#agedup

[fayewildefox]

[Blossom Utonioum]

Blossom was just studying in the library when she looked up and noticed the reader walking in. Of course she couldn’t help but stare. As the reader looked her way she quickly glanced down and continued to study.

[aquabluelove]

Egnimatic

Pairing: Kyle Broflovski x Reader

College AU/SFW

His POV, Slow burn, Reader is She/Her, Slow realization, Mysterious, Fluff, Other characters will be mentioned

JVKE - This is what falling in love feels like

Kyle’s life in college is mundane. He though he liked it like this though it’s lonely. His days getting repetitive and gloomy, till one day he saw a beautiful pop of green in the library. Now he’s seeing her everywhere. He’s in love, Yet he doesn’t even know her name.

Kyle sighed heavily. He packed his bag with every textbook imaginable not wanting to come back to the apartment, especially since Stan and Wendy acted as a happily married couple. Everything they did was so domestic it made Kyle’s heart heavy. Brewing coffee, even them just drinking it. The way they looked at each other made him roll his eyes. “Hey dude I’m going to the library to study. I’ll catch you later?” Stan didn’t answer till Kyle closed the door. Fresh air felt nice unlike the love Kyle felt was being pushed down his throat. Getting in his car he added some music to set his mind at ease. College was everything he wished and more. Independence, getting money on his own, far away from the small little mountain town, South Park.

Though suddenly, as of late he wished for more. He has no idea of what but he wished of something to be there. How can you miss something that wasn’t even there in the first place? Kyle rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. What he needs to focus on is his classes and making sure to graduate. Following his father’s footsteps into becoming the best lawyer. He parked his car in his usual spot, getting out grabbing his black bitter coffee and bag. Walking up the stairs to the truly amazing place in the entire campus. He skipped a few steps waving to some people before reaching the glass doors. Swinging them open the smell of books, old and new hit his face. The smell of coffee and desserts from the small bakery attached gave Kyle a warm feeling.

He smiled gently before finding his usual seat. The wooden round table always empty. He sat on the chairs and pulled his textbooks out. Sighing happily before diving into the world of knowledge…

Maybe a couple hours has passed though Kyle couldn’t tell being too immersed in his books. Coffee half empty he finally crane’s his head up. Stretching hearing the satisfaction his bones gave with the cracks. He turned towards the big glass windows. It’s raining how much time has actually passed? Kyle questioned himself. He admired the view outside, the forest looking lively and rich as the rain showered it. His eyes traced down the window till he saw a seat, a seat that has never been taken before now. He focused his eyes on the woman, and Kyle couldn’t help it. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She wore a sage green tube top, the white skirt she adorned it with looked majestic. All the way to her knees which were tucked away in her side, lifted off the ground.

Kyles eyes glittered with how much jewelry she was wearing beads accentuated her waist as well as the necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and ankle bracelets she wore. Kyle thought she shined like no other. The single flower accessory in her hair finished her style. Though her face was the real killer. He looked at all her features, perfect or not. To Kyle this woman was the most beautiful being he ever graced upon. She was too busy looking at the greenery just as he was a second ago. The book she was reading laid on her lap as she smiled at the rain. My god, her smile. What he would give for her to smile at him like that. As though she heard his thoughts she looked his way. Though he quickly averted his eyes to the book in front of him.

Though he didn’t need to because she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at her friends who were behind him. Man fuck the second hand embarrassment is real. His cheeks tinged red as she got up. She packed all her belongings into a bag, grabbing the green drink that was next to her. She quickly met up with her friends passing by Kyle. He had gotten a whiff of the soft fragrance that is her. She smells earthy and floral. Kyle held his breath before blowing it out, wanting to keep that smell in memory.

She left quickly out the door not looking back. Kyle couldn’t help but smile like a love sick fool. He felt like he was floating, yet he doesn’t even know her name. He looked the way she was sitting before noticing a sheer green cover up. He quickly got up walking discreetly towards the seat. He grabbed the cover up and instantly was bombarded with her scent. This was definitely fucking hers. Kyle smiled hard to himself. Maybe this is is chance? He can talk to her without seeming like a big creep. Kyle hurried into packing his stuff throwing everything inside messily which was unlike him.

He hurried out the glass doors as the rain was unforgiving. His hair was drenched and frizzed up but he shook it the moment he got into his car. Though there was one thing that was dry. Her cover up. He made sure to keep it safe. Driving towards his apartment he thought of ways to give it back to her. Thinking of ways to look like this swavy guy, a hero giving the lady her jacket or shoe. There was one problem though, he has no fucking idea who she was. He didn’t even know if she went to the college or not. His face turned distasteful, full of questions. Though he took another sigh her smell invaded his lungs.

It burned so delicious, it was light. He needed to see her. He had to, no matter what. First things first. “What her name is.”

Kyle asked Stan, Kenny, and Cartman, as they all sat in a bar. Not his ideal place but it was quiet as people at their lunch quietly. “I don’t know dude she was just bright, that’s all I can describe her. She left this greenish cover up behind too.” Stan just shrugged “Sorry dude I have no idea who your talking about. Maybe she’s going to pop up at the library again? She seemed to like to read right?” Kyle sighed placing his hand against his cheek. “I guess.” The thing was Kyle’s been to the library everyday at the same time for the past week. No sight of her. It’s as if she has completely vanish. Though he swears he sees her. In class, in the corner of his eye he would see that beautiful green. He quickly turns towards it but it disappears.

When he’s working he swears he sees that same frog bag she had at the library or smell the green tea she had. He’s basically going crazy. He knows he seen her but she disappears before he could even get in a proper hello. Kenny and Cartman snickered as Kyle dazed out. “Damn this girl has you pussy whipped and she ain’t even put out for you yet!” Kenny cackled as though he said the joke of a century. “Yea how do we know if she even is real? All Jews lie! Next thing you know he’ll tell us his bitch lives in Jersey.” Kyle threw a napkin dispenser his way, hitting Cartman’s forehead. “Shut the fuck up fatass i see you have no girl still.”

“Hey fuck you jew my girl lives in Chicago that’s all.” Everyone in the table laughed. Kyle rolled his eyes as he tuned out cartman’s intense whining bout his bruising forehead. “Hey guys I gotta get back to the campus my next class is bouta start.” They all agreed and paid for their meals before saying bye to on another. Kyle sat in his seat, writing absentmindedly. His professor’s voice droning out as he was deep in thought. His lesson ended shortly after, which he was grateful his head was pounding. He walked slowly ‘round the campus, observing it. He walked outside and looked inside its magnificent green house.

The plants inside lively and full of beautiful colors. The entire thing so pleasing to look at. What shocked him was who was inside. It was her the gorgeous nameless woman. She wore a white tank top, puffy green shorts and the cutest sun hat with little frogs printed on it. Kyle’s face was pressed against the glass as she stood up dusting her knees off before taking her gardening gloves off. He looked side to side trying to find the entrance to this place. Running around it. Thanking god all might that no one’s looking his motherfucking way.

Once he found the small door knob which is extremely inconvenient to him, he opened it. The greens was overwhelming the sound of water trickling echoed. A little fountain in the middle of the place with a frog pouring water out its mouth. Huh guess frogs are her things. Life practically echoed everywhere, all but one. He walked everywhere “hello…anyone there?” But Kyle got no answer he walked around maybe once, twice, three times for good luck but found no one. He sighed and hanged his head low. “Maybe I am going crazy. She’s in my fucking imagination.”

Kyle scowled deeply, anger filling his already pounding head before walking away from the green house taking in its sight one more time.

Kyle sighed heavily climbing up the stairs that once brought him serenity and joy. Now it brought disdain and crazy thoughts. That’s what he summed up this girl, imaginary and driving him personally insane. He opened the glass doors walking in and seeing his usual seat empty. He placed his bag down and opens it up. The smell of earth and floral hit him again. Looking inside his bag was the cover up. He brought the silky material up and massaged it through his finger tips. The only sign that she was possibly real.

He put it back in his bag and continued to study. Maybe an hour has passed when he heard the pitter patter of the rain hitting the windows. He looked up and saw the beautiful forest and how the green was just so vibrant. He smiled softly. He looked down to the seat and his jaw slacked. There sitting in the exact same seat was the girl, the girl who he thought was imaginary. She adorned a beautiful green turtleneck which was tucked in white baggy pants. A pair of green dunks fitted her feet. What didn’t change was how she glowed.

Her jewelry was as bright as ever. Making her skin sparkle. She say in the same position she did before, looking out towards the rain. A smile crept her features, her perfect features. Kyle felt his mouth go dry. He swallowed and got up quickly. This was now or never. He will not miss this chance. If you do you’re a dumbass. He slowly got up and walked towards her. Counting his steps, making sure not to stumble. This is real, he knew it was when her earthy aroma hit his nose. He closed his eyes holding the breath in.

Opening his eyes he stood there. He was right there he could practically feel her hair with his fingertips. He coughed quietly in his hand. It’s now or never. She looked up to him. Her wide eyes staring into his brilliant green ones. “Hi, I couldn’t help but notice you from afar and came to return your cover up.” She looked at the cover up in his hand, grabbing it gently. Kyle’s nerves were on fire as he felt her fingertips brush his. A smile crept up to her features. “My name is Kyle by the way. Kyle broflovski. What’s yours?” He held out his hand sweating bullets, afraid she would reject the handshake.

Her smile widened and it was the most amazing smile he’s ever seen. Her soft hand gripped his gently as he cradled it. “My name is Y/N…”

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy my first story, I will not only write for South Park but many other fandoms as well. Please comment and like and give me other suggestions. Bye Amore’s!

[themrnworld]

Happy Valentine's Day 2024^^

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#disney #disneychannel #disneyxd #amphibia #sprivy #sprigplantar #ivysundew #ivyplantar #fanfiction #agedup

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[actuallysaiyan]

Hiiiii!! I’m so happy requests are open baby!!! Can I maybe request some smut? I’m thinking Yuta with a little cry baby girlfriend who whines about it being too big 🙈

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dub con, Yuta is a meanie in this one, AGEDUP!Yuta, biting, creampie, swearing word count: 1.3k pairings: AGEDUP!Yuta Okkotsu x Fem!Reader summary: you're always trying to get out of having sex with Yuta because his cock always stretches you out, but one night you bite off more than you can chew while you tease him.

Yuta was the perfect boyfriend. He really treated you like this little princess. He goes out of his way to buy you little gifts and to take you out to dinner whenever he’s got the chance. Whenever he has to leave for work, Yuta makes sure to take time to call you or Facetime you whenever he can while he’s gone on long missions. He really is the most romantic and perfect boyfriend.

And your relationship has bloomed beautifully. You started out as friends, shy and hesitant to really speak to one another. But then as time went on, you couldn’t stay away from one another. Soon you both confessed to one another, and it was like a fairytale love.

Lots of soft kisses, hand holding, going on dates together. Yuta showed his devotion through all kinds of words and actions. But the one thing you didn’t do often was have sex. Yuta was crazy big. His cock was much too girthy for you to truly enjoy it. He did everything in his power to make it pleasurable for you, but it was always too big. You’d whine and beg him to stop, but he was growing more impatient as the days went by.

He has you over one night, and one thing leads to another. Yuta has you on his lap as your lips are locked in a steamy and sloppy kiss. His hands are trembling as you continue to rock your hips against him. Then they slowly side up your body to wrap around your neck.

“D-don’t fucking tease me.” He spits out when you pull away.

You pout, “Yuuutaaa, I’m not. I just wanna fool around a lil bit!”

He growls under his breath, his patience wearing thin now. He squeezes your throat a little, making you whine loudly. It sounds so good when your airway is closed off just that little bit. His thumbs press down a little more, watching your eyes flutter. Then he releases you, allowing you to catch your breath.

“What did I say, princess?” Yuta asks, leaning in to press kisses along your throat.

“I’m not teasing you, Yuta.”

He frowns as he hears you lie to him. You are indeed teasing him. There is no other reason why you’d be grinding your pretty body all over him. Your clothed cunt keeps pressing against his raging hard-on. His hands then move to grip your hips, stopping you from doing anything else.

“Baby,” Yuta warns. “If you don’t stop messing around, I’ll have to punish you. You don’t wanna be a bad girl, do you?”

Despite seeing that look in his eyes, you want to continue pressing his buttons. You want him to snap and take advantage of you. You’re desperate to see your normally docile and sweet boyfriend turn into the monster that lurks just below the surface. To have him pin you down on the couch and to fold you into the position he desires, it sounds like a dream come true.

So you whine and you begin grinding against him once more. He’s trying to stop you, but you won’t listen to him. Then he slaps your thigh, making you yelp. This won’t even stop you. You’re on a mission and you know what you want as the outcome. A few more thrusts of your hips has Yuta fuming below you.

With movements that are so fast they leave you dizzy, Yuta has you pinned under him. One of his hands holds your wrists above your head. He has his whole weight on you now too, keeping you secure beneath him. He looks into your eyes, and you see that you’ve made him snap.

“Silly little princess,” he says with a smile. “You’re being a bad girl again.”

You whine and whimper as he undresses you with haste. Your pretty little panties are torn off your body. His large hand presses between your plush thighs, two fingers shoved deep inside of your cunt.

“Yuta! W-wait!” you whine, tears in your eyes now.

He shakes his head, reminding you of how he needs to punish you. He needs to teach you a lesson. You were so bad for him, now he’s got to correct your behavior. It feels so good to have him fingering you so vigorously that your tits bounce in sync with the thrusts.

“So fuckin’ wet, I knew being rough with you turns you on…”

You’re blushing as he says these filthy things to you. The monster that lurks just below the surface has just emerged and you’re in for a wild ride. The coil in your stomach tightens more and more, but before you’re allowed to release, he pulls his fingers from your cunt and shoves them into your mouth.

Your eyes widen when you watch him undo his pants with one hand. You eagerly suck on his fingers that are just filled with your juices. Then you gasp when you feel his fat cock slapping against your folds. A pathetic mewl escapes your lips, making Yuta chuckle darkly.

“Can your puny little cunt even handle me? You’ve never been able to handle me before.’

Your eyes begin tearing up when you feel the thick head prodding your tight little hole, “Please…go slow. Yuta please go slow!”

He laughs in your face, then leans in to kiss you roughly. He continues to just fuck you shallowly with the tip of his cock. Even that is such a stretch for you, and you’re desperately trying to push on his stomach to make him slow down. But there is no way you could get him to stop completely.

You cry out when he finally impales you on his cock. You look down and you swear you can see a bulge in your lower tummy. Tears stream down your cheeks as he begins a rough and deep pace. Every thrust has the tip of his cock slamming against your sensitive cervix.

“Yuuu! Oh please slow down!” You cry out, and you begin to cling to him. Your nails leave crescent moon indents into the meat of his arms.

“Nuh uh, princess. You were being such a fucking tease, now you gotta take my cock. I know you can do it for me.”

You hiccup as he continues to fuck you so fast and hard. Your tits bounce even harder and faster at this pace, making Yuta lean in and latch onto one of your nipples. You yelp as he bites down on the swell of your breast. Then he bites and sucks on the soft skin of the other one. He continues like this as he’s pounding you into the sofa.

“Your cunt is so tight, baby. You must like this,” he teases you, his face in the crook of your neck now.

You try to hold back your moans, but you can’t. Despite the roughness of the pace and the slight pain from him hitting your cervix, it’s really starting to feel good too. Yuta brings one of his hands to his lips and he spits on his fingertips. Then he shoves his hand between you two, rubbing your clit fast and sloppy.

“Cum for me, pretty girl!” He coaxes.

You whine loudly, “Yu– please please please!”

The coil tightens so fast, you’ve barely got time to warn him. With a loud cry, you begin to cum hard. Your walls are squeezing him so snugly, making him grunt in your ear as he leans in closer to you. There’s a ring of your cream foaming around the base of his cock as he continues to fuck himself into you.

Then he’s falling off the edge too, his lips smashed against yours as he pumps ropes of hot cum into your waiting womb. His hips don’t relent as he rides out his intense high. Just as you’re both coming down from your high, he slowly pulls out his thick cock and watches all the cum begin to dribble out of your tight cunt. He laughs lowly, then stuffs himself back into you.

“See princess, told you that you could take it.”

[dvinaamesca]

When someone stares at your bae 👁️🫦👁️

Seb: Sometimes you just gotta let them know who you f-cking belong to. Turn around Ominis.

Omi: Sebastian wai-

Seb: Do you feel how 🪨 you’re making me?~

Omi:

🫦🪭

[twpsyn-who]

JeanMarco headcanons cuz I have the same haircut like Marco so I'm obligated by law to talk about it

They both fight over the mirror A LOT. If by any chance Marco wins and gets to fix his hair first Jean ALWAYS ruffles it just to be a little shit. Deep down Marco loves it- despite needing to fix his hair again

Marco hates when his hair gets sightly longer because it keeps getting in his eyes. Jean loves it when that happens because he gets to move said hair away from Marco's eyes which results in Marco blushing from embarrassment (and the close proximity)

Sometime Jean would let Marco brush his hair. Marco always hums under his breath while doing that, unconsciously. Jean loves hearing Marco sing and Marco loves brushing Jean's hair. It reminds them both of their family (Jean's mom singing around the house and Marco's siblings begging him to brush their hair because he's so gentle while doing it)

They use the same hair products. Is a nightmare

"You look good, Jean" "Ugh, it won't stay the way I want! So annoying" "Jean. Really. I promise you, it looks fine the way it is now" - they have this discussion at least 3 times a week. Jean's a perfectionist when it comes to his hair. Marco doesn't care that much.

Jean always has a hairbrush with him

[cat-brrr]

[fayewildefox]

[Bubbles Utonium]

Bubbles noticed the reader looking at her. So she blushed and giggled before blowing them a kiss and winking.

[thesassypadawan]

Yes queen

Age up all of em and feed us🙏

That's the plan, nony. Going to make my way down the line and give them all AgedUp aus. 🥰 With their own special readers to go with them, of course. 🤭

[intothemultifandom]

– 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒 || 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓

"The body under the cloak—which was darker, almost black—was slim and androgynous. But the face was too pretty for a boy. The wide-eyed, full lipped face would make a Botticelli angel look like a gargoyle. Even allowing for the dull crimson irises...Edward dropped his arms and relaxed his position as well but in defeat. "Jane," he sighed in recognition and resignation.”

“...The boy in the pearl grey suit could have been Jane's twin. His hair was darker, and his lips were not as full, but he was just as lovely."

[karikitdemonrp]

-----

Core chirped softly at the tug, moving to adjust his appearance a bit. He had made fox ears sprout atop his head in place of his pointed ones so he could better survey the area with ears that could move around. It didn't really affect his hearing, just now he couldn't fully focus it. But now that Kohaku was teasing him? Back to his regular pointed ears.

"Well, I'm also pretty lucky with you. Even if you keep teasing me." He chirped softly. "I wouldn't change a thing. I can handle the teasing most of the time, probably because it's you." He whispered thoughtfully.

When Kohaku began talking about the garden, the kitsune watched with a soft gaze. He could tell how much Kohaku thought about this and how happy the demon slayer looked. It made Core's heart flutterer a bit, seeing Kohaku so happy. It brought the kitsune so much joy, seeing that sparkle in his lover's eyes and the way Kohaku's mouth moved into a slight grin. How the demon slayer's gaze became so thoughtful as he looked at the herbs.

Then Kohaku picked up a small bundle of herbs, the comfrey leaves, and how careful his hands were in handling them. Core listened, ears perking a bit to gain some information on gardening. "Ah, okay. Well, we can get a small garden started for you while I figure out a good spot to build a bigger area dedicated for you. Having our own supply of medical herbs would be nice too. If you say it's a good place to start then let's get some medical herbs to plant. Whatever you want, I made some decent coin selling our extra meat and animal skin so I'll buy it for ya as long as I have the money." Core smiled, tail wagging quickly. He was just so happy he could give Kohaku something nice.

Then Kohaku spoke again, teasing about how Core looked at the demon slayer. "Ah, sorry. You just...Look really cute when you're so happy. It's kinda hard to look away. But... I've said it before I think... I wouldn't mind a rumor going around about us. I mean I would, but if it's you it wouldn't be too bad. But I'll try to keep a rumor from spreading if I can help it." He chirped softly and went to look at the many herbs. "Did you wanna get just one herb or more than one? We could put them in a pot or something for the mean time while I build a garden area for you if that could help too." He asked, looking at the herbs. He knew how to use herbs in medicine and even cooking, but growing them was not something he was knowledgeable about so he'd be learning a lot of new things with this garden.

=K

Kohaku let out a soft chuckle, amused and endeared all at once by how animated Core had become. He bumped his shoulder gently into the kitsune’s, gaze warm as he looked over at him.

“No, you’re not getting ahead of yourself,” he said with a playful grin. “You’re just adorable when you’re excited, that’s all.”

He reached up and tousled Core’s hair affectionately before tugging gently at one of those ever-flicking fox ears, the teasing never far behind his affection. “And of course I’m not letting the ointment thing go. You practically invited me to make fun of you.” His grin widened. “But it’s sweet, y’know? You caring like that. I’m lucky.”

As they walked along the market stalls, Kohaku kept a calm yet watchful eye on the surroundings—always alert, but never letting it interfere with his attention on Core. His hand would occasionally brush against Core’s when they paused to look at a stand, grounding, casual, but undeniably intimate.

“As for the garden,” he mused aloud, scanning a stand of bundled herbs and small potted seedlings, “maybe we start with something simple but useful. Medicinal herbs, like the kind for that ointment of yours. Wouldn’t hurt to have our own supply.” He plucked up a small bundle of comfrey leaves and turned it over in his fingers. “This one’s good for wounds. We could pair it with calendula and a few others. You’d be surprised how easy they are to keep alive.”

Then, glancing over at Core with a smirk and a raised brow, he added, “Though if we’re planting anything that’s supposed to be peaceful and healing, you’ll have to stop looking at me like that or it might just start blooming scandalous rumors.”

[actuallysaiyan]

bacon!!! 🩷🩷🩷 could we maybe see prompts 5 and 10 with yuji, and they're in college?

event here.

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, creampies, college AU!, canon divergent, AGEDUP!COLLEGEAGE!Yuji, oral sex(fem receiving), virginity loss, Yuji isn't Sukuna's vessel in this one. word count: 1.2k(got a lil carried away with this one) pairings: Agedup!Yuji Itadori x Fem!Reader prompts: Person B and Person A as friends in school before they’re together. They awkwardly use each other to learn how to/practice kissing and end up making out passionately until their mouths are sore. Person A and Person B's first time.

Yuji easily became your friend when you got into college. He was the boy with the sunniest smile in all your classes, and soon you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He was so easy to get along with, and you discovered pretty quickly that you two had so much in common. Spending your days with your new best friend was the highlight of your time here in college. The only thing that was a bit off was the fact that you were desperate to get laid and lose your virginity. And you weren’t about to force Yuji into something so stupid when you were very sure that he had already had sex already.

But what you didn’t know was that Yuji was trying to save himself for someone very special. And Yuji happened to think you were that someone special.

One night, after classes, you invited him back over to your dorm room for a study session/movie night. You had planned for this to be so laid back, and Yuji shows up in his sweatpants and hoodie. There’s a big smile on his face as he shows you the snacks he’s brought for the movie. 

“I didn't know which ones you preferred, so I got them all!” he says, a nervous laughter ringing out. He shows you every chocolate bar and all the flavors of chips. 

He sits on your bed, the big bag of snacks dumped onto the duvet. You sit right next to him, turning on the movie you picked and you two begin snacking and lightly studying. You ask him a question and for everyone he gets right, you throw a skittle into his mouth. He does the same thing with you, but instead he throws a M&M into yours. This becomes a very fun game for the both of you, making you both giggling like crazy.

Eventually, Yuji leaned back on your bed. You can’t help but check him out, noticing just how much you enjoy seeing him like this. He looks up from his phone and smiles shyly. He’s so smitten by you, but he really doesn’t know how to tell you. He wants it to come naturally, but it’s hard when he feels his heart beating like crazy and his palms get sweaty whenever he only just thinks about confessing.

You sit up on the bed, approaching him. He looks up again, that same cute smile on his face. You realize how you could make this work in your favor. Maybe if he agrees to your little game, you’ll be able to finesse the rest of this to work out.

“Hey Yuji,” you start. “Wanna play a little game?”

Yuji laughs, “alright!”

You explain to him that you’re going to play a kissing game. This makes you both blush, but he doesn’t back out. You explain that the rules are simple; kiss each other as best as you can. Make the other person completely breathless and flustered. Then once you’re done, if you manage to make the other person breathless and flustered, you win the best candy bar from the bag.

“Alright, you’re on!” Yuji shouts, his tone full of gusto and determination.

It takes a little time for both of you to stop giggling, but eventually, Yuji cups your cheeks and pulls you closer. You look into his beautiful eyes and you know you’ll never feel the same way for anyone else. You swear your heart stops when his lips press against yours. It’s all so beautiful like this. You’ve thought of this moment a million times, but still it’s way better than you ever could imagine.

When he pulls away, you’re both a little flustered. You decide to just continue the game, kissing his lips. Yuji feels butterflies erupting in his tummy. He’s always felt this way about you, but this was something new. A new territory for both of you to explore together.

Your little game goes on for a bit, both of you foregoing the game to really just have an excuse to make out. Eventually, you both pull away to breathe and you’re both giggling nervously. Your lips almost hurt from the amount of kissing you’ve been doing with your best friend. That’s when Yuji looks over at you and he presses you down onto the bed. He has you playfully pinned underneath him.

“Hey honey…” he murmurs softly before kissing you. “I want you to know that I’ve been dreaming of this moment since I first met you. I have been waiting to have sex for the first time with someone I love.”

There’s a ringing in your ears and your heart skips a beat as you come to terms with what he’s just said. You return the sentiment, confessing that you’re also a virgin and you had wanted to find the right person as well.

“Then, I think this is the perfect moment…”

He cups your cheeks and kisses you so sensually. As your tongues dance together, Yuji makes quick work of removing your clothing. You do the same thing to him, your hands splaying against the beautiful muscular parts of his body. Once he’s got you completely naked, he takes his time kissing all over your body. He finds all your erogenous zones, taking advantage of having found such sensitive spots of your body.

By the time he’s between your thighs, your heart is racing and you’re completely aroused. You watch as he spreads your thighs and presses a sweet kiss to your mound. You buck up as his tongue presses against your wet folds, lapping at you like you’re his final meal. The way Yuji works your body towards such a sticky climax is heavenly.

You’re shuddering and twitching as you come down from that high, but Yuji barely gives you any time to recover. He’s sliding into you, making sure to go slow as he stretches you out for the first time. When he’s bottomed out, you’re both looking down at where you’re connected. It’s such a beautiful moment. He leans in and kisses you.

“I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” Yuji mumbles as he begins rocking his hips.

“Oh Yuji…I love you too,”

You cling to him as he thrusts deeply into you. He never expected it to feel this good, and he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck to try and ground himself. Already his balls are drawing up as his orgasm becomes imminent. He feels so lost in all of this pleasure, but there is a rational thought that enters his brain. Will you let him cum inside you?

“Baby…” he huffs softly. “Can I…can I please cum inside you? Please can I cum inside you? Please please?”

Your heart flutters as you hear these sweet yet lewd pleas. You know it’s irresponsible to let him do this, but you’re ready to throw caution to the wind. You nod your head and moan out a yes.

“Shit! Fuck, oh fuck! Honey, I’m gonna cum inside you! Is it okay? Tell me you want me to cum inside you!”

You begin begging him to fill you up, and with just a few more thrust of his hips, Yuji is emptying himself into you. His hips stutter and he lets out the cutest little whimpers as the pleasure overtakes him. Shots of sticky, hot cum fill your tight little cunt, making you feel so warm. Slowly, he comes down from his high and slumps on top of you.

“Good study sesh,” Yuji says with a cute little laugh. You can’t help but agree.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[sa1ntd1or]

ello ✨

i enjoy your writing sooo much and am on a chibi brainrot rn. so like,, idk if this is gonna be a request or something but like—

reader finding a pocket/mini-me of their significant other (any if the batfam or all) and brings them home only for their original big version to see it being all lovely-dovy to reader and are now fighting (and threatening) to 💀 said small them

˖ ֹ੭୧ MINI ME? FUCK NO. ⊹ ࣪ ⑅

ˋ°•*⁀➷ bf/gf!batfam react to mini-them x reader !

ˋ°•*⁀➷ CHARACTERS: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Agedup!Damian Wayne

NOTES: THIS IS SO FUNNY LOL

BRUCE WAYNE:

It began with a soft thump in your purse.

You weren’t sure when you’d picked it up—maybe at that weird antique bookstore that smelled like cinnamon and existential dread—but nestled between your phone and chapstick was a… tiny man?

A very tiny, grumpy-looking man in a miniature black suit.

“Who authorized this?” he asked, voice no louder than a whisper, yet filled with the gravitas of a Batcave full of trauma.

You blinked. “I—what? Who are you?”

“I’m Bruce Wayne,” said Pocket Bruce, crossing his arms. “You brought me here. You’re responsible now.”

The moral implications of owning a tiny billionaire were lost to the part of your brain that immediately thought, He's kind of cute. Like a stern Funko Pop come to life.

Naturally, you brought him home.

You tucked him into a drawer-turned-bed, gave him a shirt scrap for a blanket, and when he said “thank you,” your heart did a tiny backflip. By day three, he was climbing your shoulder like a very serious parrot, advising you on investments, security systems, and emotional boundaries. It was… oddly therapeutic.

That is, until the original Bruce walked in on Pocket Bruce kissing your cheek.

“What,” growled Full-Sized Bruce, “the hell is that.”

“Oh, hey,” you said casually, holding up Pocket Bruce like a kitten. “Look what I found! He’s like you, but travel-sized!”

Full Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Put. Him. Down.”

Pocket Bruce smirked. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“Neither does dying,” Bruce shot back. “Which is exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t remove your tiny lips from their face.”

You watched as your very stoic, very mature boyfriend started threatening his miniature doppelgänger like it was a rival suitor from the League of Shadows.

“Bruce, he’s like four inches tall.”

“He’s making moves.”

“He gave me a flower made of lint.”

“He gave you his heart. I see it. I see the betrayal.”

Pocket Bruce raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally you.”

“I would never behave like that.”

“You absolutely would,” you and Pocket Bruce said in perfect unison.

Bruce glared. “That’s it. I’m building a terrarium prison. And he’s going in with a GPS tracker, a tiny treadmill, and no visiting hours.”

You cuddled Pocket Bruce closer. “You’re just mad he gives more compliments than you do.”

Bruce Wayne, billionaire, vigilante, and now insecure over his micro-self, crossed his arms. “I am not losing you to pocket-sized competition.”

“I mean… he did say I looked radiant this morning.”

“…You’re grounded.”

“Bruce, we don’t even—”

“Grounded. You and the tiny little shit.”

DICK GRAYSON:

It started as a normal afternoon stroll through Gotham’s market district.

You bought a caramel apple, admired a soap shaped like a raccoon, and picked up what you thought was a little plush keychain of Nightwing—until it squirmed in your hand and shouted in the most high-pitched but undeniably Dick Grayson voice:

“Hey, hey, hey! Hands off the butt!”

You screamed. Loudly.

By the time you’d stopped hyperventilating, Pocket Dick was sitting on your shoulder, legs dangling, grinning like he hadn’t just spoken full sentences with the voice of an action figure powered by charisma and abs.

“I’m Dick Grayson!” he said cheerfully. “You must’ve summoned me with love, justice, and good lighting.”

You blinked. “You’re what.”

“A pocket version of the best Grayson there is. Limited edition. And look at you—you’re gorgeous! Do you work out? Are you single? Wait—no, don't answer. Let’s just say I’m very emotionally available.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him doing flips off your coat buttons and reciting dramatic “Nightwing Facts” like a Wikipedia page in love. The man even offered to dance with you on your kitchen counter.

So obviously, you kept him.

You were lounging on the couch later that evening, Pocket Dick nestled in your hands and serenading you (very off-key) with “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” when your door clicked open.

“Hey babe—” Real Dick called out, “—I grabbed takeout. Hope you didn’t already eat—”

He froze.

You looked up, horrified, as Dick stared at his one-inch clone literally nuzzling against your thumb.

Real Dick’s entire brain blue-screened.

“Is… is that me?” he asked, blinking hard. “Am I—am I hallucinating? Did someone spike my smoothie?”

“Hello, handsome!” chirped Pocket Dick, waving like he was on a float in the Grayson Parade. “You must be me! Wow. We look amazing.”

Dick took a full step back, like the small version of himself had rabies and a taser.

“NOPE,” he said loudly. “I am not doing this. I am not competing with myself! That is a rabbit hole I am not emotionally prepared for.”

“He said I was ethereal,” you offered helpfully.

Dick wheezed. “He did WHAT.”

Pocket Dick flexed both arms (barely noticeable noodle biceps) and added, “I also told them they were the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen. Which is still true.”

“You told them that?!” Dick sputtered, setting the takeout down like it offended him. “I—wait, no, I told them that like… last week! Or was it last month? WHEN DID I LAST SAY SOMETHING NICE?!”

“You told me I was ‘pretty lethal with a fork’ two days ago,” you offered.

“That was romantic!” he shouted, pointing accusingly at his mini-me. “It was contextually romantic! There were dumplings involved!”

Pocket Dick leaned against your fingers like he was on a chaise lounge. “They deserve constant compliments. Honestly, I don’t know why they’re dating someone who won’t serenade them like I do.”

Real Dick’s jaw dropped. “Did he just out-boyfriend me?! That’s illegal!”

He marched over and snatched up Pocket Dick like an angry sibling. “Listen here, small me. You might be charming, you might have my hair—”

“Which looks great, by the way.”

“—but you better back off. This is MY person. Mine. Go find a dollhouse and reevaluate your life choices.”

Pocket Dick crossed his tiny arms. “Jealousy isn’t hot on us.”

Real Dick turned to you with the most betrayed expression imaginable. “You can’t keep him. I’m serious. You can’t let him stay. He’s too powerful. He’ll take my place in like, two days.”

You sighed dramatically, letting your head fall onto Dick’s shoulder.

“Fine. But only because you’re bigger.”

Dick paused.

“…You mean taller, right?”

Pocket Dick smirked. “Do they?”

BARBARA GORDON:

You found her in your hoodie pocket.

No explanation. One second you were putting on your hoodie to run errands, the next, you reached into the pouch and felt… a batarang? No, wait—a whole person.

Tiny, auburn-haired, with a laptop strapped to her back and the most intense little smirk you’d ever seen on something under four inches tall.

“Hey,” she said, casually leaning against your wrist. “You got good taste in sweatshirts. And faces. Are you single?”

You blinked. “Wha—”

“I’m Barbara,” she interrupted, brushing lint off her miniature cape. “Well, pocket-sized Barbara. Less trauma, same fire. I come with unlimited sass, mild trust issues, and an entire database of Gotham’s criminal underworld. Also, I think you’re hot.”

Your brain melted a little.

She was confident. Charismatic. Flirting like she’d been training for it. You were kind of obsessed.

By the time the real Barbara got home—tired, sore, a little grumpy after a patrol—you were curled up in bed, reading, while Pocket Babs lounged on your shoulder eating a crumb of cookie like it was a full meal.

Barbara tossed her gloves on the table. “Hey, babe, you home? You won’t believe what Joker tried tonight—”

She stopped. Froze. Blinked twice.

“Are you… cuddling with a mini version of me?”

Pocket Babs looked up with a devilish grin and waved. “Hi, gorgeous! You’ve got great hair. Wanna compare bat-gadgets sometime?”

Barbara squinted. “What the—what the actual hell is that?”

“Your pocket twin,” you said brightly, petting tiny Babs like a smug gremlin. “She was in my hoodie. I think I love her now.”

Real Babs walked over, hands on her hips. “She was in your—? Okay. First of all, that’s my hoodie. Second, why is she making eyes at you like she wants to steal you from me?”

Pocket Babs licked some cookie crumb off her finger. “Steal is a strong word. Reclaim, maybe. I mean, you’ve got a lot on your plate. Maybe I can be the emotionally available one.”

Barbara blinked. “Is she negging me right now?”

You choked back a laugh. “A little bit.”

“Oh my god.” Barbara leaned in, eye twitching. “I’m being out-sassed by myself.”

“She also said she could hack the Pentagon in a minute and compliment me at the same time.”

Real Barbara’s jaw dropped. “I have done that! That’s just my Tuesday!”

Pocket Babs waved a mini flash drive. “Wanna see what I pulled from GCPD’s servers? Also, you smell really good.”

Real Babs snapped her fingers. “Nope. This is not happening. You—small me—you need to stop flirting with my partner. You’re gonna short-circuit them. And I do not have the energy to fight myself tonight.”

“You’re just jealous,” said Pocket Babs, twirling a lock of her auburn hair. “I’m the cool version.”

Barbara crossed her arms. “I am the cool version! I literally jumped out a window on fire once!”

Pocket Babs shrugged. “Yeah, but did you do it in miniature and land in their hands all flirty and mysterious?”

Barbara blinked at you. “Tell me you’re not falling for her.”

“She has a grappling hook the size of a thumbtack,” you whispered reverently. “I’m kind of enchanted.”

Barbara flopped face-first onto the couch with a muffled groan. “I’m losing my girlfriend to… me.”

You looked down at Pocket Babs, who winked and blew you a kiss.

Yeah. This was going to be a problem.

JASON TODD:

It started with a crash in the alley behind your apartment.

Naturally, like the well-trained Gothamite you were, you peeked through the blinds with a broom in one hand and 911 pre-dialed on your phone.

But what you found wasn’t a mugger or a rogue Joker gang.

It was a pocket-sized man in a tiny red helmet, stomping through an empty takeout container like it insulted his mother.

“I said NO onions, you absolute shitheads!” he shouted, voice comically deep for his size. Then he kicked the container so hard he fell backward into a puddle.

You opened the window and stared.

He froze, looked up at you, and said, “...Sup. You look like someone with great taste in books and bad taste in men.”

You blinked. “Are you—”

“Red Hood. But, you know… travel-sized. You got snacks?”

You were way too curious (and a little entertained) to leave him in the alley, so you scooped him up with your hoodie sleeve and brought him inside.

Turns out: Pocket Jason is all bark, no bite, and 98% unresolved rage in a thimble-sized package. He curses like a sailor, refuses to take off his helmet (“It’s iconic, don’t touch it”), and uses a paperclip as a crowbar.

Also, he flirts like a menace.

“You dating anyone?” he asked, curled up in your hand like a brooding Funko Pop. “You should date someone with anger issues and a tragic backstory. I know a guy.”

You were half-laughing, half-dying when the front door opened.

“Hey, I got that wine you like,” Real Jason said, stepping into the apartment with that rare relaxed grin he only gave you. “Want me to—”

He stopped.

He blinked.

You slowly turned around, holding a swearing, helmet-wearing inch-tall gremlin.

“What,” Jason said flatly, “is that.”

“Oh hey,” Pocket Jason chirped. “Nice face. Your girlfriend is hot.”

The wine bottle hit the floor.

Real Jason stormed across the room in record time and plucked his pocket doppelgänger out of your hands like he was holding a cursed action figure.

“NOPE,” Jason barked, holding him at arm’s length like he might explode. “Absolutely the hell not.”

“Hey!” Pocket Jason squirmed. “Hands off! I'm limited edition! I cost a lot y'know?!”

Jason stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You are one sentence away from getting thrown into the microwave.”

You burst out laughing. “Jason!”

“He called you hot!” Jason shouted, gesturing wildly at you with one hand and holding his mini-me like a crab with the other. “You think I’m gonna let a Thumbelina version of myself hit on my girlfriend?!”

Pocket Jason gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re just mad I’m fun-sized and charming.”

“Jason, give him back.”

He yeeted Pocket Jason onto the couch. The little menace bounced, landed on a throw pillow, and gave you finger guns. “Still available, by the way.”

Real Jason stood over him, seething.

“You flirt with them again,” he growled, “I will vacuum you.”

Pocket Jason crossed his arms. “Try it, big boy.”

“Okay!” Jason snapped, turning to you. “That’s it. You are not keeping him.”

You smirked. “Even if he brings me a tiny cup full of coffee every morning and compliments my eyes?”

Jason blinked. “...I can do that.”

Pocket Jason whispered, “But will you?”

Jason lunged. You screamed. The couch got flipped.

Somewhere in the chaos, the wine bottle rolled under the table and Pocket Jason disappeared into a heating vent with a war cry of “I REGRET NOTHING!”

You didn’t see him again for three days.

(He returned with a tiny scarf and a bottle cap shield.)

CASSANDRA CAIN:

You found her in your sock drawer.

No joke. You opened it to grab your favorite fuzzy pair and instead found a perfectly balanced miniature ninja standing in a defensive stance atop your rolled-up socks.

She didn’t speak. She just stared at you with piercing, dark eyes like she could see into your soul.

You blinked.

She didn’t move.

You slowly reached for a sock.

She kicked it off the drawer and said, in the tiniest, softest voice: “No.”

You whispered, “What the—”

She stepped forward. One sock-sized foot in front of the other. “You’re mine now.”

Oh. Okay.

So obviously you kept her.

You gave her a little tea saucer to sleep in and a thimble of honey and she immediately declared your desk drawer “hers.” She still hadn’t said much else, but she followed you everywhere like a stealthy bodyguard. You’d glance over and she’d be perched on your shoulder, silently munching a Cheerio with absolute menace.

You found it adorable. You told her so. She blinked once, nodded, then handed you a toothpick she’d sharpened into a sword.

“For you,” she said.

You might have cried a little.

Then one night, Real Cass got home from patrol. You were watching a show, sipping tea, and Pocket Cass was curled up in your hoodie pocket like a tiny assassin cat.

Cass froze in the doorway.

Stared.

Hard.

“…Is that me?”

You smiled. “Kinda. She’s smaller. But she protects me. And steals my snacks. You’d like her.”

Real Cass stepped closer. Pocket Cass stood up on your chest like she was ready to throw hands with her full-sized self.

Cass tilted her head. “She’s not… talking?”

“Nope,” you said, sipping your tea. “She just sits and judges people. Sometimes cuddles.”

“…Hm.”

Cass held out a hand. Pocket Cass studied it for five long seconds. Then jumped into it like a graceful little wolverine.

They locked eyes.

You held your breath.

Then Cass whispered, “She’s fast.”

“She stabbed a rat with a sewing needle this morning,” you said proudly.

Real Cass cracked a small, delighted grin. “Good.”

They sat together in silence for the next hour. Cass gave her a scrap of her cape as a cloak. Pocket Cass gave her a single sunflower seed. It was the most intense emotional bonding you’d ever witnessed from two people who said, collectively, three words.

Later, when you were brushing your teeth, you saw Pocket Cass curled up on the nightstand. Cass tucked her in with a tissue and whispered, “Mine.”

You blinked. “Wait—her? Or me?”

Cass kissed your cheek and said nothing.

You are now owned by both of them. Congratulations.

TIM DRAKE:

You found him curled up inside your empty coffee mug.

At first, you thought it was just a weird shadow. Then the mug moved.

“Shhh,” a tiny voice mumbled from inside, “I’m in a depressive nap cycle.”

You cautiously picked up the cup. Inside was a perfectly proportioned, fun-sized Tim Drake, wrapped in a corner of a tea bag like it was a depression blanket. His hair was messy, his eye bags were real, and his attitude was absolutely on-brand.

“…Are you okay?” you whispered.

He opened one eye. “Do I look okay?”

“…Fair.”

You offered him a tiny square of chocolate. He took it like you’d given him a reason to live.

Thus began your chaotic cohabitation with Pocket Tim: a miniature detective with too many feelings and not enough therapy. He lived in your cereal box, stole your pen caps to use as swords, and kept trying to hack into your router with a bent paperclip.

Also, he wouldn’t stop flirting with you.

“Statistically speaking,” he said one night, sprawled on your laptop keyboard, “you’re into emotionally repressed black haired men with guilt complexes.”

You squinted. “You mean my actual boyfriend?”

He gave finger guns. “Exactly. So, you’re welcome.”

That’s when Real Tim came home.

He dropped his backpack at the door and stepped inside, phone in one hand, talking mid-sentence. “Hey, did you see the GCPD file I—”

He stopped.

His eyes zeroed in on the mini-him doing a smug backstroke across your tea.

“…What the hell,” Real Tim said, voice flat. “Is that.”

Pocket Tim peeked up from the mug. “Sup, big me.”

You made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choke.

Real Tim walked over slowly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. “Why does he look like me during my second year with the Titans?”

Pocket Tim leaned dramatically on a sugar cube. “Because I am. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Underslept.”

Real Tim looked at you. “Why is he here?”

“He showed up in my cup,” you shrugged. “I figured you'd want to study him or whatever.”

Pocket Tim grinned. “I’ve already mapped out their favorite music playlists. And their zodiac chart. I’m the better boyfriend.”

Real Tim deadpanned, “You’re literally two inches tall.”

“And yet,” Pocket Tim purred, “I take up more emotional space.”

Tim inhaled deeply through his nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

“You’d be killing yourself,” Pocket Tim chirped.

“That’s not a deterrent!”

You were laughing way too hard at this point. Tim turned back to you, scandalized. “You’re encouraging him.”

You wiped tears from your eyes. “I can’t help it. He made a PowerPoint on why I deserve better lighting in my apartment.”

Tim blinked. “…He’s not wrong.”

Pocket Tim gave a tiny mic drop with a crumb.

Later that night, you found both Tims passed out on opposite ends of your keyboard, one curled up on the spacebar, the other drooling on a sticky note. They’d argued for three hours about Nightwing’s leadership style and which coffee beans had the best ROI.

You took a photo.

You were keeping it for blackmail.

STEPHANIE BROWN:

You were eating leftover waffles on the couch when a suspicious rustling came from your laundry hamper.

You stared. Silence.

Then—POOF!

A flash of lavender and a blur of blonde launched from the laundry like a glitter bomb with combat boots.

“Fear me, mortals!” a voice squeaked. “I’m the Spoiler, but bite-sized!”

You shrieked and nearly flung your waffle.

A tiny girl—complete with a minuscule domino mask, purple hoodie, and the most chaotic grin you’ve ever seen—stood proudly on your coffee table. She raised a sewing needle like a sword.

You blinked. “…Steph?”

“Steph 2.0,” she said dramatically. “Improved. Streamlined. Pocket-sized for vengeance and emotional support!”

You offered her a crumb of your waffle. She took it like a trophy and climbed onto your shoulder with the agility of a very tiny jungle cat.

And honestly? She was kind of amazing.

She made you laugh constantly. She would yell things like “Tiny Justice!” every time she knocked over a water bottle. She bullied your phone’s voice assistant. Once, she took down a cockroach using only a rubber band and your toothbrush.

You’d had her for five hours and would already die for her.

Which is exactly when Real Steph got home.

She walked in, swinging her duffel over her shoulder, mid-text. “Babe, have you seen—”

Her eyes locked onto the little menace standing on your shoulder with her hands on her hips like she was posing for the Batfamily Yearbook.

Steph stopped.

Squinted.

Looked at you.

Looked at Pocket Steph.

“…What the actual Gotham is going on here?”

Pocket Steph beamed. “You’re hot.”

Real Steph blinked. “Okay, I know I’ve said that to myself in the mirror, but this is weird.”

“She’s been vibing,” you offered. “Also she called herself the ‘snack-sized spoiler of my dreams.’”

Real Steph made a face like she’d just swallowed a lemon. “I would never say that.”

“You did. In high school. I saw it in your yearbook,” Pocket Steph said smugly.

Real Steph slowly walked over and squinted at her miniature twin. “Okay, look. You’re cute and annoying and remind me of me before caffeine. But you better not be replacing me.”

“Oh no no,” Pocket Steph said, smirking. “I’m just here to keep them entertained when you’re off ignoring her texts for eight hours.”

Steph gasped.

You sipped your drink.

“First of all, rude,” Steph huffed. “Second of all… okay maybe fair.”

Pocket Steph winked. “Also I told them we should get matching hoodies.”

“Oh my god,” Real Steph groaned. “She’s hijacking my entire personality.”

“You don’t own purple, Full-Sized Stephanie.”

“I WILL DROP-KICK YOU INTO THE BATCAVE.”

They bickered. You watched, grinning into your cup like a reality show contestant who’d just stirred the pot and sat back for the fallout.

Eventually, they fell asleep curled together in your lap: one snoring softly, the other tangled in the drawstring of your hoodie.

You weren’t sure who was the real chaos goblin anymore. But you were 100% keeping them both.

DUKE THOMAS:

You found him in a streetlamp.

No, really.

You were walking home after a late shift, phone flashlight guiding the sidewalk, when one of Gotham’s flickering streetlamps suddenly glowed bright gold. From that soft shimmer floated a tiny, perfect miniature of Duke Thomas—complete with curly hair, a yellow domino mask, and armor repurposed from gum wrappers and safety pins.

He hovered for a second, then dropped like a lightbulb into your jacket pocket.

“Oof—ten outta ten landing,” he said, peeking up with a smile. “Hi. I’m your Pocket Duke now.”

“…My what now?”

“Your emotional support vigilante.” He spread his arms. “Travel-sized for your convenience. Mood-brightening. Vitamin D-certified.”

That’s how it started.

In the following days, Pocket Duke became your favorite thing. He rode on your shoulder during work Zooms, insisted on helping you cross streets (“I’m the designated flashlight, okay?”), and gave you pep talks before interviews.

He was a mini motivational speaker with the sass of a bored honor student.

He also quoted Shakespeare during toast-making. No one asked him to. He just did.

He was good company while Duke was gone on another of his missions.

You were in the middle of brushing your teeth with him reading aloud from The Tempest when the door to your apartment creaked open—and Real Duke finally walked in, mid-yawn, hoodie up, duffle bag slung over one arm.

“Hey, babe,” he mumbled. “Im home—”

Then he froze.

Locked eyes with himself standing on your bathroom counter, reciting Caliban in a toothpaste cap helmet.

Real Duke’s eyes narrowed. “Is that… me?”

Pocket Duke stopped mid-soliloquy. “Oh cool, the big version’s home.”

Real Duke turned to you. “Please tell me that’s a very elaborate animatronic.”

You snorted. “He’s been sleeping in the sock drawer and quoting Dead Poets Society for three days.”

Pocket Duke gave a tiny bow. “I’m your better half. If your better half fit inside a teacup.”

Real Duke squinted. “How do I know you’re not a hallucination from my third all-nighter this week?”

“Because I moisturize,” Pocket Duke said smugly, “and your skin has been looking rough, my guy.”

You were crying laughing.

Real Duke rubbed his temple. “This is exactly why Damian calls me ‘Robin Lite.’ I don’t even get the normal clone trope. I get… this.”

Pocket Duke crossed his arms. “Hey! I am efficient. I am charming. And I got them to actually eat breakfast. What did you do? Ghost them fro three days without even sending a single message?”

Real Duke opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned to you.

“…Are you replacing me?”

You raised your hands. “He makes a good case.”

Duke squinted. “I swear to god, if he starts dancing to his own theme song—”

Too late.

Pocket Duke cranked up your phone’s Bluetooth speaker and began performing a self-choreographed interpretive dance to Childish Gambino.

Real Duke sat down on the floor, head in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m being upstaged by pocket-sized confidence.”

You patted his back. “He is kind of adorable.”

Real Duke sighed deeply. “I can’t fight him. He’s me. But fun-sized. He’s like if ego and therapy had a baby.”

Pocket Duke struck a pose. “You’re welcome.”

Later that night, Duke tucked the mini version of himself into a dish sponge fort and muttered, “If he starts narrating my patrol routes in slam poetry, I’m calling Zatanna.”

You didn’t tell him Pocket Duke already had a sonnet prepared for your grocery run.

AGED UP!DAMIAN WAYNE:

You found him meditating in your windowsill.

You’d come home from a long day at work, peeled off your jacket, and gone to close the curtains—and there he was. Cross-legged. Eyes closed. Arms tucked in a miniature version of a League cloak, swaying slightly in the breeze like a judgmental bonsai tree.

“…Hi?” you whispered.

His eyes snapped open. Glowing green. Tiniest scowl you’d ever seen.

“You are late,” he said. “I waited 47 minutes and 13 seconds. I almost activated Plan B.”

“…What was Plan B?”

He gestured to a half-empty jar of peanut butter and your cat looking unusually satisfied.

You decided not to ask.

You named him “Lil D” in your phone and tried not to giggle when he gave you The Look™ for it.

In the days that followed, Pocket Damian became… a force.

He demanded daily fencing practice. With cocktail skewers.

He threatened your toaster for "mocking him with its insolent ticking."

He drew accurate crime scene sketches with a broken crayon and posted them on your fridge.

And the worst part?

You were obsessed with him.

He was adorable in the way that a saber-toothed tiger cub is adorable. Dangerous. Bitey. But your saber-toothed tiger cub.

And then Real Damian came over.

You were on the couch, hand-feeding Pocket Damian peeled grapes (he insisted on not touching "non-sterile civilian produce"), when the front door opened.

Real Damian stepped in. Jacket half-zipped. Hair slightly windblown. Eyes already narrowed in suspicion.

“Beloved,” he called, setting his keys down. “I could not find you at the training center—what are you—”

He froze.

Pocket Damian wiped his mouth delicately with a square of tissue and turned to face him.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Look what the camel dragged in.”

Real Damian stared.

You braced.

Then—

“What is that,” he said flatly, tone already descending into steel.

You smiled nervously. “He… kind of found me?”

“He is wearing my League insignia.”

“He said he earned it. With ‘blood and honor.’”

“He is three inches tall.”

“He threatened to duel me for my soul this morning. It was kinda cute.”

Real Damian marched over, leaned down, and squinted.

Pocket Damian met his gaze without flinching.

“You lack discipline,” Mini-Damian said bluntly. “Your posture is failing. Your blade hand is clumsy. You do not deserve them.”

You gasped.

Real Damian did not. Move.

His jaw ticked.

You could feel the murder energy radiating like a low hum through the room.

“Say that again,” Real Damian said coolly.

Pocket Damian leapt to the top of your ramen box stack, cloak fluttering behind him like an angry fruit bat.

“You. Do. Not. Deserve. Them.”

“…You’re going out the window,” Damian said.

You yelped. “Wait—!”

But it was too late. Pocket Damian took one look at his full-size counterpart lunging toward him and flung a mini smoke bomb from your salt shaker. The kitchen filled with paprika.

By the time the air cleared, Pocket Damian had vanished into your sock drawer.

Damian turned to you, betrayed. “You allowed that demon to insult me. In my presence.”

“You are that demon, Dami.”

“He implied you should be with him.”

“He said he’d ‘build me a nation from the bones of my enemies.’ Honestly, it was kind of flattering.”

Damian scowled.

“…You’re jealous of yourself.”

“I am not.” He crossed his arms. “I am jealous of the fact that he has clearly manipulated you using your fondness for the pathetic and the strange.”

“…So me, basically?”

He flushed. “You are not pathetic.”

You smirked. “But I am strange?”

“…Your continued tolerance of him proves it.”

Later, after much negotiation, Real Damian agreed not to “accidentally step” on Mini-Dami—under the condition that Pocket Damian slept in a shoebox lined with Kevlar and did not speak unless spoken to.

Pocket Damian agreed. For now.

You found them both meditating on your windowsill the next morning.

In matching poses.

Real Damian, eyes closed, muttered under his breath, “If he mimics my breathing one more time, I will sew his mouth shut.”

You smiled, sipping your tea.

You were definitely keeping them both.

[botanicsoul]

The Secretary

agedup! Katsuki Bakugou x (Fem) Reader

MDNI!! (18+)

description: Your entire world flips when you become the explosive hero’s secretary. In the world of high stakes and even higher tension, will you be able to resist his pull, or will you find yourself lost in the heat of it all?” (this bitch is loooooong)

❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❀ ❊ ✿

Pro Hero Dynamight has always been known to overwork at his agency.

Go above and beyond until something is perfect. Every file, every mission plan, every recruit—flawless or you’re wasting his damn time. He doesn’t do breaks. He doesn’t do patience. And he sure as hell doesn’t do mistakes.

People line up to work for him.

Because once you’ve worked under Dynamight, you can work anywhere. You’ve been sharpened by fire. Agencies compete for people who survive even six months at his side.

But just because everyone wants the job doesn’t mean they keep it.

He doesn’t notice most of his staff—doesn’t care to. The only people who get a fraction of his attention are his sidekicks and his PA team. The rest of you? Replaceable. Background.

That’s what you were. Just background.

A newly hired secretary brought in to replace the last one—fired, rumor has it, for leaving a single classified folder out overnight. You were pulled from a random list. No connections, no special qualifications. Just a name picked in a moment of desperation.

And from the beginning, you kept your head down.

Did your job. Stayed quiet. Didn’t try to get in his way. You figured if you didn’t bother him, you’d survive longer than the last girl.

And for a while, it worked.

Until he looked at you.

⸻

It was barely a glance, the first time. You were handing him a folder, and your fingers brushed his. That was it.

But the next day, he asked for you by name. “y/n go to this next meeting for me in 40 minutes and take some notes have it on my desk by 3”

The day after that? He called you into his office to retype a document you knew damn well his PA could’ve handled. He started showing up at your desk more. Asking questions. Staring a little too long when you answered.

No one said anything, but the change was obvious.

Your name started circulating in whispers.

Not in a good way.

Because Dynamight had a reputation. Not just for being a perfectionist or a hard-ass—but for being a flirt. The kind who smiled in interviews and left parties with models on his arm. He was cocky, crude, and didn’t hide the fact that he could get whoever he wanted. He was in the tabloids almost as much as he was on the news. You weren’t his type. Not even close. So whatever attention he was giving you? It had to be temporary.

⸻

Recently one of your male co-workers had been interacting with you a little more than usual lately. He’d stop by your desk for small talk, lingering longer than necessary and dropping subtle hints of flirting—hints you quickly brushed off.

One afternoon, as he stood by your desk chatting about the new coffee shop that had just opened a few blocks from the agency, you heard the unmistakable sound of heavy, aggressive footsteps echoing through the hallway. The air shifted. The floor seemed to still as the explosion hero’s voice cut through the buzz of conversation like a blade.

“Kato,” Dynamight said dryly, voice low but so loud and commanding that it echoed across the entire floor. “Leave my secretary alone and get the hell back to work.”

Everything went quiet.

You could feel the eyes of your coworkers flicking between you and Bakugou, the tension thick in the air. Kato blinked, visibly flinching before muttering something under his breath and practically scrambling away. After that? Silence. No more desk visits. No more awkward compliments. He disappeared.

A few days passed, then a week. You hadn’t realized just how quiet it had been until you were in the break room, talking with Yumi, one of the only people you were actually close with at work. She was leaning against the counter, sipping her tea when you brought it up.

“Hey, Yumi,” you said casually, trying to sound nonchalant as you stirred your drink. “Have you seen Kato around? Last time we talked, he mentioned grabbing coffee at that new place nearby.”

Yumi gave you a look over her cup. “Oh? You don’t know?”

You blinked. “Know what?”

She lowered her voice, leaning in slightly like she was about to share a secret. “After Dynamight yelled at him, Kato got transferred to the other floor—support tech. Apparently he asked for it himself.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Word is he went to HR the same day. Said something about ’not wanting to interfere with higher-up dynamics.’” She raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “You ask me? I think he got the message loud and clear—and maybe a little scared. Bakugou doesn’t exactly play subtle.”

You felt your cheeks warm, not sure if it was from embarrassment or something else entirely. You looked away, but Yumi smirked.

“He’s totally territorial over you, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating just a little faster. “He’s my boss.”

Yumi laughed. “Right. And I’m just here for the free snacks.”

⸻

Things started getting more odd after you grabbed your paycheck, scanning it quickly. Your eyes widen. There’s an extra $200 in there. What the hell?

You head straight to HR, a bit confused. “Hey, I think you guys messed up my pay. There’s, uh, an extra amount in here.”

The HR rep looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “No, we didn’t mess up. You got the raise from the boss yesterday. Didn’t you know?”

You blink. “A raise? From Dynamight?”

They nod. “Yeah. He approved it. It’s all there. So… enjoy the extra cash?”

You stand there for a moment, trying to process it. He didn’t say anything about a raise.

Later, you march into Bakugou’s office. He looks up from his desk, not even bothering to look surprised.

“Aren’t you supposed to be re-organizing those files? I told you I needed that done today y/n” he grumbles, like it’s just another day.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were giving me a raise?” you ask, arms crossed. “I went to HR, and they said it’s from you. You just… threw in a $200 bump like it was nothing?”

He shrugs, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, and?. You’ve been working hard, so you get a bump. Don’t make it a big deal.”

You stare at him, trying to hide the confusion. “But you couldn’t have just said something, I thought it was a true and honest mistake? I didn’t want to get in trouble or anything.”

“Not my problem. It’s in your paycheck. Deal with it,” he grunts, turning his attention back to his papers.

“But I-“ you were quickly cut off by his desk phone ringing.

“y/l/n can’t you just fuckin’ thank me? now get back to work don’t ever question me again” he says before answering the phone.

You stand there, a little speechless. You eventually turn around and leave his office just to sit at your desk still confused as ever.

⸻

work had been piling up, you started staying later than usual at nights. But this night was different.

It was supposed to be simple—just a few files left to organize, highlight, and prep for tomorrow morning. Everyone else on the floor had cleared out hours ago. You liked the quiet. No one breathing down your neck. Just your thoughts and the occasional creak of the building.

Then the elevator dinged.

You didn’t look up until you heard the crash—something hard slamming against the wall near the lift.

And then, there he was.

Him.

Pro Hero Dynamight. In full gear. Hair still wild from battle, jaw tight—and in his arms? A woman.

Not just any woman. A model. One you’d seen in magazines, ads, maybe even a billboard or two. And they weren’t just walking. They were clawing at each other, lips locked, her dress hitched halfway up her thighs. His hands all over her.

He didn’t even glance your way—until he did.

Right as he shoved open his office door.

His eyes locked on you. Smoldering. Unbothered. Maybe even a little amused.

And then he shut the door behind them. Click.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Then you heard it.

The moaning. The banging. The desperate, ugly sounds of sex through that too-thin wall, and you didn’t even hesitate. You gathered your things, barely breathing, and booked it for the elevator before your face could give anything away. You didn’t look back.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The way he stared at you.

Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

⸻

The next morning, you came in earlier than usual—half-hoping, half-praying you wouldn’t have to see him.

Your desk felt different. Like it had absorbed last night’s shame. The pens in your cup were crooked. The light too bright. You reorganized your files twice just to stop your hands from shaking.

You told yourself he wouldn’t bring it up.

He wouldn’t have to.

Because it meant nothing.

To him, it was just another Tuesday night. Another random girl. Another fuck.

And then… you saw him.

Striding across the hallway from his office—jacket slung over his shoulder, hair freshly wet from a shower, and a goddamn coffee in hand like he hadn’t just traumatized you twelve hours ago.

He didn’t even look at you. Not at first.

He passed your desk with that same practiced indifference, talking to a sidekick about an upcoming mission, barely blinking. You exhaled. Maybe it was just another night. Maybe he really didn’t care.

Then, without warning, he stopped mid-step. Turned his head just slightly. Your blood ran cold. But he kept walking. That was it. That tiny little jab, buried so deep it wouldn’t make sense to anyone else—but you knew.

He knew. And now he was watching to see what you’d do with it.

⸻

You didn’t do anything. What could you do?

You buried yourself in your work. Avoided his gaze when he passed your desk. Ignored the little smirk that tugged at his mouth every time your fingers trembled while handing him a report. You told yourself it would fade—that he’d get bored and move on.

But he didn’t. He kept finding reasons to come by. Most times it was work-related. sometimes it wasn’t.

“Where’s the file from yesterday? The one you highlighted.”

“There’s a typo on this one. Wanna tell me where your brain was?”

“You always jump when someone groans, or is that just me?”

“do you always wear skirts that short?”

And the worst part? He never looked guilty. Never embarrassed. Just amused. Like he’d found a new game to play—and you were the only one who didn’t know the rules.

⸻

The next night came.

You were once again the last one in the office, filing mission reports. This time, you double-checked the elevator schedule before staying late. Dynamight had a press conference that evening. He wouldn’t be back until hours later—if at all.

You let your guard down.

Big mistake.

Because when the elevator dinged around 10:43 p.m., and you turned expecting to see a janitor or a delivery guy—

It was him. Alone.

No model this time. Just Dynamight. Loose black tee, sweats slung low, dog tags catching the hall light. He didn’t say a word. Just walked down the hall, slow and deliberate, until he was standing at your desk.

You blinked up at him. “…Can I help you, sir?”

He stared for a moment—eyes hooded, lazy. Then leaned a forearm on your desk. “You’re always here late.” Your throat tightened. “There’s a lot to do.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, gaze dipping briefly to your lips. “That why you stayed last night too?”

“I—I didn’t realize anyone else was—”

“Oh, you realized.” That smug look returned. “You saw everything, didn’t you?” Heat crawled down your spine. He tilted his head slightly. “And what’d you think, secretary? Get a good show?” You stood up abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m—going home. I’m done for the night.”

But as you tried to slip past him, he didn’t move.

Just let his fingers graze the edge of your desk—then yours. Soft. Barely there. Enough to make you stop.

And his voice? Lower this time. Quieter. Laced with something darker. “I fucked her thinking about you all alone out here” he said under his breath, not loud enough for you to hear.

As you took the bus home after work, his words lingered in your mind. he made you feel like some dirty pervert.

⸻

The following day came, you were a nervous wreck coming to work and praying to whoever was up there to not see him again. But for some reason lady luck was on your side because word got around that Dynamight wouldn’t be in office due for a little to an over ran mission a couple of cities over. You felt the weight of what was like an elephant lift from your shoulders hearing it. The next couple of days you could breathe and get your work done, until the night he came back. You weren’t planning to stay late again but the mission reports were a mess, your inbox was full, and your brain was too fried to say no when your team lead asked for help. Plus you wanted to get it all done so you could go home early for the weekend tomorrow.

Everyone else had left. The sun was long gone, the sky a navy blur behind the tall glass windows. You figured he was still out. Same patrol mission or high-level meeting.

You were so fucking wrong.

The elevator dinged at 11:36pm. You didn’t even look up because you just KNEW. you heard the heavy bootsteps crossing the hall, slow and measured—each one landing like they meant something.

You slowly looked up. There he was.

Hair messy from the wind, shirt clinging to his frame, jaw sharp with tension like he’d been gritting it for hours. He didn’t say anything—just stood there, watching you behind that massive front desk like you were the one interrupting him.

You swallowed. HARD. “…e-evening.”

A low hum left his throat, his gaze staying on you like you were the only thing in the room.

He didn’t walk away. Just shifted his weight slightly, his eyes scanning your desk. You could feel the pressure of his stare, like he was seeing right through you.

You followed his line of sight—realizing too late that your files were fanned out everywhere. Messy. Color-coded. Your pink highlighter cap left open next to your now cold coffee.

Shit.

You scrambled to get up and gather everything, heart thudding harder than you’d like to admit. “I—I’ll get these off before I leave. I just wanted to finish highlighting—”

He didn’t let you finish.

One step closer, without warning.

His body moved with purpose, no hesitation. He didn’t lean in, didn’t raise his voice, but somehow his presence swallowed you whole.

He just tapped twice—once, twice—on the corner of a sticky note beside your hand.

Then, his voice came, low, clipped, a little too calm for your liking.

“Next time you highlight mission details…”

“…don’t use pink.”

he paused for a moment looking at you while his finger was still resting on the sticky note.

“I fucking hate pink.”

You stiffened, trying to shake off the irritation that bubbled up in your chest.

“Well, maybe I’m not here to impress you,” you muttered under your breath, your annoyance pushing you further than you meant to go.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even react at first.

You tried to ignore the sudden heat crawling up your neck. It was just a comment—nothing more.

But then you saw it.

His lips curled into a faint smirk, that signature cocky grin of his. He leaned in just a little more, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he was too relaxed, too calm for the situation.

“Not here to impress me?” His voice was smooth, almost condescending. “Then why the hell are you even still here, huh?”

Your jaw tightened. You were about to fire back, but he wasn’t done.

He took another step forward. This time, there was no space left between you.

His eyes narrowed, gaze dropping from your face to the pink highlighter in your hand. He reached out, slowly, deliberately, taking the cap from the table and flicking it absentmindedly.

His eyes met yours, cold but sharp. He didn’t blink.

“You wanna talk back to me, huh? You wanna act like you don’t care what I think?” He leaned in closer, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. “You’ll get real fucking tired of that attitude real fast.”

You tried to hold your ground, but something in the air was shifting. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in a way that made you feel small. Vulnerable. He was in your space now—too close. But you couldn’t bring yourself to back away.

“What, you think I’m scared of you?” Your voice was steady, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

His lips curled into a knowing grin, his fingers brushing the back of your hand like it was nothing. But the touch was deliberate. “No, but I think you like it.”

You inhaled sharply, your pulse quickening.

“Like what?” you breathed, not sure if you wanted to hear the answer.

“Like it when I call you out,” he replied, his voice dripping with something dangerously close to amusement. “Like it when I make you feel something you don’t know how to handle.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he stepped back.

His eyes locked onto yours one last time, with a smooth, and mocking tone. “Not here to impress me, huh? Guess what? You’re not fooling anyone.”

You bristled at the implication, trying to pull away from the tension that was building in the space between you two. But he didn’t let up. Instead, he moved even closer, stepping into your personal space until there was barely an inch of air between you.

“Keep playing it cool,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But I know exactly what you want.“

His lips were only inches from yours now, and you could feel his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart pounded, and the words escaped you before you could stop them.

“And what exactly do you think I want?” you breathed.

His grin widened, a wicked, confident curl of his lips, and then, in a voice that was barely a whisper, he answered, “You want me to prove it.”

“fuck you” that’s all it took.

And before you could even process what he meant, he was on you.

His hands found your waist, lifting you onto the desk, making sure there was no space between you. The way he kissed you, with so much force and urgency, made it clear he wasn’t about to stop.

You gasped as he trailed his lips down to your collarbone, his hands already pulling at your shirt, lifting it over your head. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but in the best way. The heat in your body was building rapidly, your skin tingling where his hands brushed.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before,” he growled, his lips back on yours with a hunger you couldn’t resist.

You pulled him closer, urging him to take what he wanted, because deep down, you knew you were past the point of no return.

And when his hands moved to the waistband of your pants, you didn’t hesitate, lifting your hips to let him undress you completely.

He didn’t waste any time, his mouth back on your neck, his hands working to free himself from his pants, all while he never broke eye contact with you.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust, the words slipping from him in a low growl.

You could hardly breathe, let alone think. But somehow, you managed to whisper, “Dynamight.”

He smirked against your neck, his hand coming down on your ass with a harsh smack, the sound echoing in the quiet room. You jolted, a breathless gasp escaping your lips, and he leaned back, his eyes narrowing.

“I said, say MY fucking name,” he repeated, his voice a little sharper this time.

You moaned, your body aching for more as you looked up at him with a pleading expression. “Katsuki,” you whined, your voice higher, desperate. The sound of his name on your lips, the way it twisted in the air between you two, sent him into a frenzy.

He didn’t give you a moment to recover—he grabbed your thighs and dragged you to the edge of the desk, his mouth crashing into yours again, hungry and unrelenting. You felt the hard press of his cock against your bare core, still hidden behind the fabric of his boxers, and you instinctively rolled your hips, chasing the friction you so desperately needed.

“You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane,” he hissed against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you—flushed, panting, pupils blown wide. “Actin’ like you didn’t want this. Walkin’ around the office in those tight little skirts… lookin’ at me like that… like you wanted to be fucked.”

You whimpered, and he chuckled darkly, pulling his boxers down and letting his cock spring free. The sight alone had your breath hitching, and he noticed.

“Yeah?” he muttered, stroking himself slowly as he watched your reaction. “This what you’ve been needin’? Bet your fingers couldn’t even come close to makin’ you feel this full.”

And then he pushed in—slowly, almost teasing, stretching you inch by inch until your back arched and a breathless moan spilled from your lips, your eyes rolling in the back of your skull.

“Fuck—you feel better than I ever imagined,” he gritted, gripping your hips so tight you knew he’d leave marks. “Tight little pussy takin’ me so well.”

He set a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, the desk creaking beneath you both his as your body rocked with each thrust. You could barely form words—just whimpers and his name on loop like a prayer.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get filthier, he leaned in, his voice rasping directly into your ear.

“You know how many girls I’ve fucked the last two weeks?”

Each word was punctuated by a hard, punishing thrust.

“Every. Single. ONE of them—I thought about you.”

You gasped, your nails clawing at his back as your orgasm built dangerously fast.“Thought bout how beautiful you’d look bent over my fuckin’ desk takin’ my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back, the filthy words and his relentless rhythm dragging you closer to the edge. Your whole body trembled under him, your mind trying to deny it, trying to keep up, but your body had already surrendered. It needed him. All of him.

“And how amazing your tits would look bouncin’ in my face as you ride me.” he leaned down to your chest and sucked on your tit as he fondled the other with his free hand.

You gasped as his words hit you like a wave, the sharpness of his growl sending a tremor through your body. Every word he spoke, every thrust, made it harder to remember what it was you were supposed to resist.

His pace quickened, and you were helpless under him. Each snap of his hips felt like a jolt of electricity, shooting through your veins, making you gasp and moan for him. The desk beneath you scraped against the floor as he pushed you closer to the edge, and all you could do was hold on, your fingers digging into the wood as you clung to whatever semblance of control you had left.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice thick with need. “Say it and mean it this time.”

“Kats-sukiiiiiaaa,” you breathed, your head thrown back, the sensation of him inside you almost too much to handle. You could feel your walls tightening around him, your body already on the brink of breaking. You were so close—so close you could taste it.

His lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the desperation in your eyes, his pace never slowing. “That’s it, princess,” he growled, his hand snaking down to rub your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You’re mine now. All mine and not any of these shitty extras around this place”.

You could barely respond, your mind clouded with the pleasure he was giving you. Every inch of your body felt like it was on fire, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core until you were trembling with the effort of holding back.

And then, with one last, forceful thrust, he drove you over the edge. Your body arched against him, your moans a desperate mixture of his name and incoherent sounds. His name tumbled from your lips again, this time louder, as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and weak.

But Bakugou didn’t stop. He wasn’t done with you yet.

He kept going, pushing you through your orgasm with a brutal determination that had you gasping for air. His thrusts grew erratic, faster, harder, as his own release approached. His breath was ragged in your ear, and the sound of his skin slapping against yours filled the room.

With one final growl, he pulled you closer, his hand gripping your hips as he buried himself deep inside you, his release spilling over as he held you against him, each shuddering breath making it clear just how much he needed you—how much he’d been holding back.

For a long moment, you both stayed like that, tangled in each other’s arms, breathless and spent. He kissed your forehead softly, a rare moment of tenderness after the storm, but the fire in his eyes never fully faded.

“Next time,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ll be fuckin’ you in my bed not some flimsy office desk.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the muscles in his back as you both tried to catch your breath. This… this was just the beginning.

[milkcanslam]

No, she has something else...

Dont mind the big "Do work ! English" I have an english assignment due

When in doubt, draw that character with a ponytail