Book Girl

Book Girl

Heads up: Language, suggestive but definitely not descriptive, also Bakugo Katsuki (he comes with a warning), and unedited—super unedited

Kay, so, hear me out… Bakugo Katsuki and an author reader. Yes, ooh, ahh, I know I know. For those of you, and I am sure there are many, who have no idea what I mean, lemme explain:

Bakugo with a reader who asks him the strangest, borderline worrisome question about his work. “What’s it feel like to get stabbed?” “Have you ever gotten shot? With a gun? Explain it to me. How did it feel?” Sometimes he thinks you’re a little psycho but it’s oddly therapeutic for him to explain the worst parts of his job and not care about being judged so he don’t mind none.

Bakugo with a reader who patches up his wounds like a pro and mumble “this would be perfect in chapter twelve.” And he’s just staring at her like “ma’m I’m dying plz don’t immortalize this in literature.”

Most importantly (the thought that had me on this tangent), Bakugo Katsuki with his cute little writer baby who tests things on him. It’s never easy to deal with things either. It’s not, like, fighting related things. You don’t go up to him and ask him if you could put him in arm-bar or ask him if he could put you in an arm-bar (Actually you did ask him to do that cause you wanted to know how to get out of one but—)

She does this… thing where she goes up to him and whispers the nastiest shit in his ear, like, you know, innocent book girl shit. Ya’ll know what I mean. Book girls are fucking wild and they read the sauciest shit. So she whispers some knee numbing curse and Bakugo freezes like a little schoolboy who just found out what puberty hormones are and she has the audacity to take a step back, examine him like he’s a fucking lab rat or some shit, then ask him if that made his heart flutter. Like, bitch it made something flutter, the hell did you think saying that would do? Does he answer? The first few times it happened, he couldn’t. The next few times he tried to deny it but mumbled and slurred his words like a drunk. When he wasn’t caught horribly off guard, he started just throwing her over his shoulder and showing her what it did to him. (It really helped her with that one scene—)

But that’s not the worst of it. No. No no no. You see, before Bakugo, she had never been in a relationship before. She had never been in love before and she most certainly had never done anything physical with someone else before. He was her first everything. So she has trouble writing particularly steamy scenes, at least when it comes to describing everything and it has to be perfect. Well, that’s what a boyfriend’s for, right?

So, there are times in Bakugo’s life where his writer girlfriend just decides to make out with him. That’s a normal thing to do, they’re together, but she doesn’t just kiss him. Remember, book girl shit, girl goes fucking—well, Bakugo doesn’t know what but it’s ridiculous.

Kay, first time it happens: She comes up to him all casually and cute-like and asks if she can try something. Blissfully unaware Bakugo raises a brow but lets her and she takes his breath away with a kiss that’s all passion and it’s hot—he’s hot. He’s melting, actually, and she takes it further and put her hands in exactly the right places and just when he’s getting ready to go all the way with it, she pulls back. Bakugo’s never felt whiplash quite so jarring but there she was asking him how it felt because she wants to write the scene from a man’s perspective. She asking him all these questions and bro’s on a different planet right now, he can’t answer, kay. Like, give him a second to breathe cause he can’t find the air, ya know. And it happens, well not all the time but enough for the poor man to think she just isn’t in to him like he’s in to her. If she was, she would’ve been frustrated too, right? But she wasn’t and there he was, sitting alone like a fool while she ran off to go write it all down before she forgot.

But, well, book girls, right? Those freaky shits know how to please a guy so you can bet your bottom dollar that she made it up to him. Thoroughly :)

Or, alternatively, writer gf who doesn’t write steamy shit and just does all of this to fuck with him cause his reactions are *chief’s kiss*

Guys Deserve Flowers Too

Saw this post and it got me thinking…

Imagine see a handful of flowers that remind you of Katsuki. Imagine what they are but I was thinking of, well, Imma just collage it cause I don’t know how familiar with flowers y’all are…

On second thought, the picture is giant so I’ll put it…. so where else, maybe…

Anyway, you see these flowers and the kinda look like explosions and the flower lady tells you they (Dahlias) are stubborn flowers and they’re tough to kill so it literally is Bakugo Katsuki/Pro Hero Dynamight and now you HAVE to get them. So you do and you get a few others you think will look good.

Carnations last a long time when they’re cut, not withering as fast as other flowers.

Lantanas are cute little bundles of petals and the orange and red ones are so purty…

Course, you want some green in the bright conglomeration of bursting colors so you go with some leather leaf fern cause they’re big and refreshing.

You leave the shop with two bags of flowers and you’re beaming about them. The excitement kinda plateaus when you get home and realize you don’t have a vase big enough. You’re shocked by that fact because Katsuki’s bough GIANT bouquets for you before. You look everywhere and cannot find a vase.

Then you see one of the decorative jar things—ya know what I mean, right? It was black clay and you never understood why people would get something like that and just eat it sit unused. It just collected dust on a shelf full of other things that collected dust so it’s existence was an annoyance to you but Mitsuki bought it as a housewarming gift so…

Anyway, you used that. It was about time it pulled its own weight anyway, even if your husband would think you’re an idiot for using a decorative like that as a vase. You would argue that vases were a type of decorative and they were meant to be used but that didn’t matter.

What matters is you and the amazing bouquet just finished. Yaaasss! It’s beautiful, no doubt, because it made with l o v e. A fact you will rub in your snooty husband’s gorgeous face if he dares to make fun of you because that’s who we are, right?! Right.

He comes come and you greet him from her spot on the couch. He kisses your head as he walks by, mumbling a greeting of his own before he hops in the shower. You continue reading or doing whatever it is you like to do.

At some point in life, he notices the giant bouquet on the kitchen island and he stops. He didn’t buy those. The man narrows his eyes in thought, mentally going through all the important dates before deciding it wasn’t an important day today. Unless something happened that he didn’t know about. The man decided to probe.

“You got flowers,” he grumbled stupidly.

“Uh-huh,” you hummed absentmindedly, not giving him anything.

“Look nice.”

“Thanks.”

You looked at his back, giggling silently to yourself before looking blankly at your book when he turned around. You could see the confused look on his face out of the corner of you eye and it took everything you had not to burst into laughter.

“You get ‘em from that shop by the bakery?”

“No. They’re from a new place that opened up—by where the farmers market is. It’s a cute little shop.”

He stares silently at you before looking back at the flowers then back at you. You could hear the frustration on his face. He would cave in eventually. Bakugo Katsuki hated admitting he didn’t know something important and if he forgot an important date then it was worse. He wouldn’t ask, but, well, he couldn’t think of a single special occasion that happened today. So, he had to ask.

“Any reason for ‘em?”

You hummed softly, kicking your foot up and down before turning a page. You weren’t really reading but, well…“For you.”

Did he really forget something? But you didn’t usually buy him flowers except on his birthday and, even then, it was always simple and never this large. “Why?” he asked.

“Cause I kinda like you, that’s why.”

He made a face and you laughed at it, getting up from the couch to cup his pouty cheeks. He gently grabbed your hips, tugging you a little close as you look up at him with a soft smile. “They reminded me of you, that’s all,” you say, smiling growing when his ears turn a soft pink.

He doesn’t understand that sort of thing—how flowers could remind you of him. You know he doesn’t, so you explain it. As you speak, your hands move and your arms end up resting on his shoulders as you fiddle with your fingers behind his head. You feel like a schoolgirl with a big fat crush when he wraps his arms around you and gently sways, his red eyes lighting up the more you talk. It embarrassing and you feel like you’re on fire, but you wouldn’t mind burning if it was for him. Not like he’d let you burn. It makes you nervous and shy but you explain it anyway because he’s worth being shy for.

You tell him how stubborn he is and how resilient. How determined and strong he is.

You tell him how his touch lingers on your mind endlessly, how you live for the way you can feel him—can see him in the world around you even when he’s not there.

He snorts softly when you tell him how beautiful he is—how pretty his eyes are—and you puff out your cheek in response, pouting at his lack of faith. You ask him if he doesn’t trust you or if he never looks in the mirror and he mumbles that he trusts you more than anyone else in the world. So you tell him again, that he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever met. That the small moments you share with him make you fell close to bursting because you love him so much and you know he loves you too.

You tell him you love how he fits against you—how you fit against him. How safe you feel in his large arms and how protected you feel just by seeing him. You tell him that, after a long day, all you need is one hug and you feel so refreshed and loved.

It mushy and soft and lovey-dovey but you tell him all that anyway. You’re too embarrassed to look at him and he must share the same sentiment cause he buries his face in the crook of your neck, planting a few small kisses by your shoulder. You shyly press your face into your other shoulder, biting your bottom lip as your cheeks burn.

“Do you like them?” you whisper softly, gently fiddling with his hair.

He doesn’t respond, not for awhile. He seeks refuge in your arms—in the safety of your love and you let him. You’re more than happy to. Eventually he mumbles against you. You can’t hear him. You don’t really need to. You know what he said—what he meant. It makes you smile, makes you press his head further into you as you wrap an arm around his shoulder and hug him close. It’s the same feeling driving Katsuki to press his palm against your back and press you even further into himself. His other hand fiddles with your belt loop while he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You’re an idiot,” he finally says and you snort.

“Whatever, dummy.”

“I should be buying you flowers, dumbass” he mumbles.

You know how grateful he is and you know that he treasures everything you said. You know he only said what he did because he thinks he has to work to deserve you and you know that, even if you told him no. It was you who was undeserving, he would never believe you.

He appreciates your words, you know he does, but he’s an actions kind of man and everything will always mean more to him if he sees your love. You know he sees it which is why he’s so shy all of a sudden. You’re feeling a bit coy yourself and bite your bottom lip, puffing out your cheeks as you do and you can feel the tips of your ears tingling.

“Yeah, well, guys deserve flowers too,” you breathe, “idiot.”

He snorts softly, kicking your shin lightly. “Idiot,” he parrots and you burry your smile in his hair.

It wasn’t until later in the week when Bakugo noticed the black paint on the substitute vase was running off due to the water and, well, you both had a great time trying to find that exact clay decorative in the store. It was a bonding experience, you told him. He called you an idiot but that was no surprise.

@shotorus

Is anyone else obsessed with poetic compliments?

Like… not just calling someone pretty but…

“His hair was like snow and his skin like frost. He looked like a creature made of porcelain moonlight with eyes like glistening stars. Words could not describe how ethereal he looked when basking in the moon’s gentle glow,” she spoke softly.

“And I remember him that way. A man made of stardust, a man who looked to be the very moon itself...”

“I find him in the moon because that was always what he was to me. The moon, soft and gentle. He was brighter than anyone else, as if he belonged in the heavens not on earth as a man, but in the sky as a celestial body.”

“He is the moon in the sense that his pure and beautiful…”

She swallowed thickly, voice soft and tender as she spoke again. “And he is the moon in the sense that he is far out of my reach,” she whispered, a single tear falling from her eye.

And not just saying you like someone’s strength or that you think they’re handsome but…

“You say that as if you don’t look like a fallen star.”

“What do you mean by that?”

She smiled softly, kissing the tip of his perfect nose as her hands moved down his neck then to his shoulders.

“Dark,” she whispered, kissing his jaw, “perfect,” she kissed his neck, “and pure,” she kissed his throat softly.

“It’s as if the sky fell onto earth,” she whispered, her lips ghosting along his throat as her hands skipped over his wounded chest and gently moved against his stomach.

“A man made of steel and rock, my own meteor,” she breathed against him, kissing his collarbone.

“My own piece of heaven.”

Cause shit like that just makes me 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧 frreeal

*sigh* the feminine urge to kiss a big beefy man so he calls me pretty

Someone give me a stupidly fun little headcannon or something. I want to gush about about MHA with someone cause the people in my life are BORING

Giddy, screaming in my pillow, kicking my feet because just imagine your fav’s warm chest under your ear… burying your face in his shirt… taking in his scent… smiling against his skin at the lazy way he draws his fingers up and down your spine, an action that both soothes you and makes you nuzzle deeper into his chest like you could make a home in the cavern of his ribs because you feel all fluttery and warm; nervous but in a fun, schoolgirl kind of way

Thinking about his hand on your hip, heavy and warm over the fabric of your sleepwear as you look up at him with a soft, content expression feeling all sorts of mushy and gummy and sweet because he’s got a life to live and probably a few things to do, yet he chose cuddling here with you and you feel like you don’t deserve it but you’re staying here all the same.

Unedited, feel like this applies to any and all characters really, just feeling uber mushy as of late… dunno