drunk walk home - katsuki
tags: fem!reader, friends to lovers, angst sorta, fluff, honey is a replacement for y/n, smoking, drinking ig
w/c: 8.6k
a/n: reupload of an old katsuki fic, idk im tired and i just needed this out of my drafts enjoy x
Nylon digs into your shoulder with surgical precision, the plastic determined to saw your arm from your body with each swing and bump against your hip. The dredging had started two minutes into the fifteen it took to reach the bus stop and would continue through the five it took to walk home. Your breath curls in the night sky, the sunny autumn days making way for colder nights that have you dreading the coming of winter if the single-digit temperatures of late October are any indication of the future forecast. You miss summer, miss the long days and short nights where even if you wanted to walk home closer to midnight than eight pm, there would still be people out enjoying the warmth even as the sun set. It's too cold now and too late to be walking home alone, but the price of a taxi is not one you can afford. You had already made the difficult to decision to get lunch instead of topping up your travel card (a decision you will hopefully be able to weasel your way out of with a few fake tears thrown at the bus driver who will feel enough pity for you, he’ll let you ride for free) It’s not as if you’re bad with money, its just that your job is underpaid, your rent overpriced and with finals coming up, you had to take less of those underpaid shifts in turn for passing the classes that took a reasonable chunk of your cheque to pay off. Most weeks, you never see the measly amount that is deposited into your account, too quickly taken out by bills and whatnot, and when you do look, you’re lucky if there’s anything left.
The phone in your pocket buzzes, and you hope it's not a text from your provider, reminding you of the upcoming bill.
The grind truly never stops.
It buzzes again. You should fish it out and see who it was, to check that it isn’t your mother or your boss or someone important enough to text so late. It’s the third and last buzz that has you pulling it from your pocket, the screen too bright for the late hour.
Can’t pick u up, sorry babe. Busy. Gym.
The name of your situatuionship blinks at you with an answer to a question you had asked when the sun was still up. A desperate plea sent out into the ether in hopes that he liked you enough to make that ten-minute drive and make your life a thousand times easier.
The screen flashes again.
Actually can u come over now?
Black fills the screen, the text disappearing with it. Blood that had once been boiling as you raced up the hill to the bus turns to ice, your stomach hollowing out as you wake the phone once again, thumb hovering to open the chat. You should tell him to fuck off, to go to the depths of hell, block your number and never, ever, text you again. You should tell him that he is a pathetic man child with nothing to offer other than muscles and a semi decent dick, that he makes your insides turn over themselves whenever you think of him, but that last part isn’t true and the first part is enough to keep you around, so instead you opt to ignore, to slide the phone into the hidden compartment of your bag and trade it for the packet of strawberry menthol cigarettes you kept on hand for emergencies. (emergencies being one too many shots at the bar, a rough shift, or anything that required you to not think for a moment) The filter slides between your lips as you fumble around for a lighter.
“Hey, do you need a ride?"
A man’s voice has you pausing your search.
A black sedan idles at the curb meters from you, the engine a smooth hum in the quiet night. It’s not a car you recognise.
You turn away from the road, teeth biting down harder on the soft cotton, fear beginning to prick the back of your neck as another muffled shout is hurled at you.
After the fuckass shift you had just had, covered in god knows what and sweating beyond belief, why do you have to deal with a man? Why is there a man mere meters from you, desperately trying to get your attention? You know why, there is no other reason but for one second, one measly second, you wish the universe would grant you a break. A huffed breath leaves through your nose as you begin to walk away, pace quicker. You know basic self-defence, having been taught all those years ago alongside your classmates, but it has been well over half a decade since you could recall any intricate moves beyond a quick punch and escape.
Another shout, this time louder and wholly recognisable.
Your feet freeze at the voice.
"Bakugou?" His name is muffled around the cigarette hanging from your lips.
You squint against the overhead light, hand coming up to shield the glare to get a better look. The prohero sits in his car, forearm propped against the console as he leans over to the passenger side. It had been years since you had last spoken to him, something long ago at your high school graduation, and sure, you both go to the same university, and your friend groups are a Venn diagram; the chances to speak to him are very far and few between. He never comes to parties, and when he does, he’s gone by the time you muster up enough courage to say hey, on campus he’s always busy with Midoriya or Kirishima. One time, you were behind him at the corner store late at night, and you could have said hi, struck up a conversation there and then, but you were a little plastered and decided against making a fool of yourself.
Your stranger scoffs. "Who else would it be?”
“Some crazed killer trying to lure me into his car!?” you shout, voice pitching up an octave as your heart begins to race for another reason. The cigarette is pulled from your teeth, balanced between two fingers. “You can’t just pull up to a girl on the street and scream at them!"
"You think I’m trying to lure you into my car and kill you?” Bakugou sighs, exasperated at a situation that is entirely his doing.
“How was I to know it was you? I don’t know your car.”
“Well, now you know it’s me. Do you need a ride?” he repeats, tone bordering on irritation.
You shake your head. “I have a bus in five minutes.” You look down at your phone.
Technically, eight minutes.
“I'm going home.” You answer plainly, hoping your idiocy is enough to deter him. You know, stupid people piss him off, so why not play the part to get what you want?
“Where is home, idiot?” Bakugou comes to a stop, the crank of the handbrake pulling up as he parks.
God, he is persistent. At any other point in time, you would have jumped at the chance to spend a few minutes alone with Bakugou Katsuki. The man is a god amongst your peers, with a physique and a complex to match, but you are in no state to impress, especially not in your stained, smelly uniform.
“I’m catching a bus; I promise I am okay!” You attempt to shoo him away, bus card held high in the air, but it does nothing to deter him.
“I’m not letting you catch a bus this late at night; get in the car."
"No, Bakugou, I’m fine! I live too far from here, and there’s a bus in five minutes!”
“Get in.” Katsuki commands, reaching over the console to open the passenger door.
He rolls his eyes at your protest.
“Get in the car, or I’ll put you in myself."
Your breath leaves you in a jagged exhale at the thought of Katsuki manhandling you. It shouldn’t stir up as much as it does, heat blooming low in your gut and head swimming slightly as blood rushes to your cheeks. Sure, he is hot, so fucking hot, but he’s leagues above you in everything, so even if you sit in his car all stained and stinky, you aren’t really risking anything, right?
You weigh up the outcomes of the chances of waiting him out long enough to sprint for the bus and hopefully never see him in the halls on campus, but from what you know, from what you remember of your friendship in high school, he is a determined individual and will probably follow you bus home or some other bullshit idea.
Glancing up, you find Katsuki standing and waiting on his side of the car. Jaw clenched and eyes blazing with very clear frustration, you watch as he drapes his arm over the door frame. Jesus Christ, he is hot.
"In. Now.” he points at you, ringed fingers glinting in the low light.
You bite the inside of your lip, metal filling your mouth. If anyone else had demanded something of you in the way he just did, you would have walked away, finger held high as you shouted obscenities, there is no world nor universe in which you allow a man to tell you what to do, except maybe this one, where the man yelling at you is less of a man and more of a mythical being who had plagues your thoughts every now again. It isn’t a crush. A crush implies you have emotional feelings towards him, think about him, want to date him; what you have is a bit more complicated. Childhood crush coupled with adult attraction turned the yearning into a sad, horny, unrequited mess that you do not deal with until you dream about him or see him or talk to him, and then you're just left sad, angry and really turned on.
“Honey..” Katsuki drawls, pulling your attention once again.
“Can I at least give you money for the trip?” you begin to bargain, fingers reaching for the small wallet hidden in your bag.
His face crinkles in disgust, lip curling back ever so slightly as he shakes his head and grunts out his answer.
A deep breath has you calming your thundering heart. The car is nice. All black leather interior and spotless. Not a speck of dust or dirt on the floor or dash, the only things indicating it isn’t a rental being the Allmight freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. You slide along the seat, carefully placing your bag at your feet so as not to get any of your work grime on the pristine floor mats. The unlit cigarette was shoved hastily into the front compartment, and you hope to god it would not crumble and spill out.
“What are you doing?” Katsuki’s voice has you startling slightly, fingers twining with each other.
“Sitting?” You look down at yourself. Sure, it may not be the most comfortable position sitting on the edge of the leather, but at least the car would be clean when you leave.
“Like a freak,” he scowls, eyes sliding to you for a second before his attention shifts back to the road. “Can you relax, please. I haven’t kidnapped you.”
With a shaky exhale, you attempt to release the tension in your shoulders, shuffling your hips in your seat in a show of adjusting your posture. When you finally settle and look back at your driver, you find him already staring at you, left eyebrow raised in confusion.
“Better?” you offer, hands splayed out palms up.
“Much. Now you’re not gonna look like I've abducted you if we get pulled over.” Katsuki huffs a laugh as he flicks on the turn signal. You watch him turn back to look over his shoulder, checking for a clear moment to merge out.
“Are you planning on getting pulled over?” You also check the rear window, a habit developed long ago from your mother.
“If.” Bakugou turns back to you and reiterates with a hiss. “Do you hear every second word, damn.”
“I do actually. It’s a quirk of mine. Can’t believe you’d point it out like that as if it’s inferior to yours.” You’re quick to reciprocate the jab, crossing your arms over your chest, the faux offence obnoxiously obvious.
Katsuki actually laughs at that. Short and clipped, but a laugh nonetheless.
“You haven’t changed.” his tone shifts, softer than before, as his attention returns to the traffic.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?”
You watch as he strains his neck, the muscles in his arms and shoulders pulling with each stretch.
“You’re still the same annoying smart ass you were in high school.”
He pulls out into the gap, the motion effortless and smooth.
He remembers you? Sure, High school ended a few years ago, but you two hadn’t been close friends since grade ten, nine even. Before you had decided to use your quirk as a medic rather than a hero, life had pulled you in different directions. It had to have been ten plus years since you had a meaningful conversation, so for him to remember you. Your heart tugs at that.
“Aww, you remember me?” Sincerity turns into sarcasm in the form of self-defence. If you are not vulnerable, you cannot be hurt.
“Yeah, we were friends. Why wouldn’t I remember you?” ” Katsuki turns his gaze to yours, vermillion eyes catching yours, and for a brief moment, you think you see the slightest hint of affection before he blinks and it’s gone.
You shrug, lips tilting up in a smirk. “I don't know, Big man Bakugou, you know. Meets a lotta’ people”
“Never call me that again.” He snorts.
“I’d always remember you.”
The confession comes out quieter in an attempt to slip between the beats of the radio and the purr of the engine, and for a moment, you think you might have imagined it had it not been for the slight shift in his posture. The minute tightening of his arms, back aligning a hair’s width straighter, fingers clenching the wheel, all minor movements but enough to tip you off to the sudden change in mood, and you’re about to say something, to make the slight awkwardness he is feeling a little better with something just as heartfelt, but you are interrupted by him clearing his throat.
“Gimmie your address, I don’t know where I’m going.”
You flip your phone over, quickly opening up the navigation app as you morph into your role as navigation officer, but Katsuki is stopping you with an annoyed tsk.
“Just put it on my phone; I can’t handle people telling me directions. I need to see it.” His phone is shoved in your lap before you can register her has even moved, the code to his screen shared in a single breath.
You stare at the simple black case.
Katsuki repeats the code in case you hadn’t heard him or he had spoken too fast, but even after the numbers are repeated, you don’t make a move. Not out of fear or anything sinister, but at the embarrassment and awkwardness that had flooded your body the second Bakugou had handed you the phone. He, a man you had not said more than three words to in years, had oh so casually given you the passcode and free rein of his phone. There had been no apprehension when he had tossed the device, no stuttering over bullshit excuses or frantic attempts to hide evidence, just unrestricted access. It’s a painful reminder that the men in your dating life are cheating, lying losers. Your stomach sinks, hurt beginning to gnaw at your gut, the tension in your jaw keeping the frown away as you hurriedly punch in the code, the screen lighting up with a picture of him and his friends as his home screen.
It had to have been taken years ago, judging by the length of Kirishima’s hair. You had been a part of that group once, would have slipped between Denki and Mina to smile for the photo, but life doesn’t always work out, and you never would have made it as a hero, your quirk far better utilised as support. Your chest aches for a different reason now, but you’re quick to type in the address and replace the phone on its perch next to the steering wheel.
A heavy silence fills the car, neither of you knowing how to start a conversation. You should thank him again or ask about his life, strike up a meaningless conversation about his work, how different being a pro is to training but each time you think you’re ready to speak, your brain fizzles and the words die on your tongue.
Bakugou’s shaky inhale pulls your attention.
"Did you-” Katsuki clears his throat before continuing. “ Do you not have- I uh- thought, maybe, shouldn’t your boyfriend be picking you up?” he stutters through the sentence, words and voice failing him too many times for it to be casual.
The stammering is incredibly out of character.
“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” Your query has you narrowing your eyes at your driver.
Where had he gathered this information?
“The guy? The other week at Denki’s?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Your skin begins to tingle with nervous energy.
Your fingers twitch, the synapses in your brain firing at the mention of your long-term, low-commitment casual boyfriend. For a moment, you had forgotten about the absolute prick in your phone, his texts long swiped away. For a second, you were no longer just a body to be used and discarded, but someone of memory, or value, worthy of sentiment and kindness and not just a pat on the head and kiss on the cheek as he leaves. There was no hand on your thigh or at the back of your neck, pushing your head down as he drives, because he just can’t wait to get home. You were just a friend, sitting beside another friend, talking and laughing, a human beyond your body.
“Nope. We weren’t, well, aren’t, dating.”
“Aren’t?” Katsuki presses, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “As in you are still seeing him?”
A frown pulls at the corner of your lips. “Yeah.”
Bakugou huffs a breath out, eyes flitting over to you for a quick second before returning to the road, but in that moment, you are sure you see pity simmering beyond the hard boredom he schools his expression in.
“I’m fine, it’s a mutual thing. I knew what I was getting into when we started, and it works, you know? We both have needs, but he doesn’t have the time, so it’s beneficial.”
Katsuki laughs through his nose, mouth pulling into a sardonic smile.
“You tryna convince me or yourself there?”
You can’t help the huffed laugh that frees itself from your chest.
He shakes his head, bottom lip caught between his teeth in an attempt to stop a smirk.
“Bakugou, what is it?” You press on, turning in your seat towards your driver. “If you have something to say, go ahead. You’re not the first and most definitely won’t be the last.”
Another shake of his head. The muscles in his jaw flutter as his smile falls.
“Since when are you someone who holds back on sharing your thoughts?” You nudge him with a soft shove to his bicep. The muscle doesn’t move against your assault.
You shouldn’t be pushing, you should know better with his track record of being able to verbally eviscerate someone with a single sentence, but something pushes you further. Maybe it’s the self-destructive nature of wanting to ruin any pleasant moment with a man, so there would truly be only one option: to keep your standards low and nonexistent so that there would be no questioning of your decisions, your own self-preservation, not wanting to look back on your own shitty actions that have led you to this moment, your own inability to admit defeat. Or maybe you push because part of you, that small desperate part that is wishing Katsuki would turn around and confess to feelings he’d been hiding for years, that he had been there this whole time, and your self-imposed suffering was worth something beyond mediocre sex.
“I don’t think I like this quiet version.” The laugh is hollow as you turn back towards the road, arms crossing over your chest. “Who are you and what have you done with Bakugou?”
It is a joke, a jab intended to make him laugh along with you, but it does the complete opposite.
“Me?” Bakugou turns his full attention to you, vermillion eyes seething as he spits. “Who are you?”
His voice rises, tone inching on disappointment as he continues. “What the fuck happened to you? Where’s the girl I knew who didn’t take shit from anyone and who sure as hell wouldn’t be someone’s casual fuck.”
A lump forms in your throat, mouth curving into a frown at his disapproving tone. It is completely involuntary, a response hardwired in your brain from a young age. It’s half the reason you left your hero dreams behind. You’ve never been able to handle disappointing people, falling below their expectations, or not reaching the goals set before you that others did with ease. Plus, anytime someone raised their voice, you got a little teary.
“You wouldn’t even give me the time of day, and now you’re slumming with Mr. long-term casual whatever-the-fuck?” Katsuki turns his attention back, having stared at you for far too long.
“It’s diff-” you begin, but are cut off by his bitter laugh.
“I swear to god if you say it’s different, I'm dropping you off here.” It is posed as a joke, a sinister laugh in his voice, but he slows the car down nonetheless.
“Bakugou.” Your voice wavers, tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you're quick to blink them back, not willing to give him the satisfaction of you crying.
“Is that why you’re smoking. Does he smoke? Do you know how bad that is for you?” He continues, a hand pointing at your bag with your hidden cigarettes.
“I don’t smoke!” tension continues to grow in your chest, constricting your ribs with each inhale.
“Oh, really? Then what was that in your mouth when I picked you up, huh? You’re a nurse, you should know better,” he huffs and shakes his head.
This throws you for a loop, the tears stilling in your eyes.
“How do you know I’m a nurse?”
“You’re in scrubs and walking back from the hospital, doesn’t take a lot to put that together. Don’t try to change the subject, we're talking about you, and you’re terrible life choices.”
Your jaw clenches, teeth grinding against each other as you take in a long breath, glaring at your driver with as much faux annoyance as you can hold in your stare because even as he's berating you, disappointment in his every word, you can’t stop the warmth that blooms in your stomach. This has to be some sick kind of kink because you should be offended and angry, but instead you feel your cheeks warming and your heart racing.
“I take it all back. You’re the same asshole you were when we were kids.”
Katsuki laughs, actually laughs at you as you pout. The tension warps from anger into something less, irritation and maybe something a little familiar.
“Why are you laughing?” Arms cross over your chest. “You were just yelling at me, you think that doesn’t make you an asshole?”
He keeps laughing, dazzling perfect teeth on display as he smiles. Lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and despite never seeing the wrinkles, you know they are deep and engraved in his skin from years of secret smiles and laughter. You hadn’t seen him smile in years, nothing like the persona he wore for the news and his classmates, nothing like the perfect pro hero, but it’s nice, normal. Makes him seem less like a godlike figure and more like the twenty-six-year-old sitting before you.
“I’m fully aware I'm an asshole, trust me, I've been told, but that was not yelling; if anything, I think it was a well overdue lecture from an old friend.”
“We’re not friends.” you pout, pointing a finger at him in indignation.
“I said, old friend, dummy.” Katsuki turns to you, flicking your forehead lightly to accentuate his point. “Try listening more, yeah? Make a little room in that pretty head, might hear more of what I say.”
Your face heats as you register the backhanded compliment.
He rolls his eyes, and you swear you see a hint of a blush on the tips of his ears. “That you hear perfectly.”
"Lemme give you my number in case you need a ride again.“ Katsuki requests as he parks in front of your apartment block.
The car idles with a quiet purr. You don’t want to leave, the air warm and smelling of caramel, and who knows when you’ll get a moment alone with him again.
You shake your head, afraid that if you swap numbers, you’ll be waiting for him to call, and you already have enough disappointment in your love life; you don’t need this.
"Please, I won’t bother you with weird texts, but if you need'a ride, please text me.” He pushes, holding his phone out to you.
Apprehension bites at your gut, taking big chunks out of your insides and filling the space that is created, but you concede and grab the mobile, quickly filling out your contact info before handing yours over to him.
“I refuse to be annoying so you won’t ever hear from me again. first and last time, i promise!”
“I only heard the beginning of that sentence, but I'm pretty sure it ended with ‘I'll call you when I work late and need to get home."
“Who’s the one with the hearing problem now, huh?” You begin to collect your things, keys adorned with too many keyrings jingling in the quiet.
“Thank you again for driving me home even though it’s so far for you.”
"You know where I live?” he raises a brow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“No!” you shout your correction, but adjust the volume as you clarify your earlier statement. “I mean, I know Kiri lives around here, and he always complains that you live so far away."
Katsuki pouts. "I was hoping you were gonna admit to stalking me."
Blood rushes to your cheeks again, the heat never having left, but somehow you continue to get hotter as he grins at you.
“You’ve got enough fangirls for that, not gonna add to the hoard.” Your fingers curl around the door handle. “Thank you again, Bakugou.”
“You’re very welcome, Honey.” Bakugou’s smile falters for a second as his jaw ticks, lines pulling into a tight line. “Now get inside; I wanna go home."
You follow the directions without hesitation, eager to get out of the autumn cold and only when you are safe and warm behind your apartment door do you eagerly check your phone and see the text waiting there.
Call me if you need to go anywhere.
Don’t be stupid.
It had been a week since Bakugou had driven you home. Seven days since he had last seen you, but it had been three since your last text (not that katsuki is counting), it had been your only other text aside from your reply to his first one.
you coming to denki’s this friday?
He hadn’t even known his friend was throwing a party.
Your reply came back a few seconds later.
Was gonna buy you a drink as a thank you.
Do you even drink?
Sorry for the quadruple text
Katsuki laughed at your stream of thought texts.
He had aimed to write more, to try and further a conversation but he had been swept away with hero duties and by the time he had gotten back to his personal phone, it had been hours and he didn’t want to seem deseperate so he left it, let it sit and hoped you would message back, check on last time if he was going or maybe even ask if he wanted to tag along with you, but nothing came.
Now, you sit across from Bakugou on the curb of some random street, in a dress far too short for the cold weather, shaking and sniffling as you huddle in on yourself.
He had been on his way home from the gym when he spotted a figure, hunched over themselves on the edge of the street. The hero hadn’t known it was you when he stopped; he just stopped because what kind of person is he if he drove past a woman sitting in the gutter? But as he shouts at you from within his car, he realises who you are.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he pulls up the park brake. “I gave you my number for this exact reason!”
You look up from your feet, hand shielding your eyes from the street light above.
“Bakugou?” Your voice is hoarse.
“Yes, we’ve done this bit before now, why are you outside!?”
Katsuki throws open his door, one foot on the asphalt, before he turns back to his passenger seat, eyes scanning for any form of clothing to throw over you, and when he comes up empty, he opts to shed his jumper to give to you.
“Why are you in the street?” his tone gruff.
“I thought maybe I could walk home, but then my feet started hurting and I-”
“So you decided to sit on the curb like a homeless person instead of texting me to come pick you up?” Katsuki interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest, defensive and a tad hurt that you didn’t take him up on his offer.
“I thought about it, but I didn’t wanna be annoying,” you mumble, red tinting your cheeks, and he doesn’t know if it's the cold or embarrassment that colours your skin.
“Sure,” the snide comment comes out without his permission, and it has your bottom lip jutting out.
“You want proof?” You slur, tapping messily on your screen before holding it out to him, the chats between the two of you up and in that small text box right at the bottom are those three words.
It causes something in his stomach to stir.
“See, told ya. Just didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Katuski catches the contact name.
Not Katsuki, no emojis, nothing, just Bakugou. It stings a little.
“Still doesn’t explain the decision to sit in the freezing cold on the curb where anyone could pick you up or hurt you.”
You sigh, head dropping to your hands in defeat.
“Please don’t get mad at me, I’ve had enough of people being mad at me tonight.”
“I’m not mad, I’m just confused why, when I gave you my number for this exact reason. It’s kinda stupid of you to-” he knows he should have stopped after ‘im not mad’, but he isn’t one to bite his tongue, especially not when it comes to the well-being of people he cares about, but as he watches you look up at him, wide teary eyes and wobbly bottom lip, he feels the steam easing.
“Katsuki, please.” The request is soft, broken and wholly pathetic.
And it hits exactly where it needs.
His resolve to be the tough love friend breaks. With a huffed breath into the sky, he shakes off the irritation before squatting down to your level, the muscles in his legs aching post-gym. He should already be home chowing down whatever bullshit premade protein meal he had made at the beginning of the week, but how could he leave a woman alone in the middle of the night, and not just any woman, you.
“ ‘m not mad, just worried.” Large hands wrap around your shoulders, the cold of your skin almost has him recoiling.
How long had you been out here? Where is your jacket? The hero scans your form, checking for any cuts or bruises, anything that could give him some information as to why you are so upset, but he comes up empty. Apart from the tears in the stockings at your knees, there is nothing to indicate any bodily harm, but even then, the skin below is not broken or bruised, so why did - Bakugou shakes the thought away from his prefrontal cortex. That’ll be something he processes later when you aren’t suffering from hypothermia. Shoes? Where are your shoes?
“What happened?” Katsuki asks, ducking his head down to get a better look at you.
Your bottom lip quivers, and you inhale shaky and uneven.
Tears begin to fall, your head hanging low as sobs begin to wrack your freezing body. Katsuki winces, terrified at the turn of events, but before he can deal with your emotional well-being, he has to warm you up first. Quickly shoving his jumper up and off, he begins to dress you.
“I don’t need-” you begin to protest, but he is quick to cut you off.
You obey, sniffling through the tears.
“Good job,” he mutters, internally wincing at the praise the moment it passes his lips, but you don't recoil or slap him silly, so either you didn’t notice or don’t mind. He thinks it is the latter. The jumper engulfs you, and while the cotton won’t do much, it is better than nothing against the single-digit temperature. Katsuki is crouched in front of you once again, your hands held in his as he uses his quirk to act as a heater.
No answer comes. Just a fresh wave of tears and pitiful sobs.
Fuck. He does not know what to do. Should he hug you? Rub your back? Pat you on the head? Bakugou Katsuki is not good at this, not good at emotions. He has never been, never had to be, so why now, why with you was he trying? He knows the answer but won’t admit it, won't speak it out loud because then it is the truth, and he doesn’t have time for that. And still you cry, unable to stop, and Katsuki thinks that maybe this is a good thing, it might be like throwing up, when you are sick, you just need to get it all out to feel better. Isn’t crying exactly like emotional throwing up? He always kinda viewed it that way, always felt that way whenever he cried.
God, he is bad at this. He should hug you. That seems like the right thing to do, and so he does, as best he can. Bakugou reaches out and wraps a hand around the nape of your neck to pull you into him. You offer no resistance, allowing yourself to be pulled into a half-embrace, with Katsuki crouched before you. Your forehead rests on his shoulder, his hand on the back of your head, while his other still cradles yours, and he lets you cry and cry and cry.
"Okay, you need to stop.” His voice is soft as he murmurs into your hair, the smell of your rose shampoo having invaded his senses the second you closed that small space. “You’re going to hyperventilate."
Instead, you use your entwined hands to push yourself off his chest and into the grass below. The momentum pulls Katsuki with you, the hand that had been at your neck slamming into the earth near your head as he steadies himself, his body hovering dangerously close above you, but you do not notice.
“Hey, Honey,” Katsuki calls, hand falling from yours to slide across your jaw and pull your attention to him.
A cheap move, but he needs you to focus.
“I need you to breathe, please. Just for a second.” The softness in his voice catches him off guard, unaware that he had been able to muster something so sweet.
Your eyes blink open, red and watery, but you're looking at him, and that’s a start.
Another wobble of your bottom lip as you part them and take in a breath.
“Thank you. One more?” He offers, rubbing a thumb over your cheek, collecting the salt water that has streaked rivers into your skin.
You follow his direction, taking in more oxygen until your chest rises in even breaths and you can make it a second without sobbing.
“You okay?” The question is ridiculous; he knows the answer.
A shake of your head, and there is a silence for a moment before you release the question that has been rolling over in your mind for weeks now.
"Why doesn’t he like me?”
Your frown deepens, a feat he did not know was possible, your bottom lip justting out even more, the plush flesh red and swollen with teeth marks.
Katsuki continues to wipe at your cheek with his thumb, some heat returning to your skin with each swipe.
“He is an idiot,” you agree, sniffling, but your resolve doesn’t last long before fresh tears spill out again. “But he can be so nice to me.”
Katsuki sighs, chest aching with the rush of fresh tears. You’re too good to be feeling like this. Too kind and pure to have your heart broken the way it is. Anger begins to simmer in his chest, over-taking any sympathy that had been filling him not moments ago. He needs to kill this guy, break his legs or fingers or something, to have him feel the way you are feeling now, to know the kind of pain he is inflicting on you. Bakugou needs revenge.
“I’m so stupid.” You’re muttering before he can figure out what you’re saying. “I don’t know why I keep going back, I think I can handle it and I just- God, I’m such a dumbass.”
“You’re not a dumbass.” His fingers shake as he pushes hair back from your face, curling around your jaw, and he tells himself it's a way to check your pulse because vitals are important, but he just wants to feel you.
“You call me a dumbass.” Your frown deepens, body shivering against the dew-soaked grass.
Katsuki’s mouth falls open, ready to argue against it, but you’re not wrong. It had been the first thing he had called you when he had seen you, not a friendly nickname or your actual name, but that impolite, stupid and now horrifically regretful name.
“I’m sorry.” The apology falls from him before he can even think about it.
You freeze beneath him, eyes widening at the admission.
He feels your pulse pick up beneath his fingertips.
Normally, he would take it back, turn the situation around and make the other person believe he did not just admit defeat and apologise, and then somehow he would have the other person offering their penance, but he doesn’t want to do that this time. Doesn’t want to push you away for the comfort of his own well-being, plus with the way you are looking up at him, he’d apologise for things he didn’t even do.
“You’re not a dumbass. I- I shouldn’t have called you that. It’s just something I call everyone and I.. I’m sorry.” his tone is low, gruff and gravely as he lowers his volume, words soft and quiet for you and you alone.
Tears begin to gather once again, your bottom lip back to its usual wobble, and for a second, he thinks he's made it worse, but all those fears are pushed aside as you wrap your arms around his neck and crush him against your chest. Rose and jasmine fill his senses, the weight of your arms around him heavy and tight as your hug pulls him down. Usually quicker with his reaction time, he stumbles for a millisecond, quickly propping himself up on his forearm and knees on either side of your hips as his free arm wraps around your shoulders, holding you just as close as you dig your fingers into his skin.
“Thank you, ‘suki.” Your lips brush against his cheek as you whisper.
The pet name has his heart racing, his exposed skin heating as he feels your cheek against his. He had not expected this outcome, had not thought anything beyond needing to apologise and make you feel better.
“I mean it.” Your arms squeeze.
He smiles at the embrace. “yeah, me too.”
You lie like that for a few moments, too caught up in the feel of one another to even think about letting go. He can feel your heart beating against his, the racing thump of it matching his own. You pull back from the hug, hands coming to rest at his shoulders. Katsuki brings a hand up from the grass, sliding it over your jaw, cupping your face, a gentleness you never knew possible. You had never been held like this, with such tenderness and reverence as if you were something out of this world.
“Am I nice to you?” Katsuki asks softly.
His ghost his thumb over your cheek, swiping up the remnants of the tears that escaped your diligent wiping. You stare up at him, galaxies swirling within your glassy eyes, and it takes everything in him not to lean in and kiss you. His muscles tighten at the impulse, soul pushing him forward to make contact, to seal the fate of your friendship into something more with a simple peck, but he can’t. He can’t make that move after you have poured your heart out to him. It wouldn’t be fair. So, he pulls back.
He watches your face fall, hope fading from your eyes as you sit up, wobbly frown already returning.
“You’re gonna freeze, he murmurs, standing up in one fluid motion before offering a hand out to you. “Let’s go”
Your hand slides into his, all heat gone as you offer him a polite smile.
Saturday 9:13 pm
You: hey, are you free?
Saturday 9:15 pm
Katsuki: Yeah. Is everything okay?
Saturday 9:15 pm
You: yeah, i was just wondering if you were in the area. i kinda need a ride home.
Saturday 9:15 pm
Katsuki: Send me the address.
Saturday 9:15 pm
You: only if youre not busy, i don't want to bother you.actually, i'm sorry it's okay, ill call an uber.
sorry to bother again.
Saturday 9:16 pm
Katsuki: Send me the address. I'm coming to get you.
Saturday 9:16 pm
You: thank you
“I feel like I need to open a tab with you.” You mutter a joke as Katsuki slides into the once-empty seat opposite you.
Now that his large frame occupies the space, humiliation crashes down upon your already slumped shoulders.
Left waiting in a restaurant long enough, the wait staff had caught onto the situation and slid a complimentary drink onto your pathetic table with a sympathetic grin that is often reserved for stray dogs. You were the human equivalent of a stray dog. Now, if only euthanasia were an option, the mortification would be a little more tolerable.
“A tab for what?” Bakugou asks, hand rising to grab the waiter’s attention.
“You’re always taking me home.” There is a joke there, but your spirits had already been crushed beyond belief; you don't need to have your saviour laugh in your face at the insinuation of the two of you together.
Katsuki stares, brows furrowed.
“I said you were taking me home, but you’re just driving me home, it’s not like you, and I are… or that you’re even-" you shake your head, clearing the shameful attempt at humour from your brain,
His expression does not falter as you ramble, so you attempt to clarify again despite wanting to shut up forever.
“I get it, but I’m not taking you home and fucking you, so why do you need a tab?”
You note the detached way he spits out the words, as if their meaning has no effect on him, and you have to fight the frown that tugs at your mouth. Of course, he wouldn't react to that image. Why would he? Sure, you had that moment a few weeks ago, but it'd been radio silence since then, and on top of that, you were drunk, so what if you were making a bigger deal out of it than it actually was?
“Um, I need a tab 'cause you’re like an Uber…” you stumble through the sentence, dejection evident despite your terrible attempt at realigning your posture to appear unbothered.
Bakugou continues to stare at you, unblinking in his visual assessment, before he lowers his guard the tiniest inch. His lips lift at the corners as if he wants to smile but can't.
A moment of silence before your apology whooshes out of you in a defeated breath. “I’m sorry, I should have called someone else; I can’t keep doing this to you.”
He shakes his head, eyes following the line of your shoulders as you lean further down. “No, I liked that you called me.”
Whether it was intentional or not, you can't ignore the emphasis on the pronoun and how the smile he had been trying to suppress was beginning to slip out.
“I'd rather you call me than find out you walked home or some stupid shit.”
You smile back, tight-lipped and polite at the correction.
Silence fills the air between you, growing like a gas cloud that threatens to envelop you both with the promise of a dreary and awkward death.
“So, what was his excuse this time?” Katsuki asks.
You debate lying, making up some excuse that didn’t make your current situationship look like a complete and utter asshole, that you hadn’t called said ass in the morning to double, and triple check that he was indeed going to show for the dinner tonight but that would do nothing but embarrass you further and Katsuki would figure it out through his complex web of sources, so you tell the truth.
“There is none.” You shrug, slipping your hands under your stocking-clad thighs, the way you used to upon being scolded. “I just feel stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.” Katsuki comforts, his voice gentle as he smiles at you. The softness doesn't last long as he catches himself and reins it in. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that.”
“Why do you do that?” You ask and nod your chin in his direction.
“You give me a compliment, and then you follow it up with some backhanded comment that makes me feel like you don’t really want to compliment me.” You explain and watch the colour rise in your classmate’s cheeks. “If you don’t want to be nice to me, you don’t have –“
“I want to be nice to you.” Katsuki cuts in, the confession rushed.
Bakugou pulls his bottom lip, teeth gnawing on the plush flesh as he thinks of what to say next. You know he can be. Experienced it first-hand a few times now, the most recent being the way he cradled you as you sobbed, stroked your hair from your face and wiped the tears that streaked your face. Despite the brutal armour that surrounds his entire being, kindness and warmth are simmering just below the metal.
“Am I allowed to be nice to you?” The question is soft, reserved and laced with apprehension.
Your heart squeezes. “Yes, you’re allowed to be nice to me.”
Katsuki drives you home the way he always does.
His phone is in your hands to allow for easy DJ duties, watching you from the corner of his eyes as you babble useless facts about the artists or songs, the latest book you were reading, class assignments, or anything else that came to mind. He does occasionally pipe up, offering small topics and opinions, but for the most part, he sits and enjoys your company. He likes your company, likes you, and wants to spend more time with you outside of a car, on a date, every day, all day.
"Can I ask you something?" Katsuki’s voice stops you as you reach the door to your apartment complex.
He had insisted on walking you to your door.
“Sure.” You turn back to him, smiling despite the frown pulling at your lips.
For a moment, his eyes land on you. The usual intensity in his gaze softens for a tenth of a second before he quickly shifts attention to your shoes.
"Why do you keep going back to him?" Genuine concern and questioning fill his tone.
"I... It’s easy and something I know." You shrug. "I’m not sure why. I just...I don't know." You can’t look at him either, heat flooding your cheeks at your inability to answer such a simple question. Why were you continuously going back to a man who disrespects you time and time again, embarrassing you each time?
"You deserve better, you know that, right?" A small step forward, closing the already small space between you. "You deserve someone who will actually show up when you need them and hold your hand in public and not just at some party and call you every day and pick you up from work and take you home. Not their home, your home. You deserve someone..."
"Like you?" you offer, hoping he'll say yes and make this easy on you.
He is quick to answer, suddenly very afraid of where he is taking this conversation. "Not me but someone, not him."
"Ohh, okay." You nod, cheeks blazing in shame. The keys in your hand are all too interesting now that the unspoken question between you, too, has been answered. "Well, I'll umm...I'll think about it, yeah?"
Katsuki nods, averting your eyes.
"Well, thanks again, Katsuki. I promise this will be the last time, it's not fair on you, but thanks again." You smile, readying yourself to turn and all but sprint into your apartment. "I really mean it, thank you, Bakugou."
You're halfway turned around when you feel a hand on your wrist keeping you from spinning away. Katsuki's hand slides along your waist, gripping the satin on your dress in a white-knuckle grip before he presses his lips to yours. You freeze, shock stilling your brain and body for a moment before reality sets in and you're dropping everything to wrap yourself around him. Katsuki loosens his grip, hands reaching up to cup your face with the same gentleness he had held you with all those weeks ago. Your mouth opens beneath his, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip, and you pull back, chest heaving as you race to catch your breath. You don't want to not be kissing him, but the lack of oxygen was causing your head to spin. Fingers trail along your cheek, curling at your jaw before sliding into your hair.
"Is this you being nice to me?"
Katsuki huffs a laugh. "This is just the beginning of me being nice to you."
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