I Will Fall In Love With You Over And Over Again | Katsuki Bakugo X Reader

i will fall in love with you over and over again | katsuki bakugo x reader

summary:

Your quirk was meant to save lives, but with every revival, it slowly chipped away at your memories. Ochako smiled brighter, Deku lingered longer, and Katsuki stayed—always stayed.Even when you forgot his name. Even when you forgot him.

warnings: major angst, memory loss, spoilers!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The first time it happened was when you revived Katsuki’s deceased cat.

You were children then, barely old enough to understand the weight of life and death. But when he found you crouched by the creek, his small hands trembling over the lifeless body of his beloved pet, his voice was already hoarse from calling your name.

“Please,” he choked out, red eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Do it. Just…just bring her back.”

You stared at him, uncertain. The raw desperation in his voice made you second-guess whether this was really the same Katsuki who shoved you off swings and tugged on your pigtails.

But his voice cracked again, and you gave in.

Tiny hands trembling, you knelt beside him, fingers brushing against the cat’s cold fur. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know if it would work. You were too young, too inexperienced but the light of your quirk flickered faintly between your palms.

And suddenly, she stirred.

Just for five minutes.

The cat let out a weak meow, nuzzling into Katsuki’s trembling hands. His chest hitched with a choked sob as he cradled her, burying his face in her fur.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay, girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He hugged her tightly, arms curled protectively around the frail creature.

And when the light in her eyes slowly dimmed once more—her small body going limp in his arms—he pressed a final, tear-soaked kiss to her head.

Then he turned to you.

Without a word, he threw his arms around you, clinging to you as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His fingers fisted the back of your shirt, shoulders trembling violently.

But your eyes were dull.

Blank.

Who… was this again?

Your fingers twitched faintly at your sides, your gaze vacant as you stared over his shoulder. There was warmth against you—the faint dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt. But you felt nothing.

When he pulled back, his red, swollen eyes searched yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice cracking slightly.

You blinked slowly. Tilted your head faintly.

“…Huh?”

Confusion flickered briefly across his face, but it was gone in an instant. He forced a shaky grin, nudging your forehead with his.

“Idiot,” he muttered hoarsely, ruffling your hair. “You look wiped out.”

But the faint crease between his brows lingered. And he stared at you a little longer than before.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Over time, Katsuki learned the cruel price of your quirk.

How ironic.

The ability to heal and revive—the very embodiment of hope—was also your slow undoing. A power so heroic, yet its cost so merciless.

In order to save someone, you had to lose pieces of yourself. Slivers of your heart. Fragments of memories you once held dear.

And Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder—once you were pushed to the limit, would you forget everything?

Would you forget him?

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Izuku’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, sending dust and pebbles scattering across the broken bridge. His fingers scraped along the jagged pavement, knuckles bloodied from the fall.

He groaned softly, clutching at his shoulder as he slowly pushed himself up.

“Dammit…” he hissed through clenched teeth, wincing at the sharp sting pulsing through his arm.

But before he could rise, you were already by his side.

“Don’t move, Izu.”

Your voice was light, a soft, reassuring hum as your hands hovered over his injuries. A faint golden glow flickered between your trembling fingers, spilling warmth over his torn skin. Slowly, the bloodied scrapes faded—the broken bone mending beneath your touch.

Izuku sucked in a sharp breath as the pain dulled, his muscles loosening slightly.

But instead of relief, his chest tightened.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could continue.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk in times like this.” His voice was low but firm, his green eyes narrowed with concern. “You know how it affects you, (N/N). I can handle myself just fine.”

You forced a sheepish smile, brushing him off with a lighthearted laugh.

“Don’t worry, Izu!” you chirped, your voice too bright—too forced. “This is just me practicing for when I become a hero… I have to get used to it someday, don’t I?”

You meant it as a joke, but the faint quiver in your voice gave you away.

Because even now, you could feel it—the subtle sting behind your eyes, the faint disorientation creeping in at the edges of your mind.

It was happening again.

But you pretended not to notice.

“Idiot.”

The sharp voice came from behind you, laced with unmistakable irritation.

You barely had time to turn before Katsuki’s shadow loomed over you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His voice was low, cutting, but you caught the faint tremor in it.

“The dumbass is right,” he muttered, jerking his head toward Izuku. His crimson eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t waste your efforts on shit that can be fixed easily.”

You blinked at him.

And before you could say anything, Izuku let out a low, incredulous scoff.

“Wait—did you just agree with me?” he asked, staring at Bakugo with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Bakugo’s scowl deepened instantly. His glare snapped toward Izuku, eyes blazing with irritation.

“Shut up, dumbass!” he barked, fists clenching slightly at his sides.

Izuku’s lips parted slightly, brows knitting faintly in surprise. But then—just barely—he smirked.

“You agreed with me,” he taunted softly, his voice deliberately teasing.

Bakugo shot him a withering glare, his jaw clenching sharply. His hands twitched, sparks crackling faintly at his palms.

“Say it again and I’ll throw your nerd ass off this bridge.”

But Izuku only grinned wider, his eyes glimmering with barely concealed amusement.

And even as the two bickered—hurling threats at each other with all the ferocity of childhood rivals—you knew.

You could see it in the way they lingered close. The way they subtly kept their bodies angled toward you. The way their eyes kept flickering back—searching, wary, worried.

Because they both cared.

And you smiled softly, even as the edges of your mind blurred slightly. Even as you knew you were losing another sliver of yourself.

But you didn’t say a word.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The use of your quirk became more frequent as the three of you entered U.A. The missions grew harsher. The battles bloodier. And with them, so did the people who worried for you.

You were stronger now. Sharper. Your control over Reverie was improving—you could heal faster, revive longer. You were starting to master it, refining the edges of your power with each mission.

But the cost remained the same.

The memory loss never left—it simply grew quieter, more patient. Lurking beneath the surface, gnawing at you slowly.

It would take everything eventually.

You knew it.

And so did they.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Your hands shook faintly as you pressed your palms over the woman’s bloodied chest. Her breath was shallow, fading fast, but you didn’t stop.

Golden light flickered from your fingertips, mending the torn skin, sealing the wound. You poured every ounce of strength you had left into her frail body, coaxing her pulse back to life.

You felt your quirk pulling at you—taking from you. You could feel it in the sharp sting behind your eyes, in the dull ache spreading behind your temples.

When you pulled back, the woman’s chest rose steadily, color returning to her face. She clung to your hand, her fingers trembling as she murmured a tear-soaked, broken “thank you.”

You smiled faintly.

And then you staggered, vision tilting slightly. Your knees threatened to buckle, the weight of exhaustion making your limbs heavy and sluggish.

A faint warmth trickled down from your nose.

Blood.

You stared at the crimson droplets falling onto your trembling hands. It took you a moment to register what was happening.

“Hey—hey!”

Ochako was by your side in an instant, her hands gripping your arms tightly, steadying you. Her brown eyes were wide, round with worry as she stared at the blood smeared across your upper lip.

“(N/N), you’re bleeding!” Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper. “You need to stop—”

But you shook your head, a weak, lopsided smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m okay,” you rasped softly, forcing a breathless laugh. You could taste the iron in your mouth, but you still smiled. You lied.

Ochako’s brows furrowed deeply. You could see the tremor in her hands as she cupped your face, wiping the blood from your lip with the edge of her glove. Her hands were shaking.

“Please, just rest,” she begged softly, her voice breaking slightly.

But you didn’t.

You carried on with the mission.

Despite the dizziness threatening to pull you under, despite the way your hands trembled faintly, you didn’t stop.

You pressed your bloodied hands against another fallen civilian’s chest, reviving them for five fleeting minutes.

Enough time to let their loved ones say goodbye.

You moved onto the next.

And the next.

Because they deserved their goodbyes.

And if it meant sacrificing another sliver of yourself, you would do it without hesitation.

The man’s sobs echoed through the broken city street, his knees hitting the cracked asphalt with a hollow thud. His arms trembled as they clung to the small, lifeless body in his lap, the delicate frame of his child. Her limbs hung limp, eyes half-lidded, robbed of their light far too soon.

You had brought the child back with your quirk, just for five minutes. Enough time for the father to say goodbye.

But when she awoke, she screamed.

And the father, through tears, held her anyway.

“It’s okay… I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking her as if he could shield her from the agony she was reliving. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you, baby.”

The girl’s cries faded into broken gasps. She stilled in his arms before slipping away once more. Cold and lifeless.

You staggered backward, legs trembling beneath you. Something sharp cracked behind your eyes, a splintering sensation as if a fault line had split in your skull.

The world turned blurry.

When you blinked again, the sobbing man was a stranger. The charred street, unfamiliar. You stood there, lost in the very place you were supposed to save.

Katsuki’s voice cut through the fog.

“Hey! Hey, look at me!”

His voice was rough, sharp with urgency, but his hands were steady as he grabbed your face, thumbs pressed to your cheeks, grounding you.

Your eyes were unfocused, glassy with confusion. You didn’t know where you were. Who you were. But his voice was loud. Familiar. Real.

“Focus, dammit.” His forehead pressed against yours, sweat-damp hair clinging to his skin. His breath was uneven, but his voice was steady. Low. Rough. “It’s me. Come on, (N/N). Stay with me.”

And just like that, you were back.

Your chest heaved sharply, a gasp catching in your throat as your mind slowly pieced itself together. Your name. Your quirk. Your mission. His voice.

Bakugo held you in place for a moment longer, his grip firm but careful. His breathing was shaky against your temple. And when you looked into his eyes, wide with something raw and fragile— he was scared.

He almost lost you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Then it started becoming more evident as you became the intern of a hero that owned a hospital. As her intern, you were tasked to heal patients, and if you were given the permission to, revive a patient for five minutes so their loved ones could say farewell. The heroine you were interning for, Lady Sakuko, knew the limitations and didn’t want to risk you and so you stuck with healing.

But some families begged you.. And you couldn’t say no.. It was cruel to do so.

And so you paid the price.

It started with training exercises. Lost memories slipping through your fingers. Sometimes it was minor, a name you couldn’t place, a route you couldn’t recall. Sometimes it was bigger.. Fading details of your past, faces you swore you knew but couldn’t recognize.

Your childhood best friend, Izuku, noticed first.

You were in the common room when he passed you a glass of water, his green eyes soft with concern.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda zoned out earlier.”

You stared at him blankly. “Huh? When?”

He hesitated.

“During training,” he murmured gently. “You didn’t dodge when I called your name.”

You blinked slowly at him, confused.

You didn’t remember.

His eyes softened with worry, but he forced a bright smile, brushing it off with a chuckle.

“Maybe you were just tired,” he said lightly. But the concern in his eyes lingered, even when he turned away.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You didn’t remember your favorite cafe

Ochako suggested stopping by after classl. Her voice was bright, casual, trying not to sound worried.

“Hey, wanna grab those cream puffs you like? You always get that matcha latte too.”

You blinked at her, confused.

“What café?”

Her smile faltered slightly.

“You know… the one by the park? You love that place.”

But you didn’t remember.

You stared at the tiny shop across the street, its warm glow spilling out onto the pavement, but it meant nothing to you. No familiar scent. No sense of nostalgia.

Ochako covered it quickly, her voice bright and casual.

“Oh! Maybe I’m mixing it up with someone else’s fave,” she laughed lightly. “Wanna check it out, though?”

You nodded absently, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you the entire time.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You can’t sleep.

The rooftop is cold, the wind nipping at your skin, but you don’t move. You stare out at the city, its flickering lights blurring faintly at the edges of your vision.

You hear footsteps behind you, heavy and familiar. When you glance over your shoulder, you expect to feel a flash of recognition.

But you don’t.

The blond boy strides over with his hands in his pockets, his eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. His presence is strong—almost too much. He carries himself like he owns the entire sky.

He stops beside you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You didn’t go to your café today.”

You stare at him blankly. You don’t answer.

He turns toward you fully. His voice lowers. “What café?”

His crimson eyes falter ever so slightly. His knuckles go white in his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, he scoffs faintly.

“Tch. It’s a shitty place anyway,” he mutters. “Too sweet.”

You don’t know why, but your chest aches.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The hospital wing is too small.

Cots are pressed against every wall, medical supplies scattered haphazardly across tables. Blood stains the once-white sheets. The air reeks of antiseptic and scorched flesh.

You sit by the cot of a fallen soldier, his blood pooling onto the sheets, soaking through the thin fabric. His eyes are glassy—vacant. His fingers twitch once, and then still.

“Please…” his wife whispers from the other side of the cot. Her voice is thin, trembling. “Please, save him…”

You don’t hesitate.

Your hands, slick with blood, press down on his chest, trembling as the familiar warmth of your quirk pulses through your fingertips. Light spills from your hands, golden and dim, sinking into his ruined flesh.

He gasps sharply. His eyes snap open, and he screams.

You don’t flinch.

You hold his hand as he thrashes violently, as his body relives every wound he has ever suffered. As he sobs and clings to his wife’s trembling arms. As she cries and holds him, even as he begs for it to stop.

Five minutes.

You stay with him until he goes still again. His wife kisses his cooling lips, her sobs raw and broken. She holds him close, even though he is cold.

You slowly stand, legs trembling. Your head throbs violently, and your vision briefly tilts sideways. Your hands shake so violently you barely manage to wipe the blood from your cheek.

“(N/N)!”

You don’t register the voice at first. The words are muffled, distant, until a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you.

Ochako.

You blink slowly, trying to focus on her face, but her features swim and blur. For a brief, disorienting moment, she is a stranger.

Her hands grip your arms tightly, her voice trembling. “You’ve been overworking yourself at the hospital… (N/N), you should remember to pick who you revive. You can’t save all of them.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “But I can.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She shakes her head weakly. “And it’s taking a toll on you!” Her voice cracks as she tightens her grip. “You’re my best friend, (N/N)… I know that it’s selfish… but sometimes… people go.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

You just stare at her, your breath shallow. You want to hold her. To promise her you’re fine.

But you don’t.

Because you can’t remember if you are.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You’re slipping.

You can’t remember your name. You can’t remember the mission. You can’t remember why you’re here.

But you know you need to keep moving.

Your legs shake as you stumble forward, your body screaming in protest. Each step feels heavier, each breath shallower, but you don’t stop.

You press your trembling hands to the bodies littered across the battlefield, summoning every ounce of power left in you.

You revive them.

Again. And again. And again.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe. You just do.

And then you find him.

His body is crumpled against the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His gauntlet is cracked, sparking faintly with remnants of his quirk. His hand lies slack around the grip. His eyes are closed.

You don’t know who he is.

But your heart shatters.

You fall to your knees beside him. Your fingers tremble violently as you press them against his chest. His blood seeps into your skin, warm and sticky, but you don’t care.

You don’t understand why you’re crying. You don’t know why it hurts so much.

But it does.

Your hands shake so violently you can barely summon the light. It flickers faintly at your fingertips, sputtering weakly. You’re too far gone. You barely have anything left.

And still, you pour everything into him. Every drop of strength, every broken piece of yourself, every memory you don’t even have anymore.

“Please,” you choke softly, voice cracked and trembling. “Please, just… come back.”

You’re not sure if you’re speaking to him, or to yourself.

You press harder, ignoring the searing pain in your arms, the tremor in your shoulders. Your vision blurs with tears you don’t understand, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks.

And then he gasps sharply, his eyes flying open with a sudden, broken breath.

You let out a strangled sob.

His chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes—crimson and glassy—flicker hazily to you, unfocused and wide with confusion. Blood clings to his lips, his skin pale from blood loss.

But he is alive.

And then you smile.

Tears slip down your cheeks, your eyes blurry, but you smile anyway. You let out a shaky, broken laugh, soft and breathless—because he’s breathing.

Your trembling fingers brush over his blood-matted hair, pushing the damp strands from his face. Your hands linger, trembling faintly against his skin.

You stare at the face you don’t recognize.

But somehow, somehow, it still feels familiar.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft and fragile, breaking faintly over the words.

“I think I loved you before.”

Bakugo Katsuki allows himself to cry.

Because you still do.

Even if you don’t remember.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The war was over.

The scars it left behind were not.

U.A. slowly stitched itself back together. The halls were quieter now. The seats emptier. The classrooms once filled with voices and laughter now carried a somber stillness.

But you were alive.

And so were they.

You sat by the window in the classroom, the sunlight spilling weakly across your desk, warming your hands. The soft murmur of your classmates lingered faintly around you, their voices dull and distant. You watched them quietly. The way they moved, the way they smiled, the way their hands trembled slightly when they thought no one was looking.

They were familiar strangers.

You knew their names because they told you. You knew their faces because they showed you old photos. You knew their stories because they sat beside you and spoke softly, laughing through their tears, hoping you would remember.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was all blank.

You stared down at your notebook, the lines empty. The words wouldn’t come. Your fingers trembled slightly against the pen, your chest tightening with something sharp and suffocating.

You clutched the pen harder.

And then you heard someone sniffle.

You glanced up, eyes widening slightly.

Ochako sat beside you, her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the small, broken sound. Her eyes were red, tears clinging to her lashes, falling despite her best efforts to hold them back.

You blinked slowly, confused.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, your voice cracking faintly. Your eyes flickered around the room. Izuku, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to smile for you. Kirishima, clenching his jaw as his hands fisted faintly on his desk, his knuckles white. Mina, her face buried in her arms, shoulders trembling softly.

And then you looked at Katsuki.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t look away.

There was no pain on his face. No tears. No trace of sadness.

Just tenderness. Raw and steady.

You stared at him with so much love, like your heart remembered what your mind had forgotten. Like somewhere, in the hollow of your chest, you still knew him.

And you tried so hard.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to remember—to claw through the blank spaces, to tear through the fog—desperate to find even the smallest flicker of a memory.

But nothing came.

Just empty, aching silence.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, your shoulders trembling slightly. A broken sob caught in your throat, and you shook your head sharply, voice small and broken.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out softly. “I’m so sorry. I—I can’t remember. I—”

You covered your face with your hands, hot tears slipping between your trembling fingers. You tried to stop them, tried to breathe through the suffocating weight in your chest.

“I’m trying so hard,” you whispered shakily. “I want to remember, I do. But I—I can’t. I can’t remember any of you.”

Your voice cracked painfully as you lowered your hands, your eyes desperate and glassy. You clutched the fabric of your shirt over your chest, knuckles pale from how hard you squeezed.

“And I’m so sorry…” your voice broke completely, trembling and raw, “for forgetting you.”

And then you felt warmth.

Arms wrapping around you.

Steady. Strong. Familiar.

You felt Katsuki’s hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, holding you gently against his chest.

Your trembling hands fisted weakly into his shirt, clinging to him, your tears soaking into the fabric. You shook faintly in his arms, and he just held you tighter.

He pressed his lips softly against the crown of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, but gentle. “You don’t have to remember.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face deeper into his chest, tears falling freely.

He stroked your hair softly, his voice breaking faintly as he held you closer.

“We’ll just make new memories together.”

You hiccupped softly against him, and his arms tightened faintly around you.

“We have time,” he murmured against your temple. “We have forever.”

And so you broke completely in his arms.

Because even if you didn’t remember who he was, you still knew him.

THE END.

More Posts from Hanayoshiii and Others

hanayoshiii

2 months ago

boxer bakugou au drabble!!

an: based off this video! a little smutty at the end. minors dni. hey again

your boyfriend walks out of his en-suite bathroom with a pristine white towel slung low around his waist, skin moist and shiny just from the shower. the binded cotton wrap around his abdomen not only makes you wince from the bruises underneath but makes you pout from his gorgeous muscled body being hidden away. he roughly dries his hair with a hand towel, always so rough as he holds his phone in his other hand.

you’ve both come home from his match, his winning boxing match. it’s been a long, action packed, anxiety rushing day for you and adrenaline punched day for him. cameras everywhere, flashing lights too. you’ve actually barely seen him today since as soon as you arrived to the arena, he was rushed away for some last minute training. having a boxer for a boyfriend isn’t for the weak, watching him get hurt on a public stage for everyone to see… but it only makes you more grateful to come home with him and snuggle in bed together at the end of the day. especially when the golden belt hangs off the side of the bed.

bakugou katsuki is usually exhausted nearing three am after a match. energy wiped from being pumped up for the week and his whole body shutting down for well needed rest. you’re expecting him to whine at you to move over so he can squeeze in next to you and kiss you to sleep.

instead he’s glued to his phone with a grin showing every single tooth in his mouth. he’s watching something, a video on repeat and you’re sure that’s your voice on the other end.

he begins to chuckle after his fiftieth watch. throwing his hair towel in the basket and grabbing some clean shorts.

“you’re so insane, baby. y’know i love you so fuckin’ much.”

his words burn all over your skin. technically it was half a compliment but you’ll take it all the same.

“insane? what are you watching?”

he yanks on his shorts, dropping the towel around his waist and heads towards you laying on his bed. you’re just in one of his big t-shirts and panties.

he slides in beside you carefully because of his bruised ribs.

“i was sent this from management. you’re adorable. my girl.”

your boyfriend shows you the video he’s been watching all evening. it currently has thousands of views.

it starts with these two guys you saw earlier in the evening talking into microphones by the boxing stage katsuki was about to get on. they both look unprofessional, like losers honestly.

“bakugou’s been shit this season, he’s gonna get murdered up there by shindou, i’ll tell you that for free!” one says laughing obnoxiously.

“he can barely hit a right hook. all bark and no bite that guy.”

you’re walking behind them, only trying to get to your seat with security guards in front and behind you. then you realise what they’re saying and you walk over to the two men to yank the microphone out of his hands. the men are gobsmacked, jaws dropped and mumbling to get the microphone back. the camera swings to you, looking stunning with your leather jacket and jeans. you’re glowing under all the lights, paired with a furious frown.

“you both say all of this shit in front of the camera but could never say this to his face. nothing you’re saying is factual, just talking straight out of your ass for what? the couple views being your mother and your dog. go get a life!” then you press the microphone in the man’s chest and walk away.

the camera struggles around then records the floor before cutting out.

watching the video back you’re perhaps a little embarrassed, acting on your emotions isn’t something you do regularly but someone saying shit about your boyfriend and you’re an engine ready to start.

“i fuckin’ love this video. my fuckin’ girl,” bakugou chuckles with pride, the pain in his abs non existent as he looks over at you. he drops his phone on his chest to give you a long smooch.

it’s minty from just brushing his teeth and his lips are moist from vaseline he scrubbed on. you give him two pecks at the end with your hand caressing his cheek.

“nothing they said made sense and they’d shit themselves if they met you in person. somebody had to say it,” you defend, all while bakugou grins at you like you’re an angel that is visiting him for the evening.

“yeah, you had to say it. stickin’ up for me while i’m backstage. you dunno what this means to me babe.” his eyes flicker to your lips then your eyes, “thanks. and you looked fuckin’ sexy doin’ it.”

you laugh softly, “obviously. i’d always stick up for you. people lying about you makes me so mad.”

he hums, “stop talkin’ you’re gonna get me excited.”

you roll your eyes but you’re so enamoured by him. just like he is by you.

“anything you want, you did win today.”

a kiss on your forehead then ruby jewels meet yours. “i wanna eat you out for a bit? my reward for tonight.”

his reward is pleasuring you for the night? you need to grab microphones off idiots more often.

1K notes View Post

hanayoshiii

2 months ago

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Holding hands .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

⤿ yn has a habit of holding her friends hands except for bakugou.

⋆˚✿˖° j speaking . . .

- this has been in my drafts since November and I’m only posting it now🥲

-this is inspired by a wonwoo oneshot it’s from tiktok and the author’s name is serenedust_ you can check it out in tiktok, happy reading, my loves! <3

YN had this little habit—one her friends were well aware of. Crowds made her uneasy, and whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people, she’d instinctively reach out, intertwining her fingers with whoever was closest. It was a small, grounding gesture that helped her keep calm.

Her friends had grown used to it over time.

“Ah, the famous YN hand-holding ritual,” Mina teased one day, giving YN’s hand a squeeze. “It’s cute, you know. Like you’re our little comfort buddy.”

YN laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just… feel calmer when I’m holding someone’s hand. I’m weird, huh?”

“Nah, we love it,” Kirishima reassured her with his usual bright grin. “In fact, you’re welcome to cling to me any time, YN. A pro hero should be able to help out with stuff like that, right?”

Mina nodded enthusiastically. “Totally! Besides, it’s not weird if it’s helping you feel better.”

YN was grateful for their support. She knew they didn’t mind her habit, and that only made her more comfortable reaching for their hands whenever she needed it. But there was one person she’d never tried holding hands with—Bakugou.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. If she was honest with herself, she sometimes thought about it, imagining how it might feel to intertwine her fingers with his. But Bakugou was… well, Bakugou. He wasn’t exactly the “gentle touch” type, and she figured he’d probably find it annoying or weird if she reached for him in that way. So she always avoided touching him, keeping her hands to herself when he was around.

One day, as they sat together for lunch, Mina brought it up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, YN, have you noticed that you never reach for Bakugou’s hand?”

YN nearly choked on her drink. “W-What? I—uh…”

Kirishima chuckled, leaning in. “She’s got a point, you know. You hold our hands all the time, but not Bakugou’s. Are you scared of him?”

“Scared?!” YN stammered, her cheeks heating up. “I’m not scared of him! I just… I don’t think he’d like it, that’s all.”

Mina gave her a knowing look. “Oh, really? Because Bakugou here doesn’t seem like the type to get flustered over something as small as holding hands.”

“Shut up, Pinky,” Bakugou growled, though he didn’t deny it. His gaze shifted, and he avoided looking directly at YN.

YN could feel her face burning, but she quickly changed the subject, laughing it off. “Anyway! It’s not a big deal. I’m fine with holding your hands. It’s just… different.”

But her friends’ teasing lingered in her mind, making her hyper-aware of Bakugou’s presence. She had no idea that Bakugou, on the other hand, had been noticing her habit all along. He’d seen her reach for Mina’s hand, loop her arm with Kirishima’s, and each time, he felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she reach out to him? Did she think he wasn’t as dependable as the others?

As much as he tried to brush it off, it bothered him more than he’d admit.

During UA’s annual festival, the crowded grounds buzzed with excitement. Class 1-A had been helping with setting up booths, and the noise and energy around them were overwhelming. YN could feel her nerves kicking in as they made their way through the busy festival.

“Whoa, it’s packed,” Kirishima said, glancing around.

“Tell me about it,” YN mumbled, trying to keep her breathing steady.

Sensing her discomfort, Mina grabbed YN’s hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Hey, remember we’re all here if you need us.”

YN nodded, grateful. They continued walking, and as the crowd around them grew denser, she instinctively reached out to grab another hand. Her fingers slipped through someone else’s, feeling warm and steady—until she looked up and realized whose hand she was holding.

Bakugou.

Her heart jumped, and she immediately tried to pull her hand back, stammering, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

But Bakugou’s grip tightened, refusing to let go. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but his gaze was intense as he looked down at her.

“Quit squirming,” he muttered. “If it helps you feel safe, just… keep holding it.”

YN stared up at him, her cheeks turning a deep shade of red. “B-But I didn’t think you’d want to…”

“What, you think I didn’t notice?” he interrupted, voice a little rougher, though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re always holding their hands, but never mine. You think I’d mind?”

Behind them, Mina and Kirishima exchanged wide-eyed glances, grinning like they’d just witnessed the world’s biggest revelation. Mina’s voice echoed in a teasing whisper, “Ohhh, looks like someone’s finally holding Bakugou’s hand…”

YN was mortified, but Bakugou simply glared at their friends. “Mind your own business.”

They continued through the festival, YN’s hand still tightly wrapped in Bakugou’s. The warmth of his grip was both unfamiliar and comforting, and she could feel her anxiety melting away. For once, the noise of the crowd didn’t seem so overwhelming.

She glanced up at him, offering a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Bakugou.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled, though his cheeks had the faintest hint of a blush. “Just don’t let go all of a sudden.”

Mina nudged Kirishima and whispered, “Think they’ll let go after this?”

Kirishima laughed quietly, giving her a playful nudge back. “Not a chance. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

As YN walked with Bakugou, hand in hand, she realized she didn’t mind the teasing. In fact, she didn’t want to let go at all. And judging by the way Bakugou’s grip stayed firm and steady, he felt the same way.

Years into their careers as pro heroes, YN and Bakugou had seen more than their fair share of action and chaos. Tonight, however, was one of those rare, peaceful evenings, where the two of them could finally unwind together. They’d just finished a mission, and now they sat sprawled on Bakugou’s couch, swapping war stories over takeout.

As they relaxed, a comfortable silence settled between them until YN, lost in thought, let out a small laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bakugou grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing,” YN said, shaking her head with a smirk. “Just… I was thinking about that festival back at UA.”

Bakugou squinted suspiciously. “Which one?”

“The one where I, uh… accidentally grabbed your hand.”

Bakugou’s face turned pink, but he quickly masked it with an annoyed scowl. “Accidentally, huh? Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

“Oh, come on, it was!” YN protested, laughing as she nudged his shoulder. “I thought you were Kirishima! But then I looked up and realized it was you, and I was mortified. I was ready to disappear right there.”

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, I noticed. Thought you’d drop dead from embarrassment.”

“Hey! You didn’t help by tightening your grip, you know!” YN shot back, giving him a playful glare. “You practically crushed my hand! What was that about?”

Bakugou shrugged, feigning indifference. “Thought you needed the support, or whatever. You looked like you were about to pass out.”

YN giggled, shaking her head. “Sure, sure, big tough hero just wanted to help.”

Bakugou cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I was waitin’ for you to do it all damn year, you know. You’d grab everyone else’s hand like it was nothing, and when it was me, suddenly you couldn’t even look at me.”

YN blinked, surprised. “Wait, you… actually wanted me to hold your hand?”

“Tch,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Why do you think I always stood next to you in crowded places? Wasn’t a coincidence, idiot.”

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. “So all this time… you were jealous?”

Bakugou shot her a glare, cheeks bright red. “I wouldn’t call it jealousy.”

“What would you call it, then?” YN asked, smirking mischievously.

“A strategic maneuver,” he said, nose in the air. “If you got anxious, it was only logical that I’d be the one to handle it.”

YN snickered. “Right, because nothing says ‘tough guy’ like hoping someone will hold your hand.”

“Oi!” Bakugou growled, though his expression softened into an uncharacteristic smile. “You’re lucky I let you grab it at all.”

“Lucky, huh?” YN teased, leaning into his shoulder. “Well, in that case, I guess I’m lucky you’re still holding it.”

Bakugou’s fingers intertwined with hers, his grip firm but gentle. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

YN rolled her eyes but didn’t let go, letting the warmth of his hand remind her of that day at the festival—the beginning of something she hadn’t realized they both wanted.

And for the rest of the evening, every time she tried to pull her hand away, Bakugou would grumble, tightening his grip and muttering, “Strategic maneuver, remember?”

YN only laughed, realizing that some things really never change.

1K notes View Post

hanayoshiii

1 year ago

“is it bad?” his eyelids flutter open, lashes dropping softly against his cheeks in bliss to the sight “what is?” he sighs as your eyes open, gentle words arising from your mouth “that i want to be yours forever?”

dazai cannot help but capture your lips to his, heat rising to his neck as he feels the soft flesh of your lips between his. it’s as if his lips had a heartbeat of their own. he pulls away, eyes dolled with nothing short of adoration. if you squint, you might see his pupils shaped as beating hearts “yes. probably”

you join into his slight chuckle before finding his waist and dragging yourself closer, arm hooked around him “i don’t mind” you murmur, glossy eyes looking up at him. dazai thinks it’s a good thing he’s lying down because his feet feel so weak.. he feels so light.. his stomach is rumbling.. he hopes it’s sickness. he dreads the feeling it might be something else.

his fingers tangle into your hair as he catches a bit of his bottom lip between his teeth. you move the hair away from his eyes, sliding your palm down against the surface of his cheek. instinctively, he brushes his face against your palm, letting himself be caressed by you as he closes his eyes “i’m not sure i deserve this” he says in an almost broken whisper.

a kiss to the tip of his nose makes his eyes open once again, pain-stricken orbs meeting his “i am” and his lips are on yours again because he’s so afraid, so afraid it’s only in his mind. so afraid that if he opens his eyes again you might disappear and he might be devoured by the cold night, like always. he tries to force a tear out, it doesn’t come. it never does.

he hopes, truly hopes, you can feel the way he loves you with how he kisses you. he could tear his soul apart telling you how much he needs you and cherishes you, but in the end, he fears you’ll find him insincere. he fears you’ll never know this side of him. yet somehow, it only seems to come out when he’s with you. dazai hates it. despises it. but he loves you. he loves you so much his ribcage feels to small for his heart, every part of his body aches with the messy beats of it, with the hot flushes it sends to his body.

he’s lovesick. he can’t do anything about it. as much as he hates himself for being so weak, so selfish, he can’t help it. he won’t help it. his lips quiver as he parts away. his nails make crescent marks into your skin. the heat radiating from his body is overwhelming. you smooth the hairs of his brow.

“i know what you’re thinking, osamu”

“do you?”

“i do. stop”

he smiles, a painful smile as his teeth clench “i’m sorry”

“what for?”

“i fear i’ll never love you the way you deserve to be loved. it scares me to know you hurt”

you giggle, sending shivers down his spine as his body tenses. you press against his chest with a smile “you don’t see yourself the way i do. you’re not the cold monster you think you are, osamu” and if he could, he would cry. his arms wrap around your seemingly fragile body, bringing you even closer as he rests his chin atop your head.

“i hope you’re not wrong” he whispers as his fingers envelop the bare skin of your arm in tender, circular movements. “i know i’m not” and he closes his eyes, breathing out heavily as you caress his back with your digits. he’s tired. he’s exhausted. but he’s.. happy. closer to happiness than he has ever been. but he feels sick. sick to his stomach. so lovesick, so shamelessly disgusting he doesn’t know what to do.

all he does is trap you into his arms, whispering prayers into the night that you shall never be taken away from him. maybe he will learn to fully open that fear-stricken heart, to let you patch up wounds he was never aware he had. but for tonight, all he can do is kiss and embrace you into the comfort of your shared bed as he gazes at you tender eyes, your smooth skin, your sweet mouth.

he wishes morning would never come to take you away.

517 notes View Post

hanayoshiii

1 year ago

LISTENNN sadistic!dazai aftercare :(( kinda like a part two to blood sex and tears if that's alright 🥺 I wanna know if he'd still be mean and cruel or if he dotes on his doll after :)

aftercare with sadistic!dazai

dazai can't resist admiring all the marks and bruises littering your body once he's done with you. he can't help it—you just look so perfect to him, all marked-up like that. the second he's done railing the fuck out of you, he can't take his eyes off of you.

"what is it, 'samu?" you breathe, closing your eyes and leaning into his embrace. every instinct in your body urges you to get away from the man who spent the last couple hours breaking you, but you're so sore that you can't bring yourself to leave. and his chest is so warm anyways, so why bother?

you open one of your eyes and look at dazai hazily. he reaches out and traces the side of your face with his hand and leaves a line of red where his fingertips meet your bare skin. "nothing," he murmurs, a tender smile dancing along his lips. "you look so beautiful like this, darling," dazai whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. he lingers long enough for you to gasp for air afterwards, to his amusement.

dazai sits up and says something about cleaning up before exiting the room, leaving you to tend to your own bruises for a couple minutes. they're starting to go a shade darker than you remember, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you make a mental note to call in sick to your work tomorrow.

a few minutes later, dazai returns, a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other. he offers you a gentle smile before sitting down and pulling you into his lap. "you did so good for me, sweetheart," he praises, kissing the top of your head. dazai pulls your chin up towards him and presses the glass of water to your slightly swollen lips, murmuring words of encouragement as you wince.

"you're so tense," dazai tsks, setting down the glass. he fishes out an ice cube and trails it down your back, grinning when you flinch from the stark chilliness. "what, can't handle the cold?" he cooes, popping the ice cube in his mouth and biting down with a distinct crunch.

he starts rubbing the damp towel over your skin, cleansing you of the droplets of blood scattered across your figure. "so," dazai continues, trailing his fingers over your skin, "how was it?"

"h-huh?" you mumble, caught off-guard by the seemingly simple question. dazai chuckles and draws a star with his finger around the bruise on your shoulder, pressing a kiss to it afterwards.

"i mean, how are you feeling?" he elaborates, a lazy smile dancing across his lips.

"oh, i'm ... okay," you breathe, nodding along to his words.

"that's it? just okay?" he inquires, and you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your head. "aw, looks like we're gonna have to go for another round if you're just okay, sweetheart."

"wait, i—"

"don't bother, i was looking for a reason to go for one more round. c'mon, spread those pretty legs for me, baby. you can do it ..."

406 notes View Post

hanayoshiii

10 months ago

Syrup #481F01 — Dazai Osamu

he's a literal mess || 0.2k

“I left for like two minutes.” Your exasperated voice made Osamu straighten up, which made it comically hard to keep a straight face.

Because his face was drenched in syrup. It was dripping down his chin, slicked over his cheeks, splashed up over his eyebrows and forehead— part of his bangs were even oily looking and matted from where syrup had clung to the ends.

“Bella!” His dopey smile and giddy tone made him look absolutely ridiculous…and irritatingly cute. “I can explain!”

“Can you really, though?”

“…no. But I can say that my pancake was delicious.”

You made him walk up to the register and pay, by himself, and then made him walk all the way to your apartment with the syrup still dripping and slowly drying.

He wasn’t really complaining— especially not when it landed him perched in the bath like a pleased cat, happily letting you scrub at his hair and face.

There wasn’t anything other than sheer fondness that you could make yourself feel in that moment. And a little smile stayed glued on your expression as you cleaned him thoroughly.

And once he was all unsticky and syrup free, you dried him off, combed his hair, and dressed him— almost like a porcelain doll too fragile to be rough with.

“I love you.”

His quiet spoken confession caught your ears; such seriousness was rare with Osamu.

“I love you, ‘samu…even when you wear your food.”

511 notes View Post

hanayoshiii

2 months ago

car mechanic bkg blurb…. let’s celebrate that i crashed my car

“so.. uhm.. how bad is it?”

katsuki grumbles as he crouches down, looking closely at the dents and scratches on your car frame. his coarse fingers trace over them, and his eyebrows furrow. you think this is the first time in your life you wish you were a car.

katsuki has always been so attentive to detail when it comes to his cars.

“‘s not bad, could be worse” he replies, placing his gloved hand on his hip. “‘s an easy fix, though. ya need me to check anything else?”

“spark plugs, please” you gulp, “i’ve been meaning to replace them for a while.”

he chuckles, his other hand reaching for a rattle inside his overall’s pocket. “the total’s gonna cost ya a pretty penny, doll.”

you feign innocence as you move towards him, fingers tracing the center pocket of his overall. “really? i thought i could get a few dollars off since i’ve known you for quite a while, mr. bakugo. it’s all about customer loyalty, right?”

he tilts his head to the side, the corners of his lips growing to form a smirk. his hand slithers to your waist. “what’re ya sayin’, sweets? ya wanna pay me some other way? i only take cash.”

you playfully roll your eyes, shoving his chest lightly. “you just had to ruin it didn’t you, babe.”

“not my fault you’re broke” he burst into laughter, wincing slightly when you slap his arm.

“fine, fine—i’ll fix your car. but—i’m taking my payment tonight.”

2K notes View Post

hanayoshiii

1 year ago

i like it when you tell me what to do. —osamu dazai.

contains: dirty talk, playful!reader, mafia executive!dazai, if you think about it the positioning of furniture here is kinda weird, teasing, kinda dom reader maybe a switch, masochism (and sadism), gun play, unprotected sex, edge play

warning: unedited🤧

dazai's mischievous smirk greeted you as soon as your eyes met when he padded his thumb to your lips, raising your chin up.

playing with your bottom lip, you licked his thumb, slightly biting it to fully suck it. "ah, belladonna, i like this shade on you, i cannot wait to smear it off you."

you were then pulled to face your reflection as he kept your arms behind you, pulling bandages to restrain you. you tugged playfully as his grip tightens around your wrist.

trailing the tip of his nose on the side of your face, you meet his gaze and lowly chuckle at his dalliance. "you're losing your touch osamu," freeing yourself from the knot of his bandages, you roughly cup his jaw, dragging his face onto your height.

"you're not as fast as you were," you whisper as you lead a hot path to his ear.

with one swift motion of turning you and pushing you to his desk, you suddenly find yourself bending over—with his arm weighting your back, keeping you from standing.

"that's where you're wrong belladonna," his teeth grazing at your jaw, the barrel of his gun trailing up and down your leg to your thigh. "mhm?" you mindlessly hummed, your tone teasing. "i stay the same, if not better."

"as you do," he chuckled, his fingers making their way to your soaking folds. "my hands easily turn you into this wet mess, like the whore you are."

"and you easily get hard because of my dainty fingers," you smirked, stroking his hard length through his tight pants. "are you trying to out-whore me, osamu? hmm?"

while he enjoyed pressing his hard-on on your behind, you took advantage of breaking free off his hold and facing him, your back now at the table.

taking his semi-soaked gun, you licked your juices off the tip of the barrel and teasingly trailed it to the tight part of his slacks. up and down the barrel went, tracing the outline of his hardness.

dazai's mischievous smirk and occasional moans clouded your thoughts yet followed what his eyes wanted. "i like it when you do things to me, bella," he moaned. you notice a growing damp spot on the tight spot.

"like this?" you chuckled, tenderly pulling him into a kiss, slowly biting his lower lip until it bled, all the while cocking his gun and drawing a trail up and down his neck and torso.

"mhm," he whispered onto your teeth, saliva and blood mixing."

after a few more mindless patterns, you settled the tip of his barrel on his chest, directly above his heart.

his eyes glimmered with the same excitement whenever he faced danger. you pulled the trigger but none came. you continued dancing with his tongue, ravaging each other's mouths.

strings of saliva stretched from your mouths as soon as you gasped for air. laughing with your partner.

dazai grabbed at your hand, placing it onto his tight pants. he leaned on your neck only to beg and to bite for a few licks.

"tell me what to do with this, i like it when you tell me what to do."

as he let go of your settled hand, you feel the cold barrel traversing your back, following the trail of your spine.

as if a damsel in distress, you dramatically sighed and slightly opened your legs. "do the work for me osamu."

"but that's no fun," he gritted out, turning to you for him to face your behind. his feet pusing your legs on both sides to make room as he unbuckled his belt.

"do you love it when i fuck you from behind?" he whispered dramatically, his gun trailing your side.

"do you like being allowed to fuck me at all, osamu?" you replied with your usual seductive tone, your nails playing with his chin and your thumb padding his bloodied lower lip.

"would you rather like being fucked from behind," you teased, now gripping his dripping cock.

"i would love to, ah—," he moaned as he hungrily claimed your mouth as you pumped.

as if on cue, his gun stopped on the side of your head. without any second thought, he pulled the trigger, but none came.

"just like that, ah, yes—" with his head mindlessly drawn back, his face drunk on pleasure, you slowly intensified your strokes as you pushed his back to his desk where he found his knuckles tightly gripping its edges.

"mhm, ah, bella, you do me so good."

pornographic moans reverbated in the room as both of you panted, restlessly trailing each other's hands, fighting for dominance before the other takes over.

after successfully pinning your back to the same position on his desk, he teasingly rubs his hard dick on your now exposed ass, slowly drawing mindless lines up and down your behind and inner wet folds.

you grind on his hardness, smirking mischievously after his huffs of groans. with both your bodies sticky from sweat and pleasure, you couldn't help but moan with him as he went in.

the chorus of both your low and seductive chuckles filled the air. "ah bella, you make me believe in heaven when we're like this."

with dazai thrusting in and out of you like a maniac it was only natural that he lost his focus on your restraints. you were able to twist your body to face him, delaying his near nirvana.

he grinned like a maniac as you gripped on his exposed hard on. "kneel," you commanded through your teeth.

it took a swift second before you sat yourself on his desk, opening your exposed wetness. "osamu, you're forgetting something," you opened your legs wider.

his lips slowly climbed from the tip of your toe to your inner thighs. he sighed, taking in the warmth. he slowly lapped on your folds. when he gets a little too excited, you grip on his hair to withdraw him from you.

"ah, bella you must be a goddess to turn my pains into this pleasure," he moans.

535 notes View Post

hanayoshiii

2 months ago

in which pro hero reader puts an interviewer in their place after asking a disrespectful question about her boyfriend, pro hero dynamight.

you hated interviews.

the blinding lights, the stiff chairs, the overwhelming stench of hairspray clinging to the air- every second under the cameras made your skin itch. the suffocating outfit you were sitting in wasn’t helping either, digging into your ribs with every breath.

you weren’t even halfway through the interview yet, but the migraine pressing behind your temples told you you’d had enough.

technically, this was supposed to be a lighthearted talk show. what a joke. you knew better- just an interview wrapped in a prettier bow. the host sitting across from you in her pristine blue chair hadn’t shut up in over an hour, bouncing between surface-level questions about your daily routine and your hero work.

you’d been playing along, forcing that polite little smile on your face. but this second his name left her mouth, your stomach twisted.

“pro hero galaxia, we all know as his girlfriend, you’re the closest person to the one and only explosion hero, dynamight. i’d like to ask some questions about that.”

her voice was sugary sweet- too sweet. the kind of tone that made your teeth grind.

you returned her plastic smile, masking the irritation crawling up your spine. they always did this. always trying to pry into things that weren’t their business. heroes had a right to privacy too, didn’t they?

but for the sake of appearances, you nodded.

“alright.”

her eyes glinted like a shark sensing blood. “it’s no secret that dynamight is a… harsh person.” she paused, letting the word hang in the air. “many young children and even adults could be frightened by this nature, and i wonder-” she tilted her head, fake curiosity dripping from every syllable- “how do you think this affects him as a hero? could it be that he’s not cut out to be one?”

…what?

at first, you didn’t even register the question.

the air seemed to still, the bright studio lights dimming into a blurry haze around you. the murmuring crowd, the cameras clicking- everything faded into static. all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.

she did not just say that.

“excuse me?” your voice came out low, sharper than you’d intended. maybe you’d heard her wrong.

but the smug little tilt of her smile told you you hadn’t.

“yes,” she repeated, slow and deliberate. “what are your thoughts?”

you leaned forward, locking eyes with her. the smile fell from your face like a guillotine blade.

“let me tell you something.”

the words came out steady, and there was no mistaking the edge behind them.

“dynamight wakes up every single day, straps on his gear, and walks out that door with no guarantee of returning home.” your voice rose slightly, echoing through the silent studio. “he risks his life- his entire goddamn life- to protect people who wouldn’t think twice about spitting on his name.”

you wouldn’t use dynamight’s real name now. you weren’t answering this question as his girlfriend, you were answering it as a fellow pro hero who knew the constant battles of every day hero life. and for him to be disrespected like this was beyond sickening to you.

“he worked his ass of to get to where he is today- harder than anyone i’ve ever seen. and you’re sitting here questioning if he’s cut out to be a hero? what the hell are you doing every day? sitting on your ass in front of a camera, profiting off other people’s lives?”

the host’s eyes widened, her sickly sweet smile finally cracking.

good.

you stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. the woman flinched back, the entire room holding its breath.

“i better not ever see you in front of my face again.”

the moment you stormed off the set, the tension in your muscles refused to ease. your hands were still curled into fists at your sides, nails pressing half-moons into your palms. the air backstage was cooler, quieter, but the frustration still burned beneath your skin.

that woman had no idea what the hell she was talking about. no clue what it meant to be a hero.

you made your way to the dressing room, barely acknowledging the wide-eyed crew members who scurried out of your way. you didn’t care. let them whisper about the way you stood up for dynamight on live television.

you swung open the door to your dressing room, already reaching for the zipper of your suffocating outfit-

and then you froze.

because sitting on the couch in the corner, arms crossed and one leg kicked over the other, was a very familiar blonde.

katsuki.

his crimson eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in, sharp and unreadable.

for a second, neither of you spoke. the adrenaline from the interview was still thrumming in your veins, but under his gaze, something in you settled. he was here. he had seen everything.

you swallowed, shifting your weight slightly. “katsuki-”

before you could finish, he was already pushing himself off the couch, walking toward you with slow and deliberate steps. his hands, rough from years of battle, came up to your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your collarbones.

“turn around,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d expected.

you blinked at him, and his gaze flickered to the zipper at the back of your outfit. “i know this shit’s been botherin’ you all night.”

there was no teasing in his voice, no smirk. just quiet understanding.

your chest tightened, warmth flooding beneath your ribs. without a word, you turned, letting out a breath as his fingers gently tugged at the zipper.

the fabric loosened around you, and you hadn’t realized how tense you were until the cool air kissed your skin.

“you didn’t have to do that,” katsuki muttered as he worked the zipper down, his knuckles grazing your spine. “didn’t need to lose your shit on live tv for me.”

you scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. “of course i did.”

the zipper reached the small of your back, and his hands smoothed over your shoulders, pushing the fabric down with a tenderness that sent shivers through you.

“you’re a hero, katsuki,” you continued, voice quieter now. “you save lives every single day. no one gets to question that.”

his hands stilled. you felt his breath against the nape of your neck, warm and steady.

then, he pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“you’re too good to me, y’know that?” he muttered against your skin.

you turned to face him, arms slipping around his waist as he finished peeling the tight fabric from your arms. his hands didn’t leave you, tracing slow, comforting circles against your back.

“i just love you,” you admitted, his forehead resting against yours.

he huffed, but the way his arms tightened around you betrayed him.

“yeah, yeah. love you too, dumbass.”

and as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss far gentler than anyone would expect from dynamight, you let yourself melt into him- into his safety and love reserved just for you.

the fire from the interview still burned in your veins, but now, it was for an entirely different reason.

2K notes View Post

hanayoshiii

1 year ago

it’s clear the second virgin! Childe’s cock slips past your folds, that he’d get addicted to the feeling of your cunt. he’s so cocky, so well aware of his abilities, but fucking was beyond his area of knowledge, the red head knew you’d feel absolutely amazing, so warm and tight, trembling slightly at the mere thought while undressing between eager messy kisses.

“o-oh, baby, you feel so good” he stutters, bottoming out with a shaky exhalation from both the sucking of your walls around his throbbing cock and how absolutely beautiful you look underneath him, “i... can’t stop!”

Childe fucks himself into overstimulation, marking your insides with an immense amount of precum that eases the slide of his cock in and out your sobbing pussy, feet firmly planted on each side of your hips to reach as deep as possible, it aches, burns but he can’t and won’t stop, there’s tears brimming in his blue eyes, threatening to spill with each wet smack of his balls against your ass. it's so messy how much cum spills from your hole, drenching the sheets underneath, adding lubrication to Childe’s length that doesn’t show a sign of stopping soon.

and you’ll get addicted to him, to his cock, to his desperate kisses that break from whimpers unable to contain, to how moldeable he turns, all pussydrunk and needy to continue fucking you through at least a couple of your orgasms.

It’s Clear The Second Virgin! Childe’s Cock Slips Past Your Folds, That He’d Get Addicted To The

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hanayoshiii

1 year ago

everybody wants to love you

-"said, I'm the first girl that got you getting romantic"-endlessly by kali uchis

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ Contents: Dazai x Fem!reader, Fluffy fluff, just dazai and fluff that's the whole fic, uhh implied references to marriage in the end,

☾⋆⁺₊⋆ A/N: ...i lied bitches fedya's gonna wait my pookie is always first. Also this was so much better in my head uhhh-

You woke up to bandaged hands around your waist and dazai's chin on your shoulder, his breath coming out in little puffs against the back of your ear. You hesitated before carefully attempting to pry his fingers off you, which caused him to whine and pull you closer against him.

What you didn't realize was that he was already awake.

"mmh, love can't you stay hereeeee?" He huffed, kissing behind your ear before he buries his face in your nape. "...it's so cold anyways, why would you wanna leave?" You sighed, pulling away from him and giggling when you hear him whine.

"C'monnn, you can't stay in bed all day." Dazai merely pouted.

"Watch me." He grumbled, however his expression softened as soon and you brushed away his bangs to press a kiss to his forehead. You smiled and brushed your fingers into his knotted tresses, scratching at his scalp and tugging at some of the knots.

"...wanna get up now?"

"Hmm, fine." He sitted up and stretched before you laced your fingers with his and pulled him up. You led him into the cramped bathroom of your shared agency dorm-a dorm meant for one that two had carved a home into.

You spread toothpaste on your toothbrush and brushed your teeth while humming softly and dazai followed in suit, hip bumping against yours. After rinsing out your mouth, you looked at dazai as an idea sparked in your head. "let me brush your hair, it's a knotted mess." Dazai raised an eyebrow but smiled as you reached up onto your toes, comb in hand. "can you bend down, you giraffe?" You huffed and dazai chuckled at your adorable pout, poking your cheek as he bent down a bit.

"Better?"

"M'yeah." You gently tugged at knots in his wavy hair, brushing it away from his eyes and you combed it until it was softer and not as tangled. Once you were done you set the comb onto the counter and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Dazai chuckled and tapped the tip of your nose. You pulled him out of the washroom and into the kitchen, pulling out leftover rice and a few eggs from the fridge. "What do you wanna eat?" Dazai hummed and leaned against the counter.

"Whatever you want." He shrugged and you decided on tamagoyaki and leftover rice-frankly you didn't want to cook much. You opened the cabinet and grabbed a bowl, cracking eggs in and measuring out some soy sauce, grated radish and a bit of sugar. Dazai watched you, smiling at your small movements. The way you narrowed your eyes as you measured stuff out, the small crinkle of your nose was just oh so adorable to him. Quietly, he walked up behind you and spun you around, ignoring the stammers of protest you let out as he cupped your face and kissed every part of it; your nose, the curve of your jaw, across your redden cheeks and finally placing a playful kiss to you lips. With a sly chuckle he placed his hand on your lower back, fingers grazing your spine and he reveled in the shiver it brought about.

"Osamu-" He cut you off with another kiss to your lips, pulling away with an exaggerated "mwah!" Flustered, you put a hand on his cheek.

"Osamu! I-I gotta cook!" He ignored you, opting instead to pull you flush against his chest and waltz you around, humming a random song that you couldn't quite place a finger on. Dazai hands trailed up to rest under your ribcage as he ends the dance with a flourished dip. Right now, the sight of you to him was immaculate-Cheeks flushed and eyes wide, lips parted in surprise you were the most beautiful thing he'd seen. With a chuckle he lifted you back onto your feet, dipping down to kiss your left hand before he tapped your ring finger.

"Hm, bella this finger seems empty-naked even!" He acted as if it was the most horrible calamity in the world. Before you could interject he unravelled some of the bandages on his hand, ripped of three or four inches with his teeth before wrapping it around your ring finger. "Much better!" He grinned and tapped your finger again, making you look at the makeshift ring he'd made. Heat flooded your cheeks and you couldn't help but sputter out.

"Osamu!" You huffed, eyes wide and dazai laughed at your expression.

"Aw, bella'! C'mon, don't worry! Maybe next time I'll put on a real ring, how does that sound darling?"

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!!

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