Katsuki Bakugou Has An Unspoken List Of Things You Do That Makes Him Fall Deeper In Love Every Time You

Bakugo would say the most out of pocket things just to get a reaction out of you, followed by that shit eating grin and hollow ‘heh’ every damn time.

You’re out buying new shoes, trying on sneakers when he makes a comment about selling your feet pictures online if his hero rankings take a dip to bring in extra cash.

At his parent’s house for dinner, he takes you into his old bedroom to show you around for the first time. He starts snickering about how loud you are at his place and that he would have never been able to get away with sneaking you into his room.

While getting ready for a hero gala, he tells you to wear “that bra that makes your tits look like planets” so people are too distracted by you to notice his snide remarks, rewarding him with a good word in the press that week.

It’s all in good fun, Bakugo loves teasing you and appreciates that you take his jokes without a fuss. What he doesn’t expect is the first time you retaliate to one of his quips, leaving him wide eyed and shell shocked before he hunches over with laughter.

“Ha, ya finally got the guts to give my shit back’ta me. Game on, loser!”

WHAT YOU NEED; A RUINATION

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 7,149 — read on ao3

tags: shameless smut, rough sex, established relationship, aged-up characters, oral sex, vaginal sex, explicit language & sexual content, praise kink, dirty talk, domestic fluff

summary:

He’s everywhere; consuming you; possessing you, and you let him. You want him to. Because there’s no one else who could ever make you feel like this.

No one else who could ever ruin you so perfectly.

Or, in which Bakugou Katsuki is the one ruining you, yet also the one being ruined in the end.

The bedroom is dimly lit, bathed in the soft golden hue of the bedside lamp. The air is warm, and the only sounds filling the space are the steady breaths you take, and the quiet rustle of the sheets as you shift between his thighs. Katsuki sits propped up against the headboard, legs spread comfortably wide as you kneel before him, your gaze fixed on his hard cock resting against his abdomen, flushed and glistening with beads of pre-cum that call to you like a siren.

The moment feels intimate, personal—like a secret shared only between the two of you. His bare chest rises and falls steadily, his crimson eyes half-lidded, softened by the warmth of the moment, by the way you look at him like he’s the only thing that matters. And to you, right now, he is.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. His knuckles brush your cheek, grazing your skin so tenderly that it makes your heart stutter. He pushes a few strands of hair from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear as he leans back again, watching you with that intense gaze of his. There’s affection in the way he looks at you, mixed with the unspoken desire burning in his eyes. “Good girl,” he whispers, the words rolling off his tongue like honey, thick and sweet. “So good for me.”

Your breath hitches at his praise, thighs clenching together instinctively as arousal blooms hot and thick between your legs. But it’s not about you right now; it’s about him—about making him feel good, watching the way his lips part and his jaw tightens as you slowly lower yourself, your mouth hovering just above the tip of his cock. You can feel his heat, the slick bead of pre-cum teasing your lips, and it sends a wave of anticipation through you.

You press a soft kiss to the head, tasting the salt of him on your tongue before you part your lips and take him in. Slowly, you swirl your tongue around the tip, savoring the way his body reacts—how his thigh muscles twitch, how his breath catches for just a moment. He’s watching you, always watching, and the weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle with excitement.

“Fuck,” he groans quietly, his head falling back against the headboard, fingers curling into the sheets. But even as the curse slips past his lips, there’s a gentleness in the way he cups the back of your head, guiding you but never forcing, letting you set your own pace. “Just like that…”

You hum against him, the vibrations of your voice making him hiss through his teeth. His approval fuels you, makes you more eager to please him, and you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you start to bob your head, tongue gliding along the underside of his cock. The weight of him fills your mouth, every inch of him stretching your lips, and you can’t help the moan that escapes you as your chin becomes slick with spit.

Your hands come up, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock as you pump what you can’t take in your mouth, and it’s intoxicating—the sound of your wet mouth working him over, the salty taste of him, the low grunts and growls that escape him in response. You’re lost in it, in him, so completely consumed by the way he feels against your tongue, by the way he reacts to every little movement you make.

It’s impossible to ignore how wet you are, how your own body throbs with need as your thighs press together, trying to alleviate the ache building between them. But no matter how turned on you are, you can’t stop. You don’t want to. The taste of him, the feel of him twitching in your mouth as his hips start to move, gently thrusting up into your heat—it’s all too good. Too much. You can’t get enough.

“You love this, huh?” Katsuki breathes, voice thick with lust and amusement as he gazes down at you, his fingers stroking through your hair. “You love sucking me off… fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

The praise sends another rush of arousal through you, making your toes curl as you take him deeper, letting the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You gag just slightly but push through it, the mix of discomfort and pleasure driving you to take him even more.

His fingers tighten in your hair as he groans low and deep, and you can feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs tensing as he fights to keep his control. But you don’t let up, even as his breath quickens, even as the taste of him becomes stronger—bitter and salty as the first spurts of his release hit your tongue.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His voice cracks, and with a final thrust of his hips, he spills into your mouth, hot and thick. The taste of him floods your senses, a little sour, a little bitter, but intoxicating in the way it fills you completely, like you were made to take it.

But you don’t stop.

Even as he trembles beneath you, even as he curses and gasps for breath, you keep going, sucking him through his orgasm, your lips still wrapped tightly around him as you bob your head slowly, milking every last drop from him. His body shudders, a broken moan tearing from his throat as his hand tightens in your hair, pulling you closer to him as if he can’t handle the pleasure but doesn’t want you to stop, either.

“Shit, baby,” he groans, his chest heaving as his hand falls from your head to cup your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly across your spit-slick skin. His voice is softer now, more vulnerable, and it makes your heart swell. “Too good… you’re too fuckin’ good.”

The sound of his praise, the way his thumb strokes your cheek, and the sight of him above you—flushed and breathless, with his chest heaving and his eyes half-lidded with satisfaction—it all makes your heart flutter in your chest. There’s such a softness in the way he looks at you, even now, even after he’s just fallen apart in your mouth. The love in his gaze is undeniable, and it makes you feel warm all over, like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

You swallow what’s left of him, your lips parting with a soft pop as you finally pull back, resting your cheek against his thigh as you look up at him, your own body trembling with the aftershocks of arousal that have yet to be addressed. You’re breathless, your face and hands covered in spit, but you don’t care. All that matters is him—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers continue to trace patterns on your skin, like he can’t stop touching you.

“God, you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice hoarse as his hand cradles the back of your head, pulling you up to meet his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, and filled with a kind of love that makes your chest ache. When he pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, and you feel the soft brush of his breath against your lips as he smiles, just a little. 

Your breath comes out in soft, shaky pants as you slowly rise, straddling Katsuki’s hips. His cock rests against your soaked folds, teasing you as you hover just above him, already wet and needy from everything that’s come before. The sheets cling to your knees, and your thighs tremble with anticipation, your body practically vibrating with desire. 

Katsuki leans back against the headboard, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you, his crimson eyes half-lidded but focused entirely on you. His arms rest casually on either side of him, but his fingers twitch like he’s dying to touch you, to feel your skin beneath his calloused palms. His chest rises and falls with steady breaths, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he shifts beneath you.

“Whaddya want, huh?” His voice is rough, teasing, yet there’s an edge of softness beneath it, that familiar tone he only uses when it’s just the two of you, when you’re wrapped up in each other like this. His fingers finally come up to brush your thighs, dragging along your skin slowly, so slow it sends sparks of heat straight to your core. “You gonna tell me what you want, or are you just gonna sit there lookin’ pretty?”

You bite your lip, feeling your heart stutter in your chest at his words, at the way he watches you like he’s waiting to devour you whole. Your hands press against his chest for balance, his skin warm under your palms as you lean forward slightly, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Wanna ride you,” you whisper, your voice low and breathy, trembling with the weight of your desire. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rises to meet yours with each breath. “Wanna show you how much I love you, Katsuki.”

At your words, he groans softly, his head tilting back slightly as his hands slide up your thighs, fingers digging into your hips. There’s a flicker of something tender in his eyes, something that makes your heart swell even more, and the way he looks at you—like you’re everything he’s ever wanted—only makes you more desperate to feel him inside you, to be closer to him in every way.

“Yeah?” His lips curve into a smirk, but there’s an unmistakable warmth in his gaze. His hands grip your waist, holding you steady as he watches the way you line yourself up with him, your slick folds gliding against his length, coating him in your arousal. “Then show me. Show me how much you fuckin’ love me.”

With a deep breath, you sink down onto him slowly, your walls stretching to accommodate him as he fills you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch so deep and so good that you can’t help but moan, your body trembling as you take him inch by inch. His grip on your hips tightens, his head falling back with a deep groan as you clench around him.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice low and hoarse as he watches you through half-lidded eyes. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You can’t stop the whimper that escapes your lips as you begin to move, slowly at first, your hips rolling in smooth circles as you ride him, your body desperate to feel every inch of him. The heat between your legs is intense, and the way he fills you so perfectly has you gasping for breath, every movement sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body.

His hands slide up your back, one cupping your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing strokes. You moan softly, your back arching into his touch as he leans forward just enough to take your nipple into his mouth, his lips warm and wet as he sucks gently, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, your voice trembling as you continue to ride him, your pace quickening as the pleasure builds inside you. His mouth on your breast, his hands on your hips, his cock buried so deep inside you—it’s all too much, and yet, you need more. You need all of him. 

He groans against your skin, his breath hot against your chest as he pulls back, his tongue flicking over your nipple one last time before he leans back against the headboard, his hands gripping your hips again. “That’s it, princess. Keep goin’. You’re so fuckin’ good.”

His praise sends a shiver of excitement through you, making your movements even more desperate as you ride him faster, your hips grinding down against him with every thrust. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together fill the room, the wet heat between your legs driving you wild as you feel your climax building, creeping up on you with each roll of your hips.

His hands wander down to your ass, fingers digging into your skin as he helps guide your movements, his eyes dark and full of lust as he watches the way you take him, the way your body moves so perfectly above him.

“You gonna take all this cum, huh?” he growls, his voice strained as his grip on your hips tightens. “You gonna let me fill you up?”

You nod eagerly, your head falling back as you gasp for breath, the pleasure too much to contain as you feel the first tremors of your orgasm building inside you. “Always, Katsuki,” you whimper, your voice shaking with need. “For you, always.”

He groans at your words, his hips bucking up into you as his fingers dig into your skin. The heat between your legs is almost unbearable now, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you can’t hold back anymore.

“Katsuki,” you whimper, your voice breaking as you ride him faster, your body trembling with the intensity of your need. “I—I can’t… It’s so—” 

“Fuck, you’re gonna come for me, huh?” He grins, his voice breathless and teasing, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness in his gaze as he watches you, his hands never leaving your skin. “Do it, baby. Come for me.”

That’s all it takes for you to fall apart, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave as you grind down against him, your walls pulsing around his cock. The pleasure is overwhelming, stealing your breath as you gasp for air, your thighs trembling as your entire body shudders with the force of your release.

Katsuki watches you the whole time, his lips parted in a quiet groan as he grips your hips, holding you steady as you ride out your orgasm. His gaze is soft, full of affection, and something deeper, something that makes your heart flutter in your chest even as your body quakes with pleasure.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of warmth as his thumb brushes over your trembling thigh. “You’re so good for me.”

Even as the last waves of your orgasm fade, you can’t stop. You’re still so wet, still so needy, and the way he fills you, the way his cock feels buried deep inside you—it’s not enough. You need more. You need all of him.

You start moving again, your hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles as you ride him, your body aching for another release, another high. His hands slide up your back, one cupping your breast again as his other hand presses against the small of your back, guiding your movements with soft, gentle pressure.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, his voice hoarse as he watches you, his eyes dark with lust and affection. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

You shake your head, your breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as you grind down against him, your body trembling with need. “No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. “I can’t… I need you, Katsuki.”

He groans softly into your mouth, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your head as he kisses you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, languid dance. The kiss is full of love, full of the warmth and affection you always feel when you’re with him, and it only makes your heart swell even more.

You ride him faster, your body moving on its own now, desperate for more of him, more of the pleasure only he can give you. His hands roam your body, his touch gentle and firm all at once, and you can feel him trembling beneath you, his cock pulsing inside you as he nears his own release.

“I’m gonna come,” he growls, his voice strained as his hands grip your hips tightly, guiding your movements as he thrusts up into you, his hips meeting yours with every roll. “Fuck, baby… you’re so fuckin’ good…”

You nod, your head falling back as you gasp for breath, your body trembling with the intensity of your need. “Please,” you whisper, your voice shaky as you grind down against him, your walls pulsing around his cock. “Please, Katsuki… fill me up…”

With a final thrust, he spills into you, his body trembling as he releases inside you, hot and thick. The sensation sends another wave of pleasure through you, and you can’t help but moan as you grind down against him, taking everything he has to give you.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies tangled together, breathless and trembling. His hands slide up your back, pulling you against his chest as he holds you close, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your jaw.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice soft and full of love. His breath is warm, his words making your heart swell as you melt into him, feeling safe and cherished in his arms. The world outside the bed fades, leaving just the two of you—bare, tangled, and basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You rest your forehead against his shoulder, still catching your breath. His skin is damp, his chest heaving as he slowly calms down from the intensity of it all. But Katsuki’s hands never stop moving—one glides up and down your back, gentle and soothing, while the other traces lazy circles on your hip. Even after everything, he’s still touching you, like he can’t get enough of your skin against his.

"Still got energy to keep goin'?" His voice rumbles against you, teasing, but there’s an unmistakable tenderness there. He tilts his head down, pressing his lips to your forehead, his fingers brushing through your hair, pushing the strands away from your face.

You smile, your heart fluttering at his touch. The warmth in his gaze, the quiet affection that lingers behind his teasing words, it’s everything you’ve come to know and love about him. Katsuki—rough, tough, a little brash, but in moments like these, he’s soft and open, all for you.

"Mmm… maybe," you hum, your voice lazy, though the aftershocks of your pleasure still send pleasant shivers through your body. You shift slightly, wincing at the sensitivity between your legs, and Katsuki's hands immediately tighten around you, as if instinctively trying to protect you.

“Oi, don’t push yourself.” He clicks his tongue, but his voice is soft, and there’s a glint of worry in his eyes, even if he’s trying to mask it with that usual gruffness. “I’m not goin' anywhere, you know.”

You chuckle, leaning up just enough to look him in the eye. “I know, I just…” You bite your lip, your hands tracing the contours of his chest, your fingers gently brushing over his heart. “I love you. And I always want you, Katsuki. It’s like I can’t ever get enough.”

His eyes darken at your confession, and for a moment, the teasing smirk on his face falters, replaced by something deeper. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he gazes at you with that soft, yet intense look that always leaves you breathless.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice rough but filled with so much love it makes your chest tighten. “Every part of you. Every damn part.”

There’s a possessiveness in his tone, but it’s not harsh or overbearing. It’s full of adoration, the way only Katsuki can say it—like he needs you, craves you, but also wants to keep you safe, wants to love you in all the ways he knows how.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his thumb before leaning in to kiss him on the lips. It’s slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that speaks volumes without needing words. He kisses you back just as gently, his hand slipping from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, holding you close as your lips move together in perfect sync.

When you finally pull away, both of you breathing heavily, Katsuki gives you that lazy grin that makes your heart skip a beat. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, his crimson eyes soft but still burning with the intensity that makes you melt.

You trace your fingers over the firm planes of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch, the way his muscles tense just slightly at the sensation. Your nails scrape lightly over his pecs, then drift lower, tracing the deep ridges of his abdomen, following the defined cut of muscle that leads downward. The whole time, your gaze is locked on his, watching for every little reaction, every subtle shift in his expression. And you see it—the way his breath hitches, the flicker of something dark and hungry in those crimson eyes, the barely-there tremor in his fingers as they twitch at your hips. 

He’s trying to stay composed, to keep that usual cocky edge, but you know him too well. You know how to unravel him. 

“You’re so sexy,” you breathe, voice laced with unfiltered desire, your words rolling off your tongue with the kind of smooth confidence that’s second nature to you. The smirk that tugs at your lips is slow, teasing, like you’re savoring the power you have over him. You drag your nails lightly down his abdomen, feeling his stomach clench beneath your touch, and let your fingers dance along his v-line. “I want you all the time.” 

His reaction is immediate. A deep, low growl rumbles from his chest, vibrating against your palms, and his grip on your hips tightens, fingers pressing into your skin like he’s fighting to hold himself back. His jaw clenches, his throat bobs as he swallows hard, and his pupils blow wide with something raw, something primal. His breath is heavy, uneven, and for a moment, he just stares at you—like you’ve stolen the air from his lungs, like he’s trying to process the weight of your words and the way they punch through whatever restraint he’s barely holding onto. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, voice rough, thick with something almost reverent, and then he moves. 

It’s sudden, fast—before you can blink, he flips you onto your back, pinning you against the mattress with a kind of controlled force that makes your stomach flip. His body is solid, warm, pressing down over you, his thighs caging you in, his hands bracketing your head. He’s hovering just above you, close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips, but not close enough to kiss. Not yet. He’s teasing himself as much as he’s teasing you, savoring the moment, making you wait. 

You swallow hard, pulse hammering against your ribs as you stare up at him. His face is shadowed in the dim light, his golden skin glowing under the soft hue of the bedside lamp. His hair is a mess, wild and tousled from your fingers, and his lips are parted, pink and kiss-swollen. But it’s his eyes that make your breath catch—the way they burn into you, intense, filled with something so unfiltered it makes your skin prickle with heat. 

“Say that again,” he demands, voice low, almost dangerous, but there’s something underneath it, something deeper. A plea, almost. 

You know exactly what he’s asking for, exactly what he wants to hear. And you don’t hesitate. 

“I want you all the time,” you say again, slow, deliberate, letting every syllable drip with sincerity, with hunger, with devotion. You lift a hand, cupping his cheek, your thumb grazing over his sharp jawline, and his breath stutters just a little, his lashes fluttering as he leans into your touch—just barely, but you catch it. 

Something about the way you say it, about the way you look at him when you say it, makes his whole body tense. His fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, his muscles coiling like a predator about to pounce, like he’s barely holding himself together. 

Then he’s kissing you, hard. 

It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim. His lips crash against yours with a bruising intensity, stealing your breath, swallowing the quiet gasp that escapes you. His hands move, one tangling in your hair, gripping tight as he tilts your head back, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your toes curl. The other hand drags down your side, firm and possessive, following the curve of your waist before gripping your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

He kisses like he does everything else—fierce, overwhelming, like he has something to prove. Like he wants to ruin you for anyone else, make sure you never forget the way he feels, the way he tastes, the way he consumes you whole. 

And you? You love it. You thrive on it. 

You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl. His hips press down against yours, his cock heavy and hot against your soaked folds, and the friction sends a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. You arch into him instinctively, chasing more, desperate for him, for everything he’s willing to give you. 

“Needy little thing,” he mutters against your lips, his breath warm, teasing, but there’s a roughness to it, like he’s just as desperate as you are. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, tracing the shape of your mouth before pressing inside, against your tongue. His gaze darkens as he watches you suck on it, your lips wrapping around his thumb, your tongue swirling over the pad. 

His breathing stutters again, and you can see it—that momentary flicker of vulnerability, of sheer awe, like he can’t believe you’re his, like he doesn’t know what to do with the way you undo him so effortlessly. 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he murmurs, shaking his head, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s softer, tinged with something tender, something he’d never admit out loud, but you see it. You always see it. 

You grin up at him, releasing his thumb with a slow, wet pop, and tilt your head, your voice dripping with playful confidence. “That’d be a hell of a way to go, wouldn’t it?” 

He barks out a laugh, sharp and genuine, before cutting it off with another kiss, this one slower, deeper, more controlled. His hands roam your body, tracing every curve, every dip, committing you to memory. And then, with a low, gravelly whisper against your ear, he promises, “I’m gonna make sure you never wanna go a fuckin’ day without me.” 

And with the way his fingers slide between your thighs, teasing, coaxing, setting your skin on fire, you know he means it.

You whimper softly when his fingers find your clit, the pads of his calloused fingertips circling it with a touch that’s hesitant yet firm, like he’s still figuring out just how much pressure will make you shatter. “I wanna be good for you,” you whisper, voice soft, but there’s a weight behind your words—a promise, an invitation. Your hands slide over his broad shoulders, down the ridges of his chest, tracing over every defined muscle, every inch of skin that’s burning hot under your touch. You feel the way he tenses beneath you, the way his breath hitches just slightly, and it sends a shiver of satisfaction down your spine.  

Katsuki's fingers twitch against your clit, and you swear you feel him shudder. He swallows thickly, his crimson eyes flickering between your face and where his fingers are pressed against you, as if he’s trying to memorize every little reaction you give him. He’s hesitant—not because he doesn’t want this, but because he always wants to do it right. Because despite his rough edges, despite the sharp tongue, and the explosive temper, Bakugou Katsuki is meticulous when it comes to you. He treats your pleasure like a challenge he refuses to lose.  

But there’s something else simmering beneath the surface—something darker, more primal. His need to take something soft, something untouched, and leave his mark all over it. It’s that childhood troublemaker in him, that same part of him that probably kicked over sandcastles just to watch them crumble, the same part of him that grins whenever he makes a mess. Only now, you’re the sandcastle, and he wants to wreck you.  

Your breath hitches when he finally presses a little harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit. His other hand grips your thigh, his touch firm, grounding. “Yeah?” His voice is low, rough, filled with something almost smug but not quite. “You wanna be good for me?”  

You nod quickly, your fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. You know he likes the praise and craves it even if he won’t admit it, but he also loves hearing you submit like this, knowing that you’d do anything for him. And you would—you'd let him have all of you, let him ruin you completely if that’s what he wanted.  

He exhales through his nose, his smirk deepening. “Course you do,” he mutters, but there’s something almost affectionate in his teasing. His fingers move with more confidence now, rubbing slow and steady over your clit, watching your every reaction with laser focus. “You’re always so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”  

You whimper, pressing your thighs together, but his hand on your leg tightens, keeping you spread open. He doesn’t stop touching you, doesn’t let you escape the slow, devastating pressure of his fingers.  

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself, but Katsuki doesn’t give you the chance to breathe. He leans in, lips brushing against your ear, voice dropping into something dark and velvety. “You always say the right shit to get me goin’,” he murmurs, his fingers dragging lower, teasing at your entrance before sliding back up. “Always runnin’ that smart fuckin’ mouth, and then you look at me like this—” He presses down harder on your clit, just for a second, making you gasp. “Like you need me.”  

You do. You need him so badly it’s almost painful, and he fucking knows it. You can hear the satisfaction in his voice, see it in the way his eyes darken as he watches you squirm beneath him.  

Katsuki shifts, pulling his hand away, and you whine at the loss of contact. But before you can protest, he grabs your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him. His grip isn’t rough, but it’s firm, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to make you part your lips for him.  

“That desperate, huh?” he taunts, his smirk widening as he watches your lips tremble. “You want it that bad?”  

You nod, your breath coming in short, shallow pants, but he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Nah, c’mon, baby, use that mouth. You were talkin’ real sweet just a second ago.”  

You swallow hard, trying to focus, but it’s difficult when he’s looking at you like this—like he’s already won, like you’re already his to break apart and put back together.  

“I want you,” you breathe, your voice shaking. “I want you to ruin me, Katsuki.”  

His eyes darken, something dangerous flashing through them, and you know you’ve just fed into that part of him, the part that loves to take something soft and make it his.  

Katsuki groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he lets go, shoving you back onto the bed. He moves fast, so fast it makes your head spin, settling between your legs, pressing his body against yours. His cock is hot and heavy against your inner thigh, and you can feel how hard he is, how much he wants this, wants you.  

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained as he looks down at you, his hands braced on either side of your head. “You don’t know what you do to me.”  

You smirk, your wit bubbling up even through the haze of arousal. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”  

Katsuki growls, but there’s amusement behind it, something fond beneath the frustration. “Smartass.”  

But he doesn’t give you a chance to retort—he leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all heat and hunger and raw, unfiltered need. His hands are everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your waist, squeezing your thighs as if he can’t get enough of touching you.  

And then he’s lining himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing you with slow, shallow thrusts that don’t give you nearly enough. He watches your face, drinking in every little twitch, every little gasp, his smirk widening as he sees how badly you need him.  

“Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, possessive.  

Your fingers dig into his back, your body arching against him. “Ruin me, Katsuki.”  

His breath shudders out of him, and then, finally, he thrusts into you, stretching you open inch by inch until he’s buried deep inside you. The stretch is just enough to make you gasp, to make your nails rake down his back, but it’s perfect. He’s perfect.  

Katsuki groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his breath ragged. “Fuckin’ hell,” he growls, his fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so—” He cuts himself off with a shaky breath, swallowing hard. “Shit, baby.”  

You feel him tremble slightly, like he’s holding himself back, trying not to lose control too soon. But you don’t want him to hold back. You want all of him.  

“C’mon, Katsuki,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “You can do better than that.”  

His eyes snap open, locking onto yours, and for a second, there’s nothing but silence between you. Then, his smirk returns, but this time, it’s sharper, more dangerous.  

“You really wanna test me, huh?”  

Before you can respond, he grips your hips and slams into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, making you cry out. He sets a brutal pace, his thrusts deep and demanding, every movement claiming you, leaving no room for doubt—no room for anything except the feeling of him, the way he fills you completely, the way his body moves against yours like he was made for this.  

He’s everywhere; consuming you; possessing you, and you let him. You want him to. Because there’s no one else who could ever make you feel like this. 

No one else who could ever ruin you so perfectly.

Your gasp is swallowed by the heat between you, your breath catching in your throat as Katsuki's hands find yours, his fingers threading through yours in a firm, grounding grip. His palms are rough, calloused from years of training, from battle, from holding power in his hands—and now he’s holding you, keeping you steady as he thrusts into you with deep, measured force. His grip tightens, squeezing your fingers just as his hips snap against yours, drawing a sharp, breathless moan from your lips. His forehead presses against yours, damp with sweat, his ragged breaths mingling with yours, the heat of his body searing into you.  

The pace he sets is relentless, every roll of his hips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, your body arching to meet every thrust like you’re trying to take more of him, trying to pull him deeper. His cock stretches you perfectly, every inch dragging against your walls, hitting that devastating spot inside you that has your legs trembling around his waist. He watches you through half-lidded, lust-darkened eyes, his gaze flickering between your parted lips and the way your face twists in pleasure. His expression is one of pure, unfiltered possession—like he owns every moan that leaves your mouth, every shiver, every needy whimper that spills from your lips.  

"Fuck," he growls, voice rough and breathless, his grip on your hands tightening as if to anchor himself. "Say my name again."  

You barely have the presence of mind to respond, too lost in the feeling of him pounding into you, filling you over and over again, but you manage to whimper, "Katsuki—" your voice breaking on the last syllable as he thrusts particularly deep, your head tilting back against the pillow.  

A low, guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his lips brushing over your jaw as he presses himself impossibly closer, his body flush against yours, his weight pinning you down in the best possible way. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, his heat, his scent, the intoxicating mix of sweat and something inherently him flooding your senses. You feel drunk on him, utterly consumed, and he knows it. You can feel it in the way his body tenses, the way his hips jerk just a little more erratically, like he’s losing himself in you the same way you’re drowning in him.  

His hands, still clasped tightly around yours, suddenly push your arms above your head, pinning them to the mattress as he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear. "You're mine," he breathes, his voice low and wrecked, sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin. "Say it."  

You barely manage a nod, your thighs tightening around his waist, desperate for more, desperate for all of him. "I'm yours," you gasp, and that’s all it takes for him to snap.  

Katsuki growls, something primal and desperate in the sound, and his pace turns brutal, his thrusts rough and deep, claiming you in every way possible. His hands are still wrapped around yours, fingers locked together, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s taking you now. It’s raw, all-consuming, his body demanding more, his need for you spilling over in the way he fucks into you like he’s trying to carve himself into you, like he never wants you to forget this—forget that you belong to him.  

Your moans are nothing but broken cries now, his name the only thing you can manage, gasping it into the air between you like a prayer. His lips crash against yours, messy and desperate, swallowing your sounds, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue. He’s close, you can feel it—the way his thrusts are growing erratic, the way his breath stutters against your mouth, the way his hands squeeze yours so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks.  

“Fuck—" he grits out, his whole body tensing, his hips slamming against yours in a final, deep thrust. And then he’s gone, lost to the overwhelming pleasure. His groan vibrates against your skin as he buries himself as deep as possible, his release crashing over him like a tidal wave—dragging you under with him. A sharp gasp escapes you as your own pleasure surges, legs trembling around his waist, eyes rolling back as the sensation overtakes you completely. You can feel the way he trembles above you, the way he breathes your name like it’s the only thing grounding him as he spills inside you, his body shuddering with the aftershocks.  

He stays there for a moment, his forehead still pressed against yours, his breath heavy and ragged, his body pressed tightly to yours as if he never wants to let go. Slowly, his grip on your hands loosens, his fingers uncurling, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he laces them together properly this time, softer, more deliberate, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch.  

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there as he whispers, "You're mine." 

This time, it’s not a demand—it’s a promise.

"I only want to be yours," you whisper, your voice soft yet unwavering as your fingers uncurl around his and weave into his hair, tugging gently at the damp strands. Katsuki stills above you, his breath catching, and for a moment, everything slows. The heat between you lingers, but the intensity shifts—melting into something deeper, something raw and unguarded.  

His grip on your wrists loosens, fingers flexing as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with them now that the fire has simmered down. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and when he finally meets your gaze, his eyes are wide, uncertain. Vulnerable. It’s rare to see him like this, stripped of his usual brashness, his walls lowered just enough to let you see the boy underneath—the one who’s never really known how to handle tenderness without wanting to crush it in his hands.  

"You’re already mine," he mutters, but there’s no cocky edge to his voice, no smirk tugging at his lips. Instead, he says it like he’s trying to convince himself, like the idea of being wanted this much is still something he doesn’t know how to accept.  

You offer him a small smile, brushing your fingers through his hair, your nails lightly scratching against his scalp. He exhales shakily at the sensation, his body relaxing into your touch despite himself. You can feel the tension in his muscles ease, the weight of something unspoken lingering between you both.  

"You don’t have to act so tough with me," you murmur, tracing the shell of his ear, your touch featherlight. "I love you, Katsuki. All of you."  

His eyes dart away for a second, like he needs to escape the weight of your words, but you don’t let him. You tilt his face back toward you, catching his gaze and holding it, refusing to let him run from this—run from you.  

His jaw clenches, but then, with a slow inhale, he lets himself sink against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go.  

"You fuckin’ ruin me," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your collarbone. But his hold on you tightens, contradicting his words.  

You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Good," you tease softly, earning a quiet huff from him.  

But he doesn’t pull away. He just stays there, breathing you in, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

And for once, Bakugou Katsuki lets himself be loved.

bakugou loves being your personal photographer. you'll ask him to take a quick picture of you near some flowers to which he grunts in agreement bc the man can never say no to you. suddenly a quick pic turns into multiple pics. he’s directing you towards better lighting, recommending poses, holding your bag, all while squatting and leaning down to get the perfect angles. like pursue being a photographer instead of a hero?? he's cooing out all these praises like “my girl looks so good" and "atta girl". he's giving facebook mom basically. he couldn't give less of a fuck about whoever may be watching him because all he can focus on is you and your angelic beauty. right when you think he’s finally done, he’ll whip out his digital camera. and you guys do it all over again. the man’s just your biggest fan i guess.

✎ᝰ BAKUGOU KATSUKI ; — let me baby you on your birthday. will you let me, katsuki? (bakugou birthday special)

word count: 1.7k

࿄ ! warnings — f!reader, handjob (m!receiving), very suggestive, lowkey cum-eating, lots of praise (m!receiving), subby!bkg / note. happy birthday katsuki, my lil firecracker.

some days are more rough than they usually are on katsuki. albeit, as a pro hero, most days are rough - on not only his body, but his mind and emotional state too. the constant bossing people around because they’re “incompetent fucks” as he would put it, and the micromanaging he has to implement onto his sidekicks because they can’t take out a small gang orchestrating an armed robbery at the local bank.

katsuki knew this came with being a pro but it didn’t make the bags under his eyes less dark or the weight of his tired footsteps less heavy as he went through days on autopilot. he loved the notoriety that came with being the number one but this? this was getting to him more than he was letting on.

that’s where you come in. his lovely, sweet, caring girlfriend. now, you didn’t enjoy telling your boyfriend to take breaks or to slow down, lest you get faced with a hard, vermillion-eyed glare and a bastion of words telling you that he “needed to do this to elevate his career,” and that “there were no breaks if he wanted to stay number one on the charts.”

you let it slide a lot of the time, knowing that your boyfriend was at the height of his career. even when he missed important dates or dinners with the parents - you know that this was an integral part of his life and it’s what you signed up for. well, that was until today.

april 19th. the day before his 25th birthday.

katsuki never took his birthday seriously - not unless the people around him made a big fuss about it. and ever since he had started dating you, every birthday had been extravagant. whether it was a home cooked meal, a fancy restaurant and buying him his favourite collector’s items, he knew that you would never let him just get old and move on. which is why you were having this current, heated discussion.

you’re standing in the kitchen, chopping onions as you sternly say his name,“katsuki.” he wants to roll his eyes and tell you to just forget about it but he opts to just doing the latter, not wanting to invoke even more fury in your spirit.

“just forget about it, y/n. ‘s MY birthday. if i don’t care about it, you don’t have to either,” he argues, taking off his muddy caked up boots and throwing them in his bag. he had already had a garbage day because the coffee maker in his office has stopped working and suddenly no one knew who’d broken it.

to make matters worse, a mission went to shit with deku not being specific with the villain’s whereabouts, thus compromising his position in the mission and almost killing multiple civilians. his back was aching and his throat was scratchy from the strain of shouting at idiots all day.

“what kind of girlfriend would i be if i just did nothing for your birthday? no, i refuse to have this discussion. you absolutely don’t need to go in tomorrow,” you say indignantly and the sound of your chopping and diving gets more precise and sharp and katsuki decides to just half indulge in your wishes - too tired to argue with you.

“fine, whatever you want. you win,” katsuki grumbles, walking over to you while you throw some stuff in the pan and resting his chin on your head and you can feel his weary body looming over you.

you turn to look at katsuki and plant a kiss on his nose at him being so agreeable. but you knew deep down that he would probably try to defy you anyway so you had to make sure he wouldn’t leave your grasp on his special day.

after katsuki washes up and you both eat a lovely pre-birthday dinner, your boyfriend tries to settle into bed and you place a hand on his bare chest, resting a leg over his waist.

“something wrong?” katsuki asks with a quirked brow and his breath hitches slightly when you plant wet kisses to his jaw and his neck while your hand descends lower to his jogging bottoms.

“should be asking you that, ‘ki. you’re so tense, baby. can feel how tight your muscles are just from touching you,” you hum against his stubbled jaw and katsuki groans quietly under his breath at your unabashed attention all on him.

“can i give you an early birthday’s gift?” you whisper, still laving kisses on his adam’s apple and neck. katsuki gulps, nodding, his golden-blond eyelashes batting against his sharp and tan cheekbones.

“yeah, course,” he hums and a pleasant rumble shakes through his chest when your leg slips in between his legs and you palm against his semi hardon that’s starting to chub between his thick, tan legs.

“want you to know i’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished at this age, kats. don’t know anyone more deserving of being the number one hero,” you say with a saccharine lilt to your voice and your hand slips under his both his joggers and pants to palm at him properly and you watch the way your boyfriend pants pathetically, his hips lifting up slightly to meet your touch, only to remove your hand to get him to push down his trousers and katsuki gets the memo immediately; frantically pushing down both his briefs and joggers in one swift movement.

you take a moment to spit on your hand and a hint of a whine catches in the back of his throat when he lets you further entangle your smaller thigh with his much bigger one, so you can get better access to his cock. you grab at his throbbing cock and languidly stroke him, from his angry-red tip with dribbles of precum to his heavy, weighty balls that were now shiny and wet due to the mixture of pre and your spit.

“so big, so strong. you’re so good at what you do and i’m so proud of you katsuki, just wanna show you how much i mean it,” you sweetly say and the raspy whimper that leaves his lips sounds so desperate, so unlike him. his hips rise to meet your touch and you speed up to reach every inch of his heavy cock.

you continue to praise him through touching his cock, “you’re such a good boy, kats’. so good at leading, so good to me. just want you to let me take care of you sometimes. will you let me?” and his hips jerk into your fist harder now.

“o-oh, baby, f-uck me, fuuuuck-” he moans gruffly and his eyes roll into the back of head when your thumb pays attention to the head of his cock, pressing into his slit and rubbing at what seems to be a never ending stream of precome.

“you’re gonna come for me, baby? you deserve it so so much, sweet boy. let me do this for you, ‘kay? look at how much you needed this,” you whisper into his slightly open mouth, his pink tongue peeking out and you both look down to see his wet and shiny cock and your soaked hand that’s tugging at him, all hard and fast.

“oh-ohhhh, urgh, fuck-fucken, gonna fucking come,” he moans and he looks gorgeous like this: katsuki’s face is scrunched up, a little pink in the cheeks and a tiny ‘o’ forms on the planes of his lips. his eyebrows are furrowed deeply and he doesn’t know what to with himself and opts to throwing one beefy, tatted arm across his eyes and another gripping tightly at your panty-clad ass.

with your hand busy jerking him off, you use your other to rub at his chest and thumb at pale brown nipples and then you slow down because you want him to see what you’re about to do to him before he reaches his limit.

he moves his arm when he notices you slow down and smile at him so sincerely, so bright and kiss his cheek.

“shh, just relax, ‘kay, baby? wanna see your pretty face when you come,” and you speed up all over again and you lean up slightly so you can use your unoccupied hand to thumb at the taint of his cock - the sensitive, veiny part that meets his balls and katsuki reels at the touch.

he’s all choked up with unshed tears wanting to fall down his face at your ministrations and the constant fondling at the base of his cock is too much for him, “hmmfgg - fuck, fuuuuck, right there, ‘m gonna come, shit, don’t, fuckk - don’t fuckin’ stop, ohhhh,” katsuki begs and he doesn’t know whether he’s begging for you to not stop talking or to keep touching him or both.

your clit practically beats out of your panties just looking at him reaching his climax and you talk him through it as the first spurts of his orgasm hit your arm and his pelvis, “so proud of you, kats’, just like that, yeah, babyyy, give me all of it, so good for me, huh?” you tease, with a sickly amount of sweetness and a hint of smirk in your voice and katsuki humps your hand until he’s spilt himself all over the expanse of his lower body and all over your hand and arm.

“fuck me,” your blond boyfriend breathes out, sniffling a little and quickly wiping his wet eyes and he leans on his elbows to assess the mess he made.

“you came a lot this time,” you giggle, poking fun at your hothead of a man and you lift your hand to suck at one of your fingers and katsuki’s eyes darken in desire all over again: his hands finding purchase on your waist and playing with the hem of your panties.

“how about you let me apologise by sitting on my face?”

ᝰᝰᝰᝰᝰ

“is dynamight not coming in?” quizzes one of the sidekicks to the secretary and she shakes her head.

“nope. think he’s taking a day off for birthday celebrations. good for him,” she nods and the sidekick agrees.

dynamight comes back on the 21st very content and calm. no one knows what happened but they chalk it up to a great birthday surprise from you.

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

men who have the patience of a saint. they respond with utmost calmness that honestly freaks you out sometimes. maybe even infuriates you.

so, you may purposely go out of your way to make their lives hell. being the ultimate bitch, in other words.

you’re snappy and short, sassy and high maintenance. he’ll ask you what you want to eat and you’ll respond with “shouldn’t you already know what i like?”

he does, of course, but sometimes you like changing up your answers. so if he guesses the wrong one, it pushes you even more to lash out at him.

you nitpick and give him dirty looks, lip curled up and raising your hand to his face as if you’re oh so above him. but no matter what, his composure sustains. a gentle smile or placid expression, he just does not get frustrated.

that’s wrong, he does. but when he’s annoyed, that goes directly to his dick.

it’s why he’ll fuck you a little rougher than usual, manhandle you just a bit and spit dirty words mixed with sweet praises into your ears. another reason you act like a little prissy whore, because his dick game is on ten.

he honestly loves it when you act out. it helps because then he won’t feel that bad when he shoves his cock down your mouth, tears streaking down your cheeks and ruining your pretty makeup you spent too long on. or when he forces your legs apart a little too hard, just so he can hit you at the perfect angle.

he knows you like it too because your noises get the slightest bit high and in that whiny pitch he craves to hear.

so although his duality is confusing, because he can be the perfect man but fuck you like he hates you, you love it. you love him.

in short, he takes your attitude, rude behavior, smart remarks and turns that around by giving you what you both want.

a good fuck.

——————————————

jjk: getou, nanami, shiu, choso, higuruma, haibara

aot: levi, erwin, armin, eren, reiner, bertholdt, jean, connie

ds: rengoku, giyuu, tengen, ubuyashiki, muzan, gyomei

if all else fails, i was myself

bakugou x reader ✾ 4.6k

info! no smut sorry gang ✾ tw! trust issues that manifest as issues w physical intimacy/contact, dubcon in its vaguest definition (NOT bkg & reader) ✾ notes! ive been in perpetual writers block for months. is this trite idk. i miss my baby but anytime i write for him im like oops this is gonna be 60k words!!! so here is. a drabble lmao. also big lmao moment this is titled after count me out by kendrick lamar ldskfjdlkjf which was on repeat while writing so uh sorry mr. lamar abt the mha fanfic

katsuki has always known that part of him is wrong.

he’s never liked being touched. every kiss he’s experienced has made him tense as an elevator cable poised to snap. any attempt to go further than that has made him a little ill, made his gut feel like a stack of loose papers being torn to shreds, slow and loud.

it doesn’t help that he’s only ever had three kisses in his life: eijirou at a new year’s party (too many teeth), eijirou again at another new year’s party nearly a decade later (too much tongue), and then his fourth date with kyoka (when he tried to convince himself he just had to push through the discomfort to become normal).

things went further than that. it was a mistake. they both knew it right after it happened—kyoka first, and then katsuki after his head stopped pounding with what if i'm doing this wrong what if she's pitying me for fucking this up what if i don't know how to touch another person correctly what if i was supposed to learn at some point and i missed it how could i fucking miss it will it always be like this because i can't do this again i can't i don't—

“kat," she said after. she looked at him with something only a few degrees removed from pity, and poorly removed at that.

he attempted a halting non-apology. he attempted a real apology. failed at both.

"it's okay, you know," she said. "to not like it."

he scoffed even though he wasn’t entirely clear on what she meant by it, because there was so much he didn’t like. “i like it just fine.”

“if that was liking it, I’m honestly worried about your capacity for enjoying life in general.” it wasn’t a joke. her bluntness was something that'd made katsuki think he could push his boundaries with her. all of her thoughts were laid out plain for him to read, an open-source journal. “i'm just saying you don't have to like it. and you don’t have to force yourself to do things you don’t want to do. don't fuck yourself over for someone else's happiness.”

kyoka still texts him often, checks in, invites him to drinks with their friends. she’s kind. she’s normal. she doesn’t have this weird, shredded thing inside her that makes her balk at the idea of someone’s hand on her skin. that makes her think she's doing something wrong, even if she's not the one that initiated the touch.

when you started your job at the front desk of katsuki’s agency, he never thought that he'd be here, wishing above everything that he could just be normal. just for one fucking day, so he could laugh at your shitty jokes and maybe brush his knuckles across the back of your hand in passing and take you on a date where he could kiss you in his car after driving you home and the thought wouldn’t make his skin crawl, wouldn't tear up his insides to pulp.

because he fucked everything up. he's standing in his empty office where you'd been spending time with him and he fucked it up and hurt you and he's not sure how to unfuck it.

the thing is, he could grin and bear it. he could deal with the odd thing inside him that hates the contact and white-knuckle it through every kiss, every caress. but he’s never been a great actor. he wouldn’t be able to hide that from you.

(kyoka told him, years later, that it’s not that the sex itself wasn’t fine—what made it nearly unbearable for her was the fact that she could tell, only after it was too late, that being physically vulnerable with her pained him far more than he was willing to reveal.)

no one wants to feel like the person they’re with is grinning and bearing it. that they’re white-knuckling it through. katsuki knows this. he knows he’s basically a fucking virgin all but in title at thirty and that he’s got the personality of a dried-out fig you find in your fridge weeks after its last edible moments. he doesn't have much to offer.

but he walked into work one day and nodded at you, curt, a grimace on his face—and you smiled at him so kindly that his stomach twisted.

with you, it wasn't the feeling of something being torn apart. it was different, lighter. leaves wrenched into the sky by a strong breeze. still a kind of tearing, but different—less destructive.

he was wearing a deep carmine sweater his mom sent him in one of her bi-monthly care packages (as if he’s not an adult, and a pro-hero on top of that), and you said, “that’s such a nice color on you. is it new?”

there was that breeze inside his chest, strong, pulling at his bones. “yeah,” he grunted. then slowly, as if remembering how: “thanks.”

it was the attention, he thought at first, that piqued his interest. he wasn't used to it. people always watched him from afar, and he had fans online that were borderline obsessive, but people didn’t approach him. they didn’t say that’s such a nice color on you. they didn’t smile the way you smile.

he’s always had a shallow streak. it’s not like he doesn’t know this. it’s become a little muted over time, a little discouraged by the visible scarring on his face and body from his time in the field, but it’s never fully been eradicated. so it was simple, he thought. you paid him attention and stroked his ego, and he preened like a self-obsessed bird of paradise.

and then you started making these little origami whale sharks.

fucking stupid. it bothered him an annoying amount. you had a bunch at your desk, all different colors and sizes, some taped to your desktop monitor, some hung up with little pieces of string under the desk's storage overhang. you drew dots on the back of each one, a distinct spotted pattern that was unique for each shark. and you made them for everyone but him. eijirou bought you a pack of high quality origami paper and you made him his own fucking school, all with little faces, winking or surprised or angry, their wide paper mouths gaping and empty, the lines of their bodies pressed careful and sure.

he hated it. it was annoying and a waste of company time and he usually didn’t ever use dumb corporate slogans like “a waste of company time” but you were really pushing his fucking limits.

it was definitely just the attention he liked, he told himself, because surely someone doing something as dumb as this would annoy him to no fucking end if he spoke to them.

and then he spoke to you and he was wrong.

he asked why you made the damn things in the first place and you told him, “i like whale sharks. but to be totally honest, i just run out of things to do."

and he saw that as a challenge. you were running out of things to do? rest assured he could find more shit for you to take care of. so he did. tasks that he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy, they were so dull and time-consuming. and you were so achingly competent that it drove him up a fucking wall. you completed everything he asked of you in half the time it would take someone else, and you always reported back with a smile, and you always did good work, and he could see himself having a conversation with you about something other than work but he didn't want to try because he was worried he'd begin to like you as a person.

you're pretty. really fucking pretty. he can see that now, and he sure as fuck saw it then. you're hardworking. you're just likeable, and that's something katsuki had never been. it (reluctantly) impressed him. worse than that, it turned his feelings for you into a sort of interest.

but he knows he's not normal when it comes to things like this.

he tried to distance himself from you because of it, but it turns out that asking someone to do work for you means you do have to speak to them sometimes. and sometimes turned into a lot of times.

sometimes turned into bringing him coffee in the morning, not because he asked you to, but because you're sweet like that. sometimes turned into being the person he bounced ideas off of when he had a board meeting coming up or something otherwise boring and meticulous. sometimes turned into you laughing at his prickly comments rather than going quiet because of them. turned into you saying suck it up, dynamight, this is what it means to be the boss when he complained about doing paperwork.

sometimes turned into staying late with him at the office, getting take out for the two of you to share while you finished filing claims and damage reports and other stuff he hated taking care of by himself. sometimes turned into him asking you to stay late just because he wanted you there. because even when he was quiet, you'd tell him about your day, about things that happened in the office, about how much you like the book you'd both been reading. he loved listening to you talk. felt comfortable enough to tell you things about himself when he'd never felt comfortable doing that before.

sometimes turned into you holding out a piece of fried tofu from your take-out container for him to eat while he was approving time-off forms that he should have looked at much earlier that week, and you being so close that he could notice how good you smelled, and the warmth of your body basically radiated towards him, like all your energy was focused on him, and your smile was small but somehow even more lovely than usual, a secret for him to tuck away and keep, and when you finished feeding him and he had a little sauce on the corner of his mouth and you reached forward to wipe it off for him and your hand lingered there for a moment and your eyes fell to his lips and what if you try to kiss me and i'm wrong and you hate me for it and what if i can't give you what you want and what if i'm not actually what you want what if i've disappointed you already what if—

it was too much.

so he fucked it up. your thumb was so soft against his skin. he reeled backwards in his chair, rolling it whole feet clear of you, and he felt the tearing again, the bad kind, like paper unevenly shredded by clumsy hands, and he had to leave. he had to leave. he needed to leave so badly that it felt like pulling his skin off would be preferable to being in that office with you.

hiding in the bathroom was fucking pitiful. he remembered his breathing exercises. he remembered to ground himself. and when he came back to his office, you were gone.

if he was normal—and he wants to be normal, god fucking damn—he could have stomached your proximity. he could have eaten out of your fucking hand. he could have touched you back like a normal person probably would have and he wouldn't be here, alone, looking at a little purple sticky note you left him that says i finished organizing the pto forms. i hope you feel better!

he doesn't know whose pride you're trying to save with that. as if you didn't leave because he made things so fucking awkward by running away from you when you touched him. when you—maybe, if he was reading the room correctly—were about to kiss him.

and you don't speak to him for days. he doesn't want to push so he doesn't—just watches you out of the corner of his eye whenever you're both in the same room, which is arguably worse. he's not sure. he's just itching to fucking talk to you because he misses it.

he misses you. in a more-than-friends way.

it takes a while for him to realize this. when he does, it hits him like a metal rod up the side of the head. it's fucked up of him to miss you the way he does when he doesn't feel like he can provide you with the things a normal person could. and though he's worked on his patience over the years—worked on understanding that he can't have everything he wants—it doesn't stop him from being selfish and finally pulling you aside to talk.

and baffling as fucking ever, the first thing you say is sorry. "i know i should've talked to you about it earlier. i just—i shouldn't have done that. and i know it. i shouldn't have assumed that—i don't know. that you..."

you look helpless. it's one of the very few times that katsuki has ever felt the compulsion to touch someone. not because he wants the touch, per se, but because he wants to be able to provide comfort. he never figured out how to do that with words. he's so focused on his inability to comfort you that he barely has any idea of what you're actually talking about. instead of doing anything at all, he just stands there like a fuckwad.

"i just want you to know that i would never—like never—have touched you, or tried to... if i didn't think there was like, a vibe?" you shake your head, exasperated with yourself. "god, even that sounds so bad. i'm sorry, i just—"

"wait, what are—?" and then it clicks, because he's been slow on the uptake figuring out his shit when he should have been focusing way more on yours. "there was..." katsuki says, and he fucking hates that he can't find better words for what you were both feeling in his office, "a vibe."

the way your face changes when you're flustered is one of katsuki's favorite things, but it's not as enjoyable when he feels just as flustered as you look. "i—oh? so... so you—?"

his ears feel like they're being attacked by two heated straightening irons and he knows they're red as hell right now. he's gonna have to say this plainly even though he'd rather get his teeth pulled out one by one with a pair of pliers. "it's not you."

your expression loses any sort of hope it once held. you press your lips together and sigh, maybe a little exasperated. he's doing his best here but he knows his best is shit. "i can handle a non-cliché rejection," you tell him. "honestly, i'd prefer a non-cliché rejection—"

"i'm not trying to reject you," he says, and it's selfish of him. because he's really not. he isn't comfortable with the things you'd want from him, but he still wants you in some capacity. "i just don't—do shit like that."

"kissing?"

somehow knowing for sure that you did want to kiss him in his office makes him want you more. he likes that you're bold. he likes that you're not ashamed of that. he wants to be different than he is. "any... of it," he struggles to admit.

"at all?"

he nods.

"just—like touching, and stuff?"

it sounds so juvenile that he can't help but laugh through his nose, roll his eyes. "yeah. touching and stuff."

"oh."

you're disappointed. of course you are. it's not like he expected anything different, but—sometimes he fucking hates his life. hates that he can't be the thing people need him to be. hates that trying is so difficult, that it flings his stomach into space, like a throwing stone skipping across a still lake.

"so you don't go on dates, or anything."

"haven't tried."

"do you not want to?" you ask, and he can tell it's more of a genuine question than anything. you're curious about him, like you always are. it's more than he deserves, for all he can offer.

"doesn't make sense to."

"that's not what i asked."

it's not. and so katsuki listens as you ask your question again, and he really takes a moment to think.

considering the answer to your question leads him to his first date with you. and his second, and his third—his fourth, and he's keenly aware that his last fourth date ended with what he expects all dates are supposed to end with.

he takes you to the aquarium. because of all the fucking origami whale sharks. you still haven't given him one and it sticks in his craw like a bone. in front of the backlit tank that holds sharks of all types, shapes and sizes and teeth he's never pictured possible of a living creature before, he asks, "why sharks?"

you look at him, brow raised. "i don't know. they probably needed the biggest tank in the aquarium. and this looks like the biggest tank."

"no, dumbass—your sharks. the ones all over the fuckin' office."

"what, you don't like them?" you ask, but you're smiling, sly.

he shrugs. he thinks they're dumb as hell. he wants one to hang up at work, like the ones you've got hung up at your desk. "they're whatever. they clutter the fuck out of ei's office. and he's already got issues organizing." you've just made eijirou so many at his point, and it's getting ridiculous. "but what—are they easy to make, or something?"

you laugh a little. "no. not at all, actually." a whale shark swims by, its spotted hide shimmering in the tank's eerie blue lighting, and you watch it intently. "but it'd be boring if it was too easy."

this date ends with him walking you home from the aquarium a few blocks from your apartment and you smiling at him and telling him that you had a really great time, and he feels like a fucking freak because you don't even expect more. you don't wait for a kiss. don't look disappointed that he doesn't try to give you one. the way you look at him holds so much affection that he doesn't deserve and he has no idea how to reciprocate it to you, and somehow he lands on, "make me one."

"one what?" you ask, but he thinks you already know what he's asking. you like to play coy. he likes it when you play coy. when you're enjoying yourself.

"one of your little fuckin' paper things," he mutters, because admitting that he wants one of those dumbass sharks feels somehow demeaning. he doesn't want you to know how much he's wanted one. "ei's got a million of 'em."

your hand was on your door handle, but it falls to your side. he's keenly aware of its proximity to him. he doesn't feel that terrible ripping in his gut and its absence is almost frightening to him. your fingers tighten into a fist. it's cold out. "ah, and you're jealous?"

"no," he says, knee-jerk. "i just don't get why everyone gets one but me."

you smile when he says this and he could live in this image of you, delicate and small and made for him. he goes home and thinks about it until he falls asleep. thinks about it even beyond then, feels that strong breeze inside him tearing every leaf from its grounded perch.

here's the thing—nothing against jirou, but unlike his other fourth date, this one was enjoyable. more than. he loved watching you be amazed by the size of the whale sharks, and he loved watching you put a bunch of coins into the penny press and cranking the machine until one was squeezed out into the pattern you wanted, and he loved watching you lay your hand against the glass where the rubbery wings of a flood of stingrays battled for your attention, and—

he loved watching you. that's weird, right? he sounds like a fucking lunatic thinking that.

but he does. he hadn't realized until now how difficult it had been not only to touch people, but to look at them. maintaining eye contact, watching someone do a simple task out of interest instead of staring them down in an attempt to intimidate them. he's so much more fucked up than he thought but what makes it bearable is that he can do it with you. he can watch the way you enjoy things and feel like he's not intruding on something he shouldn't. without even trying, you make him feel welcome—wanted.

that's it. you make him feel wanted.

the realization affects him in a way he doesn't understand. at work the next day, when you smile at him over the top of the front desk, he feels something incredibly strong—something like instinct—that tells him to touch you. small. a thumb brushed across your cheek. his fingers grazing yours. he wants it in a way that can't be right because he's never wanted to touch someone like this.

he doesn't do it, but he thinks about it all day. your little smiles when you notice him watching you on your dates, the way your fingers graze your lips when you cover your laugh, the softness in the way you regard him. you're quiet, reserved, but when you laugh you laugh hard. he wants your soft, your quiet and your loud, he wants the feeling of your fingers on his lips, he wants your smallest smiles, all things he wishes he could fold up and keep and later display somewhere he can always see them. a school of paper fish, gaping mouths and drawn-on spots and such carefully pressed lines.

so on the eleventh date—(he knows it's ridiculous to count, but he's never spent this much time with one person before, not like this)—he reaches for your hand when you're walking alongside the bay, the air turning cold in the wake of the sunset that the two of you had just witnessed. that's romantic, you'd teased when he asked you to watch it with him. he'd rolled his eyes, shrugged you off.

but maybe he wanted it to be romantic. maybe he wanted to make this as normal as possible for you because nothing has been normal between the two of you so far.

you pull back when he reaches for you, as if on instinct. look up at him, confused, when he reaches out again. "katsuki..." you say, and it sounds as if he's done something wrong.

he tries not to let his brain spiral but thoughts drip inwards. water meeting a dented hull. what has he done this time? what else has he fucked up by being fundamentally wrong?

"you know..." you start, and you lose your words.

he thinks of kyoka, years ago. it's okay, you know. to not like it. he wonders if you'll still text him like she does.

your lips pull into a frown before you speak and katsuki can't breathe. "i was never gonna ask on my own because i know you don't like talking about things like this if you don't bring it up. but—um. katsuki—do you think i expect something from you?"

"huh?" he asks, dumb. breathing is still something he fails to do.

"i know that this is—different. i know you have some things going on that make the physical part hard for you." you look up at him so earnestly, and he loves looking at you. he loves looking at you and doesn't want to have to stop and he's worried that this is it. the moment he'll have to stop. you try to smile and it's small and he wants it all for himself. careful. delicate. secret, for him. "i'm not gonna lie to you. i don't know what a relationship without that kind of stuff looks like. but that doesn't mean i'm not willing to find out. it's—i don't need you to try to do something you think i want you to do."

"i'm not."

"it makes me feel a little sick, kat. honestly. it makes me feel like, i don't know—like i'm taking advantage of you, or something—"

"you're not."

"you don't have to do things like that to keep me around." you look flustered, eyes darting from his face to the skyline. "if you want me, i'm—you know."

it's okay, you know. "i don't know."

"i'm yours," you say, and cringe immediately at your words. "or like—i could be, you know, kind of whatever you wanted, if you—if that's what you want. would want."

katsuki can only remember a few times when his head was this quiet in the presence of someone else. when he trusted someone enough to let his mind go blank, to let himself act on instinct. "can i kiss you?"

you sigh. "this is what i was saying. i don't want you to—"

"no," he says, quiet, and he's closer to you than he's ever been. he likes the way you smell. he's not gonna apologize if that's weird. "i just want—god, i feel pathetic asking again. can i just—?"

just, just, just. just a touch, just a kiss, just a moment of your fucking time—it's all he wants. and he's never wanted like this. he's never trusted like this. his head has never quieted entirely because he's so sure that he's not going to disappoint you, or be something you don't actually want, or be wrong.

you've shown him that he can't be wrong with you, regardless of whether or not something within him is broken.

your lips are warm, a little chapped from the dry air, and he tries to remember what kissing chastely is but it's like something breaks in him further the second the two of you touch. his hands are cradling your face, his tongue is gliding against your tongue, his teeth are clacking against your teeth, and he knows the kiss is bad and wrong and messy but he suddenly needs it. he needs to feel you.

you make a noise against him and worry slices into his stomach before he realizes it's a quiet, breathy moan, and maybe you've been okay without the touch but that doesn't mean you don't enjoy it when you receive it. he can tell he hasn't made his boundaries clear enough—your hands circle his wrists, too cautious to go further, too hesitant to grip him like he thinks you want to. like he wants you to want to.

his teeth hit yours again and you laugh, and he pulls back, stomach tight. there's a hope in him that's ready to be torn.

you see it in his face—the fear. "i love kissing you," you blurt out, as if it's the only reassurance you can think of in the moment. "i mean—you're just." you laugh again, and he realizes it's nerves. you're just as nervous as he is. "can i—can we go somewhere warm? and maybe do this more? or—if this was enough—"

he's pulling you towards his apartment before you can get another word out.

kissing you is easy because you make him feel like it's relatively new for you as well. maybe that's how it feels for everyone every time, but he wouldn't know. he just feels comfortable with you. like you're not so much better than him, like you're not waiting to laugh at him when he fucks up, like you're touching him because you really want to.

so he takes you to his apartment and puts you on his couch and kisses you until your back is against the armrest and he's looming over you and you feel comfortable enough that your hands stray from his wrists to his shoulders to his hair and he didn't even know touching someone could feel like this.

put aside the fact that he's nearly finished in his fucking jeans three times just from your fingers running across his back, from the way you cup his cheek when he pulls back for air because he keeps forgetting to breathe—just having you close is intoxicating. he wants to bury his face in the curve of your shoulder, he wants to bite marks into your skin that'll stay vibrant for weeks, he wants to etch himself into you so deeply that he doesn't have to leave. these wants aren't even sexual—it's something about having you be his. i'm yours, you'd told him, and he hadn't even known that it would be exactly what he needed to hear.

he's in love with you, which isn't shocking to him, but he knows he shouldn't be in love with you yet because people that aren't fucked up in the head don't feel shit like this so quickly. he's not gonna tell you this for a very long time, but he knows—so completely and confidently—that he will reach a point when he can tell you.

"you sure you want this?" he asks, breathy, between kisses.

you stop kissing him, brows raised in surprise. "katsuki, we don't... this is a lot for one night. we can take it slow, still."

"that's—i'm not talking about that." he gives in, then—lets himself bury his face in the crook of your neck, lets himself breathe in deep, lets himself find your hands and intertwine your fingers, and you can probably feel that he's hard as fucking metal for you but that's not what's important right now. it sure as hell makes it awkward to try to have a serious conversation, though. "you sure you wanna deal with all... you know. my stuff."

"are you sure you wanna deal with all of my stuff?" you counter, and he pulls back to look at you. kissed rotten and smiling. "of course i want to deal with it. i like you."

and he likes you too. god, he likes you so fucking much.

the next morning, long after you've left for home, he finds a little orange whale shark hidden behind the alarm clock on his bedside table, stars in the place of eyes, and the trace of you is enough to make him feel warm. to hope that over time his apartment becomes full of the little paper creatures until his home is its own aquarium, until everywhere he looks is a memory of all you've brought him—pieces of you, perfectly arranged and delicately folded by your careful hands, much too gentle to tear.

BEST FRIENDS & BAD IDEAS

♡ — jean kirstein x f!reader

Big aspirations and even bigger dildos—in which a poorly thought out plan makes it incredibly hard to act like your feelings for Jean Kirstein are platonic. Not when they’re anything but. And especially not when you’re half naked in his lap.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.7k

prompt — cockwarming, creampie

additional content — NSFW, 18+, best friends to lovers speed run, dildo use, implied masturbation, unprotected p in v, praise kink, jean kirstein’s big dick

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come,” Jean growls, and his low, rough tone sends you off-kilter, shoving you headfirst over the precarious edge you’ve been foolishly dangling from.

In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

–

In the long list of questionable decisions you’ve made today, one of the first catalysts guaranteeing inevitable disaster was your lack of foresight to lock your bedroom door before stripping off your shorts and underwear and preparing to lower yourself down onto the ridiculously large dildo that had been delivered in an even more comically large Amazon box this morning. 

Your best friend of many years and college roommate, Jean Kirstein, came home just as your makeshift “stand”—you’d hastily attached the suction cup at the base of the dildo to the last clean plate in the cabinet for lack of a better surface—went flying across the rug, ripping the few inches you’d manage to ease down onto right out of your lube-slick channel. You’d hit the floor with a thud, growling in frustration. This, understandably, had the unfortunate effect of attracting the concern of said roommate, who swiftly burst into your room as if you were in the middle of being robbed. 

The concern quickly morphed into hysterics as he spotted the giant purple dildo wiggling uselessly a few feet away from where you were lying on your stomach, punching the carpet and yelling at him to get out with as much dignity as you could muster.

“That’s my shirt,” he commented dryly, ignoring your pleas for him to forget everything he had just seen. 

“Well it was in my drawer,” you spat back, trying to push the dildo-plate behind you, although the damage was already done.

Jean leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms. “I have so many questions.”

“Our business hours are between 8 and 5, so you’ll have to call back tomorrow. Sorry,” you said with a dismissive wave, subtly kicking the plate and dildo beneath the bed. 

The suction cup chose that moment to pop off, and all ten inches came rolling back into view right where a bar of sunlight was stretching across the floor from the window. It would have almost looked artsy. 

If it weren’t a fucking dildo.

“I thought you ordered a lamp,” he observed mildly, motioning to the huge cardboard box you’d yet to take out to the recycling bin. 

“I’m gonna order you a fleshlight if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled, shoving on a pair of sweatpants.

Jean crinkled his nose, running a hand through his hair. “That thing’s so big, the landlord might start charging us for three tenants if he sees it. Is this a cry for help?”

“I’m trying to prepare myself for seducing Eren at the party Saturday night,” you whisper-yelled, as if anyone else was going to overhear you in your otherwise empty apartment. 

“Jaeger?!” he barked out with a disbelieving laugh. 

“Everyone says he’s huge. I don’t want it to be a disaster.”

“He’s not that fucking big!” he exclaimed incredulously. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Can you like, go be somewhere tonight? Go get so high with Conny you forget you saw anything? I’m gonna go try in the bathroom instead.”

“You’re kicking me out of my own apartment so you can shove a giant, sparkly purple dildo inside of yourself imagining it’s Jaeger’s dork ass?”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me, Jean.”

He groaned. “The bathroom sounds like an even worse idea. You’ll slip, hit your head on something, blood will go everywhere, and we’ll lose the security deposit.”

“Or my plan will work, I’ll get laid this weekend, and you can stop complaining about how grumpy I’ve been lately,” you reasoned matter-of-factly. 

Jean’s hand came to rest on your shoulder as you attempted to push past him to leave the room, aforementioned dildo jiggling menacingly in your hand. “You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he said a little more softly, raising a brow as he cast another look at the offending object.

“I have lube!” you shot back defensively.

Jean glanced up at the ceiling, muttering something about regret under his breath before exhaling, “Let me help you.”

–

In all the years that you’ve known Jean, you’ve done an excellent job at keeping your little crush on him your best kept secret. A secret kept under the most formidable lock and key, buried deep in the depths of your psyche. Tucked away in the very back of a dusty, old cabinet like an expired can of corn. 

Objectively, you know Jean’s handsome. You’re well aware. 

With his intense, hazel eyes—ones that see everything. 

His tall, solid form. 

His sinfully curved, pink lips (and his habit of idly sliding his tongue along the bottom one). 

His long, dexterous fingers—a dangerous thought. 

That fucking mullet he let grow in, which shouldn’t be nearly as sexy as it is when he rolls right out of bed and leaves his room looking like a pillow-rumpled supermodel. 

He’s hot, okay?

And sure, you’ve drunkenly kissed at a few parties over the years. Jean’s seen your ass more times than you can count. Definitely your boobs that time he ran into the bathroom to puke while you were showering. Sometimes he has a habit of putting his head on your lap when you’re both on the couch, nudging you till you card your hands through his soft brown hair like a damn dog. 

But it’s always been platonic. 

Friendly. 

Two people who are just very, very comfortable with one another. Comfortable in knowing that neither intends to ruin their stable, solid friendship by carelessly sprinkling feelings into the mix. 

Comfortably going so far as to share the sordid details of your sex lives (or lack thereof, lately) while leaning against the kitchen counter eating take out food without batting an eye—though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to one up him sometimes when you feel that familiar, unwelcome twinge of jealousy yawning awake inside of you.

But this?

This is asking too much of your restraint to keep your heart walled off and your mouth clamped shut. In your defense, it was already left in pitiful tatters after grinning-and-bearing it throughout the seven-month-long nightmare that was Jean dating fucking Pieck. 

—

The next phase of your slew of terrible ideas today began with Jean sitting at the head of your bed, back against the wall, holding the dildo between his legs. Like your own personal fucking dildo holder. Grinning like this wasn’t the single most awkward thing the two of you have ever done (save for the time you both fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch and woke up to his accidental boner poking you in the ear—neither of you ever mentioned that again). 

And it would have been totally fine if it worked out like you imagined in your head the moment he pitched it—you sinking down onto the silicone schlong a few times, stuffing in as much as you could while he held it still. Then letting him carry on with his day while you lay there in bed for a little while with it lodged inside of you, getting yourself used to the stretch. Totally fine. 

The reality of the situation was far different, entailing a sticky, slippery mess of lube coating of your hands and a dildo that bent and flopped in every direction as you tried to carefully impale yourself on it while maintaining some sense of dignity. 

You had given up fairly quickly, butting your head against Jean’s collarbone and sighing as you asked if he thought Eren would go slow. 

He was quiet for a moment. 

“…do you trust me?” Jean had asked carefully, like his next suggestion wasn’t going to send you spiraling.

Like “Just sit on my dick, as a friend!” wasn’t the most fucking confusing statement your heart, brain, and vagina had ever heard.

–

Which is how you find yourself in your current predicament, straddling Jean Kirstein’s lap with far more inches of him than you’d realized he’d been keeping tucked away buried to the hilt in the velvety heat between your thighs. Raw, skin-to-fucking-skin, because you’re both in a miserable dry spell with not a single condom to be found between the two of you. And somehow the combination of “known you for half of my life” and “just got tested” and “IUD” sounded better than one of you being tasked with trudging to the pharmacy.

Or, god fucking forbid, going down one floor to ask Conny for one.

Nope. 

You have three days to prepare yourself for whatever may come with Eren, so sitting on your best friend’s intimidatingly large dick sans condom the least of your worries. Even if it feels so incredible you’re literally silently choking on the moan threatening to spill past your lips. 

Even if you fucking swear you heard his breath hitch when the thick head of his cock began to slip past your entrance, stretching you open wide as he breached your damp channel. 

Even if he hardly had to touch himself to get hard for this. 

Even if his gaze darkened when you choked out, “Jean, your dick is huge.”

This was a terrible idea. 

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

“Doing what?!” you ask, exasperated.

He rests his hands on your waist, “Doing this,” and squeezes firmly, “on my dick.”

“This isn’t even sex,” you tell him, ignoring the way the close proximity of his hazel eyes sets a flurry of emotion stuttering in your chest. “It’s like, cockwarming at best. You can’t come from cockwarming if you’re not even turned on.”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know how tight you are?”

“That’s obviously why I was worried about Ere—”

“It’s like this,” he cuts you off, wrapping a hand around your throat. It’s a loose hold, only meant to prove a snarky point, but a spark of arousal seeps through your body anyway at the mere suggestion. His eyes widen a fraction at the traitorous way your walls clamp down on him even harder in response. “What, you into being choked?”

“I’m into a lot of things, Jeanie,” you tell him haughtily, trying to ignore the heat blistering beneath your skin.

“Like dumb idiots named Eren Jaeger?” he counters, making to grab for the tongue you’re currently sticking out at him. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think Jean sounds like he’s jealous. 

Which he definitely isn’t. 

But you poke the bear anyway. 

“What, are you jealous?”

He shifts slightly, and you bite your lip to stifle the moan as your cunt spasms around the pressure from his cock. 

If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, his brow furrows as the corners of his mouth tilt downward slightly. “I just think you deserve better.”

You tug on his earlobe, letting out a weak laugh in an attempt to dispel the sticky, messy feeling of hope trying desperately to cling to the arousal stirring in your gut. “Says the guy who’s currently fucking me.”

Jean scoffs and deadpans, “I thought this wasn’t sex.”

Who are you kidding? Certainly not the tension coiling ruthlessly in your abdomen. 

You move a little, trying and failing to relieve the sensation of hot wax dripping down your spine. Instead, you let out a tiny, strangled noise when your throbbing clit presses down against his pelvis, the resulting flood of pleasure setting every nerve ending in your body on fire.

The way he growls out your name through gritted teeth is a warning, but his low tone only serves to stoke the flames licking their way up between your thighs. 

You move again, inhaling sharply through your nose.

“Fuck,” he groans quietly, head hitting the wall behind him with a resounding thud. 

You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, but his hands find their way back to your hips, calloused fingertips pressing directly against your skin as he slides them up beneath your shirt. His shirt. 

The next time you rock against him, his grip on you tightens. And then, you feel it—he tugs you forward. 

You lean further into him, without really meaning to, forehead coming to rest against his. “What are we…”

“Just keep going,” he murmurs. 

He shifts again, sinking down lower so his back is pressed against the mattress, and you realize the angle gives you more purchase to grind down against him when he pulls at your waist, thumbs lazily skimming your hip bones. 

“Jean…” you whisper, not really sure what else you intend to say. 

“I want you to feel good,” he says softly, pushing his hips against you, even though he’s snugly bottomed out. 

It feels so fucking good—

—laying atop Jean while he stares back up at you, pupils clearly dilated in arousal—

—watching his eyes fall shut as you run a hand along the stubble on his jaw—

—knowing he’s well aware the slickness between your legs is no longer from the lube, your cunt gushing with arousal at the feeling of being stuffed deep with his thick cock. 

So you tell yourself you’ll figure the rest out later when you start to shamelessly grind down against him. 

“You don’t have to be quiet for me,” Jean teases when you cough to cover up a gasp.

Your answering moan is nearly a whimper, and Jean’s muscles tense beneath you as he continues to guide your hips. He doesn’t try to pull his cock out from where it’s lodged inside of you, doesn’t start thrusting and fucking up into you. He just lets you chase the clitoral stimulation you so desperately need while you’re cockwarming him, groaning along with you at each needy drag. 

“Good girl, that’s it.”

This is far more intimate than you bargained for, the gentle slide of his hands up your back scraping your heart out bit-by-bit. 

“Holy shit, you don’t know how close I am to coming right now,” he moans in a gravelly, unsteady tone. 

All you can do is whimper his name when the rubber band suddenly snaps in response, your body trembling as a wave of white-hot pleasure crashes over you. 

And then Jean’s hands are cupping your face, his lips crashing into yours. He kisses you fiercely as you whine and shudder through your orgasm, moaning into your mouth as you card your fingers through his hair. You can feel his cock throb inside of you, pulsing with need as your tight cunt spasms and contracts, relentlessly squeezing his shaft while you soak him with your release. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he’s groaning, both of you too drunk on pleasure to move when he suddenly climaxes, cock pumping thick, hot ropes of cum deep in your pussy. 

Chests heaving, Jean slowly sits up, forehead falling against your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. 

After a few minutes of silence, he finally murmurs, “Don’t fuck Jaeger.”

You tilt his head upward, finger resting just below his chin, skimming the stubble that’s there. Too many emotions are swimming in his hazel eyes, more than you can identify—save for one that you recognize with a jolt of clarity. It’s the way you look at him, when he’s not paying attention.

Longing. 

Desire. 

Soft, gentle, unfiltered affection. 

This time, you’re the one to close the distance between your mouths, brushing your lips against his. 

“Who?” you ask, smiling into the kiss. 

Jean chuckles, the sound like warm honey, and he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head. Though you remain seated on his softening length, cum begins to seep from your slick heat, pooling on his balls and abdomen. 

He goes to move, but you don’t budge. “You wanna get cleaned up?”

You shake your head, the corner of your mouth tilting upward with a smirk. “I’m comfortable.”

Jean bites his lower lip, huffing, “My cum’s dripping all over, and I’m two seconds from getting hard again if you keep squeezing down on me like that.”

Feigning a look of innocence, you flex the muscles in your tight, soaked channel one more time for good measure. He chokes, and you grin. 

“Good.”

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

A/n wrote this at 5am so I apologize for any errors! <3 also it's poorly written but I hope you guys still like it.

Yk what fucking drives me crazy the most?

Sweet innocent looking men that treats you so well, I'm talking like he writes you cute poems, follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy and gets all flustered and shy when you want to go to Victoria secret to get new bras and panties but he still goes in with you anyways with his hand clinging onto your arm instead of just leaving because anything for you!!. The way his face melts into your hand whenever you'd cup his cheeks, looking at you with those innocent puppy dog eyes then he places a gentle kiss on your hand. Like he's just such a cutie you know? He'd let you do his makeup and let you baby him and feed him. Literally just anything you want he'd do it and lets you do. Whatever makes you happy.

And that same sweet innocent guy would have you against the wall, his strong arms holding you up, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he slams his hips against you, each thrust pushing you higher and higher against the wall as he let you drop back down on his fat cock after, and he's even noisier than you are, loud whimpers and groans escaping his lips as he stares at your face, feeling satisfied and happy that his thick cock is the reason for your cute fucked out expression and sweet moans that are like music to his ears. Your nails leaving long red marks on his shoulders and back that he's sooo proud of having, he loves it when you do that, it's like a reward to him for making you feel good. His big strong arms pressing your legs back even further up so your knees raised up by your shoulders, giving him a deeper angle as his cock brushed against the right spots inside you that made you see stars to the point where you can't even think straight.

"O-oh fuck! baby, need you to cum ple-ase, fuck! please, wanna see you make a mess on my cock please I'm begging you princess", his voice cracks as he whimpers it out to you. The sweet and innocent needy tone in his voice compared to his rough pounding like he fucking hates you and had to prove it was all it took for you to cream around him, nails digging deeply into his back as he's practically making out with your neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh, leaving a bunch of purple and red marks that's definitely going to make him all fluttered and shy when he sees them in a few hours, remembering about what happened earlier. His eyes rolling back when he feels you coating his cock with your cream and dripping all over him.

"Ngh! Oh fuck, Tha-nk you! Thank you so much, gon-na cum!". He cries out. Your toes curling as he sped up his pace, hammering his cock in a reckless pace into your poor cunt, his thick cock head kissing your cervix with each one of his deep thrusts as he greedily chases his orgasm. He made sure to have his cock so deep inside of you to the hilt so he can fill you up full of his cum as he painted your tight walls white, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his cock, stuffing your hungry cunt full as he lets out a shaky groan while planting his face in your neck. He starts breathing heavily, panting against your neck as you felt his cock twitching inside of you. And you know what? He slowly pulls it out of you, being sooo careful that he doesn't spill any cum as he grips on your thighs even tighter before getting on his knees and eating all of his cum out of your filthy stuffed cunt like the good boy he is, after all its his mess and well, yours also but he doesn't mind! he just wants to make it easier for you to clean you know? :(

Choso, Izuku, Armin,Yuuta, Zentisu, Kirishima, Yuuji, Kaneki, Toge.

last night, you had your very first sleepover with katsuki.

it was perfect. no snoring or sleep walking, no blanket hogging, and most importantly—no pro hero work pulling him away in the morning. the only thing that would’ve made it better, is some clarity.

you’re dating katsuki, but it’s not official—he’s not your boyfriend. you wonder if maybe, he’s just not that into you, or perhaps, he just doesn’t have the time. time—something he’s never had enough of, that has to be it, right?

your very first date, it was a two parter, because he was needed elsewhere mid mapo tofu. a few other dates after that were also cut short—maybe he thinks you just don’t know each other well enough yet? is it even possible for someone like him to think that way? whatever the reason, you need to know.

“morning katsuki,” you murmur, shuffling into the kitchen as you pull your sleeves up over your fists. you have a clear goal in mind—but he’s cooking, without a shirt, and suddenly your mission is ten times more difficult. is this what being a pro hero feels like?

“morning,” he mumbles back, glancing up briefly as you lean against the counter.

“what am i to you?” shit, how did that slip out? you could’ve sworn you asked how he slept.

“a fuckin’ headache,” he replies, sliding two glasses out of the cupboard and onto the counter. he opens the fridge, grabbing the carton of apple juice, and the carton of orange juice.

date three, part one—you had a heated debate over which is better, apple or orange. katsuki told you he doesn’t like to chew his damn beverages, and you told him that, believe it or not, they make orange juice without pulp. still, he went on about the bitterness, the acidity, and the horrid oj and toothpaste combo—yet here he is having both in his refrigerator—how odd.

“c’mon, i’m serious,” you urge, watching the liquids cascade into their respective cups.

“so ‘m i.” he nudges your glass towards you, bringing his own up to his lips and chugging it.

“but, i’m in your apartment,” you pause, noticing the way his face contorts into a full on sentence—one that reads yeah, no shit. “i slept in your bed with you, i’m wearing your shirt,” you continue, gesturing to the long sleeve currently swallowing you whole.

“you’re talkin’ my damn ear off too,” he breathes, wiping an arm over his mouth.

by date five, it was obvious that katsuki’s actions spoke louder than his words—which is impressive considering just how loud his words are. puddles lined the streets that evening, courtesy of the afternoon downpour. it was busy, drivers lost in their own little worlds as they drove past—and each and every time, katsuki would angle his body to the right just a bit. he cursed every last one of them who sped by, and he was absolutely miserable by the time you made it off the main roads but, at least you were dry.

“nevermind,” you say, sliding into a chair at the dining table. you’ve decided that, whatever this is—it’s good enough for you.

but it was on date one part two that katsuki knew you were it for him. after running out on you just three nights prior, he was glad you even showed up—but you went one step further. you sat there with that pretty smile on your face. no eye rolls, no guilt trips, and not a single snide remark or complaint. you even offered to pay for the meal—as if he would ever let you do such a thing, but he found it cute nonetheless. so, he owes you this.

“hey,” he barks, causing your head to snap up. the two plates he had set on the counter are full now, he must be done. “you’re mine.”

the look on your face must’ve said it all, because he’s choking back a laugh as he carries your plates over. you’re his? why did he blurt it out so casually? are you missing something?

“oh c’mon,” he huffs, plopping down in the seat next to you. he turns, trailing his eyes up and down your figure. “you slept on my damn side of the bed, in my fuckin’ shirt.”

he gave you this shirt—right before he told you to go wait in bed while he tidied up—how the hell were you supposed to know he has a specific side?

“don’t play dumb,” he pauses, scowl growing as he watches you reach for a piece of food with your bare hands. he grabs your wrist, ushering for you to let him roll your sleeves up—like hell he’s gonna sit back and watch you get his shirt dirty.

he folds the fabric with precision, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hide his smile—but he just can’t.

“y’already know you’re mine.”

hear me out, armin seems super innocent but he’s a fucking scorpio. he’s FREAKY DEAKY and he wants to fuck alllll the time