I Just Think About The Way Percy Jackson Kisses. The Taste Of The Salty Sea And Summer And The Beach

since season 2 is coming soon, lemme express my love for this boy

our loves not one-sided

a/n; someone tell yeon sieun he’s loved multiple times until he’s got it engraved in his mind pls

kdrama yeon sieun x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) 399 wc

warnings; none

“I’m glad I met you, Sieun.” You murmur, leaning on the table as he studies. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

He looks at you, tapping his pencil against his fingers. “Where did that come from?”

There’s a lingering silence after his question. You’d turned to face away from him, his stare had gotten too overwhelming, yet he never took his eyes off of you. Just as he’d opened his mouth to ask again, you turned back to him, but why were there tears in your eyes?

“Can’t I appreciate you without you being suspicious of it?” He stares blankly at you, blinking slightly to turn his gaze away. “I won’t say it anymore then.”

He sucks in a breath discreetly, trying to distract you with the sound of his pencil hitting the table. Sieun watches you sit back up, leaning your head on your palm as you continue your notes.

Sieun stays silent, focusing on completing his notes for English. You don’t miss the way he pauses, though, meeting his fleeting gaze more than once.

“Sieun,” he hums, not picking his head up from his notes. “Stop looking at me like that.” He tilts his head to the side just the slightest, silently showing confusion. “I can read your mind, you know? You don’t have to say anything.”

He nods, pressing his lips together as he sits up straight, then leans slightly against the table. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t say I love you just to hear it back. I say it so you know I do.”

His only response is a hum, waiting for you to turn away to let his lips quirk up. Sieun doesn’t fight the smile this time, lowering his head while it forms. You don’t look. You know he wouldn’t want you to. But there’s a creeping urge to take a peek when you hear a puff of air escape his lips.

When you look at him, his head is kept downward, and you can see the ghost of his smile still lingering like a mirage. He catches your eyes quickly, looking down when you smile at him.

“Keep studying.” You hum at his words, turning back to your work, moving your chair just the slightest closer to his.

Your knee brushed against his, and in the quiet, dim apartment, the one that always felt cold, a wave of warmth washed in.

match point

hajime opens the door, blinking blearily as the permanent fluorescents of the hallway greet his eyes. he drags a hand down his face, taking a quick opportunity to take you in, your shorts and knees (the left one has a nasty green bruise, leftover from his forcing you to try indoor climbing last week) and fuzzy socks peeking out from your sneakers. your shirt almost swallowing you, making the jacket you’re wearing look oddly cropped. your hair sticking straight up.

“hi, hajime,” you say, yawning uncontrollably. “thank you. sorry.”

“no problem,” he says, “come in, it’s too bright.”

inside, there’s only the pinpoint of his cell flashlight on, a beacon leading you to his room—first left in the hallway, you really would be able to find it blindfolded. you don’t act like it, though, putting a hand on his back and closing your eyes while he forges forward. the light brush of your fingers over the thin t-shirt he’d pulled over his head thirty seconds ago is the confusing kind of thing leaking out of his dreams.

“there’s a protein shake pack there, watch your—yeah. your step.” the warning comes just in time for you to stub your toe as he shuts the door behind the both of you.

he busies himself digging in his closet while you swear as quietly as you can.

“you want the bed? i’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“‘m not kicking you out of your own bed at—” you squint at your own phone screen. “3:47 a.m. i just really appreciate you letting me stay over, haji. thank you so much.”

“not your fault your roommates set off the fire alarm at 3:47 a.m. seriously, take the bed.”

you were lucky, he thought, lucky he had your contact set to break through Do Not Disturb, lucky he lived a floor above you so you didn’t have to scream hysterically at them for waking you up like this again in the middle of exam season. the violent string of texts he’d woken up to (and the distant shrieking of your apartment’s alarm) had made him laugh so hard he’d typed come over almost without thinking about it, i promise i won’t hotbox the bedroom while you’re trying to sleep.

“let’s just share,” you suggest, and he fumbles the spare blankets in his hands. he’s glad he’s facing away from you. “it’s too early to fight.”

“too late,” he corrects you. “you sure we’ll both fit?”

it’s a reference to your freshman year, when you used to climb into his twin XL bed and lie on top of him so neither of you were falling off the edge. physical affection was more common for you then, before he’d realized that his dumbass had gone and fallen in love with you and you were just his very affectionate friend.

“yeah, you have a big boy bed now. i miss the lightning mcqueen sheets, though.” you’re already hanging the jacket on the back of his chair, crawling through the vast ocean of cotton to curl into a ball near his pillows. he checks his phone again, wondering if he ever really woke up. he has dreams, secret, shameful ones, like this often.

there’s a song and dance missing. shouldn’t he be fighting harder to take the couch? building a pillow wall? as he joins you, even as he’s stretching his body out and feeling his left shoulder pop, you gravitate into him. he puts an arm around you, his bicep thick enough beneath your back to make you shift around to get comfortable again. your fuzzy sock-covered foot pushes up the ankle of his sweatpants.

“hey, wait,” he says. you make a soft sleepy noise that breaks his heart to hear like this: so close, and yet not at all. “was that my jacket you were wearing? the one i’ve been looking for?”

“yeah,” you nod into his chest. “you gave it to me last time we went out.”

“oh, i’d forgotten,” he hums. a few more moments pass, his own eyelids getting heavy.

“i like wearing your clothes,” you tell him, “it makes me feel like you’re my boyfriend.”

maybe in the morning he’ll do something about that; for now, he sleeps with your deep, even breathing an inch away, the warm glow of something new and right and shared suffusing his chest.

wow. thanks. this ruined my year.

just in case // katsuki bakugou

emergency contacts were something you never considered important, you knew if anything had happened you’d tell them to call your significant other, but for some odd reason katsuki threw a tantrum until you added his number to your emergency contacts and added him as a legacy contact, allowing him to access your data if you ever died. 

just in case. 

you didn’t remove him, even after the breakup. you laid on your side, nuzzling into the covers with your phone in one hand as you reviewed your details, updating the necessary information. you finally reached it. his name with an orange heart next to it. you didn’t bother changing his contact name or deleting it too, it felt like a waste of time. you placed your phone onto pillow next to yours, the very same pillow katsuki once fell asleep on. 

you’d be a formidable liar if you ever said you didn’t miss waking up next to him, as the soft hues of daylight shone onto his soft skin, his blonde hair gleaming with life, as you placed a kiss on his forehead. the memory lulling you into a deep sleep. 

you woke up in ice cold sheets, no form of body heat from the empty space next to you, no snoring, just quiet.

following the cycle you did every single day, shower, go to work, get into your car and drive back home. 

“good evening, this is Jaku General Hospital, am i speaking to Katsuki Bakugou?” 

“yes you are.” 

“i regret to inform you that [y/n] [l/n] has sadly passed away, we decided that we should call you first since you were part of her emergency contacts, may i ask what is your relationship with the deceased?” 

katsuki felt his grip on his phone slip, finally clenching it harder, “boyfriend.” 

“do you remember the key to access her details, you’re the only individual she has added to her legacy contacts list” 

how could he forget it, he made you do it after all. 

“hello? sir? are you there?” katsuki placed the phone down as incoherent words exuded his phone, he could still remember the day he pressurised you into adding him onto your emergency contacts list, you were persistent in ignoring such fimble things, yet katsuki didn’t give up. 

receiving your belongings in a small tray, he picked up your phone, your lockscreen displayed a picture you took with him when you two first started dating, you looked so different. you looked happy. 

“passcodes still my birthday huh?” 

HELP ME LMFAOOO

yes hes my comfort character, and yes he does beat the shit out of people. he multitasks idk

asking bf! katsuki what he feels about prenups makes you fall in love with him all over again.

you were lounging on the couch, legs draped across katsuki’s lap as the tv played some random show neither of you were really watching. his hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing absentminded circles while you scrolled through your phone.

the thought hit you out of nowhere, and before you could second-guess yourself, you blurted it out.

"hey, what do you think about prenups?"

katsuki froze mid-circle. his eyes shifted from the tv to you, brow furrowing. "the fuck?"

"a prenup," you repeated, sitting up slightly. "y’know, legal agreements before marriage, just in case things go south. if we get married."

"when we get married," he corrected automatically. his brows drew together. "why the hell are you askin’ me about prenups?"

you shrugged, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. "i dunno. i was just curious. a lot of people get them."

katsuki scoffed, sitting up straighter. "yeah, greedy assholes who don't trust each other."

"not always," you countered. "sometimes it's just making sure both people feel secure. it doesn't mean you don't trust each other. to protect assets, just in case—"

katsuki scoffed, cutting you off. "just in case? you plannin’ on leaving me or somethin’?"

your eyes widened. "what? no! i'm just saying—"

he made a face, the kind he always did when he thought something was bullshit.

"tch. i don't need some dumbass piece of paper to tell me what's yours or mine."

"'sides..." he shifted, his hand sliding from your thigh to your chin, tilting your face toward his. "everything i got's yours anyway."

your heart skipped a beat. "everything?"

"yeah. the apartment, the money, the dumb shit i spend on workout gear. all yours. even me," his thumb brushed over your bottom lip. "especially me."

you swallowed hard, warmth flooding your chest. "that’s... really sweet."

his lips twitched into a smirk. "yeah? so does that mean i get all your shit too? ain’t that how it works?"

you grinned. "sure. you can have my stuffed toy collection and my 2 digit savings account."

"fuck yeah," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "knew you were a catch."

you laughed, swatting his chest. he caught your wrist easily, kissing each and every knuckle. his face softened as he looked at you, calloused hand cradling the back of your head.

"don’t need a prenup, pretty," he said, quieter this time. "what we got... it ain't temporary. i'm all in. always."

your heart melted on the spot. "yeah?"

"yeah," he leaned in closer, his nose brushing yours. "if things do go south, we talk. ‘cause i’d rather die than let you go."

your heart stuttered in your chest. you were expecting some casual discussion, maybe even some banter, but instead, you got this—your boyfriend looking at you like he’d burn the world down before letting anyone take you away from him.

"...so, no prenup?" you squeaked.

katsuki huffed, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. "no fucking prenup."

"now quit talkin' about stupid legal shit and kiss me."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hii! inspired by @gojosprettyprincess 's post about opinions on prenups and thought this up >< i PROMISE i will do some requests before i get to the twitter porn links with katsuki^^ hope you guys enjoy!!

MORE BAKUGO IM LITERALLY DESPERATE ON MY KNEES FOR YOU

AFTER WORK WITH DAD!KATSUKI

synopsis — pro hero dynamight comes home from work to see his wife, 5 year old son, and his cat

word count — 1.3k

a/n — GIRL I GOTCHU HAHAHAHAH ANYWAYS THIS ONE HAS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR A WHOLE LMAOO

The sun was already beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the Bakugo’s household.

The lights inside were soft and cozy, the living room half littered with tiny action figures, crayon drawings taped proudly on the wall, and a small, fluffy tabby cat curled up on top of the backrest of the couch, tail flickering with mild disinterest

The front door creaked open and in stepped Pro Hero Dynamight, still in partial gear, his gauntlets off and the collar of his hero suit unzipped enough to reveal a bit of sweat-slicked skin and tension across his muscles.

Katsuki Bakugo let out a low grunt as he shut the door behind him, the exhaustion of the day still clinging to his body like the grime from battle.

But then-

“Tch.”

His nose twitched.

“Smells like curry,” he muttered, voice softer now, almost…fond.

He dropped his bag by the entrance and toed off his boots, the sound of sizzling in the kitchen pulling a small, crooked smirk on his face. He moved through the house with ease, pausing only to ruffle the cat’s head in passing.

“Oi, fuzzball,” he mumbled to the cat. “You better not be climbin’ the curtains again.”

The cat meowed lazily, entirely unbothered.

In the kitchen, you stood barefoot in pajama pants and an oversized tee, humming quietly while stirring the curry pot. Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a blank look.

“How long have you been home?” he asked in a rough voice around the edges,

You turned with a smile that made something in his chest ease immediately. “Just an hour ago. How was work?”

“Annoying,” he muttered. “Dumbass villain tried to rob a candy store. A candy store.”

You snorted and turned off the stove. “That poor candy shop owner,” you teased. “Imagine getting screamed at by Dynamight over some stolen lollipops.”

“Damn right,” he smirked, walking over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. “Smelled this shit halfway down the block.”

He paused. “Miss you,” he said in a quieter tone.

Your hand came up to run through his messy, ash-blond hair. “You always say that when you’re hungry.”

“Both kinds,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing lightly over your shoulder.

Just as things were about to turn a little steamier–

“MOM!”

Katsuki groaned and pulled away, already scowling.

The tiny stampede of footsteps echoed down the hallway before your five-year-old burst into the kitchen like a one-man army. Tousled blond hair that matched his father’s, wide crimson eyes full of fire, and the same scowl permanently etched into his chubby face.

“Mama! Guess what happened at school today!” he shouted, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the living room with more strength than a toddler should have.

“Slow down, sweetheart,” you laughed, shooting Katsuki an apologetic look as you followed. “What happened?”

“I punched Daichi ‘cause he said cats are stupid!”

“Oi—what?!” Katsuki stomped in. “What the hell kinda dumbass logic is that?! You can’t just go punchin’ kids, brat!”

“He started it!” the boy huffed, arms crossed, looking so much like his father you could barely keep a straight face. “He said ‘only girls like cats’ and that boys should like dogs!”

“That's stupid,” you said calmly, kneeling down to ruffle your son’s hair. “But next time, use your words, not your fists.”

“He did use his words, right before he decked the other kid,” Katsuki grumbled, arms folded, glaring at the tiny version of himself.

“’Cause words are slow,” your son shot back.

“You little—!”

The cat chose this moment to leap up onto the arm of the couch and meow loudly, effectively ending the argument. Your son turned and gently picked her up, his tiny face softening instantly.

“Mama, look! Neko-chan missed me.”

Katsuki muttered under his breath, “I bet she was hoping’ for peace and quiet.”

You watched with a fond smile as your son began talking to you about everything he did at school, from painting to snack time to how he could totally climb the jungle gym without help now. All the while, Katsuki stood off to the side, getting progressively more annoyed that his wife was being hogged.

At one point, he leaned in toward you, trying to slide an arm around your waist.

Your son slapped his hand away. “No! I’m telling Mama something important.”

Katsuki gritted his teeth. “She’s my damn wife, you little shit.”

“She’s my Mama!”

“She was mine first-”

“Go shower, Dynamight,” you said calmly, not looking up from the story your son was weaving. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Tch. Fine.” Katsuki turned to leave, growling low, “It’s like talking’ to a wall.”

“Love you too, babe.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder. You caught the faint pink dusting his ears before he disappeared down the hall.

-

Later that evening, the house was quieter.

Your son had finally settled in his room, already snoring softly with the cat curled up by his feet. His little lamp glowed with a soft orange hue, illuminating the scribbled drawings of you, Katsuki, and him all holding hands under a wonky sun.

In the master bedroom, you were curled up against the headboard, book in hand, glasses perched on your nose. The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Katsuki stepped out, a towel draped around his shoulders, steam rolling off his skin.

He ran a hand through his damp hair and padded barefoot over to the bed, crawling in beside you in just a pair of low-slung sweatpants. The scent of your shampoo from earlier was still on his skin.

“Kid asleep?”

“Out cold,” you said, flipping a page. “I think he wore himself out arguing with you.”

“Good.”

He reached over and gently tugged the book from your hands, closing it with one hand and tossing it to the nightstand.

“Hey—”

“You had your moment. Now it’s mine.”

You didn’t protest when he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck again, this time with a little sigh that told you exactly how much he’d needed this.

“Don’t say it,” you murmured with a smile.

“Say what?”

“That you missed me.”

“I wasn’t gonna say it,” he grumbled. “I was just gonna touch you a little.”

You giggled and tilted your head back so you could look at him. “Touch me, huh?”

He leaned in and kissed you, soft and slow. None of the fire and explosions the world knew him for. Just warmth. Home. Familiarity.

“You’re the only fuckin’ thing that makes the noise go quiet, y’know?” he said lowly, thumb stroking your cheek.

You reached up and brushed his damp bangs from his forehead. “And you’re the only one who puts up with our mini you throwing tantrums.”

“He gets the yelling from you.”

“Tch.”

There was a moment of silence. His hand slipped beneath your shirt, resting on the curve of your waist, nothing lewd, just comfort. You both lay there, the sound of your son’s faint snores carrying through the baby monitor and the occasional thump of the cat exploring the hallway.

“Still think we’re doing’ okay?” you asked quietly.

Katsuki’s voice was firm. “No one’s got what we’ve got.”

You nodded.

The cat slipped into your room then, hopping up at the foot of the bed and curling into a warm little ball. Katsuki looked down at her and muttered, “Traitor.”

You laughed, rolling into him. “Face it. Everyone loves me the most.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re lucky I love you even when you say dumb shit like that.”

You kissed his jaw and whispered, “Love you too, Kats.”

And for the first time that day, Katsuki Bakugo truly relaxed—wrapped up in his two favorite people, a sassy cat, and the one place that felt like peace.

Home.

Iwaizumi is shamelessly in love with you. Every time you place a sweet kiss to his lips or his face, and leave your lipgloss/lipstick stain on him he refuses to wipe it off. The first time you noticed your lipstick stains on Iwa was after you had kissed his cheek while you were getting ready to leave for work. You had left before him, and you thought that he must have wiped it off before heading to the gym since his start time was later than yours. You were surprised to see the stain perfectly in tact when Iwa comes home later that day. You flush realizing that the whole team must have been teasing him all day over it. You don't feel guilty for too long when you see the wide smile gracing his face and how his attitude seems more laid back than usual. He likes having physical proof that you love him, and that he is yours. Some days when you leave your sweet lip gloss on his lips, he can't help but lick off the sweet residue remaining which always makes you flustered. Iwa thinks your lipgloss is sweet, but he thinks your lips are sweeter.

calvins or nothing?

[nsfw-ish] ; bakugou katsuki x reader — domestic fluff, slight horniness, bakugou katsuki being a cute little bean (but also a sexy phenomenon), slight humor <3

♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖📸.𖥔 ݁ ˖♡

notes: this is inspired by the bad bunny x calvin klein ad that came out a few weeks ago. i’m ovulating and had this in my drafts. enjoy 😃

Your grumpy Pro Hero boyfriend—the one who hates cameras, hates media circuits, hates anything remotely resembling a brand deal—somehow got talked into doing an ad. That, in itself, is already enough of a shocker. The man rolls his eyes at the mere mention of Instagram. His idea of PR is grunting his way through one-word answers at press conferences.

So, yeah. When Katsuki says he’s doing a shoot, you're caught off guard.

The announcement isn’t even some grand confession—it’s a casual mumble, like he’s commenting on the weather. He says it while washing the dishes, fingers soapy, sleeves of his tee pushed up to his elbows, the evening news humming in the background. You're sitting on the counter, half-listening to the TV, half-watching the muscles in his back flex through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Gonna do a shoot in a couple days,” he mutters like it’s nothing. Like the sky’s blue. Like he’s not about to detonate your entire sense of reality.

You pause mid-sip of your water. “A shoot?” you echo, blinking at him.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yeah.”

You slide off the counter and walk toward him, disbelief coloring your voice. “Wait, seriously? You? Doing a shoot? Like… willingly?”

He finally cuts you a glance, eyes narrowing. “What the fuck would I joke for?”

“I don’t know! Because you hate this stuff?” You raise a brow. “Last week you growled at a guy just for taking a picture of you at the market.”

He scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile. “Agent wouldn’t shut up about it. Said it’s a good deal. Said it’d make my numbers spike.” He grinds his teeth. “S’bullshit.”

You grin, stepping even closer, your hands brushing against the hem of his shirt. “So what is it, huh? Sportswear? A cologne campaign? Let me guess, something with black-and-white aesthetics, all ‘I’m brooding and mysterious and I could kill you but also model for Givenchy.’”

His glare sharpens. “I ain't tellin’ you,” he mutters, and then smears a soapy hand across your face.

You yelp, eyes widening in shock before laughing, pushing him back with a dish towel, and just like that, the kitchen descends into a sudsy, chaotic mess—water splashing, laughter echoing, and your annoyed, grumbly boyfriend cracking the faintest smile as you attack him with bubbles.

You forget about it after that.

He goes to the shoot a few days later, grumbles about how stupid it was, comes home smelling faintly of sweat and photo studio, and promptly takes a nap on the couch with his face buried in your thigh.

End of story—or so you think.

Until the ad airs.

And the entire world explodes.

You’re not even the first person to see it. You wake up to six missed calls from Kaminari, seventeen texts in a group chat with Amanai and Hanari, and three DMs from stylists you’ve only ever worked with once, all saying something along the lines of:

IS THAT BAKUGOU???
Please tell me that’s YOUR man.
why didn’t you warn me???

You groggily pull up the video link with one eye open, barely processing the thumbnail—just muted greys and harsh lighting—and then hit play.

And then the world stops.

The screen fades in, and the first thing you see is concrete—cold and industrial, metal beams and stark shadows. The lighting is sharp and stylized, the kind of aesthetic that screams high-end minimalism, and then—

There he is.

Katsuki.

In nothing but tight black briefs, leaning against a concrete wall, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his thigh. His scars catch the light. His tan skin looks like it's been kissed by some god. His abs—hard and defined, with that perfect cut down his sides—flex slightly as he breathes. There’s sweat glistening faintly on his collarbone.

And his expression?

That look. The one he gives when he’s about to fight someone and knows he’s already won. That heavy-lidded, lazy gaze that screams dominance and confidence. His jaw is tight. His mouth is parted just slightly, teeth catching on the fabric of his own tank top as he lifts it with one hand, revealing the full line of his torso—slow and unbothered, like this means nothing to him.

You gasp. You physically clutch your phone like it might explode in your hands.

Is this a fucking fever dream?

The ad keeps going. Transitions shift—now he’s outside, in some open-air gym setup, hanging from a pull-up bar in white briefs, his body tense and glistening, thighs flexing as he hooks his legs around the metal, inverted and still steady. The camera pans slowly, sinfully, down the line of his waist, his back muscles moving with effortless control.

You are floored.

And then—then—he’s sprawled in a plush lounge chair, still in briefs, arms behind his head, legs spread in that arrogant, casual way that only he could pull off. He’s completely relaxed, like he doesn’t know the entire planet is watching this ad and forgetting how to breathe.

You drop your phone on the bed and bury your face in your hands.

“What the fuck,” you groan into your palms. Your heart is pounding. Your thighs press together on instinct.

Katsuki, your grumpy, camera-hating, blunt-as-hell boyfriend… just dropped the hottest underwear ad of the year. And you had no idea what he was shooting until now.

You scramble to your feet, pacing your bedroom, mouth still open, heart pounding in your chest like war drums.

Your phone still lies face down on the bed, but you’re pacing like the floor might cave in. Your heart is slamming against your ribs, your body thrumming with something between disbelief and desperate, carnal desire. There’s a burn low in your stomach. A buzzing heat behind your eyes.

Because the ad isn’t done. It gets worse—so much worse.

The music shifts, something darker now, heavier—bass rolling like thunder. And then the screen cuts to him again. Katsuki. In jeans this time.

Low-rise. Washed-out. Loose around the thighs but slung criminally low on his hips.

And those goddamn white briefs are peeking out above the waistband like it was staged in a dream. His hand glides lazily over his stomach, fingers tracing the defined V of his hips, brushing right past the thick trail of hair under his navel. He stops there—lingers there—just barely grazing the hem of the briefs before his thumb tucks in, teasing the edge. His gaze flicks to the camera.

And he smirks.

Not his usual cocky grin, no. This one’s lazy. Lopsided. Something slow and dangerous that makes your knees buckle. Like he knows what he’s doing. Like he planned this moment for you and you alone.

You gasp. You clutch your chest. "Oh my God."

And then—as if that wasn’t enough—the music picks up and the scenes start layering: cuts of him against the concrete, muscles flexing under the strain of his pose; transitions to the gym, his thighs clenching, his expression loose with exertion; cuts to that plush chair, where he’s lounging like sin incarnate, and finally, back to the jeans, with his hand still teasing that waistband.

It’s not an ad anymore. It’s a weapon. A visual threat. A public sex dream.

You stand there, completely dumbfounded, eyes wide and mouth parted, blinking like you’ve been smacked upside the head with a wet towel.

And the comments?

Oh. The comments.

@takxmi291_: raw. next question.
@abersiw.3: Good lord what a great day to be alive.
@BIGPAPA.EJI: FLASH US ‼️‼️‼️
@numbber1.lemilionnn: giggling at 3am
@angelzkiss: GOOD GOD IM GIDJDJFNNFHDNDNDJDNCN🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦
@hyurhio008: YEP IM GETTING HIM PREGNANT
@Cello_Zumazz: damn now my screen's all sticky :/
@bpxrndeku: I FEEL LIKE A MAN IN THE 1800S SEEING AN ANKLE FOR THE FIRST TIME.
@lennysqqie: don’t be scared. take em off.
@dynazaddy98: i wanna GAGGGG on that huge COCK—
@stareandfanfic: look at em TITS AWOOGAAAA

You can’t even think. You’re vibrating. Your brain is gone. You’re standing there, still in pajamas, while your very private, very grouchy, very hot boyfriend just broke the Internet in his underwear.

You can’t let this slide.

So you bide your time. You wait until he’s home from patrol—freshly showered, hair damp and messy, wearing his black hoodie and sweatpants that clings to him a little too well. He’s sitting at the kitchen table now, chopsticks in one hand, steam rising from the shabu shabu you made. His brow is furrowed as he eats, and he's grumbling about how some new sidekick forgot to file a report properly.

You sit across from him with your phone in hand, not saying anything.

And then, casually, you clear your throat and say in a bright voice:

“Explosively warm, and snug. Dynamight wears the new Iconic Cotton Stretch. Now in stores.”

Katsuki freezes mid-bite.

His chopsticks pause, a slice of beef and mushroom still dangling, and you see it happen—the moment it registers. His shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens. And then slowly, as if the food can save him, he stuffs it into his mouth.

You try not to laugh. You fail.

“What the hell, Katsuki?” you grin, voice breathless with amusement. “Why didn’t you tell me?! That ad launched three hours ago and I’ve seen your dick print more times than I’ve seen my own reflection today.”

He grunts. Doesn’t look at you.

“Honey, you looked insanely good. Like… I’m not even sure it was legal.” You lean forward over the table, voice dropping slightly. “You were so hot. And that grin?” You tap your phone. “That was cute, baby.”

His ears go bright red. A slow, creeping crimson that crawls up his neck to his cheeks.

He finally glances at you, scowling faintly. “S’just a stupid ad. Ain’t that important.”

“Oh, it’s important to me,” you murmur with a knowing smirk.

He huffs and looks away again, stuffing another bite in his mouth. But his jaw’s twitching. He’s so clearly flustered, you can barely take it. A tiny, pleased smile tugs at his lips even though he’s fighting it with everything he has.

And you realize—this is why he didn’t tell you. Because deep down, Katsuki knew. He knew how hot he looked, how big the reaction would be, how much people would thirst over it.

But more than anything, he knew you would look at him like this—like he hung the goddamn moon. And he wouldn’t know what to do with that.

“Sh’ddup,” he mutters under his breath, cheeks now fully flushed.

You grin like a wolf, biting your lip as you lean over the table, eyes glinting.

“No. I’m not gonna shut up. In fact, I’m gonna print out a poster. Hang it in the hallway. Right across from the bathroom.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growls—but it’s soft. There’s no heat behind it. Just embarrassment and affection and that little smirk he only wears when he’s happy in spite of himself.

And you?

You’re head over heels in love with this absolute menace of a man. Horny and obsessed and ready to make him flustered for the rest of the night.

Later, the apartment is warm, and quiet, the soft hum of the city alive behind the windows—but in here, it’s just you and him.

The scent of the shabu shabu still lingers faintly in the air, and the clinking of dishes is rhythmic, almost soothing. Katsuki stands at the sink, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, forearms slick and glistening. His hands are buried in a sink full of suds, scrubbing out the plates he insisted on washing since you cooked.

You’re perched on the counter next to him, legs swinging slightly, phone in hand, face lit up with mischief and fondness. The grin on your face is damn near criminal. You can’t help it—you’ve been giggling all night. Ever since the ad dropped, you’ve been glued to the internet, reading every unhinged, thirsty, downright feral comment about your boyfriend. And oh, they are so good.

Katsuki grumbles under his breath every time you so much as snort at your screen, but he doesn’t tell you to stop. Not really. Because he secretly loves the sound of your laugh—especially when it’s because of him, even if it makes him wanna throw himself into the damn sink.

You scroll through your phone, eyes twinkling, then grin wider. “Should I read you the comments next?”

He groans. “No.”

But you’re already doing it. “@yoqnoak24 says: i’m wet, ready, and stretched out to g—”

Before you can finish, a wet, soapy hand slaps gently but firmly against your face.

“Katsuki!” you squeal, laughing in full as the bubbles smear across your cheek and jaw, eyes crinkling with delight.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he growls through a grin of his own, already tugging you off the counter with one hand on your waist.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders instinctively as he leans in, pressing a messy, grinning kiss against your lips. It’s hot, breathless, teeth clicking together for a second before he pulls back just enough to murmur against your mouth, “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

You’re smiling so wide you can barely kiss him back properly, giggling like a teenager. “Probably fuck me stupid, since you’ve already got half the world begging for it.”

“Jesus fuck,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his ears are burning where they brush your jaw. But he’s smiling. You can feel that too. It’s hidden, buried in the press of his mouth against your collarbone, but it’s there. That secret softness only you get.

“You’re the worst,” he mumbles.

“No,” you say, tugging gently at his hair as you press a kiss behind his ear. “I’m the best. I’m your number one fan.”

“Damn right you are.”

You laugh again, and he chuckles too—quiet, low, warm in your chest.

This. This is your life with him. This ridiculous, heart-melting mix of domesticity and chaos. You and him in your kitchen, covered in soap and laughter, still buzzing with the aftershocks of an ad he didn’t even want to do. You and him trading kisses like secrets, teasing and tugging, wrapped around each other like you’ve always belonged this way.

God, you love this man. More than anything.

And the best part?

He loves you back just as hard.

"It's just a TV show" maybe to you. I absorbed it into my soul though.