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22themoon · 29 days ago

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My head is filled with thoughts of riding Katsuki into oblivion

Warnings: fem!reader, smut, 18+ minors do not interact, top!reader, switch!Bakugo, multiple orgasms, dirty talking, rough sex, sloppy kissing, biting, reader is cock drunk and down bad, overstimulation, squirting, pushing it all back in, All characters are 20+

That fucked out expression on his face—god, you love it. Love it like you crave the heat curling low in your belly, like you need the way his eyes flutter every time you drag your hips down slow and deep, pussy hugging him tight. Snug over every single vein that runs along his cock.

He looks so gone like this, wrecked and worshipping, that you can’t help but run the back of your finger over his face, rub that little drool trail from the corner of his mouth.

Your clit twitches against his abdomen as you watch his chest rising hard with every shaky breath that exits him, his mouth slack and glistening with spit as you smear your fingers on his lips. Saying a soft ‘please’ before you sink it into his mouth and he gladly sucks the digit inside, sending waves of pleasure in the clamping walls of your cunt.

For a moment, your finger pops out of his mouth with a loud plop. Drool strings still connects your skin to his mouth.

In a sinister action, you let your fingers trail lower—not just over his lips this time, but down your own belly, slipping between your thighs, right where your bodies are joined in that obscene, sticky, scorching wet heat. Your fingers come away soaked, trembling from how wet you are, and you bring them back up to his mouth.

“Open,” you whisper, and he does eagerly, obediently, his lips parting with a low sound of need as you slip your fingers into his mouth.

He groans, deep in his chest, tongue swirling over the taste of both of you. His hands flex on your waist, grip tightening as you grind down with a broken gasp, soaking him all over again. The feel of his mouth on your fingers, his cock twitching inside you, and your own heartbeat pounding loud in your ears…it all blurs together into something feral, something primal, animalistic.

“You feel that?” you whisper against his jaw, voice hoarse and honey-thick. “That’s how wet you make me. That’s what you’re doing to me, Katsuki.”

His eyes snap open, wild and molten and you could swear you see them blur into a heart shape, and his hips buck up without warning. Dragging a sharp, keening cry from your lips as you brace yourself on his chest, still grinding, still trembling. You feel like you’re going to unravel again, right there on top of him. Not from just the stretch, or the friction but from him and him alone. From the way he looks at you.

He moans like he’s tasting something sacred. Like he’s drunk on you.

Your thighs burn but you don’t care. So does your ass, your feet. Every single part of your legs is on fire.

But you want to feel it tomorrow. Want the ache to linger. Because right now, this—him—is everything. The world’s fallen away and apart, blurred out beyond the faint sound of wet slap of skin, the breathless gasps, the stretch of him buried so deep inside you, ugh, it feels like he’s carved his name into your womb. And right now, if that was physically possible, you wouldn’t mind at all.

Katsuki’s hands stay locked on your ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, guiding but not forcing—he’s letting you take him apart, letting you ride out your need like it’s his only purpose, when he could just flip you and get it over with, come to the ultimate orgasmic high this moment has built up to, even faster than you could imagine.

And you’re so close. Too. So fucking close you can’t think. Your hips grind down messy now, frantic, as if you can’t bear to stop, like you’ll shatter if you lose the feel of him for even a second. His veins catch around your walls, his mushroom tip bulges and twitches inside you with each thrust, curving an ever after shape of his cock inside you. One that fits like a glove, despite how sticky and wet you are, when it slips out with a loud plop!

“Fuck,” he chokes, bullying the tip in once again, voice shredded. No hands needed to guide himself inside you “You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—shit, baby, y’gonna make me—”

“Don’t,” you gasp, barely coherent, every nerve lit and strung taut. “Don’t. Stop. Don’t you fucking cum yet”

Bossy and mean as you are, you slow down completely, feeling the sharp ache of his dick kissing your cervix before you grab one of his hands and bring his thumb to your mouth, licking and swiping your tongue once, twice over it and sucking, before you push it down towards your clit.

Right on cue, his thumb circles your clit with a slick, practiced rhythm, every drag precise and devastating. You’re soaked, filthy— your slick gushing down to mix with the sticky heat of his thighs, holding onto his wrist with one hand, until his thumb slips and gets trapped between his abdomen and your slit.

You’re making such a mess on him. Every rock of your hips splashes lewdly against the base of his cock, your juices painting his skin, coating him in the proof of how badly you need this—need him. It’s wet, obscene, deliciously vulgar. The kind of sound that should make you flustered normally, but instead makes your cunt clamp down greedily, aching to be split open again and again and again.

Your head tips back with a soft, broken moan as his thumb flicks just right, hips stuttering forward as your whole body coils tighter.

You grind low, ass cheeks shaking, walls clamping impossibly tight around him, chasing that coil inside your belly, watching with half-lidded eyes as Katsuki bites his lower lip and throws his head back for a second. Gosh— you want to pounce his neck but there’s no spot that you've left unmarked.

But then again, that vein that runs down the left side of his neck, the softness of his skin, it's sooooo delicious. You can’t resist.

You lean in—breath hitching, body thrumming—as your lips ghost over the sweat-damp heat of his throat. That vein, thick and pulsing, is calling to you like it’s lit up with neon, a target you’ve claimed a hundred times over and still crave like it’s your last meal. You latch onto it with a languid drag of your tongue, then suck, slow and sinful, until he groans—deep, primal, trembling against the choke of pleasure and restraint.

“Jesus fuckin’—” Katsuki hisses, voice low and cracked, hands bruising your hips as he watches the way your folds swallow him whole again and again. “You’re so wet I can hear you suckin’ me back in—fuck, baby, your pussy’s drippin’ down my fuckin’ legs.”

“Dont talk” you bark, sinking your teeth deeper into his neck, earning a soundly hiss “Learn to not fucking talk when I got you like this, Katsuki”

You don’t even know what succubus demon has overtaken you and forces you to speak like this to him. But when his eyes widen, all red and filled with lust you’re only encouraged to keep it up.

It’s not like he lied either; Your slick coats everything—his cock, his thighs, the base of his stomach. And every time he bottoms out, it sends a fresh gush out of you, spurting around the base of his cock like your body’s overflowing, can’t contain the sensation. Can’t contain him. The ache that comes from every curve on his cock inside you.

You’re wrapped around him so tight, so hot and soaked, it feels like he’s being swallowed by molten velvet. His cock pulses uncontrollably inside you, every squeeze of your fluttering walls sending shockwaves up his spine, forcing a deep grunt from his chest like he’s barely holding it together. It’s too much—but not enough.

“Shit, baby,” he pants, eyes glued to the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock each time you lift.

“I need it,” you gasp, nails clawing down his chest, leaving red lines over his sweat-slick skin, hips and voice whining and wailing just the same “Need it deeper—need you deeper, Katsuki—fuck— make it go deeper, please”

He grabs your hips, slams you down, and stays there—cock buried to the hilt, his balls pressed to your ass, his chest heaving against yours as you both freeze in that molten stretch.

You’re so full, stuffed and stretched and soaked, your pussy throbbing around him with wet, messy pulses like it’s tasting him from the inside.

The feel of him inside you is everything—every ridge, every swollen vein, the heavy throb of his cock as it pulses thick and wet in your heat. It’s maddening, the way your walls wrap around him like silk turned molten, gripping tight and fluttering with every twitch of his hips. You can feel him everywhere—the stretch deep in your belly, the weight of him dragging along your insides, the obscene way your cunt clings to him like it never wants to let go.

You force his hand on your clit again, using his fingers to rub fast, entangling your digits with his as you command breathless little “faster”s into the lower lip you’re worrying between your teeth, begging through the pain of the stretch “play with my pussy baby” and “fuck—match my rhythm. Fuck”

Your voice is barely a voice anymore—just breath, just whimpers and stutters and gasps spit through swollen lips. You sound ruined, and it’s perfect.

Katsuki’s breath hits your ear hot, panting through clenched teeth as you guide his hand where you need it, desperate and shameless. Your slicked-up fingers wrap around his, dragging them through the drenched mess between your folds, your clit slippery and twitching under the pads of both your fingertips. He groans low in his chest, the sound vibrating through your sternum, syncing with the pulse already hammering in your cunt.

“Shit—yeah, that’s it,” you gasp, nails digging into his wrist as your hips jerk forward, chasing it. “Just like that, right there—don’t stop. Make me cum, make me—ah, come, dont stoooop”

He doesn’t. Katsuki picks up on your rhythm like it’s coded into his blood—presses tight circles against your clit while your cunt strangles him from the inside, velvet walls spasming around the thick length of his cock still lodged impossibly deep.

He can feel everything. The way your pussy flutters wildly, hugging him like it’s begging, milking him with each pulse. The mess of slick coating his cock, leaking past his balls, smearing over his thighs and dripping down into the sheets like honey, so so sticky. Every tiny movement from you adds to it. The squelch, the wet slap, the low moans bubbling from your lips like you’re too far gone to hold anything in.

“Fuckin’ look at this,” he growls, more to himself, angling his hips just slightly and watching your whole body seize, your tits bouncing against his chest as your chin catches the top of his shoulder

But you can't look—your eyes are blurry, filled to the brim with fat, salty tears and you can’t decide if it’s because of how intense everything feels right now or if it’s because you want more, like a greedy slut for his cock.

You’re making the filthiest sounds you’ve ever heard. Every time you grind forward, it’s a sticky, wet gush of slick, a fresh squirt that bubbles out around the fat seal of his cock splitting you apart. You’re trembling now, overwhelmed, sobbing through gritted teeth as you ride the edge again.

“Gonna cum,” you slur, eyes rolling. “Katsuki—I’m gonna—fuck, baby, it’s too much—nnnngh I want it harder” you yell, legs coaxing him by the hips to follow your command.

His hand on your clit doesn’t let up. If anything, he presses harder. Deeper. Faster. Circles oh so sloppy with you, around you, for you, keeping pace with the desperate fuck of your hips, the drench of your cunt gushing over him with every rock forward.

And when it hits…It’s not quiet.

You cry out, body locking, thighs spasming violently as your orgasm crashes down, long and hard. Your cunt clamps like a vice and then gushes again, clear liquid squirting out between your thighs in hot, messy spurts. It soaks your stomach, his chest, his face when you fall forward with a loud, stuttering sob and a yell of something that quite resembles his name.

Katsuki groans like he’s possessed, hands gripping your ass, eyes glassy just like liquid lava and unfocused as your pussy milks him through it.

“Fuckin’—holy shit,” he grits out, watching his cock disappear inside the wet, scorching heat of you. “You’re fuckin’ perfect, baby—gonna fuckin’ cum—gonna fill you up so fuckin’ good—”

And you want it. God, you want it. Want him buried inside, stuffed and spilling over, stretched wide and soaking wet until there’s nothing left of you but the imprint of him carved into the soppy walls of your pussy.

So with all the strength you’ve got left, you keep grinding, keep working that swollen, overused clit with his thumb and yours, greedy and twitching and still dripping—because one orgasm isn’t enough. Not when he’s still inside you, still so hard like that. Not when your body keeps begging for more.

Your voice breaks on a moan as a new orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, sudden and violent. Your body locks up, back arching, breaking away from him in oily beads of salty sweat, hips stuttering as pleasure bursts behind your eyes. You feel it, oh so hot and blinding—feel yourself gush around him again, the wet heat of it drenching your thighs, splashing against his hips with a slick sound.

Katsuki groans like he’s been punched, his head falling back, veins in his neck standing out as he jerks beneath you. “Holy shit—fuck, you’re—oh my god—”

He’s losing it. You’re both losing it. Your vision goes white, breath ripped out of you in a high, choked cry as your body convulses, trembling uncontrollably with each wave of release. Your thighs spasm around him, hips bucking mindlessly through it as your slick pours down his cock, soaking his skin, making a pool of wetness on the sheets.

He thrusts up once, twice, completely helpless in the mercy of your slack open mouth before he’s coming too, thick and hard, hands clinging to your shaking body like he’ll fall through the earth without you. You feel his cum pulse deep inside you, the warmth of it flooding you, spilling out around him, and it only makes you clench harder, milking him through every broken groan.

The room is nothing but breathless panting and the drip of wet heat between you, the air heavy with sex and sweat and something oversaturated with sweetness and need that blurs into the borders of greediness. You're both breathless, or at least, trying to catch a breath for a fraction of a second.

You collapse forward, chest pressed to his, face buried in his neck, your whole body trembling with aftershocks. He’s warm and shaking beneath you, arms wrapping around your back, holding you like you’re precious and soft and everything nice in the world. Like you didn’t just fuck him into oblivion.

“Shit,” you whisper, lips brushing his collarbone, teeth dragging teasingly over a love bite from before. “I think I saw stars.”

Katsuki laughs broken, hoarse, pressing a kiss to your sweating temple, still twitching inside you, sticky white cum oozing from your cunt onto his cock. He teasingly drags a finger there, threatening to push it in alongside his cock to bully his cum back inside, but let’s go when your body shivers against his. “You fuckin’ squirted. Twice. You wanted it that bad babe?” He laughs, smugly, tapping a small slap against your ass in content.

“Shut up.”

“Babe, everything’s soaked. Like, everywhere. That was the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever…fuuuuck.”

You groan, burying your face deeper, breath hitching with something close to laughter as he holds you tighter.

“You good?” he rasps, voice wrecked, mouth still close to your hair. “You nearly blacked out on me”

He decides then that he can’t stop touching you. His hand slides down your spine again, slow and lazy, dipping into the dip of your lower back like he owns it. Like he’s tracing over everything that just happened, cataloguing it in the calluses of his palm. You can feel how smug he is without even looking at him—feel it in the way he shifts his hips slightly, enough to nudge that overstimulated spot inside you with the heavy drag of his cock still sheathed deep.

You twitch, whimpering low into his neck, too raw and wet to even pretend to be annoyed.

“Katsuki,” you warn, voice threadbare, but he just hums like he’s already forgiven, like he’s earned it. Maybe he has. You’re not exactly complaining.

“Just makin’ sure you’re feelin’ it,” he mutters against your temple, though his hand is already sliding lower—down your thigh, then between. He dips two fingers to the mess where your bodies are still joined, the heat there so hot and tender, and swipes slowly through the sticky slick that’s spilling out of you around his cock.

You flinch, sharp and shivery.

“Fuckin’ look at this,” he breathes, lifting his fingers between you two to show the thick trail of cum and slick stretching between them. His voice dips lower, raspier. “You’re leaking all over me. Can’t have that.”

You feel it before you see it—his fingers pressing down again, gathering the mess, and then, true to his word, sliding it right back in alongside his softening cock. Not deep, just enough to make you cry out softly against his throat, your hips squirming.

“Gotta keep it aaaall in,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like it’s not filthy but tender and possessive all at once.

You finally lift your head, cheeks flushed and tingly, lips swollen from biting back every sound he pulled out of you. Your eyes meet his—still blown, still burning and still filled with so much adoration.

He holds you close to him quietly, soft fingers rubbing soothing cycles on the small of your back.

You let him hold you beneath the messy, aching aftermath, under the cum and sweat and soaked sheets, there’s something quiet and warm between your ribs.

Until, you’re ready to go again.

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22themoon · 1 month ago

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personal heating pad — k. bakugou

a/n: i need him (what’s new)

"my uterus feels like it's destroying itself from the inside out."

katsuki looked up from his desk and turned around to face you. you were lying on the bed, curled into a fetal position. your head was buried into his pillow, making your words come out muffled.

"...is this you asking me to do something or are you just stating a fact?" he blinked at you, trying to gauge how to respond.

you had come into the bedroom fifteen minutes earlier. he heard you come in, turned around to face you just as you flopped on the bed silently. he was tempted to ask what was wrong, but he figured you'd speak when you were ready.

you were ready now, he guessed.

you turned slightly, and he saw you wince with the action. adding to the fact that you were clutching your lower stomach, he made an educated guess.

"period?"

"unfortunately."

sighing, he shut his laptop and pushed out of his chair. he made his way over to the bed, sitting down and moving up to lay against the headboard.

"come here."

you didn't move from your curled up spot. his brows furrowed at the look on your face, the way your eyes bored into his. like you were trying to read his emotions.

"what? why are you looking at me like that?" he mentally cursed himself, his words coming out rougher than he intended them to.

you didn't say anything for a moment, arms still wrapped around your body. when you spoke, he was admittedly a bit taken aback by how soft your voice sounded. his arms, which were still open to you, faltered slightly.

"i'm sorry."

he was quiet, staring at you. finally, his arms dropped completely. "huh? what are you apologizing for?"

he thought over the last minute of the conversation, doing mental hoops to try and figure out what the hell he did wrong, what you were apologizing for.

did he say something without realizing it? he knew his words came out a little harder than he intended, but did they sound worse to you? was his body language off?

your words broke his thinking. "i just...you sighed when you got up, so i thought you were annoyed or something." he watched you put your head in your hands. "god, i feel like a mess right now. i'm sorry."

when he realized he'd just been staring at you for a bit longer than he meant to, he snapped himself out of it. reaching out, careful not hold you too tight or move you too fast, and he pulled you into him. he arranged you so that you laid against his chest.

katsuki felt your body sag almost immediately against the heat of him. he was grateful you didn't protest or show any sign of being in pain, but when he looked down and saw you were still hiding your face, something inside him broke a little

"baby, look at me. please?"

he didn't move his hands from your sides, letting you decide if and when you wanted to look at him. he was relieved when you did, your hands falling from your eyes slowly.

when you opened your mouth to speak, he could already feel another apology ready to slip out like a desperate plea. he hummed sharply, shaking his head.

"no more apologies. you didn't do anything." he hoisted you further up against him, sighing.

"but....i just...." he couldn't see your face anymore as your head came to fall back against his chest, but he could easily imagine the conflicted look on your face.

"you just what, baby?"

you were silent for a moment, before speaking up again in that soft tone that was much too shy and so much unlike you that it made katsuki worry even more than he was trying to show.

"i feel like i'm being a lot. like...too much." he watched you cover your face with your hands again, and he could tell from the shakiness in your voice that you were about to cry. "this is a lot. i'm sorry."

he wrapped his arms around you tighter before gingerly turning you in his lap so that you were facing him. your hands were still covering your face and, this time, he did uncover them with his own.

"what did i say about apologizing?" he attempted to keep his tone teasing, letting out a little tsk. "and you're not being 'too much,' whatever the fuck that means. you're okay. we're okay."

katsuki had never been very good at comforting, but for you, he'd always try. he'd like to think he's gotten better over the years.

he wiped a tear falling down your cheek with a calloused finger, eyes boring into yours. "stop thinking like that, yeah?" he caught you as you leaned forward, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"need me to get a heating pad or somethin'?"he felt you shake your head, sniffling against his shoulder.

"no. just wanna stay like this." your face turned into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and he could feel your breathing fanning out across his skin. "you're so warm."

his lips quirked up ever so slightly, his arms tightening around you. "good. just rest, alright? you'll feel better when you wake up."

he heard you hum before your breath evened out completely, your body going limp against his. he didn't realize when, but at some point his hand had started rubbing up and down your back, soft and slow. he kissed the top of your head before sighing and closing his own eyes.

he would stay like this as long as you needed him too, whether your period was still causing you discomfort or otherwise, just as he did every month. work could wait. hell, the world could wait. right now, you needed him. and deep down, something in him needed you, too. he wasn't ashamed to admit that.

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22themoon · 1 month ago

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My sweet bb

your parents absolutely hate eren yeager. he’s known for being the town’s troublemaker, usually seen in the back of a cop car or causing chaos wherever he goes - and now he’s taken a liking to their angel of a daughter.

to be honest, you didn’t think you’d like him either. he’s not the type of guy you’d think you’d get along with. but to your surprise, he’s such a sweetheart. well, to you anyway.

but he’s definitely been rubbing off on you, causing you to stay out past your curfew just to talk to him for a few more minutes, or putting you in situations you’d never be in before meeting him - you’d never imagine you’d lose your virginity in the back of eren’s car, but rather expecting to lose it on your wedding night.

god, your parents would genuinely kill you if they ever found that out.

eren just thinks you’re the sweetest thing, he likes the innocence you have that was taken from him years ago - wanting to savour it despite how miserably bad he’s been at doing it. he knows he’s being a bad influence, but when he sees just how much you like him, that this isn’t some rebellious phase of yours, he can’t help but want to change for you. he wants to be a man you deserve.

and soon, he found himself in less trouble than what he was, holding back his tongue when he usually wouldn’t and being the bigger person. he also started putting his head down to actually focus on college, whereas before it was the last thing on his priority list.

everyone else started to notice it too, wondering what the hell has gotten him to finally get himself together. but when they see his arm wrap around your shoulder to pull you in for a big kiss, your pretty smile causing one of his own to grow on his face, it makes sense that you’d be the girl who screwed his head on straight.

and maybe, if he carries on with his hard work, you’d finally be able to introduce him to your parents as the man you knew he was all along, and not just the towns troublemaker.

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22themoon · 2 months ago

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I usually never really like pregnancy stories but WOOOHHH this one got me good

♯┆𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓! 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟑.ᐟ — 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Life after the industry is sweet—until Bakugo gets an offer to go back. When he hesitates, you walk out… carrying a secret that changes everything.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: angst with a happy ending, implied past sex work, unplanned pregnancy, emotional hurt/comfort, soft makeup sex, begging, praise, consent-focused, creampie, reader throws up (morning sickness), crying, reader leaves briefly, Bakugo is a dumb boy who learns, extremely soft post-fight intimacy

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟗.𝟑𝐤

PART TWO

You weren’t sure what life would feel like after walking away from everything—the lights, the cameras, the noise. But somehow, it just… slowed down. In the best way.

You and Bakugo had been out of the industry for a few months now. No more early call times. No more scripts. No more wiping off fake sweat between takes or answering awkward fan questions about chemistry that wasn’t real.

This was real.

Waking up in the same bed every morning. Grocery shopping at weird hours because you forgot milk again. Fighting over what kind of laundry detergent to use and then fucking against the dryer before the load was even done. Real.

The money still sat in your account, untouched for the most part. He had more than enough saved, and you did too. And neither of you really talked about it, but you both knew it wasn’t about the money anymore. It was about being able to touch each other without someone yelling cut. About hearing him whisper mine into your skin and knowing it meant something.

The house was small, still half-furnished, still smelled like paint in the corners. But it was yours. It was home.

And every morning started the same.

With him.

Somewhere between the weight of his arm around your waist and the sound of birds outside the window, you always woke up like this—wrapped up in him, skin tangled with sheets that still smelled like the two of you. The house would be quiet. The air just a little cool. And for a few perfect minutes, neither of you had anywhere to be. No makeup to do. No lines to memorize. Just warmth, skin, and the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back.

Sometimes he’d murmur something against your neck—half-asleep nonsense, soft and mumbled and way too sweet for someone who once used the words “tight little cunt” on camera like it was poetry.

Sometimes he didn’t say anything at all. Just held you.

And other times, like right now…

It would start with the feeling of his cock pressed right up against your ass, hard and heavy and twitching through his briefs, like he’d been dreaming about you again His arm is still around your waist, palm splayed wide and warm over your stomach, and his nose is buried in your neck, breath slow and steady. You don’t even open your eyes. Just smirk to yourself and shift your hips back, rubbing against him, slow and lazy, until he groans softly in his sleep.

You feel his hand twitch where it rests against your stomach, sliding a little lower, like his body’s already clocked in even if his mind hasn’t caught up yet. His fingers dip below your navel, brushing the waistband of your panties. You wiggle your hips again, a little bolder this time, grinding back against the thick shape of him until he groans again—louder this time, awake now, mouth brushing your skin as he shifts behind you.

“You tryna start something?” he mumbles, voice low and scratchy with sleep.

You smile. “You’re the one poking me.”

He groans, presses a kiss to your shoulder, and slides his hand down over your panties, cupping you fully. His voice is lower now, all gravel and hunger. “You’re already wet.”

“Maybe I had a good dream.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your skin. “You always dream about me?”

“Only when you don’t hog the blanket.”

His hand slips under the waistband without warning, two fingers dragging through the slick heat between your thighs. He groans again, deeper now, fingers spreading you open like he owns it. “Fuck. You’re soaked.”

You shiver, breath catching as he teases your clit with lazy circles. “Then do something about it.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You want it like this? All slow and sleepy?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as he strokes you a little deeper. “Want you, Katsuki. Just like this.”

You feel his smile against your neck. Then his fingers are gone, and he’s tugging your panties down with one hand, pushing them down your thighs until you kick them off with a soft little whine. He presses himself up against you again, grinding slow against your ass, his cock rock-hard under the thin cotton of his briefs.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Feel how bad I need you?”

You reach behind you, sliding your hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his briefs and pushing them down just enough to free him. His cock presses hot and heavy against your bare skin now, and he groans at the contact, rolling his hips until he’s sliding between your thighs, not inside, just rubbing against your slick folds like he’s savoring it.

He doesn’t say anything for a second. Just breathes. You feel the weight of him behind you, wrapped around you, and the thick head of his cock dragging through your wetness slow and easy, again and again, until you’re writhing, your body aching to be filled.

“Please,” you whisper. “Katsuki, I need it.”

He pushes in without a word.

One long, deep stroke, slow enough that you feel every inch stretch you open, fill you up, sink into you like he’s molding himself to the shape of you from the inside out. Your mouth falls open. He groans into your shoulder, his hand gripping your waist like he’s holding on for dear life.

“God,” he rasps. “You always take me so fuckin’ good.”

You moan, soft and real, grinding your hips back to meet his next thrust. He moves slow at first, dragging out each roll of his hips like he wants to memorize the way you feel wrapped around him. His hand slides up to your chest, palm cupping your breast as he fucks you from behind, lazy and deep, breath hot against your neck.

The room is still dim, light barely leaking through the curtains, and the only sounds are his breath, your moans, the soft slap of skin on skin as he sinks into you over and over again.

“Can’t believe I get to wake up to this,” he mutters, lips against your ear. “To you.”

You whimper. “Katsuki—”

His hand drifts down between your legs again, fingers rubbing slow circles against your clit while he fucks into you, his rhythm never faltering. It’s too much and not enough, overwhelming and perfect all at once.

“You gonna cum for me?” he breathes. “This tight little pussy already clenching on me like she’s close.”

“Yes—fuck, yes—don’t stop—”

He grinds in deep, holds it there, fingers working you just right until you break with a soft cry, your body locking up as the orgasm crashes through you, pulsing around him in slow, aching waves. You hear him groan as you tighten around his cock, and he starts to move again, chasing his own high now, thrusts getting rougher, needier.

“Shit—baby—feels so fuckin’ good—”

You reach behind you, hand tangling in his hair, tugging him closer as he fucks into you harder, faster, until he’s gasping your name and spilling inside you, cock twitching deep as he groans into your neck.

The two of you stay there for a minute—sweaty, breathless, still tangled together, his cock still buried inside you, your skin sticky with heat and sweat and morning light.

Then he shifts, kissing your shoulder again, voice soft. “We’re disgusting.”

You smile. “Speak for yourself.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “You’re the one who begged for it.”

You hum, smug. “And I got it.”

He groans and flops onto his back, dragging you with him, letting you settle on top of him, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s never planning to let go.

You press a kiss to his collarbone, his chest still rising and falling beneath you, warm and steady and safe.

This was everything.

Just you and him and the quiet, and nowhere to be.

Bakugo was still half-asleep beneath you, one hand drifting aimlessly up and down your back, the other tucked under your thigh where it had landed during round one and never left. His cock had softened inside you, but he hadn’t pulled out. You didn’t mind. You liked it like this—slow and messy and full of him. His cum already leaking out of you, cooling against your thighs, but neither of you moved. The sheets were ruined. You didn’t care.

He mumbled something against your hair, too quiet to catch, and you smiled into his chest.

“What?” you asked softly.

“I said,” he repeated, voice rough, “if we keep doing this every morning, we’re gonna go through bedsheets faster than groceries.”

You laughed into his skin. “Then stop cumming in me like a man with a breeding kink.”

He didn’t laugh. Just went still for a second.

You blinked, lifting your head. “I’m joking—Jesus, relax.”

He huffed, but you saw the way his eyes flicked down your body, lingering where you were still connected, sticky and flushed and warm. He didn’t say anything.

“You’re not getting all weird about that now, are you?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Because we’re being careful. And I’m not trying to be barefoot and pregnant with your demon spawn.”

That made him laugh—finally. A real one. Deep and low and warm in his chest. “Yet.”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki.”

He kissed you to shut you up, and you let him.

Eventually, you peeled yourselves out of bed and into the shower—half-cleaning, half-groping, ending with him pushing you up against the tile wall and fucking you again while the water ran cold.

By the time you both made it downstairs, it was almost noon.

Bakugo wore grey sweats, no shirt, towel-dried hair messy, and his usual morning scowl soft around the edges from sex and sleep. You were in one of his shirts and nothing else, legs still shaky as you climbed onto the counter while he made coffee.

You were halfway through stealing the last piece of sourdough when his phone buzzed on the kitchen island.

He ignored it at first, focused on trying not to burn the eggs again.

It buzzed again.

You glanced over. “Is that Keigo again?”

“Probably,” he muttered.

He reached for it anyway, flipping it open with one hand, balancing the spatula in the other. You watched his face shift as he scrolled—soft confusion, followed by that little furrow between his brows you knew too well. Not annoyed. Just focused.

“What?” you asked, mouth full.

He didn’t answer.

“Katsuki?”

He tilted the screen toward you.

You squinted at the message, chewing slowly.

An offer.

A comeback scene.

Big budget. New studio. New girl.

One-time shoot.

A rate so high you blinked twice just to make sure you weren’t reading it wrong.

You snorted. “That’s fake.”

“I don’t think it is,” he muttered.

“They must be desperate.”

He didn’t laugh.

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. You’re not actually—”

“I’m just saying,” he said, still scrolling, tone too calm, too casual. “It’s a lot of money.”

You stared at him.

He looked back.

And something in your chest pulled tight.

“No.”

“I didn’t say yes,” he said quickly.

“But you’re considering it.”

“I’m just—thinking.”

You slid off the counter, toes hitting the cold tile, the hem of his shirt swishing around your thighs. “Thinking about sticking your dick in someone else?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

He set the phone down. “It’s a job.”

“Not anymore.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not like I caught feelings for every scene partner I ever had.”

“It’s not about that anymore,” you snapped. “You’re mine.”

He flinched. Just slightly.

“I left the industry for you,” you said. “We both did. I gave up everything. And now you’re telling me what—we’re one big paycheck away from you crawling back into bed with some new girl for content?”

“It’s not about her.”

“Then what is it? Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you’re willing to throw everything away for a fucking cheque.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” he said sharply. “It’s a one-time thing.”

“And that makes it better?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you—and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t soft.

He was calm. Cold.

Like a pro.

Like the guy he used to be.

Your chest ached.

You turned away. “I can’t believe you.”

“Baby—”

“No,” you said, voice low. “Don’t call me that right now.”

The silence hit heavy.

You walked out of the kitchen, footsteps slow, careful, arms crossed over your chest like you were holding yourself together.

He didn’t follow.

You made it to the bathroom, closed the door, sat on the edge of the tub. Your pulse was in your throat. Your head was spinning. You weren’t crying. Not yet. Not even angry.

Just… tired.

So tired.

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, taking a deep breath.

And your stomach lurched.

You froze.

Swallowed.

And ran to the toilet just in time to throw up everything you’d eaten.

Your hands gripped the edge of the bowl. The tile was cold against your knees. The bitter taste in your mouth didn’t even register.

You stayed there, trembling, staring at the floor like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But something inside you already knew.

Not because of the nausea. Not even because of the skipped period you hadn’t really processed until right now.

But because of the way your body had changed this past week—tired all the time, sore in places that didn’t usually ache, the way your chest felt heavier in the mornings, and how certain smells made you gag for no reason.

And the way he looked at you lately—like something was glowing under your skin and he didn’t know how to name it.

You sat there on the cold tile floor, palms flat against your thighs, trying to breathe through the thought without breaking. It felt impossible. Like the second you gave it space, it would swallow you whole. This huge, terrifying thing growing in the corner of your mind like a secret you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Not even to him.

Especially not now.

Not when he was still in the kitchen.

Still standing there with his phone in his hand, thinking about fucking someone else for a paycheck.

You didn’t even blame him.

Not really.

You knew how much money that was. You knew what it meant to walk away from something like that, how many people would kill for even half that offer. You knew what it meant to be practical.

But you also knew how it would feel.

Watching him strip for someone else. Touch someone else. Pretend to want someone else. Even just for a day. Even just for a scene.

You’d spent years acting. Years pretending. But there was no pretending anymore. Not with him. You’d felt it the first time he touched you and again every time after—this wasn’t a job. Not anymore. It was real. Messy. Beautiful. Yours.

And now this.

Your stomach twisted again, but you didn’t move.

You just sat there, staring at the floor, until your breath finally evened out and your head stopped spinning.

Then, slow and quiet, you got up.

Washed your face. Brushed your teeth. Pulled on some soft shorts and tied your hair up like nothing was wrong.

And then you opened the drawer under the sink, where you’d stuffed a half-used box of pregnancy tests last year during a false alarm.

You stared at it.

Stared through it.

Then you grabbed one, unwrapped it, and sat back down on the toilet like your hands weren’t shaking.

The silence felt louder than it should.

Louder than the party music that used to pulse through your earpiece on set. Louder than the breathy moans you used to fake for the camera.

This was real.

This was just you.

And a little stick that would either ruin everything or explain it all.

You peed on it. Set it on the counter. Washed your hands.

Waited.

You didn’t pace. Didn’t look. Just stood there with your fingers braced against the counter, staring into the sink like you could fall into it.

You told yourself not to check too early. That two minutes wasn’t that long.

But thirty seconds in, you looked anyway.

And there it was.

One line.

Then another.

Faint. Pink. Obvious.

Positive.

The sound you made wasn’t even a gasp. It was quieter than that. A breath, stolen out of your lungs. A sob that never formed.

You sat down again, this time on the closed toilet lid, the test still shaking in your hands.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

Bakugo was downstairs, somewhere between scrambled eggs and a maybe-cheating debate, and you were upstairs, holding proof that your life was about to split in half.

You pressed a hand to your belly again.

There was nothing there yet. No bump. No flutters. No heartbeat you could feel.

But it was real.

This thing. This tiny, terrifying, impossible thing.

You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

You just sat there.

And realized you had no fucking idea what to do next.

The test sat quiet on the counter like it wasn’t ruining your whole world. Just two pink lines. Faint, delicate, innocent. Like it hadn’t detonated a bomb in your chest.

You stared at it for another minute, hand still flat against your stomach, like you were trying to feel something. A flutter. A kick. A sign. But there was nothing. Just silence and the thick hum of panic under your skin.

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t scream.

You just… stood up. And started moving.

The house was quiet when you stepped out of the bathroom. Still smelled like toast and sex and expensive coffee grounds. You moved slow, careful, like one wrong step might make it all collapse.

He was still downstairs. You could hear him in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets like he was trying to stay busy. Like he was still mad. Still unsure. Still thinking about it.

You didn’t go to him.

You went to the bedroom.

Grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and pulled open the dresser drawers. You didn’t pack much. Just enough. A few outfits. Your charger. Your toothbrush. You weren’t running away. You just needed space. Time. Room to think without his voice in your ear or the weight of his silence in your bed.

You zipped the bag shut and stood there for a second, hand tight around the strap.

This wasn’t about punishing him.

It was about protecting yourself.

And something else now too.

You stepped into the hallway. Your feet felt like bricks. Every part of you wanted to crawl back into bed, pretend you hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t felt it. Hadn’t watched the man you loved seriously consider letting someone else touch him again like it was no big deal.

You made it halfway down the stairs before he saw you.

He looked up from where he stood near the counter, phone in one hand, coffee untouched in the other. His eyes dropped to the bag slung over your shoulder. And his whole body stiffened.

“Where are you going?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Keigo’s.”

He blinked, slow. “What?”

“I texted him,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “He said I could stay a few nights.”

Bakugo set his coffee down, like the act of holding something suddenly felt impossible. “Why?”

You stared at him.

Waited.

Let him connect the dots himself.

And when he didn’t—when his silence stretched too long, too confused, too hurt—you gave him the only answer you had.

“Because I need to stay somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to be cheated on for a cheque.”

His mouth opened. Closed. No sound came out.

You tightened your grip on the bag. “I love you. But I need you to really think about what you’re doing. About what it means to even consider it. Because if this is something you’re still on the fence about, then I can’t be here while you figure it out.”

His jaw tensed. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust this version of you,” you whispered. “The one that looks at money and forgets what we built.”

The pain on his face flickered fast, like he didn’t want you to see it—but you did. You saw all of it. The confusion. The guilt. The way his hands curled into fists like he wanted to fix it, but didn’t know how.

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else.

You turned.

Walked toward the door.

And before you stepped out, you paused, one hand on the handle, your voice soft.

“I’ll be at Keigo’s if you decide that I’m worth more than a fucking paycheck.”

Then you were gone.

And the door closed behind you.

The door closed behind you.

The air outside was cooler than you expected, your breath catching a little in your chest as you walked down the driveway. You didn’t have a plan past this. Just the bag slung over your shoulder and the phone in your hand, screen dark and heavy like it knew what you were about to do.

You hadn’t actually texted Keigo.

You said it like you had, like it was settled, like your best friend who sometimes slept until noon and always forgot to charge his phone would definitely be available for some kind of emotional bed-and-breakfast situation.

But you hadn’t sent the message.

Because you hadn’t known what to say.

And because when everything cracked open inside you, the only place that felt remotely safe wasn’t a hotel, or a friend with a couch, or your sister two cities over.

It was Keigo.

Of course it was Keigo.

He was the only person who knew what this world had been like for you. What the job had meant. What it had cost. He’d seen you on your best and worst days. Had filmed with you when your hands were shaking and kissed your forehead before scenes when you were too anxious to fake it. He’d seen you fall in love with Bakugo even before you realized you had.

So when your thumb hovered over his name, you didn’t write a long explanation. You didn’t even say anything dramatic.

You just texted:

“Are you home?”

He responded in thirty seconds.

“Always.”

You blinked away the burn behind your eyes and typed back:

“I’m coming over.”

And that was it.

No questions.

No judgment.

And when you got there, he opened the door before you even knocked.

His hair was a mess, blonde tufts sticking in every direction, sweatpants slung low on his hips and an old band tee hanging loose over his chest. He had a toothbrush in one hand and a protein bar in the other, like he’d been mid-bite when he saw your name pop up and forgot how to function after.

His eyes swept over you, down to the duffel bag, and back up.

He blinked.

“You look like shit.”

You let out a quiet laugh that broke halfway through. “Thanks.”

He stepped aside. “Get in here.”

The second the door closed behind you, the weight hit you all at once. Your chest tightened. Your throat burned. But you didn’t cry. You just stood in the entryway while Keigo locked the door behind you, his movements quiet, slow, careful.

He turned around. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask.

Just held out his arms.

And you stepped right into them.

No words. No explanations.

His body was warm. Familiar. The way he held you—arms wrapping tight, chin resting on your head, it didn’t feel romantic. It didn’t even feel fragile.

It felt like safety.

You didn’t know how long you stood there. Long enough for your breath to even out. Long enough to stop shaking.

Eventually, he pulled back, hands still on your arms.

“You hungry?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“You wanna shower?”

Another shake.

“You wanna talk?”

You hesitated. Then whispered, “Not yet.”

He nodded. “Cool. I got like five types of ice cream and a couch with your name on it.”

You smiled. Small. Tired.

“Also, I’m watching that trashy dating show you hate.”

You groaned. “Of course you are.”

“I’m doing you a favor. Lowering your standards before you crawl back to your man.”

You stiffened. He caught it.

His eyes softened.

“Hey,” he said gently. “I’m not judging. I just know you love that idiot.”

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t push.

He just took your bag, pointed toward the living room, and said, “You’re on blanket duty. I’ll be there in five.”

You sank onto the couch, pulling the throw over your lap, curling into the cushions like they might hold you together.

Your hand drifted to your stomach again. Light. Careful. Protective.

You didn’t know what was going to happen next.

But at least for tonight—you weren’t alone.

Keigo didn’t hover.

He didn’t ask why you showed up at his door with a bag and puffy eyes. Didn’t pry when you curled into the couch under the throw blanket like your body was trying to disappear. He just dropped onto the other end, grabbed the remote, and turned on whatever trash he’d been watching before you showed up. Something dramatic. Loud. Ridiculous.

You let it play.

For a while, neither of you talked. He didn’t need to. You weren’t ready. And he knew that.

You sat there in silence, the glow of the TV washing over the room in soft colors while some girl on screen cried over a man named Bryce who’d definitely slept with her best friend.

Keigo clicked his tongue. “Messy.”

You snorted without meaning to.

His eyes flicked to you.

He grinned. “There she is.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged the blanket tighter.

After another minute, he shifted suddenly, sitting up a little straighter.

“You know what, bitch?” he said, tone way too enthusiastic for someone wearing socks with holes in them. “I got just the thing for you.”

You raised a brow. “Keigo—”

“Nope. Don’t talk. Let me fix you.”

“You’re not fixing anything.”

He was already on his feet, waving a dismissive hand as he wandered toward the kitchen. “Shut up and mourn your toxic man in peace. I’ll be right back.”

You smiled despite yourself. That dumb, warm little twist in your chest that only came from someone who knew you too well. You sank back into the couch, head tipping against the cushion, letting the sounds of the show fill the room while he clattered around in the kitchen.

Drawers opened. Something clinked. The fridge door squeaked.

A few minutes later, he reappeared—two wine glasses in hand, both filled with a generous pour of deep red.

You blinked.

He held one out to you. “To men being trash.”

You stared at the wine glass.

Didn’t take it.

Your throat started to close.

Your chest got tight.

And before you could stop it—your face crumpled.

Keigo blinked. “Wait—what?”

You shook your head, covering your face with one hand, and the tears started spilling fast. Quiet, but heavy. You tried to breathe through it, tried to wave him off, but it was too late.

He sat down quick, the wine still in his hands. “Shit—what’d I do? What happened?”

You couldn’t speak at first.

Just buried your face in your palms and choked on the words.

Keigo’s voice gentled. “Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to—just breathe, babe. You’re alright. I’m here.”

“I’m not mad about the wine, I swear,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I just—I can’t have it.”

Keigo stared at you.

Then stared at the wine.

Then back at you.

And his whole face shifted.

“…oh shit.”

Without another word, he placed both wines down and then picked up your untouched glass and poured the whole thing into his. Set the empty one aside like it had betrayed you both.

You laughed, messy and wet.

He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, face open. “Tell me everything.”

So you did.

You told him about the morning. About waking up wrapped in Bakugo like nothing had changed. About how perfect it had been, how happy you’d felt—until that email. Until Bakugo had looked at a number on a screen and hesitated.

You told him about the offer. The girl. The way he didn’t say no. How your heart had split in two while he stood there quiet, calculating.

You told him about the fight. About the way Bakugo looked at you—professional. Like he’d stepped back into a version of himself you thought he’d buried.

You told him you threw up. Took a test. Watched the second pink line appear like it had been waiting for this exact moment to fuck you up.

By the time you finished, your hands were in your lap and Keigo was quiet beside you, one elbow propped on the couch, wine glass forgotten.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“Goddamn.”

You exhaled. “Yeah.”

He shook his head, blowing out a soft breath. “I’m not gonna lie, I kinda wanna punch him.”

You almost smiled. “I know.”

“But I also know him,” he added. “And I know that if he’d seen that test first? He would’ve lost his goddamn mind.”

You looked down. Your voice went quiet. “But he didn’t.”

Keigo didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend him.

He just shifted closer, nudged your knee with his. “You gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“You want him to know?”

You hesitated.

And in the silence, Keigo just nodded, like he understood even that.

He leaned back into the couch and took a sip of the wine he definitely didn’t want anymore. “Well,” he said. “Until you do, this couch is yours. So’s the ice cream.”

You snorted. “You said that like it was a prize.”

“Have you seen my freezer?”

You laughed, properly this time, and wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Thanks, Kei.”

“Anytime.”

He bumped your shoulder with his, lazy and gentle.

And the two of you sat like that—half-curled into each other, trash TV still playing in the background, a full glass of wine untouched on the table—and for the first time all day, you felt like maybe, just maybe, everything might not fall apart after all.

The next morning came too early.

You hadn’t really slept, just drifted in and out between half-dreams and the glow of Keigo’s TV. He’d stayed up with you, never pushing, just letting you exist. At some point he fell asleep at the other end of the couch, one leg kicked over the armrest, mouth half-open, blanket tangled around his waist like he’d wrestled a ghost in his sleep.

You sat up slowly, hair a mess, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Your hand dropped to your stomach before you even thought about it. Just a soft touch. A check-in.

Still real.

Still terrifying.

You didn’t know how to feel. You weren’t ready to be a mom. But you were even less ready to walk back into that house and face a man who looked at you like a choice instead of a certainty.

Keigo stirred with a groan. “God, my spine is broken.”

You snorted. “You did that to yourself.”

He opened one eye and smirked. “I do everything to myself. But you—you look a little less haunted. That’s a win.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “It’s the pregnancy glow.”

He gagged dramatically and rolled off the couch.

You spent the rest of the day like that—floating in a weird limbo of cozy clothes, bad food, and Keigo pretending he wasn’t watching you like a hawk when you stood too still or stared too long at nothing. He didn’t ask again. Just sat with you. Waited.

But Bakugo didn’t text.

Didn’t call.

Didn’t show up.

And it hit harder than you wanted it to.

The second day passed slower. Keigo dragged you to the corner store, forced you into a cart like a toddler, and tossed prenatal vitamins into your basket when he thought you weren’t looking. You said nothing. Let him. It was easier than explaining how you hadn’t bought them yet because part of you still wasn’t ready to accept this was really happening.

That night, you fell asleep curled into the couch again, Keigo’s blanket pulled over your head like you could hide from the world.

Meanwhile—

Bakugo sat on the edge of your shared bed, phone in his hand, staring at your last message like he could will it to say something different.

You’d been gone for two days.

He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. The house smelled like nothing. Like empty space. Like you’d never been there at all.

He’d cleaned the kitchen three times. Took the trash out even though it was barely full. Sat on the couch with the TV on mute for hours, watching the screen without seeing a thing.

And the offer?

Still sitting in his inbox.

He hadn’t opened it since you left.

Hadn’t touched it.

Hadn’t deleted it either.

He didn’t know what to do.

He fucked up. That part was obvious. The second your eyes filled with tears and your voice cracked when you said “I need to stay somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m about to be cheated on for a cheque,” something in him snapped in half.

He wasn’t gonna do it. He wasn’t.

But he hadn’t said that.

He froze. Stupid. Thought about the number. The money. The “what ifs.” He hesitated—and you saw that. You felt that.

And now?

Now you were gone.

He looked around the room and realized how quiet everything felt without you. How still. How wrong.

Your charger was still plugged in beside the bed.

Your hair tie was still looped around the doorknob of the bathroom.

Your robe still hung on the hook.

He stood up suddenly, like the silence was suffocating him, and grabbed his keys without thinking. He needed to move. Needed to breathe. He didn’t even know where he was going until he was already outside.

Across town, Keigo was cleaning up dinner when his phone buzzed.

He glanced at it once.

Then again.

Then sighed.

“Hey,” he called toward the living room. “You decent?”

“Why?”

“Someone’s here.”

You looked up from the blanket nest you’d made on his couch.

Your stomach dropped.

Keigo opened the door before you could move.

And there he was.

Katsuki Bakugo.

A mess.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Hair a wreck. Eyes red like he hadn’t slept since you left. He looked past Keigo immediately, eyes scanning the living room until they landed on you.

His whole body stilled.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

Keigo crossed his arms. “You lost?”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched. “She here?”

“You gonna do something stupid if I say yes?”

He didn’t answer.

Keigo looked back at you.

You were frozen.

Not ready.

But you nodded.

Just once.

Keigo stepped aside.

Bakugo stepped in.

And the room felt like it couldn’t hold both of you at once.

You sat there curled up on Keigo’s couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, blanket tucked to your chin like you were trying to hide in plain sight. You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him with wide, quiet eyes—like the sight of him hurt and you didn’t have the energy to pretend it didn’t.

He looked the same as he did the night you left. Except worse.

Hoodie rumpled. Hair a mess. Jaw tight like he hadn’t unclenched it since you slammed the door behind you. His hands were in his pockets, like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you. His voice cracked when he finally said your name.

You blinked.

Didn’t say anything.

He shifted his weight, like he didn’t know where to stand. “I opened that offer. I saw it. We both did.”

Your gaze dropped to the blanket.

“But I need you to know that when I saw the offer, I didn’t hesitate because I wanted to touch her or because I wanted to fuck someone else. I haven’t wanted anyone but you in months. You know that.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t argue.

He took a step forward, slow and careful.

“You left,” he said, softer now. “And I get why. I fucked up. You needed me to be certain and I hesitated. I looked at a number instead of looking at you. And I’ll regret that for the rest of my fucking life.”

Your throat bobbed.

“But I’m here,” he said. “I’m here now, and I’ll keep being here until you decide if you want me back.”

You shifted slightly, curling tighter into yourself. “It wasn’t just the job, Katsuki.”

His whole body froze. “What?”

“It was how easy it felt for you to think about it. Like everything we walked away from didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me.”

He looked like you’d slapped him.

You swallowed. “You said it was just acting. But it’s not just acting to me anymore. I thought we were past that. I thought we were building something real.”

“We are.”

Your voice dropped. Barely a whisper. “Then why did it feel so fake that day?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

No answer.

You finally looked up at him again. Your eyes were tired. Sad. He saw the pain in them, the kind that ran deep, old and new all tangled together—and still, you hadn’t told him the truth.

He had no idea that what you were really asking was “Can I trust you to be a father?”

“Can I trust you not to choose your past over our future?”

But you couldn’t say it yet. Not while it still hurt like this.

He stepped closer. Sat on the coffee table in front of you so he wasn’t towering over you anymore. His knees brushed the edge of the blanket.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, voice low. “But I’ll do whatever it takes. I mean that.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

But your lips parted anyway.

And all you said was, “Okay.”

Not forgiveness. Not a welcome.

Just that.

And he nodded.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t breathe easy.

Just sat there.

Like a man waiting for permission to hope.

You stared at him.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg.

Just waited—like if you breathed too hard, it might all disappear.

You should’ve been angry still. Should’ve made him sit in it longer. But something in you shifted when you saw his face tonight. The way he walked in, quiet and wrecked, like he hadn’t slept. The way he spoke, slow and steady, like he’d rehearsed every word a thousand times just to get it right for you.

“I wanna go home,” you said softly.

He blinked.

You stood up, letting the blanket fall from your lap, hoodie sleeves still swallowed around your hands. “If we go home, will you come with me?”

Bakugo stood before the last word left your mouth. “Yeah. Yeah—of course.”

You didn’t touch each other. Didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked toward the kitchen where Keigo was pretending not to eavesdrop behind the fridge door.

He looked up when you stepped in.

“You leaving?” he asked, already knowing.

You nodded. “Thanks for letting me hide out.”

“You can always come back,” he said, grinning like he hadn’t been secretly worried about you this entire time. “Just don’t wait ‘til you’re pregnant with twins next time, yeah?”

You choked.

Bakugo stiffened beside you.

Keigo froze.

A beat of silence passed—too long.

“…wait,” he said slowly, eyes bouncing between you two. “Does he not—”

You stepped on his foot, hard.

He yelped. “Okay! Cool! Goodbye! Don’t be strangers!”

Bakugo squinted. “What the fuck was that?”

“Nothing,” you said too quickly. “He’s just being annoying.”

“…right.”

You hugged Keigo tight, whispered a quick thank you, and turned before he could say anything else.

Bakugo didn’t say much on the way out. Just kept close, held the car door open, rested his hand on the back of your seat the whole drive home like he needed the contact even if you didn’t reach for him.

When you got back to the house, the porch light was still on. Like it had been waiting for you.

You stepped inside first. The air smelled the same—soft laundry, old coffee, faint vanilla from the candle you forgot to blow out the last morning you were here.

It hit you all at once.

The familiarity.

The comfort.

The ache.

You dropped your bag at the door and turned around just as Bakugo closed it behind him.

You stared at each other for a moment in the quiet.

He stepped forward. “Do you want space?”

You shook your head. “I just want to go to bed.”

He nodded once.

No questions.

No pressure.

Just followed you into the bedroom, moving like he was afraid to touch anything too hard in case it broke.

You didn’t curl into him that night. Didn’t kiss him. But you let him sleep in the same bed. And he didn’t ask for anything more.

He just laid there beside you, quiet, breathing, waiting.

And you knew tomorrow, you’d have to tell him everything.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you just needed to be home.

The next morning, the light crept in slow.

You felt it on your face before you opened your eyes—warm and golden, filtering through the curtains like nothing bad had ever happened here. For a second, you forgot everything. Forgot the fight. The offer. The bag you’d packed in a hurry and the two nights you spent curled on Keigo’s couch like you’d forgotten how to breathe.

You just felt warm.

And then you felt him.

Bakugo’s arm was draped over your waist, heavy and protective, fingers resting just above the curve of your stomach. His face was buried in your neck, breath slow and even, like he’d finally slept for the first time in days. You didn’t remember shifting into him during the night. Didn’t remember turning toward him or letting him in—but it didn’t surprise you.

Because this was always the part that made sense.

This.

Him.

You shifted slightly under the covers and felt his grip tighten.

His voice was soft, still sticky with sleep. “You leavin’ again?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He hummed and pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder.

And for a moment, you let yourself have it. That quiet, sleepy closeness. The kind you used to take for granted.

But it didn’t last.

The nausea came fast.

Violent.

You tensed under his arm and swallowed hard. That heavy weight in your stomach twisted, flipped—and suddenly the room was spinning.

You sat up quickly.

Bakugo’s arm dropped. “What’s—”

You didn’t answer.

Just bolted.

The sound of your bare feet hitting the floorboards was loud in the silence, followed by the bathroom door swinging open and the unmistakable retching that echoed right after.

Bakugo was up immediately.

“Shit—baby?” His voice was frantic now. Half-asleep panic. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

You were too busy gripping the toilet, your whole body trembling as everything you had in you came back up.

Bakugo was at your side in seconds. Hand on your back, the other pulling your hair gently out of your face. You felt him settle next to you on the tile, warm and solid and there.

“You’re sick?” he asked, voice low and careful.

You didn’t look at him.

Just wiped your mouth with shaking fingers and whispered, “No.”

He paused.

“…Then what is it?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

The words hovered at the edge of your throat, caught somewhere between fear and inevitability.

Then you whispered:

“I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

Not long. Not loud.

But deafening.

You finally looked at him.

He was already staring at you.

And the expression on his face was unreadable.

Not scared.

Not angry.

Just—stunned.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

His voice came quiet.

“You’re…?”

You nodded.

He stared at your face. Then your stomach. Then back again.

And then he exhaled—like he’d been holding his breath for days.

“Fuck.”

You braced yourself for panic. For questions. For him to stand up and walk out or shut down completely like he used to when the pressure got too loud.

But he didn’t.

He just reached out—slowly—and rested his palm over your stomach. Barely touching. Just enough to feel something that wasn’t there yet.

“You’re pregnant,” he said again, softer this time. Like it was finally sinking in.

Your breath hitched.

And then, in the smallest voice you’d made in a long time, you said, “I was going to tell you. I just… I didn’t know how.”

He looked up at you then, eyes wide and full of something you couldn’t name.

“You should’ve told me the second you knew.”

“I wanted to.”

“So why didn’t you?”

You swallowed hard. “Because you were still deciding if I was worth more than a fucking paycheck.”

That shattered something in him.

And he didn’t defend himself.

Didn’t say a word.

He just looked at you like he’d never hated himself more.

But you didn’t move.

You didn’t stand up or pull away or shove his hand off your stomach. You just stayed right there on the cold tile floor, knees drawn up, hoodie sliding down your shoulder, throat tight with everything you’d been holding in for days.

Bakugo didn’t move either.

His hand stayed right where it was—resting over the soft curve of your belly. There was nothing to feel yet. No bump. No movement. Just skin. Just potential.

But the way he touched you…

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t unsure.

It was reverent.

His thumb stroked a small line over your hoodie, like he was trying to memorize this moment. Like he was afraid if he blinked, it would disappear.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice rough. “Fuck. I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“If I’d known…”

You looked at him. Really looked at him.

And he fell quiet.

You didn’t need him to finish the sentence.

Because you knew.

He would’ve slammed the laptop shut. Would’ve deleted the offer. Would’ve gotten on his knees and begged if he had to. You knew that. Deep down, you always did.

But it didn’t change the fact that he hesitated without knowing.

And that still hurt.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you said, voice shaking. “You looked at me like I was asking too much. Like loving me wasn’t enough.”

His hand curled a little tighter.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

You blinked back tears. “Well, you did.”

He nodded, jaw tight, and didn’t argue. Didn’t try to make it pretty.

He just sat there on the floor with you, looking like someone who’d been punched in the chest and didn’t want to move in case the pain got worse.

And then, so quietly you barely heard it, he said:

“Are you keeping it?”

You looked down at his hand on your stomach.

And nodded.

His breath left him in one slow exhale, like he’d been bracing for the answer to break him.

“Okay,” he said.

You blinked. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re doing this.”

You stared at him.

“I’m not letting you do it alone,” he added. “No matter what happens. I’m in.”

You swallowed hard. “Katsuki…”

His eyes met yours. “I love you.”

There was no shake in his voice this time. No hesitation. Just those three words, clear and grounded and real.

You reached for him without meaning to—fingers curling into the front of his hoodie—and he moved instantly, arms wrapping around you, holding you to his chest like he didn’t care how raw it still was between you.

You buried your face in his shoulder.

And for the first time since you saw those two pink lines…

You let yourself cry.

He didn’t say a word.

Just held you.

One hand on your back.

The other still resting on your stomach.

He held you for a long time.

Just sat there on the bathroom floor with you in his arms, the morning light spilling across the tiles, his palm warm and steady over your stomach. You cried into his shoulder—quiet, messy, not loud enough to echo. He didn’t shush you. Didn’t rush you. He just stayed.

Present. Gentle. Real.

Eventually, your tears faded into soft breaths, your fingers still curled into the front of his hoodie. His cheek rested against the top of your head. Neither of you moved.

Then—his voice, low and quiet:

“Come back to bed?”

You nodded.

He helped you up without letting go, one hand guiding you, the other still cradling your hip like he was afraid you might break if he touched you too hard. You let him lead you back to the bedroom, both of you silent, moving slow, your legs a little shaky but your heart finally starting to settle.

The sheets were still warm. Familiar. You climbed in first, slid under the blanket, curled toward the center like muscle memory. He followed, slower, more cautious. Laid beside you on his side, facing you, eyes soft and searching.

His fingers trailed up your waist like he was trying to remember you all over again—every curve, every freckle, every part of you he thought he might’ve lost. You laid there beneath him, skin bare, eyes soft, heart cracked wide open. You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. He was already listening to every shift in your breath, every quiet sound that slipped from your lips like music he couldn’t go another second without hearing.

He looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were still here. Like he didn’t deserve it.

His fingers lifted, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded.

“Tell me if anything feels wrong, okay? I mean it.”

“I will.”

He leaned in, slowly, giving you a chance to pull back. You didn’t. You met him halfway, lips brushing his in a soft, tentative kiss that melted into something deeper the second his hand found your waist.

He kissed you slowly, like the world had stopped spinning just for this.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

You nodded. “I need you.”

His lips brushed yours again, and again, before he moved lower—down your neck, over your collarbone, dragging his mouth across your chest as his hands slid down your sides. His thumb traced the underside of your breast, gentle, reverent, before he cupped you in his palm and kissed the soft skin there, breathing against you like a prayer.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, tongue flicking over your nipple, then sucking it into his mouth until you gasped and arched into him. He stayed there for a moment, his other hand massaging your hip, grounding you, letting your body respond in its own time.

You moaned softly, your thighs already shifting beneath him, breath shaky as his kisses dragged lower, over your ribs, your stomach—pausing for a second at the soft skin just beneath your navel.

He glanced up, hand stroking your thigh now. “Is this okay?”

You reached for him, your fingers threading through his messy blonde hair, voice soft but certain. “Please.”

He settled between your thighs like he’d been craving it. His hands slid under your knees and pushed them open just a little more, spreading you for him with a careful gentleness that made you melt. He didn’t rush—just stared for a second, lips parted, breath shallow.

“Fuck,” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe this was still his. “You’re already wet.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Katsuki, please.”

He leaned in slowly and licked a slow, teasing stripe up your center, groaning low in his throat like he was getting high off the taste of you. You gasped, hips twitching, and he wrapped his arms around your thighs to hold you steady, flattening his tongue and dragging it over you again—circling your clit in soft, slow swirls until your back arched and a shaky moan spilled from your lips.

“That feel okay?” he murmured, voice thick.

You nodded fast. “Yes, fuck—yes.”

He smiled against you and dove back in, mouth working you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your whole body trembling. He licked and sucked, tongue curling against your clit, then dipping down to tease your entrance before fucking you with it shallowly—slow, lazy strokes that made your thighs quiver around his head.

Your hands stayed tangled in his hair, pulling gently, fingers tightening every time he groaned into you. You could feel it building fast—tight, hot pressure rolling through your core like a wave about to crash.

“Katsuki—I’m—”

“Come for me,” he rasped, his voice thick and low and full of heat. “Wanna feel you cum on my tongue.”

You broke.

Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking, a cry escaping your lips as you came hard—pulsing against his mouth, hips bucking gently as he kept licking you through it, slower now, gentler, letting you ride it out while he murmured soft praises against your skin.

“Good girl… that’s it… fuck, you’re perfect.”

You were still panting, vision swimming, when he kissed his way back up your body—slow, wet kisses up your stomach, your chest, your neck—until he was hovering over you again, face flushed, eyes heavy with want.

He brushed your hair back from your face, cupped your cheek.

“You still okay?” he asked, voice so tender it made your chest ache.

You nodded, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in.

“I want you inside me.”

He groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

“I know.”

You reached down between your bodies and guided him to your entrance, and the moment he pushed in—slow, thick, deep—you both gasped.

You were still so wet from his mouth that he slid in smooth, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, panting against your mouth like he was holding back everything he had.

“Fuck—” he hissed. “You feel so good. So fuckin’ good.”

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, cock buried deep, one hand holding your hip, the other cupping your face while he kissed you again—long, slow, passionate.

Then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts, hips rolling into yours with perfect pressure, every movement dragging his cock along your walls just right. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you with so much care it almost didn’t feel real.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Always.”

“Yours,” you breathed. “Only yours.”

He kept moving like he was making love to every piece of you. No rush. No greed. Just deep strokes and soft moans and the occasional whispered “I love you” against your skin that made your heart ache as much as your body did.

You felt the second wave building slow and heavy, tightening deep in your belly, and he felt it too—how your walls fluttered around him, how your legs tightened around his waist.

“I got you,” he panted. “Let go, baby. I got you.”

You came again with a broken moan, this one quieter, sweeter, your body curling into his as you clenched around him, crying out softly as the pleasure rolled through you.

He groaned and buried himself deep, hips stuttering once, twice, before he spilled inside you with a soft, desperate sound—forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.

You stayed tangled like that.

Sticky. Shaky. Whole.

And when he finally pulled back just enough to look at you, both of you breathless and warm and a little overwhelmed, he kissed your cheek and whispered—

“We’re gonna be okay.

And just like that, the part of you that had been holding its breath… exhaled.

TAGS: @2elusional @cosmicaoii @kizsuki @kodzubaby

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22themoon · 2 months ago

Text

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ BIRTHDAY BOY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Bakugou used to love birthdays.

He’d be the center of attention. With every year being bigger than the last (because, honestly, did you expect his well-off parents to hold back on their only son?). Cameras clicked, kids shouted his name, and adults smiled in awe. He never cared if they liked him or feared him—he was admired.

And for a time, that was enough.

But somewhere along the line, the spark in those birthday candles started to feel dull.

His parents still celebrated, of course, usually with a home-cooked meal, a cake from his favorite bakery, and a gift he pretended not to like but secretly adored. His grandparents would always show up with noisy hugs and poorly wrapped presents, and his mother still made him wear a stupid little birthday crown at the table.

It was embarrassing, but it was also safe.

Familiar.

Then came UA.

By high school, the world cracked open in ways he hadn’t expected.

Everyone was strong.

Everyone had dreams.

He wasn’t the only one aiming for the top, and it was maddening—but also, for the first time, grounding. And he got friends—real ones. Not sycophants or kids scared of his quirk to say anything—so they just stay behind him, but people who challenged him through his shouting, his pride, and his anger.

Shitty Hair was the first to barge into his dorm room on his birthday with a lopsided grin and a poorly wrapped gift. “It’s a protein bar sampler! Thought you’d wanna see which one you could crush with one hand!”

After that, it became a tradition. Racoon Eyes brought handmade cards with glittery explosions. Soy Face made crown cut-outs from construction paper that Bakugou refused to wear but never threw away. Dunce Face bought the same grocery store cake every year with a new dumb nickname written in icing (he gets more creative each year—it’s starting to piss Bakugou off).

It was stupid. It was chaotic. It was good.

It became his day again.

And now—now he was 23.

The world around him had changed again.

He was a pro now. He had his own agency, his own patrols, and his own damn business cards that got passed around in hero circles and used to shut down villains on sight. Dynamight—no, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, they called him, like he was some unstoppable force (and an unstoppable force for a long-ass hero name). Which he was, most of the time.

But today?

Today, he just wanted to come home.

The celebration at the agency had been loud, grand, and grating. His staff meant well. Hell, even his sidekick (wow, surprising, he only had one because he was the only kid with the balls to directly say to Bakugou that he’ll surpass him during a personal interview) had pooled money to get him a custom gauntlet case with engraved initials.

There were banners (too flashy), snacks (pretty good), an off-key song, and a gaudy cake that someone ordered with indoor-safe sparklers instead of candles. He’d smiled (barely), given a thank-you speech that was short and gruff but genuine, and then dipped out the first moment he could without looking like a total ass. Bakugou knew exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

You were waiting for him there.

Because you are his home.

He inhaled and instantly recognized the scent of soy, garlic, and ginger—it hit like a nostalgic punch straight to his gut. Home cooking. His home. You.

You peeked your head out from the kitchen and grinned. “Took you long enough, birthday boy.”

He let out a long breath, shoulders dropping, mouth tugging into a real smile as he kicked off his boots and unzipped his jacket, haphazardly draping it on the coat rack. “You been cooking this whole time?” he asked, padding toward the kitchen, hands already aching to hug you.

“I had to start late since someone had a fancy party,” you teased, arching a brow.

He caught your waist and pulled you in, burying his face into your shoulder. You were warm. Always warm. Always his to come home to. “Smelled it from the driveway. Thought I was gonna cry.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s soft. It’s real. It’s what Bakugou, for the longest time of his life, thought he didn’t deserve.

“Well don’t cry. You’ll ruin your grumpy old man image.”

“You keep sayin’ old like I’m ancient,” he grumbled, voice muffled against you.

“You are! Twenty-three? That’s basically the beginning of the end.”

Bakugou snorted, lifting his head just enough to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess you better start takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, giving you another kiss on the cheek—and he’s tempted to bite into those round cheeks of yours, but he holds back; maybe later, he thinks. “Gonna live up to your promise?”

“I already do,” you said, smug.

Dinner was spread out in neat portions on your little dining table—fried karaage, miso soup, tamagoyaki, mapo tofu (yes, you finally lived up to surpassing Fuyumi’s recipe), Japanese curry, and a bowl of white rice shaped into a neat little mountain with a pickled plum on top. Comfort food. His favorites.

You even laid out a folded napkin at his seat and put a can of his favorite cold tea beside it.

But it was the bento cake in the center that made him pause. It was small—round and modest, clearly homemade. The white frosting was a little uneven, and there were three stubby candles jammed into the top in a crooked triangle. The frosting on top attempted an explosion shape but looked more like a flower in bloom. He loved it.

“You made that?” he asked, lowering into the seat and staring at it like it was some rare artifact.

“Baked and frosted. Don’t look too close, or you’ll see my fingerprints in it,” you said, sitting across from him. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t buy it from some store. I wanted to make it for you. Even if it’s ugly.”

“It’s not ugly.”

“Liars go to hell.”

He huffs. “Well, I think it’s fuckin’ adorable.”

You two ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t scarf it down like he did in the breakroom or during hero meetings. He savored each bite as you two shared a warm conversation over dinner. You told him how a kid at daycare tried to make you a birthday card to give to him but ended up scribbling dinosaurs fighting a volcano instead. You showed him a crayon drawing folded in your bag. It said, “Happpy Brithdai KATSOOKY.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

After dinner, you two sat at the table for a while, talking about nothing, hands brushing occasionally, until you leaned forward and lit the candles. When you’re close like this, Bakugou could clearly remember every feature on your face—it’s something he wants to commit to memory every night.

“Make a wish.”

“Hm,” he hummed in thought.

“Make a wish quickly before the fire alarm sets off, dummy,” you smiled, joking.

He looked at you through the candlelight—lips slightly parted, eyes soft and loving. Yeah, he wants your face engraved in the deepest corners of his brain.

Bakugou made a wish. Then blew them out.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked.

He got up, walked around the table, and pulled you to your feet. “You.”

“You already have me,” you tilted your head to the side.

“Then I wished for more of you,” he replied, pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re sappy when you’re full,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his jaw.

“I’m sappy when you bake me cake and feed me curry.”

You fed each other bites of the bento cake, poking fun at how sweet it was, until he dabbed a bit of icing on your nose. You retaliated by smearing it across his cheek. It turned into a mini war. Hands, faces, even his shirt took frosting damage. He scooped some off his collar and flicked it at you.

“I surrender! Oh my god, we’re a mess.”

“We can always take a shower later,” he says.

...

“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

“You’re fuckin’ shameless,” he taunted, though showering together after isn’t that far off from what he was thinking.

“Uh huh. And who’s now old?”

“Still not me,” he said, wiping his face clean with a napkin. “And even if I was—if I hit fifty and go bald and need reading glasses and fall asleep at 9PM—if you’re still here with me, I’ll be fine.”

You paused.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Even if I go gray first?” you asked.

“I’ll dye it with you.”

“What if I need a cane?”

“I’ll get one with spikes, and we’ll match.”

You laughed so hard you almost fell onto him. And when you looked up again, your eyes were glassy with affection.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with care he rarely showed anyone else.

“Best one yet.”

1K notes · View notes

22themoon · 2 months ago

Note

I come back to this every month and reread it like its my first time

Heyyy for the nsfw prompts i think 246 and 382 would suit eren!! (Tbaw!eren even😚) tyyyy~! <3333

ok... this request isn't even next in line, but i saw it and i COULD NOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT. thank you so much for this request because like..... 😳

list of prompts ⋆ masterlist

╰┈➤ smut prompts - 246 & 382. "Come here. You can sit on my lap until I’m done working.” "Yeah, that's it, baby, just like that."

ft. eren/fem!reader cw. unedited, not proofread, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, cockwarming, vaginal sex), explicit language. 2,000 words. bonus. what the cubicles look like-ish

you: when are you leaving work tonight?

eren jaeger: uhhhh soon eren jaeger: like 5-10 mins?

you: can you drive me home? you: jean wasn't feeling well so he left early

eren jaeger: suuuuuuure

eren smiles down at his computer when he sees your message. jean always drives you home, so eren never gets to see you after work -- but not today.

"hey, eren?"

eren quickly hides his screen, turning to look over at oluo with wide eyes. it's not like the two of you were saying anything bad -- you're always careful not to say too much in case IT reads your messages -- but he feels like he just got caught doing something naughty.

"yeah?" he asks, feigning nonchalance.

"i need you to finish this presentation tonight for a client," oluo says, dropping off a thick folder at eren's desk. eren frowns down at it. "we need it for tomorrow."

"i have plans tonight," eren says, reclining back in his seat.

"yeah," oluo says with a smirk, "this."

eren's frown deepens when oluo walks away. he leans forward, flipping open the folder to see what's inside and he groans -- this is going to take at least an hour to finish.

"are you ready to go?" you ask, popping your head over the little wall of eren's cubicle and his heart lurches into his throat.

"sorry, babe -- i gotta finish this thing for oluo," he groans. "turns out i gotta stay late tonight."

you pout cutely, but come around into his cubicle all the same. you set your things down on the unoccupied desk next to eren's and then settle into the empty chair.

"i don't mind waiting to avoid taking the skytrain," you hum, pulling out your phone, and eren smiles.

eren turns back to his computer to start working on the presentation for oluo while you scroll though -- whatever -- on your phone. slowly, people start to leave the office and some of the motion-sensitive lights in other areas shut off due to lack of activity.

eren tries to stay focused on work as much as he can, but he can see you pressing your thighs together in the chair beside him and he can't help the lewd thoughts that fill his mind.

"hey," he says, propping his chin on his hand as he rests his elbow on the table. he looks over at you and you peek at him from over the top of your phone.

"hey," you repeat, and he smiles.

"come over here," he beckons and you frown at him.

"eren, i'm not in consulting, i can't help you."

"no, i just want you to sit in my lap."

he watches your eyes widen before quickly darting around the room. "eren," you hiss.

"come on, nobody's here," he says, but he drops his voice down to a whisper. "just until i'm done working."

you cast him a look of disbelief but he keeps smiling at you and he watches your conviction slowly waver.

"you're almost done?"

"i'm really close," he says, voice deep and husky and you frown at him.

you stand up from your seat and eren grins in delight. he wheels out from under the desk, knees pressed together as he taps on his thighs.

you approach him cautiously, like a skittish little animal, and step into the space between eren and his desk. he grabs your hips tightly and forces you down onto his lap as you squeak in protest.

"there you go," he hums, grinding you back and forth across his lap, hooking his knees under your legs and spreading you open. "just like that."

"eren, we're at the office," you hiss, reaching forward to stabilize yourself with his desk.

he hums in response, rolling forward until you're both tucked under the desk. he rests his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your body, resting his hands on his mouse and keyboard.

"see? i'm working," he insists, pressing a soft kiss into your shoulder.

you huff in response, shifting your hips slightly for comfort and grinding further against eren's crotch. he groans, feeling himself grow hard beneath you.

"you know what would --"

"don't, eren," you warn, but he can tell you're turned on, too.

he can feel the heat of your pussy against him through the thin cotton of your underwear and he can see the way your breathing is starting to pick up when his cock throbs against you.

"let me put it in," he whispers against your neck, feeling you shiver against him when he brings his hands down on your thighs.

you say nothing as eren's hands drag up the bottom hem of your skirt -- you even shift your hips to let him pull it up around your waist. he leans back in his seat and smiles at the view -- the thick bulge of his cock in his slacks nestled between the cheeks of your ass. with a groan, he grabs a handful of your ass as he throws his head back over his seat.

before he can even ask, you're sliding your hips along his length and softly gasping -- hands clutching tight around the edge of the desk.

"only -- only if it helps you focus," you say, breathless, and eren loves that you're still committing to this little charade.

he shifts his hands down into his lap, unbuckling his belt, then his button, then his zipper -- before pulling his cock out of his slacks. the tip is already dripping precum, so he smears it across the head before tapping his length against your ass.

"yeah, i'll focus," he grunts, and he's so clouded with lust that the only thing he can focus on is the way you reach your hand between your legs and slide your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening cunt for him.

"shit," he hisses, helping guide your hips up with one hand while he holds his cock with the other. "you're really wet."

"i was reading," you explain, and you seem embarrassed.

"reading what?"

"stories."

he smiles, brushing the head of his cock through your folds before lining it up with your entrance. he helps guide you back down into his lap, watching your pussy swallow every inch of his cock until you're fully seated.

eren holds you tight against him, clenching his eyes shut as he feels your warm, wet walls surrounding his cock. as he starts to lift you up -- eager to have you bouncing in his lap -- you reach down with both hands to grab tightly around his wrists.

"you said you had to work," you remind him and he groans.

"i'll work better if i can fuck you first."

"no, finish work first."

there's an edge of finality in your tone that has eren's cock throbbing inside of you. you want him to work -- like this?

eren's never been more motivated in his life.

he rests his chin on your shoulder before returning his hands to his computer, and he gets to work while you look back down at your phone and continue reading your little stories.

whatever you're reading, it's making you pulse and squirm around his cock, making eren's vision go blurry and his head grow hazy. even without moving, you're making a mess of his cock -- eren can feel your wetness soaking him and it's making his heart race as he imagines how fucking wet you'll sound when he moves.

"what are you reading?" he grunts, cock throbbing as he feels you squeeze around him. "you're getting so horny."

you whine in embarrassment and just squeeze even tighter -- eren has to press his lips into your shoulder to muffle his moan.

"i'm reading fanfiction," you explain and eren peeks over your shoulder to look down at your phone. "it's about an anime that i really like."

"nerd," he scoffs, but he kisses your neck in between his chuckles. "keep reading it -- it feels fucking good."

you drop your head back down to look at your phone and eren wills himself to focus on the powerpoint on his screen. he tries to slap together a semi-passable presentation as quickly as he can -- he starting to feel lightheaded from how much blood is pumping to his cock.

you start rocking gently in his lap and eren sees stars shoot into his vision. both of you start to breathe heavier and eren genuinely tries to focus on typing an email to oluo as you snake your hand between your legs.

"'s not fair," he grunts, sweat beading his hairline. you clench impossibly tighter around his cock with a moan as your fingers start to work tight circles into your clit.

"faster, eren," you say -- in that same whiny pitch you use when he's fucking you -- and eren sucks in a harsh breath.

he abandons the email, shifting his hands to your hips as he reclines back in his seat. he squeezes you tight, lifting you up and then slamming you back down on his cock.

"holy fuck," he hisses, watching the creamy white mess you've made around the base of his cock. with a throaty groan, he throws his head back, fucking you down onto him as his hips buck up to meet yours.

"eren," you whimper, one hand gripping the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself while the other works on your clit. "i'm close -- i'm really close."

he grunts in response, eyes rolling back into his head as he feels you tighten around him. your pussy sounds so wet and messy, squelching around every thrust of his cock and tightening as you near your peak. eren starts to pick up his pace as he feels his gut tightening, breathing hard while his legs tremble beneath you.

"i'm gonna fucking cum," he moans, reclining further back so he can look back down at you bouncing on his cock. the lips of your cunt drag along his length with every thrust, coating him in your creamy white arousal and -- fuck -- he can't think of anything except how badly he needs to fill your pretty pussy up.

with a stuttered gasp, you curl forward onto the desk, pressing into his keyboard with your chest as you pulse around his length. eren groans, watching you tighten around him and he can't help but bury his cock into you -- pushing his hips tight against your ass until there's no space between the two of you.

he chokes out your name when he cums, feeling hot spurts of cum coating the walls of your cunt as you squeeze squeeze squeeze around his cock. he feels like your pussy is sucking him dry -- like you're just as needy to have his cum as he is to see you filled with it.

when his toes uncurl and his balls stop pulsing, he relaxes back down into his seat with a satisfied sigh. eren shifts his grip from your hips to your ass, pulling you open to watch the creamy mixture of the two of you leak around the sides of his cock.

he shivers when he watches you sit up off of his length, cum slipping down your thigh before you slide your panties over to cover yourself. reaching between your legs, you wipe off the mess with your finger, turning around to face eren as you suck it clean.

"holy shit," he groans, stuffing himself back into his underwear and redoing his pants as you giggle.

as you're shuffling your skirt back down over your hips, you ask, "are you done yet?"

"just have to finish this email."

you step aside, perching on the edge of his desk as eren rolls forward to finish his email -- but it's gone.

"oh, shit," he hisses, clicking into his Sent folder to find his message to oluo.

hey oluo, please see attached for the presentation for berg newspaper tomorrow. can you please look at klndf,kmd vza,dman ,mc lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

"oh, shit," he repeats, frowning at the screen. "i forgot to attach the file."

#i can never get enough #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x reader #aot smut #fem!reader #eren jaeger #eren smut #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren jaeger x you

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22themoon · 2 months ago

Text

I celebrated SO hard as soon as i saw frat boy eren and 6.5k words

nerd!reader x fratboy!eren

warnings : cliche cliche cliche Eren calls reader nerd a lot so be prepared, reader wear glasses, unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob lot of kisses, praise, doggy style, missionary, boob play, minimal use of y/n

word count : 6,5k

You hate working with men, especially in group projects. They're unserious and careless if it was up to you, you'd rather be doing this work alone but the teacher denied your request to your great demise. Through your years of college you successfully avoid being paired with slackers and frat boys. Today you are now seated next to Eren Jaeger, the ultimate form of a frat beast. You guess this is the end of your lucky run.

The said boy is whisper-yelling in the receiver of his phone earning angry glances from the other student in the library... Has he no etiquette about the appropriate behavior in these places ? Taking off your glasses, you massage your temple, eyes closed, face facing your desk. It's only been a few days since you started this project but you feel like you've been at it for months. The end of the semester approaching means everyone is busy. You had a hard time scheduling this work session with Eren and he's on the phone ? You can't open your eyes now because you know you want to cry.

"Sorry about this" he interrupts your train of thoughts "It's like no one knows how to organize a party when I'm not around" he jokes, opening your eyes you just stare at him with a blank expression. A party ? You're not even halfway through this project due in twelve days and he's thinking about a party ?

"I gotta go, but after the party I'll get to work and send you my part, deal ?"

"You're telling me that you're going to get drunk tonight, analyze the market we are launching our product in and create an adequate publicity?" you ask in disbelief.

"Yes" a smirk grows on his face, picking up your glasses from the wooden table, he positions them in front of his own eyes, without wearing them he looks around the room through the frame. "You know, it's not because you're a nerd with a strict working method that everyone has to follow them" he mokes, eyes falling back on you, the glasses make his eyes look slightly bigger in another context you may have smiled at that but right now you're just pissed. You open your mouth to snap back at him but he places a finger on your lips

"Keep it down this is a library" oh you want to kill him now, the audacity stuns you in your seat. "Listen, I'm in the same class as you, yeah ? Means I am not completely stupid, just trust your teammate ok?" he smiles, sliding your glasses on your nose until his finger comes in contact with the skin between your eyebrows. Without another word he pats the top of your head, turning his heels to make his way to the library exit.

What the fuck ?

A long exhale escapes your lips as you slide back in your chair, well... your mood is ruined you cannot get another word down. gathering your stuff you shove them in your bags, following the same direction your partner took a few minutes ago.

The soft breeze hits your cheeks and your pressure lowers a little, you should take breaks more often, this feels nice. The smell of nicotine hits you and you take a long whiff, god you would love a cigarette right now maybe you can borrow one to the person ? Turning your head toward the source of your desire, here stands no other than Eren. Life is really cruel to you these days. His emerald eyes catch yours and a smile curls around the butt of the cigarette. Snapping your head back, you speed walk toward the dorm, you swear you heard him laugh behind you.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Against all expectation Eren did send his part after the party. It didn't meet your expectations but you're seeing him again today so you'll suggest the modification and smooth it over so it looks like an actual group project and not a patchwork of personal pieces. Eren invited you to his place to continue working, originally he wanted to work at yours but you said no, you wouldn't want his presence in your personal space, it's too intimate and the way he behave like an elephant in a china shop the other days makes you sweat just by thinking of him in your own apartment.

Standing in front of the main door of the two story house you take a deep breath before knocking twice. An unfamiliar face greets you and you're wondering if you had the wrong address, scrambling to apologize you're about to leave when you hear Eren's voice in the back

"Connie, is that my nerd ?" The man in front of you, which you assume is Connie, tilts his head to the side, looking you from head to toe. You clutch your books tighter against your chest in embarrassment.

"Looks like it"

"Come on in " Eren's face appears behind the bald man and you step in the house "Just take off your shoes man" Eren says, squeezing your shoulder. Barely two words in and you're already tense. Why is he so comfortable with physical touch and stupid names?

Nevertheless you oblige, toeing off your converse. You hear a stream of foreign voices coming from your right, following the noises you fall face to face with a group of boys playing mario kart, laughing and screaming at each other. This cannot be real you think, feeling your arms weaken a bit.

"Eren ! If you were busy you should have told me I would've come another day."

"No, that's fine! The boys are here but I'm taking you upstairs, it's where my desk at" he says, sliding his hand over your shoulder, looking down at you. He's close, maybe too much but you don't have it in you to fight, you can feel the warmth of his body despite your clothes. Holding his gaze you only notice now that his hair is down, fully down not half up like he wears so often his dark locks frame his face cascading on his broad shoulders. He is pretty, very pretty, your cheeks heat up a bit, you're about to change subject to get your mind off your stupid thoughts when a voice interrupts you.

"No foolishness upstairs yeah ?" Connie giggles looking back at the two of you, controller in hand.

"Worry about yourself bro being 11th against Floch is stupid" he smirks earning a fit of laughter from the rest of the group. Hand still around your shoulder he leads you up the stairs.

His room is cleaner and tidier than you expected but you're relieved, Placing your book and laptop on his desk you start to organize your thoughts, you have a lot to do today if you want to be ready by next week.

"I've read what you sent me. It is pretty good but I would like to circle back on a few points with you if that's ok ?" you ask, taking place in one of the chairs facing the desk.

"Sure thing, that's why we're here for" he smiles, scraping the chair against the floor in order to sit on it. The screeching noise making your brow furrow, everything about him is so... intense.

The session goes smoothly, Eren is way more focused then back in the library. Maybe he just needs to be in a place he is familiar with to be productive ? Sure he would run downstairs whenever the boys cheered loudly to see what it was about, blow the smoke of his juul straight in your face, stretch and groan like he spent the last decade tied up to this chair. But as long as the work is done you don't think you mind anymore.

"So I'll take care of the visual presentation, next time we see each other we could do a rehearsal of the oral presentation ? What do you think ?" you ask gathering your belongings

"I think we are going to rock this shit" he says, holding up his hand in the air. He's he expecting a high five like you guys are some sort of football team ? You stare at his palm. "Come oooon loosen up little nerd we did such a good job today" he waves his hands and you dap it quickly, shaking your head left to right a small smile growing on your lips. You stand up and he walks you downstairs.

The group of boys sitting on the couch is smaller, no more Connie in sight, you don't recognize a single face.

"Want to stay for dinner ?"

"No I gotta get back home but thanks for the invite"

"Right, go back before the sun goes down and the wolf gets you" he laughs, grabbing your forearm when you lose balance putting your shoes back on.

"Funny guy" you roll your eyes looking up at him. Behind Eren are two silhouettes, two boys that look like twins except one is slightly taller than the other, they still look very similar, upturned nose and slick hair pushed back. They are watching the interaction with curious eyes before whispering to each other. Right, the biggest gossips you know are actually men.

"Don't take everything so personally it was just a joke"

"I know, it was just lame" it's your turn to laugh now, his eyes crinkle letting your forearm go, he opens the door for you.

"Well, see you around i guess" you nod your head stepping out, Eren sends a wink your way before closing the door shut in a forceful manner.... as always.

Walking into the evening sun you still feel the shadow of his touch on your arm, goosebumps raise on your skin and you shove the thought in the back of your head, sliding your airpods in.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

The presentation is in two days, you booked one of the private rooms of the library to have a proper rehearsal but something is missing.. Eren is missing, and now you're about to lose your reservation.

"You know the rules, private rooms can not be booked for a single person so I think you have to go" the girl with ashy gray hair says with a fake nice smile.

"Yeah and that's pretty selfish to do, you know ?" the one with the black pigtails add

"I'm telling you my partner is on his way. I'm not hogging this room for myself and I'm not selfish. I booked it!"

You are starting to lose your patience. They've been trying to kick you out of the room for the past five minutes. A familiar silhouette snakes its way to the room and your shoulder relaxes.

"Mina, Hitch" his honeyed voice interrupts.

Both girls turn around and squeals greetings once they realise who it is. He gives each of them a quick side hug, cheeks pressing together "Oh my god Eren i didn't know the room was for you" You mentally check out after that sentence, their smile seems genuine now and you laugh to yourself. So all it takes for them to act normal is a popular boy ? noted for the next time you want to book a private room. Their conversation digresses to something else and you interrupt them, having lost enough time as it is.

"Eren ? Can we get to work please ?" You can't see his eyes because he's wearing sunglasses... indoors but by now you shouldn't even be shocked at this point, his head turns your way.

"Duty call ladies, but it was nice to see you" he flashes them a million dollar smile guiding them out of the room with hands on their lower back. Minna and Hitch turn around saying their goodbye as they speed walk out of the library, arms linked with one another and hushed whispers.

Seated across from you, Eren hasn't taken off his glasses yet and now that he is close, the faint smell of weed gets to you.

"Are you high ?" you ask, clinging to your last hopes. No answer comes from him but the cheshire smile he gives you makes you slump in your seat. "Eren! Is this why you're late ? I almost got kicked out because of you!" you try to keep your tone steady but you fail, voice pitching higher than usual.

"It's not the reason I'm late but yes I smoked." He says finally taking off the shades from his eyes, they're red, making the emerald color of his irises pop out. You won't admit it but... he looks good like that. His hair is fully tied back today, making it impossible to escape his powerful gaze. "And there's no way they would have managed to get you out, you looked ferocious with your eyebrow tight. Mina and Hitch are all bark, no bite. " he snickers, digging his laptop out of his bag.

You don't give him credit for his attempt at loosening up the atmosphere, connecting your laptop to the monitor. The fake presentation goes fairly well, Eren seems distracted, staring at you when he's supposed to be reading his parts. You would throw a pen his way to make him snap out of it, posture straightening up he would continue the flow of speech in such a natural way, eyes still never leaving yours. His gaze is hard to maintain so you would often nod your head, looking down at the powerpoint. Everytime you look back up a smirk was displayed on his face.

After a few more repetitions you decide that you're ready for the real presentation. Eren is waiting for you at the door, bag swinged over his shoulder displaying his beefy arm. You trot up to him so he doesn't have to wait longer. Once outside of the library he's ready to part way but you hold onto his biceps, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Eren please don't smoke before the oral presentation on friday" you must sound pathetic but you don't care you'll probably never speak to him after this project is over. You can see that he is holding back a smile before he opens his mouth.

"You worry way too much my little nerd." Eren leans in for a hug, the same type he gave the two girls earlier, but he lingers a bit longer, his large hand rubbing your back.the embrace is somehow reassuring you take a deep breath patting his back, you choose to believe him if this goes south for any reason you'll give your all in the other discipline to compensate.

"See ? you can actually relax when you want to" he smirks putting his sunglasses back on.

You roll your eyes adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder "Bye" you turn around.

Walking toward the dorms you think about Eren, usually his touch would irritate you, him being so casual with everyone and anything drives you crazy. But today after you saw him being sweet to those girls, you are glad he hugged you too... and the way he refers to you as his nerd is kind of cute. A long exhale escapes your lips : remember that everything will be over after friday. Maybe it's for the better, this way you won't get the wrong idea.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Presentation went well ! The transitions were smooth and the questions asked by the other classmates at the end allowed you to prove your work was not surface level but well rounded and constructed on serious work of research. You had to literally step on eren toes when he would space out, throwing any supply at him is not possible since you were in presence of the entire class and not the privacy of the study room. Other than that, no bumps. It is a huge weight off your back

The oral exam being done also means that you are officially free from any academic pressure... until next semester but still ! You can take time to relax now. And it is exactly what you're doing, sitting on a bench you are catching up on your personal reading that you put aside due to the amount of deadline you were meeting. The three above you provide the perfect amount of shade while you still enjoy the warm breeze of the afternoon. A smile grows on your face as you read more and more of the eternal husband. It's not the book that makes you smile but the simple fact you are able to read it.

Your bliss is cut short when you feel a heavy weight on your foot, ready to brawl you put your book down with vigour.

"It's only payback don't look at me like that" Eren of course it's him "Plus you got out of the classroom at lightning speed i might have thought the last weeks were a fever dream you disappear so quickly"

"I stepped on your toes because you were just staring at me. It was your time to speak! And i left because i had things to do"

"And I was staring because you missed a part of your speech it isn't like you you know ? that's why i was shocked"

"Wait ? I did ? " You mentally replay the whole scene and can't seem to find a crack in it.

"It is so easy to mess with your mind my little nerd" Eren says ruffling your hair while a laugh makes his shoulder shake. You push his hands vigorously.

"Don't joke about this, I'm serious! "

"Soo tense, you know what you need ? To relax, to live a little"

"I was relaxing before you tried to amputate my foot," you said, grabbing your book to emphasize your words.

"Oh come on you can't be serious we just finished exams and you're dipping your nose in that russian freak story ?"

"To each their own" you say opening it back to resume your reading but a thought crosses your mind "What do you do to relax" abandoning the printed pages to look back at him. You immediately regret your question as a devilish smirk grows on his face.

"Would you like to know ? Or better I could show you" Eren says, picking up a leaf that has fallen in your hair, his finger traveling down so he can tilt your chin up. "Come by my place tonight ?"

"You're having a party ?" you ask sheepishly. That is why is known for on campus, parties, girls dying for him to notice them and his amazing athletic performances. You never went to one of his famous parties nor his games. Not your cup of tea but still, you were curious about it. Eren eyes are blank for a moment, fingers caressing your chin. "Yeah, something like that, so are you coming ? To have a proper end to this collaboration."

A last goodbye huh ? If his parties hold up to their reputation you probably won't even see him tonight due to the amount of people that would be present, and you doubt he will come to find you out of all people. You would be lying if you said a part of you doesn't want to go to his house, see what the fuss is all about... You will only stay so many years in college fuck it. "Ok i'll be there" HIs face lights up "Can't wait then" Another million dollar smile sent your way and his trotting off god knows where on campus.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

The sun sets faster than you realise, it's time to get ready for tonight, you do not know what to wear, how to do your hair and makeup, walking back and forth between your closet and the full length mirror in your living room you can't decide which dress will make the cut. Mini black backless dress or baby pink strappy dress ? Your mind tends to the black one, it's more casual you'll be more comfortable. Oh my god shoes, what about shoes ? If you call Annie to ask her you know she'll hang up, sighing as you rummage through your tiny shoe storage. The dress is black you might go for black shoes as well. strappy black heels they're toe open, a quick glance at your feet and you can see that your nail polish is still intact. Well looks like you got an outfit.

Opting for a light make up you made a wing eyeliner (surprisingly fast, given the fact that you didn't wear makeup for a longtime due to your exam ) , lip gloss, mascara blush and concealer to hide the bags you accumulated for the last few weeks. You smile at your reflection, it is good to see you this primed, you feel like you again. The glasses would spoil the look so you go for lenses tonight, and for your hair, you let them sits freely around your face and dow your back, the dress being backless would call for an updo but you're having a good hair day so screw it

22:37 reads your phone about time to go. You're feeling a bit anxious but decide to ignore it.

You call an uber and soon enough the car pulls up in the familiar driveway. Thanking the driver as you make your way to the steps, the absence of noise from any kind strikes you, you would've thought that the famous parties at the Yeager house have bass loud enough to feel them in your chest.

Before you have the time to process anymore thoughts, the door swings open revealing Eren, smiling ear to ear, looking at you up and down, his adam's apple bobs up. "Come on in" he says holding his hand out, you take it, climbing up the few stairs that separate the both of you.

"Where is everyone else ?" you ask, surprised to find the house empty.

"They'll be here" he says leading you to the kitchen, hand on the small of your naked back "Tomorrow" he adds with a grin.

"Eren!"

"What ? If I told you tonight was just us would you still have come ? " he asks, filling two cocktail glasses with a thick orange liquid. Eren takes your absence of reaction as an answer. "It's just that we spent all this time together and I never saw you anything other than stressed, I couldn't imagine you going to a party to be honest" he snickers, dipping his lips in the colorful mixture as he slides the other glass your way against the kitchen island. "Look at you nerd,not wearing your glasses, dress and heels on, you look good like that ! "

"You deemed me a nerd because I wear glasses and read books" you grumble looking down at your glass, not picking up his comment on your appearance but it makes your insides mushy.

"Not really, the first time we met you literally explain to me in details the lore of the dance of the dragons because you saw my Daenerys keychain" you close your eyes mortified by the memory "Don't be embarrassed that was fun ! " he hits your shoulder, laughing at your reaction.

You remember it all too well, it was your second year of college, Eren sat next to you, the small classroom got cramped fast and he was late, beggars can't be choosers. It is true the pop Daenerys figure caught your attention and you made small talk and might got carried away but there's no harm in that or so you thought, guess you annoyed him pretty bad if he still remembers it to this day. Feeling your cheeks heat up, you turn your head right, a few days ago this is where his group of friends were playing mario kart, now that the space is empty you got a nice view of his living room.

"You have a fireplace ? Fancy" you remark

"What you don't ?"

"My humble student apartment doesn't allow this type of furniture"

"That is really sad, want me to put it on for you ?" you roll your eyes and he leads you once more around his house, cocktails in hands.

Both of you are kneeling in front of the fireplace,resting on the fluffy white rug. Eren is filling its center with different sizes of wood sticks. You admire his arms flexing and stretching as he moves around. Tonight he is wearing a tight white shirt that highlights his toned body. His dark hair is fully down once more, the ends are a bit damp, making some spot on his shoulder see through, a grey jogger is covering his legs. Damn. He looks good wearing that. Once the branches are neatly placed he adds a fire starter and hands you a box of matches, the long type ones.

"Do me the honour" he smiles, you return his expression, scratching the red tip against the rough side of the box and sticking it to the little white cube, the flame catches quickly and you squeak, retrieving your hand from the chimney. Eren claps at your side praising you in an obnoxious manner. "She did it!" and others exclamations as if you saved the world. You laugh at his antics, eyes fixated on the yellow and orange hues that dance in front of you.

"Did you know that in ancient Rome everyone was peeing at the same place "latrines" with the strong concentration of ammonia in urine a single match would have been enough to blow the whole place up ?" you snort, thinking about the anecdote you learn in latin classes as the fire crackles in front of you.

"No I didn't" you turn to him and he is wearing his signature teasing expression. You know what is thinking already, you can almost hear his voice say it; nerd. Here you go ranting about random facts because you're hampered, and being alone with Eren at his house is the reason. At least you can blame the heat coursing through your body on the nearby fire. You take another sip from your cocktail.

"Is that a sex on the beach ?" you ask to change the subject. Eren nods looking impressed that you know. "I was going to offer you a beer but I have the feeling you would like something more refined."

"Nice catch, I don't like beer, but I have to say I didn't imagine you drinking cute cocktails."

"I'm a versatile guy, and I like to adapt to my guests." he smiles clinking your glasses with his before you both drink some more.

The conversations flow easily with him, against all expectations you guys have a lot of common interests, video games, movies and music taste. You realize that maybe you have judged him as much as he did you. Eren is currently refilling both your glasses in the kitchen as you scroll through his vinyl collection. You asked for a soft drink, feeling like the alcohol and the warm waves that come from the fireplace would be the perfect combo lulling you to sleep.

Your shoes are long forgotten by the fireplace, you are sitting on your ass, feet joint by your side. Eren slides back to your side handing you your drink. Your thighs are flush against each other, the more you were talking through the night, the closer you got, literally. The fireplace gives his face a warm light, accentuating his features, his lips are moving but you cannot decipher a single word. He is so pretty like that, the heat coming from the chimney decouples his scent, lavender and wood. You take a deep breath to ground yourself but you can't push away the need to kiss him.

Leaning into Eren's chest, you press your lips into his, softly, to see if is going to pull back or not. He doesn't, you feel his arm wrap around your shoulder, making it impossible for you to squirm away, but you wouldn't even if you could. His lips are intoxicating, he leans more and more into you as his tongue enters your mouth. Desperate for more you set down your glass on the ground, fisting his shirt in your palms. His secondhand goes on your waist securing your place once more as your tongue battles against each other for dominance. Eren breaks the kiss, still holding you close

"Needy much ?" Eren laughs, swiping his tongue on his bottom lips, your eyes don't miss a single bit, you hum absentmindedly. Diving for another kiss this time you let your hands go to his hair pulling slightly to make him open his mouth, your tongue snakes in when he gives you access, he tastes like cherry and orange and a mix of vodka. You freeze

"Are you drunk ?" The last thing you want is to take advantage of the situation. "From two cocktails ? I'm offended" you giggle and he dips his face in your neck, licking and sucking at your skin, his lips are cold, contrasting with the warmth the fire laced your body with, a shiver parcour you and you moan.

Eren travels lower, kissing your breath through the material of your dress "Can I take it off ?" he asks emerald eyes boring through yours you nod, not trusting your voice under his intense gaze. He peels the black cloth of your shoulders letting it sit on your belly. "Who would've thought my nerd has those pretty little tits" he muses fondling them in his large hands. "Do you even know my name ?" you tempt. "Of course I do, y/n" he murmurs, kissing the side of your boob, "My beautiful y/n" he adds, taking your nipple in his mouth, eyes never leaving yours.

Fuck, you should have shut up, your name rolling of his tongue ties your stomach in knots. You exhale loudly arching your back to push more skin into his mouth. You allow yourself to close your eyes, head falling back as your hand travels south to your crotch, fingers toying with your clit. Eren grunts against your areola at the sight, his own fingers entering your wet cavern, you gasp at the intrusion. "Teamwork baby we're used to this" he groans before switching to your other breast. The circular motion you're self inflicting on your bundle of nerves is slowly making you unwind. On his side Eren is curling his digits inside your cunt, in search for the spongy spot that is going to make you mewl.

You do your best to hold back your moans not wanting to sound like a desperate mess, but another precise curl of his fingers and there you are, whining and thrashing around him uncontrollably. Eren bites your nipple as you slowly come to your senses opening your eyes, you find his emerald orbs staring back at you amused. "That was quite a show" he directs his glistening digits to his mouth, cleaning them from any remaining stickiness. You nudge him with your foot as your eyes travel to his needy bulge, if anything this only makes you want the full Eren Yeager experience.

Tugging at his waistband you grab his cock from the confine of his sweatpant, he's not wearing any underwear, you chuckle. "Don't slutshame me, you weren't wearing anything either " he laughs, brushing the hair out of your face. "I didn't say anything" you joke planting kisses on his length, you can tell it is not fully hard, which is quite concerning because it's almost the size of your face already but you can take a challenge, and you want to make him hard without putting it in your mouth yet. So it is exactly what you do, leaving a trail of kisses on his base, his tip, his balls and his impressive length.

"You're killing me there y/n" he breathes, lifting his hips off the ground in an attempt to get more friction,what a greedy man he is. But you don't have it in you to tease him any more. Parting your lips you slowly suck the head of his cock in your mouth, the newfound sensation makes him hiss. You circle your tongue around his head, flicking it on his sensitive slit. Once your jaw has relaxed you work more and more of his length inside between your lips, bobbing your head up and down. You hollow your cheeks, working what doesn't fit in your mouth with your hands. His cock is heavy on your tongue, you missed this sensation, moaning around him, you quicken your pace.

"Fuck, you read a book to give head this good ?" he half laughs half moans. He's not far from the truth, you used to read erotic types of books when you were younger but he doesn't need to know that. Having your mouth full you can't answer him so you decide to sink your teeth lightly on his skin. "Shit baby, I'm joking!" he groans but you can tell it's not hurting him, relaxing your jaw you resume your activity, the sloppy noise filling the room alongside the fire cracking next to you . "Right, just like, that I love it when you're nice to me" his hips start to thrust up and you let him fuck your mouth, slacking your jaw to the max.

HIs breath is getting more and more ragged as he lets curses slip past his lips. He's about to cum and you can't wait to know what he tastes like. His hands come to each side of your face lifting you off his penis.

"Eren ?" you mumble, disappointed you haven't gone to the end. He pecks your lips multiple time "Another time baby I want to fuck that little pussy okay ?" you nod, mind too fuzzy to protest. Lowering your upper body onto the carpet Eren hikes your bottom onto his lap. He's looking intently at your pussy before you can feel embarrassed. He parts your entrance with both of his thumb, looking at the arousal ripping out of it. "Cute" he mumbles before wetting his thumb with his tongue and rumbing at your clit a few times. The action makes your cheeks burn, you won't be able to use this move with your books without thinking about this now, you groan, closing your eyes.

"Turn around for me baby" he demands, squeezing your thigh, you happily oblige, knees sinking onto the fluffy rug you arch your back the best you can so he can have a good sight. You feel him kissing your entrance a few times just like he did your lips before and restrain yourself not to back on his face. Soon enough his tip prod at your entrance and you sway your hips in anticipation. "Come on Eren please" you mewl looking back at him. Locking his eyes with yours he let his cock fill you up, inch by inch, both your mouths part when he's fully inside. Your brows are tight on your forehead when he starts to ram into your pussy.

You close your eyes in bliss, cheek resting against the rug and mouth hanging low. You knew you were going to have fun when you saw what he was packing, but you couldn't imagine him stretching you this good. "That's what you needed y/n ? My cock inside of you to turn that big brain off ?" he rasps,fingers digging in your hips. "Yes Eren thank you" you cry, gripping the soft material under you. restreint is no longer a concern, each of his thrust knocks the air out of your lung filling the room with your lewd moans. "Fuck I needed that too my little nerd, driving me crazy since the first day at the librabry". His chest collapses on top of you, making you lay flat on the ground. "Looking so fucking pretty when you want to cry" he purrs, kissing your ear and jaw.

Was he onto you since day one ? That would explain his attitude towards you, the thought makes you clench around him. A swear slips from his lips directly into your ear. One of his arm snakes under your body in between your breasts to finally grab your jaw. "Tell me how that feels baby" he demands, ramming into you deeper each time.

"Feelsgoodbaby" your words are slurred because of his grip. "Fuck, turn around I want to cum looking at that face" despite asking, he's the one manhandling you, he position you on your back covering your face in kisses as he stoke his cock a few time befaore entering you once again, "Don't hide or I'll stop" he threatens feeling your face nooking in his neck. "No, Eren don't stop " you pathetically whine, setting your head back down. The last thing you want is for him to stop now, you need the release, you need it bad. "Good girl" he kisses your cheek, linking your hands with each other, fingers intertwined.

If you didn't know better, you would've thought he has feelings for you, his forehead is resting against yours, eyes chasing yours, holding hands, this is all too intimate, so much for not getting the wrong idea. Eren's hair dangles in your face, shading the whole word from this moment, right now it's you and him. Your emotions are all over the place and you feel good, so good. A familiar knot forms in your lower belly and you know you're not going to last long, not with the way he's rutting into you like his life depends on it.

"Eren can I cum please ? " you don't know why you ask but you do "Fuck, my little nerd is so polite, go ahead make a mess" His thrust are strong now and it's all you need to unravel around his dick as you thank him over and over again. Your body goes limp on the floor, abandoning your hands Eren circles your waist head buried between your breasts as he uses your body to reach his own high, grunting like an animal. Feeling his teeth sink into your skin you know it's about seconds before he shoots his semen inside of your cunt. You feel it dripping down your hole as Eren soothes the bite mark with his tongue.

Your hand goes to his hair, caressing as his breath slowly replenishes.

"You're coming to the party tomorrow" he asks, eyes hazy looking up at you. That's what he's thinking after an sex you wonder? "I don't know, is it going to end like tonight ?" "I can only hope" he smiles resting his cheek against your belly. "Well, I can be convinced" looking into the crackling fire you pray he can't hear how loud your heart is beating in your chest.

#ZOOWEEEEMAMA #eren yeager #aot x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #modern au #college au #fratboy eren

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22themoon · 2 months ago

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I was watching tall girl yesterday for ghe first time in YEARS and realised if stig (luke eisner) had brown hair he would look SO MUCH like eren

U cant tell me that eren irl wouldnt also lowk post corny things like those pics bc after stalking luke eisners instagram i fear its canon for eren to live such a life

#my mans perfect tho no one irl could ever capture his beauty #eren jaeger #attack on titan #eren x reader #eren aot #eren x you #bf!eren #boyfriend!eren #bf

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22themoon · 2 months ago

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WAITTT SHES SO BADD

girlfailure

#she eats sm

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22themoon · 2 months ago

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♯┆𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐 .ᐟ — 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: After one unforgettable shoot with Bakugo, you’re left unable to finish with anyone else—on or off camera. He’s the only one who’s ever made it real. When you run into him at a party, the sexual tension explodes, leading to a filthy, passionate reconnection that neither of you can shake.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MATURE CONTENT 18+ Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), face riding, fingering, public sex, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, degradation + praise, light dom/sub dynamics, breeding kink references, creampie, soft aftercare, strong language, alcohol mention, sex industry themes.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 8.2k (omg)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

You haven’t cum in weeks.

Not on set. Not in the shower. Not with the $300 vibrator your manager sent as a “self-care” gift. Not even with that one video you shot with Keigo—the one that used to always do the trick.

Nothing works anymore.

Every orgasm you fake now feels like a cheap knockoff. Just muscle memory. Fake moans, fake trembling, fake gasps as the camera zooms in on your face like it’s catching something real. You used to be good at this—great, actually. Made your name off it. You could sell pleasure better than anyone. But now?

Now it’s all broken.

Because Katsuki Bakugo had the audacity to actually make you finish. Not once. Not twice. But over and over until your voice was hoarse and your legs wouldn’t stop shaking. And the worst part wasn’t even how good it felt—it was how real it was. He didn’t just make you come, he pulled it out of you. Like he knew exactly what buttons to press, what noises made you unravel, what rhythm would keep you teetering right on that edge. And then he’d tip you over it like it was nothing.

And ever since then?

Every other guy has felt like cardboard. Even the good ones. Even the pros. You tried not to be obvious about it on set, but your heart’s not in it. Your body’s not either. You’re back to acting, and that just makes it worse. Because now you know what it’s like to actually feel it. To lose control. To not have to fake it.

He ruined you.

And you hate him for it.

Kind of.

Maybe.

You dream about him. That same low, hungry growl in his voice. The weight of his hands on your thighs. The way he looked at you after the cameras cut, like he knew. Like he’d figured you out and wasn’t gonna let you forget it.

And you haven’t.

You still haven’t.

Which is why this fucking party is the last place you want to be.

You stand outside the mansion in heels that and a dress that hugs you like sin, arms crossed and jaw clenched. Your manager’s text is still glowing on your lock screen:

Be nice. Good networking. Smile.

Yeah, whatever.

Keigo’s place is massive. Of course it is. He’s been in the industry since forever, and he’s got that kind of charm that makes people want to party with him. His invite list is basically the who’s who of adult film, plus a few influencers trying to act like they belong. You hate these things. Too loud. Too fake. Everyone pretending to be friends, pretending they don’t judge each other for who they’ve worked with or how many followers they have. It’s all for show.

Still, you walk in. You know how to play the game.

The place is packed. Low red lighting makes everything look softer, sexier. Music pulses through the floor, the bass low and smooth. You’re barely through the front door before someone offers you a glass of champagne. You take it and downs half in one go.

A few people wave at you. A few others eye you up and down, probably checking who you came with. You fake a smile, offer a nod, and keep moving. You’re not here to socialize. You’re not here to flirt or network or play nice.

You’re here because your manager told you to be.

You end up leaning against the edge of a fancy-ass velvet couch, letting the music drown out your thoughts. The champagne doesn’t help much. Neither does the way some guy you vaguely recognise is trying to start a conversation with you, talking about some upcoming project and how “you should totally collab.” You tune him out.

And that’s when it happens.

You feel it before you sees it. Like something in the air shifts. Like static on your skin.

Your spine straightens. Your fingers tighten around the glass.

And then—there he is.

Across the room. Leaning against the wall like he owns the place. Dressed in black, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rings glinting on his fingers. Blonde hair messy in that perfect, careless way. His eyes scan the crowd, bored and sharp all at once.

And then they land on you.

The breath catches in your throat. For a second, the music fades. The party disappears. It’s just him.

Bakugo.

His eyes narrow just slightly. Like he’s surprised to see you here. Like he’s not surprised that you look this good.

He pushes off the wall.

Starts walking.

Right toward you.

Your heart is beating way too fast. You hate that it is. You want to look away. Pretend you don’t care. But you can’t.

Because even now—especially now—your body remembers exactly what he did to you. The way he touched you. The way he looked at you. Like he wasn’t playing a part. Like it was real.

And worse—you know he remembers, too.

He stops in front of you. Doesn’t say anything at first. Just look’s at you.

Up close, he looks even better than you remembers. Like he’s been working out more. Like he hasn’t lost a second of sleep over you even though you haven’t stopped losing it over him.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he says finally, voice low and scratchy.

“Didn’t think you’d be,” you shoot back, arms still crossed. Your tone is cool, but your pulse is sprinting.

He smirks. That same damn smirk that used to drive you crazy. Still does.

“Keigo dragged me,” he says. “Said it’d be good to ‘be seen.’ Whatever the fuck that means.”

“Sounds familiar.”

You stand there in silence for a second. The air between you is thick. Heavy. Loaded.

He tilts his head slightly, eyes drifting down to the drink in your hand. “You good?”

“Peachy.”

“Mm.”

Another pause.

Then he leans in—just a little.

“You fake it again today?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitches. You hate that he knows. Hate that he’s right.

You don’t answer.

He chuckles under his breath. Not mean. Just… smug. Like he knew it. Like he never had a doubt.

“I did,” you admit finally, voice tight.

He steps in just a little closer. Not touching you. Not yet. But you can feel the heat coming off him. The way his presence wraps around you like a damn trap.

“You try with someone else yet?”

You swallow hard. Your eyes flick away.

He already knows the answer.

“No one’s been good enough, huh?” he murmurs.

You wants to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both.

Instead, you down the rest of her champagne in one go.

He watches you the whole time.

Still smirking.

Still standing way too close.

“Why are you here, Bakugo?” You asks, voice low.

His eyes drop to your lips. Then back up.

“Maybe I missed you.”

He says it so casually.

Maybe I missed you.

Like it’s no big deal. Like he hasn’t completely wrecked your life and walked away with a goddamn smirk.

You set your empty glass down, not caring where it lands. Your heart’s still hammering in your chest, but it’s not nerves—it’s need. Hot and bitter and building in your gut like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.

You don’t look away. Don’t soften. You just say it—because fuck it. What’s the point in pretending anymore?

“I haven’t cum since you.”

His smirk falters. Just a little. But enough.

“I’m serious,” you add, stepping closer, voice low. “Nothing works. Not my hands. Not toys. Not other guys. I film a scene and fake it like always, but it’s worse now. So much worse. Because now I know what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Bakugo’s jaw tenses. His hands curl slightly at his sides, like he’s holding himself back.

You lean in, close enough that your words are only for him.

“You ruined me.”

His breath comes out sharp. Controlled—but barely.

“You think I don’t know that?” he mutters. “You think I haven’t been fuckin’ losing it, thinking about that day?”

He looks down at you, eyes dark and burning.

“You were the best thing I ever had in front of a camera. Fuck—probably the best I’ve ever had, period.”

Your stomach flips. Heat flashes under your skin.

“Every time I close my eyes,” he goes on, voice getting rougher, “I see you. Bent over, whimpering, beggin’ for it. You remember that? The way you sounded?”

You swallow, throat tight.

He leans down, lips brushing just behind your ear.

“Do you remember how wet you were when I spread you open?” he whispers. “How your thighs were shaking so bad I had to hold you down?”

Your knees nearly buckle. You grip the edge of the couch behind you, the only thing keeping you upright.

“I remember,” you breathe. “I can’t stop remembering.”

His nose grazes your jaw, not quite touching your mouth, but close enough that the air feels electric between you.

“I jerked off to that shoot so many times I lost count,” he says. “Watched it back with the volume turned all the way up. Had to bite my fuckin’ fist just to keep quiet.”

Your thighs press together. Everything in you is throbbing.

“I tried,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I tried to fuck it out. Tried to touch myself. Tried to forget it.”

Bakugo pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy, lips parted.

“And?”

You shake your head slowly. “Didn’t work.”

His chest rises and falls a little faster now. You can see it. Feel it.

“I need you,” you say, honest and raw and a little unhinged. “Not even just your cock—you. The way you touched me. The way you talked to me. My body remembers you like muscle memory.”

He groans, low and quiet, like it slips out without his permission.

“You know what that does to me?” he mutters. “Hearin’ you say that? Standin’ here in that tight little dress, legs pressed together like you’re already aching for it?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

“You want me to remind you what it feels like?” he asks, stepping in close again. His hand hovers near your hip, not touching, but so close. “Want me to bend you over that couch right now and make you scream my name again?”

Your breath shudders out of you.

“You want me to tell you all the things I’d do to you if we weren’t in the middle of this fuckin’ party?”

You nod. Slow. Deliberate.

“Say it.”

You look up at him, eyes sharp. “I want you to ruin me again.”

His control shatters for half a second. His tongue runs across his teeth. His hands twitch at his sides like they’re desperate to grab you.

“You want my fingers down your panties, feelin’ how wet you are just from talking to me?”

“Yes.”

“You want my mouth on your neck while I tell you how I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget every other name you’ve ever moaned?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice wrecked.

“You wanna know what I’d do to you if I dragged you into one of those empty rooms upstairs?”

“Tell me.”

He leans in again, mouth right at your ear, his breath hot and filthy.

“I’d eat your pussy until your legs give out. I’d make you ride my face until you’re crying. And then I’d bend you over the bed and ruin that tight little cunt all over again. No cameras. No crew. Just you, screamin’ my name into the pillow like you need me.”

You whimper. Actually fucking whimper. Your knees almost give out.

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes again, and his voice drops to a growl.

“Tell me to stop, or I’m taking you upstairs right now.”

Your eyes burn into his.

“I’m not telling you shit.”

He grabs your wrist—gently, but with purpose—and starts walking.

The music fades behind you as you two leave the main room, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and rough and so sure. It’s not forceful—never forceful—but it’s firm. Intentional. Like he knows exactly where he’s taking you, and you’re not even thinking about stopping him.

You follow.

Of course you follow.

The air in the hallway is cooler, quieter. Dim lights line the walls, casting long shadows, the bass of the party now just a distant thump behind closed doors. Every step echoes in your ears. Your heels click against the tile, but you barely hear them. All you can feel is his hand. His grip. The burn of his touch where your skin meets.

He’s walking fast. Focused. Like he’s barely holding himself together.

But then—he pauses.

Right in the middle of the hallway, without a word, he stops. Still holding your wrist, but frozen in place.

And then he looks back at you.

And fuck.

Your cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and glassy with heat. Your lips are parted, and you’re biting the bottom one like you don’t even realize it. Your breath is shallow. Your chest rises and falls way too fast. And you look—

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

It just hits him all at once.

The image of you like that—flushed, dazed, following him willingly down some dim hallway in a dress that barely covers your ass. Your mouth red from chewing on your lip, eyes shining like you want to be devoured.

It’s too much.

It’s way too much.

Bakugo turns around in one sharp move and pushes your back against the wall.

You gasp, more out of surprise than anything, and your back hits the cool plaster with a soft thud.

He doesn’t give you time to speak.

His mouth is on yours before you can breathe.

It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a claim.

His lips crash into yours like he’s starved. Like he’s been dying for this. His other hand finds your waist, squeezing tight, pulling you flush against him until there’s not an inch of space left between your bodies.

And fuck, you melt.

You kiss him back with just as much heat, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, tugging him closer like you want to climb inside him. His mouth moves against yours with wild precision—like he knows exactly what you need and he’s giving it. All tongue and teeth and soft, filthy groans that vibrate against your lips.

His hand slips down to your hip, gripping tight. Your back arches. You moan into his mouth when his tongue brushes yours, and he growls—a low, guttural sound that sends heat straight between your thighs.

He pulls back for just a second, breathing hard.

“Been wantin’ to do that since the fuckin’ shoot,” he mutters, voice rough and wrecked.

You grab his shirt tighter, dragging him back in.

“Then shut up and do it again.”

And he does.

He kisses you like he needs it to survive. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s going to keep him sane. His hand slides up, fingers brushing under the edge of your dress, just a taste of skin, and you gasp into his mouth. He swallows the sound greedily.

Right now, it’s just him and you and all that fucking need you’ve both been drowning in for weeks.

Your hands are in his hair now, tugging, and he groans like you’re driving him insane. His lips trail down to your jaw, your neck, kissing and biting and licking like he wants to leave a mark—something real. Something that says mine.

“You feel that?” he growls against your skin, grinding his hips against yours. “That’s what you fuckin’ do to me.”

You whimper.

“You think I haven’t been aching for this? You think I don’t wake up hard, pissed off, because it’s not you under me?”

“Bakugo—”

“Say it,” he growls. “Say you missed me.”

“I missed you,” you breathe. “So fucking much.”

He grabs your face, tilts it up, and kisses you again. Harder. Deeper.

He’s losing it. Right here, in the middle of some stupid hallway, with your hands on his chest and your mouth so fucking soft and perfect under his.

Fuck he was gonna wait. He really was.

One more hallway, maybe two. Find a room, lock the door, throw you on the bed and wreck you the way you’ve been dreaming about. But then his hand drifts lower, just a little. Just enough to feel the hem of your dress under his fingers. His palm slides up, slow and sure, bunching the fabric higher and higher until—

He groans. Loud. Filthy. Like it physically hits him.

“No fuckin’ panties?”

You flinch, just a little. Lips parted, eyes dark.

“Were you expecting something to happen tonight, baby?” he breathes, voice thick with heat. “You showin’ up like this just for me?”

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Bakugo presses his forehead to yours for a second, breathing hard.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, voice low and ragged. “You’re my dirty little whore, aren’t you?”

You whimper.

“You come to this party all dressed up, no fuckin’ panties, already wet for me…”

His hands are on your thighs now, spreading them just a bit. Your backs against the wall, breathing like you just ran a mile.

“You wanted this,” he growls. “You needed this.”

And then—he drops to his knees.

Just like that.

Right there in the middle of the hallway.

The air leaves your lungs in a gasp. Your back hits the wall harder this time, legs shaking, heart pounding in your throat.

“Bakugo—” you hiss, panic in your voice. “Someone could see—!”

He looks up at you, eyes dark and fucking wild.

“Baby,” he says, voice calm and sinful. “You’re a pornstar.”

He licks his lips.

“Let them see.”

And then he’s between your thighs.

One of your legs stays planted on the ground, barely holding you up. The other—he lifts and hooks it over his shoulder, gripping tight behind your knee with one hand, keeping you open for him. Exposed. Spread. His other hand pins your hip to the wall like he’s afraid you’ll float away.

Then—

Then his mouth is on you.

He groans the second he tastes you, like he’s been dreaming of this moment. Like the taste of you is everything he’s been starving for. His tongue is hot and greedy, licking through your folds, lips sealing around your clit as he sucks, hard, and you cry out, hand flying to his hair for balance.

“F-fuck—Bakugo—”

He growls against your pussy, the vibration shooting up your spine like lightning.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy every fuckin’ day,” he mutters between licks. “You taste even better than I remembered.”

Your head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, mouth open, chest heaving. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. All you know is his mouth—his tongue flicking and licking and circling your clit just right, dragging slow, wet moans from your throat that you couldn’t fake if you tried.

His fingers dig into the back of your thigh, holding you still. Your other leg trembles, barely keeping you upright. Your dress is bunched around your waist, forgotten, as he devours you like a man possessed.

“You hear yourself?” he growls, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “You hear how fuckin’ wet you are?”

“Y-yes—fuck—”

He flattens his tongue against your clit and drags it, slow and firm, and you nearly collapse.

“You gonna cum for me like this, baby?” he asks, licking up your slit, tongue dipping in like he wants to taste every part of you. “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess on my face?”

You’re nodding, eyes wide, lips parted in silent gasps. Your hand’s gripping his hair so tight it must hurt, but he doesn’t care. He loves it.

“Thought about this every night,” he mutters. “Me on my knees. You fallin’ apart. No cameras. No crew. Just me eatin’ you out like it’s the only thing I’m good at.”

And it is.

God, it fucking is.

Your thighs are shaking. Your stomach’s tight. You’re right there, and he knows it.

So he goes harder.

Sucks on your clit like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, tongue flicking fast and filthy, relentless. Your legs nearly give out.

You scream his name.

And then you’re gone.

Your orgasm hits like a truck, ripping through your body as you cry out, nails digging into his scalp. Your leg twitches in his grip, your body writhing against the wall as you cum for the first time in weeks—for real.

Bakugo doesn’t stop. Not until he’s sure you’re done. Not until he’s sucked you through every last wave, tongue gentle now, soft little licks that make you squirm from the sensitivity.

He pulls back, panting.

His chin’s shiny. His lips are swollen.

And he looks fucking proud.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

You can’t speak. Can barely breathe. Your legs are jelly, your face flushed, your dress still hiked around your hips.

And he’s still on his knees.

Looking up at you like he owns you.

Like he always has.

You’re still trembling.

One leg weak, back still pressed to the wall, dress bunched around your hips and mouth parted in a breathless, wrecked little gasp. Your head’s spinning, body soaked in sweat and pleasure, but it’s not enough. Not for him.

Bakugo stays on his knees for a second longer, just staring up at you like he’s watching the aftermath of his own destruction—and loving every second of it. His jaw’s tight, eyes wild, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

Then he moves.

He rises slowly, all smooth, deliberate heat, and crowds you against the wall again, towering over you. His hand slips behind your neck and pulls you in, and his mouth crashes into yours—hot and messy, all tongue and teeth and need.

You moan into it. Loud. Desperate.

He doesn’t give a shit if anyone hears.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, making you taste herself. He kisses you like a man obsessed, like he needs you in his lungs to fucking breathe. His hands are everywhere—sliding over your hips, your ass, up your back, gripping tight like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

“You feel what you do to me?” he growls against your lips.

You whimper when his hips roll into yours, and fuck—he’s hard. So fucking hard it feels like it’s about to tear through his pants. Thick and heavy and ready, pressed right up against your soaked heat.

Your whole body jolts at the contact, and suddenly something shifts in you.

You’re not just trembling anymore—you’re burning. You grabs him by the front of his shirt and pushes off the wall, stumbling forward on shaky legs.

“Where’s the room?” You pant.

He grins, drunk on the sound of you.

“End of the hall. Second door.”

You don’t even wait.

Bakugo catches your wrist again as you try to walk, sees your knees still unsteady, and without saying a word—he scoops you up. Hands under your thighs, body flush to his, carrying you like you’re light as air.

You gasp. “I can walk—!”

He growls, “Don’t care.”

He carries you like you weigh nothing, like you belongs in his arms. Your legs are still trembling from the orgasm he just pulled out of you in the hallway, but your hands never stop moving—gripping his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck, dragging your lips along his jaw just to feel him shiver.

He kicks open the door, steps inside, and shoves it shut with his foot. The lock clicks.

He sets you down—not on the bed. He pins you against the wall again, just for a second, breathing hard, eyes locked on yours. His hands are all over you, sliding down your body, squeezing your hips like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real.

And you’re looking up at him with that same fucked-out, fire-in-your-veins look that’s been haunting his dreams since your shoot.

And then—slowly—you start to sink to your knees.

His breath catches.

“Wait,” he mutters, chest heaving, “you—fuck—what’re you—”

You’re already looking up at him through your lashes, fingers tugging his belt loose with quick, desperate movements.

“You ruined me,” you say, voice low and dangerously sweet. “Let me return the favor.”

Bakugo swears under his breath as you pull his cock free—hard and leaking, twitching in your grip. Your fingers wrap around him, slow and teasing, and he shudders.

And then your mouth is on him.

“Fucking hell,” he chokes out, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing, just holding, gripping tight like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

Your lips wrap around the head, tongue swirling in slow, wet circles, tasting him like you’ve been waiting for this moment since the second the cameras cut. You slide down his length, inch by inch, until your lips are stretched around him and your throat is already working to take more.

“Jesus fuck, baby—”

His voice is raw. Wrecked. You moan around him and his hips jerk.

“Just like that,” he groans, jaw tight. “That’s it. My perfect fuckin’ mouth.”

You hum, sending vibrations through him that almost make his knees buckle. Your hand strokes what you can’t fit, your spit coating him, dripping down your wrist. You’re relentless—pulling off to lick the tip, spit pooling on your tongue before you sink back down again.

Bakugo’s head hits the wall behind him with a soft thud. His eyes flutter shut, mouth open, breathing hard.

“You know what you fuckin’ do to me?” he growls, voice shaking. “You know how many nights I’ve jerked off thinking about you like this?”

You pull off, slowly, dragging your tongue up the underside of his cock as you go.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

He grabs your jaw, tilts your face up toward him, cock resting against your cheek.

“I’d picture this mouth every fuckin’ time,” he breathes. “Your lips all shiny, tongue out, eyes begging. Just like this.”

You moan and take him back into your mouth deep, throat fluttering around him, and he loses it. His hand tightens in your hair as his hips stutter forward, fucking into your mouth once, twice—then forcing himself to stop.

“Fuck—stop,” he groans, pulling you off with a shaky hand, even though it kills him. “Gonna blow if you keep that shit up.”

Your lips are swollen, spit dripping down your chin, eyes glazed and smug.

“Good,” you purr.

He yanks you up off the floor and spins you, pushing your back toward the bed.

“You wanna ruin me?” he growls, voice low and filthy. “Let’s see if that pretty little cunt can finish the job.”

He manhandles you onto the bed like he owns it.

Like he owns you.

You land on your back, dress still hiked up around your waist, thighs spread open without shame. Your chest is heaving, lips wet, eyes locked on him like he’s the only thing you see.

And fuck—he might as well be.

Bakugo shrugs off his shirt in one smooth pull, muscles flexing, abs on full display, veins in his arms popping from how hard he’s holding himself back. His cock’s still out, thick and leaking, twitching with every step closer.

“You sit there lookin’ like that,” he growls, crawling up onto the bed, “and expect me to take it slow?”

You grin. Daring. “I don’t expect you to do anything except ruin me.”

He laughs—dark and mean—and grabs your ankles, dragging you down the bed until your ass is right at the edge, legs hanging off, wide open for him.

“You’re fuckin’ insane,” he mutters.

And then he’s on you.

One hand hooked under your knee, pushing it back toward your chest, the other lining himself up. His eyes are locked on your soaked cunt like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. The tip of his cock brushes your entrance, and you both moan.

“You feel that?” he mutters, dragging it through your folds, teasing your clit. “You’re fuckin’ dripping for me.”

“Need you,” you gasp, already trembling again. “Bakugo, please—”

“Please what?” he growls, leaning over you, tip just barely nudging inside. “Say it.”

“Please fuck me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He slams into you in one deep, smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arches off the bed, mouth open in a silent scream as he stretches you—thick and deep and perfect.

Bakugo groans, eyes rolling back. “Fuck—this pussy missed me, huh?”

“Yes—fuck yes—”

He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, making the bed creak under you.

“I can feel it,” he pants. “The way you’re squeezing me. Your cunt’s starving for it.”

His pace builds—relentless, deep, every thrust angled just right to hit that spot that makes you sob. One of his hands grabs your throat, not squeezing, just holding, thumb brushing over your jaw like he owns you.

“You like that, baby?” he growls. “You like bein’ fucked stupid?”

You nod, gasping, eyes rolling back. “Yes—yes, fuck, harder—”

He gives it to you.

Hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing off the walls, your moans getting louder, messier, realer. Your nails drag down his back, your thighs locked around his hips as you cling to him like you’re about to fall apart.

“Gonna cum for me again?” he mutters, leaning down, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna cream on my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“I—I can’t—” you whimper.

“You can. You will.”

He reaches between them and rubs your clit—fast, tight circles—and you scream.

Your entire body locks up, and then you break.

You cum hard, legs shaking, mouth open, nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t stop—keeps fucking you through it, eyes locked on your wrecked, blissed-out face.

“Goddamn,” he grits out. “You’re fuckin’ unreal.”

His thrusts get rougher, deeper, like he’s chasing the edge—but then, suddenly, he pulls out.

You let out a broken whine, head thrown back against the mattress, body still twitching from your orgasm. Your pussy clenches around nothing, fluttering in the absence of him, wet and ruined and aching for more.

“N-no,” you gasp. “Why’d you—why’d you stop—”

Bakugo’s hovering over you, chest heaving, every muscle in his body tight like a live wire. His cock is soaked, twitching as it rests against your thigh, flushed and throbbing with the need to be buried again.

“Could’ve fucked blown in that pretty pussy just now,” he growls, voice wrecked. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

He leans down, kisses you hard—filthy and deep, tongue licking into your mouth like he owns it. When he pulls back, his voice is rough, laced with heat and control.

“Don’t wanna cum yet,” he pants. “Wanna watch you fall apart again.”

His fingers trail between your thighs, sliding through the slick mess he left behind. You gasp, hips twitching, eyes rolling when he pushes two fingers into you without warning—slow and deep.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, voice low as he watches your face twist in pleasure. “So wet for me. You like bein’ stuffed full, huh?”

You nod frantically, legs spreading wider, hips grinding down into his hand like you’re starved for it.

“Good,” he says, curling his fingers just right, pressing into that soft spot that makes your legs jump. “You’re gonna cum on my fingers now.”

“*Fuck—Katsuki—”

“Yeah?” he smirks, eyes locked on where his fingers disappear inside you. “You close again, baby? Didn’t even give you a break.”

He keeps rubbing your clit with his thumb, fingers stroking in and out slow and deep, dragging slick sounds from between your thighs that make him groan under his breath.

“You’re so fuckin’ messy already,” he says, voice tight. “Look at you. All wrecked for me.”

You sob, head tossing back, hand fisting the sheets.

“Cum again,” he whispers, mouth brushing your ear. “Wanna feel you squeeze my fingers. Wanna make a mess before I fuck you proper.”

And you do.

Your body jerks, thighs clenching around his wrist, another orgasm ripping through you so fast and hard you nearly scream. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, clenching down with each wave, slick gushing down to his palm as you trembles through it.

Bakugo watches you lose it, feels your walls fluttering around his fingers, and his cock twitches, aching with the need to be back inside you.

But not yet.

He pulls his hand out slow, dragging it over your swollen, soaked folds, and brings his fingers to his mouth.

Sucks them clean.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted,” he mutters, eyes never leaving yours.

You look wrecked—eyes glassy, chest heaving, lips parted like you’re still trying to breathe.

He leans in, kisses you slow, and lines himself up again.

“You ready for more?” he murmurs against your lips.

You nod, barely able to speak.

He smirks, voice dark and low.

“Good.”

He slides back into you slow. Painfully slow.

His cock pushes in deep, stretching your ruined cunt all over again, and he groans at how wet, warm, perfect you still are—even after two orgasms and his fingers inside you. You’re flushed and boneless beneath him, lips parted, hair stuck to your face, eyes barely open.

Cockdrunk.

And he knows it.

He watches your face twist as he sinks in fully, his hips flush against yours, but doesn’t move.

Just stays there. Buried to the hilt.

You whine.

He pulls back, just a little.

Thrusts again—slow, deep, teasing. Like he’s savoring every inch. Your walls flutter around him, still clenching like you can’t let go, and he groans through gritted teeth.

“You feel that?” he pants. “How tight you still are?”

You nod, whining, legs twitching.

He does it again.

Slow.

Deep.

Unbearable.

You cry out, hips jerking up toward him, trying to chase more—anything—but he holds your hips still, smirking down at your wrecked face.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby?” he coos, breathless. “Not enough for you?”

You whimper. “Suki—”

He grins. “Tryin’ to fuck yourself on my cock now?”

And you are—rocking your hips up in tiny, desperate motions, your hands gripping the sheets, voice a string of needy little noises that go straight to his dick.

“You’re such a desperate little whore,” he groans. “Can’t even wait for me to fuck you proper, huh?”

“Suki—please—please—”

Your voice is high, slurred, half-sobs and gasp, like you’re not even forming real words anymore. Your cunt squeezes him so tight he nearly loses it.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, shaking his head like he’s in pain. “You sound so fuckin’ wrecked—‘please, Suki’—you know what that does to me?”

You nod, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “Need it—need you—need more—please—”

And then he snaps.

His grip on your hips tightens, and he slams into you.

No mercy. No hesitation.

Just filthy, hard, deep thrusts that rock the bed against the wall.

You scream, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing—just his body, his cock, him, pounding into you like he’s trying to bury himself in your soul.

“You want more?” he growls, voice wrecked. “Take it. Take every fuckin’ inch.”

You’re so loud now—moaning with every thrust, your back arching, body jerking with the force of it.

“I—I’m cumming—” you cry, body locking up again, cunt fluttering like you’re gonna break.

But he doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

“Yeah, baby? Already? Barely even started.”

Your third orgasm crashes through you like a wave, soaking him all over again. Your body trembles under his, and still—still—he doesn’t let up.

He grabs your legs, throws them over his shoulders, and folds you in half.

Then leans forward.

His body presses into yours, hands braced on either side of your head, his cock now driving in deeper than ever before, dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob.

The angle is brutal. Relentless.

You gasp—eyes wide, mouth falling open. Your whole body freezes.

“Suki—!” You squeal. “Wait—wait—I think—I think I’m gonna pee—!”

He knows.

He fucking knows.

And the second you say it?

Bakugo groans. Loud. Wrecked. Ferally turned on.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he pants. “You��re gonna squirt for me?”

You’re panicking now, overwhelmed, the pleasure too much, too fast, building into something different.

“I—I can’t—Suki—Suki—!”

“Yes you can,” he growls. “Let it go. It’s okay. Fuckin’ do it.”

And you do.

Your body jerks once—twice—and then you scream, back arching off the bed as a gush of slick explodes from between your thighs, soaking both of them, soaking the sheets. Your legs shake violently. Your pussy clenches and flutters and gushes, and he pulls out just in time to watch it all.

“Holy fuck—” he groans.

He’s panting, cock dripping, and you’re still shaking, still coming, body twitching like you’ve been electrocuted.

He doesn’t even give you a second.

His hand dives down, fingers rubbing your clit fast—tight circles, no mercy.

“Gonna make a mess all over me, huh?” he pants. “Gonna soak my fuckin’ cock next?”

You’re sobbing, overwhelmed, body still spasming as more slick gushes out of you, squirting again, harder, soaking his hand and the sheets and your thighs.

“You’re such a dirty fuckin’ slut,” he groans, mouth open, watching you fall apart. “Look at you—fuckin’ look at you—”

When you finally start to come down, body trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks, Bakugo grabs your hips and slams back inside.

No pause.

No recovery.

Just more.

More of him.

He fucks you through the overstimulation, pounding into your soaked, sensitive pussy, growling every time your cunt clenches around him.

You’re babbling again, sobbing out moans and whines, brainless.

He’s close now. So close. His thrusts get sloppier, deeper, hips stuttering.

And then—

You grab his face, eyes barely open, voice slurred and high and ruined.

“Cum inside me,” you beg. “Please, Suki—want it inside—need you to fill me up—please—please—”

His whole body locks up.

His eyes roll back.

And he blows.

“Oh fuck baby, yes yes yes, FUCK—!”

His cock pulses inside you as he empties out, the hardest orgasm of his life, ropes of cum shooting deep into your twitching cunt. He groans through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, body shaking as he keeps thrusting, slow now, drawing out every pulse, every drop.

You moan at the feeling—full, warm, messy.

“You take it so fuckin’ well,” he pants, kissing you hard. “Made for me, baby. Fuckin’ made for this.”

His cock finally softens inside you, and he collapses onto your chest, both of you panting, soaked in sweat, slick, and cum.

You’re trembling. He’s still groaning.

And neither of you can speak.

Bakugo’s chest is still heaving as he lowers himself onto his elbows, careful not to crush you. His cock slips free, spent and messy, and you wince from the overstimulation. He’s already watching you—eyes dark, but softer now. More present.

“You okay?” he murmurs, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face.

You nod slowly, eyes fluttering shut, voice hoarse. “Yeah… just—holy shit.”

He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. No kidding.”

You’re still trembling beneath him, body twitching with aftershocks. Your skin’s flushed and glowing, your chest rising and falling fast, and for a moment he just stares. Watches you breathe. Watches you try to come back to yourself.

He reaches for the edge of the bed, grabs the nearest towel—probably Keigo’s fancy ass silk robe or something, who cares—and gently wipes between your thighs. You twitch, gasps softly, but doesn’t stop him.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice low. “I know you’re sensitive. Just wanna clean you up a bit.”

His touch is careful. Gentle. Like you’re made of glass now, even though he just had you screaming his name with your legs over his shoulders.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes. “Didn’t think you’d be the sweet type after railing me like that.”

He smirks, eyes flicking up to yours. “Shut up. You’re lucky I didn’t pass out.”

He finishes wiping you down, tosses the towel to the floor, and climbs back onto the bed beside you. One arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You hum and bury your face into his shoulder, breathing him in.

It’s quiet now.

Just the sound of your breathing. The faint music still thumping somewhere in the house. His heartbeat under your cheek.

Bakugo presses his lips to the top of your head and holds you close.

“You really didn’t wear any panties tonight?”

You giggle sleepily. “Hoped you’d be here.”

His chest rumbles with a laugh, but there’s something else in it too—something warm. Dangerous.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice low, lips brushing your temple, “just tell me what you want.”

You shift, just slightly, enough to look up at him.

Your voice is quiet.

Real.

“You,” you whisper. “I want you.”

He stares at you.

Heart pounding.

And says nothing.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

A few months later you’re standing outside.

The air is warm. Quiet.

No cameras. No script. No fake moans echoing off studio walls. Just the sound of a car pulling away from the curb, leaving behind nothing but soft tire tracks on the gravel and a sudden, still silence.

You exhale.

It’s done.

Your manager waved goodbye with glossy eyes and a box of farewell cupcakes like it was some emotional graduation ceremony. And maybe it was. A part of your life—the biggest part—is officially over. No more lights. No more contracts. No more “one last scene” promises.

You’re out.

Retired.

And free.

Your fans had been devastated, of course. The internet flooded with edits, fanpages posting heartfelt tributes, DM requests piling up asking if you were okay, if you’ll ever return. But you were calm about it. Because you had made your money. More than enough. Enough to buy three lives if you wanted. Yours, your future kids’, and their kids.

And for the first time… you didn’t feel like you owed anyone anything.

The gravel crunches under your feet as you walks up the driveway of your new house. It’s not huge. Not flashy. Just a little white-brick home with a cracked front step and windows that let the morning sun spill inside. There’s barely any furniture yet. The walls are still too clean. But you open the front door and walk in anyway, because it’s yours.

You walk through the living room. Kicks off your shoes. Run your fingers along the kitchen counter. There’s a faint smell of fresh paint and wood polish and something warm. Like home.

And then—warm arms wrap around your waist.

You’re startled for a second.

Until he nuzzles into the side of your neck, all soft breath and scratchy stubble, and you relax instantly.

“Hey,” Bakugo murmurs against your skin.

You let out a breathy laugh. “You scared me.”

He hums. “You’re the one who snuck in without saying hi.”

“I live here,” you tease.

“Hey,” he says. “We live here.”

His arms tighten around your middle. His hands are calloused and warm, and he smells like clean linen and cedarwood shampoo. He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder and then another behind your ear.

“You know,” he says, voice low and teasing, “we gotta christen all the rooms.”

You snort. “You’re horrible.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

You turn in his arms, facing him now—barefoot and smiling, cheeks warm, heart full.

Because this is the part no one saw coming.

After that night at Keigo’s house—after the hallway, after the bedroom, after you whispered “I want you” like it was the most honest thing you’d ever said—Bakugo was done.

He left the industry the next day.

Didn’t tell anyone at first. Just walked off set, deleted the shoot schedule, and never looked back. He didn’t need the job. Didn’t want it. Not if it meant being surrounded by people who weren’t you.

He pursued you properly after that. Not with half-assed flirty texts or casual hookups. He showed up for you. Asked you out. Cooked for you. Slept next to you, not just with you. You thought it would feel weird—awkward, even. But it didn’t.

It felt easy. Natural. Real.

You left the industry a week later. For yourself. For him. For whatever this life was becoming.

Now?

Now you’re here.

In a half-empty house with your names on the mortgage and a stupid list of furniture you still need to buy, and for the first time in forever, you feel like you can just breathe.

Bakugo kisses you softly. Just once.

Then he smirks.

“Bedroom’s still got space on the headboard for scratches.”

“Bakugo.”

“What?” he shrugs, already lifting you up by the thighs. “I’m sentimental.”

You laugh, cling to him, and let him carry you down the hallway, your new life unfolding behind every door.

Your bedroom’s bathed in soft afternoon light when he pushes open the door with his foot.

It’s nothing fancy—white walls, wooden floors, a tall dresser with half the drawers still empty. The bed’s made, kind of, one corner of the blanket folded back like it’s been waiting for them. A single mug sits on the nightstand. Your side.

He lays you down gently, like you’re something delicate. Like he hasn’t already had you screaming into his pillow a dozen times since you moved in.

You pull him down with you, fingers hooked in the collar of his shirt.

Your mouths meet in a slow, lazy kiss. It’s not heated or rushed—it’s warm. Familiar. The kind of kiss you only give to someone when there’s no performance behind it. No pretending.

Just love.

He crawls over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other on your hip, thumb brushing circles into the soft skin there. You exhale against his lips, smiling.

“You gonna make good on your promise?” You tease, eyes fluttering open.

“Which one?”

“‘Christen all the rooms.’”

He grins, teeth and cocky heat.

“Yeah,” he says. “Thought I’d start with this one. Seems the most important.”

Your heart thuds. You try to act unbothered, but his weight on top of you, the way his hand slips under your shirt, palm warm on your stomach—it makes your stomach flutter.

“But we’ve already-,” you laugh, running your fingers through his hair.

“Shut up,” he mumbles into your neck, kissing there slowly. “I know.”

You laugh.

“You make me crazy,” you whisper.

His mouth stills.

He pulls back, looking down at you.

And there’s something in his face that wasn’t there before.

Something quiet. Serious.

“I think about it,” he says softly. “The future.”

You stare up at him, breath caught.

“You ever do that?”

You nod, slow. “All the time.”

He leans down, presses his forehead to yours.

“I want it all,” he murmurs. “With you.”

Your hands slide up his back, feeling every tense line of muscle under your palms. You pull him closer. Your noses bump. Your lips brush.

“Me too.”

He kisses you then—not playful, not teasing. Just real. Long and deep. Like he’s telling you something in a language only your mouths understand.

When he pulls back, he whispers against your lips, “I love you.”

You exhale and smile. “I love you too.”

His hand slips between you, fingertips ghosting down your stomach, between your thighs. He touches you like he’s got all night. Like there’s nowhere else you need to be. Like loving you isn’t something he wants—it’s something he needs.

You gasp softly, hips shifting under his touch.

“You always get like this when you talk about the future?” You whisper.

He laughs quietly. “Only with you.”

Your thighs part for him. You’re already wet. Already aching.

“Then don’t stop,” You breathe.

He doesn’t.

He makes love to you slow. Hands in your hair, forehead pressed to yours. No loud moans. No biting. No rush. Just the steady rhythm of your bodies moving like they were made to fit.

After, you lay tangled together, half under the blankets, half on top of each other. Skin warm. Hearts steady.

He runs his hand down your spine. You hum.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a few minutes.

“Mm?”

“If we ever have a kid,” he says casually, “we’re not naming them after Keigo. I don’t care how much that bastard tries to bribe us.”

You bark out a laugh, pressing your face into his chest. “I wasn’t going to!”

“He’s already been hinting. You know he has.”

“I’m naming our first kid after someone normal, like—Ida or something.”

Bakugo looks physically pained. “Absolutely not.”

You laugh until your stomachs hurt, until your eyes sting with leftover tears, and then he kisses you again—slow and sweet.

“You really want all that?” You ask later, voice small.

He nods.

“You and me,” he says. “Little monsters running around. A house full of loud shit and chaos and love.”

You bite your lip. “And a couch that doesn’t suck.”

He smirks. “Yeah. That too.”

You fall asleep like that. Wrapped up in each other. Wrapped up in something soft and real and permanent.

Something that, for the first time in both your lives, has nothing to do with being watched.

And everything to do with being seen.

TAGS <3

@2elusional @cosmicaoii @kizsuki @kodzubaby

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