he was just... tiresome.

His alarm went off at 5:30. He didn't need it. He was already up, already dressed in his training gear, already lacing his boots with more aggression than the task required.

He needed to move. Needed to hit something. Needed to do literally anything that wasn't lying in bed thinking about some girl whose name he didn't even fucking know.

The fact that he didn't know your name was eating at him.

He knew everyone. Or at least, everyone knew him. That was how it worked. He was Bakugou Katsuki—top of the class, one of the strongest quirk users in their year, future number one hero. People paid attention. People cared.

But you didn't.

And that was the problem.

By the time he made it to the Class A common room, the sun was barely up. The space was empty, silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of someone's alarm going off on one of the upper floors.

He made coffee. Black. No sugar. The bitter burn was grounding, familiar.

He sat on the couch, mug in hand, and stared at nothing.

His phone was on the table in front of him. He'd been checking it more than usual the past few days—scrolling through social media, the Class A group chat, anywhere that might give him information.

Because people were still talking about the party.

Of course they were.

It wasn't every day that someone verbally dismantled Bakugou Katsuki in front of half the third-year hero studies and walked away without a scratch.

The comments ranged from amused to shocked to a few that were uncomfortably close to impressed.

Mina (Saturday, 11:47 PM): okay but that girl ATE him alive and I kind of respect it????

Sero (Saturday, 11:52 PM): Bakugou's been real quiet since then 👀

Kaminari (Sunday, 2:14 AM): i still can't believe she just LEFT. didn't even wait to see his reaction. BRUTAL.

Bakugou had read every message. Hadn't responded to a single one.

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

Yeah, some random girl I don't know completely owned me and now I can't stop thinking about her?

Fuck that.

His jaw clenched. He took another sip of coffee, the heat scalding his tongue.

He wasn't supposed to care. That was the whole point of his entire personality—he didn't give a shit what people thought. He knew he was good. Knew he was going to be the best. Other people's opinions were just noise.

But this wasn't about opinions.

This was about the fact that someone had looked him in the eye and decided he wasn't worth their time.

And he couldn't let that go.

The door to the common room opened. Bakugou didn't look up.

"Morning," came Kirishima's voice, cautious. Testing the waters.

Bakugou grunted in response.

Kirishima crossed to the kitchen, poured himself some coffee, and sat on the opposite end of the couch. Far enough away that it didn't feel confrontational. Close enough that Bakugou knew he was there on purpose.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then:

"You okay, man?"

Bakugou's grip tightened on his mug. "Fine."

"You've been kinda... off. Since Friday."

"I'm fine," Bakugou repeated, his voice flat.

Kirishima nodded slowly, like he didn't believe that for a second but wasn't stupid enough to push. "Okay. Cool. Just checking."

Silence again.

Bakugou could feel Kirishima's eyes on him. That concerned, overly-earnest look that Kirishima always had when he thought one of his friends was going through something.

"Don't," Bakugou said.

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're about to do. Don't."

Kirishima held up his hands in surrender. "Wasn't gonna do anything."

"Bullshit."

Kirishima grinned despite himself. "Alright, fine. I was gonna ask if you wanted to talk about—"

"No."

"—but clearly you don't, so I'll just sit here and drink my coffee like a good friend."

"You're an annoying friend."

"Yeah, but I'm your annoying friend."

Bakugou didn't respond to that. Just drank his coffee and tried to ignore the fact that Kirishima was probably right.

Training started at seven.

Aizawa's Tactical Combat Strategies class was always first thing Monday mornings, which meant everyone showed up still half-asleep and resentful of the early hour.

Everyone except Bakugou.

He was the first one in the locker room, the first one changed, the first one out on the training field.

The air was crisp, cold enough that his breath fogged slightly. The sky was overcast, threatening rain but not quite delivering. Perfect.

He started his warm-up routine—stretches, footwork drills, a few small-scale explosions to get his quirk firing properly. His movements were sharp, precise, controlled.

On the surface.

Underneath, he was vibrating with the kind of pent-up aggression that usually only surfaced mid-fight.

The rest of the class trickled in over the next ten minutes. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Mina. Todoroki, Midoriya, Iida. The usual suspects, all in various states of wakefulness.

Aizawa appeared last, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. His capture weapon hung loose around his shoulders, and his expression was the standard level of "done with everything."

"Pair up," he said, his voice flat. "Combat drills. Quirk use allowed but keep it controlled. I don't want to file any incident reports today."

The class shuffled into pairs. Bakugou usually ended up with Kirishima or Midoriya—people who could actually take a hit and give one back.

Today, he got Sero.

Sero, to his credit, didn't look thrilled about it.

"Uh, hey man," Sero said, stretching his arms. "Let's keep it clean, yeah? I've got a quiz in hero law later and I'd like to be conscious for it."

Bakugou didn't respond. Just rolled his shoulders and settled into a fighting stance.

Aizawa blew the whistle.

Bakugou moved.

It wasn't a fight.

It was an execution.

Sero barely got his tape out before Bakugou was on him, closing the distance in a burst of explosive speed. Palm strike to the ribs—pulled, but hard enough to knock the air out. Sero stumbled back, tried to fire tape to create distance, but Bakugou twisted out of range and came in low, sweeping his leg.

Sero hit the ground.

"Shit—okay, okay—" Sero started, but Bakugou didn't let up.

He wasn't being malicious. Wasn't trying to hurt him. But he wasn't holding back the way he normally would in a practice match either.

Every movement was harder than it needed to be. Faster. More aggressive.

Sero managed to get his tape around Bakugou's wrist, tried to yank him off balance, but Bakugou just let off a controlled explosion that burned through the tape like it was paper.

"Dude—"

Another palm strike. Sero blocked, barely, and tried to counter with a sweep of his own.

Bakugou saw it coming a mile away. Dodged. Countered. Sero hit the ground again, harder this time.

"Bakugou, ease up!" Kirishima called from across the field, mid-match with Kaminari.

Bakugou ignored him.

Sero was back on his feet, hands up, breathing hard. "Okay, what the hell, man? This is supposed to be a drill—"

Bakugou came at him again.

This time, Sero actually looked pissed. He fired tape in three directions at once—ceiling, floor, walls—trying to create a web that would trap Bakugou in place.

Bakugou blasted through it.

Literally.

Explosions tore through the tape, and he was moving before the smoke even cleared, closing the distance, palm already glowing with heat—

"Bakugou."

Aizawa's voice cut through the noise like a blade.

Bakugou froze.

His hand was inches from Sero's face, an explosion primed and ready. Sero was on the ground, one arm up defensively, eyes wide.

The entire field had gone quiet.

Bakugou looked around. Everyone was staring. Kirishima looked worried. Kaminari looked alarmed. Even Midoriya—who was used to Bakugou's aggression—looked concerned.

Aizawa was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"Match is over," Aizawa said flatly. "Sero wins by default due to excessive force."

"That's bullshit—" Bakugou started.

"It's a drill," Aizawa interrupted, his voice sharp now. "Not a death match. Control your quirk or sit out."

Bakugou's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

He let the explosion in his palm fizzle out. Stepped back. Offered Sero a hand up without looking at him.

Sero took it, still breathing hard, and gave Bakugou a look that was equal parts confused and wary. "You good?"

"Fine," Bakugou bit out.

"You sure? Because that was—"

"I said I'm fine."

Sero held up his hands and backed off.

Aizawa watched the exchange, then turned to address the rest of the class. "Switch partners. Next round in two minutes."

Bakugou walked to the edge of the field, hands shoved in his pockets, and tried to get his breathing under control.

He could feel eyes on him. Hear the whispers.

What's his problem?

He's always aggressive, but that was—

Think he's okay?

He wasn't okay.

He was pissed. At himself. At Sero. At the entire fucking situation.

But mostly, he was pissed because he knew exactly why he'd gone too hard.

Because he was thinking about you.

About the way you'd looked at him. The way you'd dismissed him. The way you'd walked away like he was nothing.

And it was eating him alive.

The rest of the session passed in a blur.

Bakugou rotated through partners—Kirishima, then Kaminari, then Todoroki. He dialed it back, kept his hits controlled, his explosions measured. Did exactly what Aizawa wanted.

But his head wasn't in it.

His head was three days ago, standing in a crowded living room, listening to a girl he didn't know tell him exactly who he was.

And the worst part?

She'd been right.

Not about everything. But about enough.

About the cruelty disguised as honesty. About needing an audience. About performing.

He'd built his entire identity on being the best, the loudest, the most undeniable person in any room.

And you'd looked at that and called it exhausting.

Called him exhausting.

And then left.

By the time Aizawa dismissed them, Bakugou's hands were shaking. Not from exertion. From the effort of keeping himself in check.

He was the first one off the field. Didn't wait for Kirishima or anyone else. Just headed straight for the locker room, changed, and left.

He needed to be alone.

Needed to think.

Needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this.

Because he couldn't let it go.

Couldn't let you go.

Not until he understood why.

Why you'd looked at him like that.

Why you'd walked away.

Why, three days later, he still couldn't get your face out of his head.

Back in his dorm room, door locked, Bakugou sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his hands.

They were still shaking.

He clenched them into fists.

Get it together, he told himself. It's just some girl. Just some random girl who said some shit at a party. It doesn't matter.

But it did.

It mattered because no one had ever made him feel like this before.

Small. Dismissible. Ignorable.

And he hated it.

Hated that you had that power over him.

Hated that he'd given you that power without even realizing it.

His phone buzzed.

Group chat. Kirishima.

Kirishima: You sure you're good? That training session was intense.

Kaminari: Yeah dude you almost took Sero's head off

Sero: I'm fine btw. Thanks for asking.

Kaminari: we know you're fine. Bakugou's the one acting weird.

Bakugou stared at the messages.

He should respond. Say something dismissive. Tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.

But he didn't.

Because they were right.

He was acting weird.

And he didn't know how to stop.

He tossed his phone onto the bed and leaned back, closing his eyes.

Your voice echoed in his head.

"Keep performing. They'll laugh as long as you're useful."

His chest tightened.

He needed to know your name.

Needed to find you.

Needed to prove—to you, to himself, to everyone—that you were wrong about him.

That he was more than just noise.

More than just performance.

That he was worth knowing.

Even if you didn't think so.

Especially because you didn't think so.

He opened his eyes.

Made a decision.

He was going to find you.

And he was going to make you see him.

Really see him.

Whatever it took.

Lunch period at UA University was organized chaos.

The massive dining hall was separated into unofficial territories—Class A claimed the tables near the windows, Class B had the corner by the serving stations, support students dominated the center, and everyone else filled in the gaps. It wasn't an official rule, just one of those unspoken social contracts that developed over time.

Bakugou sat at his usual spot, tray in front of him, food untouched.

He'd made it through morning classes on autopilot. Hero ethics, quirk theory, some bullshit elective about media relations that he'd only signed up for because it fit his schedule. He'd taken notes, answered when called on, and hadn't blown up at anyone.

A personal record, considering the past three days.

But now, sitting here surrounded by the noise of hundreds of students all talking at once, he couldn't focus on anything except the problem he'd been trying to solve since Friday night.

He needed information.

And he was done pretending he didn't.

Kirishima was across from him, halfway through some story about a training mishap that morning. Kaminari was next to him, laughing at all the wrong parts. Sero was scrolling through his phone, occasionally showing Mina something that made her either laugh or groan.

Normal. Easy. The kind of lunch period they'd had a hundred times before.

Except Bakugou wasn't listening to any of it.

He was staring at his rice like it had personally offended him, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the table in a pattern that was just this side of aggressive.

"—and then he just face-planted into the wall. I'm talking full speed, no brakes, just smack—Bakugou, you listening?"

Bakugou's eyes flicked up. "What?"

Kirishima blinked. "I asked if you were listening."

"No."

"Cool. Cool cool cool." Kirishima exchanged a look with Kaminari. "You've been weird all day, man. Actually, you've been weird since—"

"That girl from the party," Bakugou interrupted, his voice flat. "The mouthy one. Did you find out who she was?"

The table went quiet.

Not silent—there was still the noise of the dining hall around them, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversation—but their little section of it had gone very, very still.

Kirishima's eyebrows shot up. Mina's mouth fell open slightly. Sero stopped mid-scroll.

Kaminari grinned. "Oh, now you want to know?"

Bakugou's glare could've melted steel. "Did you or didn't you?"

"I mean, yeah, obviously." Kaminari pulled out his phone, swiping through screens with the kind of confidence that said he'd been waiting for this moment. "Dude, I looked her up like two seconds after you stormed out of the party. You literally demanded we find out who she was."

"I didn't demand—"

"You absolutely did," Sero cut in. "You looked like you were gonna commit murder if we didn't give you a name."

Bakugou's jaw clenched. "Just show me."

Kaminari turned his phone around, displaying what looked like a student profile page. The kind that was technically private but everyone knew how to access if they had the right app and zero respect for boundaries.

There you were.

Your student ID photo stared back at him—neutral expression, no smile, eyes that looked like you were already annoyed at having to sit for the picture. Your hair was pulled back, and you weren't wearing any makeup. You looked... exactly like someone who didn't give a shit about student photos.

Bakugou's eyes scanned the information next to the image.

Name: [Your Full Name]

Year: Third

Class: 3-B (Hero Studies)

Quirk: Forcefield Generation

He stopped there, reading the description more carefully.

Forcefield Generation: User can generate a field of force, which can be used for a variety of effects. Most commonly, user generates near-indestructible fields around herself or other targets. By generating additional force behind force shields, user can convert defense into offense—shields can be propelled forward as battering rams at devastating speed. User is capable of generating and manipulating multiple force fields simultaneously.

The description went on, detailing the versatility of the quirk. Defensive barriers strong enough to absorb explosions. Offensive applications that could turn shields into slicing weapons. The ability to create close-to-body armor that increased durability significantly. Telekinetic applications. Automatic defense mechanisms that didn't require conscious activation.

It was a damn good quirk.

Strong. Versatile. The kind of quirk that could go head-to-head with his own and actually stand a chance.

Of course you had a good quirk. Of course you did.

"She's in 3-B," Kaminari said, leaning back in his chair. "But she's not really with them, if you know what I mean. Like, she's technically in their class, but I don't think I've ever seen her at any of their group things."

"She's a loner," Mina added, her voice thoughtful. "I've tried talking to her a few times—you know, girl solidarity and all that—but she's... hard to read. Not mean, exactly. Just... closed off."

"She's kind of a bitch," Kaminari said, too casually.

Mina's head whipped toward him. "She's selective. And honest. There's a difference."

"Selective is just a nice way of saying she thinks she's too good for everyone."

"Or maybe she just doesn't waste time on people who aren't worth it," Mina shot back, her tone sharper now. "Not everyone needs to be friends with everyone, Denki."

Kaminari held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm just saying what I've heard."

Bakugou tuned them out, still staring at the profile.

Your quirk name. Your class. The few details listed under "Additional Information" that were mostly blank except for a note that said Frequently absent from optional social events.

That tracked.

"What else?" Bakugou asked, his voice cutting through Mina and Kaminari's argument.

Kirishima shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"

"What else do you know about her?"

The table exchanged looks again. The kind of looks that said they were trying to figure out how much to tell him without setting him off.

Sero spoke first. "She's smart. Like, really smart. Top tier in combat strategy. I've seen her in a few joint training exercises—she doesn't showboat, doesn't try to prove anything, but she's good. Her quirk is nuts."

"She turned down three different study groups this semester," Kaminari added. "I know because one of them was mine. I asked if she wanted to join for hero law and she just looked at me and said, 'I study alone.' Not rude, just... matter-of-fact."

"She skips most of the social stuff," Mina said. "Mixers, parties, even some of the optional seminars. I think the only reason she showed up to Sero's party was because Kendo dragged her."

Bakugou filed that information away. Kendo. Class B. That made sense.

"Does she have friends?" he asked.

Mina hesitated. "I mean... Kendo, I think? They're neighbors in the dorms. But even that seems more like Kendo being persistent than anything else. I don't think I've ever seen her with a group."

"She eats lunch alone," Sero offered. "Always. Either in the library or outside if the weather's good. Never here."

Bakugou looked around the dining hall, at the hundreds of students packed into tables, talking and laughing and existing in each other's spaces.

And you were never here.

By choice.

"Why?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"Why what?" Kirishima asked carefully.

"Why does she avoid people?"

Kirishima shrugged. "Some people just don't like crowds, man. Doesn't mean there's some deep reason."

But Bakugou didn't buy that.

People didn't build walls that high without a reason.

People didn't shut themselves off that completely unless they were protecting something.

Or protecting from something.

"What's her deal?" Bakugou pressed. "Family? Background?"

Kaminari scrolled further down the profile, but there wasn't much. "Doesn't say. Parents aren't listed—could mean they're not heroes, could mean she doesn't want it public. No siblings on record. Nothing about her background before UA."

"She keeps to herself," Mina said softly. "And honestly? I respect it. Not everyone needs to perform their whole life for people to validate them."

The comment landed a little too close to home.

Bakugou's fingers tightened around his chopsticks.

"She called you exhausting," Sero said, not unkindly. "At the party. And... I mean, she wasn't entirely wrong."

"Sero—" Kirishima started, a warning in his voice.

"I'm just saying!" Sero held up his hands. "Look, Bakugou, you're my boy. But you do take up a lot of space. And some people don't want that. Doesn't make them bad. Just means they're not compatible with your energy."

Bakugou wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Sero he was full of shit, that he didn't "take up space," that people liked his energy.

But the words stuck in his throat.

Because Sero was right.

And you had been right.

He did take up space. Did demand attention. Did perform, even when he told himself he didn't.

And you'd looked at all of that and decided it wasn't worth your time.

"She's got a reputation," Kaminari said, breaking the silence. "People either respect her or avoid her. There's not a lot of in-between."

"What kind of reputation?" Bakugou asked.

"The kind where people know not to fuck with her. She doesn't start shit, but she doesn't take it either. There was this guy in general studies last year—tried to hit on her, got pushy when she said no. She didn't yell, didn't make a scene. Just looked at him and said something that made him turn white and walk away. No one knows what she said, but he transferred out of her hero ethics class the next week."

Bakugou felt something twist in his chest.

Not jealousy. Not exactly.

More like... recognition.

You weren't just cold. You were careful.

Guarded.

The kind of guarded that came from experience.

"She doesn't let people in," Mina said quietly. "I don't think it's because she's mean or thinks she's better than everyone. I think she just... doesn't trust easily."

"Or at all," Sero muttered.

Bakugou stared at the profile photo again.

Your face. Neutral. Unreadable.

A wall.

And walls were built for a reason.

He'd spent three days thinking you were just some asshole who got off on tearing people down. Someone who enjoyed making him feel small.

But that wasn't it.

You weren't performing cruelty.

You were performing nothing.

Because nothing was safer than letting people see who you really were.

"Why do you care?" Kirishima asked, his voice gentle but pointed. "I mean, she clearly doesn't want anything to do with you. Why not just... let it go?"

Bakugou looked up at his friend.

Kirishima's expression was open, concerned. Not judging. Just asking.

Why did he care?

He could've let it go. Could've written you off as some bitter loner who wasn't worth his time.

But he couldn't.

Because you were the first person who'd ever looked at him and seen through all the noise.

The first person who'd called him out not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you genuinely didn't care enough to lie.

And that was... rare.

Uncomfortable.

But rare.

"I don't know," Bakugou said finally, his voice low.

It was the most honest thing he'd said in days.

Kaminari grinned, that stupid mischievous grin that meant he was about to say something idiotic. "You like her."

"I don't even know her."

"Exactly. Which is why you're sitting here asking us for her entire life story like some kind of stalker."

"I'm not—"

"You literally made me look her up."

"You did that on your own."

"Because you threatened me!"

"I didn't threaten you."

"You said, and I quote, 'Find out who she is or I'll make sure you fail every practical exam this semester.'"

Bakugou scowled. "That's not a threat. That's motivation."

"That's literally a threat," Sero said, fighting a smile.

"Whatever." Bakugou shoved his tray away, appetite gone. "I just want to know who I'm dealing with."

"Why?" Mina asked, her eyes sharp. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing."

"Bakugou."

"I said nothing."

But the way he said it—too quick, too defensive—made it very clear it was not nothing.

Kirishima leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Dude. Be real with me. What's going on?"

Bakugou was quiet for a long moment.

He could lie. Brush it off. Tell them to mind their own business and move on.

But these were his friends. The people who'd put up with his shit for three years and somehow still chose to sit with him at lunch.

They deserved something closer to the truth.

"She got in my head," Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. "And I need to get her out."

Kaminari's grin widened. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! You're gonna try to talk to her again, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"She's gonna destroy you."

"She already did," Sero pointed out helpfully.

Bakugou shot him a glare. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Just being honest."

Mina was watching him carefully, her expression thoughtful. "You know she's not going to make this easy, right? She doesn't seem like the type who forgives easily. Or at all."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness."

"Then what are you asking for?"

Bakugou didn't have an answer for that.

Because he didn't know.

He just knew he couldn't let this go.

Couldn't let you go.

Not until he understood why you'd looked at him like that.

Why you'd walked away.

Why, even now, three days later, he couldn't stop thinking about your face.

"I'm gonna talk to her," he said finally.

Kirishima winced. "That's... probably a bad idea."

"Noted."

"She's gonna shut you down."

"Probably."

"And you're still gonna do it."

"Yeah."

Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Your funeral, man."

Kaminari pulled up a calendar on his phone. "So when are we placing bets on how badly this goes?"

"I hate all of you," Bakugou muttered.

But he didn't leave.

And when Kaminari sent the profile photo to the group chat with the caption our boy's got a death wish, Bakugou didn't even tell him to delete it.

He just saved the photo to his own phone.

Your name.

Your quirk.

Your face.

Now he had information.

Now he could make a plan.

Now he just had to figure out how the hell to approach someone who very clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

Easy.

Right?

He looked at your photo one more time.

Those eyes. That neutral expression.

That wall.

Yeah.

This was going to be a disaster.

But he was doing it anyway.

The thing about obsession is that it starts small.

A passing thought. A lingering question. The kind of thing you tell yourself you'll forget about in a day or two.

And then it doesn't go away.

It festers. Grows. Becomes the thing you think about when you're supposed to be thinking about literally anything else.

Bakugou told himself he wasn't obsessed.

He was just... gathering intel.

Strategizing.

It's what any good hero would do when faced with an unknown variable. You studied the target. Learned their patterns. Figured out their weaknesses.

That's all this was.

Strategic reconnaissance.

The fact that he'd memorized your class schedule within twenty-four hours of getting your name was irrelevant.

Day One: The Library

Tuesday afternoon, 2:47 PM.

Bakugou pushed through the library doors with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he had every reason to be there. Which he did. He had a paper due next week. The library was a perfectly normal place for him to be.

The fact that he knew you'd be here—tucked into your usual corner on the third floor, headphones on, working through whatever assignment you'd decided was worth your time—was just a coincidence.

He'd asked around. Subtly. Or what passed for subtle when you were Bakugou Katsuki.

"Where does she usually study?" he'd asked Kendo that morning, catching her between classes.

Kendo had given him a look that was equal parts suspicious and amused. "Why?"

"Just answer the question."

"Library. Third floor. Back corner, away from everyone. She likes the table by the window."

"Thanks."

"Bakugou—"

But he was already walking away.

Now, standing on the third floor of the library, he scanned the space.

It was quieter up here. Fewer people. The third floor was where serious students came to actually work, not socialize. The lighting was softer, more focused, and the tables were spaced farther apart.

And there you were.

Back corner. Window table. Exactly where Kendo said you'd be.

You were hunched over a textbook, one hand holding your head up, the other scribbling notes on a laptop. Your headphones were the over-ear kind, the ones that blocked out the world completely. There was a coffee cup next to you—iced, mostly melted—and your bag was slung over the back of your chair.

You looked... focused.

Completely absorbed in whatever you were doing.

Bakugou felt something tighten in his chest.

He'd come here with a plan. Sort of. Walk past your table. Make eye contact. Maybe nod. Acknowledge your existence in a way that was casual but deliberate.

Nothing major.

Just... a reminder that he existed.

He adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking.

His footsteps were deliberate but not loud. Confident. He passed the first row of tables, then the second. A few students glanced up as he walked by—recognition flickering in their eyes, the usual double-takes—but he ignored them.

His focus was on you.

He was three feet from your table when he slowed his pace slightly. Not obvious. Just enough that if you looked up, you'd see him.

You didn't look up.

He walked past.

Slowly.

You didn't move.

He stopped a few feet beyond your table, pretending to scan the shelves like he was looking for a book. Gave it a solid ten seconds. Glanced back over his shoulder.

You were still writing. Still completely absorbed.

His jaw tightened.

Fine.

He grabbed a random book off the shelf—didn't even look at the title—and walked back the way he came. Past your table again. Closer this time.

You didn't look up.

Didn't even twitch.

It was like he was invisible.

No—worse.

It was like he didn't even register as something worth noticing.

Bakugou made it to the stairwell before he realized he was gripping the book hard enough to leave dents in the cover.

He looked down at it.

Advanced Theories in Botanical Quirk Applications.

He didn't even take biology.

He shoved the book onto a return cart and left the library, his mood significantly worse than when he'd entered.

Day Two: The Training Gym

Wednesday evening, 6:23 PM.

The off-hours gym was one of UA's best-kept secrets. Most students used the main training facilities during scheduled times, but if you knew where to look, there were smaller gyms scattered around campus that were open 24/7 for students who wanted extra practice.

Bakugou used them often. Late at night, usually, when he didn't want to deal with people or distractions.

But tonight, he was here for a different reason.

Because according to Sero—who'd mentioned it casually during lunch, probably not realizing Bakugou was listening—you trained here.

"She's always in Gym C after her last class," Sero had said, scrolling through his phone. "I've seen her a few times when I'm heading to the main building. Girl's dedicated. Always solo."

Bakugou had filed that information away.

And now, at 6:23 PM on a Wednesday, he was pushing open the doors to Gym C.

The space was smaller than the main facilities but well-equipped. Padded floors, reinforced walls designed to handle quirk usage, training dummies scattered around the perimeter. The lighting was harsh, industrial, and the air smelled like sweat and rubber.

And there you were.

Center of the room.

Running drills.

He stopped in the doorway, watching.

You were using your quirk—forcefield generation, he remembered—and the way you moved was... efficient. Precise. No wasted motion.

You generated a barrier in front of you, then propelled it forward like a battering ram. It slammed into a training dummy with enough force that the dummy rocked back on its base. Then you pulled the barrier back, reshaped it into a dome around yourself, and held it for a count of ten before letting it dissolve.

Offense. Defense. Control.

Over and over.

You weren't showing off. Weren't trying to be flashy. You were just... drilling. Repetition. Muscle memory.

It was the kind of training that separated good heroes from great ones.

And you were doing it alone.

Bakugou felt a flicker of something that might've been respect.

He stepped fully into the gym, letting the door close behind him with a soft thunk.

You didn't stop.

Didn't even glance over.

Just kept drilling.

Bakugou crossed to the other side of the gym, dropped his bag, and started his own warm-up. Stretches. Footwork. Small controlled explosions to get his quirk firing properly.

He kept you in his peripheral vision.

You were still going. Barrier up. Propel. Retract. Dome. Dissolve. Repeat.

Your breathing was controlled. Steady. You weren't even breaking a sweat yet.

Bakugou moved into his own drills. Explosions at varying intensities. Mobility exercises. Combinations that required split-second timing.

Ten minutes passed.

You were still drilling.

He was aware of you in a way that was becoming irritatingly familiar. The sound of your barriers forming—a low hum, almost musical. The controlled exhale every time you propelled one forward. The way you adjusted your stance slightly between repetitions, correcting for balance.

You were good.

Really good.

And you were completely ignoring him.

Not in the way someone ignores a person they're aware of but choosing not to engage with.

In the way someone ignores background noise.

Twenty minutes.

Bakugou was halfway through a set of explosive push-ups when he heard you stop.

He glanced over.

You were packing up.

Grabbing your water bottle. Slinging your bag over your shoulder. Pulling your hair back into a tighter ponytail.

You walked toward the door.

You were going to walk right past him.

Bakugou straightened, wiping sweat from his forehead.

You were three feet away.

Two feet.

He opened his mouth—wasn't even sure what he was going to say, just something—

You walked past him without a single glance.

Didn't slow down. Didn't acknowledge him. Just walked straight to the door, pushed it open, and left.

The door swung shut behind you.

Bakugou stood there, hands still raised from his last rep, staring at the closed door.

His hands clenched into fists.

The small explosions that sparked from his palms were entirely involuntary.

Day Three: The Coffee Shop

Thursday morning, 8:15 AM.

The campus coffee shop was always packed before nine. Students cramming in caffeine before their first classes, forming lines that stretched to the door.

Bakugou usually avoided it. Too crowded. Too loud. Too many people trying to talk to him when all he wanted was his coffee.

But today, he was here.

Because you were here.

He'd seen you walk in five minutes ago—spotted you from across the quad as he was heading to his own class. You'd been wearing the same oversized hoodie from the gym, headphones around your neck, that permanent look of mild irritation on your face.

He'd changed direction without thinking about it.

Now he was standing in line, three people behind you, watching the back of your head like it held the answers to questions he hadn't figured out how to ask yet.

You were looking at your phone. Scrolling through something with the kind of casual disinterest that suggested you weren't actually reading, just keeping your hands busy.

The line moved forward.

Two people between you now.

Bakugou shifted his weight, trying to figure out what the hell his plan was here.

Talk to you? Say what?

Hey, remember me? The guy you verbally destroyed four days ago? Want to grab coffee?

Yeah, that would go over great.

One person between you now.

You still hadn't looked up from your phone.

The person in front of you ordered and moved aside. You stepped up to the counter.

"Iced americano," you said to the barista. Your voice was flat, efficient. "Large. No sugar."

Of course you took your coffee black.

The barista rang you up. You paid with your phone, grabbed your receipt, and moved to the pickup area.

Bakugou stepped up to the counter.

"What can I get you?" the barista asked, clearly exhausted already.

"Black coffee. Medium."

He paid, grabbed his receipt, and moved to the pickup area.

Right next to you.

You were still on your phone. Some kind of news article, he could see from the angle. Something about hero rankings.

He could say something.

Should say something.

This was an opening. Casual. Low-pressure.

He opened his mouth.

"Iced americano!" the barista called.

You pocketed your phone, grabbed your drink, and walked out.

Without looking at him once.

Bakugou stood there, receipt crumpled in his fist, watching you disappear through the door.

"Black coffee, medium!"

He grabbed his drink and left.

Day Four: The Cafeteria

Friday lunch, 12:34 PM.

Bakugou wasn't in the cafeteria.

He was walking past the cafeteria, on his way to meet Kirishima at the training grounds, when he saw you through the windows.

You were at one of the outdoor tables. Alone, as always. Eating something that looked like it came from the convenience store—probably a rice ball or a sandwich. Your laptop was open in front of you, and you were typing with one hand while eating with the other.

Efficient.

He stopped walking.

Stood there like an idiot, staring through the window at you.

You looked... the same. Tired, maybe. There were shadows under your eyes that suggested you hadn't been sleeping well. But your expression was neutral. Focused.

Completely unaware that he was watching.

His phone buzzed.

Kirishima: where are you?? we're gonna be late

Bakugou looked at the message, then back at you.

You'd stopped typing. Were just staring at your screen now, your sandwich halfway to your mouth.

Something about your expression shifted. Just for a second.

You looked... sad.

Not upset. Not angry.

Just... worn down.

And then it was gone. You blinked, took a bite of your sandwich, and went back to typing.

Bakugou's chest tightened.

Bakugou: be there in 5

He turned and walked away.

But he couldn't stop thinking about that look.

Day Five: The Libray (Again)

Saturday morning, 10:02 AM.

Bakugou was in the library again.

Not because he had work to do. He'd finished his paper two days ago.

He was here because you were here.

Same table. Same corner. Same headphones.

He'd walked past you three times in the last hour.

You hadn't looked up once.

Not once.

He was standing in the stacks now, pretending to browse, but really just watching you from between the shelves.

This was pathetic.

He knew it was pathetic.

But he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Because the thing that was driving him insane wasn't that you were ignoring him.

It was that you genuinely didn't seem to know he existed.

He was used to reactions. That was the foundation of his entire presence. People reacted to him. Always.

Anger. Admiration. Fear. Attraction. Annoyance. Respect.

Something.

But you gave him nothing.

You weren't playing hard to get. Weren't trying to make a point.

You just... didn't care.

And that was so much worse than anything you'd said at the party.

Because at the party, you'd at least seen him.

You'd looked him in the eye and told him exactly what you thought of him.

Now?

Now he was just part of the scenery.

Forgettable.

Invisible.

His hands clenched.

A small explosion sparked between his fingers—barely controlled, the heat singing the spine of the book he was holding.

He needed to stop.

Needed to let this go.

This was insane. Pathetic. He had better things to do than stalk some girl who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

He should walk away.

Right now.

Just leave. Forget about you. Move on with his life.

But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't.

Because you'd gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had.

And he needed to know why.

Needed to understand what made you so determined to be alone.

Needed to crack open that armor and see if there was anything underneath.

Or if you were just as empty as you seemed.

He left the library before he could do something stupid.

Like actually talk to you.

By the time Sunday rolled around, Bakugou was in a worse mood than he'd been all week.

Five days.

Five days of "accidentally" being where you were.

Five days of you not noticing him.

Five days of slowly losing his mind.

And the worst part?

He still didn't have a plan.

Didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to approach you. Didn't know what the hell he was even trying to accomplish.

All he knew was that he couldn't let this go.

Which is how he ended up back in the Class A common room on Sunday afternoon, doing homework he'd already finished, waiting for Kirishima and Kaminari to show up for their usual gaming session.

Because if he spent one more second alone with his thoughts, he was going to lose it.

The door opened.

Kaminari walked in first, controller already in hand. "Yo! Ready to get absolutely destroyed in—"

He stopped.

Stared at Bakugou.

"Dude. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Bakugou said flatly.

Kirishima came in behind him, took one look at Bakugou, and winced. "Rough week?"

"Fine."

"You sure? Because you've got that look."

"What look?"

"The 'I'm about to murder someone' look."

"That's just my face."

"No, this is different. This is—" Kirishima stopped, realization dawning. "Oh. Oh no."

"What?"

"You've been thinking about her, haven't you?"

Bakugou's silence was answer enough.

Kaminari's eyes lit up. "Wait. The girl from the party? You're still on that?"

"I'm not—"

"Holy shit, you are! Dude, it's been like a week!"

"Five days," Bakugou corrected, then immediately regretted it.

Kaminari's grin was absolutely insufferable. "Oh my god. You've been counting."

"Fuck off."

"You're obsessed!"

"I'm not obsessed."

"You literally just told me exactly how many days it's been."

Bakugou didn't have a response to that.

Because Kaminari was right.

And that was the most infuriating part of all.

Kaminari was still grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

"This is amazing," he said, dropping onto the couch next to Bakugou with zero regard for personal space. "Bakugou Katsuki, brought low by a girl who won't even look at him. It's poetic. It's beautiful. It's—"

"It's nothing," Bakugou cut in, his voice flat. "Drop it."

"Oh, I'm not dropping this. This is the best thing that's happened all semester."

Kirishima settled into the armchair across from them, looking significantly less amused. "Denki, maybe we should—"

"No, no, hear me out." Kaminari turned to face Bakugou fully, his expression shifting from teasing to something that looked almost sincere. Almost. "You've been miserable all week. Like, more miserable than usual. And it's all because some girl told you the truth and then had the audacity to not care about your existence."

"I'm not miserable."

"You threw a training dummy through a wall on Wednesday."

"That was unrelated."

"You've been eating lunch alone."

"I like being alone."

"You literally never eat alone. You're always with us." Kaminari gestured between himself and Kirishima. "But this week? You've been avoiding everyone. Holing up in the library, showing up to the gym at weird hours—"

Bakugou's jaw tightened. "How do you—"

"Sero saw you at Gym C. Three times. And you never use Gym C."

Fuck.

Kirishima was watching him now, his expression shifting from concerned to understanding. "You've been trying to run into her."

It wasn't a question.

Bakugou didn't answer.

"Dude," Kirishima said, and there was something like pity in his voice that made Bakugou want to explode something. "That's... that's not healthy."

"I'm not—" Bakugou stopped, because what the hell was he supposed to say? That he hadn't been essentially stalking you for the past five days? That he hadn't memorized your schedule and engineered "coincidental" meetings that you didn't even notice?

He couldn't say that.

Because it would be a lie.

And Kirishima would know.

"I just wanted to talk to her," Bakugou said finally, the words coming out rougher than he intended. "Clear the air. Make sure she didn't think—"

"That you're an asshole?" Kaminari supplied helpfully.

"—that I'm just some loud jackass who goes around insulting people for fun."

"But you do insult people for fun."

"That's different."

"How?"

Bakugou didn't have an answer for that either.

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.

Kaminari was still watching him with that insufferable grin, like he could see straight through every defense Bakugou had built up over the years. Kirishima looked worried, which was somehow worse.

Bakugou grabbed his textbook—the one he'd already finished reading—and flipped it open to a random page, pretending to be absorbed in whatever was written there.

He wasn't reading.

Couldn't focus.

Because Kaminari was right.

He had been miserable all week.

And it was entirely because of you.

Because you'd looked at him like he was nothing.

And then you'd proceeded to treat him like nothing.

And he couldn't fucking handle it.

"You know what I think?" Kaminari said, breaking the silence.

"No, and I don't care."

"I think you should just ask her out."

Bakugou's head snapped up. "What?"

"I'm serious!" Kaminari was fully grinning now, leaning back into the couch like he'd just solved world hunger. "Just go up to her and ask her out. Worst she can say is no, right?"

"She'll definitely say no," Kirishima muttered.

"Exactly! So then Bakugou can move on with his life and stop moping around like some heartbroken protagonist in a romance anime."

"I'm not moping."

"You're absolutely moping."

"And I'm not asking her out." Bakugou slammed his textbook shut, the sound echoing through the common room. "Because I don't want to date her. I just want to—"

"To what?" Kaminari asked, eyebrows raised. "Talk to her? You've had five days to do that. Get her to notice you? Clearly not working. Prove you're not an asshole? Hate to break it to you, man, but that ship has sailed."

Bakugou's hands clenched into fists.

Small sparks crackled between his fingers.

Kaminari, to his credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm just saying," Kaminari continued, "you're going about this all wrong. You can't just lurk around campus hoping she'll magically start caring about you. That's not how people work."

"I wasn't lurking—"

"You were absolutely lurking."

"What would you suggest, then?" Bakugou bit out. "Since you're apparently an expert on this shit."

Kaminari's grin widened. "I'd suggest you accept a challenge."

Bakugou narrowed his eyes. "What kind of challenge?"

"A bet."

"Absolutely not."

"Hear me out—"

"No."

"Bakugou—"

"I said no."

But Kaminari was already sitting up straighter, his eyes bright with the kind of chaotic energy that usually preceded terrible decisions. "I bet you can't even get her to go on one date with you."

The words hung in the air.

Kirishima's eyes went wide. "Denki—"

"One date," Kaminari repeated, his voice louder now, more confident. "Hell, I bet you couldn't get her to like you even if you tried."

Something in Bakugou's chest tightened.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice low. Dangerous.

"Don't I?" Kaminari leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dude, she looked you in the eye and told you you're exhausting. She's spent the last week treating you like furniture. You really think you could get someone like that to actually like you?"

"Denki, stop," Kirishima said, his voice sharp now. Warning.

But it was too late.

Because Kaminari had found the one thing guaranteed to hook Bakugou's ego.

A challenge.

"The hell I can't," Bakugou heard himself say.

Kaminari's grin was victorious. "Prove it."

"Guys, this is a bad idea—" Kirishima started.

"I'm serious," Kaminari interrupted, turning to Kirishima. "You saw her at the party. You've heard what people say about her. She doesn't let anyone in. She doesn't trust people. She doesn't want to be liked. And Bakugou here thinks he can just waltz up and change her mind?"

"I didn't say that—"

"So prove me wrong." Kaminari turned back to Bakugou, and there was something almost challenging in his expression now. Like he was daring Bakugou to back down. "Make her like you. Actually like you. Not tolerate you, not be polite to you—genuinely like you."

Bakugou's jaw clenched.

He should say no.

Should tell Kaminari to fuck off and mind his own business.

Should recognize this for what it was: a stupid bet that would only make everything worse.

But his pride wouldn't let him.

Because the suggestion that he couldn't do something—that there was someone out there who was immune to his efforts, who would reject him no matter what he did—

That was unacceptable.

"Fine," Bakugou said.

Kirishima's head dropped into his hands. "Oh no."

"Fine?" Kaminari repeated, like he couldn't quite believe Bakugou had taken the bait.

"You want a bet? Let's make it a real one." Bakugou leaned forward, his eyes locked on Kaminari's. "End of the semester. Eight weeks. I'll make her like me."

"Define 'like,'" Kirishima said weakly, like he was already trying to damage control.

"Genuinely," Bakugou said. "Not just tolerating my presence. Actually choosing to spend time with me. Wanting to."

Kaminari's grin was splitting his face now. "And if you lose?"

Bakugou's jaw worked. "What do you want?"

"I want you to admit, out loud, in front of everyone—" Kaminari gestured vaguely to the common room, to the doors, to the entire campus beyond, "—that you're not irresistible. That there are people in this world who don't want anything to do with you. That your personality is, in fact, kind of exhausting."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Because they were true.

Or at least, they might be.

And the thought of having to admit that—publicly, in front of everyone—

His pride recoiled.

"And if I win?" Bakugou asked.

Kaminari shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'll do your homework for a month. I'll be your personal servant. Hell, I'll dye my hair whatever color you want. Doesn't matter. Because you're not gonna win."

"Guys, seriously—" Kirishima tried again.

"Deal," Bakugou said.

The word came out before he could stop it.

Before he could think.

Before he could recognize what a monumental mistake he was making.

Kaminari stuck out his hand, still grinning like an idiot. "Deal."

Bakugou shook it.

And just like that, it was done.

Kirishima groaned, running both hands through his hair. "You're both idiots."

"He started it," Bakugou muttered.

"And you took the bait like a fucking fish." Kirishima looked at Bakugou, and his expression was somewhere between exasperated and genuinely concerned. "Dude. She's not a challenge to be won. She's a person. A person who made it very clear she doesn't want anything to do with you."

"Then I'll change her mind."

"That's not how people work!"

"It's how everything works." Bakugou stood, grabbing his bag. "You put in the effort, you get the results. Simple."

"She's not a training exercise—"

"I know that."

"Do you?" Kirishima stood too, his voice sharper than usual. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're treating this like some kind of conquest. Like she's a problem you can solve if you just try hard enough."

Bakugou stopped.

Turned to look at his friend.

Kirishima was serious now. The easy-going, supportive energy that usually defined him was gone, replaced by something harder. More honest.

"I'm not trying to conquer her," Bakugou said slowly. "I'm trying to prove—"

"What? That you're not an asshole? That you can make anyone like you if you want to?" Kirishima shook his head. "That's not what this is about. And you know it."

"Then what is it about?"

Kirishima was quiet for a moment.

Then: "You tell me."

Bakugou didn't have an answer.

Because he didn't know.

Didn't know why you'd gotten under his skin the way you had.

Didn't know why he couldn't just let this go.

Didn't know why the thought of you continuing to ignore him for the rest of the semester made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.

All he knew was that he'd taken the bet.

And he didn't back down from bets.

"Eight weeks," Kaminari said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "That's all you've got. Better start planning your approach, Romeo."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious! You're gonna need a strategy. Flowers? Love letters? Grand gestures?"

"I said shut up."

"Oh! What if you—"

"Denki, I swear to god—"

Kaminari laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll stop. But seriously, dude. Good luck. You're gonna need it."

Bakugou didn't respond.

Just grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Kirishima called after him.

"Out."

"Bakugou—"

But he was already gone.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Kirishima and Kaminari alone in the common room.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Kirishima sighed. "This is going to end badly."

"Probably," Kaminari agreed, sounding far too cheerful about it.

"He's going to get hurt."

"Maybe."

"And you're okay with that?"

Kaminari was quiet for a moment, his usual grin fading into something more thoughtful. "Honestly? I think he needs this."

Kirishima turned to stare at him. "Needs to get rejected?"

"Needs to try for something he can't just force his way through." Kaminari leaned back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "Bakugou's used to winning. At everything. Training, grades, competitions—he just bulldozes through obstacles until they're not obstacles anymore. But people don't work like that."

"So you're using some poor girl as a life lesson?"

"I'm giving Bakugou a reality check." Kaminari's expression was surprisingly serious now. "And who knows? Maybe he'll actually learn something. Maybe he'll figure out that being the best at everything doesn't mean people owe you their time or attention."

"Or maybe he'll just get his heart broken and become even more unbearable."

"That's also a possibility."

Kirishima shook his head. "You're terrible."

"I'm realistic." Kaminari picked up his controller, already moving on to the next thing. "Besides, it's not like I forced him to take the bet. He did that all on his own."

"Because you goaded him into it."

"Because his ego wouldn't let him walk away." Kaminari looked at Kirishima, and his expression was oddly knowing. "This was always going to happen. I just sped up the timeline."

Kirishima wanted to argue.

Wanted to say that this was cruel, that Bakugou didn't deserve to be manipulated like this, that the girl—you—definitely didn't deserve to be the unwitting prize in some stupid bet.

But he couldn't.

Because Kaminari was right.

Bakugou had been spiraling since the party.

And if this bet gave him a framework, a goal, something concrete to work toward—

Maybe it would help.

Or maybe it would blow up in all their faces.

Either way, it was too late to stop it now.

Outside, walking across campus with no particular destination in mind, Bakugou replayed the conversation in his head.

I bet you can't even get her to go on one date with you.

The hell I can't.

He'd taken the bet.

Actually taken it.

Like an idiot.

His phone buzzed.

Kaminari: 8 weeks starts now btw. clock's ticking ⏰

Kaminari: i'm gonna enjoy watching this crash and burn

Bakugou shoved his phone back in his pocket without responding.

Eight weeks.

He could do this.

He'd faced worse challenges. Tougher opponents. Impossible odds.

This was just one person.

One stubborn, guarded, infuriatingly indifferent person who'd made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

How hard could it be?

He thought about your face at the party. The calm in your voice. The way you'd looked at him like he was just noise.

"Keep performing. They'll laugh as long as you're useful."

His hands clenched.

Yeah.

This was going to be a disaster.

But he'd never backed down from a challenge in his life.

And he wasn't about to start now.

Even if the challenge was getting someone to like him.

Someone who'd already decided he wasn't worth the effort.

Someone who, for the first time in his life, made him feel like he had something to prove.

Not to Kaminari.

Not to his friends.

To you.

And maybe—though he'd never admit it out loud—to himself.

He pulled out his phone and opened your student profile again.

Stared at your photo.

Those eyes. That neutral expression.

Eight weeks.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

Because the alternative—admitting defeat, admitting that there was someone out there who genuinely didn't want anything to do with him—

That was unacceptable.

Bakugou Katsuki didn't lose.

Not at training.

Not at tests.

And sure as hell not at this.

He just needed a plan.

A real one.

Not more stalking. Not more "accidental" meetings.

Something that would actually get your attention.

Something that would make you see him.

Really see him.

Not the performance.

Not the noise.

Him.

He stared at your photo for another long moment.

Then he closed the app and pocketed his phone.

Eight weeks.

Starting now.

Let's see who breaks first.

A/N: And there it is. The Bet. The trope to end all tropes. 🚩

I really wanted to emphasize that Bakugo isn't taking this bet because he wants to hurt you, but because his ego literally cannot handle the concept of someone being indifferent to him. He thinks this is a game he can win. Also, Kaminari is absolutely the chaotic villain of this story for suggesting this, but we thank him for his service because the angst when you find out is going to be DELICIOUS.

Next chapter, Bakugo actually has to talk to you now. Pray for him.

TAGLIST: @misteriousgrll, @calebslittlefuckingslut, @the-magician-in-alice, @itwilight444, @d3ath333, @dxkqta, @sanzuslut2, @exactlypinkbarbarian, @sternensmoothie, @lunaaraineee, @peachystea, @ratpiss01, @oh-buttercup, @1-555-damian, @sleepypurpledandelion, @bunbun812, @illiterate-moth, @gojosatorusno1, @kimchicraverr, @sur-i-ki, @nnxhhz, @vayabenson, @jakessidechick, @cherriesherry, @introm00n, @poptxrts, @bkch1, @istriyohei, @at-a-rax-ia, @bkgktskisblog, @shrimpy-sc, @eyesforbkg, @katszumi, @cerisescintillait, @metalblindbitch, @eirammarie0

Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

[tteokdoroki]

Yk when they say if you’re grinding your hips during riding it’s for you and if you’re bouncing it’s for him? Yeah bakugou doesn’t care in fact he would rather your grind and roll your hips on him cause he gets to see you fall apart

🛞 NEED A RIDE?  ✩  katsuki bakugou .ᐟ

🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 pro hero dynamight's fatal flaw is his inability to keep his hands off you and when he finally manages to lure you away from the hero gala and back to his car for the journey home, you end up taking him for a ride. (2K)

🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, established relationship, spit, creampies, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, squirting, bakugou just likes to watch his girl have fun, reader is wearing a dress !! pro hero bakugou & pro hero fem reader.

── © tteokdoroki ╱ 2026.

dynamight’s one fatal flaw, is that can’t keep his hands off of you. never for very long. it’s not always sexual, sometimes it’s a hand in yours for reassurance, one on your thigh to let you know he’s there, one at the small of your back to help manoeuvre you through crowds and prying press. though tonight, it really is the latter.

dressed to the nines for some charitable hero event, the blonde couldn’t help but paw at your doughy hips and perfect thighs over the designer dress that you wore. all black and orange and dynamight colours — a slit high on your thigh. of course he was hard. of course he wanted to touch you. the whole evening was hell on earth, pure torture watching you flounce about in fancy fabric and smile for cameras you’d never met. so yes, katsuki bakugou absolutely pulled over his car somewhere secluded on the way home and dragged you into the backseat with him.

the bedroom nearly half an hour away couldn’t wait for this.

now you’re on top of him, riding him, straddling that tiny waist. now he’s touching you. everywhere on everything — the curve of your breast as your sleeve slips lower. the back of your neck when you reach down to kiss him, uncoordinated and giddy. your tummy, where you take him and he bulges from his thickness and the small of your back just to keep you close.

“ride me so good sweetheart, know that?” katsuki glances upwards with a spark lost in his vermillion eyes, the kind you get when you see the stars for the first time. he thinks he might be high, words strung together to form praise slipping out before he has much time to think — large hands squeezing your hips. “love the way you bounce on it, throwin’ it back like you fucking own me.”

he’s got your dressed hiked up enough to feel some skin, toying with the supple flesh at your waist with dangerously rough and explosive hands — but you handles you like you’re a precious porcelain doll. delicate. something to be cherished and admired, like the pro hero does from underneath.

“‘m tired, kats…” you huff, looking so dazed as your head rolls back between your shoulders — vacant eyes going with them. like you’re barely conscious. like you’re losing it. through his unfairly long lashes and hooded blood current eyes, katsuki admires the pearlescent sheen to your skin, a mix of saltine sweat and the body shimmer your stylists had lathered on you earlier. you’ve always been pretty, your beauty rivals that of the moon, but the blonde thinks you’re most pretty when you get lost in the motions. swaying above him, bouncing up and down to the point where your cunt let’s out a crude suctioning sound every time she swallows the stretch of him back in.

he hums, pawing at your doughy hips and fleshy thighs, fixing the strap of your dress as it slips down your bare shoulder. “then stop, lemme take over, baby.” he offers gruffly against your shoulder whilst he sits up — plush pink lips leaving kiss against your skin. bakugou sucks in a breath, choking on the air that rushes in as your walls wavelet around him hungrily.

“but i— ” biting down on your lower lip, you exhale carefully with your brain all happily fuzzy and your soul alight with katsuki’s explosive spark. “wanna ride you, feels nice on top of you.” you explain cutely, clenching down on the diameter of his leaky bulbous tip, loving the way it kisses those sweet spots along your ribbed walls. you keep him trapped inside.

for a moment, you pause, hips stuttering as you try to regain the strength to go on. bakugou’s calloused fingertips traverse your spine and land at your ass, holding you on his cock — shallowly fucking you with the tip as you bask in the weight of him stretching you out. “sit down.” he goads you with a slick rasp, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. you’re still so sensitive from the work you’ve put in, close to the edge of bliss and falling over it. the blonde hero leans up, nipping your cheeks with no real bite. “grind on it for me.”

“wh— but what about…?” you question shyly through a pout. people say it never feels as good for the guy when you’re grinding on his dick, but you forget that katsuki only ever cares about your pleasure. you’ve always come first to him.

red eyes watch in amusement as you try to control the tears warping your vision, need and frustration coursing through you. “baby, pretty girl. i’m yours,” he whispers with that husky, sexy voice that has your belly erupting with butterflies. “use me, take what you want.” the more katsuki encourages you; the more you find the strength to lift your weight from his lap and peel your hips back — already missing the way the prominent veins decorating his cock; feel nestled against your insides. “w-worry about me later, just wanna make it good for you.” he just barely choked on a moan before you’re slamming yourself back down against him, a wet slap resounding through the sleek black porsche that rocks with the momentum of hot, passionate sex.

pride flickers within the maroon strokes to his eye colour, bakugou admiring you as you switch a desperate rhythm of swirling your hips over him feverishly, forcefully. it’s so much better this way, his achingly hot cock continuously jamming against that one particular spot whilst also churning up your gummy insides just the way you like. you throw your arms around bakugou’s thick neck in an attempt to keep yourself seated in his lap, his slacks burning deliciously against the backs of your thighs as a result of the friction. your gaze becomes misty and katsuki’s haughty moans become murky — breathes of exertion and delight coasting against your skin, as you jerk your hips back and forth, swollen mound streaming with sweet juices all over him.

a pink tint glows underneath the surface of katsuki’s golden skin, the blood carrying lustful hormones through his system begin to coagulate at his cheeks, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears in the form of a blush. with you barely pulling off of him, languidly rolling your pussy over his meaty shaft — a sticky glaze coats the blonde’s thick thighs and sinks into the polyester of his pants, leaving behind a scent he longs to carry with him for weeks.

“o-oh katsuki,” you mewl into the heavy hormone dusted air, drawing attention to the angelic contours of your face. “gosh, i don’t think i can…fuck!” slurring over sentences that don’t make sense, you reach for the headrest your boyfriend slumps against. he lazily circles his hips upwards to meet the languid flow of your grinding, because he can tell that you’re drowning and almost unable to take anymore. fat beads of his precum bead between your sore thighs like pearls, because nothing feels better than watching you fall to pieces above him like angel falling from heaven.

your body won’t let him go, your dripping mound keeps him warm and safe — pulling the blonde into the steps of intense, dreamy sex. his painfully red cockhead stays married to your g-spot because you’ve positioned yourself to make sure it hits deep, dotting your own line of sight with sparks of euphoria.

“god, you’re close aren’t you? gonna make yourself cum on my fucking cock?” bakugou ask you in a rough voice. tight and stretched with arousal. adoringly, his gaze snakes downwards to where the fabric of your dress bunches at your waist and his milky white dick disappears into your perfect, soaked pussy. his equally rough fingertips dart from your ass to your nether lips, thumb tacking to your clit to rub in tantalising circles and shapes. “just like that baby, grind on me. make yourself feel good on me.”

ecstasy slips into your veins with a chill but does nothing to soothe the white hot throb between your legs as you swivel your messy, precum streaked hole back and forth, back and forth over katsuki’s length. when you lunge forward, capturing his sweaty Cupids bow and soft lips between your own, his hips canter up quickly — easily kissing the pleasure spots you can barely reach with your own fingers. “so fuckin’ pretty, look at you go, gorgeous,” the wrecked and mighty pro hero dynamight heaves, once you pull apart snd the rope of saliva snaps between your open mouths. breathing hot and heavy. “take what you need, just wanna see you fuckin’ cum. see you feel so fucking good. use me baby.”

his plea makes you move faster, clench and squeeze and buck harder and in the meantime, a sheet of sweat layers over katsuki’s body — drops between his golden delicious pecs and over his abs until his baby hair is pinned to the back of his neck. you reach for it, wring your fingers through soft blonde as leverage to hump his thick, cock as it froths opaque white at your entrance. your lips barely graze on another’s, despite the proximity, only damp with the warm breath that condenses against them — the result of panting into one another’s mouths as they fall open with hearty moans.

bakugou then grabs at the fat of your ass uses his grip as leverage to hoist you up and down on his girth — viscous honey seeping from your core obscenely whilst slamming you down on the curve of his shaft. “lemme help you. gush on that cock baby,” everything is so messy, a mix of arousal splattering everywhere as the blonde pro hero jackhammers into you with a speed fast enough to give you whiplash. “can tell by the way you’re squeezin’ me, like you’re gonna milk me in the back of this fuckin’ car.”

you tip forward, leaning your weight on your palms that press against bakugou’s chest and torso. your nails dig into his expensive linen shirt. nearly ripping it. neither of you care. “f-fuck, katsuki. suki,” orgasmic waves start to roll through you, the car creaking and squealing the wilder your movements become. your clit smears all over his hipbone, painting him with your essence and the frothy white streaks over your ravaged pussy lips in a claim. staining your dress too. “o-oh god, feel so hot. like ‘m gonna burst.” your thighs squish together, practically touching despite how you straddle katsuki because you’re not sure you can handle the strikes of ecstasy tingling down your spine.

it’s nearly embarrassing, how your hood stutter above dynamight’s and your cunt squirts little streams of nectar each time the blonde is able to bully himself further along your welcoming walls. wailing out, you slump against his broad shoulder, too weak to hold yourself up but strong enough to swirl your hips down on his dick one last time.

“chase that feelin’ sweetheart, you’re right there,” katsuki’s rough palms ensnare your wrists — thumb pressing into your pulse points. “‘m right here with you.”

that’s all you need to hear, all it takes for the world around you to blur into a flashing white. static rings in your ears and your brain actually falters like a video game with a persistent lag. a scream rips through your entire body, shooting from the base of your lungs to your throat as you squirt hard on katsuki — quivering and gargling on a whine.

whatever you leak pools on the blonde’s dress pants and down to the leather seats of his car but the aftershocks of your high throw him into his own and before you know it, bakugou is cumming too. white ropes of seed spill into you, lining your perfect cunt with his claim. what doesn’t stay inside catches on your evening gown — but it’s not like either of you are paying attention.

“f-fuck,” katsuki gasps, blinking like his vision’s gone black. “fuck, you’re so hot.”

you grin against his neck from where you’ve hidden yourself in it, catching your breath, fixing your dress. “so are you,” you mumble and kiss his cheek. “made a mess of your car.”

“won’t cost shit to get it fixed up,” bakugou nuzzles into you. “‘n besides, watchin’ you ride it, watching you fall apart for me… makes the bill totally worth it.”

he’d be right, because katsuki would pay millions to have you fuck him like that again — even if it feels better for you than it does for him.

end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[indagold-orchid]

Holding the boys