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Why is the class princess always a mess around Bakugo ⋆˚꩜｡
MINORS DNI 18+ .ᐟ.ᐟ
Artwork: scenes from the manga, I just edited a pink filter on top and the middle photo is from Minmotion Syndrome special cover !!
If U.A. ever handed out unofficial titles, yours would’ve been embroidered on a satin banner by now: Class 1-A’s princess.
Not literally, though with the way Mina decorated your side of the dorm hallway in pink fairy lights, it wasn’t hard to imagine, but socially? Totally. Completely. Irrefutably.
Sparkles followed you like loyal sidekicks. Your quirk, Glimmer Bloom, produced tiny bursts of colourful light that sparkled around you when you got excited, which was often.
You didn’t have the brute force of Kirishima, or Todoroki’s icy cool control, or Midoriya’s endless strategy spirals, but you had style, charm, and a hero costume so cute Aoyama nearly cried when he saw it.
You always knew everyone’s birthdays, kept backup lip gloss in your desk for emergencies, and brought pastel cupcakes to study sessions “because morale is important.”
Even Aizawa, tired, eye-bagged, living embodiment of a sigh, softened a millimetre when you cheerfully handed him herbal tea on late training nights. You were sunshine. Glitter. Kisses in human form.
And then there was Bakugo Katsuki.
The reason your sunshine occasionally short-circuited.
He wasn’t new, you’d been in Class 1-A together from the start, but your crush on him? Oh, that was very new. Very unwelcome. And very obvious to literally everyone except him.
Because Bakugo Katsuki existed in his own orbit. Explosive. Sharpened. Always ten seconds from blowing something up, and somehow that only made your heart do embarrassing, fluttery gymnastics.
He walked into homeroom, muscles tense, jaw set, eyes sharp and burning, and your brain just went poof.
Like your quirk misfired from inside your skull.
The first time it really hit you was during sparring drills last month. He’d pinned you, not on purpose, your brain insisted, though who could say with Bakugo, one arm braced beside your head, breath hot against your cheek, growling, “If you hesitate like that in the field you’re dead, princess.”
Princess.
He said it like it was an insult.
You heard it like a prophecy.
And obviously, you squeaked. Out loud. An actual squeak. In front of the entire class. Mina had to physically drag you off the ground after.
Ever since then, well. Things had not improved.
When Bakugo walked by your desk? Pens dropped. Papers fluttered. Your quirk fizzled little heart-shaped sparks that you had to smack away with both hands before anyone saw. When he spoke to you? Your sentences got tangled like ribbon. When he looked at you even a little too long?
Glitter. Everywhere.
“Girl, you’re hopeless,” Kaminari whispered one morning as Bakugo passed your row, shoulders broad beneath his hero course jacket, scowl somehow angelic on him.
“I’m fine,” you lied, smoothing your skirt, heart hammering so loud you swore Sero could hear it from across the room.
“You’re sparkling,” Jirou added dryly without looking up from her notebook.
You slapped your hands against your cheeks to stop the glow. “It's a quirk glitch, okay!”
Bakugo didn’t even turn around, just tossed a low, bored, “Tch. Cut the noise,” over his shoulder, which only made your stomach flip harder.
Bakugo usually sat in the back row, prime territory for brooding, scowling, and muttering insults under his breath, but today, for some cosmic reason you were certain the universe did on purpose, he took the seat directly behind you.
Directly. Behind. You.
You could feel the heat of his presence before he even sat down. Like your body had become some kind of Bakugo proximity sensor. Mina shot you a look from across the aisle like, oh this is gonna be good, and you tried very, very hard to act normal while your heart did full Olympic gymnastics.
Aizawa droned something about rescue strategies and topographical reasoning, and you scribbled perfect colour-coded notes like the good little class princess you were, pink pen, sparkly highlighter, tiny little hearts dotting your i’s.
Anything to ignore the boy-sized furnace breathing a foot behind you. You were so focused you didn’t register the sound at first.
Tap.
You froze.
Tap. Tap.
Your heart jumped sideways. That was a shoulder tap. A Bakugo tap. Bakugo Katsuki was tapping you on the shoulder. You turned around slowly, like if you moved too fast you’d explode.
Bakugo was leaning forward in his seat, arms folded on his desk, expression flat but eyes sharp , like he was annoyed and bored and confused all at once.
“Oi.” His voice was low, rough, rumbling right under your skin. “Lemme see your notes. He’s going too damn fast.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
Instead of simply handing him the notebook like a normal functioning human being, you panicked. And tossed the entire spiral-bound thing backward over your shoulder.
Like a bouquet at a wedding.
Like a sacrifice to the Bakugo god.
It smacked his chest. You slapped both hands over your glossy lips, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Ohmygod I'm sorry—” Aizawa didn’t even look up. He’d grown immune to your brand of chaos.
Bakugo caught the notebook in one hand like it weighed nothing, blinking once, twice, slow and perplexed.
“…The hell was that?” he muttered.
But not angry. Not even close.
When you whipped back around in your seat, spine straight as a ruler, staring at the front like your life depended on it, Bakugo just watched you. Not glaring. Not smirking.
Just… watching. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head, hot and questioning, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Why you always sparkled when he got near. Why you squeaked when he spoke. Why the loudest, chattiest, glitteriest girl in all of U.A. became a speechless mess around him and only him.
And he leaned back in his seat with a deep, irritated sigh that didn’t quite hide the confusion underneath.
“Did I do something?” he whispered under his breath.
Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why Class 1-A’s princess, the girl who practically twirled through the dorm halls, beloved by everyone, effortless sunshine, endless chatter, shut down completely the second Katsuki Bakugo gave her a single shred of attention.
He flipped open your notebook anyway.
The second Aizawa dismissed class, you bolted. Not gracefully. Not regally. Not like a princess.
More like a startled glittery rabbit in platform heels.
You scooped your notebooks and pens into your bag and you squeaked like a chew toy, which made your quirk flicker tiny pink sparks all down the hallway as you fled.
“Oi—” Bakugo tried, voice low behind you, but nope. No thank you. Absolutely not. You were running for your life. You didn’t stop until you were inside your dorm, door shut, back pressed against it, cheeks practically glowing from embarrassment and leftover Bakugo proximity.
Your room, your sanctuary, greeted you in full princess glory.
Pink fairy lights. Scented candles. Fluffy rugs. Heart-shaped pillows. And your huge white bed draped in a cloud of soft blankets that looked like they were crafted from baby unicorn fur.
You threw yourself face-first into the mattress with a dramatic whine.
“Why am I like this,” you groaned into a pillow shaped like a strawberry. You made the world’s most high-pitched noise and buried yourself under your comforter like a glittery mole.
Eventually, you changed into your comfort clothes, a tiny pair of bubblegum-pink satin shorts and a matching cami, silky and soft and very you. And reapplied your lip gloss, because even in panic you had standards, you flopped back onto your pile of pillows and scrolled on your phone to distract yourself.
You were mid-scroll through a video of baby bunnies wearing flower crowns when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
You froze.
No one knocked like that.
Firm. Impatient. Like the person on the other side of the door didn’t knock so much as declare open up. Your stomach dropped. Your sparkles fizzled.
Oh no.
Oh no no no!
You cracked the door open the smallest, tiniest, most microscopic amount and, it was him.
Bakugo Katsuki.
In the dorm hallway. Outside your room. Holding your pink notebook like it offended him.
He looked annoyed. But also weirdly tense? Like he’d been pacing before knocking. His gaze flicked down your body, from your bare shoulders, to your tiny pink satin shorts, and he jerked his eyes away immediately, jaw clenching so hard you could hear it.
“…Why’re you dressed like that,” he muttered.
You squeaked. Again. “It’s bedtime!”
“It’s four in the damn afternoon.”
“Nap time!”
A beat.
He breathed out through his nose like someone fighting God Himself. “Whatever.” He shoved the notebook toward you. “You left too fast. I wasn’t done with your notes.”
Your face went nuclear-level hot. “I’m sorry! I just, you were— I was— brain malfunction— you know—”
He stared.
You wanted to evaporate.
“Do I make you nervous or something?” he asked finally, voice low, rough, strangely gentle under all the gravel.
Your quirk betrayed you instantly. A tiny pink spark popped into existence right beside your cheek. You slapped it away with a mortified gasp.
Bakugo’s eyes widened the slightest bit. Not mocking. Just startled.
And then, God help you, something like a faint, smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he’d finally solved the puzzle he’d been chewing on all day. He leaned an elbow braced against your doorframe, stepping just a little closer.
“So that’s it,” he murmured. “That why you bolted? Can’t think straight around me, princess?”
Your breath hitched. Your sparkles flickered like a fireworks factory. Bakugo watched every single one. And he didn’t look confused anymore. He looked dangerous.
In a way that made your heart feel like spun sugar.
Before you could even squeak a protest, Bakugo nudged the door just enough with his shoulder, then stepped inside. One foot. Then the other. And suddenly, he was there, in your room, the scent of him, warm, sharp, faintly explosive, wrapping around you like a slow, impossible fire.
His eyes flickered over your fairy-lit lair, taking in the strawberry-shaped pillows, the pastel chaos, the sheer, unapologetic feminity of it all. His smirk deepened. "Figures," he muttered, but it didn't sound like mockery, more like he was filing this away in some private Bakugo catalogue titled You, Explained.
You backed up until your knees hit the bedframe, gripping the edge to stop your hands from shaking. "You—you can't just walk in here!"
Bakugo shrugged, tossing your notebook onto your vanity where it landed with a soft thud. "Too late." His gaze roamed over you again, lingering on the way your cami strap had slipped down your shoulder, the nervous flutter of your pulse at your throat.
When his fingers twitched at his sides, just once, you swore the air between you crackled.
Silence stretched, thick and sweet and unbearable. Then he stepped closer, boots scuffing against your fluffy rug, nostrils flaring slightly like he was breathing you in. "You know," he said, voice dropping to a rumble that curled your toes, "your sparkles get brighter when I piss you off."
They did.
Right now, they were practically strobing.
"You're imagining things," you lied, but your voice wobbled.
Bakugo scoffed. "Bullshit." He reached out, slow, deliberate, and caught one of your runaway sparkles between his thumb and forefinger.
It fizzled against his calloused skin, leaving behind a faint pink smudge. His grin turned wolfish. "Gotcha."
Your breath stuttered. He was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in his crimson eyes, feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Some primal part of your brain screamed Danger!, but the rest of you? The rest of you was leaning in.
Bakugo noticed. Of course he did. His smirk softened, just a fraction, as his gaze dropped to your mouth. "What, no comeback? No glittery speech?" He tilted his head, and oh god, was he, was he enjoying this?
You swallowed hard. "Shut up."
He barked a laugh, rough and surprised. "There she is." One hand came up, hovering near your cheek like he couldn't decide whether to touch you or throttle you. His fingers flexed. "You're fucking ridiculous, you know that?"
The words should've stung.
Instead, they settled warm in your chest. Because Bakugo wasn't walking away. He wasn't even scowling. He was standing in your glitter bomb of a bedroom, looking at you like you were the most fascinating problem he'd ever encountered, and Katsuki Bakugo loved solving problems.
Your quirk betrayed you again, showering the space between you in gold and pink. Bakugo's nose twitched at the sudden brightness, but he didn't back off.
If anything, he leaned in closer, eyes tracking the way the sparks reflected in your wide pupils. "Annoying," he muttered. Then, quieter, "Kinda pretty, though."
The confession hit like one of his explosions, sudden, violent, leaving you breathless. Your knees buckled. Bakugo's hand shot out instinctively, catching your elbow before you could collapse onto your pink comforter.
The contact sent a jolt through you, his fingers branding your skin through the thin satin. You could feel every callous, every ridge from years of detonating his quirk.
"Oi," he growled, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. "Nodding ain't answering. Use your words." He leaned in, close enough that his breath mingled with yours, smelling faintly of caramel and gunpowder.
Somewhere between a threat and a plea, he bit out, "Do you like me or not?"
Your sparkles went supernova.
Pink. Gold. Silver.
They erupted around you in a cascading halo, illuminating the sharp planes of his face in flickering pastel. You opened your mouth, nothing came out but a tiny, mortified whimper.
Bakugo's smirk curled slow like smoke. "That's what I thought." His thumb brushed your inner wrist, just once, rough enough to make you shiver. "Fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered, but his grip gentled.
Before you could process, he spun you both, your back hit the mattress, his knees bracketing your hips, palms planted on either side of your head. The fairy lights caught the molten gold in his irises as they dragged down your body.
"You're really wearing this shit just to sleep?" His voice scraped raw over the satin clinging to your thighs.
You arched up instinctively, bad idea. His knee slid between yours, heat searing through the thin fabric. His breath hitched when your sparkles rained onto his shoulders.
"Still not talking?" Bakugo's fingers traced the strap slipping down your arm. "Fine." His palm smacked the mattress beside your head. "Up. Now."
You scrambled upright, pulse hammering where his touch lingered. Bakugo sank onto the edge of your bed like he owned it, legs spread, arms crossed. That look, half challenge, half hunger, sent your quirk into overdrive.
Pink motes swirled between you like fireflies trapped in syrup.
One eyebrow arched. "Straddle me."
Your mouth dried. "W-what?"
"You heard me." His boot hooked around your ankle, dragging you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his thighs. "Unless you wanna keep being a coward."
The first brush of denim against your inner thighs nearly short-circuited your brain. Bakugo's hands clamped on your hips before you could bolt, fingers digging in just shy of painful. His smirk turned feral when your sparkles burst against his collarbones.
"Look at you," he rumbled, "all glitter and no guts." His thumbs stroked the dips of your hips through the satin. "Gonna run again?"
You shook your head frantically, curls bouncing, then froze when his gaze dropped lower.
Bakugo smirked. "Bet you're pink everywhere, huh?" The words scraped out like gravel and honey. His grip tightened. "Bet your fucking cum sparkles too—"
Your hands flew up to slap over his mouth, face burning hotter than his nitroglycerin sweat. "Shut up!"
Glitter erupted from your skin in panicked bursts, peach, blush, rose, illuminating the way his irises dilated behind your fingers.
He laughed against your palms, the vibration traveling up your arms like livewire electricity. His tongue darted out, wet, scorching, licking a stripe across your fingertips before you could yank away. "Tastes like sugar," he rasped, watching your breath hitch with predatory satisfaction. "Knew it."
You scrambled , thighs clamping around his waist in the process, horrifyingly intimate. Bakugo's nostrils flared. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in the fine hairs at your nape.
"Deny it," he challenged, breath hot against your ear. "Say your slick isn't glowing right now."
Traitorous warmth pooled low in your belly. Your quirk betrayed you again, shimmering pulses radiating from beneath the satin shorts pressed against his abs. Bakugo's grin turned downright carnivorous.
One calloused thumb hooked under the waistband. "Prove me wrong," he dared, dragging the fabric down an inch, just enough to reveal the first hint of pearlescent wetness catching the fairy lights. His exhale punched out ragged. "Fuck. It is pink."
You whined, thighs shaking, sparkles refracting in the sweat beading along his throat. Bakugo groaned, a rough, punched-out sound, and hauled you flush against him. His teeth grazed your pulse point. "Gonna ruin me, princess."
The first tear of fabric echoed obscenely loud as his claws shredded through your camisole.
Pastel ribbons fluttered to the bedspread like cherry blossom petals, too soft, too feminine for the way his hips canted up against yours.
Your back arched when his mouth closed over one peaked nipple, tongue swirling the glitter beading there. Bakugo grunted, the sound reverent and filthy, when luminescent streaks smeared across his cheekbones.
"Told you," he panted against your sternum, fingers working your shorts past trembling hips. "Fucking sparkly everywhere."
The last coherent thought you had, before his teeth sank into you again, was that Mina owed you new pyjamas.
Bakugo flipped you onto your back with a single rough shove, your thighs spreading instinctively beneath his hips as he loomed over you, pupils blown wide.
His smirk sharpened when your sparkles erupted again, golden, frantic, illuminating the predatory hunger in his expression. "Pathetic," he growled, but his fingers trembled where they gripped your waist.
"Coulda had Deku fawning over you like some damn prince." His knee pressed higher between your legs, dragging a whimper from your throat. "Instead you're here—" his palm slid up your ribs, "wrapped around my fingers—" his thumb brushed your nipple, "glowing like a fucking firework."
You arched into his touch, tremors wracking your spine when his free hand yanked your ruined cami straps down your arms.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, too loud, too obscene, but Bakugo didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, lips grazing your ear as his knee pressed harder. "Say it," he demanded, voice guttural. "Say you picked me."
Your hips jerked involuntarily when his teeth scraped your collarbone. "I—" A spark burst against his eyelid, making him blink. "I picked you!"
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose, half triumphant snarl, half shuddering groan, before surging forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory and nitroglycerin.
His tongue mapped every inch of you with single-minded focus, as if cataloging the way your breath hitched when he bit your lower lip just shy of painful.
When he pulled back, your sparkles had formed a perfect halo around his disheveled spikes. His chest heaved as he dragged a thumb through the glitter smeared across your cheekbone, then licked it clean with a low hum.
"Mine," he declared, fingers tightening possessively on your hips. "Every fucking shimmer."
Somewhere beyond your glitter-clouded haze, you registered the dorm hallway outside, the distant laughter of your classmates, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
The complete antithesis of the boy currently pinning you to silken sheets with his weight and the molten promise in his gaze.
Bakugo noticed your distraction immediately. His palm cracked against the headboard beside your ear, making you jump. "Eyes here, princess."
When you obeyed, trembling, he smirked, all sharp canines and wicked intent. "Good girl." His free hand slid between your thighs, callouses catching on sensitive skin. "Now let's see how loud you sparkle."
The first press of his fingers drew a whine from your throat, high and broken. Your quirk responded instantly, pearl-pink luminescence spilling over his knuckles, dripping onto the rumpled satin sheets beneath you.
Bakugo's breath stuttered. "Holy shit," he rasped, watching the glow spread between your legs with something akin to reverence. His thumb circled once, twice, drawing out another pulse of light that clung to his skin like liquid glitter. "Fuckin' perfect."
You arched off the bed when he crooked his fingers, nails scraping down his biceps as your sparkles rained across his chest. Bakugo growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies pressed together, and increased the pace, his rhythm merciless.
"That's it," he goaded, lips brushing your temple. "C'mon, light up for me."
The pressure built dizzyingly fast, your thighs clamping around his wrist as the room flickered gold and rose. Bakugo's breath hitched when your back bowed off the mattress, his name tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.
Right before you shattered, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing your moans as your quirk detonated, a supernova of color refracting through the fairy lights, painting his skin in shimmering streaks.
Panting, you went boneless against the sheets. Bakugo pulled back just enough to examine his glitter-coated forearm with a satisfied smirk.
"Told you," he muttered, licking a stripe up his palm where your glow lingered. His eyes darkened at the taste. "Fuckin' addicting."
Then, before you could recover, he flipped you onto your stomach with a single rough shove. "Round two," he announced, kneading the back of your thighs. "And this time—" his teeth grazed your shoulder blade, "I'm gonna make you sparkle loud enough to wake up the whole damn dorm."
Your whimper dissolved into the pillows as his hands spanned your waist, the promise in his touch searing brighter than any quirk.
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose when your sparkles flickered against the dark fabric of his belt, already half-undone, the leather slack against his hips.
His fingers trembled, just once, before he yanked it free with a sharp metallic rasp that made your thighs clench. You turned your face into the strawberry pillow just as his palm smoothed down the curve of your ass, possessive and rough.
"Look at me," he growled, thumb hooking in the ruined satin clinging to your hips. When you hesitated, his teeth grazed the nape of your neck. "Now."
The first stroke of his cock against your thigh sent a jolt through you.
Hot, heavy, glistening with the same iridescent slick your quirk left on his fingers. He hissed through clenched teeth, muscles taut as he pumped himself twice, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of your room.
Your name tore from his throat when your sparkles burst against his knuckles, pearlescent streaks painting his forearm. "Fuck," he rasped, thumb smearing the glow across your hipbone. "Gonna ruin you."
The initial stretch burned, blissful, aching, as he pressed in with a groan that rattled your ribs. Your moan fractured against the pillow when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, every ridge and vein slotting into place like you were made for it.
Bakugo's breath came ragged against your shoulder blades, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he adjusted to the vice-like heat.
"Move," you gasped, arching back against him. His answering snarl sent sparks skittering across the sheets.
He set a punishing pace immediately, each thrust punching little glittering whines from your throat. The headboard rattled against the wall in time with the wet slap of skin, Bakugo's palm splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned.
His other hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to see the way your sparkles clung to his sweat-slicked collarbones. His teeth found the shell of your ear as the first real pulse of your orgasm lit up the room, gold, pink, incandescent, his groan reverberating through you like a detonation. "Fuck, there it is—"
Your muffled scream dissolved into the strawberry pillow as he fucked you through it, his rhythm turning erratic, brutal. Bakugo's hips snapped forward once, twice, before his grip on your hair yanked your head back entirely.
His lips crashed against yours just as he spilled deep inside you, hot, pulsing, his broken moan swallowed by your mouth. Your quirk responded in kind, pearlescent streaks erupting between your joined bodies, painting his abs in liquid starlight where they pressed flush against your ass.
He didn't pull out.
Just collapsed atop you with his full weight, his rapid-fire heartbeat thudding between your shoulder blades. His fingers traced idle patterns through the glow smeared across your thighs, sticky-sweet and still faintly luminescent.
When you shifted, his arm banded tighter around your waist. "Stay," he grunted against your nape, an order softened by the way his lips lingered on your sweat-damp skin.
Outside, someone's laughter echoed down the hallway, oblivious to the way Bakugo's teeth grazed your pulse point, marking, claiming, as his hips gave one last lazy roll.
Your fingers tangled with his where they rested on your stomach, sparking tiny pink flares at the contact. Bakugo huffed, annoyed, fond, before biting your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp.
"Quit it," he muttered, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles anyway. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across the walls as your breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warming the spot between your wings where his palm rested.
Heavy. Present.
"You're staring," you mumbled into the pillow, skin prickling beneath his gaze. Bakugo scoffed but didn't deny it, calloused fingers trailing down your spine in a slow, proprietary sweep that left glitter in their wake.
His lips followed, hot, insistent, branding each vertebra as he moved lower, pausing to nip at the dimples above your ass with a sound suspiciously close to a growl.
You squirmed, thighs pressing together reflexively, but he wedged his knee between them with effortless dominance. "Bakugo—"
"Katsuki," he corrected against the small of your back, the vibration skating down to where your bodies were still joined. His tongue swiped over a particularly bright sparkle clinging to your hip.
"Say it." When you hesitated, his teeth dug in, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Now."
"K-Katsuki," you stammered, flushing when he hummed approval against your skin. His lips curved into a smirk you could feel as he kissed lower, the swell of your ass, the crease of your thigh, each touch deliberate, lingering.
He exhaled sharply through his nose when your quirk reacted instinctively, dusting his cheekbones in gold. "You're—mmph—gonna be insufferable in class tomorrow, aren't you?"
Bakugo paused mid-bite, lifting his head just enough to pin you with a look that simmered with wicked promise. "Gonna sit way the fuck closer behind you now," he admitted, voice rough with satisfaction.
His fingers kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs, leaving faint pink smudges where your glow clung to his fingerprints. "Watch you squirm every time I breathe on your neck."
You whined, pressing your burning face into the mattress. "No—that's too embarrassing!"
His laugh was dark, thrilled, vibrating through your ribcage as he licked a stripe up your spine. "Don't care." His palm smacked your ass, once, sharp, drawing out another burst of sparkles. "Shoulda thought of that before you let me in your bed, princess."
The nickname shouldn't have sent heat pooling low in your belly again. Bakugo seemed to sense it anyway, his groan was half exasperation, half arousal as he rolled his hips lazily, still buried inside you.
Your choked moan disappeared into the pillows when his teeth found your earlobe. "Round three," he decided, voice dripping with sinful intent. "And this time," his hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing lightly against your clit, "I'm making damn sure every extra in this school knows who you sparkle for."
Your protest dissolved into a broken gasp as his touch reignited the embers of your pleasure, Bakugo's name tumbling from your lips in a litany that only spurred him on.
Outside, the dorm settled into evening quiet, completely unaware of the way the blond menace behind you was rewriting every rule of engagement between you with each possessive thrust, each glimmering kiss.
synopsis. after two weeks of radio silence, katsuki finally confesses
contents. suggestive! angst with a happy ending. pro hero! katsuki bakugou x pro hero! fem! reader. canon compliant. mutual pining. friends to lovers. post-argument. bakugou is bad at feelings. first kisses and confessions. light on smut࿐
katsuki bakugou is angry. he’s holding two plaques made of polished metal and engraved with flowery script, playing nice with the heroes that dare to approach him, and all he wants to do is blow up the entire damn gala.
he wants to shred it all with his bare hands. the shimmering gowns, the flashing cameras, the ceaseless, vapid small talk. he wants to tear it all down and watch it burn. in part, because he hates attending these pointless glaze fests.
but the real reason, the epicenter of his explosive fury, is standing across the room, looking beautiful as always. you.
you haven’t spoken to him in two weeks. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours of suffocating silence. and here you are, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, looking like you don’t have a care in the world. you’re holding a glass of deep red wine, the dark liquid swirling in the bowl of the glass as you listen, rapt, to every word that falls from shoto todoroki’s lips.
todoroki. icy-hot. of all fucking people.
anger is constantly simmering just beneath katsuki’s skin, a thrum he usually channels into his hero work. rage he so often uses to fuel his quirk. but tonight, his anger is personal. it’s a hot, sick feeling in his gut that coils tighter every time he hears your laugh — a sound he used to be able to coax out of you so easily — now echoing across the room because of someone else.
that half-and-half bastard. shoto fucking todoroki.
the plaques in his hand feel heavier than they should. ‘for exceptional valor and strategic brilliance in the neutralization of villains” and “for outstanding contributions to civilian safety” bullshit.
all he did was what he always does: find the bad guys and blow them the hell up. but the cameras keep flashing, and a portly man in a too-tight tux is slapping his back and telling him he’s a credit to the nation. katsuki bares his teeth in what he hopes passes for a smile.
his agent, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard, had drilled it into him: “smile, dynamight. look approachable. you’re a brand.”
a brand. right now, he feels like a malfunctioning appliance about to short-circuit and take out a whole power grid. his eyes keep drifting away from the sponsor, scanning the opulent ballroom. it’s a sea of shimmering gowns and dark suits, of sparkling champagne flutes and forced smiles. but he only sees one thing. you.
you’re standing near one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights a glittering backdrop behind you. you’re not dressed in anything flashy, not like some of the other heroes here trying to outshine each other. your dress is a deep, muted blue, simple in its elegance, but it clings to you in all the right places.
your hair is swept up, exposing the long, graceful line of your neck that he has spent far too many nights thinking about. you look . . . ethereal. and completely, infuriatingly, absorbed in the man standing next to you.
the number two hero, is leaning in slightly, his voice a low murmur that katsuki can’t hear but can imagine. all calm and collected and fucking loquacious. and you’re nodding, your head tilted, a genuine smile playing on your lips as you swirl the red wine in your glass. you take a sip, and your eyes, bright and beautiful, never leave his face.
it’s the two weeks of silence that makes this unbearable. two weeks since the argument. two weeks since you walked out of his penthouse, the sound of the door clicking shut echoing in the sudden quiet.
he’d been an idiot. a complete, selfish bastard. he remembers it with crystal clarity. he’d gotten his ribs busted on a mission, nothing too serious, but enough to warrant a few days of mandatory rest. and you, being you, had descended upon his apartment like a force of nature.
“no, katsuki, you are not getting up. you’re going to lie on that couch and you’re going to let me take care of you.”
“i don’t need a fucking babysitter,” he’d snarled, trying to push himself up, wincing as the pain shot through his side.
“i’m not babysitting you, i’m making sure you don’t pop your stitches and bleed out on your ridiculously expensive couch because you’re too stubborn to admit you’re hurt,” you’d shot back, pressing a firm hand to his chest. “now lie down.”
he’d hated it. hated the feeling of being weak, of being managed. it reminded him too much of his mother, of all the times she’d fussed over him when he was a kid. and in a moment of frustration, laced with a fear he refused to acknowledge, he’d lashed out.
“quit nagging me, you’re not my mom or my damn girlfriend, so just back the fuck off!”
the words had hung in the air, ugly and so fucking sharp. he’d seen the change in your face instantly. the soft concern in your eyes had hardened. you’d straightened up, and your expression became unreadable.
“you’re right,” you’d said, your voice quiet and its cadence devoid of all its usual warmth. “i’m not.”
and just like that, you were gone. you didn’t yell back. you just . . . left. and the silence you left behind was louder than any explosion he could possibly ever create.
he’d told himself he was right. that you were overstepping. but the satisfaction he thought he’d feel never came. instead, there was just a hollow ache in his chest and the phantom scent of your vanilla perfume on his couch cushions.
he hadn’t texted. his pride was sacrosanct, and he couldn’t bring himself to be the first one to break the stalemate. he’d waited for you, checking his phone every five seconds like a pathetic loser. but your name never lit up his screen.
the days after the argument bled into a week, then two. the only communication he had from you was a group text about the gala, one sent to the whole old class 1-a crew. and tonight, seeing you here, looking so beautiful and so far away, it fucking hurt.
“bakugou? earth to bakugou?”
katsuki blinks, dragging his gaze away from you. kirishima is standing in front of him, his trademark sharp-toothed grin looking a little forced. sero is beside him, nursing a drink and looking around the room with a bored expression.
“the fuck do you want, shitty hair?” katsuki grunts, his voice rougher than he intended.
“whoa, easy there, man. just checking on you. you look like you’re about to set the whole place on fire,” kirishima says, holding up his hands placatingly. “which, you know, is kind of your deal, but maybe not tonight.”
sero follows his line of sight, his eyes landing on you and todoroki. he lets out a low whistle. “ahh. i see. that’s the problem.”
“shut the hell up,” katsuki warns, his knuckles white around his plaques. he can feel the heat prickling at his palms, a sizzle that he has to consciously suppress.
“look, man, i don’t know what happened,” kirishima says, lowering his voice. “but you’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. and you haven’t stopped staring at her and todoroki since they started talking. it’s been like, thirty minutes. maybe you should just . . .go talk to her?”
“and say what? ‘hey gorgeous, sorry i’m a colossal asshole but i get territorial when you talk to other guys’?” sero chimes in, earning himself a glare from katsuki. “what? it’s the truth.”
“it’s not like that,” katsuki lies through his teeth. it’s exactly like that. he’s a fucking caveman. he sees you with someone else and all he wants to do is drag you away, mark his territory, prove to everyone — but mostly to himself — that you’re his. except you’re not. and that’s the whole damn problem.
“then what’s it like?” kirishima pushes, his tone gentle. he’s the only one ( excluding you ) who can get away with this, the only one who knows how to navigate katsuki’s landmines. “you guys are weird. you’re not together, but you’re always together. you stay at her place more than your own. you have her patrol route memorized. you text her more than you text us. but then you pull shit like this. it’s confusing for everyone, man. especially her.”
katsuki’s jaw ticks. he knows kirishima is right. he knows he’s been sending you mixed signals for years.
( it started wayyy back in kindergarten, when you were the only girl who didn’t annoy the shit out of him. the only one who stood up for deku when katsuki was picking on him he was being a pathetic crybaby, earning you grudging respect from katsuki even as he cussed you out for having a bleeding savior complex.
his mom had loved you, always saying how nice it would be to have a daughter like you, which had simultaneously embarrassed him and made him weirdly proud. you’d stayed close through all the chaos of ua, through internships and wars and the steady climb to becoming pro heroes. )
he’s always had a soft spot for you, a fact he’d rather die than admit out loud.
he likes taking care of you — he likes you taking care of him, even if he frames it as nagging. he likes knowing you’re safe, that you’ve eaten, that you’re drinking water instead of those disgusting energy drinks you love so damn much. he likes the way you leave your socks on his floor and the way you steal his hoodies. he likes all of it. and it terrifies him. it’s too much vulnerability and he doesn’t know how to handle it, so he defaults to what he knows: pushing you away before you can get close enough to see that he’s not worthy of you.
“i’m not talking to her,” katsuki says, rigidly “not tonight.”
“fine,” kirishima sighs, defeated. “but don’t come ranting to me when todoroki makes his move.”
katsuki doesn’t dignify that with a response. he just turns his back on his friends, his eyes finding you again in the crowd. you’ve just accepted your own award, a sleek thing for your humanitarian work, something about setting up a support network for young heroes with trauma. you’d given a short speech, and the applause had been incessant.
now, you’re back with todoroki, and he’s handing you another glass of wine. you touch his arm as you laugh at something he says, and katsuki feels a tiny spark in his palm. he shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching his fists until the urge to blast something subsides.
he seethes as the night begins to wind down. deku and pink cheeks leave together, their heads close together, smiling. raccoon eyes is dragging sparky towards the bar again. he sees you talking to ponytail, pointing towards the exit. he knows you. you’re about to call a cab.
fuck that.
he’s been an idiot. he’s been a coward. he’s let you slip through his fingers because he’s too proud and too scared to admit what he wants. but he’ll be damned if he lets you leave here in some stranger's car when he’s right here. he’s not letting you go that easily.
without so much as thinking, he starts moving. he cuts a direct path through the dwindling crowd, his shoulders set, his expression a thundercloud. he doesn’t care who he has to shove out of his way to get to you.
you’re still talking to momo, your back to him, when he reaches you.
“let’s go.”
his voice cuts through your conversation roughly. you freeze, then turn slowly. your eyes, when they meet his, are wide with surprise, then they narrow with irritation.
“huh?” you ask, your voice laced with disbelief.
he stares at you, jaw set. “i said. let’s go.”
momo is looking between the two of you, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised in intrigue. you cross your arms over your chest, defiantly
“and why, exactly, would i go anywhere with you?”
“are you gonna make me beg you or some shit”he shoots back, his patience wearing thin. he sees your mouth open to retort, but he doesn’t give you the chance. he reaches out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. he doesn’t wait for your permission, just turns and starts pulling you along with him.
“bakugou, what the hell are you doing? let go of me!” you’re squawking, stumbling a bit in your heels as you try to keep up with his long, angry strides.
“shut up and walk,” he growls, not even looking back at you. as he drags you away from the gala and out into the night.
the bickering starts the moment you hit the pavement. a verbal sparring match that’s as second-nature as breathing.
“you’re an asshole, you know that?”
“yeah? well you’re a stubborn pain in my ass.”
“i wouldn’t have to be stubborn if you weren’t such a neanderthal who thinks he can just manhandle people whenever he wants.”
“i wouldn’t have to manhandle you if you’d just listen when i fucking talk to you.”
“you haven’t ‘talked’ to me in two weeks, bakugou!”
“you haven’t talked to me either”
the argument dies on your lips as he leads you to the valet stand. he gives the attendant his ticket with a sharp nod, his hand still firmly on your wrist. the sleek black porsche pulls up a moment later, its engine a low, predatory purr. he opens the passenger door for you, a gesture so out of character it momentarily stuns you into silence.
“get in,” he orders, his voice clipped.
you glare at him, but you do it. you slide into the plush leather seat, grumbling under your breath about bossy, arrogant pro-heroes who think they own the world. he slams the door shut, rounding the hood to get in the driver’s side. the moment he’s behind the wheel, the atmosphere in the car shifts. the music blasts on, some thrash metal band screaming about death and destruction, so loud it makes your teeth ache.
he doesn’t say a word. he just grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, the veins in his forearms standing out like cords. he peels away from the curb, the tires screeching in protest. you press yourself back into the seat, staring at the dashboard, refusing to look at him. the city lights blur past the window, streaks of color in the darkness.
ten minutes pass in suffocating silence. the only sound is the aggressive music and the low hum of the engine. you can’t stand it. it’s worse than the fighting.
“you know,” you start “for someone with such great taste in cars, your music taste is absolute garbage.”
he grunts. but he reaches over, his fingers jabbing at the touchscreen on the console. the screaming metal cuts off abruptly, replaced by the soft strains of an indie band you love.
you shiver, a sudden chill raising goosebumps on your arms. the air conditioning is cranked up to arctic levels. he notices, of course he does. he just nods his head towards the back seat, where his suit jacket is carelessly tossed.
you hesitate for a second, then sigh, reaching back to grab it. you shrug it on, the heavy fabric immediately enveloping you. it smells like him. that woodsy, smoky cologne he wears, mixed his the unique scent. it’s simultaneously comforting and infuriating. he reaches down without a word and turns the ac down a few notches.
but he still doesn’t speak to you.
“can i ask you something, bakugou?” you ask,
the constant use of his last name hits him like a punch to the gut. so it’s like that now? he grits his teeth, his jaw ticking like a time bomb. “you just did, dumbass,” he scoffs.
“don’t be a smartass,” you snap, your voice rising. “why the hell did you make me come with you if you’re not going to talk to me?”
“you’re the one who didn’t say shit to me all night!” he retorts, “i walked in, saw you, and you looked right through me. not even a fucking ‘hi, katsuki’”
“maybe because you didn’t say shit to me all week!” you fire back, turning in your seat to face him. your eyes are blazing, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, he can see how beautiful you are when you’re angry.
“yeah? maybe because you fucking left!” he scoffs, his hand slamming on the steering wheel. the car swerves slightly.
“don’t act like i wanted to!” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration. “i took off because you can’t make up your damn mind! one minute you’re acting like we’re a . . . a thing, and the next you’re pushing me away and making me feel crazy for actually giving a damn about you!”
“what are you talking about?” he growls, his eyes glued to the road.
“oh, don’t play dumb, bakugou!” you exclaim, gesturing wildly. “you stay at my place and make me breakfast in the morning. you’re always showing up on my patrol route to ‘check in’. you’re always sending me texts, being all ‘don’t skip meals like a dumbass’ and ‘drink some fucking water today like a normal person’ and ‘don’t stay up all night watching those shitty rom-coms, you’ll be useless tomorrow’ ! you’re the one who acts like we’re a couple, and then you turn around and make me feel like i’m wrong for caring about you!”
he’s silent. the only sounds in his porsche are your ragged breathing and the soft music playing from the speakers. he just drives, his face a mask of stone. the silence is worse than the yelling. it feels like a dismissal.
“well?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “do you have anything to say?”
“well i’m trying to think,” he grits out, his voice low and strained.
but he hasn’t raised his voice. not once. through the entire tirade, he’s kept it level, controlled. because as pissed off as he is, as much as he wants to rage and scream, he can’t. he can’t scream at you. he can’t stay mad at you. not really. not when you look like this.
your glossy bottom lip is caught between your teeth, your brows are knitted together, your eyes are slanted with a fury that’s breathtakingly beautiful. your voice, high and pitched with emotion, is reverberating off the windows, filling the small space with your presence. he hates it. he loves it.
you look away from him, staring out the window, your shoulders slumping in defeat. and that’s when he breaks. one hand is still on the wheel, but the other moves, finding its way to your thigh. his touch is hesitant at first, then firm against the thin fabric of your dress.
“look,” he starts, “i’m sorry, ‘kay?”
you scoff, not looking at him.
“i fucked up but that doesn’t mean you need to run off with someone else,” he says, his voice strained with jealousy he can no longer hide.
you let out a humorless laugh, finally turning back to him “i didn’t run off with anyone else.”
“you know what i mean,” he insists, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly.
“no, katsuki, i don’t think i do,” you say, “why don’t you spell it out for me?”
“i’m not gonna spell it out for ya,” he grunts, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the road. “it’s bad enough he was hogging you all night.”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you ask, your voice softening, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes.
“huh?”
“are you jealous, katsuki?” you echo, enunciating each word clearly.
“the hell?” he sputters, his composure finally cracking.
“jealous. like the feeling you get when you’re scared of losing someone to someone else and—”
“i’m not scared of shit!” he snarls, cutting you off.
the car is low on gas, the warning light a small, glowing beacon on the dashboard. he spots a gas station up ahead and swerves into the lot, pulling up to a pump with a screech of tires. he cuts the engine. the music dies, plunging the car into a heavy silence that’s more deafening than the noise had been.
he turns to you then, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the gas station.
“jealousy is for fucking losers who are scared of shit they can’t control,” he says, “that’s not what this is. this is me being pissed off because i had to watch the only person i actually give a damn about laugh at some half-and-half bastard’s shitty jokes. it made me want to put my fist through a goddamn wall.”
he takes a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel.
“i told you to quit nagging me because this is confusing,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t fucking know where i stand with you. and i’m not used to feeling like this. i never know what to do, and i’m always fucking up and pushing you away. but i’m not jealous. i’m fucking pissed with myself for being a damn coward.”
and with that, he shoves his door open and gets out of the car, leaving you alone with his words and the frantic beating of your own heart.
you watch him through the windshield as he jams the nozzle into the gas tank, his movements sharp and angry. he stares blankly ahead.
he fills the tank. he replaces the nozzle. he gets back in the car. he starts the engine. he turns to look at you, his expression raw and vulnerable.
and you’re done. you’re done with the fighting and the silence. you’re done with the uncertainty. you lean across the center console, the plastic digging into your abdomen, and you cup his face in your hands. his skin is warm, his stubble rough against your palms. his ears and cheeks flush instantly, a deep, burning red that rivals his crimson eyes. a deep red that you can see even in the dim light.
“the hell are you doing?” he manages to stutter, his eyes wide with shock.
you don’t answer. you just close the distance and press your lips to his.
it’s not gentle. it’s all the frustration and longing and unspoken feelings of the last two weeks finally exploding. it’s teeth and tongues and desperate, hungry kisses. one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, the other gripping the back of your neck, holding you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to slip through his fingers. you get lost in it, in the taste of him, in the feel of him whimpering against your lips, until a loud, impatient honk from the car behind you shatters the moment.
you pull back, breathless, your lips swollen and tingling. he moans, a low, frustrated sound, and you can’t help but laugh. he looks like he’s about to get out of the car and start a fight, even though he’s the one blocking the pump.
“be patient for fucks sake!” he yells, winding down his window to flip the other driver off.
you’re still laughing as he pulls away from the pump and merges back onto the empty street. the sound of your laughter seems to quench some of his remaining anger, and a small, reluctant smile tugs at his lips.
“we left our conversation unfinished,” he says, his voice softer now. he glances over at you, and his eyes are funny. all soft and warm in a way you've never seen before. “can’t just kiss me out of the blue when we’re not done talking, dumbass”
“unfinished, huh?” you hum, a little flustered under his gaze. you can still feel the lingering sensation of his lips on yours, the ghost of his touch on your skin. “i thought we came to a pretty solid conclusion.”
he scoffs, but there’s no frustration in it. “we came to a conclusion about me being a coward. we still haven’t figured out what this is.” he gestures between the two of you. “i’m not good with labels and shit. and you’ve got so many expectations i probably won’t meet. i’m guaranteed to fuck something up ‘cause i don’t know how to be all . . . lovey dovey,” he says the words like they taste bad, “but i know what i want.”
he pulls up to a red light and turns his body fully towards you. the soft glow of the traffic light paints his face in shades of crimson, making his eyes glow like embers.
“i want you to stop looking at icy-hot and other extras like they’ve got something to offer you,” he says, “cause they fucking don’t. i’m all you need and i’m done pretending this isn’t everything to me.”
the man who’s too proud to ask for anything is asking to be your everything.
“everything?” you whisper, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he simply nods.
“define everything,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. you expect him to call you a brat, to accuse you of trying to rile him up. but it doesn’t come.
instead, he looks away from the road for a second, his gaze dropping to your hands, which are now tangled together on the center console. the red light bathes him in its unforgiving glow, and you see something shift in his expression. the defensiveness melts away, replaced by honesty that’s far more disarming.
“everything,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble, “is you living in my head rent fucking free.”
your smirk falters.
“it’s me getting pissed off for no goddamn reason when you’re not with me and i don’t know what the hell you’re doing. it’s me staring at my phone after that stupid argument, wanting to text you so bad my thumbs fucking hurt, but not knowing what the hell to say because i’m the asshole who made you to leave.”
he takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel now, as if confessing to it is easier than confessing to you.
“it’s me wanting to drag you away from icy-hot the second i saw you with him, not just because i was pissed, but because i’m greedy, okay? i want all that shit you watch in those dumb rom coms. i want an apartment, or a shitty little townhouse, i don’t give a fuck. i want to wake up and know you’re the first thing i’ll see. i want to cook for you because you seem to get off on neglecting yourself and someone’s gotta make sure you actually eat your goddamn three a day. i want to take care of you.”
he finally looks at you, and his eyes are burning with an intensity that steals the air from your lungs.
“that’s what everything is,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper. “it’s selfish. it’s me wanting all of your time, all of your attention, all of your annoying, stubborn, fucking beautiful self. all to myself. it’s me wanting to be the one who makes you laugh. it’s me wanting to be the only one who gets to see you like this. so yeah. you’re everything to me.”
the light turns verdant. the car behind you honks. but neither of you moves. you’re frozen in this moment. static in this raw confession that has completely dismantled every defense he’s ever built around you. he didn’t just answer your teasing question; he laid his soul bare on the console between you, waiting for you to either take it or leave it.
the world shrinks to the space inside his car. the honking from behind fades into a distant, meaningless buzz. your teasing smirk is long gone, replaced by a slack-jawed awe. you’re not breathing. you’re not sure you even remember how.
katsuki bakugou — the boy who called you a bloody samaritan for standing up for deku. the teenager who scoffed at every romance movie you made him watch. the explosive hero who snarls at cameras and sneers at press conferences — just confessed to wanting a life so domestic, so tender with you. and it sounded just like something straight out of one of those ‘shitty rom coms’ he claims to hate.
a choked sound escapes your throat, something between a gasp and a sob. you’re not crying, not really, but your eyes are stinging. you squeeze his hand, your grip tight enough to make him look at you, really look at you.
“katsuki,” you breathe, and his name is a prayer on your lips. “you. . you really want all that?”
he flinches, just slightly, as if your disbelief physically hurts him. the vulnerability in his eyes hardens into that familiar, defensive glower. “i just laid my damn heart out for you and you’re gonna question me?” he starts to snap, his old reflexes kicking in.
“no,” you shake your head. you lean forward, closing the distance until your forehead is nearly touching his. “no, i’m not questioning you. i’m . . . trying to believe it’s real.”
the anger in his face dissolves instantly. he lets out a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping. “it’s real,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “it’s always been real.”
your heart stutters, then restarts at a frantic, pace. all the years of friendship, the bickering, the unspoken tension—it wasn’t in your head. it wasn’t just you wishing for something more. it was real for him, too.
“tsuki, i’ve wanted this forever” you whisper back, your voice trembling. it’s like you’ve just defused a bomb you’ve been carrying around for a decade. the last of the tension drains from his shoulders, and he sags against you, his forehead resting on yours. he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again they’re the softest they’ve ever been and his pupils are blown so impossibly wide.
“me too” he breathes, reverently. “you have no idea.”
he finally starts driving again. you’re so close to your place now. rounding the corner onto your street. when he finally pulls up in front of your buildinh, he cuts the engine but doesn’t let go of your hand. he turns to you, his expression serious again
“i’m gonna say this once” he starts, his voice low. “so you better be listening.”
he leans in closer, “you’re not my mom. you’re not some random girl to me. you’re it. you’ve always been it. i was just too stupid to say it. so if i’m being a dumbass, you tell me. if i’m not taking care of myself, you nag me. if i’m pushing you away, push back harder. don’t you ever let me get away with that shit again. you hear me?”
“i hear you,” you whisper, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst.
“good,” he says, and then he’s kissing you again. it’s slower this time, deeper, a kiss that’s not born of frustration or desperation, it’s sealing of the deal.
when he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. “now,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “are you gonna invite me up, or are we gonna sit here all night? i didn’t fill up my tank to just drive you home and leave.”
a laugh bubbles up from your chest, light and airy. you pull back just enough to look at him, to see the hope mixed with his usual cocky assurance in his eyes.
“i mean. . “ you trail off, reaching up and tracing your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, “after a speech like that, how could i possibly say no?”
he huffs, contently. he nips playfully at your thumb as it passes his lips. “don’t you fucking start with me,” he warns
you lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “i’m starting” you whisper against his skin. “come make it up to me before i change my mind”
that’s all the encouragement he needs. he’s out of the car in a flash, rounding the hood to open your door with an urgency that makes your heart race. he offers you his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet and into his arms right there on the sidewalk. he kicks the car door shut with his foot, the sound echoing in the quiet night, and then his arms are around you, lifting you slightly off the ground.
you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. “god, you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled.
you’re not sure how you make it from the car to your front door. it’s a blur of tangled limbs, laughter, and kisses that are more about staying connected than anything else. he presses you against your door. he’s fumbling for your keys, his hands clumsy with impatience, and you’re not helping, too busy nipping at his jawline.
“give me the damn keys,” he groans
you hand them over, and he manages to get the door open after a few tries. he practically kicks it open, scooping you up again and carrying you over the threshold like it’s your wedding night. he kicks the door shut behind him, plunging the entryway into darkness, save for the soft glow of the city filtering through your windows.
he sets you down gently, but he doesn’t let go. his hands are on your waist, his forehead resting against yours.
“katsuki,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his calloused fingers slip the straps of your dress down your arms.
“shh,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours in the darkness. “no more talking baby”
and for the first time, you think you might actually be okay with that.
Why is the class princess always a mess around Bakugo ⋆˚꩜｡
MINORS DNI 18+ .ᐟ.ᐟ
Artwork: scenes from the manga, I just edited a pink filter on top and the middle photo is from Minmotion Syndrome special cover !!
If U.A. ever handed out unofficial titles, yours would’ve been embroidered on a satin banner by now: Class 1-A’s princess.
Not literally, though with the way Mina decorated your side of the dorm hallway in pink fairy lights, it wasn’t hard to imagine, but socially? Totally. Completely. Irrefutably.
Sparkles followed you like loyal sidekicks. Your quirk, Glimmer Bloom, produced tiny bursts of colourful light that sparkled around you when you got excited, which was often.
You didn’t have the brute force of Kirishima, or Todoroki’s icy cool control, or Midoriya’s endless strategy spirals, but you had style, charm, and a hero costume so cute Aoyama nearly cried when he saw it.
You always knew everyone’s birthdays, kept backup lip gloss in your desk for emergencies, and brought pastel cupcakes to study sessions “because morale is important.”
Even Aizawa, tired, eye-bagged, living embodiment of a sigh, softened a millimetre when you cheerfully handed him herbal tea on late training nights. You were sunshine. Glitter. Kisses in human form.
And then there was Bakugo Katsuki.
The reason your sunshine occasionally short-circuited.
He wasn’t new, you’d been in Class 1-A together from the start, but your crush on him? Oh, that was very new. Very unwelcome. And very obvious to literally everyone except him.
Because Bakugo Katsuki existed in his own orbit. Explosive. Sharpened. Always ten seconds from blowing something up, and somehow that only made your heart do embarrassing, fluttery gymnastics.
He walked into homeroom, muscles tense, jaw set, eyes sharp and burning, and your brain just went poof.
Like your quirk misfired from inside your skull.
The first time it really hit you was during sparring drills last month. He’d pinned you, not on purpose, your brain insisted, though who could say with Bakugo, one arm braced beside your head, breath hot against your cheek, growling, “If you hesitate like that in the field you’re dead, princess.”
Princess.
He said it like it was an insult.
You heard it like a prophecy.
And obviously, you squeaked. Out loud. An actual squeak. In front of the entire class. Mina had to physically drag you off the ground after.
Ever since then, well. Things had not improved.
When Bakugo walked by your desk? Pens dropped. Papers fluttered. Your quirk fizzled little heart-shaped sparks that you had to smack away with both hands before anyone saw. When he spoke to you? Your sentences got tangled like ribbon. When he looked at you even a little too long?
Glitter. Everywhere.
“Girl, you’re hopeless,” Kaminari whispered one morning as Bakugo passed your row, shoulders broad beneath his hero course jacket, scowl somehow angelic on him.
“I’m fine,” you lied, smoothing your skirt, heart hammering so loud you swore Sero could hear it from across the room.
“You’re sparkling,” Jirou added dryly without looking up from her notebook.
You slapped your hands against your cheeks to stop the glow. “It's a quirk glitch, okay!”
Bakugo didn’t even turn around, just tossed a low, bored, “Tch. Cut the noise,” over his shoulder, which only made your stomach flip harder.
Bakugo usually sat in the back row, prime territory for brooding, scowling, and muttering insults under his breath, but today, for some cosmic reason you were certain the universe did on purpose, he took the seat directly behind you.
Directly. Behind. You.
You could feel the heat of his presence before he even sat down. Like your body had become some kind of Bakugo proximity sensor. Mina shot you a look from across the aisle like, oh this is gonna be good, and you tried very, very hard to act normal while your heart did full Olympic gymnastics.
Aizawa droned something about rescue strategies and topographical reasoning, and you scribbled perfect colour-coded notes like the good little class princess you were, pink pen, sparkly highlighter, tiny little hearts dotting your i’s.
Anything to ignore the boy-sized furnace breathing a foot behind you. You were so focused you didn’t register the sound at first.
Tap.
You froze.
Tap. Tap.
Your heart jumped sideways. That was a shoulder tap. A Bakugo tap. Bakugo Katsuki was tapping you on the shoulder. You turned around slowly, like if you moved too fast you’d explode.
Bakugo was leaning forward in his seat, arms folded on his desk, expression flat but eyes sharp , like he was annoyed and bored and confused all at once.
“Oi.” His voice was low, rough, rumbling right under your skin. “Lemme see your notes. He’s going too damn fast.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
Instead of simply handing him the notebook like a normal functioning human being, you panicked. And tossed the entire spiral-bound thing backward over your shoulder.
Like a bouquet at a wedding.
Like a sacrifice to the Bakugo god.
It smacked his chest. You slapped both hands over your glossy lips, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Ohmygod I'm sorry—” Aizawa didn’t even look up. He’d grown immune to your brand of chaos.
Bakugo caught the notebook in one hand like it weighed nothing, blinking once, twice, slow and perplexed.
“…The hell was that?” he muttered.
But not angry. Not even close.
When you whipped back around in your seat, spine straight as a ruler, staring at the front like your life depended on it, Bakugo just watched you. Not glaring. Not smirking.
Just… watching. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head, hot and questioning, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Why you always sparkled when he got near. Why you squeaked when he spoke. Why the loudest, chattiest, glitteriest girl in all of U.A. became a speechless mess around him and only him.
And he leaned back in his seat with a deep, irritated sigh that didn’t quite hide the confusion underneath.
“Did I do something?” he whispered under his breath.
Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why Class 1-A’s princess, the girl who practically twirled through the dorm halls, beloved by everyone, effortless sunshine, endless chatter, shut down completely the second Katsuki Bakugo gave her a single shred of attention.
He flipped open your notebook anyway.
The second Aizawa dismissed class, you bolted. Not gracefully. Not regally. Not like a princess.
More like a startled glittery rabbit in platform heels.
You scooped your notebooks and pens into your bag and you squeaked like a chew toy, which made your quirk flicker tiny pink sparks all down the hallway as you fled.
“Oi—” Bakugo tried, voice low behind you, but nope. No thank you. Absolutely not. You were running for your life. You didn’t stop until you were inside your dorm, door shut, back pressed against it, cheeks practically glowing from embarrassment and leftover Bakugo proximity.
Your room, your sanctuary, greeted you in full princess glory.
Pink fairy lights. Scented candles. Fluffy rugs. Heart-shaped pillows. And your huge white bed draped in a cloud of soft blankets that looked like they were crafted from baby unicorn fur.
You threw yourself face-first into the mattress with a dramatic whine.
“Why am I like this,” you groaned into a pillow shaped like a strawberry. You made the world’s most high-pitched noise and buried yourself under your comforter like a glittery mole.
Eventually, you changed into your comfort clothes, a tiny pair of bubblegum-pink satin shorts and a matching cami, silky and soft and very you. And reapplied your lip gloss, because even in panic you had standards, you flopped back onto your pile of pillows and scrolled on your phone to distract yourself.
You were mid-scroll through a video of baby bunnies wearing flower crowns when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
You froze.
No one knocked like that.
Firm. Impatient. Like the person on the other side of the door didn’t knock so much as declare open up. Your stomach dropped. Your sparkles fizzled.
Oh no.
Oh no no no!
You cracked the door open the smallest, tiniest, most microscopic amount and, it was him.
Bakugo Katsuki.
In the dorm hallway. Outside your room. Holding your pink notebook like it offended him.
He looked annoyed. But also weirdly tense? Like he’d been pacing before knocking. His gaze flicked down your body, from your bare shoulders, to your tiny pink satin shorts, and he jerked his eyes away immediately, jaw clenching so hard you could hear it.
“…Why’re you dressed like that,” he muttered.
You squeaked. Again. “It’s bedtime!”
“It’s four in the damn afternoon.”
“Nap time!”
A beat.
He breathed out through his nose like someone fighting God Himself. “Whatever.” He shoved the notebook toward you. “You left too fast. I wasn’t done with your notes.”
Your face went nuclear-level hot. “I’m sorry! I just, you were— I was— brain malfunction— you know—”
He stared.
You wanted to evaporate.
“Do I make you nervous or something?” he asked finally, voice low, rough, strangely gentle under all the gravel.
Your quirk betrayed you instantly. A tiny pink spark popped into existence right beside your cheek. You slapped it away with a mortified gasp.
Bakugo’s eyes widened the slightest bit. Not mocking. Just startled.
And then, God help you, something like a faint, smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he’d finally solved the puzzle he’d been chewing on all day. He leaned an elbow braced against your doorframe, stepping just a little closer.
“So that’s it,” he murmured. “That why you bolted? Can’t think straight around me, princess?”
Your breath hitched. Your sparkles flickered like a fireworks factory. Bakugo watched every single one. And he didn’t look confused anymore. He looked dangerous.
In a way that made your heart feel like spun sugar.
Before you could even squeak a protest, Bakugo nudged the door just enough with his shoulder, then stepped inside. One foot. Then the other. And suddenly, he was there, in your room, the scent of him, warm, sharp, faintly explosive, wrapping around you like a slow, impossible fire.
His eyes flickered over your fairy-lit lair, taking in the strawberry-shaped pillows, the pastel chaos, the sheer, unapologetic feminity of it all. His smirk deepened. "Figures," he muttered, but it didn't sound like mockery, more like he was filing this away in some private Bakugo catalogue titled You, Explained.
You backed up until your knees hit the bedframe, gripping the edge to stop your hands from shaking. "You—you can't just walk in here!"
Bakugo shrugged, tossing your notebook onto your vanity where it landed with a soft thud. "Too late." His gaze roamed over you again, lingering on the way your cami strap had slipped down your shoulder, the nervous flutter of your pulse at your throat.
When his fingers twitched at his sides, just once, you swore the air between you crackled.
Silence stretched, thick and sweet and unbearable. Then he stepped closer, boots scuffing against your fluffy rug, nostrils flaring slightly like he was breathing you in. "You know," he said, voice dropping to a rumble that curled your toes, "your sparkles get brighter when I piss you off."
They did.
Right now, they were practically strobing.
"You're imagining things," you lied, but your voice wobbled.
Bakugo scoffed. "Bullshit." He reached out, slow, deliberate, and caught one of your runaway sparkles between his thumb and forefinger.
It fizzled against his calloused skin, leaving behind a faint pink smudge. His grin turned wolfish. "Gotcha."
Your breath stuttered. He was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in his crimson eyes, feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Some primal part of your brain screamed Danger!, but the rest of you? The rest of you was leaning in.
Bakugo noticed. Of course he did. His smirk softened, just a fraction, as his gaze dropped to your mouth. "What, no comeback? No glittery speech?" He tilted his head, and oh god, was he, was he enjoying this?
You swallowed hard. "Shut up."
He barked a laugh, rough and surprised. "There she is." One hand came up, hovering near your cheek like he couldn't decide whether to touch you or throttle you. His fingers flexed. "You're fucking ridiculous, you know that?"
The words should've stung.
Instead, they settled warm in your chest. Because Bakugo wasn't walking away. He wasn't even scowling. He was standing in your glitter bomb of a bedroom, looking at you like you were the most fascinating problem he'd ever encountered, and Katsuki Bakugo loved solving problems.
Your quirk betrayed you again, showering the space between you in gold and pink. Bakugo's nose twitched at the sudden brightness, but he didn't back off.
If anything, he leaned in closer, eyes tracking the way the sparks reflected in your wide pupils. "Annoying," he muttered. Then, quieter, "Kinda pretty, though."
The confession hit like one of his explosions, sudden, violent, leaving you breathless. Your knees buckled. Bakugo's hand shot out instinctively, catching your elbow before you could collapse onto your pink comforter.
The contact sent a jolt through you, his fingers branding your skin through the thin satin. You could feel every callous, every ridge from years of detonating his quirk.
"Oi," he growled, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. "Nodding ain't answering. Use your words." He leaned in, close enough that his breath mingled with yours, smelling faintly of caramel and gunpowder.
Somewhere between a threat and a plea, he bit out, "Do you like me or not?"
Your sparkles went supernova.
Pink. Gold. Silver.
They erupted around you in a cascading halo, illuminating the sharp planes of his face in flickering pastel. You opened your mouth, nothing came out but a tiny, mortified whimper.
Bakugo's smirk curled slow like smoke. "That's what I thought." His thumb brushed your inner wrist, just once, rough enough to make you shiver. "Fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered, but his grip gentled.
Before you could process, he spun you both, your back hit the mattress, his knees bracketing your hips, palms planted on either side of your head. The fairy lights caught the molten gold in his irises as they dragged down your body.
"You're really wearing this shit just to sleep?" His voice scraped raw over the satin clinging to your thighs.
You arched up instinctively, bad idea. His knee slid between yours, heat searing through the thin fabric. His breath hitched when your sparkles rained onto his shoulders.
"Still not talking?" Bakugo's fingers traced the strap slipping down your arm. "Fine." His palm smacked the mattress beside your head. "Up. Now."
You scrambled upright, pulse hammering where his touch lingered. Bakugo sank onto the edge of your bed like he owned it, legs spread, arms crossed. That look, half challenge, half hunger, sent your quirk into overdrive.
Pink motes swirled between you like fireflies trapped in syrup.
One eyebrow arched. "Straddle me."
Your mouth dried. "W-what?"
"You heard me." His boot hooked around your ankle, dragging you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his thighs. "Unless you wanna keep being a coward."
The first brush of denim against your inner thighs nearly short-circuited your brain. Bakugo's hands clamped on your hips before you could bolt, fingers digging in just shy of painful. His smirk turned feral when your sparkles burst against his collarbones.
"Look at you," he rumbled, "all glitter and no guts." His thumbs stroked the dips of your hips through the satin. "Gonna run again?"
You shook your head frantically, curls bouncing, then froze when his gaze dropped lower.
Bakugo smirked. "Bet you're pink everywhere, huh?" The words scraped out like gravel and honey. His grip tightened. "Bet your fucking cum sparkles too—"
Your hands flew up to slap over his mouth, face burning hotter than his nitroglycerin sweat. "Shut up!"
Glitter erupted from your skin in panicked bursts, peach, blush, rose, illuminating the way his irises dilated behind your fingers.
He laughed against your palms, the vibration traveling up your arms like livewire electricity. His tongue darted out, wet, scorching, licking a stripe across your fingertips before you could yank away. "Tastes like sugar," he rasped, watching your breath hitch with predatory satisfaction. "Knew it."
You scrambled , thighs clamping around his waist in the process, horrifyingly intimate. Bakugo's nostrils flared. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in the fine hairs at your nape.
"Deny it," he challenged, breath hot against your ear. "Say your slick isn't glowing right now."
Traitorous warmth pooled low in your belly. Your quirk betrayed you again, shimmering pulses radiating from beneath the satin shorts pressed against his abs. Bakugo's grin turned downright carnivorous.
One calloused thumb hooked under the waistband. "Prove me wrong," he dared, dragging the fabric down an inch, just enough to reveal the first hint of pearlescent wetness catching the fairy lights. His exhale punched out ragged. "Fuck. It is pink."
You whined, thighs shaking, sparkles refracting in the sweat beading along his throat. Bakugo groaned, a rough, punched-out sound, and hauled you flush against him. His teeth grazed your pulse point. "Gonna ruin me, princess."
The first tear of fabric echoed obscenely loud as his claws shredded through your camisole.
Pastel ribbons fluttered to the bedspread like cherry blossom petals, too soft, too feminine for the way his hips canted up against yours.
Your back arched when his mouth closed over one peaked nipple, tongue swirling the glitter beading there. Bakugo grunted, the sound reverent and filthy, when luminescent streaks smeared across his cheekbones.
"Told you," he panted against your sternum, fingers working your shorts past trembling hips. "Fucking sparkly everywhere."
The last coherent thought you had, before his teeth sank into you again, was that Mina owed you new pyjamas.
Bakugo flipped you onto your back with a single rough shove, your thighs spreading instinctively beneath his hips as he loomed over you, pupils blown wide.
His smirk sharpened when your sparkles erupted again, golden, frantic, illuminating the predatory hunger in his expression. "Pathetic," he growled, but his fingers trembled where they gripped your waist.
"Coulda had Deku fawning over you like some damn prince." His knee pressed higher between your legs, dragging a whimper from your throat. "Instead you're here—" his palm slid up your ribs, "wrapped around my fingers—" his thumb brushed your nipple, "glowing like a fucking firework."
You arched into his touch, tremors wracking your spine when his free hand yanked your ruined cami straps down your arms.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, too loud, too obscene, but Bakugo didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, lips grazing your ear as his knee pressed harder. "Say it," he demanded, voice guttural. "Say you picked me."
Your hips jerked involuntarily when his teeth scraped your collarbone. "I—" A spark burst against his eyelid, making him blink. "I picked you!"
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose, half triumphant snarl, half shuddering groan, before surging forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory and nitroglycerin.
His tongue mapped every inch of you with single-minded focus, as if cataloging the way your breath hitched when he bit your lower lip just shy of painful.
When he pulled back, your sparkles had formed a perfect halo around his disheveled spikes. His chest heaved as he dragged a thumb through the glitter smeared across your cheekbone, then licked it clean with a low hum.
"Mine," he declared, fingers tightening possessively on your hips. "Every fucking shimmer."
Somewhere beyond your glitter-clouded haze, you registered the dorm hallway outside, the distant laughter of your classmates, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
The complete antithesis of the boy currently pinning you to silken sheets with his weight and the molten promise in his gaze.
Bakugo noticed your distraction immediately. His palm cracked against the headboard beside your ear, making you jump. "Eyes here, princess."
When you obeyed, trembling, he smirked, all sharp canines and wicked intent. "Good girl." His free hand slid between your thighs, callouses catching on sensitive skin. "Now let's see how loud you sparkle."
The first press of his fingers drew a whine from your throat, high and broken. Your quirk responded instantly, pearl-pink luminescence spilling over his knuckles, dripping onto the rumpled satin sheets beneath you.
Bakugo's breath stuttered. "Holy shit," he rasped, watching the glow spread between your legs with something akin to reverence. His thumb circled once, twice, drawing out another pulse of light that clung to his skin like liquid glitter. "Fuckin' perfect."
You arched off the bed when he crooked his fingers, nails scraping down his biceps as your sparkles rained across his chest. Bakugo growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies pressed together, and increased the pace, his rhythm merciless.
"That's it," he goaded, lips brushing your temple. "C'mon, light up for me."
The pressure built dizzyingly fast, your thighs clamping around his wrist as the room flickered gold and rose. Bakugo's breath hitched when your back bowed off the mattress, his name tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.
Right before you shattered, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing your moans as your quirk detonated, a supernova of color refracting through the fairy lights, painting his skin in shimmering streaks.
Panting, you went boneless against the sheets. Bakugo pulled back just enough to examine his glitter-coated forearm with a satisfied smirk.
"Told you," he muttered, licking a stripe up his palm where your glow lingered. His eyes darkened at the taste. "Fuckin' addicting."
Then, before you could recover, he flipped you onto your stomach with a single rough shove. "Round two," he announced, kneading the back of your thighs. "And this time—" his teeth grazed your shoulder blade, "I'm gonna make you sparkle loud enough to wake up the whole damn dorm."
Your whimper dissolved into the pillows as his hands spanned your waist, the promise in his touch searing brighter than any quirk.
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose when your sparkles flickered against the dark fabric of his belt, already half-undone, the leather slack against his hips.
His fingers trembled, just once, before he yanked it free with a sharp metallic rasp that made your thighs clench. You turned your face into the strawberry pillow just as his palm smoothed down the curve of your ass, possessive and rough.
"Look at me," he growled, thumb hooking in the ruined satin clinging to your hips. When you hesitated, his teeth grazed the nape of your neck. "Now."
The first stroke of his cock against your thigh sent a jolt through you.
Hot, heavy, glistening with the same iridescent slick your quirk left on his fingers. He hissed through clenched teeth, muscles taut as he pumped himself twice, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of your room.
Your name tore from his throat when your sparkles burst against his knuckles, pearlescent streaks painting his forearm. "Fuck," he rasped, thumb smearing the glow across your hipbone. "Gonna ruin you."
The initial stretch burned, blissful, aching, as he pressed in with a groan that rattled your ribs. Your moan fractured against the pillow when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, every ridge and vein slotting into place like you were made for it.
Bakugo's breath came ragged against your shoulder blades, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he adjusted to the vice-like heat.
"Move," you gasped, arching back against him. His answering snarl sent sparks skittering across the sheets.
He set a punishing pace immediately, each thrust punching little glittering whines from your throat. The headboard rattled against the wall in time with the wet slap of skin, Bakugo's palm splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned.
His other hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to see the way your sparkles clung to his sweat-slicked collarbones. His teeth found the shell of your ear as the first real pulse of your orgasm lit up the room, gold, pink, incandescent, his groan reverberating through you like a detonation. "Fuck, there it is—"
Your muffled scream dissolved into the strawberry pillow as he fucked you through it, his rhythm turning erratic, brutal. Bakugo's hips snapped forward once, twice, before his grip on your hair yanked your head back entirely.
His lips crashed against yours just as he spilled deep inside you, hot, pulsing, his broken moan swallowed by your mouth. Your quirk responded in kind, pearlescent streaks erupting between your joined bodies, painting his abs in liquid starlight where they pressed flush against your ass.
He didn't pull out.
Just collapsed atop you with his full weight, his rapid-fire heartbeat thudding between your shoulder blades. His fingers traced idle patterns through the glow smeared across your thighs, sticky-sweet and still faintly luminescent.
When you shifted, his arm banded tighter around your waist. "Stay," he grunted against your nape, an order softened by the way his lips lingered on your sweat-damp skin.
Outside, someone's laughter echoed down the hallway, oblivious to the way Bakugo's teeth grazed your pulse point, marking, claiming, as his hips gave one last lazy roll.
Your fingers tangled with his where they rested on your stomach, sparking tiny pink flares at the contact. Bakugo huffed, annoyed, fond, before biting your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp.
"Quit it," he muttered, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles anyway. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across the walls as your breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warming the spot between your wings where his palm rested.
Heavy. Present.
"You're staring," you mumbled into the pillow, skin prickling beneath his gaze. Bakugo scoffed but didn't deny it, calloused fingers trailing down your spine in a slow, proprietary sweep that left glitter in their wake.
His lips followed, hot, insistent, branding each vertebra as he moved lower, pausing to nip at the dimples above your ass with a sound suspiciously close to a growl.
You squirmed, thighs pressing together reflexively, but he wedged his knee between them with effortless dominance. "Bakugo—"
"Katsuki," he corrected against the small of your back, the vibration skating down to where your bodies were still joined. His tongue swiped over a particularly bright sparkle clinging to your hip.
"Say it." When you hesitated, his teeth dug in, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Now."
"K-Katsuki," you stammered, flushing when he hummed approval against your skin. His lips curved into a smirk you could feel as he kissed lower, the swell of your ass, the crease of your thigh, each touch deliberate, lingering.
He exhaled sharply through his nose when your quirk reacted instinctively, dusting his cheekbones in gold. "You're—mmph—gonna be insufferable in class tomorrow, aren't you?"
Bakugo paused mid-bite, lifting his head just enough to pin you with a look that simmered with wicked promise. "Gonna sit way the fuck closer behind you now," he admitted, voice rough with satisfaction.
His fingers kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs, leaving faint pink smudges where your glow clung to his fingerprints. "Watch you squirm every time I breathe on your neck."
You whined, pressing your burning face into the mattress. "No—that's too embarrassing!"
His laugh was dark, thrilled, vibrating through your ribcage as he licked a stripe up your spine. "Don't care." His palm smacked your ass, once, sharp, drawing out another burst of sparkles. "Shoulda thought of that before you let me in your bed, princess."
The nickname shouldn't have sent heat pooling low in your belly again. Bakugo seemed to sense it anyway, his groan was half exasperation, half arousal as he rolled his hips lazily, still buried inside you.
Your choked moan disappeared into the pillows when his teeth found your earlobe. "Round three," he decided, voice dripping with sinful intent. "And this time," his hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing lightly against your clit, "I'm making damn sure every extra in this school knows who you sparkle for."
Your protest dissolved into a broken gasp as his touch reignited the embers of your pleasure, Bakugo's name tumbling from your lips in a litany that only spurred him on.
Outside, the dorm settled into evening quiet, completely unaware of the way the blond menace behind you was rewriting every rule of engagement between you with each possessive thrust, each glimmering kiss.
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heyyyy....It'd just make me soooo mad if you made a bakugo fic where bakugo's mad at you because you were supposedly flirting with izuku and it ends in you apologizing and then goes into smuttt ... like thatd make me sooo upset and angry.. 👀
A/n: I hope i made u mad!! uhh this isn’t is the first smut ive wrote since middle school 😬… so it might suck balls, but i tried my best so hope yall like it!!
Being a pro hero, you’d don’t get many days off. So tonight you decided to celebrate your night off with your friends! Go to a bar, drink, catch up with each other, yknow have fun and take up break from your hectic lives..
so how the hell did you end up like this?!
Clothes forgotten and scattered across your bedroom, Marks all across you neck and collarbone,Ass up, face smothered into a pillow, with your boyfriend pounding into you sloppy cunt
“Ah- fuck, kats-“ you try to speak but only moans and pathetic whimpers come out you mouth. You can still taste the faint liquor on your breath, and the smell of sex filling the room.
“Fuucckkk- your dirty little pussy’s so wet- alll for me” he says as he slaps your ass, “All mineee- uh fuck, say it”, Katsuki groans out
“Ahhh fuck- I’m yours kats- ughh”, he groans and starts thrusting faster, “Yeah bet this is better than deku hah?yeah you didn’t- fuck- think i saw you flirtin with that nerd all fucking night”, you can barely register what he’s saying at first then it hits you.
Flirting with Midoriya?? How much did he drink??
“What- ahh, are you talking about?” you squeal out, “I saw you touching his arm, and giggling and talkin-“ you cut him off before he can keep spewing nonsense. “We were- fuckk, talking about you dumbass” Then he stops moving and you whine at the loss of moving
“Talking about me?” he breathes out, “Yes he was asking about you, we only talked for like 5 minutes” you say catching your breath
He flips you onto your back, lines back up and slowly pushes back into your wet cunt. You both let out a moan, and he goes back to the brutal pace he was at before, after awhile you were about to hit your climax “Ah fuck kats i’m gonna cum- don’t stop please please-“ You moan as your body shakes, katsuki fills your cunt with thick white ropes of cum right after
You both take a second to breathe, then he leans over kissing your cheek, “Lemme clean you up”. He walks off to get a warm, wet rag and wipes you off, then lays down next to you nuzzling his face into your neck
“Love you..” he says, “Love you too”.
(creds to @saikacho for the wavy piano dividers!!)
cw - mentions of sexual activity | +18 mdni!! | not proofread
oldergf!shoko who just loves hearing your pretty little voice after a long day at work
oldergf!shoko who feels a sense of peace wash over her when she can hear the pure joy in your voice whenever you see her
oldergf!shoko who thinks the little innocence and sincerity in your voice os so precious, like the world has never hurt you the way it has her
oldergf!shoko who thinks your laugh is the cutest thing in the world, it could change her mood with seconds
oldergf!shoko who just likes to hear you talk and ramble; about your day, how your professor pissed you off, how smoking is bad for her, absolutely anything as long as it’s from you
oldergf!shoko who would do anything you ask if you added a sweet little “pleaseee” at the end
oldergf!shoko who can’t help loving your voice even when you cry, the little whimper in your voice just tugs on her heartstrings
oldergf!shoko who makes you spell out when you’re needy for her, sure she can tell by your body language, but she loves hearing you admit how much you need her
oldergf!shoko who hates when you hold back your moans while she’s fucking you;
“Don’t hold back babydoll, let me hear how good i’m making you feel”
oldergf!shoko who gets wet whenever you moan her name during sex, it just sounds so much better from your mouth!
oldergf!shoko who could cum just from hearing your moans, and whimpers alone
oldergf!shoko who doesn’t let you come immediately just to her you pant and beg for her to keep going
oldergf!shoko who always overstimulates you just to hear how much of those pretty little whimpers she can get out of you
a/n : this was inspired by @moviecritc ‘s older gf! shoko stuff!! ahhh i had fun writing this i actually really like it!! this layout was fun to make!! hope you guys like it, thanks for reading!!requests are open!!
(creds to @saikacho for the wavy piano dividers!!)
gf!shoko ieiri and gf!yuki tsukumo love to spoil her younger girlfriend ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
You wandered through the bustling mall with Shoko on your left and Yuki on your right, their hands brushing against yours every few steps, your girlfriends had decided today was for spoiling you rotten.
“Pick whatever you want, baby,” Shoko said, fingers lightly tracing your lower back as you stepped into the first boutique. “We love seeing you in pretty things.”
Yuki grinned beside her. “And we really love taking them off you later.”
You bit your lip, already blushing as they guided you toward the racks. They were so different yet so perfectly in sync when it came to you. Shoko moved calmly, picking out soft sweaters and fitted dresses she thought would hug your body just right. Yuki was bolder, holding up short skirts and low-cut tops with a playful smirk.
You tried on a soft cream-colored sweater first. When you stepped out of the dressing room, both of them were waiting on the little couch outside.
Shoko’s eyes softened immediately. “Come here,” she murmured, reaching out to adjust the collar, her fingers grazing your collarbone. “You look so fucking cute. It makes me want to keep you in my lap all day.”
Yuki leaned back, eyes dragging slowly down your frame. “So cute, your boobs look amazing in it.”
You giggled, twisting a little in front of the mirror. “Stop it…”
But you didn’t want them to stop. Not really.
They kept spoiling you. Dresses, tops, jeans that made your ass look incredible (Yuki’s words). Every time you came out, Shoko would pull you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or your shoulder while whispering how beautiful you were, Yuki was less subtle. When you tried on a tight black dress that clung to your curves, she let out a low whistle.
“Fuck, princess. Bend over just a little for me? Yeah, like that. God, I need to fuck you in this later.”
Your face burned, but the giggle that escaped you was pure delight. Shoko snorted, rolling a cigarette between her fingers to smoke later. “You’re making our girl nervous, Yuki.”
“Aw nooo,” Yuki fake pouted, raising her hand for you to come between her legs. “Do I make you nervous, doll?” She batted her eyelashes, looking up at you as her hands rested low on your hips.
“N-no,” you answered, looking at her for one second before looking away.
“Don’t lie…” Shoko added with a little smirk.
You clicked your tongue in frustration, now nodding. “A little.” You put your thumb and index finger close to each other, showing Yuki how little she made you nervous.
“A pretty girl like you can’t be shy.” Yuki shook her head, getting up and grabbing your hand. “C’mon, we’re taking it all and we’re going to the makeup store next.”
Shoko dabbed lipstick on your lips with careful fingers. “This shade looks so pretty on you,” she said softly, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Makes me want to kiss it all off.”
Yuki leaned in from the other side, close enough that her breath tickled your ear. “Bet it leaves the prettiest marks on the skin.”
You squirmed in your seat, thighs pressing together, heart racing at how casually they said things like that in public. But they knew exactly how much you loved it.
The lingerie store was the most intense, you felt heat rising to your cheeks the second you stepped inside. “We don’t really have to—”
But they were already choosing sets for you to try on. “This one,” Shoko said, holding a pink lace set up. “You’ll look like an angel in it. Our sweet little angel.”
Yuki immediately grabbed a deep red sheer babydoll. “This one too. I bet your nipples are gonna show right through it.”
They ushered you into the large fitting room together, locking the door behind them. The space was intimate, just the three of you and the warm lighting. You slipped into the pink lace first, hands a little shaky with excitement. When you turned around, both of them went quiet for a second.
Shoko exhaled slowly, stepping closer. Her hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin above the panties. “Look at you… so pretty for us.” She kissed your neck gently, then your jaw. “We’re so lucky you’re ours.”
Yuki’s eyes were darker, hungrier. She came up behind you, pressing against your back, hands sliding down to cup your ass. “Jesus, baby. This little set is not lasting all night. I’m gonna eat you out while you’re still wearing it, then fuck you nice and deep till you’re crying my name.”
“Yuki!” You let out a soft, giggly whimper, hiding your burning face against Shoko’s shoulder.
Shoko tilted your chin up, kissing you slow and deep, her tongue teasing yours until your knees felt weak. When she pulled back, Yuki turned your head to claim your mouth too, her kiss hotter, more demanding, biting your bottom lip playfully.
“You’re our good girl, right?” Shoko whispered against your ear.
You nodded fast. “The best.”
“Mm, I love to hear that. Don’t you, Sho?” Yuki commented with a grin against your neck.
Shoko hummed in approval, already planning all the things they’re going to do that night to you together, they love so much to team up against you.
heyyyy....It'd just make me soooo mad if you made a bakugo fic where bakugo's mad at you because you were supposedly flirting with izuku and it ends in you apologizing and then goes into smuttt ... like thatd make me sooo upset and angry.. 👀
A/n: I hope i made u mad!! uhh this isn’t is the first smut ive wrote since middle school 😬… so it might suck balls, but i tried my best so hope yall like it!!
Being a pro hero, you’d don’t get many days off. So tonight you decided to celebrate your night off with your friends! Go to a bar, drink, catch up with each other, yknow have fun and take up break from your hectic lives..
so how the hell did you end up like this?!
Clothes forgotten and scattered across your bedroom, Marks all across you neck and collarbone,Ass up, face smothered into a pillow, with your boyfriend pounding into you sloppy cunt
“Ah- fuck, kats-“ you try to speak but only moans and pathetic whimpers come out you mouth. You can still taste the faint liquor on your breath, and the smell of sex filling the room.
“Fuucckkk- your dirty little pussy’s so wet- alll for me” he says as he slaps your ass, “All mineee- uh fuck, say it”, Katsuki groans out
“Ahhh fuck- I’m yours kats- ughh”, he groans and starts thrusting faster, “Yeah bet this is better than deku hah?yeah you didn’t- fuck- think i saw you flirtin with that nerd all fucking night”, you can barely register what he’s saying at first then it hits you.
Flirting with Midoriya?? How much did he drink??
“What- ahh, are you talking about?” you squeal out, “I saw you touching his arm, and giggling and talkin-“ you cut him off before he can keep spewing nonsense. “We were- fuckk, talking about you dumbass” Then he stops moving and you whine at the loss of moving
“Talking about me?” he breathes out, “Yes he was asking about you, we only talked for like 5 minutes” you say catching your breath
He flips you onto your back, lines back up and slowly pushes back into your wet cunt. You both let out a moan, and he goes back to the brutal pace he was at before, after awhile you were about to hit your climax “Ah fuck kats i’m gonna cum- don’t stop please please-“ You moan as your body shakes, katsuki fills your cunt with thick white ropes of cum right after
You both take a second to breathe, then he leans over kissing your cheek, “Lemme clean you up”. He walks off to get a warm, wet rag and wipes you off, then lays down next to you nuzzling his face into your neck
“Love you..” he says, “Love you too”.
(creds to @saikacho for the wavy piano dividers!!)
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Six months was enough time to do anything. You could go on a vacation, you could plan a birthday party, you could even save up enough money to go to across the world.
Six months ago that man was still your talking stage. The same man who would rather die than admit he sees Gojo as a father figure is also the same man who is your boyfriend.
You've been dating for him for a while now, and throughout that time you figured a lot of stuff out. His likes, his dislikes, his habits, they were all a reflection of his personality, moody and gloomy.
And despite fighting curses that could level buildings, despite being calm in almost every situation imaginable, your boyfriend still got flustered whenever you got affectionate unexpectedly.
Which was exactly why you did it.
"You know," you said, sitting beside Megumi Fushiguro on the couch, "for somebody who's supposed to be all "singing killed my grandma", you're also very cute."
Megumi glanced up from his book. His expression the same as always whenever he figured you said something dumb or just wasn't worth his time, yet he still indulged. "I'm not...Whatever that means. If you're listening to what Yuji says then he's exaggerating.
"He's definitely not." You leaned against his shoulder, shirting your weight closer to him. causing his posture to stiffen immediately before relaxing slowly.
You turn your head towards him to admire his features. He's just staring at a specific page that was never interesting, his fingers unmoving as his brows furrowed slightly, as if he was deep in thought.
Smiling at the expression you tilted your head slightly. "What's up? Something on your mind?"
Megumi looked at you once the sound of your voice hit his ears. His eyes going from you then back at his book. "Nothing, just a thought."
"Usually whenever you have a thought it means you were thinking about it for a while. You can tell me you know."
He looked at you, then his eyes dropped to your lips for half a second before darting away. Reatreating back to his book.
A grin spread across your face.
Megumi sighed heavily. "Don't. You do this everytime."
"You looked." You teased, poking his shoulder playfully.
He closed his book and rubbed a hand over his face, in his honest opinion, dating you was exhausting. But if someone offered him a chance to pick a lover in any other universe and do it all over again, he'd choose you every time.
You moved closer. "I know what you want. All you gotta do is ask though."
"You're making this way more difficult than it has to be." Yet the way his expression softened instantly shows levels of contradiction.
That was the thing about Megumi. Despite all the words he says and all the looks he gives you he still was the same someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, someone who trusted you enough to let all his walls down.
Your teasing smile faded into something warmer. "You know I love you, right?" You loved teasing him, sure, but you find yourself enjoying these moments between each other. Where you both can just be soft with each other without judgement.
The words made him blink, even after all this time. Hearing it still affected him in more ways than he'd like to admit. "I know."
"Good." You reached up and kissed him.
The kiss was soft and slow, the pace comfortable enough for the both of you to keep up with while also revealing the emotions that never seem to fade. The kind of kiss that came from knowing someone completely.
When you pulled back, Megumi followed without thinking. His lips curling into a small frown as his eyes opened slightly when he realized what he'd done. He wasn't mad, he was confused on why you ended the kiss so soon and why his lips even bothered to follow after yours like a magnet. His ears turned red. "Sorry."
You raised a brow and couldn't stop yourself from smiling. "Why are you apologizing?"
"I wasn't done." He looked away, embarrassed by his own confession. Ito his ears it sounded stupid. But you didn't miss how he sounded so sincere, so completely honest.
His gaze dropped to your lips again and this time he didn't even try to hide it. He was tired of pretending.
You leaned in first.
The second your lips met, Megumi kissed you back immediately. No hesitation, No awkwardness. Just months of affection poured into one moment.
He moved you gently, guiding you onto his lap until he was sure you were comfortable. When he figured you were, one hand came up to gently cup your cheek as he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile when you moved closer.
When you finally pulled back for air, it lasted all of two seconds before Megumi was already leaning in again, chasing your lips.
As if he'd forgotten whatever cool, composed image he usually maintained. Making you laugh softly against his mouth. "Needy." His face immediately flushed.
You quickly bit back the rest of your words when you felt Megumi's hand go to your hair, tangling in the strands before pulling your head closer to his.
Lips meeting was the only thing you remember before Megumi had you laying on the couch. His hands on your waist with your legs on either side of his hips as he tilted his head to the side, changing the angle of the kiss.
Each time you moved away for a gasp of breath Megumi's lips would quickly hurry after yours.
You didn't think your boyfriend of six months would be into kissing as much as he is, but either way ,who would you be to complain?
a/n: heyy😅 im trying something new with the dividers so i'm hoping it's for the best. Please keep in mind i will keep posts up weekly! Please also expect a lot of changes within posts, i will just be experimenting with different styles to see how you all like them. Requests and taglists are also open!!
random: my birthday's coming up so i will have a birthday special of Megumi bc....thats my man? But other than that i would also like to thank you all for the new followers!! You're all the best! mwah 😘
College nurse!shoko ieiri and the pretty student that’s always getting “injured”
“Nurse Ieiri…” your pretty voice broke the silence in the nurses office, immediately causing Shoko to look up at you. Her face softened when she saw you.
Standing up, she walked over to where you stood by the door, heels making her seem much taller than she actually was.
“What is it now, dear?” Shoko crossed her arms, a smile on her face as she looked down at you.
You were no stranger to Shoko. Ever since you first arrived at college two years prior, you had been a weekly visitor in the nurses office. The first time you went there, you had truly been hurt.
But after seeing the pretty woman that was your campus’s nurse? You knew you’d be coming back.
And that’s exactly what happened.
Headaches and stomachaches, period cramps, and the latter were all lies that kept you visiting Shoko’s office. As keen as she was, Shoko caught on quickly.
The infatuation you had for Shoko was clear as day, and with each fake injury of yours, her own feelings grew. Of course, she couldn’t tell you that. Being much younger than her, the relationship just wouldn’t be right.
Shoko couldn’t hide her feelings forever, though. That was made clear the a few months ago when she had to kneel in front of you to clean a scrape on your thigh.
Your body was so close to hers, radiating heat. The scent you were wearing, what was it? Vanilla with a fruity undertone? It smelled delicious.
Then Shoko looked up and saw your pretty eyes staring down at her, and her stomach fluttered.
Neither of you could explain how it happened, really. Your lips met and the kiss got heavy, and next thing you knew you had came on the fingers of your college nurse.
All your visits started to end with an orgasm that would have you seeing stars.
“I cut my finger,” you pouted, holding out your pointer. Shoko held back a snort– “cut”, her ass. It was barely even the size of a paper cut. How you noticed an injury so small was beyond her.
“I’m convinced you hurt yourself just so you can come here,” Shoko chuckled, walking over to her desk. She opened the drawer and grabbed an alcohol pad. “Shut the door and sit down. I’ll help you.”
Once you had shut the office door, you ran over and hopped onto her desk, crossing one leg over the other.
Shoko took your hurt hand in her left, while her right hand gently took care of your little paper cut.
“You look nice today,” you complimented. Shoko always looked beautiful in the white nurse dress that hugged her curves just right, and her long brown hair that framed her face perfectly.
“Thank you. You look even better.” Shoko let go of your hand, tossing the alcohol pad into the nearby trashcan.
“Can I stay in here a bit longer?”
Shoko stared down at you, piercing gaze making you squirm. “You’re always in here. Go to class, otherwise you’d be wasting your money.”
You frowned. “I’m an adult. You can’t make me go back.”
Sighing, Shoko brought her face down to yours, lips dangerously close. “What do you plan to do if you stay in here?”
“You decide, Shoko,” you whispered, first name leaving your lips in a way that made Shoko’s stomach do somersaults.
Bringing her hands up, she cupped your face, grip burning tight against your skin.
“You love teasing me, don’t you sweetheart?” Closing the gap between you two, she brought your lips together, melting into you.
The taste of Shoko’s strawberry chapstick filled your mouth immediately, making the already sweet kiss even sweeter. Moaning into her mouth, you attempted to deepen the kiss, but she pulled away before you could.
“Come back to me later tonight, darling.” Shoko pulled you off of her desk, pushing you towards the office door. You looked back at her, frowning.
“Don’t frown at me; we’ll have more time if you wait. Now go, and I promise I’ll make tonight worth it.”
Nodding, you left, shutting the door softly behind you. Shoko was a woman of her word, so there was no need to worry. You knew you’d be unable to walk later that night.
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toji crying at his daughters highschool graduation... :( (papa toji x fem reader)
the photographer you guys hired is trying desperately to get a normal picture while your daughter keeps laughing halfway through every shot.
shes standing out in the sun in her graduation gown, fixing her hair between pictures and trying her absolute best whenever the photographer asks her to pose a certain way, and all you can think is how pretty she looks.
you dont notice it at first, hes standing beside you with his arms crossed, broad shoulders stiff beneath his button up, watching your daughter while she smiles for the camera. then your hand brushes his arm and you glance up, immediately pausing when you catch the look on his face.
his jaw is clenched tight and his eyes are so glossy.
before you can even say anything, a tear slips down his cheek. and you stare at him, almost shocked that youre able to keep it together more than he is.
"toji, are you crying?" you ask softly, shuffling closer.
his head turns so fast it almost makes you laugh.
"ain't cryin'." he grunts, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek. the denial would have been much stronger if there wasnt another tear already making its way down his face.
he almost angrily wipes at his eyes and looks away toward the photographer again like that somehow fixes the situation.
across the lawn, your daughter is smiling through another picture, sunlight catching on her gown while she laughs at something the photographer says, and the second toji looks at her again, his expression crumples completely.
"fucks sake." he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand over his face, "look at 'er."
you look at her, and shes beautiful, the same little girl who used to spend most her time in her dads arms, the same little girl who used to hold onto two of his fingers instead of his whole hand.
toji shakes his head slowly, eyes fixed on her, his voice cracks barely. "swear to god she was a baby five minutes ago."
you smile softly, your hand rubbing the junction between his shoulders, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
"baby, shes eighteen." you murmur.
toji looks away because that physically pains him. he can feel his heart clenching, tears continuing to roll down his cheeks even though hes trying so hard to keep composure. his baby is all grown, and he cant take it.
youre laughing and getting emotional at the same time, your hand still rubbing his shoulders. the photographer calls for parents to join the next set of pictures, and your daughter immediately waves both of you over with the biggest smile on her face.
toji takes one look at her and lets out a long suffering sigh, shaking his head while rubbing at his eyes again.
"aint no reason she oughta be this grown already." he grumbles.
you hook your arm through his and lean into his side, feeling him immediately wrap an arm around your waist.
by the time you reach your daughter, tojis still visibly emotional, trying and failing to hide it while his daughter laughs at him for crying, and the look he gives her is so full of love it almost hurts to see.
your daughter smiles softly as she moves to hug him, and toji wraps his arms around her as he reciprocates it, holding her tight. his eyes are still glossy as he presses a kiss to her hair, hecause all he can see when he looks at her is the little girl who used to fit in his arms.
a/n: oh my god shes just his baby thats his baby girl😭😭😭😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢 toji cant take this hes gonna start begging you for another one LMFAO
