Hi! First Off, I Love Your Writing. The Way You Unfold A Story Feels So Natural, And You Manage To Evoke
Hi! First off, I love your writing. The way you unfold a story feels so natural, and you manage to evoke so much emotion with a simple, concise style. I was so over my Bakugo phase after moving on from MHA, but somehow, your writing brought back just a little of those old feels.
So, if you're up for it, could I request a Bakugo x ex-villain reader? Maybe she’s taken in by U.A. after deciding to leave her villainous family but struggles to fit in. Bakugo, begrudgingly, helps since he kinda knows what it’s like to be treated like a ticking time bomb. Just pure fluff. Thank you!
a spark in the ashes, ft. katsuki bakugo x ex-villian!reader
note: THANKKK YOUUU SO MUCHHH!! I love when people compliment me on my writing, it’s such a mood booster to continue on doing something I adore so much and I’m happy I was able to get you hooked back onto his character again! I would be down to write this and I hope you like it, mwaa🫂💓.
The halls of U.A. were much louder than you expected.
Even though you had spent years watching the school from the shadows, studying its heroes, dissecting their every move for weaknesses, you had never imagined what it felt like to walk among them. The sheer energy of the place buzzed in your ears—the laughter, the chatter, the casual way students moved like they belonged. It was something you had never felt before.
Not truly.
You pulled your hoodie lower over your face, trying to avoid the sideways glances thrown your way. Even after Principal Nezu personally vouched for you, even after Eraserhead took responsibility for your rehabilitation, the whispers never stopped.
“That’s her, right? The villain’s daughter?”
“Why would U.A. even let someone like that in?”
“Bet she’ll snap any day now.”
It wasn’t that unexpected. You had lived your entire life being feared—first because of your family, then because of the things you had done in their name. Changing sides didn’t erase the past. And it certainly didn’t erase the scars.
You just wished it hurt a little less.
As you moved down the hallway, pretending not to hear the murmurs, someone shouldered past you. Hard.
“Tch. Move it, dumbass.”
You barely caught yourself before stumbling, snapping your gaze up to glare at the culprit.
Bakugo Katsuki.
Of course it was him.
The moment you locked eyes, his crimson gaze flickered with something unreadable. You expected hatred—after all, he had more reason than most to despise you. Instead, his eyes darted away, his expression twisting in annoyance.
“Quit starin’,” he muttered before storming off.
You scowled after him, muttering, “Asshole,” under your breath.
You had been warned about him, mostly by Kaminari and Kirishima. “Bakugo’s got a rough way of showing it, but he’s not as bad as he seems,” they had said. “He’s just… difficult.”
You weren’t sure you believed them.
But then again, weren’t you the last person who should be judging others?
Training was hell.
Not because it was physically demanding—you were used to that. Grueling workouts, endless sparring sessions, pain that lingered for days afterward—it was all second nature to you. Your past had ensured that.
No, what made this particularly hellish was teamwork.
No one trusted you enough to be their partner, and honestly, you didn’t blame them. But Aizawa wasn’t about to let you get away with isolating yourself.
“You’ll be paired with Bakugo,” he had said, voice flat and unyielding. “Neither of you seem to grasp the concept of cooperation, so you’re going to learn it—together.”
You had barely swallowed back a groan before a familiar scoff filled the air.
“Tch. This is stupid,” Bakugo muttered, standing beside you with his arms crossed, looking as irritated as you felt. “Why the hell do I have to babysit her?”
You arched a brow, unimpressed. “Wow. With that attitude, I can totally see why people love working with you.”
His crimson eyes snapped to you, narrowing. “Hah? The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
You huffed, turning your gaze back to Aizawa. “You sure this is a good idea?”
“I wasn’t asking,” Aizawa replied, already walking away.
Bakugo clicked his tongue in irritation, but didn’t argue. You sighed, rolling your shoulders before turning to face him properly.
“Fine,” you muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”
He scoffed. “Finally, something we agree on.”
The exercise was straightforward: navigate through a series of obstacles while evading and neutralizing the ‘villain’ bots. Success depended on strategy, agility, and—most importantly—teamwork.
Which meant you were screwed.
Not even two minutes in, and you were already at each other’s throats.
“Would you stop blowing everything up for five seconds?!” you snapped, dodging the debris from yet another one of his reckless explosions.
“Shut the hell up! This is my way of doin’ things!”
“Yeah? Well, your way is getting us nowhere!”
You could see it clearly—Bakugo was powerful, but he wasn’t thinking ahead. He was acting purely on instinct, relying on brute force. It was effective, sure, but inefficient.
And it was driving you crazy.
“Stop being so stupidly aggressive and—”
A bot lunged toward him from behind.
You moved before thinking, grabbing his wrist and yanking him backward. Your body twisted mid-air, and in one swift motion, you fired an energy blast, knocking the bot away before it could strike.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then, you realized—Bakugo was staring at you.
Not in anger. Not in irritation.
Just staring.
His crimson eyes flickered with something unreadable as he glanced from your grip on his wrist to your face. It was only then that you became aware of how close you were, your fingers wrapped tightly around his skin, the heat of his body radiating against yours.
You immediately let go, stepping back. “What?”
His gaze lingered a second longer before he scoffed, shaking his wrist like he was trying to erase the memory of your touch. “Nothin’.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You sure? Because for a second there, it almost seemed like you—”
“Shut up.”
You smirked. “Didn’t know you could get flustered, Bakugo.”
He bristled immediately. “Hah?? I’m not flustered!”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
His eye twitched.
Despite the bickering, something shifted after that.
You noticed how, for the rest of the exercise, Bakugo actually started to listen. He still barked orders, still acted like he was the one in charge, but his movements weren’t as reckless. He adjusted his pace, matched your rhythm, and—most surprising of all—he didn’t complain when you took the lead on strategy.
By the time you reached the checkpoint, you were both panting, covered in dust and sweat.
But you had won.
And for once, you didn’t feel like you had done it alone.
Bakugo exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “well, i guess your way doesn’t suck completely.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the almost compliment.
Then, a slow grin spread across your lips. “Wow. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me today.”
He clicked his tongue, looking away. “Don’t get used to it, dumbass.”
And yet—
Somehow, you knew this wouldn’t be the last time.
Over time, things started to change.
It wasn’t immediate—Bakugo was still Bakugo, all sharp edges and loud shouting, and you were still you, struggling to figure out where you fit in this world. But little by little, he stopped treating you like a threat.
He’d still shove past you in the halls, but it wasn’t as aggressive. He still called you names, but they lacked venom.
And then there were the little things.
Like how he always seemed to end up in the same training group as you. Or how, when people whispered about your past, he was the one who shut them up.
It all came to a head one evening.
The rooftop was quiet.
The world stretched out before you, city lights blinking in the distance, casting a faint glow against the dark sky. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of the earth below, the lingering traces of smoke from Bakugo’s explosions still clinging to your uniform.
You had come up here to be alone.
But, of course, he found you anyway.
You didn’t turn when the door creaked open behind you, didn’t even acknowledge his presence as he stepped closer. The familiar weight of him, the quiet heat, settled beside you, but he didn’t speak.
That was the thing about Bakugo—he never did anything he didn’t want to do. Which meant if he was here, it wasn’t because he felt obligated.
It was because he chose to be.
“You always come up here to sulk?” His voice was gruff, but there was no real bite behind it.
You huffed out a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t sulk.”
He gave a low scoff. “Coulda fooled me.”
Silence stretched between you.
The wind whistled softly, ruffling your hair, sending a chill across your skin. But you barely felt it. The weight pressing against your chest was heavier than the cold.
“I just needed some air,” you muttered eventually, pulling your knees up to your chest. “Needed to clear my head.”
Bakugo didn’t respond right away. Instead, you heard the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees.
You should have expected what came next.
“You thinkin’ about them?”
You flinched.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeves, the answer already there—resting just behind your teeth.
Of course you were.
No matter how far you ran, no matter how much you tried to bury the memories, your past had a way of finding you. The voices of your family still echoed in your head, their lessons burned into your bones.
“You can’t trust heroes. You can’t trust anyone.”
“They will never accept you.”
“People like us? We don’t get happy endings.”
Your throat felt tight.
“I just…” You exhaled, rubbing a hand down your face. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Bakugo finally turned his head, his gaze sharp, unwavering. “Do what?”
You swallowed, barely managing to force the words out.
“Be a hero. Change.”
The confession hung heavy in the air.
For a long moment, Bakugo didn’t say anything. He just looked at you—really looked, his crimson eyes dark and unreadable.
Then, finally, he scoffed.
“You already did the hardest part, dumbass.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He leaned back, stretching his legs out, staring at the sky. His voice was lower now, quieter.
“You left.”
You frowned. “So?”
“So that means you already made your choice,” he said simply. “Ain’t easy to walk away from everything you’ve ever known.”
Your breath caught.
Because the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he understood—made something in your chest tighten.
“Doesn’t feel like it’s enough,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “People don’t see me as a hero. They see me as… as them. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, it’s like I’m always one step away from proving them right.”
You didn’t know why you were telling him this.
Maybe because he was the only one who wouldn’t look at you with pity. Maybe because, despite everything, Bakugo had never once treated you like you were fragile.
Or maybe because, deep down, you knew—he understood.
Bakugo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You think I don’t get that?”
You turned to him, brow furrowing.
He scoffed. “People look at me like I’m gonna snap any day now. Like I’m some kinda walking disaster just waiting to go off.” His hands curled into fists, resting against his thighs. “You think I don’t hear ‘em whisperin’? Saying I’m too aggressive, too dangerous to be a hero?”
You stared at him, lips parting slightly.
You had known, of course. Everyone knew that Bakugo was intense. That he was loud and brash and prone to violence.
But you had never really thought about what that meant for him.
Because heroes weren’t supposed to be like that. Heroes were supposed to be bright and shining and perfect.
Bakugo wasn’t.
And neither were you.
Slowly, your fingers unclenched.
“It’s exhausting,” you murmured, voice soft. “Always feeling like you have to prove something.”
Bakugo let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”
Another stretch of silence.
Then—
“fuck.” He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Screw ‘em.”
You blinked. “What?”
“You heard me,” he said, stretching his legs out again, his knee bumping against yours slightly. “People are always gonna talk shit. Always gonna expect the worst. So what? That don’t mean they’re right.”
You stared at him.
He turned his head slightly, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is what you do. So either let ‘em win, or prove ‘em all wrong.”
A lump formed in your throat.
Because—damn it.
For all his yelling, for all his rough edges and sharp words—Bakugo meant it.
He believed in you.
Maybe not in the loud, obvious way that others did. But it was there, hidden beneath the gruff exterior, in the way he was sitting here—choosing to be here.
For you.
Something inside you shifted.
Something warm, something steady.
You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Yeah. I think… I think I can do that.”
Bakugo scoffed, nudging your knee with his. “Damn right you can, dumbass.”
You laughed—a real, genuine laugh. The first in a long time.
And for the first time since stepping into U.A., for the first time since choosing to leave your past behind—
You didn’t feel so alone.
SAKURASZN © 2025 !
More Posts from Hanayoshiii and Others
the language of biting.
NOTE. a teensy bitsy suggestive!
Bakugou doesn’t always say “I love you” with words.
Sure, he can.
He has.
He does.
But more often than not, it’s in the things he does: folding your laundry just the way you like it, memorizing the exact heat setting for your tea, walking on the side of traffic when you two are out (it’s become a habit at this point, and he will get playfully physical with trying to switch places with you if you think otherwise), scowling at people who so much as glance at you too long.
The quiet, loaded things.
Acts of service.
Devotion in motion.
But when you two are alone—when the world outside your apartment fades and it’s just the two of you—his love starts to show in other, more unconventional ways.
Like biting.
It starts off soft, playful, almost lazy.
You’ll be curled on the couch, on his lap, while something plays on the TV, forgotten. Your hand will drift against his surprisingly soft hands, playing with his fingers to flex them open and close as you hum, and he’ll nuzzle closer, burying his face into your thigh or shoulder or collarbone—wherever you are.
Because Bakugou is an unreliable narrator when it comes to you.
And then, without warning—
“Katsuki!”
You gasp, as if he had just committed the most heinous crime, laughing as he runs his canines gently over your skin, slow and deliberate, like he’s testing how much you’ll let him get away with.
“What?” he mumbles, not even pretending to be innocent.
“You bit me!”
He huffs a short laugh. “Did not.”
“I felt your teeth, you maniac.”
“Didn’t bite,” he says again, leaning in to nip at your collarbone, slow and deliberate this time. “Just a pretend bite. Barely.”
You yelp and try to push him away, palms flat against his shoulders. “What are you, a dog?”
Bakugou smirks against your skin. “You don’t hear me barkin’, do you?”
“Should I take you to the vet? Get your rabies shot?”
His teeth graze you again, this time just on your aching shoulder blade that you’ve been whining about for the past few days. “Too late, dummy.”
He bites down again, this time just enough to leave a fleeting pressure—never enough to bruise, never enough to really hurt, just enough to say, Mine. His hand slides under your hoodie, not in a lewd way, but to rest warm against your waist as he presses his teeth into the curve of your shoulder.
“Why is this your favorite?”
“Because you’re soft.”
“That’s not a reason to bite me.”
“Or maybe you could just admit that I’m cute when I do it.”
“Cute? You just bit me like a teething baby!”
He quietly sighs and leans up higher, bringing his face close to yours now. “Wasn’t tryna hurt you. Just…” He pauses, nose brushing yours. “‘s weird, but I like doin’ it. That ok?”
Bakugou never bites when he’s angry. Never in frustration. Only when he’s calm, or smug, or holding you close and soaking in the way you fit perfectly in his arms. The biting isn’t possessive in the toxic way. It’s intimate. Familiar. He doesn’t even realize how often he does it.
Your expression softens at that, because of course it does. How could it not? His voice had gone quiet, and his brows were furrowed in that shy, self-conscious way that only ever comes out when he’s being sincere.
“You do know biting me isn’t how humans mark territory, right?” you tease.
His ears turn pink at the tip. “Shut up.”
“No, no, I’m serious. Should I be worried? Is this like… a feral wolfboy thing?”
“Keep talkin’ and I will bite harder.”
You snort and lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’re weird.”
“And you’re still in my lap.”
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“Never said I wasn’ lucky.”
But then, just as you relax again—he strikes. A soft, precise bite just behind your ear this time around. His canines dig in just enough to make you squirm, though there’s no pain. Just the warm press of his lips a moment later.
“Katsuki!”
You could feel him smile against your skin. “Couldn’t help it. You smell too good.”
“You are—insane. You are absolutely feral.”
“You’re still not movin’.”
“Because you’re hugging me like a bear, idiot.”
“Guess you can’t do anythin’ about it now, huh?”
And then he’s peppering kisses along your shoulder—soft ones, a little too sweet to match the devilish glint in his eye—interrupted every few seconds by little nips. Not enough to leave marks. Just enough to feel. Enough to make you shiver and laugh and squirm under his touch until you're warm and breathless from giggling.
Eventually, you push him away with both hands, heaving in breaths. “You need a warning label.”
“I’ve got a hero license. Close enough.”
“I’m gonna make you get a rabies shot.”
“Go ahead. Long as you’re there to hold my hand.”
You roll your eyes, but the affection behind it is undeniable. “You’re the worst.”
“And still your favorite.”
You sigh, defeated, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Unfortunately, I’m married to someone who bites like a baby who’s just now getting their baby teeth.”
He grins, closing his eyes. “Better get used to it.”
“You done?”
“…Maybe.”
“Katsuki.”
“…Okay, okay. I’m done.”
. . .
“…For now.”
“If those leave a mark—I will make you do laundry by yourself next week.”
And Bakugou, pleased as hell with himself, gives you one final, barely-there bite to your shoulder and murmurs, “Love you too.”
SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.
multi-character drabble.
includes the seven minutes in heaven trope, breeding, words like slut, stupid, dumb, idiot, and adult themes so, mdni.
his cum is already dripping down your shivering legs, hasn't it been past seven minutes anyway?
ah, who cares right now? being bred by this large man, was more important than anything else. his hot cum still being plunged into you as he thrusts in a few more times, for good measure. "a-ah, no! 'm still sensitive-aah!" he scoffed, this time, dragging your waist down to his pelvis as you grabbed the shelf to support you again.
"y'er such a slut, b-being so g-goddamn loud for no reason," he muttered, staring at the mixed orgasm oozing out of your cunt. 'ts your fault! you wanted to say, but all you could do was gasp and whine as he suddenly took his cock out and quickly replaced it with his fingers. his breath shaking as he stuffed his cum back inside of you, was he trying to get you pregnant?
"y'er so dumb, y/n...s-stupid girl." he groaned as you grinded back into him, making his cock slowly stand up again..."wan' you...p-please..."your grip still solid on the shelves. "k-keep g-getting y'erself in t-trouble, mmph-then complain 'bout it, idiot." he whispered, shushing you, as his cock slipped in with ease, your loud whimpers and moans echoing in the little store room.
"your pussy feels so warm 'n, snug, aah-i, jus' wanna be here forever,."
toji, bakugo, nagi, barou, atsumu, eren, wc!kunigami, gojo, uni au!sukuna, suna + your favs <3
© starreo 2023. do not copy, translate or repost .
(ʘᗩʘ’)
dazai osamu is the type to say “just the tip, i promise” and somehow will end up fucking you so good you that you can’t help but too drool on yourself and cream all over his cock.
dazai ofc, nikolai, gojo, sanji, bokuto, oikawa, tanaka, tendou, terushima, mammon, denki + your favs !
❀ ASS, TITS OR THIGHS? — MDNI ❀
they are the perfect trifecta for this idea. i didn’t even have to THINK about which i was assigning to who.
CONTENT: drabble/s, chuuya x reader, ranpo x reader, dazai x reader, 515 words, nsfw
nsfw under the cut…
ass — nakahara chuuya
that man is coming up behind you any time you bend down. you’ll be undoing your shoes and all of a sudden his hands are on you pulling your ass back into him.
i don’t see him as an awfully big fan of pda, but subtle pda? oh he’s all over it. well, “subtle” to an extent. if no ones looking he’ll slap your ass so hard and you just have to take it because god forbid your subordinates hear you let out a yelp.
when he’s not being a menace he’s groping your ass, and whenever you’re walking around together, he either has his hand in your back pocket, or if you don’t have pockets, just straight up rested on your ass.
you cannot tell me he doesn’t use his gravity powers to playful whip you with a tea towel or something of the likes when you’re least expecting it. and then he’s acts all innocent when you turn around.
favourite position is your head squished into the mattress and your ass up in the air; makes him absolutely feral. loves to grab and slap your ass as he’s hitting that good spot and making you see stars.
tits — ranpo edogawa
biggest boob man i’ve ever seen. i mean, look at the guy. with the amount of time he spends sucking on things, there’s no doubt he’s settling down to suck your tits any chance he gets.
it’s routine at this point, any time you’re lying down he slides on over and either sticks his hands up your shirt to use your breasts as personal stress toys, or pulls your top over his head and latches on.
at this point, you barely notice sometimes you’ve become so accustomed to it.
ran out of snacks? y/n’s tits are always there. stressful day of work? they’re right there! bored out of his mind? he knows just how to entertain himself.
food play warning: he is deeefinitely putting sweets on your tits. creams and melted chocolate all spread across your chest like his perfect meal, at his disposal to lick and suck clean.
thighs — dazai osamu
his personal pillows. any chance he gets he’s lying down against them and falling asleep as you massage his hair. you have to verify he’s alive sometimes because he’s so utterly at peace.
whenever you’re sitting next to each other, he’s running his hand up and down your thigh, squeezing and tracing all over them. he loves to watch the way you squirm when his hand runs a little too close to your heat, but he’s such a tease, he never touches you there.
absolutely loves to grip your thighs during sex. he is all over them, constantly. he loves to grip your thighs with all his strength when he’s pounding into you, or wrap them around him as he goes down on you.
adores sucking hickeys into the inside of your thighs, nipping and licking over your most sensitive spots on your thighs.
fuck he almost groans and throws his head back at the sheer sight of his artwork whenever you’re walking around.
A BOXERS STRUGGLES !
ft. boxer!katsuki bakugo x f!reader
summary: Bakugo is fiercely dedicated to becoming Japan's number one boxer, but he faces inner conflict when he starts developing feelings for someone. His fear of distraction threatens his rise to the top, creating tension between his personal life and his aspirations. As their relationship deepens, he learns to balance his love for her with his desire to succeed in boxing. [wc: 5k]
The gym stank of sweat and blood. The air was thick with the sounds of fists pounding heavy bags, the rhythmic shuffle of footwork against the mat, and the sharp commands of coaches drilling fighters into champions.
This was Katsuki Bakugo’s world. The ring was his domain. The roar of a crowd? Just white noise. The only thing that mattered was the moment his fist connected—the instant he proved, without question, that he was better.
His opponent staggered back, legs wobbling. His ribs were bruised, his breath shallow. He was still standing, barely, but Bakugo could already see it in his eyes.
He was finished.
Aizawa’s voice rang through the gym. “Stay sharp, Bakugo.”
Katsuki Bakugo stood in the center of the ring, fists clenched in his taped-up hands, his breath controlled despite the fire burning in his chest. His opponent for today’s spar was already on his knees, clutching his ribs, coughing through the pain.
“Get up,” Bakugo growled, shaking out his fists. “I ain’t done with ya’ yet.”
The other fighter grimaced trying everything in his power to rise, but before he could, the coach called it.
“That’s enough, Bakugo!” His trainer, Aizawa, sighed from outside the ropes, arms crossed over his chest. “I told you to spar, not destroy.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue and turned away, grabbing a towel from the corner post to wipe the sweat off his face.
“If he’s too weak to take a hit, he shouldn’t be in the ring,” he muttered, stepping out of the ropes.
“That ‘weak’ fighter you just knocked out was ranked fifth in the region.”
“Then I guess I’m already top four.”
Aizawa exhaled through his nose and shook his head lightly, but there was the ghost of a smirk in his otherwise impassive expression. Bakugo had talent—raw, explosive talent that had propelled him through the rankings faster than anyone had expected. But he had a fatal flaw.
He fought like a man trying to bury something.
Something he was afraid to lose.
Bakugo exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he looked down at his fallen opponent. It wasn’t personal. It never was. The guy had stepped into the ring knowing what he was getting into. If you weren’t ready to fall, you shouldn’t be fighting.
“Damn, man!”
The sound of Kirishima’s voice cut through the noise before Bakugo felt a heavy arm slap against his back. “That was sick! You dropped him like a sack of bricks.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue, walking toward his corner to unwrap the tape from his hands. “Tch. If he went down that easy, he shouldn’t have been in the ring with me.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re a beast.” Kirishima laughed, leaning against the ropes. “Which is exactly why you need to come out tonight. We’re celebrating.”
Bakugo shot him a glare. “The hell we are.”
“C’monnn, man! You’ve been tearing through the ranks like crazy. People are talking. You’re undefeated, making a name for yourself, and you’ve got fans.” Kirishima smirked. “I mean, how many guys get this far at our age?”
“I’m not doing this for a goddamn party,” Bakugo muttered, tossing the used tape into the trash.
Kirishima groaned. “Bro. You never do anything outside the gym. You don’t even celebrate your own wins.”
Because there was nothing to celebrate. Winning wasn’t the goal—it was the standard.
Bakugo was going to be the best boxer in Japan. That wasn’t just some damn dream or some nice idea to hope for. It was a fact. Something inevitable. And if it wasn’t inevitable, then he just had to train even harder than before.
There was no reason to slow down.
No reason to waste time at some party.
But Kirishima was still looking at him, hopeful as ever, and Bakugo knew the bastard wouldn’t shut up about it.
He clicked his tongue. “Tch. Fine. But I’m not staying long.”
Kirishima cheered. “Hell yeah!”
This is a waste of time.
Bakugo knew it. He knew he should be in the gym, working on his footwork, watching fight tapes, doing something, anything, to get ahead of the competition.
But he ignored the voice in his head, just this once.
Plus, was the worst that could happen?
The party was loud. So agonizing loud.
The bass from the speakers thumped through the floors, shaking the walls of the packed apartment. People were everywhere, drinking, laughing, talking too damn much. Some of them he recognized—fighters from the gym, people from the local boxing circuit—but most of them were just randoms.
“Here.” Kirishima shoved a drink into his hand.
Bakugo took one look at it and scoffed. “I ain’t drinking that shit.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Man, at least pretend you’re having fun.”
Bakugo didn’t respond. He was already regretting this.
He didn’t belong here.
This wasn’t his world.
He was about to leave when Kirishima perked up, eyes lighting up as he spotted someone across the room. “Oh, shit! She actually came.”
Bakugo barely glanced over. “Who?”
Kirishima grinned. “That girl I told you about—(Y/N).”
Bakugo finally looked.
You weren’t flashy like some of the other girls here. You weren’t trying to be the center of attention, weren’t draped over some guy’s arm, weren’t looking at him like he was some kind of goddamn celebrity.
You were just sitting there, talking to a friend, nursing a drink in your hand. You didn’t even seem all that interested in the party at all.
And somehow, that was the first thing that made him notice you.
Kirishima nudged him. “She’s cool. I think you’d actually like her.”
Bakugo scowled. “Tch. Since when do you set me up with people?”
“I’m not setting you up,” Kirishima laughed. “But seriously, man. You need to talk to people who aren’t trying to punch you in the face for once.”
Bakugo rolled his eyes. He wasn’t here to meet people. He was here to get Kirishima off his back, and then he was leaving.
But then, as if you could feel him looking, your gaze flicked over to his.
And you smiled.
Not in an over-the-top way. Not in that annoying, flirty, “I’m just here for the fighters” way.
Just a simple, amused smile. Like you knew something he didn’t.
And for some stupid, infuriating reason, that was enough to make him stay a little longer.
You didn’t approach him first.
That was the second thing he noticed about you.
You weren’t like most people who came up to him at these kinds of events—all wide-eyed admiration and empty compliments. You weren’t trying to impress him.
If anything, you were unimpressed.
And that… bothered him.
So when Kirishima finally dragged him over to introduce you, Bakugo was already in a foul mood.
“(Y/N), this is Bakugo,” Kirishima said, grinning. “Bakugo, this is (Y/N). She’s cool, I swear.”
You gave him a once-over, raising an eyebrow before smirking. “Yeah, I know who he is.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “Tch. That so?”
“I’ve been to a couple of your fights.” You shrugged. “You don’t let them last very long, huh?”
He scoffed. “Why the hell would I?”
You tilted your head. “I dunno. Wouldn’t kill you to put on a show for once.”
Kirishima snorted. “Damn. She’s got you there, man.”
Bakugo clicked his tongue, crossing his arms. He wasn’t used to people talking to him like this—like he was just some guy instead of a rising champion.
But you weren’t mocking him.
You weren’t flirting, either.
You were just… talking to him.
And for the first time in a long time, Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t sure how to respond.
This was bad.
This was exactly the kind of distraction he couldn’t afford.
The next day arrived as Bakugo got out of bed, the sunlight streaming through his window, casting a warm glow across his room. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for the day ahead. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, he could still feel the weight of the events from the previous night lingering in his mind, making it hard to focus.
Bakugo didn’t do distractions.
He trained. He fought. He won. That was it.
He didn’t waste time at parties, didn’t fuck around with meaningless shit like relationships or making friends outside of the gym. There was no point. The only thing that mattered was getting stronger.
So why the hell had he stayed at that party longer than he intended?
Why the hell had you stuck in his head?
It pissed him off more than it should have.
It wasn’t like you had done anything special. You weren’t drooling over him like most people who recognized his name. You weren’t trying to get something out of him. You weren’t even acting impressed.
You were just… there.
And for some stupid reason, that was what made him notice you.
Tch. Whatever. It doesn't even matter anymore.
He wasn’t gonna waste time thinking about some random girl.
So, as usual, he threw himself into training.
The gym was empty except for the steady rhythm of his fists pounding the heavy bag. It was late—so late that even Aizawa had already left for the night, trusting Bakugo to lock up when he was done. The only sounds that filled the space were the heavy thuds of leather meeting flesh and the occasional creak of the building settling around him.
His body ached, but it wasn’t enough. The burn in his muscles was a reminder of how hard he was working, yet it only fueled his determination. He needed more. More speed. More power. More control. He needed to push himself past his limits, to go beyond what he was yesterday. Each punch felt like a step toward a higher version of himself, a way to stave off the ever-looming fear of being left behind.
Because if he didn’t—if he slowed down for even a second—someone else would catch up. The thought danced tauntingly in the back of his mind, an insidious whisper that he couldn't shake off. He refused to let that happen; he wouldn't allow anyone to inch ahead of him.
So he fought harder, faster, his focus narrowing like a predatory gaze. The world beyond the gym faded, blurring into insignificance as he lost himself in his routine. He was so absorbed in his relentless pursuit that he barely noticed when someone else walked into the gym. The door creaked softly, almost lost in the noise of his efforts, and he instinctively increased his intensity, a faint flicker of curiosity stirring deep within him. Who would dare interrupt his sanctum?
“Jesus. Do you ever go home?”
His fist stopped mid-swing.
He turned, scowling, only to find you leaning against the doorway.
You weren’t supposed to be here.
“What the hell are you doin’ here?” he snapped.
You shrugged. “Kirishima told me you’d still be here. Thought I’d stop by.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Tch. Don’t you got somewhere better to be?”
“Probably,” you said easily, walking further into the gym. “But this is more interesting.”
That threw him off. Most people didn’t stick around after his fights. Not unless they wanted something.
But you weren’t asking for anything.
And that was what made you dangerous.
He grabbed his water bottle and took a long sip, trying to ignore the way you were watching him.
“You train like you’re running from something,” you said suddenly.
He nearly choked on his water. “The fuck did you just say?”
You leaned against the ring, arms crossed, studying him with an expression that was way too goddamn knowing. “You fight like there’s something chasing you.”
He scoffed. “Tch. You don’t know shit about fighting.”
“I know about people,” you shot back.
His jaw clenched.
Because that was the problem.
You weren’t looking at him like a fighter. You were looking at him like a person. And that threw him off. It wasn’t just the intensity of your gaze; it was the way you seemed to see him—past the tough exterior, into something deeper.
He didn’t know what to do with that.
You didn’t go away after that initial encounter. Somehow, you kept showing up—at the gym, at his fights, infiltrating his thoughts at the most inconvenient times. You’d sit on the sidelines, a calm presence amidst the chaos, watching with that same unreadable expression that both intrigued and frustrated him. You didn’t fawn over him. You didn’t try to flirt or get his attention. You were just… there.
And no matter how much he tried to ignore you, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were gradually unraveling him.
“Yo, you good, man?” Kirishima asked after a particularly exhausting sparring session, wiping sweat from his brow.
Bakugo scowled, his irritation simmering just below the surface. “The fuck kind of question is that?”
Kirishima smirked, a knowing light in his eyes. “I dunno, dude. You’ve been off lately. Like, you’ve been extra agitated every time (Y/N) is around.”
Bakugo’s fists tightened into balls at his sides, his heart racing. “Shut the hell up.”
Kirishima just laughed, unfazed. “Bro. You’re so obvious.”
There was nothing obvious about it, at least that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, every time he caught a glimpse of you cheering for him—your lips curled into that soft smile, your eyes sparkling with pride—he felt something shift inside him. Something he wasn't prepared to confront.
It was maddening how a simple presence could ignite a fire in his chest.
He cursed under his breath, pushing the thought aside. There was nothing to even talk about, nothing to feel. Because whatever this was—whatever you were doing to him—he wasn’t gonna let it get in the way.
He refused to let his heart get tangled in the mess of feelings he didn’t understand. But deep down, a part of him wondered if perhaps being a fighter meant more than just throwing punches. Perhaps it meant fighting for something—or someone—worth it.
So, as always, he did the only thing he knew how to do.
He trained harder.
And harder.
And harder.
Like he could beat the thought of you out of his head.
Like he could make himself stop wanting something he wasn’t supposed to have.
But no matter how hard he tried…You were still there.
And that was the real problem.
After that night, things… shifted.
He stopped avoiding you. Stopped pretending you didn’t exist.
You still weren’t pushing to be in his life, but somehow, you were just there—closer than before.
And maybe… just maybe… he liked that.
A little too much.
Recently, You started showing up at the gym more.
You never interrupted his training, never got in his way, but he could feel you there. Could hear the way you’d tease Kirishima when he dropped a weight. Could hear your voice in between the rounds of his sparring matches.
And you wanna know the worst part about it?
He started looking forward to it.
“You’re getting better,” you said one day, watching him hit the pads with his trainer.
He wiped sweat from his brow, smirking. “Tch. ‘Course I am. I’m not some weak-ass rookie.”
You rolled your eyes. “Never said you were. But you used to just go for the kill every fight. You’re starting to actually think in the ring.”
His smirk faltered.
Because that was true, too.
He fought like a ticking time bomb, each punch a detonation of raw power that sent shockwaves through his opponents. His reputation was built on pure brute force, but recently… everything had shifted.
He was evolving.
Taking a breath.
Learning the game.
Maybe it was because, for the first time, he had someone whose opinion actually mattered to him.
Shit.
This was spiraling out of control.
It wasn’t just in the ring anymore.
You started showing up in his life outside the gym, too. After every match, you’d be there, thrusting a water bottle into his hands before he could even catch his breath.
“You’ve got to hydrate, dumbass” you’d tease, rolling your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And hell, he found himself addicted to the way you called him a dumbass with that playful grin.
Then there was that one night when Kirishima dragged him to a late-night diner, and there you were—totally unexpected.
But instead of bailing like he usually would, he took a seat next to you in the booth. He picked at his food, captivated by your animated argument with Kirishima about something ridiculously trivial. When you nudged his arm, asking for his take, he found himself responding.
Because he wanted to.
Because you were a blast.
Because, for just a moment, fighting faded into the background.
That’s when things got really complicated.
The real trouble started the moment he stopped denying it.
When he started craving your presence.
When he caught himself stealing glances at you when you thought he wasn’t looking.
When he realized your laughter was now his favorite melody.
And then the late nights came, when he lay in bed wide awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what you were up to.
Did you think about him, too?
Oh hell.
He was in deep.
And he had no idea how to navigate this storm brewing inside him.
Bakugo didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.
Scratch that—he knew.
He just didn’t want to admit it.
For weeks now, he’d been stuck in his own goddamn head, trying—and failing—to pretend that you weren’t the reason his focus was slipping. Every training session, every sparring match, everything just felt… off. It had gotten worse.
Everything about you messed with him.
The way you chewed on your lip when you were thinking, lost in a world that felt miles away. The way your voice softened when you spoke to him, just a little, as if he wasn’t the disaster everybody painted him to be. The way you looked at him—eyes bright and curious—like he was more than just his fists, more than the explosive temper that often burned those around him.
And now? He couldn’t fucking stand it.
Because he wanted you.
Badly.
And it was driving him insane.
“So,” Kirishima said, leaning against the locker room bench, arms crossed with that unnerving spiky smile plastered on his face. “You gonna tell her, or are you just gonna keep making that face forever?”
Bakugo scowled. “What fucking face?”
Kirishima smirked wider, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “The one you’re making right now. The ‘I’m a grumpy volcano that’s about to erupt’ face.”
With an annoyed grunt, Bakugo yanked off his gloves, throwing them into his locker as if they were the source of all his problems. “I ain’t makin’ a face.”
“Dude.” Kirishima exhaled dramatically, rolling his eyes. “You like her. It’s painfully obvious. You get all weird and broody whenever she’s around.”
Bakugo turned his back, trying to hide the heat blooming in his cheeks. “I ain’t broody.”
Kirishima ignored him, shoving his hands into his pockets with a casual confidence that only aggravated Bakugo further. “And she definitely likes you, too.”
That made him freeze.
His fingers tightened around the straps of his gloves, heart hammering in a way he really didn’t fucking like. The thought of you returning his feelings stirred something inside him—a mix of fear and hope that twisted his stomach into knots.
He forced a scoff, trying to mask the turmoil. “Tch. You don’t know that.”
“Bro, she watches your fights like she’s trying to figure you out. No one stares at someone that much unless they’re either obsessed or in love.”
Bakugo clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling up.
Love.
No.
That wasn’t what this was.
It couldn’t be.
Right?
Kirishima leaned forward, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “I’ve seen the way she lights up when you walk in. When she cheers for you, it’s like she’s rooting for a hero.”
He paused, letting his words settle into Bakugo's mind, each one weighing heavier than the last. “You could have something real, man. But if you just keep pretending it’s nothing—”
Bakugo cut him off, spinning around with a fierce glare. “Shut it! I’m not in the mood for your sappy bullshit!”
Kirishima raised his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. You can’t keep running away from this. It’s like you want to explode but you’re holding it back. Just tell her how you feel!”
But the thought of putting himself out there, of opening up, felt like a different kind of explosion—one that terrified him. A battle he wasn't sure he could win.
“What if I…?” His voice trailed off, the whisper fragile, almost foreign to him.
“What if you what?” Kirishima pressed, leaning in closer, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern.
“What if she thinks I’m a total loser?” Bakugo shot back, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
Kirishima chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Dude, she’s been right by your side through everything. Trust me. She sees you. The real you. Not just the angry guy who blows stuff up.”
And in that moment, all Bakugo could do was stare into his friend's earnest eyes, the wheels turning in his mind. He felt the pressure build within him—not just the pressure of his own chaotic thoughts, but a surge of longing that was hard to ignore.
“What if I try?” he muttered, almost to himself.
Kirishima’s face split into a grin. “Now you’re talking! Just think about it. Taking a leap like this can lead to something incredible. And who knows? You might just find that she’s waiting for you to make a move.”
Bakugo took a deep breath, gripping his locker. The thought of finally breaking free from this never-ending cycle of confusion was both terrifying and exhilarating. But deep down, he knew he couldn't keep pretending anymore.
With every passing moment, the desire to grab you by the shoulders and confess everything grew stronger. He would have to face his fears—head-on, just like he did in every fight.
“Alright,” he growled, determination erupting within him. “I’ll do it.”
As Kirishima gave him a confident nod, Bakugo felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that accompanied every fight—but this time, it was for something much more important than just victory. It was for you. The challenge had been accepted, and he was ready to stop being the broody, angry guy everyone expected him to be.
Bakugo would fight for this, and he wouldn't back down. Not now, not ever.
Kirishima nudged him with his foot. “Dude, just confess already. It’s not like she’s gonna reject you.”
Bakugo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.
Confess?
He wasn’t that guy.
He wasn’t soft. He wasn’t romantic. He didn’t have a way with words.
And what if he messed it up?
What if you looked at him differently?
What if—
Kirishima snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Oi. Stop thinking so damn much.”
Bakugo growled. “I ain’t—”
“Yeah, yeah, you ain’t thinking, whatever.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “Just tell her.”
Bakugo let out a long, frustrated sigh.
Fine.
Fuck it.
If he was gonna do this, he was gonna do it his way.
Finding you wasn’t hard. You were always around the gym, watching his fights, teasing him after sparring sessions, lighting a fire in his chest that he couldn’t quite understand.
And just like always, there you were—sitting on the bench outside the gym, scrolling through your phone, waiting.
Waiting for him.
His stomach tightened at the sight.
He shoved the feeling aside and made his way toward you, stopping just a foot away.
You glanced up, a bright smile breaking across your face. “Oh, hey! Good fight tonight. You didn’t completely destroy the guy in the first round this time. Progress.”
He ignored the jab, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the slight tremor. “Come with me.”
You blinked, surprised. “Uh. Okay?”
You stood, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t argue when he began to walk away—leading you down the dimly lit street. The hum of the city buzzed around, cars thudding in the distance, the faint flickering of a streetlamp overhead matching the anxiety in his chest.
Finally, he stopped near an empty park, hands still deep in his pockets. The air felt electric, charged with anticipation and the weight of everything he was about to say.
You tilted your head, your curiosity making you even more breathtaking. “So… what’s up?”
He exhaled sharply, staring at the ground like it held the answers to all his questions.
Fuck.
Why was this so hard?
He could beat the hell out of seasoned fighters, could take punches that would knock most guys out, could bleed for his dream—but standing here, he felt utterly paralyzed.
His hands curled into fists with frustration.
Then, finally—
“I like you.”
Silence.
The words hung in the air, heavy and final.
Slowly, you blinked.
“…Wait. What?”
His jaw clenched. “You heard me.”
A small smile tugged at your lips, transforming your face into a canvas of joy. “I think I did. But you might have to say it again.”
His eye twitched. “I swear to god—”
You laughed, the sound like music ringing through the night.
It irritated him and thrilled him all at once, making his heart race faster.
You crossed your arms, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Okay, let’s pretend I didn’t already know that. Why do you like me?”
His stomach flipped, twisting in a whirlwind of nerves.
“Tch. The hell kinda question is that?”
“A very fair one.” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him to explain the impossible. “C’mon, Katsuki. If you’re gonna confess, do it right.”
His face burned hotter than a raging flame.
This is a mistake.
Why the hell am I doing this?
But he was already in too deep.
So, fuck it.
He took a tentative step closer.
Then another.
Until you were right there, just inches away, your teasing expression faltering as you realized the gravity of the moment.
His voice dropped lower, rough yet full of depth. “I like you because you don’t take my shit.”
You inhaled sharply, eyes wide with surprise.
“I like you because you don’t look at me like everyone else does.”
Your breath hitched, and he noticed the way your lips parted slightly.
“I like you because you’re in my goddamn head and I can’t get you out.”
Your gaze flickered down to his mouth, and he saw everything shift in your expression, a mix of surprise and something he dared to hope was desire.
And then—
He kissed you.
Hard.
It was a surge of emotion, raw and unrefined. All teeth, heat, and a desperate need, as if the world around them had vanished and there was only you and him in that moment.
This wasn’t some innocent little crush.
This was him breaking.
Breaking down walls that had stood for too long, walls that had been built to keep everyone—and everything—out. But you had found the cracks, slipped through them before he even realized what was happening, and now—now—he was caving.
Your fingers fisted into his shirt, desperate, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough. And fuck, that was all the encouragement he needed.
He growled against your lips, something raw and almost dangerous, his hands gripping your waist in a vice, holding you there, pinning you against him like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the goddamn earth.
You gasped, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss—hungry, reckless, all-consuming. It was messy, all teeth and heat and the undeniable, electric pull between you both.
He wasn’t thinking anymore.
He was just feeling.
You tasted like something dangerous. Something he couldn’t get enough of—like a match striking against gasoline, igniting something deep inside him that had been waiting to burn.
His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and he let out a shaky, almost desperate breath against your mouth.
More.
He needed more.
The feeling of your body against his, the heat of your skin seeping into him, the way your nails raked up his back, sending a sharp shudder through his spine—it was fucking addictive.
He had been starving, and now that he had this, now that he had you, he didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to stop.
Your lips moved in sync, perfectly, like you had been waiting just as long for this—like you had wanted him all this time, too.
And when you moaned softly against him, he damn near lost his mind.
His hand slid up your back, pressing against the curve of your spine, holding you impossibly close, swallowing the sound like it was his—because it was.
You were his.
And the realization hit him harder than any punch he had ever taken.
By the time he pulled back, panting, his forehead pressing against yours, he could feel your breath against his lips—shaky, unsteady, just as wrecked as he was.
You looked up at him, lips swollen, eyes dazed, and fuck, he had never seen anything more perfect.
He smirked, but it was different this time—softer, but no less intense.
“Tch. Told you,” he muttered, his voice rough from the weight of everything he had just let go.
You exhaled, blinking up at him, breathless but grinning, and shit, that smile—that goddamn smile—made something inside him snap all over again.
“Okay. Yeah. That was definitely a confession.”
He huffed a laugh, his chest still heaving. “Damn right it was.”
And when you reached up, tracing your fingers along the sharp edge of his jaw, tilting his face back down to yours, he knew—he fucking knew.
There was no going back from this.
The world could go to hell, the entire damn boxing circuit could collapse, and he wouldn’t care.
In that moment, with the stars shining overhead and the world spinning just for them, Bakugo felt something shift inside. No longer just a fighter or a hot-headed boxer—he was yours.
And he wasn’t letting you go.
Mine, he thought, and he knew he was ready to face whatever came next—together.
And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid of wanting.
© sakuraszn! xoxo
art creds: gsony24
Just A Taste.
Synopsis: Gojo wants to taste readers breast milk •⩊•
Pairing: Gojo xFem!Reader Content: some plot, mostly nasty stuff, no penetrative sex, nursing handjob, ADULT NURSING, he tries to convince reader to let him suck a lil sum, gojo being weird, mentions he didn't have a mom, BREASTFEEDING, mommy kink if you squint, PREGNANCY KINK, whiny satoru, overall just a lot of nipple and breast play
Dedicated to: @busyreader17 , my beloved for hyping me up to write this, ty<;33
(a.n) why do I only ever write about gojo being a pregnancy freak? has to be studied. wrote this listening to very dramatic classical music
MDNI
Gojo has always been hard headed, never thinking twice on talking back or starting an argument just to prove he was right. And that little quirk about him only enhanced when his child was born.
Even if you were the one who spent countless hours in the emergency room trying to give birth to his big headed child- Satoru insisted that he knew best for his offspring. And in extension- he knew what was best for you.
“Formula isn't good enough for my child.” he retorted when you mentioned how painful it was to breastfeed his gnawing child.
And when you'd bring up that you were ready to start working again- “You don't have to work- that's why you have me.”
Little by little Gojo started dictating most of the aspects of your life. There was little to no resistance from you though- you didn't mind his overbearing fatherly tendencies when it came to protecting his family.
But there was one thing, just one thing you'd complain about if you could.
As stubborn as Satoru was in day to day life- he was equally, if not more stubborn in bed. Especially in one specific area.
Gojo begged. Begged on his knees as he watched you pump. Sitting on the couch and bouncing your knee as his hands held onto your calf, “I just want to taste-” he pouted, eyebrows pinched upwards.
“Satoru.” you gritted through your teeth- hearing the whirr of the machine on your chest. He sighed as he placed his forehead to your knee, mumbling something about how mean you were to him.
This newfound need to taste the milk from your breasts was mildly irritating, not being able to take your shirt off without his eyes prying- parting his lips before asking again.
Satoru would be lying if he said that anytime your breasts would leak against his chest midway through fucking- it didn’t take every ounce of strength he had to not trail his lips down to your puffy nipple.
So, so, very tempting. But he'd refrain from acting on his urges, knowing you'd probably shake him off or tell him to stop completely. So instead of doing it without your permission, he settled on asking you anytime he could.
At first you thought this was just him wanting to know what it tasted like, but when you offered him a small sip from a cup he said- “If i'm gonna drink it, I want it straight from the source.” to which you said, “I guess you're never gonna taste it then.” before tossing the small sip down the sink.
He must've asked 3 times a day. Gojo needed it so bad- he would beg on his knees at your feet, looking up at you like an abused puppy that you were being far too cruel to.
And you always said no.
But, your objections sounded like ‘maybe one day’ to his ears.
So one very early morning, 4 maybe 5 am- you were standing at the kitchen counter, holding the little pumping machine to your right breast as your face churned with a grimace. Your nipples were sore, from the machine sucking harshly and from how often you had to do it.
You had just started filling one of the little bottles, and as though Gojo knew what you were doing, he walked in. Squinting at you, almost asking what you were doing at this hour- till his eyes landed on your breasts you didn't bother to cover. “Go back to sleep, I'll be done soon.” you muttered in a groggy voice as the whirring woke Satoru up from the hazy state he was in.
He took a few steps towards you- resting his elbows on the counter as he watched the machine milk you. Jealous that a stupid machine had the right to and he didn't.
The sun not even breaching the skyline made the room dim and dusky.
You didn't mind if he watched- but that's all you'd ever grant him. But directly after sex- when his chest would be drippng with the light cream colored liquid that leaked from your breasts while he fucked you- and as he looked down to his sculped body in the bathroom, the sink running on a hand towel as you waited for him to come back to help clean you up.
His fingers couldn't help but swipe at the liquid before placing it on his tongue. The whisper of your taste on his tongue made one thing clear in his mind. If he couldn’t wrap his lips around your nipple and suck till there was nothing left- if you wouldn’t grant him that one favor, the closest thing he had was to fuck you in missionary from now on. Hoping one day he would ask you mid way through- and you’d be too fucked out to say anything but yes.
True if he really wanted to taste you- he could just reach into the freezer and thaw a bag of the pumped milk to try it. But he didn't just want to taste it- he wanted to feel it fill his mouth directly from the source. How warm it would be as it slid down his throat. And god- from the small tastes he's gotten, it's so sweet. You taste so fucking sweet.
His eyes watched as the plastic bottle filled up with milk, almost hypnotized by the liquid. You winced as the machine sucked at your sore nipple, which only made the cogs in Satoru’s brain start churning with schemes.
With soft eyes he fluttered his white eyelashes up to you, “Does it hurt?” he whispered, looking at your expression that looked more irritated than pained. You nodded your head slowly, “It feels like when your foot is asleep,” you muttered, “but not the ‘numb’ kind of asleep, like the kind that hurts anytime you move it.” you continued as you closed your eyes, exhausted and very ready to go back to bed.
Satoru raised himself from the counter, taking steps over to you as you felt his presence loom next to you. “Nd you have to do it all the time too-” he scoffed, playing the sympathy card so you'd think he was on your side.
He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, “They always look so full,” he murmured against your skin, you hummed in response, agreeing with what he was saying as he wrapped his hand around your waist, placing his chin on your shoulder. “So painful.” he hummed as his hands dared to trace up your bare torso.
“I can help, y’know.” The tone he said those words sounded sincere- almost as though he was just trying to make this easier for you, you let out a hum in disbelief, “Unless you're a baby who refuses to latch- no you can't.” you mumbled with a groggy voice.
Your words came out as a retort- but in Gojo’s ears they sounded like a challenge.
It was true, his child had the same stubborness as Satoru, refusing to eat anything that didn’t come from a plastic bottle. Thus the pumping and the overproduction of milk that was piled high in the freezer by now. You had half the mind to sell it or empty them down the drain, I mean what child is gonna drink that much? Even if it was a Gojo heir- no child drinks that much milk.
But the thought pained Satoru, it only reminded him of the times where that frozen milk could have been in his mouth rather than in plastic bags.
Satoru kept a light touch as his hand trailed to the side of your ribs, scooping the bottom of the free breast you hadn’t pumped yet. Feeling the weight in his hand as he lifted it lightly, and you were just tired enough to let him. “They're so heavy.” he whispered in a coo as you blinked your eyes open, fully registering what he was trying to do.
You furrowed your eyebrows, “Don't be gross, ‘toru.” you spoke in a clearer voice, earning a small laugh to ring into your ear as his hand gently grasped the side of your full breast. “What's gross about wantin’ to help?” He murmured in your ear, his hand keeping a light graze as his pointer finger brushed past your tender nipple, you hissed at the feeling causing Satoru to hum an understanding ‘I know.’ into your ear.
You couldn't see his face but you were sure he was pleased with himself, “That's all I wanna do.” his words sounded wholehearted. Almost earnest as his large hand held onto your breast with a light touch, “I'll be sooo gentle, I promise.” he closed his eyes feeling your breast fill his palm with ease, “I just wanna help you,” he whispered as he pressed the off button on the little machine, guiding your hand to place it on the counter as he pressed an honest kiss to your ear.
You knew that filling those little bottles would have taken way too long, then the thought of how much faster it would be if you let him- “Let me help you.”
Satoru’s silver tongue was never your favorite part of him, you never liked how easy it was for him to hide the truth behind seemingly sincere words.
His brushing fingertips against your sore nipples didn't help either, his fingers were very, very close to squeezing the suede ring of color around the hardened peak- Satoru wanted to see if small rivulets would spurt out of your nipples if he squeezed.
You inhaled feeling the warm pads of his fingertip caress at your tender nipple. If Satoru wasn't trying to convince you of something, you'd admit it felt nice. You scoffed, “Don't make it nasty ‘toru-” you caved, sighing with an exhausted tone, feeling his warm palms lift your heavy breasts.
Gojo’s mouth had been salivating from the second he walked into the kitchen, and as you said those words he gulped hard. “Course not~” he mumbled, allowing the truth to seep out in his words.
And as he guided you to sit onto the couch as you've done plenty of times when you'd pump, he already knew how he wanted to be fed, he had thought about it over and over again. And settled on this position, his back was pressed against the tops of your thighs. His long legs extended onto the couch- unashamed of his cock rising from staring at the cream droplet that threatened to fall from your nipple.
Even if this act was obscene and borderlining on too far- you were grateful he didn't make any teasing remarks on how little it took for him to convince you this time. That and how his mouth would have been filled soon enough, so you wouldn't worry about that.
Your hand was on the back of his head, fingers filled with lily white hair as he fought back a smile. Only the gleam in his eyes showed you just how excited he was. Satoru’s lips parted as his eyes darted back and forth from your sore nipple up to your face that was warm with embarrassment. All but asking for permission as you watched his bottom lip quiver in anticipation.
With pinched eyebrows, you guided his head towards your aching breast, Gojo’s lips parted awaiting your puffy nipple. His tongue covered the bottom of his teeth- a low groan rumbled onto your skin as he lightly pressed his parted lips onto the skin around your nipple.
You watched with a grimace look on your face, not knowing why he would offer this- let alone enjoy it.
Satoru’s tongue circled at your hardening nipple, lapping softly as he tried to keep his promise of being gentle as the essence of the milk lingered on his tongue. A small huff left your lip as he rested his tongue at the bottom of your nipple, protecting it from his pearly teeth.
His hands rested atop his tummy as you caressed the back of his scalp, you nodded your head as a form of permission, giving Satoru the ‘ok’ that he could start- his lips were slow to start sucking, pulling your nipple further into his mouth with a lactogenic motion from his tongue.
Before now, Satoru wasn't fully sure how to nurse if you let him, he knew it wasn't like just sucking your nipple. But the second he felt the sore apex of your breast press against the roof of his mouth, sucking in as much of your breast as he could, his tongue massaged the bottom of your tit to coax the milk to come out.
The motion came to him as an instinct, as though nursing was engraved in his marrow from the minute he was pulled into this world.
It took very little effort to pull milk to the surface. But the moan that reverberated onto your breast from a fat droplet hitting Satoru’s tongue- it was bordering on pornographic. It was as though he saw the pearly gates of heaven when the droplet infiltrated the taste buds of his tongue.
No matter how much fantasizing he did, or any of the ghost-like tastes- nothing. Nothing, could have prepared him for how fucking heavenly you tasted.
Your milk was warm, thick enough to leave a light cast on his tongue as he tried to suckle more liquid from your nipple. Gojo’s mouth was latched onto you in a way you knew it would hurt to pull him off.
Satoru’s gaze threatened to shut as you looked down at him. His head coddled in your hand as he kept faltering eye contact with you. Only making this feel even more salacious than it should have.
No, this was only supposed to be a way for him to help- a way to remove the aching pressure from your breasts and save some time.
But that look in his eyes, the way his eyebrows were furrowed- almost as though he was sucking your tit in spite.
That was till a bigger wave of your milk rushed into his mouth, earning an almost anguished whimper to pulse against your skin.
Your eyes squinted trying to figure out if he was exaggerating- only the way his eyes struggled to stay open, the blush across his cheeks and the satisfied smile on the perked corners of his lips, convinced you he was being genuine.
With every ooze of the prized liquid he suckled from your plump breast, Satoru swallowed. Not wanting any to spill from his lips as you placed your hand on his chest that was threatening to start hyperventilating. Too focused on suckling as much milk as he could to even consider keeping a steady breathing pattern. The warmth of his mouth on your tender nipple was soothing, comforting almost.
Gojo’s eyes were half lidded and hazy- trying his very best not to let them roll to the back of his head as the dulcet milk trickled down his throat.
Unwillingly a small whimper fled his latched lips as his eyes closed, chest heaving from the taste of you coating his mouth. You huffed a small breath from his greedy tongue sucking harder on your nipple.
Rubbing your hand on his chest to soothe the little whimpers that rumbled your breast, thankful his eyes were closed when they rolled to the back of his head. His trapped cock was shouting at him for attention, be it instinct or just wanting to relieve the ache- his hand slowly trailed down his tummy, only your eyes were too focused on his seemingly intoxicated expression to notice.
Your hand holding his head up started rubbing gently at his scalp, seeing frustration form on his delicate features- unknowing why. But you were almost trying to soothe him as whimpers vibrated onto your breast. Watching his eyebrows furrow and the growing blush on his cheeks to deepen as his eyes fluttered open.
Looking up at you from the slightly obstructed view from below, your palm on his chest being able to feel how hard his heart was beating. And as your eyebrows furrowed with a breathy sigh- you watched the familiar look in Satoru’s eyes glimmer past white lashes.
You inhaled sharply, feeling his tongue trail from massaging the bottom of your nipple to the little mound that provided the milk. Tracing the tip of his tongue on your bud causing you to hiss his name in a warning.
That's all it took for him to continue suckling on your sore nipple. You were about to rest back onto the couch with a sigh, caressing the back of his head as you felt relief wash over your shoulders, allowing him to take what he needed and then some.
That was till your eye caught his bicep flexing- and you trailed your eyes down his pale arm parting your lips in shock as you watched his unashamed hand palm himself through his gray sweats.
You huffed- only it came out in a breathy sigh rather than in the reprimanding tone you meant it to. Satoru only moaned as he heard his name fall from your lips, feeling his mouth suck rougher in order to pull more milk from your heavy breast that threatened to suffocate his nose.
His hand hesitantly removed itself from the stiff bulge of his sweats, landing on your wrist that was on his chest. His hazy cerulean eyes filled with the kind of mist you only see when he's premeditated something long before you knew of it.
Satoru’s fingers wrapped around your wrist as he greedily drank from your nipple, so greedily that the corners of his mouth were threatening to leak the honeyed fluid- he was suckling so much, he couldn't swallow fast enough.
And as the little droplets stained the sides of Gojo’s jaw, trailing down his pale skin- he led your hand to extend over to his strained bulge. Knowing if you truly were uncomfortable by this, you would've pulled away the second you saw him palming himself.
You inhaled as his hand led you to his cock by your wrist, gasping softly with a tingle on your cheeks from how hard he was. Satoru placed his larger hand atop yours, pressing it onto his painful erection with a whine rippling through your skin.
You flashed your eyes from the gray fabric that trapped his neglected cock, back to his eyes. Threatening to blink shut as you kept a gentle grasp on his bulge. Even if he was the one in your lap, nursing at your breast in a way that can only be described as voracious. That look on his face was smug, almost as though he was right this entire time and you were the hard headed one.
Satoru trailed his hand onto your forearm, smiling to himself as you started softly palming his prominent bulge.
Your eyebrows were pinched upwards, trying very, very hard not to shift your thighs beneath his back to relieve the ache forming between them.
You felt bad, like the only reason he was palming himself- almost in a sad way, was because you allowed this to happen. It wasn't guilt- but you wanted to apologize in some way.
Satoru’s mouth suckled in no pattern, his only goal was to drain every single gush of milk you offered. No matter how fervent he must've looked right now, he didn’t care. As long as he could feel your warmth in his throat- your taste coating the cavern of his mouth- he didn’t care if he looked like a starved man.
You sighed almost in pity as he let out various throaty whimpers, firmening your fingers around the print in his sweats. “Oh ‘toru~” you soothed, knowing how hard he was- it had to be painful. Your cheeks tingling and warm as his hips bucked up into your hand for more friction.
And as your hand cradled onto the back of his head, you maneuvered the hand on his bulge to free it from its torment.
For the first time since he latched onto your nipple, his lips parted from your breast with a low moan. The cold morning air hitting his pinkening tip causing him to furrow his eyebrows, but all it took was for the feeling to settle before he attached onto your draining nipple once more.
You didn't hesitate to place your hand onto his base, feeling the light trails of his precum on his shaft from how worked up he was, tempting a gasp to leave his lips, you looked at him.
And as though he was made to do it- Satoru lightly ran his tongue at your budding nipple, lapping up the white sweetness that leaked from your breast.
You kept a light touch on his cock, his hand on your upper arm before gently resting it on the swell of your other breast. Thinking to himself how rude of him that he was neglecting your other equally tender nipple.
Satoru lightly thumbed your nipple, feeling light drips wet his thumb. Enticing you to slowly start stroking him, stopping your grasp right before your fingers could roll onto his flushed tip. Knowing he wouldn't last long if you worked over his cockhead.
The moans that rumbled from Gojo’s throat and onto your sensitive skin were full of desperation and bliss. You watched him in almost pity- trickles of your milk falling from the sides of his lips, making trails of white drip down his cheeks.
It didn’t take long for him to finish draining your breast, somewhere in his mind he knew there was nothing left in your left tit, but that didn't stop him from trying to slurp up any remaining droplets.
Gojo’s cheeks felt like they were boiling on his face, and with one last lap of your nipple, he unlatched from your breast. Huffing softly as his breath tickled your damp nipple, he looked up at you, an amazed and out of breath expression formed on his face as you wiggled your eyebrows.
It was embarrassing, the way your milk left trails of a light white film on his cheeks, the way he was breathing heavily with his cock in your hand. Vulnerable.
Satoru saw your flushed face- and to comfort you he raised himself from the tops of your thighs lightly, keeping a massaging hand on your unsucked breast as he pressed his plump lips to yours.
It was filthy- Mouths dancing against each other in pure delirium. Being able to taste yourself on his tongue- on his spit laced with milk. It was like Gojo did that to show you just how exquisite you tasted. Only for your hand to keep its snail pace, avoidant of his crying tip.
His lips pulled from yours, looking into your eyes and thumbing your weeping white nipple. Soft opened mouth moans coming from his lips as your hand stroked tenderly.
Rare were the times when Satoru was silent during intimacy, usually babbling teasing nonsense. But this time, the carnal look in his eye told you everything you needed to know. His senseless prattling wasn't even a thought in his mind right now, burning beneath his skin was pure and utter hunger. Hunger, to taste you- to drink from you. To nurse, over and over again.
The one thought that lingered in his mind was to make sure to keep you pregnant- keep you in a state to continue producing the warm comfort he hardly had as a child.
Gojo licked his bottom lip, mouth salivating as he felt the warm liquid trickle onto his palm. He leaned back slightly, looking down to your swollen nipple rolling between his fingers. Then trailing his gaze to your slow stroking hand, Gojo was sure he had never been so hard in his life till now.
He licked his lips before cupping the side of your heavy breast in his palm, slowly shifting himself down to align himself with your right breast. Your hand followed the back of his scap, guiding him to latch onto your dripping nipple.
Satoru opened his mouth, closing his eyes when he felt the skin of your breast fill his mouth again. Running his tongue across your neglected nipple and tasting the essence his fingers had squeezed out. A throaty whine leaving his nose as he started suckling, so enthralled by your taste and the gentle way you stroked him. Keeping his kneading hand on the side of your breast to assist in guiding more milk into his mouth.
Your cheeks were warm, tingling from how lewd he looked at that moment. The little whimpers that came from him didn't help either.
Happily, Satoru let those unfiltered whines pour from him, if it meant you'd know how much he was enjoying himself.
And as your hand slightly passed his tip on the upturn, he gasped against you. Almost as a warning, he sucked harder on your sore nipple in return. Gojo let out muffled cries from your hand stroking past his tip, even if you couldn't see it- his eyes were rolled to the back of his head as he suckled instinctively. You looked away from his face- churned with an insatiable greed.
Looking at his pinkening cock in your hand as the veins on his lower abdomen stood proud beneath his skin. His chest was heaving once more, forced to take heavy inhales through his nose as he felt the knot in his tummy tighten.
Satoru’s whines started to rumble louder against you, watching an inhale reach down his torso, his tummy caving from how hard he exhaled. He was so close. So fucking close and fighting it at this point. You could see it in his scrunched eyebrows and desperate suckles.
You lightly scratched your nails onto his scalp, “It’s okay ‘toru,” you sighed softly, gaining his cerulean eyes to open slightly and look up at you. You were flustered sure, but you wanted to assure Satoru that he could cum whenever he liked. He didn't need to hold off for your sake.
Only when he saw the soft smile on your lips- something deep within him snapped. It didn't click before, even with your hand tenderly stroking him and your tit in his mouth, even as he was nursing directly from your breast. It still didn't click.
But when you soothed his whimpers, the tender smile you had on your lips as he took and took from you. The nurturing tone you assured him with. That's when it made sense. That's when he realized why he had been longing to help you in this way.
Before he didn’t really question it- thought it was just something weird he found hot amongst all his other strange fantasies. But now. Now it made sense.
Your mind was a mess, barely able to process the words that fell from your lips naturally. Gojo’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as you polished his cockhead, his hips bucking up into it in response. You watched as he let go of that final reservation, sucking harshly causing more of your milk to spill from the corners of his lips with frustrated whines. Being able to feel his orgasm tighten in his stomach.
The hand on your breast was practically milking you, squeezing milk into his mouth rather than his tongue nursing at it, his nose was scrunched as he exhaled a ragged breath through his nose. Your nipple was starting to ache from the vibrating whimpers and moans, and instead of telling him to stop, you raked your fingers through his hair gently. “Shh, I know, I know.” you crooned, keeping a steady pace on his cock as he simmered his whimpers.
Ever since Satoru told you he had little to no memories of his mother, you knew he had mommy issues. And when he started asking to taste your milk you were hesitant, knowing once that pandora's box was opened there was no use trying to close it again.
Only as you looked down at him, how content and blissful he looked- unlike anything you've ever seen before, you didn't mind if it didn’t close again.
Satoru parted his eyes, feeling his orgasm slowly slip in his tummy, you watched as his eyes fluttered back to his head- mumbling something in the sound of ‘m’cummi-’ against your skin as you sped up your pace. His hips twitching up into your hand as you jerked him quickly, his lungs could barely handle how little air he was inhaling, his brain fuzzy as he slurped and lapped at your nipple.
Gojo saw stars as you stroked him past the pinnacle you worked him up, his eyes squinted harshly as his lips unlatched from your breast, throaty groans mixed with whines fell from his lips as his orgasm oozed over your hand. When your thumb caressed the opening on his tip, his cock spurted out another pump of his cum with a whine.
As you helped work through his orgasm, smaller pumps of his seed assisted in the wet strokes you gave him, Satoru latched back onto your breast with a content sigh, needing to drain as much as he could, his cock slowly softening in your hand.
And as he drank the rest of your milk you rested your hand on his lower belly, waiting for him to finish taking what he needed. His mouth wasn’t suckling as frantically nor hurried as before. You relished in the warmth his lips provided with a sigh, closing your eyes as the sun started rising. Being able to see the light through your closed eyes.
When Satoru couldn't taste any more milk coming from your drained breast, he hesitantly pulled away. Resting his head in your hand as he looked up to the ceiling hazily, milk drunk as your breasts obstructed his view.
He inhaled, “Throw away that stupid machine.” you sighed, knowing he’s hated the breast pump since he saw you use it for the first time.
“What am I gonna do when you're not around?” you murmured, thinking of a world where you wouldn't have access to a pump.
“Call me and I'll find you.”
You let out a small laugh. Leaning your back onto the couch as Satoru setted on your hand. “So fucking weird.” You murmured, hearing him let out a smiley breath.
Satoru sat up, turning to you with an endearing gaze, “Only cause I like you soooo much.” he claimed, pressing a kiss onto your temple before standing. Reaching out for your hand, ignoring the mess on his tummy, pulling you to stand as he led you to the master bathroom.
“What do you want for breakfast?” you muttered behind him, watching him halt his steps and looking back at you, “What?” he asked with a smug smile and creased eyebrows.
You furrowed your eyebrows, “...Breakfast?” not understanding what was confusing about the question.
Satoru scoffed, “What for? You just fed me.” he spoke sweetly, watching the grimace on your face churn with an appalled ‘ugh!’ as you snapped your hand away from his. You scoffed as he reached for your hand again, pulling you into his arms. Peppering kisses over your features as you groaned.
“You’re so nasty.” you scoffed as he stepped forward, leading you into the bathroom with various kisses on your cheeks.
You were sure this little activity Satoru found so much attraction in, would make its way into your daily routine. Only you didn't mind it as much as you thought you would.
⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆
writing this added 3 years to my life dead ass.
𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓻 ᥫ᭡ㅤ⠀ㅤ ࣪ 𓈒⠀ྀིㅤׂㅤ
notes: osamu only planned for your first hookup to be a one night stand—so what is it about you that has him reeling for more of your touch?
warnings: fem reader, port mafia!dazai, casual hookup at the bar, dazai asks you to say you love him the first time he fucks you, reader calls him slutty (lovingly), needy dazai, mentions of alcohol, 1.5k words.
dazai isn't surprised when he ends up fucking you the first night he meets you, but he is surprised that he decides it's a good idea to do it at lupin, of all places. for the womanizer people believe he is, he isn't much into having sex in public places. and anyways, the bar manager has always been good to him and his friends—he hates to soil the place this way. it really is such a lovely bar.
however, you clearly had one thing on your mind when you pulled him in for your first kiss, and who is he to deny you? he isn't exactly easy, but he's definitely weak for a pretty woman, everyone knows that.
the bar manager left hours ago, tossing dazai his keys and asking him to lock up when the two of you are done drinking. and as soon as you were left alone, it was like you couldn't get your hands on him fast enough, and after all of your teasing and flirting throughout the night, dazai is certainly ready to make you regret making him feel so seen—seen for who he truly is, he hates that you've figured him out so quickly.
"fuck, this is so good," you laugh as your head rolls back, your legs spread wide as dazai fucks you on the bar stool, his hips meeting yours with a quick pace as his eyes are locked onto your face, your brow furrowed in ecstasy, "i knew it would be good, you're so slutty, aren't you, osamu?" you're calling him by his first name already?
he feels a little jab in his heart at that. you'd told him earlier in the night you'd heard about him—you know he's an executive in the port mafia, you know he's quite popular with women, but you weren't expecting to run into "the" osamu dazai that night, you'd only stopped in for a quick drink—you'd told him as much.
dazai feels something bubbling up in his stomach at your continuous teasing jokes, and he's not quite sure he likes it. the way your head lolls back, resting on the bar as your eyes close, not even looking at him as he pounds into you with his pretty cock, the same pretty cock others have complimented him on so many times, has him feeling uneasy. is he using you, or are you using him?
"say you love me."
dazai doesn't even slow his movements or falter when your head jerks up to look at him in disbelief.
"w-what?"
"say it, i-i need to hear it," he whines and buries his face in your neck, losing all control as he fucks you desperately, like he can't get enough of you even though he doesn't really know anything about you. "just say it for me, angel. you don't have to mean it," his words are muffled into your neck, and he hates how pathetic he sounds. how did he get here? he only meant to fuck your pretty pussy and leave it at that, so why do you have him wrapped around your finger already?
you pant out a little laugh, and it makes his heart ache. "i can't do that, darling—but you're fucking me so good, i-i just might have to keep you a little longer."
dazai doesn't know how your words are hurting his feelings, the feelings he thought he'd locked away for good long ago. no, i'm dead inside—what the fuck is this?
"i bet you go around breaking hearts left and right, huh, 'samu?" your teasing continues, and though the dynamic between the two of you is unlike anything he's experienced before, the audacity you have to call him by his first name makes his cock harden even more. your playful demeanor tells him you aren't taking him seriously, and the thought alone makes him want to please you that much more—he wants to make you remember him, wants you to follow him around and beg for more, but you aren't biting.
he slows his movements, easing his cock in and out, eyes glued to the way your slick glistens on his shaft, pulling out of you suddenly as he drops to his knees—he doesn't waste time finding what he wants, spreading your lips and flicking his tongue over your swollen clit. is this how you want it? go ahead and scream my name, pretty girl.
but you don't seem phased by the change in position, only losing yourself again quickly in the feeling of his mouth on you. "god, your tongue feels so good." you moan and whimper as he sucks on your clit, gripping the back of his hair to ride his face, sliding your pussy up and down on his tongue roughly as he lets you use him like your own personal fuck toy, the wet sounds of his tongue on your pussy filling the tiny bar.
"you're so pretty," he pulls his mouth away from your wet cunt, hands gliding over your stomach before gently squeezing at your tits.
"are you teasing me, osamu?"
"well, you've been teasing me all night, haven't you, princess?" he feigns his usual confidence as he rises to his feet, gripping your soft hips as he slides you closer to him on the stool again, softly teasing his pale cock over your entrance. your hand reaches down to rub at your clit, pulling him in with your other hand on his hip as you urge him to fuck you again.
"c'mon, baby, fuck me." he slides back into you slowly, "oh, you feel so good, your cock feels so good." your occasional praise contrasts sharply with the teasing jabs you've been throwing at him, and dazai realizes—he can't figure you out. you're such a paradox to him, but that only makes him want to get to know you more, to know what's going on in that pretty little head of yours. do you yearn for death the way he does, or do you welcome each day? he wants to know everything.
"i think i love your dick, baby, fuck. . ." could you ever love him, or is this all he's good for in your eyes? dazai feels you squeezing around him as you rub at your clit faster, eyes rolling back again, "oh, fuck, i'm gonna cum, let me cum, osamu, lemme cum all over your cock, yeah?" your legs shake and it's the strongest orgasm he's ever felt from someone, your pussy clenching him so tightly it makes him groan out a little s-shit as you ride out your high, his eyes glued to your pretty face as you orgasm.
but it still isn't enough, you want more, and it shows in the way you continue moaning as he fucks you, slapping your clit lightly as you come down from your high, "lemme cum on your cock one more time, 'samu, then you can cum, k? that sound good?" he's eager to please and it doesn't take long at all for you to cum again, and immediately after you do, your pussy squeezing him even tighter than before, you're dropping to your knees in front of him like it's the only logical thing to do.
"hmm, such a pretty cock, y'know that? and you're so handsome, osamu." he feels his heart swell, and the way you're stroking him off so perfectly, your pretty eyes looking up at him and blown wide with desire, has every nerve in his dick even more sensitive than before. he spills into your throat after only a few seconds, and truthfully—though he finishes quickly, he isn't ashamed. he feels he could stay with you in this moment forever, not an ounce of doubt in his heart.
"i haven't cum that hard in forever," you laugh, tracing your finger over his bottom lip before turning away to find your clothes. the sound of your voice is so sweet, he thinks he could listen to it forever. "mmm, god, my legs are shaking."
you give him a few soft kisses before letting him go, entirely too soon for his liking. "i'm tired, i wasn't planning on fucking a handsome stranger in a bar tonight, i'll admit it's a first for me!" your playful tone tells him you're not ashamed, and it's something he quickly decides he loves about you—he can't stand feigned emotions of any kind, they're simply a waste of time.
"you can stay at my place, dear, if you want." the words leave his lips before he can stop himself, sounding a little more needy than he'd like.
"ah, i should get home, i have work in the morning."
he frowns at that. "what do you do?" he just wants to keep you close for a little while longer, and he's impressed when you tell him about your career. you're far more formally educated than him, though he's surely got you beat in the strategizing and street smarts category—fucking a stranger in a bar is pretty risky.
"w-wait," he grabs your wrist when you move towards the door, but the look of surprise on your face makes him regret it immediately. where are you going, angel? don't you want to stay with me? don't you want to stay for as long as i'll let you? "can i see you again?"
you laugh, seemingly taken aback, "seriously?" only silence fills the room, but you put him out of his misery when you speak again, and he's grateful for it, "maybe i'll see you around again, osamu. and if so, maybe it's fate, yeah?"
"y-yeah, sure," he smiles at that, but he's faking it, and he hates that.
dazai sighs when he locks the door to the bar later that night, throwing the keys in the potted plant next to it before walking down the alley, making his way toward his apartment—and for once in his life, his heart aches at the idea of sleeping alone.
come back to me, angel, please. i want to know what's in that pretty mind of yours.
Hop On That Delulu Train Bestie || Minors DNI
Summary: HOOOLY S H I T. WHY. DO I DO THIS TO MYSELF? May you all find peace one day and cure your chronic horniness and delusions for men who would never want you irl <3 (Just like me fr). Anyways, this has been sitting and gathering cobwebs for weeks now, but I’ve decided to finish it in honor of chapter 109. Keep being delulu babe.
Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, Afab reader, Soft Dom Dazai, Fingering, Cunnilingus (Why Is That Such A Silly Word), Pussy IS Therapy Ig, He Just Seems Like An Avid Pussy Eater Idk, Would Definitely Use Your Thighs As Earmuffs, Sorry Y’all Don’t Get The Dick <3, I Was Too Lazy To Turn This Into A Full Smut.
The quiet hum of a low light lamp buzzes through your ears as your eyes flicker over the words to the page mindlessly. Reading was boring, watching television was boring, everything was boring.
You look over to the clock on your nightstand and let out a loud sigh. Nearly midnight and he had still yet to walk through the door as he usually does and smother you with sweet nothings and soft kisses. Your gaze falls back onto your book, the romance novel glaring back with the most dull descriptions and irritating plot. You shut the book, tossing it aside as you groan and knock your head back against the headboard of your bed.
Picking up your phone that sits on the nightstand dresser, you note the empty screen with no obnoxious texts from a certain brunette. It was almost worrying not seeing his name on your lock screen with a bunch of random emojis spammed next to it. Unlocking your phone, you re-read your last text sent to him nearly two hours ago— asking when he’d be home.
You start to wonder if he’s late because of another failed suicide attempt, but you quickly let the thought pass when you finally hear the front door open. It closes almost silently, muffled footsteps growing closer to your room. Your eyes focus on your door frame as Dazai finally steps in, his clothes disheveled and hair messy.
“ ‘Samu…” You murmur, slightly taken aback at his appearance.
His warm brown eyes travel over to the bed where you lay and a small smile curls onto his lips as he shuffles over and climbs onto your side of the bed, his face and upper body planting atop of your legs. He heavily inhales before exhaling, his hot breath blowing against the skin of your thighs. Subconsciously, one of your hands makes its way into his hair and begins to comb through his tangled tresses. His arms wrap around under your legs and lock them in place.
“My love…” He whispers back, his body relaxing on you as his feet hang over the bottom edge of the bed. He kicks his shoes off and allows them to thump to the ground.
“You didn’t answer my text, something happen?” Your brows scrunch together in concern.
Dazai sighs, pressing a light kiss against your thigh, “My phone was in my pocket during a shoot out and it was sadly destroyed.”
You wait for him to make a joke about wishing the bullet went through his skull instead, but it never comes to your surprise. “Oh… Well, I guess we can go look for a new one tomorrow then.” You finish unknotting his hair with your fingers as a moment of silence settles over the both of you before you add, “I’m guessing today was rough then?”
He hums in return, enjoying the way your hand runs through his hair affectionately. “Kunikida made me do my paperwork,” He pouts, his chin coming to rest on your thighs to look up at you.
You briefly laugh, patting his head before speaking with a mock-sympathetic tone, “Aw, my poor baby…”
He huffs, burying his face back into the plush of your thighs, “You don’t sound very genuine, that’s very mean you know… He’s always bullying me around.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well that whatever shit Kunikida gives Dazai— he deserves every bit of it for his shenanigans. You’ve only met him a few times as well as Dazai’s other co-workers, but it was safe to say that if anyone was being bullied— it was that poor bastard, Kunikida. “Oh, really? And you don’t bother the hell out of him until he loses his shit?” You stop running your hand through his hair.
Dazai gasps, overdramatically, of course, “I would never! Kunikida is my respectable co-worker who I value and treat with the utmost—“
“Then why do I get calls from him begging me: “For the love of God, please come get your terrorizing bastard of a boyfriend, I can’t do it anymore.” Huh?”
Cue another gasp, “You’re talking to other men?! Kunikida no less!?”
You roll your eyes, “It was originally because he called me to come get you every time you decided to take a dip in the canal, now it’s a complaint hotline for you.” You poke an index finger against his forehead firmly.
“Owie…” He brings a hand up to rub his forehead, bottom lip jutting out.
“You’re a handful, you know that?” You grumble, staring down at him, “I deserve a medal for putting up with your shenanigans.”
“Isn’t my love enough?” Dazai whines, making puppy eyes at you.
A sigh leaves your lips, “Yeah… You’re lucky you’re cute.”
His lips quirk up back into a smile and he nuzzles his face back against your skin, placing small kisses to your thighs.You don’t really keep count, but it takes a few pecks until he gently nips at your thigh.
“Hey—“ You squeak, pushing at his head which causes him to chuckle, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
The kisses on your thighs grow sloppy before he moves his arms from around your legs to nudge them apart, his body fitting between your legs. He quickly maneuvers your thighs until the backs of your thighs press against the tops of his shoulders, arms wrapping around your legs to keep you against him. “What? I’m just getting comfortable, my love.” He plays off innocently, his cheek squishing against one of your thighs as he looks up at you.
Your brows furrow, heat crawling up your neck as you glare back suspiciously, “I know what you’re doing.”
“And is it a bad thing?” He chimes back, going back to kissing your thighs.
You shiver, feeling his wet lips leave a trail of saliva to air along the insides of your thighs, “You know I’m—“
“Sensitive? Yeah,” He trails off with a noise that sounds like a groan mixed with a hum.
At this point, you feel a tingle crawl up your spine and warmth spread across your face. A fuzziness begins to form in your mind as his lips grow closer to the edge of your sleep shorts.
He pauses when he gets to your shorts, his face pulling away and his hands coming to tug at the hem of your shorts. “Want these off,” He mumbles, pulling at them.
You’re quick to lift your hips and slip your shorts down your legs, Dazai’s hands fumbling along yours to throw them to the side. He buries his face between your legs once more to press his lips along your inner thighs until he reaches your underwear. His face pushes forward until his lips press against your cunt and nose nudges your clit through the thin fabric.
A strangled moan passes your lips as he meets your flustered gaze, and although you can’t see his mouth with it pressed against you— you can tell he’s smirking through his eyes.
He softly breathes in before placing a searing kiss against your clothed pussy, causing your thigh to slightly twitch in his grasp. “I missed this pretty little pussy— haven’t tasted it in days,” He groans before bringing a finger to pull your underwear aside and reveal your glossy folds to him. His gaze is greedy as he parts your folds with two fingers, mouth watering at your slicked insides.
“Don’t stare…”
“Awe, but I can’t help it— looks so good,” Dazai breathes out before leaning forward to slip his tongue flat between your spread folds, licking up to your clit to collect your taste on his tongue. “Tastes good too…” He groans, lapping his tongue through for a second time, “I could spend the whole day eating this pussy out until you’re quivering and begging for me to stop.”
A strung-out whimper escapes your throat as you watch him. Heat burns the nape of your neck, the dizzy feeling hitting you twice as hard as your eyelids lull.
Dazai is shameless in his sucking and slurping of lips and tongue against your dripping cunt as loudly as possible. He doesn’t hold back any of his needy groans and muffled whimpers as he tastes every drop of arousal you have to offer. He strains painfully against the confines of his pants as he holds back the urge to fold you in half and fuck you on his cock until your drooling cunt is filled to the brim with his cum.
His tongue delves into your tight hole, the warm muscle wriggling against your clenching walls before sliding out. After repeating the process a few times, he moves to suck at your throbbing clit, sighing at the way it pulses against his tongue. There’s a small ‘pop’ when he pulls away reluctantly to replace his mouth with his lengthy, thin fingers.
“I love the way you squirm under my touch— drives me crazy— you know that?” Dazai grins before sinking a finger into your wet hole.
An airy gasp leaves your lips as you try to move away from him in surprise, only to have his grip tighten around your thigh with his free hand. “ ‘Samu, I—“ Your fingers clench into the sheets on the bed.
“I know, my love— feel good?” He borderline coos, eyes glued to the way you sucked his finger back in with every pump. “I bet it does, your fingers just don’t reach like mine, do they?” He adds a second finger, his digits curving into your gummy sweet spot.
Your hips involuntarily buck in to meet his thrusting fingers, your pussy squelching around his lithe digits. He leers at the obscene image of your sweet cunt swallowing his fingers down to the knuckle with a lewd moan.
“Good girl, keep fucking yourself on my fingers like that,” He croons, leaning forward to suck at your puffy clit again.
Surges of pleasure rampage within you as you clamp your shaking thighs around his head, grinding your aching pussy against his mouth and fingers. “M’gonna come, s’too much—“ You whimper.
“Come on my tongue— wanna feel that pussy clench around my fingers,” Dazai muffles a groan against your sensitive clit which has you coming undone and vehemently shivering from the feeling of your climax.
Dazai slides his fingers out of your pulsing hole and presses his tongue against your drenched pussy as you ride out your orgasm— his tongue not missing a single drip of arousal. He sighs quietly when he’s finished and pulls away, your bare sex covered in merely his spit now.
With your chest heaving from the aftermath, your head weakly shifts to watch Dazai sit up on his knees and hover over. “ ‘S-Samu…”
“Shh, I know, my love,” He laughs softly— and you think he’s going to redress you before cuddling into you like he usually does, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hand trails down to unzip his pants, the tip of his pre-cum leaking cock peeking out of his waistband. He pushes both his pants and boxers to his mid thighs before stroking his hard cock.
“You’re tired, so why don’t you just lay back and let me fuck that pretty pussy to sleep, hm?”
in which pro hero reader puts an interviewer in their place after asking a disrespectful question about her boyfriend, pro hero dynamight.
you hated interviews.
the blinding lights, the stiff chairs, the overwhelming stench of hairspray clinging to the air- every second under the cameras made your skin itch. the suffocating outfit you were sitting in wasn’t helping either, digging into your ribs with every breath.
you weren’t even halfway through the interview yet, but the migraine pressing behind your temples told you you’d had enough.
technically, this was supposed to be a lighthearted talk show. what a joke. you knew better- just an interview wrapped in a prettier bow. the host sitting across from you in her pristine blue chair hadn’t shut up in over an hour, bouncing between surface-level questions about your daily routine and your hero work.
you’d been playing along, forcing that polite little smile on your face. but this second his name left her mouth, your stomach twisted.
“pro hero galaxia, we all know as his girlfriend, you’re the closest person to the one and only explosion hero, dynamight. i’d like to ask some questions about that.”
her voice was sugary sweet- too sweet. the kind of tone that made your teeth grind.
you returned her plastic smile, masking the irritation crawling up your spine. they always did this. always trying to pry into things that weren’t their business. heroes had a right to privacy too, didn’t they?
but for the sake of appearances, you nodded.
“alright.”
her eyes glinted like a shark sensing blood. “it’s no secret that dynamight is a… harsh person.” she paused, letting the word hang in the air. “many young children and even adults could be frightened by this nature, and i wonder-” she tilted her head, fake curiosity dripping from every syllable- “how do you think this affects him as a hero? could it be that he’s not cut out to be one?”
…what?
at first, you didn’t even register the question.
the air seemed to still, the bright studio lights dimming into a blurry haze around you. the murmuring crowd, the cameras clicking- everything faded into static. all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears.
she did not just say that.
“excuse me?” your voice came out low, sharper than you’d intended. maybe you’d heard her wrong.
but the smug little tilt of her smile told you you hadn’t.
“yes,” she repeated, slow and deliberate. “what are your thoughts?”
you leaned forward, locking eyes with her. the smile fell from your face like a guillotine blade.
“let me tell you something.”
the words came out steady, and there was no mistaking the edge behind them.
“dynamight wakes up every single day, straps on his gear, and walks out that door with no guarantee of returning home.” your voice rose slightly, echoing through the silent studio. “he risks his life- his entire goddamn life- to protect people who wouldn’t think twice about spitting on his name.”
you wouldn’t use dynamight’s real name now. you weren’t answering this question as his girlfriend, you were answering it as a fellow pro hero who knew the constant battles of every day hero life. and for him to be disrespected like this was beyond sickening to you.
“he worked his ass of to get to where he is today- harder than anyone i’ve ever seen. and you’re sitting here questioning if he’s cut out to be a hero? what the hell are you doing every day? sitting on your ass in front of a camera, profiting off other people’s lives?”
the host’s eyes widened, her sickly sweet smile finally cracking.
good.
you stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. the woman flinched back, the entire room holding its breath.
“i better not ever see you in front of my face again.”
the moment you stormed off the set, the tension in your muscles refused to ease. your hands were still curled into fists at your sides, nails pressing half-moons into your palms. the air backstage was cooler, quieter, but the frustration still burned beneath your skin.
that woman had no idea what the hell she was talking about. no clue what it meant to be a hero.
you made your way to the dressing room, barely acknowledging the wide-eyed crew members who scurried out of your way. you didn’t care. let them whisper about the way you stood up for dynamight on live television.
you swung open the door to your dressing room, already reaching for the zipper of your suffocating outfit-
and then you froze.
because sitting on the couch in the corner, arms crossed and one leg kicked over the other, was a very familiar blonde.
katsuki.
his crimson eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in, sharp and unreadable.
for a second, neither of you spoke. the adrenaline from the interview was still thrumming in your veins, but under his gaze, something in you settled. he was here. he had seen everything.
you swallowed, shifting your weight slightly. “katsuki-”
before you could finish, he was already pushing himself off the couch, walking toward you with slow and deliberate steps. his hands, rough from years of battle, came up to your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your collarbones.
“turn around,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d expected.
you blinked at him, and his gaze flickered to the zipper at the back of your outfit. “i know this shit’s been botherin’ you all night.”
there was no teasing in his voice, no smirk. just quiet understanding.
your chest tightened, warmth flooding beneath your ribs. without a word, you turned, letting out a breath as his fingers gently tugged at the zipper.
the fabric loosened around you, and you hadn’t realized how tense you were until the cool air kissed your skin.
“you didn’t have to do that,” katsuki muttered as he worked the zipper down, his knuckles grazing your spine. “didn’t need to lose your shit on live tv for me.”
you scoffed lightly, but there was no real bite to it. “of course i did.”
the zipper reached the small of your back, and his hands smoothed over your shoulders, pushing the fabric down with a tenderness that sent shivers through you.
“you’re a hero, katsuki,” you continued, voice quieter now. “you save lives every single day. no one gets to question that.”
his hands stilled. you felt his breath against the nape of your neck, warm and steady.
then, he pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder.
“you’re too good to me, y’know that?” he muttered against your skin.
you turned to face him, arms slipping around his waist as he finished peeling the tight fabric from your arms. his hands didn’t leave you, tracing slow, comforting circles against your back.
“i just love you,” you admitted, his forehead resting against yours.
he huffed, but the way his arms tightened around you betrayed him.
“yeah, yeah. love you too, dumbass.”
and as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss far gentler than anyone would expect from dynamight, you let yourself melt into him- into his safety and love reserved just for you.
the fire from the interview still burned in your veins, but now, it was for an entirely different reason.
-
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