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eelenaag · 10 months

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sorry for being absent literally always, but i had to get this out of my drafts.

goddess!reader x mortal!bakugou; warnings: blood, mentions of sex, murder, unhappy relationships, unhinged reader and bakugou (tiny bit), not beta’d

(w.c. 2.1k)

Rapacious, your father would call you were he to see you now. Salacious, acting in behavior once thought deterred; The kind that he meant to have stamped out of you in an effort to cultivate you into the pious cog in of his senseless grandeur. His promise of destiny.

Your father’s lips would be turned in that virtuous frown, eyes narrowed as he sat from his throne in the great pantheon of Gods. Validated by their fealty. The model figure that is woefully negligent as he speaks of the sanctity of commandments that have seen his betrayal one too many times before. Sanctimonious in his rectitude, righteous in his hypocrisy, your father is.

He meant to cage you, raging at your freedom and its significance—angry that you were wild, changing the tides of human wars with the gentlest of smiles and lulling whispers; Rampaging that fellow Gods, his own brothers, were victim to the whims of your games with the mortals; Furious that the power you wielded began to rival that of his own; Murderous that you were too much like him: untamed, greedy, victorious and still, adored.

You have never known his anger to be long-lasting, especially not in a manner of great meaning when you could falsely promise your way out of it. Batting eyelashes in truce—but, this is beyond punishment for the defiance of a rule. He means to break you.

A husband.

One bound to you without your consultation, much less knowledge. Promised in hand and divinity to be half of a whole to this pitiful excuse of God.

There was hardly an expectation of satisfaction within the marriage on a good day, much less pleasure in the ways that physically mattered; Could such a thing ever truly be expected from a man who only knew how to hammer metal? Up, down, up, down until the glowing steel was forged.

Your husband is a man of great fortitude, who knows and will only know that of the fire he works with. The flames reflected in the dullness of his irises being the only exciting thing about him. He is monotonous within his construction. Routined and boring.

How could there ever be the expectation of fidelity from you, the Goddess of Love?

How could you be shackled to the bedside of a man who has never known the strength of the sea from which you are born? How can you love a man who does not know the impact of the tide and draws no desire from its power? How can you be with a man who does not know and adore you as you are? For a millenia, nonetheless!

You've come to know of this arrangement as a curse; A woeful attempt to tame you from the wild and lustful by forcing you to make acquaintance with the bland and boring. Binding you to the shore, never to make acquaintance with the push and pull of the forceful nature.

Credit must be paid your way. You had tried. In the depths of shame and sorrow, you tried to do as your brothers and sisters and settle. Gave in and let yourself believe that love and happiness could be found within routine, eventually. It is your novelty, after all. And yet, it still finds you. This yearning for more, the urge to love and be loved. Your nature still rises from the swaying tide and dares to edge the coast.

Your father would not approve were he to see you now, watching from your high plane in the heavens to the happenings of the mortal world. Surely, your husband would violently disapprove too, convinced that he has you loyal.

You shouldn’t fixate; Had promised in low lights and empty words in your husband’s grimy embrace that you have seen the errors of your ways; That you have and will change. For his sake. But he does not know what happens when he is away in his cave of brimstone.

Your attention is caught. And the object of your fascination is a marvel.

Sculpted from clay himself, you have half a mind to believe that one of your siblings has had a part in his creation. Broad and muscular, sharp and angular in all the places that deem him a man. This mortal has caught your eye since his ascension from boy to man. He is a village soldier. Fiercely protective and eager for a fight, and yet always looking to the heavens. As though there was something there waiting for him, beckoning him closer. You suppose he isn’t wrong, as you peer down to him just as he looks up.

There have been whispers of his fate amongst the crowds since he was a boy, certainty issued in his great destiny. No one is more sure of it than he.

Which may be what finds him in your temple.

Sanctuaries have never known themselves to be exclusive, but you must admit that it is certainly strange to have a man of his designation pray to the Goddess of Love. Surely he must have found some alignment more towards that of your stoic sister, emboldened by the desire for courage and brawn. And yet he is here, treading the halls in the stillness of night and giving small offerings to each of your priestesses and holding one large offering basket for your statue.

He stands beneath the colonnade, staring pensively at the intricate designs of your image on marble. He speaks only when the room has been cleared, the priestesses giving him the space to pray in solace.

“I hear you.” His timbre is gruff yet smooth. Commanding as it echoes. “You are calling to me.”

You remain still, almost taken aback at his forwardness. The waves of temptation creep at your feet.

“I intend to find you, whether you show yourself or not.” He speaks again. He looks up, and although you know it improbable, you swear eyes of vermillion have pinpointed your location in the sky. And so, it comes crashing.

It has been so long since you have last appeared before a mortal, and appearing before him transcends all relatability. To see the fixation, your desire, and to have him see you. If he is surprised by your arrival, he doesn’t show it. Eyes strong in their stoic gaze, lips almost curled in a sneer. One would think you were his enemy, but you know such a charge to be false. It’s a charge of electricity, the cooling nighttime air suddenly warming at the meeting of your gaze.

He is no enemy to you, and you are certainly no stranger to him.

“No one has ever commanded me so directly. How did you know?” You ask. of genuine curiosity.

“I dream of you.” He says the answer so plainly, as though it were a common occurrence. You can’t help but raise a brow.

“Oh?”

“I have for years. It was only a matter of time before you showed yourself.”

The chains forged by your husband suddenly feel the lightest that they have ever felt. Metal rattling against each other, pushing and pulling as something brews within you. You wonder what this mortal thinks of you. If he finds you as beautiful as you find him; If the power within him is as strong as you think it is.

If he is strong enough to cut through steel.

“And what did you dream of?” You ask, taking a step forward. Feeling elation fill you like the swirling breeze as his eyes quickly watch you step forward.

“Tch. Like you don’t know.” His jaw flexes and with it comes the bloom of a subtle blush on his cheeks. “Didn’t you plant the damn things?”

No, you didn’t. You could certainly look to see what it is he dreamed of, but this is more fun. Finally, finally, you feel the remnants of yourself pulse alive.

“Have you come to give me a greater purpose?” He asks quickly, in diversion. You let him, too satisfied with the newfound freedom to care much about his attempt at modesty.

You step closer to him, watching as his eyes cascade down the sheer chiton adorning your body. “Is that what I did in your dreams? Fill you with purpose?”

You find yourself almost chest to chest with him, his eyes never leaving yours, “Or did you fill me?”

You laugh when his eyes widen, turning to take a chocolate from the offering basket held still in his hands and plopping it into your mouth. Marveling at its taste, deciding that it must be homemade. “Is that what you are in search for? A greater purpose? How about a culinary artist? Your skills are impeccable.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I am destined for more.”

He knows he is. You know he is. Have not eyed him for so long to have not known. He stands firm before you, a soldier waiting for instruction. In any other instance you would rebuke such a stand, revolt at the rigid and serious, and yet with him—

Well, in devotion to you, who can fault you for testing its limits? Especially when there is something that has sat within you, waiting for the opportune moment.

You meet his gaze, deciding to no longer tease. “How much more?”

“Anything you will give me.” He quickly responds.

“And this destiny you seek, do you do it for pride or service?”

“I am your loyal follower and patron, Goddess Divine. What I do is for you.”

“A man like you, patron to me. How lucky am I?” You smile, but it is quickly assumed by the sneaking tendrils of your dark desire. Your voice stills, “The task I have for you is very arduous. Unyielding, difficult, and not aimed for the weak. Destiny setting, to be sure.”

The man seems to preen at those words, a smile finally finding its way to his face. It curls, dangerously, hungrily. “Name it.”

“Once it is spoken, it cannot be undone.” You warn.

“The task is mine alone.” He insists.

You find yourself before him again, and he leans in to listen closely. You can sense the fight in him, smell his musk. The promised freedom teeters on the edge of your words.

“...kill Hephaestus. Free me from the shackles of my constricting punishment.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t balk, doesn’t shy away from the treasonous words. He does as you have seen him do and stands firm, almost vibrates with his desire to act.

You can almost feel the brush of the sea on your skin again.

“And my reward?” He asks, confidently.

“Is my eternal patronage and favor not enough?” You laugh, eased in his presence rather than tight at the admittance of your evil. Circling around him, you drag your finger across the broadness of his bare and unmarred shoulders. You wonder if the purity of his skin is a reflection of his valiance. Wonder if your desires are steered correctly, that he is the one to have the strength to carry him to victory.

He glances to you over his shoulder, “Surely, the Goddess has more in plan for the man set to kill her husband than bragging rights?”

Curiosity clouded with the tendrils of lust at the man who holds your fate in his hands, you place your chin on his shoulder, meeting his vermillion gaze as your nose scarcely brushes the smooth expanse of his sculptured chin. Intimacy with a man who isn’t your husband, intimacy that is natural and wanted rather than forced.

“Cheeky.” You murmur, and his grin widens. A veil of clouded air blurs his vision before you reappear in front of him, your weight placed onto him as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Bring me the head of my oppressor,” You begin, said so airily it could be mistaken as a light conversation rather than a plot for murder, “And I will make you a God in his place. Meant to enact your own destiny, made to rule beside me.”

You lean your forehead closer, meeting him as your noses brush in meeting. Tracing one another, you whisper, “Can you do it?”

Without hesitation, he breathes into you. “I am yours, Goddess Divine.”

“And your name, O Great Warrior?”

“Bakugou.” A storm brews mightily in his irises and you can taste the salt of the spray, feel the ocean beckoning you home.

Your release from the cage is so close to the touch, the hilt of the sword dealing the victory blow to your freedom held by him.

You smile, wide, and true, and lustful for blood. “A fitting name for a God.”

It comes as no great surprise when the mortal appears at your temple a few weeks later. He is limping through marbled halls and dripping with blood, the key to your cage held in his hands. Your husband's severed head held by his bloodied and mangled fingers, a wicked smile on his face as he beckons you down from the heavens. You find yourself once again, marveling.

And finally, in love.

#$e’s studio$

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eelenaag · 1 year

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12:45 AM ꔛ K. Nanami

ꕤ summary: "Hearing his name roll off your tongue so effortlessly always did him in, even if you had said it innocently."

ꕤ warnings: fem!reader, modern au, smut, established relationship, slight dom/sub dynamics, sub!reader, dom!Nanami, some dirty talk, dialogue heavy, slight degradation, daddy kink, clit play, some nipple play, fingering (f), finger sucking, choking, cum eating, not proofread

ꕤ word count: 1.9k

. . . requested by anon on my old blog!

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, MINORS DNI!

Nanami had come home late today, presumably because he had gotten caught up at work. You could tell by the look on his face that he was tired, noticing how lazily he plopped down on the armchair in the living room. You take it upon yourself to pour him a drink, figuring he could use it.

“Rough day?” you ask, handing him a glass of his favorite whiskey as he loosens his tie.

He simply nods, sighing out an exhausted “yes” before mumbling a thank you and sipping his liquor. Just as he sets the glass back down on the cup holder, you sit on his lap, resting your back flush against his chest. His hands immediately find your waist, and he places a little kiss right under your jaw.

“How was your day, darling?”

You set your hands on top of his, letting your head fall onto his shoulder, “It was okay. I missed you.”

He smiles softly to himself, kissing your neck tenderly, “I missed you too, love.”

You both fall silent, listening to the subtle sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace. It wasn’t often the two of you got time like this together. He’d always make it up to you, though. Taking you out for breakfast on the weekends, or staying up later than he’d like to on weekdays just so you could get some quality time in.

Kind of like now — you, sitting in his lap with his hands dragging up and down your thighs. His lips litter kisses along the side of your neck, hands occasionally squeezing your hips. You utter a sigh, feeling your entire body relax on top of him.

“Feels good Ken~” you whisper, shutting your eyes.

The man inhales sharply, slipping his fingers under your shirt. Something about the tone of your voice triggered something in him. Your words had pure intent, though Nanami misinterpreted them. Perhaps it was because he was tired, his exhaustion causing him not to think straight. Whatever it was, it got his mind racing. Hearing his name roll off your tongue so effortlessly always did him in, even if you had said it innocently.

“My name sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth.” he coos, leaving an open-mouthed kiss on your skin.

You shift above him, “Want me to say it again?” You giggle, knowing he’d start getting worked up with no effort.

He hums, starting to rub at your sides from under your shirt while he leaves a little bruise at the slope of your neck. A soft, and whiny “Nanami” escapes you, and you arch your back ever so slightly. He groans against you, tightening his hold on your body. You knew what you were doing. Hearing you speak in such a tone always made him antsy, and he hated admitting it. Actions speak much louder than words, however, and his reactions were exactly what you were hoping for.

“Teasing me on purpose, hm?”

Nanami’s lips lock onto your jaw, his large hands trailing down your hips and onto your legs. The shorts you wear give him full access to your thighs, his palms caressing your skin gently enough to give you goosebumps. His voice manages to drop another octave, his words a whisper in your ear.

“Don’t act so entitled, dear. You know how easily you succumb to me.”

You hum, grinning softly when his lips make contact with your cheek. He saw through your act immediately, and he couldn’t have been more right about you. It didn’t matter what he did, you’d always submit to him as if it were second nature to. He soon has you distracted from your thoughts again, kissing your neck and groping your thighs.

“Say my name again.” he mutters in your ear, bringing a hand between your legs.

You take it upon yourself to drape your legs over his, giving him better access to touch you how he pleased. His fingers brush against your sex through your shorts, and just as he asked, his name leaves your mouth once more. Quietly, he praises you, nibbling on your neck to leave behind another mark.

Nanami’s fingers drag up and down with a bit more pressure than before. You sigh, pleased, and buck your hips forward. He stops momentarily to slip his hand into your pj bottoms, rubbing you through your panties instead.

“There’s some other things you call me, yeah?” he asks rhetorically, “Wanna remind me what they are?”

His fingers skillfully work at your sex, leisurely playing with your clothed pussy and making you whine.

“Daddy~” you utter, arching your back.

Nanami pauses, smirking, “That’s a new one.”

Your face heats up in embarrassment, a cold chill running up your spine from the humiliation of your slip up. Nanami didn’t seem to mind though, sucking on a spot at the slope of your neck. You can’t repress your whimpers, finding yourself lost in the trance that is his touch. He was growing needy as well — hearing your sweet voice say his name, to then hear you purr out a name you’ve never called him before — poor man’s pants were getting tight.

“I-I didn’t mean to say that,” you think out loud.

“Calling me daddy by ‘mistake,’ huh?”

His fingers slip past the elastic of your panties, his palm cupping your bare pussy. You buck your hips up, rutting against the heel of his hand and whining at the pleasurable friction.

“Sounded so sweet coming from you,” he admits, “Say it again for me.”

You chew your lip, holding back a moan while he starts to circle your clit. Nanami nibbles your ear, groaning when he feels how wet you had gotten.

“C’mon pretty girl,” he encourages, “You were so vocal before, what happened?”

Your back arches, another soft whimper escaping you. The humiliation that came over you from what you had said was preventing you from saying it again. Nanami could tell you were resisting, though, and was determined to provoke you.

His fingers run up and down your slick folds with a tantalizing pace that makes you squirm.

“This wet already, princess?” he inquires, “Do daddy’s fingers feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, though it comes out more whiny than you would’ve liked.

Nanami’s free hand slides under your shirt and up your stomach, groping one of your breasts. The pads of his fingers toy with your stiff nipple, suddenly pinching it and eliciting a squeak out of you.

“Use your words, princess,” he commands, palming at your flesh to ease whatever pain he might’ve caused.

“Are you feeling good?” he asks again, agonizingly pushing a finger into your weeping cunt.

“Y-yes daddy,” you breathe, shivering on top of him.

He grins, licking a stripe up the slope of your neck to suckle the skin beneath your jaw. You tighten around the finger he has lodged inside you, moaning when he finally starts to move it in and out. Your head falls onto his shoulder, your body completely submitting to him without any convincing.

Nanami’s lips stay locked on your neck, leaving behind bruises that would definitely need to be covered if you wanted to avoid questioning from co-workers. Both his hands are busy, one between your thighs and the other under your shirt. He rolls your hard nipple between his fingers, pumping the digit inside your pussy just slow enough to make you restless.

“Kento,” you murmur, “Wan’ more.”

He pulls his finger out, running two along the length of your pussy to coat it in your essence.

“That’s not how you ask, sweetheart.”

He didn’t have to tell you what he wanted for you to catch on — it seemed he was amused by your slip up from earlier and was getting off on hearing you say it. It turned you on to know he liked it, that, being the reason it was becoming easier to repeat yourself despite your prior reluctance.

“Please daddy…” you whisper, holding his wrist in an attempt to guide him, “Please keep touching me.”

“Touch you how?” he questions, a devious smirk on his face, “Tell me exactly what you want.”

The tip of his finger prods at your cunt, pushing past your little slit and making you moan.

“A-ah, finger me, daddy,” your back arches, your hand tightly gripping his arm, “Pretty please.”

“Mm good girl.”

Nanami pushes a second finger inside you, curling them both just to make you gasp. His free hand moves from under your shirt to your lips, and he sticks three fingers into your mouth without persuasion. You gag softly around them, a muffled moan following the noise in response to the way he was pleasuring you. You could feel his bulge pressing against your lower back, squirming at the thought of freeing him from his slacks

“Such a naughty girl,” he hisses, “Calling me daddy and making me hard.”

He ruts up against your back just so you could feel him, and his thick digits start to glide in and out of your pussy with ease, your arousal spilling from you like water. He groans in your ear about how wet you were, pumping his fingers harder to make the squelching sound of your cunt louder.

“You hear that?” he asks rhetorically, “Slutty little pussy’s talking to me, she’s so needy.”

Your hips buck forward and you whine, drooling on the fingers that sit in your mouth. Nanami keeps both your mouth and your cunt stuffed, pushing his fingers in and out of both holes. All your moans are stifled as you choke on his fingers, spit trickling down your chin and making your face a mess.

He pulls them out just long enough to let you catch your breath, before forcing them back in so you cough. His big hand stays working on your pussy, stretching open your tight hole and making it nearly impossible for you to sit still.

“Getting so tight for me,” he observes, fingering you a little faster, “Gonna cum pretty girl?”

You nod fervently, unable to speak from him keeping you quiet.

“Let me hear you then,” he says, taking his fingers out of your mouth to wrap his hand around your throat instead.

You take in a sharp breath, moaning louder than you anticipated when you exhale. You whimper like an animal in heat, rutting against his palm to feel his fingers deeper inside you. You could feel your stomach coiling, that familiar knot becoming apparent. The hand he has around your throat squeezes it lightly, resulting in another yelp out of you.

“M’gonna cum daddy, p-please,” you beg, convulsing around him uncontrollably. “Please keep going, please.”

“C’mon,” he provokes, twisting and curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot, “Cream all over daddy’s fingers.”

Your entire body trembles on top of him, a flash of white coming over you when your orgasm hits. It rips through you like a shock of electricity, blurring your vision as your eyes roll to the back of your head. His hand which held your neck finally lets go, his arm coming around your waist to hold you close to him as you release around his fingers. Nanami litters kisses on your skin, quietly praising you while you come down from your high.

“So good for me,” he expresses, pulling out his fingers to rub your puffy clit.

The action makes you quiver, but he’s soon removing his hand from your panties and bringing his drenched fingers to his lips. He licks and sucks them clean, moaning around his own digits at the sweet taste of your pussy. You sit on his lap, worn, and honestly surprised by how hard you came and how quickly he got it to happen.

Nanami grabs your jaw and turns your head towards him, tenderly kissing your lips.

“You’ve still got something to take care of, darling,” he reminds you, thrusting his hips up to create friction against his bulge, “You think your pussy’s ready?”

taglist! [ @snake-titan @discordkittenjoestar @ofallthingswhythis @bunnyyamor ]

#😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#im fine #don’t fucking look at me #$e’s studio$

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