Gravitational Pull | Katuki Bakugou Fan Fic

by loonyforyouonly

Summary:

You entered college hoping for a fresh, peaceful start, ready to leave your tumultuous past behind. But fate has other plans as it brings back Katsuki Bakugou, the childhood friend you thought you’d outgrown. The moment he comes back, chaos ensures, turning your life upside down and stirring up emotions you never expected. No matter how far you run, no matter how distant you grow, the two of you seem to always gravitate towards each other. The question is: are you ready for the collision?

“You and Bakugou are friends, right?”

Yura asks, clinging to your arm as she flashes that bright white grin of hers. In the short time you’ve known her, you’ve realized she always does this when she wants something.

Still calling you and Bakugou “friends” is a stretch. Honestly, even “acquaintances” feels generous now, since you haven’t been in contact for years. Sure, you played together as kids because your parents were close back then. You were also too shy to make other friends, so you stuck to him by default, even if it didn’t always make you happy being by his side. You let him boss you around a lot (like he did to everybody), desperate to keep him from dropping you entirely.

The two of you were constantly around each other, not out of affection, but circumstance. Once you entered middle school too, the distance formed naturally. He was a year older, made new friends, and stopped hanging out with you. You also began talking to more people, trying not to be alone again.

After years of being pushed around by Bakugou, you barely reacted when other “friends” treated you the same. Sometimes they realized it, sometimes not. Over time, you grew out of that version of yourself… though some traces still lingered. And you could feel them creep up again.

Like now.

“Ah, no… we’re not close anymore, sorry,” you say with a nervous laugh. The moment your words leave your mouth, worrying thoughts came to your mind. You’d always expect people to have a big change in their demeanor when the word no left your mouth.

“I see! Then I guess I misunderstood.” She smiles, still glued to your side, resting her head on your shoulder. “It’s just… I really like his friend, Kirishima, but I have no idea how to approach him. I’m only a freshman, and I don’t know anyone in his circle… I thought that if you knew Bakugou, maybe I could get closer to Kirishima.” She pouts softly.

You get where she’s coming from. Being a college freshman is a whole damn challenge. You have to figure out the unwritten hierarchy, avoid stepping on the wrong toes, and accept that some people are simply out of reach because of their status and popularity. Bakugou’s group had both. Kirishima, Denki, and Sero were all part of the sports team, just like him. Basically a squad of jocks everyone assumed only cared about sports and girls.

You hadn’t been a freshman for long, but it was already obvious who you needed to avoid if you didn’t want trouble and which lines you should never cross. You learned very fast all those details. And this party? It was the perfect reminder that one wrong move could put you in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.

“Kirishima seems really nice, though. I think he’d be easy to talk to,” you say, glancing at the group from your spot on the couch.

They all sat across the room, surrounded by other bunch of sophomores, all cracking up at something Denki said. Well, almost all of them. Your attention was now on Bakugou, as he was hunched over his phone, typing furiously like he was about to snap it in half. Watching him through the dim, colored lights you realize just how much he’s changed. As a kid, he was loud, attention-hungry, always trying to be the best. Now he barely acknowledged the chaos around him, barely said a word to the ones surrounding him, like he didn’t want any attention.

What really threw you off was his appearance. You always knew he’d grow up handsome, but damn, he was on another level. Sharp features, messy hair, those red, intense eyes, a strong jawline, broad shoulders, arms that looked like they could tear the seams of his designer t-shirt… and the height difference now was ridiculous. You used to be taller than him when you were kids, but now, even from his sitting form you could just tell how tall he got. How hot he got—

“Yeah, but… I don’t even know how to start a conversation with Kirishima,” Yura says, pouting again. You feel genuinely bad for her. You’ve known her for only a month, since the first year started, but she’s always been cheerful; this is the first time you’ve seen her look discouraged.

“I—I can try talking to him. Maybe he remembers me,” you suggest, turning to her. Her head snaps up, though her expression is uncertain.

“I don’t want you to put yourself in an awkward spot. I’ll find a way, really.” She gives you a small, grateful smile, and you return it.

“Hm… I should at least try, you know? And I’ll wait until he’s alone or something,” you explain gently.

“I don’t know…” she sighs, fidgeting with her hands, her eyes moving from your figure to the group.

“It’s gonna be okay. Trust me.” you reassure her with an honest smile.

 

It turned out to be much harder than you expected.

That man was never alone. He didn’t even go to the bathroom. For the past hour he’d been glued to his phone, texting nonstop, biting his lip like he was on the verge of snapping. Or at least that’s how it looked. You were dying to know who he kept messaging so eagerly that nothing else mattered.

You also noticed something else: every time a sophomore tried approaching him, one of his friends would cut them off without hesitation. It was like Kirishima, Denki, and Sero were guarding him. They were the only ones who knew what he was dealing with and determined not to let anyone interfere.

You recognized Kirishima from middle school; him and Bakugou were always a pair back then. The other two were strangers to you, as maybe he had meet them later in college, but you couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Bakugou having more good friends now. Even if you weren’t close anymore, at some point he was a big part of your life, and you still wanted him surrounded by people who cared about him.

Your thoughts shattered when Yura shifted beside you.

“Look! He’s getting up,” she whispered excitedly, tugging your arm.

This was it. Now or never.

You turned to her with a hushed “wish me luck,” then pushed yourself off the couch, only to practically sprint after Bakugou shortly after. He moved like the floor was on fire, forcing you to weave through drunk dancers and dodging flailing limbs just to keep him in sight. You also felt someone touch you ass while trying to move past them, but that was not important right now.

Once you escaped the main crowd, you realized he was gone. Panic stabbed your chest for a few good seconds, until you caught a flash of familiar spiky hair disappearing around a corner. Your body reacted before your brain did. It felt ridiculous, chasing him again after all these years… just like you did when you were kids. Funny how some things never change.

Soon after you see him push open a door that seemed to lead to the backyard. That part of the frat house was practically empty; most people were crammed in the living room or hooking up upstairs.

Why would he leave the party to—

Your answer came right away, as you froze near the exit when a voice reached you: a girl’s voice, sharp and furious, spilling out from the cracked door.

“Grow the fuck up, Katsuki!” she screamed, heels slamming against the concrete. “I don’t want you anymore. Get that through your skull!”

“You can’t dump me—I dump you! Got it?” he yelled, stomping after her.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night! I don’t care anymore!” she spat.

She shoved the door open and stormed inside, completely missing you pressed against the wall, wide-eyed and paralyzed.

You barely had a second to breathe before the door burst open again, this time revealing an enraged Katsuki who nearly bumped into with you.

“Who the hell—” he started, but stopped mid sentence. His eyes grow wide, shock written all over his face, but he recovers quickly, realizing you might have been eavesdropping to a very private conversation.

“Heard any of that shit?” His voice snapped, sharp as a whip. He stepped closer and you staggered back.

“N-no!” you blurted, hands raised. “I just got here!”

A lie. You prayed it sounded believable.

“You fuckin’ better,” he muttered, frowning as he studied your flushed face. After a tense moment, he exhaled roughly. “Fuckin’ hell…” he muttered, grinding his teeth and raking a hand through his blond hair.

And just like that, he stormed past you, leaving you trembling and struggling to catch your breath. Your hand rested on your chest, feeling how your heartbeat races like crazy. You turn your head to look back at his figure getting away from you. Shoulders tensed, hands balled into fists, veins popping out his foresrms and grave steps as he walks like he owns the place.

You stood there for some time, even after he got out of your sight. You were still trying to register what just happend: you and Bakugou met again, he didn’t seem to know who you are and you have even angered him since you eavesdropped a conversation that was none of your business.

You couldn’t lie: his reaction towards you saddened you a bit, making you realize just how forgettable you were to him. You didn’t expect him to get all smiley and happy after seeing you, that was not like him at all, but you expected… something. Anything really. Even a fraction of his attention. And it frustrated you in a way. He was a big part of your childhood, yet you seemed to be just another faceless person he’d encounter sometime in the past.

Maybe it was an exagerating, maybe not, but you wouldn’t know because you will most likely never get an answer.

You let out a deep sigh as you pushed yourself off the wall, walking back towards the living room. You had to go again through the sea of drunk people and this time you actually punched the guy who gropped your ass earlier, since he tried to to it again, but this time you weren’t so focused on Bakugou to not have time to react.

Well, at least one good thing came out of tonight.

You made justice for yourself, even though it didn’t help you that much. You just couldn’t shake off the feeling Bakugou gave you, nor the image of him standing just a few feet away from you after not seeing him for eight years. The way he looked, the way he acted, the way he spoke with such confidance… you’ve never seen him like this and it makes you wonder; when did he become so… intense?

You are pulled out of your thoughts as Yura called you through the loud music, waving hapily from the couch. You force a smile and wave back, trying to look less tensed.

“How did it go?” she asked as you sat down.

“I said hi and he didn’t seem to recognize… so I dropped it,” you laugh nervosuly, hand scratching the back of your head. You felt bad lying to her, but you couldn’t tell how you came to that conclusion.

“Thank you for trying,” she smiles caringly. “Don’t worry about it, this isn’t the only way,” she added, hand squizzing your shoulder. “But are you okay? You seem… shaken up,” her words made you flinch slightly.

“Oh… I just feel weird seeing someone from the past change so much,” you sigh, not exactly lying.

“Man, fuck the past, focus on the present and let’s drink!” She suddenly gets up, wanting to cheer you up. She quickly takes some drinks from the nearest table and comes back with them, offering you one.

“For the present!” she grins, holding the red cup up.

“For the present,” you repeat, eyes involuntarily darting towards Bakugou’s direction, finding him seated on the same couch.

For a second, you could swear his eyes were also on you.

 

The dawn of a new day came faster than you’d liked, bringing back the responsabilities you tried avoiding while partying. Last night was a total mess: you didn’t have any fun, drinks weren’t even that good, some weirdo had the audacity to grope you and all you could think about was Bakugou.

You barely got any sleep, mostly because you kept dreaming of him, but still had to drag yourself to attend the morning classes, alone, looking like zombie. As expected, Yura was completely defeated by the hangover you’d warned her about, yet she never listened, and today she paid the price.

Luckily for you, the morning lectures passed by very fast, probably because you couldn’t even pay attention.

Now, you were sitting cross-legged on a random campus bench, sunlight slipping through the branches and the warm breeze messing your hair strands slightly. But you didn’t notice, because you were too focused on your phone, talking to Yura, typing out every detail she’d missed. Your little gossip session flowed easily, your fingers gliding across the screen…

Until a single word cut through the quiet around you like a blade.

“Oi.”

Your thumbs froze mid-sentence. A chill climbed up your spine, eyes widening as your pulse thundered in your ears. You didn’t need to turn around. You knew that voice, too rough, too intense, too unmistakably him.

Fear prickled under your skin, not of him but of the attention that followed the moment he stepped too close to you. Curiosity rippled through the courtyard like a shockwave, pulling every gaze towards you before anyone realized they were staring. He carried gravity like a curse; people turned, stared, whispered without even realizing they were doing it all because he was there.

And Katsuki Bakugou, being exactly who he is, doesn’t even care. Subtlety doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. If he wants something, he will come for it loudly, unapologetically, dragging you straight into the spotlight with him even if you want it or not.

“I’m talkin’ to ya,” he barked, almost annoyed he had to repeat himself.

With a slow, reluctant turn, you shifted your body towards him, bracing yourself for what was about to follow.

He stood in front of you, just a few steps away, with that unbothered stance of his, making it seem like he owned whatever ground he stepped on. His hair was a chaotic explosion of blond spikes, even messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times and given up trying to tame it.

He wore a grey pair of sweats hanging low on his hips, some white sneakers and a T-shirt, probabily designer, that fit him so well. The material streched across his chest, showcasing his muscles. And over it all, he wore a black and red jacket, the classic varsity-style jock jacket that only made him look more like trouble.

“How may I help you?” The words left your mouth too polished, too formal, and you instantly cringed.

Bakugou’s frown was immediate. “The hell? You sound stupid. Talk normal.”

You let out a strangled laugh at his remark. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. I just— if this is about last night, I swear I didn’t hear or see anything, and even if I did, I’m not the type to talk, so—”

“How long’s it been? Seven years?”

His interruption sliced clean through your rambling. You blinked a few times, lips parting in pure shock as you came to the undeniable realization: Katsuki Bakugou actually remembered you. And not only he remembered, but he’d deliberately came to you with zero concern for the spectators he dragged along with him.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden wave of happiness and relief came over you the moment you realized you weren’t that forgettable after all. Maybe you mattered enough for him to come and talk to you.

“Eight, actually,” you managed, scoffing at yourself. “But who’s counting.”

“Obviously you,” he snickered, smug as ever.

Your bit your lip, trying to stay composed and not smile like an idiot. “Whatever… Why are you here?” You asked, curiosity creeping up.

He lifted a shoulder, bored and arrogant. “Felt like it.”

You scoffed.

“Oh, so you missed me?” you teased, fingers fidgeting with your bag strap to hide your nerves.

“Hah. You wish.” His smirk was wicked.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again, since you didn’t recognize me last night.”

“I did,” he said. “Just too pissed off to say somethin’.”

His gaze flickered behind you, so quick most people would’ve missed it, but you didn’t. You turned your head as well, and a laugh almost slipped from you when you caught sight of her.

The girl from last night stood a few meters away, blatantly watching the two of you talk.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, facing him again. “Don’t tell me you came over here to make your ex jealous.”

“No,” he snapped, utterly bothered. “Don’t care about her anymore. She’s just pathetic, that’s all.”

You couldn’t help the exasperated noise you made. His snark was sharp enough to cut, but it was so painfully, unapologetically Bakugou that it almost grounded you.

“Tch.” He shifted his weight, hands shoved deep into his pockets, sensing you don’t believe him. “Like hell I’d come here for her.”

His voice dropped, rougher, the edge softened just barely, just enough for you to notice.

“Saw you sittin’ here lookin’… I dunno,” he sucked his teeth, eyes dragging over your face before darting away again.

“…Different.”

Your heart thudded once, hard.

“Different?” you echoed, trying to decipher what he was trying to say.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re the one making it weird,” you shot back instantly.

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharp and assessing. He was kind of surprised you had the courage to talk back.

“You weren’t like this as a kid,” he muttered all of a sudden. “Used to stay in your corner and hope to not bother anyone. Now you’re sittin’ here all mature ’n —”

“Outspoken?” you offered.

He glared. “Annoyin’. That’s what you are.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head at his words.

“You really came all the way over here just to insult me?”

“If I wanted to do that, I’d have said more,” he shot back without missing a beat. Then his gaze softened, not much, barely a shift, but enough for you to notice.

Beside the happiness that came over you, you also felt tensed around him, so afraid to not make a fool of yourself. For some reason you wanted him to see you, really see you. But it was so hard to talk or breath or think. Everything felt so surreal: to talk to him again, to see him all grown up.

“Uh… so how have you been?” You smiled, heart thumping in your chest.

“How the hell do you think?” he muttered. “Classes. Training. People pissin’ me off. Same shit.”

“But…” His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than you expected. “College ain’t terrible.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Wow. Are you actually saying something nice for once?”

“I’m not,” he snapped, crossing his arms. “Don’t twist my words.”

“So you’re still… y’know. You.” You gestured vaguely at him, and he frowned.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you haven’t changed that much,” you teased. “Still loud. Still grumpy. Still acting like everyone’s personal inconvenience.”

Bakugou scoffed, stepping a little closer, close enough that his shadow brushed against your knees where you sat.

“I changed plenty,” he grumbled. “Just not for stupid reasons.”

Your smile faltered, not in a bad way, but because something warm tugged low in your chest. He’d really grown up. Sill sharp and still explosive… but steadier and more self-controlled. And a lot more intense.

“I mean,” you shrugged lightly, “I didn’t expect you to suddenly become friendly.”

“Good,” he muttered. “Cuz I’m not,” he added. “But it was a damn surprise to see you after all these years, I’mma tell you that. I didn’t expect you to look so—”

He cut himself off sharply, realizing what he was about to say.

“Look so… what?” You asked and he glared at you like it was your fault he almost slipped.

“Forget it.”

Before you could even respond to Bakugou’s half-slip, a familiar voice called out your name. The both of you turned around to see Yura standing a few feet away, looking confused. She didn’t really know what to make of the sight.

“Ah, I have to.. umm, go,” you say quickly, gathering you things. “It was nice seeing you. We should catch up when you have time or something.”

“Whatever, I don’t care,” he shrugged. You weren’t sure if you should still push the idea of you two meeting up again, but then…

“Still got my number, right?” he added, one of his hands stroking the back of his neck.

“Yeah, still have it. I will text you,” you reply, offering him a smile as you pass by him, running towards Yura. By the look on her face, you’ve got a lot of explaning to do.

 

You and Bakugou had soon fallen into this strange rhythm of back and forth texting. Sure, his replies were short, sometimes dry, yet they always arrived within few minutes. It almost baffled you. You’d walked away from that encounter convinced he’d never bother texting back, but here you were, chatting nearly every day as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I still can’t believe this,” Yura whispered as she scooted closer.

“Trust me, me neither,” you breathed out, slipping your phone into your lap. “But hey, I did land you that date with Kirishima, didn’t I?” You nudged her elbow with yours, and her cheeks bloomed pink instantly.

“Don’t remind me! I’m so nervous. God…” She dragged her hands over her face. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“He’s going to adore you,” you said, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

She hesitated only a second before leaning in. “Can I look at Bakugou’s text again?”

You sighed but relented. Your fingers brushed over the phone as you handed it to her, and she dove into your messages with barely contained excitement. Her eyes skimmed through the thread, searching, hunting, until she finally landed on the messages.

And her breath hitched as her eyes followed the conversation.

Friday, 6 pm
You: Random question

Katsuki: what.

You: Yura… kinda likes Kirishima. Think you could show him a pic of her? Just so he knows who she is?

You: Please?

Katsuki: tch. fine.

You: *picture sent*

Katsuki: he said she aight.

You: That doesn’t sound like him at all😭

Katsuki: 🙄

Katsuki: he likes her.

“Ugh… thanks,” I calmed down a bit, she smiles at you, giving you the phone back. “What are you gonna do when I’m out? I feel bad leaving you alone…”

“It’s okay, me and Katsuki are gonna meet as well,” you assure her, then glance at the time. “You should get ready!”

 

The park was quieter than you remembered.

Maybe it was the season, or the late afternoon light dripping through the old trees, casting long gold shadows across the fading playground. The swing sets creaked gently in the breeze, the same ones you and Bakugou used to fight over when you were kids. You smiled at the thought. Back then, you’d push each other around without a second thought. Now… things felt very different.

You let your body sway, just slightly, toe skimming the dirt, the rhythmic motion pulling loose memories to the surface. You could almost see two little kids racing toward the blue slide, his tiny scowl and your triumphant laugh echoing faintly in your ears. He was so upset that he kicked the slide right after you’ve won the race. He really didn’t know how to loose.

Your gaze shifts onto the swing next to you, the blue faded platisc all chipped, the chain dirty and rusty. You remembered how he always pushed too hard on these, sending you flying higher than you wanted, your squeals ringing out while he laughed from behind you, shouting,

“Quit screaming, you big baby! You’re fine!”

You remembered the day you fell and scraped your knee. He stood there, frozen, eyes wide, then stomped over with that tiny scowl he had even back then.

“Stop crying. It’s just a stupid scratch.”

But he sat beside you the whole time until your sniffles stopped. He even tore off a piece of his shirt to wrap around your knee like a makeshift bandage, muttering that your “dumb blood was getting everywhere.”

You remembered him, sunlit and wild, a little storm of a boy whose presence always took over the whole playground.

You remembered how you’d wait for him everyday to come out and play with you, even if he made you cry.

And now here you were again. Waiting. Chasing.

You let the swing move beneath you, slow and rhythmic, as your fingers wrapped around the cold metal links, and your eyes drifted half-shut as your mind wandered deeper into the past.

And then, a breath, warm and low, brushed the shell of your ear.

“Oi.”

You jerked, heart leaping into your throat as you nearly slipped off the swing. A startled gasp tore from you, but before gravity could have its say, strong arms caught your waist, firm and steady.

Your back landed against a familiar chest.

“Seriously?” Bakugou muttered, though there was a rough, amused edge to it. “You’re gonna fall off a damn swing?”

You were frozen for a second, breath trapped in embarrassment. His fingers stayed on your waist, not gripping, just… resting, making sure you won’t fall.

“You scared me,” you breathed out.

“Tch. Didn’t think you’d jump like that,” He didn’t pull away. His voice was close, too close. “You were zoned out.”

“I was remembering,” you whispered, glancing at the slide you used to race down together. “We used to play here all the time.”

His gaze followed yours, frowning as he let go of you. He made a low sound in his throat, almost a scoff, almost a hum.

“Yeah. I remember.”

Then he dropped onto the swing next to you, the chains rattling loud under his weight. Legs spread, elbows on his thighs, giving you a sidelong look.

“You drag me out here just to get all sappy about some stupid old memories?” he grumbled, making your eyes roll.

“Oh, shut up. You’re still bitter I beat you everytime we raced to the slide,” you laughed, sitting down as well.

He barked a short laugh.

“Oh yeah? Wanna fuckin’ try that again?” He smirked. “I’ll smoke your ass this time.”

“You’re kidding,” you scoff at him.

“Dead serious,” he shot back, leaning forward. “Come on. Try me.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, but you were already standing, brushing dirt off your jeans.

Bakugou rose too, cracking his neck like he was about to enter a professional match instead of a stupid dash to an old slide.

“First one to touch the slide wins,” he said, stepping closer, eyes glinting with challenge. “No whining when you lose.”

“It’s literally a children’s slide race,” you scoff.

“Then quit actin’ scared and run.”

Your jaw dropped. “I am NOT scared—”

“Three,” he said, ignoring you completely.

“Katsuki—”

“Two.”

You barely had time to inhale.

“One.”

He took off like an explosion waiting to happen, and you cursed, sprinting after him.

“CHEATER!” you yelled behind him.

“MOVE YOUR DAMN LEGS!” he shot back without even looking behind him.

You pumped your arms, feet stomping the dirt path as laughter burst out of you, breathless, wild, dragged straight from childhood. The slide gleamed at the end of the park and for a second, it felt like old times: just two kids running, racing, fighting to be first, as this was their only worry.

You gained on him, somehow. He glanced back, eyes widening just a fraction.

“Oh, hell no,” he growled, pushing himself faster.

“Get back here!” you shouted, lunging forward, then, your foot clipped something.

A root? A rock?

You didn’t get the time to analyze it, as your body pitched forward violently.

“Shit—!” you gasped, scared of what was about to happen. Your instinct took over in an instant, as you grabbed the closest thing: Bakugou’s shirt.

“Oi—WHAT THE—?!” he barked as your weight yanked him backward, your grip catching him by surprise.

You crashed into him, and the momentum took you both down. Bakugou twisted mid-fall, trying to catch you, trying not to faceplant.

You landed on top of him with a jolt, your palms pressed to his strong chest, his hands clamped around your waist in pure reflex, legs tangled. His breath punched out of him under your weight.

For a second, neither of you moved.

You blinked slowly, still hovering over him, your chest rising and falling against his. Heat radiated off him like a furnace.

“I…I tripped,” you whispered, voice barely there.

“No shit you tripped,” he snapped, though it lacked bite. His eyes flickered over your features, down to your lips, then away so fast you almost doubted it.

Almost.

“And you took me down with you, dumbass.”

“You caught me,” you murmured.

His jaw clenched.

“I was tryin’ not to let you smash your face into the dirt.”

“Well… thank you,” you whispered, embrrassed that you ended up in such a compromising position.

A heavy silence dropped between you.

The kind that made the air warm and sticky. You realized just how close you were to his face, how your knees framed his hips, how your hands still rested on the strong rise of his chest, how his fingers flexed once against your waist as if debating whether to push you off or pull you closer.

Bakugou exhaled, short and sharp.

“Get off,” he muttered, voice low and rough.

Your lips parted, ready to speak, then your gaze slightly shifted towards the slide, which was only inches away from you, so close you could reached it if you moved a bit forward. You tried to surpress the smile creeping up on your lips, his words echoing in your mind before you started the race.

“Katsuki, wait,” you said with urgency, hand slowly raising up.

“What?” he snapped, still pinned under you and completely oblivious.

Your fingers curled around the cool, hardened plastic of the slide, as your body leaned in, chest brushing his, your breath ghosting over the edge of his jaw.

“I won,” you whispered, right against his ear.

Bakugou froze.

His head jerked to the side, and he saw it: your hand wrapped around the slide. His eyes widened just a fraction.

“You’re—” his voice broke off into a disbelieving scoff, “…fuckin’ serious?”

For a heartbeat he just stared at you, stunned.

Then it hit him.

A sharp huff burst out of his chest, almost like he tried to choke it down, but it escaped anyway. Then another. And another. Before he could stop himself, Bakugou let out a low, raw and unfiltered, laugh. Not loud, not dramatic.

Just real.

A rumbling, reluctant, can’t-believe-you-just-did-that kind of laugh that shook subtly beneath you.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, laughter still caught in his throat as he dragged a hand down his face. You can’t yourself but smile widely, heart hummering in your chest as you look at him, listen to him.

“You fall on top of me, drag me into the dirt and you still manage to pull that shit?” He asks, eyes, flicking up to meet yours.

“A win is a win,” you announced proudly as you finally pushed yourself up off of him.

The moment his hands left your waist, a chill rushed over your skin, sharp enough to make you miss the heat immediately.

“Whatever,” he muttered, tryig to hide his smile as he got to his feet, dusting dirt off his palms. “It’s stupid anyway.”

“It’s only stupid ’cause you didn’t win,” you shot back, brushing off your clothes with a smug little smile.

He clicked his tongue, glaring at you with that familiar, irritated fondness he refused to acknowledge.

“We should go get cleaned up, since someone decided to drag us in dirt.” He said, turning towards you and throwling you a nasty, but playful look.

“I already said sorry,” you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, my dorm is close by, let’s just go there,” he added casually, hands in his pockets.

 

You reached his dorm in no time. The place was quiet, Kirishima still out with Yura. A small wave of relief hit you; the last thing you needed was him walking in and getting the wrong idea about you and Bakugou showing up together this late at night.

You stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while he pulls open a drawer, digging through it for spare clothes for both of you.

He grumbled, finally finding something suitable for you, since all his shirts were pretty big.

“Oi, is this—“ he started talking, but stopped once he saw the way you stood. Your legs were pressed together, fingers twisting nervously, your whole stance saying more than you ever could out loud.

“What the hell? Quit standin’ there lookin’ stupid and sit down,” he muttered, brows pulling tight. “What, never been in a guy’s room before?” he added with a dry snort.

But when you didn’t answer, when you turned your head just enough to avoid his eyes, that told him everything.

An awkward silence settled between you, thick enough to feel, stretching across the room as if the air itself was holding its breath.

“C-can you give me the shirt?” You stuttered, hand forward as you waited for him to comply.

He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips as he handed you the shirt. You took it, but made the mistake of looking up at him just in time to catch Bakugou pulling off his own shirt. His broad shoulders, defined chest, and sharp abs made your stomach twist in a mix of awe and embarrassment. His arms flexed effortlessly as he moved, and heat rose to your cheeks, leaving you suddenly flustered and unsure where to look.

“Hah, like what you see?” He smirked, catching the way your gaze lingered over his form.

You bit your lip at his question, cheeks turning a faint shade of red as you played with the fabric of the cloth he gave you.

“Shut up,” you replied, looking to the side.

His smirk got bigger as he tossed another piece of clothing at you, this time, a pair of shorts. You stumbled trying to catch them, letting out a small huff as you shot him a glare, half annoyed, half flustered.

“Do you always have to throw stuff?” you shot back offended, but he already turned his back on you, giving you time to change.

You sighed at the lack of reply and also turned around. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of your shirt, heartbeat increasing. You had no idea why you were suddenly so flustered, or why Bakugou’s presence felt different all of a sudden. The easy, friendly air from moments ago had shifted, charged with something heavy.

“You done yet?” He muttered, body tensed, palms balled into fists.

“Just a moment,” you reply while taking off your dirty pants. You take a look at the new pair he gave you, realizing it way too large for you to wear.

“Uh, Katsuki?”

“What now?” He asked, turning around. His eyes instantly fell on your exposed legs. The way his shirt looked like a dress on you almost made him crack a smile, but he soon came to his sense, ignoring the weird feeling in his chest.

“These ones don’t fit me, don’t you have anything else?”

“Hold on,” you see him going back to his drawer, rummaging again. “I have somethin’ that might fit ya’, but..”

“But?”

“It’s from a girl,” he explained further, avoiding to give other details.

“Ah, I see…” you shifted.

His ex.

“I’ll use the pants you gave me then,” you added.

“Or just stay under the covers ‘till the clothes are dry,” he suggested.

“Good idea,” you nodded.

“I’m gonna- y’know,” he added, waving the dirty clothes in the air.

“Of course,” you forced a smile, watching him leave to go to the laundry room.

You decided to go to his bed, following his advice as you waited for him.

He returned after a few minutes.

“Hey…. why… do you still have her clothes?” You asked all of a sudden, curiosity getting the best of you.

He froze.

“Dunno.”

“Katsuki,” you pushed. “Do you miss her?”

He remained quiet while closing the door.

“Talk to me. That’s what friends are for, right?” you smile up at him, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. “I know we haven’t been in touch all these years, but we can always catch up. I have a lot of things I want to share with you too,”

There was a heavy silence for a few moments.

Then…

“I just…” he started, as he came to sit at the end of the bed. “Feel empty when I think about her.”

“Was she your first?”

“Yeah… and I’m not sayin’ I want her back or any crap like that,” he muttered, clicking his tongue. “But… y’know, the start wasn’t bad. We actually got along. Then everything went to shit. She kept callin’ me some kinda fuckboy, actin’ like I was out sleepin’ around, when I can’t even stand most people. Seriously.” He let out a short, dry laugh and shook his head.

“I think she didn’t see the real you,” you say as you put one hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she had this idea of you based on rumors…” you add.

“Guess so…” he closed his eyes briefly.

You shifted closer, hand squizzing his shoulder lightly.

“It will get better if you try talking about what’s on your mind,” you smile.

“I don’t like talkin’ about feelings. It’s a fuckin’ hassle,” he groaned, dragging his palms over his face.

“You’re just not used to, that’s all,” you assured him.

“Hey.” He suddenly turned towards you. “Leave her aside and tell me about you. You said you had a bunch of stuff to share, right?”

You smiled at his question, a warming feeling tugging at your chest.

“I do.”

 

Over the following 3 months, you and Bakugou have actually grown closer than you ever were. Your texting and hanging out became more frequent, as you would go out, visit his dorm room or he’d visit yours to study, watch a movie, or just talk. You were happy you could see another side of him, a more human side since he always put on that mask and hid how he felt.

You’d also hang out with Yura and Kirishima, and Yura would often tease you that it felt like a double date, even if only her and Kirishima were an actual couple. You’d of course brush off her teasing, but a heavy feeling would settle in your chest everytime you thought more about this. You couldn’t even describe exactly how it made you feel. Maybe the closest would be weird? It would definately weird you out since Bakugo was just a friend. A close friend. Nothing more.

You were now in his and Kirishima’s dorm, waiting for Bakugo to finish writing some “stupid ass-essay” which he didn’t accept help with, so you just had to stay and watch. Denki was also present since they got paired to do it, but Bakugo did not seem happy about it, as he did all the work.

“Come on, I can at least try to write something,” Denki complained, leaning in his chair.

“Shut up, idiot, you want to get a 10 or what?” Bakugou spat back and Denki pouted.

“Alright…”

You offered Denki a encouraging smile as you turn towards the redhead.

“I’m so happy you and Yura get along well!”

“Yeah, she charms me everytime we are together,” He replied and you grinned.

“You talk like an old man,” Bakugou scoffs without looking up, his pen still moving across the page.

“Shut up! I think it’s lovely,” you defended Kirishima. “What would you even know about a relationship?”

“The fuck? I was in one!” He reminded you, frowning, back still turned.

“Yeah, that ended!” You snickered and Kirishima laughed.

“Thank God,” Bakugo exhaled. “She is everything I don’t want,” he added, making you curious.

“Then what do you want?” you find yourself asking and he suddenly stopped his writing silence falling over the room.

You frowned more at his lack of answer, but as you were ready to ask again, Kirishima started talking.

“Hey, would you make me a favor?” He asked, your attention now on him.

“What is it?”

“You know Yura doesn’t have to work tonight, right?” He asked and you nodded. “And I also have free time…”

“Okay…?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“And it’s also our 3 month anniversary…”

“I see…”

“They want to fuck, dude,” Denki laughed at how clueless you were, making Kirishima sigh deeply.

Your eyes grew wide.

“Oooh, I see…” you laughed nervously, a bit embarrased that you didn’t catch on faster.

“If it’s not too much to ask, can we have the room for ourselves tonight? Yura told me she would talk to you when she comes back from classes but since you’re here…” he explained, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I can switch rooms, you can go to Yura and I’ll sleep with Katsuki,” you say.

The room fell silent again. Bakugou stopped in his tracks, again, pen still in his hand, gripping it harshly.

Then, you hear Denki let out a high picthed laugh.

“Did I say something funny?” You asked confused.

“Nah, he’s just a fuckin’ idiot,” Bakugou snaps, turning around and whipping his pen at Denki. Denki tries to dodge it, completely misses, and ends up falling off his chair.

“Man down! Man down,” he cries in pain, rubbing his back.

“You think you Rihanna or somethin’?” Bakugo snickers, making you giggle at his comment.

His eyes flicker to yours for a moment, going up and down your figure, before moving his attention back to his essay.

You pretended you did not see that.

⸻

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to stay with while those two fuck?” Bakugou asks flatly, though his voice comes out almost… off, like he’s checking for something.

He doesn’t look at you as he drops onto his bed beside you. He sets the laptop between you both, since you’d decided to watch his choice of movie, of course.

“You don’t like it that I’m in here? Am I interrupting your gooning session or something?” You tease him and he rolles his eyes at your comment.

“The fuck? I don’t goon,” he scrunches his nose in disgust.

“Everyone does that,” you reply. “It’s okay to admit.”

“Only if you say it first,” he smirks and your face turns red at his words.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and turn towards the screen. “What movie did you choose again?”

“Batman,” he replied.

“I see, your taste hasn’t changed since you were little,” you smile and he shrugged.

The movie started, both of you falling quiet as you followed the action.

“Do you think we’d have reconnected again if it weren’t for that night at the party?” You asked suddenly, eyes still fixed to the screen.

He shifted beside you.

“Yes,” he replied after a few seconds of silence.

Your head turned towards him, the screen’s glow tracing gentle lights across his face. He looked different like this. So calm, so unguarded. No frown, no bite, nothing sharp. And you found yourself wishing you could see him like this more often… maybe even wishing you were the reason he looked that way—

“Why so sure?”

“It’s— we’ve always gravitated towards each other. Since kids. Would only be natural,” his tone was rough, yet soft.

“I wouldn’t have come to you.”

“I know,” he scoffed.

“I would have tried my best to avoid you.”

“Yet you always end up chasing me,” he snickers.

You sigh.

“Yeah… I guess some things remain the same.”

“I don’t really… mind it though,” he added casually, taking you by surprise.

“You mean you like my company?”

“You could say that,” he finally turned towards you.

“I like your company too,” you smile a bit too wide.

For a few seconds, you stay in silence, just looking at each other, taking in every detail, memorizing the person in front of you. It’s strange how people change… how they become new versions of themselves that feel different, yet so familiar.

A loud explosion came from the movie, reminding you both it wasn’t over. You forced yourself to focus, trying to ignore the heavy, fleeting awkwardness that had just passed between you.

During your last few hangouts, moments like this happened, when the air seemed to shift, and you became painfully aware of everything: what you said, how you moved, how you looked. You knew it was silly. It was just Bakugou… but somehow, that was exactly the problem.

At some point you lost the plot of the movie, as your attention shifted more towards Bakugou, stealing glances of him here and there.

Soon enough, you felt your eyes becoming heavier and heavier with each minute that passed. Your head slipped as your cheek landed against something firm and unexpectedly warm. Bakugou instantly stiffened under you. For a second, two, or maybe three, he forgot how to breathe.

“The hell…?” he muttered under his breath.

But he didn’t move.

His shoulders tensed first, then his jaw, then his entire chest. He glanced down and found you curled against him, eyelashes brushing your cheeks, lips parted slightly as your breathing softened into a slow rhythm. You were so close that he could smell your shampoo.

A quiet thud echoed in his ribcage.

He ignored it.

“Tch…” He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “You’re killin’ me…”

You stirred slightly, enough to make him tense all over again.

He hesitated, just a heartbeat, before leaning closer.

“Oi…”

This time the word came out lower, gentler, the rough edges softened even if he’d never admit it.

“Hey. Wake up.”

Your name followed, quiet, warm, deep… a voice that wasn’t meant for anyone else to hear.

Your eyes fluttered open as you heard you name called, head raising up, nose almost bumping into his. You looked at him surprised, not expecting to be this close to you. Your heartbeat increased as you studied his flushed face, just like he did to yours.

“S-sorry,” you mutter embarrassed, moving back to put some distance between you.

“Whatever, idiot,” he grumbled as he stopped the movie and close the laptop, realizing neither of you actually watched any of it.

“Let’s sleep,” he added while sitting up and taking the device to put it back in his desk. All this time he refused to look at you.

“Umm, yeah,” you nod awkarwdly.

You see him turn towards Kirishima’s bed, a faint reddness covering his cheeks but you were too afraid to bring it up and tease him, since you were in the same situation.

“Night,” he mumbled as was about to turn off the light stamp beside him.

“Wait!”

“What?” he snapped.

“Can’t you let it on?” you asked on a quiet voice.

“Why the hell would I do that?” He frowns.

You stay quiet, looking to the side, until you hear him sigh.

“Still scared of the dark or somethin’?” He asks on a slightly softer voice, making you flinch.

“Yeah,” you admit.

He stays quiet for a moment, thinking. After rummaging through his thoughts, he stands up and you suddenly see him push his bed closer to yours in one swift motion, as it the bed had the weight of a feather.

“What are you—?”

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes as he turns off the light.

“Katsuki?” You asked confused, seeing his figure moving in the dark. He sat down in his bed, which was now only an inch or two away from you. He said nothing as he grabbed your hand, holding it in his palm.

You felt your face heating up at his gesture, heart hammering in your chest with full force.

“Sleep,” he mumbled, squizzing your hand slightly.

You nodded slowly and moved down on the bed, your head resting on the pillow as you were facing him. His eyes were closed, his hair was messy, frown still on his face but softer.

You took un a deep breath, trying to calm dowm as he held you close.

Just like when you were little.

You two would often have sleepovers and he’d hold your hand just like this, knowing your fear of the dark. And maybe he was scared too back then, that’s why he’d agree so easily to hold you. But he wasn’t afraid of it anymore, and yet you wondered if something still scared him.

“Thank you,” you wishpered, lips tugging into a smile, as you finally close you eyes to sleep.

 

The study room is unusually quiet.

Everybody seems to be minding their business, studying hard for the upcoming exams, finishing projects… and then, there’s you: unable to focus at all while Bakugou leans over your shoulder. His proximity is close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him as he explains the formula you’ve been struggling with.

His voice is low, rough-edged, and undeniably distracting. Every word makes your heart beat a little faster, but it isn’t just the sound of him, it’s the weight of his body so near, the warmth of his chest brushing yours through the fabric of his black shirt.

He seems calm, but you notice the tiny signs he tries to hide: his leg jittering rapidly under the table, fingers flexing as if restless, jaw tightening and loosening like he’s trying as well to focus. Either way, he’s doing a better job than you.

Your breath catches when his shoulder brushes against yours, almost deliberately. You sense his fingertips ghosting near your lower back as he props his arm on the chair, small movements that send impossible little shocks through you. The subtle scent of his cologne, the soft exhalations of breath that occasionally drift over your skin; it’s all overwhelming.

“Oi, pay attention,” he mutters, frowning like the distraction is your fault, not the tension crackling between you.

You try. You really do.

But before your thoughts can settle, a voice slices through the charged quiet.

“Guuuys!”

Yura barrels towards the table, tossing her bag down with a thump that shakes the books slightly. Relief floods you. You exhale, finally able to breathe properly.

“How’s the study going?” she chirps, sliding into the chair across from you.

“Bad. Horrible,” Bakugou grumbles, glaring at the notebook like it personally insulted him. Yet, beneath the surface, there’s a subtle shift, shoulders stiffening the moment Yura’s presence makes him more aware how close you’d been sitting together.

Yura smirks knowingly, her gaze flicking between you and him. She notices the tiny space between you, the rigid line of his jaw, the twitch of his leg. Bakugou catches her glance, and in an instant, he recoils as if your warmth had scorched him. His hand pulls back, creating a safe margin, eyes darting away to avoid meeting yours.

“So…” Yura begins, voice slow and deliberate, a mischievous tilt to her smile, like she just needed to test something. “Did you see that guy staring at you?”

Bakugou freezes entirely, every muscle in his body stiffening. His pulse seems to hit his throat, jaw locked so tightly it twitches visibly. He looked like a bomb ready to explode in any second.

“Guy?” you echo, blinking, confused.

“Oh, he left when I came, but he was totally staring at you,” Yura continues, each word drawn out, teasing, eyes darting towards Bakugou who was still tense.

“I don’t—”

“He was so good looking. And tall,” she adds, steamrolling over you, clearly savoring the effect.

Bakugou shifts slightly in his seat, shoulders locked, fingers pressing against the table edge like he’s holding himself together. His demeanor and posture betray his frustration and perhaps, something else entirely.

“I can set you two up,” Yura presses on, leaning forward slightly, eyes dancing between you both. “We have a course together. What do you say?”

She pauses, letting her words hang in the air, then pushes further. “Maybe even a date today. You said you were free, right?”

Bakugou’s reaction is immediate and visceral the moment Yura’s proposal leaves her mouth. The chair screeches against the wooden floor as he springs to his feet, papers scattering like confetti. His backpack swings over his shoulder with precision, every motion sharp and abrupt.

“I’ll go first,” he mutters, voice tight, still avoiding both your eyes. He did not want to hear the rest of your conversation.

“What? But the study—” you start, frowning.

“Finished for today. You’re not even listenin’,” he snaps, each word precise, but heavy with unspoken tension.

“And I have training,” he adds.

In a swift motion, he turns aroun and strides towards the exit, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. His every movement radiating a mix of irritation, embarrassment, and the faint trace of something he refuses to name.

Without looking back, he leaves the building.

You sink into your chair, heart still racing, dust motes shimmering in the golden light like tiny witnesses to what just happened.

“What the hell was that?” you breathe.

“Jealousy,” Yura says with a shrug.

“Over what?”

“Over you going on a date, duh.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you argue, though the sting in your chest says otherwise. “And what was your deal? There was no guy staring at me.”

“Actually, there was. But he only glanced at you once when I walked in.” She shrugs again, casual. “I exaggerated.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To see Bakugou’s reaction.”

“Yura…” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Stop messing with him. It’s not what you think,” you defended him.

“Then what is it? No one reacts like that unless they’re jealous.”

“We’re just friends. Nothing more.”

“I’ve seen the way you two look at each other,” she says, scoffing, like she doesn’t buy it for a second. “That’s how I look at Kirishima.”

Your heart thumps painfully. Your eyes widen when she adds:

“And I caught you staring at him.”

“I wasn’t— It’s not— I don’t like him like that,” you stammer, though your chest feels hot, tight.

“Oh, okay,” she hums. “So if the roles were reversed… if a girl was staring at him, and I offered to set him up with her, you’d be totally cool with it.”

“Yes,” you answer too quickly, too stiffly. Your body betrays you: brows furrowed, lips pressed thin, fingers strangling the pen in your hand.

“Sure,” Yura murmurs with a knowing smile.

Silence settles.

You try to write again, pretending your pulse isn’t pounding in your ears, pretending her words didn’t hit exactly where you were vulnerable. Pretending Bakugou’s reaction wasn’t because of jealousy, but some other reason unknown to you.

“By the way…” Yura says lightly. “I saw Bakugou with his ex this morning.”

Your pen stills.

“They were walking together. Talking,” she adds, watching you closely, as she leans in her chair.

“Just that?” you ask, staring hard at your notebook even though the words don’t make any sense.

“Yes,” she nods, resting her head in her palm. “What’s going on with them anyway?”

“I don’t know… he didn’t tell me,” you whisper, frowning as something sharp turns in your chest, something you don’t want to name.

“Yeah, because it didn’t happen,” Yura adds and your eye snap up at her.

“What the hell?” You almost scream at her, heat raising in your body, face flushed, fingers tugging at your pen.

“Just admit it, for God’s sake,” she rolled her eyes, exasperated.

“No, fuck— it’s weird,” you shake your head, frowning.

“Okay, yeah, it might be weird, but is it that bad?” she crosses her arms over her chest.

You have no answer to her question.

You don’t really know why you try so hard to lie to yourself, to push those feelings away. You don’t know why you bury them under excuses and ignorance, as if your heart isn’t jumping out of your chest when you see him, when you are with him.

You can’t deny it any more.

 

By the time you and Yura finally wrap up the extra two hours of studying, in which you couldn’t even pay attention properly, the sky outside the building has shifted to a cool lavender dusk. Students spill out onto campus paths, their laughter and chatter floating through the air.

You and Yura wave your goodbyes, as she heads towards her evening classes, leaving you alone with the weight of everything that just happend.

The quiet feels heavy, pressing against your ears and shoulders. You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself, but the tension hasn’t left your body. Your mind is a storm of its own, Bakugou leaving like that, slamming out of the study room, you finally accepting how you feel towards him… it all spins around your head. You can’t tell if your chest hurts because you’re hurt, frustrated, or scared.

Now that you’d finally found the courage to admit those feelings to yourself, you also realized what came next: saying them out loud. Giving them shape. Letting them exist outside the safety of your own mind.

You’d never been the type to bottle things up. Holding emotions inside felt like holding the worlds on your shoulders. You needed release, clarity, something to ground the chaos swirling through you.

And the brutal, terrifying truth was that only Bakugou could give you that relief. Only he could stop the pain in your chest, the loop of thoughts tormenting you. Because these feelings weren’t small or passing, they were sharp and loud and impossible to ignore. Just like he was.

Your phone buzzes, breaking the silence, pulling you out of your thoughts.

When you look at the screen, Kirishima’s name pops out. You answer, immediately, hearing his voice:

“Hey, have you seen Bakubro?” you heard his concerned voice through the speaker. “I can’t reach him. I’m gonna be late tonight since I have a project to finish.” He explains and you frown.

“Don’t you guys have training tonight?” You ask confused.

“Uh no, trainings are only on mondays and tuesdays. Why?”

Your stomach twists.

The reason he left the study session was to go to training, but there is no training? That was a clear sign that he actually lied to you only to get out of there; only to not hear about you going out on a date.

Yura was right.

“Just asking. I’ll look for Katsuki. I might know where he is,” you murmur, breathing heavily, as you prepared yourself for what was about to happen.

 

The park is quiet when you arrive, usually empty at this hour. Streetlamps flicker on, throwing pools of warm light across the swing set. The wooden boards creak faintly as the wind nudges them. It’s peaceful in a way that contrasts sharply with the storm inside you.

And there he is.

Bakugou. Sitting on one of the old swings, head lowered, elbows resting on his knees. The chains creak under his weight, as a breeze of wind ruffles his hair. The sharp lines of his jaw are softened by the fading light, shadows stretching across his face. He looks… untouchable, angry, and maybe even lonely.

Your chest tightens.

The thought of him sitting here like this, alone, avoiding everyone, makes your stomach twist. You hate how worried you feel, how helpless you feel. But more than that, you hate how much your heart jumps at the sight of him.

You approach him with careful steps and a loud thumping in your chest. He doesn’t look at you when you take a seat next to him on the empty swing.

You place your hands in your pockets, biting your lip as you look down to your shoes.

“Yura lied about that guy,” you say quietly.

The swing shifts as he straightens slightly. “I don’t care.” His voice is sharp, defensive, and it makes your chest ache. You can hear the tension coiled in it.

“You seemed upset by it,” you press, trying to find some foothold, some way to reach him through whatever wall he’s built.

“Check your eyes then. I could care less.”

Bakugou’s words sting, but your mind is screaming louder to push him. Force him to admit.

“Why are you here?” he mumbles, fingers grazing his knuckles.

Your chest twists.

Because I can’t not be.

You want to be anywhere he is right now, to understand him, to fix whatever’s tangled inside him and inside you.

“I was worried. Kirishima too.”

“He’ll live.” He kicks at the dirt lightly, brushing off your concern with words that sound far colder than his posture does.

“What’s up with you? You are acting weird,” you ask, frustration and longing mixing together.

“You make it weird,” he retores.

“No, you make it weird.”

“Just leave,” he snaps, head finally turning to you.

“No.” Your chest tightens painfully as you also turn around, seeing his eyes that overflowed with anger, frustration and something else…

“You need me here.”

“I don’t,” he scoffs back instantly.

“Then you leave.”

Silence.

Finally, your voice cracks despite your effort to stay calm.

“Are you confused when you’re around me?” you ask, a nod tugging at your throat, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“I’m confused when you are around… and jealous when I see your ex on campus.” Each word is an admission you weren’t sure you had the courage to make. “Is this what a friendship is supposed to make you feel?”

He swallows, jaw tight. His fingers curl around the chain of the swing, knuckles white.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” he growls, but the uncertainty in his voice makes your chest ache.

“So… you feel it too?” you whisper, daring to hope.

“I don’t fucking know, goddamnit…” His voice cracks, frustration and something raw bleeding through.

You sit up and step closer, drawn forward by something you can’t fight.

“Are you scared?” you ask softly. “Because I’m scared too. I’m scared of these feelings.”

“Shut the hell up,” he mutters, voice low, but you can hear the tension in his chest.

“We can sort it out,” you insist, stopping right in front of him.

You reach down, hands trembling slightly, and place them on his face. As he was still seated on the swing. His warmth seeps into your palms. His muscles lock at your touch.

His breath hitches, shallow, uneven, as he swallows. You notice the subtle trembling in his hands gripping the chains of the swing. He’s tense… he’s holding back something… And it terrifies and excites you in the same time.

“Katsuki…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading as you call him again. You tilt your head slightly, studying him, memorizing the way light touches his face. Every movement of his eyes, every twitch of his jaw feels like a signal you’re desperate to decode.

“I… I think I like you… more than a friend…” you admit, voice trembling but fierce.

He flinches, sharp, like your words hit him physically. And suddenly your stomach drops, half in fear, half in anticipation. Did you push too far? Did you make him uncomfortable?

But then his eyes soften ever so slightly, and for the briefest second, the tension in his body seems to flicker. The way he swallows, his jaw flexing, the faint tremble in his hands… it’s all a confession without words. But you still needed answers. Actions.

“Well?” You push, feeling impatient at his lack of reply, hands balling into fists.

Silence.

“Say something, for God’s sake! I just poured my heart out and you are just—“

You stop talking and quickly take step back when you see him suddenly stand up. He moves just in time to catch you, his arms quicky wrapping around your waist to make sure you do not run away from him.

“You talk too fuckin’ much,” he mutters, low and rough, his breath brushing your lips.

Your pulse stops.

And then he kisses you.

Not a soft kiss. Not hesitant. It’s a collision, raw, hungry, months of frustration and unspoken feelings igniting all at once as his mouth claims yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and the sound seems to break something in him. His fingers tighten at your hips, dragging you even closer, his chest rising sharply as if he’s been holding this in for far too long.

Your hands tangle themselves in his blond locks, pulling him closer, shruddering against his strong body.

“Katsuki—” you whisper into his mouth, breathless.

He groans at the sound of his name, the vibration low and dangerous against your lips. One hand lifts to cradle the back of your neck, thumb sweeping your jaw with a tenderness that contradicts the heat of the kiss. The other remains tight at your waist, anchoring you to him.

When he finally pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling uneven.

“I tried…” he rasps, voice raw, “…I tried so damn hard to not feel like this.”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, refusing to let the space between you widen even a millimeter.

“You don’t have to,” you breathe, chest lifting against his.

He shudders, like your words hit somewhere deep and unbearably tender.

His eyes darken, fixed on your mouth, and the tension between you snaps again, this time even hotter.

He kisses you again, slower now but deeper, a press of lips and breath that feels like surrender. His nose brushes your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair, holding you with a kind of reverence that makes your entire body melt. The world dissolves around you, until all that remains is the heat of him, the taste of him, the way he kisses you like he’s been starving.

You break for air only to feel him trail his lips along your cheek, your jaw, barely-there touches that make your knees threaten to buckle. His breath is warm against your skin, each exhale shaky.

You take his face in your hands again, lifting it so he meets your gaze.

“I like you, Katsuki,” you whisper.

His jaw clenches.

And then he’s kissing you again, for the third time, deeper, slower, like the world might end if he doesn’t memorize every second of this. His hands roam your back, fingers trembling with restraint. He kisses you like he’s finally claiming something he’s been denying himself for too long.

His lips part against yours, his tongue invading your mouth this time, warm and intoxicating, drawing you in until you’re breathless and burning all at once.

And in that moment, pressed against him, surrounded by the quiet park and the taste of his desperation, you know neither of you will ever be the same.

 

Being with him surprises you.

You hadn’t expected this relationship to feel so safe, so… easy. The doubts, the jealousy, the fear of ruining something… they all faded somehow when you were around him. Being with Katsuki felt natural, familiar, maybe because you’d known him forever, maybe because he was finally letting you see a side of him that wasn’t fire and sharp edges.

Your romantic relationship had only begun a month ago, but being friends first made everything feel easier, even when it came to intimate things. Of course, you hadn’t gone that far yet, but you were doing other things. Kissing. Holding hands. Hugging. Sleeping together. Going on dates—

“Be careful, dumbass,” he growls, catching your waist just in time and pressing you close against his chest.

“I am!” you protest, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he snickers.

You smirk, holding his gaze. “Check your eyes then.”

He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t get smart with me. And change your heels if ya wanna make it to the restaurant on time. Reservation’s at eight.”

“I don’t want to change the heels,” you pout. “I look good with them.”

“You look good either way,” he mutters, looking away, like it’s no big deal.

You can’t help the smile creeping onto your lips. You plant a quick kiss on his cheek, and his head snaps towards you, eyes darkening with something you can’t quite name.

His cheeks are faintly red, jaw tight, and his gaze drifts lower, tracking the curve of your neck, the swell of your chest pressed against him, almost spilling out of your dress.

“Where are you looking?” you tease, nudging him.

“You’re imagining things, dumbass,” he snaps, finally letting go. “Sit on the bed,” he adds, voice clipped, and you frown, but obey.

You walk over and sit, watching as he rummages through a drawer and pulls out some band-aids.

“I don’t need them.”

“You said they’re new, right?” He rolls his eyes, crouching in front of you on one knee.

Carefully, he takes your leg, removing your shoe, and presses the band-aid onto your skin. From his position, he can see how your dress shifts with the movement, offering a teasing glance at the black lacy underwear you had on. His eyes flick up at you, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Got big plans tonight?” he murmurs, tone loaded.

You frown at the teasing edge in his voice, realization hitting. “So what if I have?” you reply, holding his gaze steady.

His lips press into a thin line, body tensing. His grip on your ankle tightens slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you how close you are. The way he studies you makes your stomach flutter and your chest ache in anticipation.

“You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, though his voice is softer now, rough with something. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You bite your lip, leaning forward just slightly, letting the subtle shift of your dress brush against his hand. His gaze flickers to your mouth for a brief second, then back up to your eyes.

“I didn’t do anything,” you tease, tilting your head.

“You’re… impossible sometimes.”

You reach out instinctively, letting your fingers graze his jaw, tracing the sharp line of his cheek, feeling the warmth beneath your touch. His breath hitches just slightly, and you can feel the way his chest rises unevenly.

“Mm… impossible,” he echoes, voice low, and leans in just a fraction.

You press your palm against his shoulder, leaning closer, letting your lips brush the corner of his mouth, not quite a kiss, but close enough to make him tense even more. His hand slides up from your ankle to your calf, then creeps up your exposed leg.

“Katsuki…” you murmur, breath trembling just slightly.

His gaze drops to your lips, and the control he’s trying to maintain cracks. The line of his jaw flexes, lips parting, fingers pressing into your skin. The room feels smaller, warmer, charged with the unspoken desire simmering between you.

“You know you can’t just sit there and tease me,” he mutters, voice low.

You smirk softly.

The air is thick with anticipation, every small movement loaded with desire. Every brush of his fingers, every lingering look, every shallow inhale between you both screams what you’re both thinking, but neither says aloud.

And then, finally, his lips are on yours, a slow, smoldering press that leaves your heart hammering.

He tilts his head, lips brushing yours, slow and deliberate, letting the kiss linger long enough to make you melt. His tongue licks your bottom lip as his hands move from your waist to your sides, fingers sliding along your ribs, tracing the curve of your body.

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, and he groans softly, pressing into your touch, leaning closer as if he can’t get enough. His lips move on yours, more insistent this time, the kiss deeper.

He roses up from his crouching position, pushing you slightly against the bed, one hand resting firmly on your hip to keep you close, the other resting near your head to keep his balance. Every touch ignites a fire along your skin, the sensation of him against you making your heart hammer and your breath come in shallow gasps.

“Katsuki…” you murmur, voice trembling, legs pushing together to ease the feeling.

He tilts your chin up with one finger, capturing your gaze. “You feel it too, huh?” he murmurs, voice rough and thick with desire. His leg parts your thighs, forcing them open and pressing his knee against your cunt.

You nod, breath hitching. “Yeah… I… want it.”

“You sure?” he breathes out, jaw tight, pants getting more uncomfortable with every second.

“Yes,” you nod, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. Then another, trailing down your cheek, your jaw, leaving slow kisses behind. Your hands roam his back, fingers digging into him, feeling the tension beneath his shirt, the way he keeps himself restrained, barely holding back.

His hips start moving, grinding down just enough for you to feel him. His hardness brushes your thigh, and you moan before you can stop yourself. He grips you tighter instantly, kiss turning deeper, rougher, kicking the air from your lungs.

“Katsuki…” you whimper as his mouth moves to your neck, lips warm, leaving wet kisses behind.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Shh.”

His mouth travels lower, sucking the soft skin above your breasts. Your lips part at the sensation, fingers clutching at his shoulders. You feel impatient, needy. You two have always stopped before things went too far, but not tonight. Weeks of frustration and wanting finally break through.

He pulls back just enough to unbutton his shirt, movements messy, hurried. Your gaze drops immediately. The outline of his hard cock strains against his black slacks, obvious and intimidating. He looks big. The thought scares you and makes your stomach flutter at the same time.

Your hand moves before you can think. You trace his defined abs, now fully exposed. His hands clench into fists at your touch, breath hitching. You keep going, fingers sliding down until they reach the waistband of his pants. Your eyes follow the veins disappearing beneath the fabric.

“Can I…?” you ask quietly, tugging at him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, catching your hand gently. “You’re more important right now.” His voice softens. “It’s your first time, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says. “Alright?”

You nod. He releases your hand and moves to the straps of your dress, sliding them down slowly. The fabric falls, exposing your breasts to him. Your heart races at he the way he stares: intense, unblinking. He takes you in completely, every curve, every detail, watching your nipples harden in the cool air.

“Touch me already…” you mutter, reaching for him.

He blinks like he snaps out of it, then complies. His hands cup your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. His fingers pinch your nipples, and you squirm beneath him.

“Mhm!”

He leans down, blond hair brushing your chin as his tongue swirls around your nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, making you gasp under his touch. Your hands find his hair again, fingers tangling as your hips roll up towards him.

“Katsuki,” you moan.

His mouth switches to the other breast, making you throw your head back. His free hand slides down your stomach, slowly, until it reaches your aching core. He presses his palm there through the fabric, then nudges your panties aside, fingers brushing your folds.

“Want me to keep going?” he asks, eyes on your face.

You nod. “Please.”

He quickly nods as he tugs your panties down your legs. You feel his intanse stare again, heat rushing to your face.

“Tell me if it feels weird,” he says after a few moments.

Before you can answer, he moves off the bed and kneels between your legs. His head settles there, hands gripping your thighs firmly, his breath sending shivers up your spine. He kisses you slowly, from top to bottom, then drags his tongue between your folds, making you shudder.

He then finds your clit and sucks, eyes lifting to watch your reaction. Your eyes squeeze shut, brows drawn together, chest rising and falling fast.

One hand leaves your thigh, coming towards your cunt. One of his fingers presses at your entrance, teasing, while his mouth keeps working. When his finger finally slides inside, the stretch makes you arch, a sharp sting mixing with pleasure. Tears prick your eyes but his tongue on your clit keeps you grounded.

“That okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, half-lidded eyes meeting his. He looks wrecked, hair messy, chin wet, eyes dark with desire.

He moves slow at first, making sure you adjust to the intrusion, then his rythm becomes steady. Your hands grab at everything: the sheets, his hair, his shoulders.

“Another one?” he asks after a few more pumps, voice rough.

You nod again. He slowly adds a second finger, stretching you more, making you pant, body trembling. When he curls his fingers just right, you cry out, head falling back.

“Ah—!”

He keeps hitting that spot, faster now, making your thighs shake, heat building low in your belly.

“Mhm—!” you moan as your walls tighten around his fingers. He groans softly at the sensation of your walls tightening, and pushes in and out a few more times before you fall apart, pleasure washing over you completely. Your body goes slack, breath coming in heavy pulls.

“You okay?” he asks after a few seconds, watching you carefully.

“Okay doesn’t even cover it,” you breathe, laughing weakly.

He smiles, thumb brushing your cheek. “Wanna keep goin’?”

“Yes. Please.”

He exhales deeply and stands, undoing his pants slowly, giving you time to stop him. You don’t. You just watch as he frees himself, boxers tight around him. When he climbs back onto the bed and pulls them down, your eyes widen.

“That’s… big,” you whisper.

He snorts. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

“It will,” he says calmly, reaching for a condom.

It seemed he also had big plans for tonight, since he came prepared.

He rolls it on his lenght, movements controlled. “I’ll be gentle.”

You pull him closer, arms around his neck. He lines himself up, the tip brushing your sensitive entrance. You whimper in his ear as he pushes in slowly, stopping every time you tense or grip him too hard.

“Katsuki—!”

When he finally fills you completely, the stretch burns. It is unfamiliar, intense, painful, yet you want more of it.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

He stays still for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. Your body feels ao full and stretched. You can hear your own shaky breath mingling with his quiet grunts.

“You good?” he asks, voice low, rough at the edges but gentle.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, encouraging you without pressuring. “Relax… don’t fight it.”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, needing his support. Your mind spins with the feeling of him inside you, every slight movement of his hips pressing into you sending new sensations all over your body.

He doesn’t rush. He lets you feel every inch of him, giving your body time to adjust. You feel the heat building between you, warmth pooling and mixing with your nerves. You tremble slightly, and he catches it instantly, holding you closer, his thumb stroking small circles over your side.

“You feel amazing,” he praises in your ear.

Finally, when he begins to move more steadily, it’s slow and rhythmic. You feel the friction, the pressure, the pull and release. Your breath catches with each thrust, your nails digging into him, and yet he never pushes too far.

“Look at me.” he breathes out, his own voice strained now.

You obey instantly, eyes meeting his intense gaze. You feel like you are about to melt under him.

Your lips part, and a soft moan escapes as he thrusts inside you. He grins, teeth grazing your ear. “Still as obedient as ever, huh princess?”

“Katsuki…” you whine at his teasing, and he snaps his hips again.

You arch against him, moaning softly, and he responds immediately, steadying your hips firmly with one hand, letting you feel the full length of him slowly moving inside you.

Your fingers grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin, and your breath comes in ragged.

“Faster…” you whisper, voice barely audible, but desperate. “Please… faster.”

He freezes for a second, eyes snapping to yours, pupils dark and intense. “You sure?” he murmurs, tone low and teasing.

“Yes,” you gasp. “I want it… please…”

You feel how his hips begin to move with more force, deliberate but still controlled. The slow teasing rhythm transforms into a steady, firm motion, each thrust filling you completely. You cry out, louder this time, breath catching in your throat as he picks up the pace.

“Oh… oh God…” you moan, gripping him tighter, letting your nails drag across his back. “Katsuki… harder… faster…”

He groans, lips brushing your shoulder, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “You’re driving me insane,” he huffs, but complies again.

Heat coils low in your belly, building with every motion, spreading through your thighs, stomach, and chest. You can feel it rising, a tight knot of pleasure about to snap. Your breaths come faster, your body arching, pressing into him, needing more, wanting to release.

“You… you feel so good,” he groans, voice rough, almost strangled, thrusts relentless now. “So tight… so perfect…”

You cry out, words breaking into incoherent gasps. “I… I’m… gonna—”

He catches your moan in a kiss, lips crushing yours for a heartbeat before he pulls back just enough to watch you fall apart. His thrusts stay firm, hitting just the right angle, and your body can’t hold it back any longer.

A hot wave of pleasure crashes through you, tearing your breath away. Your back arches, legs shake, nails digging into him as your body shudders violently.

You cry out his name again, your voice raw and breathless, and your whole body trembles as your second orgasm rips through you. This one was more intense and consuming.

He holds you through it, hips moving in a sloppy manner, thrusting a few more times before his own release washes over him. He falls on you, breath heavy, grunts and low moans leaving his mouth as his chest heaves against your own.

A few minutes of silence pass, neither of you saying a word. Then, his voice breaks the silence:

“You okay?” he asks softly, his head raising up slightly.

You nod weakly, a breathless laugh escaping. “Okay… yes… I… wow…”

He smirks, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest, thumb coming up to brush your cheek.

You smile weakly at him, eyes slowly darting towards the electric clock on his nightstand. Your face changes slightly and he notices.

“What’s wrong?” he frowns.

”Katsuki…” you breath out, head falling back on the mattress.

“What?” he asks impatiently.

“We missed the restaurant reservation...”

Notes:

hi everyone! this is loony! this is my longest fic ever and the first time i post something on ao3 after being just a reader here.
it took me 2 months to write this fic since i had lots of ideas and i’m acutally really proud of it. i’m sorry if there are any mistakes/typos, english is not my first language so... hopefully i kept the best ideas that i had in mind and i am very curious about what you think! your honest opinions would make me very happy!
if any of you use tumblr, you can also find it there: https://www.tumblr.com/lonelyfooryouonly/803679773095346177/gravitational-pull-katsuki-b-fanfic