“You’re not leaving,” Kirishima says almost absently as he scrolls on his phone. “I told you, it’s not safe.”
Opposition reflex flares in you, instantaneous and white-hot.
“You think you can stop me?”
Kirishima’s eyes lift slowly from his phone screen to meet yours. There’s not an ounce of his usual boyish joy in his face as his brow lifts. No anger in him either. Just a sudden, bone-deep stillness that has your breath catching in your throat.
Predator, your instincts shiver. Alpha.
“You’re not leaving,” he says again, simply. Calmly, and a bit dismissive, as his eyes drop back down to his phone in his hand.
no way ppl are using ai to write ao3. what happened to being a tortured writer. what happened to blood on the page. what happened to the ao3 curse. people used to get run over, have their houses burned down, break their entire spines and they still put in the work to finish a chapter. fuck you, using ai. y’all are weak
Actress reader and Actor Bakugou have to enact a sex scene. Of course they've got one of those little modesty covers for his dick and for you but you'll still look naked in the shot.
But there is just something about the way that he's grinding into you, his cock hard from the action of course and since your characters hate each other (just like in real life) it's supposed to be a rough passionate scene, it's hate fucking after all! Your moaning only gets louder the more he "fucks" into you echoing around the studio with tons of people looking over the two of you but his eyes are trained on you and when he thinks he hears something a little more than the over the top obvious fake sounds your character is meant to give, when it ebbs into something real (fake to real sounds per the script) he gets a little too into his character.
"That's right, take it, take this cock. Mould to me so that every other man knows that you're mine and mine alone, princess."
"You'll have to fuck me harder than that to make me cum, prince." Spitting back the title his character so hates and the nickname you've come to call him off set and in interviews if only to burrow under his skin. His eyes flash with anger and for a moment you think you've regained control.
But his thrusts come harder after that and suddenly you're trying to cover your face with your arms but he moves to pin them to the plush pillow over head. His voice rough, deep, panting out in such a mind numbing growl.
"No, I want to see the exact moment I ruin you."
Covered cock somehow grinding against your clothed slit just right, your clit throbs from the repeated action, making you lock your ankles around his waist.
Head thrown back to expose your throat that he comes down to bite as he "cums" just as he's supposed to although the lines were wholly improvised. Shuddering over top of you with his tongue lapping up the rough teeth marks he's left on your pretty skin. Pulling away to grab your jaw roughly, rutting into you with pained groans as his tongue slips into your mouth "prolonging" your release and his.
"CUT!" Comes the doctor's voice, slicing through the tension reminding you both exactly where you are. Bakugou pulls away but not too quickly, grabbing at the blankets to cover you even if the whole world was going to see your tits bouncing from his rough thrusts thanks to the network allowing borderline soft core porn on air.
"Let's take fifteen to review and recenter!" Comes the directors sharp voice and so Bakugou helps you up on shaking legs, pressing you into his side as he walks around in nothing but that "modesty" covering.
"Wow! That seemed so real you did the fake to real moaning so well!" People linger to pass you compliments until they see Bakugou snarling down at them, rushing away from the always grumpy actor. He makes sure you're sat on the couch in your dressing room, both of you lock eyes for a moment and it's obvious by his smirk that this jackass can't help but stroke his own ego.
"Ya that sure was a performance from you, ya know I almost would have thought it was real, princess." He mocks you, giving you some knowing look as your cheeks still burn from how good he was from grinding alone.
"In your fuckin dreams Prince." He can only suck his teeth and chuckle darkly at your retort. Going to cup his fat length and sac, a squishing sound can be heard and it makes you hyper aware of the wetness between your thighs. He pulls away his hand slowly, silvery strings connect to the thin fabric and his fingers before they snap and he looks up at you. Smiling devilishly, palming his damp cock sticky from more than just you but you don't have to know that.
i want to start being on here again, but i’m ngl to yall im so mf lazy 😭 i haven’t been keeping up with anything besides mha and i want a whole new like everything. but again, i am lazy 🙂↕️
thinking about your Pro-Hero husband Dynamight getting a couple overseas offers and he wants to make sure you're part of the decision making process because you're coming too (obviously)
you're sitting on the kitchen counter while he makes his breakfast, flipping through the paperwork.
"you've got one from Italy, we could go there!" you say.
"for what?" he replies, mouth full of scrambled eggs.
"the pasta."
"are you basing my next career move on the potential cuisine?"
Could I please get headcanons for chifuyu kisaki and mikey with a really attractive girlfriend who gets a lot of male attention
This is such a clever idea!! I am of course using the versions from the final timeline!
c/w - afab reader, smut, oral (fem receiving) pet names (princess, baby, pretty girl) creampie.
Chifuyu, Kisaki and Mikey with a very attractive s/o
Chifuyu felt like he won the girlfriend lottery! You were so pretty and kind. Every time you walked into the pet shop, all 3 heads turned. Baji and Kazutora were always bugging Chifuyu, wondering exactly how he was able to land a girl like you. He was just as baffled as they were. If he was being totally honest, it made him a little self conscious. You always looked so effortlessly beautiful.
At the end of his work day, when he would go home to you in your shared apartment, his worries would disappear. You took off your makeup, wearing your favourite threadbare t-shirt and some shorts. Sitting cross legged on the couch, munching on snacks. He still knew you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His friends should be jealous.
You were even more beautiful when he had you pinned under him. His fingers digging into your thighs while he pounded into you. "Whos this pussy belong to? hm?"
"You, Fuyu, s'all yours" barely a whisper while your boyfriend never stopped thrusting into you.
"Good fuckin girl. God you're so pretty" Chifuyu looked down at you, groaning.
Your fingers dug into the sheets under you, trying to ground yourself as you felt the coil tightening in your pelvis. "So close. Fuyu - fuck - please, don't stop"
He could feel your wall tightening around his length. "Give it to me princess. Cum for me"
Your mouth opened in a silent scream as your orgasm took over. Chifuyu never stopping his ministrations on your pussy, even while you thrashed under him as he painted your walls white.
Coming down from both your highs, his eyes skimmed your face, "You really are the most beautiful girl I've ever seen" as he planted a kiss on your forehead.
Kisaki had made quite the name for himself, which came with a lot of gold diggers trying to convince him that they loved him. You were different. Sure you had heard of the "TK&KO" group, they had stock in almost everything, but you had never seen a photo of the President or Vice President. Kisaki had decided, on that fateful morning, to walk down to the shop and grab a coffee for himself and his partner. He never meant to bump into you, spilling the coffee allover the two of you. He only offered to dry clean your clothes as an apology. He could not help himself when he asked for your number, and to dinner. He did not expect to fall in love with you. You were quite literally the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
You were shocked the first time he brought you to his office. He told you he worked for TK&KO, but he failed to mention that he was one of the top guys. You were so nervous making your way through the building, meeting the staff, and then meeting his partner, Kokonoi, who commented on how he was happy Kisaki was finally settling down, and with such a beauty too.
You knew Kisaki had a hard time trusting people, especially women who were as lovely as you. He almost didn't believe you when you said you had no idea who he was.
Now here, in his office, you were on top of his desk. His head buried between your thighs while he parted your folds with his tongue. Carding your fingers through his hair, you threw your head back, slamming it on the desk. Kisaki pulled his head out, "Tell me pretty girl, you love me?"
All you could do was gasp out a small "Yes" as his tongue went back to drawing tight circles around your clit. His finger pushing into your warm pussy, curving up to rub against your g-spot. You could feel him smile against your folds as your cunt clamped down on his finger. A clear stream splashing against his face and glasses while he never stopped eating your pussy.
Finally he felt you relax a little, breathing heavier as he pulled his face from between your thighs. "Kisaki, Wow. That was.." Your body was limp and you couldn't really speak.
"Yeah, I know baby. You did so good for me" he responded.
Mikey loved to show you off. He knew you were beautiful and he knew that he was lucky to have you. You were so pretty, standing behind the barricade, near Draken and his pit crew, during his races, and he especially loved showing you off when he won. He'd pull you close, dipping your body to kiss you while the crowds cheered and hollered for him.
After parties were spent with you tightly pulled beside him, wearing a dress that fit your body perfectly and showed off all your assets. He'd parade you around, making sure everyone knew you were his. He wasn't worried about you leaving him for someone else, after all, you'd been with him ever since you were teens. Long before he was a racer.
Mikey knew he was lucky to have you, especially after he had heard stories from other racers about girls who were only there for the money and fame, then dropped their men as soon as someone else came along. He made sure you knew that he loved you with every fiber of his being.
He had you in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, your dress hiked up around your waist while he pounded into your cunt from behind. The sound of your slick pussy and his grunts were all that could be heard. he had your back pulled flush against his chest, his hand on your throat. "Fuck yes, look how pretty you are taking my cock" he groaned in your ear before licking a strip down your neck.
Your eyes rolled back in your head as you felt the tip of his cock grinding against your walls. He always filled you up so perfectly. Your toes curling in your pretty heels, he knew you were close. The steady drip of your slick hitting the bathroom floor. Mikey angled himself just right, his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly as his hand reached down to rub quick circles on your clit.
You gasped loudly, the sound echoing off the walls of the bathroom, "Shhh, we don't wanna get caught baby." Mikey brought his hand that had been on your throat, up to your mouth to muffle your moans, never stopping his assault on your clit as he felt your walls tighten around his cock and your body trembled. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, your hands reached back, gripping Mikey's hair, sending him vaulting over the edge with you. He bit the back of your neck to muffle his own moans while his cum filled you, mixing with your own slick, sending more cascading to the floor.
Mikey let go of your mouth and backed away, his softening cock leaving your hole with a lewd pop. "Fuck baby, look at this mess you made." Mikey chuckled.
Catching your breath, you replied, "Manjiro, you better help me clean this up." You pulled your panties back up and adjusted your dress. "We do not want to have to pay Hina and Michi back for making a mess at the wedding venue."
i need rough sex with eren..just him saying “don’t run from it” LAWWDD 😓😓
yes yes yes
here’s a lil inspo vid
he’s got your face smushed into the mattress as he takes you from behind—one hand pushing your face harder against the sheets while the other was holding your hip. the claps of your ass against his pelvis were so hard it was almost painful but he didn’t care he never does. you even couldn’t form a proper sentence to tell him to slow down, or at least change the angle so his fat tip wasn’t pushing so hard against your cervix. “take that shit y/n take it,” you heard him growl from behind you. with what little strength you had you lifted your hand up to push against his abs, “i can’t eren fuck s’too much.” your words were slurred and barely audible but eren heard every word and he almost felt bad—almost. he grabbed your hand that was preventing him from picking up the pace, keeping it in an iron grip. “yes you can baby don’t run from it just lemme make you feel good,” your pussy gripped him like a vice at his words and he knew he had you right where he wanted you.
Sitting on his lap while rambling on about anything and everything. Meanwhile he's leaned back, hands everywhere. From waist over hips to thighs, his hands are traveling all across. Excitedly you tell him about your day, about what you did.
Until you stumble upon that one thing that pissed you off. As you go on and on about that one specific person, you also tell him that you dealt with the situation. Just like he told you to do.
Eyes fixated on you, voice deep with a smirk playing on his lips, he goes, "Atta girl."
Leaning forward to litter kisses on your neck, as he mumbles praises, "That's my fucking baby, just like I showed you to do."
Making you stutter in your sentence as he grabs your hips to grind up against you, a low moan slips past his lips, "Always such a good girl, listening and doing as i say."
fluff!!! little mentions to bakugou's past as a bully :/ but he's now very much in love with you <3
the best way to let bakugou katsuki know that you’re mad at him is by refusing to hold his hand.
handholding is one of bakugou’s all time favourite affections. although subtle, it’s grounding. he likes to know that you’re safe by holding you close to him, and he has the chance to pull you away from danger the moment it happens. also, to know that you trust him to keep you safe is another bonus.
he is destruction’s incarnate and it is from his hands that danger is initiated: hands that have threatened and bullied many- good and bad alike.
hands that have also pushed you into a corner when you were younger for defending a vulnerable midoriya from any more harm.
hands that have sparked explosions in your face during many school festivals as he sparked threats to match.
hands that gradually, but surely, learnt how to chase after you longingly.
after months- years of maturing and apologising for his stupidity, bakugou thinks he is the luckiest man in the world to be able to hold you with the same hands that sparked fear during his youth. he thinks he is the luckiest man in the world because you have trusted him to protect your heart in his very hands. similarly, you openly cherish his with your two palms and despite how it bleeds with love for you, you have never once let it break.
he also thinks he is unfortunate that you’re not compassionate enough to be against torturing him when he fucks up.
and the best way to show that you still have not forgiven him is by revoking his hand holding privileges.
bakugou hates it when there’s tension between you two and despises it even more when you have to pretend like nothing is wrong when in fact, everything is wrong. you’re mad at him for some shit he said last night and now you don’t want to hold his hand, let alone look at him, and he wants to crumble.
instead of finding a chance to talk, you both had to hang out with sero, kaminari, kirishima and mina as part of your obligatory monthly meetup and it was very obvious that something was off between you and bakugou.
when a merciless gust of wind hits, bakugou sees this as his moment to react. as goosebumps emerge on your exposed skin and you audibly shiver from the cold, it earns you a fair share of concerned looks.
“you okay, y/n?” kirishima asks and you nod, shrugging up your shoulders as a futile attempt to shield yourself from the frostbite. from the corner of your eye, your boyfriend is already shrugging off his jacket, keeping his sassy muttering to a minimum.
“just cold, thanks for asking,” you murmur, extending your palm to anyone in the group, “can someone hold my hand?”
bakugo immediately reaches for you, grumbling an ‘i’ll hold your hand’ but you retract from him with a dirty glare before he could even touch you. his jaw drops and his crimson eyes become windows to how betrayed he’s feeling, and even more so when you utter the next words:
“can someone else hold my hand?”
“but i’m your boyfriend?” he all but screams, earning a few snickers from your friends. they knew this dance all too well, sero and denki hissing ‘roasted’ at the blond.
mina’s the only one brave enough to challenge bakugou, “i’ll hold your hand, y/n!”
she’s almost successful too if it weren’t for small explosions stopping just in front of her face as bakugou glares at her with the ugliest (affectionately) expression you have ever seen. no one can resist laughing when he yells out a ‘touch y/n and you die, racoon eyes!’ before snatching your hand into his; his grip far too tight for you to even try and wrestle out of it.
“yeah, laugh all you want extras! at least i get to hold y/n’s hand, dipshits!”
“y/n’s got two hands though, can i hold your other one?” denki asks, feigning ignorance to the daggers bakugou was sending him and before you could giggle out a ‘sure!’, bakugou is lunging forward and shielding you from the electric blond.
“none of you are worthy, go away morons!”
your stomach is cramping at this point, your throat is begging for you to stop laughing, and your cheeks are so very sore that it hurts. your laughter has been mixed with the rest of the groups- with the exception of bakugou who is pouting with irritation laced deeply in his expression, but so long as he gets to see you smiling at him rather than frowning, he doesn’t really mind.
“whatever, laugh all you want,” he mutters before stuffing your hands into his pockets, where he can keep them warm. the remainder of the squad continues forward, knowing to leave you two alone.
his thumb is soothingly rubbing circles on the back of your hand as he shares his warmth with you. when bakugou katsuki meets your eyes, all the tension from last night dwindles away as he visibly relaxes, relieved that you’re at least allowing him to hold your hand again.
“we are okay, right?” he asks tentatively.
you shrug playfully, “i mean, i don’t really have any other choice than to say yes, do i?”
his next comment is quick, passive, but heavy in its meaning, “you do.”
you soften at his vulnerability, squeezing his hand before reassuring him that “we’re okay, katsuki, and we will be for a long time.”
hello hello everyone!! thank you for reading, if you enjoyed the fic PLEASEEEE reblog!!! even if you don’t think it’ll do much, reblogs is how tumblr accounts function. you don’t even have to leave a message bc i appreciate every single interaction nonetheless.
hope you like my writing and i hope to see you around!!
[ nsfw ] — no penetration ; oral (f!receiving) ; m!masturbation ; lots of "first time" things and talk ; more virgin bakugou ; angst ; part one
[ wc ] — you know the drill: i'll update this in the morning LOL it's long tho !
you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.
he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.
the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.
it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.
and it's — fucking annoying.
at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.
and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.
you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:
i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️
it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?
if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.
you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot
unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.
three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.
except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.
and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.
his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.
three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.
none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.
because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."
suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.
there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.
"what?"
he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.
in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."
a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.
"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"
you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.
you shrug. "didn't feel like it."
he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"
"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"
his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."
now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"
he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.
the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.
alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.
that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.
your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.
does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.
"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."
"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"
he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.
bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.
you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.
his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.
"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.
you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.
standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.
"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."
it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.
bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."
"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.
detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"
your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"
"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"
"you're saying there's no one else that can—"
"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"
things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.
"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."
bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.
you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.
it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?
is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?
this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?
how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.
what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.
furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.
but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.
the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?
it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.
clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.
"since when are they talking again?"
just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.
"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."
bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens a towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.
"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"
"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"
his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."
"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"
bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"
"you're watching it right now."
"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”
you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”
“so? got a hot date or what?”
he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.
finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.
it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”
silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”
“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”
“so why didn’t you?”
“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”
“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”
the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.
“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”
“jesus, if i always do this—”
“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.
he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."
"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"
it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.
"you're gonna blow my head off!"
"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"
"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.
"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.
"yeah, well—"
"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.
all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.
you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.
bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.
your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.
fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.
he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.
it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.
only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.
you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.
the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.
katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"
being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —
"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"
and then you are kissing your best friend.
the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.
katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.
it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.
with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.
you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.
it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.
in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —
not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.
"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."
his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.
he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"
"have you?"
he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."
you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"
before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.
he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.
"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."
the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."
you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.
or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.
"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"
the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.
it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."
for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.
determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.
heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.
this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.
"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."
to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.
at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.
he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.
discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?
"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.
deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.
it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.
"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.
katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.
he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.
this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —
"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.
everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.
tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.
"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"
"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."
he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.
"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."
and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.
you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.
it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.
then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.
the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"
and you're annoyed all over again.
"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."
"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"
"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."
"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."
"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"
and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.
when he was losing you, you realize.
"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."
"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"
you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.
"you can't—"
"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."
you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.
there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.
the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."
tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —
he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.
"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.
not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.
the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.
when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.
you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.
"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."
"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."
"sorry i'm late."
"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.
you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.
I feel like I've already made a post like this before but I really do love the idea of being in a relationship with Kirishima and Bakugou and them having to go through a bunch of interviews and shit because they’re pro heroes or whatever. And you’re just their regular civilian spouse.
And the interviewers ask “Who’s the scariest when they’re upset?” fully expecting both you and Eiji to say Bakugou because like of course it’s him, yeah? And both Katsu and Eiji look at each other and then point to you.
And the interviewer is stunned because you’re sitting there with a dazzling charming smile as both Eiji and Katsu reminisice over all the terrifying fucking shit you’ve screamed at them when you were really pissed.
“Oh wow I’ll be honest I was not expecting that answer.”
And Eiji’s like “She’s not angry much, we keep her happy but uh… when she is angry…” he shudders and Katsu finishes the sentence “She’s a little fucking terror when she’s pissed.” and it’s so funny to see Dynamight, actual Dynamight shudder as well as you sit between them laughing and smiling.
“ I just don’t like when people touch my apple juice is all. 😊”
★ tags ; gn!reader, fluff, reader is a programmer (lol), making up, wee bit of angst, established relationship, arguing, reader is very chill and relaxed
★ wc ; 2.7k (idk either)
★ synopsis ; in the rare moments you and your boyfriend get in a spat, he thinks to himself how terrible it'd be to lose you.
★ a/n ; sorry about projecting on reader. it will happen again.
Katsuki fucked up.
Majorly. Inconceivably. Astronomically.
For the first time in his three year relationship, he's made a terrible mistake and the consequences are beginning to weigh on his conscious.
First things first, Katsuki is not a boyfriend who makes a lot of mistakes. Contrary to popular belief, his anger issues actually don't make dating difficult because his egoism and pride step-in first. If he's going to do anything, he's going to be the best at it. And anything getting in the way of that can respectfully, fuck off.
Despite some of the rockiness in the getting together stage of your relationship, when he finally made it official, things were as smooth as they could be. Before then was awful of course. Because vulnerability and love aren't things you can win at no matter how hard you try. Getting to boyfriend was like climbing a mountain naked.
But at the summit, all the snow cleared and Katsuki could finally rest easy. You met on the job when the Dynamight Agency signed a contract with you to make some technical software for them. You were the Senior Dev. responsible for it.
Truthfully, Katsuki hated you at first. For one, you were too non-chalant about all of it. It's a professional job but you showed up to work in the most unprofessional attire. To his credit your hygiene was decent but the workspace you and your team occupied was a mess. You had a bad diet, and an even worse sleep schedule.
You were a mess. Katsuki didn't like or respect you. He figures all tech people are freaks like that. All of the support engineers are nut-cases, so why would you be any different? But you were recommended to him by Deku who gushed about how smoothly everything was running with the new changes.
He didn't know anything about your job. And he didn't really understand it until he caught you half-falling asleep at your computer trying to finish something. It was probably the first time he came into the office and you were still there finishing up work - nearing 6am and clearly not having slept that he started to respect you a little.
From then on, his sense of responsibility for you grew. Mother hen tendencies and all. You and Katsuki are complete opposites in a lot of ways. Where he's hot-headed, you're relaxed. Where he's cold and calculating, you're strangely warm and sympathetic. Another shitty nerd in his life, he's fond of. Go figure.
It took him a long time to figure out his romantic feelings for you. The first work function you ever attended where you looked.. good. He felt it strike like an iron, a sense of dread overwhelming him as his heart fluttered at the sight of you.
("...You clean up decent." Katsuki stutters, trying to catch his breath.
You flash a smile that sends him reeling.
"Thanks, boss.")
From then on, through a series of mishaps and sad phone-calls - Katsuki managed to land the boyfriend position. And from there, your relationship has been considerably easy going.
A big reason for that is because you're much better with feelings than he is. You're reasonable about your own emotional affairs. In the many years Katsuki's tantrums might've caused a rift, you've handled him with care. Of course, he does his absolute best to accommodate you back. To support you, almost trying to make it up to you where he can.
But his mistakes have always been small, and petty. Even when they're bigger - you manage them like they're just small blips in the timeline. Gently and softly. You don't raise your voice even if he agitates you. It always works out. Katsuki tries very hard not to do anything that he would make you really angry.
In fact, he's never even seen you really angry. Maybe upset or annoyed, but angry? Once in his life if that. His friends and family often bestow you the title saint to which you always laugh but you are remarkably patient with him that he doesn't think it's undeserved.
So what happened last night was a a big fuck up on his part.
Last night, he came home from a long mission.
The only rule you have with Katsuki is that if something happens, you have to talk about it. This rule includes other rules, such as being able to delay said conversation for a better day and other veto privileges. But if something important happens, big or small - the other person has to know. That's law to abide by.
Last night, Katsuki came home from a long mission and he was exhausted. Nothing bad happened but his patience was running thin due to a series of unfortunate events and he wanted to come home and sleep. And he could feel the pressure of it starting to eat at him.
Everyone has tough days and this was his. Most of this could've been solved if he had just told you. If he had simply used the second rule to delay the conversation. You would've quietly slept next to him like you always did, no questions asked.
But he was tired and delirious and for some reason he decided to open his big fucking mouth. When you had very gently inquired about his mood, he immediately went silent. Then when you went and asked again, he snapped on you.
He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn't mean any of it.
"God, can't you read the fucking room? Do I have to spell it out for you? I don't want to talk about it right now."
He felt it immediately. The once warm room filling with a cold tension. He couldn't even lift his head, too steeped in his anger to apologize right away. It was suffocating. How long you stood there, feet planted on the floor.
And then from above him, there was a shaky sigh and a thick voice. You were upset, obviously. Too much for words. In a terrifying turn of events - you didn't even get angry. He wishes you got angry and loud. That you could've fought this out.
But you didn't. Of course not. You just sighed, frustration teeming in your voice and said.
"Right. Find me when you want to talk. I'm gonna rest in the guest room."
Obviously trying to hold it in, you took your pillows and quietly went upstairs and slept in the guest room. And Katsuki sat there for god knows how long, regretting everything. He shouldn't have done that. He wanted to sleep next to you.
When the next morning rolled around, Katsuki wasn't expecting it to be brushed over. And it wasn't, not in the way you tried to pretend things were fine. You still set out warm towels for his shower. Made his protein shake and left it on the counter. Put his hero costume up on the couch for him to take.
And you still greeted him with a tired good morning. But he could tell that you weren't all there. It was awkward. Like there was a stranger in his house and not the person he's been in love with for the last 5 years.
Silent. He's so accustomed to your morning chattiness. Rambling about the dream you had, the movie you watched, the bugs in your code you fixed. All of it disappeared in an instant. You didn't kiss him when he left for work, pausing to blabber in between before kissing him again. Running to the train so you weren't late.
You just left. Told him you'd be working off-site for a bit and that it's your turn to make dinner. He should let you know what he wants to eat.
You stood at the door, obviously debating something and then left with a short side-hug and no kiss. No kiss. He hasn't not gotten a kiss before going to work in years. He's so hung up on it he can't believe it.
It was probably right there, kiss-less in his kitchen that he realize he fucked up beyond reasonably doubt. The feeling was awful, but you were already on your way to work before he could scramble to say something.
Katsuki is bad with apologies. It's not that he isn't sorry, but he tries his best to make up for all of his short-comings with his actions and hopes people can forgive him. That he can be a good enough person that the one, choked-out sorry can be enough of a fix and that the rest can be solved with his consistent remorse.
And he does apologize to you often enough, about small and trivial things. But this doesn't really feel small and trivial. It's the kind of fight that feels like a rift, maybe that he'd gotten too complacent. The terror sets in before the rational does and all Katsuki can think is that he has to make it up to you somehow. Somehow.
He doesn't have patrols today. The only thing on the agenda is meeting with Deku about a partnership program they want to create for new heroes. Only the two of them to discuss logistics.
He can't focus at all though. Fuck.
"Kacchan?"
Deku's voice cuts into his focus once it register. He looks up from the empty space he was peering into, suddenly aware of his surroundings. A scowl settles on his features, though he's not actually mad.
"What, nerd."
"You okay? You seem off." He replies, that concerned and overly-welcoming tone. His scowl deepens.
"Fuck off."
"So there is something," Deku concludes, in a way that makes Katsuki want to punch him square in the mouth "Is it Y/N?"
"Why the fuck do you know that?"
"Uhm. Well. You're doing your sad scowl and not your mad one. And normally you only really get sad about like 3 things. Y/N makes the most sense."
Katsuki makes a face of disgust.
"You're such a goddamn freak."
Deku smiles disarmingly.
"So what's up?"
"Fuck off with that therapist shit," He says first, then relents because of course "...Got in an argument. I fucked up pretty bad."
Katsuki relays the events with a sense of dread as Deku nods and listens empathetically like he always does. And Katsuki wants to crawl up in a fucking hole for even opening up, maybe a sign of his desperation.
"That bad?" Deku asks.
"Didn't get a kiss before they left and that hasn't happened in like 3 years."
"That's so sappy, Kacchan." Deku gushes.
"Shut up if you value your life." Katsuki says with no real heat behind. He watches the nerd think on it for a while, doing some analysis he cares fuck all about before snapping his fingers.
"Have you apologized yet?"
Katsuki grits his teeth. Deku sighs.
"Kacchan."
More silence.
"Kacchan."
"Fuck you, I already know okay! But I'm just.. so fucking anxious about it. Like I know it's not the end of the world, but it just feels so damn bad."
Deku smiles in that weird, loving way that Katsuki hates.
"That's because you care about them, Kacchan. It's gonna be fine."
"Gross."
Deku laughs again and Katsuki finds himself relieved just a little. Which he resents, of course. But it's better than feeling whatever he was feeling a few hours ago so he lets it be.
__
He spends the rest of the day coming up with an apology plan and seeing it through to the end. If he was gonna say sorry, he might as well go all out.
He calls in a florist shop first, sat at his desk and asking for whatever flowers are best apology flowers. Then he calls your favorite place to eat and makes sure he can get take-out hot for the drive home. At the end of his work day, he stops by to get some shitty balloons with sorry on them and even buys the ugliest teddy bear he can find at the store because he knows he would like it.
Then he drives home with a pit in his stomach, feeling terribly stupid and a little ridiculous for being so worried about it. Because he knows it probably will be fine, but he won't relax until he's home. Until he sees you and everything is fine again.
When he finally gets home and hauls ass with the assortment of Apology Gifts he's brought - he doesn't actually find you anywhere in the house.
He knows you're there though. Because your shoes are in the doorway and your bag is on the counter but he can't find you.
It occurs to him that your showering when he hears a god-awful tune that unburdens him just a little and he decides to hijack your shower. Because he thinks that apologizing like that will probably be a whole lot easier.
So, he steps into the shower and announces his presence. There's steam fogging everything up and he's still dressed in his work clothes. He can hear your humming come to a halt as he closes the door behind him and sits on the sink.
He feels fidgety. The warm room and the smell of your bodywash relax his nerves.
"Hey," He starts. You're silent but he can hear you scrubbing so he keeps going "Just got home. I brought food so,"
And it's still quiet. Your movements have softened and there's less of an echo. Katsuki frowns.
"Look, last night," He starts afain, then stops - closing his eyes and swallowing the pit forming in his stomach "What I said. I don't know what the fuck I was thinkin' I mean... I didn't mean any of that."
Still quiet, Katsuki sighs and bites his lip.
"And nothin' really happened. Just a long mission, undercover sucks and everything was going wrong and obviously I was pissed. Not at you, never at you - I shouldn't have—fuck me, I'm ramblin' aren't I?"
He looks up at the ceiling, glances at the door, then at the shower curtain.
"I'm really sorry, baby. Really fucking sorry. Been feeling shitty about it all day."
Before he can grovel anymore, the water turns off. All of a sudden, the curtain rips open and before he knows what to do with himself - he feels your hands on his neck. You're still half in the shower, naked and dripping and your hands are wet.
But you're pulling him into a kiss and Katsuki couldn't care less about the circumstances. The tension in his chest eases completely, melts away likes it nothing and he puts a hand on your wrist. He feels like he could cry. Fuck, what happened to him? Is this what love does to people? Make 'em feel stupid?
When you pull away, you give him an audacious grin. Pleased and warm and so full of love that he could rip apart at the seams just looking at it. All the affection in your gestures that he's grown so fond of rekindle and light him anew. He loves you so much it nearly hurts to look at you.
"You're such a worry wart, aren'tcha Kat?"
He kisses you one more time, thankful you won't point out his desperation.
"Shitty bastard."
"Get me my towel so I can kiss you properly."
"...I'll help dry you off." He says. Once again, you just smile with trembling lips like you want to giggle at him but don't. Even so, you do as he asks.
He grabs a towel and drys you off slowly and patiently. You smile at him the whole time before he grabs another one to wrap around you neat. Like you promise, you kiss him for a long time after. Arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the blonde hairs on the back of his head.
"Thanks for saying sorry, baby." You say first before you coo at him "I forgive you. I'm not mad. I wasn't even mad this morning, just wanted to give you some space."
"...Even if you're pissed, kiss me before you leave," He mutters, embarrassment flooding his face "Please."
You snort.
"Promise, I will. I love you. You know that, right?"
He nods because he does, really always does. Deep down, despite the terror he feels at the idea you'll stop - he knows he loves you. But as everyday passes, he's faced with the reality that he loves you more. With an even heavier hand and much more force than he thought possible.
That corny shit people say about loving someone more everyday. He thinks he's starting to get it. At his own state, he laughs against your lips.
Roommate! Bakugou who finally convinced himself he’s never going to get a shot with you.
He’s watched you get hurt one too many times, watched you wave it away with a smile when he can see you’re hurting. He watches you resign yourself to being happy on your own, and he feels guilty for even considering trying to change your mind.
So he’s left completely confused when you stretch up on your tiptoes and kiss him after a party at the apartment. You’re clearly more than a little tipsy, the kiss a thank you for the simple task of handing you a glass of water.
He freezes when your lips meet his, softer than he expected, but you hum happily before pulling away, mumbling a sweet ‘goodnight’ and ‘hope you have sweet dreams’ as you meander back to your room, tripping more than once.
He just stands there in the middle of the kitchen, his brain short-circuiting as he ghosts his fingers over his bottom lip, remnants of your lipgloss smeared across it.
