cozmowrites

[cozmowrites]

saw your pinned that you're taking nsfw related Oneshots through this over the Google form? i was wondering if you could do bakugou x reader, where Bakugou cares too much about making your first time special (you're his second time)

Firsts

MDNI - 18+ ONLY - NSFW 🔞

bakugou x fem! reader

virgin reader, vanilla

=====

The air in his room was still, almost too quiet, save for the hum of the city outside the window and the soft rhythm of both your breathing. The tension was new. Not the kind that preceded a fight or a challenge, but something delicate and tender. Katsuki sat beside you on the edge of his bed, fingers curling and uncurling in his lap.

He wasn’t looking at you.

Not because he didn’t want to. But because he wanted this to go right. All of it. Every second and every breath.

You were in a new relationship and usually would reject all advances from other people, but Katsuki was different somehow. Even though he was loud, abrasive, and rough around the edges, you learned he was so much more than that. Something soft and nervous. Just as nervous as you were.

You were lying on his bed in one of his shirts, fresh from the shower, skin glowing from warmth. You weren’t scared. Just… waiting. Trusting him. That somehow made everything harder.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the stillness. “You okay?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

You reached for his hand and he finally looked at you. His red eyes were sharp, but flickering with something softer than usual. Something careful.

“I just—” he started, then stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. “I know it’s your first time. I’m not gonna fuck it up.”

“You won’t,” you said gently.

He shook his head. “Tch. You don’t get it. I’ve only done this once. And that shit didn’t mean anything. It was fast, awkward, dumb… I didn’t care, and they didn’t either.”

He looked away again, ears a little red.

“This—” he said, voice quieter now, “this matters to me. You matter. So I gotta take my time. I want to.”

That was the first time you saw him this nervous over something that didn’t involve combat or strategy. This wasn’t a battlefield, but his heart clearly thought otherwise.

You sat up and slid closer, fingers curling around his. “Then let’s go slow. Together.”

His breath hitched. Your hand felt so small in his, but you grounded him in seconds. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m gonna be so damn careful with you,” he whispered.

“I know.”

You kissed him. Soft. Slow. And he melted into it.

Just warmth against your lips. The kind that burned in your chest and glowed at the edges of your skin.

When his hand slid to your waist, it trembled. He was strong, always had been, but now he held you like you were something sacred. Like a secret he didn’t want to ruin.

You laid back slowly, pulling him with you. The way he looked down at you made your chest tighten. He wasn’t looking at your body. He was looking at you. That's what made you nervous about doing anything with exes in the past, why you would say no so quickly. They looked at your body, and didn't care that there was a person behind the body.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong,” he said gruffly.

“I will, I promise.”

He kissed your neck, your jaw, your shoulder and never in a rushing way. Every kiss asked permission. Every breath he gave you was deliberate.

And when his fingers ghosted along your thigh, he paused again.

“Still okay?”

You nodded, smiling. “I trust you.”

That word. Trust. It cracked something open in him.

He took his time undressing you, like each piece of clothing told a story he didn’t want to rush through. When you were bare beneath him, you should have felt shy, but his gaze was reverent. Like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “So pretty...”

You cupped his cheek and kissed him again. “So are you.”

Katsuki was not the type to cry. But in that moment, with the way you looked at him... like he was worth the effort, the patience, the love... he almost did cry.

He touched you like a prayer. With lips and hands, with warmth and reverence. He learned what made you shiver, what made you sigh. He asked if this was good, if that was better. Every time you nodded, it gave him a little more confidence.

He pushed your thighs apart and ghosted kisses inside your thighs, kissing gently until he pulled away.

You watched him remove his own clothes. He was muscular and toned, as you had known, but seeing it up close and personal was different. He spat on his hand and rubbed his cock gently, watching how you prepped yourself. You rubbed your clit gently in circles, rubbing along your slit as your felt yourself grow more and more wet. He didn't want to rush it but watching you lick your fingers even more to slide along your pussy, it made something click in his head.

He lined himself up, moving your knees over his elbows, then shoulders, preparing himself to push past your entrance. He's scared he'll hurt you, and you'll feel it. You'll stretch on him. He looked at you, asking for permission.

"Please.. Katsuki." A barely audible whimper escaped your lips.

When he finally slid inside you, slowly, and gently, his eyes never left yours. You gasped, fingers clutching his back, nails digging and scraping the shoulders you grasped onto.

“You okay?” he asked, voice thick.

You nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah. Just… full. You're bigger than I thought you would be..”

He chuckled breathlessly, a small smile breaking through. “You’re doin’ so good, pretty girl...” Your nails in his back fueled him, and he wanted to be more rough, but he couldn't make this a terrible time for you.

He moved slowly, giving you time to adjust, to breathe, to feel every second. His cock was big, and it filled you up every thrust, making you feel so full. Your eyes rolled back, so far back you could almost see stars. Your back arched towards him, fingers digging into his back harder. You could feel how careful he was with each thrust, how he kept whispering your name like it grounded him. Like it was the only word he wanted to say tonight.

“Feels so good,” you murmured. “Katsuki…”

He buried his face in your neck, arms wrapped around you tight. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. I—I wanted this to be good for you.”

“It is.”

And it was. Not because it was flawless. But because it was real. Because it was him.

It wasn't long, until you felt close, your orgasm building with each slow thrust he punctured. You would moan out, eyes rolling back, and mouth wide open. You clawed his back, basically.

When you came, it was with his name on your lips and his arms around you like he never wanted to let go. He followed not long after, voice low and shaking, buried deep inside you as he trembled and whispered your name like a prayer. He came a lot more, your insides feeling warm and full. You moaned, he moaned. Until it finally started to die down and he started to grow soft inside of you.

The room was silent again, save for your breathing. But this time, it was content.

He pulled out gently and helped you clean up, making sure you were okay, checking in more than once.

When you were curled up together under the covers, his hand resting on your waist, he whispered, “Thanks for letting me be the one.”

You kissed his chest, heart full. “I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

He didn’t answer with words. Just a quiet hum and a kiss to your forehead.

He’d been so scared of messing up, but in your eyes, he was perfect.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

(please read masterlist pinned for information on how to request additional nsfw)

[cozmowrites]

hiya! I've been going through alot lately and mentally I feel like I've lost it. So can I please request a nsfw bakugou × reader where the reader is coping by having sex with Katsuki as a distraction, but it's becoming too frequent and he gets concerned? Maybe he catches y/n crying during a session and he comforts her? Sorry if it's a weird or uncomfortable request

-🎏

Toxic Cope

MDNI - 18+ ONLY - NSFW 🔞

bakugou x fem! reader

tw: emotional and using bakugou w consent / him not stopping you , coping but in a toxic way , open relationship mention (kind of?)

=====

It started as a way to forget.

To drown in the heat of his body, in the burn of his touch, in the kind of chaos that didn’t ask questions or dig too deep. Katsuki never pried. He grunted and growled and kissed you like he meant it, and that was enough.. at least for a while.

But then it became too often.

You'd show up at his place without warning, no call or text unlike before. Push him down onto the bed. Strip off your clothes like they weighed too much. They did some of the times. You didn’t always even kiss him first.

Before, that was something you did. To kiss them like they weren't just a one night stand. Sometimes, you just climbed into his lap, pressed yourself onto him like you were trying to disappear.

And he let you. Until now.

He noticed something was off tonight. You weren’t saying much. You kissed him hard, desperate, rushed, like if you slowed down even a second, the thoughts would catch up. You pulled away breathless, and looked down at him, but he didn't stop you. He never did and he was fine with that.

“Hey,” he mumbled between your lips. “What’s—”

You kissed him again, nibbling at his bottom lip, and whimpering just a tad as you ground your hips down against his. He let out a drawn out moan, but his thoughts started to be a bit preoccupied. He can't stop thinking about the way you moved, how needy you were being, which was more than usual.

“Don’t talk,” you whispered, breathless, pulling his shirt up and over his head. “Just… touch me.” Your mouth found their way to his neck, nibbling and biting to make marks. Something you never done to him before, but he didn't push you.

He frowned though, hands lingering on your hips, hesitating for the first time in weeks. You didn’t give him the chance to question it. Instead, you just pushed him onto the bed and played gently with his chest.

And he let you again. Of course he did. His hands found your thighs, your waist, gripping tightly like always. But... his eyes never left your face this time. The furrow in your brow. The tension in your jaw. The way your breath kept hitching, uneven.

You moved over him like you were trying to control it, keep it together. Like if you could just stay ahead of the moment, nothing would slip through. You ground your hips down again, opening your mouth to moan. He watched the moan fall out of your lips, how it sounded like you hesitated or how it sounded kind of broken almost.

You tugged his pants down quickly, your own coming off and he was hard. Not as hard as usual, but it'll have to do. (You told yourself.) You felt the tip slip inside with ease, just like it has many times before.

But you didn’t notice when it started. The way your voice caught and your eyes turned glassy.

You were riding him and crying, and didn’t even realize or notice.

He noticed.

“(Y/n)…?”

You blinked, confused at the way his hands stilled on your waist. He sat up, his chest pressed flush to yours now. One hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward his. His thumb brushed under your eyes, feeling the wetness of your tears.

“…Are you crying?”

The words made everything break.

Your breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t from pleasure. Your lip trembled, and then the sob came out—quiet and sudden, like you couldn’t stop it if you tried. You tried to hide your face against his shoulder, but he pulled you back gently.

“No. No, don’t do that. Look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, shaking. “I’m so sorry — fuck, I didn’t mean—”

“Stop,” he said firmly, his voice low and grounding. But it did little to ground you. “You don’t have to say that.”

You shook your head anyway. “I just— It’s the only time I don’t feel like shit. When I’m with you. When you’re touching me.”

Katsuki’s arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you against his chest. You felt him shift, pulling out of you carefully, laying you down beside him without letting go.

“I knew something was off,” he muttered. “Didn’t wanna push. Thought maybe you’d talk when you were ready.”

“I didn’t want to talk,” you whispered, face still wet. “Talking makes it real.”

“Yeah, well? This is real too,” he said gruffly, his hand brushing the hair from your face. “Your body ain’t a fuckin’ bandaid. You’re not gonna fix whatever’s hurting by tearing yourself apart.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared up at the ceiling, tears leaking silently from the corners of your eyes.

He laid beside you, one arm still curled around your waist, the other drawing slow lines up and down your back. He didn't try to force anything. He just stayed. Warm, solid, and present.

“I’m not mad,” he said after a while. “Just hate seein’ you like this. You think I want you only when you're a mess?”

Your throat tightened. “I thought maybe… you’d stop wanting me if I wasn’t always— like this.”

“That’s not how it works,” he said flatly. “I want you when you’re happy. I want you when you’re pissed off. I even want you when you're being a pain in the ass.”

A breathless laugh escaped you despite everything, and his lips curved faintly in return. It was weird. You assumed... Katsuki was only okay with this kind of open relationship when it was just you both having sex. You assumed.. he would never want you as more than just sex.

“I don’t care if we never have sex again. You could show up at my door sobbing or screaming and I’d still let you in.”

You turned your face into his chest, breathing him in. The tears slowed, but the ache lingered.

“I’m scared,” you admitted quietly.

He nodded, nose pressing into your hair. “I know. But you’re not alone in it, got it?”

His hand slid down your back again, then paused, resting over your hip.

“I’m not gonna pretend I didn’t like all of it,” he said honestly. “But if you’re only doing this ‘cause it numbs the pain, I’d rather help you feel it than fuckin’ watch you drown in it.”

You nodded into his chest, your fingers curling into his side like you didn’t want him to go anywhere.

“I didn’t mean to use you,” you whispered.

“You didn’t,” he said firmly. “You’re hurting. You reached out the only way you knew how. But I’m here now, alright? Really here.”

Silence settled over the room again, but it felt less sharp. Less suffocating. His hand kept moving over your skin, soothing now, not in any sexual way.

After a little while, you pulled back just enough to look up at him. “Still wanna hold me?”

“Of course I do,” he said, tugging you tighter against him. “Always.”

You kissed his collarbone. Soft, this time. No desperation. Just gratitude.

“I’ll try to talk next time,” you said.

“And I’ll listen.”

He brushed his lips over your temple. You closed your eyes, finally letting yourself breathe against him.

The silence didn’t feel so lonely.

"So.. can we.. make this a non-open relationship?" You muttered, feeling his warmth.

"About time you fuckin' asked. I was tired of seeing you with other people." He grumbled, pulling you closer which made you laugh just a bit.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

(please read masterlist pinned for information on how to request additional nsfw)

---

sorry for the lateness, i been a bit busy and am finding time to get through all of my requests (both sfw and nsfw)

[cozmowrites]

sometimes i feel like my stuff doesn't get a whole lotta attention because it's not "aesthetic" but i gotta remind myself that i love writing and sharing and im 24 with a job and i don't have time to make my stuff "aesthetic" to readers (sorry tho, i appreciate all the likes and reblogs for my stuff always)

[cozmowrites]

i liked this one!

──★ ˙☀️ ̟ !! How to Not Realize Your Best Friend is in Love With You

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

You were the only person Katsuki Bakugo didn’t bark at in the entire school.

Which is saying a lot, because the boy barked like it was a competitive sport.

You thought Katsuki Bakugo was your best friend.

No, like, bestie best friend. Your "ride or die," your emotional support explosion gremlin. The guy who scowled at humanity but somehow knew the exact ratio of sugar and creamer you liked in your coffee. The same guy who memorized your snack preferences down to the brand, saved the last mochi for you in the dorm fridge, and would sooner die than let you walk back alone after curfew. Even if it meant trailing behind you with only one working umbrella and getting drenched like a dramatic side character in a romance anime.

But he wasn’t just nice.

He was Bakugo nice. As in, carrying your bag when you sprained your ankle and growling at anyone who even breathed in your direction. As in, begrudgingly watching your dumb romance K-drama with a permanent scowl but asking when the next episode dropped. As in, flinching only a little when you called him Katsu—and never once correcting you.

He didn’t flinch when you fell asleep on his shoulder. Didn’t push you away when you stuck your cold hands under his hoodie in winter. Didn’t complain when you dragged him to that cat café even though he was allergic to half the menu.

And so, you never questioned it.

Because surely that was just… what best friends did, right?

Right?

Until third year.

Until the rooftop.

Until he cornered you after sparring class—when your shirt was sticking to your back with sweat and your water bottle was half-empty, and everyone else was downstairs yelling about some pro-hero documentary rerun.

“Oi,” he said.

Low, flat. Like he’d been rehearsing.

You blinked at him, mid-sip. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you. Just glared straight ahead like the air had offended him.

“You’re really not gettin’ it, huh?”

“…Getting what?”

His jaw ticked. His fingers curled against the railing like they were flexing out a confession.

“I’ve done everything to make it obvious,” he muttered. “Walkin’ you home. Dealin’ with your annoying-ass tangents. Holdin’ back when some idiot flirts with you. Even when you ask me if I think that guy from Class 1-B is cute—fuckin’ hell.”

You blinked again. “Wait… you remember that?”

Bakugo looked personally offended. “Of course I remember that, dumbass! You asked me in the middle of lunch—right when I was eatin’ soba!”

You had the audacity to laugh. “Okay, but in my defense, you do have good taste.”

He turned to look at you—really look—and you swore you saw something fraying in the tension behind his teeth.

“I let you call me Katsu,” he snapped. “You think I let anyone call me that?”

You paused. “I mean… no?”

“I let you fall asleep on me. I went to that stupid cat café. I watched that awful show about those rich teenagers who cry in the rain.”

You gasped. “You said you liked it!”

“I lied!” he barked. “I sat through sixteen episodes of emotionally constipated people confessin’ in monologues!”

You don't know what to say...

"I hope I’m makin’ it real fuckin’ clear that I wouldn’t do all of this just for us to be just friends."

And your world… kind of paused. Because—huh?

You blinked, wide-eyed. “I thought we were best friends?”

“I am your best friend,” he gritted. “I’m just also in love with you, idiot.”

The silence that followed could’ve flattened an entire city block.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again like your brain was buffering on 2G.

“Wait… so we’re not just friends?”

He stared at you like you had just asked if he was secretly a squirrel in a trench coat. “What the hell do you think this is? Me carryin’ your bag every goddamn day? Goin’ to every café you point at like a date planner? I let you put a lil’ heart next to my name in your phone—a heart, dumbass.”

You clutched your chest in offense. “That’s how I label all my favorite people!”

He stared. “Am I favorite person or crush?”

“…I thought they were the same thing?”

Bakugo made a noise that sounded like he was about to short-circuit. “You’re so—how are you this smart and this dumb at the same time?!”

You tried to laugh it off, nervous and flustered. “I thought you were just being nice…”

“I’m not fuckin’ nice!” he exploded—then immediately winced, like he didn’t mean to raise his voice at you. “I’m not… I’m not nice,” he repeated softer, ears red, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. “But I’ve always been soft for you. From the first time you called me Katsu and didn’t flinch when I glared. You never flinched.”

You swallowed, slow. “So… you like me.”

He gave you a look. “No shit.”

You laughed, louder now, covering your face. “God. I’m so dumb.”

“No argument here,” he muttered. But it was gentler now. Less bark, more burn.

Your hands fell away, and you looked at him—really looked—and everything clicked into place. The long stares. The way he always stood slightly in front of you. How he’d scowl at anyone who made you upset, but always let you see the soft corners of his grin.

“…I like you, too,” you said, quiet.

His breath caught.

You reached out, fingers brushing his—calloused and warm, a little shaky but still open. He didn’t pull away.

He never had.

And maybe that, you realized, was the biggest clue of all.

[cozmowrites]

my wistoriagic story now has a bot!

https://character.ai/chat/y76E-2N9wJ-7rh4-OK7uZ9b2OMW0qiqd1VZZ_0nWA3s

Wistoragic Masterlist

wistoragic (adj.)

characterized by lingering sadness and nostalgia following the recent end of a great story or series

☆☆☆

zombie apocalypse au • quirkless au

☆☆☆

completed!

bot!

☆☆☆

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[cozmowrites]

Bark Like You Want It 🔞

MDNI - 18+ ONLY - NSFW 🔞

sub! bakugou x dom! fem reader

pet play, praises, bottom bakugou, power dynamics, use of full name/hero name ! (based off of the tiktok trend/song though!)

woof! we want it.. meow! come and get it baby!

2,724 words !

🔞🔞🔞

=====

Bakugou Katsuki had never barked for anything in his damn life.

Not for attention, not for praise, and definitely not for some smug little sidekick who strutted into the agency training room like they owned the place. Which, unfortunately, you did today.

He was halfway through his cooldown stretches, tank top clinging to his sweat-slicked chest, when you walked in wearing that smirk. The one that promised trouble and dared him to bite.

"You look tired," you purred, arms folding under your chest as you leaned against the wall. "Need a little motivation, Dynamight?"

He shot you a glare that could level a building.

"I'm fine," he grunted, rolling his shoulders. "Unless you came here to train, quit starin'."

But you just tilted your head, slow and deliberate, like a cat circling a cornered mouse. Except Katsuki was anything but cornered. "You're barking orders again, baby," you said sweetly. "How about barking for real?"

His eye twitched. "The hell does that mean?"

You pulled out your phone.

"Oh no," he growled, already knowing where this was going. "Don't you f—"

Too late. The audio played. That godforsaken trend you'd been obsessed with all week. A voice echoed through the room like a curse: "You better drop on your knees and bark like you want it."

You looked at him. Expectant and challenging. That devilish glint in your eye. For a second, he just stared. His pride screamed at him to scoff, to storm out, to blast the phone from your hands and erase this moment from existence.

But you? You raised a single brow and purred, "Meow. Come and get it, baby."

Oh, hell no.

A beat of silence.

Then, with a low, dangerous chuckle, Bakugou stood upwith a slow, controlled, full of heat. He stalked toward you, broad shoulders rolling, that infamous smirk now carved onto his lips.

"Say it again," he dared, voice a growl. "I fuckin' dare you."

You didn't flinch. You licked your lips. "Meow," you whispered. "Come and get it, baby."

Bakugou dropped down onto one knee.

Your mouth parted.

"Woof." His voice was husky, mocking, and heated. He leaned in, hands braced on either side of your hips, chest barely brushing yours. "We want it."

You blinked, cheeks flaring with heat. "You—oh my god—"

"Speechless now, huh?" he murmured, gaze dropping to your lips. "Thought you were cute bein' a little shit."

You were not going to lose this game. You grabbed his shirt, yanking him a breath closer.

"I am cute," you said. "But you're the one on your knees, Dynamight." You said his hero name like it was his own.

His grin widened. "Yeah?" he said. "Then maybe I should show you what happens when you tease a dog too long."

His hand slid up your thigh just enough to make your breath hitch and leaned in just a little more. Lips parted. Breath heavy and waiting.

You blinked. “...You’re really not gonna move?”

He shook his head. “Told you,” he murmured, rough but quiet. “We want it.”

The tremble in his voice wasn’t from fear though. It was from restraint. Katsuki Bakugou, number four pro hero, was holding himself back for you.

“Damn,” you breathed. “Guess the dog knows who’s in charge.”

His lashes flicked up, those ruby eyes burning. But he didn’t argue. Just whispered, “Say it again.”

You tilted your head, stepping a foot back and he followed, still on his knees. Like it was natural. Like he liked it.

“You’re soooo obedient,” you said, teasing. “Didn’t know dogs like you could listen so well.”

“Only to you,” he muttered, flushed and twitching, jaw clenched like he hated how true it was. “Fucking hell.”

“Oh?” You took his chin between your fingers, lifting his face. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch like it short-circuited him.

Then came the nail in his coffin:

“Good boy.”

He groaned. Actually groaned. You felt it in your stomach.

“I should make you do it again,” you said, lips brushing his ear now, voice a purr. “You bark so pretty for me.”

“Then make me,” he whispered. Begged. “Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

That broke something in you. This wasn’t just about the silly trend anymore. This was real. And it was so delicious you didn’t know what to do with it.

“You better mean that,” you warned, thumb brushing his bottom lip. “Because once you bark for me again, I own you.”

He leaned forward, breath catching, body tense.

“Then fuckin’ own me.”

You bit your lip and smiled. “…Bark.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Woof." It was desperate this time. Shaky. Real. “…We want it.”

Your hand tangled in his hair. He was breathing hard.

You leaned down, lips just inches from his. “Good boy,” you whispered again.

And Katsuki Bakugou? He shuddered like you had him on a leash.

He barely whimpered, but it sent a perfect feeling through your body. "You’re begging, Katsuki,” you whispered, lips brushing his skin, not quite touching. “I say bark… and you do it. I tell you to follow… and you crawl after me. You like this more than you wanna admit.”

He growled low in his throat, but it wasn’t anger. It was frustration. Lust. Surrender.

“…Maybe I fuckin’ do.”

You smiled. There it was. “Then why are you still on your knees, Dynamight?” you asked, voice slow and syrupy, using his hero name to degrade and prove just how above him you currently are despite him being your boss. “You could stand. You could pin me. You could blow this whole place to hell. But instead… you’re waiting for an order, like a good boy.”

His head dipped a little. “’Cause you told me to.”

God.

He sounded ruined.

You pulled back, only a step, and Katsuki’s body followed instinctively before stopping himself. Like a leash had snapped taut around his neck.

He looked up with a desperate and hungry look in his eyes.

“You want to be good for me?” you asked. “You want me to tell you what to do, where to... touch, how to make me feel good?”

He nodded, quick, almost embarrassingly eager.

“Then you do nothing unless I tell you,” you said, slow and deliberate. “That includes touching me.”

His lips parted. “Fuck—okay.”

“Take your shirt off.”

He yanked it over his head so fast you almost laughed. Chest heaving. Face red. Hands flexing like he didn’t know where to put them.

“Pants next.”

His breath caught. “Here?”

“Here.”

A beat passed, then he obeyed. Just like that.

Bakugou Katsuki, stripped down to his boxers in the middle of the training room — knees on the ground, thighs tense, body twitching with every order you gave. He looked like he was fighting every instinct to take control, to flip this back in his favor.

But he didn’t because he wanted this. Needed it. Gods, you were going to make him feel it.

“Look at you,” you breathed, stepping closer again, finally letting your fingers trail down the strong line of his jaw. “So strong. So dangerous. And yet you’re waiting on your knees like you belong there.”

“I do,” he muttered. His voice cracked like it cost him to say it. “I do if it’s for you.”

That stopped you momentarily.

Katsuki Bakugou never gave in without a fight, never submitted, never gave anything freely. But this? This was devotion.

You slowly slid your hand into his hair, tugging his head back just enough to make his lips part. His breath hitched again.

You leaned down, mouth ghosting over his ear.

“Then beg for me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Please. Please tell me what you want. Tell me how to please you. I’ll do it. I’ll do anything, just— please— don’t stop talking to me like that.”

“You want me to keep calling you my good boy?”

He nodded, face flushed, tongue darting across his lips. “Yes.”

“Even if I make you wait?”

“…Yes.”

“Even if I tease you until you’re shaking?”

He whimpered— actually whimpered. “Yes. Yes, please— please tease me.”

And that? It sent something dark and sweet coiling in your stomach.

“You’re really giving it all up for me, huh?” you said, tugging his hair a little more. “The Dynamight. On his knees. Whining for praise like a needy little pet.”

He groaned, his hips jerking before he caught himself, forcing his body still again. Obedient.

“Don’t move unless I say,” you warned.

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I won’t. I’ll be good, I promise.” He whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut.

You circled behind him, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, then down the tense curve of his back.

His breath shivered out of him.

“You trust me this much?” you asked. “To give me all this power?”

He swallowed. “I’ve never trusted anyone like this.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Then let me ruin you.”

He whimpered again, head dropping forward, muscles tight, heart racing. “Please…”

You stepped back in front of him. Sat down on a nearby bench with a slow exhale. “Crawl to me.”

His head snapped up. The look in his eyes was molten. He dropped forward onto his hands without hesitation. Not a trace of pride left. Just hunger. Submission.

Desire.

Then, he crawled.

Every muscle in his body moved with restraint, careful not to move too fast, not to overstep.

You spread your knees. His breath hitched. When he reached you, he looked up with the most desperate expression you’d ever seen.

You stroked his cheek with a soft hum. “So pretty like this.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “Then keep me like this. Please.”

“You want to be mine?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’m already yours.”

You leaned down one last time, lips brushing against his. Soft, not quite a kiss, but a promise.

“Please,” he whispered. “Please, I’m yours. I need you. I’ll bark, crawl, beg—just don’t stop. Don’t stop owning me.”

He was already trembling. Still on all fours in front of you, eyes glazed, breath coming fast and shallow like he couldn’t catch it no matter how hard he tried.

Bakugou Katsuki— reduced to a panting, flushed mess at your feet. His chest rose and fell in uneven waves, his muscles twitching every time your voice hit just the right pitch.

And you were only just getting started.

“Look at you,” you cooed, tilting your head as you trailed your fingers through his hair. “My fierce little mutt, crawling like you were born for it.”

He whimpered, his mouth opening, tongue slightly out, like he was struggling to keep control of even that.

“I didn’t say speak, baby,” you teased. “Dogs don’t use words.”

His mouth snapped shut, but not before letting out the softest, most pathetic whine you’d ever heard.

It made your breath hitch.

“Oh,” you whispered, lips curling. “That’s what I thought. Such a good little mutt.”

He whimpered again. Louder.

His arms wobbled like they were seconds from giving out under him, but he didn’t collapse. He wanted this. Needed to prove how obedient he could be.

You reached down and tapped under his chin with two fingers.

“Sit.”

He immediately dropped back onto his knees. Spine straight. Hands on his thighs. Gaze locked on yours, dazed and waiting.

You saw the war in his eyes. Every instinct screaming to dominate, to rise, to bite. Your voice was stronger than his instincts. So, instead, you circled him slowly, your fingertips trailing along the back of his neck. Watching the way he shivered.

“Speak.”

His breath caught. “Woof.” Raspy. Barely above a whisper. Like it hurt his pride, but made something deep in him throb.

You came around the front again, crouching until you were eye-level with him. “Louder.”

His jaw clenched. His fists tightened on his thighs. He looked up at you with raw desperation and barked. “Woof!”

It echoed. Ruined. You didn’t hold back your smile.

“There’s my boy,” you murmured, reaching out to scratch behind his ear.

And gods, he leaned into it. Actually leaned into your touch, letting his eyes flutter closed like your praise was the only thing grounding him.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm, “do you like being my little mutt?”

He nodded frantically. “Mhm—please—please, I—”

You put a finger to his lips. “No words.”

He whimpered again.

You moved your hand to his collarbone and gently pushed. “Down.”

He dropped to his hands and knees again, his palms flat on the cold floor, back arched in submission. Shoulders tense. Face flushed and close to breaking.

“You’re such a strong pro hero, aren’t you?” you said softly, walking your fingers along the slope of his spine. “But right now, you’re nothing but my puppy. Just a needy little mutt.”

His breath shuddered. His mouth opened. A raw, broken bark slipped out. “W-Woof—”

Followed by a whine that vibrated from deep in his throat.

You crouched beside him, whispering into his ear. “You don’t even know what you want anymore, do you?”

He shook his head violently, whimpering again.

“Want me to tell you what you are?”

He nodded.

“Say please.”

A whimper. “P-Please—please—tell me—”

You gripped his jaw. Tilted his flushed face up. “You’re my pathetic little pet,” you whispered. “That’s what you are. A barking, whimpering mess who needs to be told when to crawl, when to beg, when to breathe.”

He moaned at that and it was pathetic.

You grinned and then leaned in. “Good mutts don’t moan,” you said. “They bark.”

His whole body jolted. “Woof—!” He barked again. Louder and more frantic.

It was animalistic. Desperate. He was panting, whining, begging through his body.

You pressed your hand to his back again and cooed, “Keep going.”

He barked. Again. And again. And when his voice broke, reduced to whines and needy sounds, you cupped his cheek and praised him:

“That’s it. That’s my good boy. So obedient for me. So perfect.”

His eyes welled with tears he didn’t understand— too far gone in the rush of submission, too deep into your praise.

You scratched behind his ear again. Kissed the top of his head.

“Katsuki,” you cooed, “you want rubs, don’t you?”

He nodded frantically, tongue lolling as he barked once, twice.

“Then ask.”

He buried his face in the floor, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please... rubs— please, I need it..! Need it so bad...”

You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his spine. “Where?”

He let out a broken moan, not even bothering to hide how far gone he was now. “Belly rubs… p-please,” he gasped. “All of them. I want to feel your hands everywhere…”

You didn’t reply. You simply rolled him onto his back, slowly, firmly, letting him settle flat against the floor.

There he was, reduced to a mess, panting on the floor like a good little pet. And above him? You. Fully in control.

You placed your palm flat against his stomach and began to move your hand in slow, deliberate circles.

He gasped, shaking under your touch, lips trembling.

“Oh my god—” he whimpered, “feels— so good…” You knew he was getting off, you glanced down at his crotch, his dick twitching slightly under his boxers.

You leaned over him, watching the way his eyes fluttered shut. “You wanted this,” you whispered. “You begged for this.”

He nodded frantically, hands twitching at his sides as you ran your other hand along his chest, then lower — tracing every inch of him like he was yours to explore. Because he was.

And with every rub, every slow caress, every filthy little sound that escaped his lips.

"C-Cumming.. please.. Can't hold it.." He barely let out before a spot grew on his boxers. You grazed your hand down his thigh as he moaned loudly, whimpering and barking as he came hard in his boxers.

You purred, allowing him this moment since he's been a good boy anyways. You pulled away from him as he calmed down, his breaths ragged and his boxers soiled.

"I-I'm sorry.."

"It's okay. You deserved that." You muttered, standing up. "I'll treat you to dinner if you get dressed like nothing happened."

"Huh? Make the.. stupid lady pay? No way in hell." He grumbled, getting dressed. "I'll fucking pay. You're my sidekick or whatever."

+++

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[cozmowrites]

Reincarnated: Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

You didn’t bother cleaning up before he arrived.

The place was still a mess. Glass shards from the lamp glinting in the hallway light, books and blankets strewn across the floor, some pages were crumpled against the rug. You sat hunched over on the edge of the couch, hands twisted in your lap, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. Again.

The knock came like thunder. It was sharp. He hit the door at least three times.

You stood slowly, hesitated, then opened the door. Bakugou stepped in without asking. His gaze swept the room. At the mess you wanted to hide, the shattered lamp, the knocked-over furniture. Then his eyes landed on you.

His expression darkened. “What the fuck, (Your hero name)?”

You flinched. “I—”

“What is this? You call me at two in the goddamn morning to say you’ve got some sort of crush? On me, then hang up like a fucking coward? You think that’s funny?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Then what did you mean? Huh?” His voice echoed through the apartment. “You think this shit’s appropriate? We’ve barely spoken! You’re just some sidekick who started about three months ago and now you’re calling me in the middle of the night acting like I should know you? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Your throat burned. You took a breath. “I wasn’t trying to freak you out, I just— It’s been hard, and I didn’t know what else to do—”

“And that’s your problem!” he snapped. “You don’t get to dump emotional shit like that on your boss. Ever. Especially not when we’re barely coworkers.”

You felt your hands tremble. “I know. I know it was wrong. I just— Please listen, I didn’t mean to put pressure on you, I’m just—”

He wasn’t listening. His hands were on his hips now, pacing a small, angry line across your living room. “This is why people get fired,” he muttered. “You can’t just say whatever the fuck you want to someone in charge and expect no consequences.”

“Marrow.” You blurted it out, too loud and too sudden.

Bakugou stopped. “What?”

You stepped forward, desperate. “That word? Marrow. We.. we talked about it before, you and me. It was supposed to be like a... a trigger, something to help you remember. We said we’d use it if we ever had to start over again.”

He stared at you like you had slapped him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You froze. “We—We made a plan. In another loop. Another version of this. We were... closer. And you believed me. About the timeline resets. About the villain. I told you everything and you—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked through the room like a whip. He looked at you now with something colder than anger. Confusion, disbelief, and concern. “You need help.”

“I don’t, I—”

“YES. You do.” he barked. “You’re talking about time loops and safe words and... alternate versions? Of me? Like this is some kind of twisted movie.”

You backed up, your legs hitting the couch.

“I’m not crazy,” you whispered.

“You’re acting like it.”

Silence.

Silence swallowed the room whole.

You could feel your throat closing, your chest folding in on itself.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve had this fight,” you said, voice barely a thread. “You were mad before, too. You yelled. But eventually you believed me. And we figured it out together. I thought if I told you something different this time... I thought maybe it would change things.”

His jaw tensed. “You need to stop. Whatever this is, whatever game you’re playing with yourself—it’s not real.”

“It is.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you for a long, drawn-out moment. Then he shook his head and turned toward the door. “I should report this.”

You blinked, heart thudding.

“I’m not going to, yet. But you need to get your shit together. You don’t get to treat people like this. Not me or anyone.”

The door opened. The hallway light spilled in.

“Don’t call me again,” he said without looking back.

Then he left.

You stood frozen in the middle of the mess, blinking after him. The door clicked shut, but the sound barely processed. For the second time in twenty-four hours, you collapsed to your knees. With something along the lines of grief.

He was right. In this version of the story, you were a stranger. You are a stranger. He didn’t remember the tea or the map or the nightmares or the night he stayed at your place.

You were alone again. You had no idea how many more versions of this hell you could survive.

+++

You came into work the next morning like it was your first day all over again.

You held your ID card up to the scanner, walked through the tall glass doors, and forced your face into something neutral. The building smelled the same sterile, faintly metallic, with the undercurrent of brewed coffee and ozone from quirk usage. Everything was in its place. The front desk staff nodded at you. Your boots squeaked faintly against the tile.

Like nothing happened. Like you hadn’t collapsed in your apartment twelve hours ago, sobbing into your knees while your world reset without your permission.

You made it to the locker room, changed into your hero costume, and made your way toward the morning patrol briefing with a practiced step. You’d done this a dozen times now. Maybe more. You could recite the patrol map in your sleep. Hell, you had.

But the moment you stepped into the conference room, you felt it. Heavy eyes on you. You didn’t have to look to know who they were coming from.

Bakugou was already there, arms crossed, standing stiff near the window where he always posted up. And his gaze was fixed on you. Not casual like it had been before. Not in passing but rather, focused. With his brows pulled low and his mouth tight, like he was holding something back. Like he’d slept terribly and hadn’t decided yet if it was your fault.

You sat down without looking at him, but your skin crawled.

He didn’t say anything, but you could feel it. That storm of frustration radiating from him. As if his whole body was still running on adrenaline from last night. His jaw clenched when your eyes accidentally met for half a second. You looked away instantly.

No one else noticed. The meeting went on like it always had that first time, with patrol zones being assigned and reminders about recent villain sightings. The chatter was easy, routine. No one acted like anything strange had happened.

Except Bakugou.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t confront you. He didn’t even say your name. Instead, he watched you the entire meeting like you were a loaded weapon someone had forgotten to disarm.

And all you could think was: This is exactly how it started.

===

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[cozmowrites]

bakugou isn't just the type to kiss you. i would like to think he doesn't even kiss you at all actually. he doesn't initiate and it's not really his thing. especially in public. he doesn't like physical affection, and still believes getting too close is terrifying to him.

but sometimes, if you initiate it, he might give in just a little bit. maybe a peck or small kiss. nothing too big. i don't think he would want to be overly intimate. it distracts him from his one goal of being a pro hero, and a top one at that.

only when he's an adult, finally hitting #5, then he's ready to settle down a bit. and he celebrated by kissing you so warmly and softly. nothing rough, because he's been trying to be more gentle.

and it surprises you of course because bakugou katsuki is not one to be overly intimate.

[cozmowrites]

America's Birthday (2025)

American! Reader

=====

"Wait, wait, wait," Bakugou muttered, his brow twitching as he watched you draw stars and stripes on the whiteboard of the shared dorm lounge. "You're tellin' me the point of this holiday is just... blowin' crap up and grillin' meat?"

You turned to him with a grin, hands on your hips. "That's one way to put it. But yeah, kinda! It's Independence Day. America's birthday! Fireworks, sparklers, barbecue, friends... it's a whole vibe, Bakugou."

He scoffed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. "That's just another Tuesday for me."

You laughed and tossed him a little American flag toothpick, which he caught without looking. "C'mon, you can't tell me the idea of a whole night dedicated to fireworks doesn't appeal to you even a little."

"I am fireworks, dumbass."

You rolled your eyes fondly. "Okay, yeah, Mr. Walking Explosion, I know. But I'm talking about the aesthetic kind. You know, colors, sparkles, shapes. Like sparklers! I wanna get sparklers and set 'em off on the roof tomorrow night!"

He groaned. "Why would you waste money on weak-ass fire sticks when I could just make explosions that actually look good?"

"Because it's tradition!" you insisted, jabbing a finger at him. "And because they're pretty!"

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, clearly about to argue again, but the look on your face made him pause. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about it, how animated your hands got... he clicked his tongue and looked away.

"Tch. Whatever. Not like I care."

+++

By the time tomorrow rolled around, you were practically bouncing. You'd managed to snag some sparklers from a local shop that catered to foreigners and convinced a few classmates to grill some food on the dorm terrace. But Bakugou? He hadn't said a word all day about the holiday.

Not that you were surprised. He wasn't exactly the sentimental type. Still, you saved a box of sparklers just for the two of you, so you could show him what it was really like.

As the sun dipped behind the skyline and the heat of the day finally cooled, you climbed up to the roof with your box tucked under your arm, excited to make this feel a little like home. The first sparkler fizzled out before it even lit.

You frowned and tried another. It sparked for a second... then died. Again.

Again.

Again.

You tried to laugh it off, but your chest started to feel tight. It was stupid, but all you'd wanted was a sliver of something familiar and warm. Something that reminded you of summers back home.

Instead, you were sitting alone on the roof with a box of defective sparklers and a well of tears pricking behind your eyes.

"Dumb fireworks," you muttered, blinking hard. "Stupid imported crap..."

"Oi."

You turned your head, sniffling. Bakugou stood a few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets, his usual scowl softened just slightly.

"I figured I'd find you sulkin' up here."

"I'm not sulking," you muttered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "It's just... the sparklers didn't work, and it was dumb to get so excited about them, and—"

He sat beside you with a grunt, close but not touching. "It's not dumb."

You blinked at him. "...Did you just say something nice?"

He looked like he regretted it instantly. "Shut up."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Sorry. Just didn't expect you to show up."

Bakugou didn't answer right away. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small, looked like a wire fuse coiled around some sort of metal casing.

"Okay, look," he grumbled, avoiding eye contact. "I figured those bargain-bin sparklers might crap out. So... I made somethin'. Don't make a big deal outta it."

You tilted your head. "You made something?"

Before you could ask more, he hovered his hand over the little device in his palm, and it sparked to life. Soft, crackling light burst upward, like a miniature fountain of warm golden fireworks. Then another burst came, trailing shimmering embers that floated in the air like fireflies.

Your breath caught. It wasn't loud or violent like his usual explosions. It was... gentle. Beautiful. Like magic trapped in a bottle.

He kept his palm steady, eyes narrowed in concentration. "They're small, 'cause I had to tweak the ignition to lower the blast pressure. But they won't burn you. See?" He rotated his hand slightly so one of the trails brushed against your arm... warm and harmless.

You stared at it, wide-eyed. "Bakugou... this is amazing."

He huffed. "Yeah, well. Told you I am fireworks."

The corners of your lips twitched upward. "You made these... for me?"

"Tch. Don't flatter yourself," he muttered, but his ears turned a little red. "You were bitchin' about wanting sparklers. Thought I'd shut you up before you cried about it."

You laughed and the tension melted off your shoulders. "Well... it worked. I'm not crying anymore."

"Good." He paused, then added, almost too quiet to hear, "Didn't like seein' you upset."

Your heart skipped.

You looked at him again, the glow of his homemade sparklers painting his face in soft light. He wasn't looking at you, just watching the lights flicker and fade in his palm. But there was something vulnerable in his expression, something you'd never seen before.

"Bakugou..." you said gently, "You're kind of a softie under all that angry yelling, aren't you?"

He groaned and snapped his fingers to cut off the sparks. "And now I regret everything."

You laughed again and leaned your head on his shoulder, just for a second. "Thanks, Katsuki. Really."

He stiffened slightly, but didn't move away.

"...Yeah. Whatever. Happy Birthday, America."

+++

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For the Greater Good

request by anonymous

marvel au?

=====

The platform was silent except for the hollow gusts of wind whistling across its jagged surface. High above the chasm, the sky swirled with unnatural clouds, casting the entire place in a permanent twilight. It didn't feel real—like some cursed place ripped out of a myth. And maybe it was.

You stared at the altar, the etching still glowing with cold light: A soul for a soul.

Behind you, Bakugou stood, chest heaving from the hike, the fight, the truth that settled heavily in his bones.

"This is a joke," he snarled, voice raw. "There's no fuckin' way it has to be one of us."

You didn't answer because you knew better. You'd watched the others fail. You saw the corpses below. There was no trick or cheat.

"It's the only way to get the key," you said softly, looking over the cliff's edge. "The only way to save the rest of them."

You didn't need to say who. Aizawa. Uraraka. Midoriya. The makeshift family you'd both somehow formed in this war-ravaged world. This broken landscape where power came from grit, weapons, and will.

Bakugou paced behind you like a caged animal, fingers twitching toward the machete strapped to his back. "There has to be a way around it," he muttered, jaw clenched. "We fight the system, destroy the altar, do something—"

"It won't work."

He stopped. "You don't get to just give up."

"I'm not giving up, so don't fucking say that," you snapped, whirling to face him. "I'm making a choice. Someone has to. And it's not going to be you."

Silence stretched between you. His eyes burned—scarlet and wild with disbelief.

"Bullshit."

"It's not."

"You think I'm gonna let you throw yourself off a damn cliff?" He stalked toward you. "Do you even hear yourself?"

"Do you think I could live knowing you died for me?" you asked, voice shaking. "You're the fighter. The one who keeps us all from falling apart. They need you, Katsuki."

He stared at you, eyes searching your face like he was trying to memorize it.

"I need you," you added.

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Just a slow exhale. "So don't do this."

"I have to."

"You don't."

He grabbed your wrist before you could take another step toward the ledge. You tried to pull away, but he held firm.

"This isn't like some Squid Game, damn it," he hissed. "We're not pawns in someone else's game—we fight. We always fight."

You blinked back tears. "Then why does this feel like the end?"

"It might be," he admitted. "But it sure as hell won't be because you gave up and left me behind."

Your voice cracked. "It's not giving up. It's love."

Bakugou flinched like the word burned and maybe it did. He was never good at saying it. But you saw it in the way he always checked your weapons before a run, the way he hovered too close after a wound, the way he always, always, made sure you ate.

He looked down at your joined hands. Then up again. "Then love me enough to stay."

You felt your resolve crumble. Just a little, but it wasn't enough to stop you.

"You'd do it," you whispered. "Wouldn't you? If I looked away for one second... you'd do it."

His silence was answer enough. You tried to pull away, but he caught you in a fierce hug. His arms wrapped so tightly around you it felt like he was holding you together.

"I can't lose you," he muttered into your shoulder, hios voice breaking just slightly. "Not after everything. Not after Kirishima. Not after—"

"I know," you breathed. "But we can't both survive this."

A heartbeat shared between the both of you, a baited breath. He leaned back, hands on your shoulders, eyes red-rimmed, tears barely pricked his. And he wasn't one to cry so easily. "So we jump together."

"What?"

"If it wants a soul," he growled, "then it can have both. If we go together, that counts, probably."

You shook your head. "Katsuki—"

"No. I'm not letting them decide this. Either we both come back... or we go down trying."

You searched his face, saw the determination there. The agony. The hope, buried somewhere in the mess of it all.

"You're insane," you whispered.

He grinned faintly. "You like that about me."

You let out a shaky laugh. "I do."

"Then trust me."

You hesitated... and nodded.

Together, you stepped toward the edge. Fingers intertwined. One last look, one last breath.

"Ready?" he asked.

"No," you admitted.

"Good." And you both jumped.

+++

When you hit the ground, it wasn't stone. It was light.

And when you opened your eyes, the key sat waiting in your palm.

You turned to Bakugou beside you, alive, breathing, hand still gripping yours. It was tighter now.

The price had been paid.

The cave where the others had camped was dimly lit, the flickering glow of fire casting shadows on the cracked walls. Aizawa was the first to look up when your footsteps echoed in the tunnel. His one good eye widened slightly, disbelief flickering across his expression.

"...You came back," he said quietly.

Ashido was next. She dropped the knife she was sharpening, rushing to meet you both. "Holy shit—holy shit, you're alive?"

Bakugou shoved her aside with a grunt, muttering something about personal space, but his hand never left yours. You didn't mind.

Midoriya stood slowly, eyes going straight to the strange glowing key clenched in your hand.

"That's it," he whispered. "That's the final key."

You nodded. "It was a soul trial."

They went quiet. Everyone knew what that meant.

Ashido swallowed. "Then... one of you should be—"

"We jumped together," Bakugou interrupted.

The words dropped like stones.

Aizawa frowned. "Together?"

"I wasn't letting her go alone," he said gruffly. "If that rock wanted someone dead, it'd have to fight me for it."

You glanced at him, warmth blooming in your chest. "But it didn't. It gave it back."

Midoriya's eyes welled with tears. "You both—risked everything. For us."

"Damn right," Bakugou muttered, collapsing onto a crate. He pulled you down beside him. "So don't waste it."

There was a quiet moment as the fire popped. Then Aizawa exhaled.

"Tomorrow, we move on the vault."

The room buzzed with a cautious energy. They knew the final stretch lay ahead. For tonight though, you all allowed yourselves to breathe.

Later, curled up beside Bakugou, you found his hand again. This time, he didn't resist.

"You okay?" you whispered.

He stared up at the cave ceiling. "I saw your face before we jumped. Thought it'd be the last thing I'd ever see."

"And?"

His fingers tightened around yours. "Not a bad way to go."

You smiled into the dark. "We're still here."

"Yeah," he murmured, pulling you closer. "We are."

+++

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Wistoragic: Fifty

Chapter Fifty - 1866 words

The gates of Utopia’s League stood tall, framed by clean stone and glinting steel. A manicured path stretched forward, flanked by green grass so vibrant it looked fake. The sun was soft above the wall, the air strangely clean. Too clean. Not a trace of rot or dust. Even the sky felt unnaturally blue.

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first. Neither did you. But you both felt wrong.

Midoriya, wide-eyed, stepped ahead as the gates creaked open. “It’s... beautiful,” he breathed, a stunned smile crawling onto his face.

Uraraka swayed on her feet, her voice drowsy. “I just want a real bed. Even for one night.”

Ashido agreed through a yawn. “Please. I’d kill for a warm blanket.”

A man in a dirtied uniform greeted the group at the entrance checkpoint. His clipboard was spotless, though and his teeth were too white. “Welcome,” he said. “You’ll each go through an evaluation. Just some health scans and a temporary observation. We’ll provide you with food, water, and shelter during the process. It’s protocol.”

The group exchanged glances. Most nodded. Midoriya was already halfway inside, chatting nervously. Kirishima held open a gate for the others. The guards smiled too easily.

You caught Katsuki’s eye. This was wrong. You stepped forward anyway.

The gates shut behind you with a quiet but final thud.

You and Bakugou were led down a wide corridor of white concrete and faux greenery. It smelled sterile like lemon disinfectant. A woman in a pale blue coat waited at the end of the hallway, clipboard in hand and a strange little pin with the Utopia’s League symbol on her lapel. She didn’t ask for names, just gestured for you both to follow.

“This way. You’ll each be processed separately, but the steps are identical for all entrants, regardless of age or gender.”

Bakugou tensed beside you, but didn’t argue. Neither did you. The two of you exchanged a glance before he was guided behind a plastic curtain, vanishing from view. You were left with another attendant who barely looked older than you. Not a word spoken between you.

You were led into a white room with a steel table and a padded chair. Clean, but uncomfortably clean. Like a hospital. They made you strip down, just enough to check for bites, bruises, infection. Gloves snapped on hands. A scanning device passed over your skin, humming low.

No questions. Just prodding and scanning. They took a blood sample. Checked your pulse. Your temperature. Your eyes. Your mouth.

When it was done, they gave you clean clothes. It was a plain grey outfit and a bracelet with your name handwritten on a little slip of paper inside it. You were instructed to wait in the observation quarters and rest. Food would be brought out shortly. They said it all so calmly, so kindly, it chilled your spine.

When Bakugou returned, dressed like you, the same bracelet on his wrist. His face was unreadable. You didn’t ask how it went. You both walked for a while.

It all happened too fast, though.

The "observation quarters" were a long rectangular hall with soft lights and rows of cots along the walls. You’d only just finished walking, until..

A voice called out cheerfully, too loud for the sterile quiet of the room.

“Bakugou?” Everyone turned.

Two women stood there. One tall, with dark hair tied back, dressed in a matching grey uniform. The other shorter, with earphone jacks dangling from her earlobes, her boots echoing as she stepped forward.

“Momo—?” Midoriya was already rising to his feet. “Momo Yaoyorozu?”

“And Jirou?!” Uraraka gasped.

Ashido brightened immediately. “You guys made it? Oh my god!”

“Wait,” Bakugou said under his breath, his voice tight. His hand instinctively reached for the weapon he no longer had.

You felt it too. Something was wrong. Their smiles were too stiff. Too bright. And neither of them looked tired. Everyone was tired. Even the staff here had that the kind that came from surviving.

But not them. They were pristine.

“They’re not—” you started to say. It was too late.

Momo moved first. Her hand shot forward, not to shake, but to grab. Todoroki barely had time to react before her teeth sank into the flesh of his shoulder. His scream was sharp, panicked. Jirou lunged next, knocking Midoriya off his feet as her jaw clamped down on his neck.

Blood sprayed.

Ashido shrieked. Uraraka stumbled back, grabbing a cot to steady herself, but Jirou was already on her, fast, animalistic, and feral.

“No!” Midoriya gurgled, trying to say something, but blood bubbled from his mouth.

You backed away, heart slamming in your chest. Your fingers curled helplessly. No knife, no machete, no crowbar. They’d taken everything.

“Katsuki!” you gasped.

He was already moving, grabbing your arm and pulling you behind one of the cots, knocking it down for cover.

“Get behind me,” he growled, voice ragged.

But it was chaos.

Todoroki's eyes were wild and confused. Bleeding heavily from his arm. He barely had strength to shove Momo off before he collapsed.

Uraraka didn’t even get a scream out. Just a strangled sound before she fell limp.

“No, no, no—!” Ashido sobbed, backing toward you. “We were just eating—! I don’t—I didn’t—!”

But Jirou’s teeth sank into her side. Her scream was agony. Then it was quiet. No one really realized you and Bakugou were still alive. They targeted the older ones too, but they had separated from your group. Sero, Tokoyami, Kirishima, they were all in another area, probably dead too.

It was a trap, and even Bakugou knew that. You and Bakugou were the only ones left standing. Covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

He was panting, eyes wide, trembling. "That wasn’t them, I'm guessing," you said, your voice thin and cracked. "They were already gone."

Bakugou's jaw clenched. "We need to move. Now."

"But they have our—"

“I don’t care,” he barked. “We’re not staying in here another fucking second.”

Behind you, the pile of bodies twitched and were already turning.

He grabbed your wrist, and neither of you looked back. But you both were trapped.

The door slammed behind you with a mechanical hiss, locking before either of you could even touch the handle. Thick and reinforced with no windows, no weapons, and no chance.

Bakugou rammed his shoulder into the door anyway, growling low like an animal. It didn’t budge. “OPEN IT!” he shouted, pounding with both fists. “OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!”

A speaker crackled to life above. Shigaraki’s voice slithered through the static like smoke. “Tch. Dynamight. Still so loud. If only your song and dance caught up with you on that stupid radio.” A pause. “Go ahead. Break it down. You won’t make it far.”

You stood frozen. Your hands were shaking. It felt like your brain was moving slower than your body, like every moment was sinking into molasses.

You turned toward the door too, just in time to see Shigaraki’s face flicker across the small monitor on the wall. His smile was stretched too wide, like it hurt to hold in place.

“Let everyone believe it’s safe,” he said. Then the monitor cut out.

Bakugou stepped away from the door, jaw clenched tight, eyes scanning and searching, calculating. But even he looked unsure and scared.

You were the last ones. The last survivors. And even that title was slipping through your fingers.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe to beg him to try again, to find another way out but that’s when you felt it.

Teeth.

Sinking deep into the flesh of your shoulder.

Your scream was muffled by the horror in your throat. Your knees buckled, your hand clutching Bakugou’s tighter for half a second, then loosening.

He turned just as you collapsed. “No—no no no—” his voice cracked. It cracked.

He caught you before you hit the ground, one arm under your back, the other pressing to the wound like pressure could fix what fate had already decided.

Your blood stained his hands. You looked up at him, your breath catching, vision swimming.

“Don’t,” he whispered, as if begging would change it. “Don’t you dare—don’t you fucking dare.”

Your lip trembled. You tried to smile. “Katsuki—”

His hand touched your cheek, fingers trembling.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice shaking. “I swear to god, I’ll fix it. Even if there’s no fix—I’ll find one.”

He didn’t even feel it happen to himself two seconds later.

Too distracted by you and your blood, your breath, your face crumpling in his hands. He hadn’t noticed the hands that grabbed him. The mouth that sank into the curve of his neck like it was a final curse. The sharp bite, the tearing.

Only when you gasped, eyes wide, and your hand reached weakly toward his collar did he realize. You touched the blood dripping down his neck, your fingers trembling.

“No—” you choked. “Katsuki...”

His breath hitched. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you. He stared down at you, numb. “Fuck.”

Tears ran freely now. His, yours. They blended into the dirt and blood between you. There was no strength left to stand. He lowered both of you to the ground slowly, arms wrapped around you like he could shield you from what was coming, even now.

“It’s not fair,” he whispered, voice hoarse with grief. “It’s not fucking fair.”

You reached for his jaw, guiding his face toward yours with what little strength you had. “Katsuki...”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m so goddamn sorry. I never got to give you what you deserved. I wasted so much time.”

You didn’t waste your last moments. You told him.

“I love you.”

He broke.

His body shook with sobs, arms tightening around you as though he could hold you past death. As though sheer force of will could change everything.

“I love you too,” he whispered against your hair. “But it’s not fair. You—you deserve the whole world. Not this. Not—”

His voice gave out. You pressed your forehead to his, your tears mixing with his own.

It didn’t matter anymore. You were dying together. Before the light could leave your eyes completely, before the heat drained from your limbs and his grip slackened in defeat, you leaned forward. Trembling and weak, but determined.

And he met you halfway.

Your lips found his in the most desperate, heart-wrenching kiss either of you would ever know. It felt like one from those movies you'd seen. The terrifying last moment romantic movies you cried your eyes out to.

Blood on your tongues. Tears between your mouths. The last of your breath shared in that single, final moment of peace, of love, of something real in a world that had turned to ruin.

Bakugou held you tighter, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your waist like he could pull you into him, to hide you in the broken cage of his ribs.

Your nose brushed his when you whispered, “Thank you... for letting me love you.”

His voice cracked as he replied, “You were always worth it.” He watched the fade of your eyes, and the full turn.

Above you, in the cold glow of artificial lights, the observation room was filled with motion.

Shigaraki raised a vial between his fingers. “To us,” he said, expression unreadable.

The others joined him. Mr. Compress, Kurogiri, Dabi, Toga, Twice, and Spinner, each holding one of the shimmering green doses.

The supposed “cure.”

No... not a cure. Immunity. Not salvation, but preservation. Power. One by one, they drank.

Spinner gagged slightly at the taste.

Toga licked the inside of her vial, giggling, “Tastes like lies and betrayal. I love it.”

Dabi didn’t flinch. “Whatever keeps us from dying.”

=====

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=====

afterword: 6-7 months of a story! wow.. that's pretty cool tbh!! i'll be taking a break from interactive stories for about a month or so. just so i can focus on other stories and get back to oneshots. im pretty burnt out so i may post just small things. that's all! thnx for tuning in.

also, votes will now be taken from all platforms i post on for the next interactive whenever it may be. tiktok, tumblr, wattpad, and ao3. whatever votes get the largest amount of choices, will get written.

also there was really no difference in endings, i thought it would be funny. but i had decided long ago everyone was gonna die anyways. the way it was going to go about the death was gonna be different but that's it.

[cozmowrites]

Pool Party

request by: tiktok @ l0r1nn_

=====

The sun was high, blazing down on the courtyard pool where Class 2-A had decided to hold an end-of-semester party. Loud splashes echoed off the walls, music thumped from a portable speaker near the drinks table, and the smell of sunscreen mingled with grilled food as students laughed and teased each other from all sides of the pool.

You sat on the edge, feet dangling in the cool water, your towel still wrapped snug around your shoulders. Everyone looked like they belonged. Ashido doing cannonballs, Kaminari drenching Sero with a noodle, Kirishima offering to race anyone willing.

You, however, felt the tight coil of anxiety in your stomach.

You couldn't swim. It wasn't like you'd never tried. Lessons just... didn't stick. Panic always bubbled up when your feet left the bottom, and you were tired of feeling stupid about it.

So, you did what you always did: played it off, smiled, and told yourself it didn't matter.

"You comin' in or what?" Kaminari called over, slicking his hair back with water and grinning.

You laughed and gave a vague shrug. "Yeah, just warming up. You go ahead."

"C'mon, it's not even cold!" Ashido said, paddling over. "The deep end is perfect for floating!"

You hesitated, but just then Bakugou stomped by, arms crossed, still dry in his swim trunks and scowl.

"Damn extras, yelling like idiots," he muttered, kicking at a splash that came too close.

Kirishima jogged after him, laughing. "Come on, man! Just chill for once."

Bakugou shot him a glare. "I'm not gettin' in, dumbass. I'll need my quirk or some shit."

Of course. Even at a pool party, Bakugou's mind was on combat. Still, it gave you the tiniest sliver of comfort, you wouldn't be the only one avoiding the water.

But then Ashido turned to you with a playful smirk. "If Bakugou's not going in, that means you have no excuse!"

You opened your mouth to argue, but Kaminari and Sero were already cheering, and Kirishima gave you a thumbs up from the other side of the pool. Your chest squeezed tight, but you didn't want to look like a baby.

So, you stood. Towel off, mask on. Smile tight and unsure. "Alright, alright! Let's go."

Ashido whooped and led the way toward the deep end. You kept to the edge at first, but then they were urging you forward, tugging at your hands, laughing as they splashed and played chicken. For a minute, it was fun. You could almost forget.

Until someone bumped into you. Kaminari, mid-dive. Your fingers slipped off the edge.

The water sucked you under fast.

Panic hit you like a brick. You flailed, eyes wide, lungs already burning. You kicked hard but couldn't tell which way was up. The surface seemed miles away. Your arms were heavy. Your chest screamed.

You opened your mouth to yell, but only bubbles rose.

No one saw. Except Bakugou.

He'd been watching from his shady corner near the drinks table, annoyed at the noise, annoyed at the water, annoyed that you looked nervous but still jumped in anyway. And then suddenly,

You weren't coming back up.

He didn't think. He just moved.

With a grunt, Bakugou sprinted the edge of the pool. In one clean motion, he launched himself forward, diving headfirst into the water with barely a splash.

Underwater, everything was chaotic. He opened his eyes, spotted the motionless figure sinking lower and kicked hard toward you. Your limbs had gone still now, like your body had given up the fight.

His hand closed around your wrist, firm, burning hot even in the cold water. And then everything rushed back.

You broke the surface with a violent gasp, coughing and sputtering as strong arms pulled you to the edge. Bakugou shoved you onto the steps before hoisting himself out behind you, eyes flashing with fury and something else. Fear.

You curled over, hacking out water, arms trembling.

"Are you—? Oh my god," Ashido gasped, splashing closer. "We didn't see—!"

"Shut up," Bakugou snapped, kneeling beside you. "Back up. She's fine."

You weren't. But you nodded anyway.

"I—I'm fine," you choked, still shaking. "I just... I slipped."

"You sank," Bakugou growled, gripping your shoulder tightly, anchoring you in place. "Why the hell didn't you say you couldn't swim?!"

You blinked up at him, eyes brimming with water that had nothing to do with the pool. "I didn't wanna look stupid."

"Tch," he hissed through gritted teeth, dragging his hand down his face, now wet and glistening in the sunlight. "You could've drowned, idiot."

The others had gone quiet now, standing back, unsure whether to approach. Sero handed Kaminari a towel. Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck.

Bakugou ignored them.

He stood, yanked you gently to your feet, then threw a towel over your shoulders so roughly it nearly knocked you off balance. "Sit down. You're done."

"But—"

"I said sit, damn it." His voice cracked, low and ragged.

You sat with your knees to your chest. For a moment, it was silent.

Then Bakugou knelt again, the sun catching on the droplets that slid down his temples, jaw clenched tight.

"I wasn't gonna get in," he muttered. "Didn't want it messin' with my sweat." He paused. "But if you had sunk another second longer..."

You looked at him and you saw it now. The fear, buried beneath all that anger.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't mean to make you worry."

He scowled at you, then turned away, ears flushed red. "You're lucky I was watchin'. Don't pull that stupid brave-face shit again."

You smiled faintly. "So, you were watching me?"

He glared at you. "Shut up."

Even though your chest still hurt, even though water dripped from your hair and your heart hadn't stopped racing. You felt okay.

+++

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[cozmowrites]

Wistoragic: Forty Nine

Chapter Forty Nine - 876 words

The walls of the supposed “safe zone” stood high, the illusion of security painted over crumbling foundations. From the upper ledge of the repurposed building that now served as a control post, Shigaraki stood with his hands stuffed into his coat pockets, head tilted slightly as he watched the edge of the “welcome district” through dusty binoculars.

“They’re still coming,” he muttered.

Kurogiri stood nearby, as silent as ever, though his head moved with a faint, inhuman twitch as if cataloguing every movement below. His body didn’t look like the others, strange and out of sync with the rest. They’d done something to him. Something that hadn’t yet been explained, even to the others. His eyes didn’t blink.

Spinner leaned against the railing beside Mr. Compress, both of them eating from tin bowls of preserved stew like it was a picnic.

“You think they’ll get past the checkpoint?” Mr. Compress asked idly, voice muffled slightly through his scarf.

“Not if they don’t pass the tests,” Spinner said. “But some of them? Some of them have already been bit and don’t know it.” He chuckled, low in his throat. “They’ll find out soon enough.”

Beyond the checkpoint was a side section. Not officially on the maps they've made, not marked off to people. Here, the bitten were kept. Caged and hungry. Every so often, a “new arrival” was sent in for testing. The bitten were starved just enough to be fast and desperate.

Twice had organized that section with eerie precision. For someone who often rambled and struggled with consistency, he had a strange knack for chaos in control.

Down below, the bitten snapped and paced behind barbed wire. A young man had been tossed in just hours ago. He hadn’t lasted ten minutes. His screams still echoed faintly across the ruined concrete. Surprisingly, no one could hear the screams.

Shigaraki adjusted the binoculars again. “Let them believe it’s safe,” he said. 

Inside the main administrative building of the so-called Utopia’s League, the walls were too clean. The smell of bleach barely masked the underlying scent of blood, sweat, and fear. Down in the lower levels, behind locked doors and reinforced glass, the screams didn’t travel far. That was by design.

Toga leaned against the wall of one holding cell, her knife glinting under the overhead lights. The man inside who was young, maybe twenty, had already lost two fingers. She’d wrapped them neatly in gauze, kept him awake, making sure he wouldn’t die just yet.

“You’re doing so good,” she whispered, her voice childlike and gleeful as she tapped the glass. “Just a few more tests.”

Down the corridor, Twice paced. He muttered to himself, switching voices mid-sentence.

“Testing, not torturing. No, wait, definitely torturing—because it works! Because we’re learning! Because this is science!”

“Shut up,” Dabi snapped from his corner. He was leaned back in a metal chair, flipping a lighter open and closed. His black-dyed hair fell over his eyes, but he wasn’t relaxed. None of them were. Instead, they were waiting. "Why do we have to babysit the guy?" He grumbled.

The government official who remained alive, one of maybe three, was strapped to a chair nearby, trembling. His face was gaunt. He hadn’t eaten in a day.

“You’re wasting it,” he croaked. “You’re wasting the only cure.”

“It’s not a cure,” Shigaraki said, stepping into the room. “It’s a cheat code.”

The man shook his head. “It’s not a cure, it’s an experimental drug. Synthetic. It doesn’t heal infection. It prevents it. Alters your blood. Makes you... unpalatable. Immune. But it’s permanent. It reconfigures everything. You’re not human after it.”

Shigaraki paused, thoughtful. “Good,” he said.

“That’s the problem—,” the official snapped. “You don’t understand. It changes you. You stop aging. Stop dying. But it breaks your mind if your body’s not strong enough.”

Toga’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh, like becoming monsters on purpose?”

Twice giggled. “Already a monster, already broken!”

Dabi stood slowly. “So... no more risk. Just bite-proof monsters. Sounds like we win.”

The man struggled, veins in his neck bulging. “You don’t win. You lose what’s left of your soul.”

Shigaraki leaned in, expression blank. “We already lost that.” He turned back toward the hallway, voice cold. “Let's pull them out tomorrow. We'll give them to ourselves, of course. Only we deserve it.”

Twice stopped pacing. His eyes were wide, uneven with fear and fascination. “Are we gonna feel it? When it happens? When it changes us?”

Dabi flicked his lighter once more. “Probably. Who cares?”

Toga grinned, teeth too sharp in the harsh light. “I hope it hurts a little. That way I know it’s working.”

“Spinny’ll take it too, right?” Twice asked, glancing down the hall to where Spinner stood motionless at the window that overlooked the containment pits. The infected were pacing in circles below, agitated and hungry. They should get fed soon again.

“We’ll all take it,” Shigaraki said. “Everyone who matters. Us.”

A low growl echoed through the metal walls. One of the bitten had started climbing the inner fencing again.

Dabi stepped toward the observation glass, watching the infected claw at the reinforced doors.

“They’re getting smarter,” he muttered.

Shigaraki smiled faintly, the corners of his cracked lips twitching. “No,” he said. “We’re getting better at using them. Not our fault. We keep feeding them living humans. The ones they've been feeding at are more alive than the ones that ate them to get them like that.”

=====

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[cozmowrites]

Wistoragic: Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Eight - 1235 words

It was Todoroki who spotted the footprints first. They were fresh and uneven, the prints were leading away from the woods and toward the cracked road where your group had paused to rest. The tracks were messy, dragging in some places, like whoever made them had been stumbling.

Everyone gathered around the edge of the worn path, peering ahead through the early morning mist. The footprints led directly toward something now visible on the horizon. A wall.

It rose out of the haze, far off but unmistakable. Tall, pale, and sectioned like it had been built piece by piece over time. Two days away, maybe less if you really pushed. Everyone had seen pictures of structures like that before the world fell apart. Military bunkers, compounds, heavily funded private projects. But this one looked more hopeful.

Someone let out a breath. It was the first sign of real structure you’d seen since leaving the underground tunnels.

“Could that be it?” Uraraka asked softly. "In the distance there."

“Utopia’s League,” someone else murmured.

The name hung in the air.

Bakugou shifted beside you, arms crossed, tense. “Or it’s bullshit,” he muttered.

“Come on,” Kirishima said. “It looks real.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” But no one listened to Bakugou this time. Not when the image of that wall, looming like a promise, was so much easier to believe in than another pile of lies.

You stayed quiet, but the unease that crept down your spine was hard to ignore.

You saw him first, the one that the footsteps belonged to. He stumbled into view along the path, coming from the direction of the wall. His clothes were torn, smeared with dirt and dried blood. A man, maybe in his thirties, face sunken and eyes wild with exhaustion.

Everyone tensed. Midoriya rushed ahead first. “Sir? Are you alright?”

The man didn’t answer at first. He just kept walking. Stumbling. Talking under his breath.

“Grass,” he rasped. “Green grass. Not the fake kind. Real. Soft under your hands. Water. Water from like a faucet. It's clean. It doesn’t smell. It doesn’t hurt to drink.”

Midoriya stopped short, worry clouding his expression.

The man kept rambling. “Food! Not beans though. Not powder. Vegetables. That they're growing. Saw tomatoes I think. Really big ones. Like my grandma used to grow.” He laughed, a short, cracked sound. “There's warm beds too. Warm fires. Music people are playing. They played music. I forgot what music sounded like...”

Something about him set Bakugou on edge immediately. You could feel it in the way his hand moved instinctively toward his belt, where a weapon used to be, though now it was just a rusted piece of pipe strapped there.

“Back up,” he warned. “He’s bit.”

Sure enough, when Tokoyami moved slightly forward to get a better view, the sleeve of the man’s jacket shifted. A bite. Deep, ugly and oozing from the edges.

The man didn’t try to hide it. “They didn’t want me anymore. Said it was for the safety of the others. Said I’d turn and ruin it all. But I’ve been out here two days. Haven’t turned yet. I won’t, I swear.”

They all turn no matter what. Everyone fell into a heavy silence though.

Aizawa stepped forward, calm but wary. “Why were you kicked out?”

“They saw it,” the man said. “Didn’t even let me pack. Just pushed me out. Said I was a risk. I begged.”

You looked at Bakugou. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were sharper than usual, locked on the man like he was trying to peel back every word.

“This feels like bait,” Bakugou muttered, barely audible. “It’s a setup. I don’t trust this.”

You did trust him. More than anyone. His voice, low and grim, made your stomach twist.

“But why?” you asked under your breath.

He glanced at you. “They knew he was bit. Why let him get this far? Why not finish it out there?”

You didn’t have an answer. The man collapsed onto his knees a moment later, breath ragged, hands trembling as he clawed at the ground.

“They didn’t let me stay,” he whispered again. “I just wanted to stay.”

Sero stepped forward with a water bottle, but Bakugou grabbed his arm. “No. Don’t get closer.”

“He’s not a threat,” Midoriya argued. “He’s weak and dying.”

“Exactly.” Bakugou’s voice dropped lower. “He could’ve died out there. So why bring him close to us?”

No one wanted to answer that.

“Keep him away from camp,” Aizawa decided. “We’ll watch him through the night. See if we can squeeze more out of him about this place.”

The group didn’t question it. A decision like that, coming from Aizawa, didn’t need a debate. You kept stealing glances at Bakugou, watching the way his fingers twitched, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He was wound tight, like a spring ready to snap.

He always had a gut for danger. And your own gut said he was right.

That night, while the others settled in around another ruined building, this time a collapsed convenience store with just enough roof left to shield you from the wind, you kept close to him. Bakugou had become Katsuki to you alone, and it felt right to stay nearby now.

He was silent most of the evening, poking absently at the small fire with a charred stick. You sat beside him in the orange glow, everyone else spread out in various states of exhaustion.

“Katsuki,” you said softly.

He didn’t look at you. But he didn’t tell you to stop, either.

“What if that place really is real?”

He hesitated. Then, slowly, “Then we’ll deal with it then.”

“Even if it’s too good to be true?” You were worried, you weren't trying to hide it now.

His voice was quiet now. “Especially if it is.” He looked at you and opened an arm up, which you took as an invite and nuzzled your way into his side. He wrapped his arms around you, keeping you grounded. It wasn't something you both talked about, the closeness, but he didn't want to lose you.

The sun barely rose and a gunshot woke everyone up.

They killed him.

When you all had made it out there, he had turned and was eating at his own arm, at least that's what Aizawa said.

Bakugou didn’t look away when it happened. You, still glued to Bakugou's side, was still staring at the limp body.

When they went to move the body, Midoriya found something in his pack. A thin, weathered journal.

Inside were pages of unsteady handwriting, smeared with dirt and dried blood. And drawings. Dozens of them.

Rough sketches of bright green grass and flowers. Raised garden beds full of vegetables. Wooden cottages, cozy and small. Children playing with sticks and balls in some kind of fenced yard. There were notes scribbled alongside the drawings, things like:

“They test everyone. Blood work, bite checks, pulse exams. They say it’s to keep us clean.”

“Food is warm. Soup AND bread. Like real bread. Can’t remember the last time I had bread.”

“They let me listen to a record player. It was jazz. I cried.”

It went on. Simple, detailed, and terrifyingly beautiful.

You sat next to Katsuki as Aizawa read bits aloud. No one said anything much. It was better to just listen anyways, to things like that. The idea that there was hope.

“Think he made it up?” you asked eventually, your voice barely audible.

Bakugou’s gaze stayed on the fire. “Maybe that’s why they kicked him out. He failed one their checks.”

He didn’t say what you both knew. That if the place was real, it wasn’t just a dream. It was guarded. And you’d only get in if you were clean.

=====

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[cozmowrites]

Wistoragic: Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Seven - 1225 words

The motel was quiet except for the distant crackle of a dying fire and the low murmur of voices that drifted in and outm the shift changes. Most of the group was asleep in the rooms they'd managed to clear and barricade. A few broken-down beds, lumpy couches, and even just blankets on the floor had become small sanctuaries for the night.

It was your shift on watch. Tokoyami stood on the second-floor balcony, silent and still as ever, surveying the darkness. Aizawa was crouched just inside the doorway, eyes narrowed, nodding off and jolting awake again like he hadn’t slept in days, which he hadn’t. Bakugou, or rather, Katsuki now, stood off to the side, leaning against the motel’s rusted railing, arms crossed tightly.

You glanced at him. His eyes were sharper than usual, but there was a layer of exhaustion buried under the glare. He hadn’t slept since you fell asleep in his lap earlier that evening, curled up beside him like it was normal. Like you belonged there. You hadn’t talked about it, and he hadn’t said anything. He just let you sleep, stiff and still like your warmth kept him frozen in place.

Now, your eyes drifted out toward the tree line that edged the property, brushing up against the crumbling fence in the back lot. That’s when you saw it. A figure just... standing there.

The shadows made it hard to make out features, but something about it was wrong. They weren’t hunched like the bitten, weren’t limping or clawing like those cursed things did. No, this one was upright and still. Unmoving.

You blinked, wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you in the half-light, but when you opened your eyes again, they were still there. Watching you, your group. Your body tensed. You glanced at Katsuki. He hadn’t noticed yet.

He stood with his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted like he was listening for something distant. The wind possibly, or his own thoughts. His eyes didn’t shift toward the treeline. He didn’t see it. So you didn’t say anything.

The figure remained where it was, half-shrouded in shadow. Motionless. Unblinking. And yet, every part of your body screamed that it saw you.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how far away the others were. Tokoyami, up high. Aizawa, nodding off. Katsuki, less than ten feet away, but lost in his own head. You were on your own with this.

You didn’t know why you didn’t speak.It was instinct or fear, that if you pointed it out, it would move. You didn’t want to break whatever invisible barrier kept it at a distance. Just in case it ended up being dangerous, or an animal.

Its limbs looked longer than they should be. Human, but not. Like someone had stretched the pieces just slightly wrong. Its head tilted, not curiously, but like it already knew something about you.

And still... it didn’t move.

You gripped your weapon tighter and stared back, the unease crawling deeper under your skin.

The figure in the treeline stood unnaturally still, like it had never learned how to shift its weight or fidget like a person might. Its body was tall, dressed in something dark and sleek. Almost like a uniform, but too clean, too precise, with straight lines that didn’t wrinkle or move with the wind.

Its shoulders were broad, arms long and stiff at its sides. The material of its clothes looked thick, almost armored in places, like it was built more for form than function. From the chest down, it resembled a man. A tall one. But the head? The head was wrong.

It was narrow and smooth, lacking any visible features. No nose, no mouth. Instead, a void-like shimmer stretched where the face should be, as if smoke hovered just behind a glass surface, twisting silently. And yet, you knew it was looking at you. The shape of it didn’t change, but something about it gave off the pressure of direct eye contact. Intense and impossible.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Katsuki’s voice was low, quiet enough not to draw the others’ attention, but laced with just enough edge to snap you out of your staring.

You blinked and glanced at him, hesitating. Your heart was still ticking fast in your chest.

Then you looked back toward the treeline. Empty.

The figure was gone. Not a single shadow out of place now. Just trees, dark and still, the wind barely whispering through the branches. You stared a second longer before swallowing and forcing a small shrug.

“Nothing,” you muttered. “Thought I saw an animal or something, but... guess not.”

He gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, but didn’t push it.

You let the silence fall again. For a while, the only sounds were the muffled crackling of a fire somewhere near the motel’s courtyard, and the quiet shuffling of whoever had taken up next watch.

Then Katsuki sat down on the motel’s cracked front step and patted his lap twice. “C’mon. You didn’t sleep much earlier.”

You gave him a look, surprised but amused. “You didn’t sleep at all.”

He narrowed his eyes, but you could see the corners soften. “Yeah, but you get all twitchy when you’re tired.”

You snorted. “You’re worse.”

Still, when you gently nudged his shoulder and said, “You rest. I’ll keep watch a bit.” He looked at you a beat longer... then actually did.

You blinked as he leaned back, arms crossed, eyes sliding closed.

It was the first time he’d listened to you without arguing.

Your chest felt warm. Safe, with him. You hesitated. Just for a second. Your hand hovered near him, unsure, wavering between comfort and overstepping.

But then, gently and carefully, you reached up and threaded your fingers into his hair.

Katsuki stiffened immediately. His jaw tightened, his shoulders twitched, but he didn’t stop you. He didn’t swat your hand away or growl under his breath like he might’ve weeks ago. He just... sat there and let it happen.

You moved slow. Tentative. Fingertips brushing through strands, your nails lightly scratching his scalp in soft, patient motions. The roughness of travel still clung to both of you. Grime, sweat, exhaustion, but his hair was softer than you expected. A little messy, a little tangled, but warm under your touch.

He let out a breath. Which wasn't annoyed or a sigh.

Then his whole body slowly began to relax. Bit by bit. His arms eased from that usual ironclad cross over his chest. His head dipped slightly forward. His breathing evened out. You kept going, rhythm steady, calming.

It was the most relaxed you’d seen him in months. The most relaxed he’d been in months. Minutes passed. Maybe more? You didn’t count.

You ended up leaning back against the wall, eyelids drooping, your hand still tangled in his hair.

Still scratching, slow and easy, even as you nodded off. Luckily, the next watch shift was headed out.

In the morning, everyone woke up early. The gray light of morning casting long shadows across the cracked motel floor. No one said much. Just the rustle of backpacks, the clink of empty cans being tossed aside, the muted shuffle of tired footsteps.

Then, it was back to walking. Another day on dead roads and overgrown paths, silent highways swallowed by nature. Someone mentioned it quietly. Three days left of travel, if the sign was right. Just three more days until they reached whatever this “safe zone” was supposed to be. No one dared to hope out loud. But still, they walked.

=====

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Wistoragic: Forty Six

Chapter Forty Six - 1179 words

The road ahead was quiet, cracked and covered in patches of moss and grass. Faded signs bent under the weight of age and weather, and the only sounds were boots on broken pavement and the occasional gust of wind.

But lately, there'd been whispers. Spray paint. New ones.

Someone had left messages. Jagged words splashed across rusted highway signs and the sides of derelict trucks. Some were clearer than others. All shared the same promise.

"UTOPIA'S LEAGUE 12 DAYS - FOOD - NO INFECTED."

"KEEP GOING."

You didn't want to hope. Not again. But the paint was fresh.

Sero pointed one out, a streak of neon green letters under a bridge. Uraraka spotted another near a collapsed gas station. Ashido and Tokoyami debated whether it had the same handwriting as the one they'd seen four days ago, or so. Midoriya drew pictures of them in his notebook.

You were down to the last of you now. Twenty turned into fifteen. Then fifteen into thirteen. And then only the core remained.

Kota, Midoriya. Aizawa, Bakugou, Uraraka, Todoroki, Tokoyami, Sero, Ashido, Kirishima, Hawks, All Might, Midnight, Mount Lady, and you.

Just the few who had held on long enough. The rest were buried, burned, or left behind because they were bitten into the night or fighting and unable to continue.

When the whispers started again, it wasn’t voices in the wind. It was Mineta.

You spotted him while walking through the remnants of a ruined suburb. He was sitting on a porch swing that somehow hadn’t collapsed, swaying slowly, whispering to no one.

Your stomach dropped.

You remembered him. He had chosen to stay behind when you met Sero. Said he was tired so he'd see if anyone else happened to be around, or alive, that he knew.

Now he looked paler, thinner, wild-eyed. Bitten.

The skin around his neck and collarbone was discolored, blotchy and infected. His lips were dry, cracked. He smiled when he saw Midoriya.

"Told you... told you there’s a place," he slurred.

Midoriya froze. You could see the anguish in his eyes. He stepped forward, cautiously.

"Mineta... what happened?"

Mineta coughed into his sleeve. Blood stained the fabric.

"They got in... but I got out. Been followin' the signs... y'know... the Utopia. They say there's water. Food. Beds... Can sleep without hearin' 'em scratchin'."

You swallowed thickly.

Bakugou stepped in front of you, protective, and you didn’t back away. You stared at Mineta like you could pull truth from his fractured, twitchy form.

"It's real," Mineta whispered. "They keep makin' signs. Always the same paint. They want people to find it. It's... safe."

"You're infected," Aizawa said flatly. "You shouldn't even be standing."

"Don't feel it," Mineta rasped. "Don't care. Just want to get there before I turn. I want to see it. I wanna sleep one more time. Real sleep."

He started laughing, a broken sound, as he rocked forward, coughing more blood. Mount Lady whispered, "We can't bring him." Midnight put a hand on Midoriya's shoulder before he could speak.

"We can't kill him either," Ashido said, voice cracking. "We knew him."

Mineta barely noticed the debate. He was back to murmuring to himself, rocking, repeating the same few lines. "Warm. Food. Beds. Utopia."

Eventually, Aizawa stepped forward and knelt in front of him. "Which way?"

Mineta pointed down the old road. "Follow the billboards," he whispered. "They leave signs. They want people. Real people."

Aizawa stood. Said nothing more. They left him there. Mineta didn’t ask to come. He just kept swaying, whispering to himself.

+++

That night, you found shelter in an old roadside motel.

The neon sign was long dead, its plastic letters cracked and hanging by threads, but the structure had held. The kitchen had been raided once, maybe twice, but it wasn’t completely bare. Someone had overlooked a stash of sealed soups and a crate of bottled water tucked behind a shelf. Jackpot.

Midoriya and Hawks worked quickly to secure the perimeter, blocking off the back door and broken windows. Aizawa took a spot by the stairwell, eyes flickering with the same tired vigilance he always carried. Mount Lady set up a small fire in the middle of the lobby using a cracked trash bin and broken legs from motel chairs. The group gathered, grateful for warmth.

But Bakugou didn’t join them. He sat outside the motel lobby entrance on a busted bench, hunched forward, arms draped on his knees, watching the horizon through the shattered parking lot lights.

You saw the bowl in his hands, steam curling from the soup you'd all warmed together, but he hadn't touched it. He never really joined everyone. Not unless it was life or death. Not unless someone needed him. Like you.

You made your way over slowly, stepping around cracked pavement and patches of grass sprouting through asphalt.

“Katsuki,” you said, quiet but sure. He looked at you, eyes flicking up just enough to show he heard you use it. His real name. The name he let you use, and no one else.

You sat beside him without asking. Close enough to feel the residual heat off his side. Then, carefully, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift or jerk or tell you to back off. He just let it happen. He'd been expecting you to come.

"I stay near you every night," you murmured.

His jaw twitched slightly.

"You noticed," you added, letting your eyes close for just a second.

He was warm. Steady. The quiet buzz of tension that usually followed him was still there, but dimmer. Contained. “Of course I noticed,” he muttered. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

You smiled against his shoulder. “Neither are you.”

He grunted but didn’t push you off. If anything, you felt him lean a little more into you.

The others were still inside. You could hear laughter, soft conversations, the scraping of spoons against bowls. Kota had found a dusty deck of cards and was trying to teach Tokoyami how to play a game neither of them fully understood, Kota too young to grasp anything and Tokoyami figured "go fish" would be best. Ashido kept making up new rules just to confuse Kota.

But out here, with Katsuki, it felt quieter. Easier. “I keep thinking about Mineta,” you admitted after a while, watching your breath fog in the cool air. “The way he talked about that place...”

Katsuki didn’t answer right away.

“He believed in it too much,” you went on. “Like it was already real in his head. Like he’d already decided it had to be, or else...”

“Or else he didn’t have anything left,” Katsuki finished for you.

You nodded.

The fire inside crackled, shadows dancing in the motel lobby. Your group still had more than a week of travel ahead, and with every day, the strain was starting to show. But that sign... that name... it kept people moving.

Utopia’s League.

Even if the paint was too fresh. Even if the words looked like bait more than a promise.

Even if Mineta, fevered and bitten, had sounded like a cultist rather than a survivor.

You let your hand slip down, knuckles brushing against Katsuki’s. He hasn't pulled away since the first time you guys were this close and he wasn't going to this time. He was going to keep you close no matter what.

"You're the only one I believe, sometimes," you said softly.

=====

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Wistoragic: Forty Five

Chapter Forty Five - 1199 words

A child, no more than maybe 7 or 8 years old, appears on the road ahead, limping and covered in blood. His scream echoed down the dirt covered highway.

Everyone snapped to attention. Midoriya was the fastest. He surged ahead, boots pounding the cracked pavement, eyes wide. The scream sounded familiar to him.

“Kota?” he called, voice trembling with disbelief.

The kid was darting between abandoned cars, scrapes on his face and arms, hair wild. His tiny legs pumped like pistons the best he could, chased by at least six of the bitten, dragging their limbs behind them with sickening gurgles.

“Kota!” Midoriya yelled again.

The boy turned his head, eyes locking with Midoriya’s. “Deku!” he cried out, trying his best to reach out to the familiar face.

The sound punched the breath from Midoriya’s lungs. He moved faster.

Bakugou and Todoroki were right behind him, while the rest of the group scrambled to form a defensive line. Ashido and Kirishima started flanking, her daggers drawn, his bat swinging. Sero leapt in with makeshift rope, catching one of the infected around the neck and yanking it backwards.

You stayed back with Uraraka and the others, shielding the remaining group.

Midoriya reached Kota just as his foot snagged on broken asphalt. He fell forward and Midoriya caught him, scooping him into his arms as Bakugou tore past them, machete gleaming.

“Get back!” Bakugou barked.

Three swings. Three heads rolled.

Todoroki handled the rest with brutal precision, silent and focused. When the last one hit the ground, gurgling and twitching, there was only silence left. Except for Kota’s sobs.

Midoriya knelt with him, holding him close. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”

Kota was shaking. “I-I didn’t know where to go. I remembered you told me to find people if I ever needed help. I’ve been running forever... My parents... Zombies...” You didn't understand what he was saying but Midoriya seemed to hug him tight and brush the hair out of his face, his hat falling off just before Uraraka came around.

She helped wrap a jacket of her's around him, picking up his hat and placing it back on his head. He wasn’t bitten, Aizawa checked. Just scared and exhausted.

You glanced at Bakugou, who was cleaning his blade with a rag, silent as ever. His jaw was tight.

Everyone was quiet for a while after that. Another child, still alive. The universe had offered a sliver of mercy, and it had left a strange, lingering ache.

+++

You kept walking. The group had grown again, just a small bit.

Kota rode on Kirishima’s back for part of the journey, bundled in a jacket two sizes too big. He clung to the redhead tightly but smiled when someone gave him astronaut ice cream.

A few days passed in cautious travel.

You moved from one small rest stop to another. Gas stations, motels long abandoned, empty roadside diners. Most had already been scavenged, but some yielded a few cans, a half-full propane tank, or a box of granola bars no one dared hope for.

One night though, your group camped behind a derelict gas station on the outskirts of a long-collapsed town. The concrete lot had weeds growing through the cracks. The air was still and eerily quiet.

Bakugou found a half-functional hotplate in the back room. You both stared at it like it was magic.

“Think it’ll explode?” you asked.

“Not before we eat,” he muttered.

The others were out on watch shifts or cleaning weapons. You stayed inside with him, kneeling beside a chipped sink while he cracked open a few dented cans.

He worked in silence for a while, dumping beans into one pot, soup in another. You handed him spices from a pack someone had found days ago. Salt, pepper, paprika... tiny luxuries in this broken world.

“You always cook?” you asked after a while, the scent of food slowly filling the room.

He grunted. “Only when I don’t want shit burned.”

You smirked. “So always.”

He glanced at you. “You think I’m feeding everyone just ‘cause I like you all?”

“I think you’re pretending to be meaner than you are.”

He didn’t answer right away, just stirred the beans.

A beat passed.

“...You’re not wrong,” he finally said, voice low.

You blinked. “Really?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Doesn’t mean I’ll be nice about it.”

You snorted. The sound surprised both of you. "Is that about everyone?"

He paused the stirring of the beans and soup. "Only you."

The silence returned quickly, but it wasn’t cold or awkward. It was warm. At one point, your hands brushed while passing him the lid to the soup pot. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

His pinky stayed curled against yours longer than necessary. You both pretended not to notice. But your heartbeat was another matter entirely. You saw his ears dust red from the corner of your eyes.

When the food was done, you helped him ladle it out into small, salvaged bowls. Twenty-seven people. Rations were tight, but tonight it felt a little fuller than the last few. Like hope could be measured in beans and warm broth.

“You’re getting good at this,” you murmured, watching him tuck an extra serving into a thermos for the night watch.

He scoffed. “Don’t go gettin’ sappy.”

“I’m nooooottt,” you lied, drawing out the word just a little.

He looked at you then, the corner of his mouth twitching, not quite a smile, but close. For a while, you just stood there. You could still hear the others outside. Kota’s laugh. Midoriya talking softly with Uraraka. Ashido humming as she cleaned her boots.

In here, with Bakugou, the air was still. You touched his hand again. This time, he didn’t move away and neither did you.

His hand was warm, calloused, steady, a little rough from weeks of surviving and fighting and building fires that never quite got hot enough. Yours was colder, your fingers trembling slightly despite the rising steam of soup between you. You weren’t sure if it was nerves or something else entirely.

Bakugou glanced down at where your pinky overlapped his. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb moved. It was slow and careful, but just enough to brush against yours like an answer you didn’t know you were asking for.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, voice low.

“I’m fine,” you whispered back, not trusting your voice to hold steady at full volume.

“Tch.” He turned away, but not before you caught the faintest flush along the edges of his ears. He grabbed a cracked bowl and filled it with soup, then pushed it into your hands a little too forcefully. “Eat before it gets cold. Idiot.”

You smiled, biting back something softer in your chest. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He didn’t answer. Just started ladling his own soup, quieter than before.

The two of you were quiet. Then, "Katsuki."

You turned your heard, a tilt towards him. "Hm?" The sound came out as a hum, blowing softly on your soup to cool it down enough.

"Call me Katuski."

Your heart warmed. "Alright, Katsuki."

=====

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