#𓊆ྀི 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐀𓊇ྀི

[sugusama]

hii, i loved your Katsuki fic and wanted to submit a request. katsuki x american gf reader, where he’s never met her but they try to talk throughout the day by texting or calling despite time difference. then they meet at the end of the fic as a surprise for katsuki (still UA au please). tyy :)

꒰🫧꒱﹒ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐈��𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ﹒⟢ featuring: katsuki bakugo ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ bakugo never expected to fall for a girl halfway across the world… especially one with a six-hour time difference and a laugh that lives in his head rent-free. between classes at ua and her busy days in america, they text, call, and fall a little deeper with every message. but what happens when time zones and screens aren’t enough anymore? ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ fluff, comfort, a little angsty, ua based, black female reader, she/her used, lowercase intended, not proofread, bakugo has broken english, italics = japanese ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 1.1k

authors note ☆ hello hello! thank u so much for ur kindness 🌼 here you go! i hope you like this one just as much! if u would like anything else let me know!!

katsuki didn’t want to be part of any dumb online chat.

he hated talking for no reason. hated random people. especially hated wasting time when he could be training or doing something that mattered.

so when denki shoved his phone in his face during break and said, “bro, you gotta try this,” katsuki’s immediate response was no.

“it’s a server,” denki explained, grinning. “for, like, international hero fans. some of them are trying to get into schools like u.a. and they ask the weirdest shit.”

“not my problem.”

“c’mon. you can mess with them. they’ll lose their minds when you answer.”

“fuck off.”

but that night, katsuki couldn’t sleep. his shoulders ached from drills. his head was too loud with thoughts he didn’t want to think. and his phone, tucked under his pillow, kept buzzing with notifications from that stupid server denki added him to.

he stared at the screen for a while. thumb hovering over the app. then—he opened it.

a flood of posts. some boring. some weird. some flat-out wrong.

and then one message caught his eye.

|“so like… do students at u.a. really spar? like actually hit each other?”

the username was unfamiliar. your profile picture was a blurry sky—probably taken from your phone. and your bio just said “sleepy. always.”

he stared at your message longer than he meant to as he tried to decipher it.

then typed, slowly:

|“yes. we fight. real hits.”

a full six minutes passed.

he didn’t think you’d respond.

but you did.

|“wait WHAT. like actually?? is that even allowed???”

he snorted, eyes narrowing with a half-smile.

| “yes. is real. allowed. strong hits.”

your response came quicker this time.

| “dude! i’m american. our schools make us wear helmets to run in gym class. this is unfair.”

he let out something close to a laugh—just a small huff of breath—but it surprised him.

he didn’t answer. didn’t need to.

he already bookmarked your name.

he didn’t expect to hear from you again.

but the next night, just after dinner and before study hour, you were there.

| “hi again, explosion boy. (you got a better name?)”

he stared at the screen for a second before replying:

| “bakugo.”

| “ooh. that sounds cool. you sound cool. are you?”

he hesitated, then typed:

| “yes.”

you sent back the laughing emoji. then:

| “humble too.”

he didn’t know why it made his chest feel tight.

from there, it became… a thing.

late-night messages. voice notes. pictures.

you sent him one of your lunch—a sandwich and chips, nothing fancy—but you added,

| “i ate thinking of you. does that make me weird?”

he didn’t answer for a full hour.

then wrote:

| “no. i like that.”

you replied with a blushing emoji.

he stared at it too long.

he never liked phone calls. they were too much. too close.

but your voice was—soft. kind. playful in a way that made his chest ache.

your first voice note was just:

“hi. it’s weird hearing myself talk to you, but i wanted you to know what i sound like.”

and he listened to it.

three times.

the first time just to hear your tone. the second to understand every word. the third because… he missed it, even if it had only been a minute long.

his reply was rough. hesitant.

“hi. uh. i… don’t like talk. much. but… i like yours. voice.”

you sent back:

| “that was the sweetest thing ever, actually.”

after that, you started calling.

not every day. not long.

just enough.

he’d lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling, half-listening to your rambles about work and siblings and the weather. he didn’t talk much. didn’t know how to say all the things he was feeling in a language that always made his tongue trip.

but you didn’t mind.

you’d say, “you don’t have to talk. just stay on.”

so he did.

it happened slow.

your voice became part of his routine.

your good morning texts came while he was getting ready for class. your “i’m heading to bed, katsuki” messages always landed when he was on patrol.

you started sending pictures of things you loved. a book. your porch light. a sunset from your window.

he started sending them back.

once, he sent you a picture of his hand after training—bandaged, calloused, rough. and you wrote:

| “ i hope you rest, even when you think you don’t need it.”

and that line just… stayed.

for days.

he reread it during class. during silence. during nights when his head was too full and nothing felt steady.

he didn’t say he missed you.

but he did.

quietly. constantly.

time difference was cruel.

he hated that you were waking up when he was falling asleep.

he hated how sometimes he’d send a long message and forget what he wrote by the time you answered.

he hated how his chest twisted when he saw your name and couldn’t respond.

but you always made it easy.

“ i know you’re tired. you don’t have to talk. i just wanted to say i’m thinking of you… i’m still here. still cheering for you. always.”

you made it feel like you were closer than you were.

and yet, the space between you ached more with every week.

he didn’t notice when he fell.

not until kirishima asked him why he was smiling at his phone.

not until his chest ached when you didn’t text.

not until he caught himself learning english phrases just to tell you things the right way.

he didn’t tell anyone.

not even you.

but he sent you a voice note at midnight, after a long day, voice hoarse and quiet:

“i… i like talk to you. always. i wait for you. even when late. just so you know.”

you didn’t reply with a voice note.

you replied with a text:

| “me too, katsuki. every day.”

he didn’t sleep that night.

it came suddenly, the text message read:

| “if i ever came to japan… would you wanna meet me?”

he sat up in bed like he’d been punched.

heart pounding.

he typed.

deleted.

typed again.

finally, he sent:

| “yes. i want. i wait for you.”

and then he waited.

one hour.

then two.

you didn’t reply that night.

and he told himself it was okay.

even if it wasn’t.

two weeks.

that’s how long it took.

two weeks of silence. of almost texting you. of wondering if he’d said something wrong.

then—midnight.

his phone buzzed.

| “come outside kats <3 ”

his hands shook.

he ran.

didn’t care who saw. didn’t care that he was barefoot.

and there you were.

standing at the gate. hoodie on. suitcase by your side. scarf he mailed you wrapped around your neck.

you smiled.

“hey.”

he didn’t say anything. just stared.

you stepped forward. nervous.

“you’re taller than i thought,” you teased.

he swallowed hard. voice rough.

“you’re… real.”

you laughed. tears in your eyes.

“told you i’d come.”

the aching, the quiet missing, the longing—

and then he held you.

and everything he’d been holding in— spilled into the way he buried his face in your neck and breathed like he could finally exhale.

[sugusama]

hi lovely, hope you’re doing okay and had a request if you aren’t too busy.

katsuki x black reader and he’s basically protecting her from racist people; people recording her, touching her hair, etc.

꒰🫧꒱﹒ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ﹒⟢ featuring: katsuki bakugo ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ bakugo will always protect you. especially from the ignorance of others ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ fluff, comfort, a little angsty, black female reader, she/her used, lowercase intended, not proofread ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 560

authors note ☆ hi honey bun! here is ur req! i wasnt sure if i sh ouldve made it longer or not but.. here ya go!! enjoy 🌼

you didn’t like this part of town.

it was supposed to be fun. bright storefronts, loud music spilling from cafés, and art painted across every alley wall. katsuki had said you’d like it—good food, he promised. something sweet, he said, brushing a hand over your back before you left the apartment.

but you could feel it, before the sidewalk even got crowded.

the way people turned their heads a little too slow when you passed. how their eyes lingered, not curious—just… invasive.

and then the phones.

not all of them. but enough to make your stomach twist. the quiet clicks of a camera app, subtle and disrespectful. one woman even walked right past you, phone angled directly at your face like you wouldn’t notice. like you weren’t human.

you slowed your steps.

katsuki didn’t miss it.

“you okay?”

you gave a soft nod. you didn’t want to ruin the day. he was trying, after all—planning dates, taking you places, putting in effort.

but when another woman smiled too widely and reached out with both hands toward your curls, laughing as she said, “oh my god, i’ve always wanted to feel hair like this—”

you froze.

“don’t.” you stepped back.

but it was too late. her fingers were already reaching.

katsuki moved faster than she could blink.

he slapped her hand away—not hard, but firm enough to make her flinch. his whole body slid in front of you, blocking her from your view. you could only see the tight line of his shoulders, the hard set of his jaw.

“the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

the woman blinked, caught off guard.

“i—I just thought—”

“you thought you could touch her like a fuckin’ museum display?” he cut in. his voice was calm. too calm. that dangerous kind of quiet before the explosion. “you don’t get to touch her. you don’t get to record her. what the hell is wrong with you people?”

you could feel the way the sidewalk went quiet. people watching now, but not filming. katsuki had that effect—commanding attention without even trying.

“take your phone. take your fake-ass apology. and get the hell outta my sight,” he growled.

the woman stammered something and walked off fast, disappearing into the crowd.

katsuki didn’t turn around right away.

he stood there a moment longer, shoulders heaving just a little.

then he looked back at you.

you hated that your hands were trembling. hated that it happened again.

he saw it. of course he saw it.

“c’mere,” he muttered, pulling you into his arms without asking, without hesitation. his palm cradled the back of your head as he leaned down and kissed your hair, so soft it made your chest ache.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered into his hoodie. “i didn’t wanna ruin the day.”

“you didn’t ruin shit.”

his voice was gentle now, rough around the edges like it always was, but tender.

“they ruined it. not you.”

you nodded into his chest.

his arms tightened.

“next time someone tries that, i’m blowing up their damn phone.”

you laughed, wet and shaky. “katsuki…”

“i’m serious,” he said, lips brushing your temple. “they don’t touch you. they don’t get to look at you like that. they don’t get anything. you’re mine.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you.

“you hear me, baby? you’re mine. and i’ll protect you, always.”

[sugusama]

꒰🎀꒱﹒ 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ﹒⟢ featuring: kamo choso, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, fushiguro toji, ryomen sukuna ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ the jjk men never knew you were a freak in the sheets, here’s how they react to you acting out your kinks ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ smut! 18+, age gap, petnames, choking, slapping, manhandling, spit play, hair pulling, bruising ๑•́ ₃ •̀๑

word count ☆ 1.1k

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

he always touched you so carefully.

choso held you like porcelain. kissed you like your skin might bruise from it. slow strokes, soft grunts, warm aftercare. he was a giver—always asking if it felt good, always stopping if your breath hitched too sharply. so when you wrapped your legs around his waist one night and whispered, “you can choke me,” he froze.

you felt his cock twitch inside you.

“what?” he rasped, pulling back just enough to see your face.

“want you to use me, choso,” you breathed, lips kiss-swollen and pupils blown. “you don’t have to hold back.”

it was like flipping a switch. something ancient, primal, unfurled in him.

he was on you again in seconds—hand wrapped around your throat, heavy but careful. you gasped, eyes fluttering as pressure bloomed behind your eyes, and choso moaned at the sight.

“fuck, baby… you like that?” he muttered, voice guttural. “you like when i squeeze you like this?”

you nodded—barely—his grip tightening just enough to make you dizzy.

his thrusts changed too. harder, deeper, the kind that knocked the air out of you. his free hand pinned your thigh up to your chest, fucking into you with a desperation you’d never seen in him.

“been wanting this?” he panted. “wanna be ruined by me?”

“yes! nnggh fuck! cho—!”

you came like a wave crashing down, body trembling, mouth open in a silent scream.

and choso just kept going.

“my good girl,” he whispered, still fucking your twitching cunt, hand sliding from your throat to your jaw, thumb dragging over your lip before slipping into your mouth. “you take it so well. my nasty little angel.”

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

nanami was always so proper. straight-laced. reserved.

so when you whispered across his office desk one night, “i want you to use me like a slut, nanami,”

he didn’t hesitate.

“is that so?” he muttered, loosening his tie with one hand, the other gripping your chin as he tilted your head back. “my darling wants to be ruined?”

you nodded—and he bent you over the desk.

“hands flat,” he ordered, hiking your skirt up and sliding your panties down, slow and smooth like he had all the time in the world.

he spat on your cunt before pushing two fingers in deep.

“so wet already,” he said calmly, voice still tight with restraint. “what a greedy little thing you are.”

you gasped as he pushed inside with no warning, heavy and thick, the edge of the desk digging into your hips as he pounded into you from behind. and the praise… the fucking praise.

“you’re taking me so well, sweetheart,”

“just like that, good girl,”

“that’s it, let me fuck you dumb.”

when you begged for him to slap you, he paused—only a beat—before landing a firm, stinging smack to your ass. then another. then across your cheek, light but firm, just enough to send you spiraling.

“you asked for this,” he murmured, pulling your head back by your hair. “so take it.”

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“spit in my mouth,” you moaned one night, sprawled under him, skin flushed and slick. “please, ‘toru—just do it.”

he stilled. blinked. then smirked like you handed him a toy.

“you nasty little slut,” he purred. “i knew it. all that innocent shit? fake. you’ve been waiting for daddy to ruin you.”

he grabbed your cheeks, forced your mouth open wide. let a thick string of spit drip from his tongue to yours, then leaned down to kiss it sloppily back into your throat.

“don’t swallow yet,” he whispered. “keep it there.”

and then he fucked you.

legs pinned over his shoulders, body folded in half, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as he drilled into you, laughing every time you choked on your own spit.

“look at you,” he cooed, “drooling, shaking—my perfect little cumdump.”

you came three times. didn’t even know your name by the end.

“i’ll never let you act innocent again,” he said with a grin. “you’re mine.”

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

“pull my hair,” you whispered, nails raking down geto’s back. “hurt me.”

he raised a brow.

“didn’t expect that from such a sweet mouth,” he said.

then he grabbed your hair and pulled until your neck arched back and your lips parted.

“so you like it rough?” he asked, slapping your tit with an open palm. you gasped. “there’s more where that came from, baby.”

he forced you to ride him, hair in his fist, other hand bruising your ass as he bounced you on his cock. every time your tits jiggled, he slapped them again. you moaned, crying out, pain and pleasure blending.

“look at my messy little girl,” he whispered, low and dark, “so desperate to be used, you’ll let me bruise every inch of you.”

and when you came? he didn’t stop.

he fucked you through it, soft kisses on your cheeks while his cock split you open, saying,

“shhh, baby, take it. take it all. good girls don’t run.”

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

you asked to be broken, and toji fushiguro delivered.

“say it again,” he growled, slapping his thick cock against your tongue.

“want you to ruin me,” you moaned, throat already sore, legs trembling. “use me, please—”

he grabbed your face, spit into your mouth, and smeared it across your cheek with his thumb.

“you are mine to use,” he snarled, shoving you onto your stomach, pinning your wrists behind your back with one hand as the other lined up his cock and slammed into you hard.

you screamed.

he didn’t stop. fucked you deep, rough, relentless. left handprint bruises on your ass, bite marks on your shoulder, scratches down your back.

“cry for me,” he grunted, “scream if it hurts. i wanna hear it.”

you came with your cheek pressed into the sheets and your legs shaking.

“good little girl,” he said, voice raw. “can’t get enough, can you?”

and he kept going until you passed out.

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

you said it like a prayer.

“sukuna—please—i want you to break me.”

he laughed. Laughed.

“you want pain?” he sneered, licking his fangs. “i’ll give you more than you can handle, little whore.”

he slapped you across the face first—just to see how you took it. and when your eyes fluttered, lips parted, thighs squeezed together?

he lost it.

he spat in your mouth, made you open wide and swallow.

he pulled your hair so hard you cried out, shoved his cock in your throat and made you gag, tears dripping off your chin.

he called you his “dirty bitch,” his “pretty little hole,” his “favorite toy.”

and you loved it.

“no one else could take me,” he whispered, voice laced with cruelty as he fucked you stupid. “only you. my pathetic little fuckdoll.”

you came sobbing. overstimulated. used. ruined.

and he kissed your cheek after. just to mock you.

authors note: yeaaa… this was in the drafts if u cant tell!

[sugusama]

꒰🫧꒱ 𝐀 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ⟢ ft. Katsuki Bakugo ‧₊˚ . ꣑୧

sypnosis ☆ prince bakugo was known for his fiery temper and hotheaded nature. but.. when he met the princess of dawn her calm beauty had an unexpected effect on him ⸝⸝ ᰔ ̫ ᰔ⸝⸝

content warnings ☆ long fic! multiple parts, fluff, angst, fantasy, no quirk au but some powers here and there, super cute, bakugo has anger issues ( of course ) fighting, mentions of wars, reader is a black female, threatening, black mailing, arranged marriage ( ? ), suggestive but no smut until later in the story, bakugo is 23, reader is 20, mentions of murder, suicide, & death, honorable mentions- prince! todoroki, prince! izuku, prince! kirishima, knight! tenya, knight! shinso, princess! ochaco, princess! yaoyorozu (::̲̅:̲̅:♡::̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) ⭐️

word count ☆ 2.4k

part 1 | …

the people of ashira feared their prince.

they feared the fire in his blood, the sharpness in his tongue, the way he looked at the world like it owed him something. bakugo katsuki had never been taught softness. he had been raised on war reports and swordsmanship. his hands were meant for battle, not bouquets.

so when word came that he was to marry — and not just marry, but marry the princess of dawn — he nearly shattered the goblet in his hand.

“this is a joke,” he spat.

queen mitsuki didn’t flinch. “this is a treaty.”

“i don’t need peace. i need my sword.”

“you’ll need a wife more. dawn controls the eastern trade, and their princess is the key.”

he scoffed. “what’s she like? cold? cruel? spoiled?”

the queen just smirked.

“you’ll see.”

the ride to solara took three days. the air smelled of oranges and salt. dawn’s lands were prettier than he’d expected — soft, golden, sun-warmed hills. the castle sat high on white cliffs above the sea, all pale marble and gold-veined towers. delicate. peaceful.

he hated it already.

the arrival was formal. guards lined the stone courtyard, trumpets echoed through the arches, and then—

you stepped forward.

bakugo blinked.

you were nothing like he imagined.

you wore a gown the color of blush roses, with lace at your collar and a ribbon in your hair. your skin shimmered in the sunlight, rich and warm, and your eyes— gods, your eyes. calm. kind. curious. like they saw everything and judged none of it.

you stepped lightly down the steps, hands folded in front of you. you curtsied low.

“welcome, your highness,” you said, your voice soft as silk. “i hope your journey was comfortable.”

bakugo stared at you like you were a ghost.

“…it was fine.”

you smiled, gentle and sweet, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

☁️

that night, there was a formal supper in the high hall. candlelight danced off the crystal, and violins played low in the corners. you sat beside him, your gloved hands resting on your lap, posture graceful.

you didn’t speak much at first. just listened. watched.

then, quietly, you turned to him.

“i know this wasn’t your choice,” you said, “but i hope we might still learn to trust each other.”

he glanced at you.

you were so… gentle. so open. not a trace of mockery in your voice. and for the first time in years, he didn’t know what to say.

he cleared his throat.

“we’ll see.”

you didn’t press. just gave him a soft smile and returned to your meal.

he stared at his plate, scowling, but something inside him twisted strangely. it wasn’t anger. it wasn’t annoyance.

it felt almost like guilt.

the next morning came quietly, wrapped in sea mist and the scent of blooming myrielle flowers. dawn’s castle didn’t wake with noise — not like ashira’s. there were no harsh barks from generals, no echo of boots across stone, no alarms sounding drills. only the call of birds and the distant hush of waves breaking far below the cliffs.

bakugo hated it.

he stood by the wide glass doors of his guest chamber, shirt half-buttoned, watching sunlight spill across the tiled floor like it belonged here. he didn’t.

he hadn’t slept. couldn’t. too much silence. too much calm.

and you — you were worse than all of it.

you haunted his thoughts like perfume.

he could still hear your voice in his head, soft as silk and sharp in a way that didn’t wound — it disarmed. you weren’t demanding. you weren’t proud. you weren’t trying to win him over.

you were just… real.

and he hated that it bothered him.

he clenched his jaw, turned from the window, and grabbed his sword from where it leaned against the chair. if nothing else, he could still practice.

☁️

you found him in the training yard that afternoon.

he was drenched in sweat, muscles flexing as he dragged the blade across the dummy again and again — not practicing anymore, but punishing. the dummy was splintered down the middle, straw guts spilling across the cobblestones.

you didn’t speak.

you stood quietly by the arched entryway, hands folded, your skirts trailing behind you like mist. you didn’t announce yourself. didn’t offer pleasantries.

you just waited.

and when he finally noticed you — breathing hard, chest rising and falling, hair stuck to his temple — he didn’t shout.

he just looked at you.

“…what?”

“i thought you might want something to drink.”

you stepped forward, lifting the silver pitcher in your hands. two glasses sat on the tray. one for him. one for you.

he stared at them like they were some kind of trap.

“…you didn’t have to.”

“i know.”

you poured the water slowly. not like a servant. like a queen in her own right — steady, sure, unbothered by his bristling energy.

he took the glass from you with a grunt. your fingers brushed. he pretended not to feel it.

“you always this calm?” he muttered.

“no,” you said. “just with you.”

his brows lifted slightly. “why?”

“because if i’m loud, you’ll be louder. and i don’t think the walls can take it.”

it was meant as a joke. not cruel. not sharp. just soft truth, wrapped in silk.

he huffed — almost a laugh.

“you’re not scared of me?”

you looked up at him, eyes full of something steady and warm.

“should i be?”

he held your gaze.

longer than he meant to.

“…probably.”

but you only smiled.

“then you’ll just have to prove me wrong.”

☁️

that evening, you walked the gardens with princess ochaco and knight shinso. you spoke of the upcoming ball, of the treaty’s terms, of the possibility of rain next week. normal things. light things. but your thoughts weren’t light.

you kept thinking about the way he looked at you.

like he was trying to figure you out and didn’t like that he couldn’t.

like he wanted to be angry, but didn’t know where to aim it anymore.

like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how.

“you’re quiet tonight,” ochaco said gently, linking her arm with yours. “is it him?”

you didn’t deny it.

“he’s not what i expected,” you said.

shinso hummed. “i doubt he expected you either.”

☁️

across the castle, in the council chamber, bakugo stood with his hands behind his back, staring down at a map of the continent. red pins marked ashira’s defenses. gold ones for dawn. too many pins. too many dead.

prince todoroki leaned against the table beside him, silent for a moment before saying,

“she doesn’t deserve your temper.”

bakugo tensed.

“i never said she did.”

“then don’t give it to her.”

bakugo glared. “why do you care?”

todoroki met his eyes — calm, cool, unreadable.

“because this is the first time i’ve seen you shut up and listen.”

bakugo scoffed, but didn’t argue.

because he was right.

☁️

the next morning, a letter appeared on your pillow.

sealed with plain wax. unsigned.

“call off the wedding. you don’t know what he’s done.”

your heart beat slower as you read it. then faster. your fingers curled tight around the paper.

you read it twice. then a third time. then folded it neatly, rose from bed, and dressed yourself with care.

you didn’t go to the queen.

you didn’t panic.

you went to him.

☁️

he was in the hall outside the library, arguing with one of his knights — tenya, if you remembered correctly. something about patrol routes, about defensive formations. he was sharp, animated, his hands moving as he spoke.

then he saw you.

and he stopped.

“you,” you said softly, holding up the folded letter. “we need to talk.”

tenya bowed and left without a word.

you stepped into a side room. he followed, closing the door behind him.

you handed him the letter.

he read it once, jaw tight. read it again. then crumpled it in his fist, eyes dark with something colder than fire.

“you got one too, didn’t you?” you asked.

he nodded.

you watched him for a moment.

then, gently,

“are they right?”

his head snapped up.

you held his gaze.

“have you done something terrible?”

his throat worked as he swallowed.

“…yeah.”

your chest ached, but your voice didn’t waver.

“do you regret it?”

“…some of it.”

you stepped closer.

“then it matters. and we can deal with the rest.”

he blinked.

like he didn’t understand you.

like no one had ever said something like that to him before.

“you’re not leaving?” he asked.

“no,” you said. “i made a vow. even if it’s not official yet.”

a pause.

then softer, “and i think there’s good in you.”

he stared at you like you were a dream.

then, slowly, he said,

“i don’t know how to be soft.”

“i don’t need soft,” you said gently. “just honest.”

the look in his eyes shifted.

like something was cracking.

like something old was letting go.

and for the first time, he stepped closer without anger in his chest.

just… something warmer.

something dangerous in a completely different way.

the sun was high and lazy when you spread the blanket across the grass the next morning.

soft white linen, pinned down at the corners with smooth river stones. the garden around you buzzed quietly — bees in the lavender, birds in the cherry trees, wind rustling through leaves like gossip. and above it all, the sky stretched wide and blue.

you were already barefoot, skirts lifted just enough to keep them from the dirt, a little flower tucked behind your ear. you’d packed the basket yourself — fruit, little cakes, iced tea, lemon biscuits.

and bakugo?

he showed up late.

scowling, of course.

he had a branch stuck in his hair.

“what is this?” he muttered, hands on his hips, eyeing the blanket like it had personally offended him.

“a picnic,” you said cheerfully, patting the spot beside you. “don’t look so scared.”

“i don’t do picnics.”

“you do now.”

he muttered something under his breath but sat anyway, arms crossed, legs stiff.

you offered him a peach.

he glared at it.

“…it’s fruit.”

“yes.”

“not meat. not bread. fruit.”

“that’s what makes it fun.”

he snatched it from you and took a bite like it owed him money.

juice dripped down his wrist. he wiped it with the back of his hand, scowling deeper. you tried not to giggle.

“you know,” you said, leaning back on your elbows, “for someone so scary in battle, you’re really bad at relaxing.”

“i relax fine.”

“you’re sitting like the picnic is a trap.”

“it could be.”

you rolled your eyes, grinning.

he watched you from the corner of his eye, then slowly — very slowly — eased his arms down and leaned back beside you.

your elbows touched.

he didn’t move away.

“see?” you said. “not so bad.”

he grumbled. “still dumb.”

but he took another bite of the peach.

and when your skirt brushed his leg, he didn’t flinch.

☁️

after a while, you passed him a slice of cake — soft vanilla with orange cream, baked fresh that morning. he bit into it like he expected poison and blinked in surprise.

“…this is good.”

you smirked. “you’re welcome.”

“you didn’t make it.”

“i picked it.”

“barely counts.”

you gasped, mock offended, and tossed a grape at him. it bounced off his shoulder.

he blinked.

“…did you just throw food at me?”

“what are you gonna do about it?” you teased, eyes twinkling.

he grabbed a handful of berries and chucked one back. it hit your sleeve.

you both stared.

and then, you laughed — head tilted back, mouth wide, full of joy.

and bakugo…

bakugo didn’t laugh.

but he smiled.

not the crooked smirk he gave enemies before burning them alive. not the sneer he wore at court.

a real one.

small. quiet. almost shy.

you caught it.

you didn’t say anything — just tucked your legs under yourself and leaned a little closer.

“have you thought about the wedding?” you asked after a minute, brushing crumbs from your lap.

he snorted. “what about it?”

“what it’ll look like. where we’ll have it. what we’ll wear.”

he gave you a sideways look.

“…you care about that?”

“of course i do.”

you plucked a daisy from the grass and twirled it between your fingers.

“i know this wasn’t either of our choices, but… if we have to do it, i want it to be beautiful.”

he watched the way your fingers moved over the petals. the way your eyes softened when you talked about beauty like it was a language. like it was something worth believing in.

“…i thought you’d want something huge. full court. big ballgown. glitter.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i want music. and food. and flowers. but not the rest.”

“what color flowers?”

you blinked. “what?”

“for the wedding.”

you hesitated.

“…pink. and gold. maybe some cream roses. and sunlilies.”

he nodded slowly.

“sounds like you.”

your heart did a little skip.

you picked at the hem of your sleeve. “what about you? what would you wear?”

he shrugged. “black.”

“obviously.”

“…maybe red. just a little.”

you smiled. “and the cake?”

“it better be big.”

“you’re so romantic.”

he smirked again. “i’m hungry.”

you both laughed.

and then it quieted.

not awkward. just still.

you looked at him, the way the light kissed his skin, the way the shadows danced under his lashes. and softly,

“i think i’m glad it’s you.”

he turned to you.

eyes wide.

unsure.

“…what?”

“i’m glad it’s you,” you said again. “i thought it would be someone who didn’t care. someone who’d pretend. but you… you don’t pretend. and you do care. you just don’t know how to show it yet.”

he stared at you.

and for once — no walls. no fire. just something raw and quiet in his eyes.

“you really think that?”

“i do.”

a long pause.

then he reached out — slow, like he was afraid you’d disappear — and brushed a petal from your shoulder.

his fingers lingered.

“…you’re too good for me.”

you smiled, soft and steady.

“lucky for you, i don’t believe that.”

and in the hush that followed, he leaned in just enough for your shoulders to touch again. for your knees to knock. for your hearts to start syncing up — not by force, but by choice.

and neither of you said another word.

you just watched the sky together, side by side, under the warmth of a sun that had finally stopped feeling so far away.

author’s note: hello! i hope u like it.. i was high as ever writing this and its been in my drafts since feb so sorry for grammar mistakes!

[sugusama]

writing 2 requests right now! thank you so much for all the love

[sugusama]

𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒! 𝜗𝜚

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 𖦹 - you must be 18 or older to view my nsfw works! minors are free to view my sfw ones! - racists, zionists, transphobic, homophobic, & ageless blogs are not allowed here! please go away! - my asks are always open! feel free to chat! - i am currently in school to be a vet tech so posts will be a little slow at times! please be patient with me i will try my best to make a working schedule!

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𖦹 - all of my readers will be african american by default! if you would like any other race feel free to request! - i will be posting dark content! you have been advised! - there will be usage of y/n! - i write fluff, comfort, & smut! i will not write angst without an happy ending! - i will not write incest, rape, miscarriages, or male reader! do not ask!

🎀 - nsfw 🫧 - sfw

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

[sugusama]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒! 𝜗𝜚

attack on titan 𖦹 currently empty

jujutsu kaisen 𖦹

miscellaneous ୨୧

🎀 freak ( kamo choso, kento nanami, satoru gojo, suguru geto, fushiguro toji, ryomen sukuna ) HERE

my hero academia 𖦹

katsuki bakugo ୨୧

🫧 a new kind of love | PART 1

🫧 stay with me| HERE

🫧 even with distance | HERE

demon slayer 𖦹 currently empty

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

[sugusama]

Just saying your writing is absolutely fire. It’s actually super enjoyable

thank u so much love! i really appreciate that 🌼🩵