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Ветер в голове, огонь в сердце.
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Actress reader and Actor Bakugou have to enact a sex scene. Of course they've got one of those little modesty covers for his dick and for you but you'll still look naked in the shot.
But there is just something about the way that he's grinding into you, his cock hard from the action of course and since your characters hate each other (just like in real life) it's supposed to be a rough passionate scene, it's hate fucking after all! Your moaning only gets louder the more he "fucks" into you echoing around the studio with tons of people looking over the two of you but his eyes are trained on you and when he thinks he hears something a little more than the over the top obvious fake sounds your character is meant to give, when it ebbs into something real (fake to real sounds per the script) he gets a little too into his character.
"That's right, take it, take this cock. Mould to me so that every other man knows that you're mine and mine alone, princess."
"You'll have to fuck me harder than that to make me cum, prince." Spitting back the title his character so hates and the nickname you've come to call him off set and in interviews if only to burrow under his skin. His eyes flash with anger and for a moment you think you've regained control.
But his thrusts come harder after that and suddenly you're trying to cover your face with your arms but he moves to pin them to the plush pillow over head. His voice rough, deep, panting out in such a mind numbing growl.
"No, I want to see the exact moment I ruin you."
Covered cock somehow grinding against your clothed slit just right, your clit throbs from the repeated action, making you lock your ankles around his waist.
Head thrown back to expose your throat that he comes down to bite as he "cums" just as he's supposed to although the lines were wholly improvised. Shuddering over top of you with his tongue lapping up the rough teeth marks he's left on your pretty skin. Pulling away to grab your jaw roughly, rutting into you with pained groans as his tongue slips into your mouth "prolonging" your release and his.
"CUT!" Comes the doctor's voice, slicing through the tension reminding you both exactly where you are. Bakugou pulls away but not too quickly, grabbing at the blankets to cover you even if the whole world was going to see your tits bouncing from his rough thrusts thanks to the network allowing borderline soft core porn on air.
"Let's take fifteen to review and recenter!" Comes the directors sharp voice and so Bakugou helps you up on shaking legs, pressing you into his side as he walks around in nothing but that "modesty" covering.
"Wow! That seemed so real you did the fake to real moaning so well!" People linger to pass you compliments until they see Bakugou snarling down at them, rushing away from the always grumpy actor. He makes sure you're sat on the couch in your dressing room, both of you lock eyes for a moment and it's obvious by his smirk that this jackass can't help but stroke his own ego.
"Ya that sure was a performance from you, ya know I almost would have thought it was real, princess." He mocks you, giving you some knowing look as your cheeks still burn from how good he was from grinding alone.
"In your fuckin dreams Prince." He can only suck his teeth and chuckle darkly at your retort. Going to cup his fat length and sac, a squishing sound can be heard and it makes you hyper aware of the wetness between your thighs. He pulls away his hand slowly, silvery strings connect to the thin fabric and his fingers before they snap and he looks up at you. Smiling devilishly, palming his damp cock sticky from more than just you but you don't have to know that.
"Then I must be dreaming huh?"
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Megumi starts off with a soft timid peck on your lips when he first kisses you, pulling back to look at your fluttering lashes and flushed expression. But similar to anytime his heart starts to race and the adrenalin gets pumping, Gojo's words echo in the back of his mind.
"Be greedier, Megumi."
And then, Megumi's wrapping a big hand around the back of your head and pushing your lips against his harder. He's groaning, and gasping for more of you. He coxes your lips open with his tongue and his fingers grind into your waist.
He moans at the same time you do, when he can taste you and your fruity chapstick. He grunts when you wrap your arms around his neck and he surprises himself when he grips the meat of your thigh and moves it to balance on his hip.
Be greedier.
He thinks to himself. How much greedier can he be with you?
And as though you can read his mind, you pull back from his kiss, lips glistening and puffy from where he nibbled them and purr into his ear.
"I want more Megumi. Show me more."
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pro hero!bakugou x reader | fluff, a little bit domestic, a little bit intimate, a little bit suggestive? (not really) | cw: cursing, a very modest bath scene
-teaching bakugou to 'take'-
Thinking about the newly domestic give and take between you and Katsuki. It doesn't come naturally to him. He's hellbent on doing everything himself, at first. That's the way he's always lived after all - hyper self-sufficient, independent to a fault, and so goddamn stubborn about it all.
It makes you feel almost useless, his insistence on doing everything, not only for himself but for you as well. Honestly, you should have expected it; he was like that well before moving in together. Taking all the responsibilities on himself, wrangling you out of the way when you so much as try to help, because he "feels like it", or he's "better at it", or "just move, f'r I make ya".
But you were a guest in his house, then - so you let him have his way, stubborn and absurd as you found it to be. Now that you share one, a house, a home, you want nothing more than to take care of it, -him.
Though moving mountains would be easier than convincing him to accept it.
You try brute force, first. And it goes as well as you might expect, like throwing pebbles at a brick wall. Putting yourself between him and the dishes is just as futile; he cooked dinner, you should be the one to do this. It's only fair. Still, he takes it upon himself to pick you up and physically remove you from 'his' spot by the sink, ugly yellow gloves dripping dishwater all the way to the counter.
The floor is completely soaked by the time he plops you down on the countertop, as are your jeans, your flailing arms and exasperated "Katsuki!" having done little to deter him. Your mouth opens in protest but his hands, firm at your sides and eyes, red, and stern and definite leave no room for discussion.
So you try to 'talk about it', second. When his mood has cooled and he's feeling a little sweet. He usually is, when hero work has worn him down, chipped away at his fire until there's nothing left but his worn down bones and the aching desire to be enveloped in you - his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair.
He's nothing but mush in your arms by the time you bring it up, nearly two hundred pounds of limp muscle, eyes half lidded, and slow, warm breath. You think he doesn't hear you at first, more likely he pretends not to; but then you hear a half-hearted, "hmph". And you sigh.
"I'm serious, Kats." you rake your fingers across his scalp absently and he groans in appreciation, furling into you more. "You can't do everything, just look at you."
He peers up at you with one eye, an almost glare, more playful than anything; too tired for anything more. He huffs gently, warm breath across your chest when you don't back down. "We'll talk about it later."
'Later'; meaning never. Still, you don't press him. Not when he's so tired, not when this small moment of peace is all he allows you to offer him.
Ever predictable; there isn't a later, and he finds a way to avoid the conversation, in one way or another. Over and over and over again. You're at the end of your rope just trying to get him to listen.
Instead, you try a last ditch effort at patience, at compromise (usually a losing battle, with him); working him over, little by little.
And it works, mostly.
You find that, most times, you can slip past him while he's cooking to steal the dirty mixing bowls; wash them while he's preoccupied trying not to burn the chicken or to cut the vegetables 'just right'. That him doing the cooking is non-negotiable, but he'll let you help as long as you stop trying to kiss him (he likes it) when he's "tryin' to make y'r dinner over here, god damnit".
That it takes you far too long to realize how much he craves being asked for 'help', instead of your usual insistence on helping him. That when he feels appreciated and useful, he's almost eager to share the housework with you, looking almost boyish standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, the tepid scowl twisting his pretty face betrayed by the blush creeping up the back of his neck when you hum a lilted, "Thank you, Katsuki".
Your strategy's not foolproof, of course; he's still quick to steal whatever you're working on once he's finished his, itching to make himself busy once more.
But it's progress.
Still, no matter how much you try, or how long you pester him, he puts his foot down at taking care of him while he's sick, while he's training or on patrol. Anything that could end with you hurt, or put you in harms way is a hard 'no' - always, always, always.
That's not to say he doesn't let you take care of him ever. Though it was more hassle than it should have been, getting him to just sit comfortable instead of disappearing into the bath for hours, or taking his frustrations out on his poor, battered training equipment.
These days, when he's had an especially tiring evening, he'll sink down into the sofa without you having to say a thing, let you press your fingers into his shoulders and down his spine until the knots unwind. That occasionally he'll let you take him by the hand even, coax him gently into warm water and vanilla scented bubble bath.
That he becomes particularly docile when you're massaging your flowery conditioner into his wily blonde hair. The scent of you - over his waist, around his shoulders, in his hair - it's almost intoxicating, and he wraps his arms around you, like he's desperate for more, burying his face in your chest; sighs like he's at ease for the first time in his life.
It isn't easy, teaching Katsuki to take - but when he lays down with you at night, his eyes are a little brighter, hands hold you a little tighter, a little longer than when all he knew was how to give, give, give. And when his lips find yours, and you can feel his smile against them, you figure all the trouble is worth it.
And when he rolls the both of you over til you're pinned beneath heavy thighs, impish grin on his lips and calloused fingers beneath your shirt, trouble and promise brewing behind his newly fired eyes, well that's just a bonus.
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your knees threaten to buckle when katsuki groans into your ear.
it's low and weak, trapped behind the sudden gnash of his teeth in a strained attempt to keep quiet, but you can feel the weight of it in his throat when he swallows, how it echoes in his chest. something primal in your gut coils tighter, in response.
his arm shoots out over your shoulder to steady himself, a mirror image of your own; hand splayed against the dusty, closet wall so that you won't rock into the old and unused fax machine he's got you pressed up against, thus crying out to the entire floor what the two of you are doing.
you think that the rhythm of his hips will falter and fade, just for a moment, to offer you the chance to better find your footing in such a cramped space — but he doesn't, not in the slightest. instead one hand tightens on your waist, your bare skin giving in beneath the sink of his fingertips.
katsuki's frustrated; he must be, because he's never been so careless.
not that you're exactly complaining. not that you could, even if you wanted to.
in the dark like this, you can forget the world outside even exists; you're floating in a sacred limbo, katsuki panting, wet and warm, into the skin of your neck, as if he wants you to absorb it and him together. his lips glide up to the soft spot behind your ear, nose teasing your hair, and you can feel the part of them, can feel his teeth sink into his bottom lip when you tighten around him, suddenly, at the intimacy.
there is only he and you and the wet-hot way he carves himself into your heat, how he buries himself into your core over and over and over again. you're full of him, dizzy with him, too aware of his every twitch and tremor, the pulse of the veins that run along the hard length of him.
the storage closet is damp with the smell of sweat and sex, and you like it, the rawness of it and him. the hurried tempo, the slick sound of his hips slapping against your ass spurns you on and curls you further, mindless and uncaring to the grit beneath your hands and the dust that's sticking to your skin.
you arch your back and seal your lips together, trying, as katsuki's heels leave the floor, a rush of air huffing from his nose every time he digs deeper in. a gentle "fuck!" escapes you, but it's caught between the creak of the fax machine when you're pounded against it one, two, three times before he's reaffirming his stance, his hand coming to press into your soft stomach, keeping you as close as he can.
for a moment, there's hardly any space between you; he ruts faster when your thighs shake, as you're caught up in him and only him, the dull ache between your legs that has your eyes rolling. you reach back for him blindly and he snatches your hand up right away, lacing his fingers between yours before bringing them back to your belly.
it's so terribly sweet admist this elicit frenzy that your heart soars, leaping fully over the edge as tears sting the back of your eyes—
and then you're both flooded in light.
you cringe from it on instinct, suddenly nailed back inside your own frame as something heavy and sick swells at your spine. when you turn to the now open door, you meet a pair of vaguely familiar eyes, for a split second, before katsuki is ripping away from you.
"—just fucking stand there, dumbass!" he barks, shoving the figure back out into the hall before returning the two of you to darkness.
the shake in your legs spreads, upward to your hands and shoulders and even your lip, as anxiety cools the sweat against your skin.
"fuck," katsuki murmurs, and you blink, trying to make him out. you hear the shuffle of his sweatpants, the snap of his boxers, and swallow down your shame. furiously, you yank your skirt back up and begin to button your blouse, struggling with unsteady hands, when you feel katsuki's against your back. "i don't think he saw anything."
"yes, he did!" you erupt, turning from him so suddenly that you can feel your own edge. "he looked right fucking at me!"
"no he—it's...dark in here, he probably didn't see—"
"yes, he did, katsuki!" the sting returns to the back of your eyes, sharper this time. "god, fuck!"
"don't—it's fine, alright?" his hand curls around your arm, refusing to let go when you try to flinch away. you can almost hear his heartbeat in his chest, and the warmth of his breath when he moves in closer. "i'll handle it, it's fine."
but you shake your head, pressing your lips together now so that they won't wobble. shame sits hot in your throat, unwilling to dissipate. everyone will find out about this, you think, bitter and worried, everyone will attest your promotion to this, anything you do in this office—
"hey," katsuki grunts, frown now visible. "'m serious."
"no," you groan, covering your face with your hands until he tugs them down. "i'm serious, i could lose my job for this."
"as if i would let that fuckin' happen."
"people will talk about me," your bottom lip quivers and he sighs, fiddling with a button you missed in all your haste.
"no, 'm—c'mon," he murmurs, pulling you away from the tattle-tale of a fax machine, directing you for the door even though your feet feel like they’re made of lead. "just go back to work and 'm gonna handle this, alright?"
when you don't say anything, he stops you, right in front of the precipice. his thumb traces your bottom lip then, soft and tender, before you feel the press of his mouth to yours. it calms you down some with how sweet and chaste it is, a comfort he knows you need.
"'m gonna handle it," he repeats, sighing again as you frown. "and...come by, you know, before you leave."
you don't think that's a good idea, now, but his hand drags down your arm and his fingers brush with your own and — you don't think you could deny him if you tried.
light blinds you again, suddenly, and you both stare at the maintenance worker as he looks up at the ugly twist of katsuki's face in horror. before he has a chance to say anything, he is grabbed by the back of the shirt and steered down the hall, in the direction of katsuki’s office while being told, "we need to have a fuckin' chat."
you watch them go, thankful for the last soft-eyed look you’re given before katsuki is rounding the corner, and then you're turning on your heel, heading back to your cubicle.
— hoping the smell of sex and shame aren't following behind.
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— when you get him a birthday cake
Masterlist.
It’s been a while and this has sat dusty and half-finished in my drafts for months, so Happy Birthday, Bakugou.🥺
Warnings: none. Pure fluff, not proofread.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.
Word Count: 1.7k.
Bakugou had never really celebrated his birthday, at least not since he was a child. Far too old for children’s party games and toys (although he’d still scour the internet for vintage All Might action figures as a gift to himself, because those most definitely weren’t toys).
But the thing that irritated him more than anything about his special day was the fact that everyone else seemed far more excited about it than him. Masses of texts from his friends, messages online and an influx of gifts from fans all trying to wish him a very Happy Birthday. News outlets and media suddenly in talks with his PR team to try and get an interview with him on the actual day; when truth be told he’d have agreed to it if they’d offered the day before. The tower of paperwork he was trying to work through had become tiresome and he was hoping for a distraction.
How was it that the world seemed more excited about his Birthday than the Number Two hero was himself?
Heaving a sigh as he stopped the incessant blaring of his phone alarm before wincing through tired, narrowed eyes at the bright light of his phone. The screen completely covered in well wishes that seemed to have started when the clock struck twelve. A few trying to coax him out after work for drinks and to celebrate, those he swiftly ignored. It wasn’t until he scrolled down to a message from Mina practically threatening him to go out that he groaned low and deep in his chest; how was it that his friends were trying to dictate how he spent his birthday every damn year? He’d be happy with a bowl of noodles from his favourite hole in the wall and maybe a slice of cake from the quaint bakery he liked to frequent on Sundays. Now he was going to have to stay up late, and probably carry an inebriated Kirishima home.
By the time he’d made it into the office, Bakugou had put his phone onto do not disturb. Sick of the constant stream of messages that didn’t seem to dissipate. Another thing to add to the list of things that irked him about his special day— and he hadn’t even received the call from his Mother yet. Less of a call to send him well wishes, and more an excuse to remind him that he’s another year older and still painfully single and she’s still without a grandchild. Running a palm down the length of his face as he stepped into the elevator to take it up to his floor.
“Good morning, Dynamight,” You smiled from your desk as he walked past, “And happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” He rasped gruffly in response, it was the first time he’d used his voice all morning.
“I left you a coffee on your desk.”
God, you really were the best part about his day.
You were apprehensive when Bakugou walked by with a heavy set frown across is brow. It wasn’t unusual for him to be grumpy this early in the day, the Pro was definitely not a morning person— but he seemed even more annoyed today. And you were positive the influx of gifts that waited for him by the copier would only serve to irritate him more. Especially when a US limited edition All Might figure he’d ordered from overseas as a gift to himself had still not been delivered. Grimacing when you’d checked the tracking when you woke up this morning and noticed it sat in an airport postal office on the outskirts of Kawasaki; you knew he wouldn’t be happy.
And that’s why you were even more nervous for him to see the gift you’d left sitting on his desk. A gift that definitely couldn’t compare from the small fortune he’d spent on himself.
It was difficult thinking about the perfect gift to get a man that could buy himself anything he wanted, even more difficult when the man happened to be your boss. Any time you looked through shop windows at the various fragrances, gift sets and jewellery everything felt too ostentatious, too intimate. Putting down a garish tie that you wondered why you’d even thought about buying, and settling on a single purchase of an All Might themed birthday card you were certain was for children as you decided to make him something instead.
“What the fuck is this?” You heard Bakugou shout from his office and you felt your heart rattle against your ribcage.
Standing from your desk to open the parted door to see him standing in front of your gift. The All Might card already open and displayed on top of his desk as his attention now sat on the open white box that he’d unwrapped.
“It’s uh— a cake.” You smiled softly.
Bakugou raised a brow at your answer as he directed his gaze back to the cake that sat on top of his desk. Three tiers of soft sponge covered in a vibrant orange icing, with black lines decorating it to replicate the crosses that sat against his chest on his hero costume. You’d never claimed to be a baker, the cake nothing like the one you could’ve probably picked up from Bakugou’s favourite bakery. You knew the exact cakes he enjoyed too, but when googling recipes none seemed to be close to your level or expertise.
And what made it worse is the dessert had not travelled well on your morning commute. Holding tightly onto the box while you contended with the Musutafu rush hour had meant that the tiers had now begun to slide out of place as the cake sat leaning inside its box, now looking rather pathetic.
“A cake?” He repeated, his eyes glancing back down at the vanilla sponge that had a messy attempt of ‘Happy Birthday Dynamight’ scrawled across the top. The piping bag had not been kind to you when you attempted the design, wishing the text looked more like your handwriting and less like you’d baked with a four year old. Which was probably what your boss was thinking right now as he stared down at the sweet treat.
“I’m sorry,” You felt your cheeks burn, “I thought it would be a nice idea—”
“Did you make it yourself?” Bakugou asked, although it was clear that you had. Any shop that would dare to even attempt to sell a monstrosity like this should be shut down.
“Well, yeah,” You hovered in place, “I tried to follow the recipe, and I thought it was going well, but I think I put too much buttercream on, and I’m not very good at piping—”
You found yourself rambling, and it just made you feel worse. Reaching over to flip the cardboard lid back over it to take it away and shield yourself from any further embarrassment.
“Are you not going to have some with me?” Bakugou stopped you from closing the lid completely, his crimson eyes full of sincerity.
“Cake for breakfast? It’s not even nine am—”
“So?” He scoffed, “It’s my birthday. If I can’t have cake for breakfast today then what’s the fuckin’ point? Unless you’re trying to kill me—”
“No!” You wanted the ground to swallow you whole, “Does it really look that bad?”
You looked down at the sad, pathetic excuse of a cake. Hard to see all the time, energy and love that went into it when it drooped so pitifully.
“It looks like shit.” He smirked.
“I should’ve just bought one,” You sighed, remembering how pretty all the cakes had been on the online websites you were going to order from before you had the brilliant idea to bake one yourself. Hell, even the cute little cupcakes in the coffee shop you went to each morning looked better than this.
“Nah,” Bakugou shook his head, “It’s perfect.”
It was noon by the time Bakugou had decided to pick the phone up to answer one of his mothers numerous calls to him, eyeing the voicemails that she’d left which no doubt chastised him for not picking the phone up. He’d delete those later.
“Katsuki—” Her voice already had him closing his eyes and rubbing his temple as he settled back in his desk chair. Still better than paperwork— “How hard is it for a mother to wish her son a happy birthday. Don’t you forget that I’m the one who birthed you—”
“Yeah, yeah, Ma. I’m sorry,” He sighed, “Work’s been kickin’ my ass.”
“You shouldn’t be working on your birthday, anyway!” She continued, “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”
“I’ve got too much to do.” He didn’t. The paperwork could wait, and he didn’t have a patrol scheduled this week. His sidekicks eager to find their own positions in the hero rankings so they’d picked up all the available slots, leaving Bakugou in his office.
“All you ever do is work anymore, Katsuki.” She continued, “When are you coming to visit? Your father says he hasn’t heard from you in weeks.”
“I’ll come by soon.” Maybe. He thought.
“You should be spending less time working and more time settling down. You’re not a young man anymore, Katsuki.” Here it comes, “And I want grandchildren while I can still chase after them!”
He scoffed. Even when he was a child Mitsuki still hadn’t been able to catch up with him, but the thought of her running around after his kids had an unfamiliar warmth swirling in his chest.
“It must be lonely, son,” She continued, and for once he stopped to think about it.
“There is someone, Ma—” Bakugou smiled as his eyes looked towards the half eaten cake that sat on the edge of his desk.
If he could ever tell you.
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“I thought I was supposed to be the one worshipping you today,” you say in a gasp, eyes fluttering close as you grip the sink counter tight in front of you. Bakugou only huffs a little laugh, his nails digging into the fat of your ass before he taps his palm against the flesh hard, eliciting a little hiccup from you.
“‘S my birthday, so what I say goes.” he tells you muffled, the vibration of his words making your knees quake. he has to hold you up, but he doesn’t care, finds the weight of you pressing back into him something he can get drunk off of.
he woke up nearly right after you did, trying to squeeze you close to him in bed but you scrambled out of his hold, promising to make him breakfast instead. you hadn’t expected him to follow you, to press you against the sink, to nip at your neck and kiss his way down to where your underwear rested on your hips. hadn’t expected him to drop to his knees, to worship, to kiss, to taste you. hadn’t expected him to lick you so sweetly with such a rough tongue through the fabric, for your arousal to bleed through onto his waiting tongue.
“Better than breakfast,” he mutters against you, thick fingers spreading you wide to get a good look at your winking hole, how it drools down the inside of your legs. he spits on it, diving back in to follow the trail, his lips puckering as if kissing you in such an intimate way, you think your vision goes black for a moment.
“Make me cum,” you whimper to him, his lapping pushing you up onto your toes, your hips digging into the sink counter. you reach a hand back to hold his face still with a grip on ash blond locks, grinding yourself against him until his face becomes sticky, but he grins all the while. rolls his tongue from his mouth, lets you use him because there’s no better present than being able to please you.
it comes out as a gush, your pleasure. sprays all over his mouth and chin and neck, your cries stuttered and high, your eyes clenched shut, your entire body shaking from the stimulation that overtakes you.
“Even better than birthday breakfast.” Bakugou grins, nose slightly scrunching at the tug to his hair when he slurps at your hole that still drips for him, spitting back the contents once more. he doesn’t catch it this time, just watches the thickness of his spit mingle with your pearlescent stained cum, thumbing open your cheeks to watch your hole clench and unclench from the scrutiny, the wetness slipping down your thighs.
he kisses you once more, a smacking sound, humiliating, before letting your cheeks go. not without another smack on the roundness of them, nipping at the red and warmed mark of his palm that he branded on you just moments before.
“A lot fucking better.” he tacks on once more about the stupid breakfast. you glare at him over your shoulder, even though he’s the one who’s keeping you held up right now with his firm grip around your still twitching hips.
“You’re gonna stop shading my cooking, asshole.” you bite at him, unable to hold back a shudder when you catch his devious grin, the bottom half of his face and neck still wet from your squirting.
“You caught that?” he asks with an innocent cock of his head, pressing another innocuous kiss to your warmed flesh. you tug at his hair a little harder this time, knowing it’s something that the birthday boy loves, especially by the way he’s damn near leaked through his white boxers.
“Shit head.” you mumble, but he only grins wider, his eyes flickering with the promise of devouring you whole today. just as a little birthday treat, he supposes.
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OMG JO your post about bakugou’s poor PR manager just unlocked something in my psyche LMAO. Because imagine you’re his PR manager & you see the tweet just minutes after it’s posted & you can see the replies & the retweets & can already feel yourself getting lightheaded & sick from all the energy & nerves this will cost you. You immediately blow up his phone, calls & texts but he doesn’t reply to a single one. All this pent up rage is coming to the surface (&maybe a bit of jealousy bc you can see who is currently shooting their shot at the Pro-hero in his comments 🌚). But what you don’t know is that he’s home alone stroking his cock while listening to the angry voicemails you’re leaving him. Imagining that you could put your mouth to way better use AAAAAAAAAAAH
I WILL SCREAM. He’s getting off to the fact he’s riled you up because he loves how pretty you sound (and look!!!) when you’re angry. Even thinks about meeting you in the office in the early hours the next morning on his day off because he knows you’ll be forced to come in too😭
He’s such a prick because you tell him to delete it and he’s there basically bargaining with you like he has a choice.
And he’s doing as much as he can to have you even more pissed and angry. God, I hate him!!!
And its such a PR nightmare he thinks the next morning when he realises he sent you a photo of his half-hard cock laid out against his pelvis with a trail of cum splattered through his happy trail. Thinks he’s gonna get an earful from them as well as you the next day, but what he doesn’t realise is you were just as much of a freak as he was touching yourself to the picture last night.
Imagine you sit him down and you’re like “we need to draft an apology—” and he’s like “but I ain’t sorry?”
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>>> Reply sent at 1:28AM: who knew Dynamight was such a slut?
Read the other replies here.
Here is my part to the Thirst Trap collab for Bakugou’s birthday! Please check out all the other fics at the link above💕
Happy Birthday to the King👑
Warnings: 18+, intoxicated Bakugou, dirty talk, sending dirty videos, sexting, m!masturbation, voyuerism, exhibitionism, creampies.
Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Shindou Yo x f!reader.
Word Count: 1.6k.
Bakugou’s thumb paused against the screen when he saw that particular message in a sea of hopeful replies, a lump tight at the back of his throat as he swallowed thickly in a feeble attempt to clear it.
He’d recognise that profile photo anywhere. Grand’s girlfriend.
Bakugou had spent more than one night fisting his cock to the thought of you, although he’d never admit it. Remembering just how pretty you looked at the hero gala last month in a dress that left very little to the imagination, leaving him bricked up for his acceptance speech as he thought about bending you over in the men’s bathroom stalls.
And part of him thought he might even have a chance with you, if he could get you away from Grand just long enough. Remembering the syrupy scent of your perfume invading his senses when you stood up on tip-toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders to give him a hug after he’d received his award; leaving a sticky lipgloss stain against the shell of his ear when you whispered against it how proud you were of him. And he was certain he wouldn’t make it out of the building alive. His boxers now glazed with dry pre and his cock throbbing desperately for any kind of sweet relief.
And now you were messaging him?
Bakugou was quick to click onto your profile, navigating directly towards the direct message option to see he’d already received a slew of them, but they didn’t appear to be from you.
YOU[1:57AM]: Aww you didn’t think that message was actually from her, did you?
Shit, Bakugou grunted as his cock still throbbed pitifully between his thighs, of course Shindou was the one texting from your phone and not you. Certain he could hear Shindou’s condescending tone through text.
YOU[1:58AM]: Oh, you did? You sick fuck hahahahaha.
YOU[1:58AM]: She’d never message you without telling me anyway.
Bakugou growled in irritation as he read through each message. Of course, Shindou texts were just as annoying as the man was in real life.
YOU[1:59AM]: But you should’ve seen how excited she got when you sent that tweet.
YOU[2:00AM]: It made her stupid little crush on you even worse.
Wait, what? Bakugou’s heart pounded at the realisation as he saw the next message. A link to a video that had a pitch black screen to start, his heart hammered against his chest as he clicked onto it.
And there you were spread out in all your naked glory. The sordid fantasies Bakugou had while stroking his cock at night would never compare to the sight of you like this— spread out against tousled sheets as you stared up at the camera through thick lashes.
The perfect point of view, Bakugou thought as he imagined himself above you.
“I guess I should be thanking you for this, Dynamight.” Shindou sneered, reaching out to mould one of your round breasts between slender fingers. Pinching at your taut nipple as a groan rumbled deep in Bakugou’s chest, “Getting my girl all riled up in the middle of the night.”
Bakugou wondered if he’d actually fallen asleep, because this had to be a dream. Reaching down to palm his cock through his damp boxers as crimson eyes roamed your naked skin, trying to commit the sight to memory.
“Lucky I was right here to fix it,” He continued, “That what got you excited huh, sweetheart?”
Shindou’s voice rung out from behind the camera as he fucked into your body with slow, deliberate thrusts. Each precise motion had your tits bouncing, a calculated move from his rival, he thought. Watching the way your lips parted in sultry moans every time he drew back, trying to coax him deeper as your cunt gushed around him.
“Thinking about Dynamight’s hard cock.” And Bakugou’s cock was hard, throbbing with neglect as he wrapped a large fist around himself to curl his wrist. Smearing pre, that was now drooling down his engorged head along the length of him as crimson eyes watched the video.
“He shoulda just text you if he wanted a birthday treat, huh?” Shindou continued, panning the camera down to where your bodies were connected so Bakugou could see the creamy rings of slick around the base of his cock each time he drew his hips back, “You’d have been more than happy to get on your knees for him.”
Bakugou whined pitifully at the thought of you like that, looking up at him all pretty and shit as you wrapped your glossy lips around his cock. His hand tightened around himself as he he pumped himself with calculated measure. Following Shindou’s movements as he fucked into your warm, wet cunt as he tried to replicate the sensation. Positive that nothing would ever feel as good as the real thing—
“Say his name, sweetheart,” Shindou continued, bringing the camera up towards your face, “Come on, it’s his fuckin’ birthday.”
“Katsuki,” The lewd squelch of your cunt aired in the background as Bakugou focused in on the desperate lilt to your voice when you repeated it, “Katsuki.”
Bakugou grunted as he leaned forward, pursing his lips together to spit onto his cock. Smearing the moisture along his length as he imagined it was you sinking down onto his length instead.
“God, you’re such a nasty slut,” Shindou continued, as though he hadn’t been the biggest instigator, “Moaning another guys name while I’m balls deep. Bet you’re thinking about him fuckin’ this sweet, sweet cunt too?”
“Oh my god, fuck—” You mewled, hands reaching up to paw at your tits as Bakugou watched the way your hands dipped into the soft skin.
“Is that it?” Shindou pressed, “You want Dynamight to fuck this sloppy pussy?”
“Yes!” You cried out, cunt clenching around him.
“Oh, shit.” Shindou rasped, the camera angle faltering as he jolted with pleasure. Almost dropping his phone as he readjusted himself above you, the camera now angled lower to show Shindou’s thick cock disappearing inside your tight cunt. A sheen of your slick glistened around the base of him as he kept his languid pace.
“We should invite him round, then?” Shindou continued, “It is his birthday, after all.”
You gasped at the implication, your body reacting to your boyfriend’s words as he smirked down at you. Giving the side of your thigh a playful swat as you moaned in response.
“Yeah? You like the sound of that?” Shindou cooed, “She clenched around me so fucking hard when I said that.”
Bakugou groaned, squeezing his fist around himself in a pitiful attempt to mimic the action. Trying to replicate the grip of your cunt around him as he pictured the pretty faces you’d make for him.
“‘m close,” You panted, biting down on your bottom lip as Bakugou felt his balls tightening at the sight, dangerously close to his own end.
“Yeah? You gonna cum?” Shindou coaxed, his thumb disappearing between your thighs to press taut circles to your puffy clit, “Show Dynamight how pretty you look when you’re cumming all over my cock, sweetheart.”
And fuck, did you look pretty. Bakugou thinks. Your eyes rolling to show their whites as your lashes flutter, lips curled into the prettiest moan he’s ever heard as you begin to convulse. Nails leaving dark lines against your tits as you mould the supple skin, thighs raising in the air to try and clamp down around Shindou’s hips.
“Fuck,” Bakugou snarled between clenched teeth as he sped up his movements, rough and sloppy as he desperately tried to meet your climax. Wanting to tumble into bliss by your side as the camera moved back towards your slick heat, his hips jerking sloppily as he felt himself come undone. Sending streams of milky cum against his hand, thighs and the new sheets he’d put on for his special day. A whole ass mess.
“Bet you would’ve preferred cumming inside this perfect little pussy,” Shindou spoke, as if he knew Bakugou would be touching himself while watching.
Slowly pulling his spent cock out of your trembling hole before moving the phone between your thick thighs so Bakugou could see the gape. A stretch Bakugou wished he’d inflicted on you as he brought his phone closer to his face to try and see the way your walls still fluttered in the aftershocks of your release, his spent cock throbbing when he noticed you begin to push Shindou’s warm spunk out of your abused hole. Watching it drool down between the curve of your ass before Shindou’s thumb came up to collect it; pushing it back inside you as you let out another sinful moan of delight.
“You think Dynamight would fuck you this good, sweetheart?” Shindou coaxed as the pads of his fingers circled your stretched hole.
“Mmm, I think he would,” You mumbled, gasping when Shindou’s palm came down hard on your slit, catching you by surprise.
“Course you’d think that,” Your boyfriend laughed, shaking his head as he leaned down to press a kiss to your pouty lips.
“Maybe you should come and get your birthday head,” Shindou turned the camera around to show his smirking face as he sat shirtless above you, “So you can show her how tiny your cock really is.”
Bakugou shared up at the ceiling with blown out eyes, wondering if he’d sobered up enough to move as his chest still heaved with the intensity of his climax. Taking a deep breath before he moved to stand, grabbing his keys off the bedside table as he shoved his softening cock back into his jeans.
Fuck it, he’ll get an Uber.
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fake nail girlies can back me up on this, but there is a certain breed of man who is intrigued by nails. he’ll notice them and ask for your hand, cradle your fingers in his palm, then just stare at them. start angling them around to see the shine, bringing them closer to his face to admire the details. running his thumb over the tops of them to feel how smooth they are, maybe poking at the tips to feel how sharp they are. and he’ll do this every time you get a new set. and maybe it’s not a full blown fetish, but with the heavy silence and the intensity of his stare, and how your body reacts to the attention, it sure as hell feels like a fetish.
anyways, choso is that breed of man.
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bakugou doing his late-night grocery shopping, when the store is a little more empty, and—your relationship is so new and exciting, and you haven't gone all the way yet, though it's getting close. he happens to walk by the pharmacy aisle and stares for a loooong time at condoms out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it's too early to buy some, or if he even needs them at all, before getting so hot in the face and just leaving LOL
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katsuki and his sleepy, grouchy, wild-haired little girl in the morning 🥺 she stumbles after him into the kitchen and smushes her face into his thigh, whining out a grumpy hmm! sound when he tries to shake her off.
it's only when he asks her, "y'want somethin' to eat?" that she finally peeks up at him, eyes barely open and pout fat. she draws back enough to accept the slice of banana he offers before wrapping her arms around his leg and dipping down to hide again.
katsuki snickers, unable to help himself when she makes another frustrated sound and turns back up to him, mouth open like a baby bird. "what a brat, just like y'r mama."
she stomps on his toes, at that, muffling her full-mouthed laugh into his sweatpants.
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40 year old Bakugou who’s back is aching from a long double shift, but you look to pretty to resist so he makes you ride him on the couch.
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minors dni
thinking about the first couple times you suck bakugou’s dick he has his forearm over his eyes and he makes these weird grunting sounds to hide his moans.
he tries so hard to control himself when your tongue swipes over him and sucks at his tip. he’s biting down so hard on his lip it’s close to bleeding and he’s clutching the bedsheets so hard that you peak your eye open thinking it’s about to rip.
you can barely see his face with his tensed arm covering it, his hair an unruly blonde mess and his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. your annoyed whine comes out more as a moan, your throat vibrating around him making katsuki whisper a tight, “baby.”
you tighten your fist around the part of his dick you can’t reach as your head continues bobbing and your tongue keeps swirling. you know he’s close now. one of his hands rake through your hair to rest at the back of your head and you feel his abs tense below you.
“oh shit, i’m gonna— baby i’m gonna—.”
like the good girlfriend you are, you swallow up everything he gives you, squeezing his thigh beside you as you do. only when his trembling slows and he starts massaging the back of your head do you take him out your mouth and his arm moves from his face.
finally, do you see his bloody red eyes, staring down at you with the soppiest look you’ve ever seen on him. katsuki pulls at your arm, “come up here, wanna cuddle.” his voice is always deeper after an orgasm, usually it would make your toes curl but you have a bone to pick.
“what? why’re you frownin’ at me?”
you lean back to sit on your legs, pulling up his underwear in the process. “stop always covering your face. i wanna see your face when you come. don’t you ever wanna see me?”
your question comes out whiny, your hands sliding up his bare chest to rest on his shoulders. his hands easily find your waist and his frown gets lighter. “oh. i don’t cover my face all the time do i?”
“yeah you do. every single time i suck you off.”
you don’t think you’ve ever seen your boyfriend embarrassed? but you’re not sure you can describe how he looks as anything but that. instead of his fresh after orgasm pink cheeks, they’re now a deeper red at the apples of his cheeks and he’s struggling to keep eye contact with you. his hands massage at your asscheeks and your hips like they’re stress balls to stop him from admitting what he knows he’s about to admit.
“c’mon talk to me ‘ki. it’s fine if you don’t want to look at me if that’s not your thing. i probably look a bit odd anyway—.” you begin to shy away from him simply imagining what he might be thinking but he interrupts you.
“baby no, no it’s not you. just that…,” bakugou starts, then he sighs obnoxiously loud. “fuck, fine, i just look weird when i come.”
“weird? how?” you ask, scooting up to rest on his lower chest, his hands follow with you, eyes following your bare stomach to your tits in your bra. “katsuki, focus.”
he snaps back to your eyes, remembering the topic at hand, “i just look fuckin’ weird, i don’t know,” he smoothes his hands over your sides and stomach, a pout on his face as your hands caress his jaw.
“one day i’m gonna handcuff you so i can see how you look when you’re in my mouth.”
katsuki’s eyes widen, his palms so tight on your sides that you were sure he was about to leave prints. “fuckin’ handcuffs?” he splutters and you grin.
“yeah, if you won’t let me see you, i’ll make you.” you end in a whisper, ducking your head down to brush your lips against his ear lobe.
“yeah?” he rasps.
“mhm, though it kinda hurts you don’t wanna see your dick in my mouth?” you suck lightly on his earlobe, feeling his chest tremble under you. you peck wet kisses along his neck, rubbing your thumb along his jaw.
“i do, i wanna see your pretty lips around me. y’always suck me off so good, baby.” katsuki gasps but he can’t keep his thoughts straight. you’re pressing on his favourite spots, talking so innocently in his ear and he feels himself bricking up again.
“but?” you prod, sucking on the junction where his shoulder meet his neck. katsuki hisses, running a hand down your spine.
“i look fuckin’ stupid.”
you huff an impatient laugh, pecking on the spot you were sucking, “and who’s told you that? another girl?”
“hah? no, i just know i do,” he trembles at your ministrations, both his hands resting on your hips to move you against him. he knows you love it when he does it, and he’s trying to distract you into dropping the subject. you won’t though.
“so you let other girls see you come but not me then?” and he is jelly in your arms, head rolling back on the sofa as you keep attacking his neck. blooms of pinks and purples covering every bit of him.
“babe, no,” he can all but whine, slowly slipping into the pleasure before awkwardly clearing his throat.
abruptly you sit up and your frown is even stronger than before. your eyebrows are furrowed, creating a harsh shadow over your eyes and you look like you’re a second away from biting him. instead you pinch his side, making him squeak an “ow!”
“and stop hiding your whines and moans from me! i want to hear you! imagine i covered my face and was silent whenever you touched me,” you complain until your features drop into a sad pout. your hands slide off his shoulders and you’re about to roll of katsuki until he holds your hips down.
“let go—,”
so softly he kisses your cheeks and down your neck. you smell sweet with your usual musk and that on its own makes him want to moan, so he does. he licks a wet stripe up your neck and slots his tongue into your mouth with the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. so loud, the vibration down your throat makes your nipples harden.
“‘m sorry baby,” he pulls away for less that a second to take you in another kiss, “i haven’t done this with anyone else before.”
you’re too busy living in the pleasure, letting your hands roam his body while his tongue roams your mouth. his hands squeeze the fat of your hips and you’re about to start rocking your hips faster over him till you clock on.
“this has been your first time?” you whisper as he licks your earlobe and gives it an obnoxious suck. you both haven’t had sex yet though you have done everything else. how didn’t you notice? he’s always been so confident and good, no scratch that, amazing at it all.
katsuki grunts, burying his head in your neck to hide not only his embarrassment but to catch his breath, “yeah don’t waste too much time laughin’. i know i haven’t been the best but i’ve been tryin’.”
then you do laugh, but not mockingly, it’s light and airy. with both your hands, you pull his head off your shoulder to try and meet his eyes. though he gazes down at the laces trim on your bra and his hand dips to play with loose string of your shorts.
“gorgeous, if i’m honest, i never noticed. wouldn’t have guessed either.”
he meets your eyes, still a grumpy pout on his features.
“you could have kept that secret till your grave and i would never have known.”
his eyes comically widen, lips parting in awe. then he grimaces and you know he’s wishing he kept his mouth shut.
“you’ve always been so attentive. feeling my body for my reactions and listening to the noises i make. that is a sign of experience for me. so many boys just stick their fingers in you and hope for the best.” you tilt your head with a smile, scratching the underside of his chin like a cat. and to your surprise he gives you a purr like moan.
“i should have told you i love when men, you make noise. i like knowing you feel good and i like seeing your face all scrunched up when you’re about to come. makes me wanna come too.”
with a growl, he ducks forward to kiss your lips in a hard kiss, so hard your head is pushed back. “fuck, lets start again then.” when he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed and his lips are a pretty red. his eyes bore into yours almost desperate for everything he was missing and now willing to give you.
you giggle, “sure, where do you wanna start, virgin?”
he narrows his eyes at you, pinching your side harshly and ignoring your yelp. “wanna see you shake when i moan in your pussy.”
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ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴀʟʟ ғᴏᴜʀs. werewolf kiri au.
you wake up under a mountain of furs.
light comes flickering from the hearth and, warm and welcoming as it is—you've no idea where you are.
you don't recognize the inside of the cabin; it's certainly not yours, nor is its layout that of any you’ve seen in the village. it's rather plain, with a singular window and table and chair and small fireplace, empty enough that you wonder how anyone could live comfortably with so little.
outside, the winter storm rages on, and there's a howl that cuts through the air that strikes bone-deep.
all at once your memories come back to you: dragged through town with bound hands and ankles, in only a thin night dress, screaming with all your might as the physician that delivered you into this world tied you to an old pine, along with the priest and the man that sold you blueberries in the spring.
people you knew and loved. had trusted.
the memories become hazy after a while, darkening with the night that crept in. you remember your body losing its feeling, but not its fear. you remember the violence of the storm, breaking trees and branches and uprooting the forest floor. you remember the horrible and hulking shape of something rising in the moonlight.
the door shoves open then, with enough force to send you scurrying back into the corner of the room. the blizzard tries to rush inside, but a man stands in its way, leaning back against the wood to keep the wind and snow out where it belongs. he's—big, as tall as the frame and just as wide, with thick hair that he's tied back, messy and low.
he's rosy in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose, as bright as the eyes that snap to you the moment you dare to breathe.
he doesn't say anything, at first. the bag of firewood he sets at his feet settles as he turns to you in interest, eyebrows raised. the clothes he's wearing look—old and worn, certainly not suitable for the storm roaring outside, with the holes and tears in the fabric. the boots he has on, however, seem heavy, have his steps echoing when he moves further into the room.
you pull your knees up to your chest and try to shrink away; beneath your thin dress, your skin has pebbled up, reminding you of just how vulnerable you still are.
your fear translates; the man stops on the other side of the little table, breathing in deeply before raising his hands up in what reads as surrender.
"hello," he finally says, and when you don't respond, he places a thick hand to his dark-haired chest and introduces himself as, "eijirou."
he nods emphatically and then repeats himself, as if to reinforce the name. you only grant him a small nod in return—and he smiles. it's wide, stretching across his face, and friendly, authentic enough that you question whether you're as damned as you thought, or perhaps saved.
how did you even get here? the question finally thaws out from the recesses of your brain and you take another look around the room as if the answer lies between the wood or nestled into the furs. this place looks too hand-crafted, you realize, all of it—and the man before you looks like he could move mountains, if he wanted to.
the chains that had bound you were iron-strong and didn't once budge in all your thrashing, before things went dark—but now you are inside by a well-maintained fire, warm and free, and all that remains of your ill fate are the indentions worn into your wrists.
he's still staring at you, the man. eijirou. he's not moved any closer, either, and when you meet his curious gaze, his lips twist and his eyes narrow. a thoughtful noise comes out of his mouth, like he's thinking of what to say or how to say it, and you're reminded that you don't recognize where you are, nor do you recognize him in the slightest.
big as he is, you don't think he could have carried you too far in a snowstorm such as the one still raging outside; are you still somewhere deep in the forest? in a cabin at the heart of the wood? saved by a man that somehow survives with so little out in the middle of nowhere?
"eijirou," you test the name on your lips and he perks up at the sound, attention snapping back to you instantly. you don't know if it's winter seeping through the floor, or if it's in the way that he watches you, that makes you shiver.
finally, he asks, "cold?" and when you nod, he slowly makes his way over to you, carefully, as if approaching a deer ready to run.
—and then he sheds his shirt with a quick shrug and holds it out to you.
you should want to look away, for decency sake, but you're—stunned by it, by him. there's a litany of scars that paint him in odd and worrisome places, but he stands tall and strong before you, unbothered by his own state. unbothered by the eyes that run over the expanse of his bare shoulders, the dark, thick trail of hair running down from his belly button, the ripples of muscle his loose shirt did well to hide.
you take it from him carefully and it's so warm, almost hot, that you press it to your face immediately to chase away the chatter of your jaw. the material itself, however ragged, is big enough to drape over your curled form like a blanket, and so you do just that. it carries the earthy smell of the woods, deeply woven into the fabric; pine and musk and something smoky.
with your cheek still pressed to his shirt, you look up to thank him, at last, but the words still in your throat at the minute changes of his face: still smiling, though sharper now, somehow, and his eyes are still wide with that keen, rapt interest—but the crimson to them has set like the sun and they've grown just as dark as the night outside.
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