Jaybin’s first time at a full dining table 🥹 he would go full Kirby on Alfred’s meals and Alfred would just remind him on his table manners but let him get away with it every single time 😭
୨୧ ៸៸ katsuki takes all steps of his morning routine very seriously ༝ ꒰ 700! ꒱
ꉂ — warnings : female reader ・ kissing ・ slight manga/anime spoilers ✦˚˖ ᵎᵎ
It's 10:50 on a Sunday morning when Katsuki emerges from your shared bedroom — eyes downcast, strands of ash-blonde falling into his vision.
He's fresh out of the shower, like always. And the smell that leeches off him tells you he's still using your soap despite complaining that it's too sweet.
Katsuki takes pride in his daily schedule. Every minute carefully curated down to the second — so routine it's practically muscle memory.
Making your morning tea was only the beginning, one part in the pro -hero's day that he chose to build his life around. The shiny ceramics wait for him on the counter; his & her mugs you'd begged him to buy during a work trip overseas.
"Sleep well?" he questions, as if he doesn't know the answer.
At 10:58, Katsuki hands you your drink, fingers brushing under the curve of the handle. His thighs act as your leg rest, as he trails a hand over the soft skin like it belongs there.
Katsuki's never mastered sleep, often caught under the spell of racing thoughts during late hours of the night — the one part of his curated routine he can never seem to grasp.
"Mhm" you start, taking a small sip of your tea before you reel back from the heat.
He's already eyeing you, reaching for the mug and blowing on the warm liquid between words, "That's it? Just 'mhm'?"
"You really want to know about how I slept, Katsuki?" you smile, digging the ball of your foot playfully against his thigh, "Don't you already know? I felt your eyes on me"
You get a pointed glare in response as he copies your earlier movement, bringing the mug up to his lips and testing the temperature before he's handing it off to you — another habit he's picked up since being in your presence.
Katsuki dubs this his second favourite part of the morning. When his shoulders lax at the sound of you. You could talk about anything, from mundane complaints to quiet observations, because somehow your words are a piercing veil over all the noise in his head.
By 11:05, Katsuki wants you closer — especially when he feels the warm grasp of fatigue clinging to every inch of him at the soft lull of your voice — at least that's his excuse.
The mug's plucked from your hands, tea sloshing against ceramics as it's set down on the coffee table — on a coaster, of course. Katsuki spent way too much on this lump of wood to afford scratches, or worse, water rings.
You're settled into Katsuki's lap in the blink of an eye, your front pressed against his — mere inches from each other as you bask in the early morning glow shining through the curtains.
"Any plans for today?" you murmur against his lips, arms snaking around his neck as you make yourself comfortable.
"Do you have plans?"
You blink, "No.."
He smirks, voice honeyed with morning husk, "Then no, my day's clear." By the time Katsuki pries his eyes away from you, it's 11:10.
Just one more minute. And, instinctively, his eyes are already searching for your lips.
The pale green flash of the clock on the oven blinks at you tauntingly. "It's 11:11 ."
"Oh, yeah?" warm hands trace your sides, tugging at your waist to pull you in closer, "What's that mean?"
"Shh, stop talking."
He wastes no time — his lips pressing so gently into yours, like if he goes any faster the moment won't last. Each touch of your mouth is deliberate, slow. Your body sinking into his touch.
The kiss only leaves you breathless, air escaping the both of you through quiet sighs and soft exhales.
In all his life, Katsuki never imagined a future like this, his whole day quietly shaped around the numbers on the clock. 1:11, 3:33 — small moments of his busy life that, somewhere along the way, started to feel like they belonged to you.
You plant a small kiss to the apple of his cheek, already thinking about the day ahead under the soft arches of your shared home. "I'll be back"
A soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, drifting into the lull that fills the next hour — and, to no surprise of his own, Katsuki's already antsy for 12:12.
a/n: i hope this comes out clearly ... my parents used to kiss on all the angel numbers when i was a kid > < and i think it's cute now even though i thought it was disgusting before ... i was their biggest hater. thank you my dear @kamislop for betaing.... again ❤︎ sigh soft love ... -> masterlist | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋
taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly ⸝⸝ @suganoms ⸝⸝ @girlluvkatsuki ⸝⸝ @starrsoasis ⸝⸝ @isaxbellevs ⸝⸝ @0nutsforfaye ⸝⸝ @bunnimuse ⸝⸝ @xoxocelestial ⸝⸝ @yunaaaar ⸝⸝ @gyalcapone ⸝⸝ @pok3trash ⸝⸝ @toshislover ⸝⸝ @tentypos ⸝⸝ @satiiv-a ⸝⸝ @cupidkats ⸝⸝ @riotsgrl ⸝⸝ @mamashima ⸝⸝ @rottengrlsworld ⸝⸝ @j1hxxn ⸝⸝ @v1xxul ⸝⸝ @tamaglowchi ⸝⸝ @demonic-charcuterie | join the taglist? lwk might not use this everytime cause i feel annoying asf
Since you’ve had a rocky pregnancy, Katsuki doesn’t want to leave you and go to Tokyo to help with an emergency villain attack, when you’re due in two weeks. Or alternatively, the one where you wake up in a hospital bed with Mitsuki holding your hand, again.
Tags/CW: pro hero!Bakugo, married couple, disgustingly in love, reader is pregnant, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries and trauma from past ones, Katsuki cries at the sight of his daughter, momma (in law) Mitsuki is mothering again, fluff fluff and s'more. Pt.1
As of today, the number of times youve woken up in a hospital bed to Mitsuki Bakugo holding your hand has added up to two. It isn’t an odd number, though, for some reason, it’s strange that it’s happened twice.
You knew there’d be complications when you got pregnant. Doctors had told you so, after almost getting split in half during the war in your teenage years. One of the medics had told you it was a miracle you survived at all. Another doctor later explained it in colder terms—extensive abdominal trauma, nerve damage, reconstruction complications. Pregnancy would be difficult. Dangerous, maybe impossible.
You remembered being seventeen when they said it, wondering why you had to care about a pregnancy in your teenage years to even begin with. You had blamed misogyny, fetishisation, anything that you knew doctors operated with in the back of their mind, because surviving what you did, learning to walk and talk again at such a tender age did not align with wanting to rock a baby bump anytime soon.
Years later, and only after your last name had been changed to Bakugo as well, when you actually got pregnant, every appointment carried this awful sense of inevitability. Like everyone in the room was waiting for your body to fail some final exam it had already cheated death to pass.
Bedrest.
Monitoring.
Blood pressure scares.
Pain you pretended wasn’t getting worse because you knew the exact look Katsuki got when he was afraid.
What you couldn’t grasp back then—between extensive physios and two abdominal surgeries to remove scar tissue, you totally understood now.
Your gyno had suggested —no, demanded— you give birth via C-section, and at first you had been adamant about pushing through natural labor.
Stubbornness came naturally to you.
Unfortunately, so did denial.
You remembered sitting in that painfully bright office while your doctor pinched the bridge of her nose hard enough to leave marks.
“You are not understanding me,” she’d said slowly. “Your body has already undergone catastrophic trauma. Labor could rupture the remaining scar tissue internally.”
And you, arms crossed over your swollen stomach, had replied, “Women give birth every day.”
The silence afterward had been horrific. Your doctor looked one second away from sedating both you and your husband.
Beside you, Katsuki had gone deathly still. Extremely quiet. The kind of quiet that only happened when fear lodged itself somewhere too deep for shouting to reach.
He’d nearly crushed your fingers with how tight he was holding them when the doctor informed you it would be life-threatening, mostly because you wouldn’t listen.
You remembered finally glancing at him then.
At the dark circles under his eyes from weeks of sleeping lightly beside you in case your blood pressure spiked again.
At the way his jaw stayed clenched so often lately it probably hurt and the sweat gathered in his palms where they wrapped around your hand like if he loosened his grip for even a second, something terrible would happen.
And then he said it.
So quietly it almost hurt more.
“I don’t give a shit about the birth plan.”
The room went still.
Katsuki stared straight ahead when he spoke again, voice rough and frighteningly controlled.
“I don’t care if they cut me open too while they’re at it. I don’t care if your mom cries about the experience or if extras online say natural shit is more meaningful or whatever the fuck.” His grip tightened. “You dyin’ is not an option.”
You’d never heard him sound genuinely scared before. Not during villain attacks. Not during injuries. Not even during the war.
Fear on Katsuki Bakugo looked ugly because he constantly fought it so hard. It came out clipped and sharp-edged, buried beneath irritation and control until the cracks showed anyway.
And suddenly, sitting there in that office, you understood something horrible. He had already watched you almost die once. He had stood beside your hospital bed for endless nights, skipping studying, pushing through his own catastrophic injuries. He had memorized the sound of machines breathing for you. Already lived through the waiting, even when he had been told you wouldn’t make it, because to him, memorizing your face seemed like a potential relic.
The possibility of doing it again—this time while loving you even more than he had at seventeen—was destroying him slowly from the inside out.
His thumb rubbed absently over your knuckles.
A nervous habit. One he only had with you.
“I can live without being a dad,” he muttered finally. “I can’t live without you.”
After that doctor’s appointment Katsuki almost never left your side during the rest of the pregnancy.
Not in an overbearing way.
But after everything your body had already survived, he operated like someone waiting for disaster even during ordinary moments.
He learned medication schedules better than you did. Timed your contractions during false alarms with military precision. Argued with doctors until they stopped sounding dismissive. Rubbed your feet while glaring at you because your blood pressure was climbing again and you still insisted on folding laundry yourself.
He slept lightly beside you every night. One hand always remained somewhere on you. Your stomach. Your hip. Your wrist. Like reassurance worked both ways.
It got worse during the final months; You caught him staring at you sometimes– Before you went to sleep, or while you were reading a book, tucked carefully under a fuzzy blanket in the living room while he was supposed to be cooking. It felt like he was checking if you’re still breathing.
The C-section had already been scheduled. Your doctors barely entertained alternatives anymore after your last scan. Too much scar tissue. Too much risk. Your body simply wasn’t built to endure prolonged labor safely after the war injuries. And at one point you had reluctantly agreed, because you weren’t a seventeen year old stubborn head anymore, pushing through healing processes just so you could join high school with your classesmates anymore. It was simply because you wanted your baby, you wanted to raise your little girl with Katsuki, because you didn’t want to be the reason he’d be alone in this world.
And most importantly, because you didn’t want to imagine a life where Bakugo got to grow old without you.
Everything was planned carefully.
Controlled.
Safe.
And maybe that’s why the universe decided to ruin it.
-----------
The call came at 3:12 in the morning. Katsuki swore the second his phone rang. Instantly alert, though pushing back the wave of annoyance that washed through him.
Hero work trained people into recognizing certain calls before they even answered them.
He sat up beside you immediately, one hand already reaching for the phone while the other touched your thigh absentmindedly, grounding himself before he even spoke.
“What.”
Silence, then, “What do you mean Tokyo?”
You pushed yourself upright slowly against the pillows, still half asleep. The apartment was dark except for the streetlights bleeding through the curtains in pale orange strips.
Katsuki listened for another few seconds before dragging a hand down his face.
“How bad?”
Your stomach tightened uneasily by pure instinct.
Years of being a pro hero taught you how to recognize the atmosphere surrounding emergencies. Even over the phone, urgency carried differently.
Eventually, Katsuki hung up, leaving you silent on the other side of the bed, groggy eyes that could barely open through the thickness of sleep, desperately trying to watch him and every expression he made.
“There’s been an attack in Tokyo,” he muttered. “Evacuation’s fucked. They need extra hands.”
You frowned immediately. “Then go.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re due in two weeks.”
“Katsuki.”
“I’m serious.” he grunts, sheepishly.
You almost smiled despite yourself.
This had become normal lately—him acting like stepping more than ten feet away from you would cause immediate catastrophe.
And you can’t say you hate it. Because it has turned your Katsuki into a clingy thing. You can’t even lie to yourself and say you don’t enjoy the way he’s always touching you— or cuddling up to you.
Now, much like every other day, he shifts his weight, big arms coming to wrap around your sleepy form, dragging you into a big cuddle in the middle of the bed. Your husband nuzzles his nose to the side of your neck before he lets out a sleepy groan.
You have to fight the bulge of his bicep to even move your lips to speak, “You can’t ignore a city-wide villain attack because I’m pregnant.”
“Watch me.” He says, placing a soft kiss to the curve of your neck.
You snort softly. The words vibrate against your skin, low and rough with sleep.
You huff out another laugh despite yourself, trapped comfortably beneath the weight of Katsuki as he all but folds himself over you. Pregnancy had somehow turned one of the most aggressive men alive into something embarrassingly clingy in private.
Not that anybody would ever believe you.
The Number Two Hero, face buried in your neck at three in the morning, refusing to get out of bed because his pregnant wife looked too comfortable.
You shift slightly in his arms, trying not to laugh when he immediately tightens his hold in protest.
“Katsuki,” you mumble, voice muffled against his shoulder as he kisses exposed skin. “Tokyo is literally on fire.”
“Tch. They got other heroes.”
“You are other heroes.”
“That sounds like a them problem.”
Another kiss.
This one slower, softer.
His large hand slides instinctively over the curve of your stomach beneath your shirt, thumb rubbing absent circles there like muscle memory. You feel him pause for half a second when the baby shifts.
Every single time, his expression changed when that happened.
Still wonder.
Still disbelief.
Still that quiet softness he only ever let exist around you.
“You feel okay?” he asks again, sleep-heavy voice quieter this time.
“There it is,” you murmur. “Question number four.”
“Didn’t answer it the first three times.”
“I was falling asleep, but yes, I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“Katsuki.”
He finally lifts his head enough to look at you properly.
Messy hair.
Heavy eyes.
Permanent stress line between his brows that had only gotten worse throughout the pregnancy.
You knew exactly why he hovered so much lately. Why he touched you constantly. Why he checked if you were breathing when he thought you were asleep.
The war had carved fear into both of you differently.
You carried yours internally.
Katsuki carried his like a weapon pointed at the universe, constantly painted all over his body in scars that will never fade.
“You’re overthinking again,” you whisper, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw.
His eyes narrow immediately. “I’m literally always right.”
“You once tried to convince our doctor you could ‘sense’ if my blood pressure was dropping.”
“I was right.” he grunts.
“You were lucky.”
“I have instincts.”
“You have anxiety.”
That finally earns a reluctant snort from him.
“Katsuki, i’ll be fine. I promise.”
For a moment, neither of you move. Then Katsuki, as if you’ve magically convinced him, loosens his grip around you. He bats the sleepiness away from his eyes with a long blink and sighs as he’s getting his body up from the bed.
He gets dressed in his hero suit quickly, efficiently moving through years of practice and emergency tension that never boils down to anything other than anxiety.
The entire time though, he keeps looking back at you.
“You sure you feel okay?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Katsuki, if you ask me one more time, I’m divorcing you before the baby gets here.”
“That’s not funny.”
And there it is again. Fear. Quick and ugly beneath the irritation. Not even hiding itself when his lip pouts out. Katsuki doesn’t appreciate these types of jokes now anymore than he ever did.
You soften immediately. “I’m okay.”
He exhales hard through his nose, his eyes scrunching shut.
Then he crosses the room, crouching carefully in front of you, and presses his forehead against your knee.
The position alone almost breals your heart.
The Number Two Hero.
Explosions in his palms.
Entire cities trusting him to save them.
And here he is, visibly struggling to leave his pregnant wife alone for a few hours.
His hand slides over your stomach gently.
“Call me if anything feels off.”
“I will.” you hum.
“I mean it, even the Dynamite emergency line.”
“I know.”
Another pause. Then, quieter:
“You’ll be okay without me for a bit?”
Something about that question makes your chest ache.
You threaded your fingers through his hair lightly. “Go save Tokyo, hero.”
His mouth twitches reluctantly against your leg. But he kisses your stomach before standing.
Then he kisses you.
Once.
Twice.
A third time like he still wasn’t convinced.
And when he finally leaves, the apartment feels too quiet afterward.
You try sleeping again. You really do.
But something restless lingers under your skin.
Around four am a storm starts outside. Rain taps softly against the windows. The kind of heavy springtime rain that made the city sound far away. Your mind only travels to Katsuki, the way he’s probably too grumpy over the fact he had to have traveled to Tokyo with Kirishima’s sidekick’s teleportation quirk and how anxious he’s going to be if he hasn’t dealt with the attack by the next few hours.
Your mind travels through every possible scenario. Him getting hurt, what the villain even might be on about; Because things have changed in the past few years. Society had slowly stitched itself back together after the war, scar tissue forming over old wounds the same way your body had. Less villains appear, less catastrophes are caused, but the stakes of collateral damage are always high when city-wide attacks happen.
Eventually, you waddle into the kitchen, mostly because pregnancy insomnia has become your own mortal enemy.
A true hero always has one, but apparently for you, it’s your own daughter these days.
You open the fridge, eager to think of something to cook for breakfast and curse slightly under your breath —That’s usually been Katsuki’s job the past few months, to which you’ve never had any objection, secretly liking the way he spoils you rotten.
However, because you still think of yourself as a fierce woman who doesn’t need to be dependent on her husband for food, you settle for making yourself some rice paired with the sides Katsuki has meticulously meal-prepped in separate containers in the fridge.
The fridge is absurdly organized. Every container labeled neatly in Katsuki’s sharp handwriting. Prepared vegetables. Protein portions. Side dishes stacked with aggressive precision. The top shelf entirely dedicated to snacks your doctor recommended because apparently pregnancy had transformed you into someone capable of crying over strawberries at midnight.
Katsuki loves, mostly, through acts of service and you will not deny him of it, even if right now he’s three hours of driving away.
The rice cooker clicks closed softly while rain continues against the windows. and once you turn your back to the counter, the apartment glows dim and warm in the passage of that early morning darkness that slowly seeps into the orange gleams of dawn, though today, it’s through distant cracks in bruised, rainy clouds.
For a little while, things feel strangely normal. Domestic.
Safe.
You lean with your back against the counter while waiting, one hand absentmindedly rubbing over your stomach when the baby shifts again. Your baby faintly kicks where your hand is, and you come to think that you might miss this once she’s born.
Katsuki speaks to her every chance he gets all day long, and she, simply by listening to his voice, turns and kicks inside your stomach even more so than she does when you attempt to do the same. Unfortunately, you’ve already sensed how much of a daddy’s girl she’s going to be
“Baby girl, you’re just like your father,” you mutter tiredly. “Keeping me awake for no reason.”
Another kick answers you immediately.
You snort softly, then pause entirely.
A strange tightness curls low in your abdomen.
You freeze.
“…Ow.”
The sensation isn’t sharp exactly. Just uncomfortable.
Your first instinct is annoyance more than concern. Pregnancy had become an endless cycle of aches lately anyway—back pain, hip pain, breast pain, pressure, soreness. Existing in your own body felt like a full-time job.
You shift your weight carefully against the counter and the pain fades momentarily.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself.
False alarm, most probably.
Would Katsuki have scolded you for sitting up while the rice cooker works? Yes he definitely would have, however, he’s not here, and you have the freedom to finally exist in this house without having to lay down comfortably for once.
Go figure.
The rice cooker eventually finishes with a soft click.
You busy yourself plating food, deliberately ignoring the lingering unease crawling slowly up your spine. Katsuki’s paranoia had become contagious enough lately without you feeding into it too. Still… Your hand drifts unconsciously toward the kitchen counter when another tight cramp rolls through you. This time though, it’s stronger.
Your breathing stutters.
The plate clinks softly against the marble as you set it down too quickly.
No.
No, no. Fuck—Not now.
Your C-section isn’t for another —what?— eleven days?
You stand completely still, waiting for the sensation to disappear, thinking that this is too unfair, too cliche; the second Katsuki leaves, after you’ve promised him you’d be okay, things simply go downhill.
Thunder rumbles in muted tones from outside, all while the rain mellows down.
And then, when another surge of pain washes down the cold sweat in your sine, warmth suddenly spreads down your thighs.
Your brain doesn’t process it immediately. Not until you look down, at least, and you see water slowly dripping onto the kitchen floor.
Your entire body goes cold.
“Fuck!”
You stare blankly at the small puddle beneath you like if you wait long enough, reality will correct itself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Your doctors specifically said this wasn’t supposed to happen. And to top that, they had not prepared you for anything like this happening.
You’ve entered your eight month like, a few days ago, and this. is. not. normal!
Panic crashes into you all at once. You grab your phone off the counter with shaking hands, speed dialing Katsuki’s phone, only for the call not to go through.
You try again. Then again. Then once more.
Fuck, maybe that villain attack has seriously jabbed communication signals.
You wonder if Katsuki has realised by now.
“Shit, what do i do,” you breathe shakily, tears stinging unexpectedly at your eyes.
Another contraction hits before you can think further.
This one hard enough to force you forward against the counter with a broken gasp.
Pain wraps viciously around your abdomen.
There’s only one person you can call that will answer for sure— Mitsuki.
---------
Your eyes drag heavily; the upwards path of grogginess until they’re halfway open. Your loose gaze catches blurs of the room you’re in. The light that casts through what looks like a window, white sheets that rest stiff under your hands that lay still next to your body.
It still feels like you’re positively dreaming.
Your hearing is clearer than your vision for what feels like a moment too long. Birds are chirping somewhere distant, traffic burps and crashes outside, but the loudest sound is the constant, steady beep-beep-beep of what looks like a monitor next to you.
For a few more disorienting seconds, your vision refuses to cooperate with you, everything around you reduced to pale blurs and washed-out light.
There’s a dull ache buried deep inside your abdomen, muted enough that it almost feels distant, like your body is keeping it behind glass for now until you’re awake enough to fully process it.
You blink slowly.
The room sharpens little by little around the edges.
Your eyes shift toward it sluggishly, catching sight of an arrangement of balloons and teddy bears beside your bed before your attention drifts elsewhere entirely.
Someone is holding your hand.
The realization reaches you before recognition does.
Warm fingers wrapped tightly around yours, almost stubbornly so, like whoever’s attached to them had been afraid to let go even for a second. Your gaze follows the arm upward slowly, vision still swimming slightly, until it lands on the figure slumped awkwardly in the chair beside your bed.
Blonde hair slightly flattened on one side.
Reading glasses shoved carelessly into the collar of a blouse.
Arms crossed tightly even in sleep.
Mitsuki.
Your brain struggles to understand the image at first. Not because it’s impossible, but because it feels strangely familiar in a way that immediately makes your chest ache. Your body flashes past images behind your eyes. Images of another time, another day, where Katsuki’s mom was younger, wearing an even more concerned expression on her face.
It’s crazy to think that life has brought you in this same position twice already.
The thought drifts through your exhausted mind sluggishly, almost detached, before memory suddenly crashes back hard enough to make your stomach twist.
The puddle under your feet in the kitchen.
The storm outside, muted by the second.
The sharp, tearing pain in your abdomen.
Then— white walls all blur together with a car ride. In the back of your head someone’s still shouting for blood products.
Your breathing catches.
The movement must tug against Mitsuki’s grip because her eyes snap open almost immediately, years of raising Katsuki apparently training her into sleeping lightly during emergencies. For a second she just stares at you, visibly trying to process the fact you’re awake, before something complicated flashes across her face so quickly you almost miss it.
Relief.
Pure, eye-brightening relief.
“Oh thank God,” she breathes, voice rough and cracked around the edges like she hasn’t spoken properly in hours.
You try to answer her, but your throat burns violently the second you inhale too sharply. The only sound that comes out is embarrassingly weak, more exhale than actual word.
Mitsuki is already moving before you can attempt again. “Easy, honey, don’t try talking yet.”
You chuckle at her, your mouth tugging to the side.
Deja-vu.
This time, you don’t ask for your mom.
Her chair scrapes softly against the floor as Mitsuki stands, reaching immediately for the plastic water pitcher beside your bed. Even half-conscious, you notice little things automatically. The wrinkling of her clothes. Smudged mascara gathered faintly beneath her eyes.
Your fingers twitch weakly against the sheets while she carefully presses the straw toward your mouth. The water tastes cold and metallic and overwhelmingly artificial, but you drink anyway because your body feels scraped hollow from the inside out.
The second your throat hurts less, panic rises all over again.
“Kats-Katsuki?”
The name catches painfully in your throat.
Mitsuki exhales through her nose immediately, already anticipating the question before you even finish asking it. There’s something almost fond in the expression that flickers across her face, despite how exhausted she looks.
“He’s alive,” she says dryly. “I finally got a hold of him a while ago and he’s on his way.”
A weak laugh escapes you before you can stop it, quickly interrupted by the ache in your abdomen. The movement sends a sharp soreness pulling through your middle and suddenly you become painfully aware of your body again. Heavy limbs. Tender skin. The awful, empty exhaustion sitting inside your stomach.
“M’baby—”
The words come out slurred and cracked, but Mitsuki understands instantly.
Her expression changes immediately, softening in a way that almost hurts to look at.
“She’s okay.”
Your entire body stills.
“She’s okay,” Mitsuki repeats more firmly this time, squeezing your hand tighter before you can spiral any further. “They’ve got her in NICU because she came early, but she’s breathing on her own. Doctors said her lungs are strong.”
For some reason, that’s the thing that nearly makes you tear up. You think of your baby, all alone, for god knows how many hours smothered by tubes. Wanting to go see her immediately, your hand instinctively drifts downward beneath the blanket before Mitsuki catches your wrist gently.
“Don’t,” she mutters. “You’ll freak yourself out.”
Which means there is something there to freak out about.
Probably bandages.
Maybe stitches. Not like that’s something you haven’t seen on you before.
Your face must betray some of the panic rising inside you because Mitsuki’s grip softens almost immediately afterward.
“You have to wait for your doctor to come check up on you before you do that. We don’t want you ripping your stitches.”
You hum in response.
“The surgery went fine,” she says quieter this time. “You scared the absolute shit out of everybody in the room, but it went fine.”
Everybody.
Your mind immediately conjures up the image of a seventeen year old Katsuki in a hospital waiting room instead of going to school and somehow that feels more horrifying than any surgery itself.
Still, you nod in response to her, your dry lips transforming into a pout that could only compare to one of her son’s. It looks almost ridiculous on your exhausted face, like your body is trying to remember how to be human again and only managing fragments of personality.
“Can we call Katsuki?” you ask, voice rough around the edges. “I wanna tell him I’m okay.”
Mitsuki doesn’t answer immediately.
That alone tightens something in your chest.
She studies you for a second—longer than necessary, like she’s deciding how much truth you can handle in your current state. Her thumb rubs once over your knuckles, grounding, deliberate.
Then she exhales through her nose.
“Of course sweetheart,” she says finally. “Just know he did get a little hurt during the attack. I urged him to go get checked up before commuting.”
“Hurt?”
Mitsuki nods once, lips pressing into a thin, controlled line. “Yeah. Nothing life-threatening. Before you start spiraling.”
It doesn’t stop the instinctive spike of panic anyway.
Your fingers twitch against her hand.
“Yeah,” she presses her lips into a concerned line “But he’ll tell you all about it after he sees you’re alive and well. He went frantic when I told him what happened.” she sighs “I swear you two—no, three now— are bound to give me a heart attack.”
“But he’s on his way, right?” you repeat.
“Yes.”
The word lands heavy, real in a way nothing else has since you woke up.
There’s a pause. A long one at that.
The kind where your body starts catching up to your brain in uneven pieces. Pain in your abdomen, dull and distant. The IV in your arm. The sterile smell that clings to everything. The fact that you are here, in a hospital bed again, and somehow still alive enough to ask questions.
Your daughter exists.
Your daughter is alive.
Katsuki is alive.
That thought should be simple. But it really isn’t.
Because none of it feels simple anymore. Not when you wanted, no, dreamed of having your daughter with Katsuki by your side. You’ve both already missed her first breath, her first cry, possibly even her first feeding.
Maybe you should have talked Katsuki out of going to Tokyo earlier. Hold him in your arms a little longer before he left. Because Mitsuki makes no actual move to pull her phone out to call him, and your paranoia convinces you she’s positively lying right now about him being okay.
Mitsuki shifts slightly in her chair when a loud sob chokes out of your mouth, watching your face like she’s learned how to read the smallest fractures in it over the years. There’s something exhausted behind her eyes too, but it’s the kind of exhaustion that’s been carried too long to complain about.
“You don’t have to hold it together right now,” she says, quieter.
It shouldn’t make anything break further than what it is already. But it does.
Your breath comes out corrupted, broken.
“I’m not—” you start automatically, then stop, because there’s no point lying to her. Not when she’s sitting there holding you like she already knows every version of you that exists. Not when you start to violently sob on the spot.
A beat passes.
Then you whisper, through muffled crying, smaller than before, “I just want to see him and the baby. I need them to be okay.”
Mitsuki’s expression softens in a way that almost hurts to look at.
“You will, sweetheart" she says simply. “Soon.”
Her hand doesn’t leave yours.
“Let’s call Katsuki, okay? Please don’t cry to him on the phone or his heart will combust.”
_________
By the time the door finally opens, the room already feels like it’s been holding its breath too long.
You’ve drifted in and out of that strange hospital haze where time stops behaving like it’s supposed to—light through the blinds shifting without meaning, machines humming steadily beside you like the only thing in the world that still understands how to be consistent. Your doctor passed by a while ago to check up on you and let you know that everything is going fine, despite the unfortunate turn of events. She answered all of your questions about the NICU patiently and informed you that your baby girl is fine. That other for her premature birth, there’s no other reason for her to stay in the NICU.
When Mitsuki was allowed back into the room, she eventually settled into the chair again, though not quite the same way as before. Less slumped now, more alert, like she’d decided exhaustion wasn’t something she was willing to fully submit to yet.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway, quick but controlled, each one placed with intention that doesn’t quite match urgency, but doesn’t fully escape it either.
The door clicks only a few minutes after. It’s soft, almost carefully reluctant.
Though your body reacts before your mind catches up.
And then he’s there.
Katsuki Bakugo. Your husband.
Clean and out of his hero costume.
That’s the first thing your mind registers, oddly enough.
Not the fact that he’s here. Not the fact that he made it back from Tokyo at all. But that he looks like someone who refused to bring the chaos of that city into this room with him. Hair still slightly tousled from travel, but not matted or wild. Skin washed of soot and debris, loose hoodie that somehow feels too big even over his enormous muscular frame, slouchy joggers. Even the sharp edges of him feel temporarily contained, like he forced himself through a reset somewhere between here and wherever they let him clean up. He’s holding an arrangement similar to the one near your bed. Flowers —roses— in orange and pink tones, the cutest teddy bear you’ve ever seen, and the baby hospital bag you two had already made a week ago.
Still, that put together image doesn’t hide everything.
There’s a stiffness in his shoulders that doesn’t belong to rest. A tightness in his jaw that suggests he hasn’t fully stopped moving since the attack ended. And his eyes—those always impossibly red eyes—snap to you immediately and don’t leave.
For a moment, he doesn’t come closer.
Doesn’t speak.
Just stands there in the doorway like the simple fact of you existing in front of him is something his brain has to recalibrate around.
Like maybe he wasn’t sure you still would be.
Then something in him breaks forward.
Not violently. Not like a rush. More like a controlled collapse of restraint, as if every part of him that was holding distance finally gives up at the same time.
He crosses the room in a few long strides, stopping only when he reaches your bedside. Even then, he hesitates—just for a fraction of a second—like he can’t decide what kind of contact won’t feel like too much or too little.
His free hand finds yours anyway.
Warm. Steady. Real. And then he kneels by your bedside, pushing back the very obvious wince of pain that scrunches up his face. His everlasting steadiness is what almost undoes you.
Because it’s not frantic anymore. Not panicked. He’s just here and he’s anchoring himself through you.
His thumb presses once over your knuckles, subtle, almost unconscious, but his grip tightens immediately after like he’s afraid letting go even slightly would make the entire day collapse again.
“Babe! You’re awake,” he says.
Not even a question, but it still carries disbelief under it, buried so deep it almost sounds like irritation instead of relief.
Your throat tightens as you manage a small, rough breath. “Yeah. Hi!”
The sound is enough to shift something in him.
His jaw flexes once, sharp enough that you notice the faint bruise along his cheekbone move with it. He looks like he wants to say something immediate and sharp and defensive, like anger is the only language his body knows how to start with when fear gets too close.
But it doesn’t come out that way.
Instead, he moves to place a kiss on your forehead, before his voice drops.
“You scared the hell outta me.”
It’s quieter than you expect. Less explosive than usual Katsuki. More stripped down than you’re used to hearing from him.
Your fingers curl faintly against his. “I’m sorry,” you murmur instinctively, tears already taking the form of drops at the ends of your eyes..
His reaction is immediate.
“Don’t,” he cuts in, too fast, then forces a breath through his nose like he’s trying to reset himself. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s not your fault.”
Silence settles between you again, heavier now that he’s here to fill it.
His eyes flick over your face properly for the first time, scanning like he’s checking for damage he can’t quite name yet. Not just injury, but absence. Like he’s still half convinced he’s going to look at you wrong and realize this is some delayed aftermath of a nightmare.
Behind him, Mitsuki shifts slightly, watching without interrupting, arms folded in that familiar posture of someone who’s already lived through too many emergencies to overreact to the current one.
Katsuki exhales once, slowly and controlled, but it doesn’t fully settle.
“I got thrown across the city and impaled on this ruin and they wouldn’t let me go until they patched me up,” he mutters, like the entire sequence of events is just an inconvenience in his schedule. “Kept telling me to wait.”
There’s a beat of silence.
It lands wrong in your brain.
Your grip tightens instantly around his hand.
“Impal—” your voice cracks, half exhausted, half horrified, half already furious. “IMPALED, Katsuki?! How can you say that so casually?”
His gaze snaps back to you immediately, like your reaction is the only thing in the room that actually matters.
“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, almost reflexively defensive. “It wasn’t through anything important.”
“That is not comforting!”
Mitsuki makes a sound behind him—something dangerously close to a sigh of long-suffering resignation.
Katsuki barely acknowledges her.
“I said I’m fine,” he continues, like repetition will make it fact. His thumb presses a little harder against your knuckles, grounding himself more than reassuring you. “They fixed it. I came here. End of story. Your water breaking the second I leave you alone is far more important.”
“End of story’?” you echo weakly, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “You don’t just say you got impaled and then move on like it’s paperwork.”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s offended by your tone more than the injury itself.
“It is paperwork.”
“That is not—” you cut off, breath catching as your body reminds you very abruptly that laughing and yelling are both bad ideas right now.
You wince, hand instinctively moving toward your abdomen.
The reaction is immediate.
Katsuki’s entire posture changes. Just instant recalibration.
His grip tightens, but not in panic—more like instinct, like anchoring you before you can drift too far into discomfort.
“Hey,” he says, voice dropping slightly. “Don’t move like that.”
“I’m not the one who got impaled,” you mutter weakly, still trying to recover your breath.
“Yeah, well,” he shoots back immediately, eyes flicking over your face again in that same careful scan, “you’re the one who underwent birth and surgery.”
Katsuki leans in slightly closer to you now, right until his head rests faintly over your chest. His fingers, thick and scarred and worried, shuffle the lightest touch against yours. You stare at the connection; how your palm fits against his as your hands lay flat against each other’s, how Katsuki smoothly moves and caresses the back of your hand, finally, inside the vastness of his.
Then, after he reaches your face to plant chaste kisses everywhere on your lips, he marks the trails of your palm, tenderly, with his pointer finger.
“What did your doctor say?” he asks, voice dropping. “I still haven’t had a chance to talk to her.”
The shift is subtle, but it changes the air completely.
Your chest tightens—not from pain this time, but something softer, heavier.
“She said I’m alright, that I'm in no danger. And our baby is in the NICU,” you say quietly. “She’s stable. Just… monitoring.”
For the first time since he arrived, something like uncertainty actually breaks through his expression.
Not fear exactly. Something more complicated. It finds purchase in tiny specs of his face; in between the dents in the middle of his furrowed eyebrows, the twitching corner of his lip. You’ve known Katsuki long enough to see the mask he’s put on right now, slipping away from him.
“I wanna see her,” he says immediately.
There’s no hesitation in the words. But there is in everything else.
His grip on your hand tightens again, almost imperceptibly. His gaze flicks briefly toward the door, then back to you, like he’s trying to solve a problem that doesn’t have a clean answer.
“But,” he adds, quieter, rougher, “if your doctor said she’s small. And early. And I’m not—”
He stops.
His jaw tenses hard.
“I’m not good at… that shit,” he admits reluctantly, like it physically pains him to say. “Not like I'll be able to hold her while she’s in there but, y’get me.”
You blink slowly at him.
“Katsuki,” you murmur.
“Babe, it’s my fault, i should have been here and then this wouldn’t have happe—”
“Do you want to go?” you, voice quieter now. “Or should I go first and— and tell you what it’s like?”
The question lands differently. Careful.
Like you’re trying to give him control over something he himself feels completely unsteady about. Your fingers tighten weakly around his. And Katsuki doesn’t feel like he can do that, honestly. Let you go in there alone. You know him well enough that you know what answer he’s going to give you next”
“I want to see her,” he says softly. “With you.”
“But I'm kinda stitched up,” you laugh, muffling a happy cry that escapes you “you’re gonna have to carry me”
That does it.
Something in his expression shifts—just slightly, but enough. You notice his own eyes tearing up. Like that answer was the only one that would’ve held him together.
______
After a full day of spending a ridiculously long amount of time convincing your doctor that, yes, you can get up —because you’re a hero whos gotten up from way worse— a nurse eventually helps disconnect a few monitors while Mitsuki hovers nearby pretending not to supervise every single thing happening in the room.
You settle for a wheelchair since everyone gets in your case about walking.
Katsuki barely leaves your side during any of it. Even when he steps back to let the nurses adjust you carefully upright, one hand stays anchored somewhere against you—your shoulder, your arm, your waist—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear the second he loses contact.
The hospital robe feels too light against your skin.
Your body feels heavier than concrete.
Every movement pulls strangely through your abdomen, soreness wrapped tightly beneath layers of medication and exhaustion. You would never admit this to your doctor but you don’t fully understand how people survive childbirth and then continue existing like normal afterward. It feels vaguely fake. Like your organs have been rearranged by interns.
“You okay?” Katsuki asks for maybe the fifteenth time in the span of ten minutes.
“No,” you mumble honestly.
He snorts quietly through his nose, crouching slightly beside the wheelchair while the nurse locks the footrests into place.
“Good. Means you’re conscious.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
His hand finds yours again immediately afterward anyway.
The NICU floor is quieter than the rest of the hospital.
The lights are dimmer here, voices lower, footsteps gentler somehow. Everything beyond the secured doors feels carefully contained, like the entire wing exists in a state between fear and hope. Through the windows of nearby rooms, you catch small glimpses of incubators, exhausted parents, nurses moving steadily between machines.
The closer you get, the quieter Katsuki becomes.
Not outwardly.
He still answers the nurses. Still thanks people in his own clipped, awkward way. Still pushes your wheelchair himself despite being told multiple times someone else can do it.
But you feel it.
The way his thumb keeps rubbing absentmindedly against your wrist.
The way his shoulders slowly tense again.
The way his breathing has gotten subtly shallower.
By the time the nurse finally stops outside one of the rooms, Katsuki looks more nervous than you’ve maybe ever seen him in your life.
Which is absurd, considering this is the man who once fought the worst villain in history through half a collapsing city with a broken broken body and a destroyed heart.
The nurse smiles softly at both of you before speaking quietly.
“She’s right over here.”
And suddenly your own heart feels too large for your chest.
The room is warm.
Warmer than the hallway.
Machines hum softly beneath the low lighting, steady little beeps scattered throughout the room like artificial heartbeats. There’s a faint sterile smell beneath everything, but underneath that too—something softer. Powder. Clean blankets. New life.
Your eyes immediately find her.
Tiny.
That’s the first thing your brain can process.
Tiny.
So impossibly tiny it almost doesn’t look real.
She’s bundled carefully inside the incubator, wrapped in a soft hospital blanket with little wires attached delicately against her chest. Her face is scrunched slightly in sleep, tiny mouth parted just enough to show uneven little breaths.
Your hair color paints her teeny strands of hair, save for a few platinum patches.
Not much. But enough.
Your breath catches so hard it hurts.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
Beside you, Katsuki says absolutely nothing.
You turn your head slightly toward him and nearly break apart at the expression on his face.
His expression is unreadable. Like he’s terrified
Of her and just how small she is.
His eyes don’t leave the incubator for even a second, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of her immediately in case the universe changes its mind and takes it all back.
The tiny rise and fall of her chest. The shape of her nose. The little crease between her brows that already somehow looks familiar.
“That’s…” His voice catches abruptly.
You actually see him swallow around it.
“That’s our baby?”
Something hot burns behind your eyes immediately.
You nod shakily, unable to stop staring at her either.
“Chihiro,” you whisper softly. “Right?”
You and Katsuki had agreed on the name years ago.
Back before marriage.
Back before pregnancy complications and surgeries and after war scars and the terrifying realization that loving someone this much could genuinely ruin you if the world touched them wrong.
Then his hand suddenly tightens painfully around yours, like reality hit him all over again at full force.
His other hand drags hard down his face, covering his mouth and nose.Muffling the sound that escapes him.
Not enough that you completely miss it. Just enough that he can pretend you did.
Your chest aches so badly it feels impossible to contain.
You watch his throat work again before he lets out a shaking breath and steps carefully closer to the incubator, movements slower than you’ve ever seen from him before.
And then your daughter stretches suddenly in her sleep, one tiny hand flexing weakly beneath the dim NICU lights.
Katsuki visibly stops breathing.
His eyes widen just slightly.
Like even that tiny movement was enough to completely destroy whatever composure he had left.
“Yeah, fuck she looks so much like you,” he says quietly, voice cracking so roughly it barely sounds like him at all. “Shit, yeah…”
His fingers twitch helplessly at his side before he finally reaches toward the incubator, hesitant in a way that would feel almost unreal coming from him to people who don’t know him.
“…Chihiro, babe.”
Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3
katsuki's biggest fear in the beginning was his quirk going off while you were having sex / mdni
when you first started dating and getting intimate with katsuki, he wouldn't keep his hands on you for too long. he'd often dig his hands into the sheets, gripping them for dear life.
his worst fear was for when things got hot and heavy, and you both got sweaty, to hear a crackle and see a spark while he touched you.
you didn't really notice it at first, but when it became a pattern of fleeting hands and temporary touches, it stuck out to you. it didn't take long for you to figure out the reason.
you were riding him, bouncing slowly, pressing your weight onto your knees while you took a break from your previous pace. katsuki looked heavenly underneath you, lips parted in awe and pleasure, his neck and chest glistening, cheeks slightly flushed. but his arms were spread out, palms face down, hands gripping the sheets.
after a moment, you made a decision, reaching down to grab his hands. you placed them on your cheeks and he looked at you with wide eyes, ready to pull away.
you leaned forward, "you're not going to hurt me" your voice was so sweet, and the way you looked into his eyes was so trusting, he couldn't help but crumble.
his head fell back, mouth open as he let out something between a groan and a whimper. his hands fell down to your waist and held on tight as he started to buck into you.
he tilted his head to look where you were connected, glancing up to where his hands were holding you, and groaned, fucking into you faster at the sight. "f-fuck."
you whined, cursing yourself as you matched his pace, making him hit deep, hands holding his down on your waist. "you'd never hurt me, katsuki."
he felt hot all over, his eyes rolled back, hips still bucking mindlessly chasing the both of your highs, fingertips digging into you "shit, baby–"
you were so soft, so vulnerable underneath his hands, the thought was making him spiral.
and when you felt that bubble burst, your legs trembling as you pulsed and clenched around him, he couldn't hold it for much longer. his voice broke as he moaned, practically breathless as he came inside you, the hardest he ever had.
𑣲 katsuki apologizing while still inside ⋆｡° — SMUT! ♡♡
katsuki was positioned completely on top, gently pinning her hands above her head with his fingers intertwined with hers. he raised his head from her neck, locking his gaze deeply with hers.
"you still mad at me?" his usual explosive voice dropped into a quiet rasp. her breathing was uneven, chest heaving softly against his.
"a bit.." she whispered breathlessly. a flicker of genuine regret softened his expression—he leaned down, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"didn't mean to, baby.." he truly meant it, looking down at her with raw vulnerability.
"had a long week. y'know how i can get sometimes, and m'sorry." hearing the genuine remorse in his tone made her remaining anger vanish, but the physical reality of their current position made it incredibly difficult to think straight, let alone talk.
"katsuki, do we have to talk about it now?" she emphasized, as his cock stayed deep and completely hard inside her.
his eyes were warm, even as a smirk tugged at his mouth—clearly amused by her breathy distraction. pressing his forehead against hers, he gave her pinned hands a gentle, tightening squeeze.
"yeah." he murmured against her lips, teasing her with a slow twitch of his hips. "we do. i can multitask."
he kissed her softly to catch her breath before drawing his hips back and driving right back in with a deep, unhurried stroke that made her back arch off the mattress.
a moan spilled from her lips as her fingers tried to curl into his, though he kept her hands firmly pinned against the pillow.
"fucking missed you." he groaned, setting a deep pace that maximized every bit of friction until she was trembling beneath him. "spent the whole week out of my mind because we left things messed up."
another deep, heavy push pulled a breathless whimper from her. katsuki caught the sound with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back just enough to look at her again. his eyes were dark and intense—entirely consumed by her.
"i get in my head." he went on, his hips moving forward in a steady rhythm as his words vibrated against her chest. "get pissed off at work, take it home.. shouldn't have shut you out. look at me, y/n."
she forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze of pleasure as he hit a spot that made her whine. "m'listening.." she whispered, her voice strained as she tried to handle the overwhelming depth of each slow stroke he delivered.
"yeah.." he muttered, his expression softening with possessive warmth as he continued to murmur between deep, perfect thrusts. "nowhere else i'd rather be. we're fixing this. right here."
"When will you be bac—" Your voice is abruptly cut off, speaker screeching before you are back on the screen, nose scrunched as you try and fail to balance it on the cabinet.
Bakugou sighed, eyes endearingly tracing the shape of your face, even pixelated, "Few more weeks, we've go—" He leans over, fiddling with the confusing switches of the hotel room, hoping to find the one that turns off the bedside lamp, "we've got to make sure threat is cleared before flying back home."
He sees you nod your head, fingers smoothening out the wrinkles on the face mask you've been trying to apply, "Miss you so much, Babe."
He can feel the physical ache settling in his chest at the prospect of waiting for weeks to be back home, back with you.
"Miss you too." You muttered, wiping your hands before reaching for the phone, holding it close to your face to truly admire your boyfriend, uncaring that his view is nothing but your blurry forehead and at most your left ear, "It's so quiet without you, I miss your cooking too, you know."
"I know Babe, you finished all the meals I prepared for you?" He asked, trying to make himself comfortable in the rough sheets when you slide into bed, your side full of his pillows. "Yeah I did, ate them all on time too."
"That's my good girl." He praised, grinning as you preened over his words, "What have you been eating now?"
You glanced to the side, pretending to have not heard him, pulling loose threads from your blanket. "Just stuff."
Bakugou quirked his brow, straightening up slightly, thumb absentmindedly tracing the screen along your cheek, "Babe, what have you been eating, come on tell me."
Sighing loudly, you replied, "Made fried rice yesterday, they weren't as good as yours though," he hummed in response, waiting for you to continue, "Ma came by on Wednesday with chicken cutlet and curry too."
It warmed Bakugou's heart to know that his parents got along with you so well, felt at peace knowing that they'd take care of you whilst he was away.
"What about you, are they feeding you good?" You questioned, bringing the phone back towards your face, eyes scanning his figure, once again giving him a beautiful view of your forehead.
"Yeah, it's alright here." He mumbled, smiling softly as you fiddled with the face mask, probably itching to get it off as you grew sleepier, "Still doesn't hit like home though."
You hummed, eyes droopy as you pulled covers closer, "They can't burn cereal to perfection like me."
That pulled a snort out of him, cheeks achey with how much he smiled in the past hour, "I still have no idea what you were trying to achieve."
"Was taking creative liberties," you grinned along with him, eyes twinkling in the dim light of your bedroom, "it back fired."
"It did."
It's quiet for a moment, both of you staring at the bright screen, hoping you were closer than the pixelated image.
"You sleepy?" Bakugou yawned, watching you peel of the face mask, before tossing it in the trash, hands rubbing the leftover serum.
You nodded your head, settling the phone between the headboard and your pillow, "Facetime till we fall asleep?"
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl large condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
horny y/n jumping on bkg even though he’s exhausted from work and still helps her 🤤
i love goofy ideas like these. u WIN
you were the brave one today. working from home… all alone… unable to adjust to your lover not being around… even if he was at work and you planned for this weekday to be at home. especially when you heard him let himself into your apartment while you had to finish up a work call. it was the hastiest, a borderline unprofessional goodbye how you rushed to end the call because he was here finally.
you only saw him a few days ago after all.
stepping into your living room, bakugou katsuki is hard to miss. massive body sitting in the centre of your sofa, he’s got his head in his hands, elbows on his knees in silence, sporting a black hoodie and shorts.
“you okay?” you ask, practically floating to stand in front of him, tugging his hand so he can uncover his face for you.
when he pulls away, looking up at you, your heart drops to your clit. in sickness or health, whatever words you’ll be saying on your wedding day to this man… well, you get it now.
katsuki meets your eyes with these droopy ones, cushioned with two dark bags underneath them. to anyone else it looks like he’s gonna curse you out any second, his eyes are practically slits but you can note, it’s just tiredness, especially when he leans his head into your palm.
his posture is slouched, body completely and utterly exhausted. this pro hero, one of the best in the world, needs to be on at all times, ready for anything but you, you get the privilege of seeing him off. ready for bed and a hot shower.
katsuki rests his cheek in your palm, those angry ruby gems becoming puppy like, “‘m fine.”
next, his hands hold onto the backs of your thighs keeping you still so he can press his face into your stomach. you feel his whole body sigh into you.
“you don’t look it. you look like shit,” you offer and you get two bouncing shoulders in a short laugh.
“y’got a lisp now? you mean sexy?” he muffles into your stomach, then presses his chin into you so he can look at you properly.
you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs. you notice a touch of hoarseness in his words. you press your thighs together.
your smile is apparent in your voice, “you’ve got this defeated look going on.” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it is a little sexy. maybe a lot.”
bakugou thinks he’s in with the joke at the beginning, till you shuffle in closer to him, the press of your hand on his cheek gets harder and he notices the change of pitch in your breath. even the black of your pupils widen, he sees this in real time. you’re not joking at all actually.
that gets him sitting up slightly, a smirk falling on his features. you pout when he does, staring at his lips like a wife separated from their husband for years. he knows his smile is a killer for you, a soft sigh leaving you at the sight of his gold canine and white teeth.
“gimme a kiss,” he demands and the good listener you are, you lean down to press yours against his.
it’s family friendly for the most part, three pecks until his pawlike hands sneak up your thighs to under your ass cheeks.
when you both pull away, you’re staring at each other for a few seconds until you lick your thumb and rub under his eyebrow.
“you didn’t get all your eye stuff off,” you whisper, referring to his eye makeup he likes to put on under his mask.
bakugou grunts in response, letting you clean up the left over marks he didn’t scrub.
“how long have you been waitin’ for me?”
always so perceptive. it makes your eyes widen like you’ve been caught out. “well i’ve been working—,”
“baby,” he soothes, in that soft way like you’ve done something silly and you won’t get in trouble for admitting whatever it is. even though he already knows.
“since the morning,” you breathe, eager to undress on the spot, to get his hands on your bare skin, to jump on his lap and pull down his shorts.
but the exhaustion is still apparent on his body. his movements are noticeably slower now that he can let his guard down.
“hm,” he replies and you run your fingers through his hair, pushing all his blonde locks back to reveal his face. your boyfriend is incredibly handsome. you press an extra kiss to the scar on his cheek and bakugou pulls you in. your knees sink into the sofa as you straddle his lap.
hot hands that were under your ass, sneak under your blouse. they’re like a relief patch, causing your skin to buzz in anticipation.
“what d’you want?” he hums and you’re already ready for your body to bounce on something, fingers twitching as they rest on his shoulders.
“katsuki,” you whine, rubbing your nose against his. his eyelashes brush against yours. “don’t ask me that.”
nimble fingers shift to the little buttons at your blouse. bakugou works on you while you’re fighting your own internal battle.
“why not, baby?”
“you’re tired from saving the city. i’m not going to make you have sex with me because i’m horny.”
bakugou rolls his eyes, completely humoured by the way you let him shimmy you out of your blouse, now sitting on him in your pretty lace balconette bra. he kisses the softness of your breast and you’re completely reactive, arching your back into his face.
“y’think i don’t wanna love you?”
the wording makes you mewl, hugging katsuki’s big head to your chest. your body blushes with heat, unable to look him in the eye, “don’t be adorable when i want you to put me in doggy.”
bakugou chuckles, “on your knees. let me do it.”
“didn’t you have a long day today?”
he looks you in the eye, “the fuckin’ longest. sixteen hours, everyone was on my ass.”
“then you need to sleep.”
“or i can have sex with my girlfriend.”
you have the audacity to look shy, knowing there’s a damp patch if he checked your panties right now. “but you’re exhausted.”
“babygirl.”
“babyboy.”
bakugou raises his eyebrows, “that’s new. i dunno if i like that.”
you shuffle on his lap, your crotch right over his. you’re delighted to find he’s sporting a semi, in fact, it makes you want to rabidly rub yourself over him like an animal in heat.
you kiss the corner of his jaw, tugging the neckline of his hoodie so you have space to kiss his neck. bakugou’s eyes flutter shut in response, hands on your bare waist.
“you’re my baby and you’re my boy.”
bakugou tuts, grabbing the back of his hoodie and tugging it over his head. he’s got nothing on underneath it to your joy, leaving his bare chest on display for you. you lowly moan at the sight of his biceps, the scars that run through them, the discoloured skin that merges with his blushed skin. one hand on you, another giving his toned abdomen a necessary rub.
“i’m your man.”
“fuck,” you whisper, standing up to pull off your leggings and sitting back on his lap like you never left. “and you’re sure? not too tired?”
he’s uncouth when he hooks a finger in your underwear, then runs the pad of his thumb to gather your wetness over your clit. your body slumps into him, giving bakugou all your weight for him to hold up.
“you underestimate how easy it is for me to get you to come.” he smirks, chuffed at himself for how well he knows you. “could do this half asleep. i have done this half asleep.”
referring to the four am sex you had a few days ago when you came all over his fingers with his tongue in your throat. eyes closed and half conscious.
“don’t be so cocky,” you moan for the wrong reasons, loving the slow comfortable pace of his thumb. pleasure rolls through your body softly, your hands mindlessly palming him.
“take him out then.”
“don’t him your dick.”
but still you do, yanking down his shorts and feeling the saliva build in your mouth at the feeling then sight. his adonis belt, deep ridges and harsh muscle. then him, thick and heavy. his cute red tip with veins running up the length of him.
“you love it.”
you’re nodding without realising, placing your palm on the scar on the centre of your boyfriend’s chest.
“fuck me,” you whine, sitting on your knees and shuffling to adjust to sit on his cock. “wanna feel you, ‘tsuki.”
though he stops you, hands on your hips.
“on your hand and knees, babygirl. like you want.”
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ katsuki always wondered what the hell his father saw in his old hag of a mother. it takes twenty years, a nasty fight with you, a near-death experience, and a trip to the hospital before he finally gets it
── ✶ word count: 5.8k words ; my drabbles always do this bro
── ✶ before you read: female reader ; pro hero bakugou ; established relationship ; arguing ; (temporary) relationship troubles ; injuries + villain attacks + hospitals (bakugou) ; tame angst with a happy ending! ; communication + resolving arguments ; bakugou’s father makes an appearance ; fluff and banter at the end ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ at the end of the day i will never not be a sucker for the trope where u argue just before a major life threatening incident occurs
It’s 9:32 PM when Katsuki begrudgingly leaves his patrol area and finally calls it quits for the night.
Patrol was supposed to end an hour and thirty-two minutes ago, but he’s been dragging his feet ever since. Taking the long route. Responding to calls that technically aren’t under his jurisdiction. Circling blocks he’s already cleared twice. Anything to kill time. It’s only when Kirishima actively tells him to get the fuck out and stop interfering with his villain count for the night that Katsuki finally accepts defeat and ends his workday.
Ending his workday means going home. And if he goes home, you’ll be there. And if you’re there, he’ll be reminded of your nasty argument from the other night. And if he thinks about that argument, he’ll have to face the fact that the two of you are still stubbornly refusing to speak to one another until the other apologizes first. It’s a ridiculous standoff—an unnecessary one, and he knows it. But neither of you seems particularly interested in ending it, and now his own apartment has somehow become the last place he wants to be. Every room feels charged with an uncomfortable tension. The living room is awkward. The kitchen is unbearable. Even lying down beside you at night feels weird, so Katsuki would rather avoid the whole thing if he can help it.
If he gets home late enough, you’ll already be asleep. Then he can shower, crawl into bed, and pretend the situation doesn’t exist for a few more hours. It seemed like a solid plan in his mind, but unfortunately, thanks to fucking Shitty-Hair, he has no choice but to head home and hang up his costume.
And judging by the lights still glowing through the windows of his apartment, his luck has officially run out. You’re still awake. Of course.
He trudges in, and there you are—sitting stiffly on the couch in the living room, staring directly at him with your arms crossed and an infuriated glare on your face as you fix him with narrowed eyes. Great.
“Do you have any fucking clue what time it is?” you hiss without missing a beat.
Katsuki should’ve known you’d start nagging the second he walked through the door. Hell, he should’ve turned around and just left the moment he saw the lights on instead of coming in.
“S’not even ten,” he grumbles, kicking his boots off. “Would you fuckin’ drop it—”
“You were supposed to be home almost two hours ago!” Your voice rings through the apartment, sharp and incredulous, and Katsuki is so tired. So exhausted. Too exhausted to deal with this nonsense right now, of all times.
“Yeah, well. Now I’m home. There you go.”
The dismissal only seems to make you angrier. Katsuki practically watches the steam start pouring from your ears as you shoot to your feet, hands planting firmly on your hips. And he just knows your voice is about to get louder.
“That’s it?” you practically screech. He fucking knew it. “You’re out on patrol for an extra two hours, and I hear nothing from you—not even a text saying, I’ll be home late. I’ve been sitting here like an idiot, wondering what the fuck happened, or if you’re okay, and all you can say is now you’re home? Do you just get off on being an asshole or something, Katsuki?”
His shoulders tense immediately as he fixes you with an equally hard glare. There goes his wish for a peaceful, conflict-avoidant night. Of course, as always, you have to drag the conflict right to him and drop it at his feet, spike his temper, and make it ruin his evening. A simple shower and a good night’s sleep was all he wanted. But things are never quite that easy—not with you.
Katsuki feels a dull throb start behind his eyes as he shoots back, “What, was your phone broken or some shit? What exactly held you at gunpoint and stopped you from sendin’ me a text and asking, huh?”
Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“I’m not laughin’, am I? Definitely no jokes here.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you scowl, and he snorts. There’s no humor behind the sound, however.
“Yeah, that’s real mature.”
“Oh no—you don’t get to tell me about what’s mature and what isn’t. Cause if you wanna talk about what’s mature, it’s not disappearing for two hours and acting like I’m insane for being worried!”
“I wasn’t disappearing, I was fuckin’ doing my job.”
“You were supposed to be done with that job hours ago!”
“Well, I wasn’t!”
“You have a smart little answer for everything, don’t you, Katsuki?” you smile sarcastically, “just think you’re so smart and above it all, huh?”
Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s the headache that’s been creeping on him, or the rage, or the pure adrenaline in his system, but he does know that for a short, fleeting second, all he saw was red.
“Holy fuck, do you ever listen to yourself?”
Your expression hardens instantly. “No, I think you should listen to yourself. You might hear an idiot if you do.”
The apartment goes quiet. Dangerously quiet.
“You know what?” he says coldly, “forget this. I’m goin’ the fuck to sleep—I’ve dealt with enough bullshit tonight—”
You throw your hands in the air, exasperated. There is a flash of hurt on your face that makes his chest ache, but the sharp stab of pain doesn’t last for long because as quickly as his heart bleeds, his mind makes him forget. It only lets him focus on the anger and the irritation and the way you’ve ruined his night, just like you ruined the one before.
“Every single time I tell you something bothers me, you act like it’s a personal attack, and then you just dismiss me like I don’t matter—”
“Maybe I wouldn’t dismiss shit if every conversation with you didn’t turn into a fuckin’ laundry list of grievances you got with me!”
“You only take everything I say as a complaint because you refuse to communicate!”
“Because not everything needs to be a damn discussion like we’re in therapy!”
“Right,” you laugh bitterly. “Silly me. God forbid I expect basic consideration from you.”
Something ugly flashes across his face. He knows it. Katsuki knows that when he’s mad, he turns ugly—he’s always been that way. It’s the only way he knows how to be. For the longest time, he thought you were the only person he could hide it from. That you were the only person he could fight the urge to get ugly from because you are just that special.
But Katsuki is who he is, and he’s learned that he’s a special kind of ugly just for you.
“Basic consideration?” he barks. “You’re sayin’ I’m not considerate?”
“No, sometimes you fucking aren’t and—”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich! I break my back every day keeping this city safe—”
“Well, if the city is the only thing you can be considerate for, why the fuck are you even here?”
It’s silent as soon as the words leave your mouth. Katsuki goes completely still. He can feel it the second it happens—the way his expression shuts down. The way the anger drains out of his face and leaves behind something colder. Something worse. Something so ugly, he has to get out of here before you see it and realize he isn’t worth it. Isn’t worth you.
“Yeah,” His voice is flat. “Why am I here, right? You know, you can just tell me to leave next time, it’d be a lot fuckin’ easier for you.”
“Katsuki—”
“No.” He grabs the strap of his duffel bag that carries his guantlets from where he’d dropped it by the door, throwing it over his shoulder as he bends down to lace his boots up again.
“Katsuki, that’s not what I meant.”
“Sure.”
“I was angry—”
“Clearly, you’re always fuckin’ angry at me. I’m always doin’ something the fuck wrong, aren’t I? Nothin’ I do is enough?”
Stop, stop, stop. His mind is screaming, begging him not to do this. To get out. To leave and fight that hideous part of him down until he’s far enough that you never, ever have to see it.
“Katsuki, don’t do this right now—”
“Do what?” His voice rises more than it should. Stop—stop now. But he can’t. The ugliest of him is already taking surface and showing his truest of colors. “What exactly am I supposed to say here, huh?” You flinch. He needs to fucking stop, but he doesn’t. “Because apparently, when I stay late to save people, I’m an asshole. When I’m home, I’m an asshole. I breathe, I’m an asshole. I exist, I’m an asshole.”
“That’s not—”
“So what’s the answer?” His laugh is bitter and so, so cold that he doesn’t recognize this version of himself. Not with you. He wants to stop desperately, but he can’t. Because Katsuki is an ugly, hideous, despicable person deep down. No amount of heroism on the surface can hide that part of him that’s on the inside, not from you. “Since you’ve got everything figured out, you tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
“Katsuki, let’s just sit down and—”
He shakes his head. For a second, he wants it to hurt. He wants it to hurt for you. Stop, stop, stop— “Y’know what? I’m done.”
His hand closes around the doorknob, and your voice comes out shaky and panicked as you whisper, “Katsuki, please just sit down and—”
“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this shit anymore.”
Then he yanks the door open and walks right back out, slamming it hard enough behind him to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
────────────────────────
Katsuki is six when he first asks his father what the fuck the old man even sees in the hag that is his mother. He remembers the conversation vividly.
“Dad, why did you marry Mom? She’s grumpy and old, and she yells all the time,” little Katsuki asks, crossing his tiny arms over his chest. “Why d’you even like her?”
Masaru nearly chokes on his tea. “Katsuki,” he coughs. “Your mother isn’t old. You shouldn’t say that—it’s rude.”
“But she is,” he huffs. “She smells like an old lady, too.”
“Well, if she’s old, then I’m even older,” Masaru points out, taking another sip. “So that can’t be a very good reason not to like her.”
“Well, she’s mean.”
“She’s not mean,” his father chuckles, thoroughly amused.
No matter how many times he sees it, Katsuki doesn’t understand it—the way his father gets that dumb, starry-eyed look whenever Mitsuki comes up. She’s always in a bad mood, and if she isn’t, she’s probably due for one within the next thirty minutes. Why his father would choose to marry such a sour lady is completely beyond his six-year-old comprehension.
“She yelled at me this morning,” he sulks.
“You tried to use your explosions inside the house,” Masaru reminds him, leveling him with a pointed look. “We talked about that. Rules are rules for a reason, young man.”
Katsuki pouts harder. His father is supposed to take his side.
“But she still yelled. And it was mean,” he argues back stubbornly. Masaru only smiles into his tea, shaking his head with fond amusement. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki presses again, “So what do you even like about her?”
The question seems to catch Masaru off guard. He pauses, thinking. “Well,” he says slowly, “she’s funny.”
Katsuki blinks. His father cannot possibly be serious. “Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She’s funny?”
“Very.”
“No, she isn’t,” Katsuki says immediately, deeply offended by the blatant lie.
Masaru laughs, “She is.” Katsuki stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. Masaru only smiles wider. “She’s honest, too. You always know what she’s thinking.”
“That’s because she says whatever she thinks.”
“Exactly.”
“And she says it loud.”
“That’s true.”
“She says it really loud, Dad.”
Masaru nods solemnly, sighing. “Also very true, son.”
“She should shut up,” Katsuki huffs. His father fixes him with a stern look at that, and he shrinks back just a little.
“We do not say that about our mother, Katsuki.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes but slumps deeper into his chair all the same. “Fine.”
“Your mother is wonderful,” his father says. “She works hard. She cares about people. She loves our family—she loves us. One day, you’ll see that. And when you do, I think you’ll appreciate her a lot more.”
Katsuki picks at the food on his plate, turning the words over in his head.
His mother does love him—he knows that much, even if she is annoying. She remembers all the snacks he likes and somehow always comes home with them without him ever having to ask. Whenever he asks for money, she gives him more than he requested—even if it usually costs him an irritatingly painful pinch to the cheek. She wakes up early to bathe him despite complaining about losing sleep because he prefers morning baths to evening ones.
His mother loves him; he knows that to be true. But it’s only true because she is his mother, and he is her son. Mothers love their sons—it’s the rules. Why his father would willingly choose to love that woman remains completely incomprehensible, however, in his mind.
“Mom is super annoying,” he says bluntly.
Masaru’s smile softens. “I suppose sometimes she can be, yes.”
“See?” Katsuki perks up immediately, his entire face screaming, gotcha!
“But,” Masaru continues, “I’m sure I annoy her, too.”
Katsuki deflates on the spot.
More than that, he simply cannot imagine such a thing being possible. His father is calm and nice and makes good food. Katsuki thinks lots of women would like his father—women who also would not find Masaru annoying. The only person allowed to find Masaru annoying is Katsuki himself, and that’s because his father makes rules that Katsuki has to follow. He thinks he’s earned that right.
His mother, however, has no such excuse.
“She gets annoyed with you?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. Every day, I’m sure there’s something I do that annoys her at least a little.”
“Then why does she like you?”
Masaru thinks for a moment, carefully choosing his words, trying to explain this odd phenomenon that is love. “Because loving someone isn’t about finding a person who never annoys you,” he says finally. “It’s about finding someone who still sees your value even when you’re annoying. Someone who chooses you anyway. Does that make sense?”
His nose wrinkles immediately. “No.” His father stifles a chuckle when Katsuki adds, “That sounds dumb.”
“Maybe,” Masaru hums, eyeing him with bright, endeared eyes.
“I’m not gonna marry someone annoying when I’m all big. Because I’m smart!”
That earns him a full laugh from his father. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Masaru lean forward and wipe at the corner of his eye. In fact, he laughs so hard he nearly spills his tea. “You say that now,” his father says, setting his mug down, “but that’ll change. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“No, I won’t,” Katsuki grumbles. He doesn’t appreciate that he’s not being taken seriously.
“I think you will, son.”
“I definitely won’t.”
Masaru only smiles. He looks at Katsuki the way adults always do when they think he’s young and silly and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And Katsuki hates that look. He’s smart—excellent, even. Just the other day, he caught his teacher’s mistake during subtraction when nobody else in his class noticed. At this rate, he’s well on his way to being smarter than most adults.
He absolutely knows what he’s talking about.
“Well, we’ll just have to see, Katsuki. If I’m right, you’ll take me out for ramen someday. Deal?”
“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, puffing out his chest confidently. “But you’ll never see that ramen.”
────────────────────────
Twenty years later, Katsuki sometimes wonders if he’s going to have to admit he was wrong and take the old man out for ramen after all.
You are, without question, the most annoying, irritating, vein-popping individual he has ever met. It’s like every decision you make is carefully calculated to inconvenience him specifically.
He has to keep an extra jacket in his car because you never check the weather before leaving the house. He has to double-check your grocery lists before you go shopping because if he doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget the one thing you actually need. He has to make sure you take your vitamins. Every night, he has to remind you to take your makeup off before bed because, apparently, that responsibility has become his problem—and if you wake up the next morning with mascara smeared under your eyes because you didn’t listen to him, then somehow you still find a way to blame him for not wiping it for you.
You are annoying. Every single fucking day, you annoy him. You annoyed him yesterday. You’ve annoyed him today. You’ll annoy him tomorrow. And he’ll tell you exactly that—he’ll call you a dumbass, and tell you to get your life together. Complain about the ridiculous thing you did this time, and accuse you of going out of your way to make his life harder on purpose. But after that, despite it all, he will still love you.
Twenty years later, now that he’s older, Katsuki realizes he understands what his father meant. That loving someone doesn’t happen because they never annoyed him—loving someone happens because they annoyed him, and he still, despite that, sees nothing but the good.
He loves you. You are annoying and drive him up a wall, but Katsuki knows that you are good. The greatest good that there might ever be, and he might have just ruined it. He probably fucked it all up and lost all the good he had. All the good he’s ever wanted. All the good that he’s wanted to keep for the rest of his life and cherish.
The second the apartment door slams shut behind him, Katsuki regrets it. He regrets being the reason behind that look on your face. That brief flash of panic in your eyes right before he left. That way that your voice sounded when you said his name.
He can’t get it out of his head as he walks out of your building. “Fuck,” He runs a hand through his hair and keeps walking.
The only friends he’d willingly see right now are working, his parents are definitely sleeping (and would ask too many questions he doesn’t want to answer, even if they weren’t), and he is nowhere near calm enough to go back upstairs and just go home.
But his patrol route is still active. So instead of going home and into bed like a normal person who has morning patrol, Katsuki leaves his apartment building behind and heads toward work.
By the time he gets suited up again, it’s almost eleven. By the time it’s midnight, he’s still out. By the time it’s 1 AM, he should call it a night.
Instead, however, he keeps moving. One more block turns into one more street. Anything to keep himself from going home or thinking about the argument. About the way you looked at him. About the things he said. About the shit he ruined for sure.
His thoughts are loud enough in his head, turning him deaf to everything else. He misses things he normally wouldn’t—things like suspicious shadows and warning shouts from another hero.
By the time Katsuki realizes what’s happening for what it is, the villain goes down easily enough—too easily. He curses himself for being so naive, so rash. He’s been fighting as a pro for years. He was a war veteran before he was even a legal adult, for crying out loud. Still, despite all that, the second Katsuki realizes something is wrong, it’s already too late.
The construction site groans around him—metal screeches against metal, and his head snaps upward. All he sees is the upper half of the structure collapsing before he loses his balance and collapses with it.
“Shit—”
The explosion leaves his palms a fraction of a second too late, and he doesn’t go propelling forward the way he’s supposed to. The half-built building comes down, and Katsuki goes down with it.
Then everything goes dark.
────────────────────────
It’s 2 AM when you see it on the news. Kirishima sends you a text asking if you’d heard what happened, and by the time you’ve spammed him with messages asking what the hell he was even talking about, he’s gone silent. Something in your gut knows that he’s not answering because he’s too busy rescuing. Too busy being a hero.
Your heart tells you that the person he has to be a hero to tonight just so happens to be Katsuki.
The first report you see hits the news at 2:13 AM. The anchor’s voice is as smooth and polished as ever as she delivers the words that send your whole world crumbling around you.
“We are receiving breaking reports of a major incident involving Pro Hero Dynamight.”
The footage that floods the screen makes you fall to your knees and muffle your sobs behind a shaky palm—collapsed concrete and emergency responders and heroes rushing in and out of the wreckage. The camera zooms toward the ruined construction site, and Katsuki’s body is nowhere to be seen on the screen. You don’t quite know if that’s a good thing or bad.
“Dynamight was reportedly responding to a villain incident when a structural collapse occurred. We are told he is trapped beneath the rubble. Emergency responders are currently on the scene, conducting rescue operations.”
At 2:37 AM, the hospital gives you a call as his emergency contact. You’re sick to your stomach, not sure how you’ll make the drive there when Kirishima finally texts you again.
Kiri <3: I already told his parents. They’re on their way so don’t worry about it
Kiri <3: One of my sidekicks is outside your apartment. They’ll drive you down there
Kiri <3: I still have to handle the aftermath and finish patrol so I won’t be there I’m sorry
Kiri <3: Keep me updated?
You: Don’t apologize Kiri idk what I’d do without u
You: Thank you and pls be safe
You: I’ll lyk things as soon as I find out
Kiri <3: Take it easy okay?
Kiri <3: He’s come back from worse. It’ll be alright
——
Kirishima’s sidekick gets you to the hospital efficiently, but you are still at your wits’ end by the time you can rush out of the passenger seat and bolt through the sliding doors.
Some part of you is grateful you didn’t have to drive here yourself because you know you would’ve sped dangerously over the limit, missed half the red lights, and probably would’ve gotten yourself pulled over. At the same time, you wish you could’ve been the one behind the wheel, just to get here faster.
“I’m here to see Kats—um, Dynamight,” you say in a rush. “Dynamight…I meant Dynamight.”
The woman at the front desk looks at you with a raised eyebrow, already typing away at her screen as she blandly says, “Valid ID, please.”
You curse under your breath, fumbling through your purse for your wallet, and then fumbling through your wallet for your ID like your hands suddenly don’t belong to your body anymore.
When you practically shove it toward her in your haste, she takes it too calmly for your racing heart and inspects it for a moment. Then looks at her screen. Then back to your ID. Then she types for what feels like an agonizing eternity before she finally hands the card back and says, “Fourth floor, room twelve. He’s stable, but he has some serious injuries that they’ll have to monitor and heal slowly due to his stamina—”
You’re already moving before she finishes. You’re bolting toward the elevators, heart slamming so hard it hurts. The ride up to the fourth floor is torturously slow. When you finally get out of the elevator, you’re halfway down the hallway before you even register the security guard stepping in front of you.
“ID.” Again. Of course. You suppose it is a good thing security is tight for the pro hero unit—even if it does add to your piling weight of anxiety. When you clumsily pull it yet again, he checks it for another cruelly long stretch of time, glancing between the card and the device in his hands before finally saying, “Go ahead.”
You’re already moving.
By the time you reach room twelve, your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself still. For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. Would Katsuki even want to see you? Is he fed up with you? Would you just make his already terrible night even worse?
You aren’t sure.
You don’t know why you’re in the predicament you’re in right now. You don’t know how you got here or why things escalated the way that they did. You don’t know what you do wrong to push his buttons the way you seem to, to upset him the way that he gets. You think you’re doing the right thing—that you’re doing what’s right for both of you—but somehow, you always seem to mess it up. Always seem to say the wrong thing. Always seem to ruin whatever good the two of you have managed to build between you.
But you love Katsuki, and if nothing else, you know that he loves you too, and you need to see him. So you force down the bile in your throat and push the door open. The first thing you notice when you see him is the bandages wrapped tightly around him. One arm heavily secured in a cast. Gauze lining his shoulder and collarbone that makes your stomach drop in a sick, immediate lurch. Machines hum quietly beside him, keeping track of his vitals.
You never see Katsuki hurt like this—he’s always been practically invincible when he’s on the field, always taking things down before they have a chance at even touching him. And then your brain, cruelly, supplies the thought: but he is not invincible. Not always.
“Katsuki,” you whisper, eyes already welling with tears.
He’s looking at you the second the door opens—but his tired eyes soften with relief, just a little, when they land on you. “You came,” he says, voice rough.
“Of course I came,” you say, sharper than you mean to. How could he think you wouldn’t? How far have you let things go that he could genuinely believe you wouldn’t show up for him? “What the hell happened?”
He sighs, almost embarrassed. “Just…work ‘n shit.”
You sniffle, and he lifts his good arm toward you. That’s all it takes.
You’re at his side in an instant, squeezing into the small space beside him on the hospital bed and curling yourself against his chest. You’re careful not to disturb any of the machines surrounding him, but you can’t stop thinking about how wrong this feels. How you shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. How he’s the one lying in a hospital bed, yet somehow he’s still the one rubbing your back and soothing your tears.
“I thought you were gonna die,” you sob. “I—I saw the rubble, and Kiri stopped texting back and...and I thought you got crushed.”
“M’not fuckin’ dying, babe,” he huffs, sounding mildly offended. “A stupid building isn’t killin’ me. That’s a dumbass way to go.”
“You don’t know that,” you shake your head. “You can’t promise that.”
“Listen—”
“And I was sitting there watching the news and thinking the last conversation I ever had with you was that stupid fight,” you continue, looking up at him with trembling lips.
His eyes soften. “I know, but—”
“And I don’t care about the argument anymore,” you say, your voice shaking harder now. “I don’t care about being right or winning or being apologized to first—I should’ve texted you, you’re right. You...you probably felt like I didn’t care, but I do. I care so much, and I love you more than anything.”
You take a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady you. Katsuki is trying to wipe your tears away with one weak arm.
“I love you too—”
“I just want you to talk to me,” you sob. “I know I’m annoying, and I nag and scold and get onto you all the time, and I’m trying not to do that as much—really, I am! But I just...I wish you’d tell me things, too. Y’know? I am the one person you’re supposed to do that with, Katsuki,” you add, your voice cracking all over again. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m the last person you want to do that with.”
His expression tightens. “That’s not—”
“And I want us to work because I’ve never liked someone so much—it stresses me out. Because I love you and I want this to work, and the thought of it not working makes me so anxious I wanna throw up, and...and you act like talking to me is harder than getting crushed under a fucking building—”
“Baby.” He squeezes your cheeks together and silences you as he pulls your face closer, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. “You talk a lot, y’know that?”
You huff at him immediately, tears spilling down your cheeks even faster. “That is so rude, given the—”
“I’m sorry about the fight,” he interrupts. You pause, and he takes the opportunity to keep going, despite looking painfully uncomfortable the entire time. “And for...walkin’ out ‘n shit. That was fucked up. I don’t talk to you like I should. You’re right. S’weird for me, and I hate it sometimes. I don’t know how to just...say shit like you do. Okay?” He sighs. “But m’gonna try more because you’re right—I need to talk to you. But you gotta get outta your head so much—” He gives your forehead a small jab with his finger. You sniffle and swat his hand away with a watery scowl. It earns the faintest grin from him. “We’re gonna work,” he says. “’Cause we do. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts,” he grumbles. “My ribs hurt. Jus’ let me be right.”
A watery laugh escapes you as you shake your head, cupping his bandaged face between your hands. “You’re really annoying sometimes, Katsuki.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “So are you. Still love you, though.”
“Me too,” you breathe, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Love you so much.”
He pulls you back down against his chest again, rubbing your back as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You trace small patterns into his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. And things are okay—they are not beyond repairing. You’ll inevitably annoy him tomorrow, and he’ll annoy you the day after that, but you’ll still work. You will still find a way to keep things good the way they always are.
After a few quiet moments, he mumbles, “Hey.” When you look up, he says, “When m’all healed and shit, you gotta force me to go grab ramen with my old man. On me.”
────────────────────────
Katsuki waits almost a month after being discharged from the hospital before he finally makes the call. He’s been trying to stall it for as long as possible, but Katsuki, even at the tender age of six, has always been a man (or boy) of his word. He’s standing alone on the balcony outside his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear, wondering if it’s too late to hang up before the call goes through.
It rings twice. Then his father’s voice is as gentle and cheery as ever. “Katsuki!” Masaru answers immediately. “Hi, son!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey.”
His father laughs. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I got discharged, didn’t I? S’been a whole month.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sounding just like your usual self,” his father says. Katsuki can hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Katsuki, you never call for just nothing.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh—it’s now or never. He can’t keep stalling, and Katsuki is, and always has been, a man of his word. If he promised his father ramen over a stupid bet he made twenty years ago, then he’s going to get his father that ramen. Even if it kills his pride. Demolishes it, even.
“Listen, I was thinkin’...maybe we could grab food sometime.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Masaru hums. “Let me ask your mother when she’s free and—”
“Not the hag. S’just you,” he cuts in, rubbing at his temple.
“Oh?” Masaru sounds amused. “Well, okay. I suppose it’d be nice to spend some time as just father and son. What kind of food?”
Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. Just say it. Just fuckin’ say it, his mind urges. Just rip the bandage off and say it. Say it. Say the damn word—he grits his teeth and forces out, “Ramen.”
There’s a pause on the other end. The silence stretches on long enough that Katsuki’s eye twitches.
“Ramen, huh?” Masaru finally says, and the way he says it makes a vein all but pop in Katsuki's forehead.
“Old man,” he says warningly, “don’t push it—”
He’s cut off when Masaru starts laughing. “I was wondering when this day would come.”
“Hah? You really kept that shit in your head for twenty years?”
“Of course I did. It was one of my favorite conversations I’ve ever had with you.”
“Why? ‘Cause you love bein’ fuckin’ right all the time?” Katsuki grumbles.
His father’s voice softens as he says fondly, “No. I just wanted you to find someone who made you as happy as your mother makes me. That’s all I wanted, son—for you to understand what being happy is like.”
The conversation is getting oddly sentimental, taking a turn that makes his chest feel strange, and his heart feel far too fragile. He hasn’t felt like this since after the war, and he doesn’t intend to sit with it any longer. So he mutters, “I still think Mom’s annoying. She yelled at me last week, so she never fuckin’ changes.”
Masaru laughs again. “No, she doesn’t.” Then, after a moment, “So, how does Saturday sound for some ramen?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Will my son be paying?”
Katsuki regrets this call more than anything when he says, “Yes. I’m fuckin’ paying.”
“You know, son,” Masaru murmurs, making Katsuki pause, “I’m glad you get it now. You’ve grown into a fine man.”
Katsuki swallows hard. He turns, eyeing you as you sleep soundly in your shared bed, hugging his pillow to make up for his absence. He can only hope that his father’s words are true—that he is a fine man to you, the way his father always has been to his mother. His eyes never leave your figure as he mutters, “Yeah, well…s’not like I had a bad example or somethin’.”
so anyway i had an argument with my bf the other day but he did not get into an accident and he did not get injured so dont worry. the argument was technically my fault, but im cute and he loves me so its okay <3
summary: he loves using kisses as apologies
warnings: none
Even during fights, he enjoyed maintaining routines. If needed, he lets the fight sit through the night, opting to let sleep simmer down emotions so you could talk through it in the mornings.
He usually wakes up earlier than you, and even if he feels worse than he did during the night, he never misses the opportunity to land a peck to your forehead. Despite sleeping with each other’s backs facing one another, he’s built a routine, and he swears his days never feel complete without his little rituals.
As he gets up, he glances at your side, a small smile plastering his face. Despite everything, he was happy you were still beside him as he woke. He brushes the hair out of your face before placing a kiss, whispering a quiet ‘sleep well’ or a ‘good morning’ as you start to stir from his movements.
Sometimes, that was enough for the argument to blow over; the reassurance of each other’s presence eased any lingering concerns. On those days, you end up pulling him down, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lands on top of you, careful not to crush you under his weight.
“Good morning, dearest,” he repeats.
“Good morning,”
You share a kiss before you both mumble a sorry, chuckling at the simultaneous apology.
During particularly bad fights, he still works around that routine. Kiss you good morning, and kiss you right before he leaves.
The first usually works in his favour. However, when you refuse the latter, choosing to ignore him throughout the morning, he settles for something else. Sometimes it's lifting the locks of your hair and kissing the strands, sometimes it's a peck at your shoulder or even the crown of your head as you enjoy your breakfast. Without fail, he delivers a kiss, muttering, “I’ll be off now, darling.”
During small fights, he’s most likely to apologise first. As you settle in bed, he’s hugging you from behind, burying his nose into the crest between your neck and shoulder, intoxicating himself with the scent.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he whispers. He repeats those words with every kiss to your neck, shoulder, and cheeks, “Please forgive me.”
You fall for it easily, facing him to bury your reddening face into his chest, hiding your growing grin, “Fine.”
He smiles in victory, leaving a final kiss on your lips as he lifts your chin up to face him.
During days that he’s settled you were at fault, he coaxes apologies out of you. He tries to get you to understand his point of view. And he’s convinced the only way to persuade you was to drown you in affection, but never settling for a kiss, not until you admit your wrongdoings.
“Please stop teasing me,” as you try to kiss him, he dodges with a chuckle.
“I’ve yet to hear an apology, sweet thing,” he grins.
– jonathan joestar, jean pierre polnareff, bruno bucciarati, wekapipo (jjba), nanami kento, hiromi higuruma, geto suguru (jjk), tomioka giyuu, himejima gyomei (kny), toshinori yagi, eijiro kirishima, shoto todoroki (mha), your favs
Shoto being beefier as an adult made him more... tempting.. to grab..
He's brewing some tea, it's a warm morning so he's just in some comfy shorts and no shirt, he's half asleep, basically bare, very vulnerable..
he rubs his eye, trying to rub the sleep away when he feels a smack to his ass, he's wide awake now, he tries to turn around but you forcibly keep him towards the counter, even bending him over it a bit as you grab at his man titties.
"what're you doing?" His voice is raspy and he has a curious tone.
hes shocked but your roughness and how forward you are at this early hour.
You giggle and rest your cheek on his shoulder blade.
"So squishy sho.." You mumble against him.
His face flushes red, he even feels his dick starting to strain against his shorts.
"Isn't it a bit early..?" He asks quietly, too tired to acknowledge his growing erection.
You shake your head with a hum, you press yourself into him more, grabbing at more.
One hand lets go of his tit and reaches back down to his ass, you grab and knead it just like you are with his chest, he groans you can't tell if he's enjoying it (he is) or if he's annoyed.
It's only when you slap it again and harder he gasps and throws you over his shoulder, hauling you back to bed.
ac: realstickii || masterlist || based on this request
You had always been a foodie.
It wasn’t just about eating - it was about discovery. New flavours. New textures. The quiet joy of turning raw ingredients into something that told a story. Your tiny apartment kitchen was your laboratory: spices from every corner of the world, half-finished recipe notebooks, and the faint smell of whatever you’d experimented with last night still lingering in the air.
Jason Todd had never been picky.
Growing up on the streets, then in the manor, then… after. Food was fuel. He ate whatever was available, often cold, often standing up, often while bleeding. He could devour an entire pizza in under ten minutes and still be hungry. His metabolism was a monster, and he’d long since stopped fighting it.
Then he met you.
And everything changed.
The first time he stayed over, you cooked.
It was simple — homemade pasta with a sauce you’d been perfecting for weeks. You’d plated it beautifully, fresh basil on top, a drizzle of good olive oil. Jason had taken one bite and gone very still.
“This is… really good,” he said, almost reverent.
You’d smiled, pleased. “Try the garlic bread. I added a little chili flake.”
He did. Then he ate three more slices. Then he asked for seconds. Then thirds.
By the end of the night, the entire pot was gone. He looked almost guilty as he helped you clean up, like he’d committed some crime by enjoying it so much.
“You don’t have to pretend to like it,” you teased.
“I’m not pretending,” he said, voice low. “I’ve never had anything like that before. Not… made for me.”
The way he said it made your chest warm.
From that night on, Jason started trying.
He’d show up at your apartment with ingredients he’d clearly researched - things he thought you’d like. He’d sit at your tiny kitchen table and watch you cook like it was performance art. When you asked him to taste something, he’d take it seriously, eyes closing for a second like he was committing the flavor to memory.
He was trying so hard to impress you.
And it was adorable.
One evening you were experimenting with Thai street food recipes. The kitchen smelled like lemongrass, coconut milk, and chili. You were stirring a big pot of green curry when Jason walked in, still in his Red Hood gear minus the helmet, white streak messy from the night.
“Smells incredible,” he said, coming up behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he watched you cook. “What’s this one?”
“Green curry. I tweaked the paste a little. Tell me what you think.”
You offered him a spoon. He took it, blowing on it carefully before tasting. His eyes closed again, that little furrow of concentration between his brows.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s… really good. Spicy. Creamy. The lime at the end cuts it perfectly.”
You beamed. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He kissed the side of your neck, soft and warm. “You’re dangerous. I’m gonna get spoiled.”
You laughed, leaning back into him. “Good. You deserve to be spoiled.”
He stayed like that while you finished cooking, arms around you, occasionally stealing tastes when you let him. When dinner was ready, he ate like a man who’d been starving for years — which, in some ways, he had.
But later that night, when you were curled up on the couch watching a movie, you noticed him quietly raiding the fridge.
“Still hungry?” you asked, amused.
He froze, a container of leftover rice in his hand. “Uh… a little.”
You patted the couch beside you. “Come here. I’ll make you a snack.”
He did, looking almost guilty as he sat down. You disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a massive sandwich — thick bread, leftover chicken, cheese, pickles, everything you could find.
He took it with both hands, eyes wide. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” You curled up against his side, head on his shoulder. “Eat, Jason. I know you’re still hungry.”
He ate the entire thing in record time, then pulled you closer, kissing the top of your head.
“You’re too good to me,” he murmured.
You smiled. “You’re easy to be good to.”
The pattern continued.
Jason would show up after patrol, still keyed up and ravenous, and you’d cook for him. He’d try everything you made with genuine enthusiasm, complimenting every dish like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. He started bringing home ingredients he thought you’d like — strange spices from little markets in the Narrows, fresh herbs he’d somehow kept alive during a fight.
He was trying so hard.
But his appetite was legendary.
One night you made a beautiful multi-course meal — roasted vegetables, seared fish, a delicate dessert. Jason ate every bite, praising you the whole time. Then, two hours later, you caught him in the kitchen eating cold leftover pizza straight from the box.
You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to laugh. “Still hungry?”
He froze, slice halfway to his mouth. “I… uh. It’s been a long night.”
You walked over, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. I know you can eat an entire buffet and still want more. It’s okay.”
He set the pizza down and turned in your arms, pulling you close. “I just… I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate what you make. Your food is the best thing I’ve ever tasted. But my stomach is a bottomless pit. Always has been.”
You smiled up at him, hands resting on his chest. “I know. And I love that about you. You’re big. You’re strong. You burn through calories like a furnace. It doesn’t make what I cook any less special.”
He kissed you then — slow and deep, hands sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss tasted like pizza and the faint sweetness of the dessert you’d made earlier. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “Even when I’m inhaling half your fridge at 3am.”
You laughed, pressing your forehead to his chest. “I love you too. Even when you’re a human trash disposal.”
He chuckled, the sound warm and relieved. His hands stroked your back, slipping under your shirt to rest warm against your skin. The touch was comforting, but there was quiet heat in it too — the way his fingers traced your spine, the way he held you like you were the only soft thing in his hard world.
“You make me want to be better,” he murmured. “Not just eat better. Be better. For you.”
You tilted your head up, kissing him again. “You already are.”
He held you like that for a long time — in the quiet kitchen, surrounded by the faint smell of your latest experiment, his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.
Jason Todd was learning how to love properly.
And for you, he was willing to change.
Every late-night snack, every stolen kiss in the kitchen, every quiet “I love you” felt like proof that maybe — just maybe — the two of you were building something good.
Something that felt a lot like home.
a/n : I finished this off quickly while on the bus, gulp.
short | fluff | smut | “wiping my drink after him”
synopsis: you try a trend on jason by wiping your bottle after he takes a sip. clearly he doesn’t appreciate it.
a/n: was supposed to be fluff but i’m freaked out sorry
it’s nearly 10pm when jason comes home from patrol. he had planned to get here earlier and switched his shift with dick all because you told him you finished work.
without even asking if you wanted him to do so, he just did it.
“baby?” he calls out as he shuts the front door.
you’re sitting on your bed, practically buzzing as you’d just been scrolling on tiktok and saw a trend you just had to try on him.
“i’m in here jay,” you reply from your bed, fingers idle on the screen as you quickly place it on the nightstand.
enough to capture the both of you.
heavy footsteps approach the room and he opens the door with sweat wicking his brow. he gives a low hum as he takes on the sight of engulfed in just one of his shirts, a habit you’d taken when you missed him and wanted him home. curled up in your comforter with just your torso peaking out, jason plops right on top of you. no care in his sweat on your skin now of his weight resting on you entirely. you giggle as you run your fingers through his hair.
“don’t you think you should, i don’t know, shower before you come into bed?” no real annoyance behind your words.
he nuzzles even closer to you, shakes his head in the crook of your neck. almost like he’s motorboating your neck.
“nah, i’ll wash the sheets in the morning. they’ll need it after i’m done with you.”
the heat reaches your face and a fluttery feeling sits low in your stomach. he always knew how to throw the words back at you. but alas, the show must go on. you stroke his hair back once more, cupping his face with both hands to kiss his sweet face. jason melts into it immediately, but he shrugs like he were shy from this attention. when you pull away, a piece of him was disappointed.
“you hungry?” you ask him. “i was gonna make something to eat.”
he shakes his head, “don’t worry about it. i came home to take care of you. i’ll cook.”
you raise a brow as you reach for your water bottle, ready to play in his face. “take care of me? i’m a grown adult babe.”
he watches as you lift the bottle to your lips, his eyes trained hard on how they part and press against it. taking in how your throat swallows down the water and he gulps in anticipation as though he was drinking it too. his lips part as he leans in to kiss you again. though this time, you bring the bottle between you and put it to his lips.
“you look dehydrated,” you say like it’s the easiest thing in the world. tilting your head slightly and watching the gears turn in his head. “have you been using the bottle i bought you?”
he sighs and nods, “yeah, but i like using yours better.”
sitting up enough to take the bottle and take a long sip. probably draining your ice cold water from how thirsty he was and didn’t even realize. he makes a sound of approval and hands it back to you when you do the unspeakable.
you take the bottle from him, lift your opposing hand and wipe it with your sleeve. jason is absolutely dumbstruck. his lips part in confusion as his brows furrow. he looks to you, then the bottle and then back to you again. he scoffs softly and then points at the bottle.
“the fuck was that?”
he’s blinking hard at you and waiting for a response. you just take a long sip and furrow your brows back.
“what do you mean jay? i’m drinking water?” feigning confusion.
“you just wiped me off of it i’m some freeloader, with germs and shit.”
you can’t control your laughter and shake your head at him. “i’m just wiping your spit off of it jason. it’s not a big deal.”
he knows you have never cared about germs with him before. besides, you live in gotham, and it’s hardly the cleanliest place to be living.
then he’s stammering, pointing between you and the bottle again. “but babe you just kissed me! how is that any different! wait, does my breath smell?” before he leans back and puts his hand in front of his mouth and breathes out to sniff his breath. “i didn’t smoke or anything and i brushed my teeth i swear.”
this only makes you laugh harder, pushing this chest and grasping tightly at he bottle in your hands. jason only seems to get even more confused. he sits up completely and watches you giggle to yourself, finding this entire thing amusing. jason however, does not.
with a loud scoff, he takes the water bottle from your hands and tongues at the mouth piece. he fully lets his tongue fall out of his mouth, licks it all around before pulling back and handing it to you. you grimace a little at the wet sheen on it.
“ew jay, what the hell.” holding the bottle like something toxic.
“take a sip.” he says with the most stern expression you’d ever seen on him.
oh, he was pissed.
you decide to play along longer and shake your head in defiance at him.
he blinks at you, “i’d let you spit in my mouth and you’re sitting here telling me you won’t drink from the same bottle as me?”
“no, not until i wash your slobber off of it.”
that’s when he huffs out like a kid throwing a tantrum and grabs the bottle from your hand, mumbling under his breath. you watch him with genuine confusion while he is the one to take another sip before grabbing your chin and pulling you closer.
he squeezes your cheeks until your lips part and spits the water directly into your mouth. you make a sound of surprise the sudden intrusion makes your eyes widen but you were definitely not opposed. you swallow it down immediately. he keeps his hold on your cheeks as he squints and a small smile begins to take form on his face.
“you’re liking this,” he states rather than asks.
the contagious smile takes home on your face as you stare back at him and nod. “it’s a prank.”
“ha,” he says flatly, “now can you lay back down please?”
sighing as you lay down for him, he immediately follows after you. weight resting directly over you like a weighted blanket that wouldn’t budge if you tried. when you squirm a little, he wraps his arms over yours so you’re bracketed between him and the mattress. then he really does give you some sloppy, wet kisses that leave a trail in its wake.
he’s mumbling lowly as he starts to tug on your shirt, pulling the fabric up and huffing like he’s still annoyed. kisses getting a little rougher as he starts to bite the flesh beneath it and knead it with his teeth. you can’t help but tilt back for him.
“slobber, huh? i’ll show you slobber.” murmuring against your skin enough to tickle. he pulls his head up to look at you while you’re still giggling, “okay jokes over. was gonna do all the work but—”
jason lifts you from beneath him and places you firm onto his lap. hand tight in your hip as you straddle him and he settles his back on the pillows. he clears his throat and something behind his light eyes darken enough to tell you you were really in for it now. the thick bulge beneath you was unmistakable. you open your mouth in a gasp and say his name.
“there’s no way that turned you on.” making the horrible mistake of letting a giggle out again.
he breathes out of his nose and pinches your side to make you jolt. groaning like he’s not the cause of you shifting around and tightening his hold on you so you’d stop moving.
“i spat in your mouth. of course i’m hard.” he sighs as his fingers slide across the waistband of your underwear and tug them just to let them snap. you jolt again but he doesn’t stop you from moving or say anything about the desperate sound you make at the friction.
instead, jason smiles a little harder, “go ahead then.”
guiding your hips back and forth until your breath caught in your throat and you grip his shoulders for dear life. you breathe out his name again but it’s barely a whisper.
he tsks and bucks up into you, dragging his hard length against your clothed core. hips with a mind of its own as you chase your own release, dragging your hands down his chest and pushing him further into the mattress. you’re already a mess, panting heavily and moving desperately.
dangerously close and he’s just grinning like he’s won.
one of his hands come up to the nape of your neck and pulls you down towards him, whispering lowly in your ear.
“there you go ma, take what’s yours.”
movements getting sloppy and uneven while he’s keeping you folded against him. one strong palm kept your faces close and the other moved you in accordance what he knew got you there. he knew you were a goner before you even let go, gasping and stilling just for him to continue moving against you. even when you make a whimpering sound he continues and holds you hard against him.
you’re trying to catch your breath when he finally stops and kisses the side of your face sloppily again. his hands rubbing up and down your back like he’s soothing you. it feels like you’re purring against him as you come back to yourself. but this time, he’s the one laughing while he whispers in your ear like a coo.
you sighed. the weight of zukos arms around your body and his torso nearly crushing you from behind didn't let you move even an inch from his bed. sunlight poured in through the latticed windows in his chambers. you could already tell it was well past the time a respectable fire lord would start the day and commit to his imperial duties. unfortunately, the fire lord in question couldn't seem to care less.
squirming in his hold, you managed to turn just enough to face him. his eyes were stubbornly shut, dark locks of hair messily falling over his forehead and sprawling across the pillows. you flicked his nose gently after you were able to wrestle your arm out of his embrace. he frowned, clinging to you tighter, making you smile helplessly.
"we cannot stay here forever, you know," you murmured softly, now stroking his cheek with your thumb. he subconsciously leaned towards your touch, chasing your warmth.
"yes, we can." his tone was low, stubborn. you huffed out a laugh. the sound made him finally open his eyes. the love in his gaze was sometimes overwhelming. you flushed under the scrutiny, turning shy like the two of you were still newlyweds.
zuko suddenly shifted, propping himself up by his elbows and trapping you underneath. the change made you startle as you stared up at him with wide eyes and barely concealed amusement. he frowned at you childishly. giggling at his expression, you cupped his face.
"cruel woman," he accused, his voice still gruff from sleep. "you command me to leave this bed and yet you tempt me so," he buried his nose in your neck, nuzzling your skin. "how do you expect me to leave when you act like this?"
"i do not know what you mean, husband," you feigned innocence. as he looked back up at you, you kissed his lips, soft as a feather and grinned, your gaze fond. he stared blankly, then cursed, his head falling on to your chest.
"look at what you've done to me. i must punish you for daring to weaken the fire lord so shamelessly."
your arms immediately came up to wrap around him, heart swelling with affection. your fingers carded through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. taking it as encouragement, he cuddled even closer, as if he wanted your bodies to become one. just before the two of you could go back to sleep, however, a series of knocks fell on the wooden doors, making zuko immediately groan.
"go," you kissed his hair, breathing in its scent of jasmine and sandalwood. he lifted his head just to stare petulantly, making you laugh. "and when you're done by sunset, i'll be waiting for you right here."
"swear it," he reluctantly got up just enough to look at you properly. capturing your wrist, he pressed his lips to your arm, travelling from the hollow of your elbow till your palm. "you'll be the only thing i think of even as i leave these chambers."
you smiled contentedly and nodded. "i swear."
✧.* a/n: don't ask me why they talk like that, they just do ✧.*
@luvqi and I were talking about how hot today was and the question was asked if we could realistically live at that hot ass palace.
"you want me to make what?" sokka looks confusedly at the crude drawings zuko had scribbled on a piece of scrap scroll.
"an air cooling system, i need something to keep my wife cool, it's nearing summer and the heat is getting to her."
sokka nods solemnly. "headaches?"
zuko frowns as he nods. before he left, you'd been complaining of headaches that spanned to the nape of your neck as the heat prickled your skin uncomfortably.
"suki has them too." his eyes roam the drawings, already drawing up plans in his head. "i got ya buddy, i'll get something ready for the missus, gotta make sure sokka jr is okay."
"we are not naming our son sokka jr." zuko scoffs, but his eyes soften in gratitude.
"but it's catchy right?"
"imagine having to say to her, 'honey, sokka needs a nappy change'." the fire lord shudders, making sokka cackle.
。 🧷ׄ ⠀ ❛ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧. . . oral. language. one brief mention of a spank.
jason todd is a d1 pussy eater.
your thighs are wrapped around his head, the occasional tremble passing through the tense muscle. his breath hot against your skin when he periodically pulls back to get a good look at your pretty pussy, eyes lidded in focus and satisfaction. he’s thriving off the pleasure he can pull from you, your whines and squirms sending his ego through the roof. jason genuinely is obsessed, from how you taste to the way you’ll whine out in that pitchy voice.
his tongue licks a broad stripe up your slit, tongue flattening against your clit to feel your thighs tremble. “fuckin’ christ,” he groans against your cunt, the vibrations enough to make your toes curl. “could stay here forever.”
his mouth seals over your clit, sucking gently before increasing the pressure somewhat. teeth grazing over the swollen bud, just enough to feel a minor twitch. your hips jerking up towards his face, but he’s forcing your hips still with a heavy palm on your belly. “quit the squirmin’, need you ready for my cock.”
the sounds of your breathing mix with the wet noises of his tongue working between your puffy folds. he doesn’t miss a single spot, making sure no part of your cunt goes neglected. that’s just the type of man he is.
“j-jay,” you stammer out, hips trying to roll up against his face again, but he’s unrelenting—refusing to let you do as you please. he pulls away from you, barely, letting a thick glob of spit land on your glistening folds. his free hand rubbing in the saliva on your clit, tight circles that send your fingers flying to his dark hair. “‘m close.”
“yeah, you’re gonna cum,” he says matter-of-factly, pressing a wet kiss over your core. tongue darting out to flick against your heated skin, teasing you before his mouth latches back onto your pussy. jason’s tongue sliding between your folds roughly, drinking you in as his thumb continues rubbing at the pulsing nub. he’s moving his heavy palm from your stomach, the freshly freed hand slipping under your knee to spread you wider to his awaiting mouth. “go ahead, use me the way you want.”
you don’t need to be told twice, your hips bucking up against his face desperately. the slight stubble along his jaw rough against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, one that’s always welcome. his tongue never ceases its vigorous strokes, the pink muscle dipping into your clenching hole before dragging back up your slit to where his thumb works you over. jason repeats the movement until you’re dripping, a puddle of saliva and arousal pooling under your ass.
your fisting his hair tighter, drawing a hiss from his lips, hips humping up into his face mindlessly. that familiar coil tightening as your stomach clenches, thighs somehow tensing even more on either side of his head.
his thumb moves to expose your clit fully, another ragged groan tearing from the back of his throat. drinking in the full expanse of your cunt, a sight he’s memorized every day. he doesn’t stay away long, mouth sucking your sensitive nub between his lips. applying just the right amount of pressure with his teeth, barely grazing over the bud before soothing it again with his tongue.
your whines are growing louder as you near the edge, toes curled tight as your heels dig into his shoulder blades. jason sinks two thick fingers into your sopping hole, the added stimulation sending your walls clamping around the digits. you grind your hips erratically, chasing the high only he seems to give you, and he doesn’t stop you. an occasional ‘mm’ or ‘so good’ coming from him his swollen lips against your pussy.
he sucks harder at your clit, fingers pumping inside your spasming hole. a rough curl of his middle and ring fingers sends shockwaves through your body as your thighs squeeze around his head. you’re cumming hard, so hard your brain goes blank. however, he doesn’t stop moving his fingers, tongue still lapping at your clit. he helps you ride through your release until you’re pushing his head back from overstimulation. your body overstimulated and spent from his relentless ministrations.
“my favorite bedtime snack,” he grins, sitting up between your spread, trembling thighs—a smug grin gracing his obnoxiously attractive face. your slick coating his chin, however, he’s not bothered. wiping off the proof of your arousal with the back of his hand. offering a quick, wet smack to your glistening cunt, not letting you clamp your legs shut at the brief jolt of sharp pleasure. “no ma’am, not done with you yet—still gotta put you to sleep, baby.”
"You know, this will only air after pr approval, right?" Bakugou tries to be the rational one, level headed, the one that thinks before they speak, because for the first time, he's with someone with a bigger record of well, unfiltered-ness.
"It'll be as appropriate as a thirst tweet video can be." You don't bother looking at him, cheekily winking at the camera instead, cherry red nails tapping against the table.
Bakugou sighed, despite it a grin spread on his lips, "This is Bakugou Katsuki, here for an updated review of the stuff you post online."
"And this is his wifey , here to add personal input." You grinned at him, eyes lingering on his bare chest peeking through his collar.
"She's already distracted." Bakugou laughed out loud, certainly more open and at ease than his solo interview.
Instead of shying away, you turned back to the camera, "Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't do the same." You crudely gestured at his chest, making a motion of groping, "Big breasted men have always been a weakness of mine."
"Man." Bakugou raised his index finger, "Singular, it's me."
You shake your head, chuckling lightly as you reach for the box containing slips of comments, pulling the first one out.
Comment no. 23
By @/lookingather.
"Dynamight's wife once mentioned their affinity for public sex, do you think it's possible for me to ever find their used condom somewhere?"
Bakugou stared at the camera in utter disbelief, "With the way that comment started, I didn't think it'd take such turns."
He turns to look at you, eyes squinting in suspension as you twirled the paper between your fingers.
The camera shifted to your face, soft smile gracing your lips, "It's not possible." You shrugged your shoulders, answering the rhetorical question the comment asked, smiling innocently before continuing, "We don't use cond—"
"Next one!"
Comment no. 12
By @/ballsfullofnitroglycerin.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dynamight looked so good tonight at the hero's award ceremony, all I could think about was them exploring each other's bodies after the show."
Bakugou read the second one out loud, completely cutting you off, ignoring as you cackled loudly beside him. "—exploring each other's body—"
"—we certainly did." You chimed, leaning over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, "before and after the show, I have photo—"
"You are supposed to react to the comments," He puffed his cheeks, feeling slightly shy at your confidence, "You'll worsen the impact on these people."
"The only impact I'll worsen is the one on your chee—"
The entire clip is beeped out, before new take is started, crowd laughing loudly in the background, someone wheezing out their left lung.
"Cut that entire section." Bakugou gestured to the director, shaking his head as you looked at him in disbelief, "We'll be banned Babe, that's too inappropriate."
"You didn't even deny getting your che—"
The clip is cut again.
Comment no. 32
By @/leftatfamilymart.
"Do you think Dynamight's wife will take me as her pet, if I bark enough?"
#pickmechosemeloveme
"He doesn't let me take in strays." You pouted, fiddling with the strip of paper in your hand, peeking at him innocently, "Even though he got a stray kitty last year."
Someone from the production team quipped, "Why don't you, Dynamight?"
He looked between you and the staff, "We are talking about taking in a grown adult, right?" He tucked the paper from your hands, unrolling it, "Leftatfamilymart, first of all I am sorry about your abandonment and second of all do lurk around family mart in Musutafu, she will take you in."
Camera pans to you, grinning mischievously.
Comment no. 124
By @/lookingforlove.
"Gonna be honest with y'all, Mrs. Dynamight has got pretty suckable toes, this isn't even coming from a place of degeneracy, I just feel like they need to be sucked, at least thrice a week.
I hope Mr. Dynamight sucks them."
"Not coming from a place of degeneracy?" Bakugou raised his eyebrow in judgement, clearly unimpressed, "Seems pretty dege—"
"You're jealous, someone out there is going to suck my toes."
"Someone out there is going to suck my toes." He repeated your words, hands raised, middle and forefingers curling to form air quotes, "Do you not realise how scary that sounds."
"Pro-hero Dynamight, finding real threats in the wild." You mocked, hand placed on your forehead as you pretended to scan the crowd, laughing along the production team.
"Lookingforlove you better sleep with one eye open, I am watching you." Bakugou joked, reaching for the box of comments.
You looked at him sceptically, eyes narrowed as you pretended to scan him up and down, faint giggles filled the background.
"What?"
"You wanted Lookingforlove to suck on your toes, didn't you."
"What?!" He huffed in disbelief, "I already had someone wanting to suck on my toes, last time I was here."
"I don't even want you to elaborate." You shook your head, triggering as wave of laughter in the background.
Comment no. 27
By @/Discoballs.
"Just saw Mrs. Dynamight's latest lingerie collection, can Mr. Dynamight even handle all that?" #gotnothingtolose
"I can handle it plenty." Bakugou joked, leaning over to pull the leg of your chair, effortlessly dragging it closer, hand splayed on your knee as he continued, "Plus you can't give her everything I can."
You burst into a fit of giggles, cheeks rosy at his confession, swarm of butterflies fluttering in your belly as you hid behind the box of comments.
Regaining composure you started, "It's true, you might be good um, discoballs, but you'll never one up Katsuki." You admitted, sneaking glances at him through your lashes.
"He's so good to me, takes care of me so well, cooks for me, cleans up after us, everything you can ask for in a man and so much more." You confessed, smiling as Bakugou shyly ducked his head lower, thumb tracing shapes on your knee, you reached over and splayed your hand in his knee, reciprocating the action, before continuing.
"Don't think anyone can ever be as good as Katsuki," You sighed, fiddling with fabric of his pants, "He's so considerate and compassionate and empathetic and he listens to me and he remembers dates and he pounds my hol—"
"Think they got the point." Bakugou sighed, pretending to be stern with you only for a smile to grace his lips, corners of his mouth twitching up as he puffed his chest slightly, "She's prefect and I try my best to be as well."
The crowd awed, faint murmuring filling the studio at how in love Bakugou and you are.
"Should we end on this lovely note?" The production team questioned, camera panning towards Bakugou already hopping off his chair, whilst you cradled the empty box.
"You guys need to up you game." You sassed, taking Bakugou's hand as he helped you off the chair as well, "I thirst harder than y'all combin—"
"Behave!"
"Ooo—"
a/n: apologies for the excessive use of mrs. dynamight because I can't physically use y/n.
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