Him atop you as he stole kisses in between ragged breaths. Steady hands securing your hips in place, digging into white duvet, moaning each other’s name like a mantra that slipped out of your tongue with every thrust of pleasure you received. He was always so strong, so determined, that your highs were always quick to come once the two of you got onto it.

And you’d wake up, Tokyo morning sun radiating like rays dancing on the white cloth, waking you out of your dazed trance. Intertwined between sheets, his worn-out t-shirt on you as he laid there by your side shirtless, staring down at his best friend he brought to heaven the night before. Whenever he felt like everything was going to hell, he’d call you, the first number on his contact list—the only person who had seen him through his short-fused explosive phase to the number two hero he was now. His crimson red eyes were always the first thing to greet you on those fateful Saturday mornings, but they were no match with the content smile on his face that he showed no one else but, well, you.

Bakugou Katsuki was a gentleman. As hard as it was to believe, especially for those who were around during high school, it consistently rang true. Like in these mornings as he asked you to stay and made you breakfast in his exquisite high-ceilinged apartment. He always wanted to hear your thoughts about his cooking, on what he could improve, and if ever you were staying over again, what you’d want next (but you already knew the answer to that).

One thing about Katsuki was he never got tired of listening to your drabbling about work. Right now, it was about that stupid sidekick that has been hitting on you for weeks now, despite you blocking them with a clear dragged out no every time. He would chuckle at your little gestures, carefully observing every detail his best friend had, and thought about how he was the lucky man to run his hands through them every week.

He had told you before to move to his agency. Though these little rants of yours were nothing short of entertaining, Katsuki was well-aware that in between those tales lies a bitter truth that you were not well within his reach, and he couldn’t protect you if another pervert tried to touch you again. And you always told him you wanted to—needed to, even, but your boss kept shrugging off your now-piles of resignation papers down the shredder. You were a big asset, after all—a UA graduate, top of your class, a pretty strong quirk, and an excellent internship rating. But Bakugou knew they only saw you for your credentials, not at all as a human who was protecting other humans, and made a mental note to blast your boss’s face sometime he’s free within this week. He reasoned to himself: it was only make him aware of what he was going to be dealing with if he keeps on treating you any less of the hero you are.

It was those little things about your best friend that had you lying awake at night, legs still sore from the action just a few days prior. You had been trying to sleep for the last hour, staring up at the ceiling, basically memorizing its patterns. You wanted to be frustrated with yourself—angry that you thought he could even look at you in that way.

You see, when two people have cramped-up schedules, half a decade of youth still left to live, and raging hormonal impulses—they resort to a little arrangement called friends with benefits. In short, they do stuff couples do: kiss, make out, stay over, call each other and ask them about their day, take care of the one who’s sick from overpatrolling, but most of all, meet each other at a certain time, a certain place to make love. There was no commitment, no red strings, no feelings involved, just two people trying to satisfy their needs through someone else’s. That’s what you told yourself every night.

Until that time he sent you a bouquet of tulips to your office and the blood on your cheeks told you otherwise.

“Katsuki,” you whispered through the phone, voice rough from the bloodrush. “What in the world is this?”

“A gift?” he replied, so casually that it was driving you insane. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, but,” you sucked in a breath, looking at the florist holding out a contract for you to sign. “Did you really have to do this at my office?”

“You overwork yourself hard enough,” he nagged, hearing him adjust something on the other end of the phone. Katsuki shouted something to the person calling out at him, then returned to you. “Listen, I’m on patrol right now, but take those. I already paid for them. And don’t feel obligated to come to my apartment later tonight because of that. I just don’t want to be a shitty best friend, that’s all.”

The flowers laid in a vase on your desk, causing your co-heroes to gawk at the stunning arrangement of black and orange tulips adorning your otherwise plain workspace. You weren’t big on decorations, after all, since you were a hero and didn’t stay there often. The flowers finally gave your desk some much needed color.

And it pissed you off. It pissed you off how he said it so casually, how he managed to make your heartbeat not too far from a hummingbird’s, and how he took time out of his day, his most beloved hero job, to get you a gift.

But what pissed you off the most was the fact that all of the grandeur was because he thought of you as his best friend who needed relief.

You mentally slapped yourself. You were being distracted. You were not falling for Katsuki, you just liked how he felt inside you, how perfect he fit into you, and the rest of those feelings for him were platonic.

But why did he have to rummage through your thoughts every single night?

“Do you ever get tired?” you blurted out.

He poured the freshly-brewed coffee into two mugs, adding milk on yours just the way you liked it. “Doing what?”

“Running through my mind every night.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as soon as the words came out, cheeks starting to redden from embarrassment. You were not supposed to say that. Right then and there, you wished for anything that could get you out of there—maybe even a dang UFO—so it could spare you from the shame about to come.

But Katsuki turned around, two mugs in hand, putting them on the counter behind you to look you straight in the eye. His calloused hands, shaped by years of explosions, made it to your heated face, not really helping with the fluster you were feeling at that moment. He carefully pulled your fingers away, setting them on your lap to hold your chin tenderly.

“Only if you tell me why you made me fall for my own best friend.”

And then you woke up.

Feeling slightly frustrated for whatever reason, you threw your pillow to the wall, running a hand through your hair and catching shaky breaths.

Great, he made it into to your dreams, too.

Your stare buried into the duvet covering your lower body. You ran a hand through your face, planning on getting up to get a cup of water and watch Netflix instead. Because dreaming of him again would not help with your current predicament.

This is all your fault, Bakugou Katsuki.

“Oi, what’s your problem?”

And you forgot that you were sleeping over at his place that night.

His voice was low and gravelly as he turned around to look at your side of the bed. You averted your gaze, wanting to shrug it off.

“Nothing.” You raised your chin up. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he simply responded, getting up to his knees to sit next to you. “Bad dream?”

You tried not to look at his chiseled chest just there for your gazing glory, and the sweatpants that you swore were about to fall off with how loose they were around his waist. He was so oblivious to the thoughts running around your head it was insane. Why did he have to be shirtless at this time?

“No.” You wanted to be adamant. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“Waking up at 3AM practically having an asthma attack isn’t fine, (Y/N).” Katsuki crossed his arms, looking at the side of your face. “You’re choosing the wrong person to lie to.”

Your hands flew up in defeat. “Fine, then I’m not fine. How could I ever lie to you, huh?”

“Damn right you know. You’ve been my annoying best friend for two decades. I practically have you memorized, whether I like it or not.”

There it was again. That damned best friend title. The situation was starting to become tolerable, but that label just had to come up, right? You felt your chest tighten, knowing well what you were about to say next.

“I think we should stop this,” you said, finally meeting up to look at him.

The blonde let out a guttural chuckle until his eyes met yours, seeing no hint of mischief behind the irises he knew too well.

“But... why?” was all he managed to stutter.

Of course, a half-ass excuse would be better than to tell him hey, I’ve been constantly thinking of you quite unhealthily for the past two months now, and if I don’t pry myself away from you in the next three minutes I might just ruin our friendship.

“Oi, don’t move too much,” Katsuki groans. Your right arm is slung over his broad shoulder for support, the other holding onto your shared apartment’s door for dear life. Your legs are wobbly and you feel like you’re about to fall when he catches you by your waist, hoisting you up and resorting to lifting you instead.

He lays you down on your side of the bed gently, taking off your high heels and unzipping the tight wine red dress you had on.

Ochaco had invited you for a bachelorette party, and you made sure to free up your schedule for your friend’s once-in-a-lifetime event. Unfortunately, an all-girls party meant that Katsuki wasn’t allowed to come. It’s not that he wanted to, anyway. The only reason he would do so much as to consider it was to watch over your alcohol consumption. You were a lightweight and always went past your limits, which he constantly reminded you that it was not what Plus Ultra meant.

“I have a boyfriend, go away,” you slur, patting your hand across his face and pushing him away. He lightly takes it off and places it on your side, a tinge of red starting to adorn his heating cheeks.

“I’m your boyfriend, dumbass,” he whispers. His hands make quick work of the dress and you’re laid there half-naked, which Katsuki minded to not take glances of. It was wrong to stare when you were drunk and he had work to do with you. “Stay there.”

“You look funny,” you giggle, your hands flying to your mouth. “You look like... a fluffy pomeranian.”

Katsuki makes his way to the kitchen, adding water to the electric kettle and leaving it on to boil. He then goes to the bathroom inside your bedroom, pulling out what looked like the make-up remover you used everytime you started your skin care routine. Your routine was fairly simple, at least enough for Katsuki to catch on to as he watched you do it every night.

“Katsuki,” you whine, pulling the covers over you. A light breeze had made it through the wide area of the room, resulting in a chill on your half-naked glory. “I’m cold.”

“Wait a minute, woman,” he replies. The explosive blonde sits beside you, just hovering enough to carefully hold your jaw in his hand. He takes a cotton ball and starts to gently rub across, trying not to miss a spot, or else you’d throw a fit in the morning over a breakout and he would have to deal with it.

At least that’s what he told himself—deep inside, he knew it was because he cared for you and your skin, which you always seamlessly took care of. But he’d never say that out loud in the name of his image and dignity.

Your boyfriend finishes with practically nothing left on your face, just in time as the kettle turned off. He disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a cup of your favorite tea, setting it on the bedside table before making his way to the bathroom. His hand turned the faucet, eyes landing on the different bottles on the shelf.

Your bathroom had a lot of bottles, and only 2 of those were Katsuki’s. The other 6 were yours—conditioner, bottles of different-smelling body wash, and of course, shampoo. There were times he’d ask you why you needed that many, when even just one could do the trick. You had to explain to him that it didn’t work that way, at least not like him who picked up whatever smelled good on the shelf and dumped it into the grocery cart. He found himself complaining less though, as even just the scent of you would calm him down on nights his nerves were getting the best of him. You just had that effect on him, and he was more than satisfied to accept it.

“Water’s ready,” he announces, holding your hand and lifting you up. You follow his guide, but not without some few slip-ups here and there, his hands quick to steady you again and again. You make it to the bathroom in one piece, and he takes off your underwear. “Can you manage on your own?”

You nod, slipping into the bathtub and giving yourself a bath. He prepared your favorite bath scent along with the warm water. It sobered you up a little, giving you enough consciousness to call out for him when you were done.

“Be careful,” Katsuki warns. But as he saw that there was a chance his future fiancé was going to slip and hit their head somewhere, he wasn’t taking any chances. Wrapped up in your orange towel, he picks you up and places you on the bed. He pulls one of his old shirts and a clean pair of boxers over you, then sat behind you to start brushing your hair.

“You’re so quiet today,” you comment. “Not like you at all, Kacchan.”

He cringes at the nickname, but continues untangling your messy hair.

“Hey,” you call out. “Why aren’t you answering me?” Your voice dragged out, sounding like a child throwing tantrums.

“I’m brushing your hair, stupid. Stop moving and drink your tea.”

“But you’re soooo quiet,” you whine.

Katsuki leans over to your temple to kiss your forehead, pulling away, but not quite, as he whispered: “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but your body betrays you with a hiccup. “I want to cuddle.”

“Let me finish your hair and you can get all the cuddles you want.”

“Okay.” You pout, crossing your arms, but Katsuki finds it absolutely adorable.

Once he’s done with the rest of your hair, he plugs in a blow dryer to finish off the job, leaving you ready for bed. After he cleans up rather quickly and closes the doors, he settles beside you, your back turned against him.

“I love you,” he whispers onto your shoulder. You move a little, hand reaching out to his cheek. He takes it with his open one and leaves individual kisses on your fingers, pulling you closer with a leg slung over yours.

“You’re so warm,” you giggle with what little strength you have. He finds himself mirroring your grin. “You’re like... a big teddy bear.”

Katsuki stays quiet, feeling sleep take over his body.

“You’d be a great dad,” you say aloud, making him freeze.

“Are you...”

“I’m not pregnant, silly,” you reply, brushing over his blonde hair to calm him down. “I’m just saying, if ever the time comes and we have little grenades running over the apartment, you’d make an amazing father.”

“And why is that?” he asks, resting into the pillows.

“Because you’re warm. Like a teddy bear. And kids love teddy bears.”

He chuckles at your half-drunk explanation, “and I love you.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you tease, turning over to face him. You pinch his cheek playfully and he smiles. “I love you too.”

“When the time comes,” he starts. “I’m sure you’ll be a great mother to our little grenades, too.”

“I’ll have to take care of how many Katsukis running around,” you teasingly groan, leaning on his shoulder. “I’ll be retiring at like, 40.”

“Five. Five would be nice.” He pats your hair absentmindedly, daydreaming into the scenario he made up in his head. “But I’d want them to have your quirk, too. You’re right, five exploding babies probably wouldn’t be too good for the two of us.”

You don’t reply, and he takes it that you’ve fallen asleep. He was about to wish you good night, when you pull him closer.

“I love you, teddy bear,” you coo with your last strength and immediately fall asleep.

“I love you, too.”

Katsuki was awfully hard-headed. And that meant that misunderstandings were a staple in the Bakugou household.

The snow was starting to fall outside, landing softly on your window pane. December was nearby, and that meant that more chilly mornings would be coming your way. Not that you minded, though. You found it fascinating how snowflakes would carefully adorn the zen architecture your husband insisted on having while your house was being built. Plus, you were pretty used to ice from years of you and your husband working with Todoroki Shoto, the frostiest hero of all.

But today seemed like an entirely different story.

You shivered, rolling over in your bed to gather up more of the shared comforter. It warmed you for a few minutes, but as your body adjusted to the temperature, your teeth started to chatter—and the thin nightgown you had on wasn’t of any help at all. Annoyed by your conundrum, you threw the comforter down, storming out of your room when a voice called out.

“What is your problem, woman?” Katsuki asked in his gruff morning voice. You really couldn’t imagine it getting any deeper, but here you were. “What the fuck are you so loud for at 7AM?”

“It’s cold,” you answered bluntly. He scratched his eyes, yawning and barely gazing at you through hooded lids, obviously still wanting rest. You took one look at his arms when an idea suddenly popped into your head. “And I need to find warmth.”

He stared at you for a few seconds before turning to his side of the bed. “Go get yourself some coffee, then.”

“The entire comforter was on your side,” you reasoned, hoping to buy him some time to catch on to your deal. “I was shivering.”

“I’ll get you another one later,” he replied, voice muffled through sheets.

Your husband fell asleep then and there, leaving you alone with your request indirectly denied. Sighing, you reached for the doorknob and made your way to the apartment kitchen, feeing chills mix with the feeling of unresolved frustration within you. It’s not like you couldn’t live without Bakugou’s warmth, anyway. Why were you so pent up about it?

You ended up not making yourself coffee, not wanting to follow anything he told you. Instead, you plopped on the sofa, turning the TV on to whatever morning drama it was showing and resting on the slightly warmer couch.

You could feel yourself shivering again, but your pride was so worked up, you didn’t really know what to do at that point. As you were about to change your mind and maybe tell your husband directly, he came into the living room, as if on cue.

“You look like you’re five seconds away from fainting,” he commented, making you roll your eyes.

“Geez, thanks. As if I didn’t know.”

Katsuki still didn’t catch on to your bad mood, grabbing the remote and turning it to his morning news channel. As he watched, flicked his gaze at you multiple times, slowly feeling the abnormality of your silence this early in the morning.

At this time, you would usually be making puppy eyes at him, asking him to make his “award-winning amazing spectacular hot chocolate recipe” for you. He would tell you to make it yourself as he went into the kitchen, and came back five minutes later with two mugs in hand, yours with marshmallows, just the way you liked it.

“Oi, are you okay?” he finally asked, concern evidently laced in his tone. You groaned and avoided his gaze, looking anywhere but within his direction.

“Why are you so unusually quiet today?” insisted Katsuki, scooting closer to you. Not knowing exactly why you wanted to drag it out, you moved farther away from him, not that there was any space left on the couch. “Oi.”

“It’s nothing,” you murmured, putting your head on your raised legs, resting on your knees. “Go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Katsuki quickly sat next to you, leaving no space in between your bodies, feeling yourself tense up at the sudden contact. “Now tell me why you’re acting so shitty today because I’m trying to be a good husband here.”

You found yourself holding back a smile, hearing those words from your ever-stubborn Katsuki. You weren’t planning on losing this, though. “I told you I was cold.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, and I told you I was going to buy you a comforter.”

“That’s not it,” you dragged out with a groan. “Nevermind. You won’t get it anyway.”

“Oh, you really think so?”

“I know so,” you taunted, planning to walk away from the awkward position. Just as you were about to, he gently pulled you down your waist, landing on his lap and into his arms. Your eyes widened at your husband, who seemed frustrated as hell.

“If you won’t tell me,” Katsuki said, putting his fingers on your stomach. “Then maybe your gag reflex will.”

“Wait, what—“ But before you could finish, his hands started moving, tickling you like a child. You couldn’t hold back your laughter from both the situation and the stimulation, so you became a laughing mess coming undone in your husband’s lap. “S-Stop!” you whined through a fit of laughter. Your lungs were quick to gasp for air, only to be interrupted by giggling.

He was clearly enjoying this, showing no sign of stopping. As you felt your body practically begging for it to halt, you pulled his calloused hand away from you, heavy breathing taking over your system as he obeyed.

“Now will you tell me?” he pleaded, his eyes showing something other than his usual annoyance. Your husband genuinely wanted to fix whatever it was that was bugging you, even if that meant having to lower his damn pride. He couldn’t stand seeing you like this. “Please?”

Deciding to be forgiving, you sighed. “I just wanted you to cuddle me. I told you I was cold, Katsuki.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “You could have just told me?”

“I didn’t want to seem clingy.” You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your confession. Your gaze shifted to the back of the couch as you still laid in his embrace, his arms wrapped securely around your frame. He chuckled, putting his knuckles in your hair and ruffling lightly.

“Dumbass, I don’t care if you’re the clingiest person in the universe. I’m not the best at catching these cues, so if you want anything from me, please do say. I promised I’d give you the world, right?” Katsuki put his hand under your chin, making you look directly at him. Your heart melted at his proclamation, and you couldn’t deny yourself the feeling of his warmth any longer.

Your arms wrapped around him instantly, nuzzling into his embrace. His arms pulled you closer, his lips landing on the side of your forehead to kiss you. “I love you, (Y/N). But next time, don’t be a brat.”

You lightly slapped his arm, giggling at his remark. “I’m not a brat,” you weakly replied, not really in the mood to argue anymore.

“Hell yeah, you are.” Katsuki pulled you away lightly to leave another light kiss on your lips, hovering there for a few seconds after. “But you’re my brat.”

“You’re so corny.” You broke free of his embrace, standing up to pull him along with you. “Now, Mister Master of the House, you are obliged to make your brat a cup of your award-winning amazing spectacular hot chocolate to make up for your actions, or lack thereof.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Katsuki teased, coming with you, but not without pulling you next to him one last time.

“Let me goooo,” you dragged out, wanting to play brat again. He chuckled and landed a big sloppy kiss on your cheek before carrying you full-on bridal style into the kitchen. “Katsuki, what the fu—”

He set you down on the counter, pulling out ingredients and preparing the stove. “Just so I know you won’t misbehave again, brat.”

“You got me,” was all you said as he made you your requested cup of chocolate, making up for the warmth he failed to give you earlier that day. But it didn’t really matter anymore, though, as long as you had his rather explosive heat to keep you warm in the freezing Tokyo weather.

A knock on your door startled your Saturday night Netflix binging. You set your popcorn on the table rather loudly, annoyed at whoever had the guts to interrupt the only free time you could get at 11PM. Your hand hurried to the doorknob to stop the vigorous knocking, and you were met by a tired-looking Ground Zero, looking big with his grenades and hero costume intact.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the sight. “Work got you again?”

“Let’s not talk about it,” was the only thing he muttered before you let him in, taking off his large weapons and placing them on the side of the door along with everything else that was bothersome to him. He was left in a black tank top and baggy jeans.

“You know, you need to come home sometimes,” you tell him, setting your hands on his sturdy biceps. “Your mom’s probably thinking you’re dead by now.”

His eyes closed in pleasure as your hands started to knead, hitting him in all the right places. “Please, the old woman’s enjoying the house to herself.”

“What about Masaru?” you asked, taking a better look at his attire. You had no idea he looked this good without the extravagant hero accessories on.

“Left for a business trip. I don’t know where.” He groaned, leaning into your other hand that raised to caress his cheek. “You’re seriously a martyr for taking me in after everything I’ve done to you.”

“Past is past, I suppose,” was all you could say.

Bakugou—or as you called him, Katsuki—was your ex-boyfriend. Unknown to others, and most of Class 1-A, since you decided that keeping it a secret would be best, given the constant danger your lives were put in. Any kind of secret that would reveal a rising hero’s weak spot can and will probably be used against them. And unfortunately, Bakugou’s weakness was you.

It ended when the both of you decided it wouldn’t work out with the way things started to change pace. He was completely set on becoming the best hero in Japan that he barely went home to your shared apartment. He found an agency that would take him in—much to his dismay, working with Half and Half Bastard under Endeavor’s Hero Agency.

You, however, had different plans. You were working to become a minor hero in your prefecture, as you didn’t want to be under the constant stress of fearing for your life at the top. Bakugou constantly tried to coax you out of that mindset, saying that he knew you could do way more, but you just weren’t having it. The lack of time and different outlooks caused a major fallout that eventually resulted in a mutual break-up.

However, despite moving out and getting rid of everything you shared, Bakugou always found his thoughts drifting back to you. He shrugged it off the first months, thinking it was part of the shitty moving on process. Until he couldn’t take it one fateful Thursday night and found himself crying on your doorstep, practically begging you to take him back.

It struck a heart string to see him like that. He never ever begged anyone for anything, and to hell with showing his emotions to people. The fact that he was completely sober, had the right state of mind to rethink his decisions, and still came back to you—it was too much. You, too, were having trouble with the moving on process, but nothing was going to be fixed with this set-up. If you took him back, you’d argue over the same things all over and over again.

So it ended up with you letting him sleep over, and making the pro hero promise to leave the next morning. A part of you still cared deeply for him, and didn’t want to see your Katsuki cry, staying in his embrace the entire night and having to fight back your own tears. As expected, the promise was broken, and he stayed over for another night, and another,—maybe just one more?—until coming back to you became an unspoken habit of his whenever he “needed support after all his missions”. You knew it was just because he missed you.

And you missed him, too, deeply.

“Do you mind if I...” he suddenly started, snapping you out of your thoughts as the both of you sat down on your couch.

“Go ahead. It doesn’t matter anymore,” you replied. Katsuki rested his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes and basking in the sweet smell of your perfume.

A comfortable silence wrapped you both, only the television volume giving light to the ambiance that settled.

“You should shower,” you mentioned. He didn’t necessarily smell bad, you just wanted him to move away and stop your thoughts.

“Do I smell?” he asked, a genuine tone laced in his voice.

“No.” You couldn’t hold back the hand that made it to his spiky hair, patting gently. “I’m just worried you might be tired.”

“I think I’m good here,” Katsuki insisted, leaning further into you.

His left hand started to wonder places, landing on your right. His thumb rubbed mini circles on yours, matching the pace of his calm breathing. After a few more circles, his arm moved behind the small of your back, switching your positions quickly and letting you lean on his stern chest. You adjusted yourself to sit in between his lap, faces dangerously close.

You could kiss him then and there, and you knew he wouldn’t be opposed to that.

Or would he?

You could test your hypothesis, but your brain was telling you otherwise. It was impractical to let your heart rule over you again. The way that he was coming back to you even though you were supposed to move on was dumb enough. A kiss would just cross the line.

You sighed in defeat.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you brushed off. But you knew he wasn’t going to let that slide.

“If I’m bothering you—“ he started, but you were quick to interrupt.

“No, you’re not, Katsuki.”

He lifted his head, looking straight into your eyes. “Then why do you look like that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like you can’t wait for me to fucking leave.”

Apparently, your facial expression gave it away. It’s not that you wanted him to leave, though.

“I probably should,” he retorted, getting up from his seat. “None of us is going to move the fuck on with this, right?”

Bakugou rose and made his way to the door, carefully gathering his stuff. The sight made the pain in your heart worsen—every step was a dagger to your already tainted heart. He was hesitant, too, slowly moving as he took jagged breaths.

None of you was willing to break the awkward tension in the room, until you choked out the only words you could make out from the flurry in your head.

“What if I don’t want to move on?”

He turned around. “What the fuck do you mean?”

“I don’t want to fucking move on,” you repeated, harder and angrier this time. The lump in your throat seemed to let go of its grip when the tears came out, blurring your vision completely. “I don’t want to fucking lose you anymore.”

It seemed like you cried for an hour with how unexpectedly painful it felt. Not once in your solo crying sessions did you feel something quite like this, and seeing him make his way to the door was reliving it all over and over again.

You wanted to remind yourself why you hated him—why you hated that everything he did was a reason for you to love him even more.

You hated how he always managed to disrupt your thoughts without him even being there. You hated the way he used to tease you about the way you cooked, but held you safely in his arms as he taught you how to do it better. You hated the way he would talk to you in your sleep, sweet nothings that would never come out in broad daylight. You hated how he comforted you when you needed it most, telling you he’ll be your shield when the world’s out to get you. You hated the way he looked at you on dates, like you were the only woman on earth, and nothing and nobody else mattered. You hated how the two of you used to dance to the same Arctic Monkeys song on the radio, and pointed to every sappy love song that came on and told him it was your song. You hated that he stayed up with you on the nights you had to study, and took you to new midnight diners downtown if he decided you needed a break. You hated waking up next to his stupid face staring back at you, waiting for you to wake up so he could finally be with the love of his life.

But most of all, you hated how your heart still belonged to him after all this fucking time.

Warm hands made their way to the back of your head, pulling you closer and rubbing your back.

“I don’t want to fucking move on, too.”

You looked up at him. His face mirrored the same expression as yours, tears in his eyes and lips trembling as his crimson eyes found yours.

For once in his life, he was completely sure of taking a risk for something—no, someone—he was completely, head over heels weak for.

But if you were there, none of that mattered anymore.

“I still love you, Katsuki,” you whispered, leaning closer into him and feeling the warmth of his shaking body radiate onto you. “I don’t want you to slip out of my grasp anymore. I know you might not feel the same, but please—please—let me kiss you one last time before you go.”

Katsuki pulled you up, his arms resting steady on your back. “I’m not leaving, you idiot.”

Leaning in, his lips touched yours, and slowly, the sparks, the cliche sparks you once felt with your teenage love came back. He was still the same red-faced boy who accidentally cursed you as he confessed his attraction, stray flowers from UA’s grass fields in hand. In another held a tiny teddy bear that was wrapped in an orange box with a note attached in rather messy handwriting—I like you, dumbass.

“I was hoping you’d take the hint after all this time, but I still love you, idiot.” Katsuki moved your messy hair out of your face, wiping the tears that kept coming down, not minding his own. “I’m not leaving you ever again. And I’m not letting some other extra take away what’s mine.”

“You’re such an asshole.” You laugh at your own teasing, and he does too. “We’ve got to do a thing about our problems, though.”

“About that,” he responded, a little smile forming on his face. “After shitting on myself for months on end, I realized how much of an asshole I was to you. You should never have to compromise your dreams just because of my shitty opinions. Be the hero you want to be, love. I’ll always support you if that meant your happiness.”

In shock at the Bakugou that was in front of you at that moment, you were at a loss for words. You hugged him with all your might. That was the only thing you wanted to do as you realized he finally changed, and was willing to make your relationship work the second time.

“Stop crying, dumbass! You’re going to make me cry, too,” Katsuki teased.

“Idiot, you’ve literally been crying for the past ten minutes. Let it slip for today.”

He chuckled. You rested into his embrace, feeling contentment fill up your heart.

Bakugou always went hard on training sessions. No matter who it was in front of him, they better be ready to fight if they didn’t want to be blasted into the thermosphere. To him, it was second nature—if he couldn’t give it his all, he couldn’t be the number one hero. Due to this unfaltering determination, Recovery Girl was on standby everytime Class 1-A trained. Almost all of his past opponents needed to heal from an injury or burn mark somewhere—and you, his girlfriend of a year, were no exception.

After a strong blow to your right leg left you limping, Yaomomo assisting you as you made your way to the clinic, Bakugou could only stare in disbelief and shock. He impulsively ran after you, but Ochaco and Jirou blocked his path, giving him death glares that practically screamed, “you fucked up.” The worst part is, it was no accident.

Of course, you always tried your best to understand your boyfriend’s rather violent demeanor. It was definitely worse when it came to combat, but the pain in your leg was too unbearable to let you think straight—and everyone in the class saw that. You were sent home early to the dorms with your leg under a thick layer of bandages, a care package from Yaomomo and the girls, and a small “sorry” note from Kirishima, which you had no idea was for.

So there you laid—in whatever oversized shirt you pulled from your drawer, loose shorts, and a single sock on your uninjured leg. Recovery Girl told you you were fairly lucky to walk away with just a rather big scratch and a torn ligament, which she managed to heal. It wasn’t your fault, after all. You were sure Bakugou received an earful from the old lady for doing such thing to a poor girl—moreover, his own girlfriend.

You weren’t exactly mad at Bakugou, but you definitely weren’t pleased, either. He didn’t visit you in the clinic, nor even text and ask how you were doing. Nada. Your tsundere of a boyfriend was surely rock-hard when it came to lowering his pride, but you thought he’d at least show a bit of care. You tried giving him the benefit of the doubt though, that maybe he was just in shock at what happened. He accidentally hurt you, after all—something he never wanted to do to you, and you knew that very well. Wanting to get everything off your mind, you threw the covers on and tried to drift off to sleep.

You wanted to call him and ask for an explanation. Limp to the elevator and wait for him in the lobby to hear it as soon as he came home. But it seemed too petty, and your leg was too fucking painful to walk. Moving it around in your bed had a tolerable amount of pain, so that solidified your decision of staying in. Plus, you were independent, you could survive the healing phase on your own, angry explosive boyfriend or none.

Thirty minutes passed and you found yourself dumbstruck at the wall. Sleep has long abandoned you, not even visiting you once that afternoon. You picked up your phone, looking for a game to distract yourself with and hopefully fall asleep to. You decided on Subway Surfers, playing a few rounds, when you felt your eyelids get heavy. Finally, you drifted off to rest, but you were interrupted by someone opening your door without a warning.

“Oi,” Bakugou called. Your boyfriend was wearing a grey pullover over black knee shorts, and the same Fire Princess socks you got him for Christmas. His tone was soft as he passed the door, rough voice laced with concern. “Are you alright?”

You were about to answer with a sarcastic retort when a cough lodged in your throat. “What do you think?” you asked rather silently.

You didn’t look at him. Bakugou groaned and sat on the edge of your bed.

“I...” he started. You lightly craned your head to his direction, waiting for the apology you were sure was coming. “I... think your bandages need to be replaced.”

You rolled your eyes. They were dirty from walking around your room without a slipper, not to mention the grass that stuck to it from when you almost fell flat on your face outside. “Tell me about it.”

Katsuki suddenly placed your leg on his thighs, carefully peeling off the wrap. Your eyes widened, jumping up to stop the ash blonde. “Do you have any idea how to do that?”

“Shut up, the old woman taught me how to,” he reassured. Once the last inch of cloth was removed, Bakugou stood up and went to the mini first aid kit he conveniently brought with him.

He sat back down, being extra gentle with your leg. You crossed your arms, sitting up and watching his large hands sanitize your tender joint.

“I’m still mad at you, by the way,” you grumbled.

“I know,” Bakugou retorted, pulling you closer by your waist to get a better grip. His gaze was completely set on the task at hand, not wanting to make your injury any worse. You pulled your leg away stubbornly, his hand moving quickly to take it back. This went on for multiple times, making his face contort into one of annoyance. “Hey, I know you’re fuckin’ angry, but stop being a brat. You’re leg’s gonna break off if you keep doing that.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “I wasn’t the idiot who blasted my fuckin’ leg.”

Bakugou seemed to not care at all at your insult as he massaged your leg. He was in the middle of your knee when he mumbled something under his breath, making you ask, “What did you say?”

“I said, I’m fuckin’ sorry, dumbass.” He looked up to meet your gaze for the first time in that visit. “I really went overboard with you.”

You pouted. “You know I’m okay with your anger issues, but please, if you want to see me alive by our marriage date, don’t go blasting me off places.”

Katsuki blushed at the thought of a wedding with you, but was quick to shake it off. “Yeah, whatever. I’m sorry.”

You could tell it was taking a lot of his pride to apologize as it was all genuine. “You owe me a bowl of ramen for that.”

He stopped wrapping the bandage and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I owe you more than that, dork. But next time you’re going to pretend to be mad at me, don’t wear one of my shirts while you’re at it.”

You quickly looked down at the black skull shirt loosely hung around your frame, making you internally swear. “It was just the first thing in my closet, asshole.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes playfully, a smirk adorning his sharp features as he finished the job with a stable wrap of medical tape.

“If you move too much, I’m going to tape you to the bed.”

“How dare you use your kinks on me when I’m sick?” you asked with a feigned offense. He chuckled.

“Between the two of us, I think you’re the kinkier one here,” the blonde shot back. “Remember when—“

“No, I do not!” you screamed, hurriedly tackling your boyfriend down to shut him up. His arms moved like reflex to steady your broken leg before it fell down the bed.

“Be careful, dumbass!” Bakugou laid down beside you, adjusting your position to where it would be comfortable for you. “I told you once, and I’m not going to say it again.”

“Are you threatening me with medical tape, Kacchan?” you taunted. He cringed at the nickname only his green-haired nerd of a childhood friend called him.

“Stop that,” he ordered, burying his head on the crook of your shoulder. “You look really hot wearing my stuff.”

You thanked the Heavens for not letting him see your lovestruck reaction, or else he wouldn’t have let it slide. This caught you in a lack of words, to which he happily filled.

“I’m going to have to control my style if I don’t want to lose my girlfriend,” Bakugou said, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to back down on you, either. I have my own battles to prove too, you know,” you replied with a content smile, playing with the spikes of his hair. He smelled vaguely of caramel.

“Whatever.” It was silent for a few minutes, when he started speaking again. “Can you manage to shower?”

That aspect of being injured never slipped into your mind yet, and the thought of possibly slipping in the bathroom and bumping your head was terrifying. Shit. Bakugou must have sensed your worry, though, as another smirk grew on his face.

“You need help?” your explosive boyfriend teased. “I think I can sleep here tonight, it’s a Friday after all.”

“You pervert!” you exclaimed, lightly patting his head, making him giggle. “Just say you want to fuck me and go.”

He looked at you with a deadpan look on his face, arms still tightly wrapped around your torso. “Oi, you may look ridiculously enticing with my shirt on, but your health comes first. You are not getting any action until your leg heals completely.”

You pouted again. “What a bummer.”

“Who’s the pervert now?” he inquired, switching your positions a bit so now you were below his head.

“I hate you,” you retorted, not meaning any second of it.

“You love me.”

“Shut up.”

“I love you too, dumbass. I’m sorry for nearly killing your leg.” Bakugou ran a hand through your hair, neatly massaging it as the other turned off the nightlight. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a bowl of ramen to prepare and a whiny girlfriend to feed.”

You didn’t respond as you fell asleep smug on his toned chest, having the best rest you’ve felt in years.

It was another one of Mina Ashido’s extravaganzas in the lobby of 1-A Alliance. The pink-haired extrovert felt that the energy in the dorm was extra heavy, and she, knowing her classmates weren’t usually like this, decided to throw a party with a wide variety of games. Being down at that time wasn’t avoidable though, as it was the day Aizawa gave back the test papers and they found out that almost 80% of them flunked his test. Though Mina was one of the unfortunate majority, this didn’t stop her from wanting to lift the heavy atmosphere up. After thirty minutes of persuasion, everyone was convinced, and here you were, seven rounds of alcohol-free spin the bottle in.

You were sitting beside your boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki. He was a bit adamant about the whole thing, wanting to stick to his strict 8:32PM sleep schedule, but your puppy eyes and pleading were too much to handle. You had to drag him all the way, though, his entire body feeling like 5 sacks of rice even though he was walking behind you, hand in hand. Not to mention the fact that he was grumbling the whole way, but it was nothing out of the ordinary when you got used to it after 3 years of knowing each other.

“It landed on (Y/N)!” Kirishima announced, beaming with pride (and relief) as it stopped right at the boundary of you and the redhead. You see, since alcohol was banned, Mina improvised by making everyone take a BeanBoozled jelly bean every time they were chosen by the almighty bottle. At first, it seemed like a fun idea, until Kaminari got canned dog food and had to run to the bathroom for his life.

Hesitant, you grabbed a jelly bean from the bowl in front of you, circled by 1-A. Though not everyone was in on the game, the non-participants stayed closely outside the circle, watching attentively. One of them was Izuku, who was already traumatized by sweaty gym socks after Mirio and Eri decided it was a fun game to play last month.

“Truth or dare?” Jirou asked. You tossed the bean in your mouth, tasting the refreshing pop of berry blue as it melted.

“Dare,” you bravely responded, and Iida started to look confused.

“There’s not a lot we can ask (Y/N) to do. She has a boyfriend and as her classmates, we should respect their rights,” he announced, arms waving in the air. Everyone nodded in agreement.

Sero clapped his hands, like he just solved the world’s hardest calculus question. “Well then, why don’t we ask her to do something with Bakugou?”

“Hah? It’s not my fuckin’ turn,” your boyfriend retaliated, turning to the tape man. “I’m not eating any damn beans.”

“Oh, but you won’t need to eat any, though,” Ochaco bravely chided. “Just for the dare.”

“Okay! I think I’ve decided,” announced Mina. “(Y/N), I dare you to hug Bakugou.”

Kaminari nearly spit his soda. “That’s so lame, Mina. They probably do that and more in the janitor’s closet every lunch break.”

“Yeah, it is pretty lame,” Hagakure added. “Can’t we add a bit of spice in here?” The invisible girl purred, doing a cat hand signal, not like a lot could see.

“But it does seem like a good dare,” Todoroki entered, everyone suddenly turning to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the both of them act like a proper couple.”

Bakugou stood up, ready to blast Endeavor’s son into the thermosphere. “What did you fuckin’ say, Icyhot? It’s not like you know anything about love, hah?”

You laughed and held him down like he was a feral dog ready to attack. “I mean, we’re fairly new too, so I guess that would be nice?” you replied.

Your relationship with Katsuki was going on a short but steady 3 months strong. He was the type of person to let things come naturally, not wanting to do anything just because he was your boyfriend. He would never half-ass anything, especially his relationship with you.

But that also meant that he almost never got physically affectionate. Sure, there were stolen kisses and light hugs before you left for school sometimes, but that was about it. All the times you spent together in his room were spent having talks about life, homework, laying next to each other, or sitting by the balcony, naming the constellations after your classmates. One was Half and Half Bastard, the other, Round Face, and the one way up with the moon was Shitty Hair. Though you were content with him and how everything between the two of you was going, you wouldn’t mind at least longer hugs, or cuddles, or maybe even more. You were in your third year, after all. But you didn’t want to push it, as you respected his personal boundaries and would never do anything he was uncomfortable with.

“Calm down, Katsuki. It’s just a hug,” you reassured, trying to hold back a giggle. Bakugou grumbled in response. Todoroki seemed to not care at all, though, as he continued to nibble on his soba beside Yaoyorozu. “Let’s get this over with.”

You pulled him into your arms. The first thing that struck you was he was stiff. His body was weirdly spread out in front of yours, spiky blonde hair covering the lower half of your face, and hands frozen in the air from his rage quit at Shoto. You felt his heartbeat quicken, and though you couldn’t see it due to the awfully unnatural position, Class 1-A noticed his eyes widen, pupils dilate, and a faint blush creep upon his cheek, getting redder at his ears. This went on for a few seconds until he finally relaxed into you, heaving a sigh and moving his arms to try and hug you back. You could have sworn you heard Izuku in the corner gasp in shock.

When you pulled away, he looked so flustered, it was cute. His expression was rather pouty, looking into your eyes with a spark of admiration you’ve never seen before. It was a stark contrast to his rough-edged personality, a part of him he could only show to you.

He was lovestruck.

If you had your phone, you would have taken a photo and embedded it into your mind.

Kirishima’s cheer brought you out of your trances, and the game resumed after a few whistles and whining from Mineta, who nobody let into the game, and badly wished to be hugged too. Bakugou, on the other hand, found himself having trouble focusing on the game, and instead had his mind stuck on you and that awkward ass hug. It was terrible, but something about it lit a dreaded spark in him, one he wanted to ignite as soon as he got you with him alone. He was so distracted that he didn’t realize the bottle had landed on him. Bakugou momentarily forgot about the beans’ disgusting nature until his mouth started to taste like actual grass, and just like Kaminari, he ran to the bathrooms for relief.

The game ended when Aizawa nearly kicked the doors down, lightly scolding the lot of you that it was way past your curfew, which most of you had no idea existed. Deciding on the fact that maybe your grumpy yet lovable adviser just wanted some undisturbed sleep, you all said your goodnights to each other, and you left the lobby with your hand in Bakugou’s.

Odd enough, he wasn’t speaking. He was definitely the type of person to be grumbling about something in an event like this, when the fun was just getting started. But he even looked relieved—and that was something for you to figure out when you come into his room, crashing on his bed like it was yours. He still wasn’t speaking.

“Katsuki,” you called out to him, who took off his tank top and changed into a gray shirt. The first one got wet from the faucet at the bathroom from rinsing his mouth. “Katsuki.”

“What do you want, woman?” he replied, heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth. You yawned and took a look at his slightly messy room, feeling your eyelids fall. After what seemed like a lifetime, he finally crashed next to you, facing up.

You turned to him, touching his cheek. “You seem quiet.”

“I’m not,” he argued, but even he wasn’t convinced.

You raised an eyebrow at your boyfriend playfully. “It was the hug, wasn’t it?”

Surprised but prideful that you debunked his facade, he rolled his eyes. “You wish it was.”

“Oh, really now?” you taunted, scooting closer. “It’s okay, Katsuki. I won’t judge.”

You yawned before falling asleep dangerously close to him. He could have sworn his heart was beating out of his chest, and before he knew it, he turned to face you, running his hands through your hair carefully as to not disturb you.

“I love you, dumbass,” he whispered. It was very out of the ordinary for him to profess his love like this, but something about it felt like lifting a weight off his chest. “You could do so much better than me, you know? I’m an asshole, but I’m trying my best. I know you know that.”

Slowly feeling sleep take over his body, too, he put his arms securely around you. You were his comfort, where he could put his armor down and come home to. You were Bakugou Katsuki’s peace in the storm.

What he didn’t expect was for you to hug back.

“I’m still awake, dum dum,” you whispered. “And I love you, too.”

“Shut up,” was the only thing he could manage to say.

“And if you want hugs,” you started, poking his chest playfully. “Don’t be afraid to ask for them, you big baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” he argued. He wasn’t in the mood to fight anymore that night, having found his new comfort zone.

Maybe affection wasn’t so bad, after all.

If you were to describe how he felt like, it would be satin sheets. Rose essence, scented candles, and warm nights—your head buried in his chest as you drifted off to dreams and found solace in each other’s arms.

He was loud, ambitious, explosive (both literally and figuratively), and vulgar. Almost like a firework, as Denki would describe him. Your first glance at him in the UA entrance exams immediately told you he was not someone to mess with, so for the longest time, you stayed away from him. You avoided ever getting in his way, not wanting to get called names or screamed at.

Not even when you were asked to choose a partner and the both of you were the only people left unpicked.

Not even when you were awkwardly placed next to each other in the lunch table after Mina threw a post-exam pizza party courtesy of Momo, trying not to pay attention to the subtle glances he gave you as you dully picked your food. Not that he’d want you to notice, anyway.

Not even when he was innocently asking you a question about your chemistry homework, seeing him stutter for the first time since you’ve met him, face heated up and red—isn’t he in contact with nitroglycerin on the daily? He should know that. He’s one of the top students. And not even when he sat next to you on the field trip, his excuse being I didn’t want to sit next to the invisible girl, your favorite snacks and two drinks in his bag.

It was only when he offered you his other earphone, his face sulky with a hopeful glint in his eyes, saying, “You look more shit than usual and I don’t want you puking on me,” that you realized, maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought. But of course—he was Bakugou Katsuki, and damned be those who ever see him without his signature scowl on. He was stiff as a rock the whole ride, head turned away from you, in contrast to the hand that offered you a bottle of orange juice. Occasional rambles went on for the rest of the ride, you even found yourself joining in and sharing your own tales with him, but not quite—until all of Class 1-A silenced and noticed the new bickering coming from the far back seat.

Bakugou Katsuki—or as Midoriya called him, Kacchan—was smiling. The boy everyone swore was emotionally constipated, was here, having a debate with (Y/N) about how dinosaurs might have had hair or not. His explosive “I’m right, shut up” personality still lingered, but it hid in the shell of a boy who looked like he woke up on the first morning of Christmas Day. They all decided it would be best if they ignored the way he looked at you—not shy of admiration, or maybe even love?—and the way the smile remained on his face as he drowned out the world around them. Class 1-A wasn’t ready to die as a whole.

Katsuki never put his guard down. He was always ready to defeat whoever came before him, knowing his own ability would prove why he deserves number one. Emotions didn’t matter to him so long as he stays on top. So when he found himself blankly staring at the wall, three hours after they got home from the field trip, progress stalled on his Geometry homework, he knew something was off.

She smiled at me.

No, that’s not it, he thought, taking his pencil and shoving it into the sharpener rather aggressively.

She called me funny.

He slowly turned the knob on the small machine, lead flowing over the paper, leaving gentle marks where gravity took hold of them.

She apologized for ignoring me.

She said I was cool, and wanted to hang out with me more. Maybe he can corner Shitty Hair in the kitchen tomorrow before they leave, and ask him another question about her, pretending that he didn’t do it before when he asked him what shit you usually bought in 7/11 before the dorm system came. After that, maybe they can talk, and even spar, she’s got a quirk that almost rivals him, fairly social and had a good standing in class, almost number one in his book, so if there’s anyone worthy of his love then it’s—

Wait, what?

He slammed the pencil down on the table, inevitably breaking the same lead he sharpened as he tried to drown out his thoughts.

What is this shitty feeling that makes his heartrate berserk?

Little explosions unknowingly started to form on his sweaty palms, almost in sync with the rising of heat on his face. He’s tasted many spicy foods, but nothing made him as red as the thought of your head on his shoulder, earphones blasting whatever The Neighbourhood song went on shuffle, just quietly enjoying each other’s presence.

Millions of stars would have to explode before Bakugou Katsuki would ever believe that was he was feeling was love—that disgusting four-letter word he kept hearing from Ashido as she loudly gushed about her crushes. He thought nothing of the way he always found his gaze coming back to you in that cramped lunch table. He thought it was a coincidence that he picked you for that partnership project, even though a small part in the back of his head silently wanted it to happen. And he certainly thought nothing of the way he found his feet moving on their own once he saw the seat beside you empty on that damned field trip. Nothing with the way he prepared your favorite snacks, with the help of Kirishima, for you to eat with him without even asking you to be his buddy beforehand. He knew Ochako was supposed to be your seatmate, but to hell with her, right?

“Kacchan?”

His head whipped to the side, a furious (constipated?) look on his face as he mentally scanned whoever had the audacity to enter his room uninvited at 11:54 PM on a Thursday evening. A confused and flustered Izuku Midoriya greeted him with a shy smile on his face, aware of how feral his childhood friend can turn especially when stressed, which he obviously was.

“What the fuck do you want?” Katsuki hissed as he crumpled up his scratch paper in a hostile manner.

Izuku let out a nervous chuckle, seeing death from the corner of his eyes. “So, uh, I was just passing by the corridor, not that I was spying on anyone, but I was so hungry, so I got some leftover cake, there’s still some, if you want, Kacchan, and I was about to leave when—“

“For fuck’s sake, cut to the chase already!” the ash blond shouted, nearly making Midoriya’s soul depart his earth-sunken body.

“I came across (Y/N), and she told me to give this back to you.”

In his shaking hands laid Kacchan’s black earphones, neatly tied with a note adorning where the cable organizer and the cord met. His face betrayed him when his lips tugged into a smile, one that Izuku didn’t miss.

“You seem happy, Kacchan.” The green-haired boy smiled back at him. Bakugou realized that Midoriya was still in the room, making all traces of happiness disappear completely.

“Go away, Deku.” His gaze shifted to the note as his childhood friend carefully closed the door.

He shouldn’t have been that anxious to see that note.

He shouldn’t have silently wished for it to be one of his innocent fantasies.

And he shouldn’t have felt his heart race when he saw that it was.

I can’t sleep. Can you?

Not that I’m wishing you to not be. But in the miraculous event that you’re as much of an insomniac as I am, my room is well open for a guest at this late time of night.

His feet acted before him, instanty walking out of his room, fresh out of a shower, wanting to look his best for he didn’t know what. As long as it had you in the equation, he immediately knew the answer.

And Bakugou knew that was not like him at all.

You—in all your glory—with that stupid face, and that stupid smile, that stupid laugh I can’t get out of my head even if I tried. What have you done to me?

And that’s how he found himself tangled in your embrace at 3AM, answering each other’s questions about life, dumb stuff, or anything in general. You started to know more about this explosive boy in your arms, and as quick as they were, you acknowledged that hell, you were falling for him—avoiding him for the longest because you didn’t want to confirm your suspicion and coming into terms with the shitty excuse of “I don’t want to get in his way” you made and letting it go.

Bakugou Katsuki now had to get used to the weird explosive feeling of love in his chest.