bakugotrashpanda

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 8 - denki kaminari ⚡️

#kaminari #SATURN SATURN LOOK

[bakugotrashpanda]

Seb WIP! (that's all I seem to have nowadays XD) Technically, he's going to be wearing his winter coat outfit in this piece (maybe, I kinda like it as is), but I wanted to play with all the tattoos I've designed for him over the last year or so and went with it. <3

#the way I am ZOOMING in the look at the details ohh #love the tattoos so much #Sebastian #stardew valley

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 9 - himiko toga 🍋

#toga

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 10 - mirko 🐛

#mirko

[bakugotrashpanda]

one hundred percented SDV for the first time :' )

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 11 - eri 🌿

#ERI #PRECIOUS

[bakugotrashpanda]

Only good girls get it raw 🥴 say less

Thirst Trap: Caught Desperate

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Prone Bone, Spanking, Pictures - Consensual. Word Count: 4k.

Summary: Read the Intro -> Here.

A/N: Idek what the fuck this is. I've genuinely forgotten how to write - smut especially apparently.

-> Part of the 'Thirst Trap' Collab.

Make sure to check out the other incredibly talented authors through the link above and don’t forget to leave a nice comment and reblog if you liked their work!

The first thing he feels is panic.

His phone won't stop. It vibrates against his palm, stirring up a numbness that radiates through his callouses as the screen flickers. The near constant updates create a blur he can't follow, the dull flashes summoning a sharp edge to the headache that has already started to press at the sides of his skull.

Fuck. He sighs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and brackets his hand across his forehead. His PR team might actually murder him for this one.

Prodding at his screen, he manages to slow the endless roll of his feed. The replies are positive, mostly. His fanbase isn't exactly small and, according to the last PR meeting he was forced to attend, they were also predominately women. Although, looking at his phone now, he'd say the divide was probably about 50:50.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he scrolls...

The first few replies he sees are simple enough: suggestive emoji's, notes of amusement, the odd heckle about the size of his cock. Then, there are the more fun ones: the ones calling him a slut, asking to give him more than just head or being up front with their solicitations.

Huffing out a breath, he unfurls, spreading out on the bed and stretching an arm up behind his head. His pants are still unbuckled and pulled to the broadest point of his hips, a casualty of his drunken state. Underneath, his cock presses against the denim – twitching with every mention of the things his fans plead to do to him.

He shouldn't.

He knows its wrong.

Knows that he shouldn't indulge himself.

He shouldn't be thinking about fucking his fist to the thought of an anonymous stranger drooling down his balls, his cock bulging from their cheek, holes stretched out around him as he rolls his hips searching for the thing inside of them that'll make them scream.

His hand cups his pec, broad palm circling gently until he can catch his nipple with each slow pass. It's surprising how quickly his cock catches on. He can feel it leaking, soaking through patches of his underwear as it begs to be released. Letting his hand slip down his body, he feels the tension shake in his abdomen. He's wound tight, muscles shivering even under his own touch as he sinks his hand into his jeans and finally, squeezes his cotton-clothed cock.

He should stop.

Fuck, he should just delete the tweet and get a glass of water.

… And maybe a cold shower.

Licking over his teeth, he's reluctant when he slips his hand back out of his jeans and slams it, somewhat sticky, against his sheets. His cock protests, throbbing with the new lack of friction after being granted so little. It makes it hard to focus, the rolling pit in his stomach, the pulsing of his body – even without his alcohol impairing his judgement, his desire pleads a strong case for him to simply submit.

Bakugo swallows and moves to swipe away from the possibly career-changing tweet on his screen, but the feed is faster than he is.

It isn't the message that catches his eye, not at first anyway. No. It's the username. Your username.

He clenches his jaw.

Immediately, you fill his senses. It had barely been a few hours since you'd had your arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies pressed together as you swayed on the dance floor. If he tried, he swears he'd still be able to feel the soft skin of your thigh grazing against his fingertips as his hand had found its way under the edge of your dress. Your perfume had been intoxicating. A subtle mix of vanilla bean, sandalwood and your sweat had drifted from your collarbones and infested his senses, luring him right to the edge of what he'd known would get him into a whole heap of shit.

That was before he'd made that fucking post, of course.

Now, he was starting to wonder if taking you home would have been the right move all along.

His promises be damned.

Chewing at his lip, he lifts his thumb, revealing the message attached to your name. 'Thought you said you weren't that desperate, huh.' His stomach lurches.

The memories come quick then, fighting through the fog of too many whiskey's and regret.

He'd meant it as a joke, he really had, something to give him some pace, to make you think twice, think of the consequences – but he's never been good at managing his tone and at almost midnight even his belligerence had felt semi-formal. You'd been too close, too pretty, with the promise of a night he wouldn't be able to forget laced between your teeth and he'd... Well, he'd done what he does best.

He'd pushed you away.

Your eyes shine in the dull lights outside of the club, the yellowing tinge spilling from the surrounding lamps doing nothing to diminish how stunning you look. The alcohol has blown out your eyes, swallowing your iris' almost whole – although, he'd like to think he had a hand in how truly taken you look right now. His hand is on your waist, equal amounts keeping you close and at bay as you bat your eyelashes prettily at him and pout.

'C'mon...' You press close, hand searching the expanse of his chest. His heart thunders underneath, picking up whenever you near his pecs, so you slip a had over his shoulder and use his height to ease yourself up onto your tip-toes. 'You've practically had your hand up my skirt all night, what's stopping you now?' You chuckle, clicking your tongue against your back teeth.

Bakugo's snarl twists his features before he can stop it. He can feel the barb, feel the world curl on the back of his tongue before he can do anything to stop it. It tumbles from his mouth, but even despite his attempt to spit it out softly – hoping it won't hurt too much, your nose wrinkles.

'You really think I'm that desperate?'

It's like you've been slapped.

Your hands tense on his shoulders, feet falling back flat to the floor. Part of you knows he's just trying to get a rise out of you, but you're beyond sick of the back and forth. It's been months of this, of you getting close enough to taste him only for him to retreat at the last moment, usually with a snarled comment he doesn't mean, or some silly excuse to protect that softly-beating heart everyone swears he doesn't have. Sighing, you step back – the tap of your heels like gunshots on the pavement as you raise your bag from the crook of your arm and back onto your shoulder. 'Obviously not.'

Your distance reads like rejection, burns a hole in his pride and makes him prickle. He shakes his head and slips his phone from his pocket intent on ordering his own taxi, despite the fact he can barely make out the squiggles he hopes are words. 'Fuckin' knew I shouldn't have let Red bring you-.'

After that the memories grow hazy.

He remembers how you'd somehow smoothed over the hiccup in the conversation, laughing it off in all probability, but even then, you'd never quite come as close to him as before. He remembers your laugh. Remembers how the melody of it had ricocheted around his brain in the taxi ride home. He remembers missing your warmth. He remembers the flash of guilt, his half-hard cock and drunken brain at war. He remembers his phone, the screen a pale blue, glowing. He remembers, he remembers his thumb hovering over your name.

He remembers chickening out...

Fuck.

Evidently, he hadn't chickened out hard enough.

Clicking onto your page, he checks your replies to make sure he hasn't hallucinated your response, but before he can even begin to obsess over it – his phone pings in his hand.

It's a message. A real one. Not something filtered in through his socials. With shaking hands, he opens it and pauses.

He has your number saved under your first name.

Just your first name.

Not 'Sidekick''. Not your full title. Or what department you work in. You don't even have a stupid moniker. For fucks sake, he's called Kirishima 'Shitty Hair' in every single phone he's had since high school, and Todoroki has remained solely Todoroki – even despite the fact, both him and his father share the title.

He doesn't dwell on the reasoning.

Instead, he opens the message and is immediately confronted with a screenshot of his tweet. He cringes. Your reply is underneath it, racking up too many likes for his taste, and underneath that is your text.

You: 'You really are fucking desperate, aren't you?'

He waits, palms sweating, watching as three little dot appear and disappear and then, reappear again.

You: 'Can't even reply to me?'

You: 'You could at least turn your read receipts off. I can see you reading the messages.'

You: 'For fucks sake, Bakugo?'

His pulse quickens, thrumming strong and rhythmic under his skin as if to remind him what it is to be near you. The joints in his fingers have frozen, despite the energy rushing through his body demanding movement. Through the haze of his vision he sees you typing again.

You: 'Can we stop doing this now?'

Yes. Bakugo thinks. God, yes. The room spins as he cranes his neck down at his phone, eyes unfocused... His heart and cock war on, but now, the alcohol makes it far too easy for the tide to sway. Flexing his thumbs, he taps back a message before he can think better of it, before the noise of his life and expectation and the world outside can eat away at him again.

Bakugo: 'Please.'

Your reply takes a second this time, forcing the air in his lungs to crystallize; but before he can drum up too many doubts, there's your name again lighting up his screen.

You: Is that the great Dynamight saying please?

Bakugo: Fuck off.

You: Fuck off, or fuck you?

Bakugo's cock twitches in his jeans. He's so hard it's almost painful now, causing an ache to spread up the deep lines of his hips and radiating through his pelvis. Reaching down, he palms at himself again feeling the heft of his desire in his palm. He types back, one handed, the other already occupied.

Bakugo: Don't play with me. You know he'll kill the both of us.

You: I never did get to give you your birthday present.

Furrowing his brow, Bakugo is taps out a series of question marks – unimpressed with the idea of birthday cake when he had come to expect something a whole lot different, but before the thought can fully depress him – another message comes through.

It's a screenshot. The one this entire conversation began with – his own message glowing from his screen. Except this time, underneath is a message that makes his breath catch in a whole new way.

You: 'This offer for everyone, or just everyone who isn't me?'

Bakugo: You.

Bakugo: It was just for you.

Bakugo stills, his breath jammed in the back of his throat as his brain catches up with his fingers.

Fuck.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He should of just had a wank to all of the filth being sent from his fans. Even that would get him in less trouble than this. Part of him wants to back out, wants to claim a hack or come up with some other equally unbelievable and shitty lie so he can turn tail and run, but there's no way back now. He knows that much. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, his drunken mind too far from sober for him to see reason.

He types back.

You don't bother changing. You'd dressed to impress after all. Instead, you snatch a condom from your brothers stash tuck it into your bra and order a taxi, checking the address Bakugo had sent you three times before finally confirming the ride.

The journey is short and sweet, filled with anticipation and the soft jazz that trickles through the radio of the car. You've been waiting for this, grown tired of the will they won't they that had lead to this moment, but now it's here, you find yourself: nervous.

The car mounts the curb, almost sending you sprawling, then a tenner and a lift ride later, you're at his door.

He opens it before you knock looking a little more together, but still drunk. You can feel it too, the alcohol still flooding your system and making everything just a little easier. Still, nothing is as easy as coming together. You mouth drops open, an unspoken question lingering on your tongue and then, Bakugo is on you.

'C'mere.' Using one hand, he hooks it around your waist and tugs at you to him. Your bodies collide, palms coming up to rest against his chest as you peer up at him. He doesn't know how he's resisted you for so long, how he's kept true and stopped this. After all, looking at you now cradled in his arms, it is obvious this was nothing, but inevitable.

Your lips come together easily. The kiss is harsh, full of pent up tension and a longing that has broken you both. He nips at your bottom lip before you flick your tongue against his teeth, tasting him properly as he lets you in.

'Holy shit.' Panting, you claw at him – your hands are everywhere: at his buttons, his chest, wrapped in the chain circling his neck. He pays you back in kind grabbing at your hips, taking handfuls of you with an eagerness that radiates through his entire body.

With an unceremonious grunt, he bends at the knees, slipping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up against his waist. He pulls back a slither, blinking at you, his shoulders straining at he takes your entire weight with ease and presses you into the wall of his hallway. A wicked grin takes his lips as you squeak, arms and legs wrapping around him to cling on. 'Hang on.'

He kisses you again then, pressed to the wall, but before you can catch you're breath he's off. You make a stop at a small counter where he presses his clothed cock to your cunt, letting you feel just what you're getting yourself into and again at the wall outside of his bedroom. There he almost leaves your neck raw, biting and sucking, but never enough to leave too much of a mark.

You stumble into his bedroom still cradled in Bakugo's arms. There's sure to be bruises on your elbows, a symptom of attempting to peel him from his shirt while he careened through the doorway, but as your back hitting the bed and Bakugo hovering over you, you find it hard to care. Reaching into your bra, you slip out the condom with two fingers and present it to him by waving it under his nose.

Taking it with his teeth, he grins as you let out a sigh that settles in his bones. Beneath him, you look insatiable. Your eyes have blown out, the black of your iris' banishing whatever colour had once been there. The dress he'd been so anxious to get under all night is rumpled, the slit cast aside exposing the thickness of your thighs and a slither of cunt covered by a pair of soft-looking red lace. The bodice is low, the heaving of your chest apparent – your tits held high, pressed together and begging for his hands. Slipping a hand up your thigh, he brushes his fingers across the flesh and earns himself the most pretty of moans.

'I knew you'd break.' Lifting your leg, you kick out at him softly – the ball of your heel connecting with his shoulder. You perch on your elbows, eyes swollen, the pulse of your cunt matching the beating of your heart. It's been rough until now, a clash of teeth and nails, but its hard not to notice the bare desire you see splayed out in his eyes. It's mixed with carmine, a colour that barely covers what, if nurtured, could become love. 'Knew I'd have you.'

He grabs your ankle and pulls on reflex, yanking you down the bed. 'Did you?' Under his skin he feels feral. Something that's only made worse when you lick your lips and nod.

His restraint snaps. Grabbing at your hips, he kneads the fat there before flipping you over. You bounce, a scream escaping your throat, but he quickly transforms the sound into a moan with a harsh slap against your ass.

'Thought you wanted head?' You laugh, feeling your skin prickle under him. There's a rustle behind you, the tell tale sound of him shucking down his jeans and then, his fingers are pulling your underwear away from your cunt and exposing you to the air.

'You always this much of a brat?'

You wriggle and lift up your hips. 'You always this hard for me? Oh wait...' You chuckle. 'You are.'

A growl rumbles in his throat, but it's not anger he's feeling. Taking his cock in his hand, he gives himself a cursory pass – the stickiness of his own pre cum making it easy. His head rocks back on his shoulders. With a bottle of whiskey still coursing through his vein's he's more than sensitive, the simple passes of his hand having him ready to blow – God only knows what the feel of your cunt will do to him.

'C'mon... Fuck me, forget the condom – just -.' Reaching behind you, you attempt to grab at him – to pull him close, get him to touch, to taste.

Chuckling to himself, he bats your hand away easily. 'Nah-ah-ah. Don't think you deserve me raw, sweetheart. Only good girls get that.' He squeezes the base of his cock, stopping a premature end as he tears through the tinfoil of the condom and slips it on.

You go to whine, to kick your feet and protest him not giving into you, but you're not even given the chance.

The first thing you feel is impossibly full. The next is overwhelming pleasure. Bakugo hadn't wasted time prepping you and to be honest, you hadn't needed it. You're soaking, cunt dribbling greedily onto his mattress – like you haven't been waiting forever for this moment. You arc your back, one hand fisting his bed sheets as the other curls around the wrist he plants beside your head. The pace he's set is brutal, each thrust pushing deeper inside of you, taking you as he pleases as you cling on and submit to it.

'Where's the cheek now, huh?' He pants. Honestly, he's surprised he's not cum already. Your cunt milks him, squeezing him so deliciously that he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone better.

Then again, he know what they say about forbidden fruit.

''m sorry.' You moan, back curling as he fucks you harder. It's pathetic how he's barely given you anything and yet, you're already creaming around him. Your body begs for release, teetering you on the precipice of ecstasy as he uses you relentlessly.

'No your not...' Bakugo chokes out, teeth bared as he clings to the last threads of his control. Your tight now, too tight to not be close and if the way you're moaning and almost drooling onto his bed is anything to go by – he's not wrong. Leaning over you, he licks a thick stripe up between your shoulder blades before resting his lips by your ear. When he speaks is a growl, a command that comes from deep within his chest. 'Touch yourself... C'mon, show me how pretty you cum.'

You don't need telling twice. Forcing your arm beneath you, you draw quick, awkward circles on your clit and have to remind yourself to breathe. Your orgasm hits you like a train. Every muscle in your body tenses, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the high continues to roll through your body. It feels like a millennia until you come back again, until your limbs begin to feel under your own control and you become aware of Bakugo still frantically prolonging your high.

'Shit, shit, shit...' Pulling out, he ignores your protests before quickly rolling off the condom. It takes a singular pass of his fist before he cums, a grunt thrown from his chest as he releases himself over your ass. His mess is sticky, a pearlescent sheen that drips between your cheeks and onto your raw cunt – your clit still twitching.

In a moment of madness, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the scene. In it, only the edge of your dress can be seen, coupled with the most distant droplets of his spend as it decorates the skin of your thighs.

'Post it.' Craning over your shoulder, you hiss at the new soreness in your limbs as you roll onto your back. You tilt your head, signature mischief returning to your cheeks. 'Got to let those fan girls know you've already being taken care of...' You flash a smile. 'And I'd really hate to see your DM's right now.'

Against his better judgement, he tosses you his phone. 'Knock yourself out.'

It's almost six in the morning when you finally settle for bed. You'd gone another three rounds. Once in shower, over the vanity in the hallway and then, again in his bed and each time had seen both of you aching and sore and more than pleased with yourselves. You'd posted the picture and Bakugo's phone hadn't been quiet since – not that you minded. It wasn't like anyone could really tell what it was. The lighting was awful, the image blurred and you'd cropped it so there was no chance of anyone figuring out who you were.

Still, the idea of it stirs up something hot and heavy in your stomach.

You'd laid your claim now.

'I will never know how you're such a demon when you're brother's a God damn golden boy.' Bakugo's breathing has just about leveled out, you hand rising and falling in a more subtle rhythm where it lays on the center of his chest.

You wrinkle your nose. 'Can we not talk about my brother while I can still feel your cum dripping down my ass, please.'

Bakugo chufs, but relents. His thumb rubs soft circles in the skin of your shoulder, a gentle beckoning to sleep as both of you watch the sun rise and fill his bedroom window with a brilliant orange. 'Stay?' He kisses your forehead. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

Nuzzling into him, you're about to agree – mind already reeling at the possibilities of Bakugo's cooking and another round at a more respectable hour – but, all thoughts cease when Bakugo's phone pings with a message.

'If this is my fucking publicist you can explain yourself.' Bakugo tuts, but there's still a warmth in his smile that betrays his annoyance.

You giggle. 'Happy to.'

Flipping over his phone in his hand, Bakugo's mouth drops open when the screen glows to light his face.

There's only one message on the screen.

And it isn't from his publicist.

Shitty Hair: 'Really dude, my fucking sister?'

#fic rec #bakugou #THE ENDING LMAOOOOO

[bakugotrashpanda]

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 even before you moved 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 it was.

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. You 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, and 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.

#bakugou #fic rec

[bakugotrashpanda]

TRUST ME SWEETHEART YOU’RE THE PREY HERE 🥴🥴🥴

shoot your shot

k.bakugo | collab intro + m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! prohero!bakugo, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, alcohol, dubcon if you really squint

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: idk dude sorry

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: hbd king! make sure to check out the other writers on the m.list and enjoy!!!

Among the thousands of replies, your pfp caught his eye.

anyone will do, huh?

Bakugo reads over the words a few times. Sure, his alcohol-induced thirst trap selfie was… out of character, but this from you?

Surely, it's an impossibility. He rubs his eyes and falls back into the black, plush leather of his couch, clicking your profile and scrolling through it. You're the quiet girl with the nice tits from insurance, the only person at the agency that he has anything remotely akin to a crush on.

You were there tonight in electric orange and black, stuffed into a booth with the other agency girls; your group sporadically sent him drinks-- those damn daiquiris-- and judging from the laughter pouring out of your booth, you all enjoyed watching him down them.

The one and only Dynamight downing bitch drinks? Hilarious, apparently.

The night got hazy, but he vaguely remembers getting you one-on-one at some point, remembers flashes of your smile, runs of your laughter, and your birthstone pendant hanging on a gold chain just below your collar bone.

Your delicate fingers on his forearm.

His teeth grind together, nostrils flaring as he reads over your words again, fingers flexing before he gropes his bulge. Your voice, seemingly teasing, rings through his brain melodically, but no matter how hard he closes his eyes, he can't remember the interaction.

What did you two talk about? Were you flirting with him? Fuck, did he miss his chance? If he concentrates, he can see the shimmer of your lipgloss reflecting the neon lights in that shitty bar, but everything else is radio silence.

A ding, then a notification flags across the top of his screen: 1 Photo Attached. He taps it and bites his bottom lip.

You're smiling at the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign in front of expensive looking double doors. Familliar double doors. He recognises the gold embellishments and black glass tinted so dark, its impossible to see through from the outside.

A selfie in front of his apartment building.

Another sound and,

Typing…

Typing…

Typing…

Appears in the chat. He feels stupid just waiting, but if you're really coming onto him, he needs to not scare you away.

gonna buzz me up, mr hero?

He's on his feet at an almost embarrassing speed, unlocking the front door and sending you his floor and room number in the chat.

Then, he paces, pours himself a glass of water, and waits.

Your knock is faint, and he wonders if you've sobered up some, briefly hesitating at the doorknob. He looks through his spyhole and sees you looking this way and that, shifting nervously and fiddling with your hair.

He tugs the door open and leans against it, eyes staring you down. You blink and take a short breath, eyes scanning his naked torso, briefs, muscular thighs--

He clears his throat. "You look nervous."

Your eyes on his leave him a little starstruck. Sure, youre pretty to admire from afar, but up close? He's stupid for getting wasted and forgetting what he said to you.

"Liquid courage has thoroughly worn off." You agree with a nod and a nervous yet dazzling smile.

Fuck, he's so done for.

"Just to be clear, you hit me up." Bakugo says, opening the door and giving you space to enter. "I'm not holding you here against your will."

"What? No, yeah, I totally take the blame on this, one million percent." You agree, stepping into his apartment. He watches your ass in that tight dress as you walk past him, savours the scent of your perfumed skin while you're in his vicinity. "I just thought-- oh my gods," you turn to face him, embarrassed. "This is ridiculous, isn't it? I thought you were like... sending me signals at the bar."

He probably was, but he cant fucking remember.

He gestures for you to follow him into the living room. "I was wasted."

"You grabbed my ass and called me sexy." You laugh, kicking off your heels before stepping onto his carpet.

"Fat fuckin chance, sugar tits." He grumbles, embarrassed by his drunken antics, but then you're grabbing his hand and tugging him back half a step. Before he can even gasp, your lips are on his, your hands pulling him down to you, your tongue running along his lips.

"Yeah, you called me that, too." You breathe, nose to nose as you stare into his eyes.

His hands finally find your waist. "I didn't think you'd be this forward."

"This is how forward you were with me at the bar." You frown then, head tilting to the side. "You honestly don't remember? Now I feel like a predator."

He laughs, then, something full bodied and joyous. "Trust me, sweetheart, you're the prey here."

All logical thinking flies out the window the moment his lips meet yours again. Your bag drops to the floor as he devours you, hands bunching up that little orange dress at your waist and lifting you to wrap your legs over his hips.

You moan when he grinds his length up against you. "Oh my god, are we doing this?" You ask, his mouth assaulting your neck, littering it with kisses and nips as he walks you to his bedroom.

"It's my birthday," he rasps, revelling in the taste of you, the feel of you. It's one thing coveting something, but it's another to finally have it in your hands.

"Happy Birthday, Katsuki." You kiss him on the top of his head, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck.

"Being cute isn't gonna make me go any easier on you." He promises, dropping you onto his bed. You just laugh and pull your dress over your head, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

"I came prepared to go down on you, but this kinda feels like you want a little more from me." You admit as he tugs off his briefs and covers you with his body.

"What gave you that idea?" He grins, palming your tits and dragging those battle worn hands down your soft torso to rest at your hips. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"What? Yes." You breathe, reaching down to ghost your fingers over his throbbing cock. He hisses before you grip it properly, with purpose, and begin pumping him slowly with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Fuck," he curses softly, making light work of your panties and kissing you, bucking instinctually up into your hands. "I need to be inside you," he demands huskily, biting down on your lip and looking into your eyes for permission.

"Y-yeah, I want it," you nod feverishly as his fingers test your wet heat, rubbing and probing before sliding in.

"Shit," he huffs as you throw your head back, his fingers exploring you and stretching you out. "Fuck, I can't wait, are you good to go?"

"Stop talking and fuck me, Katsuki," you moan, laying there with your chest heaving and lipstick smudged.

His hands grope your thighs, pushing them up and opening yourself to him. With a curse at the tip of his tongue and his teeth in his bottom lip, he lines himself up and pushes forward.

"Oh--" you moan, before your hand slaps over your mouth.

Bakugo let's you silence yourself while he adjusts to the toe tingling feeling of being inside you. It's heavenly, but it feels like sinning. He pulls back a little before pushing forward, notices your free hand fisting his scarlet sheets beside your head.

After a few more testing thrusts and he stills inside you, his body covers yours, those big, calloused hands drawing up your forearms to interlock your fingers beside your head.

"I wanna hear you cry while I ruin you, pretty girl. You okay with that?" He asks lowly, voice almost a growl.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Katsuki it's so big," you babble, bordering incoherent already.

A feral grin grows on his face. He's gonna fuck you stupid.

"It's okay, baby, you can take it, I know you can," he mumbles condescendingly, kissing your nose gently, then your lips. "As a present, for my birthday."

He can't wait any longer, hips rocking into you, shallowly grinding, searching for that spot deep inside you that makes you moan. You're already gasping, eyes watering as your mouth hangs open, fingers flexing in his grip as your chest starts to heave.

You really are gorgeous like this, panting and wanton beneath him. Ideally, he'd make you cum a few times before he does, but he's been half mast all fucking week, and he really can't wait to fill you up.

"Sorry, baby, I can't hold back anymore." He kisses you deeply, before letting go of your hands and pushing your legs up, hands gripping the backs of your knees, then bruising at your thighs.

He licks his lips, pulls out, and hammers back in. You yelp, but he does it again, setting a pace that wouldn't be sustainable for your average man. It boosts his ego that he's gonna ruin other people for you, but the little breathy ohmygodkatsukifuck that leaves your lips while you scratch at his back is probably going to ruin other women for him.

Shit, your smell, the way you taste and feel-- you're sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, pussy hellbent on milking him before he's done with you. He kisses you while he fucks you, sloppy and messy and wet, and in moments you're a howling mess.

He swallows your cries as your whole body tenses, but he doesn't let himself cum with you, fucking you through it instead.

"Nonononononono..." you mutter, fingernails digging into his traps as you shake your head, pushing him away. "Stop stop, I'm gonna--"

Bakugo's heart flutters, grin feral. "Gonna what? Gonna what?" He grits, continuing to fuck you.

"Gonna-- hnghh!" You tense again, and as he fucks back into you, hot, wet squirt splashes against his groin, dripping all over the both of you and darkening those scarlet sheets maroon.

"Oh shit," he breathes, the feeling of it, the sight of you, the sound of his wet skin slapping against yours sending him over the edge as he fucks his cum into you, filling you up.

You're still mumbling incoherent nonsense when he collapses on top of you, your hands over your face in what he comes to realise is mortification.

"I'm s'sorry, oh my god, what was that? I'm so embarrassed, I--"

"Hey hey hey, are you crying?" He frowns prying your fingers from your face.

"I wet the bed in front of you!" You almost shriek, but he's just glad you're not crying. "Not just any guy, but you!"

"Yeah, and it was the hottest thing ever." He grins, feeling calm for the first time in a long time. "Fuck, I don't even care how the PR team are gonna react; getting you to squirt on me makes it worth it. I'm guessing you don't do that often?"

"Often? I never do that."

"Baby, that was hot as hell." He kisses you, then rolls over, bringing you with him.

"Happy Birthday, I guess?" You smile then, resting on his chest, drawing a finger over one of his more jaggered scars. "You don't remember what you said to me at the bar, do you?"

"I remember your tits?" He shrugs, still riding that post-orgasmic high. You laugh, and when you don't elaborate, he taps your chin so you look up at him. "What did I say?"

You start getting a little shy again. "You asked me on a date, said you were gonna take me somewhere, anywhere I want."

"I did, did I?"

"Mm, then you kissed me and claimed it was your birthday present from me."

"Fuck off," he chuckles then, embarrassed. "What a loser."

"Then I saw your... proposition online..." You mumble, eyes back on that scar.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm deleting that post, but my offer to you still stands."

"Even though you don't remember making it?"

"Baby, I just filled you with my cum, and I'm feeling like I'd like to do it again real fuckin soon. And maybe even again after that." He pulls you closer, so you're straddling him properly, your lips hovering over his. "If you'll let me."

"I don't know if that's your twisted way of asking me out or if you're looking for a fuck buddy." You pout.

"You wanna be my girlfriend?" He asked, slightly shocked at the thought. Shocked, but not against it.

"Yeah, I do." You smile, that so pretty smile.

"Well shit, when are you moving in?" He asks, half joking.

You laugh, kissing him on the cheek. "Shut up, do you mean it? You really wanna date me?"

"Yeah, I do." He says, heart hammering in his chest.

"Good, thats-- that's good."

"It is, isn't it? Now that we have that outta the way," he sits up, keeping you in his lap. "Round 2 in the shower?"

"You'll have to carry me, I still can't feel my legs." You smile.

"Maybe the bitch drinks weren't such a bad idea, after all." Bakugo grins, pulling you close in a slow, deliberate kiss.

#fic rec #Bakugou

[bakugotrashpanda]

“Send me some tits” AIGHT KING WHATEVER YOU WANT

Horny on Main

Bakugou x fem!reader

Read the intro other replies here 📫

warnings: some suggestive talk, and some slightly unhinged thirst tweets lol

WC: 1.09K

a/n: Happy Birthday to you King. I hope yall enjoy this cuz I struggledddd but it was so so fun to do this little collab! Check out the other fics! 💖

Katsuki squints in the darkness at the bright ass screen of his phone. 

There’s too many of those little ass letters on the screen for Katsuki to focus on right now. His fucking head is pounding, his limbs are heavy and he feels exhausted. If only his dick would get the damn memo. 

He’s finally able to shuffle out of his pants, and kicks them into a corner of his bedroom. He’ll deal with it when he wakes up. That was the running theme of the night.The light from his phone hurts and he fumbles to switch the brightness down as he plops down on his bed. 

Once he’s horizontal and sinking into the comfy firmness of his own bed, the room finally stops spinning. Hard part’s over. Maybe now he can finally crash. A ping and vibrate draws his attention back to his phone and…

Shit. 

His PR Manager is gonna lose their shit. 

A slurry of replies from Twitter now take up the entirety of the notifications screen on his phone. What had he tweeted? He can’t even remember taking his phone out until now. 

Groaning, he clicks the stupid little bird icon and swipes over to his own profile. 

Made at exactly 12 AM on April 20th the first and only original post on his Official Dynamight Twitter, usually heavily used for advertising merch and keeping up with hero news updates regarding Dynamight, reads: 

@OFFICIALDYNAMIGHT:It’s my birthday someone give me head

Fuck. 

Ehh, it could’ve been worse. He could’ve said “send me some tits”. That woulda been a clusterfuck. Still, the replies he’s getting on the post are far from innocent to say the least. 

Katsuki idly scrolls through, scanning quickly until one reply catches his eye. 

Reply from @kweenkatsuki  Just head, King? That’s it?

Katsuki blinks and shockingly his cock throbs. He didn’t think about that when he posted the tweet. Really he’d just wanted to nestle his cock into a warm hole. But this tweet sends a myriad of filthy images flying through Katsuki’s mind. And like a dolphin out of water his cock jumps excitedly.  

A drunken stupor sweeps him up and overtakes the rationality in his head. It’s no wonder he’d tweeted what he did earlier. Curiosity of just who you are, what you could do to him, what you’re offering could be worth it for a birthday gift. 

And he does deserve it. As many people as he’s saved, as much shit he’s been through not even including actually dying. Yeah Katsuki’s sure, he fucking deserves this. 

Clicking your profile ended up being a good choice too. Scrolling through your last few tweets he realizes you’re kinda funny. 

You’ve got a filthy mouth and judging by the amount of times he sees the word pussy in your tweets you’re about as horny as Denki used to be before he settled down. 

Your thirst tweets would make the kinkiest guys clutch their pearls. 

@kweenkatsuki: Imagine spending the whole time being a demure, cute little thing on the first date with Dynamight just to throw him off from the absolute gorilla grip pussy and bomb gawk gawk 3000 I will unleash on him when he takes me home at the end of the night.

That first tweet makes him swallow hard. He clicks over to a photo of you, taking in all your features. Pretty plump lips, big kind eyes, and a smile that was both warm but sensual. 

He can picture the first date with you so clearly. How he’d fall for your innocent act like a fucking fool. You’d get him with those eyes. Staring up at him all wide, but you’d be plotting. 

Katsuki licks his lips and mutters to himself, “Pretty and a freak huh?” 

The pay off would be fucking glorious though. Somehow he knows head from you would be life changing. And the thought is so powerful it send his hand reaching for his cock. 

He strokes himself, closing his eyes and picturing your face again.The image of you on your knees before him with wide eyes as he watches you take his cock down your throat entirely, plays like a movie in his mind. He can see the bulge of it pushing through the skin of your throat. And tries desperately to mimic the tightness with his fist. 

Fuck, he shouldn’t be doing this. Fucking his fist to some random woman on Twitter. He ain’t desperate. For fucks sake he could have whoever he wanted. And if he wanted you well… he could just message you instead of this pathetic shit. 

Katsuki quickly scrolls through more of your tweets, it’s more of the same. 

@kweenkatsuki: You know the pussy is BANGIN’ when the man goes “Oh!” as soon as he puts it in.

@kweenkatsuki: I wanna take his pretty pink tip and tap it against my soft lips.

You’re witty and he likes your lack of filter. You’ve got good taste in heroes and Katsuki kinda wants to see what you’d say back if he replied to you. Especially considering you probably think he won’t respond at all. Since you’re so “eager for more”, he’ll call your bluff. 

What’s he got to lose? 

Katsuki jabs a finger on the direct message button next to your name; his fingers hover over the keyboard. 

What the fuck does he say? He didn’t think that far ahead. Your reply was cheeky, a little teasing but played to his ego. Who’d have thought he’d like being called “King”?

Still though he can’t just let you think you’ve got all the power. 

Katsuki types: 

“Head is all you could handle sweetheart.” 

And hits send before he can talk himself out of it. Sending the message must’ve been the very last of his energy because after he sends it, it feels as if all his limbs have grown heavy. The room starts to spin again, and Katsuki’s sure the “black out” portion of the night is about to come. 

He blinks sleepily, wondering if sober him will regret any of the shit he did tonight. Probably so, especially when his PR manager wakes up and sees it. 

Still, Katsuki can’t help but hope that you do reply. He shuts his eyes, drifting off into unconsciousness. 

But before he can slip too deeply, his phone vibrates and pings loudly thrusting him back awake. He quickly unlocks his phone, opens Twitter and swipes to find a reply he was not at all expecting but is pleased to see.

“You think I can’t take you? Let me come prove it.” 

Thanks for reading!

#fic rec #Bakugou #GORILLA GRIP AND BOMB GAWK GAWK 3000

[bakugotrashpanda]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 - 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐱 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Not the fic I wanted to upload for Katsuki's birthday but something I quickly threw together

The city lights danced beneath the night sky as Dynamight soared through the air, his eyes grew tired while his heart weighed heavy realising he's late and was not able to celebrate with you. It was his birthday, but hero duty called louder than celebration. Patrols stretched late into the night and he had to fulfil his duty of ensuring the safety of the city.

00:33 21 April 2024

The clock ticked past midnight, as he returned home. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his shoulders, but a flicker of anticipation burned within him. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the warmth of your shared apartment.The sight that greeted him brought a soft smile to his lips, despite the weariness. Birthday decorations adorned the living room along with an assortment of his favourite baked goods.

A note on the table that read :

Hi honey Happy Birthday again, I know you hate parties but I wanted to have something cute since this is the first birthday we're celebrating in our new home! I got some treats for us from that bakery you like and I made some of your favourite foods and treats in the fridge <3 y/n

Katsuki has the biggest smile as he reads the note and an even bigger one when he sees you on the couch cuddling a Dynamight plush. He leaves the plush aside because he's jealous because why would you need that when you have the real thing?

He tries his best to pick you up carefully so he doesn't wake you up - carrying you effortlessly in his strong arms he takes you to the bedroom and places you gently on the soft sheets. You stirred slightly, murmuring his name and slightly opening your eyes. Realising it's actually him you hug him closely and cover his face in kisses while apologising for falling asleep when you wanted to stay awake and surprise him.

“It's alright sweetheart - I love and appreciate everything you've done for me but let's go to bed now it's late. We can pick up from here in the morning.“

Hmmm is all you're able to respond with. You've had an extremely busy day. Doing preparations for his birthday, cooking,baking as well as entertaining family and friends that came over hoping to see Katsuki.

As Katsuki tucks you into bed he notices a neatly wrapped gift on the nightstand. He's said multiple times that he didn't want presents because he didn't want you spending your money on him. Regardless he carefully unwrapped the present to find a handmade photo album, filled with memories of your time together. Each page held a snapshot of your adventures and laughter frozen in time.

A warmth spread through Katsuki's chest as he flipped through the pages. The last page did not have a picture yet but had the caption - 20 April 2024 Katsuki's Birthday - First birthday celebrated in our new home!.

For years Katsuki has loathed his birthday - he never understood why people would be happier to get older. Katsuki never needed extravagant parties or lavish gifts that his parents and friends would try and force him to enjoy.

As he tucks himself in - entwined in each other's arms, Katsuki knew that he was home.

“All I need is you.”

Taglist [click here to join <3]

@buzzyboi79 @0lissa0 @nishikina @bakugosgorl @bakugosbratx @aomi04 @dabis0bitch @bakubabeyy @keisurou @hannas16 @namjoonswifeyy @neko-loogi @stormcloudsbrewing @nymphoheretic @gently-folded-paper-cranes @shoutascoffeepot @slutfor-fictionalmen @dreamcastgirl99

#fic rec #Bakugou #cuuuute 🥹

[bakugotrashpanda]

LOOK UP TO ME

an: this was so entirely self-indulgent when i started this (and vaguely i’m imagining him as a rockstar around the 80s tho you can imagine whatever you like obvs!) but it’s his birthday so it was about time i revisited this depravity and finished it lol. happy (maybe slightly late) birthday bakugou <3

cw: everyone is an 21+, rockstar!bakugou, fan!fem!reader, idolisation and worship themes, flirting/banter, oral (m!), reader is called “doll”, biting is vaguely mentioned, reader wears a skirt + lipstick + has cleavage on show — unedited, nsfw, MDNI.

It must have been fate that you were able to score a front row ticket to one of the most highly-anticipated concerts of your time. Not only was Bakugou Katsuki’s tour sold out within minutes, but this venue in particular was revered as The Show to see.

With elaborate staging and the largest venue he was performing at, the real kicker was that this was where he was filming the full-length concert DVD as this was the peak show of his tour. If the possibility of you being caught on camera at his feet wasn’t enough reason to sway you into buying it in an attempt to relive this night (though you doubt anything could come close to seeing him in the flesh), there would also be behind the scenes of the tour, all the prep that went into building the show, and a peak into more of him. The man, the myth, the legend.

He had a reputation for being shameless, but even knowing that, it still shocked you just how shameless he was, standing at the edge of his staging and fist pumping to the crowd during the more intense instrumentals, hip thrusting, ripping his shirt off before the first song even ended. At one point he laid at the far end, reaching out to whoever could reach, eliciting a swell of shrieks from that corner.

It amused him to see the affect he had. The power he had to be seen as an idol, to illicit a response from the crowd so easily.

He had passed your seat a few times, but it was several songs in that he caught your eye, winking, then coming back when the lyrics felt right to him, a teasing line — “if you need me, babe, then we won’t sleep tonight” — crouched, hand running down his sweat-slicked abs and looking straight at you, cocky smirk and all.

Like he knew exactly what that moment of attention would do to you.

You hated that he was right; you had never felt such an intense desire for a man before. Everything about him garnered your attention, from his confidence to his body, thick and muscular, biceps flexing with every fist pump, every pound to the floor when he was laid out for the drum beat.

He grunted, sounded like pure pornography when he was riled and high on the adrenaline from the sea of faces chanting his name and his lyrics back to him. He oozed sex appeal in a way that you couldn’t settle the arousal burning through you. When he stood above you, all you could do was admire him from your place at his feet, looking up the length of his leather-clad legs and his glistening skin under the harsh stage lighting. And still, with nowhere to hide his flaws, you only saw perfection.

He was a God beaded with golden perspiration.

You were another voice in the chorus of his praise, and with every look he sent you, your heart skipped a beat. It was delusion to think he had noticed you, that you could be any different from the many, many women he saw at his shows each night, but you wanted to believe the way he looked at you with his tongue tracing his teeth, all smirks and hungry eyes, meant something.

What would be the harm to escape into the fantasy for one night, for a couple of hours, while you had the chance to gaze upon him in real life?

To his salacious lyrics and dirty guitar riffs, you sunk deeper and deeper into your late-night-wet-dream fantasies about him. Of what he could look like below the belt, and how he might look when looming over you while you let his use you in any way he desired.

But your brain kept cycling back to the thought of his cock in your mouth, feeling the weight of it, the taste of him leaking onto your tongue mixed with the salt of his skin. That’s what you really wanted, and it made your mouth water.

And by whatever merciful, higher being decided you were worthy of having your wish come true, after the band took a stage left, you were called back by security under instruction from the Katsuki himself.

You follow backstage, led all the way to his dressing room, still thrumming with the adrenaline and arousal in your veins.

“You made it.” Pleased to see you and far too confident you’d be coming backstage at his call, his presence brought a heaviness to the air.

Perhaps foolishly, you were expecting the band to be with him, but with security having shut the door on their way out, it was just the two of you, and the sexual intensity was pouring off of him.

“Isn’t anyone else coming?”

“Did’ya wanna share me?”

The innuendo almost makes you choke, speechless. No, you most certainly didn’t want to share him with another fan, but the full spotlight of his attention on you and only you was stifling.

Your knickers might just melt straight off with how hot your pussy had become, weeping molten and desperate.

“Come on, don’t act shy now. I saw how you were lookin’ at me. Y’eyes were fuckin’ twinklin’ at the thought.” He crowds you at the door, necklaces glinting in the low light of the lamp at his dressing table. “Kept coming back just to see.”

It’s no lie. You were too absorbed in the moment to calculate the difference, but he spent more than half of the concert on your side of the stage, more often than not with one foot propped on the speakers and his hips cocked forward, rocking to the beat.

It was a performance, a tease, only you hadn’t known it was to wind you up. You could pretend all you wanted, but to find out he noticed you this much, you had to believe his word because you were standing here when no one else was. This could be his act to keep a streamlined series of women moving in and out of his dressing room each night for his own entertainment, unattached and under the impression they were special enough to catch his eye — he certainly had his staff trained well enough — but what he did any other night wasn’t of your concern. Not in that moment.

If this was your one opportunity to sleep with your daydream fuel, smelling of musk and something sweet, you weren’t planning on wasting time questioning the situation.

His fingerless leather glove tightens over his knuckles as his fingers curl under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him, but your gaze gets caught on the shine of his skin, the shine that same one you admired as he bounced and dominated the stage, end to end, taking the centre to bask in another moment of being the main attraction.

When you finally met his eyes, he grinned.

“You like lookin’ up at me, hah? Wanna show me how pretty you look?”

It was obvious to both of you that you shared the same desire. He could sniff it out, trained in the scent of a woman that craved his bones. He knew it well, and you… you reeked of it. It wasn’t desperation, but a confidence that you knew what you wanted and you wouldn’t shy away from him now he had you alone.

And him. He wanted to bathe in your attention while you lapped up anything he gave you.

Of course he did. How easy it was for his ego to be stroked when he was under the heat of the spotlight, listening to screams and swoons he caused. And it went straight to his head — the one between his legs.

Reacting to the dare in his eyes, you weren’t going to back down now, but you would be more than willing to bow down. As he slouched on the shiny red leather loveseat, you sunk to your knees at his feet. Tentatively, under his watchful stare, you reached for his belt, waiting for him to rip away the offer, waiting to become the punchline to a joke you weren’t in on.

It was too good to be true.

You weren’t shy, far from it, but anyone could be prone to performance anxiety. Anyone but Katsuki, it seemed. By the time you had popped his zipper open it revealed that the bulge of leather was all him, no excess material.

“How long have you been like this?” You took his cock into your hand, stroking it softly once, twice, biting your lip.

“Whole fuckin’ show, doll.”

“No wonder you couldn’t stop from humping the air. Trying to get some friction?”

“Gettin’ some now, ain’t I?” His eyebrows quirked, low-lidded eyes drinking in the sight of you. That tight leather mini skirt taut over your thighs and tasteful amount of cleavage. “Didn’t have to try all that much, did I?”

You glared up at him, squeezing your hand tighter around him.

“Tch. Don’t act like you don’t want it.” His hand slid up under yours, replacing your hold with his own as he shifted his hips closer to the edge of the seat, tapping his length against your cheek. “C’mon. Open up f’me. Y’know you want to.”

“Can’t promise I won’t bite.”

You playfully snapped your teeth closed around the air where his cock occupied just a moment before he snatched it away from you, narrowly missing his pretty length, pink and thick and looking so edible as he held it in front of your face, just out of reach.

“I promise I do bite.”

It was your turn to smirk. Even if this was an act, an extension of his stage persona, he’s living up to your expectations, just as foul as you would have him be in your imagination when you’re touching yourself, listening to his filthy ad-libs and staring at the poster of his glistening, shirtless body pinned up on your wall.

“Well, if you promise.”

Salivating, you took his cock as he guided it back to your painted lips, opening up obediently. You hoped he would make good on his promise, but if this is all you’d get then you at least wanted to see him come undone. You wanted to see him lose his composure, groaning and grunting like he did on stage, but this time all for you — because of you.

Everything lit you on fire, a cycle of lust; the more he turned you on, the more you’re aroused, hyperaware of all the little things about him that had your pussy slick. His taste, his smell, the hiss from between his teeth as you slurped and swallowed him eagerly.

He had been sweating and at least half chubbed up for hours, kept in the tight trap of his trademark leathers — the reason why you chose to wear your own — that the relief of finally being stimulated, getting to relax against the soft of his worn and tired sofa, cushions remembering the shape of him, his head tilted back, he doesn’t even bother trying to restrain his pants and moans. One big hand cradled behind your head, he doesn’t let you leave him for a moment, and you don’t try to pull away.

Both of you wanted it, the desire contagious, feeding off each other’s carnal need. The more he responded to the heat of your mouth working him over, the more you were spurred on to work harder, to pull more sounds of pleasure from his lips.

You were dirty with it, pure filth as you spat and throated him. It drove him mad, how you wanted to give him what he wanted to take like you’re trying to carve out a space in his memory for you, so he’d think about you even after you left.

You didn’t know who you’d be compared to in his mind, but tonight it was all about you and what you could do, and you were depraved with it. Degrading yourself, you let him use you, let him suffocate you on his entire length, tears wetting your eyelashes as you looked up at him, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. The sight of you, the way you gave yourself, everything was too much for him to keep his cool.

“Fuck, doll. Where’d y’learn t’do that?”

You didn’t answer, humming coyly as sucked harder, revelling in the way his hips jerked, at the end of his tether. He performs sex appeal for a living, but he looked best at a loss, at your mercy without his bravado. Just for now, for your eyes only, for tonight.

He held you down, nose pressing into his damp, sweaty happy trail, abs glistening and tensing. It was a sight for sore eyes, one you were trying to burn into your brain for safe keeping, swallowing down around him as he came hard and vocal while you were in your element. In your happy place, satiating your wildest dream.

You only pulled away, breathless and messy, when his hand dropped limp from the base of your neck. Your eyes hadn’t lost their shine, that glint that he saw reflected back at him from the crowd that first drew his attention.

“So… are you gonna bite me now? You promised.”

#fic rec #bakugou

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 13 - shouta aizawa 🧤

#aizawa

[bakugotrashpanda]

day 17 - shoto todoroki 🦕

#todoroki

[bakugotrashpanda]

One-Shot: Glitter & Glowsticks

Rating: R / 18+ Pairing: Bakugou x fem!Reader Summary: A lads holiday and a girls holiday collide; you know what that means… sex, it means sex. Warnings: Alcohol consumption, drug use, smoking, smut, oral, fingering, slight somnophilia, copious amounts of use of the word ‘fuck’ and too much talk about cocks. Probably more, let me know.

Notes: Written in celebration of our favourite Boom Boy’s birthday. It hasn’t gone exactly how I originally planned; Reader and Bakugou told me to go fuck myself, then proceeded to do what they wanted to do, so I’m sorry if the smut seems janky, I’m blaming it on them. Also, I haven’t written anything spicy since Sept/Oct; in any case, I hope you have a good time with this fic.

Oh, also, if you fancy some club tunes to set the tone, here you go… SPOTIFY PLAYLIST LINK (I highly recommend listening while reading to get you in the party mood, even though there are way too many tracks to get through before reaching the end). 🤪

Happy Birthday, Katsuki 🥳 x x x

“Did you see?”

“See what?” you asked, holding out a daiquiri, paper straw and little umbrella swirling in the crushed ice.

“The new arrivals,” Mina said, dropping her magazine on the floor to roll onto her back, grabbing at the offering and licking at the straw with her tongue to give it a good suck. “How did you miss ‘em with their pale asses?” she asked after a refreshed sigh.

“I dunno,” you shrugged with a roll of your eyes - that she couldn’t see through the tint of your shades - untying your sarong and settling back in your sunlounger beside the sparkling pool. “Maybe it’s because you use me as your own personal waiter instead of going yourself.”

It was another hot one today, luckily the breeze from the sea a hundred feet away soothed your heated skin, but was prone to burn if you weren’t careful.

“I can’t go when he’s on shift,” she replied. “He’s a clingy one.”

“Let that be a lesson not to fuck the bar staff on your first day.”

“I couldn’t help it. He was too hot to pass up.”

You snorted, grabbing a bottle of sun cream from your bag and squirting a sizable amount in your hand.

“Don’t make that sound. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be getting the good stuff.”

“Mina,” you groaned, rubbing your legs. “We’re here all inclusive. But you would have remembered that if you bothered to go to the bar yourself.”

“Oh, hush. You’ve side tracked me.”

She could blame you all she wanted, but she had a knack for going off road even without your help. “Go on then, which of them’s caught your eye?”

Her dreamy sigh, and the way she fanned her face with her hand, told you that you were on the right track in thinking she had a new conquest in her sights, and he didn’t know yet that he was about to have his world rocked. And that meant you’d have to find your own if she planned on using your shared room again.

It was so embarrassing listening to your friend being fucked in the bed right next to yours.

Mina wasn’t a shy one, she was always telling you about her dalliances, and she never left anything out, and you meant anything. You knew more about her partners’ dicks than you ever cared to know, and it was a trial having to look them in the eye when you were back home.

But here, on your holidays, you heard fucking everything, saw everything - because those thin sheets didn’t hide very much - and you didn’t want to go through that awkward moment in the morning when you awoke to find them going at it again for the third or fourth time, or they were passed out with all their naughty bits on display.

What was even worse, was to find her flavour of the night had pissed all over the toilet seat when you tried to discreetly slip away into the bathroom.

No, that wasn’t going to happen tonight. Whoever she’d set her sights on, you desperately hoped he had a friend, an attractive friend, who wasn’t a complete fucking dickhead like the last guy you’d had.

Now that was a memory you didn’t want to repeat.

“There’s a few of them,” she said, sipping her drink.

Pausing in your hourly skincare routine, you glanced at her in question, “You planning an orgy?”

“Only if my best girl’s there,” she grinned, leaning over to slap lightly at your sticky thigh.

“Don’t lie,” you laughed in reply, flicking a towel at her. “You’d hoard all the cock if you could.”

“I’d save one for you,” she gasped with a hand on her heart, affronted by your accusation.

You didn’t believe her. “Yeah, whatever.” She was a greedy bitch when she wanted to be.

“No, because there’s this group, right? Four of ‘em. We could have two each,” she goaded with a wag of her shapely eyebrows. “I’ll even let you have the one with the biggest dick.”

“How very generous of you.”

She sniffed, “I am, if I do say so myself.”

“You do,” you sarcastically replied, ignoring her ego to work on your shoulders.

“Come on, there’s a couple of blonds who look absolutely delish, and we both know how much you like those.” Her eyebrows lifted again, and her tongue peeled out around her straw like she was trying to seduce you with her idea.

Now that sounded very tempting. But you cut your eyes at her - again, she couldn’t see. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

There was always a catch, and if by the way you could see her eyes turn away from you through the gap in the side of her shades, you knew exactly what it was.

One of them was a dickhead.

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

“Come on, Bakubro, we’re wasting daylight here.”

Fuck Kaminari, he might be able to live out his suitcase, but he’d be damned if he did; he wasn’t forking out the money for laundry services to get his shirts ironed.

Replacing the hanger back in the wardrobe with a button down draped over it, he turned to a person he unfortunately had to call his friend, to find him lounging on his bed with his fucking shoes on. Fuck Eijirou for pushing him into his path.

“Off,” he growled, clipping him round the ear. “Where’s Lurch?”

“Ow- He’s out scoring some gear.”

“Already?” asked Ei, fixing his hair through the vanity. Waste of fuckin’ time if you asked Katsuki, he was usually the first in the pool. “Did he even stay long enough to check out his room?”

“Nah, just dropped his stuff off, then dipped,” he replied, opening up the balcony door to let in the noise from down by the pool, an upbeat EDM track blasting out a repetitive rhythm, laughter and chatter trying to compete, and the sounds of splashing water tying it all together. “Man, your view is way better than ours.”

“So he’s fucked off and left you with us.” Typical Sero; more interested in hunting down the local illegal pharmaceutical dealer than the pussy that’s waiting for his stoner dick.

“You say that like he’s my deadbeat dad and left me with the neighbours.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow as if to goad him into refuting his own statement. Fuck Face didn’t rise to the challenge.

Fucking wimp.

He sighed instead. “Can you two just hurry up, I didn’t fork out nearly half a grand to watch you preen.”

Ei straightened, whipping a beach towel over his shoulder. “You came because it’s Kat’s birthday.”

Kaminari laughed at him like what he’d said was a joke, and Katsuki had to agree with his amusement with a raise of his eyebrows in shocked disbelief toward the redhead before the other blond even replied.

“Dude, I came for the pussy.”

Of course he did, Katsuki’s birthday was just the reason he needed to drag everyone else along with him to the party island so he didn’t look like some loner perving over the abundance of tits and ass on display.

“Like her,” he added, beckoning them to take a look over the balcony.

He was pointing at a pink haired beauty flicking through a magazine, teasingly licking at the tip of a finger to flick through its pages, fat ass upturned and covered by a scrap of purple, cheetah print bottoms. 

“Who wants to bet I can get her hanging off my dick before the end of the night?”

Good eye, Katsuki thought, but his attention was diverted by the bombshell that was approaching, those flimsy pieces of cloth females like to wear hanging dangerously low on swaying hips, a frilly top covering breasts that even he could see from two floors up were perky, and two glasses of drinks in hand with brightly coloured umbrellas poking from the top.

Now that was a sight for sore eyes.

“I don’t think you should be counting your chickens so soon,” Ei warned. “That one looks feisty.”

“Perfect,” he grinned, not in the least bit put off by the implication.

Retreating back into the room, Katsuki threw on a fresh shirt and swapped his jeans for a pair of black and orange swim shorts. “Then go and get her, before the fuckin’ bean stalk gets back and has her deep-throating him instead.”

“You sayin’ Hanta’s got better game than me?” Kaminari asked, shutting the door and muting the racket outside.

This time it was Ei’s turn to find amusement in this stupid conversation. “He gets more pussy than all of us combined.”

Katsuki resented that. At least he didn’t have to entice women with fucking party drugs to get in their knickers. But he couldn’t deny that the lanky streak of piss had a way with the opposite sex. Motherfucker was so laid back and smooth, ladies were dropping to their knees with hardly any effort at all on his part.

The others did too to a degree. Kaminari’s doofus persona seemed to attract them just fine; he was like a bouncing little puppy and they would coo and fussy over him, saying how cute he was even as he tried to hump their leg like a dirty old dog.

And the same could be said for Eijirou, though he didn’t come across even half as clingy like his friend. Katsuki had an inkling that it was to do with how fucking nice he was, eager to please rather than to be pleased. Ei didn’t pick up women, they picked up him. It didn’t hurt the fact that he was so fucking big too. He’d heard females titter over the redhead and whether everything was in proportion to his large, broad frame. Most of them were horrified when they found out he was.

The guy’s cock could be used as a fucking baseball bat.

Too bad he couldn’t hold his drink long enough to use it most of the time.

“Well come on then,” Kaminari urged, already half-cocked and ready to shoot, ”before Hanta does come back and we end up with the ‘fives’ and ‘sixes’.”

Tossing a bottle of sun screen in the bag at the end of his bed, Katsuki bit out at the blond, “You’ll be lucky to even get that with how fuckin’ desperate you’re actin’.”

Ei agreed, slipping on his flip flops and snatching a bottle of water from the mini-bar, “Don’t wanna blow all your load on the first day.”

While grabbing at his crotch, Fuck Face retorted, “I got plenty stored up.”

Katsuki wrinkled his nose in disgust, throwing his rucksack over his shoulder and heading for the door. “You should rub one out before you drown your unfortunate victim. Let’s go, I haven’t eaten since we got off the plane.”

“What about the lovelies by the pool?” he whined.

“Keep your dick in check otherwise I’ll twat you.”

“Yeah,” Ei seconded, wrapping a big arm around the blond’s neck and dragging him along the hallway despite his protests. “You’ve got a fortnight of fucking ahead of you; need to keep that strength up, Casanova.”

A slap to your arm startled you from your boredom of waiting for almost an hour in the unbelievably long queue, not even the muted thump of the music filtering out of the front doors or the excited chatter around you could keep your spirits up when your heels were already killing you.

“Wha-”

“They’re here,” she replied.

She didn’t need to clarify, she’d been talking about ‘them’ nonstop all day.

Swivelling around, you turned to see over the abundance of already half-drunk partygoers to see a group of four attractive males outside the dividing rope’s line.

Red spiky hair, and a red shirt that looked a little snug around the chest area were what nabbed your attention first. Then you saw the expanse of muscles peeking through the open collar, and your breath froze in your throat.

“Holy fucking shit!” you whispered, as your eyes that were already dilated in the darkness became impossibly larger, and continued to devour the slab of gorgeous meat that rolled up like a dessert cart.

“Fucking told you!”

You ignored her smugness in favour of letting your reluctant gaze slide to the guys trailing behind, thighs squeezing together when a wave of arousal flooded your fresh underwear.

Blonds.

Your kryptonite.

You licked your lips at the cheeky grin the shorter one was sporting.

He looked like fun; floppy hair that you were sure was styled like that to get people to pay attention and have them want to run their fingers through it. He was a little skinny for your tastes, yet his lean frame covered by a bright t-shirt and three quarter-length trousers that showed off pale legs with a dusting of fair hairs was just enough to get you salivating.

Yes, he was just what the doctor ordered, more so than the one who was scowling like it was Monday morning and had to be in work within the next ten minutes, rather than on his holidays and could do whatever he wanted for however long he had time off.

He was still attractive though you realised, when he pushed at his friend’s laughter and saw the glow of his crimson eyes beneath the lights of the club.  A black button-down shirt pulled across washboard abs that could rival the redhead’s with how much the buttons were straining, and a waist that had no competition.

Shame you could immediately tell this was the one Mina had been alluding to being the prick of the group.

“I’m not fuckin’ waiting in that!” he was saying.

“C’mon, Kacchan, an hour tops. I’m begging you.”

“Fuck no, let’s just go to a bar.”

Their argument continued, creating an audience of intrigued onlookers, until your staring was interrupted by the tall black haired guy of the group.

He wasn’t bad on the eyes either, even though he looked less put together with rumpled clothing that looked like he’d slept in them. But somehow he made it work; the lazy slacker ensemble suited him well.

“Ladies,” he nodded. “How’s it going?”

His words bolstered Mina into action, pushing out her chest to shift you out the way and asking if everything was okay.

He took a drag of his cigarette, and after blowing a stream of sickly, sweet smelling smoke from the side of his mouth, you could immediately tell it wasn’t tobacco.

“Nothing to worry yourselves over,” he replied.

“You sure about that?” you asked, leaning over the rope. “Your friend looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.”

He shook his head, “It’s just that it's my friend's birthday, you see, and he’s not exactly the patient type.”

“Oh well, we can fix that, can’t we?” Mina simpered, and nudged you to indicate you were a part of that ‘we’.

You looked at her in confusion. What the fuck was she up to?

“What are you doing?” you said into her ear.

“Trust me,” she whispered back, before turning to the guy. “You can cut in here, if you like.”

“You don’t mind?”

You did, but Mina shook her head.

“That’s real sweet of you, doll,” he grinned. You could practically feel Mina melt next to you upon hearing the nickname, and you knew you’d been played. “Your first round’s on me,” he winked. ”Hey, you lot! Ei, Denk, Old Man! Get your asses over here!”

“Who the fuck you calling old?!”

With a bit of shuffling and furious complaints from the patrons behind, the four of them managed to squeeze in beside you.

The chipper blond looked ecstatic, the redhead was polite in his thanks as he cocked a leg over the rope, and the last of their quartet still had a face on as they each introduced themselves.

But it was when you looked up at him, his features finally relaxed, and an easy curl at the corner of his lips cleared the cloud of annoyance from his eyes.

You knew that look, you’d seen it a hundred times over the last dozen nights.

It was confidence, assurance, a cocksure shift in attitude that made whoever wore it believe that whatever that wanted, they were going to get.

And when he said, “Well my night is starting to look up,” you knew exactly what he was referring to. But you weren’t as easy to please like Mina was, who was already hanging off Hanta’s arm, plucking the roll up from his offering fingers and talking at length with the other blond. No, you were going to make him work for it. Even if it was his birthday.

The cocky prick.

You started by turning to the redhead, Eijirou. “So, you just arrived today?”

His smile was kind of shy. Cute. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

Sticking out your arm, you pressed it against the exposed skin of his own, feeling his warmth to display the obvious difference in tone, even if your natural colour was lighter or darker than his.

The laugh he let out was infectious, and you couldn’t help but giggle along with him, until there was a huff behind you.

Good.

Slowly, the queue began to shift as you moved up the line, filling the time in between with the obligatory getting to know you conversation that most likely would have all the details forgotten come morning.

Eijirou was a nice guy, everything that came out of his mouth was respectful, but his eyes told a different story. You could feel them burning a hole through your dress, especially when he let you go in front of him, and you were sure he only did that so he didn’t have to avert his gaze when you caught him staring surreptitiously at your ass.

Hanta was so laid back, he may as well be lying down, and with that thought you couldn’t help but conjure some very satisfying lazy sex in your mind. You imagined he was at his best on a Sunday, no work or obligations to intrude on a pleasant morning spent in bed.

Denki, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He was a live-wire, the centre of attention if he didn’t have Mina there to share it with, and most likely very fun in the bedroom - or out of it. Laughing and joking, and very blatantly flirting when he wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about him and friends.

Now the birthday boy; he was a different story. He contributed practically nothing, yet he was a constant presence at your back as you slowly shuffled forward. Unlike Eijirou, he wasn’t afraid to stare, and he didn’t have that sense of wonder-lust like his friend did when his eyes travelled to places most people would find disrespectful in polite company. No, his eyes lingered on all the naughty parts without shame, a hunger in their depth telling you that as soon as that hard to get facade slipped just a fraction he was going to pounce, and feast on the meal you were so adamant on denying him.

He was very obviously annoyed at first with your ignorance of him, eyes narrowed in irritation as he grumbled and huffed in the background, hands stuffed in the pockets of his linen shorts. However, as soon as you’d shown your hand by taking a peek at his reaction when you, not so subtly, let your breasts brush up against the redhead’s bicep, you knew you’d been rumbled.

That smirk of his made an appearance again, and his eyes darkened under the club’s lights.

The game had begun.

Once you were through the door, ID verified and your entrance fees were paid, at his suggestion that the pretty ladies always get served first, Mina went with Hanta to get the drinks, and Eijirou offered to carry them; his frame bulky enough to get through the crush of dancers without spilling too much.

That left you with the blonds, and Denki was quick to ingratiate himself with you after spending most of his time working on Mina so far. You supposed it was kind of smart on his part if, your friend ended up in one of his friend’s beds instead.

Inside there wasn’t much chance to converse with the loud, thumping bass of the music creating its own heartbeat throughout your body, so he took the opportunity to guide you along to one of the standing tables around the edge of the dancefloor and near the outdoor area where it was easier to hear.

Unexpectedly, you felt his hand on the small of your back, and a tingle shot up your spine.

“Be honest with me,” he partially shouted, something you would all have to do to be heard. You nodded; you could do that. “What’re my chances with your friend?”

Of course. It made you want to roll your eyes at playing wing-woman yet again.

You stepped away, and he hand fell to his side. “That depends,” you said seriously, resting your elbows on the table to fiddle with a coaster.

“On?” he asked eagerly, leaning forward.

“How much are you willing to pay me to put in a good word for you.”

The birthday boy scoffed at that, and you looked to him with a raised eyebrow.

“If your goal is to shake him down, you’re shit out of luck.”

“Okay,” you said, catching on quickly, and turned back to Denki. “Then how big is your dick?”

You very obviously let your eyes fall to his crotch, and you saw him fidget slightly, making you grin.

Birthday Boy laughed, “Compared to his wallet? Fuckin’ huge.”

“Dude! I’m trying to make a good impression here and you’re ruining it.”

“Don’t need me for that, shit for brains.”

Your eyes swung back and forth between the pair as they argued, finding amusement in the way they easily took the piss out of one another.

“At least I lost my virginity first.”

“The one thing you can hold over me, prick. But at least I didn’t lose it to the old bint who used to be our lunch lady.”

“What! She had a great pair of tits on her; nearly suffocated me with ‘em.”

“Alright, alright!” you interjected with an amused smile.

Birthday Boy huffed and Denki looked back at you as if he’d forgotten you were there to witness this little tiff.

“I was just messin’.”

“Does that mean I’m in?” he asked with a bit of scepticism.

“You're in,” you nodded.

He sighed in relief; a beaming smile lighting up his face.

“Unless…” You paused to watch his face drop, and enjoy him squirm for a second, “you do have the biggest dick. Because Mina promised me I would get it tonight, didn’t you, babe?”

“Sure did,” she said, placing your drink before you on the table, and kissing you on the cheek as you took a sip, your eyes lighting up.

Clubs were notorious for overcharging compared to the smaller bars on the marina, so you had to commend her on getting Hanta to pay for a triple.

“What’s this about dicks now?” he asked, already pulling out a little tin and a pack of rolling papers from his pockets.

“Fascinating subject,” Mina continued. “I’ve always wondered if you guys compare by getting the measuring tape out for a more accurate reading, drop trou and eyeball it, or do you just press them up against each other?”

Denki choked on his own tongue, Birthday Boy froze with his lips pursed to take a swig of his beer, and Hanta laughed.

“Well, which one is it? Because if Red’s face is anything to go by,” she said, nodding at Eijirou’s blush with a salacious smirk, ”he’s done at least one of those things.”

Denki asked one of his own questions, “I’ll answer if you tell me how you compare tit size.”

“That’s easy,” she said, and demonstrated by placing her drink on the table to grab one of her breasts, and reaching out to cup one of yours, pushing up until they were nearly spilling out of your dresses. 

Four sets of eyes took in the scene and you laughed.

“So?” she prodded.

There was no answer.

“I think you’ve broken them, Mina.”

She huffed in annoyance. “Will someone at least ask me to dance then? I swear you're all useless, or do me and my friend here have to show you lads how to do that too?”

“I’m down for seeing that,” Hanta smirked, licking at the thin paper.

Denki eventually pulled himself out of his stupor, and she dragged him through the throng to leave you to look after the drinks.

“I’m going for a smoke,” Hanta informed those who were left, slotting his spliff behind his ear and striking his lighter with a tiny scratch of sparks.

Just as he was going to leave, he leant into Birthday Boy like some sort of manly hug and whispered in his ear, dropping something in his hand, then patted Eijirou on the back before he disappeared through the door.

You felt the redhead's eyes on you, saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, then he blurted out, “I think I need some air,” and followed his taller friend outside.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked the last remaining member.

Birthday Boy shook his head. “He’s trying to hide the hard-on you gave him.”

“Are you joking, or did you wanna continue the subject?”

His nose wrinkled cutely. “I do not want to talk about his cock, or anyone else’s for that matter.”

“Okay,” you smiled, taking another sip of your drink. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

His eyes swept along your body, and the inkling you had on what that meant turned out to be completely wrong. You thought he’d say something crude, like ‘pussy’, but instead he replied with, “I’d rather not talk.”

His eyes alighted on yours, and you understood perfectly, shivering at how low his voice had dipped, dripping with husk and rumbling with gravel.

Fuck messing with him, he was the only one who’d stayed by your side since they’d jumped the queue, and you felt that deserved a little reward.

But you’d paid so much money to get in the place, you couldn’t let it go to waste.

Downing your drink, and Mina’s too - she could get someone to buy her another - you latched on to the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to your level, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Then let’s not,” you said more quietly, licking your lips as you stared at his own.

His pupils blew open, the red of his irises bright rings in the flashing darkness.

He was so close you could feel the heat he radiated like a furnace, and the rumble in his chest, more so than the continuous music that was playing in the foreground. It was a sound of aggravation, you were sure, when you didn’t close the gap fast enough.

Yet when you did, it wasn’t to kiss him, it was to brush your lips against his cheek as you made a light trail towards the shell of his ear.

“I love this song. Dance with me.”

When you pulled back to gauge his reaction with a cock of your head, smoothing your hands down his chest and admiring the defining ripples you could make out beneath your fingertips, you found him eyeing you with the same tilt.

“Why don’t we make this a little more interesting.”

“What d’you have in mind?”

He held up a hand, a little see through bag dangling from between two fingers.

Ohhh, okay…

Your eyes sparkled beneath the lights.

And Katsuki was having a hard time trying to reign in the raging erection that had been threatening to burst since he saw you, and he was ready to say ‘fuck it’, and just drag you to an empty corner and rail you where anyone could see.

For hours, you danced, and drank, and danced some more. You even partook in some recreational drug use when you stepped outside to take a breather, and Soy Face was more than happy to share.

The bastard.

After that first initial meeting outside the club he was sure you were going to make this hard for him, looking stunning in your tiny dress, with breasts that should be resting in the palms of his hands and legs that should be wrapped around this hips; especially when you were so blatantly flirting with Shitty Hair while you were waiting in that God-fucked line. And he was positive your friend was in on it too with all that talk about cocks and that show of grabbing at your tits.

He could have not taken the bait and found someone else easily enough with all the scantily clad people about, but Katsuki was a winner when a challenge was put to him.

When he’d offered you one of the little white pills Sero had gifted him with, he had expected you to finally put this little pretence aside and shove your tongue down his throat to take it from him. Instead you’d plucked it from the tip of his own tongue with manicured nails and popped it in your mouth with a cheeky grin.

So imagine his surprise when you finally dropped - rather quickly if he was being honest, he was sure you’d hold out for at least another hour - your little game of pushing all his buttons and get him to make a move.

Instead you made it rather clear that you’d chosen him, letting the drugs and the music take hold and finally - finally - pulling him into a heated kiss once you were on the dance floor.

He fucking hated clubs, would rather had gone to a bar, but here he was, and so was you.

So he fucking stayed.

You’d danced with the others too, and he’d taken that time to retreat back to the table or get more drinks from the bar, but he didn’t let his eyes stray for more than a couple of seconds when you ended up in the arms of one of his friends. He watched them like a hawk at the same time as admiring the sway of your hips as you raised your arms in the air and threw back your head to laugh exuberantly, or belt out the words to the song the DJ was currently playing as the hair around your face, and at the nape of your neck, began to stick to sweaty skin.

Dumb Fuck was too busy wrapped up with trying to sneak his hand up your pink-haired friend’s dress for Katsuki to be worried about him.

But Sero, the wanker, was the worst, playing your game of making him jealous - even though you had obviously given up on it - by giving him smug smirks as he just stood there, letting you do all the work as you ground your ass against his stationary form.

The bastard of a cunt knew of his interest in you when he’d mentioned the pretty girl he’d seen, describing you perfectly, lounging by the pool when they’d met up for food earlier, and Sero enjoyed nothing more than pissing him off when he wasn’t making a hotbox out of a room.

And Eijirou wasn’t too far behind in hitting Katsuki’s patience quota for the day either. Once’s Sero had fucked off back outside, the redhead was quick to pull you into yet another dance as a air horn blew and the room filled with smoke, glitter bursting from the ceiling like fireworks and raining down like magic sparkles from a wand.

That shit would be in his fucking hair for days. Just another reason for him to hate places like this.

He hadn’t been lying when he told you you’d given Ei a stiffy. He wasn’t the picky type, and, given half the chance, you could be finding yourself under him instead.

This getaway was for his fucking birthday, and he had first fucking pick, damn it! If Ei was lucky, he would be willing to share, but Katsuki was getting between your legs first.

When he’d finally had enough at watching you enjoy yourself without him, he was at your back again, and he didn’t even mind that you were rubbing more glitter over him when you brazenly slid your hand behind you to grope at his junk, or that Pinky was rubbing up against your front; or that there were half a dozen other people crushing you tighter against him, and Ei, the bastard, was blowing a fucking whistle down his ear, deafening him. He just wrapped a palm around your throat to tilt your head back to see those, dilated eyes and cheekbones dusted with a rainbow of colours.

Your arms came up to tug at his damp hair, and he groaned at the inevitability that things would only get better when you mouth landed on his. He didn’t know if it was the drugs, or just you, but everything felt like it was brought into sharp focus. The lights were pulsing, the glowsticks around your wrists were brighter, the music louder, and that rush of adrenaline cascading through his bloodstream set his nerves on fire. He wondered if this was how people felt when they saw colour television for the first time, or experienced surround sound.

Kissing you was like its own type of illegal substance, soft, puffy lips pulling at his own, tongue sliding against the ridges on the roof of his mouth, the residual taste of weed intermingling with the taste of beer and your drink of choice as you sucked. It was a heady feeling, and he needed to get you out.

Right fucking now.

“Tell her you're leaving,” he shouted over the noise.

You blinked up at him in confusion and he growled.

He had no time for coyness.

Getting her attention away from Kaminari, Katsuki removed Pinky’s arm from around his neck.

She was a quicker study than you, and immediately got the hint when his head nodded somewhere towards the door and saw your hand in his.

She leaned back into you and he could hear her shout for you to enjoy yourself, before turning back to Kaminari to drape herself over him as he gave Katsuki a lewd gesture by waving a fist next to his face, and poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek.

It was a shock to the system, when he finally managed to get you out of the oppressive club, and guided you past the line of people still waiting to get in; holding you up on wobble heels and blinking away the taint of smoke from his eyes. 

And it was even harder for him to find someplace suitable to push you up against without getting arrested and thrown into a foreign jail, not when you eventually clicked on to his intentions and attempted to climb to him so you could mouth and licking at his neck.

In the end he pulled you into a dark alley, not the most ideal location, but it would do to take the edge off before he could get you back to the hotel.

His mouth was back on yours, frantic, all lips and tongue and teeth, and your hands were already working on the button of his shorts without him even having to prompt you.

You both knew where this was heading.

But he had a different starting point in mind.

Stopping your fumbling fingers, he trailed kisses down your neck as his hands bunched up your dress around your waist, while yours threaded through his hair, fingertips gliding over lace panties and fingering at the tied bows at the sides, when you scratched at his scalp to make him groan.

He didn’t know how long you had left in the country, but he was going to make the most of whatever time he had with you.

Dropping to his knees, he didn’t waste a second to hitch a thigh over his shoulder, a stubby heel poking into his back, and enjoyed the breathy gasp you let out when he pushed your panties to the side and let your pretty pussy breath for a moment in the balmy night air.

Looking up he saw you blinking rapidly, trying to find focus under the film of drugs, alcohol and lust.

Then he dove in, and your moans were instantaneous - better than the music he could still hear from a few blocks away - when his wet tongue met an already dripping hole.

“Fuck!” he groaned against your cunt. “You been thinking about this as much as me?”

You didn’t need to answer, your mewl and the flood of arousal that met his tongue told him what he already knew.

He licked and licked, and licked, drinking up your taste, until those nails of yours found his hair again and tugged harshly, forcing him to peer up at your flushed face.

“Stop fucking teasing me and suck, dickhead,” you admonished.

“Dickhead?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed, and he knew you were trying to keep your composure in check despite the circumstance. It made him want to ruin you. “It’s what I’m gonna call you when your not doing what you’re suppos’ta.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, “What’s my name when I am?”

“Birthday Boy; now eat your cake before I offer it up to someone else.”

The grip he had on your hips tightened at the threat, cutting his eyes at you. “That ain’t fuckin’ happening, you prissy little bitch.”

Your laugh had your tits pushing out far enough he couldn’t see your face for a moment.

Oh, he was liking this.

Most people would melt into a puddle once they knew what was going down, but you were something else. Even drunk as a fucking skunk and high off your tits.

“That your name for me?” you asked with that lilt of your head you were always sending his way; assessing, goading.

“Be a good girl, and maybe the Birthday Boy will call you something pretty,” he replied with a soft blow of cool air against your cunt and a teasing stroke with a fingertip along the seam.

“Tell me later,” you moaned. “Now dig in, Dickhead.”

His growl was muffled when you pushed him back to you, nose bumping against your clit and filling with your musk.

So you were a feisty one.

Okay, he could work with that.

He liked that.

And his dick did too, with the way it twitched within the confines of his shorts.

Ordinarily he would have gone slow to start, but hey, it was obvious that you weren’t going to have any of that, not with the threat of you giving it away to someone else hanging over his head.

An image of String Bean flickered in his drug-addled mind, and that was all the motivation he needed to be more aggressive, pulling at your inner lips with nips of his teeth to make you hiss and curl your fingers more tightly in his spikes.

He still teased you though, purposely avoiding the place where he knew you wanted his mouth the most, and instead slipped a finger between your slick folds and pulled back slightly to watch your reaction.

Your eyes rolled back and your hips jerked forward, and yet you still managed to bite out, “Dickhead,” when he pressed against the bumpy spot he was on the lookout for.

He grinned in satisfaction. “Bitch.”

You huffed, still able to laugh through your moans when his finger began to move, and a second was added, stretching and curling against fluttering walls, his hand very quickly becoming coated in your juices.

And when he felt like he’d toyed with enough, your breathing becoming more irregular and harder to manage with each pant, he finally let you have what you wanted.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he sucked.

He sucked hard.

And you came.

A flood that dribbled down past his chin, to his palm to his wrist; rivulets of clear liquid seeping down his forearm to nearly meet the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

An accompanying scream you tried to muffle around a bite to your hand, the heel in his back digging in hard enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if it broke skin, and the way the leg you stood upon shook, had him smiling smugly against your still twitching clit and quaking insides.

Fuck, it was going to be fucking amazing when he could get his cock in there next.

Speaking of which, it was still hard when he righted your underwear and dress, and was back on his feet to hold you up when you looked like you could no longer stand yourself.

“Name?”

“Good job…” you breathed through slowing breaths, clutching at his shoulders for support. “Birthday Boy.”

He knew he was good, never had a complaint, however, he couldn’t stop the swell of pride that burst in his chest to hear you say that.

“Not so bad yourself…” He took your lips in a slow, deep kiss, sharing in the taste, mimicking his earlier ministrations, tipping your face up with a finger under your chin, and watching your eyes become searching as he held back for a fraction before finally finishing with, “Gorgeous.”

Katsuki knew immediately that you didn’t like it by the way your features scrunched in displeasure and his finger slipped.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s hideous,” you said, detangling yourself from his arms, and pushing him away. “Think of something else.”

Were you fucking messing with him right now? “That is the exact opposite of what it means,” he snapped, wiping his mouth in frustration and following your retreating figure as you fixed your hair and dress, and him trying to adjust the erection that was still hanging heavy under his shorts.

“You said it’d be something pretty,” you replied.

“How is that not?”

Fucking girls, with their vague, cryptic fucking bullshit. He wished your lot would just spit it all the fuck out, or swallow the fucking consequences.

He never had these sorts of problems with guys.

“It’s the type of name you give to any Mary, Sue, or Fanny. I want something special.”

You were a real piece of fucking work, weren’t you? Even after he’d just had his face buried in your cunt, and made you climax a torrent of cum not two fucking minutes ago. Not to mention he’d spent most of his day travelling; from a cramped, tin can of an aeroplane to a stuffy coach without any air conditioning.

He was fucking tired, even with the added pick me up, and he’d still found the energy to get you off.

He’d been right. You were a fucking bitch.

And he wasn’t drunk or high enough to deal with this shit, so he didn’t know why he continued to put in the effort.

He hadn’t even got a blowie in return.

“Fine,” he bit out, stepping in line with you and walking through a busy street lined with packed bars. “What the fuck do you want me to call you then?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” you hooked an arm through his for stability, while simultaneously wagging a finger at him, your eyes crossing at the motion with a distinct lack of sobriety that made Katsuki think that you were not only a hot bitch, but a cute one too. “I’m not doing your job for you.”

He snorted in amusement as he tried to steer you away from bumping into equally intoxicated passers-by.

His mom would fucking love you, that was for sure.

Just as the noise of the parties he’d left behind became nothing more than a distant hum and his buzz was beginning to wear off, the sounds and the salty scent of the sea had you sighing in contentment beside him, leaning into his side.

“You know, I’ve never had sex on the beach before.”

“Are you asking for a drink, or hinting at me to fuck you?”

“Both,” you confessed, looking at him all sultry like, thick black eyelashes, littered with flecks of shimmering glitter, framing large, wide eyes.

“I can only do one of those things right now, Princess.”

Your serene smile twitched as you attempted to bend down to untie the straps of your shoes, looking at him through hair that had escaped its style. “Close, but not quite right, Birthday Boy. Keep working on it.”

“What-the fuck-ever. Com’ere, you’re gonna break your fuckin’ face doing that.”

You squealed when he lifted you up and dropped you on the low seawall separating the sand from the desolate road.

“You have a dirty mouth, but you can be nice when you wanna,” you observed, as he squatted down and began fiddling with the tiny, thin straps.

“I didn’t hear you complaining earlier, and I don’t think you're in any position to judge,” he retorted, finally getting one foot free and grasping the ankle of the second.

“Want me to call you the D word again? Because I will,” you said, squirming from atop your perch.

Again with the threats. He’d planned on getting his dick wet tonight, not speak to you more than he had when you were inside the club. It was supposed to be easier to get laid on holiday, but he found that he was working twice as fucking hard as he would back home.

Princess fucking suited you; a demanding, stuck up bitch of a Princess.

“If you don’t keep fuckin’ still, I’ll bring out the G word.”

The other shoe landed on the floor when you kicked out at him, and he had to be quick to stop you from toppling backwards.

“Fucks sake. You hate it that much it’s worth a kick in the bollocks?”

“Uhh, hmmm, Dick-”

“Oi, all this dick talk makes me think you haven’t gotten any since you came here, or do you want me to shove mine down your throat to get you to shut up about it. How ‘bout that?”

“I haven’t,” you admitted with a shrug, kicking your legs, and he turned away from you slightly in case a stray foot assaulted his jewels again. “Not any that were worth a postcard home anyway. You gonna change that for me?”

He raised a brow at your teasing smile and searching eyes. That’s what he’d been trying to do all night.

You slid down onto your feet, brushing against his… well, dick, and he had to bite back a groan at the friction when it brought it back to life.

“Oh wow, you’re tall!” you goggled, swaying backwards, and he had to grab your arm to stop you from cracking your head on the wall.

You were only just noticing that? Even in those crippling heels, you barely reached his chin.

“Are you finally gonna stop talkin’ and let me get the fuck on with it?”

Comically, you swiped a line along your lips to zip them sealed and nodded.

He looked over your shoulder to the reflection of the moon twinkling in the sea, waves crashing along the shoreline. There weren’t many people around; he could make this work.

“Right then,” he said, snatching up your heels before effortlessly throwing you over his shoulder.

You screamed. “What are you doing?”

“You wanna get fucked on the beach, so I’m gonna fuck you on the beach.”

When his hand landed on your backside, you laughed in delight.

He was going to have sand stuck in his ass crack for the next two days along with all the fucking glitter, but it would be worth it to hear that again.

Walking on sand was fucking hard when carrying another person, so Katsuki stumbled some as he bought you closer to the tide, making you giggle and shriek some more when you slipped in his hold and he bought you down so you could wrap your legs around his waist, and you distracted him by kissing at his neck again.

This time he did fall, landing in the soft, dry, sand, bracing himself over you before he could crush you and end the night in the local A&E.

“Fuckin’ menace.”

“I like that one,” you smiled, hair fanning around your head like a halo, or a beached mermaid. “But still not pretty like you promised.”

You didn’t need a pretty name, you fucking looked it.

He shut you up by covering your mouth with his, and plugged the hole with a deep lick of his tongue.

You moaned, and rubbed against him, ankles locked behind his back and hips thrust up to create some friction.

Now he was getting somewhere.

With one hand skimming down your exposed thigh, the other took purchase under your neck, tilting it back even more so he could watch your eyes flicker beneath their trembling lids.

Fingertips curled around his shoulders, and smoothed down his back when he left a trail of opened mouthed kisses over your jaw line and down to your neck; sucking gently until he felt you relax, bones going lax, and a sigh escaping your lips.

Good, that should stop you from biting back at him.

Hooking a finger in the top of your dress, he tugged it down, and was happy to see no bra, breasts flattening and nipples already pebbled in the cool breeze.

Even better, less work.

“You have amazing tits,” he whispered, closing his hand around one and squeezing firmly until the flesh dimpled, thumb flicking over a flushed bud.

You shivered.

“Oh, you like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Saw you by the pool, knew straight away I wanted to get my hands and mouth on ‘em.”

“Yes please, like your mouth.”

He smiled, then widening his tongue, he licked up, right between the two, tasting your sweat and enjoying the way it made you breath hitch.

Katsuki kept kissing and licking, and kneading until he reached the centre, then he sucked harshly until your fingers were buried in his hair and your chest was expanding, back curving, and pussy rolling against his clothed cock.

Perfect.

Pliant.

Ready.

No one could ever say Birthday Boy wasn’t a multitasker; while you were busy enjoying the attention given to your chest, he’d slipped his hand down your thigh and had begun to tug on the bow at your hip.

The way the fabric loosened had you moaning with anticipation, and you were eager to get him in the same state of undress, wiggling your arms between you to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.

He had to release you for a second to help, but that only gave you the opportunity to admire his luminous skin under the moonlight as he sat up to pull it over his head, showering glitter over his shoulders and your breasts as he shook his head.

Fuck you side ways - you hoped he did - he was delicious. You wanted to lick every inch of him.

Greedy hands explored a bare expanse of well-defined muscles, and it was then that you realised, you had contributed nothing to this dalliance so far.

You leaned up awkwardly - shit, you were so fucking drunk - and tried to crawl into his lap, your bare chest brushing against his, skin tingling at the contact as you palmed him to undo the zip of his fly, when his mouth attached itself to yours again.

“What’cha doin’?”

“Participating,” you mumbled, nipping at his swollen lips.

“Bit late for that. I was about to-”

You smiled, shaking your head, and finally settled yourself against him when you pushed him back on his haunches. “It’s your birthday, I think you deserve a present.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

You found yourself laying in the sand once more, him hovering over you, wrists pinned above your head, and a smirk so devilish splitting his face you wanted to see it while you sucked his cock.

You whined at the injustice.

“You don’t get to change the rules. I don’t know what those fuckers did, or didn’t do, to leave you so unsatisfied, but I have a fuckin’ flawless track record. You wanted to get dicked down good and proper on the beach so that’s what we’re doin’. One night with me is worth more than what those bellends could ever give you, and I’ll make this whole holiday worth whatever you paid for it.”

“Fuck, Birthday Boy. I think that little speech just did it.”

He chuckled, all throaty and gravelly, nose prodding at your cheek. “Not even close,” he whispered below the noise of the waves, “I promise. Now just lay back while I take my birthday present.”

Holy fucking shit.

He must not have been lying about your tits, because he was back on them in an instant, holding more gently and sucking more sensual, setting the little bundle of nerves to tingle sharply when he blew a cold stream of air across the wetness, causing your sweat to cool and prickle your skin, and your clit to throb uncontrollably.

Your breathing stuttered at the change of pace, and even when you felt his knuckles dig into his front pocket and heard the crinkle of foil, you were having a hard time thinking this could get even better.

Birthday boy was a dickhead like you’d known all along; with that dickbag, bad boy attitude you could smell from a mile away. Even if his snarky mouth hadn’t given him away, you were glad he knew how to use it. He’d probably be able to make you cum just like this, he’d already shown his talent back in the alley.

And even if he didn’t end up having the biggest cock out of his friends - you’d put money on it being the redhead - you were getting the impression that he knew how to use what he’d been given.

You could feel it, poking at your inner thigh, and he wasn’t small by any means of the word.

So maybe things could get better, as you watched his eyes, blown wide with lust, glowing from the luminescence from the glowsticks around your wrists, and burning a fire within them, yet he still managed to smirk around your nipple when he caught you staring and raising the condom packet into your line of sight.

Smug bastard.

He raised up once more, mouth glistening with smudged spit, and you followed suit to lean on your elbows to watch.

Deftly he ripped the wrapper open with his teeth and popped his shorts open at the same time, not even bothering to pull them down the whole way. He didn’t have a tan line, yet, but that didn’t matter anyway, his cock was so red and swollen you could spot it from the other side of the beach when he grasped it from between the linen flaps.

You bit your lip and your hips wriggled, thighs reflexively trying to clamp closed to relieve some of the ache and anticipation at the thought of where that cock would be in a few seconds, only to be prevented by his slim waist that sat snuggly between your splayed legs. You reached down to touch yourself instead, your panties falling away from the loosened bow, to feel the wetness from your previous orgasm and leaking more.

He slapped you with the head of his cock and precum smeared the back of your hand.

“Wait!” he admonished.

Your fingers stilled as he rolled down the condom and you whimpered at how agonisingly slow his movements were, until he grabbed at the back of your knees and wrenched them up to your shoulders, practically rolling you into a ball as you gasped in shock.

“Keep your ass up unless you want sand in your cunt,” he ordered, pushing his thighs more firmly beneath yours, keeping you anchored in place. “Now spread those pretty pussy lips for me, yeah?”

Getting over the sudden change in position, your index and ring fingers slid between your inner and outer lips, pulling them apart, and you shivered at the tingle of the salty air when you felt your arousal web, then split with an embarrassing squelch.

You weren’t usually such a bitch - like he’d pointed out - during sexual situations, but he’d been right to boil it down to you being so sexually frustrated with the lack of good dick that you’d lashed out. And now that inner shy girl was rearing her head as you held yourself open for him to gaze down at.

And he’d done this before, you could tell from his words of advice, and you had to resist the urge to ask him about it and cover yourself, which was surprisingly easy with the way he was looking down at you, full of greed and covetousness, like you were his first.

His answering groan at the sight of you spread out like a buffet, pussy open to the elements and waiting for him was enough to push that shyness down. Especially his accompanying words.

“Gonna fuck you good, yeah? Gonna make you remember me; have you picturing this every time you even think of going to the beach again.”

You shuddered at his growl, feeling the cool, wet latex of the condom, and the heat of his cock seeping through, rubbing against your folds and the sides of your fingers, gliding effortlessly through your slick, catching on the opening with each pass.

“Birthday B-”

“It’s Katsuki when I’m inside, got it?”

With that, he pushed in, and you quivered at the stretch, his spikey locks obscuring your view a little as he watched himself enter you.

“Fuck… so fuckin’ tight!”

He was so fucking big.

“Kats…”

His head whipped up and he grinned at you. “That’s it,” he encouraged, sinking in another inch. “You know how to be a good girl really, don’tcha?”

Withdrawing your hand from your burning sex to dig your nails in a toned bicep, you blinked, catching the starlight behind his glittering, fair hair. Was it the ecstasy that made them seem brighter, or had they always been like that?

Or was it him?

Fuck, you didn’t know. All you did know, was you’d never been split like this before; it stung like a slow stab, and it made you wetter, easing the slide as he shallowly sunk in and out, feeding you more until hips met ass and you couldn’t see the stars anymore, only two eclipses of black and red lighting up in the glow of your bracelets. 

“You ready?”

What the fuck was he talking about? He’d already started.

“Come on, Sweetheart. Don’t blank out on me now, not after you made me work for it.”

The air was punched out of you and your cunt clenched.

He groaned at your reaction, but still managed to keep that smirk in place, adjusting his hold, the muscles of his back shifting beneath your palms so he could lean down closer and plant a hand beside your head, “Oh, you like that one, do you? Want me to say it again…?”

Oh shit!

Warm, moist breath hit the curve of your neck, sweat collecting in the hollows of your clavicles, and a slow lick traced the dip.

He was driving you crazy; cock buried deep, pussy unable to breathe with how much he filled you. But worst of all was that you couldn’t move, couldn’t get him to move, not with the way he had you tied up like a pretzel. All you could manage was to claw at his back and cling desperately.

“I asked if you’re ready. This shit ain’t difficult,” he mocked. “Maybe I should be talking to your pretty cunt, Sweetheart, because I sure as shit ain’t getting anything from your mouth anymore.”

Your cunt whined for him, squeezing again.

“I‘ll take that as a yes.”

Then he moved, pulling out all the way to the tip, then slammed back in, knocking the breath out of you once more, releasing it in a shocked squeal as your vision blacked out.

Now that he’d started, he didn’t stop. Though he did change up the pace with each alternate thrust; slow and agonizing so you could feel each bump of your insides, to hard and fast where you could hardly think, to swivels of his hips to explore more thoroughly and nudge at that sensitive spot so few had ever managed to find; usually resorting to them furiously rubbing at your clit to keep you wet or get you off - some not even bothering to give you that common courtesy, leaving you to do it yourself.

Birthday Boy didn’t need to do that. He just held onto the ankle that he’d hooked over his shoulder and cradled your head with the other so he could kiss you between breaths, and moans, and mewls and hisses.

It was the equivalent to standing in the eye of a tornado one second, then being pulled into its winds the next. It was like he was assessing you, finding a rhythm that pleased you the most. It was so unlike any other one night stand you’d had; the other’s had been quick, so caught up in wanting to reach that peak to really feel or experience anything else.

Here there was indulgence in the frenzy, appreciating the sounds and smells, and revelling in the touches. And he did touch you, everywhere he could, while you held on for the ride, toed curling in the sand as you clawed at his back, sucking at his neck when he needed to breathe and adjust his hold.

Fucking hell, he filled you so good you actually forgot his name for a moment, slurring your words between moans until he reminded you.

“Katsuki. Wanna hear you say it. Come on, you can do it.”

“Ka- Kat- Katssshuu…”

“Hah…? Close enough.”

Distantly, you registered the smirk in his voice, and you’d be damned if it didn’t turn you on more.

Cocky fucking bastard.

Here you lay, your world being rocked, literally; feeling the sand beneath you shifting every time he pushed in and dragged back out, getting lodged in your dress and sticking to your back.

Waves crashed, the salt on your tongue tasted bitter from the sea air, panting breaths kept pushing your breasts against his chest, guttural moans, excited gasps and cries fell from trembling lips, sharp smacks of skin on skin competing with your wanton keening and his word of encouragement. It was all too much; your senses assaulted until you didn’t know up from down, left from right.

Only him. Inside you.

Making this the best holiday fuck of your life.

Your world finally righted itself when he pulled you up into his lap, his grip on your ass helping you to roll and bounce on his cock. “Stay with me,” he grit out. “We’re nearly there.”

The moonlight blinded you as you looked up at its fullness, relishing in what you were doing and where you were doing it.

His movements seemed more frantic, less methodical, yet he was still able to keep the momentum going. Then his thumb pressed against your clit and you cursed.

“Shit! Katsu, ‘m gonna…”

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” he asked innocently, and you knew he knew what it would do to you. His pelvis arching up at the exact moment it left his mouth, and you bit into his shoulder with a silent scream at his movement and chosen name for you.

Vivid colours burst behind your eyelids as you came, joints locking and muscles seizing, lungs punched of all their air.

Birthday Boy used you like a fleshlight in your orgasmic state, fingers biting into flesh as he helped you draw it out before he went rigid, slamming you down one more time and you felt his cock twitch around your tight walls, trying to suck him down further and expecting a flood of warmth in your belly which never came.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…Katsuki, what the fuck!” you gasped, falling boneless against him, the film of perspiration covering your skin cooling quickly making it prickle, and you shivered, trembling in his arms as they came around you. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he panted through a chuckle. “Now how ‘bout that drink?”

You were expecting to wake up to the mother of all hangovers, but instead you just felt like you hadn’t slept all night, muscles and bones throbbing with a delicious ache, and you supposed that was true. And thankful he’d made you drink that litre of bottled water before letting you fall asleep.

After him making your fantasy come to life, Birthday Boy had walked you along the beach back your hotel, and had taken you to a bar along the way to buy you a sex on the beach cocktail to… celebrate?

You didn’t know. He was fucking weird.

Then he’d walked you to his room without even consulting you about it - which was fine, you knew Mina and his friend, or friends, were probably already messing up the sheets - and he proceed to make good on his promise to fuck your face and then bent you over the balcony and fucked you all over again.

You smushed your face into the armpit beneath your head in remembrance of seeing a couple down by the pool as the sun came up over the horizon, their moans bouncing off the walls and converging with your own. You swear they changed positions on the sunlounger just so they could watch and be watched at the same time. Birthday Boy didn’t seem to mind, probably liked it, because he’d taken you harder, getting you to scream louder.

And it seemed he hadn’t gotten his fill after last night and early this morning, his cock poking at your thigh draped over his waist while his finger grazed against your sticky folds, sliding through the slick that was beginning to build again.

“What time is it?” you grumbled, vocal cords hoarse, stray smatterings of crusted sand and glitter itching your back when you arched out a faint stretch, the light filtering through the thin curtains highlighting the room as you blinked away any residual sleep.

“Late enough to miss breakfast,” he replied, voice deep and scratchy, “and we’re halfway to missing lunch.”

You rested your chin on his chest to see his eyes were closed, his head resting in the palm of his hand.

“Gonna have to be quick then.”

He cracked an eye open, a slit of red peeking through. “Wha’s that?”

“Coach is picking me up in a couple of hours,” you replied, hitching your leg higher so the tip of his finger could slip inside, and you hummed at the intrusion.

“Where you goin’?”

“Home.”

The other eye popped opened at that, prodding stopping, then withdrawing, and you were quickly flipped onto your back, your squeak turning into a giggle at the bounce of the mattress.

Oh, did he want to perform a recreation?

You were up for it.

“You’re leaving?”

With a bite of your lip, you nodded an affirmative. “‘s my last day.”

His brow drew down and you laughed at his expression, poking the wrinkles in his forehead.

“What? Were you hoping for a holiday romance, Birthday Boy?”

He looked like a pouting, petulant child when he answered, “No,” and it made you laugh harder, because he was still covered in glitter, even though you felt a twinge of jealousy in your gut at the thought that he'd find someone else, or many other someone’s, to spend his nights with.

“Then what you doing wasting me?”

He growled and made out like he was going to kiss you, and you would have let him, even with morning breath, when there was the sound of the balcony doors opening and a voice saying, “Oh good, you’re awake.”

You squealed at the unexpected disturbance, trying to pull the covers over your chest, but Birthday Boy didn’t move, keeping you pinned beneath him. 

“Get lost, Bean Stalk.”

“You saying you don’t want an audience?” he asked with a cocked brow, smoke leaving his lips as he blew it out the sliding door and shutting it after.

“I’m telling you to fuck off,” he snapped over his shoulder. “I ain’t got time for your shit. How the fuck did you even get in here?”

“I think you should be giving me a little something after you and Denks left me to look after Ei while you were both getting your dicks wet. Nice tan line by the way,” he added at you, eyeing up your exposed hip and making you squeak.

Birthday Boy shifted, looking over his other shoulder at the empty bed beside his.

“Wherever the big bastard is, take him with you.”

As if on cue, a God-awful wretching started in the next room, the type that bubbles in your throat and leaves it feeling raw. It made you want to gag, imagining the smell. The hard splashes of rancid alcohol-injected bile hitting the toilet water only made it worse, remembering how much you drank just hours ago.

“Get him out of here.”

“Do you have any idea how long it took me to get him here?”

“Fuck’s sake,” Birthday Boy spat, entangling himself from you and you were quick to snatch up the blanket while he slipped on a pair of form-fitting boxers. “Why didn’t you take him to your room?”

“People always feel more comfortable in their own bed when they’re ill,” he reasoned, sitting at the end of Eijirou’s.

Birthday Boy glared at his friend as he passed him, “He’s never fuckin’ slept in it.”

Hanta shrugged, but you saw the sly grin he wasn't even trying to hide.

“Fuckin’ useless, all of you,” he growled, grumbling about lightweights and interfering wankers as he grabbed a bottle of water from the minibar and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with his friend.

He was looking at you, and you felt entirely out of place, fiddling with one of the glowsticks still wrapped around your wrist, its phosphorescence long dulled, and its twin missing.

“I should probably go.”

You picked up your dress, debated on whether to change in front of him and decided not to when you couldn’t find your shoes or underwear. You don’t ever remember putting them back on, Birthday Boy having given you a piggyback back to the hotel.

Aww, you really liked those heels too.

“He’ll be angry if you leave without saying goodbye.”

You laughed, opening the door, and hearing Birthday Boy cursing at his friend who was groaning in agony. “He's probably already forgotten about me,” you said, before commencing your walk of shame.

Ordinarily, you hated airports; too many people, baggage knocking into your shins and rolling over toes, stinky, disgruntled passengers moaning and complaining from a lack of sleep or because of scheduling problems, but this time it wasn’t so bad.

You felt rather chipper; a small spark of anticipation lighting in your stomach with each step.

“Everything go okay? Flight on time?”

“Yeah,” you said. “So far so good.”

“Nervous?”

“Now that you’ve said it, yeah.”

A little dark space in the back of your mind had been growing with each hour, posing a dreadful question over and over again you didn’t want to even consider answering if it were true.

“You’ll be fine. And before I forget, hap-”

Looking around, you saw a young, pretty woman being picked up by a handsome man, twirling her around, their smiles wide.

A little girl holding a teddy bear and a look of expectant eagerness in her eyes as she searched for someone, her mother standing behind her with her hands on her shoulders, keeping her in place.

Two guys were kissing like it was the end of the world, another couple were crying and hugging, sobs of joy and relief of being reunited after so long apart.

“Sorry Mina, I gotta go.”

“Oh, is-”

You cut the line and slipped your phone back in your pocket.

That black niche was now bathed in sunshine and smelt like the sea.

He looked just as you remembered, spikey, blond locks pointing this way and that, tight shirt clinging to delectable shoulders and biceps, hands stuffed in denim pockets, a scowl on his face as he was jostled; he was shuffling from foot to foot though, and you don’t remember him ever showing nervousness disguised as impatience as he tried to see over the ocean of heads in his way. He’d been confident and confrontational, cocky and antagonistic; it was weird seeing him this way.

To realise he was just as anxious, put your own fears at ease.

And when he finally caught sight of you, that trepidation marring his features smoothed out, his eyes widening and that smirk was back a second later.

There he was.

It was weeks after you landed back home, but one day, while you were waiting for the bus, your phone dinged with a notification. 

You hadn’t thought much of it at first, nodding along to the music playing through your headphones, lost in a memory. It was when you’d taken it out to show the driver your pass, you saw a name you didn’t think you'd ever see or hear again.

Your heart had stopped.

Mina had been looking high and low for just a whiff of him after realising your despondency was because of a certain blond, and her encouragement for you to go to the local clubs and pubs had failed, but had ultimately given up when she’d come to the conclusion that he couldn’t be found, and neither could his friends, not with only first names to go on. And you doubted she’d find them under the nicknames they used for each other.

You’d almost forgotten about him and that night.

After you’d shaken yourself from your stupor and taken your seat, the bus had pulled away from the stop, an advertisement flashing on the side of the shelter; the coming season's holiday deals with a picture of a couple sitting on a sunset lit beach.

Bakugou Katsuki has sent you a friend request.

Now, wheeling your case behind you, you approached, your own smile coming through.

“Hey.”

“Hey, Birthday Girl.”

#fic rec #bakugou

[bakugotrashpanda]

if you've got bakugou birthday recs (or recs in general), send them my way 👀

#a little sick and in this weird funk where i want to read but then get too sleepy to read

[bakugotrashpanda]

>>> 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.

#fic rec #bakugou #shindo #BETTER GET THE UBER #god shindo is such a dick in the best way possible