summary: you and grace put on a puppet show for rocky at his request so he is able to understand human culture better. little do you know, the engineer is setting you both up.
tags: a lot, a lot of rocky. he thinks humans are gross and stupid and you and grace should mate already. statement ryland referred to as "grace".
Waking up to see a sentient alien creature waddling about in a glass looking ball in the Hail Mary is not something you could say you expected when taking on this mission.
Said creature being the most hilarious living organism you have ever encountered in your life was also not on your list of expectations.
Bracing a hand on the ball, you double over, wheezing at him just tearing Grace apart (likely without meaning to, though sometimes he's so intentional with it it cannot be a coincidence) with a clumsily translated string of words.
"Friend sick, question?" Rocky inquires, bracing a claw against where your hand is resting. Then, voice taking over a more urgent tone — how did Grace manage to convey that via code or translation system, you will never know —, another claw tapping to get Grace's attention; "Grace! Grace! Friend leaking! Emergency, statement!" Pressing his head to your side of the xenonite in a hasty attempt at comfort, "Grace! Intervention. Now!"
"They're good, Rock," Grace sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They're laughing because they think you said something funny," Turning to you, he points an accusatory finger at you in such a way that an image of him scolding a rowdy student in a classroom flashes in your mind. "About my "inability" to pilot, by the way!" He even does air quotes to emphasize his point. Cute. "Ouch!" He presses a hand against his chest, then waving it off with a dismissive huff. "So pay no attention to the fact that they sound like they're dying."
"Friend alright, statement." Rocky pulls back from the xenonite as he awaits confirmation.
"Yes."
Visibly relaxing, "Grace so dramatiiiiiic—" Rocky drawls, and you're sure if he had eyes, he would be rolling them. "Grace is bad pilot. It fact. Friend try. See if better than Grace. Rocky thinks so. Grace worse than average."
"Mary! Back me up, please?" Grace looks to the ceiling for any kind of support.
"Dr. Grace has no previous records of pilot training received." Echoes from Mary's speakers, dealing the final blow as Grace purses his lips in a pout.
In Mary's defense, that does contribute to his argument. He can get better if he trains a bit more, but alas. The delivery of the line has comedic timing too good to ignore.
"Oh my God—" you cackle, snorting to catch your breath, "Let him live, both of you!"
"Rocky is no threat to Grace. Grace live. Odd human expression, question?"
Nodding, you manage to choke out a sound resembling yeah, wiping your eyes. As if remembering something, Rocky turns to you, and uh-oh, looks like you're next on the chopping block as the finger-like appendages meet into a point to gesture to you.
"Friend also! Inefficient human design. Leak for everything! Disguuust! Make Rocky worry. Apologize, statement."
Shaking with laughter, you lean against the xenonite, wrapping your arms around it in a hug. It's not like you can be mad at him for worrying about you, even though the things that worry him come with human anatomy itself. "Sorry for being human, buddy."
"Acceptable."
Rocky rolls next to your bunker when you're cleaning up your space a little.
"Friend. Time good, question? Rocky have question."
"Sure, hun. What's up?" you settle down to get comfortable. Rocky usually doesn't have simple questions, especially when seeking you out in private. If you're not the readily available human to ask in the first place, the reason why he seeks you out is to either get a second opinion (or confirm the information previously provided), or that he has not been able to get a satisfactory answer out of Grace.
"What word mean, question?" Rocky echoes, tilting his head, tapping a claw twice on the xenonite floor.
"Oh," This might be the first time you call him that petname, actually. "It's short for "honey", — a sweet subtance for consumption. It can also be used as a term of endearment for people who are close to you."
"Do not consume Rocky. Will not digest." You're still amazed at how well the humour carries on despite the translation device. "Eridian term of endearment not have "sweet" substance for consumption. We have ♫𝅘𝅥 𝅘𝅥𝅮𝅘𝅥𝅮♩ ♪___♩. ♪ ♬𝅘𝅥𝅭 𝅘𝅥𝅮 ... But not same word."
"Do you want me to add it as a word?"
"No. Rocky think for more similar word. Question, now. Statement," Rocky tumbles closer, "Rocky observe. Friend no touch Grace. Hand up," he raises a claw, acting as if he's going to touch his another claw, then suddenly puts it down and slumping in place. Putting a show for your dumb little brain, as Grace would say. "Then change mind. Display intention, but no act. Why?"
"That's a loaded question, bud," A long sigh leaves you before you can stop it. Shrugging, you opt for a mild; "I don't want to cross any boundaries, you know?"
"Rocky not know. That why Rocky ask."
Oh, great.
"Boundaries, Rocky knows." Rocky supplies after a brief moment of silence to prompt you into talking, "Grace has explained before. When Rocky first arrive on ship. But you Grace same. Species, same. Mission, same. Same same same. Why boundary, question?"
"... Humans are—" you start.
"Stupid. Statement." Rocky finishes your sentence for you.
"I was going to say complicated, but you know what? You are absolutely right."
Rocky makes a satisfied noise, "Rocky always right." There is a dolphin-like sound you pick up as Rocky shakes up and down, laughing. You think he's being smug about being right until he adds; "Rocky is favourite. No boundary. More hug. Friend love Rocky more than Grace."
"Hey, now—"
"What counts as human mating behaviour, question?"
Unlike Grace, you live to yap with Rocky about the differences in species, perhaps owing to a personal interest in anthropology.
"Ooh, very sudden but flavourful question," grinning, you tap your chin in thought, "Do you mean like, courtship, or behaviour displayed exclusively between mates?"
"Second."
"You first, then. Just to provide an example."
Rocky gives a contemplative hum, one claw fluttering over the turquoise mark along his arm. "Mating mark, here. Rocky have Adrian mark."
"It's beautiful..." your eyes graze over the mark. Even with the sentimental meaning aside, it does look like something precious, like a gem or mother of pearl. "A little similar to that, humans have tattoos. We, uh... force ink under our skin to create patterns we like. But it's more of a personal expression, and not exclusive to mates, even if you get matching tattoos with another."
Rocky thrums, and he's definitely judging. You can tell.
"Otherwise, off the top of my head? Kissing, but... on the lips. That's exclusive to mates, I think. Kissing the cheek or hand for example, are not, and can be a display of affection or even respect, depending on the culture."
"... Matching patterns not sign of mate. Touching mouths is sign of mate." Rocky makes an exaggerated motion with his body, displeased at the mere idea, though before he can comment any further, you jut your hands out in a panic;
"We have wedding bands!" you blurt, pointing at your ring finger, "It's when you — supposedly and arguably — commit to your mate for life. You take a vow, and the collective recognizes you as a pair. Traditionally, you wear matching rings made of precious metal to signify the "unbreakable bond" or something."
"... Are you explaining the concept of marriage to Rocky?" You whip around to see Grace leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and with an amused grin on his face.
"Help," Pleading, you reach out for him, and surprisingly, he takes your hand momentarily as he sits down.
Unnecessary physical contact.
You might, in fact, be so touch starved that you classify the action as flirting before you bury it deep down.
"Rocky no understand. Do puppet show."
Both you and Grace blink.
"For... for what..?" Grace asks, putting the glasses hanging off his chin back on his nose bridge.
"For everything! Rocky study Earth culture. Do puppet show! Grace and friend as puppets for better understanding, statement."
Rocky opens and closes his claws in a very enthuastic display of jazz hands.
".... I can narrate." you offer dumbly, the mere thought of close contact with Grace frying your mind, "We both can, actually. ... Shall we?"
The two of you get up, casting one last awkward glance at each other before holding hands and interlocking fingers.
"Why does this feel like explaining reproductive biology to middleschoolers..." Grace sighs, and you bark out a startled laugh.
"Ryland Grace!" you squeak, putting on your best scandalized form, swiftly delivering a light smack to his bicep, "We're not procreating! Certainly not in front of Rocky!"
"Would procreate if Rocky leave room, question?"
"Don't even, Rocky." Grace raises his pointer finger at him, brows raised as the ultimate warning.
After a getting past the initial awkward phase of trying to talk through scenarios and where to put your hands, you realise both you and Grace have a knack for acting.
It starts off with showing Rocky an initial meeting, mostly consisting of explanation and dialogue. Then come the dates, with a lot more props involved, like a makeshift wheel made out of a large valve as Grace pretends to pick you up from your home. It's like a dam has been broken with how many ideas flood the two of you.
Neither of you comment on how you're essentially acting out on your fantasies.
You act out a fancy dinner date, blundering through explaining why mood lighting in the form of candles is so important. Then, a more causal dinner date, something like a diner; showing classic things like sharing a milkshake with two straws, and somehow it's cute and playful to steal fries off of your lover's plate.
Moving rooms, you start getting more specific.
Acting out beach dates and swimming together, and at some point the conversation derails so bad that Grace ends up having you sit on his shoulders while he sits on his knees, and;
"It's played with two pairs. The one on the bottom is usually the stronger out of the pair, both to be able to carry the other and to have a strong foundation so the other pair can't push you off that easily," He keeps a hand on your thigh as a safety measure while he gestures to his waist with his free hand, "You would be in the sea water waist-deep at the very least, though going higher is usually preferred. And then the ones on top try to topple each other, and the pair who stays standing wins."
"It's a bonding activity for all parties and induces some friendly competition," you add, a hand resting on Grace's head, absentmindedly noting how soft his hair is before you pat the crown of his head to signal you want to get off.
"Display of strength. Rocky understand."
Then come the cinema dates, and Grace, of course, does not miss out on the opportunity to show the classic "pretend-yawn-and-embrace" move, to which Rocky visibly looks confused at, and Grace covers all his bases as he mentions cuddling is much more common in more private viewings, like at home.
"Okay, and then— again, traditionally," Grace shoos you a few steps ahead before tapping your shoulder, sinking to one knee as you turn around, bringing his hands together, then opening it as close to a ninety-degree angle as he can, pretending to open a ring box. "The male gets down on one knee to propose."
"Propose what, question?"
"Marriage, Rock."
"Oooh. Ceremony, question? Knee down also part of propose?"
"Eh," Grace makes a small, non-commital noise, "Pre-ceremony, more like. As for the kneeling, yes, but I'm not sure of the reason."
"I heard it dates back to knights." Avoiding his gaze in favour of looking at Rocky, your hands cup his, "Like, bending the knee to take the chivalric oath, or to swear loyalty to their chosen Lady. Haven't checked my sources, though, so don't quote me on that."
"That... makes so much sense, actually."
"Ceremony over when knee down, question? Proposal just gesture?"
"Oh! No Rock, you actually give a speech," Grace tilts his head like a cat, "Let me think, uhh..." A short sniffle out of reflex, "Something like..." gears in his head turning, he takes a moment before clearing his throat, fixing his posture before looking into your eyes, a hand resting over yours, "I, Ryland Grace—"
No matter how nervous you feel, you must not flex your hand, he will feel it. Pull it together, deep breaths. Deep breaths.
"Promise to love and cherish you for all my days. I promise to be true to you in good times and the bad, in sickness and in health,"
Can he feel your pulse from your wrist? God, you hope not. It feels like your heart is trying to beat itself out of your ribcage.
"Will you marry me?"
Time stops.
Something in his gaze is different. You look for any semblance of humour or pretend, just something to let you know that he is doing this for the sake of the puppet show, and find... none.
"Yes," you manage to breathe out, the sound barely audible.
Grace— Ryland? Even if it was an act, you just proposed, and accepted the proposal respectively — does not take his eyes off yours as he rises, leaning a bit closer, breath mingling with yours, and—
He bypasses your face entirely, opting in for a hug.
"Couples usually kiss after that, since it's a happy event." He presses you closer to him, talking to Rocky over your shoulder.
You don't mourn the fact that you cannot see his face when you can feel his heart beat is just as thunderous against his chest when you're so close you can feel the heat emanating off his skin.
"Touch mouths after everything. Uuugh! Unsanitary. Disguuust!"
꒰ synopsis ꒱ ✶ katsuki always wondered what the hell his father saw in his old hag of a mother. it takes twenty years, a nasty fight with you, a near-death experience, and a trip to the hospital before he finally gets it
── ✶ word count: 5.8k words ; my drabbles always do this bro
── ✶ before you read: female reader ; pro hero bakugou ; established relationship ; arguing ; (temporary) relationship troubles ; injuries + villain attacks + hospitals (bakugou) ; tame angst with a happy ending! ; communication + resolving arguments ; bakugou’s father makes an appearance ; fluff and banter at the end ; masterlist.
꒰ commentary ꒱ ✶ at the end of the day i will never not be a sucker for the trope where u argue just before a major life threatening incident occurs
It’s 9:32 PM when Katsuki begrudgingly leaves his patrol area and finally calls it quits for the night.
Patrol was supposed to end an hour and thirty-two minutes ago, but he’s been dragging his feet ever since. Taking the long route. Responding to calls that technically aren’t under his jurisdiction. Circling blocks he’s already cleared twice. Anything to kill time. It’s only when Kirishima actively tells him to get the fuck out and stop interfering with his villain count for the night that Katsuki finally accepts defeat and ends his workday.
Ending his workday means going home. And if he goes home, you’ll be there. And if you’re there, he’ll be reminded of your nasty argument from the other night. And if he thinks about that argument, he’ll have to face the fact that the two of you are still stubbornly refusing to speak to one another until the other apologizes first. It’s a ridiculous standoff—an unnecessary one, and he knows it. But neither of you seems particularly interested in ending it, and now his own apartment has somehow become the last place he wants to be. Every room feels charged with an uncomfortable tension. The living room is awkward. The kitchen is unbearable. Even lying down beside you at night feels weird, so Katsuki would rather avoid the whole thing if he can help it.
If he gets home late enough, you’ll already be asleep. Then he can shower, crawl into bed, and pretend the situation doesn’t exist for a few more hours. It seemed like a solid plan in his mind, but unfortunately, thanks to fucking Shitty-Hair, he has no choice but to head home and hang up his costume.
And judging by the lights still glowing through the windows of his apartment, his luck has officially run out. You’re still awake. Of course.
He trudges in, and there you are—sitting stiffly on the couch in the living room, staring directly at him with your arms crossed and an infuriated glare on your face as you fix him with narrowed eyes. Great.
“Do you have any fucking clue what time it is?” you hiss without missing a beat.
Katsuki should’ve known you’d start nagging the second he walked through the door. Hell, he should’ve turned around and just left the moment he saw the lights on instead of coming in.
“S’not even ten,” he grumbles, kicking his boots off. “Would you fuckin’ drop it—”
“You were supposed to be home almost two hours ago!” Your voice rings through the apartment, sharp and incredulous, and Katsuki is so tired. So exhausted. Too exhausted to deal with this nonsense right now, of all times.
“Yeah, well. Now I’m home. There you go.”
The dismissal only seems to make you angrier. Katsuki practically watches the steam start pouring from your ears as you shoot to your feet, hands planting firmly on your hips. And he just knows your voice is about to get louder.
“That’s it?” you practically screech. He fucking knew it. “You’re out on patrol for an extra two hours, and I hear nothing from you—not even a text saying, I’ll be home late. I’ve been sitting here like an idiot, wondering what the fuck happened, or if you’re okay, and all you can say is now you’re home? Do you just get off on being an asshole or something, Katsuki?”
His shoulders tense immediately as he fixes you with an equally hard glare. There goes his wish for a peaceful, conflict-avoidant night. Of course, as always, you have to drag the conflict right to him and drop it at his feet, spike his temper, and make it ruin his evening. A simple shower and a good night’s sleep was all he wanted. But things are never quite that easy—not with you.
Katsuki feels a dull throb start behind his eyes as he shoots back, “What, was your phone broken or some shit? What exactly held you at gunpoint and stopped you from sendin’ me a text and asking, huh?”
Your jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“I’m not laughin’, am I? Definitely no jokes here.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you scowl, and he snorts. There’s no humor behind the sound, however.
“Yeah, that’s real mature.”
“Oh no—you don’t get to tell me about what’s mature and what isn’t. Cause if you wanna talk about what’s mature, it’s not disappearing for two hours and acting like I’m insane for being worried!”
“I wasn’t disappearing, I was fuckin’ doing my job.”
“You were supposed to be done with that job hours ago!”
“Well, I wasn’t!”
“You have a smart little answer for everything, don’t you, Katsuki?” you smile sarcastically, “just think you’re so smart and above it all, huh?”
Katsuki doesn’t know if it’s the headache that’s been creeping on him, or the rage, or the pure adrenaline in his system, but he does know that for a short, fleeting second, all he saw was red.
“Holy fuck, do you ever listen to yourself?”
Your expression hardens instantly. “No, I think you should listen to yourself. You might hear an idiot if you do.”
The apartment goes quiet. Dangerously quiet.
“You know what?” he says coldly, “forget this. I’m goin’ the fuck to sleep—I’ve dealt with enough bullshit tonight—”
You throw your hands in the air, exasperated. There is a flash of hurt on your face that makes his chest ache, but the sharp stab of pain doesn’t last for long because as quickly as his heart bleeds, his mind makes him forget. It only lets him focus on the anger and the irritation and the way you’ve ruined his night, just like you ruined the one before.
“Every single time I tell you something bothers me, you act like it’s a personal attack, and then you just dismiss me like I don’t matter—”
“Maybe I wouldn’t dismiss shit if every conversation with you didn’t turn into a fuckin’ laundry list of grievances you got with me!”
“You only take everything I say as a complaint because you refuse to communicate!”
“Because not everything needs to be a damn discussion like we’re in therapy!”
“Right,” you laugh bitterly. “Silly me. God forbid I expect basic consideration from you.”
Something ugly flashes across his face. He knows it. Katsuki knows that when he’s mad, he turns ugly—he’s always been that way. It’s the only way he knows how to be. For the longest time, he thought you were the only person he could hide it from. That you were the only person he could fight the urge to get ugly from because you are just that special.
But Katsuki is who he is, and he’s learned that he’s a special kind of ugly just for you.
“Basic consideration?” he barks. “You’re sayin’ I’m not considerate?”
“No, sometimes you fucking aren’t and—”
“Oh, that’s fuckin’ rich! I break my back every day keeping this city safe—”
“Well, if the city is the only thing you can be considerate for, why the fuck are you even here?”
It’s silent as soon as the words leave your mouth. Katsuki goes completely still. He can feel it the second it happens—the way his expression shuts down. The way the anger drains out of his face and leaves behind something colder. Something worse. Something so ugly, he has to get out of here before you see it and realize he isn’t worth it. Isn’t worth you.
“Yeah,” His voice is flat. “Why am I here, right? You know, you can just tell me to leave next time, it’d be a lot fuckin’ easier for you.”
“Katsuki—”
“No.” He grabs the strap of his duffel bag that carries his guantlets from where he’d dropped it by the door, throwing it over his shoulder as he bends down to lace his boots up again.
“Katsuki, that’s not what I meant.”
“Sure.”
“I was angry—”
“Clearly, you’re always fuckin’ angry at me. I’m always doin’ something the fuck wrong, aren’t I? Nothin’ I do is enough?”
Stop, stop, stop. His mind is screaming, begging him not to do this. To get out. To leave and fight that hideous part of him down until he’s far enough that you never, ever have to see it.
“Katsuki, don’t do this right now—”
“Do what?” His voice rises more than it should. Stop—stop now. But he can’t. The ugliest of him is already taking surface and showing his truest of colors. “What exactly am I supposed to say here, huh?” You flinch. He needs to fucking stop, but he doesn’t. “Because apparently, when I stay late to save people, I’m an asshole. When I’m home, I’m an asshole. I breathe, I’m an asshole. I exist, I’m an asshole.”
“That’s not—”
“So what’s the answer?” His laugh is bitter and so, so cold that he doesn’t recognize this version of himself. Not with you. He wants to stop desperately, but he can’t. Because Katsuki is an ugly, hideous, despicable person deep down. No amount of heroism on the surface can hide that part of him that’s on the inside, not from you. “Since you’ve got everything figured out, you tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”
“Katsuki, let’s just sit down and—”
He shakes his head. For a second, he wants it to hurt. He wants it to hurt for you. Stop, stop, stop— “Y’know what? I’m done.”
His hand closes around the doorknob, and your voice comes out shaky and panicked as you whisper, “Katsuki, please just sit down and—”
“I’m not fuckin’ doin’ this shit anymore.”
Then he yanks the door open and walks right back out, slamming it hard enough behind him to rattle the picture frames on the wall.
────────────────────────
Katsuki is six when he first asks his father what the fuck the old man even sees in the hag that is his mother. He remembers the conversation vividly.
“Dad, why did you marry Mom? She’s grumpy and old, and she yells all the time,” little Katsuki asks, crossing his tiny arms over his chest. “Why d’you even like her?”
Masaru nearly chokes on his tea. “Katsuki,” he coughs. “Your mother isn’t old. You shouldn’t say that—it’s rude.”
“But she is,” he huffs. “She smells like an old lady, too.”
“Well, if she’s old, then I’m even older,” Masaru points out, taking another sip. “So that can’t be a very good reason not to like her.”
“Well, she’s mean.”
“She’s not mean,” his father chuckles, thoroughly amused.
No matter how many times he sees it, Katsuki doesn’t understand it—the way his father gets that dumb, starry-eyed look whenever Mitsuki comes up. She’s always in a bad mood, and if she isn’t, she’s probably due for one within the next thirty minutes. Why his father would choose to marry such a sour lady is completely beyond his six-year-old comprehension.
“She yelled at me this morning,” he sulks.
“You tried to use your explosions inside the house,” Masaru reminds him, leveling him with a pointed look. “We talked about that. Rules are rules for a reason, young man.”
Katsuki pouts harder. His father is supposed to take his side.
“But she still yelled. And it was mean,” he argues back stubbornly. Masaru only smiles into his tea, shaking his head with fond amusement. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then Katsuki presses again, “So what do you even like about her?”
The question seems to catch Masaru off guard. He pauses, thinking. “Well,” he says slowly, “she’s funny.”
Katsuki blinks. His father cannot possibly be serious. “Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She’s funny?”
“Very.”
“No, she isn’t,” Katsuki says immediately, deeply offended by the blatant lie.
Masaru laughs, “She is.” Katsuki stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. Masaru only smiles wider. “She’s honest, too. You always know what she’s thinking.”
“That’s because she says whatever she thinks.”
“Exactly.”
“And she says it loud.”
“That’s true.”
“She says it really loud, Dad.”
Masaru nods solemnly, sighing. “Also very true, son.”
“She should shut up,” Katsuki huffs. His father fixes him with a stern look at that, and he shrinks back just a little.
“We do not say that about our mother, Katsuki.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes but slumps deeper into his chair all the same. “Fine.”
“Your mother is wonderful,” his father says. “She works hard. She cares about people. She loves our family—she loves us. One day, you’ll see that. And when you do, I think you’ll appreciate her a lot more.”
Katsuki picks at the food on his plate, turning the words over in his head.
His mother does love him—he knows that much, even if she is annoying. She remembers all the snacks he likes and somehow always comes home with them without him ever having to ask. Whenever he asks for money, she gives him more than he requested—even if it usually costs him an irritatingly painful pinch to the cheek. She wakes up early to bathe him despite complaining about losing sleep because he prefers morning baths to evening ones.
His mother loves him; he knows that to be true. But it’s only true because she is his mother, and he is her son. Mothers love their sons—it’s the rules. Why his father would willingly choose to love that woman remains completely incomprehensible, however, in his mind.
“Mom is super annoying,” he says bluntly.
Masaru’s smile softens. “I suppose sometimes she can be, yes.”
“See?” Katsuki perks up immediately, his entire face screaming, gotcha!
“But,” Masaru continues, “I’m sure I annoy her, too.”
Katsuki deflates on the spot.
More than that, he simply cannot imagine such a thing being possible. His father is calm and nice and makes good food. Katsuki thinks lots of women would like his father—women who also would not find Masaru annoying. The only person allowed to find Masaru annoying is Katsuki himself, and that’s because his father makes rules that Katsuki has to follow. He thinks he’s earned that right.
His mother, however, has no such excuse.
“She gets annoyed with you?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. Every day, I’m sure there’s something I do that annoys her at least a little.”
“Then why does she like you?”
Masaru thinks for a moment, carefully choosing his words, trying to explain this odd phenomenon that is love. “Because loving someone isn’t about finding a person who never annoys you,” he says finally. “It’s about finding someone who still sees your value even when you’re annoying. Someone who chooses you anyway. Does that make sense?”
His nose wrinkles immediately. “No.” His father stifles a chuckle when Katsuki adds, “That sounds dumb.”
“Maybe,” Masaru hums, eyeing him with bright, endeared eyes.
“I’m not gonna marry someone annoying when I’m all big. Because I’m smart!”
That earns him a full laugh from his father. It’s the kind of laugh that makes Masaru lean forward and wipe at the corner of his eye. In fact, he laughs so hard he nearly spills his tea. “You say that now,” his father says, setting his mug down, “but that’ll change. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“No, I won’t,” Katsuki grumbles. He doesn’t appreciate that he’s not being taken seriously.
“I think you will, son.”
“I definitely won’t.”
Masaru only smiles. He looks at Katsuki the way adults always do when they think he’s young and silly and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And Katsuki hates that look. He’s smart—excellent, even. Just the other day, he caught his teacher’s mistake during subtraction when nobody else in his class noticed. At this rate, he’s well on his way to being smarter than most adults.
He absolutely knows what he’s talking about.
“Well, we’ll just have to see, Katsuki. If I’m right, you’ll take me out for ramen someday. Deal?”
“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, puffing out his chest confidently. “But you’ll never see that ramen.”
────────────────────────
Twenty years later, Katsuki sometimes wonders if he’s going to have to admit he was wrong and take the old man out for ramen after all.
You are, without question, the most annoying, irritating, vein-popping individual he has ever met. It’s like every decision you make is carefully calculated to inconvenience him specifically.
He has to keep an extra jacket in his car because you never check the weather before leaving the house. He has to double-check your grocery lists before you go shopping because if he doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget the one thing you actually need. He has to make sure you take your vitamins. Every night, he has to remind you to take your makeup off before bed because, apparently, that responsibility has become his problem—and if you wake up the next morning with mascara smeared under your eyes because you didn’t listen to him, then somehow you still find a way to blame him for not wiping it for you.
You are annoying. Every single fucking day, you annoy him. You annoyed him yesterday. You’ve annoyed him today. You’ll annoy him tomorrow. And he’ll tell you exactly that—he’ll call you a dumbass, and tell you to get your life together. Complain about the ridiculous thing you did this time, and accuse you of going out of your way to make his life harder on purpose. But after that, despite it all, he will still love you.
Twenty years later, now that he’s older, Katsuki realizes he understands what his father meant. That loving someone doesn’t happen because they never annoyed him—loving someone happens because they annoyed him, and he still, despite that, sees nothing but the good.
He loves you. You are annoying and drive him up a wall, but Katsuki knows that you are good. The greatest good that there might ever be, and he might have just ruined it. He probably fucked it all up and lost all the good he had. All the good he’s ever wanted. All the good that he’s wanted to keep for the rest of his life and cherish.
The second the apartment door slams shut behind him, Katsuki regrets it. He regrets being the reason behind that look on your face. That brief flash of panic in your eyes right before he left. That way that your voice sounded when you said his name.
He can’t get it out of his head as he walks out of your building. “Fuck,” He runs a hand through his hair and keeps walking.
The only friends he’d willingly see right now are working, his parents are definitely sleeping (and would ask too many questions he doesn’t want to answer, even if they weren’t), and he is nowhere near calm enough to go back upstairs and just go home.
But his patrol route is still active. So instead of going home and into bed like a normal person who has morning patrol, Katsuki leaves his apartment building behind and heads toward work.
By the time he gets suited up again, it’s almost eleven. By the time it’s midnight, he’s still out. By the time it’s 1 AM, he should call it a night.
Instead, however, he keeps moving. One more block turns into one more street. Anything to keep himself from going home or thinking about the argument. About the way you looked at him. About the things he said. About the shit he ruined for sure.
His thoughts are loud enough in his head, turning him deaf to everything else. He misses things he normally wouldn’t—things like suspicious shadows and warning shouts from another hero.
By the time Katsuki realizes what’s happening for what it is, the villain goes down easily enough—too easily. He curses himself for being so naive, so rash. He’s been fighting as a pro for years. He was a war veteran before he was even a legal adult, for crying out loud. Still, despite all that, the second Katsuki realizes something is wrong, it’s already too late.
The construction site groans around him—metal screeches against metal, and his head snaps upward. All he sees is the upper half of the structure collapsing before he loses his balance and collapses with it.
“Shit—”
The explosion leaves his palms a fraction of a second too late, and he doesn’t go propelling forward the way he’s supposed to. The half-built building comes down, and Katsuki goes down with it.
Then everything goes dark.
────────────────────────
It’s 2 AM when you see it on the news. Kirishima sends you a text asking if you’d heard what happened, and by the time you’ve spammed him with messages asking what the hell he was even talking about, he’s gone silent. Something in your gut knows that he’s not answering because he’s too busy rescuing. Too busy being a hero.
Your heart tells you that the person he has to be a hero to tonight just so happens to be Katsuki.
The first report you see hits the news at 2:13 AM. The anchor’s voice is as smooth and polished as ever as she delivers the words that send your whole world crumbling around you.
“We are receiving breaking reports of a major incident involving Pro Hero Dynamight.”
The footage that floods the screen makes you fall to your knees and muffle your sobs behind a shaky palm—collapsed concrete and emergency responders and heroes rushing in and out of the wreckage. The camera zooms toward the ruined construction site, and Katsuki’s body is nowhere to be seen on the screen. You don’t quite know if that’s a good thing or bad.
“Dynamight was reportedly responding to a villain incident when a structural collapse occurred. We are told he is trapped beneath the rubble. Emergency responders are currently on the scene, conducting rescue operations.”
At 2:37 AM, the hospital gives you a call as his emergency contact. You’re sick to your stomach, not sure how you’ll make the drive there when Kirishima finally texts you again.
Kiri <3: I already told his parents. They’re on their way so don’t worry about it
Kiri <3: One of my sidekicks is outside your apartment. They’ll drive you down there
Kiri <3: I still have to handle the aftermath and finish patrol so I won’t be there I’m sorry
Kiri <3: Keep me updated?
You: Don’t apologize Kiri idk what I’d do without u
You: Thank you and pls be safe
You: I’ll lyk things as soon as I find out
Kiri <3: Take it easy okay?
Kiri <3: He’s come back from worse. It’ll be alright
——
Kirishima’s sidekick gets you to the hospital efficiently, but you are still at your wits’ end by the time you can rush out of the passenger seat and bolt through the sliding doors.
Some part of you is grateful you didn’t have to drive here yourself because you know you would’ve sped dangerously over the limit, missed half the red lights, and probably would’ve gotten yourself pulled over. At the same time, you wish you could’ve been the one behind the wheel, just to get here faster.
“I’m here to see Kats—um, Dynamight,” you say in a rush. “Dynamight…I meant Dynamight.”
The woman at the front desk looks at you with a raised eyebrow, already typing away at her screen as she blandly says, “Valid ID, please.”
You curse under your breath, fumbling through your purse for your wallet, and then fumbling through your wallet for your ID like your hands suddenly don’t belong to your body anymore.
When you practically shove it toward her in your haste, she takes it too calmly for your racing heart and inspects it for a moment. Then looks at her screen. Then back to your ID. Then she types for what feels like an agonizing eternity before she finally hands the card back and says, “Fourth floor, room twelve. He’s stable, but he has some serious injuries that they’ll have to monitor and heal slowly due to his stamina—”
You’re already moving before she finishes. You’re bolting toward the elevators, heart slamming so hard it hurts. The ride up to the fourth floor is torturously slow. When you finally get out of the elevator, you’re halfway down the hallway before you even register the security guard stepping in front of you.
“ID.” Again. Of course. You suppose it is a good thing security is tight for the pro hero unit—even if it does add to your piling weight of anxiety. When you clumsily pull it yet again, he checks it for another cruelly long stretch of time, glancing between the card and the device in his hands before finally saying, “Go ahead.”
You’re already moving.
By the time you reach room twelve, your hands are shaking so badly you can barely hold yourself still. For a moment, you just stand there, frozen. Would Katsuki even want to see you? Is he fed up with you? Would you just make his already terrible night even worse?
You aren’t sure.
You don’t know why you’re in the predicament you’re in right now. You don’t know how you got here or why things escalated the way that they did. You don’t know what you do wrong to push his buttons the way you seem to, to upset him the way that he gets. You think you’re doing the right thing—that you’re doing what’s right for both of you—but somehow, you always seem to mess it up. Always seem to say the wrong thing. Always seem to ruin whatever good the two of you have managed to build between you.
But you love Katsuki, and if nothing else, you know that he loves you too, and you need to see him. So you force down the bile in your throat and push the door open. The first thing you notice when you see him is the bandages wrapped tightly around him. One arm heavily secured in a cast. Gauze lining his shoulder and collarbone that makes your stomach drop in a sick, immediate lurch. Machines hum quietly beside him, keeping track of his vitals.
You never see Katsuki hurt like this—he’s always been practically invincible when he’s on the field, always taking things down before they have a chance at even touching him. And then your brain, cruelly, supplies the thought: but he is not invincible. Not always.
“Katsuki,” you whisper, eyes already welling with tears.
He’s looking at you the second the door opens—but his tired eyes soften with relief, just a little, when they land on you. “You came,” he says, voice rough.
“Of course I came,” you say, sharper than you mean to. How could he think you wouldn’t? How far have you let things go that he could genuinely believe you wouldn’t show up for him? “What the hell happened?”
He sighs, almost embarrassed. “Just…work ‘n shit.”
You sniffle, and he lifts his good arm toward you. That’s all it takes.
You’re at his side in an instant, squeezing into the small space beside him on the hospital bed and curling yourself against his chest. You’re careful not to disturb any of the machines surrounding him, but you can’t stop thinking about how wrong this feels. How you shouldn’t be the one being comforted right now. How he’s the one lying in a hospital bed, yet somehow he’s still the one rubbing your back and soothing your tears.
“I thought you were gonna die,” you sob. “I—I saw the rubble, and Kiri stopped texting back and...and I thought you got crushed.”
“M’not fuckin’ dying, babe,” he huffs, sounding mildly offended. “A stupid building isn’t killin’ me. That’s a dumbass way to go.”
“You don’t know that,” you shake your head. “You can’t promise that.”
“Listen—”
“And I was sitting there watching the news and thinking the last conversation I ever had with you was that stupid fight,” you continue, looking up at him with trembling lips.
His eyes soften. “I know, but—”
“And I don’t care about the argument anymore,” you say, your voice shaking harder now. “I don’t care about being right or winning or being apologized to first—I should’ve texted you, you’re right. You...you probably felt like I didn’t care, but I do. I care so much, and I love you more than anything.”
You take a breath that does absolutely nothing to steady you. Katsuki is trying to wipe your tears away with one weak arm.
“I love you too—”
“I just want you to talk to me,” you sob. “I know I’m annoying, and I nag and scold and get onto you all the time, and I’m trying not to do that as much—really, I am! But I just...I wish you’d tell me things, too. Y’know? I am the one person you’re supposed to do that with, Katsuki,” you add, your voice cracking all over again. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m the last person you want to do that with.”
His expression tightens. “That’s not—”
“And I want us to work because I’ve never liked someone so much—it stresses me out. Because I love you and I want this to work, and the thought of it not working makes me so anxious I wanna throw up, and...and you act like talking to me is harder than getting crushed under a fucking building—”
“Baby.” He squeezes your cheeks together and silences you as he pulls your face closer, pressing a kiss to your puckered lips. “You talk a lot, y’know that?”
You huff at him immediately, tears spilling down your cheeks even faster. “That is so rude, given the—”
“I’m sorry about the fight,” he interrupts. You pause, and he takes the opportunity to keep going, despite looking painfully uncomfortable the entire time. “And for...walkin’ out ‘n shit. That was fucked up. I don’t talk to you like I should. You’re right. S’weird for me, and I hate it sometimes. I don’t know how to just...say shit like you do. Okay?” He sighs. “But m’gonna try more because you’re right—I need to talk to you. But you gotta get outta your head so much—” He gives your forehead a small jab with his finger. You sniffle and swat his hand away with a watery scowl. It earns the faintest grin from him. “We’re gonna work,” he says. “’Cause we do. That’s all there is to it, okay?”
“But—”
“No buts,” he grumbles. “My ribs hurt. Jus’ let me be right.”
A watery laugh escapes you as you shake your head, cupping his bandaged face between your hands. “You’re really annoying sometimes, Katsuki.”
“Yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “So are you. Still love you, though.”
“Me too,” you breathe, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Love you so much.”
He pulls you back down against his chest again, rubbing your back as you listen to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. You trace small patterns into his shirt. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. And things are okay—they are not beyond repairing. You’ll inevitably annoy him tomorrow, and he’ll annoy you the day after that, but you’ll still work. You will still find a way to keep things good the way they always are.
After a few quiet moments, he mumbles, “Hey.” When you look up, he says, “When m’all healed and shit, you gotta force me to go grab ramen with my old man. On me.”
────────────────────────
Katsuki waits almost a month after being discharged from the hospital before he finally makes the call. He’s been trying to stall it for as long as possible, but Katsuki, even at the tender age of six, has always been a man (or boy) of his word. He’s standing alone on the balcony outside his apartment with his phone pressed to his ear, wondering if it’s too late to hang up before the call goes through.
It rings twice. Then his father’s voice is as gentle and cheery as ever. “Katsuki!” Masaru answers immediately. “Hi, son!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey.”
His father laughs. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I got discharged, didn’t I? S’been a whole month.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sounding just like your usual self,” his father says. Katsuki can hear the smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’.”
“Katsuki, you never call for just nothing.”
He groans, rubbing a hand over his face with a sigh—it’s now or never. He can’t keep stalling, and Katsuki is, and always has been, a man of his word. If he promised his father ramen over a stupid bet he made twenty years ago, then he’s going to get his father that ramen. Even if it kills his pride. Demolishes it, even.
“Listen, I was thinkin’...maybe we could grab food sometime.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Masaru hums. “Let me ask your mother when she’s free and—”
“Not the hag. S’just you,” he cuts in, rubbing at his temple.
“Oh?” Masaru sounds amused. “Well, okay. I suppose it’d be nice to spend some time as just father and son. What kind of food?”
Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose. Just say it. Just fuckin’ say it, his mind urges. Just rip the bandage off and say it. Say it. Say the damn word—he grits his teeth and forces out, “Ramen.”
There’s a pause on the other end. The silence stretches on long enough that Katsuki’s eye twitches.
“Ramen, huh?” Masaru finally says, and the way he says it makes a vein all but pop in Katsuki's forehead.
“Old man,” he says warningly, “don’t push it—”
He’s cut off when Masaru starts laughing. “I was wondering when this day would come.”
“Hah? You really kept that shit in your head for twenty years?”
“Of course I did. It was one of my favorite conversations I’ve ever had with you.”
“Why? ‘Cause you love bein’ fuckin’ right all the time?” Katsuki grumbles.
His father’s voice softens as he says fondly, “No. I just wanted you to find someone who made you as happy as your mother makes me. That’s all I wanted, son—for you to understand what being happy is like.”
The conversation is getting oddly sentimental, taking a turn that makes his chest feel strange, and his heart feel far too fragile. He hasn’t felt like this since after the war, and he doesn’t intend to sit with it any longer. So he mutters, “I still think Mom’s annoying. She yelled at me last week, so she never fuckin’ changes.”
Masaru laughs again. “No, she doesn’t.” Then, after a moment, “So, how does Saturday sound for some ramen?”
“Yeah. Whatever.”
“Will my son be paying?”
Katsuki regrets this call more than anything when he says, “Yes. I’m fuckin’ paying.”
“You know, son,” Masaru murmurs, making Katsuki pause, “I’m glad you get it now. You’ve grown into a fine man.”
Katsuki swallows hard. He turns, eyeing you as you sleep soundly in your shared bed, hugging his pillow to make up for his absence. He can only hope that his father’s words are true—that he is a fine man to you, the way his father always has been to his mother. His eyes never leave your figure as he mutters, “Yeah, well…s’not like I had a bad example or somethin’.”
so anyway i had an argument with my bf the other day but he did not get into an accident and he did not get injured so dont worry. the argument was technically my fault, but im cute and he loves me so its okay <3
“What did your mother do when you came back home after being kidnapped by the League of Villains, when you were only 16? Did she comfort you?”
Your voice is leveled, calm and soothing to his ears. You know it’s helpless if you raise your voice, if you snarl or snap or get snippy with his lack of answers. Patience, is what you need when it comes to a man like Katsuki Bakugou.
“You know the hag didn’t fuckin’ comfort me.” Bakugou snaps irritably. He’s not mad at you really, just frustrated with the past lack of empathy his mother never gave him. He frowns, slumps lower onto the suede couch, crosses thick arms over his chest as he glowers at the little trinkets that rest on the coffee table between the two of you.
“Just told me that I was weak. Got myself kidnapped, ‘n shit.” He grumbles, voice quieting with every syllable. You try not to let the pity show on your face—Katsuki hates pity. He snaps and scorches your favorite pillows and pouts when you reprimand him afterwards. To save you both the trouble, you school your expression.
“How did that make you feel?” It sounds so stereotypical, he snorts under his breath. You let a small smile crack your face before it falls in seriousness.
“Angry? That she had insinuated that, while trying to protect your friends and fight off villains, you had asked to get kidnapped? Weak? At not being able to protect yourself better? Frustrated? A mixture of all three, and then some?”
Bakugou sat still, hands balled into tight fists. You can see the black and gray smoke wafting from his clenched hands, making you sigh softly. You jot down a couple of notes while Bakugou visibly calms himself down with a few techniques you had shown him previously. Your writing stops at the low, familiar rumble of his voice.
“She never comforted me. But you can. Right, doc?”
You already know what he’s asking for. Already know that this is around the allotted time where you give him his “treatment”. Treatment that would surely get you fired if any of your bosses had found out.
But after trying it on a whim once, you couldn’t help but keep up with your antics.
Bakugou wasn’t subtle at all about how much he liked your breasts in the beginning. For the first few of his appointments, his eyes were always darting down to your chest. He wouldn’t give you much to work with when it came to answers, but you started noticing how he would slowly start opening up more, depending on what you were wearing.
Days when it was cold and you’d wear an oversized sweater, it was like pulling teeth with him. But as the days grew warmer, the overgrown sweaters were thrown out for fitted button up shirts that strained across your chest. Or V necks with a light jacket over top.
Those days, you couldn’t get him to stop talking.
Pretty soon, you realized that he had mommy issues. They were kinda obvious, with his views on—shit—everything in the world.
That’s where your new treatment came in, exclusively for Mr. Bakugou twice a week.
“Come here, Katsu,” you murmur, already starting to unbutton your slightly see through cream blouse. Bakugou is up in seconds, ready to pounce but waiting like the good boy he is for further instructions.
You take your time letting each and every button loose, watch how dark his eyes go, how his breath picks up quickly, his hands shake in eagerness. You wait until the shirt pools around your waist, glance at his throat as he swallows audibly.
“You wanna take them out? You did so well today, I think you earned it.” You tell him, an innocent smile creeping on your face. Bakugou licks his lips and nods, sinks down onto the couch beside you in his usual position. Laid along the length, his head resting in your lap, his hands wandering all over your chest and sides and tummy.
He waits until he’s comfortable before he slowly tugs the cup of you bra down. His eyes glaze over as he watched the fat of your tits spill from your bra, hums at the bounce they create when they land on his cheek.
He nuzzled his face into your chest, inhales deeply at your scent, his body instantly relaxing. Without further prompting, Bakugou slips your nipple into his mouth and begins sucking.
He always starts off a little rough due to his excitement, but calms when you tut at him under your breath. He chills out instantly, eyes fluttering close as one hand stays playing with a throw pillow beside you, the other rubbing circles into your free nipple.
“Feel good, Katsu? Hm, baby?” You hum quietly, rubbing soothing patterns into his back and scratching at his scalp with your other hand. You peer at him over the swell of your breast, watch how he struggles to open his eyes, blinks all slow and soft at you. He nods once and hums around you, making you shiver from the vibrations.
“Good, good boy,” you whisper, let yourself relax into the feeling of him suckling and licking your nipples softly. When your hands start to slow, he sucks a little harder to get your attention. You chuckle, speeding your ministrations back up to their usual speed, to which he sighs and falls back into his sucking rhythm.
He switches to the other nipple next, lets the drag of his own spit swipe across his cheek in his haste of switching. He makes a tiny little whine when you rub out a small kink in his shoulders, absolutely melting in your lap at the feeling.
You can’t help but smile, and already anxiously await the next appointment you have with Mr. Bakugou.
katsuki likes having his hands on you at all times. it's so mindless it just feels wrong if you're in the same room and he's not touching you?
he'll pass by you and a big hand will slide around your waist, lingering at the small of your back for no reason at all while he reaches for something above or beside you.
he doesn't even do it to fluster you, it just feels natural.
it actually took him a little while to be comfortable enough to initiate casual touches when you first started dating. his heart was pounding the first time he reached for your hand, he even accidentally gave it a quick squeeze out of nervousness. but once he felt confident enough, it was impossible to get his hands off you.
when he takes a seat next to you, his hand immediately finds your thigh, patting it a couple times fondly before resting, squeezing playfully here and there. he'll often slide your leg on top of his lap, aiming for both, as the hour goes by.
when you get up, he lets his hand trail down your leg, letting it linger while he looks up at you, the quiet timbre of his voice flustering you when he asks "where you going?" even when you're in public, it makes you want to crawl in his lap and stay there, which he would love, but there's a time and a place.
when he's passing by you as you're sitting on the couch, he'll pat you on the head, often after giving it a kiss, especially when you're busy working on something.
you never asked him to do any of this, but now it's the norm, and it feels just right.
bakugou who—quietly yearns for you ever since he laid his eyes on you, which became his favorite habit.
𖦹 content. k.bakugou x reader. fluff
Katsuki Bakugou liked to think he wasn’t the type of person who got distracted.
He trained harder than anyone else in Class 1-A. He didn’t waste time daydreaming. He didn’t stare out windows. He certainly didn’t spend entire lessons watching someone instead of paying attention.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
The problem was you.
Bakugou still remembered the first time he saw you. It wasn’t dramatic. No slow motion. No grand realization.
You had simply walked into class on your first day, looking mildly annoyed because your bag strap had gotten caught on the door handle.
Most people would’ve ignored it.
Bakugou didn’t.
And somehow, after that, he never stopped noticing you.
At first, it was accidental.
He noticed how you always arrived a few minutes early.
How you tapped your pencil against your desk whenever you were thinking.
How you scrunched your nose when reading difficult material.
How you secretly slipped snacks to Kaminari whenever he forgot breakfast.
Tiny things. Meaningless things.
Things he absolutely shouldn’t have remembered.
Yet somehow, they stayed.
Watching you became a habit.
Then the habit became his favorite part of the day.
He’d catch sight of you laughing with your friends in the hallway.
See you practicing your quirk after class.
Hear your voice across the training grounds.
And every single time, something inside him settled.
Which was incredibly irritating, because Bakugou Katsuki didn’t do feelings. Especially not whatever this was.
Unfortunately, his classmates were beginning to notice.
One afternoon, everyone was gathered in the common room.
You sat across the room, completely unaware.
Bakugou wasn’t even trying to stare.
He just happened to glance up.
And then glance up again. And again. And maybe a fourth time.
“Bro.” Kirishima’s voice cut through the silence.
Bakugou frowned. “What?”
Kirishima looked between him and you.
Then back at him. “Oh.”
Bakugou immediately hated that tone. “Oh what?”
Kaminari suddenly sat up. “What? What happened?”
Kirishima pointed. At him. Then at you.
Bakugou’s stomach dropped. “No.”
“Oh my god,” Kaminari gasped.
“NO.”
“You like her!”
“I DON’T.”
“You’ve been staring at her for fifteen minutes.”
“I HAVE NOT.”
“You literally smiled.”
The room went silent.
Bakugou froze. “…What?”
Kaminari looked horrified. “Dude.”
Kirishima looked equally shocked. “Dude.”
Bakugou’s eye twitched. “What are you idiots talking about?”
“You smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I DID NOT.”
“You looked at her like she just won the Sports Festival.”
Bakugou felt heat crawl up his neck.
Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
He was careful. Nobody was supposed to notice.
Unfortunately, at that exact moment, you looked up.
Your eyes met his.
For one terrible second, neither of you looked away.
Then you smiled. A small one. Soft and warm.
Only for him.
And Bakugou forgot how to breathe.
Across the room, Kaminari slammed both hands over his mouth.
Kirishima looked like he was witnessing history.
Bakugou immediately stood. “I’m leaving.”
“You’ve got it bad.”
“SHUT UP.”
He stormed out of the common room while laughter erupted behind him.
But as he walked away, one thought lingered stubbornly in his mind.
Because for all his efforts to hide it—
for all the years he’d spent pretending not to care—
What is wrong with being obsessed with an ass, right?
Bakugo physically cannot sleep unless he is completely glued to your backside. Even when he’s dead tired, he’ll violently yank you back-first against his bare chest, his large hands clamping onto your waist to pull your ass flush against his lap. His thick, heavy length is always semi-hard and nestled perfectly between your cheeks, throbbing lazily against you all night.
ugh!!! if you try to shift away because his body heat is boiling you, he completely loses it. Even half-asleep, his grip will tighten like an iron vise, and he'll let out a low, warning growl as he shoves his face directly into the valley of your ass. He literally buries his nose and mouth right against your bare skin, inhaling your scent from right there just to quiet his brain down enough to sleep.
Waking up is the most feral part because his morning wood is absolutely brutal. You’ll wake up to him already rock-hard and slick, deliberately grinding his heavy weight right against your dripping heat from behind. Before you can even open your eyes, his hand will shove your face into the pillow, his voice a ruined, sleepy rasp against your neck: "Don't fucking move—you're taking it right now," before he drives himself completely home.
𑣲 katsuki apologizing while still inside ⋆｡° — SMUT! ♡♡
katsuki was positioned completely on top, gently pinning her hands above her head with his fingers intertwined with hers. he raised his head from her neck, locking his gaze deeply with hers.
"you still mad at me?" his usual explosive voice dropped into a quiet rasp. her breathing was uneven, chest heaving softly against his.
"a bit.." she whispered breathlessly. a flicker of genuine regret softened his expression—he leaned down, closing the distance between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"didn't mean to, baby.." he truly meant it, looking down at her with raw vulnerability.
"had a long week. y'know how i can get sometimes, and m'sorry." hearing the genuine remorse in his tone made her remaining anger vanish, but the physical reality of their current position made it incredibly difficult to think straight, let alone talk.
"katsuki, do we have to talk about it now?" she emphasized, as his cock stayed deep and completely hard inside her.
his eyes were warm, even as a smirk tugged at his mouth—clearly amused by her breathy distraction. pressing his forehead against hers, he gave her pinned hands a gentle, tightening squeeze.
"yeah." he murmured against her lips, teasing her with a slow twitch of his hips. "we do. i can multitask."
he kissed her softly to catch her breath before drawing his hips back and driving right back in with a deep, unhurried stroke that made her back arch off the mattress.
a moan spilled from her lips as her fingers tried to curl into his, though he kept her hands firmly pinned against the pillow.
"fucking missed you." he groaned, setting a deep pace that maximized every bit of friction until she was trembling beneath him. "spent the whole week out of my mind because we left things messed up."
another deep, heavy push pulled a breathless whimper from her. katsuki caught the sound with his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling back just enough to look at her again. his eyes were dark and intense—entirely consumed by her.
"i get in my head." he went on, his hips moving forward in a steady rhythm as his words vibrated against her chest. "get pissed off at work, take it home.. shouldn't have shut you out. look at me, y/n."
she forced her eyes open, blinking through the haze of pleasure as he hit a spot that made her whine. "m'listening.." she whispered, her voice strained as she tried to handle the overwhelming depth of each slow stroke he delivered.
"yeah.." he muttered, his expression softening with possessive warmth as he continued to murmur between deep, perfect thrusts. "nowhere else i'd rather be. we're fixing this. right here."
꒰ 爆豪勝己 ꒱ › katsuki hates being loud in bed. mdni.
pro hero! bakugo x fem! reader. unprotected piv
for someone who’s so loud and cocky, katsuki is surprisingly quiet in bed. because he hates the sounds he makes, finds his own whimpers and groans pathetic and weak. he hates the way his control dissolves, the way his body betrays him with hitched breaths and feeble groans. every time a whimper ‘threatens’ to spill from his lips, he’s gulping it down, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
he kisses you like he’s trying to swallow the moans building in his own chest. his tongue sweeps into your mouth, not just to taste you, but to make sure you’re so full of him that no sound can escape.
“kats breathe,” you gasp when he finally lets you up for air.
“shut up,” he snarls, but there’s no heat beneath his words.
when you finally sink down onto him, taking him in inch by excruciating inch, his whole body goes rigid. a sharp hiss falls through his gritted teeth, and he immediately buries his face in the crook of your neck, as if in shame. you can feel the vibration of his groan against your throat, a guttural sound he tries so, so hard to kill.
“fuck,” he breathes, a mere puff of air against your glistening skin. his hips remain still, even as his cock throbs inside you
when you start to ride him, his hands fly from your hips to your ass, then to your shoulders, anywhere he can get purchase, as if he’s physically trying to hold himself together. his breathing becomes harsh and uneven. you can hear the struggle in every inhale. his crimson eyes are squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration that has everything to do with not falling apart.
you love watching him like this. you love being the one to unravel him. you pick up the pace, rolling your hips in that way you know drives him wild, and you feel the tremor that starts in his thighs, the way his calloused fingers dig bruises into your perfect skin.
a sound that’s half-gasp, half-whimper, bubbles up, and katsuki immediately clamps his mouth down on your shoulder — using your body to silence his own.
he’s drunk on the copper leaking from your broken skin. he presses soothing kisses to your shoulder and it makes you clench even harder around him. that’s what finally makes him break. a moan tears from his throat, muffled by your flesh but unmistakable. a vulnerable sound that’s completely at odds with the explosive hero he is by day. it’s sound of him stripped of all his defenses
and he hates it. you can feel the way he freezes for a moment, horrified by his own lack of control. “don’t—”
“don’t what ? don’t stop ?” you tease, rolling your hips again.
“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that,” he’ll grumble, turning his face away even as his hands white-knuckle your hips, pulling you closer.
but you’re not having it. you reach back, tangling your fingers in his sweat-damp blond hair, and pull his gaze towards yours. “let me hear you,” you murmur “wanna hear how good i make you feel.”
“no,” he shakes his head, stubbornly, eyes squeezed shut. “can’t. it’s too damn embarrassing.”
“it’s hot” you counter, “you’re hot katsuki. now let me hear you.”
“don’t — hah — say shit like that” he groans. his hips, now freed from their self-imposed prison, thrust up to meet yours. his moans become more frequent, little whimpers and moans he can’t swallow, each one is followed by a tightening of his jaw, a rosy flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“that’s it kats,” you encourage, “just like that.”
when you lean back, changing the angle just so, that he finally, truly surrenders. his eyes fly open, wide and glazed with pleasure, and his mouth falls slack. a string of curses,spills from his lips. “fuuuck . . . you’re so—hck— damn you”
his face is completely red, and he’s so, so loud but he’s past the point of caring. his hips slam into yours, his movements losing all finesse, driven purely by need
“gonna. . fuck, baby. . i’m gonna—” he chokes out, and it’s the most warning you’ve ever gotten from him.
he cums with a strangled cry, your name a wanton mess on his lips. his whole body all but arches off the bed. the sounds he makes are muffled by your skin, but you feel them all the same—the whimpers, the groans, the exhausted panting. for a long moment, the only sound in the room is his ragged breathing and the pounding of your own heart.
then, slowly, he relaxes, his body going limp against yours. you know he’s replaying every sound, every whimper, and cringing. you card your fingers through his hair, holding him close, and wait. eventually, he shifts, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your sternum before muttering against your skin, “that’s never gonna happen again”
you don’t have to say anything. you just smile, because you know that next time, when you’re skin against skin and joined together as one, you’ll break his silence all over again.
A/N: Sorry this forever to get out! I've been so busy with life and my phone broke so I was phoneless for a couple days until I got it fixed T.T but i'm good now! and back in action!
The weeks that followed his birthday were a torture of his own making. Katsuki who usually dominated every space with his presence became a ghost in your life.
He didn't shout, didn't blast things apart in training.
He just… vanished from your orbit. When you approached him in the common room with a simple
"Hey Bakugou, wanna grab lunch together?"
He'd grunt a single "Busy" and turn his back, shoulders tense as if carrying a bomb. In group hangouts, he'd sit on the farthest edge, eyes fixed on the TV or his phone, never on you.
If you accidentally brushed against him passing in the hallway, he'd jerk away like your touch was acid, a low growl rumbling in his chest before he stormed off.
Inside Katsuki, it was a different war.
Every time you spoke, his mind rewrote the words into filthy whispers. "Hey, Bakugou" became "Fuck me, Katsuki."
Your scent that clean, soft laundry smell with a hint of your shampoo. It didn't repulse him instead it intoxicated him. He'd catch it in the air and his jaw would clench, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white.
One wrong move is all it would take. One moment where you touched his arm or looked at him with those warm eyes and he'd lose it. He'd pin you to the wall, rip your clothes off and fuck you right there in the hallway.
The fantasy was so vivid it left him breathless. So he ran. Avoided. Became a statue of indifference.
You tried. You brought him notes from classes he'd missed (due to his therapy sessions), offered to spar (he declined with a sneer).
The tension between you wasn't just unspoken; it was a live wire, sparking in the silent spaces. You could feel it.. the way his eyes would flick to you then away, the heat that seemed to radiate from him when you were near, even as he pretended you were nothing.
Then came the night you couldn't stand it anymore.
Training had ended late, the dorm halls quiet. You saw his door was slightly ajar, a sliver of light cutting into the dark corridor. You didn't knock. You pushed it open and stepped inside.
He was at his desk, scribbling something in a notebook, back rigid. He didn’t turn. "Get out. Didn't leave my door open as an invitation for you to come in." He said, voice flat and cold.
"No." You said and the word hung in the room.
He finally spun, chair scraping and his eyes were like ignited coals. "I said get out. This is my room."
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me." You stepped closer, cornering him between the desk and the bed. The space was small, intimate and charged. "You've been ignoring me for weeks. What did I do?"
"Nothing." He snapped but his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before jerking back to the wall. "Just don't wanna be bothered."
"Bullshit." Your voice softened but it was firm. "Look at me. In the eyes. And tell me the truth."
He tried to usher you out, a hand rising to gesture toward the door but it stopped mid-air, trembling slightly. His control was fraying, the walls he'd built crumbling under your insistence. He couldn't stand your smell? It was flooding his senses now, sweet and maddening. He couldn't stand to touch you? His skin screamed for it.
"Tell me what's going on Kats." You whispered, stepping even closer, until only a breath separated you.
A low, ragged sound escaped him. A groan of surrender. His eyes, finally, locked with yours. They trailed over your face, a slow, burning scan: the worry in your brows, the confusion in your eyes, then down to your lips, parted and waiting. The silence wasn't empty; it was full of everything he'd been imagining. The bend of your body, the marks he'd leave, the sounds you'd make.
"The truth..." He said, voice so rough it scraped the air. "Is that I can't fucking think straight around you." His hand, that trembling hand, rose again but this time it cupped your cheek, calloused fingers against your skin. "Everytime I see you and I wanna ruin you. I wanna pin you down and fuck you until you forget every other name and face. I wanna hear you scream mine." The words spilled out, filthy and raw, a confession torn from his gut. "That's the truth. Now get out before I do it."
You didn't get out. Instead, your hand mirrored his, touching his jaw, feeling the tight clench there. "Then do it." You said and the challenge in your voice was the final detonation.
He stared, a second of shock then his control shattered. A growl ripped from his throat and he kissed you. Not soft, not sweet. It was a claiming, lips bruising against yours, tongue forcing entry, hot and desperate. You met him with equal hunger, hands grabbing his shirt, pulling him closer. He broke the kiss only to mutter. "You asked for it." before his hands were on your hips, lifting you, tossing you onto his bed.
You landed on the mattress and he was over you in a flash, knees between your legs, hands ripping at your clothes. Your shirt went first, torn open with a frantic yank, buttons scattering. His mouth was on your breast before the fabric fully cleared your skin, teeth grazing your nipple before sucking hard, leaving the first of many promised hickeys. You gasped, arching into him, hands fumbling at his belt.
He made quick work of it, shoving his pants down, kicking them off. His cock sprung free, thick and eager, already glistening at the tip. Your leggings were next, peeled down your legs with rough urgency, followed by your underwear, torn aside. "Look at me." He commanded, and you did, eyes wide as he settled between your thighs, one hand spreading you open, the other guiding himself to your entrance.
He didn't tease. He pushed in, one hard, deep thrust that buried him fully. You cried out, a sharp, pleasure-pained sound as your body stretched to take him. It was desperate, needy, messy. No grace, just raw need. He froze for a second, buried inside you, feeling your walls clench around him and his groan was a broken thing. "Fuck… you're so tight… so perfect."
Then he moved, pulling back and slamming in again, setting a punishing rhythm from the start.
Slap-slap-slap
The sound of his hips hitting yours, wet and slick. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing them up, folding you nearly to your ears just as he'd imagined, exposing you completely. "Katsuki!" You moaned, voice breaking as he drove deeper.
"Yeah, there you go baby." He growled, leaning down to bite at your neck, sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Say my name jus' like that."
You did, every thrust punctuating it.
"Katsuki Ah! Yes, right there!"
Your hands scrambled over his back, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you.
The room filled with the sounds: his grunts, your moans, the wet, rhythmic noise of sex.
Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped onto your chest. It was hot, frantic, all-consuming.
"I wanted this.." You confessed between gasps, your hips rising to meet his. "Wanted you… for so long…"
He paused, thrusts slowing for a moment, eyes burning into yours. "Why?" He demanded, voice raw.
"Because you're you." You breathed, hands framing his face. "All of you… this… I want it all."
A shudder ran through him. He kissed you again, softer this time but still fierce then resumed his pace, harder now, as if your words had unleashed something deeper.
"You got it." He promised, voice thick. "All of me. Every fucking part. 'S all yours." His thrusts became more rougher and deeper, hitting that spot that made you cry out, tears of pleasure gathering in your eyes.
"Ohh, God, Katsuki!"
He watched you unravel, his own confession spilling out between ragged breaths. "I couldn't stand it… smelling you, seeing you… 'cause I knew I'd break." He leaned down, lips against your ear. "I'm gonna breed you tonight. Fill you up so good you'll walk around with me inside you for the next fuckin' week." The words were filthy, tender, utterly his.
You nodded, urging him on, your own climax building, coiling tight in your core. He felt it, your walls fluttering around him and he growled, "Cum with me. Now." He reached between your bodies, thumb pressing against your clit, circling roughly as he thrust.
The dual sensation shattered you.
"Oh! Fuuckk Kats..!"
Your orgasm ripped through you, a wave of blinding pleasure that clenched around him, milking his length. He swore, a harsh "Fuck!" and drove in one last, deep time, holding himself there as his own release erupted. Hot, thick spurts filled you, pumping deep as he groaned into your neck, body shaking with the force of it. "Nngh… take it… all."
He collapsed atop you, both of you panting, sweaty, messy. His cock still nestled inside you, slowly softening. For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breaths and the smell of sex and skin. He finally shifted, pulling out but stayed close.
"You're mine now." He murmured, a statement, not a question.
"Yeah." You whispered back, fingers tracing the fresh hickeys on his shoulder where your nails had marked him too. "I am."
He kissed you, slower this time, a seal on the confession. The weeks of ignoring, the boiling tension all of it had exploded into this: desperate, needy, messy, and true. Outside, the dorm was silent. Inside his room, the only sound was the steady beat of two hearts finally syncing.
The frantic energy had bled away, leaving behind a profound, buzzing silence. He was still atop you, a solid, sweaty weight as you both fought to remember how to breathe.
Slowly and carefully, he rolled to the side, taking you with him. He didn't let go. One arm remained locked around your waist, hauling you back against his chest, while the other hand came up to push the damp hair from your forehead. His touch, so brutal and demanding moments before was now hesitant almost reverent. You shivered and his arm tightened.
"Cold?" His voice was a ruined rasp against your ear.
You shook your head, nestling deeper into him. "No. Just… feeling everything."
A grunt was his only reply but his hand began to move, tracing idle, gentle patterns on your bare arm. His fingertips, calloused and capable of creating explosions, skimmed over your skin with a sensitivity that stole your breath all over again. He mapped the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hip he'd gripped so fiercely. Everywhere he touched, he seemed to be memorizing, confirming you were real and here and his.
"I didn't… fuck." He started, stopped, growled in frustration at his own tongue. "Ignoring you. It wasn't about you doing something wrong."
You turned in his arms just enough to see his profile, the sharp line of his nose, the fan of his lashes against his cheeks. He was staring at the ceiling, jaw working.
"Then what was it about?"
"It was about this." He said, the words forced out. "About knowing if I let myself get close, I'd want this. And not just once. All the fucking time. In the common room, in the gym, against the goddamn vending machine." His eyes slid to yours, blazing with a honesty that was more vulnerable than any shout. "I wanted to claim you so bad it felt like my skin was gonna split open. Every time you smiled at Dunce Face, every time you wore those fucking leggings, every time I smelled you… it was like a war in my head. And I was losing."
You lifted a hand, touching the tense muscle of his jaw. "So you pushed me away to win?"
"To not destroy you." He corrected, his voice dropping low. He turned his face into your touch, kissing your palm. A gesture so tender it made your heart ache. "I'm not gentle. I'm not nice. I take what I want and I break things. I thought… if I got my hands on you, that's what I'd do. Break you."
"You didn't break me." You whispered.
"I know." He said and a flicker of that arrogant smirk touched his lips. "You bent. You screamed. You took every fucking thing I gave you but you didn't break."
He shifted, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at you fully. The harsh overhead light was off, only the dim desk lamp casting the room in gold and shadow. It softened the edges of him but not the intensity in his crimson eyes. "You're stronger than that. It's one of the things that drives me insane."
"Tell me the other things you thought about Kats." You said softly reaching up to gently touch the scar on the right side of his face.
He didn't hesitate. The dam was broken. "The way your eyes get all determined when you're strategizing in training. The stupid little hum you do when you're focused. The sound of your laugh, which is annoyingly perfect. The fact that you're not scared of me. You never have been. You look at the explosions and you see me not just the danger. You trust me." His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "And this. I thought about this mouth saying my name. I dreamed about it."
"Katsuki." You breathed and watched his pupils blow wide.
"Yeah..." He rasped. "Like that." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Your turn. Why put up with all my shit? Why corner the grenade?"
Your confession came easier, watered by the intimacy of the tangled sheets and his skin against yours. "Because the grenade is the most real thing in the room. You don't lie. You don't pretend. What you want, you fight for and even when you were being a miserable jerk, I could see it… the want and how it was aimed at me. That intensity… it's terrifying and magnetic. I wanted to be the one who finally met it." You reached up, tracing the line of his eyebrow. "I don't want gentle. I don't want nice. I want true. I want you. All your anger, your pride, your messed-up way of caring, this… this desperate, hungry thing between us. I want it all."
For a long moment, he was silent, just staring at you as if deciphering a complex battle plan. Then, he nodded, once, decisive. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. You got it. All of it. It's yours." He said it like a vow, a contract signed in sweat and marks. "You're my girlfriend. Or whatever. My person. Don't make me say the sappy shit."
A laugh bubbled out of you, light and relieved. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He kissed you then, a slow, deep, thorough kiss that had no haste in it. It was a seal on the agreement, a promise of a thousand more to come. It was the knot, tied firmly and finally. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his usual scowl absent, replaced by a look of fierce, quiet possession. "Now go to sleep. We can get cleaned up tomorrow in the morning and go to the ramen place you like."
"Wait really? Like as in a date?" You asked him surprised.
"What do you think dumbass? Of course as a date. You're my girl now."
"YIPPIE!"
(idk lol)
Cuddled in his arms, the chaos of the last few weeks finally settled into a profound, quiet rightness. The last thing you felt before sleep took you was his lips, pressed softly to the crown of your head with a deep chuckle.
"Alright dumbass now go to bed. 'M exhausted."
One Month Later....
The first wave of nausea hit you in the middle of a strategy lecture with Mr. Aizawa. One minute you were noting down flanking maneuvers, the next a sick, greasy feeling rolled through your gut and the smell of Kaminari's overly sweet body spray from three rows ahead made your saliva pool unpleasantly. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard and made it through.
It became a pattern. Mornings were the worst. The scent of coffee from the common room which you usually loved would send you bolting for the bathroom to dry-heave over the toilet. Certain foods you'd craved just weeks before like the spicy curry Katsuki loved now made your stomach turn. The smell of frying eggs was a particular enemy.
You were tired. A deep, bone-aching fatigue that a full night's sleep couldn't touch. You chalked it up to intense training and the… vigorous… new dimension of your relationship with Katsuki. He'd been insatiable, true to his word and claiming you with a possessive fervor that left you blissfully exhausted. The breeding fantasy wasn't just a fantasy; it was a frequent, growled promise he made good on every time but as the days ticked by, a cold, dawning suspicion began to push through the fatigue and nausea. Your period was late. Very late. The math in your head was terrifying and undeniable.
One Tuesday morning after yet another sprint to the bathroom left you shaky and pale, you knew. You bought the test from a pharmacy two train stops away, hiding it in the bottom of your bag like a secret weapon.
In the quiet privacy of your own dorm bathroom, you followed the instructions with hands that trembled. The wait was the longest three minutes of your life. You sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the little plastic stick on the sink, listening to the frantic drum of your own heart. The memories flashed: his heated confessions in the dark, the feel of him pumping into you, deep and claiming, his ragged promise. "I'm gonna breed you. Make sure it takes."
When you finally looked, the world didn't shatter. It crystallized.
Two lines. Unmistakable. Positive.
A strange calm settled over you, cutting through the nausea and fear. It was a fact now. A consequence. A life. You were carrying Katsuki Bakugou's child.
You didn't cry. You just stared, one hand drifting unconsciously to your still-flat stomach. Then, you picked up your phone. Your fingers, steady now, typed a single text to him.
Come to my room. Now.
It's important.
His reply was almost instantaneous as always.
On my way.
You had just enough time to hide the test in its box and tuck it under your pillow before his signature, impatient knock rattled the door. You let him in.
He strode in, already scanning for a threat. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" His eyes narrowed, taking in your expression.
"Close the door, Katsuki."
The use of his first name in that tone made him pause. He shut the door, locked it and turned to face you fully, arms crossed. "Talk. Please baby you're killing me here."
You took a deep breath, the words feeling both too big and too simple. "I'm pregnant."
For a full ten seconds, he was utterly still. Not a breath, not a blink. His face was a blank slate of shock. Then, a series of micro-expressions flickered across his features: confusion, denial, rapid mental calculation. His eyes dropped to your stomach, then snapped back to your face, searching for a lie.
"You're sure." It wasn't a question.
"Yes. I took a test." You gestured weakly toward the bed.
He moved then, not toward you but to the bed. He reached underneath the pillow and pulled the box from under your pillow with a startling gentleness, took out the stick from the box and stared at the twin lines. His knuckles were white where he gripped the plastic.
The silence stretched, thick and charged. You braced for the explosion.. the anger, the panic, the rejection.
It didn't come.
He slowly lowered the test, his gaze lifting to meet yours. The shock was still there but it was being burned away by something else. Something hotter and more profound. A fierce, blazing light ignited in his crimson eyes. It wasn't fear. It was recognition. It was victory.
A slow, wild, utterly possessive smile spread across his face.
"Told you I'd breed you and make it take." He said, his voice a low, thrilling rumble of pure triumph.
andy’s notes: trying to write again!! so have some bakugou breeding kink thoughts 💭
no matter how much you beg, katsuki won’t fuck you without a condom.
“that’s irresponsible.” he grits his teeth as he bottoms out. he loves the little squeeze between your brows that you make at the stretch. “how many times do I gotta keep telling you?”
(that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it. doesn’t mean he’s not tempted.)
for example, he knows exactly what you’re doing when you dig your heels into his back and lift your hips up to pull his cock in even deeper. he sees that infuriating smirk before you tell him how badly you want him to fill you up.
and he can usually muscle his way through it. give you several hard cracks across your ass; that always gets you to stop caring where he cums.
and what makes him finally give in isn’t anything special. he’s just tired, leaning hard on the doorway to toe off his shoes, and he sees you asleep on the couch. blanket creasing your cheeks.
his heart does that thing that it always does around you. it squeezes so tight in his chest he feels, briefly, like he’s about to die.
he sweeps hair back from your forehead. “baby?” you blink your eyes open, drool drying on your chin. one of his old shirts envelopes you. it’s absolutely insane how much he loves you. “what ya doin’ out here?”
you fall into his chest, huffing in his scent. “waiting for you. stupid.”
that’s it.
he scoops you into his lap, and in the brilliant way he has with you, you know exactly what he wants. you undo his zipper, stroking his half-hard cock to stiffness, and line him up.
you cock your head. “condom?”
he doesn’t answer. just thumbs your clit and kisses you, licking into your mouth when you gasp in surprise.
“fuck the condom.” you’re so warm, so soft . “wanna feel you, honey.”
the pet name isn’t like him, and he can’t explain why he needs to use it - maybe because he knows he’ll be scooping you into his lap like this until he dies, and you deserve to hear the kind of sweet names he hears other couples use.
“i’m not on the pill —” but you’re sinking down slowly, anyway. “We could - fuck - you could actually knock me up, katsuki.”
he cups your face. through his exhaustion, he wears a feral, dazed grin.
“yeah.” he braces his feet on the ground and rolls his hips up, seating you fully on his cock. “but i thought you liked risk.”
synopsis: katsuki doesn't know how you ended up together, but he sure as hell doesn't mind it.
pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader
word count: 855
tags/warnings: classmates to lovers, frenemies to lovers, established frenemies dynamic, fluffffff, slice-of-life, smut at the end
a/n: ANOTHER self-indulgent fic bc i just can't stop thinking about bickering classmates to lovers RAGHHHHHH
divider cred: @cursed-carmine
You’re his first taste of peace. A breath of fresh air that fills his lungs like the perfect amount of breeze on a summer’s day, and it feels as revolutionary to him as it would to a smoker.
He notices it when you laugh, bright-eyed and all smiles, and his chest tightens. The sight makes his heart skip a beat and his breathing catch. It’s like this often with you, he notices—where he’s out of breath, yet full of life.
That’s also a thing; life’s a little lighter with you around. He’s a little less bitter, a little less snappy. And if he is, it’s not as serious anymore, it’s fun.
——-
“Oh my god, you’re so annoying!” You exclaim, exasperated yet clearly amused as you swat his hand away from your shared work station. “Please, just follow the lab instructions.” You sigh, but the smile on your face never falters.
He just laughs, plays along by shrugging his shoulders. In his head he thinks he’s the luckiest guy in the world to have you notice him.
——-
He likes the way you seem to enjoy his company. For a long time, he grew used to being the guy that people complained about, a guy that had a few more outbursts than what people could put up with. And yeah, most of the reputation came about through fault of his own, sure, but it got to him sometimes. It was nice to have someone who enjoyed putting up with him.
——-
Psyching himself up to ask you out might make top ten of the scariest things he’s ever had to do, but he’d do it ten times over again just to watch you nod yes. To feel the way you wrapped your arms around him, moving in his returning hug with that little sway you do when you can’t contain your excitement. God, it really made him feel like something important.
“Y-yeah?” He whispers into your hair, it’s shaky, unsure. It’s nothing like him, yet entirely his truest self. When you nod again, he finds himself letting out a breath of relief, lips turning up into a boyish smile before it’s hidden in your hair again.
“Fuck, I was so scared.” He mutters, chuckling softly. His thumb keeps brushing back and forth on your shoulder before pausing at how you look up at him.
“Your heart’s beating fast.” You point out, grinning.
“Yeah, no shit!”
——-
He has a hard time thinking of life before you. Before you were over all the time, before all the dates that ended with walks home and whispered “I love you’s,” before you were there watching on the sidelines, cheering him on at school events and waiting on the bleachers after school for him to finish training.
What did he do when you weren’t there to cheer him on? To meet him after games and reach up to squeeze his cheeks, to embarrass him in front of everyone by peppering his face with kisses? Did he really just go home? He thinks of that guy, “huh, sad.”
——-
Heaven on earth. That’s what the feeling is.
It turns out, Heaven was warmer than he’d thought. And wet. And slick. And—“f-fuck, tight..!” He groans into your ear as your hips roll down onto him, wet walls enveloping his length and squeezing down before dragging back up again. Every movement of your hips is accompanied by a lewd squelch, the result of your juices and his pre mixing together. It drips down the seam of his balls that begin to smack against you as his hips start to thrust upwards.
“Mmffghh…fuck!” You whimper, the sound making his cock jump as he tenses his stomach, warm hands on your hips guiding you as you fuck. The haze that clouds him is heavy and mind numbing as he processes the way it’s him making you feel good. He drinks up every little whine that falls from your lips and in return gives you his own, his eyebrows scrunched as he edges closer to his climax.
He fucks you harder. The incessant need to claim you as his showing up in the way he holds you against him, an arm wrapped around your waist as he thrusts deep into you, each time giving you a moment to grind yourself against the needy head of his tip buried inside.
“S-so messy—fuck, I love you.” “Please. Please, cum for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, there we go, me too, baby…Hahh..”
And suddenly, you cum with a sharp gasp. Your nails dig into his shoulders while your back arches, and your pretty face is painted with an expression of only pleasure. It’s enough to make him cum. Not long after is it that he’s cumming inside of you, groaning at the thought of his seed coating your gummy walls, at the way it’ll dribble out of you when he eventually pulls out, and how he’ll spread you open again after—make you cum until you’re more than satisfied and too worn out to even claw at the bedsheets.
Because after all, what better way is there to repay the girl who gave him a chance?
cw: smut, bakudeku x sub!reader, fem!reader, softdom!izuku, harddom!bakugo, dacryphilia, overstim, fingering, spanking, cunnilingus. lmk if i forgot anything :)
a/n: this is my first drabble, lmk if you fw it ;)
𖤓 It wasn’t planned to end up between your two boyfriends on a Saturday night, getting fucked dumb. To be fair, none of this was really your fault. They always told you that you could have anything you wanted, so of course you bought the cutest pair of heels after they already told you no.
That’s how you ended up here, back against Katsuki’s chest while his fingers tugged and pinched at your puffy nipples.
“I-I said I’m sorry,” you whined, feeling him press open-mouthed kisses to your neck as Izuku’s fingers pumped deep into your soaked pussy.
They’d kept you like this for over thirty minutes, refusing to let you cum, the expensive heels still on your feet.
“So messy already,” Izuku murmured, voice soft but firm. “You really want to cum that bad, pretty girl?”
Your hips jerked when he curled his fingers just right. “Yes! p-please, zuku-”
Katsuki’s hand suddenly came down in a sharp slap against your clit, making you cry out.
“Too bad,” he growled. “You don’t get to cum just ‘cause you’re beggin’.”
Izuku kept his pace steady for a moment before he leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth. His tongue dragged through your folds before latching onto your swollen clit, sucking gently.
“F-Fuck—! I-I can’t, it’s too much! hic- g’na cum, zuku please!” Fat globs of tears run down your cheeks, bottom lip trembling.
Katsuki gripped your face, forcing you to look at him. “No the fuck you’re not. Brats don’t get to cum.” His tongue laps up your tears with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat.
Izuku pulled back just enough to speak, his voice still soft even as his breath fanned over your clit. “Just a little more, pretty girl. You can take it.”
Your thighs shook as you tried to squirm away, tears brimming in your eyes. “Can’t- s’too much, please-!”
Katsuki slapped your clit again, harsher this time. “Stop whining. You’re not cumming until we say so.”
imagine in a last ditch effort to save humanity you send three people to space and the ONLY fucking person who survives the trip is the one who you gave AMNESIA. so so so funny to me that they went through all this effort and only the amnesiac makes it
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
gummygunk
romaincrisis
