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[celestial-kit]

i need to be a little insane about kirishima

[celestial-kit]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt responsible for the situation at hand. After all, Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, now slightly unfamiliar now the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte. Neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language hah ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he might take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, gaze into the endless sheet of rain, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. He will still always put on his suit and hurry into the storm. Because Tokyo needed him. And deep down, he needed it too.

There’s a repeated fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to tell you, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles his.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bride and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his gait. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

About you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now preferred hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic becomes a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba

▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area is specifically for employees that work closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly sours, as though he’d swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. The setup is reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, a feat Shouto knows well. Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I’ll kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into fetal postion and involuntarily spasming in six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

The train waiting at the platform is decorated in yellow; the colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and bath later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for brief relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 

Shouto swallows. Oscillating between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 

Because his hectic work and risks aside. he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material pulls tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”. 

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

And his mouth goes dry. 

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 

“It’s me. Are you…Sooba?” 

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one. He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. 

Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 

“Shouto,” he says. 

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 

“Hey, Shouto?” 

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 

“It’s just a few tremors”. 

[celestial-kit]

how fuuunnn, i was tagged by @itoshisoup to do a self fic rec ! 🥺🩷✨️ which is so sweet !! i — really had to think hard about this, and i have so many that kind of rank in the same space for myself LOL but !! ty for the tag mao 😌🍑🦋🌻 ( fyi !! : all these links are to ao3 and my works are currently set up to only be viewable by those with an account ✨️)

･ﾟ→˚₊ ┊ love to say this to your face: "i love you only" -- bakugou x reader; fantasy au; nsfw.

i had so much fun with this one tbh !!! doing it for the teahouse fic exchange 🥺🩷✨️ i love fantasy au, love arranged marriage, love a language barrier 🥺 and i'm proud of some of the lines in this one 🥺🌻

･ﾟ→˚₊ ┊ well, i've been saved by the grace of southern charm -- bakugou x reader; cowboy au; nsfw.

not done yet LOL but ! i love cowboy bakugou. i'll always love him. getting to indulge in southern elements is so fun LOL and i think i did an okay job conveying the emotion in this one, maybe ?? and i'm really excited for what's to come with it, bc i think the message is important 🥺🍓

･ﾟ→˚₊ ┊ now that my broken bones all have been healed, i think i'm starting to feel -- kirishima x reader; kid fic.

i really enjoyed koji he he he i took a lot of inspiration from my nephew ajfhsjaka and !! i think reader and kiri fit well together ?? idk how to explain it. they both have faced heartache, they both have had to learn patience, how precious time is together, just little things !!

･ﾟ→˚₊ ┊ pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name -- touya x reader; canon divergent; generally nsfw just bc dabi.

ptmy is my little baby that's in kindergarten rn. i don't know how else to explain it to you than this LOL it's so low on my list bc, looking back at it — there are certain details i wish i could change !! and those details stick out in my head so much when i think about this fic 😭 but ! i love it for the love touya is going to get 🩷✨️

･ﾟ→˚₊ ┊ and you take me the way i am -- bakugou x reader; assistant au.

ah. my first child. my dear, my darling. i — can't not love this fic bc it's quite literally put me right where i am LOL and i think...a lot can be said about the first fic you write for a character, and this reader is probably truest to me, personally, so i definitely hold it close to my heart for that reason. but ! just like ptmy, i read it back and wish i could edit it !! LOL

tagging (only if you want to 😌 !!) : @sipsteainanxiety @namodawrites @petrichorium @crybaby-bkg @bfbkg

[celestial-kit]

bakugou + strawberries ; 2.7k ੈ‧₊˚ for our meet fruit collab ! ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚

mina suggests speed-dating.

first as a joke — you think — after the two of you spend too many weekends in a row watching sappy rom-coms on her couch while crying into a bowl of trail mix, and then a second time, and then a third time, after you refuse.

in her last attempt, she pulls out the big ones: her upcoming birthday. it will be so fun!! she tells you, with her big eyes and bigger pout, looking at you as if you'd hung the stars by saying yes. it's a cheap shot, really, because she knows you or anyone would do pretty much anything when it comes to mina the birthday girl.

— and that's how you find yourself here, sitting in too nice of an outfit to be spending your allotted time listening to a man bash his ex-girlfriend.

you might have found him a bit cuter if he wasn't doing that, or if he showed even an ounce of interest in you whatsoever. instead, he's treating this like a therapy session, and you're not getting paid for it.

when the timer rings, you're more than thankful. irritated enough, even, to spin around the room in search of mina — who is happily watching on as two men grapple with each other for who gets to sit across from her next. you suppose being a top hero is good for that, finding someone who is willing to give you their all.

to yourself, you sigh quietly and turn back to the little bowl of strawberries in the center of the small table, the flutes of champagne on either side of it. mina's bottle, you noticed, is almost totally empty; your last date hadn't even looked at yours, nor did he seem to think to offer you a drink.

it's not that you're jealous. really. you wouldn't even say that you're interested in dating right now, finding your job at the agency to be too much of a whirlwind to balance, anyway. you love mina: she's your closest friend, your home away from home, your cheerleader and personal hero — but working for her is nothing short of a full-time job.

sometimes your bed is a little lonely, when she's not staying the night in it after another rom-com evening, but you really can't think that you'd like someone in it, anyway, much less a stranger. it's hard to explain where your time goes, who it goes with; having to share that with someone, you think, would take more emotional energy than you have right now.

and maybe it also sorta, kinda has to do with the fact that the one and only man you're thinking of outside of work — is the same man you see inside of it every single day.

the very thought of bakugou has your stomach turning, painfully. the image of him in the late afternoons with the sun glowing in his hair, the gentle look he spares you as you wait for the elevator, how he'd looked at you today, when you told him where you and mina were going; you don't know how anyone could make you feel the way he does, at least right now.

the seat across from you is taken up suddenly, then, and you look up into the eyes of someone that looks — nice. a little shy, a little nervous, as they introduce themselves. they decide to pour you a glass of champagne, and they even tell you, openly, voice shaking, how nice you look tonight.

you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt, much to your own surprise.

"i'm actually allergic to strawberries," they tell you with a laugh, gently pushing the bowl closer to you. "that would be a hell of a first date, wouldn't it?"

you agree. "definitely one to remember!"

"well, in that case—" they joke, suddenly leaning forward as if they're going to pull it back towards them, and it's so earnest and sweet that you feel your heartbeat in your throat a bit. "i sound like i'm kissing up to you, but—you have a really nice smile, also."

you have to sit back in your seat, fanning your face dramatically as you both laugh. "wow, i'm not used to someone—"

"time's up, extra."

you blink so hard that your eyes are crossed when you open them, and you look up at the man standing there, waiting for his turn, just as the timer dings and the room comes to life with a bustle. the person across from you only frowns, too timid to say anything in response before they're getting up and casting you a regretful glance. they're barely a foot away before the chair is taken, so aggressively that it scrapes against the floor and shakes the table.

you can't believe what you're seeing. you can't believe bakugou is sitting across from you, right now, ruining everything.

"what—are you doing?" you hiss, though your feelings — with a mind of their own — flutter like butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.

the scowl he gives you is ugly, as always, but his face is smoother than you remember it being today; freshly shaven, maybe. the cologne he's wearing is strong, woodsy, potent enough that it dizzies you from across the table, that you can only imagine how sweet it smells soaking into the soft skin of his neck. even the shirt he's wearing, you notice, is a button down that you've never seen him in.

"the hell do you mean?" he growls, face pinched as he leans closer, so that his voice doesn't carry as it usually does. "'s'it look like i'm doin'? saving you from some sorry dumbass."

"bakugou," you grit, though the room quiets as everyone takes their seats again, and you have to swallow back your annoyance so you don't draw anymore attention to yourself.

you're not dumb enough to think he'd get away without some people fighting for his attention, too, the same way they did to mina, and — as irritated as you are, suddenly, at his appearance — you're not exactly keen on sharing him, either.

"they were very nice, thank you very much,"

"psh," he rolls his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "couldn't even look me in the eyes to tell me to fuck off—"

"maybe because they were worried you would blast them through the window—"

"and i would have—"

"oh!" you clench your hands into fists and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your anger back down. losing your cool isn't a good look, especially in a room of people that are trying to get to know you. "are you serious right now? why are you here?"

"you really wanna spend our five minutes doin' this?"

and there's something about the way he says it — our five minutes — that has your stomach turning in that horrible way it always does, whenever you bite into the softer parts of him. the look on his face is pensive, nervous if you thought that he was capable of being nervous. his shirt, his shaven cheeks, his alluring cologne; he's here, right now, on a date with you. pushed his way into it, even.

you straighten in your seat and sit back, dropping your eyes to the table, ashamed at the fire you've just thrown at him. "can you at least tell me why you're here in the first place?"

bakugou is silent for long enough that you can't stand not to take him in, how appealing he is to look at, how your heart sings when he looks back. one shake of his head has him sighing and then he's leaning back, too, staring only at the strawberries.

"this is her birthday thing, ain't it?"

"yeah," you murmur in agreement quietly, fiddling with your own fingers in your lap as your nerves harden into bitter disappointment. he's here for the same reasons you are, you tell yourself: for your friend, only.

distantly, you try to remind yourself that this nothing out of the ordinary. that you shouldn't be thinking of him this way, getting so hung-up on someone that's never expressed an interest in you to begin with. there have been a few late night conversations in the stairwell, that ran longer than they should have, that revealed more than they should have — but it doesn't make him yours. not in the way you want it to.

in an attempt to swallow down your own sourness, you reach for a strawberry, picking through them until you find the fattest one, and then bite it to the stem. a little stream of juice sprays out, dripping down over your bottom lip as you scramble for your napkin. you lick after it before patting at your face, spreading the sugar, the sweetness.

bakugou leans across the table so suddenly that you startle, mouth twisted like he's struggling to say what he's about to say. "alright, look—"

the timer rings, horribly, but his ruby stare never dims, never leaves yours and yours never leaves his, either, as if you're both suddenly trapped in a weird limbo of in-between; in-between the quiet moments, in-between the loudest ones, in-between everyone else, together.

and then mina notices.

"oh my god, blasty, you came!" she shouts, springing up from her seat to wave at you both from across the room. her earrings jingle loudly, bracelet beads knocking together as she leans too far to the left, champagne-drunk already. it snaps the moment between you and him, worry filling the gaps as you think about how you're going to get her out of here, once the night is over.

bakugou sinks a little further into his chair, as if it will hide him, before grumbling to himself. cheeks reddening, you realize; strawberry-kissed. he heaves a heavy sigh before digging his fingers into his eyes, deep enough that an ache develops in your own, and he opens his mouth to speak again when someone else approaches the table.

"okay, time to switcheroo!" he sings, grinning too cheerily at you, enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm.

it darkens bakugou, considerably; "piss off," is all he says, scooting his chair further into the table as if to claim it. he barely gets another word out before the man is starting to protest, and the look he gives him then is awfully viscious: nostrils flared, looking up from beneath his long lashes and furrowed brow, as if this stranger had pissed in your champagne. "i said, fuck off, before i howitzer you through the—"

"okay!" you interrupt, reaching across the table with both hands to close one of bakugou's. his fingers are curled dangerously, and you swear you can see little sizzles of steam slipping between your linked fingers. "let's just—do an extra skip this time, okay? how about you just gives us this one, and you go to the next table?"

the man frowns — which is a bit flattering — but ultimately takes the lifeline you offer, trailing away without another word down to the next table. you can feel the couple on the other side watching you and bakugou now, a little open-mouthed, and your heart quickens at the worry that they're noticing him, that your new five minutes are going to be wasted, too.

—but his hand hasn't moved from yours and his eyes have returned, full to the brim with some emotion you can't read. if you had to guess, you'd say regret, maybe, but you aren't sure how to take that, and so you don't.

you should let him go, literally and figuratively, but the solidity of your logic is no match for the soft beat of butterfly wings in your gut.

"what are you doing?" you ask him again, softly, surely, because you want to hear the answer whatever it is. he either needs to deny you, here and now so you can move on — or he needs to acknowledge the confliction on his face, the soft intertwine of his fingers into yours.

bakugou looks at you now the way he does in the stairwell, the way he does when the sun is painting you warm, too. "i told you," he murmurs, "savin' you from some dumbass."

"but why do you even care?"

another heavy sigh falls from him and you can feel your glass-fragile heart breaking when his hand slips from yours, a little roughly. it surprises you when he grabs the champagne bottle from the center of the table and pours himself a small glass, downing it in one, bitter go before filling up your flute, too.

liquid confidence, maybe; his cheeks darken, noticeably, before he's running a rough hand over his face, still struggling to wash out the words.

"why the hell do you think?" he finally says, though his harsh question lacks the abrasive tone his voice usually has; instead it's gentler, more sincere, bakugou — katsuki — in his rawest form. "why d'you think i do—any of this shit?" one hand waves around to gesture to the span of the dining room, but you know he means more than that, much more. "you think i spend that much time after work just 'cause i have time to waste? jesus."

"i don't know," you say, earning a flat look. "why do you?"

"why do you?"

you take the glass from the center of the table and peer down into it, how it bubbles. maybe you're playing dumb and maybe that's what's really bothering him, but — someone like bakugou deals in absolutes, and you need him to do it now.

the struggle is clear, though, across his face, thickening how he swallows and turning down his lips that much more. you feel a bit bad in the silence, when the timer rings and the muscle in his cheek jumps again.

before anyone can even approach the table, he simply sticks his hand out, and the man beside you was definitely watching on, because he doesn't spare you a glance before going around.

and maybe, you think, decidedly, that's enough.

"because i don't want to go home yet," you tell him honestly, trying to ignore the blood rushing in your ears with his mouth twists and he starts to squirm at your truth. "because i'd rather spend the night with you in a stairwell, than anywhere else."

there's a ludicrous amount of tension that leaves his shoulders then, so much that you didn't notice it until it was gone, and he slumps back into his chair with pink ears, now. the sight makes you smile, widely, as if the sight is a confirmation.

maybe for him, it is.

"yeah, well," he grumbles, eyes dropping to the strawberries before darting away, as if he'd thought of something he shouldn't have. "that's what 'm sayin', too."

"no, you're not!" you laugh, nose crinkling when he side-eyes you with a frown. "you're not hardly saying anything!"

"i'm here, ain't i?" he argues, huffing like a bull. "makin' a damn idiot of myself just to stop you from—"

"—going home with some dumbass?"

"well, yeah!"

"so you want me to be going home with you, then?"

"yeah! no! i mean—" he scowls when you laugh again, lip pulling up over his teeth as if he means to bite into your softest parts, too. the thought is more thrilling that you're willing to admit — at least for now. "quit laughin'!"

but it's not just you; across the dining room, you realize mina's giggling, too, turned around in her seat, ignoring the chatty man that wouldn't shut up about his ex. when bakugou turns around to glare at her, she nearly tips out of her chair by throwing her head too far back, and when he moves to stand up like he needs to help her, all she does is wave at him to turn back around.

and he does, to you, cheeks flaring as he grabs the bottle of champagne again, pouring himself his own glass to glare into. he mutters out another quiet, "jesus" before slamming both his elbows on the table, rudely, and holding his glass up for — what you belatedly realize is — a cheers.

behind him, the afternoon sun has long since set, replaced now by nightfall and stars that shine through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows — but he glows regardless, and the look he gives you is just as warm.

[celestial-kit]

this is how izuku cups your face when you’re too distracted by his cock tickling your cervix to answer the question he just asked you ♥︎

uwu sems pls i had so much fun with this. i hope you like it toooo <3

warnings: pro!hero izuku just dickin the reader down like they deserve. reader has a vagina and it is referred to, but no specific pronouns/gendered language is used (pls tell me if i’m wrong tho, i could have missed something) <3

"You gonna answer me, sweetheart?"

You whine when a big, warm hand wedges itself under your cheek, lifting your head from the sheets. You twist your upper body at Izuku's insistence, gasping when his freckled nose nudges your other cheek, his mouth parted to pant softly against your jaw.

“I-I don’t--” Izuku chooses that moment to rock his hips again. His fat cock drags out of your pussy with a lewd, wet sound before pushing back inside you just as loud. It rattles you from the inside out, choking on your words and your cheek leaning heavy into his scarred palm.

He groans from his place against your back. His big chest damp against your shoulders, his hips grinding against the plush softness of your ass and thighs. He has you pinned almost entirely to the bed, your knees long having given out and only offering a poor emulation of how you’d started this whole affair--giggling and teasing and shared smiles, your ass up and swaying confidently while Izuku had groped across the fat of your hips with eager appreciation.

And now you’re too fucked out to even hold yourself up, too well fucked to process whatever it is he repeats in your ear with soft, crooning syllables against your slack cheek. His cock has battered and beaten whatever nerves in your pussy are connected to your brain, turning every part of you to mush except the parts that are important right now--the ones that will make you cum.

His balls tap heavy against your clit, and you gasp, hips jolting back, lightning like pleasure arcing from that second of contact up your back. Izuku groans at the clench in brings around his cock, and he pauses inside you, resting his hips down against the cushion of your ass, shushing you gently at your anxious whine.

His other hand squeezes your wrist out in front of you, almost engulfing your whole hand and then some, pinning it to the mattress where you were already clinging to the popped off fitted sheet, ripped off the corner amongst the haze of fucking and pulling and thrusting and crying.

“Answer my question, baby,” he pleads, sounds just as desperate as you feel, his thumb pressing into your cheek, pushing your face back around towards him.

But it’s a ruse--Izuku is in total control, always is. As much as he gets caught up in the pleasure with you, let’s himself go enough to relax and fuck you both stupid, he’s got some sort of switch in him that will bring him right back around to full cognizance and wherewithal.

It’s the experienced hero in him, with the strength and endurance that comes from his quirk alongside it to be on alert when he needs to be, and that includes even moments of hormone-drunk intimacy just like this.

You aren’t so lucky to have his kind of mental constitution, and you can only whimper with needy dissatisfaction. “I--I don’t know what you a-asked, ‘Zuku,” you trill, fluttering your eyes open to meet heavy-lidded emerald.

"No?" You whine with the teasing edge to his low, rumbling purr, stretching your arms out in front of you to grasp the sheets ahead of you, brow furrowing and eyes falling shut again.

"M-Maybe it's not fair to ask you questions when I have you like this," he breathes against your cheek. "Hm?"

All you can do is give him a thoughtless and soft sound in reply, a stupidly mirrored hm back, vibrating around the fingers that slipped between your parted, panting lips all the way to his discolored knuckles, scarred digits you immediately suck upon with greed.

Izuku laughs, half as fucked out as you and amazed by just how sweet and pliant you are for him, how lost and trusting. He watches, mesmerized and awed as he pulls his fingers slowly from your parting mouth, your tongue caught beneath them and your spit dripping down over your chin. He slinks his hand away from your face, and your upper body sags without the support.

Izuku croons, rolling his hips, grinding deep up in you, dragging his nose across your cheek as you flatten entirely beneath him, crowded down into the bed with his big body glued to your back, relishing the sweat and heat and effort between you. As welcoming and languid as your body is, your pussy flutters dangerously on his cock, and it’s all you care about. The spread and the dig and the grind, the way he kisses across your shoulders with smiling lips and pushes a strong arm beneath your hips, forcing you to arch, to rub the fingers you sucked in messy circles over your clit.

Your cries are muffled against the warm sheets, your fingers twisting and tugging at them as Izuku works your clit back and forth, uses his fingers to split your folds more so than his cock already does, so his renewed pace lets his balls smack directly against those lightning-like nerves, quickly sending you over the edge and into a tumultuous, quaking, shivering orgasm.

Izuku rumbles a groan into your hair, vibrating through his broad chest at your shoulders, strong hips unrelenting as he fucks you with firm, easy thrusts into the creaking bed.

“Maybe I don’t need to ask if it feels good,” he hums, sinfully cracked and lilting in honeyed condescension, teeth catching against your jaw, a dark, seductive, almost drunk laugh escaping him when your voice twists up an octave while he fucks you through your gushing orgasm.

He hides his pleased hiss behind a deceptively saccharine whisper against your cheek. “Maybe I already know.”

[celestial-kit]

“m’still sleeping.”

katsuki only pulls you closer to him—crushing your back to his chest, nearly swallowing you with his ridiculously big frame.

his voice is gruff with sleep behind you. “no you’re not.”

you can only huff out a laugh when you feel his knee poke through yours, making room for himself to slot his whole leg through the gap. you are completely and totally stuck.

“if only the world knew that the Dynamight was such a clinger in the morning.” you turn your head to nose at his jaw—which is, of course, only centimeters from your face. he grumbles at your teasing but nuzzles closer to you still.

you let him wrap himself around you until there’s no clear beginning or end to either of you. a calloused palm spreads warm fingers wide over the soft of your belly and your eyes flutter closed. all of your teasing was just that—to be held like this by katsuki was a luxury that he indulged you in when he could.

the great aggressor, holding tight to whatever tenderness he could find.

“you all mine today?” you ask quietly, reaching up over your head to catch his blond shock of hair between your fingers. the force of his kiss against your temple presses your head down farther into the pillow and pulls a giggle from your lips. he does it again just to hear it.

“yeah. all yours.”

[celestial-kit]

I have a really stupid fic idea

[celestial-kit]

For the fanfic trope mashup game, how about using soulmate AU trope and their first time trope for the ship Bakugou x reader?

OOOOHHH LOVE A SOULMATE AU because i love to make it against your will he he he but !!! let's talk some more about this !! which is technically a little bit of arranged marriage trope but. i like this idea akfbskaka

you marry your soulmate because you have to. because there is no one else out there in the world for you. you loved someone else, you tried to fight it, you tried to believe you'd found your real, one true love — only for him to find his.

you meet bakugou katsuki because of a freak accident that puts you directly in his arms. and you know of him, of course you do, but he is not the kind of man you ever expected to be waiting for you down at the end of the aisle. you've loved a different man with your whole heart for years, and loving bakugou katsuki doesn't feel right, doesn't feel natural. it's been hardwired into your dna to love him, but you don't think you'd choose him, given the choice.

but what else is there to do ?

you look at each other and you know. there are no names written in your bones; no identifying marks; no words etched into your skin that prove, to anyone beside the two of you, that you're meant to be together — but you look at him and you just know. he is familiar to you in a way you can't explain, like you have known him in every lifetime you've ever traveled through. like he has always, somehow, managed to end up right in front of you.

bakugou does all the right things: he buys you a ring, he takes you out to a nice dinner, he asks even though you know it's coming, even though he already knows your answer. you've never kissed him. you've never seen him naked. you don't know what his allergies are or what his grandmother's name is. where he went to middle school. how he got that terrible scar in the center of his chest. what medication he takes, or why.

but you marry him in front of people you don't know. because you have to.

you think it's going to be on your wedding night. after the reception, you both take the elevator to the top floor of your hotel and he gives you his suit jacket when you shiver, cold in the little dress you'd changed into after the ceremony. his mother picked it out; something that feels too flashy for you, personally, but you'd worn it anyway because you don't think she really likes you. because you aren't what she expected for her only son.

katsuki is quiet, like he usually is around you, though he's much louder around the people he's comfortable with. you take a shower first, expecting him to join you at some point, but the water turns cold and when you come out — he's already asleep in the bed with his back turned towards you.

you've kissed him once, at this point. during the ceremony.

you don't really get a honeymoon, not with a pro-hero husband. within a few days, you've fully moved into his house, put your clothes in his closet and your soap in his shower. you don't get much time together and you think he may be avoiding you, and you think you may be avoiding him, too. it's weird; you feel like you're walking on eggshells.

you expect, like most things, that it will feel forced. that eventually he'll get tired of you holding out on him, and maybe he'll take it from you without asking, or maybe he'll get irritated and call this whole thing off. you think, like most things, kissing him won't feel right, that he won't taste right, that he won't touch you how you like to be touched.

he comes home to find you asleep on the couch, and you wake up to him eating the food you'd put in the microwave.

you sit up and stretch, and you can feel him watching you. you can always feel him watching you. when you speak, you don't know why you whisper; maybe because the lights are still off, because you don't want to break the moment. "hey," you greet him through a yawn. "how was your day?"

"fine," he doesn't ask how yours was. "why're you sleepin' out here?"

"was waiting for you."

the kitchen goes silent, the sound of his utensils against his plate halting. "well, 'm here," he murmurs, "so go to bed."

"okay," you agree sleepily; you're still tired, but waking up as you hear him moving about in the kitchen. a comfort has started to grow whenever he's near. in the months since your wedding, you've started to want him in the space beside you, however small. "are you coming?"

— but katsuki is so hard to read, even now. "yeah," his back is towards you, head bowed as he puts his plate in the sink. "be there in a minute."

most times, he isn't. and if he is, he is faced the other way, gone before you wake up.

still, you give him the space, shuffling down the hall to your bedroom. the rest of the house goes quiet as you snuggle into the blankets, and you lie awake and watch the ceiling fan for what feels like ever before deciding to go and find him.

he's hunched over his phone, slowly blinking at it on the couch. he glances up when he sees you there, still yawning, and he comes without being called, like he can't avoid you any longer.

you know he loves you because he has to. because he's done all the right things, exactly as he was supposed to. but you wonder, too, if he would choose someone else if he could.

as expected, he lays with his back to you, and you wait until his breathing is soft before turning to face him. and because you're a little lonely, still tired, because he's done all the right things just as he's supposed to — you lean into him. press your face into his back.

and his entire body stiffens.

you want to apologize immediately for encroaching in his space, but neither of you move, breath held as you wait for the shoe to drop. it's the first time you've sought him out in your shared bed and — you have no idea what he's thinking. what he'll do.

after a minute, he slowly shifts around until he's facing you, blinking at you heavily in the dark. his face is handsome and soft, sad; much different than it is on tv, when he's all dynamight. you're not sure what it is about him tonight, now, but — you love him, whether you want to or not.

you kiss him one, two, three times before he comes alive to it, before his hand is sliding around to the back of your neck to keep you close. a small exhale of air comes out of his nose when you lick into his mouth, and he moves to loom over you and then he's taking the clothes from your body and letting you remove his, too.

you didn't plan for this when you asked him to bed or when you kissed him, but katsuki has careful hands, despite the threat of them. he doesn't touch you in a way that's familiar, doesn't touch you the way your first love did.

he touches you like he's grateful, like a thanks, like a prayer. like he's waited lifetimes to do it.

✨️ trope game ! ✨️

[celestial-kit]

Wingman

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Kaminari is an insecure idiot, Breeding, Oral(ish), Light Choking, V. v. v Slight FemDom, Saturnari Coded. Word Count: 7.5k.

Summary: Kaminari has always been the wingman, but with you, he wants to be anything but...

Coming out tonight was a bad idea.

Through some miracle, the whole gang has managed to swing the same night off, a rarity that Kaminari should be enjoying, but even as he watches all his friends cut loose, he can't say he shares in their excitement.

Slouched in the back of a booth, he nurses his fourth drink. It had taken almost twenty minutes to convince everyone to go have fun without him. He'd fed them all the usual excuses – that he was tired, his new shoes where a touch tight, he was too busy scouting for girls and didn't want them hanging around to ruin his vibe. It had been the last one that had sold it, which was ironic. Kaminari shifts to itch the back of his calf with the point of a shoe. He'd be okay here, camped out in the corner with nothing, but a drink and a sinking sense of disappointment.

In the middle of the club, Kirishima has his arms wrapped around Bakugo's neck. His nose is pressed to his cheek, lips barely a millimetre from pale skin as to better whisper low to him. Around them, a steady flow of interceptors try, and fail, to slip between them.

Sero is at the bar. He leans lazily against it, an elbow dug into hardwood at an angle that just lets him hold his drink without dropping it. Already, there's a semi-circle of women around him. They touch him in the absent way one touches something they want to own. He doesn't stop their advances.

Somewhere out there is Mina, too, but she moves too quick to spot. Flitting between groups of people, she dazzles anyone who so much as glances in her direction without pausing to tarry on just one conquest.

Then... There's you.

Kaminari finds his gaze drifting, naturally, until he finds you. He's just keeping an eye on you. Or, at least that's what he's telling himself. He can see Sero looking too, and the occasional glances Bakugo spares you before he's twirled away and forced to break his line of sight. Mina, as well, he's seen it and even though Kirishima thinks he's being subtle, he's not.

He wonders which of them you want. Which you'd let take you home and touch, delicate, against your skin. You could have any of them, that much is for sure, but that doesn't stop the acidic burn that washes his throat when he thinks about his own odds. With friends like his, Kaminari has long since come to terms with always being the last choice.

'Kami!' You slip into the booth ass first and almost, almost, lose an inch of your gin. Righting the glass, you tap your shoulder playfully against his, reveling in the way the muscle of his bicep twitches with the contact.

Kaminari sighs, running a finger around the lip of his glass. At this point, he figures it'll just be less painful to beat you to the punch. 'So go on.' He fixes his smile back into place, erasing the edges of a frown and looks out at the mess of people on the dance floor. 'Who's your type?'

'Huh?'

'Which one?' He pretends to have already suffocated the wisp of hope alight in his chest and forces a chuckle up his throat. He wiggles his eyebrows at you while almost white-knuckling his drink. 'Because Sero'll take you home like yesterday, but he's got metal in his... Y'know, so if that's not your bag you might want to try one of the other two... Maybe, both?' He cocks his head, smirks without the mirth. 'Or, fuck, do you want Mina's number?' His intonation spikes towards the end, curiosity and panic bleeding into his tone.

'I don't want any of them...' You frown and shake your head, moving to lay a hand on his shoulder, but just before your fingers can play against the cuff of his t-shirt, he moves.

'C'mon. You don't have to play coy with me.' Shoulders tensing, he tries to steady the beating of his heart. The small fire in his chest is still kindling, burning hope bright and sure. Best not to let you touch him until it's extinguished then - he'd only be letting himself get the wrong idea. 'I am supposed to be the wingman and all that...'

'Kaminari.' His ignorance is endearing. There's a pinkness on his cheeks that makes you want to kiss them, but you'll have to get to the root of the reason he won't let you get close if you're looking to live out that fantasy.

Unperturbed, Kaminari continues on with each of his words stinging like small splinters wedged under his skin. It's not like he hasn't done this before, helped one of his friends hook up with the object of his desire, but you – you're different. He likes you. 'Personally, I'd say try your luck with Kirishima first if you're not up for handling a bit of a brat, Bakugo can be -.'

'Kaminari -.'

'And Mina! Well, Mina's...'

'Kaminari, I don't want any of them.'

Kaminari tenses. No. Don't do that. He doesn't want you to fan the flames, doesn't think he can take being swallowed alive by that fire tonight. The tone that lifts from his tongue is sharp, cracking like a whip between you. 'I said you don't have to do that -.'

It only makes you smile. 'Denki...' You coo. Then, when he tucks his chin to his chest, you lift it with a finger and force him to look: to see.

'Baby.'

'Huh?'

'I said.' You keep hold of his chin and make him watch your mouth as you speak, enunciating every word as clearly as you can. 'I don't want any of them...'

'Oh...' He nods despite having not digested any of your words. Until... His jaw drops, mouth rounding. 'Oh.'

The tip of his nose has pinkened, glowing soft in the dim lights of the club and his eyes are shining, golden half-moons bright as they flicker subconsciously from your eyes to your lips and then back again.

Cocking your head, you chuckle. 'You can't really expect me to buy that you don't know when you're being hit on?'

'I – Women don't usually...' He trails off as embarrassment coils low in his gut. Once upon a time, he'd fancied himself a ladies man, but by the end of high-school he'd been made aware that promiscuity was simply a dream for him. He'd been the last to lose his virginity and even then, he's pretty sure Camie fucked him out of pity. A familiar swirl of uneasiness whips around his stomach as the ever-present tendrils of insecurity wiggle and twist. 'I mean – Have you seen my friends?'

You snort, refusing to give him an inch. 'Have you seen yourself?'

You laugh and Kaminari thinks he'll never have to listen to music again. 'I don't – I'm not.'

Shaking your head, you press a finger to his lips and smirk. 'Mr. If I hear one more stupid thing fall out of your mouth I'm gonna have to kiss it.'

He chuffs before he's able to stop it, one million dull insults swelling in his chest. He never was good at saying the right thing and people have always been too keen to point it out. 'Gonna be kissing me a lot then.'

'Yeah?' A pleasant warmth spreads through your chest at the thought of stealing multiple of his kisses. It makes your shoulders tight and your stomach feel light.

Kaminari nods. 'They don't call me Dunce Face for -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. Just as you'd promised. It's a soft thing, a barely-there graze of lips, but he reels back from it almost breath-taken. Reaching up, you play with a strand of blond falling from his fringe and wait, patiently for his brain to catch up with the situation. Truth be told, you've had your eye on Kaminari for a while, but when even your blatant flirting at the last squad BBQ hadn't been enough to convince him of your interest, you'd decided to take more divisive measures.

An airy chuckle breaks Kaminari's lips. 'I might have to say stupid stuff more often, because – mmhmph.'

You kiss him again.

'I don't just get kisses when I say something stupid though, do I -.'

And again.

This time, he lets himself sink. He's still not really sure what's going on. Maybe one of the others put you up to this, to make this night one to remember – but, as your mouth migrates from his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and neck, he struggles to dwell on whatever scheme has lead to him being here. A dull pressure slips easily up his thigh, skating over the ripped denim of his jeans until he can feel your fingers curl at the join of his thigh. Spit sticks in his throat, his hands instinctively reaching out to touch, to curl around your arm and hip. 'I -.' He reels back with a heaving chest. The words tumbling from his mouth before he can catch them. 'I can't – don't – I don't want...'

You flinch back as if burnt.

The absence of your body crowding against his makes his entire chest feel cold, but he pushes on, tripping over his thoughts as he goes. 'I – fuck – Okay. So I think, I think you're... I think you're so fucking pretty, like wow, like holy shit you're – you're incredible, okay, but I don't... I can't, if you...' He looks down, then back up at where Sero is standing at the bar.

The other man looks at him, cocks an eyebrow and smirks, just enough to still seem nonchalant.

'If you're looking for a one night stand or something, then – then you're better off taking Sero home.' Squeezing an eye shut, he braces for impact – ignoring the pain that flares in his chest when he thinks of you slipping back out of the booth. He's gotten a taste now. He's not sure how he's supposed to ever forget about that.

'Kaminari, you fucking moron.' You blink and shake your head, ignoring the flittering anger that bubbles steady in your chest.

'Huh?' Cocking his head, Kaminari is almost wounded by the idea that – should he not feel as though he's just stumbled into something remarkably more serious – he'd be getting a kiss for whatever idiocy has just fallen out of his mouth.

You shove him. 'Who said I was just trying to fuck you – you -.'

'But -.'

'Do I really need to say it out loud? Do you want me to write it down? Text it to you?'

Kaminari feels something close to panic flood his veins as he watches disbelief wash clean over your features. 'I don't – When...'

'I could not have been any more obvious. I was practically falling over you at the barbecue. Kirishima's mums wouldn't stop saying how much of a cute couple we where...' Shaking your head, you widen your eyes and shout even louder over the music. '… You went along with it! I asked you to be my date to Bakugo's fucking award show last fucking week... I thought you -' A dizziness plants itself at the base of your skull. Honestly, you'd thought you'd been playing the long game. Convincing him of his worthiness, of your interest, but now... Now you're starting to think all of that energy might have gone to waste.

Kaminari blinks. 'You weren't just...' He swallows as something squirms in his stomach. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd misunderstood someone's intentions. Fuck, his and Momo's entire friendship is built off of the fact that he thought she'd been flirting with him and not just adopting him as some kind of awkward best-friend, who she could gossip with and put make-up on when she got bored. That had been one Hell of an awkward conversation. He can still remember how sweet she'd been when he'd slipped a hand onto her knee, how she'd cooed at him and apologised for giving him the wrong impression. It had been humiliating. Even if he did manage to swing a pretty amazing friend out of it.

'Just what?'

'Just being nice.'

You shake your head, still somewhat perplexed. 'No, Denki, I'm not just being nice. You ever see me pull that shit with anyone else?'

It feels as though someone has just doused gasoline onto the fire in his chest. Hope wraps itself around his lungs and squeezes until he has no other option other than to haul in a shallow breath. 'No.'

Huffing, you chew on your lip and fix him with a stare, eyebrows raising on your forehead. 'Exactly, and if I have my way, I'll be one Hell of a lot nicer.'

With his tongue stuck to the basin of his mouth, Kaminari summons the strength to mutter a soft: 'Really?' Already his body has broken out in a chill. Anticipation uses his spine as a ladder, causing the muscle of his back to tense and straighten his posture.

'Mmmhmm.' Leaning forward, you plant your elbows on the table and push your tits together. You don't miss how his Adam's apple bobs, or the way he finds himself unable to drag his eyes back up from your cleavage. 'So... You gonna let me be nicer to you, Kaminari?'

'It's – it's a bit of a mess, I – uh...'

You barely allow Kaminari to shut the door before you have him pressed against it. Your hands reach out to cup his face, fingers touching soft as they curl around the back of his neck and thread softly into the hair at the base of his skull. 'I don't care that you haven't cleaned up, Denki.'

He chuckles, disbelief and excitement mixing together in the basin of his throat as he his hands ball to fists at his sides. Static fills his joints. There's so much energy bubbling up inside of him that he doesn't quite know what to do with it. It zips through him, paralysing and energising in equal measure as he loses himself to your touch.

'I...' Swallowing, he leans forward until his forehead touches against yours. It grounds him, combines with the dull scratching of your nails on his scalp and lets him breathe. 'I really – Fuck, I can't believe this is happening.'

You laugh, eyes fluttering shut for a second as you bask in his gaze. You're not sure if he knows he's doing it, but Kaminari looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing in the world. Large, luminescent irises highlight his adoration, spotlighting every inch of you as his eyes flicker from yours, to your lips, to the dip of your collarbones. 'Yeah...' You huff. 'Well best start believing.'

It's a messy stumble to his bedroom, a mix of uncoordinated limbs and hot, open-mouthed kisses. His hands are everywhere and greedy, grabbing at anything he can: the small of your back, your waist, your ass.

'Oh, shit...' He mumbles against your lips, already drunk and pulls back just enough to catch your eye. 'Is that...' Licking his lips he raises a hand to his own mouth and tests the stickiness there. 'Is that strawberry?'

Nodding, you subconsciously let your tongue dart out to taste. The gloss is barely tacky, almost gone from Denki's assault. Instead, you can see it on his lips – the faint shimmering of pale pink that glitters in the low light. If you kissed him again now, you're sure you'd be able to taste it too.

'It's nice.' He chuckles, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

Humming, you wrap a palm around the back of his neck and pull him in close, feeling his breath on your cheeks. 'Yeah?' It feels juvenile, getting butterflies over the evidence of your kiss, but there's no denying the pins and needles that perforate the insides of your lungs.

'Yeah....' There's a smile tugging at his lip. The steadily darkening of his cheeks suits him, makes the cool gold in his eyes stand out, alive and clear, against the burning plain of his features. What starts out as a small fire ignited on the high of his cheek bones is soon scorched earth across much of his nose, reaching to the peak of his chin. The joy makes him look boyish. Distractingly handsome as he erupts into another foray of half-digested laughter.

Leaning in, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and taste strawberries. It mixes with something harsher, the spirit he had been so easily tipping down his throat back in the club; but underneath the tart and fruit mixture all you can taste is undeniably: him.

It's a stray trainer and the edge of Denki's oddly coloured purple mattress that is your eventual undoing. You'd been too lost in each other to notice that the slow push of small steps backwards had run it's course, leaving little room for anything other than a fall.

You go down hard.

Denki hits the mattress first, his back concave, arms stretching up to pull you close before you'd even managed to feel the bite of the connection. He reaches up, brushing his fingers across your cheeks as if to check for injuries he knows you don't have.

'Isn't this the part where you ask me if it hurt when I fell?' You have to purse your lips to stop yourself from laughing, but it doesn't work.

The noise is infectious, making him break out too. 'I don't know about you, but it fucking hurt me.'

Kissing his nose, you carefully spread your legs to bracket his hips and push up, until you can hover over him with your hands denting the mattress at either side of his head. 'Always knew you'd fall for me, eventually.'

He rolls his eyes, but blushes deeper. Cupping your chin, he rubs a thumb across your jaw. 'I never thought you'd fall too, though.'

'Less of that.' Sitting up, you playfully slap at his shoulder before letting your hands skate down the sides of his arms. When you reach his wrists, you take hold of him and list, encouraging his palms to find a place on your thighs. Shivering at his touch, you swallow a smile.

'Touch me.'

As soon as the hold on his wrists loosens, his hands start to shake. Left to his own devices he finds himself torn, eyes eating away greedily at your body as he decides just where to lay his hands first. 'Can I...' His voice shakes, nerves soaking into the back of his tongue as he hooks a finger around the top of your dress. 'Can I take this off?'

Rolling your shoulders, you nod. You can feel the flex of his stomach muscles underneath you as he curls himself into a half-crunch to reach you. His hands skate across your shoulders, fingers catching on the thin material of the straps as he gently, slowly, encourages them down your arms.

There's something caught in his throat as he watches the material slide. It slinks down your skin, stretching around the width of your shoulders before coming back together when you pinch your elbows in towards your core.

You let the material bunch around your waist, exposing your chest to the air as you perch In his lap. Already, the cold has your nipples pebbling, rising to the air as the faint buzz of arousal continues to make a mockery of your nervous system.

'Sh – Shit.' He breathes. His hands twitch into the air automatically, rising to hover over the ruched material of your dress. There's a desperation in his fingertips, a burning itch that has his ligaments twitching as he attempts to commit every inch of your body to memory.

'Hey...' Huffing air out of your nose, you press your palms to his. His fingers slot between yours easily, allowing you to squeeze tightly once before retracting your touch. Tensing your fingers, you don't have to encourage him much before he's taking a firm hold of your chest and smoothing his thumbs across the apex of your tits.

A shaky breath bullies it's way from Kaminari's mouth, the dull click of his throat audible as he swallows down the groan vibrating through his chest. 'You're... Why're you, so – so soft?..'

You chuckle, the noise bouncing your chest in his hands as he continues to slowly explore your skin. 'I moisturise.'

At that, a laugh breaks through the lull. It's full bodied and high, a giggle born from pure amusement that makes the apples of his cheeks glow. 'Yeah?'

'Yeah...' You repeat and take his hands once more, encouraging him to take a rougher grip of you. ''m soft here.' Pressing his palms up, you let your chest spill into his hands, but before he can even think about taking a hold of you, you're moving him on. '...And here.'

Next, you skate his hands down your sides making him feel the swell of your curves as your waist gives way to the shape of your hips. 'But...' Biting your lip, you hook your thumbs below his palms and lift, forcing him to venture across the bunched material of your dress until you can nestle one of his hands against your thigh and the other, square over the mound of your cunt. 'I think I'm the softest here.'

Denki moans. Even through the sheer lace of your underwear he can feel how wet you are. It warms the pad of his thumb, making his skin tingle as he presses just so against the raw bud of your clit.

You jolt, even the gentle touch of his thumb making your cunt clench with anticipation. Humming under your breath, you let go of his hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. 'Off... C'mon, it's not fair.' You're whining now, hips moving in the smallest circles you can manage against his stationary pressure.

'Hmm?' Mesmerised by your sudden neediness, he has to shake his head to bring his brain back online for long enough to process your request; but as soon as he does, he's sitting up and almost unseating you in his haste to get rid of his shirt. He yanks at the back of the material, hoisting it over his head and tossing it as far as he can manage. Curling his spine, he blinks up at you with hazy golden eyes and offers you an expectant smile. It twitches the corner of his mouth, pulling his lips into an expression that almost shows his teeth.

'That better?'

You nod and lift your hands to his shoulders. His skin, now bare, is warm under your palms. The lean muscle tangled over his bones is firm and yet, soft; moving delicately under your touch with each of his unsteady inhales. Your eyes eat at him greedily, at the surprising broadness of his shoulders, the cleft of his chest and the neat rolls of his stomach as he bends.

Shifting, he feels chews on the edge of his lip. 'W- What?'

'Nothing...' You smile, pulling your eyes back up to his. 'Just looking at you.'

'Why?'

Lifting a hand, you smooth your knuckles down his cheek. 'Because you're pretty...'

He blushes. Bright red blooms on the tips of his cheek bones and runs like a river down his face until almost his entire chest is flushed.

'… And,' you smirk. 'I think you're going to look even prettier when you're inside me.'

A strangled whimper leaves his throat. It catches behind his Adam's apple, clicking audibly in the new dull silence of the room. His hands lift, fingers digging crescents into the fat of your thighs as he tries to stop his hips from rutting up and into the softness of your cunt.

'You like the idea of that?' Using your thumb, you pull down his lip, exposing gum. 'Like the idea of being inside of me. You wanna fill me up, huh?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Y – Yeah. Fuck, yeah... Wanna, wanna fuck you.' His grip tightens, eyes unable to be torn away from yours. Grinding down, he shifts his ass further into the mattress, trying and failing to slink away from your heat.

'Good boy.' You kiss him softly, letting him whine into your mouth, but before he can lurch forward and deepen the kiss, you're pulling back and shimmying off of his lap.

For a moment, he attempts to move with you. His head follows, lips still pursed and searching even as you almost clear his knees, but all too soon there's the obvious indents of your fingers in his chest stopping him.

Your hands fiddle with the button of his jeans, making quick work until you're able to slip your hands under the waistband. 'Lift your hips.'

He does, complying easily as you rid him of the offending material. Resting himself on his elbows, he watches as you drop the clothing off the end of the bed and lean back just enough to snake your way out of your dress. He licks his lips. Your body twists, exposing the rough curves of your hips as you shimmy to reposition yourself on the bed. The plush fat of your breast swaying, nipples flat in a way that makes him want to taste them, to feel them plump on his tongue.

Holding onto the small amount of cognition that he still possesses, he uses it to drink in the sight of you perching over his hips.

Lowering yourself onto your elbows at either side of pelvis, you feel your skin prickle under his gaze. Burning suns threaten to scorch your skin as he devours you, eyes everywhere, committing even your most unattractive details to memory. It makes you feel exposed, vulnerable and powerful, having him so captivated without even a touch. Shivering against his gaze, you dip your head and, while keeping your eyes on his, lick a long, thick stripe across the hardness straining against his boxers.

It's like he's just been shocked. Two million vaults course up through his legs with a violence that makes his eyes roll. His cock twitches, jumping against your touch even as you pull away. 'Not... Fuck, that's not fair.'

'No?' You cock your head and purse your lips, pressing the softest of kisses to his covered head.

'No: fuck.' Stretching out his shoulders, he tries to loosen the tension quickly building in his stomach. The last thing he wants is to paint the insides of his boxers and become the latest laughing stock of your friends. Clamping shut his eyes, he breathes deep, but his breathe is stolen again too soon when he feels your tongue press hard against his cock again. Reaching down, he catches hold of the front of your throat.

'That's not going to make me stop, baby.' You laugh, lowering your head again and pushing your throat against his palm. 'If anything, it's going to make me tease you more.'

The rough pads of his fingers dig in for a moment, half-crescents threatening to mark your throat as he tests his grip before releasing you. Rocking his head back onto the pillow, he feels the elastic of his boxers pull from his hips and slip until it's nestled below his balls.

As soon as it's released from its confines, Denki's cock snaps back against his stomach. It's a pretty thing. Slight in it's length, with a girth that is comfortable enough to sit perfectly in your palm and a soft rose to the skin; just looking at him makes you want to swallow him down. His head is darker, a deep red where it peaks from underneath his foreskin and weeps pearled white over his shaft where it races its way to the thick copse of dirty blonde hair that gathers around the base. Wrapping your lips around the tip, you suck ever so softly.

Denki whimpers. Reaching up, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the onslaught of stimulus threatening to reduce him to a premature end. His breath stutters in his chest, caught somewhere underneath his diaphragm as he feels your tongue slip over his head and inch beneath the stretch of his foreskin.

Moaning, you bob slowly on his cock swallowing barely an inch before he's pushing his ass into the mattress and trying to scramble away.

'Shit. Hang on, hang on...' Hand shooting down, he grips the base of his cock with an almost bruising pressure while still wriggling backwards. 'Don't wanna... I don't -.' His breath comes out in pants, his chest caving in with each shaky inhale as he prays for his body not to betray him.

'Are you okay?' Wiping your lip, you sit up and cock your head. You're about to reach for him voice dripping with concern when he peaks open an eye to stare at you.

A dull laugh skips from his tongue when he takes in the confusion lacing your features, allowing him enough air to splutter out a broken: 'Was... Fuck, wasn't going to last.'

'I barely touched you -.'

'Guess I just find you that hot, huh?' With his pulse steadying, he chances a steady stroke of his cock gathering both pre-cum and spit in the twist of his fist. 'You, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?'

Settling back over his hips, you reach for the hand not wrapped around his cock and interlace your fingers before guiding him to your hip. It takes a simple hook of your finger before the heat of your cunt is exposed, underwear unceremoniously tugged aside to allow you to reposition Denki's hand beneath you. 'You have no idea, either.'

The first grind of your cunt across his knuckles has him sucking in breath. Each bone catches against your clit, coating him in your arousal as soft moans begin to leak from your mouth. It makes his stomach twist, his cock twitching in his hand as he feels your need grow large enough to match his own. 'I – I think I'm getting one.'

'Yeah?'

'Yeah.' He swallows. The edges of his vision swim, growing blurry as he struggles to comprehend you grinding on his hand and soaking his lap. Even with the tension still around the base of his cock, he can feel it twitch in his hand, desperate to feel the sweet recess of your cunt. 'I'm... Fuck, I'm not gonna...'

You cock your head, a smile playing at your lip as he trips over his words. 'C'mon, use your words.'

Groaning, he rocks his head back on his shoulders before fixing you with a needy gaze. He speaks quickly, with barely a breath between words as if there isn't even enough time for him to finish his sentence. 'If... Fuck, if you're serious about wanting to sit on my cock, you're going to have to do it soon because just looking at you has me nearly -.'

You cut him off with a kiss. It's immediately deep, needy in its pace and leaves both of you panting when you finally pull away. Resting your nose against his, you whisper into the slither of space between you. 'You want me to fuck you, baby?'

He nods.

'Words.'

'Fuck, yeah. Yeah. I want you – shit, want you so bad.' Twisting his palm, he uses his thumb to gently tap at the hood of your clit. With each subtle moan he earns from your chest, his taps become longer, harsher, causing you to bite your lip and grind down onto him.

Nodding, you cover his hand with yours to inch him away. A smile twitches at the corner of your mouth as he whimpers, chest hollowing at the idea of being parted from you for even a moment.

Leaning forward, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before reaching between your own thighs and taking hold of his cock.

He releases himself as soon as he feels your fingers close around his shaft. His cock pulses, twitching into your hold as you give him a single cursory stroke, spreading the pre-cum leaking down over his skin from tip to root. Flicking your eyes back up to his, you feel the dull thrum of arousal beating in your cunt as you watch his lips drop open even with the little friction you've allowed him. 'Look at you... You're almost as wet as me.'

A blush blooms high on his cheeks, his eyes blowing almost black; turning his eyes into a solar eclipse. His mouth moves, but the words stick in his throat – leaving nothing but a moan able to escape as he nods in agreement.

Wiggling your hips, you shift back and line him up. You're dripping, skin shining with slick as you slowly, slowly, lower yourself down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hands clamp solid around your waist. His eyes roll back, eyelids fluttering as he huffs. You feel divine, hot and wet and squeezing him so tightly that it's hard for him to focus. The edges of his vision blur, his head swimming even though you've barely taken an inch of him. 'Shit, shit... Fuck -.'

'You feel so good.' You finish his sentence for him. His cock forces you to stretch around him, opening you up as you continue to sink down onto him. It's a mild presence, but one that manages to press up on every single nerve inside of you making you want to cry out. Your thighs shake, hands reaching forward to splay over his chest to steady yourself as you finally bottom him out. The nest of blond pubic hair at his base tickles against your clit, causing you to gasp and roll your hips, searching for more.

'I -.' Trying to pull his head from the pillow, Denki stares through the haze of his eyes. 'I'm not gonna last.' His grip tightens on your waist, a new desperation crawling into his voice as he almost whispers... 'Wanna – fuck, wanna make you feel good though.'

'Yeah?' Lifting yourself, you sink back down onto him with ease and shiver against the flare of pleasure that twists your stomach up into knots.

'Please...' Denki's throat is raw, tightening around his plea.

Desperation fills his chest as he watches the point at which you're joined. His eyes fixate on it. On where your body stretches for him, cunt open and drooling as you take him with ease; the flushed bud of your clit twitching each time you manage to impale yourself just right. 'Please...' He tries again, voice still warbling. 'Please, cum on my cock. Please – I wanna, wanna see, wanna feel – please...'

You chuckle, lifting one of your hands from his wrists to stroke your knuckles down his cheek. 'Look at you, begging so pretty...'

'Please -.'

Nodding, you straighten up and roll your shoulders back. For a moment you stay still, letting the taught pleasure simmer inside you until it settles. Your cunt has slicked his skin, making the soft rose flesh shine in the low light of his bedroom. The sight does something funny to your stomach, making it twist and bubble. Clenching your hands, you beckon him to hold you.

There's something impossibly grounding about the way you lace your fingers with his. His palms face upwards, providing a platform for you to press against and he's forced to tense his biceps as you use him as leverage to bounce. 'Oh, shit.' Pleasure flares through his body like wild-fire, making him cling to your hands and his clamp shut his eyes.

'Look at me.' Your voice is soft, although, if he were to listen close, he'd be able to hear a similar desperation to the one that infests his own. 'D-Denki, look at me.'

He obeys immediately. His gaze is hazy. His focus shattered as he looks from your eyes, to your lips, to where your cunt swallows him and back again.

'Want you to watch.' You whisper, causing his eyes to widen.

Nodding, he lifts his hips, fucking up into you just enough to have you teetering on the edge of bliss. He can feel it, how close you are. It's in the tightness, in the way your cunt squeezes him and pulses. You look like a vision, your skin flushed, with sweat beginning to dew along the line of your collarbones and your eyebrows drawn up making your features stretch with pleasure. His heart stutters in his chest, betraying the swirling emotions that threaten to make this mean a whole lot more than just sex.

''m close.' You stutter over your words, so close to your own end that you can almost taste it, but it isn't until you see the soft mouthing of Kaminari's continued begging that you finally feel yourself hit free-fall. His eyes are glued to yours, making you feel observed and worshipped all at once as the entirety of your body lights up like a sparkler.

Kaminari has seen a lot of great things in his middling twenty-seven years on this planet, but watching you come undone on top of him drops itself clear at the top. Ignoring his own nearing end, he attempts to commit every inch of you to memory as he feels you tumble over the end, once and for all.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Your cunt pulses, thighs and stomach tensing violently as each wave of pleasure threatens to black out your vision. With each ebb, another dull thrust of Kaminari's cock brings back that same crashing pleasure. You're not sure if you cry out, not sure if you call his name – your ears are full of static, your eyes clouded as you remain air born into bliss.

'Did -.' Swallowing around the spit pooled in his mouth, Kaminari still can't pull his eyes away from you. 'Did I do good? Did I?'

Coming back to your body feels strange. There's a lightness in your bones and a burn in your muscles that screams satisfaction, but that still doesn't stop the fire churning in your stomach once your eyes clear enough to see him. He's close to tears, flushed and needy with his hips still grinding up unable to stop as your cunt continues to milk him. Biting into your lip, you reduce yourself to your elbows beside his head and press your chest to his. 'Cum for me... Want you to use me.'

There's no need to tell him twice. Electricity flashes in his eyes as he lifts himself enough to plant his feet square on the mattress and begin fucking up into you. It's desperate, the pace he sets, as is the series of moans that leak from his mouth as he loses himself to the feel of your cunt. 'Feels, fuck – fuck.'

'That's it, baby.' You coo, pressing an uncoordinated kiss just south of his mouth. Overstimulation bites at your insides making your stomach tense as his cock continues to press square over your G-spot, but there's no mistaking the hum of pleasure it continues to force through your body.

It takes barely a handful of stuttering thrusts before there's a gasping 'Where... Fuck, tell me where now Princess, or I'm gonna -.'

'Inside.' You moan, the idea alone making your mind reel. 'Please, fuck. Cum inside me, please.'

'Yeah...' He nods, huffing. 'Yeah, shit, okay.' His hands find their way down to the small of your back when he cums. His palms spread there, pressing down to ensure he's as deep as possible when he finally begins to fill you. Thick and white, he spills inside you, his cock pulsing as he quakes through the last of his orgasm.

Lifting your head, you blink at him as he slowly comes back to himself. There's a warmth floating in your stomach and a subtle ache in your muscles that you're sure will only feel better in the morning, but that matters a lot less when you lock eyes with him again.

He blinks, disbelief and joy mixing on his features as he mumbles: 'You let me cum inside you.'

'I did.'

'You -.'

'Yeah.'

'Holy shit.'

'You liked it?'

'No-one has never, no-one has...'

You hum and lean in to press only the softest of kisses to his cheek. ''m glad I did. You did so well...' Sitting up, you let your hands roam over your stomach and the fat that lives there. 'Filled me so good.'

Many things flicker through his mind then, none of them savoury. The way you're sat, straight with a subtle curve to your spine, makes your stomach stick out slightly. So much so, that if he where to squint and let his mind wander, he could almost believe that you were... Kaminari's cock twitches.

'Are you getting hard again?' You cock an eyebrow.

He swallows. 'Maybe?'

'Because of?..'

This time, he has the decency to blush, but he doesn't dare lie. He nods, biting down on his lower lip. 'I think I just discovered a new kink?'

'Hmm.' Purring, you rock your hips against him and feel his cock give another valiant twitch. 'Maybe you should breed me again, just to make sure it took, then?'

Kaminari short circuits. His eyes shimmer in the dark, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest as he tries to calm himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders just what the Hell he did to ever catch your eye.

'Would you like that?'

Sitting up, he wraps his arms around you before twisting and tossing you back to the mattress. He looms over you, an elbow beside your shoulder as his other hand travels down your body and graces the mound of your cunt to play with your clit. Lingering there for a moment, he slips lower and collects the spend that has leaked from you with his fingers before gently pushing it back inside you. 'Yeah...'

Curling his fingers, he makes you arc off the bed as he rubs at your G-spot. 'I'd like that a lot.'

Denki rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. There's a pleasant ache in his limbs when he stretches his arms above his head, his toes pointing underneath the duvet as he rocks his head back on his pillow.

His movement jostles you, causing you to open your eyes and squint against his smile.

'You're still here.' He beams.

You respond as if it's obvious, as if there wasn't any remote possibility of you leaving in the middle of the night. 'I am.' Wriggling closer to him, you ignore the dampness still lingering between your thighs from an entire night spent together and lift your leg over his knee.

It still feels surreal as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and uses his thumb to stroke at the skin there, carving unknowable shapes into your muscle. He's longed for this, for you, for longer than he can remember and yet, if he had only seen past his own insecurity... Who knows how long he could have indulged in your body for? How long he could have made you moan and made you breakfast and seen what you looked like at seven in the morning when the sun was in your eyes?

'So, do you believe me now?' You blink at him and smile, resting your head against the turn of his collarbone.

'What?'

Running a finger down the cleft of his chest, you tap out a tune against his sternum. 'That I only want you, silly.'

There's no evidence of yesterday's former ignorance lingering on his features when he stares back at you, only the something close to happiness and the faint shimmer of mischief. 'Eh...' Taking your hand from his chest, he lifts it to his mouth and presses a series of kisses across your knuckles.

The gesture makes you giggle, but before you can lose yourself to his sweetness, he's twisting your hand and pressing your palm to his skin once more. You let him guide you, letting him encourage you down over his chest and past his stomach. You let him push onward, even when you already know exactly where he's heading.

'I think I might need more evidence.' He mumbles as your fingers slip through his pubic hair and make his skin tingle. Already his cock his half hard and swelling fast, just at the mere thought of your hand wrapping around it.

'Yeah, you think so, huh?' Biting your lip, you wait until the breath catches in the back of his throat to stop his onward march.

He swallows.

Sitting up on an elbow, you tilt your head and press a kiss to his mouth, before whispering against his lips. 'Then, maybe my mouth will be better at convincing you...'

-> Masterlist

[celestial-kit]

katsuki comes home as you're switching the clothes to the dryer.

when he sees you shuffling down the hallway, he slumps back against the door, too exhausted to meet you half-way. his voice is low, gravelly, when he calls out, "hey."

"hey, yourself," you beam at him when he widens his stance so that you can stand between his legs, wrap your arms around his narrow waist.

the tip of his nose looks red and a little raw, and the high-points of his cheeks are a bit too pink. there's also a hilariously obvious outline of the mask he wears, the jagged edges that sit underneath his eyes.

his hair is damp and his skin shiny, but he still smells like summer; the sunshine he couldn't wash off.

you can't help but laugh at his little sunburn. "does it hurt?"

he shakes his head, but watches the hand you raise warily. "it's gonna if you touch it."

"i won't," you promise, though his eyes narrow like he doesn't believe you. "unless you want me to put aloe on it."

"nah," katsuki blinks heavily, leaning his head back to rest against the door as he peeks at you through his lashes. the tips of his fingers ghost along the outside of your thighs, before his hands intertwine at the small of your back to tug you that little bit closer. "it'll be fine."

the longer you grin at him, the deeper the crease between his eyebrows gets, until he looks like he's getting ready to bite you. you gently run a finger underneath your own eye. "y'know that it's—"

"yeah," he rolls his eyes, ornery, "i know."

"i'm just saying that it's cute!" you laugh again as he pushes up from the door, still holding you firmly in place as he begins to drag you further into the house. some nonsense noise comes out of your mouth as your socks slip across the hardwood, as you cling to his shoulders.

"yeah," he repeats, a grin splitting his face when he smacks your ass once. "whatever."

and katsuki certainly doesn't care about the twisted look you give him, doesn't hardly see it, before he's pressing his mouth to yours.

[celestial-kit]

this is just. a mess. of sad boy katsuki LOL angsty. not meant to be a sad ending. on this account because i will probably do a little more with it.

"alright, jus' sayin',"

katsuki looks up from the label of his beer, how it's peeling back from the glass with all his anxious fiddling, only to fix kaminari with a heated glare that has the blonde raising his hands in surrender.

"between me and you, she thinks you're not interested."

—and his stomach drops. considerably.

this entire night has been a bust, just as he knew it would be, and if he wasn't so sure that walking out would ruin any and all chances with you then he'd be long gone. filing himself down into something likeable has never been katsuki's strong suit; there's a wicked resentment the size of a wild little blonde boy, one that thrives on being as stubborn as possible in times like these.

kaminari whispers loudly, concealing nothing within the hand he cups around his lips. "you gotta make your move, dude!"

and if the doors to the women's restroom hadn't swung open at that exact moment, then there would have been only tatters left of the sparky little shit. katsuki leans back in their shared booth, wiping the threat of his hands off on his pants before tucking into his shoulder; what little bit of alcohol is in his system already has his face hot, and kaminari's subtlety is only furthering his flush.

it's hell, how aware of you he is.

before moving to acknowledge your return, already he can smell that you've reapplied your perfume—something spicy and dark that has his stomach tightening with a desire he doesn't know what to do with—and upon looking at you, all your features are sharper, brighter. remade, maybe, and the dreary tone of his thoughts has him wondering if he's caused the need, that had you wiping tears from your face because he's a fucking idiot.

you look — katsuki doesn't know the words, because they're too fragile and light for his vocabulary, too soft for his bite, for someone like him to hold; the only comparison he can make is to a dream, how you look in all of his.

but still — he finds himself leaning back into the corner, averting his eyes back down to the wood grain as he traces patternless shapes into the table. the heat of your attention makes his cheeks burn and his stomach flux; isn't it obvious, how nervous you make him? katsuki's sure you must be able to see right through the passive facade he's been trying to front all night. that he's been trying to keep up since he met you.

the blue light of your phone glows in his peripheral vision and when he dares a peek, your lips are in a thin line, withdrawn, before you look up to stare at jirou across the table — who just so happens to receive a chiming notification.

talking about him, most likely. how fucking bad he is at this, which is why he never should have agreed to coming out in the first fucking place. should have just kept his interest in you to himself, all in his head where you were safe and out of reach.

"i'm ready to go." ears says it while openly glaring at him, not softening her attitude in the slightest. denki shrinks, eyes jumping to the ceiling as he loudly slurps on his frilly drink. "do you think you can handle getting your date home, bakugou?"

it sounds an awful lot like a challenge and his jaw locks, nostrils flaring as he withholds from flipping the whole table on her. if it weren't for you being in his way, at the end of the booth, he'd be long fucking gone—

"oh, no, that's okay," your voice is soft when you speak up. defeated, almost, and all his annoyance fizzles out at the absence of a smile on your face. "the train station isn't far. don't worry about it."

and that sounds like doubt, so he grits out, "i can handle it," teeth grinding when ears rolls her eyes. something gets mumbled under her breath and denki pales and you take enough of a hint to step out of the booth, eyes on the ground as he shuffles past.

it's not until everyone is outside that you even say anything, hugging jirou too long, whispering in a too-low tone meant just for her. whatever it is earns you a sympathy that makes your eyes shine, and katsuki has to turn away before all the yeast and sugar brewing in his stomach comes back up. if he's made you fucking cry, then he'll never—

"sorry that we dragged you out," you've caught up quicker than he expected and finally, finally, you smile at him — but it's dim, and katsuki knows it's due to more than just a busted streetlamp. looks twice as heavy as it was when you first spotted him tonight, going so far as to leave your seat in order to meet him at the door, only to have him shy away from the hug you'd tried to offer.

a car blows by with the wind and katsuki feels the hands of time ticking away from him; how many nights has he laid awake, wondering what it would feel like to have you? just to touch, just to hold. all for himself.

and now he's fucking up his only chance.

what he should tell you is that he's been looking forward to this night all week, that he spent way too long picking out his clothes and fucking with his hair, that he even broke into whatever designer-brand cologne his old man got him last christmas.

but instead he shrugs, stares at the snow flurries collecting on your shoulder and mumbles, "wouldn't have come if i didn't wanna."

it's not the answer either of you were looking for, but it placates you some, enough that the smile on your face lifts with sincerity. katsuki loses himself in its curve and the apple of your cheeks, how cozy you look all bundled up for the winter; his stomach drops, hard, at the inescapable fact of just — how pretty you are, looking at him like that. intrigued, even after the failure tonight has been.

the hope in his chest thins out and he's taken back to your first meeting, at some show of ears'; intrigued then, too, but you were blind to the ugliness of his insecurities, his indecision. back then you didn't know that it would be like this, that he wouldn't be able to open himself up even a little fucking bit—

"i'm really glad you did," you say, raw and unafraid. "i like spending time with you, y'know?"

and what katsuki should say is that he likes spending time with you, too. enjoyed it since that first night, sitting far down the table from you, snickering to himself at the sharp-witted sarcasm sparkplug was constantly on the receiving end of. funny is a trait he doesn't find often, not in just anybody, and you're loved by the people closest to him and you don't know who he is or who he was and it's like a new beginning; katsuki can be whoever he wants to be, with you, and not just the worn remnants of an angry, vengeful child soldier and yet he's just — fucking it up.

"sorry," you laugh once to break the silence that's found its way back to the two of you, twisting your lips to one side so that the corners won't fall. "ah, i'm being so weird, huh? sorry."

"no, you—" his teeth grind as he thinks, hurried, though it seems like the harder he searches for the words, the faster they slip away. "it's—"

"i keep telling kyouka that she definitely read this wrong," the soles of your shoes scratch across the sidewalk and he thinks you've finally decided to abandon him, but you're just staring up at the high-rise buildings of downtown. blinking heavy, anywhere but here. "maybe now she'll finally get off my case about this."

this: him and his inability, his unwavering fear of coming up short. it's been a long time since he's had to meet someone new, had to hook them and keep them. all the shits in his inner circle planted themselves there against his will; katsuki doesn't know how to try, because he's never had to, not at this. there are very — very — few people whose approval he's ever needed, and wanting for it has never been anything short of painful.

it's okay, he tells himself — but it's toshinori's voice that echoes. it's okay to let people in.

another car goes by, another minute wasted; katsuki grunts, digging his fingers into his eyelids before frowning at you. at the zipper on your jacket, so he doesn't have to witness your disappointment any longer. "'s'why they need to stay the hell out of my business." his discomfort dissolves into irritation and makes itself known in his voice and in his scowl, the way everything does. "then shit like this wouldn't have to fuckin'—"

"it's okay, bakugou, really." you offer a wooden smile, the kind you have to hang up with nails. "you should head home, i don't want to keep you out any longer."

"i already told you i wouldn't—" the edge of his temper flares, reins coming loose. "if i didn't wanna be here, then—"

"seriously," you interrupt, "i'm a big girl, it's fine if you're not interested."

"that's not—" the snap of his teeth rattles his jaw, a muzzle over a wild animal; the bakugou he doesn't want you to meet is making his way out, ill-tempered and too sensitive for his own good. "there's no—fuck. look, i ain't stupid enough to believe that dunce face doesn't tell his little girlfriend every goddamn thing i say about you, so no, ears didn't read shit wrong."

(but maybe this is the only way to get the words out.)

katsuki sighs and steps back, inhaling the harsh december air until his lungs hurt. it's the most he's spoken all night and it's become the hardest thing he's had to say. "i just—don't—fuckin' know."

how to fix this. how to keep you. how to let the cracks in his foundation spread, until they're wide enough to slip past.

quietly, you nod, as if you could possibly understand the disaster of him. as if maybe you'd want to. headlights shine in the city-sheen of your eyes and his heart throbs, literally; how many times has he stared into nothing, wishing to know what it felt like to have you look at him like he was something more than he is? something better?

"what is it you don't know about?"

what he wants. how this will end. the depth this scar will wear into him. and— "you."

finally, finally, you smile at him again and it's as soft as you are warm. as safe as you are terrifying.

"do you want to? know about me?"

and what he should say is yes. what he wants to say is teach him, please, because if he has to go another night wondering if he really is better off behind his walls, he'll crumble. collapse back into himself. if he keeps looking at you as the battle and not the victory, then he'll never survive.

—but instead another car passes, and only silence follows in its wake.

[celestial-kit]

warnings : fem reader, smut (mdni), established relationship, post timeskip, they're guests at a wedding, mentions of alcohol and drinking (characters are not drunk/tipsy during smut), spooning position, allusions to overstimulation, kei is very sweet but still kei

word count : 0.6k

Kei is convinced it was the dress. And maybe the wine. 

The sparkling alcoholic beverage was one of those delicacies only an overly-stressed bride-to-be could have discovered after sifting through two-hundred other options. It was the kind that was dark and bubbly, a little sweet as it went cooly down Kei’s throat, leaving notes of fresh grapes on his tongue. It was so smooth and such an easy drink that it was no surprise to anyone but himself when one glass turned to three and there were suddenly three empty wedding-wine glasses in front of him and a delightfully light buzzing in his head. 

And then there was you. You who already causes Kei to be hornier than he’s ever been in his entire life. You in that dress–a dress that somehow managed to be sweet and sexy and straight out of one of Kei’s unknown wet dreams, apparently–made him feel insatiable. 

After a few hours of socializing and dancing and congratulating the bride and groom five-hundred times, the delightful buzz from the alcohol had disappeared, having all but been replaced by a hot, impatient feeling to have you all to himself. 

It was one of those fancier weddings where the venue had rooms for rent exclusively for the wedding guests. As soon as he was able, Kei was leaning down to press his lips to your ear, breath hot and heavy and cock feeling the same as he stated simply, “Wanna fuck you.”

And now, though the wine had long left his system hours previously, a feeling of buzzing and pent-up energy still filled him, because he had your naked body pressed up against his chest.

“There you go…” Kei murmurs against your ear as you take him again, and if his eyes weren’t half-closed in hazy pleasure, they would have rolled to the back of his head at the sensation of your sweet cunt pulling his cock back in. 

Even after having gone two rounds, you’re still so good and ready for him, and the notion makes a warmth swell in his chest. 

“Kei–” you moan sweetly, hand wrapping around Kei’s wrist. He keeps his arms steady around you–one under your neck to support the spooning position, the other pressed taut against your chest. He likes to feel the plushness of your breasts move as he fucks you from behind like this. 

He can’t help but drop his head to the back of your neck at the sudden feeling of your cunt clenching around him, a fresh feeling of your slick coating down to the base of his cock causing his hips to stutter. Pressing deep inside, Kei circles his hips against your ass, letting out a broken sound at the way you immediately push back on him. 

“I know,” he coos, almost teasingly sweet, in your ear. He nips at it, losing himself in the feeling of your wrist tightening around his hand when he uses it to tilt your face closer to his. “Know it’s a lot, but you’re takin’ me so good. Feel that?” 

He murmurs this all against your lips, staying barely a centimeter apart to feel the warmth of your quickened breathing against his mouth. He feels your desperation heighten in the way your eyes flit to his lips, pleading, hooded with desire, and he smirks. 

“Yeah, I feel it. I feel it, Kei,” you say back, all breathless and panting in the way that he loves. 

As a reward, Kei begins fucking into you a bit deeper, his hand moving from keeping your chin in place to pressing two fingers against your clit. 

In the morning, wrapped up in a haze of soft white sheets and still happily in bliss from the numerous rounds, you’ll ask Kei what in the world had gotten into him that night. 

He’ll say it was definitely the dress. 

[celestial-kit]

your knees threaten to buckle when katsuki groans into your ear.

it's low and weak, trapped behind the sudden gnash of his teeth in a strained attempt to keep quiet, but you can feel the weight of it in his throat when he swallows, how it echoes in his chest. something primal in your gut coils tighter, in response.

his arm shoots out over your shoulder to steady himself, a mirror image of your own; hand splayed against the dusty, closet wall so that you won't rock into the old and unused fax machine he's got you pressed up against, thus crying out to the entire floor what the two of you are doing.

you think that the rhythm of his hips will falter and fade, just for a moment, to offer you the chance to better find your footing in such a cramped space — but he doesn't, not in the slightest. instead one hand tightens on your waist, your bare skin giving in beneath the sink of his fingertips.

katsuki's frustrated; he must be, because he's never been so careless.

not that you're exactly complaining. not that you could, even if you wanted to.

in the dark like this, you can forget the world outside even exists; you're floating in a sacred limbo, katsuki panting, wet and warm, into the skin of your neck, as if he wants you to absorb it and him together. his lips glide up to the soft spot behind your ear, nose teasing your hair, and you can feel the part of them, can feel his teeth sink into his bottom lip when you tighten around him, suddenly, at the intimacy.

there is only he and you and the wet-hot way he carves himself into your heat, how he buries himself into your core over and over and over again. you're full of him, dizzy with him, too aware of his every twitch and tremor, the pulse of the veins that run along the hard length of him.

the storage closet is damp with the smell of sweat and sex, and you like it, the rawness of it and him. the hurried tempo, the slick sound of his hips slapping against your ass spurns you on and curls you further, mindless and uncaring to the grit beneath your hands and the dust that's sticking to your skin.

you arch your back and seal your lips together, trying, as katsuki's heels leave the floor, a rush of air huffing from his nose every time he digs deeper in. a gentle "fuck!" escapes you, but it's caught between the creak of the fax machine when you're pounded against it one, two, three times before he's reaffirming his stance, his hand coming to press into your soft stomach, keeping you as close as he can.

for a moment, there's hardly any space between you; he ruts faster when your thighs shake, as you're caught up in him and only him, the dull ache between your legs that has your eyes rolling. you reach back for him blindly and he snatches your hand up right away, lacing his fingers between yours before bringing them back to your belly.

it's so terribly sweet admist this elicit frenzy that your heart soars, leaping fully over the edge as tears sting the back of your eyes—

and then you're both flooded in light.

you cringe from it on instinct, suddenly nailed back inside your own frame as something heavy and sick swells at your spine. when you turn to the now open door, you meet a pair of vaguely familiar eyes, for a split second, before katsuki is ripping away from you.

"—just fucking stand there, dumbass!" he barks, shoving the figure back out into the hall before returning the two of you to darkness.

the shake in your legs spreads, upward to your hands and shoulders and even your lip, as anxiety cools the sweat against your skin.

"fuck," katsuki murmurs, and you blink, trying to make him out. you hear the shuffle of his sweatpants, the snap of his boxers, and swallow down your shame. furiously, you yank your skirt back up and begin to button your blouse, struggling with unsteady hands, when you feel katsuki's against your back. "i don't think he saw anything."

"yes, he did!" you erupt, turning from him so suddenly that you can feel your own edge. "he looked right fucking at me!"

"no he—it's...dark in here, he probably didn't see—"

"yes, he did, katsuki!" the sting returns to the back of your eyes, sharper this time. "god, fuck!"

"don't—it's fine, alright?" his hand curls around your arm, refusing to let go when you try to flinch away. you can almost hear his heartbeat in his chest, and the warmth of his breath when he moves in closer. "i'll handle it, it's fine."

but you shake your head, pressing your lips together now so that they won't wobble. shame sits hot in your throat, unwilling to dissipate. everyone will find out about this, you think, bitter and worried, everyone will attest your promotion to this, anything you do in this office—

"hey," katsuki grunts, frown now visible. "'m serious."

"no," you groan, covering your face with your hands until he tugs them down. "i'm serious, i could lose my job for this."

"as if i would let that fuckin' happen."

"people will talk about me," your bottom lip quivers and he sighs, fiddling with a button you missed in all your haste.

"no, 'm—c'mon," he murmurs, pulling you away from the tattle-tale of a fax machine, directing you for the door even though your feet feel like they’re made of lead. "just go back to work and 'm gonna handle this, alright?"

when you don't say anything, he stops you, right in front of the precipice. his thumb traces your bottom lip then, soft and tender, before you feel the press of his mouth to yours. it calms you down some with how sweet and chaste it is, a comfort he knows you need.

"'m gonna handle it," he repeats, sighing again as you frown. "and...come by, you know, before you leave."

you don't think that's a good idea, now, but his hand drags down your arm and his fingers brush with your own and — you don't think you could deny him if you tried.

light blinds you again, suddenly, and you both stare at the maintenance worker as he looks up at the ugly twist of katsuki's face in horror. before he has a chance to say anything, he is grabbed by the back of the shirt and steered down the hall, in the direction of katsuki’s office while being told, "we need to have a fuckin' chat."

you watch them go, thankful for the last soft-eyed look you’re given before katsuki is rounding the corner, and then you're turning on your heel, heading back to your cubicle.

— hoping the smell of sex and shame aren't following behind.

[celestial-kit]

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[celestial-kit]

katsuki jumps, startlingly, when you rub a hand up his back.

he's leaned too far down, bent over the counter at an angle that will give him an ache he'll complain about later, and his head whips up as you come to stand beside him. an e-mail on his phone is what previously had his full attention, but now he looks at you, eyes softening as you lean into his shoulder.

he's never been a very touchy guy. even after a year into your relationship, it's most often you reaching for his hand as you walk down the street; you pressing a kiss into his cheek while watching a movie on the couch; you running a hand through his hair as his breath steadies out beside you in bed.

it's not something you really complain about. you know how he is, knew before anything developed between the two of you, and you can't say it's a deal-breaker. there's little you know about his previous relationships or if he even had any, but you have the painful-gut feeling that affection just isn't something he's used to.

you press a smile into the sleeve of his shirt and his spine relaxes under your hand, finds that awful curve again. he watches you like he's waiting for something, tracing the tender details of your face.

"love you," you say, because do and you want to voice it aloud, put it into his mind even though you know he knows. as expected, his lips flatten into a wavering little line, shy suddenly, and your teeth wet the fabric of his shirt when you smile.

all you get is a little grunt in response and he dips his chin down in a wordless nod, accepting your lovey-dovey assault. it makes him feel a little helpless, you know, but you bring up an arm to wrap around him as he turns back to his phone, ears pink.

katsuki straightens with a dull pop!, stretching his arms up and allowing you to shuffle closer, so that your head is resting on his chest. you press your ear to it and wait, eyes closed, until the heavy promise of his heartbeat echoes like a drum in your ear. it's loud, and after a moment, your own falls into sync, right where it belongs.

"'s'wrong?"

"hm?" you glance up at him, the frown on his pink face, before breathing in the clean scent of his laundry soap. your laundry soap. and then you shake your head. "nothin'. just missed you."

"been home all day."

"i know," you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut again. the sound of his phone locking clicks and you can feel the slight down-slide of his sweatpants when he pockets it. "sometimes i miss you even though you're right here."

you expect — something; another grunt or laugh through his nose, a raspy little noise that voices his confusion. things like this can be hard for him; you know how he is, knew before anything ever developed between the two of you — but you don't think it makes him any less deserving.

katsuki steps back from you a little, and you feel the hesitant rise of his arm before you feel it. his hand comes up to your face — pink and scarred in your peripheral vision — and he tilts your head up, waits until you open your eyes.

when you do, it looks as if a million things are running through his head. his poker-face is good, it has to be, but you can see little bits of his vulnerability shining through. you wonder how long it's been since he showed it to anybody. he almost looks sad.

katsuki squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker, and his frown deepens when you laugh. "y're so...damn weird."

that's along the lines of what you were anticipating: one of his teasing little insults, warm with a fire he's still learning how to kindle. you don't get the chance to say anything before he's kissing you, eyes shut tight, lashes brushing against your own.

you expect something soft, because affection is a fickle thing, from him — but his hand never falls from your face and his tongue is sliding with yours suddenly, a heated gesture that throws your heart out of whack. you let him kiss you as deeply as he can, until your back arches painfully backward over the counter as he leans into you.

when he pulls away, his lips are a little swollen and his cheeks are burning, as he presses one into yours. "i—jus'—" katsuki tries and then abandons it, a hand curling into the material of your shirt. "i get it." he murmurs, there, into the heated skin of your face, heart beating in time with yours.

things like this are hard with him — but he makes them so, so worth it.

[celestial-kit]

angsty to begin with bc i love to talk about fighting with bakugou LOL but it gets lighter, i promise 💕✨️

you can track katsuki's heated discovery through his footsteps.

the front door closes harshly enough that the house trembles, echoing down your spine at his arrival; it feels sudden, now, though—looking at the clock—you've been waiting for hours. his day has no doubt been just as tumultuous as yours, but his resounding frustration—both new and old—bleeds through the walls all too well.

it means something that he doesn't take off his boots; what's always been regarded as a criminal offense now bares his impatience, reveals how full his mind is of the things he needs to say. underneath the comforter, your toes curl, heart thudding heavy as his heels as he lumbers for the bedroom.

—only to come up empty.

an indistinguishable curse shoots from his mouth, across the house. first murmured and then chanted over and over again as he tears down the hall and back into the living room. you've left your shoes out for this reason, as well as a plate in the sink and a candle burning on the end table beside the couch.

you're still here; you want him to know that.

it's silent long enough for you to realize you're holding your breath, straining to hear his every move. your cheeks are salted with tears—both new and old—and you wipe at them cautiously, as if such a movement could give you away; it's not that you want to stay hidden, but you're nervous for what will unfold, when he finds you.

not because you're afraid of him, never of him, but—you just don't want to fight anymore.

the door to the guest room is thrown open suddenly, with an urgency that makes your heart pound and your eyes snap shut.

katsuki smells like work, strongly; sweet and musky like sweat; a once-roaring campfire; evidence of the city—smog and fried food and some amalgamation of strangers—soaked into the fabric of his hero clothes. you sniff once, wet and distracted, and it gives you away instantly.

the sound makes him sigh, though from relief or annoyance, you can't tell. maybe both. a weight he's placed on your chest dares to lighten as he shuffles closer, no doubt dragging mud across the carpet, and the warmth of his body so close is all too alluring; you peek up at him once he sits at your side, but he's just leaning his elbows onto his knees, staring at the wall.

"guess you're sleepin' in here, then."

this bed lacks the indentation you've worn into katsuki's mattress, but the comfort of it wouldn't help you to sleep anyway. not after today. after all that's been said.

your voice is very small when you speak, tip-toeing. "yeah, i think i will."

he shakes his head like you're being ridiculous, and you try not to let the action prod your still tender wounds. a harsh hand runs over his face and through his hair, tugging off the mask that had been buried there. it dangles loosely between his fingers as he fiddles with it, keeping his eyes from you as long as he can.

"y'want me to stay in here too?"

you don't. it's the whole reason you moved your pillow into the guestroom to begin with and you think he should know that, but he's still—trying. a fresh frog develops in your throat at the sentiment; it's always the softer side or katsuki that packs the heavier punch.

a weighted silence settles in the space between you, the words sour in your mouth. for a brief and tense moment, you wonder if you can get away with not saying it, without having to reject him—but then he peeks at you over his shoulder, all smoldering embers. waiting.

"that's okay," you offer a weak smile in an attempt to soften the blow. "you can have the room tonight."

katsuki rears, resisting with a huff. "well, i don't have to. and you—we can—y'don't have to sleep alone."

still trying; you can hear it in his voice, well-hidden beneath his exasperation, a slight tremble born from the fear that you'll leave him in an empty bed. so far removed from the tone used with you this morning.

you can still see his face when you close your eyes: how red it gets, the vein in his neck that swells with blood when he's yelling, lips curled like he's so angry he could spit. the argument hadn't started on any serious note, but you had something to say and so did he, and it went on and on until you were fighting less about the subject matter and more about each other. rights and wrongs that had been left unattended for too long, that had begun to fester.

it's not like you were particularly soft-spoken either, but—like most things, with katsuki—you didn't stand a chance against him.

"i know, but," you bite your lip and lose your words, settling for a shrug that only serves to annoy him further.

"fine," he grumbles, shooting up from the mattress to storm out of the room. "whatever. goodnight."

the door follows closely behind him, banging against the frame with less force than it could have, though the silence he leaves behind feels just as painful. you roll onto your back to wipe at the fresh wave of tears that pool in your eyes, groaning quietly into the emptiness.

fighting with katsuki isn't the hardest part. making up is.

it took long enough for him to place his heart comfortably in your hands, to reach the point where he felt safe enough to share his feelings with you, but his trepidations lie in wait; any sort of rejection when he's already so vulnerable is liable to have him locking his every last door.

and you know he doesn't mean it; it's instinctual, a defense mechanism he's kept in place all his life. retreating away to hide, when he's sorry and asking for absolution, is the safest route for him.

when you're finally done pawing at your eyes, the shower sounds from down the hall and you imagine him in there, head bowed under the violently hot water, trying to wash his frustrations away. his skin is always so pink and tender when he gets out, and you feel a pang of loneliness at what you'll miss in a bed without him. for tonight, all you have to hold is the idea of him, and you listen closely to the stream as if it will offer something more.

it runs for long enough that you begin to forge an excuse to go in and check on him, but just as you start to justify it, the water shuts off. you feel thwarted—though it was a silly plan—and the hope of getting to see him for one final time tonight crashes, has tears welling up again.

but before they can spill over, a soft knock sounds at the door.

you turn away despite wanting for him, and answer. "yeah?"

the door creaks, room warming with him in it. katsuki doesn't say anything until you finally roll over to look at him, his hair damp and flat, forehead resting against the wood as he watches you from the corner of his eye. head bowed, like a scolded child.

"'ve got...shit to do with my old man tomorrow." he murmurs. "but i should be back by lunch."

even if you are at odds, another bout of loneliness grows at the thought of waiting, sitting in the house without him. "okay, thank you for letting me know."

just barely are you able to make out the shift of his eyes down to the carpet, the growing frown on his face before he groans quietly to himself. when he stands properly, you admire the soft curve of his muscles, his shoulders, as he crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"goodnight," he tells you again, nicer this time. you whisper it in return and there's some finality, for the night; his jaw cocks and his head shakes again, like he can't stand this shit. you know he can't. katsuki squeezes his eyes shut tight and when he fixes them on you, they are full and sad, but he doesn't look away. not this time. "y'know...that i love you, right?"

your restraint buckles, nearly slipping through your hands, and you sit up to catch it. more than anything, you want to open your arms and allow him into this bed with you, the way you always do, but your sore heart stops the words from forming.

instead you tell him, quietly, seriously, "and i love you too, katsuki."

his frown only deepens and he turns with a heavy sigh, dragging the door gently behind him.

katsuki's all might mug is waiting on the edge of the counter the next morning, still steaming.

for you, because he doesn't drink coffee, and when you step up to it, you can tell by the color that he's added too much cream. the gesture makes you smile regardless, softening aches and pains from the night before.

he doesn't say anything when you sit at the bar counter, doesn't look up either, just continues putting away whatever he's used to make his protein shake. you can see the tension still lining his every move, the bob of his adam's apple as he swallows hard and ducks his head and acts like you don't exist here at the end of the kitchen, waiting.

twice he walks by without saying anything, busying himself with a backpack sitting by the couch. he spends a few minutes staring into the hall closet before grabbing a jacket you haven't seen him wear in months, and then he sets it with his other things and strides back to the kitchen and—has to face you.

the shadows under his eyes are dark and heavy, like he didn't get much more sleep than you did.

"shouldn't take me all morning," he speaks softly, like he would to a newborn. so, so far from how he spoke to you yesterday. "if y'need somethin' while i'm out, just—" call him, he means, though he trails off with a shrug.

"okay," you nod and sip your coffee, accepting his olive branch. "i will, thank you."

katsuki chews on his lip before finally returning to the living room to gather his things, and he waits until your back is to him before speaking again. "unless you don't want me to go." he huffs, like he's already frustrated. "i can stay and we can...figure all this shit out."

"no," you shake your head and swivel around to frown at him. "no, you should go spend time with your dad. we can talk later."

"'s not a big deal if i cancel, i can call him right now if you want me to stay."

"no, katsuki, i wouldn't want you to do that." your brow furrows and the knot that gets stuck in his throat is almost visible, as his gaze shifts to the wall beside you, avoidant. "i think it'd be good if we—"

"fuck, if you want me to get out, just say so."

"no, that's not—" the irritation you felt yesterday wakes once more and your stomach twists at the fear that this will devolve into another screaming match. your already thin patience snaps, echoes like the ceramic of your mug against the counter when you set it down. "i'm not saying that. at all. i just don't think you should cancel on your dad if you've already made plans. you said yourself it's not gonna take all morning, so we'll talk after."

"well," he scoffs, indignant, throwing his arms up in the air like he's exasperated—but you don't miss the slight wobble of his chin, how long it takes him to sound out his own words. "you even gonna be here when i get back?"

"well, yeah, honey, where else would i—"

"'m not gonna come home 'n—" he waves a hand, clearing his throat as he forces himself to stare at the ceiling. "'n all your shit's gonna be gone?"

you deflate instantly, watching the sharp work of his jaw until he's having to blink rapidly, over and over again as his eyes gleam. the bar stool scrapes across the floor with an ugly sound as you slip out of it, and katsuki only throws you one brief, bloodshot glance before you bury your face into his chest.

still on guard, his arms don't move, don't come to wrap around you—but you can feel the small huff that leaves his chest. the tip of his nose as it dips into your hair.

with your cheek to his chest like this, all you can hear is the rapid-fire beat of his heavy heart. "i would never just leave you like that." all you get is a half-shrug in response, voice to fragile to sound. "i'm—we had a fight, but i still love you, katsuki."

he shrugs again and shakes his head, staring glassy-eyed at his cabinets when you look up at him. "well...'m sorry."

"i know," you murmur, nuzzling your cheek into him again. in your hands, his heart is heavy, and your own mirrors its ache; has he always been like this, expecting the worst? or is this a wound suffered from another? you squeeze him a little tighter, until his breath hitches. "and i forgive you, but my feelings are still a hurt and i just need...some time, you know?"

now his walls crumble, as he finally wraps an arm around your neck so that he can press his face into your hair. "...how much time?"

you want to laugh at his impatience, the little brat that's still at his core, but you can't fault him. not when you're just as eager to leave this fight behind. to wrap him up in all the warmth you can offer. "i don't know, half a morning, maybe."

and he doesn’t say anything for a long time, as he waits for his voice to stand on its own again. even then, it's quiet, small. "...okay."

"i'm going to love you forever and ever and ever." you promise, offering him your loveliest smile when he swallows hard. "even when you don't want me to." the longer his eyes linger on your cheeks, the pinker his own get, and you can't help yourself; you stand on your tip-toes, happily, now, and wrap your arms around his neck. "can i have a kiss, please?"

katsuki scoffs, though it's lighter now, before pressing his lips to yours, softer than you expected. even though it's chaste and simple, he stays there with his eyes shut tight, like he doesn't want to ever leave. you have to pull back, because your lips start to curl and you want to laugh at him, so pliable and sweet, but he chases you, plants two more before frowning at your giggling.

"y'r a dumbass," he murmurs, and when you gasp, he throws his arm around your neck and yanks you into his chest again. the heat on his face is palpable, as he tries to tuck his vulnerability in your hair. "'m always..." katsuki tries, cutting himself off with a sharp sigh. "g'nna want this, so don't be thinkin' otherwise. ever."

you hum into him, pliable, too. melted down to his same temperature; warm, tender. you pull away to place a kiss on his cheek, more on his lips until they quirk up the slightest bit. satisfied. "i won't if you won't."

[celestial-kit]

chapter one: the cabin in the woods

of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: angst, making out, pining

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: 6.3k

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: here we go (again!) i really hope you enjoy this the second time around ♡ if you find any instances of reader "blushing" pls let me know! there were so many and i am one woman 😵‍💫

It's been a semester and a half at UUA, and all of the "young professionals" in the Hero Course have been worked to the bone; both academically and physically. 

You glance around the clearing and beyond at the massive fir and cedar and redwoods softly illuminated by the flaming fire not ten feet from your boots, up at the moon shining so vividly amongst the stars in the blackened sky. 

Just up the main trail behind you is the mansion of a log cabin the lot of you are staying in, and honestly, you just wanna slip back inside and snuggle up in your futon. 

This training camp was supposed to round up the semester by way of bettering the students and letting them enjoy the college experience, all in the seclusion of the most expensive log cabin on the most densely wooded mountain the universtiy could afford. 

However… you're not really feeling it.

This first night has everyone gathered around the campfire, Ochako and Mina toasting marshmallows, while everyone else listens with baited breath as All Might tells one of his never-before-heard stories about his early heroic endeavours. 

Turns out sometimes being a hero can be disgusting work. He says he smelt like rotten flesh for days afterwards.

You sit between Shouto and Kaminari on your long log seat, Momo on Shouto’s other side and Kyoka on Kaminari’s. It doesn’t bother you that Kaminari and Kyoka are getting cosy beside you, but the other two… that’s a blow you were half expecting. For too long you’d harboured secret feelings for Shouto Todoroki, and the past year he’d made it painfully clear he was into Momo.

You're ecstatic, though; Aizawa brought beer.

“Don’t tell your mom.” He warns you, cracking it open and handing it to you.

“What, like I'm not 22 years old?" You scoff, taking it with a grin and a roll of your eyes.

"Don't need the board knowing I'm actively supplying my students— the next generation of heroes— with contraband."

"Is there heroin in this beer?"

"Your smart mouth's gonna get you in trouble one of these days." 

"Or…" You flutter your lashes overdramatically. "Out of it?"

"Get outta my sight." He grunts, nose wrinkled, waving you away. 

You decide against returning to your previous spot; sure, no one is kissing or getting handsy, but it’s still awkward on your behalf. Sandwiched between two couples? No thanks. 

The only space open is between Bakugo and Sero, so that's where you set your sights. 

“Tastes gross.” You mumble, shuffling closer to Sero, butting in on his conversation with Sato.

“What were you expecting?” He laughs, elbowing you gently in the side, nursing his own can.

“Ah, something easier to drink.” You laugh, taking another mouthful with a scowl before noticing the slender bottle in the bigger man's hand. "What's that?"

Sato's eyes widen a smidge before guit takes over. "Hm? Vodka… cranberry?"

"Swap with me!" You huff, accusatory, practically leaning over Sero to get to him. 

"Not a chance, grumpy." Sero places his whole hand over your face and pushes you back. 

"'m not gr'mpy!" You manage to get out. 

Sero and Sato tease you mercilessly, until the conversation somehow shifts to Shouto and Momo across the campfire. Slyly, you eject yourself from their gossip, leaning away from them and glancing over to Bakugo, who’s watching Izuku sit down next to Ochako. 

You watch for a bit, too, notice how she builds him a s'more and practically shoves it down his throat. She's got hearts in her eyes, for sure, and he's more than happy to humour her. 

Bakugo’s expression— something you can only equate to longing— hurts your heart a little, makes you glance back over to Shouto and Momo.

They're laughing, and he's sat his varsity jacket over her shoulders like some kind of claiming ritual. 

“Let’s go for a walk.” You finish your can, crush it, melt it down in your hands with your quirk, and toss it into the fire. “Bakugo.” You say a little louder when he doesn’t move.

“Talkin’ to me, shitface?” He hisses, not even moving to look at you.

“Yes, asshole. Come on.” You stand, hands on hips expectantly. Surprisingly, he stands. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and steps over the log you were sharing with the other two, you follow suit.

“Where are you going?” Aizawa asks, voice just loud enough to stop conversation.

“For a walk, professor.” You sigh. “I promise I’ll protect your precious Katsuki from harm if we happen to cross any.”

“Fuck you, bitch.” Bakugo hisses venomously.

“Okay, don’t get lost! The trees here are thickly packed.” All Might waves, opening a can of soda and taking a long drink.

“Sure, professor. C’mon, idiot.” You mumble, walking past him and into the thick of the trees, following a barely there dirt path.

When you’re far enough away from the fire, the laughing and canoodling, he stops. “Why the fuck are we out here?” He asks gruffly, glancing up at the glowing moon through the trees.

"Just think we needed to get away from it all."

"Speak for your damn self, loser." He scoffs. 

"You didn't exactly look like you were having a blast either." You glare, annoyed. 

"I was fine."

"Liar!" You accuse, a little louder than you shouldve, getting into his personal space. You take a deep breath, calm your fraying nerves. "You were giving Ochako the goo-goo eyes and she was givin' em to Deku."

“The fuck I was!” He hisses, pushing you back against a tree with a handful of your sweater.

You raise your hands in surrender, glance down at his fist bunched at your chest. “You were! And it’s… okay, but she’s not… she… she loves Deku, right?” You probe, gently. His nostrils flare and you think he’s gonna punch you, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t like her, she’s just… she’s nice, okay?” He admits, stepping back from you; you smooth down your shirt. “Not like you and fucking Halfie.”

Anger flares in your chest and heat emanates from your clenched fists. “Don’t act like I’m some lovesick loser.”

“Aren’t you?” He asks almost softly, crimson eyes narrowing, trying to decipher your expression.

Your heart throbs, and your anger deflates. 

“I don’t know.” You whine, run a hand down your face. “Fuck.”

“And what? You think we’re the same, so we can have a heart to fucking heart about it and support each other? What kinda fucking crap is that?” He resumes his hunched standing, kicks a stone.

“No, I…” What were you expecting? “Ugh, I don’t even know.”

You always could be yourself around Bakugo, really let loose. He doesn't take your shit, and you don't take his. You wouldn’t say you’re friends, but you and Eijiro were the only ones not to be frightened off by his explosive exterior, back in high school, and even now at University.

“Let’s just walk then. C’mon.” He’s exasperated, but he’s inviting you to stay with him, so you do.

And hey, no name calling. Things are looking up.

You wind through trees, hot on his heels, until you get to a clearing with a pond; moon and stars shining on its surface. Bakugo sits on a boulder, looks up at the sky. You find your own seat, cross your legs on the grassy edge of the pond.

“I don’t get him, ya know? I mean, you’d be perfect, right? Someone to always train with, an equal.” He’s meeting your gaze when you turn to look at him, confused. “You’re fucking flame resistant, and you’ve shown on multiple occasions that you can melt his shitty ice.”

“So, he should find me sexually attractive?” You raise a brow at him, lean back on your hands.

“You’re not the ugliest person in class.” He rolls his eyes.

“And you’re so charming.” You say melodramatically, falling back into the grass, hands behind your head, eyes finding those stars again.

“I guess if it were me picking outta you and the nerd, I’d rather you.” He shrugs, picking up at stone and throwing it into the water with a plop.

“If you want me to say I’d pick you over Izuku, you’re gonna have to bribe me.” You mumble, and he actually laughs—not full blown laughter, but definitely a throaty chuckle. Bakugo is hot, no doubt, but his attitude sucks ass; this side of him… it’s different. Rare.

You cast a sideways glance at him, admire the bone structure of his face in the moonlight. It accentuates his scowl. He's wearing that orange beanie one of his fangirls decorated him for his 21st birthday; she'd cross stitched the kanji of his hero name on the front with his signature explosion headpiece bordering it. 

Honestly, it's really cool, and a lot of the other guys were super jealous, but that's not something you're willing to tell him. It's never a good idea to stroke Bakugo's ego. 

You both stay there for a long time, Bakugo tossing stones, you overthinking. What was it about her? What was it with Momo? She may be a femme fatale in every aspect but personality, but the fact that she's a really genuine person only makes you feel worse. She's honestly flawless, and Shouto could only be so lucky. 

And you. You need to get over it.

“C’mon, let’s go back.” Bakugo sighs, standing and stretching. When you don’t move, he stands over you, scowling and pouting. “You told Aizawa you’d protect me.”

And you laugh then, at the bizarreness of the situation, at the look on his face, his soft words. He holds his hand out and you take it.

“I suppose I could use a bath.” You sigh, and he pulls you up with a little too much force. You smack right into his chest, palm splayed, and he grabs your hip with his free hand to steady you. “Sorry,” You whisper, unnervingly close to him. He makes a sound from deep in his chest, you cough, step away from him. He glances away.

“This way.” He mumbles, and you realise he hasn’t called you anything offensive for at least half an hour.

Aizawa and All Might are the only people left at the dying fire when you return, and you wonder how long you’ve really been gone.

“Goin’ to bed.” Bakugo mumbles, pushing past you and towards the house. Aizawa and All Might watch him leave, then both sets of eyes are on you.

“Young Shouto asked us to wait up for you.” All Might says, taking a can from the cooler box. Orange soda. For some reason, it makes you angry. If he cared so much, he would have waited himself.

Aizawa can see your mind ticking, yet he stays quiet.

“Well, sorry, then. For making you both wait up.” You mumble, stifle a yawn. “See you at breakfast.”

All Might calls a goodnight, and you’re repeating his sentence in your head like a crazy person as you walk away.

Young Todoroki asked us to wait up for you.

Young Todoroki asked us to wait up for you.

Young Todoroki asked us to wait up for you.

Young Todoroki asked us to wait up for you.

Your chest tightens up and you clench your teeth, an overwhelming sadness washing over you. Your feet crunch on gravel and tears well in your eyes. You sniff, rub your face and make it to the wooden steps of the cabin before collapsing in a heap on them.

You tell yourself it’s the alcohol making you so dramatic. You tell yourself you’re just tired. But nothing works, tears run down your cheeks, slow and fat and full of heartache. 

A hard hand lands on your shoulder and you hide your face in your hands. “You’re stronger than this, idiot.” Bakugo grumbles, falling to sit next to you.

“Go… a—away.” You sob helplessly, trying your hardest to stay quiet.

“Fucking hell.” He says under his breath, and he just sits there with you for a while as you cry, let it all out.

He huffs a sigh from his nose, and a hand wraps around your shoulder, forcing you down into his lap. His hand doesn’t leave your arm, he gently rubs it, uses the fingers of his other hand to pry your hands from your face.

“Seriously,” He frowns, and you finally look up at him, eyes wet and puffy. “Use that fucking brain of yours.” He scolds, but he’s not as harsh as he usually is. “He. Ain’t. Worth. It.” He drills into you, poking your forehead with each syllable.

You sit up, wipe your eyes, frown at him. “I can't… I can't help it.”

The front door creaks open, and you both turn to see Ochako standing there with a phone light shining at you, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She gasps when she sees the state of you, and you turn away to hide your face.

“Bakugo, leave her alone.” She gasps, jumping to her own conclusions.

“Wha—” He starts, but you cut him off.

“No, Ochako, it—it’s just me. I…” You take a deep breath, glance over at Bakugo’s offended expression. “I had way too much beer.” You manage, forcing a laugh. “This asshole’s actually helping me.” You say with the best chuckle you can muster, wiping the remains of your tears.

“Oh.” Her eyes jump between you and him, then fall to the floor. “Well, don’t stay up too late, hm?” She smiles tightly, turning and heading back inside. She closes the door softly.

“Fuck.” You breathe, falling back down into his lap. He bristles. “What, the tears stop, and I can’t use your lap anymore?” His hands grab your shoulders, sit you back up.

“Yes.” He glares. “My compassion has limits.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, I’m sorry you had to waste it on me.”

“I didn’t waste it on you, you stinkin’ turd.” He folds his arms, eyes narrowing at you.

For some reason, you have the overwhelming urge to either deck him or kiss him. Your own frown grows on your face, uncomfortable with the idea of the latter. “Go to bed, Bakugo, I’m fine.”

“No, you go. Last time I left your drunk ass alone, you came back cryin’.” But there’s no malice, and it’s confusing because this is Bakugo, the angriest guy you’ve ever met.

And for the second time tonight you’re thinking he’s actually incredibly good looking under that scowl he wears, and he’s… caring? He must see your mind ticking, because he stands up, holds out a hand for you to take, which you do; you’re fascinated by how small your hand is in his, then he lets go, practically pushes you up the steps.

“Go to sleep.” He grinds out, as you tumble up to the door. You glance back at him— arms crossed, scowling pout— and forget why you were crying in the first place.

“G’night, Bakugo.” You smile, gently open the door and slink inside.

+

In the morning you remember. You remember Momo’s hand on Shouto’s knee, the smiles on their faces, the jacket around her shoulders.

It’s entirely too early to be up, but you throw on your running gear and sneak out of the girls' room. There’s a 10k track that Aizawa made you all run yesterday, so you take that.

It’s a cold morning—so cold that you feel it in your lungs— but it doesn’t take long for you to heat up. You could use your quirk, but where’s the normality in that? The track takes you up the mountain, and you breathe in the scenery, stop at the halfway point to overlook the ocean. The sun’s rising against the water, and you can’t hold back a gasp at the sight.

It's gorgeous, and kinda puts into perspective how wide the world is outside of the UUA bubble.  

When you get back, almost everyone’s bleary eyed, drinking hot chocolate and coffee and tea around the dying embers of last night’s fire.

Tsuyu calls your nickname. “Come have a hot drink.” She’s sitting next to Momo, who’s sitting with Shouto. Your chest tightens at the sight of them, barely an inch of space between them.

“You really should have woken me!” Iida sighs in disappointment, stealing your attention. He’s between Deku and Ochako, they both wince at the sheer volume of his talking voice so early in the morning. “Putting us all to shame.”

Shouto stands up, heads over to you with an extra mug. “Here,” he holds it out to you. But you’re sweaty, and overwhelmed with the sight of him. His eyes stare into your soul, expression unreadable.

“Thanks, Shou.” You smile, hold up a hand. “I just really need a shower.” You chuckle and turn towards the house. “I’ll be back in a bit!” And jog off.

You think about how it looks, you running away at the campfire, turning down his offer of whatever he was drinking —tea, probably— and running again. All through school you’d been the fire to his ice, but since he’d embraced his fire, he’d stepped away from you; out of your reach completely.

In the house, you gather your clothes, a towel and head towards the communal showers. You really need to stop dwelling on him. His rare smile and handsome face.

The contrast of his hair, his eyes, the strength in his jaw and the way he's filled out with age. 

Seriously.

Stop.

Then you do stop. Everyone’s outside, you can use the onsen.

A smile cracks your face. With the bath being the only one on the premises, Aizawa had given the group strict times on when they can and can’t bathe. Girls first, then boys. 7:30-8:00pm and 8:00-8:30pm, respectively.

He didn’t say anything about mornings.

You wash off in the shower, wrap yourself in your towel and head out— shivering— down the pebbled path, to the bamboo encased rock pool, the steam rising high in the cool morning air. Stones and boulders are built up at the far end of the pool, a waterfall flowing from the top.

Just as you’re about to untuck your towel, you hear Bakugo’s rough voice. “Oi! Don’t fucking think about it!” He growls, his head and shoulders emerging from the steam, finger pointing accusingly at you.

You squeal. “Why aren’t you with the group?” And then you’re aware of how much skin you’re showing, cheeks heating in embarrassment.

“I missed out on bathing last night, because of some blubbering idiot.” He growls, but his cheeks are pink, and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan your legs. You feel warmer.

“Right, well,” you take a deep breath. “I missed out, too.” You say boldly, meeting his eyes. His eyebrow quirks when he realises what you mean, but he says nothing. “So, turn around, asshole, or you’re gonna get an eyeful.” You step towards the bath, untuck your towel and hold it in place.

“Wha— you’re fucking wired, you know that?” He hisses, sinks into the steam and turns around. You swiftly drop your towel, step down into the water. It’s hot, almost too hot, but you love it.

“Ah, it’s good.” You moan, leaning against the edge of the pool. You can’t even see Bakugo through the steam.

He says something, but you don’t hear him over the splashing of the waterfall.

“What?” You call, and he says it again. “I can’t hear you.” You mumble, wading closer to him, making sure to keep the water covering your chest.

“I said: you’re going to get us in troub—” he must have been coming closer to you, too, because the sight of you a mere foot away, has him practically shoving his fist in his mouth.

You stare at each other for a long moment, your eyes on his, trying to read what he’s thinking, him maybe doing the same. He looks like he’s thinking, his mind seems to be ticking, but what? How annoying you are? How he managed to get into this situation?

He sighs, turns on his side and sinks to his chin in the murky water. “At least you’re not fucking crying anymore.”

Your eyes narrow. “You say that like I cry a lot. I do not cry a lot. It was the beer.” You huff, splashing him with some water. He blinks but doesn’t retaliate.

“You had one fucking beer.” He sneers, the hint of a grin on his face.

"I don't drink a lot!” You say indignantly.

“And it was a light beer.” Now there’s definitely a smile on his face. It’s contagious, and you can’t really remember a time where he’s smiled at you.

“Alright, asshole, leave me alone. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.” You huff, swimming over to the edge, overlooking the forest.

In hindsight, you should be more alert about being naked in the onsen with a man. Man. You glance over your shoulder, the steam lessening with the rising of the sun. He’s under the waterfall, hair flat against the back of his head, water rushing down the very defined muscles of his—

You feel the heat grow across your face, frantically whip around towards the sprawling forest the onsen overlooks.

Oh no, he’s really hot.

You need to get out, you need to remove yourself from the situation and get to safety. Being exposed to that is doing something to your heart, something that generally only happens when you’re alone with Shouto.

Yet… you can't help but glance back again. He’s out of the spray of water, shaking droplets out of his hair. He’s waist deep in the steam, chiseled chest, abs— he opens his eyes, looks straight at you.

You turn back around, bury your face in your forearms which are resting on the edge of the pool. Fuck, you’re hot all over. 

And he saw you perving.

“I’m getting out, so don’t fucking move.” He warns, and you can only whimper a broken sound and wave a hand up in the air in response.

There’s splashing from behind you, dripping, then his feet crunching away on the pebble path.

You stay there for a few more minutes before you leave, calming yourself down enough to face the rest of your class. You didn’t know who you wanted to avoid more, Shouto or Bakugo.

+

“First up, is the 10k run.” Aizawa sighs, lazy eyes falling on you. “Considering you already did it, you two can cook breakfast.” Two? No one went with you.

Everyone’s stretching, mumbling about the run, complaining that it’s too early. Then your eyes find Bakugo, who’s standing next to All Might, scribbling in a notepad looking extremely annoyed.

“Ah, professor?” You say softly, approaching Aizawa. He spares you a glance. “I did the 10k by myself.”

“My precious Katsuki woke up even before you and did it. Must have missed him by not even ten minutes.” He mocks your words from the night before, shrugs, yawns.

“Ah, right.” You laugh shakily, looking to your feet and then up to the relatively cloudless sky.

Someone familiar calls your name. “Can I have a word?” You look up and see Shouto a few feet from you, looking a little… stressed? You open your mouth, but Aizawa answers.

“No, you need to go.” He orders. Shouto raises knitted brows. “Did I stutter? Go.” Your mouth is hanging open a little, and you watch as Shouto sends you a look, and jogs off towards the group.

All Might is at the starting line and transforms to call, “Ready, set, GO!” Before abruptly vanishing back into Small Might.

A hand rests on your shoulder. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Aizawa asks, an eyebrow raised.

“No.” You say too fast. He nods knowingly, removes his hand.

“I’ll take my eggs scrambled. Lots of butter.” He mumbles, walking towards the house. Bakugo’s doing the same, so you follow suit, trotting up the path, up the steps and winding into the kitchen.

Bakugo’s in there alone, staring at his notepad.

“Can you believe our punishment for exercising is cooking for every bastard on site?” He growls, picking up the pad and holding it out to you. It’s a list, each name and how they like their eggs.

“What the hell are ‘cloud eggs’?” You snort, reading Momo’s preference. When you glance up to Bakugo for a response, he’s in the fridge, yanking out milk, cheese, butter, eggs.

“Some fucking asshole likes their whites whipped and then cooked.” He grits out, not even sparing you a glance. Well, at least, he’s not drilling you about perving on him.

“Do you eat the yolk?”

“Yes, idiot.” He sighs, exasperated. “You sit it on the egg white ‘cloud’ and bake it.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“How the hell don’t you?” He hisses back. You sigh, rub the bridge of your nose.

“We probably shouldn’t start on the eggs yet, anyway.” You say, putting the pad down on the bench. “They don’t take long to cook, and the 10k takes around an hour.” He stops to consider your suggestion, picks everything back up and slams the fridge open.

“Won’t even need to start the bacon for another half an hour.” He mutters, placing everything back piece by piece.

“You think Aizawa will be grading this?” You ask, leaning against the kitchen island and folding your arms.

“Doubt it.” He grunts, slamming the fridge door. Then he looks at you, and your heart starts to race. You glance away. “What?” He practically hisses.

“Nothing.” You frown, rolling your eyes.

“If you’ve got something to say, fucking say it.” He mirrors your stance, leaning against the counter across from you.

“I don’t have anything to say, Bakugo.” You growl, annoyed. “Why? Do you have something to say?” He just snarls and glances away from you. “Use your words, Bakugo.” You bait. He sends you a glare then, but his eyes dance down your frame, back up to your face, and to his feet. The small gesture has your heart racing, your body warm.

He clears his throat. “Heard you got a job at Endeavour’s agency lined up for after graduation.” Ah, news had gotten around. “Must be a kick in the guts, huh? Having his dad like you more than he does.”

“Wow, real mature.” You snap, angry. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk unless you had something nice to say?”

“No, she taught me not to take shit from anybody.” He grinds out, teeth clenching

“It would have been handy if she’d taught you how to make friends. Y’know, so you wouldn’t have to go through life an angry, bitter, man-child.” You bite back, just as furious.

“I don’t let people disappoint me, what’s so fucking bad about that? At least I didn’t end up a lovesick idiot mourning after a relationship I’ll never have with someone who’ll never notice me.” His words are like ice on a broken tooth, attacking you like an exposed nerve.

It takes you a while to reply, mostly because it’s true.

You take a deep breath and calm yourself. “What does it even matter?” You sigh, tired. “I’m not taking the job at Endeavour’s, so it’s a non-issue.”

“What?” He asks, on the annoyed side of surprised. You look over at him, raise your eyebrows for him to elaborate. “He’s the number one hero in Japan, and you’re not going because his son isn’t in love with you?”

“Okay,” you breathe, slam your hand on the counter, turn away from him. “I don’t have to put up with your fucking attitude. I’ll be back in half an hour to help your sorry ass make breakfast.”

“Like fuck.” He growls, grabbing your arm as you try to walk away. “Take the job, it’s huge.” His eyes are borderline wild, and you stare up at him in shock. “If you don’t take that fucking job, I’m telling Icyhot that you love him.”

“The hell you will!” You hiss, mortified.

“I will.” He drops your arm. “Try me.”

“You’re insufferable!” You holler, throwing your arms in the air. “You tell him, and I’m telling Ochako.” You glare. His nostrils flare.

“I don’t like her like that.” He says warningly, still terrifyingly close.

You grin, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You’re a liar. Yes you do.”

“No, I. Don’t.” He bites out the three syllables, inching closer to you each time, trying to scare you into submission.

“Oh, sure you don’t.” You sing-song, unaffected by his intimidation.

“Tell her then, I don’t fucking care.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, steps back a step. “You’ve got more to lose than me. Hell, even I’d work for Endeavour.” He steps back a few more times, leans his lower back against the counter.

There’s a long silence; you both simmer down some.

“What are you doing after you graduate?” You ask, a little quieter.

He sighs. “I got a few offers, but I don’t know what I wanna do. Probably go to the States for a bit.” He shrugs, your eyes widen.

“USA? Like, leave the country?” The idea sounds crazy to you, but, if anyone could pull it off, it’d be Bakugo.

“Yeah, I got three offers over there; four in Europe. One in Australia.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing.

“Bakugo, that’s amazing.” You smile, in awe and excited for him. He regards you with an unreadable expression, glances to his feet. “You’ll need to take Kirishima with you,” you snort, he looks back up to you expectantly. “As a buffer? Because you’re an asshole and they’re all gonna think you’re a villain.” You laugh at your own joke, and he frowns, picks up the roll of paper towel on the counter behind him, throws it at you.

You just dodge, still laughing.

“You’re an asshole.” He accuses, but there’s no malice.

“You’ll come back with a yankee wife.” Still laughing. “And she’ll call you Kat-suwkeyyyy.”

“Shut up, I’m not marrying a foreigner.” He rolls his eyes.

“But the only Japanese woman you like is going to—” there are tears in your eyes, you’re carrying on so hard. “Marry your… rival!”

“Shut up!” He yells, leaping towards you and putting a hand over your mouth. You try and pull it away— your chest hurts because you can’t stop laughing— but you’re weaker by a mile.

You grab for his face instead, your hands falling to the collar of his shirt, then— in a moment of madness— you lick a wet stripe up the valleys of his fingers.

He blushes, pulls his hand away. You grin at his response, pull him closer to you.

“What? Can’t handle a little rough play?” You ask, licking your lips, voice husky from laughter. His nostrils flare, eyes take in your face as you do the same, cheshire smile on your lips.

Then he kisses you.

Just lips at first, a hard press of his on yours. You stare at him, but his eyes are closed— still scowling— so you do the same. You dig your nails into his chest, push back against him. He takes a breath and you use initiative, run your tongue along his bottom lip, push your body into his.

You can feel his heart beating under your hands, racing along with yours. Then his tongue is moving against your lips, your own tongue, and his hands are on either side of your jaw, holding you in place.

Just as your insides start to melt, and your knees go weak, there’s a sound: someone’s clearing their throat.

You both open your eyes, stare at each other for a millisecond before he jumps away, and you both turn to stare at the source of the noise.

“I really hope there was none of this when you two went for your ‘walk’ last night.” Aizawa deadpans.

Words escape you. You can’t think; what even just happened?  You spare a glance to Bakugo, who is ten shades of embarrassed, and then back to your professor.

“She fucking kissed me!” He hollers, the stinky fucking liar.

You gasp, offended. “You kissed me! You dirty little creep!”

Aizawa glares at the two of you. “You were both into it. I’ve been standing here longer than I care to admit.” A grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. “Where are my eggs?” He frowns, staring at the empty countertop.

You both set to work wordlessly, Aizawa sits on a stool at the island and watches with a lazy grin.

“I’ll do the scramble.” You mumble. “You can poach and make the stupid cloud eggs.” He just grunts in response, no argument. He lays the bacon out on a few trays, puts them all in the oven to bake.

Still, Aizawa sits there, shit-eating grin on his face. Says nothing. Just watches.

“Sir…” You mumble, whisking eggs. His eyebrows raise, eyes fall on you. “You’re not gonna… tell anyone. Right?”

He takes a moment to think about it, then he shrugs.

“Eh, if anything, I support this turn of events.” He grins lazily, you and Bakugo both bristle.

“That… it was nothing. Meant jack shit.” Bakugo glares, prepares the pot for poached eggs.

“Agreed.” You snap, narrowing your eyes at the eggs in your pot. “Move over.” You grumble, lighting the hot plate next to the one Bakugo’s using. He shifts, but there’s no way you’re both going to be able to comfortably cook your eggs at the same time.

Still, you’re both too stubborn to voice the realisation. Aizawa chuckles under his breath, sighs and rises from his stool.

“I’m just going to fetch All Might. Don’t do anything suspicious while I’m gone.” He warns, narrowing his eyes at the pair of you.

When he’s out of the room, you turn your glare to Bakugo. “I can’t believe you kissed me, you perv!” You hiss, trying to keep your voice low. “What the hell were you thinking?” Your face is hot, remembering the kiss, but you keep your stare even.

He glances at you. Says nothing.

“Oh, the silent treatment?” You roll your eyes, stirring the eggs gently, careful they don’t burn.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He grits out, glancing at you. “I… don’t know what the hell came over me.” Guilt eats at you when you meet his eyes. You did kiss him back, and you were enjoying it.

“Me too.” You sigh, turn the heat down on the stove. “I mean, it wasn’t terrible.” You try to joke, make light of the situation, but the words leave your mouth in a totally serious way.

Before you can rectify the situation, both professors return, the two of them pulling up a stool to each watch you awkwardly dance around each other in the kitchen.

They make jokes you half heartedly react to, and then breakfast is cooked, eggs in the metal warmers— too many eggs, really— and bacon in there, too. You put bread out by the toaster, along with butter and spreads.

Just as Bakugo lays the plates out on the table, the first three return. Iida, Midoriya, and Shouto. They’re sweating, gasping for water, and All Might throws each of them a bottle from his cooler.

You glance over to Shouto and find him staring at you. He nods his head towards the door, wants you to go with him out the back, by the onsen.

You take a deep breath and steel yourself, find Bakugo’s eyes for a second, and then follow Shouto. When you step out the door, his jacket is unzipped, hair around his face damp from sweat.

It's quiet, the only sound other than him trying to catch his breath and your thumping heart, is the waterfall flowing steadily into the barely steaming onsen. You briefly wonder how your encounter with Bakugo would have been if you'd joined him around this time. 

Then you remember Shouto. 

“Bit hot out there, huh?” You try and break the ice, but he doesn’t crack a smile, just stares at you, face flushed red and unreadable.

“You’re upset with me.” He murmurs, jumping straight into it.

“No, I’m not.” You shift your weight from your right foot to your left, clasp your hands together behind your back. 

“Don’t lie to me.” He frowns softly, takes a step closer to you. “You asked Bakugo to go for a walk with you, not me.”

You take a half step back. “You were… occupied.” And you try not to sound bitter, you really do, but you fail. Miserably. His eyes widen a fraction, and you realise your mistake. “I’m happy for you, Shouto, I promise, it’s just…” Lie, lie. Lie! “I don’t know how to third wheel, and I didn’t want to make it weird.” You smile shakily, pray he believes your lie.

“Well, you failed in that regard.” He sighs, rubbing the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. 

“Look, I don’t wanna get in your way, ok? It’ll be weirder for her if I’m sticking to you while she’s putting moves on you.” God, what are you even saying? Whatever trash comes out of your mouth, he buys it, sends you a small smile.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, smiles warmly at you. “Don’t give up on us. You’re my best friend.”

Your heart cracks, but you smile at him, anyway. “No doubt, Shou.” 

“Let’s go wait for the others.” He suggests with a tilt of his head, walking past you and back into the house.

“I’ll be a minute.” You call, and he looks back at you from the doorway. “My, uh, sister text me.” You slide your phone out of your pocket, hold it up for him to see. He nods and walks away.

You stand there dumbly for a long minute, stare up at the sun shining brilliantly in the cloudless sky. He doesn’t want to lose your friendship, which is nice, but… fuck, you’re a shitty friend.