angelx

[angelx]

yall.... I. sorry to break it to you again... but my frat prez!bakugou fic (Get Even), will have to go through yet another hiatus🥀💔

I was planning on writing chapter 6 today, but I've been sick, and I will be flying back home on Monday for uni break and may or may not have to go through an appendicitis surgery 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

is this... the author curse...?

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 5

word count: 2.8K

cw: ANGST! frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, heavy emotional themes, depression and emotional instability, unhealthy coping mechanisms: excessive drinking (katsuki), chain smoking (reader), emotional isolation. self-destructive behavior, strong language and emotionally charged dialogue, mentions of manipulation and deception, brief physical intimacy (desperate kiss), crying and emotional breakdown (katsuki), toxic relationship dynamics (temporary)

Three weeks. That’s how long it’s been since you walked out of Sigma Vex and slammed the door on Katsuki Bakugou’s carefully constructed world of control and deception.

Two weeks since his calls went unanswered, his messages unseen. Thirty missed calls. Dozens of texts—each more desperate than the last. You hadn’t blocked him, but you may as well have. Your phone stayed on silent, face down, forgotten under piles of unfinished sketches and cigarette ash.

And Katsuki? He was slipping.

Not slowly. Not gracefully. Crashing.

He hadn’t shown up to class in five days. When he did, he looked like hell—hood over his head, bloodshot eyes, the reek of booze clinging to his skin like sweat. His professors noticed. His grades were in freefall. And the Sigma Vex parties? They never ended anymore. What used to be all-night affairs that ended at 2 AM now bled into sunrise. He drank like it was the only thing keeping him alive, chugging straight from the bottle, stumbling through people he couldn’t name, eyes glazed, fists clenched at his sides like he was ready to swing at a ghost.

It was Kaminari who found him at 6 a.m., hunched behind the Sigma Vex house, puking his guts out into the hydrangeas. The sky was barely turning gray, birds just starting to chirp, and Katsuki looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You’re fucking insane, Bakugou,” Kaminari muttered, crouching beside him, one hand rubbing at his temple like he was already exhausted from this mess.

“You’re killing yourself,” Sero added from the back steps, arms crossed tightly, watching Katsuki like he wasn’t sure whether to drag him to the ER or punch him in the jaw.

But it was Kirishima—barefoot, hair tied back, hoodie thrown over his pajamas—who stepped up and finally said what needed to be said.

“You did this to yourself, man.”

Katsuki didn’t snap. Didn’t curse. He just spit the last of the acid from his mouth into the grass, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and looked up at them with hollow, bloodshot eyes.

“I know,” he rasped.

And the silence that followed was heavy. Uncomfortable.

Because they all knew the truth.

He hadn’t been sober since she left.

Every night he drank. Every morning he woke up with a pounding head and no memory of who he’d cursed out, what he’d broken, or where the bruises on his knuckles came from.

He drank to forget the sound of her crying. He drank to dull the echo of her voice calling him a sick fucking bastard. He drank because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face when she found out—cracked open with betrayal, like he’d gutted her with his bare hands.

The whiskey didn’t work anymore. Nothing worked.

Katsuki Bakugou—the golden boy, the top engineering student, the undefeated king of frat row—was slipping through the cracks of his own reputation, and everyone could see it.

He just didn’t care. Because she was gone. And he knew it was his fault. And he didn’t know how to fix it.

Meanwhile, you threw yourself into your art like you were trying to drown in it.

Your canvases—once surreal, symbolic, comforting in their chaos—turned grim. Distorted faces screaming into voids. Shadows crawling across warped bodies. A woman curled into herself, hands covering her ears, blood streaking down her arms like red brushstrokes. The kind of work that made people uncomfortable. The kind of work that said more than you were willing to say out loud.

Your studio became your bunker. A space where you could fall apart without witnesses.

You had started smoking again. After years of quitting. After promising yourself you never would again. But your hands wouldn’t stop shaking sometimes, and the nicotine gave you something sharp to feel. Something that bit back instead of sitting like dead weight in your chest. At first it was one. Then two. Now your ashtray overflowed with butts and your fingers had a permanent faint smell of smoke and turpentine.

Your studio smelled like acrylic and tobacco and depression now.

You barely spoke. Only when someone forced you to. When friends from class asked if you wanted to grab lunch or work together, you declined without looking up from your canvas. You stopped replying to texts. Missed group meetings. Ghosted people you used to confide in.

Your professors started noticing too.

Your figure drawing professor tried to joke, “What, did you sell your soul to make work this bleak?” But no one laughed. Especially not you.

Another professor—one who once said your paintings were “honest, even when they’re terrifying”—paused in front of your latest piece, eyes scanning the jagged red strokes and empty eyes staring out from a cracked mirror.

"This is... unsettling," they said, voice unsure.

You just lit another cigarette and didn’t bother to explain.

You didn’t need them to understand. You didn’t want them to.

Because how could you explain it?

How could you explain the quiet kind of heartbreak? The one that didn’t explode but festered. That dug in, made a home out of your bones, and left you feeling like a stranger inside your own body?

You didn’t cry in front of people. You barely cried at all now. It was like all your tears had dried up and hardened into the charcoal that stained your fingers.

The worst part? No matter how much time passed… no matter how many cigarettes you burned through or canvases you destroyed with your grief—

His name still sat heavy on your tongue. And you couldn’t spit it out.

One late afternoon, the light was bleeding gold through the high windows of the art studio when a quiet knock echoed against the open doorframe.

You didn’t look up. Not until the scent of Earl Grey drifted in with the sound of soft footsteps.

“Hey,” came Kirishima’s familiar voice—gentle, tentative, like he was afraid of startling you. “I, uh... brought you something. Thought maybe you’d still like this.”

He stood there, slightly out of breath, still in his gym clothes. Hair damp from a post-workout shower, a single to-go cup in hand like it was the only shield he had.

You dragged from your cigarette and blew the smoke slowly toward the cracked window. Your brush paused mid-stroke.

“Katsuki send you?” Your voice was flat. Not angry—just tired.

Kirishima shook his head. “Nah. He doesn’t even know I came.”

Your gaze slid toward him, slow and deliberate. A beat of silence passed.

“Then why are you here?”

There wasn’t venom in your words. Just a chilling stillness, like you’d already emotionally left the room. Kirishima scratched the back of his neck, hesitating only a second before stepping further in.

“Because I wanted to check in. You haven’t been around. People are worried. I’m worried.”

You exhaled a laugh through your nose, humorless. “You all had your chance to worry before.”

“I know,” he said quietly. And to his credit, he looked like he meant it. “I know I didn’t do enough. I should’ve said something. Should’ve stopped him. I just…”

“You didn’t,” you finished for him. Your eyes flicked back to your painting. “None of you did.”

Silence stretched again, taut and heavy.

He walked a little closer, carefully setting the cup on the edge of your work table. The faint aroma of citrus and bergamot tried to cut through the turpentine and ash that clung to your space. You glanced at the tea, then back to him.

“Kirishima…” You said his name softly, not unkindly—but distant, like you were trying to put a wall between you. “I appreciate the thought. Really. But I’m okay.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to protest, but you cut in before he could.

“I don’t need anyone reporting back to Katsuki. I don’t need pity. And I don’t need visitors.”

You tried to smile. It came out more like a tired curve of your lips. “So... thank you. For the tea. But I think you should go.”

He lingered for a second longer, eyes full of that familiar kindness. But he nodded.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll go.” And then he did.

The studio was quiet again. Only the sound of your brush dragging across canvas and the faint clink of ceramic against wood remained. Along with the Earl Grey, untouched, slowly going cold next to your sketchbook. It sat there like a ghost of who you used to be.

The hours blurred. Light faded outside the studio window, casting your latest painting in longer, crueler shadows. You didn’t even realize how late it had gotten until your back ached and your cigarette pack was empty. You barely cleaned your brushes before stuffing them in your bag and leaving the studio behind.

The chill of the evening hit as soon as you stepped outside, biting at your skin through your oversized jacket. You were almost home—almost back in the safety of your solitude—when you saw a figure standing near your apartment building, slouched against the brick wall like he belonged there.

At first, you didn’t register who it was. But your steps slowed when you recognized that ridiculous mop of blonde hair under his hood.

Katsuki.

You paused, breath catching in your throat.

He hadn’t seen you yet. You could’ve walked away. Could’ve turned and taken the long way around the block. But something inside you stopped you—curiosity, anger, exhaustion, maybe all three.

So you approached.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Your voice sliced through the thick night air like a blade, startling him. He jerked up from where he’d been leaning against the wall, blinking at you as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You stood a few feet away, keys still dangling in your fingers, hair slightly windblown from the night air. You’d just come back from the studio, exhausted, emotionally hollow—only to find him there.

“I wasn’t—fuck, I wasn’t trying to ambush you,” he said quickly, stepping forward, then thinking better of it. “I didn’t even know you’d be back this soon.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So what, you were just gonna lurk out here like a creep?”

“No!” he said, shaking his head. “I just—I wanted to see you. I didn’t even think about what I’d say. I just… I needed to see you.”

“You’re drunk.” You said it flatly, cold. It wasn’t a question.

He shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

You stared at him like he was nothing. Like he was some trash bag left on the curb.

“Pathetic.”

Katsuki winced. “I deserve that. I know I do. But—fuck—I miss you, alright?”

You laughed bitterly, arms folding over your chest like armor. “No. You don’t get to say that.”

“I’m serious, I—”

“You miss me?” you repeated, flat and incredulous. “You miss me.”

He met your gaze, nodding slowly. Like an idiot.

You shook your head with a bitter laugh. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to stand here like some wounded lover and pretend this is hard for you.”

“I’m not pretending,” he said quickly, eyes wide. “I fucked up, I know I did—”

“You fucked me,” you snapped. “That’s what you did. You fucked me, lied to me, and then played the fucking victim when you got caught.”

His lips parted, a tremble at his jawline, but he had no words.

“And now what?” you kept going, voice lowering, colder, sharper. “You wanna hang around like a kicked puppy? Like you deserve some kind of forgiveness because you miss me?”

The silence was brutal. So you twisted the knife.

“You miss me?” you cut in, voice rising. “You Used me like some fucking trophy to parade around your disgusting frat. And now you’re here saying you miss me like that makes it okay?”

“No! It doesn’t, I know it doesn’t—” he stammered, hands running through his hair, shoulders tense like he was holding back from falling apart. “But I never meant for it to be like this. I swear to god, I didn’t—”

“Then what did you mean to happen, Katsuki?” you bit out. “Tell me. Walk me through the part where you pretended to care about me and then fucked me for a Porsche.”

His throat worked. His jaw clenched. But he didn’t deny it. He looked destroyed.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered. “I know that doesn’t mean shit now, but—fuck—just… Let me fix it. Please.”

That made you go still. You blinked at him, slow. “Fix it? How?”

“I’ll do anything,” he said quickly, desperate. “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll fucking figure it out. I swear. Just… let me try.”

Your face hardened like concrete.

“Fix it?” you repeated slowly. “You think this is something you can fix with flowers or apologies or ‘I didn’t mean it’? Like I’m a broken fucking vase you knocked over and now you’re rushing to glue me back together?”

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but you weren’t done.

“You don’t get to come here and play the fucking hero now. You don’t get to stand here and ask for forgiveness like you’re some tragic man trying his best.”

“I'm not—I'm not trying to be some goddamn hero—”

“Then what are you, Katsuki?” you snapped. “Because all I see is a coward.”

He flinched like you’d slapped him.

“I gave you everything, and you made me into a fucking joke.”

The silence between you was so loud you could hear his breathing falter.

“I didn’t even mean to fall for you,” you said, voice quieter now, but deadlier. “But I did. I fell. And you let me.”

He looked absolutely wrecked. Eyes rimmed red, breathing uneven. You could tell he’d been holding it together with duct tape and alcohol.

And then the final blow:

“You could’ve been someone I loved.”

His face crumbled. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, broken, like the words weren’t enough and he knew it.

“I don’t even recognize you anymore,” you whispered. “And I hope I never do again.”

You stepped past him without another glance. But then—he reached out, just barely, like muscle memory—and choked, “Don’t go.”

His fingers brushed your wrist. You froze.

It was like a jolt of electricity zapped through your skin—an instant, involuntary reaction. Your body knew him before your mind could remind you why it shouldn’t.

You turned. And in that one small shift, the light from the hallway finally illuminated his face. You saw him—really saw him. Not the cold, smug frat boy who grinned when he cornered you at a party. Not the smooth talker who pulled you under his spell with filthy promises and gentle hands.

This was Katsuki Bakugou: raw, undone, unraveling.

His eyes were glassy, bloodshot, fighting back tears that clung to his lashes like dew. And still—fuck, still—he was beautiful. Even ruined. Especially ruined. He was a pretty crier. It wasn’t fair.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, voice cracking like the last tremble before something shatters.

You stared at him, jaw clenched. Chest tightening. You hated that a part of you still felt something when he looked at you like that. Like you were something he ached for.

And somehow… somehow that ache turned into gravity.

One step. Then another. And before either of you could second-guess it, your mouths crashed into each other.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate—ugly, aching, hungry. His hands cupped your jaw like he was afraid you’d vanish. Your fingers twisted in his hoodie like you wanted to rip him open and climb inside, just to find the part of him that felt like you. His lips moved against yours like an apology. Like a confession. Like he was trying to put back everything he broke with just a kiss.

But reality was cruel. You were the one to pull away. Breathing hard. Eyes blurred. Lips swollen.

Katsuki tried to follow your mouth like he hadn’t had enough, like he’d die if you didn’t kiss him one more time.

But you stepped back.

“I still hope I never see you again,” you said—quiet, but cutting—and walked away.

And this time, he didn’t stop you.

He stayed rooted in place, like if he moved, he’d collapse completely. His hand slowly lowered from where it had just held you seconds ago, fingers curling into a fist—like he could trap the ghost of your warmth there.

You disappeared into the building without looking back.

And Katsuki just stood there, under the glow of the streetlamp, alone.

The silence hit him first. Then the emptiness. And then—finally—his tears slipped free. Slow, quiet, bitter.

He didn’t wipe them away.

He didn’t chase after you.

He just stood there and let it break him.

Because maybe this was what it meant to lose the only person who ever looked at him like he was worth something more.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 6 is in the making! will be finished and posted as soon as possible!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

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[angelx]

ouh ur fic series so good it had me checking ur acc everyday if u posted a chapter 💔 plz im dying

AHAGGHSHSHW THANK YOU POOKIE! LOVE YEEEWWW

you'll see it soon, promise! this is how im gonna be when i drop the next chapter fr

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 5 Synopsis

Everything feels heavier in the aftermath. Three weeks after the truth detonated between them, Katsuki Bakugou is a shadow of who he used to be—drunk more often than not, his rage and guilt eating him alive. He can't sleep, can't think, can't stop looking for her in every room he walks into. Meanwhile, she’s unraveling in silence—cigarette smoke clinging to her fingers and heartbreak bleeding onto canvas after canvas, each painting more disturbing than the last.

subscribe to my AO3 for early chapter 5 post : Angel's AO3

[angelx]

HI MY LOVELY ANGEL!!!

i cant believe you're a new tumblr writer! you write so good and i love your stories <3 please dont ever stop! you just became my new favorite mha writer. its like im gonna die if you ever stopped writing 😭😭

oh i also love the fact that you try to post every day! i think its good to be consistent. please dont stop, youre doing really well. im sure so many people here love your writing as much as i do! ah, dont forget to rest when you feel like you need it, i know having a creative brain can be exhausting sometimes 😞😞😞

OMG???? THIS MEANS A LOT TO ME😭😭 THABK YOU SO MUCH POOKIE😋🩷🩷😻👍😁🫶

[angelx]

Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, and Suna Rintarou. From shared lunches and casual teasing to late-night heart-to-hearts, this is a slow-blooming story about friendship, growing pains, and the thin line between platonic and something more. Choose-Your-Own-Adventure!

📖 Episode 1 of 3 🎮 interactive fanfic "I Guess I Like You or Whatever" by @angelx 🔗 link to play: https://glimmerfics.com/stories/d01aca5f-i-guess-i-like-you-or-whatever

[angelx]

im slowly converting back to my suna rintarou era and katsuki is slowly fading from the back of my mind. this is devastating for me

[angelx]

CHECK OUT MY PHONE THEME😭😭

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 4

word count: 2.2K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, mention of light consensual sexual exploration, loss of innocence (consensual), light power dynamics, angst, emotional manipulation, betrayal, deception revealed, verbal confrontation, emotional fallout, heartbreak, desperation, minor character being an accidental snitch

Three weeks. That’s how long it took.

He could’ve ended the game then—hand over the receipts, claim the win, drive off in his beloved Porsche with the smug satisfaction of victory. But Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t thinking about bets anymore. Not when you were sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft skin flushed and vulnerable beneath his calloused hands.

You were always there now. In his room, curled into his side. At his place, stealing clothes you’d never return. Even in the quiet hours while he worked on his mechanical engineering assignments, you were there—sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling ideas for your next art project, occasionally sketching him in your sketchbook when your mind wandered elsewhere. The same guy who cornered you at a frat party last month, with a cocky smirk now pressed a kiss to your cheek when you said goodnight, traced circles on your knee while driving, held your hand like it was his lifeline.

And he was always around now.

Studio drop-offs. Post-class pastry runs. Sitting beside you as you finished a charcoal draft while he cranked out engineering formulas, muttering to himself and reaching blindly for the drink you'd gotten him.

It wasn’t official. No one said it out loud. But you were his, and Katsuki didn’t correct anyone who looked at you that way.

He should've walked away. After all, he’d already "won"—in less than a month, no less. But every time he looked at you—really looked—that old smugness cracked, and something softer bled through.

Something guilty. Something real. But you didn’t know that yet.

What you did know was that your body didn’t feel like a stranger’s anymore. Not with the way Katsuki touched you, taught you. Whispered encouragements when you were shy about asking for more. He’d started slow, guiding you through your own pleasure like you were something sacred. He taught you everything.

But the more he gave you, the more you wanted. Craved. Demanded.

It started with soft kisses that turned filthy. With your fingers buried in his hair, your thighs trembling. He would whisper in your ear, telling you how good you were doing, how much he needed you.

Then you changed. bolder. Hungrier. Katsuki taught you everything. Patiently. Obsessively. How to arch your back and press your hips against his to feel just right. How to use your hands, slow and deliberate. How to kiss like a promise and moan like a prayer. How to open your mouth for him—eager, breathless, desperate.

And now? You whispered back, filthier. You learned how to tease him. Torment him. You bit his lip when he teased, you whispered filthy things in his ear that made his cock twitch under his jeans. You’d ride him slow and steady just to watch his composure crack. You’d rake your nails down his chest, then soothe it with kisses, grinning when he gritted his teeth and growled your name. You started talking him through it like he used to do to you—telling him how good he felt, how hard he made you come, how you’d never get enough of him.

One night, you edged him. Pushed him to the brink with your mouth and your hands and your voice, and stopped—just before he could fall. You looked up at him with those wide eyes, lashes wet, lips swollen, your tongue tracing the corner of your mouth like the fucking menace you were becoming. And Katsuki just stared down at you, jaw slack, chest heaving, one hand tangled in your hair like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or push you away before he lost his mind.

He’d created a monster—a pretty little succubus that lived to ruin him. And he was so okay with it.

“Fuck,” he gasped one night, sweat slick between your bodies. “You’re a fuckin’ succubus, y’know that?”

You giggled, all sugar and mischief, brushing your fingers down his abs, and Katsuki was gone. Under your spell. Addicted.

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told you the truth. But how could he? You smiled at him like he built you a second sun. And maybe… maybe he wanted to be loved like that. Even if it was built on a lie.

The days blurred sweetly after that night.

It wasn’t love—no one dared to say it out loud—but whatever it was, it bled into everything. The way he kissed you like he needed it. The way you leaned into him like he was home. You were always near now, a fixture in his space and mind—wearing his hoodies, curling up on his lap while he worked on a thermodynamics worksheet he half-understood, sneaking bites of his snacks like you had the right.

He still hadn’t told you the truth.

And sometimes, when you smiled too wide or kissed him just because, that guilt threatened to crack open in his chest. But he stuffed it down. Kept pretending. Because pretending felt good. It felt real.

Then came the night of yet another Sigma Vex party.

You didn’t even argue this time. When he offered to pick you up, you said yes. When he threw his varsity jacket over your shoulders before walking into the frat house, you smiled at him so sweetly that his teeth could rot. And when the music thrummed through the walls and neon lights painted your skin, you didn’t leave his side once.

It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You sat curled in his lap on one of the leather couches, your legs draped across his like it was the most natural thing. He had one arm slung over your waist, thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your hip. Your head leaned against his shoulder, warm and light and so real it made his breath catch.

He didn’t care that his brothers watched. Didn’t give a damn about their smirks or side-eyes. You were his. Whether it was fake, temporary, or tangled in lies—right now, it felt true.

You brushed your lips against his jaw. “Need another drink?”

He gave a lazy hum. “Only if you’re gettin’ one too.”

“I’ll be right back,” you teased, slipping off his lap with a soft smile, the weight of you leaving his legs like losing warmth.

And then you were gone—just for a minute. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d come back, sit in his lap again, maybe he'd sneak you into the upstairs bedroom later. That’s what he thought.

But the universe had other plans.

You slipped into the kitchen, fingers curling around two red cups. The music was duller here, muffled behind thick walls. The party felt far away. You poured the drinks without thinking, still smiling to yourself.

Then a presence stumbled up beside you, reeking of cheap tequila and sweat.

“Heyyyy, you're kinda hooot” the guy slurred, squinting. “You’re from the art department, right?”

You turned slightly, confused but polite. “Yeah?”

He blinked. His eyes lit up like he’d just solved a math problem with crayons. “Wait. Wait, wait—you’re that girl. From the last party! Holy shit.”

You froze.

He grinned like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Prez actually did it. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

You frowned, your stomach dipping. “...Did what?”

“Oh, y’know—the bet. Back when you ran outta the first party like your ass was on fire? He was gonna lose that fancy-ass Porsche if he didn’t hit it by midterms. But he did! He won! Got in there fast, too—less than a month!”

Your hands shook. Your mouth went dry. The words didn’t compute at first. They sat there, echoing, buzzing around your brain like static. But they didn’t make sense.

“What… bet?” you asked, the words catching in your throat.

Before he could dig the hole any deeper, Kaminari appeared in the doorway like a lifeline. “Oi! Kimura. Shut. Up.”

But Kimura didn’t notice the sharp edge in his tone. “What? I’m just sayin’—it’s crazy, right? Prez really went all in. Said he’d make her beg for it—”

The drink slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor. The silence was immediate.

Kimura blinked. You stood there, the world around you slipping sideways. Kaminari’s jaw was tight, his eyes full of panic, like someone just pulled the fire alarm and everyone else kept dancing.

“Oh, shit-” Kimura muttered. “I fucked up.”

Your vision blurred.

There was a bet. There was a bet. You were the punchline. The game.

And suddenly, every sweet thing he ever did, every kiss, every look, every whispered promise—it all felt like poison sinking into your skin.

He played you. He chose to. And worst of all—you had no idea how much of it had ever been real.

You didn’t mean to storm out like that. But your legs are already moving, fueled by instinct. By betrayal. By the cold slap of reality that hit you like a freight train in that fucking kitchen. The hallway blurs. Laughter and music fade behind you. The buzz of the party becomes background noise to the pounding of your heart.

And then—You pass the living room. He’s still there.

Katsuki sits on that stupid black leather couch like he owns the room, like he owns the night. But when his gaze catches yours—when he sees the fire in your eyes, the betrayal carved into every line of your face—his whole world tilts.

His body tenses. He knows. No, you knew.

And you don’t even stop. You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You just walk past him like he’s nothing—like he never meant anything. And that? That hits harder than any slap could’ve. You slam open the front door.

“Wait—!” his voice tears through the air like thunder.

Then footsteps. Fast. Heavy. You don’t even get two steps into the driveway before he catches up. A warm hand wraps around your wrist, desperate, trembling with panic.

“Baby, wait—let me explain—please—”

You stop. And then you snap. You whirl around, eyes blazing like wildfire, and rip your arm from his grip. The motion is sharp. Violent. Final.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice splits the night. He stares at you—shell-shocked. He’s never heard you yell like that. Never seen you this raw. This hurt. You’re trembling. Not from fear. From fury. From heartbreak. Your voice cracks but you don’t fall apart. You refuse to fall apart in front of him. Not him. Not now.

“You think you could play me?” you breathe, voice shaking as tears finally sting your eyes. “You think you could lie to my face, touch me however you want, make me feel things—only to laugh about it later with your frat brothers?”

He tries to speak—his mouth opens, closes again like he’s drowning. “No—no, that’s not—baby, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

"After everything... You did all of this for what? To get back at me for rejecting you once? What? Your shitty pride and reputation got the better of you?"

And then the tears start. Hot and slow, streaking your cheeks without permission. You’re not sobbing. You’re not even making a sound. You just look at him like he set fire to everything you’ve ever built.

Like you don’t recognize him anymore.

Like you wish you never met him.

“Was taking my virginity also part of your bet?” You asked him, but he couldn't give you an answer.

It was impossible for you to believe at this point. “Don’t fucking follow me,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse now. Wrecked. “Just… don’t.”

You turn. You leave. And this time, he doesn’t stop you. He stays there on the pavement, frozen, winded like you just punched him straight in the chest. Because watching you walk away like that—seeing the light go out in your eyes when you looked at him—hurts more than anything else ever has.

Later that night…

Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone clenched in his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this damn world. His thumb hovered over your contact—again.

Call Ended.Missed Call (30).

He tried again. Straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling with a panic that refused to quiet. He keeps on spamming your phone with messages you won't even see.

baby, pleaselet me explainplease answer my callsfuck, i'm sorry. i didn’t mean it like this please baby let me explain i didn’t mean for this to happenbaby, please answer the call

Delivered. Delivered. Delivered.

Your phone sat abandoned on your nightstand—screen facedown, volume turned off. You didn’t even glance at it.

You were curled up in bed, blanket pulled over your head like it could shield you from the ache in your chest. Your pillow was already wet with tears. Your fists were balled against your chest, throat raw from sobbing until your voice gave out.

You weren’t ignoring him. You were just too heartbroken to care.

And in that silence, Katsuki was left to sit alone in his room, fingers clenched around his phone, jaw tight, heart sinking lower with every minute you didn’t pick up.

You didn’t need to say a single word.

Your silence screamed louder than anything else ever could.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 5 is in the making! will be finished and posted as soon as possible!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

TAG LIST: @d4wnyjlk @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @greeeaaattt @oogieboogiesbugs0724 @dienamiight @urmom2bitch @kalulakunundrum @lotusstarr @bakug0uzb1thc @fr6giledoll @urfavangelss @xoxogospgirl @thirstygorl @randomhuman112 @emmiesarchive @gojosatorusno1 @emojellyace08 @ink-spill-124 @katsukispubies @artfulthoughtsblog @limbo-xe @wiinterrosee @starslightzz @fiselle @gold24fish @nimisherecurrently @missusmoony @enzstr

[angelx]

YIPPIE

You and Bakugou Katsuki were rivals. Equal in strength, matched in stubbornness. In the end, you fought side by side and now... where does this relationship go? Choose-Your-Own-Adventure

📖 Episode 1 of 3 🎮 interactive fanfic "It's Always Been You" by Lily 🔗 link to play: https://glimmerfics.com/stories/c1c5dc73-its-always-been-you

[angelx]

You guys!! if you wanna read fanfics, but you're the one who's controlling your choices, you should check this out! it's like visual novels without the visual, but you get to choose how to interact with the characters!

I made 2 sfw stories here. You can check it out

Glimmer is open for Writers!

Hi friends ~ Tina here, one of the creators of Glimmer Fics, your favorite interactive fanfiction website. You can now write your own interactive stories on Glimmer!

If you're interested, check out https://glimmerfics.com/author

[angelx]

Hey pookies!! i bear a bad news ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა

i know i said chapter 4 will be posted in 2 days after chapter 3 was posted. and its supposed to be posted tomorrow. but unfortunately, i have been busy with writing commissions these past few days, and tomorrow is my last day of internship before my final presentation. im afraid chapter 4 will have to be delayed for a few more days (╥﹏╥)

Get Even - Frat Prez!Katsuki Series

"Didn’t think I’d see a pretty little thing like you at one of our parties."

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 (𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟏)

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 (𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟐)

𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 - 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐄𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐬 (𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝟑)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤…..

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

[angelx]

Glimmer is open for Writers!

Hi friends ~ Tina here, one of the creators of Glimmer Fics, your favorite interactive fanfiction website. You can now write your own interactive stories on Glimmer!

If you're interested, check out https://glimmerfics.com/author

[angelx]

pov: when youre trying to act mysterious cause fine shyt is looking but your pussy throbbing🥀🥀

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 3

Word Count: 2.4K

cw: mdni! nsfw! frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, virgin!reader (first time sex), loss of virginity, oral sex (fem-receiving), size sink (light body size insecurity & commentary), gentle, vanilla sex, unprotected sex (external ejaculation), aftercare, emotional intimacy, mild angst, internal conflict, unspoken deception (katsuki still hiding the bet), praise & reassurance, light crying (tears during penetration, comforted), smut with fluff at the end

The silence that followed that kiss buzzed in the air, thick with tension. You took that step closer—and Katsuki didn’t hesitate. His hand reached for yours again, warm and steady, and before you could think too hard about it, you were in his bedroom. The door shut behind you with a soft click that sounded louder than it should have.

He kissed you again—but this time, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate.

Like he’d been holding back since the moment he met you. Like something inside him finally snapped loose. His lips crashed into yours, rough and urgent, stealing the air from your lungs. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. His hand slid behind your neck, fingers tightening as if to anchor himself to something real—you.

He tilted your chin, deepened the kiss, groaned low in his throat when you kissed him back just as fiercely. It was heat and teeth and tongue, bruising and messy and so damn full of want, you swore your pulse stuttered.

You barely even registered it when he pulled you into his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips like second nature. His hands roamed—one at your waist, the other slipping beneath your shirt, warm against the curve of your spine.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, breath ragged. “I can’t— I need you.”

Not just for sex. Not for a win. Not for any reason he could articulate. Just need.

He kissed you again, harder this time, like he needed to memorize your taste. Like he was terrified you might vanish before he figured out what this feeling was gnawing at his ribs.

And just for a second, his guard slipped—completely. No bravado. No ego. Just Bakugou Katsuki, a breath away from crumbling in your arms.

And when he leaned in to lift you up, you let him. You weren’t sure what was guiding your limbs—just that you trusted him. Trusted the way he looked at you. Like you were something to be handled with care. Like glass. Not breakable in the tragic sense—no.

Breakable in the precious sense. The kind of thing someone would hold in both hands, careful not to leave fingerprints. His arms cradled you close, chest solid against yours, heartbeat steady despite the war behind his eyes.

And when he laid you down on his bed, everything around you slowed. There was no smirk on his face. No cocky grin. Just Katsuki—real, quiet, maybe a little nervous. That made two of you.

You whispered it before you could stop yourself. “I’ve never done this before.”

He blinked. “What?”

You looked away. “I’ve never had sex.”

Silence. You braced yourself for a reaction. A laugh, a jab, an awkward shift of weight. But none of it came.

Just a pause. Then a quiet, almost reverent, “Shit.”

“I know,” you muttered, already curling into yourself. “It’s embarrassing. I’m twenty and I—”

“Stop,” he said, gentle but firm. He leaned over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other cupping your cheek. “You think I care how many guys you’ve been with? Or haven’t?”

You muttered, already curling into yourself. “I feel like I’m the only one who—”

“Hey,” he said firmly. “No. Don’t do that.”

His hand found yours, fingers threading through like it was instinct. “That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong with you. If anything, it just means I gotta take this slow. Real slow."

“This doesn’t make you weird. Or late. Or broken. It just makes this something I gotta be real fucking careful with.”

You swallowed. “Careful?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah. Because if we’re doing this… I wanna make it good for you. All of it. Can I?”

You nodded—barely. Breath caught in your throat.

He kissed the inside of your knee first. A soft brush of lips. Then your thigh. Higher and higher.

You squirmed at the feeling, anticipation coiling in your gut like a live wire. No one had ever touched you there. Not like this. Not for you.

His hands pushed your thighs apart gently, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your skin as his mouth hovered just over your heat.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ sensitive.”

It wasn’t mocking. If anything, it was full of awe. Then he finally leaned in—tongue dragging over your folds, slow and intentional, like he wasn’t in any kind of rush. You gasped. Your hips jerked. And he smiled against you.

“Easy, baby,” he whispered, mouth warm against your core. “Let me take care of you.”

And he did.

He worked you open with that mouth like he was fluent in your body. Every flick of his tongue was followed by a kiss. Every whimper you let out was met with a low, encouraging growl from his throat.

He didn’t just eat you out—he devoured you. Not with hunger, but with something heavier. Deeper. Every time you tried to close your legs, he gently coaxed them apart again. Every time you got overwhelmed, he slowed down. Pressed kisses to your thigh. Murmured, “You’re doin’ so good. I got you. Just feel it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as your back arched and heat spread across your body like wildfire.

And when it hit you—when your body shook and you cried out his name like it was the only word you remembered—he didn’t stop. He held you through it. Whispered praises. Kissed your trembling stomach and wiped your tears with the side of his thumb.

Your body was still trembling in the aftermath of his mouth on you—limbs loose, head spinning, lips parted like you couldn’t remember how to breathe.

Katsuki kissed his way back up your body, slow and steady. Each press of his lips was soft, almost reverent—your hipbone, your ribs, the hollow of your throat, until his face hovered above yours again. His eyes searched yours, silently asking even though you’d already said yes.

You nodded once more. That was all he needed. He shifted, kneeling back slightly on the mattress. And then you saw it—his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down with a practiced ease. You didn’t mean to stare. But your gaze dropped, and your breath caught in your throat.

You’d never seen one in real life before. Not like this. Not… that big.

Your cheeks flared with heat as your eyes darted away, embarrassed. Katsuki noticed—and chuckled softly, the sound low and breathy. “Curious little thing, aren't you?”

You wanted to cover your face, melt into the sheets. But he leaned forward, brushing your hair back with one hand, kissing your cheek.

“Don’t be scared,” he murmured. “We’ll take it slow. If it’s too much, we stop. You say the word, yeah?”

You nodded, heart thudding in your chest like a kick drum. Then he reached down, guiding himself to your entrance. The warmth of his head against you made you gasp. Your body was still slick from earlier, but the stretch when he started to push in had your hands curling into the sheets.

Katsuki groaned softly, like the heat of you around him was almost too much. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good... So, tight...”

He paused halfway in when he heard you whimper.

Your thighs tensed. Your eyes prickled with tears, not from pain exactly—just the overwhelming sensation of everything. Of him. Of this moment. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.

“Hey, hey…” he murmured, leaning down to kiss it away. “Shh. It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.”

His hand slid up your side, grounding you. “You can take it. Just breathe. I got you.”

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then your lips—gentle, coaxing. Letting you catch your breath before moving the slightest bit deeper.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t pornographic. It was tender. Careful. Real.

He moved slowly, giving your body time to adjust, constantly watching your face for any flicker of pain or hesitation. His voice was a soft hum in your ear—you feel okay? want me to stop? just say the word.

And as the discomfort eased and the fullness turned to warmth, you found yourself clinging to him, fingers digging into his back, letting him guide your hips with the same steady rhythm.

Nothing about this was casual.

He didn’t pound into you. Didn’t lose control. He held you like you were fragile and holy all at once. His thrusts were slow, deep—more about connection than friction.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that you didn’t know where this thing between you was going. That there had been a bet, or a dare, or a game. Because right now, he wasn’t playing.

You didn’t know how long he moved like that—slow and deep, pulling soft moans from your lips with every roll of his hips—but your body began to tremble again, nerves lighting up like sparks down your spine.

Katsuki felt it. Saw it in the way your eyes fluttered, your hands clenched in his hair, your legs twitching around his waist.

“You close again, baby?” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “C’mon. Let me feel you fall apart one more time.”

And you did.

He coaxed it out of you with that perfect rhythm, with whispered praise and forehead kisses and the way his hands never stopped holding you like you might slip through his fingers. Your second orgasm crashed into you harder than the first, leaving your mouth parted in a silent cry and your body clinging to his.

He groaned when he felt you tighten around him, his control hanging on by a thread.

“Fuck—can’t hold it,” he gritted out. “Gotta pull out—baby, I—”

You barely had time to react before he slipped out, fisting himself quickly, jaw clenched tight as he spilled warm over your belly. His breath hitched—ragged and deep—and then his shoulders dropped, chest heaving as he came down from it.

Silence followed, thick and heavy. Then:

“Shit,” he muttered.

He reached for the sheets, swiping up the mess with a hand that shook just barely. You watched him, dazed, your heartbeat still thudding in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “Didn’t mean to get you all dirty.”

You blinked. “It’s okay.”

But he didn’t look convinced. He stared at you for a second longer, his brows furrowed like he didn’t quite believe he deserved your gentleness. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running. A drawer opening. A towel being soaked in warm water and wrung out carefully.

When he came back, he kneeled between your legs at the edge of the bed, warm cloth in hand. “Stay still,” he said, voice low, almost shy. You nodded, cheeks warm.

He wiped you down with slow, careful hands—silent, but not distant. He was focused, almost reverent. He kissed your knee after he finished, then tossed the towel aside and pulled the blanket over both of you.

Then came the kisses again. Softer now. Forehead, shoulder, the tip of your nose.

“You good?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded again, sleepy now. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t hurt too much?” he asked, just a little hesitant.

“No. You were…” You bit your lip. “Really gentle.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his chest.

And in that moment—with your legs tangled, his hand splayed protectively across your lower back, and your head tucked under his chin—you believed him.

You felt safe. Wanted. Held.

And for Katsuki, that feeling—the sight of you, the way you clung to him so trustingly—choked out every thought of the bet, every excuse he told himself, every lie he planned to keep.

He’d deal with the consequences later. He just gathered you gently into his arms again. Like maybe if he held you tight enough, the guilt might ease. The noise in his head might stop.

You pressed your face into his shoulder, still breathless, and he exhaled like it hurt. The room smelled like sex and sweat and something warm—like comfort, like confusion. He didn’t want to think about anything.

None of it mattered. Nothing mattered. Not now. He had no idea what the hell he was doing anymore. Only that he wanted you.

And that scared him more than anything.

But fear was easy to silence when her lips were on his skin and her laugh echoed down his hallway. So he didn’t think about it.

Not when she curled into his side with a sleepy little hum and pressed a kiss to his chest. Not when she whispered, “Stay with me, just like this.” Not when he smoothed a hand down her back and kissed her hair and promised he would.

He buried it.

Along with the bet. Along with the truth. Along with the growing, gnawing realization that he didn’t know where he ended and she began anymore.

The morning light crept through the curtains.

You stood in his kitchen barefoot, wearing one of his old shirts like a dress. Messy hair. Sleepy grin. Giggles spilling out of you as you burned the edges of the toast you insisted on making.

Katsuki—still bare-chested, eyes hooded with sleep—leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you like you were a secret only he was allowed to know.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked over, took the plate from your hands, and sat you up on the cold marble counter with ease.

“You’re hopeless,” he muttered, handing you a fresh piece of toast.

You grinned and giggled.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped between your knees and leaned in, kissing you again. Slow and lazy. Familiar now.

You turned your face away with a quiet laugh, cheeks warming under his gaze—but he chased you anyway. Kissed your cheek, then the line of your jaw, then down your neck.

You felt it then—the way his lips softened against your pulse. The way his hands curled tighter at your hips like he didn’t want to let go.

And when you turned back toward him, letting your forehead rest against his? He breathed out like he was trying to slow down his own heart. Maybe he was in too deep already.

But for now? He just kissed you again.

And when you laughed again, soft and warm and real—He let the fear slip away.

For now.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 4 is out now! READ HERE!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

TAG LIST: @d4wnyjlk @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @greeeaaattt @oogieboogiesbugs0724 @dienamiight @urmom2bitch @kalulakunundrum @lotusstarr @bakug0uzb1thc @fr6giledoll @urfavangelss @xoxogospgirl @thirstygorl @randomhuman112 @emmiesarchive @gojosatorusno1 @emojellyace08 @ink-spill-124 @katsukispubies @artfulthoughtsblog @limbo-xe @wiinterrosee @starslightzz @fiselle @gold24fish @nimisherecurrently

[angelx]

i wrote too many smut fics im slowly rusting on my fluff and domestic writing

after i finish Get Even im gonna write one more smut and then only write and accept fluff/domestic reqs for i dont know how long. and set aside mha for a sec. i need to write haikyuu and jjk too

[angelx]

THESE PICS OF KATSUKI I FOUND ON THIS APP HAD ME SPIRALING AND BURNING LIKE A WHORE IN CHURCH