nellerdreads

Nelerd

‘05

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Latest Posts by nellerdreads

nellerdreads

1 month ago

Yall this was so cute im sad its ending wth 🥹

The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt6) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt5.5

The finale : Nothing is ever easy.

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

Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : guys dont shout at me i know im one day late. BUT SHES DONE! I cant believe it honestly. this has been such a whirlwind and im lowkey said its over. but I hope you will all stay with me for future projects! yay!

Warnings : SUGGESTIVNESS AT A POINT (nothing explict but still) Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : 6.9k

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

While the rush of determination felt good in the moment, now, standing outside Katsuki’s office, it’s settled into something closer to pure nerves.

You had a plan. A simple one, really. Step one: show your husband you miss him. Step two: admit you’ve both made mistakes. Step three: figure out how the hell to move forward without wrecking each other in the process. It sounded solid enough when you wrote it out in your notes app—three times, actually—but putting it into action? Yeah. Not as easy as it looked on screen.

The first time you tried was when you were dropping the kids off. For the past two weeks, it had been a no-talking, no-eye-contact type of handoff. You stayed in the house, watched Riko do all the work, carrying her sister’s bags and lugging Koharu to the door while you kept your distance. So, you figured attempt number one was simple enough—step in, carry your own kid out to the car, like you probably should’ve been doing this whole time.

So, you took some deep breaths, took Korahu from her sister's hand (paired with a weird look from the older sister) and ushered the girls to the door.

Katsuki was there, like always. Leaning against his car, looking tired. Sad, too. But still stupidly handsome, which pissed you off more than you’d admit. The second the door opened and he saw you standing there, his whole body snapped to attention. His eyes widened a little, his shoulders squared up, like he wasn’t sure what to do but he was sure as hell going to do something.

It was almost funny. Almost.

He didn’t say anything, but he met you halfway. Took Riko’s bag without asking. Looking at Koharu in your arms like it hurt him to see her there and not with him.

“Um…” Riko’s small voice cut through the moment. She hovered a little to the side, fidgeting. “Mama, are you… coming with us?” she asked, her brows pinching in quiet confusion as she glanced between you both.

And, for some reason, this question is a surprise to you. And it very quickly occurs to you also, that maybe your children shouldn't see the maybe difficult and definitely emotional conversation you are planning to have with their father. Yup. Why was that not included in the notes app plan?

You don’t say anything at first. But now Riko’s staring at you like she’s waiting for an answer, and Katsuki’s standing there, still as anything, his hand flexing around the strap of her bag like he’s holding himself back from saying something.

You clear your throat, shifting Koharu’s weight on your hip. “ um… no not today sweetheart, just saying hi is all”.

Riko doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway, glancing up at Katsuki. He’s already watching you, gaze steady, a crease between his brows like he’s thinking something he’s not sure he should say out loud.

“You could, y’know,” he mutters after a beat, his voice low but rough at the edges. “Come with us. If you wanted.”

“W-were just getting dinner at that place downtown, with the udon you like. And a movie, probably.”

And if every single member of your little family wasn’t looking at you right now, waiting, hoping, you might’ve groaned out loud. How did you not account for this? How did you not see it coming? And you are not about to screw this up by winging it.

“Oh,” you say, a nervous laugh catching on your tongue. It falls flat. No one joins in. “I think I’ll take a raincheck for tonight. Got some leftover work I need to finish up, unfortunately.”

You reach out to ruffle Riko’s hair. She leans into it, even smiles a little, a nice distraction from the weird tension in the air.

Katsuki doesn’t push. He never does these days. You’re not sure if that makes it easier or harder.

He just watches you for a long moment, like he’s turning something over in his head. His jaw ticks, sharp and familiar, but when he nods, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s not trusting himself to move too fast. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quieter now. “Okay. Another time, then.”

You offer a faint smile, one you hope looks steadier than it feels, and murmur your goodbyes. Riko gives you one last look over her shoulder before climbing into the car. Katsuki opens the door for her without breaking eye contact, and something about that sticks with you longer than it should.

And later that night, you’re still thinking about it. About the way Katsuki’s eyes followed you. About how you turned down his offer because you weren’t ready—not yet—and wondering if it sounded too much like rejection.

You hope not. God, you hope not.

Kirishima’s warnings about time are still hanging in the back of your mind, like a nagging little voice. The more you think about it, the more it feels like putting this conversation off any longer is just another excuse. So, better now than later, right? What’s the worst that could happen? Well, besides everything falling apart, obviously.

Father’s Day.

It’s not intentional, not really. It just sort of happens that way. And, okay, maybe deciding to have this conversation today of all days feels a little… questionable. You could start with a positive. “Wow, you’re actually a good father these days!” Sure, the conversation could end terribly, but at least you’d have that one bit of sincerity before everything goes to shit.

A quick text to Izuku confirms what you already suspected—Katsuki’s working during the day. Of course he is. But he has the kids tonight, which means you get the rest of the evening to yourself. Perfect. Time to spiral in peace.

You spend the morning mentally preparing yourself, like you always do before any interaction with your husband these days. It's become a routine at this point—dress nice, check your reflection one more time, make sure your hair’s in place, like somehow that’ll make everything easier. You even check the gift you got him for the millionth time, just to make sure it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared or been swapped out for something less meaningful. You really don’t need any more stress right now.

You want your arrival to be a complete surprise, which means you can't just drive. That would be too easy—and also, the parking sensors at his place would give you away in a second. Katsuki would know you were there before you even stepped out of the car, and you definitely don’t want him overthinking anything. So, you opt for the bus instead. It feels a little ridiculous, but it’s the only way to guarantee you catch him completely off guard. No time for him to prepare or second-guess. You want this moment to be real, unfiltered.

As the bus rumbles along, you look out the window at the sunny day, feeling something a little unexpected—hope. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that. It’s funny, though, but as you sit there, the memories come flooding back. It was actually this time of year, so many years ago, when Katsuki officially asked you to be his girlfriend. It feels like a lifetime ago, but the memories are so vivid. People are always surprised when you tell them he was shy back then, especially since they only see the brash, bold personality he’s built up over the years. Back then, though, he was anything but.

He suggested a walk and lunch, like any normal date. But you hadn’t even made it ten minutes down the path before he pulled you aside, cornering you against a tree. His eyes were wide, a mixture of determination and uncertainty flickering behind them. “I want to be official,” he’d said, so seriously, yet nervously—completely out of character for him. You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, genuine laugh. Maybe that laugh made it all the more real, solidifying that this was the boy who had stolen your heart so effortlessly, and the man who was now trying to win it all over again.

And now, here you are, so many years later. The shy boy has grown into a man. Changed by time, by life, by everything you’ve both gone through. It’s funny how much time can shift a person, how it can shape someone in ways you don’t always see coming. You wonder how he’d say you’ve changed, too. Would he even recognize the person you’ve become? Would he still see the girl who laughed under that tree all those years ago? You weren’t so sure.

When you find yourself standing outside Katsuki’s agency building, you don’t hesitate. The adrenaline is already pumping, your heart racing as you push open the door, wondering if any paparazzi are lurking nearby. It’s a small but nagging thought, the price of being so connected to someone so publicly known.

You walk up to the front desk, and the receptionists look up, offering you a warm, welcoming smile. "How have you been?" one of them asks, and for a brief moment, you forget how long it’s been since you’ve actually been here. You can’t even remember the last time you stepped foot into this place. Maybe back when it was still new, and Katsuki was so excited about it. Back then, he used to pester you to come visit all the time, his proud smile, guiding you around with that quiet swagger of his.

You glance around, taking in the changes since the last time you were here. There’s a new fishtank behind the reception desk, the soft swish of water a peaceful contrast to the buzz of the street outside. You didn’t even notice it when you first walked in. When did that get put in?

Leaning in slightly, you lower your voice to a near whisper, careful not to draw attention. “Don’t tell Katsuki I’m here. I’ve got a surprise for him.” The words are almost a secret, a lightness to them that doesn’t entirely match the nervous tension growing inside you. The receptionists giggle softly, their glances exchanged behind a knowing smile before one of them gives a playful, almost conspiratorial nod.

One of them leans forward, their voice light with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “A surprise, huh?” they ask, their tone teasing but not intrusive. “Hopefully he’ll love it. Honestly, he’s been a little quiet around here... maybe he’s just been missing you.”

You nod, trying to mask the sudden tension in your chest. Off. Katsuki had been distant in a way that was hard to ignore. The words only make your nerves continue to bubble in your stomach. You hate the idea that you’ve been ruining his work life too.

Once the elevator beeps, you quietly step out and walk down the halfway, the sounds of talking fleeting in the background. Your footsteps echo softly, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is a mistake, or if you’re doing the right thing. Why does everything feel so uncertain now?

But then you shake your head, forcing the doubts aside. You can’t hesitate now—not when you’ve come this far. You clutch the gift a little tighter, the weight of it solid in your hands, a reminder of why you’re here. Just do it.

When you finally make it to his office, you can’t help but hesitate outside the door. His blinds are down, so he hasn’t seen you coming. You glance down at your phone—no messages, no missed calls. There’s nothing to suggest he’s expecting you. Still, you hesitate. Your hand hovers above the door, but you can’t bring yourself to actually touch it.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the tension in your body making you feel jittery, like you're on the edge of doing something you can't quite bring yourself to start. You glance around the hall, seeing a few curious looks in your direction, and you realize just how out of place you must seem, standing here in front of his door, waiting. The longer you stand there, the stranger it feels. You can’t put it off any longer.

God, this is hard.

You knock lightly, the sound barely audible. When no response comes after a couple of seconds, you knock again, this time a little more forceful.

“WHAT,” comes Katsuki’s loud voice from the other side, as sharp as ever. You can practically feel the force of it through the door, and it makes you wonder how his staff ever manages to be around him all day without flinching. But you? You're nervous, sure, but you're not scared. You steady yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing the door open.

To your surprise, Katsuki isn’t alone.

Izuku is there too, leaning over Katsuki’s desk with his face uncomfortably close to him. Katsuki, on the other hand, is leaning away, his body stiff and his brows furrowed as if he’s trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But no matter how much Katsuki shifts, Izuku’s still right there, talking to him like they’re in some weird, casual conversation.

As you step inside, the low murmur of their voices reaches your ears.

“Why are your under eyes so dark? Have you been sleeping?” Izuku asks, genuinely concerned, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face.

“Get out of my fuckin’ face, Deku,” Katsuki grumbles in response, his hand coming up to swat at Izuku’s face. Izuku, as usual, seems oblivious to how much space he’s crowding, even as he nudges closer to Katsuki’s personal space.

You, on the other hand, stand frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to do. It’s a bit confusing, actually—neither of them has looked over at you even though they both know someone’s coming in. You clear your throat, a soft “hello” slipping out, just enough to break the silence.

And just like that, both of them snap their attention to you. Katsuki’s eyes widen in surprise, his body shifting almost instinctively, pushing his chair back as far from Izuku as possible. He straightens up, his posture suddenly more alert. His eyes track you, silent and intense, but there’s an undercurrent of something—maybe nervousness, maybe relief, and definitely surprise. At least your plan worked?

Izuku, on the other hand, stands up quickly, a wide, easy smile lighting up his face. “Hey!” he says brightly, completely unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Katsuki didn’t mention you were coming today!” Without missing a beat, he takes a step forward and pulls you into a warm hug, a casual, friendly gesture that feels comforting in the moment but also slightly jarring given everything you’ve been feeling.

Katsuki watches this carefully, his face softening just a fraction when he sees the way Izuku is interacting with you.

Izuku pulls away from the hug with a grin, oblivious to any underlying tension. “It’s good to see you!” his voice light, before turning back to Katsuki.

“You too,” you say shyly, your voice quiet, your gaze catching Katsuki’s. The intensity of his stare unsettles you more than you expect, his eyes still tracking you like he’s trying to make sense of why you’re here, why you showed up today.

But before you can dwell on it too much, Katsuki’s voice cuts through the air with surprising sharpness. “Deku, leave.”

Izuku blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?! But I want to catch up with you guys! I haven’t seen Y/N in forever, and you’ve been dodging my calls—”

“Get the fuck out,” Katsuki growls again, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Izuku frowns, giving Katsuki a playful side-eye, not picking up on the tension at all. “But you see her every day! I just want to—”

“Deku.”

There’s a sudden finality in Katsuki’s voice, something that makes Izuku pause for a second before his expression shifts. It’s as though he understands something unspoken, the corners of his mouth lifting in a resigned smile. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, clearly about to exit.

“Fine… but I really want to see you guys soon!” Izuku says, turning back to you as he heads toward the door. “And Y/N?” he calls with a teasing grin. “Make sure he’s sleeping okay, alright? I know you two are young and in love but—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT, DEKU!” Katsuki cuts him off, his voice booming, and Izuku laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender as he finally exits, leaving you and Katsuki standing there in the thick silence.

You shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to say or do. The plan had been so simple in your head—so clear—but now, in the face of this strange and quiet moment, it feels anything but.

“I—” You start, your voice faltering before you take a steadying breath. “I wasn’t expecting him to be here.”

Katsuki says nothing, his silence hanging between you both like a heavy fog. He runs a hand through his hair, the motion almost like a reflex, and you watch as his jaw tightens, then relaxes. Still, he doesn’t speak.

You glance at the space between you, then back at him, the knot in your stomach tightening. This wasn’t how you envisioned it.

“I brought you something,” you murmur, your hand instinctively reaching for the small gift bag you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline. “For Father’s Day.”

At the mention of Father’s Day, his eyes flicker for a moment, just a brief flash of something soft and unfamiliar before it’s gone. Katsuki doesn’t take the gift from you immediately, instead watching it with a gaze that’s more distant than you expect. He doesn’t say anything for a few long beats, and you’re starting to think maybe this was a mistake, maybe you should’ve just left it alone.

But then he takes a step forward, reaching for the bag with an almost reluctant gesture. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you reply, your voice quiet but sincere. "It's... it's just a little something."

Katsuki gives a stiff nod as he pulls the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, and though the contact is fleeting, it sends a shiver through you. He opens it slowly, and the soft crinkle of tissue paper fills the silence before he pulls out the small, simple gift you picked out for him—a picture frame. It’s of him and the girls, when Koharu had just been born and was still so tiny. You don’t think he’s ever seen this picture. You took it during one of those rare, quiet moments when he was reading to the girls, lost in the story and unaware you were watching from the doorway.

For a long time, Katsuki doesn’t speak. He simply stares at the frame in his hands, his gaze fixed on the picture. You consider that your going to be met with silence again, that this was all one big mistake and your overstepping with someone that can’t be bothered with you anymore.

“Is… is it okay?” you ask hesitantly, your voice breaking the silence.

Finally, Katsuki looks up at you, and for a moment, the distance between you seems to shrink. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’s… nice,” he says with a low soft tone to it.

You shift, unsure of what to do next, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the hard planes of his jaw, the tension that hasn’t quite faded from his shoulders. It’s like he's lost in the memory, but also wrestling with it at the same time.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks, and the words are barely a whisper, but they hold more weight than any explosion he could’ve set off. "What are you really doing here?"

His eyes flick up to meet yours, but they linger there for just a moment before quickly darting away, almost like he’s afraid of what he might see if he holds your gaze too long.

For a second, you don’t know how to answer. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. It’s not an easy question to answer, not when the answer feels too complicated, tangled up with everything you both are and aren’t anymore.

But you manage to find your voice. “I—” You stop yourself, unsure how to explain it, unsure of how much to say. You try again, quieter this time. “I wanted to see you. To... give you that. To... be here.”

His gaze shifts briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he looks down at the frame again. His fingers tighten around it, but it’s not in anger—it’s like he’s holding onto it, holding onto the moment in the picture, trying to tether himself to something he can’t quite let go of.

There’s a hesitation in the way he breathes, in the way his gaze keeps flicking between the picture and you. He seems to want to say something, but whatever it is, he’s holding it back, like it’s too fragile to speak aloud.

Then—“Sweetheart…” His voice catches, a quiet hesitation there you haven’t heard before. “What does that mean?” His lips twitch into a dry, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m a little fuckin’ confused over here.”

You huff a breath, nerves fluttering under your skin. Fair enough. You did show up unannounced after weeks of silence, acting like none of it had happened. Of course he’s confused. You would be, too.

“Yeah. Okay. Um—well!” You force a shaky exhale through a tight-lipped smile. God, why is this so hard? “I just… had some things to say and I—well. No. I guess.”

The words tangle in your mouth before they can land anywhere. You’re floundering, and you know it.

Katsuki reaches out, his hand finding your hip with a steadiness you didn’t realize you needed. His thumb draws slow, grounding circles against your side. “Breathe,” he murmurs.

You do. So does he.

And when you give him a small, grateful smile, it’s answered by a faint flush rising on his cheeks. That soft, familiar pink that makes your chest ache. Yeah… this is okay. You can do this.

“I wanted to apologize,” you say, quieter now. “For what happened… last time. When you were at the house.”

His hand falls away from your hip at that, and the loss of it makes your skin prickle cold. But you keep going.

“You were right. It wasn’t fair to you. And then I made it worse by not reaching out after I… after I threw you out.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I guess I thought you’d message me first. Which was stupid.”

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he says quietly, staring down at his hands like they’re something he’s only just noticed. His knuckles are tight, the same hands that just held you, now clenched like he’s bracing for something.

You step closer, reaching out. Your palms cradle his face, coaxing his gaze back to yours. His eyes widen, startled in a way that makes your heart ache all over again. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.

“I know you didn’t,” you say softly. “I think I was just feeling… insecure. Hurt. And, yeah, maybe a little petty.” You try for a smile, but it’s faint. “Not my most mature moment.”

Your fingers slip into his hair, nails grazing gently at his hairline. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

Katsuki’s quiet for a beat. Then another. His eyes search yours like he’s looking for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.

And then, barely above a breath—“Does that mean I can come home now?”

The way he says it cracks something open inside you. Soft. Uncertain. Katsuki Bakugou, who has always been brash and sure, suddenly sounds like a kid waiting to be told he’s not in trouble. Like he’s hoping for permission to want this.

Your chest tightens. “Yes,” you whisper. “I… missed you. A lot. So if you want to, yeah. Please.”

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you in, arms wrapping tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His face presses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry too,” he says, his voice thick. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You’re… you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ person in the world to me. I want you to know that.”

He draws back just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist. His eyes are a little red around the edges. “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”

You smile. And this time, it feels real.

“Me too.”

~~~

Katsuki doesn’t come home that night.

He tells you straight, his hands firm on your hips, holding you steady like he thinks you might drift off if he doesn’t. “I… I want to come back tonight. Fuck, angel, I want to.” His thumbs press in, warm and certain. “But it’s complicated. I got arts and crafts shit with the girls, and—”

He pauses, searching your face, as if there’s something he needs you to understand. And you do. You really do. It’s Father’s Day, after all. He’s planned something fun with them—he deserves that.

So you nod. “It’s fine,” you say, even if it’s not entirely. Even if part of you aches a little at the thought of another night in an empty house.

But then his phone buzzes again. The reminder that he’s still on the clock, still pro-hero Dynamight. He mutters under his breath, answering the call with a scowl. And while he’s distracted, you let yourself slip toward the door. No point hovering.

You don’t get far before he’s slamming the phone down.

“Oi,” he calls, striding toward you. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

You turn, halfway through a smile. “You’re busy.”

“Don’t care,” he shrugs, before wrapping you up in another of his crushing hugs, his chin hooked over your shoulder like he’s grounding himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, breathing him in. “Let me know how you and the girls get on.”

At that, he pulls back just enough to flash a small, crooked smile. “They’ll love it.” And you can tell he means it. He’s already picturing it—Korahu’s chubby fingers smearing paint where it shouldn’t go, Riko trying to keep things under control like she’s got any chance at all.

It all goes surprisingly smooth after that. You part ways. No fight. No lingering weight pressing on your chest. Just… quiet. Simple. You didn’t expect simple.

Still, the house feels a little emptier when you get home. You tell yourself it’s karma. Fair’s fair.

So you fill the quiet with the hum of self-care—cleaning, candles, making the bed like he’s already here. Maybe it’s silly, but it makes you feel better. Like you’re making room for him.

A couple of texts drop in while you work:

[7:34 PM] Kirishima: Katsuki said you guys made up!!! 💪 Happy for u (even tho I’ll miss bro being here 😣)

[8:28 PM] Katsuki: Never letting Korahu touch paint again.

[8:28 PM] Katsuki: [Image Attached]

You can’t help the grin as you open the photo. Korahu’s covered, head to toe, in streaks of neon green paint. The grin gets bigger when you reply, because yeah… things are starting to feel okay.

You catch yourself thinking how simple it was in the end. Just… talk to him. That’s all it took. So simple it’s stupid. But it’s a start. Onwards and upwards, right?

And still… the intimacy part lingers in the back of your mind. Not the physical, not exactly. The closeness. Letting him in again, letting yourself be seen. You’re getting there. You’re proud of that.

You’re just about to call it a night when you hear the knock.

It’s late. Too late for visitors. You tread light toward the door, thinking maybe you imagined it, but then it comes again, sharper this time.

You jump. “Who is it?”

“Me, sweetheart.”

Your heart stumbles. For a second, your mind blanks, chasing every possibility. Are the girls okay? Did something happen? Or did he really take ‘come back tomorrow’ as ‘come back at nearly midnight’?

You crack the door open, and there he is. Katsuki. Standing there like it’s nothing.

“You shouldn’t talk through the door,” he says, voice low, a little gruff. “Use the cameras. Don’t let people know if you’re home.”

You barely register the lecture. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs. “Can I come in first?”

You step back, and he does, toeing his boots off by instinct before looking at you again. He’s flushed a little—maybe from the night air, maybe from something else.

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair, messy already. “The girls are asleep. Told Kirishima I was heading out.”

You wait. He’s not exactly known for long explanations, but still. You wait.

He shifts, uncomfortable in a way that’s rare for him. “I know I said I’d come tomorrow. I was about to go to bed. Was gonna text you.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck, his voice rougher now. “But I didn’t wanna do that again. I didn’t wanna… not be here. So.”

A beat.

“Probably should’ve asked first,” he mutters. “Sorry.”

You stand there for a second, taking him in. The way his shoulders are tense, like he’s bracing for you to tell him to leave. The way his mouth pulls down at the corners, softened by tired eyes.

You take a step closer, your fingers brushing against his wrist before curling around it. You feel his pulse jump beneath your touch.

“Don’t say sorry,” you tell him, your voice gentler than you expected. “I was just surprised. You know I want you here.”

His breath leaves him in a slow exhale. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. It’s comfortable in a way it hasn’t been for a while. Quiet. Easy.

Then he shifts, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to pull you closer. “You look nice,” he murmurs.

You huff a laugh. “These are just my pajamas, Katsuki.”

“I know that.” His fingers trace lightly along your jaw, calloused pads dragging slow and careful. “Still means you can look nice, doesn’t it?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, but hungry. It’s not just that he’s missed you. It’s the kind of heat you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and it catches you off guard. Your skin prickles under the weight of it.

You laugh again, quiet and nervous, and step back just slightly. You regret it the second you do. But he doesn’t push. His mouth quirks into something close to a smirk, easy, like he doesn’t mind waiting.

“I was just heading to bed,” you say, clearing your throat.

“Let’s go then, huh?” His voice is rough, low, but there’s no push behind it—just an offer.

Later, you sit beneath the covers, watching him move around the room. He pulls his shirt off and folds it onto the chair, and your eyes catch on the cut of his shoulders, the sharp lines of muscle along his back. Familiar. Hard-earned. You’ve seen it a thousand times, but it hits you different tonight. Like you’re seeing him again for the first time.

Your face warms, and you look away, embarrassed by how much you feel like a teenager sneaking glances.

The room dims when he turns the lamp down, leaving just a wash of amber light spilling across the sheets. Then the mattress shifts under his weight as he crawls in beside you, his arm slipping easily around your waist, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest.

You let out a slow breath against him, and he answers with one of his own.

“Missed you,” he murmurs. His hand smooths over your hip, dragging slow, then curling back up your spine. “Missed this. Can’t believe I made us go without it for so damn long.”

“I’ve missed it too,” you whisper. “Missed you.”

And then he’s looking at you. Really looking. Like he used to—like he did in those early years when the world was still new between you. His hand comes up to your cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of your jaw. It’s reverent. Careful.

He leans in, brushing his lips to yours, light as a breath. It’s tender, almost hesitant. But you kiss him back. And then it’s not hesitant at all.

His hand slides into your hair as the kiss deepens, his mouth demanding now, hungry and hot. It’s messy, desperate—years of holding back spilling out in the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the low sound he makes when you breathe his name against his skin. His other hand finds your hip, holding on tight like he’s worried you’ll vanish if he lets go.

When you shift, swinging your leg over to straddle his lap, he groans into your mouth, his hands immediately smoothing down over your thighs, then up, fingers splaying wide as if he’s trying to map all of you at once. You’re already flushed and breathless, but the sound of him like this, so openly wrecked for you, drives you to chase more.

The kisses don’t stop—don’t even slow. His mouth is hot, hungry against yours, and the way he groans when you grind down makes heat pool deep in your belly. His hands are everywhere now, rough palms skating over soft skin, kneading at your waist, your ass, like he can’t get enough.

Then he breaks the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his thumb dragging across your lower lip as he does. Both of you are panting, chests rising and falling like you’ve run miles to get here.

“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dark as they flick over your face. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Driving me outta my damn mind.”

You can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes you, your hand still resting over his hammering heart. He’s not the only one losing it here.

“I love this,” he says, his voice rough with heat as he gives your hips a slow, deliberate push down against him. Yeah, you can tell. There’s no mistaking the hard press of him beneath you, or the way his grip tightens as he holds you there for a moment longer. “Love you,” he adds, softer, but no less intense. “But I need you to know I didn’t show up for this. Wasn’t tryin’ to make this a booty call or some shit. I just… really needed to be close to you.”

You lean in, brushing your nose against his, smiling faintly. “I know, Kats. I know that’s not you.”

“Good,” he murmurs. He tips his head back, blowing out a breath, as if he’s trying to cool himself down. “No more for tonight though.”

You blink, momentarily thrown, and then pout, full and obvious. When he cracks an eye open and sees it, his grin spreads slow and wicked. He’s enjoying this, even if his chest is still heaving like he’s run a marathon.

“Ain’t got any protection, sweets,” he says, voice low and deep. “And it’s been a long damn while. I won’t be able to hold myself back with you.”

A beat. His gaze flickers, watching your reaction, something warm and teasing in his expression—but there’s truth there, too. A warning wrapped in affection.

“So unless you want Korahu to have a sibling nine months from now,” he drawls, thumb stroking along your hipbone, “I think it’s best we call it.”

You huff a little laugh and shake your head, leaning forward until your forehead presses to his. “You’re impossible.”

He snorts softly. “Don’t blame me. I ain’t thrilled we have to stop either, princess.”

You both settle, breath slowing. The heat fades into something quieter, something steady. You roll off him and curl into his side, and his arm comes around you without hesitation, pulling you close. He presses slow, sleepy kisses to your temple, to your jaw, to your shoulder—lazy but full of something that makes your chest ache.

“Night, Kat,” you whisper against his skin.

“Night, baby,” he murmurs, and then his voice firms up like he’s gripping the words tight. “I love you.”

It comes out of you before you can think too hard about it. “I love you too.”

There’s a breath, shaky but soft. “Yeah,” he says again, his voice catching just a little. “Yeah.”

~~~

After that night, the waters begin to finally settle.

It isn’t perfect—Katsuki is still busy, still only human. But he’s trying, and when he slips up, you forgive him. And when you start to overthink things, he doesn’t let you spiral—just pulls you close, asks you softly if things are okay, if they can be better.

He leaves notes when he knows he’ll be working late, scribbled in his sharp, messy handwriting. Little things. I love you. Sleep early. Don’t wait up. Or, Miss you already. See you soon, sweetheart. And things do get better.

And it’s not just you who notices.

Riko smiles more, hugs you without hesitation. Her arms don’t feel like they’re trying to hold you together anymore—they’re just hugs, warm and happy and childlike the way they should be.

Going to Katsuki’s parents for the first time after everything isn’t as scary as you thought, either. His mom pulls you in tight, whispering a quiet thank you. But you thank her instead, and when Katsuki catches your gaze, there’s no shame there—no guilt or lingering anger. Just quiet, steady affection.

It makes you wonder how you ever went so long without it.

Because now, you’re addicted to it. Not in a naïve, honeymoon phase way—no, things aren’t perfect. There are still arguments, still sharp words and teary nights. But the love isn’t put into question anymore. That stays constant.

Life moves fast, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t dread it. You embrace it.

And then, one quiet evening, as you sit on the beach with Katsuki, watching the girls play in the sand, you’re reminded just how far you’ve come.

His chin rests on your shoulder, arms draped around your waist as you twirl his fingers absently between yours. The waves roll lazily in front of you, golden light casting long shadows across the shore.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice low against your ear, “it was three years ago today.”

You hum, still watching the girls. “What was?”

“When you left.” His voice is quiet, careful. “Up to Tokyo.”

The words land soft but heavy.

It feels so long ago now, that time in your life when everything felt unbearable. But you still remember it—how could you not?

“Wow,” you murmur, letting the thought settle. “So long ago now.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, his grip tightening around you, like he’s bracing himself.

Then, softer, “I’m still sorry about that.”

You turn slightly, glancing back at him. His gaze is distant, the light catching in his eyes, making them burn a little redder than usual.

“I—” he exhales, shaking his head. “It’s one of my biggest mistakes. Letting things get to that point. I don’t think I can ever fully forgive myself—”

“Katsuki.” You shift, turning fully now so you can cup his face in your hands. His eyes flicker to yours, sad and heavy with regret.

“I nearly lost you,” he whispers. “I did lose you. And I still can’t believe myself.”

Your heart aches at the way he says it—like it’s something that still haunts him, something he’ll never quite let go of.

But you smile, small and sure. Your thumbs brush over his cheekbones, grounding him.

“But you didn’t,” you remind him gently. “We’re here. Together.”

He lets out a slow, shuddering breath, like he’s been holding it in for years. Then, finally—he nods.

“Yeah.” His voice wobbles just slightly, thick with something unspoken.

You kiss him, soft and lingering. His hands find your waist, holding you close, and when you pull back, his forehead presses to yours, breath warm against your lips.

You turn again, settling back against his chest to watch the girls for a moment longer, listening to the rush of the tide.

Then you glance back at him, feeling brave. Feeling full.

“Where do you think we’ll be in another three years?” you ask, leaning into his chest.

He huffs a soft laugh, kissing your hair.

“Wherever you are,” he says simply. “That’s where I’ll be.”

And you believe him. It feels so good to have full promises again.

You tilt your head back, catching his lips in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and a future you’re both ready for.

And when you pull back, he’s smiling. Really smiling.

“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently to your feet. “Let’s go get our girls.”

“Yeah,” you reply, fingers threading through his. “Let’s go home.”

And you do. Together.

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

it was so daunting finishing everything off, but i hope its okay!

🏷️ : @dragonscribble @coldnightshark @huntyhuntycunty @thychuvaluswife @boojaynaqueen @kalulakunundrum @purplegaussianprocess @harryzcherry @bubbleguppieshh @geekessi @itzjustj-1000 @nuo0n @hana-patata @ilovemushroomss @notokinthehead @obsessedwiththesturniolos @djlance-rock @j1tterbugaboo @ch3rryjampi3 @gayheterosexual @hauntedstudentobservationus @onlyisaa @rika-chan-12 @eddie-bonzo @meikoo @barrythestrawberry041 @littlestinkybastardman @incognit7 @hhhhhhhikariiiiiiii @sachikomwahxx @d4rlinxs @eyesforbkg @akiii143 @eternallyshifting @sukuxna0 @cremthehive @uhsakusa @mentallystablesstuff @gabby-ha @kelz-69 @js-favnanadoongi @bakugouswh0r3 @kinichlover1298 @yikesdudesstuff @armeenix @sirerzafolchart @juiceeypeach @sukistar10 @amiime @asteraslvrr @teeesthings @charlotterosea13 @g3n3v13v33 @kiberrymatcha @urmamastits @biancatomlinson

general taglist 🏷️ : @cristy-101 @cielito--lindo @waterfal-ling

The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt4) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2 pt3

Is it worth the fight anymore?

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

Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : shess bacckk!!! this is a rough one yall. eek thank you for all the love on this series so far!! I read all your comments 🥰

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 : ~5.2

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

During your entire relationship, you don’t think you’ve ever been this nervous to see your husband.

Not on your first date, not after your first fight, not even on your wedding day.

It’s been four days since you left, and somehow, those days have felt both painfully long and unbearably short. After your last (very heated) discussion with Katsuki, you sat there—still wrapped in your bathrobe—wishing, just for a moment, that this was all some cruel, fleeting dream. But the texts from him that night had been a sobering reminder that this was very real. And, only the beginning.

There was no real peace in being away, no sense of relaxation. Just an odd, hollow sort of quiet. You kept waiting for something to happen, for something to snap you out of the strange, fragile bubble you’d wrapped yourself in.

A few texts came in here and there, coworkers wishing you a speedy recovery, Kirishima asking for pictures of the view, and then Katsuki. He sent little updates about the kids, simple things about their day, before ending every night with the same quiet plea: I love you. I miss you.

And you hate the way it makes you feel, because it’s working. You hate that you’re already crawling back, that it’s taking so little for that ache to start unraveling.

A bitter part of you wants to ignore it, to let the silence stretch just so he can get a taste of what it feels like to reach for someone and get nothing back. To make him feel even a sliver of the frustration, the exhaustion, the sheer sadness that has clung to you. But even as the thought crosses your mind, it feels wrong. Like a cut that wouldn’t just wound him, but you too.

And then there’s the other part of you. The one that still remembers your Katsuki. The one who always tried, even when he didn’t know how. The one who, for all his sharp words and bad habits, had never wanted to make you feel like this. That part sees these messages for what they are—an attempt, however small, to do better. And for a moment, you can almost picture him, sitting there with his phone in hand, debating what to say, wondering if you’ll even reply. To be careful with you in a way he hadn’t been before.

That part of you aches to pull him close, to let him bury his face against your neck as you whisper that he’s doing good, that you see him trying. It wants to reach for him the way you used to, to ease the weight of his guilt, to tell him he isn’t too late.

But after everything… that doesn’t feel quite right either.

So you let the messages sit, untouched, except for the one confirming your arrival home. But even so, when he messages that he will pick you up, that you can continue your conversation, your heart bubbles with anticipation, with hope maybe.

The back of your mind reminds you that no one changes overnight. But Katsuki, always the try-hard, is the one person you might believe could be the exception.

As you sit on the train, nervously glancing between the passing scenery and the clock, you're reminded of what (or rather, who) is waiting for you.

This is the same train ride you took a few days ago, but it feels completely different now. The earlier journey is almost a blur, only the whirlwind of emotions registering with you. Now, though, every detail of the train ride is too vivid, everything that has happened these past days is flooding in and mixing with the past. Like your brain is finally catching up with all the information it was storing while you wandered around in a numb, protective trance for so long. You try to focus on the scenery blurring past the window, your fingers loosely gripping the fabric of your clothes. You wonder which is worse—the numbness of being ignored, or the headache that comes from finally acknowledging everything that’s been left unsaid. Either way, it fucking sucks.

[12:42 PM] Katsuki: Almost there?

You stare at the message for a moment before typing out a quick response.

[12:43 PM] You: Yeah, about 20 minutes.

The reply is almost instant.

[12:43 PM] Katsuki: Okay. I’m here.

You exhale, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to ease the tightness in your chest. You shouldn’t be this anxious about seeing your own husband. But maybe that’s the problem—you don’t know if he still feels like your Katsuki. But really, who even is your Katsuki anymore.

Before you can continue spiraling, something new pops up—a message from someone else.

[12:50] Izuku : [5 Images Attached]

[12:50] Izuku : 4 years ago today !!!

[12:50] Izuku : Little Riko was always so frowny! Haha !

[12:50] Izuku : We need to all go on holiday again soon 🙂 PLZZZ

The pictures pop up on your screen, snapshots of your two little families together, a memory from a simpler time. Your first trip as a family. You can’t help but smile at the sight, even though it pulls at your heart a little.

Katsuki had been stressed as fuck that trip. He’d practically snapped when Izuku jokingly suggested putting Riko on a bougie board. You can still see it clearly: Katsuki, hands on his hips, a scowl etched into his face, the tension in his jaw as he argued with Izuku. He would never admit it, but you knew that he was on mistake away from a breakdown, his little girl being his everything.

And then there was Riko, who was so like him in all the worst ways. She took one look at her father’s reaction and decided she didn’t need anyone’s permission. She picked herself up, waded into the water, and found her balance on the board all on her own. Her grin was wide and unbothered, shouting to the world that she was "the best" at it, no questions asked. You had laughed, watching her confidence blossom before your eyes.

That’s when Katsuki switched gears. The man who had been ready to tear someone’s head off just moments before suddenly became her biggest cheerleader, roaring his approval. "Daddy didn’t raise no wimp!," he’d screamed, pride in his voice as he pumped his fist in the air. Then, without missing a beat, he dashed into the water to join her—just in case. He would always be there to catch her, no matter what.

The memory stirs something in you, something warm and bittersweet. It was a good trip. Hell, it was a great trip. It’s strange to look back at that version of yourself, of your family.

The crackling announcement overhead pulls you out of it. Ten minutes. You blink, turning your gaze back to the window, fingers picking at your nails. The ache is still there, sitting heavy in your chest, but you hold onto the warmth of the memory. The way Katsuki had looked at you back then, how he held you without thinking twice. You remind yourself that everything is not yet over.

Your legs feel like jelly as you exit the train. The whole thing feels like some overdramatic scene from a shitty rom-com, the kind where you’d run into his arms, everything magically resolved with a kiss. But reality is much quieter. The station is nearly empty, the only sound the distant hum of announcements and the shuffle of a few passing strangers. And instead of running toward him, you find yourself debating whether you should turn around and leave.

This shouldn’t be so hard, you tell yourself, frustration curling in your chest. It’s just Katsuki. Your husband. The man who kissed you every morning before work, who used to bury his face in your neck and mumble complaints about getting out of bed.

It doesn’t take long to spot him, because it's Katsuki. He’s standing near the exit, hands shoved deep in his pockets, a dark hoodie and cap doing a poor job of hiding his unmistakable looks. Even from here, you can see it—how tired he looks. You both are really showing your emotions on your skin too it seems.

When he does spot you, he goes straight as a wire, like he’s surprised you didn’t do a runner (and internally, you are a little too). And yet, despite everything, a small smile tugs at his lips. It’s not cocky or smug, not one of those grins that used to make you roll your eyes. It’s something unsure. Like he’s testing the waters, waiting to see if you’ll return it.

And to your own surprise, you do. Barely, just the faintest tug at the corner of your mouth. But it’s enough to make his shoulders drop a little.

For a moment, neither of you move. You just stand there, a few feet apart, the awkwardness thick in the quiet of the station.

Katsuki shifts his weight, like he wants to step forward but isn’t sure if he should. His hands twitch at his sides before he shoves them deeper into his pockets. “Hey,” he says, voice rough.

You swallow, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter. “Hey.”

Another beat of silence stretches between you. It feels unbearable.

Katsuki clears his throat, glancing away for a second before looking back at you, gaze softer than you expected. “You Hungry?”

You hesitate, then nod, just barely. “Yeah.”

His lips press together, and he jerks his head toward the exit. “C’mon. I’ll make you something at home.”

He waits for you to step forward first, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear. Even though the situation is far from funny, it still makes you laugh—just a little. Maybe you're becoming delirious.

At that, Katsuki looks at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What you laughin’ at?”

You shrug, forcing a casual smile as you walk forward. “Oh, nothing,” you mutter, the laughter still lingering in your chest.

The quiet awkwardness lingers in the car, the only sounds filling the space are Katsuki’s quiet breathing, the fleeting glances he throws at you, and the playlist you made for his car all those months ago.

You shift in your seat, "So… how was dinner with your parents?"

For a split second, you think he might not answer at all, with the way he lets the question sit in the air. But then, he accelerates a little more, the engine roaring faintly under his control.

“Shit. As usual.”

You can’t help but scoff at his quick dismissal, sounds about right.

Before you can say anything, Katsuki seems to realize that is not a good way to continue a conversation with your estranged wife and hurries to correct himself. "It was… I don’t know. Fuckin’ fine." He clears his throat, like the words themselves are scratching at it. Was it really that bad?

“Girls got spoiled, obviously,” he mutters, almost as if the thought itself is annoying. “Couldn’t get a moment’s peace. They were asking for you.”

“They miss me, huh?” you ask, keeping your voice even, though the hint of a smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

Katsuki glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Always preferred you anyway. They’re always asking about you more than me.”

The words hang in the air for a beat. You think about it, how’d you’d miss Mitsuki and Marusu if you and Katsuki finished things. No more cozy dinners, gossiping with his mother as you sipped wine, or sitting beside his dad as he adjusted the girls’ clothes. All those little moments, those pieces of the life you built together, would slip away with him. And the thought of losing them too? That one hurts in a way you weren’t prepared for. You’ve always known Katsuki was your husband, but they were your family too.

As your mind twists around the possible future, your pulled back by Katsuki’s hand on your knee. You look at it like it isn’t even real, the weight of it there but distant. Your thoughts spiral back to the last time he tried to touch you—back in the hotel room, when you had pulled away so quickly, so violently, as if his touch burned. You wonder if he remembers that moment too, the way his hand froze in the air, the hurt on his face.

He probably feels the tension in your body now, the way you’re as stiff as a board, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. He doesn’t let it linger in uncertainty either. His thumb continues to rub small, quiet circles against your leg, eyes remaining on the road ahead.

You… you’re not sure if it’s working. You glance over at him, looking for some small gesture of acknowledgment for the affection that had once come so easily between you. You swallow and shift uncomfortably, your thoughts growing more tangled. Katsuki, the man who'd always been about action over words, the one who’d never been great at apologizing, had somehow left you waiting for the right moment. A moment that never quite came. And now, in this car, you find yourself expecting him to say something. Maybe apologize for the silence. Maybe admit that he knows the touch feels different now too.

But the words don’t come, and you wonder—will they? And if they do, will they make a difference? It almost feels like a mockery, this small gesture, this absent affection.

“I know it’s been weird,” he mutters, his voice rough, breaking through the silence. His eyes stay glued to the road ahead. “But, uh… things’ll be back to normal. Eventually.”

You feel like you're stuck between two versions of yourself: the one who wants to hold it all in, keep the peace, because maybe things will get better if you just stay quiet, and the one who wants to yell, to demand more than this, this fleeting acknowledgment of the shit situation you have found your livihood in.

“That’s all you have to say?” Your voice tinged with disbelief, but it’s still controlled, sharp and pointed like a knife. You want him to fight this with you. The time away has brought some spark back. You continue, “That things have been weird?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the end, and you hate that it does. You hate that you’re so angry, so tired, and that he still doesn’t see it.

“After all this time,” you bite out, “this is what you have to say? After everything, this mess. That’s your summary of it? A grown-ass man who can’t even talk to his wife about divorce?”

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening around the wheel. He snaps, his voice louder now, sharp with frustration. “We’re not getting a damn divorce!” he snaps, cutting you off. “Goddamnit.”

Then, he spits, his voice laced with anger, “Excuse me for not trying to have this... this fucking minefield of a conversation with the love of my life in the middle of the goddamn highway! How ridiculous of me!" His hand is no longer on your knee, the space between you feeling colder somehow.

He’s practically seething, and you feel it too. “You… don’t get to call the shots in this fuckin’ marriage, you know. This has been shit for me too. In case you forgot, you fuckin’ disappeared!”

The words sting more than you want to admit, but you fight the urge to flinch. You can feel the tension in your chest tightening, anger rising again, but this time it's not just at him—it's at everything. At the situation, at the way things have been, at the fact that he’s now acting like he’s the one who’s been wronged. That he dares to play the victim.

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear husband,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm, laced with sharp edges. “You are so right. I’m sorry I got tired of being alone in this marriage. God forbid you deal with that for a weekend. You poor, poor man.” The words slip from your lips like venom, and the bitter laugh that follows feels cold in your chest. “Give me a fucking break, Katsuki.”

“I’m not fuckin’ playin’ the victim, okay?” he snaps, his voice strained, just a little too loud. “I just—” He cuts himself off, and you can hear the exhale that follows, a deep, frustrated breath. “You’re just… not giving me a chance here. All I’m asking for is a damn chance. Let me try, alright? I’ve been tryin’.”

“Don’t act like I’m not here, damn it,” he mutters, the words barely above a whisper. “I am here. But your... you're making it impossible. I can't even talk to you.” His grip on the wheel tightens again, his body stiffening. "All I'm askin' for is a damn chance."

You sit there, quiet for a moment, just staring at him. You could say everything. You could tell him how ridiculous it is to claim he’s “here” when you’ve barely seen him make an effort. You could point out that it hasn’t even been a week, that everything you’re carrying has gone unacknowledged. You could call him out for not even saying sorry, even now. But instead, you bite your tongue, your jaw clenched tight, and you just look at him, feeling the weight of your disappointment settle deep in your chest.

You could let him off the hook. You could let him keep playing this game of he’s trying, you’re the problem. But you can’t. Not this time. So you say the words that have been bubbling up in you for days, sharp and unforgiving, like glass in your mouth.

“I’m just so disappointed, Katsuki.”

It stings, even as it leaves your lips.

His body jumps, jumping to bite back, to shout louder, harder. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but the words catch in his throat.

Then, his voice cracks through, quieter now, rougher around the edges. “Sweetheart, I promise you, I’m not going to try to change shit. I am going to.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, his words rushed, like they’re fighting to escape. “I wanted to do this at home, but now this... this has happened, okay? I’m—fucking flustered. I had shit planned out to say, but I... wasn’t ready to do this. I promise, that’s why I’m fuckin’ it up.”

He pauses for a second, takes a shaky breath, and places his hand carefully back on your leg. You don’t acknowledge it.

“I am sorry, fuck, you must know that by now,” he continues, eyes searching yours for moment, his voice thick with guilt. “I’ve been in nothing but misery because I’ve made our lives this way. But I am not going to lose you, okay? I’m going to fight to stop it from crossing your mind ever again.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you want to believe him. You want to feel the weight of his apology settle somewhere inside, but the bitterness lingers. It’s hard to just take it all in. There’s a part of you, deep down, that still wants more than this. More than just promises. More than just words.

You exhale sharply, your throat tight, and meet his gaze for a moment.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in silence. And, begrudgingly, you think Katsuki was right, this maybe wasn’t a conversation for the car. But at least the bandaid has finally been ripped off. The things that have been festering between you for too long are finally out in the open, raw and exposed. His hand stays on your knee, solid and warm, and though you don’t acknowledge it, you don’t push it away either.

As he pulls into the driveway, a thought finally cuts through the haze of frustration and exhaustion. “Where are the girls?”

He unplugs your seatbelt, then his, before running a hand through his hair. “Deku’s here with them. But he’s leaving soon.” He pauses, hesitating just for a second. “Was gonna mention it earlier, but then… y’know.” His gaze flickers to you, and he doesn’t need to say anything more.

“Right,” you murmur, nodding.

He lets out a shallow laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “I wouldn’t leave them home alone. Riko would probably start a damn fire.”

That gets a small huff of laughter out of you, tired and unbidden. “She is your child, after all”

He huffs, shaking his head. “Damn right she is.”

And for a moment, your eyes meet—his shining with affection, so bright, so familiar.

You swallow, shifting in your seat. “Does Izuku know that…?” You trail off, unsure how to even phrase it.

Katsuki shakes his head immediately. “No. Least, I haven’t said anything.”

You nod, letting the words settle. You’re not sure if you feel relieved or if it even matters. But Izuku is like a brother to Katsuki, so the fact that he doesn’t know? That’s… interesting.

“You ready to go in?” Katsuki asks, his voice softening slightly, his thumb rubbing circles on your leg.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” He opens his door, then glances at you. “Don’t get out.” His words are clipped, and he steps out of the car.

“What..?” you start, confused, but your question dies when you see him practically speed-walking around the front of the car.

He opens your door, his face flushed, the faintest pink dusting his cheekbones as he avoids looking directly at you.

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. But he speaks before you can, “Don’t”.

As soon as you walk in, you're greeted by the sound of Riko and Koharu’s voices filling the space. They’re busy playing with their toys, the occasional squeal of excitement slipping from their lips. Izuku is on the couch, keeping an eye on them, his smile easy as he flicks his gaze over to you both.

Then, all at once, four voices hit you: “Y/N!” (Izuku), “Mama!” (Riko), a childlike squeal (Koharu), and finally, a groan from Katsuki, who looks like he's already tired of the noise.

You can't help but chuckle at the chaos. Riko runs up to you, arms wide, her excitement practically bursting out of her. "Mama!" she exclaims, nearly knocking you over as she wraps her little arms around your legs.

“Hey, my girl,” you say softly, running your fingers through her hair as she clings to your legs, while Koharu continues to snack on crisps, her little fingers getting crumbs everywhere.

Katsuki’s voice cuts through the noise. “Deku,” he announces with a growing scowl. “Did you give the brats sweets?”

Izuku straightens up, clearly startled by the sudden attention. “Well… t-they were hungry, Kacchan! Did you want me to deny them—”

“We were gone for twenty minutes!” Katsuki interrupts, his tone snapping, “Lunch is fuckin ready!”

Before you can intervene, curse Katsuki for his language, Riko tugs at your sleeve, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Why did you go, Mama?” she asks, her voice small and curious.

You can tell Katsuki hears her too, his shouting quickly turning into a low grumble as he stalks toward the kitchen, presumably to start lunch. Izuku, meanwhile, seems both confused and relieved.

“Well…” you begin, taking a breath as you look down at Riko, her sharp little mind already picking up on things. “Mama just needed a break, that’s all, sweetheart.”

“Hm,” she hums thoughtfully, her small arms wrapping tighter around you, as if she’s trying to reassure you, or maybe herself.

“WELL,” Izuku says with dramatic flair, slapping his hands on his legs. “I’m quitting while I’m ahead!” He bends down to ruffle Koharu’s hair, then brightens as he approaches you. “Y/N! I hope you enjoyed the spa! And you’re feeling better—” So Kirishima has been spreading the ‘Y/N is sick’ agenda to everyone, huh, you think to yourself, suppressing a smirk. “Let’s get lunch soon, okay?” he finishes.

You chuckle, giving a slight nod. “You got it, Zuko.”

He smiles, quickly slipping on his shoes and jacket, “ BYE KACCHAN” he shouts before dashing out the door.

Katsuki, still in the kitchen, doesn’t miss a beat. “DON’T SHOUT AT ME, YOU FUCKIN’ NERD, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE—”

Izuku is already out the door, and you can practically see him laughing to himself on the other side. You glance at Katsuki, your brow raised. “KATSUKI!” you chide, a little more amused than stern. “Language?”

Katsuki’s eyes flicker toward you, an unamused glare behind them. “What?” he grumbles, arms crossing tightly over his chest. “He’s the one shoutin’ at me,” he mutters, before slinking back into the kitchen, his frustration still hanging in the air.

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Go help your dad with lunch, baby,” you say to Riko, who’s still clinging to your side. She looks up at you, nodding enthusiastically before running toward the kitchen to join Katsuki.

The night carries on strangely smoothly after that, though it’s likely because you and Katsuki don’t speak directly to each other, only through your children. Once they’re tucked back into bed, however, the quiet stretches long and your nerves come rushing back.

You slip into your pyjamas, and head to the kitchen. Katsuki’s eyes follow you from the couch, the dim light catching his sharp features.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, his voice still rough, before he rises to his feet. “You hungry?”

You roll your sleeves up, washing your hands in the sink. “Your back to work tomorrow, right? So I’m making the lunches.”

Katsuki pauses, leaning against the doorframe, brows furrowing as if considering something. “Nah, I’m not.”

The word hangs in the air, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, puzzled. “Why?”

A shallow laugh escapes him, and he rubs the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “It’s not obvious?” he questions, his voice softening slightly. “We need to talk more... but it’s too late now.”

“Katsuki”, you sign gently, “what… what is there even to talk about? I’m not sure if there’s anything I have left to say.”

“I-I guess I more have questions, what I need to do differently to keep you and-”

You blink at him, disbelief creeping into your chest. “You still don’t know what you’ve done?” It’s a sharp question, cutting through the silence between you, and you immediately regret the bite in your voice, a little anyway.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens, but he doesn't flinch. “Of course I know,” he says, the words coming faster now. “It’s the little things, okay? I didn’t mean to make you carry everything. But… yeah, I get it, I haven’t been there. Too caught up with work and all that shit. I see it now, and I know it’s been hard on you. I’m not just gonna keep letting you handle everything. I’m trying to be better. I want to compromise more, find a way to make this work, for us… for the kids.”

He takes a breath, his hands shifting, as if unsure where to put them. “I know I fucked up, alright? But I don’t want you to feel like you're doing this alone anymore. “

You exhale, the heaviness settling in your chest. You saw this coming, didn’t you? To anyone else, this might sound like progress, like an improvement. But compromise to the bare minimum? That doesn’t make you feel much better. Sometimes, it feels like your husband is just another roommate who’s behind on his chores. He can be so logical, even with love. You don’t want him to just get his shit together—you want closeness, ease, intimacy.

You love him, but maybe not in the same way you did before.

You look back at him, his eyes searching yours. For a split second, you wonder if you have the energy to let him learn you again, to try to rebuild something that feels so distant now. The thought crosses your mind, maybe it’s not about him changing. Maybe it’s already too late.

But that thought feels permanent, too heavy for today. You’ve already got enough weighing on you. So instead, you tell him what chores to handle, and he even makes a note of it on his phone. He tells you he’ll adjust his schedule, take the girls to school and daycare, cook on certain days, and work late on others.

You’re proud of him for trying, truly, even if it doesn’t fix anything.

He clears his throat, and you can tell he’s unsure about the next part. “I—I was also thinking we could do date night again. Every... second Friday? Kirishima said he could babysit.”

You don’t really feel it, but you nod, offering a small, neutral smile. “Okay.”“Okay, good.” He looks at you, waiting for something, but you don’t really know what he’s expecting.

You shift on your feet, “I’m heading to bed now.”

“Yeah, me too.” He hesitates, then adds, “Do you want me to sleep in the guest room?”

You hadn’t even considered it, but it doesn’t feel all that different to sleep distantly in the same bed as it would to sleep in separate rooms. You both already seem like strangers in a way.

“No, it’s okay.” For some reason he blushes, like he did when you first shared a bed so long ago.

When you finally find yourselves in bed, the room falls quiet, tension still lingering in the air. You turn off the light, rolling to your side, but even in the darkness, he stays sitting up, eyes on his hands.

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, speaking through the darkness. “I just want to say I’ve really missed you. So fucking much... and I really love you too. I hope you know that.”

For some reason, despite the hopelessness that’s been gnawing at you, the disappointment and harsh words, his words shatter something inside. The tears come, faster than you can blink them away. You try to sniffle quietly, to hide, like you used to when you’d cry yourself to sleep. But this time, it’s different.

He’s there, silently moving toward you, pulling you into his arms. His touch is gentle, almost tentative, but it feels familiar, comforting. He presses his forehead against your hair, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. Soft, light kisses dot your wet face, his touch warm and sincere.

“I love you so much, okay?” His voice trembles just slightly, a rawness in it you haven’t heard in a long time. “Nothing will ever change that. I-I’m so sorry I’ve even made you question otherwise, baby.”

He shifts you, carefully turning you to lie on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear. He exhales slowly, “I don’t want to be apart anymore,” he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. “I’ve been such an idiot all this time. Had such a beautiful woman in my bed, and not even treated her right. But that stops now. I promise.”

It’s still just words, and if this partnership is going to be for life, then it needs to be more than that. But you know that only time will truly tell. Maybe that’s the hardest part—to let time decide whether this can be fixed, whether there’s enough love left to rebuild what’s been broken. You wonder if you’re holding onto something that’s already slipped through your fingers after all.

Your body trembles against his, the sobs wracking through you in relentless waves, each one heavier than the last. Your breath stutters, catching in your throat as you try and fail to swallow them down. The tears don’t stop; they spill freely, soaking into his shirt, slipping past your lips as shaky gasps turn to quiet, broken whimpers.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything, just holds you, his grip firm but gentle, as if afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. He presses his lips against your hair, whispering something you can’t quite make out, his own breath uneven.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls at you, the weight of it dragging you under. Your breathing evens out, though the remnants of your tears still cling to your lashes, damp against his skin. And as your body finally surrenders to sleep, you dream—not of what was lost, or what still hurts, but of what could be.

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

thank you for 500 followers!!!! truly crazy, I want to do some more SMAU requests for the occasion, so send them in. Thank you for the support !

Hopefully i got everyone!

Silent Serenades

♔ An arranged Marriage with Duke Gojo ♔

♔ Pairings: Satoru Gojo x you - in this chap it's Satoru Gojo x mistress, Suguru Geto x you It's messy and will get messier :)

♔ Warnings: Mentions of sex, infidelity, mentions of past self harm, reader has an illness, mentions of eating habits, some descriptions of readers looks (not completely ambiguous) cruelty from Duke Gojo. OOC. So much ANGST. Gojo is TERRIBLE you're warned

♔ Word count this chap: 6.2 k

♔ Summary: you are the diamond of the season, he is the charming Duke, it’s the marriage of the decade. Prominent families joining, and it so happens that Duke Gojo is gorgeous. But, he doesn't want you, and now you're trapped in a loveless arranged marriage. Royal AU, dark bridgerton vibes, Cruel Gojo x reader. OOC Det in 1800s England. Gojo is awful at first, HEAVY angst Basically- Gojo is a royal dick and doesn't wanna marry you

♔Part One - ♔ Playlist ♔ Masterlist

Part Two

You’re sitting at the long, elegant breakfast table in the Gojo manor, cutting up a delectable crepe that you’d help make, just a week later. You’re blissfully alone, until you hear giggling down the hall, and it’s your ‘husband’ Duke Gojo, and one of his mistresses. She seems to be the main one he enjoys, a short little redhead who dresses most scandalously.

He pauses as he’s near the table, looking at you now. You elegantly dab the corner of your mouth with a napkin, smiling at them. “Hello Miss Catherine, would you enjoy breakfast?” You ask, earning Gojo’s icy blue glare, he just hates it so much when you offer in the morning.

“I cannot impose your grace, but thank you kindly.” She curtseys, and is flushed pink, you nod with a little smile, at least she had manners… aside from fucking your husband of course.

“Of course. I hope you have safe travels.” Her eyes glisten then, as she looks at Gojo, then at you, then down at her feet, wringing her hands.

“Thank you, your grace is far kinder than you should be.” She leaves then, excusing herself to Gojo, who comes and sits next to you, plopping down and glaring, long legs spread wide.

“Why are you so bloody cordial to her?” He demands, you just give him a look, pursing your lips.

“You want me to be rude to your lover? That would displease you.”

“But you’re nice… how-”

“I shall not displease you as a wife, even if I cannot fulfill all duties.” You turn your nose up then, tilting your chin up, feeling his glare bore through you as you bite another piece, moaning softly. His eyes drop to your lips, just staring, making you nervous. “Have something on my face?”

“Syrup, you’re quite messy.” You lick your lip then, and he’s glaring as if you’ve created such a transgression. “How can you be so nice!?”

“I’m stuck in this situation, miserable… Why be more miserable.” You mumble, then curse yourself internally, you’ve revealed too much. You clear your throat then with a little smile. “Would you like breakfast, dear husband?”

“I suppose, you’re over there feasting, going to have to tie your corset strings tight to accommodate.’ Your fork clatters to your plate then, gaze locking with his, and he’s raised a thin white brow.

“Eating is unattractive, perfect, I’ll continue on. I’m unattractive to you anyway.” You shove another bite in your mouth, closing your eyes and making a show of moaning in pleasure as you do.

“Everything you do is unattractive.” He quips, earning a quirk of your lips.

“Splendid, everything is in order then.” You brightly smile, hiding the intense pain you feel every day next to this cruel man. You will never allow him to see you weak, hurt, ever again though.

“I’ll have some, if it has you stuffing your face so. I don’t usually see you eat much.” He grumbles then, and you ring for one of the servants to bring more, asking her with a polite smile.

“True, my appetite is small usually.” You say, and soon a plate of crepes is in front of Gojo, and he cuts it elegantly, biting and chewing thoughtfully, before moaning, lapping up the cream on top with a tongue along his lip.

“It’s delicious. Thank the cook for me.” He says to the servant then, Gojo was actually very kind to them all, it’s only you who earns his ire.

“Your grace. It’s the Duchess who prepared this.” She curtsies then leaves, and Gojo scowls at you, those vivid blue eyes boring through your soul.

“You?” He speaks as if you've truly been doing something terrible. You can't stop your eye roll.

“Indeed. No worries, it's not poisoned.” You take a sip of your coffee, sighing as it hits your throat. You’re asthmatic and at times coffee is all that can help, it’s been flaring lately from all the upset of living with him.

“Why would you cook? You’re a lady, a duchess. Not a kitchen wench.” You scoff a bit, leaning back in your chair.

“I enjoy cooking, my parents allowed me to always spend time in the kitchens. Is this unacceptable as a wife?”

“I… I mean… no. I’ll not stop you from cooking.” He bites it again, sighing happily, long white lashes fluttering shut. “I’d prefer you as a cook than a wife.”

Ah, there it is, the knife twisting. Daily.

“I’m sure you would. I would also, then I could happily marry some baker somewhere, couldn’t I?” He’s back to scowling, hand taking the juice in his crystal glass and sipping, scowling over the rim.

“A baker over a Duke?”

“Indeed, anyone that looks at me kindly would do. As you look at Miss Catherine in fact. But she is beautiful, isn’t she?” You raise a challenging brow.

“Indeed she is.” He huffs, looking away then, snatching up a newspaper and pretending to read it. He does this every morning. “You think you’re so beautiful.”

“I think everyone is beautiful in their own way.” He peeks up, pursing full lips at you now. “I’m not beautiful to you, but I am to others. That’s fine for me. I do not presume such desire from you, and I never will. Even when we’re not having babies, and they ask. I assume you’ll have some with your very loud mistress.”

“I will not have babies with my mistress, blasted you’re a fool.” Satoru Gojo brushes his hair back now, frustratedly. “I suppose if we’re forced at some point…”

“I’ll just blame it on me. Don’t worry, we’ll never have to.” You sip your bitter coffee again as his lips part. “I’ll never force that upon you.”

“Well… I…” He looks flushed suddenly, not even meeting your gaze, throwing down his newspaper. “Good, we’re in agreement.”

“Indeed. How are those crepes?”

“Passable.” It’s such a lie, as his plate is entirely gone, but now that he knows it is you who made them, he can’t give you a compliment. “Lord Geto will be here tonight, he for some reason enjoys your presence.”

“Ah, I can’t imagine why. I’m so intolerable.”

“You’ve a smart mouth.”

“I’ll shut up then, your grace. I shall not displease my husband.” You sip your coffee again, and he’s sputtering.

“What’s wrong with you!?”

“A lot, apparently, according to you.”

“You act so bloody calm! Are you inept? I’m fucking her in the room right next to you, do you not hear?”

“I do indeed, it’s quite bothersome but as long as you’re pleased, husband.” That word spills like venom out of your mouth, for he should have never been so. “You’d have me be rude to sweet Miss Catherine?”

“I… you…” He stands then, knuckles gripping the table so hard they’ve gone white now. “Prepare a fine dinner, and I’ll be inviting Miss Catherine, so I’m not bored with you all night.”

“Oh, of course, shall I prepare her a dress too, your grace? I’m not sure she has anything elegant.” He throws his silverware to his plate, clattering, and you smile, sugary sweet up at him. “Am I overstepping? Of course you should buy her a wardrobe, worry not for me, I have my old things.”

“I’ll buy you a bloody wardrobe, you cannot go to the season in old gowns.”

“No need.”

“I will!” He steps up to you, and you feign confusion as he bends down, eyes drinking you in carefully, vermillion lips opening and closing. You see his pretty face far too close. How can someone be made so beautiful and be so cruel? “I’ll have you at the modiste tomorrow.”

“Should I bring Miss Catherine-” Satoru Gojo slams his hand on the table now, his other hand grabbing your chin.

“You feel nothing when I flaunt her? When I fuck her loudly? When I invite her to everything? When I touch her…” His caress sends shivers down your spine, as he holds your face like it's something delicate, when he so clearly hates you.

“Nothing, dear husband, why should I? You're not truly mine, just in circumstance.” You smack his hand down, smiling fake right up at him, watching his left eye twitch with anger.

“Do you feel anything or are you just this… shell of a woman.” You are making me this way to survive.

“Who am I but an obedient wife. I shall make sure Miss Catherine is so welcome, and Lord Geto.”

Satoru stomps away then, and you allow yourself to drop this fucking facade for just one moment, breathing in quick, shallow pants. You throw the warm coffee down your throat, coughing and rubbing your collarbone now, shaking as the emotions hit you so goddamn hard your throat is constricted.

“Your Grace…” Your Nanny has come now, you’ve loved her your entire life, she comes to caress your back so carefully. You inhale her familiar scent, sighing.

Watching you like this has been killing her, you know.

“Prepare a meal for Lord Geto and Miss… Catherine.” The name tastes like bile on your tongue, and you watch your Nanny’s own anger. “I’m fine, Nan.”

“It’s unacceptable, even for a Duke. I’m so worried…”

“Do not worry.” Though you barely want to wake in the morning. “I will be just fine, Nan.”

“Lord Geto adored you.”

You blink back emotion, feeling that tightness again. “I know.”

“Should you allow this and do nothing?”

“I… can’t stop him.”

“You could have happiness.” She whispers, holding your hands tightly. You look down at that, nervously, lashes casting shadows under your tired eyes. “I’ve overstepped.”

“No, no… I will think of that later. Let us prepare the staff.”

“Indeed.” She kisses your cheek, and you damn near cry from that, and then you go about your duties, as the Duchess.

The dinner that night was a grand affair, with the long, candlelit table dressed in pristine white linens, a bouquet of red and white roses in the center. The silverware sparkled, and the crystal glasses sang with the promise of fine wine. You had taken special care to ensure that every detail was perfect, from the delicate china to the scented candles that cast a warm glow over the room.

You had overseen every bit of the meal as well, and as Satoru comes down with Miss Catherine on his arm, even he pauses a bit. Catherine’s eyes light up. “This is so beautiful, your Grace!”

You give her a little nod of your head. “Thank you, I worked a lot on this, I hope it’s adequate, husband?”

He blinks a bit, for his manor had never been so spotless, nor had anything been set up so extravagant, but all he does is shrug one broad shoulder, wrapping an arm around Catherine’s waist. She did not wear a corset, she wore some looser dress that showed an insane amount of her bosoms, to the point it was obscene, but Gojo probably enjoyed it.

“It’s passable.” Catherine blinks up at him a bit.

“It’s beautiful!”

“Did I ask you?” He says tersely, removing his hand, and she just pouts a bit, wringing her hands in front of herself.

“Sorry your Grace.” He rolls his eyes, then takes in your outfit slowly, as if he was analyzing every bit of you. You were wearing a very beautiful crimson gown with beading on the square shaped bodice. You also had lace along the puffed sleeves, and it’s cinced in the middle tightly, making your waist look impossibly tiny. His look lingers on your bodice, at the hint of breasts pushed up in the neckline.

It was lower cut but nothing too revealing, and you had looked in the mirror and saw how beautiful you looked, though you knew you pale in comparison to anyone for your husband. So you did not dress for him, no, you dressed for your role, as the perfect Duchess.

“You look a vision if I may say, your Grace.” Catherine whispers, and you smile a bit at that.

“Thank you Miss Catherine. This was one of my favorite gowns. I hope it’s passable for the dinner?” You ask Satoru then, and his eyes are dilated now, as he slowly licks a glossy lower lip.

“Passable.” He manages, shrugging again, then pulling Catherine back against him, kissing down her neck.

That knife in your chest twists, as you realize you could look the most beautiful, hair perfectly coifed in ringlets, glittering rubies on your neck, rouge on your cheeks… it did not matter that you glitter under these chandeliers. You’re disgusting to him, he makes it so clear as he fondles Catherine.

The doorbell rings and you realize Lord Geto is here, and his arrival was like a breath of fresh air for you, his tall, commanding presence filling the room. His dark brown eyes light up when he sees you, coming over with a bottle of wine in his hands, he bends down and takes your bare hand, kissing the back of it. You feel Satoru’s angry gaze on you both.

“Thank you so very much, Lord Geto.” You whisper, feeling your cheeks heat when his eyes drink you in, his lips parting. His straight nose has nostrils flaring when he steps back and looks fully at you.

“Forgive me, you’re the most beautiful vision I’ve seen. I was left rather… well, stupid.” You giggle behind your hand at that, shaking your head.

“You go on too much.” You shove him playfully with a couple fingers, taking in his dark blue suit.

“You do go on too much.” Satoru says, and now Suguru takes in his friend and Miss Catherine, and his eyes go wide, darting between you and them.

“The fuck is this, Satoru?” Suguru says then, and Satoru pulls Miss Catherine up more to introduce her.

“My mistress. Say hello, Catherine.”

He scowls now, then looks back at you again. “Your mistress comes to dinner parties with nobility?”

Satoru scowls himself now. “It’s just you, Suguru, of course she can’t come to typical ones.”

“Just me… and that’s acceptable?” He gestures to her, and Satoru scoffs, as Catherine looks down nervously. “In front of your wife!?”

“She cares not. Do you, Duchess?” You sigh, putting on that mask you’ve used all week now.

“Miss Catherine is here every day. So… why not have her for dinner? Whatever pleases my husband.”

“What the actual fuck is happening here? Can’t even be discreet? What would your family think.”

“I care not what they think. Now, let’s eat, are you hungry love?” He cooes to her, and she nods, blushing on her pale cheeks. He leads her to the table and scooches her chair close, looking right at you as if hoping for a response, but you just clutch the wine bottle in your hand, smiling up at an appalled Suguru.

“Let’s sit, yes?” You say softly, and he sighs, nodding and coming to sit next to you, across from Satoru and his lover.

You played the gracious hostess, greeting them with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, a smile that further infuriates Gojo. He seems to hate how little you pretend to care, so you continue that way.

Suguru saw right through you though, his gaze was sharp as the first course was served, you felt his hand cover yours under the table. You tense a bit, at just how good it feels, to be touched, and how his big hand takes yours over. He squeezes just a bit, under that tablecloth, sipping wine with his other hand.

“You’re not okay with this. You can’t be.” He says softly, and you just shrug slightly, turning your hand and entwining it with his, and he sucks in a breath a bit, as his dark lashes lower over his eyes.

“I have no choice but to be.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“He said I’m disgusting. So.” Suguru glares now, his grip so tight you wince a bit, as he looks at his friend, who’s being fed by Catherine, she dabs his mouth with a handkerchief softly, giggling.

“You know that’s not true. So beautiful I couldn’t form a word.” You look down now, staring at an elegantly tied cravat.

“You were always too kind.”

“What are you two talking about over there?” Satoru asks, popping a bite of food into his mouth and chewing. You pull your hand away, even if he cannot see, earning a frown from Suguru.

“How beautiful the Duchess is. Don’t you agree, Satoru?” He asks, and raises a brow as Satoru glares at him, then at you.

“Passable.” He says for the third time that day. Or was it the fourth. “She’s of no interest to me, not my type. What’s it matter to you?”

“Perhaps you require spectacles if you think she’s not. Especially, and I mean no offense Miss Catherine, sitting next to her and finding her better company.”

“She’s beautiful, Lord Geto.” You say, earning his scowl, and Gojo’s, for what you didn’t know. And Miss Catherine is pouting.

“The Duchess is the most stunning lady, all of the Ton says so, they say it in every paper.” She says, and now Gojo is more annoyed clearly, slamming back the wine and having another poured by one of the servants.

“Thank you Miss Catherine.” You say, and Geto’s anger radiates through his body as he watches them, gulping down his own wine. “Lord Geto… tell me how you have been.”

He clearly didn’t wanna let this go, but he pushes it back, and now the conversation around the table flowed as smoothly as the wine, but you could feel the undercurrents of this tension. Miss Catherine giggled too loudly, and Gojo’s arm is around her shoulders, but his eyes are never leaving yours, as he caresses her bare skin and it makes you sick.

The meal progressed, with dish after dish parading out from the kitchen. The aromas wafted around the room, tantalizing everyone’s senses. Yet, you felt nauseous, unable to take a bite without feeling like you’d choke, throat feeling tight. Geto noticed, his gaze flickering to your plate with concern.

“You’ve eaten nothing, Duchess.” He says softly, and you try to take a little scoop of the soup apologetically.

“She ate like a pig this morning. So perhaps she tightened that corset a few laces tighter.” You put your spoon down, as you choke back emotion, hatred, but the tears begin to form, and Gojo looks down now, clearing his throat.

“You’re a fucking dick, Satoru. Please eat something.”

“No, he’s correct, I ate a lot this morning.” You take a sip of water now, as you blink back tears, and you fail at it, because everyone in the room watch them glisen under the soft lighting.

“You should eat, it’s very delicious.” Gojo says then, you are so confused you just stare at him. “The soup is very good.”

“The soup.” The man had basically told you to not eat, and now seems to feel bad perhaps? But it means nothing, his sad attempts at feeling sorrow for his miserable actions.

“I’ll refrain from making those crepes. So I should not lace so tightly.” You say instead, and Satoru won’t even look at you now. Catherine is a good bit heavier than you, so you can’t fathom what he means, as you’re not considered anything other than an ideal size to society. Even if you were heavier, you did not deserve such treatment, but he says nothing as Catherine wolfs down food..

It’s just you. He just hates you.

“The crepes were very good though.” His blue gaze hits you over his glass now, something in them you can’t describe, as you trail your slender fingers over the stem of your own glass. “Do not let me stop you from eating if you wish to.”

“I’ll do whatever pleases you, husband.” He reddens in the face, as you sip your wine, wishing you could throw it back, but you cannot, you’re a lady, aren’t you?

You tried to ignore the way Gojo’s fingers danced along Miss Catherine’s skin, but it was like a knife to your soul with every touch, as she’s so free and happy with him, and all you can do is sit stiffly, with your back straight, cutting your food just so. You have to be perfect. Don’t you?

Perfect.

Composed. You cannot lose that.

Stay calm.

As the evening grew late, and the wine flowed more freely, the conversation grew more heated. Gojo’s laughter grew louder, his jokes more crude, and Miss Catherine’s giggles more frequent. Geto’s eyes narrowed, and you could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. He leaned in closer to you, his voice a low murmur. “This isn’t right. You deserve better than this.”

“What I deserve is irrelevant. This is the hand I’ve been dealt, and I will play it as best I can.” You replied, your voice steadier than you felt. His legs spread a bit, and you flush as your thigh feels his well muscled one under the silk of your dress. He leans back, studying you with concern.

The dessert was served, a decadent chocolate torte with raspberry sauce that you had made from scratch. As you watched Gojo feed a piece to Miss Catherine with his own fork, you felt a strange sense of detachment. You were no longer the shy, hopeful girl who’d entered this manor, were you?

Perfect.

Composed.

Stay calm.

You were the Duchess now.

“This is so decadent, your Grace! What is this recipe?” Miss Catherine asks now, clearly drunk. You tense a bit.

“I made it.” The room is silent, and Satoru puts his fork back in a piece, looking at you for a moment, before feeding her another bite of it.

Something within you snapped. You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “Excuse me, I believe I need some fresh air,” you announced, your voice cool and collected. The room fell silent as you made your way to the doors, the fabric of your gown sweeping the floor behind you, softly swishing, as your slippered feet tapped on those marble floors.

Perfect!?

Composed!?

Your throat tightens as the night air meets you, and you inhale it greedily, crisp and cold, a stark contrast to the stifling tension of the dinner party. You stepped out into the garden, the very garden you’d first learned that your life was going to be miserable. If Satoru was anything, he was honest, as he had made sure to fuck whoever he wanted.

You just didn’t realize how much it was breaking you down. You shut your eyes, trying to focus on the calming scent of the blooming flowers and the soothing sound of the fountain. It’s running, splashing, and you focus on that sound, trying to let your mind go, to compose yourself.

Perfect…

Composed…

You want to punch him in the face, your nails are digging into your palms as you picture just that. Then you’d like to smack that smirk off his face, then turn and smack Miss Catherine too. Then, you’d like to-

“Duchess…” You gasp when you open your eyes, and Lord Geto is there, hands in his pockets, concern written all over his handsome face. His dark brown hair is long and silky, half put up, blowing gently in the breeze.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take it. I’m trying.” You speak through gritted teeth, stepping further into the gardens, into the night, with the moonlight shimmering down.

“How can you take it at all? It’s disgusting. I’m so sorry I don’t know what he’s even thinking…” He follows you until you reach a bench, and you gesture for him to sit with you.

“He told me on the wedding day he wants anyone but me. So, we have done… absolutely nothing. And… never will.”

Suguru sputters at that, before running a hand over his face. “Let me talk some sense into him, I-”

“No, no. I feel it in how he looks at me. I’m intolerable.”

“Intolerable!? You know better. You know how every lady wants to be you, how every gentleman wishes you were theirs.” He’s gripping your shoulders, bare where he touches, and you soak up the warmth, as you soak in his sweet looks, and you whimper before you can stop it.

“I’m so sorry!” You pull back, turning away then, burying your face in your hands, but he’s got a big hand on your waist now, and it feels far too good.

“Look at me, Duchess.” You tentatively look back, and find yourself face to face with Lord Geto, your husband’s best friend, but that was far from your mind, when he cups your face. It’s not like the cold grab of Gojo, it’s delicate, it’s sweet, and your eyes lock then. “You deserve so much better than this.”

“I do?” You ask softly, and he scoffs a bit, thumb brushing an errant tear that escaped away.

“No one deserves this, but especially not you. He hasn’t even…”

“Nothing. He said he would never.”

“So get an annulment then, if that is how he will be.”

“I can’t just do that! My family planned this all. I am stuck forever, alone and unwanted and…”

“You’re not unwanted.” His voice is husky, drawing your attention to him, as your own hand slides up his chest, up his stark dress shirt. “I’d make you feel so beautiful.”

“Lord Geto…” Your tears are falling pathetically now, you can’t stop them, and he’s got both his hands on your face, swiping them away.

“I can’t do what I want, but I assure you I want… a lot.” Vivid images fly through your mind, as your heart starts racing, pulse hammering in your throat. “But I will beg forgiveness for this, because I can’t have you thinking this way, I can’t see you suffering and not…”

“Not what, Lord Geto?” He leans even closer, your lips just barely not touching, and you can’t breathe for a moment, as you realize what is happening.

“Kiss you, show you how worthy you are. Will you forgive this transgression?” He asks, and you scoot even closer, nodding.

“Kiss me, please. Please.” He moans, his eyes fluttering shut, then his lips descend on yours, and it’s nothing like the cold peck Gojo gave you, it’s hot, demanding, eager. You whimper into the kiss, opening your mouth, and his tongue darts in, as his hands slide down your body, the sides of your breasts, awakening them.

“Is it too much?” He whispers, pulling back, and you shake your head, now you are pulling him by the lapels of his suit.

“No, no. I don’t know what to do. Your tongue…”

“I wish it could taste every bit of you.” Now you’re blushing in the night, as his big hands take over your waist. “I won’t get to, but let me show you how much I’d die to have a moment with you. Just move your tongue back?”

“Yes, yes.” He’s back kissing you, and your tummy clenches, this heat in your core you’d barely felt before, as you move yours back tentatively, and you feel his grip tighten, his exhale, as Suguru holds you with his big hands, as he kisses you so passionately.

You feel so desired, as he’s gasping, as he’s pulling you damn near in his lap, gazing at you then with dilated pupils when he pulls back. “Fuck you’re perfect… you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Lord Geto. Thank you.” You tentatively peck a kiss on his neck then, making him moan, the sound you’d heard from Gojo’s chambers. His arms gently push you back a bit though.

“I cannot stand how badly I want you. Now it’s worse.” He looks up at the sky for a moment, breathing then looking back at you, smiling softly. “There is life in those gorgeous eyes now.”

“Is there?” You ask nervously, Suguru kisses your forehead sweetly, trying to compose himself.

“Don’t let him ruin it. I’ll see if I can get him to stop this. I promise I’ll try.” Suguru is running his fingers across your jawline now, exhaling, his breath warm against your collarbone as he pecks a kiss there, shocking you. “Forgive me for this.”

“Nothing to forgive. I will not speak of it. It’s not as if… he is not all over another woman.”

“If I weren’t his best friend I’d be licking under your skirts.” You gasp, and he chuckles a bit. “Forgive that.”

“You aren’t such a gentleman, are you Lord Geto?” You ask, giggling a bit, fuck he makes you feel happy? Doesn’t he?

He helps you to stand now, holding your hands. “I’m trying to be. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t cheer you up. I know, I’ll come back soon with a gift.”

“You should do no such thing!”

“I will. And to check on you. Come, let’s go inside.”

Your mind lingers to that kiss later that night, when you walk by Gojo’s chambers, and he’s left them cracked open. You peer in for a moment, seeing Catherine on top of him, riding him and crying out, as his big hands grip her backside. He’s softly moaning, and then catches sight of you. You back away, but he says nothing, he just watches you as he fucks into her.

Right at you.

His blue eyes are vivid as they do, as he moans and pumps up into her, and you feel a horrible mix of feelings when you walk away, down the hall. Your lips still tingle with Suguru’s kisses, your body has reacted to him eagerly, but that cannot be. You can never be with him, you’re stuck here, alone.

But it has given you hope.

Suguru had talked to him and ended up in a huge argument in Satoru’s study, until Suguru had stormed off angrily, and Satoru had simply slammed the door after. You hadn’t heard much, but it was a lot of Geto telling him to treat you better, and Gojo not listening. You appreciate Geto’s effort, but there is no helping it.

Your Nan is brushing your hair, as you now have on a thin white night shift, and she bends down a bit, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You quite enjoyed Lord Geto, didn’t you?”

“Nan… yes. I did very much. But… he’s Gojo’s best friend. So nothing can come from it.”

“Did you all…”

“Kiss.” You squeal a bit, and Nan is smiling softly, hugging you gently around your shoulders. “It’s scandalous.”

“What’s scandalous is your husband having her at dinner. I am worried that if you find no comfort, you will hurt yourself.” She grabs your wrist, where there was a line, and she had found you that way, many years ago. You rub it softly, sighing.

“I will not, I promise Nan.”

Perfect.

Composed.

You must be this way.

“Do not feel bad for it, you do not deserve this treatment, what have you done to earn any anger, any cruelty? You’ve done nothing but be perfect.”

Perfect.

Composed.

“Perhaps you should go to the modiste tomorrow, get away from this…”

“Hell hole?”

She smirks at that, nodding. “That word, my Lady.”

“Indeed, getting out would not hurt. I will do so.” The door opens then, and Gojo stands there shirtless, earning a glare from Nan, who he grins at.

“I need to speak with my wife.” She curtseys, looking at you worriedly, but you nod at her, standing in the large, elegant room, and Satoru is walking to you as the door clicks shut.

“I’m sorry that I looked. I meant no disrespect.” You say then, and he crosses his arms, tilting his head as he looks at you.

“You’re apologizing for watching me cheat on you?” He demands, and you just nod, looking down.

“I know better than to.”

“Did you get curious?” His hand brushes back your hair, and you tremble, why don’t you hate his touch!?

“I suppose so. Not very ladylike of me.” His hands glide down your shoulders, and he’s even closer, his eyes swirling like storms in the night as his lids lower. He’s gleaming with sweat, with her all over him.

“I could be so convinced to show you things. If you begged me.” You slap his hand off then, glaring.

“I’ll never beg anyone. I don’t need to.”

“Oh no?”

“No, do you know how easily I could do what you do?” His eyes narrow, and he grips you tightly now, but you tilt your chin up, as your mind whirls with what Suguru had said. It’s as if it’s lit a fire, dim but there.

“Oh could you? You’re so conceited.”

“Me!? Me!? You!”

“You are!”

“You!” You shove him again, making him practically growl. “I let you fuck her anytime, I let her come to dinner, I’m doing everything perfect. Why do you insist on not leaving me alone?”

“You looked at me as if…” He trails off then, pulling your body against him, cool breath on your cheeks when he bends down. “You want me.”

“Fear not, I absolutely do not want you.”

He blinks as if you’ve hit him. Good.

“I was curious about the act, that's all. Perhaps I’ll find out on my own.” Now he’s squeezing you bruisingly, his chest rising and falling.

“Do you feel nothing at all!? Ever!? Are you made of ice?”

“You’re the cold one here, Satoru Gojo. Duke. What did I do to deserve any of this at all!”

“You didn’t…” He trails off, that same unreadable look on his handsome face, as he pulls back, releasing you. “I wouldn’t have done it, even if you begged.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Then we’re on the same page. I won’t watch again, perhaps shut the door?”

“Shut the door. That’s all you have to say.”

“Mmhmm, oh tell Catherine good night for me.”

Duke Gojo laughs now, but it’s without humor, running a hand through his snowy white hair, messing it up. “Tell her good night!”

“Indeed. If that’s all?” You tap your bare foot on the cold floor, crossing your arms under your breasts, and you struggle to stay calm as his eyes roll down your body. “What, need to tell me I got fat from a crepe?”

“You’re nowhere near fat, stupid girl.” Your head falls back a bit in surprise, and he looks surprised as well, sighing then.

“Are you apologizing?”

“No, just stating… that it was incorrect to suggest otherwise.”

“Oh.” You look at him in shock now, as he’s on edge, so tense you can feel it in the air of the room. “Thanks?”

“Thanks for what? I’ve done nothing to earn a thanks.” Satoru’s stance is defeated, as he turns away now, his fists clenched on his sides. “How do you remain so composed? So perfect.”

Perfect.

Composed.

“It’s not as easy as it looks, but it’s my duty as a wife.” You say softly, and his head turns, as you study the strong muscles of his back, wishing you did not find that attractive at all.

“You’ll go to the modiste tomorrow, yes?”

“I will if you wish me to, husband.”

“You do anything I wish.”

“That’s my role, your Grace.” He leaves then, pausing at the door to look back at you, opening and closing his mouth as if to say something, but then he just… leaves.

You take a shaky breath as you lay down on your bed, far too big for just one person, but that’s how it would stay. A momentary apology… well not an apology but a lack of cruelty… could not fix this. Suguru gave you no hope for Gojo, no it gave you hope that perhaps you could find happiness, even in this horrible situation, so that you don’t hurt yourself.

You rub that scar again, your past was not as perfect as many thought, but you are strong. You’ll do this.

As you slumber that night, it’s a mix of dreams, of Suguru kissing you everywhere, and you finding that same pleasure you watched Lady Catherine get. But, instead of looking down at Suguru’s handsome face as you ride him, he shifts, and now it’s Satoru’s pretty face under you. Hungry blue eyes, white hair falling over his brow, as he grabs your hips.

No, no, no.

You awaken in the middle of the night, and force yourself back to sleep, to dream of anything other than the cruel man in the next room. Must he not even allow you to have a bloody dream? Now in your slumber it’s another man, blond and tall… you can’t see his face, because he’s kissing down your neck.

Who is he?

Part three

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