malandro-m

[malandro-m]

──★˙ 🪷 ̟ !! The Upperclassman I Can’t Stop Looking At

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

The worst part of being in the same building as Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t the explosions, or the constant thunder of his voice rattling down the hallway—it was the fact that you had to survive every day pretending not to look at him. Pretending you didn’t stop in your tracks when his boots echoed on the stairs ahead of you, pretending your pulse didn’t jump when he tugged off his training shirt after combat drills.

You should’ve known better than to let your heart tangle itself around someone like Bakugo. An upperclassman, a third-year, the kind of boy who filled the air with electricity just by walking into a room. He wasn’t soft edges or easy warmth; he was fire, all sharp heat and rough words, yet somehow the blaze drew you closer instead of warning you away. And honestly, who wouldn’t fall? He was power incarnate. The kind of strength you wanted to hate for being so untouchable, but then you caught the way his hands moved—controlled even in chaos, precise in their destruction, as if his body had been carved for greatness.

But it wasn’t just the strength that made your chest ache. No, it was his eyes. Gods, his eyes. Red like molten ore, alive with fury and something more, something unnameable that kept you awake at night. They weren’t just eyes; they were weapons, the kind that left you gutted after a single glance, like he’d seen right through the bravado you wore like armor. And when he looked at you—on those rare, brief occasions—it felt like the earth tilted beneath your feet, leaving you love-sick, hopeless, and stupid.

“Oi, dumbass, quit starin’ before I blast that grin off your face,” he barked once during a sparring session, catching you mid-daydream. He had you pinned against the wall without even trying, his palm pressed flat beside your head, the air sharp with the lingering smoke of his quirk. You wanted to snap back with something clever, something to hide the way your pulse hammered, but all that came out was a weak laugh and a half-mumbled, “Not staring.”

“Tch. Like hell you weren’t.” He’d clicked his tongue, pulling back with that restless scowl of his, but his eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary. It was enough to ruin you for the rest of the week.

Because how were you supposed to breathe properly when Katsuki Bakugo existed a year above you, trailing his chaos through the halls, leaving whispers in his wake? You watched him from the edges of the cafeteria, saw the way people bent unconsciously around his orbit. He was loud, brash, terrifying even, but there was an honesty in him that made you ache. He didn’t fake kindness or polish his words for anyone—he tore through the world raw and unfiltered, and you thought maybe that was why you liked him so much.

Sometimes you’d catch yourself scribbling his name in the margins of your notebook like you were thirteen again, doodling explosions or little hearts you’d immediately scratch out in embarrassment. Your classmate caught you once, and the grin she shot you could’ve burned holes through paper. “You’re so obvious,” she whispered, and you nearly died on the spot, clutching your pen like a weapon.

But if you were obvious, Bakugo never let it show. He treated you like he treated everyone—short-tempered insults, rough shoves during training, his voice cracking the air like thunder. Yet in between, there were moments that slipped through the cracks. The time he threw his jacket over your shoulders after patrol when the wind was biting, grumbling, “Don’t let it go to your head.” The time he muttered, “Not bad, dumbass,” after you managed to land a hit on him in combat training, and your entire body buzzed with the warmth of those two words.

You told yourself it was just admiration, that everyone looked at him with that same mix of awe and longing. But then you’d see him tilt his head back to gulp down water after a spar, sweat sliding down his jaw, his lashes clumped and wet—and you’d swear the world narrowed down to that single image, your heart flipping in ways you couldn’t explain.

And maybe the cruelest part of it all was that he’d never know. Katsuki Bakugo didn’t do soft; he didn’t do crushes or confessions or moonlit love stories. He did fire and fury and ambition sharp enough to slice through stone. And yet here you were, tangled in it, hopelessly, willingly, like a moth with singed wings who still couldn’t stay away from the flame.

But maybe—just maybe—when his eyes lingered too long, when the corner of his mouth twitched like he was biting back a smile, maybe you weren’t imagining it after all.

[malandro-m]

──★˙ 🔔 ̟ !! The Only Notification That Matters

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x reader, pure fluff

Bakugo hated his phone. He hated the little pings, the endless notifications, the group chats that never shut up. He’d mute half of them, leave the rest on read.

But you?

You were the exception.

Your name on his screen was the one thing he didn’t ignore. He’d still text like it was a crime to type more than three words at once, still lace every reply with that clipped, gruff edge like conversation was beneath him—but the speed gave him away. Anyone else had to wait hours, sometimes days. You got him in seconds.

And you knew.

“Wow,” you teased one night, sending a screenshot of your chat to the group. Bakugo replied in three seconds flat. Is this a new record?

He nearly combusted on the spot, grabbing his phone back before Kirishima could laugh himself sick. “Delete that before I blast it outta your hands!”

But the truth was undeniable. He hated small talk. Hated filler words. Hated wasting time. Yet somehow, when it was you, he couldn’t help himself.

The only time he slowed down was when you did.

And that—oh, that drove him insane.

It happened on a Tuesday evening, somewhere between training and dinner. He’d messaged you something simple, just a You done yet? because he knew you had extra work in the library. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. He refreshed the chat twice, scowled, refreshed again. Nothing.

And then—like salt in a wound—you posted a story. A picture of your notes sprawled across the table, captioned with some witty complaint about exams.

His phone nearly cracked under his grip.

The next message came fast, scathing.

You have time to post that but not reply to me? Cool.

You saw it. Read receipt blue. And when you laughed—actually laughed, sitting there in the library with your hand over your mouth—you knew he’d hear it in the way your reply came seconds later:

Sorry, Katsuki. Didn’t think you’d get jealous of my stories.

Jealous?! he fired back, thumbs stabbing the keyboard. I’m not jealous, I just—

He stopped. Deleted. Started again.

Just answer me next time. Dumbass.

When you finally came back to the dorms, you caught him leaning against the wall near the stairwell, arms crossed, eyes sharp like he’d been waiting for hours.

“Tch. Took you long enough,” he muttered, voice low.

You smiled, tilting your head. “What, were you timing me?”

His ears burned crimson. “Shut up. You think I wanna waste my damn night staring at my phone?”

But the truth was written all over him—in the tension of his shoulders, the way his hand twitched like it wanted to reach for yours, the storm in his eyes barely tamed. He cared. More than he wanted to.

So you leaned closer, teasing. “Guess I’ll have to reply faster then. Wouldn’t want to upset my favorite dry texter.”

He clicked his tongue, glaring, but his voice dropped into something softer, almost unguarded.

“Don’t care if I’m dry,” he muttered, eyes flicking to yours like sparks in the dark. “Long as it’s you I’m texting.”

And that was the secret. The one no one else got to know.

He wasn’t a fast replier. He wasn’t a sweet talker. But when it came to you, his walls cracked, his pride bent, and his phone might as well have been on fire in his hands.

Because if the rest of the world had to wait? Fine. Let them.

You were the only one worth the seconds.

[malandro-m]

a cowboy/farmboy based bakugo katsuki multi-part fic.

YOU WERE USED to your quickly paced days in the city. A few hours at your corporate desk job, an expensive lunch at the nearest popular restaurant with designer decorated coworkers, and dinner at a restaurant you couldn’t get into without a pair of heels. Days were long, nights were longer, and the idea of sitting still for too much time brought you a feeling of dread you couldn’t fathom.

That’s why it caught you completely off guard when your mother passed away and left you responsible for the countryside house you worked so hard to escape from. It was tucked away in a rural state, in a small town, surrounded by farmland and no more than 1,000 people. And it was your worst nightmare.

Bakugo loved his life. He would wake up at the crack of dawn, tend to his animals, water his plants, take care of his land, and repeat it the next day. Twice a year, he’d participate in the state-fair competition (and more often than not, aside from recently, he’d win), and he’d do whatever he can to make sure he never left his ranch. His closest friends were always nearby, and he could go all day only speaking to his horses if he wanted to.

At least, that was until you moved in next door. You played loud music he could hear if he was outside late enough, wore clothes that made him take too many glances over your frame every time you were near, and always had some stupid bitchy comment to throw back at his gruffness.

He hated you, you hated him, and that’s how it will stay.

MASTERLIST

❶ First Impressions & Daisy Dukes

…

See BELOW for more information.

⤷ PLAYLIST

i. Silver Springs FLEETWOOD MAC

ii. Your Face WISP

iii. Champagne Coast BLOOD ORANGE

iv. Iris THE GOO GOO DOLLS

v. II Most Wanted BEYONCÈ & MILEY CYRUS

vi. Do Me A Favour ARCTIC MONKEYS

tags | cowboy!bakugo, farm-boy!bakugo, enemies to lovers, bakugo is bad at feelings, a looot of sexual tension, self-insert but reader is said to have a city girl accent and brown skin, looks don’t effect plot so sorry if u see me self-insert slightly, eventual sexual content (will be tagged) foul language, a lot of explicit language.

author’s note | super excited to write about big strong bakugo in a cowboy hat more than anything else, so this is shamelessly for my own pleasure. i don’t know shit about a farm, and i don’t care how dangerously close this is to 7 different rom-com’s, i’m enjoying myself too much while I write it & I hope you all do too! does anyone even write for MHA anymore? Aged up BTW, but I’m sure I didn’t have to specify that.

[malandro-m]

THE RACE TO WEDDING BELLS ❤︎︎

PROLOGUE: BAKUGO’S MIDLIFE CRISIS

❥ SYNOPSIS: as the years went by... bakugo realized that he was the last to get married. the days grew cold and the nights turned lonely. bakugo wants to marry, but he doesn't really feel like falling in love. at least he has his trustee secretary!

implied fem reader, aged-up! Pro-hero MHA characters over the age of 27, vulgar language, suggestive wording, and content.

❥ CHAPTERS

❥ MASTERLIST

❥ JOIN TAG LIST!

WORDS: 0.9K

Katsuki Bakugo was widely regarded as the greatest hero of all time. He had it all: striking looks, immense strength, an unwavering attitude, and a fortune to rival that of a king. Despite his many accolades, Bakugo was plagued by one thing…

loneliness.

However, he never saw it as a problem. In fact, he cherished his solemn solitude more than anything else. It was his personal sanctuary, a place where he could find solace from the world. He would often come home to the sound of nothing but white noise and strip off his clothes, the sounds of absolutely nothing roaming through is head.

feeling the heavy weight of slumber seep into his being, stumbling towards his bedroom. The sensation of water trickling down his skin in the shower was the only sound he could hear, and he relished in it. As he collapsed onto his pillow, he was met with absolute silence. The stillness he had created was something he found comfort in, something he loved.

closing his eyes, he’s met with nothing.

Absolutely, nothin’

Bakugo absolutely, loved being alone.

That was until everyone had to shove it in his face…

“Dude, c’mon! It’s about that time in your life where you start to settle! Find a gal and have some rascals—create a bloodline and stuff!” Said his trustee friend, Kirishima.

Bakugo currently sat down within the four walls of Kirishima’s lovely home. Bakugo scowls as he looks around the place. Colorful toys litter every square foot of the house.

The lovely home bustling with energy and filled with vibrant toys scattered across every square foot. a total of not one, not two, but three lively kids running and jumping off the walls—their laughter echoing through the halls. Bakugo lets out a scowl as he surveyed the chaos around him.

As he looked over at his best friend Kirishima, Bakugo couldn't help but notice the evidence of his friend's exhaustion. His once-white t-shirt was now covered in marker blotches and food stains, and dark circles had formed under his eyes, a testament to his sleepless nights. Despite his fatigue, Kirishima's toothy grin shone bright, and Bakugo couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his friend's strength and resilience.

“You look like shit,” Bakugo rudely complements.

That once toothy grin curves down into a frown, “listen—believe it or not, children actually need to be taken care of and can’t be left alone for more than an hour, especially mines.” Kirishima directs his thumb behind him, directing to his children, which were currently drawing on the wall.

Bakugo rolls his eyes, “right—when are you gonna come back to the agency? Sick n’tired of doing all this shit on my own.”

“Dude, I’m awol for another…2 months?” He questions himself, “after me and the wife had kid three, I registered for maternity leave remember? Gotta help around, make memories, rest!” He laughs.

Oh, that laugh pissed him off.

“Rest? All you do is fuckin rest! Rest and fuck, and get your girl pregnant…unbelievable.” Bakugo sighs, crossing his arms tight against his chest.

“You wish you could rest and fuck like I could, it’s not my fault I’m irresistible~” Kirishima coos. This earns a dry chuckle from Bakugo.

“You know what is your fault? Not putting on a goddamn rubber,” He chuckled. This earns a laugh out of Kirishima.

“That I agree with, only downfall to having so many kids is never getting the time to go wild. Like, honeymoon phase wild.” Kirishima gives his friend an evil smile.

“Wha?” Bakugo say’s in confusion.

“The honeymoon phase, y’know? Can’t get your hands off each other—leads to the first child, usually the one that’s actually planned.” Kirishima says, taking a sip of his drink.

Kirishima quickly glances back at his wife, who's busy tending to one of their kids who just bumped their head on the couch. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Kirishima slowly lets out a deep sigh of contentment. His eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he spreads his legs wide in the comfortable chair, relishing in the soft cushioning that cradles his back.

“Dude, can’t even describe the things that woman has done to me back in those days. Easily busted six loads a week! But once that first child came around, I can barely get any, currently on a holidays-only-basis…” Kirishima says sorrowfully.

This makes Bakugo burst into laughter.

“That’s what your dumbass gets!” He cackles, holding onto his stomach for support.

“Dumbass!”

Both of the men’s eyes snap towards the voice, they watch as one of Kirishima’s kids runs over towards their father.

“Hey, language!” Kirishima says sternly. This only makes the kid laugh, holding their arms out, Kirishima picks their kid up and placed them on his lap.

“I get that you’re in your prime and stuff, but you’ve been in your prime for 8 years now. You’re 27, it’s okay to enter into a mid-life crisis and re-evaluate your life purpose.” Kirishima says unfazed, picking his child up and starts to make them bounce up and down, cooing at them sheepishly.

This takes Bakugo aback.

“Midlife crisis? Why the fuck would I be in midlife crisis, dumbass?–“

“Fuck!”

“Hey! Stop it!” Kirishima yells at his child again, which makes them laugh out once more. Holding his child, he stands up. Signaling that the conversation is over, and that Bakugo’s visit has come to an end.

in confusion…

“Get a life, get laid.”

GAHHHHH THANKS FOR 500 FOLLWERS!! FINALLY BACK FROM FINALS!!

Decided to celebrate with my first ever series on the account! Thank you all for the support!! If you’d like to be tagged in the next part fill out the tag list form on my page!

— 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐢𝐝𝐚 ❤︎︎

[malandro-m]

Farmer Katsuki always makes dinner and your favorite loaf of bread and chocolate cake in exchange that you his neighbor patch up all of his jeans and shirts that are still good but thread bare in spots (his thighs your honor)

He brings over a HUGE pile to and he cooks in your house and he does the dishes too while you get to work.

(and one day he brings over a wedding dress for you to fix and you're fucking DEVASTATED you didn't know he was dating anyone but silly girl, he's asking you to marry him with the ring on the hanger cause he thought y'all have been dating for a year!)

[malandro-m]

والقمرُ يشهدُ: قلبي ليس لي

the moon bears witness: my heart is no longer mine—

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The first time you see Katsuki truly drunk—not just a little warm in the cheeks or loose-limbed from a celebratory toast—but drunk, like slurring his words, clumsy with his hands, can’t stop smiling kind of drunk—is at the Hero Billboard Chart After Party.

And honestly? It stuns you.

Because Katsuki doesn’t drink. Not really. Not seriously. He’s never liked how it makes his head fuzzy, or how it dulls his control. Even back in the early days, when the others would crowd bars after missions, he’d wave off the beers and sip on soda or water, nursing one glass of whiskey over the whole night, if that. His tolerance has always been low, but more than that, he just doesn’t care for it. Doesn’t see the point.

So seeing him like this? Red-cheeked, grinning, swaying slightly as he leans on you like you’re gravity itself—it’s a revelation.

You’re standing off to the side of the event space, in a quieter alcove draped in soft lights and velvet panels, the dull thump of bass from the DJ booth thrumming through the floor. Katsuki has one arm slung low around your waist, fingertips pressing slightly too firm against your hip, like he’s making sure you’re real. And he keeps looking at you—like he can’t not look. Like he forgot anyone else even exists.

You don’t know what got him like this. Whether it’s the fact he placed fifth on the rankings—fifth, when he was hovering just below the top ten last year—or because Kaminari and Sero probably goaded him into taking celebratory shots (you saw their dumb grins earlier). Maybe it’s both. Maybe it's just the tension breaking, all the pressure lifting at once.

But he’s flushed and sweaty, his ash-blond hair sticking up messily, eyes glassy and low-lidded and completely hooked on you.

“What?” you ask with a skeptical squint, feeling his gaze burn into your profile.

He blinks slow, a beat behind, and his voice is a little too loud, a little too lazy, when he grumbles, “Nothin’.”

Except it isn’t nothing. Because his hand slips lower, trailing deliberately down the small of your back and curving over the swell of your ass. And he gives a slight squeeze. Bold.

You snap your head toward him, lips parted in disbelief. But he just grins—grins—like you’ve handed him the damn sun. His cheeks are crimson, his smile all sharp teeth and warmth and mischief, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

God, he looks beautiful. Messy and undone and soft around the edges. The kind of beauty you don’t see when he’s scowling in press conferences or yelling on patrol. This is him unguarded. Radiant.

And your heart does this little achey flutter. Not just because he’s drunk and touchy, but because he’s happy. And relaxed. And letting himself be soft with you in a way most people will never see.

You shoot him a look, snorting, “This is so unlike you.”

He leans in close, the scent of something warm and oaky clinging to his breath, and bumps his forehead gently against yours. “Sh’not,” he mutters.

You arch a brow. “You’re trying to make out with me at an industry event.”

“‘M always tryna make out with you,” he says without hesitation.

And then—before you can even retort—he’s chasing your lips, sloppily pressing his mouth to yours, and you laugh into the kiss because it’s not smooth or practiced or like anything he usually does. It’s needy. Clingy. All tongue and heart, like he’s forgotten that other people exist. You feel his fingers curl around yours, tugging your joined hands against his chest like a secret.

You pull back a little, breathless, just to look at him.

He’s flushed all the way down his neck, chest rising and falling quickly under that ridiculously tailored coat. The deep charcoal wool glints slightly under the lighting, and you catch the faint outline of stars stitched into the lining as it shifts open.

He’s breathtaking tonight. More than usual. Not because of what he’s wearing—though the bespoke look certainly doesn’t hurt—but because of how he’s looking at you. Like you hung the fucking moon.

And maybe you do, in this moment. Because your outfit—the moonlight tones and shimmered constellations—doesn’t just complement his. It answers him. You, wrapped in soft light. Him, wrapped in deep shadow. You, glowing in pale silk and brushed wool; he, structured and sharp in slate and midnight. You belong together, even in the fabric.

He blinks, licks his lips, and murmurs, “We leavin’ yet or not?”

You blink. “What?”

He sways forward again, letting his forehead rest against yours. “Wanna go home,” he mutters.

You can’t help but grin, brushing his hair back gently from his damp forehead. “Why?”

He huffs, pouty, and you swear his eyes drop to your lips again. “So I can touch you without these extras watchin’.”

Your breath catches. Your face burns.

You laugh, helpless. “You are touching me.”

“Not enough.”

And okay, that does it. Because there’s a need in his voice—low and rough and sleep-warm—that goes straight to your core. He’s drunk, yeah. But not incoherent. Not sloppy. Just open. Honest in a way Katsuki never is unless he’s either on death’s door or—apparently—three drinks past his limit and proud of you both.

You lean forward, brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and murmur, “Let me say goodbye to Mina and Kirishima. We’ll go.”

He nods, obedient, and when you try to step away, his hand stays locked in yours like a tether. He follows you like a shadow, practically glued to your back.

The second you both step outside, the cold night air bites at your skin. It’s sharp and brisk, carrying the scent of the city—concrete, car exhaust, something faintly floral from the hotel garden nearby. The moon is full overhead, casting pale silver light across the pavement, catching on Katsuki’s hair like stardust.

He’s still holding your hand, refusing to let go, his grip loose but firm, like his body knows you belong next to him. You glance up at him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest under that perfectly tailored coat, his cheeks still flushed from the drinks and your kiss, and for a moment he looks so soft it makes your heart skip.

You open your mouth to say something, to tease him again maybe—but he moves first.

He turns to face you, steps into your space, and kisses you. Full on. In public.

His mouth is warm and unhurried, lips parted, slightly chapped from the cold. It’s not rough or urgent—not the way he usually kisses, like he’s trying to take something from you, like he's got something to prove. This is different. He’s not pulling at you, just leaning in, into you, his whole body loose with adoration.

Your eyes flutter shut as your fingers come up automatically to cup his jaw. It’s strong under your palms, rough with stubble. You can feel the faint quiver of muscle as he leans deeper into the kiss, like he’s pouring his whole heart into it. His hands slide to your hips, but one slips lower—way lower—and suddenly he’s squeezing your ass like he owns it, tugging you against the length of his body with a groan that’s almost swallowed in your mouth.

“Katsuki—” you murmur against him, breathless, your hands still framing his face.

He just grins.

Grins.

He pulls back and you see it—his eyes still half-lidded and heavy with want, his cheeks a deep, glowing red, and that smile—crooked and boyish and completely unlike him. It’s a look he never gives the cameras, never wears in public. It's yours. Just yours.

“Baby,” you laugh softly, your voice warm and amused, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “You’re so clingy right now.”

He snorts, shoulders shaking slightly. “So?” he grumbles, but there’s no bite to it. “You’re mine.”

Your brows lift in amusement, but your stomach swoops. “So you’re gonna grab my ass in front of paparazzi?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. Like the idea of headlines tomorrow doesn’t bother him. And maybe it doesn’t. Not tonight. Not with how high he’s riding. Not with the moon overhead, and the cold sharpening every sensation, and your body warm against his.

He leans in again, presses a kiss to your forehead this time, then your cheek, and then just rests his forehead there for a moment, breathing you in. You can feel him smiling against your skin.

“You love it,” he mutters.

And you do. You so do.

Not just the kissing or the way his hands know every curve of your body. But this—this unfiltered, tender, unguarded version of him. The Katsuki who smiles and kisses you and doesn’t care who sees. The Katsuki who’s drunk on victory, and alcohol, and you, and doesn't bother hiding it.

Bakugou Katsuki. Fifth on the Hero Billboard Chart. Known for being intense. Angry. Explosive.

But right now?

He’s yours.

And behind you, somewhere not too far off, you know there’s a shutter click. Maybe even a few. There’s definitely someone in the bushes.

But Katsuki doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even look around.

Because tonight, all he sees is you.

بل هوَ عبدٌ لضحكتِهِ المُضيئةِ

—it’s enslaved to his radiant grin.

[malandro-m]

ᥫ᭡ — you have the suspicion that bakugo is on social media more than he lets on

╰➤ gender neutral , pre-relationship

you were surprised when bakugo first followed your instagram. the notification lit up your phone late one night, and the sight made your breath hitch. you tapped the banner on your homescreen, suspicion clouding your mind: did he really mean to follow you?

the screen opens up to his instagram, and you’re greeted by a barren wasteland of a feed. the profile picture remains unset, the bio is empty, and the account follows only a handful of people — the only real semblance of it being bakugo’s account is the few photos he’d been tagged in.

disappointed, you quickly realize there isn’t much to stalk on his profile. you scroll through the hundreds of followers he, for some reason, has, and wonder why he decided to follow you out of nowhere.

you wonder if the follow was a misclick.

locking your phone and placing it down on your bed, you briefly consider the katsuki bakugo in your life. your encounters through mutual friends are always rather brief, you think, and probably don’t leave much of an impression on someone like him. calling yourself his friend might be pushing it.

you pick up your phone once more, and stare at the follow back button. it’d been a solid few minutes, and he still hadn’t taken it back.

you tap the follow back button.

bakugo never ends up unfollowing you.

his posting habits undoubtedly remain nonexistent, and the odd interaction quickly falls to the back of your mind. it stays at the back of your mind, until you receive an unexpected notification much like you had a few weeks prior:

Katsuki Bakugo liked your post.

…huh?

you question out loud, confusion rooting itself into your expression almost identically to the way it had when he first followed you. your brows remain stubbornly furrowed, and you slide open your phone with a stutter in your chest — you hadn’t posted in a good few months.

the stray notification stares right back at you. it was practically glowing on your screen, demanding your attention and selfishly taking it all in. the post he liked is from last year, and you screenshot the picture with his like on it in disbelief.

was he scrolling through your posts? the thought makes your heart tug in your chest once more, and you feel a sear of warmth touch your face. the post is cute, you think, and you take a moment to analyze it. could he have been looking at it as hard as you are?

you ruminate the small details of the post. the coordinated outfit you’d chosen that day, the background complimenting your figure poised in the middle, the easy smile adorning your face. your heart continues to pound in your chest, and you glance down at the recent likes to make sure your eyes hadn’t deceived you.

bakugo’s like was gone.

your heart drops. for a second, you wonder if you’d imagined the like being there at all. you refresh the post, and briefly scroll through the likes once more — it really was gone.

the gears begin to turn in your brain. fingers move before thoughts could properly manifest, and the screenshot you’d taken in your stupor innocently presents the truth of the matter to you.

he must’ve unliked the post.

the image of bakugo realizing his mistake comes to mind. maybe he’d felt embarrassed. maybe he felt the same stutter in his chest, the same heat to his cheeks, and the same drop of his heart at his slip up. maybe he didn’t even care at all. despite the hazy context, you laugh at the unexpected silliness.

you go to bed pondering the question his weird actions leave unanswered — why exactly was this man, seemingly akin to a ghost on social media, on your profile to begin with?

the compliments you flood ashido’s comment section with are endless. her posts are always quick to garner mass attention, but your steadfast support remains unfaltering despite the plethora of comments she receives from others. her grin is infectious, unabashed and radiating energy comparable to the sun itself. you’d been sure to leave your own comments tinged with playfulness among the masses of others.

upon returning to your main homepage, the red dot indicating a new notification catches your eye. your thumb impulsively taps on it, revealing yet another anomaly adding on to the ever growing list you’ve been mentally taken note of for the past couple of weeks.

Katsuki Bakugo liked your comment

you shake your head in bewilderment, smiling down at the simple words. for someone with close to zero social media presence, bakugo sure is on instagram way more than you first assumed. coincidentally, he’d made a name for himself on your phone as well, forging a tentative place belonging to him both digitally and mentally in your space.

it was probably another mindless accident, you laugh to yourself. who would’ve pinned bakugo as the clumsy type when using his phone?

upon closer inspection, you realized that bakugo never liked ashido’s post itself. the single like remains on your comment, and your comment alone.

that’s weird. you shrug and wonder if he has these types of blunders with anyone else.

the update to your story is strategic. a candid photo angled just right, paired with a song you’d spent far too long tweaking to find the perfect fifteen seconds to accompany your picture.

the likes and story replies from your friends come rolling in, and you find yourself giddy throughout the day. you glow in the praises, holding each reply close to your heart as you like and reply to them. intermediate vibrations of your phone make it hard not to pick it up every few moments, the same light smile gracing your face each time.

your phone lights up once more, a telltale sign of the newest story reaction. the upturn of your lips fall by a millimeter at the newest banner on your lock screen, and your content smile is replaced by the rounding of your lips in a whisper of a gasp.

Katsuki Bakugo Reacted 👍 to your story.

this one must have been intentional. your fingers clench around your phone, and you feel an inexplicable warmth course through your head. with a sudden clammy feel to your hands and a distinct tug in your chest, you put your phone face down in your lap.

how bold.

you wrack your brain, thinking back to the array of peculiar interactions his account’s had with yours so far. this one proved to be the most jarring of them all — a direct reply. entering the realm of privacy, the notification speaks almost as a silent invitation. the message acknowledged your presence head on, and you feel oddly exposed at being perceived so blatantly.

the thumbs up is rather dry, but you guess it isn’t completely out of character. the reply sits on your phone for a good while, taking the backseat in your mind as you fumble to formulate answers.

what compelled him to reply? for once, you can’t shake the feeling that something truly might be off. his account must’ve been collecting dust, shaking off the cobwebs and spiders in your notification center rather than through his own postings or interactions with others. repeated faults only make it more difficult for you to defend him — bakugo really isn’t doing himself any favors.

finally opening his message, you settle on liking his reply before sending a quick smiley face.

bakugo leaves you on read. you wonder if he enjoys messing with you in his free time.

katsuki bakugo is lost.

settling into bed, katsuki’s thumb moves on its own as if accustomed to the nightly routine he unconsciously developed. he skips over the dumb reels on his explore page, the recent posts made by his friends he had little interest in viewing, and the five people who’ve been waiting on a text back from him for the past two months. instead, he heads straight for the search bar.

your username is already pre populated just below the search, and katsuki clicks it without a second thought. a fluttering feeling rises in his chest — one that he’d become well acquainted with over the past few months.

selfishly, katsuki finds himself growing greedier by the day. he’d become a frequent visitor of your instagram page before he knew it, pushing down the inexplicable pounding of his heart and rising heat to his cheeks at the way you never seemed to leave his mind.

cute. he studies the dips and curves of your face, committing each detail of the photo to memory. katsuki’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes greedily take in your smile. his heart aches, jealous of his own eyes in their beholding of your beauty. yearning, he laments being restricted to the screen rather than having you right in front of him.

katsuki opens the comments, bracing himself for what he’d be forcing himself to bare witness to.

BEAUTIFUL

love u

ugh 😍😍😍

#needthat

the sun kissed you before i got to 😫😫

the realization that no amount of bracing could have properly prepared him comes quick.

the fuck? katsuki sneers at his phone. as if any of those fuckers would ever get the chance to kiss you.

the abundant comments and likes under your post give way to a bubbling feeling of discontent. katsuki’s fingers itch all of a sudden, palms and fingertips clamming up in sweat at the unsettling pit forming in his stomach. it was as if his whole body were set aflame, warmth coursing through every fiber of his being. you seemed to have that kind of effect on him, he’d begrudgingly noticed, but this warmth was like no other he’d felt whilst consumed by persistent thoughts of you.

this warmth, with it’s complimentary stomach pit and tension in his head, was a bother. he continues to scroll, mind clouding in the nasty heat he struggled to put a name to.

katsuki’s phone is haphazardly dropped onto his pillow. his groan is loud, pained in deep rooted frustration. with all these people showering you in praises both flowery and vulgar, he thinks he might combust on the spot.

every comment seemed to be burned into his mind, clogging up his stream of thought just as they’d be clogging up your phone. all those losers got to say it all so easily — meanwhile, katsuki could barely muster up a thumbs up emoji without feeling his heart sieze and blood rush up to his cheeks. his jaw clenches, irritation creasing his brow and lips taking on a bitter twist.

katsuki grabs his phone once more. he’d been driving himself crazy — you’d been driving him crazy. he thinks of you, sweet and pretty and exactly the person he’d yearn to call his.

fuck this.

rays of light accompany your alarm that morning, soft and golden as it nudges you awake. the alarm blares at your side, and you feel for your phone on the surface next to you. blinking away the lasting remnants of your sleep, your fingers move to silence the sound. glazing over the screen, your bleary eyes are forced to pause. a new notification captures your attention. you rub your eyes once, and then again, squinting to make sure you’re seeing it right. your breath hitches.

another notification from bakugo’s account. your heart flips in your chest, warmth rivaling the tender sunlight filtering through the curtains. this time, bakugo graces you with a direct message. an intentional message.

You free this weekend?

[malandro-m]

— 𝐈𝐍𝐊 & 𝐑𝐇𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐌 | 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐃𝐄: 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍

In the middle of the night, six months apart, the stars align and allow yourself and Bakugo to make the much needed decisions to save yourselves from drowning in loveless relationships.

✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. backstory prior to the main story to come. angst & some comfort. mentions & descriptions of abuse from a partner (physical & mental). ex-bakucamie + ex-toya & reader. smoking. reference to alcohol & drug usage. ┊ wc: 2.4k

✩ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. hello! welcome back to the world of I&R. :)) re-visiting this with a whole new layout and formatting to start anew.

『 ink & rhythm masterlist ⨯ crossposted to ao3 』

𝐅𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘

This is it, this is the moment you've waited for.

A familiar ache pulses in your chest, your heart begging you to reconsider your actions.

No, not again.

Never again.

There's no use in dwelling on empty feelings right now. You need to take advantage of the opportunity to finally escape from the demon that's shackled you to this hellscape called a relationship. His sharp tongue can't convince you any longer that this pain is love in disguise. There's nothing left to save, no more hope left in your broken heart to fuel the promise of change. Two years of holding onto a nonexistent future, forced to accept that this reality was the closest you'd get to having a happily ever after, full of fights fueled by drugs and alcohol. The screaming matches, shoving, threats…and the love bombing to make everything magically disappear in front of others.

There's no way in any circle of hell this is love.

You tip toe across the bedroom under the moonlight, careful not to wake him from his comatose state. The soft green and purple hue around your wrists was a forceful reminder of the last time you woke him…no, you can't think about that right now. Grabbing a few odds and ends, you gently tuck your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked to not make any sound. Once you're in the living room and at the foyer, you can feel the freedom in your grasp. You're shaking while lacing your sneakers, biting your lip to keep all of your emotions contained, holding it in until you can close the front door and bolt to your car.

The sound of the wooden floor creaks from the bedroom, a jolt of lightning paralyzing every muscle in your body.

Please.

Please go back to bed.

A few moments pass with no additional movement, the breath you were unconsciously holding slipping past your lips. It's not much, but the things you managed to grab will hold you over until you get somewhere safe — your phone, car, and backpack with a change of clothes is all you can risk to take with you. Anything else would've been a dead giveaway to your plan.

The latch on the front door is the equivalent of a car backfiring in your mind, the slightest sound echoing through the silence of the apartment keeping you on edge. One last look over your shoulder and the coast is clear.

You're free. You've done it!

Shutting the door has you internally celebrating with joy, not caring how loud the click of the lock sounds now that you're outside the apartment. Before any second thoughts come flowing into your mind, you find yourself sprinting for the stairwell, rushing faster than your feet could carry you to the car. You swing the driver door open, jumping inside and throwing your backpack into the passenger seat. The keys are in the ignition and your foot's on the gas before you have a chance to think about where the hell you're even going, laughing with relief that you managed to get away. Part of you feels psychotic for laughing uncontrollably — call it a defense mechanism, but goddamn, it felt fucking liberating to run away.

Until your phone starts buzzing in the cup holder, repeated cycles of vibrations rattling against the plastic. You already know who it is. Who else would be calling you at 4AM besides him? And that's when it hits you — your shared location is turned on. Pulling over to the nearest shoulder, you have to talk yourself out of the incoming panic attack and turn the damn thing off before he finds you. Opening the settings of your phone, you're trying to turn off the functionality when a passcode screen prompts you to input the correct code.

Fuck!

You forgot about the argument the two of you had about trust, resulting in him stealing your phone in the middle of the night and putting parental locks on every setting that could hide you from him. There's only one thing to do — ditch the entire thing. Scrambling for a pen and paper, you quickly jot down the important numbers in your phone into a random notebook before turning off the phone completely. Losing all of your memories, notes, and other precious things is bittersweet, but it's not worth keeping if it means he continues to have the opportunity to hunt you down.

And so, you smash it. It's poetic, in a fucked up way.

You don't stop driving until you're a few miles down the road, parking at one of the popular cliffside lookouts outside of town. The water below roared with intensity as it slammed up against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff, taunting you to jump in. It's taken a lot of guts to run away. You'd considered throwing yourself into the abyss once upon a time, but realized that's probably what the bastard wanted you to do. Out of spite, you couldn't give him the satisfaction. It's shockingly difficult to let go of the broken phone in your hands, even though it symbolizes a new beginning, it's terrifying to think about starting over. You're already planning on changing your name, getting a new number, replacing your license plate, and anything else attached to the name he knew you as. The obsessive thought of him finding you again plagues your brain, constantly needing to watch your back in case he appears out of thin air.

…will you ever be safe as long as he's alive?

No more waiting, no more hesitation.

One final exhale fills you with the confidence to finally let go. Your phone drops to the rocks below, tumbling with a soft crack before being completely submerged in the darkened waters.

"Fuck you, Toya," you curse. "I hope you rot in hell."

Maybe you'll be lucky and he'll think that you jumped after all, tracing your phone to this location to find nothing but open water.

Driving away from this god forsaken town for the last time fills you with dread and glee, a weird combination of chemicals banging around in your head and chest the rest of the night. A few hours later, the sign for your hometown comes into view with the sunrise peaking over the horizon — a brand new dawn. The bastard never cared to learn where you came from, meet your family or your friends outside of college, and right now? That was a blessing in disguise.

You pull into the driveway of your parents home a little before 7AM, the weight of your decision finally setting in. Holy shit, you left. You got out and survived.

You fucking survived Toya Todoroki.

𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘

2:05AM and Bakugo can't sleep.

He never rests while Camie is around, especially after a night of fighting about the stupidest shit imaginable. She laid peacefully on the opposite side of the bed, naked under the sheets with her hair splayed across the silk pillow. He can't stand to look at her.

Or himself.

Bakugo couldn't even give a valid reason as to why he stays with Camie. She's the poison and the antidote, stuck in a vicious cycle of hate fucking with no semblance of love, and yet…he lets her back in. A few crocodile tears and the flutter of her eyelashes up at him makes him crumble like ancient stone. She only comes around whenever she's feeling lovesick, desperate to manipulate Bakugo's feelings like a master puppeteer if she can't get another random guy to come home with her.

And goddammit, it works.

He throws on a pair of sweats and heads to the living room, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter before pivoting to the balcony. The stars feel like friends tonight, they were always there whenever he needed an escape from Camie. He hated being alone with his feelings, the incessant thoughts battling in his head as to why he gives a shit about her. Bakugo swears everything was perfect in the beginning…three years ago. It's been a shitstorm ever since, the longest one night stand he's ever dealt with. Camie has never shed a genuine tear over him. Not during fights, break ups or makeups. She knew all the ways to get under Bakugo's skin, how to break down his walls and use his insecurities against him while keeping him wrapped around her manicured finger. It pissed him off to no end that he sees through her charade, and yet, his heart yearns for connection and Camie is the closest thing he's got.

Sitting here and wallowing in his disgust isn't going to change a thing, and for whatever reason, tonight felt like the right time to finally give himself a kick in the ass. Bakugo grabs his phone and calls the one person he knows will hold him accountable — Kirishima. The line rings a few times before Mina's high pitched yawn echoes over the speaker.

"Kaaatsu…It's 2AM," she whispers. "You okay, babe?"

Far from it.

"I know, sorry for wakin' ya. I need to talk to Eijiro."

She pauses for a moment, knowing Bakugo wouldn't be calling so late if it wasn't important.

"Sure, gimmie a sec to wake him."

It's faint, but Bakugo can hear Mina coaxing Kirishima awake. 'Ei baby, Katsuki’s on the phone for you.'

There’s more shuffling before Kirishima takes the phone from Mina.

“Heya Kats. Everything okay?”

“…no. I fucked up, Ei.”

Kirishima sighs. He knows what this is about before Bakugo even says another word.

"Camie?"

Bakugo pauses to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"Yeah. Can I crash on your couch tonight?"

"'Course you can. I'll wait up for ya."

"Thanks."

What the fuck was Bakugo thinking? Is he really going to leave in the middle of the night?

Fuck it, it's what Cami deserves after all the times she's done it to him. This is nothing compared to the shit she's pulled. Changing the locks to their joint apartment and locking him out multiple times, bringing guys back to fuck loudly in their bed to make him jealous, letting her one night stands wear his clothes, burning his music collection in the dumpster out back of the building, threatening to off herself if he didn't stay with her…the list goes on.

He grabs an extra pair of clothes, his phone charger, wallet, keys and his favorite hoodie. When he throws it on, a whiff of Camie's obnoxious perfume clouds his senses, his stomach churning at the thought of her wearing it around the house. He takes off the hoodie and tosses it into the corner of the room — he'd rather be cold than have any lingering reminder of her.

Making his way to the door, he kicks his feet into a pair of sneakers and turns to face the living room. In his heart, he knew this would be one of the final times looking at this scene, but he needed to leave it in the past. Bakugo needed to leave Camie two and a half years ago, and he tried his damndest to do so. She always slithered back in and sunk her claws into him.

This time will be different.

It has to be different.

Bakugo opens the door, and as he's halfway out, Camie's voice travels down the hall from the bedroom. "Kiki? Where'd ya go?"

God, he fucking hated when she called him Kiki.

He shuts the door before his heart has a chance to give in to her saccharine pleas.

The sounds of his motorcycle underneath him as he drives to Kirishima and Mina's apartment soothes his nerves. The rumble of the engine and the breeze on his exposed skin, nothing but the night sky accompanying him. When Bakugo gets to the apartment, Kirishima's already by the door, waiting for him outside.

"Hey," Kirishima calls, nodding in Bakugo's direction. "Nice night for a ride."

Bakugo chuckles at Kirishima's attempt to lighten the mood. "Every night is a nice night for a ride."

The two of them go inside, Bakugo tossing his shoes to the side and plops face down on the couch. Kirishima comes to join him, patting him on the back.

"You wanna talk about it?"

No, he really doesn't, but he needs to get all this pain out of his body. There's no way Bakugo could go another moment without exploding if he didn't word vomit all of this pent up resentment and heartache.

"I fuckin' let her back in, Ei. I'm a goddamn idiot."

Kirishima tugs on Bakugo's arm to sit him upright on the couch, arm slung over his shoulder. "We all fuck up sometimes, Kats."

Bakugo grumbles as his fingers tighten on his knees. "I hate her so goddamn much. For everything." He takes a deep breath before moving his head into his hands, the pressure behind his eyes becoming too much to hold in. "I hate that I love…loved her. She's the bane of my fuckin' existence. She's a two-timing bitch! Why…"

Kirishima tucks Bakugo against his side, letting him ride out the emotions as they continued to surface.

"Why was I never good enough for her?" His voice cracks before a sob escapes him. "Why am I never enough?!"

Mina slinks into the living room, sleepily rubbing her eyes as she makes way over to the couch, kneeling in front of Bakugo and cupping his face in her hands. She wipes away a few stray tears from his cheeks.

"Katsuki, you are enough, babe. That bitch doesn't deserve any ounce of you, including your tears. The hardest part is over, and now you can focus on yourself."

She's right. Bakugo knows she's right. But can he focus on himself when all he's known is a life with Camie for the last three years?

"Mina's right, Kats," Kirishima chimes in while running a hand through Bakugo's hair. "You did the right thing, man. You can stay here as long as you need. Alright?"

In what world could he avoid Camie forever? Bakugo knows how she operates and she'll be making his life a living hell until his dying day. He agrees with a nod, moving away from their comforting grasps to lay down on the couch, curling into himself against the cushions. Kirishima and Mina retreat back to their bedroom, leaving Bakugo on the couch with his thoughts.

The worst is yet to come, but for once, he feels…safe, lighter than he has in a long time.

✩ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝. i'll be including the tag list with the next chapter, since this is a repost. thanks again for reading if you did! see you in the next one :)) <3

『 © 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐈 & 𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 on archive of our own — please do not modify, translate, repost or use any of my content for AI training purposes. 』

[malandro-m]

Thinking about how Bakugou is a secret nerd and would love your cosplay outfits

[malandro-m]

wet dream (bakugou x reader)

| summary: you’re not supposed to have a horny dream about one of your classmates, until you do.

| warnings: explicit language, wet dream, rough sex, one use of good girl

You never talked to Bakugou Katsuki.

You wouldn’t think or want to either; he was just another one of your twenty classmates, and one of the more annoying ones at that. Here you were in your third year of Hero school and he was still just as annoying as the first. He was arrogant, and loud, and clearly a narcissist with anger issues when things didn’t go his way. Sure, he was strong and talented, and clearly destined for success but that’s not enough for you to change your mind and think he’s a nice person. You had no idea how he had such cool, kind friends surrounding him all the time.

You and Bakugou never talked except for the rare, small excuse me when he and Kirishima are being assholes and blocking the classroom door, or a thanks when he frees up the gym equipment you need - meaningless, NPC interactions like that. So, you never gave him a second glance. You know you’re a blurred extra in his life too. His name shouldn’t even be in your thoughts.

So, what was this? Why are you thinking all this about him right now?

What was that?

You sat up in bed the second you woke up, sweating and breathing heavily as if you’d actually been there. One of those naughty dreams. Except, it’s still running so vividly in your mind that you smack your head over and over again, “What the fuck was that?! Stop it!” You scream at yourself. Yes, because it’s that traumatic!

Yet, your core is throbbing with an achy need for relief. Your floral blankets are messy and wrapped around your legs and you hastily kick them away from you to get rid of any more sinful friction. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Your face must have a fiery red glow because it’s entirely too hot.

You feel so dirty.

The usual faceless person who had been giving you some type of pleasure had been morphed into your classmate, and not just any classmate, but the meanest, loudest one you’ve secretly disliked since your first week of school.

Bakugou had fucked you in your dreams.

And you had enjoyed it.

How could you change what you superficially thought of as pointless rage into raw passion? Those terrifying blood hungry eyes could be a piercing gaze of dark maroon? His grunts, his growls, his powerful hits were exchanged for powerful thrusts, and his crude mouth that was usually swearing out naughty words was filtered through radio loops and warp holes into some type of dirty talk.

“God, you’re so…fucking…tight.” It was your classmate, Bakugou. His blond hair spiking in all directions, but looking softer than usual. His fingers dug into the plushiest part of your thighs as his brows knit in total concentration, eyes focused darkly at where he had dug himself to the hilt, your bodies connected with the sleekness of juices. You didn’t know why or how your classmate was between your legs but you didn’t care. He didn’t look like the angry boy from class - this was a god who had your cunt fluttering for him.

Merciless, he started at a brutal pace, gripping your thighs as handles to steady your body as he rocked himself into you with just as much power as he showed on the field. It felt so good. Bakugou had a mean dick.

“Why the fuck’re you clenchin’ down? You like…hah…getting slutted out?” Right now, you did. All you wanted was to feel good. Your back arched off the surface below you, a bed - his bed? - asking for more.

“You’re a needy one. Shit-” He pressed you into the mattress, wrapping his hands on your neck to keep you still when he started pounding you at an unholy pace that made you half-regret acting like that. But still, it felt good. Your arms came around his back to hold onto something while the pit in your core was blissfully stroked every second, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh my god, Bakugou,” all you cared about was the pleasure you were feeling, “Your dick is so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” His voice was deeper than anyone you’ve ever heard, “Betcha I can make this little pussy cry for my dick. That’s it, scratch me. Oh, fuck yes,” You couldn’t refuse his order when his husky voice was moaning like that, when you could feel the tremors in your pussy, when his thumb came to your clit and began to rub it like he owned it.

Even fucking you, Bakugou was giving it his all, fucking your brains out. “Good girl, taking my cock so well,” you’ve never even heard him praise someone else so hearing him call you his good girl, seeing that you were also pleasuring him, it did something to you. He was overwhelming and so rough and he was so proud you were managing it, it’s no wonder you melted and spread your legs for him.

“It’s so deep, it feels too good,” you moaned back with a crack in your voice, divinely transfixed by the look on this new face of his.

Bakugou’s thrusts were becoming sporadic, fast and hard hits on the space between your legs that was still throbbing. “Fuck yes, FUCK yess…want it inside? Beg me to cum in this pretty hole. C’mon, fucking BEG.” It didn’t help that he sounded like the one begging for you.

“Please do it inside me, please cum in me. Make me cum.”

His face scrunched together, his jaw slack and panting as ruby eyes were locked on you. So pretty, so hot, and unlike anything you’ve ever seen, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh FU -”

The space between your legs felt messy, slick, nasty.

Getting into your morning routine, you made yourself a zombie.

Were you seriously that horny last night?

Of all people - Bakugou? The idea of that mean blond anywhere near you should’ve given you the ick but now you’re doing your makeup and making a face when, unfortunately, you think, He’s hot.

But why him? You’re not friends, you don’t even talk to each other.

Why did some random guy have to show up in your sex dream? Was it because yesterday, you couldn’t stop staring at him jogging into the locker room. He had swiped his shirt off over his head in one yank, a delicate, lean waist with his larger, sweat-shiny chest out and bouncing? And then afterwards, right when you were going into the classroom, that same man had bumped into you, too busy talking with Todoroki to see you. He was all hard and bulky, versus you - soft and physically one of the weakest people in class - but you didn't even comprehend almost falling back because a hand gripped your arm and balanced you off to the side as he still walked past you. He didn’t even glance at you. Meanwhile, you had rushed to your seat in the back, face warm and kind of…impressed.

Truly, you were disturbed.

How were you supposed to walk into class today and see him?

[malandro-m]

another freaky bakugou thought of the day – 17+ only!

bakugou having a pretty girlfriend with glasses, who he loves soooo much! always cleaning them for her when they get dirty and pushing them right back up to the bridge of her nose.

he thinks his girl looks the prettiest with glasses, always complimenting and reassuring her when she gets self-conscious, but when she refuses to listen, there's only one thing he can do.

and he loves it.

"c'mon you can take it," he grunts, as you whimper, the words you wish to say being stuck at the back of your throat by his dick.

you're looking up at him, eyes watery and red, glasses slightly foggy, and hair wrapped around his fist in a messy ponytail.

fuck, you've never looked better to katsuki than now. he loved watching you turn into a mess around him, drool running down the corner of your lips.

you slowly push your head down lower, foggy eyes looking up at his, wanting his approval.

"doin' amazing for me, baby, fuck," katsuki choked out, head thrown back. his grip on your hair got tighter, unintentionally thrusting into your mouth, causing you to hit his thighs.

getting the hint, katsuki dragged you off. whimpering at the loss as you gasped and spluttered.

"kats, be gentle, pleaseee," you whined, feeling your throat burn.

a soft chuckle left his mouth at your expression, a cute little pout displayed on your fucked-out face. "'m sorry, baby. was it too much for you?" he mocked you condescendingly, his hand wrapped around his base as he nudged the tip of his cock towards your lips.

"open up. it aint gonna suck itself," he snarled. hand lightly making contact with your face.

a pathetic whimper escaped you as you stuck your tongue out, kitty licking his tip before taking it in whole.

"that's a good girl. taking me so well, shit," he breathed out. you pulled back slightly, sucking on his tip, knowing it was the fastest way to make his high approach.

katsuki couldn't help but thrust his hips up once more, eyes rolling back in his head at the sensations. "fuck, sweets. you trynna make me finish already?" his groans only encouraged you to pick up the pace, eliciting the sweetest and sluttiest moans from him.

he made the mistake of looking down at you, watching how your glasses covered the view of your beautiful eyes, slightly slanted with a small hand rubbing circles on your clit.

all he could do was groan, hands sparking slightly because of the pleasure. you felt so good around him; he wished he could live like this, reducing you to nothing but his cock warmer.

"shit, sweets, get off," he whimpered. ripping you off his dick once again before jerking it in his hand, back and forth.

you moaned at the sight, opening your mouth to suck around his head, pushing him to the brink of his high.

one last grunt left his lips before he came. white sticky ropes of cum hitting your face, staining your glasses, cheeks and tongue. the sight of him spilling all over you had your own high peaking, fingers coming to a stop on your sensitive clit as you jerked on the floor.

"katsu," you whimpered, eyes going cross-eyed, locked on the twitching dick in front of you.

katsuki's eyes finally opened, looking down at you before releasing another curse at the sight. quickly picking up his phone, he opened his camera, directing his still hard cock to rest on your tongue once again as he angled your face to look at the camera.

"that's it, there's my pretty baby. so fucking beautiful, covered in my cum," he smirked, snapping a picture before tossing his phone to the side.

katsuki picked you up by your underarms. placing you onto his lap to give you a searing, fervent kiss. you moaned into his mouth, tongue fighting for dominance only for yours to succumb under his.

pulling away, katsuki slowly licked at your cheeks, cleaning up the remaining sticky substance and removing your glasses.

"now, you feeling any better? not gonna spew any more nonsense about how you 'look so ugly' with these on?" he pressed, frowning at you in fake anger.

giggling, you place your head in the crook of you neck. "if it means i get to suck you off, maybe i'll keep calling them ugly." you teased, feeling his arms tighten around your waist.

"you damn brat," he huffed, flipping you onto your back.

"looks like i'm gonna have to teach you some manners now," he growled. before you could protest, his hard, throbbing dick was already aligned with your opening.

he poked it in slightly, hearing you gasp at the intrusion. "get ready, ya fuckin'' minx. it's gonna be a looooong night."

first time writing smut... kinda scared.

[malandro-m]

katsuki with a mean girlfriend.. smut

katsuki swears the universe gave him the meanest, brattiest damn girl alive.

always angry. always quick to bite back. always faster than him with a sharper insult that even he wouldn’t dare cross.

you’re rough around the edges, sharp-tongued and demanding — barking orders at him like he’s some underling. do this, fix that, not like that, idiot. and if it’s not perfect, you're pouting, arms crossed, throwing the dirtiest, most lethal glares at him that leave him seeing red — not with anger, but with something worse.

because fuck, he's so pussywhipped he can't even think straight when you get like that. that scowl, the cruel curl of your lips when you talk down to him... it’s a migraine and a goddamn turn-on all rolled into one.

but this — this right here —

when he’s got you spread out bare for him, your thick thighs trembling under the squeeze of his palm, ankles hiked up to your ears, caged in a brutal mating press —

this is when katsuki wins.

when your sopping cunt clutches at him, sweet and wet and so needy, when all that sharpness bleeds out of you and leaves something soft, pliant, and his.

the change is fucking addictive.

that bratty mouth, the one that usually cuts him down in two seconds flat, now only spills high, broken whimpers, breathless gasps, words slurring together into sweet, incoherent babbling.

“ngh, k-katsuki—! f-fuck—!”

voice wrecked, desperate, so pretty when you try to snap at him and only end up whining.

“yeah? thought you had somethin’ to say, princess,” he growls, slamming his hips forward, skin smacking against skin, forcing another pathetic little moan out of you.

your fingernails dig into his shoulders, your glare watery and useless now, any fight you thought you had long pounded out of you.

he knows he's in charge.

knows your voice holds no bark, no bite, nothing but soft broken pleas when he's fucking you this deep into the mattress.

the only time you're really his — the only time you’re sweet —

and katsuki plans to drag it out for as long as he fucking can.

masterlist link here.

taglist: @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @van9lla @dienamiight @sk1ppy-art @ni-aaaaaaa @kelisewrites @chosostonguepiercing @izzymff @swuzzin @aryuunachigiri @badslittlemuffin @yuhkai @candiiee @ugh-ellie69 @khloefrlsss @camydoesstuff @11thlife02 @alixezae @diamondocean001 @izycarrot7 @vivitg @cupkiki @wonubby @1explosionextinguisher @lotusstarr @tatumsscream96

[malandro-m]

i am really not into multiverse stuff but lately i've been thinking about bakugou getting hit with some quirk that sends him elsewhere, and in his place comes a different bakugou that's lost you in his own universe.

waahh and it's so hard because you feel so bad for him 🥺 he's so full of pain and anger 🥺 and he takes one look at you and you can see the hurt and yearning in his eyes 🥺

[malandro-m]

a/n: I’ve just seen that Bakugo is top five hero and had to write something for him.

pairing: katsuki bakugo x you | warnings: roleplay, dirty talk, teasing, mild bondage, rough sex, praise, orgasm denial, comeplay, overstimulation possessive Bakugo

rescue me, hero

The door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even need to say anything. You can feel the cocky aura rolling off him in waves. The top five announcement had aired an hour ago, and you’d been buzzing since.

“Is that… the top five hero Dynamight?” you call from the bedroom, your voice high and breathy with mock innocence. “I need help! Someone strong! Someone… explosive!”

There’s a pause. Then his voice, gravel and pride rumbles down the hallway.

“You better be tied up just like I like, baby.”

You giggle, squirming a little. “Only one wrist today. I thought I’d make it challenging.”

He appears in the doorway a moment later, still in his uniform, gloves half-off, eyes molten with heat. And then he sees you.

Flat on your back. One wrist cuffed to the headboard. Wearing nothing but his Dynamight shirt, sleeves drooping off your shoulders, hem barely covering your hips. You’d even pulled the collar to the side, baring your throat just so. He stops. Stares. Grins like a predator.

“Goddamn,” he breathes. “Look at my fuckin’ prize.”

You pout up at him. “Please, hero. I’m just a helpless civilian. I’ve been waiting for Dynamight to come rescue me.”

“Oh, I’ll rescue you, alright,” he growls, dropping his gear as he stalks toward the bed. “Gonna save every inch of that needy little body. Gonna show you exactly what a top five hero does to his number one girl.”

You spread your legs for him just a bit, the shirt riding up your thighs. He notices. He always notices. He climbs onto the bed, kneels between your legs, and runs a single finger up your bare inner thigh.

“Bet you’re already dripping, huh? Fuckin’ filthy for your hero.”

You whimper. “I waited so long. What if a villain came and-”

He cuts you off with a hand on your throat, not tight, just claiming. “Ain’t no villain stupid enough to touch what’s mine.”

He yanks the shirt up, exposing you completely, and groans at the sight of you bare beneath it.

“Fuck. Look at you. One little wrist tied like a slut, wearing my fuckin’ name… You knew exactly what you were doing.”

You nod, breathless. “I needed Dynamight.”

He leans in, mouth hot at your ear. “Then you’re gonna get him.”

His mouth is on you in seconds. Tongue everywhere. Worshipping you while he pins your free hand above your head. You’re gasping, arching, already soaked, already begging.

“Can you feel how grateful your hero is?” he growls, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds. “You made all the rankings worth it. You’re my fuckin’ reward, babe.”

“Please,” you whimper. “Rescue me, Dynamight.”

And he thrusts in, all at once, pulling a cry from your throat that echoes in the room. He’s relentless. His rhythm is hard, perfect, possessive. Every thrust claiming you, making you his.

“That’s right,” he pants. “Say it. Say who fuckin’ owns you.”

“You!” you cry. “Dynamight! Katsuki!”

He leans down, kissing you rough and deep.“Damn right.”

His hips slap against yours, every thrust punching breath out of you. You’re sobbing already, one wrist straining against the cuff, the other buried in the sheets.

“Fucking perfect,” he grits, watching your tits bounce with every movement. “Tied up, dripping, beggin’ for her hero. You know what this does to me, huh?”

You whimper, incoherent. He pulls out suddenly, and you wail at the loss. Then his cock slaps hot and heavy against your belly. He wraps his hand around it, pumping once, then twice until thick ropes of come spill across your skin.

“Fuck, look at that,” he pants, smearing it into your stomach with his palm. “Top five hero takin’ his prize, makin’ a mess of her. You like bein’ used like this, baby?”

You nod frantically, legs trembling. “Want more, please… Please, I didn’t come.”

He grins wickedly. “You think heroes just give happy endings, sweetheart?”

He slaps your thigh. Once. Just enough to make you jerk. “You gotta earn it.”

He kneels between your legs again, two fingers sliding through your soaked folds, pressing just enough.

“You hold that in,” he warns. “Until I say. Or I’ll leave you here tied up and aching while I go hit another patrol.”

You bite your lip, hard. Nodding. He slips his fingers inside and presses his mouth to your clit, sucking hard. Your whole body jolts. You’re crying now, the pleasure too much, his filthy words wrapping around your brain like chains.

“Gonna let your hero taste every drop,” he groans into you. “Gonna drink you dry.”

It builds fast. Too fast. And just when you’re about to break-

“Now,” he whispers. “Come for me, princess. Show me who you belong to.”

You shatter.

Back arching. Thighs clamping. Wrist straining. He doesn’t stop. Not until you go boneless, blinking up at the ceiling like your soul left your body. And then he finally unties you.

Cleans you gently with warm cloths. Kisses your sore wrist. Wraps you up in the Dynamight shirt again, this time with boxers and a hoodie over top. He pulls you into his lap, feeding you sips of water from a bottle, hand stroking your back. You’re quiet for a long time.

“You’re really in the top five.”

His arms tighten around you. “Damn right.”

You rest your head against his chest, listening to the thump of his heart.

“I’m proud of you, Kats.”

He kisses your temple. “Couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

“You did most of the work.” You smile.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “You’re the reason I fight.”

And in his arms, sore, loved, and totally wrecked you finally understand what it means to be the prize of a hero.

[malandro-m]

the allure of the host chapter one

In which your parents are going to be out of the country for a month and your mom's best friend offers to watch you while they're out. The only problem is her son...

introduction 🫧 masterlist 🫧 chapter two

Your parent's dropped you off outside of your mom's best friend's house, letting you get your bag out of the trunk before driving off to make it to the airport in time.

A soft sigh falls from your lips as you make your way up the driveway to their front door. You had no problem with your mom's friend, I mean she loved you like you were her own, but her grumpy son was the problem. He was an asshole, yes, but he was also smoking hot, and you would be staying in his house. At least you were sleeping in the guest room, at least you got some sense of privacy, but still.

You knocked on the front door, suitcase behind you as you waited for someone to answer the door and let you in. Your parents had a somewhat early flight, which meant you got dropped off basically in the middle of the night.

You hear footsteps approaching the door, and it aggressively swings open. On the other side of the door you see Katsuki, dressed in baggy basketball shorts and some random t-shirt.

"Get the fuck in, you look stupid standing out there," he gruffly mumbles, stepping away from the door. You let yourself in, kicking off your shoes and pulling your suitcase inside.

"Ummm... where am I gonna be sleeping?" you ask, suitcase in your hands as you shut the door behind you.

"Guest room," he curtly responds, walking down a hallway and just expecting you to follow. Having known him for a long time, you pick up on what he expected you to do and walk behind him until he reaches a door. He opens it for you before walking off, presumably to his room.

"Gee, thanks," you mutter under your breath as you enter the room, leaving your suitcase by the door and flopping down on the guest bed.

This was going to be a long month.

Taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows @grenadehearts @hecate-frenchfries @peachesvault @sahrberrii

ⓒ luvseraph 4/17/25

[malandro-m]

thinking about boxer!bakugo fucking you hard after losing a match. the sting still clinging to him, a bitter taste of loss that wouldn't dissipate. the roar of the crowd, once a source of motivation, now echoed in his ears as a mocking reminder of how close he'd come, only to have it snatched away by that damn penalty.

using you like a fucktoy. he wasn't gentle—not like the other times, rather a primal need to ground himself. something real after the frustratingly intangible loss. each thrust was a raw release of that pent-up fury, a embodiment of the anger that simmered beneath his skin.

still, a lingering frustration that was slowly bleeding away with each forceful thrust. "fuuuuck, just like that doll." he grunted.

unable to form words, only small sounds, whimpers and pleas that escaped your lips, being the only response you could manage against the relentless pace. your nails dug into his back, a silent language of sensation in the tense space between you. his movements were sharp, driven by need, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he neared the edge.

finally coming to a release, a soft sigh escaped his lips, leaning in. whispering praises into your ear, a gentle warmth suddenly in his voice, "did s' good for me." his touch tender as he pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead.

more of my works here

© plushieni do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my work

[malandro-m]

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍

pairing: deaf!katsuki x gn!reader

warning: collage au, swearing, softsuki, pure fluff, all words italicized are meant to be spoken in sign language

notes: this might be my fave thing ive written so far

632 | Bakugou’s never needed words to tell you how he feels. The only problem?You never understand what he’s been saying.

Bakugou signs alot.

At first, you thought it was just muscle memory, like how someone might talk to themselves under their breath. He’d move his hands with sharp, purposeful flicks, his fingers quick and angry, like he was arguing with the air.

But he always signed to you.

You noticed it when he’d glance your way mid-conversation, hands spelling out something with too much intention for it to be coincident. You didn’t understand a word, of course, and he never explained himself. He’d roll his eyes or scoff when you asked. Saying something like figure it out if you’re so interested, but even with his dismissal— he kept doing it.

When he was annoyed with you, his fingers moved fast.

On the rare chance you made him chuckle, he’d sign something slow and subtle, hidden behind his dumb smirk and eye roll.

When he looked at you too long, he’d blink, sign, and look away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you finally decided to take a crash course in ASL at your campus library that the words finally started to come together.

“Thanks for saving my seat,” you said softly, placing your bag down beside him. He hums, nodding, red eyes never leaving your own and it’s enough to make your face heat. You’d always thought Bakugou was good looking, but for the longest time, you kept your distance. That is, until he showed up to the lecture one day reading one of your favorite books, and something about that felt like an opening. Since then, sitting next to him became a habit you looked forward to more than you’d admit.

Your other friends liked to joke that you’d worn him down. That you annoyed him into a friendship.

But every time you walked in and found his bag already nudged off the chair beside him, saving the seat just for you, it felt like the smallest kind of miracle.

He never said much about it. Never made a show of saving your space, but he did it every time.

Bakugou shrugged, his hands move fast. You look… tired?

You blinked. “Wait, I— did you say I looked tired?”

He froze. His brows furrow, eyes narrowed. A tiny break in the confidence that was so Bakugou it practically had its own gravitational pull.

“What the fuck," you heard him mumble. It makes you laugh.

He’s quick to sign again. You understood that?

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. “A little. I’ve been uh—“ You cut yourself off, your own hands coming forward. Learning.

Bakugou scowled, but his ears were tinged red. He signs again, how? you stalking me now?

“No,” you said, laughing. “I took some classes in the library. Besides you're the one who’s been talking at me this whole time. I finally decided to catch up.”

His hands lifted. It is then that the piece start clicking. If you had learned what he was saying than that means... his eyes narrowed.

What else have you seen?

You pause. Beautiful, he had signed once. You’re beautiful.

Another time: I like your laugh. It sounds like wind chimes. The words 'Wind chimes' was a hard one to figure out for sure.

Once: I wish I could kiss you without making things weird.

You shook your head gently. “Beautiful a couple times... but that's all I remember."

Bakugou exhaled sharply. That's all you remembered!? He's going to fucking explode, dear god. He can feel the heat traveling down his neck. His fingers twitched like he wanted to deny it, like he wanted to scream just to redirect the attention.

Instead, he groaned. Looking away before signing something slowly— hands pausing just enough to make sure you’d catch it.

I can help you remember the rest.

You smiled. Yes. I'd love that