stellar ✴︎

Ojiro opening up a can of whoopass. I love himmm.

thinking abt katsuki's tummy..

it starts simple. he’s laying back on your bed, hoodie riding up a little, abs just barely peeking out. you’re curled next to him, cheek against his chest, arms around his waist.

but then you shift lower.

at first he thinks you’re just getting comfy, but then your cheek presses to his stomach, and you let out this soft little hum like you’ve just found your favorite place in the world.

“…what’re you doin’ down there?”

“mm… tummy,” you mumble, totally content.

he stares at the ceiling, fighting demons. his ears are beginning to tint pink.

“the hell does that mean.”

“i love your tummy,” you say, voice muffled. “so warm. so comfy.”

you press a gentle little kiss just above his waistband and he physically short-circuits. muscles twitch. cheeks go red. brain is just static and mush.

“jesus christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even move. just lays there like a sacrificial lamb while you rub your cheek against his tummy and kiss it again, whispering “i love you i love you i love you.”

“you’re such a freak,” he grumbles.

you grin. “but you like it.”

he covers his face with a pillow and groans. “shut up.”

you kiss his tummy again. “never.”

you’re careful not to mess up the pastry that sits inside it.

“welcome home,” bakugou’s gruff voice echoes from the direction of the kitchen, the sound of which immediately soothes the tension you didn’t know you held in your shoulders.

it’s been a long day, you think to yourself.

excited to meet him after almost 24 hours of not seeing each other, you hurriedly toe off your shoes, noting to yourself to properly return them on the shoe rack later—lest your katsuki nags your ear off again (affectionately).

“hey,” you greet once more as you enter the room, cautiously placing the box on the table before striding towards him to wrap your arms around his middle.

he grunts in acknowledgment.

with your chin on his firm shoulder, you examine the impressive array of ingredients and some of your favorite dishes on the kitchen counter, as well as on the island behind you.

you decide to tease him.

“what’s all this for, babe?”

you can somehow feel more than see him side-eyeing you. “the fuck?”

as innocently as you can, you pipe up: “what?”

at your query, he shrugs himself from your hold and places the knife he was just using to expertly chop vegetables on the table before turning to face you, incredulous.

“whaddya mean, ‘what’?” he huffs, before continuing. “are you saying you forgot what day it is?”

you debate with yourself for a second whether or not to continue this ruse, ultimately deciding against it when you see the flash of hurt on bakugou’s face.

smiling, you reach out to hold his hands in yours.

he doesn’t shrug you off.

a frown still decorates his face, though.

There's an unspoken rule that gets established early on in your relationship with Bakugo, one that he assumes you know after a few months together.

The rule in question? You need to kiss him three times before you leave his apartment; one for luck, one for the road, and one just because.

One day, you're in a rush to get out the door, running late for a lunch date with your friends. You're bouncing around his apartment to be sure you have everything — phone, keys, wallet — and place a quick kiss to his lips as you pass by him in the living room. "I'll be back in a few hours, love you!"

Bakugo grabs your wrist gently, tugging you back toward him with a pout on his face. "Nuh uh, c'mere." He pulls you over his lap, cradling you while tilting your chin up to face him. "You're askin' for trouble if you think we're done here, sweets."

You blink at him in confusion. He rolls his eyes, no actual annoyance behind it, and shakes his head. "Ya only gave me one kiss, you know better than that."

"Oh, so I owe you—"

"Damn right you do," he cuts you off with a cocky little smirk that he's too good at doing. "Three — no ifs, ands or buts. And mean it, none'a those quick bullshit pecks, real kisses."

Of course, what were you thinking? You lean forward and press the first kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. "One," you whispers before following up with two more, slow and purposeful. "Two and three."

"Much better," Bakugo whispers with a genuine smile. He lets you get back to your feet, a large palm on the small of your back to support you. He pats the back of your thigh once you're steady. "Love you too. Have fun with the girls, but not too much fun. Don't wanna chase ya down the sidewalk again after you throw back four mimosa pitchers to yourselves."

“You look like you’re ready to ascend to the afterlife,” Tokoyami said, his voice calm but tinged with concern.

“Maybe I am, Fumi. Maybe this is it for me.”

“You have a mild fever and a sore throat. Hardly fatal.”

“But it feels fatal,” you whined, your voice scratchy. “I’m so weak. I don’t even have the energy to do my nails!” You wiggled your bare fingers in the air for emphasis, looking utterly defeated. “Ugh, they’re naked.”

He tilted his head, his beak twitching in what might have been amusement. You could hardly tell. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not. I can feel my soul leaving my body, Fumi. I’m… so… cold.”

He rolled his eyes but reached for the extra blanket folded at the end of your bed, draping it over you with a sigh. “There. Better?”

“Thank you. I felt like I needed to tell you about my last will and testament.”

“Your sense of drama is impressive,” Tokoyami replied, his tone dry.

“It’s a gift.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t worry, Fumi. I’ll haunt you lovingly.”

He reached for the tissue box and handed it to you. “You’re not haunting anyone. Blow your nose.”