many of bkg views are informed by the deep and chronic loneliness bakugou has experienced his whole life mixed with his genuine repression and shame. there are a lot of characters i think that are good at drawing lines between desire and physical pleasure + how you treat a person but bakugou is Not one of them.
he spends almost his entire life believing in his inherit loneliness. going from only child, to the specific experiences of his confusing lack of interest in romantic partnership and a lot of queer coding, to a truly astonishing inability to fit in with his peers.
bakugou is kind of meant to embody the whole "being at the top is lonely" and it shows, consistently in his character arc. hori also does absolute zero to resolve this. in many ways bakugou just fundamentally believes no one will be on his side.
no one ever chooses him. its weird and raw to think of it that way, but its just true. so when you do choose him, consistently, as a companion and partner - shit is so so serious to him.
everything is so so serious to him. he loves you. the depth and extent of it feels unfathomable. sex is sacred and untouchable and overwhelming and uncertain. you want him? just him? fucking really? like it's too much for his brain.
you have to unpack it with him as you get together (doubly true if you're not a man). at some point he tries to "be a man" about it but he just. cant. it's not in him. all he can think about is if it's good for you. if he's managing to touch you as deep as you always seem to reach him. it's etched into his bones.
no bc sex with bakugou is so insane with you on top. he's got his hands behind his head, gripping his pillow, and it's making his biceps so taut and round and it's pulling on his obliques and he's breathing hard so his abs are contracting and he just looks so tight. and you're staddling his hips, stuffed full of him, and your movements are so measured, slow and careful so that he's grinding against spots that make both of you shiver and tremble. and his whole face is flushed, his chest and his ears, and he's got sweat gathered in his hairline and dripping down his temples, and i think eye contact for him is so important but it also overwhelms the shit out of him and he can only stare up at you in awe for so long before he's pressing his face into his bicep because it's too much and and and
thinking about prohero! bakugou who loves to heat his hands up before planting a firm, hard smack on your ass every time he sees you cooking. typically he is the one to prepare the meals, so when you ask to make his favorite meal, he knows he going to make this a fun experience. he's got this smirk plastered over his mouth and you can feel the mischief radiating off of him. you can quite literally hear the bass in the palms of his hands as he's approaching you before you brace for impact. the heat is crackling before the sparks disappear in smoke.
it's not just a playful smack that he gives you, but he loves to smack and then squeeze your ass before leaning in and pressing the most loving and adoring kiss to your temple. you see, his plan originally was to simply tease you. his body gets close up behind you and his hands snake from your bottom to underneath your shirt so they can grip your waist. while his hips push your body up against the kitchen counter, katsuki's face rests in the groove of your neck to watch what you're up to. however, he only catches your hands shaking and nearly ruining the precision of your cutting because of his disrespectful behavior. you swore you could have melted to the floor if he wasn't holding you up. "fuck'n ridiculous," he grumbles in amusement. "if i wanted somethin' outta ya, i guess i know where to start, huh?"
men who address your pussy as "my pretty pussy" when they're fucking you. men who are pussy pronoun truther and go "look at 'er? she's soaking wet. my pretty pussy loves to be fucked stupid, yeah?"
you know, I really enjoy denial. but, like… soft denial.
I don’t want to ruin your orgasm. I don’t want deprive you of such pleasure. I just absolutely need to hear how cute and needy and whiny you can get once you’re just so. fucking. close. to getting what you’ve been working for. you’ve been so good for me this whole time- following every direction, being so polite with your cries of “please” and “thank you” .
I just need to hear you beg a bit. that’s all.
your shaky, breathy whines of “please, I’m so close”, paired with full-body shaking, eyes shutting tightly, hips swaying back and forth involuntarily; just so desperate to cum.
after you’ve been so good for me, of course I’m going to allow you to cum. to make a fucking. mess. on me. for me. but I need to hear you beg first.
When Katsuki asks you what first drew you to him, you wish you could say something sweet and poetic, like his eyes or his smirk or his deep, gravelly voice calling out to you in that dingy bar where you met.
Unfortunately he catches you at a bad time. Your guard is down and before you can stop yourself, it slips out.
"Your arms."
He quirks a brow, grabbing you before you can dart away, pulling you close to his body. "Hah?? My arms?"
You screech, giggling as you try to escape his hold. It's impossible, obviously. He growls in your ear, grabbing your jaw and making you look up at him. He's smirking incredulously, shaking his head at you.
"The fuck are you talkin' about?"
You decide to double down - he's already caught you, after all. You hook your hands on his bicep, the arm holding your face. The muscle bulges, and you realize the bastard is flexing.
"Like you don't know! Always wearing those stupid tank tops around me like a slut." You goad childishly.
A dangerous gleam shines in his eyes, and he gathers you up into his arms, laughing at your weak protests.
"Who're you calling a slut?" He growls.
He carries you into the bedroom, throwing you down and caging you in with his body. One hand gathers both of yours before pinning them above your head, the other adjusting you as he sees fit. He pushes himself between your legs, yours thrown over his thick thighs, splayed open for him.
An affectionate smirk greets your eyes when you look up at his face. Your body comes alive, slick coating your pussy, anticipating the pleasure to come.
Katsuki leans down, bullying his face into the crook of your neck, nipping and kissing and biting. Your pathetic mewls of pleasure only spurn him on, and you feel the hardness in his pants against your core. He leans back, looming over you, wanting to take in your expression.
He rolls his hips forward once, testing the waters. Your answering cry has him chuckling, cooing down at you.
"Aw, such cute noises from such a pathetic slut."
You scoff, pouting a bit. "I'm not a slut..." You argue.
An arched brow is your only warning, and he pushes the heel of his free hand against your cunt, grinding it against you.
An embarrassingly lewd moan rips from your throat. Your back arches as your pussy aches, clenching around nothing, yearning for his thick cock.
"Kastukiii.." You whimper.
He chuckles low in his throat, grinding his hand against you more, wanting to hear your pretty little sounds.
"What is it, slut?"
"Need you.." You plead.
"Not even gonna argue it now, ha?"
You frown, pleasure clouding your thoughts. Making you pliant, moldable in his capable hands.
There's nothing quite like the look Katsuki gives you when he's fucking you.
His brow is furrowed, which isn't unusual. It's not in the set of his jaw, either, or the punishing tempo of his hips slapping against yours. Pinning you down effortlessly, almost in a mating press.
What's nearly etheral are those deep red eyes trained on you. Watching you, picking you apart. Even with his breath growling out of him, the bass vibrates between both your chests. Makes your heart flutter.
He's watching you. For as much shit as he gives his old childhood friend, he is just as observant, just as meticulous in gathering information. In some ways, perhaps more so. Instead of penning it in a notebook, he sears it into his mind, his soul. From the slack of your jaw to the arch in your back, the way your eyes lose focus when his cock angles juuust right in your plush walls. The cute little tears gathering in your eyes, the pleading arches of your brows informing him that you're almost there.
You gurgle out a pathetic, whimpering moan. Such a delicate thing - he captures the sound with his lips, wanting to taste your sweet release on his tongue just as he feels your pussy gushing with slick around his cock.
He chuckles, biting your lower lip softly. A warning nip.
"Y'know, I'm not even close to done with you yet, pretty."
SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.
At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.
You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.
(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)
“I haven’t.” Kirishima wrings his hands as you nod and look away, trying to hide your expression. In other circumstances, the sight of such a big man—fiery red hair, sharp teeth, muscles and all—fretting in such a way would’ve been funny. Sweet. But as it is, your worry shadows everything.
The first couple of days after Bakugou falls off the grid, you’re a little annoyed. He couldn’t have spared a minute to reply before leaving? Or at least given you an estimate about when he’d be back? Given you a heads up at all?
But a couple days quickly turn into a week, and you begin to worry. Is this normal? Can you call his agency to ask? Or would that be inappropriate, you butting your head into hero business?
You don’t know if you’re being irrational or if you’re being overbearing when you and Bakugou are just friends. Unrequited soulmates don’t count. You have no real claim to knowledge regarding his whereabouts, his movements. You’re just friends.
But friends can worry about their friends. That’s totally normal. So you figure—it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Just one call.
“Hi Aiko. I was just wondering…” You hesitate. “You know how Bakugou—Dynamight is away on a mission right now? Would you happen to know when he’ll be back?”
“I’m sorry.” Even over the phone, her regret comes clear through. “I don’t have high enough clearance to know that info. And even if I did, it’s agency policy not to share that kind of information.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” you tell her, forcing a cheerful tone. You gnaw at your lip, feeling a little lost. What now?
“But I’m sure Red Riot would know!” she says, just as you make up your mind to say your goodbyes and hang up. “Would you like to schedule a meeting with him?”
You immediately perk up.
“Yes, please!”
Kirishima touches your shoulder. He says, “I think Bakugou’s been instructed to go dark for this mission.”
You look up into his earnest eyes.
“None of our friends have heard from him either,” he tells you.
“Oh.” The ball of anxiety that’s been sitting on your chest like a weight lightens just a little. So it’s not just you.
But is that a bad thing? No one’s heard from him?
The weight returns.
“Is it normal for him to take missions like this?” you ask. “You guys are used to it?”
Kirishima frowns, looking conflicted. “No… These longer missions are usually reconnaissance or stealth missions, and Bakugou’s quirk doesn’t really mix well with them. But there might be other reasons for him to go dark.”
“I see,” you say, gaze falling to the ground as frustration swells in you.
You’re so clueless about the hero profession. You don’t know what’s normal, how you should be feeling. If the relative calm Kirishima’s exuding is something you should mimic or if the calm’s due to his familiarity with situations like this. And it’s your own fault. Because in the months you’ve spent learning Bakugou, you could’ve asked about all this. About what he does and what’s to be expected. But you didn’t.
“Look, please don’t worry.” Kirishima ducks his head to look you in the eye. “Bakugou’s really, really good at what we do. He wouldn’t want you to stress over him being gone.”
“Right,” you say, summoning a weak smile.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” Kirishima promises.
“Thanks Kirishima,” you say.
“Call me Kiri, if you’re comfortable with it!” he says, grinning. “And send me pics of Mikan and Natsu. Bakugou’s stingy about sharing them.”
Laughing, you agree.
You: I finally got Kirishima’s number! Remembered to ask him while stopping by the agency this morning 😌
You send a picture you’d taken—Kirishima grinning in the background with the smoothie you’d gotten him, and you throwing up a peace sign at the camera.
Smiling a little, you imagine Bakugou’s reaction upon seeing the picture, seeing your message. He has no right calling you squirrely when he’s so weird about you being friendly with Kirishima. You’re not sure, but if you could hazard a guess, you think it’s because he’s uncomfortable with mixing friend groups. Which you can understand—sometimes it just doesn’t work, or it’s awkward to facilitate. But still.
You admit that it’s fun getting reactions out of Bakugou, that sometimes you do things on purpose. You miss messing with him.
Your messages finish sending, finally. But just like the other texts you’ve sent over the past few days, there’s no indication that they’ve been delivered.
Your smile fades.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Your head jerks up from your phone as you meet your friend’s eyes. Feeling strangely guilty, you set it down on the table in front of you as she settles back into her seat.
Mitsuru raises an eyebrow at you. “You’ve been glued to that thing today. You expecting to hear from someone?”
“Kind of,” you say, then make a face. “Or, I guess, not really. I’m not sure.”
“The most convoluted answer,” she says, snorting. “Here, pick something from the dessert menu while I flag down that server. You can tell me what’s up with you while we eat.”
Sighing, you take the menu from her.
Mitsuru’s sharp as a tack in general, but she’s also known you since middle school. It’s not often you wish you could hide things from her, but this time might be one of them.
You haven’t told anyone about reconnecting with Bakugou. Not Mitsuru, or any of your other friends. You hadn’t even noticed you’d kept your friendship with Bakugou to yourself until recently. You’re not sure why. It’s not like you’re actively hiding it. It’s just… how it’s turned out.
Okay, maybe you’ve been hiding it a little from Mitsuru specifically. But it’s because she knows him from your time at Aldera. She’d witnessed how mean he was to you, had gotten into verbal scuffles with him, defending you, until you’d asked her to stop.
So. You know that she doesn’t have a good impression of Bakugou. Even after all these years, when she sees ads or merch of him, she rolls her eyes.
But you do want to talk to someone about it, about him, if only to get some objectivity about your worry. And Mitsuru, with her frank, realistic outlook on the world, is perfect for the job.
So you tell her about it—an abbreviated, edited version of it. About this friend you’d gotten to know over the past couple months. The “business trip” he’d gone on with little notice and no heads up about when he’d be back. That’s you’re worried because you haven’t heard from him.
Hiding details—that it’s Bakugou, that the trip is a hero mission—makes you shift in your seat, a stone in your stomach. But you’re scared of what Mitsuru would say. What she’d think if she knew. She’d only ever seen the cruel child he’d been.
Mitsuru gives you a look when you finally fall silent. She plays with her nails, painted to look like glass, haloed like cat’s eyes, then lifts a hand to wrap a strand of black hair around her finger.
“This friend of yours,” she says. “It’s Dynamight, isn’t it.”
Your eyes widen. You choke on the water you’d been sipping.
“What? Why would you—”
Mitsuru watches as you stumble over your words, mind racing as you try to figure out what to say. She sighs.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to confirm anything if it’ll get you into trouble or something. But I’ve had my suspicions since I saw those promotional pics he took with those kittens. They’re the ones you’re fostering, right?”
Fuck. You should’ve thought of that. Mitsuru was the first to meet them, all those months ago.
“And then there was that noise on social media about Dynamight at that fancy pet store you were excited to try out a couple months back. Don’t think I wouldn’t recognize the back of your little head,” Mitsuru says, eyes narrowed at you.
You stare at her for a long moment, scrambling for things to say to deny it. She’s cool, eyes steady.
You cover your face with a hand.
“You can’t tell anyone,” you say, letting your hand fall, and she scoffs.
“Who do you think I am,” she says.
“You’re the only one I’ve told about him.”
Mitsuru raises a brow. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I appreciate you confiding in me, I do, but… I remember that little shit did to you when we were in junior high. What the hell are you thinking?”
You wince. “I know how it sounds. But he really has changed, Mitsuru. He’s not that little kid anymore. That bully. People grow up.”
“We really did meet months ago,” you say. “And within the first five minutes of conversation, he apologized. I wasn’t ready for it then, but… But since then, we’ve spent time together. Gotten to know each other. And he’s only ever been kind to me.”
You find that your words catch in your throat, an unexpected wave of emotion flowing through you. Fiddling with your fingers, you say quietly, “We’re friends now.”
You raise your eyes to meet Mitsuru’s.
Her expression has changed, softened a little. She reaches over and rubs your arm up and down briskly.
“Hey,” she says. “You don’t have to justify anything or feel any type of way about being friends with him given your history. I trust your judgement. I’m just worried, is all.”
“I get it,” you say. “He really was an asshole as a kid. But he’s a better person now. Promise.”
You feel your words with a certainty you didn’t have months ago. The Bakugou you know, who cares deeply for his friends, who’s always honest, who admits his mistakes, who puts so much effort and care into his job, helping people, protecting people—he’s a good person. One of the best people in your life.
Mitsuru leans back into her chair. She inhales deeply, exhales. She says, “Just one more thing. I… I know you say he’s your soulmate, that you can see his lights—”
Your breath catches. You know she doesn’t mean anything by it. But her doubt hurts. It echoes yours, feeds into an insecurity that’s only just tempered by the reassuring flicker of orange and gold when you see Bakugou.
“—but I remember how unkind he was when he told you it’s not a mutual thing. I don’t know if you’ve already resolved that with him, but… I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know.” You tap your foot against hers under the table. “Thank you. Really. And we… haven’t talked about it yet. It hasn’t come up.”
“Why not?”
You shrug, looking away. Prickles of discomfort race up and down your arms. You should talk about it. But. What if it changes things between you?
Mitsuru studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “All right. All right. But as your friend, I reserve the right to yell at him the second he fucks up. Just letting you know.”
You snort, tension releasing. “Yes, yes.”
“And you gotta introduce us. Re-introduce us.”
“I will!”
Mitsuru reaches over and pinches you in the arm. You whine.
She grins. “Okay, now tell me how the cats got tangled up in being promotional material for Super Explosion Guy blah blah blah. I can be nosy now that you’ve said something.”
You laugh. “His hero name is one of the funniest things about him, isn’t it? So it started because of that pet shop…”
Natsu, your sweet girl, is finally adopted. The paperwork is finalized, Bakugou’s PR people and the foster organization wrap up all loose ends, and you say goodbye.
It’s quieter, once she’s gone. Lonelier. She was never a noisy cat, but she would always curl up in your lap whenever you’d read or watch something on the couch. Make biscuits on you when you’d drape a blanket over your legs. She was the cuddliest of the three.
Mikan’s lost both his playmates, and you try to make up for it with extra play time and mental stimulation via things like treat puzzles. You’re glad you still have him. You don’t know what you’ll do when he leaves you too. He’s so big now.
To distract yourself, you sign up for a cooking class. It’s just one lesson, two and a half hours. You want to feel out the chef instructor, the vibes of doing something like this, before investing in other packages where more lessons are offered over the course of several weeks.
It’s surprisingly really fun. You’d gone in worried about your knife skills, about keeping up with the instructor. But you shouldn’t have because everyone is super nice and encouraging. The instructor is attentive, patient. And what you make ends up being surprisingly delicious.
Mitsuru comes over for dinner the next night and you prepare it for her. It’s a hit.
“How’s pilates been?” you ask, and Mitsuru groans, reclining further into the couch and patting her belly.
“A nightmare,” she says. “I didn’t think it’d be so tough. You’d think two decades of playing sports and generally being active would help. It does in some ways, but not really. You know, I got the shakes yesterday? We were doing an exercise on the reformer and my leg kept shaking, like I had no control over it. It was so embarrassing, jeez. I was at the front of the room, too.”
You laugh, imagining it, then shake your head. “If you think it’s hard, there’s no hope for me.”
She turns her head to look at you, eyes brightening. “Are you interested? Forget everything I said. It’s amazing. Life-changing. So fun. Easy, even. Come join.”
Laughing, you push her away as she smacks your leg in enthusiasm.
“Have you tried pilates?” you ask Kirishima as he finishes taking a big sip of the smoothie you’d gotten him. He’s just wrapped up a workout, and you’re visiting on your lunch break.
“No,” he says, tilting his head. “My friend Mina does classes at a studio, though, if you’re interested.”
“I’m definitely not,” you say. You give him a quick rundown of the conversation you had with Mitsuru, adding, “It just got me thinking about maybe joining a gym or picking up something easy I can do consistently. When I moved to this neighborhood two years ago, I canceled my old membership because of the distance. But with how much I’m chained to my desk at work, I figure I should find a new gym.”
“If you’re down, I can get you started with a couple workouts here at our agency’s gym until you find something you like,” Kirishima tells you. “I know some gyms in this area, so if you want, I’d be happy to help you look, too!”
You smile up at him.
“That’d be great, Kiri, thank you! You sure helping me with workouts won’t interfere with your schedule?”
“We’ll work it out, don’t worry.” He grins at you, giving you a look as if to say, Did you catch that? Did you get it?
You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m going to ignore that. That’s terrible.”
“Aww.” Kirishima ducks his head.
You shake yours. “But really, thank you. For the gym stuff and just for being so nice in general.”
“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we? Always happy to help a friend.”
You smile. You open your mouth, then hesitate.
You like Kirishima, think you can become even better friends with time. Still, you’re conscious that you haven’t known him long. That the topics of your conversations have been everyday, casual ones.
But lately, certain heavier thoughts have been plaguing you. Despite keeping busy at work, indulging your interests, investing in your other relationships, you can’t stop thinking about Bakugou. It’s been two weeks now.
Before, Bakugou being a pro hero meant that every once in a while you’d see him on the news if a villain altercation was serious enough to get covered. It meant seeing him in uniform on the streets during patrol, discreetly waving at him as you passed by on your way to and from work.
Now it means struggling with not knowing where he is, when he’ll be back, if he’s safe. When you’ll see him again and if he’s okay.
How do heroes, especially ones who grow up together as classmates like those attending UA or Shiketsu, handle all these feelings? How do their—their friends, their families, and their partners manage the fear and uncertainty?
You know you’re not doing a good job of it.
Looking up into Kirishima’s friendly face, those bright eyes and comforting smile, you take a little leap.
“Can I ask you a question? A kind of serious one.”
“Anything!” Kirishima says. He gestures for you to sit on a nearby bench, taking a seat next to you after you’re settled.
“What’s up?” he asks.
You take a deep breath and decide to just go for it.
“How do you deal with it? The worry, the… all these terrible feelings when your friends are risking their lives fighting people or going off on these long missions?” You have to stop yourself there, worried that if you keep going, you won’t be able to stop; all of these feelings you’ve been grappling with will just come rushing out.
Kirishima’s gaze softens, understanding. His mouth sets into a thoughtful line as he considers your question.
“It never stops being tough,” he says slowly. “Simple patrols can turn into fights, or chases, or rescues all the time. Other heroes with more specialized quirks and jobs can be put into even more danger than us regular heroes, depending. I went to school with people who told us the risks, and we faced them. Even earlier than we should’ve.”
For a moment, the planes of his face fall into a weariness, a seriousness you’d never seen on him before. That lovely light in his eyes dims, just a little.
He meets your gaze. “And we still stayed on with the job. For lots of us, helping people, keeping people safe, it’s worth all of it. But for our family, partners, who’re civilians, it’s hard.”
“So it never gets easy? You just have to live with it?” you ask quietly, that burden settling heavy in your heart.
“I don’t know about easy. But. For me, uh. I don’t know if this’ll be helpful at all, but, um, I try to stay in the present. I used to always be thinking about what ifs or things that hadn’t happened—yet, I thought, and worked myself up. Still do sometimes. But one of my former teachers told me that that’s no way to live your life. Miss out on so much doing that.”
You can relate.
Kirishima tilts his head, thinking for a moment.
“Oh! And of course there are, like, mental health professionals and support groups I can connect you to. If you want! Lots of heroes see someone regularly, and so do their family members or partners,” he says.
“I’d like that,” you tell him.
He smiles at you, reaches out to pat your hand. “Talking about it helps. Having community helps me most, personally. Friends who have my back, family who care. So. If you need someone. I’m always here, okay? I got you.”
An open hand, so readily offered.
A little lump rises in your throat. These people you’ve met—Bakugou, Kiri, Pulsar, Shieldmaiden—really are heroes. They’re such good people.
“Thanks, Kiri,” you say with a wobbly smile.
The days continue to pass, and you try to stay balanced, focused. Some days you succeed, and others you don’t.
A new restaurant near your work opens up, specializing in your favorite cuisine, and you and a coworker head out to try it.
You’re waiting for the light to change for the crossing, chatting with your coworker, when a flicker of orange catches your eye.
You raise your head, your coworker’s voice receding into the background as you slowly scan the streets for what’d caught your attention.
There. That orange and gold is unmistakable. Your breath catches.
“Bakugou,” you say, and—his name feels like it’s ripped out of you, a compulsion. The vowels and consonants are lost to the bustle of city life, but his name remains, a question on your tongue.
You nearly start forward, stepping into the street, before remembering yourself. It’s so hard to resist the urge to run after him, cars be damned, what your coworker would think be damned. But you hold yourself still, tense. Eyes locked on the man walking further and further away from you.
It’s him, right? If he wasn’t wearing a hoodie, you’d be able to tell for sure by his hair, his build. But the hoodie obscures the lines of his body. This far away, you can no longer make out any flashes of orange and gold.
The wait for this pedestrian crossing is so fucking long. You’re going to file a complaint to—to someone, to whomever is in charge of this shit. Fuck.
Biting your lip, you watch as his figure disappears around the corner.
“What’d you say?” your coworker asks, jostling you.
You blink, feeling a little out of body, dazed. Your coworker peers into your face, concerned.
“You good?”
“I—yeah. I’m fine.” Forget about lunch. You need to check your phone.
But before you can do so, your coworker grabs your elbow, propelling you forward. “Hey, the light’s changing, c’mon.”
Maybe you imagined it. Maybe it wasn’t him.
The second you got the chance, you checked your phone. But there were no messages from Bakugou waiting for you, none from Kiri. Just a couple from Mitsuru, one from your mom, another from a coworker asking you to pick something up from the restaurant for them.
Maybe you’re losing it.
You sigh, stroking down the length of Mikan’s back, eyes watching but not perceiving the show you’d put on.
He’d text you if he were back in town, right? Kiri would give you a heads up. So it was your wishful thinking earlier, your imagination.
You miss him. It’s been almost three weeks. You’ve thought about reaching out to the groups Kiri recommended to you, but you always chicken out at the last minute, phone in hand, number undialed.
Kiri’d said that heroes’ family or partners go to these things. He hadn’t mentioned friends. Would it be weird to show up just as a hero’s friend? Would telling them he’s your soulmate help justify it?
But no, because. What would you even say? Hi, I’m a hero’s friend. Yeah, just friends. Well, no, technically he’s also my soulmate. What do I mean by technically? Well, he’s mine but I’m not his. So yeah.
Even the thought of admitting that to strangers makes you nauseous.
And what if you slip and say his name? You don’t want people to know you’re talking about Bakugou. You’re not sure you’re allowed to say he’s on a mission. You’re still not sure you want people outside your personal lives aware that you know each other, are friends.
You pick Mikan up, lifting him to eye level, and bury your face in his side. That nice cat smell envelops you for a nice moment.
He squirms out of your grip, jumping to the floor. Giving you a look, he begins washing his fur with his tongue.
You slump into the couch, defeated.
Bright and early, the next morning finds you at the agency in workout clothes.
All night, you’d tossed and turned, mind busy. You’d fallen into a fitful sleep around 2 AM, only to wake up again around 5 AM. At that point, you gave up and decided that maybe if you tired your body out, your mind would shut up and let you rest. At the very least, you’re grateful it’s a Saturday and you don’t have to come in to work.
Flashing a quick smile and wave to the front desk, you use your access card to head up to the gym. The halls are quiet, and the few people using the gym are people you don’t know.
You slip on some headphones and get to work.
Truthfully, you shouldn’t be mooching off Kiri’s—and Bakugou’s—generosity. But you’ve really enjoyed the workouts you’ve had with Kiri this past week. He designed a workout routine for you and demonstrated the exercises you’ve been doing. He’s encouraging, and he knows just how far to push you. He really has a way with people. It’s made you less motivated to seek out your own gym. You’ve been spoiled.
You’ll look into the gyms Kiri recommended later today, you resolve. After a nap. The workout’s done its job. You clean up the machine you’d been using and head out.
You’re mid-yawn, eyes squinted and watering, so you don’t catch that someone’s trying to enter the gym at the same time as you’re exiting until it’s too late.
“Oh, sorry,” you say, quickly wiping at your eyes, embarrassed. When they’re clear, you look up, then freeze.
“Bakugou!”
Bakugou grunts. Says your name in greeting. His eyes quickly scan you up and down before coming to rest on your face.
You’re warm, very aware that you’re still a little sweaty. You hope you don’t smell. You want to hug him so badly, but you’re too nervous. You’re self-conscious, shy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you.
He looks tired, eyes weary. His hair’s grown out a little, longer than you’re used to seeing on him. A bandage rests right below his scar, stark against his skin.
The little details don’t matter. You’re so happy to see him. You’re smiling, not realizing it.
When Bakugou doesn’t say anything more, you ask, “When did you get back?”
He hesitates for a second, looks at the wall next to you, then back at you.
“A couple days ago,” he says shortly.
You pause.
“A couple days ago?” you repeat. A feeling you can’t quite name begins to creep up the back of your neck. It’s not a nice feeling. “Oh. Did you, I mean, were there a lot of post-mission things you needed to do?”
“Yeah. A bunch of annoying bullshit.”
You make a sympathetic sound. There, you tell yourself silently. He had reasons for not giving you a heads up that he’s been back. The world doesn’t revolve around you.
“What’re you doing here?” he asks.
The gym’s doors open behind you as someone exits, and Bakugou puts a hand on the small of your back, pulling you to the side and out of the way.
His hand on your back, even through your clothes, is warm.
It takes you a second to reply. “Kiri said it’d be okay if I use the agency’s gyms until I find my own. I hope that’s okay.”
“S’fine,” he says.
His hand’s still on your back. He’s standing so close to you, just looking at you. At your face, darting down your body, as if committing you to memory. As if it’s something you won’t notice. You don’t mind at all. You can’t take your eyes off him either.
But—
“I—sorry, I gotta ask, it’s bothering me,” you say. “I hear that you’ve been busy, but. A quick, ‘Hey I’m back, I’m fine’ message would’ve been appreciated, y’know? If you were allowed. Was it that you weren’t allowed to tell non-heroes that you’re back?”
Bakugou’s hand falls away from you. He exhales deeply and crosses his arms over his chest.
“No. Just didn’t have time to talk to you.”
Something sharp and unpleasant rises as a slow wave in you. You remind yourself that busy is busy, and some things aren’t in his control.
But—it’s been days. If it really was him you saw the other day, out in the city, it’s been at least four days. And it looks like he was heading into the gym before you bumped into him.
Frowning, you shift your gym bag to your other hand, bowing your head. “Bakugou. You were gone a long time, and I had no idea what was happening with you. I feel like you could’ve shot me a quick message.”
“I told you I was gonna be on a mission,” he says, furrowing his brows.
“Yeah, but you didn’t say when you’d be back, or if it’d be dangerous, or anything except just that,” you say, voice rising a little at the end.
Inhaling deeply, you force yourself to breathe, speak normally. “Neither Kiri nor the agency could tell me anything. It sucked, Bakugou. I just wanna know what’s going on.”
Bakugou scowls.
“Look, I told you I’ve been busy,” he says. “I just got back, give me a fucking second. And I can’t always tell you shit just because it’s inconvenient for you not to know.”
The gym doors open once more, another person leaving, and you become hyper aware that you’re having this conversation in public. Suddenly, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore.
“You’re right,” you say evenly. “Sorry for overstepping. I’ll let you get to your workout.”
You move to get past him, and he steps in front of you. You stop just short of touching, your hands tightening into fists. The strap of your bag digs into the meat of your hand.
“Fuck,” Bakugou says. “You’re not getting it. Stop taking shit personally. It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
You look at him. Shaking your head, you say, “You know what? I’m done here. Bye.”
“We’re not done with shit,” Bakugou says.
“Well I’m done, so back off.”
“Not until—”
“Look, Bakugou,” you say, voice trembling. Shit. You don’t want him to think you’re crying, because you’re not. You’re just so mad. “I’m really fucking upset right now. And the shit you’re saying’s just making things worse. Let’s table this. Let me go.”
He stares at you for a long moment. You stare back at him defiantly.
“Fine,” he growls.
“Great,” you say.
You turn on your heel and leave.
Your mind is empty the entire train ride home.
Distantly, you recognize that your back and neck ache from the tension you’re carrying, but it’s impossible to relax. You feel a little separate from your body, like you’re watching yourself move through the actions of getting off at your stop and walking back to your apartment.
Once you’re home, you throw yourself into a hot shower, hoping to jar yourself out of the mood you’re in. But even after it, you’re still tense, still aching.
You try to take a nap. But your body only remembers conflict; the normally satisfying ache and tiredness post-workout is nowhere to be found. You’re wide awake.
The anger rears its head once more. Why doesn’t he get it? That you were worried, that you wanted him to communicate as much as he could, as soon as he could.
You understand that he can’t tell you certain things because of the nature of his work. You just want him to think of you, of how you’d feel, of how you felt.
Then it’s like a switch flipping, and you’re just. Sad. What a dumb thing to argue over. Such a small thing. Did you overreact? Did you mess things up because you’re overthinking things?
But how would he feel, if you did the same thing to him? Just—fucked off to some place without telling him where or when you’d be back? And when you did get back, not let him know until it’s been days?
Maybe he wouldn’t care. Maybe it’s that you care too much, too much to be right for the relationship you have with him.
Sleep finds you, eventually. You’re grateful.
Author's Note: And... I'm terrible! Awful! First I left ya'll with a cliffhanger with chapter 10, and now I show up nearly a year later with this angsty chapter... Feel free to yell at me in the replies, I deserve it. 😔
But thank you to all of you who've liked, reblogged, and commented on chapters of this fic since last update! And sent in asks wondering if I'm ever going to update again!! LOL! Knowing that people are still reading and care to know the end of Bakugou and Reader's story motivates me to keep writing. 💖
I do have about 2K of chapter 12 written... Hoping to post that soon, and not after a year has passed lmao. 😅
if there’s one thing bakugou katsuki guarantees, it’s getting you off at least five times a night
so it’s safe to say you’re exhausted the next morning, limbs heavy, face pressed into the pillow. it’s a point of pride for him, actually, fucking you that good that you’re sprawled out on his bed, little bit of drool hitting the pillowcase, while he’s out making you breakfast
he loves taking care of you, would never in a million years admit it to anyone but you, but that possessive side of him revels in being the person you depend on
wakes you up with a raspy, “made ya a coffee, lazy girl,” while peeling the covers away from your body and picking up your sleep-heavy body to tuck it against his
practically fucking purrs when you wrap your arms around his neck and start peppering his face and throat with sleepy kisses. “needy for me already, baby?”
makes you work yourself up against his thigh, flexing the muscle just right so your sleep shorts are riding in between your folds and bunching up at your clit, satisfied smirk on his face at the cute little whines you make as you cum
makes you eat your breakfast after and then makes you cum on his dick all over again
touchstarved!bakugou who is a ticking time bomb every time you come anywhere close to him. he’s hyper-aware of every movement your body makes to the point where he’s even more irritable and snappy than usual
touchstarved!bakugou who refuses to think he actually crave another person’s touch, but who actively daydreams about the simplest, most innocent things, like running his thumb over the back of your hand or resting his palm on the small of your back
touchstarved!bakugou who can’t belive his ears when you offer yourself up as stress relief
touchstarved!bakugou who is extremely sensitive, like blow gently on his dick and he might cum kind of sensitive, so the second he’s sliding inside your tight little hole he’s gritting his teeth, swallowing down the fucked-out whimper that nearly crawled out of his throat
touchstarved!bakugou who gets surprisingly vocal in his praise as he pounds into you from behind, his grip on your hips the only thing keeping you upright. “fuck yes princess absolutely fucking gushing on this dick, aren't ya?” he snarls and pistons his hips faster.
touchstarved!bakugou who stays inside of you after he cums, swatting your ass if you move away from him, “give me a few minutes, i’ll be ready for round two”
Mercenary!Bakugo receives the title of Count and some land after his efforts in the King's war, and is offered one gift of his choosing.
Of course, from the minute he stepped into the throne room with his hulking, massive form, all the court nobles are scared stiff. Scars and tattoos decorate his skin, and his wild, spiky hair is grown down to his shoulders, too busy fighting in the countless battles of the last few years to bother cutting it.
He ripped the sleeves off the monkey suit the attendants tried to shove him into for the ceremony, it being too small for his body, the neck stretched open to show his bulging pecs, gold chains dangling down his chest. He flexes his hands open and shut, shooting glares around the room.
His footfalls are heavy and vibrate through the polished marble floor as he approaches the king's dais, where the small man sits, stroking his beard with one hand.
"Thanks to you, many lives were saved and many fruitless battles were won. I grant you the title of Count, as well as the land you once called home, Yueii. In addition, I will grant you anything you ask, any wish. Consider it my gift, as thanks for your service to this kingdom."
His fiery red eyes immediately shoot to the trembling figure standing just behind her father's throne - you're the youngest princess, just of age, biting your pretty lip and doing your best to appear brave. His face contorts into a harsh grin. The surly blonde brute knows just what he wants. He wants you.
"Her," he rasps, pointing one calloused finger at you, and with fear gripping your heart, your father readily accepts.
You're thrown over his mountain of a shoulder and carried out of the room without him even caring to sample the feast prepared in his honor. He doesn't care about fine dining by nobles' standards - he wants a good fuck.
And you're gonna give it to him, whether you like it or not.
