Chapter Text
Bakugo woke up that morning with the sun in his face and his mother’s deafening voice piercing the walls of his room. She was screaming something about breakfast but as usual, everything was muffled when his mind was full of you.
He thought of the events of yesterday as if it were a dream. Your forever bright smile that actually shined on him, your cheeks a soft red hue when you asked him out, and your dainty wrist in his large hand felt as soft as the cushions on his bed that propped his head up as he stared at his white ceiling above his head. Rays of light were piercing through the thin curtains of his window. Like freckles, spots of light glowed upon his cheeks and if it wasn’t for his date today, he would’ve remained in bed and soaked up all the warmth the sun had to offer. Sometimes he wondered if this was how you would feel if you were next to him.
With the sun upon his skin, he could almost imagine you beside him, glowing in presence and sparkling like a soaring comet. You tore through the darkest blankets of his skies, igniting it with a warmth he never thought he would ever feel before. And then you would stroke his arm, sending a wave of excitement to his nerves, your mouth would slowly widen into a smile and it was like he was watching the sun peek from the horizon to welcome a new day. It would look as if you were laughing for no apparent reason and your legs would begin to tangle with his just as Bakugo’s stomach would flip. You would look glorious in the light like you were in your natural element, the way how your skin shimmered with the sun left Bakugo speechless. All he wanted to do was just trap you within his arms and never let you go.
“Katsuki!” And in an instant, you were gone from his mind. You disappeared from his side and what was left was sparkles parading upon his bed as a figment of his imagination. His mother’s voice sounded once again, threatening to come up to his room and pull him out of bed. Bakugo could tell his mother was standing on the foot of the staircase because of how loud she sounded, she probably had with one slipper on the first step and a spatula in her hand, waving frantically in the air. Her eyes were probably sharp through blond furrowed brows, so pointy that anyone who meet her gaze would instantly combust into cuts.
“Alright! Alright!” Bakugo yelled back before sucking his teeth. He had to get up anyway. If he remembered correctly, he was picking you up at twelve. So, he had about two hours to get ready.
…
Before his mother could physically drag him to the table for breakfast, Bakugo was able to finish his morning duties and also get dressed for his date. When he stepped into his dining room, a neatly traditional Japanese breakfast was upon it. And he was glad to see one of his favorites, Tamagoyaki, as a part of the dishes. He liked them spicy, as strange as that was. But not only did he step into today’s breakfast, but also the bewildered stares of his parents. Their widened eyes followed their son until he entered the kitchen and returned on him when he emerged with a carton of orange juice. They weren’t particularly looking at his face but rather his clothes that seemed all too new and never before worn. Bakugo had dug into the deepest part of his closet for them. Black and orange were Bakugo’s favorite colors and his clothes consisted of them although it was mostly black. He was sporting a black shirt with a graphic symbol of a skull spewing fire out of its eyes and mouth. Straight cut black pants that hugged his legs and hips, giving the illusion that his legs were long, and his bomber jacket was black with orange stripes running down his shoulders and arms.
Clearly, Bakugo’s parents never seen their son dress so well on a Saturday morning even if he was going to hang out with Kirishima.
“A-Are you going out today, Katsuki?” His father, Masaru, was the first to ask when Bakugo sat at the table. He grabbed his chopsticks, contemplating on whether to answer his father’s question truthfully or not. He hadn’t mention to his parents about his date today or about you. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let them know.
“Yeah I am,” he grumbled, sticking a piece of tamagoyaki in his mouth.
“With Kirishima?” His mother, Mitsuki, decided to dig more information out of her son. She placed a cup of coffee down for her husband before sitting and he quietly thanked her and hummed softly when he took a sip. Bakugo lifted his eyes from his plate to look at his mother who stared at him and eagerly waited for his answer.
“Nah,” he hoped they would leave it at that, but he knew his mother liked to pry herself in his business.
“Oh, then who?” She had a small smile on her face when she ate a piece of tamagoyaki. She also liked them spicy. Masaru avoided them.
Bakugo groaned and he let out a heavy sigh that seemed to knock Mitsuki’s smile right out of her face. Before she had a chance to open her mouth and complain about his attitude, Bakugo answered quickly.
“It’s ____. I’m going out with ____.”
His parents seemed to freeze as soon as your name left their son’s lips. They looked to one another and then back at him, their eyes as wide as it could be with their mouths slightly apart. Mitsuki’s surprised expression soon turned into one of anger and she abruptly stood up, reached over the table and pulled his cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell us you had a date today!? Look how dirty your face is! Do you want her to run away?!”
“W-What is wrong with you, ya old hag!?”
“Don’t speak to me that way!”
“G-Guys…” stammered Masaru, but the two carried on with their shouting match.
“Did you take a shower?! Brush your teeth?!”
“Course, I did!”
…
“Hey brat,” Bakugo finished tying his laces to his sneakers when Mitsuki approached him at the front door. She was calmer than just a few moments ago. In fact, she looked quite serious. Bakugo didn’t really think much of it. He stood up from the ground and buried his hands within his pockets, his body, hunched, and slightly facing away from her because he expected to hear a lecture from her mouth. But instead, she thrusted two small pieces of paper, tickets, into his chest that he caught before they fell to the floor.
“Here, if she likes you even more after today then take her to this,” Bakugo glanced at the tickets, and he made a small grunt before he stuffed them in his pockets.
“Sure,” he muttered and was about to leave before Mitsuki stopped him by the shoulder. She looked into his eyes that were identical to hers and a soft, yet confident smile came to her.
“Show her a good time, Katsuki,” she said, and they shared a moment of silence, looking at one another from mother to son. Bakugo nodded and he left his house and turned the corner on route to your house.
…
Every step closer to your house had the butterflies fluttering wildly within his stomach and chest. His hands became clammy while they were stuffed within his jacket’s pockets and he started to fiddle with the tickets that sat within them. He wasn’t sure what to expect from this date. Hell, he was even shocked that you agreed to it. All this time he thought that you were afraid of him, but your distance really meant that you shared the same feelings as him. Bakugo couldn’t believe it.
Even as he approached your doorstep with potential words and different scenarios flooding his mind, he still felt as if he were in a dream, lightheaded, while walking through a set of clouds. Is this really how it felt when you like someone? Like the urge to see them again as soon as you seperate seized every sensible piece of your rationality? Or the image of your beloved would play within your mind like a song upon repeat, the melody of their laugh would crescendo into the most beautiful of smiles.
Bakugo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. With that same hand, he rang your doorbell, fidgeting slightly as he waited for someone, hopefully you, to come to the door. It was about a few seconds until finally the door opened and you peeked your head from behind it.
“H-Hi, Bakugo,” you greeted him with a nervous smile and fully stepped out from behind the door. Bakugo blinked once he saw what you were wearing, his jaw slightly dropped as he scanned you over. He looked over you only once—no twice—fuck—a third time. Shit, you were beautiful. “You’re here.”
He froze in place at the sight of you. Your clothes were simple, yet it accentuated your shape. How could you look so gorgeous with a pair of jean shorts and a white buttoned top with lace as its short sleeves. You were a pure angel, a complete contrast to his devilish appearance and here he was, already tainting you by being in your presence. Were you wearing make up? It was light. Bakugo could tell your blemishes had vanished and your lips were a nude to your skin tone. He was fine with or without, it made no difference to your beauty to him.
“Hey,” was all he managed to say in his stupor. Your smile widened, and you called something out within your house before you locked your door.
…
The walk to the arcade was a silent one. Bakugo didn’t have the courage to talk. He wasn’t the most talkative person, he only spoke when it was important and when he did, it was usually at the top of his lungs. But being on this date, he had no reason to raise the volume and he also didn’t know as much about you other than the small habits you tend to do. Because of this, he came to question his reason for liking you. He questioned if it was his teenage urges acting as a dictator to his rationality. Maybe it truly was because he was attractive to your looks.
He glanced at you and he caught you staring at him. You jumped when your eyes met and looked away, a blush blossoming on your cheeks like you were caught doing something shameful. Bakugo found himself doing the same thing as he didn’t expect your eyes would be on him. ‘This is stupid!’ He shouted in his head. A simple stare had reduced him to a coward—a puddle on the side of the road for no one to step in but you. He couldn’t believe how much he was wrapped around your finger, if only you had known, you would’ve used it to your advantage if you had the courage.
Warmed cheeks and sealed lips carried on until you had reached the arcade. The arcade was bustling with teenagers and children with their parents which made sense for a Saturday. Bakugo was buying some tokens at the counter after he aggressively denied your request to pay your share. After all, what kind of a man would he be if he let you pay on the first date? So, you were standing awkwardly to the side, surveying the games while you waited for Bakugo to return. And when he did, he had golden coins in his hand, and a small smirk was on his face when he gestured towards multiple arcade machines with his free hand.
“Alright. Pick which one you want to lose in first,” Bakugo wished he could’ve recorded your face when he said that. You looked so offended that he barked out a laugh after.
“Or how about I give you the honors since you’re so confident?” You raised an eyebrow, a frown on your beautiful lips.
His smirk grew wider. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna make you cry on the first—”
“Just pick!” You pushed him ahead of you and you followed him through the crowds until he stopped in front of an arcade machine. It was on top of a small platform and in front of two screens were two suspended guns. The banner hanging above the machine was the title. Call of Duty, it read. There were already some children playing on it, the guns snuggled to their chests and fingers wrapped around the trigger. They shot at animated Zombies that threw themselves at the screen with their busted mouths bubbling with blood and mucus. The counter on the corner of the screen was skyrocketing into the thousands the more they took down.
“Ever played this?” Bakugo spoke like he was taunting you and turned to face you.
“Of course,” you simply said and folded your arms across your chest and glared at him. You were hoping he wasn’t bringing you to the ‘manliest’ game in the arcade believing you didn’t know how to play because of your gender. You wanted to destroy the confidence in his eyes.
“Ready to lose?” He teased and stepped up on the platform once the children were done. They stuck around to watch with a glimmer of excitement in their eyes. You followed after Bakugo, holding your glare, and taking his hand when he held it out to help you up. You would’ve thanked him if you weren’t too busy mentally preparing to beat his ass.
“What level?”
“Medium. I’ll give you a handicap.”
“Don’t even,” there was a scroll trigger on the gun and you quickly pressed ‘Hard difficulty’. It made him chuckle after he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the iron rails behind him. He grabbed his gun and went into a stance. His back was slightly hunched with the gun clutched to his body while he pointed it at the screen. Your eyes wandered to his arms. So toned, they were, as he was mindlessly flexing them. Your face grew hot and suddenly started to feel very bashful. You looked away, and when you did, started to notice that the game already began. The score on Bakugo’s screen was climbing and you panicked. You quickly pulled the trigger against the zombies that were coming at you. 500 points for body shots. 2000 points for headshots. You were aiming for headshots.
It was quiet between you two with only the thunderous sounds of rapid fire and the gaggled groans of fallen dead. The rest of the arcade sounds were reduced to background noise. Even the children who watched on with random shouts of excitement at the scores and making funny movements (that only seemed to possess children) were cast away in that same category. Nothing existed except you, Bakugo, and a crowd of zombies.
It was almost as if you assimilated into the game and was one with their universe. You defended the town from them like it was your destiny, like it was what you trained for and you felt the phantom pain on the side of your neck whenever a zombie would slip through and take a bite out of you. Your HP would drop but it didn’t stop you from shooting. You could feel yourself start to shake, your palms grew sweaty, and you started to hyperventilate until you caught yourself from becoming too absorbed in the virtual world. It was honestly the most exhilarating thing you had experienced.
By the time the game ended, you grinned at Bakugo with your hand on your hip and your gun holster up against your shoulder. He looked at you with eyes as wide as it could be and his mouth so open it would’ve fell upon the floor. The children’s faces mirrored his in disbelief at your score. 51,500 points for you and 18,500 points for Bakugo.
You: 1
Bakugo: 0
…
Bakugo couldn’t believe you beat him at Call of Duty. He used to play Zombies with Kirishima and the boys at home and he would always be the last person standing to finish up the round. His boys cheered for him for saving the round every time and he would feel so proud of himself for doing so. He was confident in his skills, which made him confident in beating you. But he was clearly outmatched and when he questioned your skills, you smiled and said that this was your go-to game in arcades. He set himself up for failure right from the start.
“Alright! You’re good, I’ll give you that,” he grumbled those last words. “But the next one is mine!”
“Sure, and since you lost, I’ll give you the honors to pick again,” you stressed out the word ‘lost’ and it made Bakugo grimace. You laughed, and that grimace quickly turned into his stomach doing flips. You had him on an invisible leash that you didn’t know about. His body already conditioned to react to anything he found cute or beautiful about you. It was ridiculous, he thought.
“Whatever,” Bakugo dug his hands in his pockets. He didn’t mean to make himself sound like a sore loser and he didn’t like the frown that appeared on your face after. But he was tied between the feeling of accepting defeat and accepting his feelings for you. It was scary having a crush. He could feel himself changing and doing things he wouldn’t normally do. Instead of having fun at the arcade, he could’ve been training his body or quirk. He didn’t have time to waste if he wanted to be number one hero and that meant these feelings for you had to go. All Might didn’t get to where he was by being focused on girls.
“Bakugo,” he felt a gentle touch on his arm and it pulled him away from his thoughts. He glanced at you and you were looking at him. It was the second time he seen you so worried, the last time was after karaoke and he had yet to find out what made you worried. Was it him? You were a normally happy person, like an airhead almost. You tried to look at things on the bright side even in the darkest of situations. It was similar to Deku who always annoyed Bakugo with his optimism but when it came to you, he didn’t seem to mind. “I didn’t mean to tease you like that. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t deserve your apology. You weren’t to blame, yet he pulled his arm out of your grip and the small gasp that sounded from you pained his heart. “I found the next game,” Bakugo stated without looking at you and walked ahead. You lingered in the same spot for a moment before you quickly joined him.
…
The next game Bakugo picked was Basketball hoops which you were a little surprised about. There were two baskets and it was being separated by a tall metal gate that also caged around it to prevent the balls from flying out. Bakugo stood in front of it and pulled a miniature basketball out of the pile. He was already adding the tokens in before he turned towards you.
“Ever played this one?” He threw the basketball towards you and it nearly slipped from your hands when you caught it.
“Not exactly,” you smiled nervously.
“It’s simple. You just throw the ball into the hoop and you gain points. Person with the most points at the end wins.”
“Sounds simple.” You snorted, words melting in sarcasm as you watched Bakugo spin the ball with the tips of his fingers before trapping it within them once again. He was oddly an expert at it, but you decided not to ask about his experience. The game counted down from ten and Bakugo positioned the ball slightly over his head with his elbows tucked in. You tried to mimic Bakugo’s stance as not to reveal that you had no idea what you were doing. A short beep sounded the start of the game and Bakugo rolled his hand the ball was tucked in and it shot into the air in a perfect arch before it swished into the basket. It bumped against the gate before falling back within the pile of its brothers. And soon you continuously heard the sound of swooshing as he consecutively made the shot every time.
You panicked once again. This time with no confidence that you could catch up to Bakugo’s points. You shot the ball towards the basket, inelegantly when compared to Bakugo’s form. Your elbow was out, and you thrusted your entire arm forward rather than shooting with your wrist. The ball slammed against the gate, making it jingle as it fell straight into the pile. You didn’t have time to think about your form. You started flinging balls in the air and prayed that one of them make it. Instead, they bounced against the iron rim with knotted rope. Some were fortunate not to suffer the blow of the iron rim and just fell directly back into their pile. The less unfortunate ones bounced back in retaliation towards your head, missing you completely and left to stray the arcade floors alone.
Bakugo’s points were climbing. It was unreachable now, so you abandoned the goal of winning to ending the game with at least a point. The swift swooshes of the basket whipped through the air and it was attracting a small crowd of children and curious adults around Bakugo. It was almost inhuman how he was scoring, and he had yet to miss.
“Amazing!” You heard a girl behind you say and you were damn well sure it wasn’t towards you.
It wasn’t that you gave up, but you kept the basketball in your hands and looked to your left at Bakugo. Your eyes had fallen on his face, his eyes and lips relaxed, almost serene-like. You wouldn’t say he looked one in his element, but he was definitely comfortable with what he was doing.
The beeps that signified the end of the game sounded from the machines and Bakugo’s score was a whopping 500 points, 10 points for every basket made. Your score was a disgrace. You didn’t even count it as a score because you didn’t make any. You weren’t on the board as embarrassing as you had to admit, but basketball just wasn’t your best sport.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?” You felt the need to ask, not in disbelief of his skills but in curiosity.
“I have a hoop in my room,” he replied. He didn’t want to let you know that he uses it when he needed to calm down. Usually after an argument with his mother, he would fling balls relentlessly at his hoop in frustration. His father had gifted it to him when he found out about his habit of blowing up small holes in the walls of his bedroom when he was heated. It helped significantly to control his anger and he even found himself shooting hoops whenever he was bored.
“Would you—Idon’tknow—maybe, teach me next time? Maybe?” Next time? What made you so confident that there was going to be a next time? In fact, you weren’t. You were testing out the waters, shooting hints at Bakugo to see if he was even interested in another date after today or even if he just wanted to hang out. You closed into yourself when you asked, your posture curved forward as if to hide yourself from him. You bit the bottom of your lip and couldn’t stop your cheeks from warming up. You were trying to be as bold as you could, as confident as you imagined yourself to be when you fantasize about this date last night. It was easier to dream that you were a confident, strong girl who knew what she wanted in this world and faced issues head on and didn’t get flustered by the mysterious feelings of a crush. But you knew the world in your head was a vast utopia, a world filled with desires that didn’t seem tangible in reality. Still, you urged yourself to try, because trying was a step closer to tangibility.
“Maybe,” he shrugged.
You: 1
Bakugo: 1
…
Bakugo wasn’t prepared for your question. He was still deciding whether to give in to his emotions or not and that sheepish expression on your face didn’t make it any easier. He was convinced it coerced him into responding in agreement to another date. He didn’t have the heart to deny that face or perhaps his heart didn’t want to.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets in habit, looking away when he did, his voice was so small that he nearly couldn’t hear it over the sounds of the blaring game machines in the vicinity. At first glance, anyone would believe he was upset but if they peered into his face, they would spot the flushed skin of his cheeks and nose and possibly his ears. He was hiding his feelings within, though, even if he was lying to himself, his body revealed all truths.
…
The last game would decide it all and you were ready. Because you gave Bakugo the right to pick twice, it was up to you to pick the final game. You guided Bakugo to the corner of the arcade, it was away from the valley of machines but not too far where you couldn’t hear them. The games at this corner were more traditional; darts, board games, air hockey, any game that didn’t need to be attached to a machine to work was there, including table tennis which was where you were pulling him towards. You wouldn’t say you were an expert at table tennis, but it was a sport you were decent in. Bakugo already had good hand-to-eye coordination so you knew this choice would make it a fair final game.
“Final game. You sure about this?” It was like the mellow Bakugo had retreated, and the bold and brash one came loose. The grin returned as it split across his face in a crooked slant from cheek to cheek. He looked the best when he was smirking, his eyes narrowed slightly with a glint of mischief—almost like it was melting with sin.
“Wouldn’t you want to end this with something fun?” You returned his smile with a question, but it looked more innocent than his. You were starting to notice the vast differences between you and Bakugo, not only in style but even in personality. It was odd that you two were attracted to each other. You didn’t believe in the saying, ‘opposites attract’, but you had to admit there was some truth behind it.
“Look, I just hope you’re ready to sing for me again.”
Again? “I’m surprised you haven’t learned from last time about being too cocky.”
“Only thing I learned is to not go easy on you.”
Your eyes rolled. “Oh please, do not pull that crap on me now. I won fair and square. And what do you mean ‘Again’? What made you think I was singing for you the first time?”
You had expected to hear another one of Bakugo’s boastful remarks, but you were delighted by his smile instead. It was far from a soft one and was closely associated with the last one that held mischief. It was a smile that knew the ups and downs and ins and outs of your mind without barely even knowing you. How was that possible? You didn’t know. But you did know Bakugo had a very perceptive character even if his brass personality didn’t make him seem so.
If only you also knew he was bluffing, then you wouldn’t have blushed the way you did, confirming his suspicions about how you acted during karaoke. It was nice for him to know that those stolen glances at him weren’t all for show.
…
You didn’t realize how intense table tennis was. You knew where it derived from held some tension during its matches. Watching the US Opens, French Opens, and other major tennis tournaments with your family often had you near the edge of your seat. You would see the crowds snapping their heads from right to left at the speed of the ball before erupting into cheers once the ball fell out. Your father would jump out of his seat, a fist wringing in the air, as a point was added to the score of his favorite player and the umpire would call to settle down the crowd, but the excitement erupted to where silence couldn’t be an option. But soon, the crowd knew the match wouldn’t continue unless they settled, and they hushed each other until all that sounded was the ball bouncing to and from the green synthetic surface and into the player’s hand. This memory, you recalled, was like you were reliving it except you and Bakugo were the players with the onlookers being the patrons of the arcade.
The sound around you were muffled against your eardrums, nothing but the base of your heart resounding in rhythmic beats and the tennis ball slamming against your paddle, releasing a loud ‘pock!’ before bouncing back onto the table court and into Bakugo’s side. He moved like lightning, the arm of his muscles tensing at the exact moment the ball touched his paddle. A grunt had left him as he returned the ball onto your side and a thunderous sound erupted from the impact. You returned it just as swiftly.
It was match point for Bakugo and you could tell he was swinging harder, faster. He wanted to end this game as desperate as you wanted it to continue.
“Shit!” He hissed when you returned the ball and it hit the table in an odd angle but managed to fly past his paddle. You evened out the score and it was your turn to serve. Two more scores and you would be the winner, but you knew Bakugo wasn’t going to make it easy for you.
The first ball you served hit the table and managed to slip past him. Or was he?
Bakugo chuckled darkly, one that rattled your core when it reached your ears. You allowed it to frazzle you and your next serve was easily deflected and the ball zoomed past you, evening the score yet again.
“I’m not going down that fucking easy,” he declared, and you wordlessly picked up another ball to serve.
The score went from even to either you or Bakugo having the advantage to even again. It continued for as many times until you had lost count. The tension grew to unbearable heights, the patrons were ‘ooo-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’, some urging for your win and others for Bakugo’s, but you didn’t let their cheers distract you and neither did he. A faint sweetness lingered in the vicinity and it could only be coming from the sweat that shined Bakugo’s skin. An aroma that reminded you of being in the training room and whenever it was Bakugo’s turn to spar, your nose would be blessed by that scent while the others, specifically the boys would secretly tease him for it, too afraid to openly do it unless they wanted to face his wrath.
The ball flew from your side to Bakugo’s side repeatedly and it was about a minute until the ball zipped past you and Bakugo yelled in victory as well as his fans.
“One more fucking point!” He roared and raised his racket in the air, confidence spewing from his body language like he already won. All you did was glare at him, ignoring the reassurance from your encouragers but you didn’t understand why they treated you like you lost when clearly the game was still on. They were underestimating you, them and Bakugo, and you knew you had to prove them wrong. You tightened the ball in your hands and licked the sweat off your lips. Bakugo had a terrifying smirk on his face when he went into his stance, gripping his racket until the veins in his arms started pulsating.
You served the ball and hit it with all your might.
…
Bakugo had been wondering what brought him back to sitting on the couches in one of the karaoke venues again. A much smaller room than the one he was in on that day he went with the class, it still held in resemblance, though, the atmosphere of it was nearly suffocating. He was without his boys, without a distraction from you, the beautiful girl who was scrolling through the list of songs with a remote, humming softly when lingered on a title before continuing on. Another glance around the room had him questioning his reason for being here. Hadn’t he lost? Clearly, you weren’t going to reward him for losing, right? Although, he had paid for a 30-minute rental for a venue, so he suppose that was his punishment. It nearly put a dent in his wallet.
“So, you’re gonna sing for me anyway.” Whether it was a question or a statement, you still flashed a smile at him when you stopped at the title you were searching for. It was startling how just a simple curve of your lips could make his heart stop, his breath hitch, and make him all want to drop what he was doing just to feel them slobbering over his. He was a fool, a fool desperately yearning for the girl sitting right beside him, your leg barely brushing his and sending his mind in a flurry of emotions.
Fuck. Get a hold of yourself. He rehashed in his head repeatedly. It didn’t help that the only other presence in the room was you.
“No,” you drawled, reaching to swipe two microphones from the table in front of you. “I want you to sing with me.”
“Hell no,” he abruptly said, pushing the microphone away when you pressed it against his lap. “I don’t fucking sing.”
“A bet is a bet,” you reminded him, and he let out a groan, “besides you’re not really singing. You’re, like, slow rapping.”
“Are you stupid? And what the fuck is slow rapping anyway?”
“I don’t know I made it up. It’s like rapping but it’s slow!” You giggled, and like a reflex, his stomach flipped. You still tossed the microphone at him and as reluctant as he was, he followed you when you pulled him by the arm to stand up, not allowing himself to be drag because he held too much pride within himself to be dragged by the likes of anyone. You had missed his grumble when he confirmed your stupidity, and when you had questioned him with a hum, he remained silent, gripping the microphone in hand to relay his frustrations upon it.
He found himself standing in the middle of the room facing the tv while you were in front of him, gleaming up at him with a smile as the television’s light splashed against your back. Once again, you didn’t seem to need the lyrics because when you started the song, you remained facing him, tossing the remote where you were sitting and bringing the microphone close to your lips. He felt jealousy creeping behind his shoulder at the inanimate object (that held no soul) that had the privilege of touching what he desired. He wondered adamantly how foolish his feelings were going to make him?
The song had started with the melody of a distorted accordion mixed with electronic sound effects that these popular pop music writers loved to add in their tracks. Bakugo was a stranger to this kind of music as his go-to-genre was rock, metal, and sometimes even rap so when you were swaying side to side at the peppy beat that swirled itself into the existing melody, he could only watch as he waited for your voice.
“I'm a motherfuckin' train wreck. I don't wanna be too much,” and there it was, hitting him like a smooth wave slamming into the rocky side of a mountain, carrying his previous frustration into the endless ocean to never resurface again. Once your voice had reached his eardrums, it had placed him under your spell, one he wished would never break as chills walked his skin like they scavenged for mysteries of their birth. Velvet melted from your mouth, sweetness formed into honey and kissed your voice box, blessing it with the gift to open heaven’s gate with a single note.
“But I don't wanna miss your touch. And you don't seem to give a fuck,” his lips had adversely failed him when he fought to keep them from upturning into a smirk, more specifically at the arousing feeling of you cursing. The chills continued to pry around his back and shoulders and the upper part of his arm where you had gently caressed him for a moment, eyes moving to hold his benevolent stare that he blissfully wasn’t aware he was making.
When the beat of the song picked up and greeted the chorus, you had pulled away from him, turning around until your back faced him, your eyes still on him with your head turned to look behind you, a playful smile curling on your lips. Without doubt, a fire was lit from within him.
“You ain't my boyfriend. And I ain't your girlfriend. But you don't want me to see nobody else. And I don't want you to see nobody,” you bounced your body with the beat, the voice of the original singer echoing the last words of the lyrics or otherwise singing with you. You meant to stroll back to Bakugo once you turned around, but he already closed the distance between you two, eyes somewhat wide and searching within yours for any meaning between those lyrics to be true. “But you ain't my boyfriend. And I ain't your girlfriend. But you don't want me to touch nobody else. Baby, we ain't gotta tell nobody…”
The search for the truth in your eyes nearly made Bakugo miss his line. He started out shaky, startled at how fast it came when the screen prompted for the second singer to start. It oddly reminded him of Deku when he pitifully struggled to sing with Uraraka, so he quickly found his rhythm to avoid the same embarrassment, his singing, that was mostly him talking but elongating his words, sonorous in pitch yet rough at the edges.
“I…I promise the way we fight make me honestly feel like we just in lo—the fuck are these lyrics?” He abruptly growled, his voice caught between ire and mortification when he read the sappy lines that made you blush. You squeezed his arm to urge him to continue, already missing a few lines with how fast the song was going. It wasn’t like he had a choice, he sucked his teeth before bitterly singing through gritted teeth. “I lose my mind when it comes to you. I take time with the ones I choose. And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you, yeah.”
Your voice returned for the chorus soon after his part was done, and he never felt so relieved to hear your voice. He didn’t have a clue how you were so comfortable singing, yet it was hard for you to speak in class whenever you were answering a question. You were bold, daring, confidence spelled within your eyes and shyness was nothing more than a distant relative. You let the music guide you, boldness encouraging you to guide Bakugo’s unoccupied hand to your waist as you danced, his touch barely even felt through your clothes as fear had struck him. Even with consent, he questioned within himself if this was okay. Though, the ghostly feel of the arch of your waist to your hips under his palm had abolished all uncertainty. He was a teenage boy, after all.
He was careful not to move his hand anywhere you didn’t place it but even that was hard whenever you would move your body to the song, sometimes his hand would fall lower towards your hip and he would quickly return it to your waist, so he wouldn’t lose the privilege of touching you.
But when you moved closer to his body until your shirts were caressing, your bright eyes inhabited a world in which he wanted to be a part of, his fingers curled slightly into the newly founded lace sewed into the sides of your shirt, a detail he missed earlier when he was stunned by your beauty. His grip on his microphone went loose against his fingertips and threaten to fall, his face was so close to yours and if it weren’t for the microphone against your lips, Bakugo would’ve closed the gap between you urged by the yearn he felt to touch them.
The two of you were now sharing one microphone, eyes locked onto each other’s, unwavering as they embodied the passion of want.
“If you were my boyfriend…” You sang softly, your vocals sweet and heavy.
“And you were my girlfriend…” Bakugo spoke, his voice harboring that same softness of yours which was foreign to him. He was no longer able to sing, and the song carried on with no vocals as you too were rendered speechless by how thick with warmth his words sounded. There was no indication that the two of you were going to continue the song nor did you encourage him to. The melody was left as background noise as you became trapped in Bakugo’s gaze. How they fidgeted about on your face, taking in your irises, the shape of your nose, the blemishes upon your cheeks and your forehead, the shape of your cheekbones, your chin, and lastly your lips. Gradually, they were moving closer to Bakugo’s just as the microphone was slipping away from between.
If only it wasn’t for the raging scream of Bakugo’s phone trapped within the constraints of his jacket’s pocket, he would’ve already felt the soft press of your lips against his. He had never turned so fast, so dramatically before in his life. He was already digging through his pocket, fingers already mindlessly tapping at the screen once he pulled his phone out and you swore his hands were going to ignite into an explosive if it weren’t translated into the roar that came out of his mouth.
“What!” The person on the other end was no other than his mother who was informing him about coming home at a respectable time. The rage he used to answer his phone was hammered back at him with that same force. You could hear his mother’s screech that certainly reminded you of Bakugo’s, just more feminine.
The heated moment between you two ended with Bakugo screaming into his phone with a colorful combination of profanities you have never even thought of and you were surprised that his mother was worse in her usage of language, even threatening to ‘come down over there’ if he didn’t show some respect.
…
“Bakugo, this was fun, thanks for coming with me,” You smiled softly to the short grunt that came from Bakugo after. He was walking slightly ahead of you, hands in his pockets like usual with his head slightly down. He was wearing his black earphones but only his ear that was away from you had them in while the other earbud hung loosely near his chest. He hasn’t been able to look at you since you two left the karaoke booth and he thought himself a fool that he couldn’t stare at you for more than two seconds without feeling embarrassed about what had happened. Bakugo handled embarrassment the same exact way he handled every emotion that didn’t fit his tough exterior, it fuel his anger and he turned into a grumpy mess, silent yet aching to explode if someone were to speak to him. Though he could never do that to you. No matter how much his anger seemed to tip over, he couldn’t imagine you being at the end of it.
The walk back to your house was as silent as the walk to the arcade. Bakugo wasn’t really sure what to say, whether to question you about what had happened before that untimely interruption or just leave it up in the air. Did you actually like him…? Like how he liked you? Or was he imagining everything, misreading the signs like an idiot hoping the girl he liked actually liked him back? You were a nice girl without a doubt. Bakugo could see that every time he would watch you train with the girls or when you would give up the last dessert to Mina during lunch time or when you would feed the stray cat at the back of the school or when you would always, always greet him with a smile in the mornings if you were to cross paths with him and then Bakugo would think he was special until you would do the same for Deku shortly after. You were a nice girl indeed so for all he knew, you could’ve been hanging out with him out of the kindness of your heart, giving him all this attention because you were too nice to say no to a date. Then again, it didn’t explain what happened in the booth because that was all you and you were—dare he say it—flirting.
Bakugo stopped walking, turning halfway to look at you. You blinked, wondering why he stopped and was now staring at you, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something.
“Something on your mind?” You asked him, cocking your head to the side slightly, but he simply stayed staring for what felt like an eternity and it made your cheeks burn.
When Bakugo realized he was just repeating the question he wanted to ask in his head without saying it was when he swiftly turned his back to you and continued to walk. “…Just hurry up… it’s getting dark,” but it was only around 4pm and Bakugo didn’t know that it was capable for him to feel so stupid, first, losing his ability to speak as soon as he looked at you and second, instantly regretting his words as the sun was still wide awake in the skies.
But I don’t want this to end, was what you wanted to say but you found your words stuck in your throat, afraid that Bakugo might not feel the same as you.
“Um… thank you for walking me home. Today was really fun,” you said when you reached your front door and turned to Bakugo. You told him that repeatedly throughout the walk, you really had no other way to express how happy you were. You felt that a hug would’ve been too uncomfortable for him as you’ve never seen Bakugo express any affection physically. “I kind of wish it didn’t end…”
“Ah—well, you know, time.” What the fuck was he saying? He growled under his breath, frustrated that not only was he losing his thoughts to you but his language.
Oddly enough to him, you understood and chuckled. Fuck the butterflies in his stomach. “I know. There’s just not enough of it… I guess I’ll see you Monday, then?”
“Yeah,” you waited for him to leave but he stayed staring at your face. Perhaps even longer than he did before, and you saw him aggressively move his hand within his pocket like he was fumbling with something. He spoke your name softly because he thought he had lost your attention, but he in fact had it because he was all you could focus on the entirety of the date. “You had fun, right?” He knew you had said it multiple times, but he wanted to ask because he couldn’t believe it himself.
“Yeah, of course, it was the best Saturday I had in a while,” Bakugo felt like you had to have been lying but that wide smile held all the truth in the world.
“Then—this,” Bakugo pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket and gave it to you. “You wanna go with me next Saturday?”
You took a good look at what he gave you, nearly dropping it when you read out the words. “Di-Disneyland?! I—yes! Yes, I wanna go with you!” you clutched your ticket to your chest. Desperate to calm your beating heart, you wanted to fan your heated cheeks but instead you tucked the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, realizing that Bakugo could very well be asking you out on another date. “A-As another date…?”
“Sure.” He grumbled, looking away from you for a moment and returning his hands to his pockets. “Then Saturday, I’ll text you the details.”
You nodded frantically at him with one of those large smiles he loved, and he said his goodbye and left your doorstep. You glanced at the ticket in your hands and jumped excitedly on the balls of your feet. It was hard to believe that Bakugo invited you to Disneyland. You didn’t think he was interested in that kind of stuff but there was a little part of you that wanted to believe he was going just for you. Oh, you so wanted to be right!
Before you knew it, you heard a call of your name and Bakugo was already back in front of you. He quickly leaned forward, and it felt as fast as it came. You saw a glimpse of his red cheeks hidden behind a frown and furrowed brows. “For today. See you Monday,” he quickly said before he turned around and left, leaving you stunned on your doorstep. Of all the things that happened today, the least thing you expected was Bakugo Katsuki kissing you on your cheek.
Bakugo stormed out of there as fast as he could, fingers touching his lips as he realized what he had done. He just acted. He felt like he couldn’t leave without doing something to finish off this day but—Bakugo groaned loudly, throwing his hands up in frustration—he didn’t even stay to see your reaction if you liked it or not. What if he arrives home and you text him to cancel the date because you felt uncomfortable about what he did? He was stupid, utterly stupid! He should’ve read the mood instead of acting on his urges.
He continued to berate himself in his head until he finally convinced himself that you liked it because who wouldn’t like a kiss from him especially since he was taking you to Disneyland.
Later that night when he was lounging on his bed, you texted him to once again thank him for today and that you looked forward to Saturday. Bakugo grinned to himself and replied ‘same’ before shutting his phone and closing his eyes. He thought he would be able to put his thoughts about you to rest but he couldn’t help but try to relive the events of today. Especially the feeling of your cheek against his lips.
As he expected, your cheeks were the softest thing he ever felt. The last thing he recalled was hoping to sleep and suddenly wake up to it being next Saturday.