#its universal as far as i’ve been aware for the past fuckin 8 years

[mybrainsrottingwithmcd]

If Laurence was to be sexual

I believe he would be bi

[nat-20s]

 Part 8 of the wonderful! Au: the boys answer some questions! Up to you to decide if they actually clarify anything!

(also on AO3)

~*~

Martin: Hey everyone! I know what some of you are thinking right now: it's not Tuesday, why is this episode in my feed? I know significantly more of you are thinking: I don't consistently keep up with podcast releases, how much free time do you think I have, buddy? To answer your queries: this is a bonus episode! We're answering listener questions to clear the air and/or have fun. Also, I don't know, around 20 to 40 minutes a week, as that is the average amount of time per episode? Maybe during your commute? My husband's omnipotence has been gone for five years, we just have to guess at that sort of thing now.

Jon: For legal reasons, that last statement was a joke. In fact, to cover all of our bases, we do not guarantee that any of our responses are genuine.

Martin: Just because we say we'll answer things doesn't mean we'll answer truthfully. Though, honestly, I think we might make it more enjoyable if we do tell the truth. Like, I don't necessarily have a fun lie prepared for our first question from konspiracyking97: "What's their fuckin deal anyway?"

Jon: Is this referring to the oblique references  we've made about being from a parallel reality and only ending up here as a consequence of ending one apocalypse and potentially starting another or the general premise of the show?

Martin: Oh, it's gotta be general premise, yeah?

Jon: In that case, I'm Jon, the other voice you're hearing is Martin, we're married, and we talk about things that are..nice? Good? Usually generally but occasionally rather specifically pleasant.

Martin: That pretty much covers it. It's not a complicated show. Uhh, next question comes from Shane: are either or both of you aliens? Nope!

Jon: Well..

Martin: No. We are 100% human people from Earth, we are under no definition extraterrestrial.

Jon: Eh..

Martin: Okay, first off, I know the tone of that 'eh' and "not fully human" is not synonymous with alien, so even if 100% is being a bit generous, we're still from the same planet as our listeners.

Jon:..

Jon: But. We sort of aren't though. Technically speaking.

Martin: No no no no no. I don't care if it's parallel, Earth is Earth is Earth, regardless of whatever nonsense metaphysics might be occurring.

Jon: So what you're saying is that if you got sucked through a portal and landed on an Earth where dinosaurs were still the predominant species, you wouldn't consider yourself to be an alien?

Martin: Nope!

Jon: I'm certain that they would consider you an alien. All of their mammals are probably shrew sized.

Martin: Sounds like a them problem.

Jon: Sounds like a-?! You know what, no, this will be an off the record debate, for now, I suppose I concede that the two Earths and our physiologies are similar enough that we might, maybe, not count as aliens.

Martin: Thank you. Anyway, our next question is from anonymous, and asks, "Is all of this an ARG?"

Jon: A whomst?

Martin: Alternate reality game. It's a method of storytelling that's interactive with audience, and usually has, I dunno, a certain suspension of disbelief to it where it pretends to be something actually happening in the real world until a dramatic reveal. A lot times it was used as a marketing gimmick, but others have done it just for fun. I can show you some examples after the show?

Jon: So it's in essence a more involved creepypasta?

Martin, delighted: Aw, babe, I'm never going to have a handle on what pop culture you are and aren't aware of, huh?

Jon: We were born within a year of each other, and I've told you that I was a deeply morbid teenager, you should probably be able to intuit some of things, love.

Martin: This coming from a man who has yet to see "It's a Wonderful Life", but has seen every film in the "Banjo Cannibals" franchise, including the Easter special. Jesus doesn't exist in the Banjo Cannibals universe, why does it have an Easter special?

Jon: The movies are rather shoddily translated from Russian, so I'm fairly certain the Easter component of that special was invented wholesale in the English version.

Martin: You say that like it answers more questions than it raises.

Jon: Yes, because it does. Oh, and to answer anonymous's question, no, this isn't an ARG. From my understanding of it, if it were, it'd be a poorly constructed one, as there's no real game element to any of this.

Martin: Hmm. Well, sometimes the game component is just trying to figure out what's going on with the story, or if there's any deeper content, and people are definitely doing that with this show.

Jon: That's not by design though. It's more a side effect of us having poor brain to mouth filters, I'd say.

Martin: Harsh, but fair. Oh, this next one is from Zac, no K, who asks, "Are you two actually even married?"

Jon, flat: We are, but it's under false names because this whole thing is an elaborate insurance scam.

Jon, incredulous: Yes, obviously, we're married. What did you hear in this podcast that would make you wonder otherwise, and how do we rectify it?

Martin: Clearly we need to up our quota for how "disgustingly in love" and "horrifically sappy" we are per episode. Which segues nicely into the next question from Gwen, "What's your favourite wonderful thing you've brought so far?" My answer: my husband. He's kind of my favourite in most things, you know?

Jon: Boooooo

Martin: Why, what's your favourite thing?

[Jon reluctantly sighs]

Jon, indulgent: being married.

Martin: A: serves you right for trying to pretend you're the less horrifically sappy and romantic one even though earlier today someone put a love note in the lunch they packed for me-

Jon:- Lies and slander! I have never, in my life, done that, even once.

Martin: Oh, sure, not even once. And you definitely don't reserve the lilac sticky notes specifically for my lunches because you know I like the colour. 

Jon: I..I don't.. you're rather ruining my image here.

[Martin snorts]

Martin: Can't have the audience think that you are, on occasion, an incredibly doting husband-

Jon: -A title I would argue we both share-

Martin: - which is obviously why, even with it being your favourite thing you've brought, being married to me is just a small wonder-

Jon, audibly rolling his eyes: As I already explained-

[A Pause}

Jon: Actually, you're right-

Martin: Wait-

Jon:- I really should have brought it as a larger wonder-

Martin: Wait-

Jon: though I should warn you, I think I'd have far too much material for just one little segment-

Martin: No no no no no-

Jon:- In fact, I think I might have too much material for just one little episode-

Martin: Joo-oon-

Jon: I might have to do a whole series! Where would I even start? I mean I could talk about how every day I get to watch the early morning sun highlight your curls when I get up first, or hear you quietly humming and shuffling around the kitchen when you do, or I could talk about how the lunch notes only started in the first place as retaliation to the notes you would leave on the mirror for me to find, or how every time I get to see you at ease in a way that you aren't with anyone else, it takes my breath away, or I could talk about how cute I find the lines between your eyebrows that you only get when you're thinking something petty, but you know it's petty so you don't want to say anything-

Martin: Okay, okay, Christ, I give !up I surrender, and will cease my teasing on this particular topic.

Jon, probably making the :3 face: You don't have to stop. I mean, I could also discuss how very, very attractive I find your voice when it takes on a teasi-mmph!

[There's a pleased hum, then a pause.]

[The audio quality is slightly changed, as if the recording has been stopped and then started later]

Martin, giddy: Uh, heh, anyway, Eric asked what the least favourite thing we've brought was, and because of Jon's attempt to embarrass me live-

Jon, overlapping: It's definitely not live-

Martin:- on air, I'm gonna say it's my husband.

[Jon scoffs]

Jon : If the past few minutes are any sort of indication, I'm going to go ahead and saying that you are lying.

Martin, sighing contentedly: Maybe a bit, but how was I supposed to resist when your indigance gives you that adorable little nose scrunch? In reality, my least favourite thing was probably, um, mini golf? Which, I still don't think is inherently bad, definitely superior to regular golf, but when it's the only thing a next door two year old wants to do with you, the charm begins to wear off a bit.

Jon: Wow. A rather scathing review of a toddler.

Martin: Not so much a scathing review of a toddler as it's a scathing review of minigolf's inability to keep its appeal after the third time in the same week.

Jon: Mmm, the sound effects rather quickly go from part of the atmosphere to part of the irritation, don't they?

Martin: So what's your least favorite thing we've covered here?

Jon: Oh, love, I'm not going to pretend to have nearly enough memory of what we've covered so far to have a least favorite.

Martin: Really? Nothing that you regret or rescind?

Jon: Well, regret, certainly. It was one of the weeks where you went first, and your second item was mutual aid funds, and what they can do for marginalized communities, and I had to follow it with fucking Slapchop.

Martin, poorly suppressing laughter: In your defence, Slapchop, or whatever offbrand we have, is pretty useful, especially when either your scar or my arthritis is acting up.

Jon: I'm still not convinced you didn't somehow see my notes for the recording and decided you get revenge for the first year that we knew each other.

Martin, no longer suppressing his laughter: Yep, you got me! This marriage wasn't an act of insurance fraud, but it was a near decade long con to humiliate you on a podcast that about twenty people listen to. I'll draft up the divorce papers immediately, and then we can finally go our separate ways. 

Jon: I'm glad you've at last admitted it. Such a weight off of my shoulders. Goodbye forever then.

Martin: Right.

Jon: Right.

[A beat.]

[There's a pfft from one of them, before both dissolve into giggles that lasts a good 30 seconds.]

Martin, slightly out of breath: I can't believe we're the kind of people that talk this much about speciality kitchen gadgets.

Jon: Sorry about that.

Martin: God, don't apologize. I'm, like, deliriously happy with our varying degrees of useful cooking ware filled life. If you had told 25 year old me that one day he'd be debating the merits of getting a tortilla press with his husband, he'd have wept, I tell you.

Jon: Funny, if you told 25 year old me the same thing, he would've said "You don't know the future,piss off" and then quietly have a bit of a panic at 3 am that night.

Martin: I bet you were insufferable in your mid-twenties.

Jon: First of all, who isn't, secondly, I was fresh out of Oxford, and third, I was insufferable in my late twenties, as you can attest to, and I'm insufferable now, as you can further attest to, so extrapolation would indicate that, yes, I was insufferable back then.

Martin: Probably a different kind of insufferable, though.

Jon: There are different kinds?

Martin: Of course! You used to be "prick boss" insufferable and now you're "smug in a way that I can't admit I find hot or it will go straight to your head" insufferable.

Jon, in the aforementioned smug tone: Oh, really?

Martin: See, see! Straight to your head.

Jon: Well straight is probably the wrong descriptor-

Martin: Oof, 4 out of 10 joke, babe.

Jon: That would be a far more convincing rating if you weren't grinning right now.

Martin: It's a genuine review, I'm just well known to be a sucker.

Jon: You and me both, darling.

Martin: Okay, if you're pulling out darling, you're clearly in too giddy of a mood to be focused on recording. Last question, from Jess, "You two mentioned meeting at work, but how did you actually end up together?" That's easy, Jon pulled me out of a hell dimension and then we went on the lam together to Scotland.

Jon: If that's not the way to tell a cute boy you like him, I don't know what is.

Martin: All right, that wraps up this bonus episode, and as the old saying goes, hiding from murderers in a cottage is more conducive to romance than suggesting you gouge out your eyes together.

Jon, cut off: Hey-!

[junionigiri]

Ruby Red and Caramel Ch 8: Green Curry

Chapter Summary: Past the threshold of Momo’s home, and beyond. Things change.

Relationship: Bakugou Katsuki/Yaoyorozu Momo; Bakugou Katsuki and Midoriya Izuku (clarifications about wth happened)

Rating: M (most of you expected this, but pls still take note)

Warnings/Notes: Apart from the thing you’re expecting, there’s scenes that feature CPR. And another, with explosions. Please be careful.

“One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight--”

It’s been a while since Katsuki clearly knows whether he’s truly awake, or in a frighteningly vivid dream.

At times, he opens his eyes and sees the sky from the slick ground of that alley in Musutafu. Sometimes there’s fire and screaming, other times there’s the wail of sirens and the blinking red and blue lights bouncing off the walls. There’s always one or more person crying over him, begging him to wake up.

“-- nine-eleven-twelve-thirteen-fourteen-fifteen--Kacchan, please, wake up, I’m here, okay, I’m here--”

It’s always that shitty fuckin’ Deku. Scrawny, nerdy, weak, ridiculously dressed an oversized gakuran. Weak baby hands pressing down his sternum, high-pitched voice counting to thirty before he blows air into Katsuki’s mouth in between sobs. He’s the most useless person in that entire alleyway, yet he’s the only one who sees Katsuki, the only one who realizes that his heart’s not fucking beating anymore and his lungs are completely empty.

All Might, too… he doesn’t know what happened, but All Might was big one moment, and then he wasn’t. Sludge drips from his mouth, along with blood and vomit. It makes Katsuki sick, but not as sick as seeing the tall man fall like a mannequin on the dirty ground.

That shitty fuckin’ nerd cries, but keeps his hands on Katsuki’s chest. Doesn’t give himself time to wipe his tears or his sweat. He bends down, and Katsuki doesn’t feel his mouth on him as he watches the scene from a weird spot above his body.

“--sixteen-seventeen-eighteen-nineteen-twenty--”

Dreams are weird like that.

The scene dies out, and Katsuki opens his eyes again--he’s in the hospital, he doesn’t remember which one. His head hurts. There’s a line through his hand. Something beeps beside him, and it’s irritating.

He looks for the old hag, but she isn’t there. Dad’s snoring away on the couch, looking older than he should be. He looks too tired, and Katsuki’s voice is too weak, so he doesn’t call him.

Something on his bed stirs, something that irritatingly looks too much like broccoli. The nerd looks up with green-and-red eyes glimmering in the darkness. “Kacchan,” he says, gripping the sheets tightly. Fuckin’ bastard’s crying again, much to his annoyance, but Katsuki’s body in this dream is so heavy, and his hand doesn’t lift or make explosions.

He feels his mouth moving without his consent. “Deku. They told me I can’t be a hero anymore.”

He doesn’t understand--he’s so angry and hurt and weak and full of hate, but his eyes are dry and his mouth is flaccid and all his voice can manage is a whisper. The shit nerd understands him though, and cries some more.

“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” he blubbers out like a baby. Like it’s his fault somehow. Katsuki thinks he’s just being self-centered. There’s no way in hell that any of this is this asshole’s fault. As if this weak fuckin’ nerd can destroy his life.

He hates that he keeps saying sorry. Hates those simpering eyes, hates the sadness, hates the pity. He shuts it all out, wills it to darkness and quiet and emptiness so that there’s nothing else.

The scene shifts, he wakes up. He’s in the hospital he doesn’t remember which one his head hurts there’s a line through his hand--something beeps beside, no, behind him--he looks for the old hag, but she isn’t there--dad isn’t on the couch but he still looks old and tired--Katsuki’s voice is too weak, so he doesn’t call him--

He sees himself in his mind’s eye, convulsing next to the code cart. Three whole days of work, three days of not taking his medicine or sleeping or even eating anything without caffeine in it. He had a fever at one point, he was in the ER and that shitty nerd was tailing him, telling him to sit down, to go home.

He doesn’t listen.

“Twentyone-twentytwo-twentythree-twentyfour-twentyfive--”

His vision turns black for a week, maybe.

“I’m so sorry, Kacchan,” that fuckin’ Deku says again. He wants to punch him, wants to knock those stupid glasses on his face. He’s wearing the white coat he got on the same day that Katsuki did years ago. It looks wrong on him and his shitty weak tear-stained face.

He remembers the nerd’s stupid pledge to follow Katsuki wherever he goes, to make sure that he won’t be helpless again. And yet here he is again, drugs in his veins, a tube through his mouth, his mind lost in the matrix--

“Twentysix-twentyseven-twentyeight--”

He’s breathing by himself now, at least. Heart remembers to beat. Brain remembers to think, but barely. Katsuki’s mind struggles against the onslaught of reality.

Deku’s standing next to him, broken down and crying like a child whose pet is dying. Katsuki fuckin’ hates it. All he does is cry and say sorry, sorry, sorry, like all of this is his fault. Like somehow the sludge villain that put All Might to sleep was his fault. Katsuki doesn’t understand what the fuck he babbles about when he cries--he’s stopped listening a long, long while ago.

“Twenty nine-thirty--”

 *

 The scene shifts. He wakes up.

A sun ray streams through a window that isn’t his and illuminates dark hair, silky skin, most of her body snuggling under soft, peach sheets. Eyes roll behind her eyelids as she dreams, like planets lazily turning in their orbits. Quiet breaths escape between slightly parted lips, the ones he greedily claimed for himself mere hours before.

Yaoyorozu Momo is a vision whatever she’s wearing or not wearing, but the sight of her so peaceful with her hair down should be a religion in itself. Katsuki being its founder, its high priest, its sole fuckin’ worshipper and he’ll fight anyone who would say otherwise.

He allows the dream or the blackness or whatever it was that just passed to fade into nothingness, because there’s nothing else in his world at this moment but Momo. He makes himself aware of the feel of her waist under his palm. His thumbs rub semi-consciously over her skin, underneath the blanket. She stirs upon contact.

Eyes flutter open, focus on his. A smile forms on her lips. “Katsuki.”

“Hey.” His face feels stupid. He doesn’t think his mouth or his brows have done whatever they’re doing now--lazily returning her blissed-out smile.

She stretches her arms and those long, creamy legs that kick out from under the sheets. Katsuki can look at them all day, they stretch from here to there to eternity. “So how long have you been staring angrily at me in my sleep?”

“Mhm. Far too long, Princess.” He pulls them closer together. She giggles breathily as their bodies press together, and he feels all her curves and softness all over him once more. “You said you missed me, but here you are snoozin’ on me. What gives, haa?”

She giggles again, presses those soft lips on his, curls her arms around his neck. Yes, this feels just right. The world makes more sense when she’s close like this, when she kisses him like this, when he’s warm in her embrace. “I’m sorry, I’ve only spent the past few weeks chasing you in the early morning and working my backside off the rest of the time.”

He grumbles against her mouth. “You didn’t… have to push your skinny ass that hard... ”

Jesus, is he such a fuckin’ dumbass. He allowed all that anger and that solitude and that shitty pride from ages ago to feed into his fears and push everyone away. He almost pushed her away, this girl with legs longer than his lifespan and tits bigger than his patience and heart and kindness more infinite than his shitty ass universe.

And look at her, after all the shit he put her through. Staring at him with those intoxicating onyx eyes, that devilish smirk on her mouth and fuck who the hell taught her to smile like that anyway, she could kill a man with that look. “Mm? That so?”

He’s underneath her the next moment, kissing him sweetly and deeply, pushing his shoulders down to the mattress and straddling his hips, trapping him. He makes a noise of surprise against her mouth but she doesn’t back down. Instead she rolls hips against his.

That look of satisfaction, when he groans. Fuuuuuuck--

“Katsuki, dearest Katsuki, ” she says, in a mindblowingly husky voice right at his right ear, “I don’t want you running away from me again…”

He inhales sharply when he feels teeth and tongue at the base of his neck. She releases her mouth with a sound and cheerfully looks at the mark she has made. Katsuki just looks up at her in awe.

“... but if you do, I guess I’ll just have to chase after you again, won’t I?”

Oh shit, the feel of her down there, warm and wet and inviting, arouses him instantly. He curses under his breath at the sensation, and again when he realizes that she notices.

Like hell he’d let this dangerous woman take the wheel. He smirks, clamps strong hands on her waist. “What’s with that hot look, Princess? Ya think you can make a bastard like me behave?”

He leans forward, takes one of those amazing breasts in his mouth. He brings one hand up to pay attention to the other, makes a sound of surprise against her flesh when hers comes right after it, guiding his fingers over and around her nipple.

“Y-yes,” she breathes. Her body starts to move, clothed sensitive spots rubbing against his. Katsuki likes the feel of her silk underwear against him, but he wonders when she shimmied into them after their first round. “Y… you’ve been terrible, Katsuki. Absolutely-- hah!-- abysmal--”

He makes a gruff sound, lets her skin go between his teeth to smile smugly against her skin. “You’re sayin’ all that as if ya wanna punish me.” Another big bite to her shoulder, making a sound that sounds like a cry in the beginning and a whine at the end escape from her, when he follows it up with a finger pressed to her mound. “As if I’ll let ya.”

She pouts at him, pushes his shoulders down again and makes his head crash against the pillows. “You aren’t sorry at all, are you?”

He is, he’s been a big dumbass. But watching her crawl backwards over him, stopping until she’s staring cross-eyed at his erection. Shit, he should burn that image in his head, he’d have something to come back to when he’s alone.

“I should keep my eyes on you, Katsuki,” she says, situating her mouth next to him.

“Good. I like ‘em on me.”

“Good.” That devilish smile again, and one or two teasing licks that fires up and electrifies all the nerves in his body. His mind tries its hardest to take in all the sensations, but shuts down immediately when she takes him into her mouth. 

Fuck.

The sight of her, the feel of her. Lips and mouth full, small sounds escaping from her and vibrating through the rest of his body. It feels warm, crowded. Her hands, her hair, her eyes... shit. Good, so good. Fuck. His brain can only say so much.

She’s amazing all throughout, but it’s her unwavering gaze that makes him teeter on the edge. Shit, she wasn’t kidding when she says she’ll keep her eyes on him. Everything he feels magnifies a hundred fold when she looks at him like that. He feels like he’s going crazy.

“Momo, fuck, if you keep doing that--” He’s going to come if she keeps going like this. When he manages to blurt that out though, it only seems to egg her on even more, and she hollows out her cheeks even more.

No, that won’t do. He doesn’t want to unravel by himself. It takes a lot out of him, but he manages to pull her off him, and pull her down to kiss her swollen lips hard. “Momo, please,” he moans against her mouth.

She hums against his mouth. “What do you want, Katsuki?”

She grips his length, smiles deviously when he makes another hungry sound. He knows he can push her down and take her anytime he wants, but her face when she’s in control like this, surprisingly makes him weak and boneless. “You. I want you-- fuck--”

She’s making a lot of marks on him today. Getting cheeky and greedy and he loves it. “You’re being awfully vague, dear,” she purrs, licking the sore spot on his neck slowly. “It doesn’t sound like you at all. What do you want?” she repeats, letting her long fingernails graze against the skin of his chest.

He looks at her with half-lidded eyes. “I want you to ride my dick until my brains come outta my ears, what the fuck else? Holy sh--”

He doesn’t even notice her slipping a condom over his hardness. The next thing he knows, she’s already guiding him to her entrance, letting him sink into her agonizingly slow. He feels himself surrounded by her tight heat, steadily, steadily, the sensation making his eyes roll back. His hands grip onto her thighs for dear life.

“Katsuki,” she slurs, when he’s completely inside her. “Be a good boy and keep still. I’ll do the moving this time.”

He doesn’t know what has gotten into this woman so suddenly, but he supposes he should be thankful because it’s so fuckin’ hot. “Tch. You’re pretty bossy today, aintcha Princess?”

She hums coyly, and not giving him a moment to breathe, starts bouncing.

“Oh fuck,” Katsuki grits out eloquently. He watches Momo fuck herself on his cock, fast and sudden and so, so good. He feels her walls all around, sucking him in, drenching him in wetness. The sound they make is more obscene than the words that come flying out his mouth beyond his control.

“Momo, holy shit, this feels good, too good--” And as good as it feels, it’s taking a lot of his self-control to do as she says and not move, and he loses control one or two times, lets his hips snap up when she goes down. She bites her lip to stifle a cry, but at the same time pushes him down on the shoulders, giving him a stern look through flushed cheeks and blown pupils.

“I told you-- hnn --to be good,” she says, as she keeps those godsent hips in motion, teasingly wiggling about and making his groin and his mind want to explode. “I can stop anytime I want to… Make you beg for-- ahh ”

He doesn’t think she can, but he lets her have it anyway. He focuses instead on keeping his hands on her waist, lets her bounce and writhe and rut however she likes, tightening his grip on her so hard she hisses in pleasure and he has to focus on not burning her skin with his sweat.

She finds the most pleasurable angle inside her soon enough, and her movements become faster, more desperate, more erratic. Her breathing is rapid, her cries higher and higher in pitch. “Katsuki, I’m so close, I’m so close--”

He is too, but fuck him if he comes first. He ignores her very stern orders at the last moment by leaning forward and snapping his hips upward and sucking on her breasts as if his life depends on it.

It’s cute how she tries to tell him off then, but only manages to moan in pleasure and to grip and claw his scalp and his back like a wild animal. Soon he feels her walls clench around him rhythmically, and it’s all it takes for him to follow her with a prolonged groan of his own.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers in astonishment.

“Y… yes,” says Momo, kissing him on the mouth through gasps of air. He pulls out of her, and she lets herself collapse on top of him. His arms go around her body automatically. “Holy fuck, Katsuki...”

“Oi, since when have you learned to talk like a fuckin’ delinquent, princess? Bad girl.” He didn’t think it would, but curse words sound good coming from her. He chuckles roughly and slaps her on the ass. She gasps, affronted.

“You’re horrible,” she says with a playful glare. “You truly are a dumbass, like everyone says.”

“And who’s the bigger dumbass for literally fucking with me, haa?”

She pouts, but cuddles into him closer, sighing along with him as their bodies entwine quite naturally in the light and warmth. “Good point, but I refuse to acknowledge it.”

He feels her muscles relax on top of his, feels her breathing slow down. The entire thing just feels so right, so comfortable. The scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, her weight, her shape, her lights and shadows, all in contact with him, making odd feelings arise in his chest that he can’t put a name on. Like, maybe, he found something made just for him. As shitty and sappy as it sounds.

He lets his eyes close, lets himself inhale the scent of her. Life’s a little less fucked up today, and he’s grateful.

 *

 Momo decides that all her Sundays off from now on should be spent like this, next to Katsuki.

Eventually, all the activities they did in bed catches up to Momo. Katsuki spends some time teasing her for the grumble in her bottomless-pit-of-a-stomach, or so he says. He’d cook for her if he could, he says, but Momo’s kitchen is still miserably devoid of anything edible for his palate.

The pair eventually decide to go to Dagobah Ward for a meal. Momo offers because one of her favorite Southeast Asian restaurants is there, and Katsuki agrees to do so because he’s eager to prove that he can do better than them. She initially plans on driving, but he refuses and instead dares her to take the train like ‘the rest of the commoners’.

She pouts, because she’s sure that a UA graduate who also went to medical school is just as bourgeois as she is. Katsuki retaliates by saying that she’s hardly bourgeois because fuckin’ hell she’s the heiress of the Yaoyorozu Group, one of the biggest fuckin’ industrial giants in this part of Asia.

She remembers Mother, and her declaration from more than a decade ago. Can you imagine you and that vulgar blonde boy getting along? And she remembers all the things that has passed that led to the events of that morning.

You have no idea, Mother, she thinks with a flushed smile, as she takes Katsuki’s strong hand and follows him into the station.

When they get there, Katsuki takes out his commuter card and glances at Momo, who stares at the ticket machines with what she hopes is a sense of foreboding that isn’t too obvious. “Oh my god. A 27 year old Japanese woman’s first time on the commuter train,” he says with a cocky smile. “Ya need help, Princess?”

She frowns. “It’s fine. I know what to do.”

She read about how to work these machines before on the Internet. She knows that in cases of emergency, she ought to be able to rely on public transportation without looking so helpless. It’s irrational to feel so anxious about such a simple thing!

She eventually is able to get a ticket to the correct station on her own, without causing significant delay to the other commuters waiting patiently behind her. When the ticket pops out, she takes it and beams at Katsuki, with a proud little, “See, Katsuki? I did it~”

She hopes she only imagines how the other commuters step back and mutter “ ... bouncy~ ” under their breaths. Katsuki glares at them anyway and throws one arm around her possessively.

“Stop bein’ so fuckin’ cute in front of the other guys, dammit,” he grumbles irately in her ear as they make their way through the crowd.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” she protests, feeling a little incredulous. He has called her many things before, like sexy and brainy and a fuckin’ hot piece of ass and other vulgar terms that seriously make her feel as such, but this is the first time that he called her cute.

Who knew that Bakugou Katsuki is capable of such terms? The tips of his ears turn pink right as he says it, and it seems that he probably realizes the same thing at the same time.

“You should stop being so cute too, you know,” she says, as he boxes her against the door of the crowded train, shielding her from who he thinks are wolfish men out to get her. “They might take you away first.”

“Shut up. I’ll bite you.”

 *

 And so her first train ride ends, and their first date begins.

Fully knowing the circumstances between them, she supposes it’s still odd that this is the first time they enjoy each other’s company outside of Hosu. It feels odd, in a sense, that the shyness that ought to be there when he takes her hand and leads the way isn’t there. The feel of him next to her is just as natural as breathing, even as they’re out and about in the crowd and their curious gazes.

And there is quite a handful of them, appraising him and her and the link of their hands between them. She knows how unfairly attractive Katsuki is, but it’s doubly interesting to see males and females alike turn their heads to look at him in awe. He has the type of appearance that captivates, and she can’t help but feel a little giddy as they walk.

She can show him off, right? Right?

He grumbles, disconnects their hands so he could throw his arm behind her instead. “Fuckin’ losers ogling at you--lemme show ‘em who you’re with, hah??”

“Katsuki, you’re so dense…”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

Momo says nothing more, and instead leans in closer to him.

They reach the restaurant, and Momo orders a variety of things--flatbread with peanut sauce, shrimp and squid cooked in chili, green curry with extra chillies, rice fried with all sorts of vegetables and spices. The food is good, and she allows herself to eat more than she has the past few days. To her relief, Katsuki scarfs down almost as much as she does, but with an astonishing amount of extra chillies and sauce.

“Hmph. I can totally do this better. Just you wait, Ponytail.”

Predictable response, but he seems to be enjoying himself. He sees her look, and challenges her to take some of his curry if she’s going to be so fuckin’ smug in her place. She takes him on, as stupid as it may be--Katsuki might put actual lava on his food and think it isn’t spicy enough--and takes a spoonful in her mouth, before she can think too hard about it.

“Well?”

She coughs once--the heat is very, very intense, but somehow it tastes better than her own. “What did you add to this? It’s so good!” she says, taking another bite for good measure.

His jaw slackens as he watches her chew on his food thoughtfully. “... too fuckin’ perfect, what the hell,” he mumbles, almost imperceptibly.

“Excuse me?”

He shakes his head and mutters how ridiculous she is. “You seriously eating my fuckin’ food? You really are a bottomless pit!”

“Well, I never!!”

He’s only teasing, though, and they finish their meals with a sense of satisfaction.

The food isn’t the only good thing about that date. Conversation flows between them quite naturally, but it’s different from before, because Katsuki does more than just ask her questions this time. He answers her questions, or at least makes an effort to. His answers are clipped, and it looks like a lot of effort on his part to give them at all, but he tries, at least. And his answers are honest, from the sounds of them.

They’re walking along the boulevard, the sun beginning to set over the sea. There’s barely any drama when she dares to ask him about him and Midoriya-san, and when he decides to answer.

“That nerd and I go way back. Our relationship ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows,” he tells her, voice oddly calm. “You sure you up to this?”

“Of course, Katsuki.”

He takes a deep breath, and begins from the very beginning, it seems--how Bakugou Katsuki, the talented little shit who told another little shit to take a swan-dive off a roof, ends up dying and living a second life, where pro-heroism is impossible. How a weird friendship, if it can even be called that, begins one evening in the hospital, days after Best Jeanist cuts his head open and harvests a blood clot from the surface of his brain, sparing him from a coma but leaving an injury that cannot be removed.

It’s then that Katsuki swears that no other brat will suffer as he did, and that fuckin’ Deku swearing to do the same as him, and eventually that Mindfucker and Shitty Hair too, who for some unfathomable reason began hanging around him the entire fuckin’ time they were at school. How they studied their asses off in UA, while prodigies like that half-and-half bastard shone under the spotlights and took their dreams right outta their hands.

(He’s proud of that one festival where he almost showed that IcyHot up--too bad the stress of the battles were too much for him and his shitty brain injury, and he blacked out right before Todoroki could deliver the final blow.)

(Momo wonders if he knows the impact of what he did to all the other kids who watched him, how he entranced the country with his fierceness.)

He says all these things without a hint of braggadocio or any sobbing theatrics. Maybe there’s remorse there somewhere, but he’s more concerned about pulling out all the harsh memories and putting them into plain words, so Momo can finally understand.

“And… yeah. Eventually that nerd and I finished med school. Got our licenses. Got into Musutafu Children’s Hospital. Started workin’ our asses off.” There’s a wistful look in his eyes as he pauses, looks at the ocean and the dimming sky. “Momo… when you do what you do, why do you do it?”

Her goals from the time she sneakily sent those application forms to Shiketsu Medical School are the same as now. “All I want is to help people,” she tells him honestly.

He nods. “Yeah. I figured.” He sighs quietly. She can hear the thoughts running around his head with a deafening sound. “Me? Who the fuck knows. It ended up being less about the kids, and proving that I’m not a helpless little bitch who could lose consciousness in any given moment.”

Momo watches his face carefully, and quietly waits.

“I guess… that’s why I hate that fucking nerd. And why I ended up pushing myself so hard that I had a seizure that lasted a week. And why everyone, except that fabrics bastard, told me to quit medicine altogether.”

His jaw tenses and his hands grip his arms tightly, like he’s about to blow something up. Momo knows he won’t, though. He breathes in deeply, and continues.

“So there. That’s the fucked up history of the nerd and I.” The rage doesn’t dissipate, but hides under the surface. It’ll be a while, before it goes away. “I… tried to keep you away from it, because who the hell needs another person to pity me? Not me. I’ve had enough of shitty bastards thinking they’re better than me, acting like they know what’s good for me. I wouldn’t be able to stand it, if you of all people started to…”

“Katsuki,” she says, taking both hands into hers. She looks right into his eyes and tells him, quite honestly, “I don’t. I never will.”

You’re an amazing person. You’re strong. You’re trying to change.

He smiles at that, and reaches out to hold her hand. She lets him.

It’ll be a while before he sorts things out, but she decides to be there by his side when he does.

 *

 He takes her back after that. When she reaches home, though, she can’t help but pull him through the door again, her mouth on his, ravenous as if they haven’t just spent the whole day together, just the two of them.

He responds in much the same way too, so she supposes it’s all right. The bedroom is too far away, apparently, as he goes from slamming her against the living room wall to lifting her with her legs wrapped around his torso to the couch. They kiss each other and tear each other’s clothes off as if their lives depended on it, and he fucks her fast and rough until she’s moaning his name over and over, like a mantra.

After they come down from their highs, panting and mildly bewildered, she tells him, “Stay the night.”

“Hah,” he says with a smirk. “Ain’t you spendin’ too much time with a non-elite bastard like me? What will your old hag think?”

She rolls her eyes. “Katsuki, kindly refrain from gloating and calling my mother names while you’re still inside me.”

“Ah. My bad.”

He kisses her sweetly after that, tenderly caressing the sides of her face and making her skin burn in the way she really likes. He agrees stays the night.

(Luckily, after some struggle, they make it to bed this time.)

The night comes, and passes by with them in each other’s arms. It’s a nice way to sleep, with him filling in the empty spaces of her bed. He falls asleep ridiculously quickly, still possessive in the way he drapes his arm over her, underneath the duvet. She presses her nose against his as he snoozes away, feeling quite blissful.

The morning comes quietly. Rubbing their eyes in unison and yawning, as the alarm sounds before daybreak, reminding them of the long Monday ahead of them.

Reality is harsh, but the shower they shared that morning isn’t. Momo wonders if this’ll be a problem in the long run, because all the kissing and petting and eventual rough love-making that inevitably occurs will making getting to work on time a real challenge. It’s all his fault, he doesn’t want his hands off her and he tells her as much.

(But apart from a few teasing complaints, she doesn’t make a real effort to stop him. That man is too good with his mouth and his hands. She supposes it’s her fault as well.)

They miraculously make it out of there, with time enough for Momo to create some clean clothes for Katsuki. They’re out the door soon after, Katsuki promising to get them breakfast from the cafe, glowing and ready to face the workday ahead.

 *

 The sun is almost out when they walk the block and make it to NTG Cafe. Today, Kyoka-san isn’t late, because she’s already outside and talking to Kirishima-san, who looks like he’s about to go home from the midnight shift.

They look at the couple in unison, bewilderment increasing as they see their hands together. “B-B-Baku-bro?!?!?!?!! And Yaomomo?!?!?!?!!?!? In the early morning, holding hands, suspiciously coming from the same place?!” Kirishima cries, hands coming up his hair in exaggerated drama. “Oh my god, Bakubro, Dr. Momo, I can’t--Jirou, this isn’t a hallucination, right? I’m not that sleep-deprived, right? Pinch me now, come on--”

“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair, I’ll punch your lights out now, ya don’t even need to ask,” Katsuki grumbles. Momo notices, however, how less the harshness is in his voice, and how he doesn’t let go of her hand.

Kyoka doesn’t pinch Kirishima, but instead prods him in the middle of the forehead with an earjack. She does the same thing to herself, funnily enough, before regarding the two of them with an amused smile. “You can’t blame Kirishima, Baku-boss. Yaomomo, this is awfully bold of you, but I’m still pretty stoked that you guys made up. And… etcetera,” she says, with a teasing grin.

Momo flushes, but gives them a bright smile. “Thank you, Kyoka-san, Kirishima-san! And, um, good morning.”

“Ahh, so bright, Dr. Momo, I think I’m going blind, it’s like I’m staring at the manliest man!”

“Christ, Kirishima, calm the fuck down, I’m seriously this close to kicking your ass--”

“Ahhh and you’re calling me Kirishima today! The heck bro!! I’ve never seen you in such a good mood!” Kirishima looks like he’s on the verge of joyful tears as he takes his phone out and leans in closer to Bakugou. “Come on, bro, I gotta take a picture of the two to commemorate this day! Say cheese~”

“The fuck I’m saying cheese you hedgehog brain!” The limit is reached, and in the next, Katsuki traps the joyful Kirishima in a headlock.

Kyoka looks at them judgmentally, and then at Momo, to mentally tell her to ignore the fools. She holds on to the taller woman’s arm and smiles. “So… I’m guessing you guys are here to grab a bite to eat? Let me open up the cafe for you, I guess.”

There’s warmth and a palpable relief that she feels through her touch. Kyoka is genuinely happy for her, it seems. She nods at her gratefully and follows her in. “Thank you so much, Kyoka, you should eat with us too!”

“Nah, it’s good, I had a bagel before I--”

An ear splitting explosion cuts their conversation short, the accompanying blast almost throwing them off their feet. Kyoka yelps, covering her sensitive ears with her hands. Momo helps her by covering her hands with hers, hoping that it drowns out the next sound.

“What on earth--” She doesn’t even hear herself say it, when another explosion hits, making the ground shake.

The next moment happens fast--Katsuki and Kirishima throw themselves over the two women as another booming sound fills the air, followed by screams and the crash of glass next to them. Katsuki flips the tables around them, to cover them from the onslaught of broken glass and rubble, while Kirishima hardens his body and hovers above them like a shield.

“What the hell was that?!” the redhead screams, looking around desperately, and pales. Momo pales too, when she realizes where he’s looking. “That’s--Hosu Gen--”

“They’re… attacking the hospital?!”

The rumbles dissipate eventually. Katsuki holds his hand out for Momo and Kyoka to keep still, and peers out from behind the fallen table. “A few heroes are responding to the explosions, but I don’t see anyone who looks like a villain,” he tells them in a low voice, eyes glowing dangerously red.

“Oh my god,” Kyoka whispers, fear plain in her dark eyes. “Wh… what do we do? We should be getting out of here as fast as we can, right?”

“Yeah,” the blonde says, training his eyes to the vicinity. Momo follows his gaze, sees all the people running and screaming, crying out for heroes or the police. She can hear his rapidfire thoughts, sharp eyes assessing the situation. They should be running, but he’s holding them back. “Jirou… use your ears against the ground. Now.”

She looks at him oddly, but complies. It must be difficult for her, since the explosions and the ongoing background noise must have numbed her hearing.

There are a few moments where they all wait for her with bated breath. Her eyes, squeezed shut in concentration, suddenly flutter wide open, horror etched on her face. “There’s… something big,” she whispers tensely.

Momo and Kirishima look at each other, even paler than before. Katsuki’s jaw tenses more, but the fire focus remains in his eyes, burning bright. “Where?” he says in a quieter whisper.

Kyoka swallows. “Under… underground.” She chokes, and forces herself to speak. “Really, really close to us…”

She points at the street in front of them, where a police car with blaring sirens screeches to a halt. Two policemen, one with a tail and one with a ridiculously large hat and coat, hop out simultaneously with their weapons in hand.

Seeing the look in her eyes, Katsuki instantly screams at them, “Watch out!!!”

The policemen only have time to whip their heads in their direction, before the ground gives out from under them. Thanks to his warning, they manage to leap to safety, but that might be the only good thing about it.

A large… thing, barely humanoid, crawls out from the hole in the concrete. Its skin is a sick green, a convoluted mass on its head that might be exposed brain glinting under the sunlight. A manner of chainsaws and corkscrews and hammers stick out from the ends of its multiple limbs, making a ruckus of grinding metal as they move.

Its dull eyes look around briefly, dumbly. Searching for something, someone.

Its eyes fall over Momo. Tilts its head in curiosity.

And wordlessly, launches itself forward.