#although objectively. i will say that katsuki being below the WASHING MACHINE is a little funny

[aria-allium]

i really don't want to come across like those people who vehemently denied the ending of bbc sherlock when it dropped but like. there's no way that actual slop of an extra chapter is real bc if it is idk man

[thisisthehardestthing]

This Is The Hardest Thing - 6

18+, nothing happens but mentions of sexual fluids.

Authors note: Would like to apologize with how short this is, but the previous chapter was quite intense (or at least I thought it was) and so this is mostly just for a breather, to give some info and develop a bit more plot.

Masterlist

CHAPTER 6

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Your eyes were wide, glancing from Bakugo, to the laundry room, back to Bakugo. The events that just transpired replayed in your mind. Nausea began to bubble up in your stomach as you sat upright, willing your feet to be steady once it hit the wet tiles. He shouldn’t have touched you. No, it’s your fault for not controlling it. You winced when you felt the cold cum slide down your thigh, buttoning your shirt, rubbing whatever you could feel on your legs with the inside of your skirt, thankful you were still on birth control.

The room, once clean and mopped and tidy, was now a complete mess, all thanks to you. All the dryers lining the wall were open, a few dented inwards with the one furthest away shifted out of line, almost ready to fall onto the floor below. The washing machines below, usually two neat lines, seemed to have gotten the brunt of the attack. They were scattered, zig-zagging across the room as the white metal tops and sides were dented in. Somewhere in a corner, a pipe must’ve ripped free as a puddle of water began to form and pool down to where you both stood. Your eyes wandered up, taking in the hanging lights. Thankfully, none had burst. The vibrations must not have traveled there.

Bakugo’s red eyes burned with anger and confusion and you wondered if he always had that level of energy in him. You were used to your quirk, yet you still found it difficult to remain standing, so how was he moving so freely? You were mortified, embarrassed, disgusted. Where could you even start? Do you apologize to him first? Do you explain everything? This was so messed up and you feel your chest start to constrict, tighten up so that it’s hard to breathe.

“Oi!” Bakugo’s sharp tone cut through your inner turmoil. He had taken a step away from you, standing as far in the width between two machines as possible. “Explain yourself.”

Your thumbs fidgeted awkwardly as your palms clasped together, the cold tiles under the soles of your feet an inviting, cool thrum against your frantic nerves.

“Bakugo, I’m sorry,” you began but he waved you off, an exasperated look in his eyes, biceps twitched as his arms across his chest. It was the only sign of muscle strain you could see in him.

“Fuck that, apologize later. What the fuck happened?”

You took a labored breath, tight chest hindering your movement as your mind whirred around the different explanations you could give him. So you settled on the easiest, most detached one.

“I can feel, absorb, and control the vibrations of atoms.” You said, opening your palms and lifting them. The fingers prints and lines on your hands were defined, which magnified your sensitivity with whatever you touched. “Even with my eyes closed, I can see what’s happening around me through the neighboring vibration and move it.” Your fingertips curled into your palms, half-moon indents forming against the skin. “I can’t control it properly. Sometimes, there’s too much energy…”

Bakugo made a strange growl, deep in thought, brows furrowed.

“So, what I felt when you touched me? What was that?”

You swallowed, the feeling of nausea returning as you struggled to look at him.

“It’s like an electric circuit. That’s the best way I can describe it. If I touch something… alive, it can feel my vibrations while it’s being moved, and I can feel theirs.” The explanation is chosen carefully, avoiding the fact that your feet were the same, you didn’t always need to touch objects, that you were a child of a quirk marriage.

Katsuki unfurled his arms and stared into his hands with an expression of longing and confusion. The skin on his palms was so thick, he could barely feel anything underneath them, but when he touched you, he had felt every centimeter beneath his calloused hands. Just remembering the way those vibrations flowed from his and into your body was enough to send him into a spiral of doubt, self-loathing and once again, need.

“Bakugo, I really am sorry. There are no words I can say that makes me losing control over my quirk okay.” The apology erupted from your chest as you saw his face, staring into space at his hands. His eyes snapped up, signature frown and clenched jaw evident.

“Tch, I don’t need your apology. I wanted to fuck you anyway, but don’t touch me again.” He stooped to pick up his shirt and twisted it, the water trickling into a puddle beneath his feet. The wet fabric was thrown over his shoulder, the resounding slap against his back sent another wave of shame through you. He picked up the bucket, then the mop, and busied himself with tidying up whatever else had fallen to the ground.

“Don’t just fucking stand there, we need to clean this place up.” Bakugo chastised, the glare in his eyes deadlier than before as he pushed a machine back in line with the rest.

You hesitated before turning to the machine behind you, limbs heavy like you were wading through water. The cold metal beneath your palm welcome as you focused on the dull thrum. The zig-zagging vibrations of aluminum laid out a map behind your eyelids. You were exhausted and the energy that poured into you from the metal contraption helped you feel a little more human, until you lifted your hands and it dispersed, draining back through the soles of your feet. The machine looked new again, no more dents in the side, the white surface completely smooth. Although your quirk did not drain you of your own energy, it did work your muscles more than any gym could, flushing them with an ache and endorphins.

So you moved to the next one, smoothing out any imperfections that were created before Bakugo maneuvered it back into place. It was soothing and painful at the same time, the feeling of the metal popping back up akin to the sound of a spoon scraping against a pan. It made your skin crawl, goosebumps rose on your forearms and shins. Bakugo made sure to keep a distance from you, at least a machine width. Everything about this day ended up wrong, and you couldn’t wait to crawl back to your room and hide beneath the covers for the rest of the night to ignore the hollow feeling in your chest.

He’d only stood next to you one time for the entire hour that was spent cleaning the room, and it was right before you both turned to leave. Your arms were close enough to feel the static between the hairs, but not touching. You suppressed a shiver and curled your toes up to ease permanent wave rolling off him. The bucket, mop, and broom gripped tight between those large palms, with the same strength they had latched onto your breast. He let out a sigh, head-turning only slightly towards you, ruby eyes peering down.

“I don’t blame you,” Bakugo said. It was curt and final, his tone sincere. Although not entirely relieved, those words made some unwitting tension release from between your shoulder blades. Saying ‘thank you’ in return felt wrong like he meant to pity you. You didn’t know him very well, at least emotionally, but you could tell that he did not pity anyone.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you replied, meeting his gaze, just as pointed. He made a snarky comment under his breath and walked out of the room.

You stayed a minute longer, partly to give him space but mostly to rid yourself of the feeling of his footsteps on the floor. When you could no longer feel him, you cried.

************************************************************

Dabi stood in the middle of the dark room, facing a figure shrouded in shadows, seated in an overly large, pompous armchair. His piercings glinted in the orange flame of the fireplace that flickered in the corner. He crossed his arms, scarred skin tight on his forearms that pulled dangerously against thin skin. They were in the middle of a boring conversation; how to get the League back on their feet, next steps, and it was all Dabi could do not to set the entire place ablaze.

Absentmindedly, he picked at a scab and blood fanned out into the dips of his flesh, red on bruised purple. He mumbled a fuck before pressing the fresh wound with his thumb, annoyed at his habit.

“So, what do you think of the plan?” Shigaraki croaked out, his voice similar to the crackling of the fire before him. Honestly, Dabi had stopped listening twenty minutes ago, he couldn’t care less about how the League pulled out of their slump as long as he got to have some reckless fun.

“Yeah, sounds good. Let me know wha—” The door burst open, slamming against the wall as Giran hobbled in. The golden light of the hallway created a runway directly to Shigaraki’s chair, illuminating the grey hand on the red leather, pinky fingers lifted. Eyes peered around the edge, chapped lips pressed together tightly, as the newcomer was observed.

“You’re late.” He quipped, voice dripping with contempt.

“Sorry, Shigaraki,” Giran reached into his pocket for another cigarette, his tone indifferent to the underground ‘king’. After a long inhale, stretching out the silence, Giran blew smoke out, his jaw tilted to gaze at the ceiling. “I’ve got… news.” He selected his words carefully. Shigaraki had started losing his temper frequently, and Giran did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

“Spit it out.” Dabi huffed, his weight shifted from one foot to the other, a finger stroking the column of staples pressed into his chin. A sigh left Giran’s lips.

“I was cornered last night, well, this morning. There’s a pro-Hero currently in Japan from America, perhaps you know him? Soil?” Shigaraki grunted in response, neither a yes or no, but in distaste. “He wanted me to tell you that’s he’s waiting for you and that you can no longer hide in the shadows.”

The edges of Shigaraki’s lips turned up at the threat. “Someone I don’t know is making threats? Directly at us? They must be incredibly dumb, or incredibly strong. Dabi?”

The scarred man ran a hand through his hair, pulling at it slightly, ignoring the way his skin itched.

“Why don’t we go find out?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading, you rock.

Send me an ask to be on the tag list.

@aizawascumslut @whats-her-quirk @icythotsenpai @destiel1597 @joyousandverywarlike