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ihadlife · 7 hours

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Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person's who's hurting you the most.

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?”

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.”

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze.

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.”

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look.

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better.

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.”

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood.

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared.

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that.

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other.

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself.

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure.

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point.

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered.

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :(

Pathetic.

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles.

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time.

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness.

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing.

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed.

Toast bread.

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber.

Spam ham.

Canned fish.

A few packets of instant ramen.

Cheap coffee.

Two single rolls of toilet paper.

Two bottles of soju.

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items.

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles.

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise.

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career.

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone.

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file.

“No, ya were great.”

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in.

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my fuckin’ privacy.”

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.”

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction.

“Me?”

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?”

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless.

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer.

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit.

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile.

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though?

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something.

She repeated the total price to you.

Oh, right.

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet.

“Could you please add a bag to that?”

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them.

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself.

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you.

“Gold Marlboro.”

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you.

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market.

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one.

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator.

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator.

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels.

“Shit.”

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.

“Great.”

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day.

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag.

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display.

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear.

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it.

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys.

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth.

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door.

First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries.

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen.

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould.

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud.

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours.

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough.

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies.

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later.

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table.

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life.

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body.

The fact was, you were exhausted.

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it.

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him.

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen.

Maybe you should go see a therapist.

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine.

Your mind lingered on the image of that.

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind.

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body.

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom.

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin.

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace.

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him.

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit.

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake.

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp.

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.”

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come.

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked.

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment.

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips.

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt.

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly.

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions.

“That’s right, princess.”

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat.

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.”

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you.

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?”

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times.

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again.

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot.

“Don’t stop.”

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now.

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him.

“Say it. Say you’re mine.”

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him.

“I’m yours.”

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it.

But you knew better.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt.

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important?

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear.

“Hey.”

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone.

“Uh, hi.”

“Ya busy?”

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible.

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie.

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.”

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum.

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?”

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call?

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.”

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye.

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic.

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later.

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from?

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well.

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now.

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime.

»»————-　　————-««

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call.

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice.

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;)

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages.

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply.

“Do you have a minute?”

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically.

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow.

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive.

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked.

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk.

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space.

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment.

“We need to talk.”

You were fucked.

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand.

When are you free? We need to talk.

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago.

Unemployed journalist.

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call.

You also considered calling your friend.

You didn’t, though.

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen.

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again.

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this.

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was.

»»————-　　————-««

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it.

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough.

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you?

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller.

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous.

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him.

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement.

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him.

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities.

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place?

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks.

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you.

“You’re sleepin’.”

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag.

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard.

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor.

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat.

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival.

“Hey.”

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it.

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing.

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you.

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki.

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it.

“Hm.” Was all he said.

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks.

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard.

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked.

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips.

He didn’t.

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture.

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.”

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle.

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.”

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan.

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.”

“And I didn’ ask.”

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was.

“Then stop actin’ like one.”

A moment of silence.

You were speechless.

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks.

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms.

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic.

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you.

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling.

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it.

“It’s alright.”

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself.

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air.

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal.

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?”

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval.

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence.

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it.

“D’ya not like it?”

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.”

Hmph.

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down.

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds.

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term.

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.”

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all.

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.”

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom.

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you.

“Change.”

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?”

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue.

“Ya look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.”

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom.

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right?

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat.

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails.

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him.

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point.

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror.

That would do for now.

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you.

It didn’t matter now.

Didn’t matter what you looked like.

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen.

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself.

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space.

“No problem.”

That was actually kind of nice of him.

Your brain whined in your head.

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward.

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?”

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu.

Should you be honest with him, or lie?

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it?

“I got fired.”

You stuffed your face with the fried egg.

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up.

“Sorry t’hear that.”

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal.

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute.

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating.

“Not really.”

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable.

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right?

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently?

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now.

Don’t be a fucking coward.

It was the right thing to do.

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay.

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though?

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes.

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.”

“Hm.”

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again.

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin.

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t.

“So ya wanna break up?”

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him.

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again.

“Fair enough.”

It was him now that looked down. You won this round.

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head.

Don’t say it.

Don’t.

“What happened?”

You winced. You said it.

“Whaddya mean?”

This was a mistake.

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later.

“Wait.”

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch.

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?”

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would.

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter.

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief.

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return.

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.”

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down.

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty.

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.”

“The truth.”

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you.

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist.

“I used ya.”

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason.

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on.

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.”

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him.

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.”

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye.

“Don’t.”

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them.

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.”

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor.

“Spend the night.”

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit.

“What?”

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought.

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement.

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod.

A masochist.

“Yeah?” He was making sure.

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that.

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment.

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest.

“Sure.”

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately.

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing.

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.”

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one.

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well.

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie.

“Real’ like this one.”

You wished he didn’t say those words.

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget.

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning.

“Ya don’t like it?”

Ever the observant.

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders.

“It’s fine.”

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it.

“Fine?”

Wrong answer, apparently.

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then.

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.”

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie.

“What are ya inda mood for, then?”

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine.

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect.

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately.

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do.

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more? You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss.

You were eager.

And Bakugo was just as eager as you.

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak.

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest.

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could.

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it.

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him.

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him.

“No!”

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look.

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.”

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man.

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance.

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer.

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be.

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.”

»»————-　　————-««

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away.

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring.

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.