the next time you and katsuki meet, you do not meet the after-work, tank top-wearing, smart-mouthed stranger in the dog park instead, you meet big scary pro hero dynamight, all suited up and on patrol. its a regular friday night, you and your co-workers had gone out for after-work drinks, nothing special, just wanting a night out when a fight had broken out as you were leaving. it was between two men and none of your buisness, one of them screaming about a girl and the other denying it all (you were only half listening, too concerned with getting your friends in the uber) but it was only as the fight started to spill out of the little bubble of rage and homoerotic tension that you started to shout. Security was't doing anything, only standing and watch the two overgrown toddlers throw each other about so when you called them over and they refused to move did your frustration boil over.
"Not our job, darl. once theyre on the street, its the city's problem." one of the seccys shouts, crossing his arms over his chest.
"okay, so call the police? call the heroes, do something!" you yell back, pointing down towards the impromptu fight club.
the security guard shrugs and turns his head to to line waiting to get in. Before you can even turn back round to your friend, there is a flash of green, then the sound of heavy boots on concrete and a man standing between the two fighters. another pro pulls up, a flash of ice skidding over the curb as he joins the first in de-escelating the situation.
warmth radiates around you, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you feel the prescence of someone at your back.
"you called?" a smooth gruff voice grits out.
you know that voice.
turning on your heels, you come face to face with dog park asshole.
pro-hero dynamight stands before, all tall and professional, dressed in his winter gear, mask pushed up to act as headband. motherfucker.
“nope, anyone but you." you resign, throwing you hands up as you begin to walk away. "i'm not dealing with you again."
"again?" dynamight's brows furrow, lip curling back in that snarled sneer as he barks out his question. "the fuck does that mean?"
of course he doesn't remember you, why would he?
"you're an asshole, im not dealing with your shit again." you try to come across as indifferent, carelessly throwing the breadcrumbs at him in hopes he picks them up. "give me someone else."
dynamight watches you take a few steps back, his eyes narrowing as he assesses your features, raking his brain as he filters through all the people he's met within the last week.
oh. dog park lady.
"you started it!" he accuses, pointing at you with a gloved finger.
"me? you’re the one who had a go at me because i wouldn’t come into the park!” you’re stumbling back, glare etched into your brow.
the hero cackles, watching you bumble your way over to him like a petulant toddler. (he also watches just in case you lose your footing and he needs to catch you)
“that wasn’t me having a go. that was me pointing out the obvious.”
“sure felt like it. screaming at me from across the park.” you roll your eyes, arms crossing over your chest as you stand on even ground, glaring up at the man before you. he’s never had someone who isn’t a villain stare at him with such, disdain. it makes his blood run hot.
“you wanna have a go? let’s go right now” he bites out, delighting in the way your cheeks pink and eyes widen.
“what’s with you and wanting to fight me huh? that’s not very hero like” you’re quick to turn the conversation, not liking the way it blooms heat in your chest.
a smile creeps across his face as you poke his chest, perfectly manicured finger shoving him hard. (well as hard as you can)
part vi. one last meeting with sukuna before winter break
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ cw. fingering, reader gets her period, kissing, squirting, mild bloodplay, fluff, they're both being idiots, both povs
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ wc. ~4k
series masterlist
In light of you leaving campus for winter break, Sukuna's managed to lure you into his dorm one last time.
And how did he manage to lure you?
By telling you he has an unused felting kit… which you can try out only at his dorm.
Except as soon as the door opens, he's already pulling you onto his bed, informing you that you get to do your "dorky little crafts" after he's done with you.
Then his lips are crashing onto yours—you panic a little as he starts squeezing your tits and grinding his erection into you.
Meanwhile his hand slides lower, no doubt on its way to slip into your underwear.
"Wait," you gasp, managing to get away from his greedy mouth.
"What."
"What about your r—"
"I stole his keys," Sukuna quickly reassures you. "The idiot didn't realize before he left the dorm. He won't be able to get in."
He tries to kiss you again but you pull back once more, frowning.
"Are you really denying him of his rights to this living space because of… me? That's unethical. I don't want to have unethical sex."
He doesn't even flinch—only tightens his hold on your waist. "Well you're not going anywhere—so would you rather have him walk in on us? Maybe get a real good look at what a slut I make outta you—"
"Sukuna!" you squeak, feeling a bit scandalized. "Okay, fine… just… stop talking like that."
"Oh, so you're not wet right now?"
You gulp. "I'm always wet. I drink a lot of water."
"Right," he hums, fingers sliding down your belly just till the band of your panties, till—
"Wait."
You stop him again, grabbing his wrist.
"What now?!"
For a second you just stare helplessly because honestly it's kind of an embarrassing thing to admit—just as much as it is stupid.
"I, uh…"
"Spit it out woman."
"...So you know how I shaved last time?"
You swear his face drops a little just from recalling it. "Yeah, I remember."
"So it's been growing out—because you refuse to let me shave it—and it's in that weird prickly stubble phase and it's so itchy all the time and I hate it."
"I don't care," he says flatly.
"No, like its really bad and so itchy and gross—"
You squeal when he suddenly hooks two fingers into your waistband with a casual ease and pulls them down to expose your mons where new hair is beginning to sprout.
"Hm. Looks fine. Just stop scratching it, idiot," he comments, so unmoved he almost seems bored.
Slapping his hand away to try and preserve a little bit of your dignity, you shoot him an indignant glare.
"Can you not?! It's so uncomfortable feeling them poke out of my underwear like some… hedgehog."
"I'd still hit that even if it was a—"
Sukuna starts too quickly, before pausing and thinking.
"…Nevermind."
Before you can question him, his lips are pressing back onto yours.
These days, when you nip and worry at his lip, he leans into it, letting out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a purr.
This time you don't flinch as his fingertips slide lower and lower, slipping into your underwear and over the stubbled skin of your mound to brush against your clit.
You sigh into his mouth, thighs tensing as you press yourself into the touch, especially when he begins rubbing small circles on the bud.
And just as you start to really get worked up—he breaks the kiss, breath a bit heavy as he peers down at you.
"Turn around," he rasps, already pulling his hand out to manhandle you into the position he wants—you laying up against him, back to his chest, soaking in the heat of his muscled body.
"What's the point of telling me to do it if you're just going to do it for me?"
"Shut up," he tells you, but not unkindly. "And can you relax? Stop acting like you don't even like me."
You didn't even notice your body was automatically wound tight, reflexively tensing away from him—from the intimacy of this position.
"What?! I showed you my trinket collection."
Which, for you, translates to "I do like you."
Luckily Sukuna's somehow picked up more of your language than he ever intended to, so he gets the memo.
He rolls his eyes—normally he'd push you into him to force you into that state but he knows if he does that you'll just become even more stiff.
So instead, he leans in and presses a kiss to your neck.
One hand climbs up to gently squeeze one of your tits, the other one finds its way back into your panties to toy with your sensitive clit till it perks up under his touch.
And just like that, you're loosening up like honey in warm water.
"See? Not so bad, huh?"
You only make some small whimper.
Sukuna enjoys it too much seeing how you unravel just from this—some wet kisses sucked and bitten into the delicate skin of your neck along with a little bit of clit play.
"Wanna take these off?" he suggests, snapping the band of your panties.
You pout ever so slightly. "…I don't wanna see my hedgehog."
The soft laugh that he lets out after is more so amused than mean.
"We can get under the cover. It's kinda cold anyways."
After a second you nod—then comes about three minutes of you wriggling out of your bottoms under the sheets.
You hesitate before slipping off your underwear. Even knowing you’ll be hidden from direct view, you’re still not used to the vulnerability of simply being… bare, with someone else so close.
And it doesn’t help that a few too many dreams of being helplessly nude in places you shouldn’t be still cling to you, prickling unease along your skin.
But with a few coaxing words and kisses from him, soon you're tugging your panties off to quickly ball them up and put them to the side.
"Good. Just try to relax," he murmurs into your hair as he pulls your thighs apart under the cover, settling you in till your ass is right on top of where his pants are starting to tighten.
You're already shaky, breathing uneven as his finger ventures lower to stroke your sticky slit.
You shiver as he circles the entrance, never quite fully slipping in but feeling the wetness collected there.
He teases you until finally—
"Sukuna… please—"
You swallow. "You should finger me."
You say it like its just another random objective fact or observation you're spitting out.
"Oh, I should?"
"Yes—it's the right thing to do."
"Mhm. Well I guess since you suggested so nicely…"
He shifts you to get easier access.
"One or two fingers?"
"One… for now."
He obliges your request, slipping a single finger in. It's not really a stretch but even then it feels a little strange at first — having something other than your own fingers in there.
"I've been waiting to feel you from the inside for so long," he murmurs.
"Good thing you're not my surgeon."
You nervously blurt out the joke—then mentally slap yourself after for saying that stupid shit in the middle of sex.
Though at this point it doesn't even throw him off nearly as much as it should—he only sighs again.
"How about you just keep that pretty little mouth shut unless it's to make some cute noises for me."
You decide that's probably a good course of action for you.
Soon you're relaxing again as his finger moves inside of you—not fingering you yet exactly, more like… exploring.
Feeling along the ridges and texture of your fleshy, slick covered walls.
Then at last there's pressure as he starts massaging a certain spot.
For a few seconds you don't feel much—more like someone's probing inside you. Those few seconds drag on till you start considering just faking it when suddenly—
You moan.
Loudly. Uncontrollably—like you don't expect that noise.
He hums like he did though… like he was waiting for it.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he whispers. "Needed this bad, didn't you?"
Your brain feels like mush—like literal soup in your skull.
"Mhm," you whine, a little too needy that a coherent version of you would've liked.
He doesn't let up and your muscles tense, core clenching as sweat starts to bead your skin.
"Oh, f-fuck—"
You—who normally doesn't like touch—are practically fawning over him. Pressing your cheek into his warm chest, drowning in the faint smell of him.
So when his fingers slide out, you hate the pathetic little noise you let loose.
He only smirks. "Patience… just wanna see how wet you already are."
Before you can say anything, his fingers pull out from under the cover—and both of you freeze.
Glistening, bright crimson coats his finger.
A beat passes.
Then naturally, Sukuna's first reaction is alarm.
"Fuck—did I hurt you?!—"
Meanwhile, your reaction is pure mortification.
You can't rmembee the last time you felt this much hatred for your period… except maybe during your last period.
"I got my period," your nerves confess for you. "I knew I'd get it some time soon but not right now since I was only having ghost periods all day so I thought I'd be okay for a few more hours—"
"Ghost period? What the fuck is a ghost period?!—"
"Like I get cramps and sometimes I even feel something slipping out and I'm so sure I got my period but then I check and there's literally nothing there it's just a false alarm— Can you please wash your hands? Ohmygod this is so embarrassing I'm so sorry—"
Sukuna looks over at you panicking—meanwhile he's more than relieved that it's your period.
Suddenly you pause mid sentence to nervously ask. "…Why are you looking at me like that."
Before you even give him a chance your embarrassment envelopes you again and you try to wriggle off him—only for his other arm to tighten around you.
"Stay. It's okay, I don't mind some blood."
"It isn't just blood, that's my shed endometrium actually," you mutter hoarsely.
"Whatever—"
"And what about your sheets?! Do you know how h—"
You’re bringing up a very reasonable and valid point.
But when you've got him going like you have right now, the area of his brain responsible for rational practicality has pretty much shut down.
"I don't care," he hisses. "It's hot."
You freeze and give him a look. "Stop fucking with me—"
He lifts the blood (endometrium) covered finger and sucks it clean—making the most obscene show out of it too—as you stare in… you're honestly not sure what you're feeling.
"You…"
He grins. "Protein."
Then he's already back to sliding his hand between your thighs and carrying on like absolutely nothing happened.
"Sukuna…" you start nervously.
"Besides… blood makes really good lube," he whipers into your ear. "See?"
A second finger pushes into your heat—not stretching you but certainly filling you from inside.
They get back into rhythm and you already feel yourself going dumb.
"…You mean endometrium," you barely manage to weakly correct him.
"Alright, you're banned from talking again."
"Bu—"
Suddenly his other hand is lifting to force his thumb between your lips despite your startled squeak. "Here… how about we give your mouth something else to do."
You don't know if the effect’s intentional or not but with your verbal outlet blocked… your mind blanks in the best way possible.
No more noise.
Just him.
His fingers sliding to rub even deeper into you.
His thumb in your mouth.
You don't even realize you've started running your tongue around it and sucking softly.
The pleasure intensifies as he curls his fingertips into the soft pockets of flesh right next to where your cervix protrudes.
He massages it… and you seize.
Of course, you can't pinpoint where exactly it's coming from, just that it radiates outward from deep inside you, filling your whole body till your head lolls back and your spine bows.
When you masturbate with your own hand you intermittently take short breaks to give your body a second or so of relief—and you never knew how much you've needed those few seconds till now.
Your muscles are contracting tight, abs beginning to burn from the buildup of lactic acid.
Sweat drips as you overheat like you've got a fever, body under so much strain that you arch into him with your eyes rolling back, unable to get anything out more than a few choked whimpers around his finger.
Sukuna's zoned in, feeding off every micro reaction as he feels you tremble so violently it seems like you might just explode
It snaps.
Tears drip over your waterline as you fall apart, pelvic muscles working overtime and… a hot rush of watery fluid for which you’re too far gone to care about.
However, Sukuna's cock twitches at the sensation of your sticky walls sucking him in… and he grins when he feels you gush around his fingers, absolutely soaking your entire cunt till its dampening his bedsheets.
Nevermind that your teeth are digging into his finger.
It almost feels like relief as your orgasm finally finishes and frees its grip on you, leaving you to go limp on him.
As you catch your breath he slides his fingers out from between your legs and out from underneath covers.
"That's not fair," you murmur breathlessly. "Why does it never feel that good when I finger myself?"
"Same reason it wouldn't feel as good if I sucked my own dick."
"That's because sucking your own dick would feel less like getting your dick sucked and more like you're sucking dick—"
He shuts you up by dangling his bloody fingers still dripping with your
"Look at that," he tells you almost proudly, holding his bloody fingers still dripping with your juices right in front of your face.
You recoil, wrinkling your nose. "Ew stop, go wash y—no, do not lick it again—"
He pauses with his fingers just centimeters away from his lips.
"Either you use your tongue to clean or I use mine… which is it?"
You stare at him as though you're being physically pained.
"Exactly," he concludes, already sucking his fingers clean.
You don't want to see how gross he's going to be about it, so you avert your gaze as you start your post-coital yap.
"That was intense. I feel like if sex and orgasms didn't feel good they'd probably be horrific and, like… really painful. Good thing orgasms have analgesic properties because I didn't even know my abs could crunch for that long… ohmygosh, do you think I'll be sore tomorrow? Like delayed onset muscle soreness—"
Sukuna keeps quiet though his eyes are on you, listening to you ramble. His (not so) well-kept secret is how endearing he finds it… like you're relaxed and comfortable enough that a good orgasm just opened you up completely to feel light and easy.
Because you're noticeably less rigid now—your body melting into his like it's meant to be there.
He doesn't even notice he's absentmindedly running his nails along the soft skin of your belly in an almost affectionate gesture.
Suddenly you pause, as if remembering something. "Also just to be clear I did not pee myself on you—I know it probably really felt like that but I swear I have excellent bladder control—"
"Relax, princess I know what squirting is. And yeah I know it doesn't shoot out like a literal geyser in porn."
"It wasn't pee I did not pee myself! Even if it is pee I do not suffer from incontinence—"
He shrugs. "It's okay if you did, not like I'd mind—"
Your jaw drops. "I— What?! No— Is this a piss kink? I do not have a pee kink. That's weird— Ohmygosh, do you have a piss kink?!"
"…Wouldn't call it a kink, but it's not exactly a turn off—"
Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes widening… though now that you think about it, pee really isn't much worse than period blood.
But you need to keep up the act because under no circumstance can you let him know you're actually kind of chill with it—
Suddenly he's lifting the covers—you're alerted with a cool breeze across the throbbing, dripping mess he's made out of your pussy.
And even worse—
"Mhm, love that smell—"
You shriek, yanking the sheet back down. "Do you hate me or something?"
"Relax, I've literally had my nose in your pussy before—"
By now you've learned that anytime Sukuna says relax, anything that follows is bound to provoke the exact opposite reaction.
And still, you're at a loss for words at what to possibly say to that.
Rolling his eyes, he once again throws the cover back.
You're lucky your period barely just started—because the sheets aren't terribly stained. Still you insist on helping Sukuna change them after getting cleaned up (and shoving a wad of balled up toilet paper in your panties as a temporary makeshift pad).
And after you're done you turn to pick up your bag when—
Sukuna frowns. "Where you going? Roommate probably won't be back for like another two hours at least."
You blink. "I mean we did that and we also finished our project, so like… is there something else you wanted to do?"
It's a genuine question—Sukuna doesn't know why it makes him falter.
Sometimes your cluelessness makes him feel like an absolute idiot.
And this time he almost lets you go too.
But he takes a deep breath and steadies himself instead. "We can just… hangout or something… Won’t see each other after this because of break," he half-jokes.
He hates that dumb face you make that always makes his chest flutter like he's a teen girl with a high school crush instead of a grown man.
Except you're trying to hide it, clearing your throat because you don't want to misread the situation and assume that all of this is something more than it actually is.
Assuming the bare minimum leaves no room for disappointment.
"Are you… sure? I don't wanna bother you or anything since, you know, you've ‘got a life’ and all—"
"Just… stay."
"No seriously it's okay I don't expect any like… emotional obligations or something, I don't know—"
He glares at you. Like an actual ice cold glare, before crossing his arms.
"You're not allowed to leave."
"What? What do you mean ‘not allowed’, I can literally walk out the door right th—"
"Try it."
You gulp.
His stony glare doesn't let up—just keeps you pinned in place.
"…And I still have a felting kit for you to try.”
Somehow that's what makes you drop your bag again—and beam.
That's how your end up in his bed again under the covers (pants off, panties on) aggressively stabbing some felt with a needle to make something he can't identify.
Sukuna's flat on his back next to you, pretending like he's simply scrolling his phone and half-listening to the documentary you put on as background noise.
Like he isn't drowning in oxytocin as you lean on him and yap idly, colored wool spread everywhere like shed feathers.
"Did you know a recent study actually showed that menstrual blood is incredibly rich in stem cells and greatly speeds up the process of wound healing? And about 385 of the over a thousand proteins in period blood are unique to period blood—"
"Mm, so I was right about the protein… you letting me eat that next?"
You freeze—which only spurs him on.
"Heard it helps with cramps… and makes your period go by faster."
He says it in that low voice and with that stupid smirk and a hand on your side… and you clear your throat as blood runs to your cheeks. "Stop distracting me."
Every so often you make a small, satisfied noise as you stab the needle into the wool with intense concentration.
“You’re gonna poke your finger,” he says without looking up.
“I haven’t yet,” you reply proudly. “Statistically, that’s impressive.”
He snorts.
Half an hour passes like that — quiet, domestic in a way neither of you comment on.
Then you clear your throat.
“Okay,” you say, sitting up straighter. “I’m done.”
He finally looks over.
You're holding something out toward him with both hands.
It is… objectively awful.
A lumpy, misshapen felted creature with uneven stripes, one ear bigger than the other, legs that are more suggestion than structure. Its body is round to the point of absurdity.
You beam anyway.
“It’s a tiger,” you announce.
He blinks at it. Then at you.
“…Is it.”
“Yes,” you state firmly. “Because tigers remind me of you.”
He squints. “Why is it so fat.”
You gasp, offended. “It’s not fat. It’s seasonal.”
“Seasonal.”
“It put on weight for the winter,” you explain seriously. “For insulation.”
He stares at the thing for a long moment, silent.
Too long.
Your smile wavers.
Then you laugh, a little too fast, already pulling it back. “Okay, yeah, it’s bad. I know it’s bad. I just— it looked better in my head. It’s fine, I’ll just—”
You turn away, reaching for the wool pile like you can unmake it if you don’t look at him.
Before you can, his hand closes gently around your wrist.
“Hey.”
You freeze.
He takes the felted tiger from your hands before you can protest and turns it over, examining it like it’s something delicate.
“You made this for me?” he asks.
You shrug, suddenly shy. “I mean. Yeah. I thought it’d be stupid if I didn’t give it to you after spending all this time on it.”
He looks at it again. The crooked stripes. The ridiculous round body. One beady eye slightly higher than the other.
Then he says, very plainly, “I love it.”
You blink. “You… what?”
“It’s the best gift I got all year," he adds with a small grin.
Your chest tightens painfully.
“…Are you just trying to make me feel better about it?”
"I don't care about your feelings enough to lie to you."
He sets the tiger on his nightstand, carefully, like it belongs there.
“It’s mine,” he adds. “You don’t get to take it back.”
For some reason, your eyes sting.
“…Okay," you laugh softly.
He reaches out, pulls you back against his side with an easy familiarity that feels dangerous in hindsight.
And pretends to go back to his phone.
But every few seconds, his gaze flicks back to the ugly little thing on the nightstand.
And he thinks, distantly, with something like awe, you made this for him.
Sometime later after you've left, his roommate returns and the oaf dares to makes a comment on the creature sitting on his nightstand.
Said roommate learns very quickly to never, ever insult the felted tiger again.
does anyone have the link to that one yuji smut called pretty girl or something like that? the header was like a turquoise blue i think kinda dark pls help this is very embarassing they were in readers living room or something in the beggining
come over - when bakugou is faced with an impossible decision between you and the world, he makes the correct decision with damning consequences. cw: pro-hero bakugou, angst, mentions of/allusions to mental illness, self harm, and suicide. wc: 1.2k
“Kats,” you say, “I need you right now.”
Your voice is grainy over the phone, wobbling with various pitches. You’re trying to keep your breaths even, quiet, so you don’t worry him more. But he knows you more than you think.
It’s quiet. After all, it’s already midnight. The city is as asleep as it can be, and you’re home alone. The window planes are cold against your back, the thin t-shirt doing little to insulate you from its chill. Your fingers grip your phone until your flesh is a ghastly white, until the edges dig into your skin.
“Baby?”
His background has many different noises that remind you of your difference. Zippers, boots, metal clicking—he’s suiting up to save the world. You don’t speak. For another second, the guilt that you had swallowed to make this call is rising like bile, stinging at your oesophagus.
“Come over.” You mumble, lips barely moving.
It’s selfish, you know, to ask him to come to you at a moment’s notice. He has a job, the world on his back.
“Y’know I can’t do that. Talk to me, baby, what do you need?” His voice is mellow, and you briefly wonder whether the other heroes in the room snicker behind their hands. It hurts to admit—the embarrassment flushing up your nape, where it suffocates.
“I’m doing really bad, like, really bad, Kats. I’m scared.” You don’t wanna say it, as if giving it a name makes it come true. You think about the volume your boyfriend answers his phone with, the other people in his room. You think about Dynamight’s dignity.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I just want you to be here.”
Briefly, you feel shame clawing at the back of your throat. Begging doesn’t come easily. It’s pulling the curtains open to show him everything entirely. And you don’t think you can do that.
“I can send Denki over, if you want. There’s an emergency downtown, and they need me.” He says. You feel his tone dip into finality, like he knows you’ll accept and move on.
“They need you but not Denki?” The thought of stopping, and to be rational, ends when the first tear falls, and like many, it is silent, and Katsuki doesn’t know.
“Come on, you know that’s not what I mean. Just the nature of the compromised facility doesn’t exactly bode well with electricity. Are you home? I’ll send him your address, okay?”
You feel yourself break at the hero-speak, like he’s trying to utilise the same command to make you listen to him.
He sighs.
Are you like a kid? Immature and childish and just another burden on his plate?
“I don’t want him. I want you. You always tell me to give you a call when I need you, I do now.” You thought you wouldn’t pull this card, as dirty a trick as it is, it doesn’t even work.
“These are very urgent circumstances, you know that—no, that’s a bad idea, get someone else to track the parameters—I’m not trying to leave you. But right now there are several hostages in critical condition, which I need to get to because I’m on call. I’ll make it fast, okay? I’ll be there before you know it.”
You want to tell him that you’re in critical condition, too.
You can barely hear what he’s saying. This means that he’s outside now, where all the sirens are, where reporters are hounding like dogs. You don’t turn on the television, because then you’ll see your boyfriend, a big and hulking symbol of victory who’s for everyone but you.
The rational part of you knows that this is normal. This is what you signed up for when you decided to date a public servant. He has to fulfil his oath and do his job. It’s what he warned you about.
“Please,” you sob, and you thought you could stoop no lower, “I need you right now. Katsuki, not Dynamight.”
Bakugou feels the fight within him, stretched taut with responsibility and worry. He wants to pull out of this job. There are other heroes in this neighbourhood, but there’s only one him.
“It’s not fair for me to weigh your life with others, but they will die if I don’t get there.” He says, hesitant.
“I’m sorry.”
When he hangs up, he has to force his hand to stay put; to not call you again. He’ll never know what you’re going through at this moment, alone after he’s abandoned you. He has faith in you—he always does. When no one believed in your recovery, he did.
His heart is heavy. It manifests in the way he moves, how he rescues the hostages. They’re humans—middle-aged salarymen, mothers, children. They cry and sniffle over his costume as their arms clutch onto his body like a lifeline. Here, he is a saviour. But, as unprofessional as it is, he spends this entire time thinking about you, whether you’re alright, whether Denki has received his text yet, and whether he’s on his way to you.
Dynamight sticks to his promise. The entire mission is over in one hour, paramedics and police officers still mill about the area, but his job is done. He’s completed the heavy lifting and he’s going to leave. Pushing aside those who wish to check on his injuries, he heads straight to your apartment. There’s still dirt on his face, but that’s never stopped you from kissing him.
When he pulls out his phone, his stomach drops.
we’re over, no need to bother coming over
Cold, indifference—they somehow seep from his phone screen and into his head. There is no human emotion attached to this text, just the strict promise of resolution.
He is stationary in the middle of the street. It’s half past one, his muscles ache from the rescue, his hair is sticky, and he’s dehydrated. All he thought about was going to you. He wants to get angry, to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. He wants to hate you.
His phone is vibrating at his side, with the ringtone that you set for him.
“What do you want, Dunce Face?” The way he speaks leaves no room for questions, a declaration.
“It’s—it’s your girlfriend. I’m so sorry man, I rushed over as soon as I saw your text. Her neighbours just found her, they already called an ambulance. Dude, can you—just—come over?”
But seeing you, holding a birthday cake with the most candles he's ever seen, does something stupid to his chest.
"How old are you now?" You sing, with a smile so bright it punches straight through his damn chest.
He can barely answer through the bulging lump in his throat. "Twenty-seven," he huffs, voice rough with sleep, hair sticking up in every direction as he squints against the light.
You continue. Hips swaying side to side with each beat. "How old are you now?"
His vision begins to blur. Swelling your silhouette into a candlelit mixture of orange and reds.
"Twenty-seven"
Taking one final breath. "How old are you now?"
How'd he get so goddamn lucky?
Getting to wake up at the ungodly hour of twelve a.m. — getting sung to in bed — by you. With a flavor of cake, he can sniff out even through his sleepy daze.
His favorite.
"Alright, make a wish." You grin, proud.
He blinks once. Twice— hoping to clear the fog.
But one, unmistakable sniffle echoes through the bedroom.
You freeze.
"Awww Kats?" You panic, shuffling awkwardly with nowhere to put the giant, flickering stack of a fire hazard.
His shoulders hitch before he can stop them, breath catching sharp as tears finally spill over — hot, stubborn.
He swipes at his face like it’s nothing, but it only smears them further, jaw clenched tight as he leans in and blows out the candles in one uneven breath.
For a split second, all you catch are damp lashes and flushed cheeks before the smoke curls up between you.
"Tch — that’s why you were acting weird," he mutters, eyes narrowing slightly. "All that pacing, whispering, and shit… thought you lost it."
"Yeah, well." You hum, scooping a speck of icing with your finger, before planting it on his nose. "Love'll do that to you."
He doesn't miss the way your thumbs trail over his cheeks, wiping away the wetness.
He lets you. Better yet? Leans in for a kiss. Making sure to smother the buttercream all over your giggly face.
since you and bakugou have been going so well, he plans a luxurious date to properly ask you to be his. it turns out to be the worst date of your life.
NOTES: part of my GREYSCALE series. this part could work as a standalone but would make more sense if you read the other parts.
TAGS: situationship. angst. jealousy. class dynamics. insecurity. terrible ex boyfriends mention.
bakugou cannot believe it.
things are going right between you and him. little by little he’s peeling back the walls you have up, finding out they’re just styrofoam, blocking him from entering your mind. your giggles are louder around him, when he’s out with you, you point at things you like and explain why. this last week, you’ve called him whilst he’s at work just for a chat and once one evening when you were feeling down about a recent grade you got. you even texted him a photo of this massive dog you saw on your walk to your part time job.
you said the caramel chow chow looked like him. bakugou agrees the dog did, just a little but refused to agree with you.
it’s practically perfect, even introducing him to your best friend he’s never met before. bakugou was in the area while you were out for drinks with her and you asked him if he wanted to join. you asked him.
so, after confirming with deku, he’s going to ask you again tonight. properly, no kindas or assumptions or maybes, straight up just ask if he can be your boyfriend.
one evening, when he’s kissing you goodbye at your front door at two in the morning because he does have work in five hours, he tells you, “i’m gonna take you out this weekend. a proper date in the city.” he kisses your lips softly, “i’ll send you where, okay? and i’ll pick you up.”
you’re enamoured. bakugou katsuki has dug a hole in your heart and made it home. that little voice in your head, the one that was always weary, telling you to be careful has been quiet. laid to rest and you think it’s a sign. he’s probably going to ask you to be his girlfriend again and you think you’re going to say yes.
very quickly you find out that voice was only dormant, not dead. you google the restaurant he sent and you panic. it’s a fancy one, one for people that are nowhere close to your tax bracket. you know katsuki isn’t but he’s normal, he’s not flashy aside from his coffee machine and maybe his porsche but you spend so much time at your apartment that you don’t think about the difference in your pockets.
expensive fine dining, michelin star restaurant definitely means you need a dress to play the part. and playing the part it is because since you don’t own anything that suits that trust fund vibe. you have to buy something.
you feel like an idiot in this tight purple dress and you feel like a fraud when katsuki loves it on you.
your katsuki stands at the front door to your apartment in a black suit with these shiny gold cufflinks and you don’t have to be rich to know that it’s expensive. it makes him look imposing, the way the fabric sits on his shoulders, how his white shirt doesn’t carry a single crease like he steamed himself down when he got out of his car. his belt is a subtle branded one, a ‘if you know you know’ brand and you don’t. but your body warms when you peek up at his face, the creases by his eyes and the glint of his gold tooth when he grins at you.
his hand reaches for your face, chunky watch at his wrist before he backs off, grabbing your hand instead.
“fuck, sorry just wanna touch you. don’t wanna mess up your face,” his kiss on your lips is light. you love a hello kiss. “you look gorgeous, doll. don’t deserve you on my arm tonight.”
you don’t feel like yourself in this dress but it fits standing beside him looking like that. you won’t mention you got it from the charity shop across the street.
“shut up,” you swat at him but he just grins, unable to look away from you, “thanks, katsuki. let’s go, don’t wanna miss the reservation.”
you think you look like a woman dynamight should be on a date with. nobody has given you odd looks when you stepped through the doors of the restaurant. the doorman didn’t frown at you when he asked for your jacket. you’re used to tap water for the table and excusing yourself to wash your hands in the bathroom. not a bottle of sealed mountain water being poured into your glass or a bowl of lemon water with a damp towel that katsuki had to tell you it’s for cleaning your hands.
you’re a fish out of water. blinking to take in the place but your eyes are still dry.
once you’re settled in your seat, wondering who would get crushed first if the impressive diamond glass chandelier falls, your sweet katsuki nudges his knee with yours under the table. “what d’you think? i know it’s not what you’re used to but i thought it could be somethin’ different f’us?”
you hope your smile doesn’t look forced, you’re trying here, you really are. “it’s beautiful. i’m a little overwhelmed honestly.”
you laugh, awkwardly and bakugou grabs your hand. kisses your knuckles and his ruby eyes snatch your breath, “don’t be. after this we can get ice cream from that place near yours. wanna show you how fuckin’ good food can get, aside from the frozen shit you eat.”
you don’t like that comment. your throat constricts and you’re unsure if you’re overreacting. usually you’d laugh it off, he’s always telling you about healthier options but when you’re on the go and on a budget, it’s not always the easiest. it’s worse when you can’t say anything because a waitress hops over.
a pretty girl, around the same age as you and she knows exactly who katsuki is.
“hi i’m your waitress for tonight—,” she looks at you first then bakugou, then again at bakugou. she gasps, covering her mouth and then fixing her hair. her whole face blushes red and you swear you can see the cogs turning in her head, “dynamight, wow you’re my favourite hero! i’ve always wanted to meet you.”
bakugou pulls his hands out of yours, opting to rest them in his lap and lean back in his chair. you’re not thinking rationally here, it feels like he’s pulling away from you, situating himself like the bachelor pro hero he is.
he nods at her, solemn and appreciative, “thanks for the love. i’m always tryin’ my best for the country.”
she’s staring at his face, his plush pink lips that are usually found on your neck and then down his body. does he not fucking see that?
“yes, dynamight. wow! i can’t… sorry, let me take your order!”
she says only to him, body and the tablet she’s holding only facing him.
bakugou recalls his order with finesse, not even having to look down at the menu and when the waitress remembers you’re still at the table, it’s as if you do too. limbs jump starting as you flip the menu back open and run your finger down each option to find what you originally wanted.
“i can’t find which one…,” you mumble and katsuki sits forward.
“i can come back later if you still need some time, miss. i can get dynamight’s ready.”
you feel like cursing. how the fuck would that make sense, both eating at different times?
“no, here it is!” you read it from the menu, pretty sure you’re butchering the pronunciation, “could i have the sauce on the side?”
she frowns at you, looks at your dress and your hair before meeting your eyes. “the point of that meal is that the sauce is all over.”
bakugou nods but turns to the waitress, “if it’s possible to get it on the side, we’d appreciate it.”
the waitress’s smile blooms across her face, “of course dynamight! anything for you. i’ll get those ready and be back with your drinks.”
once she grabs your menus and is off, you have to mention it.
“i don’t like her.”
bakugou gapes at you, that confused boyish stare that makes you feel like you’re being irrational.
“hah? why?” you’re grateful he puts his elbows on the table. you know that’s a thing rich people say is impolite.
you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “she was only facing you, forgot i was even at the table… she looked at me weirdly and was all over you. only listened to you when i asked for a change to my food.”
bakugou laughs softly, like you’re a baby doing something that’s cute but would be embarrassing if they were an adult. yanking off their sock or burping in public. “she was just a fan, baby. i’m sure you just misread her look.”
you do what you swear you wouldn’t do with men, you let it go and believe what he’s saying. that voice at the back of your head is louder than ever before. you don’t belong here. you’re an idiot to think somehow you match the people surrounding you. with their wrists full of bracelets that cost your undergraduate degree, masters and phd combined. he loves the attention from women, he’s just a man after all.
you sit up straight in your chair, “yeah, maybe.”
then he grins at you, “so tell me what else you found in my office that day?”
the food is amazing, so good you find it irritating. probably would have been better if the sauce was poured over like the waitress said. a woman with massive emerald earrings walks by the table, compliments your dress and your first thought is that she’s laughing at you, an elaborate story builds in your head that she was the one that donated it to the charity shop you bought it from.
“sorry ladies, we’re tryna eat here so i’m not takin’ photos right now.”
you haven’t been able to get through a conversation without getting interrupted by the waitress refilling your drinks the second it’s half empty or a child nervously walking over asking bakugou to sign his napkin. you turn around and see the boy’s parents egging him on, waving at katsuki. as cute as it is, you just want to talk to him.
but these two women, probably born with a silver spoon in their mouths and four forks on the table, are giving your boy— katsuki, bedroom eyes. a—fucking—gain.
they pout at him, “dynamight! oh well. you’re much bigger in person,” one says.
“is this your girlfriend?” she waves at you and you smile, trying to eat your meal like you’ve been here before.
“no but—,” you feel like he’s just stabbed you in the chest and twisted it. there’s a few more words exchanged after that but you can barely focus. obviously he said no, he’s not your boyfriend, you both have confirmed that all the time. but it’s always felt like a thing you say, not him.
you feel like crying and you can’t justify why. everything has just been too much, the zipper of your dress is poking you in the back and you don’t like the wine bakugou chose for the table. you prefer your mixers, juice and liquor or the cheap wine your friends buy for the purpose of getting drunk. not to pair the fruity tones to your specific meal.
when bakugou asks if you still want to get ice cream, once you’re buckled in his car, you say you don’t feel too good.
“shit, d’you think it’s the food?” he asks you, squeezing your thigh before pulling out of the parking space.
“no i’ve got a headache, not sure where it’s come from,” you lie, facing the window. “would be best if i go home.”
bakugou notices the lack of we there. his plan was to ask you to be his girlfriend whilst you’re eating ice cream. the little local family owned shop near your apartment that you always drag him to because for some reason it closes late into the early morning. you’ve had many sugary kisses outside that shop, in the rickety blue seats as you force him to try a new flavour every time.
“okay, baby,” he knows there’s something up with you, “we can watch a movie in bed, if you wanna? order in dessert.”
you hum, barely a response and bakugou racks his mind to find where this all started. he could tell you were nervous at the beginning which makes sense considering you’re not used to restaurants like that. you’re more mini skirt and little top than fancy long designer dresses, he knows this, but he thought the change would be fun.
“you sure you’re okay? just the headache?”
you force yourself to meet his eyes. you give a small smile, not linking your fingers with his like you usually do, “yes, katsuki. that’s all.”
bakugou’s completely sure he’s absolutely fucked it. the car ride home was practically silent, only replying back in short sentences, no witty comments from you like usual and you didn’t even make a joke about how hard he tried tonight. no usual comment about rich people have no taste or a laugh at the couple across from you who ordered everything on the menu for the sake of it.
he’s out of his suit now, in one of his t-shirts and basketball shorts in your bedroom as you wipe off your makeup. your hair is out of the style you had it in earlier and he knows it’s cheesy to say but he prefers you like this. even out of the tight dress and just in an oversized tee like usual.
he still wants to ask you to be his but currently, he feels exactly like the last time he mentioned it to you. outside of your world, here but not exactly welcomed. at least visibly, there’s signs of him around the room. his heroes weekly cover is on display on your magazine rack, the first one, in front of all the ones he purposely left in your apartment. it’s the one you took from his office and put there yourself. he had to travel back home to japan a few weeks ago and he brought you back a load of things but you keep the postcards he got you out on display. one is a drawing of a cat that you have framed and another is a line up of traditional japanese houses that you have standing up on your bookshelf. his favourite addition to your room is the photo booth strip of you both on your desk. you haven’t decided where to put it and he’s waiting.
there’s visible differences, which is exactly what he wanted but still, he’s not let inside your head.
you’re quieter since your roommate is sleeping next door, “i’m going to change in the bathroom. brush my teeth and wash up.”
bakugou fucking hates this.
he yanks you to him as he sits on your bed, grabbing your hand so you fall into his chest.
“katsuki! my clothes—,”
your expensive second hand dress is pressed against his clean white t-shirt and bakugou tucks his chin in your breasts to look up at you.
“talk to me, baby,” he whines at you, “let me in. tell me you hated the place. too many fuckin’ forks on the table. it was a shit date. i’m sorry for the people that came to the table. explain why you didn’t like the waitress. somethin’.”
you look familiar, his yn with your bare face and your jewellery all taken off. once this dress is off, maybe he’ll get you back completely.
you sigh, you don’t know where to start but you register the pain and frustration in his ruby pupils. you would much rather roll in bed with him, have him kiss your thighs to sleep and wake up beside him in the morning.
but you’re partly annoyed at him and you hate to say it but for the first time ever, bakugou reminded you of your ex.
the dismissing your feelings, the comment about the food, choosing somewhere he likes instead of considering you and the women. allowing the flirting, the comments, him saying that you weren’t his girlfriend. which you’re not but…
“i’ll wash up and we can talk.”
bakugou grunts to himself, smacks his lips against each other in disappointment, “didn’t even say it wasn’t a shit date.”
you pull away from him, sighing, “hold on, i’ll be five minutes.”
if tonight couldn’t get any worse, your phone buzzes on the sink as you brush your teeth. you’ve shimmied out of your dress, even kicked it for good measure once it landed on the floor and pulled on your pjs. cotton shorts and one of katsuki’s t-shirts he’s left at yours.
you assume it’s a funny relatable video your friend has sent but the caption beside the notification feels as if you’re being strangled.
@/friend: Post from @/heronewsnow
@/friend: girl wtf is ur man doing
@/friend: i’m gonna murder him for you
you spit out the toothpaste, wiping your face of anything left over and take a breath. you’ve been in this situation before with your last boyfriend. you swore you would never be in it again but how the universe loves to laugh in your face.
you tap the notification, your phone going straight to the post that your friend sent.
DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH PINKY ON HIS TRIP HOME. TWO HEROES TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT?
the loud bold text from this hero news page is paired with a photo of them at a restaurant, much like the one he took you to today but across the world. bakugou is in his gorgeous black suit, while this hero, pinky, looks beautiful. she doesn’t look like she’s playing a part in her teal dress, she looks as if she belongs. she’s got her hand over his on the table as he laughs and her smile looks like it’s worth thousands.
you gulp, turning off your phone and placing it face down on the sink. you refuse to look at yourself in the mirror, you can already imagine the word idiot painted on your forehead.
you’ve been cheated on twice. go figure. if it even counts considering he’s not yours.
you walk back into your bedroom exhausted, finding katsuki under your covers reading the blurb of a book you left on your bedside table.
“you took ages in there,” he opens the duvet so you can slip in, “c’mon i wanna cuddle.”
you want to cry. you want to scream into your pillow and write off dating for the end of time. this is why you shouldn’t have let yourself get close to this man. tomorrow you’re throwing out his magazine covers, the new hand painted bowls he got you and you’re going to get your tool kit to take apart the advertisement at your nearest bus stop where dynamight is pictured half naked telling you to buy new underwear.
you really want to wrap yourself in his arms and have the night you were supposed to have together.
“you have to leave.”
“hah?” he blurts, though he doesn’t move, “the date wasn’t that fuckin’ bad was it?”
“i’m serious, katsuki. leave!” you screech, clenching your fists. the tears that have been dying to fall all evening finally do.
you spin away from him, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. you can’t let him see you cry. bakugou pounces up from your bed and he risks it all by placing his hands on your waist, your back to his chest.
“what the fuck is goin’ on with you?” he mumbles, leaning his cheek against your head. “why’re you cryin’? the date was shit, yeah? then talk to me.”
he went back to japan on a work trip, he told you he was on a work trip but he was on a date with a woman. another pro hero who looks perfect with him and fits his life, the girlfriend he’s supposed to have.
the warmth of his chest is a comfort you need to learn to hate.
you step away from him, taking a deep breath. you decide to face him once you’re sure no tears will fall and his face breaks your heart. his fingers are twitching to touch you, but since you won’t let him, he anxiously rakes them through his hair.
your voice is scratching your throat, dry and raw, “i didn’t like the restaurant, i felt uncomfortable. the waitress was flirting with you, so were those women that wanted photos with you. i never got to finish a sentence we had so many distractions. i felt like an idiot, a child playing dress up in a world that wasn’t made for me. y-you told those girls i wasn’t your girlfriend and… and i know i’m not but it felt like shit.”
then you half laugh, it’s an awkward one, “the food was good though. better than my shitty frozen food.”
you sigh, rubbing your eyes and you’re not even finished.
“baby, yn, i just wanted to try somethin’ new for us, that was my bad. shoulda kept it to what we know,” he tries, “and i guess they were flirtin’ but i didn't do i back?”
you shake your head, “that’s not the point. i don’t want to be on a date and witness that. you should have shut them down from the beginning.”
“they’re fans, i can’t shut down every fan—,”
“but you can.”
“yn, c’mon now.” bakugou grits his teeth, “i’m sorry about that and i didn’t mean to sound like a dick when i was talkin’ about food.”
“you think i’m being sensitive? dramatic?” you offer because you rather just have the words out before he can throw them at you later.
“fuck no, today was a lot. everythin’ combined, it makes sense that what i said sounded like that.” he frowns, so understanding it annoys you more.
you sigh obnoxiously and bakugou feels his blood boil. he knows when he’s fucked up but what was wrong with what he said? “what?! is that the wrong thing to say?”
“no it’s not!” you throw your hands up in the air.
“then what?” he presses and bakugou has to because he never presses you. “you never talk to me. i’m always walkin’ on fuckin’ eggshells tryin’ to figure out if i’m comin’ or goin’ with you. you decide you like me one day and the next you want me to fuck off. i’m sorry i wanted to impress you with an expensive restaurant. yes, i should have dealt with all the fans differently. i should have been more aware of how you’re feelin’ but you don’t tell me shit.”
his chest heaves, out of breath and now he’s started he can’t stop. “you’re… you’re willin’ to drag me along knowing how much you have me wrapped around your finger. i’ve been down from the first week i met you but i was careful not to be too much so i don’t scare you. it’s been months, fuckin’ months and you still won’t tell me why you won’t let me in. why you don’t want me the same way i want you.”
he’s careful not to shout, so his words keep wobbling in pitch. “i haven’t done anythin’ wrong but i’m payin’ for your exes goddamn mistakes!”
you don’t want to see where he’s coming from, face your own mistakes in your relationship with him. you know he’s right but today proved you guys wouldn’t even work together. it feels like oxygen is slowly leaving the room, your chest heaves while bakugou grits his teeth at you. you handle accusations the only way you know how, you throw one back to him.
“well i guess you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”
“what?”
he didn’t rant for you to walk away from him, he doesn’t want to leave you.
“your trip back home, going on dates with heroes. you both look good together,” you scoff, “even when you take precautions, even though you’re not my boyfriend, it still feels like being cheated on.”
you step away from him, wiping your eyes before tears can fall. your heart beats against your chest like a drum and you just want him out of your space. you want to be curled up in his arms. you wish that you were a clean slate meeting him for the first time, perhaps the version of you that didn’t get your heartbroken but now you come to any lover after with precaution and warning.
“the fuck are you on about? what date?” bakugou spits, not bothering to keep his voice down for your roommate.
he towers over you and despite his burning annoyance at how terrible the day has become, he can’t help but feel bad. especially at how you’re unable to meet his eyes, how you hug around your body and clutch your phone tightly.
you’re tapping your foot like you’re too busy for this conversation but it’s just a nervous tick, “the hero accounts are talking about you going on a date with another hero back in japan. i’m not mad, we aren’t together.”
it’s true, you’re not mad. you’re devastated. your tiny whisper, “please leave, katsuki.” is a physical punch in his stomach.
“i didn’t go on a date. i met up with a friend, mina right? that’s who you’re talkin’ about?”
your breaths come out as little hiccups and he knows for a fact you hate that he’s perceiving you like this. you’re distraught, refusing to let him see a tear slip and whilst telling him to leave, you still want to hear what he has to say.
“pinky. that pink hero,” you reply quietly.
“baby, yn, listen,” he notices your jaw clench at the name but you glance up at him. your eyes are blood shot, sending him daggers.
“she’s my friend from school. we grew up together. we had a hero event, the one i texted you about and then we went out to eat after. it wasn’t no fuckin’ date,” bakugou keeps his voice levelled, risking it all by lifting his palm to your cheek.
you lean into it like a kitten, “then why is her hand over yours in the picture?”
you’re embarrassingly wailing at him, lips in a sad pout and you swore to yourself months ago you wouldn’t end up like this again in front of a man. how the mighty have fallen.
bakugou coos you gently, so tender when he brushes a tear from you cheek, “what picture, baby?”
he’s shocked when you unlock your phone and the picture you’re talking about is the first one on the screen. along with the stupid headline and yes, her hand over his.
bakugou grunts, then sighs.
you’re a firecracker, quick to pull his hand off your cheek but he’s faster yanking you into his chest so you can’t escape.
“let me go, you dick,” but you barely fight, resting your face between his pectorals as he sits his hand on your waist.
“i was talkin’ to her about you. how you don’t want me back and i’m obsessed. she laughed and felt bad for me so she was just comfortin’ me.” he says it slowly, speaking at your bookshelf.
your room is coated in silence. about five seconds worth, before you look up at him from where he’s got you squashed.
“how am i supposed to believe you?”
bakugou rolls his eyes, running his pointer finger in circles on your lower back, “that’s all up to you, babe. have i ever lied to you? i’ve only ever been honest with you.”
the words fall out of your mouth before you can even register them.
with your cheek pressed against his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist and your eyes closed, you say it so fast it’s barely coherent. “my last boyfriend cheated on me while i was dating him. the whole time. i liked him for about a year before we made it official and he cheated. practically everyday.”
finally, an explanation, bakugou thinks. but it’s not as satisfying as he hoped it would be. he demands the burning rage to simmer, he’s not here to be angry for you, you’ve done enough of that over the years. he kisses your temple and sits down in your bed. he pulls you onto his lap and you’re grateful that you don’t have to maintain eye contact.
“how’d you find out?”
you sigh, wiping your nose with his t-shirt, “i knew for a fact for two weeks but still continued seeing him. i saw texts on his phone, then i got dms from girls asking if i was his girlfriend because he was with them last night.”
he can’t help it, “i wanna murder him.”
“same,” you laugh wetly, running your finger down a vein in his forearm, “i still haven’t let it go, i still hate him.”
“so that’s why you’re so careful with me gettin’ close to you.”
“that’s why you’re paying for my exes mistakes,” you try to joke and bakugou throws his head back in a huff.
“i didn’t mean that, i was just—,”
“i’m sorry.” you blurt, pressing your thumb into the thick muscle in bakugou’s arm, “i know i’ve been difficult and you’ve always come back.”
bakugou doesn’t know how to accept your apology, without the niggling knowledge that you’ve been aware of how much pain you’ve caused him. he holds you tight against him, hand holding your thighs to him and his other around your back.
he takes a shaky breath. when he looks up, directly forward he notices a photo booth strip of you and him, the same one on your table. he forgot that you picked up two while he took just one. turns out you did find a home for the photo. the solo photo booth strip you had attached to your fairy lights above your wardrobe now is replaced with you and him.
the first includes his grumpy face frowning at the camera while you grin with a peace sign.
the second he’s somewhat happier, his arm around your shoulders, smirking at the camera while you knock your head with his.
the third is when you put your hand on his jaw so he faces you and you kissed him. your eyes are closed while he looks at you surprised for initiating.
the fourth and last is just you both smiling at each other, his hand over yours on his cheek.
bakugou knows now, finally featured all over your room, a part of your life, what he must do.
“i was going to ask you to be my girlfriend again today,” he sniffs, staring at the strip, “while we ate ice cream at the little place ‘round the corner.”
you half laugh, wiping your face with the bottom of your tshirt, “i thought as much.”
“would you have said yes?” he tests and he doesn’t mean for his grip on you to get tighter but he’s preparing for the slow burn through his body at the rejection.
“i…,” you breathe softly, “i think so? i want you to be my boyfriend but today was all over the place and it made me question things.”
bakugou’s already nodding before you finish your sentence. he picks you off his lap and stands up, running a large palm over his face.
“what? what’s wrong?” you blubber and for someone who was just begging him to leave, the pendulum has swung on the opposite side. telling him your demons, why you’re so hard to love is supposed to make him stay, kiss you to sleep and live happily ever after.
“i’m gonna go home,” bakugou says and you’ve never seen the pro hero defeated. not in his career, on those clips on the news or when he comes to you after a villain brawl. but now, you can tell. he’s reached his limit with you.
his eyes droop with tiredness, physically and mentally. there’s a crease between his eyebrows because of his constant frown tonight and he’s no longer fidgeting with his hands. once they’re off his face, he stuffs them in his pockets and looks away from you.
“but… but i want you to stay now,” and you don’t want to cry again but you can feel it, fuck you can feel the burn of your throat with every word.
“you’re still not sure about me. one date couldn’t have been enough to completely change your mind about me. i’ve been sure for months about you, with everything you’ve thrown at me,” he grunts, chewing his bottom lip. forcefully rubbing his forehead like his mind will soften after. nothing works, “i’m gonna go.”
he opens your wardrobe, pulling out the suit he wore earlier, perfectly hung up with a black cloak over it. then he grabs his phone off your bedside table.
panic takes over you, your breathing stuttering, your thoughts jumping to the extremes, your hands clutching anything for purchase. you sit up on your knees. “are we over? are you breaking up with me?”
that makes him pause. he feels like punching himself in the throat for making you sound how he imagined your ex boyfriend made you. katsuki doesn’t want to lose you, that’s the last thing he wants to do here but it might be necessary now.
“we’re over,” he mutters yet loud enough for you both to hear.
you freeze, slumping down onto your ass, “no… but i don’t want to be over.”
“you don’t know what you want yn. some days you want me, others you don’t. some days you’re okay with pretending i don’t exist and others you’re all over me,” bakugou looks at you, sunken into your mattress, tears pouring down your cheeks. “it’s not fuckin’ fair.”
“please don’t go,” you tremble. pleading for a man, you’d rather die than admit you’ve ever done this but bakugou katsuki is different. he’s always been different. that’s what scared you.
“i’ll come back to pick up my other stuff. but i’m leavin’ for now.” he nods at you. he’s surprised at how calm he feels, as if he’s finally making a decision with his best interests in mind. he’s taking the wheel here, for the first time he’s in control of where your relationship is heading. even if it’s in the burning fire. “goodbye, yn.”
“i’m not saying bye to you,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. “i don’t want you to go.”
katsuki knows he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. he steps over to you, cups the back of your head with his hand and kisses the top.
“bye,” he mumbles into your scalp, “you’ll always know where i am.”
back in his greyscale apartment. lacking life, lacking you.
with that bakugou leaves you alone in your bed and only when your front door clicks shut do you fall back onto your pillows. loud wails unleash out of your body and like you always do for each other, your roommate knocks on your door.
comments and reblogs are appreciated. I delete comments asking for the next part.
Ꮼ tw: angst, partial hearing loss, hurt, guilt, past injury, no proper apology, subtle trauma if you squint, hurt/comfort, post-war arc.
i.
the common room carried sound in layers, the kind that overlapped until it became a single, indistinct hum. conversations braided into each other, laughter rising and falling without a clear source, the television murmuring in the background while someone argued about it anyway. it wasn’t loud in a way that demanded attention, but it was constant, filling every corner until silence felt like something unnatural.
for you, it never quite landed the same way.
voices reached you softened at the edges, like they had to pass through something before they got there. you could hear them—most of the time—but clarity depended on distance, on direction, on how fast someone spoke or whether they turned their head halfway through a sentence. your hearing aids helped, a quiet, steady presence behind your ears, sharpening what they could and smoothing what they couldn’t, but they didn’t make things perfect. they never had. so you relied on everything else just as much—the shape of words on lips, the rhythm of a conversation, the way people’s expressions shifted before a joke landed.
it worked. it always had.
mostly.
“—and then he just—”
you caught that much, but the rest slipped under the noise, swallowed before it could fully reach you. someone laughed, loud enough that your hearing aids picked it up cleanly this time, and you smiled a second too late, piecing together the moment after it had already passed.
“hey, did you even hear that?”
kaminari leaned forward, grin wide, already halfway into repeating himself. you could see the exaggeration in the way he shaped his words, the instinct people had to overcorrect when they realized you hadn’t caught something.
“don’t.”
katsuki didn’t raise his voice, but it cut through anyway, sharp enough to halt kaminari before he could try again. he didn’t look at him when he said it, didn’t even shift much from where he sat, sprawled back like he had no real investment in the conversation. anyone who didn’t know him would’ve believed it.
then his hand moved.
the motion was quick, practiced in a way that didn’t draw attention unless you were already looking for it. it wasn’t exaggerated or slowed down for clarity; it was natural, like speaking without thinking.
wasn’t important.
you responded just as easily, your own hands moving without hesitation, the exchange so familiar it barely registered as something separate from speech.
figured.
it should have ended there. and for you, it did. but for the room, it didn’t.
the shift was subtle, but it was there—a pause that didn’t quite belong, a moment where the rhythm of everything faltered before picking itself back up again. it wasn’t loud or dramatic, just enough to be noticed by the wrong person.
“…since when do you know sign language?”
you turned your head, already knowing.
shoto stood a short distance away, his expression as composed as ever, his gaze steady in a way that made it clear he hadn’t just stumbled onto the observation. he had been watching. not intrusively, not with any kind of accusation, just with that quiet, methodical attention he gave to things that didn’t quite fit into place.
katsuki scoffed, the sound low and dismissive. “i don’t.”
“you just used it.”
“tch. picked up a few things.”
the answer came easily, like it had been prepared in advance, something simple enough to shut the conversation down before it could go anywhere inconvenient. under normal circumstances, it would have worked. most people would have left it there.
shoto didn’t.
“you answered without looking at them,” he said, tone even, more observational than challenging. his gaze shifted briefly to you, then back. “and they answered immediately.”
there was no accusation to it, no push for explanation, but the precision of it left very little room to deflect. it wasn’t curiosity for the sake of conversation; it was curiosity because he had already noticed the pattern and simply chose to acknowledge it out loud.
katsuki’s jaw tightened, a small, sharp movement that didn’t go unnoticed.
“got a problem with that?” he shot back, irritation edging into his voice now, not loud but pointed.
“no,” shoto replied after a brief pause. “just an observation.”
silence stretched, not empty but taut, like something pulled too tight without snapping. it lingered just long enough to be felt before kasuki clicked his tongue and looked away, the conversation effectively cut off by sheer force of will.
no one pushed further.
they rarely did.
ii.
the moment didn’t disappear, though. it settled instead, quiet and persistent, threading itself into the rest of the evening in ways that didn’t need to be acknowledged to be present. the room gradually softened as time passed, voices lowering, people drifting into smaller groups or leaving altogether, the layered noise thinning into something more manageable.
you stayed where you were, letting the environment shift around you, adjusting without effort the way you always had. it wasn’t difficult. it had never really been difficult.
it was just… constant.
“hey.”
you looked up, drawn out of your thoughts.
ochako stood beside the table, her expression gentle but uncertain, like she was aware she might be stepping into something personal and wasn’t entirely sure how to do it without overstepping.
“can i sit?”
you nodded, and she took the seat across from you, hands folding together briefly before she let them rest against the surface. there was a moment where she hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the rest of the room before returning to you, as if weighing whether or not to say what was on her mind.
she chose to.
“earlier… with bakugo,” she began carefully, her voice softer now, more deliberate. “did he learn that for you?”
the question wasn’t invasive, not really. it wasn’t prying in the way some questions were, wasn’t trying to dig into something raw just to understand it. if anything, it was gentle.
that didn’t make it easier to answer.
your fingers stilled against the table, the faint hum of your hearing aids suddenly more noticeable, not because it had changed, but because your attention had shifted to it. it was always there, that subtle presence, amplifying, adjusting, doing what it could to bridge the gap between what you could hear and what you couldn’t.
you didn’t look at her right away.
“…he was there,” you said instead, your voice even, measured in a way that didn’t invite further interpretation.
ochako blinked slightly. “there?”
“when I was learning.”
the explanation was simple, stripped of anything that might make it heavier than it needed to be. you traced a small, absent line along the edge of the table with your fingertip, grounding yourself in the motion.
“he just didn’t leave.”
it was the closest thing to an answer you were willing to give.
across the room, you didn’t have to look to know he’d heard enough to understand what you’d said. not because he was listening directly, but because he always seemed to catch the things that mattered without needing them to be said loudly.
ochako’s expression softened, something quiet settling into it as she absorbed the weight of what you hadn’t said just as much as what you had.
“oh,” she murmured, and left it there, and you were grateful for that.
iii.
memory didn’t return in pieces.
it came all at once, vivid in a way the present never quite managed to be.
the heat had been the first thing you noticed back then, thick summer air pressing against your skin, the ground warm beneath your shoes as you stood too close to something that felt more exciting than dangerous. everything had been louder then—clearer, sharper, each sound distinct in a way that didn’t require effort to understand.
you remembered the way he grinned, all confidence and impatience, sparks already gathering in his palm before anyone could tell him to stop.
you remembered izuku speaking, his voice quick and anxious, trying to interrupt, to redirect, to prevent something that was already too close to happening.
and then it did.
the explosion wasn’t what stayed with you.
it was what followed.
sound didn’t fade; it fractured. one moment it was there, overwhelming and immediate, and the next it had collapsed into something thin and distorted, a sharp ringing cutting through everything else as the world seemed to tilt out of place. your ears burned, your balance faltered, and suddenly the clarity you had taken for granted was gone, replaced with something distant and unreachable.
izuku was in front of you, his movements frantic, his mouth forming words you couldn’t quite piece together, even though you could see them clearly. the disconnect was immediate, disorienting in a way that made everything else feel unreal.
behind him, katsuki had gone completely still.
the energy that had filled him moments before had vanished, leaving something rigid in its place, something that didn’t know how to move forward from what had just happened.
his mouth moved, slowly this time. carefully. like if he spoke differently, it would fix something.
you heard nothing but the ringing.
iv.
“hey.”
the present returned without force, slipping back into place as naturally as it had left.
you looked up to find him standing closer than before, across the room, not half-turned away like he usually was. his gaze flicked over you briefly, assessing, searching for something he never put into words.
he didn’t speak.
he rarely did, when it mattered.
instead, his hand lifted, the motion slower now, more deliberate than it had been earlier, like he was choosing each sign instead of letting them come automatically.
you okay?
the question sat between you, simple and direct in a way spoken words never quite managed to be.
you held his gaze for a moment, aware of the weight behind it, of everything that had never been addressed and likely never would be.
then you answered.
yeah.
it wasn’t a lie.
not entirely.
his shoulders eased just slightly, the tension leaving in a way that most people wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking for it. he clicked his tongue, glancing off to the side as if the moment had already passed.
“good.”
the word came out rough, casual, stripped of anything that might make it sound like concern.
it was enough.
somewhere behind you, someone called your name. you caught the sound this time, faint but recognizable, your hearing aids picking up just enough for you to turn—
except you didn’t have to.
a sharp nudge against your arm stopped you first.
you looked back.
katsuki’s hand was already moving, the motion quick, certain, unhesitating now.
they’re calling you.
clear and impossible to miss.
you nodded, pushing yourself up from your seat, already turning toward the voice that had called you.
and as you moved, the realization settled in quietly, not new but never fully acknowledged.
once, he had said something you couldn’t hear.
now, he made sure you never had to rely on hearing it at all.
note: okay so school had me busy as fuck so i couldn’t post this before… kinda happy w the result tho. katsuki is my comfort char too so…….. hsjdjejdjd I LUB HIM SO MUCH
all work belongs to @meqoww do not repost, modify, translate or plagiarize in any way on ANY platforms. do not feed my work to ai platforms, respect the author.
content. smau. profanity & sarcasm. fluff. getting together. crack. mention of drinking + hangovers + getting blackout drunk. don’t pay attention to the picture - pretend it’s you and bkg lol. kirimina. bakugou katsuki is Chalant and i will Die on that hill. also literally do not pay attention to the time stamps, i’m sure some of the are fucked up and wrong (it’s midnight and i’m exhausted).
content. smau. this is kind of fast-paced and shoddy, but it’s a cute concept. profanity & sarcasm. fluff. getting together. crack. don’t pay attention to the boys’ group chat name - it’s an inside joke that even i don’t get. katsuki bakugou is Not nonchalant.
˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.
˚✿˖ Authors note: I hope you guys enjoy this chap! I love writing for these cuties
˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder
˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next
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Bakugou can't help but notice you everywhere.
It's a newer development, he could’ve sworn your quirk must’ve been invisibility before. Or maybe it was something lamer, like blending into walls and not making a damn sound.
Now, it's like he can't help but find you whenever you're in the same room. It’s like gravity’s tilted toward you!
Homeroom’s no exception. Aizawa’s droning at the front about god-knows-what, voice flat as chalk dust.
Katsuki’s in the first row, posture squared, nothing between him and the board to keep him distracted. Nothing except you. Even without looking, he knows you’re there. A few seats back, just behind shitty hair. Close enough his brain keeps trying to turn around.
He hates it. With every fiber of his being.
It’s been days since the photoshoot, but the images still won’t leave him. Or maybe it’s not the photos. Maybe it’s just you.
You’re the same as ever, but if he had a nickel for every time some rich classmate revealed themselves to have mommy issues, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t much, but it’s already more than he needs.
You strolled into class today like absolutely nothing had happened on Friday, walking in with your designer loafers and diamonds sparkling on each ear. One weak little smile tossed his way before you hurried off to your seat behind Kirishima.
And well, somehow that was all it took to blur the rest of class into background noise.
Before, you were just another extra - some nepo baby everyone only knew because of how your tuition was bought and paid for.
Now, you're just about everywhere he looks.
The bell finally rings. Katsuki jerks upright, Aizawa mutters a dismissal, desks scrape as everyone packs up. Out of habit he glances back - just in time to catch you blowing air across your journal, trying to dry the pastel gel ink before shutting it.
He squints. Do all of your damn pens have giant fuzzy puffballs on top?
Before he can sneer about it, Kirishima’s grinning face cuts into view. “You ready, bro? Hitting the gym before joining the others, right?”
Katsuki quirks a brow. “Yes to the gym. No to whatever the hell you’ve got after.”
“Oh c’mon man you agreed last week! It’s just that new mall. The Outdoor place, we’re all going.”
Katsuki’s lip curls. “Who’s we?”
“You know. The gang. Even Y/N’s coming! Ochako said so yesterday.”
Something in his chest stutters, though his face stays flat. Of course Cheeks invited you. Of course you said yes. Lately you’ve been orbiting them more, and he’s noticed. He hates that he’s noticed. “I’ll pass.”
Kirishima just snorts. “No you won’t. I’ll drag you if I have to. But first - you’re spotting me on the bench press today.”
Katsuki huffs, standing. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Sorry, excuse me.”
The voice is small, right behind Kirishima’s frame. Both boys pause, turning to see you blinking up at them. Kirishima grins and sidesteps. “No worries. See you later, Y/N!”
You smile faintly, fingers clutching your tote strap. Your nails sparkle when the light hits them, still twinkling like they did during the shoot. Borderline ridiculous. He can’t stop staring.
Your gaze flicks to him though it's brief, and then it’s gone, tucked safely back on Kirishima. “Y-yeah, we’re meeting in the common room, right?”
As you sort details with Shitty Hair, Katsuki narrows his eyes. His brain drags him back to Friday, to sharp words and your mother’s voice, to things he knows he shouldn’t care about. Curiosity coils sharp and restless anyway.
And then you’re leaving. Tote swinging, perfume trailing faint behind you.
Kirishima’s hand lands on his shoulder, solid. “Gym time, bro!”
Katsuki exhales through his teeth. “Fine.”
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You sink into the bed the moment you finish your shower, hair tucked into a towel and body wrapped in the softest pajamas you own. Your laptop rests against your thighs, the familiar glow pulling you into the comfort of your favorite show.
The sheets beneath you are brand new, a pink and purple floral pattern you ordered on a whim over the weekend. They feel impossibly soft, dangerously so, and you already know you’ve cursed yourself by creating the coziest refuge imaginable.
You don’t want to leave!
Not when your favorite contestant on the show you like has made it into the final three, and the thought of being spoiled before the finale makes your stomach twist. Not when your room feels so warm, so safe, as if the outside world can’t reach you here.
The pale blue tones and fairy lights you had before were lovely, but you’d needed a change.
Maybe it was a stress response to interacting with your mother again after so long. Maybe it was just the kind of itch only new room decor could scratch. Either way, Hajime hadn’t asked questions when you begged him to help redecorate.
Now lavender hues soften the edges of your walls, pink accents brighten every corner, and expensive mood lighting hums quietly around you. It should be perfect.
Yet, no matter how carefully you built this cocoon, the dull achy feeling in your chest lingers.
A soft knock startled you, cutting through the haze of your thoughts. You fumbled, yanking your glasses off your face and tossing them into the nearest cabinet like it was illegal contraband.
“Come in!” Your voice cracked brighter than you intended, and you forced yourself to peel out of the warm sheets, even though every fiber of you begged to stay tucked away.
Your brows shot up when the door swung open to reveal Ochako, glowing like she’d stepped out of a catalog. Hair smoothed, outfit pressed, lip tint subtle but obvious—she looked more than ready.
“Am I late?!” you gasped, panic rushing in as your eyes darted down to the slim vintage watch on your wrist.
“No, no!” she rushed, waving her hands quickly. “I’m just… really early. A little nervous about today.”
“Nervous? Why?” Your voice dropped into a whisper, the anxiety in her tone immediately bleeding into yours. If Ochako was nervous, you knew you had every right to spiral.
She twisted her fingers together, cheeks blooming a soft pink as she perched delicately on your plush mini sofa, sinking into the cushions like they might swallow her whole. “It’s just - Deku asked me if I wanted to grab dinner with him after… alone.”
Your eyes widened. “Like… a date?!”
Ochako’s face went scarlet, rivaling the red soles of your favorite heels. “No Y/N! God, wait, do you think it’s a date?! We’re just friends, but - ”
“Ochako.” You leaned forward, whispering like you were imparting a secret. “I think it’s a date.”
She squealed, muffling the sound by burying her face into one of your overstuffed decorative pillows. You couldn’t help the little smile tugging at your lips as you settled back on your bed.
“That’s fun! And about time.” Because honestly? If you - with zero social skills and a documented fear of men had figured out those two had a thing for each other, then the entire world must’ve known.
You’d been rooting for them since first year, at first chalking it up to your romance-novel-addled imagination… but time had only proved you right.
“Oh gosh, Y/N, what do I do?! Should I change my outfit?!” Ochako sat upright again, tugging at the skirt of her sundress like it suddenly didn't fit her right. “I haven’t even done my makeup yet! Maybe I should ask Momo to help-”
You hummed, nodding lightly. “Momo’s makeup is always really good… but I don't think you should change? You look cute right now.” You gestured toward her lemon-yellow sundress and simple white flats.
The fabric caught the light when she fidgeted, and for a moment you wanted to ask if it was vintage - but judging by her panic, probably not the right time.
“Maybe since it’s dinner, you could wear a heel?” you suggested instead.
Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t really own any that go with this dress. Maybe I should just change the entire outfit…”
Your brows drew together. “What size are you? I have heels that’d look really cute.” You were already on your feet, striding toward your walk-in closet - the one that had been built just for you when the dorms went up. Money talks, after all.
Even with the custom space, your wardrobe strained the shelves and racks, the air thick with the soft blend of leather polish, fabric softener, and expensive perfume.
Ochako gasped from behind you, trailing closer but shaking her head frantically. “Y/N, you don’t have to lend me anything! That’s so sweet, but I’ll find something else-”
“Here they are!” you interrupted triumphantly, plucking a pair of butter-yellow Dior slingbacks from the top row. They gleamed under the soft closet lights, delicate and perfect. You spun on your heel and pressed them into her hands with a bright smile. “They’ll match your dress.”
Ochako nearly choked when her eyes caught the tiny stitched Dior logo near the heel. “Y/N… these are gorgeous, but I cannot wear them.”
You frowned, confused. “Why not? Not your size?”
Her gaze snapped up, wide and horrified. “Because they probably cost more than a month of rent?! What if I ruin them?!” She tried to shove the shoes back at you, panic written all over her face.
You just shook your head, stubborn. “That’s what dry cleaners are for, Ochako. Seriously. I think you should wear them, heels are a confidence boost! And those are really comfortable.”
She still looked like she might faint, but finally let out a squeaky laugh and gave in, cradling the heels like they were made of glass.
You perched on the edge of your bed, chin in your palm, watching eagerly as she took her first tentative steps. The shoes hugged her perfectly. When she finally stood in front of your full-length mirror, her reflection straightened with an almost imperceptible confidence.
Then she froze. “Wait… is your room different now? How am I just noticing this?” She turned from the mirror, eyes widening as she finally took in the lavender hues of your new sheets, the glowing mood lights, the subtle clutter of unopened delivery boxes you hadn’t hidden yet.
You laughed, the sound a little too quick, a little too awkward. “I… tend to stress shop.” You waved it off, fingers tugging at your rings as if to distract both her and yourself. “But back to you, I think the heels look amazing.”
Ochako lingered on your fidgeting for a moment, her brows knitting like she wanted to pry.
But then her expression softened, and she let the subject go. “They really are pretty, Y/N. And comfortable too.” She turned side to side in the mirror, testing her balance with a small smile. Then her lips pressed together. “But is it… too much for the mall we’re going to first? Like, heels and a dress? I know it’s a fancier mall, but I don’t want to look over the top.”
Relief washed through you that she hadn’t pressed further about your redecorating. You shrugged easily. “I mean, I wear heels all the time! You can never look too good anywhere you go.”
The words tasted familiar, not quite your own. Your mother’s voice echoing in your head: Never leave the house undone. It was one of the only lessons she had ever taken the time to teach you.
Ochako tilted her head, considering, then nodded decisively. “You’re right. I’ll throw on a light cardigan to make it feel more casual for the day.” She tugged at the hem of her sundress, still analyzing her reflection.
You smiled softly, warmth filling your chest at the sight of her shoulders relaxing. “Perfect. You look great!”
She beamed, glowing like the girl who could float entire buildings into the sky—then promptly deflated back onto your sofa, letting out a groan. “Have you ever been on a date before, Y/N? I don’t even know what to expect.”
The question caught you off guard. You let out a short, almost nervous laugh, shaking your head quickly. “Absolutely not. I’ve never even held hands with a boy.” The words slipped out in a rush, your turn to feel heat rise in your cheeks.
Ochako’s jaw dropped slightly. “Are you serious? But… you’re so pretty! I totally would’ve thought-”
You gave a small shrug, eyes lowering as your fingers toyed with the thin silver band circling your finger. “I don’t know. I just don’t think boys like me that way. But it’s fine, really.”
Ochako blinked at you as if you’d just spoken another language. “Trust me, Y/n. Boys do like you that way. A lot of the guys in our class think you’re pretty.” Her tone softened, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.
You froze, your heart skipping unevenly. “Oh… seriously?”
She nodded, almost surprised you hadn’t realized it before. “Of course. But I get it, I’m not exactly experienced either. Not like some of the other girls.”
Your brows lifted. “Like who?”
“Well, Momo and Todoroki have been seeing each other for a while, though I don’t think it’s official. There’s definitely something going on between Kirishima and Mina. And Jirou’s had a crush on Kaminari forever—he even kissed her once.”
Your jaw slackened as you listened, shock written all over your face. How had you missed all of this in the past three years?
“Even Bakugou’s dated,” Ochako added. “He and that girl from Shiketsu had a thing last year.”
Your eyes flew wide. “R-really? What girl from Shiketsu?”
She hesitated, her fingers stilling against the fabric of her skirt. For a moment her lips parted, then pressed shut again—like she hadn’t meant to let it slip at all. A flicker of guilt softened her face.
“I don’t think it was ever serious,” she said at last, voice light, but not careless. “But… Camie was really into him. They hung out often.”
You blink, the words sinking slowly, impossibly, into you. The name cracked something open. A dull weight coiled in your stomach, dread unspooling before you even understood why.
“Oh,” you breathed, fighting the twitch of your mouth into a smile. “I remember her. She’s… really pretty.”
The words tasted brittle on your tongue, hollowly polite.
Pretty - Camie with her shining hair the color of warm light, her flawless skin, that easy charm that seemed to belong to girls who never tripped over their own feelings. The kind of girl who would fit beside a guy like Bakugou without ever questioning if she was enough. Camie was incredibly confident and cool, the two of them made sense.
The thought of Bakugou with a girl made you feel slightly ill. Were they still talking? If not, did he miss her? Was it distance that pried them apart, or something deeper, something personal he had given her that you’d never touched?
You hated how much you wanted to know, as if knowing would change anything at all. You and Bakugou weren't even friends, who were you to pry into his dating history?!
It wasn't really any of your business, but you want to know everything.
“How did you… um, find out about them?” The question slipped from you gingerly, your hands fidgeting with your nails as you shifted against the bed. You could feel Ochako’s gaze linger, watchful, as though she were measuring your every reaction.
“Well, Mina told me.” She tilted her head, searching your face before continuing. “It was really more of a mutual attraction thing. But I don’t think they took each other so seriously. Bakugou isn’t really… the relationship type.”
Ochako winced as soon as the words left her, as if realizing they sounded sharper than she intended.
You blinked, trying to process, but your chest only seemed to tighten.
"I see..." It was all you could manage, feeling smaller than ever all of the sudden. The thought wouldn’t leave you: Bakugou had dated before. And with a girl like Camie at that! The uneasy feeling in your chest doesn't settle as you avert your eyes from Ochako.
The unease lodged in your chest did not settle. You lowered your eyes, pretending to smooth the blanket beneath your palms, but really it was to hide the way your expression faltered in the silence that followed.
Ochako hesitated, then finally asked the question that must have been weighing on her tongue. “Y/N… is there something going on between you and Bakugou?”
You cough, absolutely mortified. Ochako asking that made your pathetic crush feel all too real. You shook your head too quickly.
“N-not at all! I mean-” You tried to laugh it off, but it sounded awkward, tense. “This year I’ve just… gotten to know him a little more, I guess. All by coincidence, really.”
Your smile was shaky, like paper threatening to tear. “He’s… kinder than I thought he’d be,” you admitted softly, the truth slipping through despite yourself. “I’m just… trying to get to know my classmates.”
And that was all you allowed yourself to say. You'd rather die than admit to Ochako that you have a severely sad crush on the blonde boy, especially after she just told you about his past with Camie. A girl who's the embodiment of everything you're not.
Ochako gives you a soft look when she gets the hint, but it melts into a smile as she nods.
Minutes later, she’s sat comfortably on your bed while you step out of the bathroom, a little jean skirt brushing your thighs, a creamy off-the-shoulder blouse sliding gently against your skin. Gold glimmers at your ears and wrists, paired with your usual diamond stack catching the light.
Ochako lets out a delighted little “oooh,” nodding as her eyes roam over you. “What shoes are you wearing?”
You disappear into the closet again and return with a creamy white Birkin draped over your arm, deep brown Louboutins clicking softly against the floor. Ochako gawks openly at the impossible curve of the five-and-a-half-inch heels, certain anyone else would already be toppling over.
“This is my mom’s bag, it’s old but still one of my favorites. And the shoes… I thought the color felt right for fall,” you murmur, smoothing your skirt in the mirror and tilting your head, considering the outfit as if the finishing touches are only just revealing themselves.
“Gosh you look so good already, I’ll leave you to it and go ask Momo to help me with my makeup. Text me if you need anything!” Ochako beams, all warmth and brightness.
You try to lift your lips the way she does, to let that kind of light live on your face, but the weight in your chest refuses to ease.
“I'll see you later, Ochako.”
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The outdoor mall hums with weekend energy, sunlight spilling down through rows of young maples strung with fairy lights that wait for dusk to come alive. Heat still clings stubbornly to the air, the kind of sticky warmth that feels more like late summer than fall, though the sharp tang of cinnamon from a nearby café insists the season has changed.
You trailed a step behind the others, their laughter carrying light and easy beneath the shade of the young maples.
The storefronts all gleamed too perfectly - glass and polished stone, mannequins posed like porcelain dolls in carefully curated scenes.
The sun hit the white pavement so harshly you had to tilt your sunglasses higher on your nose, your fingers tightening on the creamy leather handle of your bag.
This was why you hated malls. All this walking, the noise, the heat - when it would’ve been easier, to call your personal sales associate for a private appointment!
You was awfully confused as to why nobody in the group had appointments today...
Somewhere ahead, Mina’s bracelets sang with each dramatic wave of her arm as she pointed toward a boutique window, Jirou’s chuckle spilling out in quiet harmony beside her. Ochako, Momo, and Tsuyu lingered close, Ochako’s nervous chatter about her “not-date” drawing knowing smiles from the other girls.
The boys hadn’t arrived yet, though the dread in your chest made it feel like they were looming already. You had overheard Bakugou grumble to Kirishima in class that he wasn’t coming, but deep down you knew better. Eijirou had a way of pulling him along, no matter how stubborn his protests.
Quite frankly, you were terrified of seeing him, especially since your little fantasy of him had been shattered. If he liked girls like Camie, he certainly wouldn't like you.
And because the universe seemed to find delight in your suffering, that was exactly when it happened.
A hulking shadow appeared at your side, close enough you nearly shrieked, your heart vaulting into your throat. The oversized black sweater draped across his broad frame only made him look more like a threat, and for one ridiculous second you thought you were about to get mugged.
“Sad eyes,” Bakugou’s voice broke through, low and amused, the faintest curl tugging at his mouth. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”
You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm the wild flutter of your heart. “We really do,” you breathed, tilting your chin up to glare at him through your lashes. “I swear, I’ll buy you a bell so you’ll stop scaring me like this.”
Bakugou didn’t so much as flinch under your glare, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets as if the threat barely registered.
The boys joined soon after, their voices booming and carefree as the group expanded across the sunlit walk. You fell back into step, but your attention wandered.
That sweater. You recognized the designer label stitched along the cuff immediately, a tiny arch tugging your brow. Bakugou, in that? You’d never pegged him as the type to bother with labels.
“Nice sweater,” you remarked, lips curving faintly. “But how are you not dying? I’m melting over here.” The complaint came out as a little huff, your sunglasses shielding your eyes as your heels clicked against the bright pavement.
He didn’t bother looking at you, but you felt his gaze all the same - sharp and sidelong from the corner of his vision. “Sun’s already going down. It’ll cool off soon.”
You pouted. “Not soon enough” you sighed, fanning yourself with one hand. Even in your little jean skirt, the heat clung sticky and relentless.
That was when you saw it. Gleaming like salvation on the corner, glass doors flanked with gold trim, its windows glittering with rows of diamonds that caught the sunlight like stars. One of your favorite jewelers - your heart gave a delighted skip.
You stopped mid-step, sunglasses slipping down your nose as you stared. “I-I’m just going to pop in here for a bit! You all go ahead, I’ll meet you after.” The words tumbled out quickly, your heels already carrying you toward the store’s double doors.
The group barely heard, their chatter rolling on ahead. Bakugou, though, halted.
His gaze flicked between their retreating backs and your figure striding away without a second thought. It wasn’t a hard decision. If he had to trail behind Deku and Cheeks flirting with no entertainment of his own, he’d rather blow his own head off.
So he followed.
The security guard barely spared you a glance before holding the door, but his gaze hardened at Bakugou. The boy only shot him a deadpan look, sharp enough to cut steel, and kept walking.
You turned at the sound of his footsteps, surprise flashing across your face.
“Oh—I didn’t mean to take you away from your friends,” you said lightly, shoulders rising in a little shrug. “You can go back with them. I’ll just be here for a while.” Your eyes had already drifted back to the glass cases, where diamonds winked up at you temptingly.
Bakugou was about to tell you exactly how little he cared about his idiot friends when the inevitable swooped in: a sales associate, older, powdered within an inch of her life, hair coiled into a sleek bun.
Her smile strained with eagerness, eyes practically glowing green with dollar signs as she took in your entire ensemble.
“Welcome! How are you today? May I offer you something to drink as you browse?”
Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his tongue halfway to a curse. But you only returned her smile, bright and genuine. “Two waters, please. And a private room to view any of your new pieces.”
His eye twitched. Not only had he been dragged into this mall against his will - now he was about to sit through you playing princess dress-up in some stuffy little showroom full of overpriced rocks.
Great.
The door shut behind you with a cushioned sound, and the world narrowed into that tiny gilded room.
Arrangements of lilies and pale hydrangeas softened the corners, their fragrance cloying, while the chairs, plush, wine-red velvet with carved wooden arms, seemed far too indulgent for him to touch. You, though, looked perfectly at home, smoothing your skirt as if this were the most natural place for you to be.
When the attendant - an older woman in pearl earrings began setting down small trays of glittering pieces, Bakugou leaned back against his chair, arms crossed, eyebrows arched at you like a silent accusation.
Watching you try them on with careful fingers, head tilted in the soft lamplight, only made the knot of irritation in his chest grow tighter.
Was it really irritation though?
"Um Bakugou, do you like this one?" Your voice was a flutter of curiosity as you shifted in your velvet chair, tugging the shoulder of your top just slightly to show him how the necklace lay against your skin. “I already have the gold version, but look! they have it in platinum here.”
It's pretty, a simple dainty chain encrusted with a small row of twinkling floating diamonds. Each stone flashes against the smooth skin of your neckline, and Bakugou finds himself focused on all the wrong things. He's irritated at the realization.
“If you already have it, why the hell do you need another one?” His tone was blunt, but his eyes lingered.
Behind you, the saleswoman’s smile faltered. He internally snorted at the ridiculousness of it all.
But you only tilted your head, lips curling like you found his question silly. “Because this one’s platinum!” Your answer was light, and innocent. The old woman visibly exhaled, relief smoothing her powdered features.
He nearly rolled his eyes, wishing he could screw that woman's commission over.
You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if sharing a secret. “And look, they even have a matching bracelet.” You extended your wrist toward him, delicate and soft, already adorned in its own little orchestra of gold, silver, and gems. Stacked rings, thin chains, a watch with a face that glimmered faintly.
It was too much and yet somehow, it suited you perfectly.
Bakugou blinked. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be looking at anymore, but he gave a sharp nod anyway. Because for some reason, watching you in this setting, bright-eyed and uncharacteristically carefree, was… not unpleasant.
Maybe it was because just last week, he’d caught you looking heartbreakingly small and quiet because of your mother, living up to that nickname he’d slapped onto you weeks ago: sad eyes.
Here, you looked at home. Like a spoiled cat sunbathing exactly where it wanted to be, a glint sparking in your eye as you told the sales associate which pieces you did or didn’t want, casually requesting emeralds for a custom order like you’d been born doing it.
Bakugou couldn’t believe this was the same girl who once could barely string two sentences together in front of him.
Mute, his ass.
Before he knows it, the two of you are being ushered out of the plush little showroom, glass doors gleaming as the sales associate waves cheerfully after you.
She’d had the audacity, the nerve, to hand Bakugou your shopping bags as though he were your personal mule. His fingers twitched around the rope handles. He wanted to cuss her out right then and there. Did she think he was your servant?
“Thank you for stopping by, Miss L/N” the old lady crooned, hands clasped primly. “You and your boyfriend make a beautiful couple.”
That’s when the two of you freeze mid-step, like someone hit pause on a badly timed romcom.
You quite literally blink, springing into action with a nervous laugh, hands fluttering as if you can physically swat the words out of the air.
“Oh! Um, no. We’re not - well, it’s not like that, you see-”
“Thanks lady” Bakugou cuts through your panic-babbling without so much as a stutter, nodding once like he’s signing paperwork. He’s already steering you toward the exit, shouldering past the glass doors and side-stepping the suited-up security guard like this is just any other day.
By the time you’re on the sidewalk, you’re still mid–cardiac event. Bakugou glances at you, one brow arched in silent question, like he’s trying to deduce whether or not you’re about to kneel over and pass out.
You glance at him, more awkward than ever and let out a nervous, airy laugh. "Wow! Um, what a funny lady..." You say, smile so tight you strictly avoid eye contact with him, lowering your sunglasses back over your eyes.
Bakugou doesn’t look the slightest bit convinced. His stare lingers, sharp and assessing, before he huffs out a short, derisive snort. “What're you so freaked out over?”
Your smile falters instantly, lips twitching as though they might crumble under the weight of his words.
You've been put through enough social torture this year, and it's gotten to a point where you genuinely don't know how to move past it.
So without answering, you pivot on your heels, five inches of reckless bravado, and march off with a pace far swifter than anyone should manage in shoes like that. The click of them against the stone path is clipped, rapid, like your heartbeat.
Bakugou blinks, thrown for half a second. He already knew you were quick on the field even in those death-trap boots of your hero costume, but damn. Even now?
He lengthens his stride to match yours, eventually falling in step beside you. He doesn’t mention the store clerk’s words again - mercifully. It’s obvious how close they’d come to needling a nerve you can’t bear prodded.
“God, how is it still so hot?” you mutter, hand fluttering weakly in front of your face like a makeshift fan, your voice pitched somewhere between complaint and distraction.
Bakugou glances down at you, one brow arched in that annoyingly judgmental way of his. “Tch. Is it really bothering you that bad?”
You let out a helpless little groan, tugging the strap of your bag tighter. “Yeah, I’m melting! Isn’t it supposed to be fall? I have so many cute boots I wanna wear but can’t. I’m stuck with my summer wardrobe.” The words tumble out in a sigh, airy and dramatic, drifting into the hum of the outdoor mall.
His gaze trails after your gesturing hands, landing unintentionally on the rest of you. The little jean skirt hugging your hips, the ivory blouse brushing against your skin, the way your legs caught the sunlight as you walked.
Fit, toned, surprisingly so considering how shitty your eating happens have proven to be over the last couple of weeks. All sugar and trashy corner store snacks.
Not that Bakugou hadn’t noticed before. He wasn’t blind. You were objectively attractive, everyone at U.A. knew it, if the stares you drew in every hallway were anything to go by.
He wondered if you even realized how often eyes clung to you, hungry and unashamed.
He clicked his tongue, smothering the thought with a rough snort. Your whining was still annoying. Amusing, maybe. But annoying. “Fine. You want ice cream?”
Your head snaps up, eyes blinking wide. “Ice cream?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture all jagged indifference even though it edges toward something… protective. “Stop whining, and I’ll get you one. Something cold to shut you up.”
A small, incredulous laugh bursts from your lips. “You’re… offering me ice cream?”
His lips twitch, sharp and smug. “You got a listening problem, sad eyes?”
Before you can respond, he pivots on his heel, striding toward the pastel-colored shop a few steps ahead, its sign glinting under the afternoon sun.
You hurry after him, heels clicking against the pavement like a heartbeat, the tension in your chest melting into a little bubble of relief. Something sweet and cold was waiting.
The shop smells like sugar and warm waffle cones, the scent so vivid it makes your stomach flutter despite the sticky heat outside.
Rows of glass cases shimmer with vibrant scoops: pistachio green, raspberry pink, chocolate swirls, and creamy vanilla dotted with chocolate chips. The little bell above the door jingles as you step inside, and suddenly, the world feels a touch softer, like sunlight filtering through pale curtains.
Bakugou reaches the counter first, broad shoulders almost shading the entire display case. You hover behind him, eyes darting from cone to cone, fingers tightening around your bag strap.
“What do you want?” he asks, clipped, almost casual - but the slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze flickers to your face, betrays him.
You bite your lip, torn between flavors, a dizzying little thrill of indecision fluttering in your chest. “Um… maybe… strawberry?” you whisper, pointing to a soft pink scoop that looks spun from candy clouds.
He grunts once, then nods to the cashier. “Two scoops. Strawberry for her.”
“Two?” you ask, eyebrows raised.
“Don’t want you crying because it melts,” he mutters, deadpan, but the faint edge of care undercuts his words. You smile despite yourself.
When he hands you the waffle cone, the cold nearly kisses your fingers through the paper.
You take it delicately, savoring the sweet chill, letting it soothe the sticky heat and the tension of the afternoon. For a moment, the mall, the sun, even the awkward icebreaker with the sales associate fade into the background.
He watches you eat, expression unreadable, but you catch the tiniest, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. And for once, the sun doesn’t feel quite so harsh.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” you murmur, voice small and airy, gesturing at the strawberry scoop buried under a hailstorm of rainbow sprinkles.
“Yeah, yeah. Just didn’t want to keep hearing you whine” Katsuki mutters, eyes deliberately avoiding yours, though you swear you catch the faintest glimmer of amusement. “Now let’s go find the rest of those idiots.”
“Sorry for keeping you from them” you huff, already pouting a little, the heat and mild embarrassment tangled in your words. “I just hate outdoor malls. Everything’s off the rack, and the sun exposure is awful.”
His eye twitches at your bratty tone, but instead of snapping, he lets it slide, captivated by the way your little frown tugs at your features. The irritation melts before it can spark.
You tilt your head down at your cone, fingers brushing the sprinkles absently, and for the first time notice him glancing. You assume it’s the ice cream, but the sharpness of his gaze makes your chest flutter.
“D… did you want some?” you ask, extending the cone toward him.
He pauses, eyes flicking from the pink swirl to your small, delicate hand. A flash of déjà vu prickles the back of your neck, pulling you back to another sunlit moment - the lake, the straw, the closeness you’d tried so hard to ignore.
Heat blooms in your chest, entirely unrelated to the sun.
His lips twitch in a crooked half-smile, the smirk that always manages to disarm you. “You sure you wanna share, sad eyes?”
You blink at him, horrified he’s clearly remembering the same thing. “Well! Um, sure. I don’t see why not.” You laugh, too quick and too awkward, the sound bouncing clumsily between you as your hand stays stretched out, cone wobbling slightly.
He studies you, gaze unreadable, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until lightheadedness creeps in at the edges. Then, finally: “Too sweet for me. It’s all yours.”
Your shoulders sag, relief flooding through you - though it’s not entirely relief, is it? Some small, traitorous part of you had wanted to see him take a bite, to watch his mouth brush the place where yours had just been.
Oh god, what Is happening to you?!
“Suit yourself,” you murmur, focusing intently on your cone, avoiding him like the very thought of him might combust you. God forbid he catch even the faintest trace of disappointment on your face. How humiliating would that be?
“...You’re doing it again, sad eyes.”
The words pull you up short. You frown, glancing up at him. “Doing what?”
He jerks his chin to your side, and when you follow his gaze you freeze.
The beautifully paved sidewalks, the tidy greenery bordering the shops - everything is dusted in soft pink. Blossoms sprout where there had been none, curling delicately around lampposts and shrubs, petals glowing faintly like they’ve been drunk on your emotions.
Shit.
Heat surges up your neck, spreading to the tips of your ears, and suddenly your face feels hot enough to combust. Not even the ice cream dripping down your cone can cool you!
You open your mouth, scrambling for some half-baked excuse.
You were just, uh, practicing your quirk? Random pollen flare-up? Anything, when a voice cuts through the rising panic.
“Hey, L/N, right?”
You whip around, nearly dropping your cone. A tall, lanky boy with tanned skin, light brown hair, and hazel eyes is making his way toward you, waving a little too eagerly.
Bakugou stays at your side, scarlet eyes narrowing into a look sharp enough to cut glass.
“Um… yes?” you manage, your voice wobbling into a question instead of a confident answer.
The boy grins, a little awkward but earnest. “I’m Kai! I go to UA too, General Studies. We're in the same year.”
“Oh,” you blink, taken aback. “Nice to meet you.” The words come out soft, stilted. Talking to your classmates has been getting easier these past weeks, but that doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly become a social butterfly. And outside of school? This kind of thing never happens.
Bakugou’s brow arches, his stare still locked on the newcomer - this extra with the gall to walk straight up to you, heart-eyes practically glowing.
Kai nods quickly, smile broadening. “Nice to meet you too! I, uh… I’ve seen you around the halls a lot. And I was wondering if you’d maybe like to get lunch together sometime? I’d love to get to know you better.”
Your eyes widen in pure shock. Someone… wants to have lunch with you? The thought sends a jolt through your chest - nerves, excitement, disbelief all tangling together. Is this a prank? Nobody’s really ever shown interest in hanging out with you before.
Bakugou shifts slightly, arms folding, his gaze cutting to you now. Narrowed. Waiting.
There’s no way you’d actually say yes.
No way you’d waste your time on some flimsy extra who just looks like he'd tumble down if the wind gusts too hard.
Not that everything’s about looks, but you? You’ve got the kind of face that should be printed on every magazine cover.
And you’re so… weirdly sweet. Earnest. The thought of you hanging around some creep like this makes Bakugou’s teeth grind. This guy’s out of his depth, out of his league, out of his damn mind.
You swallow, nervously shifting your weight in your heels.
You've always eaten alone during lunch time, and Part of you wants to keep it that way… but another part remembers Ochako’s voice, encouraging you to step out, try new things, let people in. Maybe this could be a start?
You nod, “Well, sure, I think I can-”
Bakugou's eyes immediately widen, and he finds himself cutting through your words before he could stop himself. “She’ll be busy.”
You stop mid-sentence, jaw dropping as you whip your head toward Bakugou.
He doesn’t look at you. His glare is trained squarely on Kai, voice sharp enough to slice through the warm air. “With me.”
Kai freezes, his face flickering between confusion and dawning horror-like he’s only just realizing who’s been standing at your side this whole time.
“O-Oh, Bakugou! I didn’t realize you two were… together. I’m sorry, man.” He laughs nervously, stepping back and scratching the back of his neck.
It's the second time in a row you two are assumed to be a couple!
Wow, the gods were out to get you today...
Bakugou doesn’t correct him. He just keeps staring Kai down with such lethal intensity you almost fear for the brunette’s life. Your ice cream is long forgotten in your hand, your fingers clutching your birkin tighter and tighter as the anxiety coils in your chest.
You could barely hold a normal conversation with people.
How on earth were you supposed to navigate this?
How were you supposed to navigate this?! You smile, tense as Bakugou just stares down Kai, confused as to why he isn't denying Kai's assumption.
Your smile feels paper-thin, painfully tight as you stammer out, “It’s okay, Kai, no worries. Bakugou’s my… my friend! Haha, yeah. I’m sure I’ll see you around… at school.”
Kai nods quickly, though his eyes flick between you and Bakugou like he’s trying to gauge whether he should flee or not.
Honestly, you can’t even blame him - you’re standing here looking like a cornered rabbit, clutching your bag like a lifeline. You probably look just as close to combusting as he does.
And Bakugou?
Bakugou doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even try to deny it. He just stands there, stone-still and terrifying, radiating the kind of suffocating pressure that makes even the sun seem mild in comparison.
What the hell is going on? Where’s the loud, explosive Bakugou you’ve been secretly crushing on for the past three years?
Kai forces a weak smile, clearly desperate to pretend the earth isn’t swallowing him whole. “Yeah, for sure! I’ll see you around. Bye, L/N!”
Noticeably, he does not address Bakugou. Which is fair. If you’d just remembered that the guy next to you regularly levels entire arenas with his quirk, you’d probably be too busy drafting your will to say goodbye properly, too.
And just like that he's gone like the wind.
Which leaves you. With Bakugou. And the kind of silence that feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to shove you off.
You glance up at him, eyes wide, your stomach tying itself into new and exciting sailor’s knots.
“Um… did you know that guy?” Your grip on your bag finally eases as you lower your gaze to the ice cream in your hand, luckily for you, it hasn't started dripping yet!
Bakugou blinks, almost like you’ve tugged him back from whatever haze he’d been in. His expression is neutral, but in a Bakugou way, so forcibly blank it almost reads as aggressive. “Never seen him before in my life.”
You falter, brows knitting. “…Oh. You just seemed, um, mad. I thought maybe you knew him. Or had, you know… beef.”
It’s the truth of you, laid bare - your life experience stitched with gaps, your heart too earnest for its own good. You’re trying to read him, clumsy in your honesty, and it lands with the kind of sincerity Bakugou isn’t sure what to do with.
Because for reasons he’ll never admit aloud, he doesn’t mind being the one who helps you stitch the pieces together.
Doesn’t mind being the one you look to when you don’t know what the world is trying to tell you.
He really doesn't know what to do with that revelation, or how to process just what happened. He acted on pure instinct, quick to shut that guy out and keep you around. But why? It was so out of character for him, why the hell would he care about you agreeing to hang out with some rando from general studies?
“Tch.” He clicks his tongue, finally looking away, as if that could disguise the heat sparking under his skin. “As if that extra’s worth my time. Forget it. Let’s find the others.”
His hands shove deep into his hoodie pockets, but your shopping bags dangle from his wrist—an oddly domestic picture, though he’d probably rather eat dirt than admit it.
And you, still clutching your cone, still warm-cheeked and confused can’t decide if your heart is racing from Kai’s sudden offer… or Bakugou’s reaction to it.
The two of you fall into step, but your thoughts are anything but steady.
They tumble, trip, run circles in your head. You try to pin them down, try to make sense of the situation, but everything spirals back to him. Bakugou didn’t even like the general studies kids. Hell, he barely tolerated his own class. So maybe that’s all it was—just his disdain, just his temper. Maybe he’d only shot Kai down because he couldn’t stand some “extra” bothering him during his free time.
Yes, that had to be it. Nothing to do with you at all.
So why did your chest feel so traitorously tight?
You lick at the edge of your cone, nerves bubbling until the words tumble out in a whisper you instantly regret. “So… are we really going to hang out during lunch?”
The second it leaves your mouth, mortification crashes in. A familiar feeling.
But Bakugou doesn’t snap. Doesn’t laugh in your face or tell you you’re reading too much into things.
He’s quiet. Thoughtful, even, which is somehow scarier than his shouting.
And then, after a beat that stretches unbearably long, his voice drops low, calm enough to make your stomach flip. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll come to you. Where the hell is it that you go? You’re never in the cafeteria.”
You blink up at him, startled. Not just at the agreement, but at the fact he’s even noticed that.
“I… I’m always around the greenhouse,” you murmur. “Or the gardens. There are some tables out there nobody really uses. But I can come to you! I don’t want you to leave your friends just to sit out there with me.”
The implication, with me, hangs awkwardly between you, too heavy for your fragile voice.
Still, he doesn’t seem fazed. His gaze stays fixed ahead, his tone practiced and neutral.
Still, he doesn’t seem fazed. His gaze stays fixed ahead, his tone practiced and neutral.
“I’ll see you there, sad eyes. Now stop staring at me like that. Save your weak eyes for finding the idiots we came with.”
Your jaw drops, all the mushy warmth in your chest instantly evaporating.
“Weak eyes?! That’s messed up!”
“I’ve literally never met anyone with a lower prescription than you. They’re not exactly strong, are they?” His snort is sharp, dismissive, and you have to stop yourself from smacking his arm with your bag.
The luxurious togo leather doesn’t deserve that kind of abuse.
As the two of you walk on, the air feels noticably lighter, a soft trail of pink blossoms seems to drift in your wake. What you don’t notice, however, are the eyes tracking your every step. Across the street, the rest of the group stands frozen, jaws slack, wide-eyed at the sight of the two of you together.
It’s Denki who finally breaks the silence, a tragic sigh slipping past his lips.
“Damn… Bakugou and Y/N?! …Now I really don’t stand a chance.”
Sero claps a hand over his shoulder, unable to hold back a laugh.
synopsis: your ex boyfriend hates when you go to his friend’s hangouts. he still loves you though.
tags: minors dni, 18+, angsty, fluffy, smutty, making out, fingering (f). mentions of: jealousy, cheating (nobody does this) and insecurity.
notes: i rarely write insecure yns!!!!! usually i make bkg the insecure one LOL but branching out this new year. my true yn is neverrrrrr insecure though just so we are clear lol
when people say don’t date within your friendship group, don’t. when you break up, annoyances over too much pda and escaping the group to make out now become awkward encounters in group gatherings, having a conversation pretending the other isn’t there and parties trying to sneak a look at the other. every time you look at bakugou, he notices. every single time.
it didn’t mean to end badly with bakugou katsuki. you promise, a cross over your heart, that you didn’t want it to be an explosive ending because you knew you still had to see him regularly. you didn't only have the same friends but you lived in the same area, you had the same job. there’s equal chances that you’d see him on your weekly food run or in a meeting in your agency. though with this inevitability of seeing the pro hero again, it luckily means your friends work together so you don’t have to.
including tonight, when you were told bakugou wasn’t coming to midoriya’s monthly friend gathering because he’d be coming back late from his mission abroad. finally, it would be your turn to hang with your friends without the elephant shaped explosion hero in the room.
you let yourself through the open door, smile plastered on and pulling off your jacket, “sorry i’m late! there was traffic on the road coming over—,”
the room falls silent. so quiet you could hear a pin drop. three pairs of eyes bounce like a ping pong match between you and your ex boyfriend, the one who wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. you feel like a divorced parent, screaming that it’s your turn with the kids tonight.
looking at bakugou now, it always stings. it’s so vivid, the memory of how he’d look at you when you dated, that now it just feels like a hallucination that never happened. he looks disgusted, lip curled, eyebrows scrunched down and his eyes hooded as if he hates the fact you’re here. you think he just might. it doesn’t help when he pushes out of his seat with a loud scrape that makes your skin flare up with goosebumps. he storms out of the living room with his jaw clenched, off down midoriya's hallway.
your shoulders drop, exhausted. you just wanted an evening with your friends.
before you can apologise and sneak out, uraraka pipes up, donning a sweet pink sweater, hands intertwined under the table with midoriya's. her hazel eyes are so big and sympathetic that you’re embarrassed you caused this much commotion, “so sorry yn! we were texting you but i think because you were driving all the messages were going to silent.”
you pull out your phone. multiple texts from uraraka that bakugou’s flight was pushed back and he’s coming tonight. midoriya tried to call and then texted, Just a heads up, Kacchan will be here tonight. even todoroki, who only ever replies to you with one word, gave you two, Bakugou’s coming.
irritation blooms inside of you, prickling all over and you feel as if you’re about to bite. ochako is mumbling something to midoriya, who gives you another painfully sympathetic look and todoroki who is used to awkward dinners, focuses down on his phone, pretending he’s not there.
“sorry but it’s enough. i cant be doing this with him anymore, it’s unfair on you guys.”
you pull your shoes off, leaving them by the matching bigger ones at midoriya’s front door and plopping your bag down on his sofa.
“i’m going to talk to him and we’ll sort this out.”
todoroki looks up at you, a small smile on his face, “good luck.”
you already know where bakugou would be. everything you know about the man within three years of dating didn’t go down the drain. you pass the gym, midoriya’s bedroom, his bathroom, to his guest bedroom. yours and bakugou’s unofficial bedroom that you’d use every time you stayed over.
you only knock once before pushing the door open, finding the pro hero laying back on the bed, on top of the covers, facing the ceiling.
he’s always been the most beautiful man to you. you don’t think anyone else will ever be able to top him for the rest of your life. everybody always sees him mid fight, mid arguing, mid shouting. but bakugou katsuki, completely calm, is stunning.
gorgeous fluttering eyelashes that are long and straight. a jaw so sharp and a neck so thick, you remember kissing there first whenever you sat on his lap. his eyes… they span all shades of red depending on his emotions. your favourite was when they were a glowing ruby, full of love and appreciation for you.
but now he sits up, facing away and caught off guard by your presence. he was definitely expecting deku to walk in here, begging him to act right and to be nice to you. though once bakugou lays his eyes on you, a quick glance, his eyes become stone cold. washed over like a ship on stormy seas. he’s in a cream woollen zip up and you feel a burn right where your heart sits when you don’t recognise it.
bakugou leans forward, dropping his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees. his sigh is dramatic and obnoxious and as much as you hate to see the disgust in his eyes when he looks at you now, you need to talk to him for the sake of your friends.
“we’ve got to talk.” you whisper. it’s like you’ve been demoted to a stranger, unsure how he’ll react.
“i don’t think we do, yn. i don’t have anythin’ to say to you.”
you’ve not spoken to him in weeks, perhaps when you asked him to pass the potatoes at kaminari’s dinner and before that was when you officially broke up. you’ve seen him a few times in agency offices, when you’ve had to drop things off. those times always ended with a melancholy look from him, before he stalks off out of your sight. since then you’ve successfully avoided each other.
bakugou still faces away from you. you can only see his side profile, his back. it reminds you of when you’d lie in this very bed, lightly scratching his back to tempt him to lay with you again. he’d always end up giving in.
“for our friends. we’ve made it so… awkward for them.” you’re looking at your hands because everything in this room is a memory.
“they’re my friends. they were my fuckin’ friends first.” he spits and that causes you to snap, rolling your eyes and turning your fingers into fists.
“how old are you?”
that causes bakugou to look at you. your body heats under his gaze. his eyes start at your socked feet, not bothering to put on slippers in your rush to talk to the man. your sheer black tights and mini skirt. then your winter jumper on top, red with a large white star in the centre. he’s silent as he stares at your face, your pouted lips, pretty eyes. your cheeks and forehead that he’d always kiss first.
“the fuck?”
“you’re acting like a child. you met them first at school and i met them when i started the programmes with ochako! they’re our friends. i didn’t even meet them through you!” you blurt, throwing your hands up in the air.
bakugou bolts up and the motion surprises you but you stand your ground refusing to move.
“i’m acting like a child? it’s you and them with all these fuckin’ texts. nobody tells me when you’re going to be here, nobody texts me in advance that yn is on her way. you’re always just here and everyone’s always so fuckin’ happy to see you.”
he’s massive, he’s always been large, able to loom over you and intimidate. at least he’s trying to intimidate you, make you leave and back down. you see his gold canine when he grinds down on his jaw, the scars on his hands tightening as he crosses his arms across his chest. it doesn’t work on you. you’re seen this man in every position possible. crying in your arms when he couldn’t save a little girl in a fire and begging you not to leave him. in hospital, weak with fresh stitches across his chest and in your bedroom, overstimulated for a release.
so you step in closer to him, head up so he can’t break eye contact with you, “because you act like this. running off to have a tantrum whenever i appear. we can be civil, i always wanted us to be civil, katsuki.”
he laughs, lacking all humour with a grin that looks villainous. “you think we can be civil? to go from loving you, to fuckin’ civil?”
you sharply inhale. there should have been a contract he signed that you can’t talk about how much he loved you and you to him.
“do you not think about how painful it is to be around you? listenin’ to how good your life is going without me in it? up on the charts, another sponsor. i get it if i have to see you in agencies, but at deku’s? in this f-fuckin’ room?”
bakugou’s trying not to shout, he knows how you shut down when anyone raises their voice at you. but not shouting means now his voice is trembling, a scratched whisper like his voice box is infected with sickness.
you’re speechless for a moment and he takes a chance to stand up straighter, a deep breath to reorder his organs. “so fuckin’ forgive me if i have to take a moment before dealing with you, unexpectedly, for a whole evening.”
“i didn’t want us to be like this.” you shake your head, chewing down on your cheek. it’s you who looks away because bakugou looking like he’s about to cry will set you off. you can see his waterline brewing with tears, even when he turns to wipe them away.
“you did a fucked job at makin’ us any different.”
you’re like an untrained puppy, jumping from emotion to emotion with every word he says. you clutch the end of your skirt so you don’t press your fingernails into your palms.
“don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same in my position! our jobs always come first if we like it or not!” you blurt, “i couldn’t handle comparing myself to you all the time, about how the media would say i’m weak and an embarrassment for you. you would have done the exact same to me!”
he’s going to pull his hair out by the root, you never see his point of view. he wishes he could just insert his brain into yours for a moment, see yourself how he sees you and nothing else matters. “i never gave a fuck about the media. you shouldn’t have given a fuck either.”
you scoff, “it’s easy for you to say when you weren’t being bombarded with it.”
you walk over to look out the window, anything away from the man who makes you crumble. it’s feels as if all your senses are going off, serotonin being released in the air just from being in his presence.
“and my life hasn’t been better without you. i’ve just been working so much and i wanted my one break with my friends. not to be arguing with you.” you watch the snow fall outside, a tree branch snapping from holding too much.
“i can make a statement. tell them all to back off, that there’s no need to compare us. to even talk about us.”
you didn’t expect him to be so close to you, the heat of his breath trickling down your neck. his voice is deep and gravelly, every word scraping his throat.
you smile, defeated, “we both know they’d ignore it. i saw a comment that i was just a waiting room until you leave me and become number one. i was overthinking every time i’d see you talk to another woman.”
you yelp when his calloused fingers land on your bicep, spinning you around so your back is pressed against the window.
the need is tangible in his eyes, molten lava pupils forcing you into his atmosphere. his hand stays on your bicep and his other twitches to land on your cheek, your waist, though it lays limply by his side.
“was i not good to you? did you think i would have actually gone through with cheatin’ on you? did i not show you how much i love you?”
you can’t handle all the emotion, the crack in his voice, how he gives in and tangles his fingers with yours. you turn away from him, clamping your eyes shut so you don’t cry.
“it wasn’t about that—,”
he doesn’t give you time, fingertips on your chin to face him again, “answer me. did i show you how much i love you? i treated you right, always looked after you. i took you on dates, bought you gifts. i always made you breakfast and picked you up when i was half asleep and i listened to everything you’d ever say.”
you’re nodding before he can finish his sentence, wiping away the tear trickling down your cheek. “you did. you were so good to me.”
bakugou feels desperate, shaking the bars to his enclosure to get you to understand. “so why the fuck would i cheat on you? you’ve all i’ve ever wanted, all i need—,”
“i know, katsuki, i know but i couldn’t control it! i was always reading that i’m incomparable to you, an article on how another hero would match you perfectly, seeing your new sidekicks and i couldn’t do it.” you sniff and both paw-like palms rest on your cheeks to wipe away your tears.
it’s a reflex, it’s the only way he can excuse why he kisses you. whenever you’d cry around him, be it over stress or a bad day at work, bakugou would always lay his lips over yours in a little peck. it was the only way to snap you out of your carousel of revolving thoughts.
his lips are sweet on your salty ones and he’s about to apologise for even touching you like that, how inappropriate but you sneak your arms around his neck and lock his head to yours. it’s a peck that becomes open mouthed, his head tilting as he pushes you up against the window. he swallows your gasp, his hand sneaking up your jumper to feel your warm waist at the same time you bite down on his lower lip.
“i’ve missed you so much.” he mumbles against your lips and you’re yet to say the same, you’re yet to even say you still love him. bakugou doesn’t know how to get it out of you without begging.
you pull him back in, hands clutching at his hair. everything is grabby and needy, soft fabric of his jumper in your palms and your pulsing tongue swiping against his. it all makes you wetter, wetter than you’ve been in months.
bakugou presses his crotch in your stomach and your shaky exhale becomes a whimper. “tell me you missed me, baby.”
you don’t even need to think, the words tumble past you, your inner dialogue escaping, “i’ve missed you so much, so much katsuki.”
that’s enough for bakugou to pick you up and throw you onto the bed. your bed. his bed. forearms by your head and he’s kissing trails across your jawline, down your neck. your legs magnetise around his waist, biting back groans every time he grinds between your open legs.
“needed to hear that. i’ve been dying, being apart from you,” and he wants to whip off your jumper to kiss down your shoulder and chest. everything feels insufficient, if he doesn’t touch you now, when will you ever let him again? his chest is heavy and heaving and it’s your hands grabbing at his jumper for him to take it off.
he does so without much thought and bakugou feels alight, a raging ball of fire as your eyes gaze down his body. your lips are bitten sore, eyes swollen red and he doesn’t think you could be any prettier than you are at this moment. your hands brush down his chest, thumbs over his nipples, each finger tip across his abdomen. bakugou’s breathing is unpredictable, shaky. his cock is sitting painfully in his jeans and all he’s done is kiss you.
“you’re so beautiful. i always told you that, didn’t i?” you mumble in a trance and bakugou slowly nods.
“yeah, you did. nothin’ compared to you though, prettiest girl i’ve ever seen. i will ever see.”
he shuffles your thick jumper off, leaving you in a delicate lilac lace bra and your mini skirt. “fuck,” it feels like forever since he’s last had you like this, needy and panting in his arms, “and you took all this away from me?” then he laughs, “i didn’t even do shit.”
his gaze is so soft, so loving, it makes you weightless. you hold his cheek, unable to contain it all without feeling like you made a grave mistake.
“katsuki,” you whisper, dragging him down by his nape for another kiss. you’re biting away your moans, tugging tufts of his hair without realising. he starts to grind down on you again and your tights are so thin against his jeans that everything feels delectable. “we can’t have sex.”
“why?” bakugou pulls off you, eyes wide and alert. he’s preparing for his heart to break again, you’ve been with someone else since you’ve been apart, you’re dating someone new, you’re—
instead, you give him a smile that renders his brain useless, pure mush and fog. “because all our friends are a few rooms over wondering why we aren’t screaming our heads off at each other.”
bakugou blinks, then blinks some more to clear his vision from his one track mind to make you come or to kill a man that doesn’t exist.
there’s still so much to say between you both, he needs you to be his again, he needs to fix this problem in with your relationship, he needs you back in his fucking arms.
“i swear i don’t fuckin’ care.” and you can tell from the way he holds you closer against his chest, rocking his hips into yours, “there’s not one part of me that cares right now.”
you take it upon yourself to tighten your legs around bakugou’s hips and roll him onto his back so you’re on top, sitting on his chest.
it’s arousing how he grins, slow and seductive like this sneaking around is just foreplay, a little bit of fun.
“and i’m sorry baby, but we still need to talk about everything,” you breathe.
“baby? i still gotta chance?”
“i didn’t—,” you sigh, palms pressed flat against his chest. you adore bakugou with his cheeks flushed, eyes hooded sleepily and his hands locked on your hips, “i need to work through things.”
he intertwines his fingers with yours, “together, we can work through them together.” he doesn’t let you look away from him, “can’t let you get away again. i can’t.”
“don’t make me cry again,” you lightly scratch his chest and bakugou thinks he’s discreet when he shifts you onto his cock.
but you inhale immediately, gnawing down on your bottom lip to fight a moan, “katsuki,” you warn.
“not gonna make you cry. fuckin’ hate when you do.” he thrusts his hips upwards, grinding your hips over him like you’re clay to be moulded.
“no, i mean it about us not having sex,” you whine, flicking your hips in rhythm with him. bakugou’s dying to kick his jeans off, feel you wet and warm around him. “we need to go back in there and act like we hate each other.”
“don’t hate you. it’s the fuckin’ opposite.” all the blood in bakugou’s races to his crotch, head light with nothing inside. moans are tumbling from him, eyes on your breasts spilling out of your pretty bra.
he nods his head to it, “when’d you buy that? when we broke up?”
his hand sneaks under your skirt, the pads of his pointer and middle finger rubbing circles into your clit.
you’re overwhelmed, hard to focus on what you shouldn’t do, what you want to do and what you shouldn't say. you don’t stop roaming his chest, rutting your hips against his hand.
you shake your head, breathless, “no. when we were together.”
“hah?” he grunts, studying you like you’re an equation to work out. he keeps rubbing you over your thin layers, electric that you want him just as much, “why’d i never get to see it?”
you’re pressing your hips down, pleasure spreading through you like melting butter. you’re all hot, flushed, hair a mess. “i don’t want to tell you.”
that makes bakugou perk up, resting up on a forearm, “nah, tell me. tell me or you’re not comin’.”
“no, it’s so embarrassing,” you slur, kissing the corner of his lips then his bottom one. it’s like you’ve never been apart, everything about him is so familiar.
sitting up fully now with you straddling his lap, bakugou sneaks his hand past your tights and underwear. his rough fingers swipe down to your centre, collecting your wetness to rub over your sensitive bud. you can barely keep your head up.
“oh fuck,” you mewl, lips against his ear, “it always feels so much better when you do it.”
“i know, baby,” he coos, other hand on your ass, “tell me why i’ve never seen this bra.”
you’re close to tears for a whole other reason now, clutching onto him like a lifeline.
“i-i was so insecure by the end. thinking about you and other women. thought you wouldn’t like me like this,” you whimper.
it’s anger that strikes bakugou first, anger at himself, for you feeling like this and him not having a clue until you couldn’t handle it all. no matter what he thinks, he wasn’t a good boyfriend, he should have known this, noticed the changes.
“so stupid. have never looked at anyone else since i met you. whenever i touch myself i think of you. it’s a fuckin’ privilege seein’ you like this, yn,” no pet name because he needs you to know he means you. “you’re the first thing i’ve ever wanted and couldn’t have. ripped from my fuckin’ hands.”
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, so close to falling apart over his fingers. you just need one thing to set you off. your body moves hypnotically over him and bakugou’s in a trance. your breasts heave in his face and he litters kisses over them.
“don’t apologise to me. i’m gonna fix this all,” he breathes, lips wet with his own spit, “gonna come for me, sweetness? wanna see you.”
you take his jaw in your palm, bringing him to your face in an open mouthed kiss. as soon as his tongue touches yours, you’re falling apart, hips jutting faster, face going limp. there’s white behind your eyelids, squeezing them shut because the pleasure is more than you can handle.
“all for me. let me have it. my pretty girl, aren’t you?” he grunts, laying kiss upon kiss on your lips. “you’re not leavin’ me after this are you?”
“fuck,” you try to whisper so your friends don’t hear, but it’s spilling out of you, “no, never. i love you so much, katsuki. so much.”
finally, finally he gets to hear it from you. “i love you too. you drive me insane.”
once you’re wiped out, bakugou pulls his fingers from your quivering hole and quickly inserts them into his mouth.
you laugh sleepily, hitting his shoulder, “you’re so crazy.”
he shrugs, locking you in his arm against his chest. once he's sure he's sucked every bit of your essence, he smirks, “i would eat you out but they’re gonna hear you screamin’. you wouldn’t want that.”
he’s missed you desperately. especially like this, tender in his arms looking at him like he’s your world. he’s sure he’s got the same look in his eyes.
another giggle flows from you.
“can i be yours again? you takin’ me back?” he asks softly, preparing to flinch from your rejection. he could barely take it the first time, but now?
“i’m not saying no—,”
bakugou rests his head on your shoulder in failure, hands gripping your waist. “fuck.”
“no, listen to me,” he lifts his head slowly, the pout unmissable, “i love you, i want to be with you forever. i just need to work on ignoring the comments and getting so jealous. or else this will just happen again.”
“can’t have this happenin’ again,” he mumbles, completely lovedrunk, trying to read everything unsaid in your eyes.
you shake your head, holding him in your hands, “just give me some time, please. i know i sorta sprung it on you before.”
he understands what you’re saying, he gets it. doesn’t mean it still doesn’t sting. he kisses both your palms, holding your wrists. you feel soppy like a ball of emotions and bakugou doesn’t look any different.
“okay. tell me what i needa do too. you and i against the world, baby.”
that makes you smile, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you and i, baby.”
after spending another fifteen minutes looking like you didn’t just come on his fingers, you and bakugou walk back into midoriya’s living room a metre apart.
uraraka has a shaky smile on, looking like prey in an ocean of sharks. izuku has a single eyebrow raised in suspicion and todoroki, well he’s completely neutral.
“you guys back together now?” the bi-haired pro hero asks.
“you were gone for a while,” your best friend offers, tilting her head for an answer.
a slow smile creeps on midoriya’s face, particularly focusing on his best friend beside you. how bakugou twitches, the permanent blush on his face and how his cream woollen jumper is zipped not quite all the way up, showing a little too much chest.
though he doesn’t say a word, he knows exactly what’s gone down.
you're first to shake your head, sitting next to midoriya whilst bakugou sits across from you on the sofa next to todoroki. you stare at your ex-boyfriend when you reply to your friends, pulling the sleeve of your jumper.
“no, we were just talking. had lots to say.”
bakugou bites his smirk, pulling on his best poker face as he spreads his legs apart and slouches on the sofa.
“mind your business,” is all he says, looking at your thighs so you cross them over in a panic.
todoroki laughs, “sure, like the tension in this room hasn’t changed.”
bakugou shoves his friend, “shut the fuck up.”
uraraka locks eyes with you on her arm chair, mouthing, “you okay?”
you nod, eyes practically twinkling. mouthing back, “i’m good.”
after the snappy back and forth between bakugou and todoroki, ruby eyes are back on yours with sappy adoration, knee bouncing and scratching the back of his head.
“see, you could barely talk about yn before and now you can’t take your eyes off her.”
“leave him, shouto!” midoriya blurts at the same time bakugou grunts, “get off my fuckin’ ass.”
todoroki deems his suspicions confirmed when bakugou climbs into your car at the end of the night.
likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox
˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.
˚✿˖ Authors note: I hope you guys enjoy this chap! I love writing for these cuties
˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder
˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next
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“So Y/N... still no boyfriends?”
The question is enough to leave you sputtering, eyes wide and embarrassment coursing through your veins - but you can't react too hard. You don’t want to mess up the tiny, delicate bows Hana’s painting on your nails.
Hana, who’s been doing your nails since before you even knew what cuticle oil was!
She’s the sweetest. Always has been. Normally, she comes straight to your house for a private session, but during the school term you’re stuck in the dorms, which means visiting her cute little studio in downtown Tokyo!
It’s cozy, with wide windows that let in soft afternoon light and rows of perfectly organized polish lining the shelves like a tiny, lacquered rainbow!
You smile awkwardly, forcing your attention to your hands as she paints a tiny pink flower on your pinky.
“Um, no. None yet,” you laugh it off, voice soft and painfully awkward.
Maybe not ever, with the way your life is going.
Your brain, which is as traitorous as ever, flashes to Bakugou for some completely insane reason.
It’s been a while since the movie night your class had together, the summer heat already fading into crisp autumn. Nothing huge has happened since then. Everything’s settled into a strange kind of normal.
Bakugou nods at you whenever you walk into class now. Or when you pass by in the hallway. But, thankfully, mercifully, no more impromptu hangouts to throw off your emotional equilibrium.
Of course, your brain helpfully reminds you that his hoodie is still stuffed in the corner of your closet. And that it still smells like him. A soft, caramel-warm scent that’s managed to cling to some of your other clothes.
You resist the urge to bang your head against the UV lamp.
You’ve clearly inhaled too many polish fumes if he is the first person who comes to mind when someone brings up potential boyfriends.
Hana sighs, brushing another layer of pink polish before dipping her brush into the paint again. “But you’re such a sweet girl, Y/N. And so beautiful. How hasn’t it happened yet?”
Again, you smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
It’s part of the problem, right?
There has to be something wrong with you. You’re sure of it. Probably your painfully introverted personality. No guy wants to try and talk to someone who can barely finish half a sentence without panicking. So... yeah. You get it.
Still, it pinches at your chest.
Would anyone ever be okay with the way you are?
You zone out thinking about it, eyes fixed on the purple glow of the UV lamp as she cures the gel on your pinky.
She hums, checking your hand before pulling out a box of crystals and charms. “Okay, let’s add the sparkle.”
You watch in quiet awe as Hana works, placing tiny crystals at the center of each delicate bow, then layering on soft pink flowers and hearts that shimmer like sugar. Everything glitters in soft tones of pink and silver before she seals it all in with a glossy top coat.
The end result practically sparkles under the light. It matches the diamonds on your wrists and neck, the ones you always wear like second skin.
You lift your hands and giggle, fingers curling into little claws as you admire the final look. “Thank you, Hana! You’re the best. I’ll tag you on Instagram. These are perfect for Monday.”
Monday. The day Class 3-A is scheduled for their hero photoshoot.
They’ll be the pictures that follow you into your pro career, slapped on press releases and official merch, maybe even shown during news broadcasts if you ever get to work on a case that’s high profile. UA wants you all to look prepared and ready to step into the real world!
It’s a little surface-level. But in this industry, first impressions do matter.
And this? Finally, a school event you’re not completely dreading! The girls in your class have been buzzing about it for weeks, and you were too.
You glance down at your glittering nails again. You kind of want to gatekeep Hana, just a little. Her calendar’s already insane, and you’re selfish about your standing appointments.
But you never do. Not really. She always makes time for you anyway.
“Do well in those pictures, love!” Hana beams, giving your hands one last proud once-over. “Who knows, maybe your future husband will see them!”
You want to melt into the chair and disappear.
Because of course, your brain unhelpfully conjures up the image of Bakugou Katsuki, and you nearly combust right then and there from shame alone.
Gosh… Why him? Couldn’t you find a far more approachable guy to crush on?
After a tight hug goodbye and a promise to see each other in three weeks for your next set, you’re out of the salon and weaving through the city streets. Your red Chanel bag hugs your side as you navigate the buzz of downtown Tokyo, your boots clicking gently against the pavement with each step.
Normally, you’d call Hajime, your driver, to come pick you up. He’s always punctual, always waiting with the AC running and your favorite playlist already queued.
But ever since Bakugou showed you how to navigate the metro, you’ve been making a point to use it more. You kind of like it! There’s something satisfying about deciding things for yourself.
It feels like independence. Which is rare, when most of your days are scheduled down to the second.
Right before you head underground, your stomach gives the softest little growl. You pause.
You love getting your nails done with Hana, obviously. But the whole process is long, and it always ends up stealing your entire afternoon. And, somehow, your lunch.
Your eyes catch a café across the street, nestled between a stationary shop and a florist. The exterior is painted a soft sage green, and warm yellow light spills through the windows. It looks like something out of a movie!
Of course, you could never resist something so aesthetically pleasing!
You slip inside. A little bell chimes above you.
It isn’t crowded. The air smells like matcha and sweet cream, and you quickly order both a drink and a pastry to go. Then you’re off again, boots tapping on the pavement as you head down into one of Tokyo’s main subway lines.
Your purse jingles faintly as you dig through lip glosses and compact mirrors in search of your metro card. You find it just as the train pulls in.
You settle into a seat, the pastry bag balanced in your lap, your bag hugged close to your side.
It’s peaceful like this. Quiet. Life on your own terms. You don’t need constant conversation or a group around you all the time. Sometimes solitude feels like a luxury.
Still, out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a few girls, maybe first or second years, clustered in the corner. They’re laughing at something on a phone, shoulders bumping together as they lean in to look.
You’re not staring. Not really.
You just… notice. That kind of closeness looks nice too.
The next stop rolls in. The doors slide open with a chime, and a blur of bodies flood out. Even more squeeze their way in. You barely look up.
Not until someone stops right in front of you, their shadow falling across your knees.
You blink.
“Bakugou?”
It slips out before you can stop it. Too surprised, too soft. You wish it sounded cooler, but seriously, of all people?
The classmate who’s somehow taken up more and more mental real estate lately, like your brain decided he was entitled to a permanent timeshare.
He raises a brow, blonde and annoyingly smug.
“Sad eyes. Driver asked for the weekend off?”
You blink again. Twice. Maybe three times. Really? Sad eyes? You’re not even upset right now!
“Oh. Hajime? Yeah, he’s home now, I’ve actually been giving him more time off lately since I’ve been using the train more often.”
You immediately want to bite your tongue. Why did you say all that? He doesn’t care!
But he nods. One short, casual motion. Like it’s no big deal.
“Look at you…Quick learner, haven’t gotten lost yet?”
Perhaps if you were more accustomed to picking up on certain social cues, you’d recognize the slight teasing and sarcasm behind his words. But you don’t catch it. You take him at face value, all sincerity and soft confidence.
“Not once,” you say, smiling as you gently nudge his calf with the pointed toe of your boot. “I had a great teacher.”
You have gotten lost. Several times. One time very dramatically. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Gosh. You suck at this.
Bakugou snorts. The corner of his mouth lifts just barely. Not quite a smile, but close enough.
“Damn right you did.”
You smile awkwardly, taking a long sip of your matcha because it’s the only thing stopping you from saying something dumb that will haunt you for the rest of your natural life. The straw crunches a bit as you swirl the ice. He doesn’t seem to mind the silence. Just stands there, eyes half-lidded as he watches the city flash by through the window.
Bakugou’s... nice.
It’s a weird thing to think. Kind of bold, even. Especially considering you used to flinch every time he raised his voice in the hallway. There was a time not so long ago when you were convinced he ran purely on rage.
But now?
Now he’s just standing there. Quiet. Solid. Not yelling. Not scowling. Just... here.
You swirl your drink again, watching the ice clink against the sides.
Funny how a handful of conversations, a few shared moments in the middle of everything, can change the way someone exists in your head.
He still intimidates you. All boys kind of do, but Bakugou’s different.
He never really raises his voice around you. You’ve noticed that. Kind of. Maybe.
If you were delusional, you’d think he lowers it on purpose when you’re nearby. Like he’s trying not to scare you off.
But you’re not delusional, obviously! So the more logical conclusion is that you just exaggerated everything. You probably only imagined how explosive he is around other people.
He’s actually pretty quiet. And strangely helpful. He always seems to be around when you need something. You kind of like that.
You sip your drink again, letting the sugary sweetness coat your tongue. Your lips twitch into the smallest smile.
Yeah. Bakugou’s nice.
The train hums beneath your boots, a soft vibration that rattles up your spine, but the rest of the world feels... stiller. Calmer, somehow. The group of giggling girls have vanished from your thoughts, replaced by him.
Your gaze flickers to the grocery bag in his hand. Then lower. You try not to stare at the sharp cut of his forearm where the sleeve bunches just a little. Unfair. So unfair!
“I probably should’ve gone shopping too,” you say, breaking the silence. You lift your little pastry bag and cradle it like it might defend your dignity. “This won’t get me very far.”
Bakugou glances at it, then at you. One brow lifts.
“You cook?”
You frown like he’s just questioned your entire existence. You’ve never willingly stepped foot in a kitchen with the intent to cook. You would never put your manicures at risk like that.
“No… but I like snacks.”
He exhales, slow and long, like he saw that answer coming from a mile away.
“Yeah? Don’t tell me you’re into all that processed crap.”
The way he crosses his arms is genuinely uncalled for. Grocery bag dangling off one wrist, biceps flexing casually like he’s unaware of how offensive it is to wear a shirt that tight in public. You’re almost positive his uniform tops are all a size too small. Maybe if you pull his name for Secret Santa this year, you’ll buy him shirts that actually fit. Or at least something with sleeves!
At the sigh he gives you, you gulp. Audibly. Great.
Then your eyes dart away so fast it’s a miracle you don’t get whiplash. He’s definitely judging you.
“I also eat fruit!” you blurt, full of scandal. “That’s plenty healthy!”
He tilts his head like he’s inspecting something mildly amusing. “Right. From processed sugar to natural sugar. Real healthy.”
Your jaw drops. “Wow, Okay.”
You’re about to defend your dietary habits with passion and conviction, but the train begins to slow. A voice crackles overhead, your stop just seconds away.
Bakugou tips his chin toward the doors, totally unfazed.
“You heading back to the dorms?”
Your mouth snaps shut. You nod, standing up carefully once the train eases to a halt. The second the doors slide open, his broad shoulders move ahead of you, slicing through the crowd without a word. You trail behind him, heels tapping against the platform, pastry bag in hand.
Once you step into the open, chilled autumn air brushes against your cheeks. His pace slows. Just enough to match yours.
And maybe your heart does a stupid little flip at that.
“I can’t believe summer’s over already,” you say, sipping your drink, the taste of strawberry syrup sweet on your tongue. Training camp really marked the end of the season, and you’re left with a warm, happy sort of feeling knowing you actually got to experience a bonfire and a lake day with your class.
Like... in real life! It felt like a movie.
He doesn’t respond right away. Just walks beside you while your brain drifts into full-nostalgia mode. A beat passes.
You cringe.
Was the weather really the best thing you could come up with?
“It’s still pretty hot out,” Bakugou says eventually, eyes straight ahead.
You nod, swirling your drink around awkwardly. You disagree, actually. Especially when another breeze threads through your cardigan, tugging your dress with it. The knit barely helps. Your legs are freezing.
“Does your quirk make you run warm?” you ask, trying to sound casual even though your ears heat up the second the words leave your mouth. Was that weird? Too personal? Oh God, why are you like this-
“Don’t know if it’s my quirk. I just do,” he shrugs.
You almost sigh in relief. “Must be nice. I’m always freezing.”
His next words come too fast.
“Well, what’d you steal my sweater for? Gotta use it.”
You short-circuit.
You blink at him, scandalized. “Stole it? Me?!”
“You gave it to me,” you argue, clutching your drink like it might protect you from the heat creeping up your neck. “That’s different.”
Bakugou shoots you a look from the corner of his eye, slow and unamused. “Yeah. After you sat there shivering for two hours and refused to say anything about it. You were blind and shaking, it was pathetic.”
You gasp. Actually gasp. “I’ll have you know I own an extensive winter wardrobe."
“I’m sure you do, princess.”
The word hits like a brick to the chest.
You go dead silent, staring ahead like if you concentrate hard enough, you can will the earth to swallow you whole. Maybe a sinkhole. Or a villain attack. Or divine intervention. Anything to get you out of this mortifying moment.
Mortifying... but also? Euphoric.
Because yes, he called you princess again.
And yes, that probably means you're going to be replaying it in your head like a lunatic for the next month or so.
You clear your throat, trying to will your pulse back down to normal. “I’ll… give it back at some point. Because I’m not a thief.”
He snorts, clearly enjoying this a little too much. “Could’ve fooled me.”
You glare at the sidewalk, fingers tightening around your drink. You’re this close to melting into a puddle of embarrassment, so you do what any rational girl would do: change the subject.
“Are you excited for class tomorrow?” you ask, voice a little too bright. “It’s picture day.”
Bakugou glances at you sideways. “Excited? For what? We’re just gonna stand there in costume while some random extra flashes a camera in our faces.”
You pout, a little wounded. “Okay…When you say it like that we sound like zoo animals.”
He shrugs like that’s your problem.
“I’m excited,” you press, recovering quickly. “I just got my nails done for it.”
You hold your hand out and wiggle your fingers, the tiny painted flowers and crystals catching the light like candy. Your smile is all pride and pink gloss.
Bakugou stares at your nails like they’ve committed a crime. You can see it all over his face - the sheer confusion, like he’s trying to reconcile the girl with rhinestones on her fingers and the same one who leaves half the class in the dust during drills.
“They’re a little more fun than usual,” you admit, glancing down at them fondly. “But I thought they’d look cute with my costume.”
Which is apparently the wrong thing to say.
Because his brain instantly conjures up the image of you in your hero gear—short petal-pink skirt, glimmering fabric, those ridiculous heeled boots. His ears turn red before he can stop it.
“Those even allowed in combat?” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at your hands like they’ve personally offended him.
You gasp. Genuinely scandalized. “Okay, well, technically I wouldn’t wear all these little charms into a real fight. They fall off too easy” you admit, frowning. “Normally I just do pink French tips.”
Like that would make more sense to him.
Bakugou gives you a long, unimpressed look. Like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him.
“They look like a liability,” he deadpans.
“They’re a lifestyle,” you correct immediately, lips tugging into a pout as you admire your almond-shaped set. “I honestly don’t remember the last time I saw my natural nails.”
He squints at your hands again, judgment practically radiating off him. “How do you not poke your eye out putting in contacts?”
You laugh, and to prove your point, you lightly tap his bicep with the tip of one nail.
“They’re not that sharp, Bakugou! And I’m telling you, I’m more used to this length than short nails.”
He barely hears you.
Because the second your nail brushes his arm, something short-circuits in his head. Just for a moment.
The conversation keeps going, somehow. Even as the two of you pass through UA’s gates. You’re still defending your glittering claws with shocking sincerity, and he still looks vaguely annoyed every time they catch the light.
You don’t notice the way his ears are still pink. Or the fact that he hasn’t told you to shut up yet.
You talk the entire walk to the dorms, and then without even realizing it - you’re inside.
“Damn,” you pout, holding your empty cup up like it personally betrayed you. “Ran out of my matcha.”
You drift toward the kitchen without thinking, the same direction Bakugou’s headed in with his grocery bag in hand. The fridge door swings open, light spilling out. He doesn’t say anything, just slides a bottle of water onto the shelf like it’s his daily ritual. You move around him carefully, trying not to let your elbow bump his arm.
The space feels smaller than usual. Or warmer. Or both.
You hover by the fridge, pretending to be fascinated by the lemon wedges someone left in a bowl.
Bakugou closes the door with his hip and glances your way. “You eat dinner yet?”
Your head snaps up. “Oh. Um. Kind of?”
You had a pastry and a sugar bomb drink which was a poor excuse for matcha. It does not count.
He raises a brow like he knows exactly what that means.
But before he can say anything else, before this turns into something—you clutch your little bag tighter, your voice going airy and a little too fast.
“I should probably head upstairs, it’s been a long day and I gotta rest up for tomorrow.”
He blinks, caught off guard by the sudden goodbye. Especially since you’re mentioning that you gotta rest but when he glances at the clock - it’s literally 4 pm?
“…Right,” he mutters, stepping aside so you can pass. “Try not to starve.”
You flash him a sheepish smile, already backing toward the hallway. “No promises!”
Then you spin on your heel and bolt. Not a jog. Not a graceful retreat.
An actual speed-walk.
Your heeled boots tap-tap-tap in frantic little bursts across the tile, echoing down the dorm hallway like a warning siren. You look completely calm from the neck up, but your legs are practically doing a cartoon blur beneath you.
You hit the elevator button with far more urgency than necessary.
Nothing.
You press it again.
Still nothing.
“Please,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder as if Bakugou might somehow materialize behind you just to witness your complete and total meltdown. “Please, elevator. For once in your mechanical life, do your job!”
Ding.
You scramble inside like you’re fleeing a crime scene, frantically jabbing the button for your floor. The doors slide shut. Silence.
Finally.
You stand very still.
Then exhale.
And immediately collapse into yourself, arms around your bag, forehead gently thunking against the cool metal wall. Your reflection stares back at you from the polished paneling, flushed and wide-eyed.
Why did you sound like that? Why did you say that?
Why is it that every time he looks at you, your brain just… stops?
The elevator glides to a halt. You shuffle out, heels quieter now on the dorm carpet, making a final dash to your room like a hunted animal.
Once you're in, the door closes behind you with a soft thud.
And you freeze.
Right there in the middle of your room.
Clutching your empty drink cup like it holds the answers to life.
Then you let out the smallest, most pitiful noise known to mankind. Somewhere between a scream and a whimper. Just for you. Just for the void.
You faceplant into your bed.
And scream into your pillow.
Of course he called you princess again. And of course you're going to think about it for the rest of your life.
You groan into the fabric of your pillow again, flipping dramatically onto your side to stare at the ceiling.
This is bad. This is so bad.
You’re starting to like him.
Like... really like him.
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The U.A. media studio hums with quiet focus. Around the set, the PR and Media students move with practiced urgency, untangling cables, adjusting light stands, and directing classmates into loose formations along the wall to prepare for their turns.
Camera shutters click. Overhead lights buzz faintly. The occasional rustle of fabric or low-spoken direction cuts through the stillness. A massive white backdrop stretches across one end of the room, glowing softly beneath a grid of bright panels. One by one, students step forward into the spotlight for their official third-year hero portraits.
You adjust your stance under the heat of the lights, blinking against the brightness. Your costume fits perfectly. The iridescent pink fabric catches every flicker of movement, shimmering against your skin. It’s polished and poised - maybe even a little prettier than you’d admit out loud.
You shift your weight slightly, settling into the pose Midnight helped you refine during extra sessions after training. Controlled. Confident. Camera-ready.
Click. Click.
“Perfect, hold that!” the photographer murmurs, adjusting his lens.
It comes naturally by now, this whole thing. Posing for the camera. You’d spent more time in front of a lens than on playgrounds growing up, your mother made sure of that. You knew your best angles before you could even spell the word hero. It’s exhausting, sure. But in moments like this, it almost feels worth it.
You’re good at this, and it shows.
Off to the side, your classmates linger near the equipment cases, talking softly as they wait for their turn. Bakugou stands a little apart. His arms are crossed, his shoulder leans against the wall, and his gaze is locked squarely on you.
“Damn,” someone mutters nearby. Probably Denki. His voice sits somewhere between a joke and genuine yearning. “She’s so hot… You guys still really don’t think I have a chance?”
Bakugou doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. His jaw ticks once, sharp and unmistakable. He exhales through his nose like he’s still deciding whether to even bother answering.
Then he does, flatly.
“Shut up, idiot.”
You switch poses, lifting your hands and activating your quirk.
A soft swirl of shimmering pink petals spirals from your fingertips, catching the light just right - camera shutter speeding up like it knows this is the money shot. It probably looks perfect. You can already picture it on Hana’s salon page with a caption like “Client shoot ✨💅✨ we love a hero who sparkles” and a bunch of flower emojis.
You’ll send her the prettiest one.
While the lighting rig gets adjusted and the photographer works behind the lens, you catch Midnight’s voice off to the side. You glance over casually, expecting her to be chatting with one of the media students, maybe joking around like usual.
But her tone’s got that specific kind of tight cheer she only ever uses when she’s dealing with a certain someone.
“Yes, Sumire, she’s here and looks amazing! I’m telling you, like a doll. Fine, hold on, I’ll switch to FaceTime.”
You freeze.
Sumire.
Midnight is on the phone with your mother. A chill climbs your spine, and your posture straightens in response. Your eyes flick toward your classmates, a quiet panic rising in your chest. They're all about to witness whatever this ends up being.
Midnight walks toward you, phone in hand and a familiar smile on her face.
“Your mom wants to say hi.”
You force a smile, even though your stomach churns. In moments like this, you really hate that your mother is still close with half the U.A. staff. She and Midnight had gone to school together and stayed friends after graduation. It was nice when you were younger. Now? Not so much.
“Oh. Sure” Your voice comes out too soft. Your hand reaches out too slowly. And then her face fills the screen.
There she is.
Sumire L/N.
Hair slicked into a high ponytail so tight you’re convinced she hasn’t blinked since sunrise. Deep maroon lips, razor-sharp eyeliner, makeup flawless as always. Her blazer cinches perfectly at the waist, tailored within an inch of its life, and the sapphire tennis necklace glittering at her collarbone is probably the most casual piece of jewelry in her entire collection.
“Hi, Mom,” you say, clutching the phone tighter than necessary.
“Honey, fix your hair. Those flyaways are insane.”
Your smile twitches. No greeting back. Not even a pause to ask how you are. You don’t respond - just smooth your hair down, fingers moving automatically like muscle memory burned into your nervous system.
She barely even looks at you. Her eyes are already elsewhere, scanning some invisible to-do list.
“Thank God I checked in. I would’ve died if those pictures came out looking sloppy. Make sure you send me the edited versions for approval, alright? I gotta go now. I have a meeting with some idiotic hero agency from America in five, and then I’m flying to New York. Bye, love.”
Click.
She’s gone before you can even open your mouth.
You stare at the dark screen for a beat too long, then hand the phone back to Midnight wordlessly. Your face hurts from holding the same expression too long. Your chest feels like someone folded it inside out.
It’s been... what? Seven months? Eight?
Of course, this is how she chooses to show up - making sure you’re going to look good in your pictures.
“Really, Midnight?” Aizawa’s voice cuts across the room, flat and dry. “You’re taking a call from that woman during class?”
You blink, your head turning before you can stop it. Your eyes land on him, quietly surprised.
It’s not just the way he says it. It’s the pause before her name, like even thinking about your mom gives him a headache. You weren’t expecting that. You thought he and your mom were... fine? Maybe not close, but they’d known each other for years, right?
He exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like he’s been waiting for an excuse to do that all day.
You shift your weight, eyes flickering down to your hands as they fidget with the hem of your skirt. You try not to think too hard about the look on Aizawa’s face. Or the fact your mother never even said hello.
“Take a break, Y/N. Go get some water. Todoroki, you’re up.”
You nod without looking up. Your feet are already moving before the words even finish landing. The white backdrop, the lights, the set, all of it slips behind you like water down a drain.
You’re halfway to the benches when you hear your name.
“Y/N! You killed that shoot! I gotta learn how to pose like you”
Ochako is suddenly beside you, all warm energy and bright eyes, her voice high with excitement. “What did Midnight show you? Was it one of the pictures?”
You blink at her. Then exhale, soft and short. Relief sinks low in your stomach. So no one heard that interaction.
“Oh… it was just my mom,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, even slipping in a small laugh like it’s nothing. “She and Midnight go way back.”
“Aww, that’s so cute,” Mina bubbles in, grinning as she leans closer, clearly delighted. “Your mom called to check on you?”
You force a smile. Or at least you try. It tightens at the edges as you search for something to say without killing the mood.
“Yeah… it’s nice.”
Ochako doesn’t catch the hesitation. She’s already tugging at the ends of her freshly cut hair, eyes wide and hopeful. “Wait, be honest - does my hair look okay? I think I’m up next after Todoroki”
You nod, offering reassurance you’re not even sure you feel. It’s easier than explaining the tight knot slowly forming in your chest.
You don’t notice the pair of sharp red eyes fixed on you from across the room. Bakugou stands with his arms crossed, watching quietly as you shrink into the background once you think no one’s looking.
He’s not sure why he notices. Or why it sticks.
He never really thought much about what your deal was, to be honest. You were always the quiet girl with the stony expression who sat behind Kirishima, expensive shoes that probably weren’t meant for campus tile, and glittering diamonds on your ears and neck.
You didn’t seem like the kind of person who had ghosts. And yet-
God. He doesn’t know how he keeps ending up as the one who clocks his classmates’ quiet family dysfunctions before anyone else. It’s not like he’s trying. First Todoroki. Now you.
Great. Just what he needed. Another mess to think about at night.
Millionaire mom. Glossy exterior. But just now, you looked like a little kid trying not to flinch.
Bakugou exhales through his nose and looks away.
Three years at U.A. and you’ve barely crossed his radar. So why the hell is this year suddenly full of you?
This was supposed to be the year he locks in. Final internships, graduation, pro-hero licensing. No distractions. Definitely not whatever this is. Definitely not some quiet girl with designer shoes and mommy issues.
But then he looks over again.
You’re sitting a few feet from the rest of the class, posture perfect, eyes unfocused. Like you’re looking through the wall instead of at it. Calm on the outside, but your knee is bouncing a mile a minute. And your fingers keep spinning that diamond eternity ring on your index like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
His gaze flicks back up to your face.
It’s your eyes that get him. Big and soft, framed by long, doe-like lashes and that perfect sweep of pale pink shadow you're wearing. Pretty. Intentional. But they only make that quiet, glassy look in them harder to ignore.
Sad eyes, he scoffs to himself. You always pout when he says that. Always insist you’re not sad, just tired or cold.
But damn. You’ve got a real habit of looking it.
“Bakugou. You’re up.”
Aizawa’s voice slices through the hum of chatter and camera clicks, snapping him out of whatever bubble he just fell into by staring too long in your direction.
He straightens with a grunt, dragging himself toward the all-white setup, boots hitting heavy against the studio floor. His gauntlet-clad hands hang loose at his sides, the rest of his costume perfectly in place - spiked, armored, and unapologetically loud. Shoulders squared, chin tilted just slightly.
The photographer visibly scrambles to adjust the camera, muttering something about height and lighting as Bakugou stands there, motionless, the sharp click of equipment echoing in the background.
And then, like muscle memory he didn’t ask for, his gaze shifts - just a glance, just a second.
You’re watching him.
Back straight, hands folded neatly in your lap, costume still picture-perfect. But your expression… it’s different now. Softer, a little shy. Eyes wide and caught.
Your knee’s stopped shaking.
He lifts a brow. Barely.
You flinch. Then smile. Awkward and a little sheepish, like you didn’t mean to get caught watching him. Your gaze darts away, fingers fidgeting slightly as you turn toward Ochako, nodding at something she’s whispering.
“Alright,” the photographer calls, giving a thumbs-up. “Ready whenever you are.”
okay i’m DESPERATE, does anyone know this gojo angst fic where he gets slashed by sukuna and then somehow he calls reader and he just asks her about her day and listens to her talk and they talk about their cat and he tells her his secret on how he feeds the cat extra food(?) and reader doesn’t know he’s dying and then eventually she figures it out and he dies on the phone with her and for extraa detail the cats name is princess i think😭😭😭 HELP I BEG
okay i’m DESPERATE, does anyone know this gojo angst fic where he gets slashed by sukuna and then somehow he calls reader and he just asks her about her day and listens to her talk and they talk about their cat and he tells her his secret on how he feeds the cat extra food(?) and reader doesn’t know he’s dying and then eventually she figures it out and he dies on the phone with her and for extraa detail the cats name is princess i think😭😭😭 HELP I BEG
synopsis - in light of a major controversy that causes his fan support to dwindle significantly, katsuki bakugou is forced to do anything possible to garner back the affection of his fans before the announcement of the year's hero rankings. katsuki has two options: either "date" japan's most-adored social media star, in hopes of her amazing reputation bringing up his, or kiss that #1 spot goodbye. it's a no-brainer what he chooses. and it shouldn't matter at all, right? it's a fake relationship. nothing more, nothing less.
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masterlist | previous | next
[taglist: closed]
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*this chapter has a written portion!*
word count: 2334
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BAM!
you peeked over the edge of your book, your eyes flickering across the dimly lit space of your bedroom.
now, you’re no stranger to the odd sounds of the night. living in the same apartment complex as pro heroes meant that midnight disturbances were practically a given. heavy workboots dragging, doors slamming, and the occasional crash from someone too exhausted to make it to their bed in time. this little noise you heard? hardly unusual.
so, it was strange when you didn't go back to reading your book. it was even stranger when you put it down. and even more so when you pulled on a hoodie and slipped quietly out of your bed, walking past your cellphone and out the door.
you were being irrational; you knew that. who was stupid enough to break into an apartment complex majorly lived in, by pro heroes? lived in by you. no one. you're being silly.
so, why are you still moving?
you moved silently through your sprawling penthouse, each step more careful and calculated than the last. the glow from the moon filtered in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, shifting shadows across the sleek interior. you hadn’t the slightest clue why you'd gotten out of bed; nothing was in your house!
and yet you walked on.
descending the grand staircase, you scanned the open space below. nothing. as aspected. no sign of movement, no lingering presence; just the quiet hum of simple existence.
you exhaled, feeling a little ridiculous for letting your imagination get the best of you. you turned yourself back around to head back up the steps, but before you could pick up your leg, a deep voice cut through the stillness, reminding you exactly why you always trust your gut.
"nice place.”
the words sent a bolt of adrenaline through you, your instincts kicking in before your mind could catch up. immediately, your hands were up, your quirk flaring to life as you locked onto the intruder, pinning them in place before they could make another sound.
you stood frozen for a moment, breath shallow, arms trembling from the sheer force you were using to keep your intruder restrained. the effort burned into your muscles, but you refused to waver. your eyes locked onto the figure before you; tall, imposing, and standing just a few feet away.
you swallowed hard, mustering anything resembling courage that you had left in you.
“lights,” you managed to squeak out.
at your command, the penthouse was instantly bathed in white light, illuminating the space and the unfortunate son of a bitch standing in it.
as your eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light, your resolve, if there was even one to speak of to begin with, wavered immediately. blonde, muscles for days, with incredibly intimidating energy. that's all you knew so far. but you knew enough. you knew this wasn't a stranger. intruder, definitely. but stranger? no.
katsuki.
his sharp gaze raked over you, confusion flickering across his face before settling into something more unreadable.
why is he looking at you like that?
“you’re not quirkless,” he stated, the disbelief evident in his voice, he mouth slightly ajar.
almost as shocked as him, you dropped your hands instantly, releasing him from the invisible grip you had on him.
you watched as his eyes trailed down your figure, lingering on your legs, which you've just remembered are completely bare. panic surged through you as you immediately began yanking at the hem of your oversized hoodie, trying (and failing) to make it seem longer.
“what the hell are you doing in my house, katsuki?” you barked, attempting to regain some sense of control, a fierce heat licking away at your face.
bakugou didn’t flinch. because why the fuck would he? instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his expression unreadable as usual.
“you’re not quirkless,” he repeated, this time quieter, like if he said any louder he'd somehow forget.
you took a step back. “do you know that normal people don’t just break into other people’s homes like this? what if I had been walking around naked?”
silence.
then, the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. because why the fuck wouldn't it, "i texted you i was coming," he says entirely too pleased with himself.
was it always this hot in here? damn it.
"when the people's princess goes missing for 24 hours management usually sends someone to do a welfare check." he shrugged, inviting himself to sit on your couch. the motherfucker even kicked his feet up.
"so, they sent you?"
"not quite. they're sending sero to check on you tomorrow morning," he said, leaning his head back to look at you.
a slow, insistent heat coiled deep in your stomach, dangerous and unwelcome. it's been happening quite a bit lately, and it's hard to deny that you're feeling it because of your 'friend' when you're the only two people in the room.
get a grip.
you tore your gaze away from his person, turning your back to him and beelining for the coffee machine. god, you don't even know if he drinks coffee. you just couldn't look at him a second longer. you needed a distraction. this was all too much.
he was too much.
katsuki as an enemy, you could handle. katsuki as a friend, you were certain you could navigate. but whatever feeling this is paining you in your chest? you were positive you would not survive it.
you made the grave mistake of peeking over your shoulder back at him.
bakugou sat with his legs sprawled, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the couch, absentmindedly tapping his finger. his head leaned back, the soft glow of the apartment lights caught in his hair, making the ashen strands look almost golden.
he looked comfortable. maybe even at peace.
almost as if he felt your stare, his sharp red eyes flicked to you, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"i can sit here more often if you like watching me so much," he joked, a rare thing that sent an electric shock straight to your heart.
"do you promise to announce you're coming over next time?" you reached for two mugs from your cabinet.
"i did, you're the dumbass that didn't answer." he corrects, "but, no. maybe you'll use that quirk on me again if i don't."
you rolled your eyes as you approached the couch, handing him the orange version to your blue coffee mug.
"you told me you were quirkless." he pressed on, his eyes focused on the coffee mug in his hand.
"no, you assumed i was quirkless!" it was your turn to correct him.
"for someone who never trained to use it. it's pretty fucking strong," it almost sounds like a compliment, but your brain can't fathom something like that coming out of bakugou's mouth, "you would've been a decent pro."
"are you trying to call me a waste?"
"i'm trying to ask why you didn't go for it," he said, his voice unusually steady, no edge, no hint of irritation. just a question, laid bare.
for the first time since you’d found bakugou katsuki in your house, you met his gaze, those striking carmine eyes that had waltzed many a girl into a stupor in their time.
you’re starting to realize how all those girls fell for it. fell into them. fell for him. you’re falling for it.
god, you like him.
but like wasn’t the right word. it felt too small, too simple, too weak for the way your chest tightened just looking at him. like didn’t explain the way your breath caught, or how his presence felt less like a person standing in front of you and more like gravity itself, pulling you in whether you wanted it or not. like didn’t account for the way his gaze burned, how it made something deep in your stomach twist, threatening to unravel you completely.
something in the air shifted, thickened. it curled around the two of you, humming with something raw and unspoken, pressing at the edges of your soul. it felt like a live wire, buzzing with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. why did it feel like the room was shrinking? the space between you pulling taut like an unseen force was dragging you closer. this is nothing. it had to be nothing.
he didn’t see you that way. he never had.
right?
the look he's giving you right now might say otherwise, but you knew you needed to think rationally. this is a man bound by his career. this is a man who says every thought that comes to mind.
you'd know. and you don't. therefore, it's nothing.
"it's not the interesting story you're hoping for," you mumbled, bringing your coffee mug to your lips, a strange hurt pulling in your chest.
"tell me anyway." katsuki turned to you, giving you his undivided attention. something you were starting to realize was rare.
it's nothing, right?
"i didn't want to be a hero. as insane as that sounds. i know every little kid wanted to be all might growing up," you thought back fondly to your youth, "but i just wanted to be me. if i was going to be known, i wanted to be known for my name and not some alias i made up."
"you somehow managed to be bigger than all might."
"i wouldn't go that far. it feels like all might invented the sun."
bakugou huffed, crossing his arms as he glanced at you. "maybe he did. but the moon and the stars? that’s all you. some of us prefer the nighttime anyway."
his words landed heavier than you expected, settling deep in your chest, warm and impossible to ignore. your mouth was moving before you could really think about it, "why'd you really come over, katsu?"
irritation flickered across his features at the sound of that nickname, but it vanished just as quickly when he caught the way you were looking at him. that same look you’d been giving him all night, one he’d never seen from you before. it was something that made his pulse stutter.
to tell the truth, bakugou hadn't the slightest fucking clue what he was doing in your house right now.
he'd spent the better half of his day fucking up at work because he didn't know where you'd gone or how you were feeling and it was driving him crazy. he'd spent the other half of his day begging mina to give him answers to questions that she did not know the answer to.
the one answer she did have? your home address.
how the fuck was he supposed to tell you that he's standing in your house right now because it felt like his entire world fell off of it's axis when he didn't know if you were okay. how the fuck was he supposed to tell you that he missed you? you were only god 18 fucking hours.
"i just… wanted to make sure you were okay. you didn’t have to stick your neck out for me like that. don’t risk your career for anyone, y/n."
you shrugged, like it wasn’t even a question, cause it wasn't. not to you anyway. "i’m already risking it for you. might as well be all in. plus, you opened up to me, katsu. how could i let my fans say horrible shit to somebody i care about?"
his jaw tightened, like he was fighting with himself over what to say next. his hands twitched, restless, uncertain, before he exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "i know that. i do. just-" he sucked in a breath, like the words physically hurt to say. "i really appreciate you having my back." his voice dipped lower, rougher, like admitting it out loud caused him physical pain.
his eyes flicked to the ceiling, then back to you, that unreadable expression burned into them. "if you tell anyone i just said that, i swear, you’re dead." a beat of silence. then, almost hesitantly, "just… stop hiding out in your room, alright? everybody misses you."
"everybody?"
he rolled his eyes, "yes, everybody."
the second the words left his mouth, you didn’t think, you haven't been lately, your arms wrapped around him, a rush of excitement spilling out before you could stop it. in what universe does japan's grumpy #2 admit to missing you?
he stiffened for half a second, before wrapping his muscular arm around you. warmth overcame you. solid muscle beneath your hands, the faint scent of smoke, and something undeniably him.
pulling back from what was supposed to be a friendly hug, the air between you shifted. it was electric, like a wire had been crossed, sending a current straight through both of you.
bakugou pulled back. too fast. fast enough to not be able to deny he felt whatever just passed between the two of you.
"i just-" he cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. "i just came to say get back to work. sero will be around."
and then, before you could even say anything, he stood up and placed the half-full coffee mug on the table.
"you're not going to stay and finish your coffee?" you stuttered, partially confused by his urgency to get the hell out of your house, majorly hoping you can convince him to stay a little while longer.
he paused with his hand on the doorknob, hesitating just long enough for you to think he might stay. then, without warning, he hit you right in the chest with his next words.
"i hate coffee, y/n."
your eyes flicked down to the nearly empty cup sitting accusatorily on your coffee table. your proof didn't matter though, because by the time you'd looked back up, he was gone.
a grin curled at your lips, as you stared down at the two half-empty coffee mugs.
what the hell was that?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FUN FACT: katsuki didn't actually blow up her door, he came in through an opened window on the second level. he was sure to lock every single window and door before you found him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
thank you deeply for your patience. i know this chapter has been a super duper long time coming. thank you for reading it anyway.
˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.
˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder
˚✿˖ Authors note: Things start getting...heated
˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next
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This was a mistake!
Your body betrays you, as it usually does—shoulders tense, stomach coiled tight, fingers twitching at your sides like they might still find a way to escape.
You know Ochako means well, has only ever been kind to you in these last 24 hours, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from hammering against your ribs like a frantic warning bell.
Run. Hide. Fake a headache. There’s still time!!
But Ochako’s grip is ironclad.
“C’mon! We need to get down there before everyone starts wondering where we are!” She laces her fingers through yours, warm and insistent, dragging you out the door of your shared room before you can so much as think of an excuse.
The scent of her coconut sunscreen lingers in the air as you stumble after her. Your heart is a mess, part nerves, part anticipation. You can’t remember the last time you felt so nervous!
Scratch that, landing on top of Bakugou over the weekend was pretty traumatizing...
Still, this feels like a close second, judging by the nauseating urge to turn back and pretend you never agreed to this.
The hallway is alive with movement, a blur of swimsuits, cover-ups, and damp footprints smudged against the floorboards.
You're really trying to focus on not throwing up right now.
Ochako pulls you along though, her chatter light and cheerful, and you do your best to focus on her words instead of the way the floor feels like it’s tilting beneath your feet.
You’re not used to this, like at all. God, you don't think you've ever made this much contact with another human being in your life!
When you finally reach the outdoors, the sight sort of lifts a heavy weight from your chest. You look around, wide eyes taking in the scene.
The blue water sparkles under the afternoon sun, ringed by lush greenery, its surface kissed by golden light. Your classmates are already splashing around, tossing a beach ball back and forth, setting up the bonfire pit for later.
You've been all over the world, traveled to every unbelievable destination money could buy, and yet—you find yourself in awe at the sight of this little lake. There’s something inviting about it.
Well, you're actually quite terrified...But you imagine the scene is inviting to somebody like Ochako!
As if to prove your point, a few of the girls immediately spot Ochako and wave her over from the water. She perks up, bouncing on the tips of her toes to wave back, her excitement so genuine it makes your chest ache.
Instinctively, you shift a step behind her rather than beside her, eyes darting to the sides to ignore any stray gazes on yourself.
But then she nudges you forward, and your stomach lurches as you stumble into view.
Mina spots you first. She’s radiant in a lilac bikini that pops against her skin, her pink curls damp but still bouncing as she bounds over. “Y/N! No way—you came!” Her golden eyes widen in surprise, and just like that, others take notice, heads turning in your direction.
A chorus of greetings follows—some cheerful, others more reserved, but none of them unkind.
It’s… new.
It’s the stuff of nightmares, honestly. You suck at this. Socializing. Group settings.
You can feel the awkward tension in your own smile, stiff and unsure, as you mutter half-hearted hellos in return. Do you look as uncomfortable as you feel? God, probably.
Why did you come? It’s a toxic cycle—wanting to be invited, then immediately regretting it the second you are.
Mina doesn’t seem to notice your spiraling. She wraps Ochako in a quick hug before turning her full attention on you, manicured fingers resting lightly on your shoulder. “You guys look so good! Y/N, you look insane.”
You freeze. Panic surges.
“Insane… in a good way?” Your voice comes out so worried that you immediately want to fling yourself into the lake.
If you looked crazy, Ochako would’ve told you, right? Right?!
Mina snorts, giving your shoulder a playful shake. “Girl, insane great. Your body is killer.”
You blink, thrown off by the unexpected compliment. This is your chance to return the favor! Compliment her back! Say something, anything—
A sudden, thunderous splash pulls your attention to the lake.
Your brows shoot up just in time to see Sero shoving Denki straight into the water.
The blond resurfaces a second later, sputtering, his drenched hair plastered to his forehead as he glares. Sero doubles over, laughing, his drink still held aloft like it’s the most important thing in the world.
You blink, processing. You know they’re close, but… is it normal to shove your friends into the water like that?
You’ve seen it in movies, but you can’t decide if you’d find it fun or if you’d immediately die of secondhand embarrassment.
Mina, clearly unfazed, rolls her eyes and calls out to them. “Hey! Watch it over here, the water’s cold!” She gestures at the splash that nearly reaches your feet.
Ochako giggles, nudging you again. “Let’s go in!”
Your stomach flips, but you nod, trailing behind her as she slips off her cover-up dress. She drapes it over a wooden bench already lined with bags and sandals, a chaotic splash of colors against the sun-bleached wood.
You focus on the little knot at your sheer skirt, fingers fumbling as you untie it. The sun is warm against your skin, the breeze light and teasing. The chatter around you hums like background noise, but what you don’t notice is the ripple of attention you’ve unintentionally drawn.
By the water’s edge, Denki and Sero are frozen, their expressions comically slack-jawed.
“Dude,” Denki whispers, as if he’s just spotted a mythical creature. “Y/N is actually here.”
Sero nods slowly, drink momentarily forgotten in his hand. “She… is so hot.”
Before their awe can spiral into more whispered nonsense, a swift, synchronized bonk lands on both their heads.
Jirou and Tsuyu stand behind them, arms crossed, expressions sharp with unimpressed judgment.
“Don’t be creeps,” Jirou mutters, pushing her sunglasses up with a sigh. Strands of damp hair cling to the sunscreen glistening on her cheeks. Her deep plum swimsuit is effortlessly cool, a stark contrast to Tsuyu’s soft green one-piece, patterned with delicate lily pads.
“The girl barely ever hangs out with us as it is,” Jirou continues. “The last thing we need is her feeling weirded out because of you two.”
Denki scoffs, looking personally offended. “Excuse me!? The only creep here is Mineta, and you guys know he’s banned from coming to these things.”
Sero nods solemnly, raising his drink in mock salute. “The little perv is under strict surveillance by Aizawa and Present Mic tonight. Thank god.”
Mina, now wading into the water, joins the group. She takes a slow sip of her beverage before sending Denki and Sero a pointed look.
“Anybody else a little confused by Y/N showing up?” she muses, tilting her head. “Not complaining, just... surprised. You two better not make it weird.”
Denki’s jaw drops in offense. “Hey!”
Their bickering dissolves into splashes and laughter, but you remain blissfully unaware of it all.
You're too busy steadying your breath, caught between the cool breeze and the lingering warmth of the sun. It feels surreal—being here, surrounded by your classmates, the lazy hum of summer wrapping around you like a soft, sun-warmed blanket.
“Should we grab drinks first?” Ochako’s voice is casual, but there’s something airy, almost calculated, about her tone.
You follow her gaze toward the makeshift drink station, a folding table cluttered with pitchers of neon-colored juice and a cooler packed with ice.
Midoriya, Shouto, and Tenya stand nearby, their silhouettes framed by the lake’s shimmering expanse.
Your brows knit together as you glance at Ochako’s oddly focused stare. Surely, she’s not that thirsty… right?
Then, the puzzle pieces snap into place.
Oh. She’s staring at Midoriya!
It’s almost cute how obvious it is. Since your first year, it’s been clear to everyone, probably even the birds in the trees—that Ochako and Midoriya had a thing for each other.
Even you, someone who couldn't be worse at picking up on social cues, had noticed!
Before you can say a word, Ochako's fingers curl around your wrist, tugging you forward with surprising strength.
You barely have time to process before you’re standing at the drink table, flashing a tight, polite smile at the boys while Ochako dives headfirst into conversation with Midoriya.
The green-haired boy looks like he’s barely holding onto his composure.
His freckles stand out starkly against his flushed skin, his cheeks nearly as red as the watermelon slices bobbing lazily in one of the juice pitchers. His gaze flickers everywhere, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t Ochako’s swimwear-clad form.
You suppress a smile. This feels like watching a rom-com unfold in real-time!
“Y/N, I’m surprised to see you here.”
Your attention shifts to a familiar face, Shouto Todoroki. He sits on a wooden bench, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his posture relaxed.
Next to him, Tenya sips from a cup, his rigid posture a sharp contrast to Shouto’s.
You push your sunglasses up, using them to sweep your hair away from your face. “Y-yeah. Ochako asked if I wanted to come. I thought it’d be refreshing after Aizawa pushing us this morning,” you say, your voice light—too light—the lie slipping out before you can stop it.
Because to be honest, the last thing on your mind was how refreshing a swim would be.
You came for the sole purpose of not feeling like a total loser for once....
But you’d never admit that. Especially not to him, the boy you’d known since childhood.
Your families had woven your lives together from the start. Same private schools, same gated communities, same stiff playdates arranged more out of obligation than friendship.
You remember the afternoons spent under perfectly manicured trees, the two of you side by side, sharing crayons and silence.
Shouto studies you for a moment, his heterochromatic gaze unreadable—not piercing, not heavy, just... observant.
“Yeah, your quirk has been flaring up lately. I’m sure Aizawa pushed you harder today.”
Your breath catches.
He—he noticed!?
Aizawa hadn’t actually paid you any extra attention today. Training had been perfectly normal.
But the fact that Shouto had even thought otherwise—the fact that he’d noticed the way your quirk had been acting up lately—sends a jolt of something sharp and embarrassed through you.
Because he doesn’t know why.
He doesn’t know that every time your mind even drifts to Bakugou Katsuki, a million delicate petals betray you, spiraling into existence without your permission.
That your quirk has become your worst enemy, weaving your feelings into reality whether you want it to or not!
Your fingers tighten slightly around your cup. He doesn’t know, and he can’t know.
You force a small shrug. “Yeah”
Thankfully, Tenya, bless his overly formal soul—cuts through the moment. “Would you like something to drink, Y/N? We have quite the selection of fruit juices—grape, pineapple, mango, and I believe that one has a mix of berries.”
He gestures toward the pitchers like a waiter at some high-end restaurant, each glass container beading with condensation, jewel-toned liquids shimmering in the sun.
You could almost hug him for the distraction!
You offer a small, grateful smile. “Oh, sure. I think I’ll go for the mango.”
“Excellent choice.” He moves with crisp efficiency, pouring the drink with such ceremonial care it’s almost comical.
You take a sip, the cool sweetness bursting across your tongue, grounding you just a little. “Thanks"
He nods, the gesture polite, precise—like everything else about him. “You’re very welcome. It’s great to see you here, Y/N. We don’t often get to socialize outside of training or class, and it’s important for team morale to build connections in less formal settings.
Your fingers swirl the straw through your drink, watching the ice clink against the sides. “Yeah, it's nice” you say softly, your gaze drifting back out to the lake.
The sun-soaked scene feels almost surreal, like a postcard from a life you never thought you’d step into. And beneath all the noise, something settles in your chest—warm, quiet, nice.
Ochako suddenly appears at your side.
She nudges you, her smile wide, her cheeks flushed a charming pink—whether from the heat or whatever Midoriya had just told her, you aren’t sure.
“Ready to get in the water?” she asks, leaning over to pour herself a berry-hued drink. She taps her cup against yours with a soft clink, liquid sloshing playfully.
You blink at the red plastic cups—wow, it really is like the movies!—and glance toward the lake.
Sunlight dances on the surface, rippling with the chaos of your classmates. Mina and Tsuyu are deep in a water war now, their laughter carrying across the breeze.
But your gaze drifts past them, searching for something, someone else.
And then, you find him.
Bakugou sits at the water’s edge, his feet submerged, gentle waves lapping against his sculpted calves.
His elbows rest on his knees, hands loosely clasped as he talks with Kirishima. Even from here, you catch the sharpness of his profile—the strong set of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow.
You’re not sure beautiful is a word people often use to describe Bakugou, but right now, you swear he’s every bit of it.
Oh. He’s also shirtless.
And dear god, you really hope no flowers are blooming around you right now. That would be mortifying.
And way too obvious...Shoto would definitely pick up on it.
Your pulse picks up, your heart doing a ridiculous little flip in your chest. It’s humiliating, really, how just looking at him can make you react like this.
And then, as if feeling your gaze on him, he looks up. Crimson eyes find yours, steady and unblinking.
You freeze, manicured fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic giving slightly under the pressure.
The world slows, the noise around you dissolving into a distant hum, like you’ve suddenly been dropped underwater. It’s funny, you think bitterly, how now when he looks at you, there’s recognition there. Like he actually sees you.
Before this weekend, Bakugou’s gaze would’ve skimmed past you without a second thought—just another classmate who barely spoke, never worth lingering on.
But now? His eyes catch on you. Like something’s shifted. Like you’ve somehow forced your way into his line of sight.
Was it when you tripped and fell against him, practically tackling him to the ground?
Or when he helped you move all your boxes into the dorms, grumbling the entire time but never once walking away?
Maybe it was when he spent over an hour teaching you how to navigate the public transportation system without getting hopelessly lost....
All of it, jumbled together into one little weekend, had somehow tackled your heart and refused to let go.
You know it probably meant nothing to him. Just Bakugou being a surprisingly good person. But to you? God. It was everything.
And now you can’t stop thinking about the nickname he gave you earlier—sad eyes. A clear demotion from princess.
It’s devastating....
Do your eyes really look sad right now? God, you hope not! You don’t want to be known as the girl who looks miserable all the time....
You stand up straighter, forcing a small smile, as if that’ll help. Maybe it’ll make you look normal!
But then Bakugou shifts, turning back toward Kirishima without another glance in your direction, and the moment shatters like glass. Something tight in your chest loosens—but disappointment seeps in almost instantly, and you hate yourself for it.
He didn't even look at my swimsuit...does he not like the pink?
Wait- why are you even thinking about him liking your swimsuit? Get it together!
Ochako leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. “What was that all about?”
Her question jolts you back to reality, and you nearly spill your drink. “Huh? N-no, it’s nothing.”
“it was so something!” she gasps, watching you from the corners of her eyes with sudden intrigue.
You clutch your cup tighter, heat pricking your cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ochako just grins, entirely unconvinced. “I’ve never seen Bakugou look someone up and down like that—unless he was about to fight them. But something tells me that wasn’t the look he was giving you.”
Your throat dries instantly. "What?! No, He definitely wasn’t—”
“Uh-huh,” she hums, her grin only widening as you flounder for a believable response. “Right.”
Mortified, you take a hasty sip of your drink, the coolness doing little to ease the sudden, frantic buzz in your chest. But despite yourself, a small, reckless thought unfurls in your mind, curling up all hopeful and dangerous.
What is she thinking!?
You’re still overthinking when Ochako grabs your wrist and drags you toward the lake. The water is cold, a welcome shock against your skin as it rises to your waist. It helps—sort of.
The group has already settled into easy conversation, splashing each other and laughing as though this wasn’t absolutely the most socially overstimulating day of your life. You hover at the edge, fingers curled around your cup, letting Ochako do most of the talking.
Your mind keeps drifting. It shouldn’t, but it does. And when you can’t help yourself, you sneak a glance back toward the shore—
His spot is empty.
Your stomach dips. Where did he go?
“Bakugou, man! Finally decided to join us,” Sero calls, his voice bright as he pushes his wet hair back from his face.
You frown. Wait—
But Sero isn’t looking at the shore. He’s looking at you.
The cold prickle is instant, creeping down your spine like a warning. Slowly, you turn— And you almost scream when you find Bakugou standing right there.
Towering. Close.
You stumble back a step, your throat locking up. “What—?! How do you keep doing that?!”
He doesn’t answer, just flicks his gaze down at you. Quick, sharp—before scoffing. “Sad Eyes, should’ve called you ‘Jumpy’ instead. That’s three for three, huh?”
Your skin burns. “What?!”
“This is the Third time you freaked out ‘cause I showed up. I’m keepin’ track now.”
Your jaw drops. He’s been keeping track?!
Mortification settles deep in your bones. This is getting ridiculous. How does he keep sneaking up on you like this?!
And now he’s calling you jumpy? That’s somehow worse than Sad Eyes!!
You sputter, grasping at the shredded remains of your dignity. “It’s not my fault! Who just sneaks up on people like that? You’re way too quiet for someone who’s, like, six feet tall!”
The group falls silent. A ripple of surprise spreads, heads turning, eyes widening.
You, who barely even makes eye contact with most of them—talking to Bakugou like this?
And more than that… you two had hung out before? Three times now?!
Kirishima is the first to recover, throwing his head back with a laugh before slapping a heavy hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “He actually grew, you know! Six-two now! Our manly Katsuki’s all grown up!”
Bakugou immediately shoves him off with a sharp snarl. “Shut it, dumbass.”
You’re still trying to steady your breath, heart hammering from both the shock of his sudden appearance and worse—the new nickname.
Why couldn’t he just go back to Princess?
Mina scoffs, nudging Kirishima with a pointed look. “Quit it, don't give Y/N the wrong first impression of us,” she mutters—like she meant to keep it quiet, but you definitely hear her.
Your eyebrows lift, heat creeping up your neck. First impressions? Three years in?!
If only she knew your actual first impression of Kirishima—him holding the door open for you on the first day of freshman year, flashing an easy grin like it was second nature.
Not that he’d remember. But you do. A small, insignificant moment that somehow stuck, tucked away in the back of your mind, untouched and warm.
The conversation shifts, the group slipping back into their usual rhythm—Mina teasing, Kirishima laughing, Denki making some ridiculous joke. Their voices rise and fall like background noise, familiar and distant.
You stand quietly, retreating into yourself, drink in hand, eyes fixed on the surface of your cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.
You don’t notice the way Ochako watches.
She’s spent enough time around you to pick up on the obvious—you’re shy. Painfully so. It’s not what people assume at first, not with the way you dress, the quiet confidence in your posture, and the sharpness of your gaze. But once they get to know you, it’s impossible to miss.
What surprises her more is how, despite that hesitance, you instinctively shift closer to Bakugou.
And he isn’t so innocent either. His gaze flicks toward you, sharp but unreadable, lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he looks away. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t react.
But he doesn’t move either.
Something clicks for her.
She nudges you, soft but deliberate.
You blink up at her, confused. What?
She only raises her brows, like she knows something you don’t.
Your frown deepens. What?
But she doesn’t explain, just grins to herself before turning back to the conversation.
The weight of it lingers, settling in your chest like you’re missing something important, but you try to ignore it. It's Just another thing you don't quite get yet.
It’s easier to focus on your drink. The cool glass against your fingertips, the slow trickle of condensation, the soft lap of water around your legs. The conversation hums around you, voices rising and falling like waves.
You don’t need to force yourself into it.
For now, this is enough.
For now, you’re comfortable.
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You sit at the lake’s edge, toes skimming the surface as gentle waves lap at your ankles.
Your white gold diamond tennis anklet catches the fading sunlight, glinting with every ripple. The sun has dipped lower now, streaking the sky in hues of gold and orange, its reflection shimmering across the water in shimmering fragments.
Ochako left a few minutes ago to grab marshmallows for the bonfire, and honestly, you don’t mind the solitude!
Your social battery is drained, and the distant sounds of your classmates—laughing, splashing, calling out to each other—feel muffled, like you’re hearing them from behind glass.
It’s nice, though. Being here. Being part of this.
You let yourself sink into the quiet, watching the way your feet sway in the water, the way the coolness soothes the lingering buzz beneath your skin.
Then—
A shadow falls over you.
You blink up, and nearly choke on air at the visual.
Bakugou stands over you, hands shoved into the pockets of his black swim trunks, droplets of water trailing down his chest. Against the warm hues of the setting sun, his silhouette is sharp, cutting through the golden light like a blade.
“Sad eyes,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’re really livin’ up to the name right now.”
You blink, caught off guard. Huh?
“But I’m not sad!” you insist, frowning.
His brow lifts, skeptical. His gaze lingers, tracing the natural pout of your glossy lips, the way your eyes seem distant even when you’re not trying. Something pricks at the back of his neck, heat creeping up his spine before he looks away.
You shift slightly, fingers tightening around your cup, the plastic slick with condensation.
“You’ve been payin’ more attention to that damn drink than the actual lake.” Bakugou snorts, nodding toward the vast stretch of water behind him.
You try not to stare, but it’s difficult. His ashy blonde hair, the sharp contrast of his red eyes against the cyan blue of the lake—if you let yourself, you could sit here and admire the view all day.
Unfortunately, you realize too late that you have been staring. For way too long!
Panic sparks in your brain, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves faster than your common sense.
“Well, the water looks great, but I’m focusing on my drink! It’s really tasty. Do you wanna try?” The second the words leave your lips, regret slams into you like a wave.
You briefly consider slipping into the lake and letting the water swallow you whole. Would they let you drown if you tried?
…No, probably not. Too many future pro heroes around.
But to your utter disbelief, Bakugou doesn’t call you an idiot. Instead, He just flicks his gaze down to your cup, then—before you can process what’s happening—crouches down to your sitting height.
The water shifts beneath him, sending ripples through the lake. He’s closer now than you expected, all sharp angles and damp skin, the scent of caramel and lake water clinging to him.
Is the caramel like a cologne? Seriously! He smells like a roasted sweet treat at all times!
Your breath catches as his fingers brush against yours, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the cool plastic. Then, without hesitation, he lifts the cup to his lips.
And drinks.
For you, the world tilts. The sun, the water, the distant chatter of your classmates—it all fades into static.
It’s just him now. The slow sip, the soft slosh of liquid in the cup, the way his lips curve around the straw—the same one you’ve been using all day. Time stretches impossibly thin, and you swear the air between you hums with something heavy.
A single drop clings to his bottom lip as he pulls back. He swipes it away with the lazy flick of his tongue before his gaze catches yours—steady, unreadable, something warm simmering just beneath the surface.
“Not bad,” Bakugou mutters, his voice low, careless. “But I think the glittery shit you got on messed with the taste.”
Your brain stutters. Glittery…?
Oh.
Your lip gloss. The pink, strawberry-flavored one you had just recently reapplied.
Heat floods your face so fast it makes you dizzy, your heart hammering like you just ran laps with Iida.
Bakugou stays where he is, the water sloshing gently around his waist, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, you’re left staring at your cup, at the place his lips just were—desperately trying to remember how to function.
You gulp down your nerves, eyes flickering toward the water, focusing on the gentle ripples. Anything but him! Slowly, you lift the cup to your lips again.
Only to freeze.
Oh my god.
Right where his lips just were.
Your mind spins, and you can practically feel the steam rising from your skin. You could actually combust right here, more a ball of flames than human! The cool lake water around your ankles does nothing to soothe the heat crawling up your neck, pooling in your cheeks.
Bakugou doesn’t seem to notice your internal turmoil. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles flexing, and his expression is somewhere between bored and contemplative. The silence stretches, thick and pressing, equal parts thrilling and terrifying.
You force yourself to take a sip, pretending like your heart isn’t trying to break out of your ribs. The drink is still sweet, still refreshing, but now all you can think about is the fact that his mouth was just here.
It’s like an indirect kiss!
He can’t be thinking about it that way, right?! If he did, he probably wouldn’t be so quiet about it!
Bakugou shifts, the water rippling around him. His red eyes flick to your face, and you brace yourself for some snarky remark—but it doesn’t come. Instead, he just watches you, like he’s trying to figure something out. It’s unnerving.
Then—
“Why does your quirk do that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.
Your breath catches.
You blink at him, thrown completely off guard. “I don’t know what you mean.”
You glance around your sides first, eyes darting to the water, the shore, anywhere he could possibly be referring to. But nothing looks different. There’s no telltale glow, no signs of your quirk activating. Confused, you glance back at him.
“I don’t see anything,” you say hesitantly.
His smirk widens just a fraction. “Yeah? Look behind you.”
A nervous lump forms in your throat. You slowly twist your torso around—
and your heart plummets.
The tree behind you, once lush with soft green leaves, is now covered in delicate, glowing pink blossoms. Every inch of it, every branch, every tiny leaf that was once green has been replaced with flowers, radiating a gentle light in the darkness.
Your breath catches in your throat.
A whole tree.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
A beat of silence passes, stretching unbearably long as you stare at it, horror dawning.
This is mortifying!
You snap back around, scrambling for a way to downplay this, to brush it off, but your mind is blank. Completely empty.Your fingers tighten around the cup in your hands, your pulse a frantic drumbeat in your ears.
Bakugou watches you, unimpressed.
The bonfire crackles in the distance, flames licking at the air, casting long, flickering shadows against the trees. Laughter drifts over from the shore, light and carefree, but it barely registers. The world has narrowed to this moment, to the weight of his gaze, to the pounding of your heart in your ears.
You open your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say in your defense. But no words come out.
Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Tch. So?”
You blink at him, stomach sinking. “So what?”
He jerks his chin toward the tree. “That happen every time you get nervous?”
Your breath hitches.
Your voice jumps an octave, frazzled beyond belief. “I am not nervous!”
Bakugou lifts a brow, eyes gleaming with something wicked. “Yeah?” He exhales sharply, almost amused. “Might have to start calling you Squeaky.”
Horrified, you let out an embarrassed groan, heat rushing to your face. You don’t even think—your hand moves on instinct, reaching out to shove him.
Your perfectly manicured nails, white French tips, delicate and polished, press against solid muscle, barely making him budge.
“Don’t tease me so much,” you whine, already waving the white flag. “I might pass out.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, head tilting. “Who said I’m teasing you?”
Your glare sharpens, suspicious. “You are.”
Bakugou huffs, but he doesn’t argue. He should be more focused on the ridiculous fact that your quirk just bloomed an entire cherry blossom tree in his presence.
But right now, he’s distracted. Very distracted by the look on your face.
Your cheeks are puffed out slightly, your glittery pink lips pursed in a pout that’s way too damn distracting. And those eyes—big, wide, pleading, blink up at him like you’re silently begging for mercy.
Damn it.
He almost wants to keep pushing you just to see how much further he can take it. The way you react—it’s too easy, too entertaining. But there’s something about this whole situation, about you, that makes him feel… off. Like his balance is shifting beneath his feet, and he hates it.
You two have barely talked before this—what, a handful of conversations? A week of knowing each other at most? And yet somehow, you’ve already got him feeling weird.
This has gotta end.
Without warning, Bakugou steps forward, cutting through the water until he’s right in front of you, just within reach. His presence looms, heat radiating off his skin despite the cool night air.
Your breath stutters.
His hand lifts slightly, and for one wild second, your brain short-circuits. Is he going to—?
But instead, his knuckles brush the bottom of your cup, nudging it lightly.
“You gonna sit here all night or what?” His voice is rough, casual, but there’s something else beneath it—something unreadable. “Bonfire’s startin’ soon.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out at first. You swallow, clearing your throat, scrambling to get a grip. “Oh. Right. Yeah.”
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, like he’s making sure you actually heard him, before he turns away.
The water ripples in his wake as he wades back toward the shore, hands stuffed in his pockets like nothing even happened.
You finally exhale, shoulders sagging, the tension unraveling from your body.
The night air feels warmer now. Softer.
With one last glance at the lake, you set your drink aside and push yourself up.
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After that borderline confusing and mortifying interaction, you’re left with a choice the moment you step out of the water.
Option one: Stay. Sit on a rough block of wood, eat a damn roasted marshmallow, and painfully maneuver your way through awkward small talk with your classmates.
Option two: Leave. Retreat back to your bedroom, put on some mind-numbing reality TV, and rot in bed after a long, refreshing shower.
The second option sounds incredibly tempting. You can already imagine the warm spray of water against your skin, the fresh scent of your favorite body wash, the way your comforter would swallow you whole as you melted into your mattress.
Plus, you've packed your favorite Dior pj's!
And you’re going to do it! You swear you are—but then you catch Bakugou’s sharp gaze flicking back at you over his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, but the subtle glance alone is enough to pin you in place, a silent, unspoken question hanging in the air.
Still here?
Damn it.
With an internal sigh, you resign yourself to option one. The night is almost over anyway.
That’s how you end up here, seated on a weathered log, chin resting against your manicured hand, staring blankly into the fire while Denki animatedly recounts some story about a trip to the mall a few months ago.
The others laugh, voices rising and falling around you, but you only catch pieces of it—bits of inside jokes, exaggerated retellings, the occasional snort from Sero that sets off another round of chuckles.
Your focus drifts.
Above, the sky is a vast stretch of inky darkness, dotted with a scatter of stars. You tilt your chin up slightly, eyes tracing their soft glimmer, losing yourself in the quiet vastness of it. The fire crackles, the warm glow licking up into the night, sending embers drifting into the air like fireflies.
It’s warm right here, close to the flames—but the heat only reaches so far, and beyond it, the night is settling in deep.
You shift on the log, arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.
The flimsy cover-up you’d thrown on after the lake does little against the creeping chill, and you curse yourself for not grabbing a sweater like the other girls had. You remember seeing them duck back inside, giggling and chattering as they pulled on oversized hoodies and sweatshirts over their damp swimsuits, but you had been… distracted.
Or more accurately—Bakugou had been a distraction.
Your gaze flickers toward him briefly, though he’s focused on something else, watching the fire maybe, or just lost in thought.
Either way, he’s not paying attention to you. Good! You're not sure you could handle much else of him today.
Because truthfully, you feel a little ridiculous. The day had started off simple enough, but now you’re stuck in this strange in-between space—part of the group, yet somehow still lingering on the edges.
Ochako is talking with the others, easily swept into the rhythm of their conversation, and you wonder if you should try to do the same.
The idea of forcing yourself to be social makes your stomach twist, but sitting here, curled in on yourself, cold and silent, doesn’t feel much better.
You exhale softly, watching the way your breath barely fogs in the cool air. The warmth of the day has long since faded, leaving behind nothing but goosebumps on your skin and the distant hum of voices around you.
And for what feels like the millionth time today, you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.
Then, out of nowhere, a weight drops into your lap.
You blink down at it—a hoodie, deep burgundy, clean, thick and slightly worn, the sleeves spilling over your thighs. The fabric is still warm, carrying the lingering heat of the person who had been wearing it just moments ago.
You glance up, and lo and behold—Bakugou.
He’s standing in front of you, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, shoulders set in that familiar rigid way, like he’s already bracing for whatever dumb thing you might say in response.
But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t demand a thank you, doesn’t even really look at you—just waits, expectantly, for you to do something.
For the first time in what feels like forever, you actually understand what he means without him having to say a word. And yet, you hesitate.
“Bakugou…” You frown, holding the hoodie up against your torso. It’s massive. “But won’t you be cold?”
He scoffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Sad eyes, you’re givin’ me that look again. Just put on the damn jacket—I’m fine.”
Your brows lift, but your fingers are already slipping into the sleeves. The warmth of the fabric engulfs you immediately, the scent of caramel and something distinctly him wrapping around you in a way that makes your stomach flip.
“Well… thanks then,” you murmur shyly, hugging the hoodie closer. The oversized fit swallows you whole, the hem brushing against the middle of your thighs, covering the last remnants of your damp bikini. A sigh of relief escapes your lips.
“There you go saving me again,” you admit sheepishly, eyes glued to the ground. If you look at him now—if you meet those sharp, unreadable crimson eyes—you might just combust on the spot.
Bakugou side-eyes you, his lips twitching like he’s holding something back. The firelight flickers across his face, casting golden shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his gaze lingers on you for just a second too long.
Behind you, your classmates' laughter rises over the crackling flames—marshmallows catching fire, old stories being passed around, Sero's obnoxious cackling piercing through the night.
They’re absorbed in their own little world, too wrapped up in the warmth of the moment to notice the quiet exchange happening just outside the fire’s glow.
Thank god.
Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away, like he’s already over this. “Well, somebody’s gotta do it,” he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. Then, with a snort, “What’s U.A. gonna do when they lose their precious Y/N to the Tokyo subway system?”
You groan, ducking your head as heat rushes to your cheeks. Of course he had to bring that up.
“It was my first time! Give me a break” you grumble under your breath, arms curling around yourself, pulling his hoodie tighter.
Bakugou huffs out something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, even though he just stands there beside you with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly slouched, weight shifted like he might stay for a little while longer—
For the first time tonight, the cold doesn’t feel quite as bad.
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