Tumgik
killmehe · 9 months
Note
How much do I have to pay for more nerd Kiri?? CUZ I WILL
you see him again in the break room — which is odd, considering he's got his own on the other end of the building.
in the middle of reheating your lunch, staring dead-eyed into microwave as the seconds tick by, and then a little red blip is gracing the edges of your vision. when you look up from the 100-year-old creaking contraption, kirishima's back is turned — undoubtedly his back, considering the width — and his hands are fists at his sides and he's awkwardly shuffling back down the hall.
you pout a little, because you haven't been getting very far with him; all your attempts at flirting — both in person and over instant messenger — have gone either completely ignored or completely over his head, and you're starting to wonder if sero was just gassing you up as a prank. you wouldn't put it past him.
— but then he's back, facing you this time as he reenters the break room. the little wave he gives you is timid, as shy as the small up-turn of his lips.
"hey," you say conversationally, watching on as he nods and walks up to the cabinet above the microwave. kirishima peers inside for a long moment, like he can't find what he's looking for, though you have no idea what that could be. "forget something?"
"huh?" his eyes snap to you instantly, eyebrows raised. "no, no! i was just, uh, checking for, uh—" he shrugs then, taking a deep breath before offering you another smile. "how's the rubberband war going with hanta?"
"ugh, don't remind me," you roll your eyes as he laughs, quiet and cute. "it's 17 to 8 right now, and i'm surprised he hasn't taken out my eye yet."
"man," kirishima takes another long look into the cabinet before abandoning it to spin around and lean back against the counter. when he crosses his arms, you watch the material of his shirt strain over his biceps, the plush of his chest as he presses into his pecs. "you might wanna work on your aim."
"so i've been told," you stick your tongue out at him, lips curling when he has to look away in favor of scratching at the side of his thick neck, smiling at the floor. "you should help me, since you know how much of a menace he is."
"uh, yeah, i mean," he shrugs and pushing his glasses up his nose, having to blink when the lenses get too close to his long, dark eyelashes. "maybe i could make like, i don't know, a target or something on some sticky notes or—"
"no, lemme get some real practice in, by firing right at your cute little glasses here." when you gently tap the arm of them, his eyes shoot up to the ceiling, cheeks pink. all you get is a quiet uh. "c'mon, i'll make it worth your while. buy you a beer or something after work."
"nah, i can't—i can't let you do that."
you frown, feeling deflated once again. "why not?"
"because," the top button of his light blue shirt is undone and he fiddles with it for a moment, as he chews on his lip. "because i should be buying you the beer."
"okay," you grin and his eyes dart up, taking in the curve of your cheeks. "buy me one then."
"okay," the little laugh he lets out is full of nerves, but the smile on his face is charming, triumphant. "i've, uh, got dnd—or this, uh, game—sort of thing i play, or do, with my friends, but i can cancel!"
"oh, well, you have this 'game sort of thing that you do' at your house?" you grin again when he nods, cheeks red, and resist the urge to throttle him for being so fucking cute. "then why don't i have the beer at your place, so you don't have to cancel?"
"uh, no, no," kirishima's demeanor changes immediately as he stands straight, shaking his head as he stares down at his shoes. "no, it's, uh, kinda like—i don't know—weird, and i don't want you to have to sit through my nerd stuff."
"maybe i like nerd stuff," you bite your lip when he looks at you again, smothering another sultry little smile as his eyes zero in in your mouth. "dragons and elves and shit like that. after everybody leaves, we can play princess in a castle and you can be my knight in shining armor."
"uh," he laughs again, jittery, and takes a small step back when you try to lean into him. "i thought we were doing it—uh, doing the rubberband thing."
you can't help it; a small groan leaves your throat as you deflate. again. "kirishima, you're killing me here."
he exhales heavily, unable to even look at you as he speaks breathlessly. "sorry! uh, yeah, no, it starts at, um, 7 if you really wanna come."
"okay," you lightly tap your foot against his twice before turning back to the microwave, jabbing the numbers again because your food has surely gone cold at this point. "save me a seat, then."
"yeah, okay, i definitely will."
you can feel his eyes tracing over your profile, but if you have to look at his big, crimson eyes or pink cheeks any longer, you'll lose your mind, and so you direct your smile at the microwave. unceremoniously, he awkwardly shuffles around you, shoulders tense as he makes an abrupt exit.
— but he turns, suddenly, and when you look up, he's got one hand in his hair, gripping it lightly.
"did you really wanna do the princess thing or—i could, i don't know—" he turns away one last time when you can't help but to giggle, barely suppressing his own smile as you call out to him that, yes, you would love to do the princess thing, with him.
427 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
katsuki!!
5K notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media
流星はまだ落ちない
952 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Bakugou who swears blind he hates your cat but you come home in the evening to find him having a full blown conversation while it meows back at him🥺
749 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
He didn’t get the bunny costume memo 🥺
140 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Kacchan if he had been paying attention…
3K notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Dynamy
7K notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
always the fool with the slowest heart.
my hero academia + gilded lily, cults
53 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
people who don’t like x reader because they’re like “i wouldn’t do that” are so strange to me…… like don’t you want to be somebody else for a bit? somebody more fun? somebody naive? somebody smarter? somebody who makes worse decisions? better decisions? i love zoning out and being a whole new person like yes i AM a milf with a rich neglectful husband actually
6K notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Note
Saw someone talking about how all up on his true love drunk Shouto would be and I am so here for it
OMG YES it was @fangirlings-world being absolute next-level big brained!!
Tumblr media
Can you imagine how unbearable it would be to sit with you two?? How humiliated you would be?? How lucky that would make you?
Tumblr media
The press of long, questing fingers under your thighs was the only warning you had before you were dug out of your seat and summarily deposited in your boyfriend's lap.
"Shouto," you groaned quietly, throwing out an arm to stop your drink from sloshing over the rim of your glass. "Not this again."
"Mm, this again," he intoned lowly in your ear, wrapping arm arm around your waist to secure you against his chest. A kiss was pressed into your hair, a little flash of heat from the palm against your abdomen signaling Shouto's less-than-pure excitement.
"We're in public," you whispered furiously, turning your head to try and catch his eye.
You might have known this was a mistake, however, given Shouto's propensities. Two drinks had been enough to sink your boyfriend, the iceberg against the ship of an otherwise impenetrable combination of pro hero genetics, and Shouto's inebriation always came with consequences.
Highly specific consequences.
A hot mouth caught yours as you turned, a large, calloused hand rising up to catch your chin, tilting your face into his for easier access. Your breath caught in your chest, heartbeat stuttering the way it still always did when Shouto kissed you, and the soft exhale of his groan into your mouth had you clenching your thighs, a burning heat rising to your face.
"The others are no object," Shouto said when he finally let your mouth free.
It took you a minute to register his words, but when you did, you rather thought that they were an object. The group gathered around Jirou's living room were mostly deep in conversation, a lively debate that had started between Bakugou and Midoriya on the considerations of a new rookie hero's quirk, which was rapidly edging into the kind of intensity that usually heralded a BakuDeku brawl.
But some members of your party had noticed Shouto making his move--at this point, it was almost second-nature to this group to be on the lookout for sloshed Shouto--and you didn't necessarily appreciate the attentions. Kaminari sent you an encouraging wink from where he was stuffed into the loveseat between Jirou and Kirishima, and Jirou's politely bland expression told you everything you needed to know about her scrutiny.
Shouto's hand crept upwards, under the line of your sweater, and you had to quickly set down your drink and grab his wrist with both hands lest he reach his intended target.
"Oh my god, you're a menace," you said. "Shouto, they can see you."
You felt rather than heard his low hum against your back, as it rumbled through his chest.
"They're not surprised," he said, and you noticed his words were slightly clipped, as though he were having just the smallest bit of trouble pronouncing them. His fingers wiggled in your grip, like the appendages of an amorous octopus.
"Because you have kissed them too!" you said. "They know you're a danger."
"That was before I had you," he said, like that was the root of the problem. You huffed, watching his fingers wiggle under the fabric of your sweater, like tiny waves on a grey sea.
And then, "There is no one like you," Shouto said, a little softer, into the skin of your neck, and an involuntary shudder went through you.
Shouto's mouth moved to your ear, a warm flash of teeth, and you felt him noticeably stiffen underneath you--in one very specific spot. He let out that soft groan again, and every inch of your skin went red hot.
You moved quickly.
"Okay, good to see you all!" you yelped, jumping to your feet.
The group turned to look at you, and you caught varying levels of resigned understanding in their gazes. You fought down a laugh, even as Shouto let out a huffy noise behind you, and a set of long fingers wound themselves possessively into the back of your shirt, trying to tug you back to him.
"We're gonna be going now," you said quickly, turning to take Shouto's hand in your own, yanking him to his feet. "Thanks for the party, Jirou, and congrats on the number twenty spot!!"
A pretty smirk cut the sides of Jirou's mouth. "Anytime."
"And congrats to you on the impending dick down," Kaminari jeered next to her, earning an elbow to the ribs.
"Thank you," Shouto said, politely, as though this was any situation in which he needed to display his courtly manners.
"Shouto, oh my god," you said, quickly seizing his arm and tugging him over to the door. "I have no excuses for him. Have a good night, guys."
"You have a good night," someone snickered from the far side of the room, a voice you thought might be Sero's.
"I'll make sure of it," Shouto pronounced seriously from your side, and this time he was the one to tug you with him, as he exited Jirou's apartment with no further ceremony.
You couldn't help but echo him, exasperated, as he steered you out on to the street and onwards towards home. "'I'll make sure of it,' Shouto?" Though you couldn't help the touch of fondness in your voice for your ridiculous boyfriend.
But all he did was pin you with an evaluating blue eye, as if asking whether you knew him at all.
And it was true--Todoroki Shouto was a man of his word. And the second you had made it through your apartment door, he proved it to you.
Over and over and over again.
364 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
Working for cowboy!Bakugou at his ranch as a trainer and he invites you to a company event at the bar downtown.
He’s never really gotten to see you outside of your barn clothes, but it still surprises you when he leans over at one point, hair brushing against your cheek as he inhales and immediately guesses your perfume brand, muttering something about how it’s driving him crazy as he walks away.
386 notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
[ 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 !
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
3K notes · View notes
killmehe · 1 year
Text
right now i'm obsessed with the idea of hot, super-nerd bakugou 🥺
like !! you knew him in junior high when he had little wire framed glasses and braces 🥺 and was kind of scrawny and a huge know-it-all 🥺 and he was probably very serious about like d&d and didn't allow you to play because it would "take too long to explain" and he did all your paired projects by himself because he didn't want you "screwing them up" !! a brat !! but then high-school comes around and you both separate and don't see each other again. not for a long time.
you go to college not too far from home, but the distance calls for a new apartment and a roommate that you get along with more than you expected to. she's the one with the car and occasionally you have to borrow it, or she'll drive you in to work and pick you up after your shift, when it's too dark out to walk.
every tuesday and thursday she has calc 2, and every tuesday and thursday, she spends most of the ride to work talking about the cute, quiet guy that sits alone at the back of the room. never pairs up with anyone or talks more than he has to. wears big, black headphones so everyone knows he's not interested. top of the class; someone somehow figures out he's been acing every exam, throwing the class average out of whack.
you're called in to work early one day and therefore have to borrow the car earlier than usual. you sit on the bench in the hallway, waiting quietly outside the room for your friend, and the minute the door opens, you're on your feet, peeking past student after student so you can grab the keys and run. you don't even notice him at first, the wall of man he is now; dressed in a black long-sleeve with a beanie on his head, almost hiding his hair but not quite. no glasses, no braces, and there are little hoops in his earlobes and he's grown into his shoulders really, really well.
the reason you look up is because he doesn't hide that he's staring at you, this guy out of the corner of your eye, and you don't even put two-and-two together when you see his face — at least not right away. he comes to a stop directly in front of you and you're just left staring at each other in the middle of a herd of other students, and he simply pulls one headphone off one ear and says,
"hey."
and — that's it. you kind of gape at him because he's much different than the version of him you knew and not half as sweaty or unapproachable and he remembered you. as soon as he saw you. stopped specifically, even though he doesn't talk to most people, apparently.
"uh, hey bakugou." you have to blink several times and clear your throat and your face warms under his unwavering stare.
whatever else he plans to say dies out when your roommate appears, too eager to be involved in your non-conversation, and he simply readjusts his headphones and walks off, only looking back once before he exits the building.
"what the fuck!" a swift smack is delivered to your arm as if you've done something wrong. "that's him, that's the guy!"
and you can't help but to remember him in class, the red rubber bands he wore in his teeth, arguing with a smaller, freckled boy about halo 3. slouching in his seat, leaning back too far until you had to flick him in the ear so his head wasn't all up in your space. sticking your tongue out at him, when you got your test scores back and they were lower than his. wary of how red his little face would get, when he offered to help you study after class.
"yeah," you say, snorting in disbelief. "that's the guy."
392 notes · View notes
killmehe · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
See, He's Fine
2K notes · View notes
killmehe · 2 years
Text
[ nsfw ] - no penetration ; dry humping ; a hint of virgin bakugou bc i said so (。•̀ᴗ-)✧ ; a little angsty at the end
[ word count ] - not sure and late for work, as usual LOL but it got longer than i expected, also as usual. will update later !
Tumblr media
childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.
games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.
it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.
not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.
he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.
in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.
("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, brushing out the tangle he leaves in your hair so they can french-braid it during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")
nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.
things start to change, seriously, in high-school.
Tumblr media
bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.
at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.
you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.
(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.
if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.
bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)
you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.
you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.
it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.
now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.
bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.
"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.
his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.
"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"
he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.
"ow, fuck!"
when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.
beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"
"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"
his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.
"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."
"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.
"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —
— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.
"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.
"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.
all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.
bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.
this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.
saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —
bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.
instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.
and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.
you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.
you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.
his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.
the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.
you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.
you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.
bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.
you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.
his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.
quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"
you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.
"hah, fuck."
the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.
you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.
you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.
he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.
the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,
"katsuki,"
and he loses it.
one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.
"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.
for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.
doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.
you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.
when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.
"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."
your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.
"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fishing the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"
"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."
and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.
"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."
6K notes · View notes
killmehe · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media
◇ Complete
◇ After five years together with Midoriya, you find yourself newly single and heartbroken. When he starts dating again, you shout a bold-faced lie to the universe that wraps you and Katsuki Bakugou together for better or worse. In order to save face, you need to work together with the grumpiest man on the planet.
◇ Verity (noun): The quality or state of being truthful or honest. Also your Hero Name to go along with your quirk of forcing others to tell the truth.
Tumblr media
ProHero!Bakugou x Fem!Reader (Brief Midoriya x Reader)
◈ Pro Hero, Fake engagement
Tumblr media
!!: angst, sex, cheating
◇ Chapter 1: It Starts With a Breakup
◇ Chapter 2: Life Goes On
◇ Chapter 3: Always Second Place
◇ Chapter 4: How Did It End Up Like This?
◇ Chapter 5: Dynamight and What’s-Her-Name
◇ Chapter 6 (18+): Fuck You
◇ Chapter 7: Leftovers
◇ Chapter 8: A Ring, a Red Carpet, and an Ex
◇ Chapter 9 (18+): Sex on the Beach
◇ Chapter 10: A Lie by Omission is Still a Lie
◇ Chapter 11: What is Love
◇ Chapter 12: The Truth Will Set You Free
◇ Epilogue
Tumblr media
Tag List: @thatfanfictionwriter , @loving-katsuki , @dienamights , @katditca , @boosyboo9206 , @alex-sulli , @hypernovaxx , @daddyissxes , @ti-mame , @thekaylahub , @ms0milk , @nerd-nowandforever , @minninugget , @tiny-wooden-robot , @icedemon1314 , @xviternity , @naiomiwinchester , @lovinkiri , @sincerelyyrosemary , @abnormalanimeweeb , @satogg , @liberace2 , @acid-rain27 , @itgetzweird08 , @chaoticorganizedmess , @neurovascular-entrapta , @kiwiified , @bnha-free-writing , @fishbolw , @xxkay15xx , @zombiewarprincess , @izuwumidoriya , @blue-enigma , @mommy-without-milkers , @plaggi , @budibbly , @hiqhkey , @great-goddess-of-sin, @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory , @zyxys1 , @doonaandpjs , @chifuyus-slut , @aceredhairliberal , @dxrkdreamer , @archdag , @bakugospartner , @cxshmereclxud , @nuthonii, @sukisprint, @juneday-romanoff , @chixkadee , @hallothankmas ,
2K notes · View notes
killmehe · 2 years
Text
Sweat beads on his skin, forming imperfect drops across his freckled chest. Summer has broken, but he's still hot, radiating enough heat to make you kick the top sheet down and off for your conjoined bodies, but not hot enough you pull away. You rest your head on the soft, relaxed muscle of his chest, listening to how his heart beats in time with yours.
The heat is inside you too- just less physical. Loving him feels like you swallowed a match and let the flame consume, eating at the edges of your insides however it wishes. It stays tame, but if you fed it, if you breathed him in too hard, it'll consume you.
"Izuku?" You gather yourself, swallowing the rising sparks in your chest as you meet his eye. The verdant of his eyelashes looks more vibrant against the deep, thick brown of his irises, " 'Zuku, do you ever wanna get married?"
Izuku smiles with a gooey, sticky tenderness, betrayed by the concerned crumple of his brow.
"Probably not. Maybe one day." He tucks your hair behind your ear with a trailing touch, "If I ever find the right person."
It's suddenly so cold between you, despite nothing changing.
"Oh," you rest your head down again. Your throat burns with disappointment and you swallow, trying to push that feeling physically down. It takes effort to keep the quiver out of your voice, "Yeah, me too. If I ever find the right person."
424 notes · View notes