catsoupki

[catsoupki]

mwah!

[catsoupki]

🏞️.

[catsoupki]

COME OUT AND HAUNT ME (1.0K)

summary - everyone has their vices to forget a world of devil and man, but remember, when you quit, you quit forever.

warnings - canon-typical violence (mentioned), smoking cuz duh it’s aki, angst !! they’re hinted to have somewhat of a relationship that never really flourished, so i guess treat them as fwb that could’ve been but never was :)

a/n - have this while i fail my math midterms <3

It takes him a little over five seconds before he actually moves. Sitting up, stretching out his legs, heaving a breath. With the cigarette box still in hand, he leaves the balcony with what he’s got left in him and goes to greet whoever is ringing the doorbell.

“Heyo,” is what greets him when he opens the gate, laden— “missed me?” You invite yourself into his home, loafers toed off at the Genkan.

“Got any cigarettes?” He says while he turns around, dipping down to rummage through the drawers, and then the kotatsu, hoping he’d come across some more saviours.

“Say yes first.” Movement ceases, you’ve done it, you’re made it awkward. Look down, sigh, look back up, Aki is meeting you in the eye.

“Yes.”

One second passes and you reach into your pocket to snake a new packet into his hand— the flavour he likes, bought from the kombini he frequents— unfamiliarly and with a certain hesitance that makes you slow down before placing it on his open palm, slithering back onto the balcony.

An October night, the wind is crackling outside, his cigarette wavering in the chill, “Hayakawa-sensei, aren’t you cold?”

“No,” his pyjamas riffle violently where he stands next to the opened sliding glass door, “you’re not gonna come out?”

“I’m not so fond of the cold, sir,” Stepping across the boundary, your hair whips in your face anyway, squinting– “give me one too.”

“Since when did you start seriously smoking?” He asks, with hair in his eyes, he looks at you expectantly. You close your eyes.

“Since last time,” you smile at him, in the direction where you think he’s at, you don’t know that his eyes are flitting across your lips, your hair, he looks at you again. You.

“You should quit.” You open your eyes again.

“Mm.”

You were introduced to Aki two months ago, as was your habit of smoking. Makima had found you lying behind some alleyway bar, maimed. When Aki arrived at the scene, he could not differentiate between the way your blood spilled and the cracks of concrete beneath your corpse.

The culprit was killed by Denji afterwards, and you were hauled to the hospital soon. The day that you wake up, Makima greeted you, a simple “Hi”, before she asked the million-dollar question: are you willing to join my squad?

You wanted to say no, and perhaps she knew that, but you had no family left, not even the Shiba. Eyes glossy, hazy, maybe, you didn’t answer her. When she came back a day later with flowers in her hold, you said yes while looking at the floor.

You believe that you have little say in what truly happens around you, and the things that happen to you. Despite Makima always asking for your opinions on matters that concern you, you think that just like how you had said yes to her initial request by looking at the floor, the requests that leave Makima’s lips are laced with aphrodisiac, or perhaps it’s poison, you never find yourself saying no.

“Would you accompany Aki on this mission? I believe it’ll be a good learning opportunity for you.” Yes, because yes.

“Will you consider making a contract with this devil? It’ll be a good matchup when you go on missions with Denji and Aki.” Sure, why not.

It was August when your lips were first tainted by something. It was supposed to be smouldering these days, but that time, you find yourself travelling to Hokkaido with Aki.

He was familiar with the place, you could tell. Unlike the other times, he didn’t waste time fiddling with paper maps or asking the locals. With snow crunching under his footfalls, he walked knowing where his shoes would land next; forward.

The air had been extra cold when Aki gave you your first cigarette. Musk fills your lungs before you heave and cough all that you inhaled. Aki laughs at you.

You should quit. Yes— quit smoking, quit saying yes, quit abusing devils, quit looking at the ground when Makima talks to you. You should quit before you die.

“I’ll quit when you do.” Stubbornness is all that you know, Aki knows. He sighs instead.

“Why’re you here?”

Aki is polite. He has a habit of looking at people with proper etiquette in conversation, something that you lack. The dimming skyline, nebulous clouds. “I’m leaving tomorrow! I finally got my solo mission after two months, Nara. I’m eating so much food there.”

Maybe it’s the wind, or maybe it’s you, perhaps it’s him, but you don’t say much. He doesn’t say much either. It’s the wind whipping your hair— yeah.

He glances at you, with smoke filling his lungs, drowning in you, he says, “Be careful.”

You leave soon after, forgetting that you had a reunion with a few friends. You leave behind the cigarettes.

You quit. Aki never got to return them.

[catsoupki]

older bakugou who learns to finish up fights and missions quickly, all with the goal of returning home early to you and your children, despite him having always made fun of his boss for doing the same during his prime days when he was still a sidekick

his shower isn’t at all reaching his standard of the deep cleanse he always does after long and hard missions in far away forests and mountains, the grime and dirt are probably still visible under his neat fingernails, his palms are dry but he didn’t bother taking out his lotion, after five minutes, he’s out of the agency, hair still wet, clothes not fully shoved inside his duffle bag, his steps are fast-paced and hurried, he speed-walks to his porsche in the parking lot

(eijirou watches all of this with a warm smile on his face, however many times he was chastised by a younger bakugou for slacking off for his wife and kids and however many times he answered with ‘you’ll understand one day’ wouldn’t suffice for the absolute smug pride he’s feeling right now, oh how his best friend has grown)

he’s barely going the speed limit on the road, his grip on the steering wheel is firm, the leather familiar in his hold, he’s leaned back, he’s relaxed, because he gets to walk through your home and into your arms soon enough, that all the work he’s done in the past month in okinawa, kilometres away from musutafu was more than worth it

the wheels on his car don’t align with the lines at his parking spot, it’s wonky and sideways but he doesn’t care when he slams the door closed and forgoes his belongings in the car because they’re not going anywhere, but the time he can spend with you and your head tucked in his neck is

he can hear his children’s laughs all the way from the garage, your giggles and light scolding are all but endearing and even from the outsider, it’s visible that he’s no longer fifteen year old, angry and frustrated, the bright grin he has on as his daughters jump in his arms sits comfortably on his mellowed out face, stubble and all

the things older bakugou would do to hear the words ‘welcome home, papa!’ are limitless

his daughters crowd around his legs and gag when he kisses ‘i missed you’ into your lips, your smile is evident throughout, his brats will run off to play with the dog and he will get you all to himself, against the kitchen counter, messy hair and dirtied clothes, bakugou wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

[catsoupki]

Doing a study on fanfiction bffr

[catsoupki]

you’re drinking your sorrows away at some hole in the wall bar when you accidentally call bakugou, your boss, and let loose where you are; he can hear just from your voice how deliriously drunk you are, so he somehow gets the location out of you and he’s on his way

when he’s there, he puts some cash down and he’ll be piggybacking you out of there

you’re dizzy and you’re nonsensical, your hands are warm and they wrap around his neck so unabashedly, “hey katsu,” you manage in between hiccups, bakugou is trying to focus, a blush creeps itself onto his nape and then his cheeks— your lips are right next to his eyes, he can feel your whiskey breath on the shell of his ear, and it’s so intimate, but it’s alright because you won’t remember how he’s stuttering, you won’t even remember tonight—

“i like you.”

there’s a halt in his steps, suddenly he’s aware of how sweaty his palms are, and even with all the experience and practise under his belt, he’s now afraid he’ll accidentally blow you up

“you’re just drunk, idiot,” he bites out, the chuckle you let out next to his ear sends shivers down his back.

“n —himph— no i’m not, ask me again when you see me at work, i’ll always say yes,”

he can smell your breath, it’s pungent with alcohol diluted within your system. he doesn’t respond, you don’t seem too bothered but you won’t remember tonight. he runs through the possibilities in his head, he’ll go to work tomorrow and see you, he’ll remember right now, your thigh in his hands and your voice in his ear, but you won’t remember right now—

so he won’t ask you, then he’ll be able to keep these intimacies far and in between, at a cost— he won’t ever get you, sober and unabashedly his

[catsoupki]

being the only hero to ever score a merch collaboration with the dynamight, those products resell at an upwards of ¥285,000 on different websites, if not for more in overseas stores. hoodies, mugs, plushies— you name it, and it’ll have people mass-hoarding them.

the downside, though, is that the press loooves asking you how you managed to accomplish such a feat: “how does it feel to be the only woman to work with dynamight?” “why do you think dynamight chose to work with you? is there something beneath the waters that the fans aren’t aware of?”

it’s stupid, tiring, and dynamight shut that shit down within two seconds of the reporter opening his mouth. in bakugou’s words, “it’s fucking dumb to attribute your credibility as a hero and partner to either being a woman or to seducing me.”

and what he says is very much true— you’re a regular occupier of the top 10 hero ranks, with one of the highest (if not the highest) success rates in your solo missions. you’re consistently rated “most versatile hero” by the public month and month again. but…

“well, katsu, you can’t blame them, we are married.”

[catsoupki]

i have to say that even though i’ve never really given a thought to bakugou as a character, i like the way you write him very much. or perhaps i just like your writing itself. either way, your style is captivating...i really enjoy reading your work!

THANK YOU SO MUCH <3333333

[catsoupki]

you’re drinking your sorrows away at some hole in the wall bar when you accidentally call bakugou, your boss, and let loose where you are; he can hear just from your voice how deliriously drunk you are, so he somehow gets the location out of you and he’s on his way

when he’s there, he puts some cash down and he’ll be piggybacking you out of there

you’re dizzy and you’re nonsensical, your hands are warm and they wrap around his neck so unabashedly, “hey katsu,” you manage in between hiccups, bakugou is trying to focus, a blush creeps itself onto his nape and then his cheeks— your lips are right next to his eyes, he can feel your whiskey breath on the shell of his ear, and it’s so intimate, but it’s alright because you won’t remember how he’s stuttering, you won’t even remember tonight—

“i like you.”

there’s a halt in his steps, suddenly he’s aware of how sweaty his palms are, and even with all the experience and practise under his belt, he’s now afraid he’ll accidentally blow you up

“you’re just drunk, idiot,” he bites out, the chuckle you let out next to his ear sends shivers down his back.

“n —himph— no i’m not, ask me again when you see me at work, i’ll always say yes,”

he can smell your breath, it’s pungent with alcohol diluted within your system. he doesn’t respond, you don’t seem too bothered but you won’t remember tonight. he runs through the possibilities in his head, he’ll go to work tomorrow and see you, he’ll remember right now, your thigh in his hands and your voice in his ear, but you won’t remember right now—

so he won’t ask you, then he’ll be able to keep these intimacies far and in between, at a cost— he won’t ever get you, sober and unabashedly his

[catsoupki]

hi hello I was reading your fic I’ll Be Here Waiting (love it btw almost finished reading it!) and noticed how you said you couldn’t find the fic it was inspired by ‘Sunflowers don’t grow in the city.’ The original post was taken down years ago but you can find it in the form of a reblog on my blog. Because it’s deleted you cannot press the read more button, but if you press reblog it will show you the entire post before you post and you can read it there. hope this is helpful, I just know the pain of not being able to find something you read long ago :)).

you are so precious. so so so precious.

to anyone who’s also interested, here’s the reblog, u can read the entire thing by clicking on that link

[catsoupki]

To your dismay, your jeans are tighter than usual. it almost ruins your entire day, until Sero tumbles over himself to say hi and bakugo walks straight into a table's corner

[catsoupki]

"relax"

[catsoupki]

i’m so excited to post this fic. but i shan’t rush it lest i ruin it.

[catsoupki]

It was inevitable, you just chose to cover your eyes and ears when he showed you. Tight skirts, crop tops and eyeliner —a costume, armour— to face the unfaceable. The Unfaceable sits at the corner seat at the local coffee shop. The Unmovable: every Saturday, since 5:30 pm, he is always there.

In front of Bakugou, lies his calculator, computer, homework, and sometimes a drink. You look at him carefully —arduously— while you can, earphones in and his hair pushed back, rough, blonde, gravelly next to the window.

You think of the inevitable. When the question tumbles out of your lips, the vowels and fricatives that lay foreign and slimy on your tongue. Then the inevitable answer: yeah.

It’s why you don your costume; your armour: of tight skirts, tight tops, and tight eyeliner. They squeeze the fat of your thighs, the meat on your shoulder, and at your tear glands. The inevitable and imminent answer. But you walk in anyway, you let your legs rest on the wooden stool, your elbows against the sticky residue of sweet drinks. Your costume clings onto your skin; your armour cups itself around your dignity. Mold. Mockery.

“You’re aro ace?”

[catsoupki]

would u guys dig it if i wrote about traumatised bakugou using sex as a coping mechanism………. what if i coated it in angst…….. and finally make reader less boring than a wet rag……………….

[catsoupki]

nobody knows what i see. hawks / gn!reader. hurt/comfort. fluff. post-war.

“ack.” keigo winces as the strips of yellowed gauze peel away from his midsection, his shoulder blades flexing as if to flutter wings that are no longer there. “gentle, baby.”

“mhm,” you nod, focused on your duty. to your credit, you hardly flinch when the bandages are off and the extent of the knotted, purplish burn scars that cover his shoulders and back is revealed. keigo admires you for it, because he can’t bear to look himself.

his scars are hideous. they crawl up from his waist and swath over what used to be smooth skin, chewing away patches of flesh like a horrible infection. the texture is stippled, almost wizened, like the trunk of a tree. they feel tight, like a sheet of plastic fitted over him, pinned to his body, and they itch. the itching is the worst part to keigo. he can almost forget that he’s scarred at all, sometimes—until he reaches back to scratch, and his nails score over gnarled ropes of maimed, deadened tissue.

it’s not that keigo’s bitter, per se. there’s no anger in the shell he’s shielded himself with since all for one took his quirk, no dead-eyed pessimism. but there is an awful finality he’s not sure he’ll ever really be able to explain, because who would understand? who else has had their wings, their job, and their lifelong dream torn away from them in one go?

he loves you—he’s obsessed with you, really, practically worshipping the ground you walk on—but every time you go through this routine, a small part of him wonders when you’ll get tired of taking care of a ruined hero. he hates himself more than anything for doubting you, but at the same time, who could love what he’s become? a fragile collection of parts barely held together, already past his peak at twenty-three, worth nothing more than a knife with a snapped blade. a damaged weapon, once deadly, now dull.

but you’ve handled all of this with remarkable patience. even when keigo insists on trying to change his bandages himself, you always do it for him, because you seem to understand that he can’t bear to finish the job himself.

it makes keigo, the man who was raised to see himself as little more than a tool, wonder if he really is loveable in the way a human being loves another human—not just how the rider loves his warhorse, or the assassin his dagger.

“hold still, okay?” you remind him. keigo hadn’t even realized he’d been shifting, hunching his shoulders inward. he straightens his back obediently and stills, tilting his head up to gaze blankly at the ceiling. behind him, he hears you sifting through the supplies you’d spread out on the bathroom counter. a moment later, he feels your hands against his back, gently rubbing lotion into his scars.

he lets out a low sigh, relaxing. as much as it makes him uncomfortable to be reminded of the state of his body, it feels so nice to have your hands on him. to be touched so gently, as if he’s fragile. keigo has never been fragile before.

your hands knead his spine tenderly, rubbing gentle spirals over his muscles as you progress down his back. keigo’s eyes slant half-closed. there’s silence between you, but it’s warm, comforting. your hands bleed the last dregs tension away from his posture. you really must love him, keigo thinks, staring down at his hands braced against the bathroom counter.

for the first time since the end of the war, keigo gains the courage to tilt his head up and look in the mirror.

what he sees surprises him, but not because he looks dramatically changed, morphed into an entirely different being. no—he blinks in shock because of how familiar his own reflection is. same eyes, same nose. same tufty hair, if a bit shorter. the same old, faded white scars on his chest, much different than the mottled mess of his back. the same hands, digging into the porcelain rim of the sink. and behind him, you, diligently massaging lotion into his old burns, with an expression so soft, so loving, that keigo’s breath snags in his throat.

was this what he hadn’t been seeing when he’d locked his eyes on the floor, too afraid to look at himself? he looks different than before. he has scars on his forehead, on his cheek and neck. but he’s still keigo...and you’re still you. you’re still his.

after you spread the lotion over his wounds, moisturizing the dry, cracked ruts of scar tissue, you begin to apply fresh bandages, gently wrapping the white tendrils of fabric around keigo’s chest. once you’ve finished, he watches in the mirror as you glance up, surprise lighting your face as you realize he’s been watching. keigo takes one last look at himself, then turns around, pulls you into his arms, and kisses you until his lungs start to burn from lack of air.

“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth, his eyes burning into yours, darkened from their usual glassy yellow to a rich honey-gold. “you know that, right? i love you.”

he can tell that you’re surprised by the unexpected display of affection from the way you stare at him, mouth opening and closing. but you return his confession, “i love you too, kei,’” without an ounce of hesitation, and god, keigo wants to put a ring on you right then and there.

“i don’t know what i’d do without you.” he exhales, dropping his forehead against yours. “christ, you’re the sweetest thing in the world. i wish...” all the things he wants to tell you get tangled in his throat, and he falls silent.

“you wish what?” you prompt gently, hand moving up to caress his cheek.

keigo has to swallow hard before answering. “i wish i could be the man you deserve.”

“the...” you frown, your eyebrows knitting together. “you don’t think you’re good enough for me?”

keigo’s throat closes over. squeezing his eyes shut, he nods.

“that’s ridiculous,” you say, sharply enough that he opens his eyes and glances at you in surprise. “that’s stupid, keigo. you’re the only one that i want. you always have been.”

he softens, an adoring smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but you continue before he can speak. “i don’t care if you were unemployed for the rest of your life. it wouldn’t make me love you any less. it wouldn’t mean that you’re any less of the person i fell in love with.”

keigo kisses you, and your anger eases, mellows into sweetness that seems to encase the two of you alone in this moment, like the only two people alive in the world. it’s not enough to silence keigo’s insecurities forever, to entirely snuff out the piece of him that thinks himself unworthy of your devotion.

but for now? keigo takami feels like he can fly again.

[catsoupki]

i didn’t get iwaizumi … :(

(; ω ; )ヾ(´∀`* ) there, there

if it's any consolation from what i've seen barely anyone who wanted iwaizumi got iwaizumi. he's been playing really hard to get smh