𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑂𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑂𝑛𝑒 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐺𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑇𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑌𝑜𝑢
Warning: flirty talk, spicy vibes, and grown-up stuff. When Bakugo finds out she's inexperienced, he doesn’t judge… okay, he does, but he also volunteers real fast Part two
"Seriously?" Bakugo asked, voice still rough from sleep, like the words scratched his throat from how damn incredulous he was. He propped himself up on one elbow, leaning in just enough to find your face in the shadows of the room, like he needed to see your eyes to actually believe it.
"Never? Like, never never? Not even a little?"
You turned your face away, dodging his gaze like that could somehow save you from the embarrassment. Heat bloomed from your neck to the tips of your ears. You crossed your arms, as if that could shield you from his expression—that dangerous mix of amusement and mischief that always made you feel stupidly vulnerable.
"Why the hell would I lie about that?" you snapped, defensive, curling slightly into yourself. "You think this is funny or what?"
"Nah, nah." Bakugo chuckled low, that raspy tone he used whenever he was about to say something you knew would piss you off. He flopped back onto the couch, head resting beside yours, and his hand—big, warm, sure—slid lazily over your waist, like this conversation wasn't actively setting your brain on fire.
"Shit..." he muttered, still smirking. "You're so fucking pure I feel like a goddamn degenerate just touching you."
You growled at him, like that could erase your existence from the conversation, but he only laughed harder.
"You're telling me you dated three dumbasses and none of them earned a blowjob? I don't know if I should give 'em a medal for being useless or thank 'em for leaving you untouched."
"You're sick," you muttered, a knot forming in your stomach—half nerves, half... something else you really didn't want to name out loud.
"I volunteer as tribute," he said suddenly, with that annoying confidence you hated and loved at the same time, leaning in just enough for his voice to brush against the skin under your ear. His warm breath made your skin prickle. "If you're gonna make your debut, better be with me. I'll train you, grade you, give you a final exam—whatever you need..."
You stared at him, horrified.
"Training?"
He raised an eyebrow, his grin totally out of control now. "Well, if you're gonna bite, better it be me. I’ve got high pain tolerance."
"Katsuki!"
"What? Gotta be ready. First-timers are like puppies—use their teeth for everything."
You covered your face with both hands, half-laughing, half-praying the couch would just open up and swallow you whole.
"No rhythm," he went on, completely unfazed, counting off on his fingers like he was listing groceries. "Forget to use their hands. Swallow air like they're training for a free diving comp. And that's if they don’t gag in the first sixty seconds."
"Shut up!" you laughed.
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to. Ever," he said, his voice dipping into something lower, serious.
You fell silent, caught off guard by the shift. His fingers moved softer now over your waist, more like comfort than teasing. Bakugo could be a dick, yeah. A world-class asshole. But sometimes—with you—he could be sweet, too.
"But if one day you do wanna try..." he smiled again, and his eyebrow arched in that smug way, "you know I’ll take one for the team."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet you’re dying for me."
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