💗💥
His question hung in the air between you, a vulnerable, raw thing. For a moment, fear and desire warred within you—the instinct to retreat clashing hard with the deep, aching need to be as close to him as humanly possible.
You wanted to feel him, to be anchored by him, to have the memory of his touch overwrite every ghost that lingered on your skin.
And then it hit you—the sheer, dizzying improbability of this moment. Your high school senior self, who had admired Dynamight from afar, would never have believed that the man under the rough exterior could be this: patient, reverent, and so devastatingly focused on you.
Your throat was too dry for words, so you gave a single, decisive nod.
It wasn't enough for him.
In one fluid motion, Katsuki snaked a hand under the small of your back, arching you into the solid heat of his body. His other hand cradled your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek, holding your gaze captive.
His eyes were dark pools of desire, and you could almost see the filthy, beautiful thoughts playing out behind them—thoughts of you, unravelling for him.
He leaned in, closing the distance between you. Neither of you blinked, the tension a palpable, living entity. He stopped a breath away from your lips, his intense gaze making you feel both incredibly powerful and devastatingly small.
"Use your words, baby," he whispered, the sound of a rough caress. "Say 'yes'."
"Yes," you breathed, the word a surrender and a victory all at once.
It was all the permission he needed.
His lips crashed against yours, not with bruising force, but with a claiming dominance that stole the air from your lungs. He nipped and soothed, his kiss a language of passion and possession that made your head spin. You fisted your hands in his sleeveless shirt, the only anchor in a dizzying sea of sensation.
When he pulled away, your hot breaths mingled in the space between you. You felt utterly undone—eyes glazed, lips kiss-swolled and glistening, chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm.
The sight of you flipped a primal switch in him. "Fuck," he cursed, the word a reverent prayer.
He pulled his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing the well-sculpted landscape of his body—a testament to years of gruelling training. You drank in the sight of him, the deep collars of his collarbones, the defined planes of his abdomen.
He pushed himself up just enough to help you out of your sleep clothes—his t-shirt and your shorts. His movements were deliberate, not rushed.
He watched you, his eyes seeking any flicker of hesitation, ready to stop at a moment's notice.
When you were left in just your silk camisole and panties, he gently lay you back against the pillow, his gaze a physical weight as it roamed over your body. He was committing this new version to memory—every curve, scar, a more sacred archive than any he'd kept before.
He kissed you again, softer this time, as his hand slid down your side. You jumped at the contrast of his cool palm on your warm skin. His mouth followed a burning trail from your jaw to your neck, and you felt the gentle suction of his lips, the faint scrape of his teeth.
He wasn't a man who left marks. But now, he wanted the world to know you were his. He wanted to see the evidence of his devotion bloom on your skin.
A strange, pleasant sensation coiled in your stomach as his canines grazed a particularly sensitive spot. You gasped, and he soothed it with his tongue.
He carefully peeled your camisole away, his breath catching as he was finally met with the sight of your bare breasts. He lavished them with attention—soft bites that made you gasp, followed by the warm, wet caress of his tongue. His hand slid down your thigh, his fingers cupping you through the damp silk of your panties.
Your legs instinctively clamped shut around his hand.
He stilled immediately, lifting his head to meet your eyes. "You okay, baby?" The concern in his voice was genuine, a stark contrast to the hunger in his gaze.
You melted. "It's . . . it's my first time," you whispered, looking away, your cheeks burning. "And it's morning so . . . this means we're . . . we're going all the way, right?"
A flicker of understanding crossed his features. "I remember," he said, his voice impossibly calm. He gently coaxed your legs back open. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. We go all the way if, and only if, you want to. Do you still wanna continue?"
"Ngh, y-yes," you managed, your voice hushed. You watched, heart hammering, as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "J-Just . . . be gentle, okay, Katsuki?"
His body shuddered involuntarily at the sound of your voice, timidly saying his first name. "Always," he promised, his voice a low vow.
As the final barrier was removed, he stilled, his gaze fixed on your most vulnerable part of you. A low groan rumbled in his chest. "Fuck, look at you," he breathed, his voice thick with awe. The sight of your arousal, glistening and ready for him, was nearly his undoing.
His thumb, calloused and gentle, grazed your pussy lips. He watched, mesmerised, as your body jolted and a cute, sharp gasp escaped you. A slow, predatory smirk touched his lips.
He began to move his thumb in slow, tight circles, a master learning his favourite instrument. He indulged in every second, cataloguing your reactions—the tiny whimpers, the way your legs trembled, your hips bucking unconsciously for more friction, your hands clutching at the sheets.
"That's it, (y/n). You're doing so well for me," he murmured, his voice a smooth, deep anchor in your rising pleasure. He stopped just as you were cresting, chuckling darkly at the disappointed whine you let out.
He slid two fingers through your slickness, coating them thoroughly, and used them to gently part your folds, getting a better look at your needy, clenching hole. His mouth watered.
Unable to resist, he shifted down your body, wrapped his strong arms around your thighs, and pulled you decisively to his mouth.
You yelped. "K-Katsuki! What are you- Ah!"
Your cry turned into a broken moan as his tongue lashed against you in one long, devastating stripe. He devoured you like a man starved, his lips sealing around your clit to suckle gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.
"Taste so fucking good," he rasped, his voice muffled against your core. He pushed his face deeper, inhaling your scent, drowning in your taste. He was utterly addicted. "You're so fucking perfect."
Stars exploded behind your eyelids. You were gasping, writhing, your fingers tangling in his spiky hair as he feasted on you with a single-minded intensity.
The room filled with the obscene, wet sounds of his workship. Your juices coated his chin, his sweat mixing with your slick, and he revelled in it. This was way better than any victory, any accolade. This was heaven.
When he finally pulled away, leaving a trail of kisses down your trembling thighs, you were boneless, dazed.
"What's got you in a daze?" he asked, his voice husky.
"I-I just . . . wasn't expecting that," you panted. "But I liked it . . . a lot," you shyly admitted.
A smug, deeply satisfied grin spread across his face. "Good. Me too. 'Cause you taste fucking sweet."
You squealed as he dove back in, his tongue plunging deep before lapping at your sensitive folds with renewed fervour. Your vision blurred at the edges, the sensations coiling tight in your abdomen, threatening to shatter you.
You were gasping, a mess of pleasure and overwhelming emotion, and he was there, drinking every drop, drunk on taste, the sound, the very essence of you.
He was aching for you. And you were completely, irrevocably his.
Witnessing you like this—unravelled, undone, and utterly his—was a privilege that stored the air from his lungs. The sight of you, lost in the sensations he was drawing from your body, the taste of you on his tongue was an aphrodisiac more potent than any other.
A low groan rumbled in his chest, his own arousal a painful, throbbing ache that demanded attention.
"So beautiful," he breathed against your inner thigh, his voice thick with awe and desire. "My sweet, perfect girl,"
Every tender endearment from his lips, so at odds with his usual gruffness, made your heart stutter and skip.
Your eyes were glazed, your mind blissfully empty of everything but him—his touch, his scent, the sound of his ragged breathing. You ached for him with a desperation that mirrored his own.
"Now that's the face I want to see," Katsuki murmured, his gaze dark and possessive. He traced a single, calloused finger through your slick folds, occasionally flicking over your oversensitive clit, just to watch you jolt and gasp. "Your body is honest. So fucking perfect for me."
"Y-You-! I-It's because . . . it's morning!" you managed to whimper, the excuse sounding feeble even to your own ears.
A wicked grin tugged at his lips. "Morning, huh?" He didn't wait for a better answer, slowly pushing one thick finger inside your tight, fluttering heat. You cried out at the delicious stretch, the feeling of being filled by him, even just like this. He was so much more than your own tentative explorations.
He added a second finger, the stretch bordering on exquisite. "Gotta get you ready for me, baby," he rasped, his thumb circling your clit in a relentless, dizzying rhythm.
He could feel your inner walls clenching around his digits, could see the tell-tale tension coiling in your abdomen. You were close, so close, and the sight of your pleasure was his undoing.
The wet, slick sounds of his fingers moving within you filled the room, punctuated by your breathy whines. "Ngh! Your fingers . . . are so deep . . . !"
"Hm? Not enough?" he teased, his voice speaks a dark promise. With that, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling empty and yearning.
You watched, wide-eyed, as he swiftly shed his pants, his hard length springing free. He made quick work of sheathing himself before positioning himself between your thighs, spreading wider.
Your lips parted in a silent gasp at the sight of him—the sheer, intimidating size of him. A fresh wave of nervousness washed over you.
He saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes and instantly stilled. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss so soft and reverent to your forehead that it made your eyes prickle with tears.
"I got you," he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "I won't hurt you. Just hold on to me." He guided your trembling arms to wrap around his neck, and you clung to him, anchoring yourself in his solid strength.
"You still want this?" he asked, one last time, his crimson eyes searching yours, giving you every chance to retreat.
You took a shaky breath, all your love and trust for him shining in your gaze. "Yes."
He nodded, his expression softening. He dragged the leaking tip of his cock through your slickness, nudging your clit, teasing you both. Then, he alighted himself and with infinite patience, began to push inside.
It was a slow, burning stretch. Your body, still nervous, resisted the unfamiliar intrusion.
"Breathe, baby," he coaxed, his voice a strained murmur against your skin. "Just relax for me. I've got you."
You focused on his voice, on the feel of his skin under your hands, and let your body go pliant. He pushed forward, slowly, steadily, until he was fully sheathed within you, buried to the hilt.
A single, sharp tear escaped the corner of your eye, not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the profound intimacy of being joined with him so completely.
He stilled, letting you adjust, his own body trembling with the effort. "I've got you," he repeated, a sacred vow.
When your breathing evened out, he began to move—a slow, deep withdrawal followed by an even deeper thrust. You felt everything—every inch, every vein, the way he filled you so perfectly it stole your breath. It was dizzying, overwhelming, and so, so good.
You buried a whimper in his shoulder, your nails lightly scoring his back.
"You good, baby?" he panted, his rhythm still agonizingly gentle.
"K-Katsuki . . ." you breathed, your voice a broken thing.
"Yes, baby?"
"I-It feels . . . so good," you confessed, the admission sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through you. "I don't . . . I don't know what to do . . ."
You felt him twitch inside you. That was all the encouragement he needed. His pace gradually quickened, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that made you see stars. Your cries grew louder, less controlled, a continuous litany of his name.
"K-Katsuki! Katsukiii~!"
"Fuck, I know, baby. God, you feel . . . incredible," he groaned, his own control fraying. "Come for me. Let go. I've got you."
His words, the feel of him, the love swelling in your chest—it was too much. Your climax crashed over you, a blinding, white-hot wave that tore a broken scream from your throat.
You clenched around him, milking his own release from him. He followed you over the edge with a deep, guttural groan, his own body shuddering through the aftershocks.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling. He collapsed beside you, carefully disposing of the condom before gathering you back into his arms. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, then your damp cheek, his touch unbearably tender.
"So beautiful," he muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "you were perfect. So perfect for me."
Later, he drew a warm bath, washing you with a reverence that made your heart ache. Wrapped in one of his oversized shirts, with the sheets changed, you lay together in the peaceful aftermath.
He fell into a deep, untroubled sleep, the harsh lines of his face finally smooth. You traced the line of his brow, your heart so full you thought it might burst.
His eyes fluttered open, immediately finding yours. You tried to hide your blush behind your book, but he was having none of it.
"What the hell are you doing, baby?" His voice was a sleep-rough growl that sent a fresh wave of shivers through you.
He shuffled down, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him, his head pillowed on your chest. You squeaked as his hair tickled your bare skin.
"K-Katsuki!" you stammered, feeling his smug grin against you.
"There it is," he murmured, his hands sliding down to rest possessively on your hips, "you're so fucking shy now. Just a little while ago, you were screaming my name so loud the neighbours probably heard."
"B-Bakugou-san!" you yelped, flustered.
He pulled back to frown at you, though his eyes sparkled with affection. "Try again."
When you just bit your lip, he gently squished your cheeks, making your lips pout. "Say my name, baby. The one you screamed for me."
You tried to avert your eyes, the intimacy of it feeling more vulnerable than anything that had come before. "N-No."
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear, his voice dropping to that low, possessive register that turned your bones to jelly. "C'mon. You gave me all of you. Give me this, too."
He wasn't just asking for a name. He was asking you to choose him, in the quiet morning after, just as fiercely as you had in the desperate dark.
And as you looked into his eyes, seeing only love, pride, and a home you never wanted to leave, you knew your answer would always, always be the same.
A soft, genuine smile touched your lips. You brought your hand to his cheek, your voice clear and sure, filled with all the love in your heart.
"Katsuki."
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We good?