vivienne

nineteen 𐙚 chronic maladaptive daydreamer

[princesskittybabydiva]

hai, i’m vivienne (๑•͈ᴗ•͈)

nineteen ౨ৎ i do not posses the ability to like anything a normal amount

this is my new acc!

masterlist SOON

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ੈ✩‧₊༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚₊˚⊹♡ ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎

i write on AO3 too ;)

lots of love

xoxo, vivi

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

[bfbkg]

Virgin bkg who’s so painfully stupid but acts so arrogant. And when it’s getting heated and you’re making out and want to see his dick… he gets all shy and embarrassed because he doesn’t know if it looks normal or as good as the other ones you’ve seen. When you ask what’s wrong he tells you it’s curved and you think it’s like BENT then he lets you see and it’s the prettiest most orgasm inducing upward curve you’ve ever seen on a dick.

bakugou katsuki knows why he is a virgin. it’s pretty simple really despite the fact he is surrounded by beautiful women often. socialites, the new buzzing influencers, actors and pro heroes like.

it’s because he’s obsessed with his job. always has been. since he was a child who was dreaming of becoming a hero, to his teenage years fighting wars to now in his early twenties, working towards becoming number one.

women and mostly importantly, getting his dick wet, has never been number one on his list of priorities. sure he’d go to film premiers for that hero franchise he loves, occasionally a gorgeous woman would talk to him.

but the thing about growing up uninterested in sex and the only women around him being his friends that share the same heroic goals… well bakugou has never been very good at flirting. which again, was mostly okay since he would just walk away when a woman was about to talk to him.

until he met you that is. the first woman to make him dream of more, that made him unable to get through a shower without tugging one out to the thought of you. that during patrols, he’d think about texting you. what are you up to? where are you? when the hell can he kiss you next?

anyone is experienced compared to bakugou. he’s kissed a girl once in his third year of ua. he’s made out with two in his early twenties.

but now at twenty six this is first time having a woman in his apartment, on his bed, on his lap. he feels like a rabid animal. unsure where to put his hands with the desperate need to touch everywhere so he leaves them on the globes of your ass, squeezing every few seconds when all the feelings inside of him gets intense.

he knows he’s flushed red. he knows his dick is hard and you can feel it through your leggings. but you’re so perfect, leading the moment, letting him react however the hell he wants.

bakugou releases a loud moan when you stick your tongue down his throat, breasts pressed against his chest like you want to live in his skin. he’s never felt a woman like this before, he feels as if the word virgin is in capital letters printed onto his forehead.

he hasn’t told you directly he is but he thinks you know.

“you’re so… fuck. this is so fucked up,” he breathes into your mouth and your fingers rake up into the hair on his nape.

your grin makes his heart skip a beat, falter slightly and he swears he gets winded.

you’re out of breath, chest heaving and your pussy is a centimetre away from sitting on his cock.

“why’s it fucked up? you okay?” you brush your nose against his softly, smoothing out his eyebrow with your thumb. “you look hot, do you want to take your top off?”

you’re being so sweet to him and he appreciates it, he does. but as soon as he knows what he’s doing he’s gonna treat you right. properly.

for now, he’s just worried he doesn’t have what it takes.

“oh, err, fuck. sorry, yeah i will,” he mumbles to you, yanking off his white tee from the neckline.

bakugou enjoys how your eyes glow, scanning his half naked body like it’s something you can eat. your hands immediately flatten against his chest. down his toned abdomen. up to his fat squishy pectorals. he’s never had someone touch him like this. he couldn’t be harder.

“you don’t have to apologise, you know. this is new for us both.”

“you’re not the fuckin’ virgin here.” he bites, “i’ve never even had a woman in my room.”

he can tell you like that idea. you inch closer to him on his lap, your hands are back on his shoulders. you brush your lips over his.

“i don’t know how. look at you.”

and you’re back to making out with him. slower this time. tasting all the flavour from his tongue.

you softly bite down on his bottom lip and like a ring of the doorbell, bakugou opens up to let you in. it’s wet peck after wet peck, tilting your head to taste more of him. he’s eager, too eager ducking closer to you, as to not waste any time with your lips off his. you can only think that if he kisses with this much passion, you’re dying to know how he’d fuck.

bakugou tightly grips your ass and without meaning to, he shoves you directly onto his cock.

you mewl like a cat, hips grinding down onto him like you can’t help it. “you feel so good, ‘tsuki.”

you feel good because of him. him.

your tongue sneaks into his mouth, twirls and brushes against his. he learns quickly, you’ll give him that. his tongue dances against yours, licking up everything you offer. you feel his body vibrate, his dick twitch. you begin sucking on his tongue and that’s when he releases a harsh grunt. you’re soaked.

“let me see it.” you palm his cock through his shorts, “let me see.”

bakugou opens his eyes, pulls away from your mouth for a moment.

“i… fuck.” he’s back to mumbling. then stupidly, he looks down at the lump in his fabric.

“you… you don’t have to?” you offer, unsure about his wide eyes, “we can keep kissing?”

“it’s just that… it’s just….,” bakugou looks up to the ceiling.

he’d love for you to touch him, do anything to him but nobodies seen his dick before. sure he’s seen some porn videos and he’s never seen a dick like his in them. he’s googled and nothing said there’s anything particularly wrong about his.

but what if you find it weird, what if it puts you off him completely?

“talk to me, baby,” you push, laying a kiss on his jaw. then making a line down his neck. “wanna make you feel good.”

he’d like that.

“listen. seriously.”

you pull off him at that, sitting up on his lap, your hands at his waist. he is stupidly gorgeous. puffy pink lips because of you. his long straight eyelashes. his beautiful cheekbones and that eyebrow slit.

“i’m listening. tell me anything.” you soften your tone, trying to get the horny out your eyes. your tits are basically spilling out your vest top and you don’t miss bakugou’s pupils darting to from them every few seconds.

“i think…. i…”

you don’t speak.

katsuki takes a deep breath. he almost shouts without meaning to. “nobody has seen my dick before but me. right?”

you nod with a frown, unsure where this is going. “okay. nothing’s wrong with that.”

bakugou winces. he isn’t built for this. he’s always been attractive physically. his body works better than the average. can run at speed, stealthy, built for hero work. his quirk is best of the best and is only getting stronger by the day. but using it for sex? that’s something he’s got no clue about.

“it might not be normal lookin’? like it works fine, i’ve never had any problems with it? but it might be odd for you.”

you’re immediately imagining the worst. it’s not small. you felt it a second ago between your legs. heck, you’ve seen it when he walks around in those stupid grey joggers. oddly coloured, oddly shaped? is it too big?

“what’s wrong?” you tilt your head.

his whole face is flushed. a beautiful pink to the apples of his cheeks. you would kiss them if he wasn’t so serious right now.

he closes his eyes, leans his head back on his headboard. his hands stay on your thighs. you tap his chest.

“c’mon tell me.”

he exhales sharply.

“my dick is fuckin’ curved. to the left. i don’t know why.” he blurts, embarrassment written all over him, “it’s always been like that.”

for him to be this stressed about it, it must be abnormal. is it like a hook? you’ve seen one like that on one of those medical reality shows. would it be able to go inside if you? you so badly want him inside of you.

you shrug. you can’t imagine anything about this man being less than perfect. “it can’t be that bad, baby.”

you rub his chest soothingly but his face doesn’t soothe you one bit.

“i’m fuckin’ sorry. i brought you here and we’re goin’ so well and—,”

“let me see. let me see your dick, c’mon,” you smile softly.

you sink your hand to touch his crotch again.

“you sure? i don’t want you to be put off me like i’m a freak—,”

“katsuki. come on.”

it’s in slow motion. your mouth immediately start salivating, his hands grip the elastic waistband of his shorts. he pulls them down in one go with his underwear.

“oh katsuki. baby…. honey.”

this man has nothing to worry about. bakugou katsuki has on him, a cock that can rival your favourite dildos. it curves to the left, a smooth pleasing curve that you already know will hit your softest spots. you swallow your spit, your hands inching up his thighs. it’s darker at the base, twitching under your attention with two round balls (one a little larger than the other) at the bottom.

he is hefty. heavy. thick like a tree trunk with veins darting up the sides. you imagine the weight of it in your mouth. the deep pinkish purplish head on your tongue. most of all, you imagine it curved inside, pushing a sweet orgasm out of you.

of course, this big idiot didn’t know what he had on him. part of you wants to lie, never let him know how good he has it so he doesn’t go around sharing his goods. but you need to, it’s written all over your face.

“you must be joking, katsuki,” you hum, delighted. you run your finger down his shaft.

his hips jolt, eyes lazing slightly from your attention. he’s so hard it’s getting painful.

“what? what? spit it out.”

“you need to fuck me. doesn’t have to be now but someday. you have to.” you whine, “you don’t get it at all.”

“what? it’s not a problem? this okay with you?” he stutters, unable to keep a steady head as you sink down the bed to rest your chest on his legs. now you’ve got your face right in front of his dick, as if you’re measuring the curve by degrees.

you want to lick him.

“you’ve got a pornstar dick. a dick they base dildos off of,” you breathe. the look in your eye is wild, untamed. “you’d feel amazing. even if you don’t know how to use it. you need let me bounce on it.”

bakugou blinks down at you. he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing, fuck, he doesn’t know what to do about you. not one bit did he think you’d even have this reaction.

“w-what… i know how to use my own dick.” is all he can manage but you shake your head.

you flick your eyes up to him, “we’re gonna learn together, okay? can i… can i…” you flatten your tongue against his shaft and give him one lick up.

bakugou’s sure he’s about to come any second now.

“y-yes but be fuckin’ careful. i don’t wanna nut on your face.”

[gojosconsort]

︵ ೀ mdni. satoru finds your secret sketchbook full of him and in a haste to explain yourself, he offers to be the nude model for your assignment ( artist!reader x sports!satoru / college au / wc 5.7 k )

satoru finds your sketchbook on the library table, left behind in the rush to make it to class on time. he almost doesn't open it—almost. but his name catches his eye, written in pencil at the corner of a page peeking out, and curiosity wins.

the first few pages are normal. simple shapes, little notes about elbows and shoulders, the kind of boring practice sketches he has seen you do countless times. he almost closes it, kind of bored. but he keeps flipping, and then he stops.

it's him. there's no mistaking it.

his jaw, drawn in a few quick lines. the way his head tilts when he's only half listening to someone talk. his eyes are on the next page, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair the way it sometimes is. you got the little crease at the corner of his eye right, the one that shows up right before he laughs.

he turns the page again. his hands this time. three different versions, like you couldn't decide which one you liked best. then his shoulders. the curve of his neck. a quick sketch of him stretching after practice, his shirt riding up a little at his side.

he keeps flipping. faster now. and then there's a full body drawing. him, shirtless, soft shading along his stomach and chest. his hipbones. the dip of his waist. it's not messy or rushed. it's careful. like you spent real time thinking about where the light would hit him and where the shadows would fall.

satoru sits down on the edge of the table, the sketchbook open in his lap, and stares at it for a second too long. he's not sure what he's feeling. he's used to people looking at him. he's not used to being looked at like this—slow, careful, like every detail actually mattered to the person drawing it.

he's so caught up in it that he doesn't even hear you walking up until you're right next to him, out of breath and a little panicked.

"satoru, have you seen my—"

you stop talking. your eyes drop to his hands, to the sketchbook open on his knees, to the exact page he's on—the shirtless one—and your face goes white for a second before turning bright red.

"oh my god."

he looks up at you, a grin already pulling at his mouth. "you draw me?"

"give it back." you reach for it, but he just lifts it out of your reach, way too entertained by this.

"wait, wait, wait." he flips back a page, holding it up. "are these abs? i don't think i actually have abs like this."

"satoru—"

"i mean, kind of," he says, grinning even wider, "but you really went all in here. there's shading. you gave me a six pack i don't fully have."

you try to grab it again. he holds it just out of reach again, smiling down at you.

"you drew my hands three times. why does a hand need three tries."

"because hands are hard, okay? that's not weird, hands are literally one of the hardest things to draw, ask anyone—"

"never said it was weird." he finally lowers the sketchbook, though he doesn't hand it back yet. he just looks at you for a second—your face completely red, your arms crossed tight like you're trying to disappear. "it's flattering."

you groan and cover your face with both hands. "it's for class. i'm not being weird about it."

"didn't say that either." his smile softens a little, more curious now than teasing. "but seriously. why me?"

you peek at him through your fingers, like maybe if you don't fully participate in this conversation it'll just end on its own. "we started a new unit," you mumble. "figure drawing. like, anatomy, proportions, the whole body. they bring in models for class and it's just—it's so awkward, satoru. you're sitting there for three hours trying to draw a person you've never even talked to."

"so you draw me instead."

"my professor said it's easier when you draw someone you actually know," you say quickly, like talking fast will make this less embarrassing. "like, it helps to already be familiar with the person. and you're a sports major, you're literally built like the examples in our textbook, so i thought... i don't know. it made sense."

"so you thought, 'oh wait. i've got a pretty handsome friend. i'll draw him.'"

"i did not think about it like that."

"you basically did."

but he's not really laughing at you. there's something kind of warm in the way he's looking at you now, the sketchbook still resting on his knee like he's in no rush to give it back. "you know," he says, his voice a little quieter now, "you could've just asked me."

"i didn't want to make it weird."

he raises an eyebrow. "weirder than it already is?"

you groan and bury your face in your hands again. "stop it."

he chuckles, finally closing the sketchbook but still not handing it back, just holding it loosely against his chest like he's claimed it now. "so what's the assignment actually for? like what's due."

you hesitate. this is the part you really didn't want to get into. "it's, um. it's a full figure study. like, a finished piece, not just sketches."

"okay. so like what you already drew?"

"kind of. except—" you stop, feeling your face heat up all over again.

"except what?"

you sigh, giving up on hiding it. "it has to be a nude study. that's the whole point of the unit. like, the body without clothes, the way the muscles and proportions actually work without fabric getting in the way."

his eyebrows go up, surprised, but he doesn't say anything teasing this time, just listens.

"and everyone else in class already has their reference done," you continue, the words spilling out faster now that you've started. "they've all been going to the model sessions for weeks. i missed like three of them and now i'm behind. i don't have anything to actually work from, and it's due monday, and i don't know what i'm gonna do."

he's quiet for a second, turning the sketchbook over in his hands like he's thinking. then he shrugs, easy, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "so draw me."

you blink at him. "what?"

"draw me," he says again, like he's repeating himself for someone a little slow. "for the assignment."

"satoru, i don't think you understand what i just said—"

"i understood it fine." he leans back against the table, arms crossed now, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "you need a body to draw. i have a body. solves your problem."

"that's not— you don't have to do that."

"you didn't ask. i offered."

"satoru."

"what? you already drew me shirtless without even asking," he points out, smirking. "feels like i should at least get a say in it this time."

your mouth opens and then closes again, no actual argument coming to mind.

"so," he says, holding the sketchbook out to you now, finally, "when do you want me."

you stare at him for a long moment, waiting for the joke to land, for him to laugh and say he's kidding. it doesn't come. he just watches you, sketchbook held out between you, patient in a way that's almost worse than if he were still teasing.

"you're serious," you finally say.

"dead serious." he wiggles the sketchbook a little, like he's reminding you it's still there, still yours to take. "i mean, unless you don't want it to be me. i get it if that's weird."

"it's not that i don't want it to be you," you say quickly, before you can think better of it, and then immediately wish you could take the sentence back the second you hear how it sounds out loud.

his grin widens. "oh?"

"shut up. you know what i mean." you finally take the sketchbook from him, hugging it to your chest like it might protect you from the rest of this conversation. "i just don't want you to feel like you have to. it's a big ask."

"could just say thank you, you know." he checks his phone, then looks back up at you. "okay, so. when's good. you said it's due monday?"

your stomach does something complicated at the thought of this actually happening, of him actually meaning it. "i mean—if you're really down, friday night could work. gives me the whole weekend after to finish the piece."

"friday night works. come by my dorm, like, eight?" he says it so casually, like he's inviting you over for a movie and not offering to sit there while you draw every inch of him. "more privacy than the studio anyway. don't gotta worry about randos walking in."

"right." your voice comes out a little higher than you mean it to. "yeah. that makes sense."

"bring your stuff. pencils, whatever you need." he's already turning to go, slinging his bag over one shoulder, looking far too unbothered for someone who just volunteered for this. then he glances back at you, smirk creeping in again ""and hey—make sure you get the good angles. i have a reputation to maintain."

"i make no promises."

he laughs at that, walking backward a few steps before finally turning around fully and heading off down the hall, leaving you standing there with your sketchbook clutched to your chest and friday suddenly feeling very, very far away and not far away at all.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you knock on his door right at eight, sketchbook tucked under your arm. when the door swings open, you almost forget how to speak entirely.

he's standing there in nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, hair still damp and pushed back messily from the shower, a few stray drops sliding down the side of his neck. he looks completely unbothered by it, leaning one arm against the doorframe like he just answered the door for a pizza delivery and not for you.

"hey," he says, grinning at the way your eyes immediately snap up to his face. "you're early. or i'm late. one of those."

"you said eight," you manage, voice coming out a little strangled.

"yeah, and it's eight." he steps back to let you in, completely at ease, while you do your absolute best not to stare at the water still tracking down his collarbone. "wanted to shower first. figured you'd want clean reference material, not sweaty me."

"right. that's—considerate." your face is heating up fast, and you hate how obvious it probably is.

he notices, of course he notices, smirk pulling wider as he shuts the door behind you. "you're already red and i haven't even dropped the towel yet."

"i'm not red."

"you're very red." he says it gently, almost fond, like he's enjoying this a little too much. "relax. you're gonna see me naked in like, five minutes anyway. no point getting shy now."

"that's—that doesn't make it less weird, satoru, that makes it more—" you cut yourself off, setting your bag down on his desk a little too forcefully, mostly to give your hands something to do that isn't fidgeting.

he just laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your suffering. "you're the one who's been secretly sketching me for who knows how long without even telling me. i'm just catching up to the project at this point."

you need something to say, anything, because the silence stretching between you feels too loud, too charged, like it's just waiting for you to do something stupid like keep staring at him. "so, um." you clear your throat, eyes darting anywhere that isn't directly at the towel. "how was practice?"

he glances at you over his shoulder, clearly clocking the fact that you're filling dead air for the sake of filling it, but he humors you anyway, padding over to the little kitchenette tucked in the corner of his dorm. "long. coach had us running rounds for like two hours straight. my legs are gonna hate me tomorrow."

"sounds rough."

"it was fine." he pulls a shaker bottle down from a shelf, dumping in a scoop of protein powder with one hand while the other holds the towel in place at his hip. "you get used to it after a while. body adjusts."

"right. makes sense." you nod way too many times for someone agreeing with such a simple statement, perching yourself on the edge of his desk chair, flipping your sketchbook open.

he adds water, screws the lid on, and shakes it, the muscles in his forearm shifting in a way you absolutely do not need to notice right now and notice anyway. then he tips his head back and drinks, and you watch—you can't help it, your eyes just go there on their own—the long line of his throat moving as he swallows, a bead of water from his still-damp hair sliding down the side of his neck and disappearing somewhere past his collarbone.

you realize you're staring a full two seconds too late.

"you're staring," he says, lowering the bottle, that slow grin spreading across his face like he's been waiting for an excuse to call it out.

"what?" your voice comes out a little too fast.

"you heard me." he sets the shaker down on the counter, leaning back against it. "staring. at me. just now."

"i wasn't staring," you say, way too quickly, your face heating up all over again as you fumble to look anywhere else—the ceiling, the floor, the stack of textbooks on his desk, anywhere that isn't him.

"you were so staring." he pushes off the counter, walking closer with that unhurried way he moves, like he has all the time in the world and fully intends to use it to torture you. "it's fine. i get it. i'm a lot to take in."

"oh my god."

"i'm just messing with you." he laughs. "relax. you look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine."

"uh huh." he doesn't push it further. he turns and heads toward the open space near his window, where the evening light is still soft and golden enough. he glances back at you over his shoulder. "okay. so how do you want me. like, pose-wise."

"oh—right." you fumble for your sketchbook, flipping it open to a blank page, grateful for something to focus on besides the fact that he's still only in a towel. "um. standing's probably easiest to start. maybe just—natural. however you'd normally stand."

"natural how. like this?" he straightens up, shoulders back, doing this exaggerated, stiff superhero pose that's clearly meant to make you laugh.

it works. a small laugh escapes you despite everything. "no, not like that. just—relaxed. like you're not thinking about it."

"hard to not think about it when you're staring at me with a pencil." but he loosens up anyway, settling his weight onto one leg, one hand coming up to rest at the back of his neck. "this work?"

your pencil is already moving before you fully register deciding to start. "yeah. that's—that's good. don't move."

"wasn't planning to." his voice has dropped a little, quieter now, watching you work. "you gonna tell me when the towel needs to come off, or am i supposed to guess."

your pencil stutters against the page. "right. um. whenever you're ready, i guess. it's—it's for the assignment, so."

"so professional," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's fighting back a grin. "okay. you ready?"

"yeah." you swallow, gripping your pencil a little too tight. "ready."

he reaches up and tugs the knot of the towel loose, and it drops to the floor without any of the fanfare your racing heart seems to think the moment deserves. he doesn't flinch, doesn't make a big show of it—just steps back into the same easy stance from before, one hand resting at the back of his neck, weight settled onto one leg, completely at home in his own skin in a way that makes your nerves feel almost silly by comparison.

you keep your eyes on the page for a long moment before you let yourself actually look, telling yourself it's just reference, just anatomy, just the same thing you'd be doing with any model in class.

but it doesn't feel like just anatomy. it feels like every line of him is something you've already know from the sketches you didn't think anyone would see, except now the soft pencil shading has nothing on the real thing—the actual shape of his shoulders, the dip of muscle along his stomach, the lean lines of him standing there like an italian renaissance sculpture.

and god, he's better than you imagined. better than he looked in your head late at night when you couldn't sleep, which—not that you dream about him, obviously, that would be ridiculous, that's not a thing that happens—but if you did, hypothetically, this would still somehow be better than that.

it's almost unfair, really. the way his body looks like it was carved out of stone, like michelangelo himself spent way too long getting the proportions exactly right—shoulders broad and strong, the muscle down his arms, the curve where his waist narrows into his hips.

it's the kind of body you'd expect to see behind glass in a museum somewhere, with a little plaque underneath, except this version breathes and makes dumb jokes.

you let your eyes trace lower, the way you would with any reference, you tell yourself, purely for the sake of the assignment. his cock rests heavy between his thighs, thick and full, and bigger than you thought it would be (not that you'd ever thought about his dick, obviously, that's not a thing you do.)

the head shows a soft flush where it brushes against his leg, and the fair hair trails down from his navel and gathers in pale curls at the base. the sharp v of his hips frames it all in clean lines that make your fingers itch to draw every shadow and curve.

"you still with me?" he says, a little amused, like he's clocked exactly how long you've been staring without actually drawing anything.

"yeah—sorry, yeah." you blink, snapping your eyes back up to his face, pencil finally moving again.

"should i have, like, shaved or something?"

your face goes instantly red all over again. "what? no—it's fine. you're fine. it's not—that's not a thing you need to worry about."

"figured i'd ask." he shrugs. "usually i shave when i've got a girl coming over, but i was running late today, so."

"oh my god." you cover your face with one hand, pencil still somehow managing to keep moving against the page with the other. "i did not need to know that."

"only wanted to clear the air."

you peek at him through your fingers, deciding two can play this game. "so what you're telling me is you haven't had anyone over in a while, huh?"

a short surprised laugh, like he wasn't expecting you to fight back. "wow. okay. didn't think you had it in you. but—i mean, i have someone over now."

"to draw you. that's different."

"you're still seeing my dick or whatever."

"that's not the same thing and you know it."

"feels pretty similar from where i'm standing."

"so, the other girls sit across the room admiring you for twenty minutes with a sketchbook before anything happens? is that what you're telling me?"

"oh, so you're admiring me."

"that's not what i—i meant artistically."

"sure you did."

"i hate you."

"just so you know—they're not usually sitting across the room admiring me for twenty minutes. they're usually under me about thirty seconds after they walk through the door."

"oh my god, satoru."

after another ten minutes or so, your pencil finally slows, then stops altogether, hovering over the last few finishing strokes before you sit back to actually look at what you've got. it's good. better than good—the proportions feel right in a way they never quite did with the strangers from class, like having an actual person in front of you instead of just a body made all the difference.

"okay," you say, clearing your throat. "i think i've got what i need. you can relax."

"oh thank god." he drops the pose immediately, shoulders slumping, rolling his neck out with an exaggerated groan like he's been holding some kind of intense athletic stance this whole time and not just standing there looking effortlessly good. "puhhh. finally. you have no idea how hard it is to stand still that long."

"you literally do athletic training for two hours a day."

"that's different, that's moving. this was just—" he shakes out his arms, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it back around his waist, "—standing there being stared at. way more exhausting than it sounds."

"you're so dramatic."

"i'm a very dedicated model, is what i am." he flops down onto the edge of his bed, finally looking properly relaxed for the first time all evening, then immediately perks back up, craning his neck toward your sketchbook. "okay, lemme see it."

you instinctively pull the book a little closer to your chest. "it's not done done. it's just the reference sketch."

"i don't care, i wanna see." he's already getting up, padding over. "c'mon. i posed for, like, twenty minutes straight. i've earned a peek."

"fine. but you can't make fun of it." you hold the sketchbook out, a little reluctant, watching his face carefully as he leans over to look.

he goes quiet for a second, which is rare enough on its own that you almost want to comment on it. his eyes move slowly over the page, taking in the lines of his own shoulders, the careful shading along his stomach, his easy stance you'd worked so hard to get right.

"huh," he says finally.

"what? is it bad?"

"no, it's—" he tilts his head. "it's really good, actually. like, you made me look good good. not just accurate good."

"that's literally just what you look like."

"i don't know, i feel like you're being generous with the shoulders." but he's smiling now, something a little softer underneath the teasing, still looking at the drawing instead of you. "you're actually talented. like, properly. i wasn't expecting it to be this good."

"you say that like you thought i was bad."

"i didn't know what to expect! you draw secret abs sketches of your friends, forgive me for having questions about your technical skill." but he says it gently, nudging your shoulder with his again, and when he finally looks up at you there's something warm in his expression that wasn't quite there before, something that makes your stomach flip a little. "seriously, though. this is really good. you should be proud of it."

"thanks," you say, feeling a little warm under the actual sincerity of it, fumbling slightly for something to do with your hands besides just standing there basking in gojo satoru's approval like it means something. "i mean, it's still rough. i've gotta clean it up before monday."

"still." he's still looking at it, then glances up at you with a grin starting to spread. "can i take a picture of it?"

"what? why?"

"i don't know, for personal use." he's already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "this might genuinely be the most insane nude i could ever send to a girl. like, nobody's topping that."

"satoru, oh my god, no." you yank the sketchbook back against your chest, half laughing despite yourself. "you are not sending this to anyone."

"think about it though. any other guy sends a regular picture, basic, boring, zero creativity behind it. i send this and i'm instantly the most romantic man alive." he's grinning, clearly enjoying how flustered you've gotten all over again. "it's basically a love letter. you put thought into this."

"it's an anatomy assignment."

"a very thoughtful anatomy assignment." he reaches for the sketchbook again, more playful than serious about actually taking it. "c'mon, one picture. i won't even send it to anyone. probably."

you let him, mostly because you know arguing further is a losing battle, and he snaps a quick picture before setting his phone back down, looking entirely too pleased with himself about the whole thing.

"okay," he says, dropping back down onto the edge of the bed. "anything else you need from me? more poses, weird angles, you want me to flex my biceps?"

"no, it's fine." you start gathering your things. "i think i stressed you out enough for one night."

"you didn't stress me out." he watches you for a second, head tilted, clearly not buying the way you said that. "spill it."

"what?"

"you've got a face. the 'i want to say something but i'm not gonna' face." he leans back on his hands. "what is it."

you hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around your pencil case. "i mean—maybe we could do one more pose? like, a different angle or something. just so i actually have options when i sit down to finish it properly. i don't wanna hand in the first thing i drew if there's something better i could've gotten."

he blinks, then grins, already pushing himself back up off the bed. "yeah. sure. why not." he rolls his shoulders out, stepping back toward the open space by the window. "you're the artist. tell me where you want me this time."

he settles into the chair this time, leaning back with his head tipped against the top of it, one leg stretched out, the whole thing far more relaxed than the standing pose from before. one hand comes to rest loosely in his lap, fingers resting near his cock without much thought behind it.

"oh, this is way better. way less work than standing there like a statue." he glances down at where his hand landed, a flicker of realization crossing his face, and he laughs a little, shifting like he's about to move it. "oh—sorry, that's just habit. didn't even think about where i put my hand."

"no, it's—" you hesitate, voice catching, face going hot all over again. "it's, um—it's fine. really. genuinely fine. do whatever's, uh—whatever's comfortable for you. i'm not—this isn't a big deal."

he looks at you for a second, like he's checking you actually mean it, then shrugs, settling back into exactly the same position, hand staying right where it was. "okay. if you're sure. i'll stay like this, then."

your pencil is already moving, eyes flicking between him and the page. it takes you a few minutes to notice that he's stopped looking out at nothing and started watching you instead, head tilted slightly against the back of the chair.

"what?"

"nothing." but he doesn't stop watching you. there's something almost soft about the way he's looking at you now, the corner of his mouth pulled into a small smile, like he's caught himself thinking something he wasn't planning on. "you get this face when you're drawing. all scrunched up and serious."

"i do not."

"you so do. little furrow right here." he reaches up, tapping a finger lightly between his own eyebrows to demonstrate, careful not to actually shift out of the pose. "it's kind of cute."

your pencil stutters against the page. "don't move," you mutter, mostly to give yourself something to say that isn't reacting to that.

"i'm not moving."

he settles back again, and keeps watching you. his cock twitches once under his hand where it rests in his lap. he feels the slow thickening start before he can stop it. oh fuck. the words stay stuck in his throat but they echo in his head as he presses his fingers down a little harder. he tries to hold the growing length discreetly against his thigh but it is no use. another twitch makes the head nudge up against his palm.

your pencil pauses on the page. you see it. the subtle flex of his fingers. the unmistakable twitch that makes his cock strain despite the way he tries to keep it down. heat spreads low in your stomach and between your legs so fast it leaves you dizzy.

"sorry about that," he mutters. the flush on his neck deepens and his hand stays pressed over the twitching length like he can will it back down. but it twitches again anyway. slow and heavy and impossible to ignore. "long day, i guess. lot on my mind."

you swallow. "it's fine."

"i don't know, i normally kind of—wind down at night. on my own. you know. guess my body didn't get the memo that tonight's schedule looked a little different."

"oh! uh—i can go," you blurt out, already half reaching for your bag, face burning. "like, seriously, if you need a few minutes or—whatever, i don't want to make this weirder than it already is—"

"no, no, you don't have to go." he sits up a little. "it'll pass. it's fine. i'm fine."

"are you sure? because i really don't mind waiting outside, or coming back tomorrow, or—"

"i'm sure." he gives you a small, almost sheepish smile, the most genuinely embarrassed you think you've ever seen him. "just finish your drawing. i swear i'm not gonna combust."

"okay." you sink back down slowly, still not entirely convinced, sketchbook settling back into your lap. "if you're sure."

"i'm sure." he resettles into the chair, head tipping back again, doing his best to look casual about it even though his ears are still a little red. "c'mon. let's just—finish this. pretend it's a normal tuesday."

"it's friday."

"pretend it's a normal friday, then. work with me here."

you pick your pencil back up, trying to focus on the page instead of the very obvious tension radiating off him from across the room. for a minute or two it almost works, both of you pretending pretty hard that everything's fine.

the quiet stretches between you. you try to keep drawing but your focus slips every time he shifts in the chair. his hand presses down harder in his lap. he is trying to push his cock fully flat against his thigh now. his breathing turns heavy and uneven like he cannot quite catch it. you hear every inhale, every slow exhale. he is getting so worked up just from sitting there while you look at him. his cock under his palm thickens and twitches against his fingers no matter how he tries to hold it still.

then his fingers move slower. deliberate. he touches himself a little. just the barest drag of his thumb along the side like he is checking how hard he is getting. it twitches again under the touch. bigger this time. he presses down quick to try and calm it but it does not help. his breath catches on a low sound he does not quite manage to swallow.

your pencil stops moving. heat floods through you so fast your face burns.

"okay," he says, dragging a hand down his face. "okay, i think i actually need a few minutes this time."

"oh god, yes, okay." you're already on your feet, sketchbook nearly sliding off your lap in your rush. "i'll just—i'll wait outside, or—"

"you can stay." he says it quickly, almost too quickly, like it surprises even him. "i mean—if you want. it won't take long."

"satoru."

"what? i'm just saying, you don't have to leave the building over this."

"i'm not waiting in here while you—"

he does not look away from you as his hand slides back down between his legs. he is already painfully hard. his cock stands thick and flushed in his palm, the head dark and wet at the tip. he wraps his fingers around the length and strokes once slow and tight like he has been holding back for too long.

"i think i like it when you watch," he almost moans.

"i'm gonna—" you don't even finish the sentence, just grab your bag and bolt for the door, nearly tripping over your own backpack strap on the way. "air. i need air. i'll be right back."

"wait! you don't have to run—"

but the door already slams shut behind you, and you stand in the hallway for a solid ten seconds just catching your breath, face burning, heart absolutely pounding, before you let yourself slide down against the wall and bury your face in your hands.

you stay quiet. your breathing slows but your heart does not. then you hear it, muffled through the door. the low rough sound of his voice. a groan, and the wet sound of skin moving on skin. another sound comes through, sharper this time, and a low fuck.

you press your thighs together where you sit on the floor. the noises do not stop. they get a little louder like he has stopped holding back now that you are gone. you can picture it perfectly, his hand moving fast on his thick cock. another groan filters through the door and your body reacts hard, heat flooding between your legs.

you sit there against the wall, staring blankly at the hallway carpet while your brain refuses to move away from his door and not listen to his moans and groans anymore.

how. how are you supposed to look him in the eye after this. how are you supposed to sit across from him in the dining hall next week, or wave at him across campus, or exist in the same general vicinity as gojo satoru ever again without your whole face just instantly catching fire.

you bury your face deeper into your hands, groaning quietly to yourself. it was one thing when it was just sketches. it was even survivable when he found the sketchbook, mortifying as that had been. but this. this is a whole new tier of humiliation you didn't know existed until tonight.

you're going to have to transfer schools. change your name. move to another country, probably. there's no version of monday where you walk into the dining hall and he's there and you don't immediately die on the spot.

somewhere behind the door, things have gone quiet.

you really, really don't want to think about what that means.

[kcokaine]

foreplay

[itsr3driot]

𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚, 𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙢𝙞𝙩 𝘣𝘬𝘨 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 [𝟐.𝟖𝙠 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨]

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 —you're married to katsuki bakugou but something isn't right, something won't click. his late wife seems to be the only woman in his eyes despite you being right there, in front of him. you love katsuki, you really do, but going on loving a man stuck in the past is impossible.

cassie.

she was always there—waiting, watching, haunting his every moment like a sorrowful melody woven deep within the marrow of his soul, refusing to loosen it’s grip. she sat, perched upon the fireplace, frozen in time, yet somehow always alive in the corner of his vision. that stare—soft, steady, unbearably warm—had seared itself into his eyes after years of quietly observing. 

sometimes you wondered if it had seared itself into his heart long before you had ever arrived. 

though her ashes had been scattered across some salty shore years before you had even met him, she was always there—clinging to katsuki like a phantom, a sorrowful memory that refused to wither away no matter how much it hurt. from room to room, dream to waking, from a former life into the fragile, stumbling new one he tried to build with you—he carried her presence, her life upon his shoulders, heavy and bitter like a truth he was too cowardly to face. 

he saw her in everything, in the warmth of the dawning sun, the pitter-patter of rain on a dreary evening, in the way your laugh echoed through even the darkest of nights, filling the quiet nooks in every room with you, just as she used to.

her presence was an everlasting reminder of everything he once had, everything he needed, everything you weren't. 

you tried to ignore it, but god dammit it was so obvious it was hard not to notice. you caught him every so often glancing at her photo, gaze lingering a second too long, a little too much love behind those eyes. 

she was there in the photographs lining the mantel, in the box he kept in the closet, the one he thought you didn’t know about. she was there in the way he hesitated before saying your name—as if he had to remember that it belonged to you. she was there in the way he slept—or rather, in the way he didn’t.

most nights he lay still on his side of the bed, facing the wall, shoulders curled inward. you'd hear his breath hitch, quiet but sharp, and sometimes you swore you heard him whispering something—soft like a prayer, broken like a confession.

her name; never yours.

it was almost unnoticeable—under his breath, even—but you heard it every fucking time. and it never got easier, it never hurt any less, just easier to cope with.

the house felt more like a museum of the past he refused to leave behind rather than a home, your home.

there were pieces of her everywhere; tiny, innocuous things—details no one but a grieving man would hold on to so tightly. her mug collecting dust in the back of the cabinet. her bracelet hanging off the corner of a cracked mirror. her handwriting on a curling post-it note stuck inside a drawer; the ink faded, but her voice somehow still loud, echoing in your ears as if to taunt you.

at first, you told yourself it didn’t matter. removing them felt too cruel, too much like erasing a life that mattered. and she did matter—anyone could see that. you weren’t naive enough to expect him to simply forget someone he loved so deeply, fiercely. you never wanted to replace her, you just wanted him to see you. not the ghost he kept stitching over your skin. 

but as the months passed—slow, heavy, suffocating—the house seemed to shrink around her memory. your shadow was smaller than hers. your voice was quieter in the places she once filled.

you had become a guest in your very own marriage.

the first time he said her name in place of yours, you laughed.

it was almost reflexive, a startled exhale you attempted to stifle with a forced smile. he'd been half-asleep, reaching for a glass on the coffee table, muttering something under his breath. it was hardly more than a syllable, and he quickly stopped himself as he snapped back into reality and realised who he was talking to.

you told yourself it was just a slip. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

but after the third time, the sixth time, the ninth time—it was impossible to pretend. it had become a pattern, a reflex, a carved neural pathway that still led him back to her. each time only hurt worse than the last.

the tenth time, you were in the kitchen. you heard the faint syllables, soft and warm—warmer than he’d ever said your own name. you gripped the countertop so tightly your knuckles went white, breathing through the sting behind your eyes.

you didn’t correct him. you didn’t say anything at all. you just let the moment pass like every other one. because correcting him meant acknowledging that he had said it. and acknowledging it meant admitting that deep down, you already knew where his heart lay. 

tonight will be different.

the evening starts quiet, like everything else in this god forsaken house. dinner sits between you both, untouched, cooling slowly in the candlelight you lit because you hoped, naively, that it might make the evening feel softer. more intimate. more… yours.

he arrives late yet again, shoulders tense, eyes tired, the smell of smoke lingering faintly on his shirt from training. you offer a small smile. one that feels brittle, feigned. he sits, exhales sharply through his nose, and begins eating without a word. 

halfway through the meal, you’re telling him about your day—nothing special, just mundane details, something stupid your coworker said, a story you think he might laugh at. he doesn’t.

instead, he answers with a quiet, distracted, “…yeah, okay, cassie—”

her name.

it was spoken so naturally he doesn’t even realize he’s said it. your heart drops to your stomach, a burning awareness churning till it makes you sick. your fork clinks against the plate. the room freezes. bakugou stops mid-chew. you both know what just happened; neither wants to break the sickening stillness settling over your heads. he swallows hard, jaw clenching. he looks anywhere but at you—at the table, the wall, the fucking salt shaker—before forcing out, “i—shit. i meant—”

the damage had already been done.

“i meant you,” he says again, softer, but the softness is an apology, not affection. you wish he had yelled. you wish he had denied it. you wish he had pretended. fucking anything would hurt less than the truth hanging in the stale air. you stare at him, and the ache in your chest blooms into something heavier, something with teeth.

“katsuki…” your voice cracks, anger and pain intermingling into a sickening tangle of splintered truths in your words. “do you...still love her?”

his breath catches and slowly—so unbearably slowly—you watch his eyes flick toward the fireplace. toward her.

that single moment tells you everything. he doesn’t even notice he’s done it. you close your eyes. nausea creeps into your throat.

“you don’t have to answer,” you whisper. “i already know.” the words are cold but your voice shakes, tears brimming and breath catching.

bakugou’s head snaps toward you. “no,” he rasps. “don’t—don’t do that. don’t put words in my mouth.”

“i’m not.” you force a smile that feels like it might shatter your teeth. “your eyes said everything.”

he looks stricken. not angry—never angry with you. just guilty. so goddamn guilty. he runs a shaky hand through his hair. "i’m tryin’, damn it. you think this is easy? you think any of this is—”

“i think you’re still in love with her,” you whisper. “you’re just trying to love me because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do.”

he flinches. you’ve seen him take explosions point-blank with less reaction. “don’t say that,” he mutters. “don’t fuckin’ say that.”

“it’s true.”

“it’s not.” his voice breaks on the last word, hardly audible. “it’s not.”

“katsuki…” you inhale slowly, painfully. “you never came back.”

his eyes widen. you continue before he can speak. “you stayed where she died. you stayed in the life you had with her. you stayed in that grief so long it became home. and now i’m stuck here—loving a man whose heart still belongs to a fucking ghost.” you feel a lump surfacing in your throat as you force out those last words; it all felt too…real.

a cold silence falls upon the room—thick, suffocating, heavy with everything he can't say aloud. bakugou stands abruptly, pushing his chair back so hard the legs scrape against the floor. his fists shake at his sides. he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. he looks like a man drowning.

“katsuki,” you whisper again, softer. “look at me.” he does. and the look in his eyes nearly breaks you—it’s raw, hollow, terrified, and unbearably lost.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he says. it’s not confident. it’s not fierce. it’s barely a whisper. “i’m so goddamn scared to lose you.” you swallow, throat tight.

“then start choosing me.”

he lowers his gaze, shoulders trembling. “i don’t know how.”

your chest caves in around your heart. you step toward him slowly—one breath, then another. you lift your hand to touch his cheek, and for a moment he leans into it like a man starved for warmth. but then his eyes flick—again, reflexively—toward the photograph on the mantle. you feel him retreat. just slightly, just enough. and that tiny, unconscious retreat cuts deeper than any words he’s ever spoken.

your hand falls away; he doesn’t stop you. you step back. one step. another.

“katsuki,” you whisper, voice shaking, “i love you.” his breath shudders. “but i can’t go on loving someone who keeps looking past me.”

that's what finally breaks him.

you don't have to hear his quiet, devastated inhale to know it. you don't have to watch his shoulders curl in like he’s trying to protect a wound so deep he never let heal. you don’t need to see his tears; he won’t let you, anyway. he turns his face away, wiping them quickly with the back of his hand, as if grief is something ugly he has to hide. he whispers your name—your real name, this time—like an apology, like a plea, like he’s trying to anchor himself to the present.

but the moment is already too heavy, slipping through your fingers like sand. you turn away before he can speak again. you walk to the bedroom. he doesn’t follow, doesn’t call after you. you close the door quietly behind you. and the silence that follows hurts more than hearing her name ever did.

the bedroom is dark when you slip inside, the only light a thin sliver from the hallway. you don’t bother turning on the lamp. you just stand there for a moment, hands trembling, chest tight, feeling like the house itself is pressing down on you. your throat burns. you don’t want to cry. not again; not over the same wound that won't stop reopening no matter how gently you try to treat it, no matter how long you give it to heal.

you sit on the edge of the bed slowly, mechanically, like your body is moving without permission. your fingers clutch the sheets. silence settles—thick, cold, uncertain. you hear him still standing at the table. the faint scrape of his chair. the uneven inhale he tries and fails to control. then—a soft, choked noise. one you’ve never heard from him; a sound too broken to be anything but pain. your heart lurches painfully.

before you can process it, you hear a muffled, desperate exhale—something between a gasp and a sob—and then the unmistakable sound of him sinking to the floor. your breath stutters. “katsuki…?” you whisper into the dark.

no response. only ragged breathing. you push yourself up, feet silent against the hardwood, and open the bedroom door. he’s on the floor. katsuki bakugou—pro hero, explosive powerhouse, stubborn to the point of self-destruction—is kneeling on the ground, hands braced on the floor, shoulders shaking. he’s crying. openly, violently, like something inside him finally cracked and the pieces are cutting their way out.

“katsuki—” you drop to your knees in front of him. his head sinks low, hair falling over his eyes.

“don’t—” he chokes out, voice raw, “don’t look at me—”

but you reach for him anyway. he flinches at first, instinctive, ashamed—but when your hands cup his cheeks, he breaks—truly breaks. his forehead presses to your shoulder, and a sob rips out of him so harsh it shakes your entire body. his fingers clutch your shirt like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“i’m sorry,” he gasps between sobs, every word shattering. “i’m so fuckin’ sorry. i didn’t—i didn’t m-mean to hurt you—i never—i don’t know how to—shit—”

you wrap your arms around him tightly. he collapses into you, shaking and gasping like he’s been drowning for years and finally surfaced. you stroke the back of his head gently, grounding him, anchoring him.

“katsuki, look at me.”

he shakes his head against your shoulder.

“katsuki,” you repeat, firmer this time, “look at me.” he pulls back slowly, reluctantly, eyes red and swollen, tears streaking down cheeks he never lets anyone see wet.

it knocks the breath out of you. he looks as though he’s grieving two things at once—the woman he lost and the woman he’s afraid of losing—his expression caught between yesterday’s ache and tomorrow’s dread. the sadness in him moves like a slow tide, pulling back from one shoreline only to crash into another, leaving him stranded in the undertow.

you bring your hand to his face, thumb brushing a tear from his cheek. “katsuki,” you whisper, “you don’t have to hide from me.” his breath trembles, uneven.

“i don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice breaking. “i feel like—like if i let her go, then it means she didn’t matter. and she did. god, she fuckin’ did. she was… she was everything. and losing her—” he swallows, throat tight. “losing her destroyed me.”

your chest aches at the honesty. at the vulnerability he has never shown anyone—not like this. “i know,” you whisper, leaning your forehead to his. “i know she mattered. and i’m not asking you to pretend she didn’t.” his eyes squeeze shut, another tear sliding down.

“i’m scared,” he admits softly. “i’m scared that loving you means i’m betraying her memory. and i hate myself because i want to love you. i want to so fuckin’ bad.”

your breath catches.

he continues, voice trembling: “i look at you and i feel… hope. real hope. and it scares the shit out of me. because if i let myself love you, it feels like i’m leaving her behind.”

you place your hand over his heart. “you’re not leaving her,” you whisper. “you’re letting yourself live.” he opens his eyes, gaze wet and lost.

“i don’t know how.”

“that’s okay,” you say gently. “you don’t have to know how.” you take his shaking hands in yours. “i’ll help you.” bakugou’s breath breaks again.

“you’ll… help me?”

“yes.” you squeeze his hands, firm, steady, sure. “i’m not here to replace her. i’m here to walk with you through the grief so you don’t have to walk alone anymore.” he stares at you, something soft and agonized unfolding in his chest.

“when you’re ready,” you continue, “i’ll help you let go of the guilt. i’ll help you understand that loving me doesn’t erase the love you had for her. that you have room for both.” his mouth trembles. “and maybe someday,” you whisper, brushing a tear from his jaw, “you’ll be able to look at me and see me. just me. and love me fully.”

his face crumples. a sob punches out of him as he throws his arms around you, burying himself in your warmth like it’s the only thing keeping him from collapsing again. his voice cracks against your neck.

“i want that,” he whispers, broken, desperate. “i want to love you right. i want to choose you. just… don’t give up on me. please. don’t fuckin’ give up on me.”

you hold him tighter. “i’m not giving up on you,” you murmur into his hair. “but you have to let me in. you have to let me help you heal.”

his grip tightens. “i will,” he breathes. “i—i swear i will.”

you guide his face back to yours, kissing his forehead gently, delicately, as if reassuring him that he still belongs here, still has something worth rebuilding. he exhales shakily, leaning into your touch. you don’t fix everything tonight, you don’t erase the past, you don’t magically mend scars years deep. but in the dark, on the floor, wrapped in each other’s arms, something shifts—a small, fragile step forward, a willingness, a promise.

and for the first time since the day you married him—bakugou looks at you. he actually looks at you. and you see your name—your real name—glimmering in his eyes.

[fourgasm]

「 slapping satoru during sex 」

he just looked so proud of himself.

your cocky boyfriend had been pleading with you all day to let him 'take care of you'. he even went as far to get on his knees and beg, with those beautiful blue eyes of his, for just fifteen minutes to get his dick wet.

an hour later, you were still riding the waves of satoru's endless stamina. you should have known - fifteen minutes with him was never just fifteen minutes. he's never let you leave the bed in less than thirty!

you were melting into the sheets. your face was wet with spit from his sloppy kisses, your muscles burning with each extra inch he folded you in on yourself: knees pushed up as he pounded into you like he didn't love you quite as much as he always proclaimed.

and you couldn't deny that he felt godly inside of you. just the stretch of his cock alone was enough to make you gasp. pairing it with the mean, jackhammered pace he set inside of you was pulling you to the edge of another orgasm.

but looking at that fucking smile on his face...

fuck. that arrogant, shit-eating grin he sported. he knew you were in the throes of pleasure; that every breath you took in was a chore because of his weight on top of you; that you were feeling him both inside and out.

"feel good, baby?" he pouted, leaning in a little to better see the look on your face. "hhh, this is just what my pretty girl needed. see? told you toru'd take care of—"

smack!

the sharp sting of your palm against his cheek shut him up. though the slap hardly moved his head, satoru's entire body froze on impact. his mouth closed, then opened as if he was trying to find his words, just to close again..

your hand smacked over your own mouth next, shock filtered through you. sure, you fantasised about slapping some sense into your boyfriend from time-to-time... who didn't? but to actually strike him...

your hand hurt. you actually slapped him.

satoru looked down at you with wide, shocked eyes. you didn't know whether to expect a grin or a grimace to pull at his lips, but what you didn't expect was for him to freeze. should you apologise? slap him again?

you parted your lips to try for anything, but stopped in your tracks when satoru's jaw slackened, and his eyelids grew heavy. he looked like he was...

"i'm cumming," he choked out, holding himself above you with trembling arms as he emptied himself inside. it was a slow release, trickling out of his sensitive cockhead with as much hesitation as enthusiasm - his orgasm surprised him as much as it did you, apparently.

"wow," you found yourself laughing beneath him. "i didn't peg you as the kind of guy who likes being slapped."

satoru grimaced. "ngh. please don't talk about pegging right now. i'll cum again."

[para-kissu]

japanese magazine covers ☆

[para-kissu]

japanese magazine covers ☆

[princesskittybabydiva]

Alpha!Kirishima x Omega!Reader

CW, MDNI — p in v, reader is in heat, unprotected, language, mating press, jealous Kiri, possessive Kiri, size kink

a/n: hiii! i loved this request and hope i did it justice (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) i have been on holiday so i am now catching up on things in my inbox! ALSO, i wanted to mention that i love poly!kiribaku x reader if anyone ever wants something of that sort :3 xoxo, vivi 𑣲

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It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Your heat wasn’t due for another week and a half, and you’d been so careful. You always were. Taking your suppressants, tracking your mood, avoiding crowded areas — the full nine.

But here you were, wandering down the dark alley dizzily, your core pulsing with need, begging to be filled. Your pheromones hung heavy in the air, the aroma of your slick sweet and all too inviting. 

It’d been a long day at work — being a crime reporter was harder than the average person recognized. It wasn’t for the weak; trying to keep up with heroes' constant feats, being in close proximity with villains, staying late at the office to finish your stories. You clutch your purse tighter, your keys digging into your palm as you try to focus on getting to your apartment.

That’s when you hear it—the familiar, friendly voice that makes your heart skip a beat even through the haze of your heat.

“Hey,” His steps slow as he recognizes you. “Oh, hey! You okay over there?”

You look up, and there he was — Red Riot, his crimson hair bright against the darkening sky. And Jesus, he’s fucking massive. You knew he was big — you had seen him in action and at hero press conferences plenty of times after all. But seeing him this close? Fuck, it has you clenching against nothing. 

He’d noticed you before, you knew that. As a journalist, you’d filmed him a few times during his hero work, and he’d always been friendly, striking up brief conversations that left you flustered and more than a little attracted. But now? Now, with your heat raging, his proximity was torture and heaven, all at once.

“Red Riot,” you breath, relief and something you didn’t want to acknowledge bleeding through the daze. “Hey… um. I’m… fine. Just trying to get home.”

His bright smile falters as he gets closer. Then he notices it. Your trembling hands. The pink flush of your cheeks. Your fucking scent. It permeates the air; hints of vanilla, creamy jasmine and rose.  

Kirishima had been through a lot — from extensive hero training to fighting in the fucking war and yet nothing, nothing, compared to the pain of his restraint in this moment. His primal urges were screaming at him to reach out, pull you flush against him, bend you over, and fuck you right here. His fists ball, nails digging into his palms. 

“You don’t look fine,” he says, his voice dropping to a lower, rougher register that sends a shiver down your spine. “Let me help you home. It’s not safe for an omega to be alone like this.”

Before you could protest — or jump on him — another voice cut through the air. It was sharp, impatient and instantly recognizable. 

“What’s the hold-up, shitty hair? We don’t have all damn day to…,” Katsuki Bakugo, or rather Dynamite, rounds the corner, scowl firmly in place. But his words die on his tongue the moment he sees you. His crimson eyes flick from your flushed out face to Kirishama's rigid posture and then the scent of your heat hits him. 

You see the exact moment his alpha instincts roared to life. He wasn't just annoyed; he was interested.

Bakugo had been on patrol with Kirishima, and while he’d initially been annoyed by Kiri wandering off, he could see why now. He takes in your state, licking his bottom lip. You are a fucking sight to behold. 

Kirishima’s jaw tightens at Bakugo's obvious interest in you, his primal instincts spiking hard. A  surge of possessiveness jolts through him, his hardening quirk threatens to activate as he fights the urge to stake his claim right here and now

“Back off, Bakugo,” Kirishima growls, his voice unrecognizably low, dangerous and possessive  — a far cry from the friendly neighborhood hero the world knew him as. 

“I can handle this Bakugo,” Kiri says. 

Bakugo smirks, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. 

“Handle this? Looks like you’re about to pop a vein, shitty hair. You’re gonna scare the little reporter.” He takes a deliberate step closer, inhaling deeply, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “Fuck, she smells good.”

That was his fucking breaking point. The already thin thread of Kirishima’s control snaps. A low, guttural growl tears from his throat. It was primal — the snarl of an alpha protecting what was his. 

What belonged to him.

“I said back off,” Kirishima snarls, stepping between you and Bakugo, completely shielding you from view. “This one’s different,” he rasps, quieter. 

Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly, his damn smirk finally faltering. He’d seen Kirishima angry, frustrated, determined…but never this. This was raw, unfiltered possessiveness. 

“Different? How do you mean?” 

Kirishima’s voice was a dangerous rumble, a stark contrast to his usual cheerful tone. 

“She’s not a fucking hook-up. I’ve watched her, talked to her. She’s got a fire in her, a passion and drive that has nothing to do with her being an omega. And I’m not letting you anywhere near her.” The conviction in his voice was absolute.

Bakugo wanted to argue — if not for his arousal then his unwavering pride. But the look in Kirishima’s eyes was a fierce, unwavering claim. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. 

“Tch. Fine. Have it your way.” 

He shoots you one last, lingering glance over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Don’t break him, reporter.”

And then he was gone, leaving the air filled with the pounding of your own heart. Kirishima was on you in two seconds. His big hands rest on your waist, anchoring you. 

“Are you okay? Did he scare you?”

You could only manage to shake your head, his smell overwhelming you. It was spicy and clean, something reminiscent of cinnamon and fresh rain. The effect it had on you was pathetic, the slick between your legs increasing. 

He breathed heavily, his gaze dropping to your lips. “I’m taking you home. My home. Now.”

Everything passed in a blur. He carried you effortlessly, one stupidly ripped arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, holding you securely against his chest. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, a desperate whine escaping your throat. You couldn’t help the way your legs squeezed together as he took you up to his penthouse apartment, the door clicking shut behind him as he set you down. 

“Eijiro, need you,” you whimper, reaching for him.

He caught your hands, his grip firm but not aggressive. He led you to his bedroom, the king-sized bed overlooking the city. He stopped at the edge of the bed, turning to face you. His eyes, usually so bright and friendly, were dark with lust and something else. Something tender that made your chest ache.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice thick and rough. “If we do this… there’s no going back. No stopping. I will claim you.”

Your body heats as you reach for his neck, trying to pull him in for a kiss. He grabs your wrists, pushing you onto the bed and pinning your hands as he hovers over you. 

“I need you to use your words, Princess,” he says, voice rough with desire that mirrored the throbbing of your core. “Once I start, I won't be able to stop. I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Forever. Every one of your smiles, laughs, orgasms will be from me, and only me, from now on. You will be completely at my mercy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Eijiro,” you gasp against his stupidly soft lips. “I want it. All of it. Want you.”

“Fuck, baby” he curses, his control finally shattering. Your clothes were gone in an instant, ripped from your body with a desperate urgency that thrilled you. You were naked and vulnerable under him, your skin flushed and slick with arousal. 

His gaze flickers down your body, lingering at every part of you — the sharp ridge of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, curve of your waist…

His eyes land on your core, pulsing and impossibly wet. A pathetic sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes his throat. 

“Jesus baby,” he groans, running a hand down his face. “You are going to be the death of me.”

His lips find yours, soft and passionate. 

But you don’t have time for soft and passionate. You needed rough and hard and him. You needed to be used, to be taken so thoroughly there was nothing left. You need his knot. Need to be his.

"Eijiro," you pant, bucking your hips against him. "I need you to slam your cock inside me and fuck me until the only thing I can remember is your dick splitting me open. Ruin me. Fucking do it. Now.”

Whatever semblance of charm and gentleness he had was gone. Instead, a predator sits before you, ready to devour. 

A guttural snarl rips from his chest as he releases your wrists. In one rapid motion, he hooks his arms under your knees and yanks you to the edge of the bed, folding you nearly in half. Your knees nearly touch your ears as he forces you in a mean mating press. 

He tears his clothes off, throwing them aside. Your eyes fall to his cock.

So help me God, he is massive. Fucking huge.

His dick is stupidly thick and long enough that the heavy head nearly brushed against the hard ridges of his abdomen. A single, perfect pearl of precum gathers at the tip, before swelling and dripping down his length in a taunting, obscene trail. 

“You asked for this, Princess,” he growls, fisting his cock. “You should know I am a man that does not fuck kindly.”

He slams into your sopping wet cunt with one punishing thrust. 

The air is sucked from your lungs in a sharp cry as he stretches you around his massive cock. You can feel him in your stomach, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. 

"You wanted to be ruined, huh?" he grunts, his voice dangerous as he drives into you again and again. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't think, until the only think you can babble is my fucking name. I'm going to make sure you're still feeling me next week. Still walking around with my cum dripping out of you.”

All you can do is whine pathetically as your vision starts to go white. The pleasure is searing, so, so fucking good. Your nails dig into his back as your back arches. 

“Look at you,” Eijiro growls, one hand leaving your leg to wrap around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds you there — a possessive instinct that makes your pussy clench around him. 

“So fucking desperate for it. Taking me like you were made for it. You were, weren’t you? Made to be mine, baby.” 

Your mind is gone, melted into a mess of need and desperation. All that exists is the feeling of him and the building tightness in your core.

“Eijiro, baby,” you sob, tears of pleasure falling down your pink cheeks. “Shit baby, I’m gonna…I’m almost…”

“Not yet,” he commands, angling your hips to hit that special spot inside you.  “You don’t cum until I say so. You don’t cum until my knot is swelling inside you, locking you to me. You’re going to cum on my knot, princess. Do you understand me?” 

The spring coiling tightly in your belly gets impossibly tighter, white noise splintering through your hearing. You jerk feebly under him. 

You feel it at the base of his cock — the thickening, swelling sensation that promised to fill every inch of you. 

“That’s it, sweetheart" he grunts, his rhythm starting to falter, becoming erratic. “Fuck, thats a good girl.” 

He ruts into you one last time, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as his knot begins to inflate.

The sudden, intense pressure sends you hurtling over the edge. The world stops spinning on its access as you go flying over the edge, shattering waves of fire making you go slack beneath him. Your body convulses, clamping down on his knot like a vice. 

He follows you over the edge, his body going rigid as he pumps you full of cum. He damn near whines into your neck as he comes undone. 

He collapses on top of you, his heavy weight comforting. His knot locks you against him. For a long time, the only sound in the room is your combined panting. 

He nestles his face in your neck, his lips press soft, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. 

“Mine,” he whispers, his voice hoarse but gentle as he runs a soft hand down your face. “You’re mine now, Princess. Forever.”

[princesskittybabydiva]

ProHero!KatsukixProHero!Reader

summary: katsuki is the only place you find solace within the chaos

tags - sfw, fluff, katsuki is whipped, best friends established relationship, soft suki

a/n: i hope you like this fic <3 and i agree — bakufluff IS life...should i make a whole bakufluff o/s series? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ hehe, next up: alphakirishimaxreader tehehe (hehehe ily and ty for the next idea @hexquirk)

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You don’t tell him you’re having a bad day. You show up to his apartment at the same time as always for your weekly movie night. 

Katsuki knows something’s off the second you step into his apartment. You’re quieter than usual. Shoulders tight. Eyes tired in that way that has nothing to do with sleep. 

He clocks it immediately — but doesn’t say shit.

Instead, he jerks his chin toward the couch next to him.

“Sit,” he rasps. 

His gesture is inviting. Protective. Uncharacteristically soft. 

You nod, sinking down into the plush couch with a sigh you didn’t realize you were holding in. He nestles in directly behind you, legs spreadaround you, solid and warm. 

God, he feels like home.

For a moment, nothing happens — he waits to see if you flinch or tense at his proximity. When you do the opposite, shoulder relaxing and jaw unclenching, he finally gives in. His arms come around you, engulfing you in grounding heat.

Firm. Certain. Like he’s anchoring you in place.

You lean back on instinct, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. 

He exhales slowly, chest rising against your back, and you feel your body start to melt into him. The noise of the world fades. Missions, expectations, the constant pressure to be on — it all quiets as he holds you.

For a second, you panic. Were you overspending? Being too sensitive? You open your mouth to apologize for being so out-of-it but he stops you before you have the chance. 

“Don't pretend. Not around me,” he breathes, his breath warm against your temple. 

He manages to ease your anxieties with a single touch, one of his hands shifting and settling at your waist. The other presses flat over your stomach, grounding, warm through your hoodie. It’s almost reverent — the way he holds you like you're something worth saving. Something utterly precious. 

Minutes pass. Maybe more.

Your breathing settles in line with his. Your head tips back, resting against his shoulder. He adjusts automatically, grumbling under his breath as he gets more comfortable, like you didn’t just rearrange his entire nervous system.

He hopes you can’t feel the way is heart is fucking slamming in his chest. 

“Better?” he mutters eventually.

You nod earnestly. 

That seems to be enough.

His thumb starts absentmindedly drawing slow circles against your side. 

“You’re really good at this, ‘Suki,” you murmur, voice soft and sleepy. “Y'know that?”

His hand freezes on your waist, breathing halting. 

Completely still.

“…At what?” he asks after a beat, voice rough.

You’re already drifting, eyelids heavy, words slipping out without a filter. You are so comfortable. It feels like home.

“Being here. With me. Making things quiet.”

Katsuki swallows. His arms tighten just a fraction but enough that you notice. His jaw tightens. Even though you can’t see his face, you feel it against your hair. He is thanking his lucky stars you can’t see the soft blush settled against his face. 

He doesn’t respond — doesn’t know how.

Fuck, you had the Great Explsoion Murder God Dynamite completly whipped. 

You fall asleep right there, tucked into him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

Katsuki stays awake long after, holding you like this is the one thing in the world he knows how to do right.

[princesskittybabydiva]

Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!Reader

can be read as a stand alone

CW, MDNI, NSFW — p in v, unprotected, ruts/heats, multiple o's, cursing (duhh its Suki), possesive Katsu

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Alpha!Katsuki who is ripping off his top the second you look up at him with those pleading eyes. He's moving before his brain catches up to his body — shredding his sweatpants and, now ruined, underwear with a pent-up growl, his cock springing free, hitting his stupid fucking abs.

His dick is perfect — unfairly thick with a flushed red tip, already beading with pearly precum.  He is so hard it fucking hurts.

"God,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire. “I've wanted this for so long.”

He drags you away from the pathetic pile of his clothes and onto the soft rug in your bedroom. Foreplay is forgotten as your pheromones mix, bodies aching for relief. 

He’s over you in an instant, caging you in with his body against the rug. The scent of caramel and something so distinctly man is almost a physical presence, making you dizzy with want. He smirks from his position above you. 

He is pressing his tip against your slit in an instant, his fat tip taunting you for a second before he bottoms out inside you. 

Holy shit. 

Your vision blackens, back arching off the floor. You can’t be sure but you think his name falls from your lips in broken gasps.

His tongue finds yours in a searing, claiming kiss. His lips move against yours with unrestrained want as he continues thrusting into you.

“Look at you,” he smirks against your lips, his voice low and raspy. “All fucking mine. Smellin’ like me, full of me, begging for my knot.”

His big hangs angle your hips upward, a deep thrust bullying into that deliciously painful spot on your cervix. The pleasure is overwhelming.

His mouth is everywhere. On your neck. Nipples. Lips. 

It's primal. Filthy. Claiming. You can barely keep up with what he grunts. 

“I’ve always tried real hard to be good around you, sweets. ‘Always were making it so f’ckin hard f'me.”

"Look at that greedy little cunt, swallowing me whole.”

“That's a good girl, milk my cock.”

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You’re not sure when you came — or how many times you have. It isn’t until a wetness blossoms between your legs that fragmented awareness returns. 

Oh.

You’ve been emptied. Multiple times.

You don’t have time to dwell on the once-again tightening heat in your stomach when you feel it swelling.

Katsuki knot. 

You can feel it building at the base of his cock. It’s a pressure that grows with every thrust, stretching you further and locking him in place. The thought of it, of being connected to him, stuffed full of him, sends you hurtling toward the edge. Again.

Your orgasm rips through you, a violent, all-consuming wave that makes you yell his name. Your inner velvet walls clamp down on him, sucking his cock further in.

“Fuck” he groans, his own orgasm crashing over him with equal vigor. 

He buries himself to the hilt as his knot swells to its full size, locking you together. You feel the hot, thick rush of his cum filling you, claiming your from the inside out.

He collapses against you, holding you to his chest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he pants, his hands shaking as he rakes them through your hair.

For a long time, the only sound is your pants and labored breathing. You’re tied together, locked in the most intimate way possible. 

You’ve never felt safer. Never felt more complete. Never felt so full.

He lifts his head after a while, his previous frantic desperation has been replaced by a deep, possessive gaze. 

He places a finger under your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. 

“Mine,” he rasps. He leans down and kisses you, a slow, deep, possessive kiss that tastes of forever. “And I’m never letting you go. Not ever.”

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a/n: thank u so much to the positive reception to pt 1! i love omegaverse so this is SO much fun to write. i did not proofread this well (and im so sleepy!) so i apologize for any mistakes! kisses to all! katsuki fluff coming asap!

[princesskittybabydiva]

Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!Reader

CW, MDNI — sexual language, Katsu comes in pants :(, ruts/heats, cursing (duhh its Suki), childhood bestfriends, jealous Katsu, possesive Katsu, scenting

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Alpha!Katsuki who's been your best friend since you were kids. He’s always been protective of you, but in a way that felt normal growing up. Walking you home, little hands intertwined. Making sure no one ever looked at you funny. Picking fights with anyone who did.

Alpha!Katsuki who’s completely thrown when you present as an omega. It hits him like a punch to the gut. You—sharp-tongued, fiery, stubborn as hell—an omega? It doesn’t fit the stereotype he’s been fed his whole life, and it shakes him in a way he hates. Because you don’t soften, don’t suddenly become delicate. Katsuki finds himself spiraling because now his instincts are screaming at him in a way he can barely control. 

Alpha!Katsuki who is territorial as fuck and hates it — after all, you were just his best friend right? But you laugh at someone else’s joke? He stiffens. You make eye contact with someone too long? Jaw clenches, fists ball. He knows it’s irrational and stupid. Knows you haven’t done anything wrong. That makes it worse. The rest of the day he’s short-tempered, hovering, touching you more than usual; hand on your lower back, knee brushing yours, arm slung behind you like a warning sign. He never says it out loud, but everyone can feel it: Mine. 

Alpha!Katsuki who guides you through crowded spaces. His hand finds your lower back without thinking—big, rough, warm. It’s grounding, calming. Makes you feel safe in crowds of rowdy alphas. If someone gets too close to you, his thumbs hook into your belt loops, anchoring you to him, his breath warm at your ear. Anyone watching would clock it immediately: That is not platonic (but don’t dare to make a snide comment about it to Katsuki — Kaminari found that out the hard way). 

Alpha!Katsuki who insists on scenting you before you go out alone. He's awkward about it at first. Tries to play it off like it’s practical. “It’s for your safety. Just c’mon.” When he leans in, it’s slow. Thoughtful. His breath ghosts your skin, the smell of caramel and smoke overwhelming your senses. He drags his wrists against your neck. It's purposeful, almost sensual. You feel yourself relaxing, knees weakening beneath you. When he's finished, his hand lingers a few seconds longer on your neck. “You’re covered,” he mutters, voice rougher than before. He’s proud of the way you go about your day smelling like him. 

Alpha!Katsuki who has no idea how significantly your first heat will affect him. He could sense your smell getting sweeter the past few days so he decided to swing by your apartment to check on you. When you don't answer the door, he comes in using his spare key. 

He finds you curled up in your closet in a pathetic, messy pile of his things — hoodies you've stolen over the years, t-shirts he’s grown out of, an old blanket from his dorm. 

"Oi," he calls, his voice low and rough.

"Go away," you gasp, but it comes out as a broken sob. "Katsuki, please, you can't be here."

When he steps closer, you scramble back, pressing yourself into the furthest corner of the closet.

"Fuck," he breathes, "This is bad, isn't it?" 

You can't answer. You just whimper, burying your face in a pillow that smells like him. It's a mistake. The concentrated scent only makes the heat between your legs hotter. Your hips rock against your will, a pathetic, desperate motion. 

"Katsuki, leave!" you cry, embarrassed beyond belief. 

His fists are clenched at his sides, knuckles white. He wants to be a good friend, he really truly does. But his alpha is screaming at him to take, to claim, to soothe the pain with his body.

As your hips continue to grind helplessly against the pillow, his brain short-circuits. All his careful control, slipping. The image of you surrounded by his things, falling apart in front of him has his cock growing impossibly harder. 

He can feel the overwhelming constraint building. A hot, heavy pressure that demands release. His rut. It's not coming. It's here. And you triggered it. 

"Fuck," he chokes out, his voice strangled. He squeezes his eyes shut, but it's too late. The pleasure coils in his gut, hot and fast. He can feel his balls draw up, his hips jerking in a tiny, helpless thrust into empty air. 

He cums. 

Hard.

It's a violent, overwhelming orgasm that rips through him with zero warning, soaking the front of his gray sweatpants in a hot, messy rush. 

It's humiliating. It's mortifying. Utterly pathetic. And it feels so fucking good that his vision whites out for a second. He rasps, his body trembling with the force of it. 

Shit, he can't stay. He has to leave. If he stays for one more second, he's going to do something he’s worried you’ll regret. He stumbles back, his movements frantic, doing everything to not look at you. 

"I gotta go," he bites out, his voice rough and ruined.

“No. Stay,” your voice is decisive. Strong. 

Still, he hesitates. 

“It hurts Katsu,” you beg. “Need help. Please”

That's what does it for him — his leash of restraint snapping. 

He crosses the space between you in a single stride, dropping to his knees before you. 

He doesn't touch you at first. He just crowds you, his scent overwhelming you. 

"Look at me," he growls, his voice a raw command. “You want my help?” 

When you don't answer, he hooks a finger under your chin and forces your head up. His eyes are burning, pupils blown wide.

“Use your words,” he rasps.

“Yes. Yes, want you,” you whine pathetically. 

The rest of his restraint snaps, pinning you down beneath him.

"Gonna fuck you 'til you can't remember your own name," he promises, his voice a dark, velvety threat. "Gonna knot you so deep you'll be stuffed with me for days. Gonna make sure everyone knows who you belong to. Forever. Now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me take care of you?"

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a/n: hehehe welcome to my new acc (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) xo, vivi

[princesskittybabydiva]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ kastuki bakugo takes u in the back of his porsche tehehe

synopsis: katsuki bakugo decides hero galas are a waste of time, especially when his pretty girl looks that good on his arm. so he drags you into the back of his porsche and has his way with you.

content: nsfw mdni, oral (f/receiving), unprotected, semi-public, light manhandling, size kink, etc.

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Your cheek is pressed into the cool leather, a pathetic line of drool pooling on the expensive material. You're a mess — a pink  sheen of sweat already covering your forehead. With your ass raised high in the air, you're nothing but a desperate, debauched sight for him.

His big, rough hands are grasping your hips, turning you around to face him. His crimson eyes look down at you with frantic, unadulterated want. 

“Haven’t even touched you yet and you're already arching for me,” Katsuki pants, running a hand down his face at the sight of you — luxury dress he bought for you pooled at your waist, your lacy panties leaving your cunt on full display. 

He groans.

“The whole fucking time, all I could think about was dragging you out of that stupid gala. Had to stop myself from bending you over the nearest table and fucking you raw in front of all those extras,” he pants, eyes locked on your face, “Tch. Maybe then they'd get the goddamn hint and stop asking so many stupid questions."

You feel yourself clench around nothing but you’re too late to stop the pathetic, whiny moan that slips past your lips. 

His mouth curls into a slow, wicked smirk. 

“Naughty girl. You like that idea, don’t you?”

His hands are finally moving, but not to where you want him, not to where you need him. His fingers are rough but gentle, grazing over the waistband of your panties. He hovers there — not out of hesitation but because hes a smug fucking bastard.

"Look at you," he growls, his voice a low rasp against your ear. "All prim and proper for the cameras. Signing autographs and kissing babies. But I know what you really are. My little slut, getting her brains fucked out in the back of my car." He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at the city lights outside. "You think any of those people out there have any idea? That the Number Three Hero is balls-deep in his pretty little thing right now? That he'd rather be here, buried in this tight pussy, than accepting an award?"

“Katsuki,” you pant, squirming under his body heat. Everything is one fire. 

He has the audacity to laugh at your struggle. He leans over you, his breath hot on your neck, before slowly parting his lips and latching on to your skin. 

The moan you let out is sinful. Pornographic. And it does something to Katsuki. Whatever lingering self restraint he had snapped at your whine. 

He's pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other hand is tearing your expensive panties like they’re nothing—because why would he care? He’s got the cash to replace them. Hell, he could buy you the whole damn store. The tear of the fabric echoes through the car.

He tosses the scraps aside like they're trash, his eyes still locked on yours. His hands fly to your thighs, parting you for him. In a quick movement he's between your legs. He bites the fleshy part of your inner thigh before tongue darts across his bottom lip, lapping once at your wetness.

And shit. 

You’re gone on the first touch — back arching, head thrown back. The pool of heat in your stomach tightens. 

His eyelashes flutter as he looks up at you. In this moment, he is at your mercy. Pleasing you. Making sure you know just how much he loves you. But also, selfishly, he fucking loves the taste of you. If it were up to him, you would stay buried between your thighs all day. 

Ridiculously shameful wet noises fill the car as he parts your folds, licking straight up your pussy. 

The pleasure is overwhelming. You can’t help that way your legs begin to shake as he sucks your bud harshly. Your hands find their way to his hair unintentionally, pulling him closer to your pulsing heat. 

“Katsuki, fuck baby,” you shudder, your vision blurring.

His tongue delves inside you and you can’t help the way your hips buck up against his face as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He pulls back for a moment to catch his breath and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“Patience, princess,” he rasps against your thigh before diving back in. 

His pace is slow but unrelenting as he alternates between licking and sucking your clit and tongue fucking you. He slips two fingers inside you and curls them up against that just right spot only he can find. You can feel your orgasm building as he continues.

 “Cum for me baby,” he growls against you, “C’mon sweets.” 

His pleading is all it takes for you to come undone on his tongue with a scream. The pleasure is searing, white hot and all-consuming. Your vision goes blurry as you see stars, your back arching off the bed as you buck your hips into his face, desperate for more of his tongue on your clit.

He licks you clean, your wetness still fresh on his lips, before crawling up your body and kissing you deeply.

“You taste fucking incredible,” he groans into your mouth. You can still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm as he kisses your forehead. “Feeling good my love?” he asks. 

“Never better, Suki,” you pant, dazed.

With your confirmation, he lines himself up with your entrance. He teases his red, leaking tip against you. 

“You sure you can handle this?” he teases, smirking. And for a second, you're not sure if you will be able to. God, he was fucking big. 

The initial thrust is firm and deep. A fullness blooms low in your abdomen. You look down to where you are connected and groan. You’ve done this a million times, you know how he is built, but it still manages to surprise you. Only a part of his cock is buried inside you. 

Holy shit, there’s still so much of him.

He pauses, holding himself against your opening, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. When your shoulders relax, that shit eating grin creeps back over his face. He’s so warm against you it almost burns. And then he sinks into you in one unrelenting push. 

A shudder ran through you both, and the sounds that followed were involuntary, untamed — a matching cry of pleasure as the feeling overwhelmed every nerve.

Your back arches off the seat like its instinct. It’s a pressure that borders on pain, but it’s good pain. A hot stretch that leaves you breathless and begging. He doesn’t give you a chance to beg before he starts to move. The retreat is slow, a torturous drag. You flutter pathetically around him, trying to keep him inside. 

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that vibrates through the car. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya?” he rasps, his hands rubbing your hips possessively. 

Then he slams back in, hard and deep, the force of it stealing the air from your lungs. He sets a brutal, punishing pace. Each thrust leaves you whining.

“Katsuki… Suki,” you cry. 

“Look at me,” he pants, his voice rough and sexy as fuck. It takes everything in you to force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His face is flushed: cheeks hot, brown gleaning with sweat and his eyes — blown stupidly wide and glazed with lust.

One look at your fucked-out expression is all it takes to ignite a animalistic, unmatched hunger in his gaze. He looks like he's about to ruin you.

And he is. 

“Thats it, my baby. Let me see you. Show me how good I make you feel”

His gaze drops, tracing the line of your body until it lands where you're connected. And there it is. A distinct, delicious bulge pressing against your lower stomach. It's a visible testament to his sheer size. To how deep he is inside you. 

It's fucking obscene. And fucking perfect. 

A guttural sound rumbles in his chest, something between a growl and a moan. He's mesmerized. Utterly obsessed. Slowly, almost reverently, he brings his hand to rest on your belly, his thumb pressing down right over the bulge. The pressure makes you gasp, head falling back. 

“Feel how deep I am? Fucking filling you up,” he rasps.  

Shifting angles, he hits that spot inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyes. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. The coil in your gut is winding tighter and tighter. 

Your noises get higher, more desperate.

“Come on,” he pants, his rhythm becoming erratic, his thrusts harder, more deliberate. “Come for me. I wanna feel you soak my fucking cock.”

He leans down, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck before he bites down, hard enough to mark you, to claim you. That’s all it takes. The sharp, possessive pain sends you flying over the edge. Your orgasm tears through you, violent and all-consuming. Your body arches, a strangled cry ripped from your throat as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you trembling and boneless. Your vision whites out, and for a moment, all you can feel, all you know, is the overwhelming pleasure and the solid weight of the man still moving inside you. 

He fucks you through it, his movements becoming sloppy as your walls clamp down on him. With a guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt one last time, his whole body going rigid as he spills into you moaning.

He collapses against you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breathing harsh and ragged in your ear. For a long moment, the only sounds are both your gasps for air and the frantic beating of your hearts. 

He’s heavy, a solid, comforting weight pinning you down. He presses a soft kiss to the bite mark on your neck, a stark contrast to the brutal way he just fucked you. 

“Told you you could handle it,” he murmurs, a smug, satisfied lilt in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, a breathless, shaky sound. 

God, you love this bastard.

[princesskittybabydiva]

BestFriendProHero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Don’t Look At Me Like That - Finale ૮₍ɵ̷﹏ɵ̷̥̥᷅₎ა

NSFW MDNI

cw: p in v, raw/unprotected, n⭑pple sucking, body worship, no pulling out, etc

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You couldn’t help bouncing your knee on your way to Katsuki's apartment. It was no different from any other Friday. This has been your routine since graduating UA: you meet at his place after patrol, he cooks you a five-star dinner before sitting down with you to watch some stupid movie, always falling asleep tangled in each other's arms. He’d carry you to his bed, tucking you in and sliding in next to you. It was his favorite day of the week. 

Except this week it felt different. Probably because it was different. You and Katsuki had kissed the day before, and it lingered in everything.

It lingered in the way your heart raced as you stood outside his door. In the way you smoothed your clothes for no real reason. In the way you were suddenly grateful for having taken an everything shower before coming.

When the door opens, Katsuki’s there in grey sweats and a black t-shirt looking fine as fuck.

“Hey,” he says, a smile smile playing on his lips. 

His eyes flick over you, slow. Intentional. The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s holding something back.

“Took you long enough.”

“You’re dramatic,” you say, stepping inside laughing. 

You throw your purse on the same hook you always do — the one Katuski installed especially for you. You toe off your shows next to his, lining them up.  

God, it was so domestic. 

The apartment smells warm and familiar—spice, caramel, smoke. It smells like home. Katsuki moves around the kitchen with practiced ease. 

You perch at the counter. Conversation flows easily at first—friendly jabs, shared laughs—but it keeps dissolving into quiet. Charged pauses where your eyes meet and neither of you looks away fast enough.

When he passes you a plate, his fingers brush yours. This time, he doesn’t pretend it’s an accident.

Dinner tastes incredible. You tell him so. He scoffs, but pride shines in his eyes. He watches you eat like he’s memorizing it, like he’s afraid if he looks away something might change again.

Afterward, the dishes sit untouched in the sink.

The movie starts. You curl into the couch like you always do. Your legs tangle automatically, head laying on his chest. Habit.

Except now you’re especially aware of every point of contact. The weight of his arm around you. The heat of his body. The way his fingers run softly, tentatively, through your hair. His fingers twitch, like he's holding something back. 

“You can head out if you want,” he says, voice low, eyes glued forward.

You turn to him. His jaw is tight. You know what he’s up to. 

“I know,” you say.

You don’t get up.

That’s answer enough.

He looks at you then and something soft and final settles in his expression. 

His hand finds your waist, slow and deliberate, like he’s giving you every chance to stop him.

You don’t.

He pulls you onto his lap, straddling him. Your pupils are blown wide. 

He kisses you, deep but careful. His hands sliding cautiously down your waist, a stark contrast to the explosive energy he usually exudes. This is a side of Katsuki only you've seen — soft, raw, unguarded. 

The kiss isn’t frantic, but deliberate. You can feel the slight tremor in his hands, the hesitant way he tests the waters, as if afraid you might break or pull away.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know you stay here every Friday,” he murmurs. “But it feels different knowin’ it’s ‘cause you want to.”

Your chest tightens.

“I do,” you whisper. “I always do. Always have.”

That earns you the softest look you’ve ever seen on him.

He squeezes your hand and stands, tugging you gently with him. He leads you to his bedroom, door closing behind you with a quiet click.

He gently turns you, his hands moving from your waist to the hem of your shirt. 

He pauses, his gaze meeting yours.

"Can I?" he asks, his fingers hovering just above the fabric. 

You nod, lifting your arms. "Please." 

He pulls the shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your black lacy bra. He’s not looking at you with lust, but with a kind of worshipful awe that makes your cheeks flush — but not more than his.

His cheeks are a soft pink, reaching all the way up to his ears. He runs a trembling hand down his face. 

"God… you're unreal," he chokes out, swallowing deeply. 

He leans in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, then another to the curve of your neck. You can't help the pathetic groan that escapes your throat. Every touch is like a searing promise. His calloused hands tease your waist, trying to memorize your feelings. 

When the backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed, you sink down onto the soft mattress, pulling him with you. He follows, hovering over you as he captures your lips again, nipping softly. This kiss is more urgent as the last of his restraint crumbles. 

Clothes are removed down to your underwear, quiet and fast, a silent agreement to shed every barrier between you. He settles over you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He pauses, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. 

“…You have any idea what you’re doin’ to me?” he breathes, wrecked. "Tell me if you want me to stop. Anytime."

"I won't," you whisper embarrassingly fast. "I want all of you."

He lets out a groan so un-Katsuki, it sends a cold chill down your spine, straight to your nipples, tightening under your bra. 

And you can’t resist raking your eyes down his torso.

Shit. Damnit. Fuck.

He looked like he was carved from fucking stone — broad shoulders, prominent collarbone and abs that could be seen from miles away. You had always known he was ripped, but seeing it mere inches from your face as he hoovers over you makes an unmistakable wetness pool between your legs. 

“Katsuki,” you breathe, your voice a needy whisper. 

It’s all the permission he needs. He lowers himself, unclasping your bra. He pulls the straps down your arms, his trembling fingers brushing against your skin, and tosses it aside.

And then he just… stops. Short-circuits. You feel his muscles tense above you. His mouth is snapped shut, crimson eyes wide and locked on your now-bare chest. A deep, violent red flush floods his face, starting at his neck and creeping all the way up to the tips of his ears. He looks completely overwhelmed as his breath hitches in a choked gasp. 

“Holy… fuck,” he breathes out, the words barely a whisper. 

He swallows hard, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He looks like he's holding something primal, predatory, back. 

“God… you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, his voice wrecked. 

He lowers his head to press his burning forehead against your chest, right over your frantically beating heart. 

He’s hiding, you realize, heart jumping to your throat. The Great Explosive Murder God Dynamite is overwhelmed and hiding his face between your tits because he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

You can feel the tremor that runs through his entire body, filled with pure, unadulterated want. He’s so turned on it’s physically painful for him, and the embarrassing honesty of it is the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced. Ever. 

“Suki. You can touch,” you encourage, feeling like you’ll die if he doesn’t. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just… give me a second. Fuck.”

Slowly he lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. He lowers his head to the swell of your breast. 

Then, he takes your nipple into his mouth.

With a soft flick of his tongue, a sharp, freezing jolt shoots straight to your core, and you arch into him with a gasp. He groans at your reaction, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. 

He grows bolder, his mouth closing around you, sucking gently. 

You have to bite your lip from coming on the spot. 

His hand comes up to cup your other breast, his thumb rolling over the peaked nipple in time with the pull of his mouth. The wet heat of his mouth is overwhelming in the best way. 

He releases you with a soft, wet pop, his lips glistening. He looks up at you, his face flushed, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. He begins to kiss a slow, deliberate path down your body, over the ridges of your ribs, across the soft plane of your stomach. His intention is unmistakable. 

“Katsu,” you pant, your hands tangling in his hair. He hums against your skin, his tongue dipping into your navel, making you shudder. 

“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly promise against your flesh. “Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue.” 

The thought alone is enough to make your toes curl. You want it. God, you want it. But you want him more. And at this rate, you’re not gonna make it that long. The ache between your legs is an insistent, throbbing demand, and his mouth, as glorious as it would be, isn’t what you need right now. 

“No,” you gasp out, tugging gently on his hair. He stops instantly, lifting his head to look at you, his brows pulled together in confusion. The raw desire in his eyes is mingled with a flicker of hurt.

“Oh—” he says, his voice rough. You shake your head, pulling him up to you. 

“No, not that. Need you Suki,” you clarify. 

You re-hook your legs around his waist, using them to pull his hips flush against yours. His clothed thick length of him presses perfectly against your slick, aching core, and you both groan at the contact. 

You look him dead in the eye, pouring every ounce of need, desire and hunger into your gaze. 

“I need you to fuck me, Katsuki. Now.” 

His eyes widen into a dark, predatory gleam. His prior hesitation vanishes. A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his face. This is the Katsuki you know. The one who takes what he wants. 

“Yeah?” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous mumble. He shifts his hips, grinding his hard cock against you through the thin fabric of your panties, drawing a ragged moan from your throat. 

“You want it that bad, huh?” 

“Please,” you beg, not caring about your dignity or pride. 

“Anything you want. It’s yours.” 

He pushes off you just long enough to shove his boxers down.

The world goes silent. Your head spins. 

Holy. Shit.

His cock springs free, slapping hard against his lower abs with a heavy, solid sound. And fuck, it’s the prettiest cock ever. He’s big — thick and long and curving upward. The head is a flushed, angry red, already leaking pearly white precum.

A thick, prominent vein runs along the underside and you have a sudden, overwhelming urge to trace it with your tongue.

He doesn't give you a moment to recover from the overwhelming sight of him. His fingers hook into your waistband, eyes looking to your for permission.

You answer by lifting your hips in a silent, desperate offering. A low, guttural groan rumbles in his chest. He slowly drags the soaked lace down your legs. The fabric peels away from your heat, a string of your slick going with it.

He pulls them free from your ankles but doesn't just toss them aside. He brings them to his face for a brief, shameless second, inhaling your scent with a choked groan before letting them fall from his fingers. 

The act is so lewd that a fresh wave of arousal floods you. 

He spreads your thighs, his eyes dropping to the paradise he just uncovered. His breath stutters, and his expression softens into something so beautiful it makes your chest ache. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at you, baby.” 

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense. 

“All this… for me.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact, a declaration of ownership that makes your entire body tremble with need.

He positions himself at your pulsing entrance, his gaze locked on yours as he slowly, deliberately pushes inside. The stretch is exquisite, a slow, stretching pressure that builds into mind-numbing pleasure. He fills you completely, a perfect, overwhelming fullness that makes you feel whole. 

He stills for a moment, his forehead pressed against yours, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “You’re so fuckin’ tight f’me. So perfect.” 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. 

“Move,” you demand. “Please, Katsuki, move.” 

He smirks, pulls back and slams into you. You see stars, your head falling back. 

Katsuki tugs your hair, forcing you to look back up. 

“Eyes on me, sweets. Gotta watch while I fill you up,” he demands.

He continues rutting into you with reverent hunger, bullying that spot in you that makes your knees go weak. 

“Fuck Suki, shit, I’m close.”

He grunts, signaling he’s close too. 

His thrusts become more erratic, wet noises echoing off the walls of his room. You dissolve into the pleasure, back arched and his name on your lips. 

The orgasm is shattering — your world shuttering to a stop as your velvet walls clamp down around him. Your pussy is so overstimulated you don't realize you’ve squirted until you hear Katsuki's praise.

“Shit baby. Good job. Milking me so good,” he babbles, hands on your hips as he fucks you threw it.

As much as he wants to keep going, his arousal is too high, the coil in his stomach too tight. He jerks into you, coming, moaning your name embarrassingly loud. Hot liquid fills your womb as he falls onto you.

Your hearts beat in sync as you lay, basking in the afterglow of it all. Katsuki traces little circles on your arm as you toy with his hair.

“That was…the best thing that's ever happened to me,” you say, earnestly. 

Katsuki blushes, glad his face is laying on your chest and out of your direct gaze. 

“You did so fucking good. Better than I could have ever imagined,” he breathes.

“You imagine fucking me?” you tease.

Katsuki goes silent, embarrassed that just a week ago he got off on that very thought.

“Hey Suki, I’m messing with you…I’ve thought about it too. A lot,” you admit with a breathy laugh.

He sits up, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Hey sweets?” he says, his voice almost tender. “I’ve thought about this, us, for so long. You are everything to me. ‘Have been since you challenged me to a fight the first day of middle school,” he laughs softly, remembering the way you weren’t afraid to boss him around.

“I know m’ not perfect,” he starts, jaw tight like he’s bracing for impact. “I’m not—” he exhales, sharp, frustrated. 

“I’m not good at this kinda stuff. I don’t say things right. I get loud. I screw up.”

He finally looks at you then, red eyes burning with something evidently genuine. 

“I wanted to do this… right. Wanted it to be perfect. Some dumb, sappy dinner, candles, flowers, whatever the hell you deserve. But every time I tried, I chickened out. Kept waitin’ for a better moment.” 

His hand curls into the sheets at his side. 

“And I realized—if I keep waitin’ for perfect, it's never gonna happen.” A beat. His voice drops, rough, stripped bare. 

“So I’m sayin’ it now. Unfiltered. Like me.” 

He swallows. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Suki.”

a/n: well, this series has been fun 🥹 thank u to everyone for the kind words and encouragement. the first chapter is the first fan fic ive ever written and i have found so much joy in it. sorry i suck at updating my tag list — i need to be better at that ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ more katsuki stuff coming soon!

[princesskittybabydiva]

Don’t Look At Me Like That - Part Five ❤︎

next chapter.....be ready (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Katsuki Bakugo is a lot of things. Confident. Strong. Relentless. Loud enough to fill any room he walks into. But he’s never been the kind of man who yearns openly. Not because he has never wanted to, but because his pride is unwavering. And right now, it feels like he can’t breathe as he watches you leave the training center. 

For the first time in his life, his body doesn’t move before his brain. He stays frozen in place. His feet feel practically anchored to the mat. 

Katsuki’s jaw tightens as he watches you disappear through the doorway, the sound of your footsteps fading into the distance. 

His fists clench at his sides, the usual fire in his eyes replaced with a flicker of something else. He knows he fucked up. Crossed a line. Too soon. 

Words are choking in his throat, but he can’t let you walk away without hearing what he’s got to say. Without thinking, he takes a hurried step forward, then another, until he’s running after you.

He sprints down the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the sterile walls as he closes the distance. When he finally reaches you, he pauses at an awkward, cautious distance. 

“Hey,” His voice is rough but soft.

You stop walking but don’t turn around. You’re silent. That's all you give him. 

But he’s grateful for it. 

He’s panting slightly, face flushed with something more than exhaustion. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He pauses. “I crossed a line. I wasn’t thinkin’. That’s on me. And I’m sorry.” Then, quieter—almost like it slips out:,“I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

“I know.” Your voice makes his head snap up, eyes burning into your back. 

You turn, finally looking back at him. Your chest twists at the sight of him, heart going to your chest.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s what scares me,” you whisper, arms crossed like you’re trying to keep all your messy emotions from pouring out at once.

“If it was a mistake, I could ignore it. I could write it off. But it wasn’t.” you exhale. 

“I wasn’t scared of you,” you say, barely a whisper, “I was scared of how much I didn’t want you to stop.”

Katsuki stops breathing, all of his spiraling thoughts come to a sharp halt. His chest feels too full. He stills as if he moved, he'd wake up from this dream.

He clears his throat, eye locking with yours.

“I’m not scared of changing things. I want to.” His voice is gravely and low. ​​“I don’t do half-assed. Y’know that. I don’t want ‘a maybe’. I don’t want to pretend this is just tension or bad timing. I can’t pretend.” 

He takes a deep breath. “Not after all these years. The sneaking out of your dorm at night to come sleep in my room. The inside jokes no one else ever understood. The way I step in front of you during missions on reflex. How you play with my hair when I’m tired. You can’t pretend it's anything other than —,” he stops himself, cheeks pink. 

His jaw tightens. “I want you.”

Your world tilts on its axis. 

Katsuki Bakugo had just said he wanted you.

“I can wait,” he continues, “I’ll wait as long as you need. But don’t ask me to stop wanting you. I won’t lie about that. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not tomorrow. Not when it gets hard.”

He says it like an oath — because it is. A promise. A vow. 

You shake your head.

“I don’t want to wait either.” 

That gets his full attention, crimson eyes on fire. 

“But if we do this Katsuki… it can’t be something we run from when it gets messy. You have to promise me you’ll stay. Even when shit hits the fan. Even when we’re exhausted or scared or don’t know how to fix it. We stay.”

Katsuki's response is immediate. “I will. I promise.”

His voice is firm. Unwavering. There is no hesitation. 

“I don’t do temporary. I stay.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you'd been holding in. Something softens in your chest.

You take a step toward him. He mirrors you, closing the distance until there’s barely any space left between you. You stop just short of colliding, breath catching in your throat. Katsuki dips his head, resting his forehead gently against yours.

“Hey,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” your lips quirk up in a smile. 

The recognition is soft. Steady. Intentional. 

You reach out, grabbing his hands that hang at his sides. You thread your fingers together. His hands are stupidly big — warm, rough fingers drawing circles on your wrist. 

He notices your eyes, flickering from his to his lips. He leans in, hesitating for a moment, giving you time to pull away. When you don’t, he closes the gap. The kiss is soft, warm. There's no rush. No hunger. It's just you and Katsuki — like it's always been. 

[princesskittybabydiva]

BestFriendProHero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Angst (but make it cute)

Don’t Look At Me Like That - Part Four ❤︎

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The training facility smells like sweat, rubber, and eucalyptus. 

It's familiar. Safe. 

You cling to that thought like a lifeline as you stretch, adjusting your gloves, eyes fixed firmly on anything that isn’t him. 

Which is difficult. 

Because Katsuki Bakugo is impossible to ignore because god he's so sexy.

He’s already on the sparring mat when you step in, taped wrists flexing as he warms up, explosions popping softly in his palms—controlled and restrained, just like everything else about him today. 

You approach him, knowing you can’t avoid your sparring partner, and best friend, forever.

“Hey. Morning,” you say. Its professional. Clipped.

Katsuki cocks an eyebrow. “Morning to you too. What's with the attitude?”

You scowl at him. 

But honestly, you knew he was right. Why did you have such an attitude? He hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, dinner was perfect last night. But that didn’t stop your stomach from twisting and heart feeling like it was gonna fly out of your chest.

He stares at you for a beat, trying to decipher something that made a cool shiver run down your spine.   

“We’re here to train aren’t we?” you snap. 

He frowns and cracks his neck. “Sure. We are.”

He doesn’t wait for a count-in.

Katsuki comes at you fast.

You barely have time to brace before his shoulder hits yours, momentum forcing you back. You recover fast. He notices, grin sharpening as if pleased.

“Again,” he snaps.

The next round is somehow worse.

He pushes harder than usual. Faster. Rougher. Every strike is clean, precise and just close enough to feel intentional. His hand brushes your waist as he pivots around you. 

You jerk away.

“Focus,” he says, breathless, eyes dark.

“I am focused,” you shoot back…and that’s when he sweeps your leg.

You hit the mat with a grunt, air knocked from your lungs. Before you can roll, his weight follows, knee slotting between your thighs, hands pinning your wrists above your head.

The world narrows.

His grip is solid. Unwavering. Heat pulses through every point of you. Especially between your legs. You can feel his chest rising fast against yours, can hear the faint hitch in his breath.

He doesn’t move right away. And neither do you. 

“Katsuki,” you rasp.

His voice drops, rougher than it has any right to be. “You’re shaking.”

Your breath stutters, a breathy gasp escaping you. Katsuki notices immediately, eyes flicking across your face.

“That from the training,” he murmurs, eyes roaming to your lips, “or me?”

Your heart slams against your ribs.

“Get off,” you say, but it comes out weak, utterly unconvincing. 

He leans in, eyes locking on yours like he is searching for something. 

“If another guy touched you like this,” he says quietly, dangerously calm, “you’d shove him off right away.”

You know he's right. His grip tightens a fraction around your wrists.

“So why don’t you shove me?”

A feeling you refuse to acknowledge sparks in your chest. And then, anger. Hot, sharp, un-fucking-welcome. 

You struggle against his grip but your efforts are futile. He barely shifts, like he’s anchored to you. 

“Go on then,” he taunts softly. “Tell me you don’t like it when I get close.”

Something in your stomach warps. 

And you snap.

With a sharp exhale, you twist against him, planting your foot against his chest and shoving with all your power. Katsuki isn’t expecting it. He stumbles back, eyes growing in genuine shock.

You scramble to your feet, chest heaving, hands trembling.

“This isn’t a game,” you spit, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You don’t get to do that. Act like that.” Your voice shakes but you stand your ground. 

The room is dead silent. Chilling.

Katsuki just stares at you. The feeling in his chest is hollow and sick. His senses dull, his world tilting. His thoughts are like a hundred puzzle pieces being forced into the wrong place. 

The smirk is gone. And with it, his confidence. What’s left is something ugly and raw—jealousy fused with guilt. Confusion flickers behind his eyes.

“…I didn’t mean—” he starts, then stops.

You grab your bag. 

“Enough,” you say, voice breaking despite yourself.

You don’t look back as you leave.

Katsuki stays frozen on the mat, his hands twitching at his sides, chest impossibly tight. He is staring at the space you just left— not only on the mat, but in his heart. Fuck. 

He realizes far too late that he pushed where he shouldn’t have.

And that he might have just lost something he hasn’t even had the courage to name yet.

[princesskittybabydiva]

BestFriendProHero Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

MNDI, Sexual Tension, Masturb⭑tion, NSFW

Don’t Look At Me Like That - Part Three ❤︎

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The drive home is intense. The silence is charged, loud.

And, fuck, your body is on fire. 

You swear you can hear your own heartbeat over the hum of the engine. Damn it, it shouldn’t feel this hot in a car with the AC blowing.

He doesn’t say a word—just drives, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the road like looking at you might actually ruin him.

But the silence?

God, it’s not empty.

It’s full. Full of everything you both couldn’t bring yourself to say Full of years of denial at whatever was going on between you two. Full of the vulnerable admission at dinner. And damn did you want to be full of something else. 

At the next red light, he shifts slightly, and the back of his hand brushes your thigh as he reaches for the console.

He goes still. Frozen. Like he touched fire.

He pulls back slowly, fingers flexing once like he hadn’t meant to touch you… yet it felt like gravity had argued otherwise. Like your pull was something even he couldn’t fight.

You swallow hard, staring at his hand on the wheel—strong, scarred, steady, big.

You shouldn’t stare at his hands. 

But he’s staring at your legs. 

And when the light turns green, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

The car smells like him—caramel, smoke, and something primal. Male. Territorial. Unmistablely Katsuki. It hits you like a bite to the throat. Something tightens between your legs, fluttering around nothing. 

Jesus, what is wrong with me?

You force yourself to think of anything but the man next to you.

Paperwork.

The agency backlog.

Fighting villains.

Fighting villains with your partner.

With Katsuki.

Every goddamn road leads to Rome. 

Him, him, him.

You’re thanking your lucky stars when his Porsche pulls up to your apartment complex.

You open the door a bit too quickly — dying to relieve yourself of Katsuki's presence. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you rush.

“Yeah. Can I walk you up to your—,” 

“No, no! Its ok, I promise,” you cut him off, babbling like a fucking school girl.

He hits you with a stare sharp enough to carve his name into your bones. And shit, you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t let him.

God what was wrong with you. 

The moment you step inside your apartment, everything in you caves. You collapse back against the door and slide down to the floor, breath knocked clean out of you. You let out a shaky exhale, a sheer sweat covering your forehead. Your clit is throbbing with unadulterated need. The lace panties beneath your dress are absolutely soaked. You squeeze your legs together.

Fuck it.

You curse under your breath and push yourself up on unsteady legs, stumbling toward your bedroom like you’re trying to outrun your own heartbeat.

But you can’t outrun it. You can’t outrun him. It’s unbearable.

“Katsuki…”

His name slips out of you in a whisper you can’t take back.

You grip the edge of your nightstand, knuckles white, chest rising and falling too fast. Your body is begging for relief you shouldn’t need this badly.

You don’t even realize what your hands are doing until you’re yanking the drawer open, searching for something, anything, to quiet the ache he left behind.

As your fingers close around the vibrator, all you can think about is him. 

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ 

Katsuki's POV

I barely get my damn door shut before I’m tearing at my clothes like they’re choking me. My hands won’t stay steady. My breath won’t even out. Everything feels too tight, too hot—too much.

“Shit…” I drag a hand down my face, fingers trembling.

I’m a disaster. A walking, talking embarrassment of a man. An awful fucking person for even letting my mind go there.

But hell, you lit a fuse in me tonight I can’t put out.

I slam the shower on, jaw clenched, steam rushing up

The want hits like a punch to the gut. Sharp. Unforgiving. All-consuming.

My cock is swelling.

Before I can talk some sense into myself, I give in to the desire you left pulsing in my veins. I shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. But I can’t stop.

Not when you looked at me tonight like I was something more than I am. I clench my jaw, breath shaking.

I rut into my fist with embarrassing desperation. My forehead presses to the cold tile, breath heaving.

Pathetic.

Absolutely pathetic.

My hand is a poor substitute. A desperate, pathetic imitation of what I really want. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force the image of you away, but it’s useless. 

All I can see is the way your dress hugged your hips. The dress I bought you, no less. 

“Fuck…” I groan, the sound swallowed by the water. 

I’m picturing your hands. Your smaller, softer hands. What would they feel like wrapped around me? Tracing the scars on my chest? Digging into my back while I— 

I slam my fist against the shower wall. The sound echoes. This is wrong. So wrong. I’m taking something pure and beautiful and twisting it into something filthy. But the ache doesn't care about what's right. My body doesn't give a shit about my honor. 

It wants to know if your skin is as soft as it looks. It wants to know what you sound like when you fall apart. It wants to know if you taste as sweet as I’ve imagined. 

My pace quickens, the movements becoming rougher, more punishing. And I let myself have it, just for a second—the fantasy. 

I’m not in this barren, empty shower. I’m in your bedroom. The sheets are a mess, and you’re beneath me, whispering my name like a prayer. God, you’d look so pretty. 

Your name is a choked curse on my lips as I finally spill over my hand, hot and messy. The release is sharp, violent, and utterly…hollow. It does nothing. The fire is still there, just stilled for a moment. A stupid, fleeting moment.

I stay under the water until it runs cold, trying to wash away the shame. But it’s no use.

Because now I know for sure. This isn't just a crush I’ve had forever. It's not just lust. It's something I’m not ready to name. 

And I have no idea how I'm supposed to stand next to you tomorrow and pretend I'm not burning alive.

a/n: hi! teehee im actually giggling and blushing writing this. i hope u enjoy reading! more to come soon 𑣲