#mainly because i can't bear the thought of them roaming around freely to terrorize me and make my home filthy

[lightseoul]

a/n. wrote this immediately after i killed a cockroach for my older brother of 10 years. needless to say, his screaming emboldened me to be the braver person. this led me straight to domestic moments with bkg. (0.7k)

“how the fuck did that get in here?”

he says it so incredulously that you can’t help it—you snort. bakugou’s glare instantly shifts to you—unwavering—from where it was laser-focused a second ago.

right at the massive ass cockroach on his kitchen wall.

his eyebrows furrow even further at you. “are you fucking laughing?”

“no—sorry—” you start, although you cut yourself off with another giggle. he’s trying to keep glaring at you, but a smile threatens to tug at the corners of his lips.

“sorry, what?” he goads, and you shake your head, grinning.

“it’s just…” you gesture to the two of you as if that’s enough of an explanation in itself.

you’re barefoot—standing near the microwave, above and slightly to the left of which the pest is currently located—with one of bakugou’s house slippers on hand. the other one is wielded by the owner himself, although he’s standing a few feet away from you, seemingly in shock.

“don’t—” he spits out hurriedly, “—just keep your fucking eyes trained on it, dumbass.”

“right. sorry.”

you look back at the object of bakugou’s disgust, and it’s flapping its wings now as if it’s readying itself for flight.

the pro-hero must’ve noticed, too, because you see him stiffen through your peripheral vision.

“quick,” he croaks, “kill it.”

you whip to look at him, shocked. “me? you’re closer to it, you do it.”

“just—”

whatever rebuttal bakugou was planning to spew out doesn’t get to see the light of day because just as you predicted it would, the fucking cockroach takes off and flies.

straight into bakugou.

your hulking, #4 pro-hero of a boyfriend stumbles back and screams, barely dodging the pest just as it brushes against a strand of his freshly washed ash-blonde hair. before you know it, bakugou falls on his ass, and the cockroach lands on top of his pristine kitchen counter.

your body acts before your brain can catch up.

you dive, and you slam his perfectly good footwear onto the bug. you smack it again for good measure, before flipping the slipper upside down only to see the gross remains of the vile critter that almost sent the man into a cardiac arrest.

speaking of.

you hold up the object for bakugou—who’s still sitting flat on his butt, wide eyes trained on you—as evidence. you shoot him a placating look, “see? good as dead.”

bakugou studies it for a moment—as if he’s waiting for it to resurrect and jump on him—before he finally decides that it’s a goner. he sighs, bringing himself back on his bare feet.

“thanks,” he mutters, “…babe.”

“no problem,” you offer, “though, i don’t see what the big deal was, kats.”

at that, the bashful look of gratitude that was just etched on his face is immediately replaced by flat-out embarrassment.

“did you see how fucking big that thing was?”

“yeah…?”

“there was no way that was festering inside my home.”

you tamp on the grin that’s fighting to take over your mouth. “that why you basically collapsed in fear?”

“i didn't—” he splutters, before thinking it’s apparently better to change the topic altogether. “why did you have to use my slipper, huh?”

“i left mine in the living room,” you pout. “you shouted my name and i ran here before i could put them on.”

bakugou stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to come up with a smartass retort, before shaking his head in what you think is resignation.

“yeah, well, thanks again.”

you watch the pro-hero as he takes the decorated slipper from you with obvious repulsion, heading back towards the living room.

“where are you going?” you call out.

he stops, turning to look at you. “the rooftop. i’ll blast this shit to hell.”

bakugou, in fact, does send his poor slippers to hell that night.

but not before calling the exterminator.

because that shit needed to be taken care of—if he wanted you to accept when he finally invites you to move in with him.

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