it’s about to get genderfucky in here but good evening to Eijirou having MASSIVE insecurity around Mina.

krbk, gender envy, some dysphoria, feminization, cross dressing, we’ll see how it goes

Mina brings out the worst in Eijirou. Gender envy, general jealousy, and a mean competitive streak when it comes to Bakugou, especially now that Mina seems to just love to fuck with him. She loves to /tease/ Bakugou, and the fact that Bakugou lets it happen

makes Eijirou see red.

it drives him to see how he’d measure up against her—in private, of course. he fluffs his hair up with mousse instead of gel. lines his eyes, curls his lashes, runs a wand of sticky, shiny, strawberry-flavored gloss over his lips. he slips into an orange

spaghetti-strap crop top he bought online and a too-tight pair of black lace boyshorts, so low-cut that his cock peeks out the scalloped band at the top and his balls test the seam on the crotch. he thinks about tucking everything back just to see how it looks, but then he

remembers the olive-green thigh-high socks he bought and rushes to slip them on. they feel good on his freshly shaved legs, soft and silky and just tight enough that they indent his thick, muscular thighs.

He takes a look at himself in the mirror, from the front, from behind.

the impression is startling. he lifts a hand to his mouth, stopping right before his fingers touch the rosy gloss on his lips. He drops down on his knees, scoots a little closer. spreads his thighs, tries out what he thinks is a sexy pose. It’s stiff at first, but then he

breathes and shifts his hips a little and—oh, that doesn’t look half bad. he drags a hand down his chest, tugging the skimpy top down below his pebbled nipples. he pushes his pecs together, trying to decide if—well, he knows he looks hot. he feels hot. but is he hotter than

mina? is he hot /enough?/

“What. The fuck,” comes a voice from behind, and it’s then that Eijirou sees Bakugou in the mirror, part-way inside the room, frozen in the doorway with a look of blank shock on his face.

Eijirou blanches and drops his hands to cover his half-hard cock

“Don’t—shit, man, you weren’t supposed to—“

“Who /the fuck/ are you dressed up for?”

Bakugou sounds mad. He closes—no, slams the door behind him. In the mirror, his face is stormy, eyes narrowed and fists balled at his sides as he shifts his gaze between Eijirou’s reflection

and his lace-covered ass.

“No one,” Eijirou says, dropping his head. God, what an awful time to cry. “I’m dressed up for myself.”

Bakugou’s eyes soften, but a muscle in his jaw ticks like he’s grinding his teeth.

“You’re a shitty liar,” he says, kneeling behind Eijirou,

sifting a shockingly gentle hand through Eijirou’s loose, wavy hair.

“Bakugou—”

“You’re wearing my colors,” Bakugou says, voice low and raspy, almost a hiss. “Think you’re subtle? What, you thought you’d dress up like a little whore for me and rile me up? Make me want you?”

“Bakugou, come on,” Eijirou says, eyes stinging as unshed tears cling to his painted eyelashes.

“Stupid fucking plan,” Bakugou says, gathering up Eijirou’s hair in his fist. He tugs softly, drawing Eijirou’s head up until their eyes meet in the mirror again.

“I already wanted you.”

Eijirou gasps.

“I was gonna take it slow with you,” Bakugou says, leaning down so he can wrap both hands around Eijirou’s neck. “But you don’t look like you can wait.”

Bakugou’s hands are hot and damp with sweat and the danger of it makes Eijirou dizzy.

“You look like you need to get fucked right now,” Bakugou says, draping his body over Eijirou’s, one hand dragging up grip Eijirou’s jaw. “Is that right, pretty boy?”

Eijirou moans at the nickname. Pretty, pretty, Bakugou thinks he’s pretty.

“Going stupid already?

You need me to fuck some sense into you, hm?”

“Yeah,” Eijirou pants, dropping forward when Bakugou shoves him up against the mirror. He braces on one arm, uses the other to help Bakugou shimmy his lacy panties down.

“Fuck, look at you,” Bakugou murmurs, dragging a hand

up Eijirou’s thigh to grip at his ass. “You shaved for me?”

“Yeah,” Eijirou rasps, flushing with embarrassment.

“Such a slut,” Bakugou hisses, shoving his sweatpants down. He slots his cock up between Eijirou’s cheeks and grinds. “You /knew/ this would happen.”

Eijirou squirms, real shame creeping up in his chest, but Bakugou keeps him from turning around with a hand at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t, I swear, I—“

“I did,” Bakugou whispers, tapping the wet head of his cock against Eijirou’s hole. “You didn’t cover your tracks,

pretty boy.”

He presses forward, spears Eijirou open with the blunt, wet head of his cock and Eijirou crumples against the mirror, breath caught in his throat.

“Saw the label on that package you got,” Bakugou growls, pushing in another inch. “And you left that fancy razor in

the locker room shower.”

Eijirou chokes on air. He wants to talk back, wants to chastize Bakugou for stalking him. But it’s all he can do just to hold himself up as Bakugou bottoms out inside him. He’s so /full/ he can hardly think.

“Breathe,” Bakugou murmurs,

dropping his forehead to Eijirou’s shoulder. “Relax, or I’m not gonna last.”

“Can’t,” Eijirou groans, tears slipping down his face, leaving black trails of mascara. Bakugou meets his eyes in the mirror, wincing, brows drawn, lip curled on clenched teeth.

cw for afab terms and degradation. bkg gets mean!!!

.

“Come on, baby,” Bakugou croons, his hot hands digging into Eijirou’s skin. His voice is low and sweet and quiet, intimate, and it sends chills down Eijirou’s spine. Eijirou gasps in a little breath and then another, and

and the hot spike of pressure-pleasure-pain in his guts blossoms into deep, druglike euphoria.

“That’s right, let me in,” Bakugou groans, pumping his hips in slow, shallow circles. “Guess you only look like a whore, huh? This pussy’s so fucking tight.”

Eijirou sobs,

breath clouding the mirror, fuzzing out his reflection. Like that, with all his sharp edges softened, he looks a little smaller, a little more feminine. A little meeker, shaking and humming out a high, needy sound as Bakugou gives him a real thrust, long and hard and bruising.

“You like that?” Bakugou growls, curling his hand around Eijirou’s jaw. “Who does this tight little pussy belong to?”

“I—it—“ Eijirou gasps, sweaty hands slipping on the glossy mirror. He can’t get his balance, not with Bakugou fucking him so hard he can

barely breathe.

“C’mon, tell me,” Bakugou growls, nipping at Eijirou’s ear. “Say ‘it belongs to Bakugou Katsuki.’”

“My, my pussy, /ah,/ b-belongs,” Eijirou huffs, toes curling, “to B-bakugou Ka—“

“Oh shit,” Bakugou grunts, rocking Eijirou up against the mirror and pinning

him there. The veins in his arms bulge as he cums, eyes squeezed shut, teeth grit, head thrown back just far enough that Eijirou can see his reflection, can see the mix of shock and embarrassment and raw need all flash over his reddened face.

“Fuck,” Bakugou groans, dropping

his forehead to Eijirou’s shoulder. “You’re making me a minute man.”

“Sorry,” Eijirou says, wriggling in Bakugou’s lax grasp.

“Did you just apologize for being really fucking hot?” Bakugou says, slipping a hand down Eijirou’s abs, fingers inching toward his flushed,

neglected cock.

“It’s okay,” Eijirou clips, grabbing Bakugou’s wrist. “I don’t want to. Not like, um.”

Bakugou lifts his head, meets Eijirou’s eyes in the mirror. His face is so soft, so relaxed. It strikes Eijirou then how /beautiful/ they look together, even with

Bakugou’s hair messed up, even with the mess they made of Eijirou’s makeup.

“I get it,” Bakugou says, pulling out with a wince. “You want me to finger this sloppy cunt instead, huh doll?”

Eijirou blushes at the pet name and nods at Bakugou’s reflection.

Bakugou eases back, pulls Eijirou with him. He gently maneuvers them until Eijirou is stretched out in front of him, head pillowed on his arms, ass up, knees spread—exposed, spread out so lewd that he can barely stand to look at himself. But low groan Bakugou lets out as

he drags his fingers through the mess between Eijirou’s thighs is all hunger, all desire, and it helps Eijirou relax.

“So fucking hot,” Bakugou mumbles, half in awe, as he slips two fingers inside, slicked by his own cum. He’s a little clumsy at first, breathing harsh

and twisting his thick fingers experimentally, almost timid. But it isn’t long before Eijirou starts to squirm, before Bakugou finds his rhythm again.

“Like that?” he asks, crooking his fingers, smoothing his free hand up the small of Eijirou’s back.

“Mmhm.” Eijirou tilts his

hips, chases that electric feeling that has him right on edge. “Harder.”

Bakugou dips his head down, presses a kiss to each dimple in Eijirou’s back, and rocks his fingers in hard. He lolls out his tongue, sucks at one plush cheek, then laps at the pink, sore flesh stretched

tight around his thick fingers.

“Oh fuck,” Eijirou whines, thighs shaking. “Yeah, please, please.”

Bakugou groans low and slurps harder, twists and scissors his fingers. He reaches his free hand up to slip beneath Eijirou’s tanktop, plucking at his tight,

ruddy nipple.

“Gonna, ah,” Eijirou pants.

“Gonna cum for me?” Bakugou growls. “C’mon, gorgeous, you can do it.”

Eijirou clamps down, body locked tight, cum dribbling from his untouched cock with each harsh curl of Bakugou’s fingers. He sobs with the intensity of it,

fists balled and face buried, curtained with his own perfumed hair. Bakugou works him through it, drags it out, stroking his side, licking and sucking at his ass, his low back, kissing up his spine to bite at his shoulder. It’s the longest, most annihilating orgasm Eijirou’s

ever had, and when he finally lifts his head, he can barely see. Everything is hazy, fuzzed out and glowy, or maybe that’s the tears on his lashes. He’s vaguely aware of Bakugou scooping him up and settling them both down on the bed.

Bakugou curls around him, cradles Eijirou’s

head to his chest. Pulls the blanket over them and lays there, softly petting at Eijirou’s hair.

It’s a long time before their breathing evens out. Before Bakugou’s heartbeat in Eijirou’s ear slows down again, low hypnotic thump that lulls him half asleep.

“Hey,” Bakugou says quietly.

Eijirou buries his face in Bakugou’s chest. He plays with the strings of Bakugou’s sweat pants, still just a little too overstimulated to look him in the eye.

“Hey.”

“What’s going on in that rock hard head of yours?”

“Oh,” Eijirou hums, licking the remnants of strawberry lipgloss from his lips. “I’m happy I guess.”

“You guess?” Bakugou grumbles, rubbing gently at Eijirou’s scalp.

“Yeah, I mean. Ah. I like you.”

“Duh.”

“And I just thought it would never happen, you know?”

Bakugou scoffs.

“Fucking why not?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Eijirou says, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “Thought I wasn’t good enough. Thought you were straight, I guess.”

“I am,” Bakugou says flatly.

Eijirou startles. Lifts his head. And for the first time that night, looks Bakugou directly in the eye. Bakugou’s face is soft and relaxed, infuriatingly neutral.

“Bakugou. What does that mean?”

Bakugou tucks a lock of hair behind Eijirou’s ear, and leaves his hand there, rough fingers just barely touching Eijirou’s cheek. He tips his head forward, slow and deliberate, until their noses touch. And he waits, thumb stroking over the high curve of Eijirou’s cheekbone.

And it’s all so much, Eijirou wants to crawl out of his skin or shout or cry or dissolve into nothing, and when Bakugou reads all that in his black-rimmed eyes, he closes the space between them.

It’s a mind-numbing kiss. Thought-obliterating, bossy, filthy, open-mouthed kiss.

When he pulls back, Eijirou’s reeling again—but relaxed. Soft. As though Bakugou sucked all the fear right out of him.

“You tell me what it means,” Bakugou whispers between soft kisses to the corner of Eijirou’s mouth. “When you’re ready.”

~*~

It’s a hard-won, infuriating, ecstatic, challenging, renewing, ego-crushing six months of quietly dating before Katsuki calls his parents and tells them he’s bringing his girlfriend home to meet them.

Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover the way Eiji feels, fixing her

hair in a gas station bathroom on the edge of Katsuki’s hometown.

Katsuki’s there with her, arms crossed over his chest, ready for—for /anything,/ bless him. He’s nervous too, by the tic in his jaw and the way he can’t keep his hands still. But he hasn’t rushed her, not

once the whole day, and not now as she fixes her face one last time.

Eiji’s not sure if they made the right choice, going in without prepping Katsuki’s family. But it’s what Katsuki wanted, and she trusts him, so she puts on a smile and slips her hand in his and

knocks on the door to his childhood home.

It’s Masaru that answers, smiling right back at them, and his casual, subdued energy makes Eiji relax just a fraction. After all, it’s Mitsuki she’s worried about, since they met once before. Before—

“So you weren’t lying, you really

have a girlfriend, huh, brat?”

“God, shut /up,/“ Katsuki grumbles, allowing his mother all of a two second hug before he shrugs her off. “Ma, you know Eiji.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bakugou,” Eiji says, nervous hand scratching at the back of her neck. Mitsuki looks her up and down,

and it’s only because Eiji knows Katsuki so well that she can read the subtle changes in Mitsuki’s face. There’s a critical gleam to her eyes, a twitch of her lips like she’s thinking. Then it all gets replaced by a menacing smile, and she claps a hand to

Eiji’s shoulder.

“Now you’re gonna have to tell me how in the hell did this happen,” Mitsuki says.

“Ma,” Katsuki growls, but Mitsuki pinches his cheek, cutting him off.

“How is it that my ungrateful monster of a son landed such a beautiful girl?” Mitsuki says.

She turns to Eiji with exaggerated concern on her face. “It’s okay, honey, just blink twice if he’s blackmailing you to be here.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Bakugou, it’s totally fine,” Eiji says, relief so palpable that she starts to giggle.

“You think you’re funny, you old hag?”

“Ignore him,” Mitsuki says, looping her arm around Eiji’s shoulder. “Come help me with dinner.”

“Leave her alone, she can’t cook for shit,” Bakugou growls.

“You /brat,/“ Mitsuki growls back.

“Oh, but it’s true,” Eiji says, but she lets

Mitsuki drag her toward the kitchen anyway.

And the bustle of it all edges out all the nerves. Overpowers the anxiety, the fear, the feelings of inadequacy, until Eiji’s happily peeling potatoes and chatting with Katsuki’s mom. Relaxed. Happy, even, giddy at the

thought that this is where Katsuki grew up. This is the kitchen that taught him to cook, and there are the stairs to his room, and the yard he played in, and the tree that he fell from and broke his arm.

And Katsuki is so like his mother that it’s easy for Eiji to help her, to have a towel ready before Mitsuki asks, to do things just so. Eiji /fits/ in this house, the last body in a long-empty seat. The first person Katsuki’s ever brought home—“And the last, if he knows what’s

good for him,” Mitsuki says—and the only one Katsuki’s allowed into his room since he was about twelve years old.

“You were so cute,” Eiji says, picking up a photo of Katsuki’s little-league baseball team. “What happened?”

“Grew up,” Katsuki grunts. “It’s only gonna get worse.

You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Hmm, I think you’re gonna stay hot though. Like your dad.”

Katsuki grabs Eiji from behind, wrapping his hands around her waist.

“I did /not/ just hear you say that.”

“Say what?” Eiji says, squirming around to look at Katsuki

with wide, innocent eyes.

“Bitch,” Katsuki hisses, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re gonna get it for that one.”

“Hope so,” Eiji hums.

“Eiji! Brat! Dinner!” Mitsuki yells up the stairs.

Eiji laughs, pressing her forehead to Katsuki’s.

“I like your family,” she says. “They’re nice.”

“They’re your family too,” Katsuki says. He bonks his forehead against hers. “I’m your family now, remember?”

Eiji laughs against Katsuki’s lips, too elated to properly kiss back.

“Come on,” Katsuki says, slipping his hand into hers. “The sooner we eat, the sooner I can show you that tree house I was talking about.”

“This late? What are we gonna do in a tree house at this time of—/oh./ Oh, yeah let’s go eat.”

@threader_app unroll