dynaxplosion

[dynaxplosion]

seeing my man with his canonical love interest 💔💔💔💔

[dynaxplosion]

this is baed on a post I saw a while back

*not proofread*

katsuki bakugo didn’t think y’alls relationship would become anything more than platonic. quite frankly, nobody thought that y’all would even have any relation to each other. But platonic or not, you’re still going to be stuck on your bed with your best friend’s face between your legs.

“kats, if we stay in this position any longer my feet are going to go fuzzy,” you groan, trying to cross your legs around his back.

bakugo’s body was laying down on your legs, arms wrapped around your lower thighs, and half his face on your crotch while he scrolled through his phone.

when he’s not training, working out or doing schoolwork, he’s in your dorm. that's not really often though since most of the time he is doing those things. but whenever he has the chance he barge's into your room, stops you from doing whatever you’re doing, and drags you on your bed, so he can lay on “his personal pillow”.

neither of y’all can remember when this habit of his started, but neither of y’all mind it. so, does it matter?

“this is my quiet relaxation time and you’re really going to talk during it?” he scoffs, “you better not move your damn legs.”

you know that he won’t move no matter how many times you ask. soon enough he put down his phone and smothers himself in your thighs. 

“being like this won’t help our ‘just friends' case. you left my door unlocked, someone might come in.” 

“so what? let’em see”

[dynaxplosion]

CRASHOUT CENTRAL!

synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not

notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings

he’s pacing.

shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.

kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.

“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”

“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.

katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”

“right.”

“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”

“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.

katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”

kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”

“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”

kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”

katsuki freezes.

“…you think?”

“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”

katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.

“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?

after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”

katsuki sits up. furious.

he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.

“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”

and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.

because he wants you to mean it so badly.

but he has no idea if you do.

masterlist

[dynaxplosion]

bakugou kisses you—for the lip balm

𖦹 content. k.bakugou x fem!reader. fluff

Bakugou wasn’t exactly a PDA guy. Everyone knew that. He didn’t do hand-holding in front of the squad, and he’d sooner blast himself into orbit than say something mushy out loud.

But damn, your lip balm drove him crazy.

You were sitting on the couch in his dorm room, legs tossed over his lap, scrolling on your phone while he pretended to focus on the show playing. Your lips were slightly glossy—he noticed immediately. A light pink tint, shiny and sweet.

He leaned in without warning, cupping your jaw and kissing you, firm and deliberate.

You blinked, caught off guard, but smiled into it.

When he pulled away, you looked up at him with an amused glint in your eyes. “Another kiss? That’s the third time in ten minutes.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, looking away like you’d just insulted him. “You talk too much. Had to shut you up.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Or… you just really like my new lip balm?”

He froze.

You smirked. “Cherry blossom. Figured I’d try something new.”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he grumbled, but the way his ears turned red gave him away. “You’re just always putting that shiny crap on.”

You leaned closer, lips just inches from his. “You sure? Because you seem to kiss me more when I’m wearing it.”

He said nothing.

Then kissed you again.

Maybe twice.

And he still never admitted it.

©rosereveries

[dynaxplosion]

*not proof read*

friend!bakugo who genuinely gives a slight fuck about you

which is completely crazy to say because…well, because it’s thee katsuki bakugo. he treats everyone the same shitty way, except for you. but hey, at least he’s not yelling in your ear every 5 seconds telling you to die.

friend!bakugo who attempts to tutor you, but fails

not because you're stupid or anything. it's the patience being a tutor requires and bakugo has none of that. every session is like a ticking time bomb game and a wrong answer equals the wrong wire.

friend!bakugo who finds himself buying things you said you like or ‘just because’ things

sure, you didn't mind, but it was quite odd how every trip he went on something was brought back for you. trinkets, snacks, even a bracelet. you never let the thought linger too much though, maybe he was just being nice?

friend!bakugo who is your late night convenience store buddy

surprisingly enough, it's not denki. it started when you mentioned being hungry and awake late at night during one of your tutoring sessions, but was quickly dropped after he scolded you for worrying about food instead of the work at hand. 

but later he hit you with a ‘you up?’ message asking if you were hungry. which you were both. after a bit of tip-toeing and whisper yells, y’all snuck out and bought snacks at a nearby store. it soon became a little hangout sesh with you finding yourself waking up in his dorm 2x a week.

friend!bakugo who realizes he has you in his bed after these trips

you fall asleep quickly, so after returning back from a successful heist, you find yourself flopping onto his beanbag chair. curled up into a position that’s most definitely going to hurt in the morning, bakugo can't leave you like that.

he picks you up and gently places you in the inner corner of his bed. he follows right after and accidentally big spoons you. both of you are turned to the side, you're pressed up against his front, and his arm is around your waist. upon this realization, bakugo curses himself for allowing him to do this, but he can't help it.

crushing!bakugo who gets this weird feeling when he’s around you

“it’s not a feeling of love, it's a feeling of tolerance” he tells kirishima. for him tolerance is love. it is deniable the things he does for you is 100% out of character for him. not screaming in your ear whatsoever, actually trying to tutor you, buying your things, ruining his sleep schedule, breaking ua rules, and cuddling with you? boy was he fucked.

crushing!bakugo who tries to downplay his feelings for you

he tries to push down his feelings for you, he really does. but its not enough. his ears turn red and his insides do backflips every time you're around. you obviously notice, but decide to let him bring it up whenever he’s ready.

crushing!bakugo who is in fact never ready

he would rather you be the person to say it instead of him. what if you don't like him like that and reject him? he thinks he might spiral out and kill everyone out of pure embarrassment.

bf!bakugo who accepts your confession

youve liked him for a while now, might as well get it all out since he won't. it was a simple confession. y’all had just come back from a convenience store run, and were chilling on his bed finishing up some snacks when you let the bomb drop. 

“you know i like you right?”

“yeah.”

“and you like me back too?”

“duh? why else would i let you stay in my room?”

“i know. just wanted to hear it from you.”

you put your phone on his nightstand and cuddled up to him face to face. you caressed his face wondering why it took you this long to confess but nonetheless you did it. you had the boy you wanted in bed with you and his hand placing your thigh on top of his and rubbing it.

“i could get used to this.” you smiled

“i already have”

a/n: might become a bakugo/mark only account

[dynaxplosion]

Ready or Not | Bakugou Katsuki

CW: Pregnant reader, Katsuki is a husband/father.

For once in his life, Bakugou Katsuki isn't prepared.

As a student, he studied hard, aced all of his exams. As a hero, he trained hard, won big. As a husband, nothing goes unnoticed: dinner is planned, the house is cleaned, and every important date is saved in his calendar. Your anniversary, your birthday... and now, something new.

The birth of his child.

For once in his life, Bakugou Katsuki isn't prepared.

He's not prepared to be a father. But he tries.

He never really imagined himself as one, but when you announced to him that you were pregnant, your eyes brimming with tears (of excitement or anxiety or both, he wasn't really sure), he knew it was a role he was going to step into, ready or not. He wrapped you in his arms and promised that he would do everything he could to protect his little growing family, to play an active part. And he meant it.

He reads a book titled "Newborns, New Parents: A Guide to Early Parenthood." His brow furrows beneath his reading glasses just going through the table of contents. There is so much to remember and so little time. Nine months will fly by, he knows this, so he takes notes in the margins, bookmarks chapters he think you might find interesting, and passes the book to you when he's done.

He attends your doctor appointments with you, holding your hand through every examination, listening intently to what the doctor has to say. He makes sure all your questions get answered when you feel too tired to speak up, and checks and double checks that he understands everything. He seems confident in his role as your advocate until the appointment for the sonogram that determines the gender of the baby. His foot taps nervously on the tile as you sit together in the doctor's office.

"What gender do you want it to be?" You asked.

He thinks for a moment. "I don't care, as long as it's ours."

But when he's told it's a girl, he feels himself getting emotional. A girl. He's going to have a daughter. In that moment in the doctor's office, he sees a vision of himself beyond anything he's ever imagined, a vision of a future with you, a little hand in his, a giggle in his ear.

"Are you ok, Katsuki?" You pat his shoulder, concerned. "You haven't said anything."

"Sorry." He murmurs. His eyes don't leave the sonogram image. "I'm just... I'm just so happy right now."

You nod. You understand perfectly.

After that, he can only prepare more. He helps you choose baby clothes, pointing out what would be comfortable in addition to being cute. He works on the nursery every day, putting together furniture and hanging the decor you've chosen out. He continues to read books and articles with endless advice for caregivers, even though he's starting to think they're all rather repetitive. It's only as he's beginning to feel like maybe he could be prepared that you go into labor, and suddenly he's not prepared at all. Within hours, there will be a baby in your arms, and it's terrifying.

It's terrifying that he can't help you through the labor. There's nothing he can do to ease your pain or to make it go faster, despite how much you beg. All he can do is rub your back, stay out of the way of your medical team, and tell you you're doing great. Are you doing great? He doesn't feel qualified enough to know, and that's terrifying too. But eventually, after seemingly endless hours of toil, the baby is delivered and he's holding her for the first time.

"Katsuki look, she has your eyes." You say.

"I know." He wipes tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "Damn it, she's perfect."

You couldn't have said it better yourself.

The next few hours are a blur in the hospital, but eventually you are released to go home. When you return to the apartment as three instead of two, it hits him how different things are going to be. But when he looks at the little bundle in your arms, he thinks he finally understands why babies are called bundles of joy. He's in a bubble of it, the warmth, the adoration, the love. Becoming a father is the best miracle that has ever happened to him.

Until the sleepless nights build up. He knew that they were coming, but nobody could've warned him enough how exhausting it would be. He's not even the one who gave birth and he's already feeling overwhelmed. He takes over bottle feeding whenever he can on the off chance that you can get some rest, he learns how to change diapers and comfort his daughter when she cries. He offers comfort to you too, reminding you how strong and how beautiful you are through it all.

When his parental leave is up, he's guilty to admit that he feels ready to go back to work. He loves this little family of his, but he’s starting to doubt himself. Being a father is difficult, being a good one feels impossible. The things that he thought made him a good husband have been put to the backburner: meal prepping, house cleaning, anything that isn't you or the baby is no longer a priority. He returns to work with bags under his eyes, and the jokes his coworkers make about his obvious lack of sleep aren't funny at all. Being a parent of a newborn is hard, have they all forgotten that?

It's raining as he takes the train home. The apartment elevator is broken, so he treks up the stairs instead. He hesitates at the door of his home, the home he built with you, the person waiting for him inside. He questions himself again. Is he prepared?

He remembers your smile. The way his daughter’s tiny fingers close around his thumb. How you laugh when you hear the baby babble. The look of relief on your face when he comes home.

He is prepared.

He opens the door, prepared to hear crying, but all is silent except for the sound of the rain pattering on the windows. The lights in the living room are dimmed, but he can make out the silhouette of his wife on the couch, a bundle in her arms. He takes off his shoes and walks over quietly, so quietly, not wanting to disturb either of his girls.

You must have sensed his presence, because you sleepily open your eyes. Upon seeing him, you put your index finger to your lips, motioning for him to be quiet. He copies you, and smiles. He sits on the couch next to you and holds his arms out, silently offering to take the baby. You oblige, gently passing her over, but the movement is enough to jostle her awake. Her little eyes blink open slowly with an unfocused gaze as you both hold your breath, waiting for the crying to begin. It never does. She yawns before closing her eyes again, safe in her father's arms.

You lean your head on Katsuki's shoulder and begin a whispered conversation.

"Doesn't this make it all worth it?" You ask.

"She's always been worth it. You both are." He says.

He turns to peck you on the top of your head before looking down again at your sleeping baby. The rain continues to pour outside, but the home you've made with him is safe and warm. There may be another sleepless night ahead, but he wouldn't trade it for anything- his whole world is right here.

[dynaxplosion]

a/n. based on the prompt "i want to go home to my wife” courtesy of @/creativepromptsforwriting (very bkg-coded, i know.) (0.7k)

it’s probably by the tenth sigh of the night—not that anyone’s counting—that poor kaminari finally snaps.

“seriously, dude?”

bakugou, who’s seated across from him with kirishima and sero adjacent to the both of them, only lazily raises an eyebrow in question.

at that, the electric hero pouts. “at least try to pretend you’re having fun.”

a few feet ahead of them—the men collectively chose to be seated at the back of the small dive bar despite kaminari’s protests—the stand-up comedian currently doing a set cracks another joke. an undercurrent of laughter flows across the room, but none of the four contribute to that.

“sorry, denki,” sero starts, a not-so-apologetic expression plastered on his face. “i’m with bakugou on this one.”

the slim, ebony-haired man glances at the stage, “the jokes aren’t landing for me either.”

“aww, come on, you guys!” kirishima, the ever-unfailing saint that he is, pipes up with a borderline overcompensating grin. “let’s just stay for a while longer for denki, alright?”

sero shrugs in response, but turns in his seat toward the stage anyway. bakugou, on the other hand, only grumbles before reaching for his phone in his right pocket.

thumbing his password under the table, his fingers click on the messages app, then to his number one favorite contact.

for a second, he debates whether or not to shoot you a text. you were so excited to finally get started on that anime you’ve been meaning to watch, that you almost seemed like you didn’t care that he was leaving you home for the night to hang out with the guys.

biting on his lip, he absentmindedly goes through your last exchange before finally deciding fuck it.

while typing out a well-crafted message, his eyes dart between his screen to his friends then back down again, trying to seem inconspicuous.

the last thing he needs is for the bored tape hero to tease him with that annoying ass shit-eating grin of his.

reading through it one last time, bakugou finally presses the send button.

much to his delight, it doesn’t even take you a minute to reply.

(8:43 PM) baby 🧡: heey! i’m still watching—am on episode 5 now. hbu? aren’t you busy with the boys?

the smile he wasn’t aware he’s been sporting immediately drops when he’s reminded of the predicament he’s in. peering back up at the front, he has to fight the groan that threatens to bubble from his mouth when another performer goes up.

oh, well. at least you’re texting him right now.

he quickly types out his response.

(8:45 PM) me: Busy being fucking tortured. This is the worst night ever.

“yo, bro, who got you smiling like that?”

bakugou whips to glare at the culprit, who’s now wearing the very same shit-eating grin he’s just been thinking about avoiding a few moments ago.

pocketing his phone, bakugou snarls at the man. “shut the fuck up. all that doom-scrolling is rotting your fucking brain.”

“i think you getting the reference says something about you, too, bakubro,” kirishima offers from beside him.

bakugou shoots the redhead a menacing scowl, which the unbreakable hero accepts in stride.

“are you guys even listening?” comes kaminari’s whine.

“sorry, denks,” sero replies, before turning to regard the rest of the group. “i thought we agreed to stop doing these guys’ night outs? none of us are as good at planning get-togethers as mina.”

at that slightest bit of opening, bakugou takes the opportunity and moves to stand up, grabbing his wallet and car keys before inserting them in his back pocket, surprising the three men.

before any of them can say a single word, though, bakugou tries to shrug nonchalantly, muttering his simple explanation.

“what was that?” came sero’s teasing tone.

“i want to go home to my wife, idiot,” bakugou barks before he can stop himself.

at that, kaminari finally throws his hands up in defeat.

kirishima only shrugs himself, “that clicks.”

while the menace snickers. “simp.”

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don't do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[dynaxplosion]

all i want is you. ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pairings ; ex!katsuki x reader

content ; alcohol mentions, brief sex mentioned, breakups, yearning katsuki

all i want is you by miguel, ft. j.cole

katsuki had always been.. an explosive person. he had his loud meltdowns, and expressive arguments. however, when he went too far during an argument, it was enough to erase the years of your love.

he had taken it too far now, bringing up trauma you trusted him with, and using it against you.

and oh, how he wishes he never said a word.

all he can do is replay the argument in his head, playing out every other way it could have gone rather than the way it did. it was killing him.

you were everything he ever dreamed of , and now he was left to try to erase you with other girls swallowing up his time.

he was trying so desperately to move on, knowing you wouldn’t come back after what happened. why would he even say that? he spent years protecting you, lashing out at anyone who hurt you. never did he think he’d be the one to hurt you. it was hard to move on when all he did was regret.

he was laying with a girl from the drunken night before, trying to recall how exactly they ended up here, a raging hangover accompanying him. he looked her up and down, her eyes. her hips. recalling last night, her ass. nothing compared, cause when he faced it.

all he wants is you.

you’re still “friends” considering how close you are, but you moved out of town, so it’s only calls every other month. he thought on how your voice sounded in those calls, all it did was make him wonder where he went wrong.

all these fucking girls he’s been distracting himself with, it’s driving him insane. nobody comes close.

they dont smile like you, or smell like you. god, he missed the way you smelled. and that beautiful, radiant smile that only he recieved.

none of them are even funny, and god, were you funny. you made him laugh, all the time. which was rare. none of these girls ever did.

they can’t cook like you either. katsuki cooked well, yes, but you always cooked together. none of these girls do.

god, and the sex could never compare. he missed feeling you skin to skin, the high of being so close and intimate with you.

let’s face it, he can’t replace you.

the day you left, he went straight to the club to try to get his mind off it, heal himself. who was he kidding? that wasn’t gonna work.

all these new ‘hoes’ got so boring, so fast. you’re just everything none of these plain bitches could ever be.

the month following, he visited your new house.

“i was wrong.”

“come again?”

“i said i was wrong, look, dont rub it in now.”

he was forgiven, but not trusted again.

it’s been a year since that, maybe you’d be willing.

so he turned over, picked up his phone and clicked on your contact, still pinned.

all i want is you.

@heartsforkatsuki all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc, without asking.

[dynaxplosion]

thinking abt unofficialbf!katsuki who's so soft for you

it was almost impressive how easily bakugo katsuki flipped the switch from raging 'die! die! die!' hothead to... well, this. the grumbly, red-faced mess curled up against you in the quiet of his dorm.

you were lying in his bed, your legs tangled with his under the blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world. which, to be fair, it kind of was. no one could really pinpoint when you and katsuki had become a thing. not even you two. one day you were four years old, standing in a sandbox while he handed you a bright bunch of dandelions and wildflowers and announced that you were his, and somehow it just... stuck?

now, over a decade later, you still found yourself in his bed more often than not, curled into his side, his stupidly strong arm pulling you closer until your face was pressed against the curve of his neck.

he'd grown lots and at the same time not at all since you were kids. physically, his biceps were now the same size as his 4-year-old body. his jawline had gotten much sharper

“…y’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, voice muffled by his skin.

“tch. shut up,” he grumbled, but his hand started rubbing lazy, soothing circles against your back anyway.

you smiled.

he always did that. pretended like your presence was an inconvenience while simultaneously holding you like he’d fall apart if you weren’t there. your fingers reached up to card through his messy blond hair, nails gently scraping his scalp in the way you knew made him melt.

sure enough, he let out a sound that was dangerously close to a purr.

“…quit that,” he said, sounding exactly zero percent convincing, his whole body melting under your hands. his eyes fluttered shut anyway.

you both lay there in silence for a while, his arms tightened around you, protective and warm. you could almost hear the echoes of your childhood in moments like this. the tickle fights, the hand-holding, the way he used to drag you around like some tiny, furious king with his favorite sidekick. he’d never really stopped. even now, your hand was locked with his under the blankets, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles into your palm.

“katsuki?” you murmured.

“hm?”

“hi.”

"what?"

"jus' sayin' hi."

“don't be annoying. i will throw you off this bed.”

“no you won’t. you like cuddling me too much.”

he growled under his breath. no, he wouldn't.

“…shut up.”

you didn’t. you just nuzzled into his chest, warm and safe and full of something that felt like forever. he let out a tired sigh and held you tighter, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you against him.

you could feel the way his breathing was slowly evening out, signalling he'd be asleep in a minute tops. this was usually the point he'd get stupid affectionate, brain riddled with sleepiness. he probably wasn't even aware of how sappy he'd act, sweet things slipping out without him realizing.

“…’m gonna marry you one day,” he mumbled suddenly, barely audible.

you blinked, frozen. that was not just a sweet comment.

“…huh?”

his ears turned bright red.

“nothin’. go to sleep, dumbass.”

but you didn’t miss the way his thumb never stopped rubbing slow, affectionate circles into your hand. or the soft kiss he pressed to the top of your head just before you finally drifted off.

"just friends" my ass.

masterlist if you enjoyed bc unofficialbf!katsuki is the only thing i think abt.

[dynaxplosion]

a/n ; hai :3 another dad katsuki bc i love my husband!!! also check out my other works guysss hihii <33

cw ; girl dad katsuki, unnamed baby girl, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF, not proofread

"sweet treat, mama?" I chuckle at her question, putting 3 napkin-covered cookies on the table before I sat down.

"sweet treat, baby!" I coo sweetly and booped her nose as Katsuki sat down beside me, making the little girl sit on his lap comfortably.

"Ey, patience." He says calmly, pulling the little girl's hand from revealing the cookies and starts bouncing her on his thigh to keep her entertained. I only chuckle at the sight of my loves.

"You want a sweet treat, sweet girl?" I coo at her and she nodded excitedly while looking at the napkin in front of her.

"Okay, on the count of three we'll take these off, 'kay?" Katsuki says, touching the napkin as the little girl nodded obediently.

"1..2.. NOT YET" I laughed softly when he pushed the napkin back down when she tried to pull it off immediately.

"Again, 1..2..3!"

I faked a gasp when the cookies were revealed. 1 for Katsuki, 2 for our baby, and none for me! tragic.

"Oh no!.. Mama got none.." Katsuki fakes his sadness and I pout a little to make it seem real for her.

She looked at me, the empty napkin, Katsuki's cookie, and looked up to him before her lips trembled in sadness. Katsuki and I looked at each other in shock. I put a hand over my mouth to muffle my laugh as he looked away to suppress his.

Then she started wailing.

"MAAMAAAA" she cried out to me with glossy eyes and a shaky lip, making me want to squish her with all my might.

She sniffed and.. grabbed Katsuki's cookie to.. put it on my napkin.

We both lost our shit.

Katsuki let out a loud "HAH?!" as I laughed my heart out. This wasn't what we expected to happen AT ALL.

"what about papa, hah?" Katsuki asks in fake, soft rage.

"you can get more there, papa.." she pointed at the counter where the pack of cookies sat, her crying had died down at this point. I genuinely couldn't breathe in laughter as Katsuki just looks flabbergasted.. despite that, he had a grin present as he tried to hold back his own laugh, not wanting to make the baby girl feel bad.

"But it's not fair, is it, love? You got two, papa got none. Just like how I got none earlier. What if that makes papa sad, hm?" I try to convince her.

Her lips trembled once again at the thought of his papa being the one to feel bad this time. She wiped her eyes like a big girl before putting one of her cookies on his napkin.

"Yay!" I clap softly like sharing was the biggest accomplishment in the world. Katsuki had grabbed her small hands as well to make her clap and kissed her chubby cheek in the process to cheer her up, deciding not to mess with her any further.

"You should learn to get your own cookies next time, pa." I glance at the pack of cookies on the counter.

"oh fu- buzz off!"

[dynaxplosion]

Sweet Enough to Rot His Fuckin’ Brain

cw: nsfw! bf!katsuki, perv katsuki, panty sniffer katsuki, scent kink, masturbation, voyueristic fasntasy, obsession, post-nut clarity

He’s losing his goddamn mind.

You’re not even in the room, and he’s already hard.

Just from the scent of you. It’s all over his sheets. Clinging to his hoodie you left behind. Embedded in his fuckin’ brain.

There’s that sugary shampoo you use—the one that smells like vanilla and jasmine and something warmer, muskier underneath, something you—and then there’s you, the real you. Your natural scent that leaks into the cotton of your panties when you’ve had a long day, the heat of your thighs pressed together, the sweat just barely catching along your inner folds.

Katsuki Bakugou is addicted. And he hates himself for it.

He’s been like this for days, weeks, ever since you started leaving shit at his apartment. A toothbrush. A pair of fuzzy socks. Your perfume, which he accidentally sprayed on his pillow like a fuckin’ psycho at midnight after you left because he couldn’t sleep.

And now? Now you’ve left your laundry. A small pile, nothing crazy. You were staying the night again this weekend, and told him to toss whatever in with his next load.

Big mistake.

Huge.

Because now he’s sitting at the edge of his bed, red-cheeked and aching, with your lace panties bunched up in his fist.

They’re black, lacy, delicate as sin. Worn. The crotch is stained from use—sweet and slick and a little salty. You wore them yesterday, he thinks. Or maybe the day before. You were in a rush, tugging your jeans over them while balancing your phone between your shoulder and cheek, cursing under your breath and spritzing your neck with perfume like it was second nature.

He remembers every detail. Because he stood at the door, pretending to be busy, pretending not to stare. Not to breathe.

But he was. Breathing you in like a fucking animal.

And now? Now he’s rutting into his own fist, his cock flushed and leaking, while his other hand holds your panties up to his nose, inhaling like he needs it to survive.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” he pants, gritting his teeth. “Can’t believe how fuckin’ good you smell, baby…”

It’s instinctual. His hips rock forward, precum smearing over his fingers. His eyes flutter shut. The scent of your cunt and that sweet perfume hits his brain like a drug. He’s drooling. Actually drooling. It’s pathetic.

But he can’t stop.

“D’you even know what you’re doing to me, huh?” he mumbles into the lace. “Wanderin’ around all soft n’ pretty n’ fuckin’ sweet…”

Your scent’s stronger toward the gusset. He buries his nose in it shamelessly, tongue darting out for a taste before he catches himself—growling low in his throat.

That’s what makes him twitch. What makes his cock jump in his palm, veins straining.

“Bet this little pussy’s just as wet right now, yeah?” he whispers, voice ragged, lips brushing over your name like a prayer. “Bet you’re sittin’ in class or at work or whatever the fuck—and you got no idea your boyfriend’s at home sniffin’ your dirty panties like a sick fuck.”

His pace speeds up, hips jerking erratically. He’s gonna come. Fast. Messy. Just from the idea of you bent over his desk, perfume warm in the air, panties shoved down to your knees while he fucks you dumb from behind.

You’d tease him if you saw him now. Red-faced and panting. Practically whimpering.

But maybe… maybe you'd like it too.

Maybe you’d catch him in the act next time. Arms folded, a slow smirk pulling at your lips. “You’re such a perv, Katsuki,” you’d say, crawling onto the bed like a fuckin’ succubus. “Could’ve just asked to eat me out. You didn’t have to go through my dirty laundry, y’know.”

And maybe he’d get on his knees and beg.

The orgasm hits him like a slap to the face. Sharp. Sudden. So good it’s violent.

“Fuck—fuck—” he chokes, spilling all over his hand, his abs, the waistband of his sweats. His whole body shudders, eyes rolling back, your name falling from his lips like a fuckin’ exorcism.

He’s panting afterward. Sweaty. Wrung out. Still holding your panties, still breathing them in like a freak, even as the shame creeps in.

Because even now, post-nut clarity slamming him sideways, he’s still thinking about you. Still thinking about your scent and your skin and the way your thighs must glisten when you’re turned on.

And god help him—he’s already getting hard again.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

hooonnk mimimimi.... I'm gonna sleep on this

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

[dynaxplosion]

dicksuki.

synopsis: seeking out comfort from unofficialbf!katsuki and he says something mean and it's your final straw. + katsuki can't stand seeing you cry.

notes: i will be exclusively referring to mean katsuki as dicksuki from now on

it has been a long, long day. you're running on maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep, you're on your period, you've been buried under homework, and you're 2 seconds away from a nervous breakdown. so, you did what any girl would do and sought comfort from katsuki. you’re curled into his chest, warm and tired, tucked under the covers in his dorm bed. it’s late. the room’s quiet. and he just kissed your forehead like he always does. casual, gentle, thoughtless in the way it’s become second nature.

“i love when you do that,” you whisper, voice barely above the hum of his fan.

he hums low in his chest. “do what?”

“kiss my forehead,” you say, already sounding half-asleep. “it feels like you really love me when you do.”

his heart skips. it stutters, even. but he doesn’t show it. instead, he scoffs, because that’s what he does. dumbass defense mechanism kicking in without permission.

“maybe i don’t,” he mutters, a teasing edge in his voice. “maybe i just do it to shut you up.”

he smirks. like he thinks he’s being funny. like it’s nothing.

and for a second, he thinks you laugh. or maybe you’re just shifting under the blanket.

but then he feels you go still. not the relaxed kind. not the sleepy kind.

the kind of still that makes his stomach twist.

he glances down, still smirking, until he sees your face.

you’re staring at nothing, eyes wide and watery, lashes clumped from blinking too fast. lips trembling like you’re trying so hard to hold it in but you’re already losing the battle.

and it hits him like a truck.

“wait.”

his smile drops instantly.

“wait. shit. baby.”

it wasn't exactly what he said. sure, it was kind of hurtful, but it was more the accumulation of all of your stressors and he happened to be the final straw. don't crash out over this. it's ok. you don’t say anything. you don't trust yourself. you don’t move, either, lest some tears fall out with the motion. your chest rises with a shaky breath you try to swallow.

his whole body tenses. “fuck, i didn’t mean that. hey, no, no, c’mere. look at me.”

he’s cupping your face before you can turn away, thumb brushing your cheek, voice suddenly so soft.

“i was just messin’ with you,” he says, frantic now. “i didn’t mean it. of course i love you. fuck, of course i do.”

you blink up at him, eyes glassy. you're so vulnerable and emotional right now. honestly, you'd been sort of insecure about loving katsuki more than he loves you lately, and he confirmed all of your worst fears. after all, you were technically 'just friends.' just because he hangs out with you doesn't mean he loves you. “but you said-”

“i know what i said,” he cuts in quickly, guilt written all over him. “and it was stupid, okay? i was bein’ a dick like always and i swear i didn’t mean it. not even a little.”

your lip wobbles and he practically whines, pulling you against him and hiding his face in your hair.

“god, don’t cry. please don't cry. i’ll do anything, i’ll kiss your forehead a hundred times, just.. don’t think i don’t love you. and also stop cryin'. it's killin' me. i love you, sweets.”

you sniff against his collarbone, voice muffled. “you do?”

he leans back just enough to kiss you. your forehead, your temple, your hair. kiss, kiss, kiss.

“so fuckin' much.”

masterlist

[dynaxplosion]

bakugou kisses your head—often.

𖦹 content. k.bakugou x gn!reader. fluff.

Bakugou wasn’t soft. At least, not usually.

But when it came to you, softness crept in—especially when you were close enough for him to catch the scent of your shampoo. It was light and clean, something like peaches or flowers, and it clung to your hair in a way that drove him crazy.

So he kissed your head. All the time.

At first, it was casual—after training, before bed, while passing by. But it turned into a habit. A comfort.

One morning, you caught him. He kissed the top of your head as you made tea, and you turned with a smile.

“You always do that,” you said.

He blinked. “Do what?”

“Kiss my head. Why?”

He looked away, ears tinting pink. “Tch… I just like how your hair smells.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“It smells like you. Like… home.”

That shut you up for a second.

You smiled then, quietly, and leaned into him. “You’re such a sap.”

“Don’t push it,” he muttered—but kissed your head again anyway.

Because he couldn’t help it. You smelled like home. And he never wanted to forget it.

©rosereveries

[dynaxplosion]

a/n ; Inspired by @/trintheweirdo 's MHA skits where katsuki mostly crashes out bc of mitsuki 😭

cw ; suggestive, but overall focused on some funny stuff!

Normally, Mitsuki Bakugou wouldn't mind having you over their home. Like you always have since you and Katsuki were little kids.

But when you two started dating around senior year? She had already expected it.. Yet her eyes were on you two like a damn crow. I mean, don't get her wrong, she loves you! why wouldn't she? you were such a polite girl, always keeping her Katsuki grounded.

She seems to have like a 6th sense every time you and Katsuki are together. Like She knows damn well that teenagers who are left alone are at risk of letting those hormonal urges take over.

You two were in his room, straddling his lap as he slowly kissed and nipped at your jaw. Sensual, slow, loving.. it felt like it was all you needed in life at the moment.

"KATSUKI" his mother called from downstairs. He pulled away from your neck with a groan before answering begrudgingly.

"WHAT? YOU'RE STILL HERE?!"

"TAKE THE TRASH OUT, IT'S MAKING THE KITCHEN STINK. I AIN'T GONNA GO WORK MY ASS OFF AND PAY FOR THIS HOUSE IF YOU'RE GONNA KEEP IT DIRTY IN HERE."

He gently moved you off his lap while grumbling about how 'she could've done it herself'. You couldn't help but pout to yourself either, but you chuckled softly 'cause you knew once Mitsuki asks him to do something, he WILL do it despite his reluctance.

When he came back, he immediately wanted to make up for lost time (5 minutes.. 💀) , sliding a hand up your waist and whispered a deep 'where were we?' as he kissed your jaw once again. You giggle and push his hand away, telling him to wait a few more minutes to make sure Mitsuki got out for work.

"KATSUKI"

"WHAAAATTT?!" he yelled back, almost as if he's crashing out.

"CLEAN THE SINK"

"IT'S ONE SPOON AND A MUG"

"DROP THE ATTITUDE AND GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"

You pat his shoulder comfortingly while holding back a laugh. It was always fun to see Katsuki on the verge of crashing out over something that isn't that deep. The poor boy was probably pent up by now. And when he came back, he didn't even bother anymore. He sat beside me with crossed arms and a frown like I was the one who caused him his misery.. I snort at his attitude and fix myself, seems like he's not in the mood anymore.

"'s not funny."

"it kinda is.." I kiss his cheek.

"Katsuki" Mitsuki called out once more, outside his bedroom door this time as she knocked before entering.

"[Name]'s mom called, said she needed the sweet thing to help with something. Why don't 'ya drop her home, yeah? I'm off to work. Don't do anything stupid! Bye [Name]!" She waved to you before slamming the door.

I waved back and smiled, hardly containing my laugh when I looked up Katsuki like his cheeks were about to blow. How adorable.

"Hm.. so we walking or we using your car?" I asked teasingly.

likes and reblogs are appreciated hihi 💗

[dynaxplosion]

the night was young, laughter ringing through the room like vibrations of joy, and yet katsuki bakugo just would not kiss you.

of course, he had not bothered to partake in the game of spin the bottle. sitting lazily on the couch nearest the circle of giggling teens, he had barely lifted his eyes from the rim of his cup before grumbling a rough “no.” despite the response being entirely in character for the blond, the immediate denial — almost as if he had been long prepared to deny the opportunity to kiss you — was mildly humiliating. it was a difficult task to conceal the embarrassment coating your face in warmth, but you hoped that those around you were too inebriated to notice. they were, luckily… except for him. all too sober, he almost felt bad, but he believed his reasoning was enough to justify his firm dismissal.

denki nudged him by the shoulder, giving him a look that was promptly ignored. “dude,” he said quietly, almost gritted.

a nasty glare was shot in his direction, one that spoke multitudes. oddly enough, it seemed to soften into something more complex when it dropped to his lap, but his words were brash all the same. “kaminari, shut your trap. now.”

denki ran a hand down his face, groaning. it seemed that everyone in the room had a shared sort of exasperation; they somehow saw right through him in a way you could not. for once, you seemed to be the only one that did not understand him.

your attempts to dismiss it and move on, to put the spotlight elsewhere for but a moment, were flushed away when mina interjected with a “why not?”

red eyes narrowed into slits, his jaw ticking. “because.”

“bakugo!”

“no.”

“c’mon, man!”

he was visibly growing flustered, brows knitting together in barely concealed frustration. fists clenched, the red plastic of his solo cup crumpled enough to make a sound. “I said no. fuck off.”

a series of protests and drunken whines echoed through the muggy room. “just do i-“

“not like this!”

a pause. his face went red. the room fell silent in what was barely a beat, eyes boring saucer shaped holes into the both of you. your lips parted almost as if to speak, but nothing came out save for a single dry croak. everyone looked at you except for katsuki. ever the confrontational, suddenly shying away from a bit of eye contact.

turns out that yes, he had refused to kiss you, but not out of disgust or even a lack of romantic attraction to you. he had refused to kiss you in the dingy confines of this dimly lit room, countless eyes trained on you, putting on a show that would be forgotten by morning. he had planned to do it some other time — properly — because he knew that was what you deserved. not the taste of cheap liquor and erupting cheers, but the gentle embrace of a lover and the bliss of something new.

a/n: why am I writing for mha and katsuki of all people what is wrong with me

[dynaxplosion]

katsuki’s got an attitude and a mean resting bitch face. except you’re meaner.

as lovely as you can be, katsuki swears up and down you can be crueler. he’s seen you scoff and stare at people in ways that makes him feel bad. for the first time, he’s the one apologizing for your attitude whenever you get mad at someone. (rightfully so. . . sometimes, not so much.)

you’re an absolute bitch when you want to be. and by gods, he respects that shit.

a / n : him gazing lovingly at his angry partner LMFAOOO he tickles me sm i love this dork

[dynaxplosion]

Hello!!!

I looove your Katsuki fics and couldnt help but shoot my shot at requesting this!

Girl reader with a half cat quirk that makes her experience heat and her suppressant meds are nowhere to be found!!!

Turns out Katsuki wanted to help relieve her this time around. He approaches the topic cautiously with great sensitivity at first, but once reader caves in, she's sensetive and needy, and Katsuki wants nothing more than to satisfy her needs!

I would love to read this in your writing!!! :D

HEATED | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis: Today was supposed to be your last college party, However mother nature didn't seem to care. Your best friend Katsuki has something he wats to say.

content: smut

The party was supposed to be loud enough to drown your thoughts. That was the plan.

Music, dancing, the thump of bass-heavy speakers rattling the cheap windows of whatever rented venue they’d picked this time. Maybe a drink or two. Flirting across the room with Bakugo until he finally cracked and walked over like he always did—scowling, tense, trying too hard not to stare.

Instead, you were home. Wrapped in a fleece blanket on your couch. Hoodie zipped to your neck but riding high on your thighs, heat prickling beneath your skin like a second pulse. Your tail twitched beneath you, too restless to stay still, too sensitive to stop moving.

The silence in your apartment felt heavier than usual.

The suppressant pills had run out last week. You meant to get more. You really did.

But life got fast. Assignments stacked. You forgot. And now your body was reminding you in the worst way possible—with insistent warmth pooling low in your belly, your skin hypersensitive, your thoughts crawling toward one person and one person only.

Katsuki.

Of course it was him. It was always him.

You hated how often your heat cycled around thoughts of him. The way he moved. The cut of his pretty eyes. The way he never looked at you directly for too long, like he knew what it might do if he did.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Mina—something about your absence being tragic, your outfit being missed, and how 'Katsuki kept looking at the door'

You didn’t open the message.

Didn’t want to.

You curled further into yourself instead, hoodie bunched at your waist now, the fabric clinging to overheated skin. Your cheeks felt too warm. Your body was too aware. You swore you could still feel the ghost of his stare, even from miles away.

There was a low, aching kind of hunger curling in your belly. It didn’t demand food or sleep or even comfort.

You pressed your thighs together again. Hissed through your teeth. It was no use.

Your phone buzzed again.

Then—knocking.

Three short taps. Familiar. Solid. Too deliberate to be a neighbor.

Your heart stuttered.

You paused. Listened.

A voice followed—low, unsure.

“…You alright in there?”

Katsuki.

You sat up too fast. Nearly lost the blanket. “Shit.”

“…You in there?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your heart was already moving faster than your thoughts.

Another knock. Sharper. Frustrated.

“You’re never this quiet.”

You closed your eyes and sank further into the couch, shame prickling under your skin like sweat. You shouldn’t have said yes to the night if your body was going to betray you. Shouldn’t have flirted with him so recklessly if you couldn’t see it through. Shouldn’t have—

The wooden figurine from coffee table falling to the wooden floor in such a dramatic manner.

“—I’m coming in,” he said.

The lock clicked. He’d helped you fix the janky bolt weeks ago. You’d never re-set the passcode.

The door creaked open.

He stepped in like he wasn’t sure he should. Like he half-expected to be yelled at or blasted back outside. But all he found was quiet.

You were curled small on the couch, hoodie sleeves hiding your hands, eyes glassy with heat and embarrassment.

Katsuki stilled.

You saw the moment it hit him—when his eyes narrowed and the air caught in his chest. Not because you looked sick. But because you didn’t.

“You’re not coming down with anything,” he said slowly. “Are you?”

You tried to lie. It caught in your throat.

“…It started early,” you murmured, voice brittle. “Didn’t have my meds.”

He said nothing at first. The air between you tightened, thick with something unspoken but very alive.

His gaze flicked to the blanket tugged over your legs. Your bare thighs beneath it. The subtle twitch of your tail. The way your hoodie didn’t quite hide the fact that you weren’t wearing much underneath.

Then, slowly, his voice softened—lower than usual, careful like he was speaking to a bruise.

“…You want me to go?”

You didn’t. God, you didn’t. You were humiliated, needy, and ashamed of how you kept squeezing your thighs just to feel something. And yet, part of you was also aching to see what would happen if you didn’t pretend anymore. If you let the tension between you go where it had always wanted to.

You looked at him, eyes wide and wet and unsure.

And then—just barely—you tugged the blanket down an inch, letting the hem of your hoodie ride up over your thigh.

“...What if I wanted you to stay?” you whispered.

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

Still, he didn’t move. Not until you reached for him—fingertips curling around the fabric of his shirt, quiet but clear.

“You sure?” he asked, low and rough.

You nodded once. Then again. More desperately.

He sat on the edge of the couch, one palm cupping your knee, the other brushing a sweat-damp curl from your forehead. His touch was careful. Reverent.

“You want help?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek like you might burn him.

You nodded.

“Say it ,” he whispered, eyes dropping to your lips and you notice it, instinctively you licked it. A thin layer of saliva giving you a gloss effect on your lips.

Your throat bobbed. “I need you, Katsuki.”

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t get to him—the way you said his name like that.

Soft. Fragile. A little breathy, like it slipped past your lips before you even meant to say it.

He’d heard his name plenty of times—screamed across training fields, barked from opponents, snapped in irritation by people who thought they knew him. But coming from you? Like that?

It hit different.

God, it always did.

He tried not to show it, tried to keep his face unreadable, but his breathing stuttered. Just a hitch, small enough to deny if you ever called him on it. But it was there. It always was when it came to you.

You weren’t usually like this.

Usually, you were stubborn and sharp-tongued, doing shit that got under his skin—on purpose, half the time. Rage-baiting. Eye-rolling. Acting like his ego was too big to fit through a door. You’d sass him just to see him twitch.

And the worst part? He liked it. Liked you. All of you.

But this?

Seeing you curled up on your couch, hoodie riding high on your thighs, tail twitching like you couldn’t get comfortable in your own skin… it made something deep in his chest go stupid and warm.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes, flushed cheeks, skin practically humming with heat, and you still had the nerve to look embarrassed.

Still tried to play it cool.

Still tried to act like he wasn’t the one person you’d been thinking about since your suppressants ran out.

And when you finally caved and said his name like that, voice all quiet and unsure, like you were afraid he wouldn’t want you the way you wanted him?

Yeah, he was done for.

Completely fucking done for.

“Yeah?” he said, voice low, almost shy. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured.

His voice was low—firm, but shaking just a little at the edges, like he was holding something back. Like he had to pace himself, even now, even with you already half melting under his touch.

You expected him to dive in. To act on the tension that had always thrummed beneath every glance you two had ever shared. But instead, he stayed still for one long moment, his hand resting heavy and warm on your thigh, grounding you like an anchor.

“You sure?” he asked again, softer now. “This isn’t just your heat talkin’, right?”

That broke something in you. The way he could still ask—when you were trembling under your skin, pupils wide, your whole body practically begging for him—and yet, still… still he asked.

You reached for the lapels of his suit, fingers twisting into the fabric like it might keep you from unraveling completely. “It is my heat,” you admitted, voice breathy, lips barely forming the words. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

That was enough.

His mouth met yours in a kiss that started gentle—but didn’t stay that way.

It deepened with every second, hunger bleeding through restraint. His hands moved—up your sides, over your waist, careful but hungry, like he was mapping something he’d spent too long imagining. His lips tasted like heat and need and something you didn’t know how to name yet.

You whimpered into his mouth when his fingers found the bare skin of your thigh, sliding higher beneath the hoodie you hadn’t realized had bunched up further. Your tail flicked nervously at your side—he caught it mid-swish, holding it gently, almost reverently.

“This okay?” he asked again, voice lower now, gravelly. “Sensitive?”

You nodded, dizzy from the feel of him—how his calloused palms were somehow still tender, how he smelled like smoke and spice and Katsuki, how his mouth never stopped moving over yours like he was making up for lost time.

“More than okay,” you breathed, grinding down just enough for friction. “Feels—fuck—it feels better with you.”

He groaned, hands tightening just slightly.

You felt it—how badly he wanted to let go. But he held on. For you.

“You tell me when it’s too much,” he said against your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “Or not enough. Got it?”

“Got it,” you whispered.

And then he stopped holding back.

He shifted you into his lap, hoodie riding up, skin flushed and hot against him. His hands explored every inch of you he could reach—your hips, your waist, the small of your back. His mouth followed close behind, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He murmured things you’d never heard from him before. Pretty. Soft. Perfect. Things he didn’t say when there were people around. But here, in your apartment, while the world outside pulsed with music and lights and the party you were supposed to be at… he gave you everything.

And when your body trembled, when your voice broke with the weight of it all, when you pulled him closer like you’d fall apart otherwise—he held you tighter, like he could piece you back together with touch alone.

His breath was shaky against your neck, equal parts restraint and reverence, and his voice—rough, low, just for you—whispered your name like a secret prayer.

“You don’t have to hold back,” he said, voice caught somewhere between a plea and a promise. And neither did he.

The moment stretched, thick with heat and want and something tender beneath it all. Fingers tangled in his hair, you met him halfway—every kiss, every gasp, every shiver a language only the two of you knew.

His mouth was on you again—lower this time—tracing kisses down the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, until he found that place that made your breath hitch. He lingered there, sucking gently, tongue flicking over flushed skin, leaving a mark you’d feel in the morning and think about for days.

Your hips shifted in his lap, searching, needing, and the friction pulled a groan from deep in his chest. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, fingers grazing your bare stomach, then higher—slowly, like he wanted to memorize every reaction.

When he finally cupped your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, your gasp was swallowed by his mouth crashing back into yours. Desperate now, tasting of heat and hunger and everything you’d both been holding back for far too long.

“You have no idea…” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

You rocked against him, feeling the hard length of him through his jeans, and it was his turn to shudder. “Then show me,” you whispered.

That was all it took.

He gripped your hips and lifted you just enough to rid you of what little you had left on, hoodie discarded, bottoms peeled away with impatient fingers. You were bare in his lap now, exposed in every way, but never once did he look away from your eyes.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, hands spreading across your thighs, thumbs tracing slow, dizzying circles against your skin. “I want to take my time… but I don't think I can.”

You didn’t want him to. Not tonight. Not like this.

When he slid his hand between your legs and found you already wet for him, his curse was soft and reverent. “You’re soaked,” he said, almost in disbelief, “for me.”

You nodded, grinding into his hand.

He kissed you again—messy and hungry—as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling just right, while his thumb rubbed slow, steady circles against your clit. Your nails dug into his shoulders, head falling back with a moan that only made him work harder.

And when you started to fall apart, trembling against his hand, he didn’t stop. He watched every second—eyes locked onto your face, lips parted, like the sight of you coming undone was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

His fingers slid through your slick folds with reverence, like he was exploring something sacred. He groaned under his breath at how wet you were—how easily you parted for him. One finger teased your entrance, circling slowly, gathering you on the tip just to feel how much you wanted him.

“Look at you…” he whispered, his lips brushing your jaw as he spoke. “So ready. So soft. So fucking responsive.”

He slipped one finger inside, and your body immediately clenched around him, greedy and hot and pulsing. You arched against him, breath catching in your throat as he started to move it—slow and deep, feeling every inch of you, dragging his fingertip along your walls like he was mapping you out.

“Fuck, you feel…” He couldn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

His free arm stayed locked around your waist, holding you steady as you writhed in his lap. His finger curled just right—testing, pressing against that spot—and when your whole body jolted in response, he chuckled low against your neck.

“There?” he murmured.

You nodded quickly, too breathless for words. So he did it again. And again. Curl, pull, push—finding a rhythm that had your thighs trembling and your fingernails digging into his shoulders for balance.

Then he added a second finger.

You cried out, hips jerking. The stretch, the pressure—it was maddening in the best way. He was slow with it at first, easing in, letting you adjust, but you didn’t want slow. Not now. You needed more. Needed him to lose control the same way you were.

“Please,” you breathed, not caring how desperate it sounded. “Faster…”

He growled in response—deep and guttural—and gave you what you wanted. His fingers pumped harder, faster, deeper, the wet sounds of your arousal mixing with your breathy moans and the soft curses he whispered against your skin.

“God, listen to you,” he muttered, watching your face, watching your body twist and rise to meet every thrust of his hand. “You’re dripping. So fucking tight around my fingers. You love this, don’t you?”

You moaned, head falling against his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not when you looked like this—glowing, undone, eyes fluttering closed as your pleasure built and built, coiling tight in your belly like a live wire.

His thumb pressed to your clit again, this time with intent. Tight circles. A perfect rhythm that matched the pace of his fingers inside you. Your thighs shook around him. Your breath came in short, ragged bursts.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice low, almost soothing. “Don’t hold back. I wanna feel you come just like this—falling apart on my fingers.”

And you did. The wave slammed into you, white-hot and blinding, your cry raw and unfiltered as your body clenched around him. He kept moving, working you through it, watching you fall apart with reverence in his eyes.

You collapsed against his chest, panting, twitching, overstimulated and aching for more. And he held you close, fingers still inside you, still slow and gentle now.

He slowly pulled his fingers from you, dragging them out inch by inch, savoring the way your body clung to him, reluctant to let go. A slick sound followed, and then a small, needy whine slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

That sound—soft, desperate, utterly wrecked—sent something primal crashing through him. His grip on your waist tightened for a second, and then he nearly stumbled as you shifted in his lap, the weight of you shifting just enough to make him falter.

“Shit—” he caught himself with one hand, but his palm pressed against something unfamiliar beneath the cushion.

He froze.

“What the…” he muttered, glancing down, brow furrowed. His fingers brushed over it again, trying to figure out what he was feeling—smooth, firm, and definitely not part of the couch.

He looked up at you, curious, breathless. “What… is this?”

You flushed, cheeks burning, but there was a mischievous spark in your eyes that made you smile softly. You looked up at him with an almost innocent expression, tilting your head slightly like you were about to explain something simple yet private.

“It’s a rose...vibrator,” you said quietly, your voice a little shy but steady. Then, with a teasing glint, you leaned closer and let your fingers trace slowly down the curve of your thigh.

“Here,” you murmured, your gaze flickering up to meet his as you gently guided his hand, placing the toy right at your clit.

He stared down at the delicate rose-shaped vibrator resting just at the entrance of your slick folds, his fingers still lightly brushing over your thigh. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, searching—soft, curious, and utterly captivated.

“Do you want me to use it on you?” he asked, voice low and rough with something like reverence.

There was a pause—electric, filled with promise—before your breath hitched. Your cheeks flushed deeper, but you nodded, biting your lip shyly.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I want you to.”

His grin was slow, wicked, and full of heat. “so greedy.”

He moved his hand carefully, lifting the rose toy and pressing it gently against you. The petals—soft and warm—began to pulse, and you shivered at the sensation, your body trembling in his lap.

His gaze never left yours, watching every little reaction, every flicker of your expression as the waves of pleasure rolled through you.

He glanced down at the delicate rose-shaped vibrator nestled against your slick skin, fingers brushing its smooth petals. A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips as he pressed the small button at its base, and the vibrations shifted.

A low hum began—gentle at first—but then he increased the setting, the buzzing growing stronger, deeper, pulsing with an intensity that made your whole body shudder.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, a soft quivering starting in your thighs. The sensation was overwhelming—sweet, sharp, electric—and the way the deep vibrations of the rose’s petals teased every sensitive curve left you breathless.

He watched you carefully, voice rough and husky as he murmured, “You feel that? You like it when it’s turned up?”

You could barely form the words, trembling as the waves of pleasure built inside you. A soft, involuntary hum escaped your lips, vibrating along with the toy, your body responding to every surge.

“Yes…” you whispered, warm eyes holding his gaze and voice thick with need. “I want more Kastu…”

His fingers gripped your hips a little tighter, steadying you as the rose pulsed relentlessly, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You quivered in his lap, humming low and needy, lost in the delicious torment.

“Damn, you’re really fucking with my head” he breathed a chuckle against your chest, placing a soft kiss and when he eased a bright bruise was left. “And I’m not letting you forget this.”

The vibrations thrummed on, each wave crashing over you with more power than the last, until your body finally trembled uncontrollably, and you came undone—soft, shattered, humming your release into the quiet of the room.

He kept the rose vibrator pressed firmly against your clit, the high setting sending relentless waves of pleasure pulsing through you. Your moans spilled out—soft, breathy, utterly mesmerized—but to him, they were like a distant melody, barely registering over the storm of desire raging in his own mind.

His grip on your hips was still strong, steadying you, but his focus was so intense on watching your body that he didn’t realize how completely undone you’d already become.

You trembled and hummed around the vibrations, your breath hitching and your body softening beneath him—signs he somehow missed.

It wasn’t until your hands tightened around his shoulders, your muscles slackening in surrender, that he blinked and looked down, eyes wide.

He takes the vibrator from you swiftly, switching it off. You fall into him arms wrapped around his tuxedo's pants leg soaked under your arousal. You mewl grinding onto him littering kisses to his neck. Praises of how you love him going straight his head.

It wasn’t until your hands clenched tightly around his shoulders, your body going limp in surrender, that he blinked and finally looked down—eyes wide with realization.

Without hesitation, he slid the vibrator away from you and switched it off. The sudden absence of the buzzing sent a small gasp from you, but before you could say anything, you melted fully into him.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your arousal seeping into the fabric of his tuxedo pants, clinging to him like a lifeline. A soft mewl escaped your lips as you ground yourself lightly against him, seeking more friction, more connection.

You littered kisses along his neck—gentle, desperate, worshipful—whispering praise between soft breaths. “I love you… I love you so much,” you murmured, voice trembling but sincere, the words sinking straight into the pulse of his head, making his heart thud in a way that no touch could replicate.

His breath hitched at the feel of your lips trailing across his neck, the way your body pressed so needy and warm against him. Every soft mewl, every whispered “I love you,” wrapped around his heart tighter than any hold he’d ever had.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling you up just enough to capture your mouth in a slow, deep kiss—hungry, but tender. The heat between you didn’t fade; it only grew, a wildfire stoked by every touch, every breath.

His fingers loosened their grip on your hair as your whispered praises caught him off guard. A flicker of something—surprise, maybe even a little bashfulness—flushed across his face, coloring his cheeks in a way you rarely saw.

“Shit,” he muttered, voice rough and quieter than before. “You really mean that?”

Before you could answer, he bent down slightly and lifted you up without any hesitation. Your arms curled around his neck naturally, and he supported you easily with his hands under your thighs.

Carrying you like you weighed nothing, he walked steadily toward your bedroom. When he reached the door, he used the side of his foot to nudge it open just enough, then stepped inside without letting go of you.

Once inside, he closed the door behind him with another gentle push of his foot, the soft click sounding final.

He paused just outside your bedroom door, a soft breath catching in his throat as a sweet, intoxicating scent drifted out to greet him. For a moment, he thought you must’ve been baking—something warm and comforting like cinnamon or vanilla filling the air.

But this was different.

The scent wrapped around him, deeper and more addictive than any baked good he’d ever known. It pulled at him, stirring something raw and urgent inside.

He inhaled again, eyes closing briefly as the fragrance settled over him. “Damn,” he muttered, voice thick. “I thought you were baking or something... but this—this is something else.”

Still holding you firmly in his arms, he pushed the door open with his foot, stepping inside while that sweet scent clung to both of you, wrapping the room in a quiet promise.

He shut the door behind him with another push, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked down at you cheeks warmer than by the second as he stared into your doll like eyes “Why do you smell so good?”

He carried you effortlessly to the edge of the bed, his hands steady and sure as he settled you down. The cool sheets beneath your skin were a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off his body. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, as he peeled off his jacket, the fabric falling away to reveal the hard planes of his chest.

His white buttoned down followed, slipping over his broad shoulders and disappearing somewhere behind him. You couldn’t look away as his muscles flexed with every movement, the tension in the room thickening like a living thing.

Slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his pants, sliding them down his hips and stepping out of them, leaving him bare and exposed to you. The sight made your pulse quicken, your body already aching for him.

Without hesitation, you spread your legs wider, welcoming him back in, your fingers sinking deep inside yourself once more, as if what he’d just done wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the ache he’d stirred.

Your breaths hitched, trembling under the weight of his gaze as you whispered, voice shaky and desperate, “Please… don’t stop. I need more. "

He didn’t waste another second. With a swift, practiced motion, he freed himself completely, shedding the last barrier between you. His thick length pressed firmly against your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before slowly, deliberately sinking deep inside you.

You gasped, the fullness stretching you perfectly, his warmth flooding every inch as he settled in.

He held you steady, his hand gripping your hip tightly while his other rested against your thigh, anchoring you both as he began to move—slow at first, savoring the feeling of being inside you, before gradually picking up pace, driving deeper with each stroke.

His eyes fluttered to a close, the moment he registered just how soaked you were—warm, slippery, and completely ready for him. A low, guttural sound rumbled from deep in his throat, rough and full of hunger.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice thick as he pressed even deeper, letting the heat of your pussy swallow him whole. The wet, slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—the messy slide, the soft gasps, the sharp catch of breath when he hit just the right spot.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. Every sound you made—your moans, your shaky breaths—drove him wild, making his thrusts harder, more demanding, as if trying to claim every part of you with the force of his desire.

Bakugo leaned over you, one hand steady on your thigh as he spread you open again, eyes flicking down with sharp focus. The heat between you made the air feel heavy, thick with tension and want.

He parted you with his fingers, gaze locked on the way you glistened in the low light. “So damn wet…” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, reverent.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he let his head tilt just slightly—allowing a slow string of spit to fall from his lips, landing warm and deliberate on your clit. The sudden slickness made you jolt, a soft whimper escaping before you could stop it.

He smirked at your reaction, thumb sliding through the mess with practiced ease. And then he began—drawing slow, deliberate circles over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not teasing. Just pressure—perfect and steady.

Your back arched as the sensation sank in, every nerve firing at once. His name tumbled from your lips like a plea, but he didn’t stop—watching the way your body responded with a hunger that nearly matched your own.

Bakugo watched every twitch of your body, every flutter of your lashes and the way your breath stuttered when his thumb circled just right. But he wasn’t done—not even close.

“C’mere,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

With gentle but commanding hands, he lifted your hips and adjusted your angle, hooking one of your legs over his forearm. The shift let him press deeper—his next thrust hitting a spot so sensitive it pulled a sharp gasp from your throat.

Your hand flew up to your face instinctively, trying to muffle the sound, to hide the expression you knew was painted all over you—wide eyes, trembling lips, that overwhelmed look you couldn’t help but wear whenever he touched you like this.

But Bakugo noticed. Of course he did.

His grip didn’t waver, his pace deep and deliberate now, each movement drawing a broken whimper from you. “Don’t hide,” he said, his voice closer to a growl as he leaned in. “Wanna see all of it. Every damn bit you try to keep from me.”

You whimpered again, face still buried in your hands, but your body betrayed you—arching into him, clinging, craving every second.

And he gave it to you.

Bakugo leaned into you, his lips finding the curve of your shoulder, then the space just below your collarbone. He left slow, reverent kisses in his wake—each one deeper, more deliberate than the last. His breath was hot against your skin, uneven, like he was barely keeping himself in check.

“You smell so good…” he murmured against you, voice rough and breathless. “Swear, the second I walked in, I thought you’d been baking somethin’. But this…” His nose brushed your neck, and he inhaled deeply, groaning low in his throat. “This is better than anything I’ve ever tasted.”

You trembled beneath him, your face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder, body clinging to him like gravity had given out.

Then his hand curled gently into your hair, anchoring you there—pressed close, skin to skin, breath to breath.

And then he moved.

Not with the careful restraint from before—but with a need that finally spilled over. His hips snapped forward, each thrust purposeful, deep, and intense, hitting a place inside you that made your breath catch with every motion.

You couldn’t speak—only whimper, only hold on—his scent, his voice, the way he said your name like it meant something sacred.

Every movement of his hips had purpose now—intentional, relentless, and aimed straight for that spot inside you that made your vision blur and your hands grasp for anything to hold onto. And the only thing there was him.

Bakugo.

Sweat glistened at his temple, his jaw tight, his body coiled above yours like a live wire. But his eyes—those fierce, red eyes—stayed locked on your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your whole body seemed to unravel for him.

Again and again, he drove into you, never losing that rhythm, never letting you come down from it.

And then it happened.

Your thighs tensed around him, your nails dug into his shoulders, and your breath hitched like the air had left the room. The pleasure overwhelmed you, cresting in a wave so sharp and perfect it stole your voice. You came hard, a cry catching in your throat as your body pulsed around him—tight, hot, trembling.

He groaned, a guttural sound from deep in his chest. “Fuck… you’re squeezing me so tight—”

Your climax dragged him under, the way your body clung to him tipping him past the edge. His rhythm faltered—just for a second—then he thrust deep, one last time, burying himself inside you as he spilled everything he had into you. He gasped your name, low and hoarse, forehead falling to your shoulder as he held still, letting the moment crash over him.

His arms wrapped around your back, breath shaky, the heat of you wrapped so tightly around him that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

Neither of you moved at first. Your bodies pressed together, breathing in sync, still flushed and trembling.

You felt him kiss your shoulder—soft, reverent. As if after all that, you were something fragile.

His breath was still ragged, forehead resting against yours, but even after release, Bakugo didn’t stop. His hips moved slowly now, deliberately—drawing out every last bit of sensation as if he couldn’t bear to let go of the heat between you. You could feel the way he trembled against you, how sensitive he was, yet still lost in you—drunk off the way your body held him.

He kissed you then. Deeply. Not rushed or fevered like before, but slow—hungry in a different way. Like he was memorizing your mouth, savoring the taste of your praise still lingering on your lips.

As his movements began to still, his hands cradled your waist, the gentleness in contrast to how fiercely he’d held you before.

“I should pull out,” he murmured, voice hoarse against your skin, laced with hesitation.

But before he could move, you shifted.

Your hand pressed to his chest, guiding him to lie back against the mattress. And in one smooth motion, you rolled your hips forward, slipping above him—his length still buried deep inside you. He gasped softly, the sensation of you moving with him again pulling a choked sound from his throat.

Your thighs settled around his hips, your palms resting on his chest. You were flushed, trembling slightly, but your eyes locked on his—full of him.

“Fuck…” he whispered, voice cracking. Eyes rolling back for swift moment.

His moan deepened, breath hitching as his eyes fluttered shut, lashes brushing his cheek. “ Fuck—wait, I’m still too sensitive,” he quipped, voice rough, low—almost leaning into a whine.

His head tilted back slightly, and you saw it happen again—his eyes rolling back just like before, a flash of raw vulnerability and fierce desire mixing in that moment. His nails pressed into the skin of your hips , anchoring himself as your movements sent waves through him.

“You’re gonna, kill me,” he groaned, lips parting, chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

Even with his eyes closed, lost in the rush, every sound and shudder told you he was utterly captivated—caught between need and surrender, and not ready to let go.

His breath hitched again as you ground your hips down against him, the heat between you building with every deliberate motion. Your hands found his neck, fingers curling just enough to feel the quick pulse beneath his skin—light, teasing pressure that made his breath stutter. His head tilted back, exposing the tense line of his throat, and you saw the flush deepen on his cheeks as his mouth parted before he bared them.

The way he looked so helpless beneath you, every shudder and moan, told you just how much he was caught in the moment—torn between wanting to give in and holding on tight. Your gaze locked on his, burning and unyielding, as you kept moving, controlling the pace, savoring the way his body trembled beneath your touch.