He’s surprised to see Jirou sitting at the bar -- it’s a bar for straight people, after all. But then again, he’s here too -- not really sure what impulse drove him here except a desire to get out of his own head in some primal, masochistic way. He knows getting drunk off his ass is gonna do nothing but make it even harder to be alive the next morning, but at least he’ll be able to fall asleep tonight. Not like the sober nights tossing and turning alone from eight pm until sunrise. He had refused to change his bedtime, refused to admit that he just couldn’t force himself to rest anymore.
If he played his cards right, maybe he wouldn’t even have to fall asleep alone tonight. Maybe he could wake up to a body pressed against his; maybe the solid presence of another would start to wash away the phantom feeling that shitty Deku was still supposed to be in his bed.
They had always been on-again-off-again -- nothing about their relationship had ever been particularly balanced, always teetering between codependency and forced, petty indifference. But this split felt different, felt bigger. It had been a month already and no sobbing, apologetic phone calls from Deku, not even a loaded “how are you?” text.
So it was time to take drastic measures to forget about the shitty nerd. Never mind the fact that Bakugou generally hated casual fucks. But the dirty, slightly used feeling he would wake up with the next morning would undoubtedly feel better than another goddamn day of waking up alone.
He lets Jirou have her space. Maybe she’s meeting someone at the bar. Maybe she’s just there to drink and be alone. Who the fuck knows. Not his place.
It’s Jirou who sidles up to him with a casual, breathy “Hey.”
He turns to face her -- she’s standing at the bar, leaning over it to signal the bartender. The bottom of her cropped shirt is riding up and he can just glimpse the curve of her waist. “Hey,” he responds in kind, downing the rest of his third whisky highball.
“Can I get one of those?” she says to the bartender, gesturing at Bakugou’s empty glass. “And get him another too.”
She takes a seat and turns to face him. “Never took you as the type to hang around places like this,” she says.
“Then what’s the occasion?”
Bakugou sighs. “Seriously? The fuck am I telling you for?”
Jirou raises her arms in mock affront. She had never been one to take his aggression very seriously, back during their school days. “I’m just trying to catch up with an old classmate,” she says. “You don’t hafta tell me anything.”
“Okay then. Uh, what about you?” Bakugou asks.
“Me?” Jirou takes her drink from the bartender and gives it an experimental sip, nodding in approval. “Atmosphere relaxes me.” She laughs. “Well, and the drinks.”
“Hm,” Bakugou grunts. “Guess I’m kinda the same.” He’s definitely not drunk yet, but he’s uninhibited enough to feel okay conversing with Jirou. If he had run into her on the street, sober, he probably would have ignored her and gone his own way. But she’s right -- the bar is warm, and the low lighting and ambient murmurs of patrons in various states of inebriation settles him, makes him feel more at ease. “Just need to get out of my head, I guess.”
She smiles, a gentle little friendly thing, and it tugs something a little loose inside of him. Maybe he’s been ignoring everyone who’s tried to be kind to him and help him through this past month. Maybe he’s been isolating himself.
“Never pictured you frequenting this kinda place,” he says. “Figured you’d like places that were more, uh…”
“Gay?” She’s grinning. “You ever hear of bisexuality, Bakugou?”
“Yeah.” He grumbles and crosses his arms on the counter, trying to hide his embarrassed blush. “Yeah, I’ve fuckin’ heard of it.”
He supposes that’s technically what he is too, but he’d never really thought about it. It was always just Deku . “It’s kind of a surprise to see you here too,” Jirou continues. “Always thought you were a homebody. Midoriya is always trying and failing to drag you everywhere.”
At the mention of Deku’s name, Bakugou pouts and looks away from her in a pointed way. “Was,” he corrects.
“Ohhh,” she says, her voice still lighthearted as she swirls the stirrer around her drink. “You two break up again?” She says it in a playful tone, one conditioned by years and years of Bakugou and Deku’s dramatic fights and short-lived breakups.
He turns to her and glares, but he quickly realizes it’s pointless to get angry at her about the whole situation, so instead he lets out an aggravated sigh and sucks his fourth drink dry. “Yeah. We broke up again. But like, for real this time, okay? I think.” He runs a hand through his hair and before he knows it he’s suddenly screwing his eyes closed tight, trying to fight back unexpected tears, because saying it out loud to someone, verbalizing that it might be like, the end the end, is terrifying and upsetting in a way that just thinking about it never was.
Before Jirou has the chance to say anything, he’s wiping his eyes and saying “I need a fuckin’ shot.” She gives him a soft look that’s close to pity and nods before signalling the bartender again.
They both get chattier the drunker they get, and soon Jirou is regaling Bakugou with stories of all of her own failed attempts at relationships -- the shitty, noncommittal men, the women who just wanted to experiment -- the litany of stories ending with Jirou slumped over onto Bakugou’s shoulder, slurring out the fact that she’s “fucking hopelessly single, but I’m like, okay with it I guess, ‘cause I don’t wanna date shitty people, y’know -- rather just date myself-- ha--” she burps, “--or like, fuck strangers, or, uh, old friends, like from school, heh.”
And Jirou Kyouka is like, actually pretty hot? It’s not like he ever thought she was ugly , it’s just that Deku used to always go on and on about Bakugou’s tiny fucking waist but this is what a real tiny waist is like, alright? Fucking soft and squeezable and okay maybe Bakugou is definitely whispering all of this into Jirou’s ear because somewhere in between shots three and four they got up and found a secluded booth in a dark corner of the bar, and he’s been just letting whatever nonsense runs through his head spill out of his mouth ever since.
“Y’know,” he says, his hands slipping underneath Jirou’s shirt, “I’ve never actually touched a chick like this before. You feel so fucking soft ,” he exhales, and then squeezes just below Jirou’s ribcage and she groans. “I feel like I could fuckin’ break you.”
“I can guarantee that you won’t,” she responds, her own hands wandering, squeezing his thighs, feeling up his abs. Tiny, soft hands, but firm touches. He feels dizzy from the inebriation, and her hands all over him are disorienting. His head is all over the place, any semblance of thought outside of the present moment blasted into oblivion.
“I wanna take you home,” he whines into her ear. “I wanna fuck you.”
She climbs into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck. “Yeah?” she whispers. “Show me how badly you wanna fuck me.”
He groans and slams his lips against hers. He knows that they’re being those people in the bar at two am but he doesn’t fucking care, Jirou’s mouth is fruity like the flavored vodka they’ve been shooting down and she’s got a tongue like a viper, darting in and out of him until he feels like he’s gonna lose it. He’s way too hard for how drunk he is but he isn’t complaining, and besides, Jirou seems to be enjoying grinding down onto it.
“Okay, yeah,” she says after a few minutes, clearly out of breath. “Yeah, come on,” and she pulls him up. He feels a wave of vertigo as he’s tugged to his feet but he ignores it and then they’re in a taxi and Jirou is prompting him to tell the driver his address and he’s doing it and they’re pawing at each other in the back of the car until they reach their destination.
When they get there she immediately pulls him down for another kiss and he has to tug her off of him to lead her to his bedroom. He makes a beeline for his bed and she lingers, standing, in front of him.
“Yeah?” he asks. “You good?”
She nods and then lifts her shirt over her head. She’s wearing a barely-there black lacy bralette, and Bakugou groans. He needs to get his hands all over her, now .
Jirou reaches behind herself to unfasten her bra but Bakugou stops her. “Wait,” he says, and she gives him a look. “Lemme do it.”
He gets up and walks behind her, watching gooseflesh form on her neck and shoulders as he ghosts his hands over her skin. He runs them along the straps of her bra, slowly. He might be drunker than he cares to admit but he’s still suddenly struck by the feeling that he wants to savor this. He’s never fucked a chick before. Maybe he never will again -- he wouldn’t really call them his preference. But Jirou is, well--
“ Fuck , you’re hot,” he says as he gets the clasp loose, and Jirou rolls her shoulders back in appreciation, her back muscles flexing. She shrugs out of the bra and then peers back at him. The way her eyes drag down and then all the way back up his torso tells him exactly what she wants. He smirks and then pulls his own shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor.
Jirou turns around and gives an appreciative hum, almost close to a moan, as one hand runs over his abs and the other immediately reaches up to grab a hefty pec.
“Your tits are bigger than mine, Bakubro,” she teases, as she lightly squeezes at the muscle.
“Bet yours are more sensitive though,” Bakugou growls in response, gripping her tightly by the waist and sliding one hand to feel up her chest. He doesn’t care that her tits are small, she’s still so goddamn soft , and he’s more of an ass guy anyway (case in point: Deku). His fingers catch on a stiff nipple and her body suddenly jerks, her hands coming to rest on Bakugou’s shoulders for support.
“Shit, that sensitive?” Bakugou exhales. He presses one of her nipples between two of his fingers, gently, and her hips buck forward as she whines. Bakugou is amazed how fucking fast her body has heated up, at the fact that her cheeks and neck and chest are already flushed red. Just from touching her nipple? Fuck .
He growls and walks her backwards to his bed, pushing her down and draping himself on top of her. Her hands go to his hair, his to her waist, her chest, anywhere where he can feel the silkiness of her skin and the slight give of her curves. They make out until they’re both panting, a line of spit breaking off between them as they pull away to catch their breaths.
Jirou rolls her hips up against his clothed erection and he groans, hands flying to her hips and holding her down.
“Come on,” she grunts. “Fuck me?” Her eyelashes do this little fluttering thing and he’s in awe again for a split second at just how fucking pretty she is.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, and then gets up to fiddle through his dresser for an old condom that he hopefully has -- he and Deku had stopped using them years ago. He manages to find one that hasn’t expired and he places it on the bedside table before leaning down and grabbing Jirou by the hips again, pulling her down to the edge of the bed. He takes his time with her skinny jeans. They hang low on her hips and he squeezes her hip bones and dips his fingers under the waistband until she’s letting out a half-annoyed whine that lets him know to get on with it.
He’s kinda glad that the first time he’s doing this with a chick he’s drunk, because otherwise he’d probably be nervous as hell. He’s honestly still pretty nervous regardless -- his hands tremble as he pulls at her jeans and he suddenly has the half-panicked thought what if I get her naked and I realize I’m not into chicks after all, what do I-- and then he sees the little mound of her pussy right in front of him and his brain short-circuits. The only feeling he can register in the moment is hunger , and even though he really doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing he pushes her thighs up to her stomach and then leans down and licks, moaning into her cunt as her taste slips over his tongue.
He knows he just said he was gonna fuck her but she’s gonna have to wait because fuck this might even be better than sucking dick, and Bakugou loves sucking dick like, way more than he would ever admit out loud.
Jirou’s hands find Bakugou’s hair again and start to guide him. He eases off and lets her show him how to move. He flicks his tongue and sucks and presses it flat against her and honestly is at first just kind of pretending it’s a really tiny dick, adjusting as he gets a sense for what she seems to like.
Then all of a sudden her fingers are digging into his scalp and she’s pushing herself up into his mouth and there’s a rush of dizzyingly sweet juices running over his tongue. Her hips buck and thighs quake, but Bakugou keeps his lips pressed to her until she’s still again, albeit trembling slightly.
“Fuck,’’ she says under her breath. “Bakugou, I--” she grabs a pillow from higher up on the bed and buries her face into it, sighing in a way that Bakugou can’t read. When she turns back to look up at him, she’s blushing. “I’ve never orgasmed with a guy before.”
His mouth drops open for a second, and then he realizes what Jirou’s saying by proxy about him and he grins. “Fuck,” he says. “Men ain’t shit. You need to stop fucking around with straight guys.”
Jirou laughs. “Maybe you’re right.” She sits up and pushes Bakugou onto his back. “My turn.”
“Fuck yeah,” Bakugou mouths, fumbling for the zipper of his jeans. Jirou helps him shimmy his pants off, and then runs her palm over his clothed erection. She slowly lowers the elastic waistband of his boxer-briefs and grins when his cock springs free.
“Who’d’ve thought that Bakugou Katsuki would have such a pretty dick?” she teases as she runs a hand over it. He shivers at the sensation -- he hasn’t been touched like this in over a month, hasn’t touched himself like this even. It’s more intense than he remembers.
Jirou pumps him, steadily, not teasing but clearly not trying to make him come yet, and Bakugou meets the movements of her hand with his own thrusts. His hands fist into the mattress, reach out and squeeze a calf, a thigh, whatever soft piece of her he can find. “Come on,” he groans after a few minutes. “I wanna fuck you, come on--”
She shushes him and then leans forward to kiss him. Once he’s got his arms around her he rolls both of them over and looks down at her. She locks eyes with him and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in. His dick glides over her wetness and he half-groans, half-laughs into the side of her neck.
“Here,” she offers, handing him the old condom.
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong?” he says as he lines himself up.
She snorts in amusement. “You got it.” He watches as her mouth parts and her eyelids flutter as he pushes in, a barely-there resistance that quickly changes into a warm wetness enveloping him.
He has to laugh, it feels so unreal. “Holy shit your cunt-- ” he moans, and Jirou tugs at his hair, pulling his neck back. He experiments with pulling back just a bit, tests the friction between them.
“You’re so-- fucking-- vulgar--” Jirou pants, rolling her hips forward and up to meet him. Her movements sheath him fully inside of her and he lets out a small gasp. He can feel her tugging, tightening around him, and something dormant suddenly wakes up inside of him. He sits up and pulls her close to him, her legs up and feet resting on his shoulders. With his hands gripping her waist he has the leverage to pound into her at the pace he wants, but Jirou pushes back, deepening his thrusts. She reaches up and grabs a fistful of his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. The change in angle causes him to thrust in even deeper, and they both moan.
Bakugou doesn’t have a chance of lasting much longer -- Jirou’s hands in his hair, her tongue on his, the way she grips him and the way a moan spills into his mouth every time he thrusts into her -- he feels the molten core of pleasure building in his groin and is powerless to stop it. Jirou’s cunt squeezes him as he comes, dragging more and more out of him, still pulsing him into overstimulation even after he’s spent. He shivers on top of her, too tired to move.
It’s Jirou who nudges him, and he slips out of her with a groan and falls over onto his back. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much,” she says.
Bakugou looks over at her, too tired to care about the lazy grin on his face. “Sex is fun,” he says.
“You can say that again,” she sighs.
“Sex is fun.”
She laughs and then lets out a yawn.
“I’m gonna go clean up,” he says. “No worries if you fall asleep.”
“Got it,” Jirou says, Bakugou can tell that she’s already starting to drift away from consciousness.
He has the uncomfortable thought while he’s himself up in the bathroom that if he’s gotten to the point where he’s having sex with other people, then surely so has Deku. He’s worried for a moment that the thought is gonna cause him to hurl up the entire night’s worth of drinks, but he tosses the soiled condom into the trash and takes some deep breaths, and it settles his stomach a bit.
Jirou makes a sleepy noise and adjusts so that she’s closer to him when he gets in bed. “You ‘kay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he says. “This is just weird.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He likes the edge of amusement that’s constantly coloring her voice. She’s not taking things too seriously; it helps him find a bit of brevity too. He likes that this isn’t serious; that this isn’t built upon years and years of close friendship pressurized over time into something else.
“I, uh, was just thinking about him. Deku, I mean.”
“Like, during sex?”
“No! No, after. All I was thinking about during it was you.”
“That’s a good first step.”
He can tell that she's half-asleep, but the truth of her words sinks deep into him and he feels the prickly heat of tears in his eyes. She squeezes his hand.
Maybe this is a good first step.