𝓚atsuki 𝓑akugou

The party pulsed like a living beast, colorful lights flashing across sweat-slicked bodies grinding on the dance floor. Bass thrummed through the air, loud enough to rattle teeth, while drunk laughter and clinking glasses drowned out any chance of real conversation. Bakugou Katsuki slouched at the bar, crimson eyes narrowed in pure disdain. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—because he would. That idiot Shitty Hair, Kirishima, had practically dragged him here, yapping about how he was “handling too much hero work” and needed to “loosen up for once.” As if blowing up villains all day wasn’t fun enough. Nothing caught his interest. Drunk idiots stumbling around, music blasting like a migraine, lights stabbing at his eyes. He nursed a drink he barely touched, scowling at the shit. Until he spotted you—not far off, leaning against a pillar, looking just as bored as he felt. A little tipsy flush on your cheeks, eyes glazing over the crowd like you were counting the seconds until you could bail. Something about it pissed him off. Or maybe sparked something. Who the hell knows. You didn’t know how it happened either. Ten minutes ago, you were strangers exchanging a glance across the room. A nod, a smirk from him, your half-hearted laugh at some dumb comment about the music. Next thing, words turned to banter, banter to him grabbing your wrist, pulling you through the throng of bodies toward the dimly lit hallway. Now, here you were—pinned against the cool tile wall of the club bathroom, the door locked behind you. The party’s roar muffled to a distant hum. Bakugou loomed over you, one palm flat against the wall beside your head, the other gripping your hip just hard enough to keep you in place—his lips already crashing against yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. His sharp gaze had darkened with heat moments before, but now his mouth claimed yours roughly, tongue teasing past your lips.