.ᐟ Sign This For Me

bakugou “do it yourself—no—i’ll do it” katsuki.

In simple theory, you have your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, wrapped around your finger. And he can fight it all he wants, but it’s nothing if not the wholehearted truth.

“Hey, can you grab me some coffee?”

Bakugou didn’t even look up from his phone. “No. Get your own damn coffee.”

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically, turning your attention back to your work. You didn’t miss the way Bakugou grumbled under his breath as he stood up a few moments later. When he returned, he placed a steaming cup of coffee on your desk without a word.

You hid your smile behind the rim of the cup. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, glaring at you.

-

Later that afternoon, you two were sparring in the gym in the comfort of your home—courtesy to your husband insisting that it’s a non-negotiable when arranging the first designs of your dream home together. You were struggling to move one of the heavier training dummies back into its original position, and once again you had the brilliant idea of putting your theory to the test.

What’s the point of having a husband if he doesn’t let you do things like these?

You let out an exaggerated sigh and turned to Bakugou, who was wiping sweat from his brow. For a moment, you forgot what you were about to say—momentarily distracted by how good he looks, muscles glistening and all with his signature black tank top.

Goddamn, you scored a hottie.

“Katsuki, help me move this,” you called, pointing at the dummy.

“No way,” he shot back immediately. “You’re the one who moved it there, so you deal with it.”

“Fine,” you sighed, turning back to the dummy and giving it an exaggerated shove. Before you could try again, Bakugou had stormed over, cursing at the dummy under his breath. He grabbed the dummy with one hand and effortlessly dragged it back into place.

“There. Happy now?” he grunted.

Oh, so it could be resist, then actually do it, or refuse while doing it anyway.

You smiled. “Very. Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Shut up,” he growled, his ears slightly tinged with pink.

-

By the end of the week, it had become a game for you. You’d ask for the simplest things, knowing full well that Bakugou would always refuse—only to do it anyway. Maybe it’s his love language to refuse but comply nevertheless.

“Can you pass me the remote?”

“No. Use your legs.” Hands it over.

“Can you open this jar for me?”

“Do it yourself.” Opens it in one twist.

“Can you get groceries on your way home?”

“Fuck no.” What do you mean he’s already loading the grocery bags in his car?

“Can you carry my bag for a second?”

“Die. I’m not your damn pack mule.” Carries it all the way home.

-

One evening, you two were sitting on the couch of your home, eating takeout and watching a movie. You were cuddled up with a freshly ironed blanket—thanks to Bakugou, who had done the laundry yesterday while you did the ironing when everything had dried enough—poking at your food lazily. You turned to Bakugou, your head resting on the couch cushion.

“Hey, can you grab me some water?” you asked with a sweet smile.

Bakugou glared at you, pausing mid-bite, his usual scowl in place. “No. You’ve got legs. Use ‘em.”

“Okay,” you said simply, turning your attention back to the movie.

You decided that you’ll get water once you finish this specific scene.

Bakugou lasted all of five minutes before he let out a loud groan, stomping to the kitchen and returning with a glass of water. He shoved it into your hands, his expression equal parts annoyed and resigned.

“There,” he grumbled. “Happy now?”

You took the glass with a smug grin. “Thanks, Katsuki. You’re the best.”

He sank back onto the couch, crossing his arms and glaring at the screen. “You’re so damn annoying.”

“You love me,” you said teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, his ears turning red. But he didn’t deny it.

“Married me, too. So I don’t think you mind at all.”

“Die.”

“‘til death do we part, Kats.”

And despite all his protests, you knew the truth. Katsuki Bakugou might have sworn you’d never have him wrapped around your finger, but with every little thing he did for you—grudgingly or not—you knew you had your conclusion.

Even if it’s a little bit.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

cw: cisfem reader, sex work mention, slight blood mention

“You don’t belong here.”

The man jumps, surprised, then dissolves into a chuckle as he brings his drink to his lips. There's something familiar about this face, hidden under the swollen cheekbone and bruised fat lip, but you can't place where you know him from. You apparently marvel too long, as the stranger cheeks grow redder by the second.

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Um, yeah.” You gesture up and down him, “You’re stiff as a board and you tried to order food.”

The stranger scoffs into his drink, genuinely insulted for a moment before he dissolves back into his smile. There's no airs about him - a rare occurrence for the clientele here- and that knows you a bit off guard. "What’s wrong with ordering food?"

You ignore how the bartender shoots you a look when you slip into the seat beside your tall blonde and simply gesture to the place as if it explains itself- dim mood lighting, men in suits, women in dresses that barely cover anything. There's a woman on stage, perched on all fours and writhing ever so gracefully, arching her back as she slinks on the floor. Her quirk activates for a moment and her skin shimmers with a kaleidoscope of colors, a fairy under neon lights.

This place has the decency to call itself a gentleman's club. It has polished glasses and comfortable seats, but that doesn't change what it is. It's a strip club. Through and through. It's lacquered shine doesn't change anything underneath. It still reeks of malintent.

"What’s wrong with ordering food?" he repeats. He places his drink down and you take it before he can react, bringing it up to your lips with a playful grin. When he doesn't protest, instead just watching you with wide, wide eyes, you take a sip. It's strong enough to make your chest bloom with heat.

"I don't think they have food here."

"They do," he replies.

"Then you're going to pay six thousand yen for three bites of food." Your lipstick clings to the rim as you hand it back to him.

"Well," he sniffs, flinching at his own crinkled nose. It must be broken; there's flecks of dried blood lining his fulcrum. "Have you ever tried it?"

"Clearly not."

He takes a long chug from his drink and finished the glass. When he gestures for another, your lipstick has smudged on to his cheek. "Maybe it's worth the money then."

You laugh, and it's not your normal practiced giggle. It's real and loud enough that the bartender shoots you another look. He knows what you're supposed to be doing here, and it's not hanging with the slummiest man in the room. When you meet his eye, there's a bit of a silent conversation between you two.

I know, you try to tell him, Let me have my fun.

"What are you doing here?" You turn back to your current play thing. The man shrinks slightly, a sheepish smile creeping back onto his face.

"Long night," the stranger mumbles, "Needed a drink and, well-"

He looks towards the stage, where a mouse eared girl spins on her pole, dark braids the only thing covering her tits. She's short and thick in the places that make you look longer than you should

"Some pretty things to look at?" You finish for him.

He tears his eyes away and back to you. You don't miss how they flicker down, how they soften when you scooch closer.

"Does that make me a bad person?"

"I think it makes you a guy," you shrug. One of the better guys, in fact. The unashamed ones get grabby and mean; this one talks to you like he considers you a person.

"What's your name?" he asks suddenly. You debate giving him your real one for a second, but then you adjust your legs and feel the bite of your stiletto straps on your ankles.

"Star."

"I'm Taishiro."

You regard him again, soaking in all the little details about him. He's tall- insanely so. There's a fair amount of muscle on his frame and you think maybe, under those bruises, he's pretty.

"You a boxer, Tai?"

"Y-yeah. Yeah, I am," he hesitates, "How'd you know?"

"Well, your nose is broken, so you definitely fight, but you aren't a hero," you gesture to his clothes. Oversized sweatpants, and a loose long sleeve - he looks like someone that's cut weight lately. "I know all the heroes in the area, and you aren't one of them. I would have remembered your pretty face."

The stranger draws back a bit, brow scrunched with confusion, but a smile creeping across his face. He must not get compliments much. You slyly check his finger for a ring and find it empty. Good, but that doesn't mean anything. Lots of men take off their rings.

"And you aren't a bad guy or a villain. You don't have that scent to you."

He also doesn't smell like anyone else. If he slept next to someone, there'd be lingerings of them.

"Villains have a smell now?"

"To me, they do." You nap the side of your nose, "It's a quirk thing."

Your quirk sounds more useful than it is. There's a scent to bad intentions, something that lingers

He rolls his head to his shoulder and finally relaxes fully. "You can sniff out crime? Full on McGruff the Crime Dog?"

You mirror him. Ear to your shoulder, a slight grin tugged onto your lips, you say: "A dog? Are you calling me a bitch?"

The stranger blanches. His hand flies to his face so quickly that you're worried he's going to hit himself.

"Oh, geez, I didn't-"

You lean forward with a tinkle of laughter and pat his thigh. The muscle is tight and corded through the thick fabric. Messing with him is easy. Too easy. You almost feel bad for riling him up. "I'm teasing. I'm like a bloodhound."

"How does it work?" Taishiro asks, "What do I smell like?"

He smells like home cooking, with spices and herbs you can't quite place. It's homey, it's warm, it's familiar in ways you can't quite place. There's an edge in there you can't quite place, not quite sour or sweet, but just off enough that you know he's not being 100% truthful with you. You suspect his name isn't what he says, or his boxing career isn't exactly that.

You can't judge. Your name clearly isn't Star.

But, then again, he moves so earnestly that you have a hard time assuming he's bad in anyway, especially next to some of these men. One of them, an older man you unfortunately recognize, keeps looking at you. His smell is sweet in the same way rot is.

"It's a secret," you reply, "Just keep on behaving and you won't have to worry about it."

He laughs at that, big and booming enough that a couple of the girl walking around look your way, and you can't help but join it. You think, if you had met him anywhere else, if you were someone else, you'd pursue this further, let something develop between you.

But you aren't anyone else.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, suddenly, and you suddenly are hit with the guilt of reality.

"I gotta be honest with you." You peel your hand from his thigh. "I don't come to strip bars for the tits, baby."

"Do- do you work here?"

"Men buy my time." He stares at you blankly and you sigh. "My companionship for the evening. And my boss is going to get mad if I don't start schmoozing paying customers."

Taishiro furrows his brow, then widens his eyes as the realization hits him.

"Oh. Oh." He swallows and nods, clearly thinking this through. Just as you start to get up, he reaches for you, wide, wide, wide hand on your hip to keep you in place. "How much?"

Something inside you sinks. You should have expected this. "I didn't think you were interested in that."

"I'm not-- I mean, I am, but not like- well-" He staggers through his thoughts, "I just want to keep talking. Really. Maybe even split my food, if you want, but I don't- not that kind of companionship- just, like, normal companion stuff."

You sniff. He still smells the the truth, for the most part. You're not sure if you pity him.

"Two hundred thousand yen for the night," you say. "Ends at sun up- no exceptions."

"Oh," he perks up, head tilted like a puppy again, "That's it?"

"What does that mean?"

"I thought it was going to be--" he pauses and shakes his head, thinking better of it, "Yeah, that's okay."

"Do you think I'm cheap?" you gape.

"No, I just--" he laughs again, clearly embarrassed. "You just look really, really, really expensive?"

Despite yourself, with a roll of your eyes, you smile too. "Nice save."

He mum les to himself, rubbing the back of his neck. Most of your clients are experienced with this life, but the new ones are always like him. Nervous. Scared. You step closer to him, trailing your fingers down his arm. You both watch your manicured nails trace loose patterns.

"You really want to spend that kind of money to just have dinner with me?"

You'd fuck him. Of course you would. You expect him to crumble under the flirtations, just like the others did.

But he surprises you when he nods.

"Yeah, I am," Taishiro says, "Is that okay?"

You shrug. "It's your night. Anything you want is okay."

The hand on your waist squeezes tighter, but it's not sexual. It's comforting, almost normal.

"I guess I'll..." he says awkwardly, "Get cash?"

"Cash is good."

-

Taishiro knows this is a bad idea.

A horrible, awful, terrible idea.

Using his real name was stupid; he's lucky you incorrectly guessed his career. If he wasn't so thin right now, you might have recognized him. He'll if he's not careful, you could figure him out anyway.

If the media gets word of this, his career would be ruined. His poor interns would never meet his eye again. The headlines flash in his mind: FATGUM CAUGHT WITH PROSTITUTE. OR ESCORT. WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?

Well, he's sure they'd be more creative than that.

He shakes it out of his head. This isn't about sex. He's just... lonely. So, unbearably lonely. It's just a dinner, just something to stop him from going hone and wallowing by himself again. Sure, you're the prettiest thing that's ever talked to him-

He shakes that out of his head too.

it is never too late to simplé take a nap for 18 hours

shouto likes bottoming so much he’ll make you stretch him out with two in the same hole on the weekends your both not busy so he can make the most time of it. likes how full it feels. doesn’t even ask to be fucked hard just likes grinding like that

Now for the real fun! While I have the main beats of the fight planned, Bakugou's other quirks aren't set in stone, so I'm welcoming suggestions.

First - Previous - Next

What a crazy coincidence

NEWLYWEDS

pairing. bakugo x fem! reader

fluff, married life ig, i headcanon bakugo as a snorer, crack.

Being married to Katsuki Bakugo was no different than dating him, truly, only the title changed.

You’d still bicker over the silliest and smallest things.

Like right now, for example.

Katsuki was asleep next to you. His hands were wrapped snuggly around your waist as you watched your favorite movie before dozing off to sleep.

You tried to ignore it, you really did. But you couldn’t take it anymore.

You sighed and tapped Katsuki once, then twice. He groaned quietly, opening one of his fiery red eyes tiredly to look at you. “What, woman?” He spoke groggily.

“Can you stop snoring….?” You whispered. “The hell? I don’t snore.” He replied grumpily, this time, propping himself on his elbows to glare at you tiredly. “Yes, you do!” You shot back and sat up slightly. “I can’t even hear my damn movie, Katsuki.”

“Whatever, just turn it up.” He dismissed with a grunt, pulling you back into his arms and nuzzling into your chest.

“No, ‘cause then you’ll get mad at me for not letting you sleep.”

“Woman, you’re not letting me sleep either way!” He growled and gave your side a pinch. You gasped and swatted his hand away, deciding to turn the movie off and settling comfortably in his protective arms.

Minutes passed and the bedroom was silent, only the sounds of breathing could be heard. You were slowly drifting off to sleep when—

“Katsuki…” You poked him, whispering.

“What?” He groaned, his voice being muffled against your shirt.

“You’re snoring, I can’t sleep.” You poked him again.

He grumbled, pulling you closer to his body before replying, “For the last time, woman, I don’t snore.”

“Yes you do, that’s literally why I can’t sleep.” You said matter-of-factly to which he scoffed. “Yeah? Then prove it.” He spoke, his eyes still closed.

You groaned into the darkness. “What am I supposed to do, record you?”

“Sure, make it your damn ringtone while you’re at it. Maybe that’ll shut you up.” He smirked lazily, hugging you tighter.

You could only blink in response, the audacity this man had! However, you bit back a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah? And you’re still awake, so whose fault is that?”

You shook your head, smiling and snuggling into him, wrapping your arms around him lazily again. “Whatever, just let me sleep.”

“G’night, dumbass.” He murmured, pressing a gentle, lazy kiss to your forehead before drifting off to sleep….and snoring again.

You sighed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tonight was going to be a loooong night.

© CHSVOK. please do not plagiarize, copy, or translate my work in any way, shape, or form.

reblogs are greatly appreciated !

riding dabi while praising him, telling him how amazing and powerful he is. encouraging him to get you pregnant because you know he's a good guy and he's strong enough, right? he can handle cumming inside this time, right? feeling so raw and good without the barrier of a condom...

hmkhmfh let me cook here.

minors dni, porn without plot (idc, sue me), riding, implied cremepies fawk yes, dabi uses the name pretty (like once, okay) anyways let me fuck this man please

"fuck, you're eager," dabi hisses through gritted teeth, warm palms meeting the sides of your hips as you straddle him. his voice is rough and heavy with lust, panting after having his lips connected to yours for what felt like hours. his eyes flutter and roll back ever so slightly when you sit down on top of him, the heat between your folds flush against his length.

"the one time i know exactly what i want and you're bitching," you mumble in response, only half teasing. you bend and press a heated kiss to the base of his jaw, the moan that leaves your lips muffled against scarred skin when he bucks his hips up into you.

at some point you can feel him blindly reaching for the bedside table, keeping one hand on the fat of you ass as you continue to grind your slick against him and rational thought seems to exit the room entirely.

you've been meaning to tell dabi you've started birth control. each time, however-- he gets impaitent and paranoid when you don't reach for the spot you normally store them-- and insists on using them. he may be a villain-- but he'd rather go to jail or something than have to deal with a pregnancy scare.

your hand darts out to stop him, fingers curling around his wrist and tugging it back, pinning it loosely above his head and all he can do is raise a single eyebrow at you. his chest rises and falls-- it's littered in bite marks and hickies that you know he's going to complain about tomorrow.

"don't start with me right now," he starts slowly, his voice low and on the verge of dangerous. dabi's honest enough with himself to know his pull out game would be weak when it came to you. you would end up pregnant for sure if he came inside you.

"i wanna feel it though," your head dips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. dabi hates how a chill runs directly down his spine at how seductive your tone got in the matter of seconds. "you can handle it; right, baby?"

oh, that was evil. dabi is always weak for when you call him 'baby' in that tone of yours-- the tone that drips honey and burns deliciously when it lands on his tongue. he always laps it up so eagerly, keening for more and curling more into your touch...

with the way you kiss and suck at his throat he only gets harder. he's leaking at this point, precum mixing with the slick of your arousal-- he's only waiting for the moment his tip accidentally slips right in.

and when it does, it's an immediate reaction from the both of you. his head knocks back against the pillow, yours falling into the crook of his neck as you share the same heady moan. both of you come to a still, breathing heavily and you swear you could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

"can i move?" you don't know why you're asking him. you've ridden him before, he loves when you ride him.

"it's just the fucking tip, pretty," dabi breathes out, voice strained and hardly put together. blunt fingernails dig into the meat of your ass before he shoves you downward instead of pulling you off. he's rewarded with a lewd moan from your mouth and the intoxicating heat of your cunt. "you're such a brat."

you take that as an invintation to work your magic. dragging the walls of your pussy along his length, the delightful stretch when you sit up fully causing you to mewl in response.

underneath you, dabi grunts at the sensation. he’s been told before about how it feels to go raw, having sex without the barrier or protection of a condom. he thought it was overplayed. nothing special— you always felt good. why would raw be any different?

but it is different. he can feel your cunt sucking in every inch of him with each lift and drop of your hips— you’re moving so tantalizingly slow and it knocks the wind out of him.

he understands now. there’s no way he’s going to be able to pull out now. not with you above him making those lewd faces every time his tip kisses your cervix, or how you moan so god damn loud when he throbs inside of you.

“this feels so good,” you’re panting, your voice is being interrupted by the crude sound of the skin of your ass meeting dabi’s pelvic bone. “you feel so good, baby—“

“don’t,” he hisses, though his voice is strained. “don’t fucking start with that, [y/n]—“

"it feels good doesn't it?" you taunt him, your hips are starting to move faster and you hum in delight at the view of dabi's eyes rolling to the back of his head and the muscles in his neck tightening. "you like it, don't you, dabi?"

there's a sharp sting on the flesh of your ass, you register the noise after. it causes you to pause, but with another firm slap, you pick your movements-- only this time around you're more intense and rough about it. "that's it," dabi's growling, "yeah, there we go."

he meets each of your movements with a rough snap of his hips and there's a manic looking smirk on his lips when you look down at him. he looks so sexy like this-- dark fringe sticking to his forehead and a nice flush along his cheekbones due to the extortion.

there's a heavy pool of warmth forming in your gut. "y'gonna cum in me, dabi?" you manage out, head spinning from the lewd and filthy squelching noises filling the room.

"you're in so much trouble by the way," dabi threatens through gritted teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he forces himself to focus on the rise and fall of your hips. his hands find your waist and he squeezes. "that what you want, hm? let's see if you can keep all of it inside, yeah?"

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

Shouto really can't get the thought of you getting fucked by his older brother out of his head. He makes love to you with all the gentleness he has, but Touya? Touya would fuck you like a whore. And Shouto... really thinks you'd love it.