arlymoo - Tumblr blog

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

best.osamu.fic.ever!😭❤️❤️❤️ I love Mamoru!!

A PLACE YOU CAN RETURN TO

tags: afab reader, childhood sweethearts to exes / exes to lovers, lost connections, returning home, single dad!osamu, original child character (miya mamoru), minor character death (oc), mention of pregnancy complications (preeclampsia; cerebral haemorrhaging), dealing with grief and guilt, falling in love, alcohol (but no one is drunk), food to communicate love (reader does eat fish; osamu watches you eat), angst and fluff, family feels, eventual smut, no power dynamics, emotional + protected sex, oral (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, shower sex, hand jobs

wc: 15.5k (WHAT???)

Despite being the capital city of the Hyōgo prefecture, Kōbe was like a black hole slowly pulling your body apart. You feel a growing, malignant dissonance as you stand silent in the centre of your new apartment, the disturbing sensation that time had passed and yet nothing had changed. Nothing but you.

There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with Kōbe. The city held all your childhood memories, your first steps and first friends, your first words and your first love, but through your adolescence you’d slowly begun to fear that you’d unwittingly shackled yourself to one place. You wanted something more, something bigger. There was grief, too. The loss of what, of who, you’d left behind had followed you all over the country. Even though you’d left, this place held onto a part of your soul with a white-knuckle grip that you never did shake.

Now you are back where it all started, your home so familiar yet so foreign. The apartment is a little bigger than your last, surprisingly seen as the rent was the same, and the walls housed full length windows that allowed light to flood into the space. An ache spreads along your arms, tissue deep, strained from a long weekend of moving heavy furniture and placating neighbours. Your stomach twists with hunger, and you grimace at the thought of your empty fridge.

Food it is.

An atmosphere of melancholy settles around you like a weighted blanket as your feet carry you further into the city, the collar of your coat popped and shielding your neck. Memories linger like a ghost, eyes drawn to all the places you would go when you were younger. Voracious laughter, running home against the harsh fall winds, the hesitant brush of fingers, sharing food under the shelter of the bus stop and the patter of rain, dry lips pressed clumsily to yours.

The smell of freshly made food fills your senses as a stranger steps out in front of you, warmth kissing your cheeks as the heat from the restaurant momentarily blows out onto the street before the door swings back shut.

Loose strands of hair irritate your eyes as you look up, the breeze sharp as she passes. Anxiety and disbelief chip away at you as you register what the sign says. It must be fate playing a bad joke, you think.

Onigiri Miya.

The curiosity is a little too strong for you to ignore. There’s a small queue at the counter and you take your place at the back, shifting the weight of your body between your feet as you wait nervously. You are the only one that appears so tightly strung, the other customers all at ease, the low tones of their voices carrying throughout the restaurant above the sound of cutlery and moving chairs.

His voice, though, is unmistakable. Something expands in your chest, a swell of longing filling a space you weren’t aware of until now. Osamu had always been handsome, a different flavour of charming than his brother. He carries himself in a manner that sets you at ease, just the same as you remember, but his shoulders were wider, arms somehow thicker with muscle yet softened with time and faint lines by his eyes as he grins.

You approach the counter and he lifts his head from the money he’s counting in his hands, mouth parting to greet you with a rehearsed script before he truly registers who you are.

He says your name with a lilt of disbelief, but happily nonetheless, and the pressure seeps from your chest.

“S’that really you?” he breathes.

“The one and only,” you laugh dryly, pressing your clenched fists further into your pockets and fighting the urge to hide in the collar of your coat. He pulls his cap from the crown of his head and runs a hand through his hair messily until it is pointed in various directions, a nervous habit of his you remember quite well.

“How long s’it been, six years?” he grins, “ya’ look good!”

“So do you!” You cannot keep the sincerity out of your voice, the teasing tone that comes so naturally when talking with him, and his grin softens into an alluring smirk.

Like everything else in Kōbe, your feelings for Osamu had stood still.

“Wait, before we get caught up,” he slips the cap back over his hair— now his natural colour, the silver painted over —and nods his head toward the menu taped to the counter surface.

“What can I get’cha?”

The menu is vast, but you had expected it to be. Osamu lived to cook, he loved to bring joy to others with food and the dedication to his craft showed. There were the traditional ingredients such as salmon, umeboshi, and tsukudani; but he made sure to include other options, such as tuna, shrimp, scrambled egg, chicken, tarako fish roe, and mentaiko fish roe.

Your eyes are drawn to the small text box in the corner of the paper, titled ‘the special’ in what appeared to be a child’s handwriting with the days ‘Tuesday and Thursdays only’ beneath it.

“Well, what about the special?” You murmur, pointer finger tapping against the paper, “it’s Tuesday today, right?”

His lips part in minute shock, as if he’d just remembered something important, and he coughs to clear his throat.

“That’s right. Today the special is ‘katsuobushi’, chef's choice,” he replies. There’s a hesitance in the air that wasn’t there before and it sets you on edge.

“Wouldn’t that be you?”

He grins, still unnaturally tight but fond, warmth returning to his eyes, “I have a helper on those days, he’s the one that chooses”.

“Pa?”

A small voice sounds from the doorway to the kitchens before you can speak. Osamu turns, and in doing so he reveals a little boy that can’t be any older than five or six. He’s pressed against the doorframe, half hidden, wide eyed and cautiously staring at you like waiting to be scolded for interrupting.

Osamu wipes a hand against his apron, crouching to the boy’s height and beckoning him out of the shadows. “Everythin’ alright, little man?” He says.

The boy steps forward, though still looking at you, and nods. He’s darling, you think. A cherub. It’s as if someone had taken a polaroid of Osamu when he was a child and pulled him from the image into this reality. His hair is a deep brown, the odd golden shine reflected under the lights of the restaurant, and brushed neatly aside from a stubborn little cowlick curl.

The swell of his cheeks are dusted in a youthful pink, nose wrinkling under his fathers nagging touches as Osamu begins to wipe stray seeds of rice from the boys mouth, and he wrings his hands into the material of his sweatshirt; one you recognise to be for Atsumu’s current professional team.

And pinned to his chest is a little name tag with ‘Mamoru’ written on it.

“Ya’ been snackin’ back there?” Osamu asks amusedly.

You try smiling at the boy to put him at ease, his steadfast and curious gaze still locked onto you over Osamu’s shoulder. You’re struck again by an aching sense of otherness, as if you were infringing upon something just by existing in that space in time. Osamu is a father. He has a son, and presumably a wife. You hadn’t seen a ring on his finger, but he could’ve simply taken it off while he worked for safe keeping.

It’s a little cruel, maybe. Like being presented with the image of what you could have had, and then doused with the knowledge that it would never be yours.

“A little,” the boy replies, “made ya some ‘giri, too”.

Endearment seeps through your chest at the enunciation of his words, his sweet little kansai twang, and the way his back straightens with obvious pride of what he’d done. Osamu shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet, leaning forward to press an obnoxiously loud kiss to his son's forehead, causing the boy to laugh.

“Speaking of onigiri, my friend has an order for ya,” Osamu grins, glancing over his shoulder toward you, “think yer up for it?”

Unbeknownst to the boy, you could see how he’d appraised your expression, an anxiety behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. He was worried about your reaction.

His son follows his gaze back to you and the hesitance is gone. Mamoru steps into the role of a ‘chef’ in the way only a child can and stands tall, as tall as is possible for him, while confidently nodding in affirmation.

“Comin’ right up!” He chirps, before scurrying into the back.

Osamu rises to his feet, wincing at the click of his knees, and returns to his place at the counter. You’re thankful in that moment that you’d stumbled across the place near closing hours, still the only remaining customer, giving you more time to speak to him.

“Will he be alright by himself?” You find yourself asking, instead of the obvious question. His shoulders relax.

“S’like I said, he helps out a lot, and I got some extra staff back there with him,” he replies in a fond, far off voice, as if remembering every time the boy had joined him in the kitchens.

“Yer katsuobushi is in good hands”.

“I’ll trust your judgement,” you say, “how old is he?”

“Turned five in January,” he replies. He rests his forearms on the counter surface, bracing his weight against it and looking significantly more relaxed by the typical parent small-talk. You refrain from following his example, ignoring the incessant pull that would have you lean into his space. Five in January. Your mind fills with intrusive thoughts and mental maths, feeling selfishly relieved that the child was conceived at least a year after you had left – like that would make the bruise any less tender.

“Looks like you had your hands full then, with…” you swallow back the tickle in your throat, awkwardly waving your hand around the restaurant, “...everything”.

He smiles, barely-there and knowingly. Osamu had always been able to see right through you, and no doubt he knew you were trying to drag out the conversation. Even after six years the need is there, the habitual urge to lace your hands together until your palms kiss, to play with his fingers aimlessly and watch his eyes brighten as he speaks.

The truth is, you do not know where the lines are anymore; not only was he your first love, he had been your best friend, he’d grown alongside you from being an infant and written himself into your blueprints. Irreversible. The typical boundaries that you might enforce with an ex cannot, and will never, be applicable to him.

So you simply talk – the only safe way you know to syphon his attention. Talking was innocent enough.

“I had a’lotta help, believe me I needed it,” he releases a shallow laugh, and it doesn’t sit right in the air. The ‘you weren’t here’ may not have even crossed his mind, but it crosses yours, and guilt sinks like lead into your stomach.

“In any case, I think you’ve done well for yourself,” you reply — purposefully gentle. An unspoken apology.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, tucking his chin to his chest in an abashed manner to hide his smile from you, licking his lower lip as he changes the subject, “what about y’self? Ya back for a visit?”

“M’back for good actually,” and his head lifts in momentary shock, a wide eyed expression adorns his face. It’s then that Mamoru returns holding a small cardboard tray, two oddly shaped onigiri seated inside it and wrapped in nori seaweed.

Children are perceptive, and you’re reminded of that fact by the way his eyes squint at the two of you, apprehensive about whether or not he should speak up. You give a small wave of encouragement and he makes the decision to toddle up beside his father.

Osamu takes notice, immediately reaching down to slide something out from beneath the counter, the sound of wood scraping along tile sharp in your ears. It must’ve been a stool, you think, as the little boy takes a careful step forward and grows 10 inches taller. With small, shaking hands, he slides the tray onto the counter for you to take.

He looks just as Osamu had before – quietly seeking out your approval. There are more grains of rice littering his cheeks, even more decorating his sticky hands, clear evidence of his hard work. You look to the onigiri and hum appreciatively, ensuring that he hears you as you lift one delicately between your fingers.

“That’ll be 500 yen!”

Without needing to be prompted, you hand the 500 yen over to Mamoru, and he shines under the responsibility of handling the money. Osamu accepts it with a proud grin, counting it and putting it into the register.

“These look delicious,” you say with sincerity, “I can’t wait to eat them. Thank you, Mamoru”. The boy’s face flushes with colour, bouncing on his toes where he stands, hands clinging to the edge of the counter to balance himself. He leans into Osamu’s hip, beaming up at him excitedly.

You pull the cardboard tray to your chest, saliva pooling beneath your tongue and stomach cramping in hunger as the smell clouds your senses. You take a quick glance at the clock and Osamu appears to recognise that you’re going to take your leave, stuttering over your name as his hand falls to the small of Mamoru’s back to steady him on the stool.

“You said yer’ back for good, right?” he asks, a desperate lift to his tone. You nod your head, not trusting yourself to speak, and hope balloons in your chest when he seems truly happy with your answer.

“If ya want to catch up, you’re welcome to join us for food this weekend,” he says, squeezing Mamoru’s shoulder with a smile, “we’re gonna cook for everyone, aren’t we?”. The boy watches the exchange with curious eyes, curling his fingers into the material of his fathers apron in a half embrace.

“If it’s really okay, I’d be honoured to eat more of your cooking, Mamoru,” you reply directly to him, a small part of you also seeking out his approval. You wanted the boy to feel comfortable around you, and though Osamu had extended the invitation, you wouldn’t go if Mamoru didn’t want you there.

‘What about his mother?’ You wanted to ask, but you feared the answer.

“We’re makin’ yaki udon,” Mamoru mumbles shyly, “s’ma favourite… You can have some, if ya want”.

“Thank you,” you smile, and feeling the weight of Osamu’s stare you meet his eyes, half lidded and affectionate. Too familiar, overwhelmingly familiar.

“M’number is the same if you still have it,” Osamu says and your grip tightens, the cardboard wrinkling slightly beneath your fingers. You hold the Onigiri to the breast of your coat, wanting to preserve the warmth, and exhale shakily.

“Yeah, I have it. Mine is too,” and wasn’t that painful. A thread left rotted and swaying, untouched for years. Two decades of connection dissolved into undelivered text messages, thumbs hovering over the call button and searching for an excuse, any reason to push it but finding none other than the need to hear his voice.

“I’ll text you then,” he replies with promise and you force your feet to move, eyes prickling once you step out into the cool evening air. You shield the onigiri with your hands as you near your apartment, relishing the soft tendrils of warmth against the skin of your palm, and try to process everything that’d just happened.

The place is just as you’d left it, unsurprisingly, though it feels much emptier now. You slide the tray onto the coffee table, weight falling back into the plush of your sofa and your coat bunching up around you. You inhale as you pick up one of the onigiri, moulded with inexperienced hands and yet perfect as they were. The rice is golden, likely a result of too many bonito flakes, as expected of a child with an affinity for savoury things.

It’s soft as you bite into it, the rice parting between your teeth and pillowy against your tongue. As you expected it’s a little saltier than it should be, and it fills your stomach in more ways than one.

You reach for the next, pressing the seaweed of the first into your mouth. Your cheeks swell as you chew, eyes catching on a small piece of paper tucked at the bottom of the tray, hidden beneath the rice balls.

You unfold the post-it, slowly revealing a stick figure with a big smile. The lines of the body are jittery,

drawn in pen held by an unpractised hand, and Mamoru has given the figure a hairstyle similar to your own.

As silly as it might seem, you find yourself choked up at the sentiment, tracing the jagged lines with your finger. You’d have to put it on the fridge door, a new little piece of home.

Pulling your phone out of your coat pocket you snap a quick picture, scrolling through your open chats to the last time you’d spoken with Osamu. The messages you’d never been able to bring yourself to delete; his last texts.

I miss you. Left on read.

You send him the picture alongside a thank you. It was as good a conversation starter as any, and at least this way you wouldn’t have to spend the entire evening fretting over the right thing to say. He responds quickly, a short ‘he’s happy you liked it’ followed by ‘it was good to see you’.

The days leading up to Friday are long and spent settling into your new workplace. Your colleagues are friendly, welcoming and playfully teasing of how your accent had dulled during your time away. You hadn’t expected the sense of loss that came with that realisation.

Osamu texts everyday. Short, simple messages that would appear innocent to anyone. You replied in kind – toeing the line between teasing and flirting every so often, only to turn your phone off for the night once shame got a hold of you.

You’d missed him, and you had never been the type to drip-feed. When you wanted something you wanted all of it, wanted him, but the possibility of that happening was now slim to none. It was startling how much and how little he had changed, his quips and humour still never failing to make you laugh, his memory of the things that a normal friend wouldn’t see any importance in. Somehow Osamu had stepped back into your life as if you’d never left his, not a speck of dust on him.

It was unsettling, because you were both so clearly skirting around the topic of Mamoru’s mother.

Come Friday you’ve already pictured every possible worst-case scenario and resolved them. Tonight was about rekindling the friendships you left behind, nothing more and nothing less, a mantra you repeat again and again. With that thought in mind you walk toward the entryway to slip into your shoes, passing the open archway to the kitchen and catching sight of the little stick figure on the fridge. You linger there, dwelling on an idea and breathing through the push and pull of uncertainty. It couldn’t hurt to give Mamoru a proper thank you with a little sketch of your own, a miniscule way of showing your appreciation.

By the door sits the shoe cabinet, a small decorative bowl atop it holding your keys, some spare yen and a pen, with a post-it pad beside it. The pen is almost out of ink, resting heavily between your fingers as you draw out a quick rendition of Mamoru holding an onigiri and the characters for ‘delicious!’ (うまい ; umai)

Osamu had texted you his address a few hours ago. You’d recognised the street immediately as one only a few blocks from where his mother and grandma lived, and smiled freely in the privacy of your bedroom. He had always been a mama’s boy.

The drive is faster than you anticipate. You pull up to the curb to park and somehow the car seems smaller, one hand curled around the handbrake and the other gripping the wheel as the engine continues to hum quietly. Your pulse is incessant, loud in your ears while your eyes drift to the house in question. It’s a typical Japanese home, a little on the smaller side, two stories with a balcony on which a futon cover has been hung out to dry.

The atmosphere is shattered by a firm knock to the passenger side window. Your body flinches, a sharp inhale of fear as you push down the handbrake to stop the car from moving. Kita stands beside your car with a gentle expression, the same patience and understanding that he’d always worn but you knew that this time the reasons were much different.

He points his thumb over his shoulder toward the house, wordlessly questioning whether or not you were coming, and you answer with the turn of your keys. The engine cuts off and the car settles, the heat beneath your seat slowly dissipating, and you push open the door.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Kita smiles kindly, eyes following while you walk around the front of your car to greet him, opening his arms as you near him. He embraces you solidly against his chest, much broader and firmer than you last remembered, the gentle smell of fabric softener and ripening wheat swaddling you.

The warmth of his hand seeps through the material of your shirt. “S’good to see ya, Kita,” you mumble, voice muffled where you’re pressed into his shoulder, eyes falling shut for a short moment to blink away the stinging mist.

“A’ was surprised to hear from Osamu that you were comin’,” he says as you pull away from one another. You press your lips together into a tight smile, fighting off your grimace with a dry swallow.

“Well… I guess home was callin’,” you reply with awkward finality, the words sounding timid even to your own ears. Kita simply cradles the crown of your head in his calloused hand, patting your hair in an oddly paternal manner.

“And ya’ finally answered,” he murmurs, “we’re happy to have you back”.

You walk side by side to the door, the distant and distinct bickering of Atsumu flooding out into the front garden. It’s there again, the anxiety that you are invading something that was not meant for you – no matter the reassurance, you still felt as if you didn’t deserve to be welcomed back so kindly.

Kita, sensing your unease, opens the front door and pulls you gently with his fingers circled around your forearm. You’re greeted by an open space leading into a living room and dining area, brightly lit with walls littered in framed photographs. Atsumu is lounging on the sofa, arm stretched along the back and yelling to wherever Osamu is standing in the kitchen, his eyes drawn to the sudden intrusion.

You shy away from his stare, bending to place your shoes neatly in the corner of the entryway alongside Kita’s, and as you straighten back up you startle backwards at Atsumu’s sudden appearance.

“Damn, an’ here I thought ‘Moru was lying,” he beams, appraising you as he steps aside for Kita to get by him.

“I told you uncle ‘Tsumu!” Mamoru’s small, exasperated voice calls from the kitchen.

“Lying?” You ask, enunciated with nervous laughter.

Atsumu hums in contemplation before sweeping you into a hug of his own. Similarly as it had been with Kita, you notice that he has grown enormously as indicated by the firm press of his biceps around your waist. You give into the affection easily — Atsumu had always been tactile with his friends, and you felt relief that he still considered you as such.

“He said his pa had invited a ‘pretty friend’ to join our little get together,” Atsumu recites from where his chin rests atop your head, “didn’t believe him. ‘Samu doesn’t have any friends, nevermind pretty—”

“Shut yer trap!”

“— well, he didn’t. Hasn’t. Not for a while,” Atsumu continues speaking over his brother’s interruptions, pulling away with a crooked grin, “wouldn’t‘a thought in a million years that it’d be you”.

You smile through your mess of confused thoughts, fizzling and incessant like white noise as you try to maintain composure. You didn’t want to make assumptions and yet, if you were to take Atsumu’s word at face value, it’d mean that Mamoru’s mother wasn’t in the picture.

You breathe in, deep and slow, your chest rising beneath your shirt. And you smile.

“S’nice to see you too, Atsumu,” you lean into his side as he begins to lead you further into the house, “I guess you finally got your hands on some toner while I was away”.

“I guess you finally got your hands on some toner while I was away,” he repeats back to you mockingly with his voice a few octaves higher, Osamu’s contagious laugh echoing through the lower level of the house.

“Pa, what’s toner?” You hear Mamoru ask, and you tuck your chin to your chest in an effort to hide your grin.

Atsumu guides you to the dinner table, Kita already pulling a chair out for you before taking the seat opposite. There’s already glasses set out, a pitcher of water in the centre and an open bottle of sweet white wine that you recognise to be a personal favourite of his mother. Years ago you’d sneaked a taste of it with him while she was sleeping with breathless laughter, hushing one another every time the house creaked beneath your feet.

The soft, hurried footfalls of Mamoru rushed past you to the head of the table, climbing up by his knees into the spot adjacent to you. “Hi,” He chirps, squirming in place as he sits, “you’re really here!”

“I am,” you reply, entirely endeared by his excitement and the post-it note weighs heavy in your pocket, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world”.

Osamu walks out of the kitchen with two bowls in hand, one a little smaller than the other, meeting your gaze as he leans forward to set it in front of Mamoru. He looks… ambivalent. Happy, but conflicted, rushing back to the kitchen to plate up more of the food.

Mamoru stares at the yaki udon with hunger, his small hands pressed flat either side of the bowl as he waits politely for the adults to be served too.

Kita and Atsumu begin talking to one another but the conversation is muffled, like cotton has been stuffed into your ears. You’re distracted by the lines of crayon staining the wood of the table, the homemade placemats that Mamoru must’ve made at school, the toys strewn across the floor in an organised mess that screamed Osamu. He’d always hated if a room was too bare, it always needed a little bit of chaos. ‘A little personality’ he’d call it.

“What about you?” Atsumu drags you back into the conversation, his body curling over the table surface as he leans his cheek against his fist. He smirks amusedly, though not in malice, as you fumble over your answer.

“What about me?” you ask stiffly, embarrassing to have been caught snooping.

“We were talkin’ about what we got up to this week,” Kita fills in the blanks for you kindly, “Atsumu just got done explaining his new team’s roster. Ya didn’t miss anythin’”.

Atsumu releases a theatrical sound of offense, one that makes Mamoru burst into a fit of giggles, a clear and purposeful attempt at making the boy laugh judging by Atsumu’s then triumphant grin.

“My week wasn’t all that interesting. I got settled in the new office and I unpacked everything without trouble,” you recite, conscious of how boring your answer is and of Osamu now entering the room with another set of bowls, sinking back into your chair as he places it in front of you.

“Though Mamoru did make me some delicious okaka onigiri,” you add with the appropriate gravity, wanting to acknowledge him and include him in the conversation. Colour floods his face and you watch as he struggles to bite back a grin. When he fails to do so he tucks his chin to his chest to hide his pleasure.

An inherited gesture.

“So you really are stayin’,” Atsumu marvels, more of a comment to himself than a question, “honestly thought we wouldn’t see ya again”.

You murmur noncommittally, uncertain of what to say, because neither had you. And for all the wrong reasons.

Back then you spent weeks, months, walking in circles around the possibility of leaving. The thoughts evolved into some parasitic, a dark cloud ruminating above you, so much so that neither leaving nor staying seemed like the right thing to do. And no matter who you asked, the answer had always remained the same.

‘Do what you think is right for you’.

And you had known as soon as you moved away that it’d been the wrong choice. But you couldn’t have known that until you’d left, and after making such a fuss about uprooting your life to chase your dreams you were far too embarrassed to turn back.

Osamu finally takes his place at the table to your left, and Atsumu shares a pointed look with him that is so lacking in subtlety it’s close to offensive. You can feel the heat of his body beside you, his shoulder brushing your own as he reaches for his drink, the contact brief but reverberating through your arm nonetheless.

He sighs, long and exasperated, lifting his glass up. Everyone follows his lead, including Mamoru with his hands clasped around a plastic cup of fruit juice, and glass collides softly beneath the joyous yell of ‘cheers!’

“Now tuck in before it gets cold,” he takes the chopsticks between his fingers and immediately twists the thick noodles around them. Mamoru does the same, though his chopsticks have two plastic loops for his fingers while he still learns how to use them.

“Thank you for the food,” you murmur before shovelling the food into your mouth, teeth sinking into the thickness of the noodles and savouring the tang of the umami sauce. You can practically taste the heart put into it, and it is heady.

A pleased, exaggerated hum builds in Mamoru’s throat as he eats, and Atsumu mirrors him playfully. Something in your chest releases, the tightness dissipates into foam and slowly you allow yourself to enjoy the atmosphere. It’s… loving. Cosy.

The conversation slows while the five of you dig in, mostly dominated by Mamoru whose voice is slowly gaining strength with each answer he gives, and you’re grateful the scrutiny is not on you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d shared a home cooked meal with someone, not in the years that you were away, and Osamu’s food reveals an obvious yearning that you’d kept locked away for a long time.

You eat and listen sedately as Mamoru tells you about how Osamu has started letting him make his own lunch for preschool, about the fish tank that his teacher keeps in the classroom, about the cool bugs he found in his grandmother's yard – he’d tripped over the words and Osamu had supplied that it was in fact a rhinoceros beetle – and that he’d named it Haruko.

“After mama,” he’d explained with a boyish grin that lifted the chub of his cheeks, “cause mama is everywhere!”

Decidedly, you do not touch that topic with a ten foot pole.

“Don’t talk with yer mouth full,” Osamu scolds him mildly in a stern yet loving tone – one only a parent could use. Mamoru obeys but does not cease to speak, instead he continues to tell you things between the dutiful chewing of his food, and you steal a glance at Osamu to enjoy the softness in his face as he entertains his son’s whims.

“That was wonderful as always, Osamu,” Kita speaks politely after he finishes, washing the food down with a sip of the white wine, “a meal always tastes better when eaten with family, don’t’cha think?”

“Yes!” Mamoru speaks after chewing his noodles, mouth and cheeks stained in golden brown sauce, “Pa says ya only need two things! all y’need is love in your life–”

“–and food in your belly,” you quietly recite alongside him, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re quick to smother the sting in your eyes, many a memory of Osamu embracing you and murmuring those exact words against your mouth, the shell of your ear, the curve of your neck.

“That’s right little man,” Osamu murmurs as he stands and circles around the table to Mamoru, taking his chin between his fingers and tilting his head so he can wipe it clean. The boy makes a noise of complaint as his father then slides his hand up to squeeze his cheeks together, lips jutted into a misshapen pout.

“Ya did a good job of finishing it all,” he continues, biting back a smirk at his son's whining, “now it’s time to wash up. Comin’?”

Mamoru pulls away, rubbing the heels of his hands against the pinkened fat of his cheeks, his eyes quickly glancing in your direction as he shakes his head. “Don’t wanna,” he demurs petulantly, and you’re honest enough to admit that pride swells in your chest.

Osamu notices his line of sight and huffs, ruffling his hand through Mamoru’s hair until it’s a directionless mess. “C’mon now, we’re the men of the house so we’ve gotta clear the table,” he reaches down to lift Mamoru with no exertion and settles him on his feet.

“Fine,” Mamoru grumbles and scurries a few feet ahead of his father to the kitchen while Osamu stacks the bowls on top of each other, his body curling over you as he reaches for yours.

Atsumu raises an eyebrow at you as Osamu leaves with the dishes, the lip of a glass of wine pressed to his smirk. “Interestin’,” he says before tipping his head back and downing the remaining dregs from the cup.

“Don’t start,” you warn tiredly, ignoring the giddiness thrumming through your body at Osamu’s actions.

“Alls am sayin’ is I didn’t get a weird hug from the back when he picked my bowl up,” he purses his lips in faux innocence as he shrugs and turns to Kita, “did you?”

“I did not,” Kita assents, the corners of his mouth twitching into a soft smirk that only seeks to encourage Atsumu’s teasing.

The twin cups a hand to his cheek to whisper conspiratorially across the table, “he’s single, if yer interested”.

“That’s— stop reading into things,” you reply evenly, taking a sip from your drink, fixing your eyes to the clean bottom of the glass and continuing once it’s finished, “that was a long time ago. It isn’t like that anymore”.

“It could be, if ya wanted it to,” Atsumu adds, giving the words weight, figuratively putting the decision into your hands. Kita must notice your discomfort, because his hand lands solid on Atsumu’s shoulder in warning.

“Stop tryin’ to orchestrate things,” he asserts, “let ‘em figure it out themselves”.

“There’s nothin’ to figure out,” is muttered under your breath and Atsumu wears his irritation plainly on his face.

“There is an’ you should!”

“Atsumu,” you say, this time pleading, and his resolve crumbles easily as he sinks into the back of his chair in defeat. A pocket of silence encircles the table, tense and suffocating, accompanied by distant clashing of plates and murmurings from the kitchen.

“M’sorry,” he begins to awkwardly trace out the lines of crayon left behind on the table, “just want ya both to be happy, y’know? You’re like family to me”.

“I know,” Kita watches the scene unfold calmly, his gentle gaze drawn to the anxious movement of Atsumu’s fingers.

“We missed ya’” he admits, smile pulled taut and thin, “didn’t matter that you and ‘Samu broke up, ya still could’a called”.

“I know,” you murmur again, grimacing at how dismissive your repetitive answers sound, searching for the right thing to say and coming up short.

“I should’ve kept in touch. I wanted to but it hurt, Atsumu,” the words bloat egregiously in your throat, hoarse as they leave your quivering mouth and quiet for fear that Osamu would hear the conversation across the room, “I’m back now and I want to make up for it”.

Mamoru charges into the room excitedly, coming to a halt as he reaches the table, the enthusiasm soon sapped from his expression. His pupils are dilated, flitting from your forced smile to Atsumu, his little mouth twisting in displeasure.

“Right, all done!” Osamu claps his hands together as he re-enters the room, and like his son he appears to catch on quickly to the dampened atmosphere. He glares accusingly at his brother, knowing and frustrated, and the legs of your chair scrape against the floor as you get to your feet.

“Thank you both so much for inviting me over,” you say, directing the words to Mamoru to emphasise that he is included in your gratitude, “but I have an early start at work tomorrow, so I think I should call it a night”.

“Are ya sure?” Osamu asks, at the same time that Mamoru whines in protest. Their desire to have you stay lightens the weight on your chest remarkably; it would be a lie to say their little family had not already sunk their claws in your heart.

But you hadn’t lied, not entirely. You did need to be awake early, but you knew that no matter what time you left the Miya house you would not be able to sleep tonight.

“Do ya really haf’ta leave?” Mamoru mumbles, accent thickening with his sullen expression, and you step forward to crouch before him.

“I do, but I swear I’ll come back,” you promise earnestly to assuage his worry, reaching your hand into your pocket where the quickly drawn rendition of Mamoru sits, “but before I go I need to give you this”.

The look on his face when you present it to him is something that you memorise instantly.

“Oh,” he murmurs, chubby little fingers holding the edges of the paper like it is something precious. He examines it from all angles, colour blooming across his cheeks, before telling you with painful earnestness, “Thank you!”

“Just a small gift for you in return,” you say, stepping back from the boy. “Hardly as good as your drawing, but I hope you like it all the same”.

When you steal a look at Osamu you find his expression sweetening with a parent’s tenderness as he receives the second-hand joy of his son’s happiness.

Mamoru holds the sketch to his chest as if he were cradling it as turns to his father to ask, “Pa! Can we stick it on the fridge next to mine?”

Osamu runs his fingers through Mamoru’s curls and tells him yes. Privately you acknowledge the gravity of the moment, of having a small piece of yourself kept in the heart of the house. You feel yourself soften, like wax over a flame, fondness twisting into your ribs.

You bid them goodbye. Kita wraps his arm around your shoulders and rubs a rough hand down the length of your bicep with the promise of seeing you soon. Atsumu drags you into a hug, face pinched into a look of regret that you quietly try to quell against his shoulder. It was not his fault you were a coward.

Osamu walks you to the door, his presence heavily felt at your back while he watches you slip into your shoes. “Did’ya mean it? You’ll come back?” He asks.

Nineteen year old Osamu holds you impossibly close to his chest, the fabric of your hoodie slowly darkening beneath his free falling tears. “Promise yer gonna come back,” he’d begged.

“I meant it,” you reply quietly, to him and to the memory.

For the next week and a half, your days are spent like a bird in a designated flight path. You endeavour to keep your promise to Mamoru by going out of your way to stop by the restaurant after work on the days you know he’ll be there, and even on the days he isn’t. “Hard to stay away when the food is this good,” you’d tell him.

Osamu texted you infrequently at first, and Atsumu’s comments play on an incessant loop in your mind. Over time the messages grew in length and confidence as you became comfortable with one another once more, leaving you awash with a feeling of giddiness that has you clutching a pillow to your chest.

Maybe he had been right. Maybe there was still something worth salvaging. Something worth rebuilding.

On the Saturday night as you’re stepping out of your bathroom, you hear your phone buzzing loudly from the bedside table. The caller ID shows Osamu’s name in large white letters, and your thumb lingers cautiously over the accept button.

“‘Samu?” You say after picking up, the device pressed firmly against the shell of your ear as you lower yourself to sit on the edge of your bed.

You hear his long sigh of relief. “Sorry for callin’ ya so late but I couldn’t ask anyone else”.

“Is everything alright?” You nervously curl a hand into the thin fabric of your sleep shorts, picking at the frayed seams.

“Yeah s’nothing bad. I just got a call from the owner of the florists next door, y’know the one?”

“Yes…”

“She told me they’ve had a leak, an’ since we share the buildin’ she’s worried I might have some water damage in the kitchens'”.

“Shit, would she be liable if there is any?”

“Nope, it wasn’t anticipated an’ it wasn’t a result of any carelessness,” you can hear the exhaustion in his voice as he explains, easily picturing him ruffling his hair in frustration.

“But that’s not why I called. I’ve gotta go take a look and make sure there’s no water near the electrics but there’s no one available t’watch Mamoru”.

“I’d be happy to,” you offer, already getting to your feet and padding over to the chest of drawers to find something to wear, “I’ll be there in ten”.

“Yer a life saver,” he breathes through the line before ending the call.

You quickly pull on some leggings and a t-shirt, stumbling as you go. The cold air nips at your skin while you lock up and climb into your car, body still warm from the blissful heat of your home, and you pull out onto the road.

You approach the house with much less apprehension than the first time, breaking into a light jog as you near the front door. It opens without needing to be knocked, Osamu stands debauched in the entry already awaiting your arrival wearing a quickly-thrown-together outfit not unlike your own. He ushers you in with another quiet thank you, mumbling that he wouldn’t be long as he slips his arms into his coat.

“I love ya!” Osamu calls out once more over his shoulder, and with great embarrassment you have to restrain yourself from saying it back as Mamoru replies in kind. The sound of the door clicking shut snaps you from your stupor, noticing the laden atmosphere veiling the inside of the house.

You find Mamoru swaddled in a blush coloured blanket, thick and made of fleece, surrounded by a chaotic assortment of toys and pictures. He smiles up at you tiredly, his eyelids falling shut between breaths as he struggles to keep them open. Playing quietly in the background is a children's movie, one from your own childhood, the light of the screen casting a soft glow across the room.

“Hi sweetheart,” you greet him feebly, lowering yourself onto your knees and taking a seat on the floor beside him. He mumbles and gravitates towards you immediately, shuffling into your space.

He’s holding a small photograph between his chubby fingers, the edges awkwardly cut and clearly a few years old. In the picture is a woman, her head thrown back in laughter and familiar curls billowing in the wind. The background of the image is busy, a carnival of sorts, everything lit up with bright lights and colours and yet your eyes are always drawn back to her.

She’s beautiful.

“What’ve you got there?”

His grip tightens under your gaze, the pressure crinkling the edges of the paper, and he holds his hands a little further out from the protection of his blankets so you can see more clearly.

“It’s mama,” he tells you solemnly.

“She’s very pretty”. He hums in agreement, his lips pressed together tightly as he stares down at the photograph. His nose scrunches as he sniffles, blinking away the beginnings of tears and turning further into your side to nestle there. You rub your hand down his back, the plush fabric velvety under your touch. He seems so much smaller now he’s tucked against you.

“Pa told me that she was kind an’ funny,” the words are barely audible and muffled, but you hear them, curling your body over his in an attempt at comfort, “an’ he said she loved me a whole bunch”.

“I’m sure she still does, Mamoru. It’s just like you said at dinner, she’s always with you”.

You both fall into a comfortable silence, his attention now on the animated pictures playing on the screen that you can see moving in the reflection of his glassy eyes. As the movie comes to an end you look at the clock hung crooked on the wall and note that it’s almost 10pm.

“Shall we go to sleep?” you gently squeeze his arm through the quilt, and he nods. You lift him with barely any exertion, marvelling at how little he weighs, cradling him to your chest as he yawns.

You make your way up the stairs to the second floor, your uncertainty about navigating the house immediately erased as you find a bright coloured sign hanging on one of the doors with Mamoru’s name.

The door is easily pushed open with your foot and you approach the child sized bed, a gentle smile pulling at your lips at the bedding decorated with depictions of Anpanman.

Mamoru sinks into the mattress as you lie him down and pull the sheets up to his chin, tucking the edges in for him. He yawns again, a squeak tumbling from his open mouth while he stretches.

“Pa stays with me ‘til I sleep,” he mumbles and you surrender to his request, kneeling beside the bed with your arms folded atop the quilt.

“I can do that for ya,” you say and he grins, mischievous, like he knows something you don’t.

“What?”

“Ya sounded like me,” he whispers, squirming in happiness over something so innocuous in the way only a child can and you feel it too. The odd sensation of relief that your accent is returning to you.

“Can I ask a question?” He huffs, shuffling further up the bed to peek his face entirely over the top of the covers, “pa said I shouldn’t be nosey without askin’”.

“Course ya can”.

“Do y’wanna kiss my pa?”

You inhale sharply in surprise, swallowing down the uncomfortable dryness forming in your throat and at a loss of words. Unsure of the right thing to say and not wanting to overstep any boundaries, you simply say:

“I care about your dad very much”.

To your relief he accepts the answer with a sober nod, the seriousness in his expression highly endearing.

“He likes—” he pauses between words to yawn loudly, teeth bared like a small cub, “—he likes ya! Pa told me so”.

You hum in acknowledgement and he takes it as disbelief, eyes squinting in offense, bottom lip jutting into a pout. You attempt to placate him by threading your fingers through his hair, hoping to coax him into sleep, and you feel triumph when his eyes flutter shut.

You don’t know how long you sit at his bedside with your hand cradling his head, nor at what point you managed to fall asleep with him. You rest fitfully, your consciousness rising to the surface at every car that passes by, every creak of the house as it settles.

The front door opens and your body moves first to shield Mamoru, relaxing only upon the sound of Osamu’s voice calling out that he’s home.

You listen as he climbs the staircase and the fourth step up groans under his weight, the light flooding into Mamoru’s bedroom from the hallway soon shadowed by his silhouette.

He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, head tilting while he takes in the scene. You wonder what he’s thinking, willing your eyes to adjust to the darkness so you might see his face. Instead you get to your feet and follow him out into the hallway, grimacing with each step as blood rushes back through your legs like white static.

“Is everything ok?” You ask, keeping your voice low as you descend the stairs, still aware of Mamoru’s open door.

“S’all fine on my end, thank God,” he snorts humourlessly and makes a beeline for the kitchen with tension held in his shoulders, “I did get caught up helpin’ next door though. Sorry 'bout that”.

You linger close by, observing as he reaches into the fridge and pulls out the familiar bottle of white wine from the lower shelf. He motions it toward you tacitly, wordlessly inquiring if you’d like a glass, and you nod.

One would be fine. And you didn’t want to leave yet.

“Did he behave?” he asks,

“Better than you ever did,” and he laughs, pride rearing in your chest at the stress visibly leaving his body. He fills a third of each glass with wine, handing one over to you as he passes through the threshold to sit on the couch and you move to join him.

You tuck your legs onto the sofa cushions, the rim of the glass cool against your bottom lip, and inhale the sweet scent of the wine while Osamu takes a first sip. His eyes fall to the photograph of Hanako still left out amongst the toys and reaches for it, smoothing out the creased corner with his thumb, resting his elbows on his knees where he sits.

“You aren’t going to ask?” he murmurs curiously. The lighting is still as low as you’d left it, the room dimly lit by the standing lamp in the corner and the TV screen now dark. Your eyes lift to meet his stare and you shake your head.

“That isn’t my place,” you reply after a few beats of contemplative silence, “though I guess I am curious why you haven’t mentioned her yet”.

“Wouldn’t want ya to run off again,” he muses playfully, grin widening once you reach to swat his arm with your free hand.

“You didn’t scare me off!”

“No, s’pose not,” he exhales in exasperation, and before taking another sip of his wine he says “but ‘Tsumu did”.

You hum a flat affirmative, embarrassed at how you’d fled so quickly after such a short confrontation. “Did he tell you…”

“What he said?” He finishes the question on your behalf as your voice loses some of its strength.

“Course he told me,” there’s a solemn shadow cast across his face, teetering on regretful, “would’a wrung his neck if he didn’t”.

“I’m sorry. I know I overreacted,” you say, eyes lowering to watch as your drink lap at the insides of the wine glass. Osamu exhales deeply across from you.

“Ya didn’t, it was a lot to take in; an’ I know exactly how pushy ‘Tsumu can be,” Osamu breathes a laugh, warm as he looks back to the picture, and for a moment you feel like you’re intruding upon something you shouldn’t be.

“She passed away after Mamoru was born,” he begins to explain, stroking the pad of his thumb over Hanako’s figure, “we weren’t really together exclusively. It was casual at first, met her at a seminar when I was trying to start up ma’ business the year after you left”.

“She told me 'bout the pregnancy right away. Pretty soon the midwife started pickin’ up that her blood pressure was high, she started gettin’ headaches an’ problems with her vision. Doctors said it was preeclampsia, recommended that she be monitored at the hospital with the baby”.

As he speaks you allow yourself to reach out to him, circling your hand around his wrist and squeezing. He leans into the support, resting his head atop yours, your cheek now pressed to his shoulder.

“I was scared shitless but she was strong. Sometimes it felt like she was holdin’ me together, too,” his voice quivers and the words crack, catching in his throat, “eventually it got worse an’ after the birth she died from a cerebral haemorrhage”.

The words ‘I’m sorry’ sit uncomfortably thick on your tongue. How many apologies had this family received? Would yours make any notable difference?

“Mamoru is a wonderful little boy,” you say instead with a forlorn smile, blinking away a mist of your own, “you’ve done an incredible job, Osamu. I’m sure she’d be proud of you”.

“He got all the best parts of me,” he grins, crooked and fond, “she gave me my little boy an’ I’ll never be able to thank her enough”.

The wine is dry on your tongue, the warmth spreading throughout your belly as you drink. He sets the photo back amongst the mess of Mamoru’s toys so that the boy might find it again, and upturns his hand so your hands slip together, slowly filling the spaces between your fingers.

His hand feels much bigger than you remember, roughened with time and hard work. You tighten your grip until your palms kiss, willing away the beginnings of guilt crawling into your stomach. The silence is heavy, but it is comfortable.

He finishes his glass and wonders aloud if you want another. “I shouldn’t have anymore,” you sigh, stretching your legs out from beneath your body, “I’ll have to drive home”

“Y’can stay in the guestroom,” he offers as he looks over to check the time, “it’s late”.

That wasn’t a solid reason to stay and you both knew it. You lived only a quick seven minute drive from his house, the weather was clear and it wasn’t even nearing midnight. But you wanted to stay, to have all the time with him that you’d lost.

“If you’re sure,” you reply and his eyes brighten. After you wash down the last of your wine he guides you to the upstairs bathroom, oddly restless as he quietly shows you how to turn on the shower.

“Ya gotta let it warm up a bit first, s’always been a bit awkward like that,” he rambles as he wipes the sweat of his hands against his pants, “body wash an’ everything is there. Feel free to use whatever”.

He places some of his spare pyjamas atop the laundry basket before throwing you a thumbs up. “Thank you,” you murmur amusedly as he takes his leave, unable to keep yourself from smiling at his apparent nervousness.

As you wait for the water to heat up you rub the material of the pyjama top between your fingers, the feeling of it not unlike Mamoru’s blush coloured blanket. You cautiously lift it to your nose as if expecting to be caught and inhale, pleasantly surprised by the entangled scents of Osamu and lavender fabric softener.

You shower quickly, lathering yourself in Osamu’s body wash and preening at the simple idea of smelling like him for the rest of the night. Accompanied only by the harsh spray of the water you process everything you’d learnt, from both him and Mamoru, the child’s earnest words still ringing in your ears.

“He likes ya!”

As you leave the bathroom with hair still damp against the nape of your neck but otherwise dressed and dry, you are followed closely by tendrils of steam that plume into the hallway. Osamu appears in the door to his own bedroom in only his sweatpants, eyes appraising your figure and not at all shy about admiring how you look wearing his clothes. Your pulse stutters at the attention, in your chest and between your legs.

Bathed by the light of the bathroom he looks inviting, soft and sleep mussed. As he stares at you, you stare back at him, cataloguing all the ways in which his body changed in the years that have passed. He’s broader still, but not as lean as he was in high school, fine dark hair littering his chest and trailing from his belly button beneath the waistband of his pants.

You swallow audibly, swiping your tongue across your dry lower lip. “Night, ‘Samu,” you murmur.

“G’night,” he breathes, and you continue to feel the weight of his eyes on your back as you enter the guest room, gently shutting the door behind you.

Morning comes like a gift. You stir at the light's warm touch, laid in an unfamiliar bed, the memory of the night before trickling back into your mind with a slow drip. Still sunken into the pillows and wrapped up in the sheets you hear the door open, the handle clicking as it flicks back into place and announcing Mamoru’s arrival, his small bare feet padding noisily across the room.

For a few passing moments you pretend to be asleep, curious as to what the little boy would do. A small hand rests on your cheek, patting you gently, and you remember vividly how Osamu used to wake you the same way whenever you fell asleep in class.

You open your eyes gradually, blinking against the light from the windows where the sun had already shifted. Mamoru’s sweet face resting on the edge of the mattress, the youthful swell of his cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright as he grins, “you’re still here!”

“I am,” you mirror him with a smile of your own, the young boy's joy entirely contagious.

“Let’s eat breakfast together!”

He begins to jump on the spot as you kick back the covers, swinging your legs over the mattress and getting to your feet. He giggles, lifting his hand for you to take it, and you let him guide you to the kitchen. It smells delectable, Osamu stands in the sweatpants from the night before, an apron covering his bare chest.

“I’m makin’ omurice at little chef’s request, fancy some?” He asks as he turns slightly away from the stove top to look at you.

“Sure,” you reply as Mamoru pulls you over to the sink, a brightly coloured stool already waiting on the tiles for him, “it smells delicious”.

“Everythin’ Pa makes is delicious!” Mamoru exclaims, stretching his entire torso across the counter just so he could reach the taps and turn on the water.

“We gotta wash our hands ‘fore we eat,” he instructs you dutifully while mimicking his father’s voice.

With clean hands and unkempt hair, Mamoru takes a seat beside you at the table and inhales exaggeratedly once the food is placed before him. Breakfast is a quiet affair, the silences filled with the scratching of chopsticks against ceramic and the odd sound of Mamoru verbally enjoying his food. There isn’t much time to enjoy it, because soon after the plates are licked clean Osamu is herding Mamoru upstairs to get him ready to visit his grandmother, casting an apologetic smile toward you as he goes. By the time Mamoru is dressed and presentable you’ve already cleared the table, hands submerged in warm suds and scrubbing the remains of egg from a saucepan.

“Need help putting yer shoes on?” You hear Osamu ask followed by Mamoru loud protests that he’s a big boy and is fine doing it himself. Your eyes linger on the children’s chopsticks held between your fingers, pressing your thumb against the small plastic loops and remembering how small Mamoru’s hand had been in your own.

It strikes you how right it feels to be here with them in domestic bliss, wrapped in Osamu’s clothes with a full stomach, the familial chaos filling you with a sense of fulfilment that you’d never felt before.

“Ya didn’t have'ta do that,” Osamu’s voice sounds from behind you, the water rippling against the basin as you startle. He sidles up beside you and you quell the thoughts of disappointment at the sight of him fully clothed.

“You gave me a place to sleep and fed me, this is the least I could do,” you avoided meeting his eyes in fear that he’d see right through you, reaching for a kitchen towel to dry your hands, already slightly wrinkled and softened. He hums thoughtfully.

“Y’can keep those clothes for now,” he says, “sorry to rush ya. If I don’t get him to mama’s by ten she’ll file a missin’ persons report”.

You laugh abruptly at the truth of his statement. Their mother raised the twins alone, fiercely and lovingly, she was adored by every child in the neighbourhood. But if there was one thing she’d never been lenient with, it was curfew.

“I won’t keep you then,” you smirk gently, tugging at the hem of your oversized shirt, “I’ll wash and return them to you another time”.

He watches the action, looking you over once more with unsatiated longing, the moment returning to him as his son yells impatiently from the entryway. In the rush you pull on your shoes, frowning as the heel tab folds inward awkwardly and rubs against your ankle.

You make it to your car, but not without first being accosted by Mamoru who demands that you see his new trainers, stomping forcefully against the pavement and grinning as he seeks your approval. The shoe lights up with various blinking colours, running patterns along the length of his soles, and you coo with the appropriate amount of awe.

With a sudden wet kiss to your cheek, Mamoru is rushing toward his father's car in joyous embarrassment. Osamu snorts fondly at his antics, spinning his keys around his index finger.

“The shop will be shut fer a few days while contractors are in to sort out the pipes, but we’d still like to see you,” he says, unlocking his car with the click of a button and observing as his son climbs into the seat with an exhausted huff, “Mamoru will miss you”.

Perhaps a little emboldened by their hospitality and affections, you laugh and say “just Mamoru?”

“And me,” he adds, “I’ll miss you”. The answer is unexpectedly honest, and your heart stutters in your chest like a hummingbird's wing.

You receive a text from him a few days later as you’re waking up, the sleep still in your eyes, asking if you’re free for dinner that night. You give a definitive yes, and the thought carries you throughout your workday, dragging the hours on insufferably.

You arrive five minutes later than intended, having spent a little too long fretting over your appearance despite the fact that Osamu had seen every side of you, and knock on the door weakly.

As he lets you in you realise the house is tidier than it had been during your last visit, strikingly so. The toys have all been put away, blankets and throws folded neatly atop their basket, framed pictures realigned and crayon marks scrubbed from the coffee table. Well, mostly.

It is also notably quiet, and the upper floors lights are all switched off, darkness permeating the hallway where the staircase sits. Only the living room and kitchen are lit, albeit dimly, the warm hue of the lamps adding a strange feeling of intimacy to the atmosphere.

“Is Mamoru not here?”

“…He isn’t,” Osamu replies awkwardly, apparently weary of your realisation that you are alone together.

“Then it’s just us,” you deduce, “is this a date?”

“If yer comfortable with it”.

“Why would I be uncomfortable?”

“It’s a possibility,” his shoulder lifts into a weak shrug then schooling his expression into something more serious, “I feel like a’ kinda tricked ya by not clarifying”.

“You could’ve just asked me,” you say as you shuffle where you stand, toeing off your shoes and lining them up with your socked feet.

”Just didn’t want ya to think you needed to say yes out of obligation, ‘cause of our history,” his words are followed by the ruffle of his hand through his hair, the familiar mannerism making his own nervousness known again.

“I don’t do things I don’t want to do, ‘Samu,” you reply, to which he grins.

“Good, ‘cause I want you willing, or not at all,” he says evenly, dark eyes lingering. Blood rises to the surface of your skin, the heat sweltering beneath your cheeks and a swooping sensation passing through your stomach.

Subconsciously, you lick your lower lip, and his pupils dilate as they track the motion.

“So what’ve you made for us?”

You pause to look over the dining table in awe with arms wrapped around your front. He’d covered the surface in a thin white decorative cloth to hide the stains and make it presentable, one you recognise as belonging to his mother. The meal is set out for each of you, consisting of a small bowl of miso soup, two side dishes and ahi tuna steaks for the main meal.

“I thought somethin’ a little more traditional might be nice,” he murmurs with uncertainty, and you feel the need to quickly reassure him.

“This is incredible ‘Samu,” you breathe. The clear time and effort he’d put in is… romantic, for lack of a better word.

He takes the chair opposite you and you begin to eat. The vegetables have been simmered in fish broth and seasoned with mirin and sake, the taste obvious on your tongue. You pair them with the steamed white rice, a pleased hum building in your chest at the fluffiness of it.

Osamu has barely touched his own food in favour of watching you eat, a tender dream-like expression on his face at the delighted sound you make once you bite into the crispy outside of the steak and meet the lush centre.

You drink between bites and the wine lends a sleepy weight to your arms, the muscles entirely relaxed, but your mind energised and inspired. “Are you trying to impress me?” you say, nearing breathless at the time and effort he’d clearly put into the meal. He grins, back straightening and preening like a stroked cat.

Something in the space between you shifts, narrows, a pull of magnetism between your bodies. “Depends. Is it workin’?”

You duck, chin to your chest, the corners of your mouth lifting into a pleased grin. When you raise your head you peer coyly through half lidded eyes and ask, “if I don’t say yes, will you keep trying?”

“Ya know I will,” he murmurs.

You finish your meal, the food laden where it sits in your stomach, yet you are not even close to satiated.

There comes a point when you both move over to the living room, sitting closer than needed on the same sofa, hands only a few centimetres from one another. Your fingers twitch with the urge to touch him.

The conversation is directionless and natural, minutes to hours spent reliving old memories with hearty and contagious laughter. It’s easier, you think, to reminisce on the good now that you have hindsight.

It begs the question of why you ever left.

“Then a’ remember you fell flat on yer face in front of the Kobe green area—”

“Shut yer trap!” you pinch the skin of his bicep between your fingers as you scold him and laugh unabashedly, freely, for the first time in weeks. As you quieten you realise he’s staring at you, though not out of shock, he appears to be taking a mental image of you in that moment.

“What?” you ask, conscious of the volume of your voice, of how many teeth you may have bared, of how your laughter lines had deepened through the years.

“Your accent came through a little just now,” he drawls earnestly, “it was cute, that’s all”.

“Mamoru said somethin’ like that, too,” you mumble feebly. There was some part of you that felt vulnerable, flayed in front of him, and you wanted to hide your expression so he wouldn’t see the relief. Or the regret.

“He likes ya, y’know. A lot,” he tells you, the confession dipped in fondness, and you refrain from sharing that Mamoru had told you the same thing about him. A small part of you wanted to keep the boy's confidence, and it felt equally important that you don’t reveal his secret.

“He’s definitely an easy child to love, isn’t he?”

Osamu's grin widens, wine flushing his cheeks a sweet pink and the lids of his eyes hanging heavily.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says as he lifts his left arm and rests it along the back of the sofa, which also happens to be behind where you sit. In doing so he shifts closer, the force of your dipole strengthening as you feel crowded by him.

“Can I kiss ya?” he rasps, and your heart feels brittle. You meet his hopeful gaze, and for a few beats neither of you speak. His hand slips subtly down the back cushion, the warmth of his skin barely grazing the curve of your shoulder.

“Is that really ok?” You breathe, wringing your hands together tightly in your lap to disguise the tremor, “I feel like I don’t deserve… this. It’s as if I’ve stolen someone else’s place”.

“I see yer still in the habit of catastrophizing everythin’,” he murmurs, fond as fingertips ghost along your cheeks and he closes the remaining distance between you. His nose brushes against yours and your eyes instinctively fall shut, head tilting ever so slightly to accommodate him, lips parting with a shaken breath.

He kisses you tenderly. A sweet, chaste press of his mouth to yours before pulling back a breadth to speak.

“This?” He kisses you again, this time to your left cheek. “This is yours. This was always your place in my life”.

He kisses your right cheek.

“But what about…” your voice trembles, the words trailing off, unsure if it’s appropriate to ask. Unsure if it’s selfish.

“Hanako?” He finishes your question for you.

“Hanako was a friend. I cared about her, an’ she cared about me. It just so happens that we didn’t take enough precautions and were blessed with a son”. While he speaks you feel his fingers slip down the curve of your neck, curling around to your nape as if to keep you in place and bringing your foreheads together.

“Even if she’d survived, we wouldn’t have been together. I know it’s frowned upon but it’s what we both wanted”.

“Look at me,” and you do. His eyes are shining, wet and desperate, but the solace woven into his features is stark. He’s relieved, maybe that you still cared or that you respected Hanako’s importance in his life, you couldn’t be sure.

“I told her about ya, y’know,” his other hand falls to where yours are tightly woven together, gently prying them apart and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the crescent moons left by your nails.

“You did?”

“Had to,” he breathes a laugh through his nose, shifting his wrist so he is able to interlock your fingers, “you were still here. Everywhere. Not just in pictures – I hadn’t even washed the shirts ya used to wear”.

Aching. It had been the same for you; hell, you’d been unable to change your phone background for an entire year and your co-workers had all thought you were already in a relationship.

“I regretted leaving almost immediately but… I think if I had the choice, I would still go,” you say, eyes concentrated on the intertwined hands that now rest warmly against your thigh.

“I was a stranger to myself. I was so fixated on the idea of being somebody that I might’ve resented you if I stayed,” you continue, “I know it sounds arrogant but I wanted to be special”.

“You were already special t'me, dumbass,” he mumbles affectionately and your throat swells with apologies, dry and uncomfortable. Instead you laugh, abrupt and deliriously happy, the sound much closer to a sob than anticipated.

“I know that now,” you reply wetly, “I should’ve appreciated that more”.

“S’alright,” he tilts his chin forward to kiss your forehead, “now I get to learn about ya all over again”.

Laughter bubbles in your chest, breathless as you try to keep up with his loving touches. Your body arches towards him and he takes the initiative, wrapping an arm around your lower back and pulling you into his lap. You feel all the edges blur together until the only thing you can hear or feel is him, pliant and perching beautifully on his thighs while your bodies rock together.

This languid dance continues for what feels like hours, the simplicity of embracing each other, hands traversing each other’s bodies, hot breaths and wet kisses. He hums, the purr is deep and rough and pleased, and then he pulls away with reluctance; he smirks as you follow the path of his mouth, whining when he leans forward again only to merely brush your lips.

“Can I take ya to bed?” he pants, and you curl your fingers tightly into his hair as you say ‘please’.

As you fall back onto the king sized mattress your thoughts finally catch up with your body, and you ask, “have you been with other people? After Hanako, I mean”.

“A few,” he replies distractedly as he works the tight material of your jeans over your thighs, pulling you halfway down the mattress in the process. You giggle, breathless and giddy, helping him and kicking them off with your feet.

“They all extend their thanks, by the way,” and the confused crease of your brow is enough to make him grin as he braces his body over yours. He clarifies between tender kisses along the line of your bare throat, “y’know, since ya taught me how t’eat pussy”.

White hot arousal pools into your lower stomach at the thought of him thinking of you during those encounters. Remembering you, what you’d liked, how you sounded.

“Lucky them,” you murmur, tilting your head back as he descends down your torso, feeling his warm huff of laughter over your stomach. He rolls the flat of his tongue through your folds as if he were still kissing you, languid and smooth, tensing the muscle only as he passes over your clit.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he mumbles to himself. You exhale deeply when you feel his fingers tease your entrance, lashes fluttering as he carefully sinks them into you alongside his tongue until you’ve taken him to the knuckle. He curls them upwards until your heels are kicking out along the bed, hips bearing down onto his wrist.

He holds you still with the press of a hand over your stomach, his strength evident as you writhe beneath him, the muscles of his arm tensing with the effort.

If there is one thing Osamu is good at, it's eating. Brazen as he sucks your clit into his mouth, the tip of his tongue massaging tight circles against you while he fucks you on his fingers. He barely stops to take a breath, groaning against you like you’re sharing the touch, hunching his weight forward as your body begins to convulse.

“Osamu,” you gasp, pitched and warning. A wounded sob catches in your throat as your breath is stolen from you, hands fisting into his hair without any thought other than chasing your end, pressing him roughly to your pussy while your orgasm washes over you.

His ragged praises and encouragements are barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears, but you feel the soft path of kisses along your stomach he creates as he waits for you to come back to yourself.

Osamu comes into view, bracing himself over you with forearms either side of your head, and you pull him into a desperate kiss by the back of his neck. You tempt him into your mouth, his face obscenely wet and the taste of yourself lingering on his tongue.

“Yer so gorgeous like this,” he murmurs, alternating between chaste kisses and licking into you sinfully, mapping out the line of your teeth. It was all consuming, as if he were savouring you.

“I want you,” you whine restlessly, thighs bracketing his waist and squeezing with impatience. He grins sharply.

“What d’ya want, baby? Tell me”.

“Fuck me”.

With one last firm kiss he sits back on his heels to pull off his shirt, glaring in annoyance as the buttons slip between his fingers, before throwing the garment aside and standing to pull off his jeans.

“Condom,” you stutter between breaths and he reaches for the bedside table, tugging the drawer open awkwardly and taking a packet between his fingers.

“Ya don’t gotta tell me twice,” he mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk and you laugh brightly. With a cheek turned into the plush of his pillows you watch as he rolls the condom over his cock and strokes himself to relieve the ache.

You shake as you reach for him and slide your hands across the expanse of his chest, the tremors of your orgasm still fluttering between your legs. The hair is fine and coarse against the pads of your fingers.

Your legs curl around his hips, feet suspended lazily in the air, and he ducks his face into the curve of your throat to nip at your skin. Osamu rolls his hips forward, his hard cock sliding through your wet folds, a hoarse gasp falling from his lips.

Threading one hand through his hair to cradle his head to your collar, you reach the other between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His hips jump as you touch him, groaning at the kiss of your cunt to his tip.

He sinks himself into you until skin meets skin, the weight of his body swaddling yours. All rigidity bleeds from your limbs as he pulls out with a gratifying pace, the stretch of his cock inside you indelible. With each thrust of his hips your breasts shake and he leans forward to latch his lips around your nipple as he fucks his cock into you over and over again.

The rhythm is fervent, a hot coil in your body twisting tighter with each pump of his hips, the obscene wet slap of skin reverberating throughout the room. He moans, unabashed and bordering a whine, and the sound has your toes curling against the bed.

“Fuck, ‘Samu,” you whine between stuttered breaths, too far gone to be ashamed by the clumsy jerking of your own hips as you attempt to meet his timing, “more, need more”.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he rasps. The canting of his hips is incessant, he shifts his knees and encases you in his embrace until he overwhelms all your senses. He doesn’t speed up, instead pulling out until he’s barely inside of you and sliding into you completely, your body rocking up the mattress beneath the force. He fucks you hard, deep, every movement completely deliberate.

“That’s it,” he says as your thighs begin to seize, his voice thick with want, “feel so fuckin’ good”.

“Gonna cum,” you arch into his chest with a hiss, arms hooked beneath his and nails embedded into the soft skin of his shoulders.

“Cum for me,” he pants desperately, “cum on my cock”.

Pleasure sweeps through your lower stomach, blood rushing in your ears as your eyes squeeze shut, grip tightening around him in a feeble attempt to cling to reality as your orgasm hits you a second time.

As you resurface you feel his hips rock into you once more before they abruptly still, his large body quivering over you as he cums into the condom. His breath is hot against the underside of your jaw where he nuzzles into your pulse point, limbs still wrapped around him to keep him from getting up.

You don’t want to let go. He pushes up enough only to lean his forehead to yours, eyes held shut and relishing in the afterglow, your pussy still pulsing gently around his softening cock. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face, pushing into the swell of his red cheeks. He meets your stare.

“Shall we high five like we used to?”

“Oh my god,” your head drops back into the thick of his pillows in fond exasperation, “we aren’t eighteen anymore, ‘Samu”.

His grin only seems to get wider, taking his bottom lip between his teeth as he brushes his nose against yours in an intimate show of affection. “No, we aren’t. S’much better now, ain't it?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, blanketed in satiated bliss and love. He presses a light kiss to your cheek, then once more to your lips, shifting on his knees as his cock slips out of you.

“Gonna get rid of this an’ then we can sleep,” he murmurs against your mouth, and you hum tiredly in acknowledgement. As he makes his way to the bathroom you fight to keep your eyes from falling shut, a small seed of fear buried deep in your heart that maybe this really was just a dream and this was it’s conclusion.

But Osamu comes back. Still naked as the day he was born and smiling happily, crawling toward you with his too-big body and crowding you against his chest. He runs his hand along the length of your back.

“What d’ya want for breakfast?” he asks quietly.

“Onigiri,” you reply, the words slurring as sleep pulls at your body. The last thing you hear is his huff of laughter.

As consciousness returns to you, you begin registering your surroundings one thing at a time. You can hear the pitched song of birds outside, a distinct call that only occurs during the early hours of the morning. There’s an arm thrown over your naked waist, a hand resting against your stomach, and warm puffs of air ghosting the nape of your neck.

You pry your eyes open slowly, squinting against the morning light before turning in Osamu’s embrace to shield yourself. His body moulds around you seamlessly, accommodating the change of position even in sleep. You shuffle yourself closer and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, just below his eye, and you notice the twitch of his eyes behind their lids.

He stretches as he wakes, groaning with the movement before his arms soften back around your body like elastic returning to its original shape. “Mornin’ baby,” he mumbles, accent thicker with sleep. You return the greeting shyly, not wanting to break the intimacy of the moment.

“Sleep well?” he asks, shivering at the touch of your fingers against his chest. One side of his face is pink from how he’d slept, hair unruly and eyes a little puffy as he adjusts to the light. Your throat tightens with gratitude that you get to see him like this again.

“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” you murmur honestly, “someone must’ve tired me out”.

“Glad t’be of service,” he grins, eyes falling closed again for a few moments with a relaxed sigh, “I hate to leave you in bed but Mamoru is s’posed to be home soon”.

“Ah. I can leave, if you need me to–”

He interrupts you quickly, squeezing your waist in reassurance, “s’not what I meant”.

“Okay,” you settle immediately, letting him pull you closer to his front, “we should probably shower before he gets back, then”.

It is with great resistance that the two of you finally get out of bed. Osamu suggests that you get the shower started while he grabs the towels, and when you lean across to turn the taps the cold water spits from the head furiously onto your bare shoulder. The fine hair on your arms raises at the sudden change in temperature, body still warm from Osamu’s embrace.

You step into the shower and reach for a cloth and the body wash you’d used last time, leaving the frosted glass door slightly ajar for him to join you. The pressure of the spray is a little higher than the one you have at your apartment, giving the sensation of a satisfying firm sting across your back, and you tilt your head to wet your hair as you lather your arms.

Osamu steps in, his eyes dragging over your figure from your feet to your lips. He closes the door behind him and steps forward, the space barely enough for the two of you, and he crowds you against the tiles.

“Give me that,” he smiles. Grabbing the washcloth from your grasp he pours a generous helping of body wash and holds his hand up, “front or back?”

You turn around wordlessly and he starts at your neck. His soapy hands slide over your soft skin, from your neck to your waist, and further down to grip your ass.

“Somehow I don’t think you’re just tryin’ to be helpful,” you mumble, head tilting forward as your muscles completely relax. He snorts, tapping your bicep to have you turn. He starts up top again, cleaning your neck and shoulders, his thumbs massaging firm circles into your skin. His hands descend to cup your breasts, giving them a light squeeze.

“Let me do you,” you beckon for the washcloth and he gives it over, raising a brow as you press your damp body to his front to let him pass, “don’t get any ideas. Stand under the water”.

“Yer the boss,” he smirks, the spray splashing off the planes of his back, hair darkening and sticking against his forehead as it becomes saturated with water. You slide your fingers through the strands and push them away from his eyes, his expression visibly softening.

You repeat his actions, indulging yourself and groping at the soft muscles of his shoulders. He was so strong and yet so malleable, pecs twitching when you lather his chest in soap in much the same way he had done yours.

Instead of having him turn you reach around under his arms to scrub his back, skin to skin, the weight of his cock now obvious against your thigh.

“Need a little help?”

Everything feels much warmer now, plumes of steam enveloping you both in the small space. “Y’can ignore it,” he assures you, unconvincingly, his shaky exhale barley heard above the sound of water hitting tile.

You set the washcloth aside, hands traversing his body once more to rinse him of the suds before you gently encircle your fingers around his cock, your grip just on the right side of tight.

“What if I don’t want to?”

He ruts into your fist, gasping quietly and tucking his chin to his chest with relief.

“You’re so handsome, ‘Samu,” you tell him, hoping he can hear the heat in your voice, hoping he knows it to be true.

He lets out a unintelligible groan as you slide up and down his cock at a cruel pace, alternating your grip and letting him clumsily thrust forward, fucking into your hand. Your eyes remain on his expression, wanting to watch his seams come undone.

You stroke him again while twisting your wrist, rubbing your palm over the head and enjoying his sharp inhale. You hear your name fall from his lips and it sounds like a plea as the pad of your thumb circles against his frenulum.

He curses, the word drawn out and rough. His eyes flutter closed, brows drawn up and together, lips parted and jaw slacked. He cums with a breathless moan, hand slipping on the shower tiles. You work him through it, the movement of your fist slowing as Osamu’s release coats your fingers and paints white streaks over his navel, and watch as the water washes it away.

When he sweeps you into a fervent kiss he has barely caught back his breath, cradling your face between his hands. Before you’re able to reciprocate, the shrill sound of an alarm cuts through the spray of the shower.

“Shit,” he mutters against your lips, kissing you a final time before manoeuvring your bodies so he can climb out, “I set an alarm just in case. He’s gonna be home in five minutes”.

“Take as long as ya need, alright?”

You can’t help but grin at how flustered he is, at how he’d anticipated that he would get carried away with you. Despite what he says you get out of the shower not long after he flees the bathroom, towel drying your hair and pulling on the fresh clothes left by the door.

When you step out into the hall you can hear a commotion downstairs at the front of the house. Mamoru must’ve just gotten home, you realise, and slowly make your way towards the stairs.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and so you lower yourself to sit on the top step. You stay hidden in the soft shadows at the crest of the staircase, listening to Atsumu’s voice carry into the house. It’s muffled but so clearly teasing, a pointed remark about the marks on Osamu’s neck and the flush of his cheeks. There is no reason to hide your smile here.

The sound of light sprinting feet echoes along the hallway below until Mamoru is standing at the first step of the stairs. His face brightens as he sees you, and you beckon him with a conspicuous wave of your hand.

“Are we hidin’?” He whispers excitedly.

“I’m hiding from yer uncle,” you tell him “he’s gonna bully me if he knows m’still here”.

“I’ll protect you!” Mamoru crowds into your space, and you lift your arm so he can slot up against your side comfortably. He isn’t heavy, but the weight is pleasant. Alleviating.

“My hero,” you murmur fondly and he beams. The two of you startle at the sound of the front door closing, followed by the click of a lock. Osamu appears just as Mamoru had, his content expression warming into endearment when he catches sight of you.

“What’re you troublemakers schemin’ up there?”

The question flicks a switch in Mamoru, immediately abuzz with restless energy and excitement, and once Osamu takes a slow step forward with his body lowered you understand why.

“Run!” You gasp, and Mamoru squeals as he rushes across the landing toward his bedroom. You follow close behind, peels of laughter reverberating throughout the house. Osamu is hot on your heels, the thundering of his steps up the stairs only marginally louder than the beat of your heart.

You roll onto Mamoru’s bed alongside him, and he crawls into your lap for protection. Osamu stands by the door and holds his hands up in front of his chest, fingers hooked like claws.

“M’gonna getcha!”

He tackles the two of you on the bed. You can tell he’s being gentle and withholding his strength but it’s exciting to Mamoru all the same, his squeals and pitched giggles growing in volume. You play your part well, pretending to fight his father off and holding the boy to your chest.

Osamu meets your eyes over the top of Mamoru’s head, eyes alight with joy. You smile, and hope he can see the love in yours.

You were home.

4K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

oh my god i forgot my DEEP love of Tsumu😭❤️

warnings: f! reader, tiny suggestive themes, more soft weekends with atsu cause i’ll never stop thinking about him.

weekends with miya atsumu were nice, pleasant and sleepy. it was rare that he wasn’t up for practice but it still feels nice to spend the morning with his bigger body blanketing you, his bicep curled around you to hug you closer to his chest while his fingers leave featherlight touches along your spine, still warm as you bask in the remnants of your tingling pleasure.

“well good mornin’, baby.” he breathes, his lips curling into a smile when he kisses you once on the temple and you can’t help but laugh when he follows it with a few more ticklish ones after. “it’s good afternoon now, ‘tsum.” you grin and you feel atsumu tangle his fingers loosely with yours before he pats around the mattress for his phone, squinting at the numbers on the screen before he wiggles closer to encourage you to cuddle up to him.

“well ‘ts still good aslong as yer in ma arms.” the blonde drawls, pink cheeked as he looks over you with a fondness that you’d always found in chocolate eyes that were always on yours. “you’re so cheesy.” you laugh, a breathier sort as you pat at his chest and you watch his cheeks puff when his lips pull into a pout.

“ya say that but a know ya love me anyway, don’t cha?” atsumu replies quickly, cheeky smile in place when he leans forward to kiss you firmly on the lips and suddenly rolls over to sit on the edge of the bed — allowing his hand to smooth through his bed head before he stands and turns to you again.

“gross.” “nuh ugh, baby. that ain’t what ya were sayin’ a few minutes ago.” he hears himself answer, unfiltered amusement in his tone followed by a snicker when he quickly throws the blankets off of you as payback. but when you giggle up at him when he leans forward to gather you into his arms, just as the sun leaks through the blinds to paint you in a more golden hue — atsumu takes a breath and he holds it, because he realises that love looks just like this, just like you.

“yer so annoyin’“ atsumu laughs but he gives you a softer sort of look when he leans his head to the side, messy, platinum bangs falling slightly over his eyes while his hands settle into the dip of your waist. “see you say that but i know you love me.” you rebut, mimicking his words from a few moments ago before you’re breaking into a laugh when he pinches at your sides, just enough to have you squirming and giggling in his hold.

“yeah, a do. love ya so much.” he can’t help but say, his voice tender as he tries not to let it crack at how suddenly overwhelmed he feels, but you soften before you smile this time, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you let him pull you up— strong and steady as he guides your feet into his slippers because he knows the floor is always colder in the mornings, and you know there’s love in your life. “i love you too, ‘tsum.”

so weekends with miya atsumu were nice, because it’s those moments he wants to tell you that you’re his world — but when you smile at him over breakfast while draped in one of his shirts, he knows that you’ll always be more than that.

418 notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

shinsou😭— this fic was amazing😭 i melted

Hitoshi tests a more creative application of his quirk on you, his willing submissive.

characters: dom!pro hero!hitoshi shinsou/sub!f!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: smut (18+), aged-up characters, pro hero Shinsou (who is kind of a softie), hard BDSM and control dynamics, edging, consensual mind control, sex toys, praise kink, blowjob, unprotected sex, some loooong and tender aftercare/yearning

notes: the dynamic in this fic was partially inspired by We Wear Chains on the Weekend [ao3] and a conversation with @shadowworks about some fun applications of Hitoshi's quirk 👀 I hope you enjoy this horny little bit of fun! I enjoyed thinking about this dynamic with 'Toshi. He talks big, but we know deep down he's just as soft and squishy as us 💖

One more note: The dynamics and safety measures in this fic are the result of a little bit of research that I conducted. It is not meant to encompass EVERY BDSM experience, nor was my research exhaustive. This was just my little take on some kinky business with Hitoshi, so please let me know if there are any elements I've overlooked or misstepped!

(MASTERLIST)

Hitoshi will never forget the first night he spent in this house.

The little semi-detached in a quiet, trendy neighbourhood was one of the first things his pro salary earned him. Having the place to himself is still one of the biggest perks that salary ever provided.

Privacy, as he’s learned since, is paramount to the life he’s crafting for himself.

It’s Friday evening, and the early spring rain’s showing no sign of letting up when you ring his doorbell. The sound echoes through the house like the bells of Notre Dame- terrifyingly gothic, considering it was like that when he moved in, but not entirely out of character for him.

And his heart swells quietly every time he knows it’s you behind that door.

He pads easily down the polished steps, already showered and changed out of his work clothes. He likes to dress up for you a little, sporting a pair of dark slacks and a black button-down with the top four buttons undone. His hair, still damp from the shower, sits a little tamer and darker than usual.

No matter how good he looks, you manage to knock him on his ass with a single glance.

“Hey,” he greets with a quiet, familiar sort of warmth as he pulls open the right half of the double front doors. His smile slips a little at the sight of you, shaking the water out of your umbrella and soaked to the bone. You catch his gaze out your peripherals and start a little, shooting him a sheepish smile.

Something claws tight and possessive at the pit of his chest. You’re so cute, even water-logged like this.

“Getting worse out there, huh?” He quips, stepping aside to let you in.

“It’s not exactly prime umbrella weather,” you giggle, setting the dripping, half-broken monstrosity in the umbrella tray that he keeps by the door. “But I made it, didn’t I?”

He can’t help but reach for you, letting his fingers brush attentively at your clothes as he helps you out of your drenched coat. The dress you’re wearing looks devastatingly easy to remove, and his chest lurches a little with the urge to have you bare for him.

He resists. For now.

“Right on time,” he replies, taking your coat neatly by the collar and hanging it over the bannister. “Do you want to dry off a little before we go upstairs, or…?”

“No.” You answer suddenly enough to prompt his inquisitive gaze, and Hitoshi turns to look at you with a purple brow quirked perfectly.

“I’m just feeling a little antsy today,” you continue, and he watches the way your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip. “So, I’d like to get started right away, if that’s okay with you.”

You meet his eye again. Hitoshi’s starting to wonder if he’s the one who should be getting on his knees in front of you upstairs.

“That’s okay with me.”

He smiles thinly, making his best attempt at hiding the affection that’s bubbling shallow and steady in his chest. He reaches for you, uncurling his fingers to offer an eager palm.

You take it. The contact is breathtaking.

He climbs the stairs with your fingers grasped firmly in his. The suspense never fades.

Hitoshi keeps his bedroom a few degrees warmer than the rest of the house, and as he twists the knob and pushes the door inward, he can feel your palm relaxing in his. You’ve always liked it in here- warm and humid, from the house plants that line the windows and add lush splashes of colour to every corner.

It means more to him than you’ll ever know, that you find such comfort in a space so full of him.

He lets you slip in ahead, closing the door behind him and reaching for the colourful remote nearby. He dims the lights overhead, stroking his thumb thoughtfully over the rainbow buttons. He peeks at you through his peripherals, watching the way you glide your fingertips over the broad leaf of a money plant that blooms atop his dresser.

“What colour should we use today?” He pushes a button, and hidden strips of lighting illuminate in a deep shade of blue-green. The bed and walls are cast into a cool, oceanlike glow, reflecting blue off the room’s vegetation and creating a floating, almost aquatic sense of serenity.

“I like this one,” you confirm. “Keep it.”

“Whatever you like,” he promises, setting down the remote. “Today’s all about keeping you relaxed.”

He approaches you at last, cupping either side of your face in delicate palms. He tilts your gaze to his.

“You’re still up for it?” He asks, low and sincere as he searches your eyes. “What we had planned for today?”

“I am,” you confirm. He’s nervous that the rain may have upset things, but you’re clearly as ready as ever. “Been thinking about this all week.”

His shoulders drop a little, relief trickling into the fluttering cavity of his chest. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He bends, pressing a quiet little kiss to your forehead and smoothing his palms over the wet surface of your hair. He holds you there for a moment, staying close. He forces power into his shoulders and steps back from you, unbuttoning his cuffs. He breathes a deep sigh- focus, Hitoshi- and settles into the power dynamic you both can’t seem to stay away from.

He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off, depositing it neatly over the back of the nearby armchair. He nods toward you, slow and discerning.

“Strip.”

That dress is precisely as easy to remove as he hoped it would be, and he gets to watch as you slide each strap slowly down your arm, letting the fabric pool at your feet. His jaw gives an interested little tick as he gorges himself on the sight of you.

You’ve developed a nasty little habit of leaving your bra at home for sessions like this, as if he wouldn’t notice the way your tits sat beneath that loose silk, your nipples tight and hard from the wet chill outside.

You are delectable. Hitoshi feels infatuation crawling up the column of his spine every time he has you like this. But he’s about to take you even deeper, and while you’re more than ready, he’s not sure his heart can take it.

You’re wiggling out of your underwears now, exposing that perfect little patch of hair between your legs. What makes his cock throb even worse, though, is the way that you already know how he likes you. And so, kicking your underwear away and smoothing your hands down your sides, you don’t wait long at all before dropping to your knees and settling your palms on your thighs.

You lower your chin and go still.

For a minute, he lets himself admire you. He’s aching to touch you, but today will be all about patience. For both of you.

But he can’t take you, sitting so still for him like this. He caves to the warming in his chest and steps forward, tucking two fingers beneath the point of your chin and pulling your eyes to his.

“You sure about this?” He asks you. You lick your lips again, slow and thoughtful and torturous, now that he’s already so captivated by you. You’re giving it the honest thought it deserves. But when you purse your lips and nod into his palm, your eyes are certain.

“I’m sure.”

He’s been working you up to this for weeks. Exploring the unique possibilities of a relationship with him has always been in your contract, but it’s not something Hitoshi ever planned on rushing into. Only now, after months of playtime and weeks of careful preparation, does he feel ready to practice this with you.

“We left you your signals,” he reminds you, tenderly stroking the backs of his fingers from your chin up to your cheek. You’re staring up at him with such trust and admiration it’s hard to imagine anyone ever thought him a monster, for possessing such power. “You can come out of it whenever you want to.”

“Hitoshi,” you prompt, and the fall of his first name from your lips is enough to quell all his rising nerves. Despite the way you’re looking at him, memories of those poison words he’s been hearing all his life are flooding him. They’ve always served as a grim reminder of the damage he’s capable of.

But you wanted this. You’re ready for it. And he’s taken every precaution to ensure that you’re going to be safe.

So much reassurance, wrapped up in the three tiny syllables of his name.

It’s his turn to nod. He takes your jaw into his hand and drops to one knee in front of you, stooping to press his lips to the shell of your ear. Your sweet scent washes over him as he leans close, enhanced by the fresh rain on your skin and the rapid swell of your chest as you breathe.

“So you’re ready to drop, then?” He keeps his voice as low as possible, delighting in the way that you shiver in response. Your breath hitches against his chest, puffing quietly across his cheek.

“Yes.”

The word barely edges from your lips before the influence of his quirk fills every hollow in your ready bones. It’s a presence like nothing you’ve ever felt before, like the rising tide filling your lungs and weighing down your limbs. You take a deep, shaky breath to remind yourself it’s still possible.

Hitoshi’s used his quirk on you before. Preparing for this level of control, he tells you, takes practice. The more time he has to inhabit your mind, the better control he’ll have over what you experience and what you miss. The first time he ever used it on you is still a blank slate. But he only kept you under for a couple of seconds, building slowly over the course of many sessions toward the layered control he has now.

The sensation is thrilling. And yet, simultaneously, you feel completely safe. He will not misuse this power that you’ve so blithely handed over.

The sounds around you are muffled as Hitoshi gets to his feet, but when he speaks, his voice echoes in your mind like a bell.

“Can you understand me?”

Your body feels heavy and warm and semi-solid, but you manage a slow, clear nod.

“Good girl. Give me your hands.”

When he gives you an instruction, your muscles move without your consultation. You stretch your hands out toward him eagerly, and he takes both of them between his. He gives your fingers a sharp little squeeze.

“Can you give me your signals now?”

You cycle through them like clockwork. This is the part you had to work hard to develop, working through the specific layers of his quirk that might have been able to prevent such advanced thought.

With practice, though, here you are.

The system is one you’ve always used in parts of your arrangement where your ability to speak freely has been repressed. Hitoshi’s always been good at checking in with you no matter what, but thankfully he doesn’t push your boundaries too often.

You squeeze his hands in a slow progression, leaving long, deliberate spaces between each signal so that their distinction is clear.

One squeeze: keep going, all is well.

Two squeezes: slow down, I’m getting frustrated/uncomfortable

Three: STOP NOW

When you finish your stop signal and let your hands go still, Hitoshi’s fingers go slack in yours.

“Good girl, good,” he coos. “God, you’re so pretty like this. Look at you.”

He drops your hands, carefully letting them fall back to their neutral position on your thighs. There’s a pleasant tingle filling your dulled senses. In this state of mind, you can feel his gaze on you like a careful touch.

“I can do whatever I want with you,” he grunts. “Fuck, I can feel how much you want this.”

He’s moved away from you for a couple of seconds, but when he comes back he’s bare. Your vision is blurred about the edges, but you feel a wet little push he presses the tip of his cock, already hard and weeping, to the swell of your cheek.

“Don’t be difficult,” he purrs in your mind. “Open up.”

Your mouth drops eagerly open as you let your eyes fall shut. As he eases his hips forward, you let the flat pad of your tongue slip forward to cradle the tender head of his cock. Hitoshi groans low and soft, but the sound echoes through every nerve in your body, reverberating from within.

“That’s it,” he prompts softly. “So pliant for me, beautiful. Take it.”

He rocks slowly into your throat, letting sloppy drool slough from your tongue and coat his thick shaft as his fingers spread across the back of your head. He grips you tightly, keeping your neck in place as his tense thighs work to keep himself steady.

He eases himself onto your tongue and stops there for a moment. His pulse thrums in your ears, syncopating steadily with yours. He lets his head lull back as he lets out a deep, shaky sigh.

“Suck,” he commands, and you comply.

You bob your head eagerly back and forth, settling into a numbingly precise rhythm. Sucking Hitoshi’s cock has never been a chore for you, but in this state you’re conditioned to like it.

He grips you tighter as his hips begin to stutter a little. Every sound that leaves his mouth passes into your mind well before it reaches your muffled ears. You’re beginning to realize, in the deep, sunken place where your consciousness still rests, that allowing him into your mind has connected you more intimately than ever before.

You can feel his pleasure in the same way that he can sense your desire.

“So good,” he gasps, and the sound rappels down your spine. “Fuck, you’ve always been so good at this. I know how much you love it.”

He’s losing his cool now, thrusting against the barrier of your throat with more reckless abandon. But you’re numb to the feelings that might have stopped you before, swallowing him eagerly down to double his pleasure.

It shows. His fingers twitch against the back of your head as he grits his teeth and grunts, a breathy, feral sound with every rock of his heavy balls against your chin. Your eyes have slipped open again, but you don’t see him. Not really. All you can sense is his ecstasy, building to a rapid peak as he humps and pants and shivers into your needy mouth.

“God,” he rasps, “not gonna… t-that’s it… f-fuck!”

He rips away from you in one fluid stroke, that ecstasy boiling right to the surface before it’s halted in its tracks. He’s got one hand wrapped tightly around the base of his flushed cock and his pleasure’s dwindling.

He’s saving himself, to fill you properly later. While controlling your pleasure has always been a part of your games, Hitoshi’s taken to controlling his own as well. Lately, he doesn’t even let himself cum until you’ve seen your climax.

You’ve been trying not to let yourself read into it.

“Good girl,” he pants inside your head. “Come here.”

You’re a little shaky as you climb to your feet, but the numbness that you might normally get in your toes by now persists through your entire body. You close the distance to him in a handful of deliberate, steady steps, and he settles a hand on your hip to stop you when you’ve come close enough.

“Look at you,” he growls. “You’re still under, aren’t you? Incredible.” He takes one of your hands between both of his, dropping a kiss to your knuckles before giving your fingers a meaningful squeeze.

“Check in for me, sweetheart.”

In the receded depths of your on consciousness, you’re nothing but eager to continue. Hitoshi’s weighty cock in your throat sent spirals of aggressive arousal through your entire body. Your pussy is swollen and tingling, smearing the insides of your thighs with thick desire.

You give his palm one long, deliberate squeeze.

You need more.

“That’s what I like to see,” he purrs. He leads you to the bed and takes the liberty of lifting you into his arms. Your body collapses eagerly into his hold, and you let him deposit you gently onto the neatly made sheets. You stretch into the pillows, but your blank stare is always fixed on him.

“Okay, pretty girl,” he croons, and you’re still and stiff before he even finishes his thought. “Lie still for me, okay?”

He lifts one knee onto the bed and casts a gentle hand down the column of your belly, taking a gentle tilt to the left and sliding his fingertips along the column of your thigh.

“I’ve got your favourite toy here,” he croons, but you can’t respond. Instead, the buzz of nerves builds in the back of your skull, where your meager ability to feel has been preserved. Hitoshi wraps his graceful fingers around the toy in question- a sizeable wand vibrator in a deceptively pleasant shade of pale lilac silicone- and waves it in front of your eyes.

“Let’s see how much you can take, hmm?”

He leans closer, pressing a kiss to the point of your collarbone before tilting his chin forward to find the shell of your ear.

“Don’t cum,” he croons, sending a fresh thrill of terrified arousal into your veins, “until I say you can, alright?”

He slips the vibe between your legs and you feel it rumble to life. He knows your favourite settings easily by now, setting the toy to buzz low and hard between your legs in a series of long, rhythmic pulses.

Your body starts to pitch and tremble, but it cannot disobey his strict instructions to stay still. Your pleasure spikes the instant the vibrator’s soft, flexible head makes contact with your swollen clit. You want to press your legs together, whine with overstimulation and bat away the offending toy. But the influence of Hitoshi’s power is stronger than any physical restraint. Even as your muscles strain, you are powerless to move.

He holds you there, amusement lighting his features. You can feel the satisfaction thrumming in the back of his mind, building slowly. You know he can feel the unbearable sensations racing through your entire body. But he refuses to let up, even as desperate tears break from the corners of your eyes.

This vibrator has always been your favourite of his, thanks to its unshakeable ability to bring you to orgasm within the space of a minute. There’s something about the depth of the vibrations (and Hitoshi’s expert handling) that never seems to fail.

Tonight, that fact isn’t working in your favour.

Your pleasure reaches its peak devastatingly quickly. But every part of your body is under Hitoshi’s complete control. And he’s given you strict instructions not to reach that climax.

Your nerves are struck dumb as the pleasure bleeds into a desperate ache. You can feel the edge of your climax, dangling just out of reach. And the longer he keeps you on the edge, the more torturous the sensation.

The tears are coming faster now, streaming down your temples and soaking into your hair as you whimper and pitch, trying to shrug his control and force the vibrator away from your overstimulated pussy. He lets you thrash and struggle for a dozen heartbeats, picking up on your discomfort and pulling the vibrator away from your body as you gasp for shaky breath.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” He coos, switching the vibrator off and laying a hand on the flat of your stomach. Your body’s gone slack, but the muscles in your lower belly are still twitching and fluttering, trying to make sense of your waning pleasure.

“I can feel you fighting me,” he continues, voice dropping into his chest. He rubs soothing circles into your tender skin, letting you catch your breath. “You know you don’t have to struggle, sweetness.” He leans in, dipping his forehead against yours and giving your mouth a soft little taste.

“Are you ready for my cock now?”

Yes, your mind screams, and he starts, pulling back to look at you in mild surprise.

He actually heard that. After the surprise fades from his expression, he lets the barest hint of a smile touch his mouth.

“Good.”

When he touches your thighs they fall limp into his palms. Any commands he’s given your paralyzed nerves are overridden by the force of his touch. So, as he kneels between your thighs and pushes them apart, you relent easily.

Your senses are still a hazy blur, but you feel it like a bolt of lightning when he swipes the tip of his cock over your sloppy folds. You give a sharp little yip and Hitoshi chuckles, with the breathy edge of pleasure slipping into his voice. He rocks his hips forward, grinding against your needy hole and grunting through his chest.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Can’t hold on any longer.” He edges forward, prodding his thick tip against your entrance. As soon as he’s lined up he slides home in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the base with a shaky groan.

The pleasure is enough to prompt a quiet whimper from your absent mind as your body eagerly takes his stretch. Hitoshi’s cock has always seemed perfect for you in size and form. And he’s proven many times over that he knows exactly how to use it.

He fucks you with devastating precision, slipping one hand under your thigh to brace you against the mattress while he anchors himself by the knees and ruts against your body. He lets his hips slap ruthlessly over your skin, his weighty, spit-soaked balls swinging heavy against the curve of your ass with every thrust.

You’ve been well prepared for this moment, messy-wet and smearing his shaft with your slick. Every time he drives his cock into you, his groans are punctuated by the soft little whimpers that break from his control to escape your clenched jaw.

The pleasure is already unbearable for you. That peak you weren’t allowed to reach before is approaching quickly, and all you can hope is that Hitoshi will have the sense to let you release before he’s tumbling over the edge himself.

You have no choice at this point but to trust him completely.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gasps above you. Your pleasure is doubled by his sensations racing through your neurons, and you can tell before he speaks that he’s not going to last long at all.

“Don’t know how long I can hold out,” he warns anyway, and his hips are already beginning to stutter inside you. You could have easily cum two times over by now, but your body is held back once again, forced to linger on the edge of bliss until he decides to let you fall.

He shoves his hips against yours one, two, three more rough times before stilling abruptly inside you. His body’s stiff, straining against the threshold of his pleasure. But he catches his breath, and his next words ring clear as day among a sea of troubled sensations.

“Are you ready to cum for me?”

You let out a low, desperate whine, focusing every ounce of concentration you have left into amplifying those desperate emotions.

Please, your mind screams. I’ll do anything, please.

Hitoshi nods slowly, your body going slack when you’re sure you’ve been heard. He slips both hands under your thighs, stroking his thumbs lovingly along your flesh. He bends over your torso, dropping a kiss to your mouth and steeling himself as his lips trail to your ear one last time.

“Cum,” he orders, and you do.

All the pent-up tension and pleasure spirals from your body in the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever felt. What would normally send dull flutters into the pit of your stomach has deep, earth-shattering tremors wracking your entire body. You thrash into the pillows, crying out your pleasure in eager, greedy gulps, and your pussy seizes around his cock as tight as a fist.

Hitoshi curses against your skin, rutting his hips into your convulsing depths and matching your peak with a climax of his own. His balls draw up against your ass as he pumps hot spurts of cum into your needing cunt, fucking the fluid back into your body as your thighs clamp over his hips and the last tremors of your orgasm recede into dull trembles.

“That’s my girl,” he gasps. In the pleasure that overtook him, he’s de-activated his quirk. He lets you surface as he stays inside you for a couple long breaths, tasting the crook of your neck and rubbing sensation back into your limbs.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he croons. “Come here. Give me your hand. Show me,” he prompts, and you’re far from surfaced but you know what he wants when he slots his fingers between yours.

You give him another long, deliberate squeeze. You can’t form words yet, but you’re okay.

“That’s okay,” Hitoshi prompts. He pulls slowly back from you, sliding out of your body and easing onto the pillows beside you. He keeps his movements slow and gentle, handling you with extra care while you’re still feeling delicate.

“You were so good,” he growls, reaching for you. “So good for me. My perfect girl.”

His touch is the first sensation that clears the fog in your mind. He pulls you tightly against his bare chest, and the sweet touch of his skin to yours is like a soothing tonic for your frayed senses. Skin-to-skin contact has always been a big part of aftercare for you, but tonight it hits so hard that it sends relieved tears to your eyes.

Hitoshi’s patient as a lamb with you, stroking slow circles into your shoulders, belly and hips as you cycle through the complex progression of emotions that stand between you and the surface of your consciousness. He keeps his lips nuzzled tight to the shell of your ear, speaking low and soft and constant, grounding you in him.

After a long few minutes, you blink a little faster and stir a little heavier in his arms. You’ve fought your way to the surface, like breaking out of a deep sleep, and the weight of all he’s put you through settles into your chest. Hard.

You shiver. “Cold.”

“Okay,” he promises, shifting both of you a little more upright. “I’ve got clothes for you right here. Let me just-” He lets go of you to reach for the drawers of his nightstand, and anxiety rushes hard and fast to the back of your throat.

You whine. Loudly. You reach for him without thinking about it, and he comes back to you in the span of a heartbeat.

“Okay, okay,” he soothes. “I won’t let go.”

You’re always clingy after a scene. But today you can’t bear to be parted from him. While he’s the one that sent you spiralling, he’s also the one who brought you down to earth again.

With you looped carefully in one arm, he scoots the pair of you toward his side of the bed until he can reach the nightstand with one hand still carefully draped over your middle. He dumps a pile of soft cotton fleece onto the sheets in front of you, then presses himself up tightly behind you to reach forward with both hands and unfold the garments.

“There,” he hums, showing you the sleeves of one, the cuffs of another. “Warm clothes. Can I help you put them on?”

You give a pouty little nod, so he slips you into the pants one leg at a time and pushes your arms gently into the hoodie, staying as close as possible and letting you keep the black hood pulled over your head. He finds his discarded undershorts and slips into those, too, prompting another defeated whimper from you when he has to pull away to find some clothes of his own.

Once he’s dressed (and you’ve cuddled him long enough to quell some of the pouting) he pushes the edge of your hood back and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Do you want to visit the fish?” he asks. Your mood spikes and you cling tighter, but nod nevertheless.

The most prominent feature of Hitoshi’s lavish house is mounted into the wall in the upstairs hallway. During the day it’s surprisingly easy to miss, but now that the light has waned and the house is dark, it glows an ethereal blue that casts a liquid pool of light across the dark hardwood and ornate rug.

Lining the entire wall stands a massive tropical fish tank, maintained professionally and kept in impeccable order. It’s filled by a multitude of different species of tropical fish, darting in and out of live coral in warm splashes of vibrant colour. The pump in one corner sends a steady stream of bubbles toward the surface, and in the quiet, the bubbles make soft little gurgles as they break the surface.

Hitoshi brings you into the hallway cradled tightly in his arms. The moment your face is bathed in that pretty blue light, the last dredges of anxiety bleed from your chest. There’s something immensely calming about the gentle, rhythmic way the fish move. Some of the more curious ones even see you peering in at them, emerging from their little hideaways to swim up to the glass and investigate.

“Hi,” you croon softly, touching one fingertip gently to the glass where a bright yellow tang noses eagerly at its smooth surface from the other side. Hitoshi chuckles deeply into your neck, always charmed by how soft and quiet and vulnerable you get after a particularly tough scene.

This part, the tender healing that comes afterward, is half the appeal for both of you. But with every passing session you can feel yourself growing more deeply attached to him. You’re falling for him, despite everything you put into words- on paper for him- that said you wouldn’t.

Love was not what either of you wanted to get out of this arrangement. But when he handles your trust so delicately where so many others have failed, it’s hard not to fall.

It’s hard not to wish, watching over such a tiny, peaceful little underwater world, that you could belong in there, too. Maybe, if you’d been born a little blue surgeonfish, you wouldn’t have to deal with such complex feelings.

But then you wouldn’t have all the pain and all the joy of falling for someone like Hitoshi Shinsou.

After you’re satisfied with the state of the fish tank, Hitoshi brings you downstairs to the kitchen. He’s not letting you go home tonight, but you were prepared for that possibility. You have pills and a toothbrush in your purse, and he’s had extra clothes lying around for you from the moment you signed that contract.

He bundles you into the couch. Puts on your favourite sitcom without needing to ask. He brews your favourite kind of tea- liquid heat that warms you to the very core- and stretches out next to you for the rest of the evening.

You wake hours later, sleeping next to him in the wee hours of the morning. He is stretched out on his side next to you, spooning you lovingly with one heavy arm draped over your side. He’s always reaching for you, ready to catch.

In moments like this, it’s easy to believe he might love you. And in the deepest hours of doubt and vulnerability, you let that feeling lull you back to sleep, just as he might if he could soothe your restlessness.

863 notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

[head empty— no thoughts but this one]

Older Pro- Hero Deku giving his toddler All-Might merch to his own baby. His little green haired kid running around. Reminiscing on the good days.

With, yknow, just a tad bit of Pro-Hero Dynamight merch thrown in there. Or a set of fuzzy gauntlets…

#deku midoriya #izuku headcanons #deku imagine #my hero academia #mha fluff #pro hero deku #my hero headcanons

15 notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

here it comes. me falling over Deku😭😭❤️

𝐈𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐍𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞

✩pairing Izuku Midoriya x Fem!Reader

✩genre: hurt/comfort, smut

✩word count: 12.8k

✩warnings: reader is a grad student on summer break who works at Izuku’s greenhouse, cooking and eating together, idiots in love/mutual pining, size difference (Izuku is described at a foot taller than you, and twice your weight), size kink (slight), deku does not choke reader but holds her throat at one point, body worship, virginity loss, unprotected sex, fem!receiving oral, fingering, possessive sex, praise kink, reader is called “baby” and “my girl”,

✩author’s note: for my dear sweet friend @/hawnks. happy late birthday my love. thanks for being my friend. shoutout to @/jirou-s , @/katsupeach ,and @/kodzucafe for beta reading this for me :’) some lines were inspired by endgame by samuel beckett. this takes place in the same world as Hold My Hand (So I Don’t Get Lost) No need to read it to understand!

✩excerpt:

Izuku is staring at you when he gets in the car, thinking to himself that there is not a single thing about you he’ll ever forget. He could never see you again, but he’d remember you as you are every Saturday morning when he sees you: eyes bright, smile lopsided with your laugh ringing out like a church bell as if you’re some sort of sanctuary that reminds him it’s time to worship, but he’s never stopped since last Saturday.

You like summer and everything that comes with it. You like the feeling of the sun on your skin and how lemonade and ice cream and fruit just tend to taste better. You like sundresses and sandals and long days. You don’t even mind the sweat that rests on your brows or the way everything sticks together. But out of all of the things you like about summer, what you love most is the farmers market in the next town over.

It’s a massive space, taking place in a barn surrounded by cornfields and wildflowers. The fruit here is the best: a girl with long black hair sells peaches so juicy it dribbles down your chin and oranges unlike any other; a blonde man with fiery eyes sells corn that ruins everyone else’s for you; a girl with brown hair who tells you on the side of the milk carton you bought which cow it came from. Everyone here is kind. Thin lipped, polite smiles are given every time you walk past them; thank you’s uttered with every exchange of money; doors held open and samples offered with hands insistently outstretched.

Keep reading

4K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

i looked forever for this. I read it a month ago, and it’s still centered in my brain. Lowkey why I wanted to minor in linguistics😭😭❤️ love me some soft Baku😭❤️

I’ll Keep You Safe, You’ll Keep Me Warm

✩pairing: Deaf!Katsuki Bakugou x Sign Language Teacher!Fem!Reader

✩genre: hurt/comfort

✩warnings: injury and mentions of blood (nothing graphic), facefucking, pussy eating, unprotected sex, some angst but happy ending.

✩word count: 6.3k

✩authors note: for @gentori. always. this is a repost from my old blog @/izuushi

The first thing Katsuki notices when his head hits the ground is the high pitched ringing in his ears. It’s deafening, making him curl up and grab his head with a groan; the earth spins and bile rises in his throat. It’s louder than the pounding in his heart, louder than the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Ignoring the hot knife going through his head and the pain spreading down to his jaw, he tries to stand but not before stumbling back down; his world spinning as dust and debris settle around him. He’s terrified, everything around him lolling around as if he’s on the deck of a ship mid storm, carelessly thrown around by the waves. He feels nauseous, straining his eyes, attempting to keep his vision steady. The last thing he sees is Kirishima, his best friend, running towards him, his mouth is moving but no words are coming out. His vision blurs and he feels himself sinking into darkness.

——————————————————————-

When he wakes, the ugly shade of yellow they chose to paint the room he’s in practically slaps him in the face; the color reminds him far too much of old and peeled paintings haunting the hallways of the museums on grade school field trips. He takes a moment to look around, the trail of tubes sticking from his arm, the monitor showing the thin green line that tracks his heart silently. He feels heavy, trying to lift his head and shift his body in an effort to get more comfortable but the room spins and he holds back the acid rising in his stomach.

He jumps when he turns to the doctor at his side. He didn’t hear him knock or walk in. When Katsuki speaks up to greet him, he can’t hear his own voice. He can’t hear anything, can’t hear his own panicked sobs; can’t hear the words fumbling out of the doctor’s mouth as he thrashes in the hospital bed; can’t tell what the nurse is saying as she pushes a needle in his arm, making everything go black as he sinks again into sleep.

Keep reading

3K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

i am also am soooo down bad for natsuo😂❤️

Plans Can Change

This is the prequel to Plan B. Can be treated as a stand-alone fic if you aren’t down for what happens in Plan B, which is infidelity.

Pairings: Natsuo Todoroki x reader, Shouto Todoroki x reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut

Word count: 12.5k

Warnings: break-up, heartbreak, messy feelings, lots of emotions, alcohol consumption, wall sex, crying while masturbating, pregnancy mention

Notes: I have never written anything this length, nor have I ever worked quite this hard on a piece before. I'm both petrified & ecstatic to finally post it, so here it is! I hope you all fall as hard for Natsuo as I have 💜

I'm hoping to post the sequel to Plan B soon! Lemme know if you’d like to join the tag list 💜

“Y-you’re what?” You blink at Shouto, shaking your head in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? Tell me this is a sick joke.” You shrink away from him, sliding towards the other end of the couch, tears welling in your eyes.

“Baby, I—,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Don’t fucking baby me!” You shove him away as he reaches out to hold you in his arms, standing to step further away from him. “You’ve told me for years that this would never happen. That you’d come clean to your dad about us and tell him to call off this bullshit quirk marriage idea of his!”

“I know, but baby, it’s not that simple--,” he puts his hands up and rises, tentatively taking a step towards you.

“It is that fucking simple! You’re just a fucking coward!” Tears flow freely over your cheeks, your face reddening as rage boils up inside of you, coalescing into verbal venom that you spew directly into his pathetic face. “Five fucking years of my life, I’ve waited for you to grow a fucking backbone and now it’s just over? All the lies and the sneaking around, I understood when we were still in school, but we’re goddamn adults! We’re pro fucking heroes! And I’ve never been able to hold your hand in public, because you’re afraid of what your dickbag father would have to say about it? The one that you say that you still despise, but yet here you are, throwing away everything to appease him? Did I fucking miss anything?”

“No,” he chokes, looking at you guiltily as tears spill over his own cheeks. “I-I’m so sorry, Y/n. I do love you though. I’m always going to love you.”

“Fuck you.” You spit through gritted teeth, taking a menacing step forward with each proclamation. “You don’t love me. I don’t think that you ever have, because this isn’t love. This is you leading me on, promising me the world, and then snatching the rug out from under me. You’re a selfish goddamn prick, Shouto Todoroki. I guess you’re more like your father than I thought.”

“Y/n, please, it isn’t like that. I-I don’t know what to do! I’m not like him. I don’t want to be, but this is the only thing that makes sense to me. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to hurt you,” you scoff, shaking your head as you look upwards, disbelief plain on your face as he continues. “I know it might not make sense to you and I know you can’t understand, but I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone. I’m trying to make the best decision that I can.”

“For everyone? What about me? What about us?” You clutched your hands to your chest, your eyes frantically searching for a shred of rationality behind his eyes. “What about all those times you promised me that we would get to live happily ever after, hmm? When you swore that you would never let this exact fucking thing happen to us?” You sob and quickly pace across the room, folding your arms around yourself as the anger roils beneath your skin, leaving you shaking in the corner, continuing to stew while he stands there, thoroughly defeated and unsure of what to even say.

Because there’s nothing left to say. There’s nothing he or you can say to change what’s been done. To undo the damage that’s been caused by his decision. It’s over.

You sigh, feeling the weight of the world coming to rest upon your fragile shoulders, closing your eyes as you turn away from him, trying not to choke on your words while more tears pour over your cheeks, “Get out.”

“Baby, please just let me try to explain,” he reaches out to touch your arm and you wrench it away from him.

“Go!” You spin on your heel, glaring at him as every loose object in your apartment suddenly levitates. He looks stunned, but nowhere near intimidated as he takes another step closer. You try to maintain your threatening gaze, but you crack, your mouth twitching as you let out a broken sob. “Go,” you beg, a pathetic plea that rings out in the uncomfortable stillness of the room before everything collapses around you two.

He freezes, staring at you apologetically as he seems to mull over his next move. After a long beat, he finally speaks.

“Okay,” he nods solemnly, taking a step back and turning towards the door. He steps over a broken picture frame, one of you and him from your high school days. Both of you all dressed up for the school dance, looking happy as ever.

Another wave of guilt washes over him as he tears his eyes away from the nostalgic, far gone scene, leaving you alone.

///

“Two more, please,” you smile at the bartender, who nods and pours two more shots, setting them in front of you. “Thanks.”

“Y/n?” A voice distracts you before you can lift one of the vials to your lips.

You turn to see Natsuo, Shouto’s elder brother, leaning up against the bar beside you.

“Hey,” you smile politely, silently offering him one of the cups of poison before you. If you didn’t have to drink alone, you’d rather not. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain,” he grins, shrugging and toasting you as he takes the shot glass and you both toss them back. He makes a bitter face as he turns to you, an amused expression littering his features, “Whiskey, huh? You’re really not messing around tonight,” he chuckles, “Thanks for the drink. You here with someone?”

“Ha,” you scoff, shaking your head as the burn in your throat tapers off. “Nope. I’m only here, because drinking alone at home seemed a little too sad, even for me.”

“What’s goin’ on? You wanna talk about it?” His cheerful demeanor shifts and he pulls out the stool beside you to take a seat, furrowing his brow as he flashes you a concerned look. “I mean, I know we’re not exactly close, and, I don’t know, maybe this is weird, because I’m just your friend’s big brother, but, I mean,” he half shrugs, “I still care about you. I’ve missed seeing you around the house, ya know. Feels like it’s been a while.”

“Oh,” you pout, looking away from his kind eyes. His words have more of an effect on you than you would have thought they could. “I, uh. I’ve missed you guys too. And thank you for asking. I don’t know if..I mean,” you shrug heaving a heavy sigh. “I don’t know if Sho has mentioned anything, but I had a bit of a rough break up a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were with anyone,” his eyes are apologetic as he leans in closer, turning towards you to give you his undivided attention. “What happened?”

“He left me for someone else,” you gesture for another round, speaking matter-of-factly. “And today would have been our five year anniversary, so it’s been a bit of a day for me.”

“Five years?” He raises his eyebrows incredulously, “I can imagine today’s been rough on you. Where’s Sho though? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“Ah, that’s the kicker. We aren’t speaking,” you toss back another shot, realizing it might have been a mistake as your head begins to swim. “That’s why I haven’t been around. Sorry.”

“And here I was worried you were just avoiding me,” he jests, grinning at you with a boyish charm that you're powerless against, so you offer him a shy smile in return, giggling quietly. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m sure it’s his fault anyway. What’d he do?”

He rests his head on his rolled knuckles, smiling playfully as he looks to you.

“He was never very supportive of the relationship,” you half-lie. “Wasn’t exactly sympathetic to my situation when it ended.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry. Seems like his head is stuck a little too far up his own ass if he’s treating you that way,” he searches your sullen expression apologetically. “I’m here to listen though, if you wouldn’t mind a shoulder to cry on. Promise that I’m already on your side.”

“Thanks for that,” you shift your lips to the side, a wry smile lingering as you slide him the shot glass that remains before you. “Here. I think I need to be cut off. Otherwise I’ll really spill my guts to you and I’m not looking to embarrass myself tonight.”

“I don’t think you could,” he shakes his head, tossing back the shot. “You’re too cool to let that happen.”

“You think I’m cool?” You look at him skeptically.

“Yeah?” He squints, cocking an eyebrow, as if it should be obvious. “You’re a badass hero. Plus, I saw you kick Shouto’s ass at the festival, your last year of high school.”

“That was a long time ago,” you qualify, unsure of why you’re blushing so deeply as you sip your water. Must be the alcohol.

“You’re being modest. I think you could still take him.” He folds his arms together, leaning on them as he nudges you with his shoulder. “Because you really are a badass. I’m sorry whatever jackass you were with obviously couldn’t see that, but someone who’s worth it will someday.”

“I thought Fuyumi was the only sensitive Todoroki,” you glance over at him, unable to bear the eye contact for long, so you stare at your feet, fidgeting on the stool.

“I’ve picked up a few things,” he allows his gaze to linger on your heated cheeks before he pulls them away.

“Ya know what. Fuck it, you’re right,” you wave the bartender over. “You promise not to judge me if I embarrass myself? Because I’m telling you, it’s a very likely possibility.”

“I promise,” he nods. “So long as you keep my sensitivity a secret,” he winks and you laugh, shaking your head as you turn to the bartender to order a drink you can sip on.

And then the pair of you do just that: sip on your drinks, chatting about nothing and anything at all. It’s a bit strange, because you’ve never really gotten to talk with Natsuo like this. Your conversations were always limited to polite small talk or interactions that involved the rest of the family, like the weekly family dinners that you were often invited to.

He was funny and kind, charming even. His personality became more apparent to you as the evening drew on and you wondered how you’d never managed to see this side of him before.

You’d been a fixture around the Todoroki estate since you met Shouto when you transferred to UA for your senior year. It was obvious why you and Natsuo had never interacted much then, considering he was a college student and you were his kid brother’s “best friend”.

Maybe he’d just never looked at you beyond that, which would be understandable, seeing as you’d never viewed him as more than Shouto’s elder sibling.

At least, until right now. Again, you wanted to blame it on the booze, but the pressure building between your thighs was getting hard to ignore every time he leaned in a little closer. A smile highlighting the shine in his grey eyes, whiffs of his alluring cologne reaching your nostrils. It was hard to tell if you were dizzy due to his presence or the cocktail you were still working on.

Straw tucked between your lips, tongue pressed against the plastic as you stifled a laugh at his intentionally terrible joke. You pretended to miss the way his gaze lingered on your mouth, watching how you pinched the straw between your fingers, toying at it with your tongue.

He cleared his throat, absently spinning the pint glass in his hands before swallowing the rest of his beer.

“You’re pretty cool too, ya know,” you tilt your head, looking at him sideways when all of a sudden your brain feels much softer than it did just a moment ago.

“Oh yeah?” He laughs, pushing his glass away as he turns to you, his expression changing to one of tentative concern as you sway on the stool. “You all right there?”

“Uh,” you shake your head, but it’s too much motion for you, so you stop and close your eyes, but that only seems to make it worse. “I think I, uh, t-think I’ve ‘ad t’much,” you slur resting your head atop your forearms as you slump forward on the bar.

“Whoa, okay. Let’s get you out of here.” He stands, holding his arm out to you. “Think you can walk, if I help you?”

“Think so,” you mutter, trying to keep your eyes open as you stand and take a wobbly step forward as he wraps his arm around your waist.

“All right, we got this,” he assures you, stooping down so your arm can slip around his neck. He reaches his hand up to hold yours, ensuring your hold on him.

The fresh air of the warm, summer evening granted you little reprieve, but it did feel nice to be outside, away from the noisy patrons and too loud music of the bar. You hadn’t noticed how busy your surroundings were when the two of you were locked in conversation.

It felt like it did now, just the two of you, in a sort of bubble, all your own. Granted, it was far more enjoyable when he was so close to you, because he wanted to be, rather than because without him physically supporting you, you might fall over.

Natsuo didn’t mind though. He’d been in this state before and he wasn’t one to judge. You’d been through some shit recently; you deserved to get blackout drunk if you wanted to. He just wanted to make sure that you got home safe.

“Just gonna find your address, okay?” He slipped the small wristlet you carried off of your arm, looking to you for permission. “Unless you can tell me your address?”

“It’s uhm,” you pressed a hand to your face, pulling at your temple, trying to recall something that should be laughably simple, but you came up with nothing. “My IDs n’there.”

He nods and rifles through the small bag, locating your ID just behind your phone, “Got it. I don’t want you alone with anyone else in this state, so I’ll ride with you and make sure you get inside all right.”

The sense of authority in his voice gave you a pulse between your legs, one you suppressed by pressing them together.

“Yes, sir,” you murmured with a little too much intention and a soft giggle. Gasping, you pressed a hand over your lips when your mind caught up with your mouth. “‘M’sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head, smiling at you as he chuckled quietly. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.” His tone was playful, but inside his body was screaming.

He’d been casually flirting with you all night, all the while wondering if that was even okay, but he reasoned it was harmless. You were both drinking. You’d just been through a break up and you were his brother’s closest friend. Which meant that you were off limits for a number of reasons, but his dick didn’t get the memo.

“I’m gonna call an Uber,” he pulls out his phone, actively seeking a distraction from how cute you looked with that blush creeping over your cheeks again.

The ride back wasn’t any easier on him. The alcohol in his system was plenty enough to give him a solid buzz, to relax him, but he was tense as ever with you pressed up against him, leaning against his shoulder. The sweet scent of your perfume wafting in his nose while your slow, quiet breaths filled his ears.

By the time he got you upstairs to your apartment, his normally cool skin felt like it was on fire, burning from the chemical reactions caused by the alcohol in his blood and your weight shifting against his body as he helped you to your door.

“Thank you, Natsuo,” you smiled as you leaned against the door, fumbling with you keys, seemingly unable to find the right one.

“Lemme help you,” he said gently, his fingertips brushing against yours as he took them.

He unlocked the door and helped you inside, setting your things down on the table by the door before he set you down on the couch.

“Are you gonna be okay?” He stands in front of you, kneeling down so that he‘s level with your gaze.

“Would you stay if I said no?” You bite your lip, reaching forward to touch his knee, slowly pushing your hand up his thigh and he pops up, putting his hands up as he takes a step back.

“I would, but I’d be sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh,” you look away embarrassed, pulling your hands into your lap. “I’m sorry, I, uhm,” you shake your head, laughing nervously, “I think I misread things. Told you I’d embarrass myself.”

He looks up, clenching his eyes shut as he curses himself silently before squatting back down to try and catch your eyes.

“Hey,” he reaches out to tap your ankle, smiling softly when you look up. “Look, you didn’t,” he pauses, letting out a nervous breath, “you didn’t misread anything. But, aside from the fact that you’re more than a little tipsy, I’m also the slightest bit concerned that Shouto might just roast me.”

You scoff, “I don’t think you have to be worried about that, but I see your point about the other thing,” you admit, smiling lopsidedly. “I’m really sorry for being so forward. I’m not usually..like this.”

“You’re fine,” he reassures you, offering his hand. “C’mon. I’ll help you to your room and then I’ll take the couch, okay?”

You nod and take his hand, smiling shyly as he pulls you to your feet, a hand resting on your waist to steady you as your faces nearly collide.

“Sure you wanna take the couch?” You jest, grasping his shirt to find your balance. “I mean, if you really think I can take him, I don’t think you have much to worry about there.”

You laugh quietly, stumbling towards your room as he follows close behind you, groaning as he chews on his lip.

“You’re very funny,” he says dryly, slipping his arm around your waist as he walks you into your room.

“I’ve been told,” you sit down on the bed, grinning up at him. “Thank you again, Natsu. I’m sorry for hitting on you,” you both laugh. “I appreciate you making sure I got back okay.”

“Anytime, Y/n.” He takes a step back, grabbing the door handle as he backs out of the room, smiling softly. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” You watch as he slowly pulls the door shut, not seeing the way he closes his eyes and sighs under his breath.

In the morning, you stroll out of your room to find Natsuo in the kitchen, leaning into your fridge.

“Good morning,” you mutter groggily and he shuts the door, turning to face you with a smile.

“Good morning. I got good news and bad news.”

“Okay,” you shoot him a confused expression. Good news first, I guess.”

“Good news, you do have aspirin and there’s some on the counter for you,” he nods to the glass of water and pills on the kitchen countertop. “Bad news, you’re outta eggs and pretty much all other AM food, so I can’t make you breakfast like I wanted to.”

You blush, staring at the space between your feet, “You really don’t have to do anything like that. I was an ass last night,” you face burns as you recall your actions. “I’m sorry about that, again.”

“About that,” he nods once, sauntering closer to you, leaning against the kitchen counter. “How about we just..start over? A reset from last night.”

You glance up, nodding thoughtfully, “Okay. I’d like that.”

“Great,” he grins, standing up straight as he lightly raps the counter. “How about we start by you letting me take you out for breakfast?”

“I’d like that,” you smile, resting your hand beside his on the countertop.

///

It had been a little over a month since you’d hit the reset button and things were going well. You’d been on a few dates, skirting around the topic of what Shouto might think, though both of you avoided that topic for different reasons.

You hadn’t heard from him, but you did see the announcement of his engagement in a tabloid. She was pretty. Came from a wealthy family, old money. You had to assume that the connections that came with that were why Enji had arranged the whole thing. Her quirk was impressive, sure, but Shouto had two quirks already. I mean, shit, was the goal to hit a triple with one of his grandkids?

Besides the point. Shouto was really going through with it, so you had no choice but to move on. Did you have to move on with his brother? No. Would that come back to bite you in the ass? Maybe.

But you weren’t spending all this time with Natsuo to spite him. That wouldn’t be fair to Natsu and he didn’t deserve to suffer because you wanted to get back at his brother.

No, you genuinely enjoyed your time with him. He was always so caring and affectionate. Always trying to make you laugh. Asking when he could see you next, swearing dramatically that he just might not be able to make it until then. He was never worried about whether or not someone would see you standing too close to one another. He wasn’t apprehensive about holding your hand in public, in case paparazzi caught you and decided to run a story. Being with him was just..easy.

He respected that you were fresh out of a long term relationship, so things were moving slowly. Most of your time together was spent in coffee shops, milling around town, or out to dinner. You hadn’t had any time alone and in private together, part of the strategy of taking things slow.

Which is why, tonight, you had insisted on having him over, so you could make him a home cooked meal in your apartment to celebrate his birthday.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help in here? I’m a decent cook, I swear.” Natsuo smiles as he enters the kitchen.

“No! I’m not letting you lift a finger on your birthday. Just lemme do this for you,” you press your hands to his chest, smiling sweetly up at him, your arms crossing behind his neck. “Please?”

“Fine,” his hands find your waist as he leans in, his heart jumping at the way you blush just before his lips meld with yours. “Can I at least stay and supervise?” He chuckles, fingers outstretched, lingering on your waist for as long as he can manage as you pull away from him.

“I suppose,” you sigh, feigning exasperation as you wrangle the ingredients. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t always use my hands to pick up the knives.” You wave a hand toward your knife block, activating your quirk to coax a knife towards the counter.

“Noted,” he nods, “I’ll keep an eye out. And hey, if you need anything flash frozen, I’m your guy.”

“Noted,” you laugh, turning your attention to the vegetables before you on the chopping block. “Oh, better turn the oven on before I forget.” You remind yourself, slipping past him in the narrow passage between the counter and the island, purposely pressing your ass back against him.

You feel a sense of satisfaction when he reacts, inhaling sharply as he grips the underside of the countertop behind him.

“Oops, sorry,” you stop where you stand, caught between him and the counter in front of you. You look back at him over your shoulder with a seductive smile, bending over to lean against the counter. “Didn’t realize it would be such a tight squeeze,”

“You’re terrible,” he groans, leaning forward to place his hands on the outside of yours, caging you in as he whispers in your ear. “And I fucking love it.”

You whine softly, feeling the bulge in his pants rock against your behind. “Natsu,” your hips roll in rhythm with his, your back arching as you reach back to push your fingers into hair, turning your head to breathe into his ear. “I’m tired of waiting. Need you so bad.”

He grunts, a low, gruff sound emanating from his chest as you’re spun around, back pressed to the counter. His lips take yours hostage and it’s all passion, weeks worth of stored up sexual tension finally being released.

“Bedroom,” he manages to utter, lips still moving against yours, unable to find the will to pull away until you do it for him.

Hand in hand, you tug him toward the bedroom, lips crashing into his again as you pull up beside the bed, fumbling with his belt while he sheds his shirt.

He slips the straps of your dress off your shoulders and you quickly work the rest of it down, leaving you in the light blue set of lingerie that you’d worn for this momentous event.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he lets his eyes roam, taking in every inch of your body while you’re busy dropping his trousers.

You wrap a hand around his cock, stroking slowly as you lean in to kiss him again, smiling proudly as he moans into your mouth, “And you’re so fucking hot,” you sigh, taking a step back towards the bed as his fingers hook into your panties, slipping them down your thighs.

He walks you towards the bed, laying you down as he clambers over you, his cock pressing against your thigh, precum sliding against your skin. You lean forward, making quick work of your bra, a wanton moan is pulled from your throat as he kisses and sucks at your neck. Cool lips soothing the heat boiling your blood as you raise your hips off the bed impatiently, “Natsu,” you mewl softly.

He pulls back, looking down at you with soft eyes as he searches your features. His hand cups your face, thumb on your cheek while his fingers push into your hair and he kisses you deeply. Kisses you like he’s never going to get the chance again. It’s slow, sensual, and sweet. He rests his forehead against yours to catch his breath, the thick head of his cock pressing against your wetness, a sharp gasp in his ears as he pushes inside, followed by a long, satisfied moan when he sheathes his entire length, stilling inside you.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, tilting his head back as he thrusts slowly. “You feel so good, baby.”

His hand slides up your forearm, interlacing your fingers with his, another hand slides beneath you, wrapping around your waist as he slowly begins rolling his hips, letting you feel every vein and ridge along his cock as it glides within your walls while his grey eyes bore into yours.

It’s not the aggressive, lust-driven fuck that you were expecting. It’s a slow, sensuous tango. One that would be more accurately described as love-making than fucking.

No further words are exchanged. The only noises traded are the soft moans you’re exhaling, met by the occasional groan between his labored breaths. That is, until you’re gasping, tossing your head back, eyes shut tight while your nails sink into the flesh of his shoulder. You hadn’t even realized how close you’d gotten until you were here.

“Natsu, oh fuck, I’m think I’m gonna—oh God,” you cling to him, falling apart in airy, broken moans and he grunts in response, his hips moving faster as he buries his face in your neck, littering it with kisses.

“Shit,” he mutters, breaking away and trying to pull out as he feels himself getting too close to the edge, but you stop him, squeezing your thighs together to keep him inside.

“On the pill, s’okay,” you pant, loosening your grip on his shoulder to pull back and cup his face, pulling him into a kiss. “I promise.” You speak against his lips, a soft plea that nearly destroys him, “Cum inside me, please, Natsuo..”

“Fuck, baby,” he sighs, tightening his arm around your waist, his other hand pushing into your hair, cradling your head as he kisses you deeply.

His hips stutter, falling into an uneven rhythm while his forehead comes to rest against yours. He falls silent as he explodes inside of you, pouring his essence inside of you in thick ropes as his voice catches up with him, a low, rumbling cry rising from deep in his chest as his balls finally empty.

Collapsing beside you, his eyes are too weak to open, the intensity of his orgasm still weighing them down as he pulls you closer to him. You roll onto your side towards him, resting your arm on top of his chest, where he finds your hand and takes it in his, bringing your palm to his lips.

It’s a moment that you wish you could bottle up and save for a rainy day, so that you could relive it over and over again. Basking in the afterglow, electricity passing between you with each gentle caress that you share with one another in the quiet room.

It’s silent, but not uncomfortably so. There’s an indiscernible buzz in the air. A feeling of tension, but not one that threatens the moment. It’s that exciting brand of tension that you feel in the build up to a reunion with a best friend who you can’t wait to trade gossip with. The tension you feel in the pit of your stomach before you crest over the peak of the highest point on a rollercoaster. It’s something that you’ve both been waiting for, a little scary and a lot exciting.

He wants to take the plunge and catapult down that steep hill, but doesn’t want to scare you off, lest your newly inflicted fear of heights catch up with you. He wants you to know how he feels, desperately. But even if you hadn’t suffered a bad break-up only a couple of months ago, he knew that a confession like that after just six weeks of dating was liable to scare just about anyone off. So, he compromises on his commitment to tell you his true feelings.

“I really like you, Y/n,” he smiles softly, pressing a tender kiss to your temple as he rubs your back. “Like, really like you.” He chuckles quietly. “You can’t possibly know how much.”

“I think that I might,” you whisper as you smile against his collarbone, planting a kiss to his cool skin. “I’m still a little hesitant about letting myself like someone too much.” You draw absent circles against his chest, closing your eyes as you listen to the pounding of his heart. “But I really like you too, Natsuo. More than I probably should right now.”

You can both feel his heart thrumming a bit harder as an elated grin graces his lips.

“I promise I won’t make you regret that,” he says softly, tucking a finger beneath your chin to guide your eyes toward his. “Would you like to come with me to family dinner this week? Everyone’s dying to meet the mystery woman I keep gushing about.”

“You want to tell them?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow to look at him.

“Of course I do,” he squeezes your hand gently. “I can’t wait to show you off, baby. I wanna tell the whole damn world that you’re mine.”

A blush creeps across your face while apprehension prods at your insides. You knew this was bound to happen. If you wanted to be with Natsuo, you’d have to face Shouto eventually. Everything was still so new and uncertain, but the look on his face told you that this would mean a lot to him. You couldn’t worry about Sho anymore. He wasn’t yours to worry about. Natsuo was.

“Okay,” you nod, “If you’re ready, I’d love to.”

“Thank you,” he smiles softly, cupping your face in his hand to bring your lips to his. His other arm wraps around you as you kiss him back, bringing you flush against his chest, so that you’re laying atop him. “You, uh, you’re really good at that, by the way.” He chuckles, running his fingers along your spine.

You bury your face into his chest, shaking your head as quiet laughter bounces against his skin, “Thanks,” you pause, tapping your fingers along his chest. “That makes me feel better. I was a little nervous, actually. I’ve never, uhm. I mean, I’ve only ever been with one other person.”

“I was just as nervous as you, I promise.” He reassures you, placing a cool hand to the dip in your spine as he kisses the top of your head. “I thought that you were out of my league before. Now I know.” You can feel his smile against your scalp as he smoothes your hair.

“Shut up,” you giggle, gently pressing on his toned pecs. “I’ve got another confession that might make you feel better. You wanna hear it?”

“Let me have it, angel.”

“I’ve never—how do I phrase it? Uh, I’ve never actually gotten off just by penetration? I hardly know any women who have. I thought it was a myth, but I mean you,” you blow a breath of air between pursed lips. “You, sir, are apparently a thing of myth.”

“Really?” He cranes his neck to look down at you, a look of pride radiating through his features.

“Really,” you smile back. “Although..” your smile turns mischievous as your hand trails lower on his torso, your fingers walking along his abdomen. “Could have been a fluke, I guess.” Your eyes move to study his face, a daring sense of playfulness evident behind them.

“Is that right?” He smiles, indulging you as he sits up, flipping you onto your back and propping himself up over your, a strong arm on either side of your head. “Surely, there’s a way to find out if it was just a fluke or not,” he rocks his stiffening cock against your thigh, still slick with the mixture of both of your release. “Right?”

“I s’pose we could try again,” you grin, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. “For science,” you shrug, running your hands along his sides until they hold his hips.

“For science,” he agrees, his lips capturing yours once more as you guide him inside you.

You clench around him, swallowing the groan that passes from his lips before you gasp, your mouth hanging open as your brows knit together once he starts moving in earnest.

The second go round is even smoother. With most of the jitters out of the way, he’s got a different confidence about him. He slides both hands beneath you, lifting you off the bed just enough to find the perfect angle.

“Natsu,” you whine, already feeling that delicious sensation brewing in your core. “Please,” you reach out, fingertips brushing against his shoulders, falling away as you just can’t reach.

He pushes his hands further beneath you, pressing his palms flat against your back as he brings you into his lap while he assumes a kneeling position.

Your arms encircle his neck, your forehead coming to rest against his. It’s hard to even keep your eyes open, the stimulation of his cock assaulting your womb at this angle is too much for you to take in anything else. You’re melting in his arms, you’re on top now, but certainly not in control as he guides you up and down on his length as it stretches you out, threatening to split you apart.

“Love you,” you murmur, soft and desperate, but loud enough for him to hear with your forehead still flush with his.

You can see the surprise in his eyes and you double down, fully committing to your last confession of the evening. One that you had zero intention of making until he made you feel this way; like you might die if you couldn’t ever be this close to him again.

“I love you, Natsuo,” you repeat between ragged breaths, your fingers interlaced behind his neck as you lift your head to search his eyes, to let him see that you mean it.

“I love you too,” he chortles, the last bit of disbelief exiting his lips in a pant. “I love you, Y/n,” he cards his fingers through your hair, holding the back of your head in his hand as he kisses you deeply and hungrily. The peaks of both of your orgasms cresting as you try to get impossibly closer to one another, your bodies moving in tandem as waves of pleasure roll through them.

Neither of you are sure how much time has passed by the time you’ve both caught your breath. You’re both laying on your side, all your limbs tangled and clinging to one another, heartbeats thumping back and forth. You’ve said all you needed to say, so the little touches suffice. Careful hands idly studying one another in the dim light of the bedroom while you trade soft smiles and lingering glances. And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

///

Sunday arrives much too quickly for your liking. Before you know it, you’re staring down the front door of the Todoroki family home and the pit in your stomach is begging you to turn back.

It’s been nearly 3 months since you’ve seen Shouto. You’d have to face not only him, but his bride-to-be. The thought made you sick to your stomach. There was a lot of potential for all of this to go sideways.

But as you drew closer to the door, Natsuo looked over and gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You ready?” He smiled and all your worries seemed to disappear. You remembered the reason why you were here. Why things were different now.

You nodded, slipping your other hand around his forearm as the two of you entered the door.

“We’re here,” Natsuo called as the two of you exchanged your shoes for slippers before continuing into the home.

“Finally!” You smiled upon recognizing Fuyumi’s sweet voice from the other room. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it to—Y/n?” She blinked, staring at the junction of you and Natsuo’s hands. “Oh—oh my God, wait, really? Mom!”

Fuyumi called out, hurrying down the hallway to wrap you into a hug, which you gladly returned.

“Did you say Y/n was here?” Rei stepped out of the dining room, her eyes growing wider as they fell on you. “Oh my goodness, darling, it’s so good to see you,” she smiled warmly, collecting you into her arms as Fuyumi released you.

“It’s so good to see you too,” you hugged her tight. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“Where have you been? And when did this happen? Why didn’t I know about it?” Fuyumi gestured between you and Natsuo as you rejoin hands.

“Wait, are you the one he insisted he couldn’t tell us about?” Rei brought a hand to her lips, smiling excitedly.

“Now you see why. Sis would have asked a million questions,” Natsuo chuckled while Fuyumi rolled her eyes.

“Questions that I would like answers to! How long? This isn’t a prank, right? Because, honestly, he could never do better than you. Please tell me this is real.” Fuyumi placed her hand on your arm, stepping to your other side.

When she came closer, you could see Shouto stepping out of the dining room. The briefest of flames alighting the hair on his left side as he took in the scene before him.

“It’s real,” you pointedly ignored him, smiling at Fuyumi. “Been almost a couple months now, so not long. We didn’t wanna say anything until we were sure it would stick,” you laugh as Enji and Tame appear in the hallway beside Shouto.

“Well, I certainly hope it does. I think it will,” Rei smiled fondly, looking between the two of you. “You look so happy together. I’ve always thought that you would make sense as a couple.”

Shouto turned to re-enter the dining room, but Fuyumi remembered her manners before he had the chance.

“Oh! It’s been so long, I almost forgot. Have you had a chance to meet Tame yet?” She took a step back to wave over Shouto and the pretty woman beside him.

“No, I haven’t,” you smiled and bowed politely and Tame did the same as she came close. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” she smiles brightly, “I almost didn’t believe Shouto when he said that he knew y/hero/n personally.”

“Ah, call me y/n, please. I feel so awful that I haven’t had the chance to meet you sooner, but I’m so glad that we have tonight to get to know each other better.” You put on your best smile, finding it easier than you thought it might be in her presence. She seemed like a genuinely kind person, so at least there was that.

“I am too,” she nods, “Shouto told me how busy you’ve been recently. I completely understand, but I’m glad we’ve finally gotten the chance to meet.”

“Oh, is that why you haven’t seen each other, bro? She’s been too busy for you?” Natsuo smiles sardonically and catches a gentle elbow in the side from you as you laugh it off, not wanting to cause a scene.

“I have been busy with the new agency location,” you lie, grateful as ever when Enji interjects.

“I recall Shouto mentioning that a while ago, I hope you’ve left plenty of room to grow at the new office.” He nods, “You’re about to crack into the top 10, aren’t you? That’s impressive, especially considering your age.”

“Getting close,” you smile politely, “But I don’t wanna talk shop while I’m here. There’s so much catching up to do.” You smile at Tame, “And I’d love to have a chance to talk with you.”

“Well, dinner’s nearly finished, but we could still use some help in the kitchen. We can take a little time, c’mon girls.” Rei smiles, leading the way down the hall.

You move to follow and look back as Natsuo catches your hand, smiling and tugging you back to pull you into a chaste kiss before he lets you go, smiling like a fool as he watches you walk down the hallway, oblivious to the daggers Shouto is glaring in his direction.

///

Dinner wasn’t nearly as awkward as it had the potential to be. At least, not for you. You’d spent the meal catching up with everyone around the table, though Shouto was noticeably even more quiet than usual.

He’d missed most of the conversation. After hearing Natsuo’s retelling of how he’d gotten so lucky as to be ‘in the right place at the right time’ to find you in the bar that night, he couldn’t bother to pay attention to anything else. He was ruminating, wondering how you could have possibly thought that this was a good idea. Were you just trying to hurt him? To make him jealous enough to break off his engagement? If so, it was working, because he’d already considered that idea several times this evening.

Just seeing your face again was too much for him. He knew he had to cut off all contact when he left, otherwise he’d crumble. He was fully prepared to avoid you until the day he died to circumvent the pain of knowing he couldn’t just grab you and pull you close to him like he so desperately wanted to. But here you were, laughing and hanging off of his brother’s shoulder, hand intertwined with his under the table as you shared a laugh with his family as if they were your own.

Because they were. You’d been such a presence in the Todoroki family home for so long and that was entirely his doing. How had he ever intended to explain your absence indefinitely? He would’ve eventually had to stop relying on the ‘she’s just been so busy’ excuse. None of that mattered now though. Here you were again.

He lingers behind in the dining room, idly standing aside as he watches Fuyumi gather the last of the dishes to carry to the kitchen. She passes you on her way out, explaining she’d grabbed everything that was left as she went about her way.

“Can we talk?” Shouto utters before you can leave the doorway, a rushed and clumsy inquiry.

You pause to consider, looking down the hall at Natsuo excitedly speaking with Rei while Tame nodded through a conversation with Enji. With a soft sigh, you step into the room, pulling the door shut behind you as you cross your arms.

“About what? I’ve said everything I needed to say to you.”

“About the fact that you’re fucking my brother? You didn’t care to mention that was part of your plan,” he spits, a scowl on his face that you recognized, but had never seen aimed your way before.

“My plan?” You scoff, looking anywhere but at him to search for where he might have found the audacity to accuse you of such a thing. “You can fuck right off. I’m not dealing with this.” With a dismissive wave over your shoulder, you turn around to open the door, but he crosses the room in an instant, catching your wrist to spin you around.

“Why then? Why him?” His voice is shaking, like the last leaf clinging to a barren branch on a blustery day. “Why did you have to come here to throw it in my face?”

“How can you even ask me that question?” You search his eyes, trying to ignore the way that the tears brewing in them pulls at your heart. “Half a decade with you and your family still thinks that we’ve never been more than friends. Not even two months in, he couldn’t wait to tell everyone. That’s why I’m fucking here and that’s why I’m glad you finally let go. You were never going to be honest with your father.” The rage in your blood physically manifests as hot, angry tears slipping from your eyes. “You were never going to be mine, not completely. I let you put it off at every turn, like an idiot. Let you make me feel like some huge burden, because we both knew what was coming. Knew it would be bad if you ever came clean, especially after so long.” You shirk his hand from your wrist and step towards him, curling your fist as he takes a step back. “You never loved me. Not the way that you should have.” He blinks, swaying forward to reach out to you and then back again, looking dumbstruck.

“Do you--do you love him?” He asks as if it’s an impossibility and you don’t know how else to respond, other than with the truth.

“Yes,” you respond in stark contrast to his tone, as if it’s obvious.

As if he should feel fucking stupid for asking, because he should. How could you not love Natsuo? He was giving you everything that you’d always wanted from Sho that he never gave. That he was obviously never going to and yet here he was, accusing you of trying to make him jealous? For what? Why would you want someone who didn’t want you just as much?

The tears fall faster as the question crosses your mind, because it’s not like you could deny how much you still love the man in front of you, despite the pain he’s caused. Despite the fact that you’ve moved on after thinking that you’d never be able to manage it. Natsuo had picked you up and painstakingly pieced you back together in such a short amount of time with the sheer intensity of the way he loved you. Not putting Shouto in his place would feel like a betrayal of that.

“So no, my plan wasn’t to come here and throw anything in your face. I’m not here for you anymore. I’m here for Natsuo and if you’re upset about that, then you have no one to blame but yourself.” You shrug, drying your eyes and expelling an exasperated breath. “My plan was always you,” you pause, studying the man who you’d always thought that you’d spend your life with. Finally seeing, finally accepting that the future you’d imagined with him was never going to happen. “But plans can change.”

You smile sadly and turn away, unable to bear the way that he’s looking at you, like you’d stabbed him in the chest. You move to leave, but he can’t let that happen yet.

“Please come back to me,” the shake in his voice is so intense it sends a shiver up your spine and you freeze. “Please, I’ll do anything, I--,”

“You won’t,” you shake your head, staring at the door in front of you as your voice drops to a whisper. “You and I both know that you won’t. I finally have someone who will.” You swallow, “If you ever loved me, please just let me have that.”

He doesn’t respond and you can’t bring yourself to look back anymore, so you exit, leaving him to pick up the pieces that he broke in the first place.

///

“You wanna watch another?” Natsuo smiles down at you. You’re laying on his chest, snugly nestled between his legs, clinging to him on the couch beneath a cozy blanket while he rubs your back. Your new favorite place in the world. The credits are rolling on the last film you watched and your eyes are beginning to feel the weight of the day.

“Mm, I would love to, but I should probably get home. I have an early patrol tomorrow and an afternoon full of meetings.”

You push yourself up, maneuvering yourself to sit back on the other side of the couch and you catch him staring at you, a soft grin on his face that makes you blush.

“What?” You laugh, lifting a hand to the cheek that was squished against his abdomen. “Do I have a mark on my face or something?”

“Move in with me.”

“What?” Another laugh leaves your lips, one that sounds noticeably more incredulous. It’d only been four months and he had a food sense of humor. Surely, he’s kidding, you think, but his lovestruck expression doesn’t falter. “Are you--you mean that?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, reaching forward to grab your hands and pull you into his lap to hold you. “You wouldn’t have to leave me if you were already home,” he lifts a finger to your nose, brushing the pad of his finger against the tip. “I hate watching you leave. If I only ever had to do it when you went to work,” he shrugs, “I could live with that. But saying goodbye to you instead of just saying goodnight? It’s killing me.” He lifts his palm to your face, stroking your cheek gently with his thumb while his grey eyes bore into you, melting you in his grasp like they always do. “Whaddya say, baby?”

“Okay,” you beam, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a deep kiss. “I’d love to. If you’re sure you can spare the closet space,” you giggle, hugging him around his neck while he chuckles in your ear.

“If I gotta downsize to two outfits to get you in here, I’ll do it.” He squeezes you tight, feeling his heart swell with unbridled joy. “Will you stay here tonight?” He pulls away, utilizing that gaze that you can’t refuse. “I promise I’ll get up early to make sure you’re up in time to leave.” “All right,” you whisper, catching his cheek to seal the agreement with another kiss.

The next morning, you’re in the kitchen preparing coffee when the doorbell rings.

“Can you get that, babe? I ordered us some breakfast. Thought we could eat before you have to get going,” Natsuo calls from the bedroom, rummaging through his underwear drawer.

He’s about as dressed as you are, which is to say not at all. You nod and snatch his shirt and boxers from the night before, having been abandoned on the sofa when the two of you decided to properly celebrate the new milestone in your relationship. Slipping into them is easy enough as you head for the door and pull it open to find unamused heterochromatic eyes staring back at you.

“Ah, you’re not the delivery guy,” you sigh and he echoes the sound as you step away to let him inside.

“Not exactly, but I do have something for Natsuo. I’m not planning on staying. Looks like you’re busy,” his eyes travel the length of your body, lingering on the outline of your hardened nipples as they press against the thin material of the t-shirt before he looks away. “Oh, don’t worry, you didn’t interrupt anything,” you smile sardonically, crossing your arms to cover your chest. “He came so hard last night, I don’t think we could do it again this morning if we tried.”

“Great,” he smiles with contempt. “You miss having someone with hero stamina around yet, sweetheart? I know how bitchy you get when you’re left unsatisfied.”

“Okay,” you roll your eyes. “Outta your system? Because he’s coming.”

“I thought you said he couldn’t this morning?” He cocks a provocative brow, letting it fall off his face as Natsuo comes up behind you and you set your jaw, putting on your best smile.

“Hey, bro, she tell you the good news?” Natsuo snakes his arm around your waist and you don’t miss the way the vein in Shouto’s neck tenses.

“What good news?” He looks between you, his tone even, but his mind racing, frantically flying through the worst case scenarios, at least, for him. Had he proposed? That would be rash, but he wouldn't be surprised at this point. Were you--were you pregnant? Oh God, he didn’t even know what he would do if he had to witness that. Children were such a permanent link to someone, he’d never stand a chance at winning you back. A sweat broke out on his forehead as his thoughts went into a tailspin.

“We’re moving in together,” you press your hand to Natsuo’s chest, smiling softly at up him as he held you closer.

“Oh,” he nods, smiling politely. “Congrats. I, uhm, I don’t have much time to stop and chat. I’ve got a lot of wedding planning to handle today. Just wanted to drop this off.” He hands Natsuo a parcel. “Shoes you ordered went to Mom and Dad’s. Told Mom I’d get ‘em to you, since I’d be in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, thanks, man.” He takes the package and moves to set it aside while Shouto takes a step back, giving a quick wave.

“No problem. Sorry I can’t stay, congrats again.”

“No worries, we’ll see you soon. Take care, bro.” Natsuo joins you in waving him off as he nods and continues away from the door, heaving a sigh of relief once he’s out of earshot.

///

“Oh, I think I see one more back there,” Natsuo is seated criss-cross on the floor near the Christmas tree, pointing to a small, ribbon-bound box tucked up against the base of it. “Would you mind grabbing it, babe?”

You’re seated closest to the tree, leaning forward to spy the package beneath the pine branches. The whole family is present, celebrating Christmas Day at the family cabin. You and Natsuo had opted to spend the holidays with your family the previous year, so this was your first holiday trip with the Todorokis. Fuyumi sat on the other side of the tree, leaning against the side of the couch where her parents sat, while Shouto and a pregnant Tame sat on the other sofa.

There was wrapping paper everywhere, all the gifts except for the one you’re reaching for having been opened already in the cool, winter morning as all of you gathered gleefully in your pjs.

“Whoever snuck this back there did a good job making it nearly unreachable,” you laugh, opting to coax the object into your grasp with your quirk rather than continue straining to slip your arm far enough beneath the tree to grab it.

“Who’s it for?” Fuyumi asks as you come to kneel and hold it in your palm, pulling your attention to her while Natsuo quietly readjusts to get one on knee behind you.

“Me,” you glance at the box, seeing the small tag attached to the ribbon. “Doesn’t say who from though.”

“Open it,” she persists as you sit back into crossed legs and oblige.

The ribbon falls away with a soft tug, allowing you to lift the lid off to find that the box is empty.

“Sorry, I wanted the chance to do this part myself, ” Natsuo chuckles softly, popping open the little black box in his hand, revealing the most gorgeous ring that you’ve ever seen within it. “Will you marry me, Y/n?”

You’re stunned speechless, the room silent as everyone looks on, most of them excited, a single individual decidedly less than thrilled, but still holding his breath.

“Natsu,” the waterworks begin as you frantically nod, fanning your face as you reach for him. “Of course I will,” you throw your arms around his neck and he folds his strong arms around you, smiling wide as he kisses from your temple to the top of your head while the rest of the family claps and cheers.

“I love you so much, baby,” he pulls away to cup your face, smiling at you like you hold the whole world in your eyes before kissing you hard with his other hand still pressed to your back.

The rest of the day passed in a daze for the two of you, all loving touches and thoughtful smiles while you spent some quality time with the family. You’d only been apart briefly when Fuyumi and Tame had managed to pull you away from him long enough to gush with you about what you thought you might want the wedding to look like.

Natsuo took the opportunity to sit beside Shouto, clapping his hand atop his shoulder as he did so, “You’ll be my best man, right?” He grins over at his younger brother and Shouto manages to put on a genuine smile in return.

“Yeah, of course. Congratulations, again. She’s, uh,” Shouto pauses to look at you, laughing with his wife. “She’s pretty great. Just don’t screw this up, okay? I already think she deserves better, don’t prove it to me.” He laughs and places an arm behind his elder brother, clapping his hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess I never really asked how you felt about any of this, huh?” Natsuo gave an apologetic smile as they both dropped their arms away. “Sorry about that. I guess I was a little upset over whatever was going on between you two at the time, but that wasn’t any of my business. I’m just glad that you guys are good now.” He smiles from Shouto to you, “I’m really glad that you brought her into my life. I don’t know what I would do without her, man.”

“Hopefully you never have to know,” he smiles lopsidedly, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder once more. “I’m glad that it’s you she ended up with.”

“Thanks,” he laughs, nodding as he folds his hands in front of him. “She doesn’t ever say much about her ex, but if you didn’t like him, I’m sure he couldn’t’ve been the best to her.”

“He wasn’t,” he smiles sadly, feeling his heart decaying in his chest as the heavy words fall from his tongue. “But thankfully she has you now. I’m happy for you guys.”

“Thanks, bro,” he nudges him with his elbow. “C’mon, let’s get a drink to celebrate. I’m finally getting hitched and you’re gonna be a dad. The unthinkable has happened,” he chuckles, slapping Shouto’s knee as he stands.

“Ha, yeah. A drink sounds great,” he nods, standing to follow him to the kitchen.

///

That evening, Shouto wakes and glances over at the clock. 2:33 AM and he’s unsure of what’s awoken him, so he turns over and tries to fall back to sleep, staring at the back of Tame’s head when a noise perks up his ears.

He carefully slips out of bed to search for the source, drawing nearer to the wall that their room shared with you and Natsuo’s. He can hear noises that he can’t quite distinguish, but he’s almost certain that it’s probably for the best. Still, he waits, holding his breath to listen more closely. He hears you moan clearly and he tenses, his cock stirring in his pants almost immediately as he sighs.

He can just go back to bed, pretend he heard nothing and ignore the sounds coming from the other room, drown them out anyway that he can, but he doesn’t. He leans in, pressing his ear the thin wall.

“Natsu,” you mewl, back arched off the bed while his cock slowly glides in and out of you. “Feels so good,” you sigh, pushing your hands into his hair to bring him closer, so that you can kiss him. “‘S’ so fucking good, baby.”

Shouto winces, as the name leaves your lips, his jaw tightening as he tries to will the blood rushing to his cock to leave him be.

“Yeah? You want more, baby?” Natsuo murmurs against your lips, smiling as he slips his arms beneath your thighs, picking you up off the bed with ease as you let out a quiet yelp and cling to him in your surprise. “Or should I say, Mrs. Todoroki?”

“Mm, I like the sound of that,” you bite your lip, leaning your head back on the wall that he places you against as he thrusts his cock back inside you.

Shouto can feel the gentle thud of your spine hitting the wall just on the other side from where his ear is pressed. He’s torturing himself, he knows he should pick up his feet and move, but again he doesn’t. He slips his hand into his boxers, stroking his length as the angelic sounds of your moans carry through the wall again.

“I like the sounds you’re making,” Natsuo buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing fervently while his hips move faster. Your eyes roll back as you cling to his shoulders, biting your lip to try and suppress the wanton sounds that you can barely control any longer.

Shouto balls his fist, pressing it flush to the wall while a silent sob leaves his chest. Tears are drifting down his cheeks while his other hand continues pumping his cock, quickly seeing him towards his release while his ear remains pressed tight to the wall.

He can hear everything, the way you’re chanting Natsuo’s name, the lewd, squelching noises coming from between your joined bodies, coupled with the slapping sound of skin on skin. He can feel each thrust that you accept, the sensation rippling through the wooden wall while he furiously pumps his length.

He’s so close and so ashamed, wetness still streaming down his face as he shuts his eyes tight and tries to replace Natsuo’s name with his own. If he tries, he can see you the way that he had countless times before. Face red, eyes rolling back, chest heaving as you fell apart in a beautiful display or carnal desire. He can picture it so clearly as he hears you doing exactly that just inches away from where he’s painting the wall before him white with his own release.

He hangs his head, pressing his forehead to the wall as he chokes on another sob, careful not to make any noise while another wave of tears breaks through.

“I love you,” Natsuo pants in your ear, kissing your shoulder while you breathlessly respond and Shouto dare to selfishly pretend that you’re speaking the words to him.

“I love you too.”

///

It’s the night before your wedding. The good sort of anxiety is keeping you awake, like a kid on Christmas Eve. You’re up on the couch, trying to sleep, thinking of what tomorrow will bring and wondering if Natsuo is lying awake in his parents house as anxious as you are.

The knock at the door startles you. You stand and cross to the door, looking through the peephole before you throw the door open.

“What are you doing here?” You stare at Shouto, eyes as red as the left side of his hair as he blinks at you.

“Please, don’t go through with this.” He begs, leaning in the doorway, taking a step inside. “Please,” he reaches for you and you step back, pushing him away and he looks wounded. “I still love you. I’ve never stopped, not for a moment. I can fix this, I ca--,”

“Stop,” you say firmly, holding out a hand to his chest as he tries to step closer once again. “Just stop, Sho.” You shake your head in disbelief, gently pressing both hands to his chest. “You have to let this go. It’s not healthy. You have not only a wife, but a baby at home now and I’m marrying your brother in less than 12 hours. This has to stop..”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he swallows, sniffling as he places his hands over yours.

“It does,” you protest sadly, pushing him towards the door as tears well in your eyes. “Sho, this is over. It’s been over. Let me go.”

“I can’t do that,” he shakes his head, a bitter smile on his face as his own tears start to fall. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that. Please, Y/n. It’s not too late, just don’t,” he swallows a sob, his voice strained with emotion. “Don’t marry him. It should be me, I should’ve been honest with you, just let me explain, plea--,”

“No!” You cry, shoving him back out the door, tears falling freely now. “Stop! This is the last time I’m going to do this. Stop this, please. Can’t you see that how much I love him? Can’t you see that I don’t love you anymore?”

“You--you can’t mean that,” he sobs, stepping towards the entryway again as you slowly swing the door shut.

“I do,” you sigh, shaking your head. “Goodbye, Sho. Go home.”

The door clicks shut and you jump as his fist hits it, his disconsolate cries drifting through the door as you lock it.

“I know you can hear me,” he sniffs, pressing his palm flat to the door. “I know you’re right there. You’re always right fucking there. Close enough for me to touch and still too far for me to hold.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “I love you, Y/n. I will always love you.” He presses his forehead to the door as you do the same from the other side, eyes clenched tight to try and stop the tears that won’t stop falling. “Please don’t forget that.”

Despite the unexpected events of the previous evening, your wedding day is glorious. Everyone in attendance is happy and eager to celebrate with you and Natsuo. Even Shouto seems to be remorseful about the night before, going out of his way to make sure that everything runs smoothly and avoiding any talk similar to what he had said just a few hours prior. He stops in while you’re in your dressing room alone, sitting and waiting for the ceremony to start.

“Hey,” he says quietly, cracking open the door after checking that no one was around. “I understand if you don’t wanna talk to me, but I just wanted to apologize for last night.”

You look up in surprise that slowly melts away and you nod, “Thank you. I appreciate that,” you give him a small smile and he cautiously steps inside, admiring how breathtaking you look in your gown.

“You, uh, you look amazing,” he smiles and you glance down, blushing. “Really.” He reassures you, shoving his hands in his pockets nervously as he glances down himself. “I don’t want things to be like this between us forever. I’ve acted like an ass and I don’t want my behavior to affect anyone else, so,” he takes a step closer, extending his hand out to you. “I just want things to be okay between us. I’ll never pull anything like that again. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Sho,” you smile, taking his hand and pulling him into a hug, holding him tight and he returns the favor. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” a melancholy smile touches his lips as he savors the feeling of you against him before he has to pull away, stuffing his hands back in his pockets as he nods. “I’ll see you up there. He can’t wait to see you.” He gives you one last wistful smile as he backs out of the room, his gaze lingering on yours as he pulls the door shut.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch. You get to have that magical moment when Natsuo turns and sees you in full regalia, his eyes becoming misty when he does so. A sight that you don’t get to see often. A few stray tears of pure joy leave streaks on his face that you can see as you march closer, grateful that you opted for waterproof makeup as your tears leave marks of their own.

The reception is immaculate. No expense was spared and it shows. Everyone is busy drinking, laughing, and having a grand ole time. The night buzzes on as quickly as everyone told you that it would. Between the traditions and making the rounds greeting all the guests, it isn’t until the evening is winding down that you get to have a slow dance with your new husband, other than your first official dance together, which had felt a little stiff with everyone’s eyes glued to the two of you.

Now, the feeling was perfect. Soft light beaming down from the string lights above you and the moon above them. A favorite song of yours playing gently as conversation hums around you. The dance floor is sparsely populated as most everyone is about ready to call it a night if they haven’t already. He has one arm around you, his hand on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand. Your head is resting against his shoulder as you sway slowly in time to the music, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“I wanna promise you something,” he speaks softly, a warm and welcome half-whisper in your ear.

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to give you the best life that I possibly can.” He readjusts your hand in his, interlacing your fingers as he splays his hands across the small of your back and looks down at you, eyes gleaming with good intentions. “I’m going to love you with everything that I have. Every second of every hour or every day for as long as I live, I am going to give you everything, because you don’t deserve anything less.”

“Baby,” you smile up at him softly, in awe of the saccharine promise. “I promise to give you the same,” you lift your hand to his face, holding it in your palm while your eyes bore into his. “You have already given me the world and I will spend the rest of my days trying to give it back to you. I love you more than anything, I’ll prove that to you every day for the rest of my life.”

“I can’t wait,” he smiles warmly, leaning in close. “I love you too, baby. More than anything.” He closes the distance, capturing your lips in a slow, gentle kiss.

///

Years have passed and you’re at home. Natsuo is working an extended shift at the hospital, leaving you to tend to your niece and nephew, who are expected over any minute.

You hear the car pull up and head to the front door, walking outside to see their smiling faces greeting you as they run up the driveway.

“Hey, be careful!” Shouto calls after them, lugging a bag of necessary supplies along.

“They’re fine,” you smile, picking up the smaller boy and taking the girl's hand as you all meander towards the door. “C’mon, let’s get inside. I know it’s close to nap time for you guys.”

“Let me help you get them settled, they’ve been a little,” Shouto sighs, picking up his daughter, “much today. Huh?” He grins, tickling her belly and making the small girl squeal with laughter.

A good deal of pleading and bargaining later, the two are fast asleep in the spare bedroom. Shouto pulls the door shut as you both start down the hall and you turn to him, “I thought Tame was dropping them off today. Is she busy?”

“No,” he shrugs, shaking his head. “I just uh, I thought maybe we could catch up? It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to even talk to you, feels like. Plus Tame’s getting ready to go back to work soon, so I figured I better get used to wrangling the two of them by myself.” He chuckles as you stop in the kitchen, both of you leaning against the island on opposite sides.

“Guess so,” you laugh in agreement. “I uh, I don’t know if you sticking around is the best idea though,” you look down, watching your foot fidget against the floor. “There’s a reason we’re never alone together, Sho. You know that.”

“I know,” he admits, leaning forward to try and catch your eye, which he does. He smiles reassuringly, “It’s been years though. I promised you that I’d never mention it again and I still have no intention to. You have Natsuo and I have my family. What we had is just history. We’re past all that now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding with a gentle smile. “Yeah, I think we are.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please like leave a like/reblog/comment 💜

If you'd like to join the taglist for the sequel to Plan B, let me know!

1K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 2 years

Text

my katsuki brainrot is so bad😭😭

Freaky Friday - Part Two

Read part one here

Pairing: Bakugou x reader, Izuku x reader

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: cheating/physical & emotional infidelity, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, emotional sex, nipple play (f), praise kink, biting, back-to-back orgasms, marking, unprotected sex, creampie, heartbreak

Notes: There will be a part three to wrap things up. If you'd like to join the tag list, please click here. Special thanks to @kingkatsuki & @arvandus for letting me pick their brains and sharing some of your juicy ideas with me 💜

InteractiveFics browser extension to replace y/n with your actual name.

It was hardly light out when you woke, a faint pink light barely visible peeking out from behind the curtains when you felt your body being shifted, shuffled off of the warm torso that you’d been peacefully curled up into.

“Mmhm. ‘Course I love you, puppy,” Izuku murmured, turning away from you in the large bed.

It had to be Izuku. You had no way of knowing if Katsuki ever talked in his sleep, but you were certain that he’d never willingly refer to you that way. They must have switched back. Your husband was back where he belonged; he was home safe and sound and things could carry on as normal. That was a good thing, right?

Why was your gut reaction disappointment? Sure, you’d had your fair share of marital problems recently, but that was just a normal part of any marriage. There were highs and lows to any relationship. You were just in a low right now. Things would get better. They would feel the same as they used to again. They’d feel like—

Like last night.

You sat up, feeling much more alone than you did last night, despite the presence beside you. It was a far cry from the way you’d felt mere hours ago, how you’d drifted to sleep. Wrapped up tight against the chest of someone who made you feel special for the first time in far too long.

Well, perhaps not his actual chest, but he was the one holding you. The one ghosting his lips across your scalp, leaving behind the softest kisses after he thought you’d already fallen asleep. Whispering about how he wished he had the courage to tell you how he really felt.

Your heart pounded at the thought, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you glanced at the mess of green curls sinking into the pillow beside you. Izuku was still fast asleep, snoring quietly. Katsuki was likely at home in his own bed. Maybe he’d be awake already, maybe you could call him.

But should you? Should you even acknowledge what happened? You hadn’t really discussed that part. Surely, you couldn’t see him again and pretend like you hadn’t done what you did. Hadn’t revealed such intimate parts of your body and soul to him.

Seeing him again. That was a truly wonderful and terrible idea. You could slip out of bed right now and see him again if you wanted to and it was impossible to deny that you did. Izuku slept like the dead; it would be plenty easy enough to roll out of bed and slip out of the house before he woke. He likely wouldn’t be awake for a while anyway, whereas Katsuki was always an early riser.

You refused to acknowledge how quickly you were able to make the decision that put you where you were now, standing outside of Katsuki’s apartment, the sash on your wrap dress so loosely tied that it almost came undone on the way up here. Hopefully, he’d appreciate the little surprise that you had for him underneath.

You swallowed the guilt that lingered and lifted your left hand, which looked foreign without the diamond on your fourth digit, to rap on the door. His gruff, grumbling voice carried faintly through the door as you heard his heavy footsteps approach. It sent a tingle up your spine that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing for so long.

The door swung open and if you’d had any lingering reservations about what you were about to do, they were gone now. Vanquished by the starstruck look on his face, the contours of his abs which trailed into the cut v shape that tucked into his precariously low sweats.

Your eyes meet and a jolt of electricity strikes your chest; you can’t turn back now. So you carry on, undoing the sash around your waist to pull your dress wide open for his eyes only, trusting him not to push you away, rushing forward and stumbling into whatever this is about to be, hoping that he’ll catch you.

“Did you miss me?”

He blinks, red eyes fluttering before he glances around the hallway and wraps an arm around your exposed waist, pulling you inside and swinging the door shut behind you.

“What are you doing here?” It comes out wrong, too abrasive and he suddenly realizes why you would’ve thought that he hated you in college.

But why is he even asking? He wants you here, right here. Pulled tight against his chest, smiling up at him the way you are now, like he’s never done a thing wrong in your eyes.

“I missed you,” you breathe, pressing your hands to his bare torso, running them up to his trapezius, giving it a gentle squeeze that has him relaxing into your touch, the tension melting from his features. “I was too afraid to tell you last night that I would, but I did miss you this morning.” Your warm smile almost soothes the ache he feels knowing that he’s not really the one you should be missing. “I just wanted to be in your arms again. Your actual arms this time,” you tilt your head back, searching his vermillion gaze while you ghost your fingertips along his arms, pulling both of them tighter around you.

“Y/n, what about—”

“Please, don’t say his name,” you whisper, the pads of your fingers tightening around his biceps. “Please, Katsuki. I just—I want to know,” you bring a hand to his torso, slowly tracing half of a heart over his own before you look up at him, eyes shining brighter than any star he’s ever seen. “I have to know what it’s like with you. I want you, Katsuki.”

He holds your gaze, folding his arm behind you to pull you flush against him while his hand comes to rest atop yours on his chest. It feels like his heart is in his throat and he doesn’t know whether to pour it out to you or swallow it back down.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” He searches your face for any sign of hesitation, “Last night was one thing, but this,” he sighs, closing his eyes before pained red eyes meet yours again. “Baby, this is different in a lot of ways.” His hand cups your face, thumb swiping over your cheek as he tilts your chin up and leans in closer. “It’s different for me.”

“I know,” you reassure him, nodding your understanding. “It’s different for me too.”

“I don’t know if you mean what I mean, princess,” he smiles wistfully, his fingers pushing into your hair to cradle the back of your head.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t either, but I know that I want to find out,” you can see the bargaining happening behind his eyes as you stare up at him, your hands encircling his neck. “I don’t wanna hurt you though, Katsuki. I won’t do this at your expense.”

Your fingers brush over the buzzed hair of the undercut at the nape of his neck and his forehead comes to rest against yours as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“You’ve made it real difficult to turn you away with your choice of attire, y’know that?”

“I’m sorry,” your face burns, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lip. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You showin’ up here surprised me plenty,” he lifts his forehead from yours, the grin on his face faltering. “You know he’s lookin’ for you, right?”

“He’s awake?” You tear away from him, letting your hands linger on his chest. “I didn’t think he’d be up for at least a couple of hours.”

“Been blowin’ up my phone all mornin’, sweetheart. S’only a matter of time before he shows up here.”

A sigh escapes you, your head dropping back as you move to pull away, but he’s reluctant to let you, his hold slowly loosening to allow you to take a step away and pace in front of him.

“Not unless,” you take one last step before turning to face him. “You tell him you’re not here.” You cross back over to him, resting your hands on his abdomen, “He’s gonna assume I came here and I can tell him that I did, but when I realized that you weren’t home, I left. He never has to know we saw each other this morning.”

He exhales, dragging a hand along the length of his face, “You’re not planning on telling him what happened last night then either.” You look up at him sadly, shaking your head and he nods thoughtfully in response.

“Kats—” you run your hands up his chest and he stops you, lifting your hands off of him, assumably to pull away, but he does the opposite, pushing your dress off of your shoulders and letting it slink to the floor before he grabs your wrist and tugs you back to him, eager lips crashing into yours before you know what’s hit you.

Your hands find their way into his hair, knitting into the roots of his blonde locks as he lifts you, carrying you down the hall while his tongue explores your mouth with a ferocity that surpasses even the venture it took last night.

“Katsuki,” you pant, dizzy from the sudden whirlwind as he lays you down in his bed. “I meant what I said, I know this is selfish of me,” you prop yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he lumbers over you, crawling atop your prone form. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can leave and we can just forget that anything ever happened between us.”

“S’too late for that, princess. Besides,” he lets his lips brush against yours as he speaks before capturing them in another passionate kiss. “I never wanna forget a single second I’ve spent with you.”

His hands reach around to unclasp your bra, pulling it away from your chest as he sits back to kneel between your legs, marveling at your form as his hands skim along your thighs.

“Katsuki,” your voice is quieter, more uncertain than ever, but the way his name sounds falling off of your lips has him in a vice grip all the same.

He leans forward again, kissing you with a greater sense of urgency as he slips his fingers into the waistband of your panties to work them over your hips.

“Keep sayin’ my name, baby” he speaks against your lips, almost pleading with you. “Just keep sayin’ it for me and I’ll take care of everything else, okay?”

He’s breathless when he pulls away again, lustful red eyes searing into yours as he kneels again, slipping your panties off completely as you nod in compliance.

“Yes,” you prop yourself up further, brows knitting together as he lays on his stomach, his lips finding purchase on your inner thigh.

Warm, wet kisses are laid across your sensitive skin, pulling moan after moan from you as his lips inch their way closer to your core. You can feel yourself clenching involuntarily and he can feel it too, muscles tensing beneath his fingers as he spreads you open further, hands pressing into the innermost part of your thighs to part you, leaving you completely splayed open for him.

“Fuck,” he growls, baring his teeth against the lips of your pussy before slipping his hot tongue between your folds. “Knew you would taste fucking delicious.”

The sight is too sinful to behold, his intense gaze locking with yours as his nose nuzzles against your clit, his tongue slipping inside of you. You fall back into the mattress, threading your fingers through your hair, trying to keep still, but you don’t need to put in much effort. His huge hands slid up the inside of your thighs, pressing down on the inside of your knees to ensure that you can’t get very far from him when you squirm.

“Katsuki, oh my God,” you whimper, bucking your hips, grinding against his face as his smirk grows.

“Feels real good, don’t it, princess?” He sucks your swollen clit gently before letting it go with a soft popping noise. “You’re gonna cum for me, aren’tcha?” He releases one of your knees, slipping two fingers inside of you, reveling in how you arch and keen for him with an ever-increasing sense of pride. “Sure fuckin’ feels like it with how you’re clampin’ down on me. What’re you waitin for, babygirl? I’m gonna make you cum more than once today, I promise.”

His tongue returns to assaulting your puffy clit, toying with it in just the right way to have you losing your mind. Just when you're about to fall apart, his fingers leave your heat to slip beneath your thighs and immediately you close them around his head, too lost in the way his tongue feels inside you to miss the stretch of his thick digits. His only response is to double down, a feral groan leaving his chest as he buries his face in your cunt, tongue-fucking you while he reaches over your hip to rub your clit in tight circles with his thumb.

“Katsuki, oh—oh fuck. I-I’m gonna cum! Katsuki!” You cry out over the lewd slurping noises he’s making between your legs, gushing around his mouth as he eagerly laps up the juices, red eyes glinting and fixed squarely on you, relishing in the ecstasy he’s able to send you into.

“So fuckin’ pretty when you cum, y’know that?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, swiping away the fluid dripping from his chin with his thumb as he climbs over you again. “No matter what you do,” he lowers himself down, laying beside you as he props himself up on an elbow, dragging his fingertips along your sides, making you shiver. He grins, chuckling softly, watching the dopey, blissed out smile spread across your lips as you turn towards him. “You just look so beautiful.”

He tucks his arm beneath you, pulling you closer to him, his knuckles brushing against your jaw as you stare into each other’s eyes in comfortable silence. There’s been plenty going through his mind. Plenty going through yours. But in this moment it feels safe to take a step back from the gravity of what you’ve just done to just be.

Your head’s still swimming, the guilt temporarily drowned out by the sea of pleasure you’re floating along in. All you see is red, your new favorite color. Kind crimson irises that can’t seem to tear away from your face, narrowing as an affectionate grin turns up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, resting your arm over his waist as you curl in closer to him, tucking your head into his broad chest.

“Like what?” His voice is pillow soft as his arm envelops you, hand resting on the back of your head to smooth your hair while his lips press to your temple.

“You know what,” you nuzzle into his chest, inhaling his scent, holding it in your lungs. Mahogany and something sweet.

“Like you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” He murmurs into your hair, tightening his hold on you as he presses another kiss to the crown of your head. “Too bad, princess. You are.”

“Who are you?” You smile against his collarbone, giggling quietly as you cock your head back to look at him.

“What? You prefer when I’m mean?” His brow quirks, playfulness evident in his expression as his hand slides over your back to rest at the base of your spine.

“Depends, I guess,” you chew on the inside of your lip, dragging a finger along his clavicle, watching the motion you make and missing the way his eyes shine as he studies your face. “I liked last night,” you shrug, “Didn’t like you being a dick all through school,” he rolls his eyes exaggeratedly as you laugh.

“I’m never gonna hear the end of that now, am I?” He tucks his index finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze and you can’t keep a straight face, giggling as you give your head a little shake.

“No, I don’t think that you will,” you lean in closer. “Should’ve known you were a pigtail-puller.”

“Oh, you have no idea, princess,” he smirks, his chest rumbling with a clement chuckle. “If you need someone to pull your pigtails, I’m your man.” He leans in closer, nearly brushing his lips with yours, his quirking up when he hears your breath hitch just before they collide, but only barely, only for a moment. “But I’d rather spend the morning trying to make that up to you,” his warm fingertips run along your temple, brushing against the lobe of your ear as they travel on, along your jaw, to your neck. “If you’ll let me.”

You swallow, your throat dry as you nod feebly, “Please.”

His lips are on yours again, impassioned and amorous. A heedful hand grips your waist, rolling you onto your back as his tongue slips between your lips, his hand roving the curve of your hip, gliding over your thigh until his digits are once again agonizingly close to your center. You shimmy your hips in anticipation and both of you smile against one another’s mouths as they meld together like they were always destined to meet in this way.

It’s perfect. It feels innocent, despite being anything but. There’s a current in the air reminiscent of the facade of youth. Lulling you both into a space where time doesn’t pass, where nothing can hurt you, where nothing ever really goes wrong.

Until it does.

The sharp ring of his phone, accompanied by the incessant buzzing in his sweatpants pocket, startles the both of you out of the pleasant reverie, grounding you back into a reality where actions have consequences.

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ him,” he gripes as he stares at the caller ID, silencing the ringer and getting ready to launch the phone away.

“Wait!” You seize his wrist, “Answer it. Tell him you’re not here, otherwise he might actually show up.”

He sighs, his cheeks expanding as he lets out a long breath, “Okay,” he nods, reluctantly swiping across the screen to answer as he sits up in the bed. “Hello?”

He rests his elbows on his knees as he bends them, listening to the frantic sounding voice that you can just barely hear coming through the phone as you sit up beside him.

Katsuki turns his head, offering you a gentle smile as he scoots back to lean against the headboard while Deku’s voice drones on. He curls his fingers, beckoning you to sit between his legs and you oblige, crawling over and turning around to settle back against his chest while his free arm snakes around your waist.

You rest your head back against the shoulder furthest from the ear his phone is pressed to, closing your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the noise of your husband clamoring about where you might be.

A jolt runs through you, your eyes blowing wide as three fingers press against your slit, the two on the outside separating to part you, so that the middle digit can slip inside your soaked hole.

“No, man, I haven’t seen her,” he lies as effortlessly as he’s able to thrust his middle finger in and out of you. Your abdomen tightens, hands fisting into the sheets as you try to hold off the noises creeping up your throat. “I’m not at home, but I can give her a call.”

“She’s not picking up her phone.” Deku sighs, “I’m about to go out and look for her. Did anything happen last night?”

“Like what?” He’s a great actor, sounding so interested in the conversation he’s having when his focus is entirely fixated on watching another digit disappear inside of you.

“Look, I don’t know if you saw my texts, but things haven’t been..ideal at home. Was she upset last night?”

“Trouble with the missus, huh?” He scoffs, pumping his fingers faster, watching your face contort as it grows more and more difficult to bite back your moans. “No, she seemed fine last night. Told her I was tired when I got there and took a shower. Hopped straight into bed. Nothin’ happened.”

Deku sighs with relief, “Thank God. Okay, but then I don’t have any idea why she would have left. I’m gonna keep calling, I guess. You’ll let me know if you hear from her?”

“‘Course,” he promises, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit, watching with delight as you arch into his touch, bucking your hips in search of more. “If I hear anything from her, you’ll be the first to know.”

You bite down hard on your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you whiteknuckle the sheets, rolling your hips in tandem with his ministrations. He could make you cum right now and he knows it, but he has mercy, slowing his pace as he wraps up the call.

“Thanks, Kacchan. Glad I can always count on you.” Click.

He tosses the phone aside, devoting the rest of his attention to you, bringing a hand to your breast to roll your nipple between his fingers as his lips attach to your neck, sucking and sinking his teeth in now and then as he works you steadily towards your release. You finally let out all the cacophony of sound that you were holding back, moaning, whining, and keening in earnest as you writhe between his legs, pressing your back to his chest, your eyes snapping shut as you’re brought right up to the edge.

“C’mon, baby,” he rasps in your ear, tugging on your lobe. “Ya wanna cum for me again, don’tcha? Gotta get you ready for what’s next.”

You cry out, hips still thrashing as it hits you. He growls into the crook of your neck, cautiously sinking his teeth in as his palm continues to grind against your sensitive clit.

“Katsuki—hngg, Katsuki, t-too much!” You whine, but he doesn’t heed your words; he just keeps going.

“You can do it, sweetheart. One more, just for me,” he’s whispering against your cheek, pressing his forehead to your temple while his fingers leave your still pulsing walls to draw quick circles on your clit, threatening to throw you right off the cliff again. “I know you can do it, baby. Give me one more. Scream my name one more time.”

“Fu—oh, oh.” Your eyes roll back, every muscle in your body tenses, draws up tight as you climb higher and higher. “Kats, oh shit,” you pant, chest heaving, tears falling freely as you’re tumbling over the edge yet again. “Katsuki!”

This time he relents, lifting his hand away from your overworked bundle of nerves to hold you loosely in his arms as you unwind, practically vibrating in his arms as the shock of your orgasm works through you.

“Good girl,” he speaks softly, pressing a kiss behind your ear, keeping his touch featherlight as he folds his arms around you, pulling you snug against his chest.

You hum quietly, tucking yourself under his chin, “You’re still a bully.”

“Because I made you cum twice in thirty seconds?” Your cheek reverberates against his chest as it erupts with humble laughter and you try to bury your shy grin in his chest.

“Yes,” you pull back, cheeks still flushed as you lock eyes with him. “Guess it could be worse.”

“Can I have the chance to make it better?” His eyes fall to your lips, homing in on them as he lays you down and leans over you.

You nod, reaching up to slip your hand behind his neck, pulling him in until your lips meet. He shifts, kissing you deeply, his impressively hard erection brushing against your knee as he maneuvers himself out of his sweats, kicking them off as he crawls between your legs.

He pulls away from the kiss, reaching out to the nightstand beside the bed and you shake your head, pulling his attention back to you.

“Nuh-uh,” you grin, kissing him deeply and speaking against his lips, “You don’t need one of those. I wanna feel you this time. Wanna feel all of you, Katsuki, please..”

He groans his reply, smile widening against yours as he cups your face in his hand, settling between your spread legs, the pre leaking from his tip sliding against your inner thigh.

“You ready?” He draws his hips forward, the head of his cock pressing between your folds as he kisses along your jaw while his hands rest atop the inside of your arms, pinning them beside your head.

“Yes,” you breathe, shifting your hips forward as he pushes inside, “Katsuki,” you moan his name, savoring the delicious way that he fills you up.

“Say it again,” his nose touches yours, lips grazing one another’s as he slides his hand up the inside of your forearm to interlace your fingers with his while the other cradles your head.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, repeating his name as if it’s something sacred, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze that he returns as you fold your arm around him.

He rolls his hips slowly, looking down at the junction of your bodies before peering into your eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but he thinks better of it, letting out a wanton groan as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Katsuki,” you repeat again. Louder and needier.

“Y/n,” he groans your name with the same intonation, a much lower, drawn out sound as he tucks his face in the crook of your neck. “Again,” he whispers, littering kisses along your neck and collarbone as he thrusts deeper, picking up the pace but maintaining his sensuous movements, carefully carving out a place for himself within your walls.

“Katsuki,” your voice pitches up as your nails find purchase in his shoulder blade. “Katsuki, you feel so good. So fucking good inside me,” your breath shallows, walls contracting around him as that familiar pressure builds deep inside your belly. “Please don’t stop,” you beg, feeling him growing impossibly harder inside of you as the words leave your tongue. “Please never stop. Want you,” you dig your nails in, clutching to him as his forehead drops against your shoulder, his thrusts picking up again, ushering you towards your end. “Katsuki, I need you.”

That does it for the both of you. He snaps his hips faster, his steady rhythm stuttering as he curses under his breath and pours his essence inside of you just as you wail, squeezing his hand tight while you break for him one last time, fragile sobs escaping your kiss-bitten lips.

He makes no move to leave this embrace, to leave you. If he could will time to stop, he would, because he’s afraid his next move will put you one step closer to walking out the door.

Instead, he just lays there, resting his head on your chest, sighing in elation as you card your fingers through his hair, lifting your head to leave a purposeful kiss to his forehead.

Time passes, though you hardly notice, choosing to lay together in comfortable silence as you draw absent circles on his scarred back while his thumb soothes the palm of your hand. He keeps telling himself five more minutes. Just five more minutes of this. But five minutes passes and passes again. Neither of you make a move to untangle yourselves until you reluctantly break the tenuous sense of peace.

“We can’t lie here forever,” you place your hand on the back of his neck, pulling the other free from his grasp.

Something prods at his insides. He’s losing you again and he knows it.

“I know,” he admits, closing his eyes, soaking up the last seconds of bliss. Etching this feeling into his soul. Your gentle touch caressing his neck, the beat of your heart in his ear, your soft skin beneath his cheek.

He sits up, allowing you to do the same, watching as you move to the edge of the bed and pause, like you’re mulling over your next movement.

“I uh,” you turn towards him and pause again, looking like a deer in the headlights before you stand in a hurry. “I should probably call him before he has a task force out looking for me.”

“Yeah,” he nods, watching you dress with a melancholy smile. He stands, pulling his sweats back on while you scroll through your phone.

“Hey, hey,” you put on a smile, speaking sweetly into the phone pressed to your ear. “No, I’m okay, baby. I’m on my way home.”

Your husband sighs with relief, “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning. I was worried sick.”

“I know, baby, I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t in a good headspace to talk about it, but we can talk when I get home, okay?”

“Is something wrong? Did something happen? Was it something I did?” He’s frantic, no doubt running through the worst case scenarios.

If only he knew. A sick feeling bubbles up in your gut, reaching up and tugging on something in your chest.

“We can talk about it when I get home, baby.”

“Okay. I love you, baby. I love you so, so much. You know that, right?”

You close your eyes, swallowing hard before you reply, unaware of the vermilion eyes watching the way you hesitate to reply, “I know. I love you too.”

You end the call and slip your phone into the pocket of your dress, adjusting the tie around your waist as Katsuki saunters over to you, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes focused on the floorboards.

“You’re going to talk to him?” He dares to glance at you, surprised to find you smiling at him.

“Yeah,” you step forward, reaching a hand towards him, which he takes, gingerly pulling you closer.

“About what?”

“Us,” you look up at him cautiously, “I wanna tell him. About last night, about this morning.” The corner of his mouth draws up into a half smile as he holds your face in both hands.

“About us?” The phrase sounds strange, but he adores it. His heart skips a beat as he watches your eyes light up at his excitement.

“Yes,” you nod, wrapping your hands around his wrists. “Yes, about us, Katsuki. If that’s alright with you.”

“It’s more than alright with me, princess,” he beams, leaning in and kissing you passionately, his hands leaving your face to press against the small of your back as he pulls you against him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“I do have to leave though,” you giggle softly as you finally part. “I’ll be back, okay?”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” you lean in, placing another slow kiss to his lips as you run your hands over his chest. “I’ll come back to you, okay?”

“Okay,” he smiles softly, releasing you from his grasp and walking you to the door, giving you one last kiss before he watches you walk away.

///

“Y/n? Is that you?” Izuku flies around the corner, shoulders heaving with relief as he runs to you, lifting you into a hug as he spins you around, your arms wrapping around his neck. “I missed you so much. I was so scared when I woke up and I couldn’t find you. Where did you go?”

“I just needed some time,” you offer him a wary smile as he sets you down and his brow furrows with worry.

“Time for what?” He holds you at arms length and you pull away, taking his hand to lead him to the living room.

“I think we need to talk, Izuku.” You angle yourself towards him as you both sit, holding his hands as much for your own comfort as for his while you prepare your confession. “I know that sex isn’t the only thing in a relationship, but intimacy is a big piece of the puzzle for me and last night was the first time that I’d even been touched in months. I—”

“I know,” he cuts you off too quickly, too eager to stop whatever was going to come out of your mouth next. He knew? How could he know?

“You know..?” You coax him, narrowing your eyes in his direction. He takes both your hands in his, emerald eyes glimmering with apology.

“I know that it had been a long, long time, puppy. I know that I haven’t been very attentive to your needs, but I’m going to try, okay?” He smiles, massaging the back of your hand with his thumb as he searches your stunned gaze. “I think last night was a really great turning point for us. Don’t you?”

“Uh,” you shake your head briefly in confusion, “Yeah," you nod, "Yeah, it was nice to..be with you like that, again.”

“It was,” he agrees, as if he were there. Your mind reels, was he serious? Was he just going to run with this? “I already contacted a therapist that I think you’ll like.” He wasn’t just running; he was sprinting. “I want this to work, baby. I never want to lose you and I know that I haven’t proven that to you recently.”

“Izuku,” your eyes water, a lump appears in your throat and renders you speechless.

“It’s gonna be okay, I promise,” he cups your face in his hand, wiping away a tear. “I’m gonna figure this out for us, I swear. I know that there’s no me without you, baby.” He smiles softly, resting his forehead against yours, pulling your hand to his chest. “I’m going to be the husband that you deserve and you deserve so much more than what I’ve given you lately. Work’s no excuse for me to have treated you the way that I have and I know that.”

You swallow the lump, closing your eyes as you lift your forehead from his.“Th-therapy? You really think that’s necessary?”

“I do,” he smiles wistfully. “I’m willing to try anything to keep you right here with me. Right where you belong. I don’t ever want you to feel like you're not the most important thing in my life, because you are, baby. You are. I have a lot of work to do to prove that to you all over again, but I’m going to do it. Please believe me when I say that I will.”

“O-okay,” you nod, sniffling as he wipes more of your tears away, his own beginning to drift down his freckled cheeks when he pulls you into a tight embrace, folding his arms around you like he knew exactly how close he was to losing you for good.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Izuku.” You cling to him, squeezing him tight as a new brand of guilt tugs at your torn heart. “I uhm, I-I need to go grab a shower. We can talk more after.” You pull away, smiling sadly as you stand and he follows suit.

“Yeah,” he nods, “I’ll go fix us something to eat. Take your time, okay, baby?”

“Okay,” you hurry out of the room, digging into your pocket to call Katsuki when you hear Izuku speaking quietly in the kitchen, too quiet for you to hear until you get closer, tip-toeing to the edge of the wall that divides the kitchen from the dining room.

“No, no, I’m really not mad. I’m not upset at all, Kacchan,” he exhales gleefully. “I think you actually just saved my marriage.”

You close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wall as you lean against it, cursing yourself as fresh tears slip over your cheeks. You pull away from the wall, silently padding towards your bedroom, pulling up Katsuki’s contact through blurry eyes.

“Please, pick up,” you pray, sitting on the bench in front of your bed, clutching to the fabric as you hope that he’ll answer.

“Are you coming back?” His voice is strained, wavering. He’s crying.

“Katsuki..” you sob, feeling all of the air escaping your lungs.

“Are you coming back to me or are you staying with him?” You can hear how he’s speaking through gritted teeth, trying to bolster the shaky quality of his voice.

“He’s my husband,” you choke out. “He said he’s going to try and he sounds serious about it. I-I don’t know if I can just walk away if there’s a chance that we can make it,” the line clicks before you finish. “Through this..”

Glass shatters, splinters of the cell phone he’s launched from his grasp go flying when it hits the wall of Katsuki’s apartment as he squats down, holding his head in his hands while the first sob that he lets pass through him wracks his body.

Thank you for reading! Please leave a like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed 💜 I promise that I believe in happy endings <3 sorry if I stomped on your heart this time; I'll make it up in the next one.

2K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 3 years

Text

i have become an absolute baby for soft, defensive Bakugo fics😭 this one was amazing

|| m.list || part I || part II ||

⇢ pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

⇢ chapter: part III of III

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 19,678 [ao3]

⇢ warnings: hybrids, mildly dubious consent, biting, blood, knotting, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (fem receiving)

⇢ tags: wolf hybrid bakugo, aged up characters, slow burn, bed sharing

⇢ notes: please note the new warnings and tags before reading

⇢ summary:

After the attack, the relationship between you and your hybrid Bakugo continues to grow closer and stronger. As it does, you can’t help but feel like the two of you are heading down an inevitable, slippery path towards something you can’t take back, until finally, you can’t bring yourself to fight it any longer.

Keep reading

2K notes · View notes

arlymoo · 3 years

Text

this was beautiful omfg😭

bakugou x f!reader smut - part one here, this is part two

wc: 7.9K

MINORS DNI

summary: fed up with his inability to deliver the way he wants to in a relationship, bakugou turns to a dating app for casual sex and companionship. he assures his friends he’s capable of maintaining a platonic sexual relationship, despite his own misgivings. After things go well the first time, you establish a casual thing, and bakugou finds himself prying you open.

a/n: incredibly overworked reader and bakugou engage in a series of escalating casual hookups, bakugou falls for you, you fall for bakugou. choking, spitting, degredation, impact play, bondage, CNC followed by Very Soft Sex, breeding kink, daddy kink, praise, degradation, bakugou’s BIG on communication and aftercare, reader has corporate job and body is unspecific but she does have acne scars. bakugou is a mean hard dom right up until he cums and then he’s needy and affectionate, but if you’re uncomfy w degradation, this is not the fic for you. villain/hero predator prey kink rp. part 2. imthinkiingyestherewillbeapart3

network - @http-404-error-unknown @anime-central

“Bakugou, I trust you.” He can’t stop himself, loses all self control, leans down and kisses you hard, cupping your face in his gloved hands. He takes over, pressing you against the wall, you rock onto your tiptoes and he lifts you off your feet, crushing your body against his. It’s a few minutes before he lets you go, setting you back down on the ground, cupping your face softly and staring at you. “Bakugou,” you whispers, “What was-”

“Fifteen.” He says, voice low and threatening, and your heart breaks into a sprint. “Fourteen.” You squeak and dart out of your bedroom.

You can hear him counting, your heart pounding as you run quickly back out into the kitchen. The first place he’ll look, you reason, is the bathroom, the only door in your apartment besides the one to your bedroom. You open a linen closet and dive behind a pile of towels, wiping your sweaty palms on the catsuit and closing the door as quietly as you can. You can see the whole main room from here, through little venetian blinds on the door. You wonder who the fuck you think you’re kidding, even attempting to hide from the hulking bro hero, who stalks out of your bedroom, eyes narrow and alert.

“Baby,” he coos, and you can’t help the shiver that rips up your spine. Dynamite’s rage is legendary, and you’ve been on the receiving end of it in scenes before, but this, this quiet determination, the slight quirk of his lips, the way he practically sniffs the air, every inch a predator, was different. At the end of the day, you know in your heart, you’re prey.

“Baby,” he sing songs again, voice low and rasping, “Why dontcha just come out and make this easy on me, huh?” You don’t move, holding a hand over your mouth to hide even the sound of your breathing.

Bakugou steps forward, eyes flicking first to the bathroom door, but realizing that it hadn’t moved from it’s place when he’d last seen it, he turns his attention to the main room, where his eyes first search for movement. He can hear the hum of the air conditioner, eyeing the back of the couch, your plants, before stepping into the kitchen, to make sure you weren’t just crouched around the island. That’s when he sees it, the slight movement, the gentle tremor of a door recently closed. He chuckles to himself, and you nearly can’t bite down on the whimper when he moves toward where you’re hiding. You can feel your heart beat in your chest, so loud you’re sure it’ll give you away. To your relief, for a moment, he steps past you, opening your hall closet, the one you’d hung his coat in. The door creaks as it opens and you huddle further into your corner.

Bakugou knows what he wants to do, now that he’s nearly sure of where you are. He knows he’ll have to move decisively to get the reaction he wants. He spins on his heels, moving so quickly you almost don’t see it, yanking the closet door open, hard. You get out half a squeak before one of his gloved hands reaches under the towels and closes on your wrist, pulling you kicking and fighting from the closet, you knock the fluffy white towels all over the floor.

“Fuck you,” you spit the words at him and he chuckles, it’s even more fun that you really trying to resist him, no, you’re pulling against his hold with all your strength and he barely feels it. He lets you brace your legs against his own and try and use that as leverage, but you’re like a little kitten, raking your nails down his arm, writhing and fighting. “Let go of me,” you push against him hard, and he laughs again. He wraps his hands around your upper arms and pulls them behind your back, taking a moment to watch you actually try to get away from him, which, adorable, before essentially dragging you to the kitchen and bending you over the counter.

“Shut the fuck up,” He snaps at you, and you glower at him. He moves both of your elbows to one of his hands and reaches out, pushing his fingers between your lips, muffling your cries, “Don’t wanna hear any fuckin’ whining.” He says in a low growl and you bite down hard on his hand. The effect is immediate and painful, his fingers are withdrawn, and for a second your arms are free, and then you’re yanked to a standing position and pressed against the wall. You open your mouth to speak but his hand is tight around your throat, eyes glowing light hot coals. “Don’t make me hurtcha, sweetheart” He says, face inches from yours, watching the defiance melt to fear as you struggle to breathe.

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t hurt me,” you beg, and the pressure on your throat eases up.

“Gonna take my cock like a good little bitch?” He asks, and you nod emphatically. He guides you to your knees. “Color?”

“Green.” You say, already so in it that it takes you a moment to respond. He nods, and then lightly slaps your face.

“Take it out yourself.” He orders, and you fumble with the fly on his heavy black pants with trembling hands.

“D-dynamight,” you stutter, and fuck he didn’t think it was possible for him to get harder but somehow you manage it, tugging his pants and then his briefs down to his ankles, eyes widening as his cock springs loose, slapping against his abdomen. He lifts his shirt a little, and you lean forward, clumsily taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. He puts a hand on the back of your head and pushes, groaning loudly as you resist, whimpering against him. You’re used to Bakugou facefucking you at this point, or you thought you were. Evidently, he’s been taking it easy on you. He sets a brutal pace, moving you with a fistful of your hair, growling obscenities under his breath as tears stream down your face. He pulls you off for a second and lets you take a gasping breath before going back to it.

“Couldn’t just get fucked, huh?” He says, throwing his head back in ecstasy for a moment before continuing, delighting in how fucking sloppy you look, drool dripping down your chin, your eye makeup completely ruined. “Had to fight me.” He lets you breathe again, holding your head up while you sputter, and he groans, rubbing his cock on the side of your face, “You ready to behave?”

“Yes,” you choke out, “yes, Dynamight, I’m-” he cuts you off by lifting you again, returning you to the counter he’d bent you over. He runs his hands over your body, before delivering a harsh slap to your ass. You’re still catching your breath but you yelp.

“Gonna be my good villain bitch, aintcha?” He says, and you whimper.

“Yes, yes Dynamight, I,” your voice trembles, “Wanna be good, please, please don’t hurt me.” He swears under his breath, feeling the little zipper by the crotch, the thing that betrays this outfit as lingerie and not a real villain costume, and tugs at it. “Please don’t turn me in,” you beg, lifting your head and turning to look at him, eyes full of desperation.

“Hmmmm,” he rumbles, “And what should I do,” he dips two fingers into your aching core, you hiss at the stretch. “With ya, if I don’t throw your ass in tartarus, huh?” You whine lowly as he starts to fuck your cunt with his fingers, marveling at how wet you are from his rough treatment.

“I,” you glance up at him, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He repeats, and then watches you lose control of your face as he presses up against that spot inside you, your eyes roll back in your head as you moan loudly, he smirks. “Easy fuckin’ cunt.” Your legs start to tremble as bright lights flash behind your eyes, he scissors his fingers lightly.

“Please, you can, you can have me,” you choke out, unable to look at him, “You can um, you can keep me.” Bakugou nearly balks, he’d been expecting the bargaining, for you to offer your body to him as part of the roleplay, but not your life as well.

“You wanna be mine?” He says, and his voice is a low gravel.

“Yes, yes Dynamight,” you say, and he pumps his cock once, still wet with your spit.

“Gonna take this hero cock for the rest of your pathetic life?” He says, pressing the tip of it to your soaking folds, feeling just how much your legs are shaking. You nod emphatically, fuck you don’t even stop to think about it.

“Yes, Dynamight,” you chirp and he slams into you. He’s not expecting it, you keen at the sensation of being filled so much so suddenly, and he jumps, it’s the most honest reaction he’s pulled from you yet, and goddamnit he wants more. He does it again, and you choke out a moan, hands scrambling to find something to hold on to on the counter, something to brace yourself with as he sets a brutal pace. He snatches your arms and pulls them back, using them as leverage to fuck you harder. You can’t get out coherent words, struggling to babble out his last name, his hero name, little half pleas that only make him harder.

“God what a dirty fuckin’ cunt,” he snarls, “And youre all goddamn mine aintcha?”

“Yes,” you say, and at the very least you can manage that, the sensation of him pounding away at you, the feeling of your impending orgasm building as he hits that spot inside you at the perfect angle every time, is slowly driving you insane. “Please, need to,” you hear him laugh and shift your arms so that he’s holding both of yours in one of his hands, and slapping your ass again with the free one,

“You wanna cum?” You nod, eyes wide, pupils opium blown. “I wanna hear you say my fucking name,” he snarls, “Go ahead, slut, cum for me, this is my fuckin’ hole, I decide when it cums.”

“Ah, fuck, Dynamight,” you cry out, your orgasm ripping through you. You gush around his cock and he swears violently as you clench and flutter around him. Your vision whites out and your breaths are deep and laboured as you forget everything that isn’t Bakugou, everything that isn’t his hands on your body, his animalistic snarls, his cock getting impossibly hard inside you and then filling you with his cum, he leans down, and snarls in your ear.

“I’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt, gonna fuck you full, know why?” You can only choke out a whimper in response, “Because it. Belongs. To me.” You’re crying again, short little hiccupping sobs, as he fucks his cum deeper inside you, squeezing your ass and your thighs and your waist before his hips slow, and he pulls out of you. You look up at him, not quite capable of speech, but eyes full of tears and he can’t help himself, he scoops you right off the counter, cradling you in his arms.

“Hey,” he breathes, “Hey baby, you there?” You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. “M’gonna take care of us now, okay?” You nod and take a fistful of his shirt as he carries you to the bathroom. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he sets you on the ground, running a bath. He digs under your sink, selecting a bath bomb and tossing it in the water. You start to peel yourself out of your clothes but he catches your hand, “I got it.” He slips you out of the catsuit, tossing it in your hamper, and he can’t help but notice that when he moves away from you, that you reach for him, eventually taking one of his hands and holding it tightly with both of yours.

“C’mere,” he says, stepping out of his own clothes and into the warm water, pulling your trembling form with him. He lays down, feeling you shudder with pleasure, neatly arranged on his chest. He traces his fingers over your body, already seeing some light bruises form. “So good,” he tries, and you snuggle against him. Physical comfort and praise, that’s what you said, not that words come easily to him. “Did such a good job for me,” he rumbles, and you bury your face in his neck. “Anything hurt?”

“Can’t feel my legs.” You mumble, and he laughs.

“Yeah, that happens.” he massages your scalp, and you moan softly. “Can’t believe this is the hard part,” he confesses, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them, and you laugh. “I wanna give you whatcha need,” he says, frustration in his tone, “And the idea that, that I’m not, like fuckin’ terrifies me.” You lift your head from his pec, and meet his gaze.

“This is what I need.” You lean in and kiss him, it’s soft and different, lips slightly parted, comforting. “Just this, you don’t have to um, to fill the silence, we can just lie here.”

“You sure?” He asks and you give him the warmest little smile.

“Yeah.” You sit up a little, straddling him. “Can I um, can I wash your hair?”

“Is it dirty?” He says, narrowing his eyes, and you laugh, still sounding only semi present.

“Of course not.” You look a little sheepish. “But um, I wanna touch it.” He slips under the water obediently and shakes his head a little coming out, spraying water at you.

“Go ahead.” You sit up all the way, straddling him, and take a little shampoo in your hands. It smells minty and fresh, and it’s cooling on his scalp, you carefully massage it in. He can’t tear his eyes from your chest, soft and wet, and you catch his gaze.

“Go ahead,” you mimic, still carefully working the suds through his blonde locks, and he picks up his hands, cupping your breasts, squeezing them, pinching at your nipples experimentally. “Ah,” you concave, shuddering.

“Too much?” He asks.

“I like it,” you whisper, and he keeps going, delighting himself with your softness, pulling the occasional little gasp from you.

“Fuck,” he growls, closing his eyes, “This is fuckin’ perfect.” He relaxes a little in the warm water, feeling you arrange his hair into a side part, and then you lean down to kiss him, soapy water dripping down both of your faces. You hum happily, and to his surprise you deepen the kiss, swiping your tongue across his lips, he reaches an arm out around your waist and locks you against him, the other cupping your face, thumb pressing against the plush of your cheek. You roll your hips against his and he pulls you closer to him, the bliss of your body against his, the warm water, it’s intoxicating. “Careful,” he growls into your mouth, “I’ll get hard again.” You bat your eyelashes at him shyly and fuck, it’s too late, all the blood in his body rushes below his waist.

“That’s okay,” you breathe, and he doesn’t question it, isn’t going to turn down another chance to be buried inside you, he stands in one swift movement, taking you with him and stepping out of the bath, setting you on the counter gently . You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He reaches between your legs and stops, the water in the bath has removed any of your natural lubrication, and he remembers how hard he fucked you over the counter, you’re swollen and puffy.

“I have lube,” you mumble, realizing what he’s thinking. “In the cabinet,” he moves quickly, reaching for it, leaving one hand on your hip, easily finding the little pink squeeze bottle, feeling the gel warm on his fingers, he gently rubs your clit and then slips a single finger inside you, you’re swollen and tight.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbles, kissing you again.

“I want it,” you beg, “You, you can go slow,” he looks down at you, at the soft trust burning in your eyes, “I don’t, no one’s ever touched me softly,” you confess, before you can stop yourself. A lump forms in Bakugou’s throat, but he knows he needs to move before you can hear yourself, before you overanalyze it and spook. He lets you bury your face in his neck, lining up at your entrance, filling you slowly, easing himself inside as he feels your lips on his neck, your soft little bites as you tremble against him. He buries himself inside you to the hilt, and the sensation, the gentle stretch, the edge of overstimulation, it's dizzying.

“Breathe for me,” he reminds you, and your head clears as you realize he’s right, it’s been a second since you’ve had any air, and he pulls back, grinding his hips against yours. “That’s it,” he says, “That’s a good girl,” he fucks you slow, and it gives you the chance to appreciate how heavy and wide his cock is. You let out a long slow, ecstatic breath, in harmony with one of his low moans.

“Hmmm,” you hum, a little sound, high pitched and velvety in the heavy warm air of the bathroom. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah,” he says lowly, “Gonna let me take care of you?” It’s a genuine question, and he senses your hesitation before you nod into him, lips back on his neck, finally having found that if you suck gently and scrape your teeth across his warm tanned skin you can leave little purple marks, and pull a low wanton growl from his lips.

“I w-will,” you warble, still half asleep, broken, as he fucks you deep and slow.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, “That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” you sigh delightedly, his touches are carful and attentive, and it’s driving him insane the way you cling to him. With each thrust he feels your shuddering breath, and he holds you more tightly to him, until he looks up and catches sight of you, pressed against his chest, his fingers digging into your back. He sees the little marks you’ve been littering on his chest, your half open eyes, the way you take a shaky breath every time he fills you. This, this he wants to see. He snakes one hand down between your legs, giving you gentle teasing touches at the top of your puffy lips, parting them and rubbing at your swollen bud.

“Mmm,” you whimper, bucking against him but he shhh’s you, kissing the top of your head.

“You got one more in there for me,” he says quietly, “I know you do, baby, one more, wanna feel you cum on my cock.” You look petulantly distressed, squirming in his arms,

“S’so much,” you mumble, and hiccup a sweet little moan.

“You can take it,” he promises, feeling you start to tighten your grip around his neck. “That’s it baby, gonna cum for me?” You feel him press another kiss to the top of your head. “You wanna cum for daddy?” You look up at him, eyes wide,

“Y-yes,” you say, “M’so close, daddy,”

“Fuck,” he snarls, picking up the pace just a little, “Fuck I wanna hear you say that again,”

“Daddy please,” you cry out, “M’gonna cum, m’gonna-”

“Go ahead baby,” he growls, and he gets exactly what he wanted, full view of you falling apart for him, biting back his own groans at how you melt away, the way you cry so prettily, swollen lips shaking, big baby tears rolling down your cheeks. He chases his own high quickly, and his last coherent thought is that he’s so glad you’re on birth control before cumming deep inside you with a loud groan. The two of you stay there for a moment, until you shiver, and he pulls away, smoothing your hair from your face.

“You’ve got shampoo in your hair.” You say softly, and he shrugs.

“Yeah I should shower.” You nod.

“I’m gonna lie down, on the um, on my bed if you wanna join for a bit before you go.” He has to blink a couple times, it’s amazing how you can be so casual about the nature of this activity while his softening cock is still buried inside you.

“Yeah.” And he thinks about adding that he wants to talk to you, that the two of you need to talk about this, but realizes that’ll kickstart your anxiety and at the last second manages to bite back the words, bending over to drain the tub and getting in the shower.

You slip out, diving under your blankets, warm and sleepy. Bakugou washes the soap from his hair as quickly as possibly, wrapping a towel around his waist and padding off to your bedroom. You’re already asleep when he joins you, tugging on a clean pair of sweats before scooting under the covers. “Hey.” He rumbles, and you cuddle up against him.

“Wait a second.” You say quietly. “Let me just have this, before we have to talk about things and it feels different, let me just, have this for a moment.” He swallows, mouth dry, as you lock your arms around his waist and squeeze, before pulling away a little. “Okay.” You look up at him. “I’m ready.”

“I’m not gonna push ya,” he says, “You ain’t got time to date me, but I can’t pretend this is meaningless for me. So I’d appreciate it if you could stop pretendin’ too.” You open your mouth to protest and he puts a hand up. “I’m not askin’ you to say shit. Just agree with me that we’re more than strangers, and I’ll be happy.” You press your lips together and inhale deeply.

“Ah, okay.” You take his hand. “Friends.” He nods, relief crashing over him.

“Friends.” You poke him in the side. “You um, you do this with your friends?” He rolls his eyes.

“Just you.” It’s a second before he realizes what he’s admitted. “Ah, shit, I mean-”

“No I mean, obviously, same.” You gesture to yourself and he balks.

“What do you mean obviously?” He squints at you.

“I mean,” you gesture to your body, “I’m not the kind of girl who’s got guys breaking the door down.” He furrows his brow.

“Hm.”

“What?” You ask and he sighs deeply.

“If you were my girlfriend,” he says, “I’d take ya over my knee for talkin’ shit about yourself like that.” You look at him sharply, and he shrugs. “I got rules, and the first one is none of that shit.” He taps your forehead. “The way you talk to yourself in there is important, even if you’re the only one who hears it. Besides, obviously,” he mimics you, “I think you’re fine as hell.” He watches the little smile creep across your face. “Maybe I should praise you more,” he says yanking you onto his chest, “So you know how badly I want you.” You laugh a little. “I’m not fuckin’ around. Cut that shit.”

“I um, I’ll try.”

“S’alright.” He gives you a little squeeze. “I’m a patient guy.”

“Despite your public persona,” you tease.

“Think you got a taste of him earlier,” He quips back, “Speakin’ of, you okay, it wasn’t too much?” You shrug.

“You’ve been holding out on me!” You accuse and he rolls his eyes.

“Of course, that’s where your mind goes,” He complains, “I can’t do that to you every time,” you giggle, letting him arrange you on his chest, “You’ll break.” There’s a silence, he can feel the buzz of your anxiety in the air. “Whatcha freakin’ out about now?” You lift your head a little.

“I’m already afraid of letting you down.” You whisper, lacing your fingers with his.

“No expectations.” He says quietly, a promise he knows he can’t keep. “I’ll be good.” That gets a giggle out of you.

“Guess there’s a first time for everything.” You spend the afternoon in a tangle of limbs half waking half sleeping. It’s a mix of soft conversation, interlaced fingers and and soft snoring. Your phone buzzes and you stir, leaving him in bed. He grabs at you, and just narrowly misses pulling you back to him.

“The fuck are you going?”

“Work stuff.” You sigh, wriggling into panties, a pair of shorts, and a t-shirt.

“It’s Saturday.” He says, sitting up a little. “I’m meeting some friends at a bar, if you wanna come?”

“I have work stuff.” You say, gesturing to your home office setup in your bedroom, your desk, a laptop, and a monitor. “Like I just said.”

“Huh.” He stands and stretches, giving you a quick hug before stepping into a pair of sweatpants he takes from the duffel bag.

“It’s um, if I don’t do this now, I’ll never be able to catch up.” You say, opening your computer. “I have to take all the data we’ve collected and make it look pretty.” He shrugs.

“Guess I should stop complainin’ about paperwork, huh?” He tugs a t shirt over his head. “I’ll grab my stuff, and uh, when can I see you again?” Despite yourself, a warm smile spreads across your face.

“I have a really busy week,” you say, thoughtfully, “But I’m not saying no, um,” you open your calendar on your computer. “I should be done with work by 8 on Wednesday, if you wanted, I know it’s my turn to pick what we do, so I’ll figure something out.” He shrugs,

“No pressure. We can always uh,” he gestures to your kitchen, “Cook somethin’ and just see what happens.” A cloud passes over your face for a moment.

“Yeah, sure.” You stand, ready to walk him out.

“One last thing.” He turns to face you, and for a moment you’re reminded again, not only by your aching joints but also by his physique, towering over you, that this is a pro hero in front of you. “You’re gonna eat lunch every day this week. Even if it’s at your desk.” You open your mouth to protest. “Go ahead and push me,” he says, grinning, “I got time to punish ya, but you got work stuff.” You glance over your shoulder at your laptop.

“Fine.” You give in, leading him towards your door. “How will you know if I don’t?” He snorts.

“You’re a terrible liar, I’ll be able to tell next time I see you.” He leans down, and kisses your cheek before stepping through your door. “Also,” he says, standing in the hallway. “Friends, not strangers. Cool?” You nod.

“Deal.”

Bakugou’s late to the bar. He doesn’t mean to be, but you left so many little hickies on his chest that it takes him ages to pick out a shirt that covers most of them. He hopes to slip in under the radar but of course he’s unable to, Denki accosts him the second he steps into the building.

“Bakugou,” he cheers, a little drunk, clapping his friend on the shoulder, “Look at you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou rasps, and Kirishima grins at him from the table.

“So I take it today went well?” He asks and Bakugou collapses heavily into the booth.

“She’s, she’s basically perfect, and I brought up the idea of us bein’ friends and not strangers and she got so anxious I had to hold her for hours before she chilled out again.” He massages his temples.

“At least she let you hold her?” Kirishima says and Denki shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he calls a waitress over, “He’ll have your best whiskey on the rocks.” Bakugou nods from the table.

“The worst part is,” he says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “That she’s the best, y’know, that I’ve ever-”

“Holy shit.” Denki breathes, interrupting him. “The best sex of your life?” Bakugou nods. “Damn, lock that shit up then!”

“I can’t,” he says, “The second I even look at her too seriously she’s gonna be in the wind, I can tell she’s been burned before. I gotta ease her into it, I gotta prove to her that people can handle her life.” He sighs. “She doesn’t take care of herself though, I can tell. I invited her here, and she was like, nah I’m working, not even as an excuse, straight up opened her laptop and shit.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I like her. It’s just complicated.”

“Do you know if she’s seeing anyone else?” Kirishima asks, sipping his beer.

“She isn’t.” He says.

"You sure?" Denki raises an eyebrow. "How do you know?" Bakugou rubs his eyes.

“Said so.”

“And she knows you aren’t seeing anyone else?” Denki leans in, jeering a little. Bakugou nods. “That’s a good place to start then. Just sorta, get so comfortable that you’re basically dating, then ask her to move in with you or something.” The whiskey arrives at the table and Bakugou takes a long sip before responding.

“Yeah, don’t think she’d go for that.”

On Tuesday night, when he finishes up at the gym, he texts you, toweling off his hair after the shower.

Bakugou: hey dummy

He sees the three dots indicating your typing pop up right away, and his heart swells, comparing it to when you used to respond every four to six hours to his texts.

You: ahh hey

You: I don’t have the energy to a snippy comeback for the dummy thing but give me a week and I’ll think of something.

Bakugou: hows work treating ya

You: ooooooh bad

You: lol

Bakugou: we’ve never talked about what you do

You: well that’s because you save lives for a living and you have a better work life balance than I do.

Bakugou: true.

Bakugou: call me? Texting sucks.

You: is that okay?

Bakugou: I’m the one who suggested it

You: right

You: great.

You fumble with your phone only hesitating for a moment before selecting the phone icon next to his contact.

“Hi,” you say, and he tucks his phone into the crook of his ear as he leaves the locker room, walking out into the gym parking lot.

“Hey there,” he rumbles, already cursing himself for how much his chest swells at the sound of your voice. “So you were gonna tell me about whatcha do?” He hears a rush of static as you sigh.

“So I do marketing, strategy and media planning for the purpose of hiring, rather than for the purpose of selling a product, and right now I’m running my department.”

“Right now?” He says.

“My manager left, she was burnt out, and while they backfill her role I’m running the department, it’s a great opportunity.”

“Why don’t they promote you?” He hears another rush of static.

“Probably because I’m too young.” You stand up at your desk, and walk to the window, past all the other rows of desks. “I'm really, really good at my job, Bakugou. But um, I don’t do a lot of things besides work.”

“What would you wanna do, besides work?” There’s a pause, he pictures you thinking, that cute little crease of frustration between your eyebrows.

“I like to be outside,” you say, leaning back in your office chair. “Hiking, camping, that kind of thing.”

“Me too.” He pauses, “Is there somewhere you’d wanna go camping, you should take a vacation or something at some point.”

“Ah,” your free hand does a nervous little dance and Bakugou hops up into his jeep, the call transferring to handsfree when he turns the engine one. “Camping alone feels so lame, plus it’s dangerous to be out by yourself like that.”

“I know, dummy,” he says, backing out of his parking spot. “That’s why I’d go with you.” You giggle, and even from the tinny speakers in his car, his heart thrums at what’s quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds.

“The Great King Explosion Murder Dynamight can rough it, huh?”

“First of all,” he makes a left turn carefully out onto the street, “That’s wrong, that’s not my full hero name. Second of all, what makes you think I can’t rough it?”

“Oh about a million things, starting with your fancy car, and ending with your fancy apartment,” you respond, and he can feel your smile through the phone, “Like, what are you gonna do when your phone dies?”

“Talk to you.” He says, unironically, and there’s a silence.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he has a thought, “Have you been eating?”

“Well, um I have a cliff bar in my desk-”

“You’re at the office?” He cuts you off, “Seriously, it’s like 9PM?”

“Bakugou I-”

“Did you eat today?” There’s a silence. “Jesus christ, I’m picking up food and coming down.” His tires squeal as he cuts across the busy highway, signalling and flipping off the people who honk at him.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say quickly.

“We’re friends right,” He says, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Yeah.”

“In my line of work,” he says, “Ya learn to value your friends. You take care of them, and when you need it, they take care of you.” A lump forms in your throat. “I’m gonna grab you a sandwich, whaddya like?”

“Italian.” You whisper.

“I can feel you freakin’ out about this, but I wantcha to know I do this for shitty hair and Deku all the time.”

“Ah, okay.” You fidget a little, “It’s late I’ll have to come down and let you in.”

“All good.” It’s about half an hour before he texts you, you close your laptop, stretching a little before walking quickly down the row of desks, covered in pictures of people’s families, their dogs, their lives. You shift your weight nervously in the elevator, before stepping out and clicking across the lobby in your heels. You struggle a little with the heavy door, and Bakugou helps you with it, holding a brown paper bag. He glances around the fancy lobby, the water fixture shimmering, a thin sheet of water over grey rock.

“Here um,” you take him to the front desk and lean over, grabbing him a visitors badge. He bends over and you rock onto your tiptoes to slip it over his head. He takes you in, watching the way your hands shake as you jab the elevator button, your fidgety nervous glances over your shoulder as you lead him through the empty room to your desk. “I hate the open office thing.” You confess, plopping in your rolling chair. “I wish I could work alone.” He nods.

“Yeah havin’ my own office is one of the best parts about bein’ a pro hero.” He says, “That and uh,” he thinks about it, “Gettin’ to use my quirk whenever I want kicks ass too.” He sits in a chair and scoots next to you, putting the brown paper bag in front of your computer. “Eat.” You sigh, and peel back the paper, unwrapping the sandwich.

“Did you um, did you eat?” You ask before taking a bite.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I can’t do my job if I don’t take care of myself.” You nod. “So whatcha workin’ on at 9PM huh?” You beckon him over and swallow before speaking.

“I got a request at the last minute to put together a deck.” You scroll through a couple slides, “Showing the performance of my department generally, what we’ve done all year,” You stretch a little, and yawn, “The presentation is tomorrow morning, so I have to pull all of this data now.” You rub your eyes.

“You’re gonna fall asleep here.” He says, glancing at the empty paper coffee cups in the garbage near your desk.

“Yeah I’ve got a change of clothes in a drawer.” You say, yawning again. “I’ve slept here before, and I’ll uh, I’ll probably do it again.” He nods, squinting at you.

“You stopped eating.” He says after a minute of you looking at your computer again.

“Sorry.” You close your laptop. “I’ll um, I’ll take 10 and eat with you.”

“You should go home,” he says, “Fuck the presentation, you look exhausted.” You swallow, and go to speak but he continues. “I’ll drive ya. Just finish whatcha got.”

“I, I dunno,” you mumble, “It has to be perfect.”

“Why?” He says.

“Because,” you respond, desperation in your voice, “It um,” you rub your eyes and try again, “I just, I need to be perfect, it has to be good, I-”

“You just short circuited in front of me.” He rolls his eyes. “Finish your sandwich, and finish the presentation, you got 15 minutes and after that I’ll carry your ass outta here.” You blink at him.

“Katsuki-” You say, but you hear the whine in your own voice and know he’s gonna ignore it.

“Oh I’m dead fuckin’ serious.” He gestures to the computer. “Finish up. It’s good enough. Promise.” You chew your lower lip for a moment, then nod, turning back to the laptop and typing furiously. He watches the charts change and grow as you add data to them, and adjust your presentation notes. He puts a hand on your shoulder, and you lean into his touch, letting him trace a soft pattern through your shirt. He gives your shoulder a squeeze about 10 minutes later, and you turn to him, closing the laptop and fuck, looking to him for approval. “Good girl,” he rumbles, and you sigh happily.

“You know I usually don’t like praise,” you say brightly, tucking your computer into your purse.

“That right?” He says, standing. You stretch your arms out and yawn.

“Yeah.” You’re so sleepy and burnt out you don’t speak at all in the elevator, just letting Bakugou tug you closer to him, leaching off of the warmth of his body. You hang on his arm, and it might be your imagination, but he starts to hum a soft tune under his breath, and you nearly fall asleep where you’re standing. You barely open your eyes as he leads you to his car, helping you up into the passenger seat. He turns on the engine, and the song he was humming is playing on whatever playlist his phone is synced to.

“Do I know,” he sings softly, surprisingly on key, “Better than this,” His hand comes to rest on your thigh, the other on the steering wheel, “You’re a word, I can’t forget.” You smile at him, watching him sing.

“You have a nice voice.” You say softly, and he shrugs.

“M okay.” He says, and you scoff.

“Did I find the one thing Bakugou Katsuki is humble about?” He swats at you.

“I’ll stop.” He threatens and you theatrically zip your mouth closed, tossing an imaginary key out the window, before curling up against his arm.

“Just, wake me when we get to my building.” He nods, and you fall asleep as the song picks up.

“If I let go, would you hold on, would you fly,” he sings, and it’s a soft baritone, with a rough, rasping edge, “Is it safer, if we just say, that we tried?” You sigh, and he’s struck by how odd this is for him, how rare it was for him to sing in front of another person, how strange it was to discover a vulnerability in real time. “Are we laughin’ at the danger,” he keeps going, over the swell of the music, “Are we dancin’ after death, you and I?” He makes a careful left turn, and realizes you’ve fallen asleep next to him, that your breathing is soft and even. You look so young when you’re asleep, when the creases of worry are gone from your face, and so beautiful. He takes the long way home, and wistfully rouses you when he pulls up in front of your building.

“Hey,” he says softly and you groan, stirring a little. “We’re here.” You sigh, and then twist up in the seat, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks for coming, Bakugou.” He nods.

“Do you uh,” he nearly stops himself, and is unable to, “Do you want me to come up?” Something crosses your face, not fear exactly, but calculation.

“Oh ah, I do have work, you know, um, early tomorrow. That presentation.” He nods. “But um, when things die down, like maybe next week, or sometime this weekend, I’ll text you?” You watch him poorly conceal the hurt at your unwillingness to plan something solid. “I’m,” you swallow, “I mean, I warned you, I warned you that I’m busy, and that I love my job, and the fact that I like you doesn’t mean that I can put you ahead of my career.” There’s a silence, Bakugou looks anywhere but at you, counting the bricks on the side of your building, the leaves on the tree outside. “Maybe um, maybe we shouldn’t, you know, if it’s going to hurt you-”

“I can’t stand when you do that.” He interrupts you. “Drives me fuckin’ insane.” He shakes his head and then rakes his hand through his straw hair.

“What?” you ask, genuine terror closing around your heart.

“Pretend that you’re holdin’ me at arms length for my goddamn benefit,” he growls, “And not because you could like me, and you’re scared.” He sighs, “I mean, like, the way you are, it’s so weird to watch someone actively sabotage their own fucking happiness so much, like it’s second nature to you.” He turns to you, and finally looks you in the eyes, a lump forming in your throat as you see the pain in them. “People are hard. I know. Work is easy. I get it. So you throw yourself into work, and you eat meals alone, and fuck strangers to make it feel like you have some kind of connection to-”

“Bakugou,” you say, an edge to your voice, but he continues.

“I’m sorry if it’s mean,” he says, not a drop of contrition in his tone, “No you know what, I’m not sorry if it’s mean, I just,” he swallows, gesturing in his frustration, “I look at you and I think, fuck, you’ve gotta be one of the most incredible people I’ve ever fuckin’ met, you’re kind and you’re funny, and sensitive. But you’re so convinced you gotta do everything on your own that you don’t, you don’t even give people a chance to help you.”

“Because I don’t need help,” you snap, “And honestly, you’re not any better than me, so if you wanna come down from that high horse so that you can look me in the eyes and tell me you know what’s good for me, I welcome you here, on the ground. I don’t need help.” Your jaw sets. “I’m incredible at my job. I pay my own bills. I don’t need anyone.”

“That’s not true,” Bakugou counters, “It’s not true and you know it’s not.”

“I don’t need you,” say, raising your voice to match his tone. “I, I could have slept at the office, I could have-”

“Don’t try and tell me that shit’s healthy,” he rolls his eyes, “You can’t seriously-”

“Oh and you’re the goddamn king of healthy, aren’t you,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Pro Hero Dynamight, eats balanced meals, has a great sleep schedule, and you’re here to fix me, aren’t you,” you fake a smile at him, “And golly gee aren’t I lucky little lady to be the perfect mans project.” He rubs his eyes.

“I just,” he inhales slowly through his nose before speaking. “I just want you to be happy. I’m not perfect, I’m actually kind of a disaster.” He stares at the road for a second. “Sorry I yelled, fuck, I shouldn’t have done that..”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have.” You unbuckle your seatbelt with a trembling hand.

“Come on,” he says, “Please, please don’t just go like-”

“I can’t do this.” You meet his gaze. “I can’t talk to you about this right now, I’m exhausted, I’m, I’m still half thinking about this presentation, and also, you yelled at me, so I’m, I’m having a hard time, even interacting with you, I just, please.” He relents, cursing himself already.

“Call me tomorrow?” He says, desperation creeping into his voice, “I wanna know how the presentation goes.” You don’t respond to that, just grabbing your bag and getting out of his front seat, walking quickly through the chilly night to your door. He mashes the heel of his palms into his eye sockets and swears violently.

You don’t call him the next day. Why would you, he reasons, when he’d wielded words so clumsily. He stops himself from texting you, from calling, hoping that you’ll reach out when you want to see him again, that you’ll call, knowing in his heart that you probably won’t.

He’s able to hold off for about two weeks.

It’s 2AM, and you’re mercifully in bed fast asleep, when your phone rings. You answer it without looking at the contact calling you, and a lump forms in your throat at the sound of his voice, the slight slur indicating intoxication.

“You know,” Bakugou starts the call like you were already in the middle of a conversation, “You know you’re kinda right. About me seein’ you as a project.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s outside a bar, leaning against the building as his world spins. “And that’s, that’s not fair of me, to treatcha like that. I don’t know what’s good for you. M’sorry.”

“Thanks, Bakugou.” You respond, “I um, I can admit, also, that I have some less than healthy habits, but they’re working for me right now, so I’m just kind of doing my best.”

“I know,” he says, and you can hear the rawness in his voice, “I gotta tell you something,” he says, conspiratorially, “I think about you all the time.” There’s a pause. “D’you, Do you think about me, sometimes?”

“I um,” your voice gets pinched and tight, your bed is cold and empty. “Yeah, I do.” He sighs deeply.

“Thank fuckin’ god,” he groans, “Had a bad day at work today.” You sit up a little, pressing the phone to the side of your face.

“What happened?”

“Didn’t,” his voice breaks, “Didn’t save someone. Came close but, didn’t save ‘em.”

“Oh,” you sigh, sympathy coloring your tone, “Bakugou, I’m sure you did your best.”

“It wasn’t good enough,” he says, voice rough, almost angry, “Fuckin’, maybe someone else, woulda gotten there in time,” you hear him bite back a sob. “And you know instead of doin’ somethin’ healthy, I’m gettin’ fuckin’ drunk about it, and I can’t believe I preached that shit to you in the car when I-” you hear him get out a real sob, “When I’m a total goddamn mess sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you glance out the window, it’s a clear, starry night.

“Don’t shut me out,” he begs, “Please, I’ll be, we can do this slowly, I,” he pauses, you hear him hide another sob, “It’s not that I wantcha to work less, or pick me over work, it’s that I wantcha to pick you over work. Because you’re so good,” he slurs, “So good, and I like talkin’ to ya, and I wanna see ya smile, always.” You feel an odd tugging. It’s true, you’d missed Bakugou, and not just the sex, but the warmth of his presence. You stare out, however, into the abyss, and feel it staring back at you.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, and his heart leaps at the use of his first name. “What if I’m scared, to care about you?”

“I’ll help ya,” he vows, pushing off of the wall and stumbling onto the sidewalk, “I’ll help ya figure it out, okay, when ya freak out I’ll, I’ll reassure you,” you hear the sound of a car whiz by and wince.

“Where um, where are you?”

“At uh,” he glances at the bar sign. “Killkennys. Downtown.”

“Stay there.” You say quickly, and he catches your implication.

“You don’t gotta-”

“Yes I do.” You hop out of bed, looking for your shoes, “I do, so just sit tight and I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You hang up, and don’t bother getting dressed, putting on a heavy wool coat right over your pajamas, slipping into your most comfortable shoes. You don’t brush your hair or put on makeup, barely remembering your phone and wallet as you rush out the door. You get a few odd looks on the subway, but it’s late, and nearly empty. It’s a short walk from the subway stop to Killkenny’s Alehouse, an old irish style bar downtown, by the water. You see him before he sees you, all 6’5 of his hulking frame in shadow near a streetlight, leaning up against the wall of the bar.

“Hi,” you say softly, and he leaps for you, picking you up and crushing you against his chest, burying a tear streaked face in your neck.

“Missed you.” He says. “M sorry, m so sorry.”

“I’m um,” you choke out, he’s holding you so tightly you can barely breathe, “I’m sorry too, for um, for escalating, when I could have, I could have listened.”

“We’ll be better.” He promises. You call an uber, and he doesn’t take his hands off you the entire ride home, holds you like he can’t believe you’re real. You get to his penthouse, and he keeps his arms locked around your waist, grumpily standing behind you as you get him a glass of water and then turn to face him.

“Finish this. And you’ll have another after that.” You say, and he pouts visibly but does as you say, downing two glasses of water before grumbling,

“Wanna go to bed with you. Y’never let me stay over, but wanna sleep with you like this so bad.” You understand what he means, the literal intimacy of sleeping next to another person.

“Are you sure?” You ask, and he nods. He practically drags you to his bed, tucking you under the covers and holding you tightly, his face buried in your chest as you play with his hair, pulling soft, contented sounds from him.

“If I were a better hero,” he says hoarsely, “I could save you, and I coulda saved that guy today, and-”

“I don’t need a hero, Katsuki.” You say, several things sliding into place at once. “I never did.” There’s a pause, he swallows apprehensively. “I might, um, I might need you though, if that’s okay.” His grip on you becomes iron.

“Yeah.” he mutters. “That’s okay.”

2K notes · View notes