#emptying my drafts

[becertainlust]

Hello!!!

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

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

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

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

HEATED | Bakugo Katsuki

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

content: smut

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

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

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

The silence in your apartment felt heavier than usual.

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

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

Katsuki.

Of course it was him. It was always him.

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

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

You didn’t open the message.

Didn’t want to.

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

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

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

Your phone buzzed again.

Then—knocking.

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

Your heart stuttered.

You paused. Listened.

A voice followed—low, unsure.

“…You alright in there?”

Katsuki.

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

“…You in there?”

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

Another knock. Sharper. Frustrated.

“You’re never this quiet.”

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

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

“—I’m coming in,” he said.

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

The door creaked open.

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

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

Katsuki stilled.

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

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

You tried to lie. It caught in your throat.

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

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

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

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

“…You want me to go?”

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

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

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

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

His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched.

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

“You sure?” he asked, low and rough.

You nodded once. Then again. More desperately.

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

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

You nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

It hit different.

God, it always did.

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

You weren’t usually like this.

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

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

But this?

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

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

Still tried to play it cool.

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

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

Yeah, he was done for.

Completely fucking done for.

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groaned, hands tightening just slightly.

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

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

“Got it,” you whispered.

And then he stopped holding back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

You nodded, grinding into his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There?” he murmured.

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

Then he added a second finger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bakugo noticed. Of course he did.

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

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

And he gave it to you.

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

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

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

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

And then he moved.

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

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

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

Bakugo.

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

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

And then it happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But before he could move, you shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[guccivalentino]

[cologona]

Jason flirting.

“Homoerotic taunts aren’t going to psyche me out Hood, I am actually attracted to men.”

Jason looks at Tim carefully.

“Yeah. I know? And I’m attracted to you.”

Tim does a double take.

“That can’t- dude, we’re brothers!”

Jason tilts his head back and to the side slightly. The blank eyes of his helmet seem to squint in mirth.

“Oh? We’re brothers now?”

“Legally, yes. We have been.”

Jason leans down to meet Tim's eyes, casually angling his body to the side so he isn't just looming over the shorter man.

“Legally, I’m nobody. Your brother’s still in the dirt.”

Tim shoots him a dirty look. Jason holds his hands up in a defensive gesture, though his body language is still completely relaxed.

“No no actually this is great progress for us, Timmy! I never thought I’d see the day, but you’ve finally accepted me as part of the family. One of you! Goes to show I guess- when you wish upon a star.”

Tim groans.

“You know what I meant!”

“I don’t actually. If you’re not interested just say so.”

Jason is looking at Tim but Tim isn’t saying anything.

[shutupzo]

Carver is so me-coded

[purplespookybatx3]

why do people see lightbulb as being horrible at basic tasks. like just because she is chaotic and silly doesnt mean shes literally incapable of doing anything by herself? and being infantilised? like shes capable of complex thought and emotions even if shes a silly fellow + ive seen people be like "lol she'd burn down the kitchen if she baked" and like. did you not watch the episode where she wowed judges with the iconic Cookie Pizza

[ruesol]

Rich boyfriend Nanami learning about happiness in the mundane. He is so out of touch with reality, and he’s glad to have you in his life to teach him about it. In other words, you take Nanami to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

For a man who is extremely educated about finance and corporate politics, your boyfriend did not know anything about the real world.

You stared at him as he struggled to flip a pancake. He was insistent on making breakfast for you because he wanted to prove you wrong.

Nanami is the type of man who genuinely does not know how to do his taxes because he has a person hired to do that. He doesnt know how to do laundry because he has a team of housekeepers who baby him (out of kindness because he’s a great employer). He has no idea how to tip so when he’s told to give one, he’ll casually hand out fifty or hundred bucks like it’s nothing.

You’ve had to dig your nails into his arm to prevent him from doing the last one. There’s only so much money one can spend on a simple cup of coffee.

You sighed as you nudged the man to the side with your hips, and took the pan from him. “It’s simple, like this.” And you did a flawless flip, retaining the shape of the pancake.

“I could’ve done that easily.” Your boyfriend grumbled while staring at the pan- his mortal enemy for the past five minutes. “It’s alright, hon, why don’t you set the plates?”

You never realized it but Nanami was embarrassed that he didn’t know how to do simple things. At least not until you saw his red face and downturned eyes. The poor man had more than half the city in the palm of his hand but he still didn’t feel capable enough for you.

You put your hand on his as you placed a stack of pancakes on the counter. “How about we go on a special date?”

“Good, I’ve been meaning to take you flying in one of my newest planes. I found one with a cup holder that can fit your humongous thermos,” Nanami says nonchalantly, like spitting out hundreds and thousands of dollars for an airplane with insignificant amenities is the norm for him.

Which it is, but you just never got used to it, being from a humble background and all.

“No, I was thinking more…. local. I wanna take you to the restaurants I went to when I was in college,” you say as you pour him another cup of coffee (made with beans from an expensive supplier).

[cameronhcwes]

ER (1994-2009) 13.09 — Scoop and Run

[lyde-u]

. . .

. . .

[fallencl0udz]

Another XZero I did last year

[daniswoso]

Don’t Ever Say I didn’t Love You. Of Course I do.

Alessia Russo x Reader.

Warnings: Honestly idk what this is, more of a blurb or whatever you call them, emptying out my drafts bbs get ready 🙏🏼, arguments, swearing, poorly written ending, probably poor grammar.

Summary: Less doesn’t think you love her anymore.

*********

You and Alessia were in another one of your arguments.

It was the 4th one this week, you didn't know why at this point, you just knew your girlfriend was mad at you for something you hadn't even done. You think it has something to do with her makeup and you using the last bit of it or something like that.

"Alessia what has gotten into you?" You asked, your face crumbling slightly as tears well in your eyes. You didn't want to fight with your girlfriend, you loved her dearly and held her close to your heart. So why was it so difficult to get along with her without her blowing up recently?

You knew she had been stressed because of her recent move to Arsenal, but she had never taken her anger about football out on you before, just as you had never taken yours about football out on her.

"You don't love me anymore!" She shouts and for a moment, everything goes still. The clock stops ticking, the only sound in the room heard was your individual breaths. Heavy and laboured, as if you'd just ran 10 miles non stop each. Although, that's what fighting with each other usually felt like anyway.

"What? Less what are you on about?"

"You.. You don't love me anymore." Her voice is quiet, fearful.

"You're fucking delusional if you think that then." You scoff, and she rolls her eyes.

"Why do I even try, Y/N?"

"What makes you think I don't love you, Less?"

"You aren't spending time with me as much anymore!" She complains, and her face holds resemblance to that of a pouting toddler, you think.

"Lessi are you forgetting I have a full time very high stress job? The same job as you, might I add?” You glare at her, honestly offended she'd ever think you didn't love her anymore.

"No, no of course not, I just-" You cut her off with a scoff and disbelieving chuckle.

"Just what? Woke up last week and decided to make me feel like shit over every little fucking thing?!" You snap. You had reached your boiling point. Why was she not seeing that you loved her? Why couldn't she just see that if she had spoke about it with you it wouldn't be this way?

"I love you, Alessia. So don't you ever say I didn't love you, I still do. I always will, for fucks sakes!" You yell, completely flying off the rails.

She just looks at you, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Whatever. I'm gonna stay at Macca's." The blonde says, storming out of your shared apartment and heading to the Irish girl's.

You think about chasing after her but hear her  Mercedes pulling out of the driveway as you glare warily at your trainers. It would've been useless chasing her now.

You sigh and begin to tidy everything up, going getting into the spare bed, which you seemed to be spending a lot of time in lately, so that way if Alessia actually came back this time she'd be able to have space in a bed by herself.

****

Later that night, you briefly register a dip in the bed and your girlfriends warm body pressing against your own, muttering soft apologies into your hair which you just respond to with a grumble.

When you wake up that morning to the sight of the blonde's head on your chest and her smaller frame wrapped up in your arms, you feel a small flicker of hope that everything will be alright.

Because as long as you had your girl you felt like you could do anything.

**********

A/N: enjoy!

[heycupcake]

wish they had kept this scene, Five and Tegan fare so well in silliness

[bloodbatty]

(This poll was made because I realized in a recent conversation that I've never seen any of these-)

[crimsonrainwatersmycrops]

I don't understand elriels when they say that if Gwyn gets a book before Elain it would be a travesty. I've seen authors create ocs they ended up loving so much that they developed their story even before their personal fave of years. That doesn't mean that they're disrespecting their fave or loving them any less. And also you don't get to criticise an author for liking their characters and wanting to give them stories where they get the spotlight. Whoever between Elain and Gwyn gets their story first doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things because what matters is that they will finally get to be happy when it happens. Elain is getting a book either way, another character having theirs before her doesn't threaten her.

[cologona]

Love when fics have Jason just be a crime lord based in Crime Alley. He does crime stuff and controls his territory. He isn't a Bat but might help the Good Guys on rare occasion. The big fat angst between him and Bruce has cooled down into tense acceptance of a new status quo. Maybe he even gets to be funny and annoying at Tim or Dick. That's really the role it felt like Red Hood was meant to slide into, y'know?

[thlayli-ra]

Things I Always Forget About Drawing CM Punk (no matter how many times I draw CM Punk)

How pink he is - I swear the man is part Fairy Pokémon! Every time I take a mid-tone of his skin straight from the screen shot I go 'Jesus, he's so fucking pink' and usually end up desaturating it a bit.

Whether he tapes his thumbs - Answer; NO! NOOO! HE DOESN'T TAPE HIS GODDAMN THUMBS! STOP TRYING TO TAPE HIS THUMBS, THLAYLI, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!!!

His thumbs in general

How his nose is the bane of my existence - I'm like that artist who makes Flynn Ryder's wanted posters. I just... can never get it right! And it's so important to his face, it's so unfair! I hate it!!!

[aftg-and-random-things]

I kind of lost motivation to continue an Aaron pov of the thanksgiving arc, but I was kind proud of this one part though so figured I’d share

I didn’t mean to kill him, was what a future doctor should say next. It was an accident, Katelyn’s boyfriend should’ve said.

Yet Aaron couldn’t say those lies, not in front of Andrew.

It was for you, I would do it again.