peachversace - Tumblr blog

peachversace · 8 days ago

Text

‎أحبك كما أنت

i love you as you are—

You don’t mean to upset him.

Not even a little.

‼ ⌯⌲ content/trigger warnings: sexual content (non-explicit), discussions of bdsm/kink, mention of trauma, self-hate, emotional hurt/comfort, therapy mention, sensitive topics, implied past anger issues, rough sex discussion, emotional shutdown. this is more emotionally charged than my usual work—please read with care and check the warnings ‼

The words had come out of your mouth casually—teasing, lighthearted, playful, even. It was just a moment over dinner, standing beside him in the kitchen while he stirred a pot of tofu miso. You had leaned in with that half-smile you always give him when you're in that soft, cheeky mood. Your voice low, barely louder than the gentle simmer of broth.

“I want you to really choke me during sex,” you had said, laughing a little, bumping your shoulder into his. “Like… be rough. I don’t know, I just really want that.”

He blinked. Just blinked. The ladle paused mid-stir.

And then he put the spoon down. Slowly. Deliberately.

“...What?”

You shrug, still smiling, not seeing it yet. “What? I want that. Like, I want you to really dominate me—choke me, slap me around a little. You know. I trust you.”

But his face doesn't change. Not in a way you recognize. His whole body has gone still, shoulders stiff under the thin cotton of his long-sleeve shirt. His jaw is set, eyes distant, something unreadable but stark shifting behind them. A wall going up.

Then he turns off the stove.

“Katsuki?” you ask, confused, watching as he steps away from the pot, away from you. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at you. He just walks out of the kitchen with slow, heavy steps, and disappears down the hallway.

And when you hear the door to the bedroom click shut—not slammed, not angry, just shut—you know.

You know immediately what just happened.

Your stomach drops. The playful buzz of the moment is gone, gone like the soft whistle of the stove cooling behind you, like the warmth from his hands that had brushed yours just a few minutes ago. Your chest tightens with realization.

You’ve touched something tender. Something deep.

Something he doesn’t talk about.

Because Katsuki—despite what anyone else in the world might think—is not who they think he is.

Yes, he’s brash. Yes, he’s loud. He yells and barks and rolls his eyes and mutters insults under his breath, but beneath it? Beneath all of it?

He’s soft.

He’s sensitive in ways that don’t always make it to the surface. He carries his anger like a burden he’s constantly trying to tame—trying to be better than. You know about the therapy. The way he never talks about his old outbursts. The way he’s told you, in fragmented pieces, that he hates the version of himself people expected him to become. That the last thing he ever wants to be is someone who hurts the people he loves.

And now you’ve asked him to hurt you. Even in the name of sex. Even in the name of trust. Even if you thought it was harmless—playful.

To him, it isn’t.

You leave the kitchen slowly, the floorboards cool under your feet, the house hushed in that uneasy way it only gets when something is off. When he's off.

You reach his bedroom door and press your knuckles gently against it. “Katsuki?” you call softly.

Nothing.

You wait. Then twist the knob.

It’s unlocked.

You step inside carefully, barely making a sound. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, back against the headboard, one leg bent, the other stretched out, frowning down at his hands. His fingers are laced loosely, thumbs fidgeting—restless, like his mind is stuck in a place he can’t quite get out of.

Your heart aches.

The silence after you call his name stretches thin, like thread pulled too tight, humming with the quiet tension of something too heavy to ignore.

You take another step, your voice gentle as you try again, “Katsuki?”

He doesn’t look up. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, no longer leaning back. His elbows rest on his thighs, broad shoulders curved slightly forward, and his fingers are threaded together, clenched between his knees. His head is tilted down, blonde hair slightly messy, like he’s run his hands through it more than once since walking away from you. And the frown on his face—it’s not anger.

It’s pain.

And your chest clenches so tight it’s hard to breathe.

You’ve seen Katsuki mad before—at villains, at the media, at himself. But this isn’t that. He’s not storming or shouting or posturing like people expect. No, when Katsuki is really upset—when something cuts too close—he withdraws. He shrinks in, quiet and closed off, like he’s trying to hide the parts of himself he doesn't want you to see.

And right now? That means everything.

You sit beside him, careful not to crowd him. Just close enough that your thigh brushes his. You don’t touch him yet. You don’t want to startle him out of whatever place he’s in. You just want him to feel you there.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say quietly. The words feel thin, too small for the weight of what just happened, but it’s where you start. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just being stupid and teasing and I didn’t think it would… I didn’t think it would hit you like that.”

He finally shifts. Slowly. Just his eyes at first, flicking over to you with that familiar fire dimmed behind them—like he’s trying to figure out if you mean it. If he can trust you with what’s happening in his head.

“I ain’t mad at you,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “I just… I had to fuckin’—I needed a minute.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I get it. Or I’m trying to.”

He exhales hard through his nose, lips flattening into a tight line. “S’not—you don’t know what you’re asking. Y’think it’s just sex, or rough shit, or whatever—but that’s not… that ain’t what it sounds like to me.”

You wait. Quiet. Let him put his words together, because you know this is hard for him. Katsuki never talks like this—not unless he’s ready to rip his chest open and hand you the still-beating heart inside.

“I used to hate myself,” he says finally. His hands flex between his knees. “You know that? Not just the usual ‘I’m a piece of shit’ kind of self-hate. Like—real hate. For my temper. For all the shit I couldn’t control. How easy it was to yell, to scare people, to just… explode.”

He laughs once, sharp and without humor. “I thought that’s all I was. Some monster with a fuckin’ short fuse. And I worked my ass off to change that. I still do.”

He looks at you then—really looks at you—and the hurt behind his eyes is raw and unfiltered. “So when you say you want that side of me—the part I’ve spent years trying to kill off—I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.”

You swallow thickly. “Katsuki,” you whisper, “I don’t think you’re a monster. I never have. That wasn’t what I meant at all. I wasn’t asking you to be angry with me. Or violent. I don’t want you to pretend to be something you hate.”

“I know you weren’t asking me to hit you outta rage,” he snaps, more frustrated with himself than you. “But you don’t get it. You say it like it’s sexy or hot and maybe for other people it is, but I’m not other people. I can’t—fuck, I can’t do that and not feel like I’m going back to being that shitty version of myself again.”

You reach for him slowly, placing your hand over his where it rests, still clenched. “I get that now. I do. And I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think about how deep that would hit.”

He stares down at your hand for a long moment. “I want to give you everything,” he says, voice so quiet it almost breaks you. “I do. You say jump, I’d fucking fly. But not if it means I go backwards. Not if it makes me forget how hard I fought to be better.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re already everything to me, Katsuki. I’m not with you because I want some fantasy version of you. I’m with you because you feel everything so deeply, because you care more than anyone else, even when it hurts. I don’t need rough. I just need you.”

His jaw works like he’s trying not to cry, or punch something, or both.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words trembling as they leave your lips. You reach out instinctively, brushing your fingers just barely over his forearm, grounding yourself in the solidness of him—your boyfriend, your partner, who’s sitting right there but feels just slightly out of reach in this moment. “I really didn’t want to—”

But he cuts you off, quick and quiet. “S’fine,” he mutters, clearing his throat like he’s trying to shake the emotion out of his voice, like it got lodged too deep in his chest for him to hide.

It’s not sharp, not the way Katsuki can be when he’s angry or dismissive. This isn’t that. It’s soft in that way that makes your heart twist—like he’s trying to protect you from his feelings, like he’s trying to protect himself from yours.

But it’s not fine. You both know that.

The words just hang in the air between you, a failed parachute trying to cushion a fall that’s already happened. His fingers flex on his thighs again, jaw tense, brows furrowed as he stares down at the floor like it’s personally offended him.

You watch the side of his face for a moment. The curve of his cheekbone, the faint crease between his brows. His ears are still a little pink, and his throat works around a swallow he doesn't make a sound with.

You know that kind of quiet.

It’s the kind that says he’s thinking too much. That his brain is spiraling through every version of this moment, overanalyzing the weight of your words, picking apart all the ways he could’ve reacted differently. All the ways he should’ve been better. That kind of thinking eats him alive.

You hate seeing it on him.

So you shift on the bed just slightly, turning to face him more, keeping your voice low. “Katsuki,” you say gently, and he finally looks up at you—not fully, not head-on, but enough that his eyes flicker toward you like he wants to meet you halfway but doesn’t know how.

“I didn’t mean for it to sound like that,” you go on. “I wasn’t asking you to be something you’re not. I wasn’t even thinking about it in that way. I just—”

“I know,” he grits out, eyes shutting tight for a second. His hands lift to scrub at his face, dragging down over his mouth and jaw before he exhales hard. “I know you weren’t tryin’ to be cruel. I’m not mad at you, alright?”

You nod, even though your heart is still sinking under the weight of his discomfort. “But you’re upset.”

He huffs. Doesn’t deny it.

“It made me feel like… like maybe that’s what you want. Some guy who’s rough, who—who fucks like he’s pissed off.” His words are blunt, harsh even, but his voice is soft. Barely above a whisper. “And that ain’t me. Not with you. Not ever.”

There’s a pause—long enough for the weight of that to settle, real and solid between you.

You shift closer, this time placing your hand right over his. You squeeze it. Not tight. Just enough to say, I’m here. I see you.

“I never wanted you to be anyone but you, Katsuki,” you whisper. “You don’t need to be rough to be good. You already are. You're thoughtful and careful, and when you touch me—when we’re together—I feel everything. You make me feel so wanted. So safe. I don’t need anything more than that.”

He swallows again, shoulders still tense, but his fingers curl under yours slowly, gripping back.

“I’m not scared of what you could be,” you add, quieter now. “I’m proud of what you are. You’ve worked so hard to get here. You’ve grown. And I love every part of you, even the ones you still struggle with.”

His eyes finally lift—truly lift—and meet yours. And something in him softens. Not all the way. Not yet. But enough that you see his mouth twitch, like he wants to smile but doesn’t trust himself not to break open instead.

“You’re not disappointed?” he asks, voice scratchy.

“No,” you breathe. “Not even close. I just want to understand you better. To love you better.”

He exhales again—slow and deep this time—and nods once, jaw still tense, but the fight in his posture slowly melts away. He looks down at your joined hands and gives them a small, firm squeeze.

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”

And you believe him. Because he always means what he says. Because Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t love lightly—he loves with everything in him, all fire and thunder and that fierce, aching loyalty that lives in his bones.

So when he finally leans forward and rests his forehead against yours, breathing in like he’s anchoring himself in the shape of you, you let your eyes close and hold him there. Steady. Unmoving.

“We’re okay?” you whisper.

His hand lifts to cradle the back of your head, rough calloused palm gentle against your scalp. “Yeah,” he mutters. “We’re okay.”

‎لا كما الألمُ الذي يُحاول أن يُشكّلك

—not as the pain that tries to shape you.

#bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou #esta’s drabble corner :p #{character study: bakugou}#i love him your honor!!!#he would hate thinking that he’s just his anger or that you would think he’d want to be rough with you #he’s the most vanilla man on earth AAAAA #like sex is so intimate and sacred to him #and he never would want to bring anything remotely rough into that space

98 notes · View notes