Disclaimer: I write at my own pace aka when I feel inspired! Sometimes I don't post at all for a few months!
Headcanons
💥 SLEEPLESS NIGHTS
💥 CONFESSION
💥 NERVES AND TENSION
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ANGST
HEED THE WARNINGS!! I PUT THEM THERE FOR A REASON
💥 VIOLENT BEAUTY OF LOVE
💥 DON'T
💥 WHAT SHE LOVED MOST
💥 NEVER GOT A CHANCE
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FLUFF
💥 STAR GAZING
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SMUT
A/n: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! There's plenty of other shit you can read, please stay away from this side of my content. Thank you!
💥 SUMMON ME | Part 1 / Part 2
Everything on my blog is written by me, unless stated otherwise or it's a reblog. The rights to the anime characters obviously go to the rightful owners.
Head filled with bnha x angel's friends crossover au. So many ideas yet I can't write for shit..
Angel Bakugou! who's focused and driven to keep his terrestrial on the straight and narrow, so he sets out to win every challenge against Devil Reader!
Angel Bakugou! who would have never broken the VETO if it wasn't for his adversary, that pesky trickster Devil Reader!
Angel Bakugou! who would suppress the forbidden feelings he harbors for his adversary and pretend for the sake of universal balance
Or on the other end you have,
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who has a knack for tempting his terrestrial and leading them down the wrong path solely to spite Angel Reader! and get them to challenge him, so he can spend more time with them alone
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who is itching to find a way to get closer to Angel Reader! without the risk of them breaking the VETO a second time, despite how much he wants to. Of course it's not the rules that hold him back, but the pain the first contact caused them
Yearner Devil Bakugou! who finds out from Devil Mina! that the VETO doesn't apply in your terrestrial forms, but refrains from making use of that information because he knows Angel Reader! wants to maintain a distance and uphold the natural balance
I also give you,
Angel Bakugou! who despite his better judgement falls in love with his Terrestrial Reader! knowing fully well they can never be together
Then there's also,
Devil Bakugou! who falls for his Terrestrial Reader! and pursues them in his terrestrial form until he can no longer hide his true nature from them. The low spheres find out and deal with him accordingly
The front door doesn’t slam anymore - not since you asked him to stop - but it still opens with a weight that only Bakugo carries. Like the day clung to him on the way home. Like the stress, the blood, the pressure, the noise of it all came with him. Still caught in the creases of his uniform. Still buzzing under his skin.
And the second he sees you?
It’s over.
"Shitty fuckin’ day." He grumbles, halfway out of his boots before he’s crossing the living room.
You’re already setting your book down, body responding before you even say a word - because you know this version of him. You know what he needs.
He presses you into the cushions, heavy and hard and hot between your thighs, barely managing to strip off his hero pants before he’s pulling your shorts to the side and sliding home with a groan that punches right into your core.
"Fuck, baby. Been thinkin’ about this all day.”
You wrap your legs around him. Let him fuck you into the couch until his growling turns into soft, strangled breaths.
Another time, it’s the kitchen counter.
You’d been plating dinner. He came in sweaty, still in full uniform, jaw tight. You barely got out a “rough patrol?” before he had you bent over the counter, arms braced beside you, your robe bunched at your hips and his cock splitting you open from behind.
He didn’t even take his gloves off.
"Fucking extras." He growled through his teeth, hips punishing. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ orders. Had to pull two rookies outta a building they never shoulda gone into - shit, baby, you’re so warm.”
You moaned his name, clutching the counter edge, gasping when he reached around to rub your clit with those thick, gloved fingers.
“Only peace I get anymore’s when I’m inside you. You know that, don’t you?”
And you did.
Another night you're in the shower, head tilted back beneath the steam, when the door slammed open and Bakugo’s gravel voice came through.
“Move over.”
You’re barely able to turn before he’s behind you, soap already forgotten, uniform half-off, hands grabbing your hips and dragging you back against his cock.
“I missed you." You say.
“I know." He answers, biting your shoulder.
Water runs down your chest as he slides in from behind, thrusts deep enough to make your knees buckle, and you have to grip the wall with both palms while he lets it all out.
“Two fuckin’ interviews. Both fuckin’ useless. PR’s got me doin’ press for some dumbass collab with Jeans.” He pants into your ear, “-fuckin’ told ‘em I don’t do that shit. I save people. I don’t smile for the camera.”
You clench around him and nod. “You don’t need to. You’re already the best.”
He groans like it’s the first thing all week that’s gone right.
Some nights, he’s too tired to move.
Not too tired to want you - never that - but the exhaustion sets into his bones. After patrol. After hours of training rookies who can’t keep their damn heads down. After public relations meetings where he grits his teeth so hard, his jaw aches the next morning.
You always know when it’s one of those nights. He walks in slower, heavier. He doesn’t talk much. Just drops into bed in nothing but sweatpants, scarred arm draped over his eyes like he’s trying to block out the whole world.
You throw a leg over his lap, straddle him slow. Push the waistband of his sweats down enough to free his cock, already half-hard just from feeling your weight over him.
He barely opens his eyes, just lifts his hand off his face, lets it fall to your hip.
“What’re you up to, princess.” He mutters, voice rough.
You don’t answer. Just press a kiss to his chest - right over his scar between his pecs. Then another near his ribs. Then higher, up the column of his throat, where his pulse flutters beneath your lips.
By the time your mouth brushes the corner of his jaw, you’re sinking down onto him.
His thumb circles your hip, the muscles in his forearm flexing. You notice the faint tremor in his left hand - the one that’s never fully healed - and cover it with yours.
“Easy.” You whisper. “I got you.”
He lets out a shaky exhale. The tension starts to leave him, bit by bit.
“Shit…that’s it. Just like that.” He groans.
You ride him slow, patient, hands on his chest, your own breath catching at the stretch. Watching his face soften - eyes fluttering, jaw slack - like you’re draining the whole day out of him one thrust at a time.
Sometimes he slaps your ass, lazy but heavy-handed. Sometimes he grabs it in both palms and groans, “You’re such a fuckin’ problem, y’know that?”
But he always praises you. Always.
“So warm. So tight. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”
You just keep going - rolling your hips in long, smooth circles, holding his gaze when he opens his eyes, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead when it starts to stick. You ride out every ounce of tension until his arms finally relax. Until his left shoulder - the bad one - goes slack against the mattress instead of staying braced like it always does.
And just when you think you’ve got him all soft, all sweet and melted beneath you -
He grabs your hips with both hands. Sits up with a growl, face tucked into your neck, arms flexing.
And he starts fucking up into you like he’s got something to prove. Hard. Deep. Fast enough to punch little gasps out of your throat and make your fingers dig into his scarred shoulders.
“That what you wanted?” He moans against your skin. “Huh? Wanted to treat me? You like playin’ house like this? Like takin’ care of your man?”
You nod, whimpering, riding every brutal thrust. His mouth is on your collarbone, biting, then soothing. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, louder with every slap of his hips.
But even when he’s taking over - even when he’s fucking you hard enough to make your whole body tremble - you can still see it in his face:
Relief.
And afterwards, you both lay there quietly.
“…Guess that counts as physical therapy,” He mutters, voice low, rough, and just a little amused.
You smile, eyes still closed. “You’re welcome, Dynamight.”
He chuckles softly, hand sliding up your spine. “Brat.”
And of course, it's happened in bed, too. More times than you could count.
You’d be half-asleep. He’d come in late, long after midnight, after another triple shift he didn’t complain about because he never did. You’d feel the dip of the mattress, the warmth of his body, the way he’d nudge your legs apart and slip his fingers between them like he belonged there.
“Need it." He’d whisper hoarsely against your thigh. “Need you, princess.”
You’d open your legs for him without a word. Always.
And another night, you heard him come in before you saw him.
Even when he tried to be quiet - which he never really was.
The front door clicked shut, low and heavy, followed by the dull thud of his boots being kicked off. Then the rustle of fabric, a muttered curse under his breath, and the sound of the shower starting. Water hitting tile. A groan as he stepped under it.
By the time he came into the bedroom, the lights were still off.
A towel hung loose at his hips, chest still damp, and his face scrubbed clean except. You sat up slightly, already reaching for him.
He didn’t say anything. Just let the towel fall.
Then he climbed into bed with the kind of tired grunt you’d only ever heard from him after long patrol nights. Hands immediately on you - pulling you into his chest, nudging your thigh up over his hip like it was second nature.
He ducked his head down and pressed his face to your chest with a deep exhale, letting the weight of the day fall off his shoulders.
You smoothed your fingers through his damp hair, voice soft. “Long day?”
“Mm.” He muttered. “Long fuckin’ month.”
He didn’t move right away. But then, his hand slipped between your bodies - warm and rough, trailing down your stomach before cupping between your thighs.
He paused. Then let out a low, cocky breath against your collarbone.
“Already wet for me, huh?” He murmured, fingers teasing through the slick at your entrance.
You flushed, heat crawling up your neck. “You’ve been gone all day.”
“So?” He grinned against your skin, lazy and smug. “You needy or somethin’?”
“Shut up.”
But your legs parted anyway, lifted your hips a little, silently inviting. And he slid in with one slow, firm push, stretching you open inch by inch. You both sighed at the same time.
He stilled again, fully seated inside you, cock pulsing deep where it fit snug and hot. He stayed like that, heavy and quiet, one palm splayed low on your belly.
Everything outside was loud.
Dispatch calls, training drills, kids screaming for his name in the streets, citizens arguing with officers, villains roaring through buildings.
But here, with you, it was quiet.
He stayed like that for minutes - just breathing you in, cock twitching inside you while the tension left his shoulders one slow breath at a time.
Eventually, he moved. Just a slow roll of his hips at first, lazy and deep. The kind of thrust that made your eyes flutter. That made your body grip around him tight and slow.
You whined and he caught your face in one hand, kissed you without thinking.
Then again. And again.
His rhythm built with it, the slick sound of him moving inside you growing louder, messier. He groaned against your cheek, and when he pulled back, his eyes dropped to where your bodies met.
A crooked, smug half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Shit.” He muttered, amused by the sound. “Listen to that.”
You could. Loud, wet squelches every time his hips rolled forward.
You wanted to cover your face, but he caught your wrists, pinned them. His chest brushed against yours. His breath stayed hot and shallow.
And for once - he didn’t say much. No rants. No swearing about rookies or the bullshit media or whatever villain pissed him off this week.
Just quiet.
Just the occasional hum against your throat, the warm grunt of his breath through his nose, and the heavy drag of his cock inside you like he finally had permission to stop holding everything up on his own.
Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your body melted into the sheets. And when you moaned - head tipped back, eyes fluttering as you felt him press deeper, brushing so far inside it ached - he leaned down to kiss the underside of your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek.
“Katsuki…ah.” You whined, breath hitching.
He groaned, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Yeah. I know.”
Another thrust. Another slick sound. Your body gave and clenched around him, dizzy with the heat of it.
And still, he didn’t rush.
Because the world out there was loud. But in here, with you, it was quiet.
protagonists can and will be sexist, racist, insensitive, cruel, stupid, etc, especially towards the beginning of a story. these are called character flaws and they are a surprise tool that will lead to narrative fulfillment later
This! And for the love of whatever yall believe in, the fact that characters can be written with certain flaws or commit certain actions does not mean the writer endorses/supports/promotes them in real life
Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.
Bakugou would for sure leave a sober voicemail! He wants you to know that he means what he's saying and that he is putting in effort! He sounds mature and responsible. He wants to work things out.
Zoro would be be drunk as fuck, saying things that he'd be too embarrassed to talk about or admit while sober! He acts on impulse and instinct. He regrets the fight.
And he keeps his palm around your throat when he finally slides inside. Just so he can feel you take that first sharp intake of breath the moment he fills you up.
tags: FEM reader (referred to as wife + your grace), fantasy au, dragon king bakugo, arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, miscommunication (resolved!!), implied loss of virginity, very suggestive, hurt/comfort, readers home country SUCKED (misogyny + sexism mentioned)
wc: 2.9k
In truth, you should not be anywhere near the dragon pit.
You have only ever seen the beasts from afar, kept behind the protection of your husband's most trusted guards; folk adorned in durable leather and shedded scale, while your own body need only be wrapped in silks.
Since your wedding night all those weeks ago, that is all that has touched your skin — silk. Drapes of it, trains of sleeve and cape, embroidered with delicate fauna and feathers. When walking amongst men and women layered with armour and weaponry, you only felt othered.
Being betrothed to the Dragon King, Bakugo Katsuki, had not been of your choosing.
Still, you sought knowledge of the country you were to live in. Read of their culture, learned of their languages. It was a diverse and fascinating place, regardless of the godly creatures it allied with. Much unlike the traditional rules of your own home, anyone could be anything if they so wished. The countrymen were personable, hearty and loud in their cheers as the marriage was announced. Lacking was the stiff lip and rigidity you’d grown up with. You’d been excited.
But your husband had not. Infact, Katsuki spent the entirety of the reception visibly displeased. This was not of his choosing either, and having been raised in a society built on crafting your own destiny, you truly couldn’t blame him for feeling robbed.
At the beginning you had no complaints. In many ways you thought you’d been freed. And he was undoubtedly handsome — otherworldly, even. A broad chest painted in striking patterns of black, highlighting the scars he had won during the war. His shoulders were thick, like his arms, and covered by a grand red cape lined in fur that settled in the earth beneath his feet. His expression had been piercing, and you recall just how insecure you felt under his scrutiny. Eyes alight. The longer you looked the more you saw the flames dancing in his irises.
You’d been taught to expect aggression, and to practice submission. Sex was duty. But on the night of your wedding he had touched you in ways you could not have imagined, and even now you can feel the hot impression of his fingers at your waist. Amidst the bliss you’d forgotten that his hands could conjure fire. Katsuki had shaped your flesh around him, burrowed into you as if he was made to find home there. Lay aside — the kissing is what bewitched you. The careful manner in which he cradled your face, plucking his name from your mouth.
“My name,” he’d said. “Don’t fuckin’ call me ‘your highness’ or ‘my king’ in our marriage bed”.
When coiled so tightly beneath him, it was as if his weight was the only thing holding your seams together. You felt your body fall apart under his touch three times that night; three times more than you’d expected.
But the next morning, his side of the bed had been cold. He’d left early and without goodbye. Whenever your paths crossed he did treat you warmly, in his own way, but he deigned to show you any other part of his life. You were not to sit in on his councils, you were not to see his dragons, you were not to be without consort. You were a wife of obligation to be kept in the far wing of the castle, safe and ignorant.
At first it didn’t bother you. This was exactly as you’d been taught, and more than anything you felt shamefully naive for thinking it would be any different here.
His ambassador and closest confidant, Midoriya Izuku, had attempted to assuage you only once. It must’ve shown on your face. “Kacchan is just difficult,” the smile he gave you was sincere, but a little sad. “It’s best not to make assumptions. Rarely is he thinking the way you’d expect him to”.
In the weeks that passed your efforts were fruitless. Every day saw new people of different ilk pass through the grounds. The sights and sounds toiled away at your envy until it spread through your chest like flame to dry crop. You could understand the shackles placed upon you if you were not in a country that prided itself on freedom.
Thus, in a fleeting fit of rebellion you had crept from your chambers and made haste to the pit. In avoidance of the guards stationed by your door, you had hooked each leg over the ledge of your balcony and lowered yourself into the gardens.
Your skin frissons in the tepid air, cloaked in only a nightgown that falls above your ankles. The moon bursts forth through the twilight, your silhouette solid and clear beneath pale thin fabric. A stern voice in the back of your head scolds that to be seen so scantily clad by anyone other than your husband would be more than inappropriate, but you close your ears to it before it can dissuade you.
Surely the dragons wouldn’t care to look at your breasts.
There is no way to get lost in your search. The pit is a grand structure beside the castle, almost rivalling it in size and width. Excitement stirs in your belly. Your first true act of disobedience. At most, you would be caught by the dragon keepers guarding the entrance and taken to your majesty, but that alone would be enough to satiate your pettiness.
What surprises you is that the keepers do not bat an eyelid. “Your Grace,” both men bow courteously, offering amiable welcome. “Would you like to see Endraen?”
Endraen. You knew her to be Katsuki’s dragon; she has been at his side since he was a babe.
“If you’d be so kind,” you resist the urge to bow back to them. That was no longer required of you. Instead you fold each arm across your chest, a subtle attempt at maintaining your modesty, and you follow one of them in.
The entrance itself is a large, gaping opening, like the mouth of the cave. It dwarfed you. You willingly enter the maw, led down the throat into the belly, lit only by the flickering torches either side of the hallway.
It’s colossal. Seemingly bigger on the inside than it is on the out. You wonder if there’s any magic in play — it certainly feels like it. The air is heavy here; there is a distinct metallic taste in your mouth when you inhale. At the end of the tunnel is something much brighter, a glaring light that floods across the earth beneath your feet.
You realise it is the moon, and this is where the earth ends.
The keeper motions for you to halt, stopping right before the drop. It is quite literally a dragon's pit. You are unable to see its depth, but judging by the soft echo of movement far below, it is considerably deep. Scattered throughout are shelves, pillars and platforms that look to have been naturally formed in rock, and above, the roof opens wide to the night and invites her in.
At your side, the keeper whistles. It ricochets in your chest. You hear a rumbling groan from afar, and then a startling gust of wind that almost knocks you backwards. A large, serpentine shadow skirts across your vision before curling back to the pillar closest to where you waited.
You hold your breath. The ground vibrates as Endraen settles, readjusting her footing with an eldritch rasp of complaint. You must’ve woken her. Wings outstretched, the moon passes through her flesh like stained glass. She is terrifying, kingly, yet there’s a grace about her as she appraises you.
“She well suits his Highness,” you murmur. The keeper hums.
“I’ll leave you to be acquainted”.
There is no time to object. Despite the distance between the opening and the perch, a simple stretch of Endraen’s neck sees her horned snout a hair's breadth from your face. Your nightgown shifts as she exhales, the heat clinging to your skin.
“Hello,” you offer lamely. Your voice is shaken, and you wonder if she hears you. If she understands you. Katsuki has ridden her across the lands before, so you had seen all her merigold glory from your bedchamber window, but never this close. You had never seen such joy on Katsuki’s face again, either.
In your lands, people feared the dragons. Mythicised them as callous beasts that wrought fury upon the innocent. You’d heard such tales about your husband, long before the treaty had been put into place. Bakugo Katsuki, the barbaric Dragon King. He sets torch to anyone that defies him with his own hands, steals riches from his own citizens to hoard in his castle, bellows indiscriminately at his subjects and beds man or woman whenever he pleases.
A beast in his own right, they’d said. But just like the dragons, you came to realise your people vilified Katsuki’s freedom. This lands freedom. Which was for all but you.
Endraen huffs. Her head has slightly turned as if to get a better look at you. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now,” you tell her. As she blinks, you watch the milky second lids pass over her eye, then the first. Her pupils dilate and retract, pulsing when they open again. Even her breathing is loud, shifting the loose rock around you.
“You’re more beautiful up close. Scarier, too,” it’s silly, but you straighten out your nightgown in the conscious effort to make a good impression. “I’ve seen you gliding over the mountains from my window. Like a kite without strings”.
She grunts and the breeze warms you once more. “His Maj— Katsuki talks very highly of you. He loves you. I think in some ways you might know him better than anyone,” your voice fractures as you speak, and the smile pulled across your cheeks weakens.
“I wish he’d let me in. Do you think—!” suddenly you are met with two arms full of dragon. Endraen leans forward, tucking the end of her snout against your chest. You are comically small, barely taller than her largest tooth, and the force of it has you stumbling further back.
She is hot to the touch, much like Katsuki had been. With the way she is attempting to nuzzle you, unaware of her own strength, it wouldn’t be far fetched to assume this was an attempt at comfort. The thought makes you laugh, and you run your hand across the length of her scales.
“Thank you,” you tell her. A pitched, distorted sound rumbles in her throat and vibrates under your palms. If dragons could purr, this might be it.
“She likes you”.
The unexpected echo of Katsuki’s voice startles you away from the creature, and the rumble deepens in displeasure. He’s closer than you anticipate, night coat draped over his bare shoulders, stepping forward to rest his enclosed fist against Endraen’s lower lip.
You swallow the swell in your throat as his eyes sweep over your state of undress. “C’mere,” he grunts, holding his hand out for you to take. There’s an awkward expression on his face that is almost… shy.
At first, you accept it delicately. But unhappy with this, Katsuki readjusts his grip until your fingers are interwoven. His palm is searing where it kisses your own. With this, he pulls you into his side.
“You can still touch her,” and you do, pressing your free hand to her skin, right beside his own. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing out here?”
The keeper at the entrance must’ve sent for him. “I apologise if I’ve angered you”.
His nose wrinkles, like your apology left a bitterness on his tongue. “M’not angry. You’re my wife, so you are permitted to come and go as you please”.
Influenced by your fleeting irritation, you mutter accusingly, “Am I?”
The regret is immediate and his grip tightens, skin warming. He continues to aimlessly pet along the scales of his dragon as he stares at you. The specks of moonlight filling the alcove refract in his eyes, smouldering. “Fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A dragon in his own right, you recall. There is a spark of fear in your gut in anticipation of what might befall you as a consequence of this. But if there is one thing you knew about your husband — and there is little — it’s that he values honesty.
“What I mean is I am the only one in this kingdom that is shackled,” you quietly argued. “Even your dragons are able to roam freely while I am hidden away in my quarters”.
A litany of emotions pass over Katsuki’s face as you speak. Disbelief, anger, confusion, regret. “I have never told you to squirrel yourself away in your bedchamber,” he replies through gritted teeth.
“No one has told me otherwise, either!”
Endraen watches the exchange closely, and as you avoid his gaze there’s a clear intelligence in hers that both comforts and unsettles you. Before Katsuki is able to counter your point, she pushes forward minutely into you both, just enough to unsteady you.
Katsuki is quick to unlatch your hands, now wrapping the arm around your waist and embracing you to keep you upright. It is unbearably hot. You splay your fingers over his bare chest, tracing the smooth, raised skin of his scars, and a familiar feeling strums at your centre.
Seconds turn to minutes, and the silence stretches thin. The dragon rumbles again, now pleased by your proximity. Instinctively, you know she pushed you on purpose.
“You know my home to be a place of subjugation and cruelty. So you must at least have some knowledge of how I was raised,” you rasp, resisting the urge to curl into him. To tilt your chin and kiss him, despite your frustration. “You do not seek me out, or ask anything of me. You give me no duties. You left and never returned to our marriage bed”.
Katsuki’s thumb massages gentle circles into the small of your back, and he dips forward to embrace you. Next he speaks, it is beside your ear. “You didn’t choose this, it was forced upon you for the sake of your country. I was just—” he sighs, and you shiver against the warm breath. “Fuck. I’m no good at this”.
The slight petulance in his voice makes you laugh, but you’re quick to bite down on it. When you do, he hooks his fingers beneath your chin and forces you to look at him. You haven’t been this close since he bedded you, and the memory burns at the surface of your skin. All that separates your bodies is a thin nightgown.
“Don’t fuckin’ do that. I want to hear you,” his hand then slips further to cradle your jaw. Let me hear you, he’d groaned into your mouth. Beautiful. Beautiful. “Is that what you were doing this whole time? Repressing yourself like this?”
The reality of it chips away at you, and you try not to shatter in his grasp. “I’m not a person, I’m a wife,” you recite bitterly with a half hearted smile. His arm tightens around your back, and he presses your foreheads together meaningfully.
“Bullshit. I should burn your shitty family’s castle to the ground,” he mutters, stroking over the swell of your cheek. His words ghost over your lips. “I didn’t want you to feel any obligation. I wanted you to come to me, to choose me of your own will”.
Your nose bumps against his, and you both tilt slightly, lingering there. He’s strikingly handsome under the moonlight, a lily white crown forming around his head. “When you didn’t come back that night or the next, I thought…”
His eyes fall closed as he huffs, the small shadows of his lashes cast over his cheeks. You wait with bated breath. When he meets your gaze again, searing red, half lidded and avowing, there’s only tenderness.
“I’ve been a piss poor husband thus far,” he addresses you softly. “Deku was right. I should’a talked to you sooner”.
Deku… Izuku. “It’s best not to make assumptions. Rarely is he thinking the way you’d expect him to”. Thinking back on it now, you could have heeded his advice. Katsuki had always been receptive when approached, the issue had been that you felt you were unwanted. Unneeded. Something forced upon him that he didn’t want to look at.
You smile, assuaged by his regret. “If I forgave my piss poor husband, do you think he would join me in bed tonight?”
His sharp inhale is loud in your ears. You are so transfixed on him, on the dilation of his pupils, the sudden tang of magic in the air and the ever growing heat seeping through your nightgown, that you forget the scaled creature watching over you both.
And then he grins, wide and victorious. Katsuki thuds his hands twice against Endraen’s snout and she grunts, her mountainous footsteps trembling through the earth as she retreats. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think he would”.
"M-More." You plead as Bakugou fucks into you with harsh slow ruts.
He roughly covers your mouth with his hot palm, stilling his hips as he comes closer to your face. Glaring at you, taking in your fucked out expression, the sweat making your hair stick to your skin and the pearly tears clinging to long lashes. It's insane how he doesn't even look fazed, as if your tight cunt squeezing and pulling him back in with each rut feels no better than his fist. It makes your eyes flutter with embarrassment and shame.
"Cock sleeves don't talk." He growls and when you don't respond he lets his fingers harshly tap against your cheek, "Oi, nod if you understand."
You give a frantic nod, his hand still covering your mouth before he moves his hips. Letting his swollen cock head hit against the pulsing spongy spot in your dripping pussy.
Silently arching your back as you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning.
But it's like a game to him and he ruts over it slower and harsher until you're hot to the touch, your eyes rolled back from how good he edges you and tears you. Waiting to capture the smallest moan with his hand before he speeds up his pace.
Pounding into you until the humidity of your panting collects on his palm, still echoing around the room before he moves his burning palm to your throat.
"Can't make a sound if ya can't fuckin breathe, yea?" He gives a cruel barking laugh before he squeezes just enough that your once loud moans can only be rasped breaths.
Secretly he loves the sounds you make but that's the problem. It's hard enough for him to fuck you were he can see your pretty face contorting in pleasure that his cock brings out but the sounds. God the sounds is what makes his heart beat faster, what makes his composure slip each time you try to keep your eyes on his while you cum, begging him for more like he wasn't already fucking you brain dead.
He watches himself disappear into you, watches the creamy ring at the base of his cock grow thicker and his sac wetter from your arousal. The resounding slap echoing in your apartment competing with the snap of the head board as he comes closer to you as your back arches and a silent scream rips up your throat. Convulsing around his thick length as he fucks you through yet another orgasm.
"That's it, cream my cock, let's see this slutty pussy try to milk me." He says as pulls out only for your cunt to suction him back in, leaking around him and down to your ass. He wants to pound into you untill all you can do is take it before pulling out and fisting his cock so he blows his fat load all over your pretty stomach and tits. If he's lucky he'll cum hard enough it'll hit your chin and lips again.
But tonight is different as he applies more pressure to your throat, watching you fade in and out as your claws bite into his forearms, shaking for him as if he brought you so much pleasure your body simply couldn't process it. He has to see more, needs to see more despite the coil in his stomach tightening in time with his sac.
He should pull out but when he glances up at your face, hoping to see your tongue lulling out of your mouth with a string of drool he watches your lips form something instead while your eyes roll into your head.
I love you.
And Bakugou Katsuki cums, hard. Grunting and growling as his cock spills his hot seed into your pretty pussy. Still rocking his hips as he lets up on your throat to hear your hoarse sounds, obvious now that you don't even know what you were saying when you can barely form his name as he overstimulates himself. Groaning as his sensitive tip slides through your velvet warmth until he can't take it anymore.
Collapsing on top of you like he's never done before. You two were just fuck buddies, you remind yourself that when he presses his face into your throat, gently kissing at your pulse point.
"Was I a good cock sleeve?" Barely a whisper as you struggle to catch your breath. He bites in answer, scraping his teeth along your throat as he sucks, pulling the skin from your body until he lets it go. Grabbing your chin so roughly forcing you to look at him as if you could look anyway but the man right above you, his necklace swinging in your face.
"The best."
@medusashima sorz babes I couldn't stop thinking about it what I put in your inbox. Katsuki Cock sleeves don't talk Bakugou
Hey girly I have a questioonn.. this is a genuine question and mean no hate but when writing, why do you have to specify y/n as black? It doesnt change anything?? Or does it and i just dont see it? Im so so sorry but im genuinely curious 😭
yall gatta stop w this “hey girlie” shit.
ANYWAYS
Um why not?
I mostly put black fem reader IN MIND anyways.
its a small but meaningful detail to some so why not put it, plus most of the time i describe the reader as a black female.
This isn't directed at the anon (it's for anyone that bitches when they see a poc Y/n). This just gave me the chance to bring something that annoys me up because I've been seeing this a little too much lately!
"Why do you have to specify Y/n as black?" Funny, considering what 95% (if not more) of fan fiction is like
So I see your question and raise you this: Is there any reason why soooo many fics across the board have to be like "on her fair skin" or "her pale skin this" and "her porcelain skin that"??
First, by that logic, why does anyone write anything the way that they personally imagine it?
And second, why do so many people feel the need to point out stuff like this and question it, as soon as someone writes about any person of colour with their favourite characters?
Yall don't dictate what people can write and how they write it!
Ya wanna relate to the fics you read or whatever? Well, so do other people! And when they can't find that, they write it themselves!
And to anyone that might feel the need to be like "but why don't they make it neutral then" or anything along those lines
Why should they? To appease you and whatever internalized or even fully externalized racist shit ya got going on?
If black Y/n is what they want to write, then that's that! And if it bothers you, first of all it fucking shouldn't and second, their writing is not the problem, you are!
It's simple, really
That's all, just needed to get this out
Also @sanjisblackasswife I only found your blog recently, but I am in love
