talking to katsuki bakugou after sex and it’s slow, soft, probably the quietest and calmest you’ll ever see the guy.
it’s all gentle touches, soft kisses, easy pillow talk that feels like the most natural thing in the world.
it’s him, lightly tracing your hip with his finger, taking in how you shiver under his touch.
it’s his finger, dipping to the front of you and trailing back between your legs, sore and soft and still wet.
it’s the slow build of sliding your bodies even closer once more, exploratory kisses and little nips, hands pulling at muscled shoulders and slotting into soft fluffy hair.
and when he finally slides himself back in you, it’s the easy, gentle motion of his hips and yours, working in tandem. of your toes curling, the sheets falling around his waist. Of his eyes, holding you with such soft reverence as he leisurely ruts into you.
it’s the build up of tension, the coil in your core tightening and tightening until there’s no room for any more tension and it snaps, softly and powerfully and perfectly timed, when he’s eagerly spilling into you as you squeeze around him.
it’s the return to the soft, contemplative look on his face as he checks in with you after, the strong arms pulling you to his chest and the soft lips pressed into your hair before the pull of sleep drags you both back under
✸ he doesn’t care if you shaved ten minutes ago or ten years ago
✸ hair on your pussy or not he’s going down like it’s his last meal
✸ he genuinely enjoys it, he truly does it for the love of the game
✸ he’s GOOD with his tongue. like so good, you don’t even mind the bruised bites he leaves on your thighs during
✸ he loves to watch you, peering up from his spot between your legs, bright carmine eyes heavy and utterly entranced in your face screwing up with pleasure
✸ he asks to eat you out randomly, whenever he gets a look at you stepping out of the shower, whenever you walk down the stairs, whenever you roll out of bed. genuinely any time the mood strikes he’s asking
✸ he kisses you with full force, face dripping with your juices immediately after
✸ he also loves sticking his fingers that were just inside you into your mouth, loves watching you twirl your tongue around them and taste yourself
just thinking about the first time Katsuki bakugou says “I love you” to you.
It takes him a while to figure out what the fuck the feeling even was- he’s shit at those. All he knew was that when he looked at you, his chest squeezed too tight and his heart did this weird traitorous flip in his chest.
He knew that he liked being around you- which was more than he could say for most people. He didn’t get tired of your endless chatting, and he didn’t mind the companionable silence that sometimes fell either. He was just content to be in your presence, sharing in whatever mood fit the moment.
He knew your smile made his brain short circuit. Not like that idiot Dunce Face did, something much more dignified and less pathetic. But still, short circuit nonetheless. Even when you’d just woken up, when your hair was a mess and the drool dried at the corner of your mouth, eyes half open with sleep, and you gave him that soft lazy smile reserved for only him. Maybe even especially then.
He knew your eyes were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His new favorite color, he decided. He wanted to swim in it, surround himself forever in the kindness and affection held inside them.
But despite knowing all these things, it still took him a while to put the pieces together. Emotional suppression or whatever that shitty UA counselor had told him back in school. He was fine with feeling all of those things, but identifying what they meant was a whole different ballgame.
And once he finally realized it, finally let himself sit with the fact that he was probably- no, definitely- in love with you, it took him even longer to work up the nerve to tell you.
Not because he was scared. Bakugou didn’t get scared (okay maybe the feeling fucking terrified him but he wasn’t ready to admit that part yet). He just knew he wanted it to go well. And he knew that if you didn’t reciprocate the feelings, it would fucking crush him. Not that he’d tell you that, he’d never want you to feel pressured into saying something if you didn’t mean it.
So he looked for an opportunity. He tried to make sure it was the right time, he looked for all the signs; he wanted you to be in a good mood, the temperature had to be right (he knew how irritated you got when it was too hot), the right setting, he had to make sure there was ample time after, so he could take you back home and into the bedroom where he could also show you how much he loved you.
In the end, the right moment never really announced itself.
He was trying to find one and wait, he really was, but the when the moment did come, it came naturally, organically.
It was when Bakugou was at his most vulnerable, his most raw state- which happened to be when he was towering over you in bed, one hand gripping your waist and the other next to your head on the mattress as he thrust into you.
This was when his guard was down the most, when all he could feel was you. You, surrounding him, your scent, your voice, soft and whining and pathetic but so, so fucking perfect, begging pleas of his name.
And as he slammed into you, he leaned down, his sweaty forehead touching yours, soft blond hair jutting out and tickling your face, as he slowed his pace. Deep, purposeful thrusts.
Then, when your eyes opened, fluttering up to look at him as your mouth opened in a breathless moan, the words were all but ripped out of him.
Raw, hoarse, with the most serious look you’d ever seen on his face.
“I fucking love you.”
And you were gone, and he was gone too, your highs washing over you at the same time, blinding white behind your eyes with the intensity, with the passion, with the deep rooted feeling that bloomed in your chest as stars exploded behind open stares, his thrusts stuttering before eventually stopping completely, stilled inside you with his head now resting on your heaving chest as you both came down.
And as you whispered it back into the crown of his head, softly and with all of the care you could muster, he didn’t know what he was so worried about in the first place.
He loved you, and (thank the fucking gods) you loved him, and for once, everything was calm in his mind.
I can’t stop thinking about bakugou with a significant other that sings.
You don’t think you’re that good, by any means. Average, at best, though others have tried to argue with you on that.
You hum softly around the house, barely even conscious you’re doing it. The melody leaves your lips, practically hums out of your very core, a constant lullaby spreading throughout the place.
You sing while you shower, you sing while you watch tv, you sing along to the radio in the car, while you wash dishes. Any time there’s a pocket of silence, there you are, a soft symphony surrounding you like a fuzzy aura.
And Bakugou fucking loves it. He can’t get enough of the way your voice lilts, the smooth transition of notes as you add in riffs that you subconsciously think up. He’s enamored by the way your mouth wraps around the words, by the way you make the loudness of his mind quiet with just a simple tune.
He’s told you as much before, early on when you had first moved in together. You’d come to him, hands twisted in your shirt and lips pressed flat together as you explained to him. Explained that you were borderline incapable of silence. That you had this habit, that you couldn’t control it. That you were worried you’d drive him batty with the constant noise. Worried; thinking back now he’d laugh at that.
How could you be worried? How could he feel anything other than completely at peace when he heard your soft voice, your beautiful voice, filling his mind and stilling all of the thoughts like a warm blanket over the cacophony of noise.
He’d assured you then, and had reassured you constantly since that he adored your voice, that it brought him solace and made his heart squeeze too tight in his chest.
So you’d smiled, and you’d let the habit go unchecked, happy to indulge him in your voice. Happy to have found someone- finally- who appreciated you for everything you were and everything you did.
He has the flu, nothing major, but it’s enough to turn the usually brash and explosive boy into a pile of need. He was adamant at first that he was in fact NOT sick, just extra tired and stressed. “I’m fuckin fine, stop fussing over me, brat.” He griped out between sniffles, the rumble of his voice even raspier than usual.
He would continue on his normal routine, patrolling and paperwork and working out, doing everything he could as long as possible until he just couldn’t anymore. Now he laid there, passed out on the bed with no shirt on, chills spreading over his body while still being covered in a thick layer of sweat.
He moans and groans, his raspy voice calling out “Babe! Babe?? OI, IM FUCKIN DYIN’ COME HERE!” until you came in, hands rubbing your temples as you stared at your boyfriend, who was barely recognizable at this point, were it not for his bare chiseled chest with the sheets pooled around his waist, his wild cherry eyes, and his messier than usual ash blonde spikes framing his face.
You’d roll your eyes at the pout on his face, walking over to him as soon as you see his hand lazily motioning for you to come closer. You’d walk to his side of the bed, about to lean down and brush away the hair that was plastered to his forehead from his fever, but just before you could you would feel his strong arm loop around your waist, pulling you down into him with a strength that was just so characteristically Bakugou.
You’d huff and try to push him away, sputtering out a whine of “Gross!” And a complaint of “You’re all sweaty, i don’t wanna get sick too!” But as soon as you see the pleading look on his face you would cave, sighing and shimmying your way up the bed, looping your arm under his head and smiling as he wiggled his way into your side, head placed on your chest. You’d thread your fingers through his damp hair, kissing the crown of his head every so often as you lost yourself in the steady rhythm of your fingers brushing his locks back and the beating of your hearts synchronizing, before sighing deeply and falling asleep with him.
He was definitely a big baby when it came to being sick, but the more you thought about it, the more you cherished the moments you had of soft Katsuki Bakugou. The moments no one else got to see. The moments that were reserved for only you.
buzzfeed unsolved but denki is Ryan, afraid of everything and believes in ghosts wholeheartedly, and shinsou is Shane, unbelieving and skeptical, just doing his best to scare the shit out of denki.
pleaseee drop the links or tag me in your favorite long bakugou tumblr fics🙏🏼 I have such a hard time finding long form fics on tumblr istg I’m so dumb pls
