#mha katsuki

[starving-and-arting]

Suit up, loser. 💥

[megumismyhusband]

meeting katsuki’s parents was… an experience.

you had prepared yourself for a lot. maybe his mom would be strict, maybe his dad would be intimidating, maybe they’d question your intentions. what you didn’t expect was for mitsuki bakugo to take one look at you, blink, then turn to her son with the most incredulous expression you’d ever seen.

“you’re messing with me.”

katsuki clicked his tongue. “what the hell are you talking about?”

she gestured at you. “this is your girlfriend?”

you smiled nervously and gave a little wave. “um, hi?”

she looked back at katsuki. “be serious.”

katsuki groaned, running a hand down his face. “yes, old hag, this is my girlfriend. what, you think i’m lying?”

mitsuki stared at you again, then back at katsuki, then back at you. “sweetheart,” she said, addressing you this time, “blink twice if you need help.”

masaru sighed from the kitchen table. “mitsuki…”

“no, seriously! you’re so cute, so polite — what do you even see in this angry little goblin?” she continued, gesturing wildly at her son.

you giggled. “he’s not that bad.”

katsuki scoffed. “damn right i’m not.”

mitsuki ignored him. “so, what? you just… like him? like, willingly?”

you nodded. “mhm! he’s actually really sweet when you get to know him.”

mitsuki looked so unconvinced. “are we talking about the same kid? blond, loud, temper worse than mine?”

masaru chuckled. “it does seem surprising, dear.”

“i don’t get what’s so shocking about this!” katsuki snapped, crossing his arms. “i’m a catch, damn it!”

mitsuki smirked. “you’re something, alright.”

you just squeezed katsuki’s hand, beaming up at him. “i think he’s perfect.”

he huffed, ears tinged pink. “damn right i am.”

mitsuki clapped you on the back — hard enough to almost knock you over. “you’ve got patience, i’ll give you that. welcome to the family, sweetheart. you’re gonna need all the luck you can get.”

gen m.list | join taglist here!

[feathersfromwings]

⚚ Freaky Ass Husband .ᐟ

In which your husband is a freak, this was something that you already knew. You just had no idea how much of a freak he really was until you started complaining about your period. He must've gotten tired of your complaints because he showed you a side of himself you weren't prepared to see. CW; Mentions of periods, mentions of oral (f receiving), mentions of period sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of breeding, possible dubcon Staring; Katsuki Bakugo x reader .ᐟ Izuku Midoriya x reader

K.Bakugo

"I hate it so much Katsu. The stupid cramps and hormones everywhere! And the worst part is when I get horny. Ugh!"

You're complaining about your period again, it's the fourth time in the last hour. Katsuki has ignored it for the better part of that hour by (trying) to focus on some paperwork he brought home from the agency but it's getting increasingly more difficult with you pacing back and forth and whining to him about how awful and stupid your period is. He's finally had enough, so the next time you pace in front of him, he swiftly grabs your wrist and yanks your body onto his lap.

"Woman. Yer gettin' on my damn nerves with all yer complainin' and it's startin' t'piss me off ya know that?"

The words come out in a snarl but there's no real aggression behind them, there never is when he speaks to you, just a hint of annoyance and tiredness that's evident in the way his voice takes on that weird little accent he gets when his words start slurring together and he drops the 'G' sound at the end of some words.

"Katsu."

You're whining again and he grasps your chin between thumb and forefinger forcing you to look at him.

"Ah ah, I'm gettin' real tired of hearin' yer complaints. Ya either let me fuck a baby in ya to get rid of the dumbass period for a while or ya let me fuck ya now to get rid of the cramps."

He says it so simply and glides his eyes down your body before snapping them back up to meet yours that are wide and dumb founded.

"K-Katsu…I'm bleeding…"

You mumble as if that means anything to him with the way he's staring at you.

"W-We can't?"

It comes out as a question and he just continues to stare at you before licking his lips.

"Blood is natural."

Is all he says.

"KATSUKI!"

You yell at him.

"Woman."

He simply says back. The two of you end up in a staring contest, each glaring at the other to see who will give in first. Though his next words leave you in absolute shock at the level of freak you've discovered him to be as you hit his chest with your fists.

"What's the point in having a sword if ya aren't gonna get it a little bloody sometimes?"

I.Midoriya

"Baby please, I promise it'll feel good and it'll help with your cramps."

Izuku's voice drifts through the bedroom door where you have locked yourself inside to hide from him. It started off as you two cuddling on the couch watching a movie together when you started complaining about your cramps and how the hormone changes drive you crazy with how fast they shift. Izuku, your lovely husband who was used to your complaining, simply held you tighter and turned the heat on the heating pad higher to help alleviate the cramps. Which worked for a bit until you started complaining about how the worst part is that you would get horny for no reason what-so-ever.

That's when your husbands demeanor shifted, his grip on your waist tightening in a different manner as his thumbs started rubbing soothing circles on your hips. Body shifting against yours to slot a leg between your thighs as his face hid in your neck, lips kissing at the exposed skin of your shoulder.

Your body had stiffened, voice cutting off mid-rant as you asked him what he was doing. His only response being that he was helping you. It wasn't until Izuku started kissing down your body that you understood what he meant as his lips pressed a kiss to the valley between your breasts over your shirt. You had tried pushing him away, insisting that it wasn't going to happen because you were a mess down there. You hadn't shaved and you were bleeding due to your period. He insisted that it would help make you feel better and that he didn't care if you were messy. It was nearing the end of your period so the blood flow wouldn't be that much and he didn't care anyway because he's a man and he's not scared of a little blood.

You had managed to push him off and run away after he'd lifted your shirt to bite and suck at your hip and that was how you found yourself locked in your shared bedroom, back against the locked door as you listened to him whine and whimper on the other side about wanting to please you and take care of you and make you feel better.

"No Zuzu that's gross, I can't believe you would even want to do that."

In truth you knew Izuku was a freak and that he loved you very much, you just didn't think he was this freaky. You're honestly kind of embarrassed and insecure about it, not understanding why he would want to do something like that. And it seems he knows what you're thinking and how your mind is racing right now.

"Baby it's natural, you're a woman. Your body is just doing what it's supposed to do and it's perfect. I love you so much and I promise it doesn't bother me at all. Please let me in my love, I just want to make my wife feel good, please."

His voice is so sweet and loving and it always makes your knees weak when he calls you 'my wife'. You love hearing him say those words, it's like he can sense your resolve weakening because he continues speaking.

"Please my love, please."

At this point you don't know whether he's begging to help you feel better or if he's begging to taste you for his own pleasure. Honestly it could be both but you have a feeling that it might be more for himself than anything else. You sigh and with shaky hands turn around to unlock the door. When you open the door, your husband in on his knees looking up at you with eyes full of love and want and a desire so deep it has your breath hitching in your throat.

The moment Izuku sees you standing there he's up on his feet, hands cupping your cheeks and kissing you passionately while walking you both backwards towards the bed where he lays you gently while crawling onto the bed to hover over you.

"Thank you baby, I promise I'll take care of you and make you feel so fucking good."

And he certainly kept his word.

taglist; {OPEN} | @blueheavenmilkshake, @kvtsvkis, @divalively0, @hearriot, @zhentheraven

©️ feathersfromwings. do not use, copy, steal or translate my works for any reason including ai.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ FMT: oneshot, 2k words

♡ TW: divorce, adultry-ish, morally injust side character with accounts of baby-trapping and gold-digging

♡ GN reader

You've been working for the Bakugou’s for about a year now. 

The madam, Mrs. Bakugou, has always been a strict employer, never quite satisfied with even your best effort.

You feel a little ashamed admitting you’re grateful you don’t see her a lot with how often she’s away on vacation—even though it makes you feel bad for Junior. 

Surprisingly, it’s Mr. Bakugou who’s the more reasonable out of the two. He may work a lot, but he tries his best making it home before dinnertime. And though he isn’t much of a talker, he’s at least cordial with you. Overall, he’s a good employer. Never outright saying thank you, but always tacking on a bonus to your salary as a silent acknowledgment of your hard work.

Or perhaps it’s a silent apology…

They argue a lot. Insults. Threats. Accusations. You name it. With their differences in lifestyle, it isn’t so surprising, even though it isn’t publicly known. You’d been made to sign a confidentiality agreement your first day. Back then, you’d thought of it as simple standard procedure, but you’d soon find out how necessary it really was.

Through unwilling eavesdropping you’ve pieced together the story about how the two of them ended up married, and it’s not a particularly nice one. 

Apparently, Mrs. Bakugou had been a fangirl of DynaMight back when his career had first started garnering attention. It’s not so different from the story they sell in the media—she was a lucky girl who made the young up-and-coming pro hero fall in love at first sight. Only, what they fail to say is that she was only supposed to be a fling. A one night stand that had ended in an unplanned pregnancy. 

You wouldn't feel comfortable judging her without giving her the benefit of the doubt. However, if you are to believe Mr. Bakugou’s accusations, she’d done the entire thing on purpose.

During your year of working for them, you’ve come to understand their relationship isn’t one made of love at all. That’s all just a front for the cameras. Nothing more. Behind closed doors, he just supplies her with enough money for her to leave him alone.

Though, for all the animosity he seems to hold for her, he doesn’t have any such feelings for Junior. No, quite the opposite. Despite being the product of a supposed baby-trap, you can see how much he loves the boy. In fact, you think the only reason he’s even bothered staying married to Mrs. Bakugou at all is for the sake of the child. 

You feel sorry for them—all three of them. You just hope they figure things out before Junior becomes old enough to start remembering things. Though, it wouldn't be your place to say such things.

Even so, you can tell Mr. Bakugou shares that sentiment. Despite being busy and for all his lack of tact, you can’t say he hasn’t tried making it work with the wife. But after so long, you can see it plain as day how drained he’s become. 

You can’t make out what they’re arguing about this time. You just hear the shrill screeching of Mrs. Bakugou as per usual before the tell-tale sound of the outer-door being slammed shut and the screeching of tires getting pulled out of the lot before driving off in a blazing fury. 

You’re happy none of it seems to wake Junior, lying in his crib all tuckered out.

It’s about time for you to leave, but it’s always a little awkward having to say your goodbye after one of their spats. Still, you can’t hide in the baby-room forever. And so, after giving it a while, you start making your way down the stairs.

You can hear Mr. Bakugou in the kitchen. It’s quiet aside from the gentle sounds of kitchen ware. 

“You can come out now,” he breaks the silence, calling you out before you even realize how you’d been all but hiding behind the wall.

Immediately, you spring out and apologize, “I'm sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping or anything, I just—”

“It’s fine,” he says. No sign of anger in his countenance—at least none for you. If anything, he just looks tired.

Even so, you apologize again, “I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right. It won't,” he sighs, muttering, “‘Cause the bitch won't be here…”

You swallow thickly, feeling awkwardly jammed between a rock and a hard place—not wanting to speak out of turn, though not wanting to stay silent either out of fear of upsetting him. “I’m—”

“Is Junior asleep?” he asks then, still with his voice low in a way you haven’t really heard from him before.

“Yes, I just finished reading him Beacon of Hope so he’s sure to be dreaming until morning,” you answer, happy to be able to reply with anything at all and not just stand there twiddling your fingers while waiting to be dismissed from the unpleasant tension still lingering in the air left by the un-present party. 

Though, nervous as you are, you’re sure he must find it even more embarrassing. After all, it’s his dirty laundry being aired, not yours. You’re just there to witness it.

And yet, “So, you’re leaving?” is the question he asks next.

It’s unexpected. Typically, he keeps it short with a simple good night or by divulging something about your next payment. You’ve always figured he didn’t want anyone around to see the ugly reality, what with all the effort he spends hiding it from the media. But,  you don’t know… something about how lonely he sounds tells you he might not dislike your presence right now as much as you would have thought.

“Unless there was more you needed from me?” you say then, not wanting to be too presumptuous.

“I made dinner,” he states—not desperately, and yet, still a little hopeful as he lays out the offer, “Eat with me?”

It’s hard to describe him at that moment. Tired is still very much the key word, but there’s more to it. Exposed, vulnerable, even a little needy maybe—most likely knowing full well how in your right you would be to decline, given the circumstance. 

“Thank you, Mr. Bakugou. That’s really kind of you,” is what you say instead. Where, despite feeling at odds, you couldn't have brought yourself to say no—not when he looks like that, in such want of some comfort.

You make your way to the cupboards, taking out a plate for you both—proceeding to further deck the table while he finishes up with the final touches and sets it out between your seats. 

It’s dark outside now, and no one had made the effort of turning on a single lamp. And so, there the two of you were, caught in the moody atmosphere with the fireplace as the main source of light. 

It was very nearly a little romantic. 

The shameful thought immediately made you think about the madam, prompting you to speak, “I’m sure Mrs. Bakugou will come to her senses.”

Mr. Bakugou keeps eating, seemingly too busy with it to have heard you. For a moment, you think he might not offer up a reply, but then he says, still with no more exertion above a mutter, as though determined to quit spending any more of his energy on the subject, “It doesn't really matter what senses she comes to, I've made up my mind,” and yet, as he continues, his brows deepen into a furl and a pinch of that characteristic anger seeps back into his voice, “I don’t have the fucking time, and even if I did, I don't have the patience nor energy to cater to a spoiled—”

He stops himself before raising his voice too much.

And then he’s back to muttering again, “Excuse me, I shouldn't be—”

“No, that’s alright,” you interject. It’s uncomfortable seeing him so reduced, you decide. You much prefer him when he’s himself. “If I may say so, sir, I think… Well, I think it’s good to be honest.” 

He meets your eyes. No doubt, a little surprised by your sudden comment. Still, you don’t let that deter you. 

“Besides,” Call it a nanny’s intuition, but you can tell when someone’s in need of cheering up and, if you were to pat yourself on the back just a bit, you’d say you’re not so bad at making it happen either. “You’ll have more time to spend with Junior when you’re not busy entertaining other things.”

He blinks at that—his eyes a little bigger than what you’re used to, looking at you like you’d just said the last thing he had expected to hear. 

“Right,” he whispers before reclaiming his voice and stating, now louder, “Exactly. So you agree?”

His gaze is demanding, giving you his full attention now as though expecting you to elaborate even more.

Suddenly, you’re reminded of how out of place you were being—indirectly talking ill about the madam with her husband over dinner. That’s not something a decent person does.

You shake your head then, admonishing yourself. “Well, my opinion hardly matters.”

To which he insists, “Your opinion is all that matters.” He returns to eating, now with a little more vigour than he had earlier. “As part of the public, it’s good to know not everyone will witchhunt me for wrecking my own home with a divorce.”

Divorce? 

Is that what they’d been arguing about?

“Oh—right…” You’d thought it had been another fight regarding money or Junior. You didn’t know he’d been thinking about ending it.

“Scandals are a pain to deal with,” he says then. “But I think you’re right.”

Your brows cinch, looking at him in askance. Right about what?

“In the end, being honest is better.”

The amount of lines you feel being crossed is enough to make your head spin. The conversation… you don’t know… wasn’t it a little flirtatious just then? 

You spend the rest of dinner without saying anything more incriminating, finishing your plate in silence, trying your best to deny yourself the thrill and to convince yourself you were just imagining things.

And yet, despite your unease, he, for what it’s worth, seemed to have recovered just a bit from before. Though, still less intense than usual, now no longer so somber. Just calm.

The two of you maintain the silence as you gather the dishes. Only, where it was supposed to give you peace of mind with putting an end to the suggestive nature blossoming in your conversation, the deafening quiet had now adopted the same air—feeling thick with something unspoken while the both you brush against one another in ways you can’t say are entirely accidental, neither on your side or his.

You don’t know what you’re doing. You just know it’s not right. But it isn’t before the heat of his hand envelops yours when you both reach for the last remaining bowl, that you’re struck with the feeling that things have officially gotten out of control.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you excuse with a squeak. “I should probably be on—”

But before you can pull your hand to yourself, he commits to the touch and pulls you between himself and the counter.

“Remember what I said about scandals?” he ignores your sense of morality, having none left to spare within himself whatsoever because, just an hour ago, you’d helped set him free from all of it. Free from the burden of guilt and shame. 

And now, he only has one thought on his mind regarding how much he wants to thank you for it.

“Mr. Bakugou—” you whisper, feeling taken by the grip he has on your waist, and scared about how easily you seem to melt in it. But with the way your breaths mingle, making your head fog up, you can’t help but forget feeling ashamed in favor of wanting to indulge in it even more.

“I guess…” he continues when you don’t reject it. “We ought’a do our best and make this worth the headline.”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[iheartbbybvnny]

⟡ stages of pregnancy with husband!katsuki ! fluff / suggestive , headcanon ℘ fem!reader. ㅤ𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪m.list ˖

husband!katsuki who massaged your feet when you were pregnant and made sure to always stock the fridge with your cravings, never missing a single day of cooking the meal you wanted the most.

husband!katsuki who didn’t believe you at all when you first told him you were pregnant, even after you showed him three positive tests, he made you take another one just in case. he stayed quiet for a moment before saying “fuck it. i’m gonna be a dad.” and kissed you for hours on end.

husband!katsuki who was nervous to tell his parents that he was going to be a dad, but you knew they would be so proud of him regardless, especially since they'd been asking for grandkids for the last six months. what shocked you the most was how he wasn't afraid to show off the fact that he was having your child to the entire world.

husband!katsuki who started to be way clingier than usual when you became pregnant, always giving you shoulder rubs, jumping off the sofa to get you a glass of water, and always spoke to your belly whenever he got the chance. even missing some days of pro hero work just to be there for you and the baby.

husband!katsuki who secretly hoped the baby would look like him so he could have a mini him running around the house and acting all crazy and mischievous like he was as a child, but also hoping the baby would have your personality since you were the sweeter one out of the two of you.

husband!katsuki who still wants to be intimate with you even if you’re pregnant, wanting to please you and hoping it eases your pains. he handles you with care and is extra gentle, knowing your carrying a whole human being in your belly, that is yours and his baby, his baby with you. makes him smile every time he thinks about it.

husband!katsuki who compliments you every day without fail and tells you how beautiful you are, even when you say you look ugly that day. he gets really upset if you say you look gross or whatever, because he knows that you look perfect all the time and you look especially beautiful since you were carrying his child, there was nothing more beautiful than that.

© bbybvnny. all rights reserved.

[katskelise]

best friend!katsuki + “just move in with me”

you’re almost done ranting to katsuki about your greedy landlord when he decides to cut you off.

he’s standing in front of you, arms crossed. his attention fully on you while you’re sat on your counter yapping.

“you should just move in with me already,” he says casually.

“what?”

“your place is a shit show— probably gonna come crashin’ down any second.”

you fake gasp. “hey!”

he began, “you know im right. plus, you’re always over at my place anyway. half your shit already lives there, might as well just make it full time.”

your mouth opens to argue, but, he’s not wrong. you are at his apartment all of the time anyway. and your apartment is shit. noisy neighbors, ac sucks, rent going up constantly.

“hm.. guess you’re right. and you’re serious? for real?”

he looks at you— with a bit of a softer look this time.

he shrugs like it’s the most normal thing ever. “course. wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

your heart feels heavy now. the vibe in the room shifts to something you wouldn’t know how to describe.

“don’t think it’s a favor. I want you there.” he adds, “just gotta empty a few drawers for you, help you move in all your crap. no big deal”

you grin, big. “no big deal? you won’t get annoyed with me all up in your space?”

he smirks back. “nah. think it’ll be good.”

and just like that, you feel yourself nodding along.

he nods back, and its all decided. like it was that easy. like it was always going to happen anyway.

maybeee this would be a good move.

.ᐟ

[fushiguava]

after a shitty date, your brother's bestfriend!katsuki finds your nsfw twitter account and relieves all his pent up tension 

katsuki knows the second she laughs at his joke that it’s not going to work.

not because she’s annoying. not because she’s boring. she’s fine. pretty, even. says all the right things. leans across the table in that practiced way like she’s read too many magazine articles about body language and how to be “irresistible,” lets her fingers brush his arm when she asks him about the gym. her voice is soft. her eyes linger. and all katsuki can think about is how off it feels. how cold. how completely unfuckingsexy it is to watch someone try so hard to be interesting. he finishes his drink too fast. smiles through the burn. thinks about how many more minutes he has to kill before he can leave without feeling like a dick.

he ends the night early. pays. walks her back to her car. listens to her offer something about “doing this again,” and nods even though he knows it’s a lie. he kisses her when she leans in, because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? it’s quick. dry. she tastes like lip gloss and vodka. he pulls back too fast and pretends he didn’t notice. tells her goodnight, watches her drive off, then gets in his own car and sits there with his head against the headrest and his jaw clenched.

he doesn’t even remember the drive home. just the sting behind his eyes from the streetlights and the throb in his cock that hasn’t gone away since halfway through dinner. not because of her. not even because of the dumb conversation or the tight dress or the low neckline. but because of what’s been crawling under his skin all day, ever since he woke up with morning wood and didn’t touch it. tried to push through a workout instead. tried to clear his head in the shower. nothing worked. and now it’s worse. now it’s fucking unbearable.

the second his front door closes, his belt’s undone. he doesn’t even make it to the bedroom. just drops onto the couch, drags a hand over his face, yanks his sweats down far enough to grip his cock, already half-hard and aching. he unlocks his phone without thinking. thumb taps open twitter like muscle memory. goes straight to the feed, already knowing it’ll be flooded with the usual shit—half-naked girls, grainy clips, skin and sound and desperation.

but tonight, it’s not working.

the girls are all too loud. the lighting’s bad. every clip starts in the middle of someone moaning fake as fuck, high-pitched and breathy and trying too hard. he scrolls past three, four, five of them without even twitching. rubs a thumb along the head of his cock, breath shallow, irritation blooming.

and then he sees it.

not a face. not even a body, really—just the curve of thighs in soft lighting, spread over pink sheets, fingers gliding through slick and dipping in slow. there’s no caption. no hashtags. no dramatic “daddy please ruin me” audio. just motion and the quiet sound of a girl trying not to moan too loud. like someone could hear. like she’s not supposed to be doing this.

his hand stills. his chest tightens.

it’s the room that does it. the wall. that fucking pink wall.

he knows that pink. knows the soft lighting. the way it hits in the evening. he’s seen it a hundred times, leaning in your doorway while your brother yells something down the hall. knows the bedspread. the plushie half in frame. the corner of the mirror tucked behind your nightstand.

his cock twitches violently in his hand.

you moan, soft and high, broken like you're trying not to let it out—and he knows that sound. not because he’s heard it like this, but because he's heard you laugh. whine. talk with your mouth full. yell at your brother from your room. your voice is burned into his memory, and now it's soaked through the speaker and dripping down his chest.

you’re fingering yourself slow. like it matters how it feels. like you’re not filming it for anyone else. two fingers curling inside you, legs already trembling. he watches your other hand reach offscreen for something. it returns with a vibrator. he hears the buzz before he sees it touch your clit—and then you twitch. moan again. messier.

you start to cum. hard. thighs clenched, hips jerking, slick gushing over your hand as your back arches and you fuck yourself through it.

katsuki’s already leaking.

he doesn’t remember clicking on your profile. but now he’s on it, scrolling slow. doesn’t recognize the username. but every single video is the same bed. the same sheets. the same necklace bouncing between your tits as you ride a thick confetti dildo on your knees, moaning like your voice is cracking in half.

he fists his cock and strokes fast and dirty and quiet, cumming messily all over his stomach as he watches you squirt on the toy in the next video. it slips in slowly, and you gasp when it pops past the tightest part. the sound you make is almost panicked.

he groans. jaw clenched. head back.

the guilt doesn’t hit until after. after he wipes his hand. after he stares at the ceiling. after he catches his breath. he closes the app. but it’s too late. it’s burned in. your moans. your necklace. your bed. you.

he doesn't sleep.

the thing is, it starts normal.

your brother’s on the couch in the other room yelling at the tv. the three of you were supposed to watch something together—some dumb movie he insisted on—but then he got distracted, left you and katsuki in the kitchen half-waiting, half-bullshitting. the morning sun’s starting to fade into afternoon, spilling warm and soft through the windows, and you’re sitting at the counter across from him with your chin propped on your hand, sipping from the same glass of water you’ve been nursing for the last twenty minutes. he looks relaxed. hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, thighs spread, scrolling through something on his phone.

but then you laugh at something he says, and it makes you think of a tiktok you saved last week—some dumb video that would hit his exact sense of humor—and you light up without thinking.

"shit, wait. my phone's upstairs. lemme show you on yours," you say, already holding your hand out across the counter.

he doesn’t even look up. just unlocks it, lazily swipes to the side like he’s going to hand it to you—screen still open—and then—

he pauses.

only for a second. so fast you wouldn’t even catch it if you weren’t already reaching. a little hesitation in his thumb. like his brain caught up a moment too late and said wait—but his hand’s already moving.

so you take it.

you’re not looking for anything. your mouth is already halfway open to ask if he even has tiktok downloaded when your eyes flick down.

the screen is in app-switcher mode.

you blink.

his open apps are stacked one behind the other, like cards. youtube. spotify. safari. and—twitter.

it’s not the bird icon that gets you. it’s the thumbnail.

the frozen still image of a paused video.

thighs spread wide. toy glinting between them. slick all over your fingers and a bit of it smeared on the inside of your thigh. the reflection of your fairy lights in the corner of the mirror. the necklace you never take off catching the light just enough to give you away.

it’s your video. the one you posted two nights ago.

and he was watching it.

you don’t even breathe.

you swipe up before your face can betray you, fast and fluid like muscle memory, pretending you didn’t just see yourself fingering your pussy on the screen of your brother’s best friend’s phone.

he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t move. doesn’t even flinch.

you open tiktok like nothing happened, type in the name of the video you meant to show him. your hands don’t shake. you force your body to stay still even as your pulse kicks high up in your chest, throat tight and hot, skin prickling with disbelief.

you press play and turn the screen toward him.

“this one,” you say, like your heart isn’t about to crawl up your tongue.

he nods. his face is unreadable. like he’s trying not to show anything at all.

but you can feel it between you. see it, even if he won’t look at you directly. the stiffness in his shoulders. the way he shifts his weight just slightly, like his skin is too hot. the way his fingers tap the counter once, then stop.

when the video ends, you slide it back across the counter like it doesn’t burn to touch it.

“thanks,” you say.

and he just nods again. silent.

you don’t bring it up. not then.

your phone lights up close to midnight.

you’re already in bed, lights off, one leg bent, staring at the ceiling like it might tell you what to do with the image burned into your brain—your own body, paused on his screen. the way his thumb hesitated. the way neither of you said anything.

the name on the screen makes your stomach flip.

katsuki: you still up?

you stare at it for a long time before answering.

you: yeah

there’s a long pause. you almost think he won’t respond. then—

katsuki: can i ask you something

katsuki: you don’t have to say yes

katsuki: but i need to ask

your heart thumps.

you: ask

katsuki: will you do it again

katsuki: like the video

katsuki: but this time

katsuki: can i watch

you don’t answer right away. you read it twice. three times. the words blur a little from how hard your pulse is pounding behind your eyes.

you type something. delete it. type again.

you: you already watched

katsuki: i know but it wasn’t enough i want to hear it in real time

katsuki: want to hear you moan like that right in front of me

katsuki: want to see you open up for me, slow

you: katsuki

katsuki: you gonna say no?

your screen stays lit for a while.

you: come through the back door

note: this work belongs to my one of my first friends on here—the person who inspired me to start writing in the first place. she’s incredibly talented, even if a loud handful of people tried to make her feel otherwise. the hate got to her and made her insecure, so she doesn’t want her name attached right now, and i want to respect that. i’m sharing this with her permission as a quiet way to show that her work still matters and that a few haters don’t outweigh the love. if you enjoy it, just know you’re appreciating something made by someone very special!! <3

[chaeuvy]

tie. . ⸝⸝ ＃katsuki bakugo 𝜗ৎ

⋆.𐙚 ̊ newly married, you steal Bakugo’s tie and wear it over your wedding dress. Later that night, with your dress bunched at your hips and that same tie looped around your neck 𐦯

⊹ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ post-wedding sex · fem!reader · tie kink · riding · dom!bakugo · filthy talk · soft possessiveness · katsuki being down bad for his wife · tugging on the tie · reader is obsessed with him and he knows it · light restraint mention · explicit content · nsfw

˓× ˒ 0.6k words.

･῾ ᵎ rq ⋆ 🦈 !! „Stealing bakugous tie after you get married … just wearing it … over your pretty dress, … it never comes off and he’s tugging on it while you ride him…“

You’d stolen his tie hours ago.

It was still looped around your neck now, a dark strip of silk against bare skin, trailing down over the white of your dress. You’d danced in it, laughed in it, kissed in it. It smelled like him.

Now you were in the hotel suite, perched on his lap with your skirts bunched up around your waist, straddling him. Your heels were gone, hair a little messy, but his eyes were locked on the tie.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice gone rough. “You’ve been wearin’ that all night?”

You nodded, rocking your hips against the hard length under his slacks. “It’s mine now.”

“Like hell.” His palms slid up your thighs, pushing your dress higher. “It’s mine. Same as you.

You gasped when he cupped you through your panties, fingers pressing just enough to make you arch.

“Katsuki…”

“Stand up.” He tugged at the hem of your dress until it was around your hips. “Leave it on.”

You obeyed, stepping out of your panties while his eyes followed every movement. He slid his trousers down just enough, freeing himself, and you could see the tremor in his jaw as he leaned back against the headboard.

“C’mere,” he rasped. “Show me what my wife looks like on top of me.”

You climbed back into his lap. His hands guided you, thumbs rubbing circles into your hips as you sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch until he was buried inside you. Both of you moaned—low, guttural sounds—foreheads touching.

Then he reached up and wrapped his fist around the tie at your neck.

“You wear my name, my ring, my tie,” he said, pulling you a little closer with every word. “Gonna wear my cock too, sweetheart.”

You rocked against him, your hands braced on his shoulders, dress sliding off one shoulder. Every time you rolled your hips he met you halfway, slow but deep, filling you, stretching you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, tugging the tie again, making you gasp. “Look at me. Ride me, baby. Show me.”

You started moving faster, rising and falling on him while he guided your hips, his thumb brushing your clit every time you came down. He was swearing under his breath, voice breaking on little groans.

“You like it when I pull?” he asked, tugging the tie harder. You whimpered. “Yeah, you do. Look at you. My fuckin’ wife, dripping on me, wearing my tie like a collar.”

“Katsuki—ah—” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you moaned. “All yours, Katsuki—”

He grunted, thrusting up hard into you, making you cry out. “Again.”

“I’m yours,” you repeated, almost sobbing as you moved on him. “Always yours.”

“That’s it.” His free hand slid up your spine, the other still fisted in the tie. “Now come for me. Let me feel it.”

You did. You clenched around him and came with a trembling moan, head falling back, his name spilling from your lips. He held you there, hips snapping up as he followed you over the edge, a broken sound leaving his throat.

He loosened his grip on the tie, pulling you into his chest, kissing your neck where the silk lay.

“Next time,” he murmured against your skin, “you don’t just wear it. You let me tie your wrists with it.”

You shivered, still shaking around him, and smiled against his mouth.

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━ do not copy or translate my work .ᐟ

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