CHAPTER 8: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2.8k

warning: Violence, mentions of blood, knives/stabbing.

---

Since the night of the hero gala, you and James had thrown yourselves headfirst into the Moretti investigation. The memory of that evening—the balcony, Bakugo’s wounded expression, and his retreating figure—played on an endless loop in your mind, but you shoved it down, burying it beneath layers of work and sleepless nights.

You’d left the gala alone, and since then, Bakugo had been a ghost. He didn’t show up at the gym during your usual hours, and you hadn’t dared to reach out. You figured he needed space, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. If he hated you, you deserved it. After all, you had rejected him in the cruelest way, withholding the truth under the guise of protecting him.

Now, every waking moment was devoted to unearthing the evidence you needed to take Moretti down. You told yourself it was for justice, for closure, but deep down, you knew it was also for Bakugo. You needed to make things right. To come clean, to apologize for the lies, and maybe, just maybe, to give him a reason to forgive you.

One long, grueling night, James managed to secure access to confidential Japanese case files—likely crossing a few legal boundaries in the process, but you didn’t care. Laws and rules seemed inconsequential when the only thing that mattered was unraveling the threads of Moretti’s web.

The files contained a chilling revelation. The man with the tattoo on his wrist—the one burned into your memory—was linked to a series of brutal murders in Musutafu. Innocent women, each life stolen with a message carved into the crime scenes that only you could understand. The weight of it crushed you, the realization that these killings weren’t random. They were warnings. Moretti was taunting you, forcing you to see his reach, his cruelty, and his power.

The guilt was suffocating. Every face in those files felt like another strike against your resolve, but you couldn’t let it break you. You wouldn’t. The pain was a reminder that you were on the right path, that you had a chance to end this. And now, finally, you had something to go on.

The new information gave you a flicker of hope —a trail of locations and timestamps where Moretti’s men had been sighted. It was the first solid lead you’d had in weeks, and it was enough to rekindle the fire inside you.

Your hero costume still fits like a second skin, the all-black material hugging your body with an almost suffocating precision. The suit’s sleek fabric molds to your frame, firm and supportive—like it’s designed just for you, like it was made to measure. You had always admired the way the costume looked, and now, years later, your vision seemed to reflect everything you had become: strong, sleek, and dangerous. The mask that covered your face didn’t leave much for anyone to see, except your eyes—piercing, determined eyes that told anyone in your path exactly who they were dealing with.

It’s been six long years since you last wore it. Six years of training, of staying hidden, of learning to control a power so dangerous you feared it more than anything. But tonight, slipping into the familiar black fabric and feeling it stretch over your body, you couldn’t help but feel that rush of energy surge through your veins. It never got old. The suit felt like home, like a part of you, and the weight of the mask reminded you of everything you had fought to become—and everything you had left behind.

As you pull on the gloves, the cool metal of your utility belt clicks against the fabric. You can’t help but admire the intricate stitching that runs along your waist, the design perfect down to the finest detail. The fabric is laced with minerals, rare and strong, designed to help control your quirk. The quirk that you never fully trusted.

Your quirk, gravity manipulation, gives you the power to shift and bend forces of weight, to manipulate objects, people, and even entire structures. It’s the kind of power that could move mountains or level them, depending on your emotions. When you’re calm, you have control—but when you’re upset, when anger and fear take hold, your quirk becomes a ticking time bomb, ready to explode. That’s what happened the night you blacked out and woke up with a bleeding head, unable to recall anything.

Training has made you cautious, teaching you to keep your emotions in check. Years of discipline and self-control have allowed you to control it, but you always feared that if you lost that control, everything would come crashing down. But tonight, you hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Tonight, you needed to keep your head.

After weeks of silence, you’d received a tip—a whisper on an old, secured landline that one of Moretti’s men would be at a bar tonight. The man was important, connected, and you needed to know where Moretti was. So you and James decided to follow the lead. He had urged you to involve the pros again, but you quickly shut that down.

The car in the alleyway feels like a cage, your hands gripping the leather seats as you watch the shadows stretch across the pavement. The waiting game never gets easier. It gnaws at you, especially tonight, knowing that the man you’re hunting could be anywhere. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, the thought of confronting a ghost from your past, churning your stomach.

“How long have we been sitting here?” James asks from the passenger seat, his voice low but edged with a hint of impatience. His eyes flicker toward the bar’s entrance.

“Two hours,” you answer, your voice steady but the tension in your muscles betraying you. You’re not letting your nerves show, but inside, you feel like a coil ready to snap. “He won’t leave yet. We haven’t missed him.”

James glances at you, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? I can go with you.”

“No,” you say sharply, the word final. “I’ve got this.”

You stare at the bar’s entrance, your eyes narrowing. Isaac. The name rolls off your tongue like poison. Isaac, blonde-haired, with the face of a man who has seen too much. He was Moretti’s right hand for years, and you knew him all too well. His cold, calculating eyes never missed a thing, and his loyalty to Moretti was only rivaled by his ruthlessness.

Your instincts tingle. He’s here. You can feel it. A subtle weight in the air, the tension building in your bones. It’s like a sixth sense, honed from years of practice. You don’t know how you know, but you trust it.

Then, like clockwork, he steps out from the bar, his sharp profile cutting through the neon lights. He stands on the sidewalk for a moment, glancing around before shouting for a taxi.

Your heart pounds. This is it.

Without a word, you unlock the car door and slide out, ignoring James’s muttered warning. “YN, stop! Stay in the car!” His voice is laced with concern, but you don’t hear him. You’re already striding toward Isaac, your body moving with purpose.

Isaac doesn’t notice you at first, too busy fidgeting with his phone, but as soon as he slides into the cab, you’re there. You don’t hesitate. You pull open the door, stepping into the cab with a practiced fluidity that only someone like you can manage.

“Hey, this is my cab!” Isaac barks, but you don’t flinch.

You glance at the driver, your expression cold and unwavering. “We’re sharing,” you say smoothly, tossing a few bills into the front seat. “Take me up the block. Doesn’t matter where.”

The driver, clearly unbothered by the tense atmosphere, nods and shifts the car into drive. Isaac remains blissfully unaware, but that doesn’t last for long. You slide a knife from your belt, its cold steel glinting under the low lights.

“Say one word, and I’ll put this knife through your crotch,” you murmur, your voice laced with venom as you hold a knife to him.

Isaac freezes, his gaze finally snapping to you. His eyes widen and the realization slowly dawns on him. Recognition flickers in his pupils, and you see the hate burn brighter.

“I always knew you were a crazy bitch.” Isaac hisses, his voice trembling with anger and fear.

“Yeah?” you reply, “well I’m about to get crazier.”

He opens his mouth to retort, but you’re faster. With a swift movement, you grab his chin and force him to look at you. You see the fire in his eyes, the stubborn defiance, but it won’t save him.

“Tell me where Moretti is,” you demand, your tone chilling. “Or I swear, I’ll cut you open right here.”

Isaac snarls. “Fuck you.”

“Okay” Taking the knife you pull it away and plunge it into his thigh, being careful to cover his mouth.

“Tell me, Isaac,” you growl, “Or is that man-crush of yours so strong you’re willing to lose your dick over it?”

Isaac’s jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with defiance. “You want to know where Moretti is? Find him yourself. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Bullshit.” You twist the blade deeper into his leg.

“Now fucking tell me, or I’ll send Moretti a gift next,” you hiss, your voice dripping with venom.

Isaac’s muffled whimpers are all you hear as you give him one last warning.

“Fine!” he gasps, “He’s staying at the Musutafu motel, on the outskirts of the city.”

“If you’re lying to me,” you warn, “I will kill you.”

He’s sweating now, breathing hard, his face pale as a ghost.

The cab pulls to a stop, and you yank the knife out of his leg, leaving a pool of blood behind. The driver, still unaware of the tension in the backseat, waits for your next command.

You exit without another word, tossing a few more bills toward the driver before slamming the door behind you. As the car pulls away, you spot a black SUV pulling up beside you. You don’t need to look twice to know who’s behind the wheel.

“Well?” Tucker asks, his voice steady but with an edge of impatience.

“He’s at the Musutafu motel,” you reply, your voice curt and emotionless. You slide into the car, the bloody knife still clutched in your hand.

Tucker notices the weapon, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t ask,” you mutter, slumping back into the seat. “Just drive.”

---

The crime rates had doubled in the past two weeks, ever since word of a serial killer leaked to the public. The Hero Committee had tried their best to keep the case under wraps, but someone in the department had let the information slip.

With the city spiraling into panic, the pro-heroes were stretched thin. So focused on this case, they’d nearly lost sight of everything else unraveling around them.

“Shoto, any updates on James Tucker?” Deku asked, standing at the head of the conference table. His fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, the telltale sign of an impending headache.

“Not yet,” Todoroki replied, flipping through a folder of old files. “The only intel I’ve managed to pull are outdated case records and images. If Tucker’s gone into hiding, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Why the hell would he be in hiding?” Bakugo snapped, slamming his hands against the table as he rose from his seat. Weeks of fruitless effort were taking their toll, and the tension in the room was palpable.

Bakugo had been more frustrated than usual lately, and everyone unlucky enough to cross his path could feel the searing heat of his anger. His temper, usually sharp and explosive, seemed to have an added edge now, as though something was festering beneath the surface. The smallest inconveniences sent him into a spiral of irritation—training dummies obliterated into smoldering debris, doors slammed with enough force to rattle the entire building, and curt, venom-laced words that made even his closest friends keep their distance.

At the agency, he barked orders more than usual, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Kirishima, ever the peacemaker, tried to crack a joke to lighten the mood, but Bakugo’s glare silenced him before the words could fully leave his mouth. Mina would whisper to Sero, “What crawled up his ass and died?” only to quickly clam up when Bakugo’s piercing crimson eyes flicked their way.

It wasn’t just work either—his frustrations followed him home. The gym became a battleground, weights clanging loudly as he threw himself into his workouts with a reckless intensity. The punching bag in the corner stood no chance, shredded after one particularly heated session. Yet no matter how much he pushed his body to its limits, the tension inside him never seemed to dissipate.

The truth was, Bakugo wasn’t just angry. He was hurt. And the wound festered deeper than he was willing to admit.

He hadn’t seen you since that night at the gala. Since you’d looked at him with those beautiful, unreadable eyes and told him—what, exactly? That he didn’t matter? That you didn’t feel the same way? It didn’t make sense. The way you looked at him didn’t match the words you said. The way your voice trembled, the way you avoided his gaze—it was like you were running from something. But what?

The questions plagued him, chasing him into his restless nights. He hated not having answers, hated how powerless he felt, hated how much space you were taking up in his head. Damn you. Damn your stupid, gorgeous face and your laugh and the way you felt so perfect next to him that night.

But more than anything, he hated the gnawing feeling in his chest. The one that whispered he might have lost you for good.

“Actually, Kacchan,” Deku interjected, sliding a photograph across the table toward him. “I might have something.”

Bakugo picked up the image, his crimson eyes narrowing as he examined it. The picture showed a young girl, no older than eight, with wide, curious eyes and a small, cautious smile.

“That’s Anthony Moretti’s daughter,” Deku explained. “We found her in an adoption database. She’s here in Japan.”

Bakugo’s eyes lingered on the photograph, his brow furrowing. There was something about the girl that tugged at his memory.

“I’ve seen her before,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

“What? Where?” Deku asked, leaning forward.

“At the gym,” Bakugo replied, placing the photo back on the table. “Y/N is her boxing coach.”

The revelation sent a ripple of unease through the room.

“Who put her up for adoption?” Todoroki asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s anonymous. Adoption records don’t disclose that information,” Deku replied.

“How old was she when she was adopted?”

“She couldn’t have been older than two,” Deku said, flipping through his notes.

“Six years ago,” Bakugo muttered, piecing things together. “Right after Moretti was arrested.” He looked up, his gaze sharp. “What about her mom?”

“There’s no record of a mother,” Deku answered, his tone heavy.

“Dammit,” Bakugo growled, his frustration mounting. “We need to find Tucker. He’s the key to this.”

Todoroki chimed in, hesitant. “Maybe... maybe Y/N knows something about the girl. She might be able to help.”

“No,” Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m not dragging her into this, and I sure as hell ain’t questioning a kid.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Time was running out, and with every passing moment, the lines between their responsibilities and their morals blurred further.

“I’ll find Tucker myself if I have to. Got a photo, Icy Hot?” Bakugo demanded, his tone sharp with determination.

Todoroki flipped through his folder without hesitation, pulling out a slightly worn photograph of James Tucker and handing it to him.

Bakugo’s grip tightened around the photo as he stared at it, his blood running cold. His entire stance stiffened, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath.

He knew this man.

The realization hit him like a freight train, his mind reeling. He’d seen Tucker before—seen him with you.

Everything started falling into place, the fragmented pieces of the puzzle forming a picture that Bakugo could no longer ignore. The explosion. Moretti’s daughter. Tucker. You.

The timeline fit too perfectly to be a coincidence.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his crimson eyes narrowing as his thoughts raced. You were connected to Moretti—there was no doubt about that now. But how?

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa @iissza @theasgardianmexican

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emmaafinchh

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Pairings: Percy Jacson x fem!oc

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more to be added . . .

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emmaafinchh

4 months ago

I have so many fucking issues. But he’s so fine. 😩😩

AND YES, I REALLY WANTED TO DRAW MY VERSION OF AN ADULT BAKUGO OK!!!

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emmaafinchh

1 year ago

Austin Butler (being A Hazard To My Health) In His Hoodie

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emmaafinchh

1 year ago

😭 how do I continue with my day when I see this

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emmaafinchh

3 months ago

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part nine of the series, so chapters will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: 🫢 Is all I have to say. It's a long one.

You can’t get Kimiko’s words out of your head.

"I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

What did she mean by that? And why couldn’t you just let it go?

It wasn’t just the way she said it. It was the look in her eyes, the smug, knowing smirk tugging at her lips like she had figured something out before you did.

It irritated you to no end. Everything Kimiko did made you mad.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Her constant flirting with Bakugo got on your nerves, but more than that, it made you sad. Every time she leaned into his space, every time she laughed a little too sweetly at something, he said, every time she called him Katsuki so casually, like she had the right to? it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t jealousy, was it?

No. It was something worse. Something heavier. Because she could do all those things, and you couldn't. Or rather, you wouldn’t.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump against your desk. Kimiko had a way of making sure her words stuck in your head like a splinter, and you hated it.

This was probably her plan all along, to make you overthink, to make you question yourself. And the worst part? It was working.

A sudden knock on your dorm door startles you out of your thoughts.

"Who is it?" You call out, still lying face-down on your desk.

"It’s me. Open up, dumbass."

Bakugo.

For some reason, your brain immediately goes into panic mode. You sit up straight, smoothing your hair down and glancing around your mess of a room. Why did it suddenly feel like a disaster zone? Why did you care?

You hurriedly shove a pile of clothes under your bed and straighten out your sheets before clearing your throat. Get it together.

"Um… come in!"

Bakugo opens the door, stepping inside, and you abruptly stop what you’re doing, frozen mid-motion like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Silence.

Bakugo lets out a small grunt before plopping down onto your bed like he owns the place.

Meanwhile, you just stand there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Why were you acting like an idiot? He’d been in your room plenty of times before. Hell, he’d seen it in way worse conditions, so why were you acting like some flustered fool now?

"What brings you here, partner?" You lean against your desk, trying to act casual, trying, and failing.

Partner? Partner?! Could you sound any more stupid?

As if to further cement your humiliation, your elbow knocks over a pile of books, sending them tumbling to the floor.

"Shoot," you mutter, scrambling to pick them up.

From behind you, Bakugo lets out what sounds close to a laugh.

You freeze.

That was a laugh.

Your face burns as you quickly gather your books, your fingers fumbling. It was just a laugh. Just a laugh. Don’t be stupid, Y/N.

"So… you wearing that out?" Bakugo suddenly asks.

You glance down at yourself, oversized, wrinkled T-shirt (with a mysterious green stain you’d rather not think about), old sweats with a hole in the knee.

"Well, uh—wait. Out where?"

Bakugo stares at you like you’ve grown two heads.

"Seriously? You don’t remember?"

You blink. What the hell is he talking about?

"No? Did I forget a birthday? Whose did I forget? Kaminari? Kirishima? Mina—"

"No, you dumbass. Chill out." Bakugo rolls his eyes. "We’re going to the arcade. Me. You. The other extras."

Oh. Right.

Your stomach sinks a little. You had completely forgotten. It's probably because Kimiko would be there.

"Heh… right. I totally remembered that." You mumble, scratching the back of your head.

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you. "It’s not like you to forget."

His words catch you off guard. "Something on your mind?" That’s not something he usually asks.

"Er, uh, no. Just slipped, y’know?" You force a grin.

Bakugo doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

"Right. Well, get ready unless you wanna go out looking like a damn hobo."

"Hey, not too much now." You chuckle, grateful for the shift in topic.

Bakugo huffs and stands up, heading for the door.

And you should let him go.

But you don’t.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist.

Bakugo stiffens slightly, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. His expression is unreadable.

"Um… you can stay, y’know." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "And we could head down together. Like we used to?"

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes scanning your face. Then...

"Okay."

You got an okay!?

You let go of his wrist and step back, heartbeat hammering in your chest as you quickly escape to the bathroom to change. You try really hard not to freak out.

By the time you and Bakugo head downstairs, everyone is already gathered in the common room. Kaminari jumps up from the couch the second he sees you.

"Finally! Took you two long enough. Let’s go!"

"God, Kaminari, could you be any more impatient?" Jirou sighs, standing up.

Kaminari and Jirou are the first ones out.

"Wow, man, I didn’t even have to drag you out this time," Kirishima teases.

"Shut up," Bakugo grumbles, walking past him.

Kimiko, because of course she does, immediately rushes to Bakugo’s side, smiling sweetly.

Major eye roll.

The arcade was alive with flashing neon lights, the sharp chimes of tokens clinking into machines, and the occasional victory yell from a lucky player.

The air smelled of buttered popcorn and cheap pizza, the kind that tasted way better than it should.

You had barely stepped inside when Kimiko started her Bakugo antics.

“Hey, Bakugo,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Wanna team up? I bet we’d destroy everyone else.”

Before Bakugo could respond, you felt his hand on your wrist.

“Nah,” he said, pulling you along. “Already got plans.”

Your heart jumped at the sudden contact, and Kimiko’s expression flickered, just for a second, before she forced on a smirk.

“Oh, I see,” she said, crossing her arms but making no effort to hide her displeasure. “Have fun, I guess.”

Bakugo didn’t even acknowledge her before leading you toward a row of games.

“Pick something,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grinned, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering from where he grabbed you. “What, giving me full control? That’s dangerous, Bakugo.”

“Tch. You act like I won’t kick your ass at whatever we play.”

That, of course, became the challenge of the night.

First game: Air hockey. You managed to score a few points, but Bakugo, with his stupidly good reflexes, sent the puck flying into your goal more times than you’d like to admit.

“Damn it,” you muttered, watching the scoreboard light up with his victory.

He smirked. “Hope you’re not gettin’ discouraged already.”

Second game: A co-op zombie shooter. The two of you stood side by side, plastic guns in hand, mowing down wave after wave of the undead. You weren’t sure if it was just the adrenaline or the fact that Bakugo actually made a pretty solid teammate, but you found yourself laughing at how serious he got, cursing every time he missed a shot.

By the time you reached the final boss, you were both on your last lives.

“Shit, move, dumbass, you’re in my line of fire!”

“You move, I’m covering your left!”

Somehow, you both landed the final shot at the same time, causing the screen to flash VICTORY! in bold letters.

You turned to Bakugo, grinning. “We actually make a decent team.”

He snorted. “Obviously. You’d be dead without me.”

Final game: The claw machine.

Bakugo wasn’t one for the “kiddy” games, but after catching you eyeing a plush sitting in the pile of prizes, he shoved a few tokens in without a word.

“You don’t have to win me anything,” you said, watching as he maneuvered the claw with expert precision.

“Didn’t ask,” he muttered.

It took him three tries, but eventually, the claw managed to grab hold of a stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and a slightly crooked smile. He pulled it out and tossed it to you, acting as if it was no big deal.

You hugged the bear close. “He looks a little messed up.”

“Yeah, well, figured he suits you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “What should we name him?”

Bakugo tilted his head, pretending to think. “Dynamutt.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s awful.”

“Like you could come up with somethin’ better.” He mutters.

You glanced down at the bear and grinned. “Fine. Dynamutt it is.”

By the time you all returned to the dormitories, everyone had collected their fair share of arcade prizes.

Kirishima had an armful of plushies from a rigged punching game. Mina somehow ended up with a collection of flashy LED glasses. Kaminari and Sero had spent most of their time hoarding candy from a ticket machine.

You held Dynamutt close as you flopped onto one of the common room couches, exhausted but content.

Bakugo sat down on the opposite couch, and before you could blink, Kimiko plopped down beside him, far too close for comfort.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Bakugo just shrugged. “I guess.”

Kimiko giggled, tilting her head. “You’re always so hard to please, huh?”

You watched as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just a little lower.

“You know, I bet I could make things more fun for you,” she added, her fingers barely brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw. There it was again, that same feeling that had burned in your chest at the party and many times after.

The frustration, the annoyance, the overwhelming urge to say something.

But not here. Not in front of everyone.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you mumbled, standing up abruptly. “Be back soon.”

Sero, who had been watching the entire thing, shot you a knowing look before getting up as well. “Yeah, me too.”

The cool night air was a relief against your heated skin as you leaned against the railing outside the dorms.

Sero stood beside you, silent for a moment before finally speaking.

“She really gets to you, huh?” He said, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me. I know the feeling.”

You turned to him. “Kimiko?”

Sero sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I mean, I know I don’t have a chance or whatever, but watching her go after Bakugo like that… it sucks.”

You hesitated before admitting,

“I don’t even know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I do, but…”

“But?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s like some part of me still doesn’t want to admit it.”

“That you love him?” Sero blurts out.

The words made your stomach flip. "Yeah.." You kick a small pebble.

Sero smiled knowingly. “Denial’s a bitch, huh?”

You groaned. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Nah, I’m the best. And I think you should tell him.”

You gave him a look. “Oh yeah? And what about you? Gonna confess to Kimiko?”

Sero huffed. “Hell no.” Then, after a pause: “Maybe.”

You both laughed, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

“C’mon,” you finally said, nudging his arm.

“Let’s head back.”

As the two of you step back into the common room, you hear Kimiko’s voice cut through the air.

"Y'know, Katsuki, if you want to hold someone's hand, you could just ask me." She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "I wouldn’t make you work for it."

There's something in Bakugo’s eyes that tells you he's barely back his frustration. He takes a deep breath before responding.

"Could you stop that? It's annoying."

Kimiko’s expression falters just for a moment before deciding to continue. "Oh come, Katsuki, you know you like it." She reaches out to touch his arm once more, but he shifts away from her.

No, I don’t," he says, voice firm, final. "I never have."

Silence falls over the room. Kirishima shifts awkwardly, looking like he’s about to step in, but Bakugo isn’t done yet.

"I’ve just been putting up with it because I didn’t wanna deal with the drama." His voice is sharper now, frustration rolling off him. "But you’re annoying as hell, and I don’t like it, so stop."

The weight of his words hangs in the air.

You and Sero, still standing near the doorway, exchange a glance. This is... a lot.

Even Kaminari and Jirou, who had been hanging around earlier, had the good sense to disappear before things got worse.

Kimiko mutters something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear before pushing off the couch. She leaves without another word.

Mina sighs, rubbing her temples before grabbing Kirishima’s wrist. "Come on, Red, we should check on her."

Kirishima hesitates but follows. "That was kinda harsh, man," he mutters to Bakugo before leaving.

"Well, that was—" You turn to Sero, only to find him gone.

You huff a quiet laugh. Traitor.

Bakugo looks up at the sound, his usual scowl still in place. You hesitate for a second before walking over, dropping into the seat Kimiko had left empty.

Silence stretches between you both.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. Silence has always been your thing.

"You heard all that?" he finally mutters.

"Yeah..." You pick at your sleeve, not sure how else to respond.

There’s another pause before Bakugo exhales sharply, his voice lower when he speaks again.

"I don’t get why people think I’m into that flirty crap. It’s annoying." His gaze flickers toward you, then away just as quickly. "Not my thing."

"Then why did you tolerate it?" you ask.

You’ve spent months watching Kimiko flirt with him. At times, he barely reacted. Others he seemed to like it, so you assumed he was fine with it. But now? Now he’s snapping, like he’s had enough.

"’Cause damn Shitty Hair wanted me to," Bakugo mutters. "He said she was just trying to be friends with me, so I let it go. And she’s an okay sparring partner, I guess."

"Oh... I see..."

There’s something heavier in his voice now, something that goes beyond just Kimiko. You wait, and sure enough, he keeps going.

"After the war," he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself, "everything felt… different."

He exhales sharply, frustrated. "I know I probably worried the hell outta everyone, almost dyin’ and all. I feel like, like I gotta make up for that somehow. Be better. Do shit right."

You swallow. "You did worry everyone," you admit softly. "Me, especially."

Bakugo clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists in his lap. "I know, and I hate that," he mutters. "I hate knowing I made everyone go through that."

His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and there’s something raw within his expression.

"That’s why I let that shit slide. Why I put up with dumb crap like Kimiko’s flirting. ‘Cause it felt like… I dunno, something I should do."

You feel your heart tighten in your chest. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Bakugo."

"I know, and that's why you’re the only one I don’t gotta pretend around."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You’ve always been my best friend, but—" he hesitates, just for a second, before pushing forward. "You’re different. You always have been."

Sero’s advice flashes through your head.

And suddenly, you feel like you’re on the edge of something terrifying.

Your hands clench into fists. "Bakugo..."

His eyes meet yours.

"Katsuki, idiot," he corrects automatically.

Your pulse races.

"Katsuki," you say, and his name feels heavier in your mouth than it ever has before.

His brows furrow slightly, like he can sense something shifting. "What?"

You take a breath.

And then, before fear can stop you, you say it.

"I’m in love with you."

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebunz @wowbonanza @holobean @littlestinkybastardman @closehereyes @keiva1000

245 notes View Post

emmaafinchh

5 months ago

I don’t write I just fantasize about it and then read fics

Okay so I've become a SLUT for Austin Butler and Callum Turner and I am NOT OKAY!!!

Like I seriously had plans for fics about other men but God fucking dammit if my mind isn't stuck on these two fuckos!!

I MEAN LOOK AT THIS☝🏻

AND THIS!! ☝🏻

THE FUCKING AUDACITY OF THE TWO!! WHO TOLD THEM SMILING AT US LIKE THAT WAS OKAY?! LIKE EXCUSE ME SIRS I DID NOT ASK TO BE MURDERED THIS WAY!!!

And don't even get me started on their fucking bodies is2g!! *SCREAMS INTO PILLOW *

Anyway do not be surprised if my next posts are nothing but smut and/or fluff with these two. I seriously can't even thinking of writing about anyone else rn.

And if y'all have requests: PLEASE BY ALL MEANS ASK ME!

Thank you for coming to my severely horny TEDTalk. 🥵😍💦🩷🩷

35 notes View Post

emmaafinchh

6 months ago

This is so disheartening. Lmk who’s moving to Canada because we can rent a house all together!!!!

lili reinhart they could never make me hate you or even slightly dislike you 🤍

55K notes View Post

emmaafinchh

4 months ago

This is so cutsie

NEWLYWEDS

pairing. bakugo x fem! reader

fluff, married life ig, i headcanon bakugo as a snorer, crack.

Being married to Katsuki Bakugo was no different than dating him, truly, only the title changed.

You’d still bicker over the silliest and smallest things.

Like right now, for example.

Katsuki was asleep next to you. His hands were wrapped snuggly around your waist as you watched your favorite movie before dozing off to sleep.

You tried to ignore it, you really did. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

You sighed and tapped Katsuki once, then twice. He groaned quietly, opening one of his fiery red eyes tiredly to look at you. “What, woman?” He spoke groggily.

“Can you stop snoring….?” You whispered. “The hell? I don’t snore.” He replied grumpily, this time, propping himself on his elbows to glare at you tiredly. “Yes, you do!” You shot back and sat up slightly. “I can’t even hear my damn movie, Katsuki.”

“Whatever, just turn it up.” He dismissed with a grunt, pulling you back into his arms and nuzzling into your chest.

“No, ‘cause then you’ll get mad at me for not letting you sleep.”

“Woman, you’re not letting me sleep either way!” He growled and gave your side a pinch. You gasped and swatted his hand away, deciding to turn the movie off and settling comfortably in his protective arms.

Minutes passed and the bedroom was silent, only the sounds of breathing could be heard. You were slowly drifting off to sleep when—

“Katsuki…” You poked him, whispering.

“What?” He groaned, his voice being muffled against your shirt.

“You’re snoring, I can’t sleep.” You poked him again.

He grumbled, pulling you closer to his body before replying, “For the last time, woman, I don’t snore.”

“Yes you do, that’s literally why I can’t sleep.” You said matter-of-factly to which he scoffed. “Yeah? Then prove it.” He spoke, his eyes still closed.

You groaned into the darkness. “What am I supposed to do, record you?”

“Sure, make it your damn ringtone while you’re at it. Maybe that’ll shut you up.” He smirked lazily, hugging you tighter.

You could only blink in response, the audacity this man had! However, you bit back a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah? And you’re still awake, so whose fault is that?”

You shook your head, smiling and snuggling into him, wrapping your arms around him lazily again. “Whatever, just let me sleep.”

“G’night, dumbass.” He murmured, pressing a gentle, lazy kiss to your forehead before drifting off to sleep….and snoring again.

You sighed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tonight was going to be a loooong night.