cw: pro-hero bakugo, reader has boobs, kind of explicit/nsfw? idk i describe boobs, reader is smaller and shorter than bakugo, unedited sawry
bakugo's muscle tee looks as ill-fitting as it'll ever be draped over you.
there are reasons for this, perfectly founded and logical reasons for why that is—the main one being that, it's, well, his; two, maybe even three sizes larger than what it should be to fit you properly.
but, he can't stop staring, and there are reasons for that too—the main one being that, it's his, and yet, the only way he can ever imagine it now is when it's being worn by you.
your hips sway to the song you've been humming for the past five minutes. it's the same one, the chorus on a perpetual loop. he's sure it's the only part you know; you do this often enough that it's the only part he knows now, too.
the hem of his tee hits right at the top of your thighs, concealing just enough to tease, but he’s confident that if you reach up even the slightest bit for the cupboard overhead, there'll be nothing to hide.
he feels a little bit like a creep like this, watching as he stands in the middle of your shared living room, but it's impossible too look away—you've got to be doing this on purpose, right?
heat flares inside of him when you turn your body ever so slightly, the armhole of his muscle tee large enough to give him the clearest view of skin—
he gulps.
it's smooth, sloping just right; the side view of your under boob curves into its perfect shape and he can imagine it, feel—
(is this considered perving if he's been with you for years?)
the pan in front of you sizzles as you plop in god knows what. you pour in something from the side and wait, one hand propped on the hip you pop out. then, you pick up the pan, attempting to flip what's inside (probably a pancake, now that he thinks about it).
it’s hard to focus on what you’re cooking though, especially when all he sees is plump flesh jiggling, bouncing as you further agitate the pan.
he just got the pants of this suit readjusted, and now they're fucking tight.
bakugo normally runs hot; it’s kind of part of his dna. but this warmth is different, flushing him from head to toe. it creeps up the side of his neck, painting the tips of his ears a blooming red.
you turn around then, plopping the pancake on the plate atop the counter behind you.
"oh! you're done," you greet him with a smile. so. fucking. casually.
as if your tits aren't fucking peaking against the gray fabric of his tee.
as if you think he buys the fake innocence poorly concealing that sly, conniving look in your pretty eyes.
as if you aren't standing in front of him in his muscle tee, wearing nothing underneath it like you didn’t do this on purpose. like you don’t know what it fucking does to him.
his eyes squint suspiciously, deep vermillion staring straight into yours.
you tilt your head, the tips of your lashes kissing the top of your cheekbones as you blink. you reach for a bottle of honey.
“everything okay?” you ask, voice syrupy, sickeningly sweet.
your movements play in front of him languidly, the corner of your lips curling up slightly as you smirk. honey catches on your finger as you pop open the bottle cap.
he’s supposed to be out the door in five minutes if he wants to make it in time for a meeting at the agency. technically, he should already be there if he wants to keep up his track record of consistently being fifteen minutes too early.
but you start to approach him, rounding the kitchen island. there’s a narrow space between him and the slab of marble, but you slide into it like it was made for you.
he’s certain it was, from the way the tip of your nose brushes against his as you tiptoe. your tits are right fucking there, brushing against the skintight material of his suit.
there’s too much fucking fabric if you ask him, between cotton and spandex.
your grin widens, and he feels hot, the heat from his cheeks radiating.
then you whisper, still saccharine, “breakfast is ready,” before kissing him on the lips lightly. a short peck, soft in the way that promises more before you slip away, giggling in your retreat.
he huffs, watching you leave. his feet shift as he thinks.
five minutes, huh?
like hell he’s going to eat these damn pancakes for breakfast today.
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Alphinaud's character development is wild. He rolls into Eorzea so fucking cocky. He's the grandson of the great Louisoix. He's 16 and he's a prodigy and he's going to fix the world. He has all these lofty ambitions and he knows exactly how to make the world better. He's playing chess with the city states in his mind. He's the main character in his own mind. He's the hero.
And rides this high of being this brilliant hero, savior of the realm, right up until it all blows up in his face. The blade of the sword he was brandishing points right back at him and all of his friends. Everything he worked so hard for becomes his downfall, and sets all his dreams back.
And now he's so mild. He's learned his lesson the hard way and he's probably terrified of every making that mistake again. He fully relies on his friends, consulting every decision with them. He still wants the best for the world, but he no longer sees himself as the main character. He is still smart, still a prodigy, but he's not the cocky brat he was when he first came to town.
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Can I ask how Vasco reacted to hearing about Machete’s assassination? :o did he put on a brave face? Was he inconsolable? Does he imagine that if he were there, he could’ve done something (even if that isn’t true? I imagine it would be tortuous mentally and emotionally for him, poor lad
He most likely went through a mental breakdown, followed by years of paralyzing grief and depression. Vasco had proven to be outstandingly resilient and optimistic in adversity, putting on a brave face was his second nature. But this was his final 'break the unbreakable' moment. He turned withdrawn and apathetic. He had never lost anyone this abruptly before, and he became visibly paranoid about the safety and health of his family while failing to look after his own wellbeing.
Of course he kept rewinding the events in his head and second-guessing himself about whether he could've prevented this outcome somehow, even when everyone who knew about his situation kept telling him there was no reason for him to blame himself for it. He struggled with the suddenness of it, and the lack of closure, and couldn't get over thinking how the love of his life had died alone, surprised, scared and in pain, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to remedy that. Ludovica's support was invaluable to him. Since he couldn't mourn openly she was one of the few people who were there for him.
Eventually he came to terms with what had happened and learned to live with it, and even though he slowly regained his good-humoured personality, he never fully recovered back to his previous self.
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