Edging Him Until He’s Completely Delirious And When You Tell Him To “say The Magic Words” He Accidentally

Edging him until he’s completely delirious and when you tell him to “say the magic words” he accidentally says “I love you”

i will fall in love with you over and over again | katsuki bakugo x reader

summary:

Your quirk was meant to save lives, but with every revival, it slowly chipped away at your memories. Ochako smiled brighter, Deku lingered longer, and Katsuki stayed—always stayed.Even when you forgot his name. Even when you forgot him.

warnings: major angst, memory loss, spoilers!

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The first time it happened was when you revived Katsuki’s deceased cat.

You were children then, barely old enough to understand the weight of life and death. But when he found you crouched by the creek, his small hands trembling over the lifeless body of his beloved pet, his voice was already hoarse from calling your name.

“Please,” he choked out, red eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Do it. Just…just bring her back.”

You stared at him, uncertain. The raw desperation in his voice made you second-guess whether this was really the same Katsuki who shoved you off swings and tugged on your pigtails.

But his voice cracked again, and you gave in.

Tiny hands trembling, you knelt beside him, fingers brushing against the cat’s cold fur. You didn’t know what you were doing. You didn’t know if it would work. You were too young, too inexperienced but the light of your quirk flickered faintly between your palms.

And suddenly, she stirred.

Just for five minutes.

The cat let out a weak meow, nuzzling into Katsuki’s trembling hands. His chest hitched with a choked sob as he cradled her, burying his face in her fur.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay, girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He hugged her tightly, arms curled protectively around the frail creature.

And when the light in her eyes slowly dimmed once more—her small body going limp in his arms—he pressed a final, tear-soaked kiss to her head.

Then he turned to you.

Without a word, he threw his arms around you, clinging to you as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. His fingers fisted the back of your shirt, shoulders trembling violently.

But your eyes were dull.

Blank.

Who… was this again?

Your fingers twitched faintly at your sides, your gaze vacant as you stared over his shoulder. There was warmth against you—the faint dampness of his tears soaking into your shirt. But you felt nothing.

When he pulled back, his red, swollen eyes searched yours.

“You okay?” he asked softly, voice cracking slightly.

You blinked slowly. Tilted your head faintly.

“…Huh?”

Confusion flickered briefly across his face, but it was gone in an instant. He forced a shaky grin, nudging your forehead with his.

“Idiot,” he muttered hoarsely, ruffling your hair. “You look wiped out.”

But the faint crease between his brows lingered. And he stared at you a little longer than before.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Over time, Katsuki learned the cruel price of your quirk.

How ironic.

The ability to heal and revive—the very embodiment of hope—was also your slow undoing. A power so heroic, yet its cost so merciless.

In order to save someone, you had to lose pieces of yourself. Slivers of your heart. Fragments of memories you once held dear.

And Katsuki couldn’t help but wonder—once you were pushed to the limit, would you forget everything?

Would you forget him?

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Izuku’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, sending dust and pebbles scattering across the broken bridge. His fingers scraped along the jagged pavement, knuckles bloodied from the fall.

He groaned softly, clutching at his shoulder as he slowly pushed himself up.

“Dammit…” he hissed through clenched teeth, wincing at the sharp sting pulsing through his arm.

But before he could rise, you were already by his side.

“Don’t move, Izu.”

Your voice was light, a soft, reassuring hum as your hands hovered over his injuries. A faint golden glow flickered between your trembling fingers, spilling warmth over his torn skin. Slowly, the bloodied scrapes faded—the broken bone mending beneath your touch.

Izuku sucked in a sharp breath as the pain dulled, his muscles loosening slightly.

But instead of relief, his chest tightened.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist before you could continue.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk in times like this.” His voice was low but firm, his green eyes narrowed with concern. “You know how it affects you, (N/N). I can handle myself just fine.”

You forced a sheepish smile, brushing him off with a lighthearted laugh.

“Don’t worry, Izu!” you chirped, your voice too bright—too forced. “This is just me practicing for when I become a hero… I have to get used to it someday, don’t I?”

You meant it as a joke, but the faint quiver in your voice gave you away.

Because even now, you could feel it—the subtle sting behind your eyes, the faint disorientation creeping in at the edges of your mind.

It was happening again.

But you pretended not to notice.

“Idiot.”

The sharp voice came from behind you, laced with unmistakable irritation.

You barely had time to turn before Katsuki’s shadow loomed over you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His voice was low, cutting, but you caught the faint tremor in it.

“The dumbass is right,” he muttered, jerking his head toward Izuku. His crimson eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t waste your efforts on shit that can be fixed easily.”

You blinked at him.

And before you could say anything, Izuku let out a low, incredulous scoff.

“Wait—did you just agree with me?” he asked, staring at Bakugo with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Bakugo’s scowl deepened instantly. His glare snapped toward Izuku, eyes blazing with irritation.

“Shut up, dumbass!” he barked, fists clenching slightly at his sides.

Izuku’s lips parted slightly, brows knitting faintly in surprise. But then—just barely—he smirked.

“You agreed with me,” he taunted softly, his voice deliberately teasing.

Bakugo shot him a withering glare, his jaw clenching sharply. His hands twitched, sparks crackling faintly at his palms.

“Say it again and I’ll throw your nerd ass off this bridge.”

But Izuku only grinned wider, his eyes glimmering with barely concealed amusement.

And even as the two bickered—hurling threats at each other with all the ferocity of childhood rivals—you knew.

You could see it in the way they lingered close. The way they subtly kept their bodies angled toward you. The way their eyes kept flickering back—searching, wary, worried.

Because they both cared.

And you smiled softly, even as the edges of your mind blurred slightly. Even as you knew you were losing another sliver of yourself.

But you didn’t say a word.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The use of your quirk became more frequent as the three of you entered U.A. The missions grew harsher. The battles bloodier. And with them, so did the people who worried for you.

You were stronger now. Sharper. Your control over Reverie was improving—you could heal faster, revive longer. You were starting to master it, refining the edges of your power with each mission.

But the cost remained the same.

The memory loss never left—it simply grew quieter, more patient. Lurking beneath the surface, gnawing at you slowly.

It would take everything eventually.

You knew it.

And so did they.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Your hands shook faintly as you pressed your palms over the woman’s bloodied chest. Her breath was shallow, fading fast, but you didn’t stop.

Golden light flickered from your fingertips, mending the torn skin, sealing the wound. You poured every ounce of strength you had left into her frail body, coaxing her pulse back to life.

You felt your quirk pulling at you—taking from you. You could feel it in the sharp sting behind your eyes, in the dull ache spreading behind your temples.

When you pulled back, the woman’s chest rose steadily, color returning to her face. She clung to your hand, her fingers trembling as she murmured a tear-soaked, broken “thank you.”

You smiled faintly.

And then you staggered, vision tilting slightly. Your knees threatened to buckle, the weight of exhaustion making your limbs heavy and sluggish.

A faint warmth trickled down from your nose.

Blood.

You stared at the crimson droplets falling onto your trembling hands. It took you a moment to register what was happening.

“Hey—hey!”

Ochako was by your side in an instant, her hands gripping your arms tightly, steadying you. Her brown eyes were wide, round with worry as she stared at the blood smeared across your upper lip.

“(N/N), you’re bleeding!” Her voice was tight, barely above a whisper. “You need to stop—”

But you shook your head, a weak, lopsided smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m okay,” you rasped softly, forcing a breathless laugh. You could taste the iron in your mouth, but you still smiled. You lied.

Ochako’s brows furrowed deeply. You could see the tremor in her hands as she cupped your face, wiping the blood from your lip with the edge of her glove. Her hands were shaking.

“Please, just rest,” she begged softly, her voice breaking slightly.

But you didn’t.

You carried on with the mission.

Despite the dizziness threatening to pull you under, despite the way your hands trembled faintly, you didn’t stop.

You pressed your bloodied hands against another fallen civilian’s chest, reviving them for five fleeting minutes.

Enough time to let their loved ones say goodbye.

You moved onto the next.

And the next.

Because they deserved their goodbyes.

And if it meant sacrificing another sliver of yourself, you would do it without hesitation.

The man’s sobs echoed through the broken city street, his knees hitting the cracked asphalt with a hollow thud. His arms trembled as they clung to the small, lifeless body in his lap, the delicate frame of his child. Her limbs hung limp, eyes half-lidded, robbed of their light far too soon.

You had brought the child back with your quirk, just for five minutes. Enough time for the father to say goodbye.

But when she awoke, she screamed.

And the father, through tears, held her anyway.

“It’s okay… I’ve got you,” he whispered, rocking her as if he could shield her from the agony she was reliving. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got you, baby.”

The girl’s cries faded into broken gasps. She stilled in his arms before slipping away once more. Cold and lifeless.

You staggered backward, legs trembling beneath you. Something sharp cracked behind your eyes, a splintering sensation as if a fault line had split in your skull.

The world turned blurry.

When you blinked again, the sobbing man was a stranger. The charred street, unfamiliar. You stood there, lost in the very place you were supposed to save.

Katsuki’s voice cut through the fog.

“Hey! Hey, look at me!”

His voice was rough, sharp with urgency, but his hands were steady as he grabbed your face, thumbs pressed to your cheeks, grounding you.

Your eyes were unfocused, glassy with confusion. You didn’t know where you were. Who you were. But his voice was loud. Familiar. Real.

“Focus, dammit.” His forehead pressed against yours, sweat-damp hair clinging to his skin. His breath was uneven, but his voice was steady. Low. Rough. “It’s me. Come on, (N/N). Stay with me.”

And just like that, you were back.

Your chest heaved sharply, a gasp catching in your throat as your mind slowly pieced itself together. Your name. Your quirk. Your mission. His voice.

Bakugo held you in place for a moment longer, his grip firm but careful. His breathing was shaky against your temple. And when you looked into his eyes, wide with something raw and fragile— he was scared.

He almost lost you.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

Then it started becoming more evident as you became the intern of a hero that owned a hospital. As her intern, you were tasked to heal patients, and if you were given the permission to, revive a patient for five minutes so their loved ones could say farewell. The heroine you were interning for, Lady Sakuko, knew the limitations and didn’t want to risk you and so you stuck with healing.

But some families begged you.. And you couldn’t say no.. It was cruel to do so.

And so you paid the price.

It started with training exercises. Lost memories slipping through your fingers. Sometimes it was minor, a name you couldn’t place, a route you couldn’t recall. Sometimes it was bigger.. Fading details of your past, faces you swore you knew but couldn’t recognize.

Your childhood best friend, Izuku, noticed first.

You were in the common room when he passed you a glass of water, his green eyes soft with concern.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda zoned out earlier.”

You stared at him blankly. “Huh? When?”

He hesitated.

“During training,” he murmured gently. “You didn’t dodge when I called your name.”

You blinked slowly at him, confused.

You didn’t remember.

His eyes softened with worry, but he forced a bright smile, brushing it off with a chuckle.

“Maybe you were just tired,” he said lightly. But the concern in his eyes lingered, even when he turned away.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You didn’t remember your favorite cafe

Ochako suggested stopping by after classl. Her voice was bright, casual, trying not to sound worried.

“Hey, wanna grab those cream puffs you like? You always get that matcha latte too.”

You blinked at her, confused.

“What café?”

Her smile faltered slightly.

“You know… the one by the park? You love that place.”

But you didn’t remember.

You stared at the tiny shop across the street, its warm glow spilling out onto the pavement, but it meant nothing to you. No familiar scent. No sense of nostalgia.

Ochako covered it quickly, her voice bright and casual.

“Oh! Maybe I’m mixing it up with someone else’s fave,” she laughed lightly. “Wanna check it out, though?”

You nodded absently, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you the entire time.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You can’t sleep.

The rooftop is cold, the wind nipping at your skin, but you don’t move. You stare out at the city, its flickering lights blurring faintly at the edges of your vision.

You hear footsteps behind you, heavy and familiar. When you glance over your shoulder, you expect to feel a flash of recognition.

But you don’t.

The blond boy strides over with his hands in his pockets, his eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. His presence is strong—almost too much. He carries himself like he owns the entire sky.

He stops beside you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You didn’t go to your café today.”

You stare at him blankly. You don’t answer.

He turns toward you fully. His voice lowers. “What café?”

His crimson eyes falter ever so slightly. His knuckles go white in his pockets.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Then, he scoffs faintly.

“Tch. It’s a shitty place anyway,” he mutters. “Too sweet.”

You don’t know why, but your chest aches.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The hospital wing is too small.

Cots are pressed against every wall, medical supplies scattered haphazardly across tables. Blood stains the once-white sheets. The air reeks of antiseptic and scorched flesh.

You sit by the cot of a fallen soldier, his blood pooling onto the sheets, soaking through the thin fabric. His eyes are glassy—vacant. His fingers twitch once, and then still.

“Please…” his wife whispers from the other side of the cot. Her voice is thin, trembling. “Please, save him…”

You don’t hesitate.

Your hands, slick with blood, press down on his chest, trembling as the familiar warmth of your quirk pulses through your fingertips. Light spills from your hands, golden and dim, sinking into his ruined flesh.

He gasps sharply. His eyes snap open, and he screams.

You don’t flinch.

You hold his hand as he thrashes violently, as his body relives every wound he has ever suffered. As he sobs and clings to his wife’s trembling arms. As she cries and holds him, even as he begs for it to stop.

Five minutes.

You stay with him until he goes still again. His wife kisses his cooling lips, her sobs raw and broken. She holds him close, even though he is cold.

You slowly stand, legs trembling. Your head throbs violently, and your vision briefly tilts sideways. Your hands shake so violently you barely manage to wipe the blood from your cheek.

“(N/N)!”

You don’t register the voice at first. The words are muffled, distant, until a pair of arms suddenly wrap around you.

Ochako.

You blink slowly, trying to focus on her face, but her features swim and blur. For a brief, disorienting moment, she is a stranger.

Her hands grip your arms tightly, her voice trembling. “You’ve been overworking yourself at the hospital… (N/N), you should remember to pick who you revive. You can’t save all of them.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “But I can.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She shakes her head weakly. “And it’s taking a toll on you!” Her voice cracks as she tightens her grip. “You’re my best friend, (N/N)… I know that it’s selfish… but sometimes… people go.”

Her voice breaks on the last word.

You just stare at her, your breath shallow. You want to hold her. To promise her you’re fine.

But you don’t.

Because you can’t remember if you are.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

You’re slipping.

You can’t remember your name. You can’t remember the mission. You can’t remember why you’re here.

But you know you need to keep moving.

Your legs shake as you stumble forward, your body screaming in protest. Each step feels heavier, each breath shallower, but you don’t stop.

You press your trembling hands to the bodies littered across the battlefield, summoning every ounce of power left in you.

You revive them.

Again. And again. And again.

You don’t think. You don’t breathe. You just do.

And then you find him.

His body is crumpled against the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His gauntlet is cracked, sparking faintly with remnants of his quirk. His hand lies slack around the grip. His eyes are closed.

You don’t know who he is.

But your heart shatters.

You fall to your knees beside him. Your fingers tremble violently as you press them against his chest. His blood seeps into your skin, warm and sticky, but you don’t care.

You don’t understand why you’re crying. You don’t know why it hurts so much.

But it does.

Your hands shake so violently you can barely summon the light. It flickers faintly at your fingertips, sputtering weakly. You’re too far gone. You barely have anything left.

And still, you pour everything into him. Every drop of strength, every broken piece of yourself, every memory you don’t even have anymore.

“Please,” you choke softly, voice cracked and trembling. “Please, just… come back.”

You’re not sure if you’re speaking to him, or to yourself.

You press harder, ignoring the searing pain in your arms, the tremor in your shoulders. Your vision blurs with tears you don’t understand, spilling hot and fast down your cheeks.

And then he gasps sharply, his eyes flying open with a sudden, broken breath.

You let out a strangled sob.

His chest heaves with shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes—crimson and glassy—flicker hazily to you, unfocused and wide with confusion. Blood clings to his lips, his skin pale from blood loss.

But he is alive.

And then you smile.

Tears slip down your cheeks, your eyes blurry, but you smile anyway. You let out a shaky, broken laugh, soft and breathless—because he’s breathing.

Your trembling fingers brush over his blood-matted hair, pushing the damp strands from his face. Your hands linger, trembling faintly against his skin.

You stare at the face you don’t recognize.

But somehow, somehow, it still feels familiar.

Your voice is barely above a whisper, soft and fragile, breaking faintly over the words.

“I think I loved you before.”

Bakugo Katsuki allows himself to cry.

Because you still do.

Even if you don’t remember.

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The war was over.

The scars it left behind were not.

U.A. slowly stitched itself back together. The halls were quieter now. The seats emptier. The classrooms once filled with voices and laughter now carried a somber stillness.

But you were alive.

And so were they.

You sat by the window in the classroom, the sunlight spilling weakly across your desk, warming your hands. The soft murmur of your classmates lingered faintly around you, their voices dull and distant. You watched them quietly. The way they moved, the way they smiled, the way their hands trembled slightly when they thought no one was looking.

They were familiar strangers.

You knew their names because they told you. You knew their faces because they showed you old photos. You knew their stories because they sat beside you and spoke softly, laughing through their tears, hoping you would remember.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

No matter how hard you tried, it was all blank.

You stared down at your notebook, the lines empty. The words wouldn’t come. Your fingers trembled slightly against the pen, your chest tightening with something sharp and suffocating.

You clutched the pen harder.

And then you heard someone sniffle.

You glanced up, eyes widening slightly.

Ochako sat beside you, her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to stifle the small, broken sound. Her eyes were red, tears clinging to her lashes, falling despite her best efforts to hold them back.

You blinked slowly, confused.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered softly, your voice cracking faintly. Your eyes flickered around the room. Izuku, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to smile for you. Kirishima, clenching his jaw as his hands fisted faintly on his desk, his knuckles white. Mina, her face buried in her arms, shoulders trembling softly.

And then you looked at Katsuki.

You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t look away.

There was no pain on his face. No tears. No trace of sadness.

Just tenderness. Raw and steady.

You stared at him with so much love, like your heart remembered what your mind had forgotten. Like somewhere, in the hollow of your chest, you still knew him.

And you tried so hard.

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to remember—to claw through the blank spaces, to tear through the fog—desperate to find even the smallest flicker of a memory.

But nothing came.

Just empty, aching silence.

You pressed your palms against your eyes, your shoulders trembling slightly. A broken sob caught in your throat, and you shook your head sharply, voice small and broken.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out softly. “I’m so sorry. I—I can’t remember. I—”

You covered your face with your hands, hot tears slipping between your trembling fingers. You tried to stop them, tried to breathe through the suffocating weight in your chest.

“I’m trying so hard,” you whispered shakily. “I want to remember, I do. But I—I can’t. I can’t remember any of you.”

Your voice cracked painfully as you lowered your hands, your eyes desperate and glassy. You clutched the fabric of your shirt over your chest, knuckles pale from how hard you squeezed.

“And I’m so sorry…” your voice broke completely, trembling and raw, “for forgetting you.”

And then you felt warmth.

Arms wrapping around you.

Steady. Strong. Familiar.

You felt Katsuki’s hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, holding you gently against his chest.

Your trembling hands fisted weakly into his shirt, clinging to him, your tears soaking into the fabric. You shook faintly in his arms, and he just held you tighter.

He pressed his lips softly against the crown of your head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, but gentle. “You don’t have to remember.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face deeper into his chest, tears falling freely.

He stroked your hair softly, his voice breaking faintly as he held you closer.

“We’ll just make new memories together.”

You hiccupped softly against him, and his arms tightened faintly around you.

“We have time,” he murmured against your temple. “We have forever.”

And so you broke completely in his arms.

Because even if you didn’t remember who he was, you still knew him.

THE END.

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dynaxplosion

1 week ago

the holy grail types of fanfic

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dynaxplosion

2 weeks ago

OPPOSITE ATTRACT (SECRETLY OF COURSE)

synopsis — you and bakugo’s personality are the total opposite and no one would expect you guys to ever be friends until…

word count — 1.1k

a/n — BAKUGO IS SO FINE LIKE I WAS DYING WRITING THIS. I LOVE HIM SM LIKECJEJFJJS. anyways

The common room of Class 1-A was filled with energy, as it often was after a long day of classes. The girls had claimed one corner of the room, lounging on the couches and chatting away as they were talking about boys and their types.

“I think Kirishima is cute,” Mina mused, swinging her legs over the couch armrest. “He’s got that golden retriever personality, you know?”

“He’s definitely charming,” Hagakure giggled.

Ochacco tilted her head. “What about you y/n? Any crushes?”

y/n, the kind-hearted sweetheart of the class, smiled softly. “I don’t really know.. I guess I like someone strong but caring deep down.”

Asui blinked. “Ribbit. That’s a pretty broad answer.”

Before y/n could elaborate, the boy’s voices echoed from the other side of the living room. They were being their usual loud selves, Kirishima, Kaminari, Tokoyami, and of course, Bakugo.

Kirishima heard the girl’s conversation before suddenly turned to Bakugo with a sly grin. “Hey, Bakugo, what’s your type?”

The room fell silent. Everyone knew Bakugo was not the type to entertain such conversations, which is exactly who Kirishima had asked, just to get a rise out of him.

“Oi! What kinda dumbass question is that!?” Bakugo’s voice immediately exploded through the air.

Kaminari snickered. “C’mon, man, we’re just curious.”

“Tch. As if I’d waste my time thinking about crap like that,” Bakugo scoffed, folding his arms, His face had taken on the slightest tinge of red, but he masked it with an aggressive scowl.

From the girls’ corner, y/n giggled. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. Bakugo’s annoyed reactions was just too funny.

That did not go unnoticed. Bakugo’s crimson eyes snapped to her, narrowing suspiciously.

“The hell are you laughing at?” he growled.

y/n shocked her head, still smiling. “Nothing, nothing!”

But the damage had already been done. Mina and Kirishima immediately locked eyes with each other, their expressions screaming, suspicious.

Later that night, Mina and Kirishima crouched behind the corner of the hallway, whispering excitedly.

“Okay, tell me you saw that,” Mina said. “y/n laughed at Bakugo’s reaction. That’s weird.”

Kirishima grinned. “And Bakugo actually reacted to her. That’s even weirder.”

They had been low-key theorizing about Bakugo and y/n for weeks. Sure, they never interacted much in public, but there was something off about how Bakugo didn’t seem to direct his usual rage at y/n. And that giggle? That was their confirmation.

So, when they saw y/n quietly slipping out of her dorm room and tiptoeing toward Bakugo’s, they had to investigate.

“Okay, let’s wait a few minutes, then bam! We barge in,” Mina whispered.

Kirishima nodded. “If we die, it was an honor.”

Mina smirked. “We’re heroes in training, we’ll be fine.”

The Class 1-A dorms had settled into a quiet hum for the night. Most of the students were relaxing in their rooms, some playing games, other studying, and a few, like Mina and Kirishima, engaging in questionable activities.

y/n on the other hand, had other plans.

She tiptoed down the hallway, hand gripping the hem of her hoodie as she scanned the area. The last thing she needed was for someone to see her sneaking in his room. Though, knowing her luck, someone — Mina and Kirishima most likely was already watching.

Reaching Bakugo’s door, she raised a delicate fist and knocked twice. No answer. Not unusual.

Rolling her eyes with a soft smile, she carefully turned the knob, it was never locked for her. The door creaked open just enough for her to slip inside before closing it behind her.

The moment she entered, the atmosphere shifted.

Katsuki Bakugo lay sprawled across his bed, one arm lazily tucked behind his head while the other draped over his stomach. His ash-blond hair was messier than usual, and his uniform jacket was discarded on his desk chair, leaving him in his black t-shirt and black sweats.

At the sound of the door shutting, his crimson eyes lazily flickered open.

“You took forever,” he grumbled.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, walking over to his bed. “You didn’t even answer the door.”

“Didn’t feel like moving.”

She shook her head fondly before settling onto the bed beside him. The second she did, Bakugo wasted no time. With a low grunt, he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down onto the mattress with him.

“You’re clingy tonight,” Y/N mused, her fingers instinctively threading through his messy hair.

He only grumbled, nuzzling into the warmth of her shoulder. “Tch. Shut up.”

She giggled, the vibration of her laughter making him hum in satisfaction. They stayed like that for a while. Bakugo was completely relaxed, his breathing steady, his grip firm but comforting. This was a side of him no one else saw.

During school hours, he acted as if she barely existed. But in moments like these, when it was just the two of them, he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

“You laughed at me today,” he muttered suddenly, voice muffled against her hoodie.

Y/N blinked, then smiled. “Because you were funny.”

He huffed, pulling her even closer. “Dumbass.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but made no move to push him away. She liked this side of him, this soft, vulnerable, needy side. And no matter how gruff he tried to sound, she could hear the underlying plea in his voice when he mumbled.

“Shut up and stay here.”

Y/N hummed, running her fingers soothingly along his scalp. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

Outside the door, Mina and Kirishima crouched low, exchanging glances at each other with excitement.

“Okay,” Mina whispered. “This confirms it.”

Kirishima nodded. “They have to be dating.”

“Or at least something.” Mina’s grin widened. “Now, we need proof.”

The two waited a few more moments, letting the suspense build. Then

BAM!

The door slammed open.

“OH. MY. GOD,” Mina screeched, her phone already raised.

Click! Click!

Kirishima doubled over in wheezing laughter. “DUDE! YOU’RE SO CLINGY!”

Bakugo shot up immediately, his entire face exploding into a furious shade of red.

“YOU DAMN EXTRAS!!!”

Mina howled with laughter, waving her phone like a trophy. “I GOT PICTURES! THIS IS GOLD!”

“DELETE THEM, YOU PINK HAIRED GREMLIN!” Bakugo roared, lunging off the bed.

Mina screamed, scrambling out of the room at lightning speed, Kirishima hot on her heels.

“RUN, RUN, RUN!” Kirishima yelled between bouts of laughter.

Bakugo exploded after them, quite literally, his hands sparking as he chased them down the hall. The dorms erupted into chaos, doors creaked open as confused classmates peered out, blinking at the spectacle of Bakugo launching himself after Mina and Kirishima, his furious shouts echoing through the building.

y/n, who walked out of the room, covered her mouth as she burst into laughter.

So much for their little secret.

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dynaxplosion

2 weeks ago

— katsuki bakugou ⋮ 03 / 16 / 25. ❝ 𝓗𝑨𝑷𝑷𝒀 𝓑𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑫𝑨𝒀 ❞

content warnings ⨾ soft!pro-hero!katsuki bakugou. happy (early) birthday katsuki !! profanity. bad days. kirishima mentioned. gn!reader - no pronouns, but reader is wearing a dress. not proof-read. word count ⨾ .6K ❪ 619 ❫

“you look pretty. gettin’ all dressed up for something?”

you meet katsuki’s eyes in the mirror. he stands in the doorway, leaned against the door frame with a smile on his face. your eyes drift and you realize he’s still wearing his costume. with furrowed brows, you turn to him and tilt your head. “katsuki,” you whine, throwing your hands into your lap. “you’re still in your gross hero stuff. we’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes! how are you meant to shower and do your hair and find an outfit and-“

he makes it to where you’re sitting in two and a half strides, his boots leaving mud tracks as he walks through the bedroom. he cuts you off with a chaste kiss, his gloves rough against your otherwise soft face. he leans back and smiles softly. “i’ll be quick, don’t worry. we’ll make it on time, baby.” when you pout, he laughs. “just wanted to see you for a sec. had a shitty day.”

your brows unfurl and you frown. “poor baby,” you coo, cupping his cheek, disregarding the ash smudged on his face. “do you want to talk about it? i can reschedule the dinner for a later reservation.”

“nah.” he shakes his head, but sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. you bite your tongue, reminding yourself that you can just wash the sheets later rather than berate him about it now. “just a lot of running around. shittyhair got thrown into a fucking building.” he laughs and drags a hand down his face. “so much for a happy birthday right?”

“i told you you should’ve taken the day off,” you sigh out, raising your brows and turning back to the mirror.

“criminals don’t take days off.” it’s quiet, a stark contrast to his usual intensity. you look at him through the mirror and bite the inside of your cheek. he looks so . . . defeated.

“katsuki,” you mumble, turning back around with another frown. you stand and walk over to him, standing in between his legs. “we don’t have to go tonight. we can stay in and watch a movie. it’s your birthday, y’know. we can go out some other time.”

he looks up at you and sighs. you take this time to look at him—really look at him. his boyish features from high school are long gone; chubby cheeks replaced by a sharp jawline, eyebags replaced by crows feet, the same freckles scattered across his cheeks.

he wraps his arms around you in a hug and presses his face into your stomach. you don’t mention how he bought you this dress and how the ash is most definitely going to stain it.

“you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he mumbles into the fabric, pressing into you harder. you feel your expression soften and you put your arms around his shoulders, squeezing three times—a special way to say i love you. “i don’t know what i would be without you.”

“you’d still be an amazing pro,” you say softly. “maybe a little lost—a little skinny, too.” he laughs and you smile. “but still an amazing, hardworking, kind, determined, helpful, loving pro-hero.”

he hums and for a long moment—maybe five minutes—you two stay like that, silent. the only noise is the AC running through the vents, and the washing machine. eventually, he leans back, keeping his hands on your hips.

“i love you.” he doesn’t say it often, choosing to express it in other ways, but when he does, it’s the best part of your day.

you lean down to press your lips against his, soft and full of meaning. “i love you too, kats. more than you will ever know.”

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dynaxplosion

1 week ago

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dynaxplosion

1 week ago

hiii my love! so, I had this sitting in my drafts forever from this post and wanted to share with you. :))

Katsuki Bakugo bends to no one — never has, never will. It's in his nature to be the one always in control of a situation and of himself. He's kissed plenty of girls as a twenty something hero, all of which fawned over his charm and killer body. It's easy, he thinks, to get them to submit without breaking a sweat. One shallow pick up line mixed with a backhanded compliment and well timed smirk was his go-to method. Worked like a charm every damn time.

But with you? Not a chance.

Bakugo found himself working a little more for your attention, much to his dismay. He was so conditioned to women falling to their knees for him that the second you put up any resistance, it royally pissed him off, more than he'd like to admit. Rescuing you from a collapsing building should've done the trick, quite literally sweeping you off your feet, but no — not good enough. He's entered into new territory that he’s unfamiliar with, tempting him to keep digging until you'd surrender to his ruse. He knows he can make you crack and then pull his signature disappearing act once he's truly satisfied, like always. Little did he know that he was playing your game and forfeiting his own.

He catches you weeks later at a nearby restaurant while he’s out with his team, and after another round of “c’mon sweetheart, one dinner won’t kill ya” bullshit, you give him a chance. One single dinner date for him to prove himself worthy of your time. Bakugo was more than determined to win you over not only for the sake of his pride, but something a little deeper that he didn't dare acknowledge.

His stomach cartwheels when he spots you in your sleek red dress outside the restaurant he picked, waiting patiently under the glow of the streetlights. His palms start to stain with sweat, shoving his hands in his pockets while greeting you at the doorway. And when you casually tell him that you wore red to match his eyes, his heart skips like a stone on water. The entire dinner, you keep saying shit that makes his body shiver, heart pounding so hard and booming in his ears that he can barely hear you at some points in the conversation. He couldn't understand what the hell was happening to him, how someone like you has him so transfixed for no reason.

When you insist on coming up to your apartment, Bakugo shrugs and follows you without a word, failing miserably to hide the way his cheeks warm at your invitation. The second the door locks behind him, you're placing your hands on his chest, pressing his back to it and invading his personal space. He gasps — actually gasps — in shock. He tries to cover it up with a growl of sorts, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"Relax baby," you whisper, standing on your toes to put your lips close to his ear. "You look like you're ready to bolt. Do other girls make you this nervous?"

"Fuck off," he grumbles before sighing nervously. "N-no. They don't." Why is he being honest right now? That's not something he would admit, especially on a 'first date.' Bakugo's fully convinced you're a witch or some kind of succubus, there's no other explanation how you're stirring such strong reactions from him.

And then...he feels your hand reach for the button on his jeans. It's embarrassing how the blood in his cheeks rushes south at lightening speed, his cock twitching to life faster than he's ever experienced. His hips shift, and fuck, he can feel the stickiness gathering in his boxers already. What the hell are you doing to him?

None of this goes unnoticed by you, a mischievous gleam reflecting in your eyes, an insatiable hunger that only turns him on more. Your finger hooks into one of the belt loops to pull him flush against you, another goddamn gasp escaping him.

"Oh," you purr approvingly. "This is gonna be fun."

anyways i love you byeeee!! <3

REEIIIIIII OMG. YAAAAS. THIS IS MY BIRTHDAY GIFT, THANK YOU I LOVEE YOU. 🌟🧡

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dynaxplosion

2 weeks ago

feining for frat boy katsuki…

it was hot. loud. half the girls were already screaming over shirtless frat boys grinding against windshields. your friend dragged you out with a “come on, it’s for charity!” and now you’re standing in the corner with a lukewarm lemonade and zero expectations.

you didn’t even want to come to this stupid fraternity fundraiser.

your roommate dragged you out with the promise of half-naked frat boys, but all you’ve seen so far are drenched freshmen trying to flex their way into a hernia.

but then you see him.

he’s got his back turned at first—lean muscle, golden skin, red swim trunks slung way too low on his hips. sunlight catches the water dripping down his back like it’s staged. and when he turns around?

game over. he’s gorgeous.

sharp jaw, wild blonde hair flattened from water, a cocky little smirk on his face as he wrings a sponge out over his head, totally aware of the stares.

and he sees you. right away. ruby eyes locked with yours and gives the most arrogant little up-nod like, yeah. you’re next.

you try to act unaffected. fail immediately.

he saunters over, sudsy bucket in one hand, water dripping down his abs like it’s a fucking calvin klein ad. stops right in front of you, eyeing your car, then you, then your car again. “you the one drivin’ this piece of shit?”

you blink. “excuse me?!”

he shrugs but you can see a little grin tugging on the corner of his mouth, smug and unbothered. “relax. i’ll make it look brand new.”

he puts the bucket down, saunters over, and damn—he’s even hotter up close. tall. muscles for days. and that little scar on his cheek? unfair.

then, leaning closer, voice low: “the name's katsuki bakugo. what’s yours, sweet girl?”

you tell him. maybe a little breathless.

he repeats it once—slow, like he’s trying it out on his tongue. “hm. yeah. i like that.”

and then he goes to work. but not just on the car.

katsuki bakugo washes that car like he’s auditioning for the dirtiest boy band you’ve ever seen. dropping the sponge just to bend over in front of you, ass on full display. making eye contact when he slides his hand over the hood like he’s caressing it. watering himself down with a hose and shaking his hair out like he’s in a shampoo commercial from hell.

by the time he’s done, your car is sparkling. and so are you—flushed, flustered.

he tosses the sponge into the bucket, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks. “lemme know if you need a private wash sometime.”

and then he walks away, with you watching the water dripping down the curve of his spine, no better than a teenage boy ogling the back of a girl's bikini. you swear you black out for a second too.

it’s only a few hours after the car wash before he slides in your dms, smooth but dirty. you’re in your room, still reeling from whatever the hell that was, when your phone buzzes.

king.explosionmurder has sent you a message.

(yeah. that’s his actual handle. because of course it is.) then, you open it.

king.explosionmurder:

can't stop thinking about the girl with the shittiest car and the cutest fuckin’ face.

you stare. then another message pops up.

king.explosionmurder:

u free tonight?

or maybe you're too busy being adorable somewhere else?

your heart does a thing. you type out a reply—something just barely cocky enough to match him:

you:

depends

you always this forward?

king.explosionmurder:

only for girls with shitty taste in cars

so, only you

let me buy you a drink, sweet girl?

you:

fine

you can buy me a drink, frat boy

but for the record?

my taste in cars is not that shitty

king.explosionmurder:

whatever you say beautiful

8 pm, sunset bar down 5th ave

don't be late

katsuki shows up five minutes early, in a black tee that clings to his chest and jeans that should be illegal. hair still messy from his post-car-wash shower. when you walk in, his eyes track you like you’re the only person in the room.

“tch. thought you were gonna flake.”

you roll your eyes. “you’d cry if i did.”

his mouth twitches. “like a damn baby.”

then the date just... hits different. it wasn't what you expected. sure, it’s packed with college students and frat bros, but in the back corner booth? with him?

it’s quiet. comfortable. almost… intimate.

he’s not much of a talker, but with you? he tries. you ask about his major—he’s an aspiring pro-hero, of course—and he asks about yours, grumbling when you light up talking about it, because “fuck, that smile’s gonna kill me.”

and even though he’d die before saying it out loud, the minute you take a sip of your drink and laugh at something dumb he says? he’s gone. head over heels.

he walks you back to your dorm with his hand on the small of your back, even though it’s barely a ten-minute walk. says “text me when you’re in” even though he literally watched you unlock your door. stands there, gruff and gorgeous, waiting.

“gonna invite me?” he asks, tone teasing.

you shake your head, grinning. “not on the first date, i'm not.”

he groans dramatically. “damn. fuckin’ killin’ me here.”

you grin. “goodnight, frat boy.”

but he doesn’t move right away.

just stands there under the warm porch light, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to work off the ache of not touching you again. his shirt clings to him in the summer heat, his jaw sharp in the glow, but it’s his eyes that freeze you in place.

not hard. not sharp. not the glare he usually levels at the world.

but soft. heavy. like you’ve stolen the breath from his lungs and he doesn’t even want it back.

he looks at you like you hung the damn moon.

he takes one small step closer, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off his chest, close enough that if either of you moved just an inch, you’d be kissing.

“goodnight, sweet girl,” he says, voice low and rough, like gravel laced with honey.

it hits you somewhere deep. like he’s branding the words into you.

and then—he actually smiles. a real one. lopsided, shy, the kind of smile you’d never expect from someone who threatens to body slam people over couch cushions.

then he turns and walks away, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head down, like if he looks back even once, he’ll do something stupid like run back and kiss you senseless.

you close the door behind you, heart thudding so hard you swear your roommate can hear it.

you’re screwed. so screwed.

because things after that? they move fast.

to everyone else, he was the guy who'd scream if you left dishes in the sink, throw a beer can at you if you sat on his side of the couch, and threaten to body slam you if you so much as breathe near him.

but the entire frat house knew that their loud, grumpy, terrifyingly efficient frat dad—had a soft spot the size of a planet. and that soft spot? was for you.

you’re the only person allowed in his room during his grumpy post-practice naps. the only one who can touch his hair without him flinching. he’d grumble when you flick his forehead when he was being dramatic but he'd let you.

he might curse under his breath, but when you’d slide onto his lap during movie night, he'd wrap an arm around you like it was instinct. like protecting you came as naturally as breathing.

he had snacks stocked in the mini fridge (not for him, you liked them). he hands you your favorite snack and grumbles, “was on sale. don’t get used to it,” even though it’s never on sale but he bought six of them anyway.

and when finals week hits? he’s a damn soldier for you.

caffeine runs. your favorite takeout. quiet growls at anyone who tries to talk to you in the library. he reads your flashcards like they’re enemy coordinates and quizzing you becomes his personal mission.

but the best part? the tiny, quiet moments in between.

like when he’s losing at mario kart and you’d sit in his lap while he played, steal his fries, kiss his cheek mid-rant just to shut him up.

or when you were too tired to walk back to your place, you just curl up in his bed. not only does he let you, he tucks the blanket around you and kisses your forehead so soft it makes your chest ache.

and somehow, all of that was like magic.

sure, he might’ve acted like the world’s most chaotic, aggressive frat president, but when it came to you? he was all bark, all bite… and all heart.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

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dynaxplosion

2 weeks ago

"I don't know what the fuck to do" Katsuki said, using his hand as somewhat of a visor for the sun.

"You have to look for the ripe ones" You looked up, you were crouched next to the strawberry plants, basket in hand.

The heavy rain had just stopped a couple hours ago, so plans were made for you and Katsuki to go strawberry picking.

-------------------------- ----------------------------

"Katsuki hurry up!" You shouted, car keys in hand.

"I can't find the fucking basket!" His loud voice echoed through the hall.

"I already told you, I have both of them" You sighed. He came speed walking down the hall, taking the basket from your extended arm. "Open your ears next time yeah?" You laughed, opening the front door.

"Yea yea, damn it stop talking like me." He grumbled, but he thought it was kind of cute anyways.

He quickly followed after you.

---------------------------- --------------------------

"Is this one good?" He held up a dark strawberry.

"No, that one's too old, try a brighter one." You said, and he sighed.

"This one?" It was red, though it had a couple white spots.

"That one's not ready yet" He sighs once again, mumbling curse words under his breath.

"Baby, you wanna find perfect red ones, no white spots, no mold, just red." You look around, this field of strawberries wasn't all you hoped for. None of the strawberries were even close to being good. All of them were either molding, or weren't ripe.

"Babe, maybe we should head home and--" you turn your head to look at Katsuki, who currently has a perfect red strawberry in his mouth. "Where'd you find that one?" You laugh, and he looks at you.

"Errr, the plants?" He finishes the strawberry, putting the leaf stem in his basket.

"I'm glad you atleast found one, I can't find any. But don't put it in there just--" You cut yourself off once again when you see atleast ten stems in there. "Katsuki!"

"What?" He laughs "they looked too good to resist."

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