Stuck In A Constant Dilemma Between Bakugou With A Vocal Reader, Covering Your Mouth And Hissing "Nuh

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Guys i think i forgot how to write proper sentences

can i please get a bakugou x fem!reader who is alone on valentine’s day at a bar and her toxic ex walks in and she has to pretend to be dating anyone 🥺🥺🥺

YES YES YES

More Thankful Than You Know

bakugou x reader

masterlist

wc: 770

cw: kinda hurt to comfort, protective bakugou😤, shitty ex, cursing

What else were you supposed to do when your asshole ex walked in?

To put it simply, you hated valentine's day. When you’re alone that is, which also happens to be the case today. So, as most people do when they’re lonely, you make your way to the nearest bar to drown out your sorrow. This wasn’t how you had expected to spend the love filled day, about a month ago you were still in a relationship, well that’s before you came home one night and see your asshole ex-boyfriend trying to pack up and leave with some bimbo while you were at work.

As you walk in and make a beeline for the bar seating, a sigh leaves your lips at the multitudes of people in there like a nightclub, all of which had the same idea as you. Not even thinking you just take the closest seat to you not caring who was by you. Finally, being able to order your drink and take the first swig was the best thing that had happened that week, well until you hear the familiar taunting voice. Looking at the door with wide eyes you see him, the breath leaves your lungs and you're frantically looking for an escape. He can’t see you, not here alone, not moping the way you are. Without thinking you turn to the stranger next to you finally taking in your surroundings.

The words come out all at once all blurred together in a hurried state, “Look I know you don’t know me but that guy over there was horrible to me, and he can’t know I'm here by myself or god knows what will happen. So please please pleaaase help me.” You whisper to the significantly larger male next to you. He says nothing in response and looks over your shoulder at your ex.

“Fine. But you owe me another drink.” He says in a gruff, deep voice. You spring up from your sitting place and fling yourself on him for a hug, “Oh thank you, thank you so much!” When you come to your senses you push yourself off him while muttering an apology, to which he just shrugs. “Oh, and by the way my name’s-”

“Y/N! Hey doll, what’re ya doin here?!” There it was, the dreaded moment you had been waiting for. The stranger sees the discomfort in your eyes, and he immediately puts a comforting hand on the small of your back. He had been nicer to you in two minutes than your ex had been in two years.

“Oh? What’s this doll? Had to get a rebound guy to get over me huh?” He coos in a sickly-sweet voice that just made you deflate even more. “I-I-”

“Aw, all choked up to see me too. How sweet!” The stranger could watch any longer before he stood up showing his heroic body in all its glory. You didn’t notice it before, but he was attractive, very attractive, standing at about 6’7 and a massive build, he was practically a god.

He steps in front of you in a protective manner, now towering over your ex. You see the life leave his eyes at how much larger the male is.

“What you had to get a bodyguard to protect you cause you’re so scared of me? Tch whatever have her, she’s a worthless whore anyways.” The statement makes your fists curl around the back of his shirt as tears well in your eyes.

At this point the whole bar has gone quiet at the scene, the stranger gently removes your clinging form before he roughly grips your ex by his collar and personally escorts him outside. With him screaming and kicking like a toddler with a tantrum. He throws him out the door watching him land on the hard concrete with a thud before speaking,

“If you ever so much as look at her again, your ass is mine.” Unsure of why he felt so obligated to stand up for you, he shakes the feeling, hearing the entire establishment clapping with pride for the man.

“You are a lifesaver!!! I can’t tell you how thankful I am! Um excuse me can I get another one of whatever he’s having?” You ask the bartender.

“S’no problem. S’what heroes do.” He says while sitting back down.

“H-hero?” Your voice shrinking a bit as you speak. To that he turns to smirk at you before saying, “Katsuki Bakugou, or better known as Dynamight, nice to be of service pretty.” He watches your jaw fall open as he takes the first sip of his new drink. Oh he’s gonna love having you around.

Bkg: how bout a ride?

Yn: you like that car more than me

Bkg: whos talkin about cars?

[ 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.

So This Is Love

bakugou x fem!reader

masterlist

wc: 363

cw: tooth rotting fluff

Bakugou katsuki loves you so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Katsuki couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. He thought the day couldn’t get any better, already blessed with the rest of the day off; Then the sight of you, the love of his life, dancing and singing without a care in the world as you clean. He leans against the door frame as he watches you frolic around in only your underwear and one of his shirts that swallows you whole.

The sound fades out as he gazes at you lovingly, absolutely adoring your voice as you sing, “But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, and it's 2:00 a.m. and I'm cursing your name, so in love that you act insane, and that's the way I loved you”

He loves the way your voice matches the singer’s perfectly, and the way you look so childish when you spin around, and when it gets to the chorus you pick up the picture of the two of you and hug it tightly to your chest. He can’t get enough of you. Katsuki Bakugou is absolutely smitten, it’s insane. If any of his friends saw him right now, he’d be made fun of to no end. But he didn’t care, because he’s never been so in love, so infatuated with someone that he doesn’t care who sees.

You still haven’t turned around to face him. Understandably being unable to hear him come in over the music, so he takes matters into his own hands. Katsuki walks up behind you and wraps his hands around your waist, swaying with the music. You let out a small yelp at the intrusion before you realize it’s him. At first, you're filled with excitement but just as you realize what you were doing, embarrassment overtakes you.

“Gosh Kat, you scared me! Um, how long have you been standing there?” You mutter in a quiet voice as the song finishes out. You don’t need to know he was there, that could be just for him, just this once.

“Just walked in.” He says with a small adoring smile on his face. God he was so head over heels for you, so this was love, huh.

Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader | 18+ | Royal ! AU

Synopsis: The years have flown by with Katsuki, who fills your body and mind with fire. You'll keep him with you till the day you die and then after that, thanking whatever deities there are for him. Maybe you were put on this earth to love him, like every other lifetime.

Tags: Prince!Bakugo, Characters aged up, Reader & Katsuki are sexually inexperienced, Virginity loss, Smut, Unprotected sex, lovey dovery, mushy gushy, parents don't approve, kissing, flirting, general cute shit, fluff, happy ending, praise

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Holy fuck I wrote this in one day. I don't even know how I just kept writing and writing. I need to go get food now because I forgot to eat. This is so sickingly sweet your teeth are going to rot man. One suggestive scene, one smut scene, and a lot of praise. Kinda wanna do a part two to this...

--------> START <--------

Your feet press into the grass below you, twisting as you turn to view Katsuki. His face glows in the morning sun, specks of what looks like stardust grace his cheeks and  your breath catches in your throat. He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on in your twenty-three years of existence. For a moment, you truly soak in the idea of being put on this god forsaken planet just to meet him. Him, who sweeps your feet out from under you and lets you fall instead of catching you. There’s something otherworldly about his entire being and you’re positive you’ve loved him in every over life you’ve lived.

You run, feet digging into the dirt and thin dress bouncing as you do so. And you turn again, just to look at him. Who stands tall and broad, shoulders square and eyes forward at all times. Who raises a brow at you with a scoff as your hand reaches toward him. And your feet catch up under you, tripping on one another as you plummet to the ground. Dirt smears onto the side of your leg and a sprig of grass presses into your nose. Air knocked out of you, you lay heaving and looking up to where the stars once were and where they will be again.

“Goddamnit! I told you not to go running around, clumsy ass.” Katsuki hurries over in a few quick strides and peers over at you.

And god may the heavens, the hells, and anything between save your poor soul. His hair falls from his forehead, deep garnet eyes bore into your own and you think you’re going to die. You’ll do anything for him, in any moment, for just a taste of his partially chapped lips.  His teeth dig into his bottom lip, then he releases the poor flesh, and his mouth opens. Then closes. Then it opens again and closes. This time, however, his jaw clenches as he does so. A thick palm reaches towards you for a moment and you take it.

“That was fun.” You gleam, with a toothy smile.

“No, honey, that was you being a dumbass.” He reminds.

“Oh yeah?” You grin, teeth dipping into your bottom lip as you ponder a thought. His brows raise before his eyes narrow.  The cherry irises dig a hole in your soul and call it home, planting little seeds of wanderlust there. He knows you’re planning something.

Katsuki can tell by the way your fingers twitch like you’re resisting an inch, the uncontrollable grin spreading across your face. What he doesn’t know is what you’re planning. The gods have truly blessed him with a wild one, he thinks. Of all the rules he is expected to follow within the kingdom he lives, you are not one of them. His parents threw a toddler sized hissy fit when they started noticing the blush spreading across your cheeks when he was around. Their voices raising in anger, fists smacking down on the thick oak table that was meticulously crafted for only the most exquisite dinners. He denied it over and over, still to this day does, swearing on every book of worship he can that there’s “nothing there”.

But you both know it’s a lie. Hell- everyone- knows it’s deception. His mother, who cannot for the life of her understand, and his father- whom pinches his nose in stress every time he gets home late. They can see it in the glances you steal from the world towards one another. Or the extra plate he fixes himself, only to excuse himself to his “room” and not return for another three hours. After what felt like decades of fighting, it seems they’ve began to give up, on him. On the idea that he would drop your fragile, beautiful beating heart to the ground and allow it to weep and mourn the death of your blossoming union. As he’d rather kill them both, stealing the crown for the two of you, than he would lose your trust.

Within the few seconds he spent, gawking at the beauty of your everything, he forgot something important.

You were planning something.

Were.

Your hands grip onto him, foot, sliding to the back of his ankle to sweep him off his feet and onto the ground. Katsuki lands hard and you fall atop him. With a yelp and a groan, he looks at you incredulously.

“What the fuc-“ Katsuki starts.

You do not budge, allowing your body to lay between his bent legs, pressing your hands on his chest to keep him still. Your palms slide over the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscle underneath, and up towards his throat. Your fingers make claim around his jaw area, two behind his head and thumbs directly on his jaw. It is there that your lips and teeth profess their yearning for every piece of his beautiful being. Every part of him, you want to drown in. You breathe in his essence and soak it deep into the marrow of your bone, where it will stay forever. Traveling up your lovers throat and jaw, you make your way to his lips.

Neither of you thought you’d crave someone saliva so much in your life. But his lips, his tongue- your lips, your tongue- is sweeter than any syrup made from flowers and honey. It is a miracle the two of you have not simply passed away from being without one another. It has only been a week since you’ve kissed, only one. He swore he’d be back and you swore you’d kill him if he didn’t show. And when his tooth nips the right corner of your bottom lip, something feral and raw bubbles up in your blood. It’s hot and thick and makes you want to cry and beg and confess your love all at once.

Something about it drives you crazy and you truly feel like banging your head against the thick, stone walls, of the castle would be of use. Maybe it would soothe the ache that wells deep within the pits of your  tummy and rushes down your legs and up your spine like fire. Where it controls you, takes over you, consumes you. And you’ve felt it once before, when he’d pressed you against a castle wall near the kitchen and kissed you so hard your lips felt like they’d bruise. Before he stalked down the hallway, head high, shoulders back, nodding to the person rounding the corner. He left that day, for the week- his mother sending him somewhere for swordsman skills.

A moan bubbles in the back of his throat when your hands lay purchase in the tufts of his thick hair. You pull, wanting him to be closer than ever before. His solid arms wrap around your torso and squeeze  as the two of you begin huffing thin breaths of air into your lungs. You still feel as if you cannot get enough of him, like something is missing, and you’re going to go insane. The stars above have graced you with a lot of things- patience is not one of them and never will be. So your lips begin to suck on the crook of his neck, wanting to live there for eons.

Blue and purple blossoms against the skin and electricity shoots through the marrow of your bones when a groan escapes his pretty lips. Fuck. You want to do it again, and again, and again until your lips are sore and cannot go on. So you start again and relish in his fingers pressing future bruises into  your hips. The charcoal grey top he has on turns a deeper shade, almost black, with the sweat from the both of you.

“Oh god-“ He whimpers out, as you pull your body up closer to him, thigh dragging across his crotch. His hips buck into the touch and you squeal, pulling back to take a breath.

With that, the two of you begin to call it quits, laying between the grass and stray dandelions, heaving. Your chests rise and fall sporadically and Katsuki is spending an extra moment gathering himself. The sun his high in the sky and when you straddle him he thinks he’s in heaven with the glow around your figure.

“Told you it was fun!” You giggle out, thumb grazing over his jaw as you marvel at his beauty.

Katsuki thanks the stars, the moon, the grass, the sun- everything for you. The wild spirit that told him to “take it easy” and shoved him down on the ground to claim his soul as hers. He’d spent hours training, doing anything and everything his parents asked of him. Sit up, walk straight, elbows off the table. But there was something burning in his core that begged to be fed, to be given just a twig here and there, something that allowed him to feel free. Then you, you came strutting through the castle with a basket of his clothing already folded. Muttering to yourself about how stupidly big the place was and how he was an asshole for not knowing how to “fold his own fucking draws”.

When you yelled at him for messing up your pile of neatly folded clothing, he thought he was hearing things. At first he was angry, as the prince, it was not your place to speak to him that way. But the other part of him wanted to worship you for seeing him like any and every other human being on the face of the earth. So he requested you more and slowly the bickering between the two of you became play fighting. The play fighting made its valiant transition into a peck on the lips here or there, or red cheeks while the other did even miscellaneous tasks.

His mother and father had always urged him to find love, offering him suitors of all shapes and sizes and races and kingdoms. They were all pretty in some manner, like Lillia, who made a crown of flowers for him as a gift. But he couldn’t bring himself to be anything other than angry with them. They wanted a spot on the throne, which was okay, it was the way of the people. However, Katsuki felt nausea bubble in the back of his mouth like acid reflux any time they did anything for him or attempted to get near him. Eventually, family determined he would just be without marriage, and would be required to lie with someone eventually for grandchildren.

You, however, oh lord, you. With angry words and a quick temper, soft plush lips and eyes that made him feel small. You were wild and broke every fucking rule set in front of you. He begs, for you, and only you. He’d break every bone in his body thrice and be confined to mashing grapes for the finest of wines for eons if it meant you gave him the time of the day. He’d do anything.

Later, the two of you are minding your own, going about the day without worry. You’re tending to some treats he requested for the room, a platter of sweets and fresh tea. When he waltzes into the room in a daze, amazed at your skill in pastry making once again. He checks behind him and closes the door.

“You, my love, will be the death of me.” Katsuki sighs, taking a bite out of a fresh fruit tart. He begins placing three sugar cubes into the glass to his right and one in his own, with a clink. You’re a sweet thing and your taste in tea is no different.

“Hmm? How so?” You ponder, stretching your shoulders.

Katsuki pulls off the shirt he’s wearing, a new one, to reveal multiple splotches of red and purple across his skin. Your mouth falls agape, in awe. You reach out to him, lightly smoothing the pads of your fingers over the bruising. Part of you feels guilty while something crude in your mind grins at the sight.

“Oh- fuck- I’m sorry! I got carried away.” You mumble, making a note to receive a fresh pack of ice to tend to it soon.

“It’s fine, asswipe.” He rolls his eyes.

It wasn’t the normal for the two of you. You’d never done that before. A peck on the lips here or there, occasionally if he was leaving off somewhere he’d kiss you harder, but you’d never gone that far before. Never had you’d allowed the beast in your soul to begin taking over, for a short amount of time. But god, you craved it again, again, again. He’d never find that out though, certainly. As you’d keep it locked away tight in the confines of your mind.

You return back to your duties for the day and do indeed make sure he receives a pack of ice for the bruising. He thanks you with another eye roll but you miss the way he stares at your body as you walk away. The day is filled with miscellaneous tasks such as tidying your own cabin, clearing plates and dusting the halls of the castles. As you approach the dining area, tea cups and kettle in hand, you overhear conversation.

“And what in heavens name is that on your collar, Katsuki?” His mother inquires, clearly unhappy. The metal clinks against the glass plates as someone sets a utensil down.

“Burned myself when I was working on blacksmith skills, damn.” Katsuki bites back.

“Uh-huh. I don’t believe you, have you been with Lillia?” She wonders loudly, taking a last bite of her dinner.

Your chest stings at the thought but you remind yourself that it is not your place. The dining area smells of fresh roast and potatoes, drizzled in gravy, and light dust from workers walking in and out of the room.

“Now why the hell would I be with her? I told you, I don’t like any of them, fuck off.” He grits, taking a gulp of water as he does so.

You take this as your chance to enter the room,  tea tray in hand. As you do, you give Katsuki a pointed look, before placing the tray on the center of the table and grabbing any excess dishes to hand off to the dishwashers. Katsuki grabs a sweet off the tray and places it, not so gently, onto the smaller plate in front of him.

“These are amazing, my favorite.” He murmurs, grabbing three sugar cubes and placing them in the tea cup.

His parents watch in awe as he does so, only to see him realize his mistake and take two out, putting them back in the glass container full of the little cubes. He grabs the fresh mesh sachel of herbs, tossing them into the ceramic and slowly pours piping hot water over them. The small spoon to his right is used to stir the sugar in and he waits for it to steep.

“Thanks, y/n.” He says, and you begin walking away with the dishes after a quick nod of your head.

“Dear god the tension in this room is so thick I can cut it with a fucking knife!” His mother gawks, flabbergasted at the sight in front of her. Her own tea has began to steep by this point and you continue making your way to the exit of the dining hall. As soon as you walk through the door, a sigh of relief escapes your lips and your mouth speaks without your permission.

“Fuck.” You groan, leaning against the castle wall.

It is later, with the sun saying goodbye as it sets across the horizon, you sit after a fresh washing in a floral nightgown. A knock at your door startles you, until you hear the familiar grunt of Katsuki’s presence. Swiftly, you make your way to the door and open it with a creak.

You couldn’t really complain about your job, working at the castle. You were provided with a cabin, with all the essentials and excellent thick blankets to accommodate for winter. Your pay was small, but gave you more than enough to buy necessities and some amount of décor to keep your humble home looking alive. Possibly the best part, however, was the small garden like are that came with the cabin, fenced in. You spent all of your first pay, years ago, buying essential seeds and garden accessories. It truly helped more than anyone could ever imagine when times were tough.

Katsuki steps in, taking care to lock the door behind him as he kicks his shoes off and begins taking the unnecessary items off of his body. He keeps the earrings, though, that are shaped like moons and cling to his ears in a cuff. The thin gold chain stays wrapped around his neck, but everything else is taken off and tossed to the side. He pulls down the backpack like tote from over his shoulder and places it on the floor, along with a big paper bag that crinkles as it sits.

“Whatcha doin?” You wonder, reaching your hands around his back to pull off the thick belt his parents make him wear.

“Brought a couple things, wanted ta see you. We only got a couple  hours today and I’ve been gone for a fuckin’ week.” He grumbles and begins reaching into the bag.

You head to the small sofa to your right, picking up a steeping cup of chamomile tea off of the coffee table in front of you and sitting down.  The sofa is a little rough, but you bought a nice throw pillow or two and some plush blankets to increase comfort. You take joy that Katsuki has never mentioned the state of your home, except when you first began living there. He was an ass about it, then, but only because you had no allowance for food in your budget that week and he thought you were god awful at budgeting due to it.

He sits with you, propping his feet on the table and pulls out a fresh container full of pot roast for you to eat. Next, a bunch of seeds and fertilizer for your garden. Finally, he reaches deep into the bag and pulls out a thin, long box with velvet across the top of it. His name is engraved atop it, in gold lettering.

Your brows quirk up at that, body perking at the idea of what could be in that box. Your prayers to the stars are answered when he opens it to reveal a thin, dainty anklet. Gold, like a chain, with rubies in the shape of diamonds grace it.  There’s a thin plate, with his name engraved into it on one side and on the other, it says “to eternity”. Your jaw begins to drop as confusion and shock spreads its wings across your face. He picks it up with thick fingers, and then grabs the inside of your calf, pulling it to the side and lifting up your foot. It’s subtle, the anklet. Not many will notice what it is, or care enough to see that it’s even there.

His fingers fiddle with the little piece of jewelry and you realize he is nervous as he fixes it around your left ankle.

And oh, Katsuki is. He’s so fucking nervous he feels like his heart is going to explode. None of his lucky stars told him it would be this terrifying to do something like this. No one warned him about the way his palms would sweat, the room would heat up, and his heart would lurch into his throat and make him want to run. But you’re everything he’s ever wanted, ever needed in life. He’s never been good with words, never been affectionate, and god he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you’re around. His soul suddenly feels fragile, like it never has before. As if it is a thin cylinder of glass in the palms of your dainty hands, that could shatter at any moment. You’re looking at him, confused, pretty little mouth open and cup of tea still in hand.

When he finishes, he thinks about saying he’s going to take a bath. But his hair is still wet from the one he just took in his own home. He only had all that junk on because his mother didn’t want him walking out of the castle without it.  So when his eyes meet yours, he croaks. He means to speak, means to tell you all the things he loves about you. From your hair, your nose, lips, personality, love for nature- everything. But he doesn’t, he just wordlessly gawks at you like a deer caught in headlights.

Your lips are on his, hot and heavy. Your cup of tea is all but forgotten as you smacked it down on the table. It has taken you both 8years to get to this point, four to be exact. Never did you think you’d be launching yourself onto the princes lap and trying to press your very souls together. He gasps out in shock and you lay purchase on his chest, sliding your hands under his shirt and up, touching anything you can get your hands on. Your lips trail down his jaw, behind his ear, and the expanse of his neck.

His throat feels like it’s going to close up, blood hot from your body pressing against his. One of your legs swings over onto each side of him, pressing your middles together while you leave more purple bruises up and down his throat. Both of your middles are hot, you think you might melt into him. Like hot lava, that same electricity jolts through your body as you’d accidentally pressed your crotches together and rocked forward. And oh, that felt good. He’s making noises underneath you, fingers digging into the skin of your plush bum and he thinks he’s going to hell in a handbasket.

And he’ll do it happily if he dies like this.

Your nightgown leaves little to the imagination, which certainly doesn’t help him out in this situation. He’s as hard as a rock and never experienced pleasure on this plane of existence before. Typically pleasure for him was spending a little time tucked away in his bedroom, with his hand and his imagination. He never really thought about anything, though. Occasionally he’d think about the way your lips felt on his and begin to wander with those thoughts, before calling  himself a an uncouth man and avoiding it. His parents never really talked with him about.. pleasure so to speak. They spoke of lying with someone as a chore, a duty, never mentioning that it could be pleasurable even once.

But now? He’s addicted to you. His body feels hot all over as you lightly grind the your clothed crotch against his own. His trousers are thin, as are your undergarments and he thinks he’s going to explode because you’re wet. You’re so wet you’re beginning to seep through the thin fabric of your plain, cotton panties and he thinks he’s on fucking fire. He can feel it. Your lips and tongue are all over his neck and he’s breathing heavier than he did when training for hours in the summer heat.

He’s spent his entire life chasing a high only to find that his one and only drug is feeling in love. And god, he needs his fix of you, or he’ll go mad and destroy kingdoms until the day he dies searching for you. His body feels like it’s been pulled on a string, the center of his chest lighter than it has ever been in his twenty four years of life, may he forever feel this.

Your break away from him to take a moment to breathe and in the process yank off his shirt. Muttering “I need to see you or I’ll die” and he swears he hears you whisper the words “so beautiful” when it finally comes off. Your arms wrap around, up under his own to drag your nails down the planes of his back. He lets out a gasp, sitting up and flipping you onto your back, hand cradling the back of your head so it doesn’t hurt. You look at him like he created the constellations in the sky and he almost cries when you moan. His cherry eyes, deep and startling, rake down the picture of you and focus on your lips.

They’re puffy, slick with spit and he needs a taste or he’ll starve to death.

By the time his lips are on yours, your lips flutter shut and he’s muttering out praise between kisses. Your nimble fingers slide into his hair and grip like you’ll float away without it. His hips kick forward at that, sliding against your covered and slick folds in the process. A moan falls off your lips and it wraps its lustful embrace around his throat because he makes a strangled noise. The deities, whomever, whatever they are must be real because he’s experiencing euphoria and heaven and hell all at once and it must be punishment and reward for his past lives.

“You’re so fucking- fuck” He gets out, and when you hear a whimper leave his lips something takes a hold of you like you’re a puppet.

Your hands move on their own, reaching down between you,  for you to do something licentious, that if anyone in the kingdom knew about they’d call you names. And they make their way between your bodies, gripping onto his erection and moving your palm up and down a little. It isn’t a lot but it’s enough that Katsuki moans like he’s desperate and almost in pain. His fingers find stability in the plush blanket beneath you and he grips for dear life.  And oh, my god, you feel the electricity in the air now. You can almost see it.

You’ve never wanted something so bad as you want him. In every meaning of that word, you want him. You yearn for him to claim your body like it is his, and only his, and you’d die happy. His fingers release their death grip on the blanket and instead, one hand trails up your night gown while the other props his thumb on your cheek. Your body is hot all over and you already need another bath after this, you think. You’re not thinking clearly, fog clouds your discretion and you begin acting rather than thinking. Inhibition lowered, you guide his thumb to your lips and palm at him a bit more roughly.

His jaw drops open at the sight in front of him. Your hair is a mess, nightgown hiked up, and you begin to suck on his thumb with spit slick lips. Your eyes peer into the depths of  his soul as you do it, half lidded, and intentional. It is lewd, provocative, and he’s on cloud nine. Your ministrations are becoming more sure, more certain with every second that passes by as sounds leave him. But he’s always been a bit competitive, a little proud, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t make you feel good, too.

Your lips forget their task when his fingers press between your soaked, cloth-clad, folds. A sound you didn’t know you could make tells him he should keep going and he begins testing the waters. First he moves up and down, from the top to bottom, in the center, and you respond okay to it. It feels good but like something is missing. So, he tries something new, using two fingers to work in circular motions, feeling around. Something about it feels right even if he has no idea what he’s doing.

Your hips jolt, legs shaking and you begin singing expletives in response to his movements. His cock jumps in his pants with every sound you make and it takes everything in him not to jolt forward and press the tip of it against the heat in front of him. At this point, you’re biting on your lip, when you use your hands to yank him closer to you, nails digging in. He continues working you and you find sanity by biting as hard as you can into his shoulder, hiccupping from pleasure that is so good it almost hurts.

“Fuck- I love you. God I love you .” Katsuki pushes out, voice hoarse and searching for your response.

When you say it back, you repeat it like a broken record. Hiccuping, as a tears begin to well in your eyes from how good you feel. But you could feel better and you know you could. You both know you could and fuck it. You both need this. You’re addicts who can’t stop getting high off of one another’s scent and existence. Inhaling sweet fruit tart like aromas you both can’t get enough of. Your lungs burn when he isn’t around, your body aching and begging for the love of your life to come closer again. You’ve never been a romantic, never in your life, but this has to be love because you’d rid of every star in the goddamn sky to make room for him to be the brightest.

The sun pales in comparison to what happens next.

You squirm under his touch and remove his hand, he pauses, confused. Worry walks its way across his face and his mouth opens to say something until you hook your fingers into your panties and begin sliding them down. The moment he realizes where you’re taking this, he loses all control of himself and rips the side of them so that they hang off of your right ankle. You take pride in how desperate he becomes when he searches your eyes for an answer. You confirm and he is holding onto his sanity with a very thin string.

The string is going to snap one day, and, when it does, he’s going to take everything his kingdom has to offer and give it to you. He’ll search every corner of the earth and give you anything you wish for.

“I want you inside me, Katsuki” You whimper out and the string gets pulled a little tighter, a little closer to snapping.

“Oh my god.” He groans, yanking his own bottoms off and crawling between your legs.

Katsuki figures you’ve never done this, like him, but he read a book once that said it can hurt if you’re not prepared. So he starts slow, with one finger, sliding it in and out. One finger becomes two and he begins feeling around until a certain “come here” motion has you throw your head back and gasp. Your legs begin to shake and he’s so unbelievably in love, he realizes. Because as much pleasure as it brings him, he thinks about getting you another pillow so your head won’t hurt.

“You’re-“ You gasp, and he sits back on his heels.

He grip his cock with a firm hand at the base, pushing the tip in and he’s big. He’s so much bigger than you’d thought. You’re so full, to the brim, going to spill over if he keeps going and it stings but you don’t want him to stop. You can’t fathom this high ever ending.

He begins talking you through it, while he tries to grab onto the last little inkling of his sanity.

“Such a good girl- so good- you can do it baby you can do it.” He mutters out, kissing all over your face.  When his fingers come down to work in circular motions, you’re done for. Something has you pulled up by rope and everything goes black for a moment, and you’re floating. Nothing in the world matters as much as him, to you. Nothing matters except here and now where he’s got his length fully pressed to the hilt in side of you.

When you start squeezing inside of him, repeatedly, his hips speed up, and he realizes he’s going to cum. His mouth betrays him and he starts rambling on, desperate for release. His hips frantically smacking into yours as he watches your eyes roll to the back of your head. You keep saying you love him, that he’s good, that he’s perfect, muttering it all to yourself and you don’t realize he can hear it all. The praise fills his veins and courses through his heart like it is made to be there. It has made itself a home in his soul and he will never let it go. He doesn’t care if he has to lock it down in a cage and throw the key away.

“Gonna make you mine-you’re mine. My pretty girl, my love, g’nna steal the stars in the sky n give ‘em to you- fuck, you’re so pretty, I love you, love you.” He rambles, filling you to the brim with cum.

The pair of you sit after and bask in post-sex glow. You’re going to take the water from the sea and find a way to turn it to wine, so he’ll understand how drunk you get off of looking at his eyes. You’re going to give him anything and everything he’s ever wanted in this world because he is all you have ever wanted.  The moon sits high in the sky, watching over the two lovers she blessed herself, gracing them. You’re going to start a shrine out of gratefulness, for him.

His hair looks like the sunrise and his eyes remind you of cherries straight off the plant, attitude like fire and chili peppers, and his body is made of only the most beautiful minerals.

He looks like he’s going to cry when he has to leave early that morning, to tend to all of his duties. But he kisses you hard before he goes, saying he’ll miss you like the stars miss their loved one when it goes nova. And when you watch him walk away flowers bloom in your chest. The thorns prick at your heart and you tell them it’s okay. He leaves straightens his shoulders, keeps his eyes forward and walks  through the castle halls later that day with a grin. His parents begin to chastise him for being out late again and he promptly tells them to kick rocks.

Bakugou x reader

warnings: none, thunderstorms lol.

a/n: Just a lil something based on my adventures last night haha

The first crackle of thunder sounds throughout the house and Katsuki takes the headphones off his ears and pauses his game. He stares at the door to the game room with a tiny smirk.

“Yo Blasty, you good over there? Why are we paused?” Denki says over the headset.

“Just gimme a damn second Sparky. I’m waiting on somethin’,” he says, eyes still locked on the closed door.

Lightning lights up the sky a few minutes later and right after, a large crack of thunder shakes the house so much Katsuki winces slightly. His smile widens as he hears the commotion in the house.

A door being wrenched open, a pair of soft stomps getting closer to the game room door and then finally, the door bursting open to show a very terrified you standing in the doorway looking at Katsuki with wide eyes and your hands cupped over your ears.

“Ahh there she is,” Katsuki says, chuckling to himself. He holds a hand out to you and very quickly you tiptoe over to him, grab his hand and slip onto his lap to bury your face in his neck.

“What’s going on man, you good?” It’s Kirishima’s voice this time, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Tsk, yeah I’m good. Will just have a guest with me for the rest of the time we’re playin’,” he says, wrapping an arm around your back to maneuver you so he can comfortably reach the mouse. Another rumble of thunder and you whimper and tighten your grip around his neck.

“Where are your headphones Sweets?” he asks softly in your ear.

“Dead and charging,” you reply in a muffled voice from his neck.

He chuckles again. “S’alright. I gotcha,” he whispers.

You’re so goddamn cute when you’re like this. You’re usually not this clingy. Sure, you like to hold his hand when the two of you are out, or you drape a leg over him when the two of you are sitting on the couch watching tv, but usually you’re to yourself, quiet and vibing.

“Tell the guys I say hi,” you say, as your breath tickles his neck.

“They can hear ya,” he replies ”Don’t be rude fuckers, say hi to my girl,” he bites back.

A chorus of hellos ring out from the headsets and you smile at the screen before another thunderclap hits and your back to hiding in Katsuki’s neck.

Katsuki won’t admit it aloud but thunderstorms are his favorite. It never fails. Whenever the storms start you find him wherever he is in the house and cling to him for dear life. He knows you’re strong, knows you don’t usually show this vulnerability around anyone else but he loves that you show it with him. He loves the idea that when you’re completely terrified you run to him, you seek him out, you trust him enough to protect you.

So he holds you and rubs your back as you koala onto him during the storm. He places soft kisses on your forehead between cool downs and breaks while he’s gaming with the rest of his friends and when your headphones are finally charged, he plays with one hand so you can sit at his feet and squeeze his hand when the thunder is too loud for the music to drown out.

“Alright fuckers, don’t think just cuz I’m gaming with one hand you’ll be able to beat me. I’ll dominate you all,” he says as he gives you one last peck on the forehead and unpauses the game.