synopsis. after two weeks of radio silence, katsuki finally confesses
contents. suggestive! angst with a happy ending. pro hero! katsuki bakugou x pro hero! fem! reader. canon compliant. mutual pining. friends to lovers. post-argument. bakugou is bad at feelings. first kisses and confessions. light on smut࿐
katsuki bakugou is angry. he’s holding two plaques made of polished metal and engraved with flowery script, playing nice with the heroes that dare to approach him, and all he wants to do is blow up the entire damn gala.
he wants to shred it all with his bare hands. the shimmering gowns, the flashing cameras, the ceaseless, vapid small talk. he wants to tear it all down and watch it burn. in part, because he hates attending these pointless glaze fests.
but the real reason, the epicenter of his explosive fury, is standing across the room, looking beautiful as always. you.
you haven’t spoken to him in two weeks. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours of suffocating silence. and here you are, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, looking like you don’t have a care in the world. you’re holding a glass of deep red wine, the dark liquid swirling in the bowl of the glass as you listen, rapt, to every word that falls from shoto todoroki’s lips.
todoroki. icy-hot. of all fucking people.
anger is constantly simmering just beneath katsuki’s skin, a thrum he usually channels into his hero work. rage he so often uses to fuel his quirk. but tonight, his anger is personal. it’s a hot, sick feeling in his gut that coils tighter every time he hears your laugh — a sound he used to be able to coax out of you so easily — now echoing across the room because of someone else.
that half-and-half bastard. shoto fucking todoroki.
the plaques in his hand feel heavier than they should. ‘for exceptional valor and strategic brilliance in the neutralization of villains” and “for outstanding contributions to civilian safety” bullshit.
all he did was what he always does: find the bad guys and blow them the hell up. but the cameras keep flashing, and a portly man in a too-tight tux is slapping his back and telling him he’s a credit to the nation. katsuki bares his teeth in what he hopes passes for a smile.
his agent, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard, had drilled it into him: “smile, dynamight. look approachable. you’re a brand.”
a brand. right now, he feels like a malfunctioning appliance about to short-circuit and take out a whole power grid. his eyes keep drifting away from the sponsor, scanning the opulent ballroom. it’s a sea of shimmering gowns and dark suits, of sparkling champagne flutes and forced smiles. but he only sees one thing. you.
you’re standing near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop behind you. you’re not dressed in anything flashy, not like some of the other heroes here trying to outshine each other. your dress is a deep, muted blue, simple in its elegance, but it clings to you in all the right places.
your hair is swept up, exposing the long, graceful line of your neck that he has spent far too many nights thinking about. you look . . . ethereal. and completely, infuriatingly, absorbed in the man standing next to you.
the number two hero, is leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur that katsuki can’t hear but can imagine. all calm and collected and fucking loquacious. and you’re nodding, your head tilted, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you swirl the red wine in your glass. you take a sip, and your eyes, bright and beautiful, never leave his face.
it’s the two weeks of silence that makes this unbearable. two weeks since the argument. two weeks since you walked out of his penthouse, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the sudden quiet.
he’d been an idiot. a complete, selfish bastard. he remembers it with crystal clarity. he’d gotten his ribs busted on a mission, nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a few days of mandatory rest. and you, being you, had descended upon his apartment like a force of nature.
“no, katsuki, you are not getting up. you’re going to lie on that couch and you’re going to let me take care of you.”
“i don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he’d snarled, trying to push himself up, wincing as the pain shot through his side.
“i’m not babysitting you, i’m making sure you don’t pop your stitches and bleed out on your ridiculously expensive couch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re hurt,” you’d shot back, pressing a firm hand to his chest. “now lie down.”
he’d hated it. hated the feeling of being weak, of being managed. it reminded him too much of his mother, of all the times she’d fussed over him when he was a kid. and in a moment of frustration, laced with a fear he refused to acknowledge, he’d lashed out.
“quit nagging me, you’re not my mom or my damn girlfriend, so just back the fuck off!”
the words had hung in the air, ugly and so fucking sharp. he’d seen the change in your face instantly. the soft concern in your eyes had hardened. you’d straightened up, and your expression became unreadable.
“you’re right,” you’d said, your voice quiet and its cadence devoid of all its usual warmth. “i’m not.”
and just like that, you were gone. you didn’t yell back. you just . . . left. and the silence you left behind was louder than any explosion he could possibly ever create.
he’d told himself he was right. that you were overstepping. but the satisfaction he thought he’d feel never came. instead, there was just a hollow ache in his chest and the phantom scent of your vanilla perfume on his couch cushions.
he hadn’t texted. his pride was sacrosanct, and he couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to break the stalemate. he’d waited for you, checking his phone every five seconds like a pathetic loser. but your name never lit up his screen.
the days after the argument bled into a week, then two. the only communication he had from you was a group text about the gala, one sent to the whole old class 1-a crew. and tonight, seeing you here, looking so beautiful and so far away, it fucking hurt.
“bakugou? earth to bakugou?”
katsuki blinks, dragging his gaze away from you. kirishima is standing in front of him, his trademark sharp-toothed grin looking a little forced. sero is beside him, nursing a drink and looking around the room with a bored expression.
“the fuck do you want, shitty hair?” katsuki grunts, his voice rougher than he intended.
“whoa, easy there, man. just checking on you. you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire,” kirishima says, holding up his hands placatingly. “which, you know, is kind of your deal, but maybe not tonight.”
sero follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on you and todoroki. he lets out a low whistle. “ahh. i see. that’s the problem.”
“shut the hell up,” katsuki warns, his knuckles white around his plaques. he can feel the heat prickling at his palms, a sizzle that he has to consciously suppress.
“look, man, i don’t know what happened,” kirishima says, lowering his voice. “but you’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. and you haven’t stopped staring at her and todoroki since they started talking. it’s been like, thirty minutes. maybe you should just . . .go talk to her?”
“and say what? ‘hey gorgeous, sorry i’m a colossal asshole but i get territorial when you talk to other guys’?” sero chimes in, earning himself a glare from katsuki. “what? it’s the truth.”
“it’s not like that,” katsuki lies through his teeth. it’s exactly like that. he’s a fucking caveman. he sees you with someone else and all he wants to do is drag you away, mark his territory, prove to everyone — but mostly to himself — that you’re his. except you’re not. and that’s the whole damn problem.
“then what’s it like?” kirishima pushes, his tone gentle. he’s the only one ( excluding you ) who can get away with this, the only one who knows how to navigate katsuki's landmines. “you guys are weird. you’re not together, but you’re always together. you stay at her place more than your own. you have her patrol route memorized. you text her more than you text us. but then you pull shit like this. it’s confusing for everyone, man. especially her.”
katsuki’s jaw ticks. he knows kirishima is right. he knows he’s been sending you mixed signals for years.
( it started wayyy back in kindergarten, when you were the only girl who didn’t annoy the shit out of him. the only one who stood up for deku when katsuki was picking on him he was being a pathetic crybaby, earning you grudging respect from katsuki even as he cussed you out for having a bleeding savior complex.
his mom had loved you, always saying how nice it would be to have a daughter like you, which had simultaneously embarrassed him and made him weirdly proud. you’d stayed close through all the chaos of ua, through internships and wars and the steady climb to becoming pro heroes. )
he’s always had a soft spot for you, a fact he’d rather die than admit out loud.
he likes taking care of you — he likes you taking care of him, even if he frames it as nagging. he likes knowing you’re safe, that you’ve eaten, that you’re drinking water instead of those disgusting energy drinks you love so damn much. he likes the way you leave your socks on his floor and the way you steal his hoodies. he likes all of it. and it terrifies him. it’s too much vulnerability and he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he defaults to what he knows: pushing you away before you can get close enough to see that he’s not worthy of you.
“i’m not talking to her,” katsuki says, rigidly “not tonight.”
“fine,” kirishima sighs, defeated. “but don’t come ranting to me when todoroki makes his move.”
katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. he just turns his back on his friends, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. you’ve just accepted your own award, a sleek thing for your humanitarian work, something about setting up a support network for young heroes with trauma. you’d given a short speech, and the applause had been incessant.
now, you’re back with todoroki, and he’s handing you another glass of wine. you touch his arm as you laugh at something he says, and katsuki feels a tiny spark in his palm. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until the urge to blast something subsides.
he seethes as the night begins to wind down. deku and pink cheeks leave together, their heads close together, smiling. raccoon eyes is dragging sparky towards the bar again. he sees you talking to ponytail, pointing towards the exit. he knows you. you’re about to call a cab.
fuck that.
he’s been an idiot. he’s been a coward. he’s let you slip through his fingers because he’s too proud and too scared to admit what he wants. but he’ll be damned if he lets you leave here in some stranger's car when he’s right here. he’s not letting you go that easily.
without so much as thinking, he starts moving. he cuts a direct path through the dwindling crowd, his shoulders set, his expression a thundercloud. he doesn’t care who he has to shove out of his way to get to you.
you’re still talking to momo, your back to him, when he reaches you.
“let’s go.”
his voice cuts through your conversation roughly. you freeze, then turn slowly. your eyes, when they meet his, are wide with surprise, then they narrow with irritation.
“huh?” you ask, your voice laced with disbelief.
he stares at you, jaw set. “i said. let’s go.”
momo is looking between the two of you, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in intrigue. you cross your arms over your chest, defiantly
“and why, exactly, would i go anywhere with you?”
“are you gonna make me beg you or some shit”he shoots back, his patience wearing thin. he sees your mouth open to retort, but he doesn’t give you the chance. he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. he doesn’t wait for your permission, just turns and starts pulling you along with him.
“bakugou, what the hell are you doing? let go of me!” you’re squawking, stumbling a bit in your heels as you try to keep up with his long, angry strides.
“shut up and walk,” he growls, not even looking back at you. as he drags you away from the gala and out into the night.
the bickering starts the moment you hit the pavement. a verbal sparring match that’s as second-nature as breathing.
“you’re an asshole, you know that?”
“yeah? well you’re a stubborn pain in my ass.”
“i wouldn’t have to be stubborn if you weren’t such a neanderthal who thinks he can just manhandle people whenever he wants.”
“i wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just listen when i fucking talk to you.”
“you haven’t ‘talked’ to me in two weeks, bakugou!”
“you haven’t talked to me either”
the argument dies on your lips as he leads you to the valet stand. he gives the attendant his ticket with a sharp nod, his hand still firmly on your wrist. the sleek black porsche pulls up a moment later, its engine a low, predatory purr. he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture so out of character it momentarily stuns you into silence.
“get in,” he orders, his voice clipped.
you glare at him, but you do it. you slide into the plush leather seat, grumbling under your breath about bossy, arrogant pro-heroes who think they own the world. he slams the door shut, rounding the hood to get in the driver’s side. the moment he’s behind the wheel, the atmosphere in the car shifts. the music blasts on, some thrash metal band screaming about death and destruction, so loud it makes your teeth ache.
he doesn’t say a word. he just grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. he peels away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest. you press yourself back into the seat, staring at the dashboard, refusing to look at him. the city lights blur past the window, streaks of color in the darkness.
ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. the only sound is the aggressive music and the low hum of the engine. you can’t stand it. it’s worse than the fighting.
“you know,” you start “for someone with such great taste in cars, your music taste is absolute garbage.”
he grunts. but he reaches over, his fingers jabbing at the touchscreen on the console. the screaming metal cuts off abruptly, replaced by the soft strains of an indie band you love.
you shiver, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on your arms. the air conditioning is cranked up to arctic levels. he notices, of course he does. he just nods his head towards the back seat, where his suit jacket is carelessly tossed.
you hesitate for a second, then sigh, reaching back to grab it. you shrug it on, the heavy fabric immediately enveloping you. it smells like him. that woodsy, smoky cologne he wears, mixed his the unique scent. it’s simultaneously comforting and infuriating. he reaches down without a word and turns the ac down a few notches.
but he still doesn’t speak to you.
“can i ask you something, bakugou?” you ask,
the constant use of his last name hits him like a punch to the gut. so it’s like that now? he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking like a time bomb. “you just did, dumbass,” he scoffs.
“don’t be a smartass,” you snap, your voice rising. “why the hell did you make me come with you if you’re not going to talk to me?”
“you’re the one who didn’t say shit to me all night!” he retorts, “i walked in, saw you, and you looked right through me. not even a fucking ‘hi, katsuki’”
“maybe because you didn’t say shit to me all week!” you fire back, turning in your seat to face him. your eyes are blazing, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, he can see how beautiful you are when you’re angry.
“yeah? maybe because you fucking left!” he scoffs, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly.
“don’t act like i wanted to!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration. “i took off because you can’t make up your damn mind! one minute you’re acting like we’re a . . . a thing, and the next you’re pushing me away and making me feel crazy for actually giving a damn about you!”
“what are you talking about?” he growls, his eyes glued to the road.
“oh, don’t play dumb, bakugou!” you exclaim, gesturing wildly. “you stay at my place and make me breakfast in the morning. you’re always showing up on my patrol route to ‘check in’. you’re always sending me texts, being all ‘don’t skip meals like a dumbass’ and ‘drink some fucking water today like a normal person’ and ‘don’t stay up all night watching those shitty rom-coms, you’ll be useless tomorrow’ ! you’re the one who acts like we’re a couple, and then you turn around and make me feel like i’m wrong for caring about you!”
he’s silent. the only sounds in his porsche are your ragged breathing and the soft music playing from the speakers. he just drives, his face a mask of stone. the silence is worse than the yelling. it feels like a dismissal.
“well?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have anything to say?”
“well i’m trying to think,” he grits out, his voice low and strained.
but he hasn’t raised his voice. not once. through the entire tirade, he’s kept it level, controlled. because as pissed off as he is, as much as he wants to rage and scream, he can’t. he can’t scream at you. he can’t stay mad at you. not really. not when you look like this.
your glossy bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your brows are knitted together, your eyes are slanted with a fury that’s breathtakingly beautiful. your voice, high and pitched with emotion, is reverberating off the windows, filling the small space with your presence. he hates it. he loves it.
you look away from him, staring out the window, your shoulders slumping in defeat. and that’s when he breaks. one hand is still on the wheel, but the other moves, finding its way to your thigh. his touch is hesitant at first, then firm against the thin fabric of your dress.
“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry, ‘kay?”
you scoff, not looking at him.
“i fucked up but that doesn’t mean you need to run off with someone else,” he says, his voice strained with jealousy he can no longer hide.
you let out a humorless laugh, finally turning back to him “i didn’t run off with anyone else.”
“you know what i mean,” he insists, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly.
“no, katsuki, i don’t think i do,” you say, “why don’t you spell it out for me?”
“i’m not gonna spell it out for ya,” he grunts, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. “it’s bad enough he was hogging you all night.”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you ask, your voice softening, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes.
“huh?”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you echo, enunciating each word clearly.
“the hell?” he sputters, his composure finally cracking.
“jealous. like the feeling you get when you’re scared of losing someone to someone else and—”
“i’m not scared of shit!” he snarls, cutting you off.
the car is low on gas, the warning light a small, glowing beacon on the dashboard. he spots a gas station up ahead and swerves into the lot, pulling up to a pump with a screech of tires. he cuts the engine. the music dies, plunging the car into a heavy silence that’s more deafening than the noise had been.
he turns to you then, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station.
“jealousy is for fucking losers who are scared of shit they can’t control,” he says, “that’s not what this is. this is me being pissed off because i had to watch the only person i actually give a damn about laugh at some half-and-half bastard’s shitty jokes. it made me want to put my fist through a goddamn wall.”
he takes a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel.
“i told you to quit nagging me because this is confusing,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t fucking know where i stand with you. and i’m not used to feeling like this. i never know what to do, and i’m always fucking up and pushing you away. but i’m not jealous. i’m fucking pissed with myself for being a damn coward.”
and with that, he shoves his door open and gets out of the car, leaving you alone with his words and the frantic beating of your own heart.
you watch him through the windshield as he jams the nozzle into the gas tank, his movements sharp and angry. he stares blankly ahead.
he fills the tank. he replaces the nozzle. he gets back in the car. he starts the engine. he turns to look at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.
and you’re done. you’re done with the fighting and the silence. you’re done with the uncertainty. you lean across the center console, the plastic digging into your abdomen, and you cup his face in your hands. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms. his ears and cheeks flush instantly, a deep, burning red that rivals his crimson eyes. a deep red that you can see even in the dim light.
“the hell are you doing?” he manages to stutter, his eyes wide with shock.
you don’t answer. you just close the distance and press your lips to his.
it’s not gentle. it’s all the frustration and longing and unspoken feelings of the last two weeks finally exploding. it’s teeth and tongues and desperate, hungry kisses. one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the other gripping the back of your neck, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to slip through his fingers. you get lost in it, in the taste of him, in the feel of him whimpering against your lips, until a loud, impatient honk from the car behind you shatters the moment.
you pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling. he moans, a low, frustrated sound, and you can’t help but laugh. he looks like he’s about to get out of the car and start a fight, even though he’s the one blocking the pump.
“be patient for fucks sake!” he yells, winding down his window to flip the other driver off.
you’re still laughing as he pulls away from the pump and merges back onto the empty street. the sound of your laughter seems to quench some of his remaining anger, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.
“we left our conversation unfinished,” he says, his voice softer now. he glances over at you, and his eyes are funny. all soft and warm in a way you've never seen before. “can’t just kiss me out of the blue when we’re not done talking, dumbass”
“unfinished, huh?” you hum, a little flustered under his gaze. you can still feel the lingering sensation of his lips on yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin. “i thought we came to a pretty solid conclusion.”
he scoffs, but there’s no frustration in it. “we came to a conclusion about me being a coward. we still haven’t figured out what this is.” he gestures between the two of you. “i’m not good with labels and shit. and you’ve got so many expectations i probably won't meet. i’m guaranteed to fuck something up ‘cause i don’t know how to be all . . . lovey dovey,” he says the words like they taste bad, “but i know what i want.”
he pulls up to a red light and turns his body fully towards you. the soft glow of the traffic light paints his face in shades of crimson, making his eyes glow like embers.
“i want you to stop looking at icy-hot and other extras like they’ve got something to offer you,” he says, “cause they fucking don’t. i’m all you need and i’m done pretending this isn’t everything to me.”
the man who’s too proud to ask for anything is asking to be your everything.
“everything?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he simply nods.
“define everything,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. you expect him to call you a brat, to accuse you of trying to rile him up. but it doesn’t come.
instead, he looks away from the road for a second, his gaze dropping to your hands, which are now tangled together on the center console. the red light bathes him in its unforgiving glow, and you see something shift in his expression. the defensiveness melts away, replaced by honesty that’s far more disarming.
“everything,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble, “is you living in my head rent fucking free.”
your smirk falters.
“it’s me getting pissed off for no goddamn reason when you’re not with me and i don’t know what the hell you’re doing. it’s me staring at my phone after that stupid argument, wanting to text you so bad my thumbs fucking hurt, but not knowing what the hell to say because i’m the asshole who made you to leave.”
he takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel now, as if confessing to it is easier than confessing to you.
“it’s me wanting to drag you away from icy-hot the second i saw you with him, not just because i was pissed, but because i’m greedy, okay? i want all that shit you watch in those dumb rom coms. i want an apartment, or a shitty little townhouse, i don’t give a fuck. i want to wake up and know you’re the first thing i’ll see. i want to cook for you because you seem to get off on neglecting yourself and someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat your goddamn three a day. i want to take care of you.”
he finally looks at you, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.
“that’s what everything is,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s selfish. it’s me wanting all of your time, all of your attention, all of your annoying, stubborn, fucking beautiful self. all to myself. it’s me wanting to be the one who makes you laugh. it’s me wanting to be the only one who gets to see you like this. so yeah. you’re everything to me.”
the light turns verdant. the car behind you honks. but neither of you moves. you’re frozen in this moment. static in this raw confession that has completely dismantled every defense he’s ever built around you. he didn’t just answer your teasing question; he laid his soul bare on the console between you, waiting for you to either take it or leave it.
the world shrinks to the space inside his car. the honking from behind fades into a distant, meaningless buzz. your teasing smirk is long gone, replaced by a slack-jawed awe. you’re not breathing. you’re not sure you even remember how.
katsuki bakugou — the boy who called you a bloody samaritan for standing up for deku. the teenager who scoffed at every romance movie you made him watch. the explosive hero who snarls at cameras and sneers at press conferences — just confessed to wanting a life so domestic, so tender with you. and it sounded just like something straight out of one of those ‘shitty rom coms’ he claims to hate.
a choked sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a sob. you’re not crying, not really, but your eyes are stinging. you squeeze his hand, your grip tight enough to make him look at you, really look at you.
“katsuki,” you breathe, and his name is a prayer on your lips. “you. . you really want all that?”
he flinches, just slightly, as if your disbelief physically hurts him. the vulnerability in his eyes hardens into that familiar, defensive glower. “i just laid my damn heart out for you and you’re gonna question me?” he starts to snap, his old reflexes kicking in.
“no,” you shake your head. you lean forward, closing the distance until your forehead is nearly touching his. “no, i’m not questioning you. i’m . . . trying to believe it’s real.”
the anger in his face dissolves instantly. he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. “it’s real,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “it’s always been real.”
your heart stutters, then restarts at a frantic, pace. all the years of friendship, the bickering, the unspoken tension—it wasn’t in your head. it wasn’t just you wishing for something more. it was real for him, too.
“tsuki, i’ve wanted this forever” you whisper back, your voice trembling. it’s like you’ve just defused a bomb you’ve been carrying around for a decade. the last of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he sags against you, his forehead resting on yours. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re the softest they’ve ever been and his pupils are blown so impossibly wide.
“me too” he breathes, reverently. “you have no idea.”
he finally starts driving again. you’re so close to your place now. rounding the corner onto your street. when he finally pulls up in front of your buildinh, he cuts the engine but doesn’t let go of your hand. he turns to you, his expression serious again
“i’m gonna say this once” he starts, his voice low. “so you better be listening.”
he leans in closer, “you’re not my mom. you’re not some random girl to me. you’re it. you’ve always been it. i was just too stupid to say it. so if i’m being a dumbass, you tell me. if i’m not taking care of myself, you nag me. if i’m pushing you away, push back harder. don’t you ever let me get away with that shit again. you hear me?”
“i hear you,” you whisper, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst.
“good,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again. it’s slower this time, deeper, a kiss that’s not born of frustration or desperation, it’s sealing of the deal.
when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “now,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “are you gonna invite me up, or are we gonna sit here all night? i didn’t fill up my tank to just drive you home and leave.”
a laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and airy. you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the hope mixed with his usual cocky assurance in his eyes.
“i mean. . “ you trail off, reaching up and tracing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, “after a speech like that, how could i possibly say no?”
he huffs, contently. he nips playfully at your thumb as it passes his lips. “don’t you fucking start with me,” he warns
you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “i’m starting” you whisper against his skin. “come make it up to me before i change my mind”
that’s all the encouragement he needs. he’s out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door with an urgency that makes your heart race. he offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into his arms right there on the sidewalk. he kicks the car door shut with his foot, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and then his arms are around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.
you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “god, you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled.
you’re not sure how you make it from the car to your front door. it’s a blur of tangled limbs, laughter, and kisses that are more about staying connected than anything else. he presses you against your door. he’s fumbling for your keys, his hands clumsy with impatience, and you’re not helping, too busy nipping at his jawline.
“give me the damn keys,” he groans
you hand them over, and he manages to get the door open after a few tries. he practically kicks it open, scooping you up again and carrying you over the threshold like it’s your wedding night. he kicks the door shut behind him, plunging the entryway into darkness, save for the soft glow of the city filtering through your windows.
he sets you down gently, but he doesn’t let go. his hands are on your waist, his forehead resting against yours.
“katsuki,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his calloused fingers slip the straps of your dress down your arms.
“shh,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in the darkness. “no more talking baby”
and for the first time, you think you might actually be okay with that.
the number 1 rule of fanfic is have fun and be yourself. the number 2 rule is the average healthy adult male can lose roughly 2 liters of blood before dying.
I actually do think we should discourage women from becoming housewives. Do not become financially dependent on a man. That's how a lot of women ended up dead over the years. A man gets violent suddenly and you have to choose between homelessness or potentially dying at his hand because you have an enormous gap in your resume and no degrees or certifications or anything that will help you pursue a career that will allow you to be financially independent. He owns your bank account. His name is probably the one on the car. Try and leave and he can report it stolen. Where will you go then?
And if you do become a housewife, take steps to protect yourself. Make sure you’re legally married, for starters; stay-at-home girlfriends have very little legal recourse to claim their partner’s assets in a breakup. Make sure your name is on the house deed/rental agreement, and have your car in your name, even if your spouse is paying for it. Have your spouse transfer money every month into an account solely in your name, so you can buy yourself things without needing permission, but also so you can save up to leave if needed.
If your spouse fights you on any of this, then don’t quit your job. The tradwife to poverty pipeline is real, and so is financial abuse.
also, many women/people experience controlling behaviour and domestic violence from their partner for the first time during pregnancy. don’t risk thinking “he’s just stressed, it’ll get better when the baby comes” because it won’t. neither you and your child will ever be safe with that man. get out as early and safely as you can
The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt6) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki
Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt5.5
The finale : Nothing is ever easy.
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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : guys dont shout at me i know im one day late. BUT SHES DONE! I cant believe it honestly. this has been such a whirlwind and im lowkey said its over. but I hope you will all stay with me for future projects! yay!
Warnings : SUGGESTIVNESS AT A POINT (nothing explict but still) Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.
W/C : 6.9k
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While the rush of determination felt good in the moment, now, standing outside Katsuki’s office, it’s settled into something closer to pure nerves.
You had a plan. A simple one, really. Step one: show your husband you miss him. Step two: admit you’ve both made mistakes. Step three: figure out how the hell to move forward without wrecking each other in the process. It sounded solid enough when you wrote it out in your notes app—three times, actually—but putting it into action? Yeah. Not as easy as it looked on screen.
The first time you tried was when you were dropping the kids off. For the past two weeks, it had been a no-talking, no-eye-contact type of handoff. You stayed in the house, watched Riko do all the work, carrying her sister’s bags and lugging Koharu to the door while you kept your distance. So, you figured attempt number one was simple enough—step in, carry your own kid out to the car, like you probably should’ve been doing this whole time.
So, you took some deep breaths, took Korahu from her sister's hand (paired with a weird look from the older sister) and ushered the girls to the door.
Katsuki was there, like always. Leaning against his car, looking tired. Sad, too. But still stupidly handsome, which pissed you off more than you’d admit. The second the door opened and he saw you standing there, his whole body snapped to attention. His eyes widened a little, his shoulders squared up, like he wasn’t sure what to do but he was sure as hell going to do something.
It was almost funny. Almost.
He didn’t say anything, but he met you halfway. Took Riko’s bag without asking. Looking at Koharu in your arms like it hurt him to see her there and not with him.
“Um…” Riko’s small voice cut through the moment. She hovered a little to the side, fidgeting. “Mama, are you… coming with us?” she asked, her brows pinching in quiet confusion as she glanced between you both.
And, for some reason, this question is a surprise to you. And it very quickly occurs to you also, that maybe your children shouldn't see the maybe difficult and definitely emotional conversation you are planning to have with their father. Yup. Why was that not included in the notes app plan?
You don’t say anything at first. But now Riko’s staring at you like she’s waiting for an answer, and Katsuki’s standing there, still as anything, his hand flexing around the strap of her bag like he’s holding himself back from saying something.
You clear your throat, shifting Koharu’s weight on your hip. “ um… no not today sweetheart, just saying hi is all”.
Riko doesn’t look convinced, but she nods anyway, glancing up at Katsuki. He’s already watching you, gaze steady, a crease between his brows like he’s thinking something he’s not sure he should say out loud.
“You could, y’know,” he mutters after a beat, his voice low but rough at the edges. “Come with us. If you wanted.”
“W-were just getting dinner at that place downtown, with the udon you like. And a movie, probably.”
And if every single member of your little family wasn’t looking at you right now, waiting, hoping, you might’ve groaned out loud. How did you not account for this? How did you not see it coming? And you are not about to screw this up by winging it.
“Oh,” you say, a nervous laugh catching on your tongue. It falls flat. No one joins in. “I think I’ll take a raincheck for tonight. Got some leftover work I need to finish up, unfortunately.”
You reach out to ruffle Riko’s hair. She leans into it, even smiles a little, a nice distraction from the weird tension in the air.
Katsuki doesn’t push. He never does these days. You’re not sure if that makes it easier or harder.
He just watches you for a long moment, like he’s turning something over in his head. His jaw ticks, sharp and familiar, but when he nods, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s not trusting himself to move too fast. “Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quieter now. “Okay. Another time, then.”
You offer a faint smile, one you hope looks steadier than it feels, and murmur your goodbyes. Riko gives you one last look over her shoulder before climbing into the car. Katsuki opens the door for her without breaking eye contact, and something about that sticks with you longer than it should.
And later that night, you’re still thinking about it. About the way Katsuki’s eyes followed you. About how you turned down his offer because you weren’t ready—not yet—and wondering if it sounded too much like rejection.
You hope not. God, you hope not.
~~
Kirishima’s warnings about time are still hanging in the back of your mind, like a nagging little voice. The more you think about it, the more it feels like putting this conversation off any longer is just another excuse. So, better now than later, right? What’s the worst that could happen? Well, besides everything falling apart, obviously.
Father’s Day.
It’s not intentional, not really. It just sort of happens that way. And, okay, maybe deciding to have this conversation today of all days feels a little… questionable. You could start with a positive. “Wow, you’re actually a good father these days!” Sure, the conversation could end terribly, but at least you’d have that one bit of sincerity before everything goes to shit.
A quick text to Izuku confirms what you already suspected—Katsuki’s working during the day. Of course he is. But he has the kids tonight, which means you get the rest of the evening to yourself. Perfect. Time to spiral in peace.
You spend the morning mentally preparing yourself, like you always do before any interaction with your husband these days. It's become a routine at this point—dress nice, check your reflection one more time, make sure your hair’s in place, like somehow that’ll make everything easier. You even check the gift you got him for the millionth time, just to make sure it hasn’t mysteriously disappeared or been swapped out for something less meaningful. You really don’t need any more stress right now.
You want your arrival to be a complete surprise, which means you can't just drive. That would be too easy—and also, the parking sensors at his place would give you away in a second. Katsuki would know you were there before you even stepped out of the car, and you definitely don’t want him overthinking anything. So, you opt for the bus instead. It feels a little ridiculous, but it’s the only way to guarantee you catch him completely off guard. No time for him to prepare or second-guess. You want this moment to be real, unfiltered.
As the bus rumbles along, you look out the window at the sunny day, feeling something a little unexpected—hope. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that. It’s funny, though, but as you sit there, the memories come flooding back. It was actually this time of year, so many years ago, when Katsuki officially asked you to be his girlfriend. It feels like a lifetime ago, but the memories are so vivid. People are always surprised when you tell them he was shy back then, especially since they only see the brash, bold personality he’s built up over the years. Back then, though, he was anything but.
He suggested a walk and lunch, like any normal date. But you hadn’t even made it ten minutes down the path before he pulled you aside, cornering you against a tree. His eyes were wide, a mixture of determination and uncertainty flickering behind them. “I want to be official,” he’d said, so seriously, yet nervously—completely out of character for him. You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, genuine laugh. Maybe that laugh made it all the more real, solidifying that this was the boy who had stolen your heart so effortlessly, and the man who was now trying to win it all over again.
And now, here you are, so many years later. The shy boy has grown into a man. Changed by time, by life, by everything you’ve both gone through. It’s funny how much time can shift a person, how it can shape someone in ways you don’t always see coming. You wonder how he’d say you’ve changed, too. Would he even recognize the person you’ve become? Would he still see the girl who laughed under that tree all those years ago? You weren’t so sure.
When you find yourself standing outside Katsuki’s agency building, you don’t hesitate. The adrenaline is already pumping, your heart racing as you push open the door, wondering if any paparazzi are lurking nearby. It’s a small but nagging thought, the price of being so connected to someone so publicly known.
You walk up to the front desk, and the receptionists look up, offering you a warm, welcoming smile. "How have you been?" one of them asks, and for a brief moment, you forget how long it’s been since you’ve actually been here. You can’t even remember the last time you stepped foot into this place. Maybe back when it was still new, and Katsuki was so excited about it. Back then, he used to pester you to come visit all the time, his proud smile, guiding you around with that quiet swagger of his.
You glance around, taking in the changes since the last time you were here. There’s a new fishtank behind the reception desk, the soft swish of water a peaceful contrast to the buzz of the street outside. You didn’t even notice it when you first walked in. When did that get put in?
Leaning in slightly, you lower your voice to a near whisper, careful not to draw attention. “Don’t tell Katsuki I’m here. I’ve got a surprise for him.” The words are almost a secret, a lightness to them that doesn’t entirely match the nervous tension growing inside you. The receptionists giggle softly, their glances exchanged behind a knowing smile before one of them gives a playful, almost conspiratorial nod.
One of them leans forward, their voice light with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “A surprise, huh?” they ask, their tone teasing but not intrusive. “Hopefully he’ll love it. Honestly, he’s been a little quiet around here... maybe he’s just been missing you.”
You nod, trying to mask the sudden tension in your chest. Off. Katsuki had been distant in a way that was hard to ignore. The words only make your nerves continue to bubble in your stomach. You hate the idea that you’ve been ruining his work life too.
Once the elevator beeps, you quietly step out and walk down the halfway, the sounds of talking fleeting in the background. Your footsteps echo softly, and for a brief moment, you wonder if this is a mistake, or if you’re doing the right thing. Why does everything feel so uncertain now?
But then you shake your head, forcing the doubts aside. You can’t hesitate now—not when you’ve come this far. You clutch the gift a little tighter, the weight of it solid in your hands, a reminder of why you’re here. Just do it.
When you finally make it to his office, you can’t help but hesitate outside the door. His blinds are down, so he hasn’t seen you coming. You glance down at your phone—no messages, no missed calls. There’s nothing to suggest he’s expecting you. Still, you hesitate. Your hand hovers above the door, but you can’t bring yourself to actually touch it.
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the tension in your body making you feel jittery, like you're on the edge of doing something you can't quite bring yourself to start. You glance around the hall, seeing a few curious looks in your direction, and you realize just how out of place you must seem, standing here in front of his door, waiting. The longer you stand there, the stranger it feels. You can’t put it off any longer.
God, this is hard.
You knock lightly, the sound barely audible. When no response comes after a couple of seconds, you knock again, this time a little more forceful.
“WHAT,” comes Katsuki’s loud voice from the other side, as sharp as ever. You can practically feel the force of it through the door, and it makes you wonder how his staff ever manages to be around him all day without flinching. But you? You're nervous, sure, but you're not scared. You steady yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing the door open.
To your surprise, Katsuki isn’t alone.
Izuku is there too, leaning over Katsuki’s desk with his face uncomfortably close to him. Katsuki, on the other hand, is leaning away, his body stiff and his brows furrowed as if he’s trying to put as much distance between them as possible. But no matter how much Katsuki shifts, Izuku’s still right there, talking to him like they’re in some weird, casual conversation.
As you step inside, the low murmur of their voices reaches your ears.
“Why are your under eyes so dark? Have you been sleeping?” Izuku asks, genuinely concerned, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face.
“Get out of my fuckin’ face, Deku,” Katsuki grumbles in response, his hand coming up to swat at Izuku’s face. Izuku, as usual, seems oblivious to how much space he’s crowding, even as he nudges closer to Katsuki’s personal space.
You, on the other hand, stand frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to do. It’s a bit confusing, actually—neither of them has looked over at you even though they both know someone’s coming in. You clear your throat, a soft “hello” slipping out, just enough to break the silence.
And just like that, both of them snap their attention to you. Katsuki’s eyes widen in surprise, his body shifting almost instinctively, pushing his chair back as far from Izuku as possible. He straightens up, his posture suddenly more alert. His eyes track you, silent and intense, but there’s an undercurrent of something—maybe nervousness, maybe relief, and definitely surprise. At least your plan worked?
Izuku, on the other hand, stands up quickly, a wide, easy smile lighting up his face. “Hey!” he says brightly, completely unaware of the sudden tension in the room. “Katsuki didn’t mention you were coming today!” Without missing a beat, he takes a step forward and pulls you into a warm hug, a casual, friendly gesture that feels comforting in the moment but also slightly jarring given everything you’ve been feeling.
Katsuki watches this carefully, his face softening just a fraction when he sees the way Izuku is interacting with you.
Izuku pulls away from the hug with a grin, oblivious to any underlying tension. “It’s good to see you!” his voice light, before turning back to Katsuki.
“You too,” you say shyly, your voice quiet, your gaze catching Katsuki’s. The intensity of his stare unsettles you more than you expect, his eyes still tracking you like he’s trying to make sense of why you’re here, why you showed up today.
But before you can dwell on it too much, Katsuki’s voice cuts through the air with surprising sharpness. “Deku, leave.”
Izuku blinks, clearly taken aback. “What?! But I want to catch up with you guys! I haven’t seen Y/N in forever, and you’ve been dodging my calls—”
“Get the fuck out,” Katsuki growls again, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Izuku frowns, giving Katsuki a playful side-eye, not picking up on the tension at all. “But you see her every day! I just want to—”
“Deku.”
There’s a sudden finality in Katsuki’s voice, something that makes Izuku pause for a second before his expression shifts. It’s as though he understands something unspoken, the corners of his mouth lifting in a resigned smile. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair, clearly about to exit.
“Fine… but I really want to see you guys soon!” Izuku says, turning back to you as he heads toward the door. “And Y/N?” he calls with a teasing grin. “Make sure he’s sleeping okay, alright? I know you two are young and in love but—”
“GET THE FUCK OUT, DEKU!” Katsuki cuts him off, his voice booming, and Izuku laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender as he finally exits, leaving you and Katsuki standing there in the thick silence.
You shift uncomfortably, unsure of what to say or do. The plan had been so simple in your head—so clear—but now, in the face of this strange and quiet moment, it feels anything but.
“I—” You start, your voice faltering before you take a steadying breath. “I wasn’t expecting him to be here.”
Katsuki says nothing, his silence hanging between you both like a heavy fog. He runs a hand through his hair, the motion almost like a reflex, and you watch as his jaw tightens, then relaxes. Still, he doesn’t speak.
You glance at the space between you, then back at him, the knot in your stomach tightening. This wasn’t how you envisioned it.
“I brought you something,” you murmur, your hand instinctively reaching for the small gift bag you’ve been holding onto like a lifeline. “For Father’s Day.”
At the mention of Father’s Day, his eyes flicker for a moment, just a brief flash of something soft and unfamiliar before it’s gone. Katsuki doesn’t take the gift from you immediately, instead watching it with a gaze that’s more distant than you expect. He doesn’t say anything for a few long beats, and you’re starting to think maybe this was a mistake, maybe you should’ve just left it alone.
But then he takes a step forward, reaching for the bag with an almost reluctant gesture. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” you reply, your voice quiet but sincere. "It's... it's just a little something."
Katsuki gives a stiff nod as he pulls the bag from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, and though the contact is fleeting, it sends a shiver through you. He opens it slowly, and the soft crinkle of tissue paper fills the silence before he pulls out the small, simple gift you picked out for him—a picture frame. It’s of him and the girls, when Koharu had just been born and was still so tiny. You don’t think he’s ever seen this picture. You took it during one of those rare, quiet moments when he was reading to the girls, lost in the story and unaware you were watching from the doorway.
For a long time, Katsuki doesn’t speak. He simply stares at the frame in his hands, his gaze fixed on the picture. You consider that your going to be met with silence again, that this was all one big mistake and your overstepping with someone that can’t be bothered with you anymore.
“Is… is it okay?” you ask hesitantly, your voice breaking the silence.
Finally, Katsuki looks up at you, and for a moment, the distance between you seems to shrink. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’s… nice,” he says with a low soft tone to it.
You shift, unsure of what to do next, your eyes tracing the lines of his face, the hard planes of his jaw, the tension that hasn’t quite faded from his shoulders. It’s like he's lost in the memory, but also wrestling with it at the same time.
After what feels like forever, he finally speaks, and the words are barely a whisper, but they hold more weight than any explosion he could’ve set off. "What are you really doing here?"
His eyes flick up to meet yours, but they linger there for just a moment before quickly darting away, almost like he’s afraid of what he might see if he holds your gaze too long.
For a second, you don’t know how to answer. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. It’s not an easy question to answer, not when the answer feels too complicated, tangled up with everything you both are and aren’t anymore.
But you manage to find your voice. “I—” You stop yourself, unsure how to explain it, unsure of how much to say. You try again, quieter this time. “I wanted to see you. To... give you that. To... be here.”
His gaze shifts briefly, something unreadable flashing in his eyes before he looks down at the frame again. His fingers tighten around it, but it’s not in anger—it’s like he’s holding onto it, holding onto the moment in the picture, trying to tether himself to something he can’t quite let go of.
There’s a hesitation in the way he breathes, in the way his gaze keeps flicking between the picture and you. He seems to want to say something, but whatever it is, he’s holding it back, like it’s too fragile to speak aloud.
Then—“Sweetheart…” His voice catches, a quiet hesitation there you haven’t heard before. “What does that mean?” His lips twitch into a dry, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m a little fuckin’ confused over here.”
You huff a breath, nerves fluttering under your skin. Fair enough. You did show up unannounced after weeks of silence, acting like none of it had happened. Of course he’s confused. You would be, too.
“Yeah. Okay. Um—well!” You force a shaky exhale through a tight-lipped smile. God, why is this so hard? “I just… had some things to say and I—well. No. I guess.”
The words tangle in your mouth before they can land anywhere. You’re floundering, and you know it.
Katsuki reaches out, his hand finding your hip with a steadiness you didn’t realize you needed. His thumb draws slow, grounding circles against your side. “Breathe,” he murmurs.
You do. So does he.
And when you give him a small, grateful smile, it’s answered by a faint flush rising on his cheeks. That soft, familiar pink that makes your chest ache. Yeah… this is okay. You can do this.
“I wanted to apologize,” you say, quieter now. “For what happened… last time. When you were at the house.”
His hand falls away from your hip at that, and the loss of it makes your skin prickle cold. But you keep going.
“You were right. It wasn’t fair to you. And then I made it worse by not reaching out after I… after I threw you out.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I guess I thought you’d message me first. Which was stupid.”
“I didn’t want to overstep,” he says quietly, staring down at his hands like they’re something he’s only just noticed. His knuckles are tight, the same hands that just held you, now clenched like he’s bracing for something.
You step closer, reaching out. Your palms cradle his face, coaxing his gaze back to yours. His eyes widen, startled in a way that makes your heart ache all over again. Like he can’t quite believe you’re here.
“I know you didn’t,” you say softly. “I think I was just feeling… insecure. Hurt. And, yeah, maybe a little petty.” You try for a smile, but it’s faint. “Not my most mature moment.”
Your fingers slip into his hair, nails grazing gently at his hairline. “I’m sorry. Okay?”
Katsuki’s quiet for a beat. Then another. His eyes search yours like he’s looking for something he isn’t sure he’ll find.
And then, barely above a breath—“Does that mean I can come home now?”
The way he says it cracks something open inside you. Soft. Uncertain. Katsuki Bakugou, who has always been brash and sure, suddenly sounds like a kid waiting to be told he’s not in trouble. Like he’s hoping for permission to want this.
Your chest tightens. “Yes,” you whisper. “I… missed you. A lot. So if you want to, yeah. Please.”
You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling you in, arms wrapping tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His face presses to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.
“I’m sorry too,” he says, his voice thick. “I hate that I made you feel like that. You’re… you’re the most beautiful fuckin’ person in the world to me. I want you to know that.”
He draws back just enough to look at you, his hands still cradling your waist. His eyes are a little red around the edges. “I’ve missed you so fuckin’ much.”
You smile. And this time, it feels real.
“Me too.”
~~~
Katsuki doesn’t come home that night.
He tells you straight, his hands firm on your hips, holding you steady like he thinks you might drift off if he doesn’t. “I… I want to come back tonight. Fuck, angel, I want to.” His thumbs press in, warm and certain. “But it’s complicated. I got arts and crafts shit with the girls, and—”
He pauses, searching your face, as if there’s something he needs you to understand. And you do. You really do. It’s Father’s Day, after all. He’s planned something fun with them—he deserves that.
So you nod. “It’s fine,” you say, even if it’s not entirely. Even if part of you aches a little at the thought of another night in an empty house.
But then his phone buzzes again. The reminder that he’s still on the clock, still pro-hero Dynamight. He mutters under his breath, answering the call with a scowl. And while he’s distracted, you let yourself slip toward the door. No point hovering.
You don’t get far before he’s slamming the phone down.
“Oi,” he calls, striding toward you. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
You turn, halfway through a smile. “You’re busy.”
“Don’t care,” he shrugs, before wrapping you up in another of his crushing hugs, his chin hooked over your shoulder like he’s grounding himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, breathing him in. “Let me know how you and the girls get on.”
At that, he pulls back just enough to flash a small, crooked smile. “They’ll love it.” And you can tell he means it. He’s already picturing it—Korahu’s chubby fingers smearing paint where it shouldn’t go, Riko trying to keep things under control like she’s got any chance at all.
It all goes surprisingly smooth after that. You part ways. No fight. No lingering weight pressing on your chest. Just… quiet. Simple. You didn’t expect simple.
Still, the house feels a little emptier when you get home. You tell yourself it’s karma. Fair’s fair.
So you fill the quiet with the hum of self-care—cleaning, candles, making the bed like he’s already here. Maybe it’s silly, but it makes you feel better. Like you’re making room for him.
A couple of texts drop in while you work:
[7:34 PM] Kirishima: Katsuki said you guys made up!!! 💪 Happy for u (even tho I’ll miss bro being here 😣)
[8:28 PM] Katsuki: Never letting Korahu touch paint again.
[8:28 PM] Katsuki: [Image Attached]
You can’t help the grin as you open the photo. Korahu’s covered, head to toe, in streaks of neon green paint. The grin gets bigger when you reply, because yeah… things are starting to feel okay.
You catch yourself thinking how simple it was in the end. Just… talk to him. That’s all it took. So simple it’s stupid. But it’s a start. Onwards and upwards, right?
And still… the intimacy part lingers in the back of your mind. Not the physical, not exactly. The closeness. Letting him in again, letting yourself be seen. You’re getting there. You’re proud of that.
You’re just about to call it a night when you hear the knock.
It’s late. Too late for visitors. You tread light toward the door, thinking maybe you imagined it, but then it comes again, sharper this time.
You jump. “Who is it?”
“Me, sweetheart.”
Your heart stumbles. For a second, your mind blanks, chasing every possibility. Are the girls okay? Did something happen? Or did he really take ‘come back tomorrow’ as ‘come back at nearly midnight’?
You crack the door open, and there he is. Katsuki. Standing there like it’s nothing.
“You shouldn’t talk through the door,” he says, voice low, a little gruff. “Use the cameras. Don’t let people know if you’re home.”
You barely register the lecture. “What are you doing here?”
He huffs. “Can I come in first?”
You step back, and he does, toeing his boots off by instinct before looking at you again. He’s flushed a little—maybe from the night air, maybe from something else.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” He drags a hand through his hair, messy already. “The girls are asleep. Told Kirishima I was heading out.”
You wait. He’s not exactly known for long explanations, but still. You wait.
He shifts, uncomfortable in a way that’s rare for him. “I know I said I’d come tomorrow. I was about to go to bed. Was gonna text you.” His hand rubs at the back of his neck, his voice rougher now. “But I didn’t wanna do that again. I didn’t wanna… not be here. So.”
A beat.
“Probably should’ve asked first,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
You stand there for a second, taking him in. The way his shoulders are tense, like he’s bracing for you to tell him to leave. The way his mouth pulls down at the corners, softened by tired eyes.
You take a step closer, your fingers brushing against his wrist before curling around it. You feel his pulse jump beneath your touch.
“Don’t say sorry,” you tell him, your voice gentler than you expected. “I was just surprised. You know I want you here.”
His breath leaves him in a slow exhale. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”
For a moment, neither of you speak. It’s comfortable in a way it hasn’t been for a while. Quiet. Easy.
Then he shifts, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to pull you closer. “You look nice,” he murmurs.
You huff a laugh. “These are just my pajamas, Katsuki.”
“I know that.” His fingers trace lightly along your jaw, calloused pads dragging slow and careful. “Still means you can look nice, doesn’t it?”
There’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, but hungry. It’s not just that he’s missed you. It’s the kind of heat you haven’t seen from him in a long time, and it catches you off guard. Your skin prickles under the weight of it.
You laugh again, quiet and nervous, and step back just slightly. You regret it the second you do. But he doesn’t push. His mouth quirks into something close to a smirk, easy, like he doesn’t mind waiting.
“I was just heading to bed,” you say, clearing your throat.
“Let’s go then, huh?” His voice is rough, low, but there’s no push behind it—just an offer.
Later, you sit beneath the covers, watching him move around the room. He pulls his shirt off and folds it onto the chair, and your eyes catch on the cut of his shoulders, the sharp lines of muscle along his back. Familiar. Hard-earned. You’ve seen it a thousand times, but it hits you different tonight. Like you’re seeing him again for the first time.
Your face warms, and you look away, embarrassed by how much you feel like a teenager sneaking glances.
The room dims when he turns the lamp down, leaving just a wash of amber light spilling across the sheets. Then the mattress shifts under his weight as he crawls in beside you, his arm slipping easily around your waist, pulling you into the solid heat of his chest.
You let out a slow breath against him, and he answers with one of his own.
“Missed you,” he murmurs. His hand smooths over your hip, dragging slow, then curling back up your spine. “Missed this. Can’t believe I made us go without it for so damn long.”
“I’ve missed it too,” you whisper. “Missed you.”
And then he’s looking at you. Really looking. Like he used to—like he did in those early years when the world was still new between you. His hand comes up to your cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of your jaw. It’s reverent. Careful.
He leans in, brushing his lips to yours, light as a breath. It’s tender, almost hesitant. But you kiss him back. And then it’s not hesitant at all.
His hand slides into your hair as the kiss deepens, his mouth demanding now, hungry and hot. It’s messy, desperate—years of holding back spilling out in the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the low sound he makes when you breathe his name against his skin. His other hand finds your hip, holding on tight like he’s worried you’ll vanish if he lets go.
When you shift, swinging your leg over to straddle his lap, he groans into your mouth, his hands immediately smoothing down over your thighs, then up, fingers splaying wide as if he’s trying to map all of you at once. You’re already flushed and breathless, but the sound of him like this, so openly wrecked for you, drives you to chase more.
The kisses don’t stop—don’t even slow. His mouth is hot, hungry against yours, and the way he groans when you grind down makes heat pool deep in your belly. His hands are everywhere now, rough palms skating over soft skin, kneading at your waist, your ass, like he can’t get enough.
Then he breaks the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, his thumb dragging across your lower lip as he does. Both of you are panting, chests rising and falling like you’ve run miles to get here.
“Fuck,” he mutters, eyes dark as they flick over your face. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Driving me outta my damn mind.”
You can’t help the breathy laugh that escapes you, your hand still resting over his hammering heart. He’s not the only one losing it here.
“I love this,” he says, his voice rough with heat as he gives your hips a slow, deliberate push down against him. Yeah, you can tell. There’s no mistaking the hard press of him beneath you, or the way his grip tightens as he holds you there for a moment longer. “Love you,” he adds, softer, but no less intense. “But I need you to know I didn’t show up for this. Wasn’t tryin’ to make this a booty call or some shit. I just… really needed to be close to you.”
You lean in, brushing your nose against his, smiling faintly. “I know, Kats. I know that’s not you.”
“Good,” he murmurs. He tips his head back, blowing out a breath, as if he’s trying to cool himself down. “No more for tonight though.”
You blink, momentarily thrown, and then pout, full and obvious. When he cracks an eye open and sees it, his grin spreads slow and wicked. He’s enjoying this, even if his chest is still heaving like he’s run a marathon.
“Ain’t got any protection, sweets,” he says, voice low and deep. “And it’s been a long damn while. I won’t be able to hold myself back with you.”
A beat. His gaze flickers, watching your reaction, something warm and teasing in his expression—but there’s truth there, too. A warning wrapped in affection.
“So unless you want Korahu to have a sibling nine months from now,” he drawls, thumb stroking along your hipbone, “I think it’s best we call it.”
You huff a little laugh and shake your head, leaning forward until your forehead presses to his. “You’re impossible.”
He snorts softly. “Don’t blame me. I ain’t thrilled we have to stop either, princess.”
You both settle, breath slowing. The heat fades into something quieter, something steady. You roll off him and curl into his side, and his arm comes around you without hesitation, pulling you close. He presses slow, sleepy kisses to your temple, to your jaw, to your shoulder—lazy but full of something that makes your chest ache.
“Night, Kat,” you whisper against his skin.
“Night, baby,” he murmurs, and then his voice firms up like he’s gripping the words tight. “I love you.”
It comes out of you before you can think too hard about it. “I love you too.”
There’s a breath, shaky but soft. “Yeah,” he says again, his voice catching just a little. “Yeah.”
~~~
After that night, the waters begin to finally settle.
It isn’t perfect—Katsuki is still busy, still only human. But he’s trying, and when he slips up, you forgive him. And when you start to overthink things, he doesn’t let you spiral—just pulls you close, asks you softly if things are okay, if they can be better.
He leaves notes when he knows he’ll be working late, scribbled in his sharp, messy handwriting. Little things. I love you. Sleep early. Don’t wait up. Or, Miss you already. See you soon, sweetheart. And things do get better.
And it’s not just you who notices.
Riko smiles more, hugs you without hesitation. Her arms don’t feel like they’re trying to hold you together anymore—they’re just hugs, warm and happy and childlike the way they should be.
Going to Katsuki’s parents for the first time after everything isn’t as scary as you thought, either. His mom pulls you in tight, whispering a quiet thank you. But you thank her instead, and when Katsuki catches your gaze, there’s no shame there—no guilt or lingering anger. Just quiet, steady affection.
It makes you wonder how you ever went so long without it.
Because now, you’re addicted to it. Not in a naïve, honeymoon phase way—no, things aren’t perfect. There are still arguments, still sharp words and teary nights. But the love isn’t put into question anymore. That stays constant.
Life moves fast, and for the first time in a long time, you don’t dread it. You embrace it.
And then, one quiet evening, as you sit on the beach with Katsuki, watching the girls play in the sand, you’re reminded just how far you’ve come.
His chin rests on your shoulder, arms draped around your waist as you twirl his fingers absently between yours. The waves roll lazily in front of you, golden light casting long shadows across the shore.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice low against your ear, “it was three years ago today.”
You hum, still watching the girls. “What was?”
“When you left.” His voice is quiet, careful. “Up to Tokyo.”
The words land soft but heavy.
It feels so long ago now, that time in your life when everything felt unbearable. But you still remember it—how could you not?
“Wow,” you murmur, letting the thought settle. “So long ago now.”
“Yeah.” He pauses, his grip tightening around you, like he’s bracing himself.
Then, softer, “I’m still sorry about that.”
You turn slightly, glancing back at him. His gaze is distant, the light catching in his eyes, making them burn a little redder than usual.
“I—” he exhales, shaking his head. “It’s one of my biggest mistakes. Letting things get to that point. I don’t think I can ever fully forgive myself—”
“Katsuki.” You shift, turning fully now so you can cup his face in your hands. His eyes flicker to yours, sad and heavy with regret.
“I nearly lost you,” he whispers. “I did lose you. And I still can’t believe myself.”
Your heart aches at the way he says it—like it’s something that still haunts him, something he’ll never quite let go of.
But you smile, small and sure. Your thumbs brush over his cheekbones, grounding him.
“But you didn’t,” you remind him gently. “We’re here. Together.”
He lets out a slow, shuddering breath, like he’s been holding it in for years. Then, finally—he nods.
“Yeah.” His voice wobbles just slightly, thick with something unspoken.
You kiss him, soft and lingering. His hands find your waist, holding you close, and when you pull back, his forehead presses to yours, breath warm against your lips.
You turn again, settling back against his chest to watch the girls for a moment longer, listening to the rush of the tide.
Then you glance back at him, feeling brave. Feeling full.
“Where do you think we’ll be in another three years?” you ask, leaning into his chest.
He huffs a soft laugh, kissing your hair.
“Wherever you are,” he says simply. “That’s where I’ll be.”
And you believe him. It feels so good to have full promises again.
You tilt your head back, catching his lips in a kiss that tastes like salt and sun and a future you’re both ready for.
And when you pull back, he’s smiling. Really smiling.
“Come on,” he says, tugging you gently to your feet. “Let’s go get our girls.”
“Yeah,” you reply, fingers threading through his. “Let’s go home.”
And you do. Together.
.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊
it was so daunting finishing everything off, but i hope its okay!
synopsis: things were always easy between you and katsuki. until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it)
notes: ALWAYS w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda. wc ~5k. childhood bffs bc duh. barely proofread sorry
ever since you were three years old with your scraped knees and sticky fingers to now, where teenage life could not be more confusing, there has always been one, unwavering, constant fact.
you're absolutely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with bakugo katsuki.
and you've never been afraid to show it! backhugs, tackling him to the floor, jumping on top of him and climbing him like a jungle gym, telling him you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. (it is)
he always scoffs and grumbles, but you'd never take it personally, because when he tells you to get off, he pulls you close. when he complains that you're annoying when you're sick, he brings you soup and medicine and cuddles you to sleep. when he blushes and tells you he hates you, his eyes tell a different story.
so what if he doesn't express it the same way you do? everyone has different ways of showing they care. even if he doesn't say it much, you know katsuki loves you.
right?
-
it was late when you accidentally overheard it. when you froze up and felt your heart drop to the floor. when you started shaking and sweating, eyes darting around for a trash can in case you threw up.
"bakugo, bro, when are you and y/n gonna make it official?" kirishima had teased, throwing an arm around katsuki.
katsuki scoffed and shoved him off. "tch. it's not like that."
"you suuure?" sero questioned. "you two seem awfully close for just friends."
"mannn, if i was bakugo, i'd be all over that. y/n is such a pretty girl!" kaminari chimed in, clearly jealous over his lack of love life.
the teasing continued. you couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew that katsuki definitely had a vein on his forehead that was getting larger by the second.
"you're always carrying her bag, walking her to class.."
"cuddling with her during movie nights, scratching her back.."
"oh! and don't forget how she never forgets to tell him she loooves him whenever they say goodbye!"
"c'mon, bakubro, just spit it out! you two are practically married already!"
the three laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the rise they were getting out of katsuki.
"all of you, shut the hell up!"
"just admit it. you're in love."
he gritted his teeth.
"i'm not in love." he grimaced, venomous anger bubbling to the surface.
"she's just there all the fucking time! always fucking doing girlfriend-y shit when she knows damn well she's not! always clinging and trying to cuddle and all that stupid sappy shit. she's just an annoying fuckin' habit ive learned to tolerate." he spat.
you froze.
what?
was he serious? like, really, truly, deadass serious? you knew he wasn't exactly the super affectionate type, but even still! you thought he really cared about you! clingy? annoying? tolerated?
your head spun as you broke out into a cold sweat. you could've sworn that that wasn't true. you and katsuki have been friends forever. surely he wouldve gotten rid of you by now if he hated you that much, right? and he cuddles you! and hangs out with you! he takes care of you when you're sick! there's just no way, right? he's just angry because he's being teased, right?
..right?
"damn, dude, that's pretty harsh," sero snickered. "you always take care of her, though, no?"
you held your breath.
"tch. doesn't fuckin' mean shit. just gotten used to her because she's been around so long."
your stomach dropped to the basement. he tolerated you. he thought of you as nothing more than an annoying habit.
insecurity pooled inside of you. now that you think about it, was he really cuddling you, or just not bothering to move you off when you laid on him? maybe he just thought you were too much of a hassle to get rid of when you came to hangout, so he just let you stay even thought he didn't want to. when he brought you medicine and stuff, maybe your sickness made you delirious and made you think he was being more affectionate and caring than he really was.
you felt nauseated. you recall all the times you threw a quick "i love you!" over your shoulder or while you clung to him. had he ever once said it back? ever? the room started spinning as you realized you couldn't think of a single time. he'd always deflected. gave you a classic "tch." rolled his eyes. messed up your hair. you dont think you'd ever even heard the word "love" from his lips.
had you just been deluding yourself all this time?
you couldn't take it anymore. sweating, you sprinted out before you could be spotted.
-
it's been two days since you overheard that conversation, and you'd been avoiding katsuki ever since. or rather, not quite avoiding completely, but there was an undeniable shift in your behavior. you stopped trying to cuddle with him. you stopped showing up to his dorm room to hangout. you especially stopped saying "i love you," even though it killed you every time.
katsuki hadn't shown much of a reaction to your change in behavior. he'd raise an eyebrow when your usual daily hugs disappeared or ask a gruff, "where were you?" when you didn't show up to your unofficial but completely established after school hangouts, but he had otherwise put up no protest.
you didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.
on one hand, katsuki's kind of scary when he's confrontational. also, you don't know how you would be able to talk to him. "i overheard a conversation where you said you hate me but im madly in love with you and want to marry you and have your kids?" yeah right. you were sort of glad to be getting off easy.
but on the other hand, you were devastated. his apathy served as further confirmation that he meant every word he said. he really didn't mind that you were pulling back, and seemed perfectly content not being nearly as close as before.
you really had been deluding yourself. secretly, you had been hoping that he was just saying stuff in the heat of the moment and would actually be upset if you pulled back. because that would mean he cared. but he didn't give two shits about you. you really were just some stupid childhood habit he'd learned to tolerate.
you became less energetic as a person. not just with katsuki, but simply in general. your days seemed unbearably longer and darker without him. you had a hard time engaging and staying in the present, your mind wandering to katsuki again and again. it was pathetic, really. you two had never even dated. why were you so hung up about it? you two were just friends, and in fact, it seemed like he never even liked you in the first place. you were just stupidly hopeful and naive.
-
katsuki was dying.
two days. it had been two fucking days since you'd touched him or even just been remotely affectionate with him and he was going crazy. hell, he'd give the whole damn world even for just a smile at this point. he was desperate.
he didnt understand why you were being like this. it was like everything he knew about you had shifted, and he was just standing there, waiting for some kind of sign or something like an idiot.
katsuki had noticed the shift in your behavior immediately. of course he did. he knows you better than he knows himself, after all. at first, he thought you were just playing some dumb game or pulling some stunt to get his attention, but that wasn’t it. you waved instead of hugging. said a simple "bye" instead of "love you, bye bye!" it's not like you were completely avoiding him. you still talked. you still laughed. only now, it didn't quite reach your eyes.
and it was fucking killing him.
he hated that you were pulling back. he hated how off everything felt. he hated how fucking empty his dorm room felt when you weren't there to pester him. but most of all, he hated how he couldn’t even figure out what he'd done wrong. he couldn't think of any fights or reasons to be angry, but if that wasn't it, what was it? why were you suddenly just.. leaving?
he wanted to confront you. he wanted to pull you aside and demand to know where the fuck you went. but for the first time in his entire life, he didn't know how. because this wasn't like confronting stupid deku about his new powers. it wasn't about asking icyhot what his fuckin' deal was. it was you. his whole fucking world, even if he never said it out loud. he was nothing short of terrified to ask, because he feared it would drive you away even further, and he couldn't think of any alternate universe where he'd be able to handle that.
he found himself looking for excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to just be around you in any way possible. the last two days had been a torture of silence, of missed chances to sit next to you or casually reach out and tug you into his space like he used to. the times when he’d shove his arm around your shoulders or playfully mess with your hair, it had all stopped. he didn't feel like he could anymore. like he'd somehow lost the privilege. and now, all he was left with was this gnawing feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.
he had finally worked up the courage and tried asking you once, but you had shut him down with that all-too-familiar "nothing, just tired" bullshit and that damn closed-off look on your face that made him feel completely hollowed out.
he was desperate. he needed to feel you. needed to hear your bright laughter and see your stupid smile. it was so fucking stupid and sappy and so unlike him, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about that. he needed to cuddle with you until you fell asleep. have you curl up on his chest and get swallowed up by his much larger frame and watch you as your breathing quickly evened out from his touch. you could never stay awake long when cuddling with him. he found himself smiling at the thought.
he scowled. this is so fucking stupid. he thought to himself.
-
it all came to a bubbling point for him on friday. 5 whole days of "hi's" and a half-smile instead of "KATSUKIIIII's," and a running hug. he was losing his fucking mind.
usually, you convinced him to join the weekly 1a movie night by taking his hand and dragging him out of his room. he'd grumble about it, but he'd never refuse. he'd sit on the corner of the couch and you'd sit close to him before gradually inching closer, the night ending with you two cuddling. now, he willingly trudges to movie night of his own free will and sits in the same corner of the couch, but this time alone.
the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the flicker of the TV as the opening credits rolled and iida turned the lights off. it was some dumb romcom movie katsuki couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest. you would definitely like it, though. kirishima passed around popcorn, sero argued with kaminari over which movie was the best, deku was doing his stupid nerd rambling as todoroki and hagakure gawked at him. and you? you sat on the other end of the couch.
not just away, but away from him.
the usual spot right beside katsuki, practically in his lap, head on his shoulder, knees draped over his thighs sat empty. you sat next to mina instead, curling into the armrest and pulling your legs up to your chest. you offered sweet smiles to everyone, laughed when something was funny, made conversation when prompted. but katsuki saw it. he saw you.
and he saw that you weren’t you.
he stared.
throughout the entire first half of the movie, he barely processed a single second of it. he kept looking over, waiting for you to glance at him, to shift closer, to give him a sign, anything, but you stayed curled in on yourself, legs angled away from him. he hated it. he hated how you looked like you were trying to make yourself smaller. like you were trying to disappear.
katsuki’s heart thundered. his leg bounced impatiently. his jaw was tight. he couldn’t take this shit anymore.
he stood up abruptly, catching your attention. he stalked straight over to you, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. he hovered over you, looking down and saying nothing.
you blinked up at him. "...what?"
his eyes were sharp and unreadable to most. but to you, who knew him better than he knew himself, you could see the anxiety and desperation swimming in his eyes.
no, no, no. remember, don't delude yourself. he doesn't like you, not even as a friend.
"are you okay..?"
"no." he snapped, his tone making you flinch. he softened at your reaction. "i just.. you've been.." he started, but his tone cracked, eyes flashing, and something in him snapped. "fuckin’ hell, just—"
he reached down and grabbed you.
gently, but with zero room for argument. strong arms slid under your knees and behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you barely had time to yelp before he was sitting down again, with you in his lap, pulled tight into his chest like you were his lifeline. (you are)
you froze, wide-eyed and stiff, but he just held you. his arms locked around you. he didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t give a shit about the stares or the knowing grins. he buried his face in your shoulder, muttering low and rough into your neck.
"i don't know what the fuck i did," he said. "but you don't get to just... take all that away. not from me."
you blinked, suddenly breathless.
he held you tighter. his voice cracked again, this time softer. "whatever i did, 'm sorry. i'll make it up t'ya, i swear. but don't just.." his voice trailed off. "dont stop loving me." he wanted to scream.
you felt your heart stutter, but you didn't say anything.
not at first, anyway.
because what is there to say when your heart is lodged in your throat and your body is caged in the arms of the person you swore you were going to get over?
you just sat there, crumpled in his lap like some lost puppy that finally found its way home again. your face is pressed into his shoulder, and you think if you speak, you’ll cry. so you don't. you just let yourself relax and melt into him.
he doesn’t say anything else either. his grip doesn’t loosen, not even a little. his fingers press into your back, not hard, just steady. grounding. enough to keep you pressed firmly against him. like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.
the room’s still noisy with all the side conversations, but it's all background noise now with you two just in your little bubble away from the rest of the world. you feel safe and like you’re about to fall apart at the same time.
you shift a little in his lap and glance up at him.
“…you didn’t have to drag me across the room, you know,” you finally mutter, voice hoarse.
he scoffs, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “yeah, well. you weren’t comin’ on your own.”
you wrinkle your nose at him. “you could’ve asked.”
“whatever." he grumbles. "this is more efficient."
you snort. "the hell?"
he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “worked, didn’t it?”
you don’t answer. because yeah. it did.
instead, you rest your head back on his chest, and he immediately shifts to accommodate you. your legs drape over the couch, his arm hooked under your knees to keep you anchored, and his other hand settled at the base of your spine. he starts tracing slow, absentminded circles there, hand slipped under your hoodie to rub at the bare skin like nothing had ever changed. like you hadn’t just gone five whole days without touching him. like you hadn’t spent those five days trying to unravel every version of reality where he didn’t love you back.
you sit like that for a long time.
finally, he speaks up, his voice low.
"what did i do?" he asked, his voice oddly shy. "why'd ya stop.. you know..?"
your breath hitches. because you do know. but you don't know what to say or how to say it. "i thought you completely hated me" doesn't quite seem like an appropriate response.
"nothing," you settle with.
he gives you a look.
you sigh. you never could lie to katsuki. he's known you for too long and too well to fall for them.
"i just.. got insecure. overheard some conversation where you said i was, um, clingy and annoying." you murmur, your voice small. if katsuki wasn't pressed up against you and hanging on to your every word, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.
but he did.
and you swore you saw complete heartbreak in his eyes.
you let out a small gasp of surprise when he pulls you flush against him, arms tight around your body and face nuzzled deep into your neck. he holds you with such a gentle intensity you think you might cry. he holds you in a way that makes you feel loved and safe.
"'m sorry." he mumbles into your neck, voice watery. "didn't mean it. i was just.. mad that they were makin' fun of me. none of it was true. at all."
your breath hitches.
"you're.. so fuckin' special to me. i mean it. these last few days without you have been hell."
you think you might cry.
"been missin' your fuckin' smile and your damn laugh. and your stupid hugs that make me almost topple over."
you hold back a giggle.
"i love you."
the world stills.
you don’t move.
you don’t speak.
hell, you're scared to breathe.
your heart is beating so loud you’re worried he might hear it. your face is burning, your lungs feel tight, and your throat’s a warzone of words you can’t quite say.
he said it.
he said it.
and now he’s quiet. breathing you in. arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
you pull back just enough to look at him. your hand comes up to brush his bangs from his eyes, and your fingers linger at his temple, trailing down his cheek like you’re memorizing him.
his expression is soft in a way you rarely get to see. wide-eyed. hopeful. a little scared.
you offer him a tiny, quiet smile.
no teasing.
no trying to be brave or play it all off.
just soft. honest. the kind that only he gets to see.
you lift your hand and touch his face. not dramatic, not shaky, just steady. fingers brushing along his cheekbone, thumb ghosting over the edge of his jaw like you’re memorizing the shape of him again.
his eyes close for a second and you swear you see him leaning into it a little.
you say nothing.
you don’t need to.
because you’re here. because he’s holding you. because you’re not pulling away, and he's pulling you in.
you nuzzle your face into his neck, like it's right where you belong, and you breathe in.
he breathes in too.
slow. like the world’s stopped spinning for a second just so you can exist like this, tangled up in each other without saying anything. no talking about what's going on, no complications, just.. being.
you both don't notice how mina and kirishima are gossiping wildly about how you two are practically married and wondering how you still claim not to be dating. you don't notice the way that ochaco squeals after glancing over at your position, and you don't notice the way izuku looks fondly at you two with soft eyes. (he's been shipping the two of you since childhood)
you and katsuki are the only two people in the world who matter.
"i love you," you whisper as you feel yourself dozing off.
you think you feel his lips press gently against your forehead.
What happens when you stop fighting for the past and allow the present to start over?
There is a specific kind of violence in trying to be a living museum for someone else.
For years, you have been the curator of a history he can no longer access. You have walked him through the gallery of your shared life, pointing at photographs, playing specific songs, and cooking meals that should taste like nostalgia. You search his eyes for a flicker of recognition — a spark that says, “Ah, yes. I know you. I love you.”
But the spark doesn’t come. He looks at you with kindness, perhaps, or confusion, but mostly with the polite distance one gives a stranger.
And eventually, you break.
You stop pointing at the pictures. You stop retelling the stories of how you met in the rain, or that trip to the coast, or the inside jokes that used to make him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. You realize that you cannot surgically implant memories back into a mind that has let them go.
You accept the tragedy: He forgot. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.
So, you grieve. You mourn the version of him that knew the map of your soul. You sit in the silence of the room, no longer trying to bridge the gap. You just exist. You let the silence stretch out. You decide that if he is going to be a stranger, you will let him be a stranger.
And you ask yourself the question you have been avoiding since the beginning:
If I stop fighting for him to see me, will I finally be able to see myself?
──── ୨୧ ────
For months, you treated his amnesia like a jammed door — something that just needed enough force, enough love, enough proximity to finally click open. You spent the first weeks after the villain attack in a plastic hospital chair, your hand cramping around his unconscious one, whispering the architecture of your shared life into the antiseptic air. The burnt toast. The agency plans. The way he kissed you in the rain after his provisional license exam, tasting like victory and ozone.
You never left his side.
Not until the doctors gently — pityingly — told you his stress levels were climbing, that he needed a “calm environment” for recovery. They asked you to leave. For his sake.
So you obeyed. You stayed away to help him heal.
And while you were being good, being selfless, being gone — he woke up. He recovered. He met someone else.
He got engaged.
So on the flight to Italy, watching clouds bruise purple beneath the wing, you made a decision that felt like self-amputation: Stop. This mission would be the final test. You would look at Katsuki Bakugo and see him not as the missing half of your soul, but as exactly what he was now.
A coworker. A stranger. Someone’s future husband.
Are some things really meant to be? Or are some things just meant to be finished?
──── ୨୧ ────
The battle in the piazza was a cruel reminder of how biological memory works. Your minds were estranged, but your quirks were still in perfect, devastating symphony.
You moved left; he blasted right. You created a shield; he used it as a springboard. It was a dance you had practiced a thousand times in the training grounds of U.A., a rhythm ingrained in your very marrow. For ten minutes, you were Dynamight and his partner again. The world made sense.
But then the dust settled.
In the old days — in the life that apparently only exists in your head now — he would have been rushing toward you before the smoke even cleared. He would be shoving a water bottle into your hands, his eyes scanning your body for injuries, barking, "You moved too slow on that left flank, idiot. You hurt?"
Today, the silence was deafening.
You stood alone near the fountain, wiping soot from your cheek. Ten feet away, Bakugo had his back to you. He wasn't checking on you. He had his phone pressed to his ear, his shoulders relaxed, his voice dropping into that soft, private register you used to think was exclusive to you.
"Yeah, I'm good," he murmured into the receiver. "It's done. I'll call you properly tonight."
He was calling her.
Shoto stepped toward you, his eyes filled with that quiet concern. He reached out, likely to offer water, or just a steadying hand. Shoto had been your gravity when the world started floating away.
But you stepped back.
"I'm okay, Shoto," you said, your voice firmer than it had been in weeks.
He paused, hand hovering. "You’re bleeding."
"I can patch it," you said. You didn't want to be the broken thing anymore. You didn't want to use Shoto as a crutch, because eventually, crutches get taken away, and you needed to know you could stand on your own legs. You couldn't risk leaning on him and breaking him too.
You walked past them both — past the man who forgot you, and the man who remembered too much for you — and headed toward the villa.
"You did good," you whispered to yourself, clutching your side. "You did good."
──── ୨୧ ────
By evening, the heroes had gathered around a massive fire pit in the villa’s courtyard. The air hung thick with woodsmoke, roasted meat, and pine.
They called it a briefing, but it was really a decompression session.
You came out of your room clutching your notebook.
Bakugo was already there. He was sitting on a log bench, staring into the fire, the orange light dancing on his face. He looked contemplative. Peaceful.
You made a choice.
You didn't sit opposite him, hoping to catch his eye. You didn't sit near him, hoping to catch his scent. You sat beside Matteo, a boisterous Italian hero with a wind quirk, putting Shoto and Bakugo in your peripheral vision.
They ate and swapped war stories. You ate one skewer out of politeness, but your hands were already reaching for the notebook. You opened to a fresh page, graphite pencil solid and real in your palm.
You began to draw.
Lines. Angles. Reception desks. A training room with reinforced floors.
"What is that?" Matteo asked, leaning over with the lack of boundaries common to his culture. He squinted at the sketch. "Architecture?"
You blinked, pulling back from the trance. "Uh… my agency. I’m building my own. Soon."
Matteo’s eyes widened. He clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder, turning to the group. “Ehi! Look at this! The piccola is becoming a Boss! She builds her own agency!"
Conversations died. Heads turned.
“Congrats!” someone called.
“That’s a huge step,” another hero nodded, genuine respect in their voice.
Heat bloomed in your cheeks — not shame. Pride.
A Japanese hero from your unit leaned forward, skewer still in hand. “That’s brave. Real estate’s brutal right now. Where’s it located?”
Your breath caught for a fraction of a second.
The location. The one you and Katsuki had chosen a year ago, standing on that corner eating convenience store pork buns while he pointed at the dilapidated building and said, “That’s it. That’s where we take over the world.”
You swallowed the memory. It didn't belong to him anymore. It was just a building. Just yours.
"It's in the Musutafu district," you said, voice steady. "Near the old rail line. It has good bones. High ceilings."
You didn't look at Bakugo. You kept your eyes on the paper.
"Tell us about the design," Matteo pressed. "It looks modern."
"I want it to be open," you started, and then, something unlocked.
You began to speak, and for the first time in months, you weren't talking about your grief.
You were talking about your passion. You pointed to the sketch, explaining the flow of the lobby, the specific materials you wanted for the gym mats to prevent joint injury, the intake system for civilians during emergencies.
"I don't want it to feel like a fortress," you said, hands moving as you spoke, building something in the air between words. “Hero agencies are usually so cold — all glass and metal and distance. I want this to feel like a sanctuary. When people walk in, I don’t want them intimidated by rank or power. I want them to feel safe.”
Shoto watched you from across the flames. He saw it — the way your spine straightened, the way the fog that had clouded your eyes since the hospital burned away, replaced by sharp, clear light. The ease was back. The authority. The you he’d been mourning.
The circle went quiet, just listening to your voice weave a future out of graphite and air.
You were smiling. Small, but real.
"It sounds incredible," Shoto said softly.
"It will be," you answered. And you believed it.
──── ୨୧ ────
The briefing wound down, the fire turning to embers. You closed your notebook — it was full now, the margins crammed with new ideas from the senior heroes and design tips from Matteo. It felt heavy with promise.
You stood up, dusting off your pants. "I'm turning in. Goodnight, everyone."
You turned to the villa doors.
To get there, you had to walk past him.
Bakugo sat right there, close enough to touch. In the past, his gravity would have bent your trajectory. You would have slowed, hoping he’d reach out and catch your wrist. You would have looked at him, silently begging him to remember the girl who designed that agency for him.
But tonight, your mind was full of floor plans and paint swatches. Your heart was full of a quiet, terrifying kind of hope — not for him, but for yourself.
You walked past Katsuki Bakugo.
You didn't look down. Didn’t pause.
You just walked.
Your room wrapped around you in cool silence. You leaned your head against the door, notebook pressed to your chest. The quiet didn’t feel lonely. It felt like a blank canvas.
Then it hit you — a jolt of clarity so sudden it stole your breath:
You hadn’t checked to see if he was watching you leave.
For months, every step away from him had been performed for an audience of one, hoping he’d look up and remember. Tonight, you’d simply… left. Because you had somewhere to go.
You were starting over.
And for the first time since your world ended, you knew — bone-deep, blood-certain — that it was actually possible.
──── ୨୧ ────
Bakugo’s POV
His body was a traitor.
They cleared the stronghold in under twenty minutes — efficient, brutal, flawless. The kind of operation that would make headlines by morning. And the second the last villain hit the pavement, muscle memory hijacked him.
He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. His hand was already moving, snatching the spare water bottle from his belt. His head whipped left — always left, always her blind spot — ready to bark orders, check for blood, shove hydration at someone who never remembered to drink after using her quirk.
Except no one was there.
She stood ten feet away, wiping soot from her cheek. Not even looking at him.
He froze mid-motion, clutching a plastic bottle like some kind of idiot, his heart jackhammering in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the fight. Why did I do that? Why did his quirk settle when she was in range, like his body recognized a missing piece he didn’t know he’d lost?
His fiancée wasn't a hero. She didn't know the smell of ozone and burnt flesh. She didn't know the specific silence that comes after a detonation. So why, for a split second, did he feel like he was exactly where he belonged?
He shoved the water back into his belt, frustration rising like bile.
She’s just an obsessed ex, his fiancée had told him, fingers cool and certain against his temple. She can’t let go, Katsuki. She’s deluded. Just ignore her.
So why was she the one ignoring him?
──── ୨୧ ────
The migraine struck during the briefing.
It started as a dull throb at the base of his skull, then sharpened into a white-hot spike drilling behind his eyes. Always the same. Anytime he pushed too hard at the “Before” — before the hospital, before the ring, before the clean narrative his fiancee fed him — his brain revolted.
Usually the fiancée fixed it. A touch to his forehead, her quirk humming soft and gold, and the pain would melt into pleasant fog. You’re overthinking, she’d murmur. Just trust my memory. Yours is broken.
But she wasn’t here. And the pain was splitting his skull open.
He was staring at the fire, trying to breathe through it, when he heard a voice.
“I want it to be open. Hero agencies are usually so cold… I want people to feel safe there.”
The pain stopped. Not faded — stopped.
He looked up. Across the fire, she was sketching in a worn notebook, face gilded by firelight. The obsessed ex. The stranger who felt like a ghost he couldn’t stop haunting.
Her voice washed over him, and the noise in his skull cleared for the first time all day.
Then the memory hit.
──── ୨୧ ────
Three years ago. He was sitting on a curb, vibrating with rage because the press had torn him apart for "excessive force." He felt like a monster. And then, a voice cut through the noise. Someone sat next to him. Someone handed him a pork bun and started talking about something mundane — the weather, a stray cat — just to ground him. Just to bring him back.
In his head, the face he saw in that memory was his fiancée’s. It was her blonde hair, her soft smile.
But the voice?
He stared at the woman across the fire.
The voice in the memory — the cadence, the soothing drop in pitch, the specific way she hummed at the end of a sentence — it was her. It was the woman with the notebook.
The audio didn't match the video.
His breath caught. The migraine roared back, vicious and defensive, like his brain was fighting to reject the realization. Stop thinking. Look away. It was your fiancée.
Except his fiancée hated pork buns. And she thought his anger was “scary,” not something to be gentled.
The woman across the fire laughed at something the Italian hero said — genuine and unguarded. His chest caved in. Physical. A grief for something he was somehow holding and losing simultaneously.
──── ୨୧ ────
The briefing ended. She stood.
He couldn’t move. Paralyzed on the bench, waging war inside his own skull.
She walked toward the villa. She had to pass him.
Look at me, he thought, desperate and angry. Look at me and tell me why you feel like a missing limb.
She didn’t. She walked right past him.
She didn't slow down. She didn't glance at his hands. She just walked, eyes forward, carrying her own future in that notebook.
But as she passed, the air shifted.
Clean linen. Custom detergent he hadn’t consciously remembered in years.
The scent bypassed logic, bypassed the migraine’s warnings. It slammed into the animal part of his brain that simply knew:
Mine.
The word was so loud he nearly said it aloud.
She disappeared into the villa. The door clicked shut with a finality that felt like amputation.
His phone buzzed.
Fiancée: How’s the mission? Is your head hurting? Do you need me to call and help you sleep?
His thumb hovered over the screen.
One word — yes — and she’d call. She’d use her voice, her quirk. Smooth the jagged edges. Make the face in the memory match again. Make the pain dissolve into sweet, safe fog, and he could go back to being Dynamight, the man who had everything figured out.
He looked at the door where the woman with the notebook had vanished.
The migraine pounded, screaming warnings, begging him to stop digging.
He slid the phone back into his pocket.
Let it hurt.
He needed to know why the pain felt more real than the cure.
──── ୨୧ ────
a/n: hey guys, sorry for the super late update 😭 I literally had like 5 different versions of part 4 fighting for their lives in my docs… hope you still enjoyed it though. thank you for being patient 💕
❛ second date ☆ ❜ — 18+ SMUT
⤷ pro hero!katsuki bakugo x civilian!reader
(wc 12k)
synopsis: your 1st date with bakugo katsuki went...terrific!! what do you have planned for your 2nd date?
tags: smut,public sex, picnic, making out, creampie, switch!bakugo, switch!reader, awkward and funny, reader is a cutie pie, bakugo is a virgin
a/n: i was trying to play w/ the prospect of slightly more serious bakugo idk sorry enjoy
your room is quiet except for the hum of your old box fan and the little plinks from your phone. it’s late but you’re wired, cheeks still warm from smiling too much. your fingers dance over the screen, pausing—rewriting, deleting, grinning to yourself like you’ve got a secret. finally you just send it, quick and honest: had so much fun tonight! hope i get to see you again :)
you fall back into the pillows, phone on your chest, staring at the ceiling, memories swirling together like honey. the city is distant outside, just a handful of sirens and the flicker of passing cars, but in your head it’s only the golden glow of the izakaya where you and katsuki met up—how he was already waiting, arms crossed, scowl set, but it melted a little when you bounced over, practically skipping introducing himself.
you can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles out as you remember how stiff he was at first, glaring at the menu. your knees nearly brushed under the table, and you remember talking, just talking, about music and bad work stories and whether you’d ever try skydiving. bakugo was quiet, mostly, answering in those rough, careful bursts that made you lean in just to catch what he said.
at some point, over skewers and soda, he admitted, low and gruff that, “i’m not… used to this kinda stuff. my friends… they set me up for this.” he looked everywhere but your eyes, thumb picking at a water ring on the table. the flush of his cheeks pink.
your heart had just squeezed at that, so you teased, gentle, “so… did you wanna leave?” you tried to sound casual, but your voice went up at the end, betraying your nerves. his eyes snapped up—serious, almost fierce. “no. no, i just…” he cleared his throat, looking away, “it’s just… this is my first date. ever.”
the way he said it—flat, defensive, almost like a challenge—made you want to reach out and hold his hand right there. but you just beamed, feeling giddy, letting the silence stretch a little before you said, “oh!” and then, “that’s so cool. i’m really glad it’s with me.” and your voice was soft, a little shaky, but so, so excited. you swore you saw him smirk for half a second, but maybe it was the lighting.
your phone buzzes—he texted back, shorter than you, but the words are like fireworks in your chest:
yeah. i had fun too. wouldn’t mind seein’ you again. you still owe me dessert, dumbass.
you hug your pillow, giggling.
you get used to the rhythm of it—messages from him dropped in between patrols and press conferences, sometimes a little gruff voice memo when he’s half-awake or half-bored on stakeout, sometimes just a quick “mornin’” or a blurry photo of his protein shake, and every time you see his name pop up your stomach flips like it’s brand new.
it’s easy, though, even with the distance. you babble about your day: the new bakery you tried, the old man you saw walking six chihuahuas at once, the time you almost set off the fire alarm trying to broil your lunch (he sent you three separate texts yelling about fire safety after that one). he always reads everything—even if his replies come hours later, you can tell he’s listening, the way he remembers every tiny thing, the way he’ll grumble, “so how’s that cactus you were talkin’ about, still dyin’?” and you’ll laugh because yes, it’s absolutely still dying.
then one afternoon, just when you’re thinking about him a little too hard, your phone lights up with his name.
hey. we should do another date.
you nearly drop your phone, texting back way too fast, oh my gosh yes katsuki!! can i pick this time??
he leaves you waiting a full minute—long enough for you to nearly panic—then:
yeah. sure. you seem excited to. just don’t make me do any of that artsy shit.
you let out a breathless laugh, hugging your knees to your chest, and type back, promise!! i have an idea… i think you’ll like it.
his answer comes back, quick and a little softer: as long as it’s with you, don’t care what we do.
you stare at the screen, grinning like a fool, already picturing it—him, the picnic, the sun, maybe that blue-and-yellow sundress you just bought for no reason except that you hoped, maybe, he’d get to see you in it.
you’re in the grocery store, weaving your cart through the aisles like it’s a race, voice low as you send katsuki a rapid-fire string of texts: hey, what kinda fruit do you actually like? are you allergic to anything? do you hate mayo? what about mustard? he sends back a grumpy, i don’t care, just no pickles or raisins. and don’t make anything weird. you can almost hear his voice—flat, unimpressed, but there’s an edge of playfulness tucked in there.
you end up lingering by the deli for way too long, debating ham or turkey or both, tossing both in the cart with a little flourish because he’ll probably eat them either way. you grab strawberries and kiwi and thick, soft bread for fruit sandwiches. the whip cream goes in last, a little indulgence for later. there’s juice boxes for you and some canned coffee for him, just in case.
by the time you get home, you’re humming, bouncing on your toes as you unpack everything. your group chat is blowing up but all you care about is arranging things just so—cutting sandwiches into little triangles, stacking fruit in rainbow colors, fussing over every detail because, well, this is bakugo.
your phone buzzes—a new message from katsuki:
what’re you up to today?
your heart does a silly little skip, and before you can think better of it, you tap the record button and send a voice memo instead. “hi, katsuki! i’m getting stuff ready for our date! i got all the things you like, and i promise i didn’t get any weird stuff. it’s gonna be so cute, i can’t wait! i hope you like strawberries—oh, and i remembered the drink you like. okay, see you soon!”
it’s bright and bubbly, a little breathless from excitement, and you don’t even care if you sound ridiculous. you hit send and fall back on your bed, cheeks hot, grinning so hard your face hurts.
on his end, katsuki listens to your voice memo twice—once for the words, once just for the sound of you, so soft and sweet, the kind of softness he never lets himself admit he needs. he saves it, tucks it away for later, shakes his head like he’s annoyed, but can’t stop the way his lips curl at the edges. for all his bark, he’s weak for you—especially like this.
the night settles in slow, heavy and humming. you’re in your room again, string lights glowing, pajama shorts and hair pulled back. the last of your energy has all gone into making sure the sandwiches are perfect and the strawberries are cut just right. you check your phone a dozen times—nothing.
it’s fine, you tell yourself. you flick on the tv and sure enough, there he is, ground zero in all his blazing, explosive glory. he’s barking orders at the scene, smoke and city lights throwing sparks behind him, and you find yourself holding your breath until he finally walks out of frame. you feel your heart unclench, the familiar ache of caring for someone whose world is always teetering between chaos and safety.
so you send the only message you can:
i hope you’re safe. please be careful, katsuki!
you put your phone face down on the pillow and brush your teeth, putter around your room, try to will the worry away. by the time you slip under the covers, the city has quieted and you’re more tired than you thought. the picnic basket is packed by your door. you check your phone again, just once more before sleep.
it buzzes, lighting up with his name—late, nearly midnight.
sorry. i’m fine. have a good night.
can’t wait to see you tomorrow.
it’s short, but it feels like the most important thing in the world. you hug your phone, whisper “goodnight, katsuki” into the dark, knowing he can’t hear you but hoping somehow he feels it. there’s a thrill in your chest, a little spark that makes it impossible to sleep right away, but you don’t mind. tomorrow can’t come fast enough.
the sun’s barely up and you’re still tangled in your sheets, hair wild, pillow creased to your cheek when the doorbell jolts you out of that half-dream haze. you mumble something half-intelligible, feet dragging as you shuffle to the door, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
you open it to a delivery guy who barely looks up from his tablet. “uh, are you—” he reads your name off the label.
you nod, still half-asleep. “that’s me,” you yawn, voice soft and fuzzy.
he hands over a bouquet so big you have to fumble for it with both hands—sunflowers and wildflowers and these almost comically red roses, all packed in a way that feels both wild and perfectly precise. the delivery guy gives you a nod and is gone before you can ask a single question.
you close the door, arms full of color, already grinning as you scan for a card. it’s tucked right in the middle, scribbled with bold, blocky handwriting that makes you laugh out loud:
from dynamight with love.
you press the card to your chest, practically bouncing in your fuzzy socks, cheeks burning with that bright kind of happiness that chases away every last bit of sleep. you grab your phone, arrange the bouquet in the morning light, and snap a quick photo—flowers spilling out of your arms, your smile impossible to hide.
the message you type is quick, your excitement bubbling over:
look what i woke up to!! you’re so sweet, katsuki. thank you, thank you! see you soon, cutie!
you hit send, hugging the flowers like they’re the best thing that’s ever happened to you. maybe today is already perfect.
the water is still steaming when you step out of the shower, skin all rosy and hair damp at the ends. you flip through your closet with music playing low, fingers gliding over hangers until you stop at the dress—a sundress, light and flowy, soft yellow with little white flowers, something that always made you feel a little extra pretty. flats because you want to be comfortable, and then you find your favorite bow clip, pinning it at the back of your hair with a satisfied little grin.
the kitchen smells like strawberries and fresh bread as you pull out all your careful preparations—fruit sandwiches stacked neatly, ham and turkey triangles, juice boxes, everything you fussed over last night. you pack it into the basket, trying to make it look cute and easy, like you didn’t obsess over every detail. the flowers from katsuki stand guard on the table, bright and proud.
your phone lights up with his name.
you want me to pick you up or are we meeting there?
your fingers fly over the screen, heart skipping.
would it be super sweet of you to pick me up? i’d love that!
he replies almost instantly:
tch. yeah, i can do that. i’ll be there in twenty. don’t make me wait.
your phone buzzes and it’s him, short and to the point as ever:
i’m downstairs.
you barely manage to grab your basket, nearly forgetting your phone in the rush, practically floating down the steps. every bounce in your stride is a little more dramatic than the last, sundress fluttering, bow clip catching the light. you spot his car parked right at the curb—sleek, familiar, a little intimidating but totally him. you wave both arms like you’re flagging down a lifeboat, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.
bakugo watches you through the windshield, muttering under his breath, “jeez, she’s so damn happy—how is she always like this?” he tries to glare, but it’s a half-hearted effort today. he catches a glimpse of his own face in the rearview mirror and stops—his cheeks are flushed pink, ears burning.
“shit,” he grumbles, rubbing at his jaw like it might hide the color.
when you reach his car, you don’t hesitate, just throw open the passenger door and all but tumble in, food basket carefully balanced on your knees, flowers clutched in one hand. “good morning, katsuki!” you beam at him, so bright, so natural, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world to be this happy just to see him.
bakugo just shakes his head, mouth tugging up in a way he’d never admit is a smile, and mumbles, “yeah, yeah, buckle up. let’s get this over with before you explode or something.” but he’s still sneaking glances, his heart thumping so loud he’s sure you can hear it.
he throws the car into drive, glancing at the basket perched on your lap, his curiosity getting the better of him. “so where are we goin’? you got all this shit with you,” he grunts, trying not to sound too interested.
you practically wriggle with excitement, twisting the bow in your hair. “i made us a picnic! remember how you said i owed you dessert? well, i made you some instead. i hope you’re ready for the best sandwiches and fruit and everything, because i went all out for you, katsuki!”
he just nods, eyes fixed on the road, but you catch the way his lips twitch and his ears pink up. “they better be good,” he mumbles, voice low and half-playful.
you giggle, can’t help it, bouncing a little in your seat. “i hope so too. i practiced and everything! but, uh, if they’re not, you have to pretend they are, deal?”
he snorts, shooting you a quick sideways look—smirk barely there, but warm. “no promises. if it’s shit, i’ll let you know. but…” he clears his throat, glancing away, “…thanks. for doing this.”
the way he says it makes your chest flutter. you squeeze the basket, peeking over at him, sunshine pouring in the window. “anytime, katsuki. you’re worth the effort.”
the drive stretches on, windows cracked, his playlist thrumming through the speakers—a lot of hard guitar and wild drums, something you could only picture for katsuki. the city blurs past in streaks of glass and green, your basket snug between your knees, your gaze drifting from the skyline to the stubborn angle of his jaw.
sometimes you peek at him, but mostly you watch the world outside, content in the quiet. it’s the kind of silence that feels good, charged with promise, not pressure. every now and then you hum along to the music, just soft enough that he doesn’t roll his eyes.
after a while, he breaks the hush, voice rumbling: “y’know, i’m surprised you’re not talkin’ about my hero shit. everyone does.”
you turn to him, wide-eyed. “well, i mean, i don’t wanna bother you. it’s like, uh… having a doctor for a boyfriend and asking him to patch you up every time you get a paper cut.” you fidget with your bow, trying to sound wise but coming off a little sheepish.
he gives you this blank look, one eyebrow ticking up. “that’s… completely wrong.”
you laugh, embarrassed, waving your hands. “okay, yeah, maybe that’s not the best example! i just—i figured you get enough of that stuff all day, y’know? i don’t wanna be another fan, i wanna be your…” you stumble a little, cheeks getting hot, “…uh, friend? person? date? oh, god, i’m making this weird, aren’t i?”
he huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch. “you’re overthinking it.”
“yeah, i do that,” you admit, grinning now, rolling your eyes at yourself. “but seriously, i just wanna get to know you, katsuki. not just dynamight. but, like, if you ever wanna talk about hero stuff, i’d listen! i just… don’t wanna annoy you.”
he glances at you, the sunlight catching the red in his eyes, and after a pause, he mutters, “you don’t annoy me.”
and you can’t help but beam, all sunshine and softness, the rest of the drive warm with the kind of easy quiet that feels like summer.
the car barely rolls to a stop before you’re already unbuckled, practically hopping out onto the curb, sundress spinning with you. you grab the basket, barely able to contain how giddy you are just to finally be here, the sun warm on your shoulders and the world open and green and full of possibility.
bakugo slams his door and meets you at the front, hands in his pockets, expression half-grumpy, half-curious. “i don’t mean any offense,” he mutters, “but why the hell are you always so damn excited about everything?”
you laugh, not even close to offended, shrugging with a little bounce on your toes. “no offense taken! i dunno, i just… like to live life happily, y’know? there’s so much stuff happening every day. i don’t wanna miss any of the good parts. if i get to smile and be happy, i’m gonna take it! besides, who wants to walk around all gloomy all the time?”
he squints at you, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s a softness there you can’t miss. “tch. guess that makes sense. s’not like the world needs more grumps.”
you beam at him, swinging the picnic basket a little. “exactly! and anyway, you’re pretty cute when you’re not scowling. so… ready for the best picnic ever, katsuki?”
he rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile, trailing after you as you search for the perfect spot under the trees. “you better not be overselling this, sunshine.”
you’re walking together, close enough that your shoulders almost brush, your steps all light and fizzy while his stomp in that “don’t mess with me” kind of way. you can’t help but grin up at him, half expecting actual storm clouds to gather above his head—he’s got that energy, all scowl and stubborn jaw, arms crossed till you nudge him with your elbow.
the park is blissfully empty, just a few birds and the lazy rush of water in the distance. every spot you pass—near the river, the neat rows of white columns, the little gazebo half swallowed by ivy—feels too open, too ordinary for today. you’re looking around, bouncing on your toes, when bakugo suddenly grunts and points, “there. over there by the waterfall, s’way more private.”
you follow his gaze—tucked away behind a bend in the path is a little patch of grass, half-hidden by tall wildflowers and the spray of a gentle waterfall that trickles down mossy stone. “oh, wonderful!!” you squeal, barely able to contain yourself.
before you can even thank him, he reaches out, grabbing the basket from your hands—not gently, but not mean either, just in that rough, efficient way of his, like he’s saving you from yourself. you smile up at him, and, on pure instinct, your fingers slip into his free hand, lacing together with all the ease in the world.
he freezes, basket dangling from his other hand, the tips of his ears going crimson. he tries to huff and look away, but you can see the bashful little smirk fighting to escape. “quit lookin’ at me like that,” he mumbles, squeezing your hand anyway.
“sorry,” you chirp, “you’re just too cute.”
he scowls, but you see the way his eyes flick down to your dress, his jaw clenching, thunderclouds giving way to something much warmer as you pull him. bakugo barely resists as you tug him along, the basket bumping at his knee. his eyes are glued to you, even when he tries to look anywhere else—he can’t help it. there’s something hypnotic about the way your sundress moves, the soft cling of fabric hugging your waist, the flutter every time you step just a little too quick and your hips sway, your butt jiggling with a bounce that has him swallowing hard.
he tries to distract himself, glancing at the flowers, the sparkle of the waterfall ahead, but your laughter rings in the air, sweeter than any birdsong. sunlight glances off your skin, tracing your bare shoulders and the stretch of your calves, warm and golden and impossibly soft. the little bow in your hair wobbles as you lead him, a ribbon of color bouncing along, and he finds himself biting back a smile because—hell, you really did dress up for him.
he never gets that, not like this. not someone so happy just to be with him. not someone who lights up a whole park just by walking through it, who’s already making him forget what it was ever like to be bored or cold or alone.
he follows, heart pounding, hands itching to tug you closer, and for the first time he thinks maybe picnics aren’t so lame after all.
you gasp as the waterfall comes into view, sunlight splintering off the spray and making the whole little clearing look magical—like something out of a storybook. “oh my god, look how pretty!” you blurt, you turn to bakugo, eyes shining, and set the basket down. you fuss with the cloth, shaking it out until it floats down perfectly over the grass, smoothing out every wrinkle. you pat the spot next to you, glancing up with that irresistible grin.
he stands there for a second, hands jammed in his pockets, brow furrowed like he’s still not totally convinced this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank. “so… what do we do now?” he grumbles, eyeing the setup suspiciously.
you sit down cross-legged, wiggling in place and patting the space beside you again. “it’s a picnic, silly! we just sit and talk, eat good stuff, and enjoy the view—nature, the waterfall, each other.” you toss him a wink, playful and bright.
bakugo rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but he lowers himself down beside you anyway, legs sprawled out, glancing sidelong at you like he’s secretly glad you’re here to teach him how to be soft for a little while.
bakugo settles onto the blanket with a grunt, elbows on his knees, watching you work. you don’t seem to notice how his gaze lingers—how he keeps glancing at your hands, at the way your face scrunches in concentration as you arrange everything just so. you line up the cups (juice for you, coffee for him, water for both, because you’re thoughtful like that), stack the sandwiches into a little tower, and fan out the fruit—strawberries, kiwi, plump grapes—making it look like something out of a magazine.
you finish with a flourish, hands in the air: “ta-da!” your laughter bubbles out next, soft and sheepish. “it’s not much, but… i thought you’d really enjoy having peace. just… you know, for one day.” your eyes are gentle, all kind and concern.
bakugo goes still, staring at you as the words sink in. peace. you did all this—just so he could have a break from the world, from the noise, from all the eyes and expectations. you wanted him to rest. his chest tightens, something soft and sharp blooming behind his chest, making him scowl just to hide it.
jeez, he thinks, you are such a cute fucking sucker. he wants to bark at you, tease you, but the words get tangled up in his throat. instead he just grabs a sandwich, takes a big bite, and grumbles, “yeah, well… s’not bad. pretty good, actually.”
he doesn’t say thank you, but the way he leans a little closer, the way his knee brushes yours and stays there—well, you don’t need the words. bakugo’s never felt more seen, or more at peace, than right here with you. damn it, he might actually be falling for you.
he finds himself watching you, even when he tries not to—can’t help it, not with the way your whole face lights up when you talk. you pull out your phone, scrolling with sticky fruit fingers, and shove the screen at him, nearly dropping a strawberry in his lap.
“look! look at this one—he’s wearing a tiny hat!” you burst out laughing before he’s even seen the punchline, giggles tumbling out of you like you can’t hold them in. your eyes crinkle at the corners, cheeks round, lips glossy from fruit and sun.
bakugo glances at the meme, unimpressed. it’s just a chubby cat in a hat. it’s not that funny. but you—doubled over, snorting, tears in your eyes from how stupid it is—you’re so damn earnest it knocks the wind out of him.
he shakes his head, trying to look annoyed, but the corners of his mouth betray him, tugging up into a smile so small you might miss it. “you’re such a dork,” he mutters, but his voice is soft, warm.
the only thing he really wants to look at is you.
you flop onto your stomach, chin in your hands, legs swaying back and forth, sundress fluttering in the breeze. you pat the blanket beside you, grinning up at bakugo. “c’mon, lay down! the sky looks better from here.”
he rolls his eyes but relents, stretching out beside you, propping himself on an elbow. the grass is cool against your skin, the waterfall a steady hush behind you, wind weaving songs through the trees overhead.
you turn your head, eyes curious and gentle. “so… why’d you let your friends set us up anyway?”
he grunts, picking at a blade of grass. “dunno. they wouldn’t shut up about it. kept goin’ on and on about how i need a girlfriend, or i’m gonna be a grumpy old man forever.” he scowls, but there’s no real heat in it. “wasn’t even my main focus, y’know? but they made this dumb profile, started swiping left and right. finally just got tired of them pestering me, so i just… picked you.”
your lips curl in a teasing smile. “oh, you picked me, huh?”
he glances at you, eyes dark and serious under the messy fringe. “yeah. i did. every other extra just wanted to talk about dynamight. ‘what’s it like fighting villains?’ ‘oh my god, can you blow something up for me?’” he shrugs, nose wrinkling a little. “you didn’t. you talked to me. just… me.”
your smile softens, warmth blooming in your chest. “lucky me, then.”
he huffs, but his gaze lingers, sunlight catching the gold in his eyes. “yeah. lucky you.” but from the way he looks at you, it’s obvious he thinks he’s the lucky one.
you laugh, burying your face in your arms for a second before glancing sideways at him, cheeks flushed and eyes teasing. “well, maybe the other girls are more fun or cooler than me! maybe they just got excited because they could date a hero. who wouldn’t want that?”
he rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost theatrical, but there’s a huff of laughter in it. “yeah, right. half of ’em didn’t even get my name right. and the rest? just wanted to say they went out with dynamight, not katsuki.” his voice is softer now, a little gruff but not unkind. “i don’t want someone who thinks i’m just a headline. i want someone who actually wants me. and you… you’re plenty fun... and cooler than any of those extras, so… shut up.”
he nudges your leg with his knee, refusing to meet your eyes, ears going just a bit pink. “besides. i’d rather have you than anyone who just wants a piece of the hero. got it?”
your heart trips at the way he says it—so clumsy, so earnest, like every word is being dragged out of him one stubborn inch at a time. you beam at him, chin in your hands, voice low and sweet. “yeah, katsuki. i got it.”
you can’t help it—you have to poke at him, just a little. you nudge his shoulder, all sly smile and playful eyes. “so… does this mean we’re official? boyfriend and girlfriend already?”
he doesn’t even hesitate, snorts a little. “if you can handle it, yeah. i’d rather not do a do-over again with someone else.” his tone is tired, but you can tell he means every word, his gaze steady and his ears burning red.
you burst out laughing, rolling onto your back so you can look up at the sky, hair fanned out in the grass. “c’mon, katsuki! we’re not even thaaat deep in our relationship. this is only our second date! you’re moving quick, aren’t you?” he scoffs, crossing his arms and looking anywhere but your face, but there’s a stubborn little smirk at the corner of his mouth. “yeah, well. that’s one too many already. see? don’t need a second date to figure out I wanna be with ya.”
the wind rustles through the leaves, and you look over at him, warmth blooming everywhere inside you. “good thing, katsuki. i don’t need any more dates to know i wanna be with you, either.”
you grab a strawberry, the biggest and ripest you can find, and give it a generous dollop of whipped cream, careful not to let it topple. you lean over, all grin and mischief, holding it out to bakugo with an expectant wiggle of your brows.
he eyes you suspiciously, as if this is some sort of elaborate trick, then huffs, rolling his eyes. “you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but he leans in anyway.
his lips brush your fingers as he takes a bite—soft, warm, lingering just a beat longer than necessary. a smear of whipped cream lingers at the corner of his mouth, and you both freeze for a second, a little too aware, a little too close.
he chews, finally swallowing with a grunt. “not bad,” he says, voice just a little lower than before, “could use more cream, though.”
your heart flutters as you laugh, barely able to look away from his mouth. you cock your head, grinning, eyes all bright mischief. “oh, you want more cream? i’ll give you more cream.”
you grab another fat strawberry, practically drown it in whipped cream this time, and lean in, pressing it right to his lips. he opens his mouth, but you smear the cream on purpose, leaving a generous dollop on the corner of his mouth and a streak across his lower lip. he blinks, startled—then narrows his eyes at you, but you’re already doubled over, giggling so hard you nearly tip the basket.
“you little brat,” he grumbles, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, but he doesn’t really mind, not when you’re laughing like that, sunlight making your eyes sparkle. your laughter is infectious, ringing through the little clearing, and for a second he just sits there, dumbfounded by how easy it is to let his guard down around you.
he leans over, scooping some cream off his own lip, smirking now. “think you’re real funny, huh?” but his voice is warm, almost soft, and you can’t help but stare at him, heart thudding wild, thinking you might want to do this every day forever.
bakugo doesn’t let you get away with it, not for a second. he dips his finger into the can, gets a big dollop of whipped cream, and before you can react, he swipes it right across your upper lip, giving you a perfect little cream mustache.
you burst into laughter, head thrown back, clutching your sides. “oh my god, katsuki!” your voice rings out, bright and delighted.
he just sits there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, watching you lose it. but then you lean forward, still grinning, and lick your upper lip—slow, playful, making a show of getting every bit of cream off.
bakugo’s eyes flicker, locked on your mouth, a flush rising in his cheeks. the sight of you—sundress, that messy bow, licking cream off your lips—does something to him, tightens something in his chest and drops his jaw just a little.
“you’re a mess,” he grumbles, but his gaze is hungry, voice rough, it’s clear he’s not thinking about food anymore.
you flop back down on the blanket, hair spilling around you, eyes half-lidded with contentment. you let out a little sigh, voice soft and genuine. “this is such a great day, katsuki. i’m really having a great day.”
he leans back on his palms, legs stretched out, eyes on the water, then on you. “yeah. it’s a good day,” he says, almost casual, but the way he says it is gentle, his usual edge softened just for you.
he doesn’t say the rest—how it feels like every knot in his shoulders is finally loosening, how he can almost forget the world is full of villains and interviews and noise. how he hasn’t had a day this simple and good in years, not since before all the hero work and fame made it hard to just… be. the sunlight and your laughter, your easy smile, the way you look at him like he’s just katsuki and not dynamight—it all pulls the tension out of him, makes his chest ache in a good way.
he glances over, sees you watching him with that sunny, peaceful look, and for a second, he lets himself just feel it—just live in this moment, wishing it could last a little longer.
the conversation drifts, lazy and unhurried. bakugo starts in with stories about his agency—bragging, really, because of course he’s still cocky as hell, even on his best behavior. he tells you about a villain he took down last week, all explosive details and sharp grins, and how his rookie sidekick nearly got himself flattened by a vending machine (“idiot still owes me lunch for saving his ass”).
you listen, wide-eyed, propping your chin on your palm, completely enthralled. “that’s amazing, katsuki. you’re honestly so strong. i don’t know how you do it—always protecting everyone, being the best.” you don’t even realize how sweet you sound, but he does.
he glances away, ears pink, and you catch the little smirk tugging at his mouth. he tries to shrug it off but you see right through him. “yeah, well… ‘course i’m strong. strongest pro in the city.” he puffs up a bit, basking in your praise, voice dropping just a bit lower, a little more smug every time you call him the best. his pride looks good on him, especially when you’re the one giving it.
then you start telling him about your own life, all the little stories from your job—your quirky coworkers, the office gossips, that one guy who always leaves his lunch in the breakroom fridge until it grows a new civilization. bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “sounds like a bunch of weirdos.”
you laugh. “they are! but they’re my weirdos. s’why i like ‘em.” and for a while, you trade stories back and forth, your worlds tangling together on the blanket as easily as your hands did earlier. it’s comfortable, effortless, and he finds himself wanting to know everything, to keep you talking and laughing just for him.
you nudge his shoulder and point at the waterfall, eyes sparkling with that mischievous light he’s come to recognize—a sure sign you’re about to drag him into something a little reckless. “hey, katsuki, did you know there’s a hidden cave behind the water? wanna check it out with me?” your voice dips playful, daring.
he rolls his eyes, already sighing. “fine, but don’t do anything stupid. last thing I need is you falling in or something.”
you press a hand to your heart, mock offended but grinning. “of course not! i promise, it’s actually really pretty inside. you’re gonna love it.” you bounce to your feet, brushing grass from your sundress, and offer him your hand . bakugo rises, grumbling under his breath but unable to hide the spark of curiosity—and maybe a little excitement—lurking behind his glare. he lets you tug him along, your fingers entwined with his as you lead him toward the waterfall, shoes squishing over moss and cool earth.
you take a sharp little path off the main clearing, pushing aside a curtain of wildflowers and brambles. the sound of the water grows louder, a steady roar as you skirt the slippery stones, mist cool on your skin. you glance back at bakugo, giving him a wide, secretive smile before ducking behind the thick sheet of falling water.
he follows, eyes wide with surprise at how the world changes on the other side—the cave glows blue, light refracting off the water, stone walls glistening with hidden veins of quartz. it’s like a hidden world, secret and just for the two of you. and you’re grinning, cheeks flushed, so proud to have brought him here.
the cave glows with its own soft light—sunlight filtering through the waterfall mixes with the shimmer of moss and wet rock, casting blue and gold shadows that dance along the walls. tiny ferns curl out from crevices, droplets sparkling on the tips, and the ground is covered in the kind of soft moss that cushions every step. it’s almost otherworldly, a hidden little paradise tucked behind the roar of the falls.
you take a few steps in, twirling once in your sundress just because you can, laughter echoing off the stone. you pause, catch bakugo’s hand, and without thinking, you place it right at your waist—next to your ass. his palm slips a little lower, instinctively cupping your ass, and you shoot him a smirk over your shoulder.
he doesn’t let go, and you don’t mind at all. you walk deeper together, the world narrowed down to the closeness of your bodies and the hush of falling water.
you tilt your head, still holding his hand, voice hushed but bright. “... doesn’t it feel like we’ve been together for longer than ten seconds? like, way longer?”
he squeezes your hip, looking around at the shimmering cave, then back at you. his eyes soften, serious in the glow. “yeah… i feel that too. it’s weird. but it’s good.” his thumb brushes slow, possessive, against your side, and he can’t seem to pull away, even if he tried.
you wander deeper into the cave, letting the cool glow wrap around the both of you, making the world outside feel impossibly far away. you stop near a slick stone ledge, water trickling beside you, the moss cushioning your feet. bakugo still has his hand on your waist, fingers flexing now and then.
you look up at him, grinning with a little tilt of your head, sunlight catching in your eyes. “katsuki… i really wanna kiss you. can i?”
he grumbles, but his voice is softer than usual, rough edges smoothed out by the way you’re looking at him. “i’m supposed t’ be askin’ that, y’know.” he doesn’t pull away, though—if anything, he tugs you a little closer.
you stand on your toes, close enough to see the way his cheeks have flushed, close enough to catch the way his breathing picks up. you cup his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his jaw, and lean up as he leans down, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s soft, almost shy at first.
he goes still for a heartbeat, then melts into it, mouth warm and surprisingly gentle. you taste the faintest hint of strawberries and cream, and his hands come up to your back, holding you steady as you press in closer. you kiss him sweet, lips soft and slow, savoring the moment like you have all the time in the world. his skin is warm beneath your palms, and you can feel him relax, tension slipping away as your mouths move together, the world narrowing down to the secret glow of the cave and the beat of your hearts pressed close.
bakugo’s arms slide around your waist, tugging you tight against him—he’s all muscle, warmth and solid strength, and you can feel every bit of it as he presses you closer, holding you like he doesn’t want to let you go. the kiss deepens, your laughter bubbling up as you realize just how sweet it is, how natural you feel together.
you giggle into his mouth, unable to help yourself. he pulls back, scowling, cheeks flushed. “what’s so damn funny?” he grumbles, still not letting you go.
you beam at him, fingers playing at the hair on the back of his neck. “you kiss so good, katsuki. i dunno, it’s just… charming.” your voice is soft, eyes bright with affection.
he gives you a look—half annoyed, half flustered—then, instead of arguing, he just leans in and kisses you again, a little rougher this time, lips crashing into yours in a way that says he’s had enough of talking. he pulls you onto his lap as he sits back on a smooth boulder, the cave echoing softly with the sound of water and your mingled breath.
his hands find your hips, anchoring you in place, and he kisses you like it’s the only language he knows—slow, lingering, hungry, but threaded through with that same sweetness you never expected from him. every kiss is a promise, every touch more sure, more desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel in his arms, right here, in your secret little world.
you pull back, cheeks burning, lips tingling, eyes darting away from his. suddenly, you’re a little shy, voice dropping to a whisper. “katsuki… you’re making me kinda horny.”
he blinks, then smirks, but his face goes bright red. “what’s wrong with that?” he shoots back, but his voice is gruff, almost teasing. he looks so smug, but the blush gives him away, and you can barely hold his gaze.
“i… i dunno,” you stammer, wringing your fingers in your lap, heart beating so loud you’re sure he can hear it. “i just… i wasn’t expecting to feel like—”
before you can finish, bakugo leans in, mouth hot against the curve of your neck. his lips graze your skin, lingering at the spot just below your ear, and his fingers drift up, lightly tracing your collarbone and the edge of your sundress, skimming the top of your chest.
his breath is warm as he murmurs, “guess you’re not the only one.” you feel your whole body flush, every nerve tingling, as his hands grow bolder, thumbs stroking along your skin, pulling you closer, deepening the heat swirling between you in the cool, secret glow of the cave.
your voice is soft, shaky, “should we… should we stop? i don’t wanna, like, get in trouble or something—” but your words tangle as bakugo’s mouth finds your neck, his lips warm, tongue darting out to taste the delicate skin just below your jaw. every time you try to finish your thought, he sucks a little harder, leaving a faint, stinging mark that makes your breath catch.
his hand is firm and possessive, palming your ass through the fabric of your sundress, kneading it like he owns it, and it sends a shiver all the way up your spine. “doesn’t matter,” he growls against your skin, voice hot and hungry, breath fanning over the marks he’s making.
your moans spill out, helpless and soft, your head tipped back as your fingers twist in the collar of his shirt. you look down at him, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling in shallow little pants, every part of you aching for more.
the world outside the cave feels impossibly far away—right now it’s just the two of you, hidden in your own glowing sanctuary, the rush of the waterfall masking the sound of your pleasure, and bakugo’s eyes dark and burning as he looks up at you, hungry for every sound, every gasp, every trembling plea that falls from your lips.
you finally pull away, heart pounding, face blazing, too shy to look him in the eye. you slide off his lap with trembling hands, sundress fluttering as you step back, shaking your head and biting your lip, laughter bubbling up from nerves and want. you’re flustered—completely undone by him—and you can’t quite catch your breath.
bakugo watches you, brows pinching in concern, voice lower and softer than before. “where ya goin’?” he asks, and for a split second he wonders if he pushed you too far, too fast. there’s something almost guilty in the way he looks up at you, tension buzzing in the space between you.
but you just wring your hands, glancing over your shoulder, then back at him, voice hushed but bold beneath your blush. “…where do you wanna do it at, katsuki? in here or… out by the picnic?”
his eyes go wide, caught between relief and heat, and he lets out a breathless laugh. “the picnic,” he says, not even pretending to think about it. “outside.” his voice is rough, decisive, every syllable thick with promise.
the flush in your cheeks deepens, excitement thrumming in your veins as you steal one last look at him, then hurry back toward the waterfall, sunlight and nerves tangling as you lead the way back to your blanket, knowing exactly what’s about to happen next.
you barely give him a chance to catch up—your hand catches his wrist, dragging him out of the cool cave and into the gold-washed sun, the waterfall thundering behind you. you can’t help but giggle, glancing over your shoulder at his flushed, startled face. “come on, hero! hurry up!”
he grumbles, stumbling just a bit on the mossy grass. “damn, you’re so damn strong—wait up!” but he follows, no hesitation now, your energy infectious.
at the blanket, you drop to your knees and he flops down beside you, sprawled out, looking both eager and totally out of his element. you straddle his hips, sundress billowing around your thighs, hands braced on his chest. his eyes are wide, darting between your face and where your dress pools around him.
he runs a hand through his hair, cheeks red, voice dropping. “i’m not… experienced with this typa shit, you know. not really. not like this.”
your heart squeezes, tender and proud all at once. you reach down, cupping his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek as you lean in. “that’s okay, katsuki. i’ll take care of you.”
he gulps, adam’s apple bobbing, a thousand thoughts flickering through his eyes before he nods, voice barely above a whisper. “yeah… okay. i trust you.” his hands settle on your hips, grip tightening just enough to tell you he’s ready—ready for you, for all of this, for the way you make him feel brand new under the afternoon sun.
you lean in, pressing your lips to his again—slow, sweet, tasting him in the warm afternoon light. your fingers gently guide his hands to your ass, settling them right where you want them, encouraging him to hold you close. his touch grows more confident, fingers digging in just a bit as you deepen the kiss, your thumb tracing lazy, soothing circles across his cheek.
you pull back just enough to grin at him, lips brushing his, voice low and teasing. “honestly, i’m surprised we’re about to have sex already, katsuki. didn’t think you were the type.”
he scowls, cheeks flaming, but the glint in his eyes is real. “yeah, well, like I said—i’m here for the long haul, princess.” he looks away, ears turning bright red, voice dropping soft at the end as if he’s letting you in on a secret he can barely say out loud.
your heart stutters, warmth blooming everywhere. you tangle your hand in his hair, gentle but possessive, tugging just enough to make him look at you. you kiss him again, pouring all your affection and excitement into it, letting him know with every breath, every touch, that you want him—now and for as long as he’ll let you.
you nod, laughter tumbling out of you, soft and breathless as you press your forehead to his. “i’m happy with that, katsuki. makes me kinda eager for our future, you know?” your words are warm and real, hope flickering in your chest as you hold him close.
he doesn’t say anything, not with words, but the way he looks at you—hungry, grateful, a little overwhelmed—says everything. his hands squeeze your hips, eyes fluttering shut as your lips find his again, kissing him slow and deep, then trailing down to his neck. you taste the salt of his skin, feeling the shiver that runs through him as you mouth along his pulse, sucking gently just below his ear.
you shift your weight, lips still on his throat, and reach down, fingers slipping to the waistband of his pants. you feel the way his breath hitches, his body tensing with anticipation. your hands are gentle, teasing, as you begin to tug his pants open, knuckles brushing his stomach, you pause for a second, lips hovering by his ear, voice playful and a little breathless. “hey, katsuki… wanna try something i think you might like?”
he blinks, swallowing hard, but nods—eyes fixed on you, trust and curiosity blazing together. “yeah. yeah, i wanna.”
you reach over, grab the can of whipped cream, and with a quick, teasing motion, slip one strap of your sundress down, letting the fabric pool at your waist. your breasts spill out in front of him, soft and inviting, and you can’t help but laugh when his eyes go wide, mouth slightly open in shock.
you give yourself a playful little squeeze, then spray a generous dollop of whipped cream right on your nipple, giggling as it sits there—white and sweet, just for him. “go on, katsuki. suck it. but… slow, okay?”
he nods, a little dazed, but sits up, hands reaching to steady you. he leans in, tongue flicking out to taste first, then mouth closing over you, warm and careful. his lips move slowly, savoring the cream, the softness of your skin, your breath catching in your throat as he follows your instructions exactly—slow, worshipful, eyes never leaving your face as you shiver and sigh above him.
it’s clumsy, a little awkward, but the way he does it—so earnest, so focused on pleasing you—makes your whole body burn, your laughter melting into moans as he licks and sucks, learning you one slow, delicious heartbeat at a time.
his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. he shifts, sitting up straighter so he can press you closer, lips sealed around your nipple, tongue drawing slow, teasing circles around your areola. every movement is hesitant at first, but as you moan out his name—soft and desperate, “fuck, katsuki, you’re really good at this”—he grows bolder, mouth working you with a hunger you never imagined.
his hands slide up your back, fingers splayed wide, holding you steady as his tongue swirls, lapping up every bit of whipped cream, lingering just to hear your breath hitch and your body arch for more. your thighs tighten around his hips, the warmth of his mouth and the wet heat of his tongue making you tremble all over.
he pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips swollen, eyes dark and greedy. “yeah?” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, breath hot against your skin. “told you, i learn fast.”
his mouth finds you again, tongue slower now, savoring every little gasp, every whispered praise you give him, his hands never letting you go—making it clear he doesn’t want to stop, not even for a second.
you let him take his time, your fingers weaving gently through his hair as he switches between your breasts, mouth warm and eager. he alternates, sucking and licking, nipping softly just to see how you react. you can’t help but smile, a little dazed, as you watch him—so focused, so hungry to learn every part of you, like he wants to memorize every sigh and shiver.
your hips move on their own, shifting down so you’re straddling him lower, the heat of your body pressed just right against his cock through his boxers. the contact makes him jolt, eyes snapping open, a sharp groan ripping from his throat.
“what the hell was that—” he starts, breathless, but you just grin, a little wicked, rolling your hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging the length of him beneath your soaked panties and his boxers.
his hands squeeze,, holding you tighter, and you can see the way he’s biting back a moan, every muscle tense, his face flushed as he stares up at you like he can’t believe any of this is real.
his nose is buried deep between your breasts as he keeps sucking and licking, like he can’t get enough of you, his breath hot against your skin. you’re moaning, hips rolling, but you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up, breathless and teasing. “oh my god, katsuki—enough! you’re gonna leave me all bruised,” you giggle, gently pushing him back down onto the blanket.
he groans, lips chasing after your skin, arms reaching like he’s not ready to let go. “c’mon, just a little more—” he mutters, already leaning in to suck your tits again, but you shake your head, eyes bright and hungry as you slide down his body.
“not yet,” you whisper, grinning, kissing down his chest and stomach, your hands working his pants open the rest of the way. his breath catches, muscles tensing as you pull his boxers down, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking for you.
you meet his eyes, wicked and soft all at once, and wrap your hand around him, giving him a gentle stroke, your tongue darting out to taste him as he moans your name, all the air knocked right out of his lungs.
you stroke him slowly, thumb gliding over the slick bead at the tip. your voice is playful, whispering with a wicked little smile, “you’re already leaking, katsuki… are you really that worked up for me?”
he can’t meet your eyes, face burning as he looks away, jaw clenched. “shut up,” he mutters, but his hips twitch up, betraying just how much he likes the way you’re talking to him.
your tongue flicks out, tasting him right at the tip, soft and slow. he shudders, hand gripping the blanket so tight his knuckles turn white. that reaction alone makes you want to see what else you can pull from him.
you lick a slow circle around his head, watching him squirm, then drag your tongue down the length of his cock, just barely applying pressure. you keep it slow and playful, teasing, your lips ghosting kisses along his shaft, your hand stroking him just enough to keep him on edge.
“relax, katsuki,” you murmur, breath hot against him. “let me take care of you, remember?”
he groans, finally glancing down at you, eyes dark with need, his whole body trembling as you draw out every little shiver, every gasp, warming him up with your mouth and your hands, letting the anticipation build until he’s aching for more.
you press your breasts together, soft and warm, sliding his cock right between them—feeling the way he trembles beneath your touch, his breathing gone ragged. you lean in, your lips closing around his tip, tongue swirling as you suck him gently while your hands press your tits tighter around his shaft, moving up and down in slow, teasing strokes.
the sensation of your mouth and the slick heat of your skin drives him wild; his hips buck up a little despite himself, a low, desperate groan slipping past his lips. you glance up, catching the sight of him—eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, his hand clenching the blanket as he watches you work.
your tongue flicks over his tip with every pass, your lips pressing kisses between sucks, letting the rhythm build, every little movement making him lose control. “holy shit,” he chokes out, voice shaking, the mix of pleasure and your name on his lips making you want to give him everything, right here in the sun and wildflowers.
“you like that, katsuki?” you murmur, letting your breath dance over his sensitive skin, before taking him into your mouth again, sucking just a little harder, giving him the kind of pleasure he’s never known—leaving him utterly undone for you.
you squeeze your breasts tighter around him, your mouth warm around his tip, teasing, “you like that, katsuki? are you gonna be a good boy for me?”
he grits his teeth, shaking his head, face flushed deep red. “i’m not sayin’ that shit,” he growls, the words strained, voice rough as he tries to hold back, determined not to fall apart so easily for you. his hands fist tighter in the blanket, every muscle drawn taut.
you keep going, your tongue swirling, your lips trailing down his shaft. “c’mon, katsuki,” you whisper, looking up at him, “say it for me. be a good boy.”
he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw locked as he tries to resist, but another wave of pleasure wracks his body, a soft moan breaking free. under his breath, barely audible, he mutters, “yeah… i’m a… good boy…” his voice is breathy, almost a whimper, his body betraying him with every desperate sound as you keep stroking and sucking, relentless, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
you giggle, breathless, loving how he tries to hold himself together—so stubborn, so easily undone for you. you squeeze him tighter, your mouth working faster now, tongue flicking and swirling around his tip, lips sealing with every suck.
his hands grip the blanket so hard you think he might tear it, his voice ragged as he gasps your name, head tipping back, hips stuttering up against your chest.
you pull back just enough to whisper, teasing and sweet, “say it again for me, katsuki. tell me you’re a good boy.”
he looks at you, glare all fire and desperation, but he can’t help himself. “fuck—i’m a good boy for you,” he grits out, voice shaking, half defiant, half pleading.
you hum around his cock, the vibrations making him shudder, and you smile as you watch him unravel, his pride melting under your touch, every sound he makes just for you.
you keep working him, mouth and hands relentless, until his breath is all ragged edges and desperate moans. suddenly, he grits out, “i wanna fuck you right now.” his voice is raw, needy, almost a warning.
you just hum around him, shaking your head no, all playful defiance—knowing exactly how wild that drives him. he can’t take it, not for another second, and he growls, yanking you up and off, hands strong as he drags you up his body, your boobs bouncing with the sudden movement.
you land sprawled across his chest, gazing down at him with wide, innocent eyes, lips parted like you have no idea what you just did to him. he sees straight through it, groaning, “don’t act innocent now.” he pushes you gently onto your back, rolling over you, settling his weight between your thighs.
for a heartbeat, he freezes—face flushed, breath stuttering, the reality of having you beneath him hitting him all at once. you giggle, fingers dancing over his arms, teasing him, “what’s wrong, hero? nervous now?”
he glares down at you, ears red, then slides his hands up your thighs, gathering your sundress in his fists, dragging it up slowly, his knuckles grazing your bare skin as he finally gives in to the hunger he’s been holding back all day.
he grits out, “shut the hell up,” voice hoarse, trying to play it cool but his hands are just a little shaky as they find the waistband of your panties. he pauses, glaring down at the flimsy fabric, brows furrowed.
you can’t help but tease, voice soft and full of laughter, “do you even know what to do, katsuki?”
he scoffs, meeting your eyes with that stubborn fire. “i’ll figure it the hell out. don’t worry about me.” but the way his fingers fumble with the elastic is a dead giveaway that this is all new.
you giggle, wiggling under his hands, “i’m excited—” but you barely get the words out before he huffs in frustration, then suddenly there’s a soft crackle, a quick spark—his quirk lights up in his palm and, in one wild burst, he blows the panties straight off.
you yelp, half scream and half laugh, “katsuki! you can’t just do that—oh my god!!” you’re laughing so hard your stomach aches, hands covering your face, the leftover elastic smoldering on the edge of the blanket.
he just grins, wild and breathless, proud as ever. “problem solved, princess,” he says, leaning in, voice low, “told you I’d figure it out.”
his fingers trace down your hips, finding your folds, and the moment he touches you—just the lightest, curious press—you moan, hips arching into his hand. that sound makes something flicker across his face, pure triumph, like he’s just won a gold medal and finally understands why everyone brags about this part.
he gets bolder, sliding his fingers up, finding your clit with a little more confidence, rubbing soft circles as you squirm under him. he watches your face, drinking in every reaction, every shaky gasp and needy whimper. it’s messy, clumsy, but so earnest you feel yourself falling harder by the second.
while he’s caught up in watching your pleasure, he fumbles with his other hand, lining himself up, cock brushing against your entrance. you barely notice, lost in the rhythm of his touch, until he presses the tip against you, thick and hot.
your whole body tenses, a sharp gasp tumbling from your lips as your eyes roll back, pleasure crashing through you in a wave. your hands clutch at his shoulders, breath hitched, every part of you strung tight and ready.
bakugo grins, breathless, proud and hungry, the world narrowing down to just the heat and the hush between your bodies, his cock nudging at your entrance as you melt under his touch.
you nod, breath shaky, giving him permission without a word. he watches you, wide-eyed, then slowly, carefully, he sinks into you—stretching you open inch by inch, the thickness of him making you gasp and arch. your mouth falls open, a helpless mewl escaping as you cling to his arms.
“katsuki—oh my god—feels so big, it’s too much,” you whimper, eyes rolling back, the sensation almost overwhelming. it’s been so long since anyone made you feel this way—every nerve alive, every inch of you needy and aching and desperate for more. your body clenches around him, slick and hot, your walls fluttering as he pushes in deeper, filling you completely.
your mouth waters, lips parted, every muscle trembling as you take all of him. bakugo freezes for a second, breath knocked from his lungs, staring down at you—your head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyes wild and beautiful as you take him in. he almost loses it right there, the sight of you coming undone beneath him, so perfect and real it makes his heart stutter.
he grits his teeth, fighting for control, voice a low, desperate growl. “shit, you look—fuck, you feel so good. can’t believe—”
but you can barely hear him, too far gone, every thought turned to mush as he rocks his hips, giving you every inch, every bit of himself, the world shrinking to nothing but the heat and the stretch and the delicious ache of being so full of him.
bakugo can’t tear his eyes away from you—your flushed cheeks, lips parted, the way your hair spills around your head like a halo. every time he thrusts deep, your tits bounce with the motion, nipples still sticky from whipped cream and his mouth. your legs tremble around his hips, toes curling in the grass, the sundress bunched at your waist.
he looks down and sees the way you take him—his cock slick with your arousal, shining as he moves in and out, the tight heat of your body clinging to him with every stroke. he can feel your walls fluttering, gripping him, squeezing tight around every thick vein, almost pulsing with every desperate thrust.
“fuck—look at you,” he groans, voice ragged, one hand sliding to your thigh to hold you open, wanting to see everything. “you feel so fuckin’ good… you’re milking me, shit.” his hips stutter as he fights to keep it together, transfixed by the sight of your body giving in to him, by how perfectly you fit together—every slick, messy inch.
every thrust is deeper, more desperate, bakugo’s breath coming faster as he listens to the sweet, broken way you moan his name. the sound makes his ego swell, and that cocky, wicked grin blooms on his lips. he leans in, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead, and his voice drops to a low, teasing rumble.
“who’s a good girl, huh?”
you stammer, the words tangled in your moans, “m-me, katsuki—i’m your good girl,” and before you can catch your breath, he slams in harder, the force making your leg jolt.
he grabs your thigh, lifting it to his shoulder, opening you up wider so he can hit even deeper. you sob for him, clinging to his arms, head rolling back as you beg, “feels so good, katsuki—please, you’re so good for me, you make me feel so good—”
the praise hits him like dynamite—his control teeters on the edge, your words making his cock twitch inside you, his jaw clenched so hard he’s almost seeing stars. panic flickers through him as his release barrels closer than he expected, shit, did I just fucking cum—? but you pull him back, grabbing at his arms, voice thick and greedy.
“fuck me harder, katsuki. please. i need you.”
he looks down at you, something wild and hot in his eyes—hungry and awestruck and totally yours. “yeah? you want it harder, princess? then take it.” his grip turns bruising, and he pounds into you, every thrust rougher, every moan you let out making him want to give you more, the two of you lost in the open air, tangled up and desperate for every second together.
your body arches, every muscle tight with pleasure as your pussy clenches around him—slick and hot, squeezing, milking him for everything he’s got. each thrust is dizzying, his cock dragging deep, the thick head pressing right against your cervix, bottoming out with every hungry snap of his hips. the pressure is intense, electric, your body weightless, lost in the overwhelming rush of being so full, so perfectly taken.
you grip his shoulders, eyes wild, voice trembling but eager as you praise him, desperate and sweet, “that’s it, katsuki—such a good boy, fucking me so hard—so deep, you’re so good, baby—”
he lets out a ragged sound, eyes squeezing shut, hips stuttering at the praise. he tries to glare at you, tries to keep his pride, but you can feel him giving in, every muscle straining, all his fire focused on you. he can’t beat you at this—you’re too good, too soft, too sweet with your praise and your desperate little sounds, and the way you look at him like he’s everything.
he groans, slamming in harder, voice cracking, “fuck, i can’t—i can’t win with you—shit—” and there’s a wild smile in his defeat, a thrill in letting go, letting you have him, every inch, every sound, every broken little moan, all yours. losing to you feels better than winning any fight.
your laughter is bright, spilling out between moans, your fingers clutching his arms as you look up at him with love and heat. “you’re so sweet, katsuki,” you gasp, voice tumbling out fast and breathless, “so protective… you make me so happy, so good, so—so full—”
he groans, thrusts growing wild, his self-control hanging by a thread as your praise washes over him, every word making him even harder inside you.
“please, katsuki,” you beg, hips rolling up to meet his, “please keep making me feel good, my sweet man—let me cum all over you, please, i need it—”
he shudders, eyes nearly crossing at how desperate you sound, growling as if it’ll help him keep it together. “shut up—shut up—shut up,” he rasps, but his hips are pounding harder, his mouth dropping to your shoulder, biting and groaning and completely at your mercy. the sound of your name, your needy little cries, his own gruff moans—all of it tangles together, every second pushing you both closer.
your tits bounce wildly in his hands as he drives into you, harder and faster, the slap of skin and your helpless moans echoing around you. bakugo’s eyes are glued to your face—watching your mouth fall open, spit sliding from the corner of your lips, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over with pure pleasure. the sight makes his chest ache and his cock twitch, finding it so fucking hot that it almost makes him dizzy.
he leans down, mouth capturing yours, licking your drool off your lips like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, greedy for every part of you. his hips start to stutter, but he barely notices—he’s too focused on you, on how gorgeous you look lost in pleasure.
then, suddenly, your pussy clenches around him, impossibly tight, squeezing him so hard it rips a scream right out of him. “fuck—!”
you cry out beneath him, voice breaking as you shatter, “katsuki—i’m cumming—!” your whole body arches up, legs trembling, every muscle taut as the orgasm rips through you.
bakugo doesn’t realize he’s cumming until it’s already happening—his cock pulsing, his hips rutting deep, grinding into you as he spills inside, filling you up, groaning your name against your lips. the world blurs, heat and light and the shuddering, frantic rush of finally, finally letting go together, tangled and breathless and utterly lost in each other.
you both freeze, the world tilting for a second as the aftershocks fade. your eyes go wide, and suddenly you scramble up on shaky legs, clutching the sundress to your chest. “oh my god—katsuki! did you just—did you cum inside?!”
bakugo blanks, wide-eyed and flushed, the panic on his face almost comical. “what—shit, are you serious?! i—i didn’t know—I thought—!” he grabs his head, looking as lost as you feel.
you blurt out, voice breathless, “i didn’t expect you to cum inside! i thought you’d, like… pull out or something!”
his voice is loud, cracking, “are you fuckin’ serious?! i told you I’m a virgin! how the hell was I supposed to know to ‘pull out’?! nobody gave me a goddamn manual!”
for a split second, you both just stare at each other, wild with panic—then it hits you, the absurdity of it, and you double over laughing, your nerves turning to helpless giggles. bakugo stares at you like you’ve lost it, but then a reluctant, sheepish smirk cracks through his panic, the tension easing as you laugh together, tangled and ridiculous and completely, hopelessly smitten.
your laughter spills out between gasps, eyes bright with disbelief and lingering afterglow. “oh fuck, katsuki,” you say, wiping a tear from your cheek. “i was just so into you—I didn’t even think to tell you to pull out. that’s on me.”
he shakes his head, still flustered but coming down from the panic, voice huffy but surprisingly gentle. “nah, it’s not just your fault. it’s our fault. both of us.”
you sit back down beside him, your hand finding his, squeezing. “we’ll figure it out, okay?” you say, soft but certain, all that sunshine coming back even as you catch your breath.
he nods, squeezing your hand right back, a determined look flickering across his face. “yeah. and—we’re getting you on birth control.” he says it like a promise, stubborn and caring all at once.
you giggle, pressing your forehead to his. “yes, sir. anything else, hero?”
he snorts, rolling his eyes, but you can see the relief settling in, the warmth beneath the gruff act. “yeah. next time—tell me what the fuck to do before you turn my brain to mush, alright?”
you laugh again, softer, happier, knowing whatever happens, you and katsuki are in it together.
