pairings & cw: k. bakugou x high-maintenance reader, f!reader, prohero timeskip, reader is a liiiitle ditsy, language, established relationship, diva alert
synopsis: so what you're a little bitchy, and maybe you don't think very hard, and maybee you need him to do everything for you...oh yeah you're a princess. its his fault though, and he loves it over here
you yelled from the bathroom counter, legs crisscross applesauce as you touched up your mascara, your silk robe sliding off one shoulder.
"babyyy." you drawled out, a bit louder this time, still fully focused on your own reflection.
you tore your gaze away from the mirror looking to your left at the doorway, nothing. the audacity. your cheeks puffed out as you sighed and got ready to yell again.
"what the hell woman?!" his voice raised as he whips around the doorframe, brows furrowed.
you instantly smile upon seeing him, turning back towards the mirror and finishing up your makeup. "baby i think the lighting in here is ugly. we need the warm lights, these are giving hospital. and you know how i feel about white light."
he pinches the bridge of his nose and observes you through the mirror. "you called me in here, no, screamed for me to come in here about the fuckin' lights?"
you stopped applying your powder to look at him inquisitively, your brow raised as if the answer was obvious.
"uh duh. it's making me look ugly, i almost took all of my makeup off and went back to bed."
he leaned against the doorframe fascinated. not just because there was a beautiful hot mess of a woman sitting on his counter, but also by the shit that comes out of your mouth before nine in the morning.
god—he wouldn't have it any other way.
"yes princess i'll fix it for ya tomorrow." he walked behind you and pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, looking down at the watch on his wrist. "you have fifteen minutes. pick it up."
you turned toward him with wide eyes, holding your arms out so he could put you back down on the ground. "but i need my coffee first!"
katsuki chuckled as he placed you on your feet, walking away without another word before coming back with a delicious looking iced coffee in his hand.
"i was midway through making the damn thing when you started screaming."
you took it and scanned it, your eyes flicking between him and the cup.
"did you put sugar in it?"
you tap your foot looking up at him. "that wasn't an answer."
he squints at you, annoyed in the way only he can be when he's secretly entertained. "yes, brat. enough."
you consider him carefully, like a queen deciding whether or not a knight is worth sparing.
you happily sip the coffee as you walk past him into your “shared” (because 90% of it was your clothes, shoes, and bags) walk-in closet rummaging through clothes with one hand and drink in the other. your mouth literally never leaving the straw. he watches from the bed, the tiny domestic performance of it was so stupidly dear to him that he'd rather die than say it out loud.
everyone else thinks he's patient with you. as if he's suffering nobly. as if loving you is some kind of endurance sport.
they don't understand that katsuki likes this. loves it, actually.
loves the sound of your voice when it gets whiny and put-upon. loves the way you drift around his space like it was built for you. loves that you complain to him with absolute confidence that he’ll either fix it, replace it, or tell you to quit bitching and then fix it anyway.
he likes that you only act this way because you know, down to your bones, that he can hold it.
that he won't embarrass you for wanting.
that he won't make you feel stupid for liking pretty things, expensive things, soft things. that he won't call you too much when he is, in fact, the one who made you this way.
oh he spoiled you rotten. toothache rotten. that part is entirely his fault.
you used to reach for the cheaper option out of habit, used to say no too quickly, used to look at price tags before you looked at whether you even liked something.
now, if you pause in front of a shop window even a second too long, katsuki notices.
if you say, "its cute, but—" he's already opening the door.
if you mention it, in passing, that you've run low on the serum you like, it appears in the bathroom the next day in doubles.
he got mean about it, weirdly. not mean mean, but katsuki mean.
the first time he found out you'd been rationing the stupidly expensive perfume he bought you for your birthday because you "didn't want to use it up too fast," he stared at you so hard you nearly laughed.
then he took the bottle from your hand, put it back on the vanity, opened something on his phone right in front of you, and bought three more.
you blinked at him from your spot on the bed. "thats excessive."
he hadn't even looked up. "no its fuckin' not."
"i don't need four bottles of perfume."
he'd finally lifted his eyes, sharp and flat and impossible to argue with. "i bought it because i like it on you, stop acting like you're gonna get in trouble for enjoying your own shit."
and of course, because he was an insufferable asshole incapable of letting a moment sit without making it a little hostile, he added, "you're spoiled. try acting like it."
so yes—this is his fault.
every silk pillowcase, every hair appointment, every shopping bag, and "baby, can you carry this?" and "katsuki, i don't like the towels here," and also "can we leave, i hate the vibe."
his fault. not that he'd change a fucking thing.
you placed your coffee on the little island in your closet, holding up two pairs of heels and turning toward him.
"versace or dior today?" puffing up one of your cheeks as you wiggled the two options in your hands. an extremely hard decision actually.
he rolled his eyes before getting up from the bed and making his way toward you, shaking his head as he walked.
"remember the last time you wore the versace? you lasted twenty minutes and i had to carry you. the dior is more casual, good for the breakfast, which i'll remind you we need to be at soon."
you nodded in agreement as you put the other heels back, slipping off your robe and stepping into the short white dress that you had picked out all by yourself. you looked up at him as you slid into your heels.
"you're so smart baby, what would i do without you?"
he shot an amused look before kissing your forehead and walking out, "you still have those clips in your hair by the way."
he especially loves it when you text him a million updates on your day while he's working.
you: my nail appointment ran long and now im starveddddd
you: the place downstairs put pickles on my sandwich. they know i hate pickles. this feels targeted.
you: can you come home with those like little fruit tarts from that bakery i like?
you: omg not the big ones btw. the little ones. the big ones are ugly.
he likes reading them in the backseat of a car on the way to interviews, sporting a fresh bruise on his jaw, feeling the way his whole face goes weirdly soft before having to physically control it so no one notices.
suki: eat something real first
suki: i'll handle the sandwich place
suki: yeah
he loves that you call him immediately after and say, "why did you sound so mean in your texts? are you being sassy with me?"
"you text like a menace. im at work."
"you can still be sweeter."
"you're alive and fed and wearin' shit i bought ya. thats sweetness."
your cute little sigh through the phone warms his heart so much. "barely."
a pause. a little hush. like the whole world knows better than to interrupt.
then he says, every single time, with no hesitation at all, "yeah."
he doesn't think you're a brat when you complain, he just thinks you're honest. saying the things that everyone else swallows. some call it no filter, no social cues, or even blunt.
katsuki likes the directness of it. likes that with you, there's no passive-aggressive little games, no pretending nothing's wrong until it curdles into resentment.
if you're upset, he knows.
if you want something, he knows.
if someone's pissed you off, oh he definitely fucking knows. just like tonight.
all it took was once glance at you the second he walked into the restaurant, spotting you already seated at the table with his friends. you're gorgeous, obviously. you're always gorgeous. tonight its in a slinky little dress that probably cost more than most people's rent, hair glossy, jewelry delicate, makeup perfect. oh but your expression is flat in a way that tells him you're two minor inconveniences away from homicide.
kirishima sees him first. "bro!"
"hey," kaminari says, grinning. "your girl's been bullying the waiter."
"i have not," you say, before katsuki even reaches the table. "i corrected him. there's a difference."
"you made him bring back three wine glasses," mina says, a little too delighted.
"because they were spotty," you reply. "am i supposed to drink expensive wine out of a fogged-up glass like i've lost all self respect?"
katsuki pulls out your chair a little and leans down to kiss the side of your head before he sits. "you eat yet?"
your whole face changes when you look at him, not necessarily softer. you never became some watered down version of yourself around him. more like the tension in you finds the exact place its allowed to land.
"no." you say. "i was waiting."
his hand settles over the back of your neck for a second, thumb brushing the skin there. "good."
across the table, sero makes a face. "that was weirdly hot."
"shut the hell up," katsuki barks, but his attention is already back on you. "what happened?"
you exhale dramatically. "everything."
"the hostess tried to seat us by the kitchen. the menus were sticky. the waiter kept calling me sweetheart."
his eyes sharpened at that. "which waiter?"
you touch his wrist. "don't start."
he looks at you, and you give him that look right back—the one that says you are perfectly capable of handling yourself and also maybe a tiny bit pleased that he's instantly ready to commit a felony on your behalf.
mina is trying not to laugh. "see, this is what i'm saying. you enable her."
katsuki reachers for the water glass in front of you, checks it like it personally offended him, then flags down another server without even raising his voice.
"this one's dirty," he says. "bring her a clean glass. and another menu."
the server blinks. "of course."
he turns back to the table. silence stretching thick.
kaminari weakly says, "you don't even look embarrassed."
katsuki frowns at him. "why the hell would i be embarrassed?"
"because—" kami vaguely gestures at you. "because she's being...y'know."
you raise your brows this time. "go on."
"specific." kirishima finished diplomatically, doing his very best to avoid conflict.
katsuki leans back in his chair, one arm draped behind yours. "and?"
"and thats hard to deal with," sero says.
and there it was. that right there. you had to hide your smile in your hand.
he never asks you to be less.
never gives you that look, the one that says don't make this a thing, don't be difficult don't be too much right now. he meets you where you are. he'll adjust accordingly, and he'll make room.
because to him, loving you is not some great act of patience. it's not a burden he shoulders because there's a shiny award at the end.
every specific little preference, every dramatic sigh, eye rolls when something is beneath your standards. every exacting opinion and offended pout and "be serious" look you send him when the world is not arranged to your liking.
its all you. and he loves all of you.
dinner goes better after that.
he doesn't even bother letting you order, or even asking what you want because he already knows. he switches your fork when it has a water spot you don't like. he pushes his drink toward you when yours is running low. when your heel suddenly catches against the chair leg and you mutter, irritated, he drops a hand to your ankle and rubs once, absent and grounding like your discomfort belongs to him too.
nobody else seems to know what to do with the way you are.
later, in the car, you sit with one leg folded under you, your heels kicked off the moment you had entered. also something katsuki predicted would happen when you asked for outfit advice. the city outside the windows blurs in gold and white. katsuki drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your knee.
you stare at him for a while.
"you're doing that thing."
"staring at me like you're about to either say somethin' emotional or start a fight."
streetlight spills over the hard line of his jaw, catches in the pale ash blonde of his hair. older now, broader, more settled into himself. confidence without the performance strain of it. he doest need to prove himself anymore. especially not to you.
he looks over, eyes wide like you just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, which is also insane to say as ridiculous things fly out of your mouth every day. "the hell are you talkin' about?"
the thing is—you know what people think of you. that you're spoiled, dramatic, materialistic, kinda mean.
and okay, maybe you are spoiled. because katsuki saw what made your life easier and prettier and softer, and instead of calling you too much for wanting it, he made it so you never even had to ask. he booked the hard to get reservations, the spontaneous flights, replaced those cheap sheets with the ones you liked. he memorized your orders, your dress size, which jewelry you liked for all day wear.
he built an entire life around your comfort like it was the most natural thing in the world. so yes, maybe now, years later, you complain a little more. maybe your standards are impossible for anyone who isn't him.
you're only like this, though, because he made the world feel safe enough to be particular in.
you didn't have to shrink with him.
you got bigger. brighter. needier in the way flowers are needy for sun.
your throat tightens a little.
"i know i'm annoying," you mutter.
his entire body language changes. "who said that?"
katsuki stops at the red light and turns fully to look at you, like really look at you.
"listen to me," he says, low and flat and dripping with certainty. "you're not annoyin'."
you give him a look. your look.
"i complain all the time."
"you can't say i'm not difficult."
he shrugs one shoulder and the light turns green, but he doesn't move for half a second because this apparently matter more than the honking car behind him.
"you are difficult," he says finally.
you blink. he drives forward, expression set, like he didn't just casually rearrange your entire internal organ system.
"you know how many people in this world are boring as fuck?" he goes on. "how many people expect you to make yourself smaller so they can feel comfortable bein' mediocre around you?"
your eyes sting a little, annoyingly so.
katsuki continues, voice rough and sure. "you got opinions, you got taste, you know what you want. you don't sit there smilin' through dumb shit just so other people can feel better about givin' you less than you deserve."
"and yeah," he says, glancing over, "you're a pain in the ass sometimes."
you laugh wetly, because of course he'd say it like that.
"but you're my pain in the ass." his thumb strokes once over your knee. "exactly where i want you."
tears slip freely now before you can stop them.
katsuki notices immediately and groans. "ah, hell, stop it woman."
"i hate you," you whisper.
"you made me cry in the car. my mascara is probably runny. and my nose is gonna be snotty."
he digs a tissue out of the console with one hand, passes it you you without looking. "you'll survive."
you dab under your eyes carefully. "i look pretty when i cry don't i?"
he snorts. "there she is."
you're mostly recovered by the time you both make it home. mostly.
enough to resume normal routine, which means standing in the entryway while Katsuki kneels to unbuckle the straps of your heels because you've declared your feet "too emotionally exhausted" to do it yourself.
he glances up at you from where he's crouched, beautiful ruby eyes meeting your own. "emotionally exhausted."
"from sitting at dinner and being hot?"
"from enduring the public, baby."
he hums like this is a valid medical explanation.
there are men out there who would feel emasculated by this, maybe. by kneeling for a woman who complains about dirty wine glasses and insists on fresh flowers in the apartment every week and refuses to carry anything heavier than her own phone.
but he looks like a king from where he is. looks like worship doesn't diminish him whatsoever, looks like devotion—when done right—is power.
his expression shifts—small, but devastating. a little surprise, even now. not because he doubts it. just simply because it still gets him, every time.
you smooth a hand over the front of his shirt. "even though you're kinda bossy."
he quirks a brow. "kinda?"
"and occasionally to me."
you sigh dramatically. "unfortunately."
the corner of his mouth lifts. he slides both hands under your thighs and picks you up like you weigh nothing. you let out a small squeal and tighten your arms around him, indignant on instinct.
"your feet are emotionally exhausted," he says, deadpan, already carrying you down the hall. "wouldn't want you sufferin'."
you narrow your eyes. "you're making fun of me."
"you're so rude to the woman you love."
he pushes the bedroom door with his shoulder. "and yet.."
thats the whole thing, really.
and yet he knows the exact serum you're running low on without checking. and yet he moved your charger to your side of the bed because you always forget it in the living room. and yet he can identify the difference between your annoyed sigh and your actually upset one from another room. and yet he takes the pins out of your hair one by one when you're too tired.
and yet he still looks at you like none of this is charity. like loving you isn't labor. like you are not too much.
like you are, some fuckin' how, exactly enough to fill every empty place inside his fiery self.
he sets you on the bed and starts unfastening his watch, but not before unzipping the back of your dress because he knew you'd ask him to.
"you really mean it?" you say, because the feeling you have right now is too big to leave alone.
"when you say that," you add. "that im where you want me?"
then he steps back between your knees where you sit on the edge of the mattress, braces his big hands on either side of you, and lowers just enough that you can't look anywhere but him.
"there's nowhere else i want you," he says.
and you hate how much it affects you.
your fingers curl in the front of his shirt. "even when i'm being awful?"
his mouth twitches. "especially then."
and you both just sit there for a minute, eyes flickering between each others, back and forth.
then he kisses you. not a nasty sloppy kiss like he needs you desperately. the kind of kiss that says he knows, he understands, and he chose this. the kind of kiss that says every spoiled little thing about you fits into his scarred hands like it was made for them.
you melt into it, because of course you do.
you know he's the love of your life. your love in every life.
and you both get ready for bed in your normal routines. he hands you every serum and product you need without you having to ask. but don't be mistaken, because whether you realize it or not, you do all of these things for him too.
you do it as you put his watch back in the case since he always leaves it lying around. you do it as you mindlessly pull out the pants he likes to wear to bed every night. you do it as you grab a water from the mini fridge since he chugs one down every night before bed. you do it as you hang up his hero suit for tomorrow, already having cleaned it earlier.
you do it because you love him so damn much.
and you love the way he loves you.
and katsuki is exactly where he wants to be.
with you in his bed, in his shirt, asking for ridiculous velvet hangers after nearly crying over how loved you are.
his beautiful, impossible girl.
his favorite pain in the ass.
i’ve been getting inspired by these like bitchy reader fics i’ve been seeing so had to do one myself (a lil different) this was the cutest thing i’ve ever written omg also reader is soooooo valid id be the exact same way if i was rich, unemployed, and obviously dating katsuki bakugou. love her.
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