botanicsoul

[botanicsoul]

No More Pretending

Bakugou Katsuki (timeskip) X Reader

MDNI!!!!

-> Just a PSA I don’t condone cheating or being a homewrecker AT ALL— I just thought it was a good fic idea!

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ . ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.

You’ve known Mei since your second year of high school. She was the kind of girl who always knew how to get attention—loud laugh, glossy lips, a knack for slipping into the center of every photo. You were quieter, the grounding force to her drama. Somehow, that balance worked. She pulled you into parties you never would’ve gone to, and you helped her pass tests she barely studied for.

Over the years, Mei became more of a constant than a choice. You drifted into adulthood together, still calling each other best friends because that’s what you’d always been, even if sometimes the title felt heavy.

Mei loved beautiful things—beautiful clothes, beautiful places, beautiful people. And when she managed to snag the attention of Dynamight, Japan’s #5 pro hero, she treated it like her crown jewel. The victory she never let anyone forget. To her, dating Bakugou Katsuki was the achievement. Not because she loved him—you weren’t sure she was capable of loving anyone but herself—but because of what came with him: the cameras, the money, the envy. She flaunted him like a designer bag, showing him off at every opportunity. And you… played along. Because that’s what best friends did.

Even when she whispered in your ear about how “hard” he was to date. About his temper, his intensity, how demanding he could be….they had only been dating for 6-ish months but you always nodded, comforted, agreed when she complained.

⸻

Tonight the bar is crowded, warm with chatter and clinking glasses. Lights glitter off sequined dresses, laughter carries over the music, and Mei has positioned herself dead center at the counter, nursing a cocktail like it’s another microphone for her ego. She dragged you out tonight to ‘have fun’ and ‘get some dick’ but you wanted neither— And here you are sitting at the bar in your going out dress you only whip out from time to time listening to Mei complain…again.

“—and honestly? Dating a top pro hero is basically like winning the lottery. I don’t even have to love him, everyone else does it for me.” she says with a dramatic roll of her eyes, swiping her glossy hair over one shoulder. “He has the worst temper ever but it’s worth it I guess. We’ll probably get married soon. He’s sooo loaded, you wouldn’t believe the sport car he just bought.”

You swirl your drink around pausing for a few moments after her rant. “Then why stay if he’s so bad to date?”

Mei looks at you like you’re crazy before she starts laughing loud enough for nearby people to hear and glance over. “Are you fucking kidding me y/n? He’s Dynamight. Japan’s #5. The money, the attention, the free press—it’s like dating a brand. Plus…” she leans closer, smirking, “…the sex is good—so it’s enough to make it all tolerable. He is pretty rough in bed. Not exactly boyfriend material, but damn if it doesn’t scratch an itch.”

You stiffen, trying not to show the twist in your chest “…Right.”

Mei takes another sip from her glass, “Honestly, he should be grateful. I make him look good. I’m the one who knows how to smile for cameras. Without me, he’s just some angry guy who blows things up.”

You swirl your drink once more before taking another sip and forcing a polite hum of agreement. Mei doesn’t notice the way your smile falters—she never does. She just keeps going— you’ve learned the more she drink the bigger her ego gets. She continues to pile on details like she’s performing for an audience: the PR shoots, the designer gifts, the exclusive dinners where she gets photographed by paparazzi. But your attention drifts…across the room, Katsuki Bakugou leans against the far wall, talking with one of his hero buddies that agreed to go out to drink with him—You think it was an excuse to not be around Mei the whole night...His plan clearly worked. His posture is stiff, shoulders taut even in the middle of conversation. He doesn’t laugh at something kirishima says—he never does—but his lips twitch just slightly, like he almost could.

You really shouldn’t stare. Then he looks at you. It’s nothing—barely a second. His gaze cuts through the crowd, sharp and unmissable, catching you mid-sip. Your breath snags. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes linger just long enough to feel like a burn. Then he looks away, tossing something curt to kirishima before taking a slow pull of his drink.

You force another hum acting like you’re listening as Mei word vomits, but your mind is elsewhere, your pulse betraying you. Because no matter how much Mei brags, you can’t stop replaying the weight of his gaze, the unspoken spark that flared in that single, stolen second.

⸻

Few hours later and a couple of more cocktails— Mei is giggling too loud, slurring half her words as you sling her arm over your shoulders. “God—sh’s’cute, right? My boyfriend… #5, baby. M’gonna marry ‘im, just you wait.” Her perfume is overwhelming, her heels dragging uselessly against the sidewalk.

You’re struggling to keep her upright when a low voice cuts through the night. “Tch. She’s a fuckin’ mess.” You glance up, heart skipping. Katsuki Bakugou stands just outside the bar’s entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, expression a mixture of annoyance and inevitability. His shirt sleeves are rolled to his elbows, collar slightly undone—like he’d tried to leave earlier but hadn’t quite made it.

“I’ve got her don’t worry,” you murmur quickly, though your knees are already buckling under Mei’s dead weight.

“Yeah, I can fuckin’ see that.” He strides over, pulling her from your hold with frustrating ease. Mei squeaks and melts against his chest, mumbling, “Katsukiiii~” before promptly dozing off.

“My god does she not know her own limits?,” he mutters, adjusting her so she doesn’t slip. “C’mon. My car’s around the corner.”

You blink. “Wait—you’re driving us? You don’t have to we can just take the bus —I thought you’d maybe want to stay here longer”

“Got a damn meeting at seven. Was gonna leave anyway— Plus what kind of boyfriend am I to leave her” His tone is sharp, but his jaw ticks, like he’s annoyed. “…Let’s just get her home before she pukes.”

⸻

His car is exactly what Mei bragged about—a sleek, black sports car that hums low and powerful as he starts it up. You slide into the passenger seat, Mei sprawled across the back like a ragdoll, mumbling nonsense into her clutch.

The ride starts in silence. Streetlights flash across Bakugou’s sharp profile, his hand loose on the wheel. You try not to notice the veins in his forearm, or how the car smells faintly like smoke and cedar.

Finally, he snorts. “All I saw her do was talk tonight and you sit there nodding your head—She never shuts the hell up, does she?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself, nerves spilling out. “You have no idea. I hear every detail.”

He glances at you, quick but sharp, like he’s trying to read something behind your words. You panic, covering it with humor: “At least she brags about the car accurately. It’s… nice.”

His mouth quirks, just barely. “Damn right it is.”

It shouldn’t be funny, but it is. The tension softens, and suddenly you’re both laughing quietly—stifled, almost conspiratorial. Mei snores from the back seat, completely oblivious. And for one fleeting moment, the car feels too small. Too intimate. Like if you reached out and touched his arm, he wouldn’t stop you. But you don’t. You just sit there, heart pounding, pretending it’s nothing.

⸻

By the time you reach the shared apartment, Mei is dead weight. You struggle to keep her upright and basically dragging her out the car, but Bakugou is already out of the car, grumbling as he circles around and scoops her into his arms like she weighs nothing.

“Got her,” he mutters, nudging the door open with his boot. You hurry ahead to unlock the apartment, pushing the door wide as he strides in, his shoulders filling the frame.

It feels strange—wrong, even—seeing him here. Katsuki Bakugou, stomping through your shared living room, carrying your best friend like she’s fragile porcelain when you know he could take down anything and everything in his way with ease.

He sets her down on her bed gently, tugging off her heels with a grumble when they nearly slide off anyway. She mumbles something unintelligible, face smashed into the pillow, already gone.

Bakugou straightens, rolling his shoulders. “She’s out cold.”

You stand in the doorway, watching her for a beat before sighing. “Thanks… I probably would’ve dropped her halfway up the stairs.”

He smirks faintly. “Yeah, no shit you’re weak.”

But there’s no bite in it. Just weary amusement. For a second, the two of you just stand there, Mei’s soft snores filling the room. Finally, he jerks his chin toward the hall. “Got whiskey in that kitchen?” You linger a second at Mei’s door, watching her sink deeper into the mattress, then glance back at Bakugou. He’s still standing there, broad shoulders filling the space, hands shoved into his pockets like he’s not sure whether to leave or stay.

“Uh… actually, we do,” you whisper, stepping towards the kitchen. “Why?”

He follows, slow, heavy footsteps against the wood floor. “Helps me sleep,” he mutters, voice low, gravelly with something almost tired. “Got that early meeting. If I go home wired, I’ll be up all fuckin’ night with my mind racing.”

You reach the fridge, grabbing the half-full bottle, setting two glasses down. “Guess it’s your lucky night, then,” you say, pouring him a drink. He takes the glass from your hand, fingers brushing yours in a spark you try to ignore. He downs half of it in one swallow, jaw flexing as he swirls the rest absently. His eyes stay on you as you fill your glass with cold water.

You cut the silent tension, “You think too much?” you tease lightly, a brow raised.

He smirks without humor. “Tch. All the fuckin’ time. Meetings. Patrol schedules. Training. PR crap. Always somethin’.” He downs a sip, amber liquid catching in the low kitchen light. “Sleep’s the only time I don’t gotta think.”

You lean against the counter opposite him, cradling your glass of water. “Sounds…lonely—stressful.”

His eyes flick up at that, sharp and searching, like you’ve said something you weren’t supposed to.

“You don’t get used to it?” you press, voice softer now. “The schedule. The pressure. The whole… world watching you?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, staring into his drink. “No…You don’t get used to it. You just get better at pretendin’ you don’t give a shit.”

The honesty hits heavier than you expect. This isn’t the bragging Mei spills every night—he’s rich, he’s famous, he’s mine. This felt raw.

“I guess it’s easier when you’ve got someone at home,” you say carefully, not sure why the words even leave you. He snorts, setting his glass down. “Yeah, right. Someone who doesn’t give a damn unless the cameras are out? Real comforting.” His mouth twists, bitter. “She likes Dynamight. Not me.”

The words hang between you. They’re heavier than whiskey, heavier than Mei’s snores drifting down the hall.

You swallow, nerves prickling. “Then why stay?”

He looks at you then, really looks, like he could peel the answer straight out of you. His jaw flexes. “PR says it looks good. ‘Fan-favorite couple,’” he mutters, mockingly, air quoting. “She plays the part, so they eat it up. Less work for me she’s been getting my rates up the last few months.”

You hesitate, then whisper, “But you don’t like her.”

He leans closer across the counter, red eyes locked on yours. “What the fuck do you think?”

Your pulse skitters, heart pounding in your throat. The air is thick, dangerous, and you break it with the only thing you can think to do—you turn to the sink, filling your glass again. You should be cussing him out for talking about her like that. This is your best friend you should be defending her. You turn back around but your nerves betray you, and the cup slips from your hand—water spills everywhere.

“Shit!” you hiss, grabbing for a towel. But Bakugou’s already moving. He crouches beside you, his hand covering yours as he presses the cloth into the puddle. His heat crowds you, whiskey and smoke in the air, his voice low by your ear.

“Y’know what I think?” His head tilts, lips so close you can feel the brush of his breath. “I think you’ve been pretendin’ just as much as me.”

Your eyes snap to his, and the tension breaks—he kisses you, rough, hard, claiming, like he’s been holding it back for months.

The kiss is explosive, his mouth crashing against yours like a storm he’s been holding back. He tastes like whiskey and heat, all sharp edges and hunger, and when you gasp, he groans into you like he’s starving.

“Fuck…” he mutters against your lips, his hands already gripping your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. “Been wantin’ this… didn’t even realize how bad.”

Your mind spins, Mei sleeping just down the hall, but the thought is crushed when he lifts you—effortlessly—and sets you down on the cool kitchen counter. Your knees part for him instinctively, and Bakugou slides between them, pressing hard against your core. You whimper, hands fisting his shirt. “Katsuki—we can’t—”

“Shut up,” he growls, but there’s no cruelty in it—just desperation. His palm cups your jaw, his forehead pressing to yours. “Don’t fuckin’ say we can’t. You feel that? Tell me you don’t want it.”

Your hips rock against his, betraying you. His smirk is wicked, breath hot as he mutters, “Knew it.”

When his hand slips beneath your dress, dragging your panties aside, you bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He strokes you with rough, calloused fingers, and your soft gasp nearly echoes.

Bakugou freezes, glaring at you with wild eyes. “Shhh.” His other hand covers your mouth, heavy and firm. “You wanna wake her up, princess? You wanna let Mei know how good I’m makin’ you feel?”You shake your head, eyes wide, moaning into his palm as he sinks two fingers inside you, curling just right. He watches your expression darken with need, his grin sharp.

“Figures. She doesn’t even fuckin’ listen when I tell her what I like. Too busy complainin’.” His lips drag along your throat, biting hard enough to mark. “But you… you’re fuckin’ dripping for me.”

The words alone make you clench around him, and he notices. His chuckle is pure filth. “Ohhh, you like that? You like me talkin’ about how much better you are than her?”

You whimper a “yes,” and that’s all it takes—he yanks his belt open, shoving his pants low enough to free himself. He’s big, hot, thick, and when he pushes into you, you nearly cry out.

Bakugou slaps his hand over your mouth again, growling into your ear, “Quiet. Don’t you fuckin’ ruin this.”

The stretch has your eyes rolling back, your nails digging into his shoulders. He buries himself to the hilt, holding there for a moment before pulling out almost completely, then slamming back in. The counter shakes with each thrust, your body arching into him helplessly.

“Fuck, you take me so good,” he groans, voice rough and raw. His lips brush your ear. “She can’t handle me like this. Always tellin’ me I’m too rough, too much. But you—shit—you’re made for it.”

Tears prick at your eyes from the overwhelming pressure, but you’re nodding, gasping into his hand, your body answering him with every thrust.His rhythm turns brutal, relentless, the counter creaking under you both. “Look at you. Keepin’ quiet for me. My good fuckin’ girl.”

Your release builds fast, impossible to fight. He feels it, smirking as his pace grows savage. “That’s it. Come on. Cream all over my cock while your best friend’s passed the fuck out in the next room. Gonna let her keep braggin’ about what’s mine?”

Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot, muffled screams spilling against his palm. The sensation drags him with you, his thrusts stuttering as he buries himself deep, groaning your name like a curse. When it’s over, the kitchen falls silent but for your panting. He finally pulls his hand from your mouth, dragging his thumb across your wet lips. His grin is wicked, hungry still.

“Guess we ain’t pretendin’ anymore, huh?”

⸻

The kitchen still smells like whiskey and sex, your legs trembling as you adjust your dress and try to catch your breath. Bakugou is already buckling his belt, wiping his hands casually on a paper towel like he didn’t just fuck you against the counter while your best friend slept a room away. You can’t even look at him. Shame burns under your skin, and the second you grab a rag to wipe at the water spill, he snatches it from your hand.

“Oi,” he mutters, voice still rough. “Don’t start that shit.”

You blink at him, startled. “What?”

“That look.” He wipes the counter lazily, jaw tight. “Don’t fuckin’ look like you regret it. ’Cause you don’t.” His eyes flick up to you, sharp and knowing. Your stomach twists, the memory making heat pool low in your belly all over again. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Bakugou tosses the rag in the sink, stepping close enough that his heat crowds you again. His hand snags your chin, tilting your face up so you can’t avoid him. His eyes are molten, dangerous, and so goddamn sure of himself.

“This isn’t over,” he growls, low and deliberate. “Not by a fuckin’ long shot. Don’t run from me, baby—you wanted this just as bad.” Your lips part, breath shaky, but before you can reply, he lets you go. He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair, throws it over his shoulder, and stalks toward the door without another word. You can’t deny it cause the second they started dating you wondered what it was like to get fucked by a strong hero like him. The click of the door shutting echoes in the silence. You’re left standing in the dim kitchen, heart pounding in your throat, his scent clinging to your skin.

After a long moment, you force yourself to move. Cleaning up the last of the water, putting the glasses in the sink, locking the door. Everything feels mechanical, like you’re trying to hold the pieces of yourself together. You pad down the hall toward your room, the apartment quiet but for your own unsteady breathing. As you pass Mei’s door, you pause. It’s cracked open, soft snores spilling out. You peek inside. She’s sprawled across the bed, one arm dangling, makeup smudged from the night out. Peaceful, completely unaware. Guilt rips through you like a knife. Your hand curls tight on the doorframe. You whisper to yourself, barely audible—

“…what the fuck did I just do?” But there’s no answer. Just Mei’s steady breathing, and the echo of Bakugou’s voice in your head. This isn’t over. You close her door gently, as if that might keep the secret locked inside with her, and slip into your own room���knowing you’ll never sleep the same again.

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ . ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.

[botanicsoul]

someone point me into the direction of the most toe curling bakugou smut or even deku pls😆

i’m ovulating and on the loose

[botanicsoul]

LoudMouth

Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

-> This is a part 2 of Shamless

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was late. The halls were quiet.

You were already in your pajamas, sore as hell from earlier today. Minding your own business, half-scrolling through TikTok with heavy eyes when your phone lit up with a text notification.

—

Katsuki 🧨

10:31 : my dorm. now.

—

It was past his bedtime for sure…why was he up?.

No punctuation. No explanation. Just that.

And of course, your dumbass went. You didn’t even hesitate—just slipped on your slippers, a hoodie over your tank top, and tiptoed through the dorm halls like some horny little gremlin answering a booty call you didn’t technically ask for.

You knocked once. The door opened instantly. And there he was. Bakugou Katsuki. Messy hair, that look on his face—and gray sweatpants that left nothing to the imagination.

He stepped aside to let you in, then shut the door with a soft click. He didn’t speak. Just stood there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes dragging slowly up your body and then back down.

You tried to play it cool. “You… needed something?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. Dangerous. “Thought you could repeat what you said earlier. Since you wanted to be so loud and proud about it.”

You blinked. “Whaaat are you talking about?”

He scoffed. “I’m not deaf, you fuckin’ airhead.”

You froze. Heart pounding.

Bakugou stepped closer, now barely inches away. His voice dropped to a rumble that made your thighs clench.

“You think I didn’t hear you?” he murmured. “Talkin’ to your little friends about me.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay… yeah. I was just—saying you looked good so what?.” Your eyes dropped—traitorous and obvious. At the thick outline pressing obscenely against the front of his sweatpants. No boxers.

Because yeah. You were staring. How could you not.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he said, voice like smoke. Bakugou looked down too. Then back up at you, eyes glittering with something wicked, “oh”. Just sweatpants and a dick that looked ready to wreck your entire semester. You couldn’t stop staring. You felt your face heat, legs shift where you stood.

He didn’t say anything—just stared at you with that molten red gaze, jaw clenched, chest rising hard like he was holding something back. And then he grabbed your wrist. Rough. Purposeful. He guided your hand straight to the thick outline straining beneath his sweatpants.

“Feel that?” he growled, his voice like gravel and fire. “That’s what you fuckin’ did.”

You gasped softly, fingers instinctively curling around the heavy heat throbbing beneath the fabric.

“Been like this aaaallll day” he bit out, eyes narrowing. His hand was still on yours now guiding your hand in up and down motions on hos clothed cock. “Couldn’t concentrate—just been thinkin’ about shoving it down your throat and how good of a view i’d have grinding into you the way I did the foam roller today.”

Your thighs squeezed together, heart racing. Your throat went dry. “Katsu…”

“Y’gonna fix it now?” he taunted, leaning in, lips brushing your ear. “Or are you just all talk?”

You dropped to your knees without another word—and he laughed, low and dangerous, like you were giving him exactly what he wanted. You felt almost ashamed. Hesitant.

He hooked two fingers under your chin, tilting your face up toward him, lips curled in a smirk that screamed you’re mine.

“You talk a big game loudmouth,” he muttered, voice low.

Your cheeks flushed hot, arousal thrumming through your veins. Your fingers finally dipped under the waistband, dragging the sweats down just enough for him to spring free—and holy fuck.

Thick, hard, already leaking at the tip.

“Well?” he snapped, voice sharp and cocky. “It’s not gonna suck itself.”

You wrapped your hand around him, slowly, experimentally, like your brain couldn’t quite catch up with how fucking huge he really was. He twitched in your palm, already pulsing hot, already leaking for you.

“Eyes up,” he growled.

You looked. And Bakugou was watching you with the kind of hunger that burned. You ran your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum, then leaned in and licked it off—eyes still locked on his.

“Goddamn,” you whispered.

He groaned, deep and rough, one hand on his lower back keeping him steady.

Your lips parted, tongue flicking over the head again, just a taste—then more. Slower. Deeper. He hissed through his teeth, head tipping back for a second. “Shit—just like that.”

Your hands held him at the base as you took more of him in, letting your spit trail down his shaft while your mouth worked the top. When you started to bob your head in a slow, steady rhythm, his hand finally tangled in your hair again, holding tight, not forcing—but directing.

“Such a mess,” he muttered, looking down at the way your lips stretched around him, wet and eager. “Fuckin’ loudmouth on the field, now choking on my cock. You proud of yourself?”

You moaned in response, sending a vibration up his length that made him curse under his breath.

He started moving—gently at first, guiding your mouth up and down—but it didn’t take long before his hips took over, fucking into your throat with sharp, shallow thrusts.

You gagged once, but he didn’t stop. Just grunted and held your head steady. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, spit dripping down your chin, and still—you didn’t stop. Didn’t want to.

Because the way he looked at you like you were everything he needed? Like he’d been starving for this? That was enough to make your thighs tremble.

With a grunt and a growl of your name—he shoved deep, holding you there as he came hot and thick down your throat. You choked, pulling back with a wet gasp, coughing as you swallowed around it.

But Bakugou didn’t let you fully escape. His hand stayed tight in your hair, guiding your mouth shut, thumb pressing over your lips.

“You better fucking swallow it,” he snapped, voice still ragged. You did—eyes wide, throat working, cheeks flushed.

Bakugou stood there for a second, chest rising and falling hard. Then he tucked himself back into his sweats, still half-hard, still twitching, He dragged his palm down his face and exhaled like you had knocked the wind out of him.

You stayed kneeling, breathless and trembling, unsure what to expect next.

But then he knelt down. Eye-level with you. Staring. His hand came up, fingers curling gently under your chin to lift your face.

And fuck—his expression? Not cocky. Not mocking. Just intense. Eyes burning, lips parted, something unreadable flickering behind the red. He looked at you like you were his.

“you’re so pretty” he muttered softly, thumb brushing your damp bottom lip. “Maybe next time i’ll fuck you and you can get a load of me then” he added, eyes dropping to your mouth. “Let you feel what you’ve been runnin’ that mouth about.” He kissed you—slow and deep, like he was claiming it. Like he meant it.

And then just like that, he pulled away. Stood up, wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, and walked toward the bed like nothing happened.

Your lips were tingling. Your throat sore. Your cheeks flushed and thighs still pressing together as you knelt there, breath shallow.

He flopped onto the mattress, grabbed his phone, and started scrolling—completely unfazed. No glance. No smirk. Like he hadn’t just ruined you with a few filthy words and a kiss that made your knees weak. You waited for him to say something. Anything. But he didn’t.

So you slowly got up, legs trembling, and backed toward the door. “Night,” you said quietly, voice scratchy.

“Mm,” was all he replied, not even looking up.

So you left. Quietly. The click of his door shutting behind you felt too loud in the silence of the hallway. Your heart kept racing even as you made your way down the corridor toward your dorm, mind spinning.

Walking back to your own dorm, still tasting him. Still dizzy. Still unsure if any of it had meant something— But you knew one thing.

He heard what you said. And now… he’d made damn sure you meant it.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Hi…it’s me! sorry for the weird absence life has been even weirder and i’ve been trying to explore other interests!!!

[botanicsoul]

Cherry sicle

Aged up | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘

It was so disgustingly hot outside.

The kind of sweltering, heavy heat that clung to your skin like a second layer, made your clothes feel suffocating, and had your apartment feeling like a damn oven. Japans summer was unforgiving, the kind that laughed in the face of fans and made cold showers feel like temporary band-aids.

And of course—of course—your AC unit decided to die in the middle of it. You’d spent all morning half-naked and half-insane, flipping breakers, poking at the old buttons, and even slapping the side of the unit like that would magically bring it back to life.

Nope. The thing stayed dead, buzzing weakly like it was mocking you.

After fifteen minutes of sweating and swearing, you gave up and flopped on your couch in a tank top with no bra and the thinnest pair of cotton shorts you owned. Then you grabbed a popsicle from the freezer—one of the last few—and pressed it to your neck before bringing it to your lips with a groan.

You sat there melting. Skin damp, thighs sticking to the leather. Tank top clinging to your chest. You looked like a heatstroke waiting to happen.

You were so desperate you even texted him.

—

You [1:42 PM]:

- my ac is broken and i’m literally melting

- can u come yell at it or punch it or something??

Bakugou [1:43 PM]:

- i’m not a fuckin repairman

- go stand in the freezer

You [1:43 PM]:

- katsukiiiii pls i’ll owe you 😩🥵🙏

Bakugou [1:44 PM]:

- …be there in 15

- don’t die

—

You perked up instantly, grabbing another popsicle just in case—something cold to survive until he arrived. You were licking it lazily when you heard the knock, then the door creaked open like he owned the place.

“You better not be dead or passed out half-naked,” he grumbled, kicking off his shoes and stepping inside. But when his eyes landed on you? He stopped. Just—stared.

You were laying on the couch, propped up on one elbow, sweat shining on your skin. Popsicle in your mouth, red juice glistening on your lips. Your tank top clung to your chest like a second skin, the outline of your nipples clearly visible, and your tiny shorts had ridden up just enough to give him a dangerous glimpse of thigh.

“…Seriously?” he muttered, trying to look anywhere but directly at you. “You wearin’ that on purpose?”

You blinked, confused. “What? No—it’s just so hot, I thought I was gonna die. This is literally all I could stand to put on.”

His jaw tightened. “Right.”

You took another slow lick of the cherry popsicle and smirked without realizing it. “You want one?”

He looked like he was in hell. “No.”

You sat up, licking the tip dramatically. “Sure? It’s cold. Kinda saving my life right now.”

“Yeah, I can fuckin’ see that,” he muttered, voice dropping an octave.

He stomped over to the AC unit like it had personally offended him. You watched him crouch down, hands already tugging at the wiring, sweat beginning to bead along his neck and arms. The tank top he was wearing stuck to his back, and his arms flexed every time he pulled at something.

God, he was glowing.

“Is it fixable?” you asked sweetly, swinging your legs a little.

“Dunno yet,” he muttered, not looking at you—trying not to look at you. “But this shitty-ass unit hasn’t been cleaned in fuckin’ years.”

You took a bite of your popsicle, cheeks puffing a little from the cold, and he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. His jaw ticked again. He stood up, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm, and looked back at you—finally. Big mistake.

You were sucking the melting popsicle slowly, thighs rubbing together as the heat got to you. Your lips were red and shiny. Your skin flushed. You weren’t even trying—but fuck if you weren’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

And he hated how tight his pants were getting.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered under his breath, not even hiding the way his eyes dropped to your chest. “Swear to god.”

You tilted your head, playful. “What?”

“You sittin’ there like that. With that popsicle. Wearin’ that fuckin’ shirt. In this fuckin’ heat. You know what you’re doing.”

You licked a slow stripe up the side, teeth catching the end as you shrugged. “I really don’t. I’m just hot.”

Bakugou groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow again like that might help.

You held the popsicle up toward him. “Want a taste?”

He didn’t answer. Just took it from your hand—and wrapped his lips around it slowly, tongue curling around the end as he sucked the melting juice from it. Then he pulled back, lips wet and stained red.

“I got something sweeter.”

You blinked, heart jumping. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm.” His hands were on you in seconds—gripping your thighs and lifting you off the couch like it was nothing. He walked you to the kitchen, set your ass on the counter, and stood between your legs, his breath hot and heavy.

“Bet your mouth would look even better wrapped around me.”

You gasped, legs squeezing around his waist. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He grinned, cocky but flushed, his pants tented against your inner thigh. “And you called me over like this, actin’ all innocent—like you didn’t know exactly what you were doin’.”

You shivered, but not from the cold. His hands slid under your tank top, palms warm against your sticky skin. “You said you were hot, right?” he growled.

You nodded, breathless. “So hot…”

“Good.” His lips grazed your neck. “Let me help you sweat it out.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ˚ ༘

[botanicsoul]

Petty

College AU | Shouto Todoroki x petty!Reader

₊⊹𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

You knew what heartbreak felt like before, but betrayal? That was something else entirely.

Your hair was a mess, makeup smudged, and your mouth dry like you’d swallowed sand. You trudged into the kitchen of your college dorm expecting nothing but coffee and quiet. Instead, Mina’s voice sliced through your skull.

“God, you missed it last night! Hagakure ended up in the closet with Kirishima after spin the bottle—”

You stopped mid-pouring your coffee.

“She totally sucked him off,” Mina added, oblivious, laughing like it was no big deal. “Did not see that one coming.”

You couldn’t even breathe. The world started to blur around the edges. The words barely processed. “What?” you blinked.

“Oh yeah, it was sometime after you headed to bed…” her giggling died after seeing your reaction. “The party was starting to die down a little so a group played spin the bottle. Kami dared hagakure. Closet. Seven minutes. She sucked his dick.”

Mina glanced at you for a moment before realizing. “Wait… weren’t you crushing on him?” Crushing wasn’t the word. You’d spent months soft-liking Kirishima. Sitting close in class, joining gym sessions, sharing earbuds at study nights. Your throat burned.

The question ‘She what?’ kept playing in your head. You left before your vision could blur anymore. The worst part? You told her. Told Hagakure you liked him. That you’d been working up the courage to say something. Flirting a little more. Getting closer. She smiled through it all. “Omg do it!” she’d said. “You’d be so cute!”

She waited till you were gone to get on her knees for him.

⸻

She found you later that day, fake-innocent voice and that same chipper tone that made your stomach turn now.

“Are you mad?” she asked, walking beside you her clothes floating next to you.

You smiled. “Mad? No. I’m good.” you lied.

She smiled with a relieved look. “Great! I was just suuuuuper drunk”

Your smile got so wide it was sharp enough to slit skin. “Not like I owned him.”

And just like that, the plan wrote itself. You remembered every time she stared too long at Shouto Todoroki. The way her invisible ass always somehow ended up next to him. The giggles. The failed attempts at small talk.

And lucky you… you knew how to strike where it hurt. She might’ve been bold, might’ve made the first move when you were too shy to—but you? You were calculated. Visible. Petty enough to weaponize lust like a blade, and wield it right where she bled.

⸻

You got him slowly.

A shared bench at lunch. A casual laugh during class. Sitting just a little too close. Pretending to struggle with the homework you’d already done.

He was quiet, reserved, polite—but the flush on his cheeks didn’t lie. And when you asked, “Want to hang out after this?” He said yes.

That night, you kissed him first. Pulled him down by the collar and moaned against his mouth like he’d been yours for years.

“You sure about this?” he whispered, voice breathless as you slid into his lap on his couch, straddling him. You smirked. “Positive”

⸻

The next night—your masterpiece began.

You were sitting in his dorm,laying in his bed in nothing but one of his half-zipped hoodies, cheeks warm from the tea he made, thighs still sore from the night before. He was out grabbing a charger from a friend upstairs.

And you had his phone. Quick fingers, perfect timing.

—

6:38 PM. - “Hey, Can I borrow your chem notes? Left mine in the library. Could you just drop them at my door? Thx”

—

Send.

Door unlocked. Just barely cracked open.

You sat back down. Smiling.

⸻

7:08 PM.

Shouto’s cock was buried deep inside you.

You were riding him. Slowly. Viciously. All deliberate bounce and filthy grind, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you circled your hips. Wet, noisy, disrespectful.

“Shit,” he groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re so—tight, fuck—”

You leaned in, breath hot in his ear. “You like watching me fall apart on you?” He moaned. He couldn’t even answer.

You were moaning shamelessly, riding him like he was the only man left on earth. Slick noises echoed off the walls, obscene and wet, your thighs shaking with every grind of your hips.

He was so deep. So thick. Every drag made you see stars. You tilted your head back, pretending to cry out from the pleasure—when really, you were listening.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers bruising, and you smiled as your rhythm stayed steady— And then the door creaked.

You didn’t stop moving. You looked. Right over your shoulder where Hagakure stood, notes in hand, frozen like a ghost just watching. Her quirk must’ve shimmered out from the shock because you saw her. Fully. Your eyes met. And you grinned.

Big. Wicked. Satisfied.

Bouncing faster now, voice dripping in pleasure and poison. “Wanna leave the notes?” you panted.

She bolted.

Shouto groaned, completely unaware. “What—was that—?” You turned his chin back toward you, nails raking down his chest. “Nothing that matters, baby,” you whispered.

And you fucked him harder—moaning loud, messy, vindicated—until you came with a cry and collapsed against his chest, skin sticky and sweat-slicked, heart thudding with perfect, evil joy.

You didn’t just win.

You burned the whole game board down.

₊⊹𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

[botanicsoul]

hey random question was your fic ‘behind the screen’ edited maybe? i was rereading it and it seemed different? or maybe im crazy?

just asking

Nope never did anything different! I always go over my stuff like 5 thousand times making sure everything is good to go before I post and then most likely never touch it again once they are uploaded!!

[botanicsoul]

I have posting anxiety I DONT KNOW WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY this has never happened before 🥀🥀🥀

[botanicsoul]

Quiet Morning

Timeskip | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Reader

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Its one of those rare mornings where Bakugou doesn’t have a single obligation—no mission, no patrol, not even a damn phone call. The sun’s barely peeking through the half-open blinds, casting long golden stripes across the bed, and you’re still curled beneath the sheets, half-asleep.

He’s awake. And he’s already moving.

You stir faintly as his weight shifts on the mattress. There’s no rush in the way his fingers trail down your bare thighs—just slow, reverent touches. At some point during the night, your sleep shorts had slipped low on your hips. He helps them off entirely now, careful not to wake you too much. Your panties? Gone. You don’t remember him removing them, but they’re somewhere on the floor.

He settles between your legs like he belongs there. Like this is exactly where he wants to spend his entire morning.

And then… he begins.

It starts with soft kisses along your inner thigh—lazy, warm, and lingering. He inhales like your scent is grounding him. There’s no teasing today. No games. His mouth meets your folds in one slow, wet press.

His tongue moves slowly at first. Tasting. Worshiping. He groans softly into you, mouth sealing over your clit, drawing soft, gentle circles that make your legs twitch in the sheets.

Still, no words. No dirty talk. Not even from you.

Just the quiet sound of your breath catching. The subtle hitch of your inhale. The sleepy moan that slips past your lips like a secret.

One thick finger sinks into you, moving in time with the slow, steady pulse of his tongue. His other hand drags across your waist—warm and grounding—before curling over your breast. His thumb brushes lazily across your nipple as he groans again, low and deep, not from need, but from devotion.

Drool slips down his chin. He doesn’t care.

His eyes flicker open often, even as they fall shut in concentration. Always looking back up at you. Watching the way your face shifts—watching you melt.

You cum with a soft cry, thighs trembling against his ears. But he doesn’t stop. He moans into you like it’s his reward. Keeps sucking—gentle, relentless, fingers curling up inside you perfectly.

You try to push him away, “Katsuki—stop”. Whimpering now, squirming with the heat of oversensitivity. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging weakly.

But Bakugou grabs your thighs and drags you back down onto his mouth. Pinned.

You’re overstimulated, gasping, twitching under him—and he’s eating like it’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner all in one. He never stops watching you. Watching the way you fall apart.

Eventually, finally, he pulls away. His chin slick. His lips flushed. And you? You’re a mess of shallow breath and shaking limbs. But he’s not done.

He kisses his way back up your body. Soft, reverent presses to your thigh, your stomach, your chest. Until his lips meet yours—slow, tasting you through your own kiss. He presses the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance, dragging it through your folds, teasing—but not teasing you. Teasing himself. Because his self-control is just that strong.

He slides in slow. Inch by inch. The stretch of him making your mouth fall open, though no sound comes out. It’s deep—so deep—but he doesn’t rush. Doesn’t slam into you. He just rocks forward until his hips are flush against yours. He holds you.

Forehead to forehead, arms wrapped around your body. He starts to move. Long, slow thrusts that drag along every sensitive spot inside you. He keeps one arm beneath you, the other hand coming up to cup your cheek, your jaw, the side of your neck.

No words. Just breath. Just the way his body says everything for him.

You’re still sensitive from his mouth, your body twitching every time he hits too deep, too slow. But you can’t stop moaning—soft, helpless little exhales of pleasure—and he just groans against your throat when he hears them.

He keeps watching you. Glancing down where you’re joined. Then back to your face. Eyes half-lidded, his own pleasure tucked away in the background while yours takes center stage.

You cum again—quiet and shaky—arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. Your body trembles beneath him, muscles spasming around his cock.

He doesn’t stop— he keeps fucking you through it. Slow. Deep. Even as your hips twitch away from him, your thighs quivering, your body pleading for rest.

He fucks you like a man who could spend forever right here—inside you, against you, giving you everything and asking for nothing.

And only when you’re completely gone—boneless, dazed, blinking up at him with glassy eyes—does he finally let himself chase his own release. He groans into your skin, grabs your thigh to lift it just slightly, and thrusts once, twice more— And cums deep.

You feel the warmth bloom inside you. Feel the way his hips stutter and press close, staying buried. His forehead rests against yours again. His chest heaves.

He stays inside you, soft kisses brushing your cheek, your shoulder, the corner of your mouth. The sunlight still spills in. The room smells like sex and skin and something soft. You’re sore. Satisfied. Loved.

Bakugou finally shifts enough to look at you, hair messy, eyes half-shut. “…Mornin’,” he mutters, voice low and rough from disuse. The only word he’s said all morning.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[botanicsoul]

Heyyyy guyyyys sorry for not posting too much kinda in a slump rn buuuuut i have some drafts I need to work on so bare with me plssss🫩🫩

[botanicsoul]

Shameless

ssoooooorrrrtttaaaaa bakugou katsuki x reader

-> You have no shame

Part 2 -> Loudmouth

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The sun beat down over the dorm’s training field, baking the turf and glinting off the handful of scattered water bottles and sweat-slicked limbs. It was supposed to be a light workout day for the Baku Squad. Keyword: supposed to be.

There was music playing—Denki’s unhinged playlist bouncing between hyperpop and metalcore—and everyone was half-dedicatedly stretching in a loose circle. Except for one person, obviously.

“Where’s Bakugou?” you asked, squinting through the light as you touched your toes.

“He’s over there,” Kirishima said, jerking his thumb toward the far side of the field. “Said, and I quote: ‘Fuck your dumbass group stretches.’”

Your gaze followed the direction of his finger—and oh.

There he was.

Bakugou Katsuki, shirtless, glistening with sweat, aggressively rolling out his quad on a foam roller like it owed him money. His jaw was tight, his muscles flexed with every shift of his body, and every few seconds he let out a deep, guttural grunt that echoed across the field like a threat.

“God,” Sero muttered beside you, stretching his arms overhead. “Get a load of this guy.”

Your voice slipped out before your brain could stop it.

“I’m fucking trying.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Mina shrieked.

Denki dropped his water bottle. Sero choked on his own laughter.

“Oh my god, dude,” Mina gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Okay but like… look at him,” you hissed, eyes still glued to where Bakugou was now doing explosive push-ups, his entire body taut with energy. “He’s rolling around on that mat like a demon. I’d kill to be that foam roller.”

“I—girl—” Mina collapsed onto her back.

“Please,” Denki wheezed. “You’re gonna get smited.”

“Let me die this way,” you said flatly. “Let it be known I went out doing what I loved—objectifying that man.”

“LOUDLY,” Sero reminded you.

“AND PROUDLY” You snorted, wiping your face with your towel before finally looking away from Bakugou’s aggressive body worship session. “It’s fine. He’s too focused to hear me.”

Spoiler:

he wasn’t.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[botanicsoul]

AAHHH HELLO??? THANK YOU FOR 1k FOLLOWERS🫣🫶🏻🫶🏻♥️

[botanicsoul]

Breaking Rules

Tenya Iida x (fem) Reader

❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❀ ❊ ✿

It was nearly midnight when Tenya Iida’s door creaked open.

He blinked in disbelief, hand still on the knob, gaze flickering rapidly between the digital clock on his nightstand—11:58 p.m.—and the sight standing right in front of him.

You. Wearing nothing but fuzzy slippers, a pair of cotton shorts that barely clung to the tops of your thighs, and an oversized t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder. You looked sleepy, cozy, soft—utterly dangerous.

“Hi” you whispered, smiling up at him with that innocent tilt of your head.

Tenya’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, then closed. He glanced down the hallway—left, right, even toward the security camera near the ceiling—like you’d brought a bomb to his front door instead of yourself.

“D-Do you have any idea what time it is?” he stammered. “This is entirely inappropriate. If someone were to see—if a teacher or even a classmate—”

“No one’s around,” you interrupted calmly, stepping closer. “And we don’t have class tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that this is a direct violation of—of the student handbook! Visitors aren’t allowed after curfew and—” You placed a gentle hand on his chest. “Tenya,” you said, quietly, “it’s just one night.”

His mouth trembled around a protest, but your hand curled around his wrist and you stepped inside his room before he could finish. He backed up, heartbeat hammering in his chest like he’d just broken the law. You shut the door softly behind you.

Walking toward his bed. “I just wanna sleep next to my boyfriend.” He stood frozen in the middle of the room, face flushed, glasses fogged. His striped pajamas clung to his long frame—the shirt buttoned all the way up to his collarbone. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides as you climbed into his bed like it was yours.

He joined you after a long pause, his movements stiff and unsure. He laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to recite the U.A. rulebook in his head to stop thinking about the warmth of your thigh brushing his.

You turned on your side, propping yourself up on one elbow as your eyes wandered to the way the soft cotton of his pajama shirt pulled over his broad chest. Slowly, you swung a leg over his waist and straddled him.

He went still.

“W-What are you doing?” His voice cracked. “Th-this is not proper. This—”

“It’s just so hot in here,” you said softly, tracing your fingers along the edge of his shirt. “Aren’t you hot, Iida baby?”

His hips jerked slightly—barely noticeable, but it was enough.

Your fingers dipped down, slowly undoing the first button of his shirt. He swallowed hard.

“sorta—please, you shouldn’t…”

Another button undone. His chest began to show—hard lines of muscle, smooth skin, warmth rising under your touch.

“Please…” he whispered again, but it was weak now, breathy.

You unbuttoned another. Then another. The shirt parted, revealing the full expanse of his toned torso—taut abs, the curve of his obliques, that perfect divot leading down beneath the waistband of his pajama pants.

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, then down the center of his chest. His hands clutched the sheets at his sides, his head tipping back into the pillow.

“Y-You have to stop,” he whispered.

But his hips bucked up into you. His cock was already hard beneath you—thick, twitching beneath the fabric, pressing against your core through your shorts.

“it doesn’t feel like you want me to stop tenya”

You rolled your hips down gently, letting the friction spark between your bodies. He gasped.

“You’re already so hard,” you murmured. “I thought this was inappropriate”

He groaned, face flushed red to the tips of his ears. “I-I can’t… I can’t think straight when you—”

“Then stop thinking,” you whispered against his neck. “Just feel.”

His hands finally rose—slow, trembling—and landed on your hips. His grip was firm. Desperate.

His hands stayed on your hips, trembling slightly as you rocked against him. You could feel him now—really feel him. Hard, hot, twitching beneath you, straining against the thin fabric of his pajama pants.

His chest heaved with every shallow breath. His eyes met yours—wide, pleading, conflicted.

“I-I should stop you.” he whispered.

“You don’t want to.”

He exhaled, shaky and soft. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

You kissed him.

He gasped into your mouth like he’d never been kissed like that before—like he hadn’t let himself want it until now. Your lips moved slowly over his, guiding him, coaxing his control apart with every brush and tug. And when you ground your hips down again, he groaned into your mouth—loudly, head tipping back into the pillow, breath completely stolen.

You pulled back just enough to murmur, “Can I take this off you?” He nodded—quick, breathless.

You pushed the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, finally exposing all of him. He was beautiful—broad chest, sculpted abs, and strong arms you’d only imagined holding you like this. Your fingers slid over the planes of his torso, and you felt the way his muscles tensed under your touch, like he was barely holding himself back.

Then your hands moved lower. Over his waistband. Beneath the hem. slipped your hand into his pants and wrapped your fingers around him.

He was big—thick and flushed and so painfully hard it made him whimper when you stroked him for the first time. His hips bucked up again, completely unintentional, and his head fell back against the pillow with a deep groan.

“Oh my god—” His voice cracked. “I-It feels… I don’t even have words—”

“Good?” you teased softly, brushing your thumb over the leaking tip. He nodded furiously, mouth falling open.

You leaned down and kissed down his chest again as you stroked him—slow, steady, watching how quickly he unraveled beneath you. His hips had a mind of their own now, chasing your hand, desperate for more friction. His hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline.

“Iida,” you whispered against his neck, “you’re so sensitive. You’re gonna come like this, aren’t you?”

You could still feel him twitching against your palm, his breath shaky and uneven beneath you. His face was flushed, chest rising and falling in soft, stunned waves. You started to lean down to kiss him again—but then Tenya surprised you.

He grabbed your hips suddenly, strong and sure, and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. You let out a surprised gasp as you landed on your elbows, your shorts riding up to expose the curve of your ass.

“Tenya—?”

He didn’t answer.

His hands slid over your hips like he was memorizing them. His breath was ragged behind you as he pushed your oversized shirt up your back, exposing the soft skin beneath. You looked over your shoulder at him—he’d taken his glasses off, hair slightly messy now, the pajama shirt tossed to the floor.

His eyes were dark now. Heavy-lidded. Starving. “W-We shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice breaking. “We’ve never…”

“But you want to,” you said softly.

His hands gripped tighter. His thumbs dug into the flesh of your hips as he groaned, so low it barely escaped his throat. “I want to,” he admitted, his voice strained, “so badly, I can’t wait anymore.”

He tugged your shorts down slowly—pausing when they reached your thighs, like he was giving you one last chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

So he pushed them down fully, his palm sliding over your bare ass. He let out a shuddering breath. “You’re… perfect.”

You smiled into the pillow. “Then do something about it, Tenya—show me how perfect I am to you.”

That broke something in him.

You heard the rustle of fabric behind you—his pants being shoved down just a little more. The thick, hard press of him against your entrance, rubbing along your folds. He wasn’t inside yet, just teasing. Coating himself in your slick.

You whimpered and pushed your hips back. “Please, baby…” Tenya exhaled hard through his nose, leaning over your back and whispering near your ear, “You have to be quiet.”

“I will,” you promised, already trembling with need. “Please, fuck me I need you.”

And then he pushed in. You bit into the pillow as he filled you—slow, careful, but so deep. He gasped behind you, like your body had knocked the air right out of his lungs.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered, and the curse in his mouth sounded forbidden. “You feel… oh god, you feel amazing…”

He stayed still for a moment, trembling, holding your hips like if he let go he might fall apart completely.

Then he started to move. Slow at first—controlled, deep thrusts that made you moan against the sheets. His grip was bruising, his breath hot against your back. He groaned every time he pushed in, fighting the urge to get rougher.

But your hips kept meeting him. Rolling back. Begging for more.

“Stop doing that,” he rasped.

“Doing what?” you asked innocently.

“Pushing back like that. I can’t— I can’t keep it quiet if—”

You did it again. And that was it.

His hand slid up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades to arch your spine for him. His hips snapped forward faster, harder—deep and filthy. The sound of skin against skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps, and even though you were trying to stay quiet, little gasps and whimpers kept slipping out of your mouth.

Tenya leaned forward, chest against your back, lips brushing your ear. “Be quiet,” he whispered. “You’re going to get us caught.”

But the way he fucked you said something else entirely.

“I-i can’t when your dick is literally h-hitting my fuc-fucking organs”

His hand reached down and rubbed slow circles over your clit, and your whole body tensed. “Tenya—!” He groaned, biting down softly on your shoulder to muffle his own moan as you clenched around him.

“Come for me,” he begged. “Please—please let me feel you—”

You came with a soft, broken cry, your body shaking beneath him. Your thighs trembled, your back arched, and Tenya’s pace turned sloppy, frantic. His hands gripped your hips like he was anchoring himself, and with one last, deep thrust, he came inside you—his whole body shuddering with the force of it.

He collapsed gently over your back, breathing hard, lips brushing your skin as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a long moment, the room was nothing but silence and the hum of your heartbeats, tangled together in a mess of sweat and soft gasps.

“…This was so against the rules,” he whispered.

You smiled into the pillow. “And you loved every second.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “I think I might love you.”

❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❊ ✿ ❀ ❀ ❊ ✿

[botanicsoul]

Bigger Where It Counts

Age up | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

-> for my itty tiddy committee babes 🍒

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You flop down onto the couch in just one of Katsuki’s old t-shirts, sighing dramatically as you glance down at your chest.

“I swear, Bakugo,” you mutter, cupping your boobs, “you’ve got bigger tits than me.”

He looks up from the kitchen, one brow twitching. “The hell did you just say?”

“I said you’ve got the chest in this relationship. Mine look like two polite suggestions compared to your built like a Greek god situation.” You poke your own chest, then point at his. “It’s honestly offensive.”

He tosses the dish towel aside, storming over with a scowl and a wild little glint in his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I don’t want another version of me in my bed. I want you.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t.

“I mean it, dumbass.” He grabs your face and kisses you hard, practically knocking the breath out of you. “I don’t give a shit about how big your tits are… Still the one I come home to, hard as a rock, just from remembering how you sound when I touch you and how nicely your tits bounce a little in my face when I fuck you.”

Your eyes almost busted out your damn skull and your cheeks burned. “suki—”

“And for the record,” he mutters, sliding his hands under the hem of your—his—shirt, “they’re the perfect size for me to get my mouth around. Wanna see?”

“shit”

Your breath hitches as he kneels between your legs grabbing one of your tits and giving your nipple a pinch in between in rough fingers, eyes dark, grin wicked. “Because I’m pretty sure I could spend all night showing you.”

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-> here is one for my bigger chested babes 🍈🍈

[botanicsoul]

Trinkets

Time skip | Bakugou Katsuki x gn! Reader

-> if you are a trinket lover / blind box obsessed freak! this is for youuuuu ;)

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

It started small.

A little cinnamon roll keychain on your bag. A Smiski peeking out from your bookshelf. Bakugou didn’t think much of it when he first started coming over. He figured you were just cute. Weird, but cute.

Then, like some chaotic collectible infestation, it multiplied.

He spotted one on your nightstand. A tiny half naked baby with a strawberry hat and dead eyes. He actually flinched.

“What the actual fuck is that.”

“That’s my Sonny angel,” you said, completely unfazed. “I got him from a blind box. I was trying to get the cherry one.”

“There’s more of them?”

“…Yeah?” you said, slowly, like it was obvious. “You’ve never opened a blind box before?”

“No.” His tone was flat. “Because I’m not five.”

But you caught him glancing at the tiny shelf where four more Sonny Angels had mysteriously appeared—cherry, watermelon, a rare sprout head one… and a cursed one with a eggplant hat on that you’d named eggward.

Soon there were Smiskis in your bathroom (they glowed in the dark—how could you resist?!), tiny Sanrio figures peeking out from plant pots, and a few bakery animals lined up on your kitchen windowsill like a cursed breakfast buffet.

There was a Nyota figure holding a star above its head, perched on your bookshelf now. You claimed she brought good vibes. Bakugou wasn’t convinced.

But what finally broke him—what made him realize he was in too deep—was the day he spotted a rogue trinket on his own nightstand.

A miniature hirono figure, next to his alarm clock.

“I don’t remember putting this here.”

You blinked innocently. “He looked like he needed a home.”

——

A few weeks later, you come home after your shift and You step into your living room—and there it is. A new wall-mounted shelf. Sleek. Sturdy. Hand-built. Three tiers.

You cover your mouth. “Katsuki…”

He doesn’t look at you, crouched by the toolbox, eyes still focused on tightening the last screw. “Ya didn’t have any damn space. Those little freaks were gonna start multiplying on the floor.”

You just beamed, walking over and wrapping your arms around him from behind.

“…You love my little freaks,” you whispered against his neck.

“god you’re weird.”

⸻

Later that night, after you’ve lovingly arranged your favorites on the shelf—you spot a small, unopened Pro Hero blind box tucked into your pillow.

Your eyes go wide. “No way.”

Bakugou, toothbrush in mouth, doesn’t look up. “Told that nerd Deku to bring me one from his collab drop. Figured you’d like it.”

You tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

And scream. “IT’S YOU.”

Bakugou looks over—and sure enough, there he is. Chibi him. Little angry face, little gauntlets, little explosion backdrop.

“Holy crap, Katsuki��he’s got a tiny scowl and everything!”

You clutch it like a prize. “This is going on the top shelf.” Bakugou tries to act like it’s nothing. Like he’s not soft. Like he didn’t literally build you a shrine for your trinkets and get you a mini version of himself because he knows how much you love them.

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

[botanicsoul]

Girrrrrrlllll I love your work! You are so talented i was gonna ask if you are down to write a hate sex type fic with bakugou :ppppp if you’re not down totally fine already eating up your work anyway so much love from Türkiye 💕💕💕

Yes yes YES!! im obsessed with this ;) Love you lots babe and thank you so much for this request 🙈💕

Spite & Sparks

timeskip | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

You hated him.

You hated how fucking rude he was. How he talked to people like they were beneath him, like he didn’t have time for anyone’s shit. You hated that smug, arrogant smirk on his face whenever you opened your mouth to argue with him—like he loved watching you get worked up.

You hated how cocky he was, how his presence sucked the air out of the room, demanding attention without saying a word. You hated his stupid grenadier hero costume and how it clung to every inch of his hard, cut body like it was designed just to make you look.

But most of all, you hated that it worked.

You hated how easily he had you moaning his name, legs spread and hips tilted, back arching for more of him even as the words left your mouth—

“I fucking hate you,” you spat, voice shaky, eyes glassy as your fists balled into the sheets beneath you.

You were shaking. Your thighs were trembling from the effort of holding yourself up, from the way he hadn’t let up for even a second. He knew what he was doing. He knew how deep to hit, how fast to move, how to drag his hand down the curve of your back just to watch you arch for him even when you didn’t want to.

And you were fighting it—fighting him.

Your face was flushed, your teeth dug into your bottom lip to keep the sounds in. You were right there, right on the fucking edge—but you refused to give him the satisfaction.

Bakugou noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh, you holdin’ back now?” he growled, voice dipped in heat and arrogance. “Tryna pretend you ain’t about to come all over my cock?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just gasped, jaw tight, legs shaking.

He laughed—mocked you—rolling his hips deeper, angling himself just right. “Tch. That’s cute. Thinkin’ you got control.”

“I’m not…oh shit—” you cried out when he snapped his hips forward hard, hitting that one spot that made your whole body light up.

“Not what? Not gonna come?” His voice dripped smug satisfaction. “Baby, your pussy’s fuckin’ twitchin’ on me I can feel you milkin’ me.”

“I hate you,” you panted, a sob threatening to break through the words. “I hate you katsuki.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked against your neck, voice low and dangerous. “Then fine. Don’t come.”

He fucked into you harder. Meaner. Grinning when your hips bucked back against him, desperate. “Don’t come, if you hate me that much. Be a good little brat and hold it aaaaalllll in.”

You whimpered—your body betraying you in the worst fucking way. You were right there, teetering.

“What’s the matter?” he cooed, mocking. “Pussy too weak? Huh? She don’t hate me like you do?”

His fingers dragged between your legs, found your clit, started circling it—slow and cruel. “Oh god,” you gasped, body lurching forward, a broken moan ripping out of your throat.

“Go ahead,” he growled, voice strained now, too turned on to hide it. “Let go. Make a fuckin’ mess on me. Come like the hate-filled little bitch you are.”

You wanted to fight it. You wanted to keep the hate on your tongue, not the moans. But when he whispered your name in that low, possessive voice, and slammed into you just right—

You shattered. And Bakugou felt it. Felt the way you clenched and cried and shook beneath him, heard the way you sobbed his name like it was a curse.

“Fuuuuuck,” he groaned, voice rough, thick with lust as he watched you fall apart beneath him. “Look at you, princess. You fuckin’ love me.”

You were still trembling—hips twitching, jaw slack, your whole body flushed from the orgasm that ripped through you. And you hated that he could see it. See how wrecked you were. How much he affected you.

He slowed his hips, grinding into you with slow, punishing rolls that kept you teetering on the edge of overstimulation. But then—his hand left your hip.

You flinched when you felt it on your face. His thumb pressed gently to your cheek, trailing up to brush under your eye. Tender. Almost sweet. The contrast made your chest tighten.

“Look at me,” he muttered.

You tried to resist, tried to keep your eyes squeezed shut. But he gave your cheek the softest little tap—not hard, just enough.

“C’mon, baby. Gimme those eyes.”

And you did. Slowly. Hating the way your gaze met his like gravity was pulling you in.

His thumb rubbed over your cheek again. The pad of it was calloused, warm, achingly careful.

“You fuckin’ hate me, huh?” he said, softer now. His tone still had that edge, “That why you come so fuckin’ hard for me?”

You swallowed, breath catching. “I hate you,” you whispered one last time.

But the way you leaned into his touch? The way your lips parted, eyes half-lidded and glassy?

He smirked like he already knew the truth.

“Yeah, baby?,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your temple, cock still buried deep inside you.

“Well I fuckin’ love you.”

He knew the truth. The way you were still grinding against him, still begging for more?

“I love you too,” you whimpered lowly, voice cracked and ruined.

. ݁ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

[botanicsoul]

Knock Next Time

Timeskip | Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Room: dark. Door: locked—he swore he locked it. Clothes: everywhere.

His hands were under your thighs, spreading them wider on the couch, his hips grinding against yours, both of you breathing hard and fast, lost in each other, your hands buried in his hair while his mouth was on your neck, moving lower, hungrier, rougher.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, gasping when his hips rolled against yours. “God, you feel so—”

Click.

Door opens.

“Yo, Bakugou! Have you seen my—”

Silence.

Eye contact.

Chaos.

Denki stood frozen in the apartment doorway. Bag in hand. Keys still dangling from his fingers. And eyes locked on the absolutely-naked, very-much-mid-fuck position happening on the shared living room couch.

Bakugou didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then—death.

“DENKI, I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU.”

“OH MY GOD—OH MY GOD—”

“WHY DID YOU COME HERE?!”

“DUDE WE SHARE THIS APARTMENT!!” Denki screeched, flinging his hands over his eyes. “I SIT THERE, MAN! I EAT CHIPS THERE!”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONE FOR THE DAY?!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE THERAPY IS?!”

You were desperately trying to cover yourself with a throw pillow that covered nothing, blinking in humiliation as Bakugou lunged for his hoodie and yanked it down over your body while simultaneously launching a remote control at Denki’s face.

“You don’t KNOCK, you don’t TEXT, you don’t even say you’re COMING BACK—WHAT THE FUCK, DUNCE FACE?!”

“I WAS GONE FOR TWO HOURS—I CAME BACK FOR MY PHONE CHARGER BECAUSE I FORGOT IT!!”

“WHICH IS TWO HOURS TOO SHORT AND FUCK YOUR PHONE YOU CAN CHARGE THE BITCH YOURSELF!”

Denki shrieked as a second throw pillow flew past his head and slammed the door shut. You and Katsuki sat there panting, tangled together, his hands clenched into fists like he was going to physically hunt Denki down.

You burst out laughing.

He whipped his head toward you. “The fuck is so funny?!”

You wheezed, pressing your face to his neck. “The look on his face. You could’ve cooked an egg on it.”

“He saw your tits,” he muttered, voice like gravel.

“Oh my god,” you teased, cupping his cheek. “Is the big bad Dynamight getting all possessive?”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered darkly, already reaching for his phone.

You snatched it before he could text a death threat. “How about round two instead?”

His red eyes flicked to yours. Heat—instant. Rage softened into that lazy, smug smirk you knew way too well.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging you back into his lap. “He’s already traumatized. Might as well make it worth it.”

——

It was a few days after that incident, and you were both still trying to ignore what had happened.

Denki, of course, made it his very own mission to ruin your lives the moment you showed up at dinner that night. With a wide grin and the most ridiculous level of enthusiasm, he leaned toward you both, his voice way too loud.

“So, how was the private time, huh? Did you guys, uh—” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Finish what you started?”

Bakugou nearly shot up from the table, his fist clenched, ready to beat Denki’s face in.

“I WILL END YOU, YOU DENSE BASTARD—DON’T FUCKIN’ TALK TO HER.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Guess we’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

Denki threw his hands up. “All I’m saying is… that was way more than I bargained for.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou growled, glaring at him with murder in his eyes. “Well, you better learn how to knock. Next time, i’ll shove that charger straight up your ass.”

⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

[botanicsoul]

your fics are soo good 😩 i’d like to request pro hero deku and dynamite pining after you and competing for you! in the end they need to learn how to share 😏

YESSSSS you guys give the best ideaaasss🙈 Thank you anony for this amazing request!!

——

Sharing Is Caring

Pro Hero Deku x Reader x Pro Hero Dynamight

₊⊹𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

Your wrists are raw from struggling.

The villain—some nobody trying to make a name for himself—has had you tied up in this grimy warehouse for over an hour. Every creak of the floorboards, every shifting shadow, makes your pulse spike. But all you can do is sit there, chest heaving, legs shaking, hoping someone shows up before it’s too late.

You’re not a pro, not even close. Just someone who got caught in the crossfire of a war that never seems to stop. And now you’re bait.

BOOM

The first explosion is so loud you scream. Dust rains from the ceiling. The villain turns, eyes wide, just in time to see a flash of green lightning tear through the wall. And then, he’s flying—slammed into a support beam by a roaring shockwave of One For All.

Deku doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on you.

You’re panting, dazed, eyes wide and tear-filled. Your shirt is torn at the shoulder, a bruise forming on your thigh from where you were thrown earlier.

Deku’s expression shatters. “Oh my god,” he whispers. Bakugou crashes through the other side, feral and wild-eyed. “Deku what the fuck are you—” He sees you. Really sees you. His breath catches.

Everything stops.

The villain groans on the ground. Neither of them moves.

You feel suddenly, intimately exposed—panting, hair a mess, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. And they both just stare, like they’ve been sucker-punched by the sight of you.

It’s Deku who finally rushes forward, falling to his knees beside you. “You’re okay. You’re okay now,” he murmurs, hands trembling as he unties you.

Bakugou crouches next to him, jaw tight. “You let that bastard touch her?” he spits, glaring at Midoriya like it’s his fault.

“She’s safe now,” Deku growls. “That’s what matters.”

You watch them silently. And something shifts. That moment—that heat in their eyes, that breathless tension. You feel it like static in the air.

⸻

After the scene. Numbers were exchanged.

The next month that follows is chaos.

Both of them are constantly checking on you. Midoriya texts you every morning with “Good morning, sunshine” and every night with “Sweet dreams.”

Bakugou drops by randomly to bring food and tell you, “Lock your damn windows,” like it’s your fault anyone could ever hurt you.

But you see it now.

The way their eyes linger. The accidental brushes of their hands. The protective possessiveness that borders on feral.

You like it.

You like it a LOT.

⸻

And now… tonight.

It starts as idle conversation.

They were just getting off a quiet patrol, the streets were unusually calm for a Friday night. Deku walks with his hands in his pockets, boots crunching softly on pavement. Bakugou’s a few steps ahead, tension rolling off him in waves.

Then Midoriya breaks the silence.

“You been by her place lately?” he asks, not looking over.

Bakugou snorts. “Dropped off food two nights ago. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right.” Midoriya’s jaw tightens. “She texted me the night after. Said she liked the soba I brought.”

Bakugou stops walking. “So you’re keeping score now?”

Deku stops, too. Turns to face him. “I’m just saying… maybe we should stop dancing around it.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s not a prize to be won,” Deku says carefully. “But we’ve been tiptoeing for weeks, and honestly? I don’t think it’s fair to keep dragging her into this.”

There’s a long pause.

Bakugou looks away, teeth clenched. “So what. We just ask her? See who she picks?”

Deku nods slowly. “Yeah. We let her decide. No more games.”

Another beat of silence. Their eyes lock. Then both of them, at the exact same time—bolt.

Bakugou explodes forward with a roar, palms crackling with blasts. “NOT LETTING YOU GET THERE FIRST!”

Green lightning arcs down Deku’s legs as he surges ahead. “Then you better keep up, Kacchan!”

They tear through the city—two top heroes, absolutely unhinged, practically neck-and-neck as they race toward the same apartment. Pedestrians dive out of the way. Streetlights flicker. Somewhere, a bystander screams, “ARE THEY FIGHTING?!”

And in your apartment?

You’re curled up in that same oversized tee, debating if you should go to bed early.

BOOM. BOOM.

Two frantic knocks. You open the door—Midoriya, out of breath, flushed, clearly having just sprinted across half the city.

“I—” He wheezes, hand braced on your doorframe. “Wanted to talk.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou stalks down the hallway. “Tch. Always gotta be first, huh, Deku?” Bakugou shoves past him. “We need to talk.”

They step inside. The tension is thick.

You blink at them. “Did… you guys run here?”

Neither of them answers. They start arguing. Louder. Closer.

“She doesn’t need your fake-ass charm—”

“Better than your damn temper!”

“You’re all talk”

“AT LEAST I TALK TO HER!”

“You lay a finger on her without knowing what she really wants, I’ll break your fuckin’ fingers.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to watch her beg for me with one hand.”

You groan and throw your hands up.

And that’s when you say it. “CAN YOU BOTH JUST FUCK ME ALREADY?!”

Silence.

Their mouths hang open. They look at you like you just sprouted wings and slapped them both across the face.

You step back toward the bedroom, eyes dark, voice low. “Either come prove who’s better—or figure out how to share.”

You disappear down the hallway.

They both slowly turn to each other—still processing what you said before running down the hall to follow you.

⸻

The bedroom door slams shut behind them.

Midoriya’s on you first, hands cupping your face as he kisses you hard—desperate, almost panicked. His lips are soft, his tongue gentle at first, but growing hungrier by the second.

Then Bakugou grabs you by the waist and pulls you into him from behind.

“Fucking hell,” he growls against your neck. “You’ve been playing us.”

You whimper. “You’ve been teasing me.”

Midoriya’s hand slips beneath your shirt, calloused fingers sliding over your stomach, your ribs. “You don’t know what you do to us,” he whispers, voice rough.

Bakugou’s hands are already under your shorts, gripping your thighs, kneading your ass. “We should ruin you for anyone else.”

You gasp as your shirt is pulled over your head, and your bra is unclasped by two sets of hands—rushed, greedy.

“Let her lie down,” Deku breathes. “I wanna see her.”

They practically carry you to the bed.

Bakugou strips fast and shameless, cock already hard, flushed, thick. Deku’s not far behind—his boxers tented, the outline of him making your mouth water.

You lie back, eyes wide, heart pounding as they look down at you.

Deku kneels between your legs, spreading them slowly. “So wet already,” he murmurs, biting his lip. “Were you hoping we’d fight over you?”

You nod breathlessly. “Wanted both of you.”

Bakugou kneels beside you, one hand gripping your jaw. “Then you’re gonna get both of us. But don’t think we’re gonna go easy on you.”

You’re laid out like something divine—bare and spread open on the sheets, legs trembling already, and they haven’t even touched you properly yet.

Deku’s mouth is between your thighs first. You barely register the way his fingers dig into your hips because his tongue is doing something wicked—slow, careful circles around your clit, every flick laced with purpose.

“You taste so sweet,” he groans into you, voice already shaky. “I could do this all night.”

“You won’t,” Bakugou snaps, grabbing your chin and making you look up at him. “She’s not just yours to tease.”

He leans in and kisses you—hard. His tongue licks into your mouth with possessive heat, his hand sliding up your chest, fingers tweaking your nipple until you whimper against him.

You arch up, caught in between them, drowning in the contrast.

Midoriya’s still focused between your legs, eyes fluttering as he eats you out like it’s his personal mission, one hand moving to tease at your entrance.

“You’re clenching already,” he whispers, sliding one thick finger in. “She’s so tight—fuck, Kacchan.”

“Move,” Bakugou growls. “Let me in.”

Deku gives a final kiss to your thigh, then pulls back, eyes dark and hungry. Bakugou immediately takes his place, crawling between your legs and grabbing your hips like he’s starving.

“I’m not being gentle,” he warns.

You bite your lip. “Good.” That’s all he needs.

He presses the thick head of his cock to your soaked entrance, and in one slow, brutal thrust, he sinks in. You scream—back arching off the bed as the stretch steals your breath.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he snarls. “You’re tight enough to crush me.”

He starts slamming into you—deep, punishing strokes that hit something devastating inside you. He pins your thighs back, leaning forward, lips brushing your ear.

“You like being split open like this? While Deku watches?”

You moan, eyes rolling back.

Deku’s kneeling beside you now, cock in his hand, slowly stroking as he watches Bakugou ruin you.

“She looks so pretty like this,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss you again—so soft it makes your heart ache. “Think she can handle both?”

Bakugou lets out a broken laugh. “She’s gonna have to.” He pulls out suddenly, leaving you aching, empty—but only for a moment.

Midoriya takes his place, whispering “I’ll be gentle” as he presses inside. He’s big—thicker at the base, stretching you differently. But instead of pounding into you, he starts slow, rocking his hips with teasing precision.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “Like you were made for us.”

You’re crying out now—shaking, overwhelmed.

Bakugou moves behind you, lifting you slightly. “You can take more.”

Then you feel it—his cock pressing to your other hole. Your breath catches. “W-Wait—”

“We’ll go slow,” Midoriya soothes, kissing your throat. “Promise.”

They move together—slow, stretching you open, holding you in place, kissing your tears and gripping your thighs until you’re full in every way.

Two cocks, two sets of hands, two voices—one gentle, one rough, both obsessed.

You’ve never felt so worshipped and destroyed at the same time. They’re moaning now, losing rhythm, each trying to make you fall apart first.

“Come on, baby,” Midoriya pants, thrusts growing frantic. “Wanna feel you cum all over us.”

“Fuckin’ cum,” Bakugou snarls, hand wrapping around your throat. “Show us who owns you.”

You do. Loudly.

Your orgasm hits like a truck—shaking, twitching, screaming their names as they fuck you through it. You swear your vision blacks out for a second.

You feel them follow—Deku’s moan is breathless and broken, burying himself deep with a shudder. Bakugou curses through his teeth, slamming in one final time before he lets go inside you with a growl.

⸻

You’re wrecked.

Limp, trembling, stuffed full of their cum and barely able to breathe. They collapse beside you, sweat-drenched and dazed, one on each side.

Silence.

Then Bakugou grumbles, “…You’re lucky she wanted both of us.”

Deku chuckles softly, brushing your hair off your cheek. “Yeah. Lucky.”

You just smile, eyes fluttering shut as they both pull you into their arms—Bakugou’s hand on your thigh, Deku’s lips on your forehead.

Maybe heroes can share, after all.

₊⊹𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹ 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹