Archive of Our Own

You met Bakugou at freshman orientation, got paired with him for those dumb ice breakers, and were sorta semi kinda quasi friends. His room is across from yours, even though it's the girls' side of the dorm. He said it was some sort of mix up that couldn’t be corrected in time for the move in. It didn’t really matter, he just walked down the hall for the men's bathroom. The girls of the hall were all absolutely obsessed, because, well, he’s good looking, and shares walls with two of them who’ve both sworn that they’ve heard some shit.

You don’t doubt it. Your own relationship with the guy had quickly devolved into friends with benefits territory, though you’d stuck mostly to making out thus far. It was nice having him right across the hall, so when one sent a beckoning text, the other could just scoot right over. Of course that means plenty of people saw the sort of revolving door situation you and him had going on, but at least they knew to shut up about it when you came close. Dorm walls are thin, no sense in trying to keep a secret around here.

“Let me eat you out.” he nearly demands, face lifting from where he had been sucking on your neck.

You’re a sane woman, no sense in playing coy. Plus, his hand is pushed up under your sleep shirt, pinching at your nipples while he practically chews on your neck. Not to mention the hardness he keeps grinding between your legs where you’re sure you’re growing a wet patch. Needlesstosay, you’re horny.

“If you want.” You pant, half assedly shrugging, but he was already repositioning, peeling off your panties and rucking up your shirt to expose your breasts. It’s the most naked you’ve been in front of him, but him not making a big deal of it calms any errant nerves.

“Fuck, knew you’d have a pretty pussy.” He teases, hot breath washing over sticky lips, three fingers slipping up and down your slit.

Of course he ate pussy like he does everything else. That is, with an alarming amount of aggressive enthusiasm. He’s clearly practiced, lips and tongue zeroed in on your clit with no hesitation, two fingers inside pressing relentlessly at your g-spot. None of that dumb pumping in and out shit, no sucking your left labia thinking it was your clit, just honed in precision. You try not to think too much about how many partners he must have had like this, which isn’t hard to ignore in the end, when your orgasm rips right out of you.

He’s sweet on you for a few seconds, letting you grip into his hair, fingers following the bucking of your hips to pull you through the last quakes of pleasure. When your death grip relaxes and your thighs fall heavily on his shoulders, he snakes back up to kiss you. He obviously tastes like you, slick tongue tracing your lips, his body heavy and warm above you. Your hands travel over his trim physique, the soft and well loved cotton of his shirt to the rough denim of his jeans.

“Wanna suck you off.” You manage to whisper against his lips, hand brazenly reaching to cup his cock.

He grabs your hand before you can, pulling it up to pin beside your head as he kisses the breath out of you once again. “Nah, I got places to be. Just wanted to see you cum.” he explains, shifting to stand up and find his things.

“You sure? I’m pretty good at it, I doubt it could take very long even if you wanted it to.” You tease, righting your shirt enough to cover your tits and pulling your sheet over your legs.

“Eat shit and die.” He grumbles, snatching his phone from your nightstand. “Though I’m sure you’re great at sucking cock, cocksucker.” He bullies affectionately. You can tell by the snide smirk on his face as he looks down at your nearly sleeping form. “Damn, take that much out of you, princess?” he snorts, “Want the lights off?”

“Yes please.” You yawn, after a sad attempt at slapping his ass as he’s leaving. “Later.”

“Later.”

The last of the light leaves the room as he shuts the door.

Strangely, it sort of goes on like that. He feverishly eats you out, or fingers you with altogether too much confidence, or even pushes and pulls your hips on his thigh until you’re cumming like that. It’s delicious, and you’re certainly not complaining! But he never really lets you touch him. It’s always some excuse about not being showered, or being in a rush, or just simply not needing it. Admittedly, a not so very small part of you wants to see it through, to get him naked and see just how savagely he fucks, because if it’s anything like the way he does everything else then you’re certain you’re missing out! You don’t push it, obviously, he must have his reasons. You sort of feel bad though, it’s not like you can’t feel how hard he is…

Your contemplative shower thoughts are interrupted by, you guessed it, the fire alarm. It’s a shit cherry on top of a shit fucking day, not to mention it’s cold as balls outside… Of course it was a false alarm, because your life is a joke, so thankfully it’s only a few minutes before you’re let back inside.

Have you ever heard of a cherry on top of a cherry? Yeah, me either, but guess who locked their ID card in their room! That’s right! It’s you! So now you’re stuck, completely naked except for a towel, sitting in the shallow alcove before the door to your room. Thank fucking Christ you’d remembered your phone, so you could text your RA to let you into your room. Unfortunately for you, she’s not in the building, and won't be back for another hour or so… Fantastic.

“Oh you’re fucking kidding me right now.” A voice chuckles from beside you. It’s Bakugou, glorious arms crossed over his glorious chest, not trying in the slightest to hold in his laughter. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever fucking seen. You’re locked out and fucking naked!?” he snorts just before cackling.

It’s sort of his brand, to be an asshole. You’re no stranger. But right now, shivering in the fucking hallway, you’re not really in the right mindset to appreciate his sense of humor.

“Fuck off, I’m not in the mood.” you nip, keeping your eyes down.

There’s an indignant huff, and an aggressive swipe of a keycard before his door falls shut with a clap.

It’s really no reason to cry, it’s not like you expected him to comfort you. He’s not exactly the person you’d run to to vent about your problems, but a little sympathy would have been nice. It’s the culmination of every little shitty thing that happened today, all stacked on top of each other, and yeah, your eyes are watering a little. Jeez, maybe your period is coming up. You’re not usually quick to cry.

The sound of his door opening breaks you from your pity party, eyes quickly averting to your shower sandal clad feet.

“Hey, shitdick.” He barks, leaning against his door from what you can see in your peripherals.

“I told you I’m really not in the mood.” You nip, shoulders rising as you try to hide a dislodged tear running down your cheek.

He scoffs, “For what? Some clothes and a place to sit that’s not the fucking hallway floor? Quit being a bitch and get in here.” He groans.

You hazard a glance for a moment before something is being thrown at you. You catch it against your chest, narrowly, belatedly realizing it’s clothing.

“And quit fucking crying, I don’t want your snot all over my stuff.”

He’s politely turned around as you dress, probably pretending to read through the planner on his desk. The clothes he gave you are a little big on your frame, a pair of black sweats and a black t-shirt. Very Bakugou-core. You have half a mind to say so, but refrain. All things considered, they fit you well enough, which isn’t shocking seeing as he’s not much bigger than you. He’s a few inches taller, but that’s not saying much as you’re not tall yourself. The pants are actually almost tight across your hips and butt despite being too long, something you’ll chalk up to them being cut for men and not women.

You throw yourself down on his bed, a half assed signal that you’re decent. It’s familiar, you’ve been in here plenty of times before. He’s got a serious set of black sheets, a black rug, some dorky posters that you’ve teased him relentlessly about, a meticulous desk, and some trinkets on top of his dresser. He’s even got pictures of some of his friends and family strung up, though he claims they put them up themselves. He must have gone through a growth spurt before coming to college, because even in the pictures from his senior year of high school he looks so different.

“You hungry? I’m grabbing dinner with Ei.” He offers in a shocking moment of politeness.

“No, thank you. I should be able to get back into my room pretty soon.”

He purses his lips and nods, “Suit yourself. Just don’t touch any of my shit.” he orders, stepping close to where your legs hang off his bed, grabbing something off of his nightstand that you don’t see as you’re texting your RA to tell them where you’ll be waiting. You hum sort of noncommittally, but that earns you a firm hand under your chin, dragging your view up to his serious face. “I mean it, don’t touch anything. Don’t make me regret not leaving you to freeze in the damn hall.”

“Yes sir.” you mock with a snarky salute. You mean it though, you know better than to snoop. Apparently that wasn’t good enough, because the grip on your jaw only tightens, “Okay! Okay, I won’t touch anything, I swear. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

With that he left, throwing the finger over his shoulder as he did.

Your RA texted you back that she’ll still be an hour before getting back to the dorm, which might have thrown you off the deep end if you were still naked and shivering, but not so much now.

Bakugou’s room is comfortable. He never uses the overhead light, saying it gave him headaches. Instead, a standing lamp in the corner of his room lit the space just enough. You never really got the chance to look around when you were in here, usually on a mission to get your rocks off. It’s not like you stuck around long after the fact either, not wanting to overstay your welcome. You’d agreed not to snoop, but looking at the surface of things hardly seems like snooping.

Standing from the bed, the first area that’d always caught your eye were his pictures. Most of them were hung haphazardly, stuck in no sort of fashion above his desk. There’s some of him and his parents, his cheeks a little rounder, eyes a little softer. He looks just like his mother in this one, eerily so. Other’s feature an array of colorful friends, some you’ve seen around campus. Kirishima is up there multiple times, some in high school uniforms, some with red solo cups and frat iconography. Bakugou looks happier in those ones, despite clearly hating the party he was at. Same goes for the few photos he had of a green haired guy, an aura of discontent clouding the teenage form of the blonde, scowl seeming somehow more legitimate than his usual one now. College life must suit him.

On his dresser there are colognes carefully situated side by side, one more empty than the others. Feeling like he’d somehow know if you moved the bottle, you carefully keep the base in place and bring just the cap up to your nose.

It’s his usual scent, for sure. Something along the lines of saffron, smoke, and leather. You don’t recognize the brand name, surely something pretty expensive. Whatever it is, it’s deliciously masculine, without the bravado. Clean but organic, warm and savory and compelling enough that you keep breathing in more and more, like you’ll finally be able to put your finger on it.

It’s the smell that lingers on your pillowcases when he leaves, the one you taste when your tongue traces his jugular. Whatever it is, you hope he’ll get more when this bottle runs out.

Painfully, you’re able to will yourself to replace the cap and move on. Unfortunately for you, he’s incredibly tidy as a person, so there’s not much left on the surfaces in his room. All that’s left to see are a few figurines still in their boxes (nerd) and a closer look at the dorky posters, which you can now see are actually signed by the actor who plays All Might (fucking NERD). It’s sort of fun to see this more childish side of him, since he’s usually so serious and frankly pretty guarded.

Feeling like you’ve already intruded enough, you make yourself comfortable in his bed. Bastard keeps the AC cranked because apparently he runs hot, but thankfully his bed is warm and well made, a heavy quilt keeping out the coolness. You do your best not to fall asleep, in the back of your mind recognizing the scent of his clean sheets being another familiar note. Time passes quickly, scrolling mindlessly though your various social media.

When you hear the telltale sound of a card sliding through a lock, followed by the pinging of a pin being punched in, you unbury your head from your cocoon. The door lets in that gross fluorescent hallway light, before swinging shut again.

“Don’t recall telling you to make yourself comfortable, asshole.” he nips, dropping a take out bag on his desk and shucking his sweatshirt.

“Why is your bed so much more comfortable than mine?”

“Cuz I clean my sheets and make my bed like a fucking adult.” he chuckles as you sit up and begrudgingly swing your legs out.

“I clean my sheets…” You whine, standing and stretching.

“I’d fucking hope so, especially after last time when you fucking squi-”

“Ok! I said not to bring that up!!!” You squeal, punching him in the arm.

He snorts, eyes dragging over you while he rolls his lips between his teeth. “You look fucking hot in my clothes.” his eyes narrow.

“Oh yeah? Egoist.” You retort, letting him slink his arms around your hips to grab your ass.

He hums with his lips against your ear, palms kneading at the soft flesh beneath the borrowed pants, “Definitely…”

The chime from your phone wicks your attention, dull teeth pausing mid nip to your earlobe.

“RA’s here!” You chirp, “Thank you for your hospitality, young man.” You tease, pinching his cheek.

He pinches your ass harshly in retribution, plopping himself on his bed as you grab your things.

“Two things,” he starts, “take that doggy bag. I know you didn’t eat any fucking dinner, and it’ll go to waste anyway.” he gestures to the bag he’d left on his desk, “Two, and listen the fuck up, I want those clothes back. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I’ll wash them and bring them back. Thanks by the way, for letting me borrow them.” You offer in a rare moment of gratitude. It’s ill received anyway, an ugly grimace spawning on his face at your audacity to be genuine, “And thank you for dinner, too. Oh, and for letting me fuck up your pristinely made bed… Maybe I should get locked out more often.” You kid, taking the leftovers in the hand opposite your towel.

“Next time I’ll snatch your towel and throw it out the window.” he snarks, leaning back on his hands. “Get lost, loser.” he teases, but it sounds fond, in his own way.

You roll your eyes and make your way to explain the situation to your RA.

Afternoons tend to be quiet in the dorms. People are usually in their classes, or studying somewhere outside of their room. It’s a beautiful day, you can hear the masses sitting on the quad through the open window of your room. You really had to hunker down and study, so you couldn’t risk being distracted by friends or the weather, so studying alone in your room it is. With the blinds all the way open, and the glass shoved as wide as the old hinges will allow, it’s enough anyway.

The peace is broken so quickly that you just about jump out of your skin at the sound of a knock on your door. Not expecting anyone, you peak through the peephole to see a mass of red hair.

You open the door with what’s probably a blatantly quizzical expression.

“Uh, Kirishima, was it?” you greet.

He’s a friend of Bakugou’s, you’d met him in passing a few times. Mostly when investigating the loud and desperate calls of Bakugou’s name just between your two doors when the blond doesn’t open up for the guy, asshole that he is.

“Yeah! You’re Bakugou’s friend, right?” he asks, looking just a little frantic, “I have a favor to ask.”

“Yeah, sure…” You offer cautiously. You don’t really know him, but he seems harmless, despite being 6’4”. In fact you’re pretty sure you remember hearing that he’s on the hockey team.

“I know it’s sort of awkward of me to ask, but could I possibly borrow a manpon?-a tampon!” he corrects, shaking his head, “Our bro, uh, has a nose bleed. Real bad. Pretty gory honestly, and, uh, tissues aren’t cutting it.”

“Ahh. Probably from keeping his AC cranked like that, it must be super dry in there. Idiot.” You huff, turning to find the requisite tampon. “Where’d you get the idea to use a tampon anyway? Is he gonna stuff it up his nose?” you laugh.

“Ever seen ‘She’s the Man’?” he asks, before his voice cracks with something like nerves, “A-Actually! A pad would be fine too! Because they’re super absorbent, I’ve seen the commercials, it’s pretty crazy. You know, I feel awful for you menstrual havers, it’s kinda scary thinking about losing blood like that, not to mention all the cramps and pains and hormones and -” he rambled, leaving you unable to get even a thought in edgewise.

“Yeah, it’s a lot. I appreciate your sympathies, big guy. This good?” You hold out a handful of tampons and a pad for good measure.

“Maybe probably! Definitely possibly, at least.” he replies unhelpfully, taking the goods from your hands, “You’re a lifesaver!” And with that, he was out the door, politely shutting it behind him, leaving you to your studying.

It’s laundry day, which means it was time for you to begrudgingly return your borrowed clothing. If you’d worn them to bed a few times during the week, that’s your fucking business. Regardless, they were clean now, and neatly folded and tucked into a plastic bag. You considered leaving it hanging on his doorknob, but thought maybe someone might snatch it to add to the Bakugou Katsuki shrine that they had built in their school owned bureau. You’re not joking when you say that the residents of this hallway are obsessed with the guy. Instead, you knock. For a moment, no one answers, but you know he must be in there. It’s too late at night for him to be out, since he has classes tomorrow, but it’s just a hair too early for him to be asleep. Right now is prime time to catch him, and you know it. You knock again, figuring if you don’t get an answer this time you’ll try to catch him the next day.

He does answer, only cracking the door open into his dark room. He’s wearing his signature scowl, but his lips look shiny, even before he licks them.

“Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.” You say genuinely.

“You didn’t.” he replies, eyes tracking to the bag in your hand.

“It’s your clothes, they’re clean.” You inform him, handing over the bag that barely squeezes through the slim crack of his door, “I wanted to say thanks again, for being less of a dickhead than you could have been.” You joke.

“Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” he laughs goodheartedly.

And then there’s a third voice, from behind him.

“Babe, come on, I was close.” the feminine trill whines from within.

His gaze flicks back to you, with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable expression. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

And then the door is closed.

It happens too quickly, as if you could have done anything about it anyway, but a horrible and nauseous feeling makes itself at home in the pit of your stomach.

He’s not yours. You tell yourself as you shakily swipe back into your room, you know he sees other people.

Even knowing your feelings are unjustified, it doesn’t really hurt any less.

A few days go by and you’ve quelled the worst of your sour feelings. It lingers, the bitterness, but it’s not all consuming. You considered sleeping with some extra, just to say you did, but Bakugou doesn’t deserve you being vindictive. Even if you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t care anyway. Somehow that’s even worse.

It’s around noon, people are flooding to the cafeterias between classes. You usually eat a late breakfast and early dinner, but today you’re stuck getting lunch during the busy hour like a schmuck. You’re not sure how to describe your change in mood when you catch sight of two sets of spiky hair, one red and the other blond. If nothing else it’ll be nice to sit with someone familiar, instead of alone or with random people. You approach confidently, setting your bag down in one of the chairs at the round table.

“Hey!” You greet with an easy smile, one that Kirishima returns in full past his mouthful of meatloaf.

Bakugou, not so much.

“The fuck ‘r you doing?” he asks. It isn’t his usual teasing tone, and his eyes don’t hold the same humor.

Your smile falters, as does the redheads.

“Uh, sitting? To eat? What, is this the cool kids table or something?” You nip, trying to keep the tone light but definitely failing.

“Just curious why you’re walking right over here and making yourself comfortable like we’re fucking friends.” he snaps coldly.

You blink at him for a moment, sure you must have misheard. Kirishima swallows loudly, now grilling his friend from beside him.

“I’m sorry?” You manage to squeak.

He was quick to scoff, setting his sandwich down to give this his full attention.

“Dude, don’t-” his friend started, but it didn’t stop him.

“I said we’re not fucking friends, dipshit, so don’t act like it!”

There’s a vice in your chest, wrenching around your heart and squeezing in the worst way. Here you thought that seeing him lick another woman's cum off of his lips the other night had upset you, you had no idea what was coming.

“Are you fucking serious?” you contest, voice heavy and acrid, mostly lost in the jovial chatter of your fellow students.

His friend starts to reply for him “No! He’s not serious! He’s joking!” he snarls over to the blond, “Right, Bakubro?” he prompts.

“Like hell!” he nips at his friend before turning back to you, eyes blazing. Kirishima looks appalled, muttering under his breath to his friend something you can’t catch besides the fact that it was pleading, but his efforts seem lost when the blond speaks up again, “Are you fucking serious? You think you’re anything more than a hot and wet place to stick it?” The redhead's face fell into his hands.

You feel sorry for yourself for all of half a second before getting angry.

“‘Stick it’? Stick what, asshole? You’ve been too prude to even take your pants off!” you bark, knowing you're attracting the neighboring tables attention, “What’s up with that?” you ignore his fuming glare and Kirishima’s panicked one, “Got a small cock?”

That does it, he stands and slams his hands down on the table, food and drink spilling in the wake of it, “Shut the FUCK up!” He growls looking absolutely feral, like a rabid dog ready to pounce.

“Ah, so that’s it, huh? You’re a fucking Ken doll.” You laugh maliciously, lifting your hands in placation as the blond moves to round the table. He’s stopped by his friend, a few people having gathered to step in if need be, “No worries, I’ll fuck right off.”

And you do, grabbing your bag and storming out of the building. You make it most of the way back to the dorm before your eyes cloud with tears, and thankfully all the way to the bathroom before dry heaving.

Days turn into weeks, turns into a month of tension between you. You don’t talk, don’t make eye contact, don’t take the same elevator, don’t do anything. Luckily the semester is coming to a close, you only have two weeks left of classes and then finals, and you can go on winter break.

You hate to admit that you miss anything about that piece of shit. You hate that you miss his shitty attitude, his foul language, his ugly scowl, his half assed attempts at humor.

You hate that your pillows smell like laundry soap.

You hate that you’re afraid to let someone else’s cologne close enough to change that. Hate that you’re afraid to let anyone in at all.

You’d been called worse, surely, but hearing it from his mouth stung in a way you never anticipated. Not only did you never expect him to say anything so fucking cruel, but you also didn’t think it’d hurt, even if he did. Why would it? He was never your boyfriend, never anything more than a friend with benefits. Or, well, minus the friend, he’d argue…

It’s midday on a Saturday when you get a knock at your door, a quiet one. You don’t bother to check who it is, assuming it’s one of your friends or even the RA for a random inspection.

You were not expecting Kirishima. You’d bumped into him twice since the incident, luckily both times were brief. He’d done nothing wrong, you had no reason to be anything but cordial. Doesn’t mean it feels good to see him.

“Hey!” he almost whispers, “Do you have a second?” he asks, looking meek as always.

You’re hesitant, knowing this must be about Bakugou in some way. You nod him in anyway.

“How’ve you been?” he asks politely.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t match the energy, “Fucking peachy.” You almost open your mouth to apologize, but he laughs before you can.

“Man, you two really are two peas in a pod, huh?’’ he chuckles, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. You bristle, but he doesn’t mention it. “Look, I, uh… I just wanted to talk to you about what happened…”

“If he wanted to talk to me he could.” You nip, sitting on your bed.

Kiri gestures to your desk chair, you nod, and he takes a seat. “I know that. But here’s the thing, the stuff you said really hurt him-”

“Hurt him!?” you blanch, “fucking good!” you can’t help but bark.

He waves his hands in front of himself in surrender, shaking his head, “I-I know! I know, he was a total dick, a complete asshole, absolutely what he said to you was wrong and terrible! I’m not here to plead his case! He knows exactly how hurtful he was to you, but you don’t know how hurtful you were to him.” he explains.

You chuff, totally heated already, “So, what? His doctor diagnosed him with a micropenis?” You quip bitterly.

The redhead’s jaw sets, his hands falling to his knees and gripping. You’d never been fearful of the gentle giant until now. After a deep breath, he speaks, “It is so unfuckingmanly to insult someone over something they have absolutely no control over. What’s in his pants is none of your goddamn business, and you don’t get to use that against him.” he growls, brows pinched.

Not so deep down, you know that’s true. It’s completely unfair to judge someone over something they have no control over. You’re a feminist for god sake! Body positivity is for everyone! In the moment, when you were seeing red, it was the lowest blow you could think of. You know perfectly well that a man’s penis has next to no effect on their ability to sexually satisfy someone. Honestly, Bakugou is already a perfect example of that! You’re never left on edge, never unsatisfied. The same can’t be said for other hookups, no matter the size of the guy's dick. Hell, you’ve gotten off just by humping a pillow, no penetration necessary. The motion of the ocean is no joke…

“It was a low blow.” You concede.

“You have absolutely no idea how low of a blow that was.” he nips back quickly before sighing, “All I’m saying is that I know he owes you an apology, he was in the wrong, he antagonized you, I know. But I just thought you should know why it’s taking him so long. He’s hurt too, and he knows you didn’t really mean anything you said, just like he didn’t mean anything he said, but that doesn’t make it hurt much less, does it?”

You pick at the pills on your bedding, shaking your head.

“I didn’t mean to get angry with you,” He laments, “but he’s my best friend. If you knew the kind of stuff he’s been through you’d understand why I’m acting like a protective older brother.”

“It’s okay, I was an ass.” You grumble, tossing pieces of lint to the floor.

He stands, takes one large step towards you and plants a large hand on your shoulder, “He’ll never admit it, but he misses you, and I know you must miss him too. When he eventually comes around, just promise me you’ll hear him out.”

You nod and keep your head turned, trying and most likely failing to disguise your wobbling lip. Thankfully he doesn’t say anything, instead quietly letting himself out the way he came, just before you hear him knock on the door opposite yours.

It comes on a Friday night, one you’ve chosen to stay in despite an invite out. You haven't really felt like celebrating. It’s in the form of a shocking soft knock, hunched shoulders, averted eyes, and broken voices.

A mutual apology.

For the first time since September, he looks uncomfortable in your room. Rightfully so, it’s been over a month. You’re not sure how to approach him either.

He’d asked to come in, after your vague acceptance of each other’s ‘sorry’’s. Saying yes came easily.

“I think I want to… Explain… Some things about myself…” He starts, awkwardly clenching his fists in his pockets.

You’re sitting on your bed cross legged, fidgeting uncomfortably in your own way, picking lint from your sweats. You don’t say anything.

“I’m not good at letting people get close. I don’t like… I don’t like being known, because historically, that’s not gone well for me.” he explains, eyes looking anywhere in the room but at you. It was pretty late, later than he’s usually up. The lamp beside your bed is the only source of light, casting long shadows of you both on the opposing wall. You watch the parallel version of Bakugou as he continues, “I felt like you were getting too close, so I lashed out. I was af-...” he huffs, “I thought if you knew me too well that-… Shitty hair sent me some stupid quote about the fear of being unraveled by someone only for them to not find anything they like.”

So he’s insecure. He let someone in in the past and they’d made him regret it, so he’s walled himself off. It’s a tale as old as time.

“That’s not really an excuse for what you said.” You whisper, hoping it doesn’t sound petulant. He nods. “I’m sorry too, for what I said. It was super uncalled for, and I really have no excuse.” You add, fighting to look up at him, “What’s in your pants doesn’t determine your worth.”

When you do manage to meet his eyes, they’re wet. Not shedding tears, but glossy like a thick coat of varnish.

“I have something else,” his voice cracks before he clears his throat, “that I should tell you.” Your brows pinch at the scene before you. He’s shaking. His shoulders, his hands where one is fisted in front of his mouth, the other defensively crossing his chest, his eyes when a fat tear finally escapes and tracks down his cheek. You can’t help but reflect it, fearing something horrible, something that could shake the unshakable Bakugou Katsuki so much that he’s choking on his words just trying to say it. You can’t even fathom what it could be, to elicit such a reaction. He takes a deep breath and huffs it out with force, sniffling wetly as his gaze fixes to your door, arms crossed over his heart. “I’m trans.”

It takes your brain a moment to calibrate, having expected something catastrophic. He’s trans, or- oh shit, she’s trans. Oh god-

“Have I been misgendering you!?” you squeal, “Why didn’t you tell me! What the hell!” you bark angrily.

Hi- her eyes snap back to yours angrily, though it’s more comforting than the fear they held before. “No, you fucking dipshit! I’m an afab, trans man! He/-fucking-/Him!”

Oh... duh…

“Oh?” you squeak meekly, not really sure how to react.

“Yeah! Oh! So if you’re gonna be a fucking bigot just get it over with! See this is why I didn’t want to tell you! Fuck, and you’re gonna fucking tell everyone and they-”

“I didn’t even say anything!” You argue, hands out and palms up.

“I can see it on your fucking face, just say you think I’m a monster so I can tell shitty hair I was right!” he growls.

You gawk, “Bakugou I don’t fucking care that you’re trans!” You screech in a whisper. Thin walls. “God I thought you were going to tell me you gave me some deadly strain of The Clap!” You snort, devolving into hysterical laughter

He stares, arms still tightly crossed and eyes still stained red.

Once you gather yourself just a hair, it occurs to you what you’d said that day you fought in the cafeteria. Your laughter catches in your chest, face and mood plummeting at the realization.

“Oh my god I said… I said…” you stumble.

“Yeah, said I was a fucking ‘Ken doll’.” he fills in ruthlessly.

“Bakugou, I am so sorry. God that’s fucking horrible.” you blanche, throat constricting, “I mean it! That it doesn’t define you, I don’t think any differently of you just because of how you were born. You’re valid-”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.” he growls, “’You’re valid, King! Yes, cute lil’ trans boy bean! So handsome!’” he mocks, gesturing sarcastically with his hands. “Fucking save it. Ugh, gonna make me fucking gag.” He huffs.

You can’t help but snort. It would be like him to so vehemently oppose that kind of support.

“Okay, okay. Noted… Can I ask questions? I-I mean you don’t owe me any answers, I’m just curious.”

He rolls his eyes, moving to sit heavily beside you on your bed. “I know you’ll hurt yourself trying to figure it out on your own, so just ask.”

“When we were… When we did stuff, and your hips were between my legs, I swear I felt a, uh…”

“It’s my packer.” When you stare sort of blankly at him, he explains, “A prosthetic dick, numbnuts.”

You hum thoughtfully, taking a moment to let it all settle into place, “So. That’s why you never let me reciprocate?” he nods, “Would that change now?”

You think he must have hurt his neck with how quickly his head whipped to look at you. “Why would you ask that? It’s not like we’re gonna do that shit anymore.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, uh… Sorry… I shouldn’t have assumed that that was still on the table…” Of course he wouldn’t want to sleep with you anymore. You’d said probably the worst thing humanly possible about his body! In what world would he want to share himself with you like that, especially more than he did before you’d insulted him?!

“On the-... Look, if you’re so put off at the thought of sleeping with me just out and say it!” he barks, standing and glaring down at you, “Don’t fucking pussyfoot around it! Like it or not it was a trans guy who ate your pussy ‘better than you’ve ever had before’.” He quotes angrily.

You look up at him, bewildered, “Bakugou, I’m not being facetious! I totally understand if you’re not interested in me that way anymore, I know what I said was really hurtful, but don’t make it out like I’m the one that’s turned off…” You grouse.

He looks disheveled, probably tired even before the emotional exhaustion of this conversation. “You’d still let me fuck you.” he asks disbelievingly.

You fight a heated blush, tips of your ears burning as your shoulders hiked defensively. “You don’t have to say it like that… I’d been trying to get in your damn pants for months before all of this. Nothing’s changed…”

“‘Nothing’s changed’ my ass.” he contests.

“Well not nothing! Sure, things are different, but not for better or worse. I still feel the same way about you as I did…” you admit shyly, clenching your fists to dispel some of the embarrassed energy.

Quicker than you can deflect, his hands are on your cheeks and pulling your face to where he’s ducked down to be eye level with you. There’s another unfamiliar and uncomfortable look in his eyes, too vulnerable and fragile, like a guilty dog showing you its soft belly.

“Tell me you still want me.” he beckons, heat of his breath washing your chapped lips.

“I still want you, Bakugou.” you call.

“Katsuki.” he corrects before absolutely consuming you.

Being kissed like this feels like facing the hurricane winds, air all around you and none spared for your lungs; feels like skydiving. Being kissed like this feels like the falling dream you have just before sleep, like being ripped from a sort of unconsciousness.

Like falling.

Kissing him feels like falling for fun.

It’s the same, and it’s not. The same calloused fingers, a different story. The same ache in your gums to bite, a different heat when you do. The same beck, different call. The change in electricity between you has much less to do with knowing some secret, and more to do with simply knowing him.

“Tell me how to touch you.” You beg, dizzy and dreamy. “Wanna make you feel good.”

He moans against your throat, hips paused in their rocking cant. He’s quiet, nose digging into your neck as he thinks.

“I don’t- I don’t know…” he admits shakily.

You nod, catching your breath as well, “Tell me how not to touch you.”

He swallows beside your ear, and you can almost hear the struggle in his mind. “Not my chest.” but you already knew that from past experiences, “Don’t wanna be… Don’t touch me like I’m… like I have a…”

“Want me to touch your cock?” You ask bravely, one hand dragging nails along the fuzz of his undercut, a full body shiver cutting through his tension, “We can start with a handjob, outside your pants, if you want.”

“Yeah,” he concedes easily, finding new confidence “yeah, touch me through my pants, baby. Get me hard.”

It’s the first time he’s letting you feel it like this, even if you’re not sure how much of the sensation translates. You touch him how you would touch any other guy, pushing your palm down his groin, cupping fingers over his bulge. His reaction is instantaneous, a falter in his feverous kissing, an uncontrollable twitch of his hips into your hand. He lets you go on for a few minutes, pacing his lips with his hips, kissing harder as he presses harder into your palm.

“‘S good.” he sighs against your parted mouth, eyes closed and brows pinched when you hazard a glance.

“Can I undo your pants?” You ask softly. His eyes flash open, panic imminent. “I wanna jerk you off, for real.”

“Idiot- it’s not… I-I don’t know what the fuck you’re expecting but it’s not like-”

“It’s fine, whatever it’s like, it’s okay. I want to make you feel good, Katsuki, I have no expectations other than that. Okay?” You try to reassure him.

He looks hesitant, clearly torn between being horny and wanting you to actually touch him, and the fear of you knowing him in such an intimate way.

“Fine, just… here.” he huffs, sitting up to undo his button and fly, “My boxers are weird because of the packer, just,-”

“I got it-” you start, reaching for where his pants are now parted.

“And don’t go any further down than my dick, okay?”

“I won’t-” your fingers tease the edge of his boxers.

“Can you just-” he nips, grabbing your wrist, “Can you wait?” You freeze, eyes tracing back up to his, “I’ve never fucking done this before! No one’s ever… I-I don’t know how to do this.”

He sounds small; scared. It doesn’t suit him.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” you preface, “But just know that I would really like to touch you, wherever you’ll allow me. It’s okay to be nervous, it’s really intimate. I was really worried the first time you went down on me.” you admit.

“Why?” he asks petulantly, “Your all pink and puffy and soft down there, the fuck is there to be nervous about?”

You blush at the description, “B-because of dumb stuff! Like what if I missed a spot when I shaved, what if you notice that my labia isn’t symmetrical, god what if I tasted bad?” you ramble.

“You do miss spots sometimes but who fucking cares? It’s just hair.” He tries to comfort, doing a horrible job, “And literally who the hell is worried about a ‘symmetrical labia’?! What difference does it make?! And pussy tastes like pussy! As long as you’re clean, and you are, it’s fine! Honestly even good. Fuck, sometimes you’re all sweet down there.” he reminisces, “You’ve got a good fucking pussy, so quit whining.”

You’re still not sure whether to be flattered or concerned, but that’s for another time.

“I wasn’t whining! I was trying to make a point about everyone being self conscious of their genitals! Jeez, if you can say all that crap about my pussy, surely you understand how I’m bound to feel about your dick.”

He pauses, chewing his response as he sits on his knees between your legs.

“Gimme your hand.” He demands, holding his palm out.

You oblige, and he’s quick to pull you forward. He pulls the elastic band of his boxers away from his pale blond happy trail (which you’d very much like to lick, thank you), and slowly guides your hand down his pants.

His pubes are trimmed pretty short, but not prickly. Just as the tips of your fingers reach something new, he pauses. You don’t say anything, instead studiously watching where his slender and veiny hand wraps around your wrist. After a moment, he pushes your hand down further, fingers meeting something firm and warm.

His dick.

The hand that was guiding your wrist leaves its post, joining yours under his pants, before pulling back at his pubic mound. The motion pushes his cock into your awaiting fingers, which eagerly explore.

It’s wet with precum, slick and hard and-

He sucks a breath in through his teeth. “Sensitive.”

“It’s hard.” You point out unhelpfully.

“Course it’s fucking hard, idiot, you’ve been fucking teasing it.” he groans, watching your face.

“Wanna suck you off.” You sigh wistfully, shamelessly.

He bristles, hips twitching into your braced fingers, fucking into your hand.

“Fuck, I want you to so bad, I just… I don’t know how, without, like, spreading my damn legs.” he huffs in frustration, pushing his wet dick between your fingers again and sighing.

“Stand up.” you usher, getting out of the bed yourself. You quickly plop down on your knees beside the abandoned bed, hands in your lap. He stands in front of you for a moment, confused, before realization dawns on him.

He’s unsure, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt like a lost child.

“Take your pants off, and the packer out. I’ll suck you off through your boxers.” You offer, nearly desperately at this point. He’s had his mouth on you so many times, you’ve daydreamed about this moment. The small shows of pleasure he’d given just from touching him with your hands have made you greedy. You want to see him come apart, like all the times he’s done so to you.

He nods eventually, shucking his jeans off and tossing them aside before pulling something flesh colored from a pocket in his boxers and adding it to the growing pile of clothes. Taking half a step forward, his hand finds your hair, and yours his hips.

“Holy fuck.” He whispers, in amazement you hope, “Fuck, this is so fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” Bingo. You play it up, opening your mouth and lolling your tongue out, putting on your best doe eyes to meet his. He steps one leg up on the bed frame, giving you better access. “Gonna fuck your mouth.” he promises, but there’s a quiver in his voice.

You're buzzing under your skin, literally salivating at the wet patch of his navy blue boxers, tongue already feeling the phantom softness of cotton and tasting the musk of his precum.

Finally he shifts his hips forward, your tongue cupping under the hardness hidden behind the cloth. Immediately your eyes drift closed, mouth seeking out how best to devour him. It’s worth it for his moans alone, they’re overwhelmed, sensitive and pitchy even in the depths of his voice. He’s properly grinding into your mouth, his cock pressing hard into your tongue on each pass, hands buried in your freshly washed hair.

“Fuck it.” he huffs, releasing you and stepping away for a moment before quickly pushing his boxers off of his hips.

The first thing you note is that his thighs should be a registered weapon. They’re toned and delicious and dusted in pretty blonde hair that thickens between them and up to his package. At first it doesn’t look like much, but then he reaches down and does that thing where he pulls his foreskin back and-

God help you, what on Earth was that noise you just made?!

His cock is pink and swollen, sticky with the spit that made it through the material of his briefs and the precum from having teased him so much. You don’t get to gawk for long before he’s resumed the position with his leg propped up.

You lean in this time, beating him to the punch, wrapping your lips fully around him and sucking.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He pants, one hand wrapped under your jaw as he sets his pace, fucking into your mouth as was true to his word.

You steady yourself on his thighs, tongue laving under the length of him, savory sweetness of cum flooding your mouth along with your copious drool. Your nose is pushed into his pubes, and he holds you tight to him, cock buried in your hot and wet mouth for several long seconds before he pulls away completely.

Strings of spit and cum trail between him and your lips, your pupils no doubt blown out as you stare in awe up at his glorious face.

He’s glowing. The lamplight shines like a halo from behind him, sharp and feral facial expressions softened by lust, pretty pink lips parted as he pants and tries to catch his breath.

“Want you to cum in my mouth.” You plead, licking your soaked lips and swallowing, for all the good it does to help the mess that is your chin.

He snaps his mouth shut, growling in the back of his throat with eyes squeezed shut. “Fucking Christ, baby girl. You’re so fucking beautiful sucking my cock. Don’t worry, I’ll cum in your mouth. You gonna swallow?”

The answer is so obvious you’re sure he’s asking rhetorically, but he waits for your enthusiastic nod to resume fucking your face.

Other than holding onto his thighs for dear life, there’s little else you can do but take it. You focus on keeping the suction in your cheeks, and your tongue doting over his head when he rocks his hips away. He’s panting heavily above you, hands shaking where they twist into your hair, moans mounting in desperation.

“I can’t- can you just… a little…” he babbles unhelpfully, until you notice one of his hand has left your hair, and is gesturing beside your head.

He’s holding his two middle fingers up, in the exact way you know he uses on you. You look back up to him and nod, dominant hand slowly tracking to his inner thigh.

It seems precarious, this request. At the end of the day you have to trust that he wouldn’t ask for something he wasn’t comfortable with, so you do what you can to abide strictly by what he’s asked for.

He pauses his hips to catch his breath, allowing you an easier time at finding what you’re looking for. While he’s panting above you, you take the time to bathe his cock with your tongue, licking salaciously under it, wrapping your lips around it and bobbing, all while your fingers find what they were looking for.

His hole is wet, offering little resistance as you ease two fingers inside. If you’re correct in reading his shaky gesture, he wanted you to press forward, right on his-

His knees buckle beside you, a guttural moan ripping from his no doubt raw throat. “Right there, baby, stay right there and I’m gonna fuck your face till I cum, yeah?” he asks, but again, he knows the answer. Still somehow there’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice, entirely unfamiliar.

He’d always been so confident about sex, never batting an eye at your naked form, clearly never missing a beat when you missed a few hairs or when you were feeling shy. Confidence is his middle name, and he touched you like he knew your body best. You’re grateful he’s even letting you touch him, letting you see him, and yet something flutters in your stomach at the prospect of him allowing you even closer.

When he cums it is absolute music to your ears. You’d tried to imagine what he’d sound like, and missed the mark horribly. You always thought he’d cum with a growl, deep and savage and dominant, but it’s not. He sounds glorious, voice broken and arid, breath sawing into and out of his lungs as he spills in your mouth and down your chin.

It’s dripping into your nightshirt, the frothy mixture of spit and cum that coats your tongue and lips and runs down your chin. When he pulls away, you show him, because boys like that. Like seeing your mouth flooded with their cum.

He certainly does.

He looks down at you with wide and fucked out eyes, mouth parted in a valiant effort to catch his breath, core still twitching, at least what little you can see with his shirt pulled up with one hand. Likely to get a better view.

When you’re sure his attention is absolutely on you, you swallow dramatically and lick your lips, hands falling heavily back into your lap.

A small broken noise escapes his throat before his jaw clacks shut, eyes squinting shut so hard it must hurt.

“Was it okay?” You ask meekly, ever the lover of reassurance.

He barks an insulted laugh, “‘Was it good?’ She asks.” he mocks, “Get your dumb ass up here and get fucking naked. I’m gonna eat your pretty cunt until you can’t fucking walk.” he growls, ducking to grab you under your arms pits and throw you ungracefully onto the too small bed, “Come on, panties off princess.”

His smirk is back as he sinks between your thighs, the self assured one that you know and love, like he knows just how fucking hot he is.

God you hope he does.