being a podcaster that constantly goes viral when people clip you getting passionate about something. going on a rant about how that basketball guy was a fucking idiot for cheating on your favourite rapper. another clip of you saying ingenium’s new suit just looks sooooo good on him. did anyone know he was that fine?
always talking about pop culture, the fun parts about hero news (usually just outfits and faces) and little tidbits about your life.
you end up on bakugou’s 10 minute instagram scroll. everything you said about that stupid loser basketball player is true. you cuss well, eloquent with it. he doesn’t agree with what you say about ingenium’s new suit. well, it’s only recently got better because he got in contact with bakugou’s suit designer. he thinks you’re cute when you go into detail about why the suits better. bakugou still disagrees though.
but what makes bakugou take a step further is when he gets a video of you, not crying but angry. you’re speaking into a mic from your bed, or maybe it’s a set? but a bed, nevertheless, white sheets pulled up under your chin with this low lamp lighting.
“also i think i’m swearing off dating. it was going perfect with one guy and then he breaks it off because he doesn’t want his business ending up on the podcast…. i haven’t even said anything about him!” you whine, “and now it just looks like i’m proving his point because i’m talking about it but i wouldn’t have if we were still dating.”
the text on the video screams, “YN SINGLE?!”
bakugou taps on your instagram. loads of clips from your podcast pops up. he finds the next video, the one after the last.
“well dms are open if any fine men are interested. when i say fine i mean fine. you also have to be able to keep up with me, handle a little joke,” you laugh.
and bakugou thinks about it for three days. watches more videos of you talking, your goofy opinions, your educated opinions, your real opinions. scrolls through your personal instagram too.
so he does it. he dms you on your instagram because he deems himself a fine man, he can handle a little joke and well, he likes you. a lot.
you’re funny and smart. articulate yourself well. very beautiful. hobbies on your instagram, full group of friends. well travelled and a homebody and social and he’s eager to know more.
@ dynamight: Are applications still open?
it’s fun, bakugou thinks. a good slide into your dms.
but you don’t reply for a week. he thinks he’s been completely ignored. clearly not interested in him and defo not your type. even though you’re both verified so you’ve definitely got the notification. bakugou takes it all on the chin. doesn’t mention it to anybody because it’s a little embarrassing. maybe it’s been buried from all the other dms you’ve received from men.
until he gets a video on his timeline. then the same video sent to him from three different friends.
the words are captioned loud and bold on the video. straight to the point and pure clickbait. well is it clickbait if it’s true? bakugou chokes on his spit, turning up the volume in his work bathroom.
“DYNAMIGHT IN THE DMS?”
“now guys… walk with me here. if you’re dynamight, thee bakugou katsuki, one of the sexiest men in the world, PLEASE don’t watch this clip. i can’t believe you’ve even seen clips of my pod. i swear this isn’t even me!” you ramble into your microphone, tucked up with your knees to your chest for a more casual episode. “okay guys, now that he’s gone, i’ve got to tell you… after last episode when i said can fine men send me dms, why the fuck did dynamight send me one? i was so shocked by it i still haven’t replied. i’ve avoided talking about him here because i do not want to be on that man’s radar. he’s way too gorgeous for me to comprehend.”
you giggle to yourself, “but he dmed me… something about are applications open? the boyfriend ones. now i can’t reply because ive just told everybody but there’s no way i pulled him.”
bakugou watches it leaning against the sink, three times. his smile gets bigger every second till he’s full on grinning at his phone.
you’re joking a little, entertainment for the podcast because you know you’re just as fine as him. though you don’t think your worlds would ever cross?
he decides to make another move.
@ dynamight: I think you’re gorgeous too
commented underneath the video.
an onslaught of likes and comments commence. mostly your fans giving a whole load of keyboard smashes and “yn is going to go insane”.
then he puts his phone down, washes up his hands and checks his appearance in the mirror. wipes his nose and what not.
but he gets lured to his phone again, picking it up and opening instagram to find you’ve replied to his comment.
@ ynpod: @ dynamight i swear i don’t share all my business online
@ dynamight : @ ynpod So applications are still open?
ALSO more about love island bkg maybe if you guys aren’t coupled up yet like maybe you’re a bombshell sleeping on your own for now and when all the guys are chatting together in the morning you practically skip over to them in your hat and sunglasses, teeeeeny tiny bikini and wedged flip flops.
all of the guys look over at you, some say hey and hello and their good mornings but you look directly at the massive muscled blonde with the pretty eyes and harsh glare. but it’s softened slightly now.
“i want to talk to you.” you say with a small smile. stern and confident. pretty and bakugou’s type.
bakugou points to himself, “me?”
clears his throat right after and sits up straighter from his awful slouch.
once your head moves an inch to nodding, he whips up so fast the rest of the guys start chuckling away.
“i’ve never seen him move so quick!”
“you pull a muscle there, kacchan?”
you’ve already started walking, assuming he’s following behind you and he is, not before giving the guys a middle finger.
he jogs up beside you, ignoring the chuckles in the distance. harsh sniff, scratches the back of his head and adjusts his sunglasses.
“y-you look gorgeous today. love the colour of the bikini.”
it’s when you smile up at him, hand up above your sunglasses to cover your eyes from the sun, that he falls apart.
style influencer yn doing her once a week styling my boyfriend for a date… for work… for a concert… for seeing my parents… for an event AND ITS bakugou just standing there in shorts and a vest quietly while you show the camera what you picked out for him and why. when you say you chose this slightly cropped shirt because bakugou’s got a shorter torso and it shows off his waist and bakugou lovesssss it. loves you talking about him like he’s not there and you saying things he didn’t even know about himself. like you pay attention to him that much! he takes it all very personally even though it’s literally your job.
lets you manoeuvre him around. using him as a male model and talking about him as body parts. grins when you say things like “katsuki’s got big biceps so i like to emphasise them just for myself.” “now katsuki doesn’t have the average build so it’s fun to work with his body.” “yeah? that’s right?” slapping his arm.
when he tries something on that didn’t go as well as you expected. “jeans are so difficult with you! these ones are way too tight on the thigh!”
and he’s got a mother as a designer, he’s never dressed badly in his life but you have your own style and what you love to see him in. he likes being your ken doll once a week.
“and i found this scarlet tie when thrifting, i bought it because it matches his eyes!!!”
and bakugou’s, “i like it baby.”
moments when he holds you by the waist, head on your shoulder as you’re explaining something to the camera.
you in a layered, well thought out outfit while he’s wearing his boring base outfit at the beginning LOL
you show two options that would go well and you let him choose.
“the denim feels rough. the other one.”
and bkgs done modelling and photoshoots before so he’s very good at the ending solo shots when you show the viewer the outfit. stands with his hands in his pockets. rotates around. you flashing him behind the camera to make him smile and his smirk is to die for.
asking his opinion for the whole outfit at the very end, holding a mic to his face because you don’t mic him up for the videos, just yourself.
“you always dress me better than i dress myself. it’s fuckin sick,” adjusts the jacket, looking at himself off camera. “woulda never have put myself in these.” he undos an extra button to his shirt.
“oooo sexy.”
“you think?” he grins at you.
and now you both match like it’s clear you’re going to the same event together. a stupidly attractive well dressed couple. not to mention that bkgs pr team loves the videos too. tells him to hold off on the groping you at times but you include it in the videos so who’s to tell you how to do your job.
editing out whenever you bend down and he thrusts against you. whenever he slaps your ass. when you’re adjusting the way something drapes, standing super close to him and he kisses you, little makeout where you have to tap his chest for him to stop. “we’re recording!”
also you rolling your eyes at people thirsting over your boyfriend. it gets engagement and views though.
synopsis!: Bakugo has a sleepwalking problem and fully thinks he’s dreaming, so he accidentally confesses, acts on it without holding back, and leaves before reality can catch up to him.
The dorms were quiet in that heavy, almost suffocating way that only happened past midnight. Even the usual hum of the building felt muted, like the world itself had decided to hold its breath.
It wasn't unusual for Bakugo to be awake at this hour.
What was unusual... was that he wasn't aware of it.
Katsuki Bakugo had a problem, one he'd rather blow up than admit.
Stress didn't make him crumble. It didn't slow him down. It didn't show on his face.
It just... leaked out in other ways.
Like sleepwalking.
It had started after a particularly brutal week of training. Aizawa had pushed them harder than usual, and Bakugo, being Bakugo, had pushed himself twice as hard on top of that. His body eventually demanded a release…and apparently, it chose the worst possible one.
The first time, Kirishima found him standing in the hallway at 3 a.m, staring at a wall like it had personally offended him.
The second time, he woke up in the kitchen with a glass of water he didn't remember pouring.
After that, everyone just... kind of accepted it.
Well. Everyone except Bakugo.
He refused to acknowledge it.
Tonight, though, something felt different.
The common room lights were dimmed, casting everything in a soft golden glow. The couch looked warmer than usual, the air quieter, the world... gentler.
Bakugo stepped into the room, barefoot, hair messier than normal, eyes half-lidded.
A Spark of Crimson Courage (Kirishima Eijirou X Reader)
Pairing: Lord!Eijiro Kirishima x Diamond!Reader (Bridgerton-inspired AU, No Quirks, Royalty/Regency Setting)
Synopsis: Lady (Yn), Aldera’s prim Diamond, lives for society’s adoring gazes, her reputation a flawless shield. But when Lord Eijiro Kirishima, Red Riot’s chivalrous troublemaker, saves her from a ballroom blunder, his bold soirees of art and freedom spark her curiosity. A clandestine visit to his gallery ignites steamy tension—brushed lips, tangled arms—pushing her propriety to the brink. Will a hidden sketch draw her into his world of purposeful defiance?
Content Warnings: Suggestive content, intense romantic tension, near-kiss, mild language, societal pressure, unchaperoned moments, alcohol mention (implied at soirees).
In the grand tapestry of Aldera’s high society, where every gesture was scrutinized and every smile weighed for intent, Lady (Yn) glided through her world like a melody played on the finest strings. Crowned the Diamond of the current season by Queen Inko herself, (Yn) was the embodiment of every etiquette manual’s dream—a vision of grace with cascading hair that caught the sunlight like spun silk, eyes bright with an intelligence she kept carefully veiled, and a figure that flowed through ballrooms with the poise of a storybook princess.
Her days were a symphony of perfection: mornings in the Musutafu estate’s sunlit parlor, her needlework stitching roses that could shame the gardens outside, afternoons strolling the palace grounds, chaperoned by her mother, the Dowager Countess, whose approving nods were as vital as air, evenings at soirees where suitors tripped over their own velvet breeches to win her smile, their compliments met with her demure, practiced curtsies.
The awed looks from passersby—lords whispering her praises, ladies envying her sapphire gown—were her currency, proof of a reputation polished to a mirror’s shine.
"The Diamond dazzles us all," a matron cooed as (Yn) passed through Aldera’s market square, her parasol tilted just so, and (Yn) basked in it, not out of vanity, but because it was her armor in a world that demanded perfection.
To her, propriety was a shield, rebellion a crack in the glass she could not—would not—afford. Oh, how she relished those admiring glances, each one a feather in her pristine cap, though she’d never admit the tiny thrill of wondering if there was more beyond this gilded cage.
Yet, beneath that flawless facade, a flicker of curiosity stirred, swiftly smothered by duty.
This morning, as she sat in the garden sipping tea, her fan fluttering like a nervous butterfly, her friends—Lady Mina Ashido and Lady Ochaco Uraraka—swept in, their chatter bubbling like champagne.
"Oh, (Yn), have you heard of Lord Kirishima?" Mina gushed, her pink curls bouncing as she leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "He’s simply divine—so kind, so chivalrous! And those soirees he hosts in Red Riot? They’re bursting with artists, poets, even women sharing their work!"
Ochaco nodded, her cheeks rosy. "He’s so… manly, making everyone feel included, like they belong!"
(Yn)’s brows furrowed, though she masked it with a dainty sip, her nose flaring subtly as if she’d smelled something faintly scandalous. Lord Eijiro Kirishima, the troublemaker of Red Riot, whose crimson cliffs and forges were as wild as his reputation.
Eijiro was a man forged from self-doubt into unyielding chivalry. He now stood tall—broad-shouldered, muscular from riding across Red Riot’s rugged terrains and sparring with estate guards, his pointed eyes radiating warmth, his shark-toothed grin disarming even the sternest dowagers. His mornings were spent overseeing Red Riot’s forges, barking encouragement, afternoons, sparring to hone his "hardened" resolve, evenings, hosting secret gatherings that thumbed their nose at society’s courtship obsession, championing art and discourse for all.
To him, manliness meant justice—uplifting the overlooked, especially women stifled by convention’s corset. But to (Yn), his soirees were a glittering trap, luring fools to scandal’s edge.
"He sounds… unconventional," she said carefully, her voice cool as a winter stream. "I prefer gentlemen who uphold the rules that protect us all."
'Protect me', she thought, though her heart gave a traitorous flutter at the idea of such boldness.
Mina giggled, undeterred, fanning herself dramatically.
"Oh, you’d adore him if you met him, (Yn)! He’s no rogue—just bold!"
Ochaco chimed in, "He’s like a knight, but with better hair!"
(Yn) smiled tightly, her disapproval tucked behind her fan like a secret letter, but that pesky seed of curiosity took root, whispering what if in the quiet corners of her mind.
Their meeting came at Queen Inko’s Midsummer Ball, where chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors and the air thrummed with violins. (Yn) glided through the crowd, her dainty cream gown catching every eye, her mother’s approving gaze a constant shadow.
Then, Lord Kirishima approached, his red hair blazing like a comet, his red coat tailored to his strong frame, a matching crimson rose pinned to his lapel.
"Lady (Yn)," he said, bowing deeply, his grin wide and infuriatingly genuine. "May I claim a dance? I’d be honored to share the floor with the season’s Diamond."
(Yn) hesitated, her instinct to dodge this notorious lord warring with decorum.
Avoid him, keep your shine untarnished, her mind hissed.
"I—" she began, stepping back, only to collide with a table stocked with pastries. Plates teetered, a small cake tipped, and a gasp escaped her as scandal loomed like a thunderclap.
Mortification burned her cheeks—her reputation, her perfect crown, teetering!
But Eijiro moved like a knight in truth, catching it with one swift hand and steadying her with the other, his touch firm yet gentle as a summer breeze.
"Careful, my lady," he said softly, setting the table right with a charming laugh that turned gasps to smiles. "No harm done. Shall we dance to forget this little mishap?"
"Dang it all," she muttered under her breath, cheeks flaming as if she’d been caught sneaking tarts. She owed him now, her pride stinging like a nettle from the near-embarrassment.
"Very well, Lord Kirishima," she said stiffly, taking his hand, her fingers tingling where they met his calloused warmth. "One dance. One."
The waltz was a revelation, like stepping into a story she hadn’t meant to read. Eijiro led with strength and grace, his steps sure, his pointed eyes never leaving hers, twinkling with something that made her stomach flip.
"You move like you were born for this," he said, voice warm like a hearth on a winter night. "Ever thought of dancing outside the lines, just for fun?"
Her nose flared, propriety bristling like a cat in a rainstorm. "Fun? The ballroom is for elegance, not… frivolity. Your gatherings, I hear, lack such restraint."
He chuckled, a deep, reassuring rumble, undaunted by her barb. "They’re not about breaking rules, my lady. They’re about giving everyone—men, women—a chance to shine beyond courtship. Art, ideas… that’s real freedom. You should come see for yourself."
"Never," she snapped, though her tone wavered, his earnestness poking holes in her polished armor.
The dance ended, leaving her breathless, his words echoing like an uninvited guest as she rejoined her mother, who raised a skeptical brow.
"Mind your company, (Yn)," the countess warned. "That lord courts trouble."
Days unfolded in familiar, glittering rhythms, yet Kirishima lingered in her thoughts like a melody she couldn’t shake. At a tea with Mina and Ochaco, the topic of his soirees resurfaced, their voices bubbling with excitement.
"They say last night’s gathering had a poetess reciting her work!" Ochaco whispered, eyes starry.
"Women, sharing like that—it’s unheard of!" Mina sighed dreamily. "Lord Kirishima makes it feel… safe, like you could be yourself."
(Yn)’s lips pursed, but the conversations after his events—lively, intellectual, bursting with ideas she’d never dared voice—gnawed at her like a mouse at a tapestry. Her curiosity grew, a quiet rebellion against her own ironclad rules.
It’s been decided then!
She’d just have to go when most guests have already sought their way out. Evade witnesses, leave without a trace. She’d just have to avoid being seen by the host himself.
A perfect plan, she thought, smirking to herself as she adjusted her bonnet, as if outwitting scandal was as simple as dodging a puddle.
Oh, how she prided herself on her cleverness, imagining her stealthy triumph as she slipped into Red Riot’s hidden wing after a ball, unchaperoned, her cloak shadowing her face. The thrill of wrongness sent her heart racing—no chaperone?
Alone with the lord she raised an eyebrow at?
She’d chosen to arrive when the place was nearly deserted, thinking it her grand escape from scrutiny.
"Ugh, wrong move," she muttered, stepping into the candlelit gallery, her resolve wobbling like a debutante’s first curtsy.
The space was a wonderland—canvases bursting with vibrant landscapes, sculptures of defiant figures, sketches of women wielding pens and swords like knights of their own stories. (Yn)’s mask cracked as she wandered, her fingers tracing a painting’s frame, her voice giddy despite herself.
"This… this is remarkable," she whispered, practically bouncing as she admired a portrait of a woman reading under starlight, her soul laid bare in brushstrokes. "It’s as if the artist saw her very heart!" Her excitement bubbled over, propriety forgotten in the face of such beauty—until a warm voice broke her reverie.
"Didn’t expect to hear you say that, my lady," Eijiro said, leaning against a pillar, his red hair glowing like a flame in the candlelight, his smile soft yet piercing. Her giddy grin faded to a mortified flush, cheeks hot enough to rival the forges of Red Riot.
"Lord Kirishima, I—" she stammered, clutching her cloak as if it could shield her from her own folly.
"You should be relishing in the... advantages of being you. Why do you do this all?" she blurted, gesturing at the art, her voice a mix of accusation and awe. "These gatherings… they court scandal. Why risk it?"
His smile deepened, his pointed eyes steady with a conviction that made her breath catch.
"You’re right, my lady. I’m a man who’s been given the upper hand—wealth, title, opportunity. But I don’t waste it. I share it. Society frowns on women speaking, creating, thinking freely, but that’s where strength lies. These soirees are a safe space—for everyone, especially those silenced. That’s what’s manly, not rebellion for its own sake, but justice through inclusion."
(Yn)’s breath hitched, his words flipping her view like a page in a forbidden book. He wasn’t a reckless rogue but a gentleman carving space for others—a knight in spirit, not just title. The air thickened with tension, their gazes locked, her wary eyes meeting his warm ones.
"May I… guide your hand?" he asked softly, gesturing to a blank canvas nearby, a pencil resting beside it. "You said the artist saw her heart. Show me yours."
Her heart hammered, propriety screaming no, but curiosity—oh, that traitorous spark—won.
"Very well," she whispered, her voice barely audible, stepping closer.
His hand covered hers, veiny and strong from years of sparring, guiding her pencil across the canvas. The closeness was electric—his breath warm against her ear, stirring the tendrils of her hair; her back melting against his broad chest as she shifted just right, their body heat mingling like a forbidden dance. She’d never dared stand this close to another, not even suitors, and the sensation sent her pulse skittering, her cheeks flaming as his calloused fingers steadied hers. The air grew heavy, charged with unspoken desire, each stroke of the pencil a pulse of their shared rhythm.
"Like this," he murmured, his voice low, vibrating through her as their hands moved together, sketching a woman’s silhouette under starlight.
Her breath caught, his warmth seeping into her, her tsundere walls crumbling under the weight of his gentle strength. She turned, flustered beyond reason, only to find his lips not even an inch away, his pointed eyes dark with something that made her knees weak.
Their lips brushed—a fleeting, accidental touch, soft yet searing, like a spark from Red Riot’s forges. She gasped, instinctively backing away, but her foot caught on a canvas, and she stumbled, her arms latching around his neck to steady herself.
Eijiro caught her, his hands firm on her waist, their faces still dangerously close.
"Careful, my lady," he said, voice husky, his shark-toothed grin softened by restraint. The moment hung, steamy and suspenseful, her heart pounding as she clung to him, their breaths mingling, her fingers tangled in his red hair.
A servant’s cough from the hall snapped them apart, Eijiro stepping back with a flushed grin.
"Another time, perhaps," he said, ever the gentleman, offering his arm. "It’s late. I’ll see you home, safely."
He draped a spare cloak over her, disguising her further as they slipped through Red Riot’s back paths, his arm steadying her over uneven stones. Her younger sisters, waiting at the Musutafu estate, giggled at the "mystery gentleman" escorting her, their teasing—"Ooh, (Yn)’s got a secret suitor!"—making her blush scarlet beneath her hood.
At the next ball, their dance was different—charged, her emerald gown swirling against his black coat, his hand on her waist a quiet promise. Her mother’s brow arched higher than a cathedral spire, her snarky remarks cutting like a fan’s snap.
"Really, (Yn), mingling with that troublemaker? You’ll dull your shine."
But (Yn)’s shine was shifting, her heart tugged by Eijiro’s warmth, his justice, his infuriatingly warm grin. Later, alone in her chamber, she unfolded a sketch he’d slipped into her reticule—a half-finished portrait of her, begun in the gallery, with a note in his bold hand: Finish it at my next soiree, my lady. Show me your heart.
Her fingers traced the lines, her own strokes capturing his grin with startling intimacy, her reflection in the mirror torn between the Diamond’s poise and the artist’s spark he’d ignited. The note’s challenge burned in her hands, her pulse restless with the thrill of possibility.
Would Lady (Yn), this season's flawless Diamond, dare wield her pencil in Lord Kirishima’s haven of art and justice, or would her heart, so fiercely guarded, falter before the spark of his purposeful defiance?
༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚🌸༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚
Katsuki Version
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A Dance of Fire and Defiance (Katsuki Bakugo X Reader)
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Pairing: Duke!Katsuki Bakugo x Diamond!Reader (Bridgerton-inspired AU, No Quirks, Royalty/Regency Setting)
Synopsis: At Aldera’s Masquerade Ball, Lady (Yn), last season’s defiant Diamond, clashes with Duke Katsuki Bakugo of Dynamight in a fiery waltz. Their masked encounter sparks tension, forgotten until a forbidden art soirée at Lord Kirishima’s Red Riot estate.
Surrounded by scandalous paintings, a desperate kiss ignites forbidden passion, threatening ruin.
Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, virginity loss, forbidden romance, potential scandal, mature themes, mild language, suggestive art (nude paintings), alcohol mention, societal pressure.
Reblogs, likes, and comments fuel my soul—tell me if you want more of this scandalous AU!
In the opulent halls of the Grand Palace of Aldera, where chandeliers dripped like frozen waterfalls of crystal and the air hummed with the whispers of silk gowns and polished boots, the annual Masquerade Ball unfolded like a living tapestry. It was the pinnacle of the social season, a night where masks concealed identities and fortunes were forged in fleeting dances. The kingdom's elite mingled under the guise of anonymity, their faces hidden behind feathers, jewels, and intricate veneers of gold leaf. For Lady (Yn), the Diamond of the previous season, it was yet another tiresome obligation in a world that prized her beauty like a rare gem but dismissed her spirit as an inconvenient flaw.
(Yn) had earned her title not just for her striking features— eyes that sparkled with an untamed intelligence, hair that cascaded like midnight silk, and a figure that turned heads without effort—but for the enigma she presented. Whispers followed her through every ballroom: the maiden who had rejected suitors with the sharpness of a dueling blade, her tongue laced with wit that bordered on disdain.
"A man-hater," they called her in hushed tones, though she preferred "discerning." Why settle for the simpering lords who saw her as a trophy when she craved something real, something that ignited rather than smothered?
Her parents, the Earl and Countess of Musutafu, despaired of her ever finding a match, but (Yn) reveled in her independence. She spent her days in quiet rebellion: sneaking into the palace libraries to devour forbidden texts on philosophy and art, riding astride through the misty forests surrounding her estate, and confiding in her closest friend, Lady Mina Ashido, about dreams that extended far beyond the confines of marriage. Mina, with her vibrant pink curls and infectious laugh, was the only one who truly understood (Yn)'s aversion to the parade of eligible bachelors.
"They're all bark and no bite," Mina would tease during their afternoon teas, fanning herself dramatically. "But you, my dear, deserve a storm."
Tonight, however, escape was impossible. The masquerade demanded her presence, and so (Yn) donned a mask of shimmering emerald feathers that framed her eyes like a verdant crown, her gown a deep sapphire that hugged her form before flaring into layers of tulle. As she descended the grand staircase, the room seemed to pause, a collective breath held in admiration. But (Yn)'s gaze swept the crowd with practiced indifference, noting the peacocks in their finery, the wallflowers clutching fans like shields.
"Another night of dodging dullards," she muttered to Mina, who giggled beside her in a rosy mask adorned with horns.
Across the ballroom, Duke Katsuki Bakugo of the Duchy of Dynamight brooded like a storm cloud amid the festivities. His parents, the formidable Duke and Duchess Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugo, had dragged him here under duress. Dynamight was a land of volcanic peaks and fierce forges, where explosions of innovation, alchemical fireworks and engineered blasts for mining, defined its prosperity, much like Katsuki's own explosive temperament.
With ash-blond hair that spiked defiantly even under the constraints of formal styling, crimson eyes that burned with unyielding ambition, and a build honed from years of rigorous training in swordplay and strategy, he was a force of nature. Katsuki despised weakness, loathed small talk, and pursued victory in all things with explosive determination. Yet, beneath that brash exterior lay a loyalty fiercer than any flame, a protectiveness that extended to those he deemed worthy — though few ever earned it.
His mornings were spent overseeing Dynamight's forges, barking orders at smiths who quaked under his glare, while afternoons involved sparring sessions that left opponents bruised but respectful. Evenings? Solitary strategy games by the fire, plotting alliances that would secure his duchy's future.
"Find a partner, Katsuki," his mother had snarled earlier that evening, her voice a whipcrack in their lavish carriage as they rattled over the cobblestones from Dynamight's borders. "You're twenty-three, heir to everything we've built, and acting like a damn recluse. Dance with at least three maidens tonight, or so help me, I'll announce your betrothal myself to the first simpering fool who bats her lashes."
His father had nodded solemnly, ever the peacemaker, murmuring, "It's for the duchy, son. Alliances mean stability." Katsuki knew the threat was real—Dynamight's volatile neighbors made such unions a necessity.
Grumbling obscenities under his breath, he had stormed into the ball, his mask a snarling dragon of black obsidian and red enamel, his attire a tailored black coat with crimson accents that screamed power.
"Tch, like I need some weakling hanging off my arm," he growled to himself, clenching his fists.
The orchestra struck up a waltz, and the floor swirled with couples. Katsuki scanned the room, his jaw set in irritation. He wasn't here to court; he was here to endure.
Spotting a cluster of giggling debutantes, he approached the least insufferable-looking one—a petite blonde in a pink mask—but she simpered so excessively, cooing, "Oh, my lord, your mask is so fierce!" that he abandoned the idea mid-stride with a scoff.
"Idiot."
The second, a brunette with a fox mask, prattled on about embroidery until his patience snapped.
"Do you ever shut up?" he snapped, retreating to the shadows before she could gasp in offense.
It was then that his eyes locked onto her—(Yn), though he didn't know her name. She stood apart, her posture regal yet defiant, fending off a persistent lord with a quip that sent him scurrying: "My lord, if flattery were a currency, you'd be bankrupt."
Something in her eyes, visible through the slits of her mask—sharp, unyielding, like polished onyx—stirred a rare curiosity in him. She wasn't simpering; she was challenging the very air around her. Gritting his teeth, Katsuki strode forward, his parents' ultimatum echoing in his mind.
"Dance with me," he demanded more than asked, extending a gloved hand, his voice rough like gravel underfoot.
(Yn) turned, her brows arching behind her mask. Who was this masked stranger with the voice like thunder and an aura that crackled with intensity? His presence was overwhelming, a heat that radiated even through the cool night air. Intrigued despite herself—his directness was a far cry from the flowery flattery she despised—she placed her hand in his.
"As you wish, my lord," she replied coolly, though her pulse quickened at the firmness of his grip. "Though I must warn you, I lead as often as I follow."
Katsuki's eyes narrowed behind his mask, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Try it, and see what happens."
He pulled her into the dance, his movements powerful yet controlled, like a predator toying with prey. (Yn) matched him step for step, her own grace a counterpoint to his intensity. As they spun, she couldn't resist probing.
"You dance like you're conquering the floor. Afraid of losing control?"
"Tch, control's all I have," he retorted, his hand tightening on her waist. "You talk like you've got something to prove. What, scared of a real challenge?"
She laughed lightly, a sound that surprised even her. "Scared? Hardly. I've turned down better offers than a masked brute's waltz."
"Brute? I'll show you brute," he growled, dipping her low enough that her hair brushed the floor, his crimson gaze boring into hers.
The dance ended too soon, the music fading as he released her with a curt nod.
"Not half bad," he grunted, vanishing into the crowd before she could retort. (Yn) touched her hand where his had been, a fleeting warmth lingering.
"Arrogant fool," she whispered, but a smile ghosted her lips.
Easy to forget, she told herself, dismissing the encounter as another fleeting ballroom moment. But as she retired to her chambers that night, the memory of those piercing eyes haunted her dreams, mingling with her daily routines—sketching wildflowers in the garden, debating literature with Mina over scones, and wondering if independence was truly as fulfilling as she claimed.
Days blurred into the rhythm of high society: morning calls where (Yn) endured her mother's lectures on propriety—"(Yn), dear, you must soften that tongue of yours; no man wants a wife who outwits him!"—afternoons sketching in the gardens where wildflowers defied the manicured lawns, evenings of quiet rebellion reading smuggled novels by candlelight.
Whispers of the masquerade lingered, but life marched on—until an invitation arrived, secreted in a bouquet from her eccentric acquaintance, Lord Eijiro Kirishima. Known for his rebellious streak, shark-toothed grin, and "manly" optimism, Kirishima hosted clandestine gatherings for the kingdom's artistic souls, defying the rigid norms of court life. "Come paint the night away, Lady (Yn)!" the note read, signed with his flourish.
The "art-related secret party" was held in a hidden wing of his family's estate in the hills of Red Riot, a labyrinth of candlelit rooms filled with easels, sculptures, and forbidden wines. No masks this time; faces were bare, identities risked for the thrill of creation. (Yn) attended out of curiosity, her man-hater walls cracking just enough to seek camaraderie among like-minded rebels. She wandered the rooms, admiring charcoal sketches of stormy seas and debating symbolism with a group of poets, her laughter rare but genuine.
"This piece captures the chaos of the soul," she said to one artist, gesturing at a swirling abstract. "But where's the resolution?"
Katsuki, meanwhile, had been dispatched by his parents to "check on that idiot Kirishima." The red-haired lord was a childhood friend, his unwavering loyalty a balm to Katsuki's temper. But Kirishima's parents were furious—rumors of the party had leaked, threatening scandal.
"Tell him to shut it down before he drags us all into ruin," Mitsuki had barked over breakfast, slamming her fist on the table.
Katsuki arrived grudgingly, navigating the estate's back entrances with the stealth of a shadow.
"Damn shitty hair, always causing trouble," he muttered, pushing through a door.
In a dimly lit gallery, he bumped into someone—literally. A soft gasp, a stumble, and there she was: (Yn), unmasked, her eyes widening in recognition. Those eyes—onyx fire, the same from the ball. Katsuki's crimson gaze narrowed, a jolt of electricity surging through him.
"You," he growled, the word hanging heavy. "The mouthy one from the masquerade."
"You," she echoed, her voice a whisper of surprise, though laced with amusement. "The brute who thinks dancing is a battlefield. What are you doing here, my lord? Come to conquer the canvases?"
The air crackled between them, unspoken memories of their dance igniting like dry tinder. "None of your business," he snapped, but his eyes lingered on her lips. "You gonna keep staring, or—"
She opened her mouth to retort when shouts erupted from the hall—Kirishima's parents had ambushed the party, their voices booming demands for order: "Eijiro! This folly ends now!"
Panic seized (Yn); scandal would ruin her fragile reputation. Without thinking, she grabbed Katsuki's arm, spotting a door behind him—a private alcove, perhaps.
"In here!" she hissed, shoving him inside and slamming the door shut behind them.
The space was cramped, shelves lined with canvases pressing in, their bodies forced flush against each other in the dim light filtering through cracks.
But as her eyes adjusted, (Yn) realized this wasn't just any room—it was a forbidden gallery, walls adorned with paintings of raw sensuality: nude figures entwined in ecstatic poses, limbs tangled in passion, explicit depictions of lovers in throes that made the air feel thicker. Katsuki's breath hitched, his face flushing beneath his usual scowl—flustered, though he'd die before admitting it.
"What the hell kind of place is this?" he muttered, averting his eyes from a particularly vivid scene of a couple lost in embrace.
(Yn), however, remained composed, her scholarly pursuits having exposed her to such art in hidden tomes.
"Erotic masterpieces," she replied calmly, though her heart raced. "From the old masters of U.A. Valley—studies in human form and desire. You've never seen the like?" She tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eye. "Or perhaps you're too... pure for such things?"
"Tch, pure? Don't flatter yourself," he shot back, but his voice was rougher, his body heat palpable in the confined space.
With those paintings surrounding them, the good-looking stranger's proximity, his sharp jaw, broad shoulders, the scent of smoke and spice, chipped at her composure. Would this be enough to break her walls? She didn't get the chance to think.
The door creaked open suddenly. A servant of Kirishima's peered in, lantern raised. In a flash of desperation, (Yn) surged forward, pressing her lips to Katsuki's in a feigned kiss to hide their faces. He stiffened, then instinctively wrapped an arm around her, deepening it as they stumbled, falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs.
The servant blinked, muttering, "Young ones these days... always sneaking off for a tryst," before closing the door with a chuckle.
They broke apart, breathing heavy, the kiss lingering like a spark. Katsuki's eyes darkened with something primal.
"What the fuck was that?" he demanded, but his hands didn't release her.
(Yn)'s cheeks burned, but she met his gaze. "Improvisation. Better a rumored kiss than a full scandal."
Outside, footsteps faded; the ambush over. But the tension remained, amplified by the erotic art. Katsuki's pride surged—he was no novice to command, and this woman challenged him like no other. Leaning in, he captured her lips again, this time for real, his kiss demanding, exploratory.
She responded, her hands fisting in his shirt. Clothes became barriers; buttons undone with trembling fingers, fabrics pooling at their feet. Katsuki's prideful moves were bold—he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands cupping her breasts with possessive grip.
"See? I know what I'm doing," he growled, thumb circling a nipple.
(Yn) laughed lightly, humbling him as she guided his hand lower, her touch gentle yet firm.
"Do you? Here, like this—gentler, or you'll scare it away." Her voice was breathy, virgin explorations unfolding in whispers.
He explored her body like uncharted territory, his tongue delving between her thighs with clumsy eagerness that evolved into rhythm, drawing moans.
"Not bad for a brute," she teased, her fingers in his hair.
He rose, positioning himself, pride swelling.
"I'll make you beg," he promised, entering her slowly—painful at first, a shared gasp as barriers broke.
But (Yn) humbled him again, her laugh soft amid the pleasure. "Careful, my lord—don't forget to pull your sword out in time," she said sarcastically, her walls clenching around him as thrusts built from tentative to fervent.
"Shut up," he groaned, but complied, pulling out just as release crashed, spilling on her thigh. They collapsed, sweat-slicked, the forbidden act a scandal waiting to erupt.
The next ball arrived like a thunderclap—the Queen's Grand Soiree, hosted by Queen Inko herself, a benevolent ruler with a keen eye for matches. (Yn) entered late, her gown a defiant crimson that matched the fire in her veins. Whispers followed: the former Diamond, still unmatched.
In the throne room, Queen Inko held court, her eyes alight with mischief. "Duke Bakugo," she announced warmly, "allow me to introduce the Diamond of this season—Lady Ochaco Uraraka, a vision of grace and fortune."
Katsuki stood rigid, his gaze flicking to the bubbly brunette approaching, her cheeks flushing as she curtsied. "Your Grace, it's an honor," Ochaco said sweetly.
But then the doors swung open, and (Yn) glided in. Their eyes met across the room—crimson locking with onyx, a spark reigniting. Katsuki's lips curved into a smirk, his attention drifting entirely from Ochaco, fixed on (Yn) with unmistakable intent. "Your Majesty," he said, voice low and deliberate, "I believe I've already found my dance partner for the evening."
As the room hushed in anticipation, his steps turned toward (Yn), leaving the question hanging: would duty bind him, or had desire already claimed victory?
༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚🌸༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚
Eijiro Version
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☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. love island’s heart rate challenge.
about. you’re the bombshell katsuki tells her not to worry about. i just wanted to hop on the love island!bakugou trend because i finally managed to catch up and watch some.
warnings. suggestive. minors & ageless blogs do not interact. implied cheating but not really bc it’s love island, british slang lol, lap dances, making out, saucy outfits & fem!reader.
the girl bakugou couples up with has been worried about you from the moment you first stepped into the villa.
and rightly so.
you’ve had almost every boy charmed since your arrival. kirishima made you lunch on your first day, todoroki and sero eagerly followed you for a chat by the pool to express their interest in you at the party hosted in your honour on night one. but you, you had your sights set on katsuki bakugou.
as a bombshell, you’d been given the power to choose any guy you wanted to take on a first date to the sandy shores of Majorca — with crystal clear waters, fresh fruits and champagne as your wingmen. and while you had initially picked bakugou for his sharp jaw line, mysterious wine red eyes and obviously the rest of his good looks (those abs looked like they were taken straight from a magazine) you were pleasantly surprised by how warm he was. his eye contact was strong, the raspy lilt to his voice was both alluring and calming and he seemed genuinely interested in you as a person and not because you were his type down on paper (though that was a bonus).
you laugh and smile about where you grew up, your favourite things and your red flags and by the end of the date — bakugou is feeding you fruit and helping you stand with a warm hand wrapped around your wrist. “s’only been a few days so i’m not completely closed off,” he mumbles a little too fast. “i’m open to getting to know you.”
you want to get to know him too.
you don’t tell the girls this when they crowd around you with blinged out bikinis and coconut scented sunscreen to ask you how your date went. you’d rather keep your cards close to your chest, but you tell them how nice bakugou is, how sweet he is. some of the girls can instantly tell how much he’s into you. bakugou’s match doesn’t say much.
“obviously, i don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.” you expressed politely to the girls, your eyes doe eyed and bright, voice level and sweet. “i’ve come in at a difficult point, so i’ll just get to know everyone and let the boys know that the ball is in their court.” you don’t care if it makes you seem fake, but you don’t have any plans on leaving the island without bakugou on your arm.
the rest of the week is spent hopping between the boys, wearing all of your most sizzling swimsuits and pyjama sets — knowing that katsuki’s eyes are following you everywhere around the villa. he makes you iced coffees and scrambled egg with toast at breakfast times. he likes you and you like him and it’s causing problems with the girl the blonde is coupled up with.
on the fourth day, you get a text whilst in the pool — schmoozing with bakugou’s rival, deku. you announce it while he smooches up your ankle, making bakugou see flashes of red “islanders, it’s time to see how much of your heart truly belongs to the person you’ve coupled up with. tonight we’ll test that #heartratechallenge #peepthepulse!”
it’s then that you know exactly what to do. exactly how to get your man.
the producers supply you with a cute little number, one that you specifically request in bakugou’s favourite colour — the burnt orange lace of your corset and tiny shorts contrasting perfectly against your skin, accompanied by thigh high socks that squeeze around the plush flesh. your new best friend in the villa helps you smoke out your eyelids and touch up your makeup for the perfect look while she tells you that you look good enough to eat.
and you are. when it’s your turn to get those hearts racing — you stand before the boys at the fire pit who drink you in like a tall glass of water on simmering hot day and eat up your curves highlighted in your skimpy little outfit like men starved. you start with sero and make your way down the line, taking his finger into your mouth before kissing up his arm and right to his ear once you’re in his lap. todoroki digs his thumbs into your waist when you throw it back on him, kirishima let’s out a low whistle when you give him extra special treatment and a kiss on the neck (courtesy of being bakugou’s best friend), you let kaminari feel up and down your curves and nibble on your ear.
bakugou is rigid in his place by the time you reach his rival izuku — and you put on an extra show, pulling the man to a stand and grinding on him like nobody’s business. the boys holler and whoop and scream, practically sweating at the show you put on for them.
when you reach the blonde, you crawl into his lap tantalisingly slow, his rough hands instinctively coming up to cup your thighs — smooth over the skin as katsuki leans back in his seat and manspreads to make room for you.
“hi handsome,” you greet him with an innocent purr, running your hands up to the back of his neck to toy with his baby hairs.
you’re so close to him that he can feel your heat spread through his soul and burn him from the inside out — replacing any memory of the girl that he’s coupled up with. “hi gorgeous, what took ya so long?”
“i wanted to save the best for last.”
bakugou’s cheeks flood with a red that rivals his eyes when you grind down into him, calculatedly placing your lips inches away from his thumping pulse point. you grab at his hair and he grabs at you, practically groping one another as you ghost over his lips, tease him with the prospect of a kiss. he can hear his own heart thundering through his ears, the blood rushing to his head (and between his legs) making him too dizzy to even think. saliva pools in bakugou’s mouth as you make a mess of him without even trying, rolling yourself in his lap, shaking your ass against him, whispering filthy shit into his ear even though the mics can pick it up.
to wrap it up, when you slide off of katsuki, you pretend to drop something — standing up sensually to give him a little treat. his eyes clearly glued to your cute behind.
by the time your turn is over, katsuki knows that he’s done for. he wants you, and the way your vanilla perfume lingers on his sun licked skin. he’s in a daze for the rest of the game and doesn’t even notice the way his girl’s face twists at the sight of your lipstick prints all over him.
neither of you can hide your faces when deku begrudgingly announces “the girl that raised bakugou’s heart rate the most was….” and your name follows suit. you offer up your most winning smile, giving the blonde those “fuck me eyes.” that really get him going from across the fire pit and he can’t help but smirk back.
the boys clap for him but the girl he’s coupled up with gives you a look that could kill.
before it all comes to head, katsuki approaches you and your best friend by the bar — hands tucked into his lose cargo pants, silver dog tags around his neck glinting around his thick neck as he juts his head in the direction of the sunbed’s.
“can i pull you for a quick chat?” he grunts and you grin, offering him your hand despite the stares from the other islanders. you want katsuki bad, so you’ll be as controversial as you want — no matter who’s coupled up with who. “obviously, i like you, a lot.” he starts, helping you sit down, hand around your wrist and eyes full of admiration.
since you’ve come into the villa all he can think about is you, your laugh and your smile. to say his head was turned would be an understatement. katsuki bakugou is crushing hard on you.
“i think you can tell, ‘specially from how that challenge went.” it’s hard for him to open up like this and admit it to you, but your connection goes beyond your beauty and bakugou feels himself gravitating towards you more than his old match. he doesn’t want to pass this up, maybe lose you to izuku. “i said i was open, but i think… if you picked me. i’d be completely closed off for you. i want you like that. if you’d want me too.”
he fiddles with your hands nervously as you sit opposite him, all dolled up with shiny eyes and glossy lips under the evening sky. you think katsuki couldn’t get any cuter which only solidifies your choice.
“i’ve only ever wanted you since i came here, katsuki. i feel like we get each other,” inching forward until you’re a breath’s width apart, you tenderly brush a blonde lock away from his pretty face. “i wanna be yours just as much as you wanna be mine.” you add, quietly.
and you don’t care if your next move makes you shady or betrays anyone’s trust — but you came into the villa looking for love and you think you’ve genuinely found it within katsuki. so you lean forward, pressing your lips gently against his and squeak in surprise when bakugou reciprocates almost instantaneously. he cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss and pushing his tongue past the boundaries of your soft lips to tangle with your own.
“your lip gloss tastes like shit.” bakugou pulls away with a grumble, but his face breaks out into a wide and accomplished grin. “c’mere, kiss me again.”
“m’kay,” you tilt your head towards him, your own expression light with laughter, and place your hand over the one that cups your cheek. “i like kissing you.”
“i like kissing you too.”
smiling again, you squish bakugou’s cheeks. “so does this mean you’re picking me at the next re-coupling?”
katsuki nods dumbly, wanting nothing more to pull you into his lap. he knows they’ll be drama tonight, dealing with the last girl, his sleeping arrangements and yours — but he doesn’t care. he just wants to share this moment with you.
“i’ll pick you a thousand times over. at this re-coupling and every single fuckin’ one after.” katsuki reaffirms, knowing that he’s absolutely fucked up and in love.
and that’s enough for you to kiss him all over again.
Synopsis: In the dusty heat of a ranch, Bakugo Katsuki watches you ride a horse with a hunger he can't hide. Teasing turns to tension, and soon he's teaching you a different kind of riding.
The sun hung low over the ranch, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink as you guided the horse through the corral. Dust kicked up under its hooves, and the air smelled like hay and leather. You felt alive out here, the rhythm of the ride pulling a smile from your lips. Your hips rolled with each step, finding that perfect sync with the animal beneath you. It was freeing, the way the wind tugged at your hair and the muscles in your thighs burned just right.
From the doorway of the old barn, Bakugo Katsuki watched. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his bare chest, the brim of his cowboy hat casting a shadow over his sharp eyes. His blue jeans hung low on his hips, worn from years of hard work, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin from the day's chores. He wasn't one for standing idle, but something about you on that horse had him rooted in place. His gaze followed every shift of your body, the way your ass lifted and settled, hips grinding forward in a motion that was innocent enough on horseback but damn near sinful to him.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he fought to keep his cool. The growing tightness in his pants was impossible to ignore, his cock stirring at the sight of you. Fuck, he thought, shifting his weight to ease the pressure. Keep it together, Katsuki. But it was no use. Your laughter carried on the breeze as you urged the horse into a trot, and he bit the inside of his cheek, imagining those hips moving on him instead.
You spotted him then, slowing the horse to a walk and turning toward the barn. "Hey, cowboy," you called out, voice light and teasing. "Come to critique my form?"
Bakugo pushed off the doorframe, uncrossing his arms as he strolled closer, his boots crunching on the gravel. He stopped at the fence, leaning on it with that cocky smirk you knew so well. "Yer doin' alright, I reckon," he grunted, eyes raking over you without shame. "Horse seems happy enough, darlin'."
You laughed, patting the horse's neck. "Alright? I'm killing it out here. Look at this control." You demonstrated with a gentle sway, hips circling as you settled deeper into the saddle. "See? Smooth as hell."
His jaw tightened, and he swallowed again, the bob of his Adam's apple giving him away. "Tch. I could do it better. Blindfolded, even."
"Oh yeah?" You raised an eyebrow, guiding the horse closer to the fence so you could look down at him. The way his muscles flexed under his skin, all tan and taut, made your stomach flip. But you played it cool, leaning forward with a grin. "Big talk from the guy who's just standing there watching. Bet you couldn't handle this rhythm."
He huffed, but his eyes darkened, fixed on the way your thighs gripped the saddle. "Keep talkin' like that, sweetheart, and I'll show ya what I can handle."
You felt a spark of heat at his words, the teasing edge sharpening into something more. "Is that a challenge, Katsuki? Because I bet I could ride you better than this horse."
The words hung in the air, bold and unfiltered, and you saw the shift in him instantly. His smirk faltered, replaced by a hungry glare. He didn't say anything right away, just stared up at you, the tension crackling like static. Then, with a low chuckle, he pushed back from the fence. "We'll see about that, darlin'."
You dismounted after that, leading the horse back to the stable with a satisfied hum. The exchange had left you buzzing, a warmth pooling low in your belly. Bakugo disappeared into the barn, probably to cool off or hide whatever was straining against those jeans. But you weren't done playing yet.
Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you headed inside the ranch house, kicking off your boots in the mudroom. The place was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after a long day. You were wiping sweat from your neck when suddenly, strong hands grabbed your waist from behind, spinning you around and pinning you against the wall.
"What the—Katsuki?" you gasped, heart racing as his body pressed flush against yours.
He didn't give you time to think. His mouth crashed down on your neck, hot and demanding, teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to make you shiver. You arched into him on instinct, fingers clutching at his bare shoulders. He kissed his way up, nipping at your jaw before claiming your lips in a rough, needy kiss. His tongue swept in, tasting like salt and heat, and you moaned into it, caught completely off guard.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing heavy, you managed a dazed whisper. "What... what is this?"
His hands stayed firm on your hips, holding you in place as he leaned in close, voice husky and low against your ear. "Ya said ya could ride me better, darlin'. Time to prove it." He nipped your earlobe, sending a jolt straight between your legs. "Gonna show ya how to ride proper, sweetheart."
Before you could respond, he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You yelped, half-laughing, half-protesting as he carried you down the hall to the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him, and he dumped you onto the bed, the mattress bouncing under your weight.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching as he stripped off his jeans, revealing the hard outline of his cock straining against his boxers. He was all muscle and intensity, eyes locked on you like prey. "Strip," he ordered, voice rough with want, that drawl slipping in thicker now.
Your hands trembled a little from the adrenaline, but you obeyed, peeling off your shirt and shimmying out of your pants until you were down to your underwear. He watched every move, palming himself through the fabric, and the sight made your mouth water.
Bakugo climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, and grabbed his cowboy hat from the nightstand where he'd tossed it earlier. With a wicked grin, he placed it on your head, tilting it just right. "There ya go. Now ya look the part, cowgirl."
You bit your lip, the hat feeling ridiculous and hot all at once. "Katsuki..."
"Shut up and ride," he growled, flipping you both so he was on his back, pulling you on top of him. His hands gripped your thighs, guiding you to straddle him. You could feel his cock pressing against your core through the thin layers, hard and throbbing.
You ground down on him experimentally, earning a low groan from his throat. "Fuck, yeah, like that, darlin'."
"Soaked for me already? Dirty girl," he drawled, sliding a finger inside you, curling it just right.
You gasped as he circled your clit, hips bucking into his touch. "Been thinking about this since the corral," you admitted, voice breathy.
He smirked, sliding a finger inside you, curling it just right. "Good. Now show me what ya got, sweetheart." He pulled his hand away, leaving you aching, and shoved his boxers down, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and leaking at the tip.
You positioned yourself over him, sinking down slowly, inch by inch, until he filled you completely. The stretch was perfect, burning in the best way, and you both moaned at the sensation. His hands dug into your hips, urging you to move.
"Ride me, baby," he rasped, eyes half-lidded with lust, that cowboy twang making his words roll off his tongue. "Show me how good ya are at this."
You started slow, rolling your hips in circles, feeling every ridge of him inside you. The hat bobbed on your head, but you didn't care—it made you feel wild, powerful. You picked up speed, bouncing on him, your breasts heaving with each thrust. His groans mixed with your whimpers, the room filling with the slap of skin on skin.
"Fuck, yer tight," he grunted, thrusting up to meet you, hitting that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyes. "Harder now. I want to feel ya come undone on me."
You leaned forward, hands on his chest for leverage, nails digging into his skin. Sweat slicked your bodies, making every slide easier, hotter. He reached up, pinching your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you cried out.
"That's it, scream for me, darlin'," he demanded, one hand sliding down to rub your clit in tight circles. The pressure built fast, coiling in your core like a spring.
"Katsuki, I'm—oh god," you panted, hips stuttering as you chased your release.
"Come on my cock," he growled, pounding into you from below. "Milk me dry, sweetheart. Show this cowboy what ya got."
The words pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, walls clenching around him as you rode it out, shaking and gasping. He followed right after, hips bucking wildly as he spilled inside you, hot and thick, his grip bruising your thighs.
You collapsed on top of him, both of you panting, the hat askew on your head. He chuckled lowly, pulling you close. "Not bad, darlin'. But next time, I'll show ya how a real cowboy rides."
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End notes
I'm so sorry for being gone for so long and this being so short, if you scroll to my most recent post you'II see why i completly disappeared, i feel a bit disappointed in myself because i couldn't make a better fic, also i dont know if im the only one that can see it but im really sorry for the pictures being kind of shitty. I dont know if itd a new tumblr update but i cant seem to fix it.
I hope you enjoyed this and i'II see you on the next post♡
After your situationship, Bakugou, broke things off with you you’ve been wanting to get back at him
So why not get with his best friend?
Frat!AU College!AU
All of the characters in this are in greek like because I miss my sorority sorry not sorry
So here’s a little key that is super dumbed down so nobody is super confused, it’s kinda weird. Exec - any position held in greek life. Standards - where you go to report something. Social - party between one frat and one sorority. Dry/sober events - usually take place before a social, something like painting or trivia. Rush - a week of girls going to different sororities to learn about them before joining essentially. Pomping/homecoming - pomping a float is just turning tissue paper into balls to glue onto a float for homecoming. Panhel - a group of girls from different sororities who oversee all of greek life on campus
Alsooo didn’t proof read and like half of this was written high <3
Dropped foundation and makeup brushes littered the entire third floor of the sorority house, girls shrieking and clambering around. Only one room on the floor stayed silent, a typically loud triple dorm. The door was locked shut with three girls together, one laying in bed hiding under the covers and two sitting on the end, trying to cheer up the other. They pulled the covers from her and tried to drag her out of bed. When that didn’t work out, they began gently stroking her arm, telling her everything would be alright.
This scenario had been going on for the past week, as pathetic as it sounded. (Y/n) finally sat up from the bed, fiddling with the pillow that was previously underneath her.
“Come on (Y/n), you’ve skipped class for the past week. You NEED to get out of bed,” her friend tugged on her arm. “Let’s go out, we haven’t in forever.”
“You can’t get so caught up over him, he’s a dick.”
“He was nice!”
“Like when he made you walk in the rain to his car because he didn’t want to be seen picking you up from the house?”
“Nice to look at!” (Y/n) added to her last sentence.
“Look,” both of her friends held her hand, “if you keep wallowing in all this self pity you’re only proving him right, that you can’t get over him and you can’t do better.”
“I CAN’T do better!” She screamed into her pillow, burying her head. The two friends looked at each other before groaning in unison.
“Fine, if you don’t get up I’m getting standards to do a wellness check on you.” One finally replied.
(Y/n) groaned into her pillow before rolling out of bed, standing up for what felt like the first time in weeks. She was still in her pajamas from a week ago and hadn’t done any sort of self-care routine either. It showed. Her lips were cracked and dry, her nails were chipped and bitten down to the skin, and she was hunched down.
“It’s worse than we thought. Jesus, (Y/n) what did this man put you through?”
The whole chapter had heard about what happened between her and the social chair of DChi. Bakugou had been stringing her along for over a year and finally broke things off with her. Just about everyone else except for (Y/n) was relieved when it happened, knowing that he was just using her while talking to about eight other girls. They wondered how and why she could even put up with such a pompous, entitled man but most of them understood where her feelings for him came from. Bakugou was, in the simplest way to put it, extremely attractive and just about every girl who saw him at a party wanted to hook up with him. He was something out of reach for people to pine for, almost like an idol.
But for the people who had to actually interact with him (aka the sorority girls who had to pick up the slack of the half the frat not pomping the float for homecoming), he was a douche and lost his attractiveness immediately after interacting. Unless you were (Y/n) of course. To her friends, it was almost some sort of divine punishment that they began hooking up when they met each other. They knew that he would string her along but she was so enamored with the mere thought of him that she convinced herself they would end up together. She knew deep down that him breaking things off was inevitable though. She just kept lying to herself.
She must have been in her own deep thoughts (thinking about why she wasn’t enough for him) for longer than she thought because she was tapped back into reality by Mina. (Y/n) straightened up, confused as to why her friend who lived in another sorority house was in her room without warning.
“They brought me in, told me you needed help. By God they were right.” Mina began pulling outfits from her assortment of bags, even going through (Y/n) and her roommates' shared closet to find something.
“I don’t know if I want to go out.”
“(Y/n) you have never, in the history of me knowing you, said that with honesty. You just don’t want to see Bakugou.”
“Are we going to the bars then?”
“No silly, we’re going to his frat!” Mina said with a smile, tossing another outfit to the ground. “He’s not supposed to be there anyways, I heard he was out of town or something. But even if he is there, I want you to show him how hot you are.” She finally settled on a white, leather-materialed tube top and brown miniskirt. (Y/n) stared in disbelief at the combo.
“Am I going to Nashville?”
“It’s rodeo themed, and weird way to say thank you.” Mina laughed. “Besdies, you’ve had white cowgirl boots in your closet that you haven’t worn in a year. I KNOW you’ve been itching to wear it.” She tossed (Y/n) a coconut scented body scrub and razor. “Now go get cleaned up, I’m going to do my makeup.”
(Y/n) stood there for a moment, holding the items in her arm before slowly moving to her bathroom.
“C’mon, giddy up girl,” Mina teased her, urging her to move quicker.
(Y/n) turned the shower onto the hottest temperature she could handle and got in, feeling the heat slowly wake her up. She had all of her vanilla scented body washes laid out and an intricate skincare routine on the sink, courtesy of her roommates. She was thankful she had people who were so patient with the way she could get down on herself and put herself in a self-deprecating state of mind. She hated how she acted when being rejected but she couldn’t help but think it was something about her that she was lacking. That if she was prettier, funnier, or smarter she could have kept him around. This wasn’t the first time she got like this. Anytime she faces rejection or failure she isolates and puts herself in this state.
Her and Bakugou had a rough history, being an on and off situationship since they met. She knew he was talking to other girls, but she convinced herself she could somehow make herself more appealing to him. Being more available, more amiable, more eager to please. She knows the lesson she needs to learn but somehow it won’t stick with her. She needs to stop changing herself for a man. She needs to stop being such a people pleaser just for the possibility of being treated better.
She shook off the feelings that began to arise and got out of the shower, beginning to moisturize her legs and moved onto her skin care. She finally felt like a person and not a robot who lost power. She came out to her room with a bathrobe on and her head wrapped in a towel.
“Back from the dead huh,” Mina joked. She passed an open energy drink over to her, which (Y/n) took eagerly. Mina sat her down at the shared vanity desk and started to do her makeup, opting for a brown and gold color scheme. When she finished, she did (Y/n)’s hair. (Y/n) enjoyed how Mina understood what she was going through and that she just needed some support. Mina was always good at cheering her up with small acts of service like this. The very first time they hung out was when they were getting ready for rush week together when they first got to college. Anytime someone complimented (Y/n)’s outfit, hair, or makeup she was grateful to always be able to mention Mina.
“There, that’s the (Y/n) I know.” Mina smiled at her over her shoulder, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “Now let’s pre.”
“Mina, we can’t bring alcohol into the sorority house.”
“Can’t bring weed in either. Don’t act like your roommates don’t have a fat stash under their bed. Besides, we’re just going to take a few shots and head out. Everyone has already left to go out, we’re running behind. If we need more we can get drinks at DChi.”
They took a few quick shots and went to leave to the frats, getting a ride from someone in Mina’s sorority. They passed back some more drinks for the pair to take together. They were dropped off and told to be safe. There was a large group of people hanging outside of the building. Mina and (Y/n) went to the front and waved to the guys watching a door as they nodded them in. They grabbed onto each other and wormed through the crowd and to the kitchen area. Mina immediately spotted a friend and squealed, wrapping her arms around them. She spun around pulled the figure towards (Y/n).
“(Y/n), this is my friend, Eijirou!” Mina introduced a large red-head wearing baggy, black jeans and a ribbed tank top. He immediately gave a friendly wave and walked up to her.
“Have we met before?”
“Uhm…
She had met him before, albeit sober and through Bakugou. More of in a passersby way though, briefly seeing each other at socials and sober events together. With over a hundred people in a room, it’s hard to be memorable.
“I think so.”
“(Y/n)’s here a lot, you have to have remembered her! She’s in Kappa-Sig, you just partnered with them for homecoming!” Mina swiveled around once more, being greeted by another girl. She immediately took her in her arms and danced off. Eijirou and (Y/n) glanced at each other before quietly laughing. He walked up and led her to a semi-quieter area to talk to; the couch beside the beer pong table.
“Not sure why she never mentioned such a cute girl to me. How have we never met? I swear I know you from somewhere.”
She didn’t want to mention Bakugou. Not at all actually. But unfortunately that’s just what happened to spill out of her mouth. “Bakugou didn’t like showing me off I guess.” She shrugged and immediately felt the effect of her words. She felt as if the words were spilling out of her mouth like water spilling over a bucket, no way to retract what happened. Kirishima didn’t say anything either, at least for a moment. It seemed like he was carefully choosing his words.
“I think I remember you now. You’re… well…”
“Yea. How do you know him. Besides…”
“We were on uh, finance for exec together.” He trailed off, going silent for a minute. He suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed at her, “we met during pilates! You were leading the event for Panhel! Last fall!”
“Oh my God, we did-”
“-You corrected my form on the shell stretch! Are you still on panhel?” She shook her head. He made a small ‘o’ with his mouth. “I get it, I was on exec last year and felt like I had wayyyy too much on my plate. It’s not for everyone. Definitely not me.” He took a sip of his beer. “And I think I bumped into you at the gym? You dropped your water bottle on the way out.”
“Yes, oh my God,” she bounced up and down on the couch. “I can’t believe that was you!” She was closer to him on the couch now, both of their knees touching. They sat in silence for a bit at that. (Y/n) knew that it’s not a great idea to try to get with one of his friends, but frankly, she didn’t give a shit. She wanted nothing more than for him to see that she was over him and getting with his friend would hurt him. She knew he had minor jealousy issues with how he felt Eijirou was more popular than him and that people thought Eijirou was more charming than he was. (Y/n) had to deal with rants about it for several months on end when he overheard people talking about, “the sweetest guy in DChi.” He was pissed it wasn’t him, not that he wanted to be referred to as sweet, he hated when (Y/n) did it, but because he couldn’t understand why they would talk about him rather than himself.
At this point, Eijirou’s hand was resting on the outside of her thigh.
“It’s a little crowded, don’t you think?” She nodded as he took her hand and led her through a long hallway and into a room. She took a glance around it, a clean bed, a gaming set up, a desk filled with pictures; she noticed a picture of Eijirou and Bakugou at some bar. Eijirou sat down on his bed and brought (Y/n) gently down with him, wrapping a hand around her waist.
“When did you join Kappa Sig?” He fumbled around his desk with his other hand, bringing over a pen, hitting it soon after.
“First semester, same as Mina,” she reached over to take a hit herself, not waiting for an invite.
“Is that when you met?” She’s glad he didn’t seem to care about her lack of boundaries when it came to getting high.
“Mhm.” She smiled. She was about to ask when he and Bakugou met but cut herself off. It was too late though, Eijirou had already picked up what she was wanting to know.
“Katuski and I met the first week, we lived down the hall from each other in our dorm hall. And he went to some event for this frat, invited me to come with him the next day. We’ve been pretty close since. I can’t believe I didn’t know…” He cut himself off, visibly biting his bottom lip in embarrassment.
“Wait he lets you call him that?”
“His name? Katsuki?”
“Yea, I thought he didn't like it when-” It hit her hard that she was never as close to him as she convinced herself she was. That no matter what, she was never going to be that girl and she couldn’t change herself, couldn’t fix herself to make him want her more.
Eijirou frowned immediately at the blank-face that covered (Y/n). “He never let you call him Katsuki?” He pouted and seemed genuinely upset at that. He cupped her face in his hand, “poor girl,” he murmured.
“Yea it-” she stopped talking at the wavering of her voice, feeling the tears well up again. Eijirou immediately began stroking her arm and cooing at her.
“Hey, hey, hey, shh,” he traced at her back, holding her while she started to hiccup. She pulled back and wiped her eyes, apologizing about what just happened. He shook his head at her. “It’s so shitty what he did (Y/n). Guys who do that, well- they’re such dicks. That’s not a man. And no man should ever do that. Not to you,” he tilted her head up and brushed her cheek.
“You think so?”
“Of course. You’re so beautiful.” His hand began to trace lower. “Your eyes are so beautiful.”
“Eijirou-“
“I don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”
“I want…” She bit her bottom lip.
“I don’t care if I’m a rebound.”
“Can we-” she began to ask.
“You can take it out on me.”
She immediately grabbed onto his shoulders, straddling him. He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning in to kiss her. She leaned into him, causing his head to hit the front of the headboard. He didn’t even shake it off or anything, he just readjusted to keep on kissing her, their mouths inseparable. He rolled over and pinned her down, lowering himself onto her mouth in an almost push-up manner.
He brought her into his arms once more and pulled her into his arms, her legs in between his. She took her arms around his neck and pulled up so she was back to straddling his lap. He bucked her further up into his when he pulled back from kissing her for a moment.
“Hold on, okay?”
He shifted towards the end of the bed and stood up, causing (Y/n) to let out a short squeal, tightening her grip around him. He walked over to the wall and pinned her against it, shifting his hips into her. She grabbed onto his shoulder and shoved him into her, immediately kissing the side of his neck. He let out a small whine and gently grabbed the back of her head, keeping her mouth on his neck. She continued, getting messier and messier as the time progressed. She eventually ended up leaving small bite marks around the side of his neck. When (Y/n) finally pulled back, he immediately kissed her neck and began to move downward, causing her to squirm momentarily before hopping down from his waist. She pulled him to the bed and began tugging at his top.
He laughed, taking her hands and bringing them to her side. He took his top off and tossed it to the side, smiling at her. He was ripped. More than Bakugou was. She didn’t want to compare them, especially at this time, but she couldn’t help it. His waist band sat low and she could see his v-line formation begin.
No wonder Bakugou never introduced them, she thought. It looked as if Eijirou was always flexing, even though she knew he wasn’t. He took his hands to her shoulders and trailed down slowly to her waist, moving his hands to the back of his top.
“Are you okay if I-”
She immediately nodded, turning around to make it easier. She could hear him let out a soft chuckle at her. “Alright then,” he slowly unzipped her top, unhooking the bottom. He folded it in half and went to his drawer, resting it neatly at the top.
“How kind,” she teased.
“It’s the right thing to do. Would hate it if you weren’t able to wear that top again,” his eyes narrowed slightly, almost glancing back at the top. He shook his head slightly and looked back at (Y/n). He paused, mouth hanging open slightly.
“God,” he let out a sigh. (Y/n) felt her face flush, looking down in slight embarrassment. He brushed his hand over her cheek and lifted her head back up. “I can’t believe I went so long never knowing you.” He brought her down into his bed, twisting underneath the covers. He stroked her cheek once more. His hand went lower, going onto her neck, her shoulders, her chest, and to the side of her breast. He paused before slowly tracing onto her waist. He never stopped looking into her eyes though.
*BZZZZ* *BZZZZ*
She sat up, immediately turning to her phone shaking slightly on his side table. She reached over, seeing the missed call, name text of MINA with hearts surrounding it. Below, she could see a series of texts from her and a few other girls from her sorority who were at this party. Eijirou pulled her closer, keeping his arm wrapped around her, his blankets covering them both still. She swiped up to see what was sent, but before she could see, she glanced up at the sound of a door opening.
“Hey bro, I’ve been looking for-”
She wanted to hit her head with a fucking hammer. She wanted to smash her phone. She wanted to disappear. She wanted to remember this moment forever. She wanted to debrief this entire sequence to her friends.
“WHAT-”
“Oh hey bro!”
“-THE ACTUAL”
She had never seen his face turn so red.
“FUCK”
Eijirou propped his head up in the crook of her neck. The blanket fell slightly, exposing her. She reallyyyy hoped whatever face she made that was frozen made her look like she didn’t care.
“ARE YOU DOING” Mina is going to LOVE this.
Eijirou decided to cover her up with his hand, a large warmth enveloping her chest.
“WITH HER!”
“Why? Do you know her?” He almost taunted him. Bakugou’s red face snapped down to (Y/n)’s, almost demanding an explanation. She glanced back down at her phone, trying to ignore him. She finally saw all the texts that she missed.
MINA - 1:27am
(Y/n) PLZ BE ON THE LOOKOUT
MINA - 1:41am
HE’S HERE
MINA - 1:47am
ILL BEAT HIS ASS IF U GIVE ME THE GO AHEAD
MINA - 1:49am
WHERE ARE U
She looked up at the sound of the door slamming. Her phone dropped at the relief.
“Sorry he interrupted us,” Eijirou didn’t even seem phased, “thought he was out of town. Anyways,” he flipped her over, leaning above her.
“Wanna keep going?”
“Please,” she let out a sigh before tugging at his waist band.
~~~
BONUS
“So,” Mina stirred her iced latte. “Sorry I didn’t beat his ass for you, I was a little bit worried you’d get mad.” She paused, looking up before continuing, “I also thought he would, like, spin kick me if I touched him.”
“I can try another time!” She put her hands in the air defensively. “I’ll get revenge for you, don't even worry.”
I got this idea from @angelashido back in January of 2022 when I read her Tenya the Tank fic (it's very good you should read it sometime). Also there are a few things that are real in this story! The average age for hockey players to retire is between 28-30 yo, Tsurui is a real village in Japan with a last recorded population of ~2,500 people (2016) and is near the Asia League Ice Hockey stadium that hosts the East Hokkaido Cranes! The team is named the Cranes because Hokkaido the primary habitat for Red-Crowned Cranes!
You decided to take your niece and two nephews out to go skating with you. During the summer, while they were on break you got to teach them how to ice skate at the skating rink you co-owned. It was closed during the summer usually, but if anyone contacted you about wanted to use it you always were willing to open it. It was also good training for you and they liked to train for their hockey games before school started in the fall. Today was different though. Your niece and nephews that they all wanted to wear their hockey jerseys. Your oldest nephew, Mamoru wore his Bakugou “The Menace” Katsuki jersey, your youngest nephew, Minori wore his Shoto “The Shadow” Todoroki jersey, and you and your niece, Ai had on Tenya “The Reckoning” Iida jerseys.
You opened up the skating rink doors and your nephews zoomed to get their skates on stretch and get on the rink and start practicing for hockey next school year. You and your niece did stretches and then started doing some basic skating routines and after a little bit she decided to sit down and watch your routine and see if she could mimic it. You went ahead and started your routine showing her how you did your famous 720 air spin, the spin that got you the first place title last year at the Figure Skating World Championship. You told her start with a 180, then a couple 360s. You watched her as she gained momentum and did a perfect 180. You watched her then do a 360, but her second one she fell before she could gain enough momentum. “You did such a good job, Ai. Do you want some cocoa to warm up and try again afterwards?” Ai immediately shook her head yes, especially with how much she loved chocolate. You asked your nephews if they wanted cocoa too which they decided sounded good to them and you got some. “So, Minori, Mamoru, what are you two working on for hockey?” “I’m trying to perfect being silent on the ice rink like Shoto,” Minori said. “And I’m trying to get my tackles and side swipes right like Katsuki,” Mamoru said excitedly. Behind your nephews you saw a familiar tuft of pink poofy hair. “Mina,” you yelled to your long time friend you didn’t notice the the group of men behind her.
You and Mina were talking about the routine that you were working on when you felt a tug on your jersey. You looked down to see Ai. “Yes sweetie?” “Can I have your jersey please.” “Why do you want my jersey, Ai?” She looked somewhere behind you, “it’s a surprise.” “Okay, here,” you said as you took off your jersey and handed it to her and she ran over to the side. You continued your conversation with Mina for a little bit before someone tapped your shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I believe this is yours.” When you turned around you were face to face with Tenya Iida with your jersey in hand. “Wait, you’re Shoko Shinagawa.” “You know me?” “Of course, me and my mother love watching competitive figure skating. Your 720 air spin was amazing and your performance was beautiful. I just didn’t think that someone as gorgeous and graceful would be interested in someone like me.” “Well personally I think you’re one of the best hockey players even though you don’t have the most goals in a season you’re coming up on having the most assists in recorded hockey history, but when it comes to goal amounts you’re also up there especially since those games in October where you racked up 2 goals in 2 seconds and the other where you scored within the first 5 seconds.” “Oh, so you’re not just someone who feign interest, you have genuine interest. It’s not often I find anyone that has any actual interest in me of all people. Most are angry at me,” Tenya chuckled. “Oh, you mean like how you got Bakugou benched in a game? I wasn’t angry with you, I thought it showed your true character and you ended up winning the game and then won the championship at the end of the season. If you guys lost the season because of that I could understand people being upset, but there’s really no reason to dislike you or to be upset with you.” Tenya chuckled and looked down at his feet with a blush appearing on his face. “Looks like Tenya’s gonna have a cute little girlfriend soon,” someone who you recognized as Bakugou. Tenya looked at him annoyed. “If he plays his cards right,” you laughed. Tenya was about to say something to Bakugou before it seems like what you said just registered to both men and he turned around to look at you. “Oh, um, then do you want to like get breakfast or dinner with me sometime,” Tenya asked nervously. “Sure, it’s not often I find someone that actually knows me especially when they’re as handsome as you.”
A few days later you and Tenya met up for coffee in a local diner for breakfast together. “So, what brings “The Reckoning” to the small town of Tsurui, hm?” Tenya chuckled at the use of the nickname. “Well, I’m retiring from hockey either this season or next season.” “Really! You’re only 25 though players usually retire at about 28, why so early?” “Well there’s a conflict of interest when your plan is to purchase the team that you play for.” “You’re purchasing the East Hokkaido Cranes,” you whisper yelled at him. Tenya sat and thought for a moment. “Not only that, but I’m going to be CEO of Iida Corp and I wanted to find a place to settle down comfortably and quietly,” he looked at you for a second and then looked at his plate infront of him. “I might have decided to do so sooner if I knew I’d meet you here,” he said with a blush and a faint smile. “Having the kids around must be fun too especially with all the space out here.” “I mean when my siblings are out of town I love watching them and they in turn like watching you guys.” “I’m glad that Ai was at least able to see you play before you retired. I hope you’ll still come by the ice rink though.” “I’m hoping that if this continues to go well I get see more than just the ice rink that you own.”
⤷ synopsis: the media doesn't know about your engagement to the pro-hero. but lucky for them!! your ring gives you away.
⤷ cw: fem reader, established relationship, fluff, swearing (ofc).
⤷ a/n: hi!! soo this is sorta based off how we found out my close personal friend zendaya n mister spiderman were engaged lol.
the media doesn't even know you and bakugou are engaged until they catch a glimmering ring on your finger as you walk the red carpet at the fashion awards.
you looked absolutely divine and ethereal in a one of a kind, custom gown made by your favorite designer. makeup all sharp and perfect with hair styled beautifully. all that was on your mind was winning the model of the year award.
but the big ass stone on your ring finger had other plans. the jewel shined elegantly as you posed for the needy cameras, completely oblivious to the storm about to brew on social media. god bless your publicist.
your fiancé was halfway across the world in his office, doomscrolling on his phone instead of attending to the paperwork begging for his attention.
bakugou had been more than willing to accompany you (even though he loathes red carpets) to the award show to support his wonderful soon-to-be wife, but you insisted he stay and "take care of business."
bakugou would usually facepalm at headlines about you two, but this one was different. it wasn't a cheating rumor or tales of an alleged breakup.
a flurry of headlines recited the same thing: SUPERMODEL YN AND PRO-HERO DYNAMIGHT REPORTEDLY ENGAGED?!
fuck.
you and bakugou were fairly private when it came to your relationship. all the media had to know was that you guys were together. and happy! nothing more, nothing less. so then how the hell did pop crave know about this?
bakugou sits up a little in his desk chair, eyes behind square frames squinting at the words on his screen.
"hah? how the fuck—" then he scrolls down, seeing the attached photo of you serving face on the carpet. any semblance of anger seeps away from bakugou like sand in an hourglass. a fond smile spreads on his face instantly just at the sight of the love of his life.
he clicks his tongue, zooming into the photo shamelessly. your dolled up face, the intricate lace on the corset of your gown, and the curves of your body he's held countless times. the dork can't get enough of you.
"you run that mouth of yours, pretty girl?" he murmurs to himself, already imagining you yapping it up with one of the red carpet journalists.
then his eyes catch it, the expensive rock on your finger he proposed with weeks ago. it's almost hard to miss. now he gets it.
"fuckin' nosy ass idiots." bakugou huffs, shaking his head as he smiles beside himself. a quiet part of him loved people knowing you were his girl.
and y'know he's expecting a longgg facetime call from you once you're back in your hotel room, excitedly recounting the events of the night with a hello kitty face mask and silk robe on and your model of the year award in the back.
uh....surprise! i really love asoiaf, and i've seen so many posts about barbarian!katsuki, but i wasn't really successful in writing him, so here's my take on a fantasy au with katsuki. this takes place pre-fire and blood, really in the "medieval" days of the targaryen dynasty, with a targaryen heir!reader. i took some creative liberties with targaryen marriage customs, but i think they're sorta fun.
this is a beast of a one-shot, but there's lots of lore preceding this (do i smell a prequel?), including that reader asked for katsuki's hand in marriage, and neither of them were really expecting to wind up in a marriage bed together. i normally don't write virginity loss, but i made an exception for these two, i really do love them!!! fair warning, there's lots of high valyrian in here, which i don't speak fluently either, so i'm going to add some translations at the end :)
"perzītsos" - "little flame"
enjoy <3
pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader
wc: 13.5k (told ya it's a beast)
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut. bakugou is roughly twenty-eight in this fic.
cws: virginity loss, aged-up characters, fingering, oral sex (fem!receiving, male!receiving mentioned), reader has female anatomy, smut, pretentious amounts of high valyrian pet names
𖤓
Leaving the raucous merriment of the great hall behind, its stone walls bursting at the seams with the raunchy, jeering calls of Bakugou’s soldiers and the titters of the ladies of the court, only seems to emphasize the echoing silence of your chambers. The servants had completed the arduous job of transferring your things into your new apartments today; you recognize the tapestries that had decorated your walls since you were a child, now dwarfed by the massive dimensions of your new quarters, and the candelabra you’d been gifted by a nobleman at your seventh name day sits upon a newly constructed ebony desk.
Nearly every hard surface in the room—desks, tables, even small areas of the floor—has been covered in the fat, yellow beeswax candles crafted in the kitchens many stories below your feet, flames dancing and casting shadows this way and that over the stone walls. Many a night have you forgone sleep in favor of losing yourself in the waltz of a small fire on a wick, the sometimes-frantic, sometimes-untroubled rhythm of the flame in the breeze of an open window. Tonight, though, not even the hundreds of flames, these little extensions of the hot, ancient blood that flows through your veins, can distract you from your fate.
“I remember these rooms,” you say offhandedly, bringing one hand to the fine curtains that hang around the tapestry bed, “they were my mother’s.”
Bakugou stays stock still where he stands, letting you examine the marriage bed. The wood was brought into these chambers several weeks ago, alongside a handful of master carpenters. The bed is enormous, easily large enough for three people to get a full night’s sleep without touching each other. It had been built inside of the room so that the intended dimensions could be fulfilled without the worry of actually fitting it through the door, which it would not. The sight of it makes an apprehensive shiver rock through your frame.
“You were born here,” Bakugou says gruffly, catching you by surprise. “I remember.”
You turn to face him, eyebrows raised cautiously at his decision to speak. Considering what lies before you both, the breach in his silence is appreciated, if unexpected. He’s hardly said two words to you all night; two words besides the lengthy wedding vows you’d exchanged before gods and men alike, speaking them practically into each other’s mouths in the purring, labyrinthine cadence of the Old Tongue. The metallic taste of his blood, brushed onto your tongue by his own thumb, is still nestled between your teeth, worryingly permanent.
“You remember?”
“Hardly.” Bakugou diverts his gaze from you to where your marriage bed lies, squinting his eyes as if he’s trying to remember what it had looked like more than twenty years past. “I was three.”
It shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is, given that you’d practically been raised alongside Bakugou, taken your first steps, tasted your first victories, had your first stumbles under his watchful crimson gaze. The required distance had been there, as you’d always been more of an heir than a little girl, and Bakugou had been busy with his training anyhow, but he was a steadfast part of your memories, even if he had been mostly in the blurry peripherals until the most recent years. This confession, that he had stood in the same room as your howling, bloodied form had been brought into the world, makes you feel more exposed than you already do in your thin gown.
Bakugou must take notice of how your shoulders unintentionally tense up, because his lips pull into a small frown, not one of anger, but seemingly guilt. You sigh, rolling your shoulders back and squaring yourself to face him, trying not to let your cheeks burn hot as your nipples peak under the singular layer of fabric hiding the finer details of your body from him. He’s intimidating, and both of you know it, but considering that you’re the reason you two find yourselves in this room, you think that maybe you should be the one to guide him along.
Bakugou approaches you slowly, making a noticeable effort to dull down the soldier’s swagger he normally walks with, holding your gaze with what you surmise is his best attempt to look open and mild-tempered. You notice how he pointedly avoids looking at your body, how it’s silhouetted by the candlelight and showing itself as a dark, shapely shadow in the white fabric of your gown. He’s close enough to touch now, toes only inches from yours. You’re reminded of how close you stood during the ceremony, how he had sworn to give his life for you, to you. Ānogar ānograro.
“They’re waiting,” you say quietly, eyes darting to the four servants in each corner of the room. Bakugou follows your gaze, and his frown grows deeper.
“May I speak freely?” It’s a laughable question coming from him, but it’s a kindhearted gesture, so you bite into your lip and nod your acquiesce.
“You’re my husband,” you say, trying not to feel discouraged at the pink tinge that rises to his cheeks, “I always want you to speak freely.”
Through a stiff nod of understanding, Bakugou lets a deep breath exhale through his nose before pinning you in place with a scrutinizing gaze. “Have you been…kissed, before?”
“Of course I have, Bakugou.” You can’t hide the breathless chuckle that comes fluttering from your lips, the dangerous hint of a relieved smile that begins to carve into your cheeks.
“Katsuki,” he says, the corner of his own mouth curling when his simple request for familiarity wipes the glimmer of smugness straight away from your face. “Your husband, remember?”
“Katsuki,” you repeat, letting the letters make a home for themselves on your tongue. Something flashes in his eyes, and he clears his throat. You can’t make out the shape of what’s flickered across his face, but you can feel the heat thrumming from his eyes to yours.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?” Your nose wrinkles in confusion, entirely lost on what point he’s trying to make. Katsuki narrows his eyes, clears his throat uncomfortably.
“What else do you have…experience with?”
Oh. He wants to know if you’ve been touched, where you’ve been touched, possibly even by whom. It’s your turn to shuffle your bare feet on the cold stone floor, to look solidly ahead at the v in the collar of his loose tunic, the slope of his neck, anywhere but his eyes. Your stomach begins to roil at the implication of this, of baring yourself to him wholly. It won’t be the first time you do it tonight, and certainly not the last.
“I’ve– um, done most things.” You somehow summon the courage to meet his gaze again, staring up defiantly. “I hope that’s not a disappointment to you.”
“You had no obligation to me before today.” Katsuki shakes his head, as if to dispel the very notion that you even have something to refuse to apologize for. It brings a spark of warmth to your heart, a hum of satisfaction pulsing through you that you’d chosen your husband well, at least in this regard. “But you are a virgin?”
You can’t control the way your eyes go wide, blinking hurriedly at him when he asks the question. Your fingertips grow hot, and you aren’t sure which potential answer would be the least mortifying, so you opt to stick with the truth.
“Yes,” you say, so lowly it’s near a whisper, “I’m a virgin.”
Katsuki swears quietly in the Old Tongue, and though you’re more focused on your feet than his face, you can see the awkward repositioning of his feet, how his hands clench and unclench at your confession. He’s your husband, you scold yourself, you have no need for fear. You jerk your head up to look unflinchingly at his face, unapologetic in your stance. Despite the way he had voiced his indifference to your prior experiences, you can see some strange mixture of relief, nerves, and that same undefinable heat rising to his face, coloring his features and darkening his eyes.
His eyes run over your consummation gown, long, loose, and traditional as they come, lovingly hand-stitched by your longest serving lady-in-waiting. Your handmaidens had taken the liberty of freshening you up after the feast, scrubbing most of the heavy, ash-black ceremony makeup from the bridge of your nose, wiping the kohl from your eyes until you were bare. Your elaborate wedding hairstyle had been let down and reworked into a long, singular braid down your back, loosely secured by a knot of cowhide. That, amongst other things, is for him, and only him.
“After this,” Katsuki wets his lips with his tongue, “we won’t share a bed again–”
“Katsuki–”
“Not until you’re ready,” he amends. His fingers twitch by his sides, a boyish gesture for a man of his massive stature.
“I’m your wife,” you say, puzzled and looking up at him, “I may be a virgin now, but I’m no stranger to what that entails.”
A heavy breath shakes through Katsuki’s frame, and his brows knit together in an expression of comfortingly familiar exasperation. You almost want to smile back at him.
“I expected as much,” he says, one hand reaching forward ever so slowly to brush tentatively through your fingers dangling at your side, to pinch at the thin fabric of your gown and rub it between his fingers, “but that’s a matter for the morning.”
You catch the implication in his tone, in the way he’s holding the sheet separating you from him. There’s something to be taken care of. Your palms turn clammy, fingers beginning to tremble by your sides. It takes everything in you to set your jaw and look up at him, shoulders rolled back and expression carefully schooled into something that you can only pray approaches a warm neutrality.
“Would you like to take it off?” Your eyes flit from your gown to his face.
Katsuki considers you, dragging his eyes over your frame at an agonizingly slow rate, still maddeningly rubbing that fabric between his fingers. Suddenly, his face crumples into a scowl.
“You’re shaking,” he says matter-of-factly. Your cheeks warm, wishing he wouldn’t have brought it up. “Are you nervous?”
“Not of you,” you answer him truthfully, willing the tension in your spine to melt into pleasurable anticipation. Katsuki catches your meaning instantly, the concern in his eyes glittering into something more akin to the anger that settles so comfortably into the frown lines on his face, that strikes his sharp features so suddenly and beautifully you almost gasp.
“Turn around,” he barks suddenly, his posture straightening into that of the formidable general you’ve known him as all your life, not the surprisingly gentle husband he’s shown himself to be in the last few minutes. You start in his arms, beginning to spin on your heels to follow his command when his hands catch you by the shoulders, an apology writing its way into the fine features of his face.
“But you said–”
“Them.” Katsuki jerks his head towards the servants posted in each corner who are, miraculously, turned away from the two of you, heads down and poised towards the corner. You look up to Katsuki in amazement, and his eyes soften. “I wouldn’t speak to you that way.”
“Oh.” It’s light and not enough when it falls from your mouth, and you want to apologize, but Katsuki’s already loosening his grip on your shoulders, urging you to spin.
“Now you,” he says gently, “turn around.”
Too stunned by the duality of him to argue, the whetted and wartorn angles of him contrasting with this unbearable softness, you turn your back to him, urging yourself to relax under the weight of his hands. Katsuki’s hands subtly squeeze your shoulders, as if to warn you of their departure, and the next time you feel his touch, it’s on the end of your long braid, his scarred fingers fumbling with the cowhide tie.
You hold your breath as you feel the tension along your scalp go slack; he’s gotten the tie off of your braid. Katsuki’s fingers begin to methodically comb through your long hair, starting at the bottom and working his way up, deftly avoiding knots and keeping the lightly-oiled strands from tangling themselves as he undoes your braid. He’s surprisingly good at it, and an unexpected pang of pain accompanies your curious thought as to whether he’s had much practice undoing a woman’s hair, something so sacred. Before you can ruminate on the hurt beginning to come to a simmer in your chest, Katsuki’s spinning you back around, causing the calming perfume of your hair oil to cloud around your head as your hair fans out. It centers you, gives you the wherewithal to look up into his eyes.
Katsuki’s face is candid, beautifully so, in the way he regards you. Crimson eyes dart over every feature you have to offer him, now so wild and unbidden compared to your usual state of being, and he reaches a tentative hand towards your hair, before flinching and pulling back. You shake your head, bringing a hand out to catch his and pull it back towards the part of you he so clearly wants to touch before you can think better of it. Katsuki’s eyes widen, only momentarily, before his face settles into an expression of quiet approval, and he runs his fingers through your hair again, less purposeful this time and more for the simple pleasure of memorizing the feel of you under his hands. You blink up at him, waiting.
“Gevie,” he mumbles under his breath, watching how his fingers card through your unruly hair. He mistakenly brushes your nipple, still peaked under your consummation gown, and realizes what he’s done when you gasp lightly.
“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, surprising yourself when you realize that you mean it. Your back has already begun to arch unwittingly towards him, as if your body has accepted him as your husband while your mind is still trying to wrap itself around the idea. “Touch me.”
You can see the thought cross Katsuki’s face before he even reaches for your gown, pinching it at the hips on either side of you.
“Do you want to take it off, or would you like me to?” Katsuki says, hardly louder than a whisper. You blink, still trying to marry this man with the outspoken, ruthless general you’d invited to the altar with you.
“Traditionally, the man–”
“I know,” Katsuki says, a bit of an agonized bite behind his words. You bite your lip, worried that you’ve finally overstepped, but he sighs, heavy and surrendered. “I know what happens traditionally. I don’t care. We’re doing this on your terms.”
“My terms,” you repeat slowly, trying to gather his meaning.
“Yes,” Katsuki affirms, “your terms. Now, do you want to take your gown off, or do you want me to?”
You want to run to the washroom to realign your expectations, is what you want to do. This is supposed to be quick, you remember your handmaidens preparing you with monstrous stories of being unceremoniously bent over the bed, gown ripped to shreds or simply shoved above your hips instead of carefully pulled between a considerate thumb and finger. You study him, study that freshly sincere affection on his face, his willingness to bring you through this unscathed and…dare you say it, satisfied. Your hand, which, so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed drifting, comes up to cup his sharp jaw, plush palm giving against the angle of his face.
“I want you to,” you say, nodding when his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I want you to take it off of me, please.”
Katsuki only answers you with a curt nod of his own, schooling his momentarily bewildered expression back into one of careful concentration, more for your benefit than his, you think. You can feel a slight tremor in his hands when he brings them to the strings that suffice for your gown’s sleeves, little more than strips of fabric tied in loose bows over your shoulder. Despite the painstakingly beautiful embroidery in the stiff linen, curling flames and stars rising from the hem of your gown, everything else about the design of the garment reveals its purpose: to be removed.
You hold your breath while he works at the tied strings, partly because you feel like you should and partly because the slightest brush of his fingers over your skin feels so climactic that you feel that it should make a sound, maybe that of pottery breaking or lightning clapping across a dark sky. It’s silent, the slip of the linen through itself, three cautious pulls and your gown is sagging on one side, the collar falling until your nipple is almost exposed. You gulp and try to look up to Katsuki, but his jaw is set, even grinding a bit in concentration as he keeps his gaze centered firmly on the bow he’s set upon on your right shoulder. You study him, looking for any indication that he’s anxious, or pleased, or disinterested, but he’s an unreadable mask of focus as his large fingers tug on the bow. It slides loose as easily as the first one had, and your gown slips from your body and crumples around your feet on the floor.
Katsuki sucks in a sharp inhale, forced to take in the sight of your naked body now that he’s finished his task. You watch intently as his eyes drag over every part of you, slow and savory, nostrils flaring and pupils dilating. You’re so exhilarated by his wild eyes taking you in, you almost forget to be insecure, to be nervous. This is something you might grow to enjoy, you think; Katsuki’s carefully concealed appetite.
“Am I alright?” You feel your mouth form the words, hear them float into the charged air. You don’t think you meant to ask, but once it’s out, you’re glad you did. It may be a politically-made marriage bed, but as fate would have it, your crown sits upon the head of a young woman, a young woman looking into the eyes of the man that would have her for his own, wanting to be thought of as a thing to be admired. Katsuki’s eyes flicker back to yours, and his brows knit together.
“Alright?” Katsuki’s eyes leave yours once more, and he meets his own gaze with a bold hand on your hip, thumb rubbing circles over your hipbone. “You’re more than alright, but you already know that.”
You feel so small, so silly when you tell him: “I was hoping you’d be the one to remind me.”
Katsuki understands then, meets your fixed look upon his face and lets that molten desire cool into something more digestible, easier to hold, and then he speaks. “Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys.”
When you’d learned the Old Tongue as a child, you’d been taught to purr the sounds, to run them together like the slow, controlled flow of ink from the end of a feather. You learned to curl the consonants behind your teeth and let them breathe the same air for a beat, to birth the sounds into the world off of your tongue instead of simply pushing the air out. But when Katsuki speaks the Old Tongue it’s…a growl, forceful and quaking with restrained power. Raw and godlike, the words sound like they were written with his low rasp in mind.
Wife. His beautiful wife. Your breath hitches in your throat at the same time as a vicious swell of desire rips through you, mouth beginning to hang ajar. Katsuki frowns slightly, tilts his head.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Take me, then,” you say, breathless from your own courage. Katsuki’s eyes widen, and if you could see clearly through your own sudden lust, you’d see the corner of his mouth twitching. “Make me your wife.”
“I will,” Katsuki comes closer, speaking not smugly, but matter-of-factly. He slides one hand around your waist, thumbs at your chin with the other. “But there’s an order to these things.”
No sooner have you opened your mouth to protest Katsuki’s condescension than he’s closing the wide gap between his height and your plush, open lips, pressing his mouth to yours, and your mind goes quiet. You’ve been kissed upwards of a dozen times at this point, something you were proud to remind your ladies-in-waiting of this morning while they giggled and squealed about your big night with the general. A few princes, a handful of noblemen’s sons, the expected suspects. All your ladies had said in return was “Those are boys. The general is a man. You’ll see the difference.”
There’s nothing demanding or unkind in the way his fingers are pressing into the plush curve of your hip, but it’s firm, steady in a way you’ve never dreamed about being held. His hand spreads across your jawline, keeping you tilted up and open for him to move his mouth against. There’s none of the hurried pecking, no errant tongue forcing its way between your teeth before you can even offer– Katsuki’s a man. You understand now, understand your handmaidens’ flushed cheeks and the way they fanned themselves theorizing about whether your new husband was as ruthless in bed as he was on the battlefield. Katsuki makes a fire catch behind your ribs, a desperate urge to impress, to keep your now horrifyingly-apparent lack of experience under wraps.
You bring a hand to the back of his neck, willing yourself not to tremble, and card your fingers through the close-cropped hair, smiling when Katsuki’s lips stutter against your own. His grip on you tightens, one big hand slipping to the nape of your neck and pulling you flush against him. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting like ceremonial wine and something mannish and mature; you’re hardly able to swallow the gasp that threatens to reveal how the pit of your stomach is beginning to curl in on itself. Your breasts are pressed tight against his chest, only separated from his skin by his linen tunic. The fabric kisses your sensitive nipples, brushing against the untouched skin, and despite yourself, you whimper pathetically into his waiting mouth, cheeks warming.
Katsuki pulls back, to your disappointment, and you begin to chew at your lip, frantically thinking through the last several minutes to wonder what you’ve done wrong. Had you been too forward, touching him back so quickly? Your fretting dies down quickly when you see that Katsuki’s only stepped back to finger the hem of his tunic, ripping it over his head. You only have a moment to catch a blurry flash of honed muscle and scarred skin before he’s back on you, calloused hands wrapping around your hips. It only takes a few moments of him kissing you, of your fingers dragging absentmindedly up his veiny forearm, before you ask him for what you want, palms pressed flat against his chest and pushing lightly.
His brows knit together, and his eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of discomfort. You take a deep inhale, hoping to hide how rapidly you’ve lost your breath to him, steeling yourself to look him in the eye.
“I want to see you.”
Katsuki’s face screws up almost comically, and he tilts his head.
“See me?”
“See you.”
You take a step back, keeping your hands on his arms, holding him just where you want him and– is it a sight. He’s sharper than you would have imagined, deep grooves carving into his skin where his muscles bulge beneath it. You suck in a sharp breath as you let your eyes move slowly from his hardened stomach to his broad chest, little nicks dotting his skin where a stray swordtip had punctured armor, and a particularly nasty gash cutting across his front, stretching from his shoulder to his ribcage. It looks like it should have been fatal. Katsuki crosses his arms over his chest, maybe in an attempt to stop you from ogling him like you are, but it’s counterproductive; all he’s done is give you a golden opportunity to watch the skin of his arms stretch to accommodate the way his biceps swell and shrink with the movement, the twitching and flexing of each individual muscle laid bare for you to see clearly.
When your gaze finally returns to his face, you almost want to snort at his expression: pink cheeks, a scrunched nose, and eyebrows lifted to indicate just how entirely unimpressed he is with your drooling.
“Done ‘seeing’ me?” Katsuki asks, mouth lifting in just the smallest hint at a smile. Your heart flutters lightly in your chest; it’s the first attempt either of you have made at humor since your betrothal, and it’s hugely relieving to have something to smile about.
“It was only fair that I take my turn,” you say, gesturing down at your bare skin. Katsuki’s lips lift a little more until his gaze lowers; his eyes darken as he lets himself take you in. You can see the same thought crossing his mind just as it occurs to you: you belong to each other now, every bit of skin, muscle, heart that you’re bearing to each other isn’t just your own anymore. That scrunch in his nose, the scar across his chest, the way he narrows his eyes to study you. It all belongs to you now.
Katsuki steps forward, letting his hand interlace with yours, fingers hanging in the spaces between your own.
“Are you ready?” His question is no more than a puff of air against your forehead, both of you mercifully standing so close that you aren’t forced to look in his eyes when he asks.
“Yes.” Your voice shakes despite your attempt to be resolute in your answer, and you tighten your fingers around his in apology. It’s all new.
Katsuki kisses you again, slower and warmer than last time. It’s not desperate or hurried, but it is sensual, a promise of what awaits you when he lays you down on your bed. You sigh into his mouth, growing comfortable now with the feel of him on you; so comfortable, even, that you don’t notice he’s been backing you up until your back hits the poster of the bed, effectively pinning you between the hard, ebony wood, and Katsuki’s strong chest.
Your confinement does something to him. It’s immeasurably minute, the way his breath seems to puff out a bit heavier, the sudden jerk of his fingers into your hips, but it’s there.
“When you said you had experience…” Katsuki says, voice gravelly and dangerously close to a pant, “what did you mean by that?”
“I–” you pause, swallowing thickly around the growing lump in your throat, “I’ve been kissed, and I’ve…been touched.” You settle on that, hoping he grasps what you’re suddenly too shy to say.
“Did he make you cum?” He asks it so quietly, you almost wonder if you’ve heard him correctly, but you do hear him, and your chest caves in on itself as the breath leaves your lungs. You’ve snickered over such things with trusted girl friends, your ladies in waiting, but to hear it so gruffly, from the lips of a man—your new husband, no less—is a shock to your system.
“I think so,” you murmur, hardly able to form the words. You can’t see him, his head hunched over your shoulder and his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear, but you can practically feel him frown.
“If he had, you would know so.” Katsuki presses a soft kiss on the cartilage of your ear, travels down to bring your earlobe between his lips. He moves farther down, kissing gently down the slope of your neck, so slowly as if not to scare you.
“How would I know?” You can’t believe you’ve even dared to ask the question, not entirely sure you’ve prepared yourself well enough to hear his answer. Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath against your collarbone, pausing his ministrations where he’d begun to lick and suckle at the prominent angle of it. Your face warms as you realize how deeply his faint touches have begun to affect you, how your chest is beginning to swell and sink with heavy breaths, how your skin tingles and sparks in anticipation of the next absentminded swipe of his knuckles, of the light pressure of his mouth.
“I can show you,” he whispers, and the world stops turning for a moment, “if you’d like.”
“Yes,” you breathe out before you can think better of yourself. You trust his hands, the steady way that they graze the curve of your hip and splay out against the small of your back. He’s stable and unwavering, keeping you afloat.
Katsuki nods against your shoulder, almost imperceptibly, and brings one of those strong hands up between your shoulderblades. He spreads his fingers out, forcing your back to arch for him, and brings his free hand up to your chest, pausing when he’s only a hair’s breadth from your breast. His eyes meet yours, a concentrated divot appearing between his eyebrows as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You arch into his touch, surprising even yourself with your boldness, and your jaw drops a bit at the sensation of his rough palms on your soft, supple breast.
Your eagerness spurs him to action, and he bends at the waist, scattering a litter of kisses across the top of your chest. You hold your breath as he dips lower, but your attempt to remain silent fails entirely when he closes his lips around your peaked nipple. A horribly broken whimper slips from your lips, and you squirm, though whether your body’s trying to push you into or away from the wet heat of his mouth you can’t tell.
Katsuki’s mouth stretches into a ghost of a smile around your flesh, or so you think, until his teeth graze your nipple properly and a quiet cry bursts from you. He smiles fully with your breast still between his teeth. His hand holds your back firmly in its bowed position as he moves to your other breast, twisting his tongue around your nipple there and kissing gently along the fat curve of the underside. He continues his descent, grazing his lips over your stomach, and you don’t realize he’s on his knees until he’s suckling softly on your hipbone, one hand now sprawled over your stomach. Katsuki rubs his thumb over the top of the thatch of hair between your legs, almost reverently, and it makes you regain your bearings, gulping.
“W-what are you doing?” You nearly cringe at the sound of your own voice, words syrupy and thick on your tongue.
Katsuki raises a cautious eyebrow, pulling back from the slight bruise he’s begun to place upon your hipbone. He’s still moving carefully, ghosting over where he wants to touch you as a warning before pressing his skin fully to yours, unwilling to spook you just yet, but something’s quickly changing in him. His jaw ticks as he considers you, looking down on where he kneels between your legs with wide eyes.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Katsuki asks back, looking genuinely confused. Your cheeks are aflame.
“You’re on your knees.” It sounds too simple as it leaves your mouth, an insult to your own intelligence, and you scowl in frustration, looking off to the side. The quiet chuckle between your legs snaps your attention back to Katsuki.
“I’m on my knees,” Katsuki agrees, leaning in and brushing his lips against your inner thigh, sending a full-body shudder racking through you, “for you. Do you…not like it?”
Your mind, foggy in the places you’re accustomed to using and glaringly sharp in useless departments like, for example, the way Katsuki’s eyes are glinting dangerously in the low light, struggles to find an answer for his question. You do like it, seeing this hulking, powerful man kneeling before you, tucking his chin up to the supple flesh of your thigh and blinking up at you curiously, but not for any reason that you can put your finger on.
“I didn’t say that,” you say carefully, willing your senses to come back to you. “I just…you look like you’re planning something.”
Another cutting half-smirk flashes across his face, gone as soon as it appears. “You’ve never been tasted before, have you?”
“Tasted?” You try to keep your face from showing your shock and confusion; surely he’s not about to do what you think he is. Katsuki hums an affirmative, placing another kiss to the clammy crease of your thigh and your cunt, a gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it.
“Do you not want me to?” Katsuki tilts his head, expressionless. You try to find the answer to his question on his face, but he’s blank, leaving the decision entirely up to you. “It’ll help with the pain.”
The pain, that’s right. Soon, he would be taking you for his own, stretching your body in a new way that you’d heard the whispers about: bloody bedsheets, sore between the legs, pleading for the end. You chew into your bottom lip, considering your options.
“Do you want to?”
“I do,” Katsuki says, eyes dark and unreadable, “I want to make you feel good. But we’re doing this on–”
“My terms,” you finish for him, nodding, “I remember.”
“Good.” Katsuki nods, and you try desperately to ignore the heat that thrums through you. “So, if you don’t want it, I won’t. Simple as that.”
You think for a brief moment. Katsuki’s admitted to wanting something of you, of your body, perhaps for the first time since you’d gotten him wrapped up with you. You repeat his words over and over in your head, trying to make sense of them. I want to make you feel good.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Katsuki knits his brows.
“I want to try it,” you say, and add with a shaky exhale, “being tasted.”
If you’re not mistaken, Katsuki’s shoulders shiver between your legs, his eyes glazing over a little at your words. You feel pride ringing in your chest, seeing him uncoil, even if it’s only the slightest bit. You’d chosen correctly. Much as he did when you asked him to undress you, Katsuki nods tensely, and he moves deeper between your legs, nudging your knees apart for himself.
“It’ll feel good,” he murmurs quietly, picking up one of your legs and draping it over his shoulder, “but if you want me to stop, tell me, alright?”
You nod down at him, knowing that every bit of your nerves at being so exposed is showing all over your face. Katsuki flits his gaze down to your cunt, glistening in the candlelight and humiliatingly wet from his touch, and you can see him bite into the inside of his cheek, see his eyes flutter closed. Despite your embarrassment, you’re keen on watching, learning from him. Katsuki leans in, and his tongue slides between your wet folds, but even over your choked noise of surprise, one thing rings clear in your mind at the startling new sensation.
Katsuki groans, louder than you’ve ever heard, languid and gratified, face pressed so firmly into your center that you can already feel his shadow of stubble scratching the insides of your thighs. His hand, wrapped around the thigh over his shoulder, suddenly tightens, fingers digging into the meat of your leg much harder than he’s touched you yet. You focus on the muscles of his jaw, tensing and straining on the side of his face, while he licks into you like a man starved.
The way he eats you is such a deviation from his feather-light touches that you almost can’t believe it’s the same man, lewd noises echoing throughout the room as he suckles on something between your legs that you hadn’t even discovered properly for yourself, only swiping at it blindly in the darkest hours in your chambers. Your back curves viciously, breathy moans spilling from your lips, fingernails clawing into the ornately-carved posts of your marriage bed. Katsuki holds you tight against him, eyes hooded in bliss and mouth moving ceaselessly against you.
You’ve snuck a hand down between your legs before, rubbed shyly at the growing wetness, at the swollen skin, and experienced maybe a glimmer of the feeling that’s now glowing hot in the pit of your stomach. You would almost feel panicked at the spiraling, swooping sensation; that is, if you weren’t so wholly consumed by the white-hot pleasure coursing through your veins.
“Katsuki– I, it’s so– oh,” you trail off, losing your words as Katsuki establishes a rhythm of flicking his tongue between your legs right on that damned spot that you wish you’d known about before, maybe you could have prepared– “Oh, Katsuki, it’s– so good.”
Katsuki elicits a sound that’s closer to a snarl than anything else you can think of, tightening his iron grip into your skin. One of your hands absentmindedly fists in his hair, and before you can find the presence of mind to rip it away, he moans, openly and unashamedly, eyes screwing shut. He likes it, your foggy mind realizes, and you dig your fingers in harder, anchoring what’s left of you to the earth using the straight, sandy locks.
The heat, the sparks that are flying around every nerve ending in your body, begins to pick up an overwhelming speed, and all of the sudden, you feel like you need to kick out, to curl in on yourself, to scream so loud the windows blow out.
“Katsuki,” you say desperately, making watery, scared eyes at him. Katsuki’s brow furrows, and he only holds his pace, red eyes glaring into yours. You’re trying to warn him, but no words will form, and you can’t catch your breath, panting and clawing at his hair and almost sobbing until–
Everything peaks. A broken cry comes shooting out of your throat, your standing leg threatening to give out under you, and you writhe and twitch on Katsuki’s face, shamelessly surrendering to the most intense tidal wave of pleasure you’ve experienced in your life. From the fuzzy peripherals of your consciousness, you can hear Katsuki groaning encouragingly into your wet cunt, still dutifully moving his tongue against you and smearing the evidence of your arousal all over his cheeks. When the world comes back into focus, it’s dazzlingly harsh, your muscles weakening as soon as Katsuki’s face clears into its typical arrangement of sharp angles and hard lines.
“Oh–” you gasp, your one good knee finally buckling underneath you. Luckily, Katsuki has already begun to stand, and one of his strong arms darts out, catching you around the waist. You wish he wouldn’t look so smug.
“How do you feel?” Katsuki asks innocently enough, but even in the aftermath of that, you don’t miss the twitching at the corner of his shining mouth, the expectant arch of his eyebrow.
“Good,” you pant, willing your cheeks to lose even a portion of their heat, “it was– fine.”
“It was good,” you reaffirm, glaring at him. Katsuki grins brightly, the most light you think you’ve ever seen enter his face. It makes you blush almost as hard as the orgasm he dragged you through. Something wild and wicked flickers in your mind, and you look up at him curiously. “Do you…do you want me to do that to you?”
Katsuki’s smile drops as quickly as it came, and his cheekbones darken, a deep flush spreading over his face. You almost wonder if you’ve misstepped, upset him in some way, until you catch him palming over his pants. Your throat tightens.
“No,” he says, all the mirth drained from his face, “no, you don’t have to– no.”
“Alright,” you acquiesce, transferring your weight from Katsuki’s firm grip around your waist back to your feet, finding your legs weak and shaky beneath you. Your gaze floats over your shoulder, back to the plush sheets of your marriage bed, and Katsuki clears his throat, backing away a step so you have the room to climb into the bed, lay yourself down.
You’d expected to feel shyer, but there’s surprisingly no urge to curl in on yourself, not even Katsuki’s eyes take you in, darkening in the candlelight. The aftershocks of pleasure— white-hot, addictive pleasure he’d introduced you to— are still echoing through your limbs, and you’re just curious enough to bite back your initial trepidation. You want to know what else he has to teach you.
Katsuki begins tugging at the laces keeping his pants snug around his waist, loosening them and shooting you one final look, one last assurance. His eyebrow is cocked questioningly, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he looks a little nervous. You nod, holding a breath deep enough in your lungs that it aches, and his pants hit the floor.
You’ve seen naked men, here and there, over the course of your life, and your ladies had described enough of the act before you that you can’t find yourself shocked at the sight, but more so at the wanton aching that ricochets through your limbs, chill bumps erupting over your arms and shoulders rolling of their own accord. You don’t have much to go by, but you’re fairly sure he’s big comparatively, so hard that the tip is an angry shade of red. Katsuki climbs over you before you have much chance to look further, but the damage is done; a fresh wave of arousal courses through you, and you widen your knees to let him situate himself.
“I’m going to get you ready,” Katsuki says between chaste kisses to your lips. “Is that alright?”
“But you already–,” you feel frustrated at your own inexperience, knitting your brow at him, “I’m ready.”
“You’re not,” Katsuki assures you, and before you can bite back another retort, his battle-scarred fingers are rubbing softly through the mess between your legs, and your jaw falls slack. Katsuki’s monitoring you for any signs of unease, eyes bright and focused on your face. You’re wet enough that he’s sliding through your folds easily, meeting little resistance as he rubs tight, concentrated circles into that spot that he’d used to make you see stars earlier. “Do you trust me?”
“Mhm.” It’s all you can manage to hum an affirmative, biting back the breathy noises trying to break free of your throat. It’s a wonder, how so little effort from him has your blood molten in your veins, limbs pliant and muscles twitching.
Katsuki’s fierce gaze doesn’t let up, but you understand why when you feel it: a finger, presumably, stretching you in a new, uncomfortable way. You’re unable to contain the gasp that bleats out of you, eyes flying wide, and Katsuki’s hand stills, eyes squinting as he tries to determine the nuances of your reaction. It’s novel, and admittedly, makes you a bit restless, but it isn’t unpleasant, and embarrassingly, your hips cant up into his hand, answering for you. Katsuki works slowly, never ceasing the small circles he’s rubbing into you, letting the discomfort align with the deliberate, savory pleasure that’s now ever-present in your core. When he begins to move his finger in and out of you, working you open, you realize it feels good, more than good, even.
“Alright?” Katsuki asks, distrusting of the whimpers and shaky moans beginning to fall from your lips. “Talk to me.”
“It’s strange,” you admit, words fragile and breathy in the space between your lips, “but I like it, it feels good. Really good.”
Katsuki hums approvingly, teases your entrance with the rough pad of a second finger. He arches his eyebrow at you, the question hanging silent, but clear between you. The prospect is daunting, but you welcome it; he’s already shown you so much, made you feel so much. You trust him, nodding eagerly.
“Please.”
Katsuki works his second finger in, grinding his jaw when you choke on a moan, rolling your hips into his palm. He nods, letting you wriggle your hips around as you need to, to ease the stretch of him inside of you. You can feel the power behind the lightness of his touch, eyes flitting down to the strained, corded muscle of his forearm as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He’s holding back, and when you think wildly of what might happen the day he doesn’t have to anymore, your body clenches around him.
Katsuki pulls a face at you, amused. “What is it?”
“What?” You pant, feeling that knot begin to tie in on itself tighter and tighter behind your bellybutton.
“Y’liked something, thought of something,” Katsuki studies you, mouth quirking up into a little half-smile, “I could feel it.”
If you were any more present, you’d be mortified, but all you can do is reach a hand to stroke along the bulge of his bicep, dig your teeth into your bottom lip.
“Was thinking about you,” you admit shyly, trying to force your words to come out a little less broken than you know you sound, “you’re strong.”
“I am strong,” Katsuki agrees, curling his fingers against something inside of you that makes you jerk, makes him smirk at you.
“You’re holding back on me.”
“I am,” he says, placing a kiss to your shoulder, “you’re not ready for it. Need to go slow this time.”
“One day you won’t,” you say, mustering all the strength your hazy mind has to offer to look him squarely in the eye, watch his reaction. Katsuki inhales sharply, eyes widening at your boldness, only to narrow at you, predatory and curious. His fingers have stilled momentarily, and you pull your stomach muscles, jerking your hips up against his hand, frustrated. Katsuki only glares down at you, jaw ticking.
“One day I won’t,” he finally answers you, pulling his fingers from where you’re throbbing and needy. You almost whine, but bite into your lip before the admission of desperation flies from you. “If that’s what you want.”
You don’t have the chance to answer before Katsuki’s sucking his own fingers into his mouth, sucking you off of them. Your jaw stutters, and you gape at him as his eyelids flutter, a low groan rumbling in his strong chest.
“Taste good,” Katsuki says, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, “sweet.”
“Can I try?” The question flies from your lips before you can even think to contain it, and your eyes grow even larger, shocked at your own debauchery. You’re seconds away from stuttering out an apology when Katsuki’s massive hand appears in front of your face, fingers glistening in the candlelight.
“Here.” Katsuki offers his fingers to you, eyes dark and hungry. You only stare at him for a moment, trying to discern if you’ve done something horribly wrong, but he’s completely sincere, brushing his wet fingers along your bottom lip. You open your mouth, suck him in. It’s more viscous than you would have imagined, sticky and thick on your tongue, but it’s pleasantly gamey; a little bitter, a little sweet. You don’t realize that you’re suckling on Katsuki’s fingers until he groans again, deep in his throat, gritting his teeth.
“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, pulling his hand free from your lips.
“What’d you think?” Katsuki regains his composure quickly, tilting his head at you with something impish sparkling in his eye.
You’d chosen your new husband due to his unwavering dedication to the kingdom that he’d sworn his life to protect, his kingly attributes that had set him so far apart from your other, softer suitors. You hadn’t even thought to consider what other sides to him might be lurking beneath the formidable exterior of decorated general; could it be so that the red-cheeked, boyish creature above you, so intent on helping you explore your body, was the fierce warrior that had supposedly cut down over a hundred enemy soldiers entirely on his own?
“I liked it,” you say, biting into the smile starting to grow on your face. The way his eyes light up makes you feel like a vixen, like somehow, you can be a woman after all. “Everything is…it feels good.”
Something virile glints in Katsuki’s eyes, but you don’t shy away, holding his gaze. “Good.”
“I want to…I want you to have me. I want to have you.” You’re not even sure if you’re making sense, tongue heavy and useless in your mouth. Katsuki’s hand has wandered back down between your legs, rubbing lazily at the wetness there, and it’s got that steady heat creeping back through your limbs, setting your nerves on fire.
“You’re sure?” Katsuki asks, raising his eyebrow at you. All the mischief has drained from his face as he examines you, and while you appreciate his caution, the craving for something more is growing uncomfortable.
“Please,” you say, tilting your chin up to press your lips gently to his in reassurance. Katsuki is finally convinced, it seems, because he rolls off of you and settles his back against the headboard, reaching an errant arm over to tug you on top of him.
You hadn’t anticipated this; Katsuki’s set you right on top of his hips, your dripping cunt placed firmly against his hard cock, back ramrod straight from the sudden exposure, nipples peaked in the charged air. The feel of him pressing insistently against where your body needs him most makes your head spin; you hadn’t expected it to be so distinct, hard and thick beneath you.
“What are you–”
“It’ll be easier this way,” Katsuki says, looking very much like he’s putting all his effort into appearing unaffected, but only a moment ago, you felt his hips twitch upwards into yours, “you can control it.”
“I don’t– I don’t know how to do it. Not the right way, I mean.” You’re burning in your humiliation, hot in so many different ways now you aren’t sure if you could even count them, but you’re bared completely to him, and you figure your dignity was left somewhere crumpled on the floor with your consummation gown.
“Don’t worry about that,” Katsuki says sternly, looking so unbelievably flustered that if you were any less preoccupied, it would make you giggle, “not yet. You need to get used to having something inside you, first.”
Something inside you; him, thick and hard and drooling wetness onto his bellybutton. That’s right. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, doing everything in your power to ride the wave of exhilaration going through you. You roll your hips experimentally, once, twice, swallowing the gasp that aches to leave your jaw.
“Just like that,” Katsuki mumbles, so quietly you almost think you hadn’t heard him, “take your time.”
You take his advice, bracing your clammy hands on his neck. You grind down on him again, feeling sparks of pleasure shoot up your body. With each swipe of your hips, you can feel your cunt grow wetter, feel that bottomless want in your stomach open a little more. The growing hunger in you is primordial, some hidden part of your mind directing you. The urge to have something inside of you, to feel full in a way you can’t begin to imagine, is causing you to grow restless, fingers drumming anxiously on Katsuki’s shoulders. When you meet his eyes, a muscle feathers in his jaw, but he stays silent, hands placed gently on your hips as he watches you grow accustomed to his girth, the weight of him between your legs.
“I think I’m ready. Can I?”
Katsuki stays silent, only nods sagely in assent. His grip on your hips grows tighter as you lift yourself up, reaching down blindly to grip him. He sucks in a breath when your fingers wrap around the length of him, and your eyes flit to his in alarm, but he only shakes his head, brow furrowing.
“Go ahead.”
You nod back, wincing at the anticipatory trembling of your thighs on either side of his hips, pulling his cock up from his stomach. You rather like the smooth feel of the skin in your hands, and you think briefly that maybe this will be something to revisit later, having him needy and in the palm of your hand. The swollen head catches, and you almost gasp at the surprise of it, how a dull thud of satisfaction rings through your body. You inhale deeply, and begin to sink down.
Katsuki’s fingers dig into your hips even harder, but you hardly feel it over the incomparable stretch between your legs. You’re sure now that he’s big; he has to be, the way it feels like your very insides are moving to accommodate him. You’re trying not to huff at the feeling, but a whine escapes you, and Katsuki’s tight grip stops you just as you’re nearing the halfway point.
“Okay?” He’s tense, coiled like a snake, all the muscles in his strong body locked, but his eyes are concerned.
“Uh huh,” you manage, wiggling your hips around and dropping yourself down a couple more inches, making you both gasp, “s’just big.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki hisses, throwing his head back. You pause, body contracting around him in your attempt to take him wholly, only a short distance from the blonde hair at the base of his cock.
“Is everything alright?”
“Can’t say shit like that,” Katsuki grits out, voice hoarse. You realize with a slow, muggy blink that you haven’t yet heard him swear, not in the Common Tongue, haven’t yet seen him become so unraveled and yet, at the same time, so rigid. It’s affecting him, that instinctual part of your brain supplies, it feels good for him.
If you were any less dazed, you’d smile. Katsuki Bakugou, High Commander of the fiercest army the world has seen in over a century, famed warrior an ocean over, is practically twitching trying to bite back his own pleasure as you take him inside of you. The rush of adrenaline that thought sends through you gives you the motivation to let yourself go, nestling the entirety of him deep inside yourself and meeting his hips. You choke on a moan, eyes prickling with tears.
“Oh,” you pant, lifting yourself just a bit, trying to squirm away from the discomfort.
“Does it hurt?” Katsuki grunts, eyes running over every bit of your body.
“No, it’s just,” you keen again, interrupting yourself with breathy, whiny little noises, “full.”
Katuski makes a noise that you think was meant to be a hum of agreement, but only comes out as a growl. If the white in his knuckles and the sharp, tense bone of his jaw is anything to go by, his arousal is only barely being held back, restricted to a tight leash. You’re not his first, not the only wet warmth he’s buried himself in, and this isn’t at all the first time he’s experienced this white-hot, carnal pleasure that’s licking up your veins. You find the strength to blink back the budding tears in your eyes, to really look at him.
He’s holding it together well, fingers grounded where they dig into your fleshy hips, crimson eyes looking you up and down, taking you in, but like the quiet snap of embers in the background, ruining the illusion of the room’s heat emanating from you and Katsuki, his body betrays him. His muscles are jumping under his skin, twitching involuntarily like the hide of one of the cavalry’s prize stallions, ready to run. Katsuki’s fucking a princess in his mind, you think, a future queen, and he’s proceeding accordingly, trying to keep his caresses light and his infamous temper in check.
You blink at him, vision watery, and realize suddenly that, for the first time in your life, you want to be a hot-blooded, wild, mortal. You want only to be a woman with a man inside of her, and you want to be regarded as such.
“Still doin’ alri–” Katsuki cuts himself off with a grunt when you roll your hips, biting back a wince at the unfathomable pressure in your stomach, the depth of him snug inside you. “Wait–”
“I’m fine,” you say, surprising even yourself at your sharpness. Confidence swells in your chest as he squirms under you, kissing away the burn of how he’s worked you open.
“But–”
“Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon,” you say down to him, looking upon your new husband with hooded eyes as you grind your hips down into him, adjusting to the strange stretch that accompanies his body inside of yours. Each movement of your hips into his makes it easier, soothes the slow throb of your body trying to make room for him. Pleasure begins to ignite again along your fingertips, and when you scoot forward a bit, pushing your hips back, his cock nudges something inside of you that makes your jaw drop.
Katsuki’s eyes widen momentarily, but you can see the moment he loosens the leash, succumbs to his baser instincts. His grip on your hips loosens, shoulders slackening, and his eyes darken, lids dropping a bit just to cover the tops of those crimson irises. He’s beautiful, godlike even, planes of hardened muscle at your command, the flames from the candles reflected in his eyes. Katsuki drags his gaze over you, nostrils flaring, bringing one hand up to the back of your neck and pulling you to him, pressing your foreheads together. The shift in him makes you gasp; the calm force with which he chooses to exert his strength.
“Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke,” Katsuki says against your lips, all trepidation gone. You shudder in his arms, letting pleasure wrack down your spine like fire catching. “Yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros.”
Your blood sings at the low purr of the Old Tongue, poured into your mouth like a fine wine, but you curdle at Dārilaros. Princess. “Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys.”
Katsuki nearly snarls, swears under his breath. “What did I tell you about saying shit like that?”
“You call me your wife,” you say, thoroughly pleased with yourself at his rapid unraveling. It’s never been like you not to have the upper hand. “Treat me as your wife.”
Even a hair’s breadth away from his face, you can see Katsuki’s last shreds of honor, that warrior’s heart, dying out. His eyes flicker over your face as you fruitlessly roll your hips, not able to get to the full extent of your pleasure with him gripping you so tightly. For the first time, you can feel his hands tremble against your skin. He’s only steps away from joining you in your damning mortality, finding the raw, primal humanity deep down inside of him. You rut your hips at him again, useless against his resolute grasp.
“Please,” you sigh against him, not even thinking to be ashamed of the breathy, needy plea you let out, not even wholly sure of what you’re begging him for, “make me feel good again.”
Katsuki groans, low in his chest, and nods, a covenant you’re building in the hot air between your mouths. His hands grab into your hips more fully, and he lifts you, only part of the way, before sliding you back down the length of him. You gasp into his mouth, caught off guard by the punch of him back up into the space he’s carved out for himself. It feels like he’s in your lungs, your breath coming out labored and pinched.
“Move,” Katsuki commands, settling back a bit and forcing you to sit up straight, hands on your ribcage. You’re bared completely to him again, and it’s still horrible, but the arousal dims any humiliation that threatens to rise. “Move.”
You wiggle your hips again, moving shakily along his cock, but Katsuki’s not pleased, evidently, as he digs his hands back into your hips.
“Like this,” he says, using his iron grip on you to correct your movements. Katsuki drags you up and down his cock in smooth, fluid motions, and despite the slowly-easing discomfort, your nerve endings come alight, the molten want finding a new peak as he rips a moan out of your throat.
“Oh–”
“Better?” Katsuki huffs, a vicious grin cutting across his face. Your arms flail a bit as he moves you, rolling you along his length as if you’re nothing more than a doll to him. Katsuki notices your awkwardness, takes one of your hands and places it firmly on your breast. You follow his lead, thumbing gently over one hard nipple, and, at the jolt of pleasure, you quickly bring your free hand to match on the other side, letting your head fall back.
“Katsuki,” you pant, quickly losing your composure and falling victim to the sensations devouring you, “it’s– that’s so good.”
“I know,” Katsuki breathes, still pulling you this way and that, “you’re perfect, so soft around me.”
You’ve never gotten to be soft; iron princess on the iron throne, made of embers and scalding steam, but for him? You bloom, pretty as a petal, letting your body meld into his like it was always supposed to be here. You’re not soft like silk, you let yourself be soft like candlelight, like magma, like the crashing of the ocean when you’re far enough away that the waves won’t get you, drag you under. Soft like doom.
“I feel– fuck, I think I– I need more.”
Katsuki’s lips twist at the breathless curse that flies from your lips, so foreign and funny-sounding in your regal mouth. You want to tease him right back, but he slides you off of him, and the loss is so devastating, your bottom lip nearly juts out as it did when you were a child. Before you can protest too much, Katsuki’s laying you on your back, hands sliding along your thighs, and you follow your instincts and bring your legs up to wrap around his waist.
“If it’s too much…” Katsuki trails off, losing his words when he goes to brush your bottom lip with his thumb and you suck him in voraciously, nibbling on his finger.
“I’ll tell you,” you promise, spitting him out and letting your own hand flutter across his cheekbone. He’s almost glaring down at you; so intense is the desire in his eyes that a small part of you wants to shy away, but you don’t. You wiggle your legs that much wider, arch your back, lean into the burn of him. You were born for the heat.
Katuski’s mouth quirks up in a little smile, already so fond it makes your chest ache, and he slides back into you, groaning when your cunt sucks him in greedily. You try to embrace the novelty of it, the dull throb of his cock splitting you wide, digging your nails into his arm by mistake. Katsuki swears in surprise, and you jerk your hand away, until he looks down at you admonishingly.
“Go ahead, perzītsos,” he hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your hairline, “I won’t break.”
He pulls back and thrusts back into you, harder than you’d expected, and your nails return to his wrist beside your head, digging half-moons into the pale skin. He’s different from this angle, not so agonizingly deep in you, but nudging against something inside you that renders you incapacitated, fuzzy-minded and pliant in his arms. Katsuki’s not faring any better than you, eyes hooded and little grunts slipping from his lips each time his hips connect with yours.
“What does it feel like?” Katsuki asks, beginning to look out of his mind with need. “Ivestragon nyke.”
“Deep,” you choke out, letting your jaw drop when he leans down to lick into your mouth, “full, I feel– full.”
“Good,” Katsuki mumbles, “good. Doesn’t hurt?”
“No.”
In answer, Katsuki moves his hips faster, snapping them against you with brute force. He’s keeping that ever-cognizant eye on you, monitoring you for any indication of pain or panic, but even through the haze of the tightening knot in the pit of your stomach, you can see him tumbling over the same edge that you have, lost to your baser instincts. You’re soft to him, your warm walls hugging him snug as he chases an end for you both, but sharp in the way your fingers claw into his skin, your teeth nip into his shoulder. Mine. Mine. Ñuhon.
“Katsuki,” you warn him, the balloon of pressure welling in your belly, growing so large you feel as though you might choke on it.
“I know,” he says, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. His voice is broken and ragged and tastes like hot coals, like copper and bronze and prophecy. You drink him down eagerly, so out of your mind with want that you’ve transformed. You’d entered the room as a blushing virgin of the highest, most noble bloodline, and here you are, twisting and keening under him, all molten limbs and whorish pants. Sweat dapples your forehead, drool smeared over your chin, and you’ve never felt more beautiful.
“I’m so– it’s the, the same,” you gasp, familiar words devolving into nonsense, “but it’s not enough, I don’t, I–”
“Here,” Katsuki growls, closing one strong fist around your wrist and sliding your arm between your writhing bodies, “just like I did it, remember?”
You find the same sensitive spot that Katsuki had shown you quickly, swollen and raw with pleasure, and try rubbing shaky circles over it, try to maintain some semblance of a rhythm and imitate his earlier movements. It’s uneven and inconsistent, but the added stimulation rockets through you, and your back pulls taut as a bow, arching off the featherbed.
“Close?”
“Yes,” you gasp, still not grasping what you’re close to, but feeling very much as though you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, that same rushing building in your ears. You somehow had the presence of mind to register that what’s building inside of you now is different than it was with his mouth between your legs; it’s faster, wetter, fuller, and it feels like it’s choking you.
“Come on,” Katsuki urges you, bordering on a snarl as he pants desperately into your mouth, “want to feel you cum around me, feel this little cunt milkin’ my cock.”
“Kat–” you try to call out for him, so overwhelmed the edges of your vision are going dark. He’s grinding his hips into you forcefully, pinning your fingers to the apex of your cunt, forcing you to rub yourself harder.
“You can do it, raqiarzy, come on–”
You cut him off with a loud sob of his name, thighs caging him in and the innermost walls of your body clamping down on him. Light bursts behind your eyelids, the white-hot flames of dragonfire and the embers of a burning forest exploding as your body is racked with wave after wave of bliss. Katsuki’s skin breaks under your fingernails, the slight dampness of tearing flesh familiar even in the haze of your orgasm. He works you through it, driving his hips into you despite the vicious tightening of your cunt around him, whispering affirmations into the pallid skin of your shoulder. Every muscle in your body contracts painfully, and you’d feel ashamed of the sounds escaping you if you could find enough wherewithal to care.
“Close,” Katsuki grits out, rolling his hips into your still-contracting cunt as your high begins to dwindle, “you ready for me?”
“Uh-huh, please, I– yes,” you babble nonsensically, interlocked ankles bouncing at the small of his back. As your orgasm drains from your veins, your muscles go lax, zapped of the fervent energy that had overtaken you. You find your body to be pliant and receptive, but your mind solely focused on watching that same ethereal pleasure that had possessed you wash over Katsuki. “Yes, I w-want you to cum.”
“Fuck,” Katsuki swears, hips stuttering, “take it, take it all–”
A guttural groan accompanies a sticky warmth flooding your insides; you squirm in his tight grip and moan at the sensation of being filled, feeling a fresh rush of arousal flow through you as you feel his cock twitching inside of you. You bite deep into his shoulder to muffle the pathetic mewls slipping from you at the feel of both his and your cum leaking out of your body, pooling in a little puddle underneath you. Everything is so earthy and musky; Katsuki’s salty skin between your teeth, his bruising grip into your hips, the stink of sex and sweat permeating the bedsheets.
Katsuki’s chest heaves against yours as his hips rock into you one last time, the thatch of blond hair at the base of him pressing against where you’re swollen and achy hard enough to make you whimper. When you wriggle around underneath him, he seems to snap back into himself, propping his upper body up on his elbows and bringing a hand to your face, thumbing over the arch of your cheekbone.
“Y’alright?” His carmine eyes are still glazed over, words gummy between his teeth, but the tenderness of his hand as he strokes your cheek lets you know he’s there.
“I’m alright,” you say, and you mean it. Something so deep in you that you don’t even have a name for is throbbing, and your body is still clenching and fluttering around where he’s softening inside of you, but your limbs are heavy and your head is in the clouds.
He’s a sight to see, a sight you commit to memory; sweat glistens on his pale skin, his eyes are hooded and sleepy, and a contented, lazy grin is starting to tug at the corner of his mouth. Katsuki pulls his hips back, pressing his lips to your temple in apology when you murmur something unintelligible, but hinting at discontent. You feel empty in a way you had never known you were supposed to, not until you’d learned what it meant to be fulfilled.
“Anything hurt?”
You shake your head, not sure how to verbalize that you’re not feeling any pain, but a deep-seated satiation that hints to the fact that you might never be able to lift yourself from the bed again. Katsuki’s still caging you in, heavy body crushing yours, when a jarringly unwelcome sound floats over his shoulder.
“Ah, um– Princess? I need to confirm–”
“I know,” Katsuki, sliding back into the skin of a general with ease, growls over his shoulder, “that you’re not daring to speak to my wife while she’s naked underneath me.”
Even given everything, your cheeks flare, and you shove at Katsuki weakly, making apologetic eyes at the attendant despite your humiliation. “It’s his job, Katsuki–”
“They can’t send a woman for this shit?” Katsuki cages you in even further, glaring at the servant who’s nearly shaking in his slippers. “Well?”
“I–I can fetch a female servant to confirm the consummation of the–”
“Do that, then.” The attendant’s soft footsteps as he scuttles away are hardly overshadowed by your breathy, tired giggles.
“You didn’t have to terrorize the poor man,” you swat lightly at Katsuki’s chest, “it’s his duty to confirm that the marriage has been consummated. The priests won’t have it any other way.”
“I’m sure he heard enough,” Katsuki grumbles, flopping onto his back beside you. He opens one eye, notices the sheet dragging dangerously close to your nipple, and tugs it up to your chin, closing his eye again and humming contentedly. His arm pauses for a moment, like he wants to stretch it over your shoulders, but he pulls it back by his own side, thinking better of it. You aren’t sure if you want to be held, if the intimacy outside of your duty as his new wife will be too grating against your already-raw nerves.
“My ladies will be here soon,” you say quietly, “to bathe me and help me prepare for bed.”
“Figured,” Katsuki grumbles, sounding entirely displeased at more people disrupting your peace. Something about it warms your heart, some small part of your mind hoping that his displeasure is rooted in a desire to keep you all to himself, hidden beneath the sheets.
“Your own attendants shouldn’t be far behind.”
“My what?” Katsuki sits up on one elbow again, looks down at you disbelievingly. “I don’t need any…ladies.”
“You’ll get used to them,” you tell him offhandedly, wondering if you’re being truthful. You’re just beginning to get acquainted with the intricacies of the man behind the title, but the general seems fiercely independent to you, and the image of him getting his hair scrubbed by a flock of servants is enough to make you chuckle to yourself.
“What?”
“Nothing,” you assure him, “I’m sure you’ll be a perfect royal specimen.”
Katsuki’s eyes narrow in irritation. “You didn’t inform me that ladies would be a part of my duties.”
“We can get men!”
“That’s worse.” Katsuki’s face screws up in an ugly scowl that makes you laugh outright. The lightness of your laughter makes his face fall a little, the hardened exterior giving way to the same man that had kissed reverently up the inside of your thigh, had been so achingly gentle with you when you weren’t sure what you would need to get through the night. A man you think you could love.
You look into each other’s eyes, something like starlight, like candlelight, like true, gods-given warmth buzzing between you, when the door creaks open, a gaggle of ladies and one priestess entering the room. Katsuki groans, tugs the blankets even further up your chests, the moment broken.
Ignoring his grumbles of protest, you pull yourself from the blankets with ease, baring your nude body to your ladies. There’s no shame in front of these women who have raised you, much to Katsuki’s astonishment. You don’t miss the way their eyes catch on the purple blooms on your hipbones, the way they squeal with excitement when you lay back and spread your legs for the priestess, displaying the thin trickle of Katsuki’s seed still steadily leaking from you. The priestess nods solemnly and leaves in the same manner; at least that’s done.
Your ladies do an absolutely dismal job of trying to appear subtle as they stare at Katsuki’s still-heaving chest, his narrowed eyes darting around the room suspiciously, his round biceps– your closest lady, Alanna, whisper-squeals in your ear about how huge your new husband’s arms are, and you have to pinch her cheek harshly to get her to stop, sensing Katsuki’s tangible discomfort from across the room. He behaves well as they bathe you, sitting up in bed and watching silently as you’re preened and fawned over, as your tangled hair has a brush torn through it and is twisted neatly into your nighttime braid.
A group of women hovering silently by the door, eyeing Katsuki nervously, appear to be his newly-appointed handmaids. You do both Katsuki and the women the favor of dismissing them for the night, unsure of how Katsuki, who is still gripping the sheets to his chest like a young, blushing maiden, will react to being pampered and scrubbed by foreign hands.
“You can dismiss those serving girls for good,” Katsuki says gruffly, clean and ambling over to a looking glass to swipe a brush through his hair. “‘M not a boy, I don’t need any help getting myself to bed.”
You conveniently slide past the omission on the tip of your tongue– before Katsuki’s anxious staff had left, you had requested them to bring a hot bath, all of Katsuki’s bathing things from his old chamber, a freshly-dried sponge from the Narrow Sea for him to wash himself with. It’s enough to keep it to yourself, seeing how content he is in his new living space now, that you could do something for him amongst the chaos you’ve now thrown his life into.
“We’ll see,” you hum, picking at a stray cuticle over the covers and trying not to ogle him too obviously.
He’s still blessedly nude, unabashed in his swagger around the room as he dries himself with the strips of soft, woven cloth your ladies had left behind per your request. When he approaches the bed you’re laying in, you stiffen, unaccustomed still to these small intimacies. Royalty has proven to be a lengthy and lonely existence in your experience, and sharing it with someone is foreign to your solitary nature. Your own parents had had their own separate chambers, as every monarch before them. It was Katsuki’s one condition to accepting your proposal; you were to share bedchambers, like a common husband and wife.
“Princess?” Katsuki is hesitant when he approaches you, as if he already senses your trepidation. You will yourself to unclench your muscles, to relax your shoulders. You have no right to make him feel unwelcome in his own bed– the bed you now share.
“I told you I don’t want you to call me that.” You try to offer him a playful smile, but it only glimmers across your face. This is yet another bridge you need his guidance over.
“You did,” Katsuki nods sagely, the corner of his mouth twitching as he remembers the circumstance of that particular conversation, “I’m sorry, perzītsos.”
“Come to bed.”
“Are you sure?” Katsuki cocks an eyebrow at you, looking down at the huge bed warily.
“It was what you wanted.”
“Only if you want it.” Katsuki sighs deeply at your look of not-quite-belief and sits on the bed a respectable distance away from you. He reaches for your hand, a question, not a demand, and you slide your fingers into his calloused palm, humming contentedly when he runs his large thumb over your knuckles. He stays like that for a moment, contemplative and looking at your hand, bare of all of its usual finery and rings. “What did I say earlier?”
“When?”
“Before.” Katsuki raises his eyebrows enough that you catch his meaning.
“That we were doing things on my terms.” Something in your chest, warm and wet and laden with flowers, swells big and tight enough to pop.
“That didn’t just apply to, ah, earlier,” Katsuki coughs uncomfortably, flicking his eyes up to you, “that’s for all of this. Our…our lives are…the same now, and I don’t want you to think I need you– seven hells, that’s not what I meant–”
“You’re not very good at this, are you?” You interrupt him suddenly, a saccharine smile curling the corner of your lips. Katsuki flushes a vicious red, frowns and shakes his head in confirmation. “Neither am I.”
“No?”
“I haven’t suddenly found myself married before, so no.” It feels silly, all of the sudden, to have guarded yourself at all. Katsuki is many things, but above all, he is steady, a resolute rock against an angry ocean. “But while I feel many things about our…unexpected union, one thing I do not feel is alone. We can do this on our terms, not just mine.”
Katsuki nods again, looks back down to your hand in his, and cracks a wry smile. “This is why you’re the politician.”
“I’m a princess,” you deadpan, “not a politician.”
“But I can’t call you that,” Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes. The lightheartedness lifts the atmosphere in your bedchamber, oppressive with marital expectations and the stuffy heat of candles left burning too long, and it gives you the needed weightlessness to have your eyes slowly blinking closed.
“Exactly,” you agree matter-of-factly, stifling a yawn. “Will you call someone in to dispose of the candles?”
Katsuki snorts, pushing himself off the bed without answer. Before you can protest or feel hurt by his sudden abandonment, he crosses the room and bends at the waist, blowing out one of over two dozen candles. You can only watch in growing fondness and amusement as he huffs at each little flame, the room growing darker by the moment. By the time he’s finished, your eyes are hardly open, drifting shut as you sink into the pillows. A satisfied throb echoes through your body as you wriggle down beneath the sheets, the lingering evidence of Katsuki’s presence on and in you bringing a warmth to your cheeks even in the now-dark room.
The last thing you register as you slip into the beginnings of a heavy sleep is the dip of the bed behind you, and a thick, muscled forearm creeping stealthily over your waist.
“This alright?”
All you can muster is a tired mumble of acquiesce, nuzzling into the firm chest behind you. Katsuki chuckles quietly into your hair, a dark, soothing sound that has your mind careening towards sleep, eager to melt into this world of warmth and comfort in his arms.
“Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos.”
───── ⋆⋅ 𖤓 ⋅⋆ ─────
as promised, high valyrian translations here :)
Ānogar ānograro = "Blood of my blood."
Gevie = "Beautiful"
Iksā gevie, ñuha ābrazȳrys. = "You are beautiful, my wife."
Eminna skoros iksis ñuhon. = "I will have what is mine."
Lo emilā nyke, emagon nyke, yn eminna ao, hae sȳrī, dārilaros. = "If you will have me, then have me, but I will have you as well, princess."
Eman daor pāletilla skori iksā iemnȳ yno. Iksan iā ābra, iksan aōha ābrazȳrys. = "I have no crown when you are inside me. I am a woman, I am your wife."
Perzītsos = "Little flame"
Ivestragon nyke. = "Tell me."
Raqiarzy = "Beloved"
Ēdrū sȳrī, ñuha perzītsos. = "Sleep tight, my little flame."
AN: I'm back! LMFAO school has been really taking up all my time, but with the final ssn of MHA being out (ik its been a long while), I decided to write and finish my ideas. So, after many nights of sitting in bed at 12 am, rewriting many times, here is the second part to Love Island Bakugou AU. (it's not as good as I’d liked it to be but l hope it satisfies)
Previously on Love Island... pt.1
“He likes you”
You scoffed cause no Bakugou doesn’t yet the whole villa agrees that he does. Yet you can’t see it. He avoids you at all costs but if he is in your vicinity his eyes are shooting laser beams right through you. It definitely made you feel hot and uncomfortable.
“Why else would his girl be so jealous of you?”
You could do nothing but shrug. Challenge after challenge, Bakugou’s partner Ami, has done nothing but try sooo hard to impress Bakugou. She has cornered you and told you to back off. Everytime you told her,
“Well i don’t really care because I don’t like him.”
Or some other variation of that. You really don’t care. Well… that was until the Heart Race Challenge.
You were stunning. Dark purple sexy mysterious belly dancer outfit with gold chains and jewelry dripping off of you. The boys were mesmerized. You graced all of them with a little dance. Shaking your hips and giving a little shimmy to your chest. Then you stopped in front of Bakugou smiling innocently. Fuck he was in trouble.
You threw your matching purple scarf over his head. Pulling his face closer towards your breasts as you made him motor boat you. Releasing him, you pushed him back and straddled his lap. You gave him the best lap dance of his life.
Bakugou knew he was done for. His ears tipped red. He couldn’t even face you anymore. What had given you the courage to do something so crazy? So.. fucking sexy. He tried his best to keep his hands to himself. He tried to not care but he was failing so miserably. He was sure you could feel his dick through his shorts.
Before leaving you kissed his neck and got off. Waving bye to the boys, you headed up to the terrace where the other girls waited. Nobody believed you had done that but everyone supported. You couldn’t quite believe it either.
Even though it left Ami fuming in the corner you honestly didn’t regret a single thing. Especially when Bakugou’s eyes were on you like that. His cologne filling your senses, feeling his dick grow under the swell or your ass. It set something inside of you on fire. Something you didn’t know you could possibly feel for Bakugou. The guy who said nobody would ever want to be with you.
“Bakugou’s heart was raised the most by Y/n!”
You hated this feeling because now you cared.
“Y/n’s heart was raised the most by Bakugou!”
Fuck. You cared a lot.
~
Later Bakugou found you alone in the girls make up room. Watching as you cautiously moved around. Taking your make up off, brushing your hair, then pulling on your hoodie. You were ready to go to sleep after the long day.
“You’re blocking my way out.” You tried pushing him away but he wouldn’t budge. “Dude move your fat ass! Are you gonna say something?-“
His mouth crashed onto yours causing you to stumble back. Bakugou held you still as he moved in closer. Your hands instinctively moved to the side of his face, then into his soft locks of hair as he picked you up and pinned you against the wall. His tongue exploring the new taste of your mouth. Rough calloused hands gripping you by your ass. The room was getting hot and stuffy. You needed to breathe but your body didn’t seem bothered to move.
“Fuck y/n. You’re gonna get us in so much trouble.”
“Me?” You gasped as his mouth moved down from your jaw to your neck. “You started this- ow! Did you just bite me?”
“Shut up dumbass. You’re so loud.” He dropped you and stood tall over you. Arms still caging you to the wall.
Your brows furrowed as you glared at him. “Explain yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean trapping me in a kiss.”
Bakugou stiffened. He looked anywhere but at you as he stood silent. Not very try sure how to answer. The truth? He wanted you bad.
“Pathetic.” You scoffed.
Now it was his turn for his vermillion eyes to glare at you. “You started it. With the way you danced on me during the heart race challenge and kissed my neck. What was with that huh?”
“I was fucking with you.”
“Well.. I am too. This is payback.”
For some reason his answer made your stomach drop and your chest tighten. “Get out of my way and back to your little chihuahua.”
Pushing past him you left to bed but that wouldn’t be the end of it. Everything had moved so fast after. Bakugou tried harder to get you alone. Mostly because now he couldn’t stand other guys around you. As much as you didn’t want to be around him you couldn’t help it. He had this pull on you causing you naturally gravitate to him.
Sharing long stares from across the room to having small talks in the middle of the night out on the day beds. Nothing ever escalated though. No touching, no kissing, just awkward conversations between two people who don’t completely hate each other. Listening, laughing, genuinely enjoying the other’s presence in a place that feels so fake.
Maybe it was the way you stared at him in the moonlight, or how soft spoken he became around you, but somewhere in between challenges and late night talks Bakugou had realized what he was there for.
~
“I’m choosing this girl mainly because I was wrong, anybody would wanna be with her because she’s incredibly kind and a gorgeous woman who I wished I treated fairly in the beginning but now I’m hoping she gives me a chance.”
Jaws dropped. You hear a gasp and maybe even a heart break.
“That girl is, Y/n.”
His red eyes meet yours. You shakily stand and walk to his side. Awkwardly the two of you stand side by side.
No way that just happened. He just disqualified Ami. You watch as tears stream down her face but Bakugou doesn’t even seem to care his eyes are on you the entirety of the coupling. He was lucky enough to win the last challenge to even allow him first pick. He’s grateful.
~
“Nice suit.”
Bakugou turns around to instantly get his breath taken away. You were as beautiful as when you guys first met. When you were in that sexy little black mini dress. Now you were in a floral black and deep red halter top dress. It hugged your curves so nicely.
"Not too bad yourself."
You fake gasp. "Are you complimenting me? Who are you and what have you've done to Bakugou Katsuki?"
Bakugou can't do anything but shake his head in embarrassment. Looking away with his red tipped ears. "Shut up dumbass. Lets get this over with so I don't have to keep looking at your stupid face."
"Ohh there he is." You laugh and follow his lead to the beach.
Day one being coupled with Bakugou wasn’t so bad. He won you guys a date. Maybe it was his competitive man nature or maybe he was truly trying to make shit up to you. You had thought about his words ever since the re-coupling.
Anybody would wanna be with her… now I’m hoping she gives me a chance
What changed his mind about you? Was he fucking with you still? Did he really hate this place so much that he got a girl disqualified just to mess around with you?
The beach was so beautiful at night. Especially with the fairy lights hanging from the trees and the reflection of it on the ocean. You and Bakugou were sitting on a picnic blanket eating sandwiches and fruits. Sipping on wine and enjoying the view.
Nothing but the sounds of the waves crashing onto the shore. The quietness wasn't awkward either but rather comforting.
"You know as much as I love the free food and all it's healthy nutrients I really miss fried chicken."
"Fried chicken?"
"Yeah. Or spicy noodles."
"You like spicy noodles?"
"I love spicy foods in general. Chili oil and pepper flakes are my best friends."
"Yeah your attitude fits perfectly with them."
“Yeah well you’re salty.”
Bakugou scoffs. Butterflies in his stomach, was he nervous? Heart thumping loudly and every time you caught his eye it’d skip a beat.
“I think others would say I’m more savory.”
You fake gagged. “Blech. Gross.”
“You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous about being anything like you? Uh huh sure.”
“Of course you’d wanna be like me, I’m great like explosive god level.
“You’re know maybe you can float back to the mainland with that big head of yours.” You laugh at him in this way that you have been for quite some time now. With real kindness and pleasure. It wasn’t some fake bullshit. He knows because out of everyone here you were the only person who laid all their cards out. You wore your heart on your sleeve and he admired it. Especially since he wished he could do the same.
He looks out at the endless dark blue sea, then at you.
“Could you stop staring and say something. The one time I actually wouldn’t mind your dumb jokes, now you’re as quiet as a mouse.”
He’s honestly speechless. He has no idea what to say or do, never having been in this position before. Never having felt this way before. Maybe he was realizing how truly beautiful you were. He could finally be realizing how much he cared about you because maybe if he had tried harder to get to know you that first time you woudn’t look so reluctant to trust him. Maybe the two of you could’ve been more. Or that maybe you were right about him.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
“For how we first met.”
“Oh. It’s okay I didn’t care that much about it at first.”
“At first? You do now?”
“Well yeah because now that we’re coupled,” he notices the way you roll your eyes at the term, “I can’t tell if you’re still doing this to fuck with me. Like you’re gonna get me to fall in love with you, take us to first place, and then take the money as a fuck you to this show.”
“Oh.” Bakugou didn’t realize you could’ve taken it like that. He understands that when you guys first met he hated being here on this island. He hated the people. He couldn’t understand at that time what he was doing. Then he met you and you completely changed the game. You got along with everyone, spoke your mind, confident and sexy. “You intimidated me.”
Now you looked at him, confused. “What?” His face was red with his hand massaging the back of his neck.
“Uh, well… okay so this is hard for me to explain. We went on that date and you called me out on my bullshit like no one has before.”
Then he shifted to lay down and stare at the stars. You joined him.
“You were right, I didn’t know what I was doing. What I knew is that I hated being… alone, i guess. There’s not a lot of people I find likable and well you know my personality.”
To that you nodded. Processing what he was saying.
“I thought I was hopeless after coming here and not immediately clicking with anyone. I was going to just relax until I got voted off. Then you joined as a bombshell and I couldn’t get you off my mind.”
You grinned. “Really?”
“Yup.” He popped the P.
You hummed in acknowledgment. Till suddenly laughter burst from your mouth. Bakugou looked at you like you were insane but he smiled.
“You likeeee me.”
“Shut up.”
“I gave you a lap dance and you broke.”
“No-“
“You want this cookie bad.”
“Cookie?”
His confusion caused you to laughed harder. “You were just gonna let me believe you disliked me?”
“You already hated me. I didn’t think I could change your mind but then the heart race challenge happened and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
You felt movement until Bakugou came into view. Then his lips moved onto yours. “The other guys’ eyes on you.” A kiss on your jaw. “Their hands on yours waist.” A nip at your neck. “I needed to make you mine but i needed you to want me too.” His red eyes seemed to sparkle in the fairy lights. “Give me a chance?”
Chat I’m gonna rant rn, so I put off finishing mha for the longest time because I wasn’t ready for it to end. Finally today I finished it. When I tell you that I feel so much sadness it’s true. This show has held such a big part of my heart since I was 13. To see it end, it hurts. We won’t see them grow anymore, they’re not 1-A anymore, like what do you mean Izuku only has a ember, what do you mean all his classmates saved up to get him a suit ESPECIALLY BAKUGOU… chat HELP IVE BEEN SOBBING FOR TWO HOURS BECAUSE OF THIS GODDAMN SHOW. Like dude I’m going to be depressed for the longest time, this show just means so much to me and idc if it sounds cringy anymore. I just want mha to come back man :/
katsuki turns around the laptop monitor towards your end of the couch, his eyebrows drawn together. on the screen, your almost-finished book is opened, scrolled down to a random section. you've been working on it for two years now, and it's in its final stages, so you figured your boyfriend should have a sneak-peek before its publication, just to see what he thinks. the easily-irritated pro hero glances at you, then at the screen, as if he's putting pieces together.
"you said the main character's like you." he states bluntly, repeating something you'd told him once.
"mhm." you nod. he looks so domestic right now, wearing a compression shirt and sweatpants, your legs splayed over his lap, his hair just slightly mussed from bed. his fingers flex over your ankle, promise ring gleaming. it's silver, one you picked out. you wonder when it'll be replaced by the real thing.
"the love interest." he adds. "he seems familiar."
you raise an eyebrow. "he does?"
"yeah." he says gruffly. "short temper. blonde. " he glances at the screen, reading off of it. "a scar stretching across his right cheekbone. he smells like caramel, like he's explosive but sweet and soft inside."
your cheeks heat. "and what of it?"
the tips of katsuki's ears are red. "the book also says that he's your- her- husband."
you grin. "...and?"
he groans, setting aside your laptop and crawling up until he's face to face with you. he squeezes your cheeks together with one hand so your lips are pouting. his crimson eyes meet yours, pupils dilated in a way that delights you. you love teasing him like this- drawing out this side of him that's flustered and awkward and sweet. he kisses you so hard you need to pull away to breathe, one hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you closer so you're seated on his lap, your legs on the sides of his hips. he positions it so his back is pressed against the sofa and your chest is pressed to his.
"dumbass." he mutters under his breath. "gonna be the death of me. you know everyone's gonna read this?"
"i do," you say, cheeks heating at the way his thumb traces your cheekbone, the seam of your mouth. you swallow before you go on, feeling the way you did when you told him you loved him the first time. "i wanted them to know how much you matter to me. that you're my love interest in every universe."
he's so flustered he can't meet your gaze. you know he's not one for saccharine-sweet words or overly-lovey-dovey gestures, but despite that, he kisses you again, this time sweeter and longer, tasting of mint and caramel and his morning coffee.
your son adores ice hockey and part of you cant but help hate it.
he’s only six and it’s an aggressive sport! but, alas, despite your rational motherly concern, he’s simply obsessed. honestly you blame your brother for starting it, your sweet boy’s been too influenced by his favourite (and only) uncle.
honestly, you don’t know too much about hockey. well, you know the sport — you’re brother played in college after all and never shut up about it — but you’re no fanatic in terms of players and stats and all that nerdy-jock stuff that you get groans over not knowing.
you’d still always say you support the same team as your family does and always has, as does your son, but you hadn’t really watched their games for a good while before he fell in love with it.
even now, you still don’t really watch the games much, leaving it to your brother for uncle-nephew bonding time for the most part. it’s nice to see the two of them together, voices giddy and faces gleeful, your son mirroring his uncles every reaction. it’s also nice that it gives you a good two hours or so to do as you like.
but tonight, as an early birthday treat, your son was getting to see his favourite team in person, his first game live.
almost seven isn’t too young, right?
it’s almost nostalgic shuffling into the arena, the steady thrum of fans familiar and the slight chill that hangs in the air greeting you like a relative you haven’t seen in years. as always, your classic grey scarf is securely wrapped around your neck, your saviour from the cold creeping over your skin. you’ve got kaito’s small gloved hand tucked tightly in your own, ensuring he doesn’t get knocked too much by the much older, much taller, men surrounding your trio, or manage to run off and get lost in the bustling crowd.
he’s clearly ecstatic, grin stretched wide and practically bouncing with every eager step closer to the rink. your brother leads the way, managing to push through to your seats.
he places a large hand atop your sons head, haphazardly scuffing up his hair. “want a drink?”
responsibly, you’d agreed to drive tonight, so of course the first thing the twenty year old teenager accompanying you does is think of the bar.
“a coke please!”
grinning back at his nephew, he pushes up, casting a glance towards you.
“i’ll have a coke too,” you answer. “diet, for both, please.”
you watch as he shuffles back across to the end of the row, fearlessly making his way back into the steadily growing crowd.
while you wait, you let your son ramble, happy to see him so excited, his expression almost blindingly bright. it nabs away some of the stress you’ve been carrying since you bought the ticket about it being too soon, the worry it might be a little too violent for him in person. though the thought lingers nervously in the back of your mind. hopefully, it will be a more relaxed game.
“—he’s my favourite player! i hope he’s playing, he’s the coolest! he’s— mooommmmm! are you listening?”
“course i am,” you hum, snapping back to the moment and reaching over to adjust his scarf to better cover his chin.
a lie, you’d accidentally tuned out half of his babbling, and judging by the small pout he’s giving you, he’s not buying the weak cover for a second. though his excitement quickly wins over again and the verbal spew restarts.
“drinks!” your brother cheers as he returns, somehow having managed to balance a cup of beer, two cokes, three hot dogs and some nachos back safely. it’s frankly impressive. you reach for the stuff, distributing it between you and he ungracefully crashes back into his seat on the other side of kaito, sandwiching the small boy between you both.
“what do you say kaito,” you prompt, nudging him gently.
your son’s head springs back up, cheeks already stuffed full somehow, swallowing quickly before giving your brother a sheepish smile. “thank you!”
“Don’ worry ‘bout it,” your brother waves off, mouth also stuffed full and words forming piggishly around the unswallowed.
you sigh, looking between the two animals and shaking your head. picking up your hotdog, you take a much smaller bite. “eat slower baby, you’ll make yourself sick. how long till it starts?”
“urh, i think players should be coming our for warmups—“
“mom look! they’re there, they’re there!”
as if on cue, players steadily start to stream out from the tunnel next to you and kaito jumps to his feet, food forgotten as he presses his face to the glass, waving at them excitedly.
sweetly, one of them presses his fist to the glass and your son lights up like it’s Christmas, squealing.
“yknow who that was, right?” your brother asks, grin stretched wide, nudging kaito’s arm. “that was kirishima ejiro. the goalie.”
“woah! that’s so cool. mom, did you see?”
“yeah baby, real cool.”
your sons still standing, propped on his toes to peer over the crowd, enthusiastically pointing out different players he recognises.
“that’s kaminari! and sero hanta! and mom, mom, look, it’s bakugo!”
you follow his finger to each player, lingering on the last man. you know he’s your son’s current favourite, and the choice is much to your dismay. he’s a little infamous online for being one of the roughest new players, but he’s also one of the top goal scorers on the team and part of the reason why they’ve been doing so well this season.
in person, even from a distance, you can practically feel the energy radiating off of him as he skates round. the silent intensity of an attack dog waiting to be let off its leash.
you’d almost forgotten why you used to love coming to games so much when you were younger. there’s something truly unique about experiencing sport live, an edge of the seat anticipation shared by everyone in the room. every time your team scores, your heart swells — part in pride, and part simply because of the joy that overtakes your sons little face. it’s almost bursting out of him and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so wonderfully happy.
admittedly, you scan see why bakugo’s his favourite player. there’s something almost transfixing about his play style. the way he charges forward, the way he commands attention, the way he keeps scoring. perhaps it’s just that kaito pointed him out to you, that you’re trying to watch through the lens of your sons admiration, but you’re watching him either way.
thankfully, it does end up a match featuring minimal violence — at least for the standards of a hockey game. it’s a weight off your poor stressed heart at least, letting you fully revel in the ultimate victory with your son and brother.
the two roar loudly and you share a laugh with the woman sat beside you.
if you thought kaito was excitable before the game, you weren’t prepared at all for him now it’s finished. it’s almost baffling how much raw energy he’s managing to fit in such a small body and how long he’s managed to maintain it. he’s bouncing and tugging at your hand, grip tight then lose then tight again.
it makes navigating through the sea of equally as hyped-up, slightly tipsy, fans exiting the stadium slightly more difficult, but you keep a firm grip on him until you swap with your brother, asking him to take kaito out and wait by the door while you run to the toilet. while it’s not too far of a drive home, god knows how long you’ll be stuck in the parking lot with so many people exiting at the same time and you’d much rather be stuck waiting with an empty bladder.
snaking through, you make it to the washroom unscathed, taking a short moment to breathe and freshen up before stepping out to refind your boys, heading towards the front of the building.
it doesn’t take long to spot your brother’s head peeking out over the crowd (he’s always been lanky), and you speed up, making quick work of catching up.
only your stomach sinks when you finally close the distance, a cold wash of dread seeping in.
“where’s kaito?”
“huh?” your brothers head lifts from his phone, eyes locking on you and back straightening slightly.
“kaito,” you repeat, voice growing more agitated, “where is he?”
you can see his own dread slowly dawn over his expression, cold and sinking, and you feel your heart leap to your throat. “kaito? i thought— did you not take him with you?”
“i asked you to watch him!” you exclaim, agitation growing into panic. “fucking hell, don’t you listen?”
“hey, hey— look, okay? we’ll find him. he’s a smart kid, he knows what to do if he gets lost.”
you try, desperately (for kaito’s sake, because you’re useless overly worked up), to take a steadying breathe but it comes out shaky. you ignore the tremble. he is a smart kid and you remind him constantly what to do in this exact situation. but god there’s just so many people.
frantically, you both split off, storming into the thick of the crowd and calling out the little boys name. you grab people at random, describing your son and asking if they’d seen him, praying someone had. sadly, no one can seem to remember having done so, and the promises to let you know if they do do little to soothe you.
you don’t even know how long you’ve been looking when your brother manges to catch your eye, quickly flagging you over. you almost dash towards where he’s stood, joining him and what’s clearly a member of the arena staff.
“we think he might have gone looking for the players or wandered off that way,” your brother fills you in, not wasting breath on formalities.
“think?” you repeat, incredulously.
“she’s checking now, alright?”
anxiously, you pick at your nails, tearing into the sensitive skin around the beds as you watch the woman mutter into her walkie. it takes every part of you to keep quiet and wait, biting back the part of you that wants to demand answers. finally she lowers it, turning to you.
“one of the players have spotted him near the locker-rooms and reported it to one of my colleagues. i’ll escort you there now ma’am.”
“see, he’s—“
“not right now,” you clip sharply. “i’m still fucking pissed at you.”
you follow closely at the woman’s heels, grateful for her urgency and the much easier to navigate empty back hallways. though even empty, they seem almost endless, your impatience growing with each turn until finally your eyes lock onto familiar softly curled hair.
“kaito!”
his head whips round quickly, momentarily distracted from the beast of a man knelt in front of him. “mom!”
he charges straight towards you and you meet him halfway, catching him as he crashes into your leg, relief flooding you. lifting him into your arms swiftly, you push back his hair, checking him over. safe, unharmed.. smiling.
bright, wide and blinding despite the slight puffiness hiding in the creases of his eyes.
“mom, mom, i met—“
“you know not to run off,” you cut in, concern still twisting your face. “you nearly gave me a heart attack kaito.”
briefly, his smile falters, guilt and a little shame creeping over his features. “.. i’m sorry mom.”
sighing, you soften slightly, pressing a kiss to his hairline and holding him a little tighter.
“told you your mom would be worried brat.”
the voice is gruff, deep, and finally you glance up to the man, only just noting his presence. he stands at least a head taller than you, still decked in the full glory of his gear with only the helmet dragged off, revealing sweaty blonde hair and sharp features. though, almost intentionally, his frown is mulled.
“mom,” kaito whispers, excitement creeping back into his voice, “it’s bakugo katsuki!”
it takes a moment to register the name, distracted by his face. a face you recognise, not from a tv screen or hockey poster.
but from your local coffee shop.
the man who had knocked into you, splattered coffee all over you, then proceeded to blame you… is your sons favourite hockey player?
and not only that, he just fucking rescued him. (well, rescue, is a strong word)
“thank you,” you manage to blurt out, remembering yourself and the situation. it’s not like you can start randomly cursing him out now, not after everything that’s just happened, especially not for something that happened almost two weeks ago and he likely doesn’t even remember at all. “for finding him.”
he shuffles slightly, passing weight between his feet as he clears his throat. if it didn’t sound so silly to say about a man of his statute and reputation, you’d say he almost looks sheepish. “s’no problem, not like i did much. brat was just wondering around back here. stuck out.”
“god, sorry.” you wince, now unable but to help but feel embarrassed as well. “i asked my brother to watch him while i went to the bathroom, but they’re both idiots and well.. i’m just so sorry. and thank you, again.” then, like a babbling idiot, you add, “you’re his favourite player.”
he scratches the back of his neck, glancing briefly towards the boy still cooped to your chest, but there’s the briefest flicker of pride that tugs at his lips. “yeah, kid mentioned that.”
kaito wriggles slightly, declaring proudly as he pulls at his top. “mom look, he signed my shirt!”
the jersey was another early birthday gift, something your brother had gotten him, a little loose fitting with room to grow into it. the name BAKUGO is printed across the back and now there’s a matching scribble across the front.
“..hope that’s alright.”
you’d read a lot about the man in front of you, scrolled through a multitude of unsavoury reviews over his foul attitude. aggressive, crass, rude, arrogant, self-centred. hell, your own first-hand experience with him before now hadn’t exactly been overwhelmingly positive, but, in this moment, he almost seems.. sweet.
“it’s— it’s completely fine.” the words feel twisted in your mouth, jumbled from the plethora of jarring emotions you’d undergone in the past twenty minutes. “that’s.. that was very kind of you. i hope you said thank you kaito.”
“he did,” bakugo confirms with a short nod. then, after a moment, he adds hesitantly, “wouldn’t stop yapping, but.. the kid’s alright.”
it’s not exactly the most lavish compliment you’ve heard but you still feel something warm, prideful, twinge in your chest.
“bakugo! there you are, dude!”
the voice boulders off the quiet walls of the empty hallway and you watch as his face contorts almost instantly. back is the familiar ugly scowl from that day at the coffee shop, disgust flashing across his face when a heavy arm flops around his shoulders.
“ger’off me idiot!”
the new man is taller, hair bright red and smile sharp and toothy as he ignores the barking complaint. “what’dya— oh.” he blinks, taking in your small gathered entourage, before his smile breaks out wider. “hey little man!”
kaito almost instantly wiggles again and reluctantly you give in, placing him back down on his own two feet, battling back the momentous urge to cling to him tightly for the rest of the night. the red-haired man almost instantly squats down, meeting him at eye-level.
“hey, i remember you! did you enjoy the game? we totally crushed it, right?”
kaito nods so frantically you think his head might drop off, earning a boisterous laugh.
“tch.”
“big fan huh?” he continues, voice almost overwhelmingly genuine. “you want your jersey signing?”
“brats already got his damn shirt signed shitty-hair.”
‘shitty-hair’ nudges his teammate, casting a disapproving look behind him. “language, dude.”
bakugo only scoffs, eyes casting to the side as he grumbles under his breathe.
“how bout a picture then?” ‘shittyhair’ — or, well, kirishima, you think — suggests instead, glancing up to you briefly. “if mom’s alright with that.”
“oh! oh, yeah, that’d be great, completely fine. only if you don’t mind.”
“course not! here.” he places a gentle hand on kaito’s shoulder, ushering him between himself and bakugo. your about to take our your phone when his other hand reaches out, plucking it from your hands and shoving it towards your brother (who’s surprisingly managed to keep himself uncharacteristically quiet since you snapped at him), leaving you stood beside bakugo, blinking.
your brother blinks too, taking a moment to realise he’s the one supposedly stuck with taking the picture, before he fumbles for his phone.
you can only imagine what he’s thinking, holding up the camera to take a picture of his sister with players from his favourite team — but (pettily) you reckon it serves the idiot right after the fuss he’d caused. he snaps a good few, before shoving his thumb up and lowering the phone.
“thank you,” you repeat, stepping away from bakugo, “again. so much.”
“already told you it were no trouble,” bakugo mutters gruffly, folding his arms, the broad muscles stretching over his chest — something you definitely have no place noticing — as he glances back down your boy. “listen to your mom next time brat.”
kaito nods quickly with all the seriousness of someone swearing an oath, almost instantly stepping back to rejoin your side and taking your hand again. “i will mr bakugo sir.”
