˚. selina. ݁୭

“You keep stealing the good fries,” he complained.

You looked up from the carton. “The good fries?”

“The crispy ones.”

“Those are all the fries.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You grabbed another one, and Sukuna immediately narrowed his eyes. “That was a crispy one.”

You giggled. “Too slow.”

“I literally bought them.”

“And?”

His jaw twitched, and for a second he almost smiled back at you. Almost–until his phone rang. The smile vanished instantly. You watched him pull it out, and his expression shifted. Not annoyed or irritated, just tired, which made your stomach sink because you knew that look.

He stared at the screen for a moment before answering. “Yeah.”

Silence followed. You kicked your feet against the pavement, picking at the corner of the fry carton while he listened, sighed, and ran a hand through his pink hair.

“How long?” he asked.

Your stomach dropped.

NOoOooOoOOoOoOooO. Not today. Not now. You already knew. You knew before he even said it. Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine.”

You looked away before he could see your face. The call ended. A few seconds passed, then he said, “I gotta go.”

There it was.

You nodded. “Oh.”

His brows furrowed. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound casual. Normal. Totally unbothered.

“Okay.”

Sukuna stared at you. You stared at the road. He knew. You knew he knew, but neither of you were going to say it.

“They need someone to cover,” he said.

“Okay.”

“You mad?”

“No.”

A lie. A terrible lie. Possibly the worst lie ever spoken.

Sukuna scoffed. “You’re literally pouting.”

“M’not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You shoved another fry into your mouth aggressively. Sukuna stared, then snorted–actually snorted, the jerk.

“I’m not pouting.”

“You look like someone kicked your dog.”

“I don’t even have a dog.”

“You look like someone would kick your dog.”

You glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused, until his expression softened slightly.

“They’re short‑staffed.”

“Okay.”

“I need the hours.”

“I know.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Yuji needs new shoes.”

Your gaze flickered up. Sukuna looked away. “Kid grew out of the last pair in like three damn months.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “And Choso’s helping with rent already. I’m not dumping more on him.”

Your chest tightened, because there it was–the real reason. Not cigarettes, not stupid spending, not because he wanted to leave. Because there was a five‑year‑old waiting for him at home who somehow managed to outgrow everything the second it was bought. Because Choso was already carrying enough at sixteen. Because Sukuna had been playing the role of provider for so long that saying no almost wasn’t an option anymore.

“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to,” he said quietly.

You hated that, because you knew it was true. He wasn’t ditching you because he wanted to. He needed the money. You knew that, but the stupid hurt feeling wouldn’t go away. Because for one afternoon–one stupid afternoon–you wanted him to pick you. Just once.

You immediately hated yourself for thinking it, because that wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Bills weren’t fair. Rent wasn’t fair. And Sukuna had never gotten the luxury of putting feelings before survival.

Still… it hurt.

“Whatever,” you muttered. There it was–the dangerous whatever.

Sukuna sighed. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You get this tone.”

“What tone?”

“That one.”

You stood up. “There is no tone.”

“There is.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is.”

You grabbed your bag. “Go to work, Sukuna.”

His jaw clenched. You knew that look too–the one where he wanted to argue but couldn’t, because he really did have to leave. So instead he stood, towering over you.

“Walk home safe.”

“Yeah.”

“You got your keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone charged?”

“Yes, dad.”

That earned you a glare.

Good. Maybe he should suffer too.

“You being annoying on purpose?”

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed, then he reached over and flicked your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!”

“Brat.”

Then he started walking backwards toward the street. “Text me when you’re home.”

You rolled your eyes.

He pointed. “Seriously.”

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

You huffed. “Promise.”

Only then did he finally leave, and somehow watching him disappear around the corner felt way worse than you’d expected.

The walk home sucked, mostly because it gave you time to think, which was terrible. Thinking was terrible. You replayed the afternoon over and over–the way he’d looked disappointed too, the way he’d tried explaining, the way he’d said he wouldn’t leave if he didn’t have to–and somehow that only made you more upset, because if he’d been a jerk about it, you could’ve stayed mad. Instead, he’d been reasonable, which was annoying.

Your phone buzzed.

Ryo🤰: Made it.

You ignored it.

Another buzz.

Ryo🤰: You home yet?

Ignored.

Five minutes later:

Ryo🤰: Answer your phone idiot.

Ignored.

Then–

Ryo🤰: Don’t make me come check.

You immediately typed back:

You: You’re literally at work.

His reply came instantly.

Ryo🤰: So you’re alive.

You stared at the screen for a moment, then locked your phone.

Nope. Not doing this. You were too sad and too grumpy to talk.

Three hours later, you were curled up in bed, still grumpy, still refusing to text him properly, and still pretending you weren’t checking your phone every ten minutes. The quiet of your room made everything worse, and when the sudden knock at the door echoed through the apartment–three sharp raps–you froze. It was nearly midnight, and before you could even process who would be knocking at this hour, your phone rang. Sukuna’s name lit up the screen, making your stomach flip as you answered with a flat, “What?”

“Open the door,” he said.

You sat upright, confused. “...What?”

“Door.”

“Sukuna.”

“Door.”

“You were literally at work.”

“I still am.”

“What?”

“Open the damn door.”

Still confused, you dragged yourself out of bed and opened the door, only to find him standing there in his work uniform with tired eyes, messy hair, and a paper bag in his hand. You blinked at him. “What are you doing here?”

“You wouldn’t stop sulking,” he said.

“I wasn’t sulking.”

“You ignored me for three hours.”

“That’s not–”

“Sulking.”

You glared at him, but the irritation didn’t hold. He looked genuinely exhausted–dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped like he’d worked a twelve‑hour shift–and yet he’d still come all the way here. Your anger weakened immediately, traitorous thing that it was.

He shoved the paper bag into your arms, and when you looked inside, you found your favourite takeaway–the exact thing you’d mentioned wanting earlier but never ended up getting. Your chest tightened just a little.

“Sukuna…”

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable. “I know today sucked,” he muttered.

You stared at him.

“And I know you were upset.” You opened your mouth to deny it, then closed it again, because pretending now felt pointless.

Sukuna sighed. “I just…” He struggled with the words, like saying them physically hurt. “I need the money.”

Your heart squeezed because he sounded almost guilty, like he'd done something wrong when he hadn't. Not really. “I know,” you said softly.

His shoulders loosened slightly, just a fraction.

“I know,” you repeated.

Silence settled between you, and before you could think better of it, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. Sukuna froze completely, like you’d hit him with a truck, but after a moment his arms came around you–slow, heavy, warm. You felt him exhale, the kind of breath someone lets out only after holding it in all day.

“I’m still annoyed,” you muttered.

“Mhm.”

“You left me.”

“Mhm.”

“You suck.”

“Mhm.”

He rested his chin on your head. “Still bought you food.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still came here.”

“…Yeah.”

“Still got another shift tomorrow.”

You groaned, and he actually laughed–a low, tired sound against your hair. And despite everything, the stupid hurt feeling finally faded. Because maybe Sukuna couldn’t always choose you first; life didn’t give him that luxury. But even after a miserable shift and an exhausting day, he still ended up on your doorstep at midnight. And maybe that counted for something too.

a/n: Inspireddd by the faaact exams are preventing me from talking to my girlfrieeends :(

“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.

“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”

“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”

“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”

You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)

“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”

“Easy to replace?”

You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”

“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement. 

“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”

“Anger is the next stage of grief.”

The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Hi, baby,” you hum.

He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”

You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.

“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.

He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost. 

“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”

Another coughing fit. “What?”

“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”

You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”

You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?

“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.

You gasp. “Lying?”

“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.

“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”

“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”

“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”

“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”

You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.

“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”

You blink. “Wait—”

“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”

“Katsuki—”

He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”

He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”

“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”

“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”

“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”

You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines. 

with a pathetic, “oof-”, you slipped and fell, bringing him down under you onto the dirt below.

he swears he felt time slow down as he looked at you above him. a blush spread across his face as his eyes scanned the plump of your glossed lips, the shine in your surprised eyes, the necklace you wore that was practically screaming to be pulled-

in his flustered panic, he did the one thing he knew he wouldn’t fuck up.

and out-manuvered by flipping you overhead, successfully eliminating you.

he stood up abruptly, doing his best to hide his reddened face from your and the camera's views, doing something extremely out of character as he stretched out a shaky hand to help you, who was currently pouting at your rigged loss, up.

the second you took his hand and searched for eye contact with him, he knew you pinned the last nail in the coffin with a small, “thank you, kacchan.” 

you walked off snickering to yourself.

you, though, didn’t catch feelings for him at all. at least not until your last year at yuuei. when he had grown a couple inches taller, with toned arms and scars littering the majority of his body, shoulders wide and a matured look in his eye.

it also took you being pinned under him. it was during a routine training warm-up, you were assigned as partners. to be honest, you had been slacking off recently, which is why it was no surprise that within literal seconds you were with your back to the ground under it.

was he overdoing it slightly? yes, definitely. his hands held yours firmly under, with his legs nestled over your legs, locking you in place beneath him. you felt your face heat slightly, trying to control the beat of your hammering pulse that he could definitely feel through the contact between your palms.

his head tilted slightly, “do you surrender?”

“does it look like i have much of a choice to you?” you scoffed, still trying your best to regain whatever control you could get.

“there’s always a choice.” he slid off you, offering you a hand up.

neither of you moved to let go of each other’s hands, which prompted him to turn towards you. it was an afternoon class and the sun was already starting to set, making his tanned skin golden, and his scarlet eyes have a honey-glazed translucentness that you could get lost in. 

“...i guess i’ll just cut to the fucking chase then.” with a huge breath and a moment to stray himself, “i’ve admired you ever since fuck-ass freshman year and-” he ran a nervous hand through his hair, “i’d love to take you out.”

you did your best to bite back the huge smile fighting it’s way onto your face. “well then, i’d love to go out with you too.”

you let a moment pass.

“damn katsuki, since when did you get so formal?”

Your phone buzzed softly against the counter.

you home.

No greeting, no question mark—just the absolute assumption of an open door.

yeah.

Three dots appeared instantly.

open up.

A heavy knock followed seconds later.

"Geez. No 'please' or anything" you mumbled, tossing your phone back onto the counter.

Opening the door revealed Ryomen Sukuna leaning against the frame as if he’d been waiting all night. A familiar presence filled the doorway before he even spoke, the air growing heavy with his warm, spicy cologne. Red eyes flicked down, assessing the view. “Thought you were asleep.”

“Bruh, you literally just texted me.”

He hummed, brushing past without waiting for an invitation. His hand lingered briefly on the small of your back, pressing just enough to claim the space before letting go. You shut the door behind him. “You’re going to start paying rent at this point." Sukuna stretched out on your couch, arms draped lazily across the cushions with a smirk. “You’d miss me.” An eye roll was the only response you gave him, but neither side pushed the argument.

Weeks passed in a blur of late nights and shared silences. A heavy hand would rest on your waist during trips around the kitchen, fingers brushing the curve of your hip and teasingly lingering during the morning coffee brew. On walks together, he closed the distance entirely, slipping a hand into the back pocket of your jeans. No matter how many times that hand was swatted away with a muttered, “People are going to think we’re dating” the pink haired man just shrugged, keeping his hand firmly planted against ur ass. He always stood slightly behind or beside you, a silent declaration: I’m here.

Sometimes he waited after lectures, leaning against the campus gate with a lazy, half smirk, arms crossed as the crowd filtered past. Spotting him always made your stomach twist, knowing he’d been waiting long before the dismissal bell. His gaze would lock on, serving as a quiet warning to anyone walking too close.

Nights were spent sharing the couch and stealing blankets, half tangled around his large frame while the remaining fabric barely covered your lap. Sometimes he drapes himself across you, a hand brushing lightly down your arm or against your thigh—never intrusive, but entirely claiming the space. When he relaxed completely, your fingers wander over his tattoos, tracing the sharp lines along his face and chest. Each mark felt almost magnetic under the skin. He would hum low, letting the attention slide, a thumb occasionally brushing your wrist to claim the movement. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your fingertips, a slight smirk evident in the way he adjusted his posture to keep your hand exactly where he wanted it.

There were nights spent falling asleep in his bed after an argument left unfinished—bodies pressed tight, the quiet between you louder than any words. Other mornings started tangled in his arms, hair brushing his chest, fingers clutching his shirt before fully waking up. His hand would curl around your wrist, his thumb tracing small, slow circles. The habits became second nature to notice: how he leaned a fraction closer when a stranger got too near. The amused smirk whenever a tease was thrown back at him. The trademark "tch" or scoff of annoyance that left his lips. Pressing his forehead to yours in the early mornings, claiming the first minutes of the day. Playing the thief with a tilted head and a lazy, "Oops, that's my spot now" daring an argument.

Almost like a couple. But without labels or promises, the unresolved tension grew nearly unbearable.

Tonight, gojo's house was packed. The bass vibrated faintly through the floorboards, drowning out the roar of the crowded room. People moved in a blur of red cups and loud laughter.

Pausing near the entrance to scan the room, your eyes landed across the living room. Sukuna leaned against the back of a couch, looking entirely too comfortable. A few girls crowded his space, laughing a little too loudly at whatever he’d just muttered. One girl rested a hand on tattooed arm. Another leaned in close, fingers brushing his shoulder. He let them.

Your jaw tightened.

His eyes found yours instantly, as if he’d known the exact second you walked through the door. The crowd seemed to fade under his direct stare. Across the room, through flashing lights and shifting bodies, he just watched. A slow smirk pulled at his lips, waiting to see your reaction. The girl beside him kept talking, her fingers resting on his arm, tracing the very same tattoos you usually spent hours mapping out. Sukuna didn’t move away. He just looked on—unbothered and thoroughly amused.

Typical.

Turning away before he could read anything else on your face, you made a beeline for the kitchen. A quick adjustment was made to the hem of the mini black off shoulder dress, the fabric hugging your waist and tight at the hips. Gold open toe heels clicked softly against the floorboards, gold hoops swaying with the quick tilt of your head. The reflective surface of the fridge offered a quick glimpse—makeup intact, shoulders tense, face slightly flushed from the scene in the living room. Pulling the door open, the cool light spilled out as you grabbed a drink.

“Careful with that one” a voice warned.

Turning around revealed a guy leaning against the counter, sporting a charming smile. “Trust me. It’s stronger than it looks.”

A small laugh escaped you. “I’ll take my chances.”

The guy laughed, stepping a bit closer to be heard over the booming music. “So… what brings you here alone?”

A shrug followed. “Just needed a drink and a break from… life.”

His smirk widened. “I get that. Same here.”

The conversation began to flow more freely, a genuine laugh sparking at a joke he made. It felt easy. The guy leaned in, lowering his voice. “You know, you’ve got this energy. Makes people really want to talk to you.”

A smile crept up, a sudden flutter stirring in your chest—until a familiar scent hit the air. Warm, spicy, and impossible to ignore. The exact aroma that lingered on your clothes every time he pulled you in.

Sukuna.

A heavy pair of arms slid around your waist from behind. His broad chest pressed flush against your back, almost swallowing you as he pulled you back. One hand settled flat against your stomach while the other grazed your hip, fingers brushing the edge of your short dress to anchor you firmly against him. The fabric shifted under his grip, lifting fractionally as you instinctively braced on your heels. Sukuna wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked dead on the guy across the counter. Slowly, the pink haired man dipped his head, his nose brushing the side of your neck before settling into the crook of your shoulder. Warm breath ghosted over your bare skin, his fingers tightening just enough to claim you. The gentle sway of gold hoops brushed against him with every shallow inhale.

The guy stiffens. “Oh—uh. Sorry, man, I didn’t know—”

“No” you interrupted, trying to shift out of his grasp. “We’re not—”

“Yeah” Sukuna cuts in smoothly, his voice low. “You should go.”

The guy hesitated, muttered a quick, “Right… my bad” and vanished into the crowd.

You turn inside Sukuna’s arms, looking up at him. “Bruh, what's your problem?” 

Sukuna looked down as if nothing had happened.

“You’re not my boyfriend” you huffed out.

His eyes slowly searched your face before letting out a slight scoff.

Pushing lightly against his chest, you snapped, “Stop acting like you own me.”

He simply watched, absorbing the defiance. Then, with a sudden tug at your waist, he pulled you closer. The hem of your dress rode up your ass slightly before his hand reached behind to pull the fabric back into place.

“You want a boyfriend?” His thumb dragged slowly along your jawline, tilting your face up to force eye contact. "That what this is about?”

Silence was the only answer, making his eyes narrow. “Tch. Greedy.”

The music and chatter faded into background noise—the space between you grew heavy. Sukuna hummed softly, his hand sliding back down to the small of your back. His fingers settled there as if they had never left, pressing into the curve. Your heels click softly against the floor as he adjusts his hold, keeping the fit perfect. “And yet” he murmured, leaning closer, “you still let me do this.” Your breath catches when he pulls you a fraction closer. 

“Doesn’t really sound like you want a boyfriend” Sukuna said lazily. Dipping his head lower, his lips trailed light kisses along your neck—the same familiar routine he’d done a thousand times before. It made your stomach twist. A sharp inhale brought in his spicy cologne, mixing with the soft sweetness of vanilla perfume until your head spun.

“Sounds like you just want me.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, a low, teasing vibration. “Go ahead… say you’re leaving me.”

The words never came.

A slow smile spread across his face. Because he already knows you won’t.

the plaques in his hand feel heavier than they should. ‘for exceptional valor and strategic brilliance in the neutralization of villains” and “for outstanding contributions to civilian safety” bullshit.

all he did was what he always does: find the bad guys and blow them the hell up. but the cameras keep flashing, and a portly man in a too-tight tux is slapping his back and telling him he’s a credit to the nation. katsuki bares his teeth in what he hopes passes for a smile.

his agent, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard, had drilled it into him: “smile, dynamight. look approachable. you’re a brand.”

a brand. right now, he feels like a malfunctioning appliance about to short-circuit and take out a whole power grid. his eyes keep drifting away from the sponsor, scanning the opulent ballroom. it’s a sea of shimmering gowns and dark suits, of sparkling champagne flutes and forced smiles. but he only sees one thing. you.

you’re standing near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop behind you. you’re not dressed in anything flashy, not like some of the other heroes here trying to outshine each other. your dress is a deep, muted blue, simple in its elegance, but it clings to you in all the right places.

your hair is swept up, exposing the long, graceful line of your neck that he has spent far too many nights thinking about. you look . . . ethereal. and completely, infuriatingly, absorbed in the man standing next to you.

the number two hero, is leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur that katsuki can’t hear but can imagine. all calm and collected and fucking loquacious. and you’re nodding, your head tilted, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you swirl the red wine in your glass. you take a sip, and your eyes, bright and beautiful, never leave his face.

it’s the two weeks of silence that makes this unbearable. two weeks since the argument. two weeks since you walked out of his penthouse, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the sudden quiet.

he’d been an idiot. a complete, selfish bastard. he remembers it with crystal clarity. he’d gotten his ribs busted on a mission, nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a few days of mandatory rest. and you, being you, had descended upon his apartment like a force of nature.

“no, katsuki, you are not getting up. you’re going to lie on that couch and you’re going to let me take care of you.”

“i don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he’d snarled, trying to push himself up, wincing as the pain shot through his side.

“i’m not babysitting you, i’m making sure you don’t pop your stitches and bleed out on your ridiculously expensive couch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re hurt,” you’d shot back, pressing a firm hand to his chest. “now lie down.”

he’d hated it. hated the feeling of being weak, of being managed. it reminded him too much of his mother, of all the times she’d fussed over him when he was a kid. and in a moment of frustration, laced with a fear he refused to acknowledge, he’d lashed out.

“quit nagging me, you’re not my mom or my damn girlfriend, so just back the fuck off!”

the words had hung in the air, ugly and so fucking sharp. he’d seen the change in your face instantly. the soft concern in your eyes had hardened. you’d straightened up, and your expression became unreadable.

“you’re right,” you’d said, your voice quiet and its cadence devoid of all its usual warmth. “i’m not.”

and just like that, you were gone. you didn’t yell back. you just . . . left. and the silence you left behind was louder than any explosion he could possibly ever create.

he’d told himself he was right. that you were overstepping. but the satisfaction he thought he’d feel never came. instead, there was just a hollow ache in his chest and the phantom scent of your vanilla perfume on his couch cushions.

he hadn’t texted. his pride was sacrosanct, and he couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to break the stalemate. he’d waited for you, checking his phone every five seconds like a pathetic loser. but your name never lit up his screen.

the days after the argument bled into a week, then two. the only communication he had from you was a group text about the gala, one sent to the whole old class 1-a crew. and tonight, seeing you here, looking so beautiful and so far away, it fucking hurt.

“bakugou? earth to bakugou?”

katsuki blinks, dragging his gaze away from you. kirishima is standing in front of him, his trademark sharp-toothed grin looking a little forced. sero is beside him, nursing a drink and looking around the room with a bored expression.

“the fuck do you want, shitty hair?” katsuki grunts, his voice rougher than he intended.

“whoa, easy there, man. just checking on you. you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire,” kirishima says, holding up his hands placatingly. “which, you know, is kind of your deal, but maybe not tonight.”

sero follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on you and todoroki. he lets out a low whistle. “ahh. i see. that’s the problem.”

“shut the hell up,” katsuki warns, his knuckles white around his plaques. he can feel the heat prickling at his palms, a sizzle that he has to consciously suppress.

“look, man, i don’t know what happened,” kirishima says, lowering his voice. “but you’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. and you haven’t stopped staring at her and todoroki since they started talking. it’s been like, thirty minutes. maybe you should just . . .go talk to her?”

“and say what? ‘hey gorgeous, sorry i’m a colossal asshole but i get territorial when you talk to other guys’?” sero chimes in, earning himself a glare from katsuki. “what? it’s the truth.”

“it’s not like that,” katsuki lies through his teeth. it’s exactly like that. he’s a fucking caveman. he sees you with someone else and all he wants to do is drag you away, mark his territory, prove to everyone — but mostly to himself — that you’re his. except you’re not. and that’s the whole damn problem.

“then what’s it like?” kirishima pushes, his tone gentle. he’s the only one ( excluding you ) who can get away with this, the only one who knows how to navigate katsuki’s landmines. “you guys are weird. you’re not together, but you’re always together. you stay at her place more than your own. you have her patrol route memorized. you text her more than you text us. but then you pull shit like this. it’s confusing for everyone, man. especially her.”

katsuki’s jaw ticks. he knows kirishima is right. he knows he’s been sending you mixed signals for years.

( it started wayyy back in kindergarten, when you were the only girl who didn’t annoy the shit out of him. the only one who stood up for deku when katsuki was picking on him he was being a pathetic crybaby, earning you grudging respect from katsuki even as he cussed you out for having a bleeding savior complex.

his mom had loved you, always saying how nice it would be to have a daughter like you, which had simultaneously embarrassed him and made him weirdly proud. you’d stayed close through all the chaos of ua, through internships and wars and the steady climb to becoming pro heroes. )

he’s always had a soft spot for you, a fact he’d rather die than admit out loud.

he likes taking care of you — he likes you taking care of him, even if he frames it as nagging. he likes knowing you’re safe, that you’ve eaten, that you’re drinking water instead of those disgusting energy drinks you love so damn much. he likes the way you leave your socks on his floor and the way you steal his hoodies. he likes all of it. and it terrifies him. it’s too much vulnerability and he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he defaults to what he knows: pushing you away before you can get close enough to see that he’s not worthy of you.

“i’m not talking to her,” katsuki says, rigidly “not tonight.”

“fine,” kirishima sighs, defeated. “but don’t come ranting to me when todoroki makes his move.”

katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. he just turns his back on his friends, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. you’ve just accepted your own award, a sleek thing for your humanitarian work, something about setting up a support network for young heroes with trauma. you’d given a short speech, and the applause had been incessant.

now, you’re back with todoroki, and he’s handing you another glass of wine. you touch his arm as you laugh at something he says, and katsuki feels a tiny spark in his palm. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until the urge to blast something subsides.

he seethes as the night begins to wind down. deku and pink cheeks leave together, their heads close together, smiling. raccoon eyes is dragging sparky towards the bar again. he sees you talking to ponytail, pointing towards the exit. he knows you. you’re about to call a cab.

fuck that.

he’s been an idiot. he’s been a coward. he’s let you slip through his fingers because he’s too proud and too scared to admit what he wants. but he’ll be damned if he lets you leave here in some stranger's car when he’s right here. he’s not letting you go that easily.

without so much as thinking, he starts moving. he cuts a direct path through the dwindling crowd, his shoulders set, his expression a thundercloud. he doesn’t care who he has to shove out of his way to get to you.

you’re still talking to momo, your back to him, when he reaches you.

“let’s go.”

his voice cuts through your conversation roughly. you freeze, then turn slowly. your eyes, when they meet his, are wide with surprise, then they narrow with irritation.

“huh?” you ask, your voice laced with disbelief.

he stares at you, jaw set. “i said. let’s go.”

momo is looking between the two of you, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in intrigue. you cross your arms over your chest, defiantly

“and why, exactly, would i go anywhere with you?”

“are you gonna make me beg you or some shit”he shoots back, his patience wearing thin. he sees your mouth open to retort, but he doesn’t give you the chance. he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. he doesn’t wait for your permission, just turns and starts pulling you along with him.

“bakugou, what the hell are you doing? let go of me!” you’re squawking, stumbling a bit in your heels as you try to keep up with his long, angry strides.

“shut up and walk,” he growls, not even looking back at you. as he drags you away from the gala and out into the night.

the bickering starts the moment you hit the pavement. a verbal sparring match that’s as second-nature as breathing.

“you’re an asshole, you know that?”

“yeah? well you’re a stubborn pain in my ass.”

“i wouldn’t have to be stubborn if you weren’t such a neanderthal who thinks he can just manhandle people whenever he wants.”

“i wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just listen when i fucking talk to you.”

“you haven’t ‘talked’ to me in two weeks, bakugou!”

“you haven’t talked to me either”

the argument dies on your lips as he leads you to the valet stand. he gives the attendant his ticket with a sharp nod, his hand still firmly on your wrist. the sleek black porsche pulls up a moment later, its engine a low, predatory purr. he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture so out of character it momentarily stuns you into silence.

“get in,” he orders, his voice clipped.

you glare at him, but you do it. you slide into the plush leather seat, grumbling under your breath about bossy, arrogant pro-heroes who think they own the world. he slams the door shut, rounding the hood to get in the driver’s side. the moment he’s behind the wheel, the atmosphere in the car shifts. the music blasts on, some thrash metal band screaming about death and destruction, so loud it makes your teeth ache.

he doesn’t say a word. he just grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. he peels away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest. you press yourself back into the seat, staring at the dashboard, refusing to look at him. the city lights blur past the window, streaks of color in the darkness.

ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. the only sound is the aggressive music and the low hum of the engine. you can’t stand it. it’s worse than the fighting.

“you know,” you start “for someone with such great taste in cars, your music taste is absolute garbage.”

he grunts. but he reaches over, his fingers jabbing at the touchscreen on the console. the screaming metal cuts off abruptly, replaced by the soft strains of an indie band you love.

you shiver, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on your arms. the air conditioning is cranked up to arctic levels. he notices, of course he does. he just nods his head towards the back seat, where his suit jacket is carelessly tossed.

you hesitate for a second, then sigh, reaching back to grab it. you shrug it on, the heavy fabric immediately enveloping you. it smells like him. that woodsy, smoky cologne he wears, mixed his the unique scent. it’s simultaneously comforting and infuriating. he reaches down without a word and turns the ac down a few notches.

but he still doesn’t speak to you.

“can i ask you something, bakugou?” you ask,

the constant use of his last name hits him like a punch to the gut. so it’s like that now? he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking like a time bomb. “you just did, dumbass,” he scoffs.

“don’t be a smartass,” you snap, your voice rising. “why the hell did you make me come with you if you’re not going to talk to me?”

“you’re the one who didn’t say shit to me all night!” he retorts, “i walked in, saw you, and you looked right through me. not even a fucking ‘hi, katsuki’”

“maybe because you didn’t say shit to me all week!” you fire back, turning in your seat to face him. your eyes are blazing, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, he can see how beautiful you are when you’re angry.

“yeah? maybe because you fucking left!” he scoffs, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly.

“don’t act like i wanted to!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration. “i took off because you can’t make up your damn mind! one minute you’re acting like we’re a . . . a thing, and the next you’re pushing me away and making me feel crazy for actually giving a damn about you!”

“what are you talking about?” he growls, his eyes glued to the road.

“oh, don’t play dumb, bakugou!” you exclaim, gesturing wildly. “you stay at my place and make me breakfast in the morning. you’re always showing up on my patrol route to ‘check in’. you’re always sending me texts, being all ‘don’t skip meals like a dumbass’ and ‘drink some fucking water today like a normal person’ and ‘don’t stay up all night watching those shitty rom-coms, you’ll be useless tomorrow’ ! you’re the one who acts like we’re a couple, and then you turn around and make me feel like i’m wrong for caring about you!”

he’s silent. the only sounds in his porsche are your ragged breathing and the soft music playing from the speakers. he just drives, his face a mask of stone. the silence is worse than the yelling. it feels like a dismissal.

“well?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have anything to say?”

“well i’m trying to think,” he grits out, his voice low and strained.

but he hasn’t raised his voice. not once. through the entire tirade, he’s kept it level, controlled. because as pissed off as he is, as much as he wants to rage and scream, he can’t. he can’t scream at you. he can’t stay mad at you. not really. not when you look like this.

your glossy bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your brows are knitted together, your eyes are slanted with a fury that’s breathtakingly beautiful. your voice, high and pitched with emotion, is reverberating off the windows, filling the small space with your presence. he hates it. he loves it.

you look away from him, staring out the window, your shoulders slumping in defeat. and that’s when he breaks. one hand is still on the wheel, but the other moves, finding its way to your thigh. his touch is hesitant at first, then firm against the thin fabric of your dress.

“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry, ‘kay?”

you scoff, not looking at him.

“i fucked up but that doesn’t mean you need to run off with someone else,” he says, his voice strained with jealousy he can no longer hide.

you let out a humorless laugh, finally turning back to him “i didn’t run off with anyone else.”

“you know what i mean,” he insists, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly.

“no, katsuki, i don’t think i do,” you say, “why don’t you spell it out for me?”

“i’m not gonna spell it out for ya,” he grunts, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. “it’s bad enough he was hogging you all night.”

“are you jealous, katsuki?” you ask, your voice softening, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes.

“huh?”

“are you jealous, katsuki?” you echo, enunciating each word clearly.

“the hell?” he sputters, his composure finally cracking.

“jealous. like the feeling you get when you’re scared of losing someone to someone else and—”

“i’m not scared of shit!” he snarls, cutting you off.

the car is low on gas, the warning light a small, glowing beacon on the dashboard. he spots a gas station up ahead and swerves into the lot, pulling up to a pump with a screech of tires. he cuts the engine. the music dies, plunging the car into a heavy silence that’s more deafening than the noise had been.

he turns to you then, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station.

“jealousy is for fucking losers who are scared of shit they can’t control,” he says, “that’s not what this is. this is me being pissed off because i had to watch the only person i actually give a damn about laugh at some half-and-half bastard’s shitty jokes. it made me want to put my fist through a goddamn wall.”

he takes a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel.

“i told you to quit nagging me because this is confusing,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t fucking know where i stand with you. and i’m not used to feeling like this. i never know what to do, and i’m always fucking up and pushing you away. but i’m not jealous. i’m fucking pissed with myself for being a damn coward.”

and with that, he shoves his door open and gets out of the car, leaving you alone with his words and the frantic beating of your own heart.

you watch him through the windshield as he jams the nozzle into the gas tank, his movements sharp and angry. he stares blankly ahead.

he fills the tank. he replaces the nozzle. he gets back in the car. he starts the engine. he turns to look at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.

and you’re done. you’re done with the fighting and the silence. you’re done with the uncertainty. you lean across the center console, the plastic digging into your abdomen, and you cup his face in your hands. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms. his ears and cheeks flush instantly, a deep, burning red that rivals his crimson eyes. a deep red that you can see even in the dim light.

“the hell are you doing?” he manages to stutter, his eyes wide with shock.

you don’t answer. you just close the distance and press your lips to his.

it’s not gentle. it’s all the frustration and longing and unspoken feelings of the last two weeks finally exploding. it’s teeth and tongues and desperate, hungry kisses. one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the other gripping the back of your neck, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to slip through his fingers. you get lost in it, in the taste of him, in the feel of him whimpering against your lips, until a loud, impatient honk from the car behind you shatters the moment.

you pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling. he moans, a low, frustrated sound, and you can’t help but laugh. he looks like he’s about to get out of the car and start a fight, even though he’s the one blocking the pump.

“be patient for fucks sake!” he yells, winding down his window to flip the other driver off.

you’re still laughing as he pulls away from the pump and merges back onto the empty street. the sound of your laughter seems to quench some of his remaining anger, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.

“we left our conversation unfinished,” he says, his voice softer now. he glances over at you, and his eyes are funny. all soft and warm in a way you've never seen before. “can’t just kiss me out of the blue when we’re not done talking, dumbass”

“unfinished, huh?” you hum, a little flustered under his gaze. you can still feel the lingering sensation of his lips on yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin. “i thought we came to a pretty solid conclusion.”

he scoffs, but there’s no frustration in it. “we came to a conclusion about me being a coward. we still haven’t figured out what this is.” he gestures between the two of you. “i’m not good with labels and shit. and you’ve got so many expectations i probably won’t meet. i’m guaranteed to fuck something up ‘cause i don’t know how to be all . . . lovey dovey,” he says the words like they taste bad, “but i know what i want.”

he pulls up to a red light and turns his body fully towards you. the soft glow of the traffic light paints his face in shades of crimson, making his eyes glow like embers.

“i want you to stop looking at icy-hot and other extras like they’ve got something to offer you,” he says, “cause they fucking don’t. i’m all you need and i’m done pretending this isn’t everything to me.”

the man who’s too proud to ask for anything is asking to be your everything.

“everything?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs.

he simply nods.

“define everything,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. you expect him to call you a brat, to accuse you of trying to rile him up. but it doesn’t come.

instead, he looks away from the road for a second, his gaze dropping to your hands, which are now tangled together on the center console. the red light bathes him in its unforgiving glow, and you see something shift in his expression. the defensiveness melts away, replaced by honesty that’s far more disarming.

“everything,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble, “is you living in my head rent fucking free.”

your smirk falters.

“it’s me getting pissed off for no goddamn reason when you’re not with me and i don’t know what the hell you’re doing. it’s me staring at my phone after that stupid argument, wanting to text you so bad my thumbs fucking hurt, but not knowing what the hell to say because i’m the asshole who made you to leave.”

he takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel now, as if confessing to it is easier than confessing to you.

“it’s me wanting to drag you away from icy-hot the second i saw you with him, not just because i was pissed, but because i’m greedy, okay? i want all that shit you watch in those dumb rom coms. i want an apartment, or a shitty little townhouse, i don’t give a fuck. i want to wake up and know you’re the first thing i’ll see. i want to cook for you because you seem to get off on neglecting yourself and someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat your goddamn three a day. i want to take care of you.”

he finally looks at you, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.

“that’s what everything is,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s selfish. it’s me wanting all of your time, all of your attention, all of your annoying, stubborn, fucking beautiful self. all to myself. it’s me wanting to be the one who makes you laugh. it’s me wanting to be the only one who gets to see you like this. so yeah. you’re everything to me.”

the light turns verdant. the car behind you honks. but neither of you moves. you’re frozen in this moment. static in this raw confession that has completely dismantled every defense he’s ever built around you. he didn’t just answer your teasing question; he laid his soul bare on the console between you, waiting for you to either take it or leave it.

the world shrinks to the space inside his car. the honking from behind fades into a distant, meaningless buzz. your teasing smirk is long gone, replaced by a slack-jawed awe. you’re not breathing. you’re not sure you even remember how.

katsuki bakugou — the boy who called you a bloody samaritan for standing up for deku. the teenager who scoffed at every romance movie you made him watch. the explosive hero who snarls at cameras and sneers at press conferences — just confessed to wanting a life so domestic, so tender with you. and it sounded just like something straight out of one of those ‘shitty rom coms’ he claims to hate.

a choked sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a sob. you’re not crying, not really, but your eyes are stinging. you squeeze his hand, your grip tight enough to make him look at you, really look at you.

“katsuki,” you breathe, and his name is a prayer on your lips. “you. . you really want all that?”

he flinches, just slightly, as if your disbelief physically hurts him. the vulnerability in his eyes hardens into that familiar, defensive glower. “i just laid my damn heart out for you and you’re gonna question me?” he starts to snap, his old reflexes kicking in.

“no,” you shake your head. you lean forward, closing the distance until your forehead is nearly touching his. “no, i’m not questioning you. i’m . . . trying to believe it’s real.”

the anger in his face dissolves instantly. he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. “it’s real,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “it’s always been real.”

your heart stutters, then restarts at a frantic, pace. all the years of friendship, the bickering, the unspoken tension—it wasn’t in your head. it wasn’t just you wishing for something more. it was real for him, too.

“tsuki, i’ve wanted this forever” you whisper back, your voice trembling. it’s like you’ve just defused a bomb you’ve been carrying around for a decade. the last of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he sags against you, his forehead resting on yours. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re the softest they’ve ever been and his pupils are blown so impossibly wide.

“me too” he breathes, reverently. “you have no idea.”

he finally starts driving again. you’re so close to your place now. rounding the corner onto your street. when he finally pulls up in front of your buildinh, he cuts the engine but doesn’t let go of your hand. he turns to you, his expression serious again

“i’m gonna say this once” he starts, his voice low. “so you better be listening.”

he leans in closer, “you’re not my mom. you’re not some random girl to me. you’re it. you’ve always been it. i was just too stupid to say it. so if i’m being a dumbass, you tell me. if i’m not taking care of myself, you nag me. if i’m pushing you away, push back harder. don’t you ever let me get away with that shit again. you hear me?”

“i hear you,” you whisper, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst.

“good,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again. it’s slower this time, deeper, a kiss that’s not born of frustration or desperation, it’s sealing of the deal.

when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “now,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “are you gonna invite me up, or are we gonna sit here all night? i didn’t fill up my tank to just drive you home and leave.”

a laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and airy. you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the hope mixed with his usual cocky assurance in his eyes.

“i mean. . “ you trail off, reaching up and tracing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, “after a speech like that, how could i possibly say no?”

he huffs, contently. he nips playfully at your thumb as it passes his lips. “don’t you fucking start with me,” he warns

you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “i’m starting” you whisper against his skin. “come make it up to me before i change my mind”

that’s all the encouragement he needs. he’s out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door with an urgency that makes your heart race. he offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into his arms right there on the sidewalk. he kicks the car door shut with his foot, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and then his arms are around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.

you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “god, you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled.

you’re not sure how you make it from the car to your front door. it’s a blur of tangled limbs, laughter, and kisses that are more about staying connected than anything else. he presses you against your door. he’s fumbling for your keys, his hands clumsy with impatience, and you’re not helping, too busy nipping at his jawline.

“give me the damn keys,” he groans

you hand them over, and he manages to get the door open after a few tries. he practically kicks it open, scooping you up again and carrying you over the threshold like it’s your wedding night. he kicks the door shut behind him, plunging the entryway into darkness, save for the soft glow of the city filtering through your windows.

he sets you down gently, but he doesn’t let go. his hands are on your waist, his forehead resting against yours.

“katsuki,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his calloused fingers slip the straps of your dress down your arms.

“shh,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in the darkness. “no more talking baby”

and for the first time, you think you might actually be okay with that.

“What the fuck even happened, baby? Your shift ended at 9 and it’s past midnight.” His voice has descended from anger to pure concern. He knew you must have a reason why you didn’t call him, why you didn’t bother to let him know you were safe.

“I…got caught up in a villain attack. There was an emergency request for the nearby sector that needed replacement gear, and when I got there, it was chaos,” you explain, exhaustion littered all throughout your speech. “LeMillion’s suit ripped too much and he needed a patch up to continue using his quirk without repercussion. While helping him off to the side, the villain attacked us. The others did their best to distract him.”

“Christ,” Bakugo grumbles under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He pushes your hair out of your face to uncover the lone cut above your eyebrow, three fresh stitches holding it together. The glint of worry in his eyes softens once he sees them, knowing you had been evaluated by a medical team gave him some peace of mind.

“Get up,” he instructs, waiting for you to move out of your spot. And you do, long enough for him to take your place and pull you back into his lap. He does another once over of the damage on your face and collarbone, clicking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval.

“Med team let you walk out all bloody?”

You settle into his lap and place your hands on his shoulders. “Guess they thought I’d just wash it off at home.”

“Fuckin’ shitty if ya ask me. They didn’t even clean around your stitches,” Bakugo comments, examining them further before dabbing alcohol around the edges of the gash. When you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain, the wound releases a droplet of blood. He groans in annoyance, reaching for a proper wound cover to prevent anymore damage to your pretty face.

“M’gonna rip that team a new one tomorrow, fuckin’ shitty ass job patchin’ you up. This could get infected if not covered to let the stitches do their damn job.”

You knew this was gonna happen from the second you unlocked the door and Bakugo was in your face about where you were, anxiously waiting for you. Frowning, you shake your head. “Kats, baby, it’s not—”

“It’s a big fuckin’ deal to me when you’re comin’ home in the dead of night and covered in blood!” He cradles your cheeks in his hands, fingers trembling against your skin. The dim moonlight illuminating the living room highlights the glassiness of his crimson stare, making your heart sink deeper into your chest.

“I don’t wanna worry about getting a call about you bein’ in the hospital,” he whispers, voice cracking as he’s casting his eyes downward to avoid your gaze. “I…don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.“

"Hey,” you soothe, nuzzling your nose with his and placing your hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Bakugo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself down from the anxious thoughts clouding his mind. You’re right — you’re safe and sound, that’s what matters.

“Damn right, you’re stuck with me,” he leans forward to place a soft kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head tenderly. When you part, he stays close before mumbling, “Forever.”

“I dunno, my finger’s looking a little naked for being stuck with you forever,” you joke, giggling maniacally when Bakugo’s face and neck instantly flush pink. “I’m kidding, babe. You know I love—”

He cuts you off with a second kiss, deeper and rougher than the last. He moves his hand from the back of your head to your back for support. In between kisses, you think you hear him say, “Fine, marry me then.”

Now your face is beat red, body growing hot from his words that you’re…not even sure he actually said. You let out a quiet ‘huh?’ in response, speechless as you sit back in his lap. He cackles, shit-eating grin plastered across his face when he teasingly says, “Think you’re hearin’ shit, sweets. Let’s get ya in the shower and to bed.”

You get up from the couch and follow him to the bathroom, his shirt already off by the time you shut the door. You can’t help but wonder if you were hearing things…maybe it’s just your exhaustion.

Or maybe, just maybe…it was real, and you just have to be patient. For now, you’re more than content with what you two have now.

an old drabble from the peachsukii archives :) one of my personal faves! a little close call makes bakugo think about the bigger picture <3 (dividers : @/pixynari)

green orbs find yours through the glass of the mirror, a knowing gaze etched on his face that only meant trouble. the tubes stripped from your grasp, quickly confiscated and wound tight in izuku's hand.

"waterproof, huh?" he mutters, staring at the product like a shiny new toy. his fingers brush past your shoulder as he points to another, "just like this one is? and this one?"

his mockery only sets you off, plucking the tube from his hand to tuck it away in your vanity.

"none of them work, izu. they just get all streaky and it ruins my face when i'm out with the girls ... i'm just checking for false advertising!" you huff, arms circled over his shoulders as you peer at him through decorated lashes. "don't you want me to look pretty?"

and izuku knows he shouldn't give in, shouldn't be a pushover just as he has been in times like these. but if his girl needs help, who is he to deny you?

"of course i do."

scarred hands trail the curvature of your body, tugging the hem of your shirt just enough to catch a glimpse of your bra. "but can't you look pretty without funding the entire company with my debit card?"

the smile on your face is answer enough, triumphant and cocky, like you knew just as well as he did that his complaints would fall on deaf ears.

even as you move him towards the soft sheets and press your body into his, he knows its only your feeble attempt to distract — a facade you both know he'll give in to the second your hand palms him through his sweats.

well, if he was buying the mascara, he deserved to test it just as much as you, no?

"i-izu .. izu, please—" you choke out a whine, face smushed against the pillows as you try to keep up. his pace is relentless — every slap of skin a punishing rhythm that brings tears of pleasure to your eyes.

the sheen on his face matches yours, green curls stuck to his forehead as he pants against your lips. warm breath mixing as he looks at you with a dazed stare.

“only the best for you, right? so we gotta — mmm — test it”

your eyes shut in pure bliss, lips caught between your teeth as you lose yourself on the way his hips slam into your wet cunt. a broken gasp slips free when he trails a hand down your front — squeezing over the valley of your breasts until it reaches your swollen nub.

the dam breaks.

"there it is" he coos, smile plastered on his face as a scarred hand swipes at your cheeks, flecks of black mixing with your tears. "think you can—fuck— you can count this one out too, princess"

the roll of his hips mixed with the circles on your swollen nub sends you into a haze, a feverish heat burrowing it's way into your chest as you writhe underneath him.

your fingers trench harder into the pillow, blackened tears forming a pool underneath you.

“izu-izuku, please. please.‘m gonna cum—“

the familiar coil building in your tummy as he moves against you in short, sloppy thrusts —each one forcing you deeper into the sheets. you splutter as he blanks a hand against your head, fingers entangled with the soft tendrils as he grunts against the shell of your ear.

the feeling only makes your cunt flutter, squeezing his length like a vice as tears spill down your cheeks.

“gonna have t’find one that can handle me, hm?” he starts, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “its okay, princess. i’m here to help now”

and if it meant you’d get to test them all like this - with the sheets stained black and your face smushed into the pillow…

you might need to add some more to your list.

© — tokkushin : all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

It was almost embarrassing to talk with your boyfriend about something your friends have been obsessed with lately, not even daring to admit to them that you've tried it before but it just wouldn't happen. Of course, dear Katsuki enjoyed watching you squirm and suffer in front of him, trying to let him know what exactly you wanted. 

"So… You want me to help you take a piss?" He asked amused, causing you to burn up with the way he put it, a long sigh escaping your lips 

"It's not…peeing you dimwit…but yes," you stammered as your eyes drifted down to your lap out of embarrassment. 

All you could hear was a soft chuckle that came from the blonde, followed by rustling of the sheets as he moved around. When you dared to look up again he sat against the headboard, legs slightly spread and mischief written across his face 

"Are you gonna sit there forever or will you let me play with you?" He asked in a teasing way, patting the empty space in front of him. 

You looked at him with wide eyes, not expecting him to be so willing to do it right away but you simply nodded before crawling over to him. 

Once you were nestled between his thighs your lips crashed onto his in a passionate kiss while your hands were busy taking your shorts off. 

"Everything," he hummed as he tugged on the hem of your shirt, wanting to have you completely bare against him. 

When you finally settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest, he hooked your legs over his own to keep them spread wide, a small "tsk" escaping his lips when you tried to close them at first. His soft lips came to nibble at your neck, slender fingers snaking towards your chest to knead your chest. 

Soft mewls escaped your lips when he rolled your nipples between his fingers and it made him chuckle. 

"You're so needy," he teased and pressed his hardened length against your back to let you know that he was just as needy, but his goal was clear, to get you to make a mess all over his hand and bed. 

You were so lost in the pleasure his hands provided to your nipples that you barely noticed how one of his hands slid further down between your legs. A small slap to your glistening cunt pulled you back to reality with a squeak.  

"Mhh… better pay attention," he mused and let a finger slide between your slick folds. 

As he slowly circled your clit, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder, fully relaxing into him to allow the pleasure to take over your body. With skilled fingers he quickly built up this all to familiar heat in your lower abdomen. 

Katsuki chuckled deeply when he took his hand away right before the knot was ready to burst, leaving you a whimpering mess. The cruel treatment made you want to whine and close your legs to create at least some sort of friction, but closing your legs was impossible with the way his own held yours open. "Patience, my sweet" he whispered, soft lips connecting to your neck once again as his fingers came up to your mouth. 

"Open up," he ordered and you knew better than to deny him, so you allowed him to push his fingers into your awaiting mouth, cleaning up his fingers as you sucked gently before swirling your tongue around them. 

With a pop he released them from your mouth and bit down on a sensitive spot on your neck before speaking again 

"Such a good girl for me. Enjoying to taste yourself, hm?" That cocky bastard, you thought to yourself, but your mind quickly went blank the second you felt the tip of his finger circle your dripping core, eagerly awaiting him. 

The way his fingers curled upwards against your sweet spot had you seeing stars, the squelching sound almost drowned out your soft moans and whimpers. 

Right before you had the chance to get your sweet release he did it again - removing his fingers to leave you clenching around nothing, chasing an orgasm that wouldn't come. 

"Kats, please… Need to cum," You whined desperate, hating it when he edged you, but he turned your head slightly to the side to kiss your temple.

"You're too impatient, you little brat. You wanted to make a mess, right?" He questioned as if he knew exactly what he was doing, smirking when he saw you nod. 

"Then take it like a big girl," he hummed before pushing his fingers back inside of you to work you up a few more times. 

When you suddenly started to stiffen up he hummed softly into your ear, knowing exactly that you feel the pressure of what's about to follow 

"Don’t think so much, just let your body take control." His voice gently reassured you when he brought his free hand up to play some more with your nipples, while his fingers harshly massaged your sweet spot. 

As if his words were all you needed, you came with a silent scream, clear liquid squirting out of your cunt and wetting the sheets as your eyes rolled back in your head. The sensation was unlike anything you’ve felt before. Katsuki's fingers kept rubbing your clit in fast circles to make this orgasm last even longer. However, the second you calmed down, he plunged his fingers back inside once again.  

"Look at the mess you made, you naughty girl. Wet the whole bed," he groaned and his pants felt painfully tight against him now, but he wanted you to do it again - needed you to. 

You were whining his name so sinfully when your head rolled off his shoulder to watch his fingers disappear into your needy cunt as another orgasm hit you. Another wave of clear liquid sprayed out of you as Katsuki moaned in your ear from how tight you were squeezing his fingers. 

Once you caught your breath, he rubbed slow, lazy circles on your bundle of nerves to help you ride the high out and chuckled softly at how you squirmed around from the overstimulation.  

"You better not tap out now baby. Gonna do it again around my dick, yeah?" His words resembled an order,  more than a question and all you could do was nod, addicted to this newfound pleasure.