#[ kindle!katsuki ]

[katsukiizmoon]

little sketch of katsuki fresh out the shower and reading on his kindle.

[gfguren]

pro hero!bakugou x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive, husband!katsuki, katsuki implied as being taller than reader, implied age (~late 20's, early 30s~), light-hearted bickering, an excuse to write more domestic!kats, 1.8k | cw: cursing, suggestive

-your husband comes home late, soaking wet and a little bit handsy-

Katsuki is late; you hope traffic isn't too bad. Outside your window the sky is overcast, steely shades of grey over a slate canvas. The roads are dyed an inky charcoal, pooling at the surface where rain drip-drip-pours in endless streams.

You've taken up residence in the foyer, between the linen closet at the end of the hall, and the umbrella Katsuki left by the front door this morning. The very same one you reminded him to take with him at breakfast, and twice again before he left in the evening. If you loved him a little bit less, he might listen to you one day.

But you do—love him—right down to his bad habits and stubborn disposition.

So you wait for him the same way you have for years; perched at the breakfast nook in the corner with a warm cup of tea and a paperback that's been gathering dust for half-a-year now at least. The bar table is worn at the edges, legs wobble if you lean too far forward—frankly, you should have gotten rid of it years ago—but it was the first belonging that wasn't yours, or Katsuki's, but ours; a piece you thrifted when you were both still twenty-something and broke.

The years have changed a lot—our table, our bed, our house, our life. Your Katsuki.

—His wife.

The band around your finger is white gold; it clinks when you put the mug to your lips. Honey, ginger. Sweet. Rain hits the window and falls; two trails meet at the middle, and stick to each other like glue. Katsuki would laugh if he found you right now, smiling into your tea like a lovestruck fool.

You let the ceramic rest, turn to page thirty-or-something of a book that you totally-intend-to-finish. An hour passes before you hear the telltale rumble of an engine.

You spot his headlights first, misty pools of sunlight spilling onto the pavement when he pulls into the driveway. It's well past midnight now; Katsuki is a shadow against the porchlight, long strides and a hand over his crown. You have half a mind to bring the umbrella to him, but he's quicker, ascends the four steps to the veranda in two big leaps; you barely register the rustle of keys before he's stepping into the house, pooling rainwater at the welcome mat.

He's soaked at the shoulders, a grumble in his throat when he kneels to unlace his shoes—black leather, designer and sharp, same as the suit jacket around his shoulders. Tailored to fit him just right.

Katsuki's always been handsome, even as a hero in training renting hand-me-down suits from the little mom-and-pop shop down the street. But it really strikes you just how beautiful he is when you look at him now, dressed to the nines. All the years of hard work paying off in more ways than one.

You go a little fuzzy when he lifts his head to catch you staring; red eyes kindling the air and making it hard to breathe. He's the spitting image of a number two hero, just returned from a long night at some fancy-pants gala; sometimes you forget that's exactly what he is. Even more dumbfounded that, somehow, he's yours.

"I know," he grumbles, moving his shoes to the cabinet and meticulously hanging his jacket over the chair to dry. He briefly eyes the umbrella. "I f'rgot, kay?"

So have you, suddenly.

There's a pause and—"I didn't say anything."

He meets you at the table, one hand at the surface and the other at the knot of his tie. "Y've got that look."

You tip you chin to glare at him playfully. "And what 'look' is that, Bakugou Katsuki?"

"Like y'r about t'chew me up." He pulls the fabric strip from around his neck in one fell swoop, pops the first button of his dress shirt with his thumb. Your eyes fall for only a moment—barely a second—but Katsuki grins with the self-awareness of a man who's known you half his life. "Or about t'jump my bones, hah?"

He looks entirely impish in his revelation, ego flaring to rest in his cheeks; you have half a mind to nip at them like candy floss, instead you reach for the cuffs of his button-up, tidy the sleeves one fold over the other until the rainwater and well-kept muscles catch at the seams. You feign a sigh when his stare becomes too insistent to ignore, hand falling to rest at the peaks of his knuckles. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah." A spark of firelight flashes in his eyes, deep carmine and coy; teasing him was so much easier a decade ago. "I'd let'cha."

You roll your eyes. "You're so unsexy, y'know that?"

"Hah," he barks with all the disbelief in the world. "What? Want me t'do that dirty talkin' shit instead? Jump y'r bones right here at the table? D'n think she'll hold up, baby."

He lets a fraction of his weight fall against the corner and the old wood immediately cries out, splintering oak and creaking hinges and the real, immediate threat that the poor thing might actually collapse at your feet.

You spring up defensively. "Katsuki!"

A once neatly-folded towel tumbles from your lap to land at your toes. His gaze falls; grin widens.

"Said y're gonna make me 'deal with it' next time I forgot the stinkin' umbrella, didn't'cha?" His fingers pinch the fat of your cheeks teasingly. "Love me that much, hah?" Your eyes narrow, fingers dive with intent for the space beneath his ribcage. He's quicker, wraps five fingers around your wrist and pulls you in with a hand at the back of your neck. He breathes, warm against the top of your head—"Missed y'tonight."

You hum against his chest, damp fabric sticking to your cheeks, flush and warm with surprise. You can count the number of times he's been this blunt with his affection on one hand; at least twice being in the presence of an empty champagne glass, or five. "Did you drink?" He gruffs at that—the only indication that he heard you at all. "Katsuki?"

"Come with me next time."

You tilt your chin, brow creasing. His head dips at the sight of the first wrinkle, the way it always does when he's trying to change the subject, or sweeten you up, or get his way in any way, really—a habit you must have taught him because you let him get away with it every single time. It's probably why he looks so offended when you pull back suddenly with a click of your tongue.

"That's not an answer."

"Not a drop," he finally says—huffs—with an almost boyish scowl.

You find yourself stifling a laugh, hand over mouth, and he glares, even as you step away to rustle through the linen closet. His eyes are red hot, brow downturned, downright grumpy, only cooling to a simmer when you're toe to toe once more, fresh towel in hand and lightly waving him down to your level. His spine bows, head dips until you're massaging the soft cotton through his hair; you would have had to fight him on this once—years ago—before time weathered his sharp edges, doused the wildfire raging in his heart until he became the man he is now—irritable, arrogant, stubborn, still, but willing—to make amends for who he was before, to extend a hand where he's able, to let you offer him one in return.

"Chose this one on purpose, didn't'cha?" Katsuki's voice is lukewarm, a tepid grumble at the back of his throat, an almost purr when you dip your fingertips against his nape.

"No idea what you're talking about."—but you do. The towel in question, he means, is from the left side of the closet, your side, all soft cotton and fluff; the same ones he refuses to use, for those very same reasons. "Said they 'd'n dry a damn thing' but-" you drape the supposed 'overrated, overpriced pile'a'fluff' around his shoulders to ruffle his bangs, more wily than usual, and barely damp. "Would y'look at that?"

He snorts, hand falling to the small of your back. "Don't get smart."

"Or what?" you keen up at him, at the balls of your feet, tip toes and still barely nose to nose; they bump once on accident, and twice on purpose. "Huh?"

Warm, exasperated breath fans across your cheeks. "Tryna start somethin' t'night, are ya?"

You bat your lashes, head tilting and fingers splaying across the 'v' of his neckline. "Me? Start something?" Your grin betrays your facade. "And what if I am?"

He pulls you in at the waist, holds you steady with one, strong arm, warm lips at your jaw and low, deep voice in your ear. "Better be ready t'finish it, then."

His right hand comes to rest at the back of your thigh, teases the skin right where your skirt ends; gooseflesh blooms all the way up your spine and you shiver. "Who's jumping bones now, huh?" you bark—yap, like a scaredy-pup with it's tail between it's legs—bite lost somewhere between the callouses on Katuski's fingertips and the press of his hips against your own.

You straighten your shoulders to get a good look at the ego washing over his face like miles of trumpet vine. All consuming, a force to be reckoned with. And devastatingly pretty.

"That'd be me, pretty lady," he says, all kinds of smug and annoying.

You hold him with your stare for an entire second—two, just so you can get a real good look at his stupid, handsome face—and then you're pulling him in by the collar, wrinkling the shirt he'll spend too much on dry-cleaning tomorrow. Not that he seems to mind when your tongue meets his, honey mingling with the mint on his breath and making his head swim, all but forgotten when a hand comes to rest at your waist, heated fingertips beneath your sweater, licking softly at your skin.

He walks you back 'til your thighs hit the table—(it rocks, precariously); one of your hands fall against the surface, the other to his heart that thump-thump-jumps when thunder rumbles through the house, and stills. You smile, soft against his lips, thumb tracing the precipice of his collarbone until your fingers can curl around his spine. The next kiss against his mouth is featherlight, barely there; you sigh, contentedly—"I love you."

Katsuki goes a little hazy, eyes the color of early Autumn; the blazing summer sun reduced to a tealight candle, flickering in the palms of your hands. "Yeah," he chokes. And you know just what he means.

You kiss him then, once more, a little more playful this time; mischievous and coy with a cheeky, "—even though you're totally unsexy."

"So help me, y/n, I will howitzer this table."

[kkanabel]

apricity ❃ oneshot

fire spirit!bakugou katsuki x archaeologist!afab!reader / siberian au lmao

words: ~6.6k

directory/m.list

T/W: nsfw, minors dni, yucky at the very end, fingering, porn with plot, overstimulation, size difference, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, alcohol use (not during the yucky but waay before the yucky), bakugou being bakugou, not beta read

Frost clung to the window panes of your cabin as you pulled on the last of your layers—a thick, fur-lined coat with a hood drawn tight around your face and a scarf was wrapped around your nose and mouth. The mornings here were unforgiving, the bite of the wind sharp as knives as soon as you stepped outside. You grabbed the ax by the door, its handle starting to grow familiar in your gloved hands, and pushed the door open into the early morning light. A heavy breath left your mouth in a plume of white as you approached the woodpile, ready to chop enough firewood to keep your small cabin warm for the day.

Frost bites at your cheeks as you swing your ax down on a thick block of firewood as the crisp snap echoed in the cold air. Each heavy breath from you escapes in a foggy plume in the biting winds of Yakutia. The village sits nestled in a wide, snow-covered expanse, tucked into the curve of towering mountains, the sky above streaked in pale blue and white. It’s early morning, but the cold is already unforgiving, gnawing at your layers of fur and wool, testing the warmth of your windproof, insulated pants. 

A brief break in the wind brings a fleeting warmth from the sunlight— the sun’s faint brush over the top half of your face offering relief in the middle of a frozen landscape. You close your eyes for just a moment, savoring it, before returning to your task. The sound of the ax cutting into the wood mixes with the rustle of pine trees in the distance, their branches weighed down by heavy snow.

You swung the ax, splitting a log in two. The dry wood splintered easily, and the sound echoed in the quiet wilderness. The only other noise came from the wind as it howled through the trees, carrying with it the promise of an even colder day. The cold worked its way into your bones despite your many layers. You stayed in cold places before, but the tundra was different. It was a place where even warmth felt fleeting, only offered by a fire or the thick fur you wrapped yourself in.

Satisfied with the pile of wood you’d gathered, you stacked it by the cabin door before retreating inside, the warmth of the hearth greeting you. The fire crackled steadily, casting a golden glow against the dim interior. The gas stove hissed as you lit it, filling the kettle with water for tea. Your stomach growls, reminding you that breakfast is long overdue. 

The crackle of kindling and the warm orange glow spread throughout the small wooden cabin, where you've been staying during your research.

After tossing a few more logs into the fire, you set about making breakfast. It came together simply—creamy and warm fish broth, pancakes, and smoked fish—a meal that filled the small space with a comforting scent. The small palm-sized pancakes were crisp on the edges, their golden brown surface sizzling in the pan. You smile to yourself, remembering a tradition you picked up from other villages. 

As you finish cooking, you toss a pancake into the fire as an offering to whatever spirit might be watching over you. You heard it was a custom in your research. The villagers here don’t seem to do it, but it never hurts to be polite to the unknown.

By the time breakfast was finished, you had your notes spread out across the small wooden table, pencil scratching against the rough paper as you wrote. The village had called on your expertise after reports of strange events: food disappearing from homes, unexplained housefires, and villagers speaking in hushed tones about a spirit causing trouble.

You were already puzzled as to why the villagers would have called on an archaeologist and not an investigator. Your research into the village’s history has led you to strange old scrolls and whispers of a forgotten spirit, but the more time you spend here, the more you realize the villagers are reluctant to speak. The flickering firelight dances along the edge of your notes as you sip on a steaming cup of tea, savoring the warmth that spreads through your chest. 

Ghosts and spirits don’t exist, you reminded yourself. Still, there was something to be said about folklore. It was tied deeply to history, and that was your true interest—the stories behind the stories.

The villagers were tight-lipped, though— your inquiries had been met with vague answers and nervous glances. Today, you planned to spend more time in the village center, talking to whoever would listen. The old man who ran the inn had mentioned something about ancient scrolls kept by a family who had been in the village for generations. Perhaps you could find more information there.

Later, you head out to meet the villagers. Bundling up again, you stepped outside into the snow. The cold was immediate, but you pushed through it, your breath forming thick clouds in front of you as you made your way toward the heart of the village. 

Houses stood small and stoic against the barren landscape, with thick snow blanketing their roofs. Smoke rose lazily from the chimneys, the scent of burning wood hanging in the air. Snow crunches beneath your boots as you walk through the narrow, icy paths, nodding to the occasional passerby. The wind is sharp today, tugging at your fur-lined hood. 

You hunch your shoulders against the cold as you make your way to the center of the village, where a small crowd has gathered. The scent of charred wood hit you before you saw the blackened remains of the structure, now little more than rubble. Your heart skipped. Another fire? The villagers spoke in low murmurs, and as you drew closer, you overheard snippets of conversation about the thief who lived there—a man who had stolen from his neighbors. 

You frowned, remembering a neighbor of yours had told you to stay away from the man who was known to frequent bars and have sticky fingers. The same man used to live in this home that was no more than a pile of charcoal.

You’ve heard the rumors about the “spirit”—they say it punishes those who harm the village, but you’re not convinced. Fires like these happen in dry regions all the time, and it’s not uncommon for Yakutia, even in winter. You jot down a few notes, watching the fire consume the house, the warmth a stark contrast to the frigid air biting at your skin.

Was it possible the spirit the villagers whispered about had been punishing him? Or was it just an unfortunate accident, a result of negligence and the harsh conditions?

You shook your head, noting down the details. The more you learned, the stranger the situation became. It was only when you returned to your cabin that evening, exhausted from talking to the hesitant villagers, that you realized just how strange things had become.

Later that day, you return to your cabin, taking in the familiar creaks of the wooden floor under your boots and the soft flicker of your gas lamp lighting the room. The air inside is only a little warmer than the biting cold outside, but the crackling of the fire in the stove offers some comfort.

You sit at your table, flipping through pages of your notebook. The pencil scratches lightly against the paper as you record observations, every sound amplified in the quiet room. The rhythmic back-and-forth fills the space, a welcome lull amid the chaos of your investigation.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

Standing in the doorway is one of the villagers—a man about your age, wrapped in thick furs with snow dusting his shoulders. You’d visited his family home a little while ago to ask about the happenings around the village, but their answers remained vague as all the others.

He’s cradling something in his hands. His breath fogs in the cold air as he shifts his weight, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and something warmer. “I found these,” he says, extending his hands toward you. “Thought you might want to take a look.”

In his arms are ancient stone blocks, their surfaces engraved with symbols, faint but intricate. Your eyes widen at the sight. These carvings look similar to what you’ve seen before but older, almost primitive in comparison to the more refined relics you'd encountered earlier.

“Where did you find these?” you ask, stepping closer.

“In my house,” he replies, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “They were buried under some old planks. Figured they were important.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Thank you. These could be a huge help.”

He smiles back, a little too long. “I hope so. It’s, uh, the least I could do. The villagers… we don’t really know what’s going on with all this, but I figured you’d be the one to figure it out.”

As a thank-you, you hand him a small bag of food—some dried meats and bread you had stored away. His face lights up, and he nods gratefully before leaving you alone again to examine the stone blocks.

The sun sets quickly in the tundra, and soon, the only light in your cabin comes from the gas lamps and the fire’s low embers. You’re absorbed in studying the runes when a familiar knock sounds at the door again. When you open it, the man stands there once more, his eyes glinting in the soft lamplight. You let him in, not wanting him to stay in the cold for too long.

“I wanted to tell you more,” he says, a little breathless from the cold or perhaps something else. He shifts on his feet, seemingly nervous. “There are stories—whispers, really. The villagers don’t talk about it much, but some say there was once a spirit who protected us. He might’ve even been part of our village, long ago.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And why wouldn’t anyone mention that?”

“They’re ashamed, I think,” he replies, his voice low. “It’s been forgotten over time. No one’s sure what happened, but... there are theories that we abandoned him, and he’s been angry ever since. That’s why the strange things have been happening.”

You nod, processing the information. It feels like a piece of a much larger puzzle, but there’s still so much missing.

As he talks, you notice the way he looks at you—his eyes linger a little too long, his words carrying a soft edge of admiration. He’s clearly interested, but you decide to brush it off for now. You smile politely, pretending not to notice the way his gaze follows you as you walk back to your table. You’ll be leaving the village as soon as you finish the case, so you didn’t want to lead him on.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice firm but kind. “This is really helpful. I’ll look into it.”

The man nods, his shoulders slumping slightly as though he expected more. “Of course,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

As he leaves, the door shuts with a soft click, and you turn back to the runes, your thoughts swimming with new possibilities. If what he said was true, there’s more to this mystery than the villagers are willing to admit. And now, it seems like the forgotten spirit might hold the key to it all.

A couple days later, as you ice fish by the frozen river, you set your net and lean back, watching the starting to sun dip on the horizon. The quiet stretches around you, broken only by the occasional crack of ice shifting in the distance. You peer down at your catch, noting the modest haul in your net. Then you blink—there, next to your net, are two large whitefish lying in the snow, far too large to have escaped without you noticing.

Confused, you glance around. No one is near. The fish are pristine, untouched by the ice or snow, as if they had been placed there deliberately. You shake your head, chalking it up to luck. Maybe they jumped out when you weren’t paying attention? The reflection in the water catches your eye, and for a fleeting moment, you see the sharp jawline of a handsome man’s face turned towards you as if he were ice fishing with you. You blink again, startled, and the image is gone when a fish swims by and ripples the water—just your own face reflected in the water.

You shake your head. It’s nothing. Maybe I’ve just been single for too long… 

You thought about contacting that man from the other day for just a moment. 

Later that night, after cleaning the fish and preparing a simple dinner of stroganina—raw, thin slices of frozen whitefish—you sit by the fire, letting the warmth soothe your tired muscles. The fish melts on your tongue, rich and buttery, as you sip water to wash it down. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. You chalked it up to exhaustion. After all, nothing had happened that you couldn’t explain away with logic and reason. You even joked to yourself as you drank water, “If only I had some vodka to go with this.”

You took another sip, and suddenly the liquid burned down your throat.

You froze.

This time, there was no logical explanation. You looked down at the cup in your hands, heart pounding in your chest. How had the water changed? You hadn’t touched anything else, but the unmistakable burn of alcohol lingered.

Startled, you stare down at your cup, heart pounding. This—this can’t be explained away. Your mind entertained the thought of a Siberian Jesus Christ. 

The fire crackled behind you, its warmth now somehow menacing. The quiet of the tundra felt heavier, the weight of the mystery pressing down on your chest. This place, this village—it wasn’t just the cold that seeped into your bones. There was something else here. Something old. Something powerful.

The next morning, footsteps in the snow led you away from the village, out into the wilderness. 

The morning air was crisp, each breath leaving a wisp of white in the early sunlight. You bundled yourself tightly against the cold, pulling your fur-lined hood closer around your face. As you stepped outside, you noticed something strange—footprints, fresh in the untouched snow, leading away from your cabin. They hadn’t been there the night before, and curiosity tugged at you.

You followed them, your boots crunching softly against the snow. The air was still, save for the occasional rustling of distant trees swaying under the weight of frost. The path led deeper into the woods, the towering trees gradually closing in around you, until the footprints stopped at the mouth of a small, hidden cave.

The entrance was barely visible, half-buried in snow, but something about it drew you in. You knelt down, brushing the snow from the edges, revealing intricate stone blocks covered in carvings similar to the ones the village boy had brought you. Painted masks, adorned with swirling patterns of reds and whites, lined the inner walls, and Yakutian knives were arranged in ceremonial positions.

The air inside the cave was still, almost too still. You fumbled for your matchsticks, striking one and holding it up to cast a soft glow around you. The light flickered over the stone walls, revealing carvings of fire and snow—an odd combination, yet it made sense somehow, here in this frozen land. It felt like a shrine, a forgotten place of worship, long abandoned.

In the corner of your eye, you noticed a small stone just outside the cave. It was partially dusted in snow, but the engravings on it were clear. You leaned down, brushing it off with your gloved hand.

The instant your fingers touched the stone, a deep, gravelly voice echoed from behind you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You squealed, whipping around, only to find no one there. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you stumbled backward, falling straight into the snow. There were no footprints, no sign of anyone else. Just the eerie silence of the winter woods.

The spirit’s presence began to grow after you got home. Not just in the subtle warmth of the room or the way the hearth crackled to life at your arrival, but in the unmistakable feeling that he was always near. The warmth you once chalked up to the peculiarities of the stove now seemed deliberate, purposeful. The fire would roar to life just as your fingers began to freeze from the cold, as if it were watching, anticipating your needs.

It was no longer a question of if the spirit was real, but how deeply it was intertwined with the world around you. Every time you struck a match or lit a lantern, the flames danced longer than they should, their movements almost playful, as though teasing you. You tried to brush it off as wind or the natural flicker of fire, but something about the way the flames moved—how they seemed to respond to your presence—was undeniable.

It was trying to communicate.

It started with the crackling of the fire. At first, it was faint, like a low murmur beneath the sound of the wood burning. You would sit in front of the hearth after a long day of research, the warmth enveloping you, the sound becoming a constant companion. There were times you swore you heard words in the fire’s crackle, an indistinct whisper. "It’s just the wind," you told yourself. "Just the wood popping." But the more time passed, the clearer it became. The crackling wasn’t random—it carried meaning.

Then, one evening as you sat alone in the cabin after tossing a pancake into the fire, a cold gust of wind howling outside, you finally heard it: “You’re back.”

The voice was faint, almost lost in the sound of the firewood splitting, but it was there—low, gravelly, and unmistakable. You froze, heart pounding, eyes wide in surprise as you stared at the flames. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it. But the voice came again, just as you leaned closer. “You’re not afraid.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Your throat felt tight, your hands clammy despite the warmth. You tried to rationalize it—maybe you were exhausted, hallucinating from the cold. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t your imagination. Slowly, carefully, you muttered, “Am I... supposed to be afraid?”

The flames flickered in response, and you could swear you heard a huff, like a quiet laugh. Then the voice returned, clearer this time. “You’re stubborn.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, a mix of amusement and confusion swirling inside you. “If you’re a spirit,” you said softly, “then show me a sign. Let me know I’m not losing my mind.”

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought maybe the voice wouldn’t return. But then, the fire roared, flaring up for just a second, casting the entire cabin in a brilliant light. The heat was so intense that you instinctively stepped back, heart hammering in your chest.

So it was real.

The days after that were filled with small, subtle gestures. The fire seemed to burn longer without the need for more wood. When you struggled to chop firewood or gather supplies, you would return to your cabin to find fresh logs stacked neatly by the door or a basket of fish left outside. You didn’t question it anymore, though each act left you both grateful and uneasy. Eventually, he told you his name— Bakugou Katsuki.

"Thank you," you whispered to the fire one evening, unsure if Bakugou could hear you but needing to acknowledge the help he had provided.

The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and you could almost sense his presence, as though he were sitting just beyond the hearth, watching over you.

It wasn’t just the warmth he brought. It was the feeling of protection, a sense that he was always there, keeping the biting cold at bay. The wind howled outside, but inside, the fire crackled with a steady, comforting heat, as though Bakugou himself were standing guard over your cabin.

As the connection between you and Bakugou deepened, so did the manifestations of his presence. There were times when you could feel warmth pass by you in the room, like an invisible hand brushing against your skin. And then, there were the footprints. In the mornings, you would find faint impressions in the snow outside your door—footprints too large to be your own, too distinct to be explained by passing animals. They led away from the cabin, disappearing into the woods where the trees whispered in the wind.

One night, after a long day of gathering research and barely avoiding frostbite, you collapsed onto the bed, too tired to even remove your boots. You stared into the hearth, watching the flames sway and shift. As you drifted off, you swore you saw something in the fire—a figure, tall and broad-shouldered, standing amidst the flames.

"Bakugou," you whispered, sleep pulling you under. The fire flared again, and in the brief moment before darkness claimed you, you felt the warmth of his presence like a blanket around your body, lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

With each passing day, Bakugou’s presence grew stronger. There were moments when you caught glimpses of him in reflections—on the frozen surface of a nearby pond or in the gleam of a window. He would appear for just a moment, the outline of a figure, the flicker of a flame in his eyes, and then he’d be gone, as though the world itself was trying to remember him.

"Why were you forgotten?" you asked the fire one evening, your voice barely a whisper. There was no immediate answer, but the flames shifted, as though Bakugou were trying to find the words.

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this," came the gravelly voice at last, softer than before. "I was supposed to protect this village. But something... something changed."

You waited, hoping for more, but the fire quieted, the conversation left unfinished. You knew he was withholding something, something important, but he wasn’t ready to reveal it just yet.

As the winter deepened, so did your connection. The emotional tension between you and Bakugou simmered just beneath the surface. He was no longer just a spirit haunting your cabin—he was a presence, a force that kept you safe, a companion in the long, cold nights. And as his voice grew more familiar, so did your thoughts about him. You started to look forward to the conversations by the hearth, the way the flames would flicker in response to your words, how his presence made the cabin feel less lonely, less cold.

But with that warmth came an ache, a yearning that neither of you dared to speak of yet. You wondered how far this connection could go, how real Bakugou could become.

One thing was certain: you were no longer alone in the tundra. And Bakugou, once forgotten, was starting to be remembered—by you.

The air was sharp and cold as you made your way back to the shrine, a small group of villagers following behind you. In your hands, you held an offering—a bundle of dried herbs, fish, and pancakes, all delicately wrapped in cloth. The villagers murmured amongst themselves, nervous but willing. They, too, had grown weary of the strange occurrences and were ready to do whatever was necessary to end them.

The old man leading the group had spoken of the fire spirit with reverence, explaining that the villagers once honored Bakugou with offerings to ensure their prosperity. Over time, however, the traditions had been forgotten, and with it, so had Bakugou’s power. Now, you were determined to set things right.

The path through the woods felt familiar. You’d followed it before, and yet today, it carried a different weight. You could feel him, his presence in the air, watching you from the shadows of the trees. It was as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

When you arrived at the shrine—a cave hidden deep within the woods—the villagers began to build a bonfire at its entrance. They stacked wood and kindling, and soon, flames licked the sky, casting the ancient stone carvings in a warm, flickering light. The shrine walls, covered in depictions of fire and snow, seemed to glow under the fire's embrace.

You approached the altar, laying the offerings down gently. The villagers bowed their heads, murmuring prayers to the forgotten spirit, asking for forgiveness. As you knelt beside the offerings, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling an intense heat—not from the bonfire, but from somewhere deeper within the cave.

For a moment, the flames crackled louder, and the ground beneath you seemed to hum with energy. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, everything went quiet. The strange occurrences in the village—the fires, the whispers in the wind, the unsettling feeling of being watched—ceased. You could feel it, a weight lifting off the air. The offering had been accepted.

The villagers left soon after, grateful for your leadership and certain that Bakugou’s anger had been soothed. But you lingered, something pulling you back toward the cave.

Once the others were out of sight, you found yourself drawn deeper into the shrine. The carvings on the walls seemed even more intricate in the dim light, and you ran your fingers over the smooth stone, marveling at the ancient craftsmanship. Your thoughts wandered to him, to Bakugou. Was he truly satisfied with the offerings? Would you ever see him again?

A soft crackling sound broke the silence. You froze, every hair on your body standing on end. Slowly, you turned around, your breath catching in your throat.

There he stood.

Bakugou, no longer a fleeting presence or a whisper in the flames, but solid and real, towering over you. He was just as you’d imagined—no, more. His bare chest, muscled and powerful, was only partially covered by a thick fur that draped over one shoulder. His skin seemed to shimmer with warmth, his eyes blazing red like embers. He exuded strength, yet his gaze—intense and unwavering—held something deeper. Hunger.

"You came back," his voice rumbled, low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your mouth went dry. "I… I wanted to make sure the offering was enough."

He didn’t answer immediately, his fiery gaze trailing over you, making your skin tingle under the intensity of his stare. Then, with one swift movement, he closed the distance between you, pinning you gently against the cool stone of the cave wall. The heat of his body was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the cold of the cave, and you felt your pulse race.

"You shouldn’t be here alone," Bakugou growled, his breath hot against your skin.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were lost as his lips crashed against yours, fierce and demanding. His kiss was consuming, like the fire he embodied—wild, uncontrollable, and impossible to resist. You melted against him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingers.

His body pressed against yours, his warmth enveloping you as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer. The world outside the cave disappeared—there was only Bakugou, his touch, his heat, and the insistent press of his lips against yours. You gasped as his hand moved up your back, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

The intensity of the kiss left you breathless, and when he finally pulled away, just enough to let you catch your breath, his lips brushed against your ear. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

You barely had time to respond before the world shifted. One moment, you were in the cave, pressed against the stone; the next, you were back in your cabin, the familiar warmth of the hearth surrounding you. But Bakugou was still there, standing tall before you, his hands still on your body, his lips only inches from yours.

Your eyes widened in shock. “How…?”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Fire is everywhere,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “And where there’s fire, I can be.”

Before you could fully comprehend what he’d just said, his lips were on yours again, softer this time but no less urgent. He kissed you like a man who had waited centuries for this moment, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that made your knees weak.

The fire in the hearth flared behind you, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow as Bakugou’s body pressed against yours, his heat making your skin burn with desire. Every touch, every kiss felt like it was stoking the flames inside you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

You moaned softly against his lips, your hands tangling in his hair as the intensity between you grew, the connection undeniable. He growled in response, deepening the kiss, his grip tightening as though he couldn’t bear to let you go.

Whatever boundaries had existed between the mortal world and the spirit realm no longer mattered. In that moment, there was only you and Bakugou—fire and flesh, spirit and soul, bound together in a heat that refused to be extinguished.

Without a word, he approached you, his movements as fluid as molten lava. He bent down and claimed your lips, You gasped at the contact, your body responding with a fiery need that matched his own. 

He quickly peeled off your many layers of clothes. His hands found their way under your pants, taking them off as his touch burned your skin and he spread your legs. The world outside the cabin faded away, leaving only the two of you and the dance of shadows on the walls.

Bakugou knelt before you, his intense crimson eyes never leaving yours as he parted your folds with his fingers. You shrunk under his close gaze as he took the sight of you in. “So perfect,” he groaned, grabbing at your soft thighs with two large hands and spreading you out for him.

 The first lick of his tongue sent you spiraling, the sensation intense on your clit. You moaned, your hands grabbing at his blonde spikes, your body arching towards the heat of his mouth. He took his time, tasting you, savoring you, driving you closer and closer to the edge of release.

But just as you felt yourself about to fall over the edge, you pushed him back, the need to explore his body consuming you. 

You pushed him onto the ground, pulling down at his pants. “It’s my turn,” you proclaimed. 

He looked up at you, a question in his eyes, but you didn't waver. You dropped to your knees pulling down his pants and gasping when his hard shaft bounced out of the fabric. It was the size of your face, and its girth was something else. 

He noticed your awe at him, and his ego was inflated even more than it already is. “Like what you see?”

You roll your eyes, taking his thick length in your hand and bringing it to your lips before giving the tip a peck. He groaned, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cabin. Your hand grasped at his strong thighs. Teasing him, you spent time kissing all over his outer and inner thighs before moving to his shaft. 

You took your time, exploring every inch of him with your mouth, worshipping him as he deserved. You licked him up and down his hot length, watching as his eyes screwed together in pleasure before you took his whole length into your mouth— up and down his length in a bobbing motion.

His hands tangled in your hair, guiding you, urging you faster as he grew harder. The heat of his body was intoxicating, his scent a heady mix of sweet smoke and masculinity that made your head spin.

The fire in the hearth of the cabin roared to life, casting shadows across the room as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. His groans filled your ears, the only sound in the quiet night, until he could take no more. With a final, desperate thrust, he emptied himself into your mouth, the heat of his cum like liquid fire. 

Bakugou chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours as he lifted you to your feet. He picked you up with ease, carrying you to the soft fur that lay before the fireplace. Gently, he laid you down, your skin feeling like it was on fire from the heat of his touch.

"Your body," he murmured, tracing the curves of your hips with his thumb, "it's a masterpiece.” He leaned down, capturing a nipple with his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. You arched your back, gasping as the heat from his breath melded with the warmth from the fire, making it feel like you were melting from the inside out.

"Bakugou," you moaned, his name a prayer on your lips as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. His hands roamed over your stomach, his fingers finding their way between your legs again. 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Katsuki,” he corrected, as he began to fuck you with them, slow and deep, watching as your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth fell open in ecstasy.

As he worked his fingers into you, a low hum escaped him. “So damn tight,” watching as your face wrinkled up in pleasure. 

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a demand that you couldn't refuse. You met his gaze, the intensity of his stare making your heart race even faster. His thumb brushed against your clit as his lips pulled themselves into a grin as he sent a shockwave through your body. "I want to see you come apart for me."

As soon as he said these words, his fingers curled directly into your sweet spot. Your vision went white with pleasure. In the background, his grin only became more animalistic as he leaned down to catch a nipple into his mouth. His fingers worked you to the edge, driving you crazy.

The orgasm crashed over you like a massive wave, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. Your thighs were wet and sticky with your own release.

He watched you, his own arousal evident in the way he held himself, his eyes never leaving yours. "That was just the beginning," he promised, his voice a rumble that sent another shiver down your spine.

He watched you— all spread out and pretty for him on the fur, watching the warm light of the fire bounce off your delectable skin as you tried to catch your breath and your legs shook. He couldn’t help but mark you up all over as he sent you over the edge once more with his lips and fingers this time. A light chuckle left him as you cried out his name and writhed underneath him— overstimulation already starting to take over.

Your breathless voice called out to him in the small space of the cabin. “Katsuki,” you beckoned, “please… I need it.” You knew that he kept going at this rate, you’d go insane.

“You sure, princess? You think you can take it now?” His head kept burying itself between your legs, kitten licking at your clit before sucking at it and thrusting his fingers in and out of you. “You’re still not loose enough,” he says as he curls his fingers up again, releasing a squeal from you. 

You just kept cumming— each time you came, your walls only got more and more sensitive, pulling you to orgasm again.

Bakugou watched in sadistic joy every time your walls tightened further around his fingers. He came back up to you to catch your moaning lips into a kiss before trailing down and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your neck and chest. When he started playing with your clit again, you came again, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer pleasure. 

Your mind couldn’t fathom anything but Bakugou. Your mouth cried out broken strings of his name until he finally withdrew his fingers from your core, licking them up lasciviously. He lined himself up with you, tapping his tip against your puffy clit, making you jolt. Your entrance was still convulsing from your long string of climaxes as he finally pushed himself against it, groaning when he felt himself slip past the ring of muscle. 

He took in a sharp breath of air. “Could you quit clenching?” His head rolled back in pleasure, not even fully inside of you yet. “I’m already,” he pushes himself in further, “strugglin’ as it is…”

He was so thick. It filled you up, making you cum when he was only buried into your walls up until the tip and then some. “I’m sorry,” you managed to whine out, breathless, “I can’t help it!”

With these words, he froze and stared at you climaxing before pushing the rest of himself in, causing you to scream. He gave you a moment to relax with his entire shaft inside of you. You felt so full— he stretched you out so good. “So noisy,” he smirked, only spurring your voice to get louder with each thrust.

He started to pick up a steady pace, pistoning in and out of you. Each thrust made you shudder—his length stretched you out perfectly and hit you in all of the right places. Your hands gripped at the fur beneath you for any sort of purchase. He wiped one of your tears away, burying his head into the crook of your neck and groaning with each thrust. 

You believed that spirits didn’t exist, but here you were, getting dicked down by one. And you were sure as hell enjoying it.

As he pounded away at you, your eyes rolled back into your head, your moans turning into cries. He was so rough, so primal in his movements, it was like he was trying to claim you. And with every thrust, it felt like he was getting closer to doing so. 

He kissed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin with his teeth. His hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips tightly as he thrusted in deeper and harder. The noises of your pussy squelching in the cabin were obscene, but they only served to spur Bakugou on.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured against your skin.

His thrusts were getting faster and more erratic, so you knew he was close. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him on, needing him to fill you up with his heat. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he did. You felt the warmth of his cum fill you up, spilling into your womb like molten lava.

He collapsed onto you, panting heavily. His weight was a comforting presence as he remained inside of you, his cock still pulsing with every beat of his heart. You could feel his warmth seep into your very core, leaving you feeling complete in a way you never had before.

As the moments passed, he slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping out and down your thighs. You watched as he looked down, his eyes widening in awe at the sight. He leaned down to kiss you, his hand cupping your cheek. “You’re mine now,” he whispered.

a/n: we're back!

lol not beta read again please let me know if you see any typos or anything that's just like. wrong/inconsistent

my taglist is open! lmk if you wanna be tagged in future bakugou fics or j all my fics in general

thank you for reading & stay hydrated, y'all <3

directory/m.list

[tired-biscuit]

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: bsf!bakugou/fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni // intoxication (alcohol), hurt and comfort, slight oral fixation, friends to lovers. you find solace in fucking your best friend after breaking up with your long-term partner, because he's stuck in the same boat as you.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 1.7k

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗬𝗢𝗨 kiss Bakugou as a joke at first.

It’s just a silly little idea that your brain conjures up the moment you have one glass of wine too many during the regular sleepover Katsuki always complains about, but nonetheless agrees to hosting at the end of each month.

So, it’s a simple smooch you place upon his unsuspecting lips now. The kiss itself is nothing particularly special; one that friends usually exchange on the norm, if you ignore the fact that it isn’t a habit you own with him, specifically, but rather with your girlfriends.

And it’s also a little something to satisfy the curiosity that you’ve been harbouring ever since knowing him; a possible solution meant to uncover the enigma that is the crush you might have on your best friend. However, as you look into his red eyes and attempt to pacify the heat that sears over your entire face like a raging wildfire when you realize what you’ve just done, it sadly leaves you feeling even more puzzled instead of blissfully content. 

But unlike your sudden impulse that makes you feel oh, so embarrassed, the sleepovers have become a routine; a tradition of sorts, if you will. Cheap booze, takeout and shitty movies – it is all a way of bonding that has kept your friendship with the blond pro-hero kindled and thriving over the span of many years, which you both spend by dutifully tending to your busy schedules and living your immensely contrasting lives.

This month, however, it’s different. You drink a bit more than you usually do; no doubt an action done as a consequence of self-pity induced by your recent breakup that had left your heart in shambles and your mind a whirlwind of confused emotions. 

It’s no wonder you drink more; the last couple of weeks had been rough, after all. Becoming single again, you’ve turned sad in a way you didn't even know existed. So many years of your life feel wasted. You try to put on a brave face. Feign strength and self-assurance in front of your friends and family, despite that all you wish to do is find solace in breaking apart.

And much to your dismay, Katsuki suffers a rather similar fate. Breaking up with his long-term girlfriend has left him alone and bitter, much like your poor self. He’s stronger at handling his emotions, though – always has been – and yet you can still see right through him. Pathetically translucent, that’s what he is.

His façade breaks in the subtle quiver of his Cupid’s bow whenever his mind wanders. His broken heart – still strong, no matter how wounded – peeks out from beneath the meanness that hides it with the prolonged sighs he loosens between sentences; words muttered in an almost timid hush instead of brash clarity. Even every swing of his hand that holds his own glass has become equally as dismal whenever he brings the rim to his lips. How sad.

Still, much like you, he feels it’s easier when you’re in each other’s company. You’re a comfort he’s had ever since he was little. Now, he’s big, but you’re still the exact same form of relief you’ve always been. One that he’ll definitely clutch onto for as long as he lives; grip tenacious and knuckles flashing stark white from all the pressure to keep you from running off. 

And speaking of pressure; it rises between you by the time the bottle becomes empty, much like your minds do – tension climbing so unbearably high that it makes you acknowledge each other’s presence as the last few droplets of the ruby red liquid finish seeping down your throats. 

He hasn’t said anything about the kiss yet, but his arm has ended up lazily draped across the backrest of the sofa; thick fingers barely touching your shoulder in the darkness of his living room. What a player.

They stroke ever so cautiously. Testing and tracing the soft wool of your ugly Christmas sweater, feeling the shape of the bone and relishing the warmth your skin emits. And goddamn, his cheeks turn red at the lame attempt, even redder than the wine you’ve just finished. He’s known you for years, but it suddenly feels like he doesn’t know you at all.

Katsuki feels lost.

Especially when you lean into the spacious arch of his side with a content sigh; head resting against his shoulder and eyes hazy as they attempt to focus on the television in front of you. Your pupils grow bigger and bigger whenever his fingers make contact with your shoulder; the flames that dance in the fireplace reflecting inside the two voids that overtake your irises to such a degree, somebody might just think you accidentally got high on him.

“How d’you feel?” he asks at some point, that coarse drawl you’ve always been fond of making your drunken heart beat sluggishly faster, faster, faster.

“I’m fine.” It’s become a trained reply by now. An automatic response you recite out to just about anyone who asks.

“C’mon, now.” He touches your shoulder again; taps it gently before he aims for the crook of your neck. “Spare me the bullshit for once.”

Well, that’s a new one.

“I feel… lonely, I guess. Yeah... Lonely.” You answer simply, and this time it is the truth. “What about you?”

“Same,” he admits slowly, even though it’s a hard thing for him to do. “Lonely, too.”

A smile ghosts over your lips. Consolation. “It sucks ass, huh? Being alone after so long?”

“Yeah.” Katsuki scrubs his free hand over his face, provoking the skin of his cheek to bloom into full colour again. “Sucks so fuckin’ bad, not gonna lie.”

And the result of said loneliness is yet another tiny peck placed upon your best friend’s lips; a mere hint of mouth to mouth contact that can’t even count as a real kiss, if you think about it - not truly, anyway.

But for Bakugou: it counts. It really fucking counts. You’ve pulled the same stunt twice now, so it’s bound to mean something. Right?

And fuck, just like the first time around; it awakens something within him. A waterfall of emotions, which he thought he’d sailed across and gotten over a very long time ago.

But he’s been lonely, too, just like he said. Stuck on the same island. So, he turns the innocent peck into something deeper so fast; transforms it into this urgent thing that becomes more demanding by the second.

It’s an indication of feelings buried deep in the form of his tongue touching your bottom lip. A confession of desire and yearning so sickeningly sweet, it makes his teeth want to ache as they click against your own, and he makes you connect fully with the same heated force he’s always been known for. A choice already made for the both of you as his hand finds the back of your neck, and he begins to push. 

And it’s also something new and exciting; the feeling of your supposedly platonic soulmate’s lips pressing against your own in the midst of an intoxicated thrill and foolishness. It’s, in fact, all so silly and stupid that it’s sort of comforting in a way – yes, even the way he sinks deeper into the couch when he pulls you into his lap is comforting, as well as the way you wrap your arms around his neck and tug on the spiky ash blond hairs that grow on the nape of it.

The moan he lets out in answer to the tug is shiver-inducing. You’ve never imagined him like that; had never thought you would be the one to induce it and coax it out into the open like this. Your head spins as heat pools between your legs. It’s you; he wants you.

But it’s not just his moan and the evident need that get you so hot and bothered. It’s every other animalistic affection that comes forth and exposes him for the brute he is. It’s the way he breathes in your scent and holds you closer; so simple and possessive, and nothing like the manner he’d been using when things had been just ‘platonic’ between you. It’s the way he manhandles you. Touches you. Explores you. Starts to own you.

It all makes your heart race and thud, and do fucking cartwheels, as it gets provoked in the form of exchange of sweet saliva and breathless panting. You swear that he’s grown even bigger since you’ve last seen him; has turned so strong and appealing that you can’t believe his idiot of an ex-girlfriend had actually decided to leave this beast of a man. 

Wearing a warm hoodie and grey sweatpants, he’s not even dressed to impress, but is somehow still so inviting that you wish for nothing more but to melt into him and mend your broken heart by hiding it underneath the thick, navy blue cotton that keeps his own concealed. 

And perhaps it’s selfish – it probably is – but you need him to survive this godawful heartache. Need him entirely in order to forget and heal. Especially when you begin to feel how hard he is underneath you as his body begins to wake; broad hands running up and down your sides ever so slowly, hesitant fingers tugging on your sweater and settling on your bare hips he’s only touched clothed before – pushing down in a way that lets you properly feel the monster you’ve wound up sitting on, like it’s your personal throne.

The moment you conquer said throne, he kisses you even harder. Like a knight swearing allegiance to his queen.

And fuck, his mouth is so soft. It swallows the moan you let out when your clothes wind up on the floor and you at long last lower yourself onto his fat cock, making him sink into your sticky, wet warmth with ease, all until he’s balls deep and losing it. He stretches your cute hole to the brink of pain as he fills you, but it’s all right because you’ve yearned to feel that ache ever since becoming single again.

God, you’ve truly missed feeling this full. Your ex could never.

So you kiss him again as a thank you. Brand Katsuki Bakugou’s lips as yours, whilst he brands your soft cunt in return. He tastes like spearmint chewing gum and feeble traces of the wretched wine that’s to blame for all of this. It’s surprisingly way more tender than you thought it’d be – his mouth. 

“Yeah? You like this dick, bestie?” He mocks your moan the moment you squeak out his name, stifling a chuckle when you try to slap him playfully because of his lewd taunting. “How ‘bout you take it for a ride, mm?”

Though, it seems that the rather crude words he says do not affect the tenderness at all.

[call-memissbrightside]

an: reader is into art and Katsuki might be OC but I needed fluff okay 🥺

“What’s this?”

You look at from your Kindle, mildly annoyed that your boyfriend took your attention away from your novel.

Katsuki is standing over the kitchen table, his eyes on the papers scattered on it. You were taking a quick break from reviewing your lecture, and you wrinkled your nose at the reminder of it.

“Sorry,” you move to get up from the spot on his couch, “I left it out but I can put it away if you need to get the table ready for dinner.”

Said dinner smelled divine in the kitchen, and you smiled at how your boyfriend took it upon himself to cook for the two of you at his place. Katsuki shook his head, eyes still trained on whatever that grabbed his and your attention.

“No,” he said, picking up a single sheet of paper. “This?” He asked again, holding it out for you to grab.

Your eyes pass over the words: 6th annual Art Exhibition presents to work of…

You’re still shocked to read your name there, in print and boldly stating that your art will be featured at the local art gallery in town.

“Well?” Katsuki is giving you a look of disbelief, arms crossed.

Art was just a hobby you enjoyed, something he even pursued you to get into on your free time from work and your usual major-related school work. You weren’t sure if you were any good, but the work you made in your art class was chosen to be showcased.

“Oh,” you shuffled nervously on your feet, “yeah that.”

While into painting, you were still shy about letting Katsuki see your work. He was naturally talented at everything he did, you saw his beautiful art pieces his mother proudly showcased at their house the last time you were over there at dinner.

“This is…” Katsuki shakes his head, a large tooth-filled smile grows onto his handsome features.

“Amazing!” You didn’t have time to even voice your shock as Katsuki picked you up, swinging your body around in a tight-gripped hug.

“You’re amazing! Look at you, your first art exhibition! I knew you could do it,” Katsuki was smothering you in praise and you felt giggly.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said, giving you a breathtaking kiss.

“Oh, thanks,” you said softly, overwhelmed by all the attention. Your previous partners wouldn’t have batted an eye at your little accomplishments, so you didn’t think to tell Katsuki about the exhibition.

“I need to tell Kiri about this! Oh, and we can invite your coworkers and my parents! Maybe we can even grab dinner before-“ you zone out Katsuki’s rambling and just grin like a love sick fool because your boyfriend was just adorable

[shibaraki]

THE LOVING KIND ┊ BAKUGO KATSUKI

tags: GN reader, pro hero bakugo, reader works at the same agency, pre relationship + established friendship, pining bakugo, hand massages (character receiving)

wc: 1.3k

Katsuki heaves a sighing breath as he falls back against the couch in his office. Weighted, he sinks. The corded muscles in his body feel like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. Worst of all is the incessant ache in his hands — a pulsing pain that beats like his heart.

Half obscured by drooping eyelids, he stares out the wide, floor length windows at the darkening cityscape, dappled by sparse droplets of rain. Night draws on and the sun has sheathed into the horizon. It had been a rough shift, even by his standards.

Katsuki hated winter. Most of all, he hated rain.

Temperatures had been dropping with every coming week; seasons changed, and the once tepid air grew sharper. Wrought by cold, his body pushed its own limits to compensate for the strain on his quirk.

The hot shower hadn’t helped much. Admittedly, he was quietly relieved to be out of uniform and in the comfort of his agency — in his private office, where no one would bother him without prior warning—

A familiar, rhythmic knock pulls him out of his thoughts. He tips his head back into the cushions and grimaces at the damp hair clinging to his nape. You are standing in the doorway with your knuckles lingering against the doorframe, a knowing look on your face.

—No one but you.

“Get lost,” he mutters without any true malice. More than anything, it is an invitation to join him. You know him well enough to hear it, smile widening as you enter.

“You’re a ray of sunshine as always,” you reply. His gaze is drawn to the files you have tucked under your arm, a familiar seal peeking from behind your sleeve, and he groans under his breath.

Waving a hand in the general direction of his work desk and masking the uncomfortable tenderness felt in his wrist, he says, “Just put the reports on my desk. I’ll get them finished before I clock out”.

You hum an acquiescent melody, footfalls leading to the far end of his office. Katsuki’s eyes fall closed in search of respite. It strikes him how significant it is that he can do so when it’s just the two of you.

Over the years you had tentatively but persistently sought to befriend him; he wouldn’t call the seed in his chest that of blossoming friendship, but you were at least pleased to have fought and won your way into his life.

His ears prick at the muted sound of papers being shuffled. A desk draw pulled open with that irritating, stubborn squeak that he can never seem to get fixed. Your tune pauses only for you to make a small noise of accomplishment.

Feeling your presence in front of him, Katsuki’s eyes slide back open. As he’d relaxed his knees had spread, hips slipped further down the couch, sinking into the padding. You’ve seated yourself on the edge of the coffee table, right between his thighs.

There’s a flutter of warmth in his belly — and his immediate impulse is to smother it, to quickly cover the kindling with a damp cloth before it spreads. But your expression is so warm; you’ve reached into him, flint and spark, and you don’t even know it.

You appear completely at ease and he wants to hate you for it. You’re smart, observant, and he likes that about you. There isn’t any reality inwhich you do not see the bob of his throat as he nervously swallows, or the way his stare lingers on your mouth as it moves.

“Gimme your hand,” you instruct him, proffering your own and beckoning with a come hither motion. In the shallow of your palm is his medicated hand cream. He squints to feign suspicion and distract from the rush of blood to his ears.

When he leans forward it’s to snatch the pot out of your hand, but you quickly hold it behind your back. “I can do that shit myself,” he grunts. Elbows now rested on his knees, you’re much closer than before.

The corners of your eyes crinkle. “I know. But I want to do ‘this shit’ for you today,” you nodded back toward the desk. “I even finished up your reports for you already. Let me do this, too”.

He can taste copper on his tongue when he clicks it. The inside of his lip weeps blood, held between his teeth. Your offer is tempting and that in itself is an anomaly. Because Katsuki always does everything himself — his own way.

“Why?”

You blink, as if you hadn’t expected him to ask. Like the answer was entirely obvious. “Because it’s been raining,” you answer.

You’re so annoying, he thinks. “You’re so annoyin’,” he mutters, averting his gaze as he places his sore right hand into yours. “Just— get it over with”.

You’re bright in his periphery. Grinning, eyes positively gleaming. You screw the cap off the tub of balm and scoop some out onto the end of two fingers, spreading it over his skin.

Lightly grasping his wrist, applying firm pressure to your thumbs, you curve them up and down in a slow ‘c’ shaped motion. Slow, warm and smooth, you glide along the length of his forearm and back.

His breathing audibly hitches when you overturn his hand, brushing his inner wrist. “Tender here?” you murmur, massaging at the heel and gradually descending to his palm.

“Bit,” he rasps. Because it isn’t a lie, but it isn’t the truth. You release the tension in his muscles with careful, sensual movements. The cold has retreated from his worn body. Katsuki thinks he’s never been warmer than he is now; the balm is wet and slick, and the sound echoes through him.

You slot into the spaces between his fingers and give attention to each one, rubbing over his blunt nails. Then you intertwine them with your own. Meaningfully meeting his gaze, you roll his wrist clockwise, and then reverse.

These are weapons that have propelled him through the air; destroyed concrete structures and burned flesh. You touch them with what feels like… gratitude. Steadfast affection. And that implication thunders louder in his ears than any explosion could.

Finally, you glide your fingers upward in a gentle rocking motion and relinquish your grip. “One done,” you announce in a low voice, as not to disturb the atmosphere that has encased you both. Katsuki clenches his hand into a fist and finds it barely hurts.

There’s a blush in his cheeks that he can’t will away, and he knows that you see it. Clearing his throat, he says “Not bad”.

Ignoring how easily you perk up, he uses the distraction to successfully steal the pot from you.

“Bakugo—!”

He holds it out of your reach. You steady your clean hand on his thigh as you stretch forward, and a familiar sensation in his abdomen coils tighter. “I can do the other one myself. Stop try’na coddle me, dick head”.

You’re pouting. Annoyingly cute, he thinks. “You’ve had a hard shift. Is it such a crime that I want to do something for you?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned. “You have the same hours as me. What you should be doing is getting your own shit together”.

Your body heat is seeping through the fabric of his sweatpants. Close enough to count each eyelash, to see the minute twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips, to smell the scented bodywash you bring to work every day. “I see how it is,” you drawled. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me”.

Reflexively, “Am not. Fuck off”.

You laugh at his childishness. The temptation is fleeting, but for a short moment, Katsuki’s resolve weakens, and he feels himself reeled into your magnetism.

Then he rips his hand back, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. “If you want to be useful so badly go get us something to eat”.

“Sure, sure,” you murmur, reaching toward the tissue box in the centre of the coffee table and wiping the excess off your hands. Not once do your eyes stray from his. “Shall I make it spicy?”

“You know the answer to that question”.

Heavily, you get to your feet and leave him as you found him — with an unsettlingly knowing smile. “Yeah. I do”.

[willowser]

katsuki jumps, startlingly, when you rub a hand up his back.

he's leaned too far down, bent over the counter at an angle that will give him an ache he'll complain about later, and his head whips up as you come to stand beside him. an e-mail on his phone is what previously had his full attention, but now he looks at you, eyes softening as you lean into his shoulder.

he's never been a very touchy guy. even after a year into your relationship, it's most often you reaching for his hand as you walk down the street; you pressing a kiss into his cheek while watching a movie on the couch; you running a hand through his hair as his breath steadies out beside you in bed.

it's not something you really complain about. you know how he is, knew before anything developed between the two of you, and you can't say it's a deal-breaker. there's little you know about his previous relationships or if he even had any, but you have the painful-gut feeling that affection just isn't something he's used to.

you press a smile into the sleeve of his shirt and his spine relaxes under your hand, finds that awful curve again. he watches you like he's waiting for something, tracing the tender details of your face.

"love you," you say, because do and you want to voice it aloud, put it into his mind even though you know he knows. as expected, his lips flatten into a wavering little line, shy suddenly, and your teeth wet the fabric of his shirt when you smile.

all you get is a little grunt in response and he dips his chin down in a wordless nod, accepting your lovey-dovey assault. it makes him feel a little helpless, you know, but you bring up an arm to wrap around him as he turns back to his phone, ears pink.

katsuki straightens with a dull pop!, stretching his arms up and allowing you to shuffle closer, so that your head is resting on his chest. you press your ear to it and wait, eyes closed, until the heavy promise of his heartbeat echoes like a drum in your ear. it's loud, and after a moment, your own falls into sync, right where it belongs.

"'s'wrong?"

"hm?" you glance up at him, the frown on his pink face, before breathing in the clean scent of his laundry soap. your laundry soap. and then you shake your head. "nothin'. just missed you."

"been home all day."

"i know," you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut again. the sound of his phone locking clicks and you can feel the slight down-slide of his sweatpants when he pockets it. "sometimes i miss you even though you're right here."

you expect — something; another grunt or laugh through his nose, a raspy little noise that voices his confusion. things like this can be hard for him; you know how he is, knew before anything ever developed between the two of you — but you don't think it makes him any less deserving.

katsuki steps back from you a little, and you feel the hesitant rise of his arm before you feel it. his hand comes up to your face — pink and scarred in your peripheral vision — and he tilts your head up, waits until you open your eyes.

when you do, it looks as if a million things are running through his head. his poker-face is good, it has to be, but you can see little bits of his vulnerability shining through. you wonder how long it's been since he showed it to anybody. he almost looks sad.

katsuki squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker, and his frown deepens when you laugh. "y're so...damn weird."

that's along the lines of what you were anticipating: one of his teasing little insults, warm with a fire he's still learning how to kindle. you don't get the chance to say anything before he's kissing you, eyes shut tight, lashes brushing against your own.

you expect something soft, because affection is a fickle thing, from him — but his hand never falls from your face and his tongue is sliding with yours suddenly, a heated gesture that throws your heart out of whack. you let him kiss you as deeply as he can, until your back arches painfully backward over the counter as he leans into you.

when he pulls away, his lips are a little swollen and his cheeks are burning, as he presses one into yours. "i—jus'—" katsuki tries and then abandons it, a hand curling into the material of your shirt. "i get it." he murmurs, there, into the heated skin of your face, heart beating in time with yours.

things like this are hard with him — but he makes them so, so worth it.

[azzo0]

Angry Confessions

The following is a snippet from Always

Summary: A little misunderstanding leads to angry confessions.

Bakugo wiped his mouth with a tissue, getting up with his plastic plate. After disposing of the plate, he just wanted to take a shower and sleep. Kirishima joined him, slapping his back on the way to the kitchen. Bakugo pushed him away, rolling his eyes. Kirishima let out a laugh, following him.

Bakugo stopped dead at the kitchen entrance. There she was, sitting on the counter kissing Kenzo. His heart dropped to his stomach, his blood running cold. Why. Why would she do this? He thought it was clear they liked each other. Standing there, watching Kenzo lean further into her, he wondered if she actually liked him or did she just lead him on. The plate fell from his hand, confused and angry tears threatening to form.

Kirishima remained silent. He knew better than to follow Bakugo storming away from the kitchen.

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡

Her eyes widened when he pressed his lips onto hers, her body freezing. He gently pushed his mouth further into her, his hand resting on the small of her back. His kiss was still as soft and gentle as she remembered. Whenever they kissed in the past, he'd handle her as if she were a fragile butterfly. Once upon a time, she would have melted into him and kissed him back fiercely.

It wasn't the same anymore.

She did not feel butterflies like she used to, and her heart did not race excitedly like it used to. She hated this.

She pushed him away with full force, her eyes blind with rage. How could he just kiss like that when she made it clear she didn't want to be around him? She hopped off the counter, kicking him in the side. Kenzo groaned, lowering his back, his arms around his lower torso. Yoshiko took this as a chance to throw a punch at his cheek. His back collided with the sink, eyes wide as he looked up at Yoshiko seething.

Yoshiko took a step closer to him, smoke dispersing from her fist. She cocked her head, letting sparks dance in her palm, "This not only for having the guts to kiss me, but this is also a warning." She knelt down, silver eyes almost glowing, "Stay the fuck away from me. Don't contact me, don't talk to me, don't even look at me. I want nothing to do with you, and your bitch ass better respect that."

Kenzo held his cheek, slowly nodding, eyes still wide. Yoshiko gave him a smile that was far from friendly, "Good."

She got up, looking to her side where Kirishima stood awkwardly holding a plastic plate with one lying down by his feet. Yoshiko heard it fall a few seconds ago, but she couldn't see it since Kenzo had his mouth on hers.

"Uhm... hi?" He blurted out. Yoshiko sighed, walking up to him.

"Sorry, you had to see that." She smiled sheepishly.

"It's fine, but the other person watching isn't," Kirishima mumbled.

"Huh?"

"Bakugo saw you guys kiss."

Oh, shit. Yoshiko ran past Kirishima and out into the living room, where the class was still eating. Her eyes fell on Bakugo storming towards the front door, "Katsuki, wait up!" She exclaimed, running after him.

"Fuck off!" He yelled. This caught the attention of the students lazing in the lounge. Yoshiko ignored them, marching after him. He shut the door on her face. She put on a random pair of slippers and threw the door open, jogging after him. Why on earth was he running away?

"Katsuki, stop for a goddamn second, will ya?!"

He abruptly stopped, turning around to face her. His chest was heaving up and down, not from running but from rage. The flashback of what he saw in the kitchen only kindled that rage.

"Was it fun?" He spat, "Was it fun leading me on? Are you satisfied after lying to me?"

"I did not lie to you, and neither did I-"

"Oh, please." He cut her off, his voice raising, "That empty promise you made in the amusement park was to make fun of my feelings, wasn't it?!"

"Katsuki, can you fucking calm down for a second and listen to-"

"I'm not listening to anything!" He yelled. Yoshiko watched his crimson eyes almost plead despite the anger on her face. He let his hands drop to his sides, his voice cracking, "I thought you knew, Yoshiko. You knew."

"Knew what?"

"THAT I FUCKING LIKE YOU." He yelled, taking a step towards her, his hands shivering, "Yet you went and kissed that son of a bitch! You made me think you felt the same!"

Yoshiko's lips parted in surprise, her eyes widening. He confessed. That surprise was soon taken over by fury. It was her turn to snap at him. She marched up to him, stopping right in front of him, "You saw us kiss but didn't see what I did after he kissed me, did you? You were quick to judge me and blindly turned around."

He furrowed his eyebrows in puzzlement, "Well, get this, I haven't led you on, and I haven't lied to you about anything. Maybe if your impatient ass would have stayed and watched, I didn't kiss him back! I fucking pushed him away!" She took him by the collar, pulling him down to her level, "And you know why I didn't kiss him back? Because I fucking like you too!"

She let his collar go, shaking her head with disappointment. Bakugo opened his mouth to say something, but nothing would come out. He watched her look at the ground, her jaw clenched. He felt so stupid. He couldn't wait to see what happened and snapped at her, calling her a liar.

The air between them was thick, with confessions out in the open. He watched her silver eyes shift up to him before she turned around.

"Oi..." His hand reached out for her. She stopped and glanced back at him, "I don't want to talk to you right now. I've already dealt with enough bull shit today."

He retracted his hand, putting it in his pocket instead. He did not argue back, letting her go. He looked down at his palm, sparks dancing on it. This was not how he wanted to confess his feelings for her. He couldn't blame anyone for it because it was his fault he was quick to assume things and accuse her.

He wasn't sure if Yoshiko was going to forgive him. He'd seen firsthand how she stopped talking to Shinsou. It wouldn't be a surprise if she stopped talking to him, too. He let the sparks die, running a hand down his face.

I've fucked up big time.

｡⋆｡˚ ʚïɞ ˚｡⋆｡

[katsukiizmoon]

Katsuki loves his kindle.

The first time he comes across a smut scene, maybe he’s propped up on the couch. The kindle rests on the soft muscle of his chest and this thumb idly clicks to the next page. And oh they’re making out now. The tension built to an all time high, one of the characters finally snapping and slotting their lips over the other’s. His feet rub together at the bottom of the couch, just peeking out of the soft pink throw blanket.

The tips of his ears rival the color of his eyes. Katsuki’s skin dusting a peachy tone while his teeth worry his bottom him. It’s hot— the room is now hot— and a thin coat of sweat covers his body. He flips through the pages with heat in his tummy and a dry mouth. And every page just gets so much… more.

You amble across the living room for something out of the fridge and quirk a brow. The blonde’s body language making your eyes narrow.

You take it upon yourself to slide behind the couches arm rest and get a look at what he’s reading. You’re skimming the page with a knowing grin when you press your lips to the column of his throat.

“Hot, right?” Your arms slide over the expanse of his shoulders and down to his chest.

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki growls, rolling Ruby eyes and sending you a glare.

“You should do that to me someday hm?” You purr.

The room gets hotter, the heat in his belly pools and thickens into an all-too-familiar type of tension. Fuck. Katsuki gets why all those Middle aged ladies read romance with funky looking covers now.

[dazais-secret-smut-stash]

My Unhinged Kindle Notes pt.1

So today I had the brilliant idea of posting my kindle notes for some of the fics I read. Idk I think it'll be fun to let you guys watch me be insane from time to time. I feel like I act so serious on here when that is the FURTHEST thing from the truth. So instead of/in addition to doing reviews, I might start posting some of my (more interesting) notes from reading. Lmk if you guys find this fun at all :)

Starting with the one I finished today. Fic spoilers ahead, just FYI.

Fic: and it was Just Right by cinnabee

Summary for a lil context: "Katsuki spends two years post-graduation in a furious one-sided competition with his childhood friend and rival's promotional photos - until they finally run into each other, and, well. You shouldn't believe everything you see in magazines. // A love story about size differences."

My notes:

Note: on my kindle, it was 3 pages but it was recorded as just 1 in the notes

Fun fact, the "orange one" is a massive dildo. But that's inconsequential.

Anyway I have about twice this but these are the zestiest. If you're reading this,,, omg stahhpp i'm blushinggggg *kisses u*

[eris-snow]

𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

Tags: Deku's birthday series 2023, izuku x fem!reader, angst

The boy who’d you’d write letters to, short and sweet secrets you’d keep between the two of you.

I had a weird dream. Can we talk about it? I think it has something got to do with you.

-Izuku

--

“Kacchan!” Izuku cried, glancing around him frantically. Trees loomed all around him, lush greenery making every way he turned to look the same.

“Kacchan!”

Birds were chirping, cicadas screeching as he wandered through the forest while tears brim in his eyes.

How was he going to get home?

Was he going to be lost forever?

What if he—

Izuku tripped over a tree branch and yelped, falling face-first into a couple of bushes. Falling straight through with a cry, he hits the grass with a soft thud, tears finally bubbling over the low dam keeping his emotions at bay.

“Hey!” Someone called out, making him whip behind so fast he thought he’d broken his neck. His tears dry up almost immediately at the sound of a human voice.

Their face is blurry, like someone had taken a black crayon and scribbled their face out of the picture.

Izuku’s puffy red eyes make them chuckle before they put a finger on their lips. “Someone’s going to hear you, y’know. If you do that, that’ll ruin my secret clearing.”

“Who are you?” Izuku croaked, bruised by his fall.

The person shakes their head, sticking out a hand to him. “I’m—”

The cicadas shriek even louder, volume rising higher than the person’s voice. It morphs into a shrill, long ring, and the green-haired’s eyes shut at the ear-piercing sound, and discomfort, trying to focus on the person’s voice.

The alarm blaring makes Izuku shoot up from his bed, eyes snapping open. They’re frenzied, wild, and disoriented, and when he clenches his shirt, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

A tear slips down his face.

What the hell was that?

--

“Katsuki told me he’d join us,” You say the moment you get to the rooftop, throwing him an isotonic drink. You have another clutched in your hands, which you keep in your grasp. “You know, for your birthday. I don’t know why he told me, though. Didn’t you ask him?”

He catches it reflexively. “I texted him,” He corrected absentmindedly, eying the bottle like it was going to burst. “He left me on read.”

“Sounds like typical Katsuki,” you shrug, opening your bottle.

“If this thing explodes in my face, I’ll blame it on you,” Izuku warns, fingering the cap dangerously. “I don’t have an extra set of clothes, and there’s no way that I’m running to the dorms and back for laundry.”

“Oh, please, stop being dramatic. You could run there and back in less time than Kaminari can add 1+1.” You sigh. Green eyes meet yours, and that’s when you realise: Something’s not right.

“What’s up with that look? Does it have something to do with my note yesterday?”

“Yes and no.” He drawls inattentively, eyes pinned to the ground. “Well, I guess you could say that it is, since you’ve been writing really cryptic messages lately….not that I mind or anything! I’m just concerned, is all. As a friend! I hate it whenever you feel bad. But I got a weird dream yesterday and it’s living in my mind rent-free now. I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean, or who it’s about, but for some reason, I feel like it’s got something to do with you. Every time I think about it now, though, it just gets fuzzier. I tried to pen it down and everything—”

“Zuku, you’re rambling,” You remind him gently, placing a hand on his hand to get him to stop. As fast as lightning, he retracts his hand and mumbles out a flustered apology, and it pulls your lips down into a frown. You backtrack to what he said, and you try to squash the flame of hope that had kindled at the bottom of your heart. Dreams? Does this mean—?

“It’s just—I don't know! They started the day after the Villain Attack. I can’t remember them, but—” he breaks off, head throbbing. “There’s always a feeling there. And it’s always the same one I get when I’m with you.”

Your voice hitches, digesting the new information. You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should push the barriers of the quirk. The last few times you’d tried to introduce the idea of the Quirk Accident to him too quickly, he reacted badly to it. Whether it was physical denial…or the Quirk’s side effects.

“You have two options: The helpful one, or the fun one. Choose now.” You demand.

Izuku raises his eyebrow. “What’s the fun one?”

“Are you choosing the fun one?”

“That depends,” He says thoughtfully. “If it’s something I don’t like, can I open this in your face?”

“Hell no!” You bark, relaxing slightly. At least he was feeling well enough to crack jokes.

“I’ll choose the fun one,” He sighs, running a hand through his messy green hair.

You’re off like a bullet train. “Zuku, have you seen…memories? Of things, you never remembered happening?”

You talk about it, and you carefully ease a couple of your childhood into the mix, just to gauge his reaction.

The minute he stops to clutch his head, you put your story on pause.

“You good?” You ask, a concerned arm being placed on his shoulder.

“Yeah, j-just…headache,” He smiles at you weakly, but you bite your lip in regret, your mood turning sour. You know what this means.

This conversation was over.

“I’ll meet you back in class.” You say, standing up. You find yourself staring at him in the eyes, taking the time to fully appreciate the recognition and understanding in his eyes…before turning away. “Drink that before you get back.”

The moment you’re gone, Izuku’s headache soothes. The twinge in his heart, however, doesn’t go away. Sighing, he opens the bottle away from his face.

The foam spills on the ground, overflowing past the lid. He can’t help but think of how well that described his emotions pooling out of him now.

--

You loved Izuku for your entire life. It wasn’t always in a romantic way, but because of his ever-present existence in your life, it made it difficult not to like him.

There was no one incident that made you realise you liked the broccoli head, but the Quirk Accident had caused your feelings to evolve without you realising it. It was a daily thing. Simple things like his sweet smile, his beautiful, expressive green eyes, and how genuine he was in a world full of liars.

He’d never hide a thing from you, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. Izuku used to be as transparent as glass, even though he isn’t like that in public anymore.

Izuku was there in all phases of your life in one way or another, tied by what you might call fate.

Time and time again, you reintroduced yourself with a smile to an Izuku that didn’t know you.

You’ve done it several times now, and it hurts like someone had cracked your ribcage.

It hurts to be near him, but it hurts even more to be away.

And you’ve learnt that each time he forgets you, you’d come back to him again, even though it cut like diamond shards.

You realised that at the young age of 10.

You only discovered it was something larger than platonic feelings in your 13th year on the planet.

When you hear him talk so excitedly about his dreams that you’ve heard a thousand times over.

When you get to reintroduce the clearing to him again, when you get to call him Zuku again, when he renames you as Starlight…

Shit, you laugh to yourself, when he calls you Starlight once more. I like him.

Secrets tumble out in the form of childish Post-it notes.

I like your eyes.

I like the nickname.

I wish you knew.

That was the only way.

To convey how you felt, to communicate your feelings to him…could only be done in the form of Secrets.

--

I like your kindness, even though it causes people to take advantage of you sometimes. P.s. I hope your headache feels better. I’m a door away if you wanna talk.

[the-fabled-void]

BNHA characters as The Crane Wives songs

Bakugou Katsuki

Song: 'Take Me To War'

Some specific lyrics:

1. "I've earned myself a reputation that my bark is much bigger than my bite"

2. "All of the fire l've swallowed, all of the sparks that went dark in my gut"

3. "I'll be the sweetest thing to ever scare you"

4. "Give me a fight I can't resist, give me something to break with my fists"

Midoriya Izuku

Song: 'Empty Page'

Lyrics: honestly the whole song, mostly:

1. "Every thought that I'd ever had could be ripped from a magazine"

2. "Cut me a path and I will follow it, draw me a line and I'll avoid it"

3. "l am an empty page, I am a sheet to paint, I am a light that's burning out"

4. "Years of imitating mastery only made me a better me"

Shinsou Hitoshi (mostly fanon tbh)

Song: 'Easier'

Lyrics:

1. "The only peace I have ever known is the peace I've made with you"

2. "And if I were someone else would this be easier?"

3. "I learned to take, I learned to keep"

4. "Please tell me someday I'll at least be able to sleep"

5. "I'm at a loss for better plans, cus this is all that I have"

Dabi | Todoroki Touya

Song: 'Curses'

"There a fire in my brain and I'm burning up"

"Every word I say is kindling, but the smoke clears when you're here"

"This house says my name like an elegy, echoing where my ghosts all used to be"

"Ashes ashes, dust to dust, the devil's after both of us, the devil's after both of us"

"Lay my curses out to rest, make a mercy out of me"

"Ashes ashes, dust to dust, tell me I am good enough"

[ao3feed-bnha-girls]

Fire Ready for Kindling

Fire Ready for Kindling by LittleLouise

A prequel to Sachiko's Ties.

Ochako has had it with being neglected in her relationship with Izuku. He's always away on business, working too much, or meeting other heroes. He has no time for her and absent-mindedly ignores her. Her love for him is waning, but she wants it to work. It wasn't until new year's that she noticed just how fun Bakugou Katsuki could be. But surly he's too busy to be a friend, let alone someone to pine over.

Katsuki concentrates on his hero work 60%, his best friend 35%, and sex 5%. He's been bored with one night stands for a while, and getting off is numb and bland. Why bother? His life is like a garden being shoveled up. He's so stressed, but noticing Uraraka Ochako makes his heartbeat a little faster. Why does she have to be so cute, so funny, so gorgeous, but taken? She's the only one who can make him feel like he's living outside of work. Fuck, why did she have to be Deku's girl?

Words: 8405, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Series: Part 1 of Sachiko's Ties

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Bakugou Katsuki, Uraraka Ochako, Midoriya Izuku, Kirishima Eijirou, Kaminari Denki, Ashido Mina, Sero Hanta, Iida Tenya, Todoroki Shouto, Asui Tsuyu, Yaoyorozu Momo, Jirou Kyouka

Relationships: Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako, Ashido Mina/Kirishima Eijirou, Jirou Kyouka/Kaminari Denki

Additional Tags: Complicated Relationships, Pining Uraraka Ochako, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Endgame Bakugou Katsuki/Uraraka Ochako, Pining Bakugou Katsuki, Supportive Uraraka Ochako, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, Break Up Talk, Past Child Abuse, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bakugou Katsuki Has PTSD, Fluff and Angst, Domestic

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48660952

[shdo-xplosion]

Recently found your blog and your alien bkg is so good ^^

Do you happen to like any other monsters, like dragons, mermaids and so on, if so do you have any recommendations?👀

I found these in the mermay tag and I’m in need of more cuz I never though I’d be into it TT

https://www.tumblr.com/miggiisdumb/654017301091385344/hi-bae-im-back-with-ideas-so-since-im-a

https://www.tumblr.com/miggiisdumb/653242648705024000/from-one-monster-fucker-to-another-i-absolutely

https://www.tumblr.com/kaidabakugou/718681108626259968/pairing-merman-katsuki-bakugou-x-f

oh i need to check those out!!! (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

thank you so so much for reading alien bkg! it’s been very fun to write. i am vv into aliens and discovering a love for androids as well. anything with tentacles makes my brain buzz. i also like hybrids, werewolves, n demons (mostly incubi). and i have definitely had some dragon ideas!

as for recs, i haven’t read a lot of monster stuff on here, more on my kindle, and even then it’s kind of hard to find good stuff so i really should start perusing here more!!!

thank you again! and thanks for the recs! (´͈ ᵕ `͈ ）

[hwitzr]

❛ the fuck? ❜ there's an incredulous look accompanying the complaint, shoulders tensing as once stilled lips twitch. tenya looks no different, not really. his hair is still flat, glasses still square and yet the engines on his calves seem sleeker. newer. katsuki's frown deepens. hard flint self-kindled rises through the column of his throat, mingling between quiet breathes. it's not anger he realises, but something new he can't quite name. ❛ what's with your engines? ❜

@deckofclubs ♥

[katslittleshit]

Bakugou gives him an equally pensive smile, knocking his knee against Kirishima’s. You will, man. I’m sure that means jack shit coming from me right now, but tay and I both know how fuck’n incredible you are.

Kiri’s eyes light up for a second, feeling a flicker of sentiment and happiness when his best friend reassures him like that.

Honestly man, Katsuki can see that glimmer and wants to kindle it, The fact that you haven’t found your girl yet, just means you haven’t met the one. He knows he thought you were his “one”, so he adds, She’s gonna be one hell of a girl, I promise.

Kirishima cries again. But this time he’s filled with love and appreciation for his friend, his spirits bolstered and his heart starting to mend itself. Thanks, Kat. Seriously, man… you mean the world to me.

Bakugou drops the “bros” act and pulls Kirishima in for a hug, holding him tighter than he thinks he ever has before. The relief he feels is unreal. He loves you, and you’re his top priority now, but like without Kirishima is unimaginable for him.

-💥

I take my time making my way to the bathroom in the room, opening up the top drawer in the cabinet next to the sink to pull out a wash cloth. They look fresh and folded just the way kiri likes them. I pull one out and soak the corners in warm water so I can clean the smudges of mascara under my eyes.

Once my face is clean and not so messy, I rest my hands on the edge of the sink and let my head fall between my shoulders. I have no idea how long the two of them are going to need but I take a few more minutes to myself.

Before heading back out, I make sure to clean the water spots off the counter and take the rag with my to be washed. The bar seems far too quiet and that makes me nervous but I continue on until I’m on the main floor again, not saying anything until either one of them ask me to come back.