anime: haikyuu | bnha | tensura (slime tensei) | jjk | campfire cooking | demon slayer | given | saiki | hxh | wotakoi | fma:b | aot | pokémon | kumo desu (so im a spider)
kpop: stray kids | seventeen
other media: alnst | lord of mysteries | project hail mary | atla | kdramas | cdramas | the untamed | gudetama | haunting of hill house | alice in borderland | tgcf | gyeongseong creature | weak hero class
locking him out after boy's night | him eating out a pudding cup goes viral
"she was hitting on you."
and you looked sorta like you wanted to hit him, brows pinched together tight and lips pushed out in a familiar pout.
"she asked what time it was," sukuna grimaced, holding up his wrist like his watch was proof. heat already coiling in his stomach at the idea of how hard you'd probably fuck him later, nails dragging down his shoulder blades as you bounced on his cock to claim him as all yours.
"she just wanted an excuse to touch your arm," you scoffed, flicking him in the forehead before picking up the full shot the bartender just slid over, bringing it up to your lips and swallowing the acrid alcohol without so much as flinching.
"did you have to bring her tonight?" gojo whined on his other side, tugging on the hem of his shirt and rolling his eyes while you cut him a sharp glare. as much as he previously enjoyed breaking up your bar fights, he didn't want gojo so much as touching you.
"i'm going to the bathroom," you surprisingly muttered, more mature than he expected as you sat the empty shot back down and shoved your purse into his arms.
he should've known better.
because ten minutes later, he was pushing through the packed club to find the bathroom - and found some dipshit dancing with you instead.
his hands on your hips as they swayed in time with the music, your tiny little red dress rolling up high on your thighs as you leaned back against him, that annoying little smirk on your lips like you were just waiting to be discovered. batting your lashes up at him when you looked up, pushing out a glossy bottom lip as you said something soft enough for only him to hear.
and that asshole just ate it up.
blissfully unaware he was just a pawn being played with.
besides, who wouldn't want to be your toy? it was the only thing you ever made easy.
your eyes locked onto his, glittering mischievously before you ran your hand down his forearm, tapping twice on his watch as your mouth started to move again.
asking him for the fucking time.
all of sukuna's sensibility sucked out of his head as he stormed over, grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you against his chest as you scoffed at him like he was the crazy one here.
"get your hands off my fucking girlfriend."
"chill, dude," the loser huffed, holding his hands up defensively. "i didn't know she had a boyfriend."
sukuna made a sound, gritting his teeth as he started to step back.
"fuckin' slut."
sukuna blacked out.
and the next thing he knew, he was being pried off of him in the middle of the dance floor, knuckles dripping with blood as his fist connected one final time with his busted lip.
shit.
"lucky i didn't knock out your goddamn teeth," he spat at him, shrugging off gojo's hands as he felt himself being pulled back by his clothes.
a bouncer was there two seconds later to yank him out anyway, but he was focused on you, making sure you were by his side while he got screamed at for starting a fight.
he was sick of this place anyway.
grinding his back molars as they pushed both of you out the side exit, shouting to not come back or they'd call the cops, the same blah blah blah he'd heard too many times before.
"kuna," you whined, leaning your head against his shoulder as he flexed his bruised fingers. "did you have to get us kicked out?"
"he called you a slut," he grunted.
"i think you were just jealous," you hummed, the corner of your mouth curling up a tiny bit as he slung an arm around your shoulder.
"yeah right," he sarcastically muttered, lying through his teeth as someone called his name. glancing over his shoulder to see gojo throwing a hundred dollar bill at the bouncer, probably bribing him not to call the police before jogging to catch up. "let's just go home."
"oh?" you pouted again, lips pursed together as you followed his attention back to where gojo was standing. "maybe i should ask gojo if he wants to keep the night going."
"don't even think about it," he grumbled.
"don't think about what?" the idiot in question asked as he caught up.
"you wanna be the one to take me home?" you purred, deceptively soft and sweet as you smiled at gojo.
"if you say yes, i'll have to kill you," sukuna deadpanned, staring him down as he squeezed you closer.
Wanna scream cry throw up. Kaminari and Sero went to Egypt, worked with a pro hero that they knew Bakugou liked and got him his autograph. And brought it back as a gift. They love their Blasty sm.
Basically, like, Hanahaki disease except instead of unrequited love it's just repressed emotions, right? Makes more sense and fills in some questions I have always had about how that works. Anyways.
So Katsuki Bakugou, Mr I do not feel shit and will make you die for assuming that I do, has some feeeelings. And at first when he finds a petal he tells himself its fine, he's handled worse, he'll get the fuck over it.
Obviously, that doesn't happen. It gets worse. He's coughing up petals in class and pocketing them, smearing the blood on his black pants. He claims it's his quirk's smoke getting to him; he claims that his yelling is fucking up his throat and no he will not stop yelling, fuck you for asking.
But eventually, likely via Mina, word gets out that he's coughing up a shit ton of petals. Thats when the rumours start.
The immediate assumptions are that he's infatuated with Kirishima or Izuku. Theres bets between the classes of which it is, some people throwing in the odd bet that it's even Todoroki. For weeks Bakugou has to endure constant chatter about how he HAS to like Kirishima, Izuku, or Todoroki. Obviously. Every single time the topic pops up he tells them to Shut The Fuck Up and Go Die.
In reality, Bakugou doesn't like anyone that people say he likes and really, it's pissing him off. He doesn't secretly have feelings for his closest friend, nor does he like the shitty nerd who's always made his life shit by existing; and who The Fuck thought he would like half and half?!
He makes the mistake though, to assume that it would eventually die down, or hell, stay as just annoying chatter. Soon enough people start trying to set him up with Kiri, Izu, and Todoroki. To get his Feelings out. No one even considers that he might like someone else.
This escalation from rumours to setting Bakugou up is driving him insane. He doesn't need all this Bullshit on top of his feelings, especially since he can barely grasp his feelings. The idea of liking someone repulses him. Yet Sero weasels into his thoughts anyways.
He tries to make it clear to everyone, his feelings aren't up for them to intervene in. So why then, does everyone feel the need to continue to stick their nose in his goddamn business. He's told them to stop, to fuck off, really in the only way that he's learned how to. He blows up. He finds himself blowing up more than ever; consequently causing flowers to be harsher; and now he really is ruining his throat by yelling.
He begins to resign, stops talking to people. Stops leaving his room much. Still, the chatter, the rumours, the set ups, the petals, they don't stop. So eventually, Bakugou rants to the only person who seems bearable. Or atleast.. who is not pushing him over the edge. Sero.
He rants about how goddamn pushy everyone is, how the idea of him liking any of these people is Absurd. Seriously, who came up with this shit? Ofcourse he conveniently leaves out who he does actually like, but thats unimportant. No, whats important is what kept Bakugou up the rest of that night.
When Bakugou was half yelling half hyperventilating In Sero's dorm room about how stupid it was that anyone would even want to be the sole focus of Bakugou's affection, because while he was the Absolute Best he most definitely wasn't soft or cute. He doesn't treat anyone in the class nicely, why would anyone assume then that he liked Kirishima, Izuku, or fucking Todoroki?
After all his ranting Sero did his best to respond, offer some comments, whether or not they were helpful Bakugou wouldn't know. In all honesty, Bakugou couldn't remember the rest of what Sero said at all. Not after the comment to top all comments.
"I can see why though, I mean, you are Objectively Hot."
Objectively Hot.
Sero considered Bakugou hot.
Sero's words ran through his head like a broken record. They wouldn't leave. He tried playing music but for some reason every song felt amplified by the idea of Sero. He didn't even have romance songs, but he swore every song felt romantic after his time with Sero.
So he tried to count sheep, it's a common way to fall asleep after all. The issue was that every time he tried to imagine sheep they all seemed to have Sero's face, telling him that he was hot. Obviously, sheep weren't helping.
He thought about going to someone's room, but every option seemed bleak. He could go to Kirishima, but with all the rumours going around he'd rather not feed into it. He considered Kaminari or Mina, but he cringed once he realized they would tell everyone. Technically. If he was careful and didn't talk about who it was, he could go back to Sero's room.. but that left too many chances for him to slip up and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
At that idea, he quickly felt a lump rising up his throat. He coughed up more petals. He wasn't ready for Sero to know, but the flowers didn't give him much room to argue. When would he be ready? He pushed that aside. He could think of it later. Because duh, when was Bakugou ever known for making good decisions about his feelings?
At the end of the day, he chose to take a shower and reorganize his room. The shower was mostly unproductive, his thoughts not giving him a break. He stood there for about two minutes, washing his face of blood and his body of sweat, before the fantasy of Sero with him and Sero's hands all over him cut that short. No more shower.
He opted to reorganize his room instead. There was nothing he could tie back to Sero this way. He started by cleaning the trash and reorganizing his desk. When that wasn't enough he moved his bed around and found some old boxes of shit. Couldn't hurt to look through it, maybe it'd have some good shit.
And oh. It had some good shit.
The first thing he pulled out was a stupid book of adventures that Mina had made, she left it in his room a couple months ago and he never gave it back. It was a little sappy, which was stupid, but he didn't want to give it back.
It had photos of all his friends, each page dedicated to certain hang outs. There were even souvenirs on some pages. Like a sticky note that said "Dunce face". It was from that time where Kaminari accidentally short-circuited himself and the dorms; effectively causing a UA power outage.
He flipped through the pages only to, coincidentally, land on a page dedicated to Sero. It was from the time that Sero proved himself to be a true nerd; making flower crowns with Mina and naming each of them without pause. He knew his shit, and to Bakugou, that makes him a goddamn nerd.
Obviously, he stared at that page longer than necessary. He spent equal time admiring Sero as he did the book pressed flower souvenirs, each with their names and meanings scribbled next to them in Sero's writing.
It's funny what little things we forget about that can cause the biggest changes.
After that night Bakugou promised to himself that he would tell Sero, no matter how cheesy he thought it was. He would buy all the flowers pressed in that book and make a bouquet. Ofcourse, as he was Bakugou, it wasn't just that easy.
Or, more accurately, Bakugou would convince himself every-time he passed a flower-shop that there was some reason that he couldn't do it that day. He couldn't do it when he was with his friends, obviously. And what if someone saw him buying them on his own? He couldn't have that either. He would wait for the perfect opportunity. Thats what he told himself.
The days went on and he still hadn't bought those damned flowers. He always made some excuse and rationalized not buying them, even when he left the house strictly to buy those flowers. Eventually though, the hanahaki got worse. As if to punish him for being weak, for being too cowardly to buy some goddamn flowers.
What was something he could kind of hide, cough into his hand and pocket the petals, became uncontrollable constant hacking. There was more and more petals as time went by. The worst part, the harder his symptoms became to manage the more everyone pushed for him to be with Kirishima or Izuku. By this point the bet of it being Todoroki had died down, but really, it was just replaced tenfold by Kirishima and Izuku.
There was one day though, that Bakugou couldn't even get out of bed for his first class, he was stuck on the floor, face in a damned trash can full of bloody petals. Ofcourse, this was directly after the date that Mina and Hagekure (of all people!) forced him to go on with Kirishima. It was awkward. It was stupid. But most of all, he couldn't stop thinking of it being him and Sero instead.
He then promptly missed the rest of his classes. Again. That was that. He had finally made his decision. He was going to buy those flowers and Sero was going to fucking like them. So he begrudgingly grabbed the book and walked to that damn flower store. He would show the whole stupid class who he liked. He would give the damn flowers to Sero and everyone would get off his fucking back.
So, missing second period, he forced himself off to a flower store; one not too far from campus. Really, Bakugou could have done this afterschool, or any day at all, but if he had waited any longer he probably wouldn't have done it.
He walks in, coughing up a storm of floral mess; as if he was the flower shop itself. He grumbles out what flowers he wants but. Ofcourse. The shopkeeper gawks at him. The petals spewing from his lips, his unintangible wheezes barely forming words, he was a right fucking mess. Surely a sight to behold. Bakugou glares at the shopkeeper, as if they were the sole reason for his predicament. They dont suddenly understand him though. So he opens the book, something that, at this point, felt quite personal to him; and he aggressively points to each flower individually. He pays with card.
He got his damn flowers. He was going to fucking do this. He had to. Maybe. His anxiety sure didn't make it easy. Hell, he didn't know if he could even admit it aloud to himself; how did he fucking expect to say it to Sero? Fuck he was a mess.
To make matters worse, when he was nearly back to campus his old hag called him. He debated ignoring her, as he hadn't told her about the stupid flower disease and his current state certainly wasn't pleasant.. The coughing and shit was not a good look on him. He knew she would scold him if she knew how weak he was for having the disease in the first place. Despite this, he pressed answer. Better to be yelled at than dead by her hands.
Mitsuki squealed through the phone and Bakugou was sure that he would go deaf before he even got to campus. He obviously, told her to shut the fuck up and asked what the Big Fucking Deal was. "Oh Im just so proud of you Katsuki!! My little boy is all grown up!" The fuck? He racked his brain for answers for her behaviour, but came up with nothing. She then squealed something that made Bakugou's blood run cold.
"Don't play dumb with me Katsuki, you bought a bouquet of flowers!! Who's the lucky girl? Hmmm?"
He payed with card. Mitsuki's card. She knew immediately what the fuck was up. Bakugou growled through the phone and told her, with hoarse voice and a lung full of flowers, that there was no girl. Not entirely false. He hung up.
With a sense of dread and nerves on fire, he made his way back towards the school. He bought the flowers. A beautiful bouquet blooming in his hand. There was no way to back out now.
Or atleast. He tried to convince himself of that. He could easily throw down the flowers. Return to school as if nothing ever happened. Endure the class talk. Forget the flowers. Get over Sero... Because he's done such a damn good job of that.
No. He was better than that. He was going to go through with this. He could survive a little bit of vulnerability. Hopefully.
Before he could doubt himself further or potentially spiral, the bell rang. The shrill was loud and it screamed into his ears. But worst of all, it commenced hell. Lunch crowd. It was lunchtime and he had a bouquet of beautiful flowers wrapped neatly in his palms and fuck.
He, Bakugou, had flowers in hand and his peers were about to be flooding the area.
And off he went. Heading in any direction he could find where students weren't. This was the worst idea. This was such a terrible mistake. He should have left the flowers far behind, he should have taken Mitsuki's call as a warning of whats to come. Surely he was an idiot. A moron. How could he, of all people, make such a devastating mistake.
Thankfully for Bakugou's sanity, he knew of a space with no prying eyes to view him. It was quite the trek to reach, but it was safe. So he stumbled through the directions of which he only vaguely recalled. Vaguely was good enough for him.
Between barely knowing the directions and adamantly avoiding every student or classmate who could possibly lay eyes on him, Bakugou almost got lost a multitude of times. Safe to say the journey took longer than necessary.
Despite this, he found his desired spot. A lone stretch of rooftop which one can reach from the inside if they know where to go.
In his lonesome, clinging to his poor bouquet of flowers and questioning each life decision that brought him to this very moment; he didn't notice a key fact. Something one might be foolish for not checking before sitting down.
The rooftop was not empty.
In fact. Bakugou's luck must've been 6 feet under, because Hanta Fucking Sero now stood in front of him. No malice on his part, but damn was he the last person Katsuki wanted to see. Not now. Not like this.
The two spent a long minute in silence, Bakugou frozen in a whirlwind of thoughts and Sero concerned for his dear friend.
Then. Then sero sits down with Bakugou. He takes Bakugou's palms in his; and he stays. He stays without knowing what is going on. He stays despite the attempts at dissuading or pushing him away. He stays long after the bell for class rings. He is there as long as Bakugou needs. And man is Katsuki thankful for it. Even if he could never admit it.
They don't speak about the flowers which were roughly shoved into Sero's lap, but they sit perfectly in a vase on his desk. They don't mention the soft words which were spoken between them or how Bakugou now eases whenever Sero is around. They don't acknowledge the gossip that continues on long after the petals stop appearing; or how the two spend most nights in the other's room.
Words were never spoken. But they know.
They know what they mean to eachother, and thats what matters most.
This might be kinda a long rant, but I've been overanalysing Sero and Katsuki's relationship a lot and need people to know. Ofc its a rare pair ship so not a lot of content of them interacting in canon media together, however that doesn't mean their relationship lacks nuance like most ppl make it out to be.
It's cute and silly to think of the banter and how Sero is usually just teasing Katsuki or trying to rile him up with his comments, but there's also more than that. Boiling it down to such a simple dynamic doesn't define them, and although they might not be the closest of best buddy friends I think Sero understands Katsuki A LOT.
For example in this panel where Katsuki is swamped with fans of his fight with AFO, Shinso asks Sero first and foremost why Katsuki seems uneasy. Since they've been friends for a while Sero knows that Katsuki likes attention but not to be overwhelmed by many people all at once.
Sero also manages to regulate Katsuki in multiple scenes where he points out or makes him realise that he's not acting right and needs to chill.
Sero also regulates Katsuki by reminding him to not push himself too hard. When everyone went back to UA Sero was the first and only person to question Katsuki for being present in school, obviously implying that he's worried about his health. Since Katsuki was wounded really badly this makes sense, however none of the other classmates or teachers took time to check on Katsuki or question if it's even safe for him to be out of the hospital.
And although it might seem a little one sided, with Sero mainly regulating, understanding and worrying about Katsuki, that's to be expected. Katsuki is one of the very main characters, a deuteragonist, Sero isn't a very focused character. We don't know anything about his past or origin so interpreters can't fully understand him. What we mostly know is how he's kind of a comedic relief or "gag character". That doesn't make him less nuanced or boring to analyse though, because you're given the option to have a much broader interpretation of who is, (or who he might be).
hellooo this is me reminding u to write about sleepy bkg leaving ur apartment at night and begging for more kisses 🫡🫡
GO HOME! (2.5k)
— bakugou katsuki x reader
your boyfriend doesn’t want to go home.
cw: suggestive, swearing, pretty tame
“i can hear you not putting your shoes on!” you shout from your kitchen, refilling up your water bottle by your sink.
it’s nearing eleven pm on a weekday and you’re nearing the end of your bedtime routine. after finishing your final session of tussling in bed with your boyfriend, you sleepily got to showering and doing your skincare while bakugou was tasked to go back home.
you’re screwing your lid back onto your bottle, bag of popcorn under one arm as you step into your foyer. you find your boyfriend slumped in your chair for putting shoes on, doing exactly not that.
bakugou katsuki is in his thick grey socks, a random pair of black joggers he left at your flat and his oversized khaki hoodie. he looks handsome, always does, but this time he’s appearing a little disheveled. a flower wilting as the clouds begin hiding the sun.
you’re his precious sun with the energy to keep him happy and at peace, till he’s forcefully pulled from your grip.
his hoodie is unzipped, the right side awkwardly longer than the left from being dragged on in a tantrum. his white tee underneath is creased from yanking it over his head with a guttural sigh. he’s even got a water stain on it from hovering over you when you washed your face in the bathroom.
he’s got his head in his hands, legs spread with his travel duffle by his feet. he hasn’t even managed to grab his shoes off your neatly organised rack by your door.
you potter over to him, shaking your head softly with a sweet coo.
bakugou does not want to go home.
“baby. go,” you hum, dragging your slippered feet across your floor.
you tuck your body between his open legs, putting down your bottle and snacks to lightly tickle under his chin. you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever experienced from him, though it’s still miles below the ones he gives at work.
calloused hands find the bare backs of your soft thighs and lightly, he squeezes.
“you fuckin’ hate me,” he huffs, but his pout comes through. all his features softening under your attention, minus the twist in his brows. “gettin’ rid of me like this.”
you don’t miss the hickies on his neck, two maroon bruises because all you’ve done together these past few days is kiss, cuddle, eat and have sex. since bakugou became your boyfriend, he often forgets about his own apartment. his home is much larger, much more luxurious with built in speakers in the ceilings and a double headed shower. but he always lingers in yours, though he never outstays his welcome. even now.
“i don’t want you to leave but you need to pack for your mission tomorrow,” you smile, taller than him as he sits.
he feels delirious when he stuffs his face in your cotton soft stomach. you smell freshly showered, clean, cosy and like home. bakugou feels like his heart has been stabbed with a fork. he already misses you and you’re right in front of him.
it’s like he’s fighting the devil on his shoulder, to just stay over again tonight and get up early tomorrow. he can grab his shit from home and go straight there. he knows that plan will throw his whole day off tomorrow. also you hate waking up early.
he blinks at you slowly, like a cat that loves what he sees.
for you, it’s easy to get hot from his touch alone and that stare makes you nudge in closer to him. you want to sit on his lap, kiss down his neck again, despite being all over him an hour ago.
“you want me to piss off so you can watch love island,” he breathes, looking up at you with the sweetest ruby puppy dog eyes. there’s a scratchy tone to his voice, sleepiness clearly taking over though he fights it to spend a second longer with you.
you know for a fact you’re the only person in this universe that has seen katsuki like this. that thought alone makes you want to call up his job and say he can’t come in tomorrow. say he’s sick so you can cuddle his big head in your lap. who would you even call? the hero commission? his sidekicks? he is his own boss.
“i do have a load of episodes to catch up on since you’ve been here,” you say sweetly and he eyes your snacks, then your water bottle placed on the shelf beside him.
he’s a grumpy baby in a twenty seven year old, muscled man’s body. he scrunches his nose at the mention of that show. he hates all reality tv, so he says, even though he ends up asking you for details throughout every episode.
“just say you hate me,” he grunts, tilting his head up for a kiss.
you don’t give in just yet.
“i love you but you’ve gotta go. you’ll be even grumpier without sleep in the morning,” you smile.
he rolls his eyes. ever the dramatic one. “yeah, yeah. i get it. love you too.”
you stand there for a few moments. his grip on your thighs getting tighter, his chin in your stomach. he rubs his cheek against your palm, his stubble prickling against you with every move.
“you need to put your shoes on—,”
“you look so pretty like this,” he murmurs, even biting down on his bottom lip.
you narrow your eyes at him. you know exactly what he’s doing and it usually has a hundred percent success ratio.
he pulls off you, keeping his hands on your thighs to look down your body. stupidly, it causes you to look down at yourself too.
your soft pastel pink boy shorts because you get hot at night. your comfy low cut navy strappy top, that has seen better days but you have no need to replace yet. your nipples poke through the fabric and you don’t miss bakugou’s gaze wafting over them with his tongue poking his cheek.
he looks as if he’s about to moan or take a bite out of you. you can’t tell yet. you don’t mind either.
“katsuki, stop it. you were supposed to leave an hour ago,” you look to your clock beside your front door. “an hour and a half ago.”
bakugou grits his teeth then relaxes by kissing the strip of your stomach between your vest and shorts. he releases the quietest whine.
“i wanna stay here with you.”
even though he’s being dramatic, you’ll see him in less than a week, every word releases tingles down your spine.
you press a kiss to his lips, to which he eagerly pushes back. his hands sneak up to your waist holding you with purpose. it’s only a peck but everything he’s feeling is translated through.
“you’re killin’ me,” he says onto your lips.
“it’s not me, baby. you have the world to save tomorrow. you can make love to your girlfriend when you get back,” you say tenderly, brushing your thumb over his cheek.
“i’m givin’ you a good fuckin’ when i see you again.”
“you always do,” you shrug playfully and bakugou chuckles, shaking his head in resignation.
“fuck. fuck my life,” he grunts to himself, pulling his slides off your shoe rack and shoving them onto his feet.
“it feels like you’re obsessed with me, kats,” you giggle to yourself, stepping back so he has space to stand up and sling his duffle over his shoulder.
he raises one eyebrow, a huffy laugh releasing from his throat.
“hm? you think?” he takes his hand through his hair, a light pink blush on his cheeks from your attention. “‘course i fuckin’ am. i’m comin’ right back to get you when i’m done.”
you lift up on your tiptoes, hands on his pectorals, “if you say so.”
“i do say so. i am sayin’ that,” he mumbles, hands finding your ass to lift you with ease.
you wrap your legs around his waist so he doesn’t have to bend to kiss you.
“next thursday, okay?” he kisses the corner of your lips, feeling your cheeks rise. “and still text me. i’ll have my phone on me in the evenings.”
you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs.
“yes, dynamight sir,” you drawl, but you lean in to peck him, a noisy kiss that has him chasing after you. he moans softly.
“another.” he whispers.
with your arms wrapped around his neck, you give his bottom lip a nibble, one that causes an exasperated groan. then you slot your lips over his, pushing your tongue into his mouth to tangle against his. it’s long, wet and pulses throughout your body.
you push your chest against his as if you’re trying to merge into one, bakugou’s fingertips sinking into your ass cheeks.
it’s you that pulls away, landing two kisses on his lips for good measure.
“baby, no.” he complains.
since you’re the only one with self control here, you tap his shoulder.
“put me down now. you’ve got to go.” you say controlled and bakugou throws his head back in annoyance, “need you wide awake on the field so you don’t get hurt. i don’t wanna see a scratch on your pretty face when you come back.”
that gets him putting you down, your feet finding the floor. since getting with you, he’s much more mindful of his recklessness and getting hurt. bakugou doesn’t want to scare or upset you. you’ve become his beacon of light, his conscience and answer.
“my pretty face?” he grips the handle to his bag, a smirk rising. he’s still taking in his last few seconds.
you nod, “yes. come home safe to me.”
“i always do. don’t have to doubt me, princess.”
the pet name gets you rolling your eyes to hide how it makes your stomach do flips. he undoes both your door locks and slowly opens it with his shoulder like it weighs a tonne.
as if it’s becoming real all of a sudden, you throw yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a cuddle under his hoodie. you feel complete once you stuff your cheek between his pectorals and you squeeze him tight as thick arms cradle you in. katsuki’s always warm and toasty, a tall standing mattress for you to fall asleep on.
despite you urging him to leave, it doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t ache.
“i’ll miss you,” you say, eyes squeezed shut.
you’re just as dramatic as him, you just hide it better. you’ll see him next week.
“i’ll miss you. gonna think about you when i’m on the camp site shittin’ in the woods.”
your laugh makes bakugou’s chest swell.
“you’re so annoying.”
he shrugs.
with all the power he’s ever possessed in one single time, bakugou lets you untangle from him.
“i’m gonna go now.” he looks down your empty corridor, “i could stay over tonight and leave in the mornin’—.”
“you’re not waking me up at three.”
he turns to you with a frown.
“fine. another kiss, to wish me well,” he demands.
that you can do.
a smush of your lips, you gripping his tee as his hand cups your chin.
“another. for good luck.”
you huff playfully but still you give him another kiss. one that has you opening your mouth and letting him slot his tongue in between. it goes on longer than you mean, with you dragging him closer and his hands land back on your hips.
it’s when he groans without realising, a hardening bump in his waistband pressing against your stomach.
“go now!” you say, pushing him off you and bakugou drags a palm down his face.
“fuck,” he breathes, shaking the horny off his body. not the time. “i’ll see you next week. lock the door behind me. all of them.”
“i always do!”
he flickers down your body, one step into the corridor.
bakugou bites down on his bottom lip, “i love you. can’t wait to see you again.”
you awe, gripping the door and peeking out, “i love you too. i’ll keep you updated. even send you some selfies.”
bakugou nods rapidly, “please. i won’t be able to reply quickly but i will.”
“okay, i’ll see you later.”
he’s about to step away, he swears he is though he looks back at you peeping at him.
“one last kiss then i’m outta your sight,” he promises.
you eagerly pull out from behind the door, “last one! then you have to go!”
“yeah, yeah, yeah—,” he’s rough in the way you love, placing a palm flat on your back to pull you into him. you practically fall into his arms but quickly you’re up on your tiptoes.
it’s a kiss with the energy that it could be the last one you ever have. a hero going off on a mission and leaving his beautiful girl back home. though this isn’t one of his high risk ones, heck he’s going on his own because he’s so capable. yet still the day he returns feels like forever away.
you practically eat each other's faces, unable to stay appropriate down to your last moments together. you twist to the left as he goes right, holding the back of his head so he stays close. he’s not shy to push his cock into you, letting you know all the ways he will miss you.
it’s loud and messy. it’s trying to remember every inch of him so you can recall it in your nights alone. it’s bakugou groping every part of you he can get his hands on so he can mark you as his.
your blonde sucks on your tongue and you don’t mean to palm him but he ruts into you at the contact. you moan as pleasure sparks beneath your skin, the length of him growing cupped in your palm. you’re wondering if there’s time for another session even though he was meant to leave two hours ago.
the kiss only ends because you’re both breathless, using your last breaths to connect with the other. there’s giggles from you and three extra pecks before you force yourself to step away, using your front door as a shield from your riled up boyfriend.
you watch as he adjusts himself, rolls back his shoulders in a stretch and tries to screw his head on straight.
“goodbye now. for real, kats.”
he nods sharply, stretching his jaw side to side. “bye baby. i’m hard now.”
“that’s your own fault for begging for more kisses,” you grin.
he pouts, “how couldn’t i when you look like—,”
“bye katsuki. my tv is calling me!”
“fuck,” he groans, holding onto his bag strap and throwing his head back, “bye princess.”
comments n reblogs are appreciated. part 2 comments are deleted.
idk if u do this but ur writing is fucking good so if u could… sero denki x reader….??? totally okay if not !!
forced proximity with kamisero, 1.4k words. if i could??? nonnie, i’ve been dying to. when i tell you i’ve had this idea cooking for a minute …18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
“i hate both of you.”
“awh, don’t be like that.”
“yeah! this is quality bestie bonding time.”
you glare at your roommates in the dark—squint, actually, because you can barely see your own hand—and shove them both in the shoulders. they slam into opposite sides of the wall, which unfortunately, isn’t very far at all.
you’re stuck in a closet.
you’re stuck in a closet, and it’s their fault. spring (summer) cleaning has never been you three’s strong suit, but you had faith. you believed that if you orchestrated it yourself—because, lets be clear, these two losers aren’t orchestrating shit—that it would be fine. productive, even. you didn’t plan for their overwhelming stupidity to get in the way.
“it’s not even our fault, technically,” denki defends, weakly, like he can hear fists balling at your sides. “who would’ve known that the closet locks from the outside?”
eijirō, katsuki, and mina are on the way to save you three now. they can’t come faster.
it was stupid. it was so, so dumb. denki wanted to see if, he didn’t move the lock, would the closet still open and close? apparently, yes. apparently, he wanted everyone to find out with him. from inside the closet.
“who knew that stuffing all of us in a closet was a shitty excuse for a ‘prank’” you hiss, words dripping with sarcasm, and wish to resort to violence so, so bad. “oh wait! i did.”
“’kay, i don’t like your sass,” denki huffs. You growl.
“i don’t like your face!”
“well, good thing you can’t see it!”
“ladies, ladies,” hanta coos, awkwardly setting an arm around your shoulders to hold you in place, and prevent denki from getting another a black eye. “break it up.”
“hanta, shut the fuck up—you’re next.”
“ooh, hot,” and you can hear the smile in his words, as he leans closer—not that he wasn’t already fucking close—to purr in your ear. you push his face away, and into many coats.
you know denki is also about to say some fucked shit, if the deep inhale in preparation to deal a critical blow is any clue.
“y’know what we could do to pass the—”
“absolutely not, that was one time—”
“oh hell yeah, let’s fuck.”
you feel hanta nodding along, the stray hairs of his mullet brushing against the top of your head. so, you pull it. “Ow, what the—”
“if we have sex in here, we’ll run out of air.”
“a little asphyxiation kink never hurt nobody,” hanta says, so you yank again.
“i’m not dying with my pussy out.”
“ooh, i miss it,” denki says, and you can’t see him making grabby hands, but you know he is. “i miss her, show me, show me—”
you don’t even waste breath explaining how no one can even see, slowly loosing energy for this conversation. honestly, you’ve been moving around all day—you never had the energy in the first place.
“c’mon pretty, he’s practically begging for it,” hanta reasons, much too close to your ear, and if your blood goes hot, it’s because the closet is stuffy. obviously.
“i am begging for it,” denki nods, and his hands find your hips. you roll your eyes.
“god, both of you are pathetic.”
“mm, tell me more,” denki purrs, rotating your body until your facing him, and hanta’s chest is flush against your back. “please? just a little heavy petting until they get here.”
you sigh. then you groan, loud and annoyed, and—
“fuck! fine.”
“yay!”
denki takes the hands off your waist to clap softly, before they return where they belong. they blindly search for the tie in your sweats, fiddling and struggling, and you’re not about to fucking help him. he doesn’t even weasel them off—just sticks his hand in your pants like an animal, feeling around with absolutely no finesse at all.
“awh,” he pouts, running a finger through your folds. you shiver from the friction. “you’re dry.”
“and you’re embarrassing,” you huff through grit teeth. “just get on with it.”
so, he does.
hanta’s hand comes to cover the opposite side of your hip, much like denki’s once was, but doesn’t stay there—it drifts over and under your shirt, squeezing and groping as he sees fit. denki takes two fingers to your clit, circling softly and just like you taught him the first time. you lean your weight against hanta’s chest with a sigh.
“feeling good?” hanta checks in, dropping his chin to your crown. his hand slides to grip your breast through the bra, big hand encompassing half of your chest and then some.
“i’m feeling fine,” you huff. even if you were feeling good, you wouldn’t tell them. they don’t get the satisfaction of knowing.
“oh, i think she’s feeling plenty,” denki almost groans, running a finger through you again, only for it to come back soaking. and honestly? fuck him for that. “definitely wet now—that didn’t take much.”
“shut up and make me cum,” you hiss. hanta huffs a laugh and denki giggles.
“look who’s begging now,” hanta says, bending down to litter kisses along your pulse point. denki rubs you faster than before—impatient bastard.
“i’m literally not,” you defend, but it falls on deaf ears. maybe, it has something to do with the pick up of your breathing. oh lord, here we go—asphyxiating in a closet, with the two biggest idiots in the world. bye world, it was nice knowing you.
denki pinches your clit and you yelp. it earns him a slap to the shoulder, and he snickers, “sorry, she felt too cute. had to.”
hanta groans at that, and the hand on your chest drops down, knocking denki’s hand out the way as he hums, “lemme feel.”
he also groans at the feeling of you against his fingers. your body illustrates the biggest betrayal of the century as your hips buck against his palm, and don’t fucking stop.
“oh, bet you could cum just like this,” he purrs, nipping at your neck. you huff and choose to ignore his words, fisting your hands into denki’s top instead.
until he weasels his way out of your grip, only to disappear. it’s not until a hand finds your lower thigh and yanks your sweats down—some, not all the way—that you realize he’s gotten on his knees.
hanta sticks two thick fingers in you, and your head drops to his shoulder. honestly, at this point, fuck it.
you feel a cooling tongue tracing the bulging space around hanta’s fingers. denki grips your thighs and shakes them, groaning at the sense.
“god, you’re fucking perfect,” he whimpers, dropping his cheek to your thigh. you alternate between grinding back on hanta’s fingers, and grinding up into his palm, and try not to jostle denki in the process.
hanta agrees with a moan right in your ear, and denki starts delivering small kisses to the inside of your leg. heat pools behind your belly button, low in your stomach, and your breath hitches and releases, then hitches again.
“awh, you close, princess?” hanta pants, flattening his tongue and licking a hot line up your neck. you whimper.
“may-maybe.”
denki whines, and his grip on your thighs tighten. hanta’s fingers slip out of you to rub your clit properly, and denki’s fingers slide in right after him. you’re a goner, after that.
your hips stutter, and then you squeeze so tight you almost force denki out. the sound that you make is nothing short of embarrassing—a proper moan, which they don’t deserve—and your head tucks into hanta’s chest as the rest of your body curls. your legs give out, but hanta catches you by the waist before you can tumble. at some point, you found a hanger to hold onto, because once the feeling returns to your body, you find one in your hand, snapped in two.
it’s only when hanta’s fingers leave your clit that you open your eyes. there’s a small slit in the door, a strip of yellow light. it runs across denki’s nose and ends at his left eye, making it glow a canary yellow. hanta pokes his fingers at denki’s lips, wet with you, and he takes them happily, eyes fluttering shut as he handles two fingers like a blowjob. he pulls of with a ‘pop,’ a string of spit clinging to his lower lip and attaching him to hanta’s finger like the red string of fate.
“see? we burned like fifteen minutes,” denki says, and voice sounding heavier than it did last. or maybe your brain isn’t arousal-addled anymore. who even cares.
“whatever,” you huff, pulling your sweats back up once denki’s fingers fall out. he sucks those, too.
(and, when your saviors arrive, you realize, yes, the closet locks from the outside, but there’s also a lock inside. you turn to your roommates with a glare—they look guilty.)
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: a heat advisory is issued as temperatures in japan near triple digits this week. residents are urged to stay out of the sun, wear light-colored clothing, drink plenty of water, never leave pets inside a hot car, or engage in extremely strenuous activity. guys—guys, i said no strenuous activity, why are you fucking?!
❤︎ CONTENT: eijirō kirishima, best friends to lovers, roommates, blowjobs, ice, katsuki bakugō, the boyfriend experience, hear me out—popsicle blowjobs, HEAR ME OUT, slut!calling, denki kaminari, pool parties, mutual friends, water balloon fights, making out, izuku midoriya,husband!izuku, stargazing fluff, l-bombs, penetrative sex, crying, idek what got into me fr, hanta sero, childhood friends to lovers, weed, confessions, no porn just yearning … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i’m just a girl with a dream…A FEVER DREAM H A (i’m not funny.)
♫ NOW PLAYING: midnight sun, zara larsson.
read on ao3 | 6.4k words | masterlist.
EIJIRŌ KIRISHIMA.
The AC broke last night.
Eijirō knows, because he woke up swimming in a pool of his own sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest and hair plastered to his neck. The current heatwave is killing everything, braincells and split ends included.
The heat might’ve fried his brain—and he tries to regain some semblance of thought as he lays on the cool hardwood floor, below the ceiling fan, spread out like a starfish—but, that’s not the issue, if he’s being honest. The issue is how you deal with said heat.
At this point, you might as well just walk around naked.
(Don’t do that. Please, please don’t do that.)
You lounge beside him in the shortest shorts and tightest tank top Eijirō’s ever seen in his twenty six years of living, holding a small hand fan to your face like it’s not just recycling hot air. A thin film of sweat sticks to your skin and builds a sheen he’s sure should be reserved for the bedroom, oiled up like some pornstar, and, as stated, he quite literally has two braincells left. He counted.
Braincells that will expose him if he says so much as a word.
So, naturally, you start talking.
“God, it’s so hot, I can’t even watch the TV,” you lament, lifting a limp hand to gesture, before it lands heavy on your thigh with a slap. Fat jiggles in its wake, and Eijirō watches. Licks his lips.
He should go to his room, or something.
But it’s hot in there—hotter than it is out here, full of cloth and carpet and blankets, and Eijirō is already melting. He’s still deciding whether he feels like the Wicked Witch of the West, or Olaf. Wicked Witch…Olaf. Wicked Witch…Let it Go…
“—ello, hello? Eiji?”
It’s the hand waving in his face that jolts him out of his heat-induced stupor.
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you wanted me to grab the ice from the freezer,” you snort at his vegetative state. Eijirō nods once, then looks back to the ceiling.
You get up and head into the kitchen. He watches you walk away, watches your ass peek out from your insanely short shorts. (Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.) Then, he feels guilty. That wasn’t manly at all.
Becoming roommates with his childhood best friend sucks. Why did nobody tell him that it sucks?
You return with a full bowl, and a new lease on life. Taking two ice crescents, you hold them to both sides of your cheeks. They start to melt on impact. Eijirō wants to lick it up.
He takes a cube, and shoves it down his shorts.
“Eijirō, what the fuck.”
He gets caught. Of course, he gets caught.
“It’s hot,” he whines, accompanied by a soft laugh to let you know, no, he’s not getting hard or anything, it’s just hot. He swears.
“You’re so stupid,” you snort, like you’re not the one holding melting ice to your face. “It’s gonna look like you pissed yourself.”
“I don’t care,” Eijirō whimpers. His spot on the floor is getting warm under his back. He’ll need to move, soon.
“Oh, I have an idea!” Your eyes light up, but then you think about it, and they dull. “Never mind.”
Eijirō blinks at you, slow and sticky, and keeps his eyes on yours and definitely nowhere else.
“…What is it?”
“Oh shit—”
Okay. Okay, okay. When you said you had an idea, Eijirō didn’t think this was it.
But, here you sit, mouth on his dick and ice in your cheeks. Eijirō isn’t even sure it’s helping. He just knows that he’s hard, and sweaty, and it feels really, really good.
Just to cool down, you said. Don’t cum in my mouth, or else.
And he—he is trying. The ice is almost a biting temperature, the sting immediately soothed by the warmth of your lips. His body rotates from hot to cold on a loop. He’s holding onto the couch cushion behind him for dear life, propped against the base of it, while you give him the best head of his life. In your shared living room. What the fuck.
There were a million ways Eijirō thought this would go down—a drunk evening, a poorly timed confession, a thinly veiled attempt at getting over someone else, when really, there was no one to get over in the first place. Definitely not at your recommendation to combat the heat.
Your mouth pulls of his cock with a pop, and Eijirō whimpers. The sight will never leave his mind, he’ll make sure of it—your lips, swollen and glistening with spit, water dripping down the corners of your cheeks from melting ice like you’re drooling. You reach over to the defrosting bowl and pull out another small piece. Pop it in your mouth. Then, your mouth is back on his cock.
Eijirō shivers.
“We might ne—we might need to take a break,” Eijirō swallows, staring at the TV—which isn’t even playing anymore, Netflix taunting him with those four words, are you still watching?—because if he looks at you, he’s going to blow his load. And, he damn sure doesn’t want you to stop.
But, if you don’t give him a breather, he’s going to cum regardless. Because, yes, there’s a mouth on dick but it’s your mouth, and holy shit, he knows what the inside of your mouth feels like on his dick—
Eijirō pulls you off with a little too much force, a solid grip on your chin, and wheezes. Apparently, it goes against every natural urge imaginable to do that.
“Why,” you ask, simply, wiping at your jaw with the inside of your wrist. Eijirō tries to laugh, but it falls flat.
“Because,” he whines, watching at the ceiling. “I was about to cum, what do you mean, ‘why.’”
You giggle, resting your hands on either side of his body to prop yourself up. Except, it squishes your breasts, which sit right under your mouth, and Eijirō can’t stop staring. The world could be on fire, and he’d still be here. Staring.
“Oh! Cool,” you hum and nod, clacking the rest of the ice between your teeth. Eijirō watches your tongue roll every time your jaw drops. You start talking about something else, something mundane, while his dick is just…out, twitching when you say a word a little funny, or something that could be taken as an innuendo. And, it’s not—an innuendo—just casual banter between best friends who grew up together, but now, Eijirō can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee.
He’s fucked. Fuck.
KATSUKI BAKUGŌ.
What. The fuck. Are you doing.
“Wha’” You ask around the popsicle. A popsicle you’re currently treating as if it belongs to someone else—someone’s dick—swirling your tongue and popping your lips and dropping your jaw like it can feel it.
You are absolutely working that thing—and yeah, Katsuki gets it. It’s a hot day. The AC is on blast, and somehow, he’s still sweaty behind the creases of his knees and in the crooks of his elbows. He’s returning from his third shower of the day with a towel around his neck, walking back into the living room to find an image most offensive.
You, laying on the couch, with a popsicle in your mouth, moving it so thorough it might as well be fucking your face.
What. The fuck.
“Babe,” Katsuki sniffles, because, for some reason, the heat makes his nose run. “Fuckin’ quit it.”
“Qui’ wha’?”
You don’t quit it. Instead, you pull the popsicle out to talk, tongue darting out to lick the melting edge like it’s... Is Katsuki losing his mind? He might be losing his mind.
Great. Everyone said it would happen one day, and he laughed in their faces. Now, look at him.
“Fuckin’—the popsicle,” Katsuki huffs in irritation (sexual) as he walks to the bookshelf and finds something to distract himself with. He’s not fucking you—refuses, actually, in this temperature, and he’s already wasted enough water as is. You suck the popsicle back into your mouth, with puckered lips and hollowed cheeks, and Katsuki points like it’s personally offended him. (It has.) “Quit that.”
“Stop…fucking the popsicle,” you giggle, and while that’s not what Katsuki said—
“Yes. Stop treatin’ that goddamn thing like it’s my dick.”
“Mm, Katsuki!” You force a moan around the stupid thing, giggling again when he scowls over his shoulder with pinked cheeks. He can’t even focus—just picks a random book and returns to the couch. It’s not until he sits down that he realizes that it’s War and Peace. Fuck, he’s not reading Tolstoy in this fucking weather. Not when you’re slurping right next to him.
Katsuki opens the book, regardless. Reads the first few sentences of part two. Closes it again.
“Why are you like this,” he grunts, watching you in his peripheral. By now, the popsicle isn’t almost gone, but at that point of consumption where it’s in a weird shape. Katsuki counts down the minutes until there’s no shape, just stick.
You pull it from your mouth, slow and languid, gathering juice in the corners of your lips with a tongue. “Can I not enjoy my popsicle in peace?”
“Not like that.”
You roll your eyes, and go back to what you were doing. This time, you build a steady pace—in and out, in and out—holding eye contact with Katsuki like you know it’ll kill him. And, it does.
You play Katsuki Bakugō like a fiddle, and he hates every fucking second of it.
Reaching over, he takes the stick of the popsicle, and shoves it down your throat. You choke. It sounds more like a gargle.
“Wha’ tha fu’h,” You scrunch your nose in distaste, but Katsuki keeps the pace you built, albeit a little heavy handed.
“No, if you wanna fuck the popsicle, then fuck the popsicle,” Katsuki says behind a glare, like his breathing isn’t belated. You hum and lean right into it, suppressing a smile around the frozen juice. Fucking brat.
This was not the reaction you were supposed to have—you were supposed to splutter off, glare at him, and learn your lesson. Give up. Suck the popsicle like a normal human being, Katsuki doesn’t fucking know.
You aren’t supposed to enjoy it, though.
Your eyes aren’t supposed to flutter shut like the popsicle is Katsuki himself, like you’re sucking to get a sound out. You blink up at him, and he…can’t breathe. He snatches the popsicle out, only for a string of artificially colored spit to stick, then drop on your lips.
“What the fuck,” he finally vocalizes, too out of breath for having done nothing but jerk a popsicle around for a bit, “is wrong with you?”
“So many things,” you answer without hesitation, swallowing, and cleaning up the corners of your mouth. “Now, give it back. It’s hot.”
Katsuki doesn’t know why he listens.
(He’s stupid, that’s why. Stupid and weak and horny—)
With a sigh, Katsuki pokes the pointed top of the popsicle at your lips. You open them, but he runs it across the seam and around until it coats your mouth like gloss. Then, he pushes it in, slow but sure. Your eyes close, and Katsuki’s dick jumps.
Katsuki can feel the weight of your mouth through the stick, how tight your lips sit around the popsicle, and hums to himself. God, you look so pretty like this—weirdly peaceful—with nothing to do but suck while he does the work for you. When he gets closer, you don’t notice.
Not until you blink your eyes open, and they crinkle on the sides with silent entertainment. You reflect nothing that alludes to what you’re actually doing, slobbering over a popsicle until it drips along Katsuki’s knuckles and forearm. Messy, just how he likes it.
Your hand comes to Katsuki’s thigh for balance. He’s so close he can count the eyelashes dusting your cheeks if he wants, can hear your little exhales and feel your swallows. His mouth moves faster than his mind, voice breathless and a little aloof.
“You’re a fuckin’ slut, y’know that?”
It has no bite behind it—if anything, it’s a protection, a barrier against Katsuki’s own arousal, thin and pointless. Pointless, when he’s clearly rock hard in his shorts, dick standing straight to the sky and pitching a tent so narrow it’s structurally unsound. You smile because you know he’s panicking, and open your eyes to get a view out of his misery.
“What,” he bites, and pulls the popsicle out from your lips. You catch your breath, swallow, and then:
“You seem to be enjoying this.”
Katsuki huffs, and chokes you with the popsicle again. That’s what he gets for letting talk. You quirk an eyebrow but take it like a champ, as if to show he’s proving your point, but he’s not, shut up.
Your hand finds his dick with ease—it’s right there, loud and screaming to be touched, leaking through the fabric—and wrap around the shaft, polyester cloth sticking to his cock. Whether its sweat or pre-cum, Katsuki really doesn’t know.
All he knows is that a jolt of electricity runs down his spine, something sharp and hot and devastating, and Katsuki’s making a sound before he can stop it. Not a curse, not a moan, but a goddamn whimper.
Now, Katsuki has a point to prove.
Now, he has to prove that it was, in fact, not him that made that sound—it was some chink in the matrix, a glitch in your hearing. Katsuki pulls the popsicle out—its not much but stick at this point—and nods at the space on the floor between his legs. He relieves the building pressure with a squeeze or two. You scramble to your knees in a heartbeat.
So much for not fucking you.
DENKI KAMINARI.
“Hey. Denki, right?”
The water ballon jumps out his hands and goes rolling into the oversized bucket. Denki looks back to see you, smile wide and unwarranted, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.
Denki Kaminari isn’t…good, when it comes to pretty girls. He gets nervous, and tongue-tied, and can’t even make fun of himself right, which is his definitive hat trick, the one thing he knows can get a room rolling and girls swooning at his witty brilliance. (He thinks—the second one has yet to be tested.) His hands get clammy, the only noise he can make with his mouth is an embarrassing ‘buh,’ and the most he can do with his feet is storm off. Luckily, pretty girls don’t talk to him like that, so it’s not an really issue he felt the need to address. Until now.
Who you are and why you’re here, though, at Hanta’s pool party, is beyond him. Denki thinks you two are coworkers, but he wasn’t really listening—you walked through the door, and poof, his historically rapid train of thought was no more. Not silence, either. Just a buzz in the back of his head. A buuuuuh.
You asked him a question. Right.
“Buh-uh—,” Denki fumbles, like, so bad, and has to shake his head to start over. “Yeah, yes. I am him.”
“Okay, cool,” you giggle, seemingly not off put by his inelegance or drooling. Denki doesn’t know what to do with this information—it’s so hot outside it feels like his brain is melting from his ears. (And you—you’re very, very, very hot, hotter than it is outside, hotter than the sun, and Denki sweats a little harder when you get closer. When you lean over his shoulder as he crouches by the hose.) “What’cha doin’?”
You say that with all the mischief of a kid with a Nerf Gun, or a little devil, a woman after his own heart. Denki snorts, and grabs another deflated water balloon, hooks it up to the hose, and watches it swell.
“Giving everyone a way to cool off,” he shrugs, completely talking around the real reason: to harass Katsuki because he can, until he gets strong armed into submission. Then, he looks up at you, and tries avoid blindness when the sun halo’s your head like a God. “Want one?”
You tap your lip with a nail. “Sure.”
He passes over the one freshly filled, and you take it with a glowing smile. He sees your lips twist in his peripheral as he grabs another to stock—and tries not to publicly freak out at the fact that you’re still talking to him. Literally, why.
Denki tries to reach deep into the recesses of his soul. Charm, where is his charm? Hanta said he was charming, once, when he was really sad.
(Apparently, it jumped ship at the first ‘buh.’ Either that, or it was never there in the first place. Hanta Sero, you filthy fucking liar—)
A pop, then water comes running over his head.
Denki looks up to see you fisting around a busted balloon, hand still dripping wet with evidence. His jaw drops as water spills off the ends of his hair, and into the bucket full of balloons below him.
“You did not…”
You giggle, reaching into the bucket—between his legs, mind you—to grab another balloon and slap it against his back. It pops on impact. (Damn, Denki’s really good at filling water balloons. A perfected art, if he says so himself.)
“What if I did,” you quirk an eyebrow, and Denki wants to kiss you. So, so bad.
Grabbing three water balloons from the bucket, two in one hand and one in the other, Denki mimics your smile.
“Oh, it’s on.”
By the end, water balloon carcasses lay everywhere. Everyone else went inside to protect themselves from the chaos, unwilling to get wet before the food is ready—leaving you and Denki to chase each other around like children, ducking behind bushes and walls, water balloons ricocheting off every corner of the backyard.
Eventually, you two run out of full balloons. There’s still half the pack left, so it becomes a game of keep away—who can get ahold of the hose and fill their water balloon, throw said water balloon, all while never losing control of the hose. And, Denki is losing. Badly.
You’re tits are on him, it’s not his fault.
“Gotcha again!”
You’re both throwing water balloons at point blank, hard enough to leave soft red circles on his skin. Denki doesn’t mind, though—instead, he chucks another at your face, only to miss. This is why he’s losing.
“Well, fucking—let go of it!”
Denki reaches over your lap in hopes he can grab ahold of the hose—and fails when you tug it out of his reach, putting your chest in the way like you know he’ll do anything to avoid touching it. He ends up falling into your lap, anyways, and scrambles his way out before you can blink.
“You’re not playing fair,” he heaves, a little out of breath from all the running, and rushing, and gets on his knees to get a better reach. You just lean back, about to stand up to dart away with the thing, so Denki grabs your wrist and yanks it around, using your hand to fill the last water balloon left.
“I’m not playing fair?” You squeal behind a series of laughs, trying to tug your hand away and barely managing. Sticking his tongue out in focus, Denki holds your wrist as still as he can. The balloon only fills halfway in the time it takes to fill three, water spilling over the edges because you refuse to sit still. Luckily, Denki is a man of many ideas.
He turns your wrist, snatches off the nozzle attachment, and hangs the hose above your head.
You gasp, then choke a little when you inhale water along with air. You try to turn your wrist, and get his ankles wet a little, but that’s about it. Denki cackles.
“I win.”
“No, you—”
You struggle again, but to no avail. Denki moves the hose once the wet spot on concrete widens, starting to feel a little bad. A little—he still won, shit aim and all.
“Keep struggling, Cutie, you’re not gonna get it,” Denki smiles. You fight so hard your shoulder rams into his, but Denki finally manages to snatch the hose back. He debates on the closet location to buy more water balloons, but gets a little distracted, first by your smile, and then by the rest of you.
He didn’t realize how much closer you’ve gotten during the scuffle, shoulders touching and knees bumping. He watches you swim in the afternoon sun, glowing and soaking wet, and when you turn your head, you’re close enough to—
You kiss him?
Denki doesn’t know why. All he knows is, suddenly, your lips are on his when they don’t have to be. You kiss him, you keep kissing him, and when he finally gathers himself enough to kiss back, the hose is forgotten at his side and still running.
His hands do what they’ve wanted to all afternoon and grab your waist, tug you closer. You sigh into his mouth and relax, tilting your head to the side for better access. Denki licks the seam of your lips, earns himself a whine, and melts.
You taste like strawberries from the kitchen counter, something natural and light and perfect for the summer. His fingers fiddle with the edges of your bathing suit, but don’t push further than that, can’t, or he’s sure to get a nosebleed or say something stupid like mmm you smell like the tech section in Target. Something that, honestly, has very little bearing on the current moment.
As he presses forward, Denki doesn’t notice your hand snaking behind him. Not until there’s ice cold water running down his back.
Denki hisses, then groans, then bites your lip in retaliation because he can, because they’re right fucking there. Then, he can act like a normal human being again.
“Kissing to get me back is a dirty trick,” he narrows his eyes in a pout. You smile, pulling the hose overhead so every inch of him gets wet. It’s only fair.
“It worked, though,” you say behind a self-satisfied grin. Your lips are spit slick and a little swollen, so Denki finds that he doesn’t care about getting soaked all that much, after all.
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, snatching the hose back. You’re so close he doesn’t even have to tilt it that far forward.
It earns him a water balloon to the chest. Where the hell you were hiding that, Denki will never know.
IZUKU MIDORIYA.
The sun has long passed, but a cloying heat sticks to the walls of your home like honey. So, you and your husband head outside.
Light pollution isn’t horrible at your house in the mountains. When you and Izuku first moved in together, his one and only wish was to see the stars from his backyard. That narrowed the options down tremendously. Wiped Tokyo and Osaka off the map.
It was a hot day, and somehow, an even hotter night—so, of course he hosts a fucking pop quiz.
“Can you tell me which one is Ursa Major?”
It’s a basic question, with one of the most popular constellations. You scan the sky on your back, grass tickling your knees and thighs, eyes in search for something that could vaguely represent a saucepan. You can’t.
“Izuku,” you whine, rolling into his shoulder. “You can’t point to a splatter of stars and ask me to find a pattern.”
Izuku giggles and pokes your cheek. “Fine, fine. It’s in this general area.”
The finger that was harassing your face points to the sky and makes a big, broad, woefully unhelpful, circle.
“Izuku,” you deadpan. He sighs.
“Okay, it’s over there,” he points, giving up with an amused huff. Even then, it takes you a good minute to line up your sight with the tip of his finger. “See? Polaris over there? It’s the end of the Big Dipper. And the little one, but.”
You squint, and finally, make out something akin to a ladle. “How does that even turn into a bear? God, our ancestors must’ve been so bored.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, gently jostling your head in the process. You grunt, and he lets out a small ‘sorry’ before continuing his train of thought while wiggling a pair of eyebrows. “Or, maybe they were just creative.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huff, but Izuku just smiles like he loves you, and tugs you closer. It’s probably a little too hot to be this close, the world cooling down slow but sure, but you nuzzle your sweaty joints into his skin regardless. Your head rests on his chest. “You calling me uncreative?”
“No,” he snorts, and soothes you with a kiss to the forehead. “I’m saying they didn’t have a 9-5.”
Your bristles relax and smooth over. “Just checking.”
Izuku scrunches his nose with something fond. “You’re so defensive.”
“And you need to stop treating me like one of your students,” you add, poking at his nose until it relaxes. “I hate pop quizzes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You don’t, Dork.”
You get up on your elbows to get a better look at him, to brush a stray tuft of his hair back in place.
“What does that make you?” Izuku asks, raising an eyebrow. “Princess Dork?”
“Queen Dork,” you nod, humming when the thought hits just right. You scoot up higher, closer to his face. “And you can be my jester.”
Izuku gapes, chokes out a laugh in the process, and the way it makes the corners of his eyes screw into nothing is so sweet. “That’s all I am to you, huh? A little funny man?”
You nod, hum, and knock your forehead against his. “With little funny facts.”
Izuku just laughs quietly, smiles, and pulls you close—like you aren’t already close enough, like you can’t feel his breath on your face when he speaks, like you could phase into his body like Kitty Pryde from that X-Men documentary he made you watch. (It would’ve been fascinating if you understood any of it, you’re sure.)
“I love you,” he murmurs, nudging his nose into yours. You return the favor, then kiss him on the lips.
“I love you, too.”
There are a lot of things you love about your husband.
You love that he always wakes up first—impossibly, at the ass-crack of dawn—and you love that his brain is chalk full of a million random truths. You love that he has a fact of the day, you love that he has very specific special interests that he gets overexcited to share. You love that he comes home from work with a smile on his face, and you love that despite that smile, he lights up when he sees you in the living room regardless, that he immediately rushes to kiss you like he’s been away for months.
You also love his dick. Honestly, that’s probably further up the list than it should be.
“Fuck, Izuku—”
He’s not even going that fast. It’s slow and sensual and perfect for stargazing, if his eyes are stars and stars come in the shape of hearts. Grass tickles the arch in your back, while Izuku pounds steady but heavy, refusing to let you look away with a hand on your jaw. You’re fraying at the edges, regardless.
“I love you, Baby,” he huffs above you. His other hand is plastered beside your head, and grass peeks through his knuckles, wrought tight and torn. “I—I love you, so much—”
“’Zuku, I’m close,” you whimper, pawing at his chest. Izuku lets go of your jaw to grab your hand before it falls, tangling your fingers together with a polish that shouldn’t belong to a man who runs into a pole at least once a week. “Baby, I need—”
Izuku cuts your words short with a kiss, chaste but weighted, settling something deep in your bones that you didn’t know was there. When he pulls back, lips pink and swollen from the nights activities, “I know what you need, Baby. I got you.”
The hand beside your head drifts to where you’re connected, and starts rubbing your clit in tight, slow circles. They follow the pattern of his hips, and Izuku coos when you keen, stomach flexing as you cave in on yourself. It’s just along the line of too much, edging slightly past that border—it’s perfect.
“You look so pretty like this,” Izuku pants into your mouth, and squeezes your palm to stave off his own orgasm with a groan. “So pretty, all mine.”
The wedding rings on your clasped hands glint in your peripheral, bouncing the moonlight in reminder. A reminder that, yes, you’re all his—but also, he’s all yours. You choke on a whimper, biting your lip.
“I love you,” you breathe, your proud reservations stripped by intimacy and leaving you bare. Bare and bleeding, heart open and chest out, as you pass it to him for the thousandth time. When Izuku sniffles, you lift a weak hand to thumb a tear from rolling down his cheek. His eyes widen a little, when he realizes he’s crying.
“Sorry,” he huffs a wet laugh, tucking his head into your shoulder to keep him from further embarrassment. You let him, uncaring to how he soaks your top in the process. “S-Sorry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” you manage past a moan, a hand coming up the nape of his neck and tangling until it fits. Luckily, the lump in your throat is easier to swallow the longer you teeter on the edge. “I get it.”
“I just—” Izuku shudders a breath, but his hips never stop moving. It’s a weird combination of feelings—elation for two very different reasons—and it softens everything at the edges, blurs it all just enough to feel safe. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved something like this. I love you so much, it hurts.”
His voice cracks, and you, along with it—a hairline fracture shattering into the vague shape of your husband, ensuring that he fits, that he stays.
And, when you both cum at the same time, a cosmic alignment of two souls so perfectly intertwined that they become one, the cicadas sing along with you.
HANTA SERO
You haven’t seen Hanta Sero in years.
Not since high school graduation, you think. Not since you two went your separate ways for college, not since your families stopped hanging out so much, because people grow and change and most friendships are situational at that age.
The backyard to your family’s lake house is quiet now, save for cicadas, and the sound of a flicking lighter, still in the stiff humid air.
“So,” Hanta asks, lifting the joint to his lips. He’s sat comfortably—in a chair with his feet propped on the wrought iron table like he never left. And, in some ways, he didn’t. “How’ve you been?”
You still have the sweatshirt he let you borrow at that one football game, the socks he left at your place once because he ‘needed to let his feet breathe,’ whatever that means. You still have the memories, of him as your prom date (important note: as friends), of him sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of him getting caught sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of your first kiss in middle school.
No matter what, no matter how many of his things you throw away or give back, Hanta Sero sticks to you like the scent of weed after smoking in a circle—unavoidable, all consuming. Seemingly permanent, even when he’s no longer there.
This, though. This feels awkward. This feels like you two are still trying to get back to who you used to be—like you haven’t changed as people, completely.
Like it hasn’t been five years since you’ve seen him last.
“I’ve been good,” you nod, voice a little hopeful and a lot exhausted. “Work, friends…it’s all chill. You?”
He passes the joint. You take it graciously, and try to forget that his lips have been all over it.
“Decent,” he shrugs, teetering his head before he fully reclines in the chair and rests big hands behind his head. “Internships done, so, ‘m coming back home. Can’t tell whether it feels good yet, though.”
You scoff, nodding in agreement. “Moving back in with your parents is a…conflicting experience.”
“Right?” He almost says with relief, like he’s happy to not be the only one feeling it. That pressure. “Like, I don’t have to pay for laundry anymore—”
“Which is amazing,” you add, nodding, and pass the joint back.
“—or like, food, for the most part, but also, I’m back to living with my parents, so. You win some, you lose some.”
He weighs the options in both hands, smoke curling from the sudden movement. You smile, and maybe, possibly, say something slightly out of pocket. You mimic his gesture.
“You get to hang out with me again, but you get to live with your parents.”
“Exactly,” Hanta snaps and points without hesitation—the lack of it takes you by surprise. You think there’s more to that sentence, but there isn’t.
You two fall into a comfortable silence, watching the sun set on the horizon and douse everything orange, listening to cicadas chirp and leaves rustle, the chatter of your families inside the house filling the gaps. Someone must’ve said something really funny, probably at someone else’s expense, because the living room erupts on the other side of the wall. Even though you can’t see it, you smile at the wooden slats.
“I missed you.”
You look up—Hanta’s staring with something that’s not quite a smile, but not quite nothing, either—it’s a smile in his eyes, maybe, a glint of relative, peaceful amusement, and you falter. The setting sun emphasizes the soft edges, you think. It’s just a trick on the eyes.
The joint is more of a roach, at this point, and it nearly burns your fingertips as you pass it back.
“I missed you, too,” you cough, words a little rushed. Hanta’s full smile breaks across his face, finally escaping through the tight iron bars of it’s imprisonment.
“I can’t tell,” he says just before biting on the joint, and you huff.
“What do you want me to do?” You roll your eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Worship the ground you walk on?”
Hanta shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Mm, I feel like it should be the other way around,” you argue, gesturing until it vaguely represents a switch. “I feel like you should worship the ground I walk on, y’know?”
Hanta lifts an eyebrow, and moves to snuff the last glowing embers in the ash tray. They look like tiny flecks of sunset, flickering in just as bright of an orange. “What if I do?”
You choke.
On air, on smoke, on…something, but you choke. Hanta chuckles from his chest at the sight, licking his lips and finally, looking back to witness your aggressively flustered state.
“What if…I told you that I every time I saw your Instagram story, I’d get a little bitter.”
You swallow. You don’t know what you’d do if he told you that—but, he kind of already has, so. Cue the panic.
“I’d tell you that, uh, it’s good that you’re back, because now you can be in them,” you exhale. Great cover. Magnificent.
When Hanta flirts, it’s not a light joke. It’s…it’s batten down the hatches, lock the doors, and lock the locks on top of the locked door. He speaks with a smoothness that makes Katsuki’s knees weak, and he doesn’t like anyone save for Eijirō and himself. (Platonically—but also, romantically.)
You’ve been on the receiving end, occasionally. It’s a natural thing for him—just something Hanta does, who he is, whether he’s interested in a person or not. That’s not exactly what this feels like, though. It doesn’t feel hypothetical.
Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like you already hold his world on his shoulders, and he’s forever indebted to you for it. With intention.
“And, what if I told you I didn’t just want to be in them, but I want to be with you in them.”
Now. Do you understand what he’s getting at? Maybe. Possibly.
But—
“You’re saying the same thing twice,” you deadpan, resting your chin on a hand. Hopefully, the hot metal grating into your elbow is grounding. It is—but not enough. “I don’t want your riddles, Hanta, I’m high.”
He chuckles, looking off into the sunset with a tongue poking his cheek so hard it bends under the pressure. Then, he looks back, with something new in his eyes—a fire. A determination. Like it was grabbed from the sun itself.
“What if I told you to be my girlfriend.”
You make a small, pathetic noise—one akin to a small bird’s squawk, and Hanta snorts as your eyes go round. You swallow, again—because of cotton mouth, obviously. Not because he makes you nervous.
“I’d…” you gulp, damn you cotton mouth, “I’d tell you to take me on a date, first.”
His grin slips into something mischievous, something plotting. Something you know that you’ll regret, later. (What type of regret, though, and how much—that’s the question.)
“I can do that,” he shrugs, reaching into his pocket for another joint. You know he’ll have to face that one alone—you know he knows—because your eyes are already red and dry, and your tolerance is much lower than when you saw him last. His, seemingly, is just the same, and how someone smokes that much without getting a headache is beyond you.
“Can you?” You challenge, even if you know he can, better than most, because it’s Hanta. Hanta, who you met the first day of kindergarten, missing both front teeth with a Spiderman band-aid over his cheek. Hanta, who got into a fight in middle school because someone called you ugly. Hanta, who’s been as permanent of a fixture in your life as the stars, constantly revolving around you like you’ve got your own gravity. Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—
Hanta chuckles at the slight, lighting the new joint between his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow. “Find out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.”
He doesn’t give you much room to protest, so you just nod.
And, when he offers the joint, despite your earlier lamentations, you take it with shaking hands, because holy shit, holy shit—
🪼 — bkg. k x f!reader | quirkless-college au | fluff | one shot
Synopsis: Katsuki as your boyfriend, who invited you to one of his soccer matches, where girls from other schools thought you were just another delusional fan pretending to be his girlfriend.
from the head canons ; ⤷ katsuki as your college boyfriend
It’s the first game of the season and the university stadium is packed with students from different schools, all dressed in their respective team colors while carrying banners in support of their players. Cheers and murmurs echo through the crowd, blending in with the announcer’s voice over the speakers before the match officially begins.
It took a few minutes of weaving through the crowd before you finally spotted your section, scanning the rows one last time until your eyes landed on the three empty seats at the front.
“Over there—” You pointed towards the front row.
Mina looked at the direction of your finger before replying enthusiastically. “And we got the best seat in the house!”
“I know, right?!” You laughed, hurrying down the steps.
“We’re near the team too.” Kyoka said in awe, glancing towards the players’ bench just a few meters away.
“I should thank your boyfriend for this.” Mina said, giving your shoulder a playful shove.
You couldn’t help smiling as you settled down into your seat. A few days ago, Katsuki had casually shoved the tickets into your hands, telling you to bring your friends if you wanted. Although, you hadn’t expected to get seats this close to the field— especially to your team’s players. So here you were, sitting alongside Mina and Kyoka at some of the best seats in the stadium.
You glanced around the stadium, noticing a lot of girls wearing Yuuei University’s team jersey, with its signature navy blue and white accents scattered throughout the crowd. Some had different players’ names printed on their backs, most likely jerseys they’d bought from the university store— unlike yours.
Yours had been given by Katsuki himself.
Just this morning, before he went to university to prepare for the match, he’d insisted for you to wear his away-jersey instead. And unlike the team’s usual navy blue uniform, the away jersey was predominantly white with navy blue accents— a design the team rarely wore. So it stood out effortlessly in the crowd of navy blues filling the stadium, and across your back were the words:
BAKUGOU
10
“Wear this.”
“Your away-jersey?”
“People should know who you’re cheerin’ for.”
“Maybe I should scream your name while I’m at it.”
“Good. I should hear it when I’m on the other side.”
“I’m joking—”
“And I’m not.”
Your train of thought was interrupted by the sudden thunderous cheers of the crowd. Your eyes drifted towards the left stadium entrance just as the Yuuei soccer team jogged onto the field and towards the bench area.
At the very front of the group was Katsuki. The captain’s armband clung to his beefy left arm, while a black headband pushed his ash-blond hair away from his face— and he looked insanely hot. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one who noticed.
“Bakugou looks so hot!”
“I’d let him yell at me.”
“I heard he has a girlfriend.”
“That’s right— it’s me.”
“You wish!”
“Sorry girls, but I'm the girlfriend.”
The group burst into laughter, joking among themselves, and the three of you heard every word.
“Oh… if only they knew.” Mina murmured while you simply smiled to yourself.
As the team gathered near the bench for the coach’s final instructions, Katsuki’s eyes drifted towards the stands, sweeping across countless faces looking for someone. And when his eyes landed on you, he smiled— clearly satisfied with you wearing his jersey.
“Did you see that?”
“Oh my god!”
“He smiled at me!”
“No! He smiled at me.”
“He was totally looking at me.”
“I literally made eye contact with him.”
“I told you I’m the girlfriend!”
Mina and Kyoka beside you snickered while you bit the inside of your cheek just to keep yourself from laughing.
As the match started, a sharp whistle echoed throughout the stadium, and the crowd erupted into cheers as both teams rushed into action. The ball moved swiftly from one player to another, then a clean pass found its way to Katsuki.
And without thinking— you stood up from your seat.
“GO KATSUKI!”
Several nearby students glanced your way, especially the group of girls sitting behind you.
“Did she just call him Katsuki?”
“How dare she!”
“Who is she to use his given name like that?”
Mina slowly turned her head just enough to glare at them before looking back at you.
“Don’t mind them.”
“They’re just gonna embarrass themselves.” Kyoka said, already looking annoyed by the group of girls.
If only they knew.
You ignored them simply because they had no idea you were the actual girlfriend. After all, this was the first game of the season— first official match with Katsuki as the team captain. It’s also the first match you attended as his girlfriend. Not a lot of people knew about your relationship yet.
Unfortunately, just because you ignored them, doesn’t mean the comments were going to stop.
“The audacity to wear an away-jersey too.”
“I bet she had that customized.”
“Exactly! Since the university only sells navy-blue ones.”
“That’s so delulu of her.”
Kyoka, sitting beside you, looked like she was seconds away from standing up.
“Just say the word, I’ll punch them.”
“Kyoka, it’s fine—”
You simply smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the field. No amount of whispering from strangers was going to ruin your excitement over watching Katsuki. If anything, it only made you cheer louder.
“GO ON DARLING!”
After more than 90 minutes of the match, the final whistle rang across the stadium, followed by the explosion of cheers from the home crowd.
Yuuei had won.
Students cheered loudly while waving their banners in celebration. The Yuuei team players gathered near the bench, patting one another on the back and pulling each other for a hug. Katsuki joined in the celebration, accepting the congratulations with his signature smug smirk, clearly satisfied with the way their team won— in pure dominance.
Without a hint of embarrassment, you shouted as loudly as you could.
“THAT’S MY HONEY!”
Mina immediately burst into laughter while Kyoka just snickered beside you. They both knew you shouted just to rile up the girls who have been talking shit about you the whole game.
“She’s never gonna stop, is she?”
“I’m so embarrassed for her.”
“She really thinks she’s Bakugou’s girlfriend.”
“Even I could never.”
You ignored them for the hundredth time, too busy being happy with Yuuei’s victory to care.
As the team finished celebrating together, the players turned towards the crowd and thanked everyone who supported them before making their way back to their locker room.
And instead of following his team, Katsuki broke away and jogged towards your direction.
“Hold on…”
“He’s coming over here.”
“Oh my god!”
Within seconds, the group of girls frantically reached out for their make up kits, reapplying their blushes and lipsticks while hurriedly fixing their hair, desperate to look their very best for Katsuki.
Your Katsuki.
“How do I look?”
“Is my collar crooked?”
“Fix my stray hairs please!”
“I told you he was smiling at us!”
“He totally saw how pretty we are.”
The moment Katsuki reached your section, you stepped away from your seat and walked towards the railing. Katsuki waited for you on the other side of the barrier, one hand casually resting on the railing as he slightly looked up to you.
“So…” A faint smile tugged at his lips, “Did you enjoy the game?”
“Of course!” You nodded excitedly while smiling at him. “You were so cool out there.”
His signature smug smirk only grew.
“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly while raising a brow at you. “Where’s my congratulations kiss?”
“In here?!”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Haah… seriously.”
You sighed and rolled your eyes at him.
Despite your initial embarrassment, you leaned over the railing anyway, gently cupped his cheek before giving a quick kiss to his lips.
When you pulled away, you saw Katsuki with his grin even wider than before. Not giving a single care to anyone who watched him kiss his girlfriend.. In fact, it only inflated his ego knowing everyone had witnessed it.
Behind you, the group of girls stood frozen in shock, their eyes wide and mouths hanging open. Mina and Kyoka, on the other hand, are exchanging amused glances with each other, just watching everything unfold.
“...No way.”
“No fucking way.”
“Did she just…”
“Kissed Bakugou?!”
“That should have been me.”
“Do you think she heard all of that?”
Kyoka just burst into laughter, finally giving up trying to hold it in while Mina looked back at the girls with a grin.
“You bet we did!
All that endless chatter, Katsuki heard every single one of it. He glanced past your shoulder towards the group behind you. A smirk painted his face as he pieced together what had been happening all game.
Then he drifted his attention back to you and without sparing a moment, pulled you closer over the railing.
“Wait, Katsu—”
Before you could finish, Katsuki kissed you again, much longer than the first kiss you gave him. Long enough for your blood to rise up to your cheeks, and especially long enough for those girls behind you to finally realize how wrong they had been.
And when he was fully satisfied, Katsuki pulled away.
“Maybe that’ll shut them up.”
爆豪 勝己 — back to the main masterlist ⊹ ࣪ ˖🫧
(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡ taglist for anything katsuki: @moritas-tiny-theatre @yoloforlifeee
sukuna grinding his cock up into you in the middle of a frat party, lazily rolling his hips up to hit that sweet spot and keeping your back pressed against your chest as he murmured in your ear, "you gonna moan?"
shaking your head no to stop yourself from whimpering at the weight of his forearm wrapped possessively around your waist while drunk frat bros passed you by, chatting about stupid shit and gawking at sorority girls and totally clueless to the way you were getting ruthlessly stretched out around your situationship's thick cock.
"y-you wish," you quietly insisted, biting down on the bottom of your lip just for him to laugh at you, your skirt flipped up as your lace thong started to chaff against the inside of your thigh.
"i do," he hummed, his teeth grazing against the inside of your throat. "want them to know who's fucking you like this."
"no thanks," you huffed at him, trying your hardest to keep a straight face when he was intent to keep you squirming on his lap. no one else needed to know what you shared. which you were sure should just be sex. no matter what either of you said in the heat of the moment. "m'not yours."
tattoo artist! iwaizumi hajime x nail artist! reader
oh no! you own the nail salon next to iwaizumi's tattoo shop.
what do we do? him!
my masterlist
warnings // reader is female im so sorry it just flowed out of me, swearing, mentions of drunk men, smoking, kys jokes, a gun, mentioned AI once but u need to understand i will never use it
miyako's notes // i shat this out bc i couldn't stop thinking about tattoo artist! iwaizumi but i couldn't sit and outline a whole story for it IM SORRY
shoutoutz to @dumdogs and @lilylilylilylilysstuff for enabling me
