dynaxplosion

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subscribing to a fic isn’t enough I need the author to blast a bat signal into the night sky whenever they update

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i hate when i see izuochas being like "finally a normal ship!" on anything straight, because it's like deku and ochako WOULD hate youuuu.

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╰┈➤ ꒰🍓💌🥛 | quiet love, that screams + K. BKG꒱

『♡』 katsuki bakugou x reader , fluff, bathing

『♡』 a/n: wrote this all in one go while laying in bed sick. I'll die on this hill.

The thud of boots being set beside the door and the shuffling of tired feet fill the room. You glance to the side, shoulders drooping like that of a willow tree.

"Hey beautiful." You murmur, taking in the beauty of your very tired pro hero. His work clothes are no doubt soaked in the labor of the day. Sweat, dirt, blood and other grime.

He replies with only a grunt, shoulders slumping much like your own. A quick thumb yanks at the stubborn black fabric of his mask as he tosses it aside. Your brow raises as he nears, curious.

He's exhausted. It doesn't take words to tell you that.

Yet, he bends and leaves a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth. The very act grounds you, sinks in your bones and seeps through your veins.

"Follow?" Katsuki raises a brow, gesturing toward the bathroom.

You wordlessly follow suite. There is no need to discuss what is to happen. The two of you round the corner into said bathroom. The sleek black cabinet is topped with a beige marble countertop, copper faucet rounding over the pale porcelain sink. A small variety of skincare products sit perched upon the counter, next to the prescription bottles and creams.

Katsuki begins to peel off the layers of his hero suit one by one. He tugs at his top but you're right behind him. Your fingers reach to his pants, unbuttoning before they lay purchase on the top. You get the grimey material off in a quick movement all the whilst his pants drop to the cold tile.

You move to the shower and turn it on, turning around to face him. He's just about naked now, save for his socks. You take the liberty to squat down and tap on the inside of his calf. He lifts a heavy foot and your nose scrunches as you remove each of them.

"Go ahead, baby, I'll be in inna' second." You hum, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Surprisingly, he does so without much of a fight.

Katsuki steps into the steaming water and sinks down on the custom platform in the shower. You make quick work of your own clothing and toss everything into the basket. The water beats down in a steady rhythm against his body, and soon, your own.

"You okay?" You hesitate, joining him.

Cherry eyes bore into yours and it's then that you notice the knit of his brows. His good hand rubs over the scarring of the other. Almost instantaneously, you understand. Some days the nerve pain and muscle aches are okay and other days.. are like today.

"Okay. Okay." You repeat, to yourself more so than him it seemed.

Your fingers wrap around a much too expensive bottle of body wash and squeeze a healthy amount onto a washcloth. His eyes close as you bathe him in precise, practiced motions. It's only when you tap him that he knows to stand and wash his privates. A dignity thing— you can wash every part of his body if need be but not his genitalia. (He'd said after a particularly bad day)

It's an intimate, raw form of love for the two of you. It has come only with many arguments, tears, and 'i love you's. Still, it grew on you— both of you— like wisteria on old stone walls.

You bathe yourself shortly after and make haste to get the two of you to the bedroom. Shower ‐ dry off - skincare- bed. In that order.

The bedroom is as grand as he is, in its own way. With a large bed in the center, fluffy duvet on top and lush pillows. A nightstand rests on either side of it and a large, rather polished dresser is pressed against the opposite wall.

He plops himself on top of the bed and allows you the courtesy of picking his boxers. Today, you choose a simple black pair. They slip on easily, aside from a quick struggle against his rather massive thighs. He snorts and presses a kiss to your jaw when you snap the band of them.

Katsuki quickly shoves a large hand down his boxers to adjust and then rolls into the bed. You toss on a shirt and follow suite. He curls around you like the peel on a fresh clementine— tight, protective, loving.

You grab his hands and pepper kisses across the knuckles. His nose makes itself home in the crook of your neck and your shoulders droop for the second time today.

Katsuki would never admit this to anyone, so don't quiz him on it. But he'd pick your panties for you and wash your back for you any day of the week. You would not need to ask, the knit between your brows would be enough.

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pov of me staring at my Bakugo collection before bed each night

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Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 08

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Authors note: They're cuties

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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It’s the first weekend back from training camp.

The dorms hum with a quiet, lazy energy. Laughter spills from the common room where a few of your classmates are sprawled on the couches, half-watching some cheesy action movie, half-bickering over who gets the last slice of pizza.

The faint scent of buttered popcorn drifts through the hallways, mingling with the crisp night air.

But here, tucked away in the safe, intimate cocoon of your bedroom, it feels like you’re a million miles away from it all.

You sit at your desk, clutching Bakugou’s hoodie to your chest like it’s the only anchor keeping you tethered to the ground. You still can’t believe you have this thing! This massive, burgundy piece of him.

In the moment, Bakugou lending you his jacket punched through your nervous system in a way that would probably concern every medical professional alive.

You’re sure he didn’t think much of it. He probably felt obligated to help since you looked like you were two minutes away from hypothermia, sitting out under the stars in nothing but your little pink bikini.

Whatever his reasons were, the gesture wrecked you.

Warmed you to your core, but also completely ruined your ability to function. You’ve been avoiding him all week since the group returned to class, unable to meet his eye after the shared drink incident in the lake… and now this. The sweater.

Waves of anxiety coil in your stomach at the thought of having to give it back.

Your knee bounces restlessly beneath you, the soft tap-tap-tap against your plush white carpet the only sound breaking the perfect stillness of your room.

You’re seated at your desk, surrounded by the little world of a room you’ve built. Your safe, curated sanctuary.

Trinkets and keepsakes are neatly arranged in trays, your jewelry boxes stacked just right. Makeup pouches zippered closed in a tidy corner. And beside it all, there’s a delicate porcelain ivory pot, holding a tiny bouquet of quirk-induced flowers. They glow with a soft, sleepy pink—casting a sweet, ambient shimmer that gently lights the room.

Everything is so pretty. So perfectly you.

And yet, none of it soothes the knot of nerves twisting tight in your chest.

You glance at your door, locked obviously, before your eyes drift back to the phone on your desk. Its screen remains black. Still. Unmoving.

You honestly can’t believe you’re even back in your room. Back in this strange, breathless state.

Training camp had been… surreal. Magical in some ways, but deeply overwhelming in others.

You’ll forever be grateful to Ochako for showing you kindness, for reaching out and pulling you into the group with such quiet warmth.

But switching from lonely introvert to unexpected topic of conversation among twenty-something classmates? One half of your body felt like it was living a dream, and the other half was screaming at you to run away and retreat into your room at all times.

And now there’s this.

Bakugou’s hoodie.

Even thinking about it is mortifying.

You press the thick burgundy fabric tighter to your chest, breathing in the faint scent that still clings to it—sweet like burnt caramel, a scent you've learned to associate with him.

It makes your heart ache.

He’d shown you kindness, too. And here you are, practically hiding and holding his clothes hostage!

That’s it. You have to text him.

You let out a quiet sigh, adjusting your clunky glasses as you pick up your phone.

You swipe through your text archives, going way back to your first year when the class had made a group chat. You barely spoke in there, just lurking quietly. Based on the years of inactivity, it seems like they eventually got the hint.

Still, it’s the only way to find his number.

You scroll, eyes scanning, and with a nervous breath, tap his contact.

Bakugou Katsuki.

Your thumb hovers, heart thudding.

This will be your first time texting him. What if he thinks it’s weird? What if he blocks you?

Maybe you could transfer schools. Shiketsu High might be too late, but your mom has connections, doesn’t she?

Your nerves are boiling at this point. But still, you start typing:

hey... um, do you want your hoodie back?

Delete.

hi bakugou. i have your hoodie. can i give it back?

Delete.

hi

Delete.

A strangled groan escapes you as you bury your face in the hoodie, muffling the soft, pitiful sound of pure social agony.

You force yourself to breathe, lift your head, and type:

Hii bakugou are you free? i have your hoodie 🧺

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.

And now you sit frozen, heart hammering beneath your silky pajama top, staring at your screen in horror because—

The emoji. What were you thinking? You regret it instantly. Viscerally.

But the panic spikes when his reply comes in almost instantly:

I'm assuming this is sad eyes.

Naturally, you want to slam your head against the desk- maybe it'll knock you out and save you from this misery! Of course he didn't have your number saved!

You cringe so hard your soul tries to abandon your body. You should’ve just told him it was you. Should’ve said something.

Your fingers clack desperately against the screen as you reply:

“Yep it’s me!”

Great. Just great. Maybe you should’ve addressed how much you hate that nickname while you were at it!

Too late now.

A chat bubble appears.

He’s typing.

Oh god.

"I can meet in five."

You gulp, horrified.

Five minutes?! That’s basically now! You’re going to have to interact with Bakugou Katsuki in your current state?! You glance in the mirror, eyeing your heart print pjs and ridiculous glasses.

The last time he caught you looking like this was bad enough… and you’re pretty sure that memory still lives in your nightmares.

You lunge for your closet like a cat avoiding bathwater, leaving your desk chair spinning violently behind you.

Your hands fly over hangers, rifling through outfit after outfit in a frenzy. What says I swear I’m effortlessly amazing at all times, even when I’m alone doing absolutely nothing without looking like you tried?

After what feels like a thousand panicked years, you settle on a soft lavender loungewear set: cozy little shorts, and a matching long sleeve that has a tiny cute yet meticulously embroidered lilac flower at the top with a hand stitched lacy trim.

It’s cute!

You rip your glasses off because—God, no. He can’t see you in those. Not again. Not ever.

A spritz of perfume. Just one. Okay, maybe two.

It’s ridiculous. You know that. He’s probably going to grab the hoodie, grunt something barely coherent, and walk away without even looking at you.

But still.

Looking good makes you feel better! If anything’s going to stop you from sounding like a babbling disaster the second he opens his mouth, it’s this.

And then just as you're checking yourself one last time in the mirror, a knock.

Then, very gently, you clutch his hoodie tighter to your chest, like it’s some kind of plush shield, and pad quietly to the door in your fluffy socks.

You crack it open and immediately wish you had five more minutes to prepare. Or maybe a week.

Standing there in the hallway is Bakugou. His tall self looking rather comfortable in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants underneath. Dear lord.

And as if that wasn’t enough, right next to him is his best friend, grinning like human sunshine. Also in grey sweatpants. Do they have some kind of secret uniform or what?

Kirishima’s version feels less threatening, though. He’s got a bright red oversized sweater on, matching the wild mess of his hair, and a pair of red Crocs that somehow make the whole thing weirdly endearing.

You personally loathe crocs, they're a fashion nightmare...he somehow makes it work.

“Y/N!” Kirishima beams. “How’ve you been? We haven’t really gotten to hang out since training camp!”

You blink.

Mentally, you laugh. 

Yeah, no kidding! You haven’t been “hanging out” because you’ve been busy executing escape missions every time either of them walked into a room!

Honestly, your stealth skills deserve an award.

“O-oh. Hi, Kirishima.” You smile, but it feels a little too tight. Your eyes flick over to Bakugou, who hasn’t said a word. He’s just watching you, unreadable as always.

Your heart practically somersaults into your throat.

This can’t be good for your health.

“I, um—here.” You hold out the hoodie to Bakugou, careful not to make too much eye contact.

As he reaches for it, your fingers accidentally graze his.

It’s nothing, really. A blink of contact. Barely a second. But your heart stutters like it’s been shocked back to life.

You pull your hand back a little too fast, pretending to fix the sleeve of your shirt like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just takes the hoodie like nothing happened. His expression stays unreadable, but his eyes linger for a moment longer than necessary.

Kirishima leans forward a bit, peering past Bakugou with a bright grin. “We’re all watching a movie downstairs. You should come! It’s just a bunch of us hanging out, nothing crazy.”

Your heart drops. Oh no, you were so excited to sleep in and watch some makeup reviews!

“Oh,” you blink, caught completely off guard. “Um, me?”

“Yeah!” Kirishima nods, enthusiastic as ever. “We’ve got popcorn, snacks, Kaminari’s being loud—same old stuff. You should join us for a bit.”

You barely have time to process it before Bakugou speaks up.

“Tch. Pass.” He shifts slightly, already half-turned away. “Not sittin’ through another one of that idiot’s trash picks.”

Kirishima nudges him just enough to earn an irritated grunt.

“Oh, come on,” he says with a teasing grin. “It won’t kill you to hang out for an hour. You never come to these.”

Bakugou scowls, hoodie tucked under his arm. “Yeah, and that’s by choice.”

You shift where you stand, eyes flicking between them. Your fingers tighten around the edge of your door, heart thudding loud in your chest. And before you can talk yourself out of it, the words slip out.

“I mean... I guess I could come by for a bit.”

Instant regret.

Both of their heads turn toward you. Kirishima lights up, already halfway into a celebratory fist pump, while Bakugou just raises a brow, his expression unreadable.

Instant regret washes over you. Your cheeks flush hot, and you suddenly wish you could disappear behind the door. But Kirishima’s excitement is hard not to get swept up in.

“Awesome! That’s great. Everyone’ll be glad to see you again.”

Bakugou shifts his weight, his gaze dropping to the floor for a beat. Then he shrugs.

“Whatever. I’ll go too.”

Kirishima blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Yeah. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

You glance over at him, and something flutters low in your stomach. He’s not looking at you. If anything, he seems pointedly focused on the wall. But the tip of his ear is just a little pink.

Your fingers tighten on the edge of the doorframe.

Kirishima glances between the two of you, something sparkling behind his eyes. Bakugou notices and scowls, but you don’t even catch it—your eyes are glued to your socks, heart thudding in quiet panic.

You slip away to your closet and grab the first pair in reach. Your soft ivory house slippers, the fluffy Louis Vuitton ones you’ve had forever. You don’t even think twice about them as you slide them on and tuck your phone into your sleeve.

One last breath.

You pad back to the doorway and offer a quick, slightly stiff smile. “Ready.”

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The walk to the common room isn’t long, but with Bakugou brooding on one side and Kirishima chatting animatedly on the other, it feels like a slow march toward potential social doom.

You nod along, catching only bits and pieces of whatever Kirishima’s saying. Something about Kaminari insisting on watching a movie with “zero plot but peak visuals,” and how clearly that’s not good cinema.

Huh. You didn’t know Kirishima had such strong opinions about film!

Your manicured fingers fidget with the hem of your sleeve as you walk, nerves prickling at your skin.

You still don’t really know why you agreed to this. You’re not exactly close with anyone here. They’re friendly, yes—but that’s not the same as being friends.

As you round the corner, soft flickers of TV light spill into the hallway, accompanied by the buzz of laughter and crinkling snack bags. The common room looks lived-in and chaotic, with your classmates already sprawled across couches and cushions, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by an almost comical number of popcorn bowls and candy piles.

Mina glances up mid-sentence, her face lighting up. “Y/N? No way—hey! I didn’t think we’d see you tonight! Your pajamas are adorable!”

You blink, a little stunned by her enthusiasm. “Oh. Um, thank you. Kirishima invited me.”

Momo looks up from her spot, seated neatly on one of the larger couches. She reaches for a piece of candy, offering a gentle smile. “Perfect timing. We haven’t even started yet.”

You nod, a small lump forming in your throat. You’ve known Momo for years, technically, your mothers ran in the same social circles.

But she’s always been polite in that polished, well-trained way. You’re probably still more familiar with Shoto, honestly. Even so, having her here makes things feel slightly less foreign.

You scan the room, searching for a place to sit. Kirishima has already flopped into a bean bag, Kaminari yelling something across the room at him. The long couch is completely full, and the floor’s been claimed by a sea of legs, blankets, and snacks.

There’s only one spot left.

Your eyes land on the smaller couch tucked off to the side, one that’s technically a two-seater, though Bakugou’s broad frame is currently taking up more than his fair share of it.

Of course.

Of course it’s the only spot left.

You hover for a second, unsure. You’ve never been good at moments like this! The quiet in-between where you’re supposed to know what to do, how to move, how to belong.

It reminds you of those early days at school, when you'd end up standing around with a tray in your hands, trying not to look lost while figuring out where you could sit without it being weird.

You’ve learned to avoid those moments altogether. These days, you eat lunch outside at the school’s gardens that are used for the agriculture students. It’s easier. Calmer.

But right now, there’s no back door to slip through. Just one couch, and one intimidating boy sitting on it.

And you're standing there like you're thirteen again.

You hesitate, just long enough for him to notice.

He glances at you sideways, eyes catching the glow of the TV—sharp, unreadable. Then he jerks his chin, just barely. “You sittin’ or what?”

You swallow hard and nod, shuffling forward. Your knee brushes his for a split second before you tuck yourself into the corner of the couch, limbs folded tight like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel him.

Heat rolling off him in quiet waves, steady and impossible to ignore. He smells like clean laundry and something deeper beneath it, warm and smoky, like burnt sugar and caramel left just a little too long on the stove.

It’s dizzying. You try not to think about it.

You keep your eyes locked on the popcorn bowl across the room, pretending not to notice how close you are. But no matter how tightly you curl in, the side of your leg keeps brushing his.

“Sorry,” you murmur, barely audible. You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, just certain the closeness must be making him uncomfortable.

Bakugou shifts slightly, and for a second you’re sure he’s about to edge away.

But then he mutters, not quite looking at you, “Stop apologizing for everything, it's nothing”

It’s quiet. Almost awkward. Like he’s not used to saying anything reassuring, and kind of hopes you didn’t hear it too clearly.

His head leans back against the couch, jawline catching in the TV’s flickering light.

Lord. Who even has a bone structure that good naturally?

Before you can spiral any further about your proximity to Bakugou or the way your heart is thudding against your ribs—someone at the front of the room claps twice.

“Okay, okay, shut up, it’s starting!” Kaminari calls out, remote raised like a royal decree.

The room gradually hushes. Pillows shuffle. Bags of candy rustle. Someone dims the lights, and the TV screen glows bright against the dark. You shift a little, tucking your legs beneath you and trying not to take up too much space.

The opening credits roll, and that’s when it hits you.

You forgot your glasses. And your contacts.

Your heart sinks as you blink at the screen, already squinting. Everything is soft—blurry around the edges like a watercolor left in the rain. You can catch bursts of color, vague movement... but faces? Expressions? Text on screen?

No chance. Just a gallery of vaguely humanoid blobs.

God. There’s a reason your glasses are so big and clunky and ridiculous. You’re legally blind without them.

You shift slightly, trying to lean forward without making it obvious, pretending you’re deeply invested in the opening scene. But apparently, you’re not as subtle as you hoped.

Bakugou shifts beside you.

“Don’t tell me you left your damn glasses,” he mutters, just low enough for only you to hear.

Your entire body stiffens. Oh no.

You forgot he’s the only one who's ever seen you in them—those thick, round frames that make your eyes look comically huge. You’d rather melt into the couch cushions than admit he’s right.

“What? No! I mean kinda. I forgot my contacts.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He makes a low sound in his chest—something between a sigh and a quiet, knowing huff. Then, to your absolute horror, he leans a little closer.

“You wanna switch spots or somethin’? You’re squintin’ like someone’s grandma.”

Your mouth opens slightly, caught between indignation and disbelief. Was that… a lighthearted comment?

“I’m fine,” you murmur, cheeks heating. “I’ll just experience the film through sound.”

He exhales something that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, subtle and quick. But you heard it.

And you feel it straight in your stomach.

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Your first ever movie night with your peers went... interestingly.

For starters, you and Bakugou were the only ones still awake. About an hour in, you noticed the weird silence coming from your classmates, and one quick glance around the dark room had your eyebrows shooting up.

How had everyone fallen asleep?!

God, Kirishima was right—this movie did sound like shit. You wish you could’ve actually seen it as much as you heard it, but the social anxiety had kept you from running up to your room to grab your contacts.

“I can’t believe they all fell asleep,” you whisper to Bakugou, eyes drifting from Ochako, Mina, Tsuyu, and the other girls, somehow all perfectly asleep on the floor and looking incredibly comfortable—

To Denki, Sero, Kirishima, and even Midoriya, all knocked out on the couch.

Momo was the only one with enough sense to call it a night halfway through the movie, ignoring Denki’s whining as she peaced out.

Bakugou doesn’t seem nearly as surprised as you. “It’s like this every time. You never missed much,” he snorts.

You blink at him, surprised. It’s not what he said—it’s what it implies. That he noticed. That your absence before tonight hadn’t gone completely unacknowledged.

But you’re too tired to unpack that right now.

“I totally could’ve watched some reviews tonight,” you mumble, pouting slightly. That earns you a weird look from Bakugou. He doesn’t say anything, but the strength of his side-eye is enough to make you explain.

“I watch makeup reviews in my free time,” you admit, like some kind of confession. “Helps me sleep.”

“Didn’t ask,” Bakugou says dryly, not even bothering to look at you.

You pause, shoulders curling in slightly. “Oh…right,” you murmur, gaze dropping to your lap.

He shifts beside you, and when he speaks again, his voice is low, almost begrudging. “Damn it sad eyes, don’t talk like that.”

Your head snaps up. “Like what?!” you whisper-shout, brows furrowed.

He finally glances your way, eyes narrowed but not unkind. “Like I just kicked your dog or something,” he mutters, a faint scowl tugging at his mouth—though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

That actually gets a laugh out of you, sharp and sudden. You slap a hand over your mouth, eyes darting nervously to your sleeping classmates. Thankfully, nobody stirs.

Bakugou snorts, shaking his head. “They’re knocked out. Gonna wake up with sore muscles and shit.” He seems almost excited as he eyes Midoriya’s terrible sleeping posture.

Yeah... that’s gonna hurt tomorrow.

You sigh and rub at your eyes—dry and itchy from not wearing your glasses for so long. “This kinda sucks. I need eyedrops and a heater. I never realized how cold the dorms get at night,” you mumble, shivering a bit as the AC hums on relentlessly, goosebumps crawling up your legs.

A few quiet moments pass, then suddenly, something warm and familiar lands in your lap.

You glance down. It’s the burgundy sweater Bakugou gave you during training camp. The same one you returned earlier today.

Your gaze snaps up to meet his, and he’s already looking at you, totally unfazed. “Don’t fight it. You’re cold and crippled—pick a battle.”

Your jaw drops. “Crippled?!” you whisper-yell.

“Blind as hell. Probably gonna trip over the stairs.”

You scoff. “I’ll have you know I’m taking the elevator!”

He snorts, and you catch the hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. You can’t help but feel a little proud of getting that out of him

even if it was at your own expense.

“Just take the damn jacket,” he mutters, his voice soft but no less stubborn.

You bite your lip, feeling the warmth spread from the burgundy fabric into your chilled skin. Well, who are you to say no?

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[dynaxplosion]

Don't kill yourself, please.

If you’re suffering from depression and are looking for a sign to not go through with ending your life, this is it. This is the sign. We care.

If you see this on your dash, reblog it. You could save a life.

[dynaxplosion]

Hey there! Can you do a Katsuki x Reader pre-relationship where he's injured and she comes visit him and offers to feed him while he's weaker. He at first refuses but then begrudgingly agrees. Over time he even welcomes it, making excuses for her to feed him even when he's capable himself and saying stuff like "My head hurts today" or "My arm's not feeling well today" and she just acts along with it

Just This Once… or Maybe More

Katsuki Bakugo hated being weak. He hated feeling useless. And, most of all, he hated being babied.

So when he ended up in the hospital with a fractured wrist, a few cracked ribs, and a mild concussion thanks to an explosion that hadn’t gone quite as planned, the last thing he wanted was for people to fuss over him. His friends had already stopped by, Kirishima cracking jokes about how he was “tough as hell” while Mina made a show of fluffing his pillows just to piss him off. He barked at them until they left.

But then you showed up.

You entered his hospital room, a plastic bag of food in one hand and an unreadable expression on your face. You weren’t part of the group that usually hovered around him, but you had your ways of sneaking into his space. You always had. And for some reason, he let you.

“Brought food,” you announced, lifting the bag slightly.

“Tch. I don’t need your damn charity.”

“I know,” you said, entirely unaffected. “But hospital food is disgusting, and you’re probably gonna bite a nurse’s head off if they bring you another dry chicken breast.”

He scowled but said nothing. That meant you were right.

You set the bag on the tray table and started unpacking the food. It smelled good—better than whatever garbage the hospital had been shoving at him. Katsuki’s stomach grumbled in betrayal, and your lips quirked in amusement.

“You want me to feed you?” you asked casually, like it was a normal question and not one that made his eye twitch.

“The hell kind of question is that? No, I don’t want you to feed me,” he snapped.

“Alright, alright.” You held up your hands in surrender, but there was a teasing glint in your eyes as you opened a container and started eating your own meal.

Katsuki reached for the chopsticks, but the splint on his wrist made his movements clumsy. His ribs ached when he twisted too much, and he barely managed to pick up a piece of chicken before it slipped from his grip and fell back into the container.

He growled in frustration.

You said nothing, just watching with mild amusement, waiting. He knew what you were waiting for.

“I don’t need help,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“I know,” you repeated.

Another failed attempt. His jaw clenched. His pride was at war with his stomach.

“…Fine,” he spat. “Just this once.”

Your eyes softened slightly, but you didn’t tease him. You just picked up a piece of chicken with your chopsticks and held it up to his lips.

“Open up.”

He scowled but obeyed, biting down a little harder than necessary just to prove a point. You rolled your eyes, but you kept feeding him, and despite his earlier resistance, he had to admit it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe it was because the food was actually good. Maybe it was because you weren’t treating him like an invalid—just someone who needed a little help. Maybe it was something else entirely, something he didn’t want to name.

But after that day, it became a thing.

The Next Visit

“I can feed myself today,” he said as soon as you entered the room.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? So you don’t want this beef bowl I brought?”

His stomach betrayed him again with an impatient growl. He glared at you.

“…I didn’t say that.”

You smirked, pulling up a chair next to his bed. “You sure? Because if you’re feeling all independent today, I can just eat it myself.”

His eye twitched. “Tch. Whatever. Do what you want.”

You took that as permission and started feeding him again, and this time, he didn’t fight it.

A Week Later

“I thought you said you were fine,” you teased, holding up a piece of tonkatsu.

Katsuki scowled, arms crossed over his chest. “My head hurts today.”

You tilted your head. “Oh really? I thought your concussion was getting better?”

“Did I stutter?”

You bit back a laugh, choosing to play along. “Of course. Silly me.”

You fed him another bite, and this time, he didn’t even bother looking annoyed. He just chewed, swallowed, and waited expectantly for the next.

A Few More Days Later

“My arm’s not feeling well today,” Katsuki grumbled as you unwrapped another takeout container.

You paused. “Your other arm?”

He gave you a deadpan look. “Yes. It’s sympathy pain.”

You stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter.

“You’re so full of shit,” you wheezed.

“Tch. Just shut up and feed me already.”

You shook your head but obliged, and if you noticed the way his lips curled ever so slightly after each bite, you didn’t mention it.

And Then…

“You know, I did see you texting Kirishima with your ‘injured’ arm earlier,” you pointed out, amusement dancing in your eyes.

Katsuki huffed. “That was different.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Texting’s easy. Eating takes precision.”

You snorted. “Uh-huh. Precision.”

“You questioning me, dumbass?”

“Not at all.” You held up a bite of food, and he leaned forward to take it without hesitation.

Yeah. You were definitely onto him. But you didn’t call him out on it. Not yet.

Because deep down, you both knew this had long stopped being about convenience.

[dynaxplosion]

I’M TIRED OF SMUT, I WANT TOOTH ACHING FLUFF AND HEART SHATTERING ANGST.

[dynaxplosion]

[dynaxplosion]

katsuki with a reader thats a spitfire in the streets but a sweetie in the sheets

cw: oral

he quickly learns not to put you in doggy after you whined about him not wanting to see your face. your poor boyfriend has to wait to fuck you, he has to stretch you out nice and good cuz the tears in your eyes when you mewl that its too big and “it hurts” make him weak. katsuki learns how to lick your hole just right so you don’t get frustrated and pout,

“that’s enough, katsu”

my ass. he won’t let you fake an orgasm, tell your friends he’s not the sex demon you thought he was. he’s kissing your thigh before gently pushing his tongue inside, licking the way you like, making you squeal.

“you said you want me to stop?”

“no! please, don’t stop katsu, fuckin me so good”

even though you’ve inflated his already huge ego, he goes gentle, not wanting to hurt you. poor katsuki that has to deal with you being bratty the next morning, saying

“it was okay, i guess”

he knows you’re just trying to rile him up, but that doesn’t stop him from going extra slow next time, saying,

“don’t wanna hurt you baby. never gonna make my poor angel cry again”

you can see the smirk on his face from between your thighs, making you clench tighter. he seems like he’s joking, but in reality, he puts more care into you than you’ll ever know. especially when your eyes are rolled back and you fuck his face like that

and if you thought he was sweet during sex, his aftercare will leave your teeth rotting. petting your head, whispering sweet nothings and kissing your forehead while you whimper and quiver. gently wiping your hole with a wet hand towel, so as not to hurt your sensitive body.

“shh, baby, i know, it’s okay, i’ve got you”

reblogs are appreciated!🍰

[dynaxplosion]

FAIRLY UNHINGED! katsuki bakugo

parings; katsuki bakugo x delulu!fem!reader

notes; this is me with my bsf (if reader reminds u of u the physic ward is free entry!)

you’d been talking shit since the car ride.

“I’m gonna win every game, Katsuki,” you bragged, licking blue raspberry off your finger from the slushie you’d demanded before even getting to the fair. “I’m literally built for this. Carnival blood runs in my veins.”

Bakugou gave you a side-eye like you were already losing the plot. “You ain’t winning shit. You don’t got aim, or coordination, or a single ounce of balance.”

“I have confidence,” you countered, which in your delusional little mind, was more powerful than physics.

⸻

GAME #1: RING TOSS.

You kissed the ring for good luck and launched it like a frisbee. It flew three booths over and hit someone’s hot dog.

“…That counted,” you said.

Bakugou groaned. “The fuck it did.”

⸻

GAME #2: SHOOTING GALLERY

“Step aside, baby. Watch greatness in action.” You grabbed the plastic rifle like you were born on the battlefield.

You missed every duck. Every tin can. Even the giant neon target labeled “FREE PRIZE HERE.”

Bakugou was behind you, cracking up and filming it. “You’re a goddamn menace.”

You blew imaginary smoke off the gun. “Sniper. Elite tier.”

“More like blind as shit.”

⸻

GAME #3: THE STRONGMAN HAMMER.

You stepped up, psyching yourself out. You even slapped your bicep like you were prepping for battle. “This is it. Redemption arc.”

Bakugou didn’t even stop you. He was enjoying the downfall.

You swung the hammer like a hero in an anime—and the puck moved up six inches before flopping down with a sad little bell ding.

Bakugou doubled over. “Oh my god.”

“Malfunction,” you insisted. “The hammer’s rigged.”

“It’s foam.”

⸻

THEN: THE RIDES

“Oh hell yeah, we’re doing the Zipper,” you declared. “I’m not even scared. You’re scared. You literally look scared.”

Bakugou raised a brow. “It’s a carnival ride, not a warzone. Get your delusional ass in the seat.”

Two minutes later, the cage door slammed shut. The ride jolted to life, flinging you and Bakugou straight into the air.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. Then louder: “OH MY FUCKING GOD.”

You grabbed the bars with white-knuckle terror. “STOP THE RIDE. I WANNA GET OFF!”

“It just started!” Bakugou was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “What happened to carnival blood, huh?!”

You turned feral midair. “I’M GONNA DIE. I’M TOO HOT TO DIE!”

You actually tried to open the cage door mid-spin.

Bakugou had to slap your hand away. “THE HELL YOU DOIN’? SIT YOUR CRAZY ASS DOWN!”

“I’M SERIOUS. I’LL JUMP.”

“You’re 80 feet in the air! You’ll be a hot pancake!”

“I’d rather die than do another spin!”

The ride operator slowed it down—probably because he saw you trying to unbuckle mid-loop like a final destination death was pending.

Bakugou didn’t stop wheezing until you got off the ride and collapsed in the grass.

You lay there, arms out, staring up at the sky. “I’m suing this fair.”

“You should sue your own brain.”

⸻

LATER THAT NIGHT

You held a single sad prize—a knockoff Squishmallow Bakugou won “just to shut you up.”

“Best day ever,” you mumbled, shoving cotton candy in your mouth.

Bakugou rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around you anyway. “You’re insane.”

“I’m a champion.”

“You’re a liability.”

“Still pulled though,” you teased, poking his side.

He smirked. “Barely.”

You beamed like you’d actually won something.

(Delusion wins again.)

©bunnibite. all work by me. plagiarism is prohibited

[dynaxplosion]

warm hands, loud heart

it’s a cold, humid, day at the UA campus. class had just been dismissed by your very sleep deprived teacher. your body was blanketed by a thick layer of fabric, a hoodie draped over your figure as you wait for a certain someone

your eyes drift outside of the glass window, watching the drops of rain race each other down the window. you hear shoes stomping against the floor, signaling that your explosive boyfriend had been finished getting scolded by Aizawa

“didn’t have t’ wait for me” his usual arrogant voice rings out. your gaze flitting to meet his own

“well i did, so deal with it” your reply, hearing bakugo grumble in response. your feet start to step in motion, toward your dorm as bakugo’s form slowly appears beside you. he followed beside, falling into sync with your feet as you both walked toward the dormitories

“stop yer bitchin’ and hold my hand” he rumbles, his hand waiting expectantly for your warmth to envelope his own

“never expected you to be the lovey dovey type, kats” your retorted, a teasing tone accompanying your words

bakugo just grumbled in response again. your hands slowly wrapped around his own. his rough, calloused hands wrapping around your own soft skin. bakugo wore his usual scowl as you two routed the hallways, inching toward the dorms as your bodies itched to be wrapped in each others arms

“yer hand is cold..” he murmurs, looking anywhere but you out of nervousness, desperately trying to mask his anxiousness with a playful banter

“and yours is warm” you reply, gaze locked onto him and occasionally flocking to gaze outside of the windows

“well shut up so i can warm it. ya might get sick” he retorted, his hand gripping your hand slightly tighter

as the pair began to near the dormitory, it also meant that the duo had to go out into the rain. you two stood under a roof, shielding you from the rains kisses

“ready?” you say, getting into a running position before glancing in bakugo’s way

“obviously” he grumbles, getting ready to run

“last one there is a rotten egg!!” you scream before taking off, letting mother natures water cascade over your body and french your clothes

“HEY!! YOU CHEATED!!” bakugo screams out from behind you, his yells ringing out into the air as he chases after you

snickers and giggles left your mouth as you ran, your feet coming into contact with the puddles pooling around the ground and your feet, splashing icy sprays with every sprint you took. as soon as you saw the dormitory nearing, you used your last bit of energy to dash toward the entrance before hearing explosions spark behind you, instantly picking up the pace while letting small giggles escape your lips

“GET BACK HERE YA IDIOT!!” bakugo exclaims, his voice sounding behind you before you outstretch your arms, grabbing onto the handles of the entrance and bursting out in laughter

“I WON!!” you choke out between fits of laughter, feeling the anger and competition radiate off of bakugo

as you come down from the excitement from winning, your met with bakugo’s gaze. his gaze roaming over you with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips

“is a certain someone becoming a softie?” you tease

“NO ONE WOULD BECOME A SOFTIE FOR YER ASS!!” he retorts almost instantly, grabbing the door of the entrance to the common rooms and slamming it open for your, your shoes slightly squelching against the floor because of how much water it absorbed

his retort made you snicker, knowing his words were just a show. you both dry off, laying in each others embrace in bakugo’s dorm

your eyes hang heavy, drooping before just letting them flutter closed. your body succumbing to the warmth of your boyfriends arms and the exhaustion that slowly caught up to you from the day until you heard a small murmur

“love ya..” bakugo spoke, his voice soft. honestly, you were too tired to be bothered but you knew you were gonna squeal about it when you woke up

“love you too.” you reply, your voice soft and unguarded before slowly drifting off to peaceful slumber

hiii!! sorry for not writing for a few days! I had to attend a family event out of state. I hope you enjoyed and have a good day!!

TAGLIST @raelikesdinosaurs @00o-kobenii-myphoone

[dynaxplosion]

love how the MHA fandom collectively decided to stay in denial with the villains’s deaths

“himiko? wdym? shes on a date rn with ochako” “oh, touya? hes attending therapy with his siblings” “tenko? he’s talking to eraserhead about taking hero lessons”

[dynaxplosion]

sometimes i lock in too hard when writing that it feels like the spirits of the characters are possessing my body.

[dynaxplosion]

top places to publicly overshare online:

tumblr blog

youtube comment section of a song

[dynaxplosion]

💥 THAT’S MY MAN!!! 💥

[dynaxplosion]

CALLING MY LATINAS; MI MORENITAS, BLANQUITAS, GÜERITAS, Y MÁS

Katsuki Bakugou x his

Puerto Rican GF 🇵🇷

Dominican GF 🇩🇴

Cuban GF 🇨🇺

Mexican GF 🇲🇽

Argentinan GF 🇦🇷

Colombian GF 🇨🇴

Venezuelan GF 🇻🇪

Peruvian GF 🇵🇪

Guatemalan GF 🇬🇹

Honduran GF 🇭🇳

Uruguayan GF 🇺🇾

Chilean GF 🇨🇱

-> 🩷

He would love every part of you. If you speak Spanish, if you don’t. If you’re morenita, blanquita, güerita, etc. Your culture, your language, your country. He would learn every inch of you if you let him and he would love every second of it.

Bonus: if you ever take him to your country he 100% comes back bragging to his friends.

“Tsk. You’re a fucking loser. You’ve never been to *country*?”

And with a shit eating grin he’d happily show off the necklace with your country on it.

“Bet your girlfriend isn’t as cool as mine”

—

Yes ml, you have him wrapped around your finger, embrace your background!! 🩷