Nothing Just Angry Sex W/ Bakugou

happy chinese new years eve eve for anyone who’s celebrating !!!!!!!!!!!!

“Umm it will actually be very difficult for universities to divest from israel and arms manufacturers without tuition skyrocketing 🤓☝🏼” why is the financial stability of a college (and the economy at large, especially in the us) so reliant on what amounts to war profiteering to begin with? Why is that an inevitability that we’re supposed to accept?

𑊡˚+₊🌑✦ — tired + bkg; one shot

cw: nsfw, aged up, fluff, established relationship, unprotected sex, afab! reader, softdom! bkg!

-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-

you loved when it was like this. when your boyfriend’s features settled into stoicism. how easy and relaxed the expression was for him in whole naturalness. so sharp his jaw, so plush his lips, so hooded his eyes. all things always so handsome but today just that little bit more as it scrapes at you.

his pretty tanned skin of hands coupling with your own while you amble your way down toward your cabin, it actually being separated into duos of exclusive genders but you switched that around easily with the requesting of wingman kirishima.

your conversation is not hinting at anything lewd just yet. the little things he did though, walking on the curbside, squeezing your hand when you almost jaywalked, or thumbing your hair behind your ear when the wind was a little meaner, these little things hummed want in your femininity and pulsed arousal throughout, fuelling for later.

bakugo was the one to suggest ‘switching rooms n fucking’ after hours and lets his heart flutter and swell at the thought. your excitement to the proposal so genuine it makes his organ cramp at its newfound fatness. so tired was he growing from how heavy it was heaving his chest lower, it being so heavy that it actually lugs his head down to pull your held hand up to his lips and kiss it lovingly. you giggle and the breath from your nose stutters, “what?” he kisses again. twice. thrice. not lifting his head up till he’s done.

“just thinkin’ bout later,” he circles loops around your hand while he speaks. “me too,” you sweetly say.

he softly presses a kiss behind your ear as you continue your saunter, whispering in oh so lustful ways, “excited?” your smile grows so big and your eyes crease as you hide your felicity in the brawn of his shoulders, it’s almost girlish how flustered you act.

"hmm?" he teases, ducking his head down so his voice tunnels in your ear, fingering sweeps of hair away from the form of your face. “what do you wanna do when we get there, naughty girl?" he tickles with his index your neck and then cheek, the little plumpness of it he can reach at this angle as you simper and laugh pushing your face deeper into his chest.

you finally raise your head up, your hair following the movement swiftly in an animated bounce as you glee a "so much," tiptoeing up so poised and dainty when you reach to kiss him in earnest, "i wanna do so much with you, baby."

this frustrates his dick. makes him wanna plough into you so bad and show you off to the world, to the other students on the trip wishing they were you and him. fucking so recklessly that you’d only hope to find climax in the mess of it, but you both liked it that way. wet, and sloppy, and wild. these were the elements in the potency of your sex. ‘our sex.’

he prevails in composure, thanking his earlier self that he wore a hoodie big enough to shadow his boner. still clasping your hand as you reach the cabin, the solid oakiness of it, he fiddles with the keys and smoothly opens the door to succumb to the warmth inside.

you’d already homed yourself in the newer cabin. trails of kirishima, the now ex-roommate, practically evaporated with the replacements of colognes with perfumes and shorts with skirts. it was only meant to be a sleepover nothing longer than that, but maybe the feeling of you would extend that.

bouncing down onto the couch, hand still entwined in yours so that you bounce down with him, bakugo grabs the remote and flicks to netflix.

“she’s the man?” you nestle into his side and yawn, snuggling into the cotton of his outerwear and breathing in the sandalwood of his cologne. your pretty voice lulls into something warm as it hushes itself to sleep, to signal to her boyfriend that you were dozing off soon, “mm, your pick..”

he kisses at your head. twice. thrice, and paws at it softly, making his voice gentler as he speaks, noticing your impending slumber, “i’ll wake you up, make sure you don’t sleep too long.”

“promise?”

he knuckles your chin up with slowness and lets his head touch yours, “baby, i promise you, believe me.” he winks at the end of his sentiment to which you half-heartedly chuckle, not because of the lack of humour but your contract to fatigue. he presses his lips into yours firmly and lets you drift off into dreamland.

✦ ✦ ✦

the tv is buzzing the credits to the terminator when sunset is falling into nightfall and bakugo is motherly weaning you out of sleep as the feeling of him clawing your hair like once before becomes conscious to you; your sleepiness eases out. he hushes your name and drawls for you to “wake upp,” to which you softly groan and moan and shift your body at. he chuckles at this gesture and swoops you up bridal style, walks over to the bathroom, and cracks the door open.

he coos at you, lets your feet touch the cold tiled ground, and plays puppeteer with your face, talking to you through the mirror, “wake up, pretty girl,” you smile tiredly and he kisses your cheek, “there you are…” he taps at the sink with his palm, “alright come on, get changed into something more comfortable,” and sculpting his hand around the dip of your waist as he leaves.

your mascara is smeared, makes you look like you had the party of your life, and it kinda minxes you up, all soft and jaded and flirty. katsuki loved your makeup when it was like this, and you did too. it was so...lived in.

but despite your elevated self-confidence, you were still so tired. you wanted nothing more than to rest your heavy head against that familiar sandalwood smell and your massive six-foot, blonde haired, feat.

you waddle down toward the edge of the bathtub, vertigo slightly attacking in the residual sleep, and pout from the tension in your expression, face desperate to squeeze out any light that abrupts you to wake. he walks in, and speaks:

"still tired?" you nod uncontrolled. your head's weight feels more intense in this state so when you do nod it's more of a harsh jouncing.

he kneels down in front of you. tight, black tank top stretching and creasing in accordance with the movement and he looks you in the eye, trying not to get turned on by how hot you look-- you look absolutely perfect like this. he has to hold out though, save and stuff this feeling in his back pocket so he can focus on you now.

you smile and he looks away, as if to think, then asks, "where's your pjs n underwear stuff at?"

you breathe out your nose harsher to indicate your amusement at the, though serious, question. you point toward your dresser, "third drawer," he gets up.

"alright," eyes searching for the underwear two-piece, "okay, got one." and he moves back to you.

"no, no, not that one," you shake, "get the one that's fully black."

his brows furrow and he walks back to the aforementioned dresser, eyes searching like before, lips mouthing the word 'black' repeatedly as he sorts through the clothes.

smiling at this struggle, you attempt to ease his struggle with the mention, "it's the one i wore when we had sex on halloween."

"ohhh!!" his expression wide, "awh yeah, you look so fuckin' sexy in that one." and he finds it almost immediately with that reminder, like you knew he would.

the tone of his skin shifts in the white of the bathroom when he reenters. "arms up."

you comply, stretching the appendages up, still tiredly but less so now.

he strips you of your tee, your bra. smiling knowingly when he gets to your plushness, hair so elegantly masking half your nipple. you notice his naughty smile and lean forward so they touch him, him only blushing in response and kissing the dip between your paired clavicles before his mouth gapes a little as he drops to focus on the hook at the back when he slips the inky fabric on you.

you can't calm the spur in you, how attentive he's being right now is the sexiest you've ever seen of him, you can't calm this gracing, begging spur. slowly, you wrap your calves around his lower back, dipping down to kiss him, and he was definitely expectant of this with how smooth his lips meld with yours, the way they press into each other and keep pressing into each other as he grasps at the bathtub's edges, accepting this kiss so eagerly.

you hum and break away from this passion, feet rubbing up and down so intimately it's burning bakugo and he's frozen in this want. you grab his bathtub-clasped hands and bring them up to the clasps of your bralette, "still need your help, suki." it's incredulous to anyone how he hasn't fucked you right then and there. but he complies, prevails in composure once again and bows up your back, fitting his hands at the curve of your waist. "you kill me." the scene is so wanton, how swooned he is with you, head up, how aware you are of this, head down.

you get up, using his shoulder as support and pull your underwear down, pressing down to just the grazing of your feet so your pussy is exposed so graciously in the leaning gravity of your equally black nightdress.

you turn around and grab at your thong without a word, katsuki so fucked out mentally he can't even speak, and hop into the holes of your said underwear pulling them up swiftly and leaving to the living room to tug your dark socks off; balled neatness, just to save time.

he's doing so well. so well in his control. control of not treating you the way you deserve and the way he knows you want. quickly following your footsteps, he folds his arms as he watches you finally strip the sock off.

balancing on the ball of your foot as you stand, you smile, wondering why, though you knew, your boyfriend was staring so hungrily at you.

"what?" you drawl, squeezing at his now bigger forearm. he huffs and and brings his bottom lip in to gnaw at, just in pure suppressed excitement of what's to come.

"you tell me." you're now weaving your arm into his.

"i don't know whatchur talkin' about." you like playing it coy, always means for a rougher fuck later.

"i'll let you know in a bit," the two of you bimbling to the swallowing sofa, sound of footsteps softening once you're on the fluffy carpet of the living room rug.

you bounce down together like before, gravity humouring the two of you with the flash of wind it hits as you sink in. smiling awkwardly in an intended manner, you lie on bakugo’s lap, so much flesh and muscle cushioning your head. you trail with the very tip of your nails so sensually up and down his arm in this purposeful and distracting way while you ask him about the movie, edging him to talk about it, he knows that this is just a ploy to build tension to what was coming; a little subversion in conversation as if you weren’t going to fuck less than a few minutes ago.

“ahh, the movie…” he sighs deeply, looking up in genuine awe, “so good, i want you to watch it with me,”

“i will i will,” you hum, still clawing at his thick, veined forearm, upside down eyes so bright.

he knuckles down your nose, emulating the up-down oscillation you’re practicing on him. “you will, yeah? then why’d you fall asleep?”

“cuz i was tireddd,” you giggle, squint in your eyes as you do so.

he pinches your nose with the fat folds of his fingers: gentle—sweeps your eyebrow hairs up with his thumb and gets so close to your mouth, almost speaking the words into you, “you tired now?”

you prop yourself up with the underarms of your skin, narrowing the gap till it almost disappears, only almost so you can speak and have the final words, “let’s see…”

lips meeting and familiarising with each other again. soft movement after movement, gentle grab of plumpness again and again. you feel your lips dancing with each other, it’s so melodious.

he cups his hand into the bundle of hair by your base, hugging them with his fingers and you move yourself correspondingly to a more easy position, letting go of each other’s lips briefly so you can latch and bite at his neck while he brings your hips to connect with own. bone and bone bumping into each the best way possible. flesh sticky with sweat as your dress rides up and pools in a droop by your lower stomach, pulling up and down each time you’d grind yourself against bakugo’s hips.

your head is left empty of the greatness of his hand and felt on the trail of your sides, moving upwards as cooler air nibbles at you when you’re freed in just the charcoal of your top, the feeling being slowly inverted with the skimp of your thong, now freer in just the charcoal of your closeness to each other’s shadow. you bring his hands up to the hook if you bra life before. left. right. and bakugo complies, whispering in pretty husks, “fuck…” “baby— fuck,” and pulling at the backside hem of his shirt, almost dry fucking you when he’s clean of clothing, bare in just his loungewear shorts, tight around the width of his thighs.

“been lookin’ forward to this all day,” he breathes heavy at the end, flustering at the pent up desire he’s had for right now.

“take your shorts off,” you’re voice is buried in the reddening pink you’re causing to his neck, “now, please,” you whine with another pop of lips.

conjoined: shorts and underwear come off ruggedly, a little wiggle and raise of your hips helping the process and dick hits up, precum shining in the white of the room and dripping down, as if an artist were showcasing their piece. it’s so proposed.

his hands act of their own, one squeezing and playing at the fat of your hips, rubbing up and down while his dominant starts molding around his length, slow tugs at first but stronger and whinier as he continues. it’s so good. paint splatters of love all across his neck and now trapezius. you kiss up to the angle of his jawline and by the backbone of his ear, slaying his throat with the warmth, both physical and sensual, of your dulcet voice. nourishing and kind yet wanting and clear, “can i help?” your hand already on top of his and soon domineering and replacing it.

the softer, more feminine clasp of your hand killed him. it fired through his hand and bored into the protecting of his rib cage, so close to the surface of his skin the heat was unbelievable. he picks you and presses you firmly down around him. both your voices eager to display passion. so much relief purred out from his throat that you thought he had came right then and he nearly did. “yes you can, baby,” he jounces you up and down so roughly repeating again, this time more strained, “yes you can,”

you moan and relish in the ploughing he takes into you. his dick tarnishing any emptiness you had inside you and slicking up against those velvety walls of yours. oh, those pretty fleshy walls of yours that were so spongy and welcoming to him. over and over, your moans only getting higher and longer as sweaty skin claps against skin, does he imbed himself deeper and deeper, his moans and profanities getting messier and meaner,

“you fuckin slut, teasing me all fucking day and now look at you, baby. can’t even fucking speak you’re so full.”

your head lulls down, heavy like a baby when you’re too out of your mind from the pleasure of his length, lips twinkling from the jewelling and swelling of saliva at the inner pink of them, only hushed out ‘mmms’ sounding from those wet lips.

he grabs your face with his hand looping under your knee so that his arm was now bobbing you, clutched hand pressing into the hollows of your cheeks to pull you up to look at him, “baby, i’m talking to you,” he coos, malicious in a way but vehement in another.

“mm, making me feel so good suki— legs are fucking numb from how big you are..” you whine out with a little lisp from his still constant grabbing, it’s making you fall so dangerously in love with him.

he pulls your face to his and sucks in to kiss, all sloppy from your bubbled saliva and his stroked ego. tongues so perfect against each other and closer they come when he bounces you up to readjust and bring you in.

you start whining more, higher and more desperate, “what is it, baby?” his voice sarcastically rolls.

all you can do is drop your jaw, too high on pleasure to even put the effort into kissing him, and he knows this, pulls at your jaw up and down like playing puppeteer and speaking for you.

he groans and adjusts again to hit farther in, your heart almost exploding at this and this hasn’t gone unnoticed. what with the way he immediately and smartly tilts away from g-spot heaven, “no no,” you plea.

he grins so smugly, his canines looking like fangs and only turning you destitute of anything but him: the one thing you lusted so greatly for right now. he closes your jaw up with his finger, hearing the little clank of your teeth, “no what, baby? don’t think i understand.” he feigns ignorance.

your swung arms around his neck are your only stability as your pry and sway yourself into him more, if that’s even possible with the way your clutching to him, “katsuki,” his ears prick up at this, movement slightly stutters at the increased hardness of his dick. “again. mm, fuck me like that again,” and he can’t. he literally can’t not obey you.

so instantly he peruses himself to that same recorded angle like before and thrusts and hits and ploughs into you like there’s no tomorrow, reaching climax and taking you there with him, the skin-on-skin sounds only loudens and loudens and loudens till it plateaus with the peak and fall of your matched voices, slowly does the noise cease, till it bothers no more.

you nuzzle into his neck with your nose, so tired and sweaty, and kiss at the foul bruises you’ve caused him, ringing them with your finger, “fuck me like that again and you’ve got a wife,” you tap at the love mark quickly at the end of your sentence and turn to look him in the eyes with a pleased smile.

bakugo smilies back at you and points toward a clock, “see that clock?”

you nod.

“five minutes and i’m cumming in you again.” to which you can only shy away from and squeeze your lower muscles around his still deep inside you dick, him jolting at the action.

“watch yourself.”

you kiss him bravely, lips so used to each other, “nope.” you sweetly cradling yourself back to sleep feeling the rise of bakugo’s chest as chuckles at the notion, shutting his eyes as well, still locked in you.

“watch yourself.”

you kiss him bravely, lips so used to each other, “nope.” you sweetly cradling yourself back to sleep feeling the rise of kirishima’s chest as chuckles at the notion, shutting his eyes as well, still locked in you.

i just saw the rb you posted from my gojo post and i want to say that i would give u my last chicken strip. pls omg 😭😭☹️☹️💕

and i you my darling…i would even save you two chicken strips 🥰❤️🫡

AND IT WAS SO GOOD and very much articulated my thoughts

i keep forgetting your user

The police were chasing me through an abandoned strip mall. I ran into the only operational store, which happened to be an extremely run down Taco Bell. The manager handed me a burrito and said it was a key. When I walked back outside the police were gone and the lights in the parking lot were turned on.

HJSKSNSOS YOUR TAGS ON MY BAKUGO PIECE MADE ME GIGGLE TYSM

also idk why or how I gave those dreams but iM GLAD YOU ENJOY THE PRODUCT OF THEM🥹❤️

PLEASE DARLING ID DIE FOR BAKUGO DREAMS YOU’RE SO LUCKY

little ouppy .

part two: to pretend: to make as if; to put on an act.

@xiaosprettygf for you my darl

It had been two years.

Two years since the wedding, two years since you’d seen either Rina or Megumi. Two years since your heart shattered, and the box you put your shattered heart in had shattered, and the pieces all run through a Shattering Machine of the very best kind. Today, while you shuffled to your mailbox in your outdoor slippers, sipping on a travel mug of chamomile tea (although you weren’t planning on going anywhere), the rain pattered softly on the glass window panes. You felt happy. Happy is an interesting word. It was a mood, temporary, yes, but lately that happiness had crept up on your life and insisted on moving in. You had just started med school, not usually known for inspiring happiness, but you felt productive, proud of where you’d gotten yourself. You made a new friend, a peppy, excited girl named Aika. Her favorite color was yellow, and recently, after moving in with you, your apartment had brightened considerably. Music was always filling the then-depressing silence, a cream yellow speaker in the shape of a sleeping cat mumbling out soft cello or bursting with the latest pop. You went to get the mail for the both of you, reaching into the mailbox and pulling out the usual assortment of junk mail and advertisements. And a pastel green envelope, with perfectly printed handwriting that you knew oh so well. Your eyes prickle immediately, and you blink them away. You were strong. You were independent. Yet you knew who had written that envelope. You remembered the way Rina dotted her i’s and crossed her t’s and f’s. Running your finger over the slightly indented print, you breathed in deeply and tried to think of what to do. Returning to your apartment, you tucked the envelope into the junk drawer and tried to forget. This particular sunday afternoon, you had no plans. Putting on another one of Aika’s new pop playlists, you put on a bright yellow apron and started to make red velvet cupcakes, your’s and Aika’s favorite, in an attempt to distract yourself. When the cupcakes were in the oven, you sat down on the couch. Then, getting up, you went to the drawer, then before touching the handle, turned back to sit down, and a couple steps away from the couch, turned back again. 

“You’re pathetic,” came an amused voice from the doorway. Aika was standing there, in all her bucked hatted glory, eyebrows raised. “I’ve been here for two minutes watching you cosplay a tug-of-war rope.” She went to the drawer and pulled out the envelope, her eyes twinkling. Then she read the return address and frowned. “Oh.” Then, after a pause. “You want me to read it for you?” You nodded, and watched as she carefully slid a nail under the flap of the envelope. Her eyebrows knit, her face scrunching together more and more as her eyes moved down the letter. “Oh.” She said again, “Oh.”

“What is it Aika?”

“We, Megumi and Rina Fushiguro, humbly invite you, Y/N, to our baby shower!” Aika began monotonously, “this Saturday at 4, at our home. Please RSVP and you will receive the address in an email! Dinner and drinks provided, presents appreciated. We hope to see you there!” 

She looked up at you, gauging your reaction. Remember that shattering machine? It had come back, and it had just crushed those seemingly-unable-to-be-crushed-further pieces of your heart double time into microscopic dust. 

“Y/N/N,” Aika started, but you cut her off. 

“Don’t worry about me, I’m ok. It’s been years, I’m over it already,” you took a deep breath. “Really,” you added, seeing Aika’s unimpressed look. “I’ll get packing.”

If only you weren’t pretending. 

i love how delusional some articles of clothing are, like you read the tag and its like “hand wash only/tumble dry on low” son you are a cotton tshirt. youre going in the warsh and whatever happens in there is in gods hands

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒

or four times Touya Todoroki almost told you he loves you, and one time he finally did

cw: GN!reader (one mention of them wearing a dress & heels), mentions of blood and injury, one brief mention of sex, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, canon universe | wc: 6.8k

“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it.”

“Start Here” - Caitlyn Siehl

#001

Touya wants to tell you he loves you the very first time he meets you, which granted, he realizes is incredibly fucked up—but he swears on what little he has that it’s the truth.

Withering away in a damp and cornered alleyway, he clutches his abdomen in hopes of stopping whatever bleeding is going on down there. He can’t bring himself to look, but he’s certain it’s there from the warmth of the spot and the sticky film now covering his hand. 

Yes, he’s been in this situation before—you’d think he’d have learned by now, based on the embarrassing amount of times he’s walked this same path. But he hasn’t, which is clear as he sits and quietly moans in his own agony. His burns continue to sting as a new layer of charred skin forms by the second, sensitive and exposed. The cut in his side throbbing so harshly that he almost feels a bit nauseous just thinking about it. 

As he’s mentally finding the strength to stand, he hears faint footsteps. If they’re truly faint, he doesn’t know—it could just be the effect of his vision coming in and out paired with the piercing ringing in his ears. 

“Are you alright?”

He can barely opens his eyes, but he does—and he sees you. 

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