For those who don't know. Katsuki means "Victory" or "Victorious Self". So I feel him being portrayed as, Nike, the Greek deity of Victory was only fitting for our explosive bastard!
Please do not read these if you are under age... You have been warned! 😂 They are mostly 🌶️🌶️🌶️
A @nightingalewrites333 original.
🚫 Do NOT re-upload!
☁️ 1: Katsuki comes home from patrol smelling like smoke and burnt sugar. He kicks the door shut, drops his gauntlets in his gear tray in the mudroom, finds you in the kitchen making a tea and pulls you into his chest like you’re the only thing that can calm the residual adrenaline still buzzing inside him. His arms wrap around you, face buried in your hair. “Missed your stupid face,” he mutters, voice rough. That’s his version of ‘I love you.’
☁️ 2: He’s not big on pet names in public. Calls you “dumbass” with that signature scowl… but when it’s just the two of you? He’ll rumble “baby” low in your ear while he’s got you pinned under him. Soft, almost shy, like he’s still pissed he even likes saying it.
☁️🌶️ 3: Some mornings he’s up and gone for work long before you wake. Those mornings he leaves sticky notes on the fridge in his messy handwriting.
“Left you breakfast so you don’t burn the kitchen down, idiot.”
Or “Training late. Text me when you’re home or I’ll send Shitty Hair over again.”
One morning you found a notes that said “Wear the red ones today. I want to see them later.”
... He did. And you weren’t in them for very long...
☁️ 4: You always know when he’s had a hard day. You don’t ask—you just tug that big, exhausted pro hero down onto the couch and make him lay his head in your lap. He pretends he hates it, grumbling “Tch, needy shit…” while you run your fingers through his spiky hair. But you feel it every time: the tension melts right out of his shoulders, his breathing slows, and he stops pretending and just lets you take care of him.
☁️ 🌶️ 5: Katsuki watches you like it’s his damn job. You’re cooking? He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes tracking every move. You bend over to grab something? That low growl slips out before he can stop it. “you doing that on purpose?” he says, already pulling you back against him. “you’re trouble.”
☁️ 6: Soft Katsuki emerges at 2 a.m. when you can’t sleep. He’ll tug you on top of his chest, one hand stroking your back in slow circles while the other plays with your hair. “Quit thinkin’ so loud,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t let go. Just holds you tighter until your breathing evens out. Sometimes he hums—low, off-key, usually some heavy metal song he listened to during training that day, but neither of you talk about it. He would deny it anyway.
☁️ 🌶️ 7: He gets stupidly proud when you wear anything in his hero colors. Red and orange? Instant chest puff. You show up to his agency in a little black dress with red accents? He’s dragging you into his office, door locked, muttering against your neck, “Fuck… you wear that for me, baby?”
☁️ 8: After a brutal day, Katsuki’s back is a map of tight knots, his muscles screaming from overuse. You don’t ask twice—you just point at the bed and say “shirt off, hero.” He drops face-down with a tired grunt. Your hands start working into those tense shoulders and he hisses through his teeth, “F-fuck…”
“I know baby, I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing deeper. “Want me to st—”
“No. Don’t stop. Just… do it.”
And you do. Slow, steady pressure melting the ache out of him until his pained groans turn into low, reluctant sighs. You switch to softer strokes, thumbs circling, fingers sliding through his hair until you feel him melt into the bed. Minutes later you hear light snores and the great Dynamight is dead asleep, completely relaxed under your palms.
🌶️ 9: He’s sprawled on the couch after patrol, shoulders stiff, when you climb behind him. Your thighs bracket his back as your palms dig into the muscle. He groans, head tipping forward. You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, then trail slow kisses down the side of his neck, nibbling just enough to make him shiver.
“You’re so tense, baby…” you whisper, voice low and sweet against his skin. “If you’re good and let me work all these knots out… i’ll show you another way to release some... tension.”
He lets out a wrecked little laugh that turns into another groan when your teeth graze his neck again. “Tch… you’re dangerous, you know that?” But he doesn’t move an inch. Just melts under your hands, waiting to see exactly what kind of reward you’ve got planned for him.
🌶️ 10: Pro Hero Dynamight doesn’t do “soft.” He’s six-foot-three of pure muscle and bad attitude, scars on his shoulders from years of blowing villains to hell, and the second you mouth off he’s got you backed against the wall with that feral grin. “Tch. Look at you, actin’ like a fuckin’ brat again.” One big hand pins both your wrists above your head while the other yanks your thighs around his waist. He doesn’t ask. He just takes.
🌶️ 11: He’s got a thing for you wear his clothes and nothing else. You steal his black tank top after a long patrol? He walks in, sees it barely covering your ass, and the gauntlets hit the floor with a metallic thud. Next thing you know he’s got the hem shoved up, face buried between your legs while he mutters, “Looks fuckin’ amazing on you... would be better soaked with your cum.”
🌶️ 12: Missionary is cute. Katsuki prefers prone-bone so he can pin you flat, chest to your back, hips snapping so deep you feel him in your stomach. One arm hooked around your throat, the other gripping the sheets like he’s trying not to explode the damn mattress. “That’s it—fuckin’ take it.”
🌶️ 13: Wall sex is his go-to power move. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, back against the cold plaster, legs locked around his waist while he fucks you stupid. Sweat rolling down his temple, small sparks popping around him. Every thrust makes the pictures on the wall rattle. “Eyes on me, brat. I want to see you fall apart around me.”
🌶️ 14: Control is oxygen to Katsuki. He doesn’t just fuck you — he owns the room and the air in your lungs. Large scarred hands pinning you, voice low: “Move when I say. Breathe when I say. You’re mine, so behave… or don’t. I like both.” The second you test him, his face cracks into a grin. He lives for the fight.
🌶️ 15: Brat taming hits different with him. You mouth off? He’s got you flipped and folded before you finish the sentence, palm cracking across your ass with a tiny controlled spark that makes your skin sing. “Keep it up, brat. Every word is another minute you don’t get to finish.” But the second you push back hard enough? He laughs — dark, turned-on, proud — and ruins you twice as hard.
🌶️ 16: Quirk play is his filthy little secret. Those palms get hot. Real hot. He’ll pin you down, one hand on your throat radiating just enough heat to make you sweat and squirm while the other slides between your legs, warm fingertips teasing until you’re begging. “Too much? Too bad. You’re gonna take every degree I give you.” Temperature play at its most explosive.
🌶️ 17: Marking and claiming? Non-negotiable. He bites. Hard. Teeth on your neck, shoulders, inner thighs — dark hickeys and perfect dental imprints he’ll trace with his tongue the next morning while muttering, “Look at that… everyone will know who you belong to.”
🌶️ 18: The breeding kink is a glorious look on this man~ He’s got you bending like a pretzel, hips snapping deep, sweat dripping, snarling right against your ear: “Gonna fill you up till you’re leaking me for days. Gonna put so much in you it takes.” Even if it’s impossible, the words alone make him thrust harder. The thought of claiming you that completely? Sends him straight over the edge every time.
🌶️ 19: Sensory deprivation and blindfolds turn him into a predator. Silk tie over your eyes, earplugs in, suddenly every touch is electric. You never know where his hot mouth or rough hands are landing next. He loves the way you jolt and gasp. “Can’t see me, can you? Good. Just feel what I do to you.” The control + your trust? Makes him rock hard in seconds.
🌶️ 20: He’ll never admit it out loud, but Katsuki fucking loves when you flip the script. You shove him back, climb on top, trying to take control — hips grinding down, hands pinning his wrists like you’ve actually got him. He lets you think you do for a second, that smirk tugging at his lips. “Cute,” he growls, voice low and dangerous even while you’re on top.
Then he shows you exactly who’s in charge.
Even beneath you, his hips snap up hard, hands gripping your waist like steel, controlling every single bounce and grind. Tiny sparks dance across your skin wherever he touches. “Keep trying, brat. Look real pretty fighting for it.” No flipping you back over — he doesn’t need to. He fucks you senseless from below, proving with every deep thrust that even when you’re riding him, he’s the one ruining you.
