“You really should’ve seen a medic, Katsuki. I’m hardly qualified.” You say, guiding the antiseptic soaked cotton pad over the gash on his cheek. Sustained on a patrol, he’d come home complaining something about sidekicks being useless and cursing out the villain he’d apprehended.
“Yeah, well I trust you more.” The blonde mutters under his breath. “And this’ll be faster than waiting for somebody’s healing quirk to recharge, or whatever they’re calling slacking now.”
You roll your eyes, internally smiling at his quiet admission of trust. To you, it means more than an ‘I love you’ because you’ve seen first hand what it takes to get Katsuki Bakugo of all people to open up to someone. You’re straddling his thighs while he leans back on the plush sofa of your home, neck creating an indent in the fluffy blanket you insist keeping on the back of the sofa in case you get cold. The way he holds your hips isn’t sexual, just to steady you while you work on his gash.
“Okay, stay still, I’ve gotta dig out a little piece of dirt and this might sting.” You grimace, dragging the folded up edge of the pad and guiding it through the now clean, albeit still red and raw, slice on his cheek. It really wasn’t as bad as you’d initially expected, it was just the blood he’d let smear into his skin that gave you the impression he’d need stitches more than a bottle of antiseptic from your shared medicine cabinet. And then-
“Ngh-!” The noise stops you in your tracks, a droplet of antiseptic dribbling in a wobbly stream down his face. Holy shit, did he just whimper? And, even worse, did you just enjoy it? He looks just as embarrassed as you, big hand dragging down his face and avoiding eye contact. You grin down at him from your positioning, revelling in the flush present in his cheeks.
“That was certainly an interesting noise, Kats. Think you’d do it again?”
“Fuck off.” He’s still pink. “Just clean the cut.”
You do, ensuring to mop up any dirt or blood that comes out, although you’re running more on hero first aid training autopilot; now you think about it, Katsuki does have a habit of biting down on your shoulder or his lip when he gets close. You’d assumed it was a concentration thing at the time, hazy from orgasmic bliss, although now you’re starting to consider he only does it to keep himself quiet. On the rare occasion he does let a moan slip out, he’ll always go twice as hard in an effort to drown himself out in your own noises.
“Oi. Is it bleeding again or are you just holding that thing in place for no reason?”
“Oh. Sorry. Just thinking…” you trail off, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re picking down and not do what he usually does, which is make you verbally tell him what you’re pondering over.
“About what?”
Here we go.
“Not much.. just.. are you embarrassed about making noise outside of, like, groans in bed?”
He flushes, caught off guard. Maybe he does hold back, and maybe he is just a little bit embarrassed, but also how is he supposed to hear you if he’s whining all over the place?
“The fuck are you asking that for?”
“Just… I think it’s nice when you make noise. Like you did then.” He glares at you. Clearly it was a whimper of pain, can you not differentiate? Although the thought of letting you try and make him lose his composure was interesting.
And suddenly, you’re slipping off his lap and kneeling in between his legs- and he’s taken aback, because he’s not used to the level of control you’re exhibiting over him as you grab the waistband of his sweatpants and haul them down along with his black boxers. You wouldn’t want them getting stained after all, you’d only washed them last night, and he was already pretty hard.
All it takes is a few pumps and he’s breathing heavily through his nose, watching you run a thumb over his pink tip and internally cursing himself for the way his hips jerk up to meet your soft palm while you giggle. He won’t give in, he’s determined- even as he has to suppress a gasp when you lean down to poke your tongue out and lick a single stripe from the base to the throbbing tip of his cock.
He can stay composed, he knows he can, pulling at the roots of his blonde hair in a bid to remain in control of his own body. You, on the other hand, are determined to ensure he hands you the reins; the idea of making him whimper again fuels you further when you get the bright idea to breathily moan out his name. It works like a charm, making him groan behind the back of the hand he has pressed to his mouth and clench his eyes shut.
“Nuh uh Kats, keep looking.”
He doesn’t even say anything in protest- a testament to how much he’s concentrating on not cumming right now- and wrenches his eyelids open, lashes fluttering. When you finally lean forwards and fully take him into your warm, soft mouth, he almost chokes- and you love it. Hand making up the difference of what you can’t take for fear of triggering your gag reflex, your spit mixes with his precum and dribbles in a line out of the corner of your mouth.
It’s when you gaze up at him, wide eyes blinking and just slightly glassy, lips stretched around his cock, hair falling like a loose waterfall around the shape of your face, that he knows he’s done for. Katsuki tries to hold it in, he really does, but the way you suck at his cock without ever breaking eye contact has him trembling and pulling your hair with one hand, gripping the armrest with the other.
“Fuck, keep doing that.”
It’s not a whine, but it’s a beg and that’s close. But not close enough- so you keep going, not giving him a break as his eyes roll back and hips buck furiously inside your mouth while his first orgasm runs down your throat in salty rivulets. He moans quietly when he cums, but it’s still not enough for you- you want him wrecked, whimpering above you like he can’t form coherent words.
Your mouth moves faster, tightening around him even as he trembles from overstimulation and tears well in his pretty red eyes. He gasps, hand tangling in your hair like he’s desperately trying to cling on to the shred of control you’re offering him before he goes into the orgasmic equivalent of the fucking hadal zone- he’s far past the deep end by now.
He’s already close again- how is he close again?- and it’s not made any easier for him to cling on when you moan out loud, the vibrations around his cock spurring him further and further on to another orgasm-
And he finally, finally cracks- a surprised little whimper escapes his lips at your tongue swirling over his tip inside your mouth. It delights you; he’s finally letting go, giving in to what his body wants- and once he allows one whimper to escape its confines, more and more follow until he’s practically shaking above you and whimpering with every bob of your head.
When he reaches his second orgasm, it’s with a strained whine that has you questioning if you really can cum based on sound alone. It’s gorgeous watching him, the way he throws his head back and shudders as he releases inside your mouth. His eyes are long since screwed up, and you’re sure there’ll be dents in the armrest tomorrow, but any damage done to your seating was worth it just to hear him lose himself above you.
“So you can make noise.” You quip while pulling up his sweatpants.
“Shut up.” He says hoarsely, dragging you back into his lap so he can bury his face into your shoulder and inhale deeply to steady his breathing. He seems hellbent on never making any noise again, including talking- although, you could always just find a way to make him, you think while smiling into his hair.
The antiseptic lies forgotten on the side table.
🫧🌱
masterlist
thank you for reading!! Comments appreciated :))
a/n: does anybody else actually know what the hadal zone is? (In case you don’t, it’s essentially a really deep part of the sea.)
Sticky fingers and crayons paved your relationship, years of growing pains and awkward phases engraved within the very fibers of your being. You were there when he scraped his knee, when he lost his first tooth. Your childhood was marked by reminders of him, the small boy with a fiery spirit nobody could combat. Katsuki Bakugo.
These were the thoughts that swam through your mind as you watched his lifeless body twitch on the ground, blood pooling around his chest and legs bent at an awkward angle. His breathing had stopped at least 15 minutes ago and you were ripped from the scene. You lost it, screaming and pounding your bloody fists on the ground as you watched the only boy you’ve ever known lose his life so instantly.
You screamed until your throat was raw, spitting out blood as you watched him die. You begged anybody to save him, and you watched with heaving breaths as Edgeshot attempted to resuscitate him, his eyes fixed at a point in the distance, void of life.
The boy you shared snowcones with on the playground laid there; unmoving besides the CPR being performed on him. Lips tinged red not with cherry syrup, but with the blood that escaped his chest as his heart shattered.
You were perched on the very edge of the green couch in the living room, hot chocolate in your hands. Sleep evaded you, nightmares consuming your subconscious.
Breaths were taken in short gasps as you gazed out of the window; starry night reflecting back at your eyes.
He padded in the living room silently, in a black tank top and sweatpants.
“You’re still up?” He asks gruffly, voice rough with years of yelling. His vermillion eyes bore into yours as you look at him, his blonde hair stuck out in awkward tufts, evident of the slumber he was in.
You nod, voice lost to the screams you released when you awoke, thrashing in your bed as images replayed in your mind. Katsuki grunted sympathetically.
A blanket was thrown at you, soft, warm. A grunt followed the gesture. “Stay warm dumbass,” but it lacked the usual bite that chased after his words.
“Thanks,” you whispered, throat raw.
He grunted again, sitting next to you on the couch as he pulled out his phone, you glance at him inquisitively, “just wanna make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
He sighs deeply, resting his feet on the opposite side, leaning back and yawning.
“You don’t have to stay,” you mutter, looking at the ground guilty.
“I didn’t ask,” he says back, looking at you intensely. His arm was draped along the back of the couch behind you, you ached for contact.
You lean back, chasing the warmth of his arm, he pretended not to notice.
“I’m scared,” you mutter, talk of a war was stirring across Japan and your class was stuck in the middle of it.
“Me too,” he whispers, hushed as if it pained him to admit. You two sat on the couch, muttering about your fears, aspirations. This was a side of Bakugo many didn’t see, the one full of fear, full of more ambition than he let on. This Bakugo watched you as you stumbled, saying you weren’t hurt when he knew different. The one that would leave warm glasses of tea on the table, right in front of where you sit on the couch. This Katsuki was calculated, careful in the way he observed. The one that approached you after training to walk you back to the dorms, patching up your bruises with care.
This was your secret, the relationship you built with each other through arguments and burning passion, something you kept secret not because you wanted to hide, but because you cherished each other’s presence in the small moments of silence. Stolen glances across the classroom, faint smiles playing on his lips as you whisper excitedly about your work study. Small kisses on your head while you slept on his chest at night, worn out from crying about your fears.
This Bakugo was yours entirely, the one who would help you without question, always by your side when he noticed something was wrong. Like tonight.
“I would die for you,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence between you two as you rest your head on his shoulder, allowing his warmth to seep into your tired bones. His breath was even and shallow, voice laced with sleep not quite worn off yet.
“Katsuki..” you whisper, looking up at him as he rubbed your arm gently.
“I mean it,” he retorts back, hand brushing against your cheek, “I’d die if it meant you’d be safe.”
Your breath hitches in your throat. “Nobody is dying,” it was more a reassurance to yourself, but you meant the words that left your mouth.
He hums, shrugging. “If something happens to you I wouldn’t be able to live,” he says with charged emotion.
“Nobody is dying Katsuki,” your voice becomes thick and warbles, eyes filling with tears.
“Don’t cry baby,” he says, the rare nickname leaving his lips as his rough fingers card through your hair. “I love you.”
You sniffle, heart beating in rhythm with his, “I love you.”
You both lay there for a while, until Katsuki grabs your hand, leading you into his room and allowing you to lay on his bed. Brushing your hair back he kisses your head, whispering a goodnight as he sits next to you, watching your eyelids flutter shut with an undeniable fire surging in his chest. Protective and absolute. Promises of safety leaving his lips as he drifts off to sleep alongside you.
Not the kind that pokes at wounds or bruises his pride—no, you know better than to cross the thin, invisible wires strung between Katsuki Bakugo’s temper and his heart. But you do like to joke. To catch him off guard. To press your thumb against his scowl and make it curl into a smile, even if it comes with an eye roll and a muttered, “Dumbass.”
You’ve been together long enough to earn that right—to be silly in his space and still be safe. You’re the chaos to his order, the tickle in his throat that sometimes makes him laugh, sometimes makes him explode.
So this morning, when the sunlight filters through the windows just right and he’s sleep-tousled and bare-chested in your kitchen—grumbling about burnt toast and the “damn jam lid being too tight again”—you decide to prank him.
A small, stupid little thing. Just to see how he’d react.
“Katsuki,” you say, too gently, cradling your mug with the seriousness of someone delivering news.
He raises an eyebrow. “What.”
“I think… I think we should break up.”
There’s a beat of silence. Just one. Short. Sharp.
And then he blinks. Once. Twice. And everything in him freezes—like the switch inside of him flicked off, the usual heat in his eyes replaced with something unreadable. Cold, almost.
“…What?” he says. Voice low. Careful. Too careful.
You expect the outburst. The curse. The sarcastic bark of laughter. Maybe even a “Yeah right, try again.”
But what you get is something far worse.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His shoulders stiffen, jaw locking like he’s trying not to react at all.
“You’re not serious,” he mutters finally, but it isn’t a question. It’s a plea. A warning.
You falter, smile dying on your lips.
“It’s—It’s a joke, Katsuki. I’m messing with you.”
But he doesn’t relax.
Instead, he looks at you—really looks at you—with that same expression he wore the night you got hurt on patrol. As if you’ve said something fatal and he’s waiting to see if the wound is real.
“You don’t fuckin’ joke about that,” he says finally. His voice is low, raw, quieter than you’ve ever heard it.
“Katsuki…”
His eyes drop, lashes casting shadows over the high ridges of his cheekbones. He exhales through his nose, steadying himself. Then he scoffs—not in amusement, but to mask something softer. More breakable.
“You wanna mess with me, fine,” he mutters. “Hide my damn protein powder. Swap my shampoo with glitter. Say I can’t cook when you know I make the best fuckin’ curry. But that?” His voice cracks, just a fraction. “Don’t joke like you’d ever leave. That shit’s not funny.”
You stare at him—this boy made of fire and walls and a heart he never wanted to give away—and realize you’ve touched something sacred. A fear so buried even he didn’t know it lived there until you brushed it.
You step closer, guilt washing over your grin. You reach out, fingertips finding his hand. He doesn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That was stupid.”
“Damn right it was.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes finally flick back to yours—softened, wet around the edges, but still burning.
“…Good,” he mutters, voice husky, tugging you into his chest with a little more force than necessary. His arms wrap around you, rough and tight and safe.
Because Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t say please don’t leave.
Should I write angst to this song? If so who should I write it about, it could be about the reader from the boys’ pov or the boys from the reader’s pov
Content: fluff, pro hero Kirishima, you’re hidden from the public, I was not planning on turning this into angst but I got carried away and started tearing up writing this so…
Backstory: reader is a former student at U.A. who fought in the liberation war, and had to leave because of an injury that caused her leg to become amputated, making her “unable” to continue hero work.
Carding your fingers through red hair, you hum softly, allowing the weight of his head to rest beneath your fingertips. He was all smiles and huffs of relaxed breath. This was normal, this was you.
He was always gentle with you, gentle smiles, gentle touches, gentle glances. Kirishima wasn’t normally one for “behind closed doors”, but you were his, something special only him and his friends knew about. He always told you it was because of villains, but you knew he was scared. Not scared of you being attacked or kidnapped, but scared that people would know and try to say he wasn’t good enough.
That was okay with you, you enjoyed the innings, small candlelit dinners and binging rom-coms with him as he regaled his “adventures” from the day. That never bothered you. You understood him as if it were breathing. Eijirou was your heart. He was strong, always there when you needed him and never judgmental, he understood you like no other.
He was there for you with one text, no explanation needed.
You couldn’t be there for him all the time.
Not when you’d turn on the TV to see Sturdy Hero: Red Riot fight a villain, you couldn’t be there to clean his wounds, tend to his bruises. It killed you. You watched him every time, watching closely as he favored his left leg, or winced after a particularly strong hit to his arm. You knew his body language like you knew the back of your hand, always knowing when he was hurt even before he did.
So when he’d come home bleeding, you knew what to fix, you knew where it hurt and what to do to help. He loved you all the more for it. But occasionally, you’d fight.
“I can help!” You’d shout, standing 5 feet away from him as you watched him bleed. He would frown, and give you a pitying look, like this was a subject he had to tread lightly around.
He would reach out, and you would back up, “baby..”
“Don’t pull this shit with me Eijirou. I’m not some crippled nobody! I’m sick of everybody treating me like some disabled pet!”
But Eijirou wasn’t complaisant when you’d bring it up. “I can’t risk losing you!” He’d shout back, crying as you argued. “I never said you were weak!”
This was a fact of life. Some unavoidable argument that happened every few weeks like clockwork. It became too much for the both of you to bear.
So you’d gone back to school, gotten a hero license and kept it all a secret from your boyfriend.
You started off small, patrols and petty crime, staying in the shadows so you’d go unnoticed. That was until you heard shouting and the sound of metal screeching across the pavement. You were doing a patrol around a small section of the city, watching out for minute stuff like armed robberies and assault.
That’s when you saw a flash of red and the sounds of struggling. You watched for a moment, waiting for a sign of anything. When you heard a sharp groan of pain you bolted out of the alley you were hiding in, jumping between the hero and the villain, landing hit after hit as you fought. The hero shouted from behind you.
“What?”
You blanched. You hadn’t bothered a second glance to the hero you had saved. Your movements faltered as you made eye contact with your boyfriend, who looked hurt and betrayed.
But that was an issue for later, you focused back in, fighting the villain, and beating him around 10 minutes later.
The guilt that consumed you was overwhelming. Eijirou was looking at you like you were a stranger, like you had hurt him in a way that couldn’t be fixed. You looked at him, and he looked back with a cold stare. Then, when you reached out to him, to fix his injuries, he got up and walked away, not even sparing you a second glance as he did so.
When you returned home, everything he owned was gone. Even his toothbrush in the bathroom. Your heart bled for him, you called his phone over and over again, but it went straight to voice mail.
He was gone forever, you couldn’t focus. He carved a part of your heart out and you had to keep going, keep going through your life as if you hadn’t lost what you were fighting for.
Weeks later, you remained hollow. Going in and out of your job like it was a checkpoint, not something you enjoyed, but something you were obligated to do.
Months passed and you still hadn’t heard from him, getting used to the silence. You had gotten used to waking up in an empty bed, making your own dinners, watching TV by yourself, always avoiding the news, dreading seeing his face. This was your new life. The new normal consumed you.
You cried, you slept, you ate, you survived.
Eventually, you’d made enough money to move somewhere nicer. A small suburban neighborhood, all big houses and white picket fences. It was comfortable. It was your new life. You moved in 3 days time, with new furniture and a bright hope for your future.
A year had passed since the fight, since he ghosted you. And you began to settle. You began to watch the news again, seeing him occasionally, but not feeling any regret, if anything, a fondness would settle in your chest as you beamed with pride, watching him climb the hero charts with ease.
You got a call around 3:48 a.m.
Sitting up, you answered, it was your secretary. “Red Riot’s agency wants to have a word with you.”
Your heart raced as you got dressed, cranking your car and driving slowly to his agency.
You parked somewhere far away, trying to think of what to say, what’d you’d do. This was the worst possible way this could’ve happened in your opinion.
Thinking didn’t help, because you’d realized you’d dressed completely inappropriate, it was a business ordeal. You were wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Face palming, you turn off your car and make the walk to his agency.
Standing at the doors, your heart races, millions of ways this interaction could go racing through your head as you opened the door.
All you saw was red, everything was adorned with it, the walls, the furniture, EVERYTHING. This made you smile, grinning at his corniness, it was on brand at least. It was like he never left for a second, chattering about how one day, he’d have his own agency, full of red and full of U.A. and Shiketsu interns, swimming with potential.
Loud footsteps echoed the halls as you sat down in a red leather chair, crossing your legs as you waited. Glancing around at walls covered in pictures of a life you weren’t around to see.
“Hey.”
You jumped, spinning around to see a familiar head of red. He had grown taller somehow, his voice deeper and his skin littered in scars from battles.
He looked at you with such fierce intensity that you began to sweat, looking into eyes of crimson that used to be yours.
“Hi.”
You exhaled with relief as he sat down, you followed suit, drawing your knees to your chest, your prosthetic creaking with overuse. You wince, trying to ignore the sharp sound of metal that echoed throughout the empty building, he noticed.
“You need a new one,” he grunted, gesturing at your knee, “it’s not a good tactical decision to use one that’s used on a day to day basis. You need to get one that can take the pressure of hero work.”
“Thanks,” you say, feeling somewhat embarrassed by his observation, and also still feeling surprised at how much he’s grown since you last saw him. He grunts in acknowledgement, watching you for a moment.
An uncomfortable silence settled between you, him watching you as you shuffled uncomfortably in the chair you’d sat in. “You’ve grown,” is what he settles on. Your cheeks burn.
“That’s what happens with time,” you reply bitterly, his eyebrow raises. Watching your reaction like he’d known you for years. He did. That’s what hurt the most.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked you, your heart lurched. After all this time? He still cared about that.
You exhaled, watching his face play into a look of concern,waiting.
“I was so tired of fighting all the time,” you replied, “you always acted like I was incapable of being a hero because of my leg, but I wanted to help you, I was going to tell you, but I never got to it.”
He sighed, “it wasn’t because of your leg, it was because of the thought of losing you, it was hard enough to watch you bleeding out without a leg, I couldn’t have imagined you dead.”
“That’s not the point Eijirou. How do you think I felt? Watching you get hurt everyday and being unable to do anything to help?” You huffed, “this is exactly why I hid it from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
That’s all he said, and it was enough for you to look him in the eye once more. He looked sad, like, the saddest you’ve ever seen him in your entire life. The words you had been waiting to hear for 367 days. Your heart leapt as you watched him.
“It’s okay,” you replied, standing up.
Tears began to fall as you approached him, he sniffled, “it’s not okay, I didn’t even say anything, I left without a trace because I was angry, I loved you, I still do.”
“I don’t want to be alive without you, I’ve done everything I could to move on, girls, alcohol, fighting.” He choked on a broken sob, shoulders shaking. You didn’t know what to say. You stood in front of him as he cried.
“I understand,” you said, you always did, you never misunderstood any intentions from Eijirou. You kneeled, the prosthetic creaking yet again. You looked him in his eyes, “I always understand.”
He laughed—a wet sound, as you reached up to caress his scarred cheek. He leaned into it, humming and closing his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”
“Sure, I hated what you did, but I miss you, your laugh, your smile, your fingers in my hair while we watch some stupid movie like The Kissing Booth and make fun of the shitty acting.”
You breathed, “I need time Eijirou.”
He looked disappointed, but nodded. “I’ll give you all the time in the world if it means I can be with you again.”
You kiss the crown of his head and stand up. “Okay.”
• he unironically listens to old sappy country music, think Merle Haggard.
• he lowk starts to bleach his hair as he gets older because it grows darker like his father’s.
• he plays Fortnite and uses the Peter Griffin skin.
• he is obsessed with fantasy novels and hides them under his bed so nobody finds them.
• if you’re dating him, he’s super clingy and blows up your phone throughout the day
•he has nipple piercings. 👀
• he obsessively checks social media for the latest thirst trap of him, letting it boost his ego.
• when he drives, he doesn’t race people, but if he passes somebody he feels proud of himself for “winning” (I’m projecting lmao)
• he draws on his homework and papers, but erases it before he turns it in.
• if you are dating, he doesn’t adorn his room with reminders of you, but he has a framed photo of you in your hero costumes posing together, and a stuffed animal you gifted him on his desk.
• he uses pet names like baby, sweet thing, angel, and love.
• if you’re a poc, he makes it his mission to learn how to do your hair.
•while he LOVES spicy things, he loves sweet things even more, asking you to bake for him because he’s not very good at it. (He cooks and you bake)
• he canonically hates rain, so if you’re out while it’s raining he constantly checks on you.
• loves to kiss your head, makes him feel bigger.
• he’s FREAKY.
• loves to bite you and lick it better.
• eater fr.
• you two have a weenie dog named vanilla and she’s obsessed w/ Katsuki.
• loves when you call him Kat, or Katsuki. Also LOVES when you call him baby.
• cries when you cry bc he feels like he didn’t protect you 😭.
Your gaze flickered across the room, nursing a beer in your hand, you felt a pang in your chest as you watched your best friend, Izuku Midoriya talk excitedly with Ochaco. The small house party made you feel reflective, focusing on the music, which was strangely melancholy.
Sighing, you venture to the kitchen, nobody was there so you sat on a bar stool. To think you had gotten dressed up nice for this, hoping Izuku would finally notice you. Heart heavy, you stared out of the window above the sink, watching the stars as your heart sunk further in your chest. Taking a sip, you put your head down, staring at the floor, closing your eyes and listening to the music as your heart bled itself out, the lyrics resounding.
“Little acts of conversation,
I don’t think I like myself.”
Your head pounded, each breath leaving your lips feeling like a laborious task. Your heart felt so heavy, and you couldn’t put the emotions you felt into proper words. Loneliness, desperation, want, jealousy. You had never wanted anybody as bad as you wanted Izuku, your heart beat for him, and he had no clue. Taking a long drink, you got up, opening the door to the back patio and sitting down on a cushioned chair, drawing your knees to your chest, you watch cars pass by, strangers.
Chewing your lip you pull out your phone, a missed call from Izuku dominating your screen. Clicking it off, you put it on the table sitting next to you.
“Am I comfortable in silence?
Or is it eating me alive
Nothing’s ever really quiet
When you need distraction to survive”
Why did it have to be you? You wonder. The one who always bleeds herself dry, so vulnerable, so expressive, so thoughtful. Your chest felt so hollow all the time, staying up late into the night, thinking about how the one thing you want is something you can’t have. It’d ruin everything. Your very soul yearned for Izuku, like your true calling was him. You couldn’t eat, you couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t think. Not when he wasn’t yours and you couldn’t do anything about it.
You grabbed another drink, opening it with little hesitation. The constant cycle of sadness being temporarily numbed by the buzz of alcohol in your veins. Scanning the back lawn, you see other party goers, all happy and cheerful. Jealously.
Why couldn’t you be happy? Not even pretending can convince you anymore. Yearning.
Every emotion you’ve ever felt reverberated through your bones—waiting, stagnant—trying to find an opportunity to spill over following a long crescendo.
You heard the screen door slide open, and soft footsteps padding behind you. You knew who it was. You wish it wasn’t.
Looking up, you’re met with green eyes filled with worry. “Hey..”
You smile weakly, gesturing at the chair across from you welcomingly. He sits, watching you carefully as he does so, looking for a sign of joy. It doesn’t come.
“Hey.”
He exhales shakily, eyes refusing to meet yours as he takes in your image. You look, admittedly, miserable. His heart pangs, you haven’t been yourself in a long time. Sluggish, quiet, docile.
“It’s all you need
When you keep the rain from coming”
He’s left speechless watching you. Words unspoken hanging heavily in the air as he watches your stiff frame take another sip of your drink. His chest tightens at your display. You’re closed off. Defensive. He can’t help but feel that it’s his fault, regret lacing his mind as he tries to think of what he did, or, what he didn’t do.
“Nice party?” He asks, trying to stir conversation which had previously flowed easily between you two, always ending in laughter. You shrug, giving him a noncommittal look as you remain silent, gazing at the road.
Your jaw clenched and you gripped the stem of the bottle tighter, lip quivering. Your breath hitched and you turned further away from Izuku, building an emotional wall.
He dropped to his knees, sitting in front of you and grabbing the hand that clutched your jeans, his hands rough and scarred, but warm and comforting at the same time. He was looking at you as if you were something fragile, already cracked and broken, barely held together. Your heart lurched, avoiding his gaze and you sniffled.
“What did I do?” He whispered, eyes filling with tears as he watched your shoulders shake silently.
Words unspoken hung in the air, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. You couldn’t face him. Not here, not while he was looking at you as if the smallest touch would cause your cracks to deepen. You got up slowly. Grabbing your drink in the process. He breathed, choked. His very heart being ripped open as he watched you stand up.
“It’s not what you did, it’s what you haven’t done, it’s what I selfishly want.”
Your heart tore, stepping away as you watched him sniffle, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he watched you walk away.
“Do you like becoming what you hate?
Am I comfortable in silence
Or am I waiting till it ends
Nothing’s ever really quiet
You were just to stubborn to pretend.”
You wished he would’ve said something, would’ve begged you not to go, would’ve asked you to stay with him. But you were met with silence. Utter, soul-crushing silence as you turned your back on him. Of course.
Grabbing your keys, you exited the front door, finding your car and starting it. Sitting there, the hum of the engine, you couldn’t bring yourself to drive away, not like this. You waited for about 25 minutes before you snapped back into reality. Driving away felt final, like you were leaving something behind.
Like leaving him behind.
You gripped the steering wheel harder, knuckles white, heart pounding against your ribs. The street was quiet, the kind of silence that made your thoughts deafening. Every time you closed your eyes, his smile flickered in your mind—gentle, open, always so damn kind. And yet… never yours. Not really.
Because if he had wanted you, wouldn’t he have said something? Wouldn’t he have stopped looking at other people like they were the sun and you were just a flickering streetlamp?
You felt foolish for thinking he’d want you as more than anything other than a friend. Izuku Midoriya was a kind man, and you were stupid enough to think it was anything more than kindness.
As you parked your car, your phone buzzed in your pocket. The called ID read “Izu!!” you smiled bitterly, declining the call as you got out of your car, locking it and making your way to the front door of your apartment.
Upon arrival, you entered the building and sunk to the floor against the door, sobbing in your arms as you felt helpless. Nobody wanted you, not even the man you loved would give you a second glance. Why did you feel like this all the time— irreparable. You hated how heavy everything felt, how every breath took more effort than it should. You hated that your heart only beat harder for someone who, in your mind, could never love someone so broken. You hated that you loved him—that it hurt this much. Nothing had prepared you for how it would feel; one-sided love.
Your heart bled Izuku Midoriya. Your very soul called for him.
Your phone began vibrating violently. Uravity.
Answering, you heard a relieved sigh, Ochaco’s voice entering your ears. “Are you okay?”
The weight of the question shook you to your very core. It was like she saw through you, through the feigned nonchalance. Your sighed shakily, hearing your voice echo on her speaker. “I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want to feel like this anymore.” You whispered, “I’m so tired of feeling like I’m drowning.”
Her breath hitched, “I’m gonna send somebody over there okay? Please don’t hurt yourself, please.”
She hung up, you assumed she was finding someone to check on you. Lying on the cold floor, you contemplated her request, to not hurt yourself. You had never thought to go that far. It was troubling that she’d assume you’d do that.
Dragging yourself off of the floor, you went to your bathroom, standing under the heat of the shower for a while, cleaning yourself. As you finished you returned to your room getting dressed you laid on your bed, staring at the wall for you don’t remember how long, before you heard your front door unlock. You panicked, rushing to lock your bedroom door, the handle turned and you could hear sobs coming from behind it.
“Y/n?” It was Izuku, who had a key to your apartment, you breathed a sigh of relief and your heart sunk at the sound of his sobs. Opening the door, he rushed in, engulfing you in a hug.
“I’m so sorry,” he sounded almost breathless as if he ran to get to your apartment. Which you realized was the case because you had driven him to the party. Internally facepalming, you noted to apologize for it later. “When you looked at me today like I was a complete stranger—like you didn’t feel anything for me, it made me feel like I lost you, my best friend.”
He sobbed, holding you tightly, shaking as he held you as if you’d shatter. You stiffly hugged him back, trying to half-heartedly comfort him.
“I’ve wasted so much time waiting, waiting for something to happen,” he choked out, rubbing your back, “I’m such an idiot. Uraraka said something was wrong and I couldn’t help but come running all the way out here, the thought of losing you was too much to bear.”
Your chest ached, listening to these words coming out of his mouth. You sighed, hugging him back as you let more tears fall, mixing yours with his as you embraced.
“I couldn’t let you go without telling you how I feel.” Your heart stuttered, looking up into his watery green eyes you saw an unfamiliar emotion swimming within them—vulnerability. Your heart raced, waiting.
“I-I love you.”
You felt something snap inside of you, a dam of emotions breaking. “I should’ve realized sooner, I should’ve known, I was so scared. I was scared I wasn’t good enough for you, I never realized until Uraraka told me something was wrong. If I had lost you, I wouldn’t have lived. I can’t live without you. I love you so much I can’t even fully describe it. It’s all consuming, something I’ve never felt before. I didn’t realize I was hurting you, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to fix the damage I did.”
Your chest squeezed uncomfortably as you lurched forward, capturing his lips in a kiss, holding his face like he would try to run away. Your tears continued to fall, but the weight on your soul lifted, the pieces of your heart’s puzzle clicking together.
“I love you.”
You deepened the kiss, desperately trying to mold yourself into him, imprinting yourself in a way that would render him unable to love anybody else. Your teeth clicked together messily, desperation clawing at your insides as he tugged at your body, bringing him closer to you.
“Please stay,” you whispered into his open mouth, and he nodded, nodded at your with his spit slicked lips, glowing in the moonlit room. Looking at you as if you had hung the stars, because to him, you did. You were his world, his best friend, the love of his life.
“I’ll never leave you.” You held his hand as you led him to your bed, resting your head on his chest and listening to his heartbeat as if it were an addiction. He held you closely, kissing the crown of your head as he stroked your back, worried you’d leave.
“I love you,” he whispered into the dark.
“I love you,” you replied.
Idk if I like this one that much but it’s okay! We all start somewhere and I don’t rlly like writing ANGSTY ANGST like that so I couldn’t rlly describe it very well. Also I’m updating hella bc I’m bored
Content warnings: angst, mentions of injury/blood, fluff, mentions of loss
The frenzied bodies flying across the battlefield blurred Katsuki’s vision. A new villain making his first debut had attacked the city, drawing the attention of multiple hero agencies, including Dynamites and yours.
His ear piece buzzed, the signal between him and his sidekicks being cut off long ago. His ears rung as he let off explosion after explosion, trying to defend himself and his comrades.
“Has anybody heard from y/n?” He yelled, watching as the villain retreated, injured. The police showed up, taking him in. He crouched, rubbing the knots out of his shoulders, waiting for somebody to answer him.
His answer came eventually, as he heard sirens begin to approach the area. He looked around frantically, trying to locate you. Standing up, he rushed toward the noise.
“What’s going on?” His heart raced frantically as he continued his search for his girlfriend, taking his gauntlets off and setting them on the ground. He noted the looks of pity on his coworkers’ faces, heart sinking as he realized the truth.
Glancing at the ambulance he saw a familiar array of colors dripping with blood. Shoving people out of the way he found you laying on a gurney, unconscious with a large pole sticking through your abdomen. He blanched, becoming dizzy at the sight of you laying there. Ears ringing, he rushed forward, grabbing your hand and feeling his eyes grow wet.
“Sir? We need you to step back,” an EMT told him, gently pushing him out of the way. He seethed, anger and regret coursing through his veins. His blood boiled as he watched them ship you off to the hospital. He felt something he hasn’t felt in years. Useless.
He shoved past the crowd forming, grabbing his gauntlets as he made his way back to the agency. His sidekicks trailing behind as they whispered about you, watching careful at Dynamight’s reaction.
⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️
Katsuki sat in his office chair, head in his hands and he thought. Crackles of thunder interrupting the silence of his office every few minutes. The rain was hitting the roof of his agency so hard it reverberated through the building, emphasizing the unrest throughout his staff.
Many lingered around the door, watching through the small window for Bakugo to move, but he remained still, which was a stark contrast to his usual personality.
He had received a call just a few hours after your injury, being informed that you were being wheeled off to surgery and it was 50/50 if you’d survive the trauma of removing the massive pole lodged between your stomach and small intestine. He asked when he’d be able to visit and they informed him that the surgery was too dangerous to determine the length.
Now, he sits at his black leather chair, staring down at his phone and waiting for the call that you’d be alright, doubt gnawing at his brain.
He couldn’t waste time crying, but his skin crawled for a release.
Getting up abruptly, he grabbed his bag and shoved his phone inside, deciding he couldn’t sit around and wait forever.
“Dynamight-San! Are you leaving the office?” His secretary chirped, ready to clock him out. He shot her a look, shaking his head and sticking his thumb out to the gym. She nodded, bidding him farewell as he entered the doors, which slammed behind him and echoed throughout the room. Sighing, he placed his bag down in the locker room, changing into his workout clothes.
That’s when he got the call. A nurse had called your emergency contact, which was him. He slammed the door as he ran out to his car, driving to the hospital as fast as he could (legally) go. He barged through the door, barking your name and flying up the stairs as he found your room.
Standing outside, his heart raced, he had no idea what he would see behind the closed door. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat working as he gently opened the door.
Rain slammed against the hospital windows, a dull roar that couldn’t drown out the chaos in Bakugo’s chest.
He stood by the bed like a statue—arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed—but anyone who knew him would see past the scowl. His hands trembled slightly where they gripped his biceps. He didn’t dare sit, not while you were lying there unconscious, wrapped in white gauze and hooked up to machines that beeped too slowly for his liking.
“You’re such a damn idiot,” he muttered, voice low and hoarse. His eyes, finally, becoming watery. He sighed, grabbing one of the ugly green chairs and pulling it up to the bed you lay in.
Rubbing your hand with his thumb, he glances at the machines, helping you live. The soft beeping and rhythmic hiss of oxygen haunt his every breath, each sound a reminder that he wasn’t fast enough. Not strong enough. Not there.
His jaw clenches, sharp red eyes tracking the slow rise and fall of your chest beneath the hospital blanket. “Damn it,” he mutters, voice raw and vulnerable. “You weren’t supposed to get hit. That was my job.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes and laying his head down on the edge of the bed, taking in your features as you sleep peacefully.
He had never loved anybody this much, he always felt vulnerable around you, like somebody had ripped out his heart and rinsed it out, leaving only enough room for you to fill. His chest ached as he thought about how his world would change without you, if you didn’t make it through this. His head swam with thoughts like; if only I had been faster, if only she was there, I wish it was me.
He looked at you then, really looked — pale, still, breathing shallowly under all the wires and tubes. The fire in his chest that usually raged with anger or determination felt different now — hollow and desperate. His fingers brushed yours on top of the blanket, and he held your hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do without you,” he said, barely audible. “I always thought I’d be the one to die first. I’ve lived my whole damn life like I didn’t care. But then you showed up and ruined everything.”
He finally let his tears fall, sobbing into your hand as he kissed it. He felt so raw, so vulnerable. His usually witty and beautiful girlfriend lie in the cold hospital bed next to him, pale, and unresponsive. He prayed to whatever God he believed in, begged to bring you back to him.
“Baby please,” he begged, feeling as if he was the one being ripped open. He waited for something, anything, as he watched your chest rise and fall with the assistance of the intubation stuck down your mouth.
Suddenly, a choking gargled sound left your mouth and you began to cough. Your eyes shot open as you grasped for his hand and he laughed in relief. A nurse came rushing in, removing the tube sticking down your throat. You sighed, falling back on your pillows and smiling at Katsuki, eyes flickering shut as you cleared your throat.
“Hi,” you rasped, watching his face, tears fell down his cheeks as he stared at you with his wide, vermillion eyes. You grasped his hand tightly, bringing it to your chest. “Do you feel that?” You asked, “I’m still here, I’m not going anywhere.”
He nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. He closed his eyes in relief as he felt the steady thrum of your heartbeat under his fingers. He let his shoulders slump as he continued to cry.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice low as he felt your warmth. He sighed shakily. “You can’t do that to me, I’m supposed to be there for you, I’m supposed to keep you safe y/n, it’s my job to protect you.”
Your heart stuttered, his confession leaving you without words. You open your arms as an invitation, and he readily crawls into them, placing his head right above your heart as to hear it beating.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes, feeling him sink into like it was a normal day at home. His eyes fluttered as he looked into yours, staring into them with a seriousness you only see when he’s regarding a villain.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, I love you so much, so much it makes me feel like I can’t breathe when you’re not around. I love you so fucking much that it makes me feel like I’m drowning. Don’t you ever apologize for almost dying, let me apologize for being a shitty hero and not protecting you when you needed it most.”
“Kats-“ he didn’t let you finish, kissing you like you were gone for years and he was going through withdrawals. He grabbed your face and kissed you everywhere his lips would reach, his face still went from the tears he shed.
“Tell me when you need help, never feel like you can’t ask. I know you can handle yourself but I need to know my baby is safe. You’re the love of my life and I can’t lose you.”
You smile, holding him close as he becomes docile, his anger and regret dying as he held you close, listening to the sound of your heart and feeling your chest move with breath. “You’re such a dumbass. Please stay.”
“I love you too you big softie,” you kiss the top of his head, falling asleep under his warmth.
I’ve never written anything like this before so if you want more lmk!
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