i'm back and forth, i think i'm going crazy.

- Katsuki Bakugo would pretend he hated the fans comments but smirked as he saw a comment saying “i know the sex is good.” Before liking it, making the fans go crazy.

- Katsuki Bakugo was surprisingly a lover boy. Swinging by to drop off some of your favourite flowers mid-mission. He loved reserving out theme parks, skating rinks, arcades—anything, just for the two of you. He would occasionally do skincare and face-masks with you but swear to his friends he would never ever. He loved watching Horror movies but would pause it and smother you with kisses if he noticed you getting too scared or uncomfy. “we don’t have to watch it, y/n. Plus, I have a better idea anyway..” he would smirk as he tugged on your thong, letting it snap back on your skin.

- Katsuki Bakugo would ALWAYS tell the press to fuck off if they were interrupting you, like that one time you were in a private, expensive restaurant for your anniversary and he’d caught a press member in the far distance posing as a customer as he snagged pictures of you on his iPhone and had told him to fuck off.

- Katsuki Bakugo loved fucking your face. Sloppily too. He loved wiping your tears and smudged mascara as his cum spilled out the corner of your mouth, saliva dripping down your chin and all over his dick and balls. After a long day of battling villains, he looked forward to coming home and releasing all his stress in your mouth as your plump lips wrapped around his your dick.

-Katsuki Bakugo loved taking you from the back. He loved watching your ass ripple and recoil every time he tapped that ass—shit, he’d never get tired of it. Occasionally, if he was mad at you, he would pull you up to his level by your hair and whisper the most sluttiest things in your ear with each thrust. He also loves it when you ride him, groaning and smacking on your ass as you bounce on his cock. He liked missionary too, enjoying your fucked out expression as you squirmed under him, if he was really into it, he would turn it into mating press, pressing your shaking thighs towards you as he hammered at the perfect angle, bulbous tip reaching your g spot.

Wasn’t quite the greeting he expected. But damn if it isn’t cute.

You’re trembling like a leaf, tears still clinging to your cheeks from last night. Puffy eyes, soft sniffles, messy hair. Poor thing. Still trying to act brave.

He blinks up at you from where he lies on the floor, shirtless, hair down, the loose strands falling across his face looking just like his wanted poster. Slow to sit up, arms raised just a little, he gives you that lazy, wolfish smile, all white teeth and trouble.

“Well now,” he drawls, voice rough with sleep and just a hint of amusement, “that any way to greet the man who gave you the bed?”

He watches the way your grip shakes, how your lip wobbles like you're about to cry again. The pistol in your hands, he recognizes it, of course. His own. Not even loaded. He saw to that last night. You really thought he wouldn’t plan for something like this? A little filly like you, spittin' and kickin'? He'd be dumb to keep a loaded gun around. Can't have you spookin' the horses.

“Don’t want a girl like you handlin’ somethin’ that heavy,” he murmurs, voice dipped in honey and warning. “Might hurt yourself.”

You don’t back down. Not yet. You glare at him with all the fury you can muster, arms quivering, teeth gritted.

“Take me home,” you manage to say. Cracked. Raw. Pleading.

And Geto just laughs, low and slow, a dangerous sound that curls in your stomach. Just like the first shot of whiskey you ever took.

“Take my sweet little filly home?” he repeats, cocking his head slightly. The dim morning light catches on the curve of his jaw, on the shadowed scar near his temple, the tousled strands of inky black hair falling around his face. He looks carved from sin, kissed by dust and blood. “Now sugar… that ain’t gonna happen.”

His gaze darkens just a touch, but the smile never fades.

“See, I’ve killed a man for lookin’ at me wrong,” he says softly, like he’s telling you what time it is. “And here you are - pointin’ a gun at my head. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Your face twists, confused and terrified, but still you don’t pull the trigger. Can’t. And he knows it.

“We all got our vices,” he continues, easy as ever, “and you just so happen to be mine.”

In a blur, the pistol’s out of your hands and clattering to the floor. You barely get a breath before he’s got you scooped into his arms like a bride, the scent of gunpowder and pine and leather clinging to him. He tosses you back onto the bed with zero ceremony, even as you wriggle and squirm against him.

“Oh, hush now,” he murmurs, one large hand pressing your wrist down against the mattress, the other cupping your cheek with almost painful gentleness. “Chickens ain’t even awake yet, and here you are throwin’ a tantrum.”

He presses a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth - soft, unearned, possessive.- and curls around you, a heavy arm wrapped around your waist. A man like him? He doesn’t worry. He doesn’t chase. You can kick and scream all you want Sugar.

You’re not going anywhere.

“You’ll come around,” he whispers into your hair, lashes brushing your temple as his eyes close again. Ignoring all your cryin'. You'll tire yourself out eventually. "Now I think you need some sleep, tame that little attitude of yours."

yandere! satoru, who has had you kidnapped in his house for months now. he takes the best care of you, dresses you in the finest of silks and diamonds, yet you still haven't yielded to him.

he just knows you secretly want him and are too afraid to admit it. every night as he comes to your room to undress you, to untie your corset, to remove your stockings, and then finally take off your chemise leaving you in nothing but pale white underwear. you're so shy, so so shy, always trying to hide your breasts with your arms and whining when satoru tells you to put your arms away.

in the end, he has to tie your hands together with his blindfold, you are too much of a brat. he first and foremost focuses on your pleasure and your pleasure only, dragging his tongue along your nipples, twisting them with his fingers so that he can hear you moan deliciously.

he drags his hand down to your cunt, which is practically leaking through your underwear. he's fucked you so many times now, and you're still as sensitive as a blushing virgin. he gently takes off your underwear and kisses you along your thighs, carefully moving up towards your cunt. he licks a stripe up your clit, making you drag your nails on his scalp.

"master gojo, please," you whine.

that spurs him on even more. he loves it when you call him that. with others, it's a normal title, but with you it's something more, something extremely erotic.

he's at a point today where he feels like teasing your pussy, gently rubbing his cock all over your folds and clit, but never actually penetrating. it's a punishment of sorts for not yielding to him, despite months of you two being together.

he feels disgusted when he realizes how any other woman would've leapt at the opportunity to be his, would always be there at his beck and call, ready to be fucked whenever he desires. but you're not like that, and maybe that's why he prefers you. he doesn't want some obedient bangmaid, he wants to bend you according to his desires.

and they’re good tears, tears that taste good on his tongue when he licks them from your cheeks. tears that spring hot in your eyes with every inch he manages into you—he’s too much, though at the same time you can never get enough of him.

“gonna finally take all of me tonight, baby?” he mocks you, grins at the way your eyes squeeze shut as he rubs at your clit in hopes of relaxing you a tad. “you know, i could flip us over.. let gravity do the hard work.”

you accept because it sounds good in theory. gojo flips you both over and lays on his back as you find purchase with your fingers splayed over his heaving chest. but being like this, with satorus pulsing dick still barely half inside of you, you realise gravity hates you.

because although you're dropping just that little bit further down on his cock, your legs are trembling like it's an effort to keep you off of him. and gojo, being the cocky man he is, takes hold of your hips and works you even further downwards onto his length.

"fuck," is all you can manage, he's painful and narcotic all in the same stroke and so deep inside of you that you swear he's in your stomach. you shake your head, "i can't. you're too big, im sorry."

satoru shakes his head, looks up at you with those lust-blown eyes of his and smiles. "you want me to pull out?"

and as he tries to pull you up and off his length, slow as not to hurt you, there's a look on his face that you can't miss. he's so pretty when he's plotting, but you're only given a second to admire him, because just as he's about to pull the tip of his aching cock out of you, he lets go of your hips.

and your legs fail you, your body collapses downwards and you, in turn, are impaled on his prodigious length once again. you could cry, you think you do—your cheeks are wet when you fall forwards and your gasp of shock is swallowed by gojo, who kisses you hungrily. his fingers dig into your hips as he smiles against your kiss.

you feel his cock twitch inside of you, deeper than you've ever been able to take him before, and you realise you're practically at the base. you've never felt so full... so good... so stretched out and overwhelmed. and when your boyfriend tests the waters and fucks up into you just a little, a breathy moan is drawn straight from your lungs.

"toru—"

"shh," he snaps his hips up again to stall your words. "finally gonna cum inside of you, baby, not pulling out until you're left just as full as you are now."