wasted katsuki bakugo is clingy asf
۶ৎ your boyfriend—bakugo, arrives at your door, slurring his words and tripping over the carpet. you attempt to ground him, but your heart can’t help but flutter at his drunken blabber.
⤷ ゛(ov): ˎˊ˗ language, drunk bakugo, soft bakugo, fluff, aged-up bakugo, etc. (possibly ooc)
The knock on your apartment door was less a knock and more a relentless, uneven pounding that rattled the frame. You blinked at the clock—past midnight.
“Y/N!” a very familiar voice slurred from the hall. “Oi! Open the damn door, dumbass!”
You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. There was only one person you knew who could sound simultaneously demanding and pathetic at the same time. Katsuki Bakugo.
When you unlocked the door, there he was—Katsuki in all his chaotic glory. His hair was a mess, his face flushed scarlet, and his shirt half untucked.
He swayed slightly on his feet, eyes narrowed as though he were concentrating very hard on not falling over.
“..Katsuki?” you asked, baffled.
“‘S me,” he confirmed proudly, pointing at his chest before stumbling forward.
You had to catch him, your arms immediately wrapping around his solid frame as he almost toppled face first into the carpet.
“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging him inside. “You’re drunk.”
He gasped like you’d just revealed his deepest secret. “The hell I am!”
Then he paused, frowned, and muttered, “..Okay maybe a little. But I won, y’hear? Stupid Shitty Hair thought he could outdrink me. Me.”
“You got in a drinking contest, didn’t you?” you sighed as you maneuvered him toward the couch.
“Damn right I did,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest before nearly tripping over the table rug this time.
You barely saved him from face planting, and he slumped heavily against you.
“Shit—this floor’s tryin’ to kill me.”
“It’s just the carpet, Kats,” you said, struggling not to laugh as you guided him onto the couch.
Bakugo flopped down dramatically, sprawling like he owned the place.
His crimson eyes blinked blearily up at you, and then his entire face softened into a goofy grin. “..You’re so pretty.”
You froze, staring at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said—” He tugged weakly at your wrist until you sat beside him.
“You’re. So. Pretty.” Each word was punctuated with a little poke to your cheek.
You bit the inside of your lip, trying not to burst out laughing at how utterly unlike him this was. “Wow, the alcohol’s really working, huh?”
“Don’t sass me, stupid,” he mumbled, leaning into your shoulder with surprising weight. “M’serious. You’re always takin’ care of me n’ puttin’ up with my shit. You’re .. the best.”
Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. This was not the Bakugo you knew— the one who barked insults and acted like affection was a crime.
This was soft, clingy, honest Katsuki. Drunk and letting down walls he normally gaurded with venom.
He suddenly sat up straighter, pointing at you with dramatic intensity. “Wait—wait. Don’t move.”
“Gotta—gotta tell you..” His brows furrowed like he was trying to remember.
Then, very solemnly, he declared..; “If anyone.. tries to flirt with you .. I’ll blow ‘em the hell up.”
You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Good to know. Now lie down before you fall over again.”
“I’m fine!” he insisted, immediately attempting to stand, only to stumble and catch his foot on the other. You lunged forward, barely keeping him from going down.
“That’s it,” you huffed, dragging him back to the couch. “You’re staying put.”
Bakugo whined, actually whined, as you forced him to sit. “But I wanna be with you..”
You blinked at him. “..You are with me.”
He shook his head, his hair wild and eyes hazy. “No, like—” He collapsed sideways until his head was in your lap, arms wrapping loosely around your waist.
You froze, heat rushing to your face. His weight was solid, his warmth radiating through your thin clothes.
“God, you’re so clingy when you’re drunk,” you muttered, though your fingers betrayed you, brushing lightly through his hair.
Bakugo sighed in pure bliss, melting under your touch. “M’not clingy … you’re just comfy. My girl’s the best damn pillow in the world..”
Your chest squeezed at the words. He would never say that sober, never ever. Not out loud.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out, his grip on your waist loosening as sleep pulled him under.
You sat there, fingers combing through his messy hair, listening to the quiet mutters he let slip as he flicked in and out of sleep.
Your hand stilled, heart hammering.
“…’m never letting you go..”
You swallowed hard, torn between laughing at how ridiculously sweet he was like this and wanting to freeze the moment forever.
Leaning down, you pressed a soft kiss to his head. “You’re gonna regret half of this in the morning, you know,” you whispered.
Bakugo snored in response.
You smiled, adjusting the blanket over both of you as he clung tighter in his sleep.
“Guess I’ll just remind you later.”
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The next morning, Bakugo groaned, low and miserable, and finally cracked one weak eye open. “The hell..” His voice was rough, his head clearly pounding.
You smiled sweetly, brushing his wild hair out of his face. “Morning.”
He squinted up at you, confused. Then, like lightning, realisation hit—where he was, what happened last night, and the faint, humiliating memories of the things he’d said.
“..shit.” He dragged a hand over his face and groaned louder. “Don’t. Don’t say anything.”
You bit back a laugh. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” You tilted your head innocently.
“But you know, you make a very cuddly drunk. Called me pretty. Told me I’m the ‘best damn pillow in the world.’ Oh—and you said you’d blow up anyone who flirted with me.”
Katsuki’s ears turned crimson. “I did not!”
“You totally did.” You grinned, leaning down until your lips brushed his ear. “You also said you loved me.”
He jolted, face going redder than his eyes. “Tch—shut up! I was drunk, alright? Doesn’t count!”
You just smirked, poking his cheek. “Sure it doesn’t.”
Bakugo groaned again, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes to hide. “I hate you.”
You leaned over him, pressing a teasing kiss to his temple. “No you don’t.”
His only reply was another groan, muffled against his arm—though the way his hand found yours under the blanket told you everything you needed to know.
