cant shut my brain :')

23 yo ,THEY/HIM,+18, AGELESS AND/OR BLANK BLOGS DNI

[boringkate]

A hoodie can be a form of lingerie when you're pure of heart and perverted of mind.

[lezbians]

being an adult is always like i have to go to the store i have to go to the store i have to go to the store

[scabsinlockets]

youd look cuter with bitemarks

[rainyydoves]

i beat myself up for not knowing enough about my special interests a lot but then i remember the average person off the street has no idea what the carboniferous is and i feel better

[rainyydoves]

are you really bad at it or are you in "good at it" spaces

[bigbigtruck]

"are you really bad at it or are you in 'good at it' spaces" has derailed so much self-hate since I read it

this is a load bearing sentence in my psyche and I can't believe it's only 2 months old

[v3lv3t-bl00dbat]

just clowning around ✮⋆˙

[lonelyfooryouonly]

99 problems, but a wet dream definitely ain’t one | katsuki b.

first part here

summary: you were supposed to tease katsuki with a harmless little lie. unfortunately, he decides to call your bluff and things take an unexpected turn.

warnings: best friend!katsuki, best friend!reader, fem!reader, mutual pining but they're idiots, teasing, flirting, dirty talk, first time, protected? absolutely not, creampie, cowgirl, p in v, kissing, oral mention, thigh riding mention, cursing, MDNI;

wc: 3.0k

a/n: congratulations to everyone who asked for part two because now katsuki has even bigger problems than before :D

Katsuki Bakugou has another best friend problem.

And it isn’t because of a dream this time. Instead, the problem is sitting right next to him on his bed, glued to his side while he tries focusing on his damn phone, but all he can think of is your gentle touch and warm breath against his skin.

He cannot concentrate at all and it is your fucking fault.

Again.

Ever since you helped him with his problem last time, he has been only thinking about how good you made him feel. He cannot escape the memories of you, down on your knees, sucking him off for dear life. They come flashing before his eyes in moments he’d rather not remember.

Going to the gym? The image of you comes to his mind.

Going to work? The image of you comes to his mind.

Having dinner with his mom? Take a good fucking guess what comes to his mind.

He was going insane with every second, but unfortunately, since the first part of this fic, Katsuki hasn’t had any character development, so he remains a fucking loser who still can’t look at you normally.

Maybe letting you handle his problem was not a good idea, but he’d be damned if having your mouth around his cock didn’t feel like fucking heaven on earth.

“Kats, I’m bored,” you poke his arm, bringing him back to reality.

He hums at your words, eyes still locked on his phone, trying to stay composed.

He wants to act like you’re not affecting him at all, but you catch it anyway — the way his thumb pauses for a split second, hovering over the screen before he continues scrolling like nothing happened.

“Katsuki, I’m bored,” you repeat.

“What does it have to do with me?” he replies in a flat, unimpressed tone.

“Well, you called me here.”

“No the hell I didn’t,” he rolls his eyes. “You invited yourself over. Like always.”

“You calling me here, me inviting myself — it’s the same thing,” you gesture vaguely.

“It literally isn’t,” he frowns at your logic.

“Whatever.”

Silence stretches between you two, as you watch him scroll through TikTok, completely ignoring you — and completely ignoring the position he’s ended up stuck in because of you.

He’s at the end of his bed, back pressed against the wooden table behind him, while you’re leaned into his side, cheek resting on his shoulder as if it is the most usual thing. His body is rigid, not matching how casual he is trying to act.

Minutes pass like that.

Then—

“Remember the last time I was here?” you suddenly ask.

He tenses instantly.

“…yeah,” he mutters, the answer too quick, followed by a fake cough like it might erase the crack in his voice.

His grip tightens slightly on his phone before he forces it to relax again.

“Wanna know something that happened after?”

“Do I have a choice?” he says, still not looking at you.

“C’mon, it’s really funny.”

“Just tell me.”

A devilish smile spreads across your face as you tilt your head, studying his profile, fully knowing you’re about to ruin his peace on purpose.

“That same night I also had a wet dream,” you say, voice light, almost teasing. “Isn’t that funny?”

For half a second, there’s nothing.

Then Katsuki’s face drops completely.

The phone slips from his hand, falling face down onto the surface between you.

His head snaps towards you fast as his lips part. His eyes widen in a way you’ve never seen before, like all of his usual cool disappeared. He is utterly taken aback by your words.

For a second, guilt pinches your chest, yet you quickly brush it off. In your defense, all of this is for his sake because he is clearly still thinking about your night together, but won’t admit it even if it gives him a hard time. So you decide to crack the door so he knows it’s okay to push it open.

“Funny?” he repeats, the word scraping out of his throat with a rough voice.

You don't say a word. You just look him in the eyes and offer a nod.

He shifts his weight, turning his entire body towards you in a second. The sudden change in his energy makes you instinctively lean back a bit, trying to reclaim some personal space.

“That shit,” he says, his voice dropping as he holds your gaze, “was anything but funny.”

“Oh, right. Maybe it wasn’t funny, but…” You pause, tapping a finger against your chin as if deeply lost in thought. “…hmm. Hot? Sexy?” you offer, flashing him a teasing smile.

He lets out a sharp scoff, his lips curling into an annoyed smirk.

“I wouldn't go that far,” he grunts, trying to take a jab at your ego.

You don't let it slide.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head to the side, letting a knowing look settle on your face. “Really? Because you seemed to be enjoying yourself quite a bit.”

“Don’t remember that,” he mutters, shrugging it off with a dismissive wave of his hand, acting as if it’s no big deal. As if he hasn’t been obsessing over it, thinking about it non-stop for the past few weeks.

“Liar.”

“Tell me what you dreamt.”

He completely ignores your provocation, dropping the question so suddenly it catches you off guard, apparently deciding he'd had enough of your bullshit.

Your eyes widen slightly, but the playful smirk remains on your lips. You honestly didn’t expect him to actually ask, but it seems you pushed him too far.

A slow, winning grin begins to spread across his face as he watches your reaction. It was small, barely there, but he caught it.

“You really want to know?” you ask, still trying to sound teasing.

“Yeah, we’ve got nothin’ better to do anyway,” he replies, a forced smile tugging at his lips. “And don’t be afraid to give details.” He squints at you, wondering what kind of lie you’ll come up with.

“But, Kats, it’s really explicit,” you continue, hoping to make him give up.

He lets out a mocking chuckle. “As explicit as me shoving my dick down your throat?”

“Oh,” you say, seizing the opportunity to deflect, “so you do remember.”

“Don’t change the subject,” he warns.

This time, there’s no escaping. He’s cornering you, his eyes reading every microexpression on your face. He knows you're spinning a story, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Left with no choice, you try to build on the lie, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I was at your place, and we started making out. Things got really heated... your hands were grabbing everywhere while I was riding your thigh. Then, while we were still kissing, my hand slipped inside your boxers. I gave you a handjob, but I didn’t let you come.” You swallow, trying to sound convincing. “I wanted you to do it inside me.”

He stays quiet.

But the way his jaw tightens gives away what he’s really feeling. You notice his fingers also curling into the sheets beneath him, yet you force yourself to keep talking.

“Then… we finally had sex. I was in your lap, riding you, while you held me close...”

He clears his throat.

“Still want it?” he asks vaguely, making you frown.

“What?”

His eyes finally meet yours.

“Me.” His voice comes out quieter this time. “Inside.”

The words hit you far harder than you expected.

Just a second ago, this was a stupid lie you were making up to get under his skin. Now it suddenly doesn't feel like a joke anymore.

Your throat goes dry and your stomach flips.

He's not asking about the dream.

He's asking about now.

“I...” Your voice falters for a second. You lick your lips before trying again. “I do.”

For a brief moment, he simply looks at you.

Then his hand drifts down to his waist.

Your eyes follow every movement as his fingers hook around his belt, slowly unbuckling it with a quiet click. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls the zipper down before slipping his hand inside, palming himself through the thin fabric of his boxers.

You can't look away.

“I want to do it,” you admit quietly.

His hand stills.

He looks back up at you with a gaze you can't quite decipher.

Then, after a brief pause, he gives a small nod.

Slowly, you reach out, sliding your palm between his muscular thighs. Your fingers wrap around him as you begin stroking him through the fabric. A low hiss escapes his lips. Katsuki leans back on his palms, watching you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

“Who initiated the make-out session?” he asks, his voice already strained as your hand continues its steady rhythm.

“It was me,” you answer quickly, meeting his eyes.

A small, almost ironic smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Hah. Figures.”

He rolls his hips into your touch ever so slightly before looking back at you.

“C'mere.”

Taking the invitation, you shift closer, your knees framing his thighs as your free hand slides up his chest, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. Your lips hover over his until you finally close the gap.

His lips are parting instantly as his tongue drives past your lips, tangling with yours in a desperate rhythm. You tilt your head, shifting your weight to deepen the angle, swallowing the low groan that tears from his throat.

Even as the intensity of the kiss makes you dizzy, your hand between his thighs doesn't falter. You tighten your grip around his cock, your palm sliding up and down the dark fabric of his boxers in a relentless pace.

His hands rip away from the mattress, one wrapping firmly around the nape of your neck to keep you close to him, while his other hand digs into your hip, pulling your pelvis flush against his thigh.

A thin line of saliva drags between your lips when you pull back just a bit for air, but Katsuki immediately chases you as he seals his mouth over yours again, sucking your tongue back into his mouth.

He is completely gone at this point, caught between the kiss and the strokes of your hand between his legs. The small space fills with the smacks of your mouths, your moans combined, finally letting out the sexual tension that has been building between you for the past weeks.

When he tears his mouth away, panting heavily, he doesn't go far.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he trails a string of wet kisses down to your collarbone. Your hand keeps moving over his length, feeling the wet patch forming on the material of his boxers.

His entire body trembles under your touch. The friction is too much as Katsuki abruptly catches your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his boxers as he looks at you with blown-out pupils.

“F-fuck this,” he grunts, his voice completely wrecked.

His hands suddenly move from your hips to grab the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head so aggressively a seam pops, and you laugh at the sound of your clothes actually ripping because of him.

“Jesus, Katsuki,” you wheeze as you place your hands over his chest to keep your balance. “Slow down. You're acting like you’ve never actually done this before.”

Katsuki freezes at your words. He stares at you with a weird expression, remaining quiet for a few good seconds and an unexpected shade of red creeps up his neck, spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, his usual loud arrogance suddenly gone. He looks away, refusing to meet your eyes. “Maybe I haven't. What about it?”

Your eyes widen, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest. Yeah, next time when you hookup with your friends you should definitely ask them some details first.

The realization hits you fast, melting away all the playful malice from earlier. A sudden wave of emotion washes over you.

“Wait... really?” you ask, your voice softening. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, forcing him to look back down at you. “Are you sure? Are you sure you want to do this... with me?”

Katsuki lets out a low sigh, leaning his face into your palm, then closes his eyes at the touch.

“Don't start getting all soft on me now,” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle.

“No— it’s just…” you bit your lip, before talking again. “You know I lied I had a wet dream, right?”

“Of course I did, you’re a shitty liar,” his eyes lock onto yours again, brows pulled together in an annoyed frown. “And why the hell would I want anyone else?”

A warm, giddy feeling spreads through your chest. You smile at him as you nod.

“Okay,” you whisper, shifting your weight.

You place your hands on his broad shoulders, gently pushing him backwards. “In that case... lean back. Let me do my thing. I'll give you a show.”

Katsuki grunts, but obeys, sinking back onto the mattress and propping himself up slightly on his elbows. His gaze is heavy and completely fixed on how you unbutton your jeans, pulling them down your legs, before you straddle his lap again.

Your hand moves to his face, stroking his cheek then trace the side of his neck, as you move down to feel the muscles through his shirt.

Your then stop at the hem of his boxers and dip your fingers under the material. You finally drag it down his hips, gaining a sigh of relief from Katsuki as his cock finally springs free from the restraints.

His pink tip was already glistening in pre-cum, seeing it drip down his veiny sides. His lenght and thickness make you squirm in his lap, as your wet panties become more uncomfortable on you.

In a swift move you pull them aside, revealing your sticky, wet folds to him. You wrap your hand around his cock as you guide him near your entrance.

Slowly, you sink down his length, making sure to let him enjoy every second of your warmth. Everything was too hot and sensitive, making you both gasp simultaneously, as your breaths catch.

Katsuki’s hands fly to your hips, his fingers digging in deep to steady you as his head falls back against the soft pillows, a low groan tearing from his throat.

While you adjust to the big stretch, you watch him carefully, noticing the way his body reacts to you. His jaw is tight, the veins on his neck are a lot more pronounced, sweat already prickles at his forhead and his fingers grip you for dear life.

Once the tightness eases, you begin to move, setting a slow, agonizingly pace. The friction between your bodies creates a slick, wet sound that fills the quiet bedroom. You arch your back, riding him with controled movements, at first, rolling your hips and watching the way his eyes track your body, completely mesmerized.

Then, as you feel your knees get tired and the pleasure building inside your stomach, the movements get sloppier and messier.

Seeing this, Katsuki can’t just lie there anymore.

With a sudden surge of energy, he sits up, wrapping his huge arms around you and pulling you tightly against him. He buries his face in your chest, his mouth finding on of your breasts, sucking and biting your skin with desperate hunger. The sharp sensation sends a jolt straight to your core, making your head fall back at the sensation.

Katsuki moves his mouth to your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark, his ragged breaths vibrating directly against your pulse point.

You can feel the tension in his muscles coiling tighter and tighter, his breathing turning into choked gasps. Seeing him so fucked out and vulnerable under you motivates you in the worst way possible. You wanted to ruin him completely.

“Fuck, I'm gonna—” he chokes out, his fingers bruising your hips as he locks you in place.

He doesn't pull out as he drives up into you one last time, his body going completely rigid beneath yours.

You feel the sudden, intense warmth spilling inside of you, filling you up as he cums deep within, his chest raising as he lets out a broken groan. His orgasm ties with yours, your walls clutching tightly around him as you both ride out the waves of the release, as if you don’t want it to end. You drag it at much as you can, riding him until your body gives out.

With one more stroke, you fall breathlessly against him, being welcomed by his sticky, hot skin and his warm breath hitting your cheek. Your eyes are half lidded, your hair is glued to your forehead and you feel his cum spilling out of your cunt and making a mess where your bodies connect.

“Fuck— this was…” you try to describe it, but you can’t really find the right word, probably because your brain is all mushy and you are completely intoxicated with his scent.

“Yeah,” Katsuki says on a raspy voice, but he doesn’t really know what he agrees to.

A few moments of silence pass.

Then— you suddenly let out a giggle, making him look at you confused.

“What’s so funny?” He flicks your forehead to catch you attention.

“The fact that all this started because you had a wet dream of me,” you say amused as you rub the spot he hit, totally unbothered.

He groans at your reply, dragging a hand over his face.

“Don’t even remind me. I have been through hell and back because of you.”

“But do you like the outcome?” you look for his gaze.

His red eyes lock into yours in an instant and a small smirk dances on his lips.

“Damn right I do.”

[lonelyfooryouonly]

99 problems, but a wet dream ain’t one | katsuki b.

second part here

summary: katsuki had a wet dream about you — and now he can’t get the image out of his head, no matter how hard he tries. and when you find out? you’re sure as hell not making it easy for him.

warnings: best friend!katsuki, best friend!reader, reader is shameless, reader is down BAD, teasing, flirting, cursing, dirty talk, wet dream, smut, blowjob, gagging, spit, dom!katsuki, bratty!sub!reader, degradation, “this is a bad idea” typa fic, MDNI;

wc: 2,3k

Katsuki Bakugou has a best friend problem.

And it isn’t the kind of problem that can be solved by just talking about it, like normal friends do.

No. This is pretty difficult to solve.

Why?

One, because Katsuki doesn’t even talk about feelings or problems most of the time. He just bottles them up until something new appears and then forgets about whatever bothered him before.

And two, he definitely won’t talk about how a wet dream with his best friend made him feel.

Yeah. A wet dream.

He hasn’t had one of those since he was a fucking teenager, and it makes him feel so stupid. He is a grown man, for God’s sake. An established pro-hero. A respected one. And more recently?

A fucking loser.

A loser who now struggles to even meet your eyes while you’re having a simple conversation, because every time he does, he remembers how you looked in his dream — naked and sweaty and so fucking eager to suck him off.

And of fucking course his mind wanders further—

Would your mouth feel that good in reality?

Would it turn him on that much to have you on your knees between his legs?

Would your moans really sound that divine while doing your best to bring him towards pleasure?

Will—

“Earth to Katsukiii,” you suddenly speak, waving a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him jolt slightly, his body shifting backwards on the couch.

“What!?” His head snaps towards you instantly, his hand coming up to slap yours away, ignoring the warmth that lingers from the brief contact.

“I have been talking to you,” you frown, scooching closer to him, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, but his body tenses the moment your chest brushes against his arm.

“You’re even pissier than usual,” you remark with a raised brow, studying him carefully. He scoffs.

“You’re imagining things,” he replies way too fast.

You frown deeper, squinting your eyes as you shift even closer, intentionally closing the space between you. You don’t miss the way he immediately leans away.

“Why do you run from me?” you ask, tilting your head.

“I like my space, weirdo,” he mutters under his breath.

“I like your space too,” you tease, nudging your knee against his.

He instantly moves his knee away.

“Shut up and watch this damn movie,” he rolls his eyes, trying to focus anywhere but you.

“Kats.”

No answer.

“Katsuki,” you insist again, leaning in and poking his cheek with your finger.

You feel it — the tension.

You notice the way his hands curl, palms balling into fists as he takes a slow, deep breath, clearly trying to keep himself together.

“What’s up with you?” you push again, your voice softer this time, but more insistent. You move even closer, until he’s practically cornered at the end of the couch, your body fully pressing into his.

“Tell meee,” you drag out, nudging him lightly. “What’s bothering you?”

“You’re bothering me,” he finally snaps, his tone sharp and annoyed, making you blink in surprise. “Even in my fuckin’ dreams,” he adds with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was.

“What?” you ask, caught off guard. “You dreamt about me?”

“Are you deaf?” he rolls his eyes, letting out a short, dry chuckle.

Then—

Something shifts.

A slow, almost mischievous grin spreads across your lips.

“What kind of dream did you have?” you ask, lowering your voice slightly as you lean closer, your gaze locking onto his.

Before he can react, you move.

In one smooth motion, you swing your leg over him, then the other, settling yourself directly in his lap, your thighs resting on either side of his muscular legs.

His mouth parts slightly, frozen halfway open, one eye twitching as he stares up at you, completely caught off guard.

“Come on,” you push again, shifting slightly on his lap, your clothed core brushing against his crotch through his jeans.

“Did you have a wet dream?” you ask playfully, clearly teasing, not thinking anything of it — but the moment he flinches, looking away instead of snapping back at you, your smile falters just a bit.

“Did you really have a wet dream of me?” you ask again, this time more serious, your eyes searching his face.

“Piss off,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

“Oh my god… I want to know right now,” you nudge him again, more insistent this time.

“I ain’t telling you shit, now get off of me,” he says, though his hands find your hips, gripping them instinctively.

You place your hands over his, pressing them down, smirking slightly.

“You know… if you tell me what it was about… maybe I can help,” you shrug casually, as if you didn’t just drop that.

He stares at you, completely dumbfounded, like you just said the most insane thing he’s ever heard.

“You gotta be joking,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Why would I be? It’s not like I don’t find you hot or anything,” you add, shifting slightly again in his lap.

That stirrs something in him.

He hisses under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening without him even realizing it.

“I’m still not telling you,” he mumbles, jaw clenching.

“Okay…” you hum. “I’ll guess.”

You take a moment to think, then—

“Was I on all fours? Were you fucking me from the back? I know you like doggy style… or maybe something else? Like missionary? Or cowgirl?” you ramble, mostly to yourself, watching his reactions closely. “How about—“

“It was a goddamn blowjob, now shut up,” he groans, his head falling back against the couch with a dull thud.

“Oh,” you pause, blinking. “A blowjob,” you repeat thoughtfully, tilting your head slightly.

“How was I able to fit all of that in my mouth?” you add, genuinely thinking about it.

He groans louder this time, hands leaving your hops and dragging them down his face.

“You are killing me, woman,” he mutters, voice strained, making you giggle softly.

“So you want it?” you ask, watching him closely.

He makes a pause, completely baffled.

Then—

“The hell? Who asks their best friend to suck them off?” he snaps, glaring at you.

“Who dreams of their best friend sucking them off?” you shoot back instantly, raising a brow.

“Smartass,” he scoffs.

“Pervert.”

“Oh, I’m the pervert? Not you, who’s been grinding on me for the past minutes?” he shoots back.

“I only suggested it because you seem stressed lately,” you say, your tone softer now, but still teasing. “And you clearly don’t wanna talk about feelings. Maybe I can help some… other way… you know?”

He goes quiet.

Really quiet.

His brows pull together as he stares at you, his expression shifting into something more serious, more conflicted — something you can’t quite read.

You’ve never seen that look on him before.

Not like this.

There’s hesitation.

Something heavy sits behind his eyes.

“You better not make me regret this,” he mutters finally, his voice lower now.

Your brows lift slightly, tilting your head. You didn’t know what to make of this words.

“Wha— what?”

His hands tighten on your hips, making you shift against his crotch for the nth time.

“Get on your knees.”

“Now?” You ask baffled.

“Yes, now. I’m in the mood and it’s your fault,” he reminds you.

You bite your lip to repress a smile.

Instead of a snarky comment, you just nod quietly and get off his lap. He spreads his legs wider the moment you move, watching you closely as you lower yourself onto your knees, settling between his muscular thighs.

Your palms come up to touch them, fingers gripping the material of his jeans as you slowly move them up and down, feeling the tension in his body, trying to ease it just a little.

You take your time.

Slowly moving upward, dragging it out, making it feel like it takes forever to reach his crotch… then his belt.

You start unbuckling it, your movements slow, all while looking up at him — watching the way he stares down at you, jaw tight, lips pressed together, hands resting stiffly at his sides.

You slide the belt out of the way, then undo his zipper, finally revealing his black boxers. Something hard brushes against your hand and he hisses above you, his breath catching.

Your fingers dip under the material and drag it down, exposing his happy trail that leads down to his cock. His own hands come down to help, pushing his jeans and boxers lower, lifting his hips just enough. The fabric bunches at his thighs, out of the way.

And then—

His cock springs free.

Long. Thick. Prominent veins running along the length of it. The tip flushed a reddish color, already leaking with pre-cum.

“C’mon, dig in,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips as his hand comes to tangle in your hair, pushing you slightly forward.

You don’t rush.

You lean in slowly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling the way he reacts instantly — his breath hitching, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as you glance up at him through your lashes.

Your tongue slides out, dragging along his length, long, intentional strokes, collecting the pre-cum as you go. His fingers tighten in your hair.

“Don’t— be such a tease, damn it,” he grits out, voice rougher now, the veins in his neck more visible as he looks down at you.

You let out a quiet chuckle, but you give in.

Enough teasing.

You part your lips and guide him in, taking him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, relaxing your jaw as you go, until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

You pause there for a second, breathing steadily through your nose, adjusting — letting your body relax around him.

Then you start moving.

Slow at first.

Pulling back just enough before taking him in again, setting a rhythm, your tongue flattening along the underside, tracing the veins, working with each movement.

Spit and pre-cum mix together, making everything smoother, your lips sealing tightly around him.

All the while, your eyes stay on him.

Watching everything.

The way his teeth catch his lower lip. The flare of his nostrils. The crease forming between his brows as he tries to hold himself together. Low grunts slip past his lips, restrained, controlled — but you can tell he’s holding back.

That only makes you pick up the pace.

Your head starts bobbing more steadily, your movements more confident, more precise. Tears sting lightly at your eyes from the burn of your throat, but you don’t stop — you just adjust your breathing, keeping the rhythm consistent.

You want to hear him.

Really hear him.

“You happy now?” he asks, breath uneven, voice rough. “Having a mouth full of me?”

You let out a muffled moan around him in response, the vibration traveling through him as your tongue moves again, your pace never faltering.

“You greedy brat,” he chuckles, though his voice strains. He knows you — you like this, like putting on a show, like pulling reactions out of him.

His hips twitch upward when you increase your speed, your nails digging slightly into his thighs to steady yourself as his fingers tighten in your hair.

Sweat starts to bead at his forehead, sliding down as strands of blond hair stick to his skin.

“Mhm— keep— keep going,” he finally groans, his control slipping just a bit more.

You keep the same pace, consistent, precise, working him up without losing rhythm, your tongue and lips working together, spit and pre-cum already dripping down your chin. But is all worth it when you feel it—

The twitch.

The tension building.

A few more precise movements, a slight change in pressure, and then—

He breaks.

“Fuck, fuck, gonn a—“

His words are cut off as a low, deep moan escapes him. He releases, his body tensing as he spills hot loads of cum into your mouth. He closes his eyes at the feeling, barely able to keep his lips sealed.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his orgasm washing over him, then — he finally looks at you. You were still on your knees, still sucking and slurping like your life depended on it.

“Fuckin’ hell— you’re takin’ everything,” he lets out a weak, breathy laugh. And it was true, you make sure to not let anything go to waste.

You suck him dry.

And he lets you — for a short while.

Only when the sensitivity kicks in does he tug at your hair, trying to catch his breath and helping you catch yours.

“Shit— too much—” he groans, needing another second to breathe, to recover as you pull away, licking your lips slowly, cleaning the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.

Taking him in.

He’s leaned back against the couch now, hair messy, chest rising and falling steadily, his cock flushed and glistening, resting against his stomach now. His pants and boxers are still pushed down around his thighs as he spreads his legs, taking a lot of space like usual.

But he wasn’t the only one looking messy… he noticed your state too.

And fuck if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Your hair was deshiveled from his grabbing, your cheeks were flushed, lips plump and glistening with fluids… you looked so fucking pretty like this — on your knees for him, having his cum down your throat and looking at him with teary eyes — a sign of how hard you tried to take him.

You remain on the floor even if it wasn’t the most comfortable place, still close to him.

“So…” you finally break the silence softly.

His eyes snap back to yours, still catching his breath.

“Was this better than your dream?” you ask with a raised brow and a teasing grin.

But he won’t give you want to want. He already gave you enough.

He just scoffs at your question, rolling his head slightly to the side, trying to hide his smile.

“Fuck off.”

[voidsetup1]

nothing here to run from

[notsoheterosapien]

INSANE!!! BEAUTIFUL AMAZE AMAZE AMAZE

[takaholic]

arranged marriage but neither of you speak each other's language. navigating your first night in bed together with just guiding touches, eye contact, and the passionate sounds that are universal in every language.

[silverlullabies]

Okaaaaay but Royal!Price who’s married to Reader for like two years and the entire time the court is breathing down your neck because you haven’t produced an heir yet.

And ofc somehow this becomes entirely your fault bc nobody questions Price or considers that the problem might not be you because he’s the king, he’s healthy, he’s strong, he’s already proven himself in every other way that matters to these people, so obviously it must be his wife who’s defective.

And you spend two years being poked and prodded by royal physicians and forced to drink disgusting tonic things and tracking your cycles and praying at shrines and enduring every older noblewoman at court giving you unsolicited advice while rumors about the “barren Queen” spread through the palace.

And Price doesn’t exactly stop them. Maybe in the beginning he tells you not to listen, tells you there’s still time, but as the months pass he starts treating your inability to conceive like a personal failure.

And ofc there’s this one woman at court who makes your life like absolute hell over it. Daughter of some powerful duke or neighboring kingdom or whatever, beautiful and fertile looking and exactly the sort of woman everyone whispers Price should have married in the first place.

She makes little comment about children whenever you’re nearby, brings babies into conversation just to watch you go quiet, maybe even starts getting increasingly bold because Price is starting to favor her. And you know they’re sleeping together long before he admits it. You just don’t have any power to do anything about it.

Then Price divorces you.

And he’s not quietly about it either and that’s the part that really destroys you because he could’ve found a dozen political reasons to dissolve the marriage, could’ve protected whatever dignity you had left and let you save face but instead he specifically cites your failure to provide an heir as the reason for the divorce. Has it entered into the official decree that the marriage produced no issue and that you’re presumed barren, basically stamping it into history that you failed in the single duty expected of a queen.

And to add insult to injury he marries the woman who spent the last two years tormenting you, who becomes Queen, and suddenly all those rumors about how she’d always been better suited for him become accepted fact.

Meanwhile you’re just… there. The discarded Queen. Technically still noble, technically still wealthy enough, but socially ruined because who is going to marry the woman the King publicly declared barren?

Except Simon, Price’s knight who’s his own kind of social outcast cause he’s scarred, disfigured, and everyone assumes will never marry anyway because nobody has ever exactly been lining up to become Lady Riley to a monster, you know.

So when Simon asks for your hand, you say yes. Maybe Price even allows it because he thinks there’s something almost amusing about it. His unwanted wife and his disfigured knight. Two things the court has decided are damaged being tucked neatly away together.

Except Simon doesn’t treat you like you’re damaged. And then the absolute fucking scandal when, before the end of the year, you start appearing in court with a very obviously rounding stomach.

At first everyone tries to pretend they don’t notice because surely not. Surely the former Queen who spent two years unable to conceive isn’t pregnant within months of marrying Ser Simon Riley.

Except you are and it isn’t even ambiguous after a while. You’re glowing with health, Simon is hovering around you like some enormous armored guard dog, the physicians confirm the pregnancy is progressing perfectly, and suddenly all those old whispers start changing direction because Price’s new Queen still isn’t pregnant even after and entire year.

Meanwhile you give birth to this enormous fat healthy Riley baby and suddenly the court has to reckon with the fact that maybe their discarded barren Queen was never barren at all.

Which means maybe the King publicly humiliated and divorced his wife, destroyed her reputation, married his mistress, and announced to the entire kingdom that she was incapable of giving him an heir-

when the problem had been him the entire fucking time.

[inspired by this post by @rawme-price]

[seumyo]

Hello Eumy! I LOVE your content, it’s so fun and well written, matches the characters incredibly!

I saw that your requests are open and I was wondering that, if possible, you could do some boyfriend smau with Shigaraki/Shimura (I prefer Shigaraki, but if you find it easier to write for Shimura that totally fine too!)

Anyhow! Hope August is treating you well, remember to stay hydrated and stretch often!

texts with bf!shigaraki

CW. canon-typical violence, blood, and similar themes

NOTE. HELP, LOVEY ! I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE, A YEAR TO GET TO </3 but it’s still august (technically)

SEUMYO © 2026. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[amaranthinespirit]

Heyyyy could you please write best friends brother Simon

best friend's brother!simon riley who has taken a secret liking to you makes it not so secret anymore

it was wrong, to like your best friend's brother. it was so wrong, but every stolen glance made your stomach flip, shivers creeping down every vertebrae of your spine whenever you met gazes with those sunken, tired eyes beyond the black balaclava he always wore.

your friend always complained how weird he was for wearing the mask, especially 'round the house. leaned against the kitchen counters with the fabric bunched around his crooked nose where he'd be there sipping water, or eating a bowl of cereal.

he always wore a tight, fitted shirt with loose pants, and you swore he did it on purpose. you couldn't count on two hands the amount of times your eyes traveled across his exposed skin, down to the baggy material of whatever he chose to wear for pants that day—or if you were lucky, he wore jeans.

it wasn't right, you knew that. thirsting over your best friend's brother, but the way his eyes were always trained on you, no matter what, made your panties soak.

how exchanging glances from across the room turned to finding excuses to pass by him, because any proximity was proximity, to being the one to get snacks from the kitchen in hopes he was there. he usually was.

to doing the dishes as he stood and watched, where he used to just add to the pile, now he ushered you aside to wash his own, and whatever was left.

to muttering simple greetings of 'hello's and partings words of 'bye's, or 'see ya.'

to brushing shoulders as you walked past each other in the long house hallways, or grazing arms when you happened to walk next to each other. to his hand nudging against the back of yours, loosely intertwining them when no one else was looking, or around.

to lingering in the kitchen a minute longer to feel the weight of his heavy, rough hands on your barely exposed hips as you reached up in the cupboards to grab whatever it is you were looking for. his warm chest pressing into the back of your head, and back, as he grabbed what you needed with a quick ruffle to your hair after.

to keeping your favorite snacks in the kitchen in anticipation that you were coming over.

to sneaking out of your friends room late in the night to meet in the kitchen, sharing a glass of water and a bowl of fruit that you had cut up as he leaned next to you on the counter, arms crossed against his chest. his gaze was heavy on your face, and the silver moonlight that casted down through the window exposed your flushed face, warm from his attention.

to pulling you into his bedroom whenever you happened to be passing by; the door shutting with a soft click as your back pressed the cold wood. his tired, half-lidded eyes nearly emotionless as he stared down at you, cornering you against his door.

your expression betrayed confusion, widened, doe eyes staring back up at him. he lifted a calloused finger to tilt your head back. he watched your chest rise, lips parting with a sharp, silent inhale as his other fingers raised the mask.

you licked your lips, eyes flickering to look at his chapped, pink flesh that looked so deliciously in reach, the lips you had fantasized about for months kissing every inch of your skin, eating you out so vigorously, you could see stars.

for months, you'd go back to your house with the image of him in your mind, laid on your back with your hands between your thighs and thoughts of him consuming. toying with your clit, imagining his big, rough hand instead of your small, softer and more delicate fingers as his name fell from your lips in a chant, a mantra.

you did this more times than you would like to admit, but he was all consuming. like a drug, you couldn't get enough, couldn't get your fix even if he was right there. you hadn't even had a taste, and yet you were addicted. subconsciously, you knew he felt that way too.

especially as he steps closer, shoulder blades pressed further into the hard surface of the door behind you. your gaze trained on him, as was his on you. the rough finger under your chin traced lightly up your jaw, his eyes transfixed on your features as his gaze danced around your face. he saw the way your eyes would get more and more dilated the more his hand touched you.

he saw the way your eyes were glued to his lips, as if you hadn't see his face countless times. you were starstruck, as if you had seen a famous painting up close, enough to count each stroke from the paintbrush. or a statue, examining the marble that imitated flowy fabrics, carved by an expert hand.

it made his heart flutter, a reassurance that, despite the circumstances, you might be the one. because he looked at you the same way.

his face hovered over yours, so closely you could feel the heat that radiated from his skin, the warmth of his breath as he exhaled, panning across your flushed features. you looked up at him expectedly, swallowing thickly as you were unsure of what to do.

despite all the times you had been alone together, all the times you were stood next to each other, held hands, met gazes, pressed against one another, you had never come face to face as you had in this moment.

you felt nervous, this was wrong. this is wrong, you shouldn't be doing this, and surely, he knew that too. he knew that it probably wasn't the best of his ideas to be going after the girl that hung around his little sister, but he didn't care, he only wanted you.

so when he leaned closer, close enough to feel the rough, chapped skin of his lips ghosting over yours, just merely brushing together. not enough, it wasn't enough to get a taste.

only enough to get a feel, feel the longing, the yearning, the want, the need. all consuming.

this is wrong.

but when his lips pressed yours so tentatively, so gentle and warm, it felt like sparks, fireworks had gone off across your body. suddenly your limbs began to tremble, your heart rate began to spike.

suddenly, in your thoughts, you didn't know how to act, your arms hanging stupidly by your sides before you decided to raise them to his face. your palms pressed against his cheeks, his jaw as you cradled his features, your lips meeting his with a push and pull. it was slow, but more exhilarating than anything you had ever experienced.

it was so wrong, but it felt so right, and that's what made it all the more better. you weren't supposed to be doing it, but if that were true, then why did it feel so good, so right?

when you had pulled away, his lips had chased with a heavy breath, hand lacing into your hair to push your face back against his in a heavy, sensual kiss that fulfilled all his longing. it was an addiction, lying dormant until he finally had you, and now that he did, he wouldn't quit.

a quiet whimper of protest was silenced by his pressing kiss, not allowing you a breath of air because you were his oxygen, so why isn't he yours? (he is though).

but unfortunately, you had both needed to breath, but that didn't stop him from latching his lips onto you somewhere else.

"si...simon, we shouldn't...shouldn't be doing...this..." you had managed between deep, swallowing breaths as you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard with him pressing warm, slow kisses down your neck. occasionally catching your skin between his teeth to leave a mark, his tongue soothing over the flesh as he continued on. trails of saliva glistened on your neck as he grunted in response.

"don' care..." he whispered gruffly as he raised his head to your ear, nipping at the flesh before dropping his head back to the junction of your neck and shoulder, too focused on marking up your pretty skin to comment any further.

and you were enjoying it a little too much to stop his ministrations, feeling your body become more and more worked up with months of pent up frustration, tension that you couldn't get out with your own hand between your thighs. it had to be his.

you didn't protest when he came back to your lips with a harsher, more desperate than before kiss, his tongue wiping against the pink, moisturized flesh of your bottom lip. he wouldn't go much further before he pulled away, a string of saliva being the only thing to connect you two now.

you felt a frown form on your face as you deciphered the growing, smug smirk on his face, whining as he pulled you away from the door whilst fixing the strap to your tank top, the one he had pushed aside to leave wet, lewd kisses down your neck and shoulder.

"come on now, lovie, can't have m'sister wonderin' where ya ran off to, can we?" he teased, his tone arrogant and nonchalant as he sent you on your way, not without a sharp slap to your ass. he chuckled to himself at the small yelp you let out before he shut his door.

he cursed under his breath as he stared at the blank surface, his sweatpants all too tight for his heavy cock that was now hard just from your sweet lips against his.

but it wasn't like he wasn't going to have you eventually, i mean he just left you hanging, soaking up your little panties at the mere thought of him touching you, the memory of his lips against your skin would having you crawling back in no time.

and maybe that time, you wouldn't have a time constraint on your moments together.

[cherrielys]

─── 𑣲⋆ 𝓚. BAKUGO'S GUIDE TO BAG YOU

synopsis:: you and Bakugo were never close in school. just classmates who ended up in the same friend group by accident and stayed there out of habit. eight years later he's one of the top heroes with a mouth on him and you're the unbothered ex-classmate who somehow still doesn't know he's been in love with you since UA. His friends know. His mom knows. Everyone knows. You do not. This is Bakugo's guide— written badly on the back of a receipt at 2am— to finally doing something about it.

yellow and pink divs edited by me. base here if you'd like to make your own ♡ layout inspired by my goat @6x-x9

You were never the loud one in the friend group. That was never your job. Kirishima was loud. Bakugo was louder. You were the one who sat back and watched everyone lose their minds over something small and just — didn't. Calm under pressure. Unshakeable in a way that used to annoy Bakugo in high school and now just makes him feel like he's losing a fight he never agreed to start.

Eight years out of UA and somehow you're still around. Still in the group chat. Still showing up to Kirishima's birthday parties and Sero's terrible karaoke nights. Still completely unaware that Katsuki Bakugo — the number five hero, walking explosion, a man who has never once backed down from anything in his life — has been quietly losing his mind over you since roughly your second year of school.

Everyone else figured it out years ago. Kirishima figured it out first, mostly because Bakugo made the mistake of getting drunk at his own agency's holiday party and saying your name four times in one sentence. Mina figured it out next. Even Todoroki figured it out, which says a lot, because Todoroki barely notices when buildings are on fire.

You did not figure it out. You are, according to every single person in that group chat, the last person on earth who has no idea.

So one night Bakugo sat down with a receipt from a ramen place and a pen that was almost out of ink and wrote himself a list. Not because he needed help — he would tell you he did not need help — but because eight years of doing nothing had clearly not worked and something had to change.

Here's what he came up with.

Rule #1: Don't call her pretty. That's weak. She'll see right through it.

You've been called pretty before. Plenty of times. It rolls off you like water because it means nothing coming from strangers. So the first time Bakugo actually looks at you — really looks, across a table at a group dinner while everyone else is arguing about something stupid — he doesn't say pretty. He says your hair looks stupid pushed back like that and it takes you a full three seconds to realize that's the nicest thing he's said to anyone all night.Kirishima kicks him under the table. Bakugo kicks back harder.

Rule #2: Don't let her see you get soft. Save that for when nobody's watching

You broke your wrist on a mission six months ago and Bakugo showed up at the hospital before your own agency finished the paperwork. He didn't say much. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed and glared at every nurse who walked past like they'd personally wronged him. You thanked him for coming. He said he was in the area. He was not in the area. He is never in your area.

Rule #3: If she teases you don't react. Reacting means she wins.

You have exactly one move against Bakugo and it works every time. You call him Kacchan in that flat unbothered voice of yours, the one that makes it sound like an insult and a joke at once, and he goes red before he can stop it. He tells you to shut up. You don't. He never actually wants you to.

Rule #4: Don't stare. Staring is for losers who can't say what they mean.

He stares anyway. Across bars. Across meeting rooms when your agencies do joint operations. Across the space between his couch and yours when the whole group crashes at his place after a night out and you fall asleep first, curled up small and unbothered like the world isn't currently on fire somewhere. He tells himself he's just checking you're breathing. He checks for a very long time.

Rule #5: If she steals your jacket let her keep it. Don't be a bitch about it.

It was cold outside a bar in October and you didn't bring one. He took his off without being asked and put it around your shoulders before you could even shiver a second time. You tried to give it back at the end of the night. He told you to keep it, said something about not needing two jackets anyway, which made no sense, and walked off before you could argue. You still have it. He knows you still have it. Neither of you has ever mentioned it again.

Rule #6: Don't get jealous. Jealous is for weak men.

A guy from a rival agency spent an entire mixer talking to you last spring and Bakugo spent that same mixer setting three separate small fires with his quirk completely by accident, according to him. Kirishima said it wasn't an accident. Bakugo told Kirishima to shut the hell up in front of everyone, which everyone agreed was extremely on brand and extremely obvious.

Rule #7: If she's tired let her sleep on your shoulder. Don't make it weird.

You fell asleep on the train back from a joint mission once, head tipping slowly toward his shoulder like gravity had made a decision without asking you. He went completely still. Didn't move for forty minutes. Told everyone later he just didn't want to wake you up. That was true. It was also not the whole truth.

Rule #8: Compete with her. Don't let her win just because you like her. That's pathetic.

You beat him at darts once, at a bar, fair and square, and he demanded a rematch on the spot. You beat him again. He demanded a third round. By the fourth round he wasn't even trying to win anymore, just trying to make you laugh at his increasingly unhinged trash talk, and you were laughing too hard to notice you'd stopped keeping score.

Rule #9: Play it cool when she touches you. Don't be obvious.

You have a habit of grabbing his arm when you laugh too hard at something, quick and unthinking, gone in half a second. It means nothing to you. It means everything to him. He has thought about that half-second more times than he'd ever admit under torture.

Rule #10: If she's cold under the table don't offer your legs. That's insane. Nobody does that.

He does it anyway. It's a slow dinner, everyone's talking over each other, and your foot brushes his under the table by accident. You don't move it. Neither does he. What starts as an accident turns into something else entirely — your foot pressed lightly against his shin, his ankle hooked loosely around yours, both of you carrying on two separate conversations with the rest of the table like nothing is happening below it. He nearly chokes on his drink when your foot slides slow up his calf, just once, just to see what he'll do.

He does absolutely nothing. Which is how you know it worked.

Rule #11: Don't ask about her ex. That's weak and clingy behavior.

He asks anyway, once, badly, wrapped inside a completely unrelated sentence about something else entirely so it wouldn't sound like what it was. You answered honestly and briefly and didn't ask why he wanted to know. He spent the rest of that night in a genuinely foul mood that had nothing to do with the mission report he'd claimed was bothering him.

Rule #12: If she gets sick you're not worried. You're just making sure she doesn't die. There's a difference.

You caught something nasty last winter and didn't tell anyone because you hate being fussed over. Bakugo found out from Kirishima and showed up at your apartment within the hour with a bag of groceries he refused to let you see the receipt for. He made soup badly. He stayed anyway sitting stiffly on your couch like he'd rather be anywhere else until you fell asleep on his shoulder for the second time in your life. He didn't move again. This time you were awake enough at the end to notice and you didn't say anything either.

Rule #13: Don't remember small stuff about her. That's obsessive.

He remembers everything. Your coffee order. The exact way you take your eggs. The name of the street you grew up on mentioned once years ago in passing. He tells himself it's just a good memory. Kirishima tells him that's not what a good memory looks like for anyone else in the friend group.

Rule #14: Don't get quiet around her. Quiet means she'll know something's wrong.

He gets quiet anyway sometimes when it's just the two of you left at the end of a group hangout and everyone else has gone home. You've noticed. You've never asked. You've started noticing you kind of like the quiet too.

Rule #15: If she insults your cooking don't take it personal.

You told him once that his katsudon tasted like it was made out of spite. He told you to make it yourself then. You did. It was worse than his. He has never let you live that down and somehow still makes you a plate every single time you come over unasked like it's not a big deal.

Rule #16: Don't let her see the soft stuff. Like the notebook. She can never see the notebook.

There is in fact a notebook. Bakugo would deny this to his last breath. It is not a diary. It is a training log that occasionally accidentally includes things like *she laughed at something dumb I said today* written in the margins in handwriting too small for anyone to notice. Nobody has ever seen it. It stays that way.

Rule #17: Don't dance with her at Mina's stupid parties. Dancing is for saps.

He dances with you exactly once badly at Mina's birthday both of you a little drunk and laughing about how neither of you knows what you're doing. His hand sits low on your waist the entire song. Yours rests flat against his chest close enough to feel his heart going faster than the song's tempo would explain. Neither of you comments on it. Both of you notice.

Rule #18: If she calls you at 2am for no reason answer immediately. Don't overthink it.

You called once at 2am half-asleep just to complain about a case that was bothering you and needed someone to talk it out with. He picked up on the first ring even though he'd been dead asleep three seconds earlier. Talked you through it for forty minutes in a voice rougher than usual low and half-awake until you finally calmed down enough to sleep. Neither of you brought it up the next day. You both remembered it anyway.

Rule #19: Tell her the truth eventually. Stalling makes you look like a coward.

He almost doesn't. Eight years of almost. Eight years of jackets and soup and 2am phone calls and a notebook nobody's supposed to see all adding up to exactly nothing because Katsuki Bakugo — who has never once in his life backed down from a fight — has apparently decided this is the one fight not worth having.

Kirishima finally sits him down and tells him flatly that watching this has become genuinely embarrassing for everyone involved. That you deserve to actually know. That you're not going to figure it out on your own because you're the single most unbothered person either of them has ever met and unbothered people don't go looking for things they've never been told to look for.

Rule #20: Ask her out. Just say it. Stop being a coward about it

He shows up at your apartment on a random Tuesday with no plan and no speech prepared which is unlike him in every possible way. You open the door in an old shirt and no makeup unbothered as always and ask what's wrong like something must be wrong for him to be standing there.

"Nothing's wrong," he says and immediately looks like he regrets starting that way. "I just — " He stops. Starts again. "You're coming to dinner with me Friday. Not the group. Just you and me."

You blink at him. For the first time in eight years something in your carefully composed face actually slips just a fraction just enough for him to see it happen in real time.

"Is this a date Bakugo?"

"Obviously it's a date," he says too loud the way he gets when he's covering for something. "What else would it be. Are you always this slow or is it just with me?"

You don't answer right away. You just look at him for a long moment the unbothered mask cracking wider by the second and something like a smile starts pulling at the corner of your mouth.

"Friday," you say. "Pick me up at seven. And Katsuki—"

"What."

"Wear the jacket back. I've had it long enough."

He goes red for the second time in eight years. Somewhere across town Kirishima's phone buzzes with a single text that just says *finally* and nothing else and every single person in that group chat already knows exactly what it means before he explains a word of it.

[ohbo-ohno]

just had to block someone so quick reminder that zionists are not welcome on this blog. genocide supporters, apartheid supporters, bigots in any sense, are never, ever welcome on this blog. i will block you when i see that shit. get OUT

[bfbkg]

JAILBIRD! (2.1k)

— bakugou katsuki x reader

SYNOPSIS: after getting in another fight, you and your friends wind up in a jail cell. you call your boyfriend to get you out.

NOTES: quick drabble, somewhat crack fic? but not really lol. established relationship. fluff. mention of fighting n blood by reader.

“who is this!?”

the phone doesn’t have a second to ring before your boyfriend screeches down the phone. it sounds as if something’s in his mouth, a pen? he’s usually in his agency office at this time, finishing up an evening patrol and about to go home.

“hello? who the fuck got my number—,”

you take a deep breath before revealing yourself.

“it’s me, katsuki.”

“kacchan, did you get the stats—,”

bakugou sits up in his black leather chair, dropping his ballpoint pen and waving at deku across the room to shut up. he recognises you from the first syllable that crackles down the line.

“yn? baby? why’re you calling me from an unknown number? where’re you? you okay? what’s—,”

“i only have a minute so let me talk.”

you’re supposed to be out tonight with your girls, a monthly club night where you dance, eat and drink. a few of your favourite things in the world. you even sent him a selfie blowing a kiss before you left in your pretty outfit, wishing him good luck on his patrol and hoping he doesn’t get too bored with the low crime rates.

bakugou’s heart spikes, inhaling deeply before standing up. a villain has kidnapped you… someone is out to harm you. he’s already looking around for his gauntlets. he just tugged out of his hero suit but it’s right across the room for him to pull back on.

“what’s wrong with yn?” deku frowns from his seat on bakugou’s sofa. he’s typing up notes from their patrol together. bakugou hushes him again, with a warning finger.

“go on. are you safe?”

“please don’t be mad at me. please don’t be. but i might need you to—,”

“thirty seconds!” a man shouts somewhere down your line.

“who the fuck is that?” bakugou shouts, grabbing his keys and pulling an arm through his uniform. usually he’s levelheaded during missions and patrols. a mobile alert that there’s a villain robbery downtown doesn’t send a pang of panic through him. nor a kidnapping or high risk attack. bakugou’s seen it all. nothing scares him anymore.

but anything to do with you and bakugou’s back to square one. he can barely think straight. every single thought of his is scrambled, spelt backwards and upside down and he needs to get to you now.

“dickhead officer,” you mumble quickly, “okay don’t be mad at me, i need you to come get me at the station. maybe get me out of jail with your hero ways and connections. please. don’t be mad.” 

it’s all in one long ramble and he imagines you at the police station, fingers playing with the loopy wire of the telephone. bakugou freezes in place. his shoulders drop and he relaxes.

the list of reasons why bakugou loves you goes on forever. bakugou himself is yet to find an end to it. he loves your patience with him and his job, how you’re understanding when he needs to leave a date early and interrupts your evenings with heroic phone calls. how you’re always willing to learn something new, like self defence with him in his agency gym. he loves how much you love your friends and family, just like he does his. willing to stand up for them and stand by them. he also loves how you never take any disrespect. not from anybody, to you or others. that is exactly why he struggles to be mad at you right now.

“hah? the fuck did you do?” he pauses, pulling off his hero suit. he doesn’t need it. you already did the work for him.

“why do you assume it was me!?” you whine down the line.

“wasn’t it? why the hell are you in there?” he wants to bark but his tone softens knowing you’re on the other end. you give a dramatic huff that makes him grip the phone tighter for more.

bakugou looks at deku who still stares expectantly, unsure if he should be putting his hero suit on also. bakugou shakes his head.

“i’ll explain when you’re here. come quickly please. it stinks—,”

“ten seconds!” the same voice.

“quick, baby. i love you!” you shout.

“fuck, baby. love y—,”

bakugou shoves his phone in his pocket, letting out a short hearty laugh. 

“is everything okay with yn? did someone hurt her?”

“it’s gonna be the opposite. she’s in jail right now.”

when your boyfriend stops into the police station, with his black boots, black jeans and an oversized grey hoodie, you squeal, running to the bars trapping you inside like an animal. he looks so good, all boyfriend with his hood over his head and bags under his eyes. you even catch him rolling his eyes at you, giving you a nod and lip bite as you jump in excitement.

“katsuki’s here, he’s gonna get us out! we’re saved!” you tell your two friends sitting arms folded in the jail cell with you.

you wave to him and bakugou stomps right over, past the authorised doors and right to your cell.

“excuse me, sir! you can’t just—,”

bakugou turns to the police officer, one eyebrow raised.

“oh! dynamight, why are you here?” the policeman’s face floods a bright pink but both you and bakugou ignore him.

bakugou immediately reaches his hand through the bars, gripping your chin and moving your head side to side.

“he was the one telling me to hurry up on the phone!” you say smushed, “i’m okay! you should see the other girl!”

there’s no scratches on your face. your makeup has smudged and sweated off, just from time and dancing earlier. there is blood on your knuckles however, contrasting against your short little party girl outfit.

bakugou drops his hand with a loud grunt then eyes your friends, who send him jolly smiles and even a wave.

“hey dynamight!”

“thanks for helping us!”

he still has a soft spot for your friends, who look exactly like you. no bruises or scratches. the only proof of a fight is maybe two broken nails on your friend’s left hand and your other friend’s hair is a tamed mess. he often cooks you and them dinner whenever he is around your flat.

“why the hell are you here, baby? again?” he sighs hopelessly. he shakes his head, ignoring the other cells of people eying him suspiciously. 

a prohero visiting a jail cell? probably not his biggest fans.

still you smile at bakugou shyly, “i said don’t be mad!”

“i need to know what happened so i can get you out,” he levels with you.

you huff, looking away from your lover.

“baby. you told me to come quickly. i know you’re fine so what happened?” he soothes, despite the fact you don’t need soothing. he wants to give you a kiss and cuddle, scrub you down in the shower and bring you to bed. 

but you’ve got to be this firecracker.

“you know those girls who hate us? they saw us out tonight and started shouting at us! we weren’t even doing anything! and then you know what happened,” you drawl, grabbing bakugou’s hand though the bars as if he needs convincing.

bakugou fights the smirk off his face. of course he knows your lore and the beefs you have with everyone in your life. there’s nothing he doesn’t know about you. 

“no babe. what happened, huh?”

“she threw the first punch at me! she was chatting shit, so i did too! she tried to punch me, clearly didn’t get me, so then i punched her, it did get her. i’ll admit.” but you struggle to hide your own grin.

one tooth from you and bakugou’s grinning, “then what?”

“it was a little scrap! i had it under control. did the one with the elbow you showed me.”

“yeah? in her stomach?” bakugou eggs on.

you nod, grinning like a kid who’s won an award, “yeah! also some good old hair pulling. if it ain’t broke don’t fix it!”

bakugou does actually let out a laugh at that, rubbing his face with his palm restlessly, “oh shit, baby.”

“but then someone called the police and they got sent to the hospital together and we are… here.”

your friends have the audacity to look pitiful and you join them by pulling him closer by his hand.

“and what do you want me to do, princess?” he smiles devotedly, cheeks high and pink.

“what do you mean? get me out, stupid! use your hero ways, seduce or fight them. legal language. what you did last time!” you say, waving your free hand around like you’re in a position of power here, “i wanna shower.”

“how’s that supposed to teach you your lesson? no fightin’—,” he jokes but you send him a dead stare.

“katsuki, not funny. we wanna go home. look at us,” you pout.

you’re fucking adorable, bakugou thinks. with your little top and tiny skirt. you’re in thick sports socks currently, your shoes under the chair by your friends. your feet hurt he can only assume. he eyes the k gold necklace at your neck. feeling the stare, you subconsciously play with it between your fingers.

“if i let you out, you promise no fightin’?” he plays but you’re back to huffing. so close to stomping your foot.

“katsuki! i said it wasn’t our fault anyway!”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. i’ll see what i can do,” he smirks, fixing his hair. “gimme a kiss.”

you smile, pouting your lips to meet him through the bars. it’s a quick peck, one that has you missing him even though he’s still there.

“i’ll be back in a sec. no startin’ fights while i’m gone.”

“go hero!” 

bakugou slips his calloused palm out of your hand and stuffs his hands in his pockets, smiling back at you before turning around the corner to find an officer.

he fixes his hair under his hood, trying to keep his crush on you under wraps.

bakugou just about hears you say. “katsuki’s going to save us! didn’t he look kinda... that hoodie… yum.”

bakugou is waiting by his range rover when you and your friends fall out of the police station, giggling the same way you do when you leave the club.

your soft smile at katsuki makes his heart skip a beat, his breaths soften. he feels the urge to float over to you, despite the fact you’re already walking towards him.

“thanks for saving us, hero,” you coo, kissing his cheek once he’s close enough. bakugou’s quick to lean into it.

“thanks dynamight! it wasn’t our fault, i swear, dont get mad at yn.” your friend says, her bag and phone back in her hands.

“it was those girls again!” your other friend curses, “i swear once i find them—,”

“okay, okay. get in the damn car, i’ll drop everyone home,” he pretends to be annoyed but you see through it all. 

a fresh breeze swoops your hair back and causes bakugou’s hood to fall off his head. he’s tired and adorable, towering over you with his hand sliding onto your waist like it belongs there.

you take his hand as your friends mumble their thanks again, sliding into the backseat of his car.

“i mean it, ‘tsuki. thanks for getting us, i know you’d rather be in bed now.” you say, reaching up on your tiptoes, shoes back on. you’re still not close enough to his face so he manages by bending down to yours.

“we’re gonna talk about this properly. i hate you gettin’ hurt,” he tries to be stern, like how he is at work with his sidekicks that aren’t fast enough or his emergency team that aren’t precise enough. 

but you are enough. everything about you.

“i said i didn’t get hurt. well, my wrist is a bit sore but aside from that, i’m fine!” you promise, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “i swear!”

“d’you want me to deal with those girls? get mina and momo to tell them to not bother you—,” he tries but you shake your head.

“it’s not hero business, ‘tsuki.”

“you shouldn’t be fightin’ anyone. hero shit or not.”

you slink your arms around his neck and bakugou finds it hard to not let his eyes go half lidded with interest. he leans into you like he’s at home, just the smell of you dragging him closer.

“then they have to stop chatting shit,” you whisper, pecking his pouty lips softly. “i love you.”

bakugou knows he’s not going to win this conversation. he could train you to fight better though. he sighs, ready for a hot shower and bedtime with you.

“fine. we’re talkin’ about this later. love you too.”

[mattsundaes]

imagine finding out that your best friend bakugou has never sent anyone a dick pic. everyone's razzing him over it, and he's just like whoever i'm fucking can just come the fuck over at look at my dick why the fuck do i need to do a photoshoot with it????

"my dick ain't in fuckin' vogue you fucks" end quote

[mattsundaes]

anyway so naturally he's a little Drunk one night still annoyed about it so he starts taking pics. of his dick. out of spite.

and then you text him some dumb meme of a cat and he's drunk enough to think that hitting send on several pictures is a Good Idea.

accompanied by the message "i can take a fuckin dick pic"

[mattsundaes]

unfortunately. you realize you've created a monster in that moment.

because years worth of resolutely ignoring your very secret very unspoken never to be mentioned crush on bakugou katsuki are violently tossed out the window in favor of the knowledge that (1) bakugou has a very big dick (2) bakugou has a very nice dick (3) bakugou takes very very very flattering pictures of his nice, big dick.

[strvxs]

I wanna cuddle with you until I smell like you