liss’n to me ── .✦

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ pro hero bakugo fucks his pr agent

tw: rough sex, office sex, uniform kink, unprotected sex, creampie (he’s bad at pulling out), semi-public, fingering, orgasm denial, canon timeskip katsuki (mid‑20s)

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It’s your job.

Literally.

Keeping Dynamight from ruining his own career.

And if that wasn’t already hard enough, he makes it worse…by being exactly who the fuck he is.

“No." You hiss under your breath, heels clicking as you walk ahead of him toward the press room. “You can’t call the guy a dumbass on air. I don’t care if he was one.”

Katsuki scoffs behind you, unbothered. “He was. If he’d kept his fuckin’ head down like I told him, I wouldn’t’ve had to blast through a whole damn wall.”

You stop walking. Turn.

He nearly walks into you, catches himself just short, and glares down at you like you’re the problem.

“You’re on live TV in four minutes.” You say calmly, like you’re not seething. “Do not go in there and curse out the other pro. Don’t grunt. Don’t scowl. Don’t call anyone an extra.”

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s half my fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“I know." You mutter, then force a bright, PR-trained smile and spin back around. “That’s what keeps me employed.”

And you walk away.

Heel. Toe. Clip. Click.

You know he’s staring. You always do. Especially when you're wearing tights.

——————

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The tension.

The bickering. The heat. The way you look at each other too long.

You’re his public relations rep, for fuck’s sake. You handle his sponsorships. His press coverage. His approval ratings.

You’re not supposed to want to kiss the way he spits out a swear word.

Not supposed to like the way he leans back in an office chair, thighs spread, chest still heaving after a patrol, sweat clinging to the collar of his suit.

Not supposed to stare.

But god. When he's in that black and orange hero suit? Hands braced on his thighs? Jaw clenched like he's still thinking about the fight?

You’re not blind.

And he notices.

The way your eyes drop to his chest. The slow blink you give him when he runs a hand through his hair.

The sigh you let out when he shrugs out of his gear.

He notices. And worse?

He smirks.

——————

“You need to stop saying ‘fuck’ in interviews." You mutter, eyes on your clipboard, not looking at him.

He’s standing behind you. Way too close.

“What the fuck else should I say?”

“NOT that.” You whirl around.

He leans in.

Close enough that your nose almost brushes his. Close enough to see the mild amusement behind the scowl on his face.

He likes this. He likes riling you up.

“You got a better suggestion?” He murmurs, voice low. “Wanna write me a script, princess?”

You hate when he calls you that.

You hate that it makes your stomach clench.

Your gaze drops - for half a second - to his mouth.

His gaze drops - for half a second - to the neckline of your blouse.

You’re close. Too close.

You step back.

“I’m sending you talking points for the next segment.” You say, sharp and professional.

But your voice comes out breathier than it should.

It happens again two days later.

You’re both backstage at a hero gala, arguing in low tones near the emergency exit. You’re wearing a dress that hugs your thighs. He’s in a suit he clearly hates.

“You’re not skipping the meet-and-greet.”

“Tch. Waste of time.”

“You promised the agency.”

He rolls his eyes. “I never fuckin’ promised-”

“Bakugo.” You grit, stepping into his space.

He steps right back into yours.

You’re chest to chest. Breath to breath.

You can feel the tension rolling off him. That storm-thick frustration, the itch in his jaw, the impatience humming just under his skin.

Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides.

His arms are folding, muscle flexing even under the expensive fabric.

Neither of you moves.

You can feel his eyes on your mouth.

“You’re real fuckin’ annoying." He mutters, like a reflex.

Your voice is steady. “You’re lucky I haven’t walked out yet.”

“Why don’t you?”

You blink.

And for a moment, the room feels too hot.

“Because you'd fall apart without me.”

It slips out before you can stop it.

And to your surprise - he laughs.

Low. Under his breath. A smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” He mutters. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”

“No." You say. “But I know what happens when you don’t have someone to clean up your messes.”

You turn. Start to walk away.

But not before he mutters low just loud enough for you to hear.

“...Wouldn’t mind makin’ a mess outta you.”

You stop. You don’t turn. But your legs go weak for just a second.

You pretend they don’t.

——————

It’s a quiet evening.

Your phone buzzes with approval ratings. Even after that snarky remark to the press.

You’re in his office. He’s half-undressed, the tie from his suit he aggressively ripped off thrown over his chair.

“Did good tonight." You mutter, glancing at your tablet. “Only cursed twice.”

He’s watching you. From the chair. One leg spread wide, ankle crossed over the other.

“Did better than that." He says.

You glance up.

And he’s not smirking.

He’s watching you with that look - the one that makes your pulse skip. The one that feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes.

Your throat tightens. You clear it.

“You’ll still need to do the morning interview." You say softly. “Public’s loving the new outreach campaign.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

You try to look back at the screen.

But he leans forward in the chair. Arms braced over his thighs.

“Y’know I’m not stupid, right?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I know what you’re doin’. Walkin’ away every time I get close. Pretendin’ you’re not into it.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“I’m not-”

“Yeah, you are.”

His voice is low. Certain. Unapologetic. And it hits something in your chest that makes your heart beat louder.

You don’t move.

Just stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his gaze slides over your legs. The way he looks like he’s holding himself back.

“You’re my client." You whisper.

“So?” He mutters.

You swallow. And you don’t say anything else.

Because he’s not wrong.

Not really.

You clear your throat.

The air feels too thick.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, Bakugo.”

It’s the most professional thing you can manage.

You grab your tablet. Keep your expression neutral even though your pulse is a hammer in your throat.

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you leave, jaw tight, that unreadable look in his eyes that sits somewhere between challenge and want.

——————

The next few days, you pretend everything’s normal.

You sit in meetings. Draft press statements. Edit highlight reels from his latest rescue operation.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That the heat in your stomach every time he says your name is nothing but stress.

But then night comes. And it’s just you, your couch, your laptop, and the soft blue glow of the TV screen.

Katsuki is on the news again. Hair still damp from the fight, arms crossed while he answers questions. You watch the way his throat flexes when he swallows, the way his forearms tighten under the black fabric of his uniform.

The way he doesn’t smile. Not even when they praise him. He just nods once. Lowers his eyes. Grunts something short.

And god, you shouldn’t. But you imagine what it would be like to shut him up with your mouth. To grab that stupid collar of his uniform and drag him down until his words die between your lips.

You press your thighs together. Turn the TV off.

——————

Three nights later, you’re packing up to go home.

The sun’s already down, the office nearly empty. You’re standing at your desk, tugging on your coat, considering the text from your friends:

Come out. Drinks?

You hover over your phone. Wonder if maybe getting drunk would drown out this thing that’s been sitting in your chest all week.

And then you hear it.

Heavy boots.

The door clicks open.

He walks in still in uniform - black and orange gear streaked with dirt, the faint smell of smoke clinging to him.

“Bakugo.” You straighten up. “Come to bother me for the last few minutes of my work day?”

“Was in the area.” His voice is rough, casual. “Figured I’d stop by.”

You raise a brow. “To do what? Critique my reports?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you - slow, deliberate.

“What’re you doin’ tonight?” He asks finally.

Your heart stutters. “Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just askin’.”

“You don’t need to know everything I do after hours.”

“Tch. The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you say evenly, grabbing your bag, “I have a life outside babysitting your public image.”

He snorts. “Babysittin’, huh?”

You glance up - he’s smirking, sharp and cocky. The kind of smirk that crawls under your skin.

“Yeah." You snap. “Babysitting. Because you can’t go a single day without me cleaning up your-”

“You goin’ out with someone?”

The question hits like a slap.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask if it was." He growls. “I asked who.”

You step closer, glaring up at him. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

And for a second, neither of you moves.

Just shallow breaths.

The sound of the clock on the wall ticking too loud.

Then -

Bang.

He slams the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the glass rattle.

Your stomach drops.

“Bakugo-”

But he’s already crossing the room.

You back up instinctively - until the edge of your desk hits the backs of your thighs.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel, and crashes his mouth against yours.

It’s rough. Unapologetic. Teeth. Tongue. Breath.

You shove at his chest once - not to stop him, but to feel how solid it is - and then you’re pulling him back in by his collar.

The sound that leaves him is somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

He kisses you harder. Deeper. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first breath after weeks underwater.

You grab a fistful of his uniform. He grips your hips and lifts you - strong enough that your breath catches as you’re set on the desk, papers scattering, his body slotting between your legs.

He’s still kissing you - the kind that leaves your lips raw and your lungs aching. You can taste him. Smoke, salt, adrenaline.

You drag your nails down his neck and feel him shudder.

He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, breath harsh.

“You done tellin’ me it’s not my business?” He mutters.

You tilt your chin up, meeting his eyes.

“Maybe." You whisper. “If you keep your mouth busy.”

And he does.

He grabs your hips, pulls you closer, and kisses you again - deeper this time, slower, tongue sliding against yours like he’s learning you one breath at a time.

The kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting months to happen.

You should shove him back, get your shit together, tell him this is a massive breach of every ethical boundary in your job description…

But instead, your fingers are tugging at the buckle on his duty belt, hands shaking with the effort.

Bakugo’s mouth is hot against yours and he groans when he feels you pull the strap free.

“Fuckin’ god, finally." He pants, helping you get it off. It drops to the floor with a loud, metallic clunk, utility clips rattling on impact.

You don’t even look at it. Too focused on the way he’s already dragging your blazer off your shoulders, his gloved fingers fumbling at the buttons of your blouse.

“You wear too many fuckin’ layers." He mutters against your mouth.

You huff a breath into his. “You’re the one in a Kevlar corset.”

He smirks - barely - lips brushing yours like he’s laughing. “‘S tactical.”

You roll your eyes.

Another kiss - rough and open-mouthed - and his fingers finally get one of the buttons undone. Then another.

You gasp when he brushes the fabric aside, his palm warm over the skin of your ribs.

Your own hands are already under his uniform compression shirt, fingertips gliding over the edge of his abs, the heat of his body soaking through the suit.

And then -

“Fuck.” He curses softly, tugging at your tights. “How the hell do these things come off…”

“You’re a pro hero.” You breathe, lifting your hips. “Figure it out.”

Your tights are halfway down your legs, bunched at your knees, when he leans back with a groan.

“Fuck this." He mutters. “I don’t have the patience.”

He fists your skirt and shoves it up around your hips instead, bunching the fabric at your waist in one quick, rough pull.

You exhale a sharp breath, blinking down at him. “Seriously?”

“I’m busy." He grits, voice low, eyes flicking to the dark panel of your panties. “Unless you want me to waste time getting it off right.”

You snort, breathless. “God forbid you use any finesse.”

Katsuki smirks -- that fucking smirk - and leans forward, crowding your body until you’re flat on your elbows, back arching, skirt hiked up, legs spread wide on the edge of your own desk.

“Finesse." He echoes, almost teasing. “You want finesse, princess?”

His fingers hook the waistband of your panties, tugging them all the way down, pocketing them easily.

And then you feel him. Two fingers, thick and callused, sliding through your folds - slow, firm pressure dragging over slick heat.

Your head falls back with a soft, involuntary gasp.

Katsuki leans in at the same time. Mouth catching the underside of your jaw. Kissing slow, possessive, hungry.

“Not so smug now, huh.” He murmurs against your skin, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat, biting softly at the hinge of your jaw.

You open your mouth to fire something back, but he curls his fingers, just right. Your breath catches. Your thighs twitch.

“Fuck.”

He grins again and kisses lower, under your chin, tongue flicking slow just beneath your ear.

You feel him breathe you in, that little grunt in the back of his throat when he realizes how wet you already are.

“All this for me, huh?” He mutters. “Just from makin’ you mad?”

Your hand fists in the collar of his uniform, yanking him back up to your mouth.

“Shut up." You whisper, voice wrecked. “You talk too much.”

“Thought you liked my mouth.”

You kiss him hard before you can answer - open, messy, his fingers still working between your thighs.

It’s hot. Deep. Desperate.

“You should’ve said somethin’ sooner." He rasps, dragging his thumb slow over your clit. “Fuckin’ coulda been doin’ this for months.”

Your answer is another moan. Sharp, breathy, hips grinding down like you’re chasing the friction, fast and sloppy.

And all he does is smile. That same cocky little grin against your mouth as he curls his fingers deeper, wrist flexing just right.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “There she is.”

You can barely think.

He drags his fingers slow through your slick. Rubbing tight, cruel little circles on your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch, just enough to make your stomach coil, just enough to make you almost come then backing off.

Again.

You grit your teeth. “Bakugo.”

He grins against your throat, not even trying to hide it. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“You’re cute when you’re pissed.” He mutters, kissing under your ear.

You slap a hand down on the desk behind you, lifting yourself up on one elbow, staring him down.

He's still in his hero uniform. Boots planted between your spread thighs.

And fuck, you hate how hot it is.

His hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, arms flexing every time he moves. You can see the curve of his biceps, the thick straps tight across his chest, the way his utility vest rises and falls with his breath.

You can smell sweat. Smoke. Him.

It’s all too much.

You’re wet, aching, toes curling in your heels. And he’s standing there acting like he’s got all the time in the world.

Your voice drops. “Stop fucking around.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?” He mutters. “You want it that bad?”

You stare him down. “You know I do.”

He breathes out a rough laugh. Then…

He licks his fingers.

Slow. Deliberate. Eyes on yours.

Your stomach flips.

Then he reaches for his belt, yanks his zipper down…

And your mouth parts before you can stop it.

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t ready.

He’s thick, flushed, already leaking. You blink once, caught completely off-guard - and he sees it.

He smirks. “You gonna sit there with your mouth open or you want me to fill it later?”

You blink hard. “You’re such a…”

But you don’t finish, because he’s already grabbing your hips, dragging you forward across the desk like you weigh nothing.

You gasp, hands bracing behind you, legs spread wide -

He’s in. One hard, deep thrust.

He pushes all the way in, slow enough to feel every inch, but fast enough to make your back arch and a full, helpless moan spill out of your mouth.

“Fuuuck -”

His hips grind against yours, breath caught, head falling forward onto your shoulder as he groans just as loud.

“Holy shit - baby…”

You both freeze at the sound - loud, echoing off the office walls - and then, like instinct, you grab the front of his uniform and pull him down, slamming your mouth into his.

The kiss is messy, all lips and teeth and open gasps.

You moan into him. He groans into you.

His cock pulses deep inside, the stretch insane, thick enough that you feel it everywhere.

You’re clenching without meaning to. He swears again. Low, guttural, and thrusts shallow, just once, like he can’t help it.

His mouth breaks from yours, panting.

“Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt." He breathes, voice wrecked.

"Harder." You demand.

And yeah. He fucks you like it’s all he’s been thinking about.

Just deep, hard thrusts, slamming into you with all that strength he tries so fucking hard to hide during press events.

Your hips knock against the desk with every push, the wood creaking underneath you. Papers scattered, pens long gone.

He grunts with every movement, his jaw tight, eyes locked on your face like he wants to see every second of it.

“God. Fuck.” He pants. “So fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ tight."

You claw at his arms, nails dragging over fabric and skin. "You gonna narrate the whole thing?"”

He grabs your thighs, hoisting you higher on the desk, getting a better angle before slamming in again.

You moan, loud, eyes fluttering shut.

It’s almost filthy. The contrast. How professional you look half-undressed. Blouse unbuttoned, bra still on. While he’s slamming into you like it’s the only thing that’ll quiet his head.

He palms at your chest, squeezing. “Been thinkin’ about these fuckin’ tits since the first week I met you." He mutters, mouth brushing your collarbone, tongue flicking the sweat pooling there.

You roll your eyes, breathless. “Charming.”

“Shut up." He pants. “You know I have.”

His hands fumble at your back, cursing low when he can’t get the clasp - until it finally snaps free.

Your bra slides off your shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate. Mouth drops to your chest, teeth grazing the swell of your breast, tongue licking a hot stripe over your nipple.

You cry out, legs locking around him, and he fucks into you harder, rutting deep and fast and rough.

You suck in a breath when he bites down - not hard, just enough to make you twitch. He soothes it with his tongue immediately after, lips wrapping around your nipple, groaning into your skin like he’s fucking starved.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging hard. His mouth is everywhere. Your throat, your chest, your jaw - sucking, biting, kissing, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach.

The sound of skin slapping fills the office. Your moans. His grunts. His voice muttering low filth into your neck.

“Been wantin’ this since the first time you yelled at me." He admits, nipping your ear. “Every fuckin’ meeting. Every press run. You’d stand there all smug in your little heels…”

And he can’t stop touching you. Even with his cock buried deep, slamming into you like he wants to carve himself into your body.

He can’t stop.

One hand claws at your waist, gripping your skirt like it offended him. The other’s everywhere. Cupping your tits, dragging down your sides, spreading over your stomach like he’s trying to memorize you by feel alone.

“So beautiful.” He grits, voice cracking on the words.

He palms your breast again, rougher this time, thumb brushing your nipple as he leans down to take it into his mouth for the third time, sucking so hard your hips jolt.

You moan - loud, unfiltered - one hand braced behind you on the desk, the other buried in his damp hair.

He groans against your skin, tongue flicking fast, teeth grazing, biting before he kisses the sting better again.

You suck in a breath when he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“This what you wanted?” He pants. “Shit - this what you been thinkin’ about when you stare at me in that fuckin’ pencil skirt?”

You roll your hips up into him, gasping. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He repeats.

Then he grabs your tits in both hands and fucks you deeper.

Harder.

It punches a cry out of your throat.

“Say it.” His voice is all gravel. “Say you’ve been thinkin’ about this.”

“Fuck…yes.”

“Say you wanted me.”

“I wanted you." You cry out. “God, I - fuck, Bakugo.”

He kisses you again - filthy, wet, lips dragging against yours with no aim but contact, connection, pressure. Tongue curling into your mouth like he owns it.

It’s insane.

It’s so wrong.

It’s your office.

But you don’t care. Not even a little.

Not when his teeth are back at your collarbone, sucking hard. Not when his hand slides down between your bodies to rub your clit in hard, perfect circles.

Not when he groans low into your ear, voice wrecked and possessive…

“You’re mine now. You know that, right?”

You can’t speak. Just nod.

You’re right there. So fucking close it’s unbearable.

Your legs are shaking around his waist, skirt bunched, tits bouncing with every thrust. One heel’s still on. The other is god knows where.

And Katsuki is pounding into you like he’s possessed. Jaw tight, sweat running down his neck, grunting through clenched teeth.

“You feel so fuckin’ good…tight little pussy….so fuckin’ wet for me….”

You’re panting so hard your voice breaks. And then you say it.

You whine it.

“Katsuki…”

His whole body jerks like you punched him.

“Say it again." He rasps.

You do. You’re not even thinking anymore, just crying out through gritted teeth, eyes shut, hand clawing at his bicep:

“Katsuki - Katsuki….fuck….don't stop…"

He loses it. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, thrusts deeper and rougher like he wants to fuck his name right back into you.

You moan it again, higher, more broken - and he grabs your thighs tighter, slamming into you so hard the desk rocks with it.

“C'mon baby…” He pants. “Keep sayin’ it. Fuckin’ love the way you say my name…”

You’re right on the edge. And it snaps. White-hot and sharp, coiling tight, then ripping through you like a wave that hits too fast, too strong—

“Katsuki!” You cry out one last time, voice cracked, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm slams into you, long and blinding and overwhelming.

You sob into his mouth, back arching, thighs locking around him like you’re trying to take him deeper.

“Shit…fuck…” He gasps, head dropping to your shoulder, and suddenly he freezes.

“Wait, ah…fuck.”

But it’s too late.

He pulls out right at the edge, cock twitching as he spills hot and messy against your thigh, the edge of your skirt.

"Didn’t pull out fast enough…damn it." He swears again, breath shaking, watching it drip.

Neither of you move.

You’re panting, chest heaving, bra discarded, his release leaking down your leg. Katsuki is standing between your thighs with his pants halfway down, still in full pro hero gear, eyes locked on you like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

And the room is hot. Sticky. Silent - except for your breath and your thighs still trembling open around him.

You lick your lips. Shaky.

“That was…”

Your voice breaks. You clear it.

“…so fucking stupid.”

He grins. Hair in his eyes. Still flushed, still panting.

“Yeah.”

And then - without even blinking - his hand slides back down to your ass, fingers massaging rough and slow, squeezing the soft curve of it.

His voice is hoarse.

“Now let’s do it again.”

when you're abroad for an internship and he's starting to lose it

if u could possibly do a super nice/kind reader x bakugo

preferably a fem reader but I will read literally anything u write 😮‍💨

okay now lets imagine: y/n always being "too nice" and putting others in front of her own needs (not a doormat but too willing to inconvenience herself) and bakugou recognizing this and not exactly telling her to change but rather doing things that makes her feel special and validated AAUUGGGHH

little body big heart // katsuki bakugou

when he clearly has a favorite roommate

a/n: so there was indeed supposed to be a written portion with this but it was too srs n i just needed to make something silly <\3 roomie kats in my brain is sssssoooooooooooooo rated r i think i would go crazy

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis @haruhi269 @starliightfiend @k0z3me @straows

OBSESSED!

— you’re obsessed with bakugou’s ex.

an: felt like writing this. thanks olivia rodrigo. i’ve done bakugou’s version somewhere lol mostly dialogue. angst, fluffy. relationship, pro hero au!

the first time it’s allowed. you’re allowed to go through your boyfriend’s, ex-girlfriend’s instagram. especially when it’s served to you in a people you might know platter.

technically, they were never boyfriend-girlfriend, they just sorta dated and definitely had regular sex. the thought sets your body on fire. has your eyes glued to her professional pro-hero profile picture that has her eyes glowing like those girls on shoujo animes and the fact you share five mutual followers. a couple of your boyfriend’s pro hero best friends. luckily, your boyfriend isn’t on that list.

you grip your phone so tight, sweat forms between your fingers. tapping to expand her profile picture to study the image. pretty, no fuck that, she’s stunningly gorgeous and you’ve always been confident but you’re starting to question, perhaps it’s been a facade. how can you be confident and feel so distraught over his ex-girlfriend.

and you do have to note, she looks nothing like you.

long purple hair, sharp ears that arch to a point at the top, doe like eyes and skin complexion which doesn’t match yours. your heart burns like you have proof of bakugou katsuki, the love of your life, cheating right in front of you.

she’s got millions of followers like the majority of pros. a mixture of professional photoshoots, getty images at galas, adverts she’s in, clips of her saving lives on the news. then her at home with a selfie of her lying on her bed, a night out in a bar across the world with her friends and her with her fucking cat. perfectly posed, perfect angle of her nose, perfect life that matches your boyfriend’s.

you’re not insecure. nobody you know would ever describe you like that. bicep pulsing, urging you to throw your phone across the room when a presence appears behind you as you lounge on the sofa.

“why’re you lookin’ at her instagram?”

⋆.ೃ࿔. sanemi fucked the hashira out of you

tw: rough sex, breeding kink, domesticity, creampie, soft aftercare

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thank you everyone who voted in the poll !! here is part two based off those results. xxx

PART ONE

═══════════════════════

After that night, it was obvious. Sanemi had made it his fucking mission.

Every time he got his cock in you, he came deep. No pulling out, no hesitation. Just rutting hard, groaning low in your ear when his cum spilled thick and hot inside you.

You knew what he was doing. He didn’t even bother hiding it.

Sometimes you’d try to fight him on it, sitting up, grabbing the back of his white hair, yanking until he hissed. “If you don’t pull out, I swear I’ll - ”

But he’d only smirk through gritted teeth, fucking into you harder, the clap of his hips snapping against your pelvis loud in the quiet room. “Yeah? Gonna slap me? While you’re squeezin’ my cock like that?”

And then you’d both be coming, you yanking his hair, him groaning through clenched teeth, pumping you so full you felt it drip down your thighs. His scarred fingers always shoved it back in, two thick digits pressing the mess inside while he muttered under his breath about “wastin’ good cum” if he didn’t.

Other times he slowed down. Had you in his lap, riding him slow and deep, his scarred hands gripping your ass as his head tilted back. His breath came in harsh pants, his voice cracking with need.

“Fuck…just give it to me already. Want you round with my kid. Can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

And the way he said it - passive aggressive, like a complaint, like he hated himself for wanting it so badly - made your body clench down on him even harder. And you couldn’t help it.

Morning after, nothing changed. You both pulled on your uniforms, acting like he hadn’t fucked his load into you the night before. You trained. You worked with the lower ranks. You listened to the Kakushi rattle off missions - and Sanemi always scoffed, clicking his tongue, throwing you an annoyed look when your name got called.

But you knew it was only a matter of time before his efforts paid off.

Because you were at it like rabbits. Sanemi’s stamina was insane, even by Hashira standards. Some mornings he came home right before sunrise, uniform dirty and still the first thing he did was shove you into the futon, pounding into you with adrenaline, chasing another orgasm out of you just so he could cum deep again.

Lately, you noticed it more. The way his hands gripped you tighter, the way his thrusts turned frantic when he groaned into your skin about the shit he saw on missions.

Every time, he fucked you like he was chasing a cure to it. Like knocking you up was the only way he’d ever let you out of that hell.

So yeah. Sanemi wasn’t gonna stop.

____________

You tried to keep things professional. Both of you did.

You were Hashira before anything else. There was no room for tenderness, no space for love in the Corps.

Still, it bled through the cracks. Especially now, with this new…assignment on Sanemi’s mind.

In meetings, when missions were handed out, Sanemi always started arguing.

“Not this one.” He’d mutter, glaring at the map. “Too far. I’ll take it.”

“It’s mine.’” You’d snap, snatching the slip.

“You’re not goin’ out there alone.”

“Not your call.”

“The fuck it isn’t.”

Shinobu would let out a short exhale. “Would the Wind and the…currently domestically entangled Hashira take this outside?”

You both glared at her.

It happened often now - bickering over patrol routes, over duty stations that were meant to last weeks, investigations. You could feel his stare burn through you during briefings, even when you refused to meet it.

Rengoku once laughed quietly, hands folded in his haori sleeves. “Ah, young love! There’s such passion in your quarrels.”

“I’ll show you passion.” Sanemi started to bark, and you elbowed him so hard in the ribs he choked.

And yeah, he pissed you off. Yeah, we was overbearing.

But, when you came home after sunset - when the world finally stilled, the wind calmed, and the weight of your sword had begun to settle heavy on your spine - you’d find him waiting.

He always waited.

Especially after the long missions. The ones in remote areas, where the threat ran deeper, quieter. The ones where you'd be gone for days. Sometimes weeks. Too far for his crow to reach often. Too dangerous for sleep to come easy.

So, he’d wait. Right there. On the top step of your shared estate, elbows resting heavy on his knees.

When you finally walked up that path - he always tried to act like he hadn’t been sitting there for hours.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” You’d sigh, shrugging off your haori.

“Yes.” He’d mutter, eyes sweeping from head to toe for injury, “But couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

You’d fight a smile, soft and small. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t worry.”

He scoffed, gaze jerking away. “Tch. Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you saw it - plain as day. The way his shoulders finally dropped when you brushed past him. The way his chest rose fuller, easier, like he hadn’t really been breathing until he saw you.

Sometimes, he didn’t even say anything else. Just stood behind you while you peeled off your uniform, while you wiped the grime from your skin.

And when you sank onto the futon, muscles aching and eyelids drooping, he was there - pulling the blanket over you without a word. Calloused fingers brushing hair from your cheek.

You both knew - whatever rage he flung at the world during the day - his peace never came until he saw you, safe and whole, standing in front of him again.

Because he couldn’t rest - not really - until you did.

Until your voice met his ears.

Until your eyes - maybe tired, but still alive - met his across the threshold.

And gods help anyone or anything who tried to stand in the way of that.

____________

He never really slept. Not unless exhaustion forced it out of him.

Your estate laterns burned low, and Sanemi’s arm was slung around your waist, heavy and unmoving. His breathing came steady and deep, but you knew better.

You could tell by the way his thumb kept dragging the same slow circle over your hipbone. The way his chest stayed too tight against your back - not loose, not softened by sleep. And every now and then, his fingers would twitch.

His sword was always close. Within arm’s reach on his side of the futon, still sheathed but never far. Just in case.

And you knew it wasn’t about paranoia. Not completely.

It was that restless instinct to protect. The deep, marrow-deep knowledge that peace was a fragile, dying thing - that one blink, one breath, one wrong sound, and it could all be gone.

You didn’t try to tell him to sleep. You’d learned not to.

Instead, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and brought it to rest over your stomach.

“You’re awake again.” You whispered, voice soft.

He huffed against your neck. “No shit.”

You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his scarred knuckles. “You could try closing your eyes.”

He just huffed. Partially annoyed, partially defeated.

So you turned slightly in his arms, just enough to see his face in the dim light - the deep shadows under his eyes, the lines carved into his brow, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.

And gods, he was beautiful in that moment. Rough edges softened. Vulnerable. Human.

You reached up, brushing a bit of hair off his forehead. “Close your eyes at the same time as me.”

He swallowed hard. His jaw tightened. Then finally, “Fine.”

Sometimes, if he did drift off, it didn’t last.

You’d feel it before you heard it - that sharp, quiet intake of breath as he jerked awake, eyes flying open in the dark.

He’d sit up, scanning the room and then, like clockwork, he’d reach for you.

Two fingers pressing lightly to your throat. Checking your pulse.

And when he felt it - the steady beat beneath his fingertips, he’d exhale. “Sorry.” He’d whisper.

You’d shake your head, catching his hand in yours, pressing it flat to your chest. “Don’t be.”

He’d hold it there for a while, feeling your heartbeat against his palm, until it lulled him back into silence.

And sometimes, instead of reaching for your pulse, he’d reach for you.

Fingers curling in the fabric of your robe, tugging it loose. No words, just that slow, careful movement - like asking without asking.

And then he’d fuck you, soft and slow - slower than usual - in the stillness of the hour before dawn. One hand gripping your thigh, the other braced by your head as he murmured into your skin.

“Want you to have my kids.” He’d whisper, breath catching in his throat, hips pressing deeper. “Need it…You’d take care of ‘em. Of all of us. Keep us in line. Keep me sane.”

You laughed softly, breathless. “You think I could keep you in line?”

He smiled against your mouth - small, aching. “You already do.”

His thrusts stayed deep, unhurried, his hands moving up your sides, feeling every tremor of your body under his. The room smelled like sweat and heat and the faint sweetness of the oil lamp burning low.

And when he came - hot, thick, deep - he buried his face in your neck, groaning your name.

He didn’t move right away. Didn’t pull out. Just stayed there, trembling slightly, breathing you in.

“I want it.” He murmured again. “A home. A kid. You. All of it.”

You brushed your fingers through his hair, your heart twisting.

“I know, Nemi.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your throat, eyes closing as he breathed you in.

Maybe, you thought, this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe being his wife - being the home he kept coming back to - wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe he was right.

____________

A couple weeks later, it was a quiet night at your estate.

No Kakushi lingering in the hall. No servants fluttering between rooms, lighting lanterns or drawing water for baths. You’d dismissed them all gently at sunset, murmuring something about wanting the house to yourself for the evening.

And for once, Sanemi was too.

Dinner was quiet, and simple. Miso broth. Grilled rice balls. Leftover tempura that you reheated yourself, waving Sanemi away when he tried to hover near the stove like he might actually offer to help.

You ate across from each other on the floor, cushions pulled in close, the lanternlight dim and flickering as you talked about nothing. Patrol routes. The last time you’d seen Mitsuri. The cracks forming in your favorite wooden teacup.

You didn’t realize you were watching him so openly until he looked up at you, jaw flexing mid-bite.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You murmured, looking away.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not really.

Because Sanemi had just licked rice from his thumb - and all you could think about was how those same fingers might look curled around something much smaller. Softer. How he might cradle a child the way he held his sword - too tight at first, until he learned gentleness.

You imagined him muttering under his breath about noise and clutter and how “no one ever puts shit back where it belongs.”

But the moment that baby tugged at his leg, or held their arms up to be picked up - he’d melt. You knew it. He’d groan, maybe. Pretend to be reluctant. But the second that wobbly little voice said “papa,” he’d drop everything.

Scarred hands scooping up tiny limbs. Battle-worn fingers smoothing over soft cheeks.

You pictured him out in the garden, sleeves rolled up, trying to help the kid balance on their feet while grumbling about “weak little ankles” and “who the hell falls over that easily.”

You imagined him coming home after a long mission, blood soaked on his knuckles, and setting his sword down before walking straight into the nursery.

Yeah. You could see it.

You could see him - the man behind the mean attitude - as a father.

And it did something to you.

You blinked down at your bowl, suddenly flushed.

What the hell.

You weren’t supposed to want that. You were still a Hashira. You were still capable.

Didn’t you?

You chewed slowly, lips pressed together. The thought lingered. And before you even realized it, your body moved before your brain could stop you.

When he stepped into the bedroom - yawning, loose robe slipping even further down his scarred chest - you reached for him.

“The hell’s gotten into you tonight?” He asked, catching himself on one foot as you tugged him down.

You didn’t answer. Just pulled until he dropped onto the futon with a grunt, letting you swing your leg over his hips and settle in his lap.

Your robe pooled around your thighs. His hands automatically gripped them.

“You’re in a mood.” He muttered. But his thumbs were rubbing circles into your skin, slow. Curious.

“Are you complaining?”

His jaw flexed.

“No.”

Your mouth caught his before he could say anything else. The kiss was slow, wet - lips gliding, tongue pushing past teeth with familiar hunger. You ground against him through the fabric, hips dragging low and deliberate, and he let out a quiet grunt against your mouth.

“You keep looking at me like that.” He rasped, eyes half-lidded, “You’re not gonna walk tomorrow.”

“And if I said that was my plan?”

Sanemi groaned, head falling back, the curve of his throat exposed to the warm lamplight. You kissed down it, slow and messy, even as your hands tugged at the belt of his robe. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, twitching with every slow grind of your hips.

“Shit.” He muttered, squeezing your ass. “Didn’t even get through dinner before gettin’ needy?”

You should’ve teased him back. Should’ve called him insufferable, rolled your eyes, pushed his head down into the futon and rode him without a word.

But instead -

“How bad do you want me to quit?”

The question slipped out on a whisper. Too honest.

Sanemi stilled. His voice dropped low - that rare, almost reverent rasp he only ever used when it was just you.

“I’d throw myself in front of a blade if it meant you’d never have to lift yours again.”

You blinked.

“I’d tie you to this damn estate if I thought you’d let me.”

“Maniac.”

He grinned, but it was pained.

The words made your chest squeeze. Because gods help you - you were starting to get it.

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. You weren’t sure which. Maybe both. Because you’d spent your entire life fighting for the chance to fight. And now, with his hands on your skin, your body slick and warm and straddling his lap…

You were thinking about kids. About gardens. About quiet nights waiting for him to come home.

Shit.

What if you already were?

Your eyes darted down to where his cock was pressed against your soaked folds. You hadn’t bled in…how long now? Three weeks? A little more?

He noticed. “The fuck are you thinking so hard about?” He muttered, eyes narrowing as he slipped a hand between your bodies and palmed your cunt, rubbing slow.

“Nothing.” You lied.

Sanemi hummed, reached up, and tugged your robe open the rest of the way, dragging it off your shoulders until you sat bare in his lap, flushed.

“Look at you.” He muttered, sitting up on one elbow just to look.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched his face as his eyes drank you in - the slope of your breasts, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the soft flex of your thighs straddling his lap.

You didn’t hesitate.

You reached between your thighs, gripped his cock, and lined yourself up - letting yourself sink down with a breathless gasp.

“Fuck.” He choked, hand slamming to your hip to keep you steady as your cunt squeezed around him.

You rolled your hips slow, eyes fluttering shut.

And all you could think about - between each wet, dragging thrust - was him.

Sanemi. Crouched in the backyard, holding a small toddler by the arms. Guiding their steps with loud, clumsy encouragement.

Sanemi. Holding a baby after a mission. Skin stained in blood, but whispering soft apologies as he cradled them against his chest.

Sanemi. Coming home to you in a quiet kitchen, arms wrapping around your waist, voice low in your ear, asking how his girls were.

You clenched around him so hard he groaned.

“Fuck - you trying to snap my cock in half?”

“I think I want it.” You whispered. “All of it.”

He blinked up at you, chest heaving.

“Want you. A family. All of it.”

He cupped your face then - both hands, suddenly - pulling you down into a kiss that tasted like home.

Your thighs started to ache, muscles trembling. His hands gripped your hips, dragging your body against his in slow, grinding rolls that made your breath catch.

Then one of his hands smoothed up your back, calloused fingers tracing your spine, before he cupped the base of your neck.

You let him move. Let him roll his hips up, deep and slow, cock dragging along every slick ridge inside you like he was trying to carve his name into you from the inside out. Every thrust was deliberate - measured, not rushed.

And gods, he was warm.

You could feel it in your core, that slow build starting all over again, your stomach tightening with every roll of his hips.

His hand cupped your ass. Guided you. Encouraged you.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Mine.” He murmured, glancing down between your bodies

He sat up suddenly, arms sliding around your waist in one swift motion - hugging you to him, pulling you in so tight you could barely breathe.

You gasped, arms looping around his neck, pressing your forehead to his shoulder as his cock stayed seated deep inside you.

“Mine.” He whispered, rough. “My pretty wife.”

You froze. Just for a moment.

“You’re all I need.” He breathed. “You hear me?”

Your fingers dug into his hair, gripping tight. You could barely speak past the lump rising in your throat.

“And you’re gonna help me…” He went on, voice raw and low, “Raise the best damn kids this world’s ever seen.”

You nodded, barely breathing.

“You’re gonna be such a good mom.” He whispered. “So good. So sweet. Gonna love them like crazy. Gonna - fuck - gonna love me even when I don’t deserve it.”

You kissed his temple, forehead, cheek - anywhere you could reach.

His arms tightened.

“I’ve never wanted anything like this.” He whispered. “Not ‘til you.”

You whimpered - just a little - because it hit too hard, too deep.

Because you wanted it now. You didn’t know when that happened. Didn’t know how his hands and voice and stupid, hopeful dreams burrowed their way inside you.

You buried your face in his shoulder, voice shaky.

“I think I’m already pregnant.”

Sanemi stilled.

His arms didn’t loosen. Just pulled you in even tighter.

“…Good.”

You lifted your head, and he kissed you before you could finish, slow and soft.

And then he moved again, hips tilting up, slow and deep.

You cried out - his name on your lips, nails digging into his shoulder, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He rocked into you with everything he had. “My pretty girl.” He murmured. “My sweet lady. My wife.”

“Sanemi -”

“Gonna make you a mom. Gonna take care of you. Always.”

You nodded, clinging to him.

“Even if I gotta cut down the whole world to do it.”

You came hard and he quickly chased after it. Your moans echoing off each other.

And when he stilled - come spilling deep and hot inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, body shuddering as he groaned into your skin - you stayed like that.

The whole world soft for once.

Just the two of you.

Maybe three.

____________

The front gate creaked open with a clang, wood smacking against wood.

“Shinazugawa-sama, please, let us—”

“Go home.” Sanemi barked, not even bothering to look at the two estate servants still waiting by the corridor. “I didn’t ask for a damn welcome party.”

“But your uniform, sir—”

“I said go home.”

You smiled faintly to yourself, the laundryline creaking as you reached up to pin the last yukata sleeve in place.

You could hear him now - feet heavy, pace sure, irritation in every step. A door opened. Another slammed shut. A muttered curse. A huff of breath.

Then silence.

And a heartbeat later -

“…there you are.”

You didn’t turn around.

Sanemi crossed the yard in ten strides, no haori, just his sleeveless corps uniform clinging to his frame - all scarred biceps, and sharp muscle cutting beneath his open collar. His white hair was damp from training, jaw tight, the scowl on his face softening the moment he saw your hands full.

“Tch.” He grumbled, coming up behind you. “Didn’t I say you’re supposed to be relaxing?”

“Didn’t you want a housewife? I’m doing wife things.”

A beat of silence.

Then a resigned scoff as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, palms immediately finding your stomach like they were drawn there by instinct. He pressed his face into your shoulder, muttering something indecipherable, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell against your back, slower now.

“Be nice to the staff, Sanemi.”

“They’re annoying.”

“They’re trying to help.”

“I don’t need help. I need you.”

You laughed softly, leaning back into him. “You saw me this morning.”

He kissed your temple, voice gruff in your ear. “Wasn’t enough.”

His hands rubbed along the curve of your belly, slow and warm, and you could feel the way his shoulders dropped. Like tension bled out of him with every pass of his thumb. His cheek brushed against your hair.

“You alright?” he murmured.

“Mhm.”

“Feet hurting again?”

“A little.”

He turned his head and pressed a kiss into the space just behind your ear. “Should’ve had your ass up by early with me to soak.”

You smiled. “You’ll come bathe with me later, right?”

He snorted. “What kind of question is that?”

Another laugh. Another little pause, full of nothing but breath and breeze and the sound of laundry rustling on the line.

“I got a couple names.” He said suddenly, low and casual, like it was something he’d been sitting on all day. “For the next ones.”

You tilted your head. “Next what?”

He looked down pointedly.

You rolled your eyes. “We haven’t even had this one yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He muttered, rubbing lazy circles into your side. “Told you how many I want.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, so that’s all I’m good for now? Making babies?”

Sanemi gave a low snort, hands unapologetically sliding over your sides to settle beneath the swell of your belly. “You weren’t complaining about it the other night.”

You turned just enough to catch the smirk on his face.

He shrugged, unrepentant. “Said you’d give me four more while you were bouncin’ on my cock. Don’t remember? Sounded real sincere.”

Your face burned. “Sanemi…”

He ducked to kiss your cheek, all smug affection and rough warmth.

“Pretty sure you asked me to fuck more babies into you. That you wanted our house full of ‘em.”

You slapped his chest with the back of your hand, face hot. “That was the pregnancy hormones talking.”

He just snorted, mouth pressed to the side of your neck again, smirking against your skin. “Mm. Sure it was.” He mumbled.

You shook your head. “One at a time, Shinazugawa.”

Silence fell over the yard again. Just the two of you. Cicadas humming. Fabric flapping softly overhead.

His grip on you loosened slightly.

“C’mere.” He mumbled.

You followed him back inside.

And you thought - he had done it. He succeed in fucking the Hashira out of you.

Because nothing about you missed the corps.

Not when he was like this.

Not when home smelled like sun-warmed linens and sweat and his skin.

Not when his arms wrapped around you like this was the safest place in the world.

Not when you were pregnant with his kid, and he was already planning for the next.

You were his wife. His pretty lady. His soft place to land after long days.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ pro hero bakugo fucks the stress out

tw: rough sex, cockwarming, soft domesticity, emotional vulnerability, creampie, aftercare, canon timeskip katsuki (mid-20s)

═══════════════════════

It always starts the same way.

The front door doesn’t slam anymore - not since you asked him to stop - but it still opens with a weight that only Bakugo carries. Like the day clung to him on the way home. Like the stress, the blood, the pressure, the noise of it all came with him. Still caught in the creases of his uniform. Still buzzing under his skin.

And the second he sees you?

It’s over.

"Shitty fuckin’ day." He grumbles, halfway out of his boots before he’s crossing the living room.

You’re already setting your book down, body responding before you even say a word - because you know this version of him. You know what he needs.

He presses you into the cushions, heavy and hard and hot between your thighs, barely managing to strip off his hero pants before he’s pulling your shorts to the side and sliding home with a groan that punches right into your core.

"Fuck, baby. Been thinkin’ about this all day.”

You wrap your legs around him. Let him fuck you into the couch until his growling turns into soft, strangled breaths.

Another time, it’s the kitchen counter.

You’d been plating dinner. He came in sweaty, still in full uniform, jaw tight. You barely got out a “rough patrol?” before he had you bent over the counter, arms braced beside you, your robe bunched at your hips and his cock splitting you open from behind.

He didn’t even take his gloves off.

"Fucking extras." He growled through his teeth, hips punishing. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ orders. Had to pull two rookies outta a building they never shoulda gone into - shit, baby, you’re so warm.”

You moaned his name, clutching the counter edge, gasping when he reached around to rub your clit with those thick, gloved fingers.

“Only peace I get anymore’s when I’m inside you. You know that, don’t you?”

And you did.

Another night you're in the shower, head tilted back beneath the steam, when the door slammed open and Bakugo’s gravel voice came through.

“Move over.”

You’re barely able to turn before he’s behind you, soap already forgotten, uniform half-off, hands grabbing your hips and dragging you back against his cock.

“I missed you." You say.

“I know." He answers, biting your shoulder.

Water runs down your chest as he slides in from behind, thrusts deep enough to make your knees buckle, and you have to grip the wall with both palms while he lets it all out.

“Two fuckin’ interviews. Both fuckin’ useless. PR’s got me doin’ press for some dumbass collab with Jeans.” He pants into your ear, “-fuckin’ told ‘em I don’t do that shit. I save people. I don’t smile for the camera.”

You clench around him and nod. “You don’t need to. You’re already the best.”

He groans like it’s the first thing all week that’s gone right.

Some nights, he’s too tired to move.

Not too tired to want you - never that - but the exhaustion sets into his bones. After patrol. After hours of training rookies who can’t keep their damn heads down. After public relations meetings where he grits his teeth so hard, his jaw aches the next morning.

You always know when it’s one of those nights. He walks in slower, heavier. He doesn’t talk much. Just drops into bed in nothing but sweatpants, scarred arm draped over his eyes like he’s trying to block out the whole world.

You throw a leg over his lap, straddle him slow. Push the waistband of his sweats down enough to free his cock, already half-hard just from feeling your weight over him.

He barely opens his eyes, just lifts his hand off his face, lets it fall to your hip.

“What’re you up to, princess.” He mutters, voice rough.

You don’t answer. Just press a kiss to his chest - right over his scar between his pecs. Then another near his ribs. Then higher, up the column of his throat, where his pulse flutters beneath your lips.

By the time your mouth brushes the corner of his jaw, you’re sinking down onto him.

His thumb circles your hip, the muscles in his forearm flexing. You notice the faint tremor in his left hand - the one that’s never fully healed - and cover it with yours.

“Easy.” You whisper. “I got you.”

He lets out a shaky exhale. The tension starts to leave him, bit by bit.

“Shit…that’s it. Just like that.” He groans.

You ride him slow, patient, hands on his chest, your own breath catching at the stretch. Watching his face soften - eyes fluttering, jaw slack - like you’re draining the whole day out of him one thrust at a time.

Sometimes he slaps your ass, lazy but heavy-handed. Sometimes he grabs it in both palms and groans, “You’re such a fuckin’ problem, y’know that?”

But he always praises you. Always.

“So warm. So tight. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You just keep going - rolling your hips in long, smooth circles, holding his gaze when he opens his eyes, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead when it starts to stick. You ride out every ounce of tension until his arms finally relax. Until his left shoulder - the bad one - goes slack against the mattress instead of staying braced like it always does.

And just when you think you’ve got him all soft, all sweet and melted beneath you -

He grabs your hips with both hands. Sits up with a growl, face tucked into your neck, arms flexing.

And he starts fucking up into you like he’s got something to prove. Hard. Deep. Fast enough to punch little gasps out of your throat and make your fingers dig into his scarred shoulders.

“That what you wanted?” He moans against your skin. “Huh? Wanted to treat me? You like playin’ house like this? Like takin’ care of your man?”

You nod, whimpering, riding every brutal thrust. His mouth is on your collarbone, biting, then soothing. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, louder with every slap of his hips.

But even when he’s taking over - even when he’s fucking you hard enough to make your whole body tremble - you can still see it in his face:

Relief.

And afterwards, you both lay there quietly.

“…Guess that counts as physical therapy,” He mutters, voice low, rough, and just a little amused.

You smile, eyes still closed. “You’re welcome, Dynamight.”

He chuckles softly, hand sliding up your spine. “Brat.”

And of course, it's happened in bed, too. More times than you could count.

You’d be half-asleep. He’d come in late, long after midnight, after another triple shift he didn’t complain about because he never did. You’d feel the dip of the mattress, the warmth of his body, the way he’d nudge your legs apart and slip his fingers between them like he belonged there.

“Need it." He’d whisper hoarsely against your thigh. “Need you, princess.”

You’d open your legs for him without a word. Always.

And another night, you heard him come in before you saw him.

Even when he tried to be quiet - which he never really was.

The front door clicked shut, low and heavy, followed by the dull thud of his boots being kicked off. Then the rustle of fabric, a muttered curse under his breath, and the sound of the shower starting. Water hitting tile. A groan as he stepped under it.

By the time he came into the bedroom, the lights were still off.

A towel hung loose at his hips, chest still damp, and his face scrubbed clean except. You sat up slightly, already reaching for him.

He didn’t say anything. Just let the towel fall.

Then he climbed into bed with the kind of tired grunt you’d only ever heard from him after long patrol nights. Hands immediately on you - pulling you into his chest, nudging your thigh up over his hip like it was second nature.

He ducked his head down and pressed his face to your chest with a deep exhale, letting the weight of the day fall off his shoulders.

You smoothed your fingers through his damp hair, voice soft. “Long day?”

“Mm.” He muttered. “Long fuckin’ month.”

He didn’t move right away. But then, his hand slipped between your bodies - warm and rough, trailing down your stomach before cupping between your thighs.

He paused. Then let out a low, cocky breath against your collarbone.

“Already wet for me, huh?” He murmured, fingers teasing through the slick at your entrance.

You flushed, heat crawling up your neck. “You’ve been gone all day.”

“So?” He grinned against your skin, lazy and smug. “You needy or somethin’?”

“Shut up.”

But your legs parted anyway, lifted your hips a little, silently inviting. And he slid in with one slow, firm push, stretching you open inch by inch. You both sighed at the same time.

He stilled again, fully seated inside you, cock pulsing deep where it fit snug and hot. He stayed like that, heavy and quiet, one palm splayed low on your belly.

Everything outside was loud.

Dispatch calls, training drills, kids screaming for his name in the streets, citizens arguing with officers, villains roaring through buildings.

But here, with you, it was quiet.

He stayed like that for minutes - just breathing you in, cock twitching inside you while the tension left his shoulders one slow breath at a time.

Eventually, he moved. Just a slow roll of his hips at first, lazy and deep. The kind of thrust that made your eyes flutter. That made your body grip around him tight and slow.

You whined and he caught your face in one hand, kissed you without thinking.

Then again. And again.

His rhythm built with it, the slick sound of him moving inside you growing louder, messier. He groaned against your cheek, and when he pulled back, his eyes dropped to where your bodies met.

A crooked, smug half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Shit.” He muttered, amused by the sound. “Listen to that.”

You could. Loud, wet squelches every time his hips rolled forward.

You wanted to cover your face, but he caught your wrists, pinned them. His chest brushed against yours. His breath stayed hot and shallow.

And for once - he didn’t say much. No rants. No swearing about rookies or the bullshit media or whatever villain pissed him off this week.

Just quiet.

Just the occasional hum against your throat, the warm grunt of his breath through his nose, and the heavy drag of his cock inside you like he finally had permission to stop holding everything up on his own.

Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your body melted into the sheets. And when you moaned - head tipped back, eyes fluttering as you felt him press deeper, brushing so far inside it ached - he leaned down to kiss the underside of your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek.

“Katsuki…ah.” You whined, breath hitching.

He groaned, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Yeah. I know.”

Another thrust. Another slick sound. Your body gave and clenched around him, dizzy with the heat of it.

And still, he didn’t rush.

DAY 10 - KINKTOBER - PUBLIC

cw ; degrading / public / carsex

the sun had begun to set, casting long shadows across the darkening parking lot. katsuki bakugou stood beside his brand new, customized audi r8 v10, the car's sleek lines and matte finish catching the fading light. his spiky hair and intense gaze gave him a predatory air as he approached you, his intentions clear.

he grabbed your hand, his grip firm and demanding, and led you to the hood of the car. with a swift motion, he lifted you up, positioning you so that your back rested against the cool metal. your short summer dress, a flimsy barrier, was pushed up, revealing your thighs. katsuki's hands, rough and calloused, hooked into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

the parking lot was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. katsuki's breath was hot against your ear as he leaned in, his voice a low growl. "fuck baby, you like it when i fuck you on my car? like it when your legs are wide open for anyone to see? yeah you like it, yeah you fucking like it you slut."

his words were a harsh whisper, a command and a promise all at once. he pressed his body against yours, his hardness evident through his jeans as he ground against you. his hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs before settling on your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh.

katsuki leaned back slightly, his eyes locked onto yours as he began to unbuckle his belt. the sound of the leather sliding through the loops was punctuated by the rustling of the sea breeze through the nearby palm trees. he freed himself, his cock thick and ready, and positioned himself at your entrance.

with a swift, powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. the sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you. his hips began to move, each thrust deliberate and forceful, his tip pressing against your g-spot with every movement.

katsuki placed one hand under your thigh, hiking it up his hip, opening you up even more. his other hand gripped the side of your waist, holding you in place as he set a relentless pace. his teeth found your lower lip, biting down gently as he watched your expression change, becoming a mask of pure, unadulterated lust.

the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a dance of desire and dominance. katsuki's thrusts became rougher, faster, chasing after your orgasm with a single-minded focus. you could feel the tension building, your body coiling tighter with each passing second.

"gonna- gonna fucking cum! suki!" you moaned loudly, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation. your eyes rolled back, and your body arched against his as the first waves of your orgasm hit you. katsuki's thrusts became even more intense, his hips moving with a feral intensity as he drove you higher and higher.

"too much! mmff!" you tried to push him away, your hand pressing against his stomach, but he was relentless. he took your hand and pinned it above your head, his body covering yours completely. his lips found yours, and he kissed you deeply, his tongue invading your mouth as his hips continued their unyielding pace.

as your orgasm peaked, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. your walls clamped down on him, milking him greedily as your body shuddered with release. katsuki's movements became erratic, his control slipping as he chased his own climax. his teeth found your neck, biting down as he came with a low, guttural groan, his body tensing as he spilled into you.

in the aftermath, you lay there, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. katsuki's body covered yours, his breath ragged and hot against your skin. slowly, he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of satisfaction and something else, something deeper.

he helped you down from the hood, his hands lingering on your waist as he steadied you. your legs were shaky, your body still humming with the intensity of what had just happened. katsuki pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he led you back to the car.

the drive back was quiet, the air thick with the weight of what had transpired. katsuki's hands were steady on the wheel, his focus on the road ahead. you sat beside him, your mind racing with thoughts of him, of the way he made you feel, the way he consumed you completely.

as the car pulled up to your place, katsuki turned to you, his eyes softening slightly. "you good?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, a stark contrast to the intensity of earlier.

you nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "yeah, i'm good," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. katsuki leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss, a promise of more to come.

KINKTOBER DAY 15 - UNIFORM

imagine

proherohusband!katsuki

lacing his boots at the door of your apartment.

those toned shoulders and those sexy back muscles flexing as you stare.

and all you can do is press your legs together in desperation.

"kats.."

he sighs, sweetly.

"yes, sweets."

"could you stay.."

"we gotta pay the bills sweetheart."

he turns his head to you, only making you wetter.

god, why'd he have to be so fine.

"pleaaaase?"

"baby, i work so you can stay at home like the royal treatment you deserve."

AND he speaks to you like that?! okay enough.

you walk over as he stands, turning to face you.

"but..."

you grab his utility belt, pulling his crotch towards yours.

"we could have sooo much fun.."

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟏: 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄

✶⋆.˚ ── .✦ hired for the night, your goal was to please bakugou katsuki... yet, he ends up ruining you?!

✶⋆.˚ ── .✦ cw: 18+, minors dni!!! fem!reader, oral (m!receiving), paid sex/prostitution themes (reader is an escort), choking, no protection, fingering, face-fucking, degradation, humiliation, overstimulation... like so much, creampie, manhandling, mindbreak, bakugou being a meany

✶⋆.˚ ── .✦ wc: 6860 words

BAKUGOU KATSUKI is a workaholic.

The night's already late when he drags himself up to his apartment, still clad in his uniform. Between paperwork, fuck-ass villains, and Kirishima running his damn mouth about celebrating, his head was a mess.

One year since he opened his agency, and what the hell did that get him? More paperwork than he could burn through in a lifetime, and a constant throbbing headache.

Opening the door, he drops his gauntlets to the floor and flicks on the light.

Freezes.

You're there, perched casually on his couch with your legs crossed. You've got an easy smile on your face with a killer set of lingerie, sitting there like this is your home.

For a second, his brain stills... Then came the anger. "The fuck—who the hell are you?" he snarled, sparks crackling at his palms.

You sit there unfazed, a bit too calm for an intruder. "Relax, I'm not here to rob you, Dynamight. Your buddies hired me, saying something about helping you let loose." You smiled gently.

Bakugou scoffed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. "Shitty fucks think this is funny, hah? I've got paperwork stacked to the ceiling, and they send me—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

"Hey, hey, I don't make the rules. I can leave if you really don't want me here, it doesn't matter to me... I already got paid." You leaned back with a shrug.

He hesitated, arms crossed tight, with his glare fixated on you. “Tch. Idiots stickin’ their noses where they don’t belong…”

His eyes flicked over you before snapping away. “…They really thought I needed this?” He muttered with a snarl.

You raised a brow, lips quirking. “Persistent friends.”

“Shitty extras never know when to quit,” he snapped, jaw clenching. He shook his head, scoffing. “They’re dead tomorrow.”

Still, he didn't kick you out.

No explosions, no yelling. Just him standing there, shoulders tense, veins snaking down his arms. Muscles coiled tight under his skin like they were built for swinging punches and breaking through walls, though your mind wandered to how they'd feel on your body instead.

He wasn't the worst client you'd had. Actually, far from it. His broad chest tapering down to his tight waist, the skin-tight uniform leaving nothing to the imagination.

All that muscle, all that grit... Shame he doesn't know what to do with it...

Bakugou shifted, boots grinding against the floor, jaw tight enough to crack. "Y'gonna keep starin' like that?" he grumbled, glaring at the way you ogled at him like he was the one who was breaking and entering.

You smiled, unbothered. "Hard not to. You're easy on the eyes, Dynamight. It's my lucky day, I get a break from the greasy sleaze bags."

He scoffed in amusement, head tipping back as he muttered something in exasperation under his breath. His arms stayed taut, though his shoulders twitched.

You gleamed internally. A slip

"You think flattery's gonna work on me? Tch. I don't need some—" He grit his teeth in a halt.

"You don't need me, got it..." You teased, leaning back against the couch with an easy sprawl. Every angle of your body was on display for him. "But from the way you're standing there, it sure as hell seems like you want something..."

His eyes snapped to yours, hot and furious. Too furious. His fists clenched, veins protruding, though he made no moves to deny you.

"Cocky as hell for someone who ain't wanted here. Pathetic," he bit out, low and dangerous as his eyes glanced to your lips.

"And you're real stubborn for someone who hasn't told me to leave. I'm sure you're more than capable of throwing me out."

That shut him up.

For a moment, the only sounds were his steady breaths and the hum of the city leaking in through the window. Sparks hissed at his palms, but it wasn't enough to break the tension that stilled the air between the two of you.

You didn't wait for permission.

You pushed yourself off the couch, your eyes tracking him. When he glanced away, you began to close the distance between the two of you.

Standing before him, you hooked your fingers beneath the loop of his utility belt.

He jerked like he'd been burned, making you smirk,"You got a problem with me being here.." you began, looking up at his alarmed eyes with a bite to your lip, "..Or are you gonna shut up and let me show you why your friends are 'idiots' for booking me?" You asked, voice low as you motioned to tug him closer, though his feet were planted to the floor.

His breath hitched, and for one second, he wanted to shove you, to snap. Though the only result he could come to was balling up his fists tightly and biting back those words. "Don't get cocky."

You smiled, leaning toward his ear. "Cocky's not the same as confident," you murmured, "And you look tired... I can fix that." You whispered into his ear, a hand that was looped at his belt moving to feel up his torso.

Bakugou tried to look away... he failed.

You didn't pull back, not even when his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. "Say the word and I'm gone," you whispered softly. "But if I stay, you won't regret it.. You'll let me take care of you, and you'll let yourself enjoy it. Simple as that."

He glared, but it didn't land. Not with the way his chest heaved, the exhaustion was bleeding right through his false persona.

"..Shit," he muttered out, shoulders sagging like the fight was drained out of him. "You're a pain in the ass, y'know that?"

You only smiled, leaning back to look at his face clearly. "So, is that a yes?"

A beat passed.

He exhaled sharply, and his hand clamped tight around your hip to drag you flush against him. His voice was low, "Don't make me say it twice."

Your core clenched at the affirmation, licking your lips smoothly as you smiled. "Let me be of service to you, Dynamight..."

You led him back to the couch, stopping in front of it to look up at him. Your hands trailed up his abdomen, eyes not leaving his as you pushed him down to the couch before putting on leg down at a time to straddle him.

He let you tug him back toward the couch, though every step felt like a test of his patience. The audacity... You were smaller, softer, and yet somehow you were guiding him like he was the one following orders.

Your hands dragged up his abdomen, deliberate and unhurried, his muscles flexing beneath your touch before he could stop himself.

He refused to look away, keeping his jaw tight, but when your palms pressed firmer, he found himself dropping down onto the couch with a grunt.

His teeth ground together, anger flaring, but then your knee brushed against his thigh as you climbed onto his lap.

One leg. Then the other.

His breathing stuttered when you straddled him fully, your heat pressed against him like a fucking brand.

Bakugou’s fists curled at his sides, but he didn’t push you off. Couldn’t. Not when his body betrayed him so easily, leaning into yours despite the voice in his head screaming that he should’ve thrown you out the second you opened your mouth.

The weight of you settled over his thighs, and his whole body went rigid. Heat seared up his neck, pooling at the tips of his ears, and fuck—he hated how fast his cock twitched beneath the tight cling of his uniform.

You shifted just slightly, just enough to grind down against him, and a low fuck rattled out of his chest before he could choke it down. His hands twitched at his sides, torn between shoving you off and dragging you closer.

Every inch of you was a distraction. Your thighs hugging his hips, the warmth of your body sinking through the fabric, the faint brush of your breath against his cheek. His jaw locked tight, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him, he was trembling with the effort of holding back.

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, his hips jerking up once before he caught himself, slamming his back against the couch like it might anchor him.

"You can touch me, you know.." You purred into his ear, lips ghosting against his neck. "Don't be afraid."

His hands immediately gripped your hips like a lifeline, pulling you harder against the bulge straining in his pants. A ragged curse ripped from his throat as he ground up into you, desperate to feel more.

You gasped in surprise, not expecting him to lean into your taunts. You half expected him to throw you off of him. Feeling the full shape of his cock made your cunt throb.

You needed it.

“Don’t think you’re runnin’ this show,” he growled, chest heaving. His voice was sharp and cocky, but the way it cracked at the edges betrayed him.

He tried to guide your hips, jerky and unsteady, like his body knew what it wanted but his hands didn’t quite know how to get there. Every drag of friction made his breath stutter, every shift of your weight pulling another low sound out of him that he couldn’t swallow back.

You smirked, leaning closer so your lips ghosted over his ear. “Mm… you sure about that? You’re moving like someone who’s never done this before.." You whispered to him, teeth grazing his earlobe.

His whole body went taut beneath you, heat blazing up his neck. “The fuck did you just say?” he snapped, but the way his grip faltered on your waist confirmed your suspicions.

You tilted your head, faux innocence dripping from your voice as you purred, “What, Dynamight… don’t tell me you’re a virgin?”

The sound that tore from his chest was immediate, hot, and furious, but it did nothing to hide the way his ears flushed crimson or how his hips jerked up against you like his body couldn’t help but answer. “Shut the hell up,” he bit out, low and ragged, his hands tightening possessively on you. “I’ll fuckin’ show you who doesn’t know what they’re doin’.”

Your words hit their mark. His whole body snapped beneath you, that furious glare snapping up to yours like a live wire.

Your smirk melted into a slow smile, your mouth brushing his jaw as you spoke. “Mm… no shame in it. If anything, I should thank your friends,” you murmured. “They handed me the chance to be your first, and I don’t plan on wasting it.”

The tension in his body stuttered, like he couldn’t decide whether to combust from humiliation or sink into the warmth of your tone. His hands, so tight on your waist a moment ago, loosened ever so slightly, his thumbs brushing uncertainly against your skin as if asking for permission without words.

You guided one of his hands higher, pressing it against the curve of your side. “See? You don’t have to know everything,” you whispered, lips ghosting along his ear. “You just have to feel. Let me show you.”

For once, Bakugou didn’t have a comeback. His breath shuddered against your throat, pride and vulnerability tangling as he let you lead, the fire in his chest tempered by the steady rhythm of your body coaxing him along.

Your hand guided his up to cup your breast, and the second his palm closed around you, hesitation gave way to something hungrier. His grip was rough, too tight at first, thumb swiping over your nipple in a clumsy drag that still had a broken sound spilling from your throat before you could stop it.

“Fuck—S'what you wanted?” he hissed, voice low and strained, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips.

He really fuckin' liked that, the sounds he made you release. He wanted more, needed it.

His fingers traced back to your nipple, pinching and pulling it experimentally. "Mmph!" your moan muffled in the crook of his neck that you had been trailing kisses upon. "Yeah..." you sighed heavenly.

The other trailed down, a little too fast, like he was rushing to prove something. Fingers dragged over your ribs, your stomach, until they brushed the waistband of your lingerie. He hesitated for half a second, then shoved past it like hesitation itself pissed him off. His knuckles grazed your thigh before pushing between your legs, his touch clumsy but insistent.

“Tch… bet you’ve been waitin’ for this,” he growled, cockiness dripping from his words—but the way his fingers fumbled against the heat of your cunt betrayed him. He pressed too hard at first, messy and impatient, until your gasp made him falter. His jaw clenched, the corner of his lip twitching. “Shit… did I—?”

Your smirk only widened against his neck, and you leaned back to look at his face, “Keep going... You’ll figure it out.” You breathed out, your eyes sparkling in anticipation, and your cheeks blushed with arousal.

That was all the encouragement he needed, and his pride reignited. Even if his movements stayed rough and a little uneven, he was doing damn well for a virgin. Every slip of your body against his only wound him tighter, every shaky grind of his palm reminding you that for all his bravado, Dynamight was still learning how to handle you.

His fingers pressed against your heat, too blunt at first, like he didn’t know the rhythm, but it was the hunger in him that really drove you wild.

He groaned low in his throat when he felt how wet you were, cursing under his breath as if the proof of your arousal was some kind of victory. Rough, unsteady circles rubbed at your clit, then he pushed lower, fumbling until one thick finger slid inside. The stretch made you gasp, and his jaw clenched tight as though he could feel it too.

“Easy... Slower,” you whispered against his ear, curling your hips into his hand to guide him. You wrapped your fingers lightly around his wrist, showing him the angle, the pace, the pressure that made you melt.

The change was instant. His brow furrowed, focus sharp, like he was memorizing every shift of your body under his touch. His thumb dragged back across your clit—slower, firmer this time—and the moan that you made had him smirking against your neck.

Each motion after that was deliberate. His finger pushed deeper, curling just enough to make you shiver, his thumb grinding circles over your clit with a steadiness that felt nothing like a virgin fumbling. Another sound spilled from your lips, and his cock twitched hard beneath you.

“Fuck… that good, huh?” he rasped, voice low and greedy. Without hesitation this time, he slid a second finger inside, testing how much you could take. The way you moaned for him nearly undid him.

"God, you're good at this..." You whined as your hips grinded against his hand. "M'fuck! Right there..."

“Yeah… there it is,” he growled, pumping harder, sharper, confidence oozing out of him. “Sound like that again.. lemme hear it.”

His fingers worked between your legs with a rhythm that was quickly sharpening, every drag over your clit and curl inside you more precise than the last. The sharp gasps you gave made him addicted already.

“Shit. Look at ya, fuckin’ falling apart already,” he rasped, lips brushing against your temple as his pace grew more confident, cocky. “Bet you’re close, hah? Gonna cum for me?”

You could barely choke out a sound before he doubled down, jaw tight, brows furrowed like he was dead-set on wringing that release out of you. His thumb ground against your clit, his fingers curling deep, stretching you open until your body jolted helplessly.

“C’mon, fuckin’ give it to me,” he growled, chest heaving. “Wanna hear you lose it all over my fingers.”

Your back arched, nails digging into his shoulders as his relentless pace snapped the coil in your belly. Heat rushed through you, blinding and overwhelming, and you cried out against his neck. Your teeth clenched onto his skin, the only thing you could feel in the blinding moment of ecstasy. His smirk was feral, triumphant, feeling your cunt flutter around his fingers as you came undone.

“Yeah, that’s it.." He breathed, "Fuckin’ knew you’d break first,” he watched every twitch of your body like he’d just won a fight. It felt like he did, better even. He didn’t stop right away either, dragging out your orgasm with merciless strokes until you were shuddering against him.

You slumped against him, chest heaving, your whole body still twitching with the aftershocks. His fingers finally stilled inside you, slick with your release. He smirked at you, like he was saying that this was only round one, and he had every intention of dragging you through more.

“Ha—fuckin’ knew I’d get you screamin’,” he gloated, cocky and breathless, dragging his fingers out slowly just to watch you flinch.

Your laugh was shaky, breathless, but teasing all the same. “Cocky and clumsy… dangerous combination.”

His eye twitched. “Tch. Clumsy my ass. You’re the one who—” He cut himself off, jaw clicking as his blush mirrored his true reaction. “Whatever.. You fuckin’ came, didn’t ya?”

You smirked, brushing a hand down his chest. “Oh, I came. But if you’re planning on keeping score… you’re still overdressed.”

He was just then reminded of the tight tent in his pants. He barked out a laugh, sharp and rough, before gritting his teeth. “Shit. Don’t remind me.."

The heavy straps across his chest were first, torn at with impatient jerks until the material snapped loose. He ripped one off, then the other, tossing them carelessly to the floor. “Damn costume’s a fuckin’ prison,” he spat, yanking at the buckles on his shoulders.

You leaned in, undoing the clip slow. “Complicated gear, huh? Good thing I’m good with my hands."

His breath stuttered, then hardened back into a scowl. “Shut the hell up.”

But he didn’t stop you. He stayed there, taut and simmering, while you worked each buckle loose, the heavy layers of his hero costume giving way one piece at a time. The vest slid off with a dull thud, his undershirt clinging to the ridges of muscle beneath. You tugged it over his head, the hem dragging up over sharp abs and a sculpted chest before tossing it aside.

“Relax, Dynamight,” you teased, running your hands down his sides as you sank to your knees. “I’ll take good care of you.”

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging just enough to make you look up at him. “Don’t call me that right now,” he growled roughly. Then, a crooked smirk tugged at his mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “You’re on your knees for me.. Say my fuckin’ name. Katsuki.”

Your lips curled around a sly smile as you let his thumb press past them, your tongue brushing the tip. “Katsuki…” you purred around the digit, slow and deliberate, “better?”

The sound of it on your tongue punched the air from his chest.

His fists curled with your hair balled up in them, chest heaving, but the rough retort he tried to spit out fizzled the second your fingers brushed over the waistband of his pants. His thick cock strained against the fabric, obvious now, twitching when your nails scraped teasingly over the buckle.

You made short work of it, undoing his belt with ease. “Mm, see? Not so hard.”

“Fuckin’ mouthy brat..” his words choked off when you tugged his pants down, the fabric pooling around his boots before you stripped them away completely. Now only his briefs stood between you and the heat pressed thick against the cotton.

You glanced up at him with a sly smile. “This is where I stop pretending it’s all for me.”

His glare burned down at you, ears tinged pink, but he didn’t move.

You hooked your fingers into the band of his briefs and peeled them down slowly, deliberately. His cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, slapping against his abs with a weight that made your mouth water.

You leaned in, lips parting as if to wrap around him, only for his hand to clamp the back of your head, halting you inches away. His chest heaved, eyes blazing down at you like fire.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, his voice rough and low. “You think you’re in charge just ‘cause you got me outta my gear?” He yanked you back just enough to make you gasp, then shoved his hips forward so his cock brushed hot against your lips. “Open that mouth, f'me. I’m runnin’ this now.” He smirked, tapping his cock against your lips a few times.

The words surged straight to your core, the lace panties you wore already soaked through in your slick. His thumb swept your lower lip down, forcing your mouth open, and the weight of him pressed against your tongue before you could protest.

His growl was jagged, dangerous, but his jaw shook like he was fighting not to lose it completely. “Yeah, that’s it. Look at you,, fuckin’ perfect like this.”

His thumb pulled your jaw wider, and before you could adjust, his hips snapped forward. The thick weight of him pushed past your lips in one messy thrust, making your throat tighten around the intrusion.

“F–fuck,” he choked out, the curse ripped from him as he shoved deeper. His grip in your hair tightened, yanking your head up to meet him even as his cock nudged the back of your throat. His breath came ragged, half-growl, half-gasp, like he couldn’t believe what he was feeling.

You gagged softly around him, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, but the sound only made his jaw clench tighter. “Shit, don’t make that noise unless you want me to fuckin' lose it.” His voice cracked, his bravado slipping into something raw, desperate.

God, the way he moved. Rough, unsteady, almost frantic, it should’ve felt graceless, but it only made your cunt clench, slick dripping down your thighs as your core ached for more.

Each jagged thrust scraped against the back of your throat, made your jaw burn, but the rawness of it only turned the coil in your stomach tighter. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t practiced, and that made it better. It made you feel every ounce of hunger, every bit of control slipping out of his hands.

Your thighs trembled where you knelt between his, toes curling against the floor, heat flooding your body until you thought you might shatter. You wanted to swallow him down, to take every uneven drive of his hips, and let him fuck the air out of your lungs just to hear those ragged sounds tear from his chest.

He pulled back too fast, hips jerking before slamming forward again, teeth bared as though this was a fight he refused to lose. Each thrust was rough, uneven, like his body knew the rhythm it craved separately from his mind.

Your nails dug into his thighs for balance, and he groaned low in his chest, staring down at you with wild, red-tinged eyes. “Look at you… takin’ it—fuck—you’re mine like this,” he rasped, pride lacing through every strained word.

Your throat flexed around him again, choking slightly as he pressed too deep, and he groaned raggedly, his hips stuttering against your lips. “Shit—don’t—fuck—don’t stop,” he hissed, his cock twitching against your tongue, hand tightening in your hair like he was anchoring himself from falling apart.

His thrusts stuttered, and you felt his cock twitching against your tongue. You knew if you didn’t stop him now, it’d all be over too soon. You slipped off him with a wet pop, wiping the corner of your mouth with a teasing grin.

“The fuck..?” His voice was ragged, furious at the loss of friction, but his chest heaved like he was holding himself together by a thread.

You smirked, rising to your feet and swinging a leg over his lap to straddle him. “Relax, Katsuki,” you purred, rolling your soaked cunt against his cock, still straining in the air between you. “You’re not blowing your load down my throat like some dumb virgin. You’re gonna fuck me.”

His eyes widened, then narrowed, heat flooding his face. “Tch—fuckin’—” His words cut off into a strangled moan when you guided him to your entrance, pushing down slow until his fat tip stretched you open.

A broken cry tore from your throat, sharp and needy, your nails digging into his shoulders. “F-fuck, Katsuki—” you gasped, the burn was sweet and overwhelming as you sank down inch by inch, taking him deeper until he was seated to the hilt. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy and tight, milking him as your chest heaved against his.

“Holy—fuck—” His head snapped back against the couch, hands clamping down on your hips like he needed you as an anchor. His whole body trembled, jaw tight, sweat beading at his temples.

You rolled your hips in a slow circle, shuddering at the way his cock dragged against every tender spot inside you. “See?” you panted, smirking through your daze. “Worth the wait.”

For a moment, he let you set the pace. Your rhythm was lazy, deliberate, every grind wringing helpless curses out of him. But the tension coiled in his muscles, and with the way his breath turned ragged, it told you that it wouldn’t last.

Then you leaned forward, lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “Feels good, doesn’t it? Let me take care of you, Katsuki…”

Boom.

His hands shot up, one wrapping around your neck, the other crushing your waist as he snarled, “Fuck that—” and slammed your hips down hard enough to knock the breath out of you. A loud cry ripped from your throat as your vision blurred at the edges. His rhythm was messy, too rough, but full of raw need, his control slipping completely as he started driving up into you with reckless, unrestrained force.

Your head fell back, moans spilling unrestrained as he lost himself inside you, growling against your skin like a man possessed. "Good, so fuckin' good," he groaned animalistically.

"You did so good teachin' me, now let me show you what I learned," his voice muffled as his lips hovered over yours, the grip on your neck tightening.

Your brain was melting, fuck there was no way he was a virgin. No fucking way with the way he was fucking you that good. "Katsuki, I’m gonna—shit—m'gonna cum!!" You cried, the harsh pace hitting you so perfectly inside.

Your whole body seized up, nails digging into his shoulders as your climax tore through you, white-hot and overwhelming. Your cry broke into stuttered moans as your walls fluttered around him, clenching tight, milking his cock with every desperate spasm.

“Fuck—fuck, Katsuki!” you gasped, trembling as the wave crashed over you, leaving your legs weak and your vision hazy with stars.

But he didn’t slow down.

If anything, the way you pulsed around him only made him rougher, more relentless. His grip on your waist turned bruising, dragging you down harder, forcing you to take every inch even as you whimpered through the aftershocks.

“Don’t think you’re done just ‘cause you came,” he growled, voice raw and ragged against your ear. “Greedy slut, m'not lettin’ you off that easy.

Your body jolted helplessly with each thrust, the overstimulation making you writhe, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “K-Katsuki—wait—I can’t—” you panted, but your cunt betrayed you, still dripping, still clutching at him like you needed more.

“Yeah? Feels like you can,” he snarled, his breath hot against your throat, hips snapping up with brutal precision. “I’ll fuckin’ wring every last sound outta you. Don’t you dare fuckin’ tap out—take it. Take all of it."

Before you could answer, he yanked you off his lap like you weighed nothing, flipping you onto the couch cushions. Your gasp caught in your throat as he shoved your knees apart, pushing them to your chest into a mating press, and slammed back into you in one brutal stroke.

“F-fuck!” you cried, body jerking as the new angle had him hitting deeper, harder.

Bakugou didn’t let up. One hand pinned your wrists above your head, his grip iron, while the other locked tight on your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him. He hovered over you, sweat dripping from his temples, a feral snarl twisting his lips.

“There we fuckin’ go,” he growled, pounding into you so rough the couch rattled beneath you. “Better, now I can fuck you the way I want.”

Your moans spilled out ragged, helplessly, your body arched beneath the relentless rhythm. His cock dragged deep with every thrust, bruising pleasure that had your vision sparking white.

He leaned down, chest pinning you to the couch, his breath hot against your ear. “You wanted a pro, yeah?” he snarled, hips snapping up hard enough to make you scream. “Then fuckin’ take it like you begged for it.”

His thrusts grew harsher, voice dropping to a gravelly growl. “Feel that? That’s my fat dick buried inside you, nothin’ you can do about it.”

Your nails clawed at his back, desperate for purchase, a strangled moan tearing from your throat. “K-Katsuki, slow down—”

“Shut up,” he cut you off, hand sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “You don’t get to tell me shit. You’re takin’ every inch ‘til m'done.”

Another brutal thrust left you crying out, your legs trembling as he caged you in. Your body writhed under him, overwhelmed, but the way your cunt squelched and squeezed tighter around him betrayed you.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he hissed, lips brushing your ear as his pace grew merciless. “Body’s honest even when your mouth ain’t. You fuckin’ love it.”

His thrusts turned savage, hips pistoning into you with the kind of reckless force that rattled the couch beneath you. Every slam of his cock knocked the breath from your lungs, your moans breaking into raw, strangled cries.

“Thought you were cute, huh?” he growled into your ear, teeth grazing your skin. “Sittin’ there, talkin’ shit about me bein’ a virgin… look at you now. Can’t even fuckin’ talk.”

Your head lolled back, eyes rolling as heat coiled sharp and fast in your gut. “N-no! Katsuki, I—”

His hand went to your throat, squeezing, “Say it. Say you were wrong.”

The words were stuck in your throat, swallowed by a sobbing moan as your body bucked beneath him. His pace only grew rougher, punishing, each thrust angled to batter the spot that made you shatter.

“C’mon, you can do it,” he taunted, lips curling into a cruel smirk. “Repeat after me: Katsuki fucks me better than anyone.”

A wrecked cry tore out of you, your body convulsing around his cock as the orgasm ripped through you, brutal and blinding. You tried to choke out the words, broken and slurred, “K-Katsuki—fucks me—b-better—”

“That’s right,” he snarled, pounding through your spasms without mercy, his hips slamming into your overstimulated cunt as tears streaked down your cheeks. “Stupid slut can't even talk right, say it louder.”

Your voice cracked, torn between sobs and moans, but you forced it out again. Shame and ecstasy collide as your body squeezes him tight, milking him mercilessly.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he rasped, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. “Not so cocky now, huh?”

“Katsuki, p-please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you fuckin’ can,” he cut you off with a vicious growl, the words guttural, desperate. “You’re takin’ it—’cause I’m not stoppin’ ‘til I’m done. Don’t you dare fuckin’ tap out—take it. Take all of it." He babbled, his mind almost as broken as yours.

Your whole body shook beneath him, broken whimpers spilling from your lips, but your cunt betrayed you—clenching around him again, dragging his climax closer with every desperate squeeze.

He didn’t let up, hips still hammering into you even as you writhed beneath him, tears streaking your cheeks. Every thrust sent another shiver of overstimulated pleasure-turned-pain down your spine, but he just smirked through your broken moans.

“Pathetic,” he spat between ragged breaths, his mouth brushing cruelly against your ear. “You were bought for me, mine to use, mine to break in. And look at you. Supposed to be pleasin’ me, and you’ve already fucked yourself dumb cummin’ all over my cock—three times.”

Your head shook weakly, nails dragging uselessly over his shoulders as your body twitched under him. “K-Katsuki—p-please—”

“Please, what?” His hand slid up your throat, squeezing just enough to make your next sob catch. “Please let you quit? Hah. You think I’m lettin’ you tap out before I’ve even cum once?”

His hips snapped up viciously, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the room. Your scream broke into a sob, the sound only making his smirk widen.

“Greedy fuckin’ girl,” he taunted. “Your job’s to take it until I’m satisfied. Y'hear me? You don’t stop until m'done with you.”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a babbled cry, your body trembling around him, every thrust forcing more slick down your thighs.

“That’s what I thought,” he snarled, rutting into you harder, sweat dripping down his temples. “Just a pretty fuckin’ toy, bought and paid for—good for spreadin’ your legs and makin’ those sounds while I use your cunt.”

He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes through the blur of tears. “So stop worryin’ about cummin’—that’s mine. Your only job’s to take every inch ‘til I’m satisfied.”

His thrusts turned ragged, rougher, his body finally giving way to the fire that had been coiling in him since the second you pulled him down onto that couch. His grip on your throat tightened just enough to make your vision swim, his forehead pressed hard against yours.

“Fuck—hah—shit, m'gonna—” His voice cracked, teeth bared as his hips slammed into yours in brutal succession. “Feel that? S'all me. Gonna fill this greedy cunt till you can’t fuckin’ move.”

You sobbed, the overstimulation twisting into raw ecstasy as your body clenched desperately around him. The sight of you falling apart again, wrecked, trembling, his name tumbling weakly off your lips... it snapped the last of his control.

“Fuckin’—mine—” he snarled, the word guttural as his hips drove deep one last time. He buried himself to the hilt and spilled into you with a violent shudder, curses ripped from his throat as his release poured hot and thick inside you.

“Fuck—shit—m'comin’, and you’re gonna take all of it—every fuckin’ drop—” he snarled, voice cracking as his hips slammed into you. Heat spilled deep inside, and his grip on your waist turned bruising.

You broke apart under him, babbling through sobs of pleasure. “Katsuki—fuck—it’s so hot, I can feel it all inside—gonna break—I swear I’m yours, all yours—” The words tumbled out between ragged cries, half-coherent, half-desperate.

His forehead pressed to yours, teeth grinding as his breath stuttered out in ragged bursts. “F-fuck—thought y-you were here t’please me, hah? Then—ah—then take it—take all of it—d-don’t waste a drop—” His words broke apart into a growl, voice cracking. “Say you’re mine—fuck—say it—”

His pace faltered, hips jerking in uneven thrusts as his own orgasm tore through him. “Shit—fuck—” he growled, forehead pressing hard to yours, teeth bared as if he could bite back the sounds ripping out of him. His cock throbbed hot and relentless, spilling deep inside you as your walls clenched down around him, milking every last drop.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your broken moans tangled with his ragged curses, both of you trembling, locked so tight it was like neither of you could bear to let go.

When his hips finally stilled, he was still shaking, still gripping you like if he let go, you’d vanish. His breath stuttered against your ear, raw and ruined, and all he managed to get out was a ragged, “Fuck…”

You collapsed under him, breathless and twitching, his cock still buried inside you. For a long beat, the only sound was the ragged drag of your breathing and the faint hum of the city outside.

Then, he huffed out a broken laugh. “Hah… fuck. Bet you’re regrettin’ signin’ up for this now.”

You managed to smirk against his shoulder, voice weak but sharp. “Regretting? Please. I should be charging you double.”

“Double?” he scoffed, though his voice cracked halfway through. “You’re fuckin’ delirious. Pretty sure I did all the work at the end.”

You giggled, still shaky. “Mm, yeah… real graceful. Like watching a grenade try to fuck.”

His hand shot down to squeeze your ass, making you yelp. “Say that again, and I’ll prove I’ve got more rounds in me.”

You tilted your head to grin up at him, sweat-damp hair sticking to your face. “Oh, is that a promise or a threat?”

He rolled his eyes, ears pink, muttering under his breath. “…Pain in my ass.” He flipped the two of you over so you were lying on top of him, hands resting comfortably on your ass.

The couch creaked under both your weight as you slumped against him, sweat-slick skin sticking where it pressed together. His arm was still locked tight around your waist, refusing to let go even though both of you were trembling messes.

“Mm,” you hummed, lazy and smug. “Bet the neighbors heard all that. Should probably start sending apology baskets.”

“Tch,” he scoffed, dragging a hand over his face. “Good. Let the whole damn building know who makes you scream like that.”

You smirked, too spent to even roll your eyes. “So cocky for someone who almost cried five minutes ago.”

His head snapped toward you, scowl immediate. “The fuck I did—”

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll shut that mouth again,” he growled, hand tightening on your hip for emphasis.

“Promises, promises,” you teased, stretching against him like a cat. “You really gonna go again? Thought virgins needed recovery time.”

The crack of his palm against your ass cut through the air, sharp enough to make you jolt against him with a gasp. Heat bloomed instantly where he struck, and his smirk was nothing short of wicked.

“Virgin, huh?” he rasped, giving the sting another squeeze just to hear you hiss. “Say it again and see what happens.”

But instead of making good on the threat, he just pulled you in tighter, his nose brushing your hairline. You felt him exhale hard, the fight in him bleeding out slowly.

The silence stretched after that, heavy but comfortable, until his chest rose and fell steady beneath you.

“…You were fuckin’ amazing,” he muttered, so low you almost missed it.

You snorted, cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Careful. Sounds like you’re catchin’ feelings already.”

“Shut up,” he shot back fast, ears going pink. His arm stayed firm around your waist though, like he didn’t realize he hadn’t let go. “Ain’t like that.”

“Didn’t think so,” you drawled, voice scratchy with exhaustion. “But hey… good review’s a good review.”

He tipped his head back against the couch with a groan. “…You’re fuckin' impossible."

“Mm. Paid to be,” you hummed, smug but drowsy.

Silence stretched, sticky with sweat and heat, until he shifted under you, clearing his throat like he had something stuck there. “…So, uh. If I—y’know. Called again. You’d show up, right?”

You smirked, too tired to even open your eyes. “What’s this? Pro hero Dynamight already booking his next appointment?”

“Shut the hell up,” he barked, voice cracking in a way that made it sound more like pleading than commanding.

You arched a brow, lips quirking faintly. “Careful, hero. Sounds like you’re trying to buy something you can’t actually own.”

His hand shot to your chin, forcing you to look at him. “The fuck I can’t.”

The sharpness of his grip didn’t scare you—if anything, it lit a slow burn under your skin. You leaned forward just enough that your breath brushed his lips, your smirk razor-thin. “Then put your money where your mouth is, Dynamight. You want me off the market? Fine. But that’s not a one-night fee.”

You let the words drip slow, deliberate. “You’d be paying to keep me. Just you. All the time. Think you can handle that?”

For a moment his scowl didn’t falter, but his pulse jumped under your fingers when you traced his jaw. He grit his teeth like he hated giving anything away. “Tch. Don’t test me. You name a price, and I’ll make damn sure you’re mine. Nobody else.”

You blinked at him, stunned quiet for the first time all night. His words hung in the air between you, heavier than the sweat and sex still clinging to your skin.

“…You’re serious?” you asked finally, searching his face.

His jaw ticked, eyes cutting away like he regretted saying it out loud. “I don’t fuckin’ repeat myself.”

You stared at him, lips parting to answer—only for his smirk to cut you off. “Guess you’ll figure out how serious I am next time.”

divider creds

bakugou wanted to taste the new lip gloss he got for you. his softened eyes follow your gentle swiping movements on your lips. the words spill out before he can stop them.

“lemme taste it, baby,” he rasped, tilting your head to face him.

you smiled, closing the distance between you two. the kiss—if you can even call it that—was quick. too quick for bakugou’s liking.

when you pull away from him, he licks his lips, crimson eyes never leaving yours. then he smirked, lazy and boyish. his stubborn dimple appeared on his cheek. “didn’t taste shit,” he murmured. “c’mere.”

and then you guys are making out. teeth clashing, fingers tangled in hair, heavy breathing. you can feel him smiling into the kiss as his hands roamed your body. this was all part of his plan. you knew he was lying about not tasting anything. you guys pull apart, and he’s like, “too sweet,” and scowls.