Let Me See What You Have!! 🔪

AHHHHHH I LOVE THIS

boyfriend katsuki LOVES eating you out.

katsuki will look for any chance to bury his face in your pretty cunt, his nose rubbing up against your clit with each small movement. his two large hands pushing your thighs up and towards your chest while he laps up your sweet and saccharine juices. the way you whimper and whine at his ministrations, he is quite literally drunk on your pussy.

“‘s too much, katsu,” you hiccup, using whatever bit of strength you have to lift your head up while your left hand is in his hair.

katsuki grunts in response, sending vibrations throughout your body. if you thought that your pleas would make him be any more gentle, you should have known better.

“c’mon princess,” he groans into your pussy as he pushes his middle and index finger into your pulsating hole.“gimme one more, please, cum on my face just one more time.”

**

IJRJWJAUDJEJE I MUST HAVE HIM.

Edging him until he’s completely delirious and when you tell him to “say the magic words” he accidentally says “I love you”

𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍

pairing: deaf!katsuki x gn!reader

warning: collage au, swearing, softsuki, pure fluff, all words italicized are meant to be spoken in sign language

notes: this might be my fave thing ive written so far

632 | Bakugou’s never needed words to tell you how he feels. The only problem?You never understand what he’s been saying.

Bakugou signs alot.

At first, you thought it was just muscle memory, like how someone might talk to themselves under their breath. He’d move his hands with sharp, purposeful flicks, his fingers quick and angry, like he was arguing with the air.

But he always signed to you.

You noticed it when he’d glance your way mid-conversation, hands spelling out something with too much intention for it to be coincident. You didn’t understand a word, of course, and he never explained himself. He’d roll his eyes or scoff when you asked. Saying something like figure it out if you’re so interested, but even with his dismissal— he kept doing it.

When he was annoyed with you, his fingers moved fast.

On the rare chance you made him chuckle, he’d sign something slow and subtle, hidden behind his dumb smirk and eye roll.

When he looked at you too long, he’d blink, sign, and look away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you finally decided to take a crash course in ASL at your campus library that the words finally started to come together.

“Thanks for saving my seat,” you said softly, placing your bag down beside him. He hums, nodding, red eyes never leaving your own and it’s enough to make your face heat. You’d always thought Bakugou was good looking, but for the longest time, you kept your distance. That is, until he showed up to the lecture one day reading one of your favorite books, and something about that felt like an opening. Since then, sitting next to him became a habit you looked forward to more than you’d admit.

Your other friends liked to joke that you’d worn him down. That you annoyed him into a friendship.

But every time you walked in and found his bag already nudged off the chair beside him, saving the seat just for you, it felt like the smallest kind of miracle.

He never said much about it. Never made a show of saving your space, but he did it every time.

Bakugou shrugged, his hands move fast. You look… tired?

You blinked. “Wait, I— did you say I looked tired?”

He froze. His brows furrow, eyes narrowed. A tiny break in the confidence that was so Bakugou it practically had its own gravitational pull.

“What the fuck," you heard him mumble. It makes you laugh.

He’s quick to sign again. You understood that?

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. “A little. I’ve been uh—“ You cut yourself off, your own hands coming forward. Learning.

Bakugou scowled, but his ears were tinged red. He signs again, how? you stalking me now?

“No,” you said, laughing. “I took some classes in the library. Besides you're the one who’s been talking at me this whole time. I finally decided to catch up.”

His hands lifted. It is then that the piece start clicking. If you had learned what he was saying than that means... his eyes narrowed.

What else have you seen?

You pause. Beautiful, he had signed once. You’re beautiful.

Another time: I like your laugh. It sounds like wind chimes. The words 'Wind chimes' was a hard one to figure out for sure.

Once: I wish I could kiss you without making things weird.

You shook your head gently. “Beautiful a couple times... but that's all I remember."

Bakugou exhaled sharply. That's all you remembered!? He's going to fucking explode, dear god. He can feel the heat traveling down his neck. His fingers twitched like he wanted to deny it, like he wanted to scream just to redirect the attention.

Instead, he groaned. Looking away before signing something slowly— hands pausing just enough to make sure you’d catch it.

I can help you remember the rest.

You smiled. Yes. I'd love that

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ON MY KNEES FOR AN IZUKU SMAU WITH HIM AND MC CRUSHING ON EACH OTHER SOOO BAD BUT THEY'RE TWO IDIOTS WHO GO: "oh they wanna hang out one on one? Damn we're such good friends"

just us? | i. midoriya

just two best friends hanging out one-on-one every weekend, doing couple things, and totally not dating (yet)

There's an unspoken rule that gets established early on in your relationship with Bakugo, one that he assumes you know after a few months together.

The rule in question? You need to kiss him three times before you leave his apartment; one for luck, one for the road, and one just because.

One day, you're in a rush to get out the door, running late for a lunch date with your friends. You're bouncing around his apartment to be sure you have everything — phone, keys, wallet — and place a quick kiss to his lips as you pass by him in the living room. "I'll be back in a few hours, love you!"

Bakugo grabs your wrist gently, tugging you back toward him with a pout on his face. "Nuh uh, c'mere." He pulls you over his lap, cradling you while tilting your chin up to face him. "You're askin' for trouble if you think we're done here, sweets."

You blink at him in confusion. He rolls his eyes, no actual annoyance behind it, and shakes his head. "Ya only gave me one kiss, you know better than that."

"Oh, so I owe you—"

"Damn right you do," he cuts you off with a cocky little smirk that he's too good at doing. "Three — no ifs, ands or buts. And mean it, none'a those quick bullshit pecks, real kisses."

Of course, what were you thinking? You lean forward and press the first kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. "One," you whispers before following up with two more, slow and purposeful. "Two and three."

"Much better," Bakugo whispers with a genuine smile. He lets you get back to your feet, a large palm on the small of your back to support you. He pats the back of your thigh once you're steady. "Love you too. Have fun with the girls, but not too much fun. Don't wanna chase ya down the sidewalk again after you down 4 mimosa pitchers to yourselves."

three kisses from him would cure my depression at this point, chat.

DREADED GIFT- Katsuki Bakugou

𖤐 word count: 3.3k

𖤐 synopsis: you felt the need to celebrate your boyfriend, baking a cake for him.

𖤐 warnings: explicit language, fluff, kissing, established relationship, sfw

Normally, you’d be excited to present the gift you’ve arranged for the person. But today was a completely different story. 

Today was April 20.

Katsuki Bakugou’s birthday.

Your boyfriends’s birthday.

The same guy who blew up last year's surprise party, claiming he didn’t do cheesy parties.  A week prior, he had made it clear he wouldn't want his 17th birthday to be celebrated. Nevertheless, you prepared a medium-sized box in black wrapping paper with orange explosions and an orange bow. 

You had been up since around three in the morning, following a recipe for a chocolate-flavoured cake to calculate the right amount of spice powder you needed for a mixed flavour. 

You looked through the cabinets and drawers, looking for a tablespoon that could be used to measure. As you turned around to continue the recipe, you bumped into the batter, causing a little to spill. 

You then grabbed a towel and started to clean the mess, forgetting about the spinning bowl of batter as it fell on your head. Great. You had full-on batter on your hair now. You started the recipe again, having no time to clean the mess on your head. 

About 10 minutes later, you placed the batter in the baking pan, reaching over to the oven, turning it on to 350. Glancing at your phone, it was already 5:29 a.m., so you had a little over an hour and a half to have the cake prepared. 

30 minutes later, you took the cake out of the oven, examining it carefully, trying to find anything wrong with it that you could fix immediately. Placing the pan gently on the counter, you ran over to the fridge and grabbed out the frosting, quickly mixing up the right colors and starting to decorate the cake.

Once satisfied with how you had decorated it, you placed the remaining tubes of frosting back into the fridge, turning back and admiring your work for a moment, suddenly interrupted by your best friend Jirou walking into the kitchen, still rubbing her eyes from sleep. The remaining sleep from her body immediately left when she noticed the mess you had on your head and around the kitchen.

“What are you doing up this early? Better yet, why does the kitchen look like a tornado passed by it?” She asked, walking around the kitchen before turning to you, “It’s Katsuki’s birthday today, and I wanted to make something for him, so here I am. I might as well disappear if he doesn’t even end up liking anything.” you glanced at Jirou, noticing her gaze of the cake.

She took the cake and carefully placed it in the fridge, shutting it closed. “It needs to cool down for a bit too,” she noticed your bummed out face before continuing, “I’m sure he’ll like it, Its Bakugou we’re talking about. You can make a disgusting meal, and he would still eat it if he knew it was you who made it.” 

You simply nodded at her words, hoping it would go like that when the time came to go to his dorm and wish him a happy birthday. “Well, tell me, does this gift look decent enough?” You raised the box so Jirou could examine it. Watching her every expression, before she turned to you. “And what’s in the box?” Her question made you smile.

“It’s a present, why would I tell you what’s in it? Besides, I’d rather give it to him first instead of telling you.” She smiled at you, “Fair enough, well, I’m going to eat breakfast. Do you need help cleaning up your mess? You nodded, grabbing the broom and mop to clean the floor while she cleaned the counter and stored the flour and sugar that you had forgotten to put away.

When you both finished, the kitchen looked cleaner. You let out a sigh as you thanked her, checking the time again, you walked over to the fridge and opened it, taking out the cake. “I’m going to start heading up there.” You said, earning a simple nod in response.

Without another word being exchanged, you grabbed hold of the cake in one hand and the gift in your other. As you walked up the stairs, you felt the stickiness of the batter that had fallen on you earlier still on your head. It was too late now to fix it. You clicked on the button and waited for the elevator and waited for the doors to open.

You stepped inside and pressed on ‘floor 4’, where his dorm was. When the doors opened again, you stepped out and started making your way towards his dorm, the nerves beginning to get to you. What if he hated the cake you made, or if he dismissed your effort and called it stupid? 

There were so many things that could go wrong in this moment, but you were willing to take the risk if it meant it would make is day a little better. As you stepped towards his room and stood in front of it, your hand reached for the handle, but immediately stopped when you heard familiar voices already inside.

The friend group had already beaten you to it. The mixed yells with quiet remarks could be heard. You didn’t want to just burst in with the way you were looking, especially with the things you had planned to tell him privately. You’d simply have to do it later at a better time. 

From inside his room, Kirishima, Mina, Sero, Kamanari, and Izuku could be heard. It was obvious that they planned to celebrate his birthday with a party.

“We have a whole day planned out already!” 

“Sato even agreed to make the cake for later! C’mon, man!” 

“If you idiots think I'm going to join your ridiculous party, think again.” You immediately recognized who it was just from the tone in their voice. You let out a sigh as you glanced at the door, then at the cake and gift in your hands.

He’d be fine.

Without a second thought, you turned around and made your way to your dorm, unlocking the door and disappearing into your room. A few hours passed, and it was a little past 9 a.m. The birthday cake sat on your desk, beside it the wrapped box, having been forgotten and erased from your mind in that moment.

He was asking where you were. Your heart skipped a beat at the notification, almost immediately stopping what you were doing and thought for a moment before typing a quick response back, shutting off your phone after sending the message.

Just as you placed your phone down on your bedside table, you heard a notification immediately after. Reaching out, you unlocked it and simply stared at the message.

Sighly softly, you stood up from your bed, glancing at the cake and gift from your attempt earlier. You grabbed the cake and box once again in each hand, your phone tucked in your waistband as you opened the door and walked out, closing it slowly behind you. 

As you made your way to his dorm, you mentally prepared for you to be greeted with his annoyed expression, you could already make out what he’d say the second he noticed what you had in your hands. He probably won’t even bother to acknowledge it. 

Standing in front of his dorm, you stared for a moment before you softly knocked on the wooden door, bracing yourself for the conversation that would come next. Hearing the soft click of someone opening the door, you glanced up to meet his crimson eyes.

“Why didn’t you come by thi–”

“Happy Birthday Kats,”  you muttered, cutting off his rambling before continuing, "I know you don't like your birthday getting celebrated and all that stuff, but I wanted to do something nice for you, but you don’t necessarily have to like it.”

As you waited for his response, you noticed the way his eyes glanced at your extended hands holding the cake, and you lit up the candles that had the number ‘17’ stamped on, along with the following words: ‘Happy Birthday Katsuki!’. Hearing a ‘tch’ escape his lips made you nervous, knowing it was a habit he’d do when annoyed. Hoping that wasn’t the case.

“You did all this for me? You know I don’t–” he sighed, pinching his nose, about to say something, but something changed in him when he noticed your happy expression, your lips curled into a soft smile. He’d hate himself if he ever said anything that didn’t satisfy your mood.

He looked away and thought for a moment before turning back to you. “I– What I’m trying to say is… I don’t mind it. All this bullshit crap you made for my birthday, I don’t mind it, as long as it comes from you. Alright? So don’t get any silly ideas in the pretty head of yours that I’m gonna yell your ear off for no reason. At least not today.”

You noticed the boy's face immediately heated up slightly after the small confession, trying to brush it off by looking away. You continued to smile as you softly spoke, “Do you want me to sing Happy Birthday?” you asked, holding out the cake, interrupted by a snort. “I don’t need your singing to damage my ears.”

The boy simply smirked as your smile fell into a pout, looking at him annoyingly, “Just make your wish and blow out the candles.” Without another word, he thought for a moment before blowing them out, the soft smell of smoke filling your nose. You simply pushed past him and placed the cake on his desk.

You walked back out and grabbed the box, extending it out to him. Noticing he was about to protest, you stopped him. “Just take it, there's no point in arguing with me.” Your fingers slightly brushed with each other as he took the box out of your hands, looking at the wrapping for a moment before he started opening it.

His eyes widened when he realized what it was. A photo album decorated on the outside with stickers and colored wording is visible. When opening it, he noticed the many photos of both of you, mostly just of the dates and small hangouts you both have done when you were still friends and dating.

“Do you like it? There’s still a lot of empty pages to put future memories.” You asked, glancing up at him, noticing his eyes focused on the album in front of him. He simply nodded, “I like it, there’s thought that was put into it, and I know you worked hard on it. You didn’t need to do any of this y’know.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, knowing these were some of the only times he’d be sincere. “It’s my favourite boy's birthday, of course I was going to do something for it, silly. Try the cake, I want to know if it tastes good or if I'm poisoning you.”

He let out a huff, rolling his eyes as he glanced at the cake sitting on his desk. “You sure it’s not all just sugar? You’re going to give me a sugar rush with all this.” His fingers dug into the sugary pastry as he grabbed a piece and popped it in his mouth. You analyzed his expression like a mad scientist, hoping you wouldn’t poison the poor boy with your newly learned baking skills.

“Kats, say something, does it taste bad? Does it hurt to chew? You can spit it out if it doe–” 

“Nah, this is the best cake I’ve ever tasted. You can taste the spiciness, but also not too much that you can't taste the chocolate. You nailed the recipe, this shit probably better than what they sell at stores.” You listened to every word he said, feeling somewhat accomplished that Katsuki liked your cake, hell, maybe even loved. “Well, I’m glad you liked it, I’ve been up since three in the morning trying to make it–” He cut you off as he glanced at your scalp, “Is that why there's batter on your head? Don’t tell me your stupidass dumped it on yourself.”

You let out a laugh, smiling at him, “It was an accident, but it’s fine, I'll shower later and it’ll come off.” Glancing at him, you sighed, “We should start heading downstairs–” He looked at you, confused. “The fuck are we going downstairs for?” You pointed towards the door as you spoke.

“Well, y’know the party they’re throwing for your birthday, aren’t you going to go?” The ash blonde immediately shook his head, letting out a sigh, and he placed the photo album on his desk. “Nah, rather spend it with you, cuddling or whatever.” You looked at him annoyingly, “Katsuki, they took time out of their day to organize that– hey!”

You were rudely interrupted by him picking you up and throwing you on the bed with him, pulling you closer by the waist as the boy shoved his face into your neck, taking in your comforting scent with a soft sigh.

“It’s not my damn problem, there faults for even thinking I’d enjoy a stupid party.” You gave up trying to convince him to go, snuggling closer to him as he intertwined his legs with yours, having you completely hooked onto the bed with him.

“Hey, look at me.” You glanced at him, wondering what it was he wanted, but it was immediately answered when he took your face and pressed his chapped lips against yours, kissing you. As expected, you melted into the kiss and pulled away a while after, the feeling of his lips kissing your entire face as he spoke. “Mh, love you, idiot.”

One thing is for sure, he wouldn't be letting you go from his grasp any time soon.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

BIRTHDAY SUIT | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis: Bakugo never made a big deal about birthdays—just another day in his book. But you're not letting this one slide. As his partner, you know better than anyone that under that explosive exterior lies a man who deserves to be worshipped. And tonight, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Dressed in nothing but a gift-wrapped surprise, you give him a present no one else ever could—you.

content: smut, shameless smut, established relationship, lingerie sex, birthday sex, reader takes the reins, blowjob, sloppy, cowgirl , orgasm,

Bakugo never cared about birthdays. For once, he'd let you celebrate him.

No grumbles, no sarcastic muttering under his breath about “dumb-ass traditions” or “waste of time.” No disappearing off to train. No flinching when his friends shouted “Happy Birthday, Katsuki!”

He actually stayed. Enjoyed it.

The apartment had been buzzing earlier with close friends, laughter, drinks, and too many snacks. But now, it was just you and him. The glow of warm lights filled the room, soft music playing low from the speaker. The scent of buttercream and spiced candles lingered in the air.

“Sit,” you said, nudging him down onto the couch.

He dropped onto it with a tired, satisfied huff, one arm slung over the backrest as he watched you crouch beside the small stack of gifts left on the coffee table.

“Ya didn’t have to do all this, y’know,” he muttered. “Just havin’ you around is—”

“Shut up,” you smirked, passing him the first box. “You can get sappy after we’re done with presents.”

He rolled his eyes, but the blush on his ears gave him away.

One by one, he opened them. A couple of gag gifts from Kaminari, a surprisingly thoughtful book from Todoroki, custom gloves from Kirishima. A shirt from you he’d side-eyed in a store window a few weeks ago but pretended not to like. He’d mumbled, “Not bad,” when he saw it then—but the way he smiled when he saw it again tonight? That soft, flickering look in his eyes?

Yeah. He remembered.

But the last gift made him still.

He turned the box in his hand like he didn’t quite recognize it, even though you knew he did. You watched his fingers move slower—more careful. He lifted the lid and saw it:

A first edition, limited-run All Might training journal.

Something he’d mentioned in passing once during a midnight walk months ago. Something he said he always wanted but could never find.

He stared at it in silence, thumb brushing over the embossed edges.

“…You remembered that?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. His eyes lifted to yours.

You smiled gently. “Of course I did.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, cheeks pinking up in a way that had your heart blooming in your chest. “You’re insane,” he muttered. “You know that?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “A little.”

He blinked hard, then cleared his throat.

“Alright, alright—cake. Let’s get this over with before I start feelin’ like a damn Hallmark card.”

You brought over the cake, candles already lit, your face glowing in the soft flicker as you sang the most off-key, dramatic “Happy Birthday” you could manage. He groaned, but he didn’t stop you.

He blew out the candles.

You sliced two pieces, handed him a fork… then stole it right back.

“Say ah.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You really gonna hand feed me right now?”

“wedding reenact,” you said, lifting a bite to his mouth.

He opened it, still scowling—but barely—as you fed him a chunk of cake. He chewed, crimson eyes on you the whole time.

“Good?” you asked.

He gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Yeah. sweet.”

"that so..."

You leaned in, swiped a little frosting from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips looked so soft, gilding your frosted coated thumb onto them, then kissed it off his lips, pressing your own into the softness of his. It started soft.

But when your lips brushed his again—slow, warm, and just a little longer—his hands naturally found your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap. He kissed back, gentle but hungry, lips parting to taste more of you.

You murmured between kisses, breath hot against his mouth: “Birthday kiss.”

He blinked slowly, his lips still parted from the kiss, eyes dazed and focused only on you. His hands stayed warm on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, thoughtless circles into your skin through the thin fabric. His gaze trailed over your face—your lips, your flushed cheeks, your eyes so full of mischief and adoration.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, almost like it slipped out without permission.

You kissed the tip of his nose, giggling softly. “Thank you.”

And then?

His grip tightened. Just slightly. And he pulled you into his lap.'

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, “I’m gonna forget we were takin’ things slow tonight.”

You leaned in, straddling him without hesitation, your thighs hugging his hips as you settled against him. His body welcomed you instantly, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips dragging the fabric of your top slightly—like he wanted less of it between you.

“I was never planning to go slow,” you whispered, brushing your lips just barely against his jaw. “Not tonight.”

His breath caught—sharp, audible. You felt it in his chest, the way it stuttered under your palms. His reaction was subtle, but every part of him twitched with anticipation: his hands, his legs beneath you, the slight lift of his hips like he was already imagining how this night would end.

“Got one more present for you,” you murmured into his ear. “The real one.”

Bakugo’s brows lifted, suspicious. “Thought that damn journal was the real one.”

You grinned, climbing off his lap for just a moment—enough to walk toward the bedroom with that sway you knew drove him wild.

He watched, chin propped on his hand, eyes darkening the second your fingers dipped beneath the hem of your top as you disappeared down the hall.

“Oi,” he called. “What kinda present needs you to change for it?”

You didn’t answer.

But when you reappeared in the doorway—lingerie clinging to your curves like a second skin, chosen with him in mind—Bakugo sat up so fast he nearly knocked the fork off the coffee table.

Your name left his mouth like a groan.

“Holy shit…”

You were wrapped in delicate black lace, the kind of thing he never thought he’d see outside a magazine, and even then—never on you. Never just for him.

His mind blanked.

No words, no witty comeback. Just the shape of you silhouetted in the soft golden light. The way the sheer material clung to your curves, catching every dip and swell like it had been tailored with him in mind. The way your thighs moved when you walked, slow and sure, like you knew what that sight alone was doing to him.

His mouth had gone dry.

And still, he sat there—frozen on the couch, like his body had been rooted to the spot. Only his eyes moved, dragging over you with almost painful reverence.

Your presence wasn't just seen. It was felt. In the sudden hush of the room. In the way the air itself seemed to shift as you crossed it. There was a softness to it—like watching a flame flicker behind glass. Dangerous, but so goddamn beautiful.

Something in his chest ached.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw you like this—wanting him like this. That wide-eyed, breath-stolen reaction always snuck up on him.

His gaze caught on your collarbones, then drifted lower—hesitating on the swell of your breasts barely veiled by lace, down the soft line of your stomach, until it settled between your legs, where the thin strip of fabric left far too little to the imagination.

The sight knocked the wind out of him.

One of his hands, resting uselessly on his thigh, curled into a fist. The other—he didn’t even realize—had wiped itself discreetly on his jeans, sweat clinging to his palm.

Not from nerves. No. Never that.

Except maybe this time, it was.

Because you were walking toward him now, hips rolling, eyes locked onto his, and he could feel his body respond before his brain had even caught up. His mouth parted. Breath shallowed.

God, the way you moved. Like you were pouring yourself into every step. Like you weren’t just walking to him—you were offering yourself.

It made his pulse stutter.

And when you climbed back into his lap, warm skin settling over the growing heat in his jeans, he couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. Your nails dragging against the nape of his neck in ghost trails feather-light, his body withered under the touch. Your perfume mingling with his senses what scent was that? and why cant he stop sniffing you.

"You smell really good baby...really good" his nose ghosted your neck, hips pulling you closer. Your thighs oh so soft to him, bracket him so warmly.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He just looked.

Admiration wasn’t something Bakugo handed out easily—not to friends, not to strangers, and definitely not out loud.

But he was looking at you now like you were everything. Like you were a dream made real. Like he didn’t know whether to kiss you, worship you, or fall to his knees for you.

He couldn’t stop drinking you in.

How had he gotten this lucky?

You kissed him again. Slowly, reverently. The kind of kiss that curled toes and short-circuited nerves. You would use a hand to pull him by the shirt, and when you pulled back just enough to murmur, “Happy birthday, Katsuki,” his lashes fluttered low, heat gathering in his face as he let the words sink in.

His breath hitched when your hands found his chest.

Just fingertips at first, dragging over the fabric of his shirt like you were memorizing him all over again. You didn’t rush—just let your palms glide across solid muscle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as your thumbs brushed the edge of his ribs.

He was already warm under your touch. And you hadn’t even done anything yet.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw.

Then another—lower, slower. Your lips parted against his throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail that dipped down the curve of his neck. His skin twitched under each one, the breath in his lungs turning shallow, rough.

“Knew you’d do something like this,” he murmured, but the strain in his voice made it sound more like a confession than a tease.

You didn’t answer. Just smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing lightly before you sucked. Gently—just enough to make him feel it. And then again, lower. His hands tensed at your waist.

You tilted your head to kiss along the other side of his neck, scattering another series of soft hickies—like you were branding him in lace and affection.

A groan vibrated in his chest.

Your fingers slipped to the hem of his shirt. He didn’t resist. Didn’t even move.

He just watched you. Quiet. Obedient in a way only you got to see.

You peeled his shirt up, inch by inch, revealing the planes of his stomach—warm, lightly flushed, his abs tightening beneath your gaze. You kissed his chest slowly as you exposed it, lips brushing across firm muscle, leaving kisses that lingered just a little too long.

You didn’t break eye contact.

Not once.

Even as you sank further down, mouth worshipping the path beneath his sternum. Even as your nails lightly scratched up his sides, drawing out a low hiss from between his clenched teeth.

His body was buzzing now—caught between restraint and surrender.

And it was beautiful to watch him come undone like this. Strong and scarred and still, somehow, soft for you.

His head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, one hand gripping your hip while the other fisted into the couch cushion. His thighs flexed beneath you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word half breath, half plea.

You hummed softly, letting your lips hover just above his waistband.

“You’re warm,” you whispered, voice sultry and low, like you were letting him in on a secret. “All over.”

And he was.

Buzzing. Flushed. Waiting.

With his chest bare, his breathing ragged, and his eyes glassy with anticipation—he looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Your lips hovered just above the waistband of his sweats, breath brushing against the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric.

The muscles in his abdomen tensed again.

And still—you didn’t touch him where he wanted you to. Not yet.

Instead, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him as your mouth curved in the faintest, knowing smirk. There was power in the way he was watching you. Tension in the way his thighs shifted restlessly beneath yours.

Every inch of him buzzed.

For you.

“Can I take these off?” you asked, voice honey-slow.

Bakugo grunted, half-dazed. “… yeah.”

He sounded so obedient watching every moment like a patient puppy. His beautiful crimson eyes shimmering under the soft glow of the room.

Your fingers dipped under the waistband and dragged it down slow. The fabric caught on the hardened outline of him, and he hissed through his teeth as you freed him from the restraint.

His cock sprang up, flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, like his body was pleading before his mouth could catch up.

You made a sound of appreciation in the back of your throat—soft, reverent—before leaning in to press another kiss, just above the base. Your tongue flicked out, tasting the warm skin there.

His whole body shuddered.

“Y-you're really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he muttered, voice rough, but low with awe.

You didn’t answer.

You just looked up again, lips parted, pupils blown, hands pressing to his thighs to steady him—before licking a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip.

Bakugo cursed under his breath, his hand flying to the back of your head on instinct—but it never pushed, never forced. Just tangled in your hair, holding on for dear life.

Your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and unforgiving.

And he melted.

His head tipped back, jaw slack, a ragged moan slipping past his lips. You sucked him down slow—sloppy and deep—letting your tongue trace every sensitive vein, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you worked the base.

He was a mess.

Every time you hollowed your cheeks and sank lower, his thighs tensed. His breath hitched. His hips jerked upward before he caught himself, groaning through clenched teeth.

"Fuck... baby… you—goddamn."

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, then sank down again, deeper this time.

And he twitched in your mouth, body locking up as you moaned around him.

The sound went straight to his spine—he was pulsing now, barely holding on.

When you pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to him in a string, you wiped your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, lips swollen, eyes hooded.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, climbing back up into his lap. “Can I?”

Bakugo was panting. Eyes glassy. Completely undone.

He swallowed hard, leaning into your chest to whisper "Please.”

You hovered over him, your hair framing your face so bewitchingly.

You lined him up with your entrance, already soaked and pulsing for him. And as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes rolled back and his hands grabbed your hips like he needed something to anchor him to this earth.

You moaned low as he stretched you open.

“Shit—so full,” you breathed, resting your palms on his chest.

“Look at me,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Wanna see your face.”

You did. And when your eyes met his—when he saw the way you looked at him, like he was the only one you ever wanted—his whole expression softened.

His hands caressed up your waist, slow, reverent.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered, voice shaking.

You didn’t move right away.

Not really.

Instead, you hovered just above him, your entrance brushing the slick, sensitive head of his cock—barely letting him in, just enough to tease. Just enough to let him feel the heat of you. Your thighs flexed slightly, hips rolling in slow, agonizing circles that dragged your soaked folds over the tip again and again.

A soft, wet sound filled the space between you. Your juices clung to him, thick and sticky, smearing across his shaft with every grind.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head thunking back against the couch. “You’re—fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You smirked, gaze flicking up to watch him.

And god… the way he looked right now? His chest rising with every ragged breath, his lip bitten raw, his knuckles white where he clutched your hips. Every muscle in his thighs was trembling beneath you. Twitching with the restraint it took not to thrust up and bury himself in you.

You leaned forward, your chest brushing his while your hips stayed in motion—rocking slowly, teasing him with slick, hot friction.

“I thought this was your birthday,” you purred into his ear. “Shouldn’t I be giving you what you want?”

Bakugo grit his teeth, his jaw tight with tension.

“I do want this,” he growled. “You drivin’ me fuckin’ insane like this—teasin’ me—makin’ me feel like I’m gonna explode just from the tip—shit…”

You giggled, soft and wicked, and sat back just enough for him to watch.

One of your hands reached between you, guiding him so the head rested right at your entrance again. You gave a few slow bounces—just the tip sliding in and out, each time making him curse louder.

“S-shit! Baby—fuck—fuck, just let me in—” His voice cracked, his fingers digging into your skin like he was about to lose it.

You finally pressed your hips down a little more, letting him sink in halfway.

His mouth fell open, a deep, guttural moan ripping out of him. His head snapped forward to look at where you were taking him in, flushed and wide-eyed.

And you just smiled at the desperation in his gaze.

“are you feeling good baby,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest.

“God—yes—fuck yes,” he hissed, eyes fluttering as you dropped down another inch. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. You always do. Always…”

You leaned in again, letting your breasts press to his chest as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Then you better hold on,” you whispered, breath hot, “because I’m not gonna stop until you’re a mess for me.”

And with that, you finally sank down fully. All the way. His entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

He let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—his head rolling back, hands gripping your ass like he was holding onto sanity itself.

You didn’t move for a moment.

Just stayed there, so full of him, clenching around him until he twitched helplessly inside you. And then—slowly, sinfully—you started to ride.

Your hips began to move again—slow, like honey melting in warm sun, like a wave building over time until it crashes. You circled them, let your walls flutter around him just to feel the way he shuddered beneath you. His eyes opened halfway, heavy-lidded and glazed, following every sensual sway of your body like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And to him—it was.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, your palms gliding up his abdomen. “You’re so deep.”

A sharp breath hissed between his teeth. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, but his hips bucked once—shallow, needy. You kept your pace measured, deliberate, grinding down into him with that same velvet friction that made his head roll back again.

“Shit,” he groaned, the sound low and desperate. His hands were clutching at your waist now, not to guide, but to ground himself. “You’re squeezin’ me so good—I can’t—baby, fuck—please.”

You leaned down slowly, dragging your lips across his collarbone. Then lower—pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, his stomach. As you moved, your body rolled into his, your rhythm never faltering, hips undulating in a steady, torturous rhythm.

Every time you sank down, he twitched inside you, groaning louder.

“I love the way you sound,” you whispered, licking the salt from his skin. “All desperate and sweet. My perfect birthday boy.”

He looked at you like he’d melt.

One of his hands slipped up your back, tangled into your hair, tugging lightly as you nuzzled his neck. You licked a stripe just beneath his ear, then suckled gently at his skin, your teeth dragging slightly—leaving soft, loving hickeys along his neck and collar.

And every one had him groaning, his cock jerking inside you.

“Gonna mark you up tonight,” you murmured. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I already do,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, “fuckin’ been yours.”

You smiled into his skin and sat back again, palms braced against his chest as you began to bounce now—slow, deep, full bounces that had him clenching his jaw and moaning through his teeth. His abs flexed beneath your hands. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

Your name left his lips like a prayer.

Your hips found a rhythm—delicious, sticky, sinful—and the way he filled you, the way he responded to every little grind, made your legs start to tremble.

He felt it. His hands slid down to cup your ass again, helping support your movements as he watched you from beneath heavy lashes.

“Baby,” he breathed. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me come—just like this?”

You leaned forward again, kissed him deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Yes. Inside. Don’t hold back. I want you to come just like this.”

He let out a wrecked moan, his hips finally thrusting up to meet yours, matching your rhythm.

Faster now.

Deeper.

You clung to his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the coil inside you tightened and tightened—

And then he gasped—head thrown back, mouth open, cock twitching violently inside you as he spilled, deep and thick and hot, fingers bruising your hips while he cursed your name like a confession.

You didn’t stop.

Not even then.

Still slow. Still steady. Still riding out every aftershock as he moaned beneath you, overstimulated and undone.

His eyes fluttered open, glassy and soft as they met yours. His hair stuck to his forehead. His chest heaved. His hands slid up your spine, arms curling around you as he held you close.

Your chest heaved against his, his heart pounding against your ribcage like a war drum. He was still buried deep, twitching, oversensitive—but you didn’t move. You just cradled his face, tilted it up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Listen to you,” you whispered, voice sultry and sweet as sin. “Mouth full of curses… all because I couldn’t help creamin’ all over that fat cock.”

Bakugo groaned through clenched teeth, face flushed and jaw tight like he was holding onto the last thread of sanity.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” you murmured, grinding just enough to make him jolt, to let another wet, obscene squelch fill the space between you. “God, the noise we made—bet our neighbors think I was drowning in it.”

He groaned louder, head falling back against the couch.

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering, then whispered, “Soaked you, Katsuki. You feel how messy I made you? Look at your lap—look at what you did to me.”

He peeked down—eyes glassy—and let out another hoarse, broken curse when he saw the slick still glistening between your thighs, dripping slowly down both of you.

You rocked your hips again, so delicately, and he twitched inside you, helpless. His whole body shivered with a groan, his head collapsing on your shoulder "fuck enough"

You grinned. “You liked it when I sat there and shook my ass on it, didn’t you? Teasin’ you right on the tip ‘til you were cussin’ like you were about to lose your damn mind, yeah?” you grind.

“You’re—fuckin’ evil,” he gasped, fingers twitching against your waist.

You kissed his jawline this time, biting lightly just below his ear. His hands gripped you tighter again, like he was about to flip the script—but he was still spent, still weak from how you dropped your ass on him, He just held you there instead, breathing ragged, letting you purr filth against his skin.

warm up redraw of top left drawing

circa 2019 ?

boyfriend katsuki doesn’t know, or care, about the difference between your wants and needs.

you’re out of your favorite lip gloss? it’s sitting on your desk the next morning, the exact shade, down to the brand, like he memorized it months ago.

you mention craving a drink in passing? he’s pressing the bottle into your hand within minutes, like it just magically appeared in his pocket.

you linger a second too long in front of a display window, eyes catching on a delicate necklace? its draped around your neck by nightfall.

when katsuki’s your boyfriend, the world bends to your desires. because if you want it, then in his mind, you need it. and katsuki always makes sure you have what you need.

💚🧡💙