#ex-hero

[satoshy12]

Ex-Pariah Wonder

Ex-lovers Wonder Woman and Pariah Dark Crack pairing Young Pariah Dark looked like a older Danny as Phantom. (think of Gojo, TYBW Toshiro(adult)) Wonder Woman was Pariah Dark's ex-girlfriend, as he was younger 1,000 years ago, and a pretty nice hero. But that changed after he took the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage, and well, that did go insane and started to change. From his old silver-haired look to Giant with green hair and Tyrant (think of the Ice King Adventure Time for what the Crown did to Pariah), And then centuries were gone, and she didn't think much of her ex other than that he was imprisoned last she heard. But now a cult is trying to summon him, who was still insane, to her world. + So imagine Diana as the cult trying to summon not her ex but has failed badly. As the small boy who looked like the child version of Pariah came out, with the silver hair, green eyes, and his smile, he had the ring of rage on his finger!! Was this Pariah`s child? He would never give away the ring or something similar. But then she saw him turn into a black-haired and blue-eyed boy that looked similiar to her. Did he, while crazy, create the boy? I mean they talked about children and had the clay. But first, take away the ring; she saw what it did to Pariah firsthand. + Danny had been on the run since he stole the ring from Vlad. And I was now in this new place; it was pretty cool to see other heroes. He would find a good place to throw this ring, like the Observants and Clockwork wanted from him. How hard will it be to find a black hole when you have alien heroes here that can help him find one? Vlad would never find it!

[barbarianwomon]

Day 13 of Writing Challenge (This one: https://medium.com/@EelKat/30-days-writing-flash-fiction-challenge-mint-green-edition-0188b54891a7) Prompt was 'It's Not Human'

“Is this really where you’ve been hiding all these years?” Mentor asked, not turning to see Hero entering the room. His eyes instead were on the infant asleep in the cot and Hero couldn’t help freezing. “Is this what you’ve been doing?”

“Step away from him,” Hero said as calmly as he could, though the fear lacing his tone was clear to anyone with ears. Did Mentor come alone? He’d just put the others asleep; had he just left them defenceless? Mentor didn’t move, so for good measure Hero added a ‘please’ at the end.

Mentor turned around, though he kept his hand on the cot. He looked Hero up and down with a look Hero recognised as disappointment, perhaps even disgust.

“What is this, Hero?”

“It’s just what it looks like,” Hero replied, eyes casting over Mentor. He was in his hunting gear: silver sword on his waist, pistol across his chest, a few potions hanging from his belt. The circular interlinking figures of the twin goddesses hung from a chain around his neck glinted in the moonlight. Hero remember how safe touching his own pendant used to make him feel. The prayers he used to sing every night before bed. How warm he once felt under their light. How that same light burnt now.

“It isn’t human,” Mentor scowled.

“Neither am I,” Hero challenged. “Not anymore.”

Mentor looked at him again. Cold, calculating eyes analysing the being before him. Hero looked much like he did in life, but his skin had grown unnaturally pale, and his eyes once a deep evergreen now possessed a milky hue. Mentor took a step forward, and Hero would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had any breath left.

“Who did this to you?” Mentor asked, taking another step closer. Hero took a step of his own to the side, trying to subtly make his way towards the dresser where he his old pistol.

“What does it matter?” Another step. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m not asking again, Hero.”

Hero was nearly at the dresser now, only a step or two away.

“Maybe it was the divine grace of Aisha herself,” Hero scoffed.

Mentor’s scowl deepened and he went to take another step forward, but Hero was already at the dresser. He reached out towards the draw as quickly as he could, pulling it open and reaching a hand in- but Mentor was faster. With the click of the hammer, Hero froze in place as Mentor’s own pistol was aimed directly at him.

“Pull it out,” Mentor instructed. “Slowly and with the tips of your fingers.”

Hero did as he said, cursing his new body for being so fucking slow.

“Drop it on the floor and slide it over.”

Again, Hero did so.

Mentor didn’t bother picking up the discarded weapon. Though he did make sure to kick it under the cot where it couldn’t be reached easily.

“Let’s try this again,” he began. “Who did this to you?”

Hero said nothing.

Mentor sighed, then took a step back towards the cot, pulling out his sword and placing it at the throat of the infant in one fluid motion. Not quite touching the skin to prevent the burn from the silver from waking the child.

“No-!” Hero instinctively took a step forward but forced himself to stop under Mentor’s glare. “Mentor, please,” he pleaded. “Please, he’s just a baby-”

“Tell me.”

“Mentor-“

“Tell me or I slit its little throat. And if you don’t tell me after that, I’ll drag out one of the ones asleep downstairs.” He tilted his head. “I wonder how many of your little pets I’ll have to go through before you finally answer my fucking question.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Mentor raised his sword arm-

“Stop!” Hero screamed. “Villain! It’s Villain, alright?!”

He pulled the collar of his shirt down to reveal the beginnings of the soul binding glyphs just above his heart. It was used to keep his soul in his body. To prevent him from passing on. And like all glyphs a signature pattern unique to the caster spread out from it: an inky tattoo seeping from the etched markings. Mentor had seen enough of Villain’s monstrosities to recognise his handywork. He muttered a curse under his breath.

“M-mentor,” Hero said near whispering. “C-could you- please…”

He stared desperately at the sword hovering over the thankfully still sleeping infant. Mentor turned his own eyes to gaze down at the cot.

“Why?” Mentor asked.

“He’s just a baby-“

“Why did he bring you back?” He looked back towards Hero and could tell the man had gone pale despite the impossibility.

“I- I don’t know-“

Mentor turned his head back to the baby.

“No! I swear!” Hero pleaded. “If I knew I’d tell you. Please!”

Mentor’s eyes whipped back as Hero shouted. A piercing shriek filled the room as the infant was finally awoken by all the noise. Neither of the two moved as Mentor assessed whether or not Hero was being truthful. Hero meanwhile was fighting every instinct in him not to run to his child and pull him safely in his arms.

Thankfully, Mentor relented. He sheathed his sword and stepped away from the cot, pistol trained on Hero the entire time. Hero didn’t move until Mentor stopped and gave the okay for him to move. At which point, Hero practically ran towards the cot, pulling the baby into his arms and against his chest. He shushed and rocked the child, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Mentor.

The older man meanwhile couldn’t help feeling disgusted watching his once perfect pupil in such a state. Not only that, but watching him cling to that thing. Could he not see its bulging black eyes? Or the ink-like feathers that seeped out of its head like a mockery of hair? Was Hero so blind that he couldn’t see the demon child sinking its claws into his flesh as he held it?

But the only thing bleeding of Hero now was his heart. Mentor stopped his scowling and thought about that. He looked at the waxy lacerations under Hero’s ripped shirt. He knew from experience that the undead did not heal naturally. For one spending so much time around monsters, Hero’s body was surprisingly untouched. And then there’s the matter of decay…

“He’s still restoring you, isn’t he?” Mentor accused.

Hero said nothing but held the child closer.

“How often?” Mentor scoffed.

“…Every few days or so,” Hero answered hesitantly.

“And he’s never said what he wants from you? Never asked you to do anything? You never asked him?”

“Of course I asked him!”

The creature wailed and Hero cursed under his breath.

“For gods’ sake,” he hissed. “Could you just give me a minute.”

Mentor scoffed, considering Hero for a moment before acquiescing. He sat himself down in the armchair in the corner, pistol still trained on Hero though his form was more relaxed.

Hero meanwhile began humming a hymn he used to sing. The words themselves would burn on his tongue nowadays. But the tune was painless, and he hoped the message still carried.

Mentor waited until the baby had begun falling back asleep before he spoke again.

“I’m guessing none of this was his idea, right?”

Hero shook his head.

“He just lets me get on with it,” he replied. “Doesn’t care what I get up to so long as I’m not trying to contact any of you.”

“What in the world possessed you? I’m sure I taught you better than this-”

“You taught me to fight monsters,” Hero cut in calmly. “And I did, from the day you took me in until the day I died. And I never once questioned it. Never once thought about where they came from or why they did what they did. They were just monsters.”

Hero remembered the day he died. Remembered the teenage girl with jagged appendages for legs, a hole in her stomach filled with teeth, and claws that could extend all the way to the ground if she wanted. He remembered being shocked enough to see one so young, and being unprepared for the fatal blow he took. But most of all, he remembered her pleading as he got himself up. How much she apologised and told him that she didn’t want to die. How she cried.

Hero never made a step towards her. Never drew his weapon. He simply sat down against the wall and told her that everything was going to be fine. Amaya had brought him a kind death.

“Gods dammit, Mentor. Can you really look at something like this and still say it’s a monster?”

Mentor said nothing. His face was blank and Hero hoped it was him contemplating. He flinched when Mentor finally rose from his seat.

“Put the creature back in the cot.”

“Mentor-“

“Do it or I’ll put a bullet through you both.”

Hero held the baby closer.

“If you hurt him-“

“Do as I say, and I won’t.”

Hero shook as he held the infant, trying desperately to think of a way to protect him. He only had Mentor’s word to go off. Would Mentor lie to him? Hero knows he wouldn’t have before, but now…?

Mentor took a step closer, losing his patience, and Hero quickly and carefully placed the baby into the cot. The child thankfully didn’t wake up from the rough transfer. Mentor waved his pistol, and Hero stubbornly only took a single step away from the cot. He walked up to Hero and grabbed him by his hair, pistol beneath his chin.

“I taught you to fight monsters?” he scoffed. “I did more than that. I made you a fucking masterpiece. Efficient. Relentless. Kind. And so gods-damned devoted to the church. The people loved you and you let yourself be killed by a low-level abyssal because it carried the face of a child?!”

He pinned Hero up against the wall, slamming his head into it. Hero fought through a wave of dizziness as he reached a hand up to try and pry Mentor’s grip from his hair.

“Did you think this was over? That you could walk away and play families with these abominations for the rest of your existence? That I was done with you?”

“L-let go-“

Mentor threw Hero to the ground before taking a second to compose himself. As Hero tried to pull himself up, he noticed how quiet the room was. For a second he’d worried he’d gone deaf from the head blow.

“Such a waste,” Mentor sighed. “But I suppose if you can’t be useful in life, this is the next best thing. I’ll be back in a week. Try and learn everything you can about Villain’s plans in the meantime.”

Hero was only half-listening. He could hear crying but it was faint, as if it was somewhere below him and not in the room itself. In the corner of his eye, a shadow moved. Mentor grabbed Hero by the neck and held them against the wall again. His face leaned in close.

“If you tell him or try to leave, I’ll tell the church about you and your pets.”

“And if I already know?” Villain said with the click of an abandoned pistol as his shadowed form wisped into existence behind Mentor. “What then?”

[petalsandpixels]

so there he stands, on the edge of a clif

arms out looking over him like he's god.

he hears his iconic insane laugh

"oh isn't the cute!" he sits "little ol hero has been defeated" he smirks and hops down from the clif,

dust Flys into the air, he can barely see the outline of him.

"who will save you now" he taunts walking over to you,

hes bloodied and hunched over on the ground, he glares at him,

"tisk tisk tisk" his tone holds mockery and fake disappointment, "let's not be hostile" he grins

he holds up your chin

"where are they hero." He asks, he looks at him confused

"wh- who" he coughs up a little blood

"your friends hero" the villain answers crouching down in front of him

his eyes widen, my..my friends, why aren't they here?

"i....I don't know"

the villain smirks

"did they leave you hero~?" he mocks

the hero glares at him again

"no. my friends didn't leave me." He coughs again "I'm sure they'll be here any minute to kick your ass."

the villain laughs

"they aren't coming" he grins

"what?" The hero looks confused again "how.. how do you know that, your bluffing!"

the villain falls back laughing

"oh, your being serious" he sits back up "they are not coming, they're to busy looking good for they're fans"

"no."

"I'm not lying look" he pulls up a live new broadcast of the other heros at an almost meet and greet

"no...no but I signaled for them..."

"oh hero..." He holds the heros cheek "they don't care about you"

tears prick the heros eyes and he perks out of the villains touch

"just kill me already."

"now now let's not be hasty" the villain smiles "I certainly will but...I'd like to offer you something"

"like what."

"let's become partners!" the villain claps excitedly

"what-!?" The hero looks caught off guard

"think about it" the villain stands up "we could rule the city, the country, or even the world together!" he raises his arms happily "who needs your shitty friends, you could join my side"

"...." the hero considers it, he's actually thinking maybe.

the villain extends his arm to the hero "get revenge" the hero looks up "make them pay" the hero pauses, but he grabs the villains hand and let's him pull him to his feet, the villain grins and pulls him close. "make them hate you."

[lizardho]

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.

When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.

John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.

He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.

He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.

After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.

He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.

He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.

He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.

He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.

He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.

He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.

To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.

He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.

I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.

Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.

I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.

I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.

And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.

[deconstructthesoup]

I genuinely don't think I'm ever gonna get over how perfect these descriptions of the Intrepid Heroes from the Rolling Stones article are

[sleepyvib-es]

I will never get over the fact that rick riordan's favorite way of uplifting other characters is to tear percy jackson down

[whoseblogisitanyways]

tag yourself: intrepid heroes' alter emos as ppl who went to my public high school

[miffysrkv]

“Before the Fall”

Bakugo x Reader

events that took place before this read

heavy angst, you have two kids, bakugo is passive and a little ooc here (not like his usually angry self)

“I’m too tired to argue with you right now [Y/N]” Bakugo spoke, his voice raspy from a long day at work. He removed his gauntlets, setting them down on the marble top of your island counter as he sat in the high chair, his fingers rubbing at his temples in frustration.

You frowned at this, crossing your arms. “I’m not trying to argue with you Kats. All I’m saying is I barely see you these days and Kazuya wants to spend time with you.”

Your husband gives you a pointed look as you mention your son. He knows you mean well. You’ve been trying to get him to take off from work so that he could spend more time with Kazuya and you.

But being the #2 hero didn’t mean he could always have the privelage to take days off whenever he wanted to. The citizens weren’t going to save themselves and he became the sole provider for your household as you stepped down from hero work when Kazuya as born

“…Hayami is barely 3 months old and I need help around the house. I can’t do everything on my own…”

Then there was his daughter. You had blessed him with a second child and her birth was one of the happiest moments in his life, next Kazuya & you.

His hands clenched tightly into a fist, a few sparks emitting.

“So what do you want me to do?”

You heaved an exasperated sigh and your arms came uncrossed, both hanging at your sides slightly defeated. “Ask Best Jeanist to give you time off. I don’t know Katsuki, I just want my husband back” You spoke, your tone holding so much frustration and weight to them as you tried to reason with him.

Katsuki was at a loss

Normally, he wouldn’t have to think much on the battle field. But here? He couldn’t think of what to do in order to ease your mind.

After much silence, the soft ticking of the clock nearby on the wall filling the air, you finally spoke up. Your voice shaky.

“What if… what if we took a break?”

Katsuki snapped his head up at you.

A break?

“It wouldn’t be forever, but…I’m tired Katsuki. I love our kids to death, but I haven’t had a moment for myself and I don’t know what other option there is for us”

Katsuki turned to you and really looked at you. You had bags underneath your eyes that shown you probably haven’t slept well these past couple days. Your hair, that you usually prided yourself on wanting to always look good, looked a bit dried out. And your complexion that was usually radian, was a bit pale.

Katsuki had no idea how much you were going through these past few days. And that made him think, if you were truly doing everything yourself, how many other days have you been enduring these feelings of helplessness and feeling tired without telling him?

You truly were a hero at heart, he thought to himself. This time around, he let a smaller breath out before nodding. Another moment of silence before he finally spoke..

“Yeah, we can do that”

[hotpotatopotat]

"Stuck in Raft"

Pro Hero Kirishima gets hit with a quirk that traps people in the last video game he's played, all while he's asleep.

Okay, I said I was gunna say no to my ideas a lot less this year and I can't stop laughing. I've had Pro Hero Kirishima and Shigaraki bro AUs before, and I've always really enjoyed the idea of them annoying eachother.

This idea spawned while playing raft with a bestie 😅

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt in Memes 5

Once more, have a prompt entirely in memes because I'm too lazy to properly write one right now lol.

[siennasfantasies]

Couple of the Year: In the End, Love Overpowers Fame.

As the years passed, Katsuki's fame grew steadily. His name quickly became known in the charts, and despite not being the number-one Hero, his contributions were never overlooked. You, too, had your share of fame as an ever-rising supermodel. Despite the massive recognition both of you received, your private lives remained untouched.

"DYNAMIGHT!"

"DYNAMIGHT! OVER HERE!"

"ONE QUESTION, DYNAMIGHT! JUST ONE INTERVIEW!"

The Met Gala was always a spectacle, and every year, the crowd of paparazzi seemed to grow larger and more relentless.

"You know, with all your fame, I can't help but wonder when you're finally going to fall and fail."

Katsuki’s posture didn’t change, but his eyes shifted to the source of the voice. His anger flared at the sight of the man standing next to him, grinning smugly at the cameras. Yoshiki Kenai was tall, brunette, with perfect teeth and an annoying level of confidence.

He worked in the same modeling industry as you, and ever since you’d entered the scene, he’d made it his personal mission to flirt with you at every opportunity. Fortunately, this year, his advances were more restrained.

"I question your logic, Bakugou. Should you really be settling down so quickly when your job is so risky? It's a selfish decision, really. Your fame is honestly undeserved, a selfish wannabe hero is all you are." Yoshiki now turned his head toward Katsuki, his smirk widening as he awaited a response.

Katsuki knew his job was dangerous. Every mission carried a risk. But for Yoshiki—of all people—to lecture him? His blood boiled as he fixed the man with a scowl.

"What about you? Do you hear the crowd? You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone who’ll never gain recognition unless your in my presence. The people need me. I can't be replaced. You, on the other hand, can be." Katsuki spat his words through gritted teeth, his face twisted with anger. Despite his fury, his posture remained casual, hands tucked into his pants, stance relaxed.

Yoshiki’s smirk faltered, and his face reddened in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Before he could fire back, Katsuki continued, his expression now calmer, though his voice still held a trace of irritation.

"At least you're smart enough to talk to me in front of the cameras. You know damn well that if you said this anywhere else, your ass would already be halfway across the world."

Katsuki turned his gaze back to the paparazzi, scanning the crowd slowly as he continued speaking.

"Smile bright, Kenai. Take advantage of this privilege. Maybe then you'll get some recognition just from being seen with me."

Yoshiki quickly walked off, his forced smile back in place, but his posture was stiff, and his cheeks were still burning with embarrassment.

"That was interesting," Kirishima said, appearing beside Katsuki, his expression a mix of amusement and mild concern. "Wonder how the paparazzi will spin this little interaction."

"Who gives a fuck?" Katsuki muttered, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as his earlier annoyance began to fade. His gaze shifted to you in the distance, gleefully interacting with the crowd. He was only at this event for you, and now, seeing you so happy, he didn’t regret it in the slightest.

"As long as that little fucker knows his place and stays away from me and my wife, the paparazzi can say whatever they want." You glanced over at your husband just as his eyes locked with yours, filled with affection.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming. No matter how many fans or events you attended, it was only Katsuki’s gaze that could disarm you so completely. Katsuki, too, realised how easily he folded when you smiled at him. Despite his fears about dangerous missions, it would always quickly disappear the moment his eyes met yours.

The next day, the cover of nearly every magazine and website featured you and Katsuki. You both stood a little apart, with Kirishima standing next to Katsuki. The crowd and flashing lights surrounded all three of you, but no matter the chaos, your eyes always seemed to find each other.

The headline read: Couple of the Year: In the End, Love Overpowers Fame.

Kirishima texted Katsuki in playful annoyance at being portrayed as the third wheel—though, in truth, he was always more than happy to play that role.

[wisecura]

Closer

College AU: somewhat enemies to lovers/fwb

Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader 3.3k

Summary: as long as you’ve known him, Bakugo has been your least favorite person. He’s loud, arrogant, and you’re his favorite target to mess with. And how you ended up at the same frat party, on the same night, in the same closet—you’ll never know.

Warnings: enemies to lovers trope, ex boyfriend, you aren’t completely aware how he feels, you hate him, semi-public sex, fingering, kissing, choking, degradation, belittling, pet names, not so nice names, your horny, aren’t we all?, breeding, claiming, jealousy, did I miss anything?

AN: Am I putting off my Sheets series to write another short fan fic? yes. Is that a bad thing? maybe. Should I stop?...*huffs indignantly* no.

Needed a change of pace for a minute so thank you for reading! This is entirely educational for me. I’m still new to writing and need a better grasp on writing out these scenarios and scenes. Thank you for giving this a shot and let me know how it is! Sorry if the proofread is a bit off!

The look in his eye was downright nasty.

Nothing short of plain cruel as he glared down at you.

How on earth you found yourself stuck in a damn near locker-sized closet was a mystery. And how you managed to find yourself squished against your absolute least favorite person, Katsuki Bakugo, was a goddamn anomaly.

“Can you get the hell off my foot-“ You shush him quickly, your ear peeled to the door.

“Don’t shush me. You’re the one who dragged me in here like a damn lunatic. You wanna play seven minutes that badly?”

You glare up at him in the dim closet, his stupid cocky smirk barely visible in the sliver of light from the cracks in the door. He was so smug it was almost unbearable standing this close to him. You’re already kicking yourself for acting so impulsively. Your voice hushes out in a whisper-“Oh, please. I’d rather be stuck in here with a rabid raccoon than you.”

“Tch, you’re practically clinging to me right now. You sure about that, princess?”

Your cheeks flush as you realize just how close you actually are to him, your chest brushing against his every time you breathe. The cramped space offers no room to move away, and his broad shoulders make it feel even smaller. “I’m not clinging to you, you idiot! There’s no fucking room in here to not be touching you.”

He chuckles lowly. The sound reverberating in his chest. You don’t know if it’s the stale beer running through your system or the fact that you hadn’t gotten laid in two months. It’s annoyingly attractive, and you hate the flush that settles across you face. Sure he was handsome as hell—6’2, chiseled body, handsomely sharp features. Deep red eyes that drew you in and that windswept blonde hair. And of course—what ruined everything for you—that mouth.

“Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” Words dripping with a condescension that he reserved solely for you.

And those fucking pet names—You’re about to snap back when you hear the muffled sound of voices outside the closet. Your heart jumps into your throat as one of them catches your attention—it’s your ex. Just the one person you were trying to avoid. He was chatting with someone but it was muffled—“Yeah, I swear I saw her come upstairs. Someone said she'd be here tonight.”

Your blood runs cold, and your fingers instinctively clench at his chest. You lean in closer to hear him through the door. Bakugo stiffens at first, at your somehow closer proximity, then leans down slightly so his lips are near your ear.

“What? you scared—“ your hand covers his mouth in milliseconds. Effectively shutting up the loud mouthed blonde.

He manages to understand your wordless request…but his breath is so warm against your skin, and you curse yourself for the way it sends shivers down your spine. He notices, of course—because of course he does—and his grin turns downright wicked. In hushed tones—

“Relax, princess. He’s not gonna find you. Though if he does, this’ll be one hell of a misunderstanding, yeah?”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah? And you’re a real pain in the ass, but here I am, letting you feel me up like your life depends on it.”

You want to shove him, tell him off, something—but the voices outside the closet are coming closer and closer. You press yourself back against the opposite wall, but only at expense of your stability. Those fucking heels that you insisted on wearing tonight almost took you out. Fortunately, Bakugo managed to steady you. And unfortunately, you now have to feel every inch of his chest pressed that much more against you. His hands now grip your waist tightly, and your almost flush with him. “Careful now. You’re starting to look a little flustered there.”

“I’m not flustered. I’m annoyed.”

“Sure, that’s what that is.” You hear your ex speak again, his voice laced with thinly veiled frustration. Now sounding right outside the door. “Where the hell is she? Did she sneak out or something?”

You hold your breath, your heart hammering in your chest as his footsteps pause. Bakugo notices, his teasing demeanor shifting slightly as his gaze flicks to a sliver in the door. For a moment, he looks almost serious. Before long, the footsteps retreat, and your ex’s voice fades as he heads back downstairs. You can hear his laugh echoing the hall.

The silence in the closet was deafening. You realize you’re still leaning against him as you attempt to move back. You don’t get far though, your legs are basically tangled at this point. Trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck.

“Don’t. Say. A word.”

Bakugo leans back against the wall, and you know he’s about to push every button you have. This was an awkward situation to be in. And all by your own doing.

“What, about how you were clinging to me like I’m your knight in shining armor? Or how red your face is right now?”

“I swear to god, I hate you.”

He pauses for a second. “Seriously, what’s his deal, though? Why the hell is he looking for you so damn bad? Thought you two were done.”

You glance up at him, your head spinning. The buzz you had was still going—not enough to consider yourself drunk, but enough to make the cramped closet feel warmer than it should be. His sharp crimson eyes are locked on you, his expression a little too serious. Once again he just looked pissed off. You have the mind to feel embarrassed about the situation. The two of you were never close, arguing more than anything.

“I don’t know. He’s…weird like that. He doesn’t like losing, even when he doesn’t actually want me.”

“Tch. Sounds about right. He’s always been a piece of shit.”

Your eyes narrow at him, even though deep down you know he’s right. His abrasive and blunt nature always grated on your nerves. Though there’s something about hearing it now, in this moment, that makes it hit differently. You'd never been one to back down from one of the many fights you shared with him.

“Oh, and you’re so much better? You’ve never been nice to me once, Bakugo.”

He snorts. “Yeah, maybe I’m not nice. But at least I’m not out there screwing around behind your back. You sure know how to pick 'em.”

His words sting and you feel your brows furrowing. You open your mouth to spew the nastiest insult on your tongue, yet before you can get it out, he leans in just enough to make the cramped closet feel all the more smaller. Now sporting some heavy bedroom eyes, his smug looking face come within inches of yours.

“Do you ever close that damn mouth of yours? That’s probably the real reason you and that asshole aren’t together anymore.”

Irritation bubbling over—half from indignation, half from the way his voice drops lower, rougher, like he’s daring you to argue. Why this turns you on so much, you aren’t sure. You felt your thighs clench slightly. Tying to steady your breathing.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to talk so much if you weren’t always such a jackass!”

You expect him to snap back, to argue, to yell—but instead, he tilts his head, his smirk widening. Knowing. He shifts against you, spreading out all the more, making you hyper-aware of just how close he is. Your heart pounds, the buzz of alcohol mixing with you shit sense of judgement.

Then it happens—you feel his leg between yours, grazing high up on your inner thigh, and a small, involuntary whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Your hand shoots up to your mouth in horror. Embarrassment washing through your very being. The sound hangs in the air, and you instantly wish you could take it back. His eyes widen slightly, obviously a little surprised, before narrowing again. Of course, he leans into it, the teasing his smirk turning downright predatory.

“What the hell was that, princess?”

Your face burns, and you try to turn away, but there’s nowhere to go in the tiny closet. He pulls you closer, the balance on your heels easily teetering you towards him. You try and scramble off his chest—out of the closet, embarrassed and unnervingly needy. But he pulls you towards him again, your hands planted on his chest. You sure as hell couldn't stand the thought of him being the one to throw you a bone tonight. His voice dropping to a taunting whisper.

“Now—hey, hey, where you goin? You just whimper for me? Never thought I’d hear you make a sound like that.”

“I—I didn’t—shut up! and let go!” You hate how breathless you sound. The warmth of his body between your legs was overwhelming, and every inch of space between you feels like too much. You really fucking hated him. Yet the way he looked tonight was so tempting. But that was just the alcohol talkin.

“Nah, I don’t think I will. Not when you’re lookin' at me like that.”

You try to look anywhere but at him, but there’s not much to see in a dim closet, is there? He leans in just enough that his lips are inches from your ear, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak. Thank god he was holding you up, right?

“Guess you’re not as tough as you like to act, huh? Or maybe…you just like being put you in your place.”

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he’s wrong, but the words die in your throat as his hand brushes up your side, slow and deliberate, groping you above your dress. He’s toying with you, and the bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s infuriating how your body betrays you, leaning into his touch. Your fingers grip at his shirt. Your pussy clenching around nothing. His head is firmly planted in the crevice of your neck now, in a far too intimate gesture.

“What’s it gonna be, princess? You gonna tell me to stop? Or are you gonna admit you don’t hate me as much as you think you do?”

You don’t have a second to answer as he nips at you, trailing small kisses in his wake. You feel your hands tremble as you wrap your arms around his neck. You pull him closer.

Bakugo's grip tightens on your waist as you lean into him involuntarily. His cock twitches at the feeling of you pressed against him, as he grinds himself into your sopping core. Your hitched dress making it all the easier. “At least she seems to like me.”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion of his fingers rubbing you through your panties, your eyes rolling back as he expertly plays with your clit. His lips continue their bruising pace, sucking, marking, biting until he finally captures your lips in a brutal all consuming kiss. You whimper against his lips, the punishing pace on your clit has your head spinning. He pulls back, a wet string connecting your lips.

"Fuck you're so wet for me already. Practically drippin'."

He pulls his fingers back, dragging them across his lips, sucking you down till he was clean. His eyes remain on your dazed expression. Yours trail the movement, absolutely feral, practically begging for more. It’s been to long.

"'N you taste so fuckin' good too." His gaze darkened as he watched your hips move against him, seeking some kind of friction. You could feel the heat through his clothes, his dick pressed right up against you. You so badly wanted it inside you—your mouth, your tight hole, hell—anywhere.You couldn’t help but be angry at the loss of his fingers.

"Such a needy little thing. Mmm princess, you're killing me.” You all but whimper at his words, and his restraint snaps. With a damn near animalistic growl, he pins you back against the wall, effectively caging you in place. His head dips, capturing your lips again in another hungry kiss while his free hand hikes your dress up further. He all but rips your panties off, the loud ripping of fabric echoes in the confined space.

You barely notice him slotting them into his pocket, as his fingers finally delve into your slickened folds. His cocked throbbed almost painfully in his pants as you completely melt against him.

You moan against his lips as his fingers slide into your slick heat, a filthy sound escaping you as he starts pumping them in and out roughly. He curls his fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you tremble and whimper even more. He feels your walls tighten around his digits, your body begging for release. He pulls away, looking down at your flushed face, heavy breaths fogging the air between you.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Instead of any coherent response, you let out a needy whimper, trying to avoid giving him the satisfaction of you begging. As if his fingers weren't knuckle deep in your cunt, making you light headed. As if he weren't inches from giving you the best orgasm you've had all year.

"Not good enough, princess. Tell me how much you want my cock inside you." He nibbles your earlobe, his fingers increasing their pace, pushing you closer to the edge. He was being mean. You know he's just taunting you. But you hated the way his words made you gush.

He could obviously feel your body tensing up, he knew you were close. But you know he won't let you come until you said what he wanted. He bites down harder on your earlobe, eliciting a yelp from you. His other hand grips your hip tightly, steadying you as he thrusts his fingers in deeper. Your slick coating his hand, dripping down your thigh. "Say it," he growls, his voice low and demanding. Your body writhes against his touch, your whimpers and whines picking up. "Come on. You know you want to. Beg me to fill you up." You getting wetter and wetter, gushing around his fingers as they slid in and out effortlessly.

"Please Katsuki…fuck me…please…" Finally, rewarded with your broken plea, he smirks triumphantly before pulling his fingers out of you, leaving you damn near foaming at the mouth.

"About time," He growls, savoring the sweet sound of your desperate panting before he roughly pushes your legs further apart, hiking one leg up. His fingers bruising your thigh, spreading you open for him. His fingers are replaced by something far better—his hard cock. His head falls back with a strangled moan leaving his lips when he finally buries himself in your sloppy cunt. Bakugo doesn't take his time, no, he fucks you like he owns you.

Hard and fast, like a man starved. His movements are rough and animalistic, his hips slamming into yours with groans and grunts of his own. You're sure people outside can hear you, even over the loud music. But you're so cock-drunk, mind hazy that you don't really fucking care who hears you—you just want him.

"You're so goddamn tight, princess." He mutters, his voice husky, and sounding almost impressed. You let out a choked moan, nails digging into his shoulders. He grasps your hip roughly, his pace picking up. Thrusting deeper, faster, harder, until all you can hear are your wet squelches filling the closet. Your tight little pussy clenching around him like a vice. He groans against your neck, teeth digging into the tender flesh.

"Such a greedy little slut, aren't you?" You aren't able to respond—his cock bullying your cervix at every thrust, oh so deliciously. Each word bringing you closer and closer, as you practically drool at the thought of his cum buried into you. You meet his thrust with your own small grinds as he gives you another throaty moan. "Oh fuck yes—" His grip on you tightens, sure to bruise indents forming under his fingertips, as he drives his fat cock into you g-spot repeatedly. "Is this what you wanted? Wanted my big cock to full you up?" thrusting harder with each word. "Fucking needy little thing, you wanna cum for me?" His hand winds up to wrap around your neck, as you clench harder around him. He hisses at the feeling, "Or should I just leave you unsatisfied like that worthless ex of yours?" He smirks down at you and you cant help the gasps coming from your wet lips. "He ever make you this wet, sweetheart? You ever had such a good cock?" You shake your head, quickly, always eager to please.

"No, I fucking thought so." His tone drips with satisfaction. He thrust into you with a brutal ferocity, clearly enjoying the way you whimper and squirm under his touch. "You always did have shit taste in men." His grip tightens on your neck, not enough to suffocate you, but enough to make you gasp and dip your nails in deeper. "But that ends now, princess." He growls against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. "I'm gonna be the only one fucking you like this from now on. You hear me? Should I tell you what I'm going to do to you? How I'm going to fill you up—make you mine?" His words are hot against your ear, his breath fanning over your flushed skin. That dick hitting every sweet spot that makes you see stars. "Or maybe I’ll just show you."

His fell grip on your neck tightens just a fraction, making it more difficult to breathe as he slams into you even harder. You hear people in the hallway, but he doesn't seem to care. "I'm gonna fuck you so good you won’t even remember your own name, let alone his." His words boarded on venomous, and if you didn’t know any better—you’d say he was jealous. His hips grind against yours in a punishing rhythm. "Then I'm gonna cum inside you, fill you up with my seed." His voice drops to a low growl as he whispers his intentions into your ear. "I'm gonna breed you. Make you mine." He can feel you tensing around him, your orgasm building fast. "Say it, princess. Say you want me to breed you." He thrusts his fingers into your mouth, coated in your own juices. "Say you want my cum inside you."

"Please, Katsuki…fuck, please, please cum inside me…breed me—" he lets out a low groan at that. "Such a good girl, so fucking good for me." That's all the encouragement he needs. With a growl, he slams into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he fills you up, long streams of curses filling the small space, telling you to take it, take it, sucha good girl. Your walls contracting around him, milking him dry as your orgasm crashes over you, spasming around his cock. His grip on your neck loosens slightly as he pulls back, watching as you ride out your climax. Your eyes are glazed over, mouth open as you try to catch your breath.

"Fuck, princess. That was…goddamn." He pants, resting his forehead against yours. For a brief moment, his expression softens, but it's gone as fast as it appeared. He withdraws from you slowly, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. You can feel his cum pooling between your legs, dripping down. He reaches down, pushing it back up into you, plugging you up.

"Mmm, look at you. Such a mess for me." He says, voice low and husky, before leaning in and licking a long, possessive stripe on your neck. His body pressing in against yours. Your cheeks ignite at the intimate gesture. It’s felt too—too intimate now. Too much. You finally have some clarity at the situation, "Hey, uhm—" and suddenly there was a knock. Both of your eyes shoot wide open in panic. Bakugo straightens up, pulling himself back leaving you cold, before tucking himself back into his pants. You watch in mortification, tugging your dress back over you legs. You panties missing—somewhere.

Fuck

come home

[halfghostwriter]

“… so basically just about everyone in my life has tried to kill me at least once, it’s kinda become my go-to way of making friends, just striking up a conversation with anyone who shoots me. It’s worked with just about all of the rogues in my hometown, including my clone-turned-sister who I had brunch with just last week. Even my parents used to shoot at me, but that was only for like a year or so and in their defense they didn’t actually know it was me, haha. It’s kinda funny, the only person who ever managed to actually kill me was a friend of mine who didn’t technically kill me the first time, and then only did it a second time to fix some rewritten timeline stuff, and I still dated her for a while after that. Oh, speaking of dating, my first girlfriend tried to kill me WHILE we were dating, but again, in her defense, she didn’t know it was me haha. But yeah, that’s kinda why I kept talking to that guy while he was pummeling me, just a bit of a pattern I’ve wound up developing. Anyway, what was the question again?”

“… How did you get in my safe house, and do you need medical attention.”

“Oh! I crashed through the window, and probably. Also, I’m gonna pass out.”

And then Danny passed out.

[frickingnerd]

trying to win back your heart

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

summary: after your break up, bakugou tries to win back your heart - and he's very persistent!

tags: lovers to exes, bakugou still loves reader, gifting reader flowers, 'angst' to silly fluff, charming!bakugou

"don't you ever get tired of doing this?"

you sighed and looked at your ex-boyfriend and the big bouquet of flowers he held in his arms. ever since you had broken up with him, after your last fight, bakugou had tried everything to win you back. flowers, sweets, teddy bears, love letters – you had seen it all! 

"never, not when it's about you!"

he grinned so confidently at you, that you just couldn't help but roll your eyes. bakugou was just too stubborn! it was what led to you breaking up with him and now he tried to use this stubborness of his to win you back as well. 

"i told you, i don't need flowers or sweets or whatever…" you were growing frustrated with him. "i just want some time alone right now, alright? once i've calmed down a bit, we can talk again"

that confident grin on bakugou's lips faded away and he lowered his head. 

"could you at least take the flowers then? i don't really have any use for them, you know?"

he reached the bouquet out towards you. you hesitated, but ended up taking it, which caused that stupid grin to appear on bakugou's face again. 

"you took the flowers, so you can't be that mad at me~"

bakugou hummed victoriously, earning a glare from you. 

"shut up and leave before i change my mind…"

[sentient-stove]

grinding my teeth together everytime I think of a new au what do you mean I can’t write siblings annabeth and leo where leo’s foster mother married fredrick chase and annabeth assumes she’s being replaced even though leo just wants a sister ahhhhhhh

[syrecjh]

𓂃⋆.༘⋆🌷Where the Light Switches Are

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

There are houses, and then there are homes. And then there’s Bakugo’s place — a structure that once wore your presence like a second skin. You don’t live there now. Haven’t for a while. But tonight, as laughter floods the air and the BakuSquad piles into his living room like it's their second job, something familiar settles against your ribs. Something you thought you’d packed up with the rest of your toothbrush.

Mina throws her jacket over the couch. Kaminari’s raiding the pantry like a gremlin. Kirishima’s already half-draped over the bean bag, demanding a rematch in Mario Kart. You step in without hesitation — shoulders relaxed, smile easy — and you reach for the switch to turn on the kitchen light without looking.

The bulb flares on.

And Bakugo sees it.

From across the room, arms crossed and eyes burning in the dim, he watches you find the world he built after you — and move through it like you never really left.

“Where’s the opener?” Sero grumbles, thumbing through the wrong drawer.

“Top drawer, left side,” you call out. “Under the old receipts.”

The silence is immediate. Then:

Mina gasps, scandalized. “How do you know that?”

You arch a brow. “I have my ways.”

“More like history,” Kaminari chimes, waggling his brows.

“Guess she lived here once upon a time,” Mina sing-songs, winking.

You wave them off with a snort, but your heart stutters — because behind you, you can feel him move. Bakugo steps into the kitchen, presence heavy and magnetic. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t need to.

“You still know your way around,” he murmurs, voice low and vaguely amused.

You glance at him over your shoulder. “Hard to forget where the ghosts keep their silverware.”

That earns the faintest twitch of his lips. Not a smile. But not not one, either.

There’s something unspoken in the air. The others carry on, pulling up games on the TV, wrestling over snacks, but the space between you and Bakugo is... different. It always has been.

He walks past you, just close enough that your shoulders brush. Just enough to remind you that you still remember the sound of his footsteps in the morning. Where he keeps his mugs. The softest part of his voice, when it was just yours to hear.

There’s no hostility here — just this... familiar, infuriating warmth that hums just below the surface. Like a flame that never fully went out. You don’t talk about it. Neither of you do. The end was quiet. Clean, even. Two people letting go before they ruined each other. Or maybe just before they realized they couldn’t.

The others buzz around like fireflies, dragging board games out, arguing over movie picks. You settle on the rug, a throw pillow in your lap. And he — of course — sits across from you.

Close enough to read your expression. Far enough not to touch.

“You always sit there,” you say absently, noting his usual spot.

He shrugs. “You always used to throw pillows at me from that side.”

Kirishima perks up. “Wait, is this, like, the battlefield of your past love or something?”

Mina gasps. “Don’t tempt me, I will absolutely turn this into a soap opera.”

You snort. “Please. If it were a soap opera, Bakugo would've had a dramatic monologue by now.”

He scoffs. “As if I’d waste breath on that.”

Still, when your fingers brush while reaching for a controller, he doesn’t pull away.

“You still feel like home?” he says later — not directly. Not even looking at you. Just under his breath, soft enough to be missed if you weren’t already tuned to his frequency.

You freeze for half a second.

And then answer without turning. “Maybe I just remember where the light switches are.”

He doesn’t say another word, but his gaze lingers. You feel it press between your shoulder blades, warm and heavy and impossible to ignore.

When someone asks where the spare batteries are, you answer before Bakugo can.

“In the drawer by the hallway mirror,” you say.

This time, it’s Bakugo who speaks over you — both your voices syncing, perfectly timed. “Drawer by the mirror.”

Everyone freezes.

“Oh my god,” Kaminari says, dramatically clutching his chest. “You two are still telepathic. I feel like I should leave.”

“Too late,” Mina says, pointing a chip at you accusingly. “This is it. This is domestic. This is memory lane. This is the prequel to the sequel.”

Bakugo rolls his eyes, but there’s something else beneath it. A flicker of amusement. And something quieter. A little sad.

“She just remembers shit,” he mutters.

But later — when the squad is neck-deep in snacks and trash talk — you catch him watching you again. Like he’s wondering if memory is the cruelest kindness of all.

You both exist in this strange purgatory of familiarity. Friends. Maybe. Close. Definitely. And whatever else, you haven’t dared to name.

As you help tidy up, Kaminari calls out, “Y/N, I swear you know this house better than Bakugo does!”

You don’t look up. “That’s because I do or maybe it's just a muscle memory”

But then — from the kitchen — Bakugo’s voice cuts through, even and soft:

“Maybe she just never really left.”

The room quiets. Not awkward, but still. Like the hush after a sharp breath.

You glance up, meeting his eyes.

There’s no smirk on his face. No heat. Just that familiar, unreadable calm. The kind he always used when he was holding something back.

You hold his gaze a second too long.

Then smile.

“Or maybe,” you say, voice careful, “I just remember where the light switches are.”

And that’s where it stays. Unspoken. Undecided. A moment hanging like the last echo of thunder before the sky decides if it wants to clear up or rain again.

And he just nods — once, quietly — like that’s enough.

For now.