Saichi

20

[buttercupbloomsstuff]

You didn’t hear him come in. One second you were scrolling absentmindedly through your phone, and the next, there were strong, warm arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

You froze, startled, until his chin rested lightly on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck, his grip firm but not crushing.

“…What the hell are you doing just standing here like an idiot?” he muttered, but his voice was low, almost… tired.

You turned your head slightly, catching the faintest flicker of something softer in his eyes before he looked away. “You good?” you asked quietly.

“Shut up.” He buried his face into your shoulder, holding you tighter, like if he let go, the world might just fall apart.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t his style to just… hug for no reason. But right now, Bakugou didn’t care. He just needed you close, no explanations, no teasing. Just you.

And so you stood there together, his heartbeat steady against your back, his scent familiar and grounding, the silence saying everything words couldn’t.

[buttercupbloomsstuff]

Bakugou was just looking for a damn pen. That was it. But when he pulled open the drawer on her desk, something caught his eye—a small, worn notebook, the cover fraying slightly like it had been opened and closed hundreds of times.

Curiosity tugged at him. She wasn’t the type to leave things lying around, so what was this?

He flipped it open.

The first page was dated four years ago. The handwriting was hers neat at first, then messier as if she’d been rushing to get the words out.

“Today, Katsuki walked me home in the rain. He pretended it was no big deal, but he held his jacket over my head the whole way.”

He frowned slightly, flipping to the next page.

“He didn’t yell at me when I messed up the recipe. He just sighed and ate the burnt rice anyway.”

And then another.

“Katsuki let me wear his hoodie today. He acted annoyed, but he didn’t ask for it back.”

Page after page, tiny, seemingly insignificant moments. The way he had brushed her hair behind her ear at a festival. How he’d stayed up all night when she was sick. How he’d carried her bag when she sprained her ankle, swearing under his breath the whole time.

His chest tightened. She’d written everything. Four years of them, captured in short bursts, sometimes just a sentence or two.

He didn’t even notice she was in the doorway until she gasped.

“Katsuki-!” Her eyes widened as she rushed over. “You weren’t supposed to see that-”

But he caught her wrist before she could snatch the book away. His voice was low, almost too soft. “You… kept all this?”

She looked away, embarrassed. “It’s stupid. I just… didn’t wanna forget the little things.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then let out a slow exhale.

“…You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, though his thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. He closed the book and handed it back, but his gaze lingered on her like he was seeing her for the first time.

That night, when she was falling asleep, she felt him shift closer, his hand finding hers under the blanket.

“Write this one down too,” he murmured. “The night I realized I’m not lettin’ you go.”

[buttercupbloomsstuff]

The rain hadn’t stopped since morning a steady, soft percussion against the dorm windows. You’d been curled up in Bakugou’s bed for hours, the room dim and warm, wrapped in his blanket and his scent.

You’d told him you should probably get up for class. He’d pulled you back down without a word, his arm tightening around you like you’d just said something ridiculous.

Now, your head rested on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. He was tracing patterns on your back slow, absentminded his breathing quiet and even.

“You ever think about… not having to leave?” he asked suddenly, his voice so low you almost thought you imagined it.

You tilted your head up to look at him. His eyes were on the ceiling, but there was something in his expression, something vulnerable, like he was afraid of the answer.

“Leave?” you echoed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, finally meeting your gaze. “When shit gets busy… or we graduate… or whatever. I hate thinking about you not being here.”

The words settled in your chest like a weight. You touched his jaw, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble there. “I’m not going anywhere, Katsuki.”

His eyes softened at your voice, but you could still see that tightness in them, that deep‑down fear he would never say out loud. Instead, he kissed you; slow, lingering, almost desperate.

It wasn’t just a kiss; it was something more.

By the time his lips trailed down your neck, your shirt was already pushed up, his touch reverent, almost trembling. He undressed you slowly, like if he rushed, the moment would shatter.

When he finally pushed inside, you gasped not because of the stretch, but because of the way he was looking at you.

Like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

His thrusts weren’t fast, but deep; deliberate; like he wanted you to feel every inch, every unspoken word. His forehead pressed to yours, and you could feel his breath hitch every time you clenched around him.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “It’s not just sex. It’s… fuck, it’s you. You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m not—” He broke off, swallowing hard.

You kissed him before he could finish, your hands in his hair, holding him like you could keep the pieces together.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, and the way he exhaled- shaky, almost relieved -made your chest ache.

“I’m not lettin’ you go,” he said, and you believed him.

When you came, your body curling into his. He followed moments later, groaning your name, pushing as deep as he could, holding you there as he spilled inside.

Neither of you moved for a long time. The rain kept falling, soft and steady, as he buried his face in your neck and whispered- so quietly you almost missed it-

“I don’t care what happens after this… just don’t leave me.”

And you held him tighter, promising silently that you never would.

[buttercupbloomsstuff]

Bakugou paced the room once, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like he was trying to talk himself out of saying something. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching him with raised eyebrows.

He finally stopped and looked at you messy hair, flushed face, and eyes dark with frustration. Not anger. Not with you. Just raw, throbbing need.

“I-fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Can you just... suck me off?”

You blinked, slowly. “That's how you ask?”

He gritted his teeth, clearly embarrassed, clearly desperate. “Please.”

That made you smirk. “Wow, Katsuki Bakugou begging for a blowjob? Didn’t think I’d live to see this day.”

He groaned, the tips of his ears turning red, but his eyes never left yours. “I’m serious. I can’t think straight, I need it ,need you.”

You stayed silent, watching him squirm under your gaze. He stepped closer, standing between your legs now, eyes pleading but his voice still gruff.

“I’ll do whatever you want after,” he said quietly, almost breathless. “Just... please, suck my dick. I’ve been hard since earlier and it's fuckin’ aching.”

You looked down and yeah, he was rock hard, straining against his sweats, leaking through the fabric. He wasn’t bluffing.

His fingers twitched at his sides like he was holding back from grabbing your face.

“C’mon,” he whispered, eyes softer now. “I’m begging you.”

You finally rose from the bed and tugged down the waistband of his sweats. He hissed softly, breath catching as his cock sprang free flushed, thick, and already glistening with precum.

God, it was pretty.

His shaft was long and firm, veins subtly trailing beneath the surface, leading up to the swollen, ruddy tip so slick it shimmered in the low light. A bead of precum welled up at the slit, slowly dripping down over his length, proof of just how badly he needed this.

You ran a finger along the underside of him, right over that sensitive ridge, and his entire body jolted. His legs stiffened, a sharp breath escaping his lips.

“Shit, don’t tease,” he gasped, his voice wrecked already. “It’s… sensitive today.”

You glanced up at him with an arched brow, amused. “Sensitive?”

He nodded quickly, his cheeks burning but his eyes desperate. “Yeah. I-I’ve been thinking about you all day. Didn’t touch myself, didn’t wanna cum without you. Just -fuck.”

“You’re dripping,” you said softly, stroking once, slow, deliberate.

His hips twitched as you wrapped your hand around the base, your thumb swiping over the leaking tip. More precum oozed out immediately, slick and warm in your palm.

“‘Cause I need it,” he choked out. “Please, baby… put your mouth on me.”