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On your bedside table is a fresh bouquet of flowers, tended to and soaking up sugar water right against your windowsill. Underneath the glass vase is a note, flattened out under the weight but still folded with hand-writing that looks like chicken scratch.
romance aint dead or whatever the fuck. see you soon - k.
You know it’s there because you put it there, and when you wake up from a nap on Saturday afternoon - it’s the first thing you think of. There’s a heavy rain drumming on the roof of your apartment that sets a backdrop to the silent evening. You check the time, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. It’s nearly 7pm, almost 8. Your stomach rumbles and your heart thumps with a tender melancholy.
You’re practically slumped forward as you swipe your phone open. You force yourself to scroll aimlessly through your socials first. Twitter, Instagram, Tik-Tok. After some mind-numbing scrolling, your fingers tapping along hearts and re-tweeting stuff that you find amusing, you gain courage to check what you’ve wanted to check the whole time.
You tap your text messages and there’s two new ones from your lover. Your face spreads into a smile as you touch the messages.
(sent 5:45) Out on a mission.
(sent 5:47) See you later. Don’t be fucking stupid.
That makes you laugh, a real loud laugh. You know what he’s trying to say at least. He’s still not good at telling you to take care. You think it’s a result of spending so many years as friends. That awkwardness in showing real affection and real vulnerability. Even still, you don’t hate it. It mostly feels like a welcome transition, another milestone in your many years together.
(sent 7:02) I’m awake. I took a nap and I’m gonna start dinner. Text me when you’re home. Miss you <3
You wonder if the last sentiment will be too much, but decide it doesn’t matter. Swinging your heavy limbs over the edge of the mattress, you slip your feet into some house slippers. Pro-Hero Dynamight merch no less.
Yawning, you rub your eyes from sleep and stumble into the bathroom. You play something on your phone to pass the time as you freshen up. A quick lather and rinse with face wash, brush your teeth, and make sure your hair is neat and back. After that, you put on an old pair of PJ pants and a shirt two sizes too big on you.
Once you feel clicked into your consciousness, you pocket your phone and think about what you have in the fridge. A box of silken tofu unopen, chili crisp, green onions, eggs. Maybe you have something in the freezer?
You only ever make it into your living room before a cumbersome knock startles you out of your haze. You can’t imagine who’d be here at this hour.
With hesitance, you rest your hand on the doorknob.
“Who is it?”
“Who the fuck d’ya think?”
Your hand moves before you can reply, undoing the lock before twisting the door open. Bakugou stands in front of you, ragged and a little wet from the rain. You blink a few times, mouth agape.
“Why’re you here right now?” You say, ushering him inside to shield him from the pouring rain. He’s soaked to the bone. Mask pulled over his forehead, with most of his hero gear still sitting on his body. He stands in the doorway as you click the door shut behind him. Without any words exchanged - you hurry off to grab him a towel.
“Wanted to make sure you weren’t dead,” He replies. Part of you itches to revert back to just handing it to him, letting him dry himself off in your doorway like he has tens of times before.
But with trembling hands, you wrap the towel around his head and press. Drying him off is an easier task than you thought it’d be - even if your heart is twisting funnily in your chest. You suddenly feel nervous as you pull the towel back enough to see his face. His eyes are piercing like always, smeared liner around them accentuating the stark white and red. He looks at you hard, long, wordless.
You continue drying him off, your hands over his ears and head with the towel as a barrier. You hesitate when you get down to his neck, suddenly conscious of his body and how the material of his costume leaves so little to the imagination. You trek forward feeling both stupid and brave. Bakugou clears his throat.
“I was asleep,” You say, cutting through the tension to the best of your ability.
“That why you look like shit?”
Your eyes widen at the jab, then all at once, you’re laughing. You hit his chest, and let it linger.
“Dickhead,”
“Only the best,” He snips.
And it’s a weird, roundabout way to flirt. You know it is, and so does he. Maybe you’re just feeling emboldened by the fact he showed up. Despite himself, he’s here. You take a step forward, wrapping the towel around his neck and dragging him to you.
When you kiss, something inside of you feels like it’s melting. Bakugou lets his hand rest on your waist when he kisses you. He grabs it tight the deeper you go, a soft little moan leaving his mouth when you let out a whine. It’s really not like you, and it’s not like him either.
But it makes sense like this, and only like this.
You fold under the intensity of his lips. The scorching kiss that leaves a tingle in your spine, you pull back and curl your fist on his chest. When you pull away from him, he looks a little mad. A growl leaves his mouth as he pulls you back in.
And for a second, you get pulled into it. You giggle and let him bite your lower lip with his teeth before you pull away more seriously.
“I have to make dinner,” You say through a breath. He’s practically burning up, steaming at the sudden wait. You give him an apologetic look. You can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
He just gives you another deep tongue kiss before nearly pushing you off. Running a hand through his hair, he gives you a quick once over then takes a deep breath.
“Asshole,” He says. It’s all he can come up with. You flush.
“Come eat with me. Your clothes are in the bathroom,”
“What’re you going to make?”
You haven’t really decided.
“Something spicy,” You say instead. He gives you hum and then disappears down your hallway, the bathroom door shutting behind him.
You hear a shower run and laugh under your breath as you actually make it into the kitchen. You can throw something together, a curry works. You pull a clean cutting board and knife and then simper around for ingredients.
Left-over chicken thighs, some mushrooms, onions, garlic, and a curry roux cube. You have frozen spinach in your freezer, so you take that out. Cutting and prepping the veggies entrances you and soon enough, you lose yourself to the monotonous sound of chopping and peeling. Discarding scraps in between as you heat oil and add everything as it comes. It doesn’t take long. You’ll throw everything together and eventually let it hang out while the rice cooks.
Bakugou returns to you when you’ve finished chopping up all the veggies. You hear him before you look, wearing slippers he keeps at your place. They have little lions on the feet, and you’re always surprised he doesn’t complain about wearing them.
His breath is warm as he lingers over you in the kitchen.
“Smells good,”
“Nothing special. Just curry,”
“Better than eating take-out,” He bites, a call out to your poor diet as of late. You roll your eyes a little at the jab, but it dies as soon as his hands touch your waist. It’s a little, hesitant touch. His chin resting on your shoulder.
“This..?” He says, so softly you almost miss it. Like if he says it too loud, too open - everything will crumble to pieces. You shiver.
“Mhm,”
And then he gets closer, a back-hug. You don’t mind when his arm hesitantly wraps around your middle. His fingers ghosting over the skin of your stomach, his cheek slightly pressing into your neck. He breathes, and you feel it all over your body like a spark of electricity. Little flickers of it igniting a heat so deep into your body you aren’t sure where it starts and where it ends.
You stir the pot for too long. If you move, so will he.
The onions are golden when they aren’t supposed to be, but you still hesitate to step away.
When you do, he does - but not too far. A breath of relief passes your lungs. You load the veggies, and the chicken into the pot.
“Can you get me the chicken stock from the fridge? In the plastic thing,”
Bakugou opens the fridge, pauses, and then brings it to you. He opens it without you asking, the tricky lid on the countertop. You tuck the curry cube into all the bits, then pour the cold stock over everything. The roux cube dissolves into the water, and you season with salt and pepper. Then the lid goes on, and the boil rolls off to a gentle simmer as you turn the gas low.
When it’s over, there’s silence. You’re nervous to turn around, what you’ll see.
When you work up the nerve, Bakugou is staring at you. Your breath hitches.
“C’mere,” He rasps.
You step forward and he’s got a hand on your shoulder, the other on your hips. He cradles your neck, thick fingers at the nape. It’s a bold move, especially from him. But you don’t shy away from him.
“I uhm… I missed you,”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” You say, letting your hands on his arms
He leans forward. It’s a little slower, chaste, but wanting. Longing. Deeply imbued in the gesture.
He presses forward to yours with an uneven grunt. Your noses brush, as his hold on you, gets tighter and tighter. You stare at him, blinking. His eyes are screwed tight for a while, but when he opens them they’re filled to the brim with fire. You know it well, have seen it hundreds of times on the field before but now it’s directed you in a way it’s never been.
A flaming arrow into your wooden heart, your hands reach around. You grab his shoulders, his muscles, and look.
“You’re gonna drive me fuckin’ crazy,” He whispers, soft and tender. Your brows raise
“I didn’t do anything,” You say back, a protest.
“Don’t need to,”
“I missed you,” You say again, a little firmer.
“Don’t do this to me,” He says, voice filled to the brim with longing. You frown.
“But I didn’t -”
“You did. You did by being like this and kissing me at the fucking door. You’re a fucking tease,”
“I’m not anything, you dick. I just… I’m nervous.”
“You think I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that,”
“You really know how to push my buttons,”
You stop then, holding him. The two of you just holding each other, in the dim lights of your kitchen. Your hands on his body and his on yours, looking. You study his expression, the part of his lips, and the crease in his brow. It’s been like this for the last couple of weeks. Bakugou suddenly appears at your place and then gets frustrated with something.
You’re normally so good about figuring out his moods without him having to tell you. Lately, being together seems to hinder any of your previous rationale. You feel like you’re learning him all over again, like he’s the same but he isn’t. Normally, you would just know. Or if you didn’t it, he’d work up the nerve to tell you.
But lately, it’s like this. Neither of you is sure what to do or which steps you’re allowed to take. You glance down at his lips then look into his eyes. Then you ask.
“What is it?” You say soft, pressing your lips to his before pulling back “What do you want?”
There’s a passing look. A familiarity stitched into the way he looks at you, has looked at you forever. It’s still longing, for some reason.
“How long have we known each other?”
“8 years, give or take,”
You can feel his arm support your back. His fingers are gentle as they brush over the nape of your neck, over the peach fuzz.
“Every time we act fucking.. lovey-dovey or whatever, I feel like I’m losing my mind,” ― He takes a deep breath, leaning into you. His nose pressed to your temple ― “It doesn’t feel like it’s been 8 years. Feels like I just opened something that I can’t close again,”
“Like a dam breaking?”
“Somethin’ like that, yeah. It’s fucked,”
“Do you hate it?”
He kisses your temple.
“Nah,”
“Then why do you seem so…I dunno, frustrated? I don’t like seeing you upset,”
“It’s not like I’m upset. But I’m getting greedy with you, with everything,”
“That’s kinda just how you are,” You say, amused. A tender smile on your face as you cup his cheeks, thumb smoothing underneath his eyes “You want something and you make it yours. You take and take and take,”
“You’re not fucking… you’re not something to be taken, alright? It’s not that easy,”
“I’m not a delicate little flower, baby. We work on the field together, you know how it is. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” ― You say, leaning forward. Your noses brush ― “But I’m not gonna run away. Maybe I like giving to you. Maybe I want you to take,”
He swallows, then gives you a feral grin.
“So you are being a tease,”
“Oh, shut up.” You snort.
You like seeing him smile, as mild as it is. It’s not something you get to see often, but when you do - it makes your heart flutter. You kiss him that time, smiling and laughing into it.
“We’re both bad at this but we’re in it together,”
“Whatever,”
“Whatever,” You mock. He clicks his teeth at you.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, Katsuki,”
“It hasn’t been shit but you lately,”
“What about me?”
“Fucking everything,” ― He says through a laugh, hands going lower ― “Every single thing I learned to suppress that you keep reminding me of. Everything. All of you,”
“What do you want?”
“Everything,” He says again, a little harder. A little more heat attached. “All of you,”
You catch wind of something you don’t think you’re supposed to see. The room starts to simmer. A gentle warmh licking at your insides, the soft embers of fire aching to be fed. You let your eyes flicker to his mouth, pink tongue sliding over his bottom lip.
“Is it… do you want to go all the way with me?”
“We can’t go back from that,” He rasps, sharply. Instantly. A way out in case things go sour. It’s hesitant, almost desperate. His voice, always so full of composure when he speaks, suddenly gone unsteady like a wave.
“Who says I want to go back?”
“You’re killing me,”
“I’ve liked you back, all the same as before. Chased after you. Worked to be by your side in the same way you did for me. You’re the common denominator,”
“Fuck,”
“I don’t go into something planning on backing out,”
“We… I can’t go back after this. Whatever fail-safe I’ve got on my feelings is going to go out the fucking window and you’re gonna drive me crazy for the rest of my life,”
“Don’t ever leave me alone,”
He laughs hard.
“Not in my wildest fucking dreams,”
You let yourself fall into a kiss. It’s easy. Your hands settle at his neck, and he’s still holding you the same as before. It’s just a kiss, a start to something more but it never stops feeling good. His lips are nice, soft, full. His tongue is curious, licking into your mouth. His teeth are sharp, digging into yours before he pulls away, letting your lip follow.
And his hands, like him, are greedy. Calloused, devious as they slide down your back and come around your ass with a harsh grip. You can feel yourself being spread apart, the mild stretch that makes your stomach feel like it’s flipping. Nothing about this is easy.
But you don’t expect that from him, so you kiss back. Your hands tangle in his hair and tug at the root and you think the two of you will fuck just how you fight. When the thought passes your mind, you moan loud into his mouth and he freezes. When he pulls away, a string of spit follows where your lips were locked.
“Turn the stove off,” ― His voice is so deep you can feel it in your ribs, in your whole body ― “Or it’ll be burned by the time I’m done with you,”
The gas turns off with a sudden flick. Your body feels almost numb from want. Bakugou takes your hand, and you follow him into your bedroom.
__
Wholly familiar with the sound, sight, and feeling of shattered glass - the feeling of falling into bed with Bakugou feels an awful like crashing through a building.
You feel him before you get a chance to look him in the eyes, your back hitting your unmade mattress. Sheets and blankets get kicked to the floor, you fall with a soft thump into the pillows. Bakugou crawls on top of you, his knees between your spread legs and arms on either side of your head. His shadow swallows you like an eclipse, a moon over blazing sunlight. You succumb quickly to his darkness. You kiss again, all over, again and again.
Unsure of what to do, you reach for him with desperation. Fingers dancing over the muscles in his shoulders and his back - your palms glide over the nape of his neck until you’re dragging him down to you. So hot it burns, the taste of swapped spit, and the feeling of a swollen mouth. Memories of heated makeout sessions on your couch return to you with fervor, and for some reason make you want this all the more.
Bakugou lets his hands do most of the speaking. For all the time you’d spend, out of reach from each other - you wonder if this kind of clinginess is bred from all the time apart. Why you can’t part for even a second, or why Bakugou’s hands speak a private little language.
Languidly passing over your calves over your fuzzy PJs, suddenly steady sweeping over your hips, tender at the waist where you can feel every callous in his palms, and desperate above the navel. Anguishing need when he gropes your chest, fingers squeezing the fat of your tits just underneath you’re oversized t-shirt. Your mind feels like it’ll drip from your nose, but you’re enamored by how many ways there are to say i love you without ever saying a word.
His thumb rubs the underneath side of your tits, then flick over the nipple until you’re moaning into his mouth.
“Aah, ah,”
You think back on moments spent in bed. You’ve never gone all the way before, but you’ve done plenty else. So Bakugou knows what he’s doing when his thumb rolls your nipples, knows how sensitive they are to his touch. It makes you flood between a dull ache growing between your legs. Your clit throbs, and your body yearns.
You wonder how much time he’ll spend like this. You wonder how much will have passed. Bakugou never does anything half-assed, and you’re sure you’re included in that. The pinching feeling all over your skin makes you take in a lungful of air as you attempt to anchor yourself into reality.
He pushes your shirt all the way up this time, breaking the kiss-off before adjusting himself. You wiggle around taking your shirt off, tossing it to the floor somewhere. When you’re naked, Bakugou drops down again - tongue smoothing over your neckline. He bites into you hard, and you cry out. The pleasure from it is unexpected, the way he takes from you leaves your mind spinning.
“You’re so fucking sexy,”
“Yeah?”
He grunts, laving over every inch of your skin. You feel like you’re being offered, eaten whole. Cool air on the warm patches of saliva as he licks down parts of your body you didn’t think you liked being touched. On the space between your tits and on them, kisses on your stomach. You don’t think to compare it to worship.
Closer to fanaticism, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by. The difference hasn’t mattered until it has. Until just now, a single-minded way of working your body that makes you feel like you’re falling.
His fingers are comfortable in your waistband. He looks up at you this time, and you look down at him. You hold your own chest in some act of comfort, nodding. He takes off your pants and your panties with it - revealing you to the cool evening air. It’s too much for you to handle. Bakugou’s eyes are unapologetic in the inspection. His fingers smooth over the well-kept hair (which you only keep because he likes, so he says anyway) and you recognize it all over his face.
Your clit is throbbing, almost painfully. Tender. But Bakugou merely spreads you apart until it’s exposed, the hard bundle of nerves unfree from his scrutiny. You don’t know why he stares at it for so long, shallow breathing like he can’t take in enough air to stay afloat. He leans his face in, and unexpectedly - pecks the hood with something akin to affection.
He kisses everywhere, along your folds until he’s kissing your clit and then it occurs to you. It feels so much like how he kisses you, lips first, then tongue then greed. You let out a pathetic whine in the process. You want to clamp your thighs, push his face away from the most sensitive parts of you but you can’t.
It hits you when his tongue laps at you, snaking around your clit before sucking it into his sweltering mouth. The heavy muscle expert in the pressure it needs ― you need to feel good. Your toes curl, steady anticipation building. His arms wrap under your thighs and suddenly he’s dragging you down to bury his nose deeper until it disappears into your pussy. A wave of static flits through your whole body. You hiss, teeth clamped together and trembling. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You don’t know what to do with your hands, so they clamp into the sheets behind you. The fabric is taut in your grip as pleasure starts to tear through you like a torrent. A storm starting from your chest and ending between your legs - a natural disaster that threatens to tear you apart from each end. It signals with a shaky tremor inside, and your spine arches off the bedsheets in the shape of a crescent moon.
You convulse in the blink of an eye and cum so hard you can’t see straight
“Oooh, oh fuck. K-Katsuki, fuck,”
You moan his name like an epithet for god. He lets you sink into him, his touches remaining until you physically have to pry yourself away from him, and even still he insists. Persisting in the gesture, he pulls away to let you breathe but doesn’t move away from your thighs. Labored breathing fills the white space in the room, and when you finally stop scurrying away, he buries himself snugly into your cunt. Licking again with little regard to what protests you might have above him.
“You taste so fucking good. So goddamn sweet,”
“Want more,” You say, soft. An urgency rips through you as your hands rake through his hair “Want you so fucking much,”
Bakugou crawls up between you, a couple of kisses exchanged almost like a distraction. Before you understand what’s happening really, you feel Bakugo move. The weight of his body suddenly shifted. You turn on your side to accommodate him, his body slotted behind you. The position is oddly embarrassing, as Bakugou’s hand is enough to fit around your torso.
“Hold your legs apart, baby,”
The way his lips curl around the word baby makes your stomach turn. You lift your leg, holding it. You can feel Bakugou’s arms snaking around your middle, dipping below your belly button until the pads of his fingers nudge your clit. You shake, your head dropping back onto your shoulder. He tilts his head to kiss the shell of your ear, teeth at your earlobe.
“Gonna open you up and fuck you in every position under the sun,” ― He says with so much confidence is astounds you. You gasp at the sound of his voice ― “You’re gonna give it to me and I’m gonna take it from you,”
“K-Kat…suki,”
“And I’m gonna make you fucking cum. Gonna fuck you so good you can’t think,”
“Fuck w-where ‘d you… fuck,”
You feel his fingers press against your hole, fluttering at the intrusion. Bakugous fingers are thicker than they are long. Covered in calluses and cuts, blunt nails and all. They’re rough in a way that’s incredible. You’ve felt them before, more than once. With your leg up like this, they sink deeper into your hole. It’s lewd, the way his two fingers make his palm cup against your pussy.
His fingers pump in and out of you, a wet shlick punctuated with each movement. It’s so wet and so tight. It feels funny. The tenderness from cumming makes your insides twitch.
“You do this to me,” ― He says in between everything, a reminder ― “Seeing you fucking fall apart ‘cause of me. I’m so hard I can’t think about fucking anything other than you,”
You can only describe it as animalistic, like a cat in heat. Desperation A sinking, lingering desperation from something you don’t have a name for. You’ve never known Bakugou to talk much at all so every word feels like it’s piercing you. A clawing thing, digging into your chest. You want and want more than anything in the world. You’ve done plenty in your life. Kissing strangers and sex with exes in between. Life has touched you more than once.
But because it’s Bakugou, it feels like you’ve just discovered every last one of your senses. What touch can really feel like, the potent smell of sex, the vision of the open window, the taste of desire, and the sound of Bakugou’s voice all working in tandem. Your heart pounds in your ears as his fingers fuck you open a little more, and it’s not enough to make you cum. But it’s enough to drive you fucking mad.
It’s about all the time you’ve missed out, your body is signaling to you that there really is no coming back. You clench at the thought and Bakugou hisses behind you. You’ve never coveted something so much.
Yet, you’re wiggling your hips back and fucking into Bakugou’s hands and moaning. Shaking and frantic for whatever makes you feel full. You want to be so full it makes your head swim.
“Please. It’s enough, I swear - so please, please, please,”
“You want my fucking dick?”
“So bad, you don’t - you don’t get it. Need it,”
In his capable hands and even in your delirium, you register Bakugou at his tipping point. You know he is because he curses on his breath, fingers suddenly pulling away. Your leg is still up. Swallowing saliva, you bite your lip trying to be patient.
Bakugou pulls his sweats down in one motion and pulls you flush to his hips. You feel it behind you. Hard, heavy, and thick against your spine. You feel it against your ass before he slips underneath and rubs the head just along your clit. You never get over it - the way it curves upward. Pink tip and mostly pale, and long.
It feels like a dream. Bakugous hands come underneath your knee, making sure your leg stays up. You reach a hand between your legs to help guide it in. With your lower lip tugged into your teeth, you hold your breath - guiding the tip inside of you with a quiet gasp.
“Holy fuck,”
“Nghh, shit,”
The initial stretch makes your muscles clench. It’s so thick, the head leaving you with a dull soreness. Constricting and hot, there’s a wet noise as he pushes each inch inside. An agonizing swell, the raw feeling of skin against skin. You moan loud, gasping for air, and Bakugou humans.
“I gotcha baby, just - shit, just breathe,”
It’s hard to remember, so you take a big swallow of air in your lungs. It all gets pushed out when he fucks himself in. The tight stretch peaking with the slightest discomfort - yet no pain. He slides another arm under you, holding your stomach and grinding his hips so the head rubs against your insides. His other hand touches your clit.
He starts slowly at first. Pulls his hips back before filling you again - all at once. Each thrust is dizzying. Your walls are slick and scorching, throbbing at the way his dick drags through you once then a few more times. The pain gets gradually replaced with pleasure, a white-hot euphoria settling in your body. Whimpering, you reach back to grab him, to get him close as he fucks you.
“You feel so fucking good,”
You exhale shakily. Opening yourself up to him makes your mind feel hazy and desperate. The way you’re laying makes it hard for him to move. Forceful, narrow.
“If I keep fucking you like his, I’m gonna cum,”
“It’s fine,”
“The hell it is,”
You don’t get a say in the matter before Bakugou’s handling you. You hardly understand how it happens, he’s so strong. In one fell swoop, he was you facing away from him - sitting on his cock. You fall forward, hands on his calves as he adjusts you. This position is so much deeper, right against your g-spot. A heatwave runs through you at the new feeling - how can something be so different and the same all at once?
You can feel what he was talking about before. What greed he’s been shaking off. It feels so good to let him carve pieces of you out.
“Wanna see you move on it,” He says through a hard grunt. He adjusts behind you, leaning up against some pillows. Your knees are on the bed bent. You can feel him all the way in your stomach, even the littlest movements feel incredible. “Grind on it. Make yourself feel good,”
You end up leaning almost all the way forward, to make it easier on yourself. Cheek pressed into the mattress - your thoughts slip as the position allows you to take every inch. Your arm resting over your head, the other nestled under the weight of your body - playing with your clit. A soft whine leaves you when Bakugou’s hand lands on your ass, one harsh smack that makes you twitch. You hear him groan.
“Fuck, what a view,” He practically growls. His voice is thick with lust, hands kneading the flesh rough “Look so damn good, fuck - look how you move on it,”
He wants you, and you can feel that. That alone is enough to make you give, like breaking under the weight of his adoration.
You feel lost hearing the praise. Your whole body forward as you move back and forth - a grinding motion that gives you the most perfect friction. Bakugou is encouraging but entranced - hands doing little other than guiding your hips again. You can feel him watching you more than anything. The prying gaze you’ve gotten used to suddenly focused on you, and the way you bounce on his cock. You can feel the mess you’re making on his cock, arousal displaced by motion.
Even when you get used to the stretch, there’s something about the way it penetrates you that never stops feeling unfamiliar. It’s addicting, the natural rhythm. The in-out-in-out that rubs against your inside, your g-spots. You feel so intoxicated, suspended in a dull pleasure that builds and builds but never ceases. Never comes to an appropriate stop, a pauses but just keeps fucking going.
Bakugou is like kerosene in your veins. With every gesture, his voice rumbles through his chest, hot grunts, and moans that make you want to move faster. He’s always so vocal and it makes you feel so good. All your thoughts turn off as you listen to your instinct. Moving back against him becomes as natural as breathing.
“Wanna see you cum all over it, make my dick pretty baby,”
“K-Katsuki,”
You can practically hear the grin as his hands settle on your middle.
“Whose dick are you riding?”
“F-fuck, yours,”
“And what’s my name, baby?”
You can feel him guide you, moving you into going faster. You follow the rhythm he sets, harder and faster and quicker until you’re dripping all over it.
“Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki,”
“That’s fucking right. Cum for me, come on,”
You aren’t sure how it’s possible - that little push of arousal like sparking off fireworks. But hearing him is all it takes you for your whole body to get pulled taut. For you to finish with an orgasm, one that’s longer and harder where each wave lasts so long it almost hurts. You’re squeezing him so tight - the stimulation too much to bear.
But you’re not finished, not ready for the way Bakugou is handling you for the second time. You’ve always known he was strong, but you’ve never felt so delicate as he flips you around and lays you into the mattress all in one gesture. You don’t even know that it happened until you blink blearily to see him above you. His eyes are so intense you tremble.
His hands come behind your knees again, until you lifted just slightly. It’s another brand new angle, another way of intense pleasure this time from your over-sensitive walls. Heaving, your hands push on his torso. It’s too much, he’s too much.
But he’s ceaseless. Even on your spine, each one of your nerves fried - Bakugou doesn’t give you any room to breathe. He folds you like it’s nothing. Your thighs tense and trembling, he dips down to really look at you. His mouth is swollen from where his teeth were biting in. You wrap your hands around his neck, dragging him down to you. He grunts.
“It’s harder to cum when I’m not looking at you,”
You almost laugh. If he wasn’t fucking you the way he was, you think you would be. Each of your giggles is cut by a moan or cry. Your ears feel full, your body gone heavy. You listen to the pounding rain but your body is caught in an endless loop of stimulation. Over again, stimulating the same deep nerves to the point it feels like being dug out. If he wasn’t so sweet to you, you’d feel used. Even so, you hardly mind. Instead, you stare with glassy eyes at Bakugou above you.
Bakugou is looking down at you with his teeth bared, eyes glued to your cunt and how it sucks him. How it shines with arousal, how the tip spreads you open and keeps you open until he’s balls deep.
“I wanna fuck you forever,” ― He says, pulling you before thrusting himself all the way back in ― “Wanna make you cry, won’t stop till you push me away,”
“Too much,” Your voice shakes, throat hoarse from the highs of adrenaline you’re still riding “It’s too much!”
“You can give me one more,”
His voice is smooth.
“Hold yourself up for me,”
Shaking, you keep yourself in position - wondering what Bakugou is doing with his hands before you feel fingers on your clit again. You gasp - body flaring up with hypersensitivity. You choke on the sound of your own voice, wanting to push him away. He pins you with his weight. You lay underneath him, unmoving. A jagged edge splinters your mind. You aren’t sure it’s possible to cum again, so your mouth is gaping open in a plead. You can’t, you’re sure you can’t.
But every word of disbelief is met with a kiss on your calf. Bakugou continuously thrusting into you. Deep, excessive, oddly patient even as he starts to lose his composure. Concentration lingers in the crease of his brows, the set of his jaw as you look up at him with lovesickness and desperation.
All of a sudden, you feel something. Your brows shoot up and Bakugou instantly connects his lips to yours. Swallowing every last sound as your whole body constricts. All the muscles in your thighs, your stomach, your whole body clenched.
And then, for a third time, you cum. You cum so terribly hard and for so long you can feel your mind breaking. Your nails wrap around his arms, digging into his back as you silently scream.
Bakugou drops his head onto your shoulder as he shudders. His thrusts going sloppy, he groans into your ear. It reverbs through your whole body. You run your fingers through his hair, catching your breath.
“I’m gonna, g-gonna, shit,”
“Cum inside me, Katsuki. Give it to me, hero,”
You think the last words might be too much until you feel his nails dig into your hips so hard it’s painful. You’d have to explore it later, but for now, you moan - shivering as you feel him give you a few pumps before hot, thick cum paints your insides completely white. You can feel yourself full, contented.
Once you’ve both finished, and Bakugou rides out his high - he collapses on top of you. The weight of his sweaty body makes you laugh. He smells sweet and earthy, like home. In the afterglow, your heart beats funnily. You look around and see the flowers on your windowsill, and think about the note underneath.
“Katsuki,” You call, voice soft. He grunts.
“I love you,”
“….love you too,” He says, flushed “Even when you drive me crazy,”
Romance isn’t dead. Not by any means.