𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬☆ 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮
☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!
Your sister just walked through the front door. You’re still wrapped around the guy she’s dating.
You were both still, breath caught between confession and catastrophe. His hands trembled on your hips. Yours clutched the hem of his shirt like a lifeline.
You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.
Downstairs, the door clicked shut.
“Katsuki?” your sister called out, her voice floating lazily up the stairs. “You here?”
“Fuck,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Fuck.”
You slid off the desk in a panic, quickly tugging down your shirt. Your lips felt swollen. You could still taste him. Still feel the burn of his fingers across your skin.
You hated how much you didn’t regret it.
Bakugo looked wrecked— like he didn’t know whether to punch the wall or drop to his knees. His chest rose and fell in quick, sharp bursts, eyes wild and flicking between the door and you.
You took a step back, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “What the hell do we do?”
“She can’t see us like this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Go downstairs. Act normal.”
You blinked at him, incredulous. “Act normal?”
“She can’t fucking know.”
Of course she couldn’t. You didn’t need him to tell you that. The shame crawling under your skin was doing a good enough job.
He hesitated before walking over and brushing a hand across your jaw, his thumb grazing your lip. A soft, almost painful look overtook his face.
“This wasn’t just some heat-of-the-moment shit,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
And then he left the room, his footsteps quiet but hurried as he went to greet your sister.
You stood there for a long time, fists clenched, trying not to cry.
Downstairs, the fake was perfect.
“There you are,” your sister said cheerfully, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter. “What’re you doing here so late?”
Bakugo shrugged, sitting stiffly on the couch. “Needed to talk to you. But you were out.”
She laughed, plopping beside him. “Sorry. I ran to that café I like with Mari. Forgot to text. What’s up?”
Bakugo hesitated. “I—I forgot,” he lied. “It was dumb.”
He couldn’t stop glancing toward the stairs. Couldn't stop thinking about what he'd just done. What he wanted to keep doing.
He didn’t hear most of what your sister said after that. Numbness crept in like a drug, dulling her voice, making him want to scream.
Hair slightly messy. Lip gloss faded. Wearing the same shorts that had driven him half mad upstairs.
You didn’t look at him. You walked straight past both of them to the kitchen, got a glass of water, and disappeared again.
He almost said fuck it all.
You thought it would get easier with distance. But the next few days were unbearable. Every time your sister texted you about how sweet Bakugo was being, you wanted to throw up.
In your kitchen, leaning against the fridge like he hadn’t kissed you breathless.
In your hallway, brushing past you with his eyes too soft, too full of guilt and want.
He couldn’t stand your sister’s touch anymore. He flinched when she kissed him. Made excuses to leave early. All his energy went into not looking at you too long.
Not when the damage was already done.
It finally snapped again a week later.
You were in the backyard, headphones in, sitting on the patio lounge chair with a notebook on your lap. Your tank top was loose, sliding slightly off your shoulder, and your thighs were bare in those same damn shorts.
Bakugo stepped outside without thinking.
You looked up— and he knew he was fucked all over again.
You pulled your earbuds out slowly. “She’s not home,” you said coolly. “If that’s why you’re here.”
He walked toward you like a man possessed.
“Don’t,” you said suddenly, your voice catching. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like you’re about to ruin my fucking life again.”
Bakugo stared at you. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, like you could force the ache away. “This is wrong.”
“She’s my sister, Katsuki.”
“I know,” he said louder, frustrated, stepping closer. “I know I’m a shitty fucking person, alright? I know I don’t deserve you. I know this is fucked up.”
“But I also know I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
He sank to his knees in front of you, resting his head against your bare thigh, like he was praying.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.”
“You can’t say shit like that.”
He looked up—and your hands reached for him before your heart could catch up. You ran your fingers through his hair, jaw tight.
“You make me feel like I’m insane.”
He leaned up, kissing your wrist.
“Then let’s be insane together.”
It was reckless. It was selfish. But you pulled him inside.
Clothes came off like confessions. Every kiss was a betrayal. Every gasp a sin.
He had you pinned against your bedroom door before you could speak. His mouth was on your neck, sucking bruises into your skin like a brand.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he muttered as his hands roamed lower. “You know that?”
Your fingers tugged his belt open. “Good.”
He grunted, pressing you hard against the wood, one knee between your thighs. “Say it.”
You grabbed his face, dragging his lips to yours. “I want you.”
He was rough— needy. Like he was trying to make up for every second he’d wasted not being inside you. His mouth was on your chest, teeth grazing your nipple, his fingers sliding under your waistband.
You gasped, clutching his shoulders.
“Fuck, you’re soaked already.”
“You did that,” you snapped breathlessly.
He smirked— dark and unhinged.
You barely made it to the bed. He laid you out like a feast, eyes trailing over every inch of you like you were something sacred.
And then he dropped to his knees again—this time for a different reason.
You bit down on your fist when his tongue found your clit. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even come up for air. Just gripped your thighs and devoured you like it was the last time he’d ever get the chance.
He growled against you at the sound of his name. Pulled you closer. Didn’t let up until you were shaking, moaning, coming on his mouth.
And when he finally kissed you again, you tasted yourself on his tongue.
“I need to be inside you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Need to feel you.”
You nodded, already breathless.
He slid inside you in one slow thrust, your bodies fitting together too perfectly. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, and he groaned against your shoulder.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t hard. It was intimate. Deep, aching strokes that made your chest tighten with something dangerous.
He kissed you between every thrust.
Your jaw. Your shoulder. Your lips.
“I’m sorry,” he kept murmuring. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You didn’t know if he meant for this, or for her.
But you kissed him back anyway.
“Hey!” your sister called out. “I’m home!”
Bakugo went pale. You practically threw him off you, scrambling for your clothes.
“Shit—fuck, fuck—” you hissed, yanking on a hoodie, wiping your mouth.
Bakugo cursed under his breath, already pulling his shirt over his head.
You could hear her footsteps.
“Bathroom,” you whispered urgently. “Now.”
You barely managed to fling your bedroom door open and pretend like you’d just been chilling when your sister’s voice rang out behind you.
“There you are!” she beamed. “I thought you were upstairs with your study friend again.”
You tried to smile. “Nah. Just me.”
She glanced around. “Katsuki’s car’s outside.”
“Yeah. Weird. I’ll call him.”
From the bathroom, Bakugo’s phone buzzed.
You smiled tightly. “Maybe he went for a walk.”
She shrugged and walked off.
You didn’t breathe for a full minute.
When Bakugo stepped back out, eyes wide and jaw tense, you looked at him.
This was getting too dangerous.
One more second. One more slip.
And everything would fall apart.
☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞
𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!
