yandere ! fluffy BNHA headcannons (2023)

yandere !fluffyBNHA headcannons


goodiebag WARNING: heavy yandere-vibes, abduction, guilt, anxiety, profanity, drug mentions, Stockholm syndrome, pregnancy, implied DUBCON/NONCON


Time to prepare for fucking Ragnarok. He’s writing lists, buying everything on the lists twice over, reading books on parenting and raising children and quirk development and everything and anything to satiate his gaining anxiety. He’s pushing his darling to do several different cardio exercises, either walking about inside the house with him or even letting her go outside for fresh air and sun, always assisted by him of course, putting aside his normal fear of her escaping as his newfound paranoia of the baby not being healthy threatens the foundations of his fragile composure. He hires a personal trainer to teach them what they’re supposed to be learning in baby class, if they could go outside. He’ll even be contemplating letting the media know as so to avoid hiccups later down the road. Testing his darling from time to time to see if she truly has come to terms with their arrangement, finding that he’ll probably never be satisfied, never feel comfortable enough to allow her back into the real world.

Other than that, he’ll be at his darling’s beck and call, so much so she doesn’t even have to ask for anything before he’s there with the exact thing she needs, even at times she doesn’t even know what she needs. And he’ll definitely be fidgeting when he’s not able to make her comfortable. Foot-rubs and messages are never ending, he’s cooking all the food from scratch with purely organic vegies and fruits and wheats and grains and strictly no candy or anything considered slightly unsafe for either her or the baby to consume, that also means no TV or screens of any kind. She’s never been allowed cigarettes or anything of the sorts, so that window has already been checked, but all alcohol is also stripped from the house now as well and of course those sleeping pills he would sometimes take advantage of when he had no other choice.

Katsuki is slightly freaking out on the inside, wanting to pull his hair out, pick at his scabs, bite his nails…. but, he’s keeping himself in check to support his darling. He’s adamant on the fact that nothing will go wrong with this pregnancy and he’ll soon have a little, squishy, bubbly, bundle of firecrackers running around the house. He can sense happiness just around the corner, but it’s a sharp turn, he’s afraid they might just skew off into some unknown territory where he has no chance of getting back on the road again.


Dabi is in full on freak-out, suddenly looking at his hands as though they are knives. How can he ever raise a child? Will the child be like him? Oh, how he hopes, prays, screams at whomever out there’s listening, that the child’s more like his darling than like him. That the child is feather-soft and pretty-eyed and has a heart of daisies and not made up of scars and callouses and bitterness like him. But… it’s really up to him what their child becomes. That’s his responsibility. His job to not allow the flames of childlike wonder to snuff out, his job to keep them alive.

What if they get hurt? What if his mishaps get them hurt? What if he hurts them? Besides… they cannot possibly live here, in this dump of a villain base. That’s no place to raise a child. A child needs friends, other children to play with. A child needs a garden, where they and their friends can play. A child needs to feel safe. A child needs to be able to look out a window at night and see the moon and stars and to see the sun wake up in the morning. A child needs to go to school. A child needs to run and bike and scrape their knees on the sidewalk only to come home and have their wounds cleaned and band-aided, only to go out and do it all over again. This is what a child needs to not end up like him.

He buys a house. A nice house, with a white picked-fence and a lawn and a cherry-tree where he hangs up a swing. His darling loves it, she spends most of her time out in the garden, in the sunlight, smiling, glowing. It feels nice. It feels harmonic. They have a kitchen now, but Dabi doesn’t know how to make any type of food sept for cup-noodles, but his darling is eager to teach him. She’s so sweet. She’s always been sweet and soft and too bright for the dusty room-complex he’d kept her locked up in for so long. But in this lighting, in this setting, in this life he’s finally decided upon, she looks like she belongs. He can’t say the same for himself. When he pictures the future, he sees his darling and their child out on that swing he put up, but he doesn’t see himself. He doesn’t deserve this, not when he’s so sure he’s going to have it all destroyed. His darling is a good but bittersweet reassurance, how she hugs him close, kisses him so softly he nearly forgets how many people the same hands wrapping around her small breakable body has killed.


Confusion. It’s strange but the whole affair leaves him feeling younger. Too young. The things he doesn’t know, the unprepared oblivious state leaving him at an utter loss. He’s just not ready for this, he’s unsure if he’ll ever be ready for this. He’s never pictured himself in the scenario. Never once humoring the idea, but now that it’s being shoved at him whether he wants it or not, he has to simply accept it. He barely knows up from down as time passes. Leaving him stating the obvious to thoroughly grasp the situation without letting it slip. His darling is pregnant. He’s going to be a father. A father. Dad. The word barely making sense to him as he rolls it around on his tongue.

He’s having a kid… half the time he still feels like a kid himself. Throwing fits, playing games, eating trash. But… maybe that can be a good thing. Maybe his fits will subside in the fresh light of an infant’s earth-shattering cries and wails and screams, his infant, his child. Maybe it’ll be good for him to finally learn a few things, maybe he’ll grow up just a little bit. But only a little, playing games is something he can do with a kid. Besides, kids eat trash too. He doesn’t have to give up everything, or… at least not forever. How long does it take before kids become mobile enough to hold a controller?

It’s going to be somewhat of an adventure. It’ll be somewhat pioneering in a sense. Not in the way of planning a new attack or kidnapping or planning someone’s death, but planning someone’s life instead. He’s created life as opposed to what he always does with those hands of his. He’s created life, he’ll have to take care of a life, care for a life, send that life into the world so that it’s not just alive but living. It’s humbling in the same way it’s glorified. So much responsibility. Life suddenly feels longer, eventful, important, dutiful and not just his playground, not just his blood-field, not just something to watch burn, but something to better.


Oh no. A baby? He’s not prepared for this. He’s so used to things being avoidable, or delayable at the least, this isn’t avoidable, this is happening whether he wants it or not, sooner than he can control. That stresses him out more than anything, the state of not having any control over the situation, leaving him frustrated, sporadic, afraid. He suddenly knows nothing about anything, his mouth is constantly dry, and he finds himself thinking of how strange and heavy the weight of his tongue feels to distract himself from the mess he’s created. And the only reason to it being a mess is because he has no idea how to protect everything from breaking into shambles. That’s more or less what breaks him the most, knowing how he’s most likely the one to ruin everything, that failure will probably be his fault.

He manages to calm down somewhat. His darling, in all her natural maternal feline instincts knows more or less what to do and how to do it, not really needing Hitoshi to provide her with anything on his own but what she tells him to do. And, despite needing to constantly hold the reigns, Hitoshi’s surprisingly glad or relieved more than anything, that his darling took the wheel so effortlessly. God knows he had no clue what to do. But, he has questions; bundles and mountains of inhuman questions. How many kids do Neko’s usually produce, when normal kitty litters sum up to nine kittens? Can he take care of nine kittens?! His darling doesn’t have nine nipples so he guesses that doesn’t make much biological sense. What else: how will a mini version of him look like? What more: what will a mini version of him with a cat’s features look like? Lastly: how does he feel about that?

He’ll help in the ways he still knows how. Cleaning makes up for most of it, since food has never been his specialty and now that food is significantly more important, he lets his darling control that too. Messaging and petting and cuddles making up for the rest of his helpfulness, which often gets frustrating for the both of them, given that they’re used to a certain spontaneous erotic lifestyle that now is out of reach.


Satisfaction. Finally, his little songbird needs him. Soon she’ll barely be able to walk on her own, she’ll need him for everything, be completely dependent on him, no longer in position to afford scowling at him or barking or biting or scratching or screaming. Knowing how something very soon will take her place in those extremities, and how they both will be exhausted and on the same side for once. He’s got it all figured out, he’s going to take a couple years off, to stay on with birdie number one and birdie number two. The days will be short but buzzing, between breakfast and collapsing into bed with his darling once the hours run to a close, waking up to screams that seem so welcoming and not at all like the onset of death as other parents make it out to be.

He can see it all so clearly. Soft-tinted days of baby-food and building-blocks and flying lessons, their baby with either his inherited crimson wings or his darling’s coat of pearl-white angel-feathers, perhaps a mix of both, how their little angel will fly from his arms to his darling’s arms, falling at times, but learning and prospering, becoming the embodiment of greatness. He can’t help but wonder how beautiful their child will become, being the product of himself and his darling, they’ll probably look godsend or like an actual god on earth. Wondering if they’ll have golden hair and golden eyes like him or satin hair and doe-eyes like his darling, how a mix of the two of them could be called perfection itself.

But, first things first. He doesn’t have time to humor his daydreams too much, never mind how tempting when they’re so close he can almost taste them. His darling needs him more than whatever imagines he conjures up. His instincts kick in, yet his humanity has last say in most of the decisions he has to make. The nest not being made up of sticks and mud like he was gravitating towards, but of pillows and blankets and plushies. Food not being made up of worms and insects but human cooking instead. Other than that he’ll stay in bed with his darling, stroking her feathers and feel her relax and stretch each time he hits a particular soft spot, listening to that special type of moan he’ll argue is the softest sound in the world.


It’s cute of her to think its big news. It’s cute to watch her walk around pondering, wondering what’s wrong with her. Why her breasts are larger, sensitive, tender. Mistaking her morning sickness, rushing to the bathroom gulping, for being under the weather. Silly little thing, even more so with her pregnancy brain, walking around all cute and clueless. He enjoys the show, strokes her hair in a petting fashion, smirk irked in the corner of his lips and though it was small it spoke volumes, but what surprised her even more wasn’t the condescension she was met with but how relieved she felt upon understanding he had everything under control, something she used to hate, now feeling like a blessing, knowing how she was in… not exactly good hands… but something like it, something more capable than hers.

He is so prepared it borders on ridicules. It’s strange, for as long as she’s known him he’s always been so sure of himself, but now, glimpses from his youth shine through his composure of self-confidence. He’s nervous. The old rebellious her would poke fun at him, but she evolved, she’s survived, and she knows better. Besides, if he falls apart, what’s then left for her to do but follow suite? The new her comforts him with what she knows is true, having learnt that he doesn’t appreciate lies either. She tells him that he’s far away from his own father, because she knows that he will never leave her, soon to be them, as she stroked his unruly hair, kissed his forehead, squeezed his hand, smiled, told him that she loved him. And again, he knew before her that she meant it, she’d understand some time later that her dependence and his guidance created perfect symbiosis, equaled love, just like he had predicted.

The baby is the last of the puzzle-pieces, everything finally falling into place. She’s able to see him as more than something to fear like god, but as something human, as he rocks their baby in those massive scarred arms of his, his smile not nearly as unsettling as she once found it, but warm. And Izuku will finally see his darling as more than something to protect and to keep, something more than to love, as she bounces their child on her knee, that glow she used to have returning, he’ll not just see something to take, but something he already owns, as though some fog has lifted, he’ll feel proud, he’ll feel respect, he’ll feel happy, and he can say that it was all worth it and she can say that she forgives him.


Kai seems unfazed. It’s a lot to wrap one’s head around. He treats it awfully alike one would handle a business deal. Weighing the pros and cons and benefits and payments. Bringing a life into the world, a life that’s partly your own and partly the one you love. Does it mean he will love their spawn just as much as he loves his darling, that seems hard to believe. Does it mean he has to, that he’s expected to? Will his darling love the baby more than him? He heard that the love found between mothers and their children is insurmountable. Will he have to separate them to get the attention he needs? Will that make her hate him again? Will she perhaps love him more, now that the product of their love has come to fruition?

There are so many variables, so much to consider, and so painfully little time to get it all sorted out. He’s exhausted and on the border of grossed out. Between morning sickness and unpredictable mood-swings. He heard pregnant ladies are supposed to glow, he doesn’t see it. Don’t get him wrong, he thinks his darling is beautiful, but… she’s huge. He thought she was clumsy before, but damage was at a minimum when she was practically half his size, now she’s like a walking wreaking-ball. He can’t imagine how she will ever be able to… deliver something that seems to be taking half of the space inside her. He’s actually feeling anxious about the whole ordeal, trying to suffice his growing fears in a search for pregnant-aiding quirks.

And don’t get him started on the pregnancy brain. It’s not just her limbs that are everywhere at once, her brain is scattered like the aftermath of a shotgun, she barely pays him any mind anymore. All those hours spent teaching her proper manners, seems wasted and forgotten now, seeing how she eats like some animal then falls asleep, snoring with no thanks to spare him. He feels neglected to say the least and he can’t help but dread the time the baby actually comes around, knowing how the event will grant him no more attention than what he’s given now, probably robbing him of even more time with his precious darling.


He’s not leaving his darling’s side for a second. She’s holding his baby, possible babies, carrying them inside her belly, keeping them safe, so of course he needs to keep her safe too. Safe and comfortable and loved. He holds off on the unorthodox play until after the birth and probably sometime past it as well, no punishments than can cause stress, no fun and games and edge-play, nothing but soft touches, nothing but pillows and blankets and rosehip baths and soppy romantic films, cuddling, messages, words that are too sweet it almost becomes lifedraining. He’ll be so doting, so feather-light, she’ll nearly beg for him to give her just one measly frostbite burn, just one scorch-mark, but he won’t answer her prayers. They will be doing nothing that can cause duress, nothing at all.

He’s in such mission-mode. More so than when he’s actually on a mission. This happening, this great chapter in their lives, this beginning of new life, seems so severely more important than anything else the world has to offer, nothing can distract him, no grade A villains, no threats to the world, no matter how much a friend or family member might need him, this pregnancy is paramount. He’s not going to put anything before his darling or their little bundle of joy happily coming to life inside her, blooming with potential. He’s not going to mess everything up like his father did, he’s adamant on not letting that happen. He’s going to be good. Everything’s going to be good. Happy. Perfect.

The only other thing he does, next to doting on his darling, is thinking and humoring what type of father he’s going to be, what type of father he should be, what type of father he has to be. Should he be strict, pushing his child to achieve greatness, milking their potential until they drain? Should he be liberal, letting his child run their own show, chase their own dreams no matter how wrong a path it seems? What did he want as a child?… Love. He wanted love. He wanted to be listened to, to be heard, to be helped. He wanted a friend, not just a teacher. He wanted to feel safe. He knows what type of father he wants to be, but… he knows it won’t be easy, it’s not meant to be easy, but he’s not one to back away from a challenge.


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