elromoro

[elromoro]

Late Night Thoughts

Scenario: Imagine Bakugou Katsuki sneaking into your dorm when his thoughts become just a little bit too much to handle alone?

Warnings: cursing, but aside from that, none! Just tooth rotting fluff and Bakugou being his usual self.

The night is a quiet one, the full moon hung high in the murky sky, shining bright lunar rays between the slopes of your balcony curtains. There isn’t a sound to be heard, well, save for the rythmic chirping of crickets outside, and the occasional rustle of fabric when you shifted within slumbers grasp, and—

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You’re suddenly startled from the peaceful realm of dreams by the loud hammer of a fist against your sliding glass door. For a moment, you thought you’d simply imagined the noise, after all, it was almost 3 A.M., surely no one was awake at this ungodly hour, right? That rationalization was quickly squashed by an all too familiar gruff voice, spouting muffled demands.

“Goddamnit you little shit, open up!” That familiar voice bellowed, loud even with a barrier of glass between the both of you. The demand was fallowed by a series of loud banging.

You winced against your cushy pillows, already imagining the scolding you’d receive from Momo tomorrow for the noise. With a soft groan, you shuffled within the snuggly comfort of your comforter, the cushy article slipping down your form when you slung your legs over the side of your bed. With a quick adjustment of your slipping nightwear, you stumble over to your balcony slider, swatting away flowy curtains.

None other than Bakugou Katsuki stands on your balcony, clad in a black tank top and a pair of baggy sweat pants, his usual scowl imprinted heavily on his face. For a moment, you simply stared at him, attempting to find a reason why in the hell he’d be paying you a visit so late, if at all. When he wasn’t immediately given entry, the explosive blonde bristled like a feral feline.

“You just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna let me in, dipshit?” He huffed, pointedly whacking a palm against your slider.

With a tired sigh, you flicked the lock latch of your slider, pulling lacy curtains aside before tugging the slider open with an umph of effort. He shouldered past you when entry was given, stomping his way into your dorm room. After heaving the slider shut once more, you turned to face him.

“Why’re you here, Bakugou? It’s almost three in the damn morning. Usually, sane people are asleep by now.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, arching your brow at him.

Bakugou passes you a mildly annoyed look at your questioning, already a crass remark on the end of his tongue. But, for once, he restrained himself if only entirely because you were humoring him, “…Couldn’t sleep. Thoughts are too damn loud.” He grunted, crimson eyes flicking to study your carpet.

You press your lips into a thin line at his vague admission, eyes swiping over his form. He had bags under his eyes, you noted. You hum, “Thoughts about what?”

“None of your damn business.” He snaps almost immediately. Admittedly, It was bold of you to assume Bakugou would allow you insight to his turbulent mind. His reaction was as expected, though you didn’t fully regret asking.

He cleared his throat, shuffling his feet against the grains of your carpet, “…just…I’m staying over.” He didn’t ask, he said it as a statement.

You simply sigh, stepping away from him to sink back onto your bed, “Fine, but you better not have been caught by Aizawa. I’m not getting put on house arrest because of you. I’d never hear the end of it from Iida.”

Bakugou grumbled, inching step by step toward the end of your bed, where he sat almost hesitantly, “Tch, like I’d let that sleepy headed geezer catch me.”

“Don’t talk about our teacher like that.” You scolded.

He bristled, lip jutting out petulantly, “Whatever.” With that, he flopped boldly onto his back, taking up most of your bed as if he owned it, resting his arms behind his head, crimson eyes staring up at the ceiling contemplatively.

You quirked a brow, back turning awkwardly to allow you to gaze at his pinched face, “So are you planing on giving me any space or—“

“Shut up and just talk until I fall asleep.” He grunted.

You breathed a snort through your nose, giving him a look, “What? How am I supposed to talk if I’m supposed to be shutting up?” You ask cheekily, “And what do you even want me to talk about?” You asked bewilderedly.

He passed you a grumpy glare, “I don’t know, figure it out.” He replied gruffly.

You lean your elbows against your knees, pursing your lips— he had the gall to forcefully enter your space without explanation, and then demand things left and right from you. Not that you were particularly surprised, it was a very Bakugou thing to do. With a sigh, you settled beside him on your bed, careful to keep a distance between the two of you, lest you cross a boundary.

After a long moment of silence, you smiled to yourself, “You wanna bed time story?”

Bakugou craned his neck to give you another ticked off look, “Do you think I’m five?”

It was your turn to pass him a look of your own, your face a signature deadpan, “You didn’t specify what you wanted me to talk about, don’t be picky.”

He paused, before huffing, turning his head back to peer up at the ceiling, “Fine, tell your damn bed time story.” He grumbled irritably.

You cleared your throat dramatically, putting on a theatric tone, gesturing wildly with your hands, “Once upon a time, there was a boy with a bomb—“

Bakugou scoffed, “What the hell kind of story begins with that?”

You clucked your tongue, swatting at his bicep, “Don’t interrupt me.”

He just huffed in response.

“Once upon a time,” you began again, “there was a boy, with a bomb lodged so far between his ass cheeks—“

“Where the fuck is this going?” He was looking at you again, his eyes narrowed, brows knitted.

“For someone trying to go to sleep, you sure do interrupt a lot.” You snipe.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, sighing through his nose, but allows you to continue.

You continue, “The bomb was lodged so far between his ass cheeks, that he was a jerk to everyone around him. And then, one day, he sat down just a bit too hard, and— POOF, he exploded, just like that. The end.” You finished, allowing your palms to flop at your sides.

“That was a shit story.” He grunted, attempting to force down the slightly amused curl of his lips.

“Yeah, well, the boy was actually based off of you.” You reply.

Bakugou felt a surge of irritation settle in his chest, as well as an infuriating warmth that he wrote off as annoyance— because what else could it have possibly been? No one ever dared to speak to him with such blatant disrespect and sass, except you. And despite himself, he was begrudgingly amused. Your little story was stupid and needlessly vulgar, but it was…endearing, in a way.

“Say shit like that again and see what happens.” He huffed in a lacking attempt to keep up his usual abrasiveness.

You almost rolled your eyes so hard they fell out of your head, “Again, you didn’t specify what you wanted to hear.”

Bakugou grunted, rolling onto his side to face you, elbow propped under his cheek, crimson eyes not looking at you, but focusing on his fingers twirling the fabric of your bed sheets, “Whatever, your story was still shit.”

A beat of silence passed between you both then, but Bakugou found that it wasn’t one of the usual suffocatingly uncomfortable silences that he was used to. It was nice. It hung between you for a while, until Bakugou surprised even himself by murmuring softly, “Tell another.” His cheeks flared a pink hue that was thankfully concealed by the dimness of your room, or at least he hoped that it was.

Your eyes flicked to him in slight surprise, before you hummed, “Requesting an encore performance, huh? I’m surprised, that one’s usually my show stopper.”

Bakugou huffed, shuffling just a bit closer to you. It was because a draft had wafted through the walls of your dorm— or that’s what he told himself. “Just do it.” He huffed, irritation and a twinge of hope that you’d obey his seemingly never ending demands.

Another silence feel between you both, your brows furrowing in thought. You didn’t seem to notice the way that his pinky inched toward yours.

After a moment, you chuckled sheepishly, shrugging, “Nah, I’m creatively tapped.”

Bakugou would by lying if he said he wasn’t slightly disappointed. His pinky curled, slinking away from your own.

Suddenly, you snapped your fingers, drawing crimson eyes, “Nevermind, here we go.”

Bakugou snorted through his nose, but his eyes remained stuck to your face as you began another of your no doubt stupid stories.

“Once upon a time—“

“What’s with the once upon a time shit?” He grunted. Maybe he was being purposely difficult now, but he liked the way you reacted to his ribbing.

You gave him a look, pointing at him with an accusing finger, “You got a problem with the words “once upon a time”? What, are you allergic to magic and whimsy?”

“Whimsy is for idiots, like you.” He replied, chuckling at his own wit.

“Wow, okay, mean.” You huffed.

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, boo hoo, you only think it’s mean because I’m being honest.”

You gestured to yourself with a thumb, “Am I able to tell my story or what?”

Bakugou grumbled, “Tch, go ahead.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” you passed him a look, “Once upon a time, there was a unicorn—“

Bakugou snickered, “A unicorn? Really? Fucking lame.”

You have him a look, “Unicorns are not lame. And I’ll have you know, this unicorn is a badass, he’s the toughest and baddest unicorn there ever was.”

Bakugous pinky inched even further toward your own, a hairs distance between them, “Yeah, I’m sure he was the unicorn Messiah.” He retorted.

You passed him a glare, “Anways,” you continued, “His name was Notsuki Knockoffgou, he was the strongest unicorn in all the unicorn land, he conquered monster after monster, but for every monster he took down, one thing remained the same. He was lonely.”

Bakugou grunted, gaze falling away from your face for a moment, “…sounds like he’s a stupid unicorn.” He murmured, his voice quieter this time, softer.

You grumbled under your breath about his comment, but continued nonetheless, that mischievous curl in your lips told him all he needed to know about where this story was heading, “So one day, the lonely unicorn tried to romance some unicorn babes. But you know what? They all thought he was mean and lame because he had no rizz—“

“Rizz? Are you high?” Bakugou asked gruffly.

You blew a raspberry, “No, I’m perfectly sober thank you very much. I’ve been hanging out with Kaminari, sue me.”

Bakugou grimaced, “Well stop, he’ll rot your brain, you’re already dumb enough.”

“Anyway, the unicorn then exploded, because of his chronic lack of unicorn bitches. The end.” You finished with a self satisfied nod.

Bakugou stared, a chuckle bubbling in his throat that he swallowed down, “That was worse than the other one. Why the hell do your stories always end with an explosion?” He grunted.

You shrugged your shoulders, “It’s my signature gimmick. And besides, you know you loved it. I’m an amazing story teller.”

Bakugou huffed, “Sure, in your own head.” Though a smidge of his repressed amusement bled into his tone.

Finally finding the nerve, his pinky surged forward, curling around your own in a gentle but tight hold. He refused to meet your gaze, snapping his eyes shut tight, his cheeks hot. Your hand was warm, and your skin was soft, his mind was already working to memorize the sensation.

Your gaze flicked down to your now linked pinkies, cheeks dusting a soft pink. After a moment, a soft, genuine smile curled the edges of your lips. You allowed your pinky to curl around his own in turn, savoring the small yet strangely intimate feeling contact.

Bakugou valiantly attempted to will the flush of his cheeks down, lest you somehow see his flush through the dim murk of nightly shadows, “Whatever, shut up, I’m going to sleep.”

You chuckled softly, giving his pinky a gentle squeeze, “Okay, night Katsuki.” You hummed softly.

A beat of silence passed, and then, almost a whisper, “Night Y/n.”

Bakugou didn’t tell you, but that night, his turbulent mind was blessedly silent, and his heart was overwhelmingly full.