xochiackiller

[xochiackiller]

The 6:01 Train | Kento Nanami

𖦹 PAIRING: Nanami x Fem!Reader | FLUFF

It wasn’t romantic. Not exactly.

But somehow, waiting at the station each evening became the best part of your day.

At precisely 6:01 p.m., the train from Tokyo’s business sector pulled in with a quiet rush of steel and breath. Commuters spilled out in waves—tired, glazed, half-wired on vending machine coffee and burnout.

And then came Nanami Kento.

Always in the same suit. Tie neat. Shoulders square. Eyes scanning the platform until they found you.

He never smiled too widely. But the shift in his posture was subtle and unmistakable. Like something heavy lifted when he saw you there—still waiting.

You didn’t talk much, at least not at first. Some evenings you’d walk home together in silence, coffee cups warm between your hands, shoulders brushing lightly with every step. Other times, he’d offer a quiet observation about his day—sharp, dry, softly bitter—and you’d listen.

It was a ritual built in small comforts: the second sugar cube he always dropped in your drink when you weren’t looking, the way he stood on the side closest to the tracks, or the familiar brush of his hand grazing yours when you paused at crosswalks.

Nanami wasn’t a man of grand gestures. But you felt his care in everything he didn’t say.

And then one Thursday—he didn’t come.

The train pulled in, 6:01 on the dot. You searched the crowd, heart pacing faster with every passing second. No blonde hair. No pressed coat. No warm gaze sweeping the station.

You waited.

6:05.

Maybe he was late.

6:10.

Maybe he took a different line.

6:17.

Maybe—maybe he wasn’t coming.

Your hands tightened around your coffee cup until it bent slightly. You stared down the tracks like they could give you answers. Your mind churned with thoughts you hated—missions gone wrong, curses stronger than expected, the kind of danger that didn't wait for a second coffee.

He was supposed to text. He always texted.

You took the next train home, staring at the empty seat beside you like it had betrayed you somehow.

That night, you left your hallway light on.

Just in case.

The next day, you didn’t go to the station. You couldn’t. Not again.

You were halfway through your own shift—filing reports with more force than necessary—when your phone buzzed.

[1 New Message – Nanami]

I’m sorry. It wasn’t safe to contact you until now. Are you free after work?

Your breath caught.

You didn’t respond right away—your hands were trembling—but eventually, you typed:

I’m always free at 6:01.

That evening, you stood at the station again.

The train was late.

The seconds dragged.

And then—

He appeared.

Not pristine this time. His shirt was untucked, his coat draped over one arm. A shallow cut marked the edge of his cheekbone. His hair was tousled, and his tie had a stain that looked suspiciously like blood.

But he was there.

He spotted you before you could say anything, his eyes drinking you in like he wasn’t sure you were real.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, stepping closer. “It wasn’t supposed to take this long.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I waited,” you said.

He exhaled. “I know. That’s what scared me.”

You stepped forward. He didn’t flinch when you touched his face, brushing your thumb over the cut. He leaned into your hand.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered.

“You won’t.”

There wasn’t a kiss. Not yet. Just his hand curling around yours, steady and firm, like the first train after a storm.

And this time, when you walked home together, he didn’t let go.

Author Note: : thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

Nanami Gets Sick | Kento Nanami

✮ PAIRING: Nanami x Fem!Reader | FLUFF ✮

To hear Nanami Kento tell it, he was never sick.

"Just tired," he insisted, brushing off your concern for the third time that morning.

You’d raised an eyebrow when he refused breakfast—especially considering he’d packed a full bento the night before. You noticed the way he leaned harder against the wall after standing, how he squinted more than usual at his phone screen, how his voice came rougher than usual.

Still, he showed up to work on time, pressed and punctual, suit only slightly askew.

Which was why, hours later, when you opened the door to his study and found him slumped over the desk, fast asleep amid half-signed paperwork, your heart sank.

You stepped in quietly.

The sight was… rare. Nanami didn’t do “slumped.” He didn’t do “unguarded.” But there he was—brow creased in sleep, mouth faintly parted, breathing uneven. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose.

You pressed a palm gently to his forehead.

Hot. Too hot.

You frowned and whispered, “Kento.”

He stirred, groaning softly. “M’fine… just need a moment.”

“Liar,” you said affectionately.

His eyes blinked open blearily. “You’re supposed to be at HQ.”

“Left early. Something told me someone wasn’t taking care of himself.”

He sighed and tried to sit up straighter. You pushed him back with a gentle hand.

“Don’t make me fight you,” you said. “You’ll lose. You’re weak right now.”

He gave you a dry look, then winced. “I’m not… weak.”

“Okay, tough guy. Let’s get you to bed before you collapse again.”

It took some coaxing—okay, dragging—but you finally got him out of the chair and onto the bed. He muttered about inconvenience and productivity the entire way until you tossed a blanket over him and shoved a thermometer in his mouth.

“38.8,” you read. “Kento, you’re burning up.”

“I’ve worked with worse.”

“And now you’re resting with me, which is better.”

He groaned again, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, mission failed. You worried me into cutting my meeting short, and now I’m here. Making soup.”

You turned to leave, but his fingers caught yours.

“…Thank you.”

You looked back, softening. “You're welcome. But if you try to stand before I come back, I’m tying you to the bed.”

“…Tempting.”

You blinked.

Nanami turned his head, already flushed, and murmured, “Ignore that.”

You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Sleep, Kento. I’ll be back with something warm.”

When you returned fifteen minutes later, he was half-asleep, hair a mess, one arm reaching for your side of the bed in his sleep.

And for once, you let him have it.

You curled in beside him, bowl of soup forgotten on the nightstand.

Because sometimes, the best medicine was just being held.

Even if he grumbled about germs the entire next morning.

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

Hello! >o<

I read your rules and I believe my request will abide by your rules!

I wanted to ask if you'd write a villain Katsuki x pro hero reader smut. Obvi a time skip-so maybe they're 24-25 y/o. Anyway, I'm not sure if you take prompts or just write it yourself but I'll provide a prompt anyway if you do use them. ⍢⃝

Prompt here!!: Reader is patrolling and runs across an "old friend" causing mischief throughout the city. Katsuki went to the 'dark side' after the paranormal liberation war. Reader finds themself in a sticky situation..

I wanted to ask if you'd do oral (fem receiving) and rough sex😁👍

Anyway, if you don't want to do it or you aren't feeling up to writing it, that's completely fine! Take your time and don't forget to stay healthy! ☆

a/n: ahh ily tysm! stay hydrated and healthy hun! I love love love ur prompt, so here you go bookie butt <3

Pairing: Villain!Katsuki(25) x Pro-Hero!Reader(24 | MDNI - 18+ | total wc: 794

You weren’t supposed to be patrolling this sector.

The rest of your team had rotated off hours ago, the city's smoky skyline blanketed by the last breath of twilight. You’d stayed behind—just in case. Old instincts. Stubborn heart. A hero to the end, even if the world barely knew what that meant anymore.

It was quiet… until it wasn’t.

A shockwave rattled through the buildings five blocks east. A plume of dust rose into the air like a firework with bad intentions. You didn’t hesitate.

Your boots hit pavement fast, slicing through alley shadows and cracked pavement. Your communicator crackled, but you ignored it. The moment you turned the corner, your stomach dropped.

Boom.

Smoke. Flames. Heat simmering in the cracks of the concrete.

And him.

He stood in the middle of the destruction like he’d been born from it. Katsuki Bakugo. Not the boy you once trained beside, but the man who now lived in headlines labeled "missing" or "turned rogue." His hair was longer, wild. Black tactical gear clung to his frame, half-unzipped at the throat, sleeves torn.

He turned slowly. Crimson eyes locked on you.

“Well, fuck,” he muttered. “Didn’t think they’d send you.”

“They didn’t,” you said, voice tight. “I volunteered.”

His smirk cracked like lightning. “Still the overachiever, huh?”

You stepped closer, your hand flexing near your thigh. "You're supposed to be underground. Off the grid. Not blowing holes in midtown."

“You always did like bossin’ me around,” he drawled.

“Katsuki—”

“You gonna stop me?”

The air sparked. Your heart beat faster—not with fear, but with memory. You’d seen him like this before. Back when you both bled for the same side.

“I should.”

“But you won’t.”

And maybe he was right. Because when he took a step toward you, you didn’t back down.

“You still wearin’ that hero name like it means somethin’?”

You glared. “And you’re still hiding behind fire.”

His grin sharpened.

You moved first. Quirk lighting in your fingertips.

He dodged, faster than you remembered, grabbing your wrist and pinning it over your head before you could even react. Your back slammed against the alley wall, breath knocked from your chest.

“I fuckin’ missed you,” he growled.

You should’ve pushed him away. Arrested him. Called for backup.

But his mouth was hot on yours before your logic caught up.

You moaned into him—sharp, unrestrained—and he groaned like he’d been starving. His hand slid beneath your top, dragging it up with desperate fingers until his palm met bare skin, warm and trembling. His fingers trailed downward, over your ribs, across your waist, and lower—between your legs, through the thin seam of your soaked underwear. When he felt the damp heat there, his breath hitched.

“You’re soaked,” he hissed.

“Rain,” you gasped.

“No,” he corrected, eyes blazing. “That’s you.”

He dropped to his knees.

There was no gentleness. Just hands tearing at your suit, exposing your thighs to the cold air and his burning breath. He licked you once—slow and deliberate—and your knees buckled.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Still taste so fuckin’ sweet… like I could live between your legs and never get tired of it.”

Your hands found his hair, tugging as his tongue flicked over your clit. He groaned and buried his face deeper, the bridge of his nose grinding against you as he worked your body with unholy skill.

“Still so loud,” he growled against your heat. “You always were my favorite sound.”

You came hard, breath breaking, hips jerking.

Before you could recover, he stood, mouth slick, eyes darker than smoke.

“I want you,” he growled. “Here. Now.”

Your back hit the wall again, your legs wrapped around his waist. He undid his belt with one hand, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself.

You were already dripping when he thrust in.

The stretch stung. The depth made you see stars.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it again,” he rasped, slamming into you. “Say my fuckin’ name.”

“Katsuki!”

His mouth was on your neck, biting, sucking, bruising. His pace was brutal—fast, relentless, wild. You clawed at his back, your body shivering with each snap of his hips.

“Still mine,” he grunted. “Even now.”

You came again, crying out, your walls clenching hard around him.

He cursed and spilled inside you, hips grinding deep.

He stayed like that for a moment—panting, forehead pressed to yours.

Neither of you spoke.

Eventually, he pulled out, adjusting his pants, eyes never leaving you.

You slid to your feet, shaking. He helped you balance without comment.

“What now?” you whispered.

Katsuki smirked. “Guess that depends. You gonna turn me in?”

You stared.

“No,” you said.

“Didn’t think so.”

He kissed you again—slow and possessive—then vanished into the smoke.

And you let him.

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy babes! request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

Infirmary Tension | Bakugo Katsuki

✮ PAIRING: Soft!Bakugo x Fem!Reader | One Shot | FLUFF ✮

The pain didn’t register until hours after the mission.

That was the thing about adrenaline—it made you think you were fine. Until the room tilted sideways and your knees buckled beneath you, and suddenly, everything hurt.

You woke up in the U.A. infirmary. Sterile light. Soft sheets. The faint scent of antiseptic.

And Bakugo.

Sitting in the chair beside your bed.

Arms crossed. Legs spread. Head tilted back against the wall with his eyes closed like he’d just forced himself to stay awake.

You blinked at him, dazed.

“…Bakugo?”

His eyes snapped open immediately. “You’re awake.”

You tried to push yourself up but winced at the pull in your side. Bandages wrapped tight across your ribs. You groaned.

“Don’t move, dumbass,” he muttered, already leaning forward. “You split your side open like a goddamn amateur.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Nice to see you too.”

He didn’t smile—but the edges of his scowl softened. Just a little.

Silence settled for a moment before he stood and reached for the wash basin beside the bed.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he grumbled. “I’m cleanin’ you up. They told me to make sure you didn’t rip your stitches again. Dumbass.”

He wrung out a cloth and sat back down, and suddenly the air felt heavier.

The first touch was tentative.

He brushed the cloth gently across your temple where dried blood had crusted along your hairline. His hands were warm, steady. Unusually careful for someone who normally threw punches and explosions without blinking.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t want to ruin it.

His hand drifted lower, wiping the smear of dirt from your cheekbone. He exhaled slowly.

“You scared the shit outta me,” he muttered.

Your eyes flicked to his. “I’m okay.”

“That’s not the point.”

He set the cloth aside and reached for your bandages. “I need to check these.”

You nodded, lifting your arm slightly. His fingers were slow, precise, unwrapping the gauze inch by inch. His brows furrowed at the healing wound along your ribs, already redressed by Recovery Girl but still raw.

“Fucking reckless,” he muttered under his breath. But his touch remained gentle.

His thumb grazed your side, right above the line of injury. You sucked in a breath.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whispered.

His eyes lifted to yours.

The room felt warmer. Smaller. He didn’t move.

“You gonna stop scaring me like that?” he asked quietly.

“Only if you stop pretending you don’t care.”

His jaw flexed. His hands stayed where they were—one hovering at your waist, the other resting on the bed.

“I do care,” he said, voice low. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Then show me.”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then he leaned in.

The kiss wasn’t explosive like you imagined. It was soft. Hesitant. Like he’d been holding it in for too long.

His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, and he kissed you again—deeper this time, with a low groan that vibrated in his chest.

You pulled back just enough to breathe. “You’re supposed to be taking care of me.”

“I fuckin’ am,” he murmured against your lips. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time since you’d been brought into the infirmary, you believed it.

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o stay healthy & request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

For my second request, can you write a oneshot featuring Rock Lock eith public nudity please? In the fic, he goes to a beach wearing only a speedo. But while swimming in the water, he ends up losing his speedo and he can't find his original clothes. So now he has to leave the beach and reach his motel room without anyone catching him naked.

A/N: Yes I can hun! This story leans into themes of public exposure, embarrassment, and high-stakes nudity-based chaos—all written in good fun with a cheeky edge. If that’s your thing, enjoy the ride! If not, feel free to skip this one.

minors, please do not interact.

As always, thank you for your support, comments, and creative prompts. I love making this space fun, weird, and a little unhinged with all of you ᥫ᭡⋆·˚ ༘ *

Exposed and On the Run | Ken Takagi

| MDNI - 18+ | total wc: 930

It was supposed to be a relaxing day off. Rock Lock—Ken Takagi—wasn’t usually the type to lounge around half-naked in the sun, but the beach motel came highly recommended. The water was clear, the sky blindingly blue, and for once, the noise in his head had quieted. Just him, a barely-there speedo, and the ocean to let his mind drift. 

Until the tide betrayed him. 

One moment he was diving under a wave, the next—his speedo was gone. Gone. No snap. No warning. Just a cold rush of saltwater—and sudden, horrifying freedom. The kind of freedom that felt exhilarating for half a second… and then completely, humiliatingly wrong. 

He glanced down—and froze. Gone. His speedo had vanished, leaving him stark naked.

Panic surged. On instinct, he dove beneath the surface, hoping to catch a glimpse of the flimsy fabric drifting below. Maybe it had sunk to the ocean floor, giving him an excuse to linger underwater a little longer. 

But there was nothing. 

Out of breath, he burst back up, coughing and sputtering, hands flying to cover himself. He spun in frantic circles, scanning the water’s surface for that goddamn strip of fabric. 

Still nothing. 

He had no choice. Accepting that it was gone, he’d have to rush to his bag to use the clothes he came in. But when he dashed up the beach—arms carefully positioned—his original clothes were missing. His towel, shirt, even his damn flip-flops. Someone must’ve grabbed them. Or worse: some cruel prank. His jaw clenched. 

“Shit,” he hissed, ducking behind a beach umbrella. 

A couple nearby noticed him. One woman elbowed her friend and whispered something, both of them giggling. 

His cock twitched. 

“Don’t you dare,” he muttered under his breath, pressing his thighs together. 

The heat of embarrassment washed over him—not just in his face, but deep in his gut. Arousal flickered, dark and unwelcome.

It happened sometimes. That ache. That flutter of heat when someone looked at him just a little too long. When he was exposed, vulnerable. He hated how much he didn’t hate it. He couldn’t stay forever and let his perversions fester. He turned his sight to the closest object he could use to escape with.

Laying in the sand, Ken grabbed a child’s inflatable pool float—a pink dolphin—and held it in front of his hips like a shield. Thankfully the toy was large in size which would cover most of his privates. It squeaked as he waddled across the sand. 

“Mmm, dolphin man,” someone chuckled behind him. 

His cock twitched harder against the see-through plastic. 

He bolted. 

Through the parking lot ignoring gasps and whispers from incoming families. Across the boardwalk where young adults stared at his butt for longer then he hoped. The sun was hot, the asphalt hotter on his barefeet, and every time he adjusted the float, the tip of his cock brushed its slick plastic surface. Each accidental graze shot sparks up his spine. 

He rounded the corner of a taco shack, spotted a half-folded newspaper on a bench, and swapped his dolphin shield for the paper. He didn’t even check the headline—just pressed it over himself and kept moving. 

Then he heard it—shouting. 

Down the street, two guys were yanking an elderly woman’s purse. Low-level thugs. One of them had a switchblade. Ken’shero instincts flared. 

“HEY!” he barked. 

They looked up. And laughed. 

“Yo, is that dude naked?” 

“Oh shit, he’s hard—!” 

His dick was tenting on the paper which was close to ripping. Ken’s face burned. 

“Give the purse back,” he growled, stepping forward. 

The wind ripped the paper from his hands.

He stood there, bare, cock half-hard and bobbing in full view. The muggers stared. 

He lunged. 

Or tried to. One guy swung, Kendodged—bare feet slapping pavement—and elbowed him in the ribs. But the second guy grabbed his arm. The movement jarred him, sent his cock bouncing. 

One of them snorted. “Dude’s fighting naked.” 

Kenjerked free, heart pounding. He was hard now. Fully. 

“Shitshitshit—”

He couldn’t stay here and be ridiculed. But he couldn’t leave the lady to have her bag stolen. He needed to end this quickly. 

Without thinking, Ken punched the first thug in the jaw to disorient him. Then he grabbed hold of the second from his collar and made him collide with his cohort. The two muggers crashed their heads into each other. While the two were together, Ken activated his Quirk to keep them immobile. 

He grabbed the purse that was on the floor and handed it to the woman who was still in shock over the events.

“Please ma’am, call the police to take care of them.”

He turned and ran. 

Down alleyways. Past food trucks. Past people pointing. Laughter echoed. His cock slapped against his thighs with every step. He ducked behind a dumpster, panting, sweating, shaking. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every whisper. Every stare. His pulse was electric. His cock throbbed. 

He found an alley behind his motel. 

He leaned against the brick wall. Chest heaving. Palm gripping his cock. 

“Fuck—” 

One stroke. Another. 

Quick. Desperate. Shameless. 

The moan he let out was low and broken. He came hard, hot and messy across his own abs, legs trembling. 

“Fuck… fuuuuck…”

The release was dizzying. 

He sagged against the wall, eyes fluttering. The he heard a camera click.. 

His head snapped up. A teen on a bike sped off around the corner,  laughing. 

“YOU LITTLE—” 

He groaned, grabbed a nearby trash lid, and covered himself again. Half-limp, half-horrified, but… weirdly satisfied. 

He’d never live this down. 

But damn, it had been worth it.

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

JUJUTSU KAISEN !

⋆˚࿔ LUST LOGS & SOFT SPOTS! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

˙⋆✶ Nanami Kento

nanami gets sick

the 6:01 train

˙⋆✶ Yuji Itadori

forgotten kiss

˙⋆✶ Megumi Fushiguro

the space between us

⋆˚࿔ ONE SHOTS ! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

don't have any yet, just keep waiting patiently love <3

[xochiackiller]

Rain Shelter | Joel Miller

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY:  Out on patrol, storm traps you both in a cabin. Dripping wet clothes, shared body heat, and Joel trying so hard to be a gentleman. Until you make the first move. “Jesus... you sure?” A smut with emotional tension and slow undressing by the fire. total wc: 1.1k

The rain started as a whisper, then turned into a roar.

What was supposed to be a quick perimeter check along the northern edge had turned into a soak-through-your-bones disaster. You’d barely made it to the abandoned cabin half a mile from the post. Joel had muttered something about a “shit forecast” and you’d laughed—until the thunder cracked loud enough to make your heart jump.

Now, the two of you stood dripping on the cabin’s creaky floorboards, your breath fogging in the chilly air.

Joel shut the door behind him and turned to look at you.

“You alright?”

You nodded, brushing wet hair from your eyes. “Cold. But alive.”

He scanned the room—a small fireplace, a stack of dry wood by some miracle, and one broken cot.

“Get that fire goin’. I’ll hang our shit to dry.”

You worked in silence. Fingers numb, you fumbled with the matches and coaxed a weak flame to life, feeding it kindling until the warmth slowly filled the air. Behind you, Joel peeled off his soaked jacket, hanging it near the hearth. Then his flannel. Then the shirt beneath.

You turned your head just slightly—just enough to catch the bare stretch of his chest, the way the firelight kissed the muscle and scars that mapped his body. He caught you looking. Said nothing.

You turned back to the fire.

Your own clothes were soaked through. Shivering, you peeled off your jacket and hoodie. Joel didn’t say anything as you stripped down to your undershirt and leggings, but his eyes didn’t leave you.

He dropped onto the rug near the fire, sitting cross-legged. “C’mere. You’ll warm up faster.”

You hesitated.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “Ain’t no point freezin’ to death just to be polite.”

You sat beside him. Close. Too close.

The heat from the fire helped, but it was his body beside you—solid, warm, safe—that made your pulse tick faster. Joel didn’t speak. Just rubbed his hands together and stared into the flames like they had answers he didn’t.

You watched the firelight dance across his jaw, the curve of his shoulder, the bare skin still glistening with rain. And something deep inside you tugged—something warm, aching, old.

“You’re tryin’ too hard to be a gentleman,” you said, voice low.

Joel stiffened. His eyes met yours.

“I ain’t tryin’—”

“You are. And it’s sweet. But… you don’t have to.”

He blinked, and something cracked in the air between you.

You shifted closer, knees touching, your fingers grazing his thigh.

“Jesus,” Joel whispered. “You sure?”

You nodded.

Then kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle. Not at first. It was cold mouths and hot breath, a clash of want and restraint. Joel cupped the back of your head, tongue sweeping deep, his body already trembling—not from cold, but from effort.

“I’ve wanted to,” he whispered against your lips, “so badly hun.”

“Then do it.”

His mouth met yours again, slower this time. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. Your soaked clothes clung to you like a second skin, but you didn’t care. You ground down against him, gasping at the friction.

Joel’s hands skimmed beneath your shirt, fingers splayed across your spine. “You’re still freezin’. Let me—”

He pulled the shirt over your head. His eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin, reverent, hungry.

“You’re beautiful.”

You smiled. “You’re sweet.”

“I’m serious.”

You leaned in, kissed his neck, nipped at the pulse point beneath his jaw. Joel groaned, hips bucking. You reached between you, palming the hard line of him through his pants. He caught your wrist.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Joel nodded and let you work his jeans down. His cock was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroked him once—slow, firm—and watched his jaw go slack.

“Goddamn,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You kissed his chest, slid your hand lower, teasing.

“Not yet.”

He laughed—then groaned when you sank down and took him into your mouth.

The rain battered the windows, but inside the cabin it was just heat, breath, and the wet sound of your mouth working him slowly. Joel’s hands tangled in your hair. He cursed under his breath, hips jerking.

“Fuck—fuck, baby, stop—I’ll come if you keep—”

You pulled back with a grin, wiping your mouth. “That’s the point.”

He dragged you up into his lap, kissing you hard.

“No,” he growled. “Not like that. You’re gettin’ more outta this.”

He laid you back on the rug, the fire crackling beside you.

“Take these off,” he said, tugging at your leggings.

You did, revealing bare skin slick with heat. Joel groaned.

“God, you’re soaked.”

You smirked. “It’s not the rain.”

His mouth crashed against yours again, and then he was sliding down, kissing your stomach, your hips, your thighs. He didn’t stop until his mouth found you.

You cried out as his tongue swept across your clit—slow, thorough, devastating.

Joel was patient. Focused. Like nothing else in the world mattered but you coming apart beneath him.

“Joel—please—”

“Say it.”

“I need you.”

He came up, kissed you deep, lined himself up.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He pushed in.

The stretch burned in the best way—filling, thick, perfect.

You clung to him, gasping, biting into his shoulder as he began to move. Each thrust slow, deliberate. Every drag of his cock lit you up from the inside.

“God, you feel good,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ good.”

Your nails scraped his back. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.

“Harder,” you begged.

Joel grunted and obeyed.

The rhythm built, sharp and fast, until you were gasping, crying out, the fire beside you flickering wildly with every rock of the floorboards.

Joel’s hand found your clit, rubbing fast.

“Come for me,” he groaned.

You shattered. Body shaking, clenching around him, your orgasm tearing through you like lightning.

Joel followed—hips snapping, breath breaking, spilling inside you with a growl of your name.

He stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. He kissed you slow—softer now.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You smiled, cupping his face. “You have me.”

He pulled out slowly, helping you clean up with a torn piece of old cloth he soaked near the fire. Then he lifted you gently, settling you against his chest with the blanket wrapped tight around both of you.

You lay there listening to the storm, your hand splayed across his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

“We’ll head back in the morning,” he murmured.

You kissed his collarbone.

“Take your time.”

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

For my first request, can you write a oneshot featuring Aizawa with mummification, chastity and gags please? In the fic, he goes to a love hotel for a bondage session. In it, hes stripped naked, has his mouth tape gagged and his cock in chastity. But he learns too late that it's an escape challenge and if he can't escape, he'll stay locked for a week. So now he has to try and escape while feeling orgasmic. What do you think?

A/N: Yes sir, I can—and I did! This was such a fun and unique request to bring to life. To the lovely person who sent it in, I hope it scratches the itch you were hoping for. And to all my readers: I hope you enjoy this one just as much.

HEADS-UP❗️: This story features themes of restraint, denial, and intense scenes of control and power exchange. Please make sure you're in the right headspace to engage with this type of content.

minors, please do not interact.

Thanks as always for reading and supporting my chaotic little corner of the internet ₊˚ෆ

Bound and Denied | Shouta Aizawa

| MDNI - 18+ | total wc: 1.2k+

The soft click of the door behind him was oddly final. Shouta Aizawa stood in the dimly lit room, the scent of sandalwood and leather wrapping around him like a second skin. A red envelope lay on the back-lacquered table in the center of the room, marked only with the initials he had scrawled himself when he booked the session two weeks ago: S.A. 

This wasn’t new to him—playing with restraint, with silence, with submission—but this was the first time he was giving himself over to someone else’s design. He’d selected everything beforehand: the materials, the limits, the challenge. Full mummification. Chastity. Mouth gag. One hour. No safeword. Just the lock. 

A camera blinked in the corner. They were watching. 

More specifically, you were watching. 

You stood behind the tinted glass in the control room, arms folded, sipping your coffee as the other hotel attendants lounged beside you, eyes glued to the monitors. Your job tonight was more than just supervision. You were the orchestrator of his descent into denial—the voice he’d hear, the pressure he’d feel, the one who’d decide just how long the tease would linger. 

And you intended to make it unforgettable. 

You watched as he opened the envelope.

Welcome to the Silk Binding Suite Mr. Aizawa.

Your session begins now. 

Objective: Escape within 60 minutes. 

Succeed: Earn another bondage session of your choosing.

Failure: Seven days in your chosen chastity device. 

Aizawa exhaled slowly. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing with practiced focus. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only calm acceptance of the challenge ahead. 

The assistant entered then—tall, masked, and deliberate. Wordlessly, Aizawa began to undress. Each article of clothing was removed with quiet precision, as if this too was part of the ritual. His toned body, sculpted from years of discipline, was revealed in layers. Dark hair framed skin already tinged with heat. His cock, semi-hard, gave a slight twitch—eager, restrained, aching for what was to come. 

Without a word, his clothes and belongings were placed neatly into a decorated bin. 

The gag came first. A thick strip of industrial-grade silver tape was pressed over his mouth and then wrapped securely around his head—tight, final, silencing. 

Next, the chastity cage. Cold. Gleaming. Unforgiving. 

He flinched slightly as the assistant guided his arousal into the confining metal. His body responded involuntarily—tensing, twitching—before a soft metallic click echoed in the room. Locked. 

Then came the bindings. 

Layer by layer: gauze, latex, leather. Each one wrapped expertly around him—arms pinned to his sides, legs fused together, chest compressed, thighs pressed firm. His tender feet were left bare, his hair untouched, cascading freely while the rest of him vanished beneath the silver cocoon. 

When the assistant stepped back, he looked less like a man and more like a masterpiece—helpless, bound, and breathtaking. 

Only his eyes remained visible, locked onto the glowing countdown clock. 

60:00. 

The assistant exited. And now, the real game began. 

You leaned into the microphone. 

“All set, Mr. Aizawa?”

A muffled grunt—“Mmmph!” 

“Remember what you signed up for. Escape, and you get the privilege of being restrained again.. Fail, and the little cage stays shut for seven days.” 

“Mmmnn—mmph!” he replied, struggling to nod, eyes flaring with arousal and anticipation. 

You grinned. 

“Let’s begin.” 

The lights dimmed. The matt beneath his feet glowed faintly,  slow and warm. 

The first few minutes passed in silence. Aizawa tested the bindings—rocking forward, leaning back, shifting side to side. All futile. You had made sure of that. 

He shifted his weight too far, misjudging his center of balance. Bound tight and unable to counter the momentum, he toppled backward—landing ass first onto the soft mat with a muted thud. 

A grunt escaped behind the gag. Embarrassed, perhaps—but still determined. 

Each squirm after that only made it worse. Every movement sent a jolt through his restrained body, his cock flexing helplessly inside its cage. Frustration mounted. 

“He’s already hard,” one of the younger attendants murmured. “This’ll be brutal.” 

You chuckled. “Exactly how he wants it.” 

You tapped a button. The mat vibrated beneath him—just enough to simulate simulation, to give him the illusion of pleasure. You saw him jolt, hips bucking reflexively. 

“Mmmmphhh…!” 

“Enjoying yourself, Shouta?” you said into the mic, tone dripping with amusement. “That vibration won’t get you off. But it’ll sure keep you close/” 

Another desperate moan—”Mmmghh!”—rumbled through the gag. His hips rocked harder, and you could hear the strained effort in each sound. Gagged as he was, he tried to speak, to beg, to curse you through that infernal layer of tape. 

You increased the pulse frequency. He arched, trembling now. Sweat trickled along his temples. He rolled, trying to grind against the mat, desperate for friction. But the cage was merciless. He could do nothing. 

“Look at him,” one of the women whispered, biting her lip. “He’s gorgeous like this.”

“To think that this was the underground hero who struck fear into the hearts of criminals.”

“Now a desperate mess of man.” 

“And we’re just getting started,” you muttered. 

45:00. 

He had no progress. His wrap was still pristine. But his body was soaked, chest rising and falling quickly, muscles trembling under the strain. You could almost hear his breath hitch each time the cage pulsed against his sensitivity. 

“Mmmnnff—!” 

You leaned into the mic again. “Getting needy, Aizawa? Imagine this, for seven days. Waking up hard. Going to sleep harder. Teased. Denied. Helpless.” 

His hips jerked. Another moan—”Nnnhh, mmphhh!” 

You pressed the secondary button. 

Tiny nozzles activated within the mat—spritzing a barely-there mist of synthetic pheromones, designed for sensory enhancement. His pupils dilated. 

He began to murmur through his gag. Then came the heavy breathing.

“That’s right,” you purred. “Don’t resist. This is all part of the challenge. Let the scent drive you deeper.” 

30:00. 

His body was convulsing lightly with each pulse of stimulation. His thighs flexed against the wrap, his hands twitching within their bonds. You knew that frustration was like fire under his skin. The denial wasn’t just physical now—it was mental. Emotional. 

“What would it take,” you whispered, just loud enough, “for you to beg?” 

“Mmmmph!” he shouted through the gag, the sound cracked and raw. His cock flexed wildly within the cage. He was so close—yet completely unable to do anything about it. 

20:00 

You watched him squirm, hopelessly. You saw the exact moment his resistance faltered—when he stopped fighting and just felt it. Every pulse. Every hum. Every forbidden urge. 

10:00. 

You knelt in front of the glass, eyes inches from the screen. 

“You did beautifully,” you said, low and sincere. “But not even close.” 

He moaned—long, slow, desperate. “Mmmmhhh…nnnphh…” 

00:00. 

The lights turned on. The door slid open with a hiss. Two assistants walked in, followed by you. 

He lay there, stil bound, still gagged, still hard. His body was trembling, slick with sweat. His cock was deep purple, caged and swollen. 

You crouched, brushing the hair from his forehead. 

“Seven days. No release. No mercy. We’ll check in. Maybe tease you more.” 

“Mmhph…” A somber moan leaked from his gag. But you had another surprise for him.

“One more thing I forgot to mention.”

He turned his eye, his head barely moving.

“When I said you’d be bound by the chastity device, I wasn’t referring to just the cage on your cock.”

His eye widened with the realization.

“No. I was referring to the bindings that keep you chaste.” He patted the tape on his chest.

“Mmmghh…!” he whimpered. 

You pressed a soft kiss to his temple, your gloved fingers trailing down the curve of his jaw. 

“You’re mine now, Aizawa.” 

You stood. The assistants began resetting the room. 

And you walked out, leaving him wrapped, aching, and completely, blissfully denied. 

Exactly how he begged to be. 

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

Jealousy’s a Bitch | Joel Miller

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: Jackson bar, Tommy’s been introducing you to new patrol recruits. Joel watches a little too long before dragging you home, voice low, eyes dark. “You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare. total wc: 963

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?”Leads to possessive, rough sex with soft aftercare.

The bar was buzzing, warm with the hum of voices, laughter, and the clink of glass against wood. Jackson always felt alive this time of night—like the walls of survival could ease for just a few hours while the town exhaled.

You were leaning on the bar counter, half-laughing at some dry joke one of the new patrol recruits had made. Tommy had dragged you over a few minutes ago, introducing you to a few fresh faces joining the evening rounds. They seemed nice—young, eager, trying hard to impress, though one of them tried a little too hard.

You didn’t notice how close he’d gotten until he complimented your aim and reached to brush your forearm.

“Gotta say,” he said, lips curling, “you sure know how to handle a rifle. Bet you’re good with other things too.”

Your eyes narrowed—not offended, but unimpressed. You chuckled dryly and stepped back, letting the distance speak for itself.

But someone else noticed.

Across the bar, Joel sat hunched over a half-empty glass, one hand gripping the edge, knuckles white. He wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t talking. He was watching.

Watching you.

And when the recruit leaned in again, his expression darkened.

He stood.

The sound of his boots striking the floor was a thunderclap in your spine. You turned just as he reached you, hand slipping low to the small of your back.

“Say goodnight,” Joel said, voice like a growl pressed through grit.

You blinked. The recruit took a step back. Tommy raised a brow.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

Joel didn’t answer.

He just led you out the door, his grip firm but not harsh. You didn’t resist—not with the way his jaw was locked, not with the fire behind his eyes. Your heart pounded as he led you down the back path toward your shared home, the quiet between you sharp with tension.

You stepped inside the cabin. He kicked the door shut behind you.

“Joel—”

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” he snapped, voice low and trembling with restraint.

You tilted your head. “Joel, he was just being—”

“Don’t.”

He stepped forward, backing you into the wall. His eyes burned. “You think I didn’t catch how he touched your arm? How he kept lookin’ down at your mouth like he was thinkin’ about kissin’ you?”

You swallowed hard. The tension in the air wrapped tight around your throat, hot and thrilling.

“He was nothing,” you said. “Just a boy playing soldier.”

Joel leaned in, breath fanning over your jaw. “Didn’t look like nothing. Looked like someone who wanted what’s mine.”

You smirked. “You jealous, Miller?”

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Good.”

Then he kissed you—hard. His mouth was all heat and possession, his body pressing you back until your spine hit the wall. His hands roamed down your hips, gripping tight, fingers digging through your clothes like he wanted to brand you.

“I’m gonna remind you,” he growled against your mouth, “what happens when someone else looks at you like that.”

You gasped when he spun you around, walking you backward toward the bedroom. You tripped over your own feet laughing breathlessly, but Joel didn’t let you fall—just shoved you gently to the mattress.

He was on you a second later. His hands tore at your jeans, tugging them down, lips dragging fire up your thighs. His breath was ragged.

“Joel—”

He yanked off your underwear, flinging them somewhere behind him. Then he licked a slow stripe up your center.

Your moan punched the air.

“Still think he could’ve made you feel like this?” Joel murmured between kisses.

“No,” you gasped.

He groaned and dove back in. Tongue relentless. Fingers digging into your thighs to hold you open while he worked you over, wet and messy. His nose brushed your clit just right, and your legs trembled.

“Joel—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he growled. “Come for me. Show me who makes you fall apart.”

Your back arched as you shattered on his tongue.

He didn’t wait. Didn’t stop.

He climbed up your body, lips slick, eyes blazing. He undid his jeans with one hand, letting them drop enough to free himself. His cock was hard, flushed, heavy.

“Turn over.”

You obeyed instantly, face down, hips up.

Joel lined himself up, teasing your entrance with the blunt head of his cock.

Then he pushed in.

The stretch was fast, unforgiving. You cried out as he filled you in one deep, brutal thrust.

“Mine,” he hissed. “You hear me?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

He started to move—rough, deep, no patience. His hips slapped into yours with force, hand gripping your waist so hard it bruised.

Every thrust punched a moan from your lips. You felt used, worshiped, owned.

“Say it,” he panted, fucking into you so hard the bedframe creaked.

“I’m yours, Joel—I’m yours, I’m yours—”

His hand came down on your ass, a sharp smack that made you cry out and clench around him.

“You’re goddamn right you are.”

He reached around, found your clit, and rubbed fast and rough.

You came with a scream, body seizing, vision white.

Joel wasn’t far behind.

He groaned, slammed into you one final time, and came with a strangled moan, spilling deep inside.

You collapsed together, panting.

Minutes passed.

Then Joel pulled out slowly, murmuring a soft “Shh, I got you.”

He cleaned you up with a warm cloth, pressed kisses to the curve of your spine. His voice, when it came again, was quiet. Raw.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

He lay beside you, pulling you close.

“I just... hate when other people see what’s mine.”

You kissed his jaw. “I’ve always been yours.”

He smiled, finally. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t share.”

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

★ MASTERLIST !! ★

⋆˚꩜｡ — BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA !

⋆˚꩜｡ — THE LAST OF US !

⋆˚꩜｡ — JUJUTSU KAISEN !

[xochiackiller]

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA !

⋆˚࿔ LUST LOGS & SOFT SPOTS ! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

˙⋆✶ KATSUKI BAKUGO

static & smoke

static & smoke—BONUS

red line

villain kats

˙⋆✶ SHOUTA AIZAWA

bound & denied

˙⋆✶ ROCK LOCK

exposed and on the run

⋆˚࿔ ONE SHOTS ! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

close enough to burn ft. BAKUGO — A sparring match turns heated when stubborn pride gives way to something neither of you can ignore. One hit, one kiss, and one hell of a challenge.

infirmary tension ft. BAKUGO — After a mission injury, Bakugo stays to care for you. Bandage checks turn tender, and unspoken feelings finally come to light.

[xochiackiller]

THE LAST OF US !

⋆˚࿔ LUST LOGS & SOFT SPOTS! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

˙⋆✶ daddy Joel Miller

don't wake ellie

work-hardened hands

jealousy's a bitch

rain shelter

⋆˚࿔ ONE SHOTS ! 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

don't have any yet, just keep waiting patiently love <3

[xochiackiller]

Work-Hardened Hands | Joel Miller

| MDNI - 18+ | SUMMARY: After a long, labor-heavy day in Jackson, Joel returns home aching and exhausted. You offer to massage his sore shoulders, knowing exactly what he needs. But when the tension melts and slow touches grow hungrier, Joel makes good on a promise: “You start touchin’ me like that again and I ain’t gonna stop.” total wc: 1.6K+

The sun was just starting to dip behind the mountains when you heard the front door creak open.

You didn’t look up right away—just stirred the beans in the cast-iron pan, letting the warmth from the wood stove seep into your spine. The cabin smelled like cedar, earth, and that old tobacco Joel never smoked around you, but always carried in the lining of his jacket.

Heavy boots hit the floorboards behind you.

“Hey,” you said softly.

There was a long sigh before he answered. “Hey.”

You turned then. Joel looked wrecked.

Hair matted with sweat, shirt clinging to his chest, dirt streaked across his jawline. The sleeves were pushed up on his flannel, revealing forearms corded with effort, veins raised from hours of swinging a hammer or hauling something heavier than he should’ve. His hands flexed at his sides like they ached.

“Jesus, Joel…”

He shrugged off the compliment—or maybe it was concern—and dropped onto the couch like his knees had given out. “Shitty lock on the east fence broke again. Took me and Tommy damn near all day to fix it.”

You moved toward him slowly, wiping your hands on the towel at your hip.

He tipped his head back to look at you. The way his eyes softened then—how he always looked like he saw you, not just the day—sent a slow warmth curling through your stomach.

You stopped in front of him and brushed a thumb over the sweat-darkened spot on his collarbone.

“You want a massage?”

Joel blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Your shoulders. Your back. You’re wound up like a bowstring.”

He opened his mouth—maybe to argue—but then his eyes dropped, and his jaw worked like he was chewing on something he didn’t want to spit out.

“…Please.”

You nodded and moved behind the couch.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, letting you settle in behind him. You knelt on the cushions, legs tucked under you, and rested your hands on his shoulders. The heat of him pulsed through your palms. Thick muscle, tense and unforgiving, lay beneath your fingertips.

You started slow. Kneading the base of his neck, dragging your thumbs down between his shoulder blades.

Joel exhaled hard, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You’re good at that.”

“Had practice,” you teased, leaning in closer.

He hummed, low and rough. Your fingers moved lower, kneading the ridge of muscle along his spine. The worn flannel softened under your touch, but you could feel the solid heat of him underneath.

“Fuckin’ back feels like a load of bricks.”

“I can feel that.”

Your hands glided upward again, thumbs pressing deep circles into his shoulders. He let out a sound—half sigh, half groan—that made something pull tight between your legs.

You leaned down a little more, chest brushing his back.

“Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If I keep touching you like this…” you whispered, voice low and warm, “are you gonna fall asleep, or are you gonna do something about it?”

Joel stiffened under your hands. Then slowly, he turned to look over his shoulder. One brow raised. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You start touchin’ me like that again,” he rasped, voice dark and thick, “and I ain’t gonna stop.”

You met his eyes—slow burn behind his pupils, the kind of promise that always made you wet—and let your hands drift lower. Not just kneading now. Teasing.

Joel sat up fully and turned, his knees bracketing yours, one big hand resting on your thigh.

“Come here,” he said softly.

It wasn’t a request.

You shifted into his lap easily, straddling him on the couch. His hands settled on your hips—rough, warm, grounding. You felt the scrape of his callouses through your thin cotton sleep shorts.

You’d done this before. Many times. But something about the quiet after the long day, the way he was looking at you now—worn down but hungry—made it different.

Joel’s hands moved slowly, fingers sliding beneath your top, palms grazing your spine. His mouth found your collarbone. He kissed a slow trail toward your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you whispered.

His voice rumbled against your skin. “Not gonna need much if you keep grindin’ on me like that.”

You laughed breathlessly and kissed him, deep and familiar. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel him, hard against your core.

He pulled away, forehead pressed to yours.

“Get these off,” he muttered, tugging at your shirt.

You nodded and peeled it off. Joel’s eyes dropped, mouth parting slightly as he took you in. No rush. Just him looking—like you were something worth worshipping.

He ran a hand over your ribs, your waist, cupping one breast gently before dragging his thumb across your nipple. You gasped.

“Lie back,” he said.

“What—here?”

He nodded. “Couch’s seen worse.”

You grinned and leaned back as Joel followed, one hand bracing beside your head, the other trailing down your stomach.

He kissed you again—slower now, deeper—like he had nowhere else to be. And as his hand slid between your legs, you sighed into his mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You arched into his touch.

“I already am.”

Joel’s fingers curled beneath the hem of your shorts, dragging them down your legs with a practiced slowness that had your breath catching in your throat. He kissed a trail from your navel downward, his stubble rough against your skin, the heat of his breath teasing just where you wanted him most.

He paused, looking up from between your thighs with that quiet, unreadable expression he wore before doing something that would ruin you.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day,” he murmured. “Every time I bent down, or felt my shoulders crack, I thought about comin’ home to this.”

Then he lowered his mouth.

His tongue flicked slow at first—just enough to tease, to test. You squirmed under his grip, moaning softly. Joel’s hands pressed your thighs open wider, and he buried his mouth deeper.

Each stroke of his tongue was methodical. Patient. Worshipful.

“Joel—”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. The only thing you could do was curl your fingers in his hair and hold on as he worked you open with lips and tongue, coaxing you closer to the edge.

He groaned against you when your hips bucked, like he liked how desperate you were. Like he needed this just as much.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he muttered between licks, voice gravel and honey.

Your back arched as the pressure coiled, tight and blinding, and then it snapped—your cry breaking free as Joel held you down and helped you ride it out.

He didn’t stop right away. Didn’t pull away until you were shaking.

When he finally did, his lips were slick, his eyes dark, and the bulge in his jeans looked painful.

You barely caught your breath before he leaned over you, kissing your neck, your jaw, your mouth.

“I told you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, “you touch me like that, and I ain’t gonna stop.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer. He kissed you hard and pushed his jeans down with one hand, just enough to free himself. You helped, fumbling slightly as your hands brushed his hips.

He hissed when your fingers wrapped around him, and you felt just how much he’d been holding back.

Joel lined himself up, his hand on your thigh, steadying himself.

“Look at me,” he murmured.

You did. And he sank in slow.

The stretch stole your breath. The weight of him, the heat—familiar but always overwhelming. His jaw clenched as he bottomed out, staying still, forehead still pressed to yours.

“Goddamn,” he whispered. “You feel like heaven.”

You clenched around him. His breath stuttered.

Then he moved.

Slow at first. Dragging out, then thrusting back in deep, grinding. Every stroke built the tension back, until you were gasping under him, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

Joel’s hand slid between you, his thumb finding your clit, circling with perfect pressure.

“Come for me again,” he growled, his voice rough and low like it had been dragged through gravel.

He rolled his hips with more intent now—no longer slow and reverent, but deeper, hungrier. His thrusts built to a rhythm that made your breath hitch with every grind, every sharp snap of his hips. Sweat slicked your skin, the soft creak of the couch beneath you matching the sounds of skin on skin, of breathless gasps and bitten-off moans.

Your legs trembled as he moved faster, his hand tightening at your hip, the other never leaving your clit. The friction was maddening—his thumb circling you just right, his cock stretching and filling you until the pressure inside you crested sharp and bright.

“Joel—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he panted, his forehead pressed to yours. “You can take it. Just a little more. I got you.”

You cried out again, the orgasm crashing through you like a wave ripping your lungs inside out. Your hips jerked, your body seized, and you shattered under him, clenching so tightly around him that he groaned deep and guttural.

“Fuck, that’s it—that’s it, baby,” he hissed, voice ragged, and then he was coming too. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, his hand bracing beside your head as he buried himself to the hilt.

Joel cursed, voice breaking, and came with a shudder that rocked his whole frame. He stayed buried deep, panting into the crook of your neck as the tremors rolled through both of you.

It wasn’t just sex anymore. It never had been. And now, it couldn’t be anything less.

He stayed there, panting above you, then kissed you—soft, almost tender.

“Still think you’re just here to rub my back?” he teased.

You laughed, breathless, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Let’s call it… mutual relief.”

Joel groaned and buried his face in your neck.

“I’ll build and fix fences every damn day if this is what’s waitin’ for me after.”

Author Note: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open <3

[xochiackiller]

Bonus Scene - Static and Smoke | BK

here is the bonus scene to Static and Smoke | Bakugo Katsuki (minors CAN interact)

You walked into HQ the next afternoon with your arm still bandaged and a lopsided grin from caffeine and endorphins. Bakugo was already inside, arms crossed, leaned against a wall near the mission board.

"Heyyy, hospital girl!" Kirishima called out from the side of the room with a teasing smile. "What'd we tell you about picking fights with dudes twice your size?"

"She picked a fight with death," Sero added, laughing. "And still didn't get a thank-you kiss from Dynamite, huh?"

You flushed. "Shut up—"

Bakugo's voice cracked like thunder. "What the fuck did you just say?"

The room went quiet.

Bakugo pushed off the wall and stalked over, heat in his eyes—not the explosive kind, but protective. Possessive. "She almost died. Don't act like it's a fuckin' joke."

The others blinked.

"We didn't mean—"

"You don't joke about that," he snapped, stepping in front of you. "Got it?"

Kirishima held up his hands. "Yeah. Loud and clear, bro."

Bakugo didn't move until they dispersed.

You reached for his arm. "Katsuki—"

He turned, looking at you with tight brows. "I know they were jokin'. But I'm not ever gonna be chill about what happened."

You stood on your toes and kissed his cheek. "Then don't be chill. Just be mine."

He swallowed hard. "I already am."

a/n: thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open

[xochiackiller]

I'm in a Joel mood lately guys. I just yearn to write about that fine ass man! so that's what y'all are getting. more bakugo stuff will come soon <3

[xochiackiller]

Close Enough to Burn | Bakugo Katsuki

pairing: Bakugo x Fem!Reader-One Shot! word count: 453 minor CAN interact!

The training room echoed with grunts, fists, and impact.

You’d been sparring for nearly twenty minutes, drenched in sweat and pride, refusing to be the one who tapped out. And of course, the idiot across from you had the same idea.

“Katsuki, give it up,” you snapped between breaths, blocking another one of his blows with your forearm. “You’re slowing down.”

“Tch—like hell I am.” His voice was gravel, low and feral. “You’re the one gasping like a goddamn fish.”

You ducked, swept his leg—but he jumped. Countered. His hand grazed your ribs.

Shit.

You pivoted and sent a charged punch toward his side. He caught your wrist.

“You're sloppy,” he growled, yanking you forward.

Your body collided with his, and for a second, everything halted.

You were chest-to-chest, breath-to-breath. Your arm was pinned behind you, his hand braced on your lower back. Your pulse spiked. Not from the fight—but from the heat rolling off him. From the way his lips hovered just inches from yours.

“You done showboating?” he muttered.

You scoffed, trying not to look at his mouth. “You wish.”

Then you surged forward—using your knee to break the hold and twist your way out. His grip slipped. You spun him and slammed him down onto the mat with a thud, straddling his waist, pinning his wrists above his head.

Victory. But it didn’t feel like one.

Because now you were the one on top, caged by your own stubborn will—and those fucking eyes. Crimson. Dilated. Fixed on you like you were both the problem and the solution.

His chest rose sharply beneath yours.

You should’ve said something. Should’ve gloated. But your words caught behind your tongue.

“You gonna finish this or just sit there lookin’ at me like that?” he rasped, voice rougher now.

You swallowed hard. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at your lips. Then your eyes. Then your lips again.

Your breath hitched. Every inch of your body burned. Neither of you moved.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His brows twitched. “Say what?”

“That you’ve wanted to do this for weeks.”

You felt his hands twitch in your grasp.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

And then he surged up, just enough to meet you halfway.

Your lips crashed into his like lightning—sudden, sparking, fierce. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. It was months of banter, bruises, and biting tension combusting in a single moment.

He kissed you like a challenge. You kissed back like a dare.

When you finally pulled away—breathless, dizzy, eyes still locked—he smirked.

“Round two?” he asked.

You leaned in, lips brushing his again.

“Winner gets top,” you whispered.

“Baby, I am the top.”

You shoved him back down with a grin. “We’ll see about that.”

Author Note:  thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open

[xochiackiller]

Red Line | Bakugo Katsuki

pairing: Bakugo x Fem!Reader summary: When you're forced to share a room with Bakugo during a high-stakes mission, it becomes a standoff—who will break first? What he doesn't tell you is that he's been fantasizing about this moment for far too long. And he plays dirty. (Minors Do Not Interact) tags: forced proximity, slow burn tension, "who breaks first," dom!Bakugo, soft domination, edging, overstimulation, praise/degradation mix, sick fantasies, unspoken mutual pining, soft aftercare word count: 2,138

The room was smaller than you'd hoped. One bed. No couch. Not even a sad little cot. Just one queen-sized mattress shoved up against the wall of a too-cold hotel room on the outskirts of a city still trembling from villain activity.

And Bakugo Katsuki.

You exhaled through your nose. "Guess we’re roommates."

He dropped his duffel onto the floor with a thud, eyes sweeping the room. "Tch. Fuckin' budget missions."

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t have a smart remark, but because you knew what this was going to turn into. It always did with him. Ever since the start of your pro hero careers, your dynamic had been like flint and steel—every interaction sparking into something hot and frustrating. Every mission ended with you both too close, too tense, too aware.

But this—sharing a room, sharing a bed—this was a different battlefield.

You pulled your hoodie over your head and folded it at the edge of the bed. "You take the floor."

He scoffed. "Like hell I am."

Your eyes narrowed. "I’m not sleeping next to you."

"Didn’t ask you to sleep next with me. Just next to me. There’s a fuckin’ difference."

The tension settled like fog. Neither of you moved. You could feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye as he rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and tugged his shirt off.

That was the first problem.

He looked too good. He always had. But lately—especially lately—he’d started bleeding into your thoughts more than he should. During missions, training, even your dreams. And now here he was, shirtless and unapologetically carved from hellfire, like temptation in human form.

"You good?" he muttered, noticing your pause.

You blinked. "Fine."

His smirk was barely-there, but you saw it. He knew.

He knew.

The game began in silence. Neither of you acknowledged it out loud, but it was there: Who would break first?

He didn’t sleep with a shirt. You didn’t turn the lights off. He changed in front of you. You dragged your fingers slowly through your damp hair after the shower, letting water trail down your chest.

He laid on the bed with one arm behind his head, not touching you but close enough. Your shoulder nearly grazed his. You refused to flinch.

But the worst part? The heat under the surface. You felt him watching you—his gaze dragging down your spine like a hand.

Outside the window, wind rustled through brittle branches. A distant siren echoed from the city’s edge, muffled by concrete and heavy drapes. But in this room, time moved differently—slower, stretched like a held breath.

“You think this is a good idea?” you asked finally, eyes on the ceiling.

“Which part?” he asked, voice low.

“This.”

He turned his head slightly. “You mean sharing a bed or pretending you don’t want me?”

Your breath caught.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look cocky. Just said it like it was fact. Like he’d been biding his time. Watching you squirm.

“You don’t know what I want,” you said, throat tight.

He shifted then—turning onto his side to face you. The room suddenly felt ten degrees hotter.

“I know you grind your teeth when you’re holding back,” he murmured. “You do it every time we train. Every time I get too close.”

You clenched your jaw instinctively.

He chuckled darkly. “Like that.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You think I haven’t noticed how you breathe when I touch you?”

His voice was low, intimate. Dangerous.

“Every fuckin’ time. You hold it like you're trying not to fall apart.”

You turned your head, finally meeting his eyes. Crimson, intense, hungry—but restrained. Barely.

“You’ve got some sick fantasy, don’t you?” you whispered. “You like the idea of breaking me.”

His tongue flicked across his teeth. “I think about it all the time.”

The air thickened. You couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

“I think about what you sound like when you finally let go,” he continued, voice like molasses. “What your body would do if I just kept going. Slow. Relentless. Until you’re begging.”

You swallowed. “What makes you think I’d beg?”

“Because you want to.”

His hand moved then, brushing over your waist—just his knuckles. Light. Testing. And you didn’t stop him.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers warm against your stomach. The sensation made you inhale sharply. His touch was rough from years of battle but careful—slow, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. His fingertips moved gently, brushing along the sensitive dip above your navel. You could feel the callouses drag—each one a ghost of the wars he’d survived.

He watched your face the whole time.

“I’ll stop,” he said again, voice gentle. “If you tell me to.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because you were already too far gone.

You turned fully to him, pressed your forehead to his, eyes fluttering closed. “Then stop talking.”

He growled low in his throat—like something primal had been unlocked—and kissed you like he was starving.

His lips were fire. Heated, desperate, but not careless. They moved with intention, like he’d imagined this too many times to mess it up now. You opened to him slowly, breath catching as his hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you deeper.

His breath was hot against your cheek as he broke away to breathe. “You drive me insane,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. "Always acting like you don't feel this."

“I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.”

“You are my satisfaction.”

His hands roamed—under your shirt, up your back, thumbs tracing your spine with maddening patience. When his mouth found your neck, you felt it like lightning. Heat pooled low in your stomach as he dragged his tongue across your pulse point, then gently sucked. His breath was humid against your skin. You whimpered.

The sound made him growl.

“Say my name,” he breathed.

“Katsuki.”

He nearly shuddered. "Again."

“Katsuki.”

His mouth returned to yours, more demanding this time. His thigh slipped between yours, pressing up slightly. You gasped at the pressure. His lips curved against yours.

Outside, the wind howled. But inside—it was all heat.

He rolled you onto your back slowly, reverently. One hand beside your head. One tracing your ribs. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered. “How long I’ve dreamed about the way you’d sound. The way you’d feel.”

You reached up, fingers slipping into his hair. “Then stop dreaming.”

And he did.

His mouth met your skin like it had a purpose—lips dragging down your throat to your collarbone, warm and open, followed by the scrape of his teeth. Your back arched into him before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just the contact—it was the heat behind it. Intentional. Heavy.

He pushed your shirt higher, pausing when your chest was bare to him. His gaze flicked up to your eyes as he ran his hand across your ribs, brushing the edge of your bra.

“Off,” he said, voice like gravel.

You reached behind you with shaky fingers, unhooking it slowly. His eyes never left yours. When the strap slipped free and the fabric peeled away, his breath hitched.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re unreal.”

He dipped his head, taking your nipple into his mouth, warm and slow. The wet heat of his tongue circled lazily before he sucked gently, just once. It was enough to make your hips twitch. His hand covered the other breast, thumb flicking across your skin, teasing. Worshipping.

You felt every nerve ending light up. His body moved lower, dragging his lips and tongue down your stomach, hands gripping your thighs like he’d lose control if he didn’t anchor himself. Each breath against your skin made you shiver.

And then—

Bzzt bzzt.

The sound of your shared comm buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

Neither of you moved.

Bzzt bzzt.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Bakugo growled against your hip. “Ignore it.”

“But—”

He reached out blindly and flipped the device onto the floor. “If it’s urgent, they’ll send backup. Not fuckin’ dying in the next ten minutes.”

And then he pulled your shorts down, dragging them past your thighs with torturous slowness.

“You ever think about this?” he asked. “About me?”

You nodded. “All the time.”

That answer lit something in him.

His mouth met the inside of your thigh, then the other, kisses molten and patient. His breath ghosted over your core—then his tongue flicked out.

You gasped—sharp and high. His hands locked around your thighs, spreading them wider as his mouth pressed fully against you. Tongue firm and slow, circling your clit before dipping lower, then back. Over and over.

Your hips rolled instinctively. He groaned against you like your reaction turned him on more than anything. Every flick, every press was controlled, relentless. You were falling apart. One hand gripped the sheets, the other twisted in his hair.

“Katsuki—”

He looked up, mouth slick, eyes dark. “Not yet. I’m not lettin’ you come until you beg.”

Your stomach clenched. “I can’t—”

“You can. And you will.”

Then he went back in. This time faster, fingers sliding inside you—two, perfect stretch, curling until you moaned so loudly you barely noticed the second call coming through.

Bzzt bzzt.

Bakugo didn’t even flinch.

You were close. Too close. Your thighs trembled. Breath hitched. His name left your lips in broken syllables.

“Please,” you gasped. “Katsuki—please—I need it.”

That’s all he needed.

He sucked hard on your clit, fingers working deeper, faster. The orgasm crashed into you like a wave. Your back arched, thighs shaking as you came on his tongue with a loud cry. He kept going—drawing it out, dragging you through every pulse.

Only when your body went limp did he lift his head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes met yours.

“Good girl,” he said softly.

He kissed you again, slow and messy, letting you taste yourself on his lips. Then he whispered against your mouth:

“Now I’m gonna fuck you like I’ve wanted to since day one.”

He didn’t give you time to recover. His hands moved with precision—pulling his boxers down just enough to free himself, his cock already hard, flushed, leaking. You stared, breath caught in your throat, until his fingers curled under your knee, lifting your leg to open you further.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

You did.

He lined himself up and pushed in—slow, steady, stretching you inch by inch. Your nails dug into his arms, back arching with the pressure. The heat of him, the weight, the way he filled you—it made your head spin.

He groaned low. “Fuck… you feel—better than I imagined.”

You gasped, clutching at him as he bottomed out. His breath stuttered above you, forehead pressing against yours. The weight of him, the tension in his muscles—he was holding back.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, barely able to say his name.

“I got you,” he murmured, pulling out slow, then thrusting in again—just once. Deep. Measured. You cried out, body jolting against the mattress.

Outside, another buzz echoed from the comm, sharp and insistent.

Bzzt bzzt.

“Let it ring,” he growled.

And then he started to move.

Rhythmic. Controlled. Each thrust dragged along every sensitive nerve, every edge inside you. His hips met yours with force but never lost their cadence. You moaned—high and helpless—clutching at his shoulders.

His hands held your thighs, thumbs digging in, angling you just right so every stroke hit that devastating spot deep inside. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The only thing that existed was him. The way he moved. The way he filled you. The way he groaned your name through clenched teeth.

“You feel me?” he panted.

“Yes—yes, Katsuki—”

He cursed and kissed you—sloppy, desperate, swallowing your moans. One hand slipped between you, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

You shattered.

Your second orgasm crashed into you harder than the first. Your vision blurred, back bowing off the bed. He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, letting you ride every wave as your walls clenched around him, milking him.

He bit out a strangled moan. “Shit—I’m—”

His rhythm stuttered. He buried himself deep one final time, groaning loud as he came—hot and thick, his body shaking with it.

The room was filled with nothing but breath. The rise and fall of lungs. The quiet creak of the mattress.

Outside, the comm buzzed again.

You laughed softly, dazed. “They’re gonna kill us.”

Bakugo collapsed beside you, dragging you against his chest. His hand rested on your hip. “Worth it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair. “Yeah… worth it.”

You stayed there—naked, tangled in sheets and each other—ignoring the outside world a little longer.

Just the two of you.

And all the things you weren’t scared to feel anymore.

Author Note:   thanks for reading o(≧v≦)o request are open