bun shinsou is supreme + i had a mighty need for face-fucking (tho this turned out much softer/domestic than intended ye be warned)

established relationship #bakushin #shinbaku
nsfw (blowjobs, frottage, mild quirk play/brainwashing)

For Shinsou, one of the idiosyncrasies of being in a relationship with Bakugou is adjusting to his meticulous nature. This, of course, comes with a lot of perks -

- meals are perfectly cooked and packed with nutrition, everything has a place in their spotless apartment, and they seem to be on time for everything, with virtually no planning on Shinsou’s part.

When it’s spelled out like that, it sounds like Shinsou might have been living with a robot for the past few months, but Bakugou is... well, Bakugou.

His personality definitely doesn’t match these tendencies, though Shinsou does know (and enjoy) a quieter, more meditative side of Bakugou often enough.

Lately, however, nothing seems to be right in Bakugou’s little world; he’s been restless, unable to keep still. Shinsou has listened to more complaints about the selection of veggies at their usual market -

- has observed constant tinkering of grenade-shaped equipment with grease-stained hands, and has even seen Bakugou following their Roomba around with a handheld vacuum, looking for missed spots.

All of this is to say that, while Shinsou doesn’t quite understand it, he’s found himself treading water in the eye of a perfect Bakugou shitstorm.

Shinsou knows that the grown-up thing to do would be to ask his boyfriend if something is wrong. But he knows that Bakugou is highly unlikely to talk about whatever is irking him if asked outright.

Shinsou also knows that whatever it is will eventually bubble to the surface if it’s important enough.

So he waits. Then, one Saturday morning:

"Your hair is getting out of control."

It’s very early, and the barest hint of light is peeking through the slats of the blinds. Shinsou flicks his gaze up inquiringly from his seat at the couch, where he’s been working on a mission report that is due later in the afternoon.

Bakugou has just woken up and emerged from their room, his eyes scrunched as if blinded and his voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hm?” Shinsou says, taking the end of his pen from between his teeth.

“Your hair. Out of control.”

“Oh.” Shinsou absently cups a hand over the messy bun he’d tied at the top of his head.

It hadn’t been intentional, but Shinsou had gone without a haircut since they had moved in together a few months ago. He’d become content over time with letting it grow out and experimenting with different styles.

"You don’t want a haircut or something?" Bakugou grunts.

Shinsou shakes his head and looks back down at his work.

“I didn’t mean to grow it out,” he says, crossing out a word with black ink. “But I kind of like it now. Why?”

When Bakugou doesn’t say anything, Shinsou looks up at him again. He hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway to the room, his squinting eyes now accompanied by deeply furrowed brows and a scowl.

“Oh wait,” Shinsou says, feeling a lightbulb go off in his head. “Is that it then?”

“What?”

“Has /my hair/ been bothering you that much?"

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“You’ve been acting weird."

“Have not,” Bakugou says. He straightens up and tries to school his face into something less frowny, but it doesn’t work.

Shinsou sighs. "You’re allowed to have opinions about your partner’s hair, you know. On anything, really,” he says.

Bakugou squints at him one last time before stalking around the couch.

“Fuck you,” he grumbles. “Literally /nothing/ is wrong, your hair is /fine:, and I /haven’t/ been weird.”

“You have,” Shinsou says. “But okay, whatever you say.”

He looks down at his paperwork again, letting go of the tiny bit of annoyance he feels at the fact that Bakugou won’t at least admit he’s been more touchy than usual.

The last thing he wants to do is start a fight over something as innocuous as his hair, so Shinsou concentrates on re-reading what he’s written for his report.

Bakugou’s movements behind him, however, make this impossible. Shinsou feels himself growing more vexed as Bakugou’s slippers smack loudly on the floor, as their kitchen cabinets thud closed with a maddening shake of their fragile contents.

Then, there’s more than one concerningly loud clink of glass on glass that makes Shinsou wonder if Bakugou needs to be supervised in the kitchen for the first time ever.

"Do you need help?” Shinsou says in as calm a voice as he can muster, desperately keeping his gaze on his report.

“No.”

“What are you doing that’s making so much noise then?”

“Making coffee.”

“Can you do that more quietly?”

Bakugou answers by slamming a bag of coffee beans hard on the counter. Shinsou finally glances up, and Bakugou looks him dead in the eyes as he opens the bag with a dreadful rip and way too much force.

The foiled package tears wide open under his hands. Bakugou gasps and jumps back from the ruined bag as coffee beans spill onto the counter with a noise like a rainstick.

"Bakugou, what the hell?” Shinsou sets his things on the couch and joins Bakugou at the counter to help keep the beans from falling onto the floor.

“Shit, sorry,” Bakugou says in response.

“Don’t be sorry, just //use your words and tell me what’s wrong//.”

Shinsou immediately regrets the switch as soon as the command comes out.

But it’s too late; Bakugou stops his sweeping motions over the counter and just stands there, still as stone. His red irises are glazed over, his features smooth and placid, and then, Bakugou does what Shinsou just asked.

“I like your stupid hair,” Bakugou says to no one, brainwashed and emotionless. “A lot. And I don’t want to talk about it. And now I made a mess. And I –”

“Stop.”

Shinsou blinks, horrified at himself for using his quirk on Bakugou. He wishes he could say it hadn’t been totally intentional, but his agitated heart rate says otherwise.

One deep breath calms him slightly, and Shinsou takes a moment to process what Bakugou just said.

It seems odd, but it really /is/ his hair that’s behind Hurricane Bakugou. Shinsou had honestly been expecting something a little more important, but then again, Bakugou’s palms would pop sparks if the PS4 controller wasn’t in its normal spot.

He supposes that this kind of change could feel monumental compared to that.

Still, the mystery isn’t quite solved. Shinsou badly wants to know why liking his hair would bug Bakugou so much, but he also wants Bakugou to tell him when he’s ready and lucid.

He releases Bakugou from his quirk, watching as he comes back to life with a slight shake of his head.

“Sorry,” Shinsou says, leaning forward cautiously to see that Bakugou’s eyes have returned to their normal vibrancy.

“I’m fine.” Bakugou blinks at him, then turns his head down, flexing his palms as if testing the control over his body again. “Fuck, I… kind of made you. I was being an idiot.”

“No.” Shinsou reaches his hands out to Bakugou’s shoulders, sliding them up his neck to cup his face. “Well, ok maybe you were being idiotic, but I lost my temper and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Shut up, it’s fine. Kinda felt nice, actually.”

Shinsou tilts his head to the side in confusion. “To tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Yeah. And... to not think for a little.”

Bakugou looks at Shinsou’s face again, and something shifts between them at the implication of his words. It’s like a flag’s been thrown down in the ring, and they’re just hovering across from each other, waiting for someone to throw the first punch.

Before now, Shinsou had never brainwashed Bakugou outside of training at UA. There wasn’t ever a need to. Shinsou brings his hands down from Bakugou’s face and decides to take a swing.

“Do you want me to do it again?” he says.

Bakugou clenches his fists and nods, but Shinsou shakes his head.

“I need a verbal answer,” Shinsou says evenly. “Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes.”

Whenever Shinsou puts someone under, it’s like he’s standing in front of a huge ocean wave – there is something awesome about standing so close to such an immense, weighty power.

But it’s also terrifying, it’s too much power he’s got hold of, and this time, Shinsou feels more than unsettled as he watches Bakugou go blank again.

The effect is dizzying, so much that Shinsou feels like he has to sit down. Instead, he grabs Bakugou’s hands to steady himself. They’re warm and solid, and even though his touch isn't reciprocated, the sensation grounds Shinsou enough to calm him as he closes his eyes.

Bakugou asked for his. He wants to let go.

Shinsou takes a deep breath, the smell of coffee and something lemony wafting into his nose. Then, he blinks his eyes open.

“Tell me why liking my hair bothers you.”

“It’s distracting,” Bakugou says in that same flat voice as before.

“Tell me how.”

“Makes me want to do stuff to you.”

Shinsou’s eyebrows rise at this. This is far from what he’d been thinking, given that their sex life is already… adventurous. He’s not sure what other things Bakugou might want to try.

Shinsou thinks he could stop the questioning here, with more than enough material to roast Bakugou into the next millennium, and maybe enough to goad Bakugou into doing what he wants in bed later on. But Shinsou also really wants to see what he’s talking about now.

“Show me.”

In an instant, Bakugou’s hands graze Shinsou’s forearms, coming up to grasp his shoulders and pull him into a deep kiss.

He still kisses like himself, Shinsou thinks as Bakugou starts to lick into his mouth and nibble on his bottom lip. It’s reassuring. It's still Bakugou in there, doing what he’d ultimately want to do, perhaps if his head wasn’t so loud.

When Shinsou pulls back, Bakugou’s expression remains blank, but he can also see signs of his growing need – flushed cheeks, heavy breaths, the tent forming under his loose basketball shorts.

The sight makes Shinsou’s blood run a bit hotter, and he sincerely hopes that kissing isn’t all that Bakugou wants to do right now.

He gets his wish as Bakugou tightens the grip on his shoulders and slowly urges Shinsou down to his knees onto the cold tile of their kitchen. Bakugou still tilts his head down, cloudy, quirk-affected eyes searching Shinsou’s face for something.

As soon as Shinsou gives a little nod to affirm him, he feels a tug at the bun at the top of his head. Bakugou pulls the elastic out slowly, then drops it on the floor, letting Shinsou’s hair cascade down over his shoulders.

It really had gotten long after all these months without a cut, the ends hitting at just below Shinsou’s collarbone. Bakugou combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking any loose strands behind his ears.

It’s oddly comforting, the careful way he handles Shinsou even while brainwashed. It’s making everything feel pleasant and numb and warm, especially as Bakugou claws his hands to dig lightly into Shinsou’s scalp in circular motions.

He closes his eyes and leans forward, resting his forehead on Bakugou’s hip and clutching his thighs for purchase. Shinsou allows a groan to escape from his lips, feeling a bit like a spoiled cat.

But as quickly as the massage starts, it stops.

Shinsou lets out a pitiful whine, pulling back to see if this is the end of it. He definitely wouldn’t mind it if that turned out to be the case, but he stills as Bakugou quickly runs both palms over his hair and down his neck.

Shinsou's heartbeat skyrockets when Bakugou gathers the length of his hair into one hand, pulls it up, and /twists/.

The change in mood is immediate, pain radiating through Shinsou’s scalp like a one-two punch. It /stings/, the way Bakugou draws his hair taut to wrap around his own wrist for leverage, for control.

Objectively speaking, Bakugou hasn’t even really done anything except tug him back a bit, but Shinsou already feels desire and curiosity simmering in his veins.

Then, it all boils over quickly when Bakugou pushes a thumb between Shinsou’s lips, pries his mouth open wide, and shoves two fingers all the way to the back of his throat.

Unable to recoil from the intrusion because of Bakugou’s hold on his hair, Shinsou gags helplessly, feeling himself flush hot all the way up to his ears.

A stream of saliva runs over his bottom lip, slopping onto the floor with a sickening, cold splat as Bakugou drags his fingers back. When Bakugou jams his fingers in again, he holds them in Shinsou’s mouth for a longer time.

Shinsou tries to breathe properly, but he retches obscenely after a few seconds, forgetting himself and releasing Bakugou from his quirk.

There’s a sharp intake of breath above Shinsou as Bakugou comes to, his hands in Shinsou’s hair and fingers down his throat. He slowly removes his hand from Shinsou’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Bakugou mutters, eyes wide and hovering over Shinsou’s parted lips and slick chin. The look in his eyes is excited and terrified at the same time. It makes Shinsou feel utterly wrecked, despite the fact that nothing has really happened yet.

“This is what you wanted?” Shinsou breathes.

“Holy shit –”

“You wanted me on my knees with my pretty hair around your wrist? That was it? The whole time?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at the smile that curves Shinsou’s mouth. “Fuck, shut up.”

“Never.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue and yanks Shinsou’s head to the side in retaliation, and Shinsou can’t really help but follow. He grits his teeth and winces, arms flying up and behind him to clamber at Bakugou’s wrist.

Shinsou still can’t really do anything though, the lack of control jolting through him and stirring his own cock underneath his joggers. Bakugou forces him back to center with a grin.

“You’re such a perv,” Shinsou bites out.

“Yeah, maybe,” Bakugou says, eyes traveling down to Shinsou’s crotch. “Looks like you like it just as much as I do.”

Shinsou squirms at the words, tests how much he can move his head under Bakugou’s now-conscious hold on him. There’s really not much give, and Shinsou licks his lips when he thinks about what Bakugou was preparing to do before his quirk broke.

“Do I have to put you under again?” Shinsou says, flicking his eyes to Bakugou’s cock, which is still standing at attention underneath his basketball shorts. “Or are you gonna have me take care of that yourself?”

Bakugou doesn’t answer him, but his eyes narrow into slits at the question. It causes a thrill to shoot up Shinsou’s spine. He doesn’t move a muscle as Bakugou pushes his shorts down to his thighs and lets them fall to his ankles, cock springing up to meet him.

It’s bowed, hard, and leaking just millimeters from Shinsou’s face. He gulps and looks up one more time at Bakugou before opening his mouth wide and holding his gaze.

Bakugou doesn’t do anything at first, his eyes sparkling with arousal, like he wants to hold onto the moment as long as possible.

But Shinsou is impatient. He forces himself forward as far as he can against Bakugou’s grasp, sliding his wet tongue just below the head of the cock in front of him.

The effect is worth the pain shooting through his scalp – Bakugou groans loud and long at the touch, and he yanks Shinsou back, straining his neck in the process.

“Hah, shit,” Bakugou breathes. “You want it that bad, baby?”

“God, /fuck yes/,” Shinsou says through gritted teeth. When Bakugou grins somewhat triumphantly, he gives another frustrated huff. “Come on –”

“Have it, then.”

Bakugou immediately jerks Shinsou forward, grunting as he pushes him all the way down the length of his cock in one swift motion. Shinsou’s throat convulses violently around Bakugou, and tears fill his eyes at the painful intrusion.

The lack of breath, the panic that radiates through every inch of his aching lungs – it makes Shinsou rock hard and wanting some sort of reprieve, even if just to rut against Bakugou’s shins.

But the tense hold Bakugou has on him makes him feel frozen in place, unable to move where he wants, and it takes everything in Shinsou to just grab onto the pair of legs in front of him and let Bakugou slam his head up and down on his cock at a sadistic pace.

“Fuck, do know how long I’ve thought about doing this?” Bakugou says. Shinsou is barely listening as pain streaks through the tight wind of his hair, through the drive of the dick tearing into his throat.

"You make such a good cocksleeve with your hair like this. So sweet and easy and obedient and – ah, fuck, you’re so tight –”

The words whip through Shinsou like a right hook to the temple, and he closes his eyes, giving into the relentless jab of Bakugou’s cock into his cheek, hot tears finally spilling down his face to mix with the spit and precum smeared all over his chin and mouth.

The ache feels awful but Shinsou also doesn’t want it to stop, just wants to be good, wants to make Bakugou feel good. It’s satisfying, really, the way Bakugou has swelled to full hardness over his tongue, how smooth and hot he feels sliding in and out of his mouth.

He’s just a wet, warm hole at this point, and the thought makes Shinsou's lashes flutter as his eyes threaten to roll all the way back into his skull. At that moment, however, Bakugou rips him off his cock with a sickening squelching noise.

“Look at me,” Bakugou says.

Shinsou coughs, then slowly opens his eyes halfway, mouth wide and gulping down lungfuls of air. The oxygen is tasty and his scalp has gone pleasantly numb to the hairs threatening to tear away at the follicle.

Shinsou’s eyes dart around as he gets his bearings, Bakugou’s face drifting in and out of focus.

“You want more?” Bakugou whispers.

When Shinsou nods, he growls and tugs him up roughly.

Shinsou’s arms waver on Bakugou’s thighs until he’s standing on shaky, sore legs. He vaguely registers Bakugou nosing at his hairline, almost like he’s smelling his hair, and then he feels Bakugou licking into his mouth, all warm and sweet.

“Your head ok?” Bakugou murmurs.

“I… don’t really feel it anymore.”

Cursing, Bakugou releases his hair, and it falls in a twist behind Shinsou’s head. Both of Bakugou's hands come up to massage him again, and Shinsou leans into it, hands grasping onto the back of Bakugou’s t-shirt.

Bakugou tilts his head down, and they kiss again, soft and slow, pushing and pulling at each other like the ocean tide.

“Don’t move,” he adds, breaking the kiss and pecking Shinsou’s cheek. Then, he’s slithering down to his knees and laving his tongue over his own palm.

Once he’s at eye-level with Shinsou’s waist, Bakugou makes quick work of his joggers and boxers with clever fingers, and Shinsou shudders at the first touch to his now-exposed cock.

“Fuck,” Shinsou says, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. It's good, a scorching, silver heat that stokes the need that’s coursing through him, all adrenaline and exposed nerves and rushing blood.

Shinsou moans loudly, hips canting forward into Bakugou’s hand, then suddenly something warm and wet wraps around the tip of his cock.

He looks down to see Bakugou sucking at him, lips shiny with spit, hand pumping him in languid, slow strokes. He likes the way Bakugou’s eyes are closed, apparently savoring the taste.

“Shit,” Shinsou whispers. “Baby, come on, more, more, more –”

Bakugou pops off of him with a feral grin, rises up to kiss him. He presses a knee between Shinsou’s legs and takes hold of both of them between a spit-slicked hand to rut together, all hot and heavy.

Forgetting Bakugou’s instructions, Shinsou’s hands twitch up to rip Bakugou’s shirt off, then to hold his face close. He peppers kisses on the corners of Bakugou’s swollen lips and trails down to suck marks onto his clavicle.

Bakugou’s noises grow more desperate as the rhythm of his hand over them quickens, cock practically shivering with pleasure against Shinsou’s, and Shinsou likes how this feels. He leans in to whisper into Bakugou’s ear.

“That’s so good baby, come on, faster,” he urges, feeling his own arousal building up in his gut. “Did you like using my mouth like that? It was good wasn’t it, I know you liked it, so come on, lemme see you. I wanna see you come.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou groans. “Yes, that was – you’re so fucking hot, sweetheart, so pretty, I’m gonna –”

Shinsou pitches forward and kisses him as Bakugou shudders and comes over both of them. Bringing his own hand down to keep jerking both of them, Shinsou quickly follows Bakugou over the edge, jolting as the pleasure breaks in him and spills over their hands.

He drops his head on Bakugou’s shoulder, panting and letting his breathing even out and deepen.

As he comes down from it, Shinsou is suddenly aware of the bright smell of the coffee beans around them, the salty slick that sticks to his chin and upper lip, the sweat clinging to his back under his t-shirt.

He feels gross, his throat a little raspy, but, overall, he feels lighter, satisfied with their “talk.”

“So,” Shinsou says, raising his head to look into Bakugou’s face. “You still want me to get that haircut?”

Bakugou snorts, pulling Shinsou into a bear hug and pressing a kiss into his neck. Shinsou yelps and laughs when Bakugou follows with a playful chomp in the same spot.

He’ll take that as a “no.”

(end)

thank you for reading!! this story is now on ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/26056501 

ty to @ladybug_writes + @useless_donut for beta reading <3

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i am also holding a b-day raffle atm, so if you are interested in entering to win a free fic please consider taking a look at the raffle post below :) https://twitter.com/ohmyfrooch/status/1295075160547037184?s=20