Imitated Never Duplicated

Throw me to the wolves and I'll come back leading them. Expect the best. Prepare for the worst. Capitalize on what comes ♛

[cherrywineisawaltz]

MINORS DNI

Ex!wife!reader and Jack Abbot who refuses to take off his ring. You two have been split for months, almost a year. You never had a certificate, too much legal trouble if you two ever called it quits, you were young and nothing but trouble when you got hitched, a small gathering of friends to watch you two share vows and rings to signify the promises you made at the most fundamental moment of your relationship the only evidence that you were man and wife. You were cordial, had to be at work, he’d weasel his way into your space, any excuse to be around you, and you let him. At the end of the day he was still your best friend, the person you went to for everything no matter how wonderful or awful your day was. When you had sex you swore it was a one off, a moment of weakness, familiarity and the fact that no fling could ever handle your body the way your ex husband did, so finely tuned with your pleasure, what made your legs shake, what had you keening and writhing against the sheets. His hands would find you for days after, grasping to the slope of your shoulder, the back of your neck, the cool press of his wedding ring still adorning his ring finger. You’d tell him to take it off, that you two were no longer married, he was not a married man he couldn’t wear the ring, and he’d shrug, hardly acknowledge it while you huffed and called him stubborn before dignify your irritation with a response, “I take off this ring, and it tells women that I’m available,” he rumbles, eyes raking over your frame too slow to be appropriate in a hospital setting, “And I am far from available.” He leaves you all too casually, mused grin on his lips as he walks away from you.

[deardollylue]

a soft place to rest *-_**_--**_*-**

Jack Abbot x resident fem!reader summary: after weeks of brutal shifts, endless charts, Robbie's never-ending attitude and your lack of ability to slow down and take a break, jack decides you've had enough and invites you over

Word count: 4.5(ish)k

rating: smut/fluff 18+ warnings: smut18+, praise, protected sex, fingering in V, breast play, aftercare, reader exhaustion/work burnout, fluff, comfort, lots of kissing, age gap (if you squint), fwb kinda situation but both yearning for more word count: 4ishk reader is described to have curly hair MDNI! 18+

Your fist thudded softly along the wood of his apartment door, hand falling back to your side as you waited for him to open the door. Your body felt heavy, shoulders tense still carrying the weight of the past week on them. 

Work had been grueling these past few weeks, shifts seeming to blur into one, back to back consults and surgeries, piles upon piles of unfinished charts that never seemed to get smaller no matter how many you completed, adrenaline highs followed with the crashes and the constant joy of dealing with Robby's never ending shit. 

Your body ached, eyes sagged with exhaustion, mood snappy and impatient. He had noticed, watched as you worked yourself to the bone never taking a break, he saw the way you didn't eat on shift and downed red bulls as if they were water and he saw the way robby had been treating you he watched more worried by each passing day. 

He hated seeing you like this, like a broken shell of yourself, barely keeping it together- that's why he had organised tonight. He knew Saturday was your last shift for a few days so he had invited you over to spend the night, something the two of you hadn't been able to do for a long while and he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't excited to finally have you in his arms again.

He opened the door and took you in for a second, your curls were pulled back by a head band, small bits of frizz sticking out in a way that he adored, you held a small overnight bag over your shoulder and a tank top and what he recognised as his sweat grey sweat pants, the pair he had given to you the first time you guys had hooked up. 

You looked nothing short beautiful, bringing a small smile to the corner of his mouth. 

“Hey sweetheart” his voice sent a welcoming warmth down to your stomach as he reached out to take hold of your bag with one hand, the other pulling you into his chest. You rested your forehead there as he twirled his fingers around your hair, resting his chin atop your head as he spoke again.

“Been a tough few weeks hasn't it” he asked, slowly and carefully walking you out of the doorway and into his apartment. He felt as you nodded against him, a sigh left his mouth a hand coming down to rub soft circles along your back. “ I know sweetheart…you did so good though” you felt a kiss come down to the crown of your head bringing a small smile to your face as you gave a small thank you. 

“You hungry? I've ordered in sushi” you perked up at the mention of one of your favourite foods

“Shushi?” a laugh came from jack as he looked down at the small smile that appeared on your face, one that he hadn't seen in weeks. He pulled away and made way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out containers of sushi, you watched on - stomach softly growling at the sight of food that wasn't a redbull or energy bar.

“We’ve got salmon and avocado, tuna roll, california roll, sashimi, nagiri…take your pick baby.”

—----------------------------

Jack's bedroom was filled with a soft yet comforting silence,you laid next to him with his arms draped lazily over you. The night had been good, exactly what you needed to ease the tension that had been building up in your body. 

You laid there eyes closed, hand resting on top of his bare chest. He watched you, taking in your appearance once again, your hair laid messy and loose on your back, skin flushed and glowing from the post orgasm bliss. His hands came to your face, calloused from years of rough and hard work, they touched your face gently, fingers tracing small circles along your cheek bones. It brought a tired smile to your face, you reached up without opening your eyes and pressed his hand to your chest, holding it close.

“There she is” Jack's voice was quiet and soft, breaking the silence of the room “thought you had fallen asleep on me sweetheart” you let out a low laugh as you reached out your arms, stretching your limbs yawning in the process. You laid your head back down this time on his shoulder, his arms coming up to hold you.

“Rough few weeks?” he spoke again, soft stubble brushing the top of your head as he pressed a kiss on top of it. You hummed in response, mind in a small happy daze. 

“Yeah I saw sweetheart…you want me to get you some water?” he angled to look down at you.

“No stay” Your quiet command to stay made Jack pause from getting up, he looked back down at you, you're peaceful face and it was more than enough to convince him to settle back down, you wanted him to stay and he wasn't about to argue with that.

There's a long stretch of silence after that, comfortable silence between two people simply existing together, Jack enjoyed moments like this with you, cherished them more than anything. He took in you for what felt like the hundredth time that night, not able to get enough of you, he admired every thing about you, every feature and every small detail. God he doesn't think he's ever seen something quite as beautiful before. It made his heart ache with an all too familiar feeling, a feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time.

“I can feel you staring” Jack pauses at your voice, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Wasnt staring” he moved his thumb to brush a stray curl from your face. You finally open up your eyes to look at him, eyebrows raising slightly in question. Jack laughed at that, head shaking with a small breathy laugh “okay maybe I was” his voice was low, thumb pushing over your shoulder blade as he let his eyes linger on your own. 

“That's what i thought” you joke, eyes closing again, face pushing further into the crook of his neck. He exhales through his nose, almost laughing once again, he doesn't argue with your words, simply accepting the fact he was caught. He didn't mind though, he never minded with you. Instead he settles for pressing a soft kiss to your temple, a firm kiss that lingered for a second before barely pulling away.

“Better?” he mumbled against the skin he had just kissed, voice low and soft with affection. 

A pleased hum leaves your mouth at his words, your mind silently racing with thoughts, all of which included him.

“Jack” he looked down at your voice, hand stopping their movements in your hair. 

“Yeah love?”

“Why are you so good to me?”

The question was muttered so quietly that Jack almost didn't hear it. It made him pause for a second, wondering what made you ask such a question.

Why wouldn't he be good to you? 

“Because you deserve it and I want to” he paused for a second “plus you're tired out” he whispered the last part, hands coming to play with your hair, gently acknowledging the work that you've been doing for everyone. 

“I'm tired?” 

“Absoulty wiped baby…been working your ass off for weeks” he said it matter of factly, his thumb brushing along your cheek bone. 

“So your soultion to that was to have me wined, dined then fucked for three hours straight?” you look back up at him smiling a little. He laughed at that, slightly shocked at your honesty.

“It worked though didn't it?” a smirk tucked at his lips as his hands moved to pull the rest of the way on his chest “felt good?” your eyes found him once again when his finger lifted your chin up to meet him face to face.

“You always make me feel good” your eyes fell down to his lips, your face starting to feel hotter. “Did you feel good?” you ask pressing kisses along his jaw and mouth.

A laugh escaped him “is that even a question’’ his lips met yours once again in a quick yet meaningful kiss. “You should get some sleep baby…your body needs it” his fingers went back to tracing circles on your cheek. 

“But I like this” you mumble as you fall back into the comfort of his strong arms.

He feels it, the way your body leans into him seeking out his comfort and warmth. How your body had relaxed against his touch over the last few hours. He didn't bother to argue with you, didn't fight your words cause damn does he like it to. He slowly adjusts his position moving so that he is fully lying down on the bed now, trying to make it more comfortable for you. 

Rain pattered against the window outside, the sounds of light traffic driving past filling the room as people went on with their own lives out on the streets. He felt so good in this moment, wishing silently for it to never end. 

“Can you touch me again” your voice broke through the room in a quiet command startling him slightly. Your request was soft, asking in a way that wasn't demanding and it bring butterflies back to his stomach. His hand shifts from your own slowly trailing up your stomach making a shiver run down your spine, then move on, coming up to firmly cup your left breast, squeezing ever so gently. The feeling made you gasp slightly, your own hands coming up to his face, angling your head higher so that your lips could touch his, mouths connecting in a firm kiss, your lips were soft against his moving together in practiced precision, heat pooled at the bottom of your stomach once again at the feeling of his lips on yours. Your right hand reached up to grab his own, slowly guiding down below the sheet and between your legs. You pull back to watch for his reaction watching his eyes darken slightly as your hand guides him over your folds. Jack watched on, his length hardening once again at the feeling of you on his hand, his movements were soft and controlled, fingers working gently across your clit. He knew how drained you must have been and he didn't want to over do it. 

Your mouth fell open letting out soft moans as the pleasure slowly began to build, your hands pulled at the nap of his neck whilst your hips began to move in sync with the soft circles of his fingers. 

It was too much yet not enough at the same time…you needed more.

“Need you..fuck…need you inside baby” your voice came out if short gasps or air, hand reaching down towards his abdomen just slightly brushing over the base of his dick, he swore under his breath as he felt you wrap around him stroking him softly. “Please Jackie”.

His brain down right nearly short circuited at the sound of you breathy plea, and who was he to keep his princess from getting what she wants, he moved both his hands up to your back and gently flipped you over so that he was on top of you knees between your legs, his arms were placed on each side of your head, he reached his face done slowly and connected your lips - tongue licking your bottom lip silently asking for access. Your lips parted slightly letting him enter your mouth in a passionate kiss, your moans muffled against his lips as his tongue danced with yours.

He pulls away reluctantly and you whine at the loss. He leaned over towards his night stand, hands quickly finding the draw and pulling it open reaching inside and pulling out a condom. You watched him as he ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on to his length. The sight sends a jolt of arousal to your core, making you squeeze your thighs shut. He then shifted his gaze back to you, placing a quick kiss to your lips as reassurance before shifting lower under the covers. He pulled your knees apart, spreading your legs open for him. You watch him as your heart rate picks up in anticipation once again.

The room is dark apart from a street light that bled a warm glow though his window, painting your body in gold.

“God you're beautiful” he said breathlessly as he leaned down to kiss along the valley of your breasts “so fucking beautiful” his kisses trailed along to your neck, his breath warm as you felt his tip at your entrance, slowly pushing in with welcomed ease. The feeling of being full again had your back arching up into his body, your mouth falling open in a silent moan at the feeling of being stretched around him. He let out his own ragged moan, hips stuttering slightly as he relished the feeling of you wrapped around him. 

He looks up at you taking in the way your eyes fluttered shut as he went deeper, the way your lips parted in a silent surrender.

Beautiful

He took away one arm from resting above you, putting all his weight to the right side as his hand found its way back to your breasts as he bottomed out inside you. He waited for a moment, not wanting to move until you said he could, his mouth soon joined his hand, taking a nipple into his warm mouth softly sucking on the bud. The sensation made you gasp, you reached to tangle your hands into his locks, arching your chest closer to his mouth. His hand came to the other breast, pinching a groping, rolling your nipple between to fingers with just the right amount of pressure, making you wither under his touch. 

“You can move baby…please” His mouth de tachted from you with a loud pop, his eyes finding yours.

“Yeah?” he searched your face for any discomfort and watched as you nodded you head. “Words sweetheart” he gently reminded you. 

“Yes please jack” he smiled, satisfied with your answer. Not needing to be told again jack rolled his hips against you, his thrusts slow yet firm, sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. 

“Fuck jack” you whispered, pulling his lips down to meet yours in passionate kiss, tongue sliding against your own. You felt as he angled his hips higher, now hitting deeper inside you. You felt as he brushed against that sponge spot inside of you, causing you hands to tug at the hair on the base of his neck, a loud moan escaping you. 

“Jesus sweetheart" he grunted against you, a sound that only sent you closer to the edge “you feel so fucking good baby” you moaned out at the praise, panting against his mouth as his hips moved faster. 

You needed more, your hand snuck down between your bodies and quickly found you clit, rubbing soft circles on the bundle of nerves. The sensation has you throwing your head back against the pillows and heavy pants leaving your mouth. Jack watched as you touched yourself, watched your fingers move with practice ease, the imagine had him swearing under his breath as he, watching you chase your high. 

You felt the sensation begin to build, that familiar band in your stomach growing tighter and tighter with each thrust from him and each flick of your fingers against your clit. God it felt so good. 

“You close sweetheart” Jack grunted out, hips slamming into yours, his hand coming down to replace your own, quickly rubbing his thumb over your clit. You cried out at the feeling, body jolting and nails scratching down Jack's back. 

“Yes! Fuck please jack- f-fuck im gonna come” you stuttered out, the pleasure becoming to much, you were so close, so fucking close. 

“Then come sweetheart” 

That did it, you threw your head back as the band finally snapped, hot white waves of pleasure rolling through your body. Jack watched in awe at the pure sight of you, he felt his own orgasm crashing over hims as your nails dug further into his back. He fucked you both through it, hips slowing down as you ride out your high. The waves of pleasure were soon replaced by pure bliss, your eyes closed as you held on to him tighter, trying to catch your breath.

The two of you stay that way for a while, tangled in the sheets, savouring each other's touch. You felt his heartbeat against your own, skin still damp with sweat, the mixture bringing comfort through your body. 

You felt him shift ever so slightly against you, just enough to press feather light kisses across your face, his hand coming up to brush the hair sticking to your forehead away from your face. You smile at him, a small but happy smile that showed content, he smiled back soft like her own. His thumb traced across your cheek before he gently cupped it and pulled you in for another kiss, a softer one this time, one that held all the emotions that neither of you wanted to say out loud. He pulled back and rested his head on your chest, your fingers running through his hair. 

“I think you have well and truly tired me out dr abbot” he laughed quietly at your word, slowly pulling himself up and out of you carefully, he watched as you softly whined at the feeling. He quickly compromised by lying down and pulling you to lay on top of him. A dull ache began to form between your legs but you couldn't find it in you to care about it, your body too relaxed in his arms to even give it a second thought.

“Good maybe now you can get a proper night's worth of sleep” he mumbled against the crown of your head. You hummed in response, heavy eyes already closed, your body finally letting itself relax in a way that it hadn't been able to in weeks.

Jack stayed there until he felt your breaths even out and body slump into him more, he looked down at your peaceful form and pressed a kiss to your forehead, carefully bringing the covers of his bed further over your body. 

“Good night sweetheart” he whispered gently to you before he let his own eyes finally shut.

Thank you for reading loves! 💕

this is my first fic in a few years so I'm sorry if she's a bit rusty tehe 🤭

i hope you enjoyed this one! reblogs are always welcomed!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

[liarscantkeepsecretsbitches]

Putting out a quick test post, so I can start setting up my new blog 👀👀

[redr0sewrites]

k. takami nsfw alphabet

🍊 A/n: wanted to do one of these for a long time hehe! also cannot believe this is my first time writing for hawks like,,,,

🍊 Cw: nsfw, smut, marking, phone sex, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, corruption kink, overstimulation

🍊 dividers

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

the first word that comes to mind is definitely clingy. i think that after sex, especially with someone whom he's very close with emotionally, Hawks is really desperate for physical contact and intimacy. his aftercare game is okay, he'd put in the effort, but he prefers to just relax and cuddle with you and deal with any mess in the morning. i also think he'd prefer to be pampered a bit rather than do the pampering, but if you're too tired i do think he'd take care of you too. falls asleep as close as possible to you, often crushing you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i think on himself, Hawks struggles a lot with choosing a favorite, but overall i think its his hands. they're a lot softer than the rest of him, since he's always wearing gloves, and he loves that they give you so much pleasure. plus, i think he has like larger hands than most, and they're just very pretty (and he has prominent veins + a bit of hair on his knuckles urgrhrhrhr im deceased). on you, i think he's either a tummy or thighs type of guy. he likes resting on your stomach or thighs because his wings make it difficult to sleep on his back, and he also really enjoys how much your thighs and stomach tremble when you're overstimulated or about to cum. likes leaving hickeys there as well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

honestly he'll cum anywhere. if you're just a hookup Hawks is pretty normal about it, he'll use a condom and call it a day, but if he's in an intimate relationship with someone i think he'd really like cumming inside or on your stomach or chest. seeing his cum dripping on your body kinda soothes those weird primal bird instincts he sometimes gets- i feel like he would occasionally get super possessive about cumming on you. he also really likes how wet you get when he's already cum inside a few times and can hear soft squelches everytime he thrusts into you, thats just like an oddly specific turn on of his.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

definitely masturbates to the thought of you, probably even before you officially get together. i don't think he's a big fan of porn, so Hawks pretty much only gets off using his imagination. has probably sneaked a few photos of you in a low cut shirt or tight shorts to use for... later purposes. the embarrassment and shame he feels about violating your privacy only turns him on more. in addition to this, Hawks has a v complicated relationship with morality and would probably get turned on by nefarious or risky acts like public sex or something of the like, simply because it would probably ruin his public image.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

experienced in hookups, but not in intimacy, if that makes sense. like sure, Hawks has slept with people, but hasn't had many long term or romantic partners. all this to say, he's experienced with fucking, but not so much with truly making love. either way, he's talented in getting you off, but probably not talented with specific kinks or holding eye contact n stuff- at least at first.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

basic missionary, mating press, or 69ing. he likes seeing your face and reactions, especially if you're in a serious relationship. however, he's also a certified munch and loves giving head so he drabbles in that as well.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

honestly it depends on his mood. sometimes i can see Hawks being very silly and taking it slow, probably when you're more comfortable in the relationship or are feeling especially tired or emotional. however when he's stressed or irritated he's more serious and less prone to joking around. also depends on how you respond, and if his silliness lightens the mood and makes you more comfortable, then he's damn well trying his hardest to please you.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

amazing at manscaping. pubes are a little darker than the rest of his hair, probably curl too. he trims but doesn't shave completely, and has a really nice happy trail. probably spends a lot of time on self care,, in addition to this, he probably wouldn't care on whether or not his partner shaves, but would probably have a preference for more hair rather than none.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

at first Hawks isn't great with intimacy but gets better as the relationship progresses. at the start he's mildly awkward and moreso pursuing pleasure than emotional connections, but once he's sure that the relationship is serious than he himself is a lot more romantic. if he truly cares for you than you best believe he's going all out- from rose petals to candlelight, he wants you to know that he cares. i also think he'd be very sweet and considerate during the deed, like even at the start of a relationship he will always make sure he isn't hurting you or making you feel uncomfortable in any way.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

does it a lot. he has a pretty high libido, and he can't be around you all the time, and while he wishes that he could sleep with you whenever he's feeling horny it can't be helped that some nights are spent with him fucking into his fist instead. like ive said before, he's not a big fan of porn and would prefer to jack off to you or photos of you. HUUGEEE on phone sex and mutual masturbation, especially when he's away on hero business, and its so hot to hear him rasping and whimpering into the speaker about how much he misses you and wishes you were there.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

starting off strong, definitely marking. loves to mark you and be marked himself. wears hickeys with pride. also big on overstim, both giving and receiving. its just super hot to him to watch you squirm, but also likes to be fucked dumb as well. mild corruption kink, especially if you're super inexperienced, because most of the time he's probably the more experienced person in any sexual relationship. likes flustering you a lot. some more include praise, especially receiving, and also sensory play, both giving and receiving

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

prefers the bedroom, but would also not mind public sex or perhaps in a cramped space. likes the risk, but it's so inconvenient, especially with his wings. also a fan of bath or hot tub sex

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

lots of things. gets really horny around spring, again, bird instincts, but most of the time it's just you simply existing that gets him going. really likes seeing you in revealing clothes, especially when you're intentionally trying to tease him. big fan of thigh highs or garters, and crop tops that show your stomach. also when you touch his wings or feathers. that is probably the quickest way to turn him on.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i'd say hawks is pretty experimental, but wouldn't want to do anything that he thinks would hurt you too much or make you uncomfortable. i also think he'd be ehh in terms of wax play or fire play for obvious reasons unless you really truly wanted to try it out, but other than that i think he's down for anything you would like to try. i also think he'd be against blindfolding himself or covering his eyes in general, as it reminds him of how the commission used to train him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giver giver giver. as much as he loves receiving, Hawks fucking LOVES to give head, he's absolutely a certified munch and whether or not you have a pussy or dick he's sucking and slurping like its his last meal. loves how you taste, loves when you grind your hips against his face and chin, loves when you cum in his mouth, loves when your thighs squeeze his head. also fucking loves facesitting. please just let him drown between your thighs...

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

honestly his pace varies. when Hawks is pissed off he tends to be a lot rougher and filthier, but he also has a really soft n gentle side too. it depends a lot on how he's feeling and how you're feeling in the moment. i do think he has a lot of stress, especially prewar!Hawks, and so that definitely leads to a lot of rough sex. i also think he likes savoring the moment though, and obviously he loves you a lot so he wouldn't want to hurt you. sure, people say he goes too fast for his own good, but he's more than willing to slow down for you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

loves them. any and every chance he gets, Hawks is more than willing to fuck you. overall the mixture of both risk and passion is very appealing to him, and since he's often super busy, he appreciates any sex you can hve that fits your respective schedules. fifteen minutes before an important meeting? sure, he's got time to spare- he'll sit you on his desk and eat you out/suck you off until your seeing stars with a few minutes to spare.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

definitely big on risk, and is willing to try anything you want to try. however, a lot of his preferences depend on you rather than himself, and so he's also fine with being pretty vanilla in the bedroom as well. really likes teasing you in public or inconvenient places tho,,, half the hero community has caught you both making out at least once or twice

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

out of all the Bnha men he probably has the highest stamina. not only can he last a while, but he doesn't take long to recover after an orgasm. and, in addition to this, more often than not he's focused much more on his partners pleasure than his own so i really see him being determined to make you cum at least three times, if not more. overall he's got great stamina and he's very focused on your pleasure soo,,, A+ partner

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

probably never really thought about using toys on himself, at least until he started sleeping with you. you introduce him to a bullet vibrator and he cums so many times he's shaking n whimpering. when it comes to you, he loves using toys on you to tease you, but prefers to actually get you off using his own body. doesn't mean he won't use them, but prefers to make you cum himself. has a trusty pair of handcuffs that he uses a lot though

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

ohhh all the time. teases you both in public and in private, sometimes when he's not even horny and just for his own enjoyment. teases you a lot in the bedroom as well, and just. loves seeing you squirm. teases you a lot with his feathers too- like you'll be taking a casual stroll when all of a sudden a slim red feather is sliding under your shirt to rest against your chest,,,, how odd! i also think Hawks would tease you a lot unintentionally? like he's rubbing your thigh while he's driving or pulling you into a kiss by the neck and then wondering why you get so hot n bothered. his hand placement is peak, he's incredibly flirtatious even when he doesn't mean to be, and overall he's just. a huge tease. he's a total hypocrite though because Hawks gets soo pouty when you tease him. he's like miraculously surprisingly easy to fluster simply because he's not used to being the one on the receiving end.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

when he's more dominant i don't think he's as vocal as when he's submissive. when he's domming i think you'll hear a lot of groans and dirty talk but overall he's relatively quiet, however when he's subbing he moans and whimpers a lot. i also think he talks a lot during sex, like he babbles about how hot you are and how good he feels even when he's more dominant

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

his wings/feathers + back are very sensitive and a huge erogenous zone ! they're also very expressive and if you watch his wings a lot, it's easy to tell when he's worked up or horny simply because of little tells he has. however they can also be ticklish sometimes, so occasionally during sex he gets a little giggly because the its both pleasurable but also. hes ticklish.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

he's big, and very pretty. i'd say at least 7 inches, maybe 7.5 when he's hard. he's got a few prominent veins on the underside of his cock, and a very nice happy trail too. his tip is also a very nice shade of pinky brown.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

his sex drive is pretty high, not insanely so but to the point where he tries to sleep with you at least once a week, but if you're sex drive is very low he's fine with compromising. if you're sex drive is higher than his though? you're absolutely blessed because he's more than willing to fuck wherever and whenever. a personal hc of mine is that Hawks is like especially horny during the spring... bird mating season.... so be prepared. i just think its kinda funny

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

honestly it depends on how quickly you fall asleep. if you want to clean up before going to sleep and get some aftercare done, then sure he'll stay up, but if you want to stay in bed and cuddle and leave the mess till the morning... well he's out like a light.

i love these type of hcs SO much, i have another set for shigaraki and touya on the way.... anywyss ! hope u enjoyed!! PLS SEND IN BNHA REQS RAHH

[unearthlycanine]

✨ New Fic Drop ✨

Home Run

Keigo begged for a night out—just one evening away from the baby.

He said he missed you.

He didn’t mention the remote-controlled vibrator he packed to prove it.

Featuring:

⚾ one dangerously smug pro baseball player

💄 one beautifully dressed wife

🎮 one tiny remote

🚪 and the filthiest bathroom break in pro sports history

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67368409

[polkaflexink]

Would love to see the BeReals in mha

[rosesforshoto]

marked in your heart | masterlist

todoroki shouto x reader 𖥧 soulmate au

length: 65k (completed) 𖥧 ao3 link

Some believe that soulmates are destined partners, someone to nurture—to love. Others treat them as an unwanted anchor, a reminder that one can never escape fate.  So where did that leave you? As someone who avoids their soulmate altogether? As someone who fears their soulmate without having even met them? A chance saving from the hot-n-cold hero whose name has followed you since birth. Ideas of peace are challenged, past regrets resurface, and you learn that soulmates may tether you in ways more than a mere mark on your skin.

soulmate mark 𖥧 75% of the population is born with their soulmate’s name inscribed on their skin. The inscription’s hue changes upon first skin-to-skin contact with your soulmate. 

content 𖥧 fem pronouns/afab reader, soulmate marks, pro-heroes, villains, grief, angst, hurt/comfort, avoidance, fluff, pining, yearning, shouto’s kinda a flirt (or tries to be), shouto is mildly good at feelings, noodles, flowers, hospitals, books, reader is a bookstore owner, smut (optional to read)

warnings 𖥧 blood and injury, canon-typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of suicide (reader’s mother), mentions of mental illness, grief, avoidance, overthinking/spiraling thoughts

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ chapters

1 ─ saving and soba

2 ─ heroes that live

3 ─ oasis of comfort

4 ─ upon a full moon

5 ─ time never stopped, until you came

6 ─ omniscience

7 ─ wherever you are

•ू♡ smut scene ─ takes place in ch7, optional to read

˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ ending author's notes

before you read: i'm aware that this shouto may not be the most nonchalant boy that we know and love. but i hope you come to like this version of yearning, desperate shouto as much as i do :) happy reading!

july 2025 ─ october 2025

header for chapters under the cut

[katsukissyou]

.ೀ Glimpse of us

.𖥔sypnosis: Katsuki meets his newborn son for the first time and sees the glimpse of both himself and his wife.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

.

.

You were heavily pregnant, almost nine months along. It was only the two of you living in the Katsuki's penthouse. He had insisted on staying home with you, but because they were on the lookout for a highly wanted criminal, he was heavily requested to patrol in the area. He was supposed to be allowed some time off for you—he damn well deserved it—but his paperwork was already stacked into mountains, missions kept piling up, and he’d already missed half the meetings scheduled for him.

You insisted, too, telling him you could handle it. You kissed his cheek with that bright smile he could never ever refuse. How could he possibly say no when you looked so damn beautiful carrying his child?

Now he was patrolling the district, his sidekicks scattered throughout the area. His earpiece crackled to life as his sharp red eyes scanned the darkened streets, tiny pops of heat sparking in his palms out of instinct.

“Boss, we’ve got movement near the east alley—possible sighting of the target. Orders?”

Katsuki’s jaw tightened. He should be home. With you. Where you were warm and safe and close.

“Tch. Fan out and surround the block. I’m taking point.”

He changed direction immediately, boots heavy against the pavement. His free hand dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone. One glance at the lockscreen—your latest ultrasound photo—and he typed a quick message.

“Hey. Don’t stay up. Heat up the food I made you in the fridge. And drink water. I’ll be back before you wake up.”

He hit send, then paused, fingers hovering for a second before typing again.

“Love you.”

He shoved the phone away just as the earpiece flared again. Right. Villains weren’t going to arrest themselves. But his mind lingered on you—the way you laughed when he grumbled, how you always held your belly when the baby kicked, the way you still managed to make his chest tighten after all this time.

Goddammit. He was wrapping this up fast.

The moment Katsuki hits send on his text, his phone immediately buzzes with your reply. Your message flashes across the screen,

“Love you too, grumpy. ♡ But don’t rush. I’m fine, just binge-watching dumb reality shows and eating pickles with ice cream (don’t judge me). The baby’s kicking like crazy though… feels like they’re training to be the next No. 1 Hero already.”

His lip twitches to a smile, Stupid, adorable—

Before he can type anything back, his earpiece crackles with urgency.

"BOSS, CONTACT! Target’s making a break for the south exit—!"

His grin drops instantly. He moves without thinking, explosions kicking him forward in a burst of heat and force as he growls into the comms,

"I’LL HANDLE IT. YOU LOT CLEAR THE CIVILIANS."

He’s pissed— pissed this job is keeping him away from you, pissed he can’t feel your belly under his palm and the kicks he never shuts up about. So he’s ending this now.

The villain barely has time to turn before Katsuki slams a boot into his chest and crushes him against the wall with a snarl.

“Listen here, you damn waste of oxygen. You’re gonna make this quick, or you’ll be getting veneers by the time I blow your teeth down your fucking throat.”

The villain pales instantly.

Ten minutes later, Katsuki shoves the cuffed criminal toward the cops and immediately turns away. One of them calls after him, "Wait, Dynamight, we need your statem—"

"Fucking email it," he snaps, continuously strutting forward without looking back.

He’s already typing another message to you mid-stride, explosions lighting out of his palm as he shoots himself into the air toward home. "Done. Be there in 5. And for the record—pickles and ice cream is DISGUSTING."

…But he still stops at the convenience store to grab both. Just in case.

The bell above the convenience store door jingled violently as Katsuki shouldered his way in, still in full hero gear, sweat and dirt smudged across his face. The poor cashier nearly dropped their phone at the sight of the No. 15 Pro Hero storming in like a man possessed.

“W-Welcome, Dynamight! C-Can I help you—?” the cashier stammered.

Katsuki ignored them entirely and made a beeline for the freezer section. He yanked it open and scanned the ice cream flavors with narrowed eyes.

“Disgusting… fuckin’ pregnancy cravings…” he muttered under his breath.

He grabbed the weirdest flavor he could find, some unholy matcha-caramel swirl, and then marched toward the snacks aisle. His nose wrinkled as he picked up a jar of pickles, holding it at arm’s length like it personally offended him.

“Bet she’ll want the expensive ones too. Brat’s got expensive taste already,” he grumbled.

He grabbed the priciest jar—organic, artisan, whatever that meant—before stomping to the counter. The cashier flinched when he slammed the items down.

“A-Anything else, sir…?” the cashier asked nervously.

Katsuki paused, scowling deeper. Then, with all the grace of a feral raccoon, he added, “…Gimme those stupid strawberry Pocky sticks too.”

He grabbed them because you’d smiled at them last week. He was weak like that.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The cashier must have been new, judging by the painfully slow, trembling hands ringing up the items just because Dynamight is standing in front of him. Could this take any goddamn longer?

Katsuki drums his fingers on the counter, irritation spiking as the cashier fumbles with the items. He's patient on a good day, and today's sure as hell not one of them. His eyes flicker around, almost feral, like he's itching for something to punch.

Finally, FINALLY, the cashier hands him the bagged items with a shaky "here you go," and Katsuki practically grabs them, the plastic crinkling under his grip. He's halfway to the door when he pauses, his shoulders tensing when his phone buzzes.

It was a call— from an unknown number.

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed. He considered ignoring it, but something in his gut or maybe that stupid dad instinct already kicking in made him swipe to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear, voice rough. “The hell do you want?”

“Hello? Is this Bakugo Katsuki?” an unfamiliar female voice asked, calm but deliberate.

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrowed. He shifted the groceries to his other arm, his free hand clenching into a fist with restrained annoyance.

“Yeah. And who the hell are you, and how’d you get this number?” he said, voice firm, clipped with just a trace of warning.

“Hello, Mr. Bakugo? I’m calling from Musutafu Hospital. Your wife is in labor and has specifically requested you—”

Katsuki didn’t even let the woman finish.

The plastic bag hit the pavement with a muffled thud, pickles and ice cream completely forgotten as Katsuki launched skyward in a deafening explosion of panic-fueled momentum. The wind tore past him, howling in his ears, and his heartbeat roared louder than his own explosions. Every thought, every fiber of his being, narrowed to one single, blinding point.

YOU.

His comms crackled mid-air, his sidekicks’ voices overlapping in frantic confusion when his sudden quirk output spiked high enough to trigger the emergency channel on its own.

“BOSS?! What’s your location?!”

“Dynamight! You just triggered the emergency alert—what’s your status?!”

“W-We still have debrief! Boss, come back! PLEASE!”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“EMERGENCY LEAVE. NOW.” His voice barked into the comms before he shut it off entirely.

The hospital wasn’t far. Three minutes flat if he pushed his quirk to the absolute limit. The city blurred beneath him, buildings and lights smearing as he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His mind raced with questions he didn’t want to think but couldn’t stop.

Were you scared?

Were you in pain?

Were you alone?

Another explosion of quirk energy sent him forward faster. His stomach twisted, guilt gnawing at him. He should’ve been there already He should never have insisted on that damn patrol today.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

By the time he landed in front of Musutafu Hospital, smoke curling around him from residual explosions, he was practically vibrating from adrenaline, fear, and fury all at once. Staff scrambled out of his way as he stormed through the doors, barely registering their startled faces. The receptionist stuttered a greeting he didn’t even bother to acknowledge.

Katsuki’s eyes darted frantically around the room, scanning, searching, needing to see you. He stormed to the desk, voice sharp, strained with worry.

“WHERE IS SHE?!”

The nurse visibly flinched at his tone, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

“W-Who are you looking for, sir?” she stammered.

Katsuki’s eye twitched, sparks flickering faintly across his palm. His jaw clenched, teeth grinding as he barked, “MY WIFE! SHE’S IN LABOR. WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?!”

Another nurse somewhere gasped audibly, stepping forward quickly, hands slightly raised.

“Oh! Right! Ms. Bakugo—she’s in Delivery Room 3! Third floor, turn left—!”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. He bolted for the stairs, snarling under his breath, skipping the elevators and taking the steps three at a time. The walls rattled as he slammed through the stairwell door onto the third floor.

He skidded around the corner at the top of the stairs, nearly colliding with a doctor rushing out, who instinctively raised his hands.

“Ah! Dynamight—!” the doctor exclaimed, voice sharp with surprise.

Katsuki barely registered him, red eyes wild and locked on the room number as he shoves his way, roaring.

“SHE BETTER BE FUCKING ALIVE IN THERE!”

The door burst open.

And there you were. Sweaty, exhausted, but smiling, cradling the tiny bundle against your chest. Even in the chaos, you looked so beautiful.

“Took you long enough, hero…” you said weakly, laughter trembling in your voice.

Katsuki’s legs nearly give out.

You smile weakly at your stiffened husband and nod, a gentle gesture for him to step closer. He hesitates, pulled back by the whirlwind in his head, until his eyes land on the bundle in your arms. His chest tightens.

is that…?

Katsuki’s heart clenches at the sight. His feet move forward almost on autopilot, his breath hitching as he takes in every detail. The way your hair sticks damply to your forehead, the faint bags under your eyes, the subtle tremors still running through your arms.

But it’s the small bundle cradled against your chest that steals all of his attention. His gaze locks onto the wrinkled, swaddled figure— a baby. His baby.

A tiny cry escapes the baby’s lips, and you lift the bundle slightly so he can see. Katsuki’s breath catches. The little thing is a mix of both of you.

Soft tufts of blond hair peek from beneath the hospital blanket, lighter than his own, almost golden, with faint hints of your natural color at the roots. The baby’s scrunched-up face is still flushed from crying, but as he calms, Katsuki sees it clearly— a glimpse of him and a glimpse of you. A glimpse of both of you.

Your delicate nose, his stubborn brow, your well shaped lips all mingling perfectly. He feels his chest tighten at the thought, this little human is both of you.

When the baby’s eyes blink open, drowsy and confused, the red hue in them immediately draws Katsuki in. Red—like his —but softened, warmer, with just a touch of you.

You chuckle softly, seeing his wide-eyed stare. “Here, take him,” you murmur, propelling the baby gently forward.

The baby wriggles in your arms, letting out another small, indignant cry, and Katsuki’s breath catches again. He reaches out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid that the slightest wrong move could break this tiny life in his hands.

You laugh softly, looking at him. “C’mon, tough guy. You’ve fought gods. You can hold your son.”

That does it.

Katsuki scoops the baby into his arms with surprising gentleness, his calloused fingers cradling the tiny head with a reverence he’s never shown anything in his life. The baby squeaks, tiny fists flailing for a moment— then settles against his chest as if he belongs there.

For the first time in his life, Katsuki Bakugo is speechless.

His throat works. He swallows hard, and then his eyes blur, the room fading into white noise as he gazes down at the newborn in his arms— his son. His knees feel weak, like they might give out, but he steadies himself on the edge of the bed.

Then he shifts, glancing up at you, tears pricking at his eyes. His other hand reaches out to cup your face, tracing the dark circles under your eyes, the exhaustion etched into every line.

“You did good. You did… damn good. Look at him. He’s… perfect,” he murmurs, voice tight,  barely above a whisper.

You smile, shakily reaching up to cup his hand and leaning into it. “And he’s ours. By the way… did I ever tell you that you look just like your father when you do that?”

His breath hitches, and his fingers tighten slightly around the baby, subtle tremors in his arms betraying how much he’s holding himself together. For a moment, he looks younger, like the brash, spiky-haired kid you fell for years ago. A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips, but his voice carries something raw and honest.

“Tch. Don’t fucking compare me to the old man,” he grumbles, but his thumb traces your cheek anyway, almost tenderly. His other arm tightens around the baby—his son —his family—like he’s afraid this moment might disappear if he lets go.

The baby lets out a tiny yawn, nose scrunching in a way that’s so undeniably you. Katsuki feels his chest crack wide open.

“…Little shit’s already got your attitude,” he mutters under his breath. He doesn’t even try to hide the pride in his voice

You laugh at this, and as you look at the baby, his brain sparks— he needs to take a photograph. Of you, of him, both of you.

Later, when he hand the sleeping child into your arms, he takes out his phone.

Katsuki has always been a man of precision, which is why he’s known as a perfectionist—good at almost everything. But now, his shaking fingers fumble with the phone, his focus split between the screen and the sight of you—tired, beautiful, holding the damn-near most important thing in the entire universe in your arms as he tries to capture the perfect moment.

“Smile, dumbass. This is a special moment,” he growls, already snapping a couple of photos, voice rough.

You glance up, noticing the camera. And of course, as a former hero, when there’s a camera there’s always a new cover on the article— but this time it’s different. You lift the baby just a bit to make sure his face is visible in the shot, and then you smile— a tired, genuine, warm smile showing your pearly whites.

Flash.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Some time later, as you drift off to sleep, Katsuki’s eyes linger on the picture he took. His lips twitch into a small, unconscious smile.

The photo stares back at him— you, radiant despite exhaustion, cradling the baby as if he were your entire world, and their son blinking sleepily at the camera, tiny fists curled. Katsuki’s thumb lingers on the screen for a moment, tracing the edges of the image before finally confirming it as his lockscreen.

He exhales through his nose and leans back in the chair beside your hospital bed. His gaze flickers between you, who's peacefully asleep, and the baby dozing quietly in the bassinet. The room is calm, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft, even breaths of his family, his heart, right here in the room with him.

“…Damn extras better not bother us for a while,” he mutters under his breath, the rare softness in his voice betraying the pride and relief he feels.

He allows himself one last glance at the photo— at you —before closing his eyes, content in a way he never imagined possible.

Meanwhile, his phone lights up at the top of the screen—dozens of notifications flooding in.

Friends. Classmates. Coworkers. All reacting to the witness posts blowing up on HeroNet about Dynamight’s explosive arrival at the hospital for his wife in labor.

But one notification, containing a full paragraph you can practically hear, immediately stands out.

Mitsuki Bakugo.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU BETTER ANSWER YOUR MOTHER. YOU MEAN TO TELL ME MY GRANDSON IS BEING BORN AND I’M FINDING OUT FROM HERO NETWORK ALERTS?! I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THIS— GET YOUR ASS ON THE PHONE BEFORE I COME DOWN THERE AND THROW YOU OUT THE HOSPITAL WINDOW!”

.𖥔a/n: FATHER KATSUKI STRIKES AGAIN! Finally, I managed to post this after dealing with countless annoying Tumblr bugs. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠) ANYWAY—this fic was inspired by a trend on TikTok where couples post videos of themselves with their babies along with this song, which immediately melted my heart when I imagined Katsuki in it. I just had to write this right away lol. Anyway, that’s all for now! Stay tuned for more rambles!<3

[bee2124]

How I look after reading angst as if it was me personally in that situation

[bfbkg]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ luna @gfbkg, twenty3, she/her ⊹₊ ⋆

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this blog is 18+ and i do not take requests

[strawberry-nugget]

To fill the empty spaces | 2

Katsuki has been a single father for five years. After his wife died shorty after giving birth to their son, he's not sure he's ever going to find happiness in mundane things anymore. Cue you, the new, young teacher at his son's kindergarden, who seems to be taking the best care of his little guy.

-Or alternatively, karma is a quirkless bitch that will be biting Katsuki in the ass for his entire life, whether it's in him having a quirkless son, or falling for you, a younger woman, his son's teacher, who lost her quirk as a child before the Overhaul arc.

Tags/CW: MDNI, Dilf!Bakugo, single dad!Bakugo, teacher!reader, first unnoficial date, slowburn, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, eventual smut, ten year old age gap, VERY awkward Bakugo in this one (save him),

Part 1

The bar isn’t exactly what you expected.

It’s quieter, tucked into a side street you’d only ever passed on the way home from grocery runs. No neon signs or blaring music. Just a low amber glow through the windows, the muffled sound of ice clinking in glasses, and a chalkboard menu out front where someone had doodled Dynamight’s hero name with three hearts next to it.

With the way his mouth twitches at the sight of it, you’re almost certain Kirishima or any friend of his did it.

“Don’t read it,” Dynamight mutters beside you, tugging the door open with too much force for how relaxed the place is. “It’s not important.”

You smile without answering, pulling your coat tighter across your chest before following him inside.

The warmth hits you first. Then the smell—wood polish, whiskey, and something fried that makes your stomach remember you didn’t eat dinner. Inside, a few heads turn. Some familiar pro hero faces, some not. You catch the eye of a woman who nods politely—Hero: Ryukyu, you think—and someone who might’ve been on the cover of a fashion magazine once.

You feel out of place. But then again, you usually do. You’re a quirkless civilian in a bar that regulars Pro Heroes.

“Over here!” Kirishima waves you down like he hadn’t just seen you walk in behind Bakugo. His hair is tied half-up, red and chaotic like a flame behind him. He looks like he’s already had a beer, cheeks flushed. “You made it! And you’re not late!”

“I’m never late,” you mutter, mostly to yourself, brushing off your coat and awkwardly folding it over your arm. 

You proved it today, when you showed up on time for Kiko’s birthday.

Bakugo’s hand brushes your back, accidentally as he passes you, a brief, accidental touch that still sends a signal to your brain to keep breathing.

“Here,” he says, sliding into the booth and gesturing at the seat beside him like it’s a command. You hesitate—then Kirishima scoots over and pats the other side. Trapped. Of course. You slip in beside Bakugo, careful not to let your thigh brush his under the table.

“Do you drink?” Kirishima asks you, grinning, completely unaware of the way you’re already trying to regulate your breathing. “Or are we starting slow tonight?”

“I… do,” you say, unsure why that sounds like a confession. “But maybe something small.”

He turns toward the bartender with the confidence of someone who’s ordered for entire battalions. “One small drink for the lady. Something fruity and suspiciously sweet!”

Bakugo scoffs. “Just get her what she asks for, shitty hair.”

You laugh. Quietly. Kirishima just grins again, unbothered. “You nervous?” he asks, leaning toward you, elbow on the table. “You look nervous. Don’t be. Everyone here’s chill. Off-duty hero gatherings are basically just a bunch of old high school kids with back problems and trauma bonding over fries and drinks”

“Wow,” you say, amused. “That’s very comforting.”

“Glad to help,” he replies, flashing a thumbs up.

The drink arrives— a cocktail of peach and mint, sweet enough to feel like candy—and you wrap both hands around it, trying not to let the glass tremble in your hold.

You’re sitting beside Dynamight. Bakugo Katsuki. One of the top pro heroes in the country. He’s wearing a dark sweater with the sleeves pushed up, scars on display, an expensive watch so scratched you wonder if he punches time itself. And he smells like cedarwood and expensive soap. You glance at him. He’s watching the door.

“You okay?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Bakugo blinks, then turns his head slightly toward you. “Yeah.”

Just that. But the way he says it—like the answer’s real—makes your chest ache a little.

He leans back after a moment, stretching one arm along the back of the booth. It doesn’t quite touch you, but it frames you in his space. Like you’re sitting under something that could, at any second, fold around you completely.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he says suddenly, eyes still fixed on something ahead of him. “Too tired. Kiko passed out fast. Then Kirishima wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”

“I’m glad you did,” you say quietly, without thinking. You look down at your drink immediately after, flustered. “I mean—he’s persuasive.”

Bakugo grunts.

You don’t talk for a bit. The others—Kirishima and the bunch that joins you quietly, Sero, Mina, Denk as they introduce themselves to you—are loud. Someone’s recounting a rescue gone hilariously wrong. You laugh along with them. Sometimes too late. But you think they don’t mind.

Eventually, Kirishima leans in again, this time to offer you a fry. “You know,” he says, loud enough for Bakugo to hear, “I think this might be the first time I’ve seen Bakugo not threaten a bartender in fifteen whole minutes. That’s got to be some kind of record.”

“I don’t threaten,” Bakugo growls, not even looking up.

“Right, right. You politely suggest. With eye contact that causes involuntary urination.”

You choke on your drink.

Bakugo glances at you, annoyed and a little proud. “You think this is funny?”

You nod, still coughing. “Very.”

His lips twitch.

And just like that, the night softens.

The booth grows warmer. The stories get longer. Kirishima sings along to the bar’s playlist—badly. You let yourself have a second drink, something stronger this time, and feel your muscles unclench inch by inch.

Eventually, you realize you’re leaning against the booth just slightly—close enough to feel the heat of Bakugo’s shoulder against yours.

He doesn’t pull away. And totally infatuated by the fact that you are spending time with your favorite hero, neither do you.

You don’t realize how late it’s gotten until Mina announces it—loudly, dramatically, with her arm slung over Denki like she’s just won a medal.

“Last call for the responsible adults who have work in the morning!”

Groans. Laughter. Kirishima insists he’s “basically nocturnal.” Bakugo tells him he’s “basically stupid.”

The group starts peeling off in pairs and trios, and you slip out of the booth last, pulling your coat from the back of the seat. Bakugo’s already on his feet, hands in his pockets, watching you like he’s waiting to see if you can put it on yourself without getting stuck.

You manage. Mostly.

Outside, the cold hits you instantly—crisp and sharper than you prepared for. Your breath fogs on the exhale, and you tug your coat a little tighter.

Bakugo steps out behind you, letting the door swing shut with his heel. The sudden quiet of the street makes the warmth of the bar feel miles away. You can hear the faint hum of traffic somewhere far off. A soft, cool wind rolls through, making you shiver.

You try to pretend you didn’t.

Bakugo does not pretend.

“Tch.” He glances at you, annoyed in that way that isn’t really anger—more like something tugging at him from the inside. He reaches out and, for half a second, pinches the edge of your collar between two fingers, pulling it higher along your neck. Barely a touch. Barely anything.

But your pulse jumps anyway.

“You didn’t dress for shit,” he mutters.

You blink. “I didn’t know we’d be outside.”

“You knew there was weather.”

You laugh under your breath, and his eyes flick down to your mouth like he wasn’t expecting the sound. He looks away immediately—sharp, defensive.

“We’re heading the same direction?” he asks, voice gruff.

You nod, falling into step with him. The walk is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Your hands are tucked into your coat pockets; his are shoved deep into his pants pockets like he’s daring the cold to try him.

At the corner where your routes split, you stop. He stops too, boots scuffing lightly against the pavement.

“This is me,” you say. Your voice puffs out in a small cloud.

“Yeah.”

He’s staring at you. Not intense, not burning—just that unreadable Bakugo brand of focused, like he’s memorizing something without realizing he’s doing it.

“You get home safe,” he says.

“I will.”

“Good.”

A beat passes. He looks like he wants to say something else, then aborts the mission halfway, jaw tight.

You’re the one who speaks first. “Thanks for tonight.”

He scoffs, but there’s something softer underneath. “You’re the one who came out.”

“Still. It was… nice.”

His ears go pink. Immediately, aggressively, he looks away.

“Whatever.”

You smile, a warm little thing that curls under your ribs. “Goodnight, mister Bakugo.”

He exhales—long, slow, visible in the cold air. “Night.”

You turn to go. Take three steps.

Then—

“Hey.”

You stop and look back.

Bakugo nods toward your coat again, eyes narrowed like it’s personally offended him. “Make sure you zip that up before you get sick.”

You swallow, trying not to smile too obviously. Dynamight just told you to zip up your coat like he is your mother on a cold Saturday evening when you wore a skimpy dress to go out for drinks with your college friends.

“Okay.”

He grunts. It might be the closest he gets to affection in public.

And then he walks away, hands still in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind—but he glances back once, just once, to make sure you actually zipped it.

You pretend you don’t notice, but deep down you do. And your chest is warm all the way home.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Katsuki replies through the sip of coffee he’s already brought to his mouth "anything"

Kiko tilts his head to the side, lips puckering to the side of his face as he's waiting for his father to pick up a plastic cup for watercolor brushes, put it in the cart he's carrying and then kneel to his level. When he does, Kiko presses his lips together, slapping his palms on Katsuki’s knees just slightly, playfully "can you tell me what quirks are?"

Katsuki’s eyes go wide. Okay? What do you even reply to that? 

For a second he thinks there should be something like a punishment for parents that haven't got the definition of quirks that's posted on the official Wikipedia page memorized. One that's gruesome and brutal, one that should teach them to know and do better. Katsuki would take it. Begrudgingly, sure, but he would. He'd take anything over trying to explain with his own words what quirks are to his quirkless son. Still, his voice is calm, collected. Hidden panic lies within that shaky breath he takes, to buy a moment in which he can think. 

"Ahh, unc Izuku would know better" He breathes out "but basically quirks are enhanced qualities in our bodies. I can produce nitroglycerine and I can also ignite it into explosions. Unc Eijiro can harden his skin. They manif- appear when you're a kid"

Kiko crooks his lips again in thought. Golden eyes stare into Katsuki’s red ones, and the pouty face his father is making is mirrored in his own, slowly, as his lips drag across his cheeks before he tries to speak again

"So what's enhanced?"

"Ah, well, boosted I guess, you know, I could have normal sweat, but it's not- it's more than normal sweat"

"So enhanced means more" Kiko confirms, then falls back into thought. The nod that Katsuki gives him doesn't go unnoticed —there's something more troubled and rough in his son's expression and it makes his stomach churn.

"Hmm, so, then why don't I have it?"

As Katsuki ponders his son's question, he can't help but feel a pang of sadness. How could he explain to Kiko, his only and very precious son, that he was born without a quirk in a world where quirks were everything? 

"Well, Kiko," Katsuki begins, his voice softening as he reaches out to ruffle his son's hair gently, "sometimes quirks just don't show up in certain people. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you, though. You can still be the strongest just the way you are."

Kiko's golden eyes search his father's face, as if trying to decipher the truth behind his words, cocking his head to the side like a puppy, trying his best to process what he had just heard.. And Katsuki— Katsuki holds his breath, waiting for Kiko's response, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Okay, Dad," Kiko finally says with a small smile, blinking into his father’s red eyes, his everlasting innocence and acceptance of things beyond his comprehension melting away Katsuki’s worries for a moment. "I'm still gonna be a hero, though. Just like you."

Katsuki’s heart swells with pride at his son's determination, forgetting his anxiety and that pondering feeling of tightness that boils in the middle of his chest. He can't help but smile back at him, a warmth spreading through his entire body.

"Of course you will, Kiko," he says, voice filled with confidence he's not even sure is real. For Kiko at least, it has to be "You'll be the greatest hero this world has ever seen."

“Greater than you?”

“Ha,” Katsuki laughs. “No one's better than your old man, but you can try.”

“I said I am going to be better than you” Kiko sticks his tongue out to mock his father while closing his eyes. Sometimes, just sometimes, Katsuki can see himself in him. Not as fierce, but definitely as cocky. 

Katsuki swallows another sip of coffee just to keep his hands busy, to keep from grabbing his kid and squeezing him too tight. Kiko is still standing there, hands planted on Katsuki’s knees, chest puffed, brows scrunched like he’s solved world hunger and quirks at the same time.

Katsuki taps a knuckle against his son’s forehead—soft, affectionate, a little rough around the edges. “Oi. Don’t stick your tongue out at me unless you wanna lose it.”

Kiko giggles like he’s heard the threat a million times and has zero fear of it. “You can’t take my tongue. Auntie Mina says that’s illegal.”

Katsuki clicks his tongue. “Tch! Damn extras and their laws.”

Kiko imitates the sound immediately—tch—but his comes out too soft, too airy. He tries again. Tch. Better. He beams up at Katsuki like he’s earned a medal.

“Not bad,” Katsuki grunts, pretending not to melt, “but you gotta put some bite in it. Like you mean it.”

Kiko leans forward, squaring his tiny shoulders, and goes “TCH.”

Too loud. Entirely too loud. An old lady three aisles down in the art supply store flinches. Katsuki covers his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking with the laugh he won’t let out.

“That—” he says, finally wheezing, “was awful, kid”

Kiko gasps like he’s been mortally wounded. “Daaad!”

Katsuki snorts, wiping a hand under his nose as he chuckles. “What? I’m raisin’ you right. My kid’s not gonna go around half–assing shit sounds.”

Kiko opens his mouth to argue, but his face goes serious again. Dead serious. Katsuki knows that look. It’s the same expression he gets right before saying something tiny and innocent that destroys his internal organs.

“Dad,” he says quietly, “if I don’t got a quirk… you don’t think I’m weak, right?”

The question slips out soft. Scared. Almost like Kiko regrets asking the second it leaves his mouth.

Katsuki’s entire chest tightens. Hard. Like something sharp hooked into him from the inside.

He kneels fully this time—both knees on the cold store floor, hands on Kiko’s shoulders. Eye level. Nowhere to look except straight at his son’s big, golden, unbearably honest eyes.

“Listen to me, kid,” he says, voice low, steady, a little rough from holding back too much. “You’re not weak. You’re never weak. I don’t give a shit if you got explosions or zero quirk or ten quirks—you hear me?”

Kiko nods, eyes wide, his bangs sway on his forehead. Katsuki squeezes his shoulders gently.

“You got my stubbornness. That’s already a hazard level on its own.”

That makes Kiko smile. A tiny one. Bright, crooked, brave.

“And,” Katsuki adds, softer now, thumb brushing Kiko’s collarbone without thinking, “you got this way of takin’ hits and poppin’ back up again like it ain’t nothin’. People with quirks can’t even do that half the time. So don’t ever talk like you’re less.”

Kiko stares at him for a long second, like he’s absorbing every word straight into his tiny bones. Then his chest puffs up again.

“I am stubborn like you,” he declares.

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“And I am gonna be a hero.”

“Yeah.” Katsuki’s throat works around something thick. “I know.”

Kiko grins—wide, gap-toothed, sunshine incarnate—and flings his arms around his father’s neck so suddenly Katsuki has to catch himself against the cart. He freezes. Only for a moment. Then his arms come up, circling his son, holding him tight enough that Kiko squeaks.

“Dad?” Kiko mumbles into his sweater. “Can heroes not breathe?”

Katsuki grunts and releases him half an inch. “Don’t be smart with me.”

Kiko laughs into his shoulder.

And for a moment, just a moment, the world feels exactly right—and Katsuki lets himself have it.

“Alright,” he mutters, clearing his throat as he stands, ruffling Kiko’s spiky hair until it sticks up like a baby porcupine. “Grab your damn watercolors. We’re gettin’ outta here before I start cryin’ or somethin’.”

“You cry?” Kiko gasps.

“Not once in my entire life.”

“That’s a lie. You cried when you came back home after sensei called you.”

Katsuki’s jaw drops. “Hah?!”

Kiko giggles, sprinting down the aisle with the victory of someone who knows his dad is already smiling behind him.

Katsuki watches him go, heart still sore and full in equal measure. Yeah. He thinks. Maybe being quirkless isn’t the tragedy the world thinks it is.

Not if the kid’s built like that.

The hunt for watercolours continues through aisles that provide an enormous amount of choices. Kiko likes none.

And then, their conversation about how Kiko needs the exact tubed watercolours his friend Daichi has, is interrupted by a familiar voice from behind them.

It’s you; as disheveled and ‘off work’ as you can look, in a hoodie, sport shorts, socks that reach to your calves and a pair of beige New Balances —he's seen those before somewhere— and you seem to contemplate between a few red shades of acrylic paint. You look focused, debating which one is the shade you need.

And Bakugo… can’t help himself. He stares.

He can't help but wonder, what had you been doing before coming to the supermarket? Have you been to the gym? Do you even go to the gym and if so, which one? Or were you painting at home and ran out of red so you rushed to the store to grab a new bottle? Do you live nearby?

He tries to look back at the shelf in front of him, scan for the last items on the school list you sent the parents last week. But that feeling—the same uneasy, peculiar flutter that’s been showing up more and more lately—drops into his chest again. It’s annoying. Distracting. He’d take a villain attack over whatever the hell this is.

He wishes Kirishima were here. Stupid, loud Kirishima, who would’ve screamed your name across the entire paint section without hesitation. You would’ve looked over, startled, then smiled—bright and friendly, maybe a little too friendly.

Too friendly because Bakugo doesn’t like this awkward friendliness he’s stuck with. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, or his face, or his entire body when you’re around.

But Kirishima’s not here.

Kiko is.

And the thing about Kiko is that he spends way too much time with Kirishima.

So when Kiko spots you, he figures you out instantly. He inhales dramatically—Bakugo doesn’t even have time to stop him—and yells your name loud enough to echo through the aisles. People turn. Stare. But no one is rude about it. It’s a good neighborhood. A kind one. A neighbourhood that won’t pry at Dynamight’s private life.

And you? You don’t just smile politely.

You don’t nod distantly like most teachers would. You brighten entirely.

You practically beam, eyes softening as you recognize Kiko, and you move toward him with this effortless warmth that turns Bakugo’s stomach over on itself, an entire luna park ride.

Normally most teachers would coldly glaze at students off work and mutter a greeting, or at best, smile kindly and ask how they're doing. And you're nothing like that. You're young and you're sweet and you seem to love each child in your class like that.

Why is it so hard for Bakugo to accept that someone can love his child without pitying him for being quiet and quirkless? Why does he have to ponder over that like he’s deranged? Why does he have to dissect that idea like it’s a trap? What kind of father thinks like this?

His breath catches as you get closer, like time has woven into something slow, five ticks of the clock instead of one.

Kiko has left his side by the time reality settles again and that alone is a red flag, a tiny bell in the back of his head that sings loud enough to ‘remember to teach Kiko to never run off like that.’

You meet Kiko halfway nonetheless, bending a little to catch him, and the two of you collide in this ridiculous, wholesome burst of energy that makes your laugh spill out—bright and unfiltered.

“Hi!” you say once, twice, three times, rapid-fire, like greeting him is something your body does before your mind catches up. It’s stupidly cute. Bakugo hates that he notices.

He lights up before he can stop himself—just a flicker, just for a second—at the tenderness in your voice.

Kiko is already holding your hand, tugging you along, and you’re giggling—actual, genuine giggling—as he pulls you toward the cart, as he babbles about absolutely nothing—something about watercolours, Daichi, and how none of the sets here are good enough. You listen like it’s important. Like he’s important.

Bakugo swallows down a sudden thickness in his throat.

You’re giggling by the time Kiko pulls you fully into Bakugo’s aisle, your hand still in his, your cheeks a little flushed from the surprise reunion. When your eyes finally lift to Bakugo—really look at him—your smile softens even more.

“Hi,” you say again, quieter this time. Warm. Familiar. Like the other night wasn’t still buzzing in the back of his skull.

His chest does something traitorous and fuzzy overall.

He nods. That’s all he manages. Just a nod. At least it’s not the weird stiff wave he’s done before.

“You’re out late,” you add lightly, glancing at the half-empty cart and the crumpled list in his hand. “School supply emergency?”

He grunts. It’s meant to be a casual confirmation, but it comes out closer to ‘I forgot how to socialize, help.’

There was a short time where socialising was easy. Long before Kiko. When his wife was always next to him. 

Looking at him now, you wouldn’t know.

You laugh under your breath, the sound small and private. “Let me guess… Daichi’s watercolour set?”

Kiko gasps dramatically, as though you’ve just revealed a dark secret. “YES! He has a special one.”

“And nothing else will do?” you ask, playing along.

Kiko shakes his head so hard his hair flops.

You make a thoughtful face, tapping your chin. “I might know where they keep the individual tubes… the good ones.”

Bakugo raises a brow before he can stop himself. “They’ve got good ones?”

You grin. “Only if you know where to look.”

Of course you do. Of course you’d know this stupid store like the back of your hand.

Kiko beams and squeezes your fingers, and you squeeze back, gentle, easy.

Something tugs in Bakugo’s chest again—annoying, familiar, warm in a way he’s not used to anymore.

Would his wife hate him, if she was alive, if they were simply divorced and not parted by death, for having a crush on a younger woman?

He wishes a divorce was the case of his lack of communication skills and not grief he still doesn’t know what to do with.

He wishes his wife was alive.

He wishes he didn’t care that you’re holding his kid’s hand. And he wishes it didn’t make him feel something.

But he does. And it does.

Is it maybe too early to admit he likes you? At least to himself, in hopes to convince that nasty part of his brain that pushes him not to trust anyone or, desperate to put out the fire of guilt in his stomach that still thinks about his late wife.

An admission like that is hard, though, when he’s convinced himself everything he touches with love falls apart —no one knows how much he blames himself for Kiko’s quirklessness— and it’s even harder when he’s promised himself he won’t fall for the tricks of his faulty heart.

“C’mon,” you say, snapping him out of his thoughts, gesturing with your chin toward the far end of the aisle, where the nicer sets are hidden behind the cheap ones. “I’ll show you.”

Bakugo hesitates—half a second—but Kiko is already dragging you forward, and he follows because what else is he gonna do? Let his kid wander off again? Let you walk ahead without him?

Not happening.

He keeps pace behind the both of you, watching the way you talk to Kiko, how you lean down to hear him better, how you laugh at things other adults would brush off. It’s… comfortable. Too comfortable.

And he hates how much he doesn’t hate it.

Kiko never had a mom. Now he’s holding your hand like it’s natural.

Maybe Kirishima was right. Looking at you and his son, Bakugo thinks he could try to date for once. Just a little. 

And it’s a plus that Kiko is graduating Kindergarten this year. Dynamight, wouldn't know what to do with himself if it got out that he’s dating his son’s teacher.

Katsuki Bakugo, however, is freaking out with the idea of asking you out to begin with. Maybe he should reconsider. Maybe you like men your age, men who aren’t widowed with a kid to take care of, that cling onto what ifs and experience a concerning amount of heart arrhythmia. Men who are not pro heroes with minimal time to spare.

Whatever— he will man up and do it. He has to! And in the case you reject him, it’s fine. He’ll understand.

He doesn’t hold grudges anymore.

Bakugo steps forward, catching Kiko just as he reaches for your hand. He tugs him gently back, crouching slightly so his red eyes are level with his son’s golden ones.

“Hold up, Kiko,” he says softly, but there’s that familiar weight to his voice that brooks no argument. “Stay close, alright?”

Kiko looks up at him, golden eyes wide with a whine to them, but still obedient. 

“Pick anything you want and I’ll buy them all for you, deal?”

“Deal!”

Bakugo exhales in relief, glancing at you. You’ve stopped a few feet away, paintbrushes in hand, and you’re watching him with that soft, curious tilt to your head that makes his chest tighten in ways he can’t name.

Dammit, his head is ringing.

Okay Katsuki, breathe in through the nose. Breathe out through the mouth. You got this.

He clears his throat, almost aggressively, and steps closer, towering over you in sculpted muscle and his not-scary-but-still-very-scary frown, lowering his voice. 

“Hey… uh…” He scratches the back of his neck, his eyebrow twitching, pretending it’s casual, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Can we… step over here for a sec?”

You laugh subtly at the space he’s pointing with the tip of his finger. It’s two steps away from Kiko. Literally.

You follow, naturally—one, two—almost smiling, as if this is just another small, everyday moment between acquaintances. But the way he watches you, the way his jaw tightens, says otherwise.

Once you’re out of earshot of Kiko and the hum of the store, he leans against the shelf, crossing his arms.

“Look… I, uh… I wanted to talk to you about Kiko. School stuff, schedules, projects… the usual parent-teacher things.”

You nod, polite, but your eyes are soft, and you tilt your head as if encouraging him to continue.

Bakugo swallows, running a hand through his hair as he scrunches his face. “Thing is… I’d rather… I dunno… see you… like, outside school hours. Just you and me. So I can… talk without, uh, Kiko around.”

You blink, slightly caught off guard, then smile faintly. “Oh… okay.”

He notices the way your smile tilts—gentle, maybe amused, suddenly a little too shy—but it sends a pang through his chest. He shifts, trying to sound practical, like this isn’t him fumbling over his words, like he isn’t thinking about how good it feels to just look at you without classroom walls between you. 

“It’s… just… school stuff,” he mutters, though the heat rising to his cheeks betrays him. His head is screaming everlong.

Fuck, Fuck Katsuki, say something right for once. School stuff? Seriously?

Your eyes soften impossibly, and the pause stretches long enough that Bakugo wants to curse at himself out loud. He clears his throat again, harsher this time, trying to wrest control of his thoughts. “Anyway… let me know when you’re free. Maybe we… I dunno… grab a coffee or whatever.”

You tilt your head further, playful but warm. “I think I can make that work, mister Bakugo.”

“Katsu—” oh no fuck it’s too early for that, if he hits you with first name basis right now you’ll be onto him.

Wait, if this is him supposedly asking you on a date, which he is completely failing at, wouldn’t it help if you were into him? Whatever, man, what. ever.

“Bakugo. Just Bakugo,” he announces.

Bakugo notices the subtle way your smile lingers, and his chest tightens in a way he refuses to name. He straightens abruptly, clears his throat again, and gestures back toward Kiko. “Alright. Let’s get the rest of the stuff.”

As Kiko runs back to the shelves, paintbrushes clutched in his small hands, Bakugo’s eyes meet yours just for a moment—a quick, silent acknowledgment. It’s only a second, but it’s loaded. A small, jagged spark of something unspoken lingers between you, and he can’t stop thinking about it on the ride home.

Your first “date” isn’t technically a date. It’s more like—well, as you call it—parent-teacher counseling for what to expect in first grade, especially when the parent in question is a single dad who happens to be a pro hero. The number one hero of Japan, actually. 

The very same Dynamight you’d watch video compilations of.

However, Bakugo insisted. He insisted that it was necessary. 

And here you are, standing awkwardly in the corner of the small café he picked—nothing fancy, just the kind of place where the walls are lined with mismatched books and the smell of filtered coffee hangs like a warm blanket—after fiddling for a ridiculous amount of time, with a flyaway control stick you had just bought at a conbini, running it over the top of your hair as if that somehow would make you look more composed.

Bakugo —scratch that! internal scream, Dynamight—sits across from you, elbows on the table, hands steepled in a way that would look commanding on anyone else, but on him it’s tense. Almost nervous. He’s scanning a small notebook, which he’s clearly labeled “Kiko’s First Grade: Notes,” though every so often, his gaze flickers up to you, lingering longer than necessary.

“So,” he starts, voice rough but low, like he’s trying to keep casual, “Kiko… he’s smart. Picks up things fast, listens well enough.” He pauses, as if that sentence alone should justify the whole counseling session. “But… I—uh—shit, dammit, sometimes I worry about, y’know, him feeling left out. Or, like, he won’t keep up with the other kids. You think that’s likely?”

You tilt your head, hands gripping your coffe mug too tight “Honestly? Kids adapt faster than we give them credit for,” you say, voice soft, thoughtful. “And Kiko… he’s very observant. He notices things, pays attention. You’re doing more than enough.”

Bakugo hums, a sound somewhere between pride and uncertainty. His jaw ticks. “Yeah… maybe. I just… I dunno. I want to be sure. I can’t exactly just… show up at school and check on him all the time.” His hand flexes on the table. “Duty calls, and—well you know, not all teachers are you.”

You glance at him, after feeling your heart sink to your stomach over his last sentence, and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “I think that’s where I come in.”

He freezes, mid-note, then looks up at you sharply. “Huh?”

“I help,” you explain gently, lifting the flyaway control stick and twirling it absentmindedly. “With school stuff, projects, helping him get comfortable. He’s got a lot of trust in you, obviously, but… I’m here too. As a preschool teacher of course— it’s my duty… So you, uhm, well, all yall parents, don’t have to feel like you’re carrying everything alone.”

All yall? You’re talking to Dynamight and you just said all yall? 

Bakugo’s red eyes flick down, then back to you, unguarded for just a second. Fortunately for you, he doesn’t seem to dwell on your horrible choice of words. But that brief vulnerability hits him like a jolt. He clears his throat, trying to hide it with a cough, and mutters, “Yeah… thanks.”

You notice the way he tenses again, like he’s just realized he’s not supposed to be saying something so simple. Or maybe so soft. Maybe both.

The conversation drifts to school schedules, art projects, Kiko’s lunch routine—but underneath it all, there’s a subtle rhythm forming between you. Slow. Quiet. A steady, careful tension that neither of you is quite willing to name aloud. And when he finally glances at you it’s like he’s measuring the space between you, as if wondering just how close he’s allowed to get before this “teacher-parent counseling” crosses some invisible line.

The conversation lulls for a moment, leaving just the hum of the café and the occasional clink of a cup. You’re still fiddling with your coffee mug and Bakugo can’t stop noticing.

Noticing the way the soft strands of your hait catch the light. The way your eyes flick up to meet his when you speak, hesitant but confident. The way your lips purse slightly when you think.

He clears his throat. “Uh… so— about Kiko’s… uh… art project,” he stammers, eyes darting to the notebook, then back to you, and immediately regrets it. 

He should be talking about school stuff, right? But your presence—warm, bright, entirely too distracting—is making it impossible to focus on anything but you.

You smile faintly, tilting your head. “Yeah?”

Bakugo swallows, flexing his fingers against the table. “Right, uh… I figured we could… I dunno… maybe plan it together? Make sure he has what he needs. I don’t have as much help lately and he refuses to let my mother help him when he has to draw something.”

You nod, a small, encouraging gesture, but your hand brushes against the notebook as you lean forward slightly. It’s accidental, probably, but Bakugo notices the spark it sends through his chest.

He curses under his breath—quietly, so no one can hear—because he can’t tell if it’s just the touch, or just you being you. Either way, it’s unbearable. In the best possible way.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, and Bakugo nearly chokes on the lump forming in his throat. “You make it… look too damn easy,” he blurts before he can stop himself. “Being… y'know… all… calm and stuff.”

You blink at him, startled, then tilt your head again, this time amused. “Calm? Me? I call you four times a day to ask about your son’s allergies.”

Bakugo shrugs, ears warming. “Yeah. Calm. Not like… loud or annoying. Or—whatever. You get it.”

You giggle, and it’s soft. Careful. It eases your thoughts about being anxiety on two legs and it’s as light as a feather brushing over his tension. And suddenly, the room feels smaller. Warmer. More intimate. Like somehow the world has shrunk down to this table, two awkward adults in entirely different life stages, and the soft murmur of the café.

He clears his throat again, looking anywhere but at you. “So maybe we could… like… meet again? Just… talk n' shit?”

Your eyes soften, and you smile. “I think I could do that.”

Bakugo’s chest tightens. That simple, innocent answer sends heat crawling up his neck. He’s supposed to be discussing school projects, not feeling like a teenager with a crush all over again—but here he is, heart hammering, hands fidgeting against the table, trying to sound like a grown-up.

The pause stretches. Neither of you speaks, yet neither of you moves. And in that silence, Bakugo realizes something terrifying and exhilarating all at once: he wants to see you again. And again. And then some more. Not just about Kiko. Not just for school.

He actually wants to see you all the time.

He swallows hard, shifts in his seat, and mutters almost under his breath, “You make shitty things better, hope you know that.”

You glance up, eyes softening even more, and he wants—wants desperately—to reach across the table, brush the hair from your face, see if you feel the same flutter he does. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he sits there, stiff and red-faced, smiling faintly, because this awkward fumbling, entirely too personal tension surprisingly doesn’t feel scary. It’s a good feeling. Not entirely serene yet.  Not even the kind of good he always thought he had to earn. But it’s the kind of good he doesn’t have to apologise for allowing himself to have.

Bakugo clears his throat, shifting in his seat again like he’s trying to act casual—which, of course, he’s failing at spectacularly. His hands flex against the table, tapping once, twice, before he finally meets your eyes, sharp and red, but with something underneath that he can’t quite hide.

“So,” he begins, voice rougher than usual. “with Kiko’s first grade is coming up.” He pauses, flicking his gaze toward the notebook, then back to you. “I was thinking…”

You blink, curious, “Thinking about…?”

Bakugo gulps, visibly fighting the urge to spit it out too bluntly. “I—uh… I was wondering if… you’d be willing to tutor him sometimes? When school starts?”

You blink, surprised. “Tutor him?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, ears turning pink. “Not that he needs it. Kiko’s smart. But, since he dots on you, it’d be helpful.”

You study him, and he can’t help but squirm under your gaze. You’re quiet for a moment, and it’s that pause—the one where the world seems to shrink around the table—that makes his chest tighten.

“Oh, you mean like after school?” you ask gently, almost teasing, though your eyes stay soft.

He nods quickly, as if the motion will make it sound more casual than it feels. “Yeah. After school. And keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn’t slack off. Or forget anything. Shitty hair, I can’t trust him, and my childhood friend is a professor at UA, I’d hate to burden him. I'll be paying you of course.”

You smile, the kind of smile that’s warm, bright, and just a little mischievous. “I think I could do that too.”

Bakugo swallows hard, caught off guard by the way your words make the air feel heavier, warmer. “Right… good,” he mutters, voice rough, almost dismissive, but there’s a flush creeping up his neck anyway. “Cool. What the hell! That works. Thank you!”

You laugh softly, and it’s like a spark. He wants to curse at how much it makes his chest ache, how easily it makes him lose focus. He’s supposed to be a pro hero. Supposed to be a grown-up. Thirty-something. But here he is, fumbling over something as simple as asking someone to spend more time with him—and not Kiko, him.

And the worst—best—part? He knows exactly why he asked.

He wants you there. Not just for Kiko. Not just for school. He doesn’t even have the guts to tell you he considers this an official date. But he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he flexes his fingers against the table again, shoving the notebook slightly toward you as if to underline his “totally professional, school-related” intentions. “Think about it again, will yah?”

“I’ll think about it, just-Bakugo.” you reply softly, but your eyes linger on his a moment too long, and his chest hammers in a way that makes him almost forget to be a responsible adult.

Bakugo nods once—quick, almost jerky, he considers your flirting line. “Good.”

But he stays leaned forward, elbows planted, gaze locked on you like he’s waiting for something else. Something he hasn’t figured out how to ask yet.

It hits you with a weird, fluttering force: he’s nervous. The number one hero. The man who drops villains with one explosion and a glare. Nervous.

You shift in your seat, your knee almost bumping his under the table, and his breath stutters—only for a second, but you catch it. He yanks his gaze away, chewing the inside of his cheek like his mouth is trying to stop him from saying something stupid.

The air between you shifts—soft, warm, full of things neither of you are ready to name.

“So,” you say lightly, trying to save him, “this was really nice.”

His head snaps back toward you too fast, like he’d been waiting—hoping—for you to say something close to that. His brows tug together, determined to flirt back now. “Yeah? Yeah, it was. Just don’t go off and tell your friends Dynamight took you out and talks weird and is nervous about his son. I ain’t talking weird.”

“You weren't weird.”

He scoffs under his breath. “Hah, if you say so, teach.”

You laugh—quiet, a little shaky, but real.

And he stares at you for a beat too long, eyes softening the way they do when he watches Kiko draw or fall asleep on the couch watching Pokémon. It’s subtle, almost shy, which is a ridiculous word to use for someone like him—but right now, it fits.

Then he shifts again, fingers tapping the table once like he’s steadying himself.

“There’s… one more thing,” he mutters.

You feel your pulse pick up. “What’s that?”

Bakugo’s jaw works for a moment. He looks at the notebook. The table. Anywhere but at your face.

And then he forces himself to look at you.

“You don’t gotta answer right now,” he starts, voice lower, slower—like he’s afraid if he says it too loud, he’ll scare the whole moment off. “But—most of my patrols are at the fucking crack of dawn…”

You wait. And he hates how patient you look. It makes his chest tight.

“So I figured…” he continues, dragging in a breath, “if you wanted—we could… y’know. Keep meeting, like this,” The tips of his ears burn. “If yah wanna. My nights are free, or whatever.”

Your heart does a very unprofessional little somersault.

You open your mouth, but he’s already backpedaling—fast.

“Not a date,” he blurts. “I mean—unless—you don’t—fuck, forget it. Just—think about that too.”

You stare. Not only Dy-na-might considers today an official date, he’s asking you on a second one! 

What happens now? Do you faint? Do you call your mom and screech at her until she tells you to wake up and suddenly, when you open your eyes you’re in your teenage bedroom? Because this surely feels like a surrealist dream! Never in your twenty something years would you have considered that you’d be out on a date with Dynamight, let alone being asked on a second one?

Gosh. Why didn’t you dress better today? 

Mental note! The second he leaves, you go shopping!

Bakugo, slightly bitter by the time you've taken to respond, swears under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

But you smile. And it’s soft. And warm. And it's also just a little bit brave. Everything a contrast to your internal panic. “I’d love to go on a date, Bakugo.”

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work // I colored and edited the picture of Bakugo and Kiko in the header, please don't steal it and use as your own!

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

Dividers by @/cursed-carmine

(taglist in a seperate reblog bc it's too long)

[that1geek06]

"English isn't my-"

Hush now my friend, and let me read the absolute beauty of a fic that you have bestowed this world and humiliated the first English speakers with

[cherry-4200]

A new kind of love

One shot

🍃 🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃🍃

It wasn’t love the way she dreamed it would be. With Sanemi, it was sharp, consuming something that tore more than it healed. She gave him her heart, and he took it, not to cherish, but to use, to numb the ache of his own scars. Still, she stayed, knowing this new kind of love would only ever break her.

Sanemi x fem reader angst

The night air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of rain-soaked earth. The compound had gone quiet, save for the soft rasp of crickets and the distant whistle of wind brushing over the rooftops. Y/N stood there in the shadows, her hands trembling at her sides, staring at the broad back of Sanemi Shinazugawa. Her chest ached with everything she hadn’t said everything she had buried beneath duty, beneath steel, beneath the sharpness of his tongue and the scars etched into his skin. But she couldn’t bury it anymore. Not when every glance, every brush of his voice, made her feel like she was standing too close to fire. “Sanemi,” she breathed, her voice fragile but steady enough to catch his attention. He turned, one eyebrow arched, eyes already impatient in that way that made her heart twist. She almost faltered. Almost.

“I…” She swallowed hard. “I love you.”

The words spilled like blood from a wound messy, raw, unstoppable. They hung in the air between them, dangerous and real. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. His pale eyes narrowed, unreadable, his jaw tight. Y/N braced herself for the rejection, for the scorn she knew he could wield like a blade. But instead, he stepped closer, close enough that the faint heat of him brushed her skin. “You’re a damn fool,” he muttered, but his hand reached out, rough fingers catching her wrist, tugging her forward. His lips found hers not soft, not tender, but desperate, demanding, like a drowning man clawing for air.And Y/N let him. Her heart soared even as his kiss burned. She told herself this was love raw, unpolished, the only kind of love someone like Sanemi could give. She didn’t see the shadow in his eyes, the way his hold trembled with something darker than affection. All she felt was fire. A new kind of love.

The days that followed were a haze of fire and light. Every touch from him felt like a spark igniting something deep inside her a warmth that shouldn’t exist in a world filled with blood and steel. Y/N told herself it was love, the kind of love that made the air hum and the world shift beneath her feet. Sanemi was… complicated, as always. Sharp words cut and rolled off him like knives, yet when he let her in, when he allowed her to brush against his scars, the ache in her chest softened. She memorized the way his hands moved, the subtle tilt of his head, the rare softness in his gaze. And she ignored the things that didn’t fit. The way he sometimes stared past her, as if seeing something or someone else. The nights when he would drift away in silence, holding her just enough to anchor her, but not enough to reach her entirely. The way he flinched when she called his name too close to his ear, like a memory had hit him too sharply to bear. But Y/N’s heart had no room for doubt. She convinced herself he loved her. He had to. How else could it feel like this? How else could her chest burn so hot, her mind spin so dizzy, her soul feel like it was finally alive? It was intoxicating, overwhelming like falling in love with the idea of love itself, the a song whispered in her mind every time she thought of him. It wasn’t just him. It was the feeling, the rush, the storm that made her feel more herself than she ever had before. Yet beneath the fire, in the quietest moments, a whisper of something darker lingered. A shadow that hinted she might be loving a ghost or perhaps loving her own reflection in his absence. But she didn’t hear it. Not yet.

Days melted into nights, and Y/N wandered through them as if in a dream, her thoughts tangled in the threads of Sanemi’s presence. Every glance, every graze of his hand, made her chest race. She felt suspended between reality and something else a world made only of heat, danger, and the ache of longing that refused to leave her. She would catch herself staring at him when he wasn’t looking, memorizing the scars, the restless flicker of his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed even in stillness. She told herself these were signs of his strength, of the way he carried the weight of the world. She told herself he loved her back, even when the moments of doubt pricked at her like tiny thorns. It started in small ways at first. A lingering glance that didn’t quite meet hers. A hand brushing hers, but lingering just a heartbeat too long before pulling away. The way he sometimes hummed a name under his breath not hers.

Each time, Y/N shook it off. Her heart argued louder than her mind. It’s nothing. He’s just complicated. This is just how he loves. But the cracks were patient.

One evening, after a mission that left their bodies weary and minds raw, Sanemi leaned back against the wall, silent. Y/N pressed close, letting her cheek rest against his chest, expecting warmth, connection. Instead, she felt the hollow thrum beneath his ribs, a void that wasn’t hers to fill.“Sanemi?” she whispered, voice soft, uncertain. He didn’t answer. His hand rested over hers, but it didn’t squeeze, didn’t anchor. His eyes, when he finally glanced at her, were distant like he’d been somewhere else entirely. Y/N forced a smile, telling herself it was nothing. But a seed of doubt planted itself, small and insistent, deep in her chest. Something about him was slipping through her fingers, and no matter how tightly she tried to hold on, the sensation only grew. That night, lying alone in her room, she pressed her hand to her heart and whispered to the darkness, It’s okay. He loves me. He has to. And yet, in the quiet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that love, as she knew it, was slowly changing shape. That maybe, just maybe, she was falling not for him but for the feeling of being wanted, of being needed, of being seen. A new kind of love, she told herself. But the cracks were already there.

Y/N had thought she knew every inch of him the curve of his jaw, the restless pull of his eyes, the way he carried his anger like armor. But lately, the edges were fraying. It started with a name.“Sanemi…” she murmured one evening, adjusting her hair just so, the soft curls brushing her collarbone. She’d spent an extra hour making it perfect, hoping he’d notice. He glanced at her, paused, then spoke “Kanae…” The word hit her like ice. Her fingers froze mid-motion, the brush of her hair slipping through her grip. “Y/N,” she corrected gently, her voice tight.

He waved her off, distracted. “Right, right… whatever,” he muttered, eyes already elsewhere, scanning the room like she wasn’t there. Her chest ached. She swallowed, telling herself it was a mistake, a fleeting lapse, but the unease settled like a stone in her stomach. And then came the coldness.

He would brush past her without touching her, sit farther than usual, speak in clipped sentences that felt sharper than blades. Nights they once shared in warmth and laughter now ended with him walking away, leaving her standing in the hollow echo of his absence. The final straw came one morning when she’d styled her hair in a braid, soft ribbons tucked through it just the way she knew he liked. She smiled shyly, hoping he’d notice, hoping for that spark. Instead, he looked at her, a flash of irritation in his pale eyes, and muttered, “Why’d you bother?”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “I… thought you’d like it.”

He didn’t answer, just turned back to the papers in his hand, the faint crease of his brow a barrier she couldn’t cross. Her heart hurt in ways she hadn’t known possible. Each wrong name, each cold glance, each dismissive word felt like a chisel scraping at the foundation of her love. And in the quiet of her room that night, Y/N realized that maybe, just maybe, the person she had been in love with wasn’t the man before her at all.

Y/N’s heart had started learning a new kind of ache, the kind that came not from absence, but from presence itself. She lingered close to him, sought the warmth of his body, but each time, she noticed it his gaze never truly met hers during the moments she thought were theirs. Even in the most intimate of nights, when her hands trembled on his skin and every kiss felt like confession, his eyes were distant. They wandered past her, as if memorizing something invisible, something unreachable. She pressed herself against him, whispered his name, let herself fall completely into the rhythm of the moment, but he didn’t respond the way he used to. His touch was mechanical, his movements precise yet empty. For all her giving, all her daring to love him, she realized that he was never truly there not with her. And then came the other cracks, impossible to ignore. The name Kanae slipped once during a heated moment, and though he brushed it off casually, it cut sharper than any blade. The nights he turned cold, the mornings he barely acknowledged her effort with her hair, the fleeting irritation at her smallest gestures they all formed a mosaic of something horrifying she wasn’t being loved.

Her heart twisted. She had been falling not for him, but for the feeling she thought he gave her. And now, she felt like a fool, standing in the shadow of a man whose arms she thought were hers, but whose mind, whose heart, were somewhere else entirely. Each touch that once set her soul alight now left her with a bitter echo desire unreturned, warmth borrowed, love mistaken.

Y/N’s chest was tight, each step through the dim hall echoing the storm inside her. She had loved him blindly for so long, but the cracks had become impossible to ignore. “Sanemi!” Her voice trembled, carrying all the weight of nights spent hoping, waiting, aching for him. He turned, pale eyes narrowing, his expression unreadable. “I… I need to know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you… do you love me?” For a heartbeat, he looked away. “What are you talking about?” he said, his tone defensive, almost too calm. “Of course I— I mean… don’t be ridiculous.”She stepped closer, desperation in her voice. “Then why? Why are you… so distant? Why do you… why—”

“I’m not distant!” he snapped, voice rising. “Stop saying things that aren’t true!” Her hands trembled. “Sanemi, I can feel it. When we..when we’re together, you… you’re somewhere else. You sometimes you call me Kanae, or—” His body stiffened. His eyes darkened, and suddenly the calm fractured into something sharp, fierce, almost unbearable. “Kanae?” he barked. “Kanae wouldn’t act like this! She wouldn’t..she wouldn’t doubt me, wouldn’t cry like this, wouldn’t…” He shook his head violently, voice breaking and rising in fury. “You’re not her! You’re not Kanae! You never will be!” Y/N flinched at the rawness of his words. Her heart splintered. “I… I’m not trying to be her!” she whispered, voice cracking. “I’m me! I love you…” He cut her off, his face twisted with frustration and guilt. “I don’t want you to be her! I just… I can’t… I can’t love anyone like that right now. You think I’m here with you, but I’m… I’m trying not to drown in memories I can’t escape!” Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes. Her chest burned, every heartbeat a knife. “So… everything between us… it’s just… nothing?” Sanemi’s jaw tightened, his hands trembling at his sides. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “I didn’t mean to let it get this far,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I never wanted you to feel like this… but I can’t be what you think I am.”

Y/N stumbled back, her vision blurring. The truth she had feared, the thing she had begun to suspect, now hit her with full force she had loved a ghost, chasing warmth that wasn’t hers to claim, and now it was gone, leaving only the bitter ache of betrayal and longing. Y/N stumbled through the dim hallways, her chest burning, tears blurring her vision. Her legs felt like lead, her breaths ragged, each sob a jagged shard in her throat. She couldn’t… she couldn’t face him again. Not after the words, the anger, the truth.

She found Mitsuri sitting cross-legged on the floor of her room, quietly sewing, the soft hum of her thread barely filling the silence. The sight of her friend grounded her, and Y/N sank to the floor beside her, trembling. “Mitsuri… I…” she began, but the words choked in her throat. The sobs came freely now, spilling over, unstoppable. Mitsuri immediately dropped her sewing, wrapping her arms around Y/N. “Shh… shh, it’s okay,” she murmured softly, pressing Y/N’s head to her shoulder. Her warmth was comforting, grounding like she was a tether to reality while Y/N’s world was crumbling. “He… he doesn’t love me,” Y/N whispered into Mitsuri’s chest, voice breaking. “I thought… I felt it. Every touch, every look… and he… he called me Kanae… and he… he’s not here… he’s never been here.” Mitsuri held her tighter, rocking her gently. “I know, Y/N… I know it hurts. But listen to me you did nothing wrong. You gave your heart fully, bravely. That takes courage, not weakness. And the fact that he couldn’t meet you there… that’s his failing, not yours.” Y/N shook against her friend, the weight of betrayal pressing down. “It feels like my heart’s been ripped out. I loved him… I still love him… and he..he didn’t feel the same. How can something so real to me mean nothing to him?”

Mitsuri tilted Y/N’s chin up gently, her hands warm against her face. “Love isn’t measured by what the other gives back. You gave, Y/N. You felt fully, and that matters. Don’t let his inability to love take away what you gave. You are allowed to hurt, and you are allowed to grieve… and one day, you’ll find someone who can meet you fully. Someone who can love you the way you deserve.”Y/N clung to Mitsuri, letting the tears fall, the shaking subside ever so slightly under the soft, unwavering comfort of her friend. For the first time since the confrontation, she felt a tiny spark of safety, even amidst the devastation.

Sanemis pov;

Sanemi sank onto the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles whitened. The silence of the room pressed down on him, suffocating, leaving only the echo of her sobs from earlier. He could still see her running, hear her voice breaking as she called his name. Y/N…

He hated himself for every moment she had trusted him. Every touch, every whispered word, every longing look she had cast at him he had let her love him while he was thinking of someone else. Someone he could never bring back. Kanae. He remembered her laughter, her gentle smile, the way she used to move through the world with a light he had thought he’d never see again. And then he remembered her death the void it left, the relentless ache he had tried to fill with distraction, with anger, with anything that kept the memories from crushing him completely. And now he realized what he had done.

He had taken Y/N’s heart fragile, open, full of hope and let her love him blindly while he drifted somewhere else, trapped in his grief. He remembered the nights he had called her Kanae by mistake, the way he had recoiled from her affection when it reminded him too sharply of what he had lost, the moments he had been cold when he should have been gentle. He had used her, even if he hadn’t wanted to. She had been his warmth, his anchor, his distraction, and he had let it happen without ever stopping to consider what it would cost her.

He hated himself in a way that twisted his stomach and left his chest raw. He hated that he could not offer her the love she deserved. He hated that he had made her believe in something that never existed. He hated that he had let her break, and that he had no one to blame but himself. He wanted to scream. He wanted to call out to her, beg for forgiveness, beg her to understand but he knew there was nothing he could do. She had loved him fully, recklessly, without reservation, and he had failed her utterly.

He buried his face in his hands, letting the guilt crush him. I’ve destroyed something beautiful… and it’s all my fault. For the first time in a long while, he let himself feel the emptiness completely the cold, hollow ache of knowing that the person who had given him so much of herself had been hurt, and that there was no way to repair it. No words, no gestures, no apology could ever undo the damage. And in that silence, in the quiet aftermath of what he had done, Sanemi finally understood the full weight of his grief, his selfishness, and his loss not of Kanae this time, but of someone who had loved him truly, and whom he could never have.

Y/n pov:

Y/N sat curled in Mitsuri’s lap, her tears finally slowing, the rhythmic rocking of her friend’s body grounding her in a way nothing else could. Mitsuri’s hands wove gently through her hair, her soft humming filling the quiet space between sobs and silence. “I thought… I thought I knew love,” Y/N whispered, voice barely audible. “And I thought… I felt it with him. But it wasn’t real… not the way I imagined.” Mitsuri pressed her lips to the top of Y/N’s head. “It’s real to you, Y/N. That feeling… the way your heart reached for him it was real. And that matters. Don’t let what he couldn’t give take away what you felt, or who you are.” Y/N shivered against her friend, letting herself lean fully into the warmth, letting herself grieve without restraint. “It hurts so much,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I know, love,” Mitsuri whispered, stroking her back. “But you’re not alone. You’ll heal. And one day, you’ll find someone who can give you everything you’ve given. Someone who will see all of you, and love you for it.” For the first time in hours, Y/N allowed herself a small breath of relief, the storm inside her softening, if only slightly.

Sanemis pov:

Alone in his room, Sanemi sat rigid on the edge of his bed still, hands clasped tightly between his knees. The weight of what he had done the weight of her heartbreak, the raw truth of his selfishness pressed down on him like a physical force. He could still hear her cries, still see the way she had clung to Mitsuri, still feel the absence of the warmth he had rejected. Guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting. But beneath the guilt, another feeling surfaced one he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge before.

He loved her.

The realization hit him like a lightning strike Y/N, with her open heart, her reckless courage, her warmth that had forced the walls around his own heart to tremble… he loved her. And knowing he had broken her made that love ache with a sharpness he couldn’t ignore. He pushed himself to his feet, pacing, breath heavy, mind racing. He had to see her. He had to tell her, somehow he couldn’t let her leave thinking he didn’t feel anything. He arrived at Mitsuri’s estate, chest pounding, hands trembling. He found Y/N in Mitsuri’s arms, curled up, fragile, tears still streaking her face. The sight tore at him, every fiber of him aching to reach out, to apologize, to hold her and never let go. “Mitsuri… please,” he said, voice hoarse, his hand outstretched. “I..I need to see her. I… I have to tell her…”

Mitsuri’s soft green eyes met his, gentle but firm. She shook her head, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “Sanemi… you’ve done enough damage already. She’s fragile right now, and she needs time. You coming here… it won’t help her. Leave.”Her words hit him like ice. He swallowed hard, hand falling to his side. The reality of what he’d done the truth of the hurt he had caused pressed in like a weight he couldn’t lift.“But… I love her,” he whispered, almost to himself, voice cracking. “I—”“You had time to realize that,” Mitsuri said gently, “but right now, she needs to heal. Not you. Not him. Let her breathe.” Sanemi’s chest tightened, a mix of longing, guilt, and helplessness twisting through him. He wanted to argue, to force himself into her arms, to undo the heartbreak he had caused but Mitsuri’s calm, unwavering gaze held him in check.

He turned away, each step away from the estate heavy, filled with the bitter ache of what could have been. He loved her, yes but he had shattered the trust she had given him freely, and some things could never be taken back. The night air pressed against him as he walked alone, the sound of his own heart a cruel reminder. He would carry the memory of her, the weight of his mistakes, and the pain of knowing that sometimes, love no matter how fierce or real comes too late…..

Ik it’s a bit short but I loved writing this please lmk if yall make me to make this into a series!!!

Taglist

@vm4879bb-blog

[peachdues]

it’s my grumpy little man’s birthday

[hvenlyang3l]

Baby Fever - Husband Bakugou

word count: 5k

CW: NSFW! MDNI! husband!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader, foreplay, breast play, fingering, p in v sex, strong language, baby fever, breeding kink, emotional intimacy, vulnerability, mention of pregnancy and parenthood, possessive behavior

The late afternoon sun painted the city in hues of gold and orange, but for Katsuki, the only thing worth looking at was you. The patrol had been long, standard for two Pro Heroes at the peak of their careers. The paperwork, the petty criminals, the endless demands—it was a grind you both excelled at, but it was a grind nonetheless. He’d seen the tension in your shoulders for weeks, a subtle tightness that even his best massages couldn’t always erase.

Then he saw it.

You were standing near the entrance of a damaged building, coordinating with the rescue team. In your arms, you held a little girl, no more than three, her face smudged with dirt and tears. The child had been separated from her parents during a minor villain skirmish, and you’d been the one to find her, sobbing behind a shattered storefront.

But it wasn’t the rescue that stole the breath from Katsuki’s lungs. It was the look on your face. All the stress, the constant vigilance, the hardened edge you had to carry as a hero—it melted away. Your expression was one of pure, unadulterated peace. You were whispering something to the toddler, your voice too low for him to hear, and the little girl had stopped crying, her chubby fist curled trustingly in the fabric of your costume. Your smile was soft, your eyes crinkled with a tenderness he usually only saw in the private darkness of your bedroom. You looked… complete.

A lump formed in his throat. He knew how good you were with kids. You had a natural warmth that made children gravitate toward you, a patience that contrasted so beautifully with his own brash intensity. He’d always known it, acknowledged it as just another one of your countless perfections. But seeing it today, against the backdrop of your recent exhaustion, felt different. It tugged at something deep and primal in his chest, a visceral pull that was equal parts awe and a fierce, possessive longing.

He loved you. God, he loved you so much it was a physical ache sometimes. He was content with your life—the battles won, the agency thriving, the quiet comfort of your marriage. He cherished every second with you, from the adrenaline-fueled fights to the simple, mundane moments of shared silence. He wasn't ready to share you. The thought of your attention, your love, your time being divided… it had always made something in him bristle. You both had talked about it, of course. Level-headed, practical conversations about waiting, about starting a family when you were both truly ready, not out of some fleeting, hormonal desire.

But as he watched you hand the giggling child back to her weeping mother, your hero-smile firmly back in place, the seed of a new, overwhelming desire was planted in his heart. The image of you, serene and whole with a child in your arms, was burned onto the back of his eyelids.

Later that night, the quiet of your home was a welcome reprieve. You were already in bed, propped against the headboard with a book, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow over the room. The day’s grime was scrubbed away, replaced by the familiar, comforting scent of your shared space.

The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out followed by Katsuki. He emerged with a towel slung low on his hips, water droplets still clinging to his spiky blonde hair and tracing paths down the defined muscles of his chest and abdomen. He smelled of your shared body wash and his own clean, sharp scent.

His eyes found you immediately, and without a word, he crossed the room. You glanced up from your book with a smile, but before you could speak, he descended upon you. It wasn't a graceful lie-down; it was a deliberate, full-bodied collapse, all 200 pounds of solid muscle and deadweight blanketing you, pressing you deep into the mattress.

“Oof—Katsuki!” you giggled, the book squashed between your chest and his. His skin was still warm from the shower.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, his nose cold against your warm skin. He inhaled deeply, a long, shuddering breath that filled his lungs with your essence. Then he snuggled closer, if that was even possible, his body a heavy, warm fortress around you.

You chuckled again, assuming this was one of his rare, wordless demands for affection. He could be explosively verbal, but sometimes his need for connection was purely physical, a raw, unspoken craving for closeness. You wriggled an arm free from his weight and wrapped it around his broad shoulders, your fingers gently carding through the damp hair at the nape of his neck. “Long day, Dynamight?” you murmured soothingly.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of his breathing and the steady beat of your heart under his ear. You felt the tension slowly seep out of his frame. Then, his voice, muffled against your skin, rough with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, broke the silence.

“Hey...” he started, his hold on you tightening almost imperceptibly.

You hummed in response, still stroking his hair.

He lifted his head just enough so his next words, low and gravelly, were perfectly clear, vibrating against your very soul.

“...won’t you... let me knock you up?”

The book slipped from your lax grip, thumping softly onto the comforter. The words hung in the air, thick and shocking, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, you were sure you’d misheard. This was… entirely out of left field.

“Where… where did that come from, Katsuki?” you managed, your voice a little breathless.

He didn't lift his head. Instead, he nuzzled deeper into your neck, his voice a low, gravelly murmur against your skin. “Would you let me do it? Let me put a baby in you?”

The bluntness of it, the raw, possessive phrasing, sent a jolt straight to your core. You tried to shift, to crane your neck and see his face, but he was an immovable weight. “Katsuki, look at me.”

He grunted in protest, but you were insistent, your hands moving to his shoulders to push him back just enough. When you finally saw his face, your heart squeezed. A furious blush painted his cheeks and the tips of his ears were a brilliant, tell-tale red. He was embarrassed.

“What made you say that?” you asked softly, your thumb stroking the heated skin of his jaw. “Where did that bomb come from?”

He tried to deflect, turning his face away. “Tch. Forget it. Sounded fucking stupid.”

But you wouldn't let him. “No, it didn't. Tell me.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his crimson eyes fixed on a point somewhere over your shoulder before they flicked back to yours, vulnerable and earnest. “It was… this afternoon. When you were holding that kid." He confessed it quietly, the words rushing out. “You just… you looked so fucking peaceful. Like all the stress was gone. And I know how good you are with them. It just… hit me.”

He scowled, as if angry at his own feelings. “And I thought it was ridiculous, because I’m not—I don’t want to be one of those guys who just sees his wife as… that. A baby-maker. A home-keeper. That’s not you. I always want you to do whatever the hell you want, to be a hero, to be you, because I love seeing you happy. And shit, I still want more time with just you.”

His admission was a gruff, heartfelt torrent. “I’m not talking about right this second. I’m talking about… the future. One day, when we’re both finally ready. When you’re ready to be a mother. When I’m… when I’m ready to share you.”

Your heart clenched into a tight, aching knot. This man, who loved with a ferocity that could level cities, was laid bare before you, confessing his deepest, most possessive fears and his most tender hopes in the same breath. He was always thinking of you, of your happiness, above all else.

A smile bloomed on your face, so full of love and certainty that it felt like the sun had risen in your bedroom. It was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “Katsuki,” you said, your voice steady and clear. “I'm ready.”

The effect was instantaneous. His eyes widened, his blush deepening to a spectacular shade of crimson. He sputtered, actually fumbling over his words, a rare sight for the ever-articulate Dynamight. “Wha—Now? You—Hah?”

A soft laugh escaped you. “I'm more surprised that Katsuki Bakugou can actually have a baby fever.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, the embarrassment shifting into a playful growl. “Stop teasing me.” He started retaliating the only way he knew how when flustered—his fingers found your sides, tickling you mercilessly.

You shrieked with laughter, squirming under him. “Katsuki, stop! Ah!” The wrestling, the shifting of weight, the friction of his bare skin against your thin nightgown—it all escalated quickly. In the tussle, the towel around his hips loosened and finally slipped away entirely.

The laughter died in your throat, replaced by a sudden, palpable tension. The playfulness evaporated, leaving behind a thick, charged silence. He was fully bare against you, the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against your thigh. All the emotion of the conversation—the longing, the love, the sudden, terrifying possibility—came crashing down on both of you.

His expression sobered instantly. His hands stilled on your waist, his gaze searching yours, intense and serious. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough with need and something deeper, something sacred. “Are you really fucking sure? Because I never want to do something you never truly want. I know it’s a big step. You, with my kid, our kid, in our home. I don’t want you to regret any of it. I love you too much to force you into a life you never asked for.”

Your heart swelled until you thought it might burst. You cupped his face, your thumbs stroking his sharp cheekbones, feeling the faint tremble in his jaw. “I'm ready, Katsuki,” you whispered, pouring all your love and certainty into the words. “I've been thinking about it too. Our own little family. Me reading in our garden, you're trying to take pictures for memories, and a little one running around while laughing happily. I wanted to see that too. A family of our own.”

Katsuki swore his vision blurred for a second. He dropped his forehead against yours, a ragged breath shuddering out of him. This woman. This beautiful, strong, incredible woman had chosen him, of all people, to be her partner. Who stood by him through every struggle, who matched his fire with her own grace, was now choosing to build a life, a family, with him. The magnitude of it threatened to undo him completely.

He didn't cry—Katsuki Bakugou did not cry—but the emotion that welled in his chest was so powerful it felt like it might crack him open. Instead, he captured your lips in a kiss that was nothing short of a vow. It was deep, possessive, and heartbreakingly tender, a silent promise of the future he’d just been gifted. A future he would move heaven and earth to make perfect for you. For all three of you. 

The kiss was a sealing of a promise, a deep, soul-tangling connection that left you both breathless. When he finally broke away, his forehead still resting against yours, his crimson eyes were dark with a mix of fierce love and raw, unbridled want.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum against your lips. “Always.”

Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, feeling the tense power coiled there. “I know,” you whispered back, your own voice thick with emotion. “Show me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. His movements were deliberate, not rushed, as if he wanted to memorise every second. He shifted his weight, sitting back on his heels between your legs, his gaze burning as it travelled down your body. His large, calloused hands went to the hem of your nightgown.

“Arms up,” he commanded softly, and you complied, lifting them so he could peel the soft fabric up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hit your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his stare. He looked at you, completely bare before him, with a reverence that made your heart ache.

“Fuck, you're beautiful,” he breathed, his hands coming up to cradle your breasts. His thumbs swept over your nipples, already pebbled tight from anticipation, and you arched into his touch with a soft sigh. He leaned down, replacing his thumb with his mouth, his tongue laving over one peak while his fingers teased the other.

“You know,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin, a wicked, possessive edge to it. “These are gonna get even more perfect. Gonna be full, gonna feed our baby.” He nipped gently, making you gasp. “Mine. All mine to take care of.”

“Katsuki…” you moaned, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. The dirty, tender talk was unravelling you. “You can't just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he challenged, switching his attention to your other breast, sucking deeply. “It's the truth. Gonna watch you grow round with my child. My fucking kid.” The image his words painted, combined with the expert suction of his mouth, sent a bolt of pure heat straight to your core. You could feel yourself getting wetter, a desperate, throbbing need building low in your belly.

He seemed to sense it. With one last, lingering kiss to your sternum, he began to move down your body. His kisses were a trail of fire—over your ribs, the soft plane of your stomach, his tongue dipping into your navel. He hooked his hands under your knees, spreading your legs wider, settling himself between them.

When he looked up the length of your body, his eyes locked with yours, and he stilled. A sharp, shocked breath hissed through his teeth. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with awe. “So fucking ready for me. Glistening. All for me.”

You were exposed, utterly vulnerable, and the hungry, stunned look on his face made you burn with pleasure instead of shame. “Always for you,” you managed to reply, your hips giving a slight, involuntary buck.

A feral grin touched his lips. “Patience, woman.” He didn't use his mouth just yet. First, he traced a single, blunt fingertip through your slick folds, gathering your arousal. You whimpered at the contact, so light it was almost torture. “This sweet pussy” he murmured, his eyes darkening as he watched his finger glide through your wetness. “This is where I'm gonna put our baby. Gonna plant my seed so deep in here, it's gonna take.” He punctuated the crude, breathtaking words by slowly pushing one finger inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

A broken cry tore from your throat as you clenched around him. “Yes! Oh, god, Katsuki…”

“Not god. Just me,” he corrected, his grin widening as he added a second finger, stretching you perfectly. He began a slow, relentless rhythm, his thumb working little circles that had you seeing stars. “Gonna make you come just like this first. So I can taste you.”

The combination of his filthy promises and his skilled fingers was too much. You were already hurtling toward the edge, your breath coming in ragged pants. “I'm close... so close…”

“Let go,” he ordered, his voice a low growl. “Come for me. Now.”

His command, the intense pressure of his thumb, the stretch of his fingers—it all crashed over you. Your back arched off the bed as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, milking his fingers as you cried out his name, waves of pleasure leaving you trembling and boneless.

He didn't stop. As you twitched through the aftershocks, he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. He never broke eye contact as he slowly, deliberately, licked them clean, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “So fucking sweet.”

Then he was on you again, his mouth crashing down on yours in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue—salty, musky, intimate—and the sensation was wildly erotic. You kissed him back with a feverish intensity, your hands clutching at his back.

When he pulled away, his lips were swollen, his eyes blazing. “That was just the start,” he promised, his voice ragged with his own need. “You ready for more?”

Your body was still humming, utterly spent yet craving him anew. “More,” you breathed, pulling him down for another kiss. “Always more.”

The kiss was a frantic, hungry thing, a clash of tongues and shared breath that left you both gasping. When he pulled back, his chest was heaving, his cock—hard, thick, and proudly erect—leaked a bead of precum onto your stomach. The sight of it, the sheer evidence of his want, made your already sensitive core clench with emptiness.

You watched, mesmerised, as his hand wrapped around himself, giving a slow, firm stroke. The groan that rumbled from his chest was pure agony. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, were fixed on where his body would soon meet yours. Then, a flicker of rationality broke through his lust-hazed expression.

“Wait... fuck,” he breathed, his hand stilling. His eyes snapped up to yours, confused and suddenly concerned. “Your IUD. How are you... unless…”

The blush that had been warming your cheeks flamed into a full-on inferno. You were throbbing, aching for him, and his sudden hesitation felt like torture. You bucked your hips impatiently, a frustrated whine escaping your lips. Your eyes were glassy with need.

“You're so dense, Suki... idiot,” you panted, your voice strained. “I got it removed a while ago. I've been ready. You made me wait too long.”

The confession hit him like a physical blow. A while. You’d been walking around, fighting villains, sleeping in his arms, your body primed and waiting for his seed, and he’d been oblivious. A shudder wracked his powerful frame. Fuck. She’s been walking around, wanting this, waiting for me, and I was too wrapped up in my own head to see it. A possessive, primal roar seemed to echo in his skull. Every rational thought, every carefully built restraint, shattered into a million pieces. Mentally, he was offering a desperate, profane prayer—God, don't put me in hell for what I'm about to do to this woman.

“Naughty girl,” he growled, the words a low, possessive rumble. He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad, slick head of his cock pressing against your soaked folds. “Not telling me. Keeping a secret like that.” He didn't push in. Not yet. He just rubbed himself through your wetness, teasing, making you gasp and writhe.

“How long?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a filthy whisper. “How long have you been dreaming of this? Of me breeding you? Huh?”

“Katsuki, please,” you begged, your nails digging into his biceps. The agonising friction of him just teasing your entrance was driving you insane.

“Answer me,” he commanded, applying the slightest pressure, letting just the tip push past your tight ring of muscle. The stretch was immediate, a delicious, burning fullness that made you cry out.

“W-weeks,” you admitted on a broken moan, your head thrashing against the pillows. “Thinking about you... about your baby... inside me…”

A guttural sound tore from his throat. That was all the confirmation he needed. Finally, he began to push in for real. It was excruciatingly slow, just as he knew you loved. He watched your face, mesmerised by every wince, every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids as he filled you inch by torturous inch.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he groaned, his own body trembling with the effort to go slow. “Taking me so good. This perfect pussy was made for my cock. Made for taking my seed.”

He bottomed out, hips flush against yours, and you both stilled, overwhelmed by the feeling of complete connection. He was buried to the hilt, and the feeling of being so utterly full, so stretched around him, stole your breath.

“Gonna knock you up,” he whispered, beginning a slow, deep roll of his hips. Each thrust was a deliberate, grinding promise. “Gonna put a baby in you right now. Gonna see you round and beautiful with my kid. Your tits…” He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth again, sucking hard. “...gonna get so big and full. Gonna be dripping with milk for our baby. My milk. Because you're mine.”

His words were pure, unadulterated filth, fueled by his breeding kink and his overwhelming love for you. Each filthy promise was punctuated by a deep, penetrating thrust that hit your very core.

“Yours!” you cried out, arching into him, meeting his slow, grinding rhythm. “All yours, Katsuki! I want it... I want to see it too... want to be full of you... always…”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck, his thrusts gaining a slight, relentless intensity. “Gonna keep you full. Pregnant and fucking gorgeous. My woman. Mother of my children.” He was losing himself in the fantasy, in the reality of it, his dirty talk a continuous stream of devotion and desire, ensuring that every part of you, body and soul, felt how much he wanted this with you.

He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. His thrusts were still deep and deliberate, but his gaze drifted down from your face, over the sweat-sheened skin of your torso, to where your bodies joined. His eyes fixated on your lower abdomen, on the subtle bulge that appeared with each of his inward strokes.

“Look at that,” he breathed, his voice husky with awe. One of his hands, which had been braced beside your head, moved down to splay over your stomach. His fingers traced the faint outline his own cock was making inside you. “Hey... this is where our baby's gonna grow, right? Right here?”

His touch was possessive, reverent. Then, he pressed down, just a little. The pressure, combined with the incredible fullness of him buried deep within you, sent a shockwave of sensation through your system. You screamed, a sharp, loud cry that was equal parts pleasure and overwhelming stimulation.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound of pure masculine satisfaction. “You're so fucking pretty, baby. I just gotta put my seed right here,” he growled, grinding his hips in a tight circle, making you whimper, “and make sure it sticks. Right?”

Your brain had melted into a puddle of pure sensation. All you could do was babble your agreement, your words slurred and desperate. “Yes—right there—please, Suki, want it to stick—want your baby—so much—!”

Your eager, mindless confirmation fueled a fresh wave of possessiveness in him. “That's it. Tell me how much you want it,” he demanded, his rhythm becoming more urgent. In one fluid, powerful motion, he hooked his arms under your knees, folding you almost in half, pressing your thighs toward your chest. The mating press. It was deep, primal, and left you utterly exposed and vulnerable to his every thrust.

“Fuck, now I'm really in you,” he groaned, his pelvis slamming against your ass with each drive forward. His cock seemed to reach even deeper, the head kissing your cervix with every plunge. “Gonna breed this pretty pussy so good. Gonna pump you so full of my cum, there's no way it won't take. You feel that? You feel how deep I am?”

You could feel it. The stretch was exquisite, the friction unbearable. You were clenching around him harder and harder, a sure sign you were teetering on the edge. “I feel it! I'm—I'm gonna come, Katsuki!”

He saw the desperate plea in your eyes, felt the convulsive tightness of your body. He leaned forward, his face hovering just inches from yours, his breathing ragged. “Yeah? Let's come together, yeah? Come with me, baby. Let me feel you milk my cum right into you.”

You could only nod frantically, your nails scraping down his sweat-slicked back. “Together... please…”

A few more powerful, perfectly angled thrusts was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you first, a silent, seizing wave that locked your body tight before a raw, shattered scream was torn from your lungs. The feeling of you clamping down around him dragged his own release from him with a guttural roar. He plunged as deep as he could possibly go and held there, his body shuddering as hot jets of his cum spurted inside you, filling you in pulsating waves.

You kissed through the peak, a messy, desperate clash of lips and tongues, sharing each other's gasps and moans as the world dissolved into white-hot pleasure.

When the tremors finally began to subside, he didn't pull out. Instead, he carefully unfolded your legs, lowering them gently, but kept his hips pressed flush against yours, ensuring not a drop of his seed escaped. He collapsed onto his forearms above you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing in ragged, syncopated pants.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the word a prayer of exhaustion and satisfaction. He shifted just enough to cradle your head, his lips finding your temple, your cheeks, your eyelids, showering you with soft, tender kisses. “You... you were so perfect. Took me so good. My perfect girl.”

You nuzzled into his neck, your body humming with a profound, bone-deep contentment. You could feel the warm, wet evidence of his release slowly leaking out around where you were still joined, a tangible reminder of what you'd just shared. “Katsuki,” you murmured, your voice hoarse. “I love you. So much.”

He held you tighter, his embrace a safe, warm fortress. “I love you more. Gonna take care of you both. I swear it.” The promise hung in the air, thick with the scent of sex and sweat and the sweet, certain hope of the future you'd just chosen to create.

For a long while, there was only the sound of your shared, slowing breaths and the frantic beat of your hearts gradually settling into a steady, synchronised rhythm. Katsuki held you close, his body a heavy, comforting warmth atop yours, still buried deep within you as if unwilling to break the connection. His lips were pressed softly to your hairline, and his hand traced lazy, soothing circles on your back.

Then, he heard it—a soft, wet sniffle.

He stilled instantly. Pulling his head back just enough to see your face, his brows furrowed in immediate concern. In the dim light, he saw the tear tracks glistening on your temples.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough with sudden worry. He brushed a thumb under your eye, catching a fresh tear. “What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Did I— fuck, did I go too far?”

You shook your head quickly, a watery laugh escaping through your tears. You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, pulling him back down against you. “No, no. God, no. You were perfect.”

“Then why the tears?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with confusion and a need to fix whatever was hurting you.

“It's just…” you started, taking a shaky breath. “The weight of it all. It just hit me. I am ready. I want this so much. But... it's really happening, isn't it? It could be happening right now.” The reality of the future they had just actively chosen to create—the tiny, fragile possibility that had been set in motion—washed over you in a powerful, overwhelming wave. It was a happy cry, a release of weeks, months, maybe even years of quiet longing.

Understanding dawned in his crimson eyes, replacing the worry with a deep, empathetic tenderness. He shifted, finally sliding out of you, but immediately gathered you into his arms, rolling onto his side so he could tuck you against his chest, your back to his front. He held you like something priceless, one strong arm banded around your waist, his other hand coming up to gently brush the hair from your damp cheek.

“Listen to me,” he whispered, his lips close to your ear. His voice was low and sure, each word a vow. “You're gonna be a great mother. A fucking wonderful mother. You're strong, and you're kind, and you're so damn good with kids. Our kid is gonna be the luckiest little shit in the world.”

You sniffled again, leaning back into his solid comfort. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” he stated, no room for doubt in his tone. “And you're not doing it alone. I'm gonna be right here with you. Every single step of the way. Every doctor's appointment, every craving, every time you're tired or scared or... fucking hormonal. “He squeezed you gently. “I'm not going anywhere. I know it's gonna be hard. But we're a team. We've always been a team. This is just our next mission. And we're gonna ace it.”

His words were like a balm, soothing the sudden storm of emotion in your chest. You placed your hand over the one he had splayed across your stomach, lacing your fingers with his. The simple, protective gesture felt more meaningful than anything.

“Thank you, Katsuki,” you whispered, your tears finally subsiding, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

“Don't thank me,” he grumbled softly, nuzzling into your hair. “Just get some rest. We've got... a big day tomorrow.” The phrase was laced with a new, hopeful meaning.

You smiled, your eyes drifting closed. Cradled in the safety of his arms, with the scent of him and their love surrounding you, you felt the future settle not as a weight, but as a promise. The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you was the press of his lips against your shoulder, a final, silent seal on the new life you had begun together that night.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

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MHA MASTERLIST

[residenteval]

Christmas Headcanons

Kyojuro Rengoku edt.

a/n: yes this may be me soft launching the possibility of multfandom posts (if y’all are cool w it)

I literally just cannot get this guy out of my head I need him so bad ugh

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Kyojuro Rengoku

- dresses up as Santa for SURE

- Trashy Christmas>>>

- Biggest and Best Christmas decorations

- Loves baking, but makes a bit of a mess when he does it

- Sings ‘All I Want For Christmas’ very loudly and surprisingly well in the shower

- Keeps mistletoe on him all the time to hold between you two whenever he wants a kiss

- Always the host of the Christmas dinner

- Goes above the spending cap for presents (if you have one) for you and uses the excuse “My love for you is priceless, so I got the next best thing” every. Year.

- Never has alcohol at the dinner or provides it, but is chill if you bring your own

- Makes extra food to ensure there is leftovers for at least a week for him

- Wears ugly Christmas sweaters the entirety of December

- The type of guy to have Christmas decor up the SECOND the clock ticks over to November 1st

- Watches a Christmas movie every day of December

- Still leaves out cookies and milk for Santa, but eats them himself in the morning

- Loves sweet potato pie

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a/n: also I’m posting from my phone so apologies if this isn’t my normal layout, I am getting around to Dante/Nero hcs too don’t worry I just HAD to share my thoughts on this man

[bebx]