simpo

25+ /Hinata, Bakugo / Izuku kinnie / MDNI 🔞 / Im not rly a writer, i just write down stuff when the daydreams are too strong

[simporado]

BKG 💥 masterlist

SFW

bkg being sweet towards pms-ing reader

ph!bkg and ph!reader (established relationship scenarios)

awkward misunderstanding

“you’re somethin else”

he cant catch himself sometimes

bakugo & you getting caught kissing by aizawa sensei

NSFW

eye contact during sex

cockwarming him

katsuki thinks you’re soft

down bad katsuki

bone-popping sex

[riotsgrl]

★ HEAVY | bakugou, k.

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader

summary: when you’re unable to sleep for the third night in a row, katsuki notices— and takes matters into his own hands.

( OR: your boyfriend fucks you to sleep. )

content: comfort / fluff + SMUT - mdni ! pro-hero!bkg. established relationship. domestic intimacy. implied insomniac!reader — can be read as simply having issues with sleep. some banter. clear consent. soft kissing. slight marking / hickeys. pet names (baby). breast play. spit (on ur clit). dedicated pussy eating. fingering. self doubt/insecurity + praise/reassurance. finger sucking. missionary to mating press. "i love you" during sex. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. cum eating. aftercare. emotional & soft smut with feelings, bkg is very much in love !!! and he doesn’t cum but he dgaf this is abt u. quite some build up before the smut lmao. wc: 6.2k.

note: thinking back to the days i would literally Not Sleep 🚬🚬 also this to me is veery soft dom bkg i like dat ^_^

masterlist. | fic based on this request ! ( thank u anon!! )

The glow of your phone was soft against the tired lines of your face. You scrolled through your feed mindlessly, dry eyes fixed onto the screen, barely lingering on anything for longer than a few seconds.

Dull frustration sat heavy under your skin. 

You couldn’t sleep. Again. And it wasn't for a lack of trying.

You'd taken the medicine, made your attempts— many attempts. Setting your phone down, squeezing your eyes shut, wishing desperately for a soft, peaceful slumber to come find you. 

But it never did.

So, you did what you had done the two nights before this: distracted yourself. Doomscrolled well into the hours of the early morning, when the faint, first rays of the sun filtered through your curtains and you could finally get up and not have to pretend anymore.

It was all you could do, really.

Your weighted gaze dragged over to the time in the top right corner. The bold numbers 3:24 stared back at you like a taunt. You exhaled quietly, temples throbbing.

You should stop.

You should’ve stopped hours ago.

But before you could berate yourself any further, a high-pitched squeak tore through the stillness of the room.

You clutched your phone over your chest in an instant breath caught dead in your throat as the mattress creaked. Your pulse hammered in your ears as the sheets rustled behind you, a tell-tale sign of your boyfriend shifting in his sleep.

With a grunt, Katsuki threw a heavy arm over your waist, turning so that his bare chest was pressed up against your back. The warmth from his skin seeped in through your shirt. He was all encompassing, enveloping you in his dizzying heat.

Swallowing, you prayed silently that you hadn't woken him.

He let out a sigh, the soft sound muffled into the nape of your neck.

You remained as still as you could, fighting to not squirm.

A beat passed, then another.

Your insides melted with quiet relief when he didn't stir, when the rise and fall of his lungs fell in sync with yours— his body giving no indication that he was awake.

With a quiet breath you picked up your phone again, going back to what you what had busied yourself with before he chose to get all cuddly. But when the brightness of the screen decided to assault you, your heart dropped to your stomach, that relief dying in an instant.

You grimaced at the light, fumbling to quickly get it back down to the lowest setting. It had been all the way down this whole time! You must've misclicked, or—

"You're a shitty fuckin' actor."

You could've swore your soul left your fucking body at the gravelly voice against your ear.

"What the fu—"

You didn't get a chance to finish. Katsuki was already reaching over you, guiding your hand with his to set your phone facedown on your nightstand before bringing it back over your middle, rough palm holding your hand over your stomach.

Your shoulders were wound tight as he spoke; voice tired, gruff as always. But, strangely, he sounded calm.

"Third night in a row. You're not sleeping right."

It was less of an accusation, more of a statement.

He gave it to you plainly, straight and simple. But you thought you had been discreet, the mere feeling of being caught was enough to have you opening your mouth, readying your defense, but his next words had it snapping back shut.

"And don't you fucking lie to me 'bout it."

You bit the inside of your lower lip, running over how you could possibly explain yourself without sounding pathetic.

The last few nights had been much the same: restless, spent tossing and turning.

Even when you did manage to fall asleep on the first try, you'd wake up at odd hours, left to stare at the ceiling with burning eyes, unable to quiet your mind, which was simultaneously ever-racing and absolutely empty.

When you thought about it too long, the corners of your eyes pricked. A quiet, defeated ache twisted in your chest.

You didn't want to cry, not over something so menial, so stupid. Not now, not with him watching— expecting an answer from you.

You swallowed back the lump building up in your throat, feeling the slow brush of his thumb over your knuckles.

"Not sleepy."

It came out tight, quiet. Like you were afraid that if you spoke too loud, your fragile attempt at keeping all of that built up frustration inside would fall apart.

You wanted him to give it up, let you be for once. But Katsuki Bakugou was nothing if not stubborn.

With a rumbling sigh, he rolled you onto your back, reaching an arm over you to pull at the chain of your bedside lamp.

You groaned at the sudden light washing over your bedroom, tugging your blanket up over the bottom half of your face as if it could protect you.

Annoyed, you zeroed your squinted eyes onto him, but that angry furrow between your brows weakened as you took in the image of him propped up on one elbow to look down at you. 

The warm, honeyed lamp-light caught the ends of his mess of blond hair. It was unrulier than usual, sticking up in odd directions from sleep.

He was still tired— blinking slowly, as if his eyelids were too heavy. The usual harsh lines of his face looked almost uncharacteristically soft, but his gaze was weighted with something unspoken.

Guilt twisted inside your chest. 

He was awake because of you. On a work night.

You looked away when he finally spoke up again.

"It's 3 AM. Don't bullshit with me." 

"I'm not bullshitting, Katsuki," you reasoned, wishing you could just sink back into the mattress and not have to deal with this. "I'm… this just happens sometimes. Go back to sleep."

You tried to turn your head the other way, but he caught you by the cheek, pushed your face towards him with a firm hand to make you look at him again.

His jaw was clenched tight as he focused in on your face, took in your sunken eyes, the quiet exhaustion dampening your expression.

You knew he hated when you got like this, all dismissive and stubborn, a mirror of him.

"Don't do that shit." He bit out, his brand of harsh concern. "Not with me."

"I'm not doing anyth—"

"Don't be a fuckin' hard ass, alright? Talk."

"I can't sleep! Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I can't fucking sleep? I just can't! I close my eyes, I try... but I can't! And it's—"

You came to a stop the moment you realized the increasing volume of your voice. You reeled back into yourself, embarrassed of your own outburst.

Turning from his hold, you opted to look up at the ceiling, dragging a hand down your face with a deep, shaky sigh.

"Sorry," you murmured. "This is so stupid. But seriously, I'm good."

You didn't spare him a look before turning your back to him with finality, knowing that if you met his eyes — so focused on you, attentive as ever — it would all come pouring over. 

Your throat was tight as you spoke. You hoped he couldn’t tell.

"Sleep, Katsuki. It's late. Don't wanna keep you up, too."

Just when you thought he would give it up, let you deal with this miserable situation by yourself like you always did, he shifted— sat up, pulled back your blanket off of you with a single, harsh tug.

You groaned at the lost warmth, looking at him confused.

"Kats—?!"

He cut you off.

"You tried everything, huh?"

Something about the way he said it — rough and challenging — made your heart spike. He was up to something, but what? You were too exhausted to figure it out, so you offered him a weak answer.

"…Yes?"

"Right."

With one swift motion, he pushed your thighs apart. The outline of his broad shoulders rose from between your legs, thick biceps flexing as he brought your thighs around his waist.

Your legs tightened around him on instinct, bringing him closer as he hovered over you, supporting himself with two steady arms at your side.

You blinked up at him, wondering if he could feel the flustered heat radiating off of your face from being this close.

"W-What're you doing?"

"Helping."

When you continued to just blink back at him at that lackluster answer, a single brow raising slowly, he elaborated with a soft grunt.

"Said you're not sleepy, yeah?"

"… Yeah?"

"Cumming makes you sleepy." all blunt, matter of fact.

Your brows twisted.

"What?" The heat burning your cheeks crawled up to the tips of your ears as your eyes widened incredulously.

It was in his nature to say things as they were, crude and direct, but it still caught you off guard at times, especially over something like this. For someone who got flustered fairly easily, he sure had his moments.

"C'mon. Don't tell me you don't know it." His palm smoothed over your inner thigh, the rough callouses and scars familiar, warm against your soft skin. Careful in a way only you got to see. "Every time we fuck you're out like a light."

"Oh."

"Yeah." he murmured, a little smug. "Tried that?"

You shot him a look. "Obviously not, asshole."

He only chuckled softly, tilting your face up to meet his, kissing the glare right off of your face. His lips moved against yours, slow and intentional.

A soft warmth bloomed behind your ribs as you kissed him back tiredly, letting his movements guide you.

You brought careful hands to rest over his muscled chest, palms slowly sliding up, fingers brushing over the raised, jagged skin of the scar over his heart.

You wrapped your arms around his neck lazily, uncaring that they felt like lead, just wanting him closer to you as your fists curled into the soft hair at his nape.

He pulled back barely an inch, breathing a question against your lips, "You wanna try that?" before kissing you again.

Your brows creased, any semblance of an answer faded into a soft moan against him.

"C'mon, baby," he murmured, pulling back properly this time to kiss up your throat, mouth lingering against your skin.

Baby. He was calling you baby. Because he knew you loved it, knew it turned you to mush— hearing him, always so crude and unapologetic about it, refer to you so sweetly.

A shaky sigh slipped past you as he brought a large hand to the back of your neck, curving it toward him. His kisses turned to gently sucking soft marks and you shuddered, fighting a whine.

"Quit bein' difficult." he huffed, breathe hot against you. "Lemme take care of it."

He brought his face back to watch you like a hound, waiting for your confirmation.

Amidst catching your breath, you contemplated, pursing your lips in thought.

"I… I mean, it doesn't hurt to try?"

It was true, you hadn't tried this 'method' to sleep and part of you was curious whether it would work or not.

But, again, it was a work night, so despite your desperation and exhaustion, you knew that this whole ordeal would get in the way of and the strict schedule Katsuki kept to optimize his health and performance. 

He ate well, took part in rigid physical training; mandatory for the powerhouse of a man that stood at number 5 in the pro-hero rankings.

Like clockwork, he woke up at 6 AM, went out there and worked himself to the bone, put his body on the line, and unless the circumstances were dire (either he couldn’t sleep because of dreams of the past or he had missions that demanded later hours) he turned into bed at 8 PM sharp without fail.

From all the years of knowing, you knew that Katsuki was particular about his habits. 

But amidst your guilt, you were forgetting that he was also particular about you.

You had wormed into his heart, became something of an exception for him in many regards. But you couldn't see that now, not with worry and weariness eating away inside you.

Your half-lidded eyes searched his, a soft crease forming between your brows as you looked up at him.

"... Do you want to, though? I don't wanna keep you up, or… or like make you do thi—"

He cut you off with a scoff, cocking his head in disbelief as if that was possibly the stupidest thing you could have said to him.

"Don't be an idiot, alright?" he pushed closer, nose brushing yours. "If that's the shit you're worryin' about, don't."

His eyes darted down to your mouth, watching as you chewed on your bottom lip, voice lower; softer.

"Always fuckin' 'want to'."

You took in his words, blinking back the small sting in the corners of your eyes.

Katsuki didn't do pity, never did anything he didn't want to. And right now, he had nothing but undeniable want written all over his face.

There was something ravenous behind those irises, that fiery red sharp and determined in a way that had your stomach flipping.

"Okay," you decided with a slow nod, a small smile settling over your face. "We can try."

A self-satisfied smirk stretched across his face before he nodded back, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned down to peck your lips. His hands found your waist, sliding up your sides as he deepened the kiss. 

You gasped slightly as they wandered up under your shirt, rough hands smoothing over the curve of your breasts, feeling the weight of them in his palms— giving them a firm, testing squeeze.

He kept your mouth parted with his, slipping his tongue against yours in a careful rhythm.

You made a muffled sound against his mouth when his thumbs brushed over your nipples, back arching just enough to tell him you wanted more.

Katsuki pulled back, the small string of saliva between your lips breaking as he began to lift up the fabric of your shirt.

"Arms up."

You complied, raising your arms over your head.

Those blazing eyes were narrowed, a subtle furrow forming between his brows— you always thought he looked gorgeous when he was focused, and being the center of that unwavering attention always had your mind spinning.

With a final tug, he pulled your shirt off, watching as your nipples hardened, exposed to the chill of your room.

His eyes locked with yours as he leaned down, pressed a wet kiss to your chest.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist as he cupped both your breasts with his hands, took his time pecking around the soft flesh. It was only when you huffed quietly that he chuckled, giving you a long, slow lick over your nipple.

He ran his thumb back and forth over the other, pinching the taut peak between his index and thumb as he sucked one into his mouth, the subtle scrape of his teeth drawing out a small, strangled sound from you as he nipped at your chest.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him in place.

An involuntary whine slipped past you when he pulled back from your chest with a soft pop, his hot mouth switching to the other, the whole process repeating until you were breathless— gasping incoherent strings of what vaguely sounded like his name, nails raking down the expanse of his broad upper back.

He drew back at last, taking in the picture of you; soft lips parted as you panted, a glistening sheen over your chest, dazed eyes blinking up at him— silently asking for more as they darted between his face and the obvious clothed bulge pressing against your core.

You thought he’d get straight to it, tug down his boxers and give you what he knew you wanted, but it seemed he had a different idea. 

Pulling back between your legs, he lowered himself to your heat slowly, peppering sloppy kisses from your calf down to your inner thighs. When he finally pressed his lips right over your clothed clit, you groaned softly, head sinking back into your pillow.

His tongue peeked out to give your clit a little lick over your panties; warm and slow and wet.

You whimpered, thighs instinctively tightening around his head as you sighed out his name, wanting to melt.

"Katsuki…"

"You're always so pretty, y'know that?" he breathed out before kissing you over the cotton again, watching the damp spot grow darker under the soft amber lamp-light. "Shit drives me fucking crazy."

You drew in a shaky breath, ears burning.

You weren't exactly what you'd call pretty, right now. Your hair was very likely a mess, eyes red and heavy. And up until he had taken it off, all you had on was an old oversized shirt that had seen better days. Your panties weren’t much better; plain, save for the small bow at the center.

But the way he said it still made your heart flutter— as if, despite all of that, you were pretty to him.

You couldn’t gauge how your body looked, what he could see of you, and you were too tired to try and figure it out. But the uncertainty was enough to have you breathing out a small scoff.

"Don't just say that."

The corner of his lip curled back like you had just offended him to the highest degree.

"Y'know I never just say shit." he barked back.

Maybe you had, in a way. Because he really, really didn't. He never said anything he didn't mean when it mattered, especially not to you.

You bit your lip as his finger hooked under the hem of your underwear, his eyes asking you a silent question. 

You nodded slowly, lifting your hips for him. He moved swiftly, slipping off the last piece of fabric shielding you from him.  

He stared down at your bare heat shamelessly. Drank in how your wetness glistened under the soft light, the way your legs twitched slightly as if you were fighting the instinct to close them at his intense, unwavering gaze.

He traced a line down your slit with just a finger, relishing the small sound that drew out of you. His gaze met yours as he parted your folds with two fingers and leaned down, mouth hovering right over your pulsing core.

You watched with shallow breaths, eyes locked with his as he gathered spit in his mouth, letting a hot glob drop slowly onto your pussy. You groaned when he dragged the flat of his tongue over your clit, mixing it with your arousal.

He moaned into you, "Taste so fuckin' good…"

His tongue drew circles around your sensitive nub; so diligent, so thorough.

Like with everything, he gave it his all, didn't quit until he was satisfied. His method tonight was torturous, a slow pace that dragged out each sensation almost unbearably to ease you into that blissed out haze that'd surely knock you out.

He'd barely gotten started, and you were already panting, mind slowly slipping into that pleasure-drunk state.

Your fists curled around the sheets when he sucked your clit softly just to hear your breathy whines, smiling against you as you keened.

Katsuki Bakugou was known for his mouth. Snappy, explosive, unforgiving. It was what had drawn you to him in the first place, how he never held back.

But this mouth was the one only you got to know. Still relentless, unyielding, just a little mean— but it felt like devotion when he lapped at your leaking mess, fingers digging into your plush thighs to keep you in place as you squirmed.

You reached a hand down, let your fingers card through his soft hair before giving it a small tug. That earned you a groan, the deep rumble muffled against your dripping heat.

He licked a long stripe up your slit— wet, sloppy. Piercing eyes watching your face as he found your entrance, fucked you with his tongue before replacing it with two thick fingers, gathering your wetness before slowly pushing them in. 

You groaned as he worked you up to the stretch, pushed them in knuckle deep.

Savoring the stuttering rise and fall of your chest, he slowly started to pump them in and out. Your eyes fluttered shut, head sinking back into your pillow as his fingers filled you up, curling against that familiar spot— a slow, deep pleasure building each time he hit it just right.

You wanted to cave, melt, maybe sob.

You were so close— you could feel it… just a little more…

But… there was this feeling sitting heavy in your chest, winding up tight around your heart.

You made a noticeable attempt to keep your sounds down as your mind began to race again, your focus drifting away from him as a question resounded your head— you should've already finished by now, right?

Katsuki was doing everything right, touching you perfectly, like he always did. He should be done dealing with you. But you hadn't finished yet, he was still going at it.

Your lower lip trembled. Maybe you were too tired, too caught up in your own exhaustion to cum. Whatever it was, something was holding you back. And If you really couldn't finish, then this would all be pointless, wouldn't it? You'd have wasted both of your time for nothing.

Before the worry could fully cloud your head, Katsuki gave your thigh a firm pat.

You looked down with a start; eyes half-lidded, unfocused.

"There you are." He muttered. "Eyes on me, got it? Hell’s the matter?"

Even when he was concerned, his brashness clung to him.

His care was rough around the edges, imperfect, but it was all his intent. He wanted to be careful with you, you could see it in his eyes, how they were just focused and just soft enough for you to detect.

Even if he didn't know exactly how to do it just right, he tried. Because you mattered. You meant something to him.

He lifted his face just enough for you to know you had his attention, stilled his movements and gave your thigh a small squeeze, a silent prompt to tell him what was wrong.

You couldn't look away if you wanted to, even as you felt your eyes sting— not when he was looking at you like that.

You gnawed at your bottom lip; embarrassed, ashamed.

"I can't."

He raised a brow. "Can't what?"

You let out an exasperated breath. 

"Can't… can’t cum. I can't, feel like— I dunno, something's wrong with me, Katsuki, I'm—" 

"Get outta your head." he cut off your babbling sharply. You whimpered when he started moving his fingers again, tongue coming down to drag over your clit at the same time. "Nothing's fuckin' wrong with you. I know you can."

His unshaken confidence in you was enough to draw out a soft groan, but his mouth and fingers working in tandem to build up that tightening warmth inside you again was what had your back arching off the bed, eyes screwing shut as the pressure above your belly wound tighter and tighter. 

That heaviness in your shoulders slowly melted as he picked up the pace, the worry and doubt wrapped tight in your chest loosened and faded steadily, the sweet promise of eventual euphoria taking over your senses.

Quick, shallow breaths escaped your lungs as you brokenly mumbled his name, bucking your hips against his mouth, squeezing around his head with your legs. Your hands found his hair again, pulling without a care as he nearly doubled his efforts.

With a choked out sob, you finally came, the fingers curled in his hair tightening just a bit more one last time before going lax.

You could feel him smiling against your core as you came down; proud, a little cocky, but above all, happy to be lost in the taste of you.

He kissed you through it, mouth unrelenting against your pussy even as your thighs spasmed and trembled, working you down from your orgasm.

With a final kiss over your clit, he finally pulled back, wiping the mixture of his saliva and your slick off the bottom half of his face lazily, like he didn't actually care whether it was there or not.

Shifting, he hovered over you, crimson eyes locking with yours, reading you silently with the same rapt attention he had out on the battlefield.

A light sheen of sweat was cast over his muscled arms at your sides, the highs of his cheeks were flushed a soft pink, spikes of blond hanging messily over his forehead.

"Still with me?"

His voice was gravelly, a smoky rasp. Just a little breathless, but the satisfaction in his eyes told you he'd have it no other way.

You attempted a response, still panting heavily.

"Mhm…"

"Not an answer, baby."

"…Yes. Thank you."

He leaned down to kiss you, you moaned softly at the taste of yourself off of his lips.

Pulling back, he trained his serious eyes on yours. "Don't thank me for that shit."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize either." You managed a snort at how impossible he was being, but he continued. "Feelin' sleepy?" You hummed. "Yeah. A little."

He blinked once, scanning your face. Then grunted. "Not good enough."

"Katsuki, it's okay, you've done enou—"

"I told you, 'm gonna take care of it. Yeah?"

With his hands on the underside of your thighs, he pulled your legs around his waist, his hardened cock pressing over your still-drooling pussy, hot and heavy despite the single layer of fabric between you both.

Your heart picked up again; voice small, airy.

"Yeah…"

"Gonna let me, right?"

You whined. "But I just—"

"I know," he shushed you, slowly moving his hips, grinding himself against you agonizingly. "You can gimme another."

"Mh…”

Your lips pursed, brows pinched.

It could feel nice. It would feel nice.

You had warmed up to the idea, hips lifting just slightly to push against him as he moved, a quiet, nearly imperceptible motion.

He noticed, like he always did, but still, he wanted to draw it out of you.

"C'mon, gotta say it." his voice was a half-tease, low and coaxing, yet that mocking undertone never left. "Can only do it if you say it."

You groaned, embarrassed heat crawling up your neck.

He always did this—made you say it out loud, full-well knowing how it embarrassed you.

It was as though he lived to see you get heated, got something out of watching your lips curl and twitch in your attempts to fight your own discomposure.

"Can give you 'nother," you practically huffed out. "Jus' fuck me, please. Wanna feel you."

He smiled down at you, pleased with himself, and before you could even think to roll your eyes at that smug expression, he began to shuffle out of his boxers, freeing his aching cock.

He brought it to rest right over your pussy as he settled between your legs.

His eyes said look, and you did, took in his thick length, the angry flush of his leaking head, the precum dripping onto your navel.

He wanted you to see just how deep he would go, wanted you to really take it in. 

You felt yourself get wetter, feeling empty at just the sight— he reached just below your belly button. 

"You ready?"

Slowly, he dragged his tip between your folds. You let out a small, choked sound, nodding as your hips involuntarily bucked up to chase more.

"Uh huh. Please, please."

Katsuki’s abs tensed as he finally positioned himself just right, pushing into your tight warmth with gritted teeth, biting back the moan threatening to slip past.

He took his sweet time, going inch by agonizing inch, all the while your chest heaved as he stretched you out, filled the emptiness that had you aching.

When he finally bottomed out, panting, you clenched around him, whimpering slightly.

He let out a guttural sound; something low, ragged, already wrecked.

"Don't…" he breathed, voice cracking slightly. "Don't fuckin' do that."

"Sorry…"

"Told you not to do that either."

With a shaky breath, he began to move. Careful rolls of his hips, a hand splayed over your stomach as he eased himself in deep.

You stuttered out his name as that same hand moved lower, stopping right where your bodies met, the pad of his thumb slowly rubbing your clit. 

His eyes fluttered as he watched your head fall back against your pillow, panting as he eased into a languid rhythm, angling his hips with each thrust in search of that spot.

When he found it, you keened, toes curling, lips parting as you let out a moan.

"Katsuki…" you dragged out the end of his name, practically whining.

He only grunted, something like a strangled whimper managing to slip past his gritted teeth. "Yeah, I know, I fuckin' know…"

He continued to thrust slowly, pull all the way back out before pushing back in, intense scarlet eyes watching your face twist upon each intrusion.

You didn't notice his thumb had been brushing the plush of your lower lip before he tapped it.

"Open."

That was all he said. He knew he didn't need much for you to listen. You looked down at his hand, then back up, parting your lips on command, the pink of your tongue peaking out on instinct.

"There we go…" He murmured, slipping his index and middle finger into your waiting mouth slowly.

The weight of his thick digits settled over your tongue and you groaned, sucking gently.

"You like that?" He asked, watching your mouth work around his fingers softly, voice low.

He already knew you liked it, knew that it lulled you into a fuzzy, brainless haze. But he loved to see you nod back at him; that pliant, sweet look in your half-lidded eyes as you offered him soft 'mhm' around his fingers.

He fought the moan crawling up his throat, instead letting out a tight a chuckle.

"Yeah, I know you do."

When he pulled his fingers back, you whimpered, but didn't get to dwell on it for long.

He moved to cage you down, supporting himself by the forearms, groaning into your ear as he bucked his hips deeper into you, pace noticeably faster.

You threw your head back. It was so good, perfect even. But you still wanted to feel more of him.

"Closer…" You asked, a quiet whine behind your words. "Closer, please, baby. Need you closer, Katsuki…"

Katsuki loved missionary, you knew this. He loved that it meant he could get close, actually see you— watch as your face twisted from being filled by him.

But on nights when close wasn't close enough, he folded you in half, pressed himself impossibly deeper, brought you closer than you thought you could ever feel.

The second he realized what you were asking for, he pushed the backs of your thighs, pressed your knees up by your head.

You hooked your arms around his neck, he kissed the the hinge of your jaw, breathing desperate words against your neck.

“Fuck, I love you.”

You bit back a groan, feeling him trail sloppy kisses down to your collarbone.

“Y’know that, right?”

You were shaking, letting out breathy moans as he began to suck soft marks into your skin, lost in the feeling— the taste— of you.

Your hands slid to hold the back of his neck, pulling him back carefully. Your nose bumped his as you held his face, felt the sharp curve of his jaw in your palms.

You pulled a hand back to find one of his by your head, you laced your fingers with his, gave his hand a soft squeeze before softly pecking his lips.

"I love you," you murmured the words against his mouth before pulling him back feverishly, moaning into the kiss. "I love you so much."

He picked up his pace at those words, fucking into you desperately, "Can't believe you thought I didn't wanna do this shit…" He panted out.

"Always fuckin' want you, don't y'get it?" his voice was already deep. But now— rough from sleep and want— the rasp made you impossibly wetter.

The sound of your creaking bed and the soft slap of skin against skin faded into the background as he leaned down to kiss you, all messy and raw.

"Tell me you get it." the words heaved out of him, hot and breathy, his lidded eyes met yours, the blistering need behind them setting your skin ablaze.

"I get it," you managed, tugging him closer, holding him against your chest. "I get it, Katsuki, please—"

He groaned by your ear, "Fuck, I know. I got you…"

Suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter. Everything that had weighed on your heart— the frustration, the doubt, the unsureness in yourself. it dissolved to nothingness in the back of your mind— because Katsuki Bakugou loved you. You loved him.

You could feel it all around you; he was everywhere, everything. And part of you felt that was all you might ever need.

With a broken sound, you came, burying into the crook of his neck.

He breathed with you for a moment, held you close, heated sweat-slicked skin against yours. He pulled out carefully, gritting his teeth to bite back a groan.

You were caught off guard when he hooked your thighs over his shoulders, leaned down to lap up your spend— his grip was a vice, absolutely not letting go of you— his fervent mouth moving against your sensitive heat to stimulate you past what you thought was bliss.

You nudged at his face half-heartedly, too tired to even whine; shallow, broken sobs heaved out of you as your thighs twitching around his head.

It was too much, you told him as much. At least, you tried to. You weren't sure if he could make anything out of your nonsensical babbling between whimpers, but you were certain he didn't really care.

When your hands found his hair, you twisted the blond tufts in your fists, letting out a final cry as he pushed you over the edge one last time.

He lifted his head back, lingering for a beat, careful eyes taking you in. Your eyes were shut, relishing the aftershock of your own high as your lungs raced to catch onto air, but more importantly: you were completely fucked out.

With a small kiss to your inner thigh, he got up.

"Where're you going…?” you managed between breaths, feeling his presence on your bed go missing, eyelids peeling back just enough to peek at him.

 “Clean underwear. Water."

"Oh."

"Mhm."

You felt like you might pass out in the best way possible. Your eyes were so droopy, but you tried your best to keep them open.

You traced the line of Katsuki's back as he shuffled through your drawers. Something soft and warm branched out from behind your sternum, spread through your body.

Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to hold him in your arms. Feel his body curve against yours.

He uncapped a bottle of water from your dresser and held it out for you, watching intently as you sat up shakily and took careful sips.

You handed it back to him, wiping at your mouth as he moved back onto your bed, tugging on a clean pair of underwear over your legs. 

"You shoulda kept goin' Katsuki…" You tried to sound harsh, scolding. But it came out softer than you wanted. "You didn't… y'know…"

He pulled the blanket over your body and his quietly, settling at your side. You watched as he laid his head to rest on his pillow, taking in the familiar lines of his face.

"Don't care." He flicked your forehead. "Think too much and I might have to fuck you to sleep again."

Your lower lip jutted at that, a small flush settling over your face.

Reaching an arm out, you drew him closer to you. Your heart swelled at the familiarity of his warmth, that longing in you satiated momentarily at the feeling.

Your hand found his jaw, thumb brushing over the unscarred side of his face. You always loved that scar on his right cheek, thought it made him look handsome.

A small smile touched your face as you leaned in to press your lips over it, even though his other cheek was much easier to kiss. You liked to do that whenever you got the chance.

"Hey, Katsuki?" You hummed, brushing some of his hair back.

"What?"

Fondness curled inside your chest at his voice; it came quick because it was soft. Because he had softened himself, for you.

"Thank you."

He blinked back at you before, "Tch." then leaning forward to peck your lips.

"Told you to stop doin' that."

You could only chuckle, letting his large hand find the back of your head, pull you down to cradle you against the warm, solid planes of his chest.

"Sleep."

You yawned, smiling as you pressed your cheek closer against his skin.

"I'll make it up in the morning, 'kay?" You mumbled, the thrum of his heart easing your limbs, his strong arms curled around you tighter. "Promise."

Katsuki snorted softly, running a hand up and down your back, careful and soothing as he tucked you under his chin, adjusting the blanket around you to make sure you were properly warm.

"'M sure you will."

quick links: masterlist ★ taglist form ★ request info

may blabs: hellooo guys

second smut we up 😈 im still learning how to write ts so this was kiiinda stressful… (overthought a Lot) … but it ok we made it 🥹

im not even a petname bkg truther really so idk why i wrote that in but i did. playing with him like he’s my doll lalala

love me some acts of service solution oriented katsuki who’s soft in his own way ^_^ and i like emotions so this was quite fun to write! soft intimate smut… sighs dreamily

bkg not getting to nut lowk a recurring pattern now tho im dead 😭 (will he ever get to bust? stay tuned)

(btw title is from the marías song !!! #peak)

★ IMPORTANT — the amazing art in the header is not mine! unfortunately, i was not able to find the artist to give adequate credit, so this is my disclaimer !! all i did was edit the coloring.

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* if you ever wish to be removed from my taglist, no worries ^_^ send me an ask (i wont answer, it will be private!) & i’ll remove u!

[katsukiib]

needy ɞ·˚ KB

𑣲 katsuki's your needy ex-boyfriend who needs you back. ⋆｡° — angst! ♡♡ (with a happy ending!)

the balcony door slides shut, instantly muttering the loud music and voices inside. you lean against the cold stone railing, letting out a breath you've been holding all night.

the cool night air hits your face, instantly soothing you after the heat of the party. or to be completely honest, the burning heat of him.

all night long, you've tried your absolute best to pretend he wasn't there. you didn't look his way when he walked in, you didn't look up when he stood near your circle of friends, and you intentionally kept your eyes on anyone else but him.

still, his heavy stare followed you everywhere, burning right through you.

hiding from his line of sight wasn't meant to punish him—it was just becoming impossible to hide how much you ached for him the closer he got.

you hear the balcony door slide open again. then, the quiet scuff of heavy boots against the concrete. you don't even have to turn to know who it is. you could smell his cologne softly blending into the sweet scent of his quirk.

tightening your grip on the stone railing, you stare at the city lights and force yourself to look straight ahead. "katsuki, i'm just trying to get some air—"

you don't even get to finish the sentence. he closes the distance between you from behind so fast it makes your head spin. before you can process it, his large hands land on the cold stone railing, boxing you in perfectly on both sides.

you're trapped between his warm chest and the ledge.

with a heavy, shaky sigh, his forehead drops straight onto your shoulder. all his usual pride—that loud ego he carries everywhere, is completely gone.

"katsuki?" your voice softens, the strict walls you maintained all night was cracking under the weight of his vulnerability.

"just shut up." he mutters in a rough, thick voice that completely lacks his usual tone. "let me hold you.. please."

hearing him say please is the final straw. letting go of the railing before you can stop yourself, you reach back on instinct. the second your fingers brush his spiky hair, katsuki lets out a needy, broken sound—caught somewhere between a sigh and a whimper.

his hands immediately leave the railing to hook tightly around your waist, pulling you backwards until there isn't any space left between your bodies. his fingers dig desperately into your clothes, terrified of letting you go.

"you ignored me all night." he buries his face further into your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers. "i watched you for hours. you wouldn't even look at me. i was losing my mind, y/n."

"you're the one who said we needed space." you whisper back, but you're not pulling away. tilting your head back against his shoulder, you gently massage his scalp and feel the tension melt from his body. he goes entirely soft against you, surrendering all his control to your touch.

"i was stupid." he mumbles against your skin, his lips brushing your neck with every word. he sounds so completely needy, so entirely undone by just having you close again. "i hate the space. i hate everything about it. nothing feels right. i can't sleep, can't think. i just need you."

his hands finally move to your hips, turning you around in his embrace so he can look at you. his eyes are low and dark with a desperate kind of longing you've never seen in him before. there's no anger left in him, just a raw yearning to be yours again.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone, his hand trembling slightly.

"i missed you so damn much." he whispers, his forehead leaning against yours now. "tell me you missed me too. don't freeze me out anymore. i can't take it."

looking into his eyes, you can't hold back anymore—not when you see him completely laid bare and begging for you on a dark balcony. the friction of the past few months dissolves into pure warmth.

"i missed you too, katsuki." you admit softly, your hand moving to cup his jaw. "i hate ignoring you."

a soft smile pulls at his lips as a relieved breath escapes him, and he doesn't waste another second. the little distance disappears as his lips meet yours in a deep, breathless kiss, tasting like everything you've both been craving.

his hands move from your waist up to your back, pulling you flush against him—completely needy for your touch, making sure you know he's never letting you go again.

© katsukiib ʚ♡ɞ do not steal, edit, or copy my work! ♡ — MASTERLIST! ♡♡

ʚ taglist ɞ — @gonegh0stwriter @greenofa @katsukidoli @anime2006 @sparkysmoker @chrissylove-world @bl0g-d0ll @sweetycandyyy @1tsjustj @xoxocelestial @ryokoisstar @lilfluffybunny @touchdeprivedgirl77 @cphlo @snkvnks @cloudytravelerpaladin @darhinadadragon @hoshikomori @daqueensushi @eijiromelissa12 @pumpk1nz-p1e @rotingcorpse @gojoshardcumsock @fennecspage @lucyyevans @iris-love-rlse @ttyl0lxyx @macaron-yum @snapz1738 @brisklymaliciouspact @2kewlfryu @mnoaeiu @whatdidshesayyy @bluesungology @yujiitadorisdihhead @couldberei @aizawassupersub @woonhaesan @jmmasstuff ♡♡

[moonstonejpg]

sydney thank you for hosting this summer surprise !! it's such a cute idea !! katsuki and i are here reporting for camp 🫡 surprise bunkmates (with a nsfw twist if it sparks something for ya) smooches 💗

a/n: okay so. number one im so sorry this is a gazillion years late, and number two...something possessed me while i was writing this dfhdsjkhfj warnings: drowning (no one dies or gets seriously injured), slight nsfw, katsuki is a lil bit of an ass but he means well, a tiny bit of angst if you squint, MDNI!!!!!!!

anxiety builds in your chest as you stand outside of cabin 345, your grip tight on the handle of your suitcase.

according to the camp director who you spoke to fifteen minutes prior, there was a massive mix up with a few of the bunk assignments — including yours.

which meant that not only were you no longer able to bunk with your best friend, who was the entire reason why you decided to come, but now you were also assigned to a cabin with a random person.

as you stand there staring intently at the front door of the cabin, your thoughts starting to spiral, the door opens, and a blonde haired man steps out halfway into the sunlight, the shadow of the door frame partially blocking his face.

unfortunately for you, he’s broad and the cut off shirt he’s wearing shows off every etched curve of his biceps. your gaze hones in on the delicious strain of his muscles as he folds his arms across his chest.

your eyes begin to slowly make their way up to his face, which is covered by a thick black pair of sunglasses. tipping your head to the side, you study the parts of his face you can see, convinced that he looks an awful lot like —

“are ya’ just gonna’ stand there, or…”

and you’d know that grumpy voice anywhere.

“bakugou?” you ask incredulously, blinking at him in shock.

he rears his head back, his hand coming up to lift his sunglasses to the top of his head as he squints at you from where he stands. recognition blooms on his face after a second, and he immediately looks like he swallowed something sour. "you've got to be fuckin' kidding me." he groans.

you purse your lips, feeling your stomach sink.

because of course, out of the millions of people on this planet, katsuki bakugou had to be at this camp at the same time you were, and had to be assigned to being the person you’d basically be living with for the next few days.

and the thing was, you didn’t even really have a problem with him. you were pretty close with a few of his friends, and had been invited to multiple nights out with them.

the first time you met him was at a bar with his entire friend group, where he’d bought you a drink and sat beside you all night, watching over you and everyone else while nursing a cup of soda. the next few times went similarly, until —

you try to push the memory of him lifting you onto the edge of the porcelain sink in the dingy bathroom of some club out of your mind, the feeling of his lips placing hot open mouthed kisses to the side of your neck while he gazed at you with his eyes slightly glazed over, whiskey ruddying the apples of his cheeks. not that the memory was unpleasant, but because after that night it was like a switch flipped, and your entire existence seemed to instantly ruin his mood whenever you came around after that.

so you stopped going out with them as much, trying to brush it off when kirishima flat out asks you if bakugou did something.

and now you’re stuck in a cabin with him.

great.

bakugou leaves you to put your things away, and you don’t see him for the rest of the early afternoon. despite that, your nerves don’t dissipate once — even when you’re with your best friend, floating on your backs in the cool lake water, the late afternoon sun beating down on your faces in front of your closed eye lids.

suddenly, you hear a small commotion, and you barely have time to swim to the side before someone is shouting “cannonball!” and jumping into the water to your right.

you wipe the water droplets from your face, turning to glare at another familiar face. “denki?”

“jirou’s here too!” you look back up at the dock that he jumped off from to see jirou, mina and ochaco waving at you.

you wave back, standing on your tip toes on the slope of the lake bed below you. you start to say something, but the current decides it’s had enough of the gentle push and pull it had been doing for the past hour, and shoves you backwards, knocking you off balance and pushing you further out into the lake.

your toes slip, and you instinctively cry out in surprise, your head dipping down under the water as you inhale a mouthful of water.

your legs kick and kick in a panic, your head bobbing above the water enough that you start to splutter, inhaling a mixture of oxygen and lake into your lungs. there’s a loud roaring your ears, and you’re so focused on staying afloat that you don’t hear the frantic calls of your name as you start to bob in and out of the water, and you definitely don’t see bakugou tear his shirt over his head and dive into the water after you.

something slimy wraps itself around your ankle and tugs when you kick, making you panic even more. you go under again, inhaling more water, and you are starting to think the worst when a pair of arms wrap around your waist and haul you up to the surface.

you gasp as soon as you break through, coughing and spitting as you try to inhale as much air as possible. your hands slide against skin as you try to claw at the person holding you, but your body gives up and wraps itself around them, burying your head into their neck as they swim you both to safety.

and you don’t have to look to see who it is once the adrenaline wears off, you just know that it was katsuki bakugou who dove in after you, who is currently holding you against him so tightly with one arm, his other paddling steadily through the water.

his pulse thrums anxiously under his skin where your face is pressed into, the feeling stirring something inside of your chest.

you’re clinging to his muscular body and trembling against him as he exits the water, steps leading up to your cabin.

your friends rush around you, but bakugou ignores them, taking you straight inside and locking the door before tossing you on the bed and covering you with blankets.

an hour later, you’re wearing a pair of undies and one of his t-shirts, sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed.

you sneak a glance over at the blonde, who is currently only in his swim shorts, and keeps anxiously running his fingers through his hair as he paces back and forth. sighing, you climb off the bed and go to him, gently grabbing his wrist.

but he shakes you off. “don’t.”

“I’m sorry —” you start to say, frowning.

“yeah well, ya should be,” he says with a slight growl, shaking his head.

“well, I’m so sorry then, that you had to save me,” you say sarcastically, your anger covering up the hurt in your chest.

“that’s not the issue!” he says, exasperated.

you throw your hands up in the air. “well then what is your problem with me?”

he whips his head towards you and huffs, before shaking his head and taking a few steps towards you, effectively trapping you against the wall.

"do ya know what it's like spending every waking moment thinking about someone ya can never have? to turn yourself into the biggest asshole in the world so that they stay away from ya?" he swallows.

his heated stare pins you in place, and you can only stare, slack jawed as he reaches up to gently cup your jaw with his large hand.

"fuck," he says, voice cracking. "I want ya so badly it hurts."

your head is spinning as he moves impossibly closer, lips so close you can feel his breath ghosting across your face.

“and it’s a special kind of hell to have gotten a small taste of ya, knowing that that was probably all I would ever have of ya,” he says softly.

you shake your head. “and whose fault is that?”

he lets out a huff of a laugh, and you take that opportunity to tip your mouth forward, pressing your lips to his.

the kiss starts soft and hesitant, as though he can’t believe that you’re kissing him, and grows in intensity as he grabs your face with both hands and tips your head back, licking into your mouth.

you whimper, and he lets out an answering groan, nipping your bottom lip and pulling slightly.

he leans back slightly, giving you both time to breathe, before he crowds you further against the wall, his hips slotting against yours.

the thin material of his swim trunks does nothing to hide his growing erection, and the feeling of him, growing harder and hotter by the minute has you grinding against him.

he slips a hand under your (his) shirt, sliding his palm up your ribcage to cup your breast. he thumbs your nipple as he once again licks his way into your mouth, letting out an unabashed moan when the bud tightens under his touch.

“fuck,” he groans, pulling his face back and pressing his forehead into your shoulder. “I need to slow down, otherwise I’m gonna…” he trails off, but you swallow, already knowing where he was headed.

you let out a shaky laugh, the damp spot in the front of your underwear suddenly cool without him on you. you shiver, and he presses a chaste kiss to the space where he is occupying, his thumb still brushing back and forth across your nipple.

“fuck,” he groans again, “I—I jus’ need a second.”

“one,” you whisper, pushing your chest further into his hand.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, shaking his head.

[bakubleh]

Prophecy

Fantasy AU! Katsuki Bakugo x fem! reader.

TW/CW: historical distrust of foreigners based in a fantasy setting, broken bones, accusations of a crime, language barrier?, reader given more of a description than usual (I AM SO SORRY!!! I’ve tried to leave it vague) long hair and an implied tanned/sun-kissed/darker complexion

A/N: so i will post this, it’s almost a teaser/opening to a far bigger fic? I feel so scared to post this bc it’s not what I’m used to doing, but I’ve had this idea for so long and do actually want to use it. Place names are made up! I did search to see if they were a word in other languages or an already used thing and I don’t think it is, sorry if it is.

Katsuki was a king. The King of Aaroya, a city carved into the unforgiving spine of the eastern mountains, where black stone fortresses rose from jagged cliffs and ancient paths wound perilously close to the edge of the world itself. The city had not been built upon the mountains, but had been forced into them—its towers and homes carved directly from the rock as if its people had challenged the land itself to try and remove them.

It was a place that held no warmth for outsiders; the mountains were cruel, and so were the people who had learned to survive them.

Aaroyans were a hardy breed, shaped by brutal winters, altitudes that induced sickness, and a landscape demanding strength from anyone wishing to endure. They were tall, broad, and fiercely individualistic. Loyalty to their own was essential, as was suspicion of those beyond the border.

Isolation had become more than a way of life; it had become their identity.

Few travelled into Aaroya willingly. The mountain passes were treacherous, with loose stones beneath every step and sheer drops making caravan travel nearly fatal. Only the bravest of traders dared make the journey, bringing goods from distant lands in exchange for the rare resources found within the easternmost kingdom.

Even then, most never stayed longer than necessary. Aaroya was not a place people visited.

And this winter had tested even them.

The cold had arrived early and refused to leave. Snow buried roads and swallowed fields. Supplies stored for months dwindled faster than anticipated; livestock perished beneath the white blanket—more death than even war had seen.

Now, with spring finally creeping over the mountains, Katsuki had little time to breathe. Walls needed repair, supplies replenished, and families provided for.

His days were filled with reports, disputes, and rebuilding efforts. Every problem that reached him demanded an answer, and every person threatening the stability of his kingdom was dealt with swiftly.

Hence, the interruption infuriated him.

“My liege," a guard announced.

Katsuki did not look up.

The guard before his desk shifted, weighing whether to continue risking his life for the sake of the message.

Probably not.

Still, he persisted.

“We have found a foreign woman stealing.”

Katsuki’s pen stopped scratching.

Gradually, his crimson eyes lifted from the documents.

"Stealing?"

The guard swallowed.

“Yes, my liege.”

“After the worst winter we’ve had in decades..." Katsuki leaned back slightly, "...you’ve interrupted me because someone stole?”

“From the royal gardens.”

That caught his attention.

Not because the crime was particularly severe, but because it was unusual. Aaroya was harsh but not without understanding.

A starving woman taking food to survive was different from someone stealing for greed. Their laws were based on necessity, not blind punishment. Everyone in the kingdom understood the difference between desperation and selfishness.

A woman stealing from the royal gardens, however, was worth investigating.

"Bring her.”

Minutes later, you were compelled to your knees before the king of Aaroya.

The grand doors of the throne room had barely closed behind you when the scale of the place overwhelmed you.

Dark stone stretched upward into impossible heights, carved pillars vanishing into shadow. Fires burned within enormous iron braziers along the walls, their orange glow reflected on polished floors and banners bearing the crest of Aaroya.

Everything about the room was designed to intimidate.

The throne. The guards. The silence.

And yet your attention wandered.

You looked at the carvings along the walls. Strange symbols were etched into stone, the enormous banners hanging above.

You had no image of a criminal. You looked like someone who had accidentally entered the wrong room. The guards, however, did not seem to notice.

They shoved you forward until your knees met the cold floor. A murmur swept through the room.

Everyone in Aaroya looked as though they belonged to the mountains—large frames, strong limbs, weathered faces shaped by harsh conditions.

You were nothing like them, smaller, softer. Your body bore none of the obvious signs of a life spent fighting the elements.

Your hair was tangled into a loose braid, long since losing any neatness. Leaves and small pieces of broken branches clung to the strands, remnants of wherever you had been wandering before the guards found you. Dirt tainted your face and clothes. Your left hand was bleeding; the bone beneath your skin was clearly damaged.

Yet, you sat quietly without fear, tears, or anger. Only confusion. Katsuki watched you from his throne.

The first thing he noticed was that you did not look like a thief. The second was that you did not act like one either. His sharp gaze examined you carefully.

Your unfamiliar clothes were styled in a way he had never seen within his kingdom. Your skin bore the warmth of a place far beyond Aaroya’s frozen borders, where the sun was stronger and winters milder.

The nearest settlement was three days away. You had not come from there.

So, how did you end up here?

A lost girl—that was how you appeared, not dangerous nor clever—just lost.

Katsuki rose from his throne. The room immediately fell silent. His footsteps echoed as he descended the steps, his lion-fur cloak trailing behind him like molten gold against the dark stone.

Even kneeling, you appeared small. But you did not seem afraid.

That bothered him more than it should have. Most people lowered their eyes when he approached.

You stared, not with defiance or rebellion, just because you were trying to understand him.

Katsuki crouched down, bringing himself closer to your level. Without warning, he seized your injured wrist. The guards behind him stiffened. The movement had been rough, perhaps too rough. But you did not react, not even slightly.

Your eyes remained fixed on his face, calm and curious, as though pain was distant and unimportant. For a moment, Katsuki stared. Then his brow furrowed.

“The hell’s wrong with you?”

His voice was harsh enough to make several soldiers flinch. “You steal from my gardens, let my guards break your hand like some spineless rabbit, and now you’re looking at me as if I don’t make sense?”

Your brows drew together.

The king spoke sharply, each syllable carrying the weight of almost divine authority, but the meaning slipped past you. The accent was unfamiliar, the language rough compared to the lilted sounds you knew.

You stared at him for a moment, quietly working through what little you had understood.

You stared at him for a moment, quietly working through what little you understood. Almost instinctively, you repeated the words that stood out the most, muttering them over and over to grasp where you’d heard them before.

“Steal…?” You echo, barely above a whisper, not a question aimed at someone in particular, but for your own understanding. “Took?”

The sound of your voice seemed to catch Katsuki by surprise. Aaroyan's speech was harsh by nature; mountain winds and generations of conquest-led warriors shaped their language. It was direct, blunt and often carried the same sharpness as the people who spoke it.

Your native tongue was different, soft and melodic. Every word seemed to flow rather than strike. It was a voice better suited to bard song and children’s stories than accusations of theft in a king’s throne room.

Katsuki’s expression barely changed, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than before.

Katsuki’s expression hardly changed, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than before. Not many people knelt before him with a broken hand whilst looking more confused than afraid.

“Yes,” he said slowly.

His voice remained firm, though he made no effort to hide his impatience, “Steal. You stole from my gardens.”

The explanation seemed only to deepen your confusion.

Your eyes widened slightly. Then you shook your head.

“No.” The answer came immediately, certain not frightened, “No take.”

You paused, searching for the right words. The frustration was subtle, but Katsuki noticed it. Your fingers curled slightly against your injured hand as you tried to gather the unfamiliar language into something understandable. You looked down. Then you pointed towards the stone floor beneath you.

“Picked…” A pause as you frowned. The word you needed refused to come, “From this.”

Your finger traced a small motion, indicating the earth beyond the walls, the ground where you had gathered what you carried.

Katsuki stared. “You don’t mean…”

You shook your head again. “No garden.”

You looked around the room, as if hoping someone else might understand.

“Here.” Your hand moved towards the small pouch at your side. “My gathered.”

The guards exchanged glances. Nobody spoke. Katsuki watched you carefully as you reached for the pouch.

Immediately, the soldiers around the room tensed. Hands moved closer to weapons. A thief reaching for something unexpected was usually a reason to be cautious.

But Katsuki lifted a hand. They stopped. You noticed none of it. Your focus was entirely on the small cloth pouch tied at your waist.

You carefully untied it with your good hand and held it out towards him. Not an offering to a king, or evidence from a criminal.

Simply as proof.

As if you genuinely believed the contents would explain everything. Katsuki took it.

The fabric was worn and stained from travel, the kind of thing carried by someone who spent more time outdoors than inside walls.

He opened it and stared. There were no rare flowers. No carefully cultivated herbs from the royal gardens. No valuable plants that could be sold or used for medicine.

Only wild growth; dandelions, nettles, yarrow, small leaves and roots he recognised as common mountain plants. Things that grew everywhere. Things most people would consider useless.

Things his guards had apparently decided were worth breaking someone’s hand over. Katsuki’s eyes moved from the pouch to you.

Then back again.

A slow realisation settled over him.

“You…” His voice lowered, “You weren’t taking anything from the gardens.”

You blinked. Relief flickered across your face, as though he had finally understood something obvious.

“No.” You pointed at the plants, “Soup.”

The word landed in the silence. Nobody dared move, breathe, or utter a single word.

Katsuki looked down at the pouch in his hand. Then at your injured wrist. Then back at the pouch.

Soup.

They had dragged a foreign woman before the king. They had accused her of stealing from the royal gardens. They had broken her hand. Over soup ingredients.

His jaw tightened. A sound somewhere between disbelief and anger left him.

He returned the pouch to you, though his movements were far more careful than before.

“You’re telling me…” His eyes turned towards the guards, “… that you shattered her hand over a bunch of weeds?”

The soldiers suddenly found the floor very interesting. That was answer enough.

One guard finally cleared his throat.

“She was near the garden wall, my liege. We thought—”

“You thought wrong.”

The force behind the words made the room go still.

Katsuki turned fully towards them. His anger was not loud. It did not need to be. The king of Aaroya did not need to shout to make people fear him.

“This woman has walked into the middle of my kingdom looking like she was dragged through half the mountain range; she’s carrying plants that grow wild outside the city walls, and your first assumption was theft?”

The guards remained silent.

Katsuki gestured sharply towards you.

“Look at her.”

Your attention moved between him and the soldiers, though you clearly understood very little of what was being said.

“She’s sitting there holding weeds like they’re some kind of treasure.”

His gaze dropped to your broken hand.

The anger in his expression shifted. Not dissipated, but the focus averted from you.

“You broke her hand…” His voice became quieter. “…for soup.”

No one dared respond. For a moment, Katsuki stared at you. You were still calm, patient. Still trying to understand why everyone was so upset.

It was almost more frustrating than if you had fought back, because you weren’t acting like someone who had been wronged. You were acting like someone who couldn’t understand why the world around you had suddenly become so aggressive.

“Get a healer.”

The order cut through the room. Immediately, the guards moved, without hesitation or argument; they knew better.

The great doors opened and shut again, leaving the throne room quieter than before. Only you and Katsuki remained.

You looked down at your pouch, carefully rearranging the herbs inside with your one good hand.

The sight was strange. After everything that had happened, after being dragged before a king and accused of a crime you didn’t understand, your greatest concern seemed to be making sure your plants weren’t crushed.

Katsuki watched you. For the first time in his life, he had no idea what to do with someone.

Everyone in Aaroya understood strength, anger, and fear.

But you?

You looked at him like he was the one who was confused. Not as if he were a king, or a name uttered in terror. Just a man who had failed to understand a simple explanation.

“You,” The sharpness in his voice had faded slightly, replaced by something much closer to curiosity, “who the hell are you?”

[lonelyfooryouonly]

that kind of talk | katsuki b.

masterlist

Pairing: Bf!Katsuki x Gf!Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend have that kind of talk on a random movie night.

Warnings: sexual tension, suggestive themes, fem!reader, timeskip!!!

You’d always felt there was a world beneath the surface, something secret and intimate, just waiting for you to step into it.

A world everyone seemed to know but you.

Your friends spoke so easily about their sex lives, laughing and whispering their stories like it was the most natural thing. And you just sat there, smiling, pretending, carrying your own quiet emptiness.

But Katsuki filled that emptiness… being with him made that hidden world feel suddenly close and warm, alluring you twoard it in the sweetest way.

College hadn’t slowed either of you down; you were always chasing something: your dreams, your futures, each other. And even if your schedules kept your moments brief, they were intense. Every kiss with him felt like a spark landing on dry tinder, every touch ignited a fire only he could control.

Tonight was no different.

He was sprawled on your dorm bed, his arm was heavy and warm around you, his breath brushing the top of your head, while your legs were pulled over his lap. You two were watching a movie, one he absolutely hated, but tolerated because you’d picked it.

“Oi.” His voice cut through your thoughts with a low rumble. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about?”

He flicked your forehead with two fingers, scowling. “You ain’t even watchin’ this crappy movie.”

You hesitated, swallowing thickly as heat crawled up your neck. You knew you’d eventually have to tell him what was on your mind, since Katsuki was a very persistent person and he could see right through you if you tried lying to him.

“I was… uh… thinking about what my friends were saying. About… you know…” you try to find the right words, fidgeting with your fingers.

“No, I don’t. Speak up.”

He turned toward you fully, close, impossibly close, and your breath caught.

And suddenly all you could see was him.

The slight furrow in his brows, those ruby-red eyes fixed on you with a heat that made your breath falter, that messy blonde hair which framed his face perfectly. Your eyes involuntarily dropped on his chest, staring at the way his compression shirt traced every contour of his body, hinting at the strength beneath. Each slight move showcased the strong muscles behind the thin material.

Your gaze dipped more, to where your knee brushed his grey sweatpants. They hung low on his hips, letting you see a teasing sliver of his boxers. You felt your pulse quickening at the sight.

“The hell are you lookin’ at?” Katsuki’s voice snapped, rougher than before. You blinked a few times, realizing he caught you staring.

His hand caught your cheeks, squizzing them, as he forced your eyes back to his.

“You got somethin’ to say?”

“Sh-sorry,” you mumbled, embarrasment creeping up your face.

He released you slowly, brow arched, still waiting for an answer.

“My friends were talking about… having… sex,” you finally said defated, the words tumbling out.

For a moment, he just stared. Then, a flush faint but definitely there, rose along his cheekbones.

“And what the hell does that have to do with us?” he muttered, tension tightening beneath your hands.

“Well… we’re a couple. And couples… they do things. Sometimes,” You chewed your lip, heart hammering. “H-haven’t you ever thought about it?”

“Fuck,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You gotta stop hangin’ out with those extras,” he replies, avoiding your question.

“Katsuki.” Your voice snapped sharper than you meant. “Tell me.”

He exhaled hard. “Does it even matter?”

“It does to me,” your voice softened, almost trembling. “…Because I’ve thought about it.”

His eyes flicked to your mouth.

Then your hips.

Then back to your eyes, searching, hungry in a way he didn’t bother hiding anymore. Your confession made something inside him click.

“I’m saying maybe…” You shifted closer, your knee brushing his crotch intentionally this time. “…we should think about taking that step.”

“Now?” His voice cracked.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Cracked.

“Are you serious?”

“You don’t want to?”

“I—of course I fucking want to,” he shot back, almost annoyed at your question. His hands slid to your hips, pulling you in just a bit closer. “I just—” His jaw clenched. “You’re not doin’ this ‘cause of them, right? I don’t give a damn what extras say.”

“I’m doing it because I want you,” you breathed. “Only you.”

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Then,

“Dammit,” he whispered, voice becoming impossibly tender. “You drive me outta my damn mind.”

His hand curved around your jaw, not rough this time, but steady and possessive as he pulled you in, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that hummed with everything unspoken, yet awaiting to be said and done.

[lonelyfooryouonly]

“i can't believe you put all of my shirts in the wash,” katsuki’s voice is a bit muffled as he steps out of the bathroom.

your head perks up from the bed at the sound. “yeah, sorry about that,” you say, though your voice trails off a bit.

you watch him, completely mesmerized, analyzing the way his muscles shift with every single movement as he walks towards the bed. his blonde hair is still a bit wet from the shower, looking as messy and spiky as ever, while a few drops of water slowly roll down the defined ridges of his abs.

“this is the last time i'm letting you do any chore,” he grumbles, his voice thick with annoyance.

his tone forces you to quickly snap out of the trance he’s got you in. “i’m sorry,” you say, though it comes out almost robotic because your eyes are still helplessly glued to his big, squishy chest.

he lets out a scoff. the second he gets close to where you are sitting on the bed, he reaches out and flicks your forehead with his finger.

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔

tags: @kamislop @tokkushin

[kayuekou]

꩜ ◞ how fandom accidentally englishes names

preface ꩜ good evening this is different from my usual stuff (actual fanfiction, larping, and schizoposting) but i really wanted to explore something that's been bothering me for quite some time and thought this would serve useful especially fanfic writers. so um i hope you don't mind this small yap. tldr is down below if too lazy 2 read

಄ ⋆ PRELIMINARIES / ABSTRACT

this post examines the tendency of English-speaking fandom to reinterpret Japanese naming conventions through English-speaking linguistic frameworks. i will be using several different forms of Eastern media, such as Jujutsu Kaisen for case study. i'll be exploring why epithets are frequently mistaken for personal names, how Japanese naming works, how translation contributes to this misaligned phenomenon, and why these reinterpretations become normalized through fandom. while truthfully, triggered by one particularly frustrating fanfiction, i'll be arguing that the issue reflects a broader linguistic pattern rather than isolated author error.

಄ ⋆ BACKGROUND

to bring to light why i wrote this, while reading an otherwise enjoyable fanfiction, i encountered a line in which Heian-era sukuna was addressed by "ryomen" as though it were his given name, and this had been a repeated trend i've seen in Jujutsu Kaisen sukuna fanfiction. this tiny detail—which objectively should not have occupied my thoughts for as long as it did—sent me down an unfortunate rabbit hole regarding naming conventions in Japanese media, translation practices, and the tendency for English-speaking fandom to reconstruct unfamiliar linguistic systems into something more recognizable. names are rarely "just names," even within simplistic language systems. across different cultures, they carry distinct systems, conventions, and social functions that determine not only what a person is called, but why they are called that in the first place. English-speaking fan communities frequently interpret foreign naming systems through familiar Western frameworks.

಄ ⋆ SIGNIFICANCE

i believe it is well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures. i believe it is also well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 1. WHAT DOES A NAME DO?

to start, i must quote unnecessarily, "i think therefore i am." this does not mean anything, i just really wanted to use it because it's funny. before discussing why fandom repeatedly misinterprets foreign names, we first have to answer a surprisingly difficult question. what exactly is a name? a name, linguistically, is a term used for identification by an external observer and it can identify a class, a category of things, a single thing (people, places, objects) either uniquely, or within a given context. the entity identified by a name is called its referent. a naming convention is a set of agreed, stipulated, or generally accepted standards, norms, social norms, or criteria for naming things. it is important to note that names have rules. at first glance, a name looks like a label. a chair is a "chair," a table is called a "table," it's a very simple concept. but people are not objects, human names do not just classify, they distinguish. when i say "dog," i've identified a category; when i say "hachiko," i've identified one specific individual. so therefore, names are referential rather than descriptive. their primary purpose is to let which person is being talked about, not what kind of person they are. that's why names can be completely arbitrary, because it's simply a pointer. names also don't just identify people. they also encode relationships, telling you by who calls you what something about your relationship hence, the difference of someone calling you Jonathan, John, Johnny, Dad, Mr. Sherlock, Big John. They are all referring to the same person but every choice communicates something different; familiarity, hierarchy, affection, respect, distance, and intimacy. and i'm sure a bunch of other things. English-speakers often unconsciously assume that [First Name, denoting who they are] [Middle Name, denoting a specifier] [Last Name, denoting from where they came] is the default and universal human format. it isn't obviously, different cultures answer completely different questions. some emphasize family, ancestry, then some emphasize birthplace or achievements. some religion, some ranks. that's why some cultures have patronymics, some don't have surnames, some have courtesy names, some names change throughout their life.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 2. NAMES HAVE JOBS, NOT ALL JOBS ARE NAMES

there are several different categories in which names fall in (sources i'm using are very broad, but i'll link them below), that are often unused, unheard, or underutilized in the English language. having established that names are social tools rather than arbitrary labels, we now encounter another problem: English frequently treats every identifier attached to a person as though it were simply "their name." linguistically, however, many of these identifiers perform entirely different functions. They may indicate family lineage, social status, profession, achievement, respect, or reputation rather than personal identity itself. the most important question isn't "what is this called?" when talking about names, but instead "what job is this word doing?" so consider the sentence, "Professor Smith spoke to John." both "Professor" and "John" identify the same individual in different contexts, but they do not perform the same linguistic function.one indicates institutional status, while the other functions as a personal identifier. so? words attached to people aren't interchangeable.

⋆ personal identifiers a given name is a name that identifies the individual within their family or community, it's typically a name assigned to an individual at birth or later in life. in English, this is often the first name. it primarily serves toto distinguish them from other members of the same family. examples are John, Satoru (悟), Yor, Leon. a family name (surname) is a name that identifies a person's family lineage and is shared among relatives. depending on the culture, it may appear before or after the given name (while stylistic choices are of course welcomed, standard practices adopt the original culture's naming order). examples are Gojo (五条), Smith, Liu (劉). a middle name is an additional personal name placed between the given and family name. its purpose varies widely between cultures and may commemorate relatives, saints, or simply provide another identifier. examples include John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy. a patronymic is a name derived from one's father (or sometimes a male ancestor). it indicates parentage rather than functioning as a hereditary surname. the female version, a matronymic, is derived from one's mother rather than father. it is less common globally but exists in several naming traditions. examples: Ivan Ivanonich ("son of Ivan"). a clan name identifies membership in a larger kinship group rather than an immediate family. multiple unrelated households may share the same clan. examples are Gojo (術師家) and the Uchiha (うちは一族).

⋆ social identifiers a title is a name that denotes rank, occupation, office, or status rather than identity. titles answer the question of "what are you?" rather than "who are you?" examples include: King, Doctor, Professor, Lord, Captain. an honorific is a word or title or grammatical form that conveys respect, familiarity, or social hierarchy between speakers. unlike titles, honorifics describe the relationship between people rather than the identity of the individual. examples include: in Japanese, -san (used to convey respect used between any age), -sama (used for individuals with a higher rank than oneself, -kun (used to refer to people of junior status or men in general), in English, Mr., Mrs., Sir, in Indonesian kak, mas, mbak. a house name denotes the membership in a noble or dynastic house. example: House Stark, House Windsor. a courtesy name is an additional name adopted upon reaching adulthood or entering society. It is often used by peers instead of the person's birth name. this is historically common in Chinese naming traditions. example is Confucius' (Kongzi) courtesy name Zhongni (仲尼). a temple name is a name bestowed after death upon monarchs in several East Asian traditions and is primarily used in historical or religious contexts. a posthumous name is a name granted after death and often reflects the person's achievements or character. unlike a birth name, it was never used by the individual during life. a regnal name is a name adopted when someone ascends to a throne or other high office. example: Pope Francis, Queen Elizabeth II. a religious name/dharma name is a name adopted upon entering a religious order or undergoing initiation. Ii often symbolizes spiritual rebirth or new identity.

⋆ descriptive identifiers an epithet is a descriptive word or phrase attached to a person's name that highlights a characteristic, reputation, or distinguishing feature. unlike a given name, an epithet describes rather than identifies. examples: Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Richard the Lionheart, Ryōmen ("two-faced") Sukuna. a sobriquet is an informal descriptive nickname earned through reputation, personality, or achievement. unlike a legal name, it develops through public use. a byname is an additional identifier attached to distinguish someone from others with the same personal name. it often describes appearance, occupation, birthplace, or family. many historical epithets function as bynames.

⋆ chosen identifiers a nickname is an informal alternative used by friends, family, or acquaintances. nicknames often shorten, modify, or replace a person's given name. examples: Jonathan → Jon, Katherine → Kate. meanwhile an alias is an assumed name used instead of one's legal identity, often for privacy, disguise, or professional reasons. an art name is a name adopted by artists, scholars, or writers as part of their creative identity. this is a also called a pseudonym or moniker. examples are Su Shi also known as Dongpo Jushi, Takashi Murakami, KAWS. a pen name (nom de plume) is a pseudonym adopted by an author for publication. a stage name is a professional identity used by performers instead of their legal name. a username identifies an individual within a digital environment. unlike legal names, usernames are chosen, platform-specific, and need not correspond to real-world identity.

notice that every category above identifies a person in some capacity, yet none performs exactly the same job. English often collapses these distinctions under the broad concept of a "name," whereas many other naming systems preserve functional differences between personal names, titles, honorifics, and descriptive epithets. while all of these may appear beside a person's identity, they are not interchangeable. some identify the individual, some identify their family, some describe their reputation, and others communicate social relationships. referring to all of them simply as "names" obscures the distinct roles they perform within their respective cultures. if these distinctions are so common across cultures, why do English-speaking readers so frequently flatten them into a single naming system?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 3. WHY ENGLISH SPEAKERS MISREAD FOREIGN NAMES

having established that names perform different social functions across cultures, we arrive at another question: if these distinctions exist, why are they so frequently overlooked in English-speaking fandom? the answer is surprisingly mundane. it is not usually a failure of research (though it's the second most common reason), nor a lack of intelligence. rather, it is a consequence of how humans process unfamiliar information. the first reason is that our brains simply do this because of pattern recognition or schema activation, something i spend much time on in thinking. we as humans are extraordinarily good at categorization. we don't read every unfamiliar thing from scratch—we compare it to something we already know. linguists call these mental shortcuts schemas but for this, i simply call it 'already knowing enough' (larping). when English speakers encounter "Ryomen Sukuna," our brains don't consciously ask what naming convention is being used. they see two capitalized words and immediately retrieve the closest familiar template. a lot of what contributes to the reason of why people mistake foreign names so badly, especially names with their own alphabet, and especially with vastly different scripts, is due to once transliterated into the Latin alphabet, these names become visually familiar to English-speaking audiences. they appear to follow the same structure as English names—two capitalized words separated by a space—despite often operating according to entirely different cultural conventions. this visual familiarity encourages readers to unconsciously apply English naming expectations where they may not belong. humans also do chunking. you don't read Tanjiro as T-a-n-j-i-r-o, but Tan-Ji-Ro. you don't read my username as kayuekou but it gets mentally segmented as kay-ue-kou. or if you come from a more East Asian linguistic background, ka-yue-kou. and this isn't ...nearly all your fault. after being immersed in English naming conventions, ie. Jane Doe, Peter Parker John B. Smith, our brains automatically shove Ryomen Sukuna, Kuroki Tomoko, Kamado Tanjiro into the same system. Ryomen Sukuna is chunked into Ryomen (first name) - Sukuna (last name).

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 4. EVERYTHING GETS ENGLISH'D

so now, having established why English-speaking readers naturally reinterpret unfamiliar naming systems, it becomes apparent that this phenomenon extends far beyond Japanese media, my original grievance. whenever a naming system differs significantly from English conventions, readers often simplify, reorganize, or reinterpret it into something more immediately recognizable. in practice, what does this look like?

first, mistaking family names as first names because of the Eastern name order (family name first, given name second), obviously this is most commonly seen in East Asian names. my examples will primarily derive from Japanese, mostly due to its almost uniquely similar structure to English when transliterated. this is often seen in Japanese fan media, which i found most prominent in fanfiction made pre-2021, such as mistaking Gojo for Satoru's given name. specifically in Japanese, starting from the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Western name order was primarily used among the Japanese nobility when identifying themselves to non-Asians with their romanized names. as a result, in popular Western publications, the order became increasingly used for Japanese names the following decades (Shinzo Abe, Osamu Dazai, Satoru Gojo). however! in 2020, the Government of Japan reverted the Westernized name order back to the Eastern name order in official documents, and has recommended that the same format be used amongst general Japanese public; they also requested Western publications to change this. this is a big reason why Japanese becomes quite confusing when you dip your foot in and understand what the Eastern naming order looks like, because sometimes you don't know if they're using the Western or Eastern order. unlike the Chinese and the Koreans who have never used Western name order (Chinese leader Xi Jinping not being referred to as Jinping Xi, Moon Jae-in is not Jae-in Moon).

second, names getting split strangely. i recently saw in a fanfiction (that i've put on hold simply because of this) that the author named the fanon interpretation of the Gojo twins as Sato and Toru. this is most likely because they assume those are natural halves of "Satoru." Except Japanese morphology doesn't work that way. likewise, my name has been mistakenly used quite a lot, my nickname from my moniker kayuekou sometimes become kay because "Kay" already exists in English. but this is especially frustrating once you understand that the kanji system, derived from hanzi, uses a logographical system. meaning, the Japanese writing for a name, almost always has a set meaning. "五条悟" or Gojo Satoru is split into "Gojo" or "五条" meaning 五 five, 条 an article or clauses, and 悟 meaningly enlightenment or to understand. the second you strip away Satoru and become Sato, that has become a completely. new name. in some dictionaries, maybe Sato as 悟 could happen, and i've checked myself on jisho that there is a given name called Sato with that exact kanji, but now it's a matter of logic and accuracy. Sato is almost alway used as a surname; Sato as 葛巻, Sato as 郡, Sato as 慧. there are rules to what a kanji can or cannot do in a name, but i will not deep dive into that in this essay.

third, in Russian, and a classic example, Ivan Ivanovich Petrov is often frequently read by English-speakers as Ivan, Middle name Ivanoich, Last name Petrov when the "middle name" is actually just telling you whose son he is. fourth, a fascinating one because it almost flips the problem, are Thai names. Thai people commonly have long legal names (due to surnames needing to be legally unique, therefore combining many words and subsequently creating incredibly long surnames) and short nicknames, sometimes ones that don't have any relation to their legal name. many foreigners sometimes assume the nickname isn't their "real" name, when culturally, it's often the primary everyday identifier.

although each example arises from a different language, the underlying mechanism remains remarkably consistent. readers encounter an unfamiliar naming system, identify superficial similarities to English, and unconsciously reorganize it according to English expectations. the details differ; the cognitive process does not. a worthwhile minor topic to touch is things that English speaking writers accidentally normalize. such as the tendency of first-name basis immediately, honorific inconsistencies, modern Western flirting in Eastern historical settings, school culture assumptions, legal names vs epithets. i would touch the topic but i'm no fiddler.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 5. NOT EVERYTHING IS A GIVEN (NAME)

by this point, we have established three things. firstly, names are not merely arbitrary labels, but social tools that identify individuals within a cultural system. secondly, not every identifier attached to a person performs the same function. lastly, English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through frameworks they already recognize. we now arrive at one of the most common consequences of this process: assuming that every identifier attached to a person is a given name. not every word attached to a person is attempting to answer the same question. like we discussed in the previous chapters, a given name answers, "who are you?" a family name answers, "which family do you belong to?" a patronymic answers, "whose child are you?" a title answers, "what is your rank, occupation, or position?" an honorific answers, "how should I address you?" an epithet answers, "what are you known for?" these may all appear beside one another when referring to a single person, yet they are not interchangeable. they perform different linguistic and social functions despite identifying the same referent. epithets are probably the clearest example of this distinction. an epithet is not another personal name, but a descriptive identifier attached to an individual because of a notable characteristic, achievement, reputation, or physical trait. history is full of them. Alexander the Great, Richard the Lionheart, Ivan the Terrible, Erik the Red, and William the Conqueror are all remembered through epithets. English speakers immediately recognize that "the Great" is not Alexander's surname, nor is "Lionheart" Richard's given name. these descriptors tell us something about the individual rather than functioning as the individual's personal identity. the interesting part is that this intuition often disappears when the epithet originates from another language. once romanized into the Latin alphabet, foreign epithets lose many of the visual and cultural cues that distinguish them from ordinary names. rather than seeing a descriptive title, English-speaking readers often see another capitalized word occupying the same position as a conventional first name. without consciously realizing it, the epithet is reassigned a new job. it is no longer interpreted as a description, but as a personal identifier. this distinction matters because misunderstanding an identifier is not simply a matter of pronunciation or terminology. it changes the role that identifier plays within the naming system itself. an epithet interpreted as a given name no longer functions as a description; it becomes an identity. a title mistaken for a surname no longer indicates social position; it becomes ancestry. in other words, the word has not changed—but the job we assign to it has. so anyway. this brings us to another important question. if these distinctions are meaningful, why do official translations, subtitles, and fan translations so rarely communicate them? more importantly, are translators responsible for preserving these naming systems, or are readers simply encountering the unavoidable limitations of translation itself?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 6. TRANSLATION FUELS THESE MISTAKES

so now that we've established that identifiers perform different linguistic functions and that English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through familiar frameworks, another question inevitably follows: if these distinctions are important, why do translations so rarely preserve them? the answer is not that translators are careless. rather, translation itself is an exercise in compromise. contrary to popular belief, translation is not simply the process of replacing one word with another. every translator must constantly decide what should be preserved. should priority be given to literal meaning, readability, cultural context, historical accuracy, emotional impact, or natural dialogue? more often than not, preserving one inevitably sacrifices another. names are particularly difficult because they rarely carry meaning in isolation. instead, they exist within larger cultural systems that are often invisible to those who already understand them. a Japanese reader generally does not require a footnote explaining the function of an honorific, the order of family and given names, or whether an identifier is an epithet rather than a personal name. these conventions are already understood. an English-speaking audience, however, approaches the same text without that shared cultural framework. romanization further complicates this process. when Japanese is written in its native scripts, it is immediately recognizable as a different writing system. readers instinctively understand that they are encountering another language. once those same names are transliterated into the Latin alphabet, however, they become visually familiar. two capitalized words separated by a space resemble countless English names, despite following entirely different cultural conventions. the alphabet remains familiar even when the language does not. this creates what i consider one of romanization's greatest paradoxes: it increases accessibility while simultaneously creating an illusion of familiarity. readers correctly recognize the letters, but unconsciously assume they also recognize the system behind them. translation, therefore, often preserves the words while inevitably losing parts of the framework that gives those words meaning. again, this is not unique to Japanese. consider honorifics such as -san, -kun, or -sama. many English translations omit them entirely because there is rarely a natural English equivalent that carries identical social nuance. likewise, patronymics in Russian are frequently interpreted as middle names, while Chinese family names are often mistaken for given names simply because the translated text cannot pause to explain an entirely different naming convention every time a character is introduced. doing so would be impractical. imagine a subtitle interrupting every conversation with a linguistic lecture explaining why a particular identifier is functioning as an epithet rather than a personal name. accurate? perhaps. readable? absolutely not. translation, after all, is intended to communicate a story—not to teach an entire course in comparative linguistics. this is where fandom enters the equation. readers naturally fill in the missing pieces using the only framework they possess: their own. one fanfiction assigns an English role to an unfamiliar identifier. another writer adopts the same convention. a hundred readers encounter it repeatedly. eventually, what began as an unconscious interpretation slowly transforms into accepted fanon. the reinterpretation is no longer questioned because, through repetition, it begins to feel canonical. translation does not create these misunderstandings on its own. it merely provides the conditions under which they become possible. the actual reinterpretation occurs in the minds of readers, where unfamiliar linguistic systems are quietly reorganized into something that feels comfortably familiar.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 7. CASE STUDY

which leads to a minor footnote, and the inciting example on why i made this post. one of my favorite little linguistic quirks in JJK is that "Ryomen Sukuna" isn't really a given name in the way a lot of English-speaking fans read it. the historical figure that inspired Jujutsu Kaisen's Sukuna is traditionally known as Ryōmen Sukuna. the term Ryōmen (両面) literally means "two-faced" or "two-sided," referring to the figure's unusual appearance. rather than functioning as an ordinary personal name, it is widely understood as a descriptive epithet attached to Sukuna. as discussed in chapter 2, epithets perform a fundamentally different function from given names. they describe rather than identify. however, once romanized into the Latin alphabet, "Ryōmen Sukuna" visually resembles a conventional English first name–surname pairing. the epithet is therefore reassigned a familiar role: first name. this interpretation is further reinforced through repetition. once a sufficient number of fanworks address Sukuna as "Ryomen," subsequent writers encounter the convention repeatedly and naturally assume it reflects canon. over time, the reinterpretation becomes self-perpetuating, not because readers consciously reject the original naming system, but because the English framework has already become normalized within the community. modern AUs present a somewhat different situation. since these settings intentionally remove characters from their historical and cultural contexts, writers are free to assign entirely new naming conventions if they wish. someone may choose to reinterpret "Ryomen" as a legal first name simply because it functions conveniently within the world of their story (but still, when you take into account kanji, and you should, it becomes messy). fanfiction is, after all, transformative by nature. admittedly, none of this prevents me from visibly twitching every time Heian-era Uraume solemnly addresses Sukuna as "Ryomen" with the energy of someone calling Alexander the Great "Great." that, however, is a personal problem rather than a linguistic one. not everyone is a nitpicker. ultimately, the question is not whether fanfiction is "allowed" to call Sukuna "Ryomen." fanfiction has never depended upon strict historical or linguistic accuracy. rather, this example demonstrates how easily unfamiliar naming systems become reorganized according to the expectations of another language. what appears to be a single naming choice is, in reality, the product of translation, cognition, and community convention acting together.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 8: WHAT CAN YOU DO?

if this essay has accomplished anything, i hope it has not convinced you that your fanfiction is "wrong." rather, i hope it has convinced you that naming conventions are often far more culturally complex than they first appear. the purpose of this essay has never been to argue that every writer should become a historian, a linguist, or a professional translator before opening Google Docs. fanfiction is transformative by design. writers are free to alter names, settings, relationships, and entire worlds if doing so serves the story they wish to tell. the distinction lies in intentionality. there is a meaningful difference between deliberately changing a naming convention because it better suits your story and unconsciously changing it because you assumed it worked like English. the former is a creative decision. the latter is simply a assumption. fortunately, assumptions are surprisingly easy to challenge. when writing characters from another culture—particularly historical settings—it is often worth asking a few simple questions before assigning an unfamiliar identifier a familiar role. is this actually the person's given name? could this instead be a title, epithet, clan name, patronymic, courtesy name, or honorific? am I following a convention because the source material suggests it, or because other fanfiction does? if i removed my English expectations, would i still interpret this name the same way? the answer, of course, may still be "I'm going to write it this way anyway." and that is perfectly acceptable. the goal is not perfect authenticity. absolute historical accuracy has never been the defining characteristic of fanfiction, nor should it be. creative writing thrives on reinterpretation. what matters is understanding what you are reinterpreting. once you recognize that names are cultural systems rather than isolated words, small details begin to reveal themselves everywhere. family names stop looking like first names. patronymics stop looking like middle names. epithets stop looking like legal names. romanized words stop feeling automatically familiar simply because they share the same alphabet. most importantly, you become aware of your own assumptions. language is remarkably good at making itself invisible. we rarely notice the frameworks through which we interpret the world until we encounter one that functions differently. by then, our brains have often already attempted to reorganize the unfamiliar into something comfortably recognizable. that tendency is not a personal failing. it is simply how humans make sense of the world. the challenge—and, perhaps, the fun—is learning to recognize when our own language is quietly filling in gaps that another culture never intended to leave. and if nothing else, perhaps the next time you encounter an unfamiliar name in a piece of media, you'll pause for just a moment before asking the question that inspired this entire essay: "is that actually their name... or have i simply given it an English job?" oh and start using dictionaries.

಄ ⋆ CONCLUSION / TL;DR

this essay began because one (1) line in one (1) fanfiction annoyed me far more than any reasonable person should probably admit. human beings are exceptionally good at recognizing patterns, therefore English speaking consumers and writers interprets foreign naming systems through a framework they're already familiar with. the result is not usually malice, laziness, or ignorance—it is simply the remarkably human tendency to organize unfamiliar things into familiar categories. this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay. this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay.

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platforms nor feed my works into generative AI.

note ꩜ hi edit. it’s 1am i forgot to link my sources. i’ll add it to the bibliography in like a couple hours after i sleep. sorry everyone

[bambieyedpoet]

purple ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ k. bakugou x reader

summary: you've had a crush on katsuki bakugou for too long, however, there's something about your crush on him that brings you comfort.┆angst, unrequited to requited love, she falls first / he falls harder, yes there will be smut, slow burn┆

prologue ┆ chapter one: power trip ┆ chapter two: bittersweet delusions

۶ৎ about reader: signature colour is purple, quirk is water healing. she is lowkey a bird for the first half, but don't worry bakugou will grovel like no other trust.

۶ৎ more information: first few chapters are set before, during, and after graduation from ua. then, it's timeskip from there. super super slow burn in the sense of the timeline and how long they've known each other.

⋮ ⌗ 🏷️ : @moodyamaryllis @peppercaramel @amttyy @kenmacantakemeaway @callistosalbum @peoniespookies @kranktruther @starlightanyaaa @adv3rs1ty @moonixixie @snoozebun @moonf1owerr @astromoon9 @ilovesoupnoodle @nightmarenyxx @gummiisharkzz ┆

🧿 i will not get the fanfic writer curse. only good things happen to me. everytime my name is spoken i will prosper. 🧿

divider credits - @ cursed - carmine

[gyarujo]

❛ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗟𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗗𝗢 𝗧𝗢 𝗬𝗢𝗨 爆豪勝己

synopsis. katsuki’s pride is no match for an aphrodisiac quirk

contents. nsfw! mdni. pro hero! katsuki bakugou x fem! reader. est rel. they’re dating. pwp. dubcon due to the quirk’s influence but it’s very consensual. m! mastürbation + rec öral. switch! katsuki. mostly sub he cries and begs. unprotected piv. reader’s on the pill. multiple orgäsms. implied aftercare. ࿐

katsuki never imagined that he’d be the kind of hero to get hit by a fucking aphrodisiac quirk. that’s rookie bullshit. the kind of thing that happens to sidekicks who aren’t paying attention, to extras who get caught slipping because they’re too damn slow and too damn soft. it’s not the type of thing that happens to him.

he’s the great explosion murder god: dynamight ™. with reflexes like lightning and situational awareness that’s second to none. he’s prepared for every kind of villain, every conceivable quirk. mind-control, strength enhancement. shape-shifting. but not once did it cross his mind to prepare for getting hit with a lust quirk.

at first, he’d been able to power through it. he gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached and disregarded the heat that was flooding his veins like napalm. he obliterated the villain. secured the perimeter. signed off on the preliminary report with trembling fingers.

by the time he made it back to his agency, his sanity was threadbare. he tried taking a shower but the freezing water did nothing to quench the fire coursing through his veins. if anything, it made it worse.

he rested his forehead against the tiles and bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. his knees buckled as his hand, slick with soap suds and precum, slid all over his cock. he barely managed a few uncoordinated strokes before his hips were jerking uncontrollably. the relief lasted for all of three seconds before the blood came rushing righttt back to his cock.

he was still hard, still aching. and it was becoming very clear that this wasn’t a problem he could solve alone.

he stumbles out of the locker room, a towel slung low on his hips, his skin still flushed and steaming. he pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of loose sweats in a daze.

you’re the only thing his lust-filled brain can think of. he’s certain he’ll die if he doesn’t get to you, now. he needs you like he needs air to breathe. like he needs nitroglycerin in his palms. the thought of your face, your voice, your body on his is the sole thing keeping black spots from swarming his vision.

everyone who works at his agency knows that katsuki never leaves work early. he’s always the first to arrive and the very last to leave. he’s the one who stays late to pore over incident reports until his eyes burn. he’s the one who turns the lights off and locks all the doors behind him. but tonight he’s out of the building before the sun has even fully set.

not trusting himself to drive in this state, he hails a cab. the decision to not get behind the wheel is one of the few clear-headed ones he’s made since this whole ordeal started. his hands are shaking too much, and he knows that he’d wrap his porsche around a lamppost before he could even make it past three blocks.

he slumps into the back seat, the cheap leather sticking to his sweat-damp skin, and groans out your address. the driver glances at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes widening at the sight of great explosion murder god: dynamight ™ looking like he’s about to spontaneously combust in the backseat of his car.

on a regular day, katsuki would tell him to mind his damn business and fucking drive. but he currently doesn’t even have the energy to scowl at the old man.

after what feels like eternity, the cab screeches to a halt in front of your building. he doesn’t even wait for the car to stop completely before he tosses a handful of yen bills at the driver and stumbles out onto the sidewalk.

he practically sprints into your building. he’s too impatient to wait for the elevator. he takes the stairs instead, taking them two, sometimes three at a time, he nearly collapses once, catching himself at the very last second.

he can barely stand by the time he finally reaches your door. he’s so close to exploding right here in the hallway and you haven’t even touched him yet. he somehow musters up the energy to fish the spare key you’d forced on him months ago out of his pocket. his hands are shaking so badly, it takes him three tries before the tumblers click.

he limps into your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. every single one of his nerve endings is on fire as he leans against the door for a second. his head thudding against the cool wood. he can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, follow the line of his jaw, and drip onto his t-shirt. this is pathetic. he’s pathetic. he just wants to crawl into a hole and die. or fuck you until he can’t remember his own name. he’d prefer the latter. he’s so hard it hurts.

“kats ?” he forces his eyes open, vision swimming before it focuses on you. you’re standing in the entranceway to the living room, wearing one of his old t-shirts and little else. he wants to rip that shirt off and see what’s underneath, to map every inch of your skin with his hands, his mouth, until you’re gasping his name.

you take in the sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, the deep, feverish flush on his cheeks, and instinctively step closer. you reach up, your cool palm pressing against his burning cheek, and he almost sobs with relief. he leans into your touch like a starved man, a low moan rumbling in his chest. he could stand here all day and just let you touch him.

( he could probably cum in his pants, just from this, like a fucking loser. god, he wants you so bad. he wants your hands all over him. he wants his hands all over you. he needs to feel you. )

you lean in and press a soft kiss to his trembling lips. it’s supposed to be a sweet, simple greeting, but for him it’s feels like a match to gasoline. he fists his hands in the material of your shirt and pulls you closer. he can feel your body tense ever so slightly against his

“how was work ?” you ask, a little breathless when you finally manage to pull back just enough to look at him. 

“fuckin’ terrible,” he manages to grind out. his voice is so tight and strained. he barely recognizes himself. he’s embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed. part of him doesn’t want to tell you. he could just make something up. say he’s tired. say anything but the truth. but the thought of deceiving you, even to save his pride, is unbearable. he rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he mumbles, “got hit,” the words practically scrape his throat raw. “with a quirk.”

“what kind of quirk ?” you ask softly. your hand coming up to rest gently on his bicep. he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing violently. he feels the heat in his cheeks deepen, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. he has to say it. he has to force the pathetic words out.

“some . . . aphrodisiac bullshit.” he looks away, unable to meet your gaze, “i blasted the punk the hell up right after but it was already too late. it’s. . . fuck, it’s bad.” he swallows hard, “it’s . . really fucking bad.”

a smile slowly spreads across your face. you can’t help but laugh. never in a million years did you think you’d live to see the day katsuki bakugou needed your help.

“you’re laughing ?!” he chokes out. he’s just confessed to being hit by a lust quirk. this is the most humble he’s ever been. stripped of all his pride, reduced to a nothing but a desperate, needy mess in front of the one person he wants to see him as strong.

he’s never been this vulnerable, this submissive, in his damn life. and you’re fucking laughing ? he wants to be angry. he wants to push you away and reclaim some semblance of his dignity. but he can’t. all he can do is stand there and tremble as your thumb brushes over his bottom lip.

“sorry, sorry, it’s not funny,” you murmur, though the smile playing on your lips says you believe otherwise. “how are we supposed to deal with it ?” you’ve got to be messing with him. he’s in utter disbelief. does he really have to spell it out ? after he’s already humiliated himself this much ?

“obviously i need to. . .” he trails off, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red. he can’t bring himself to say the words. they’re too crude, too pathetic.

“you need to what, kats ?” you’re determined to make the most of the rare, once-in-a-lifetime chance to see your explosive, always-in-control pro hero boyfriend completely at your mercy. 

“you know what. . ” he grits out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“i don’t” you frown, your eyes wide with mock innocence. “you’re gonna have to use your words, kats. tell me exactly what you need from me.”

he lets out a frustrated growl, his head falling back against the door with a soft thud. “why are you doing this to me . . ?” 

“because you’re adorable like this,” you coo, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling the tremor that racks his entire body. “it’s a side of you i don’t get to see nearly enough.”

you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your expression softening slightly, though the teasing glint remains. “and because i need to make sure you’re not just asking because of the quirk. i need to know that you actually want me.”

( you might as well have asked him if grass is green )

“of course i do,”  he chokes out, “how could you even. . . it’s always you. it’s only ever been you. even when my brain is fucking scrambled, it’s still just you.”

“okay,” you whisper, your hand sliding from his jaw down to his chest, right over his racing heart. you take his hand, fingers lacing through his, and lead him towards your bedroom. he follows you like a lost puppy, eyes fixed on the sway of your hips as you walk.

he’s on you before you can even shut the door. his hands grabbing your hips, pulling you into a hungry kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration.

your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. he stumbles the few steps to the edge of the bed, sitting down with a soft thud so you’re straddling his lap.

he can feel how warm you are through his pants. this is hell. this is heaven. he’s gonna die. he’s positive he’s actually going to die if you don’t move. the pressure of your weight against his aching cock draws a sharp inhale from between his teeth. you lean down, your lips finding his again in a kiss that’s anything but chaste. 

you start to move, rolling your hips slowly, grinding your core against the hard, thick length straining in his sweats. a high-pitched whimper falls from his lips. a sound so foreign to his ears it takes him a second to realize it came from him.

( what. the. fuck. he doesn’t whimper. he doesn’t fall apart like this. he’s the one who makes you fall apart. )

he hates this. he hates the sound of his own voice. but he can’t help it. he needs more. he needs to feel you. his hands fly to your hips, thick fingers digging into your flesh with bruising force. 

“katsuki,” you whisper against his lips. your tongue darts out to taste the salty sweat on his skin. he groans, his head falling back against your ruffled sheets as his hips buck up to meet yours.

he’s burning up, his skin radiating a concerning amount of heat. you can feel it through your clothes, through his. you trail your lips down the length of his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his pulse. 

“are you sure you’re okay ?” you look down at him,face contorted with concern “maybe we should go to the hospital, get you checked out. . .” 

he stares at you, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. you’ve got to be fucking kidding him. here you are, asking him about his health while your chest is in his face and you’re straddling his lap. you’re gonna be the death of him. he swears to god. but what a way to go.

“the hospital ? i’d rather die than let another soul see me like this.” he snarls, though it lacks its usual bite, sounding more like a plea. “and i’ll blow you up if you even think about telling anyone this happened to me.”

“don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me ,” you murmur, leaning down to press a soft, teasing kiss to his jaw.

your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, the fabric damp with his sweat. you peel it up slowly, revealing the hard, defined lines of his abs. his stomach clenches under your touch, the muscles jumping as your fingertips graze his skin.

he lets you undress him like a doll. you drag the shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside. his chest heaves as your hands return to his body, tracing faint scars, the ridges of his abs, the sharp v-line that dips down into his sweats.

katsuki’s trembling as you hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, breath hitching as his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. it’s flushed a deep, agitated red. his tip already beading with an obscene amount of precum that drips down onto his skin.

katsuki’s not one to feel self conscious, his confidence is as much a part of him as his quirk, but right now, under your gaze, he feels too exposed. he can’t meet your eyes. his gaze is fixed somewhere over your shoulder, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek. he’s completely at your mercy, and you haven’t even touched him properly yet.

you reach out, your fingers tracing the v-line of his hips, your touch light and teasing. he shudders violently, his hips bucking up, seeking more of your touch.

“please,” he whimpers “quit teasin’ me” please. please please please. he’ll beg. he’ll get on his knees and beg. he’ll say please. he’ll say anything you want. he needs to cum. it hurts so bad. he’s gonna die. he’s gonna die if you don’t let him cum.

“but it’s so much fun,” you murmur as your fingers trail lower, brushing against the base of his cock. he lets out a strangled moan as you wrap your hand around him, your palm cool against his burning flesh.

you start to stroke him, slow and teasing, your thumb swirling around his head and spreading the slick fluid down his length. he can already feel his orgasm building, a tight, hot coil in his stomach, but you won’t let him have it. you keep him teetering over the edge until tears are brimming his waterline.

“please,” he begs, throwing an arm over his face, hiding his shame as he pleads with you. “please, baby, let me cum. i’ll do – fuuuck – anything, please.”

“look at me,” you say firmly. he’ll look. he’ll do whatever you want. just don’t leave him like this. this pathetic. this weak. he peeks at you from under his arm, crimson eyes sparkling with unshed tears. you’ve never seen him looks so fragile, so broken. the mere sight of him makes your heart ache, you can’t deny him any longer.

you shift, kneeling between his spread thighs. leaning down and wrapping your lips around the his tip. it’s a shock to his system. he cries out as you take him deeper, flushed tip hitting the roof of your mouth. 

“shit . . . baby, please,” he chokes out, his voice a ragged, breathless mess. “i can’t. . . i’m gonna. . .” the afflicting aphrodisiac quirk amplifies every sensation. fuck. fuck fuck fuck. he’s trying to stay quiet, he really is. he’s biting down on his knuckles so hard he can almost taste blood, trying to muffle the obscene sounds falling from his lips, but it’s no use. every drag of your lips, every swirl of your tongue, pulls desperate whimpers and choked groans out of him

your tongue flattens against the underside of his cock as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him off so hard it makes him see stars. you can feel him trembling, his thighs tensing under your hands as you take him even deeper and you know he’s not going to last much longer. you hum around him, the muscles in your throat constricting around his tip. and that’s all it takes to push him over the edge.

his body arches off the bed as he spills sticky ropes down your throat. you’re milking every last drop, until he’s a limp, trembling mess beneath you. you’re surprised by how sweet he tastes, like salted caramel, so much sweeter than usual.

“feeling better ?” you rasp as you pull back slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his flushed cock.

he’s completely wrecked, his chest heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, his face glistening cherry red. he’s never cum this hard in his life. he can barely breathe. his limbs feel like lead, his mind’s blissed-out and hazy. for a few precious seconds, he thinks it’s over. he thinks it’s worn off.

then he looks down and his heart sinks. his cock is still painfully hard. it hasn’t gone down at all. if anything, he’s somehow harder than he was before. he’s beyond horrified. he’s just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and it did nothing. the shitty quirk is still burning him alive, and he’s starting to think he might be stuck like this forever. 

“feels worse” his crimson eyes are filled with a mix of fear and desperation. “it’s . . fuck. . it hurts more now”

he needs more. he’s too ashamed to ask, too proud to beg you again. his pride has already taken too many beatings it may never recover from tonight. but his eyes are pleading with you as you clamber to your feet. he don’t say another word. you don’t need him to. you already know what he wants. you know katsuki like the back of your hand.

without breaking eye contact, you slowly strip off the shirt of his you were wearing, then your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. his breath hitches as his eyes trail over your naked body. he reaches for you, large hands gripping your hips and pulling you between his spread legs.  

you rest your hands on his shoulders as you straddle him again, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his bare thighs. his hands slide from your hips to grip your ass, pulling you even closer, grinding you against him slowly.

it feels so good. too good. and then he realizes why it does. he’s completely bare. it’s so rare for him to fuck you raw, a line he almost never crosses, and the fact that he almost did, that he was so lost to the quirk he forgot, terrifies him.

“no, fuck, we can’t. not without a c-condom” his voice straining as he reaches for his sweats. his hands shake as he yanks his wallet from the cotton pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. he flips it open, lithe fingers fumbling through the slots, but there’s nothing there. 

he’s always so responsible, so prepared. a wave of despair washes over him, so strong it’s ridiculous. he was too out of it to check before he came here, too desperate to even think about stopping at a convenience store, and now . . . he checks again, more slowly this time, as if a shiny foil wrapper might magically appear. nothing.

a few hot tears spill over, tracing paths down his flushed cheeks, and it infuriates him. why the hell is he so damn sensitive ? he knows it’s the quirk fucking with his brain, his emotions, but it doesn’t make it feel any less real.

he tosses his wallet and sweats back onto the floor and rakes a hand through his blond hair, “i don’t . . . i don’t have one.”

he’s out. he’s fucking out. he’s always so prepared. he’s always so fucking responsible. and now, when he needs it most. he’s failed you. he’s failed himself. 

you’re kissing his tears away, your lips soft against his damp skin. “it’s okay kats” you soothe, cupping his cheek and smoothing your thumb over the jagged scar adorning it. “. . i’m on the pill, remember ?”

his crimson eyes, wide and vulnerable, search yours for any hint of hesitation, any sign that you’re just saying this to placate him. he finds none. he leans into your touch, his body trembling violently as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

“are you sure ?” he chokes out, his voice muffled by your skin. he’s not asking about the pill. he knows you’re just as responsible as he is. he’s asking if you’re sure you want this, sure you want him bare, with nothing between you when he’s this much of a mess.

“i’m positive,” you whisper, capturing his lips in a kiss that ebbs all his qualms away. his hands are everywhere, roaming your back, gripping your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s not a sliver of space between you.

you position yourself over him, crying out as the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance. you sink down, taking him inch by inch. you’re so tight. so wet. and you’re taking him so well. all of him. bare. 

“baby,” he whimpers, his eyes squeezed shut. “move. please. you gotta move.”

you shift your hips in a sensual rhythm that has him seeing stars. his hands are gripping your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow, but you don’t care.

“don’t stop,” he chants the phrase like a mantra. “don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” like it’s the only thing he knows how to say. every drag of your walls against his cock is both a blessing and a curse.

for a few precious seconds, he just holds you, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder as you ride him, trying to anchor himself to this moment.

but the lust quirk doesn’t care about moments. it only cares about the ache, the burning, relentless need for more. his hips begin to move on their own accord, a slow, shallow roll that’s more instinct than conscious thought. another whimper tears from his throat as he feels your slick walls grip him like they never want to let him go, “can’t. . . i can’t stay still,” he gasps

he drives up into you frantically. the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with his harsh pants and your breathy moans.

he’s completely consumed by the quirk and the mind-blowing pleasure of being inside you. his crimson eyes are half-lidded, tears of pure sensation and frustration leaking from the corners, but he doesn’t stop. he can’t.

“shit, look at you,” he chokes out, his voice cracking as he forces his wide eyes open to watch you. the sight of you bouncing on his cock, your head thrown back in pleasure, your skin rippling with each brutal snap of his hips, is almost enough to make him cum again. “so fuckin’ pretty. . . takin’ me so well.”

his calloused thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight, frantic circles over the sensitive nub. overcome by the need to make you cum. maybe, just maybe, your orgasm will trigger his own. maybe, just maybe, the feeling of you clenching around him will extinguish the fire burning him alive.

“c’mon,” he pants, his hips pistoning up into you, the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt sucking him in reverberating in the room. he can feel you tightening around him, your walls fluttering and clenching as your own release builds. it spurs him on, his thrusts become even more erratic, more desperate. “that’s it,” he groans, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “gonna cum ? gonna make a mess all over me ?”

before either of you can fully process it, he rolls, taking you with him. the world flips, and suddenly your back is pressed against the mattress, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body blanketing yours.

he settles heavily between your thighs, his weight pinning you down, his forearms bracketing your head as he looms over you. his pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the crimson of his irises, just a thin ring of red surrounding pools of pitch black. all traces of his earlier submission are gone.

he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, immediately picking up a brutal, punishing pace. his hips snap against yours, the sound of skin against skin louder and more intense than it was before. the thick head of his cock repeatedly kisses the spot inside you that makes your vision turn white. 

his scarred hand slides down your body until his thumb finds your clit again. his movements frantic as he rubs tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. the dual stimulation of his cock hammering into you and his thumb working your clit sends shockwaves through your entire nervous system.

“mghh katsuki,” you’re screaming and moaning his name so loud, you know your neighbors are going to complain again. but you’re well past the point of caring. and katsuki’s never given a single fuck about your neighbors; he’d burn the whole building down if it meant he could finally feel you cum around him. tears are falling from his eyes again, tracing paths down his face as he completely loses himself in you.

“yeahhh, that’s it,” he cries. his thumb on your clit presses down harder, hips slamming into yours with renewed vigor. your headboard smacks against the wall with the force of his thrusts. “c’mon, baby, please . . . cum for me. i know you’re close. . . i can feel it”

he can feel your whole body tensing, your back arching off the bed as you teeter right on the edge. your cunt is clamping down on him like a vice, rhythmic pulses that make his own vision swim.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he groans. he can’t . . . he can’t stop. he doesn’t want to stop. he could stay like this forever, buried inside you, feeling you cum on his cock over and over again.

“one more” he’s panting against your neck, his voice wrecked. “jus’ one more, baby, i swear i can feel it wearing off.” his hips have a mind of their own now, inching impossibly closer to yours.  you’re so overstimulated you can barely think, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body convulses with yet another wave of pleasure. your cunt is spasming around him again, and again, and again.

“s’too much,” you whine, “kats, it’s too much.”

“i know, baby, i’m so sorry . . .” he murmurs against your skin, “swear i’m gonna pay that extra a visit and send him straight to hell for doing this to me.”

a breathy giggle escapes your lips despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “that’s not – hah – very heroic of you,”

he lets out a shaky breath, his rhythm never faltering. “‘m not sure i can even consider myself a hero anymore after this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as he presses his forehead against yours.

his thumb finds your clit again, circling the swollen bundle of nerves, sending both of you spiraling toward another peak again. he’s well past the point of shooting blanks now, his body completely wrung out, nothing left to give. his hips are faltering, movements growing sloppier. he’s barely propped up on his elbows, arms shaking violently with the strain of keeping his weight off you.

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve both cum. you’re so blissed out, your mind floating somewhere far above the soaked sheets, nails digging crescents into his shoulders, as he falls apart for the last time.

for a moment, you both just lay there, breathing in the thick, humid air. there’s so much of him leaking from your folds, coating your inner thighs and soaking the already ruined sheets beneath you.

he can no longer ignore the mess he’s made of you when he musters up the strength to pull out. he makes a muffled, embarrassed sound against your skin, his face burning hot. “m’sorry. . . fuck, it’s everywhere.”

“it’s fine, katsuki,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, the blond strands clinging to your fingers. 

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, crimson eyes heavy-lidded and hazy. he glances down, his gaze tracing the mess on the sheets before flicking back to your face. “we can’t fuckin’ sleep in this,” 

he pushes himself up with a groan, arms trembling so badly he almost collapses back onto you. he manages to roll to the side, landing with a thump on the mattress. the sudden loss of his body heat makes you shiver. he just lies there for a second, staring at the ceiling before forcing himself into a sitting position.

his vision swims as he inches towards the edge of your bed. he rises to his feet and his legs nearly gives out. but he’s still standing. you can see the fine tremors running through his thighs, the strain in his back as he straightens up with a pained grunt. 

he turns back to you, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. his hair is a sweaty, tangled mess, sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are barely open.

“c’mon,” he says, holding out a hand to you, “we’ve gotta shower. and then i’ll make you some dinner”

lust can weaken most men, can make them forget how to breathe, how to speak. but no shitty quirk can ever make katsuki forget his love for you. it’s in his bones, in his veins, in every fiber of his being. that’s why he’s pushing through the pain, why he’s offering you dinner and a warm shower – despite your feeble protests – instead of collapsing back into bed. even when his body is failing him, his heart is right there with you.

© GYARUJO 2026. please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites. do not feed to ai

[simporado]

dying on the hill that Katsuki's sweat smells like sweat. body odor and all. none of that "sweet, caramelly" scent. i want that man STINKY.

BUT the taste of his sweat, however. Sweet. Caramel. And thats a fact only you know (or Izuku if im speaking in terms of bkdk. mlem)

[atelphobist]

─── 𑣲 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥.

𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ summer breaks at your aunt's house in the countryside are always your favourite part of the year. though this year, there's a rather sweet surprise awaiting you. 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼, the grumpy (and unfairly hot) southern boy who comes to help out your aunt with garden work. and you've got one new mission for this summer: get him to fuck you, no matter what it takes.

𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 .⋆♱ ⤿ southern!katsuki ⨾ countryside!au ⨾ tanning in a bikini ⨾ semi-public sex ⨾ p in v sex ⨾ unprotected sex ⨾ backshots ⨾ hair pulling ⨾ degrading kink ⨾ a bit of spanking ⨾ massages kinda ⨾ kats likes your ass ⨾ rubbing through panties ⨾ southern dialect & 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 // 𝘄𝗰: 6.8k ⤷18+ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 , minors get out!

𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ oh boy, there go my pants. THIS IS A 2000 FOLLOWER SPECIAL BTW! thank you all soooo much, i really appreciate it. i couldn't have done it alone. i will be publising tons of fics in the next weeks, so stay tuned!😚 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧!

the summer heat hung thick over the countryside, wrapping around everything like a heavy blanket. cicadas buzzed a lazy rhythm, the scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass drifting through the air.

your aunt's old farmhouse sat nestled in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wildflowers and rows of tomatoes that your aunt tended to with religious fervor.

every summer you came here, escaping the city for the wide open skies and the slow, syrupy pace of rural life. it was always a charm—the sweet people, the sweet tea, the sweet, sweet fruits you could pluck right off the vine.

but this summer, there was a whole different kind of sweetness waiting for you.

katsuki bakugo.

the first time you saw him, you’d nearly tripped over your own feet.

he was standing in your aunt’s garden, in a white tank top that was completely soaked through, clinging to every ridge and dip of his torso like a second skin.

the water hose was in his hand, spraying a fine mist over the tomato plants, and the droplets caught the sunlight like diamonds against his tan skin.

his arms were scarred, corded with muscle, and his face—sharp, angular, with a permanent scowl etched into his features—was the kind of beautiful that made your stomach do a slow, dangerous flip.

you’d walked outside that first day in a short skirt and a tight tank top, lips glossed, hair falling perfectly over your shoulders, a wicked grin already curling your mouth.

you’d leaned against the porch post and said something sweet, something flirty, something that usually worked on every boy you’d ever met.

he’d looked at you like you were a bug he wanted to squash.

“fuck off,” he’d said, voice low and rough with that thick southern drawl that made even his insults sound like honey. and then he’d turned back to his plants like you didn’t exist.

you should’ve been discouraged.

you should’ve rolled your eyes and moved on.

but instead, something sparked in your chest. a challenge. a game. and you were never one to back down from a game.

so you made it your mission.

every day, you found new ways to get his attention. you’d walk into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, water still dripping from your skin, while he stood there drinking a glass of water, sweat beading on his forearms from working outside.

he’d barely glance at you, grunt, and walk right past like you were invisible.

you’d leave your bedroom window wide open while you changed, making sure the curtains were just sheer enough to silhouette your body.

not even a flicker of interest from him.

you’d bend over in front of him to pick up something you’d “accidentally” dropped, wear the shortest shorts you owned, brush against him when you passed in the hallway. nothing. he was a fortress, and you were determined to break down every single wall.

and today, you had a new plan.

your aunt had gone to town for groceries, leaving you alone in the house with him. the perfect opportunity.

you’d slipped into the tiniest bikini you owned—a scrap of pale pink fabric that barely covered your breasts and a matching triangle bottom that rode high on your hips.

you’d spent a good twenty minutes making sure everything looked just right, then you’d grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen, and a book you had no intention of reading, and you’d made your way out to the garden.

he was already there, of course. bent over a row of daisies, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a thin gray t-shirt that was already starting to darken with sweat across his back. you could see the muscles shifting under the fabric as he worked, could see the way his shoulder blades moved like wings.

your mouth went dry.

you laid your towel out on one of the sun chairs, positioned perfectly so that the sunlight would hit you just right, and you stretched out on your stomach, arching your back just a little more than necessary. you let your head rest on your folded arms, closed your eyes, and pretended to relax.

for a long while, nothing happened.

you could hear the snip of his shears, the rustle of leaves, the occasional grunt as he yanked a weed from the earth. he didn’t look at you. not once.

you kept peeking through half-lidded eyes, watching him move, watching the way his jeans sat low on his hips, the dark line of hair trailing from his navel disappearing beneath the waistband. and every time, he ignored you.

it was maddening.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, he straightened up, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and turned to look at you. his crimson eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight.

“the hell you doin’ out here?” he asked, voice flat.

you stretched, letting your back arch just a little more, letting the curve of your ass shift under the tiny scrap of fabric. “tanning,” you said, all innocence. “is that a problem?”

“tannin',” he repeated, like the word was stupid. “in my garden.”

“your garden?” you lifted your head, propping your chin on your hands. “last i checked, this was my aunt’s garden. you just work here.”

a muscle in his jaw twitched. “i’m the one who takes care of it. means i get a say in who sprawls around half-naked innit.”

“half-naked?” you looked down at yourself, then back up at him with a sweet smile. “this is a bikini. it’s for swimming. and tanning. perfectly normal.”

“you ain’t swimmin’.”

“no, i’m tanning. didn’t you hear me?”

he stared at you for a long, hard moment, his eyes tracing over your body in a way that was almost clinical, like he was assessing a piece of furniture. then he scoffed, shook his head, and turned back to his work. “whatever. just don’t get in my way.”

you bit your lip, fighting a grin. he was talking to you. that was progress. even if he was being a dick about it, he was engaging. and you could work with that.

you let the silence stretch, listening to the sounds of him working. you shifted on the towel, making sure your movements were slow and deliberate, making sure the light caught the curve of your hip, the dip of your spine. you let out a little sigh, just loud enough for him to hear.

he ignored you.

you flipped onto your back, letting the sun hit your stomach, your chest. you arched your back, stretching your arms above your head, your breasts pressing against the thin fabric of your bikini top. you let out another sigh, this one a little louder, a little more breathy.

the snip of his shears paused. you didn’t look, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and hot. then it was gone, and the snipping resumed.

you smiled to yourself.

“hey,” you called out, your voice sweet and syrupy. “could you do me a favor?”

“no.”

“you don’t even know what it is yet.”

“don’t care.”

you sat up, letting the towel fall away from your chest. you ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face, and gave him your most innocent, pleading look. “i can’t reach the sunscreen on my back. and i really don’t want to burn. could you…put some on for me?”

he stopped. turned. looked at you like you’d just asked him to set the garden on fire.

“you didn’t think of that beforehand?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

“i thought i’d be able to reach,” you said, pouting your lips. “but i can’t. please, katsuki? i’ll be out of your hair faster. i promise.”

he stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. you could see the war in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself, and the part of him that was too damn stubborn to let you win by whining. finally, with a heavy, put-upon sigh, he set down his shears and stalked over to you.

“turn around,” he said, his voice flat.

you bit back a triumphant grin and turned, presenting your back to him. you heard him pick up the bottle of sunscreen, heard the squirt of it hitting his palm. then his hands were on you, and every thought in your head evaporated.

his hands were rough, calloused, warm. he started at your shoulders, spreading the lotion in firm, efficient strokes. his thumbs dug into the muscles on either side of your spine, and you couldn’t help the little moan that escaped your lips.

“shut up,” he said, but his voice was a little rougher than before.

you bit your lip, staying quiet as his hands moved lower. down your shoulder blades, down the curve of your waist. his fingers brushed the edge of your bikini bottom, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through you. he didn’t linger. he moved on, smoothing the lotion over your lower back, his thumbs tracing the dimples just above your ass.

“you’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “that ain’t like you.”

“just enjoying the view,” you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.

“view? you ain’t even lookin’.”

“i’m enjoying the view of the garden. through the reflection in your eyes.”

he snorted. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard.”

“you love it.”

“i hate it.”

but his hands didn’t stop. they moved lower, smoothing the sunscreen over the tops of your thighs, his fingers pressing just a little harder than necessary.

you felt your breath catch, felt your skin prickle with goosebumps despite the heat. his hands were wandering, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he leaned over you.

“y'know,” he said, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous, “you’ve been pesterin’ me all summer. walkin’ around in towels, leavin’ your window open, bendin’ over in front of me like a damn cat in heat.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice innocent.

“liar.” his hands slid lower, his thumbs brushing the curve of your ass. you felt your breath hitch, felt your thighs press together. “you think i ain’t noticed? you think i’m fuckin' blind?”

“you never said anything.”

“what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, thanks for the free show, but i’m tryin’ to work’?” his hands were moving now, slow and deliberate, massaging the sunscreen into the skin just above the waistband of your bikini. “you’re a pest, y'know that?”

“you keep talking, but your hands haven’t stopped.”

“shut up.”

he was rubbing circles into your lower back now, his fingers slipping lower with every pass. you could feel the heat pooling between your legs, could feel the way your bikini bottom was already starting to get damp.

this was working. this was exactly what you wanted.

“you’re a real piece of work,” he muttered, his voice thick with something that might have been anger, might have been want. “think you can just prance around in your little outfits and get whatever you want.”

“is it working?”

his hands stopped. for a moment, the only sound was the cicadas and the pounding of your heart. then he moved, and suddenly his hands were on your hips, gripping hard, and he was pulling you up, turning you over so you were on your back, looking up at him.

his face was flushed, his crimson eyes burning with a fire that made your breath catch. his jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked furious.

he looked hungry.

“you didn’t think i’d notice?” he said, his voice low and rough. “you didn’t think i’d see what you were doin’?”

“i knew you’d notice,” you said, your voice soft, your heart pounding. “i was counting on it.”

he stared at you for a long moment, his hands still gripping your hips. then he let out a harsh breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head.

“you’re stupid,” he said. “y'know that?”

“i’ve been told.”

his hands moved, sliding up your sides, over your ribs. his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, and you arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. his eyes darkened.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice. just a low, rough promise.

“i doubt it.”

he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re gonna be beggin’ me to stop by the time i’m done with you.”

you shivered, a thrill running through you. “try me.”

for a long moment, he just looked at you. then, slowly, his hands slid down your body, over your stomach, over your hips, until they were resting on the curve of your ass. he squeezed, hard, and you gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.

“you’ve been askin’ for this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “all fuckin' summer. you’ve been beggin’ for it.”

“maybe,” you said, your voice breathless. “maybe i have. what are you gonna do about it, hm?”

his hands moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your bikini bottom. his fingers found the soaked fabric, and he let out a low, dark laugh.

“fuckin’ hell,” he said. “you’re already wet.”

“shut up,” you said, echoing his earlier words.

his grin was sharp, predatory. “make me.”

and then his fingers were moving, pushing the damp fabric aside, and he was sliding two fingers through your slick folds, slow and deliberate.

you gasped, your back arching, your hands tightening on his shoulders. he watched your face, his eyes hungry, as he circled your clit with his thumb.

“that feel good?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet.

“y-yes,” you breathed.

“good.” he pressed his fingers deeper, finding your entrance, and then he pushed inside you with a wet, obscene squelch. you cried out, your head falling back, your hips bucking against his hand.

he fucked you with his fingers, slow and deep, his thumb still working your clit. his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. you were moaning, whimpering, your body arching into his touch.

“look at you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “so damn needy. so damn desperate.”

“katsuki,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“what?” he said, his voice sharp. “what do you want?”

“more,” you begged. “please.”

he smirked, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision go white. “more? you want more?”

“yes, yes, please—“

he pulled his fingers out, and you whined at the loss. but before you could protest, he was grabbing your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. his hands were on your ass, squeezing, spreading, and you could feel the heat of his body behind you.

“you want my cock?” he asked, his voice rough. “you want me to fuck you?”

“yes,” you said, your voice muffled against the towel. “god, yes.”

“then beg.”

you turned your head, looking back at him over your shoulder. his eyes were blazing, his face flushed, his lips parted. he looked like a man on the edge, and you wanted to push him over.

“please, katsuki,” you said, your voice sweet and breathy. “please fuck me. i need your cock. i need it so bad.”

a low growl rumbled in his chest. “that’s more like it.”

he pulled your bikini bottom down, letting it fall to your knees. then you felt his hands on your hips, his thumbs spreading your cheeks, and the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. he pushed, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.

“y'sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.

“yes,” you said, your voice desperate. “fuck, yes, just—“

he pushed inside you in one smooth, hard thrust, and you both groaned. he was thick, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. he paused, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises.

“fuck,” he breathed. “fuck, you’re tight.”

“move,” you whined. “please, move.”

and he did. he pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with your moans and his grunts. his hand came down on your ass, hard, and you cried out, your fingers digging into the towel.

“y'like that?” he growled. “y'like gettin’ fucked like a little slut in the garden, huh?”

“yes,” you moaned. “yes, yes, yes—“

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and you gasped at the sharp pain. his other hand was on your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you, his thrusts deep and relentless.

“you’ve been such a fuckin’ pest,” he said, his voice harsh and breathless. “walkin’ around in your little towels, flashin’ your tits at me, thinkin’ you could get away with it.”

“i did get away with it,” you managed, your voice choked with pleasure.

his hand tightened in your hair, pulling harder. “you got a smart mouth. ever thought about that being fuckin' annoyin'?”

“you love it.”

“i hate it.” he thrust deeper, harder, and you cried out. “but i’m gonna fuck it out of you.”

his pace increased, relentless, unforgiving. the world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his breath, the heat of his body against yours. you could feel the pressure building, coiling low in your belly, and you knew you were close.

“katsuki,” you moaned, your voice breaking. “i’m gonna—i’m gonna—“

“not yet,” he said, his voice a low growl. “you don’t fuckin' cum until i say so. torturin' me all summer..”

he slowed his pace, pulling out until only the tip of him was inside you, then pushing back in slow and deep. it was torture, the most exquisite kind of torture. you whimpered, your hips bucking back against him, trying to get more.

“please,” you begged. “please, katsuki, i need—“

“what do you need?” he asked, his voice mocking. “tell me.”

“i need to cum,” you said, your voice desperate. “please, let me cume.”

“beg harder.”

“please,” you said, your voice breaking. “please, please, please—“

he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he whispered.

“yes,” you said, your voice a sob. “yours. your slut.”

something in him seemed to break. he pulled back, grabbed your hips, and started fucking you again, hard and fast, his rhythm wild and desperate. his hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles, and you felt the pressure build, felt the wave rising.

“come on,” he said, his voice rough. “you can cum.”

and you did. you shattered, your body convulsing, your cries filling the air as the orgasm ripped through you. you were barely aware of him pulling out, barely aware of the hot, wet spurts of his cum painting your back, his grunt of satisfaction.

you lay there, panting, your body trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure. you felt him collapse beside you, his breath coming in harsh gasps. for a long moment, neither of you spoke.

then he sat up, and you heard him fumbling for something. you turned your head, watching as he picked up your phone from where it had fallen on the towel. his fingers moved across the screen, typing something.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

he didn’t answer. he finished, tossed the phone onto the towel beside you, and stood up. he pulled up his jeans, buttoned them, and looked down at you with a complicated expression that was part annoyance, part satisfaction.

“you got what you wanted,” he said, his voice flat. “now stop botherin’ me.”

and he walked away, leaving you there, cum drying on your back, your phone buzzing with a new contact name.

you picked it up, looked at the screen.

a single name: “katsuki.”

you smiled, wide and wicked, and lay back down in the sun.

summer was just getting started.

2026 ── 𝓦𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐎𝐅 @atelphobist 𝜗ৎ

ᥫ᭡ | © 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳. 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘪.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ lace divider credits go to : @uzmacchiato !

[lunarlighxt]

pro-hero!katsuki who is so annoyingly perfect.

he's smart as hell, somehow good at everything, hot as fuck and knows it, one of the best heroes alive and has never been out of japan's top 15—and to top it all off, he's the motherfucker that ended all for one at seventeen fucking years old. he's the great explosion murder god dynamight, and if he was any bit humble about it, the world would love and hate him just a little more.

but no. he's crass, foul-mouthed, short-tempered and intense with an ego that made up most of his tall, muscular stature. so even with the many outbursts of his that the world has witnessed, everyone can rest well knowing that he's still flawed. that ah, one of the greatest heroes in existence has an unfixable personality problem. thank god.

surely there's no way anyone could ever tolerate that personality enough, right? right?

pro-hero!katsuki who secretly married the love of his life not too long after graduating from ua, and quietly welcomed a daughter in his mid-twenties.

pro-hero!katsuki who is somehow the perfect husband and father, and every other person in his life is sick of it. because what do you mean this motherfucker is the one in a happy relationship? kirishima can't land someone for longer than two months, izuku's still stuck in the years-long song and dance with ochaco, most of these idiots are stuck or in and out of situationships, and don't even get anyone started on kaminari and jiro—but everyone, and i mean everyone, can't seem to get their love life right. why and how, out of all people, did katsuki bakugo get this shit right on the first try?

pro-hero!katsuki who is, unsurprisingly, class 1-a's resident relationship guru. he didn't ask for that position and he genuinely doesn't even understand why it's necessary, but every other reunion, basically everyone was taking turns on asking him love advice. like sure, as the only married parent out of the 21 alums, he has ‘tips and tricks’—but he doesn't get why these idiots need someone to tell them this shit. isn't it all obvious?

“bakugo.. i don't know how to be in a relationship and keep working.. what do i do..?” — “then don't? sort your shit out first. why are you makin' 'em deal with y'r mess that you don't even know how to deal with? jesus.”

“bakugo, the flowers i give my partner when i apologize always seems to end up in the trash even though they said they forgave me. what does that mean?” — “they're either not into flowers or y' can't communicate. either way, makes you a dickhead.”

“she says i'm not present enough.” — “y' probably aren't.”

"she said she doesn't want to be with me 'cause my job scares her.” — “valid. hero work is scary shit. y' can either handle it or y' can't, that's just how shit is. talk to her, but y' can't force her to stay if she really doesn't want to. that's fuckin' mean.”

“wait so, how's the missus okay with you and your job??” — “just win every fight and make it in time for dinner. light fuckin' work.”

this shit is so easy, why do these idiots need his hand-holding so badly.

pro-hero!katsuki who makes everyone even more annoyed because for the most part, he never intentionally shows off his perfect family. he's a pretty private guy, and he doesn't like making his marriage anyone's business outside of his close inner circle—it's unnecessary. and yet, like all things katsuki, it's still regularly rubbed in everyone's faces because turns out, he's just such a family man.

he's forced into a day of interviews on the weekend with red riot so obviously they'll have lunch together. they're in the cafeteria and kirishima was going to order something when katsuki dragged him to a table, forced him to sit, and pulls out a lunchbag out of nowhere.

“bakugo!? where the hell did you get that!?”

“shut up. here,” he opened the bag to hand him one of the two bentos and some chopsticks. “my lady and my kid made it this morning. eat it or i'll blow you up.”

kirishima didn't need to be told twice. “thank you for the food!” n he absolutely inhaled it all.

“bakugo, can you tell your wife i love her?” — “rot.”

he bumped into izuku on a walk who's bummed out, feelings crushed over something. izuku's talking about how he's not sure how he can juggle hero work, teaching, and trying this out with ochaco and he knows katsuki is listening, he does. but he could absolutely tell his head and heart wasn't fully in it, and so he stopped to ask.

“what's wrong with you?”

“hah? nothin'.” katsuki turned away, “'m fine.”

“is it work?”

just a bit more prodding later, and katsuki's hanging his whole head remorsefully, broad shoulders sagged and weak.

“..i blew up my kid's favorite dress.”

izuku was so grateful he managed to hold his laugh.

“that's.. that's horrible, kacchan.”

“she said she hates me.”

“she's three and upset, it's normal.” patted him on the back. “she doesn't actually hate you.”

“she's got her mama's heart and my temper, she absolutely fuckin' hates me.”

“well.”

“shut the fuck up.”

“i didn't even say anything.”

pro-hero!katsuki who is living the dream and everyone else are jealous extras. not his fault tho.

☾ — do i really like how i wrote this? no.... but the idea is in my brain n i had to just put it out. i definitely hv more papatsuki hcs cooking—it's genuinely all i'm thinking abt ever since i watched buddy daddies—but i'm so sleepy rn n i want to go back to spyxfam so this is all we're getting. also I KNOW I SAID I HAD THE PARENTING DIARY IDEA, BUT PLATONIC!KIRIBAKU BUDDY DADDIES AU IS TEMPTING ME AOSOSJHDJSKSK someone save me. anyw yeah, there'll be more papatsuki. i need to get more comfortable writing hcs and simpler stuff anyw so i'm experimenting. thank u 4 reading n if u enjoyed it pls lmk and reblog and/or lmk in comments :] i lorb u gang ♡ (also i'm experimenting w my themes until i like it rn so pls don't mind)

© lunarlighxt on tumblr — do not repost or translate without my permission. i do not consent to my works being fed into ai or used for its training. if you do that, i will break my ‘no kill’ rule.

[morrocanbeeut]

first time on top ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ drabble

pairing. k.bakugo x fem!reader

cw. smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, riding, missionary, dom/sub dynamic, possessive behavior, marking, biting, creampie, degradation (light), profanity, MDNI

You'd been thinking about it for weeks.

Katsuki was always in control — pinning your wrists, hauling you where he wanted, fucking you like he owned you. Which, admittedly, you loved. But tonight, watching him sprawl on your couch, sweatpants low on his hips, shirt riding up to show those sharp abs… you wanted to try.

"Stay there," you said, and your voice only wobbled a little.

He arched a brow but obeyed, curious, as you climbed onto his lap. Straddled him. His hands immediately went to your hips, gripping tight, and you felt him hard already beneath you.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Me," you said, and sank down onto him.

He groaned — actually groaned, head falling back against the couch, throat working. You'd never heard that sound from him before. It emboldened you. You set a pace, rolling your hips, watching his face go slack with pleasure.

His hands tightened. "Fuck, look at you," he breathed, red eyes blown wide, tracking every movement. "Taking what you want like a greedy little—"

You cut him off with a kiss, biting his lip. He laughed into your mouth — surprised, delighted — and let you ride him for exactly forty-seven seconds before his control snapped.

His grip turned punishing. He bucked up into you, hard, meeting your rhythm and then setting it, faster, deeper. "Not deep enough," he growled, and suddenly you were moving — flipped, back hitting the couch cushions, him between your legs with your knees over his elbows.

"Katsuki—"

"Let you have your fun," he panted, slamming into you, making you see stars. "Now I need to feel you properly."

He fucked you like he was starving for it, like he'd been holding back for hours, teeth sunk into your shoulder, muttering mine, mine, fucking mine against your skin. When you came, screaming, he followed right after, burying himself to the hilt, groaning long and broken into your neck.

After, he didn't pull out. Just stayed there, breathing hard, pressing lazy kisses to your jaw. "Not bad," he muttered, smug. "For a first try."

You slapped his chest. He grinned, unrepentant, and rolled his hips just to feel you twitch around him. "Again?"

[anna-fanfics-4u]

enemies to lovers. bakugo x reader

‼️other chapters 1-8 are posted‼️

chapter 1

this is my first fanfiction that’s a “character x reader” so i’m sorry if it’s not very good.

you sit in ms kayamas class, modern hero history. your bored. tired. hungry.

you aren’t quite listening to what’s going on but when you begin to tune in you hear something about a… group project?

“and i will assign partners. ”

your teacher announces. you don’t really have anyone you don’t necessarily not like in your class. well, besides katsuki bakugo. you’ve been “mortal enemies” since elementary. there’s not really a reason it’s just happened over time. the way he acts like he’s above everyone, his ego, his stupid spiky hair. everything about him irks you.

ms. kayama goes around and assigns partners.

“midoriya with kirishima”

she points at the two, sitting on opposite ends of the room. heads turn to the two boys.

“yayarozu and.. kaminari”

your eyes glance over the two, seems reasonable. you wonder if there’s a pattern to the particularly random choice of partners.

suddenly ms. kayama says your name. you immediately look at her and glance around the room wondering who your going to get.

“y/n and bakugo”

no. no fucking way. your hands cover your face as you groan into them.

“WHAT?”

the blonde haired boy snarls.

his head snaps to look at you and his brows furrow.

you slowly lower your hands and mock bakugo as he’s talking

he starts very loudly yelling on about how he doesn’t want to work with a stupid extra like you. though it’s hard to understand when his raspy voice is ringing into your ear nonstop

you roll your eyes and turn your head to look at him

“shut up”

you say raising your eyebrows, egging him on. you turn your body back to the front of the class, paying no attention to how he responds. being enemies with him means you know every way to get under his skin.

ms. kayama is now regretting her decision, but she knows they have to get over this feud.

“anyone but her”

he orders the teacher, she scoffs and ignores katsuki and continues to assign partners.

when everyone’s been assigns he begans explaining the project.

“you will choose a hero to study, make a presentation and an essay on them. next thursday you will present it infront of your peers.”

as she explains it you start to imagine having to.. study, with bakugo. your head slowly turns to him. your face covered in disgust and you groan. knowing him he’s probably going to make you do everything. although that would be better than having to actually work with him.

when the bell rings everyone begans packing up. it’s study hall. which means now would be a good opportunity to began working on their project.

when you finish packing up you look at bakugo, he’s talking to kirishma about some stupid topic i’m sure.

you suck up all the hatred for bakugo and walk over to him.

“it’s study hall”

you announce

the blonde boy shrugs and raises an eyebrow

“and?”

you cross your arms

“we have a project” you raise your eyebrows sarcastically

he scoffs

“im not doing that bullshit”

he barks. kirishama slowly backs away and exits the classroom

“it’s a fucking partner project i’m not doing all of it by myself dipshit”

“too bad”

he mocks as he looks away and packs up his stuff. trying his best to ignore you.

you silently stand there. as he exits the classroom you follow behind. you follow very closely behind him. every turn he makes you make too.

your not letting this go.

he keeps walking and you hear him sigh as he notices you following him.

“go away dumbass”

he orders from infront of you.

you now slither up to be right beside him

“i’m only leaving if you go to the library with me and work on the project”

his grip on his backpack tightens

he speeds up, and of course when he does so do you. he rubs his face with his hands while groaning.

“don’t you have friends to annoy”

“nope” you say quickly and remain right by him.

“of course not”

he mutters. his breathing getting heavier by his pure annoyance.

suddenly,

he stops in his tracks and turns to face you.

“if i go to the damn library are you gonna finally get off my ass?”

he asks. rolling his eyes

you nod very enthusiastically

he sighs and throws his head back before looking at you squinting his eyes with agitation

“five minutes. that’s all your getting brat”

he exhales as he starts stomping to the library.

this is gonna be a very long project.

[simplybakugou]

Second Time Around: Extras Masterlist

↝ It's been eight years since Bakugou handed you the divorce papers without any reason, leaving you and your two children. But when co-parenting gets difficult and old feelings come back, you struggle with whether you can fall back in love with your ex-husband.

NOTE: this is a masterlist for fics that i'm writing from my asks/requests

SECOND TIME AROUND MAIN MASTERLIST

© simplybakugou — all rights reserved. DO NOT REPOST/REUPLOAD, TRANSLATE, OR EDIT ANY OF MY CONTENT ON HERE OR ANY PLATFORM

PAIRING: prohero!bakugou/dad!bakugou/divorced!bakugou x teacher!reader / mom!reader /divorced!reader (afab)

A/N: if you're coming across this randomly, please don't read any of the fics here and start with the main masterlist linked above

JOIN THE TAGLIST

EXTRAS:

⋆ DIVORCED AND STRAINING RELATIONSHIPS

⋆ APHRODISIAC CHOCOLATE 18+

⋆ MEETING AS TEENAGERS

⋆ OLDER SWEET TENDER LOVERS

⋆ IZUKU INTERRUPTING 18+

[shewki]

a/n: gosh i hate him 😐 also hii first time writing these type of fics, hope it wasn’t too bad for ur liking 😓 and i havent written in a while soooooo hello hehe.

mdni

I couldnt sleep thinking abt this uhmmmmmmm

thinking about…. Bf!Katsuki who uses a fleshlight because he knows it makes u jealous and antsy. I just thought he’d do this every once in a while when he’s feeling extra mean :(

Even worse, you had the freedom to literally just switch your positions and ride him yourself. Instead, he has you weak in bed!! everything about him just wraps around your head.. his scent, the hot feeling of his skin, his voice. He places himself between your plush thigh, fucking and holding the fleshlight in place with a free hand—juuust above your bare cunt. It would look like he was fucking you, almost felt like it too with the way you’re clenching around nothing, feeling his heavy balls slap against your clit with every thrust. He would ‘accidentally’ slip out the fleshlight and slide it between the lips of your pussy, only to apologize mockingly before slipping himself back.

“Why do you even have that.. s-stupid thing!..” you glared down at it like it’s actually trying to steal your Katsuki.

“’Suki.. c’mon now, please..” he only laughs gruffly at your desperate state before lowering himself down to give you a kiss.

“Fuck, cant be a good girl and wait for your turn—Always gotta make shit harder for me, dont you?” He groans and slaps your cheek softly multiple times as if trying to wake you up.

“I’ll give it t’you soon just.. mmfg..”

++ initially planned on posting a longer version with more dialogues but i wasn’t satisfied with what i came up with :( surprise surprise i still suck at it ok byeeeeeeeee goodnight