#kachan

[mugiwara-shuenobi]

[chimikkka]

time for a kiss

[sunnyoclock]

guilt

[toshinorisbaby]

TOSHINORISBABY'S KINKTOBER

☆ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪-𝕤𝕚𝕩 ⋮ 𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵 ꒰ 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 ꒱ Sore Winner (2.5k words)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2025. [A03] [Fanfiction.net] [Wattpad]

summary: After a heated spar in class, you’re left aching in more ways than one—and Bakugo’s not the type to let a challenge go unanswered. You think you can take him on, outmatch his explosions, and walk away without consequences? Keep dreaming, extra. Bakugo’s got a lesson for you—and this one’s going to leave a mark. warnings/themes: Reader Insert, Painal, Anal Sex, Rough Sex, Rough Kissing, Dubious Consent, Rivals to Lovers, First Time Anal, Creampie, Degradation, Sub/Dom Undertones, Marking/Biting, Claiming, Possessive Behaviour, Crying During Sex, No Aftercare, Canon Compliant.

You hit the mat with a sharp smack, the world tilting in flashes of white and blue. Somewhere above you, the gym lights flicker, painting little halos on the ceiling. The shock of Bakugo’s quirk echoes in your head, but you twist your arm and suck the pain in, feeling your quirk coil hot and sweet behind your ribs.

Bakugo’s voice is already barking down at you—

“Get up, dumbass! What? That all you got?”

The gym feels electric; steaming with heat and sweat, heavy enough to taste. It’s chaos: half the class hurling quirks at each other, Aizawa’s scarf flicking in the corner of your eye, every crash and shout echoing off steel and rubber. But right now, your world is razor-focused; centred on Bakugo Katsuki, decked out in his hero costume, gauntlets gleaming, boots stomping, spiky blonde hair wild as ever. And those eyes, crazed, sharp, red, like he’d eat you for breakfast if it meant one more step toward number one.

You suck in a breath and let his momentum launch you back to your feet. Kinetic redirection: you let his hit burn for a second, then bounce it straight through your body, feet hitting the mat with a crack. Bakugo’s already moving again—he never waits, never lets up—palms flaring, sparks crackling so bright you smell ozone and burnt dust. You grin at him, blood in your mouth, and goad him harder.

“What’s wrong? Running outta juice already?”

His glare pins you from across the sparring mat, sweat trailing down his neck, jaw clenched so hard you can almost hear his teeth grinding. There’s a little curl to his upper lip, teeth bared—a look that says he wants blood, but would settle for your pride. The X across his chest is bright, black-and-orange, stretched taut over his lean muscle. His costume looks heavy, hot, but Bakugo never seems to feel it—never seems to slow down.

“As if I'm worried about an extra like you!” he barks, gauntlet hand twitching. “Thought you were supposed to be a challenge. Or are you just all talk?”

You bare your teeth back, heart hammering, feeling the heat of your quirk coiling under your skin. “You wish. Don’t go crying when I send your ass flying.”

He laughs. “In your dreams, idiot. I’ll kill you!”

There’s no real threat, but your pulse spikes anyway. Bakugo only gets like this when he’s having fun.

He leaps—no, explodes—off the ground, a blast rippling from his palm. The force cracks the mat under his boots, shockwaves fizzing your hair back from your face. You barely dodge, feeling the kinetic force strike your shoulder, hot and punchy, and then you seize it, body glowing with the thrill of redirection. You launch the force right back at him with a jolt of your hips, energy blazing out through your palm. He grunts, lands rough, but twists back up like it didn’t hurt.

Bakugo grins, teeth flashing. His gauntlets spit explosions, blasts so bright you blink away starbursts. He comes at you again and again, sweat slick on his jaw, a scar by his temple catching the light. Every part of him is honed to violence and hungry for more. You try not to stare. (You fail, but it’s not like he notices.)

You roll, redirect, duck, and fire back. When he closes in, you see every vein in his neck, the furious set of his jaw, the way his red eyes spark with challenge. The class blurs around you—Mineta’s whining in the corner, Todoroki’s ice walling up behind him, Aizawa barking reminders about “practical applications” and “teamwork, you idiots.” But you and Bakugo are locked in, circling, jaws set, just the two of you, trading blows and insults, locked in a storm of sweat and fire. His explosions are bigger, louder. He wants to prove something, to you, to himself, maybe to the world.

He whips a grenade at your side deliberately wide, testing your speed. You absorb the impact, stagger, and laugh, sending a shockwave at his knees. He grits his teeth, muscles flexing under black armour, gauntlets raised. There’s a raw, predatory joy in his face as he launches again, blasting you both up and off the mat in a burst of smoky light.

You land hard, the air knocked out of you, but roll and bounce to your feet, ignoring the burn in your thighs. “That all you got, Bakugo?”

He’s breathing hard, sweat beading, but there’s a heated, admiring edge in his glare. “Keep running that mouth and I’ll really give you something to scream about!”

Aizawa’s voice slices through the noise, monotone and final: “Time’s up. Dorms, now. And the written assignment is due tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Bakugo spits, scowling, upper lip curling in contempt, but you see the flicker of pride when he glances your way. You’re bruised, panting, high on adrenaline, and the way he looks at you like you’re the only other person who matters in the room.

You let yourself watch him a beat too long; admiring the way his hair stands up, his suit stretched over every inch of him, the way his fists are always ready for war. You bite your tongue, swallow the urge to say something stupid.

He stomps off with one last glare—“Try not to suck so bad next time, loser”—but there’s a smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Arrogant, spiky-haired moron,” you mutter, quiet enough that he can't hear.

But you catch yourself smiling too, and wonder if he noticed.

Later that night, you’re hunched over your desk, knuckles aching from clutching your pen. The written assignment mocks you; English, math, formulas, everything swimming together in a misery stew. You groan, tossing your head back. Every part of your body aches from the fight, every bruise throbbing, but it’s the memory of Bakugo’s eyes and that cocky snarl that lingers.

You’re in the middle of scratching out another useless answer when there’s a thunderous pounding at your door.

“Oi! Open up, I know you’re in there, dumbass!”

Bakugo. You hear the impatience, the familiar edge of irritation; palms no doubt fizzing with leftover sparks.

You swing open the door just as he raises a fist for another slam. He’s changed into grey sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, but his costume’s influence lingers. His arms are bare and scarred, palms twitching with restless energy, blonde hair sticking up in every direction. He barges in like he owns the place, the room instantly feeling too small for both of you.

“What’s your problem?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“The hell was that in training?” he snaps, pacing in front of your bed. “You tryna make me look like an idiot in front of the whole class?”

You fold your arms, trying to play it cool. “I was just doing what Aizawa said. Didn’t realise your ego was so fragile.”

Bakugo’s in your face before you can finish, teeth bared, lips curled up so you can see every angry line in his jaw. He’s so close you can see the faded scar by his eyebrow, the flush creeping up from his chest.

His scowl deepens, veins popping in his neck. “Say that again, I dare you.”

You glare at him, but your heart skips. You can smell sweat, burnt gunpowder, something faintly sweet beneath all the anger.

“Well, it’s not my fault if you can’t keep up.”

You know you’re poking a bear, but it’s so worth it. His nostrils flare, his eyes narrow. For a second, you think he’s going to explode—literally—but instead, he steps closer, so close you feel the heat rolling off his skin.

You try to match him, but your gaze keeps flicking to his mouth—the snarl, the plush curve of his lower lip that you’ve not been able to take your eyes off all day, and suddenly you want nothing more than to shut him up for good.

You blurt, “You're such an asshole,” and before he can react, you lean in and kiss him—hard, reckless, your lips crashing into his.

There’s a stunned pause. For a split second, he’s all stiff resistance. Then, the dam breaks. He smashes his mouth to yours and growls, grabs the back of your neck with a rough hand, and pulls you closer, teeth clacking together. His kiss is wild, bruising, all tongue and frustration. He tastes like salt and adrenaline and that faint, dangerous charge that always lingers around him.

He presses you back, step by step, his hands never gentle; fisting your hair, squeezing your jaw, biting at your lower lip until you gasp. You moan against his mouth, fingers digging into his hard biceps, feeling the raw heat of his body pressed against yours. He bites your throat, then your collarbone, sharp and possessive, marking you. You moan because the pain is good, sharp, his.

“Think you’re so tough,” he growls against your skin, voice thick, “but I know how to break you.”

Your laugh is breathless, desperate. “Then do it. I dare you.”

He grins, all teeth—his red eyes searching yours, fierce and voracious.

You land on the bed, backs arching, bodies tangled. He kisses you again, deeper now, grinding his hips against yours, letting you feel the hard line of his cock pressing through thin sweatpants. Your own body aches with want. Every bruise and burn from earlier sparking to life under his hands. His mouth moves down your body, leaving marks, teeth sinking into your shoulder, your breast, making you gasp.

He pulls your shirt over your head, hands rough, palms dragging over your skin—calluses catching, every scrape making you shiver. He drinks you in, eyes roaming your bare body, hands not tender, always hungry. You can’t stop staring at him. The scars on his ribs, the ridges of muscle, sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat.

“Turn over,” he rasps.

You barely start to move before he grabs your waist and flips you himself—strong hands spinning you onto your stomach, face pressed to the sheets before you even realise what’s happening. You can feel the wet heat between your thighs, expecting him to slide into your pussy, to finally fuck you. You rock your hips back, giving him your best needy whimper.

“Bakugo—”

He spits in his hand, barely slicks the head of his cock, lines himself up— But then you feel him at your ass, not your cunt.

You freeze. “Wait—Bakugo, what—?”

He doesn’t wait. He grabs your hips, fingers bruising, and slams inside your ass in one brutal push.

White-hot pain sears up your spine and you cry out, biting the pillow. The stretch is nearly unbearable. Your eyes blur. You try to pull away, but his grip is iron, holding you in place. He’s thick, stretching you wide, nothing but his spit easing the way.

“Bakugo—it hurts—”

He grunts, biting his own lip so hard it's raw. “Yeah? Thought you could handle anything?”

You’re clawing at the bed, legs shaking, tears streaming. You’ve never felt so full, so raw. He’s huge, splitting you open, the burn sharp and relentless. He stays buried for a moment, panting, then starts to move—slow at first, then building, each thrust making you keen.

He bends over you, breath hot in your ear, voice low and mean: “Thought you were a badass? Thought you could beat me? You’re just a hole to use, aren’t you?”

You’re sobbing, choking on your own moans. “Fuck—Bakugo—please, be careful, please—”

He snaps his hips, harder, every thrust punching a new shock of pain and pleasure through your core.

“You like it, don’t you? You’re so fucking wet—could’ve fucked your pussy, but you need to learn who's boss.”

He drags his teeth down your spine, biting at you, hands digging into your flesh like he’s staking his claim. The pain stays sharp, your nails digging into the sheets, drooling on the pillow, but there’s heat under it. Your body trembles, helpless, desperate. You stop begging for mercy. Every rough, hateful word goes straight to your head, dizzying.

Bakugo doesn’t let up. He rocks his hips deeper, savouring your broken noises, breath coming in heavy, savage bursts against your skin. You can feel every inch of him, the relentless stretch, the way he ruts into you like he’s trying to carve his name inside. He’s so deep you swear you can’t take any more, but every time you gasp or sob, he only snaps his hips harder, voice ragged in your ear.

You claw, clinging to anything solid, legs shaking. There’s no escape; only Bakugo’s grip, the burn where he fills you. You’re lost in the pain and the pressure, each thrust sending sparks up your spine, your whole body on fire with the ache of it. You can’t think, can’t breathe, only shudder and take whatever he gives you.

You start to adjust, little by little, the pain blurring into something raw and hot. He’s relentless, pounding into you, degrading you with every word.

“Take it. Show me how tough you are. Don’t you dare let me see you cry.”

You clench, body shaking, so full it feels like you’ll split open. “Bakugo—”

He growls, pace building, thrusts faster, rougher, every snap of his hips making you jolt beneath him. His grip tightens, crueller, holding you exactly where he wants you. You can feel him getting close, rhythm growing sloppy, and then—

His rhythm stutters. He drives in, deeper than he’s ever been, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out, the pain blooming all over again as you feel him pulse inside you; hot, thick, spilling everything he has into your body. Every wave of release makes your insides clench around him. He grunts, animal and spent, and slaps your ass hard, breath coming in frenzied, shattered bursts.

He finally pulls out, and you wince, aching, stretched, and leaking, the sheets damp beneath you. He collapses next to you, still panting, his chest rising and falling in heavy waves. For a moment, all you can do is lie there, staring at the ceiling, hole throbbing, Bakugo’s cum slick and hot between your thighs.

Bakugo’s voice is rough, half a warning, half a promise: “Next time you try to embarrass me in class, I’ll fuck you even harder. Got it?”

You almost expect him to get up and storm out without a word, leave you wrecked and alone. But he doesn’t. He just lies there, silent, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his arm pressed up against yours, close enough to touch, but still stubbornly apart.

“Tch. You better clean up before you ruin the sheets,” he mutters, but his voice is softer, almost reluctant. Then, quieter, “And… don’t let anyone see you limping tomorrow, yeah?”

You close your eyes, still sore, and know you’ll feel every bruise tomorrow. But you can’t stop thinking about how he looked at you: wild, proud, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit yours.

[hidokuart]

Sunny Winter Day

Hidokuart | Patreon

FanArt, BNHA fanart

[s4kura-tr3]

Katsuki Bakugo — jealous Bakugo

You’d just wrapped up a conversation with one of the Class 1-B students—a friendly chat about training techniques and a few jokes here and there. As you turn away to head back toward Class 1-A’s training area, you don’t notice the piercing crimson eyes locked on you. Katsuki Bakugo stands off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching the interaction like a hawk. He’s been stewing in his spot for the past few minutes, silently fuming over the sight of you laughing with someone else.

The sight is unbearable for him. The way you smiled, the way that extra seemed too comfortable with you—none of it sat right with him. By the time you’re within earshot, he’s already storming toward you, his scowl as fierce as ever.

“What the hell was that about?” he barks, his voice sharp enough to make a few nearby students glance in your direction.

You stop in your tracks, blinking at him in confusion. “What was what about?”

“You! And that idiot from Class 1-B!” His hands are shoved into his pockets now, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches as he glares down at you.

“Oh, we were just talking,” you say, tilting your head innocently. “Nothing serious.”

“Talking?” His voice is dripping with disbelief. “That sure didn’t look like just talking! You were laughing at something they said, like it was the funniest damn thing in the world.”

Your lips twitch, holding back a smile. “And? Am I not allowed to laugh at jokes now?”

His glare hardens, and he takes a step closer, towering over you. “Not when it’s from some Class 1-B extra trying to impress you.”

You raise an eyebrow, folding your arms. “You think they were trying to impress me?”

“Of course they were!” he snaps, his voice rising slightly. “Who the hell wouldn’t? You’re—you’re… you.” His cheeks flush just a little, a rare sign of vulnerability that he tries to mask with his usual fiery attitude.

Your heart softens at his words, but you’re not about to let him off the hook just yet. “Katsuki, are you… jealous?”

His eyes widen briefly before narrowing into a glare again. “Tch. As if. I just don’t trust those damn extras around you. You’re mine, and I’m not about to let some loser think they’ve got a chance with you.”

You can’t help it—you laugh. Not at him, but at how adorably possessive he can be. “Katsuki,” you say, reaching up to place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. “You don’t have to get so worked up. You know I’m yours, right? No one else even comes close.”

He softens under your touch, though his expression remains grumpy. “Damn right, you’re mine,” he mutters, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

You step closer, resting your hand against his chest. “Good. Then trust me, okay? You don’t have anything to worry about.”

He huffs, glancing away for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “Fine. But if I catch that extra looking at you funny again, I’ll blow their ass to the other side of the training grounds.”

You laugh again, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrays him.

As you walk back toward the training area together, you can feel his presence beside you—protective, intense, and undeniably Katsuki. And even though he’s a jealous hothead, you wouldn’t trade him for anything.

[beautifulbutterfly-123]

[heartsforbakug0]

The right side of my neck, still smells like you. ⁞ Bakudeku Fic | Fluff <3 | College AU 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It was a long tiring week after, endless practicing from 7 in the morning till 8~10pm at night, yeah no, training to be a hero isn't as easy as everyone thinks. Everyone was put in trios, Bakugo with "shitty hair" (Kirishima) and "dunce face" (Denki), Deku with Ochaco and Ida, etc. Their campus was expanded.

They were no longer in UA high, but a sister university, U.F.T.H. Bakugo and Deku had gotten assigned dorms awhile back, its such a coincidence and shocker how much they've been "Magically" paired together, in middle school, in class 1-A, with the hero's mission etc, and now they are here.

Bakugo, with his grey bookbag hanging off his shoulder, had met another, a shorter green haired boy. His eyes felt tired and heavy, but suddenly he was faced with a way more exhausted being.

"Damn nerd, you look like shit." He shook his head side to side before walking besides him and taking a seat next to the other male.

"Yea, I know Kachan, I know…" He sighed, Bakugo shifted his view onto dekus sighing lips, his eyes shifted back up to his eyes, that made him both frustrated and calm at the same time.

There was silence between the two, the entrance of others getting on the train just pushed them more closer, their knees and shoulders touched and Katsuki felt a tiny spark in his heart. He remembered the other boys unusual energy and how he carried himself though, this was the first time he's ever seen Deku in such a state.

"You look terrible, here." Katsuki handed him his water bottle, they got released earlier today, at least that was one thing that he looked forward to, besides Deku's "dumbass" smile. The sunset from the train reflected onto the plastic of the bottle and the train noises looped.

"T-Thanks Kachan! You dont understand how much I need this refreshment." He dreamily sighed, like he had seen an angel on earth, he drunk the water slowly.

"TCH, WHATEVER! F-Fucking nerd." Katsuki blushed, the sunset reflecting and bringing out Katsuki's, blush and warmth in his face. Deku studied Bakugou's dumb look on his face as he appreciated this kindness from Katsuki. Suddenly the train hits a huge bump, Izuku clung onto Katsuki, and Bakugo did the same, his arm reaching over Deku's shoulder and resting against it.

"Damn it! what the hell, they should consider helping clear the tracks more often.” Katsuki rolled his eyes before looking down at the nerd.

"My head…"

"W-What the?! Dont even think about passing out, i-ill just leave your ass here!-" Bakugo said, despite the fact that all he could think about is taking care of that smaller, freckled, green haired boy later on.

"My head hurts even more now…" Deku flinched as he heard the screeching of the train tracks. Katsuki sighed before pulling out his air pods, he adjusts one in his ear, before putting on a playlist. He hid his phone from Deku as he did, his other hand reaching out for Deku to take the other air pod.

"T..The hell you staring at?! Fucking take it!" Katsuki yelled as he spotted the freckled faced boy's cheeks grow red and his eyebrows as they frowned in confusion.

"Right side of my neck" Faye Webster now playing.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

Deku looked outside the window, before slowly looking back at Katsuki.

"This is my favorite song, w-what the…" He thought to himself, before looking at the blonde. His hair glowing in the sun, the sun that had shined down on the both of them. The sunset making a great view for Deku's eyes to see.

He never thought a guy like Katsuki would ever listen to an artist like this. Half way through the song the both of them starting humming, Bakugo's eyes widened slightly, looking at the smaller boy, who had his eyes closed, while feeling the moment of the song. He found himself smiling softly, the sight of Deku enjoying this moment, and knowing he shared the same favorite artist as Deku made his heart go insane.

He felt himself start to grow warm in his own body, and as the train got gradually more crowded, he found himself laying with his head on Deku's shoulder, his hand fell to the boys waist and he fell deeper into the other, the sweet smell of oranges filled Katsuki's nostrils and he hummed in joy.

Izuku's eyes felt lighter than before, and his stomach was completely filled with butterflies, his cheeks felt warmer and looked at the other boy for a sense of reassurance and comfort.

"Can i hold your hand?" Deku whispered softly in Katsuki’s ear.

In a quick motion Katsuki took Deku's hand in his, he felt the heat grow on his ear and his body. His sight became soft and his body felt fuzzy with a feeling indescribable.

"Damn you Deku, damn you, pretty boy." he said softly. He could sense the stiffness in Deku's body and how he was trembling. He looked up at the other boy, their faces barely inches away from each other, their breaths lingering between the twos bare skin.

"You're trembling, trembling a lot nerd. You must be really stressed." Katsuki said taking in the other boys pair of eyes.

“M-Mhm…Mr.Treck has been hard on us three and its not that I cant handle all of it, it’s just that i get so tired fast because of my drawback from having one for all." Izuku said, tears building up in his eyes.

"Yeah, heard he's a complete dick, If he's pushing you too damn far then you deserve a break. If he says otherwise, I’ll blow his damn wrinkly ass up." Katsuki's thumb rubbed along the older scars along the back of Deku's hand.

“its not just that Kachan, ever since the big attack, ive been getting weaker. That means I’ll become more useless and wont be able to use my quirk as i once did. I wont be enough.." A tear streamed down the right side of Deku's face.

“Hey, Hey, Hey, dumbass, look at me. Fucking look at me. You are enough, you've done a lot, a lot for our classmates, a lot for me. Oi, you saved my life. Your fucking amazing, you showed me the man I want and can be. I dont know who I would be without you…without Deku. So don't say shit like that again or else I'm going to blow your damn freckled face up, got it?"

Izuku cut Bakugo off by kissing him.

"Sweet" Cigarettes After Sex now playing.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

Their hands interlocked and their lips finally met. Katsuki fell deep into the depths of Deku's, soft plum lips. It was so addicting, it felt so good, like he had a weight lifted off of his shoulder, like he had no fucks in the world for anyone, their surrounding and the people around him, meant nothing. Izuku, Izuku Midoriya mattered. He was all that existed in Katsuki's eyes in a moment like this.

"I love you." He let out in a gasped tone, his breath being so taken away by the other boys, that he did not notice he had spoken his mind.

Deku's eyes widened, and he felt his heart pound faster than Sugars punches, he felt his heart skip a beat and he smiled with his teary eyes.

“I love you so much, Kachan." He let out a cry, he had been holding that back for years. The kiss, the holding hands the "I love you"'s He felt so free.

They made it back home and he was pushed down to his bed, Katsukis hand placed on the outside of dekus shoulders. "Kachan..P-Pftt…"

"Fuck…hes always watching." He let out a laugh as he looked at the all might blanket that he had his hand pressed onto.

Deku wrapped his arms around Katsuki's broad shoulders, pulling him down.

He wrapped his arms around the boy with the much smaller figure than him.

"Can you do something for me?" Katsuki asked, holding Deku on top of his chest.

"H-Hm?" Deku asked softly.

“Whenever you're having a shitty day, always come to me. Text me, call me, okay?" he said softly kissing the top of the freckled boys green hair.

The end~

I hope you guys enjoyed this. <3

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This was originally written through Ao3, by me! <3