My Love, Mine All Mine

My love, mine all mine

(Angst-tober, multi-fandom, un-edited)

Author's note: This is pure angst. There is no bright side. This is it (life sucks rn so everyone gotta suffer)

Ever since you were kids, he's known that your loyalty ends up being a convoluted way for you to hold grudges. The lady at the supermarket who side-eyed your mom? She's never understood why a child stares at her with such loathing every time she goes by. Or the girl who stole your friend's toys, she's never getting in a partner or group project with you or your friend. Or even the time that one boy stole your candy. Your fierce love for yourself and others always led to something.

He knows this. He's seen it. Hell, he's even been at the receiving end of it sometimes, He is also aware of the fact that you can never seem to hold a grudge for long if it involves him. Can't not share your lunches with him after a few days, even though he lost your favorite pencil. Can't not be mad at him for forgetting your birthday present when you were teenagers.

In a sense, he should be grateful for that, because when he finally asks you out after so many years of endless pining, you don't greet him with suspicion or hesitation.

He gets a blinding smile and a hug, along with a yes.

And, he is grateful, truly, but sometimes he wants to see how much he can get away with. But all you do is chastise him and then leave him be.

You can't hold a grudge against him.

He got too comfortable with that fact.

Your nose was running. Bringing a tissue to your nostrils, you blow your nose, then rub your hands together. Standing in the snow with heels and a dress, in a trench coat built more for fashion than insulation, was not how you planned to be spending your Saturday evening. Checking your phone once more, you look at the unopened messages you sent an hour ago. Rage rises in your chest, but you tamp it down, knowing that he's been busy, he's been late so many times now.

Sniffling again, you turn carefully and make a trek back into your apartment. Scanning the entry card, you nod and smile at the old ladies lounging on the chairs.

"Back from your date, sweetheart? Already?" one asks, looking up with a confused smile as you press the elevator button.

Looking off to the side to not start crying, you give the best impression of a goofy smile as you scratch the back of your head, replying,

"He got sick, so we had a raincheck,".

You can see the pitying looks, goddammit, and can't this stupid elevator come any faster. The tiny, stupid morsel of hope in your heart makes you check the messages again, and then promptly ceases to exist as you see the "Read 7:45 pm" on there.

There is a tightness in your chest as you wave goodbye to the sweet ladies while entering the elevator, and think that this is what it means to have your heart broken. Locking the door, you kick off the pretty heels, leaving them at the door. Next are the glittering earrings, left behind at the door-side table. You flick the lights on as you hang the trench coat on the coat hooks, and make your way to your bedroom.

The reflection in the full-length mirror catches your eye, and even though you are stunning, you can't help but feel as though you're wearing the best clown costume on this planet. You reach for the zipper of your navy blue dress and let it slide to the ground. Then you hook your hands into the tights; left in a pile beside the dress as you wear your pajamas.

There are tears blurring your vision.

Off comes the eyeliner that you spent countless minutes and YouTube tutorials on. The black-stained makeup wipe is left on the counter; next to it is the pretty pink lipstick that is left uncapped because you were in a hurry.

You grab a blanket and your laptop, then watch a movie before falling asleep, your stomach growling, never have gotten the food that it was promised.

There is a hand on your shoulder. You wake up, startled, all but to come face to face with the one man you don't want to see right now. His face is a little blurry, so you reach for your lamp as he settles beside you on the edge of the bed. The light all but caresses his face, and his eyes glitter with unshed tears.

Gods above, he was so pretty.

You stare him down, unflinchingly, and he cringes away, coming to rest his hand on your leg.

"I'm so sorry-"

You cut him off with words of your own, the acid tearing at your throat as you say them.

"What are we doing?"

The confused look you get is as good of a mask as it gets. But you've known him for so long, and you can read the undercurrent of hurt in there. But you you know him so well, that you can see the understanding in there as well.

"What?"

Heaving out a frustrated sigh, you wave your hand between the two of you, "This. What are we doing here?"

His brows furrow as his eyes chase your hand before flicking back up to your eyes.

"W-what? Babe, I'm sorry, you know-"

The words explode before you can say anything.

"Yes! I always have to know. This is the fourth date, now." The tears build up in your eyes, and his face contorts in concern, "I-I wore the dress you gifted me for tonight. The one you gave a month ago."

He blinks and opens his mouth, but you sit there as nothing but silence rings out around you. It's more deafening than any words he can say.

You feel immensely small as you say your final piece, sliding your leg away from his touch, "I stood for an hour wearing the heels you like. In the snow. And those earrings you like? Because they always make you stare at me? Those almost froze to my skin."

His hands spasm as he reaches for you before pulling them back and settling them in his lap. His head hangs as you finally catch a glimpse of the flowers he brought. "

Your heart all but shatters as you inch forward, and finally does break as you kiss him. There are years of neglect, not listening, and no understanding behind the kiss. It's all you're hurt.

"One last time." his eyes are red. "Kiss me once more."

And you do, because you've always been weak for him. He tastes of the food you would've eaten, the win you could've drunk, and you reel back.

His eyes are full of guilt.

"I forgot because we had a team meeting..."

"So, you had a night out with your co-workers, at the place we were supposed to go?"

"..."

He nods.

You lower your head in a nod.

"What are we doing?"

The tears are coming full-on now. It's been building for a while now, but you thought you had more time. You understand now that you thought wrong. The missing dates, the conversations that die out five times faster, the ignoring.

You've been dating a ghost. With dreams of-

Well, those don't matter now.

"I never thought I'd be the one to hurt you."

You tilt your head back, looking up to hold the tears off, and reply in a thick, choked voice,

"You never think when it comes to me. Always leaving me."

His eyes flit with confusion before they widen in dawning horror and understanding because your shoulders have a slant in them he's never seen against him.

"I deserve more than this,"

His hands come flying to your face, tilting it down as he swallows,

"Babe? I-I, come on. Let's do, do something-"

You gently hold his hands, cupping them, but slowly moving them away by shaking your head

"Every time I see you, I feel more alone." You stand up, pulling him out, out and away and he follows, as he always does, except you're both crying this time. Because you won't let go this time. This was a hurt too deep, too raw, and you know he understands it.

Another flowery perfume envelopes you and you shut your eyes as you push him towards your door.

"I, I still need you."

Your voice is entirely sad, and whimsical as you speak. You've shattered into a million pieces and the remnants of your anger ring out.

"Every time I wake up reaching for you, you aren't there. You changed me, but the thing is; You gave up. Such a long time ago. And even though you were never there, I-" the tears glitter like the earrings beside you on the table, "The worst part is that even though you were never with me, I still love you."

"I can't anymore. I break myself apart so I can pick you from the pieces and live with that."

He reaches and twirls a finger in the curls from your ruined hairstyle, kissing a piece before kissing your cheek.

"I'm sorry. But, but we can work this out. I'll do better!"

He stands outside the door.

"But that's the problem, isn't it. You won't ever be better. Not for me."

And he knows that this is the last he'll see of you. The earrings, the dress, the trench, he knows these memories will haunt him.

"I can't."

And the door slowly shuts, just like your relationship, because its ending was never a door shutting. It was slow, suffocating.

At least, he knows what would make you treat him like the others.

He just didn't realize how big of a price that was.

"But nothing can capture the sting of the venom she's gonna spit out, right now. Won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?"

Satoru, Suguru, Izuku, Shoto, Itadori, Megumi, Tobio, Tetsuro, Toru, Atsumu, Naruto, Shikamaru, Sasuke

+plus more

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

😭😭😭😭

Sleepless nights

╰⇢ 28. Darling???

Warnings: none…

note: i feel like this part is a little shorter for some reason??? idk but regardless i’m leaving y’all on a cliffhanger >:] (also check out the poll i put up for the next smau)

“I’m gonna step out to the washroom real quick.” Yuta points to the door, tucking his phone away into his pocket.

“Hurry back quickly then.” You roll your eyes. “Toge said he’s coming soon.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be back soon.” The boy returns your eye roll as he steps outside.

You continued to sit, waiting for either of the two boys to walk through the door.

“Anyone in here?” You spot a familiar head of platinum-blond hair poke into the room.

“Nope.” You call out, flashing a smile as you locked eyes.

Toge let out a breathy chuckle as he walked in, giving you a half hug when you were close enough.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice.” You pull back from the hug, taking in every single one of the boy’s features. It was all coming together, like a puzzle. The hair, the eyes, hell, his voice.

“Well, now you do.” He gave you a shy look. “I didn’t mean to hide it from you.”

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “I get it.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence fell over the two of you, neither of you attempting to make eye contact. Where was Yuta when you needed him.

You stood there, eyes looking over at anything but Toge. And it’s not like he was trying to look at you either. It wasn’t until you heard a small cough, that you finally looked over to the boy in front of you.

“I uh… got these for you.” He finally reveals what he’d been hiding behind his back.

He pushed something soft into your face, flushing as he looked away. You took ahold of the gift and looked down at it. It was a bouquet of flowers. Your favourite ones to be exact.

“Woah… thank you…” You felt yourself blush as you looked back at Toge, the room suddenly feeling hot.

“Mhm. You’re welcome.” He scratched the back of his neck.

More awkward silence… joy.

“Well-” You started.

“I like you.” Toge blurted out before you could actually say anything. “Like- really like you. From the night we met in the rain, to those days in class when we’d mess around.”

You stood there, absolutely shocked. Maki was right, he really did like you like that. She is never going to let you live this down after.

“You don’t have to say anything, and I definitely don’t expect you to reciprocate, but I just thought you should know.” He continued. “But I mean it, I really like you.”

“I-” You had no idea what to say. So many thoughts swirled through your head as you looked at the boy in front of you.

“How’d it-” The two of you turn your head towards the sound of a new voice. “Go…” Yuta stood at the door.

The dark haired boy started at the two of you, the flowers in your hand and the small glare that Toge shot him. Yuta stood awkwardly at the entrance to the room, unsure of what he should do next.

“You were saying?” Toge turned his attention back to you.

“Oh- right-” Your eyes flicked between the two boys.

But before you could give Toge a real answer, you caught Yuta turning and walking out of the room at an alarming pace. It was obvious he was upset in some way.

What were you going to do…

Masterlist | Next

fun facts:

— none! thank you guys so much for supporting this series! it really means a lot to me that we made it this far! the next part will be the final

taglist: closed

@sur-i-ki @aespaforlifersyall @camilo-uwu @butterflyqueen234 @shinsukeee @tanchosanke @meguemii @lees-chaotic-brain @you-always-made-me-blush @jayathelostdragon @chilichopsticks @polarbvnny

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bold means i can’t tag you for some reason :[

⇝ 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘊𝘳𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴

⇝ 𝘎𝘢𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Birth order is what determines power. Growing up as the youngest, he’s always seen this. His father attempted to implement it as well. However, Temari is as swift as she is terrifying, and she’d nourished love between the siblings after years of wariness.

Somewhere along the line, Gaara now is the crown prince for his kingdom. With how reluctant he was with public showings with his family, he had no reputation.

Well, no reputation as Crown Prince Gaara. Shukaku is another story.

Gaara’s eyes fall shut as the carriage ambles down to the main road.

Shukaku was born out of desperation. He was born out of hurried, quite steps to the soldiers barrack for a horse and a cape. He was late nights down in the heart of town. He’d give out money and teach children in the courtyard under the moonlight.

He was also the one who met you, two years ago, hungry beyond belief. He was glances to the display windows as you closed shop. He was the one who you looked up to as you handed him a croissant.

“Eat”

Gaara thinks it was your eyes and your smell. Innocent beyond belief and a smell that wrapped around him and was home.

He was so smitten in that first meeting, that he soon came down everyday to meet you. He was calming nights with his arms around you, kisses stolen as you mixed batters and kneaded dough, flustered looks as you hoisted flour bags up and down.

It was also a confession. You’d seen his tattoo, the one only known to the prince of the kingdom. He’d explained through sobs and a fear of you leaving but you only gripped him harder.

He’d expected shouting and anger. He got sympathy and compassion.

Two years later, and you’re still with him. Today, he’ll meet you at an inspection. You’d been nominated to represent the bakers district, and told him much when he meet you a week before. A few words from him to Temari, something about showing care for his people to help his reputation, and here he was, heading to your tiny bakery.

The bell rings as he opens the door, the smell a familiar scent. Around him, the officers and officials take a double take, eyes brightening and wandering to the display case. Gaara smiles.

“Hello,” you say, walking out the back holding a bowl of dough, your sleeves rolled up.

Gaara feels himself blush, your confidence and unwavering gaze falling on him. You set the bowl down on the counter, bowing to him.

“My prince.”

Your voice is going to be his downfall. He knows you don’t mean it, but your voice does something to him, and he’s fighting to keep his composure. You both had decided to keep the relationship a secret, but you’re making it difficult for him.

Gaara moves to the back of the group as you begin the demonstration. You push your sleeves back up higher, and he has this impulsive need to squeal. He opts to cough into his hand instead.

This keeps happening, over and over until he’s sure that his face matches his hair. The way you talk through the whole thing, grunting slightly here and there, and the flush to your skin from the physical work has him banishing his thoughts to the darkest corners of his mind.

Finally, as people crowd the countertops and tables to sit down and eat your delicacies, he announces in a loud voice:

“I’ll be heading in the back to inspect the conditions. Stay here and prepare a batch for me to take back to the palace,” turning to you, his faced wiped of all emotions, he gestures to you, “Please, lead the way.”

The minute he is out of sight from the others, he grabs you and kisses you, hard.

You laugh quietly against his lips, “Well, my prince,” his lips are on your neck and he can feel your voice, “Do you know, you look very dashing in these clothes. I almost messed up, on quite a few occasions.”

He chuckles against your skin, “I almost broke character there.”

You both spend a few moments together before he hears his men start shuffling around. Your voice breaks through his thoughts.

“However, I do have to say, when you looked at me outside, you looked as if you wanted to devour me.”

His noses against you cheek, leaning down to give you a final hug.

“I will. Keep the door unlocked tonight.”

And with those words, he goes out, grabbing the bag and thanking you as he leaves. There’s a new flush to your skin.

“Go to the palace, fast.” He orders as he settles into the carriage once more.

He has a meeting to prepare for.

@jone3y

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

I WILL CONTIUE THIS PAGACY

Tumblr Code.

Why torture me like thissss

Sleepless nights

╰⇢ 27. Tell my mother I love her

Warnings: mentions of potential murder??? and swearing

note: comment your favourite jjk character :] ALSO SORRY IF YOU GOT TAGGED TWICE I FORGOT SOMETHING THE FIRST TIME

Masterlist | Next

fun facts:

— yuta was appalled when you told him you followed a random man backstage

— you were fully convinced you were gonna die when you went behind the stage and out of view from everyone (who wouldn’t)

taglist: below the cut (closed)

@sur-i-ki @aespaforlifersyall @camilo-uwu @butterflyqueen234 @shinsukeee @tanchosanke @meguemii @lees-chaotic-brain @you-always-made-me-blush @jayathelostdragon @chilichopsticks @polarbvnny

@frumira @sad-darksoul @hellyyy06 @rosieandthethorns @zellwa @iluv-ace @h3xi2g0n3 @morgyyyyyyy @bellaabee082 @koiir @g0rep1ty @k4romis @beaniedoodz @seventhcinema @macimcnaron @pumpkin6969 @wowowwin @neigee @someonethatisnobody @vndl-1 @yoyo-yui

@blehtotheblehtothebleh @c4ttheart @blogforblorboscreaming @creative1writings @tiredjxnna @mint129106 @mentallyunstablemanlover @anianurst @milesmorals @sleepytoges @azulsmermaidprincess @toges-cough-syrup @liveincans @jals-stuff @yievieslxt @yell-lemonade @inupibaldspot @hyssoplampflickers @lilysaltwater

bold means i can’t tag you for some reason :[

The way I was giggling and kicking my feet (I’m so fucking hungry)

cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), some more pining, cussing (bkg-typical), mentions of food, we're finally meeting the bakugous!, angst (if you look closely)

words. 4.8k (see why i had to split it...)

a/n. we have one more chapter to go, y'all! i'd love to hear your thoughts about the series so far, as well as how you think it's gonna end <3

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

It doesn’t elude you that the air entering your nostrils and lungs through the shaky inhale you take is nothing short of crisp.

It’s early evening in the suburbs where Bakugou’s parents live just in the peripheries of Musutafu. The sunset that graced you through the man’s car windows on the way over was now nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by the sight of the waning gibbous with a sprinkle of stars dotting the night sky.

Something you rarely see in the city, you think to yourself.

Your head craned towards the infinite ceiling, you continue to admire the view, or at least try to do so—the act seemingly becoming more and more impossible by the second, what with your nerves shot and your stomach churning with anticipatory anxiety.

Bakugou must have noticed your wobbly breathing, because the man side-eyes you for a beat before finally speaking. “What are you, nervous?”

You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sight of your boss in a dark brown sweater with a white collar peeking out at the top in an effort to ground yourself, although you find you’re not feeling any calmer.

You hesitate for a moment, before heaving another jittery, somewhat resigned, sigh.

No point in hiding the truth now.

You shrug, “Yeah…”

“Don’t be,” he promptly replies, catching you off guard. His voice is serious and deceivingly firm when he finishes it off.

“They’re gonna like you.”

You don’t get the chance to think about how to respond, let alone react instinctively because the front door opens as if on cue, and out comes a relatively tall woman with ash blonde hair, followed by a slightly taller brown-haired man.

You’ve barely gotten a word in when you get scooped into the arms of the woman you now identify as Bakugou Mitsuki, and when she pulls away and keeps you at arm's length—beaming, no less, in what you hope is happiness—it takes everything in you not to gawk at how stunning the woman is.

“…You’re overwhelming her, honey,” you hear the man, who you assume is Bakugou Masaru, say worriedly at your right side.

“Oh, right,” Mitsuki hurriedly releases her hold of you and retracts her hands, flashing you a bright albeit apologetic smile right after. “Forgive me, it’s just that I never thought this day would come!”

At that, she shoots Bakugou, who’s standing beside your left, a pointed look before turning back to grin at you, “I can’t believe Katsuki has finally brought a girl home!”

You don’t have to look at the man beside you to know he’s sporting a scowl. “Watch it, old hag,” he growls.

“You watch it, child. Mind how you talk to your mother in front of your girl.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you watch the exchange, inadvertently catching the two blondes’ attention, their gazes drifting toward you at the sound. After a brief second, and to your relief, Mitsuki starts laughing along but Bakugou only looks away in what you think is irritation.

“Well, this girl is grateful for the invite, Mitsuki-san,” you start, mustering your most thankful smile. “But I hope I’m not imposing on your family…”

Mitsuki is quick to respond with a wave of a hand, “Not at all! You’re our guest of honor. Please, make yourself at home!”

Masaru nods in agreement, extending his right hand for you to shake, which you happily do. His smile is gentle—a stark contrast to Bakugou’s default expressions, you note—when he finally invites the both of you in. As you do—eager to escape the cold—you glance at Bakugou behind you, who’s apparently already been looking at you, although he averts his gaze when your eyes make contact.

Again with that solemn expression.

That unsettling expression drops down to the bottom of your list of priorities, however, when you enter the threshold of their home. You’re immediately hit with a glorious combination of fragrances emanating from what you think is the kitchen at the far side of the room.

“Everything smells great, Mitsuki-san,” you offer, hoping the sincerity can be heard from your tone.

You think it must have because the woman instantly lights up at the comment, “Why, thank you! Every day’s not Thanksgiving, after all.”

You nod, following them along into the living room, taking a seat on the corduroy couch opposite Mitsuki upon Masaru’s wordless invitation. “It’s so nice how you guys go all out to celebrate the holiday.”

You note how Bakugou, who’s planted on the armrest beside Mitsuki, frowns at the compliment.

“What?” you ask him before you can stop yourself, curious.

“They don’t really celebrate it,” he grunts, before tossing his mother a borderline disgusted look. “The old hag is just using it as an excuse to invite you over.”

That quip grants him a smack in the head from the said “hag”. Bakugou doesn’t yelp or cry in pain, although he does let out a slight hiss. You, again, can’t help the smile that creeps on your face as you watch them.

Mitsuki is facing Bakugou as she tuts in what you think is a warning, before turning to regard you again, a grin now having replaced the reprimanding expression that had just been on her face a second ago.

It grows even wider when she says: “What do you say we leave the rest of the cooking up to the boys and we go through Katsuki’s photo albums?”

“S-sure!” you quickly respond, the entirety of the suggestion not registering for a beat until it does, your head whipping to look at the man as you blurt out: “Bakugou, you can cook?”

At that, Mitsuki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes darting between the both of you. “Wait, are you saying he’s never cooked for you before?” Mitsuki asks, incredulous.

She then turns to her son, who now has his arms crossed in front of his broad chest like a petulant child, “Young man, what have you been doing?”

“God, relax,” Bakugou groans as he stands up from where he was seated, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “We’ve just been busy with work. No time for that shit.”

“Busy with work, my ass,” she calls out to him, before once again turning to face you. “And honey, there’s no need to be all formal around us. Go ahead and call Katsuki by his first name—there’s really nothing to be shy about.”

Before you can think against it, your eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before you school your face into what you think is an appropriate enough expression. “R-right, sorry.”

You chance a glance at the man, who’s now hacking away at the green onions like a madman albeit quite expertly, what you think is red creeping up his face in nothing else but scornful exasperation.

“So,” Mitsuki starts, and you turn back to see her wiggling her eyebrows at you, “about the photo albums?”

Just as Mitsuki suggested, you busied yourself with photo albums filled to the brim with close documentation of Bakugou growing up while the two men finished up in the kitchen. It didn’t come as a surprise that Bakugou was a cute kid, a signature boyish grin decorating his face in the few pictures where he isn’t scowling or glaring at the camera. You greedily took in the seemingly mundane details of Bakugou’s childhood as Mitsuki narrated the backstory of each photograph, smiling and even laughing along when she cracked a joke about how her son must have been born as the proverbial grump based on how early he learned how to glower.

Bakugou didn’t say anything the entire time you pore over the albums, probably used to his mom mouthing about her only child to friends and family who are willing to listen. Before you know it, dinner is eventually served, and the dishes that Bakugou and Masaru would bring from the island countertops to their hardwood dining table looked nothing short of scrumptious. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that they tasted exactly how they looked.

“Everything tastes incredible, but the miso ramen is glorious, Mitsuki-san,” you piped up in the middle of dinner.

The woman only tossed you a pleased, somewhat knowing look. “You’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, dear.”

You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because the man of the hour’s parents laugh at your expression. You stole a glance at Bakugou, who only slurped at his bowl in silence, face schooled into a rather neutral countenance.

A steady conversation gradually enveloped the four of you as you went ham on dinner, and you now find your shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier leaving your body. You discuss current events, which then leads to Masaru asking Bakugou about how the agency is fairing in light of the recent spikes in crimes. The topic then drifts to you, like what’s your family like and what your parents do for a living; it shifts afterward to how work is going for them in the fashion industry, to the couple's retirement plans, with Mitsuki waxing poetic about how they really need to be there for each other when they do retire because Bakugou doesn’t visit them enough. To that, the man only scowls, mumbling something about how he does, in fact, visit them enough, and that the “old hag’s” definition of enough is stupidly skewed.

“But enough about us!” Mitsuki completely disregards Bakugou’s retort, shifting in her seat to address you, “I’ve actually been dying to ask you this question since you arrived. I know our Katsuki isn’t the easiest—”

“Hah?”

“—guy to be around, and so I’m really glad he was able to find someone as lovely as you. So,” Mitsuki tosses you a playful look, “what do you like about Katsuki?”

You barely stop yourself from choking on the maki roll lodged in your throat, quickly swallowing it rather painfully as you scramble for the proper way to react and respond. From the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything to shut down his mother or even shift the topic of the conversation.

“Uh—” you start lamely, “What do I like about… him?”

At that, Mitsuki laughs good-naturedly. “Surely there has to be something, right? Please, indulge this old lady!”

You chuckle along with her, albeit rather awkwardly, before clearing your throat.

The only way to make it out of this conversation alive and relatively unscathed is by lacing your answers with the truth.

And so you do.

“Ba—” you start, catching yourself in the nick of time, “K-Katsuki—” you pause again, hating the way you uttered his name so tentatively like it’s something obviously foreign, “—is the most dedicated person I know.”

Mitsuki only nods in encouragement, as if urging you to go on.

And right now, you find that you’re nothing if not a people-pleaser.

“He’s admirable—there’s a reason why he’s risen to the top this quickly and stayed there,” you nod, pleased at what you think is certainty bleeding into your tone. “I don’t have any problems at all leading the HR department, what with him being the best example of what an outstanding work ethic looks like.”

The room falls into a lull, and as the seconds tick by with no one saying anything, you’re starting to think you said the wrong thing when Mitsuki finally speaks up.

“That—that’s great to hear, dear, really.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before holding your gaze again, and you brace yourself for what she’s about to say next.

“…But what about outside of work?”

There it is.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uh—” you parrot again, mentally slapping yourself for stuttering when you can just keep your mouth shut while you think of an acceptable reply like a normal, sane person.

You glance at Bakugou, who’s now looking at you in what you think is anticipation.

Despite yourself, you feel yourself flush.

Yet you’re unable to break away from his gaze when the words finally come to you.

“…He cares,” you manage to miraculously get out while Bakugou’s crimson eyes bore a hole into you. “…Deeply. And, he makes sure it shows in his actions.”

You watch as Bakugou studies you for a few more seconds as if he’s searching for something—you don’t know what—hidden amidst your features, eventually averting his gaze back to his plate.

You follow suit, looking down at your half-finished ebi tempura, suddenly feeling too self-conscious and oddly vulnerable.

It’s Mitsuki’s soft voice that causes you to look up again.

“That’s… everything I wanted to hear,” Mitsuki almost whispers, and you think if you squint hard enough you can see tears pooling in her eyes.

You shoot her a tight-lipped smile, sensing an unusual sense of uneasiness blooming in your gut.

Thankfully, and to your relief, Mitsuki doesn’t ask any more equally humiliating questions after that, the conversation having been steered to more shallow and light-hearted topics, primarily by Masaru. Without you noticing, dinner time reaches its conclusion and it’s now time to clean up.

You stand up from your chair and start gathering leftovers to stack the plates right after when Mitsuki reaches across the table and pries them off your grip. You look at her in confusion, but she only shakes her head.

“We’ll handle the cleaning, dear.”

Behind her, Masaru nods in agreement, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but Bakugou beats you to it.

“No use arguing with the old hag. Just give it up.”

At that, you sag in disappointment—you really wanted to pay them back, even if it’s just through helping out with cleaning—but obey nevertheless, putting down the cutlery you were just about to gather into a bunch.

Now with nothing to do with your hands, you stand at the edge of the table awkwardly, watching the couple swiftly clearing out the area. Masaru seems to notice your discomfort because he speaks up.

“Hey, Katsuki,” he starts, “why don’t you show her around your bedroom?”

Almost immediately, Mitsuki beams at her husband, evidently enthralled by the proposition. You fight the strong urge to furrow your eyebrows in worry. “That’s a good idea, honey. I bet she’d love to see your childhood knickknacks, Katsuki!”

You steal a glimpse of Bakugou—or his back, really—who’s now seated on the couch with a leg propped on it.

He’s not saying anything.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You gulp despite yourself, shifting to face Mitsuki with a grimace-smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to make him uncomfo—”

“Come on.”

You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn to look at Bakugou, who apparently isn’t giving you a chance to argue, already walking up the stairs to the second floor. You look back at his parents, who only gesture you to go on.

Well.

You guess you’re going, then.

You trail behind Bakugou in silence, your footsteps echoing through the stairway as you go up, one step at a time. Once you land on top of the staircase, you follow him as he turns to the right, down to the door at the end of the hallway, which you now identify as his bedroom.

He pauses a few feet away from the entryway, reaching forward for the knob and turning to face you right after, an indiscernible expression etched on his face.

“Don’t fuckin’—nose around,” he grumbles, voice gruff, “or some shit.” Despite his half-hearted warning, he opens the door, leaning back against it so you can squeeze in and enter.

Typical of the King of Consistency, Bakugou’s childhood bedroom is as impeccable as every other personal space of his that you’ve got the honor of visiting. The gray walls are pristine and are only disrupted by posters of pro-heroes, mostly of All Might, but also like that of Best Jeanist and Endeavor. Piles and piles of books line the shelves at the room's corners, speckled and lightly decorated with figurines and what you think are older gaming consoles. You study the rest of the arrangements, and before you can think against it, you find yourself smiling as you survey the room, feeling a paradoxical sense of comfort blanket you.

“…What’re you fucking smiling about, dumbass?”

At the call out, the expression on your face immediately falls. You glance back at the man who’s now leaning against the doorframe, arms once again crossed in front of his chest.

“N-nothing,” you immediately retort. “It’s just that your room is so clean and well-kept.” You pause, hesitating to say the next thing, but ultimately decide to go for it. “It’s very… you.”

You don’t know what you expected him to say or do in response—an eye roll, or a lazy scoff, or a challenge, daring you to expound on what the fuck you mean “it’s very him”, maybe?

But again, Bakugou doesn’t say anything; he simply grunts.

Against your will, you feel a wave of disappointment course through you.

“…Your parents seem like such great people,” you muse, finding yourself wanting to salvage the conversation as you continue to take in the endearing details of your boss’s childhood bedroom.

Bakugou grunts again, only this time you think it’s in agreement. “They’re alright,” he grinds out, “can get a bit overbearing at times, though.”

You hum in reply, sensing a seed of happiness blossoming within you at the thought of him opening up. “I get that. But I can clearly see they love you very much.”

The man hums back, sounding deep in thought.

Your fingers absentmindedly trail the backrest of his desk chair. “Your mom said you don’t really visit as much. Is that true or was she just pulling your leg?”

At that, Bakugou heaves such a heavy sigh, that it catches your full attention. “I haven’t been here since around early this year.”

You gawk, “Seriously?”

He shoots you a glare, although there’s not much bite to it. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it is at work.”

You nod, “…You do put in an alarming number of hours.”

“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he immediately retorts, although the question seems more rhetorical.

Despite that, you steel yourself to answer back this time. “I think you actually do. I know of so many heroes who treat their jobs like the typical 9 to 5. Believe me, I hear things at work, too.”

“…What are you trying to say?”

His voice is so uncharacteristically small, it catches you off guard.

In return, you try to make your voice as gentle as possible. “I’m saying I meant what I said earlier during dinner. It’s admirable—the work that you do. I think that’s what really sets you apart from all the others, putting aside your flashy ass quirk.”

You take a gamble and toss a smirk Bakugou’s way.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was at a loss for words.

Well, there is a first for everything.

Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed over the bold move you just pulled, you take advantage of the silence, walking a few steps towards the other wall. You carefully brush your hand against what looks like a vintage-looking All Might poster above the headboard of his bed.

“I didn’t know you liked All Might this much.”

His reply is almost instantaneous: “He’s only the best hero to exist ever.”

You, again, fail to restrain the smile that breaches your face. It’s adorable how defensive he’s become in a split second, having transformed into the diehard fanboy that he apparently is.

“Is he the kind of hero you aspire to eventually become?” you ask, curiosity bubbling in your head.

He shifts on his feet, taking a few steps in your direction. “Yeah,” he pauses, before continuing, “the kind that always wins.”

“Oh, now I know where that line from before came from.”

As if immediately knowing what you're talking about, Bakugou flushes in what you think is anger, but the more you stare at him, it becomes clearer that it’s more akin to embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

You snort, “So the philosophy you gleaned from All Might—that applies to all aspects of your life? Including being your underling’s fake trophy boyfriend?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you as you watch Bakugou stew in what you think is shame, squirming from where he’s standing as if he’s itching to jump and strangle your frame. The man, once again, glares at you, but if anything, you can tell he’s more frustrated with himself than with you.

Still, you find yourself feeling bad. “Sorry,” you start, fighting the urge to chuckle, “I was just kidding.”

“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”

At that, you pout, the words tumbling off your mouth before you can rein them in. “Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t—” Bakugo splutters, “fucking—stop calling me sir, dumbass. And,” he frowns, “stop calling yourself as my underling. That shit sounds fucking demeaning.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, flashing him a grateful smile. He doesn’t return it, opting to roll his eyes and look away instead, but the corners of his lips are twitching like he’s fighting them from curling upwards.

An abrupt thought crosses your mind at that very sight of him.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt it out.

“I’m glad.”

Bakugou meets your gaze, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re glad what?”

You shrug, fighting down the self-consciousness. “I’m glad to see you seem more relaxed and comfortable. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed you’ve been extra scowly lately—if that is even a word.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have. The other workers at the agency have noticed, too.”

“Who the fu—”

“I’m not dropping any names,” you interject, “but some have approached me asking if we were, you know, okay?”

You peer at the man, who’s now refusing to look at you. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask. “Are we? Okay?”

Bakugou, again, conveniently decides to be mute.

“Did I do something wrong to slight you, or something? Or have I crossed a line during that get-together with your friends that one time? Because if I have, I want you to know that I really didn’t mean t—”

“I thought you didn’t want to come over,” he cuts you off.

You freeze. “What?”

He finally meets your gaze, a frown now seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Here. To my parents’. And you’ve been acting all weird around me, stuttering and stuff.”

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bakugou huffs, “Am I making you uncomfortable, or some shit?”

You can only gape at the man who looks so pained, as if this conversation is physically hurting him, which, it probably is, knowing him. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

He seems to notice this, because his frown grows even deeper. “What, am I?”

“No!” you exclaim, thankful to finally have your voice back. You vigorously shake your head, “No, please don’t think that. I—just—I just have a lot on my mind lately, that’s why. Explains why I’m all jumpy and stammering and all over the place.”

To your relief, Bakugou doesn’t prod any further, although you can sense a bit of suspicion emanating from the man despite your answer. He stares at you for another beat before shaking his head in resignation, opting to check his watch instead.

“It’s getting late. Let’s go downstairs and tell them we’re leaving.”

And just like that, Bakugou turns his back towards you and exits the bedroom.

Right after you followed Bakugou down to the living room where Mitsuki and Masaru were enjoying a glass of red wine, you informed the couple that you were leaving. The brunette immediately got to work, packing viands into Tupperware for you to take home despite your silent protests. Mitsuki, on the other hand, tried to convince you to stay for another hour or so, but Bakugou wasn’t hearing any of it. After finally accepting that she was getting nowhere with her case, Mitsuki called on her husband to see you out by the front porch.

With a bag of aromatic dishes in one hand, you stand in front of their doorway, not knowing what to say for the nth time in one night. You chance a glance towards Bakugou’s direction, the man having entered his car already, starting up the engine in preparation for the drive back home.

But you apparently don’t have to say anything because it’s Mitsuki who fills the air.

Her smile is so gentle and motherly that you can’t help the painful throb your heart makes at the sight. It’s quickly followed by the now-familiar feeling of uneasiness that has been revisiting you again and again since the evening started.

Still, you manage to smile back. At the sight of it, Mitsuki’s expression grows even brighter.

And her voice is low when she finally speaks.

“Don’t tell Katsuki this, but I’m glad you’re the one he’s decided to finally come meet us.” She reaches out to rub your shoulder, her smile not faltering, “I can see why.”

Thankfully, Mitsuki scoops you into another hug, sparing you the embarrassment and burden of having to react and respond with some intelligible reply to such a groundbreaking statement one can receive from any guy’s mother, no less.

At the couple’s request, you promise to visit again soon, and before you get to break character and admit to your mountain of lies in a crying heap, you beeline to the car and hop into the passenger seat.

Voice gruff, Bakugou nods at you. “Ready?”

You swallow thickly.

“Ready.”

The car ride home was silent. It felt long—longer than an hour, at least, your brain buzzing with unpleasant thoughts and stomach churning with anxious feelings the entire duration of it. You couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how much you tried. Eventually, you gave up trying to mid-way, opting to stew in whatever the fuck is going on with you instead.

You were so engrossed in your brooding that you didn’t notice Bakugou pulling into your apartment complex’s driveaway.

At the sound of his voice announcing your arrival, you sit up in your seat in alarm before promptly gathering your things, saying your usual quick goodbye and thank you, and stepping out of the car.

To your surprise, however, he puts the car in park and follows suit, stepping out of the vehicle himself.

You hesitate for a moment before starting the short trek toward the entrance, acutely aware of Bakugou trailing behind you.

When you get to the entryway, you finally turn to regard the man, whose eyes dart down to look directly at you, hands in his pockets.

In spite of yourself, you gulp. “Thank you… for today, Bakugou.”

He merely shakes his head, expression neutral. “I should be the one thanking you. You didn’t have to come with and suffer through all that with me, yet you did.”

“I didn’t suffer,” you’re quick to correct him because you didn’t. “I actually had a really nice time. Your parents were so kind to me, and I just—I…”

“What?”

You shake your head, unsure how to accurately phrase what you’re feeling. “I just feel bad, you know? You could be bringing home a girl that you actually like to meet your parents who they can fawn over instead of me, yet here you are presenting a decoy and fooling the people who raised you all because I—”

“Hey—”

“I roped you into pretending to be my boyfriend and now look at the mess we’ve made. And I know—”

“Stop it.”

His voice comes out so commanding that there’s nothing you can do but obey.

Bakugou frowns. “You didn’t ‘rope’ me into doing this, okay? I— We—” he hesitates, mouth opening and closing then opening and closing again before he finally just shakes his head in defeat. “I entered this arrangement willingly. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything.”

“But—”

“End of discussion.”

At that, you huff in irritation, but you know better than to argue with your notoriously stubborn boss. Nevertheless, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the gratitude that blooms in your chest at Bakugou’s reassurance.

“Now get in there,” he gestures to the apartment, “It’s getting way too fucking cold.”

As if on cue, you involuntarily shudder, which grants you a wordless ‘See?’ from the man. With a final nod, you reluctantly follow his orders and enter through the doorway, although you don’t immediately go to the elevator hall. Instead, you stand by the windows, finding yourself wanting to make sure Bakugou doesn’t get jumped on his way back to the car.

And as you watch Bakugou’s receding backside, the guilt that you’ve been tirelessly suppressing the entire night finally breaks free, threatening to swallow you whole.

This can’t go on.

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik @bunnysaursushii @beab19 @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @lovra974 @chelbyisbord @k0z3me @meeeepsworld @asura-rose @dragonscribble @moonz33 @citrustsuki @deadhands69 @lemuhr @rosemarygalaxy @iluv-ace @eyesforbkg @carpe000diem @shushbruv @matchat3a @ttalgi @bakunianadecorazon @the2ndl @keiscwsz @onlyisaa @aizawa19 @471323 @bakugosgothhoe

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