Well Pee In A Can And Call Me Pie

‘I always think you’re pretty’

feat. Itadori, Megumi, Inumaki, Nanami, Gojo

note: established relationship in Nanami’s!!

ITADORI 

“You seem to be in a good mood today,” Itadori nudges you as the two of you walk to the convenience store for a late night snack run. He notices the way your gait seemed a lot more light-hearted, the way you were almost bouncing with glee in every step you took.

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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.

in which: bakugou only shows his dimples around you

sfw, fluff, dialogue heavy, humour, this is a quick drabble i whipped up from an idea i created ages ago bc my 8k word bkg fic WON'T POST AGHHH!

"i love dimples, they're so cute!" mina squeals from beside you whilst you were hunched over the dorm's coffee table, finishing outstanding calculus questions you hadn't completed during class.

"me too," you absentmindedly murmur, reaching for your calculator to input a definite integral. "people say that they are kisses from angels, as if that isn't the cutest thing ever."

the pink-haired wails, "stop it! i wish i had dimples."

"if you try hard enough, then maybe," you snort before turning the page of your maths textbook. "i remember people would press pencils to their cheeks to make it appear. it would work for like five minutes."

"well, duh they're not gonna be permanent, i'm not that stupid."

"you always ask me what two plus five is."

"uncalled for, that's not the same!" mina slaps the back of your head, causing you to hold it whilst hissing in pain.

"okay, i'm sorry!" you exclaim, shielding yourself in case she hits you again.

thankfully, mina is pacified again, returning her chin to her palm as she fiddles with her nails. she remains quiet for a few minutes, allowing you to concentrate on your work before she pipes up again. "jirou has cute dimples."

you hum in agreement. "yaomomo too, on both cheeks," you add.

"kaminari too!"

"and bakugou."

mina darts up, back now as straight as a pole as she gawks at you with the weirdest expression. did you grow two heads or something? what was so weird about bakugou having dimples?

"no he does not!" counters mina.

"he does! on his right cheek!" you even point to it for good measure. "surprised me too when i saw it for the first time but it's actually really prominent! i don't know how we never noticed it before."

"you're lying to me. bakugou katsuki could never have dimples, he's too evil for that."

"he's not that evil."

"are we talking to the same bakugou? he threatened to blow me up the other day."

you laugh at the memory, an action mina doesn't appreciate. "i was there for that. anyways. his dimple is just something he's born with, it's not ordained by personality, what's the big deal?"

"what part of bakugou being too evil to have something as pure as a dimple do you not understand?"

your homework now lays unfinished and forgotten as you begin having a quarrel about your classmate and the mystery surrounding a feature that was given to him from birth. the blond shows it quite often, how come mina's not seeing it?

she then begins pulling up numerous photos and selfies; none of which have the evidence of bakugou's dimples. you furrow your brows in confusion, swiping through and zooming in to no avail of finding any remnants of a dimple.

strange.

you know you can't be imagining this.

"yo mina, y/n!" a deep, raspy voice comes from the entrance of the common room. you both turn around in shock to see your fellow red-haired classmate approaching.

immediately, you turn off mina's photo to rid any evidence of your previous conversation. because wherever kirishima is, bakugou normally follows.

"i'm gonna kick your ass in mario kart!" comes an explosive voice from behind. there he was.

kirishima leans over the couch where mina was sitting on. "what are you both up to?"

"oh y/n and i were just chilling. why?"

"oh bakugou and i just wanted to play a round of mario kart, that's all! hope we're not bothering you."

you pipe up from where you were still trying to figure out maths equations, "mina talks my ear off whilst i'm trying to solve these questions. i think i'll be okay with you two."

before mina could slap the back of your head again, a shadow looms your textbook and tufts of blond hair appear in the corner of your eye.

"you got that wrong," bakugou says after not even two seconds of reading your equation.

"eyes off my book," you exclaim, about to cover the pages with your hands when the explosion-quirk user snatches it away from under you. he continues reading through it like it was some newspaper article.

he does this all with a proud smirk on his face. "question 2 wrong, question 7 wrong, question 15 wrong," rambles your classmate, ignoring the way you were demanding it back.

"i'm going to fuck you up. give me back my book."

"damn your handwriting is messy."

your punch his arm lightly. he laughs at the impact, uneffected. "yours is illegible!" you shout back, challenging him with a nasty glare.

mina and kirishima watch with amused expressions at the disputation occurring in front of them. however, the pink-haired feels the world stop for a moment when she notices something very interesting.

a dimple. on bakugou's right cheek. just like you said.

something she has never seen before.

then she notices the way he looks at you. despite teasing you and making fun of you, there's an undeniable look of fondness evident in his eyes, one that grows the more you threaten him with unspeakable acts of violence.

his smirk grows softer, becoming that of a lopsided grin when bakugou gives you your textbook, confessing that none of the questions were wrong and that he was just 'messin' around'.

as it turns out... bakugou katsuki does have dimples, but they only appear around you.

writing and posting fic on the internet is like working at a horribly managed strip club where nobody is really watching the performers but instead drinking and talking amongst themselves but then sometimes you’ll have regulars and they holler when you shimmy and that makes everything alright to me

This is not from your fic but could you do a small scenario of Nanami interacting with his baby? I swear those dad!Nanami headcanons made me so soft

okay i was going to write a scenario with a baby baby but then this kinda hit me and i had to go with it instead!

wc is ~1k bc i'm down bad for dad!nanami

gn!reader, unnamed daughter, hint of angst but mostly fluff (i think)

"Tadaima!" you call, kicking off your shoes with a sigh and nudging them to the side. They splay out beside Nanami's shoes, neatly tucked away.

There's no patter of little feet scrambling to the genkan. No soft, pleased rumble of okaeri as louder footsteps follow in their wake. You fish out your phone.

Nanami picks up on the second ring, his stoic greeting softened by the way it sounds when he calls you sweetheart.

"Where'd you go?" you ask.

He sighs. "I left a note."

"I didn't read it."

"Clearly," he says, but his voice is warm, all summer honey. "We're at the park. We'll head home in a few minutes."

"What, I don't get to have fun at the park?"

He sighs again, heavier this time. You bite down on your laugh. "Come join us, then," he says.

"I'll be there in just a minute."

He pauses. "She wanted to go to Hanegi."

"You're a sucker," you tell him, slipping your shoes back on.

"I'm aware."

"I'll be there in twenty, then."

He says something muffled. You don't need to hear the words to know he's talking to your daughter; it's in his voice, affection stitched quiet into his tone, a patchwork quilt of love sewn soft on his tongue. She chatters back at him, her voice a burbling spring brook.

"Okay," Nanami says distantly, and then he's clear again as he says, monotone: "Apparently twenty minutes is too long. You're supposed to walk faster."

You snort. "I'll do my best. See you soon."

"See you soon, sweetheart."

You walk to Hanegi, passing by the park just down your street—small but serviceable, the paths to the playground lined with overflowing flowers, their petals crinkled at the edges, summer's last stand.

It's easy to find them when you arrive; the playground has begun to empty as it gets later. You pause for a moment and just watch.

Nanami's on one knee, his broad body dwarfing your daughter. She wiggles in place as he ties her shoe, his big hands deft. You can hear the rumble of his voice as he murmurs to her, but the words are lost in the space between you.

He checks her other shoe before pulling back. Your daughter reaches out and pats him on the cheek with a chubby hand. He catches it and presses a little kiss against her palm before getting to his feet.

He watches her run back to a little circle of children. Nanami can be difficult to read at the best of times, but what sweeps over his face now is stark. It's gone within a breath, but you think you'll never forget it.

"Hi," you say, sidling up to him as he leans down to brush off his knee. "I told you we should get the velcro shoes."

He rolls his eyes. "Then she'll never learn," he says, straightening up and pressing a brief kiss to the corner of your lips.

"Is she learning if you're doing it for her?"

He pinches at your side. Your yelp is half laughter, and he moves out of the way without looking when you try to pinch him back. But then his hand is on your hip, and you lean into the warmth of him. Across the way, your daughter shrieks out a laugh as she chases another little girl.

"When do you leave?" you ask quietly.

His fingers flex on your hip. "Tomorrow morning."

You let out a soft breath. "Okay," you say.

The two of you watch your daughter play—calling out to her at times, until Nanami is roped into pushing her on the swing, with her indifferent to your pout when she shuts down your defense of your pushes in comparison to his—until the promise of night is settling over the horizon.

Nanami calls her name. She comes trotting over, hair mussed and eyes bright. He leans down to take her hand for the walk home, his hand engulfing her tiny one.

You've just made it out of the park when she starts dragging her feet. "Daddy," she says, tugging at his hand. "'M tired."

Nanami raises a brow. "If you want something, you should ask politely," he says, but he's already bending down to sweep her up. He perches her on his hip, cradles her small form to him with excruciating delicacy.

Sucker, you mouth at him. He ignores you.

"Sorry," she grumbles, burying her face into his chest.

He presses a kiss to her hair. It doesn't quite hide the quirk of his lips, and the fondness tucked secret into that small smile swells in you, washes over you like the tide, an endless sea too vast for your body.

"Kento," you say suddenly, breathlessly. "Let's go to the okonomiyaki stall for dinner."

Your daughter perks up immediately, turning her small face towards him, a flower seeking sun.

Nanami glances at you. "We'd be out past her bedtime."

"I know."

He considers you for a moment, his dark eyes knowing. They're mesmerizing in the quickly fading sunlight. "Alright," he says.

Your daughter giggles with delight.

"What do you want in yours?" he asks her, already heading in the direction of the stall, his hand warm at the small of your back, keeping you close.

You barely hear her reply. You're too busy watching them, committing them to memory, from the glint of Nanami's golden hair to the delicate brush of his fingers on her cheeks to the way her cheeks puff out as she squirms.

He pauses for a moment to press his forehead against hers, whispering something too quiet for you to catch. She beams at him, and he smiles back, his fingers tracing little patterns against you, and it feels like coming home.

"i find myself running home to your sweet nothings"

summary | it’s always a rough day for katsuki. hero rankings and PR nightmares every time he opens his mouth. but he gets to come home to you

pairing | bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

word count | 840

warning | soft!domestic katsuki, fluff.

a/n | this is very literally based off sweet nothings by taylor swift, so you can listen if you want the full experience. also, i haven't posted in two months, so i'm sorry if this sucks. <3

—

katsuki drops his bracers at the door with a heavy sigh. he's only just got his boots off and tucked in the corner, when he hears your voice calling him from the kitchen.

"'suki?"

he feels the smile pulling at his lips entirely unbidden.

the soft notes of that song that's been stuck in your head (and by extension, his) plays from the speaker in the corner.

"hey honey," you smile, leaning up to give him a kiss when he's in range.

he'll never be able to explain how that title makes his heart clench. he couldn't verbalize how every title he's obtained has not mattered until you gave him that one. pro-hero, number 2, explosive, dynamight.

your title feels so intimate on your lips, reducing him to the man who would fall at his knees for you.

not a pro-hero or number 2. not a ticking time bomb or a hot-head.

just your honey. your husband. yours, yours, yours.

"how was your day?" you ask, still stirring the pot as you turn the stove down.

"it was alright," he mumbles. in truth his day was rough, and he's not ready to talk about it, and he knows you can tell by the way you reach your free hand out to swipe your fingers along his cheek.

you smile up at him, pinching his cheek. "you wanna wash up? dinner's almost done." when he nods slowly, closing his eyes against the feelings of your fingers, you give him a little laugh.

in the bathroom, he works with the skin care products you left on his side of the counter, the dry winter air has been harsh on his quirk and his skin.

he thinks back to the agency, to the hero rankings, to the disapproving stares of civilians when he lets out loud curses and swears. the scolding he received from his manager today. the article comparing his pros and cons against the number 1 pro hero deku.

the water runs over his chest as he tilts his face into the stream, still trying to catch his breath from the incredibly long week he's had.

by the time he's toweled off and dressed in his sweats, the tension has worked it's way up into his back and across his shoulders.

"katsu?" your voice rings out and he's immediately following the sound back to the front door. he snorts when he sees you trying to push his bracers into the corner near his shoes. "how the hell do you put these things on for hours at a time? oh my god."

bakugo only laughs when he picks up both bracers with ease, your shocked gasp ringing out in the hallway.

"you're so strong, katsuki."

and that's it. your praise comes so easy. the fantastic feats that he performs still awe you. even something as simple as his above average strength elicits cheer from you.

it doesn't matter that he does it everyday, or that it's expected of him, you treat every act like it's the most incredible thing you've ever seen. and bakugo tries to fight the blush creeping up on his cheeks when you say these things.

even after all these years, he hasn't gotten used to your praise.

you're quickly setting a plate in front of him, taking the seat right next to him. recounting the events of your day, catching your boyfriend up on your workplace drama, and your recent purchases is enough to take you both through dinner.

by the time you've got him laid on the couch, your favorite candle is lit in the middle of the coffee table, and you two are talking softly.

his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed right over your heart. your fingers work softly against the ache in his shoulder, somehow finding the right spots to touch. these are nights when he needs you to take him down and you always do so with ease. he groans softly at the tender strength in your touch.

"i like the way you sound."

and there you go again. how do you split him open with a just a few words?

"its so pretty. especially when you talk, and when you laugh, i think that's my favorite sound."

you're calling him pretty. like his body isn't a fucking live wire ready to go off when he sweats. like the natural production of his glands don't cause explosions. like people aren't out there wondering if he should be a villain because of the force of his quirk.

of course the power thrumming through his veins is nothing compared to you. to the person he is when he's resting between your legs, letting you pet and coo at him until he's pliant and soft.

you bathe him in compliments, your adoration of him washes the shitty week off his skin and coats him in a thick layer of your love.

his prickly edges become rounded and soft against your gentle touch. refining him to be composed entirely of your sweet nothings.

—

i do not have the strength to block all the bots. welcome ladies make yourselves at home i guess. im a feminist