Archive of Our Own

“Cut that buddy shit.” He says, and you laugh a little, exhaling through your nose. “Wait uh,” He catches your wrist, stopping you from leaving, pure curiosity spurring him on more than anything else. “Can I,” he starts lamely, “Can I see you again?” He senses your hesitation and backtracks. “Like can we uh, can we fuck again?”

“Oh!” Your eyes shoot open. “Sure.” You pull your phone out of your pocket and he watches you check a calendar. “Actually,” you chew your lower lip, “If you’re down for something casual regularly, I can see you on Saturday at like 2PM?”

“Yeah I’m off on Saturday.” He says. “Anything I can do to uh, improve the experience? Since we're being so clinical about this.” He says, covering up his surprise with sarcasm. You giggle, leaning against the closed door.

“You’re pretty good in bed,” you cock your head at him, “But you knew that, didn’t you?” He nods. “I like uh, I like it rough generally, which you’re already on the edge of, but if you think of any ways to up the ante there, I’m down. We can talk about it first, but I actually have to go. I have an appointment” You put your phone away. “Shoot me a text okay?” He thinks about kissing you goodbye, and thinks better of it, letting you slip out of his apartment, and down the hallway.

II.

“You keep checking your phone, bro.” Kirishima knocks his shoulder. “Waiting on som   eone?” Bakugou shrugs, then takes another sip of his beer.

“Deciding whether to text a girl.” He says again, barely able to speak above the crackle and boom of conversations and laughter in the bar.

“What’s stopping you?” Kirishima probes, and Bakugou rubs his eyes.

“The sex was good,” he admits, “She’s hot as fuck.”

“Sounds perfect.” Kirishima cocks his head at the blonde. “You’re the one who’s always saying you work too much for a relationship.” Bakugou stares down at the amber liquid in front of him for a moment before responding.

“She was, she was really casual.” He thinks about it. “I asked if we could chill again and she took out her google calendar and made us an appointment.” Kirishima snorts, and then chokes a little on his beer.

“Listen, if you had good sex it doesn’t seem like you have anything to lose,” he pauses, “Of course, unless you think there’s something there, romantically, because we both know you’re not really a casual guy.”

“I’m totally fucking casual,” Bakugou roars, and Kirishima shakes his head.

“You are the CEO of catching feelings and you goddamn know it.”

“I’m not gonna catch feelings,” he says the phrase like it’s a vile expletive. Kirishima raises his eyebrows.

“Alright, well, better text her then.”

II

You show up at his place, hair tied away from your face, the last vestiges of golden afternoon light spilling into his apartment on the thirtieth floor. You’re all business.

“Do you mind if I get a glass of water before we start?” He shakes his head, gesturing to the kitchen. “I was kinda surprised you reached out.” You say, rocking onto your tiptoes, stretching to reach his water glasses on the top shelf. You feel his presence behind you, he takes one down and hands it to you.

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno,” you laugh, “I guess you seemed a little jarred when I left so suddenly.” You go to his sink and fill your glass, taking a sip of it. He shrugs.

“You did seem like ya were in a hurry.”

“I was almost late,” Your mouth quirks a little, “You were better than I expected.” He shakes his head,

“Flattery, huh?” He reaches out, cupping your face with one calloused hand, thumb pressing into the plush of your cheek. “You tryna butter me up?” You giggle nervously, setting the glass on the counter. He leans over you, red eyes unreadable, as he takes you by the waist, lifting you easily, setting you on his island. “I’m not touchin’ you again unless we have a safeword, green for fine, yellow for slow down, or less, red for stop completely, and I’ll uh, how do you want to be taken care of?” You consider, and he watches your hands dance in front of you.

“Um,” you close your eyes and shake your head a little bit, dismissively, “I’m sure I won’t need it, but um, just like, praise and physical comfort.”

“Hard limits?” He says, and you raise an eyebrow.

“You’re taking this very seriously.” He doesn’t take the bait.

“Yeah, I take not accidentally hurting you pretty seriously, you don’t have to be my girlfriend for me to want you to feel safe with me.” There’s a pause.

“I mean, I’m sure you get this all the time when you have these conversations, I’m pretty typical,” there’s an assumption he catches there, that he does this often, that his celebrity status means unlimited one night stands, and he doesn't bother to correct it, but it tugs at him for a moment. “But you know, um, vomit, scat, piss, I wouldn’t do really hard impact play or knifeplay with someone I didn’t know. Degradation is fine, if you praise me too much it might take me out of it but I um, I trust you. What about you?” He nods.

“That covers my shit too. And I’m not usin’ my quirk on ya, so don’t ask. That shit can scar.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” You’re still perched on the counter, and he lets you take another sip of water, downing half the glass, avoiding eye contact. Eventually you speak again, “Bakugou I-” He cuts off your words by wrapping a hand around your throat, squaring your hips against his, “I,” you whisper, pupils dilating, mind spinning,

“If I didn’t know better,” he says, voice a match barely striking tinder, rough, and low, “I’d say you were scared.” You blink up at him and slips a thumb between your lips, and he watches all pretense slip from your face, your eyes soften and you suck gently at it. “I knew you were smarter than you looked,” he says, tightening the hand he has around your throat, tugging his thumb from your lips with a soft pop. He jerks his head towards the bedroom. “C’mon, dummy.” To his surprise and subsequent delight, when he releases you, you slide off the counter onto the floor, crawling next to him down the hall. He sits on his mattress, and beckons you forward with one finger, utterly bewitched as you move to him, sitting on your knees between his legs.

“Why are you here?” He rumbles, unsure of the words as soon as he’s said them, but you seem to understand what he’s asking, even if you’re already far away from your body.

“Wanna be good, for you.” You say softly. He nods, slowly, and slips your dress of your shoulders, reaching around and unclipping your bra with one swift movement. Your breasts fall a little without the support, and he tosses your bra across the room, reaching for them, massaging the plush between his fingers, squeezing hard enough to push a gasp of pain from your lips, “This whatcha meant,” he growls, “When you said you wanted it rougher.” You nod a little.

“Y-yes.” You whisper, as he lets go of you, pushing his joggers down. He pumps his cock in front of you, once, twice, and then spits coarsely on the tip of it, rubbing his thumb across the head.

“You want this?” He asks, watching your eyes widen. “You wanna suck my dick?” You nod, “Dirty fuckin’ whore.” He reaches out and gently taps the side of your face. “Is that what you are, a dirty fuckin’ whore?”

“Yes,” and you realize what he wants, “Please, please, I’m a, a dirty whore, let me suck your cock daddy please-”

“Daddy,” he interrupts and repeats to you, an evil smile growing. “Daddy, huh? You think you get to call me that?” He shakes his head. “Nah. Gotta earn that shit. Let’s stick with sir, huh?” You nod, understanding. “Give it another shot, slut.”

“Please can I suck your cock, sir?” You look up at him, eyes wide with soft innocence, and he can’t stop the expletives that fall from his lips as he nods, taking a hold of the back of your head as you plant the softest kiss on the tip of his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathes, guiding you, softly at first and then working harder, moving your head so that you’re stroking his cock with your throat, watching your eyes water as you gag. “Am I too big for ya,” you shake your head and he rips you off of his length tapping your face with his wet cock, “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” You blink up at him, lashes wet.

“N-no sir,” You sputter, and the genuine fear in your voice makes his dick twitch. “No I can take it, I promise,” He cuts you off by thrusting hard into your mouth, fucking your face in earnest as tears drip down your cheeks. Your lungs burn for oxygen, and he only allows you short sharp breaths before he puts you back to work. It’s a few minutes of this before he stops, holding you off longer, letting you catch your breath.

“Color?” He asks, gruffly.

“Green,” you gasp. He pauses, “Green, I promise,” you protest, as he wipes a few tears from your face. “I’m fine.” He grunts with annoyance and stands, lifting you partially by the hair and partially by your arm, tossing you onto his bed. He pulls your dress off your body quickly, your panties soon follow, and you watch him climb on top of you, kneeling between your legs. He parts your folds with a finger, and slips it inside you, loosening the muscle a little. You react like you’ve never been touched, and he can’t help but marvel at the performance, shaking his head.

“Cut that shit,” he says roughly, “You don’t gotta act like everything fucking works for you, I actually want to make you cum.” You freeze, awkwardly, and he squints at you. “Seriously, I want you to be real. Tell me what I can do better.” You nod, catching your lower lip between your teeth.

“S-sorry.” You sit up a little, “I don’t um, I’m not used to, um, communicating.” He shrugs.

“I’m a patient guy, give it your best shot.” You search for the words, your face warming, and he watches you squirm uncomfortably. “Why does this freak you out more than me roughin’ you up?”

“Ahhhh,” you squirm, “Unclear. But um,” you reach out and take his hand, and for a moment, he thinks you’re reaching out for comfort, he’s ready to hold you, to tell you you don’t have to keep going, but you guide his hand back to your cunt, and slip two of his fingers inside you. You push them up, wincing a little at the stretch, and he feels it, “Right,” you gasp as he presses hard against that spot, ‘Right, right there, fuck-”

“Dirty little bitch,” He snarls, surprising even himself at how easily he falls back into it, shoving you roughly back onto the bed. Your back arches up as he picks the pace up, happier with the sounds your making, they’re less pretty, but they sound real. “That’s it,” he nearly coos, watching tears burn in your eyes, “There we fuckin’ go.”

You’re only able to take short sharp breaths as the waves of pleasure rock your body, he leans over you, watching you genuinely fall apart at his hands.

III. Two Weeks Later.

Bakugou fumbles with his phone when it buzzes, tucking his coffee into the crook of his elbow.

You: I’m free tonight.

Bakugou: love how you don’t do small talk.

You: too busy.

You: can we try this?

Bakugou opens the door to his office with his elbow, and sets his coffee down before sitting in his chair, mind racing with possibilities.

You: video.exe

You: minus the daddy thing since that's something you don’t like.

He turns the volume almost all the way down, glancing up to make sure the door to his office is closed, and clicks play on the video. It’s porn, I mean, what did he expect, but not something he’s seen before. The girl has her arms tightly bound behind her, and her partner is fucking her so hard she’s having trouble keeping her ass in the air. His brows knit together when her partner leans down, and spits in her face, rubbing it in and growling a stream of viscous, degrading expletives in her ear.

Bakugou: *something you have to earn.

Bakugou: bad day huh?

You: the worst.

Bakugou: sure. I don’t have rope though.

You: I do! I’ll bring it.

Bakugou: am I ever gonna see your place?

You: tell you what

You: you pick something for us to try and next time we can do it at my apartment.

He frowns, putting his phone down and taking a sip of his coffee before responding. It’s true, he has things he’s wanted to try, things he wanted to do with a partner, but could he even call you that? Was partner too intimate? He did, however, want to see your apartment. He imagines it, maybe as sterile as your phone, cleared of applications for anything except things explicit functions. Would it be all white, clean lines? As crisp as the skirt suit he’d ripped off of you last week, sending you home with an apology and a pair of his sweatpants and a merch t shirt? He sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Bakugou: deal.

Bakugou: can you do 6PM?

You: ahhhh

You: might have to work, can we do 8?

Bakugou: that’s late to be working

You: very bad day.

You: really want you to make me cry about it.

Bakugou: can do.

It’s 8:15 when he hears the soft click of your heels in the hallway outside of his apartment, and then your soft knock.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” You say, before he even opens the door, and he takes a moment, balking at your appearance. “I came from the office.” You confess, and he nods, some of your makeup is smudged underneath your eyes, and your hands are trembling a little, likely from caffeine.

“All good,” he says, “Shit though,” he reaches down and pulls a little piece of fluff from your hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you look exhausted.” You nod, stepping out of your pumps.

“Do you mind if I freshen up?” You look up at him, every inch an apology, and he shrugs, gesturing towards the bathroom. You put your purse and a plain bag on the counter. “The ropes in there, I stopped by a place and grabbed some so that I wasn’t even later to you. If you like it, you can keep it.” He nods, padding over to the counter and peeking in the bag, it’s bright orange, and doubled over in a knot.

“Aw,” he calls, just loud enough so that you’ll hear him down the hall, “Didja get it to match my hero outfit?” He hears you giggle, a beautiful soft music he hasn’t been treated to before.

“I did, actually.” You peek your head out. “I’m just gonna take my face off and put it back on really fast, I promise I’ll look human in a couple minutes.” He rolls his eyes.

“Just take your makeup off. I don’t give a shit.”

“Really?” You say dryly. “You want to see my actual skin?”

“How bad can it be?” He shrugs, “S’not like I’m your boyfriend.” He watches you consider, and weigh the vulnerability.

“Um, alright,” you say, after a long moment, “But don’t worry I’m not gonna start coming over looking a mess.” Bakugou grunts noncommittally, but stands in the doorway, watching you slowly remove foundation, some kind of tinted lip thing, and eyeliner.

“Gonna tell me what happened today?” He asks, and you shrug, splashing water on your face and then wiping it on one of his clean hand towels.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you beam at him, and the forced light is just a little too bright, “But I have a pretty high pressure job. I’m not, like, saving lives though.” He shrugs. “Enough though, just tell me if you think I look like frankenstein's monster or something,” he inspects you carefully, sure, there’s a splotchyness that wasn’t there before, some acne scars, and your eyes are less defined, less catlike. But it’s still you.

“Ya look fine, dumbass.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head. “C’mon.” You take his outstretched hand, marveling at how fucking good he looks in just a pair of grey sweatpants and a t shirt.

“Do I ever tell you you’re ridiculously sexy,” You ask, cocking your head, “Emphasis on ridiculous?” He snorts.

“No.” He grabs the paper bag off of the counter and leads you to the bedroom, ripping the rope out of it’s packaging as you start getting undressed. “And what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He says, genuine annoyance in his tone. You swallow, nervously. “That’s my job.” He walks up to you, slowly and slips your jacket off your shoulders, tossing it on a chair. He leans down, his lips meeting your jaw, mouth moving down your neck as he unbuttons your shirt, and slowly pulls it off of your arms, letting it fall to the floor. You reach for him and he shakes his head. “Don’t move.”

“Y-yes, sir.” He watches you relax a little, your shoulders drooping as he unclasps your bra, your tits falling a little without the support. He unzips your skirt, and chuckles dangerously.

“Wearin’ these all day, huh?” He gestures to the black thigh high tights. “Dirty fuckin’ slut.” He tugs at the matching lacy panties.

“Was thinking about you,” you murmur, closing your eyes as he pulls them down, and helps you step out of them, feeling the full vulnerability of being naked, while he’s fully clothed. He balks a little at that, but you don’t see it, you just feel him reach between your legs to check, slipping between your folds, pulling a choked gasp from your lips.

“You’re certainly fuckin’ wet enough.” He chastises. “Damn.” He stands up again, spinning you around roughly and pressing you against the wall, folding your arms behind your back, tying them tightly, exactly like in the video you’d sent. “Too tight?” He asks and you test them a little.

“It’s comfortable.”

“You sure this is what you want tonight?” he asks, measuring how tired you look, the droop of your eyelids, the corners of your mouth slightly downturned.

“I need,” you start, and you’re taken aback by the desperation in your own voice. “I need to lose control. For a little.” You sound so soft, so vulnerable, Bakugou can’t help himself, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek.

“I’ll take care of it.” He says, his low rasp right in your ear warms your face, “Remember the safewords?”

“Green for keep going, yellow for slow, and red for stop.”

“Good girl.” he says, and then leans down and cups your ass, pressing you harder against the wall, “Not a lot of praise in that video you sent,” he cautions.

“None, I should think.” He grinds his crotch against your ass, reaching up and squeezing your breasts.

“And you’re fine with that?”

“Yep.” You say, then let out a soft, high pitched grunt as he starts pinching and rubbing your nipples, you can feel his length grinding against your ass. He pinches them tightly and pulls hard enough to make you cry out in pain, before landing a harsh slap on your ass. You yelp, and he takes you by the hips and throws you down on the bed, moving so quickly you barely see him, flipping you facedown and lifting your hips high.

“Down farther,” he snaps, “Get your fucking face in that mattress.” He barely gives you a second to comply before spanking you hard. “Come on slut,” he snarls, “Is it difficult, is it fuckin’ hard to arch your goddamn back,” you shake your head quickly, doing as your told.

“No sir.”

“No sir,” he repeats in a high pitched mocking tone, “Awful fucking polite, arentcha?” He spanks you again, “For a slut.” You know better than to respond, he slaps your ass again, admiring the way it moves, soft under his calloused palm, hitting you over and over again until he hears what he’s waiting for, the tiniest little sniffle. “Aww,” he coos, still taunting, mocking, “Does it hurt?”

“Y-yes sir,” you breathe, on the verge of crying, tears burning in your eyes and soaking into his blankets.

“Do you like it?” He asks, and you nod.

“I-I do, sir,” you say, and he laughs at you, landing a hard slap directly on your cunt. It’s hard enough that you yelp in pain, but keep your position, shifting your weight from knee to knee. He does it again and you choke out a sob, then feel a soft touch.

“Color?” He asks and you catch your breath.

“Green.” You can’t see it, but he shakes his head, before slapping you directly on the clit again, this time you cry out loudly and he follows it up with soft rubbing,

“You’re soaked,” he breathes, half surprised that this was actually turning you on as much as it was him, “Fuck,” at this point it’s more to himself than to you, he slips two fingers inside you, every little sob making him harder. He scissors them, and hears your soft moan, grinning at his ability at this point to play you like a fiddle.

“Ah-fuck,” you bite down hard on your lower lip, feeling your skin burning from his hands, the pleasure now is undetachable from the pain, “Please, please,” you beg, “Want you to fuck me,”

“Yeah,” he says, curling his fingers inside you, pulling a whine from your lips, “You wanna get fucked, bitch, you want my cock that bad?” You moan loudly. “Filthy fuckin’ thing,” he says, and he slaps your ass hard again, knowing the skin will rise in the shape of his hand, that it’ll warm that way, “Beg me more.”

“Please, need it,” you mumble, rolling your hips against him desperately, “Need your cock so badly,” you say, it’s almost a whine, almost wanton enough for him to give in, “Please, please, please-” He spanks you one last time, tugging his shirt off over his head and easing inside you, taking his time, feeling your walls clench and throb around him. He wraps a hand around your forearms, still tied tightly behind you, and uses it as leverage.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, it’s like this every time, and he has to bite back praise, bite back telling you how fucking good it feels to be buried inside you. “Fuck,” he settles on, picking up the pace of his thrusts, wanting to hear you moan and cry for him, the slapping of his hips against your ass fills the room, your desperate, soft mewls. He tightens his grip on your arms, holding you firmly in place.

“Oh my god,” you fall flat onto the bed, unable to stay upright against him, but he just lifts you and keeps fucking you hard, you look so beautiful like this, tears in your eyes, lips parted, and he feels you clenching before you even you’re nearing your high,

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ cum,” he snaps, “Don’t you dare.” He leans over you, pushing your back into a harsher arch, “That’s my fuckin’ pussy, and I say when it cums,” you nod and babble incoherently, a mix of begging, and please, and baraganing but he almost doens’t hear it he’s so drenched in the ecstasy of not having to hold back, he knows he’s holding onto your hips tightly, knows it might bruise, but fuck it, all day everyone tells him what to do. He goes where the commission tells him, he defeats the villains they put on his plate, he doesn’t bite the presses’ head off and here, right now, being in control again, feels right in an almost sacred way.

“Cum with me,” he orders suddenly, the words falling from his lips before they even form in his head fully, “Wanna feel you cum on my goddamn cock, slut,” you feel him get impossibly hard inside you as you vault over the cliff of your orgasm, gasping as your vision whites out, barely hearing his mangled snarl as he rakes his nails down your back and collapses next to you. There’s a moment where you’re both lying there, chests rising and falling rapidly, before Bakugou remembers you’re still tied up, and curls his body around you, rubbing your back as you cry quietly. “C’mere.” He grunts, gathering you onto his chest, unable to stop himself from kissing your teary face as he works the knots out. For a moment, he’s seized by the fear that even this intimacy is overstepping, but maybe it’s the day you’ve had, or how tired you are, but you curl into him with your free hands, wrapping your arms around his neck. He rubs your head, “Good girl,” he coos, experimentally and you hum softly. He wraps a thick arm around your waist, anchoring your body to his own. You sigh. “So good,” he tries again and feels you tighten your grip on him.

“More.” You mumble, and something inside him warms, he squeezes you tight to him.

“Good girl,” he breathes, “Did such a good job f’me, huh?” You nod, whimpering a little.

“Thanks, Bakugou.” He swallows, hating the way his last name taste in your mouth when he can feel the tears still hot on your cheeks. “Thanks for having me.” He wonders how you mean that, having you over, or temporarily taking both responsibility and control of you.

“Of course,” he finds himself saying gruffly.

“Is this okay?” You ask, barely audible over the hum of his air conditioner, and he realizes you mean the cuddling, the aftercare, the closeness.

“Yeah.” He says, trying to hide his own eagerness, “S’long as it’s okay with you.” He traces patterns down your body, rubbing the places on your skin where the rope left marks, where his hands had left bruises, “You want a glass of water?” He asks, and there’s a silence. He listens to the soft rhythm of your breaths and realizes you’ve fallen asleep. Just a few minutes, he reasons, couldn’t hurt. You wake before him, pleasant and warm, at first not sure where you are. You blink a couple times, the light in his room still on, he’s snoring quietly, muscled arm locked around your body, and your heart breaks into a sprint.

“Hey,” you say, with an undercurrent of urgency in your voice. “Hey, I’m gonna go,” He groans a little.

“Why?” He opens an eye, “M’comfortable.”

“I have work in the morning.” You whisper and he looks over at the clock on his nightstand, flashing 2AM. He sighs.

“S’not safe for you to get a taxi or anythin’.” He rolls off the bed, rubbing his eyes and releasing you. “I’ll drive ya back.”

“Are you sure,” you say, standing and looking for your clothes, but he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Just put on my sweats and a t shirt. That suit looks uncomfortable anyway.” You nod, yawning again. Bakugou, for his part, barely bothers getting dressed but you suppose when you're built like a greek god anything goes, He yanks on joggers and doesn’t even button his flannel up before shoving a baseball cap over his bedhead. You take the elevator down to the garage level, and the night is cooler than you thought it would be.

“Why uh,” he says, ‘Why do this, instead of dating?” His voice carries in the parking garage, bouncing off the hard surfaces.

“I work too much to date.” You shake your head. “I’d start seeing someone I liked and then my job would pick up and I’d ghost them without even meaning to.” You sigh. “But I’ve got needs.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed.” You swat at him and he only halfheartedly entertains your playfighting. You hop up into the front seat of his jeep. “What about you?” You ask as the engine hums to life.

“Ah,” he shrugs, “I’m more of a relationship person, but I kept lettin’ people down. ‘Cause of my job, I can’t say, you know sorry I’m saving lives I’m gonna be late to dinner every fuckin’ time now can I?” You nod. “Sucks though. I still want all of it.” He presses a button and the radio plays.

“All of what?” You lean your head back on the seat.

“All the crap that comes with being in love,” he says gruffly, turning his face to you to back out of the parking spot, “Like, memorizing their coffee order, wakin’ up with them. That shit.”

“That would be nice.” You murmur.

“I like the idea of coming home to someone,” He says, still avoiding eye contact, “But I can’t expect them to wait up for me. Not every time.” He adjusts his baseball cap. “Also, whoever I’m romantically involved with, when it becomes public knowledge, you know, there’s a certain scrutiny, from the media, and also added danger since you’d be-” He catches himself, and you, by some grace, don’t say anything, “They’d be a target for villains to use as leverage against me. It’s not really a conversation I can have in a bar. ”

“Sure.” You’re still staring at him, when he glances at you, so he scowls.

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you for a relationship guy.” You say simply.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he pauses, turning his signal on before making a left, “You ain’t peggin’ me, ever.” You let out a bright giggle. “Bratty fuckin’ bottom.” He shakes his head. “No way you could do that.”

“I absolutely could!” You protest. “I just would need instructions, and a strong authority figure to guide me through it.” He chuckles, and you point at the street sign, “It’s actually not far, just a couple blocks that way.”

“Cool.” He says, stealing a quick glance at you. “You mean it, next time I pick something I want to try, and we do it at your place?” You nod.

“Yeah, sounds good. Ah, up here, on the left,” it’s a nondescript stone apartment building, “I’ve got some work stuff coming up, so it’ll be a few days but yeah, let me know and I’ll put it on my calendar.” Bakugou fights the urge to lean across the seat and kiss you goodnight, settling for a quick pat on the thigh.

“Yeah, uh, sleep well.”

“Will do.” You struggle opening the car door, he reaches over, giving you a soft tch, opening it for you. “Ah, thanks,” you hop out and walk awkwardly to your door, punching in a code and swinging the door open, he watches you disappear and drives home.

Iv.

“Brooooo,” Denki calls, “You keep checking your phone. What’s going on with you?” Bakugou takes a sip of his beer and mashes his palms into his eye sockets.

“It’s nothin’.”

“Bakugou is ‘keeping things casual’ with a girl,” Kirishima says, clapping the blonde on the back, “It’s not going well for him.”

“It’s going fine,” Bakugou snaps, “I’m doing fine.” He glances at his phone. “She just said she’d text me, and she hasn’t yet.” There’s a silence.

“And that’s fine,” Sero says, “Because you’re a pro hero, and you can get laid whenever you want.” Bakugou scans the bar, frowning.

“Not like her.” He mumbles, hoping no one really listens. “It’s different.”

IV.

After 72 hours of radio silence, Bakugou takes matters into his own hands, scrolling through his bookmarked porn videos, trying to find the one he’s looking for. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit, remembering how long his dry spell had been before your arrangement.

Bakugou: video.exe

You’re in your kitchen, making yourself a late dinner, barefoot in a giant t shirt and panties, stirring some pasta, and open the video.

You: you want to roleplay? Color me shocked.

Bakugou: don’t really think you can kink shame me princess

You: no nicknames and no shame here

You: just surprised

You: I’ve actually got an outfit that might work for this

Bakugou: send me a picture

You: right now?

Bakugou: what, are you at work?

You snap a picture of your pasta and sauce, simmering low on the stove.

You: no but this is in a delicate spot and if I burn it i’ll cry

Bakugou: are you making puttanesca?

You: are you well versed in italian cuisine?

Bakugou: do you think it’s fucken cute to answer a question with a question?

You: do you find it cute?

Bakugou: jesus christ I wanna spank you bloody

You: lol it’s puttanesca yeah

Bakugou: that’s a lot of food for one person.

He’s pacing around his apartment, hating how fast his brain is moving, are you alone, he wants to ask, are you as nervous as he is, do you know what it’s doing to him that you cook, well apparently.

You: lol I just cook when I can in a big batch or I’d live on takeout.

You: when I take this off the heat i’ll send you a picture.

Bakugou: be wearing it.

You: of course.

It’s another forty five minutes before he hears from you.

You: sorry this actually took forever to find

You: photo.exe

Bakugou stops washing his face, and glances at his phone, nearly dropping it on the cool tile. You’re wearing a tight black catsuit, that dips low between your breasts.

Bakugou: perfect.

Bakugou: I’m serious with the safewords on this one though, you gotta fuckin’ communicate with me.

You: I do!!

Bakugou: mhm okay

You: I can be better

Bakugou: that’s a good girl.

You heave a sigh, it’s late, and he’s a pro hero, probably on some kind of diet, and it’s a bad idea, you know it is but by the time you’re seized by a violent regret it’s too late, you’ve already hit send.

You: if you haven’t eaten yet you can swing through for dinner.

Bakugou scoffs, it’s 9PM, of course he’s eaten, the dishes have been done, and the grilled chicken and vegetables are sitting in his stomach. He groans loudly, mashing his palms into his eye sockets.

Bakugou: yeah I haven’t eaten.

You: cool cool cool

Bakugou: what’s your apartment #

You: 1412

You have time to light a candle and blow it out several times before Bakugou arrives, you wriggle out of the catsuit and throw on some leggings and a flannel, hoping that’s neutral between catsuit and only a t- shirt. You open the door when he knocks, grateful he’s also stayed casual, jeans and grey t, but he leans down and kisses your cheek, and you get a whiff of his cologne, leather and cedar and citrus.

“Smells amazing in here.” he says softly.

“I like cooking,” you invite him in further and he glances around, it’s normal, normal enough some pictures of your family, comfortable couches, dark wood shelving units lined with books, “What, is it what you expected?” He shrugs.

“I did wonder if you lived in a dungeon,” he says gruffly, and you laugh lightly, gesturing to the plates you’ve made. He glances at the kitchen, you’ve made a complete mess. “Didya have me over so that you didn’t have to do dishes by yourself?”

“No, no promise.” You take a seat at your little table and he follows suit, twirling some pasta and spooning it into his mouth. You watch him carefully, but he doesn’t betray any reaction. “Okay, well?”

“It’s good.” He says, begrudgingly, and you preen at the praise, he watches you light up, “You cook often?”

“Never more than once a week.” There’s a touch of sadness to your voice. “Work.” He nods. “Is this weird, that I invited you over?” He thinks about it.

“Only because you woke up in my arms and practically sprinted out the door.” He says eventually, “Gettin’ over that fear of intimacy?”

“Oh almost certainly not,” you sigh. “But the company is nice, I think.” He reaches over and wipes some sauce off your face with a thumb, and you swallow nervously. This is Bakugou’s second dinner in so many hours, but he finishes it anyway, and the conversation is warm and inviting, and he’s treated to the sound of your genuine laughter as he describes his friends, and talks to you about his life and maybe you wouldn’t even have noticed the time passing if it weren’t for the empty plates in front of you. You sigh,

“I should get some sleep,” you glance over your shoulder, and he nods.

“I have afternoon patrol so I’m gonna stay up for a bit,” he stands, stretching a little, full of pasta. “Are you not gonna do those dishes?” You groan.

“I’ll do them tomorrow.” he shakes his head.

“Nah you’ll do ‘em now,” he holds a hand out to you, “I’ll help, c’mon.” you let him drag you to the kitchen, but you go noodly against him, flopping against his body, ignoring attempt to pull you forward, “Seriously,” he looks down at you, “Thought you were a big fuckin’ girl.”

“I hate cleaning.” You moan. “I’ll do it tomorrow, please,” he goes to stand at the sink.

“I’ll rinse, you dry. You’ll feel shitty if you wake up to a mess.” You sigh but obey, loading the dishwasher. He’s rinsing out the sink when he feels you cling to one of his arms. “You’re gonna get wet,” he cautions, and you moan,

“I’m done standing.” He smirks, and takes the sprayer, and squirts it all over you. “Oh, my god.” You flick water back at you and he sprays you again. “Bakugou!”

“Whatsa matter,” he drawls, and you leap at him, jumping into his arms even as he tries to catch you and hold you at arms length before you can use him as a human towel. “Shit, fuck,” you succeed in pressing your body to his, soaking through his thin t shirt, “Fuck you,” he throws you over his shoulder. You explode with giggles and he unceremoniously dumps you on the couch, climbing on top of you before you can slip away, pinning your wrists. There’s a moment, where he almost kisses you, as the laughter dies, and suddenly you’re two people, who are very very close to one another, faces warm, heart rates slowing.

“It’s late,” you whisper.

“Why did you invite me over?” He says back, low rasp sending shivers up your spine,

“I-” You start but his lips find your neck, “Bakugou,”

“Why,” he says in your ear, lips closing on it, biting down before continuing, “Did you invite me over,”

“I wanted you here.” You breathe, and he groans loudly before flopping on top of you, burying his face in your chest. “Is that okay?”

“As friends?” He says, not looking at you.

“Sure.” You say evenly. He lifts his head, then, trying to get a read on you. “I dunno, Bakugou, I wanted to see you. That’s all I know, that’s, that’s a lot for me to say that’s very vulnerable for me.” He nods, sitting up, hearing your throat tighten, even just a little.

“I uh, I get it.” He acts on impulse, and leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m not gonna push you, okay?” You nod.

“O-okay.” He stands.

“I’ll see ya this weekend, if you have time.” You nod.

“Yeah I’m um, I’m looking forward to it.” He pats the top of your head, and you walk him out.

Bakugou sits in the front seat of his car for a few minutes, then fumbles with his phone.

Bakugou: I’m gonna need you to hold the i told you so

Kirishima: sure

Bakugou: the girl

Kirishima: mhmmmmm

Bakugou: I might have feelings for her

Kirishima: yeah, duh

Bakugou: shut the fuck up

Bakugou: she spooks real easy tho, she’s super jumpy

Bakugou: AND for some reason she can’t just SAY what she’s thinking or feeling

Kirishima: can i have permission to mock you

Bakugou: fine.

Kirishima: so what’s it like dating yourself

Bakugou: WE’RE NOT THE SAME

Kirishima: hm

Kirishima: independent?

Bakugou: yeah she’s so self sufficient I goddamn hate it

Kirishima: workaholic?

Bakugou: chronically yeah

Kirishima: too smart for her own good?

Bakugou: absolutely

Kirishima: does she have your temper?

Bakugou: no she’s a fuckin’ angel

Kirishima: sounds like you oughtta lock it down.

Bakugou tosses the phone into the seat next to him, turning the engine of his car on and driving back to his apartment without turning on the radio. He parks, and picks it up again.

Bakugou: I’m seeing her this weekend. But just for sex.

Kirishima: so sweep her off her feet!!

Kirishima: have you talked about why she keeps things casual

Bakugou: she says she worked so much she’d ghost without meaning to. I think I gotta take it slow, if I want to do anything.

Kirishima: i mean if you’re looking to romance her it sounds like you have to show her you can fit into her life

Kirishima: assuming the sex is good

Bakugou: the sex is mind blowing.

Kirishima: maybe try and do things to make her life easier, show her that people can be an asset rather than a drain

Bakugou: mm

Kirishima: good idea kirishima

Kirishima: thanks bakugou you really appreciate me

Kirishima: yeah well it’s nice to be appreciated

Bakugou: shitty hair

Kirishima: Hm?

Bakugou: thanks. For talking shit out with me.

Kirishima: you’re welcome

V.

Bakugou stands nervously in front of your apartment, freshly showered, a duffel bag on his shoulder, dressed in his summer hero costume and a jacket. He checks his phone before knocking, making sure he’s not too early, but 8 minutes early is practically on time, right? He raises a hand and raps the door, seconds later it swings open.

You step aside to let him in and he notes that this time, you don’t stiffen at his presence. You seem nearly relaxed. Which he takes as a good sign.

“So I have to admit,” you grin up at him, “I’m not an actress, or a villain.” He nods. “Are they really as theatrical as they seem on TV, with like the outfits, and stuff?” Bakugou thinks about it.

“The really dangerous ones aren’t.” he says, slipping his jacket off his shoulders, surprised when you take it from him, and hang it up in the hall closet, getting a whiff of the soft leather. “But you’re not gonna be anything I can’t handle.” You laugh, and smirk at him.

“Maybe this is my grand quirk reveal,” you tease, “And I’ll finally best the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” He squints at you.

“You’re quirkless?”

“Just call me a damsel in distress,” you mock sigh, “But yeah. I can’t do anything.” He shakes his head at you.

“Did you ever think you wanted to be a hero?” You lead him to the bedroom pulling the catsuit from the closet,

“You have to help me put this on, and um, no,” you shrug, “I’m not really athletically gifted, and I never had been before. It was a bit of a bummer, but I got over it.” Bakugou’s left hand twitches, he remembers something.

“Did kids bully you?” You cock your head at him. “For bein’ quirkless.” You sigh.

“Oh sure, for being quirkless, for being intense, and weird and liking things too much, or liking the wrong things, it’s all,” you step into the pant leg of the suit, pulling it up and then wriggle into the top of it, turning your back to him.

“Huh.” He says, zipping it up.

“I’m um,” you sigh, “This is probably TMI but don’t worry about me, I’ve got stuff, but I’m in therapy, I wouldn’t, I don’t need to rely on you for emotional support.” He nods, smoothing the zipper.

“As long as you know you could. If you wanted to.” He says simply, resting his hands on your hips, pulling you into his body, you can feel the warmth of his chest against your back. He kisses the top of your head, inhaling deeply, and he speaks right before you can respond. “You look fuckin’ insane in this,” he growls, “I basically dropped my phone when you sent that pic.”

“Really?” You say softly, shivering at his touch.

“Really.” He leans down and speaks in your ear. “Here are the rules for tonight. One, if you need to safeword, I need to know that you will.” You nod. “Say you understand.”

“I, I understand.”

“Two, we’re both gonna need aftercare after this, no kickin’ me out or some shit, alright?”

“Alright.” You shift your weight nervously.

“Three,” he says, “I’m gonna count to fifteen, and let you hide somewhere in the apartment, and when I find you, you’re gonna fight me.”

“Yes, sir.” You practically whimper, and he slaps your ass playfully.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks. “I’m gonna check in, I’ll be careful. I promise I know what I’m doin’ and I’m not gonna leave any lasting damage.” You nod, and turn around in his hands, looking up him, eyes soft.

“Bakugou, I trust you.” He can’t stop himself, loses all self control, leans down and kisses you hard, cupping your face in his gloved hands. He takes over, pressing you against the wall, you rock onto your tiptoes and he lifts you off your feet, crushing your body against his. It’s a few minutes before he lets you go, setting you back down on the ground, cupping your face softly and staring at you. “Bakugou,” you whispers, “What was-”

“Fifteen.” He says, voice low and threatening, and your heart breaks into a sprint. “Fourteen.” You squeak and dart out of your bedroom.