Archive of Our Own ^beta

the first time, kirishima notices bakugou.

he doesn’t notice her smile, or eyes, or nose, nothing absurdly cliche like that, and he glances at her chest for thirty seconds, max, okay?

he notices her anger. there’s a fire in this girl, he can see it in the way she uses her explosion quirk, the way she throws angry glares at her childhood friend, the way she talks (yells?) to everyone, the way she flaunts her flawless body in that purposefully tight, slutty costume that exposes every toned muscle.

she literally puts the “smoking” in “smoking hot.” kirishima is dangerously drawn to her flames.

because he hates himself, he spends time with her. predictably, she shoves him away most of the time. sometimes, though, she’ll aggressively say fuck off but let him stay anyway. other times, she’d gravitate towards him and his friends, whose company she seems to tolerate. only once, maybe twice, did she completely blow and destroy everything; he considers that a victory.

today, it’s the former, since they’re alone in a classroom, and it’s damn weird. however awkward the situation is, they remain in a comfortably pleasant silence, her perched on a desk and him leaning against the wall.

mysteriously, she stares up at him through her thick eyelashes, her face emotionless, and he stares back, confident that eyelashes aren’t naturally that long. mascara has to be exaggerating those gorgeous eyes.

examining her face, he scans for more makeup. his intense gaze doesn’t make her squirm, but her cheeks appeared a little rosier? probably the makeup, adorable anyhow.

he’s waiting for her to say something, because she dragged him here in the first place, but she’s quiet and weirdly calm. unbothered, he waits. he could wait hours for her.

minutes pass, and he is still content with just looking at her, cuz wow, it is pretty easy to get lost in her. she hopefully didn’t think he was ogling her like some creep. honestly, it terrified him how much he respected his friend. that’s what they were: friends. nothing more, nothing less. he looks up at her, meeting those fiery eyes that still terrify him.

holy crap, she is furious: her eyes tend to cool down if she’s relaxed, and he recalls marveling at how pretty she was when she first directed that particular expression at him. but now they’re fireballs, widened in rage. they’re expanding and chaotic and unfocused and burning straight at kirishima.

he’d be a liar if he didn’t think it was hot. scary, yet hot. huh, that summarizes her perfectly. reveling in his discovery, he laughs, a boyish, ridiculous giggle that overwhelms him. a confused girl blinks at him as he tries, and fails, to stop.

suddenly his back slams against the wall, painfully. the confused girl has been replaced by an absolutely livid one who is unaware of personal space. their foreheads smash together as her body squishes his. dazed from the previous impacts, and their proximity, he can barely hear her voice:

“why the fuck are you fucking laughing.”

he opens his mouth to respond, but he’s forcefully interrupted by a tongue. her tongue, which is forcefully shoved into his parted lips.

it’s messy, sloppy, and there’s too much saliva, so it’s wet. she chews roughly at his lips, and when he returns the favor, she moans, and their teeth clank together as he samples her lip balm. strawberry is going to be his favorite fruit forever.

she pulls away, and geez, his head is spinning even more. all he manages to focus on are those bruised lips, slightly bloody and glossless. he caused that. he desperately wants to do it again.

warm breath ghosts around his ear, nibbling sensitive skin. in his chest, his erratic heartbeat slows, they’ve returned to a serene calmness. nevertheless, he prefers her fire.

“you’re fucking stupid for getting close to me, y’know.”

“i know.”

they lean in. (until they have to go to class, wherein they use bakugou’s concealer to hide their “battle wounds.” no amount of makeup can conceal their lovesick expressions.)

…

the second time, bakugou notices kirishima.

he doesn’t notice her tits, or waist, or legs, or anything perverted like that, since she’s devastatingly average-sized in all those areas.

he notices her hair. more like he imagines that long hair splayed out his pillow, writhing, as he aggressively ―

okay, but in all seriousness, he kinda maybe needs to touch that hair and learn. learn about it’s texture: whether it’s soft as silk, or rough around the edges. whether it’s naturally spiked or carefully styled. if dye created that vibrant hue of red. did the curtain match the drapes?―

he indulges in that hair. for way too long. he could spend hours just observing every detail and still not get enough. it was horrible, and ruining his life. fucking stupid shitty hair. argh.

he attempts to focus. then she walks by and he allows himself one tiny little peek….

and holy shit. her hair isn’t in a ponytail, a rare occasion. it’s loose, wild, and untamed; just the way bakugou prefers it. uhhh, would prefer it, if he wasn’t dying from a sudden heart attack.

at times like these, he really fucking craves her hair. in the weird way. reaching out, he’d run his fingers through those fiery curls, and literally get burned.flames would lick his land, and afterwards, they’d scar. it’d be okay though: he’d tame her hair like he tamed his explosions. put it to his mercy, have complete control over it.

he imagines yanking those strands, his dominance established, and little squeaks of pleasurable pain leaving those plump lips.

what the hell is wrong with him. hair, he thinks. fucking hair is killing me. totally stupid, totally that stupid girl’s fault.

punching his desk doesn’t ease his suffering. it does cause her to shoot him an uneasy look. which he returns with a glare. another punch, is directed at his poor desk. resulting in slightly terrified stares from his classmates. sweat drips down his face and his clenched fists start to summon tiny fireworks,

until she drags him into the hallway.

“jesus, bakugou, you need to calm down. you’re freaking everyone out.”

he doesn’t fucking care, let all those freaks flip their shit. it just shows how powerful he is; how everyone eventually succumbs to him.

“even me.”

he withers. his fire extinguished the minute he sensed her worry. his sparks, ignored, faded and left a little smoke behind, traces of what could’ve been.

“great!” she beams, approachable and kind. “hey, wanna have lunch together?”

stunned, all he can do is nod weakly.

“okay, i’ll take that as a yes.” she pecked his cheek, leaving a small, glossy pink lip print, before sauntering away.

his hand stroked his sticky, strawberry cheek. fuck, he was so gone.

…

the third time, it doesn’t matter who notices the other.

kirishima never goes to the bathroom, but she was about to burst into tears, so she says it’s an emergency and runs off, embarrassed. approaching the door, she prays that there’s no one inside and that she can suffer alone.

life hated her and tortured her. of course, bakugou katsuki is inside, shamelessly straddling a bathroom sink backwards with her goddess-like legs. seriously. they’re so amazingly long and smooth that kirishima almost doesn’t notice her lacy underwear, exposed as her skirt rides up.

meanwhile, her eyes are closed, peacefully, as she twirls blonde hair around a slender finger. she looks thoughtful. but her lips are wrapped around a lollipop, a heart-shaped one she probably stole. it’s sinful, the way she focuses on the task, her wet lips red and tongue gliding over the lollipop skillfully.

kirishima’s a girl. but her stomach drops down to her feet. and her broken heart beats a little louder. she can almost feel the butterflies revive in her stomach. not that it matters or anything, because she’s mostly confident that she’s straight. her last boyfriend, after all, was the one who shattered her heart, slaughtered the butterflies, and caused her to leave class so she could sob peacefully in the girl’s bathroom.

yes, she’s handling her breakup great, thanks. everytime she thinks of him, the tears threaten to fall down her face. she doesn’t want anyone to see them, especially not bakugou, who’d ridicule her for being weak. which she already knows she is. mercifully, the other girl’s eyes are still closed, and though she must’ve heard kirishima come in, she makes no acknowledgement or greeting.

blissfully unaware of kirishima’s internal crisis, bakugou’s actions with the lollipop become more explicit. the sucker slips further past her throat, the stick halfway inside her mouth. it isn’t a very effective way to enjoy a lollipop, but to bakugou’s credit, she doesn’t choke or even flinch. in fact, she seems to be into it, with her tongue circling the tip energetically.

when bakugou makes a noise that suspiciously sounds like a moan, kirishima’s done. she’s been watching her for way too long, like some weirdo, and the stupid butterflies in her stomach are making her nauseous. not to mention that she’s hopelessly turned on and her throat is dry and breathing becomes difficult suddenly.

she’s the one who walked on bakugou deepthroating a fucking lollipop. yet she is the one who feels uncomfortably hot and blushy and awkward. with flushed cheeks and sweat dripping down her face, she turns away from the wicked sight. it’s fine. she can find another bathroom to start panicking and crying and questioning her life.

a hand grabs her wrist before she can open the door. “wait,” a rough but feminine voice says.

kirishima knows bakugou better than a lot of people. she clings onto her sometimes, attracted to the aggressive girl like a magnet. and sometimes bakugou rewards her by opening up, or smiling, and kirishima feels free. kirishima thinks bakugou has her back, and she definitely has hers. so people could define them as friends. it’s more complicated than that, since bakugou’s abrasive attitude pushes people away, but they’ve definitely bonded closely this year. but you shouldn’t, and don't feel things for your friends, kirishima knows. especially if they’re female.

ignoring all their lingering chemistry and her forbidden feelings and unwanted butterflies was usually easy. her boyfriend was a pleasant distraction, while he lasted.

today, everything’s different and everything, her feelings, bakugou’s touch, the butterflies, bakugou’s voice, feel so much more intense. her head swims, drowning in how close the blonde is.

“are you okay?” her best friend’s voice, in addition to being more intense, is softer, uncharacteristic. she sounds worried. that’s bad. kirishima doesn’t want to worry bakugou.

“i’m fine. just a little dizzy, heh.” it’s not false. “i feel a little sick.” also not false. lovesickness was a real thing, she was realizing.

bakugou’s eyes narrow protectively. “we should get you to recovery girl,” she decides, and promptly picks kirishima up bridal style. unfairly strong arms wrap around kirishima’s unprepared, weak limbs.

she should fight back, but she yields to her friend’s grip, indulging in the sensations of her friend. her totally unique fiery cinnamon(?) fragrance. the warmth of her calloused palm against kirishima’s smooth thigh. the way her other hand is gently stroking kirishima’s fairly short hair, a comforting gesture. kirishima can almost feel her skin through their thin summer uniforms. her side, particularly, is pressing against something large and pillowy...oh. best not to think about that too much.

a hand, the one that was previously patting her head, brushes away sweaty hair strands from kirishima’s forehead before resting on it. “christ, you’re so warm.”

“and you’re really hot,” kirishima mutters, delirious. “but i don’t bring that up everytime we talk.”

bakugou appears amused. “here, you need some sugar,” she chuckles affectionately. “and you’ll fucking shut up.”

something cold but wet and sugary prods into kirishima. a part of her tried to imagine it was bakugou’s tongue, but no. it was rough and invaded her mouth like a dentist’s metallic tool. bakugou would be more thoughtful than that. maybe. not like she’d find out.

the worn-down lollipop is strawberry flavored, not cherry, and satisfying iif you were craving sugar. kirishima sucks it half-heartedly, not enjoying it as much as bakugou was earlier.

wait a second. this was the same candy her vulgar friend was basically giving a blowjob to earlier? she was quite shameless, the lollipop must be coated in bakugou’s saliva. gross.

she’s about to spit it out, she comes to a realization. of course, it’s not very sane and logical but kirishima’s not much for logic anyway, especially as she’s collapsed in her crush’s crushing arms.

bakugou’s kissing her. an indirect kiss, but they’re basically sharing spit so it counts. yay, bakugou kissed her. the least she can do is kiss back.

with her naturally sharp teeth, she chomps half of the heart off for the memory. it would’ve resembled her own broken heart before, but this sucker doesn’t have a bakugou to put it back together.

“here,” she wearily pops the other half into bakugou’s pink lips. and it’s the most perfect view, even from kirishima’s hazy viewpoint.

“don’t be stupid, you can have the whole thing.” bakugou’s about to pull it out, but kirishima stops her.

“you already have my whole heart.” kirishima eyelids droop. her smile is still present though. “i think i’ll let you keep it. i trust you’ll take care of it for me, right bro..?” then the girl is asleep.

bakugou doubts she’ll remember this tomorrow. no one except herself will hear this, so she confesses. “forever,” she says, and she almost presses a small kiss to the sleeping girl’s cheek. almost.

as she walks back to class, half-heart lollipop in mouth, she thinks of the same lollipop in kirishima’s mouth. although kirishima will likely do it in a friendship way, bakugou hopes that she’ll take care of bakugou’s heart the way bakugou will take care of hers.

…