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napbatata · 9 days ago

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The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt6) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt5.5

The finale : Nothing is ever easy.

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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : guys dont shout at me i know im one day late. BUT SHES DONE! I cant believe it honestly. this has been such a whirlwind and im lowkey said its over. but I hope you will all stay with me for future projects! yay!

Warnings : SUGGESTIVNESS AT A POINT (nothing explict but still) Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : 6.9k

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While the rush of determination felt good in the moment, now, standing outside Katsuki’s office, it’s settled into something closer to pure nerves.

You had a plan. A simple one, really. Step one: show your husband you miss him. Step two: admit you’ve both made mistakes. Step three: figure out how the hell to move forward without wrecking each other in the process. It sounded solid enough when you wrote it out in your notes app—three times, actually—but putting it into action? Yeah. Not as easy as it looked on screen.

The first time you tried was when you were dropping the kids off. For the past two weeks, it had been a no-talking, no-eye-contact type of handoff. You stayed in the house, watched Riko do all the work, carrying her sister’s bags and lugging Koharu to the door while you kept your distance. So, you figured attempt number one was simple enough—step in, carry your own kid out to the car, like you probably should’ve been doing this whole time.

So, you took some deep breaths, took Korahu from her sister's hand (paired with a weird look from the older sister) and ushered the girls to the door.

Katsuki was there, like always. Leaning against his car, looking tired. Sad, too. But still stupidly handsome, which pissed you off more than you’d admit. The second the door opened and he saw you standing there, his whole body snapped to attention. His eyes widened a little, his shoulders squared up, like he wasn’t sure what to do but he was sure as hell going to do something.

It was almost funny. Almost.

He didn’t say anything, but he met you halfway. Took Riko’s bag without asking. Looking at Koharu in your arms like it hurt him to see her there and not with him.

“Um…” Riko’s small voice cut through the moment. She hovered a little to the side, fidgeting. “Mama, are you… coming with us?” she asked, her brows pinching in quiet confusion as she glanced between you both.

And, for some reason, this question is a surprise to you. And it very quickly occurs to you also, that maybe your children shouldn't see the maybe difficult and definitely emotional conversation you are planning to have with their father. Yup. Why was that not included in the notes app plan?

You don’t say anything at first. But now Riko’s staring at you like she’s waiting for an answer, and Katsuki’s standing there, still as anything, his hand flexing around the strap of her bag like he’s holding himself back from saying something.

You clear your throat, shifting Koharu’s weight on your hip. “ um… no not today sweetheart, just saying hi is all”.

Riko doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway, glancing up at Katsuki. He’s already watching you, gaze steady, a crease between his brows like he’s thinking something he’s not sure he should say out loud.

“You could, y’know,” he mutters after a beat, his voice low but rough at the edges. “Come with us. If you wanted.”

“W-were just getting dinner at that place downtown, with the udon you like. And a movie, probably.”

And if every single member of your little family wasn’t looking at you right now, waiting, hoping, you might’ve groaned out loud. How did you not account for this? How did you not see it coming? And you are not about to screw this up by winging it.

“Oh,” you say, a nervous laugh catching on your tongue. It falls flat. No one joins in. “I think I’ll take a raincheck for tonight. Got some leftover work I need to finish up, unfortunately.”

You reach out to ruffle Riko’s hair. She leans into it, even smiles a little, a nice distraction from the weird tension in the air.

Katsuki doesn’t push. He never does these days. You’re not sure if that makes it easier or harder.

He just watches you for a long moment, like he’s turning something over in his head. His jaw ticks, sharp and familiar, but when he nods, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s not trusting himself to move too fast. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quieter now. “Okay. Another time, then.”

You offer a faint smile, one you hope looks steadier than it feels, and murmur your goodbyes. Riko gives you one last look over her shoulder before climbing into the car. Katsuki opens the door for her without breaking eye contact, and something about that sticks with you longer than it should.

And later that night, you’re still thinking about it. About the way Katsuki’s eyes followed you. About how you turned down his offer because you weren’t ready—not yet—and wondering if it sounded too much like rejection.

You hope not. God, you hope not.

Kirishima’s warnings about time are still hanging in the back of your mind, like a nagging little voice. The more you think about it, the more it feels like putting this conversation off any longer is just another excuse. So, better now than later, right? What’s the worst that could happen? Well, besides everything falling apart, obviously.

Father’s Day.

It’s not intentional, not really. It just sort of happens that way. And, okay, maybe deciding to have this conversation today of all days feels a little… questionable. You could start with a positive. “Wow, you’re actually a good father these days!” Sure, the conversation could end terribly, but at least you’d have that one bit of sincerity before everything goes to shit.

A quick text to Izuku confirms what you already suspected—Katsuki’s working during the day. Of course he is. But he has the kids tonight, which means you get the rest of the evening to yourself. Perfect. Time to spiral in peace.

You spend the morning mentally preparing yourself, like you always do before any interaction with your husband these days. It's become a routine at this point—dress nice, check your reflection one more time, make sure your hair’s in place, like somehow that’ll make everything easier. You even check the gift you got him for the millionth time, just to make sure it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared or been swapped out for something less meaningful. You really don’t need any more stress right now.

You want your arrival to be a complete surprise, which means you can't just drive. That would be too easy—and also, the parking sensors at his place would give you away in a second. Katsuki would know you were there before you even stepped out of the car, and you definitely don’t want him overthinking anything. So, you opt for the bus instead. It feels a little ridiculous, but it’s the only way to guarantee you catch him completely off guard. No time for him to prepare or second-guess. You want this moment to be real, unfiltered.

As the bus rumbles along, you look out the window at the sunny day, feeling something a little unexpected—hope. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that. It’s funny, though, but as you sit there, the memories come flooding back. It was actually this time of year, so many years ago, when Katsuki officially asked you to be his girlfriend. It feels like a lifetime ago, but the memories are so vivid. People are always surprised when you tell them he was shy back then, especially since they only see the brash, bold personality he’s built up over the years. Back then, though, he was anything but.

He suggested a walk and lunch, like any normal date. But you hadn’t even made it ten minutes down the path before he pulled you aside, cornering you against a tree. His eyes were wide, a mixture of determination and uncertainty flickering behind them. “I want to be official,” he’d said, so seriously, yet nervously—completely out of character for him. You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, genuine laugh. Maybe that laugh made it all the more real, solidifying that this was the boy who had stolen your heart so effortlessly, and the man who was now trying to win it all over again.

And now, here you are, so many years later. The shy boy has grown into a man. Changed by time, by life, by everything you’ve both gone through. It’s funny how much time can shift a person, how it can shape someone in ways you don’t always see coming. You wonder how he’d say you’ve changed, too. Would he even recognize the person you’ve become? Would he still see the girl who laughed under that tree all those years ago? You weren’t so sure.

When you find yourself standing outside Katsuki’s agency building, you don’t hesitate. The adrenaline is already pumping, your heart racing as you push open the door, wondering if any paparazzi are lurking nearby. It’s a small but nagging thought, the price of being so connected to someone so publicly known.

You walk up to the front desk, and the receptionists look up, offering you a warm, welcoming smile. "How have you been?" one of them asks, and for a brief moment, you forget how long it’s been since you’ve actually been here. You can’t even remember the last time you stepped foot into this place. Maybe back when it was still new, and Katsuki was so excited about it. Back then, he used to pester you to come visit all the time, his proud smile, guiding you around with that quiet swagger of his.

You glance around, taking in the changes since the last time you were here. There’s a new fishtank behind the reception desk, the soft swish of water a peaceful contrast to the buzz of the street outside. You didn’t even notice it when you first walked in. When did that get put in?

Leaning in slightly, you lower your voice to a near whisper, careful not to draw attention. “Don’t tell Katsuki I’m here. I’ve got a surprise for him.” The words are almost a secret, a lightness to them that doesn’t entirely match the nervous tension growing inside you. The receptionists giggle softly, their glances exchanged behind a knowing smile before one of them gives a playful, almost conspiratorial nod.

One of them leans forward, their voice light with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “A surprise, huh?” they ask, their tone teasing but not intrusive. “Hopefully he’ll love it. Honestly, he’s been a little quiet around here... maybe he’s just been missing you.”

You nod, trying to mask the sudden tension in your chest. Off. Katsuki had been distant in a way that was hard to ignore. The words only make your nerves continue to bubble in your stomach. You hate the idea that you’ve been ruining his work life too.

Once the elevator beeps, you quietly step out and walk down the halfway, the sounds of talking fleeting in the background. Your footsteps echo softly, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is a mistake, or if you’re doing the right thing. Why does everything feel so uncertain now?

But then you shake your head, forcing the doubts aside. You can’t hesitate now—not when you’ve come this far. You clutch the gift a little tighter, the weight of it solid in your hands, a reminder of why you’re here. Just do it.

When you finally make it to his office, you can’t help but hesitate outside the door. His blinds are down, so he hasn’t seen you coming. You glance down at your phone—no messages, no missed calls. There’s nothing to suggest he’s expecting you. Still, you hesitate. Your hand hovers above the door, but you can’t bring yourself to actually touch it.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the tension in your body making you feel jittery, like you're on the edge of doing something you can't quite bring yourself to start. You glance around the hall, seeing a few curious looks in your direction, and you realize just how out of place you must seem, standing here in front of his door, waiting. The longer you stand there, the stranger it feels. You can’t put it off any longer.

God, this is hard.

You knock lightly, the sound barely audible. When no response comes after a couple of seconds, you knock again, this time a little more forceful.

“WHAT,” comes Katsuki’s loud voice from the other side, as sharp as ever. You can practically feel the force of it through the door, and it makes you wonder how his staff ever manages to be around him all day without flinching. But you? You're nervous, sure, but you're not scared. You steady yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing the door open.

To your surprise, Katsuki isn’t alone.

Izuku is there too, leaning over Katsuki’s desk with his face uncomfortably close to him. Katsuki, on the other hand, is leaning away, his body stiff and his brows furrowed as if he’s trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But no matter how much Katsuki shifts, Izuku’s still right there, talking to him like they’re in some weird, casual conversation.

As you step inside, the low murmur of their voices reaches your ears.

“Why are your under eyes so dark? Have you been sleeping?” Izuku asks, genuinely concerned, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face.

“Get out of my fuckin’ face, Deku,” Katsuki grumbles in response, his hand coming up to swat at Izuku’s face. Izuku, as usual, seems oblivious to how much space he’s crowding, even as he nudges closer to Katsuki’s personal space.

You, on the other hand, stand frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to do. It’s a bit confusing, actually—neither of them has looked over at you even though they both know someone’s coming in. You clear your throat, a soft “hello” slipping out, just enough to break the silence.

And just like that, both of them snap their attention to you. Katsuki’s eyes widen in surprise, his body shifting almost instinctively, pushing his chair back as far from Izuku as possible. He straightens up, his posture suddenly more alert. His eyes track you, silent and intense, but there’s an undercurrent of something—maybe nervousness, maybe relief, and definitely surprise. At least your plan worked?

Izuku, on the other hand, stands up quickly, a wide, easy smile lighting up his face. “Hey!” he says brightly, completely unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Katsuki didn’t mention you were coming today!” Without missing a beat, he takes a step forward and pulls you into a warm hug, a casual, friendly gesture that feels comforting in the moment but also slightly jarring given everything you’ve been feeling.

Katsuki watches this carefully, his face softening just a fraction when he sees the way Izuku is interacting with you.

Izuku pulls away from the hug with a grin, oblivious to any underlying tension. “It’s good to see you!” his voice light, before turning back to Katsuki.

“You too,” you say shyly, your voice quiet, your gaze catching Katsuki’s. The intensity of his stare unsettles you more than you expect, his eyes still tracking you like he’s trying to make sense of why you’re here, why you showed up today.

But before you can dwell on it too much, Katsuki’s voice cuts through the air with surprising sharpness. “Deku, leave.”

Izuku blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?! But I want to catch up with you guys! I haven’t seen Y/N in forever, and you’ve been dodging my calls—”

“Get the fuck out,” Katsuki growls again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Izuku frowns, giving Katsuki a playful side-eye, not picking up on the tension at all. “But you see her every day! I just want to—”

“Deku.”

There’s a sudden finality in Katsuki’s voice, something that makes Izuku pause for a second before his expression shifts. It’s as though he understands something unspoken, the corners of his mouth lifting in a resigned smile. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, clearly about to exit.

“Fine… but I really want to see you guys soon!” Izuku says, turning back to you as he heads toward the door. “And Y/N?” he calls with a teasing grin. “Make sure he’s sleeping okay, alright? I know you two are young and in love but—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT, DEKU!” Katsuki cuts him off, his voice booming, and Izuku laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender as he finally exits, leaving you and Katsuki standing there in the thick silence.

You shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to say or do. The plan had been so simple in your head—so clear—but now, in the face of this strange and quiet moment, it feels anything but.

“I—” You start, your voice faltering before you take a steadying breath. “I wasn’t expecting him to be here.”

Katsuki says nothing, his silence hanging between you both like a heavy fog. He runs a hand through his hair, the motion almost like a reflex, and you watch as his jaw tightens, then relaxes. Still, he doesn’t speak.

You glance at the space between you, then back at him, the knot in your stomach tightening. This wasn’t how you envisioned it.

“I brought you something,” you murmur, your hand instinctively reaching for the small gift bag you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline. “For Father’s Day.”

At the mention of Father’s Day, his eyes flicker for a moment, just a brief flash of something soft and unfamiliar before it’s gone. Katsuki doesn’t take the gift from you immediately, instead watching it with a gaze that’s more distant than you expect. He doesn’t say anything for a few long beats, and you’re starting to think maybe this was a mistake, maybe you should’ve just left it alone.

But then he takes a step forward, reaching for the bag with an almost reluctant gesture. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you reply, your voice quiet but sincere. "It's... it's just a little something."

Katsuki gives a stiff nod as he pulls the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, and though the contact is fleeting, it sends a shiver through you. He opens it slowly, and the soft crinkle of tissue paper fills the silence before he pulls out the small, simple gift you picked out for him—a picture frame. It’s of him and the girls, when Koharu had just been born and was still so tiny. You don’t think he’s ever seen this picture. You took it during one of those rare, quiet moments when he was reading to the girls, lost in the story and unaware you were watching from the doorway.

For a long time, Katsuki doesn’t speak. He simply stares at the frame in his hands, his gaze fixed on the picture. You consider that your going to be met with silence again, that this was all one big mistake and your overstepping with someone that can’t be bothered with you anymore.

“Is… is it okay?” you ask hesitantly, your voice breaking the silence.

Finally, Katsuki looks up at you, and for a moment, the distance between you seems to shrink. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’s… nice,” he says with a low soft tone to it.

You shift, unsure of what to do next, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the hard planes of his jaw, the tension that hasn’t quite faded from his shoulders. It’s like he's lost in the memory, but also wrestling with it at the same time.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks, and the words are barely a whisper, but they hold more weight than any explosion he could’ve set off. "What are you really doing here?"

His eyes flick up to meet yours, but they linger there for just a moment before quickly darting away, almost like he’s afraid of what he might see if he holds your gaze too long.

For a second, you don’t know how to answer. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. It’s not an easy question to answer, not when the answer feels too complicated, tangled up with everything you both are and aren’t anymore.

But you manage to find your voice. “I—” You stop yourself, unsure how to explain it, unsure of how much to say. You try again, quieter this time. “I wanted to see you. To... give you that. To... be here.”

His gaze shifts briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he looks down at the frame again. His fingers tighten around it, but it’s not in anger—it’s like he’s holding onto it, holding onto the moment in the picture, trying to tether himself to something he can’t quite let go of.

There’s a hesitation in the way he breathes, in the way his gaze keeps flicking between the picture and you. He seems to want to say something, but whatever it is, he’s holding it back, like it’s too fragile to speak aloud.

Then—“Sweetheart…” His voice catches, a quiet hesitation there you haven’t heard before. “What does that mean?” His lips twitch into a dry, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m a little fuckin’ confused over here.”

You huff a breath, nerves fluttering under your skin. Fair enough. You did show up unannounced after weeks of silence, acting like none of it had happened. Of course he’s confused. You would be, too.

“Yeah. Okay. Um—well!” You force a shaky exhale through a tight-lipped smile. God, why is this so hard? “I just… had some things to say and I—well. No. I guess.”

The words tangle in your mouth before they can land anywhere. You’re floundering, and you know it.

Katsuki reaches out, his hand finding your hip with a steadiness you didn’t realize you needed. His thumb draws slow, grounding circles against your side. “Breathe,” he murmurs.

You do. So does he.

And when you give him a small, grateful smile, it’s answered by a faint flush rising on his cheeks. That soft, familiar pink that makes your chest ache. Yeah… this is okay. You can do this.

“I wanted to apologize,” you say, quieter now. “For what happened… last time. When you were at the house.”

His hand falls away from your hip at that, and the loss of it makes your skin prickle cold. But you keep going.

“You were right. It wasn’t fair to you. And then I made it worse by not reaching out after I… after I threw you out.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I guess I thought you’d message me first. Which was stupid.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he says quietly, staring down at his hands like they’re something he’s only just noticed. His knuckles are tight, the same hands that just held you, now clenched like he’s bracing for something.

You step closer, reaching out. Your palms cradle his face, coaxing his gaze back to yours. His eyes widen, startled in a way that makes your heart ache all over again. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

“I know you didn’t,” you say softly. “I think I was just feeling… insecure. Hurt. And, yeah, maybe a little petty.” You try for a smile, but it’s faint. “Not my most mature moment.”

Your fingers slip into his hair, nails grazing gently at his hairline. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

Katsuki’s quiet for a beat. Then another. His eyes search yours like he’s looking for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.

And then, barely above a breath—“Does that mean I can come home now?”

The way he says it cracks something open inside you. Soft. Uncertain. Katsuki Bakugou, who has always been brash and sure, suddenly sounds like a kid waiting to be told he’s not in trouble. Like he’s hoping for permission to want this.

Your chest tightens. “Yes,” you whisper. “I… missed you. A lot. So if you want to, yeah. Please.”

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you in, arms wrapping tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His face presses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, his voice thick. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You’re… you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ person in the world to me. I want you to know that.”

He draws back just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist. His eyes are a little red around the edges. “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”

You smile. And this time, it feels real.

“Me too.”

~~~

Katsuki doesn’t come home that night.

He tells you straight, his hands firm on your hips, holding you steady like he thinks you might drift off if he doesn’t. “I… I want to come back tonight. Fuck, angel, I want to.” His thumbs press in, warm and certain. “But it’s complicated. I got arts and crafts shit with the girls, and—”

He pauses, searching your face, as if there’s something he needs you to understand. And you do. You really do. It’s Father’s Day, after all. He’s planned something fun with them—he deserves that.

So you nod. “It’s fine,” you say, even if it’s not entirely. Even if part of you aches a little at the thought of another night in an empty house.

But then his phone buzzes again. The reminder that he’s still on the clock, still pro-hero Dynamight. He mutters under his breath, answering the call with a scowl. And while he’s distracted, you let yourself slip toward the door. No point hovering.

You don’t get far before he’s slamming the phone down.

“Oi,” he calls, striding toward you. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

You turn, halfway through a smile. “You’re busy.”

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, before wrapping you up in another of his crushing hugs, his chin hooked over your shoulder like he’s grounding himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, breathing him in. “Let me know how you and the girls get on.”

At that, he pulls back just enough to flash a small, crooked smile. “They’ll love it.” And you can tell he means it. He’s already picturing it—Korahu’s chubby fingers smearing paint where it shouldn’t go, Riko trying to keep things under control like she’s got any chance at all.

It all goes surprisingly smooth after that. You part ways. No fight. No lingering weight pressing on your chest. Just… quiet. Simple. You didn’t expect simple.

Still, the house feels a little emptier when you get home. You tell yourself it’s karma. Fair’s fair.

So you fill the quiet with the hum of self-care—cleaning, candles, making the bed like he’s already here. Maybe it’s silly, but it makes you feel better. Like you’re making room for him.

A couple of texts drop in while you work:

[7:34 PM] Kirishima: Katsuki said you guys made up!!! 💪 Happy for u (even tho I’ll miss bro being here 😣)

[8:28 PM] Katsuki: Never letting Korahu touch paint again.

[8:28 PM] Katsuki: [Image Attached]

You can’t help the grin as you open the photo. Korahu’s covered, head to toe, in streaks of neon green paint. The grin gets bigger when you reply, because yeah… things are starting to feel okay.

You catch yourself thinking how simple it was in the end. Just… talk to him. That’s all it took. So simple it’s stupid. But it’s a start. Onwards and upwards, right?

And still… the intimacy part lingers in the back of your mind. Not the physical, not exactly. The closeness. Letting him in again, letting yourself be seen. You’re getting there. You’re proud of that.

You’re just about to call it a night when you hear the knock.

It’s late. Too late for visitors. You tread light toward the door, thinking maybe you imagined it, but then it comes again, sharper this time.

You jump. “Who is it?”

“Me, sweetheart.”

Your heart stumbles. For a second, your mind blanks, chasing every possibility. Are the girls okay? Did something happen? Or did he really take ‘come back tomorrow’ as ‘come back at nearly midnight’?

You crack the door open, and there he is. Katsuki. Standing there like it’s nothing.

“You shouldn’t talk through the door,” he says, voice low, a little gruff. “Use the cameras. Don’t let people know if you’re home.”

You barely register the lecture. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs. “Can I come in first?”

You step back, and he does, toeing his boots off by instinct before looking at you again. He’s flushed a little—maybe from the night air, maybe from something else.

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair, messy already. “The girls are asleep. Told Kirishima I was heading out.”

You wait. He’s not exactly known for long explanations, but still. You wait.

He shifts, uncomfortable in a way that’s rare for him. “I know I said I’d come tomorrow. I was about to go to bed. Was gonna text you.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck, his voice rougher now. “But I didn’t wanna do that again. I didn’t wanna… not be here. So.”

A beat.

“Probably should’ve asked first,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

You stand there for a second, taking him in. The way his shoulders are tense, like he’s bracing for you to tell him to leave. The way his mouth pulls down at the corners, softened by tired eyes.

You take a step closer, your fingers brushing against his wrist before curling around it. You feel his pulse jump beneath your touch.

“Don’t say sorry,” you tell him, your voice gentler than you expected. “I was just surprised. You know I want you here.”

His breath leaves him in a slow exhale. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. It’s comfortable in a way it hasn’t been for a while. Quiet. Easy.

Then he shifts, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to pull you closer. “You look nice,” he murmurs.

You huff a laugh. “These are just my pajamas, Katsuki.”

“I know that.” His fingers trace lightly along your jaw, calloused pads dragging slow and careful. “Still means you can look nice, doesn’t it?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, but hungry. It’s not just that he’s missed you. It’s the kind of heat you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and it catches you off guard. Your skin prickles under the weight of it.

You laugh again, quiet and nervous, and step back just slightly. You regret it the second you do. But he doesn’t push. His mouth quirks into something close to a smirk, easy, like he doesn’t mind waiting.

“I was just heading to bed,” you say, clearing your throat.

“Let’s go then, huh?” His voice is rough, low, but there’s no push behind it—just an offer.

Later, you sit beneath the covers, watching him move around the room. He pulls his shirt off and folds it onto the chair, and your eyes catch on the cut of his shoulders, the sharp lines of muscle along his back. Familiar. Hard-earned. You’ve seen it a thousand times, but it hits you different tonight. Like you’re seeing him again for the first time.

Your face warms, and you look away, embarrassed by how much you feel like a teenager sneaking glances.

The room dims when he turns the lamp down, leaving just a wash of amber light spilling across the sheets. Then the mattress shifts under his weight as he crawls in beside you, his arm slipping easily around your waist, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest.

You let out a slow breath against him, and he answers with one of his own.

“Missed you,” he murmurs. His hand smooths over your hip, dragging slow, then curling back up your spine. “Missed this. Can’t believe I made us go without it for so damn long.”

“I’ve missed it too,” you whisper. “Missed you.”

And then he’s looking at you. Really looking. Like he used to—like he did in those early years when the world was still new between you. His hand comes up to your cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of your jaw. It’s reverent. Careful.

He leans in, brushing his lips to yours, light as a breath. It’s tender, almost hesitant. But you kiss him back. And then it’s not hesitant at all.

His hand slides into your hair as the kiss deepens, his mouth demanding now, hungry and hot. It’s messy, desperate—years of holding back spilling out in the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the low sound he makes when you breathe his name against his skin. His other hand finds your hip, holding on tight like he’s worried you’ll vanish if he lets go.

When you shift, swinging your leg over to straddle his lap, he groans into your mouth, his hands immediately smoothing down over your thighs, then up, fingers splaying wide as if he’s trying to map all of you at once. You’re already flushed and breathless, but the sound of him like this, so openly wrecked for you, drives you to chase more.

The kisses don’t stop—don’t even slow. His mouth is hot, hungry against yours, and the way he groans when you grind down makes heat pool deep in your belly. His hands are everywhere now, rough palms skating over soft skin, kneading at your waist, your ass, like he can’t get enough.

Then he breaks the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his thumb dragging across your lower lip as he does. Both of you are panting, chests rising and falling like you’ve run miles to get here.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dark as they flick over your face. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Driving me outta my damn mind.”

You can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes you, your hand still resting over his hammering heart. He’s not the only one losing it here.

“I love this,” he says, his voice rough with heat as he gives your hips a slow, deliberate push down against him. Yeah, you can tell. There’s no mistaking the hard press of him beneath you, or the way his grip tightens as he holds you there for a moment longer. “Love you,” he adds, softer, but no less intense. “But I need you to know I didn’t show up for this. Wasn’t tryin’ to make this a booty call or some shit. I just… really needed to be close to you.”

You lean in, brushing your nose against his, smiling faintly. “I know, Kats. I know that’s not you.”

“Good,” he murmurs. He tips his head back, blowing out a breath, as if he’s trying to cool himself down. “No more for tonight though.”

You blink, momentarily thrown, and then pout, full and obvious. When he cracks an eye open and sees it, his grin spreads slow and wicked. He’s enjoying this, even if his chest is still heaving like he’s run a marathon.

“Ain’t got any protection, sweets,” he says, voice low and deep. “And it’s been a long damn while. I won’t be able to hold myself back with you.”

A beat. His gaze flickers, watching your reaction, something warm and teasing in his expression—but there’s truth there, too. A warning wrapped in affection.

“So unless you want Korahu to have a sibling nine months from now,” he drawls, thumb stroking along your hipbone, “I think it’s best we call it.”

You huff a little laugh and shake your head, leaning forward until your forehead presses to his. “You’re impossible.”

He snorts softly. “Don’t blame me. I ain’t thrilled we have to stop either, princess.”

You both settle, breath slowing. The heat fades into something quieter, something steady. You roll off him and curl into his side, and his arm comes around you without hesitation, pulling you close. He presses slow, sleepy kisses to your temple, to your jaw, to your shoulder—lazy but full of something that makes your chest ache.

“Night, Kat,” you whisper against his skin.

“Night, baby,” he murmurs, and then his voice firms up like he’s gripping the words tight. “I love you.”

It comes out of you before you can think too hard about it. “I love you too.”

There’s a breath, shaky but soft. “Yeah,” he says again, his voice catching just a little. “Yeah.”

~~~

After that night, the waters begin to finally settle.

It isn’t perfect—Katsuki is still busy, still only human. But he’s trying, and when he slips up, you forgive him. And when you start to overthink things, he doesn’t let you spiral—just pulls you close, asks you softly if things are okay, if they can be better.

He leaves notes when he knows he’ll be working late, scribbled in his sharp, messy handwriting. Little things. I love you. Sleep early. Don’t wait up. Or, Miss you already. See you soon, sweetheart. And things do get better.

And it’s not just you who notices.

Riko smiles more, hugs you without hesitation. Her arms don’t feel like they’re trying to hold you together anymore—they’re just hugs, warm and happy and childlike the way they should be.

Going to Katsuki’s parents for the first time after everything isn’t as scary as you thought, either. His mom pulls you in tight, whispering a quiet thank you. But you thank her instead, and when Katsuki catches your gaze, there’s no shame there—no guilt or lingering anger. Just quiet, steady affection.

It makes you wonder how you ever went so long without it.

Because now, you’re addicted to it. Not in a naïve, honeymoon phase way—no, things aren’t perfect. There are still arguments, still sharp words and teary nights. But the love isn’t put into question anymore. That stays constant.

Life moves fast, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t dread it. You embrace it.

And then, one quiet evening, as you sit on the beach with Katsuki, watching the girls play in the sand, you’re reminded just how far you’ve come.

His chin rests on your shoulder, arms draped around your waist as you twirl his fingers absently between yours. The waves roll lazily in front of you, golden light casting long shadows across the shore.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low against your ear, “it was three years ago today.”

You hum, still watching the girls. “What was?”

“When you left.” His voice is quiet, careful. “Up to Tokyo.”

The words land soft but heavy.

It feels so long ago now, that time in your life when everything felt unbearable. But you still remember it—how could you not?

“Wow,” you murmur, letting the thought settle. “So long ago now.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, his grip tightening around you, like he’s bracing himself.

Then, softer, “I’m still sorry about that.”

You turn slightly, glancing back at him. His gaze is distant, the light catching in his eyes, making them burn a little redder than usual.

“I—” he exhales, shaking his head. “It’s one of my biggest mistakes. Letting things get to that point. I don’t think I can ever fully forgive myself—”

“Katsuki.” You shift, turning fully now so you can cup his face in your hands. His eyes flicker to yours, sad and heavy with regret.

“I nearly lost you,” he whispers. “I did lose you. And I still can’t believe myself.”

Your heart aches at the way he says it—like it’s something that still haunts him, something he’ll never quite let go of.

But you smile, small and sure. Your thumbs brush over his cheekbones, grounding him.

“But you didn’t,” you remind him gently. “We’re here. Together.”

He lets out a slow, shuddering breath, like he’s been holding it in for years. Then, finally—he nods.

“Yeah.” His voice wobbles just slightly, thick with something unspoken.

You kiss him, soft and lingering. His hands find your waist, holding you close, and when you pull back, his forehead presses to yours, breath warm against your lips.

You turn again, settling back against his chest to watch the girls for a moment longer, listening to the rush of the tide.

Then you glance back at him, feeling brave. Feeling full.

“Where do you think we’ll be in another three years?” you ask, leaning into his chest.

He huffs a soft laugh, kissing your hair.

“Wherever you are,” he says simply. “That’s where I’ll be.”

And you believe him. It feels so good to have full promises again.

You tilt your head back, catching his lips in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and a future you’re both ready for.

And when you pull back, he’s smiling. Really smiling.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently to your feet. “Let’s go get our girls.”

“Yeah,” you reply, fingers threading through his. “Let’s go home.”

And you do. Together.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

it was so daunting finishing everything off, but i hope its okay!

🏷️ : @dragonscribble @coldnightshark @huntyhuntycunty @thychuvaluswife @boojaynaqueen @kalulakunundrum @purplegaussianprocess @harryzcherry @bubbleguppieshh @geekessi @itzjustj-1000 @nuo0n @hana-patata @ilovemushroomss @notokinthehead @obsessedwiththesturniolos @djlance-rock @j1tterbugaboo @ch3rryjampi3 @gayheterosexual @hauntedstudentobservationus @onlyisaa @rika-chan-12 @eddie-bonzo @meikoo @barrythestrawberry041 @littlestinkybastardman @incognit7 @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @sachikomwahxx @d4rlinxs @eyesforbkg @akiii143 @eternallyshifting @sukuxna0 @cremthehive @uhsakusa @mentallystablesstuff @gabby-ha @kelz-69 @js-favnanadoongi @bakugouswh0r3 @kinichlover1298 @yikesdudesstuff @armeenix @sirerzafolchart @juiceeypeach @sukistar10 @amiime @asteraslvrr @teeesthings @charlotterosea13 @g3n3v13v33 @kiberrymatcha @urmamastits @biancatomlinson

general taglist 🏷️ : @cristy-101 @cielito--lindo @waterfal-ling

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napbatata · 15 days ago

Text

Pro Hero, Pro Mama, No Problem pt. 14

His home office became the defact-o place for any and all birthday preparations. Boxes of decorations were in one corner, and you were busy making an invitation up on the computer. You rubbed your tired eyes, frowning at the pdf you made. It had crowns and capes all over, with the details of when, where and what time on it.

It looked...okay? You sighed, and pushed back from the desk. Katsumi would be up from her nap any minute, and there were piles of laundry yet to be folded.

Your head tilted back, resting on the back of the computer chair.

Ugh.

As you saved it and closed out of the program, you looked at the monitor display. Katsuki had some picture of All Might in his Ultra age costume as his background, and you smirked.

Deny all he wants, he's just as big a fan boy as Izuku. Your eyes shifted to files on the computer.

Accident reports, insurance claims, damages, police reports...

A few nameless files were on there, with only numbers, and one had a name you didn't notice.

Curiosity gripped your guts, and your cursor hovered over the first one. You double clicked, and let out a sigh of relief.

Pictures. Old ones, by the looks of it. Ones when you both were younger-ones from high school, even. You smiled as you scrolled through.

Kaminari and Sero, jumping from a high dive, holding onto eachother with Kirishima's hair blurring the lenses, and two fingers covering part of it. You remembered that. Momo's family practically had an indoor resort in their summer home, and had a large indoor pool. Which everyone was dared to do a jump off the high dive.

Of course, Katsuki had called everyone idiots, but when you expressed your initial fear, he had smirked and egged you on.

Another picture was of Hanami during the last year of U.A. It was during the first year of your relationship, almost a decade ago. It was you, Mina, Kirishima and Katsuki. He of course, didn't look at all happy in the picture-arms folded and pouting. You and Mina threw victory signs, and Kirishima gave a thumbs up, holding the selfie stick.

You chuckled to yourself. You remembered trying to make a nice bento for him, only for it to taste terrible. And of course, he voiced that distaste for it. He never minced words with you, regardless of your relationship status. You could appreciate that, sometimes.

At least you got better at cooking-thanks to him.

As you scrolled through the pictures, you came to the end and looked at the other files.

One was of prototype schematics for his costume and support items. The other was of your wedding. You knew all the pictures by heart, because you had them on your own laptop.

Then there was the last file.

You clicked it.

And you frowned.

They were all of you. Some you recognized.

Others you didn't.

Like he had taken them when you weren't looking. There was one when you were sleeping on the common room couch back in U.A.. You looked ridiculous, mouth parted and limbs akimbo. Your frown started to change to a small smile.

There was one that looked to be during a date. You were looking over at something, in a diner booth. You remembered that diner. It was in Tokyo. They based it off American foods, but most of it was bastardized into Japanese comfort foods disguised as American.

You remembered Katsuki thought the concept was stupid, but he took you anyways.

One of you in your hero outfit.

Another one of you in a yukata, holding up a goldfish you won. Stupid thing died two days later, through no fault of your own.

And then the last one had you holding back tears.

It was of you, messy and completely drained, holding your newly born baby girl. You completely forgot he took your picture right after giving birth to Katsumi.

The pictures then turned into a mix of you and Katsumi. Her monthly growth, her first smiles, her cute laughing face that showed her newly growing teeth...

And you.

Somehow, he had managed to make you look radiant. Like a confident woman. You looked at some of the photos.

You looked different, but not in a bad way. Tired, but not defeated. Like...

You were thriving.

Like you were born to be a mother.

And it hit you.

It would soon be one year of being a mom. Of your life permanently changing. Of sacrifice, of a new normal that...wasn't quite new anymore.

You looked back to the ones of her as a newborn. Was it really almost a year ago? You could remember each moment of pain, the tears, the grip of Katsuki's hand in yours.

You remembered her first cries. Katsuki's silent tears, mixed with your relieved sobs.

You closed the folder, only to see the name of it properly.

'My girls.'

Your heart warmed, and you felt equally warm tears slide down your face. You took a breath, and pushed away from the desk. Wiping your eyes, you looked up at the time. 3 o'clock.

And just like clockwork, Katsumi wailed. Her nap was finished.

Yes, this would always be your normal. At least...for a few more years. A normal that changed every day, every hour, and every second.

As you got up, you sighed.

In this moment, you had the briefest flicker of hope. That maybe the woman Katsuki managed to capture in his photos, could also be you in real life, too.

The smells of miso, pork and spices permeated the small ramen bar. Katsuki usually hung out with their friends once a month at the bar. Since crime had been taking a nose dive as of late, he was able to see them more often than not. As he pushed back the small flags in the entrance way, the chef called out a welcome. He nodded with a grunt, spotting the usual gang, sans Todoroki-who was visiting his mother.

He huffed as he saw Izuku waving him down from a booth near the back, ignoring wide eyed stares of civilians. Under his arm were a few envelopes, looking out of place in his posession.

"Here." Katsuki tossed the offensively pink envelopes to the middle of the table. They had cutesy hero-themed stickers and sparkle-y hearts, stars and crowns on them.

Kaminari, Izuku, Sero and Kirishima looked down at the envelopes.

"...Wow, never thought I'd see the day Kacchan of the Bakugos would be handing us..." Kaminari picked up an envelope, "pink, girly....what are these, anyways?"

Katsuki huffed. "What does it look like, sparky?" He said, "Katsumi's first birthday. They're invitations, duh." He sat back, folding his arms as they opened them.

"Wow, the littlest Bakugo is already gonna be one, eh?" Sero said, tearing the envelope open.

"I still remember you panicking when you were on patrol and got the call!" Izuku smiled fondly and Katsuki looked away, his ears turning red.

"Didn't panic." He said under his breath.

"You so did." Kirishima smirked.

Maybe a little.

A small hush fell over the table as they looked at their invites.

Izuku's eyes lit up.

"Oh, this is a neat idea!" Izuku said. "I love the idea of all of us wearing our hero outfits!"

"A hero slash princess themed birthday, huh?" Sero rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Thats a new one."

"I'm gonna look hella manly in a crown with my hero costume!" Kirishima looked pumped.

Katsuki clicked his tongue. "Whatever. Just hope the brat likes it."

"I don't think she'll remember it." Kaminari pointed out. "But we sure will. Hope you got a fancy tiara for yourself!"

"Hell no!" Katsuki shot back. "I was promised a king's crown. Ain't no way I'm wearing some pansy-ass princess tiara!"

They chuckled. "Well, soon you might be anyways. You're a girl-dad now, Bakugo. You're bound to get make up put on your face, or your nails painted." Sero said, his grin not faltering. "I just hope (y/n) takes pictures."

"She better not." He muttered. He knew you totally would.

Not that he minded entirely....somewhat.

"Well, I dunno about you all, but Katsumi's gonna love my gift I'm giving her!" Kirishima slapped down the invitation. "Its gonna be-"

"No one wants a lifetime supply of your protein shake line, dude. Let alone a baby." Kaminari pointed out. Kirishima frowned as he deflated, the others except Katsuki chuckled softly.

"Hey! I wasn't gonna get her that..!"

"Well, whatever you extras get her, make it good. Shes gonna be one, not sixteen." Katsuki said, his eyes narrowing, as he turned to his oldest friend. "I'm looking at you, Izuku. No dumb nerd shit."

"W-what?! Kacchan, you know I can buy her age-appropriate things!"

"Didn't you buy an All Might silver age statue for her when she was first born? With all the little pieces to put it together?" Sero said, eyebrow cocked. Izuku blushed.

"W-well, for when shes...older?" The green haired man sweat dropped, clearly caught in his lie. Katsuki rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, so lets not do that again." Katsuki picked up a menu. The table went silent for a moment.

"Hey, what'd you end up doing with that statue?" Kirishima suddenly asked.

"He probably took it for himself." Kaminari grinned knowingly.

The explosive blonde's eyes shot up from the menu, darkening slightly. "Tch. Shut your mouth, Dunce face."

"He didn't deny it!" Sero laughed.

"Shut it!"

Of course, it was in his office-on the highest shelf possible.

Away from tiny hands.

((I thought I was gonna post this chapter as the birthday party, but thats gonna be next chapter. Ugh. Sorry guys, I had a rough last few days, so this chapter is kinda short. But then again, I kinda suck at long chapters. These take me like, a few days usually because of life and stuff, so when I go back and read it I'm like, 'oh shit, this really isn't that long, huh?' Ah well. Maybe one day.))

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napbatata · 16 days ago

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Just A Spark pt. 1

(CW: eventually smut, soulmate au, MDNI)

-Fly away-

The concept was terrifying.

More terrifying than flying halfway across the world.

More terrifying than learning a new language.

More terrifying than living in a new culture entirely.

And suprisingly, more terrifying than finding out you left your bank card back in your home country, in your childhood room.

Well. Thank God for turning over a new leaf and payments by phone.

So what was more terrifying than all this combined?

Soulmates.

Everyone had one. And it was inevitable you would find yours one day. You would share your pain, your life, and your death with them. They would die if you died, and visa versa.

The only way of knowing when you found your soul mate? Well, your parents explained it to you thusly;

"Your father and I met on the train station to New York. My eyes met his, and suddenly a burst of warmth overcame me. It was like I was seeing colors for the first time ever, like noises became amplified and even my nose could smell better." She had said, blushing like a school girl while she recalled it. Your father kneeled next to you.

"Shes right. Its like nothing can stop you from going towards them. Because the stars will make sure you run into them, whether you want to or not." He said, holding up a pinky. Your mother connected hers with his, both their birthmarks matched perfectly, glowing pink. They were shaped like a daisy.

That was another marker. The birthmark one was born with, would be in the same place as their soul mates, with the same symbol or shape. When aligned, it would glow that pretty soft pink-and give each of them a feeling of pure euphoria.

You looked down at your little foot. You had just gotten your mark at ten years of age.

It...looked like a...star? No, like a burning star. A spark. Your mother said it was beautiful.

And you hated it.

Hated having to be tied to someone. To share their pain, their very heartbeats. All aligned to you by some invisible fate.

Well, you weren't going to stand for it.

That day, you made a vow. You wouldn't ever let some random god or the universe fuck with your future!

So, you did research. Most, if not all soulmates found themselves in their own countries. This meant if you traveled overseas, the likelihood of you running into said soul mate would be next to nil.

Perfect.

So, your little ten year old hands scrambled to the computer that very same day, and looked up the farthest place you could think of.

Japan.

And with that in mind, you had a goal. Tangible, and possible.

Which lead you to here, in Musutafu airport, waiting for your bag to come off the carousel.

Genuinely, you had gotten into the idea of teaching English. You had wanted to be a teacher since you were young, and this was an amazing way to do it. You were hired at one of the most prestigious private schools in Japan-and it also happened to be a hero school.

U.A. High School.

While you were no hero, you found the open position for their General Studies courses-so there was no issue on that end. When you graduated your University with honors, they helped you get the position squared away.

So. 23 and fresh faced (thank God for hydrating face masks), you beamed as you saw your suitcases.

"Let's go." You said quietly to yourself. "To a new life, and to a new chapter!" You quickly made your way out of the airport, and towards the rows of taxis awaiting outside.

A few hours earlier...

"Ugh. Can't stand boring patrols." Katsuki Bakugo-AKA Dynamight-griped, biting into the spicy curry bun. He was perched on a rooftop with Izuku Midoriya, or rather Deku- who was eating his less spicy curry bun.

"Think of it this way, Kacchan. Boring means everyone's safe!" The green haired man said.

Katsuki clicked his tongue. "Sure, whatever sensei." He smirked. Izuku rolled his eyes. They peered down below at the busy streets, and Katsuki looked at his childhood rival. "Oh, yeah. Heard you found your soul mate or whatever?"

Izuku blushed. "W-well, yeah. It..uh, turned out it was Uraraka the whole time."

"Round cheeks?" Karsuki huffed. "Fuckin' knew it. You two always were googly eyed, even in high school." He said, bored. Izuku blushed harder.

"W-what!? We were!? I-I mean-" Izuku went into full flustered mode, and Katsuki barked out a laugh.

"Good thing I told you to actually wake up and smell the roses, nerd." Katsuki said. "...even though you basically told me to pound sand right after asking you to be a part of my agency before that." He added the last part quietly.

"Kacchan, I can't be a proper rival if I'm working for you."

"...Semantics." The blonde grumbled. Izuku laughed.

"Oh, right! We have a new english teacher coming to U.A. She's going to be a part of the general courses, but Principal Nezu and All Might want me to show her around the campus. Help her get acclimated." Izuku said, smiling enthusiastically. Katsuki rolled his eyes, his mouth full of his bun.

"Thaths Ooh Aye's golden boy for ya." He said, food spittle landing on his pants. He grimaced, wiping the food off. Izuku chuckled.

"Kacchan, I doubt I'm their...'golden boy'." He crumpled up his trash, holding out a hand for Katsuki's own wrappers. Katsuki gave him his trash.

"Seriously? Of course you are. All Might's little successor? Now quirkless boy wonder?" Katsuki deadpanned. Izuku laughed.

"Because all of you bought me this suit. I couldn't have done it without you all-especially you, Kacchan." He smiled warmly. Katsuki huffed.

"Well...it got you off your ass and now you're...eh, useful-I guess." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Kacchan, I'm higher than you in the hero ranks-"

"AAAaanyways!" He got up, adjusting his gauntlets as he put them on. "So you're gonna be wasting time showing some extra the ropes of U.A.?"

"Oh, it shouldn't be too time consuming! She's coming from America on a permanent working visa."

"Oh. So that's why they're makin' ya a little tour guide." He said, pulling down his mask. "Some idiot foreigner is gonna take up all your working time, huh? Probably can't even use chopsticks and think everything's like an anime." He groused, "Just what U.A. needs..."

Izuku threw the trash out on the rooftop waste bin. "C'mon. Don't be like that. I hear she's extremely smart. Very accredited. And fluent in Japanese, of course." He looked over at Katsuki. "You're just mad that I took more time doing extra stuff that doesn't involve this." He gestured to his suit. Katsuki yet again rolled his eyes.

"Please. Whether you do shit with the suit or not isn't my problem."

"You just said before-"

"It just means I'll rank higher than you, dumbass." He smirked, and perched his foot on the rooftop lodge. "Now let's get going. Wanna get home early today."

"Oh!" Izuku came to his side, getting ready to take off, "for that All Might documentary movie?! They're airing it tonight, I'm excited for it, too!"

"N-no! I just wanna get some...me time!" He huffed, "besides..." he looked away. "I got it already set to record."

Izuku smiled. "We'll have to compare notes on it, then!"

"Oi, who takes notes on a movie!?"

The two took off, and Katsuki looked up at the horizon-a plane making its landing dotted the distance.

Just another day in Japan.

-All Clear For Landing-

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napbatata · 18 days ago

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sweet as cherry wine—

bakugou katsuki x f!reader tags: katsuki pov, tough family conflicts including emotional and physical abuse (non-graphic), toxic relationship dynamics (not with reader), bakugou x f!oc, eventual office romance, canon-typical violence, light smut, slowburn emotional growth, mentioned death of a family member, happy ending, tags subject to change.

katsuki’s relationship with his mother is a central thread in this story. it’s explored with a critical lens, nothing overtly graphic, but their turbulent dynamic is referenced throughout. please mind the tags.

a gentle reminder that this is just one interpretation of what love might look like for bakugou. we all imagine our readers a little differently, just as we shape our favorite characters in our own ways. every version has its place in the fandom, and this is simply one of them.

lastly and most importantly, a huge huge thank you to my sunshine sen 🩷 you are so kind to put up with the mess that i am LOL your patience and understanding are more appreciated than you know 🥹🥹 i hope you enjoy it !!

𝟏. 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄

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napbatata · 19 days ago

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how i look at my screen after y/n just got called kitten/puppy/bunny

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napbatata · 19 days ago

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I'm so grateful for him 🥹

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napbatata · 20 days ago

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Rice Balls & Existential Crises

Summary: Bakugo and (Y/N) already have two energetic daughters and a third baby on the way. One peaceful family outing for takeout turns into an exhausting ordeal for Bakugo when the girls unleash chaos and philosophical questions. Meanwhile, (Y/N) naps peacefully inside, completely unaware of the storm outside.

---

It was supposed to be a simple evening.

Just a quick trip out for some takeout — something easy because (Y/N) was nearly nine months pregnant, and frankly, if she even thought about standing near a stove, she might burst into tears. Katsuki Bakugo, ever the (grudging) doting husband, had suggested they take the girls out for food.

Which meant he was now sitting outside a little local ramen joint, arms crossed, glaring at the sky like it personally insulted his choices in life.

"Papa," the youngest, four-year-old Aiko, tugged on his sleeve, blinking up at him with big red eyes that matched his. "Where do clouds go when they die?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Clouds. When they go bye-bye. Do they go to cloud heaven? Do clouds get old? What if we're clouds and we just forgot?"

Bakugo stared at her. "Are you okay?"

Meanwhile, their oldest, six-year-old Hana, had climbed onto the metal patio table and was howling like a wolf.

Literally.

People passing by were staring. Someone was filming. A dog barked back from across the street.

"Get down from there, damn it—!"

"Awooooo!"

"You're not a damn werewolf!"

"I am! Mama said I can be anything I wanna be, and I WANNA BE A WOLF! AWOOOO!"

Bakugo massaged his temples. "That’s not what she meant."

Inside the restaurant, (Y/N) was peacefully slumped in one of the booths, completely dead to the world, one hand resting over her swollen belly, mouth slightly open in the softest little snore. The staff had quietly offered her water, one of them even covering her with a spare apron like a blanket. She was so peaceful, so serene.

Meanwhile, her husband was contemplating whether it was too late to fake his own death.

Aiko tugged again.

“Papa.”

“What.”

“What if we’re all just part of a bento box in the sky, and the rice balls have feelings, and the soy sauce is our tears?”

Bakugo blinked slowly. “What the hell kinda anime are you watching?”

“I dunno. Hana said life is a cartoon and we’re just meat.”

“Meat?!”

“Awooooo!”

“GET OFF THE DAMN TABLE, HANA!”

But she was already jumping down and landing in a perfect superhero pose, scraping her knees and laughing like a little gremlin. “It’s okay! I used my quirk!”

“You don’t HAVE a quirk yet!”

“I do now! It’s chaos.”

He growled, shoving his hands through his hair, which Aiko took as a sign to climb into his lap. She patted his cheeks like a wise monk.

“Papa, do you think the baby inside Mama will like me?”

“Of course she will.”

“What if she doesn’t? What if she comes out and says, ‘Aiko is weird, I like clouds better,’ and then she floats away?”

“She’s not gonna float away! She’s a baby, not a balloon!”

“Balloon,” Aiko whispered dramatically.

Bakugo was starting to sweat. He checked the time. The food should’ve been ready ten minutes ago. He was 90% sure the cook was watching this chaos unfold and dragging it out on purpose.

Inside, (Y/N) yawned softly, eyes fluttering open. She blinked. The place was quiet. She felt great.

“Ah,” she stretched. “What a nice nap.”

She glanced at the clock and got up, waddling to the counter. “Hi! Is the order ready for Bakugo?”

The guy behind the counter nodded with a smirk. “Yeah. Good luck out there.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

Outside, Bakugo was now holding both girls—one under each arm—like sacks of rice.

“LET ME HOWL—”

“I WANNA TALK TO THE CLOUDS—”

“Shut it, both of you!”

He looked up and saw her stepping outside, holding the bag of food, looking radiant and refreshed like she’d just come from a spa day.

“Hey, Katsuki!” she chirped. “The food’s ready! You okay?”

He stared at her. His hair was a mess. One eye twitched. His shirt was stained with soy sauce, stickers, and the pure regret of parenthood.

“You look… tired.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at the kids. Looked back at her.

“I want a refund on our DNA.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Let’s go eat.”

---

Later that night…

(Y/N) leaned over, gently tucking Hana into bed, who was now snoring like a dragon. Aiko was curled up with a cloud plushie, mumbling about bento-box philosophy.

Katsuki collapsed face-first into the couch, groaning into a pillow.

She sat beside him, rubbing his back.

“Rough night?”

He turned his head. “You fell asleep and left me with the two gremlins from hell. Hana became a wolf. Aiko became Buddha.”

She laughed softly. “Sounds like a regular Thursday.”

He grunted. “I love them. I really do. But I think I aged ten years.”

(Y/N) smiled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re doing amazing, Papa.”

He snorted. “I’m surviving. Barely.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“…Hey, Katsuki?”

“…Yeah?”

“You think the baby’s gonna be weird, too?”

“…I’d be shocked if she wasn’t.”

They both burst out laughing.

And somewhere in the house, a small voice whispered:

“Balloon…”

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napbatata · 22 days ago

Text

The Ties that Bind: The Birth of Spencer

AN: This was the fic that got the majority of the votes today! I hope you guys enjoy it!

Master List

Takes place before the start of the show. Early childhood!

Continuar lendo

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napbatata · 27 days ago

Text

"DON'T STOP LOVING ME."

synopsis: things were always easy between you and katsuki. until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it)

notes: ALWAYS w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda. wc ~5k. childhood bffs bc duh. barely proofread sorry

ever since you were three years old with your scraped knees and sticky fingers to now, where teenage life could not be more confusing, there has always been one, unwavering, constant fact.

you're absolutely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with bakugo katsuki.

and you've never been afraid to show it! backhugs, tackling him to the floor, jumping on top of him and climbing him like a jungle gym, telling him you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. (it is)

he always scoffs and grumbles, but you'd never take it personally, because when he tells you to get off, he pulls you close. when he complains that you're annoying when you're sick, he brings you soup and medicine and cuddles you to sleep. when he blushes and tells you he hates you, his eyes tell a different story.

so what if he doesn't express it the same way you do? everyone has different ways of showing they care. even if he doesn't say it much, you know katsuki loves you.

right?

it was late when you accidentally overheard it. when you froze up and felt your heart drop to the floor. when you started shaking and sweating, eyes darting around for a trash can in case you threw up.

"bakugo, bro, when are you and y/n gonna make it official?" kirishima had teased, throwing an arm around katsuki.

katsuki scoffed and shoved him off. "tch. it's not like that."

"you suuure?" sero questioned. "you two seem awfully close for just friends."

"mannn, if i was bakugo, i'd be all over that. y/n is such a pretty girl!" kaminari chimed in, clearly jealous over his lack of love life.

the teasing continued. you couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew that katsuki definitely had a vein on his forehead that was getting larger by the second.

"you're always carrying her bag, walking her to class.."

"cuddling with her during movie nights, scratching her back.."

"oh! and don't forget how she never forgets to tell him she loooves him whenever they say goodbye!"

"c'mon, bakubro, just spit it out! you two are practically married already!"

the three laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the rise they were getting out of katsuki.

"all of you, shut the hell up!"

"just admit it. you're in love."

he gritted his teeth.

"i'm not in love." he grimaced, venomous anger bubbling to the surface.

"she's just there all the fucking time! always fucking doing girlfriend-y shit when she knows damn well she's not! always clinging and trying to cuddle and all that stupid sappy shit. she's just an annoying fuckin' habit ive learned to tolerate." he spat.

you froze.

what?

was he serious? like, really, truly, deadass serious? you knew he wasn't exactly the super affectionate type, but even still! you thought he really cared about you! clingy? annoying? tolerated?

your head spun as you broke out into a cold sweat. you could've sworn that that wasn't true. you and katsuki have been friends forever. surely he wouldve gotten rid of you by now if he hated you that much, right? and he cuddles you! and hangs out with you! he takes care of you when you're sick! there's just no way, right? he's just angry because he's being teased, right?

..right?

"damn, dude, that's pretty harsh," sero snickered. "you always take care of her, though, no?"

you held your breath.

"tch. doesn't fuckin' mean shit. just gotten used to her because she's been around so long."

your stomach dropped to the basement. he tolerated you. he thought of you as nothing more than an annoying habit.

insecurity pooled inside of you. now that you think about it, was he really cuddling you, or just not bothering to move you off when you laid on him? maybe he just thought you were too much of a hassle to get rid of when you came to hangout, so he just let you stay even thought he didn't want to. when he brought you medicine and stuff, maybe your sickness made you delirious and made you think he was being more affectionate and caring than he really was.

you felt nauseated. you recall all the times you threw a quick "i love you!" over your shoulder or while you clung to him. had he ever once said it back? ever? the room started spinning as you realized you couldn't think of a single time. he'd always deflected. gave you a classic "tch." rolled his eyes. messed up your hair. you dont think you'd ever even heard the word "love" from his lips.

had you just been deluding yourself all this time?

you couldn't take it anymore. sweating, you sprinted out before you could be spotted.

it's been two days since you overheard that conversation, and you'd been avoiding katsuki ever since. or rather, not quite avoiding completely, but there was an undeniable shift in your behavior. you stopped trying to cuddle with him. you stopped showing up to his dorm room to hangout. you especially stopped saying "i love you," even though it killed you every time.

katsuki hadn't shown much of a reaction to your change in behavior. he'd raise an eyebrow when your usual daily hugs disappeared or ask a gruff, "where were you?" when you didn't show up to your unofficial but completely established after school hangouts, but he had otherwise put up no protest.

you didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

on one hand, katsuki's kind of scary when he's confrontational. also, you don't know how you would be able to talk to him. "i overheard a conversation where you said you hate me but im madly in love with you and want to marry you and have your kids?" yeah right. you were sort of glad to be getting off easy.

but on the other hand, you were devastated. his apathy served as further confirmation that he meant every word he said. he really didn't mind that you were pulling back, and seemed perfectly content not being nearly as close as before.

you really had been deluding yourself. secretly, you had been hoping that he was just saying stuff in the heat of the moment and would actually be upset if you pulled back. because that would mean he cared. but he didn't give two shits about you. you really were just some stupid childhood habit he'd learned to tolerate.

you became less energetic as a person. not just with katsuki, but simply in general. your days seemed unbearably longer and darker without him. you had a hard time engaging and staying in the present, your mind wandering to katsuki again and again. it was pathetic, really. you two had never even dated. why were you so hung up about it? you two were just friends, and in fact, it seemed like he never even liked you in the first place. you were just stupidly hopeful and naive.

katsuki was dying.

two days. it had been two fucking days since you'd touched him or even just been remotely affectionate with him and he was going crazy. hell, he'd give the whole damn world even for just a smile at this point. he was desperate.

he didnt understand why you were being like this. it was like everything he knew about you had shifted, and he was just standing there, waiting for some kind of sign or something like an idiot.

katsuki had noticed the shift in your behavior immediately. of course he did. he knows you better than he knows himself, after all. at first, he thought you were just playing some dumb game or pulling some stunt to get his attention, but that wasn’t it. you waved instead of hugging. said a simple "bye" instead of "love you, bye bye!" it's not like you were completely avoiding him. you still talked. you still laughed. only now, it didn't quite reach your eyes.

and it was fucking killing him.

he hated that you were pulling back. he hated how off everything felt. he hated how fucking empty his dorm room felt when you weren't there to pester him. but most of all, he hated how he couldn’t even figure out what he'd done wrong. he couldn't think of any fights or reasons to be angry, but if that wasn't it, what was it? why were you suddenly just.. leaving?

he wanted to confront you. he wanted to pull you aside and demand to know where the fuck you went. but for the first time in his entire life, he didn't know how. because this wasn't like confronting stupid deku about his new powers. it wasn't about asking icyhot what his fuckin' deal was. it was you. his whole fucking world, even if he never said it out loud. he was nothing short of terrified to ask, because he feared it would drive you away even further, and he couldn't think of any alternate universe where he'd be able to handle that.

he found himself looking for excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to just be around you in any way possible. the last two days had been a torture of silence, of missed chances to sit next to you or casually reach out and tug you into his space like he used to. the times when he’d shove his arm around your shoulders or playfully mess with your hair, it had all stopped. he didn't feel like he could anymore. like he'd somehow lost the privilege. and now, all he was left with was this gnawing feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.

he had finally worked up the courage and tried asking you once, but you had shut him down with that all-too-familiar "nothing, just tired" bullshit and that damn closed-off look on your face that made him feel completely hollowed out.

he was desperate. he needed to feel you. needed to hear your bright laughter and see your stupid smile. it was so fucking stupid and sappy and so unlike him, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about that. he needed to cuddle with you until you fell asleep. have you curl up on his chest and get swallowed up by his much larger frame and watch you as your breathing quickly evened out from his touch. you could never stay awake long when cuddling with him. he found himself smiling at the thought.

he scowled. this is so fucking stupid. he thought to himself.

it all came to a bubbling point for him on friday. 5 whole days of "hi's" and a half-smile instead of "KATSUKIIIII's," and a running hug. he was losing his fucking mind.

usually, you convinced him to join the weekly 1a movie night by taking his hand and dragging him out of his room. he'd grumble about it, but he'd never refuse. he'd sit on the corner of the couch and you'd sit close to him before gradually inching closer, the night ending with you two cuddling. now, he willingly trudges to movie night of his own free will and sits in the same corner of the couch, but this time alone.

the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the flicker of the TV as the opening credits rolled and iida turned the lights off. it was some dumb romcom movie katsuki couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest. you would definitely like it, though. kirishima passed around popcorn, sero argued with kaminari over which movie was the best, deku was doing his stupid nerd rambling as todoroki and hagakure gawked at him. and you? you sat on the other end of the couch.

not just away, but away from him.

the usual spot right beside katsuki, practically in his lap, head on his shoulder, knees draped over his thighs sat empty. you sat next to mina instead, curling into the armrest and pulling your legs up to your chest. you offered sweet smiles to everyone, laughed when something was funny, made conversation when prompted. but katsuki saw it. he saw you.

and he saw that you weren’t you.

he stared.

throughout the entire first half of the movie, he barely processed a single second of it. he kept looking over, waiting for you to glance at him, to shift closer, to give him a sign, anything, but you stayed curled in on yourself, legs angled away from him. he hated it. he hated how you looked like you were trying to make yourself smaller. like you were trying to disappear.

katsuki’s heart thundered. his leg bounced impatiently. his jaw was tight. he couldn’t take this shit anymore.

he stood up abruptly, catching your attention. he stalked straight over to you, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. he hovered over you, looking down and saying nothing.

you blinked up at him. "...what?"

his eyes were sharp and unreadable to most. but to you, who knew him better than he knew himself, you could see the anxiety and desperation swimming in his eyes.

no, no, no. remember, don't delude yourself. he doesn't like you, not even as a friend.

"are you okay..?"

"no." he snapped, his tone making you flinch. he softened at your reaction. "i just.. you've been.." he started, but his tone cracked, eyes flashing, and something in him snapped. "fuckin’ hell, just—"

he reached down and grabbed you.

gently, but with zero room for argument. strong arms slid under your knees and behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you barely had time to yelp before he was sitting down again, with you in his lap, pulled tight into his chest like you were his lifeline. (you are)

you froze, wide-eyed and stiff, but he just held you. his arms locked around you. he didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t give a shit about the stares or the knowing grins. he buried his face in your shoulder, muttering low and rough into your neck.

"i don't know what the fuck i did," he said. "but you don't get to just... take all that away. not from me."

you blinked, suddenly breathless.

he held you tighter. his voice cracked again, this time softer. "whatever i did, 'm sorry. i'll make it up t'ya, i swear. but don't just.." his voice trailed off. "dont stop loving me." he wanted to scream.

you felt your heart stutter, but you didn't say anything.

not at first, anyway.

because what is there to say when your heart is lodged in your throat and your body is caged in the arms of the person you swore you were going to get over?

you just sat there, crumpled in his lap like some lost puppy that finally found its way home again. your face is pressed into his shoulder, and you think if you speak, you’ll cry. so you don't. you just let yourself relax and melt into him.

he doesn’t say anything else either. his grip doesn’t loosen, not even a little. his fingers press into your back, not hard, just steady. grounding. enough to keep you pressed firmly against him. like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

the room’s still noisy with all the side conversations, but it's all background noise now with you two just in your little bubble away from the rest of the world. you feel safe and like you’re about to fall apart at the same time.

you shift a little in his lap and glance up at him.

“…you didn’t have to drag me across the room, you know,” you finally mutter, voice hoarse.

he scoffs, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “yeah, well. you weren’t comin’ on your own.”

you wrinkle your nose at him. “you could’ve asked.”

“whatever." he grumbles. "this is more efficient."

you snort. "the hell?"

he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “worked, didn’t it?”

you don’t answer. because yeah. it did.

instead, you rest your head back on his chest, and he immediately shifts to accommodate you. your legs drape over the couch, his arm hooked under your knees to keep you anchored, and his other hand settled at the base of your spine. he starts tracing slow, absentminded circles there, hand slipped under your hoodie to rub at the bare skin like nothing had ever changed. like you hadn’t just gone five whole days without touching him. like you hadn’t spent those five days trying to unravel every version of reality where he didn’t love you back.

you sit like that for a long time.

finally, he speaks up, his voice low.

"what did i do?" he asked, his voice oddly shy. "why'd ya stop.. you know..?"

your breath hitches. because you do know. but you don't know what to say or how to say it. "i thought you completely hated me" doesn't quite seem like an appropriate response.

"nothing," you settle with.

he gives you a look.

you sigh. you never could lie to katsuki. he's known you for too long and too well to fall for them.

"i just.. got insecure. overheard some conversation where you said i was, um, clingy and annoying." you murmur, your voice small. if katsuki wasn't pressed up against you and hanging on to your every word, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.

but he did.

and you swore you saw complete heartbreak in his eyes.

you let out a small gasp of surprise when he pulls you flush against him, arms tight around your body and face nuzzled deep into your neck. he holds you with such a gentle intensity you think you might cry. he holds you in a way that makes you feel loved and safe.

"'m sorry." he mumbles into your neck, voice watery. "didn't mean it. i was just.. mad that they were makin' fun of me. none of it was true. at all."

your breath hitches.

"you're.. so fuckin' special to me. i mean it. these last few days without you have been hell."

you think you might cry.

"been missin' your fuckin' smile and your damn laugh. and your stupid hugs that make me almost topple over."

you hold back a giggle.

"i love you."

the world stills.

you don’t move.

you don’t speak.

hell, you're scared to breathe.

your heart is beating so loud you’re worried he might hear it. your face is burning, your lungs feel tight, and your throat’s a warzone of words you can’t quite say.

he said it.

and now he’s quiet. breathing you in. arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

you pull back just enough to look at him. your hand comes up to brush his bangs from his eyes, and your fingers linger at his temple, trailing down his cheek like you’re memorizing him.

his expression is soft in a way you rarely get to see. wide-eyed. hopeful. a little scared.

you offer him a tiny, quiet smile.

no teasing.

no trying to be brave or play it all off.

just soft. honest. the kind that only he gets to see.

you lift your hand and touch his face. not dramatic, not shaky, just steady. fingers brushing along his cheekbone, thumb ghosting over the edge of his jaw like you’re memorizing the shape of him again.

his eyes close for a second and you swear you see him leaning into it a little.

you say nothing.

you don’t need to.

because you’re here. because he’s holding you. because you’re not pulling away, and he's pulling you in.

you nuzzle your face into his neck, like it's right where you belong, and you breathe in.

he breathes in too.

slow. like the world’s stopped spinning for a second just so you can exist like this, tangled up in each other without saying anything. no talking about what's going on, no complications, just.. being.

you both don't notice how mina and kirishima are gossiping wildly about how you two are practically married and wondering how you still claim not to be dating. you don't notice the way that ochaco squeals after glancing over at your position, and you don't notice the way izuku looks fondly at you two with soft eyes. (he's been shipping the two of you since childhood)

you and katsuki are the only two people in the world who matter.

"i love you," you whisper as you feel yourself dozing off.

you think you feel his lips press gently against your forehead.

"i love you too."

masterlist

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napbatata · 29 days ago

Text

mentally taking a drag of my mental cigarette because I don’t smoke but life has been very smokable lately

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napbatata · 1 month ago

Text

12 hours | Bakugou x reader

tags : strangers to lovers, angst/no comfort, death, reader is terminally sick, gn!reader, bakugou is bad at feelings, pro-hero bakugou, reader is 18, cross posted on ao3

song : kingston, faye webster

w/c : 3.3k

Hour 0 — 10:57 AM

"spend the day with me"

Katsuki looked at the stranger before him confused. he was previously sitting on a waiting chair in the buzzing station, scowling at his phone already pissed off the world wouldn't shut up.

And as if he wasn't already bothered by the simple existence of the world around him. You deciding to talk to him only served to fuel his frustration. He looked up at you, annoyed. "Huh..?"

You're standing there with the stupidest smile he has ever seen, the wind gently running its fingers throught your hair, the collar of your shirt that seemed to be cut hanging loosely around your shoulder, holding a plastic bag in one hand and the strap of your scruffy backpack.

“You look like you need a break from life.”

“…What the hell does that mean?”

You don’t flinch at the edge in his voice—just shift the plastic bag to your other hand, something inside it clinking faintly, like you’d stuffed it full of cheap convenience store treasures.

Your backpack strap’s slipping off your shoulder, frayed at the edge and scribbled over in a white-out pen. One of the zippers hangs open slightly, a folded piece of paper sticking out—like you packed in a rush. Like you didn’t plan to stop moving today.

Katsuki narrows his eyes, he’d been stewing in his own irritation ten seconds ago, jaw tight, thumb scrolling mindlessly through shit he didn’t even care about—until you showed up like some hallucination in a faded t-shirt and secondhand shoes.

“A break,” you repeat. “From everything. Just for today. You in?”

He stares.

The station buzzes behind you—heels clicking, kids crying, announcements echoing overhead—but somehow, your voice cuts through it all like the only thing that matters. There’s something off about you, he notices. Not in a dangerous way. Just… not normal. You look like someone who stopped caring about expectations a long time ago.

Or maybe like someone who doesn’t have the time to.

He folds his arms. “Why me?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got,” you shrug, and there’s a flicker of something behind your eyes. Not quite desperation, but something heavier. Lonelier.

And even though every logical thought in his head is screaming walk away, he finds himself holding still. You look like trouble, sure. But not the bad kind. The kind that forces you to feel something.

“…Tch.”

He sighs, pushing off the waiting bench like the universe just dared him to do something reckless. and Katsuki never backs down from a challenge, althought his mind was screaming at him to not do it, it was stronger than him, he didn't what it was, but it was pulling him in as if he had no control over it.

But you’re already walking, and Katsuki is already following, and by the time he realizes he’s made a mistake, it’s too late.

You’ve already dragged him into your gravity.

And for the first time in months, maybe years, the pressure in his chest lifts—just a little.

Hour 1 — 11:23 AM

The city air is cold for spring. Sharp enough to bite through his skin, soft enough not to chase the sun away.

You walk a few steps ahead of him, the plastic bag swinging lazily at your side, humming some off-key melody like the world’s background music was yours to control.

Bakugou keeps half a step behind, hands shoved deep in his pockets, jaw clenched like it’s the only thing holding him together. He doesn’t know where you’re going. He hasn’t asked.

And that’s the part that pisses him off the most. He doesn’t care.

You lead him through back streets lined with shuttered stores, vending machines humming against cracked walls, graffiti blooming like rebellion on every corner.

He’s watching everything and nothing. Mostly you. “How old are you, anyway?” he finally grumbles. You glance over your shoulder. “Eighteen.”

“Seriously?”

“Why? You were hoping I was thirty-two with three kids and a criminal record?”

“…I was hoping you were sane,” he mutters, and you laugh again.

That laugh. It’s not soft. It’s wild and untrained and alive. Like something that would’ve gotten shushed in a classroom. He thinks he hates it. But only because it makes his chest ache.

Hour 2 — 12:15 PM

"being a hero must be so fucking cool, do you get like parking privileges ?"

You say this with your mouth already full, powdered sugar on your nose, and a strawberry half-hanging out of your overloaded mess of a breakfast.

Bakugou stares at the plastic table between you, skeptical. “This shit looks like a health code violation.”

“You look like a health code violation.”

He glares. You grin. You push the second crepe toward him. “Come on, live a little Katsuki. You can go back to being broody after.”

"It's Bakugou." He crossed his arms

"Katsuki."

With a grumble, he takes a bite just to shut you up.

It’s good. Of course it’s good. Damn it.

You sit across from him, legs swinging beneath your chair like a child, staring out at the quiet street corner clearly staring at something he couldn't figure out. The morning sun is catching in your lashes, and for a second, he forgets he’s supposed to be annoyed.

“You do this often?” he asks. “Pick up strangers at train stations and feed them sugar?”

You shrug. “Only the ones who look like they're allergic to fun.”

“…Tch.”

He doesn’t deny it. You lean forward then, suddenly serious. “Is it that bad?” He blinks. “What?”

“Your life.” He’s quiet. Because yeah. Maybe it is. But he doesn’t want to say it out loud. Not yet.

You seem to get the message anyway. You don’t push. Instead, you stand. “Come on.” He raises an eyebrow. “Where to now?” You smile like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this part. “To steal the street cone that's outside”

Hour 4 — 2:48 PM

"Why the fuck would i do that ?" Katsuki crossed his legs over the grass, it was probably still damp from the morning rain but did he even care at this point ?

He had finally discovered what was hidden in your plastic bag. You had bought a disposable camera and sticker. He had found it ridicilous, but again, alla of it was ridicilous

You peel a rainbow heart sticker and place it right on the front of the camera. Then a silver star. A cracked smiley face. You work slowly, deliberately, tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in focus.

After a moment, you hold up a peeled sticker toward him. “Here. You pick one.”

He stares at it like it might explode. Then, grumbling, he takes a small red ‘BOOM!’ comic-style bubble and slaps it near the flash. Crooked. You look at it and nod solemnly. “Perfect.” A laugh bubbles up from your throat — quick, bright, unstoppable. You click a shot with the camera before he can flinch.

“Hey—!”

“First memory of the day,” you grin. He scowls. But his cheeks are a little pink. You lean back against the tree, camera resting gently in your lap now covered in clashing stickers, and sigh toward the sky. “You know,” you murmur, quieter now, “people think taking pictures is about remembering things. But I think it’s about proving you were there. That you lived.” He doesn’t say anything.

But this time, when you raise the camera again and hold it up toward the sun, he doesn't stop you.

He lets you take the shot, like you’re preserving pieces of the world no one else bothers to notice.

You don’t just look like someone who’s living for the moment.

You look like someone desperately trying to keep it.

Hour 8 — 4:28 PM A stolen bike, two slushies, and one near-death experience.

“This is a bad idea,” Katsuki says, gripping the handlebars of the too-small bike as you balance behind him, arms around his waist, giggling like you’ve already accepted your fate.

“It’s only a bad idea if we get caught.” He grits his teeth as the front tire wobbles over a pothole. “If we die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’d get bored. I’m a terrible roommate.” He doesn’t laugh. But he doesn’t let you fall, either.

You swerve through side streets, wind in your hair, the sky blurring above in streaks of fading light. You press your cheek to his back, and for a minute he thinks he hears you whisper something.

Maybe his name. Maybe goodbye.

He doesn’t ask.

He just keeps pedaling.

Hour 10 — 6:56 PM “This place is sacred.”

It’s a dingy arcade at the edge of the city. Broken machines. Buzzing neon lights. Everything smells like dust and soda syrup.

You light up like it’s a shrine. “This is where I beat a kid in dance dance revolution so bad he cried and threw up.”

Katsuki stares. “You’re weird.”

“You’re just mad I’ll beat you next.”

He scoffs—only to get dragged into a match two minutes later. The camera clatters onto a nearby bench, still blinking with the last shot of the two of you, smiling into a reflective window. He tries to win. Really.

But you’re glowing, wild, limbs everywhere, laughing like you have nothing to lose.

And he’s never seen anything more alive in his life.

Hour 11 — 7:13 PM On a rooftop, watching the sky bleed into pink and orange and almost-purple.

You’re lying on your back on the warm concrete, legs stretched out, arms thrown over your head like you're trying to catch the sky. A half-eaten ice cream cone sits forgotten between you, melting down the side of the wrapper. The sugary air buzzes with distant traffic and the hum of evening settling in.

Katsuki sits beside you with his knees up, elbows resting lazily on them, eyes locked on the horizon like it’s daring him to move. But for once, he doesn’t.

It’s quiet. That rare kind — not awkward, not heavy. Just… still. Like time agreed to pause. He hasn’t touched his phone in hours. Hasn’t thought about hero work, or press, or what the world expects him to be.

He almost forgot he could breathe like this.

Then you say, almost too softly, “You’re not as scary as you pretend to be.” He scoffs under his breath, but doesn’t look at you. “Tch. You’re dumber than you look.”

You smile, even though he’s not looking. “Yeah. Maybe.” A breeze runs between you. Your fingers twitch against the concrete. His hand shifts just enough that your pinkies brush. You pretend not to notice. He pretends he doesn't care.

But something is different now.

You sit up slowly and turn to him, resting your palms on the concrete. "Hey."

He finally meets your gaze. It’s the first time he really sees you—not just your energy or your chaos or the fire you’ve dragged him through all day. But you.

Your eyes are glowing in the sunset. And for a second, everything slows.

“You’re gonna miss me,” you say quietly, almost like it’s a joke. But your smile fades just a little. Just enough to show that you’re serious. Just enough that he can feel it pressing into his ribs.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but his voice is softer than it should be. You lean in, barely. And when he doesn’t pull away, you do it — slow, like you’re giving him time to run.

But he doesn’t.

So you kiss him.

It’s short. Warm. A little clumsy. A little too honest. full of everything unspoken. A culmination of all the little moments that came before it.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since sunrise. Like he’s just now remembering what air tastes like.

You pull back, but you don’t move far. Just rest your forehead lightly against his.

And then, you say it.

“I wasn’t supposed to leave today.” His brows furrow. You’re still close. He can feel your breath. “What?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m sick. Not the kind that goes away.”

You sit back, huggin your knees close to your chest, blinking up at the sky like it might hold you steady.

“I’m dying, Katsuki.”

He doesn’t speak. Not at first.

He’s still holding onto the warmth of your lips, and now it feels like it’s draining through his chest, leaving something cold behind.

You’re not looking at him. You couldn't.

But when you finally do, you offer a small smile — brave and messy and tired.

And that’s when it hits him. You weren’t running from life. You were racing it. Of course...

Hour 12 — 8:14 PM

The city sleeps below them. And for a while, they just breathe.

It’s been hours since you told him.

No more running. No more chaos. Just the truth, finally out in the open, hanging in the night air like smoke. Neither of you speaks much.

There’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been said — in the way he looked at you afterward, in the way you didn’t flinch, in the silence that followed and never once felt cold.

You’re lying side by side on the rooftop, the concrete beneath you warm from the sun that’s long since disappeared. A blanket of stars spreads above like it might swallow everything. It almost feels peaceful. Almost.

Sometimes he turns his head and finds you already looking at him. Sometimes you do the same. And each time, neither of you pretends it’s coincidence.

There are small smiles. Quiet, almost shy. Like you’re both realizing how quickly this thing between you turned raw, soft, and terrifying.

At one point, you shift closer. He doesn’t stop you.

And when your fingers brush, neither of you pulls away.

A while later, you kiss again. Slower this time. No rush, no adrenaline. Just lips that linger and the slight tremble of your breath when you part. He cradles your jaw like you might break, and you kiss him again like you already have.

More silence.

A car horn in the distance. A dog barking. The city stirs a little, but the rooftop remains suspended in stillness. Safe. Untouched.

Then your phone rings.

The sound is sharp, invasive — ripping through the space like a crack in the sky.

You sit up slowly.

He watches as you pull the phone from your pocket and answer it without a word. The call is short. You nod once, even though they can’t see it.

When you hang up, you don’t look at him right away. But when you do, it’s with that same gentle expression. Brave, even now. You don’t try to explain. He already knows. “Thank you,” you say, and your voice is soft but steady.

Then you reach for your bag and pull out your camera — the disposable one, covered in faded stickers and smudges from the day. You place it gently into his hand.

It’s heavier than it looks. Almost like the memories were filling it

“Don’t forget to check the photos,” you say, smiling like you know he won’t for a while. Like you know when he does, it’s going to hurt.

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

You lean down, press one last kiss to his temple, and whisper something he barely hears — “I’m glad it was you.”

Then you rise, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and walk toward the rooftop door without looking back.

He stays frozen on the concrete, the camera resting in his lap. When the door closes behind you, the rooftop feels impossibly quiet. He looks up at the stars. And suddenly, they feel too far away.

Hour 22 — 7:02 AM A letter with his name on it. Left at the front desk. Delivered by a nurse with tired eyes.

He doesn’t open it right away. It sits in his hands like it’s made of fire — light and harmless until it touches skin. He stands in the lobby of the hospital, the sterile air too quiet, too bright. The world feels wrong now. Like it kept moving after you stopped.

Like you’re missing, but everything else forgot to care. That made him angry.

The envelope is a soft off-white. His name is written in your handwriting — messy, looping, like you wrote it too fast, like you were scared you wouldn’t finish.

Bakugou stares at it, jaw clenched. Then he walks out.

He doesn’t remember how he ends up on a bench outside the building, hands trembling and heart thudding in his throat. The sky is just waking up, streaks of dull pink cracking over the horizon. It looks nothing like the sunset you watched together.

He tears it open.

Inside is a single piece of paper. Folded, still warm at the edges from where you held it.

He unfolds it.

And then he reads:

“If you’re reading this, I’m dead.”

The words blur almost immediately. But he keeps going. His hands tighten, crumpling the corners. His eyes burn.

“You looked so alive, Katsuki. I don’t think you realize how beautiful that is. You were so angry at the world when I met you, like you didn’t believe in anything but survival. But I saw the way you kinda laughed when I dropped my ice cream. The way you looked up at the sky. The way you let go — even just for a second.”

His lip trembles. He clenches his jaw so hard it aches.

“I wasn’t trying to escape. I was trying to give you one day. Just one. So you’d know what it feels like to breathe without pressure sitting on your chest. So you’d remember what it’s like to be more than your image, your title.”

He can’t hold it in anymore. His breath hitches. His head drops forward. And then the tears come.

Hard. Silent.

Painful.

Not loud, not dramatic. Just the quiet kind that steals air and leaves nothing behind except a knot in his throat.

He grips the letter like it’s the last piece of you.

“I wanted to tell you I liked you. More than liked you. But I was scared. Scared that if I said it, it would become real, and I wouldn’t be able to walk away, Because i thought love wasn't suppose to happen so fast. But you should know I never lied. Everything I did, every picture I took — it was for me. But it was also for you. Because maybe now, when the world feels too loud, you’ll look at them and remember you don’t have to carry it all the time.”

His body curls forward. Shoulders shaking. Hair hiding his face.

He remembers your stupid smile. The stickers. The bike ride. The arcade. The kiss. The way your fingers gripped your shirt on the rooftop when you told him the truth.

He remembers not saying anything back. He remembers being too scared to give you the words.

“You were my favorite adventure. Thank you for being my last one.”

At the bottom, a tiny doodle: a cartoon explosion, labeled BOOM! in shaky handwriting. A joke. A goodbye.

Bakugou crushes the letter to his chest, biting down on a sob.

He’s never hated silence more than now. And in that moment — on a hospital bench, with morning breaking around him and your final words sinking into his skin — he finally stops running from it all.

He loved you.

He didn’t say it.

And now, it’s too fucking late.

Later, he develops the camera film.

There’s a photo of you — hair wild, laughing with your head thrown back.

And one of him — caught mid-scrowl, eyes crinkled, focused on not falling over with the bike.

He puts those two on his wall. The rest are left on his bed side table.

Every year after that, on the same day, he vanishes.

Some say he takes the train south. Others swear they’ve seen him at a rooftop in Tokyo with a bright orange cone beside him.

No one knows for sure.

But wherever he goes, he takes the camera.

And the memory of the one who made time stop — even if only for 12 hours.

The one that saw him for him.

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napbatata · 1 month ago

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napbatata · 1 month ago

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Spicy Curry (Bakugou Katsuki x F!Reader) Chapter 9

Summary: Pro-hero DynaMight hides his developing hearing loss from the public. He doesn’t want them or the villains to know about what he considers his only weakness. His family knows. His best friends know. And now you, the owner of his favorite little curry shop, know. You want to live a quiet life & to protect your son. The last thing you want is to draw attention to yourself. You hide your identity, you hide your scars, and you hide your quirk. And then Bakugou, Katsuki walks in one day with dried blood on his ears, and you can’t help but help him.

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Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | ? ? ?

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Content Warning: This fic will contain mentions of past abuse from a “partner”, including sexual assault. It will also contain depictions of ableism, both from external sources and internalized ableism.

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By the time you reached the shop, the gentle rain had turned into a steady downpour. Despite your efforts to outrun the storm, all three of you were drenched as you hurried through the door.

"Come upstairs and dry off," you signed, water dripping from your sleeves as you gestured toward the staircase. "I'll get some towels."

Kouichi was already shivering slightly, his hair plastered to his forehead as he peeled off his wet jacket. Katsuki followed, his usual spiky hair now flattened by the rain, water trailing down his neck and dampening his shirt collar.

The three of you climbed the familiar narrow staircase, the worn steps creaking under your weight. Once inside the apartment, you immediately headed for the linen closet, retrieving a stack of fluffy towels while Katsuki and Kouichi waited near the door, mindful of the puddles forming beneath them on the hardwood floor.

"Here," you signed after setting most of the towels on the counter, keeping one for Kouichi. With practiced efficiency, you knelt in front of your son, gently toweling his hair dry first, then helping him out of his damp outer clothes. "Go change into something warm," you instructed, and he nodded, taking the towel and disappearing down the hallway to his room.

You turned to Katsuki, who had already grabbed one of the towels and was drying his arms and shoulders, water still dripping from his soaked hair onto his face. Without thinking, you stepped closer with another dry towel in hand.

"Your hair is still dripping," you signed, gesturing to the wet strands plastered to his forehead. When he paused his movements, you reached up to gently press the towel against his dripping hair. It was the same instinctive care you'd just shown Kouichi, your movements automatic and maternal.

"You're soaked through," you murmured, your hands working the towel through his ash-blonde hair, soaking up the rainwater that had flattened his usually spiky locks against his head.

It wasn't until you felt his stillness that you realized what you were doing. His crimson eyes were fixed on your face, intense and unreadable, only inches away as you worked the towel over his head. Your hands slowed as awareness crept in—this wasn't Kouichi, and what felt natural with your son suddenly felt charged with something else entirely.

The small space between you seemed to crackle with an unexpected tension. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, count each drop of water that traced its way down his temple. Your hands became motionless against the towel, frozen in place as you became intensely aware of his proximity, the moment suspended between you.

Time seemed to stretch and contract all at once. Something shifted in his gaze—a question, perhaps, or a recognition that mirrored your own sudden awareness. For a brief, breathless moment, neither of you moved. What had started as a simple gesture now carried a weight that sent your pulse racing.

His jaw tightened slightly, the muscle there jumping once beneath his skin. The subtle movement broke the spell, reality crashing back as you realized how long you'd been standing there, hands still pressed against the towel covering his hair, face close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

You stepped back abruptly, nearly stumbling in your haste to put distance between you. The towel came away in your hands, and you stared at it for a moment as if it might explain what had just happened.

"Sorry," you signed, pushing the towel toward him with unsteady hands. "Force of habit."

As he took it, his fingers brushed against yours—a fleeting touch that sent a jolt up your arm.

"Unfortunately, I don’t have any dry clothes that would fit you," you signed, your movements a little too quick, betraying your sudden nervousness. "The bathroom's down the hall if you want to finish drying off properly."

Katsuki nodded, a slight pink tinge visible on his ears despite his otherwise composed expression. "Thanks," he said, voice a little rougher than usual.

"I should change too," you added, already backing toward your bedroom door. "Make yourself at home. I won't be long."

Once safely behind your closed door, you leaned against it, pressing your hand to your flushed cheek. What had possessed you to dry his hair like that? You'd touched him with the same familiar care you showed Kouichi, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—and for a moment, it had felt that way.

But the intensity in his gaze when you'd realized what you were doing...it had sent your heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with maternal instinct. You'd seen a depth in his eyes that was usually hidden behind his gruff exterior, a vulnerability that matched your own. For that suspended moment, with your hands in his hair and his eyes locked on yours, the careful boundaries you'd built around yourself had wavered.

The realization unsettled you. You'd spent years building those walls, keeping everyone except Kouichi at a safe distance. Yet somehow, without you noticing, Katsuki had been slipping past your defenses, finding his way into the quiet rhythms of your life. At what point had his presence started to feel so natural?

You took a deep breath, pushing away from the door to find dry clothes. After changing quickly, you combed your fingers through your damp hair, trying to compose yourself before facing him again. It was just Katsuki—the gruff hero who'd become a fixture in your life these past weeks. There was no reason for your hands to feel unsteady or for your heart to race like this.

When you finally emerged, you found Katsuki in the living room, hair sticking up in damp spikes where he'd toweled it dry. Your eyes traitorously traced how his t-shirt clung to his still-damp skin, the thin fabric molding to the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders. The rain continued to drum against the windows, punctuated occasionally by distant thunder, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat quickening as his crimson gaze locked onto yours.

"I was thinking of making oyakodon for dinner," you signed, your movements stiffer than usual as you moved toward the kitchen with deliberate casualness, putting the counter between you like a shield. "Something warm for a night like this."

Katsuki followed, leaning against the doorframe for a moment before entering. The small kitchen felt impossibly smaller with him in it, his presence filling the space in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness. You turned quickly to the refrigerator, grateful for the cool air against your flushed face as you pretended to search for ingredients.

"Oyakodon?" He raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a rough edge that sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. "Didn't take you for a home-style cook after all that fancy curry work."

You kept your back to him a moment longer than necessary, gathering your composure before turning with an armful of ingredients. "There's comfort in simple food," you replied, carefully avoiding his eyes as you placed everything on the counter. "Especially on nights like this."

He shifted closer, reaching for one of the onions you'd set down. Your fingers accidentally brushed against his, and you pulled back as if burned, nearly dropping an egg in the process. His jaw tightened slightly—the only indication he'd noticed your reaction.

"I'm helping," he stated rather than offered, his tone leaving no room for argument as he took a half-step back, giving you breathing space. "Don't even try to argue."

Despite your usual independence—or perhaps because you needed the distraction—you found yourself nodding. "Fine. You can handle the chicken and onions, if you think you're up to it," you replied, forcing a hint of challenge into your expression, falling back on playful antagonism to mask your lingering nervousness.

The familiar spark of competition flashed in his eyes, momentarily replacing that dangerous intensity that had left you so flustered. "The hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, straightening at the perceived challenge. "Of course I can handle it."

"Forgive me for being surprised," you signed, relief washing through you as the awkwardness began to dissipate, replaced by the comfortable banter that had become your refuge."I didn't realize pro heroes had time to learn cooking skills."

"My old man taught me," Katsuki replied, reaching for the knife with practiced ease.

The image of a younger Katsuki cooking with his father flashed in your mind, and you had to fight back a smile. There was something endearing about picturing him as a child, learning culinary skills alongside a patient parent.

"Said hero work burns a lot of calories and I needed to know how to feed myself properly." Though his expression remained neutral, there was something more relaxed in his posture now, the earlier tension between you shifting to something more comfortable as he began preparing the ingredients.

Your kitchen wasn't designed for two people—just a modest galley layout with barely enough counter space for your own cooking needs. Having Katsuki in the space should have felt intrusive, but as he moved beside you to wash his hands, shoulders nearly touching in the confined area, you found yourself acutely aware of how naturally he seemed to fit.

His movements in the kitchen were efficient and precise—there was an unexpected grace to the way he handled the knife, breaking down the chicken with skilled movements that spoke of years of practice. The rhythm of his chopping created a steady backdrop to the rain outside, grounding in its simplicity. You found yourself almost mesmerized by the domesticity of it—how someone so intense in his hero work could be so measured and calm in this mundane task.

The soft padding of feet against the hallway floor broke your trance. Kouichi reappeared in fresh clothes, his damp hair sticking up in places despite his attempts to smooth it down. His eyes lit up at the sight of Katsuki wielding a knife in your kitchen, clearly intrigued by this new development.

"You're cooking with Mom?" he signed, moving closer to investigate.

"Oyakodon," Katsuki signed back with one hand. "Want to help?"

The invitation clearly delighted Kouichi, who nodded eagerly. You were already pulling his small step stool from its place beside the refrigerator, positioning it at the counter with practiced movements.

The three of you fell into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm, navigating the small kitchen with an ease that felt almost practiced. Katsuki handled the chicken and vegetables with focused precision, while Kouichi concentrated on whisking the eggs under your guidance. You prepared the dashi mixture, stealing glances at Katsuki when you thought he wasn't looking.

A flash of lightning illuminated the kitchen, followed by a crack of thunder that vibrated through the floorboards. Though Kouichi couldn't hear it, he must have felt the vibration because he looked up toward the window, eyes wide with excitement rather than fear.

"The storm's getting closer," you signed, moving to check your phone for weather updates.

The screen displayed a severe weather alert: "Flash flood warning in effect for downtown and eastern districts. Heavy rainfall is expected to continue through the night. Avoid unnecessary travel."

You showed the alert to Katsuki, concern creeping into your expression despite your efforts to remain casual. "Your place is in the eastern district, right? They're saying the roads might flood."

Another flash of lightning cut through the room, closer this time, briefly turning everything stark white before plunging back into the warm glow of your kitchen lights. The thunder that followed shook the small apartment, rattling the dishes in the cabinets.

You bit your lip, glancing at the worsening storm outside. "Maybe you should stay here tonight," you suggested, the familiar concern you'd developed for him creeping into your expression. "The weather's only getting worse."

Katsuki's eyes met yours, searching your face for something you couldn't name. "I'll be fine," he said. "I've dealt with worse than a little rain."

"It's not just rain," you countered, gesturing toward your phone with its glaring alert. "They're reporting street flooding already. The trains might stop running soon too."

Another violent crack of thunder seemed to emphasize your point, the rain now beating against the windows with renewed intensity. Inviting him to stay felt easy—but it also meant something.

Having him in your shop was one thing, even in your kitchen helping with dinner. But having him spend the night, becoming part of your most private hours was something else entirely.

"The couch is comfortable enough," you added with a small shrug, trying to sound casual. Your eyes met his, and you found yourself adding, "Besides, Kouichi would be disappointed if you left now."

It was easier to frame it in terms of Kouichi's feelings rather than admit your own relief at not having to worry about Katsuki in the storm.

Katsuki glanced between you and Kouichi, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. For a moment, you thought he might refuse—his pride had always been his most predictable trait. But the storm chose that moment to punctuate your invitation with a particularly violent flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by thunder that shook the small apartment.

"Fine," he finally conceded, turning back to the cutting board as if the decision were inconsequential. But the slight pink tinge at the tips of his ears told a different story.

Relief washed through you. You nodded and turned back to the stove, where the rich aroma of simmering dashi was beginning to fill the small kitchen, mingling with the scent of caramelizing onions and chicken. Steam rose from the pan as Katsuki worked the ingredients with practiced ease.

"Almost ready," he signed, breaking your momentary trance. "Just need to add the eggs."

Kouichi, stationed at Katsuki’s other side on his step stool, held the bowl of beaten eggs with such concentration that the tip of his tongue peeked out between his lips. He looked to you for confirmation, and at your nod, carefully poured the mixture over the simmering ingredients.

"Lid," Katsuki instructed. Kouichi quickly handed him the pot lid, pride evident in his expression at being an essential part of this process.

As Katsuki lifted the lid to check the eggs, the gentle cloud of steam carried the mouthwatering aroma throughout the kitchen. He nodded once, satisfied with his creation, and reached for the bowls you'd set out. He divided the oyakodon evenly, the glossy eggs and tender chicken nestled perfectly atop beds of rice.

"This looks amazing," you acknowledged. "You've been hiding your cooking talents all this time."

"Yeah, well," he signed back, a hint of color touching his cheeks, warming his pale complexion. "Kind of hard to share when you're always the one behind the counter."

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest at this glimpse of a side he rarely showed. "Then I'm glad you had the chance tonight," you replied, gathering utensils for the three of you.

The small dining table tucked against the wall barely accommodated the three of you, your knees occasionally brushing against Katsuki's under the table in a way that sent electricity up your spine. The first bite melted in your mouth, perfectly seasoned and comforting in its warmth.

"This is so good!" Kouichi signed, his enthusiasm impossible to contain as his hands flew in animated gestures between eager bites. "Can you teach me to cook too?" he asked Katsuki, his hopeful expression impossible to resist.

"Sure," Katsuki replied with a casualness that belied the significance of promising future time together. "We'll start with something simpler next time."

Next time. The words settled between you, carrying weight beyond their simple meaning. This temporary arrangement—Katsuki's medical leave, his help with Kouichi's quirk, his increasingly frequent presence in your space—all of it had an invisible expiration date. Eventually, he would return to hero work, to his real life beyond this small apartment with its worn furniture and cramped kitchen. The thought created an unexpected ache in your chest that you quickly pushed aside.

The meal passed in comfortable conversation, interrupted occasionally by particularly loud crashes of thunder that rattled the windows.

As dinner wound down, you began gathering the empty dishes. "I'll handle cleanup," you signed, already moving toward the sink. "Kouichi, don't you have that number worksheet to finish for tomorrow?"

Kouichi's face fell momentarily before brightening as he turned to Katsuki. "Will you help me? It's counting and patterns."

"Alright," he agreed. "Get your stuff and we'll work on it in the living room."

You watched as they settled on the couch, Kouichi's small backpack between them as he pulled out his workbook. The domesticity of the scene made your heart ache in a way that was both sweet and painful—this brief glimpse of what a different life might have looked like, with someone to share the everyday moments of raising your son.

The storm provided a steady soundtrack as you washed the dishes, occasionally glancing over to where Katsuki patiently helped Kouichi with his assignment. Their heads were bent close together, Katsuki's ash-blonde hair a stark contrast to Kouichi's dark locks as they studied the worksheet. You found yourself memorizing the image—storing it away for later, for when this temporary arrangement inevitably ended.

You turned your attention back to the sink, losing yourself in the familiar rhythm of rinsing and drying. The gentle clink of dishes and splash of water created a soothing melody that matched the patter of rain against the windows. You were so focused on wiping down the counters and putting away the last of the dishes that you didn't immediately notice the sudden quiet from the living room. It was only when you turned to check on them that you realized they were gone. The worksheet and pencil lay abandoned on the coffee table, but both Katsuki and Kouichi were gone. It took you a moment to register what must have happened—so absorbed in your cleaning routine, you'd missed Katsuki taking your son to bed.

The realization struck you. This wasn't a visitor helping out; this was someone who had become so familiar with your routines that he just handled it himself. Not because you'd asked him to, not because he was trying to prove something, but because it had become natural for him.

For years, it had just been you and Kouichi against the world—you tackling each parental duty alone, from midnight fevers to scraped knees to bedtime stories. You'd grown so accustomed to handling everything yourself that the thought of someone stepping in without being asked felt almost jarring. Not unwelcome, but foreign in its casualness.

You were still processing this when Katsuki emerged from the hallway, returning to the kitchen where you stood with a dishcloth in your hand. He moved with the easy confidence of someone who belonged here.

"He's out cold," Katsuki signed, his movements precise but relaxed. "Tucked him in. Made sure the nightlight was on the dimmer setting."

"Did you remember his—" you began to sign.

"Yeah, his plush fell on the floor. Put it next to his pillow," Katsuki answered before you could finish. "And checked the window was closed tight because of the storm."

The simplicity of his response only amplified its impact. This wasn't someone helping out once; this was someone who had been paying attention all along. Who had watched you parent and absorbed every detail because he cared enough to notice.

"Thanks," you signed, the word simple but weighted. You hung the dishcloth over the sink edge to dry, processing what his quiet attentiveness to your son's needs truly meant.

The storm outside seemed to intensify the quiet between you, rain drumming against the windows and sealing you off from the rest of the world. Your apartment suddenly felt smaller—not cramped, but intimate in a way that made you acutely aware of his presence. Of the fact that you were alone with him.

Katsuki's eyes met yours across the kitchen. They'd always been intense—those crimson eyes that missed nothing—but now they held something else.

For a moment neither of you moved. The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes. You found yourself noticing details you'd trained yourself not to see—the way his ash-blonde hair caught the kitchen light, how his shoulders filled the doorframe, the careful way he held himself, as if conscious of the power contained in his body.

A crack of thunder broke the moment. You stepped back, needing distance from whatever was building between you.

"I'm going to sit down for a bit," you signed, motioning toward the living room. “Feel free to join me.”

Katsuki silently followed after you, but you felt his presence behind you—solid and real and impossible to ignore.

Katsuki settled onto the couch, his usual commanding presence softened in the gentle lamplight. You took a seat beside him, leaving a careful space between you that felt both necessary and disappointing.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The comfortable silence stretched between you, filled only by the gentle patter of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he made no move to check it. Instead, he leaned his head back against the couch, eyes closing briefly as he exhaled a long breath. The day's tension seemed to drain from his shoulders as he sat there, his usual alertness giving way to a rare moment of visible fatigue.

"Long day," you signed when he opened his eyes again, not really a question but an observation.

He snorted softly. "You could say that."

Another comfortable silence fell between you.

"I saw the news today," you finally signed, hands steady despite the weight of your words. "That's why I had the TV off. I couldn't stand watching them say those things, and I definitely didn't want Kouichi exposed to any of it."

Katsuki's fingers dug into his knee, knuckles white before he caught himself and deliberately relaxed his grip. He clicked his tongue before signing, "So you saw that too." His signs were clipped, held closer to his body than usual.

"It was hard to miss," you admitted. You paused, watching the rain streak down the window before adding, "I had to turn the TV off. I won't let Kouichi see people questioning whether someone can be a hero just because they're deaf or have hearing loss."

Something flickered across Katsuki's expression—surprise, then realization. His eyes darted toward Kouichi's bedroom door before returning to yours, sharper now.

"Didn't think about the kid seeing it."

"You've had enough to deal with just handling it yourself," you replied, the gentleness in your signs contrasting with your direct gaze.

"What exactly did you see?" he asked, his signs sharp and controlled despite the tension evident in his shoulders. Part of him needed to know exactly what you’d witnessed, what image of him you now carried.

"The morning news segments," you admitted, holding his gaze. "They showed footage from your recent missions, highlighting moments when you seemed to miss audio cues. The commentators kept suggesting your hearing loss was putting civilians at risk." You paused, hands momentarily stilling as you remembered the cruel framing. "The headlines were brutal - calling you a 'liability' and questioning whether you should keep your hero license."

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he absorbed your words. His fingers curled into a tight fist against his thigh before deliberately relaxing.

"I saw some of it," he signed, movements unnaturally controlled, betraying the tension rippling beneath his surface. "They dug up footage from my last three missions, analyzing every moment I didn't immediately respond to something." His eyes darkened. "The public comments were... clear about where they stand."

"And what do you think?" you asked, keeping your signs measured despite the protective anger building in your chest.

The question hung between you as he stared into the middle distance, his jaw working silently. The seconds stretched into uncomfortable silence, his expression growing more withdrawn with each passing moment. You began to regret pushing him.

"I'm sorry," you started to sign. "You don't have to—"

"They might not be wrong." His hands cut through your apology, each sign formed with painful precision. The admission carved lines of tension across his face as his crimson eyes finally met yours, raw with an honesty that made your chest ache. "In combat, if I can't hear someone calling for help, or an approaching threat—"

"You adapt," you said, your signs gentle but confident. "Which you've already been doing, right? You've always found ways to overcome obstacles."

His eyes met yours, uncertainty visible where his usual confidence should be. "I've been working on it," he signed, movements carrying both frustration and resolve. "New support gear, different patrol formations, backup comm systems." His jaw tightened. "But it's different when it affects safety. When a missed sound could mean someone doesn't make it home."

"Is it really that different from any other limitation?" You straightened, signs sharp and deliberate. "Firefighters train specifically for when they can't see in smoke-filled buildings. And pilots have multiple backup systems and protocols for when instruments fail mid-flight." You tapped the table between you for emphasis. "Having hearing loss is just one more tactical consideration."

His crimson eyes flashed, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he leaned forward. There was no gratitude in his expression, no relief—just that fierce intensity that made him such a formidable hero. You'd struck a nerve, but not in the way most people did. You hadn't offered platitudes or pity; you'd framed his situation as a problem to be solved rather than a tragedy to be mourned. It was the first time someone had approached his hearing loss as a tactical challenge rather than a personal failure.

"Tch. That's a fucking oversimplification," he said aloud, his voice rough and low from disuse. The unexpected shift from signing to speech caught you off guard, the deep timbre of his words resonating somewhere in your chest.

"I'm not saying it's simple," you signed, your movements steady and deliberate. "I'm saying it's manageable. Different from what you're used to, but not impossible."

Your words hit something raw in him. He shifted abruptly, the couch creaking beneath his weight. One hand clenched into a fist at his side, knuckles whitening before he deliberately relaxed his fingers.

"You make it sound so straightforward," he signed, each movement sharp with frustration. His crimson eyes narrowed, pride and vulnerability warring in his expression. "Like I just need a better attitude or something."

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" His signs cut through the air, sharp with frustration. "Because from where I'm sitting, my entire career—everything I’ve ever worked for—”

"Is still yours," you interrupted, refusing to back down despite the intensity of his glare. "Unless you decide it isn't."

His eyes locked with yours, something vulnerable flickering beneath the hardened exterior he typically maintained. The rain filled the silence between you, softer now, a steady rhythm against the windows that seemed to emphasize the quietness of this moment of honesty.

"My whole life," he finally signed, his movements precise and measured despite the intensity behind them, "has been about pushing past limits. Being number one. That's not just what I do—it's who I am."

You watched him, letting the words settle between you. There was no pity in your gaze, only that steady patience that had become his anchor.

"What if meeting your own standards looks different now?" you asked, the question gentle but direct.

His expression shifted, defensiveness giving way to something more raw—a momentary glimpse of the fear that lay beneath his confidence.

"I don't know how to accept anything less from myself," he admitted, his hands forming the signs with reluctance, each movement heavy with the weight of confession. His eyes shifted away, focusing on the rain-streaked window rather than meeting your gaze.

The vulnerability in his admission struck something deep within you. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gentle as they brushed his jaw, guiding him to face you again. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, surprise flickering across his features.

"If anyone can learn how," you said aloud, your voice soft but clear enough that you knew he could read your lips at this proximity, "it's you."

The simple faith in your words seemed to reach him in a way nothing else had. His expression shifted, the hard lines of frustration softening into something more fragile, more genuine. He leaned almost imperceptibly into your palm, his crimson eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

Something unspoken passed between you—a recognition, an understanding deeper than words could express. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before returning to meet yours, a question forming in the silence. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the steady rhythm of rain against the windows fading into the background.

He leaned forward, closing the distance between you with quiet certainty. The familiar scent of caramel and smoke that always clung to him enveloped you as the couch shifted beneath your weight. His forehead touched yours, the contact sending electricity down your spine. Your noses brushed, his breath warm against your lips, fanning across your skin in a gentle rhythm that matched the quickening of your pulse. Your eyes drifted half-closed, his eyelashes close enough that you could feel them against your skin like butterfly wings. Everything else faded away—the storm, the shop below, the complications that had kept you isolated for so long—leaving only this moment of anticipation suspended between you.

In this precious second of connection, years of careful distance and rigid boundaries began to weaken. The fear that had become your faithful companion battled with an unexpected longing that blossomed in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a different life—one where your past didn't haunt your every decision, where letting someone in didn't risk everything you'd built, where happiness wasn't something other people had while you stood watching from a distance.

His breath mingled with yours, warm and impossibly intimate. His lips brushed against yours, the contact feather-light yet electrifying, sending a shiver of longing through your entire body.

Then reality crashed in. Kouichi's questioning face if this ended badly. Katsuki's inevitable return to hero work. The scars that marked you as damaged. The danger that followed you like a shadow.

A voice that sounded like survival whispered: He's too young. Too driven. He deserves someone whole.

The scar hidden beneath your shirt seemed to burn, a permanent reminder of what happens when you mistake intensity for love. You'd walked this path before—drawn in by strength and certainty—only to discover too late the control that waited beneath.

You pulled back abruptly, creating distance between you despite the ache in your chest that wanted the opposite. The sudden absence of his warmth felt jarring in the comfortable apartment, like stepping from a warm room into winter air.

"It's getting late," you signed, your hands less steady than you would have liked, betraying the emotion you fought to conceal. "We should probably get some rest."

Confusion flashed across his face, crimson eyes widening slightly before recognition dawned. You watched something that looked like hurt cross his features before his expression settled into careful neutrality—a mask sliding into place with practiced ease.

"Yeah," he agreed. The single sign carrying a weight that made your throat tighten. "Long day."

The excuse hung in the air between you, flimsy and transparent. You both knew it wasn't fatigue that had made you pull away, but neither was brave enough to acknowledge the real reasons.

You stood quickly, needing space to gather your composure. "I'll get you some blankets for the couch," you signed, already moving toward the linen closet, grateful for the chance to turn away from his searching gaze.

Behind you, you could feel his eyes following your retreat, could almost sense the questions forming in his mind. When you returned with an armful of bedding, his expression had settled into that familiar mask of careful neutrality, all vulnerability tucked safely away.

"Here," you offered, setting the bedding beside him on the couch.

He nodded, accepting the blankets with careful movements that ensured your fingers wouldn't brush. The deliberate avoidance of contact stung more than it should have.

"Thanks," he signed simply.

An awkward silence fell between you, heavy with all the things left unsaid. The easy connection you'd shared just minutes ago had transformed into something tense and uncertain. You found yourself searching for safe ground, for some way to restore the comfortable dynamic that had been developing between you.

"If you need anything else, just... let me know," you signed, the offer feeling inadequate against the weight of what had almost happened.

Katsuki nodded, already arranging the blankets with efficient movements that signaled retreat. The practicality of the action closed a door between you as surely as if he'd walked away.

"Goodnight, then," you signed, lingering by the hallway, reluctant to end things on this note yet unsure how to mend them.

His crimson eyes held yours with an intensity that belied his casual posture. For a moment, something flickered in his gaze—a question, perhaps, or a challenge—before it was carefully tucked away.

"Goodnight," he signed back, his movements precise and controlled.

Alone in your bedroom, you brushed your fingers lightly across your lips where the ghost of his almost-kiss still lingered. The warmth of his breath against your mouth, the electric anticipation as his lips hovered just a breath away from yours—these sensations remained imprinted on your skin like a phantom touch. You'd built your life around self-sufficiency, around needing no one but Kouichi. Yet now, the solitude you'd crafted so carefully felt hollow in a way it never had before.

You couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if you hadn't pulled away. Would he have pulled you closer, strong arms wrapping around you like you'd caught yourself imagining on quiet nights when loneliness felt too heavy to bear alone?

But these were dangerous thoughts, leading down paths you couldn't afford to travel. Katsuki's life was elsewhere—in hero work, in a future bright with promise and possibility. Your life was here—in this small shop, in raising Kouichi, in the careful routine you'd built to keep you both safe. The distance between those realities felt insurmountable in the quiet darkness of your bedroom.

You stared at the ceiling, replaying his expression when you pulled away—that flash of confusion followed by masked hurt. Had he truly wanted to kiss you, or was this just a momentary attraction brought on by proximity and shared vulnerability? Men like Katsuki, young and driven and full of potential, didn't end up with women like you—women with complicated pasts and scars. You'd been down this road before, mistaking intensity for something deeper, and the consequences had shaped your entire life since.

A part of you wanted to get up, to walk back into the living room and finish what had almost started. To feel his lips against yours, to let yourself be held for the first time in years. Instead, you lay perfectly still, listening to the gentle sounds of him settling on your couch, imagining him just as sleepless as you were.

In the living room, Katsuki stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the rain continued its gentle rhythm against the windows. His jaw clenched as he replayed the moment in his mind—your gentle touch against his jaw, guiding him to face you, the warmth of your fingers against his skin. He'd leaned into your palm, drawn to the comfort it offered. That moment of connection had felt so certain, so right—your breath mingling with his, the feather-light brush of his lips against yours that sent electricity through his entire body.

Then you'd pulled away suddenly, and the loss of your warmth had left him adrift.

The ghost of that almost-kiss haunted him now. Had he misread everything? The tenderness in your eyes when you'd touched his face, how you'd held his gaze with such understanding before he'd leaned in—all of it had seemed clear enough. He prided himself on reading combat situations with precision, but relationships? That was territory where his track record failed him.

Your expression when you'd pulled back replayed in his mind—that flash of longing quickly overtaken by fear. There had been something in your eyes he couldn't quite name, a shadow that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with whatever you carried from your past.

Unbidden, Mina's words from their breakup surfaced: "You never let anyone get close enough to see the real you." The irony wasn't lost on him that now he found himself on the opposite side, pressing against someone else's defenses instead of maintaining his own.

The blanket you'd given him carried your scent. Without thinking, he pulled it closer to his face, inhaling deeply before catching himself. Your scent had become synonymous with comfort in his mind, an anchor in the time he'd spent in your orbit, though he'd never admit how quickly your presence had become a source of peace he hadn't known he was seeking.

Sleep eluded him as the rain tapped a gentler rhythm against the windows. He knew, somehow, that you were still awake too, just as restless on the other side of that wall. Both of you lying there, separated by a thin barrier and fears neither was ready to name.

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