Despite Being Allergic To Pollen, BAKUGO KATSUKI Spends Most Of Valentine’s Day At The Flower Shop

DOA !

feat: izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, touya todoroki, keigo takami, tomura shigaraki

warnings / cache notes: quirkless au for izuku's, other than that all are canon timeline! one sided pining, miscommunication, mentions of death / dying, alcohol consumption, all around angst (what else did u expect... it's me and it's fall out boy. whoops.) jjk version here!

m.list // fob m.list

CHICAGO IS SO TWO YEARS AGO - IZUKU MIDORIYA — She took me down and said / "Boys like you are overrated, so save your breath" / Loaded words and loaded friends / Are loaded guns to our heads / 'Cause every pane of glass that your pebbles tap / Negates the pains I went through to avoid you / And every little pat on the shoulder for attention / Fails to mention I still hate you

izuku was a nice guy. maybe a bit too nice-- it always confused you. because all through high school he was the sweetest thing-- blushing, stuttering, a little ditzy sometimes and a new level of awkward that you weren't sure was even possible-- but the guy currently tossing pebbles at your window? how is he the same guy that literally almost passed out when you bumped into his shoulder in the 9th grade? this had been happening for weeks. the curly haired boy would show up at the home you rented with another friend of yours and toss little pebbles from the garden in front of your house against your window. and when you finally did open the window, the conversation would dry out a little too quickly for his liking, and you'd dismiss him in that fake sweet tone of yours. izuku doesn't know why he's chasing after you. he knows you were never interested in him more than a silly little high school crush. you both were well in your twenties by now, him with an office job and you with your teaching job. you two reached out a year or so after graduation and caught up, making izuku realize that he had shoved some intense feelings to the back of his psyche, and you were doing great with your newly rewarded promotion at your job. why was he still clinging to this one sided pining? it should've shifted to the next stage by now-- he should atleast dislike you, hate you even. even if you never get to hear the confession he's been rehearsing since that first lunch together months ago, even if you continue to deny him a chance of even hearing him out-- he should hate you. a lot. and yet he doesn't. because at his heart, izuku was a nice guy. too nice.

7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN (ATAVAN HALEN) - KATSUKI BAKUGOU — I keep telling myself / I keep telling myself / I'm not the desperate type / Sitting out dances on the wall / Trying to forget everything that isn't you / I'm not going home alone / 'Cause I don't do too well on my own

one thing you learned about katsuki was that he was an honest drunk. a brash and shameless honest drunk, but still honest. you don't always go out for drinks with him and the crew-- you don't care too much for the bar scene and you can never keep up with the boys (denki and kirishima always peer pressure you) but sometimes you tag along and you manage to have a good time. tonight, the number of people still awake has dwindled down drastically. sero was slumped forward against the table, denki was asleep leaning with his back against the wall with kirishima also asleep on his shoulder. only you and katsuki were awake. awake is put loosely, since the blonde keeps blinking slowly at you, rocking just the slightest bit where he sits and leaning into his arm propped up on the table. you've mirrored his position, only half as drunk as he was-- your eyes are lazily tracing the scars along his face and exposed skin of his arms. you don't even know what you two were talking about. at this point, you were sure you were mumbling nonsense, but it didn't matter. katsuki watched you like you were the most interesting thing in existence, drunken starry eyes idly tracked your every move. his cheeks were a nice rosy color-- either from the alcohol or how you were very obviously and shamelessly checking him out right in front of him. "'m gonna go home soon," you slur your words, your free hand traces the circle of condensation that your glass leaves when you move it. katsuki watches your finger for just a moment too long before his eyes snap up to yours. "don't," he mumbles, but you hear him just fine. like your ears have a specific tuning for his particular timbre. you lean in the slightest bit and pretend to not hear how katsuki's breath hitches. "have patrol tomorrow," you manage to get out while you hold his gaze. drunk katsuki also pouts. "don't leave me," if you were sober, you would've been shocked at how sincere and tender his voice sounded. "please?" you rarely ever hear him use that word. "'suki-" the alcohol doesn't allow you to say his full name, but he latches onto the portion that he hears and scoots the slightest bit closer towards you. in this intimate distance, you can see the glaze in his eyes, a carnelian warmth the spreads to your cheeks and down your spine. for once in your life you can see the vulnerablility clear in his eyes. katsuki is not a desperate guy, atleast when he's sober. you can hear the clear want in his voice when he speaks again, inching closer to close the distance, his nose bumping gently into yours. "don't make me go home alone." katsuki is a very honest drunk.

BISHOPS KNIFE TRICK - TOUYA TODOROKI — These are the last blues we're ever gonna have / Let's see how deep we get / The glow of the cities below lead us back / To the places that we never should have left / The last blues we're ever gonna have / Let's see how deep we'll get / The glow of the cities below lead us back / To the places that we never should have left

"wish we could've spent my last night alive alone," touya mutters as he leans back onto open palms, the concrete a numb chill against his skin. his eyes are focused forward, and so are yours. you don't pay any mind to the security guard who is standing just a little ways off to the side, gun drawn but ready to aim at the man next to you at a moments notice. you know there's no need for the weapon, but to them-- the commission, the public; the whole country-- they need it. they are the ones who don't trust him. you only hum in response, curling more into the warmth of his side and continue to watch the sky as it changed colors. you've given yourself to touya years ago. complete devotion, unwavering love-- support while he recovered after the war and help during his time in rehab. you've given him so much, only for it all to be ripped apart and scrubbed clean with a single piece of paper. if he were the protagonist of this story, he would've gotten a happy ending. he would've been able to complete his time in rehab and come out a different man, one who was willing to love his family and be able to live a normal life with the love he claimed for himself. but touya todoroki was not the protagonist. he was the villain, a villain who caused immeasurable damage and caused chaos and pain-- and villains always get bad endings. you had hoped that touya's good behavior would've been rewarded. every time you were granted visitation time he promised you he would give you the life he always wanted to give you-- he would give you that and more. he hadn't always been the best at giving, but rehab was making it possible for him. touya's good behavior was rewarded with an execution date. a measly two simple lines for any last requests-- (it was the only time he was sent to solitary, he bitched up a storm about making sure he got what he wrote on that paper) and a list with boxes for him to check which meal he would like to have before he died. and he gave you what he had always wanted to give you in one day. all of him, his soul, mind-- he couldn't give you his body since that would be taken by his family to be buried unfortunately, but they would never get his last thoughts or memories from him. those were yours. those were always you. you gave yourself to touya years ago. in return, he gave you his last day alive.

SOPHOMORE SLUMP OR COMEBACK OF THE YEAR - KEIGO TAKAMI — 'Cause I'll keep singing this lie / I'll keep singing this lie / Are we growing up or just going down? / It's just a matter of time until we're all found out / Take our tears and put them on ice / 'Cause I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light

late. again. to be fair, keigo don't do it on purpose. he's a busy man, things slip from his mind. and yes, it's shitty that he forgets about certain things when it pertains to you-- but you knew what you were signing up for when the two of you started dating. you knew what was going to happen when he rose through the rankings and gained the number three spot so early, and then got to number two all of a sudden. you knew that. there's a harsh mix of emotions swirling in your gut. the straw in your drink has been chewed to the point where you could no longer drink out of it. the leather material you've been sitting on for the past forty-five minutes has grown uncomfortably warm. keigo, no-- hawks-- had gotten too cozy with telling you little white lies. you know him too well to see right through the mask he puts on to 'protect' you, the act-- as you would call it-- and you were wondering what was going to be your last straw. sitting here, by yourself at the cafe you met him at-- waiting for him. it was supposed to be a lunch date, he promised you he'd make it there even though you knew it was a lie. you knew it was a lie and you're still sitting in the same spot, and still waiting. you've already wasted enough time waiting for him, why not just a couple more pathetic minutes wiping away tears? why not waste just a few more moments wishing you would've grown up before meeting him? because if you had, you would not have made such a good home for yourself at rock bottom.

27 - TOMURA SHIGARAKI — Are all the good times getting gone? / They come and go and come and go and come and go / I've got a lot of friends who are stars / But some are just black holes / My mind is a safe / And if I keep it then we all get rich / My body is an orphanage / We take everyone in

when tomura spaces out, everyone just doesn't mention it. especially as of late, he's been zoning out and barely there-- at the league's bar more often than not with a glass of whiskey that he does not take a drink out of. he leaves it out on the bar most of the time and doesn't clean it-- kurogiri cleans up after him. like always. it's been rough since you left. the group struggled heavily; even if some didn't want to admit it. it's been taking twice longer than normal to perk up in the mornings when it was usually you who got him up with the coffee he likes, toga is more quiet than usual, and dabi doesn't buy cigarettes as often as he used to due to not having to share them with you. re-destro hasn't been reaching out as often. it's not like tomura minds it-- he's been wanting the space. and most meetings have been going the same; tomura shows up, usually with another member of the league-- and leaves with no progress on either end. it's not until tomura shows up with compress one day that re-destro snaps. going off about how something needed to change, something needed to happen-- he was fed up with how slow tomura had been acting the past few months. tomura and compress listened silently, almost like children getting scolded for having their hand in the cookie jar until your name is brought up. compress felt like he was watching in slow motion as tomura tensed, rising to his feet with a finger pointed scathingly towards the ginger. tomura's eyes flashed something dangerous-- something deadly. he looked like he was about five seconds from jumping the table and grabbing re-destro by the throat. compress reached a hand out to the fabric of tomura's pants-- but tomura was seething. "keep their name out of your mouth." tomura jerked away from compress' touch. he took the first few short steps before pausing again, his eyes still keenly trained on the man in front of him. "don't ever," his voice was practically spitting venom, "talk about them again. your mouth is nowhere near worthy enough to speak it." tomura's eyes were wild-- bright and on alert. like a feral animal being caged against it's will, choosing to fight instead of flee. this time, he was choosing to fight. whenever it came to you, he always backed down. ran from the situation that was bluntly put in front of him. denied it through and through until he couldn't lift his head from lack of sleep or drinking too much. the entire time he blamed you. the black hole of the group. sucking all the motivation and spirit the second you left. no, you were just a planet stuck in orbit; finally breaking free. tomura was the black hole.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

Happy birthday Shouto!

(Featuring Touya being the terrible influence he was always meant to be)

.Sending nudes to MHA boys.

MHA boys x fem!reader

Including: Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, Hanta Sero, Denki Kaminari, Katsuki Bakugou.

Warnings: suggestive, slight NWSF in Izuku's part, submissive!Denji, Katsuki is a little mean, praising in Sero's part.

!! pre-relationship, aged-up characters !!

The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt3) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2

Katsuki Goes home.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : Bakugous perspective again, alot of sad internal thoughts here. Hope you like! thank you for the support on this yall.

Warnings : Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : ~5.8k

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

Katsuki loves to cook for you. 

It was your third date, and your first time at Katsuki’s house. Though he’d never admit it, he spent hours scrubbing down his small, somewhat cramped apartment (too much money went into his car, after all). Spending an absurd amount of time considering whether or not he should hide his All Might merch, before deciding to move it into his bedroom for safe keeping. 

Your last date had been at some overpriced restaurant downtown when he’d proposed the idea. “I’ll cook for you next time,” he’d said, cocky and sure. “Show you what real food tastes like.” You had laughed, and he had raised an eyebrow, because he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t lying about his food being fucking fantastic, cause it was usually, he just didn’t anticipate that he would be acting below optimally today. 

He didn’t confront it at the time, but cooking was proving difficult from the bubbling nerves in his stomach, the knife shaking in his careful hands. He’d already restarted the dish twice—first after dropping a whole garlic clove in, then again when he over-salted the sauce. And it was all due to his shaky fucking hands. 

He settled on katsu curry, a recipe from his dad. Simple, reliable, and good enough to impress without making it obvious how much effort he was putting in. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. You’d be there in 30 minutes. His pulse spiked, though he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—not for someone normal like you.

Not that he meant normal as an insult. You just weren’t a hero, or a celebrity, but you still had him hooked. And that was rare.

When he was younger he had been actively avoiding it, busy with more important things to be wasting his time on things he considered trivial. Then after, it was more he just wasn’t finding anyone that interested him, no one worth exchanging a second glance with. So now, with you, he feels like a teenager. 

It isn't until you take your first bite, when awe flashes in your eyes and you smile while you chew, that Katsuki finally feels air in his lungs and his shoulders drop.

“I’ll make you something even better next time,” he had said, and he meant it.

And he did. Over and over, he did. He liked seeing that look on your face. Liked making you happy.

Until… well. Until he stopped.

Now, he can barely remember the last time he made you and the girls a proper home-cooked meal. Maybe a year ago, when your parents came over for your birthday. He remembers the way you had come downstairs that morning, hair a little messy, eyes bright with surprise.

“Katsuki…?”

He had turned to look at you, but there was no warmth in his expression. Maybe even a flicker of annoyance.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I…” You had laughed nervously, shifting on your feet. “Just… um. What are you cooking?”

“Katsu curry.”

“Oh!” You had moved closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Wow… it smells really good. Like always.”

And that was it. No teasing. No awe. Just a small, hesitant smile, like you weren’t sure if this was something you were allowed to be happy about.

Like it had been so long since he did something like this, you didn’t know what it meant anymore.

He chops the onion harder at the memory, the knife clinking against the cutting board from the force. In the living room, the girls are still in their pajamas, curled up on the couch despite the time. He tries to recall what you would usually do to keep them entertained on a Saturday, chopping faster with each thought, each memory that feels further away.

After an awkward breakfast of pancakes—because pancakes felt like the safe choice, and all kids like pancakes, right?—he busies himself in the kitchen, prepping soup for lunch. Something simple. Something safe. Kids need their vegetables… or something like that. He had looked up recipes online, scrolled through a dozen articles about “healthy meals for picky eaters,” and gotten to work. Because the alternative (asking his own kids what they actually like) sits like lead in his stomach. They wouldn’t think twice about the question, wouldn’t realize it’s because their own father doesn’t know their preferences.

But Katsuki would know. And his pride won’t let him admit it.

His head is already aching when a sharp scream cuts through the apartment. He whips around, eyes immediately locking onto Koharu, red-faced and wailing. Riko is at her side, whispering something soft, trying to calm her down. Would she be doing that if you were here? Would she feel like she had to?

His chest tightens.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, quickly setting the knife aside and crossing the room. He lifts Koharu into his arms, cradling her close as he gently bounces her. “What’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny fists clutch at his shirt as the sobs shake her little body. He presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Don’t cry, baby. You’re breaking Daddy’s heart.”

His voice is softer than he thought it would be, almost pleading. He wipes the tears from her hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb, shushing her lightly. 

He rocks Koharu gently, her hiccupping sobs slowing, little hands still clutching at his shirt. He doesn’t know what set her off. Doesn’t know what usually comforts her best. When she cries like this, what do you do?

He can guess. He’s seen it, even if he never really paid attention. You’d take her into your arms without missing a beat, murmur something soft against her temple, rub slow, sure circles into her back. You’d hum, maybe sing—off-key, but the girls loved it anyway. Maybe you’d take her to the kitchen and grab her a snack, something small, something easy. Something she likes.

His stomach twists.

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead, hoping the words will be enough. “I got you, baby.”

She sniffs, breathing uneven against his chest, but she’s settling. He lets out a quiet breath. It’s barely past noon, and he’s already exhausted.

Kirishima had texted earlier, checking in. Said he could swing by if Katsuki needed a break. He’d almost said yes before he caught himself. You wouldn’t get a break. You never did.

His phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a different name.

[12:14 PM] The Hag : Don’t forget Katsuki, we’re expecting you all at dinner tonight. 

He exhales sharply through his nose. Right. Dinner at his parents’ house. You’d planned it weeks ago. 

“Your mom wants us over for dinner next Saturday,” you said, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Your voice was soft, like you weren’t sure how he’d take it. “She says the girls need a proper meal.”

Katsuki barely looked up from his phone. “They eat just fine.”

You let out a breath, pushing your fingers against your temple. “Yeah, I know, I just—” You hesitated, chewing your lip. “She thought it’d be nice.”

There was a pause, the words lingering, like maybe there was something else you wanted to say.

He scrolled idly through his screen. “You already told her we’d go, didn’t you?”

You let out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever.”

Silence stretched between you, but you didn’t move. You were watching him—he could feel it, that quiet, exhausted sort of stare. He glanced up just as you shifted your weight, like you were thinking about something, like you were deciding whether or not to say it.

“…You know, you could start cooking again.”

The words were careful. Like you were testing the waters, trying not to step on a landmine.

His brow twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, thumb pressing against your temple again. “It’s just…” You hesitated, voice quieter now, almost cautious. “You used to like it. Remember that?”

“I don’t have time to cook.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, your shoulders dropped slightly, a slow breath leaving you.

“I don’t either,” you finally murmured. “But I still do.”

There was no bite behind it. No anger. Just a fact. A quiet truth laid bare between you, almost too fragile to touch.

His eyes snapped up then, irritation flickering. “Not all of us have the luxury of free time you have.”

You flinched, just a little, but you covered it quickly, shaking your head. “No, I just…” Your fingers rubbed absently over a spot on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice, that’s all.”

He exhaled through his nose, barely looking at you now. “Okay, then.”

You nodded, like you hadn’t expected anything more. Then, without another word, you turned back toward the sink, shoulders drawn, something weary in the way you moved.

He never cooked that week. Or the week after.

And now, standing in the kitchen with his daughters waiting in the other room, that moment hits him with a new kind of weight.

It wasn’t just about the food. It never was.

~

He cleans up the living room while the girls start getting ready to head over to grandmas, barely keeping his eyes open. 

Katsuki rubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mother is going to take one look at him, at the girls, at the empty space beside him, and she’s going to know.

And she’s going to say something.

He can already hear her voice in his head. What the hell did you do this time?

Because Mitsuki Bakugou raised him. She knows every stubborn inch of him, knows exactly what kind of man he grew up to be. And she sure as hell knows you. She likes you too much not to notice the way you’ve suddenly vanished from the picture.

And if they don’t show up, if he even thinks about bailing, she’s going to lose her damn mind.

Not just because she’ll know something is off, but because she’s Mitsuki Bakugou, and the woman has no patience for bullshit. She’ll call, and when he doesn’t answer, she’ll call again. And again. And again. And if he still doesn’t pick up? She’ll just show the hell up at his front door.

A small sigh pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to see Riko standing in the doorway.

She’s already in the dress you picked out for her weeks ago, but her face is twisted in frustration, lips pulled into a pout.

“Daddy,” she huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I can’t do my hair.”

Katsuki blinks. “Huh?”

She groans, marching over to him and spinning around, pointing to the mess of tangles at the back of her head. “It’s all wrong.”

He stares at her. Then at her hair. Then back at her.

Oh.

Shit.

He suddenly realizes he’s never actually done her hair before.

You always did it. Every morning, without fail. Brushing it out, tying it up, pulling it into little braids or ponytails—sometimes you even put those dumb sparkly clips in it that she loved so much.

And now she’s looking at him like he’s supposed to know what to do.

He clears his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. What… do you want me to do with it?”

She lets out another dramatic sigh. “Just make it nice.”

Before he can respond, she’s already stomping off to her room, and he hesitates before following, comb in hand.

Riko plops onto the floor in front of him, and Katsuki crouches behind her, comb in hand. He squints at her hair like it’s some kind of puzzle, hesitating before dragging the comb through it.

Riko yelps. “Ow!”

Katsuki freezes. “What?”

“You yanked it!”

“I barely touched you!”

She huffs, twisting to glare up at him. “Mommy never pulls my hair.”

“Tch.” He exhales through his nose, loosening his grip. “Well, Mommy isn’t here, so quit whining and hold still.”

Riko grumbles but turns forward again, and in the mirror, she’s still glaring daggers at him. He almost smirks.

You always used to say she was a mini-him, loud and stubborn just like he was, but he’d never really seen it before. She’d always been his little princess. And sure, she’s still a princess—just one who’s currently scowling at him like she’d take him down if given the chance.

Yeah. She’s definitely his brat.

With a sigh, he works through her hair a little gentler this time, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest when he realizes how much work this actually is.

How much work you did every single day.

How much work he never even noticed.

When he finally finishes, the ponytail is a little uneven, but it’s secure. Good enough.

Riko turns, running her hands over her hair with a thoughtful expression. Then, to his surprise, she grins.

“It’s not terrible.”

He snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

She giggles, then suddenly launches forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Katsuki stills, caught off guard, before gently squeezing her back.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“…Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “Anytime, bug.”

He pulls back slightly, ruffling her hair with a smirk. “Alright,” he huffs. “Let me go wake up brat number two, and then we’ll get going.”

Riko gasps, scandalized. “I’M NOT A BRAT!”

Katsuki just snorts, already walking out of the room, smirk still firmly in place.

Katsuki wakes Koharu with as much patience as he can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t much. She whines, burrowing deeper into her blankets, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt when he tries to sit her up. Eventually, he manages to get her dressed, all while Riko stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, offering extremely unhelpful commentary.

By the time they’re in the car, Koharu is still pouting sleepily in her car seat, and Riko is humming some song under her breath. Katsuki grips the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw set as they pull out of the driveway.

He doesn’t want to do this.

He’d always complained about dinners with his parents, even back when you were first dating. It took him nearly nine months to introduce you, and it would've been even longer if you hadn’t come to him one day, quietly asking if the reason he hadn’t introduced you was because he ‘didn’t see this as something long term.’

It had hurt more than he liked to admit—he hated seeing that look on your face. So, against his usual stubbornness, he agreed. He suffered through that first dinner with them, and he continued to suffer through them for years after, because his mom absolutely liked you more than him.

She used to tease him about it, laughing softly when Mitsuki would pull you aside, talking your ear off about some childhood story Katsuki really didn’t need you knowing. You’d give him a little look over your shoulder, amused, like you knew he was barely holding it together. And later, when you two were alone, you’d tell him how nice his mom really was, how she just cared, and he’d scoff, grumbling about how you were wrong—but deep down, he liked that you got along.

Now, though? He’d take his mother favoring you over him in a heartbeat if it meant you were still here.

The drive is quiet, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the silence in the car. By the time he parks in front of his parents’ house, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tight. He barely has the chance to unbuckle before the front door swings open. 

“My angels!” Mitsuki wails dramatically, her arms wide as she stands in the doorway, a soft smirk playing on her lips. Behind her, Katsuki’s dad stands by the door, casually leaning against the frame, wearing his usual apron.

Koharu lets out a small whimper as Katsuki lifts her from her car seat, the little girl immediately burying her face into his shoulder. Riko, on the other hand, sprints over into her grandmother’s arms, dragging her little bag behind her, a grin on her face as Mitsuki scoops her up.

“I’m kidnapping you both, AND THAT’S FINAL!” Mitsuki huffs, smothering Riko with tight, exaggerated affection, but her eyes immediately scan past Katsuki, searching. She doesn’t find who she’s looking for.

Her eyes narrow, sharp as always. Then, they flick back up to him, and he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Where’s your wife?” she asks, her voice a little too calm, too knowing.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, shifting Koharu in his arms as he meets her gaze. “Busy,” he mutters, trying to keep the discomfort from creeping into his voice.

Mitsuki’s brows furrow deeply, the usual softness in her gaze replaced with something closer to concern. She takes a long, deliberate look at him, then at the girls, before her eyes settle back on him again.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get inside.”

It’s a temporary reprieve. He knows that. Mitsuki will press him on it before the night is over.

As his mother drags Riko inside, Katsuki gently follows, carefully toeing off his shoes with Koharu still in his arms.

“How are you doing, Katsuki?”

His dad’s voice is soft but full of that quiet concern, a gentle smile on his face as he watches his son carefully.

Katsuki adjusts Koharu in his arms, avoiding his dad’s gaze, and mutters, “Fine… fuckin’ busy or whatever.”

His dad steps a little closer, that calming presence always so different from his mother’s sharpness. With a tender touch, he strokes Koharu’s hair as she clings to Katsuki’s chest, half-asleep and unaware of the silent exchange happening between them.

“You shouldn’t curse in front of the little one,” his dad muses, his tone more lighthearted than critical.

“Yeah, 'cause she knows what I’m saying,” Katsuki mutters, glancing at Koharu, still resting in his arms.

His dad chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You look tired, son. Have you been overworking again?"

Whenever his dad uses that tone, Katsuki feels like he’s 13 again, and his dad is correcting him for the way he would talk to Izuku. In some ways, it hits harder than his mother’s loud words ever could, because she’s direct, and his dad—his dad can see right through him, in a way that makes him retreat into his shell even more.

“A little, not a big deal,” Katsuki mutters, his eyes drifting away, not wanting to meet his dad's gaze.

His dad doesn’t let it slide. "And Y/N? How is she?"

The question catches Katsuki off guard, the mention of your name feels like an unexpected weight. His dad’s gaze is soft, almost too knowing. Katsuki shifts Koharu in his arms, his mouth suddenly dry.

“She’s…” he trails off, staring down at Koharu, as if the answer is buried in her messy curls. “She’s fine, just... busy, you know?”

His dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press further. He just watches him quietly, giving him the space to either lie or open up. But for now, his dad doesn't press. He just watches him quietly, as if letting Katsuki decide if he’s ready to say something real.

The lie he’s telling isn’t even a good one, cause no matter how busy you are, you always made sure to make time for these sorta dinners. And his dad knows that. But, he doesn’t say anything in return, which is somehow worse.

He sighs quietly and reaches out, gently lifting Koharu from Katsuki’s arms. The little girl, now wide awake, babbles happily as her grandfather coos at her, running his hand through her hair. "Go settle in, son," his dad says, his voice soft, but firm. “I’ll take care of her for a bit.”

Before he turns to go, his dad adds, his tone gentle yet knowing, “But… maybe let’s speak later? Okay?”

Katsuki swallows hard, he hates that the way his dad is talking already makes him sound like a failure, like he already knows it was Katsuki that messed up. Like he can read through all of Katsuki’s bullshit and see the cracks he’s trying so hard to hide. It makes him feel like a damn failure, like it’s obvious to everyone that he’s the problem

“Why? You got something you need to say?” Katsuki snaps, the defensive tone escaping before he can stop it. His dad doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, just stands there like he’s waiting for the storm to pass.

The sharpness in his voice cuts through the house, and even the chatter from the kitchen quiets just a bit. Why is he making everyone walk on eggshells around him?

He isn’t a villain, he tells himself. So what if he… messed up a little? It’s not the end of the world, right? He could’ve done worse. He could’ve been unfaithful, or a bad provider, or—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as he meets his dad’s gaze.

His dad has always been the perfect role model. Attentive. Doting. Patient. And here Katsuki is, a mess of frustration, guilt, and pride that’s been spilling over more and more lately. He could never be like his dad.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, but something in him softens, ever so slightly, as he exhales a frustrated breath. He’s tired, so damn tired. One minute, things were okay—well, good enough, and then somehow, it all unraveled. Too fast.

He wishes, selfishly, that he could find a way to blame you for all of this. If he could just shift the blame, maybe he could breathe again, maybe he could sleep a little easier at night. But that’s not the truth. He knows it. You tried. For years. You tried to tell him, to show him how tired you were, how stretched thin, how hungry for something that was no longer there. And instead of listening, he put up walls, focused on his life, his goals, because what he was doing mattered. What you needed didn’t. Not to him.

And when he looks back, he hates himself for it. For all the moments he chose his work, his career, over you. Over us. Thinking that being a pro hero, providing for the family, ensuring everything was safe and secure, would be enough to make you stay. Enough to keep you from wanting more. But that was never the problem. He never saw it, not until it was too late. You didn’t care about the things he thought mattered, the things he believed were enough to prove his love. You wanted him. Just him. And now, that selfishness—his lack of attention, his ignorance of your needs—has landed him here. And still, despite it all, there’s a part of him that wants to blame you. Even now. If you’d said something earlier, if you’d tried harder…

But he knows that’s a lie, too. Deep down, he knows it was his choice to ignore it. To dismiss you. To push you aside. And that realization hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s the one who let it all fall apart, the one who took the love you gave and turned it into nothing more than routine, something he could neglect without consequence.

His breaths become shallow, and suddenly his vision blurs. He blinks hard, trying to force back the sting in his eyes. No, no, not now. He can’t do this. Not here. Not in front of his dad.

“Whatever,” he mutters through gritted teeth, the words coming out rough. His voice cracks, but he can’t let it break.

He shoves past his dad, stomping his way toward the bathroom, his hands trembling.

~

Katsuki has a gnawing feeling that his dad spoke to his mother about the little… moment earlier at the door. Because the hag doesn’t utter a word about you during dinner, which is weird. She keeps having these moments where she’s clearly about to say something, but hesitates, glancing at Katsuki before abruptly changing the subject. Every time it happens, he grips his fork a little tighter. It’s bizarre.

Despite that, dinner goes off without a hitch—or maybe it does, Katsuki wouldn’t know. He’s in a daze, zoning out through most of the meal.

Now, the kids are playing with toys on the living room floor, and Katsuki’s trying his best not to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him. He’s spent the entire dinner avoiding it, but now it’s starting to feel impossible. That’s when his dad touches his shoulder.

Katsuki jolts slightly, whipping his head around, quickly dropping his phone onto his lap to hide his shame. He scowls instinctively.

“Will you help me and your mother tidy in the kitchen, son?”

Despite it sounding like a question, it’s really not one. It’s an unspoken command. Katsuki grits his teeth, but he doesn’t protest.

His dad’s gaze flicks briefly toward the kitchen, the quiet message clear, before he looks back at him. Katsuki knows what’s coming, even before he enters that kitchen.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters, desperately trying to hide the shame coiling in his chest.

He stands up slowly, dragging his feet. He’s too damn tired to even bother trying to escape what’s coming. He knows this conversation is inevitable, and he doesn’t have the strength to avoid it anymore.

As expected, the kitchen is already spotless, and his mother is leaning against the counters with nothing but a blank face. 

Even though nothing about this situation feels casual, Katsuki decides to pretend it is. He strides into the kitchen, plops himself down in one of the chairs, and looks between his parents like he has no idea what's about to go down.

His mom doesn’t miss a beat.

“Katsuki, where is Y/N?”

Straight investigation style, he would laugh if this conversation wasn’t about to get very depressing. 

“She’s at some spa hotel, outside Tokyo,” he mutters, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

Her gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing as she presses on.

“And why is she there.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flaring despite himself. "Can’t my woman enjoy a weekend away? Jesus, you’re uptight." He leans back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. He’s not convincing anyone though, especially not his mom.

His mother, stays eerily calm, not biting back as she usually would to his behaviour. She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t demand an explanation. She simply waits.

"She’s been stressed," he mutters, almost as an afterthought, like he's trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Too much going on, with the kids, work... You know how it is."

It's a little more truthful, but still a half-hearted attempt to avoid the core of it. He leaves out the glaring factor—he is the unanimous source of most of this. His mom’s eyes never leave his, and he can tell she’s not buying it. Fuck.

“And what have you been doing, Katsuki?” Her voice is low, but the sharpness is there, cutting through the air.

“The fuck you think?” he mutters, his voice dripping with frustration. “You see me on TV. Same shit every day. I’m out there saving people, doing my job. What do you want from me?”

“For your wife, Katsuki,” she says, her tone firm and unwavering. “At home. What have you been doing for her.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s afraid to.

“The fuck I’ve been doing?” he repeats, this time more quietly, though his frustration still simmers beneath the surface. “I’ve been working, putting food on the table. Making sure everything’s... taken care of.”

His voice cracks slightly, though he tries to mask it. He’s avoiding the real question. Avoiding what he knows—what they all know.

His mother doesn’t let it slide.

“For her,” she presses, her voice a quiet, insistent reminder. “Not just for the house, or the girls. For her. You can’t give everything to the world and leave her with nothing, Katsuki.”

What’s he supposed to say to that?

“She needs you, son,” his mother adds softly, her eyes searching his for something he’s not sure he has anymore. “Not just as a provider, but as a partner. A husband.”

He doesn’t know what sets him off—whether it’s his mother’s tone, the warm laughter of the girls in the other room, or the weight of his empty phone burning in his pocket.

But in that moment, Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero everyone fears, breaks down in his childhood kitchen.

“I’m…” His voice cracks, unable to form the words properly. “I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to fix this.”

He hiccups his words, his father’s hands rubbing careful circles into his shoulders, trying to ground him, but it only makes him feel worse. He wants to pull away, to hide the vulnerability, but he’s too far gone.

He wishes you were here, the things he would sacrifice for it. To have you bring him close, to kiss the tears off his cheeks, to hear your soft voice telling him everything would be okay—that you know he’s trying, that you love him even in his mess.

But all he has now is his sniffling in the kitchen, the awkward silence pressing in, and his mother looking at him with nothing but pity. He’s never felt more ashamed in his entire life.

"Mom..." he starts, his words still coming out in ragged bursts. "I messed up. I... I thought I could handle it, but I didn’t. I thought... I thought being a hero was enough."

The words come like poison, the shame burning through his throat as his mother just watches him silently. 

She takes a long, steady breath, carefully considering her words, a rare softness in her tone. "I don’t know exactly what has been happening at home, son, but I know Y/N married you for a reason. She loved you when you were just a rookie, working constantly, because you made the time, you made the effort. She wants her husband back. It’s the little things, Katsuki. Don’t let your own neglect make you lose her."

"I know you can do it," she adds, her voice gentle but firm. "She loves every part of you. So let her see that again. Let her see you."

He wants to argue. To lash out and defend the way he’s been living. He wants to tell her he’s trying—he’s trying so damn hard—but the words don’t come.

Instead, he nods, stiff and uncomfortable, wiping his face with the back of his hand clumsily. 

He doesn’t know how to fix it all. He doesn’t know how to go back and make the changes he should have made years ago. But he does know this; the longer he waits, the further he drifts away from the person who used to be his everything.

~

After a shitshow of a day, he find himself crafting a text for you again. A new, sad, routine of his to feel close to you.

The message is light, almost mundane. Pictures of the girls at dinner and a small note about his mother asking after you.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, not really. But his sleepy eyes jump with surprise when he watches the typing bubbles appear. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : aw, my babies. tell them I miss them. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : I’m sorry that I missed dinner, your parents are lovely. 

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath, something warm spreading through his chest despite the ache that lives there. He can almost hear the words in your voice. If he allowed his selfishness to win, he would call you immediately just to hear it for real. But he knows it's not the moment. Not yet.

He types quickly, keeping the tone light, masking the vulnerability creeping through him.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki : they miss you more. All Koharu does is pout. Haha.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki :  dont worry about dinner. They will be here when you get back. 

When you get back. He adds it with a little more confidence than he feels, the hope that you will confirm, that you are indeed coming back, coursing through him.

[10:43 PM] Wifey : I should be home monday, the train comes in around 1pm. 

[10: 44 AM] Katsuki : Okay, looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up. 

[10:45 PM] Wifey : You don’t have to Katsuki, just because of how our last conversation went. I know you have work. 

Katsuki’s brow furrows as his fingers hover over the screen. He hates how distant that sounds. He doesn’t want you to feel like a burden.

[10: 46 AM] Katsuki : Do you not want me to? 

[10:46PM] Wifey : I dont want to force you

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: You’re not forcing me. I want to. I’ve missed you.

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: And if you’re up for it, maybe we can talk more when you get back.

[10:49 PM] Wifey : Okay, thank you. 

God, he hates how stiff and formal this has become. He swipes up to the previous texts, seeing how things have shifted over the past few months, and for the millionth time, he chastises himself. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

[10:50 AM] Katsuki: Goodnight Sweetheart. See you soon. 

You like the message. Progress. 

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Reblogs and comments appericated! Also, send me requests on how you want it to go... what you think might happen !

bro ur shinso smiski thing smau…….im sat, you cooked, it also inspired me lowkey… hear me out, friends with benefits but he’s down horrendous, like he feel first AND harder vibes, smau

⁀➷ FALLING | H. SHINSO

when shinso realizes he's falling for his fwb and hard

back | masterlist | next

Giving your "best friend" some flowers

Was re watching beastars and had a vision...

Horikoshi had to kill Sir Nighteye bc he knew Leiko was going to start a polycule if they ever interacted

dogpile

nearly every time you get out of the shower, shouto somehow hears you uncap your lotion from across the house and suddenly manifests in the bathroom with you, pouting until you let him help put it on

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