[raidenssblog]

My master lists + rules

Rules + what I write for

Demon slayer master list

Dc master list

Avatar TLAB/TLOK master list

Harry Potter master list

My hero academia master list

Red dead redemption 2 master list

jujitsu kaisen masterlist

[raidenssblog]

I told y’all I would write for him 🤤🤤

Headconnons about Dracula turning you into a vampire after his transformations + living untill this era together (because wtf was that ending)

Becoming a vampire was never something he forced upon you. After losing everything that made him human, he refused to steal your humanity without your consent. He offered you eternity with tears in his eyes, fully prepared for you to refuse him. When you whispered that forever with him was worth the curse, it was the first time he'd smiled since becoming Dracula.

The first decades were... difficult. Vlad barely understood his own hunger, and you certainly didn't understand yours. More than once the two of you isolated yourselves in abandoned monasteries or forgotten forests simply because he feared either of you losing control around innocent people.

He's fiercely protective to an almost obsessive degree. During the medieval years, vampire hunters, priests, and rival creatures constantly sought him out. Every time danger approached, he'd place himself between you and it without hesitation, even when he knew you were perfectly capable of defending yourself.

Every century changed him a little, but never his devotion to you. Kings rose and fell. Empires crumbled. Entire languages died. Yet every evening he'd still reach for your hand before stepping into the night.

Humans became your clocks. You'd watch families grow old while remaining exactly the same yourselves. At first it devastated you. Eventually it simply became another reminder that immortality was beautiful and unbearably lonely.

Vlad secretly keeps journals dating back hundreds of years. Every volume is filled with memories of your life together rather than his own accomplishments. Pressed flowers, little sketches of places you visited, letters you'd written him... they're his greatest treasures.

He remembers every anniversary—not just of your relationship, but the exact night he turned you. Rather than celebrating, the two of you usually spend it quietly. There's always a bittersweet silence as you remember the life you left behind.

Fashion fascinated him over the centuries. You've watched him go from heavy medieval armor to embroidered Renaissance coats, powdered wigs that he absolutely hated, perfectly tailored Victorian suits, and finally modern black coats that somehow still make him look centuries out of time.

He loves traveling under the cover of darkness. You've crossed Europe on horseback, sailed oceans, ridden steam trains, and now take midnight flights across continents simply because neither of you can resist exploring another city.

There are nights when he grows quiet after hearing church bells. Even after centuries, fragments of the man he once was remain buried beneath the monster.

Modern technology confuses him far more than he'd ever admit. You once found him glaring at a smartphone because it had asked him to verify he wasn't a robot. "I've survived six centuries," he grumbled. "Now this little rectangle questions my identity?"

You became the one who explained modern life to him. Online banking. Streaming services. GPS. Social media. The first time you convinced him to watch vampire movies together, he spent the entire film criticizing the inaccuracies.

"Bats?" he'd scoff. "I can become wolves too. Why does no one mention the wolves?"

Despite his intimidating appearance, he's surprisingly gentle with you. His hands are almost always cold, but he still cups your face as though you're the most fragile thing in existence.

Feeding became almost ritualistic. The two of you established rules over centuries—never children, never the vulnerable, never without necessity. Vlad carries enough guilt for several lifetimes and refuses to add needless suffering to it.

If another vampire flirted with you, Vlad's expression alone was enough to send them walking in the opposite direction. He rarely speaks. He simply stares until the poor soul decides existing elsewhere is the healthier option.

You've seen every side of him. The feared prince. The grieving widower. The monster whispered about in folklore. The exhausted immortal who sometimes rests his forehead against yours and quietly admits that eternity would have broken him long ago had you not been there beside him.

You know exactly how to calm his bloodlust. One touch to his hand. Your forehead against his. A soft reminder of his name—not Dracula, but Vlad. The name he almost forgot belonged to him.

Sunrises become your favorite shared ritual despite never seeing them directly. Every morning, just before dawn forces you indoors, the two of you stand together watching the sky slowly brighten. He always squeezes your hand and softly says, "We'll see another tomorrow."

The modern era surprises you both. After surviving crusades, plagues, world wars, and revolutions, your greatest shared arguments somehow become deciding what takeaway to order at two in the morning or whether the castle really needs Wi-Fi. According to Vlad, it absolutely doesn't. According to you, eternity is much more enjoyable when you can stream movies together.

[luvgam3]

» Choso has Hyperspermia (18+)

Choso quite literally cums buckets. It’s a dirty awful secret that eats away at him— it tore at him so often that when you first started dating Choso shut down every go at sex, no matter how desperate he was for your touch. If he thought that your gentle touches and soft grinding could make him burst then he immediately pulled you off of him.

But this time he wasn’t so lucky. Everything was stacked against him, the way you looked, the drinks you had at dinner that led to a few more, the soft way you held onto his arm that led to you between his thighs.

You stroke his cock, humming with delight as he whimpers. Choso’s words are all slurred, his hand weakly wrapped around your wrist— “S-stop-“ but he doesn’t push you away. “Baby please— please I’m so close—“ his words crack and a whimper pushes its way up his throat, high and whiny because he wants to stop you— he needs to stop you before it’s too late— but the pleasure you’re giving him is sending shivers up his spine, his scalp tingling and his gut twisting in a way that tells him it’s already to late.

You grin triumphantly as you hear him babble a string of “no no no-“ his breath coming in fast puffs, his abs flexing.

“You’re doing so well, Cho.” You praise, your other hand rubbing up and down his thigh before sneakily sliding down to cup his heavy balls. “I want you to cum for me.” And he certainly can’t deny you, no matter how much he wishes he could. The tight coil in his stomach snaps and his toes curl, hips bucking up into your hand as hot tears prickle his eyes. “I’m sorry— fffuck! I can’t—“ he hisses between clenched teeth as he feels the first hot spirt of cum erupt from his tip.

You gasp and Choso’s entire face burns at the quick intake of breath. He chances a peak down at you, shame swirling in his gut when he sees your pretty face covered in his warm sticky release— and yet the sight makes his balls tighten in your hand as another jet hits your parted lips. He whimpers softly, pitiful and full of shame. But… you don’t care. In fact, the second that second wave hit your tongue you grinned, wide and sadistic— a sight Choso didn’t see. He squeezed his eyes closed and tilted his head back, whimpering pathetically.

You give his cock another stroke, chuckling as more cum coats your fingers. “Baby~” you coo, “look at you! So good for me.” Your grip tightens around him, making him gasp and his hot tears spill. “You’ve been keeping this a secret from me?” You ask and he nods, a soft muffled “mhm” rumbling in his throat. You press your thumb against his leaky tip, watching with awe as he keeps cumming. You smear the sticky cum up and down his thick shaft, relishing in the sounds he’s making just for you. “No more secrets, baby. I’m gonna milk you dry.”

an: thank you for 700 followers !!

[raidenssblog]

🤤🤤

[raidenssblog]

Something about Vlad being covered in blood 🤤🤤

More specifically the second on like pin me up against your coffin next PLEASE

And you known gonna be writing for him next 😜😉

[velieditss]

Can you please write a fic where the reader is still in her Elisabeta life. She has to pull Vlad out of bed since he doesn't want to get up as he isn't a morning person, which is a foreshadowing to him becoming a vampire (creature of the night)

A huge thank you to my sis @moniquekye who wrote down everything I dictated to her (again). I swear this is the last one <3

His hands held you with a possessive firmness, as if even in sleep his instinct knew you were a treasure that could vanish with the light. His body, a fortress of warmth and power, was the wall behind you, shielding you from the world, from the cold, from everything but his devotion.

You kept your eyes closed, prolonging the enchantment. Your own hands came to rest upon his, your fingers tracing the scars and powerful knuckles, drawing slow, hypnotic circles on his skin. Then, you dared more; you turned your head slightly and raised a hand to tangle your fingers in the darkness of his hair. Your fingertips traced his temple, his scalp, with a delicacy that not even the gentlest breeze could emulate. He did not wake, but a deeper, more satisfied sigh escaped his lips, and his arm tightened a little more around you.

Thus you remained for a time both eternal and fleeting, feeling yourself the guardian of his peace, the caretaker of a dream that rarely visited the warrior.

But the desire to see him, to drink in his image in this rare placidity, was stronger. With infinite slowness, you turned in his embrace, rotating until you were facing him.

The scant light that filtered through was miserly, but enough to sculpt his face in shadows and shades of silver-grey. His features, so often carved into a mask of iron and determination, were softened by sleep. His breathing was calm and deep, a sea becalmed after a storm. And your heart, then, did something extraordinary: it beat with a thunderous and painfully sweet force, a dull thud of pure love that resonated in every corner of your being.

You could not help it. He was so yours in that instant, so vulnerable and yet so powerful in his stillness. Your admiration was a physical ache, a beauty that constricted your chest.

Your hand rose again. Not to caress his hair, but to trace the map of his face. Your fingertips, light as feathers, began their pilgrimage on his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin. They travelled along the high line of his cheekbone, an arc of nobility and power. They ascended to the bridge of his nose, strong and defined.

They descended, with a devotion that stole your breath, to the imperfect and perfect arch of his lips. You felt their warmth, their soft texture, and you caught a sigh as you remembered their taste. Finally, your finger traced the line of his jaw, strong and resolute, until it reached his chin.

It was the face you saw every day. But here, now, it was only the face of the man you loved. And no matter how much you looked, no matter how much you memorised it, you knew, with a certainty that filled you with peace, that you would never, ever grow tired of seeing it. Every line, every shadow, every tranquil breath, was a verse of an eternal poem that only you had the privilege of reading.

Your tactile exploration was not enough. The map of his face, memorised by your fingers, clamoured to be consecrated with a kiss. You leaned in, closed your eyes, and placed your lips upon his with infinite softness, as if you feared breaking the spell of that morning peace.

He did not move. He did not respond to the contact. He remained still, his breathing maintaining the same slow, deep rhythm. But you... you knew. An internal smile, sweet and victorious, bloomed within you. You knew each of his sighs, every slight change in the energy surrounding him. And the stillness that enveloped him now was too perfect, too calculated. The almost imperceptible tension in his lips betrayed the farce.

You pulled back barely, your own breath catching with the laughter already fighting to escape.

"Faker," you whispered, and your voice was like honey in the gloom. "I know you're awake."

Before he could react or pretend otherwise, you buried yourself against him. You hid your flushed face in the hollow of his neck, inhaling his deep, familiar essence, while a light laugh, a joyful, crystalline sound, vibrated against his skin. Your body shook against his with each muffled chuckle.

He could not maintain the comedy any longer. A low growl, more of surrender than anger, rumbled in his chest. His arm, already around you, closed like a velvet trap, imprisoning you against him.

"You give me away, woman," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, yet laden with a tenderness only you knew. "You ruin all my attempts to steal a few more minutes of your warmth."

He cradled you against his body, refusing to let go. But the day was calling, and the duties of a Voivode would not wait. With a cheerful determination, you untangled yourself from his arms, hearing him protest with another, more dramatic groan.

"Rise, my love. The sun has nearly defeated the night," you said, standing by the bedside. The cold stone of the floor contrasted with the warmth of the sheets.

From the bed, Vlad watched you through half-closed eyes, like a great, lazy feline disturbed in its repose. His figure, so imposing and feared, seemed to want to merge with the mattress.

"The sun is an impertinent tyrant," he grumbled, turning on his side and burying his face in the pillow that still held your scent. "And I owe it no obedience."

A wide smile lit your face. You approached the bed again and took his hand, large and heavy, in yours.

"But you owe it to your wife," you reminded him, toying with his fingers. "Rise, Vlad. Or I shall have to use drastic measures."

He opened one eye, a spark of playful interest in its depth.

"That sounds more like a temptation than a threat."

Laughing, you pulled on his arm with all your might, which was as nothing compared to his. He, of course, did not move an inch, but he humoured the game by letting himself be dragged little by little, feigning an exaggerated heaviness, until finally, with a theatrical groan that ended in a hoarse laugh, he sat on the edge of the bed.

He looked at you from there, with his hair dishevelled and the mark of the pillow on his cheek, looking more like a large, recalcitrant child than the feared Prince of Wallachia. He took your face in his hands and placed a quick but intense kiss on your lips.

"My eternal defeat," he whispered. "The only one to whom I surrender without a fight."

And so, the warrior who defied empires allowed himself to be led, reluctantly but with a cheerful heart, from the warmth of his bed by the soft yet unyielding determination of his love. The sun had finally managed to penetrate a gap in the curtains, illuminating the triumph of the princess over her dark king.

Masterlist

[raidenssblog]

Y’all did I just get a pop up ad from TUMBLR ?!?!??

[tnkisu]

when ur bf isnt a morning person

[raidenssblog]

a curses heart

Pairing - Choso x gothic male reader you find yourself falling for a blood manipulation curse without realizing it.

The first thing Choso noticed about you wasn't the black clothing or the silver jewelry that decorated your ears and fingers. It wasn't the dark eyeliner that made your tired eyes seem permanently shadowed, nor the combat boots that echoed against the empty streets with measured confidence. It was the fact that you looked at him without flinching.

Most sorcerers reacted with disgust the moment they recognized what he was. Some drew their weapons before exchanging so much as a word. Others masked their fear with arrogance, convincing themselves that a curse could never be anything more than something to exorcise. You, however, simply stood across from him in the middle of the abandoned shopping district, twirling your cursed weapon absentmindedly while the evening wind tugged at the hem of your long black coat.

"So," you finally said, your voice calm enough that it almost sounded bored, "you're Choso."

His crimson eyes narrowed. "You know my name."

"I make it a habit to learn about the people I'm hunting."

His brow furrowed slightly at your wording. "People?"

A crooked smile appeared on your lips. "Well... everyone else insists you're a curse." You tilted your head, studying him with genuine curiosity rather than hatred. "I wanted to decide for myself."

The silence that followed caught him off guard. He had expected insults. Threats. A battle that would leave one of you dead. Instead, he found himself staring at a sorcerer who seemed more interested in understanding him than killing him.

Unfortunately, duty was still duty.

Without another word, Choso attacked.

Blood erupted from his arms in razor-sharp streams, slicing through the air with enough force to tear through concrete. You sprang backward, your coat flaring behind you as you narrowly avoided the first strike, boots skidding across wet asphalt. The fight that followed was relentless. Buildings cracked beneath the force of cursed energy, shattered glass rained from broken windows, and every attack carried enough power to end the battle instantly if either of you made a mistake.

Despite that, something felt... restrained.

Whenever Choso had a clear opening, he hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second.

Whenever you found an opportunity to drive your blade through his chest, your weapon somehow missed by inches.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

After nearly twenty exhausting minutes, both of you stood several meters apart, breathing heavily. Blood trickled from a cut above your eyebrow while bruises darkened your ribs beneath your shirt. Choso's sleeve had been torn nearly in half, revealing fresh wounds slowly closing under cursed energy.

"You fight strangely," he observed, wiping blood from beneath his nose with the back of his hand. His breathing was uneven, yet his gaze remained fixed on yours. "You've had at least four chances to kill me."

You rolled one shoulder, wincing as bruised muscles protested. "Funny," you replied, sliding your weapon back into its sheath, "I was about to say the same thing."

For the first time in years, Choso found himself without an answer.

Weeks passed before your paths crossed again.

Officially, you had been assigned to investigate reports of curse activity in another abandoned district on the outskirts of Tokyo. Unofficially, you already knew who was responsible.

You found him sitting atop the roof of a derelict apartment building, his legs hanging over the edge as he watched the city lights flicker to life below. The evening sky had turned deep shades of violet and black, making your own silhouette blend almost seamlessly with the growing darkness as you climbed onto the roof.

"You followed me," Choso said without looking back.

You walked over until you stood beside him, slipping your hands into the pockets of your coat. "No." A small grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. "I happened to receive a mission in the exact neighborhood where a certain Blood Manipulation user was hiding."

"...That's called following me."

"I prefer coincidence."

A faint sound escaped him, it took you several seconds to realize he had laughed. The noise was so quiet that it almost disappeared beneath the wind, but it was unmistakably a laugh. "There it is," you said with obvious satisfaction. Choso glanced at you in confusion. "What?"

"I was beginning to think you were physically incapable of smiling." you huffed out a breath, fog slightly escaped along with it.

"I can smile." you smiled, pushing his buttons a little more "I don't believe you."

"I can."

"Prove it."

His lips parted as though he intended to argue, only for him to realize he'd walked directly into your trap. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his expression before he looked away with the slightest hint of pink dusting the tips of his ears.

"...You're insufferable."

"There it is again."

"What?"

"The smile."

"I wasn't smiling."

"You absolutely were."

...

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face as though you had somehow exhausted him in less than two minutes. "You're a very strange sorcerer."

"And you're surprisingly easy to embarrass."

"...I am not."

"You are."

"I've known you for approximately five minutes."

"And yet you're already blushing."

"I am not blushing."

You leaned closer, squinting dramatically as if inspecting him. "Interesting. Because your ears have turned red." Choso instinctively reached up to cover one ear before realizing exactly what he'd done. You burst into laughter, not cruel laughter, warm laughter. The kind that echoed across empty rooftops and somehow made the abandoned city feel just a little less lonely.

For reasons he couldn't explain, he didn't mind hearing it.

By the third meeting, neither of you bothered pretending it was an accident.

You arrived carrying a plastic convenience store bag filled with canned coffee and snacks, setting it down beside him on the rooftop without a word before sitting cross-legged against the crumbling wall.

Choso stared at the bag.

"...What's this?"

"Dinner."

He looked at you.

"You brought food?"

"I did."

"For me?"

You blinked. "Well... I wasn't planning on eating four sandwiches by myself."

"I don't need human food." you tilted your head to the side "You don't."

"..."

"But I figured you might want to try it."

His expression softened ever so slightly.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reached into the bag and picked up one of the sandwiches as though expecting it to disappear. He studied the packaging with complete seriousness, carefully opening it before taking a tentative bite.

You tried very hard not to stare. "So?" you asked after several long moments. Choso chewed thoughtfully, swallowing before looking down at the sandwich in mild surprise. "...It's... good."

Your smile grew. "I know."

He took another bite, then another, each one a little less hesitant than the last. Watching him discover something as ordinary as convenience store food felt strangely intimate, and you found yourself smiling without realizing it.

After finishing half the sandwich, Choso glanced sideways and caught you looking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"...You're smiling."

"I am."

"Why?"

You rested your chin on your hand, your expression softer than he'd ever seen it. "Because you look happy."

He froze....Happy....No one had ever described him that way before. His gaze drifted back to the half-eaten sandwich in his hands before quietly returning to you. "...I didn't realize I did."

"You do." For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It simply settled around the two of you like the evening air, peaceful and unhurried. Without thinking, your shoulder leaned lightly against his.

Choso stiffened for only a heartbeat before, almost imperceptibly, allowing himself to relax against the contact instead of pulling away.

you both didn't comment on it fearing the break this odd but comforting moment.

[raidenssblog]

running empty

Pairing - Megumi x Fem reader megumi finding out the you have a ED

WARNINGS-ED MENTIONED!! Not at all am I romanticising eating disorders, I’m simply writing about them because I personally haven’t seen people write about any type of SH before

For weeks, Megumi couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It wasn't one dramatic event that tipped him off. It was hundreds of tiny moments that, on their own, seemed harmless. You laughed just as brightly as everyone else, teased Yuji whenever he made a fool of himself, rolled your eyes at Gojo's antics, and trained with the same determination you'd always had. To anyone else, you looked perfectly fine. But Megumi knew you better than anyone. He noticed how your smile lingered a fraction too long, like you were making sure everyone believed it. He noticed how tired your eyes looked when you thought no one was watching. He noticed how often you brushed off concern with a quiet, "I'm okay." At first he'd accepted it, because you had always been independent, always insisting you could handle yourself. But lately, he'd begun catching you staring at your own reflection in windows during missions, your expression softening into something painfully sad before you realized he was looking and forced another smile onto your face.

One evening after training, the first-years gathered in the common room while Panda proudly announced he was ordering dinner. "Everyone's eating," he declared dramatically, phone in hand. "No excuses. We've got ramen, curry, burgers, fried chicken—today is a feast." Yuji immediately started celebrating while Nobara leaned over his shoulder to criticize every restaurant on the app. Megumi looked toward you, expecting your usual quiet smile. Instead, you hesitated just long enough for him to notice before saying, "I think I'll pass. I'm still full from lunch." Nobara frowned. "Seriously? You barely touched your lunch." You laughed awkwardly, waving a dismissive hand. "Guess I wasn't that hungry then either." Before anyone could continue the conversation, you stood up. "I'm just going to shower. Don't wait up." The door clicked shut behind you. Yuji shrugged and went back to debating dumpling fillings, but Megumi kept staring at the hallway long after you'd disappeared.

That night he couldn't sleep.

Something about your answer had felt rehearsed.

Like you'd said it before.

Many times.

The next morning he woke earlier than usual, intending to clear his head before classes. As he stepped outside, he froze. Across the courtyard, long before sunrise, you were already there. Alone. Your breathing was ragged as you practiced the same combat sequence again and again despite the fact your movements had become sluggish. Your punches had lost their precision. Your legs trembled every time you landed. Sweat clung to your forehead despite the cool morning air. Megumi watched silently from the doorway, his chest tightening as you stumbled, caught yourself, then immediately forced yourself back into your stance as if falling wasn't an option. You looked exhausted... but you kept going.

"...That's enough."

You jumped, turning sharply to find him walking toward you.

"I didn't hear you."

his face stayed neutral as he walked a little closer "I noticed." You forced a small laugh while wiping your forehead. "Couldn't sleep." Megumi studied your face. "You've been saying that a lot lately."

"...Guess I've been having bad nights."

"You've also been exhausted."

"I'm fine."

"You keep saying that but you're not fine." you rolled your eyes slightly at his picking dropping your shoulders before you answered"I just lost my footing."

"No."

His answer came so quietly that it almost hurt more than if he'd shouted.

"You didn't."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the breeze rustling through the trees surrounding the school grounds.

You looked away first.

"I should shower before class."

"You should rest."

"I'll rest later."

"When?"

"..."

"When was the last time you actually rested?"

You opened your mouth.

Nothing came out.

"...See you in class," you whispered before walking away.

Megumi watched you leave, a knot settling heavily in his stomach.

Something was very, very wrong.

Days turned into another week, and things only became harder to ignore. During training, you were slower than usual, your cursed energy flickering unpredictably. Even Gojo commented that you looked pale, though you'd laughed it off with another joke. Then came the mission that finally broke the illusion.

It should have been simple—a Grade Two curse haunting an abandoned office building—but halfway through the fight Megumi noticed your breathing becoming uneven. You dodged too late, stumbled after landing a kick, and when the curse was finally exorcised, you leaned against a wall so heavily it looked like your legs might give out.

"Let's head back," Megumi said immediately. "I'm okay," you insisted, forcing yourself upright. You took exactly three steps before your vision blurred. The hallway tilted. Someone called your name. Then everything disappeared beneath you.

When consciousness returned, the first thing you became aware of was the soft hum of fluorescent lights. The second was the familiar scent of antiseptic. The infirmary. Your heart immediately sank. "...No..." you whispered hoarsely. "You're awake." Megumi's voice came from beside the bed. He hadn't moved from the chair since you'd opened your eyes. His uniform was still dusty from the mission, his hair messier than usual, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. You tried to sit up, but he gently stopped you. "Don't." "...I'm sorry." His expression tightened. "Stop apologizing."

Silence stretched between you until the infirmary door slid open. Shoko walked in carrying your chart, her expression calm but serious. She glanced between the two of you before looking directly at you. "Your collapse wasn't because of the mission," she said gently. "Your body is exhausted. You've been under-fueling yourself for a long time."

You felt your stomach drop. Megumi didn't speak. Didn't even blink. Shoko continued carefully.

"I'm not here to lecture you. I just want you to understand that this isn't about willpower. When someone spends a long time struggling with food and body image, it affects far more than their weight. It affects concentration, energy, emotions, recovery... eventually it affects everything." Tears immediately stung your eyes. You hated hearing it said out loud. Hated that it was real.

After Shoko quietly excused herself to give you privacy, the room became unbearably still.

Megumi stared at the floor for what felt like forever before finally asking, "...How long?"

Your throat tightened.

"...Before Jujutsu High." His head lifted slowly, studying your face carfully "...Before we met?...Before we started dating?" you nodded and megumi closed his eyes.

"So... this whole time..." His voice was barely audible. "Every time you smiled at me... every date... every mission... every time I asked if you were okay..." He swallowed hard. "...you were fighting this by yourself?"

Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks.

"I didn't want you to know."

"...Why?"

"Because..." Your voice cracked completely. "Because if you knew how much I hated myself... I thought maybe you'd start seeing me the same way."

The words hung heavily between you.

Megumi stared at you as though you'd just told him the sky wasn't blue.

"...Do you really think that's how I see you?"

You couldn't answer.

"I look at you," he said quietly, moving his chair closer to the bed, "and I see the girl who stayed up with Yuji all night after he blamed himself for a mission. I see the girl who always checks if everyone else is warm before grabbing herself a blanket. I see someone who laughs with Nobara until neither of you can breathe. I see someone who throws herself into danger to protect complete strangers without expecting anything in return." His voice faltered for the first time. "...I see the person I fell in love with."

You covered your face as another sob escaped.

"But when you look at yourself..." he continued, his own eyes beginning to shine, "...you don't see any of that, do you?"

You shook your head.

"I just... see someone who isn't enough."

Those words shattered whatever composure Megumi had left.

He stood, crossed the room in two quick steps, and carefully wrapped his arms around you. He held you as though you might disappear if he let go, resting his chin lightly against your hair while your entire body shook with quiet sobs.

"You are enough," he whispered.

"I don't believe you."

"I know."

"I want to."

"I know."

"I'm scared I'll never stop thinking this way."

His hand gently rubbed comforting circles across your back.

"Then we'll face that fear one day at a time."

"You say 'we' like this is your problem too."

He pulled back just enough to look into your tear-filled eyes.

"It became my problem the day you became the person I wanted beside me for the rest of my life."

You stared at him.

"...You're stuck with me," he said softly, the smallest smile finally reaching his lips. "Not because I have to stay... because I choose to."

The tears started again, but this time they felt different.

Not hopeless.

Not completely.

For the first time in longer than you could remember, someone had seen every part of your pain—and instead of walking away, they'd stepped closer.

And as Megumi held you tightly against his chest, he silently promised himself that no matter how long recovery took, no matter how many difficult days lay ahead, you would never have to fight that battle alone again.

[revolvingsaturn]

𝜗𝜚 “hey, Megumi, have you ever fucked Yuji?”

more like this | satosugu ver

You really didn’t mean to ask! It was supposed to be more of a joke than anything else, just a laughable throwaway comment made to your boyfriend as you reached for your mug while hugging him cosily on the couch.

There’s two men kissing on your tv, something to do with the romance film you’re supposed to be paying attention to (since you picked, it against Megumi’s will) but the scene makes you giggle. “Heyyy, I bet you’ve made out with Yuji before, haven’t you?”

Your honest expectation was for Megumi to groan at your antics and vehemently deny that, no, he doesn't have a secret one-sided romance in the form of Yuji Itadori- except, he doesn’t. He straightens up against you in the way he only does when he’s trying to hide something, and you blink widely. And, oddly enough, the thought of Megumi making out with his best friend... doesn’t make you jealous at all.

You grab his hand eagerly. “Don’t be embarrassed. But, uh… would you do it again? Make out with Yuji for me?”

He groans. “You’re being really perverted right now.” But he doesn’t say no.

What Megumi also didn’t say is that him and Yuji did a lot more than just make out. Although, that was enough to make you salivate excitedly, Yuji's hands threading protectively into Megumi's dark hair as your boyfriend's tongue meshed against Yuji's mouth, cheek, ears, neck- and then it'd spiralled, Yuji dragging Megumi to straddle his lap against the headboard.

They did a lot more than just grind on each other over their boxers- which they gladly showed you, Yuji’s broad hands rocking Megumi’s narrow hips along- but, apparently, they also fucked. Properly, with spit and sweat and clashing hips.

And, apparently, your boyfriend bottomed.

He looks so pretty like this, is the first thought that floats into your head as you watch the way Megumi’s eyes gloss over at Yuji’s first careful thrust, his soft lips passing open around a shuddered gasp.

You could tell he was trying to be quiet at first, biting his lip to keep the noises from slipping out as hot embarrassment flushed his cheeks. Megumi does the same when you have sex with him, but you have ways of opening him up- and so does Yuji, clearly, fingers curling into his waist to yank him strongly backwards until the noises are punched out of him.

“Mmfh- hah-“ he gasps, eyes brimming with a few overstimulated tears as his elbows give way to crash to the sheets. Yuji’s holding your boyfriend’s lean hips up, plunging into him a little meanly with each stroke.

Megumi can’t look at you. He doesn’t want you to see his face, all pathetic and teary and crammed against the sheets of your shared bed as his best friend pummels inside him. From what you can see, his pretty eyelashes are beaded with tears and they’re rapidly fluttering against the duvet below, spiky hair ruffled in every direction possible.

Although, Megumi couldn’t look at you even if he wanted to. His eyes are rolling themselves starrily back in their sockets as Yuji’s sobbing tip glides across his sweet spot and stretches him out, a few quiet groans slipping out of the pink haired man’s mouth.

When you lean forwards, sliding automatically onto the floor to hold onto Megumi’s hands, his face looks wrecked. He looks wrecked, collapsed forwards into your sheets as Yuji pummels him from behind; you gaze up at him, Yuji awkwardly grins like he’s about to give you a thumbs up or wave then realises his hands are too busy gripping Megumi’s hips.

“Megs,” you whisper, shoving his hair back from his rolling eyes, “Megs, it’s okay. I’ve got you, don't worry.” He nuzzles forwards into your hand and whimpers, tears sliding down his red cheeks. Whether they’re from embarrassment or arousal, you can’t tell.

“F-fuck.” He shudders out, grinding forwards into the sheets. “M’sorry, hck, I…” he trails off, obviously forgetting whatever he was supposed to initially say when Yuji thrusts in again. And then he remembers.

“I’m pathetic.”

Your heart clenches a little. “You aren’t.” You coo, stroking away his tears. “You aren’t, Megs. You’re perfect for us.” He gasps and shudders, hips bucking. Yuji moans from above, lip caught between his teeth.

“S-sorry, guys-“ he heaves, genuinely feeling bad he interrupted, “I don’t think- im about to cum. Do you want me to, like, pull out, Megumi?”

Megumi’s too fucked dumb to answer, face smushed between your loving hands. “Do you want Yu to pull out?” You whisper. Megumi nods lucidly at you, and Yuji adheres; he pulls himself out with an obscenely slick noise and Megumi collapses into the mattress where he continues his mindless grinding into the sheets.

You know he’s ruined the duvet with cum when he moans and his pupils dilate outwards before rolling back, his facial expression quite literally the hottest thing you think he’s ever let you see him do. “So good for us,” you assure him as he shakes through the aftershocks, “so good.”

From behind, Yuji is still half-straddling Megumi as he jerks his cock with his hand. He’s gasping and shuddering above, silken skin slapping against his calloused palm and thumb as he pushes himself towards an orgasm quickly.

“Shit!” He groans when he cums, almost doubling over as his abdomen tenses in on itself. Thick ropes spurt across Megumi’s sweaty lower back, streaking the pale skin with sticky white globs that drip across the flesh almost nastily. “Sorry.” Yuji pants immediately after it’s done, “didn’t wanna ruin your sheets.”

You laugh breathlessly, a little more turned on by his show than you’d be willing to admit if anybody asked. “I think Megs has that one covered. Don’t you, baby?” You purr, holding your boyfriend’s lolling head up in your palms. His face is bright red in embarrassment, but he’s still recovering from the space his brain retreated into for him to respond.

Yuji grins, smile just as boyish as it usually is. Apparently, he’s completely undeterred by the naked body beneath him and the way he’s also incredibly naked, cock out in front of Megumi's girlfriend's face and dripping cum onto Megumi’s back. “Well,” Yuji says, scratching the back of his neck, “I guess you’re right.”

He yanks on his clothes, awkwardly avoiding the way Megumi looks like he’s just ran a marathon and is still panting because of it like his dick wasn’t just buried inside him. Then, Yuji stands in your bedroom like a puppy waiting to be given orders.

“Do you want a drink?” You offer him, still petting Megumi’s head as he recovers. You know he’d hate the attention to be on him when he’s like this, so you’re being casual. Yuji deliberates on this for a moment, tapping his chin. “Do you have tap water?”

You snort. “Yes, we do. Glasses are above the sink, knock yourself out.” Yuji bounces out of the room- thankfully wearing his clothes now- and you hear the glasses clink from your kitchen.

“Hey, Megs.” You whisper, noticing the way his eyes have refocused onto your face. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, you did so good. I really liked it.”

He loops his arms- as trembling as they are- around your neck and gasps in a few deep breaths until he’s steady again. “You…” he says quietly, “you liked it?” You nod. “Mhm. A lot.”

He avoids your eye contact and drags the blanket around his hips. “Huh.”

“Guys!” Yuji yells from the hallway, a little too loud for how late it is, “I’m gonna go home and sleep. Have a nice weekend!”

“Bye, Yu!” You call back, before returning your attention to your naked, sleepy boyfriend, who presses his mouth lazily to yours as soon as you’re within reach. You should do this more often.

ೃ࿔*:･

masterlist

a/n: yumyumyumyum

tags (open):

@yvannaille @f33bs @loverofladybugs @p3stop3sta @arabellasolstice @dreamcastgirl99 @what-the-jams @likstars @elenathriel @gyusheadphones @savagecatsuga @wqsrs @kakuthefish @megssleepygirl @olegirldowntheblock @sugerfilled @mershyjershy @1cckedheart @mimicosmos8 @destenyyyyy @icebearcucumber @satoru2716 @mebodys @megumisrighttoe @toesy3 @ivankinnieclatter @v4mp1r3b4tzz @a-court-of-smut-and-sluts @stqrgumi @skylaryippee @iridescentshine @hanges-wife @rengoatku @lilyalone @cherryfawnie @toro-inouelover @bowiesprettieststar2 @mischivana @themoonknowsyourname @lovingplum @tellria @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

people who asked for an itafushi ver (I hope you don’t mind being tagged, eek!) @huckleberrycake @loser-with-eyeliner @jaiceekamo @0soleilmist @dssstinyy @megumiswifeyily

[raidenssblog]

My obsession with Raphael from TMNT is coming back guys

@tictic2

[raidenssblog]

Hey again hehehe, if you can do it too, I'd like headcanons of Zuko from the new leaked movie, as an adult, as an omega + with him pregnant, what he would be like and stuff... I downloaded the Tumblr app again, I'll get the notification this time, my apologies 🥹 (take all the time you need, I love your writing 🫶

zuko as a preg!omega ive never written for this before so i had to read some stuff before hand + a short blurb at the end

He'd be incredibly stubborn about slowing down

Pregnancy would not magically make Zuko any less stubborn. If anything, it would probably make him worse. The moment a healer suggested reducing his workload, he'd immediately insist that he was perfectly capable of performing his duties as Fire Lord. It wouldn't matter if he was exhausted, sore, or visibly struggling to stay awake during meetings—he would continue pushing himself because he genuinely believes his responsibilities come first. His advisors would spend months trying to convince him to take it easy, only to discover that Zuko had secretly slipped away to inspect a harbor or attend a diplomatic meeting anyway. The frustrating part would be that he isn't trying to prove anything to anyone else; he's trying to prove it to himself. Deep down, he would fear appearing weak or incapable, so accepting help would feel far more difficult than simply enduring the discomfort.

He'd secretly worry about being a good parent

This would likely be one of the biggest emotional struggles of his pregnancy. Zuko knows firsthand how deeply a parent can affect a child's life, both positively and negatively. He would spend countless nights lying awake with his hand resting over his stomach, wondering if he would know how to give his child the love and support he never consistently received. Sometimes he'd catch himself remembering painful moments from his childhood and immediately become terrified that some part of him might unknowingly repeat those mistakes. He'd likely overthink every decision, from what kind of education the child should receive to what values he should teach them. The irony is that his constant worrying would actually be proof that he's already determined to be a far better parent than the one who raised him

He'd become surprisingly protective

Zuko has always been protective of the people he loves, but pregnancy would amplify that instinct dramatically. Every situation would suddenly feel more dangerous than it did before. He'd insist on stronger palace security, personally review protection plans, and constantly think several steps ahead whenever he traveled. While he normally throws himself into danger without hesitation, now he'd find himself pausing before taking risks because there was someone else depending on him. If anyone made even the slightest threat toward his family, the calm and diplomatic Fire Lord would disappear immediately. Beneath all his growth and maturity, the fierce protector has always been there, and pregnancy would bring that side of him to the surface more often.

He'd hate being fussed over—but secretly appreciate it

One of the funniest aspects of a pregnant Zuko would be his relationship with being cared for. Every time someone asked if he needed to sit down, drink water, or take a break, he'd probably respond with irritation. He would insist that he was capable of handling things himself and act as though everyone was treating him like he was fragile. However, the moment nobody checked on him, he'd notice. He might never openly admit it, but the small acts of care would mean a great deal to him. Growing up, affection was often conditional or inconsistent, so being surrounded by people who simply wanted him comfortable and healthy would quietly touch him. He'd complain the entire time while secretly feeling loved.

His emotional side would show more often

Adult Zuko is much better at handling his emotions than he was as a teenager, but he's still someone who tends to keep vulnerable feelings hidden. Pregnancy would make that considerably harder. His worries, excitement, fears, and hopes would all sit much closer to the surface. Some days he'd find himself unexpectedly emotional over small things, like receiving a handmade gift or hearing someone speak kindly about the future child. He might become embarrassed whenever his emotions slip out publicly, immediately trying to regain his composure. The people closest to him, however, would likely appreciate seeing this softer side. It would remind them that beneath the title of Fire Lord is someone who loves deeply and feels everything intensely.

He'd be fascinated by every little milestone

For all his attempts to remain composed, Zuko would absolutely become captivated by every stage of the pregnancy. The first time he felt movement, he'd probably freeze completely, staring down at his stomach in stunned disbelief. He'd spend several minutes simply sitting there, trying to process the fact that there was actually a tiny person growing inside him. Afterward, he'd immediately want to tell the people he trusts most. As the months passed, he'd become increasingly fascinated by each new development. He'd ask healers endless questions, read whatever information he could find, and quietly treasure every milestone. Despite all the stress and anxiety, moments like these would make everything feel real in the best possible way.

As the due date got closer, he'd become increasingly anxious and excited

The closer the birth came, the more restless Zuko would become. His natural tendency to overprepare would go into overdrive. He'd review plans repeatedly, make backup plans for those plans, and then create additional backups just in case. Palace staff would constantly reassure him that everything was ready, only for him to find something else that needed checking. Beneath all of that nervous energy would be genuine excitement. Every day would bring him closer to meeting his child, and that thought would fill him with anticipation. At the same time, he'd be terrified of anything going wrong. The combination of excitement and anxiety would leave him feeling emotionally exhausted and eager for the waiting to finally be over.

Once the baby arrived, he'd be completely devoted

The moment he held his child for the first time, something inside him would shift completely. All the fears, worries, and uncertainties would still exist, but they'd become secondary to the overwhelming love he feels. Zuko would quickly become the kind of parent who checks on the baby constantly, convinced that every little sound requires immediate investigation. Sleep would become a distant memory because he'd spend hours simply holding the child and watching them. Every smile would feel like a major achievement. Every milestone would be celebrated. Most importantly, he'd make a conscious effort to ensure his child never doubts they are loved. Having grown up longing for that certainty himself, he would be determined to provide it without hesitation. His child would never need to wonder where they stood with him, because Zuko would make sure they knew every single day

hearing the heartbeat for the first time

The first time you heard the baby's heartbeat, it wasn't supposed to be a particularly important appointment. The palace healers had assured both of you that everything was progressing normally, and Zuko had spent most of the morning grumbling about being pulled away from his duties for yet another check-up. Even sitting on the examination bed, he looked mildly irritated, arms crossed over the swell of his stomach as he complained under his breath about paperwork piling up on his desk. You stood beside him, listening with a smile that made him roll his eyes. "Don't look at me like that," he muttered. "I'm allowed to be annoyed." Before you could answer, the healer carefully positioned a listening device against his stomach. The room fell quiet. For a moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly, filling the silence, came the rapid, steady rhythm of a tiny heartbeat. Zuko's words died instantly. His entire body went still as he stared at the healer, then at you, his golden eyes wide with disbelief. The heartbeat continued, strong and unmistakable, echoing softly through the room. For perhaps the first time since learning he was pregnant, everything became real. This wasn't a distant future anymore. There was an actual little person in there, growing stronger every day. You reached for his hand without thinking, and Zuko gripped yours so tightly it almost hurt. When you looked at him, there were tears gathering in his eyes, though he seemed completely unaware of them. "That's... them?" he asked quietly, his voice suddenly much smaller than usual. The healer smiled and nodded, but Zuko barely seemed to hear. He couldn't take his eyes off the device. His thumb rubbed nervously against the back of your hand as the heartbeat filled the room again and again. The Fire Lord who faced down armies and world leaders without hesitation looked completely overwhelmed, and honestly, you had never loved him more. After the appointment ended, he remained unusually quiet all the way back to your chambers. It wasn't until the two of you were finally alone that he sat beside you on the bed and leaned into your side, resting a hand protectively over his stomach. "Did you hear how strong they sounded?" he asked softly. The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his temple. "I did." Zuko looked down at his stomach for a long moment before a small smile appeared on his face, one so gentle and full of love that it hardly seemed like the same person who once carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. "I can't wait to meet them," he whispered, and for the first time, all the fear he'd been carrying seemed outweighed by excitement.

[raidenssblog]

doing so well

Pairing - Aizawa x male reader they all know him as eraserhead. a stoic pro hero, but behind closed doors he falls apart whenever you slightly take control NSFW BELOW CUT WARNINGS - might be OOC, bottom!aizawa x Top!male!reader, lowkey porn without plot, fluff and very end

The taste of salt on your lips when you kiss his cheek. He shudders beneath you, a fine tremor running through his lean frame, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a whimper and a sigh. His knees are hooked over your shoulders, his legs open and vulnerable, and when you roll your hips again—slow, deliberate, filling him to the hilt—his head presses back into the pillow and his throat works around a broken noise.

"Shouta." His name is a low rumble in your chest, and his eyes flutter at the sound. Dark and wet and fixed on yours like you're the only solid thing in a world that's spinning loose. You draw your hips back, almost all the way out, and he gasps—a desperate little sound that makes your cock throb inside him.

He's so tight. Hot and clenching around you with every slow push, and the way his body welcomes you, surrenders to you, makes your skin prickle with heat. You press forward again, watching his face. His lips are parted. His breath comes in shallow, uneven pulls. A bead of sweat trails from his temple into his hairline.

You lean down and kiss it away.

He makes a sound like he's been struck. Soft and wounded and so achingly tender that your rhythm stutters for half a beat. His hands, white-knuckled around the sheets, loosen. One of them rises, hesitant, trembling, and lands on your forearm. He doesn't push or pull. Just rests it there. Holding on.

"Please," he whispers. The word cracks in his throat. His eyes are glassy, and you see the sheen before it spills—a tear that escapes down the side of his face, lost in his stubble. "Please, just—"

You still. Buried deep inside him. Waiting.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" Your voice is quiet. Gentle. Your thumb finds his jaw and strokes along the line of it. "Tell me."

He shakes his head. A tiny, helpless motion. His fingers curl into your skin, not quite gripping. "Don't stop. Just—don't stop. Please. I need—I need you to—"

"I'm right here." You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another to his cheek, where the tear is still wet. "I'm not going anywhere."

You move again. Slow. Deep. A roll of your hips that pushes a shattered groan from his chest. His head falls back, eyes squeezing shut, and you watch the way his throat moves when he swallows.

His hand slides up your arm to your shoulder, nails scraping lightly. Not demanding. Just present. Just asking you to stay right where you are.

You can feel him trembling beneath you. Every muscle in his lean body is strung tight, and you know it's not from exertion. It's from holding. Years of holding. And now he's letting go, one slow thrust at a time, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

You shift your angle, and the sound he makes is punched out of him. His eyes fly open, dark and wide and unfocused. "There," he breathes. "Right—right there—"

You hit that spot again. Deeper. Slower. Let him feel every inch of you dragging against that perfect place inside him. His mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. Just a broken shape of air.

You lean over him, caging him in, and you watch his face as you build a rhythm that's unhurried and relentless. His eyes are locked on yours, and the tears are flowing freely now, silent tracks down his temples into his hair.

"Look at you." Your voice is a low, rough ache. "So beautiful like this, Sho. So perfect."

A sob hitches in his chest. His hand leaves your shoulder and cups your jaw. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone with a tenderness that doesn't match the way you're buried inside him, and somehow it makes it all the more intimate.

"Yours," he whispers. The word is barely audible. A confession. A surrender. "I'm—I'm yours."

The world narrows to the space between your bodies. The heat of him wrapped around you. The wet sound of skin meeting skin. The hitch of his breath every time you bottom out.

You kiss him. Deep and slow and full of everything you can't quite say. He melts into it, his fingers sliding into your hair, and he tastes like salt and need and something achingly fragile.

When you break the kiss, he chases your mouth for half a second before his head falls back again. He's close. You can feel it in the way his body tightens, in the frantic flutter of his pulse beneath your thumb where you rest it on his throat.

"Not yet."

He whines. A raw, desperate sound that goes straight to your groin. His hips try to buck, but you have him pinned, your weight pressing him into the mattress, and he can only take what you give him.

"Please," he breathes again. "Please, I can't—"

"You can." You slow down. Almost stop. He sobs, a broken noise that shudders through his whole body. You press a kiss to his forehead, his closed eyelid, the bridge of his nose. "Breathe for me, sweetheart. You're doing so well. So good for me."

He shakes his head, but his chest heaves with a deep, shaky breath. Then another. His body relaxes fractionally, the desperate tension easing just enough.

"There you go." You start moving again. A slow, deep stroke that makes him gasp. "That's my good boy."

The tear that slips from beneath his lashes catches the dim light. You catch it with your lips.

You build him up again. Each press of your hips is a promise. Each moan that falls from his lips is a prayer. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing together, and he squeezes like you're his anchor in a storm.

When he finally breaks, it's with a cry that's half your name and half a sob. His body clenches around you, hot and pulsing, and the sight of him coming undone—spilling between your bodies, his eyes rolled back, his mouth open in a silent scream—is enough to send you over the edge with him.

You bury yourself deep and let go. The wave of pleasure crashes through you, and you groan against his skin, your hips pressed flush against his, emptying yourself into him in long, pulsing waves.

For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing. The thud of his heart beneath your ear. The slick heat of your bodies pressed together.

You shift your weight, slowly, carefully, and he whimpers at the loss when you pull out. His legs fall from your shoulders, and they're shaking. You press a kiss to each knee before you lower them to the mattress.

He's a wreck. Tear-streaked and flushed and utterly boneless, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused. You brush the damp hair from his forehead and he leans into your touch like a starving man.

"You did so good, Shouta." Your voice is rough. Gentle. "So perfect. So beautiful."

His lip trembles. A fresh tear slips free, and he makes no move to hide it. He just looks at you, raw and open and shattered in the best way.

You gather him into your arms. He comes easily, curling against your chest, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. His breath is warm and uneven against your skin.

You hold him. Your hand traces lazy patterns on his back, soothing the last tremors from his muscles. The room is quiet, the tangled sheets a testament to what you've shared.

He's asleep before you've stopped tracing those patterns. His breathing evens out, slow and deep, and his hand is still curled loosely around your arm.

You press a kiss to the top of his head and close your eyes, pulling him close you focus on his slowed breathing before allowing yourself to drift to sleep

-

for @babybirdjhonny ❤ a 2 year 2 month and 2 hour request whoops

[raidenssblog]

Big booty Latina 😜😜😜😜

We all love em

[raidenssblog]

the gentle future

Pairing - Bakugo x male reader after the war you and katsuki finally settle down together happy ending the sad version found here

By the time Katsuki woke up, the war was over.

At first, he didn’t realize that. Consciousness came back in broken pieces, pain splitting through his chest, the sharp antiseptic smell of a hospital room, the constant beeping of monitors somewhere close by. Everything felt heavy. His eyelids. His limbs. Even breathing felt exhausting.

For several seconds he simply stared at the unfamiliar white ceiling above him, mind sluggish and empty, until memory crashed into him hard enough to make his pulse spike violently.

The battlefield, Shigaraki, explosions, you.

Katsuki jerked upright immediately with a choked gasp, only for agony to tear through his body so badly he nearly blacked out again. His hands grabbed instinctively at the bandages wrapped tightly around his chest while the heart monitor beside him erupted into frantic noise. “Oi—!” His voice came out rough and weak from smoke damage, but panic sharpened it instantly. “Where is he?!”

The hospital room door slid open almost immediately. A nurse rushed in first, followed closely by Recovery Girl, who looked about two seconds away from smacking him back unconscious herself. “Young man, sit back down this instant!” she snapped while checking his monitors. Katsuki ignored her completely.

“Where is he?” he repeated, more desperately this time. “Is he alive?” The brief silence before her answer nearly killed him. Then Recovery Girl sighed tiredly, expression softening just slightly. “He’s alive.”

Katsuki felt every muscle in his body go weak with relief so overwhelming it hurt. His head dropped forward instantly while a shaky breath escaped him. Alive. You were alive. The tension crushing his chest loosened so suddenly he thought he might actually cry from it. “He sustained serious injuries,” Recovery Girl continued carefully, “but he made it through surgery.”

Before she could finish another sentence, the door opened again, And there you were, god, you looked awful.

Your arm sat tightly secured in a sling while thick bandages wrapped around your ribs and neck, bruises dark against your skin beneath the harsh hospital lighting. One side of your face still carried fading cuts from the battlefield, and you walked with a noticeable limp as you stepped into the room. But you were standing. Breathing. Alive. Katsuki stared at you like he couldn’t fully believe you were real. For a second neither of you spoke. Then your eyes met his properly and your exhausted expression softened into the smallest smile.

“Well,” you murmured hoarsely, “you look like shit.”

Katsuki nearly broke down right there.

Instead, he barked out a rough laugh that sounded dangerously close to a sob and immediately tried to get out of bed again. “Get over here, dumbass.”

Recovery Girl smacked the back of his head with surprising force. “Absolutely not.”

You snorted quietly before limping toward him anyway. Katsuki watched every movement like he was terrified you’d disappear if he blinked too long. The second you reached the bed, he grabbed your wrist tightly. Not enough to hurt — just enough to reassure himself you were solid and warm beneath his fingers. Real. His red eyes searched your face frantically, checking every bruise and bandage with barely concealed panic. “You scared the hell outta me,” he muttered quietly.

You smiled softly despite your exhaustion. “Funny. You died first.”

“That barely counts.”

“You literally had no heartbeat.”

“Yeah, well.” Katsuki’s grip tightened slightly around your wrist. “Still here.”

The look on his face after he said it nearly shattered you. Because beneath the irritation and exhaustion was something unbearably vulnerable — pure relief so intense it looked painful. You reached up carefully with your good hand and brushed your fingers against his cheek. Katsuki leaned into the touch instantly without thinking. “We’re both here,” you whispered.

And for the first time since the war ended, Katsuki truly believed things might someday be okay again.

Recovery took months. Longer for Katsuki than he liked admitting. His body had been pushed beyond destruction during the war, and while the surgeries kept him alive, they couldn’t magically undo the damage. Physical therapy became a nightmare almost immediately, especially regarding his right arm. Some days it trembled so badly he couldn’t properly control his explosions at all.

Other days he got frustrated enough to snap at every doctor attempting to help him. More than once he stormed out of rehabilitation sessions entirely, furious at himself for struggling with things that once came naturally.

And every single time, you followed him.

One afternoon, nearly four months into recovery, Katsuki sat alone outside the rehabilitation center glaring furiously at the ground while flexing his trembling hand. Sweat dampened the back of his neck despite the cold weather. You limped out after him a few moments later carrying two canned coffees from the vending machine nearby. “You know,” you started casually while sitting beside him, “threatening the physical therapist probably isn’t helping your recovery.”

“She said my mobility plateaued.” Katsuki scowled harder. “That’s bullshit.”

“She also said you skipped half your exercises this week.”

“She talks too much.”

You snorted softly before handing him one of the coffees. Katsuki took it automatically, though his irritated expression didn’t fade. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then you gently nudged his shoulder with yours. “Hey,” you murmured. “Look at me.”

He did reluctantly.

“You survived the end of the world,” you said simply. “I think you can survive physical therapy.” Katsuki scoffed, but the anger in him visibly weakened. “It’s different.”

“I know.”

His jaw clenched. “What if this is it?” he asked quietly after a long silence. “What if I never get back to how I was before?” The vulnerability in his voice surprised even him. Katsuki hated admitting weakness out loud, but somehow it felt different with you. Safer. “What if I can’t become the hero I wanted anymore?”

You looked at him for several seconds before reaching over carefully and taking his shaking hand in yours. “Then you become a different kind of hero,” you answered softly. “One that survived.”

Something in Katsuki’s expression cracked slightly at that. He looked away quickly, ears burning red while his fingers tightened around yours. “You’re annoyingly good at speeches sometimes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You grinned. “Buy me dinner later.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re obsessed with me.”

“That’s not—” Katsuki stopped himself midsentence when he noticed your smug expression widening immediately. “Shut up.”

You laughed for the first time in what felt like forever. Real laughter. Bright and warm and alive. Katsuki stared at you for a second too long afterward, something soft settling into his chest so naturally it scared him a little. Because after everything — after the blood and grief and destruction — you were still here beside him smiling like the world hadn’t completely fallen apart.

And somehow, slowly, things started healing after that.

You attended nearly every rehabilitation appointment together. Katsuki still complained constantly, still barked insults whenever exercises frustrated him, but now there was always a hand squeezing his shoulder afterward or your voice teasing him until he calmed down again. You helped stabilize his arm during training exercises. Sat with him through painful nights when nerve damage made sleeping impossible.

Forced him to rest when he pushed himself too hard. In return, Katsuki practically hovered over you during your own recovery, glaring at anyone who stressed you out and carrying things for you before you could even ask. Half the hospital staff started referring to you both as an old married couple long before either of you admitted your feelings out loud.

The confession itself happened almost accidentally.

It was raining heavily that evening, thunder rumbling softly outside your shared dorm balcony while the city lights blurred gold against the wet glass. Graduation was only a month away now, and despite everything, both of you had somehow made it there. Katsuki sat cross-legged on the floor beside the couch, struggling irritably with notes for a hero licensing exam while you lay stretched out nearby half-asleep. “This question is stupid,” he muttered.

“You’ve said that about all of them.”

“Because they are.”

You smiled tiredly without opening your eyes. “Sure, Kats.”

Silence settled comfortably afterward, interrupted only by rainfall against the windows. Then Katsuki suddenly spoke again, quieter this time. “I thought you died.”

Your eyes opened immediately.

He didn’t look at you while speaking, gaze fixed stubbornly on his papers. “Back there,” he continued roughly. “When I woke up after the war… I thought I lost you.” His grip tightened slightly around the edge of the notebook. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before.”

Your chest ached painfully at the honesty in his voice. Slowly, you sat upright and moved closer until your shoulder brushed his. Katsuki finally looked at you then, red eyes softer than usual beneath the dim apartment lighting. “You didn’t lose me,” you whispered.

“I know.” He swallowed hard. “Still scared me anyway.”

For a second neither of you moved. Then you reached up carefully and touched his cheek, thumb brushing lightly across old scars. Katsuki leaned into your hand instinctively, eyes fluttering shut for half a heartbeat. “You know,” you murmured with a tiny smile, “you’re kinda cute when you’re emotionally vulnerable.”

Katsuki barked out a startled laugh. “Shut the hell up.”

But he kissed you immediately afterward.

Messy. Sudden. Completely unplanned.

And absolutely perfect.

The years after graduation passed quicker than either of you expected. Life settled into something softer with time. Missions, patrols, late-night takeout after exhausting shifts, movie nights where Katsuki pretended not to care while secretly holding you impossibly close beneath blankets on the couch.

The apartment you eventually shared became filled with evidence of your life together, his gauntlets tossed carelessly beside your shoes near the front door, framed hero photos hanging crookedly along the walls, your hoodie permanently stolen by Katsuki despite his constant denial. Somehow domestic life fit him naturally once he stopped fighting it.

You learned quickly that Katsuki loved quietly. Fiercely. He showed affection through actions more than words most days. Fixing your gear before you noticed damage. Memorizing your favorite meals without realizing it. Grumbling insults while wrapping blankets around your shoulders after difficult missions.

But sometimes, late at night when the city outside fell silent and exhaustion lowered all his walls, he’d hold you close enough to feel your heartbeat against his chest and whisper things so soft you barely believed they came from him at all.

“I’m glad you stayed,” he admitted once while half-asleep beside you. You smiled into his shoulder. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.” “Good.” His arms tightened around you immediately. “Would’ve blown up the afterlife to get you back.”

“That’s concerningly romantic.”

“Tch.”

Three years after the war, Katsuki proposed in the least smooth way imaginable.

It happened in your apartment kitchen at nearly midnight while both of you looked half-dead from patrol. You were standing barefoot in one of his old shirts eating instant ramen straight from the pot while Katsuki searched aggressively through cabinets for painkillers after a rough mission. “You used the last bandage wraps,” he complained.

“You exploded through a building.”

“They rebuilt it ugly anyway.”

You snorted into your ramen. Katsuki finally found what he wanted before turning toward you — and then abruptly froze. You blinked at him. “What?” He stared for another long second before blurting, “Marry me.”

Silence.

Then: “...Was that a question or a threat?” Katsuki’s face immediately flushed red. “You know what I meant!” You started laughing so hard you nearly dropped the ramen pot. “Katsuki Bakugo,” you wheezed between breaths, “did you just propose while I’m holding noodles?”

“Answer the damn question!”

You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. “Yeah,” you said immediately. “Obviously yes.”

Katsuki looked relieved so instantly it almost melted you completely. He crossed the kitchen in two steps and grabbed your face before kissing you hard enough to steal the rest of your laughter straight from your lungs. “Good,” he muttered against your mouth afterward. “Would’ve looked real stupid if you said no.”

“You’d still be pretty though.”

“Tch.” But he smiled anyway.

The wedding happened the following spring. Small, private and perfect.

Your friends cried more than either of you expected. Eijiro openly sobbed during the vows while pretending he “just had something in his eye,” and even Shoto looked suspiciously emotional watching Katsuki straighten your tie with trembling hands before the ceremony started.

Katsuki himself looked devastatingly beautiful standing at the altar beneath warm afternoon sunlight, dressed in black formalwear with his hair only partially behaving for once. But the second he saw you walking toward him, every bit of nervous tension disappeared completely. His entire expression softened into something unbearably fond.

“You clean up nice,” you whispered after reaching him.

“You look worse,” he shot back automatically, though his eyes shone with so much love it made your chest ache.

Your vows destroyed him.

Not because they were dramatic or poetic, but because they were honest. You spoke about surviving. About growing beside one another after the worst day of your lives. About choosing each other every single day afterward anyway. And when it became Katsuki’s turn, he stared at you silently for several seconds before speaking in a voice rougher than usual.

“I used to think strength meant never needing anyone,” he admitted quietly. “Then you happened.” A tiny laugh escaped him while tears threatened visibly in his eyes. “You stayed beside me when I was angry, injured, terrified… even when I didn’t know how to ask for help.” His hands squeezed yours tightly.

“You make everything feel survivable.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word. “So… yeah. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life loving you. That’s basically the whole speech.” You kissed him before the officiant even finished talking afterward.

Married life suited Katsuki even more than dating had.

He still yelled constantly. Still swore during interviews. Still scared civilians occasionally with his resting expression alone. But at home? At home he became soft in ways almost nobody else got to witness. He cooked breakfast while half-awake with his hair sticking everywhere. Wrapped himself around you in bed like a human furnace during winter mornings. Kissed your forehead absentmindedly while reading reports on the couch. Some nights the two of you would sit quietly on the apartment balcony watching city lights flicker beneath the stars, your legs tangled together while Katsuki rested his head against yours in comfortable silence.

One evening several years later, after an exhausting week of patrols, you both ended up sprawled across the living room floor surrounded by old photo albums from your academy days. Katsuki looked horrified by most of them. “Delete this one immediately.”

“You looked adorable.” is scoffed and rolled his eyes “I looked sleep deprived.”

“You always look sleep deprived.”

“Tch.”

You laughed softly before leaning against his shoulder. Katsuki automatically wrapped an arm around your waist without even glancing away from the photographs. Eventually your attention drifted toward an old hospital picture tucked loosely between pages — one taken shortly after the war. Both of you looked terrible. Covered in bandages. Exhausted beyond belief. Yet somehow smiling anyway.

Katsuki noticed your silence and glanced over. His expression softened instantly. “Kinda hard to believe we survived all that,” you murmured quietly.

“Yeah.” His thumb brushed gently against your side. “But we did.”

You looked up at him then, at the softened edges time had carved into someone once so sharp with anger and fear. He still carried scars from the war. Both of you did. But they no longer felt heavy the way they once had. They were simply proof that you survived long enough to reach this moment together.

“I love you,” you said suddenly.

Katsuki snorted softly like the words still embarrassed him after all these years. Then he leaned down and pressed a slow kiss against your forehead. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Love you too.”

And for the first time in a very long time, the future felt gentle.

For @snazwaz 🫶🏼

[parientou]

Happy birthday to him!! 💫✨️

[raidenssblog]

ashfall

Pairing - Bakugo x male reader Even though he was saved, not everyone could live past the war. unfortunately for Katsuki, the was you.

Happy version here yall 🫶🏼🫶🏼

The battlefield had gone strangely quiet by the time Katsuki regained consciousness. Not silent, never silent, but quieter in the terrible way disasters became quiet after the worst had already happened. Distant sirens wailed somewhere beyond the smoke-choked skyline, rubble shifted under hurried boots, medics barked exhausted instructions to one another, but everything sounded far away, muffled beneath the violent ringing in his ears.

Pain hit him next. Blinding, unbearable pain exploding through his chest every time he breathed. It felt wrong, stitched together badly, held together by something fragile and temporary. Katsuki’s eyes opened slowly to a sky stained black with ash, his lungs fighting for air as confusion dragged through his fogged mind.

His body refused to move properly, muscles heavy and sluggish beneath layers of dried blood and dust. Then his eyes shifted sideways. Beside him sat the still form of Best Jeanist, slumped awkwardly against shattered concrete.

The fibers wound through Katsuki’s chest remained firm, keeping his heart beating through pure stubbornness even after their owner no longer could. Jeanist’s head was bowed slightly, blood dried dark against his costume, unmoving in a way that required no explanation. Katsuki stared blankly for a second too long, disconnected from what he was looking at, until memory slammed back into him so violently it nearly stopped his breathing altogether. You.

His body reacted before his mind fully caught up. He jerked upward with a strangled gasp, fresh agony ripping through his chest so sharply it blurred his vision. “Where is he?” The words scraped raw from his throat immediately, rough with smoke inhalation and panic.

A nearby medic flinched visibly at the question. Another hero standing close by looked down at the ground instead of answering. Katsuki’s stomach dropped so violently it made him nauseous. “Oi.” His voice sharpened, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “Where the hell is he?” Nobody met his eyes. Nobody moved.

And that silence, that awful and crushing silence, made terror crawl beneath his skin faster than any villain attack ever had. “No,” he whispered automatically, shaking his head once like he could physically reject whatever reality was forming around him.

“No, he was with me. He was right there.” His gaze darted frantically across the ruined battlefield, searching through smoke, debris, injured bodies, rescue crews — anything. Searching for your costume. Your voice. Your stupid grin after surviving another impossible fight. “WHERE IS HE?!” he roared finally, voice cracking apart so violently it hardly sounded like him anymore.

Nobody answered him directly. They didn’t need to. Because the moment Katsuki turned his head slightly to the right, he saw you. Not moving. Not rushing toward him yelling about how reckless he’d been.

Just… still. Someone had laid you carefully away from the center of the destruction, your body partially covered by a torn emergency blanket that fluttered softly in the cold wind. For one impossible second, Katsuki simply stared. His brain refused to process the image in front of him.

You looked asleep. That was what made it unbearable. Your face wasn’t twisted in pain or frozen in fear — just calm, ash smeared across your skin and dried blood staining the collar of your costume. Too calm. Too peaceful. Wrongly peaceful.

Katsuki stopped hearing everything around him after that. The sirens disappeared. The medics disappeared. Even the pain in his chest dulled beneath the crushing horror flooding through his body. His breathing turned shallow, uneven. “No…” The word left him so quietly it barely existed.

He forced himself upright despite the way his body screamed in protest, stumbling forward on shaking legs that threatened to collapse beneath him. Somebody reached toward him — maybe to help, maybe to stop him — but he shoved them off instinctively without even looking. Every step closer made the details clearer. The blood dried along your hands. The tears carved through your costume. The complete, impossible stillness of your chest. Katsuki’s vision blurred violently. “No,” he repeated, louder this time, voice trembling apart. “No, no, no…”

He dropped beside you hard enough to bruise, knees slamming into broken concrete without him feeling it. His hands found your shoulders immediately, desperate and trembling as he shook you gently at first. “Oi.” His voice cracked instantly.

“Wake up.” Nothing. Your body shifted beneath his hands with awful dead weight before settling motionless again. Katsuki froze. Something inside him cracked sharply at that feeling alone. Usually you’d complain when he manhandled you like this.

Usually you’d shove his hands away, mutter insults under your breath, laugh at how aggressive he was even while worried sick. But there was nothing now. No reaction. No annoyed glare. Nothing. Panic exploded through him. He grabbed your face in both hands, breath hitching violently when his fingertips touched your skin. Cold. You were cold. Not cooling, cold.

The realization tore a broken sound from deep inside his chest, halfway between a gasp and a sob. “No…” Tears blurred his vision instantly. “No, no, no, don’t…” He pulled you against him desperately, cradling your body into his lap like proximity alone could reverse what had happened.

Your head slumped against his shoulder lifelessly. No adjustment. No sleepy grumble. No warmth pressing back against him. Just absence. Crushing, unbearable absence. Katsuki buried one shaking hand against the back of your neck like he was searching desperately for some hidden pulse he’d somehow missed.

His forehead pressed against yours, frantic breathing falling apart into ragged gasps. “Please,” he whispered. “Please wake up.” The words dissolved into sobs almost immediately. “You idiot… you fucking idiot… why didn’t you wake me up? Why didn’t you call me?” His voice grew sharper with panic before breaking entirely. “I was right there…” The grief in those words sounded almost childlike. Devastated. Helpless. “I was right there.”

Time lost meaning after that. The battlefield continued moving around him, survivors being evacuated, heroes collapsing from exhaustion, bodies carried carefully away beneath blankets, but Katsuki remained rooted to the rubble with you held tightly in his arms like letting go would kill him too.

His fingers kept moving unconsciously against you, brushing ash from your cheek, smoothing back blood-stiffened hair, wiping dirt from your jaw in soft automatic motions completely unlike him.

Every touch only reinforced the reality he couldn’t survive accepting. Your skin stayed cold beneath his hands. Your body stayed heavy against his chest. You didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. Didn’t laugh at him for falling apart. And hearing that, hearing nothing where your breathing should’ve been, hurt more than seeing you ever could.

Katsuki found himself listening desperately between his own broken sobs, waiting for some tiny sound he knew wasn’t coming. A breath. A heartbeat. Your voice mumbling his name sleepily against his shoulder like you did after missions. Nothing.

The silence hollowed him out from the inside. Finally, he lowered his face against your neck and shattered completely. Raw sobs ripped violently through him, harsh enough to reopen pain through his chest, but he didn’t care.

“You promised,” he choked out between broken breaths. “You said… you said we’d go home together.” His grip tightened desperately around you, like he could anchor you back into existence through sheer refusal alone. “I can’t do this without you,” he admitted finally, the confession barely louder than a whisper against your skin. “I don’t know how to…” His voice dissolved completely after that. And the worst part, the part that would haunt Katsuki long after the war ended, was that the only thing answering him was the cold wind moving through the ruins… because you weren’t there to answer anymore.