#mha hurt

[thatlotuscookie]

👋👋i wanted to request for dabi, when he has a crush on the member of the league (reader) but it's uncomfortable for him so he decided to just be the biggest dick he can be to her. and one day he snaps at her even though failed mission wasn't her fault. and above all she felt so bad physically this day, she was so sick. and her fever or whatever she has is making her feel so bad. and next day she doesn't even appear in league's hideout. and she doesn't appear in next few hours either and when dabi looks for her it turns out she's got a serious sickness when she feels like dying, she can't breathe, she's anxious, her vision gets blurry and all that shit. PLEASE MAKE THIS ONE LONG BECAUSE I'M BORED AND YOU'RE A GREAT WRITER❤️🥺and end it with some hugs, kisses or whatever you feel like ending it with, just fluff

✧･ﾟ: a/n : thank you to the lovely anon that requested this one! its funny cause right now i have the worst headache ever, but im trying to send these reqs <3

✧ Title: ✧ Behind the Walls ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a rough mission, Dabi’s constant criticism has you questioning your worth within the League. When a migraine and fever take you down, Dabi finds himself reluctantly stepping in, his unexpected gentleness hinting at feelings he’s tried to hide for so long. ✧ Content Warnings: Emotional Hurt, Illness/Injury Care, Soft Dabi Moments, Mild Swearing, Vulnerability, Dabi being a dickhead xd ✧ WC: 2162 words // 12k chars

Dabi had a way of turning even the smallest inconvenience into a reason to snap at you. Every time you entered the room, his glare would follow, sharp and dissecting, as if he were daring you to give him a reason to unleash whatever was brewing under his skin. You tried to shrug it off, reminding yourself that he was harsh with everyone—but with you, it felt personal. The jabs cut deeper, lingered longer, especially when you’d worked hard to contribute to the League.

After a particularly challenging mission that had taken a chaotic turn, you returned to the hideout, feeling utterly drained. You’d kept pace with everyone else, even stayed back to hold off a security team that had almost blown the entire operation, but despite your best efforts, the mission hadn’t gone as planned. It wasn’t even your fault—none of it was, in fact. Still, the weight of everyone’s fatigue hung in the air as you walked in, trying to blend into the background and head straight to your quarters for some much-needed rest.

But Dabi wasn’t about to let you off so easily.

“Hey,” his voice cut across the room, dripping with irritation. “Nice job holding us back out there.” He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he leveled you with a stare, his words slicing through the quiet like a knife. “Not like it was important or anything.”

You stopped, feeling the familiar knot form in your stomach as his words washed over you. You knew you hadn’t done anything wrong; in fact, you’d practically saved the mission. But it was like he was looking for any excuse to tear you down, and today, he’d found his opportunity.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you managed, your voice softer than you intended. The dull throb in your head, which had started as a manageable ache, was intensifying, and each syllable felt like it rattled inside your skull. You wanted to keep your composure, to stay calm and collected, but the exhaustion weighed heavily on you, amplifying every ache and pain.

“Oh, so now you’re making excuses?” he sneered, his voice raising just enough to make the others in the room glance your way. “Funny, that’s what people say when they know they messed up.”

You could feel your face heat up, a mix of frustration and hurt swirling together as his words hit home. The pounding in your head became unbearable, the pain radiating behind your eyes as you struggled to keep yourself from lashing back. It was already humiliating enough; you didn’t need to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting to you.

“It’s not an excuse,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady, but your voice wavered despite your efforts. “I stayed back to cover everyone, and you know it.”

Dabi scoffed, rolling his eyes as if your words were nothing but empty air. “Sure, whatever you say, hero. Maybe next time, do us all a favor and stay out of the way if you’re not up for it.”

That was the last straw. You turned away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over as you left the room, your vision blurring not just from exhaustion but from the sting of his cutting words. The tension in your head exploded into a full-on migraine, each heartbeat sending a sharp pulse of pain through your temples as you stumbled back to your quarters.

Curling up on the bed, you couldn’t hold back the silent tears that finally escaped. You felt feverish, your body heavy and weighed down as you lay there, the ache in your head growing worse with each passing moment. Dabi’s voice echoed in your mind, the harshness in his words replaying in a loop that made it impossible to find any comfort in the quiet of your room.

You lost track of time as you lay curled up in your bed, cocooned in your blankets. The world outside felt distant and muted, the sounds of the hideout fading away as your headache intensified. The pounding in your skull grew sharper, almost rhythmic, and a wave of nausea rolled through you, leaving you breathless. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, hoping to block out the chill that seemed to seep into your bones.

As the hours passed, you drifted in and out of sleep, the comfort of unconsciousness momentarily easing the pain before it came crashing back. Each time you stirred, you felt the remnants of your fever—your skin hot and clammy, the bed beneath you soaking up your discomfort. You had no idea how long it had been since you last left your room, but eventually, the noise of the League’s activities began to fade into a more oppressive silence. You’d missed dinner, and the absence of the usual bustling energy in the hideout felt eerily wrong.

But it was when you heard footsteps approaching your door that a cold shiver of anxiety shot through you. You didn’t want to see anyone, especially not Dabi. You didn’t want to face him again, especially after everything that had transpired. But when the footsteps stopped, a knock broke through the quiet.

“Hey, you in there?” Dabi’s voice cut through the stillness, low and slightly muffled. There was a pause before he continued, “You gonna just hide in here all night?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing desperately that you could disappear. “I’m fine,” you managed to call out, but even to your own ears, you sounded weak.

“Yeah, you don’t sound fine,” he shot back, the irritation in his tone mixed with something else that you couldn’t quite place. “Open the door.”

Against your better judgment, you found yourself pushing off the blankets, each movement sending waves of nausea crashing against you. You tried to take a steadying breath, but the tightness in your chest made it difficult, leaving you feeling more anxious than ever. With a reluctant sigh, you got up and opened the door just a crack, barely able to look him in the eye.

Dabi stood there, his arms crossed, the annoyance on his face quickly morphing into a frown as he assessed you. His eyes widened slightly, the harsh lines of his expression softening as he took in your flushed cheeks and the way you swayed slightly on your feet.

“You look like shit,” he muttered, the bluntness of his words a strange juxtaposition to the concern creeping into his voice.

“I feel worse,” you admitted, letting the door open wider as you leaned against the frame for support. “What do you want?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m coming in.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open further and stepped inside, his presence filling the room. You felt a mix of annoyance and vulnerability, not sure how to process the sudden shift in his demeanor.

He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the disheveled sheets and the empty space beside you. “You’ve been in bed all day. Why didn’t you come out? Everyone’s worried about you.”

His voice held a note of genuine concern that caught you off guard. You swallowed hard, fighting back the lump forming in your throat. “I didn’t want to deal with anyone,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Especially you.”

“Yeah, well, too bad.” He moved closer, his gaze never leaving your face as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your forehead. “You’re burning up. What the hell is wrong with you?”

You flinched at the sudden contact, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. “I think I have a fever,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just need to rest.”

“Rest isn’t going to help if you’re sick.” Dabi sighed, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, I know I’ve been a dick, but—”

“Yeah, you have,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. “I didn’t deserve that today, Dabi.”

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I know,” he finally said, his tone softer now. “I’m… sorry. I don’t know how to deal with this, okay? I don’t do feelings.”

His admission hung heavy in the air, and you felt the tension between you begin to ease slightly. “You could’ve just talked to me instead of being an asshole,” you replied, a little more gently this time.

Dabi nodded, the irritation on his face replaced with a somber expression. “I get it. I messed up. But right now, you need help.”

Before you could respond, he stepped back and grabbed the blanket, folding it over his arm. “Get back in bed.” It was an order, but it felt more like concern, and you found yourself obeying, fatigue washing over you as you settled back under the covers.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his weight shifting the mattress slightly, and you felt a mixture of comfort and unease at his proximity. You watched him, his expression thoughtful as he looked at you, seemingly wrestling with his emotions.

“Just—just stay still for a second, okay?” He reached out again, his hand finding your forehead once more, his fingers cool against your skin. “You’re burning up. I can’t believe you let yourself get this bad.”

“Like I had a choice,” you muttered, your voice tinged with frustration. “I thought I could tough it out.”

“Clearly that didn’t work,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but it quickly faded. “You need to take it easy. I’ll get you some water or something.”

Before you could respond, he stood up, moving toward the small kitchenette in the corner of your room. You watched him rummage through the cabinets, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the sink. The sight of him, so focused and intent, made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with your illness.

When he returned, he handed you the glass with an unexpected gentleness, his expression softening as you took a sip. “Drink,” he insisted, watching you carefully. “You need to stay hydrated.”

You nodded, the cool water soothing your dry throat as you gulped it down. As you set the glass aside, you caught a glimpse of the concern etched on his features, something almost tender that made your stomach flip.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice quieter now as you met his gaze.

Dabi shrugged, his usual bravado faltering for just a moment. “Whatever. I just don’t want you to die on me. You’re too useful to the League for that.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, a little incredulous, but it felt good. “You really know how to charm a person, Dabi.”

“Yeah, I’m a real charmer,” he replied, rolling his eyes. But the corners of his mouth twitched upward, betraying the faintest hint of a smile.

You both fell into a comfortable silence, the tension easing as you allowed the moment to settle. Despite the heaviness in your chest and the throbbing in your head, you felt a warmth creeping in, a connection blooming in the quiet space between you.

“What did I do to make you mad today?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “Was it something I said?”

He shifted slightly, the laughter fading from his eyes as he contemplated your question. “It’s not about you. It’s—” He sighed, running a hand through his hair again. “It’s me. I just don’t want anyone to see that I care. I thought being a dick would keep you away, but it only pushed you closer.”

“Why do you care so much?” you probed, trying to understand the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

Dabi met your gaze, and for a brief moment, vulnerability flickered behind his usually guarded eyes. “Because you matter. And I don’t want to lose you.”

His honesty hung in the air, leaving you momentarily speechless. You hadn’t expected such a revelation, especially from someone who had built their walls so high. “Dabi—”

Before you could finish, he reached out, taking your hand in his, his grip surprisingly gentle. “I know I’m not the best at this, but just—just let me be here for you. I want to help, even if I don’t know how.”

Your heart raced, warmth blooming in your chest as his fingers intertwined with yours. “I’d like that,” you admitted, the sincerity of your words breaking through the fatigue that clung to you.

“Good,” he said, a smirk creeping back onto his face. “Now, let’s get you better. I’m not done with you yet.”

As you leaned back against the pillows, a sense of calm washed over you. Dabi might not have been perfect, but in that moment, he was there for you, a presence that grounded you as the ache in your head gradually faded, replaced by the warmth of his closeness and the promise of something more.

[needtoloveoutloud]

The readers are going to hate me for Chapter 25 of the story. I just know it.

Just finished it and literally almost cried while writing it.

God dammit.

I know that things will get better, but the readers don't. The hurt is strong with this one.

[summerlovingbaby]

Traitor Rewrite Part 3

Aizawa watched Y/N get dragged away. Her body limp and void of life, though her eyes were open. Her eyes were wide open yet she stared straight ahead, staring intensely at absolutely nothing but a brick wall. She stopped fighting and kicking and screaming and turned into a corpse.

Aizawa rubbed Eijiro, who collapsed on the ground, on the head briefly before exiting the viewing room. His eyes loomed over the room looking the top of bright yellow hair, and a loud booming voice that seemed to flow throughout police station.

He found who he was looking for. Yamada was loosing his temper with a vending machine that ate his change and spit out stale pretzels instead of the crisp yellow patoto chips that she wanted. He kicked at the vending machine once more before grabbing it by the sides and shaking it.

It didn’t work.

Aizawa tapped him on the shoulder and placed his head in between his shoulder blades and bit back a rather loud sigh that he didn’t want anyone to hear.

“ I want to go home.” he whispered.

“ I know, babe, me too.” Yamada said, poking at more buttons  on the vending machine before giving up and tossing his hands in the air. “ This damn machine.”

“ I want to go home.” He repeated. The thought of being in this police station any longer was unbearable. He couldn’t go back into that room with all his students looking to him for awnsers, he couldn’t stand exposed in this police station, with all the underpaid detectives looking at him like he was a disgrace.

Who was he kidding? He was one.

Yamada turned around and brushed his fingertips along his face, briefly taken aback with how hot he was. When he got upset, his body tempature rose about a hundred degrees. The tip of his nose was turning pink, and he quickly lowered his head to avoid the gaze of everybody in the room.

“ I want to go home.” he said again. “ Take me home, now, please.” he pleaded.

He blinked a few times,, before looking up again, and at that moment he felt like a little kid. He was confused and concerned and hungry and afraid. And he hadn’t a shit idea what to do about it. The air around him turned hot and he felt like his skin was peeling off if he stayed in that stuffy room anymore.

“ Yeah okay.” Yamada said. He turned on his heel, breifly letting go of Aizawa’s hand and feighning a stomach ache, before moaning loudly to anyone who would listen that it was important that he go home at once, along with his boyfriend, who he needed to take care of him.

It was a rather good show, he clutched his stomach and slouched over. And if anyone tried to stop him he would heave and gag until they let him pass, dragging Aizaw a behind him, who offered no resitance and seemed rather amused with the whole thing.

Aizawa made quick arangements for the students, leaving them in the care of Midnight and Princeapal Nezu. Most of the kids liked them well enough and those who wouldn’t listen, Aizawa deemed them responsable enough to care for themselves so that was that.

Midnight ushered the students out of the viewing room, most of them to shocked to resist. All except Deku, who had his nose pressed against the glass, his mouth open and breathing hot air onto the window.

This felt all wrong. 

It had to be all wrong,

Eijiro through himself into histeryics and needed help to stand up and leave. His mouth flops open every time he tried to breath. Breathing was never something that he thought he would have a problem with, but there he was struggling to get air in his lungs and push it back out. The room around him blurs and the people turn into soft shapes and shadows. They are all asking him questions, that he can’t understand, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to respond. 

He wanted to go home, and nap. His bones ached with exhaustion, having not slept for days.

Everytime he tried to sleep, he would close his eyes and someone would start screaming, when he opened it the screaming would go away, so he ended up laying flat on his back staring at the ceiling. He thought the light fixture above his bed, looked remarkably like  a boob, and that never failed to make him happy, but for some reason it made him burst in to tears.

It’s probably because it never failed to make Y/N laugh like an adolesent school girl. She would point at it and laugh until she made her cheeks pink and she would double over. Eijro would poke at her stomach and tickle her thighs just to help her laugh more.

He loved her laugh. He loved her. Or at least he thinks he does. Or he used to at least.

“ What do you need?” Mina asked. 

Someone helped him sit in a white plastic chair, that could really use a seat cushion, because it was absoultly absurd that they would expect anyone to sit in those chairs for long stretches of time.

“ Can I get you some chips?” Sero spoke while handing a bag of chips, it crinkled loudly and it made him angry.

“ What about water, he needs water. “ Iida shoved a large bottle at his chest while he shouted.

“ It’s kind of cold, someone find him a blanket!” 

He didn’t even recognize the voice, but it sounded more frantic than he did. His lungs hurt, and he needed oxygen he couldn’t seem to find a breath of air. Maybe that was because everyone was so damn close to him sucking up all his oxygen.

“ He needs to drink the water first, he’s lost a lot of fluids.” Iida exclaimed.

Everyone was talking around him, sucking up all the oygen. there breath stunk up the already stale air. He wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep , and he wanted someone to speak to him like he was a person, yet nobody was.

He pulled on Bakugou’s sleeve. Bakugou was looking at the wall with a stony expression. He yanked on it, hard, to get his attention.

“ I want to go home.” he said. 

Bakugou moved his eyes down to look at him blinking rapidly. Kirisima knew two things in that moment. Bakugou looked down at him with curious eyes and a quizzical expression, he was thinking,

1. He needed to get out of this damn police station before he went crazy.

2. He needed to get Bakugou out of here and back to his hot tempered self.

“ I want to go home.” he said again. It was louder this time, so Iida heard him.

“ He wants to go home, someone take him home.” Iida said rather loudly.

Eijiro looked up at him, with big butter eyes melting down his face. “ Take me home, please?” He asked. “ I can’t breathe here.” he whispered.

Bakugou yanked him up by the arm, making him stand and pushed through the crowd of classmates who were doing there absolute best to help him, but making things certainly worse.

Nobody wanted Eijiro to be alone with Bakugou, a boy who lashed out whenever he felt like, but Bakugou wasn’t a person that you would stand up to. Unless you were Izuku, who was standing in the corner, his bright green eyes looking off into the distance. His left eyebrow was raised so that meant he was confused or bored.

They made it outside with minimal ressitance, and Kirishima ran to the nearest tree, hunched over and clutched his stomach, before promptly throwing up his breakfast and gagging on his own stomach bile.

Bakugou rubbed his back, but it didn’t help.

His heart hurt. 

It felt like someone took a knife and cut out a piece of his lungs and his stomach.

“ Sorry.” he said, standing once more. “ I don’t feel-” he doubled over once more, this time gripping on to the tree every time he heaved as to not fall over, he was afraid that if he fell over, he wouldn’t want to get up.

And if he didn’t get up, he would die at the base of the tree due to expousre or starvation,

Once he was finished, Bakugou made him stand, offered him water, which he didn’t except, just took the plastic bottle out of his hands and threw it at the ground. The bottle poped on the ground, and they both watched the water melt into the ground. 

Bakugou walked with him to the nearest bus stop, then sat next to him on the bus ride, that was before he walked him to the dorms after and insited on spending the night.

Deku felt wrong, something about this felt all wrong. He knew Y/N, or he thought he did. They grew up together, she spent her formative years at his house, when things got bad at home. He held her while she cried about her mother leaving her, and her sister leaving and her father being arrested for killing her brother.His mother fostered her for 3 months while her grandmother was under investigation, and it all seemed wrong.

“ This can’t be real.” Deku muttered. “ This can’t be true.”

“ It is, Midoriya. I mean you saw all the evidence!” Iida chided. “ Her laptop, her phone, the letters to her father-” he spoke.

“ I just find it hard to believe-”

“ Well believe it.” Aoyama snapped. “ They found all that evidence, and probably more stuff that they couldn’t tell us about.” he walked to the vending machine and looked at his reflection in the glass. He pushed a blonde hair out of his face and rubbed at his eyes. “ It’s best that we forget about this matter, and move on.”

“ Aoyama-” Shoji whispered.

“ I SAID WE SHOULD FORGET ABOUT IT!” he snapped. His voice high pitched as he shouted briefly losing his composure. 

He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection and fixed his hair once more. He was starting to loose it, and he couldn’t. Not now, not after everything he’s had to do. Not after what he just had to do, he couldn’t.

“ I’m sorry, I lost my composure. The last bus for UA leaves in 20 minutes. I suggest we don’t miss it.”“ he chirped. He plastered a white smile on his face, shoved a dollar bill in the machine and it spit out skittles. God, he loved skittles.

He walked through the station, most of the rest of the class following him, Midnight attempting and failing to maintain some sort of order. Mineta yanked at the bottom of her blouse, trying to reach it to unbutton it, which resulted in her grabbing him by his hair and dangling him out infront of her to the ride to the bus stop.

Shoto and Deku remained at the police station. Deku wasn’t ready to leave, and Shoto wasn’t ready to meet his father, and tell him how much of a failure he was. Denki sat down at the table next to him, wiping wet hands on his denim jeans to dry them.

“ What are you still doing here?” Shoto asked, looking up from the bag of stale pretezels he stole.

“ I had to take a piss.” he said. “ Ohh. Pretezels.” he exclaimed, snatching the bag from Shoto. “ Where’s everybody else.”

“ Catching a bus.” he replied flatly.

“ What are you still doing here?” he asked.

Truthfully, if Izuku was being honest, he had a bad idea. Would it be bad if he broke into a evidence locker, yes it would be bad. And could it make things worse for him and Y/N,  yes. But he had to know, he had to make sense of everything that was happening. His brain weighed down by to many facts, his heart fogged with the idea that Y/N could be bad.

She was the one bright thing in his life, the one person who never pitied him for being quirkless, never bullied him, never hurt him, She protected him from bullies, but not because he couldn’t defend himself, but because she protected all her friends. She was feircly loyal, and would take a beating for anyone that she cared about.

That’s why he had a hard time understanding that she was a bad person. Y/N, his Y/N, the girl who used to plant daisies in the empty lot next door because she wanted people to look at something pretty on their way to wherever they were going.

“ I don-” he started, his voice high pitched and squeaky. He was always a rotten liar.

“ Izuku’s here because he’s planning to break into their evidence room to see the evidence.” he replied flatly. his hands gripping the edge of the table.

“ I AM NOT-”

“ You’re a rotten liar.” Denki replied with a grin, he was always one to like to cause trouble. “ You got a plan or what?”

“ Nope.” he popped his lips. “ Well I do, but it’s a rotten one.”

“ Which means we should go home, right?” Todoroki asked, looking up from his snack with a half hearted smile.

                                                     -

Eijiro finally went to sleep around 3 AM, and he stopped crying at about 4. He curled up in Bakugou’s arms, and pushed himself against his chest so he could hear his heartbeat- the only thing that managed to calm him down.

Izuku snuck into the common area, as soon as he heard all the commotion die down and he assumed it was empty. He put on all black, packed up his climbing gear in a bag and tip toed out of the room. He snuck past the common room, he stepped on a particularly creaky floorboard and a light flicked on.

“ Midoryia... I assume there’s a logical explanation for this.” Iida sat in the blue armchiar, his arms crossed neatly over his chest.

“ Not one you would like.” he replied.

Iida stood up slowly, thinking of what to say, before he placed hands on his hips and walked in circles around the armchair. “ I suggest you go back to your dorm.”

“ Or what? You’ll report me?”

“ No, but even you can assume that this is a horrendus idea.” he said. “ I get it, you being her friend in all-”

“ She’s saved my time more times than I can count, it just doesn’t make  sense for her to be the bad guy.” he said. He walked to the pantry and pulled out a granola bar, and 2 water bottles.

“ You’ll soon learn that they world is more black and white than you realize.” he spoke. Iida sat back down, crossed his arms and faced the door.

“ I don’t want to see it that way.” 

He looked at the large UA painted on the floor and scoffed. Some damn hero he was. Y/N was right he was a pathetic coward and not much else. He was supposed to be a hero, and he wanted it so bad he forgot what it meant.

“ Regardless of how you decide to see the world, whatever plan you’re thinking about, is a bad idea. “ he stood once more. “ I suggest you tell Todoroki and Denki and whoever else you planned on roping into this idea to go to bed as well. I get she was your friend, and this has to be hard, but you won’t help nothing by getting yourself arrested. Go back to your dorm, and we will come up with a smarter plan tomorrow.” he said.

Midorya walked out of the common room, quickly motioned the classmates who agreed to this plan that it was off and waddled back to his room. He planned on staying up all night to think, but his bones ached and his head hurt and as soon as he hit he pillow he fell into one of the deepest sleeps he ever had. He had a pleasant dream. He was a kid again, so were all his friends. Bakugou hadn’t become a bully and Y/N had a home and a  family again.

Y/N on the other hand, was in for a waking nightmare.

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[loveandfictionforall]

Headcanons or a one shot where reader comforts Mirio early in the time where he lost his quirk?

If you like it, please be kind and reblog it 🥰

I really like this request. It was really devastating as he lost his quirk 🥺

When you reached the Mirios room in the hospital, you felt the tension and despair in it already. You straightened yourself as you lightly knocked.

"Come in.", came the voice from your boyfriend. Carefully you opened the door, slipped in and closed it again.

"Hey sweetie.", you said as you slowly walked towards him. Mirio looked for a second at you, before he turned towards the window. "Hi.", he murmured. You furrowed your eyebrows at how he acted. He never was like that. Never.

"What happened? Are you okay?", you finally asked as you stood beside his bed, your hand grabbing his. His fingers were lax, not closing around yours. "Mirio, please talk to me.", you added as Mirio did not respond after some minutes.

You could see how his lips began to quiver as he stubbornly stared out if the window. You let him have some time but as nearly ten minutes passed, you finally had enough. You did not understand what had happened that made him so... sad. And because of that, you walked right into his gaze and finally his ryes met yours.

And that was everthing it took apparently because his eyes filled with tears which quickly spilled over. Your heart ached at his obvious despair.

"Oh, sweetie.", you said, your own voice wobbling as you leaned over the edge of the bed to hug your boyfriend. This time, he did not denied the touch and hugged you tightly back.

"I lost my quirk.", he sobbed as he fisted your shirt and buried his face in your chest. "They took it from me with a quirk deleter.", he then added. You felt as you had no air left. His quirk got deleted? For good? Oh, you could understand him. You would feel equally as lost and as all your dreams were gone. And because of that, you hugfed him as tight as you could, stroking gently his hair as he cried into you. His sobs were shaking his whole body. He held so long back and now everything just broke out of him after suppressing it.

"Sweetheart.", you started, but your voice felt weak and your eyes were damp. "It will work out. We will find a solution. And if anyone can work around it, it will be you. I still love you but I know it will be difficult for you, to find your strenght again and be comfortable as who you are."

Mirio did not respond but he did not have to. You could understand that it was difficult for him now. Losing a whole part of yourself. A part which you relayed on was now gone. But time would heal the wound a bit and then you would find a solution. Every poison had a cure.

[frickingnerd]

dabi with a s/o who has a healing quirk

pairing: touya todoroki / dabi x gn!reader

tags: hurt/comfort, painful quirk / quirk with drawbacks, league of villains member!reader, protective!dabi, touya has a crush on you

you met dabi when you joined the league of villains

you were responsible for patching up the villains after their assaults against the heroes

at first, dabi didn't think much of you

but the two of you started to chat with each other a little each time you were healing him

he realized that you were too nice to be a villain and yet you had decided to stick with them

you could've joined any hero agency you wanted to with your quirk and yet you had landed here – with the villains!

he was intrigued by you and he couldn't help falling for you

dabi started to ask more questions about you, to learn more about your past, trying to understand you better

and it was during all of that that he discovered something about your quirk. something you had been hiding from him and the league of villains

your quirk had always seemed a bit too perfect in his eyes. you could heal any wound and it would barely even leave a scar

but there had been a drawback to your quirk. one that you had been keeping a secret from everyone

whenever you were healing someone, you could feel their pain

all those times when he came back half dead and let you heal his wounds, you could feel his pain as well…

as soon as he realized it, dabi started to feel horrible about it

he had put you through so much pain, without even realizing it! you were suffering all those months with him…

and you were healing the other members as well!

he couldn't even imagine how painful it must've been to be burdened with everyone's pain each day

now that dabi knew about the drawbacks of your quirk, he tried to avoid letting you use it

and he started to scold anyone who depended on your quirk too much

dabi would much rather prefer to watch his comrades suffer than you…

[cyb3r-sh0t]

Back Home

prohero! bakugo x fem prohero! reader

🝮 angst to fluff, crying, hurt/comfort

summary: katsuki and y/n are both pro heroes and it can be a strain on the relationship, after an excruciating 2 month, no-contact mission, she comes home to an empty house.

———————————————————————————

The sky was a darkening indigo as Katsuki's footsteps echoed down the deserted alley. She endured two grueling months, two months of relentless fighting and missions without a single moment to breathe, let alone contact anyone.

She had imagined this moment so many times: walking through the door, dropping her gear, and luggage, finding Katsuki there, his fiery eyes softening just for her. But as she turned the key and stepped into their home, the silence hit her like a physical blow.

The house was empty, eerily so. The familiar scent of him, usually so comforting, seemed faint and distant. She kicked off her boots, the thud echoing in the quiet. The living room was exactly as she left it. Her heart sank further with each step she took.

"Katsuki?" she called out, her voice echoing through the empty rooms. There was no response, only the oppressive silence pressing in from all sides.

She moved through the house, her footsteps quickening with each unanswered call. "Katsuki, are you here?" she called again, louder this time, the edge of desperation creeping into her voice. The kitchen, the bedroom-every room was devoid of his presence.

Her mind raced with possible reasons for his absence. Maybe he had been called away, maybe he was out on patrol. The rational part of her tried to make sense of it, but the emotional toll of the last two months was too great. She pulled out her phone, hands trembling slightly as she dialed his number. It rang once, twice, three times. Each ring felt like an eternity.

"Come on, pick up," she muttered, her heart pounding in her chest. The call went to voicemail, his voice on the recording a cruel reminder of how much she missed him.

"Hey, it's Katsuki. Leave a message."

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "Katsuki, it's me. I'm home…. where are you? Please call me back." She ended the call, staring at the phone in her hand as if willing it to ring.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. She tried calling again, and again it went to voicemail. Each unanswered call felt like another layer of her resolve crumbling away. She just wanted to see him.

The weight of exhaustion and disappointment pressing down on her, she collapsed onto the couch. She had held it together for so long, through every mission, every battle, every lonely night. But now, in the supposed sanctuary of their home, the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow freely, sobs wracking her body.

Minutes, or maybe hours, passed in a blur of tears and gasping breaths. She knew in her heart that he would’ve wanted to be here when she got back but each rational thought was quickly drowned by the overwhelming tide of loneliness and fatigue. She was so tired, so utterly spent, and the emptiness of the house only amplified her despair.

Eventually, the exhaustion won out. She curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow, and cried herself to sleep, her tears drying on her cheeks.

Hours later, the front door creaked open. Katsuki stepped inside, his face lined with worry and fatigue. The villain attack in the next city had been brutal and unexpected, and he hadn't even had a chance to send a message.

His heart clenched at the sight of her, curled up and vulnerable on the couch. He moved quietly, not wanting to wake her just yet.

He knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face to examine her features. The tear stains on her cheeks made his chest tighten with guilt. He knew how hard it had been, knew how much she had needed him. And he had needed her too. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Hey," he whispered softly, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm here now."

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, then her gaze focused on him, and the relief that washed over her was palpable.

"Katsuki?" Her voice was barely a whisper, raw from crying.

"Yeah, it's me," he said, his own eyes betraying the depth of his feelings. "I'm so sorry. There was an emergency... I couldn't..."

She reached up, touching his face as if to make sure he was real. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” he said fiercely, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.

She sat up, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as if he could fuse their souls together. She buried her face in his neck, breathing him in, grounding herself in his presence.

"I missed you, Katsuki," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"I know, baby," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on her back, “i missed you too, so much.”

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms.

They moved to the bedroom, shedding the weight of their gear and the day. As they lay together, tangled in each other’s arms, the silence was no longer oppressive.

Katsuki held her close, his hand gently tracing her face. "I love you," he whispered into the darkness.

"I love you too.”

———————————————————————————

a/n: heyy, this is the first finished one shot i’ve written and posted so i’m open to any tips and critiques

© cyb3r_sh0t_ all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my work without my permission. thank you for reading and supporting my work

[minus-plus-zer0]

Bakugou Fights For You

♡ Genre: Hurt/comfort (minor), fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Timid!Reader ♡ Tags: Established relationships

You couldn’t easily stand up for yourself when people were rude to you. People didn’t think twice before interrupting you, ignoring what you said, and crossing your boundaries. Even if you looked visibly uncomfortable they still considered their actions to be harmless. It felt like everybody had a bone to pick with you just because you looked like the type to take it without complaining.

Bakugou hated it. He saw how much it bothered you and how often it happened. Bakugou picked a full-blown fight every time somebody pulled some shit. No matter how you sweet and timid you looked, that was no reason for them to disregard what you said. No matter how many people messed with you, Bakugou would fight them all off.

Bakugou gave you a full listening ear after it was all over, kissing you as a reward for voicing your thoughts.

Bakugou stayed by your side when you went out and about in the town, so you’d have his “big scary dog” privileges.

Bakugou told you that you’ve got every reason to be pissed off and to want to rip these guys to shreds.

Bakugou was the one who could never grow tired of hearing your voice when you finally got the courage to speak.

[sprytesukii]

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

[cyberesc]

THE BOY IS MINE. (PART 2)

pairing: Prohero!Bakugo x Prohero!Reader

rating: slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader needs a break tbh

note: I forgot where I was originally going with this story when I wrote this a few years ago since part 2 was only 70% done in my drafts, hope this was a good read ! it was fun writing dialogue for Hitomi, might bring her back for a new series🤐

part 1

You don't know when it happened, but somehow, your very existence seemed to aggravate Hitomi, for reasons you couldn’t understand. Your coworkers noticed it, even your assistant made a passing comment, but they urged you not to take it personally. Still, the cold stares, the subtle digs, and the way she tried to one-up you at every turn, it all started to wear on you. What you didn’t know was that her attitude stemmed from the time she spent in one-on-one training sessions with Bakugo.

The list of things Bakugo is good at is so long it would be stupid to write about, so it was obvious that he would be the perfect mentor. His sharp eyes caught every mistake, his feedback was brutally honest, and his results were undeniable. Hitomi knew this and respected him for it. But there was something else that ate away at her during those sessions, something that made her resentment towards you grow stronger with each passing day.

It started with the small comments Bakugo would make, things he probably didn’t even realize he was saying out loud. “Y/N always nails this move on the first try,” he muttered once, when Hitomi fumbled during a drill. Or, “You’re gripping too tight—Y/N knows how to balance strength with control.” At first, Hitomi tried to brush it off, telling herself that Bakugo was just using you as an example to push her to do better, after all you were in the top rankings of Japan for a reason. But the more it happened, the more it grated on her. It wasn't just that you were good—it was that you seemed to be the benchmark against which she was measured.

The worst part, the part that truly made her snap, came during a routine training session. Hitomi was testing the mobility of her suit after some recent upgrades, moving through the drills with the precision she had honed under Bakugo’s guidance. He observed her as usual, his sharp eyes catching every nuance, every mistake.

But then, as she finished a complex maneuver, he made a comment that made her blood run cold. “You’ve got the power, but you’re hesitating,” Bakugo remarked, his tone almost distracted. “They would’ve read that shift in a heartbeat, made the move smoother.” he continued under his breath.

He didn’t even look at her when he said it. The reference was subtle, but Hitomi knew exactly who he meant. He talked about you enough for her to pick up on the unspoken comparison.

It wasn’t just that he compared her to you; it was that, in his mind, you were the standard she could never reach. The unattainable.

In that moment, it solidified for Hitomi: no matter how hard she trained, no matter how perfectly she executed every move, she would always be second to you in his eyes. His words echoed in her head, taunting her, and she knew then that she wasn’t just competing with a fellow hero. She was battling against the idealized version of you that Bakugo seemed to hold onto, an impossible shadow she could never escape.

It wasn’t rare for Dynamight to be paired with lower-ranking heroes on missions or patrols, but you happened to be his frequent partner. You weren’t sure if it was because your quirks worked well together or because you could read each other in any situation. Little did you know, Bakugo’s unconscious behavior around you was something even his assistant had picked up on. He didn’t lose his temper as easily when you were around, and on the rare occasions he did, it was never directed at you. He even made subtle nods at reporters before blasting off with you by his side. Almost every mission you collaborated on ended successfully, a fact that wasn’t lost on the agency.

Hitomi had noticed, too. She watched the way Bakugo seemed more grounded when you were around, how he sometimes deferred to your judgment without argument, and how he never seemed to mind your presence. That’s what made her resentment so sharp—it was one thing to compete with you in training, but another thing entirely to see that you were already a fixture in the life of the hero she admired—the man she wanted.

Your first mistake, if you could even call it that, was during a debriefing session. Hitomi had suggested a strategy, one that was sound but flawed in a way only experience could detect. You pointed it out, offering a correction in a calm, professional manner. It wasn’t meant to be demeaning, but to Hitomi, it felt like a public embarrassment. And Bakugo, instead of defending her, nodded in agreement with you, reinforcing the gap between her and you in his mind.

Another time, in the break room, she overheard a conversation where Bakugo was praising your tactical instincts. He never did that for anyone else, not even her—the one he had personally trained to analyze and fight just like him. She had been mentored by the best, molded to think and act with the same precision and intensity that Bakugo himself embodied. So, it came as a shock when she realized that everything she did, using everything she had learned from him, wasn’t good enough to hold his attention.

From then on, every interaction with you became a painful reminder that you held a place in Bakugo’s life that she couldn’t touch. So, she decided to carve out her own space, to prove that she could be the one who stood by his side.

The tension between you two only grew, feeding off these moments until it became a palpable force within the agency. And as much as you tried to stay above it, to focus on your work and ignore the subtle hostility, it was impossible not to notice. The whispers of office gossip, the way Hitomi would shoot you a look whenever Bakugo acknowledged you in a meeting—it all added up, and it all pointed to the truth you were too kind to see: Hitomi wasn’t just competing with you. She wanted to take everything you had, including Bakugo.

Hitomi’s resentment towards you was not something she could easily suppress. It wasn’t just about competition; it was personal. And when she realized that Bakugo saw you as a benchmark she could never reach, it drove her to desperate measures. If she couldn’t directly compete with you on the field, she would try to outmaneuver you in the court of public opinion.

So she set up a rumor to shift the narrative. It began subtly, with carefully orchestrated moments designed to seed the idea in the media. She made sure to be seen with Bakugo frequently, arranging coincidental encounters that were just intimate enough to spark curiosity. It was all carefully planned to catch the eye of the paparazzi.

The crucial moment came when Hitomi arranged for an image to be captured. A staged photo, one that would make it look like she and Bakugo were involved in a romantic relationship. The key was using a lookalike, someone who bore a striking resemblance to Bakugo, someone subtle enough to create a convincing illusion without risking his actual reputation.

The resulting photo, taken from a distance, showed Bakugo— or allegedly Bakugo—with his arm around Hitomi’s shoulders.

She meticulously chose the location of Bakugo’s favorite konbini, a spot he frequented to fuel up between patrols. This particular konbini was a well-kept secret among a few close friends and had become a sort of personal refuge for him. By selecting this location, Hitomi aimed to make a statement—a pointed message aimed directly at you.

The magazine’s social media team spread the image far and wide, igniting a storm of speculation and gossip. Fans and media alike began buzzing about the potential romance, analyzing every interaction between Bakugo and Hitomi for signs of affection. The craze was relentless, and soon, it became a trending topic. Headlines everywhere echoed the same speculation, and Hitomi basked in the growing buzz.

It was a clever ploy. With Bakugo’s name and your connection to him constantly in the limelight, it created a smokescreen that obscured the truth and shifted public perception. By the time you and Bakugo were confronted with the rumor, it had already gained enough traction to cause serious damage. Hitomi had successfully planted the seeds of doubt, making it seem like she was the one who had captured Bakugo’s attention.

Hitomi’s actions were not just about rivalry. She was trying to erase your presence and position herself as the ideal partner, hoping that by winning over those around Bakugo and creating a convincing narrative, she could finally gain what she felt she deserved.

Hitomi’s plan was working, and you were now caught in the crossfire of a fight you hadn’t even realized you were part of. And that’s where it all began to unravel.

After your checkup at the agency’s infirmary, the reality of your situation set in. The injury was severe enough that your boss decided to put you on desk duty until you were fully recovered. It was frustrating, but you had little choice but to comply.

Today, you found yourself seated at your desk, sifting through paperwork and mission reports. The mundane tasks offered a welcome distraction from your physical pain, but it did little to quell the storm of emotions that raged within you.

The agency’s hallways bustled with activity, heroes and sidekicks moving about in their usual hurried fashion. You were doing your best to stay out of everyone’s way, trying to blend into the background. You were engrossed in organizing a stack of reports when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up.

“Hey, Y/N!” The cheery, singsong voice of Hitomi reached your ears, and you tensed. You had hoped to avoid any direct communication with her, but it seemed luck wasn’t on your side today.

You looked up slowly, forcing a neutral expression onto your face as she approached you with a case file under one arm and a newspaper clutched in her hand. Her gaze flicked over to you with an expression that was anything but friendly.

“How can I help you?,” you said curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

“I thought you might want to see this,” she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness. She tossed the newspaper onto your desk and placed the case file beside it.

Looking down, your heart sank as you read the newspaper’s headline: “ANOTHER HERO BITES THE DUST! PRO HERO Y/H/N CAN’T HANDLE THE HEAT!” The article was filled with damning criticisms and snide remarks, painting you in a poor light due to your mess up.

Hitomi smirked as she noticed your reaction. “You know how it is. The media loves to stir up drama. Thought you’d appreciate the heads-up.” She gave you a patronizing wave and turned to leave.

The moment she was gone, you let out a heavy sigh, grabbing the newspaper and crumpling it in your hands. With a grimace, you tossed it into the trash can, trying to ignore the sting of humiliation that the article left behind.

It had been a week since the billboard incident, and despite your best efforts to avoid Bakugo, it was inevitable that you would cross paths eventually. You had spent those days focusing on your hero work, throwing yourself into your duties with an intensity that left you exhausted by the end of each day. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the heavy weight in your chest.

Boring days of recovery were soon over. The bandages were finally coming off, and you were able to inspect your hero suit in preparation for your first patrol since the incident. The repairs were almost complete, and you hoped that getting back to work would help distract you from the recent turmoil.

As you were adjusting your suit in the testing room, you heard the door swing open. Hitomi walked in with her repaired support gear, her humming coming to a halt at the sight of you.

“Hey Y/N!” She greeted

You nodded in greeting, quickly attaching the support items to your suit to avoid a conversation.

She didn’t seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm. “I saw you around the other day but didn’t get a chance to chat. You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” Her tone was laced with false sweetness, and you could sense the underlying hostility.

“Paperwork kept me busy,” you replied, adjusting the straps to your suit . You really didn’t want to have this conversation.

Her smile widened, as she took a step closer. “Well, you know how it is around here. There’s always something to keep us busy,” she said, her tone light. “I guess it’s why they say people like us need someone who understands the grind, right? Someone who gets how demanding this work can be.”

You felt a subtle tension in her words, but you weren’t sure where she was going with this. “Yeah, it’s a tough job.”

Hitomi’s eyes flickered with a hint of something more as she leaned in slightly. “Exactly. That’s why it’s so important to have someone who can keep up, someone who’s… on the same level. Makes things easier, don’t you think?”

There was an undercurrent to her words that you couldn’t ignore, but you weren’t ready to engage with it. “I suppose,” you replied cautiously.

She tilted her head, her smile never wavering. “Like Bakugo, for instance. He really needs someone who understands him, someone who’s in sync with him. It’s funny how the media picks up on these things.”

Your chest tightened, the implication of her words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “The media?” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral.

“Oh, you know how they are,” she said with a casual shrug. “Always speculating about who’s with who, who’s spending time together… Sometimes they’re not too far off, though.” She chuckled softly, but there was a sharp edge to the sound. “But I guess that’s just part of being in the spotlight.”

You raised a brow at her words as she continued.

“You know—people talk. They notice who spends time together, who seems… close. But anyway, it’s a shame you’ve been avoiding Bakugo. But I guess it’s for the best.”

Realizing what she was insinuating, you could feel the tension building in your chest. “What are you getting at, Hitomi?”

She maintained that infuriatingly casual tone. “Oh, nothing specific. Just making an observation. But…let’s be real, Y/N. You were never really in the running, were you?”

You bit down on your tongue, recalling the lessons from your time as a sidekick at Endeavor's agency. Back then, you were trained to handle criticism and bounce back quickly. Being a hero meant facing harsh judgment from reporters and the press, and you had learned to develop a thick skin. You’d been through the wringer as a rookie, chewed up and spit out, and had come out stronger for it. Hitomi wasn’t the first to try and get under your skin, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Your resolve was solid, and you weren’t about to let her words shake you now.

Seeing that you had no reaction, she pressed on, her tone turning more aggressive. “Honestly, I’m surprised you’re even still around here. I mean, after that slip-up the other night, it’s a miracle you didn’t get yourself killed. Maybe you should stick to the sidelines and let the real heroes do the work.”

Something inside you snapped. The pain and frustration that had been building up for days suddenly burst free, and you opened your mouth to retort—but before you could say a word, a familiar voice cut through the air, sharp and angry.

“What the hell did you just say?”

You both turned to see Bakugo standing a few feet away, his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at the sidekick. His presence was like a storm cloud rolling in, the atmosphere around him crackling with barely contained fury.

The sidekick’s confident demeanor faltered, her eyes widening in surprise and a hint of fear. “D-Dynamight! I was just—”

“You were just what?” Bakugo interrupted, stepping closer. “Talking shit to Y/H/N? Your superior?”

She stammered, clearly panicking. “I-I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—”

Bakugo’s expression darkened, his voice low and deadly calm. “You should know better than to run your mouth about things you don’t understand.”

The sidekick’s eyes darted between you and Bakugo, realizing she was in serious trouble. “But—”

Bakugo spoke over her, his patience completely gone. “You’ve got some nerve, talking like you know a damn thing about me or Y/N.”

You were frozen in place, watching the scene unfold in disbelief. Even after avoiding him for so long and keeping your distance, Bakugo was defending you—unrelentingly—and it was clear that he wasn’t going to let Hitomi off the hook.

“You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since you got here. Cause of what? All the delusional crap you read in a magazine? That ends now.”

The sidekick paled. “I’m sorry, Dynamight, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it. Now get the hell out of here.” he growled, not giving her a chance to finish.

You could hear when her heart broke, she glanced at you one last time, a look you read that you’ve won. Without another word, she bolted from the room, her confidence completely shattered. The moment she was gone, Bakugo turned his attention to you, his expression softening slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

You stared at him, still reeling from what had just happened. “Bakugo, I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone gentler than before. “Don’t apologize for her being a damn idiot.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize,” you said quietly. “I just… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

You looked down at your feet, your voice barely above a whisper. “About the rumors… I thought it was true.”

Bakugo let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Of course you did. Those vultures love to stir up shit for clicks. None of it was true. I’m not dating her—or anyone.”

You felt lighter from his words but quickly pushed down the hope that tried to rise in your chest. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he muttered, looking almost sheepish. “I told you before, I wasn’t interested in dating. And I figured you’d know I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of crap.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of relief and lingering hurt. “I… I didn’t want to assume anything. And after what I saw… I guess I thought I had misread everything between us.”

Bakugo’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You didn’t misread anything. I know what I said before—But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, dumbass.”

The warmth of his hand on your shoulder, the sincerity in his eyes—it was too much. Your resolve crumbled, and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I thought you were just stringing me along.”

Bakugo’s heart ached at the sight of your tears, and without hesitation, he gently pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “’m sorry… I can be a total idiot sometimes, but I’d never screw with you on purpose.”

He rested his chin on your head. “So, don’t let that bullshit get to you.”

You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself relax into his embrace. “I missed you,” you mumbled into his hero suit, the words escaping before you could stop them.

He let out a soft huff, his hand moving to the back of your head, holding you close. The sound of his heart skipping a beat was unmistakable. “Missed you too, idiot. We’ll figure this out, okay? Just… don’t shut me out again.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the weight that had been pressing down on you finally start to lift. “Okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. “Look, I’m not great at this, but… I want to try. With you.”

Your breath hitched, hope flaring back to life in your chest. “Really?”

Bakugo nodded, his expression serious. “Yeah. We can take it slow, figure things out…but I’m not letting you walk away.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Katsuki.”

He smiled, his dimples appearing at the sound of his first name rolling off your tongue, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

You leaned into him, feeling the last remnants of doubt melt away. As he pulled back, you felt his breath against your skin. His eyes flickered down to your lips, with an unspoken question hung in the air. Without overthinking it, you leaned up on your toes, closing the small distance between you.

Bakugo hesitated for the briefest of moments, then closed the gap, capturing your lips in a kiss that was tender. Everything he couldn’t say with words was poured into that kiss—every frustration, every ounce of care, every unresolved feeling that had been simmering between you for so long.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned into the kiss, the warmth of his embrace grounding you. His hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer as if he was afraid you might slip away. The world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s. His eyes were still half-lidded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks—a rare sight for him.

“Damn idiot,” he muttered softly, his voice laced with affection. “Should’ve kissed me sooner.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move.”

He huffed, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Guess I’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you in for another kiss, this one deeper, more confident—like he was staking his claim. And you kissed him back with equal fervor, knowing that, this time, you weren’t going to let anything or anyone come between you.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed in his arms, content and more at ease than you had felt in weeks. The uncertainty that had plagued you was gone. And for now, that was more than enough.

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[thatlotuscookie]

👋👋how about Dabi x reader, when he has a nightmare about his past and when he wakes up in cold sweat and everything he doesn't want comfort reader tries to give him and he pushes her away, so reader obviously leaves him be and turns away from him. and then how he actually wants a hug more than anything but he's so awkward to ask or something, like he struggles with forming words🥺 and then he cries or something ❤️

✧･ﾟ: a/n : aww the perfect blend of hurt and comfort in this request is literally so perfect. i love this. enjoy and thank you for the request!

✧ Title: ✧ Home is With You ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Fem!Reader ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst - Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: In the darkness of the night, Dabi battles the ghosts of his past while you offer him the comfort he struggles to accept. ✧ Content Warning: Nightmares, Emotional Distress, Mentions of a Toxic/Abusive Household, Vulnerability, Tears ✧ WC: 1594 words // 8.6k chars

The room was cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon filtering through the blinds. Everything was calm, or so it seemed. You were curled up beside Dabi, your head resting on his chest as his slow, steady heartbeat lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

But even in sleep, Dabi wasn’t at peace. His body twitched, his breath uneven as the shadows of his past crept into his mind, turning the quiet of the night into a living nightmare.

His dreams were filled with fire—flames consuming everything in sight. His skin felt like it was burning all over again, the heat unbearable as he heard distant screams, his family’s voices echoing in his head. His father’s harsh words, his own screams of agony—everything was a blur of pain and flames. It was always the same. No matter how hard he tried to forget, the memories wouldn’t let him.

In his sleep, his body jerked violently, his muscles tense, hands clenching into fists as he tried to fight off the invisible enemies haunting his mind. You stirred beside him, noticing the change in his breathing, the tension in his body.

“Dabi?” you whispered, your voice soft as you placed a gentle hand on his arm. But he didn’t wake up. He was still trapped in his nightmare, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, his breath quickening.

Suddenly, he gasped, his eyes snapping open as he bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved with the force of his panicked breaths, his eyes wide and wild as he tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare. For a moment, he didn’t even know where he was, his mind still trapped in that hellish landscape of fire and pain.

You sat up quickly, your heart pounding in concern. “Dabi? What’s wrong?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch him, to comfort him. But before your hand could reach him, he swatted it away.

“Don’t… touch me,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice harsh and strained. His body trembled as he struggled to rein in his emotions, his hands shaking as he clenched them into fists, digging his nails into his palms. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness, especially to you.

Your heart sank at the sharpness in his voice, the way he recoiled from your touch. It hurt, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to hurt you. This was Dabi—he wasn’t good with vulnerability, wasn’t used to being comforted. You had learned that early on in your relationship. Still, it didn’t stop the sting of rejection from settling in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling your hand back as you gave him the space he so clearly needed. You turned away from him, lying back down with your back to him, your heart heavy. You wanted to help, to be there for him, but you knew when he was like this, pushing would only make things worse.

Dabi sat there in the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to calm himself. The nightmare still clung to him, the images of his past refusing to fade. His father’s voice still echoed in his head, reminding him of all the things he had failed to do, all the pain he had caused. The weight of it all was suffocating.

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His body felt heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And now, on top of everything, he had pushed you away—again.

His gaze shifted to you, lying silently beside him with your back turned. He could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you had pulled away. He knew he had hurt you. He always did. Every time you tried to get close, he shoved you away, afraid of what would happen if he let you see the broken pieces of himself.

But deep down, that was the last thing he wanted. He didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not after a nightmare like that.

His throat tightened, and he clenched his fists even harder, his knuckles white. He didn’t know how to do this—how to ask for comfort, for help. It went against everything he had trained himself to do. His whole life, he had learned to rely on himself, to harden his heart against the world, to never show weakness.

But as he sat there, staring at your back, the need for comfort, for your touch, grew stronger. The ache in his chest was unbearable, and it wasn’t just from the memories of the past. It was the realization that you were right there, and he had pushed you away when all he wanted to do was hold on to you.

He opened his mouth, trying to form the words, but nothing came out. His throat was dry, his voice caught somewhere between his heart and his head. He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed. He had never had to before.

“I…” he started, his voice barely more than a whisper, but it caught in his throat. His hands shook as he reached out towards you, his fingers hovering just above your back. He wanted to touch you, to pull you close, but his own insecurities held him back.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. But the weight of everything—the nightmare, the memories, the fear of losing you—was too much.

A soft sob escaped his lips before he could stop it, and he quickly brought his hand up to cover his mouth, as if that could somehow stifle the pain that was spilling out of him. His body shook with the force of his emotions, the tears he had held back for so long finally breaking free.

Hearing the quiet sob, you immediately turned back to him, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so broken. Dabi never cried—at least, not where anyone could see. But here he was, struggling to hold himself together, his face hidden in his hands as tears slipped through his fingers.

“Dabi…” you whispered softly, sitting up and reaching out to him. This time, he didn’t push you away. His body tensed at your touch, but he didn’t pull back.

You gently pulled his hands away from his face, cupping his cheeks as you guided his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were red, tears still streaming down his face as he tried to blink them away, ashamed of showing you this side of him.

“I… I don’t know how…” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to ask…” His words were broken, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from completely falling apart.

You shook your head, your heart aching for him as you wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You don’t have to ask,” you whispered softly, pulling him into your arms. “I’m here.”

For a moment, he stayed rigid, his body fighting against the instinct to retreat. But slowly, as your warmth enveloped him, he allowed himself to relax into your embrace. His head rested against your shoulder, his arms wrapping around you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling with the force of his sobs.

You held him close, your fingers running through his messy hair as you whispered soothing words into his ear. “It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice soft and gentle. “I’ve got you.”

Dabi’s grip on you tightened, as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was him, and the fact that he was finally letting you in, letting himself be vulnerable with you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You shook your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Don’t apologize,” you said softly. “I understand.” “I’m scared,” he confessed, his voice muffled against your skin. The admission felt like a weight lifted, but it also left him feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

“I know,” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair, soothing him. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m right here.”

He clung to you, letting the warmth of your body seep into his bones, washing away the remnants of the nightmare. For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to be weak, to be human. You were his refuge, the light that broke through the darkness, and in your arms, he felt whole again.

“I love you,” he murmured, the words spilling from his lips as he let the tears fall.

“I love you too, Dabi,” you replied, your voice a gentle caress against his heart. And in that moment, wrapped in your embrace, he finally understood—no matter how dark the shadows grew, you would always be his home.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in each other as the world outside faded away. His sobs eventually quieted, his body relaxing as the tension slowly melted away. Dabi wasn’t used to comfort. He wasn’t used to being cared for. But with you, he was learning. Slowly, painfully, but he was learning.

And tonight, that was enough.

[needtoloveoutloud]

The one where Shota Aizawa stumbles upon a back alley full of stray cats and ends up adopting a child 

“Fine, then a cat? We both know how much you love those little furry…things.”

At this, Shota paused the game and turned to the pushy blonde next to him. “I actually have considered that.”

“And?”

“And: also, no. It makes no sense.”

Hizashi looked almost scandalized. “Makes no sense?”

“I made a pro and contra list.”

“Of course you did.”

________________________________

Shota Aizawa simply wants to go home and relax after a long day of patrol. Of course, the universe has different plans. Plans, that involve a back alley of stray cats and his friends informing him of a decision that banks on the epitome of irrationality.

________________________________

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Shinsou Hitoshi & Original Female Character(s); Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Original Female Character(s); Class 1-A (My Hero Academia) & Original Female Character(s); Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic & Original Character(s); Kayama Nemuri | Midnight & Original Female Character(s); Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Shinsou Hitoshi; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Kayama Nemuri | Midnight; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead & Kayama Nemuri | Midnight & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic; Kayama Nemuri | Midnight & Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic;

Original Female Character(s); Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead; Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic; Kayama Nemuri | Midnight; Shinsou Hitoshi; Original Characters; Tsukauchi Naomasa

Fluff; Fluff and Angst; Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Friendship; Family; Humor; Alternate Canon; Mental Health Issues; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Domestic; Domestic Fluff; Parenthood; Other Additional Tags to Be Added; Canon Compliant; Canon Related; Cute; Protectiveness; Parental Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead | Dadzawa; Parental Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic; Parental Kayama Nemuri | Midnight; Adoption; Protective Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead Adopts OC; Dead Shirakumo Oboro; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead-centric; Aizawa Shouta is a Good Dad; adoptive dad at that; Original Character Has a Quirk (My Hero Academia); Character Development; aizawa shouta is semi-self aware about his own trauma; he talks to oboros grave so; and he cares about mental health; but maybe not enough about his own; This is the first part; first part of a series I have mapped out a lot already; Pre-Canon; starts with pre-canon but we will get to canon events further into the series; Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic is a Good Friend; Kayama Nemuri | Midnight is a Good Friend; Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead is a Good Friend; author improves over time; author likes her work but is insecure; enjoy; Canon-Typical Violence; Slice of Life

[reidingandwriting]

domestic > keigo takami/hawks (mha)

Word Count: 3.6k

Ship: Keigo/Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Corrupt hero commission (we hate the hero commission on this blog), keigo overworks himself, keigo & reader fight, miscommunication, some cursing, keigo’s a little shit (he has his reasons okay), mentions of a rescue mission and the aftermath, hurt/comfort

A/N: So sorry this fic is so delayed 😭 Have been going Through It lately but I’ve got a few fics queued up to make up for my absence ❤️ This is my favorite Keigo fic so far

“pro hero hawks is the first on the scene!”

“pro hero hawks took down the villain that’s injured dozens, including some pro heroes!”

“another takedown by pro hero hawks.”

“hawks is finally on the scene, this should be over soon.”

-

keigo wasn’t answering his phone. which was expected for the first night. he had just come home from a week long mission and on his flight home, another issue came up that he had to answer to. he didn’t get home until midnight, having refused any other hero’s offer to relieve him once his shift had technically ended, until best jeanist all but escorted him off the scene. you had hoped keigo had been resting when you walked into your office the next morning, until you looked at the news and saw he was already back out on patrols.

when you walked into keigo’s office, you expected to see a mountain of paperwork on his desk. you were fully prepared to work all day to catch him up, hoping to surprise him by finishing all his work for him. you were the one surprised when you saw only one paper on his desk, a note for you.

‘gonna be working late tonight, don’t wait up for me’

you scowled as you read the note, even if you had to fight the urge to melt when you saw the little bird doodle keigo had signed the note with. you once again called keigo, this time his work number, and you resisted the urge to throw your phone at the wall when your call once again went unanswered. you pulled up your text conversation with keigo and began to type.

‘you’re going home tonight. i will be outside at eight and you will let me in. i am not kidding when i tell you i’ll wait all night. please, just let me know you’re okay.’

you knew the text would go unanswered, but you hoped. you hoped that he would read it, at the least. that he would talk to you. your phone buzzed and you quickly picked it up, and you sighed when it was just another text from rumi.

‘i’ve seen him pass by once or twice, but he doesn’t stop. i’ve got a few others looking out for him, i’ll let you know if i hear anything’

you set your phone down with a sigh as you sat back in the office chair. this was going to be a long night.

you texted keigo a warning before you entered his apartment. you had been given a key by keigo to use in case of emergencies, and your chatty birdbrain suddenly ghosting you is an emergency in your eyes. it was two AM when you entered, and you felt your eyes begin to sting when you realized keigo wasn’t home. a quick search on the hero network showed that he was last seen a little after ten, and none of your own security alerts had gone off at your apartment. he was at his agency, avoiding you. it stung, the avoidance settling heavy in your chest, weighing you down as if there was a physical weight on your body.

you texted a quick update to rumi before you left keigo’s, and you made the walk back to your own apartment. keigo would definitely have lectured you any other time if he knew you walked home alone, and a selfish part of you hoped he’d find out. you’d take the scolding if it meant he would talk to you.

you flinched as you heard a voice speak from beside you.

“surprised he let you walk home alone at this hour,” you relaxed once you recognized the drawl of eraserhead’s voice. “your guard bird working tonight?”

“you’re going to sneak up on me at the wrong time one day and you’re going to get your shit rocked,” you replied, no real heat to your words.

“i’ll take my chances.” a hint of a smirk graced his face before it relaxed into his usual stoic expression.

“but no, he’s not working tonight.” you paused. “not patrolling at least. he is working hard at avoiding me, though.” while you and eraserhead, aizawa, had only met a few times, you had established a friendly relationship with the underground hero. you had also developed a friendship with present mic, which seemed to influence eraserhead’s opinion of you. odd.

“that’s… different.” eraserhead says after a moment. “i’ll keep an eye out for him, and i’ll have hiz- present mic look out for him as well.”

the two of you continued to talk as he escorted you to your apartment. minutes later, you opened the door to your apartment and let the door shut with a soft click, and you barely made it to the couch before you fell asleep.

-

“ooh, rough night?” one of the tech interns, kazuki, teases as he watches you walk in.

“hilarious.” you scowled. you knew you looked tired; you woke up frequently throughout the night, unable to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. you gave up on sleep around five thirty this morning, and you clutched to the thermos of coffee in your hands like it was the only thing keeping you alive. “didn’t really sleep much last night.”

“hawks working you too hard? i saw him walking around a few minutes ago. looks like he was headed to his office,” your heart stopped at those words. was he actually here?

“thank you, kazuki!” you called as you sprinted for the elevator, reminding yourself to send kazuki a proper thank you later. when you burst into keigo’s office, you jumped back as a sharpened red feather flew at you, stopping mere centimeters away from your neck.

“shit, you scared me.” keigo smiled when he recognized you, and the sight of it filled you with anger. “oh, sorry. let me just.” keigo’s feather returned to its natural state and you swatted it away as it went to caress your cheek, not in the mood for his usually sweet antics. “songbird? you okay?”

and you couldn’t help but laugh. full body, doubled over laughs. keigo tilted his head, confusion flashing across his face as you continued to laugh. your name left keigo’s lips, and you recognized the slight movements he was making. he was twitchy, like he wanted to move but he couldn’t decide which move was the best. you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning and you looked up at the ceiling as you felt the familiar sting of unshed tears in your eyes.

“you son of a bitch,��� you whispered. you looked at him and his form became blurry, the tears now sliding down your cheeks. “you, you have me worried for days. you ignored my calls and texts, i even had other heroes looking out for you!” you started to walk towards him and you stopped just out of his reach. “you went to the point of staying here to avoid seeing me. why?” you finally met his gaze and golden eyes were filled with an emotion you didn’t recognize. his gaze was cold, distant. yet still, he kept the smile on his face, the smile he plastered on for annoying news reporters.

“i’ve been busy.”

“you’re running yourself ragged! you’re going to get hurt or cause someone else to get hurt because you’re working yourself to death.” you reached out and jabbed him in the chest.

“you don’t understand. you never will, so why are you even trying to? i can’t answer every call and text from my assistant.”

“that’s all i am to you? your assistant?” you asked. you were met with silence and you felt your heart begin to break. “look me in the eyes and tell me that’s all i am to you. and i promise, from now on, that’s all you’ll get from me.”

“what else would you be?”

wordlessly, you dug your key ring from your jacket pocket. you pulled off the key that belonged to keigo’s, to hawks’s, apartment and you set it down on his desk.

“noted. since you’ve clearly got a handle on things, i think i’ll be taking the next two days off for some personal days. i’ll be back on monday, hawks.” the name felt foreign on your lips and his wings twitched in response. you wordlessly spun on your heel and slammed hawks’s office door shut behind you. you could feel the stares from everyone in kei- hawks’s agency watching you, and you briefly shook your head when you saw kazuki before rushing out of the building, straight into the rain that had suddenly started to downpour. because of course it did.

as you walked in the rain to the bus stop, you ignored the frequent buzzing that came from your pocket.

“what else would you be?” echoed through your head, and you couldn’t believe that came from kei- his lips. what happened during his last mission? you shook your head to clear your thoughts.

“just an assistant,” you muttered under your breath. “what the hell, birdie?”

-

it was the middle of the night and you were sitting on your couch, eating from a carton of ice cream as you flipped through the channels on TV. you had finished your second movie of the night when you stumbled across the news. you paused when you saw hawks’s name flash across the bottom of the screen and you wanted to change the channel. but you couldn’t.

“eight hours later, the search and rescue has been completed. over 200 victims were rescued from the destruction thanks to the effort of our number two hero. thank you to pro hero hawks for being the first hero to respond, and the last to leave the tragic scene of the collapsed apartment complex.”

the reporter continued to talk about the injuries and the casualties, and you scanned the screen for him, not seeing a glimpse of red anywhere, save for some discarded feathers on the ground. you pulled out your phone immediately and searched online for something, anything about your- kei- hawks. your messages were full of texts from rumi and kazuki. a few from present mic, even a text from best jeanist’s assistant with a message from the pro.

suddenly, there was a knock on the door and you jumped off the couch. you glanced at the time, a little after midnight. you had hopes for who it was. you also didn’t know what you’d do if it was him. you slowly walked to the front door, willing your heart rate to calm down, and you reached forward to open the door.

you gasped at the sight in front of you, your phone clattering to the floor but you paid it no attention. hawks stood at your door, covered in dirt and dust and… blood? his jacket was gone, pants torn and ripped to barely there shreds of fabric. his flight goggles and headphones were gone, hair caked in dirt and sweat and he looked like he was seconds from falling over. he looked small without his massive wings behind him, most of the feathers left at the scene.

“‘m sorry. i tried, tried to go home. you were closer and,” hawks gestured to himself. “kind of grounded. i’m sorry, i can go.” he swayed a bit. you dove forward as he stumbled, and you held him up as he leaned into you. you kicked the door shut and you repositioned yourself to better support the hero as you walked towards your bathroom. “what are you doin’?” his voice was hoarse, and you made note to grab him water, as well as a million other things once you got him settled.

“first, im gonna clean you up. get some water for you, heat up some leftovers, and get you in clean clothes before i put you in bed.”

“what? no- i. i was horrible. you can’t… you can’t be nice to me. not after everything i said.” hawks said and you shushed him.

“shh, you’re going to wreck your voice more. we’ll talk once you’re taken care of.” you walked into the bathroom and made quick work of setting up a shower. you started to step away to grab towels and you felt a hand grab your arm.

“don’t leave me. please,” he rasped and you turned to face him, your heart aching at the sight in front of you. your keigo.

“not going anywhere. just grabbing towels, yeah?” you walked with him to the hallway, and you grabbed your fluffiest towels. you then grabbed a caddy full of keigo’s favorite toiletries. his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and oil for his wings. he was missing a lot of feathers, but you’d take care of what was left. he was hurt, your birdie was hurt. it was your turn to be the hero, to make sure he was okay.

when you returned to the bathroom a minute later, keigo’s tired eyes lit up at your return.

“let’s get you in the shower, yeah?“ you set the towels down, put his supplies in the shower, and turned on the shower to his preferred temperature. you then walked to him and placed a gentle hand on his shirt. you glanced up at him and when he nodded, you gently began to peel his uniform off him. you quickly scanned him as you removed more articles of clothing, taking note of any new injuries and were relieved to see relatively little. once keigo had been stripped, you stepped into the shower with him, ignoring the fact you still had your t-shirt and sleep shorts on. your only focus was keigo right now, and you guided him under the shower head.

keigo’s exhaustion had seemed to hit as he leaned against you, and you supported him as you let the water get the top layer of grime off him. “there we go,” you soothed as you shifted, reaching for his shampoo. “there’s my birdie,” a weak chirp left him and you smiled sympathetically. “think you can sit so i can wash your hair?”

wordlessly, keigo moved to kneel down and once he settled, you began to scrub his hair. your hands worked in his hair until they ached, getting everything from the collapsed building from his hair before you added the shampoo. you took your time sudsing up his hair, and you smiled when you brushed some baby feathers in his hairline that caused keigo to coo quietly. keigo pressed a kiss to your stomach as you worked and leaned into your touch, much like a cat being petted. you helped him stand back up once you were ready to wash his body, and keigo practically laid against the wall of the shower as you worked to clean him off efficiently but quickly.

what felt like ages later, you turned the shower off and wrapped keigo up in a towel. you used the other towel to pat your own clothes dry quickly before you started to towel dry his hair.

“why are you… being so nice to me?” keigo asked and you frowned.

“i’m always going to care about you, pretty bird. you were a dick earlier,” you admitted. “but like it or not, you’ve wormed your way into my heart. you deserve to be taken care of, kei. we both know you don’t do it enough for yourself.” you moved to stand behind keigo and you looked at him in the mirror. “is it okay if i touch them?” you glanced at his baby wings and back at him. you held the oil in your hand, letting him see what your intentions were and you panicked when you saw his eyes fill with tears.

-

keigo couldn’t believe it. he had been horrible to you. he had tried to be horrible, he had never planned to come back to you this way. but he did and you? you dumbfounded him with how you treated him. as if you had just had a little spat over him breaking your heart. he could feel your heartbeat change during the conversation you two had in his office, he could practically hear your heart breaking over his words. but when he came to you, bloody and dirty, wings practically gone, and you treated him so tenderly. so… lovingly. when the first tear slid down his cheek, a dam broke. keigo chirped in surprise as you spun him around before he threw himself into your arms. he sobbed as he clung to you, as if you’d vanish into nothingness if he let go.

your arms immediately tightened around him and you used one hand to stroke his wing, the other combed through his hair so gently, sad warbles left his throat. “whatever happened,” you started. “we’ll handle it. me and you, yeah?” keigo tried to respond but couldn’t force any words out, more chirps leaving him as he nodded against your neck. “that’s my songbird.” you held him until his sobs turned into soft cries, and the cries into the occasional sniffle. keigo’s wing twitched as he felt you began to pay more attention to the feathers, and his eyes began to well up with tears again as he realized. you were preening him.

you’ve straightened his feathers out before a handful of times, usually for shoots or press interviews. he’s never had this much attention paid to them before, never in such a caring way at least. his body became lax against you, pleased coos and quiet chirps leaving his throat every now and then.

once you had finished, you led keigo to your room. you walked to the drawer with keigo’s things and he watched as you pulled out clothes for him to sleep in. “gonna change out of my wet clothes real quick, okay?” he nodded and you smiled softly at him before walking to your own side of the dresser. the two of you got dressed in a comfortable silence and you guided him to the living room, where minutes later, you settled onto the couch with dinner. keigo stayed curled into your side and you seemed perfectly content as you stroked his hair.

what felt like an eternity later, keigo was finally able to speak again. “i tried to come home. when i got off that mission. it.. it went horrible and i just wanted you. but i fail- they had told me i failed. i wasn’t as efficient as i should be, one of the villains had managed to escape before i caught him again. if i was a proficient hero, he never would have gotten a chance to get away.” you looked up as keigo spoke, and keigo struggled to maintain eye contact with you. you always seemed to see him, and that was terrifying.

“so i was already beating myself up when they sent me to another disaster, to redeem myself,” he quoted and you scowled at the words. “and i did better, that’s what they told me. and for a minute, i didn’t feel like a failure anymore. i felt worthy of my hero title so i…”

“you stayed busy, worked harder and harder to get rid of that bad feeling.” you finished for him and keigo nodded.

“but no matter what i did, how many patrols i went on, how many hours late i worked, it wasn’t good enough. they said i’m letting personal things get in the way of me being a good hero, that i was a better hero alone.” keigo trailed off and you looked sad, yet angry at the same time.

“they were the reason for our fight.” you said and keigo hummed in response.

“still. i never should have said what i did,” keigo cupped your cheek and you leaned into the touch. “i need you to know. need you to know you’re so much more to me than an assistant. maybe i’m a worse hero for it, but i love you. i love you, so much.” keigo’s voice shook and you scooted closer to him.

“i love you too,” you whispered. you glanced at keigo’s lips then back up at him, golden gaze meeting your own. you leaned in and brushed your lips against his, and keigo let out a soft breath as he kissed you. he had kissed you countless times, but none had ever been this soft. this slow, this.. vulnerable. there was no rush, nothing you were aiming for. just the two of you intertwined, and keigo didn’t break the kiss until he was out of breath, and he smiled at the quiet whine you made. “i think,” you said after a minute. “you need a few days to recover. bed rest, doctor’s orders.”

“you’re a doctor now, hmm?” keigo smiled as he pressed lazy kisses down your jaw and you pulled a blanket over the two of you. “can’t argue with doctor’s orders.”

“bed rest is the first step in treatment. cuddles could speed up the healing process, as well.” you said matter-of-factly as you tangled your legs with his own. keigo closed his eyes as you buried your face into his chest, and as you rubbed his back, keigo’s thoughts became fuzzy.

“careful, will stay here forever.” you nuzzled closer and keigo vaguely remembered your reply before you fell asleep.

“i’d love nothing more.”

[momomallowart]

He misses his dad.. 🥺

[frickingnerd]

katsuki bakugou with a s/o who has a healing quirk

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

tags: mention of pain & injuries, argument with bakugou, reader's quirk hurts them, hurt/comfort, happy ending

bakugou and you were classmates before you started dating and he was roughly aware of how your quirk worked

however, just like with most other people around him, he didn't actually pay as much attention to the details of your quirk

which is why he's quite surprised when he finds out that your quirk has a downside to it: whenever you heal someone, you feel their pain!

bakugou has always thought you were weaker than him, due to your quirk only being useful for support, but that revelation makes him rethink everything

you're much tougher than he gave you credit for! you must've endured so much pain, without even showing any of it. you were more admirable than any of his other classmates…

but bakugou also began to look back on all the times he got unnecessarily hurt and you were there to help him

he thought the only person he'd harm with his careless attitude while fighting would be himself. but you were hurt just as much, as you healed him up every time, no matter the injury…

bakugou can't help but get angry at himself, for being such a fool and getting you hurt with his own carelessness!

but since he isn't very good at expressing his feelings, he ends up taking his anger out on you, the one person who truly didn't deserve it

he starts yelling at you, that you need to stop using your stupid quirk and that you did more harm than good!

though when you end up crying and tell him to leave, he quickly regrets his words…

the same day on that evening, he shows up at your room with flowers and chocolate, looking guiltily and apologizing for everything he said

luckily for him, you accept his apology and bakugou promises to never yell at you again like this, as well as to be careful from now on, so you won't have to use your quirk on him anymore!

[posalis]

"Admit it, you love the present I got you, right?"

Stop thinking that sentimental stuff already. Or you won't be able to win. // (Izuku, I won't stand in your way anymore.)

[yandecifi]

sex isn't about have to's

aizawa/reader

~4500 words

mild smut, angst, hurt/comfort

cw; implied rape/noncon, implied incest, implied child abuse

You've managed to avoid nights at the house by running the door at a local strip club. The bouncer you usually work with, Aizawa, is a sarcastic, unusually tall smoker. He's sweet, sweet enough to drive you home most nights — and to pick up on your subtleties.

“Hope all the girls are as hot as you.”

It’s twelve in the morning and your dress is short enough that you’ll flash everybody if you bend over. You don’t mind, though, because that’s kind of the idea; the all black, skin tight nature of your chosen work uniform is meant to draw attention to… well, the parts that matter.

You laugh sweetly as you scan the young man’s ID. Your coworker, Aizawa, looms behind you, eyeing up the crowd in front of the club and rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He’s one of the better bouncers you work with, if not your favorite — not only does he actually do his job when things get rowdy, but he doesn’t snitch on your rather immoral side hustle.

“Oh, trust me, they’re even better,” you say, passing the ID back with a flick of your fingers. You shift your weight so that your breasts squish together a little more. “Wanna come and tell me about it after?”

You flutter your lashes. Distant club music swims through your body. The guy grins and nods.

That’s gotta be at least forty bucks. Score.

You turn to flash Aizawa a little shit eating grin. He just shakes his head and takes a puff of his cigarette.

You don’t bother wearing perfume. Why would you when Aizawa’s always got smoke curling up from his lips and fingers? A year into this job and you can’t even scrub the scent out of your hair anymore. When you grumbled that you stink thanks to him, he just said you’re welcome and held out a cigarette, half-lidded eyes full of mirth.

He takes that dry approach to just about everything. Maybe it’s because he’s so much older than you, what with his inky, messily tied hair and rough stubble adorning his chin, but he doesn’t care about much aside from his paycheck and getting home. You’ve seen him take a punch to the face and just sigh with annoyance.

Still smiling up at your coworker, you ring up the next guy in line.

“Y’know, I think this is gonna be a good night, ‘Zawa.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You stay ‘till close?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Nice — oh, yeah, you’re good to go in — I’m here ‘till close, too. Think you could drive me home?”

“Uh-huh. Focus on the customers.”

“Oops.” You whip around to see an older man holding out his credit. You take it with a laugh. “Sorry, sir. I’d make it up to you with a kiss, but you’ll get plenty of that inside.”

“Ha! Didn’t expect the service to start out here. I’m paying for all five of us, by the way.”

“Of course.”

You blow a kiss at the men as they pass you, their loud laughter ensuing. Aizawa blows smoke into your face. You cough and smack his arm.

The monotony of greeting and ringing up, of flirting and scanning, continues. This is how most of your weekend nights go; clock in at nine, run the door with Aizawa (usually) and dick around with him until three, and then give a blowjob or two before heading back to your apartment. It’s a pretty good gig for somebody like you — it doesn’t clash with your other jobs while still making enough cash.

The line dwindles as the night goes on. Eventually, ten minutes go by without a group, and you’re squatting and fixing the straps of the stilettos you’re wearing. An unlit cigarette hangs between your teeth. Goosebumps run up your arms from the night air as you chat about everything and nothing.

“No, yeah, I haven’t seen her since. Do you think she got fired?”

“Probably.” Aizawa’s leaning against the wall, lighter in hand. “People show up high all the time, but not that high.”

“Yeah. I swear to God she was turning blue.” The strap you’re fiddling with slips from your fingers for the — what, fifth time? You groan. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Aizawa scoffs. “What’d I say? You’ve gotta —“

“You’ve gotta stop wearing the fucking heels, I know, I know!”

You’re kneeling now, knees scraping the concrete. Every time you jam the strap into the buckle it comes right out, no matter how much your nails wedge it in tight. You sigh and resign yourself to the floor.

“This is what I get for thrifting shitty shoes.”

Aizawa hums in agreement and yet squats next to you. He squints at your bratty straps. Then, he hands you his lighter.

“Try putting your leg out straight.”

“Okay,” you murmur, butt hitting the ground as you lean back on your hands and straighten your legs. “I’ll literally love you forever if you fix this.”

“Uh-huh.”

He fiddles with the strap, one hand wrapped around your calf to hold you still. Now that he’s this close, you realize you’ve never been this equal in height to him. Like, the guy is built like a damn tree. His jawline is pretty nice, too, and his hands are warm —

“Lighter.”

“Oh, yeah, here.”

Aizawa brings the lighter to your strap and fiddles some more with the flame. Then, he stands up, already reaching into his pocket for another cigarette, though he manages to catch himself.

“Oh my God,” you say, rolling your ankle around and around. “You actually fixed it. What the hell. And with the lighter, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts, holding out his free hand. You take it with a grin.

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He huffs. “Watch it.”

You laugh and the two of you separate, only to come together again — you lean towards him so that he can light the cigarette in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you say, breathing the smoke out.

“For making you stink,” he responds, breathing the smoke in.

The two of you loiter around the doors. They open occasionally, drunk men stumbling out to catch their Ubers. One guy vomits across the street. You look away with a grimace.

“Ew.”

“You should be used to this by now.”

“It’s still ew.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How long have you worked here that you don’t care about that sorta stuff?”

Aizawa rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck and all the joints there. “I’ve been here three years. Had other places before, though.”

“Haha. Old.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I’ve seen you hook up with guys in their fifties.”

You shrug, pass your cigarette to Aizawa. “They pay better.”

“Mhm,” he hums, breathing the nicotine in. He’s kinda pretty when he smokes. It’s something about the veins in his hands. “Your parents don’t care that you’re doing this?”

Your face scrunches up. “My parents?”

“Yeah?”

“How old do you think I am, dude?”

“I don’t know. Eighteen?”

“Excuse you, I’m nineteen.”

He lets out a laugh. Like, an actual laugh, sticking the cigarette back out at you. You take it and smoke, face hot.

“That’s basically the same thing,” he says, laughter dead.

“Yeah, whatever, jeez. They don’t care.”

Aizawa nods slowly. You watch your smoke dissolve in the air.

“Just be careful with it,” he says.

You sneak a glance at your coworker. He’s leaning against the wall of the strip club the both of you work at, arms crossed, his black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms.

You cough and look down at your stilettos. “Thanks.”

“Your dress is riding.”

“Fuck.” You bite on the cig and yank your dress down. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“I didn’t, uh, mean to,” you mutter.

“I know.” He clears his throat and nods towards the door. “Your guy.”

Just like Aizawa says, the young guy from earlier is coming out the doors with his group of friends. They’re snickering as he says bye and splits off towards you. You’ve always been kind of a joke to everybody else, but Aizawa’s never laughed at you.

You get up with a stumble, adjust yourself. The guy reaches you and you snatch up his hand, snuff your cigarette out on your thigh with a sizzle. You can feel Aizawa’s eyes on you as you drag him around back.

Maybe it’s because you’ve done this since you were a kid, but sucking off guys like the one you’re kneeled in front of doesn’t make you feel or think as much as it probably should. It goes by fast, actually, which you don’t mention (you’ve learned that ruins the mood), a blur of motions and groaning and zippers. He gives you some cash and you’re alone, standing behind your workplace, wiping cum off of your face. It’s quiet except for the muffled music.

You pass Aizawa on your way to the breakroom. He’s checking the IDs of some guys — your responsibility, fuck — and spots you as you try to rush past. You’re wiping off the mess that’s your lip gloss, manicured fingertips running circles around your mouth. He gives you a once over, like he always does, but this time he lingers on your fingers.

The guy called you some names during it. They ring in your ears as you brush your teeth in the employee bathroom. Slut. Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You spit into the sink. You wash your face. You don’t recognize yourself without your makeup. You rummage through your ziploc baggie of product, reapply everything. You fix your hair. Your mouth never does feel clean.

Your lip wobbles. You keep running your fingers through your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you make it back to your post, the night air biting your calves, your coworker is alone at his usual spot on the wall. You stand next to him with your arms crossed. His voice comes out startlingly even compared to the voices in your head.

“You were in there a while.”

You nibble on your lip. “It got in my hair.”

He hums.

“Sorry for making you do my job,” you whisper.

“It’s boring out here. I don’t mind.” A car drives by. Somebody laughs loudly from inside the club.

“Okay.” You want to swallow but you spit instead. “Thanks.”

Slut. Whore. Slut, slut, slut.

It hits three in the morning and you’re giggling with Aizawa in his beat-up car. A cheap air freshener hangs from his mirror, twirling about as he drives you home, an empty energy drink rattling in one of his cupholders.

“Okay, um, would you kill your cat to end traffic?” You ask, smiling, watching him as he rolls his eyes from the driver's seat.

“You’ve asked me this already.”

“Just answer!”

“No, I wouldn’t.” He taps his cigarette ash out the window, his other hand guiding the steering wheel. “Anybody who says otherwise is a psychopath.”

“Okay, yeah, I agree. What if it was a dog?”

“Still no.”

“A fish?”

“Maybe.” He narrows his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

“Why?”

“You ask the weirdest questions.” He cracks a smile as he says that, shaking his head. “I guess I feel like the fish wouldn’t care as much.”

“Okay. Yeah.” He’s taking you into your neighborhood, now. It’s the kind of place that’s pretty obviously subsidized — it’s all one-story apartments, lawns that are either dead or severely overgrown, and potholes or cracked asphalt. Aizawa slows to a stop in front of your parents’ apartment, puts his hazards on. You should unbuckle your seatbelt and say goodnight with a giggle but you’re stuck.

The lights are still on. Your windows are glowing like eyes.

“Um.” You glance at Aizawa and he’s looking at you funny, fuck. Your fingers fumble with the seatbelt and undo it with a clack. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he says slowly. You need to get out of the car, you’re gripping the door handle, all you need to do is open it.

Your father is awake and he shouldn’t be.

You’ve done this hundreds of times, thousands, even. It’s not even the act that’s the worst part anymore. It's looking at your apartment, knowing what’s going to happen, and knowing you can’t do anything about it. No, no, not even — it isn’t even that, it’s that you won’t do anything about it. You will do nothing. You will walk in and let it happen.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

You open your mouth to say something more — another apology, maybe — but you just let out something like a whimper. Your back hits the car seat, you smile, you frown, you shake your head and take a sharp breath. Open the fucking door.

Aizawa turns off his hazards and you’re rolling past your apartment. On and on the two of you go, further into your neighborhood, until you can’t see your windows anymore.

“Anywhere else you want me to drop you off?”

“Uh.” You can’t catch up to all your thoughts. You’ve always been slow; the hot, dumb bitch, the whore, the slut. “What?”

“Do you have a friend you can stay with or something?”

Friends? You? You dropped out of school over a year ago. All you ever do is work.

“I mean, no.”

He takes a moment to look at you instead of the road. His jaw clenches. He passes you his nearly done cigarette as he loops the roundabout at the end of your street.

“I have a couch.”

You look at him with wide eyes. You’re speechless for a second because nobody has ever, ever said to you what he’s saying.

“Uh, no, no. It’s okay. I can go home.”

He grips the steering wheel with both hands, squinting at the road. He seems to be rolling your words around on his tongue, considering, analyzing.

“You can,” he offers, “but you don’t have to.”

Your brows raise as you stare at the dash. Your lips pull into a frown. You know that, you’ve thought it every single time, but it’s so different hearing it out loud.

“Okay. I — yeah. Yeah.”

And he’s pulling out of your neighborhood. You smoke until you’re burning your fingertips. He merges onto the freeway.

Aizawa lives in a concrete apartment complex the next town over. He’s on the third floor, number three-hundred-fifty-three. You stand behind him, your backpack slung over your shoulder. Your hands wring behind your back. His keys jingle and jangle as he unlocks his front door. He’s got a chibi cat keychain.

The door swings open and bounces off a wall with a thud. The first thing you notice is that it smells like citrus air freshener mixed with weed and cigarettes. Aizawa closes the door behind you, toeing his shoes off.

“You can put your shoes over here.” He gestures to the little closet by his front door. It’s empty aside from a coat or two and a few pairs of shoes. You nod, unbuckle your stilettos. Aizawa grows in height as you step out of them.

You smile a little. “How’s the weather up there?”

He sighs. “Very funny.”

His vinyl floor is cold on your feet as you follow him further into the apartment. It’s simple: a kitchen, a living room with the couch you suppose you’ll be sleeping in, and then two doors that lead to his bathroom and bedroom, respectively.

It’s not as dirty as your place. His kitchen is kept tidy, the sink empty and dry, the counters littered with spices and cooking instruments but well taken care of. He doesn’t have trash piling up or mold lining the backsplash. He doesn’t have empty beer bottles sitting on his coffee table, just an ashtray. A weighted blanket is folded neatly on his couch.

“You have a nice place.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No, seriously.” You set your bag on his coffee table while he hunts through the fridge. “I’ve got black mold, like, all over my bathroom ceiling.”

“That’s disgusting.”

You laugh, sit on the couch. “I know.”

Aizawa brings you a tall glass of water. You sip at it, tug down your dress. He averts his eyes.

“I’m going to go shower.” He undoes his hair as he speaks. It falls down to his shoulders, all fluffy and rather tangled. He rakes a hand through the blackest of it. “I have some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself. I have extra towels if you’d like to shower, too.” Then, he pauses, opens and shuts his mouth, his head cocked at you. You can’t help but lean back and giggle.

“What?”

“Are you fine with sleeping in that?”

You look down. He’s referring to your dress that, even now, you can’t help but fidget with.

“I can give you some of my pajamas.” Aizawa blinks tiredly at you. “If you want.”

Your face warms. “Uh, yeah. That’d be great. Thank you.”

Aizawa disappears into his bedroom and then returns a couple moments later with a large black t-shirt and some sweats. He hands them to you, all folded neatly on top of one another.

“Thank you,” you say again. “You’re really sweet.”

He heads towards the bathroom. “Just knock if you need anything.”

It feels weird to change in the middle of his living room so you go into his bedroom. You close the door, lock it just in case, and then lay his pajamas on the bed. It isn’t made, the comforter folded back like he just rolled out of it. He’s got shelves with a variety of books and knick-knacks on one wall, a desk with similar items against another. His closet is open, his wardrobe basically all black. How emo.

The pajamas are comically large on you. The t-shirt ends at your midthigh, the sleeves at your elbows. The collar goes off your shoulder. You had to tie the sweats’ drawstring tight around your hips so that they wouldn’t slip.

You slap your hands against your face. It’s definitely better than flashing him every five seconds, but why the fuck did you have to end up in his clothes?

You fold your dress up and exit the bedroom, the sound of the shower running filling the apartment. Sitting back down on the couch, you stuff your dress in your bag. You don’t have any makeup remover with you, but a wet paper towel or two from the kitchen works well enough at removing your makeup.

Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The shower runs and runs. You don’t have much else to do aside from sit on the couch and sip at your water.

And think.

Slut, whore. Slut, slut, slut.

But what is sex, anyway? It’s the same as everything else if you think about it. You rub each other like you’re petting a dog, get close like you’re hugging, and kissing is kind of like eating. Nobody cares about holding hands or bumping into one another, so why isn’t it the same with sex? It’s just touching. It’s just touching until it’s over.

Aizawa emerges from the bathroom an unknowable amount of time later. He’s dressed similarly to you, though his pants are plaid and it all fits better. His hair is damp.

“Did you eat?” He asks, eyeing the unchanged kitchen counters.

“I’m not really hungry.”

He trudges over to sit on the other side of the couch, picking up his pack of cigarettes on the way. “You should still eat.”

“You say that while grabbing your lighter?”

He lights up with a snort. “Don’t use me for reference.”

You roll your eyes. You outstretch a hand and make a grabby motion towards him.

“No.” The smoke seeps out of his mouth and nose as he speaks. “You’ve smoked enough for a day.”

You groan. “Literally every time I see you you’re smoking.”

“What did I just say?”

You cross your arms, look away. Aizawa leans back into the couch cushions and continues blowing smoke. You peek at him from the corner of your eye. He’s doing the same thing.

He sits up. “Are you feeling better? Oh.” He blinks a little, gets up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back and stands in front of you, holding out some bandaids and a disinfectant spray. You just stare at them.

“For what?” You glance between the items and his heavily lidded eyes.

“You put out a cigarette on your leg earlier and your knees got scraped when you went with the guy.”

You take the bandaids and spray. You lay them in your lap, stare at them. He just continues to smoke, peering down at you, unmoving. Then, you let out a little laugh, your face crumpled despite your smile.

“Y’know, if you want a blow job, you can just ask.”

“I do not,” Aizawa blurts loudly, “want a fucking blow job.”

He drops to a crouch in front of you. He sticks his cigarette in the ashtray, pushes the legs of your sweats up to your knees, grabs the disinfectant off your thighs.

You sit and watch stupidly. Of course you do, you’re stupid. You’re stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would he want something like that from somebody like you? What’s wrong with you? You’re not a hot bitch, just a dumb one. Nobody wants somebody that’s been with their own dad. You’re disgusting.

Your face is hot, head hanging while Aizawa sprays your knees. The scrapes tingle and burn. He peels the bandaids free and tears are dripping onto the sweats he gave you.

His head jerks up. You turn away in response, wipe roughly at your eyes.

You’re stupid. You’re stupid. You’re stupid.

Slut. Whore.

“It’s not that I—” He sighs, sticking the bandaid onto one of your knees. “It’s—” He sighs again, louder this time. He rakes a hand through his hair, turns around to take a drag from whatever’s left in his discarded cig.

“It’s not that I wouldn’t do those sorts of things with you,” he settles with. His hands come up to balance himself on your knees. He blows smoke. You sniffle.

“You would?”

Aizawa gazes up at you with hard eyes.

“Yeah, I would.”

Warmth blooms in your face. Aizawa searches your face for something, you don’t know, before sighing even louder and resting his head on his elbow.

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.”

Your brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t.”

He raises his head. “Why?”

“I sucked off that guy earlier and — just — I’m dirty.”

“And I’m a deadbeat. The only person who should be worried here is me.”

“You don’t get it.” The tears start to well up again. “You don’t know the disgusting shit I’ve done.”

“Great, then we’re on the same level.”

Your fingers twitch in your lap. Before you know it, you’re leaning down and kissing him on the lips.

He tastes like cigarettes. Your hands come up to hold his face that’s all dry and scratchy with stubble. He starts to rise; he leans over, over, over, until your head hits the cushions and you’re making out with him on the couch you were supposed to be sleeping in.

He pulls aside the collar of your shirt and starts kissing along your collarbone. Your legs are tangled together, bandaged knees knocking unscathed ones. Aizawa has one hand attached to your hip, the thumb there rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your sweats.

Buried in his mess of hair, your lip wobbles. People don’t just do things like that. He’s acting like he’s into this not just because you’re willing to fuck him, but because it’s you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You grind against his thigh, make breathy, little noises the closer his kisses get to your chest. His other hand slides under your shirt and starts to creep up your midriff, wrapping around your back —

Aizawa pauses, lifts his head. He tugs up your shirt slightly to reveal the start of a patchwork of little circular scars and divots. They climb up the sides of your torso, cigarette burns, trailing from your hip to your chest. Some are faded while others are yellow with pus.

He pulls your shirt back down, holds it there. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You squirm beneath him, chest tight. His hands are more hesitant now. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to take my shirt off.”

Aizawa’s still so close as he speaks, hovering over you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face. “Do you want me to?”

“I mean,” you stutter. “It’s kind of weird to look at.”

“I have them on my legs.”

“What?”

“My foster mom put them out there.” He swallows. “A long time ago.”

Your face crumples. You wrap your arms around him again, pull him into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. They’re almost all gone now.” He slowly hugs you back. “Yours will go away eventually, too.”

“Yeah?” Your fingers comb through his hair, snagging on the knots.

“Yeah.” Aizawa lifts himself off of you.

You smile, sit up, and pull your shirt off. You push Aizawa into sitting against the couch before straddling him. His hands come up to rest on your hips. It’s just your bra and sweats on now, your discarded shirt on the floor.

“Your scars are like leopard spots.” Aizawa’s fingers trail up and down some of the older ones. “You’re pretty.”

You’ve been called hot, sexy, cute, but not often pretty.

“Thank you.” You wipe at your face again. “You really are sweet.”

The two of you start making out again, hands cupping each other's cheeks or pulling the other closer. Aizawa ends up taking his shirt off soon after.

“These pants are ridiculous.” Aizawa laughs a little, kissing your shoulder. You’re leaning against him while he helps you shimmy out of the sweats he gave you, chest to chest. It’s different when there’s nothing but your bra keeping the two of you apart; he’s so warm, hot like a furnace, cozy.

The sweats finally join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. You plop back down on him and immediately feel it — he’s hard. You rub yourself against him. Aizawa takes a sharp breath and grabs your hips in response.

“Cheeky,” he mutters, eyeing your grin before starting to kiss you again. One of his hands drags from your hip, down your stomach, and into your underwear.

He starts rubbing featherlight circles around your clit. Soon enough, you’re grinding into his hand, sweating, leaning into his shoulder. Aizawa grips your hip harder with his other hand.

“Stop moving so much.”

You nose his ear, out of breath. “Please?”

He shudders, releases his grip on you. Instead, that hand trails up your back to fumble with the clasp of your bra. You let him slide it off of you, let him kiss and nibble at your chest, let him do anything so long he keeps letting you come undone in his lap like this.

He holds you, arm around your torso, when he dips his fingers into you. He thrusts them upwards sluggishly, brows furrowed, until he’s up to his knuckles. You chew on your lip.

“You don’t have to do all this,” you murmur. Aizawa curls his fingers and your thighs clench around him.

“Sex isn’t about have to’s.”

You close your eyes and focus on his hands, on the warmth of him, instead of what that means.