There's a lot of validity in the idea that older Bakugo is a traumatized pro-hero with major PTSD... but you know what's kinda fucked up to think about? The fact that Bakugo is also a 22-year-old pro-hero with major PTSD even before that, too.
It's almost easy to imagine that things are actually better when he's older (the therapy finally a routine, the trauma long set and on the path to being healed)... and that it's his whole 20s that are spent as a pool of disaster trying to recover from the war(s).
He looks back and barely even remembers being twenty, much less twenty-five or twenty-seven. Barely remembers how little he slept, not at the hands of trying to balance hero work and getting a degree at the same time, but just out of the pure insomnia that came from trying to move on and every nightmare attached.
Hardly ever showering, never shaving (not that he ever grew much of a beard, but the facial hair was definitely there. There's pictures of him on the news with an awkward, grown out haircut and patches on facial hair that make him look positively... immature), barely even eating more than a few protein bars or an energy jelly drink-a day. It's a blur, and his friends are hardly there to pick him up out of it because they're all going through it, too. Somewhat.
It's definitely weird if you meet him during this period. He's not all there, at least, not all of the time. He doesn't really register your interactions, the friendship you extend to him (a younger, or ever older, version of him would've shown you that deep seeded ferocity in response, tried to bite the hand that fed him, even if it were love... but 20s Bakugo... doesn't seem to notice). Even though only one of his eyes is clouded over, the good one never seems to brighten up.
There's definitely moments when the old him shines through: when he's with Deku, when he's in the midst of battle, when he finds out that Todoroki still does a shitty job at chopping scallions. But it's a long time before he's even close to the same, able to step out from underneath the fog of simply surviving and into the sunshine of recovering.
But I think sticking through it with him is worth it.
(It's a weird moment, a happy moment, the first time you realize that Bakugo has changed. That the pouring rain outside hasn't bothered him since he showed up at your apartment. He forgot his umbrella, he's been quite careless ever since the war—wet and shaggy hair frizzed up, cheeks red from cold—but he doesn't seem to mind, with his bare feet up on your coffee table, his eyes gazing out the window. You hand his tea, and instead of gulping it down in one go, letting it burn in his throat, he winces at the heat.
"Tastes like shit," he says, and you laugh because it always does. Just this time, he noticed.)
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A36 pls
A36. cute discussion ABOUT sex
featuring actual sex. also. because these guys are horny little deities, to me
prompt fills here
It gets hot in their private quarters, sometimes. It’s always warm, but as particularly productive nights wear on Lucienne finds herself drenched in sweat, clinging to the coolness of his skin.
They’re at rest now, probably done for the night, given how boneless and still Lord Morpheus is beneath her. Lucienne is sprawled on top of him, her cheek to his belly, ankles entwined with his own, arm thrown around his waist, hand holding his own. His other hand pets down from the crown of her head to the back of her neck, cool and soft.
He’s breathing slow, even, and Lucienne is facing away from him but she imagines he is reclined on the pillows, staring down at her with those soft, heavy-lidded eyes, sleepy and sweet.
Lucienne shifts, draws her hand out of his own to move her arm out of her line of sight. She draws her hand across his belly, nails light on his skin, moving down to grip his inner thigh. Her lord’s breathing has changed. The back of her knuckles brush his bollocks, and his hips shift. His cock is soft where it lays along the crease of his thigh, looking just as sleepy as the rest of him. “May I touch you?” she mumbles.
Lord Morpheus groans, ending with a tiny laugh. His hand pulls away from hers and she imagines him throwing his arm over his eyes. “How are you not satisfied, woman?”
Lucienne grins, kissing him over his fluttering abs. “I am,” she assures him. “I just want to suck your cock.”
Another groan, an interested twitch in front of her face. "That is precisely what I mean." He pauses for a moment, considering the offer as though it is liable to bite him. “Alright?” he says, eventually, voice winding up high. He hasn’t stopped petting her head. “Although, you—you certainly do not have to?”
Lucienne hums, her fingers slipping further between his thighs, encouraging him to part them for her. She cups his bollocks, strokes them with her thumb, shifts their weight in her hand. He rumbles underneath her, grips the back of her neck. He’s sensitive, nerves still all in overdrive, and Lucienne licks her lips, seeing him starting to fatten up. “It’s not so strange,” she murmurs, warming him in her palm. “You love to use your mouth on me.”
A dismissive sound. “That is very different,” he says confidently. “Much more fun.”
Lucienne laughs. She kisses the tip of his cock, fingers the soft skin at the seam of his bollocks. “I disagree,” she says. “This is very fun for me. You’re pretty and you smell good and you make lovely noises.”
Another choked hum, followed by a shocked little sound when she sucks the head of his cock into her mouth. “Oh,” he whispers, petting her with trembling fingertips down her spine, his belly heaving with a sigh. “Lucienne.”
Lucienne smiles, suckling gently at him, trailing her fingertips up the velvety underside of his shaft. He firms up on her tongue, pulses hot between her lips, leaks a bead of thin salt that she swallows greedily. She closes her eyes, basks in the smell and the taste of him, the muggy heat all around, the warm glow of affection when she hears him gasp like he’s surprised at how he’s feeling.
She holds him like this for several moments before he shifts and makes a confounded little noise. “What are you doing?” he asks, on the verge of a laugh.
Lucienne holds his shaft with one hand to keep it upright while she pops her mouth off him. “There’s no rush, is there?”
Lord Morpheus huffs. “Well, no, I suppose not,” and she imagines him watching with slight mortification while she gives him a kittenish lick, lapping up a droplet of his slick. “Are you enjoying yourself, at least?”
She snorts, and she cranes her head as far as she can over her shoulder, only enough to see him in the corner of her peripheral vision. “How about you don’t worry about that?” she teases. “Just relax, my lord.”
He sighs theatrically and lets his head fall back in the sheets. “Very well,” he mutters, put-upon, goofy and loose the way he only gets with her.
Lucienne hums, satisfied, and she lays her cheek on his belly again, sucks him into her mouth. She cradles him on her tongue, fingers the vein on the underside of his shaft, marvels at how hard he’s gotten, stretching her lips with his girth. He breathes high and heavy, soft moans and whines spilling from his mouth.
She plays with his bollocks, rolls them in her hand, strokes back behind them. His skin is so soft, so sleek, so hot right here, and his noises get a little more wrecked. Lucienne runs her lips down the side of his shaft, kisses at the base, buries her nose where the smell of him is strongest.
“Lucienne,” he murmurs, muffled, like he’s moved the back of his hand over his mouth. She lifts his shaft to tongue his bollocks, laving them hot and wet and slow, and he keens and shifts. “Gods, Lucienne.”
Lucienne pulls back, leaving his skin shiny with spit. "I have a question."
Lord Morpheus groans as though pained. "So do I," he mutters. His cock twitches in front of her face and he breathes for a long few seconds to calm down. "Yes, Lucienne?"
She props herself up on her arm on his belly, fingers encircling the base of his cock and manipulating it, moving it around to examine at her leisure. "Is this for me? Do you always have genitalia, or only when you are with a lover? And is it specific to the lover? Is this my cock?"
"That was several questions," he sounds amazed by the fact. "How long have you been wondering about this?"
"I wouldn't have to wonder about it at all if there were records in the library."
"Yes, well. Am I not allowed some measure of privacy."
"Of course you are," Lucienne cranes her neck to see him in the corner of her eye. "Hence why I am only asking now. And you do not have to answer."
His sigh is performative and put-upon. "Yes, I usually have sex organs. No, they are not specific to whomever I am with. What you see is this aspect's default, for lack of a better word." A pause, then, heavy and thoughtful. "Of course. I can make any changes you might like. And I perhaps should have offered that from the beginning."
Lucienne frowns. "Why would I want you to do that?"
"Well, it is," he clears his throat, "my penis, that is. It is. Girthy. I am told."
"And that is... a bad thing?"
"I don't know," he sounds strangled now, and Lucienne fights not to laugh or try to kiss away his silliest of insecurities. "Perhaps it just seems, rude, to not offer something more. Suited to your tastes."
"You are perfectly suited to my tastes," she tells him, emphatically, and she kisses the blushing head of his cock. "That is why I suspected you might have designed it for me, my lord."
"...Oh." Lord Morpheus is quiet now, apparently affected by this revelation, even more than he is by the little licks she bestows on hot silky skin. "I was not certain. In your fantasies, you never so much as imagined me below the waist."
"I did not want to presume," Lucienne says primly. "Perhaps it seemed rude to imagine the sex organs of someone who hides all mention of them."
His belly shakes with silent laughter under her, and Lucienne smiles against his heat. "Fair enough, I suppose," and from there his breath melts away into a pleased sigh when she closes her eyes and takes him back into her mouth. His hips shift in tiny flinches, rocking her, pushing himself a little deeper. One of these days she'll goad him into fucking her mouth properly. The thought makes her groan and slip her free hand to tuck between her legs. "I have a default vulva for this aspect, too, if you are interested."
Lucienne's eyes fly open.
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