SUMMARY: Okay, so you had the biggest, most embarrassing crush on Bakugou when you were both in high school. He was kind of your first love, if you believe in those kinds of things. But you got over it. It's fine.
You see Bakugou sometimes at hangouts, at get-togethers. He's in your orbit, or you're in his, because of your mutual friends. You're all adults now, so it's fine. It's a little weird, but fine.
You're supposed to be on vacation, at a place that's hours away from Musutafu. You're not sure what you've done to deserve it, but Bakugou's here too. And instead of both of you pretending the other doesn't exist, as usual, he's talking to you. He's everywhere. It's fine.
(It's not fine.)
TAGS: pro hero Bakugou Katsuki, aged-up characters, friends to lovers (being generous with that friends label lol), fluff, pining, eventual smut
baby!yuji and Sukuna moving out (to the couch) !fluff
≈ 782 words
masterlist
“Move back a little, you’re making me sweat,” you huffed, planting both hands on Sukuna’s broad chest and giving him a firm shove. It was like trying to move a brick wall, but he rolled an inch toward the edge of the mattress with a grunt.
Sukuna froze. The room went silent as his jaw dropped, his brows knitting together in a look of such betrayal that you’d think you had just stabbed him.
"Excuse me?" he rumbled, his voice dropping low and dangerously offended.
"You're like a sweaty blob, Sukuna," you muttered, pulling the duvet up to your chin. "I can’t sleep when I feel like I’m being roasted like a rotisserie chicken."
"A sweaty blob?" He sat up abruptly, his crimson eyes wide as if you’d just committed high treason. "I offer you the gift of my warmth, and you compare me to a what?"
Before you could reply, he was a whirlwind of dramatic movement. He scrambled off the bed with a betrayed huff, snatching his pillow with a violent snap. Then, with pure malice, he grabbed the corner of the duvet and whipped it entirely off you. The sudden rush of air made you shiver, your skin breaking into goosebumps instantly.
"Wait, Sukuna, it's freezing!"
"Should have thought of that before you insulted me," he barked. He leaned over and with surprising gentleness for a man throwing a tantrum, scooped a 10-month-old Yuji out of your arms.
Yuji let out a tiny, confused 'mmh?' as he was hoisted into the air. The baby’s chubby hand dove down, snagging his tiger plushie by the tail just a second before he was whisked away. Yuji looked over Sukuna’s shoulder at you, his big eyes blinking in total bewilderment.
"That’s it. We’re moving out," Sukuna declared.
"Moving out? It’s almost midnight! What are you talking about?"
"I am going where I am appreciated!" He turned to march out, trying to look menacing, but his foot caught on the edge of the blanket trailing behind him. He let out a sharp curse, stumbling forward and desperately clutching the baby to his chest to keep him steady.
You choked out a laugh, and Sukuna whirled around to glare at you, his face flushed a deep red. "Don't you dare laugh! Come on, brat. We don't need her."
The sight in the living room was ridiculous. Sukuna had built a literal fortress of pillows and blankets on the couch. He was sitting upright, arms crossed, looking absolutely miserable but refusing to yield an inch of pride. Yuji was sprawled on his chest, staring up at his uncle’s grumpy face, while contentedly sucking on his pacifier.
"Can you believe her, Yuji?" Sukuna grumbled, his voice dropping to a soft murmur as he looked at the baby. "Calling me a sweaty blob. The audacity of that woman."
Yuji tilted his head, his little brows mimicking Sukuna’s furrowed ones. In his little baby brain, he looked at Sukuna’s face and decided the Big human was 'sad.' With a look of determination, Yuji lifted his slobbery tiger plush and shoved it directly into Sukuna’s cheek.
Sukuna’s eyes widened. He looked at the damp toy, then at the baby’s hopeful face. His heart clearly somersaulted. His shoulders slumped as he let out a long sigh, reaching up to gently pat Yuji’s fuzzy head. "Fine...this works. At least someone cares."
You stepped out from the hallway, leaning against the wall with a guilty smile. "Is there room for one more on the couch?"
Sukuna didn't look at you but shifted his legs, creating a tiny, inviting gap in the blankets. "Depends. Are you still complaining about the heat?"
You padded over and sank onto the cushions next to him, immediately tucking yourself under his arm."No. I'm actually freezing. It turns out the blob is pretty essential to my survival."
Sukuna tried to keep his lips in a firm line, but a tiny, smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He unrolled a corner of the duvet, draped it over your shivering shoulders, and pulled you flush against his side.
"I'm sorry, Sukuna," you whispered, kissing the underside of his jaw. "I was just cranky. You’re the best, warmest blob I’ve ever had."
He finally looked down at you, his eyes melting into a fond gaze. "Hmph. Don't let it happen again. Or next time you're the one getting kicked out to the couch."
He leaned his head against yours, his other hand resting protectively over the sleeping baby on his chest. The three of you huddled together in a mess of blankets, plushies, and soft, synchronized breathing as the house fell into a peaceful silence.
notes:
im having real bad baby fever.
divider: @uzmacchiato
Toji looked over at your figure, dozing off beneath the rising sun. Gently holding your newborn Megumi, who was quietly breathing and wiggling within your hold.
He barely fit within his forearm, nothing like him as a baby- he was always larger and stronger. But it didn't make up for the fact he didn't have what the Zenin's were known for.
He'd been up awhile out of habit to leave for work, but the shop gave him a month to help out with 'gumi. Toji already cleaned the kitchen, folded Megumis' onesies, organized the bathroom, made breakfast, a bottle, vacuum. He did all the chores, so you could just rest with a happy baby in your arms. Like now.
Since coming home from the hospital Toji has been in thought, as he held Megumi, bathed him, changed and fed him. His heart hurt every time he cried or fussed, Toji couldn't fathom how the clan let him cry at night for hours.
Just left him to raise himself, he can't imagine leaving 'gumi alone in a room. Before he became a father he dismissed it, only to now realize the Zenin clan truly had no morals.
As he finished folding your laundry he hears Megumi's small whines and your sleepy voice comforting him, "look what ya did, now you woke up mama" he said gently taking 'gumi who curled up into his arms.
"he slept a lot compared to other nights" you said rubbing the sleep away from your eyes.
"All 'cause the sea urchin slept will mama" he grumbled adjusting Megumi so he could lay on his forearm. "Were you up early again?" you ask lying back in bed "yeah, it's a habit now".
"Think he's getting used to life in the real world?"
"Maybe he still likes only being held and warm." Toji chuckled at your words his large hand going to rub the boys pot belly, "yer getting fat with all that milk bud"
"Time for him to workout with papa" you giggle, as the fatty began to fuss for more food.
--
As always Toij fed Megumi on the rocking chair, looking out the window. He was grateful to have been given a second chance, he never could have imagined a family- much less a family he'd kill again for.
He couldn't put into words love and how grateful he was for meeting you that day, asking for you hand in marriage, and the pregnancy test he found in the bathroom alongside tiny socks.
And here was Megumi, proof of his change and love for you.
"You gotta make sure your grateful to your mama" he said to the thoughtless baby as he raised him up, Megumi only responded with a coo. "And stop crying like we're killing ya when you shit yourself" he added kissing his downy hair, to get him ready for a day of laying down and doing nothing.
--
idk where i was going w this but it js felt right :P
smt else while i work on more 😭😭i have sm bs to do
next toji fic might beee angstttr or more centered around your relationship idkdkfjkxdcsASDbdF
𑣲 you always admired katsuki's strength. especially when he used his strength on you in all the right ways. ⋆｡° — SMUT! ♡♡
he took every chance to carry you, lifting you effortlessly from the car to the front door when your feet were tired.
and when you were both too eager to wait, unable to even reach the bedroom—he held you up easily, hands gripping your ass while he buried himself inside you, legs locked tightly around his waist.
otherwise, he’d simply toss you over his shoulder and take you to bed.
he changed positions with ease, shifting your body effortlessly. he’d pin your hands above your head or push your legs back to hit the perfect angle.
hands held behind your back when fucking you from behind, pinning you to the mattress with a hand on your back—completely ruining you.
using his strength on you was never to hurt you, only to care for you deeper.
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 exhuastion settles in his bones after a long day's work. guilt overtakes yours after missing him for hours. what happens when you combine a sleepy katsuki bakugou with his needy, preciously insatiable girlfriend? (6K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, established relationships, i wrote this b4 christmas so... christmas movie mention, soft dom n sub dynamics, sleepy sex, clothed sex, dry humping, pussy jobs, praise kink, cum play, i luv u ariana grande. pro hero bakugou, quirkless & fem reader.
🏁 team radio ! ⋆ anyway... another kacchan fic but it's just six thousand words of grinding on himb... do what u will with that. i love himb smmm !! hope u guys like! click for more.
exhaustion weaves between each of the bones that form katsuki’s ribcage and settles between every breath he takes from there. he’s only just come home, just barely been able to strip his professional pro hero outer-layer and become the version of himself that you get to keep a secret.
no one knows the katsuki bakugou that likes a shitty hallmark christmas movies and wears matching hello kitty pyjama pants just because you asked. the bakugou who practically purrs at the feeling of your fingers raking through his hair or drawing soothing shapes at the center of his chest. the bakugou who’s content to be kissed and coddled and loved up on by you, in the privacy and safety of your home.
you’re snuggled up together on the couch, katsuki’s back tacking against black leather that squeaks with every move and an arm slung lazily over your waist — heavy and warm in a way that makes you feel guarded or protected, giving you the room to feel small. occasionally, his thumb grazes that little slither of skin between your waistband and the hem of your tank top — circling it, reminding you that he’s there. looking up at the blonde through your lashes, head resting on the steady rise and fall of his chest, you can tell that he’s tired. worn out from all the work and patrols during the lead up to christmas. it’s weighs on his features, pulls his bottom lip into a resting frown and makes his eyes flutter as he tries to fight off sleep, keeping his blurring gaze on the movie flickering across the flatscreen TV.
at least he’s off now. at least he has time to rest.
except your brain can’t rest.
it’s been going a mile a minute since your boyfriend came home, his sugary-sweaty-caramel-like scent and the way he’s clung to you all evening has driven you completely up the wall. you want him more than you allow your body to let on, more than just the domesticity of the cosy scene playing out between the two of you right now — but you know that katsuki’s exhausted, too tired to speak or to move or to do anything except lay here with the comforting presence of you on top of him.
he makes a quiet noise, a low groan that shoots straight to your core, when he shifts to feel more relaxed — bending his leg at the knee so there’s more room for you to lie between them. the feeling is almost like a knife or a gunshot wound, what with all of him pressed up against your middle.
you exhale through your nose and the heated circles he draws into the dip at the base of your spine pick up — hotter, smoother, longer as if he’s dragging them out. the kind of gesture that lets you know he’s still there, even when he’s drifting off.
“you okay?” bakugou’s deep, gravelly voice layers thick over the noise of the film in the background and causes a twinge in your stomach that you know you can’t rid without his help. his ruby eyes that are always so intense and inquisitive, tick away from the movie and down to you — soft around the edges with intention. he cares.
so you nod, play pretend like your mind isn’t unravelling before him, and smile shy. “‘m okay,” your head tilts until your chin rests square on his chest. “just missed you today. glad you’re home.”
“fuckin’ cute,” he tuts tenderly before he lifts a hand, tenderly squishing your cheeks between dexterous and rough-paced fingers. you try not to think about how they feel and how large his hand is too much. “tell me about your week.”
you answer him because it provides welcome distraction from the early sparks of lust streaking their way down the length of your spine. little nothings about your week escape your frenzied stream of consciousness despite the way you lounge against your offensively attractive pro hero boyfriend. you note the coffee a stranger brought for you on monday, passing on the good vibes, and the elderly couple seated across from you at the Italian restaurant where you had your team christmas work lunch on thursday — and all the little details in between.
all the while, katsuki listens despite the show dancing across the screen not too far away. he smiles at the excitement in your tone as you recount each tale, squeezes you close when you yawn mid sentence and nods attentively here and there. he’s present in all the tiny ways that let you know he really does care.
but then you’re halfway through a story about how your coworker’s lunch ( an unfortunate beetroot casserole ) exploded in her bag on the commute into work — your wonderful, sweet, sleepy boyfriend messes up. well, to you. he’s messed up. fucked it all to hell and back, because in the world where his hand innocently slips lower, cascading down to grip your waist and no longer making cute shapes — you interpret it as him out to get you. out to make you melt like butter in a hot cast iron pan.
fingertips are rough, calloused and hot against the doughy flesh at your hips — sinking into your skin not enough to leave a mark, but enough to remind you that he’s there. still listening even as reality fades away from him and the siren’s song of sleep calls his name. your breath must’ve hitched or paused or stopped because when your brain finally reconnects to its stem — the pretty blonde beneath you has a brow raised and bleary eyes hard set on you.
“baby?”
freezing in place, you squeak. “hm?”
“you were sayin’?” comes his careful and curious reply. “promise i was listening, just fuckin’ tired tonight.”
another unfortunate thing is that katsuki’s voice turns sexy when he’s sleepy, like hot honey that runs through your ears and heats you up until you’re as hot as the center of the earth. it’s got the kind of grit that tells you he’s been hard at work, protecting people and keeping the city safe, the kind of cadence that’s sharp around the edges and stings between your thighs where you’re unable to rub them together.
immense guilt clings to the words that die gracefully in the bottom of your throat, because you know you can’t ask your pro hero boyfriend to fuck you after a twelve hour shift — just because his sleepy voice turns you on. it’s stupid and embarrassing and you really do try your best to shake it off before he can catch on.
“i forgot,” is the excuse you settle with, wincing at how flimsy it is and how damp your panties have gotten from the lazy look of confusion bakugou casts your way. pink plush lips curving into a frown, thick brows furrowed, vermillion eyes seeing right through you. god, he’s sexy. “let’s just watch the movie—”
“alright, ‘m callin’ bull. what’s gotten into you?” bakugou, obviously, isn’t satisfied with your answer and reaches over to pause the flick on the tv — shifting all of his ( or what’s left of it ) focus to you, concern weaving its way between the burgundy-brownish flecks in his pretty eyes. “you and i both know we haven’t been watchin’ shit. you’ve been jumpy all night too. you sure you’re good? nothin’ happened at work?”
katsuki’s a digger, a fixer. he won’t stop pestering until the problem’s solved and you can smile again — the issue at hand is so fickle and stupid, it makes you squirm hotly with embarrassment knowing you’ve caused all this fuss by being too horny when your boyfriend is completely drained. “nothing happened!” the pitch of your voice skyrockets lamely, bakugou’s tired face twitching at the highness.
so he switches tactics and squeezes you where his large, perfectly veiny hands meet the soft skin of your hips — his head tilts like a curious puppy and he blinks, slow, sexy in a way that makes you actually physically pulse with need. “sweetness,” his voice falls by an octave. deep and velvety and caked in warning — prodding and poking the butterflies in your tummy just enough to send them into a frenzy. “come on, talk t’me.”
you can’t help it. not when he talks like that. touches you like you might fall to pieces from the pressure. “suki.” pushing your lips into an instinctive pout, a whine escapes its shackles from behind your teeth, where the shy sound lies imprisoned against your tongue.
“oh.”
yeah. oh.
he’s used to pet names from you. it’s katsuki when you’re mad, kacchan to tease him or be annoying, baby in the mornings when he wakes up at the crack ass of dawn for a run and tries to bring you with him, kats on a day to day basis — like a secret that’s yours and no one else has. but suki. in the past, you’ve only ever called him suki when you’re wanting something, wanting him. when you’re too timid to tell him what you really need or how he can help the slight ache that builds below the surface — a place that only he can soothe or reach.
“ah, i see. poor little baby’s feelin’ needy, huh?” you see his face, the knowing smirk that stretches into his smile lines, it burns at your nerve endings before you can even realise and stirs the pot of lust simmering deep within. he knows you a little too well for your liking, just what to say and how to say it — easing the wild landscape of your mind and turning you into that sweet, pliant little thing he loves so much. katsuki makes it easy to forget, natural to be good.
your only form of retaliation is to swat at bakugou’s chest. “don’t!”
“‘m not doing anything, i swear,” comes his low and breathless purr, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight down to your core that grows slick just from hearing him. instinctively, the two of you shift — bakugou moving down further on the couch with his back to the arm rest, you shuffling upwards until your shaky thighs can bracket his hips. you lean forward, chest to chest, and tuck your heated face into his neck. as the weight of you settles over him, comforting and familiar and warm, the blonde exhales shallowly. as if he’s working himself up to this, hands carefully dancing up and down your supple sides whilst his fingertips press into you a little more feverishly. “so fuckin’ needy ‘n for what. fuckin’ shit, too damn tired for this.”
katauki’s golden lashes tickle your forehead as his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion. his body sinking deeper into the leather. you nearly shrink back, afraid of pushing him too far. “suki, you don’t have to—”
“hey, hey. said ‘m tired. not dead or fuckin’ senile.” even though he curses, there’s no malice in the bass of your boyfriend’s voice. in fact, he’s more amused — chucking fondly against you instead. “c’mere, get comfy. wanna taste you.”
with a gentle thumb and forefinger, bakugou tilts your chin upwards and angles his head down to kiss you. at first, it’s languid and slow enough to set your nervous system alight, he doesn’t ask when his tongue presses against the seam of your lips — because he knows you’ll open up on command, slipping the pink muscle into the sweltering and wet warmth of your mouth. drool instantly pools over your own tongue, turning the kiss syrupy as he licks into you and his hand shifts upwards to cup the back of your head.
he lets you take over, swallow him whole and take what you need to pacify the needy ache bouncing around from your heart to your brain. it’s a little sticky and clumsy from where katsuki is too tired to keep it clean and coordinated, but neither of you mind much — melting into one another to form a union. he’s happy enough to taste the want in your mouth and the pitiful pleas that start to bubble up on your lips.
“atta girl, take whatever you want. i got you, sweetheart,” he lets out a broken groan between the sloppy exchange of kisses — pleased and prideful when your hips start to grind down on him hungry but shy. his cock kicks to life underneath you, nudging your clothed mound through layers of pretty pink hello kitty sweatpants. “been wanting this, huh? waiting for me to take care of you just how you need?” he continues soft, yet dominant — your core starts to flutter at the intonation, arousal clinging to your folds and soaking through the seat of your panties.
a hiccup forms in the rhythm of your breathing as katsuki lets his paws wander in a deliberate pathway down to your waistband. his fingers slip past the elastic and push further down to grope your ass through the material — massaging their soft globes. “whaddya wanna do, baby?” the blonde coos with his breath hot on your wet lips, fingernails raking over your damp underwear. “wanna ride me like this? hump my cock till your pretty clothes are soaked through? tell me, wanna help you…”
his speech grows slurred and angsty like he can’t wait to get a real look at you falling apart, it’d be like a shot of caffeine to his nervous system too. you know he expects you to answer, even through his quiet fatigue — katsuki’s dominance reins strong. he trains your body to reply, letting go of your ass cheek and using his now free hand to rub your wet pussy from behind. deliberate, clumsy circles fall on your clit from over your underwear and alternate between speeds just to pull some whiney noises from you.
“suki, suki—!” you cry out, face hot beneath the skin as you instinctively buck back against his hand — jolting over his growing bulge. “want this. i-i can cum like this.
“fuck, you’re so cute and so fucking wet for me,” bakugou slaps his hand down on your quivering, empty cunt from behind — the force restricted by your sweatpants. a sticky clap resounds throughout the living room and makes you shake from embarrassment and anticipation. “can you take these off for me? i wanna see you, sweetness.”
you do as you’re told, briefly pulling away from your sweltering heap of limbs to kick off your bottoms — leaving you half exposed in your underwear. this gives the blonde just enough time to push his own down, tucking the elastic waistband underneath his bare, heavy balls.
bakugou lies flat on the couch, reaching for you then “come sit,” he instructs simply and smiles mellowly, proudly, when you shuffle on your knees, straddling him once more. his muscular arms welcome you home to him, smoothing over every inch of your skin — the parts you love and the parts you sometimes hate, appreciating you like a man who knows he’s got it good. you tingle wherever his fingertips lie, miss them all too much when he moves on from a particular spot but most importantly — you feel adored, loved because even though he’s been worn down by the world, katsuki takes the time to treat you tenderly.
swiftly, he pulls your soiled panties to the side and tucks the crotch behind one of your swollen folds — the two of you then share hushed moans as your sexes come into contact again. now with a little less fabric, naked and syrupy against each other. his cock is as pretty as always — bright red and blistering hot at the tip with thick, creamy precum oozing from the tip and pooling at his belly button ( now visible due to where his shirt has risen up ). perfect purple veins spiral down the meat of his shaft, pulsing from where it peeks out from his absurdly pink sweats. there’s enough of him in your line of sight to make you drool from two places.
“god, look at that, baby,” humming faintly under his breath, bakugou reaches down between your parted thighs with a thumb to spread your pussy over his length — exposing you to sleepy, sinful eyes. “perfect pussy, all fuckin’ mine.” his chest rumbles like a prideful beast at the vision before him, glistening cunt throbbing with need, all for him. he thumbs his signature onto your clit, worsening the heartbeat that thrums through it.
“kats,” you heave, impatiently. “suki, don’t tease. need somethin’…”
“then you know what to do, sweet thing,” with an encouraging and gentle reminder, bakugou’s calloused palm spans over the base of your spine and pushes you forward — prompting you to swirl your hips over his lap. his frame shudders at the first glide of his painfully hard shaft through your swollen, sluice folds and as the hood of your clit catches deliciously on his cockhead. you react in exactly the same way. shakily, you fall forward with a strained pant — not expecting the sensitivity and the jolt of ecstasy spreading through your limbs like a vicious wildfire.
it was was before and it’s even worse now — with the way his breath fans hotly over your face and his chest rumbles hungrily beneath your own. the vibrations tweaking your nipples to hardness, they rub against his firm pecs the more you rock your hips and buck against him.
you’ve really missed katsuki, really needed him, and here he is laying himself bare for the taking.
“kats… ‘m so sensitive…i don’t think i can—” you murmur, unsure of yourself. of this. if you cum too quickly it’d be like you’d used him — he’s way too tired to reach his peak without the work.
katsuki grounds you before you can get too overwhelmed, a lingering and languid kiss is pressed against your lips to keep the peace.
he doesn’t let you think on it too much, hips jerking upwards to remind you that he wants you just as badly and he’ll accept whatever your body has to give. “take it from me. i don’t mind,” the blonde murmurs gruffly over the crude ‘schlick’ sound your sexes make as he slowly pulls you back and forth over his creamy cock. sweet, glacé arousal smears along the length of him, a mix of what you leak and aids in your hesitant movements. with your boyfriend’s help, you build momentum carefully — stacking up pleasure brick by brick and bucking down on him using sensual swirls of your hips.
“that’s it, fuck, grind on me just like that.”
tiredness etches its way into his tone, seeps from his pores but it doesn’t stop bakugou from praising you as you rut against his thick erection faster and faster. whilst his hands stay settled at the small of your back or the soft skin at your hips, they guide you through the motions — back and forth, back and forth until your breath hitches and your words come out as brainless babbles. he doesn’t control you, nor physically, katsuki lets you pick a pace that causes an erratically erotic pulse in your cunt. one that has you clenching around his seedy tip every time it brushes over your spasming hole — like it’s begging to be filled.
tension sluggishly builds between your bodies, it coils in your lower tummy and twists at your focus and the explosive pro-hero absolutely adores it. nothing turns him on more than seeing you like this, pliant, soft and needy — aching to be fucked. the two of you are dizzied with desire before you know it, a heap of sweaty, sex tainted limbs on the couch without realising. katsuki seems to grow impossibly harder between your supple thighs, the forked veins on his dick throbbing with blood flow carrying lustful hormones from his brain and his heart — you feel the rhythm and the want for you that he’s filled with, and it motivates you to take more.
there’s something so sexy about the way your boyfriend lets you use him despite the fatigue looming over him and you know that it’s the reason why his pelvis and lower abdomen are smeared with your juices — golden and scarred skin now glistening underneath the warm, dim lighting in your living room because how much his lazy, slanted smirk and deep gravelly voice make your mound spew round after round of arousal.
“so fuckin’ lucky, my girl is so fuckin’ perfect for me,” bakugou continues to rasp avidly, so fucking gone underneath you. his praise starts to sear through your skin, akin to the sensation of burning yourself on a hot pot of sugar set to caramelise. his touch invokes a similar feeling, warm as though he’s been using his quirk as it slips back down to you — kneading the globes of flesh to keep himself grounded, in fear of losing himself to the way you practically rub your pussy raw and sticky on his girth. “slow baby, slow. don’t wear yourself out. let your body feel it all.”
a pathetic simper claws its way out of your throat because it all feels too good to slow down now. not when he sits between your legs just right, like he’s meant to be there. not when he lets you press down against his prominent, pulsating erection and depend on him for every ounce of your pleasure. it’d kill you to go slow but it’d be even worse if this ended all too soon.
you collapse on top of bakugou, weak from the bliss, shy from his constant sleepy attention. you just need a minute, a second to hide from the unruly lust curling around your organs. “need me to help you?” your boyfriend voices quietly, soft spoken words turning to a broken hiss as your spasming hole leaves a thick trail of cream from his balls to his very tip. katsuki thrusts up into your sticky mound like it’s natural, like he’s not running on empty and staying up to entertain you. like he’s coming home. encouraging you with pretty moans from just being able to lay his eyes on you.
despite how weary he sounds, the pro hero murmurs in an attempt to guide you — keen on seeing the way your face crumples like your world is falling to pieces, needy precious tears slipping over the edge of your lash line. he likes you like this malleable and desperate for anything he gives. “circle your hips, take it nice ‘n easy. s’good, sweetness.” he continues to praise and instruct against the crown of your head, even as you glide deliciously over the leaking head of his dick. “that’s it, you got it. i got you.”
the two of you fall into an easy rhythm then. following the notes of a tune your bodies have danced to before — early mornings before patrols, late nights in foreign countries for missions. you rut and grind against one another, the puffy folds of your molten core bracketing his chubbed up girth, keeping katsuki tucked away in your gushing wetness, covering him in your claim.
you move with a gentle gluttony, like your body’s been built from the ground up just for this — lazily humping bakugou until all you can hear is the claggy cloying noise of your cunt on him. you ache for him, tremble with a delightful pain that blossoms in your lower body like a couple of coals have been thrown onto your fire. bakugou throws his head back against the couch, sunny blonde hair askew as though it’s been swept up in a breeze. his angular jaw turns slack, mouth open wide as his intimate gripes and groans filthily fill the air — almost imitating your whimpers with how exhausted he sounds.
he can’t help it, going from grasping at your forearms to keep you anchored to the cock that kicks up against your drooling pussy — to smoothing over the curve of your ass, his nails forming light crescent moons against the skin as he pulls you forward and rolls his milky mushroomed tip against your entrance.
“such a good fuckin’ girl, listen so well. doin’ everything i say, you know, you’re making me feel so good, baby. so fucking good,” katsuki gets a potty mouth when he’s high on pleasure, delirious from his lack of sleep. a stream of colourful curses, bracketed by his alluring unfiltered whines, stick to the strings of saliva that fill his mouth and they only worsen when you push down to meet him half way. you do the work, shimmying your hips over his lap and rubbing your little pressure nub against the sensitive veins decorating his shaft “sweet pussy on me like this, making a mess. how’d i get so fuckin’ lucky?”
you let him talk and babble sleepily because he lets you use his body, the pleasure shamelessly building between you both in unsturdy blocks ready to come crashing down at any instant. “shit, this is just what i needed. you’re exactly what i need, baby. all the time. every time.” bakugou groans on, fatigue causing a crack in his gritty voice. now, the foundation is weak, one more swipe of his meaty girth along the length of your silken slit could have you both in pieces sooner rather than later. you’re both so messy and lazy and gone for each other too.
even through the exhausted haze coasting over his mind like a veil of fog rolling down a hill — katsuki notices. he picks up on the way your hips shift, pressing down harder on him, how your breath hitches as the waist band of his pants rubs the backs of your thighs raw. you work so hard to chase that high, he can’t help but smile sleepily with pride. “that feel good for you? yeah? when i rub my dick against this cute little clit, just like this.” he chuckles with a low and dangerous rasp, barely there. his fingers too, just ghosting over your supple hips, guiding you where he’s too tired to thrust up.
you nod meekly into the crook of his neck, bite down on golden skin to hide your needy mewls.
“oh i know. take it, sweetness. lose yourself on me.” whilst katsuki’s hands grow sweaty on your skin, hot and heavy where they stop you from pulling too far off him. creamy strands of your arousal form a thick froth between your thighs, smeared over your pretty pussy and your boyfriend’s aching cock — sending notes of sex into the calm, cosy air.
his ruined ruby eyes barely open, tiredly and languidly sloping downwards from the angelic twist of your face in ecstasy to the ever growing glisten of your thighs. this must really be love, bakugou thinks, to have his girl so desperate for him that she’d give him a pussyjob on the spot while he rests. without really being able to resist, two of his thick digits sneak towards your swollen, puffy folds to spread them and he lets out a shattered simper at the sight of your sweet hole pushing out fat droplets of your own nectar.
jesus, the blonde could drop dead right here and he wouldn’t even be mad.
“o-oh fuck. suki, suki!” you pant out, sighing like a dream. the coil building deep within winds itself tight, like tying a knot before you set something free. you’re sure bakugou knows before you do, what’s about to hit and drown out the wonders of the world outside. you reckon he can smell it, the taste of your orgasm hanging in the air, especially when he inhales the waves of lust radiating from your skin — licking his lips.
you grind against him with more passion, faster and faster until the couch squeals from the feverish force. all of your muscles begin to tense, contrasting with the violent way in which you tremble above him, but you can’t focus on the pain that stings in your pelvis from your movements — you can only think about how good the two of you will feel once you tumble over the edge. not even your clothes, soiled and waterlogged with a lewd concoction of your shared arousals can slow you down. not even the deep cut of your tangled panties against your inner thigh will stop you from pushing onwards.
all that matters is the magnetic push and pull between your bodies, the back and forth of a thick throbbing cock against your milky mound. the prominent veins catch on the most sensitive parts of you and like a hook, line and sinker — you’re both dragged closer towards your peaks. if he weren’t so tired, you’d get him to fill you to the brim — cream your cunt for as long as he’d last, but right now you’ll settle for the opaque white stain that spreads over your sex. the precum that beads between your pussy lips work every buck of your hips, that now start to lose their rhythm.
“fuck, baby,” bakugou swears beneath you, skin flashing with a heated red hue. he blushes hard as you wreck him, head cocked to those and golden locks spread out against the headrest of the couch. “do you know how much i love you like this? love you on’top’a me, needing me. taking it like a good girl, helping me relax.” his glows under ambient living room light, body coated in a layer of perspiration as the blonde uses the last of his energy to match your pace.
large arms lock around your back, holding you closer to his molten hot chest than physically possible and eliminating any space between you. katsuki groans low and sexy, sending a crack of dopamine through your system like an electric shock, and strokes his girth over your core, drowned out by your slick. neither of you stop now, a stone’s throw away from pent up bliss that you both know is about to burst into the real world. pop your little bubble and pocket of the universe.
“suki, don’t think i can hold it,” with your hips rocking fluidly, akin to a rushing river, your boyfriend helps you with the final push — letting the pad of his thumb roughly graze the painfully hard nub kept safe between your parted folds. you grind against his fingers wildly, staining it with your viscous essence until his entire palm is practically covered in you. a teaser for your orgasm that’s about to break the surface. “please don’t make me hold it.”
usually he would, usually he’d drag you on for hours until sex felt like loving torture, but tonight, katsuki wants to see you break — watch what you’ve earned from having your way with him. “never. let go for me, sweetness. show me how much you needed this. make yourself cum for me,” he shakes his head once, craning his head down to pull you into a sloppy kiss — tongue melding with your own, spit pushed into your mouth lazily in a way that contrasts with the heavy snap of his hips upwards, length pulsing right where you need him. “oooh, good girl. i’ve got you. that’s right, make a mess. ruin me for everybody else.”
“h-hah. s-suki!”
that’s all you need, really.
whatever nasty, crude opaque white that had bubbled up against your spasming entrance ( a blend of precum and your juices ) is quickly washed away by the flash flood of your high. leaving a loose milky streak along the length of bakugou’s shaft in its wake. the world seems to burn into a kaleidoscope of different colours that make you feel woozy and break you away from reality — when you cum, it spirals down his cock in a viscous stream like molten lava and splashes against your tummies; adding to the mess, making it so much worse.
both of your shaky arms hug the blonde’s head — acting like an anchor or a tether to the world. the ropes that had been twisting deep within since the start of all this, unravel at a speed that you can hardly register and you’re rendered a helpless mess of exerted limbs on top of your already tired boyfriend. he doesn’t mind that you cry, or squirm, the weight of you and the angelic sounds you make as you fall apart are bakugou’s solace. just what he needed, just what you needed.
you curse, you cry and you heave into his neck, the delicious strain of your vocal cords giving him that one final burst he needs to push towards his own high. “mhm, mhm? keep going for me baby, ‘m right there. let me use you for a sec,” bakugou snarls out. he rasps without giving a fuck, losing his composure and forgetting what it means to talk. he ruts faster, harder into your ruined cunt with what little strength remains in him, orgasm stacking painfully in his pelvis. “h-holy shit. fuck, you’re so good to me.”
one large hand leaves your hip to cup the back of your neck, not squeezing, but creating enough presence to leave you lightheaded. the explosive pro hero drags you into another sloppy, uncoordinated kiss — licking into your mouth to pass what little sanity he has left onto you. “cummin’ sweetheart, gonna paint this pussy with my cream. s-shit,” katsuki coos and curses under his breath, next to every praise that comes to mind and over the crude sound of your sensitive sex slipping over his dick.
every inch slides against your pussy one last time before the blonde finally succumbs — every ache and ounce of tension melts away from his hulking body underneath you as he lets go. he shudders, piping hot spurts of his seed landing hot against your mound as it pulses on him. there’s too much of it, sloshing your legs and sinking into the couch — some seeping through the shreds of clothing the two of you are somehow still wearing. all the while, katsuki feeds you the passion splayed across the tongue, moaning into your mouth while he cums on your clit and your cunt.
he doesn’t pull away, even as you both twitch through the aftershocks — grabbing hold of the swollen base of his cock to tap his cum-coated tip against your hole. katsuki chuckles, absolutely drained, as it locks and unlocks around nothing. greedy.
“mmmn, love you so much, baby,” he hums, once the ringing in his ear finally stops and the static cracking across his brain finally calms. bakugou clings onto you like you're a life line, only letting you lift your head slightly, just so you can breathe. “fuck, that was so good.”
you stay on top of your boyfriend, satiated and buzzing with adoration — letting your own wave of tiredness work its way through your system. “love you more,” you bleat back with a tiny yawn, content as you listen to the dull thud of katsuki’s heartbeat whilst it slows. he’s still present, warm, coaxing though sleepy and it makes you feel safe. “thank you for spoiling me.”
“thank you for being a good girl and letting me, your boyfriend affectionately pecks your forehead once, exhaling deep through his nose as if all his worries from the week have been cast away. “even when you’re too fuckin’ shy to ask.”
“you were sleepy!” you bite.
he bites back, words slipping into sleepy slurred speech. “yeah, and you’re insatiable. my needy baby,” bakugou murmurs, teasing half heartedly because he’s too busy trying to lock you down on top of him for a nap. “think makin’ me cum is gonna knock me out though. so c’mere…”
“oh my god. shut up. you know i can be needy.”
“feels good to be needed. so, quit your whinin’ and close your eyes," katsuki squeezes you once, as a reminder, letting you it’s safe to want him. no matter what. “fall asleep with me, just like this.”
and from there, you do. tucked up together, albeit, a bit overly warm and sticky, which you just know he’ll complain about later but for now — you bask in the afterglow, completely satisfied after taking exactly what you need.
hhhhhow do u think bkg is with jealousy….. sees u chatting with a tall blonde guy thats making u giggle :(((
luna !!!!! oooo i think it totally depends on whether you guys are actually together. if you’re not dating, he lets himself have a little fun.
when you’re at the hero gala as his manager, it’s your job to network—he knows this. you let yourself get whisked away by people who look important, and you do so comfortably because you know that he’s got your back.
tonight, you’re dressed in a beautiful gown. black, delicate, and showing just enough skin to keep bakugou on his toes. when he enters the main hall, he finds himself instinctively looking for you. his eyes comb through crowds of people, pushing past the people who shove cameras into his face to walk to you.
you’re leaned against the wall with a champagne glass in hand, a soft grin at your lips as you talk animatedly about something. in front of you is a blond man who bakugou’s seen here and there. people like to note the uncanny resemblance between their physical appearances, with the only difference being that he’s what bakugou’s fan girls like to call “the golden retriever version of dynamight”.
he feels his mood sour.
before he can really catch himself, he finds his irrationality winning. his footsteps quicken, and he’s by your side in no time.
if the public finds out, they’ll go wild, he tells himself. don’t do it.
“hey baby,” bakugou snakes his arm around your waist, pulling you into his warmth, “who’s this?”
your eyebrows, as well as the ones of the nobody standing next to you shoot upwards in shock; you at the sheer audacity of his public display of affection when all you’ve been doing for the past few months is flirt, and him at the disillusioning difference between dynamight’s public and private personas. but in mere seconds, you school your face back into a neutral expression, professionalism kicking in. bakugo can see the ghost of a smirk at your lips anyway.
“he’s the manager of tail man,” you say, acutely aware of bakugou’s cologne flooding your senses, “i’m trying to hook him up with your newest sidekick, you know—the guy with blue earrings.”
at your response, bakugou finds himself blinking slow and wide like a cat.
Seeing you at Shoto’s celebratory get together for reaching second place in the hero ranks should evoke no feelings from Katsuki, right? Even if he hasn’t seen you in three years. Even if he might just want you back a little
Tags/CW: exes to ???, emotionally constipated Katsuki (just how I like it), angst with happy ending, making up, kissing, conversations about sex but no smut, making out in Katsuki’s car, takes place during MHA: more (but I made it a bit fancier), men who yearn are men who earn
The bathroom is too hot.
Steam still clings to the mirror even though Katsuki cracked the door open nearly ten minutes ago, and now every surface still has that damp, sticky feeling that makes his skin itch. The air smells faintly like eucalyptus from the stupid overpriced shaving cream Kirishima convinced him to buy last month, mixed with clean soap and the sharp metallic scent of running water. His apartment is quiet except for the constant buzz of the fluorescent light above him and the rough scrape of the razor dragging slowly down his jaw.
“Shit—Fuck—”
He hisses through his teeth the second the blade catches unevenly against his skin. A sting blooms near his chin, followed by the bright bead of blood surfacing almost immediately.
Katsuki glares at himself through the fogged mirror like the reflection personally pissed him off.
“Great.”
He looks fine. More than fine, honestly, which somehow only irritates him more.
His hair is freshly trimmed, the ash blond strands still slightly damp from his shower, pushed back messily from his forehead. The sleeves of his black compression shirt cling to his shoulders and arms while the expensive button-up he plans on wearing hangs neatly from the bathroom door beside pressed slacks he spent way too long picking out earlier. Even his watch sits carefully beside the sink instead of abandoned somewhere random like usual. The entire thing feels too deliberate. Too polished. Too much like he gives a shit.
Which he doesn’t.
Obviously.
Except his stomach has felt weird since he woke up this morning.
Not nervous. Definitely not nervous.
He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he clocked off hero work or how much time he spent at the gym so he could show off a pump tonight, nor can he try to convince himself it isn’t for the reason he doesn’t want to admit. He just wants to look good.
And that’s it. Simple as it sounds. No reason for him to choke on stuttering breaths.
The razor scrapes harder against his jaw this time as he rinses it aggressively under the sink. Hot water rushes over his fingers, turning the tips of them pink.
The celebration dinner is stupid to begin with, if you ask him.
Shoto gets ranked top two after the downtown incident last month, Endeavor immediately turns it into some flashy media spectacle about family legacy and hero society, and somehow all of Class A gets invited because the public still eats up that “golden generation” garbage years later. Old classmates pretending they all still keep in touch more often than not. The entire thing sounds exhausting.
But you’re gonna be there.
That’s the problem.
For all he cares, it’s been—what? Three years?
Three fucking years since he’s properly seen you.
Not in passing through articles online. Not blurry photos people tag him in accidentally after hero events. Not hearing your name mentioned by Mina or Sero every couple of months when they gossip over drinks.
Actually seeing you.
As in, In person.
Close enough to touch.
Because when him and you were no more, instead of running back to him like you’d always do, you moved out of Japan, got a job somewhere else in the world. You blocked him on all socials, blocked his number —even the agency landline— and for a while, he didn’t care to contact you. He didn’t care to check up on you, because who checks up on someone who said they wished they never met you? He went out of your life as quietly as you went out of his. Not caring if his last words hurt you, like you did.
Katsuki braces both hands against the sink and stares downward as water drips steadily from the faucet. His reflection blurs at the edges from the steam still clouding the glass, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar.
Pathetic.
The worst part is he doesn’t even know what version of you is walking through those doors tonight.
Maybe you’re angry.
Maybe you barely look at him.
Maybe you’ve become one of those calm, polished heroes that smile perfectly for cameras now, the kind that know exactly how to navigate crowded rooms without making enemies out of everyone in them.
Or maybe you’ll look through him entirely.
That thought digs somewhere unpleasant beneath his ribs.
Fair enough, honestly.
He earns that.
The memory still crawls up on him sometimes when it gets too quiet. Usually late at night after patrol when he’s too exhausted to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere ugly.
In all honesty he did try to talk to you. Last year, after he found out he wasn’t blocked anymore. But he was angry, vulgar, everything you’ve ever said you hated about him. And for better or for worse you had only told him you knew he’d never change. And he had left it there, not pressing anymore, not needing anymore proof to accept you just weren’t coming back.
Maybe this is why he won’t wear the polished clothes he’s picked out for tonight. Maybe the Nike sweats he tumble dried this morning and a t-shirt will make him look more casual, put together in a way fancy clothes won’t.
Because tonight is casual to him. It should be, at least, amidst picking up Kirishima and Izuku in his new car. He shouldn’t even care that you’re going to be there.
He keeps staring at himself anyway.
Like maybe if he looks long enough, he’ll suddenly figure out why this feels so fucking strange.
The bathroom light washes his skin pale while steam curls slowly around the edges of the mirror, softening the sharpness of his reflection. Katsuki barely recognizes the version of himself standing there sometimes. Not because he looks different—he does, obviously, older and broader and rougher around the edges—but because somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-five, the anger inside him changed shape.
Less explosive.
Much more exhausting.
He reaches for the towel hanging off the counter and drags it roughly over his face before tossing it aside. The nick near his chin still stings faintly. Tiny. Irritating. His eyes flick toward the button-up hanging from the bathroom door again, then away immediately.
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
The idea of showing up looking like he spent hours trying to impress you makes something hot crawl up his neck. It feels pathetic now. Worse now, somehow, after standing here spiraling like an idiot for nearly forty minutes over a dinner he doesn’t even want to attend.
Katsuki grabs the hanger off the door and shoves the expensive shirt deeper into the closet on his way back into the bedroom.
Fuck that.
The softer lighting from his room settles easier against his eyes compared to the harsh fluorescent buzz of the bathroom. Outside the windows, the city glows orange and blue beneath the darkening sky, traffic crawling between towering buildings while distant sirens echo somewhere far below. His apartment sits high enough that most nights the noise blends together into background static.
Tonight it all feels too loud.
He yanks open a drawer harder than necessary and pulls out the black t-shirt he wears for training. The fabric stretches tight across his shoulders when he changes, outlining muscle built from years of relentless schedules, combat drills, patrols, sleepless nights at the gym whenever his head gets too crowded to sit still inside his own apartment.
Not for you.
Obviously.
The thought comes so defensive it almost makes him scoff at himself.
The sweats are clean at least. Black Nike joggers fresh from the dryer this morning, soft at the inside, fitted enough that Kirishima once called them “boyfriend material clothes” before Katsuki threatened to blast him through a wall. Casual. Comfortable. Like he isn’t thinking about tonight at all.
Like he didn’t spend an embarrassing amount of time earlier deciding between watches.
His jaw tightens again.
This is ridiculous.
You’re just another person he used to know.
That’s it.
Three years changes people. Hell, maybe you aren’t even the same woman anymore. Maybe you cut your hair shorter now. Maybe you picked up some accent overseas since your Japanese seemed too weird the last time you talked. And— and maybe, like the thoughts that used to consume him before he ever reached out to you last year, there’s somebody else waiting for you back home after tonight, somebody softer than him. Somebody easier. Someone your shared friends know about but won’t let him know of.
That thought lands badly, like he woke a dragon from a millennial slumber. His chest immediately feels too tight for it.
Katsuki snatches his car keys off the counter before he can sit with the feeling any longer.
His hone buzzes again from the kitchen table as he passes by. Probably Kirishima. Maybe Deku. Maybe another last-minute reminder about tonight’s schedule.
He ignores it.
The kitchen still smells faintly like coffee from this morning, dishes abandoned beside the sink because he hasn’t had enough energy lately to care about cleaning immediately after meals. There’s protein powder spilled near the toaster from breakfast. A hoodie tossed over one of the dining chairs. Tiny signs of somebody actually living here instead of the spotless, polished apartment magazines keep trying to photograph whenever reporters sneak glimpses during interviews.
For a second, his eyes drift unconsciously toward the balcony.
You used to stand out there all the time. Especially during storms.
Wrapped in one of his hoodies with your arms folded over the railing while Musutafu lit up below you in blurred neon reflections. You always complained the city looked lonely from this high up.
Katsuki used to think that was stupid. Now he gets it.
His throat feels strangely dry.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath.
The worst part is he genuinely has no idea how tonight’s gonna go.
Maybe you’ll smile politely at him like he’s an old coworker and he’ll have to be casual about greeting you, though he doesn’t want to.
Maybe you’ll avoid him altogether.
Maybe Mina’ll force everybody into some obnoxious group photo and suddenly he’ll be standing beside you for the first time in years pretending his heart isn’t punching against his ribs hard enough to bruise merely at the thought of it all.
Or maybe—
Maybe you’ll just look heavenly good.
That’s the real problem, honestly.
Because he already knows you will.
Not because of makeup or clothes or whatever expensive shit pro heroes wear to these events now. You always looked good to him in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. Half-asleep in his shirts. Sitting on his kitchen counter eating takeout straight from the carton. Yelling at him from across the apartment while he ignored you on purpose just to hear you get louder.
Three years later and his body still remembers stupid things about you automatically.
The sound of your laugh.
The weight of your legs thrown over his lap.
The smell of your peachy shampoo lingering on his pillows after arguments where one of you stormed out dramatically only to come back two hours later.
Katsuki grips his keys tighter.
Nope.
He’s not doing this tonight. He’s not showing up already halfway dragged into the past because of somebody who made it painfully clear they didn’t want him in their life anymore.
That should matter.
It does matter.
And honestly, he understands why you left.
Back then he was still angry at everything. Angry at hero society. Angry at himself. Angry at how badly he wanted somebody and how terrified he is of needing them at the same time. Every conversation between you eventually turned into him snapping before you can get too close to whatever ugly thing sits underneath his ribs.
You called him cruel once.
Not loudly. Not even during a fight.
Just tired.
And somehow that had struck him worse than any screaming ever could. That’s when it clicked to him, that no matter how much you said you saw the good in him, you never truly could. Even if one of your last sentences to him was that you loved him, he didn’t believe you could ever love someone you thought was cruel, someone you wish you never met.
Katsuki locks the apartment behind him harder than necessary before heading toward the elevator.
The hallway lights flicker softly overhead while he waits, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His reflection stares back at him from the metal elevator doors—broad shoulders, tired eyes, black compression shirt clinging too tightly against muscle that suddenly feels more like armor than confidence.
Casual.
Tonight is casual.
Just old classmates catching up. Nothing more.
Then his phone vibrates again.
EIJIRO: don’t be weird tonight bro
A second message immediately follows; something about sitting shotgun in his new car.
Katsuki stares at the screen for a long moment. Then another vibration.
IZUKU: Kacchan are we still meeting downstairs in 20?
His jaw flexes hard enough to ache.
Because somehow, despite everything, despite all the years and silence and blocked numbers and ugly last conversations—
A part of him still feels twenty-two again. Twenty-two and convinced that no one could love the way he expressed himself.
______
By the time Katsuki parks outside the izakaya, the knot in his stomach has already settled into something meaner. Sharper. Musutafu glows around him and his friends in streaks of reflected neon against rain-dark pavement while a valet moves between cars beneath the izakaya entrance. The place itself is ridiculously upscale even if it is just traditional, all warm golden lighting spilling through enormous glass windows and polished black stone.
Kirishima lets out a low whistle from the passenger seat as he climbs out. “Can’t wait to see everyone.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki mutters automatically, already slamming the car door closed harder than necessary.
Cold evening air immediately brushes against the back of his neck. Somewhere nearby, traffic hums steadily through the city while muffled laughter spills from the izakaya entrance every time the doors open. Izuku smooths anxiously at the sleeves of his suit beside the car, glancing toward the building with that same nervous energy he’s carried since high school.
“Do we think Todoroki planned all this himself,” he starts, adjusting his tie, “or do you think Endeavor hired—”
“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “if you start analyzing anything, i’m leaving.”
“I wasn’t gonna analyze the—”
“You literally were.”
Kirishima snorts loudly beside them, and normally the familiar bickering would loosen something in Katsuki’s chest. Tonight it barely registers because his attention keeps drifting toward the entrance before they even reach it, heartbeat strangely steady in a way that feels worse than panic. Like his body already knows something his brain is still trying to avoid.
The hostess opens the doors with a practiced smile, and warm air immediately wraps around them alongside the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The restaurant is crowded with heroes, old classmates that are lingering discreetly in sorted tables near the back, all surrounded by polished wood and amber lighting that makes everything glow soft and expensive.
Katsuki barely notices any of it.
His eyes find you almost instantly.
Of course they do.
You’re seated near the center of the room beside the girls, half-turned toward Mina while Ochaco laughs at something across the table. The lighting catches warmly against the side of your face, softening the curve of your expression while gold jewelry glints subtly against your skin every time you move. Your hair is longer now than the last time he saw you in person, falling over your shoulders while one hand curls loosely around a sake glass. You look comfortable there. Relaxed. Like you belong in rooms like this now.
And for one awful second, Katsuki genuinely forgets how to breathe.
Three years vanish instantly beneath the weight of recognition. His body remembers you before his brain does, something visceral and humiliating tightening beneath his ribs before he can stop it.
Fuck.
You look different, but not enough to feel unfamiliar. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges in the way everybody becomes sharper with time. There’s confidence in the way you sit now that wasn’t fully there before, something steadier beneath your posture. You carry yourself like someone who’s finally learned how to exist without apologizing for taking up space.
Then Mina notices them entering.
“Oh my god, finally!” she calls immediately, waving dramatically across the room. “You guys are late as hell!”
Several heads turn at once.
Including yours.
Katsuki feels it immediately, that split second your eyes land on him from across the room. It happens so fast he almost convinces himself he imagined it. No widening. No visible surprise. No anger flashing across your face. Your gaze settles on him briefly before moving smoothly toward Kirishima instead.
“Oh, Eiji,” you smile warmly, standing slightly from your pillow as the group approaches. “Hi.”
The knot in Katsuki’s stomach twists tighter.
Kirishima grins instantly. “There she is. Damn, it’s been forever.”
“It literally has,” Mina groans dramatically. “This bitch abandoned us internationally.”
You laugh softly at that, embarrassed enough to duck your head slightly.
The sound lands somewhere dangerous in Katsuki’s chest.
Ochaco immediately stands to greet Izuku while the others start talking over each other all at once, greetings and questions colliding noisily together after years apart. You converse with everyone easily. Kirishima gets pulled into a quick side hug while you squeeze Ochaco’s hand excitedly across the table. You ask Izuku about agency work overseas, laugh when Kaminari nearly trips over a table trying to sit down, you smile politely at Jirou when she teases your accent sounding slightly different now.
But Katsuki gets nothing.
At first he tells himself maybe you just haven’t gotten there yet. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe you’re nervous too and trying to settle into the conversation before acknowledging him properly.
Then Kirishima nudges him lightly with his elbow.
“Oi,” he mutters under his breath, “say hi, silly.”
Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.
His eyes flick toward you again, but you’re already sitting back down beside Mina, smoothing your sleeve absentmindedly while listening to Momo speak. Completely relaxed. Completely normal.
Like he isn’t even there.
Something hot immediately crawls beneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like anger. Anger would’ve been easier to deal with. Easier to understand. This feels uglier than that.
Because you aren’t being cold.
You aren’t glaring at him or avoiding eye contact dramatically or making the tension obvious for everyone else at the table.
You’re just indifferent.
Clean, casual, effortless indifference that makes it painfully obvious you’ve already figured out how to exist in the same room as him without it affecting you at all.
Katsuki pulls form to his seat harder than necessary across from Kirishima, the sharp scrape of the table flinching away from him against the floor briefly cutting through the table conversation. Nobody reacts except Mina, whose eyes dart toward him automatically before flicking carefully toward you.
You don’t even look up.
Jesus Christ.
His chest suddenly feels too tight.
“You look good, by the way,” Mina says suddenly, leaning dramatically against your shoulder. “Like suspiciously good. What the hell are they feeding you overseas?”
You laugh quietly, almost embarrassed by the attention. “Literally just less stress, probably.”
The joke lands casually around the table. Kaminari laughs. Jirou snorts into her drink. Ochaco starts teasing you immediately about abandoning Japanese work culture.
Nobody else notices anything strange about the comment.
But Katsuki does.
Of course he fucking does.
Less stress.
Like loving him had exhausted you so thoroughly that leaving the entire country became the healthiest thing you’d ever done for yourself.
His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the menu sitting untouched in front of him.
“Still working with that rescue agency?” Izuku asks curiously.
You nod. “Mostly disaster relief now, yeah. It’s quieter than here.”
“Quieter?” Kaminari repeats incredulously. “Why would you want quieter?”
“Because some people enjoy peace,” Jirou answers dryly.
“Exactly,” you laugh.
And there it is again, that strange feeling pressing heavier against Katsuki’s ribs every time you smile. Because you do seem peaceful now. Not forced. Not pretending. Actually peaceful.
Your posture stays relaxed through every conversation. Your smile comes easier than he remembers. Even your voice sounds lighter somehow, no longer carrying that constant tension that used to sit beneath your words whenever the two of you argued. Back then, loving each other always felt loud. Intense. Like every conversation teetered dangerously close to becoming a fight neither of you knew how to stop once it started.
Now you just seem… calm.
Katsuki suddenly feels too large in his seat. Too rough around the edges for this version of you. His broad shoulders, his obnoxiously loud voice, the constant restless energy simmering beneath his skin all feel painfully obvious in comparison to the quiet ease you carry now.
Mina notices it first.
Her eyes flick carefully between the two of you once. Then again.
Her smile falters slightly.
Because now it’s becoming noticeable to everybody else too.
You still haven’t acknowledged Katsuki properly once since they entered the izakaya.
Kirishima notices next, judging by the awkward way he shifts beside Katsuki before clearing his throat.
“So, uh…” he starts carefully, eyes darting between you both. “Crazy seeing everybody together again, huh?”
“Mm,” you hum politely before taking another sip of your drink.
That’s it.
No tension sharpens your voice. No bitterness leaks through your expression. Nothing about your reaction feels forced or emotional at all. Katsuki Bakugo has somehow become just another former classmate sitting at the table across from yours instead of the man you once shared a bed and apartment and entire future with.
You used to tell each other that by the time you’re twenty-five you’d surprise your friends and old classmates by popping a kid out of the blue in one of these events. You used to laugh at the thought of him flaunting a baby bump on you, dreaming that you’d hide your engagement ring from everyone until it was the right time to announce you’d get married.
In another life, it may have been different.
Instead of that, you and him are forcibly strangers now; the realization settles, once again heavily in his stomach.
At least showing hatred towards him would mean he still mattered enough to ruin your evening.
This indifference feels like being erased entirely.
______________
The longer the night settles around the izakaya, the more Katsuki realizes he completely misjudged what this dinner was supposed to be.
Not some polished, high-class event packed with cameras and stiff hero society bullshit.
Just an izakaya. Despite how fancy it is.
A crowded, noisy, familiar little place tucked between glowing Musutafu storefronts where the tables are too close together and the air smells like grilled meat, fried oil, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke clinging faintly to old wood. Somebody in the back is laughing loud enough to echo over the music while waiters squeeze through narrow spaces carrying trays overloaded with skewers and drinks. Half the group’s jackets are already tossed carelessly everywhere.
Casual.
Comfortable.
The kind of place Class A used to practically live in after internships.
Which somehow makes this worse.
Because you fit into it too naturally even if you’ve missed the majority of it.
Time passes eerily as Katsuki watches from across the table while Mina complains dramatically about agency interns stealing her skincare products, and you laugh so easily at something dumb Kaminari says that for a split second it genuinely feels like no time has passed at all.
Except it has.
He notices it in tiny things.
You don’t interrupt people as much anymore. Back then you used to talk over everyone whenever you got excited, eyes bright and hands moving while you argued passionately about absolutely everything. Now you lean back when people speak, quieter in a way that feels more intentional than shy. You still smile the same, though. That part hits him unexpectedly hard.
Same slight squint around your eyes. Maybe a few subtle wrinkles now, that still manage to look good on you.
Same habit of hiding your laugh behind your drink or your hand sometimes.
It’s awful how quickly he notices all of it.
A waiter slides another round of drinks onto the table, glass clinking loudly against wood.
“Bakugo,” Sero grins from farther down the booth, already flushed pink from alcohol, “you’ve been weirdly quiet all night. You sick or somethin’?”
“I’m always quiet,” Katsuki answers flatly before taking a long sip of beer.
The table immediately erupts.
“That is literally not true,” Jirou snorts.
“Shut up! It is!”
“Me when I lie” Mina snorts.
“You used to start fights with strangers in restaurants,” Kaminari points out.
“Correction,” Kirishima says, grinning, “he used to start fights with strangers everywhere.”
“I remember that guy at karaoke—”
“He deserved it.”
“You didn’t even know him!”
Katsuki barely listens.
Because across the table, you’re smiling into your drink again, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter while Mina nearly falls sideways into Ochaco from laughing too hard.
And you still won’t look at him.
Not really.
Your gaze passes over him occasionally in that absent, polite way people acknowledge furniture in crowded rooms, but nothing lingers. No awkwardness. No tension. No visible effort to avoid him either still, which somehow stings too much.
It’s like you already adjusted to his presence within the first five minutes of arriving.
Meanwhile he feels painfully aware of every movement you make.
The way your rings tap softly against your glass.
The faint crease between your brows whenever you listen closely to someone speaking.
The small scar near your wrist he remembers kissing once while you laid half-asleep across his chest.
His stomach twists hard enough to make him irritated with himself all over again.
This is fucking ridiculous.
“Bakugo.”
His head lifts automatically.
Momo’s looking at him from across the table. “Did you hear me?”
“No.”
“I said,” she repeats patiently, “Shoto wants everyone at his agency anniversary event next month too.”
“Absolutely not,” Katsuki answers immediately.
Kaminari groans. “Dude, you say no to everything.”
“Because everything sounds terrible.”
“See?” Mina points accusingly toward you. “This is why our sweetie over here escaped the country. We’re emotionally exhausting.”
The comment is obviously meant as a joke and the table laughs.
Even you smile.
But Katsuki feels the words land somewhere unpleasant anyway.
Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick toward you.
For the first time all night, you finally look directly back at him.
It lasts maybe two seconds!?
Three, max.
Then, when Kirishima opens his mouth it’s as if he can’t stop being a moron. Like he never could have guessed what the context of ‘time and place’ is. He points at you, then Katsuki.
“Remember when you guys sneaked out during the winter festival and everyone thought you were kidnapped?”
The entire table immediately erupts.
“Oh my god.”
“They were gone for HOURS—”
“Because SOMEONE turned their phones off,” Kaminari wheezes.
“You guys came back looking guilty as hell,” Mina accuses dramatically.
Katsuki feels his shoulders tense instantly. He sees you shrink into a timely creature in your seat.
Back then, you’d dragged him behind the gym building because you were freezing and irritated and insisted his body temperature was “unnaturally useful.” He remembers pinning you against the wall afterward just to shut you up after you laughed at how red his ears got.
He remembers kissing you until neither of you could breathe properly.
The memory hits hard enough to feel physical. Youthful kisses, teenage love— he remembers how it felt when he kissed you first and when he had kissed you then. He remembers making out in your dorm late at night when he should’ve been resting his injuries after the war.
Around the table, everyone’s still laughing.
Except you.
You’ve gone still beside Mina, fingers tightening almost invisibly around your drink before you take another sip.
Then, calmly, casually—
“So,” you interrupt smoothly, turning toward Ochaco and Tsuyu instead, “how’s hero life treating you two?”
Clean cut. Effortless for anyone who can’t read behind your eyes.
The conversation immediately shifts away from the topic entirely.
Like you did it on purpose. Like the memory embarrasses you now.
Katsuki drops whatever sits at the top of his tongue like it stung too much to be spoken out loud. Like he was given a sound reminder that his words are always unnecessary.
___________
Everyone eventually becomes too careless despite the fragility of the situation.
Alcohol warms the tables steadily, loosening voices and posture until conversations start overlapping loudly across the cramped izakaya booth. Kaminari is practically hanging halfway over Sero now while arguing about hero rankings nobody else cares about, and Kirishima’s laugh keeps booming loudly enough to earn irritated glances from nearby tables. Even more empty beer glasses crowd together beside greasy plates streaked with sauce while waiters weave expertly through the narrow aisles carrying fresh rounds of skewers and drinks.
Normally Katsuki would be right in the middle of it all.
Tonight he barely said a word, even if he found himself at your table for some reason.
Because every single time the conversation drifts naturally toward old memories involving the two of you, you choose to redirect it before it can fully land.
Always subtle enough most people probably don’t notice.
But he notices.
Every single time.
When Mina starts retelling the beach trip where the two of you once again disappeared from the bonfire for over an hour, you smoothly interrupt to ask Jirou about her latest music project overseas. When Kirishima almost brings up the apartment you used to share in the heart of the city, you casually wave down the waiter and ask if anyone wants another round of drinks before he can finish the sentence.
And the worst part is how effortless you make it look.
You aren’t visibly uncomfortable. You aren’t tense or bitter or awkward every time his name comes up paired with yours. You navigate around him cleanly, naturally, like you’ve already spent years learning exactly how to exist comfortably in spaces where even if Katsuki Bakugo is present, he can simply be erased.
The notion starts irritating him more with every passing minute. It sits tighter beneath his ribs by the second. Makes his heart beat in fragile, irregular beats.
A doctor had once told him to keep track of arhythmic beats like this.
Tonight he does not. But usually, he does.
Across the table, you tilt your head back slightly while laughing at something Ochaco says, fingers still loosely wrapped around your glass. The soft amber lighting from the hanging lanterns catches against your face warmly enough that Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, jaw tightening hard.
Then your phone lights up beside your plate.
His eyes catch it automatically, assumption quick to replace every spec of vermilion in his irises.
A name flashes briefly across the screen before you casually turn the phone face down against the table.
It’s a nickname paired with a heart.
It could be a friend, but for that he’s unconvinced.
Something twists violently low in Katsuki’s stomach.
Immediate. Sharp enough to genuinely piss him off.
Three years.
Obviously there’s somebody else now.
What the hell did he expect? That you spent years overseas grieving a relationship that ended with both of you saying things cruel enough to permanently carve into each other?
His fingers curl tighter around his beer glass.
Mina notices instantly.
Her eyes flick carefully between him and you before she awkwardly clears her throat. “Okay, wow,” she says carefully, trying to laugh through the tension, “this table energy’s getting kinda weird.”
“Only because your face gets louder every time you drink,” Jirou answers dryly without looking up from her glass.
“No, seriously,” Mina insists now, glancing more cautiously toward Katsuki. “Everybody’s acting strange.”
“Nobody’s acting strange,” you answer calmly before finally looking directly at Katsuki for the second time all night.
And somehow that feels worse.
You really are fine. Not pretending. Not secretly emotional underneath the surface. Fi—ne. Almost too cold.
You are completely, genuinely fine sitting across from him after three years apart.
Something reckless rises inside his chest almost immediately.
“You got somethin’ to say?” Katsuki asks suddenly, attention fully turned to you. “Then say it to my face.”
For once, he manages to keep your eyes in his.
The table quiets.
Not completely, but enough that nearby conversations and clinking glasses start bleeding awkwardly into the silence between your group.
Your brows pull together faintly before rising. “What?”
“You’ve barely looked at me all night.”
“Why would I?”
When you respond, Kirishima visibly winces beside him.
“Bakugo,” he mutters quietly under his breath.
An effort for calmness that pays out fruitless soil. Katsuki barely hears him now that the irritation’s already pushing its way out.
“No, seriously,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours. “What’s the deal?”
The atmosphere around the table shifts immediately.
Mina looks horrified. Izuku suddenly looks like he wants the floor to physically open beneath him—he hasn’t said anything about you up till now. Not on the phone, not in the car when Katsuki snapped like broken glass at every single thing. He didn’t even say anything about you when Katsuki told him that if he treats everyone like they’re special, then no one really is special to him. (When does Katsuki ever get so emotional?)
Even Kaminari goes quiet for once.
You stare at Katsuki from across the table for a long moment, expression unreadable beneath the warm restaurant lighting. Then you blink slowly before setting your drink down carefully against the table.
“…There’s no deal. You made sure of that.”
The calmness in your voice instantly makes his irritation worse.
“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”
“No,” you answer evenly, “I’ve been talking to everyone.”
“Except me.”
The silence afterward settles heavily between you both.
Around the table, nobody moves. The noise of the izakaya suddenly feels distant compared to the pressure building in the booth. You lean back slightly in your seat, eyes finally holding his properly instead of sliding politely past him like earlier.
“What exactly are you expecting from me here, Katsuki?”
The question catches him off guard immediately.
Not because of the words but because of the exhaustion in your tone that has completely replaced anger.
“I dunno,” he answers flatly, defensive before he can stop himself. “Basic acknowledgement maybe.”
You stare at him another second before letting out a small breath through your nose. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just tired.
“I said hi when you walked in.”
“No,” Katsuki says immediately, “you said hi to Eijiro.”
Kaminari audibly mutters “oh my god, bets. Bets now!” under his breath before Mina immediately kicks him hard beneath the table.
Your fingers tap once lightly against your glass before stilling again completely.
Then, finally, something shifts in your expression.
And it’s not sadness.
Just plain right resignation. Like you’ve already given up.
Because now everybody at the table is looking literally anywhere except the two of you. Kirishima suddenly becomes very interested in his drink. Ochaco stares fixedly at the condensation sliding down her glass. Even Sero awkwardly clears his throat under his breath.
“Fuck yeah, stop playing games.”
You hold Katsuki’s gaze the entire time when you speak again.
“I ain’t got shit to say to you in front of everyone.” You say, bluntly, “but since you say we don’t have to play games, I didn’t ignore you because I hate you,” you continue. “I ignored you because every single time I look at you, I remember the last conversation we had.”
The words land directly against his sternum. Heavy. Sharp like a swirly blade and enough that for a second he genuinely forgets how to respond.
The memory crashes back immediately whether he wants it to or not.
Rain hammering against pavement outside the apartment.
You crying so hard your voice kept shaking despite how badly you tried hiding it.
Him saying things he knew would hurt before they even left his mouth.
You standing there afterward like he’d physically reached inside your chest and twisted something apart with his bare hands.
“I wish I never met you.”
Katsuki remembers that part perfectly.
Worse, he remembers exactly what he said right before to make you say it. Something cruel. Something calculated. Something along the lines of “you’re lying to yourself when you say you love me.”
Because back then hurting each other always came easier than admitting how badly neither of you wanted things to end.
Across the table, your expression remains composed, but now he notices the strain sitting carefully beneath it. The effort it’s taking you to stay this calm. To keep your voice level instead of letting old wounds split open in front of everyone.
“I’m not trying to make tonight uncomfortable,” you continue more quietly now. “I came because I’m back in Japan and I missed everyone. That’s all.”
Everyone.
But not specifically him.
The distinction settles ugly and heavy enough inside his chest that he and everyone else in this room are short of words
The atmosphere around the table changes only when the emergency hero alert rings on everyone’s phones.
Around you, everybody moves at once.
Years of training erase the awkwardness almost instantly. Drinks abandoned. Jackets pulled on. Conversations cut short mid-sentence while tables scrape across wood flooring. The emotional wreckage sitting between you and Katsuki gets shoved violently aside beneath instinct and urgency.
You stand automatically too.
And for one humiliating second, relief floods through you so fast it almost makes your knees weak. Because now you don’t have to stay sitting across from him anymore.
You don’t have to survive whatever expression is currently sitting on Katsuki’s face after what you just said.
You don’t have to keep pretending your heart isn’t beating so hard it physically hurts.
The group spills out into the cold Musutafu night in a rush of noise and movement. Sirens already echo faintly somewhere ahead, reflecting red against rain-slick pavement while civilians stop to stare at the sudden crowd of pro heroes flooding onto the sidewalk.
You breathe in sharply the second cold air hits your lungs.
It helps. Barely. Your hands still feel shaky and so fucking stupid..
Because the worst part—the genuinely humiliating part—is that none of what you said was a lie.
You did ignore Katsuki because looking at him hurts.
But not in the way everyone at that table probably assumed. Everyone, including him, thinks it’s because you stopped loving him.
And honestly that—would’ve been easier.
The problem is, that standing across from Katsuki after three years still feels dangerously close to standing too near an open flame. Like one wrong moment of weakness could drag you straight back into him before you remember all the reasons you left in the first place.
And God—you wanted to.
That’s the pathetic part.
The second he walked into the restaurant tonight, broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking so pretty even if all the boyish charm had abandoned his face for good, while his eyes immediately found yours across the room, something inside your chest reacted so violently you almost forgot how to breathe.
Three years.
Three whole fucking years.
And your body still recognized him instantly.
You hated that.
Hated how good he looked. Hated how familiar his voice sounded. Hated that even now, after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted to walk straight across the room and touch him just to prove he was real. Kiss him so you at least be able to go back to your friends overseas and let them know you got the kiss of closure you’ve been wanting so desperately.
But you knew better now.
You had to know better now.
Because loving Katsuki always felt like standing too close to an explosion and convincing yourself the heat wasn’t burning you alive.
You pull your hair back quickly while jogging after the others down the crowded sidewalk, the heels of your boots striking wet pavement hard enough to ground you back into the present. Neon signs blur overhead while people move aside hurriedly at the sight of pro heroes rushing past.
Beside you, Ochaco glances over briefly.
“You okay?”
The question is gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.
“Yeah,” you answer immediately.
Too quickly.
Ochaco’s expression softens in that awful way people look at wounded animals they aren’t sure how to help. That facade that all heroes put on when they’re helping a missing child find their mommy.
You look away to let her go before she can say anything else.
Ahead of the group, Katsuki is already moving faster than everyone else, irritation practically radiating off him in waves while sparks crackle faintly against his palms. The familiar sight hits somewhere deep in your chest with painful precision.
God.
There he is— Still carrying himself like the entire world personally offended him for existing.
And somehow you still love him enough it makes you feel sick.
You wonder briefly if he knows.
If he’s always known and if so, why he’s denying it.
Maybe that’s what made the breakup so unbearable in the first place. Katsuki understood exactly how much power he had over you, and every time he got scared of needing someone that badly in return, he lashed out before you could hurt him first.
________
The robbery cleanup drags longer than expected.
Statements. Damage reports. Civilians needing reassurance. Media helicopters circling overhead long enough to become irritating background noise.
By the time everything finally settles, the sky above Musutafu has turned that heavy shade of black and blue. The streets are quieter now, washed silver beneath streetlights while exhausted civilians slowly reclaim the sidewalks. Neon signs remain glowing in the background of it all.
Katsuki feels wrung out.
Not physically, though. Physically he’s fine. His heart, at least, has finally stopped palpitating. It’s everything else which isn’t his heart that's clawing at the inside of his chest that’s making him tired.
After an agonizing thirty minutes of broken communications on splitting the bill with everyone else, he gets dragged into easy conversation.
“Alright, alright,” Kaminari groans dramatically while stretching his arms over his head. “I’m officially declaring tonight cursed.”
“You declare everything cursed,” Mina replies instantly.
“Because everything is cursed.”
Kirishima snorts beside them while Izuku adjusts the strap of his gauntlets. “At least nobody got seriously hurt.”
“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters distractedly, digging his car keys from his pocket.
His mind hasn’t stopped replaying the familiar sound of your voice through your conversation for the past twenty minutes. The kind of familiar that dug straight under his skin and stayed there.
Katsuki hates how much those words affected him. Hates that part of him wanted to turn around and ask what the hell that tone meant after everything that’s happened between you before leaving for his hero duties.
Instead, he shoved it down where everything else goes. The pit of his dropping stomach.
The group behind him, after enthusiastically rejoicing and pleading for even a sight of his car, reaches the parking structure entrance together with him, footsteps echoing faintly through the concrete levels while fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Mina’s still talking about how good the food was. Kirishima’s half-listening while Denki complains loudly about tomorrow’s paperwork.
Normal. Everything feels painfully normal again.
Izuku has already left to chase after Ochaco. Katsuki gets to go home with one less friend to lash out on and half a heart.
“Later, man,” Kirishima says to a far away Izuku raising a hand.
Katsuki barely listens while waving him off with a lazy flick of his hand.
Then he sees you. And every thought in his head immediately cuts clean in half.
You’re standing beside his car. leaning against it casually. Not waiting in some cinematic pose.
Just there.
Hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket while cool garage lighting spills softly across your face. You look tired now. More tired than you did at dinner. Hair slightly messy. Faint smudges of eyeliner still near the corners of your eyes.
Real. That’s the first thing that hits him. Just you. Waiting for him.
Kirishima notices you first from the whole group.
“Oh, hi.”
Mina stops talking.
Denki’s eyes widen slightly before darting rapidly between both of you like he accidentally walked into live explosives.
Katsuki’s pulse kicks hard once against his ribs and his neck.
You look at him quietly before speaking.
“…Can we talk?”
Simple words. Calm voice. And somehow they hit harder than that joke of an argument earlier.
Nobody moves for about two seconds. Then Katsuki clicks his tongue sharply without taking his eyes off you.
The concern. The don’t blow this up worse look sitting all over his face.
“Tch,” Katsuki mutters. “I’m not gonna start shit in a parking garage.”
“That’s not super reassuring when you phrase it like that,” Mina says.
You huff out the faintest breath beside the car—almost a laugh.
The sound catches Katsuki off guard badly enough that his eyes flick toward you automatically. Because he forgot for a second what it sounded like when your amusement wasn’t forced. He’s forgotten what it was like when he used to make you laugh, being so caught up in the destruction of it all.
Kirishima notices too. Something in his expression softens before he finally sighs heavily and throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. We’re leaving.”
“But if either of you commits emotional crimes,” Mina warns dramatically while walking backward toward the elevator, “I’m intervening.”
“You say that like you’re emotionally qualified to help anybody,” Katsuki shoots back automatically. “Or like you have to wait around here.”
“See? This is why therapy should be mandatory for heroes!”
The elevator doors of the garage close over the sound of Denki cackling.
And then they’re gone.
Silence settles almost immediately afterward. Not awkward exactly.
The parking structure hums quietly around you both, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead while distant traffic echoes faintly from outside. Somewhere farther down the level, water drips steadily from a pipe into concrete.
Katsuki shoves one hand into his pocket to stop himself from fidgeting.
You still haven’t moved from beside his car.
Up close now, he notices the exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes properly. The careful composure from dinner looks thinner somehow. Like tonight finally wore through it.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then—
“You really think I hate you?” you ask quietly.
The question lands so directly he almost flinches.
Katsuki’s jaw tightens automatically. “You ignored me for four fuckin’ hours.”
“I ignored you because I was trying not to ruin my own night.”
That catches him off guard enough to shut him up briefly.
You look away first, arms folding tighter across yourself.
“I spent three years trying to get over you,” you admit quietly. “Do you understand how humiliating it is that seeing you again almost reset all of it instantly?”
Katsuki feels something sharp twist low in his chest.
Because your voice still doesn't sound angry. It sounds like you’re simple frustrated with yourself.
“I didn’t know what version of you was gonna walk into that restaurant tonight,” you continue. “And honestly? I was scared that if I talked to you normally for even five minutes, I’d forget why we broke up in the first place.”
The parking garage suddenly feels too small, too warm. Katsuki stares at you, heartbeat starting to thud harder beneath his ribs again in a way that has nothing to do with fighting anymore. He starts thinking of every single moment today where his thoughts remained the same as yours.
You laugh softly then, but there’s no humor in it.
“And the worst part is,” you murmur, eyes dropping briefly toward the concrete floor, “I still wanted you to come sit next to me. I keep thinking I want the goodbye kiss that I never got. I can never fully leave you behind and I think it’s just because I don’t want to. Last year when you messaged me, I found myself excited at the thought of us getting back together.
The words hit him harder than any fight tonight did.
Just honest enough to split something open clean down the middle.
Katsuki stares at you like he genuinely forgot how to move for a second. Because he’d prepared himself for anger; —resentment, perhaps. Even the mischellanious instant where you’d be maybe telling him you moved on and he was pathetic for still carrying pieces of this -you- around like shrapnel under his skin.
He didn’t prepare himself himself for this right now in any of his overthinking scenarios.
You standing in front of him at nearly two two in the morning, exhausted and vulnerable and still admitting you wanted him back once too. The million dollar question is: do you still?
The fluorescent lights of the parking lot above you the two of you flicker faintly. Somewhere deeper in the garage, a car alarm chirps once before falling silent again—Katsuki barely hears any of it.
“When I saw your message,” you continue more quietly, “I remember staring at my phone like an idiot for an hour before answering.” A weak laugh leaves you. “My friend literally had to pry it out of my hands because I kept rereading it.”
His chest tightens painfully.
Because he remembers sending that message.
Sitting alone in his apartment after patrol with alcohol burning down his throat while he typed and deleted different versions of I miss you for nearly twenty minutes before settling on something colder instead. Something easier.
“Why would you fucking unblock me?”
Pathetic.
“You sounded angry,” you admit softly. “But I still kept hoping maybe underneath it… maybe you missed me enough to try again.”
Katsuki looks away sharply, jaw flexing hard.
He did.
That’s the worst fucking part.
He remembers pacing around his kitchen waiting for your replies like his life depended on them. Remembers the stupid spike of hope every time his phone buzzed. Remembers ruining the entire conversation because the second things started feeling vulnerable again, panic crawled viciously straight up his spine and turned everything mean.
Same old him as always.
“You told me I never changed,” he mutters roughly.
Your expression shifts slightly at that. Not regret exactly. Something sadder.
“Because you hadn’t.”
The honesty stings immediately because part of him knows you’re right. Back then he’d still been treating love like a fight he needed to win before somebody could abandon him first. Katsuki drags a hand hard down his face before laughing once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably deserved that one.”
Silence settles again after that. Raw, void of the hostility every other silence between you tonight. However, this time, the hostility of any previous silence between you tonight, is missing. Everything is raw and open like an oozing, fresh wound.
Had that been the case, he’d known better of.
You’re still standing near his car with your arms folded tightly across yourself like you’re physically holding your own chest together. Katsuki notices your fingers trembling slightly against your sleeves.
You’re nervous.
That realization hits unexpectedly hard too. Because he also forgot what it felt like knowing he could still affect you like this.
“I hated you for a while,” you admit suddenly, voice quieter now. “Or—I tried to, at least, at least.” You shake your head faintly. “I wanted to, anyway. It would’ve made moving on easier.”
Katsuki doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t trust himself to.
“But then stupid things kept happening,” you continue, eyes unfocused now like you’re talking more to yourself than him. “I’d hear someone laugh like you at work and my whole day would get weird after. Or somebody would burn coffee and suddenly I’d remember your apartment.” Another soft, embarrassed laugh. “There’s this hero overseas that yells exactly like you during meetings. I almost walked out the first time because I started tearing up.”
Something dangerously warm starts spreading low in Katsuki’s chest.
Not ego. Not satisfaction.
Something worse—Hope.
Small and so fragile and so, so terrifying. and plainly—
You finally look back up at him then, expression open in a way he hasn’t seen in years.
“And honestly?” you say quietly, “I think part of me kept waiting for you to come after me.”
That one nearly knocks the air clean out of him.
Because he wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
He remembers standing in airports during patrol assignments wondering what country you were in. Remembers opening your chat box dozens of times— knowing which one it was simply by how many weeks ago was your last conversation— just to close it again before typing anything. Remembers seeing your name finally appear in his Instagram chat box instead of ‘User’ and feeling his stomach drop so hard he had to sit down.
But wanting something and knowing how to hold onto it were always two different things for him.
Katsuki swallows hard before speaking.
“You said you wished you never met me.”
Your face changes instantly. Pain flickers there, between your worried brows so quickly he almost misses it.
“I know.”
“You meant it?”
“No,” you answer immediately.
Too fast for it to not be honest. Katsuki would crack up a cocky smile if the sound of its admission didn’t hook directly beneath his ribs.
You inhale shakily afterward, eyes dropping again.
“I said it because I wanted to hurt you back,” you admit. “And because you’d just spent an hour making me feel stupid and calling me a liar for telling you i loved you.”
The words land heavy between you both. Katsuki feels nausea twist unpleasantly in his stomach because he remembers that night perfectly now more than any other time.
Not just the fight.
Your face.
The way you looked at him like you were begging him to give you one reason to stay softer with each other instead of turning everything into a bloodbath.
And he had spectacularly failed, spectacularly.
“You really thought I didn’t love you?” you ask suddenly, quieter now.
And since the answer to your question is humiliating, Katsuki’s throat feels tight.
“…Yeah.”
You stare at him for a long moment after that. Then you laugh again, but this time it sounds closer to heartbreak.
“Katsuki,” you whisper softly, “I moved across the world and still couldn’t stop loving you properly.”
That one hurts.
Not in a bad way.
Worse.
Because suddenly all three years between you feel unbearably visible at once. Every missed call never made. Every airport not boarded. Every message typed and deleted. Every lonely apartment. Every night spent pretending this wasn’t still sitting unfinished between you both. It never actually had to be that way.
Katsuki looks at you standing there beneath harsh garage lighting with tired eyes and shaky hands and too much honesty spilling out at once and realizes, with horrifying clarity, that if you were to claim your goodbye kiss; if you so as kissed him right now, he genuinely doesn’t think he’d survive it quietly.
Neither of you says anything for a while after that.
The parking garage hums quietly around you, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in uneven intervals while rainwater drips somewhere deeper in the structure with slow, hollow echoes. The city outside has started slipping into that strange hour between night and morning where everything feels softer around the edges. Traffic is thinner now. The distant sounds of Musutafu blur together into something low and tired beneath the concrete silence.
Katsuki can hear your breathing.
Not because the garage is particularly quiet, but because he’s standing too close to you again after three years and his body keeps locking onto every tiny thing automatically.
The way your shoulders rise slightly every time you inhale. The faint tremble still lingering in your fingers. The exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes.
You look nothing like the polished, untouchable version of yourself he built up in his head over the past few years. Standing here now, you just look human again.
Real enough to ache over.
To you… Does he look that way too?
“Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” Katsuki shifts his weight once before dragging a hand through his hair roughly. “We should probably get outta here before Mina decides to come back and interrogate us.”
The corner of your mouth twitches faintly. “That implies she never actually left.”
“She’s probably hiding behind a concrete pillar right now.”
“She absolutely is.”
The tiny bit of shared amusement loosens something dangerously fragile between you both.
Katsuki unlocks the car with a sharp click of the key fob. Then you glance toward the passenger side before looking back at him again, uncertainty flickering briefly across your expression like you’re second-guessing whether this is a good idea.
Honestly, he’s wondering the same thing.
Because every second around you tonight has felt like standing near something unstable with no self-control left to keep his hands off it.
Still, he opens the passenger door for you anyway.
You hesitate only a second before climbing inside.
The interior of the car smells faintly like leather, rain, and burnt caramel coffee from whatever drive-through Kirishima dragged him through earlier this week. Soft dashboard lights glow low against the dark while droplets of rain slide slowly down the windshield overhead. The city reflects across the glass in blurred streaks of neon and gold.
Katsuki rounds the front of the car slowly, pulse thudding heavier with every step.
By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, the air inside already feels too warm.
You’re sitting angled slightly toward the window, arms folded loosely across yourself while the glow from passing streetlights softens the side of your face. Your makeup’s mostly worn off by now. There’s still a faint smear of eyeliner and mascara at the corner of your eye.
He has to physically stop himself from reaching over to wipe it away.
Silence settles again, but it’s different inside the car.
The enclosed space presses everything tighter together until even breathing feels too noticeable.
Katsuki rests one hand against the steering wheel without starting the engine. “So what now?”
You let out a quiet breath through your nose before leaning your head back against the seat. “I don’t know.” you sigh “I didn’t really think this far ahead.”
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Me neither.”
Rain starts tapping lightly against concrete again. Thin at first. Then steadier.
Your eyes drift toward the sound automatically. “It always rains when we talk about serious shit.”
Katsuki snorts softly before he can stop himself. “That’s because you always picked fights during storms.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
A small laugh escapes you then, quieter than before but real enough that something in his chest twists painfully around it. God, he missed that sound. Missed sitting beside you while conversations slipped this easily between silence and teasing without either of you forcing it.
A newer realization scares him a little; It would be so easy to fall right back into this. Too easy.
You turn toward him slightly then, knees shifting against the seat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Tch. You usually do anyway.”
Your eyes narrow faintly at the automatic attitude, but there’s no real heat behind it now. “Why didn’t you come after me?”
The question settles heavily into the space between you both.
Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.
Outside, headlights slide briefly across the windshield before disappearing down the garage ramp. He watches the reflections fade instead of looking directly at you.
“Didn’t think you wanted me to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Of course it isn’t.
You were always annoyingly good at pulling honesty out of him even when he fought it.
Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before speaking. “Because I thought if I showed up and you looked happier without me…” He laughs once under his breath, rough and humorless. “Didn’t think I could handle that. It’d just fucking prove i’m hard to love and you’re better without me.”
The space between you afterward feels fragile.
When he finally looks over, your expression has softened into something unbearably tender.
Fuck, fuck—Fuck.
“You’re an idiot,” you murmur quietly.
There’s no cruelty in it. Maybe a tad of acceptance. A smear of sadness.
Your eyes flick downward briefly then back to his face, and suddenly Katsuki becomes painfully aware of how close you’re sitting. The center console feels too small now. The air feels thick with old history and exhaustion and everything neither of you managed to bury properly.
His gaze drops to your mouth before he can stop it.
He notices immediately when your breathing changes.
Slight.
Barely there.
But enough.
The tension inside the car shifts all at once after that.
Not explosive and immediate, like he’s used to. It’s slow and dangerous. Like something pulling tighter inch by inch.
Katsuki’s fingers flex once against the steering wheel. “Tell me to stop looking at you like that.”
Your throat moves subtly when you swallow.
“You first.”
Fuck. Shit!
The flirtiness in your tone hits him hard enough to feel somewhere low in his stomach.
Rain streaks slower down the windshield now, blurring neon lights outside into smeared ribbons of color while the heater hums faintly beneath the dashboard. The whole car feels suspended outside time somehow. Separate from the rest of the city. With nothing left to do but park at the side of the road, Katsuki swerves the steering wheel towards his new direction.
When he shuts off the engine, you’re the one who moves first.
Barely.
Just enough to lean a little closer and more tentative toward him. You’re giving him room to pull away if he wants to.
Katsuki doesn’t. Neither pull away, nor want to.
His hand reaches for your face almost automatically, rough palm settling carefully against your jaw like muscle memory never left him at all. The contact pulls a shaky breath from you instantly, and that sound alone nearly destroys whatever restraint he still has left.
He kisses you before he can think too hard about it.
And it feels exactly like coming home to something he convinced himself no longer existed.
Warm.
Familiar.
Devastating.
You make this tiny broken noise against his mouth the second the kiss lands properly, fingers grabbing instinctively at the front of his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. Katsuki feels his entire chest cave inward around the feeling of you kissing him back just as desperately. His lips ache with buzzing numbness and he tries his very best to even remember the steps to a kiss he’s trained to fit perfectly into.
Three years of missing each other crashes together all at once inside that kiss.
His other hand slides against your waist, pulling you closer over the center console while rain drums steadily overhead. Your lips part against his almost immediately, breath shaky and uneven as the kiss deepens into something messier. Hungrier.
Katsuki kisses like he’s starving.
Always has.
Like every emotion he doesn’t know how to say properly gets forced violently through his hands and mouth instead.
You remember that instantly.
He feels it in the way your fingers tighten against him. The way your breathing starts breaking apart every time he kisses you harder. The way you lean into him like you missed this just as badly as he did.
When you finally pull back for air, neither of you gets very far.
Your forehead rests shakily against his while both of you breathe the same recycled air inside the dark car. Katsuki’s hand is still cupping your jaw. Your fingers are still twisted tightly into his shirt.
With one swift movement, Katsuki’s hand forces your jaw right into his, your lips slamming against each other's once again.
The kiss turns rough immediately.
Not careless —Never careless with you.
Katsuki’s just overwhelmed by the sheer force of finally having you this close again after years spent trying to convince himself he could survive without it.
Your breath catches sharply against his mouth when he kisses you deeper this time, fingers twisting harder into the front of his shirt while the center console digs awkwardly against your hip from how far you’ve leaned toward him. Rain continues sliding steadily down the windshield outside, blurring neon lights into streaks of gold and red across the dark interior of the car.
Katsuki barely notices any of it anymore.
All he can focus on is you.
The warmth of your mouth.
The familiar way you melt and tense at the same time whenever he kisses you too hard.
The shaky inhale you keep failing to steady every time his thumb brushes beneath your jaw.
His chest feels unbearably tight.
Because this isn’t nostalgia anymore.
It isn’t just memory. You’re actually here. Actually kissing him back with enough desperation that it almost hurts.
A strained sound escapes him before he can stop it, muffled against your lips while he pulls you even closer over the console. His hand slips from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling carefully at the base of your neck like he physically cannot stand another inch of distance between you both.
You break the kiss first this time, but only barely. Only enough for more air.
Your lips still brush his when you speak.
“Katsuki—”
His name falls apart halfway through your breath, soft enough that he nearly loses whatever remains of his self-control entirely.
Because you still say his name the same way.
But now he knows it means something. He can accept it means something.
Katsuki’s forehead presses hard against yours while he tries and fails to regulate his breathing. The inside of the car suddenly feels too hot, thick with condensation and recycled air and of unresolved feelings collapsing violently into each other all at once.
“You gotta stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters hoarsely.
Your brows pull together faintly. “Like what?”
“Like you and i will—” He cuts himself off immediately, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.
The words refuse to come out cleanly.
You stare at him for a second too long after that, your expression softening into something that almost looks painful.
“Katsuki,” you whisper quietly, “I literally just told you I couldn’t move on.”
Yeah. He knows.
And somehow hearing it still doesn’t feel real.
“But if we y’know—now,” he coughs “maybe you’ll regret it.”
His eyes search your face automatically like he’s trying to find evidence that this is temporary. That you’ll wake up tomorrow and realize kissing him again was a mistake. That eventually you’ll remember all the reasons loving him became unbearable in the first place.
The fear must show somewhere across his expression because your hand suddenly lifts toward his face.
Your fingertips brush against the side of his jaw where the faint razor burn still sits from earlier tonight, and the tenderness behind the touch nearly destroys him more effectively than the kissing did.
“Katsuki, are you talking about sex?” you murmur softly, whispering the last word extensively.
A weak huff of laughter leaves him despite himself. His lower lip pouts out.
“You always get this line between your eyebrows whenever you get shy like this.”
Your thumb smooths unconsciously against the spot moments later like muscle memory. Katsuki feels his stomach twist painfully around the familiarity of it.
God.
He missed this.
Not even the kissing specifically. Not even the sex. (And he’s missed these two plenty)
Just this.
You knowing him so instinctively that his body reacts before his brain catches up.
“I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve wanted it so much even though I was convinced it’d never happen again. I can’t regret doing something that I want to do.”
Your words settle heavy enough in his chest that suddenly he needs to kiss you again before he says something humiliating.
His mouth crashes back against yours harder this time.
You make another soft noise into the kiss immediately, one that sounds dangerously close to heartbreak, and Katsuki swears he feels the sound straight through his ribs. His hand tightens carefully at the back of your neck while your fingers slide upward into his hair, slightly damp strands catching between your knuckles.
The angle is awkward across the center console.
Neither of you cares.
Your knee bumps clumsily against the gear shift while Katsuki leans further toward you, broad shoulders pressing you deeper into the passenger seat unintentionally from the sheer force of how badly he’s kissing you now. Every breath between you feels uneven. Messy. Shared.
Three years disappears frighteningly fast like this. Just temporarily drowned beneath the overwhelming relief of finally touching each other again.
Katsuki feels your hand trembling slightly where it cups the side of his face.
The realization makes him pull back barely enough to look at you.
Your lips are swollen now. Eyes glassy beneath the dashboard glow while your breathing comes apart in shallow bursts that mirror his almost exactly. Then your expression shifts suddenly, something vulnerable flickering across it fast enough to make his chest tighten again.
“What if we do this again?” you ask quietly. “What if we try again and it ruins us worse this time?”
The question lands hard because it’s real. Not dramatic or hypothetical. You’re genuinely afraid. Because it’s been over three years since you’ve kissed, even more since you were intimate with each other, since you held an actual conversation.
And honestly? So is he.
Katsuki stares at you in the dim car lighting while rain taps softly overhead, your fingers still resting against his jaw like you’re scared to let go completely.
Then, slowly, he turns his head just enough to press a kiss against the center of your palm,vermillion eyes locked in yours..
The gesture feels strangely vulnerable coming from him.
“I think,” he says roughly afterward, eyes still fixed on yours, too sceptical, “it already ruined us the first time.” His thumb brushes carefully against your waist, then, sensually across your ribs “Didn’t stop either of us from wanting it again.”
It feels strangely fragile now that the adrenaline of finally kissing each other has settled slightly. Not awkward exactly. Just painfully real in a way neither of you can hide from anymore.
Neither of you seems fully willing to let go first.
You look mentally exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and bleeds across the surface of your skin; heart beating fast, eyes wide open and desperate. Katsuki, for worse luck despite it all, probably looks the same.
Your eyes drift downward briefly before you let out a small breath through your nose. “This is probably a terrible idea.”
Katsuki huffs quietly. “Yeah.”
“But I really don’t care right now.” you admit “do you?”
“Hell nah!”
Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3
bkg winning one of the biggest awards of his career and the interviewer says “this must be the best day of your life!!” and bkg blankly looks at him (even though inside he is very excited) and ominously says “one of them.” lowkey gets awkward so the interviewer moves on but in a later interview perhaps on another day he’s asked “so what is the best day of your life??” and he’s quick to say, “meeting my girlfriend.” (after you then it’s the day he won that award) (he loves being the best)
hi luna! idk how to explain it properly but your characterization of bkg is hot in the way i always wanna whine and be babied by him like??? are we on the same wavelength here lol
esp when let’s say u get grumpy upset over something super valid and he’s all soft and sorry and trying his genuine best to make things right for u ahkkk
ur bkg is princess treatment to the max!!!
eeeeeeek. imagine me slowly nodding my head in agreement. thank u i want him to be sooooo sexy and looking after his wonderful beautiful girlfriend and would rather DIE than see her upset.
like the reason you’re upset is nothing to do with him and he’s apologising for it. would have never done this in any other situation. and if it’s a new dating thing he is trying to figure out what you need and want. ends up asking you point blank at one point lol
cuddles and food and kisses. tries to replace the problem or fix it as much as he can. also he gets surprised how much his chest hurts when you’re hurt lol he’s sooooo provider
what about sex WITH bakugo for the first time… would both of you be super awks or would it be natural? would he be super vanilla and know exactly what to do to make you feel good or
now this one i think ive done sooooo many times with so many bkgs and alternate bkgs and so many yns and alternate yns.
as a canon general bkg i like to think there’s no way bkgs being intimate with you unless you know each other really well. so it’s more natural than awkward. it’s you controlling the pace of the makeout switching it from cute pecks to tongue but you start and he continues it all. soon enough he’s controlling the pace and it’s his tongue licking over yours and his grips get harsher the hornier he gets and he begins moving your hips over his lap. then you both know you’re actually about to have sex especially since you’ve been waiting a while.
so with that i believe it’s more natural. clothes being pulled off. him saying you’re soooo beautiful and his eyes are wide and shiny at the sight of so much skin from you. you’re no different in the sense that he’s looking like this for you. not to save lives or in training or mid a battle. just for you to look at and enjoy.
and i think it would be vanilla. like missionary for the first time and eating you out first. dry humping in there too. im soooo for the idea that the first time he sleeps with you he’s good at it. i think he goes into it NEEDING to be really good for you so theres no way he’s not. like so perspective to your reactions and sounds and he keeps complimenting you because he can’t help it. softly manoeuvres and adjusts you around so there’s position is right. “d’you wanna pillow?”
first time with him and you’re dickmatised. ALSO i think if he knows you want it a little faster or rougher he’ll make it happen. the second time he’s willing to get messy with it too. anyway you come twice.
katsuki with a shy girl who only lets him eat her out if he has a blanket over his head...
he tried to do it a couple times before, only to be met with your thighs clenched around his head and your face stuffed in a pillow — pulling him up by the collar of his shirt as you ignore the ache between your thighs and mutter that he "doesn't have to do that"
and katsuki knows what he can do, prides himself on knowing how to eat pussy, how to make his girl feel good — and he's determined to get to the bottom of this.
so, the next time he's kissing down the valley of your cleavage and feels his hair being tugged as he reaches for your waistband, he decides enough is enough.
"why won't you let me do this"
your hands loosen their grip in his hair, "katsuki—"
"please, you're killing me here" he mutters, bringing one of your hands towards his lips as he kisses your palm, "just wanna make you feel good"
it's clear he wasn't taking your excuses this time, especially when he can see your slick soaking the thin fabric of your panties when his mouth gets just a little too close.
so, you give him an ultimatum...
and katsuki's mouth is ruthless, as if he's been depraved from something so divine all his life — because he has. his head bobbing under the sheets as he listens to your stifled moans. he comes up for air between licks, forehead dewy and hair stuck to his face as he watches you with glossy eyes.
and katsuki never complains, cause if this is the only way to have you as loud as he wants you to be — he'll choose that damn blanket every time.
a/n: do we fuck with the blurbs horndogs? i like writing them when i feel like i have an idea that doesn't need a whole fic 🤔 also then i can provide for your freakiness a little faster ykyk -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋
A week. An entire week since you’d last seen your boyfriend, Toji. As usual, he’d been sent off on a mission far from home, leaving you and your needs to fend for yourselves. Which was hard, considering your small fingers.
Toji’s job was demanding and dangerous, but the two of you had never gone an entire week without seeing each other. Resorting to mediocre phone sex and nudes that would never leave either of you nearly as satisfied as the real thing.
But after seven days that felt like an eternity, today would finally be the day he’d come home, and you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to welcome him back in the best way possible.
You ran into the hallway the second you heard the front door open, wearing the sluttiest lingerie dress you owned, wrapping your arms around his neck and crashing your lips against his the moment he stepped through the doorway.
“Missed me, ma?” Toji laughed at your eagerness, shutting the door behind the two of you.
“Oh, you have no idea,” you answered breathlessly, guiding him towards the bedroom without even giving him a chance to settle in, desperate to put an end to the seven most agonizing days of your life.
The two of you quickly reached the bedroom door, shoving it open, nearly breaking the handle in the process. Desperately, you pushed him onto the bed before kneeling in front of him, giving him your best doe eyes.
“Missed you so much, ’Ji…” you murmured in a needy voice, rubbing your head against his thigh while palming him through his pants.
Yanking his sweatpants down, you paused for a moment, admiring the veiny length that slapped against his stomach, leaving behind a wet patch. You salivated. The flushed tip looked almost angry, and you could almost feel it pulsing, sending a wave of heat straight to your clit.
“Make it good. Missed those pretty lips.” Toji spoke through gritted teeth, his voice raw.
Determined, you offered his tip a quick peck before taking him between your lips, swirling your tongue around his slit. “Fuck, ma,” he groaned. “Good girl, that’s it.” Fisting your hair to pull you closer, earning a muffled whine from you.
Toji shivered at the sight of you, your eyes watery, drool running down your chin. He’d missed you so much. His good girl.
You relaxed your throat, trying your best to take him deeper despite his huge length. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come too early,” did he just whimper? “I love you so much, ma. You’re so good to me. My sweet, sweet girl. Fuckk—” The rest dissolved into a loud groan as he came, forcing his hips forward one last time, thick ropes of cum painted your throat white.
You slowly pulled away and smiled lazily at him, eyes beaming with adoration. “You’re so perfect, baby. My turn, yeah?”
YOU'RE GONNA DO ANOTHER PART FOR THAT ONE WHERE BAKUGOU FORGOT THE READER'S BIRTHDAY RIGHT?? RIGHT?? Feels like I'm left on a cliff hanger, its too good
⋆ PAIRING: dad!/divorced!/prohero!bakugou x mom!/divorced! /teacher!reader
⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: fluff; bakugou and y/n are dating
⋆ WORD COUNT: 618
A/N: i was working on another request but i got three other asks about this so here’s part two! also this was very short but i didn’t know what else to write oopsie
NOTE: if you'd like to be tagged in these mini/extra fics, please join the taglist here
Second Time Around Masterlist
PART ONE
When you woke up, Bakugou wasn’t in bed as you expected. He had patrol and you figured he left hours ago.
The events from the previous night were still fresh in your mind. You were supposed to have deliberated whether or not you were going to break up with your boyfriend but it wasn’t as simple as it sounded.
Before you could delve in those thoughts further, you heard a clattering sound from the kitchen, as if someone was cooking. When you got out of bed and opened Bakugou’s bedroom door, you were greeted with a savory smell.
Walking into the kitchen, Bakugou’s back faced you as he continued focusing on his cooking over the stove. You were shocked to see him and you knew he didn’t have a day off; he barely ever had a day off.
Looking over to the counter, you saw a pink cake with strawberries decorated on top. Upon further inspection, there was red icing piped expertly atop the cake that read: ‘Happy Belated Birthday Cause I’m a Fucking Idiot.’ You couldn’t hold back your laughter after reading it.
Bakugou flinched, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Fuck, I didn’t hear you get up.”
“What’s all this?” You asked, looking around the kitchen at the eggs he was frying, rice already cooked, and a mountain of dishes in the sink.
“It’s nothin’...” Bakugou turned the stove off. “I– I dunno. Last night was a wake up call for me.”
You nodded. “I thought you had patrol today?”
“Yeah, but I called off.”
You were taken aback.”What? You never call off.”
Bakugou rubbed the back of the nape of his neck. “I know but…” He moved towards you, his hands resting on your hips. The warmth of his palms seeped through your shirt. “I’ve been so caught up with work and wantin’ to be number one and I know I haven’t been carin’ for you as much as I should’ve.”
His crimson eyes bored into yours. “But I love you and I can’t lose you. So I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”
You smiled up at him, leaning into his body, pressing your cheek against his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso. “Thank you.”
Bakugou kissed the top of your head and held you in his arms. “So… Did you think about what we talked about last night? About… y’know… you l-leavin’?”
You could tell he didn’t even want to think about the possibility of you leaving with the way he stuttered and the way his body was more tense beneath your touch. You pulled away slightly, staring up at him. “I wasn’t seriously thinking about leaving you for more than a minute, Kats.”
Bakugou’s eyes widened in surprise. “You drive me insane sometimes but… you’re worth it and I wanna be with you,” you continued.
Bakugou let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Fuck, I was so worried.”
“You thought I’d actually leave you?” You asked.
Bakugou shrugged. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
You shook your head. “I love you.”
The ends of his lips turned up and he didn’t waste any time ducking his head down and kissing you. You smiled against his lips, your arms naturally finding their way around his neck and he held you tightly by your waist, pressing your body against his.
It felt like you’d been away from each other for weeks with the way he kissed you, and he held you as if you’d run the minute he let go. But no matter what, you knew you could never leave him… not when he was always so willing to change in order to keep you in his life.
the intimacy of making love side to side.. his low grunts of pleasure right against your ear, one big hand laying over your tummy and the other squeezing your hip.. the back of your thighs rubbing against the front of his — maybe he’s got one of your legs trapped between his so you’re nice and close to him and most certainly not going anywhere anytime soon
