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The Onion’s journalism is the only journalism that matters. Holy fuck.

"i find myself running home to your sweet nothings"

summary | it’s always a rough day for katsuki. hero rankings and PR nightmares every time he opens his mouth. but he gets to come home to you

pairing | bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

word count | 840

warning | soft!domestic katsuki, fluff.

a/n | this is very literally based off sweet nothings by taylor swift, so you can listen if you want the full experience. also, i haven't posted in two months, so i'm sorry if this sucks. <3

—

katsuki drops his bracers at the door with a heavy sigh. he's only just got his boots off and tucked in the corner, when he hears your voice calling him from the kitchen.

"'suki?"

he feels the smile pulling at his lips entirely unbidden.

the soft notes of that song that's been stuck in your head (and by extension, his) plays from the speaker in the corner.

"hey honey," you smile, leaning up to give him a kiss when he's in range.

he'll never be able to explain how that title makes his heart clench. he couldn't verbalize how every title he's obtained has not mattered until you gave him that one. pro-hero, number 2, explosive, dynamight.

your title feels so intimate on your lips, reducing him to the man who would fall at his knees for you.

not a pro-hero or number 2. not a ticking time bomb or a hot-head.

just your honey. your husband. yours, yours, yours.

"how was your day?" you ask, still stirring the pot as you turn the stove down.

"it was alright," he mumbles. in truth his day was rough, and he's not ready to talk about it, and he knows you can tell by the way you reach your free hand out to swipe your fingers along his cheek.

you smile up at him, pinching his cheek. "you wanna wash up? dinner's almost done." when he nods slowly, closing his eyes against the feelings of your fingers, you give him a little laugh.

in the bathroom, he works with the skin care products you left on his side of the counter, the dry winter air has been harsh on his quirk and his skin.

he thinks back to the agency, to the hero rankings, to the disapproving stares of civilians when he lets out loud curses and swears. the scolding he received from his manager today. the article comparing his pros and cons against the number 1 pro hero deku.

the water runs over his chest as he tilts his face into the stream, still trying to catch his breath from the incredibly long week he's had.

by the time he's toweled off and dressed in his sweats, the tension has worked it's way up into his back and across his shoulders.

"katsu?" your voice rings out and he's immediately following the sound back to the front door. he snorts when he sees you trying to push his bracers into the corner near his shoes. "how the hell do you put these things on for hours at a time? oh my god."

bakugo only laughs when he picks up both bracers with ease, your shocked gasp ringing out in the hallway.

"you're so strong, katsuki."

and that's it. your praise comes so easy. the fantastic feats that he performs still awe you. even something as simple as his above average strength elicits cheer from you.

it doesn't matter that he does it everyday, or that it's expected of him, you treat every act like it's the most incredible thing you've ever seen. and bakugo tries to fight the blush creeping up on his cheeks when you say these things.

even after all these years, he hasn't gotten used to your praise.

you're quickly setting a plate in front of him, taking the seat right next to him. recounting the events of your day, catching your boyfriend up on your workplace drama, and your recent purchases is enough to take you both through dinner.

by the time you've got him laid on the couch, your favorite candle is lit in the middle of the coffee table, and you two are talking softly.

his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed right over your heart. your fingers work softly against the ache in his shoulder, somehow finding the right spots to touch. these are nights when he needs you to take him down and you always do so with ease. he groans softly at the tender strength in your touch.

"i like the way you sound."

and there you go again. how do you split him open with a just a few words?

"its so pretty. especially when you talk, and when you laugh, i think that's my favorite sound."

you're calling him pretty. like his body isn't a fucking live wire ready to go off when he sweats. like the natural production of his glands don't cause explosions. like people aren't out there wondering if he should be a villain because of the force of his quirk.

of course the power thrumming through his veins is nothing compared to you. to the person he is when he's resting between your legs, letting you pet and coo at him until he's pliant and soft.

you bathe him in compliments, your adoration of him washes the shitty week off his skin and coats him in a thick layer of your love.

his prickly edges become rounded and soft against your gentle touch. refining him to be composed entirely of your sweet nothings.

—

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What’s your favourite fairly accurate science film

whoever is writing my life has got mad writers block bc wtf am i doing

@sunasbabie — for last year’s bday, christmas, and new years gift bcs ily or whatever 🙄

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

it was made of black denim, bought from some american brand that cost him way more than he’d care to admit. he loved that jacket— he’d worn it over t-shirts in the summer and thick hoodies in the winter. he’d been wearing it on the day of onigiri miya’s grand opening and the day he’d signed with ejp.

he’d also happened to be wearing it the night he met you.

he remembers seeing you the night of atsumu’s new year’s eve party. remembers thinking that your dress was highly impractical because it was sequined and backless but damn— you looked good.

and no matter what osamu thinks he remembers, it did not take him so long to talk to you because he was feeling shy. he was just giving the other guys at the party a chance, is all. he’s nice like that.

atsumu, the drunken idiot that he was, had ended up dragging everyone up onto the roof of his apartment for the countdown. and you, idiot that you were, started shivering 15 seconds into the count, suna watching as you’d rubbed your arms for warmth and and suddenly turned to face, as if you’d felt him watching.

with 30 seconds to midnight and a shove from osamu, he’s closing the distance between you both to say hi. you have his jacket draped over your shoulders by midnight. just because he’s nice like that, not because he’s silently marking his territory and telling potential suitors to fuck off.

he even lets you leave with it, but not before exchanging numbers so you can return it as soon as possible. which you do, showing up at his place the next afternoon, his jacket washed and folded neatly in your arms, offering to buy him lunch as a thanks.

you’re the one wearing it, four months later, when he asks you to be his girlfriend. because ‘it’s just so windy out, rin. you don’t want my dress flying up, right?’

on cooler days, he’s almost sure you forego your own jacket just so you can steal his, and he lets you. you wear it draped over your shoulders when you walk back to his place after a movie. you use it as a blanket during longer car rides. there’s this fatal bug in suna’s system, and it doesn’t let him tell you ‘no.’

you’re wearing it the day you move in. he wasn’t going to make you unpack all your clothes just to find a jacket to wear to lunch.

you’d spent three years stealing that jacket. the denim is soft and well-worn, with a tear or two in the hem, but you love it. and he loves that it still smells like your perfume on the odd day he gets to wear it himself.

maybe that’s why it hurt so much, watching you brush your fingers over it as you pack away your clothes. you’d left every every t-shirt of his you’d slept in, every hoodie you’d claimed, in what was now his closet again.

but for this, you hesitate. a dull ache throbs between his ribs as he watches you hug the fabric to your chest, eyes fluttering shut.

“just take it,” he’d told you quietly from the doorway. “i don’t want it anymore.”

suna used to have a really nice denim jacket.

_____

it’s almost six months later when you call him for the first time since the breakup.

suna has to do a double take when he sees your contact. mostly because three in the morning and no one should be awake at this hour, but also because he can’t believe it’s you.

his brain and his heart are at a crossroads. he shouldn’t answer. you probably hit the wrong contact. you have other friends in the city, surely you would call one of them if you needed something.

but there’s that flaw again, and suna hits accept.

“hello?”

“rin? rin! hi.”

he sits up in the darkness at the sound of your slurring. “are you drunk?”

“no,” you lie, even hiccuping a little. “i just…i really just wanted to tell you—”

you cut yourself short, sighing. “that you did really good during your game last week.”

he raises his brows slightly, chuckling. “you were watching?”

“no,” you say again, much too quickly. “i just…heard.”

“i know what you sound like when you’re lying,” he reminds you, sliding out of bed and pulling on a hoodie. “and i also know what you sound like when you’re drunk. stay where you are, i’m gonna pick you up.”

you send him your location right away, and he drives over. he calls you to let you know he’s there, because he’s sure you’re not gonna hear your text tone, and when you step out of the bar—

he sees that you’re wearing his jacket.

that damn black denim jacket, american label and all. it hangs off your shoulders loosely, and when suna gets out of the car, he grabs the collar, pulling you closer and pretending not to notice the way you inhale sharply. ignoring your wide-eyed stare as he adjusts the jacket, doing up the buttons because he knows you’re gonna complain about the night chill.

“c’mon,” he says, pulling open the passenger door. “get inside, dumbass.”

the cute pout that downturns your lips is just like suna remembers. he closes the door after you, rounding to the other side of the car.

“did you tell your friends you’re getting home safe?” he asks as he reaches across you to put on your belt. “how come none of them came to get you?”

“oh, uh, yeah i called them but they weren’t answering,” you tell him. “i’ll call them now, just in case.”

suna watches as you fumble with your phone, tapping back and forth through the phone app until he grabs it from your hands with a sigh. he has no idea which one of your friends you’d called, so he goes to your recents.

only to see that he’s the only one you’d called tonight.

some eels only live a few years but plenty live full human lifespans. The oldest one known is about 155 years. Eels don't develop sex organs till the last year of their life. All eels are believed to come from the sargasso sea where eels leave at the start of their lives and return to towards the end. The Sargasso seas is the only sea surrounded completely by water. The Sargasso seas on its own is a deeply interesting existence and deserves a much more detailed description than I can give. All eels includes the freshwater eels, so for at least part of all freshwater eels' lives they are believed to live in seawater for at least the length of their journey to get from the Sargasso sea towards their normal living environments. Their migration patterns and reproduction conditions are still not very well mapped. also electric eels aren't eels they're knifefish and do not share the same mysteries as eels have built into their very being.

That’s really cool, I didn’t know eels were so fascinating. I decided to look more into eels because I had some time on my hands out found this ted Ed video about the mystery of how they mate and I feel like anyone who is interested in your facts would also find this very interesting too :)

A SIMPLIFIED VIEW OF BRAIN FUNCTION

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒

or four times Touya Todoroki almost told you he loves you, and one time he finally did

cw: GN!reader (one mention of them wearing a dress & heels), mentions of blood and injury, one brief mention of sex, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, canon universe | wc: 6.8k

“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.”

“Start Here” - Caitlyn Siehl

#001

Touya wants to tell you he loves you the very first time he meets you, which granted, he realizes is incredibly fucked up—but he swears on what little he has that it’s the truth.

Withering away in a damp and cornered alleyway, he clutches his abdomen in hopes of stopping whatever bleeding is going on down there. He can’t bring himself to look, but he’s certain it’s there from the warmth of the spot and the sticky film now covering his hand. 

Yes, he’s been in this situation before—you’d think he’d have learned by now, based on the embarrassing amount of times he’s walked this same path. But he hasn’t, which is clear as he sits and quietly moans in his own agony. His burns continue to sting as a new layer of charred skin forms by the second, sensitive and exposed. The cut in his side throbbing so harshly that he almost feels a bit nauseous just thinking about it. 

As he’s mentally finding the strength to stand, he hears faint footsteps. If they’re truly faint, he doesn’t know—it could just be the effect of his vision coming in and out paired with the piercing ringing in his ears. 

“Are you alright?”

He can barely opens his eyes, but he does—and he sees you. 

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