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touyaz · 3 years

Text

CUM.

includes: kaminari, bakugou, sero and kirishima

word count 1,357

notes bakusquad brainrot, that’s it. ♡

WARNINGS just cum lmao. so much of it. only kaminari’s is gn reader. each one has their own specific warnings.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

facial (cum on face), cum swallowing, oral (m rec), recording

✩ KAMINARI DENKI

He loves coming on your face. You look so sexy on your knees for him, pretty tongue out and waiting for a drop of his cum, eyes crying for him to cover you in his cum. You look so hot, so undeniably his, when you're dripping with his cum, when you're rubbing your thighs together in want as he cums all over your face. You've never looked sexier to him than when you're opening your mouth so he can cum down your throat, painting your insides white with his seed. And when you look up at him, wide, teary doe eyes staring at him in awe as his cum runs in rivulets all across your cheeks, shining over your lips, dripping from your chin, he drags a finger through the mess, collecting his essence from your face and prodding your glossy lips with his digits. You don't bat an eye, mouth opening and closing around his fingers as you lick at his fingertips like it's his cock, tongue wrapping around and between his digits so you don't waste a drop of his cum, hollowing your cheeks around his hand as you swallow his tangy cum. He always makes sure to record this, forever capturing the way you whine impatiently when he taps his cock against your outstretched tongue, begging him to cum all over you. To mark you with his seed so you're ruined for other men. He loves watching the first few spurts decorate your tongue with his goodness, but more than that, he enjoys the way your lips purse and wrap around his tip as you slurp up more of his cum, taking matters into your own hand as you stroke his length to draw out more of his essence.

"Oh, fuck, baby, ah— ah, can't— can't hold back anymore, baby, I'm gonna cum. Fuck, ngh— fuck, ah—! B-Baby, so good, that's it, that's— fuck, open your mouth— wider, baby, yeah, like that. Fuck, I'm shooting blanks, baby, it’s too much, I can't—"

unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, bakugou calls himself daddy, praise, degradation, reader called girl

✩ BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Normally, he's a pretty clean and tidy guy, but the day you let him hit it raw, he's throwing all his morals to the wind; it's round after round of brutal pounding, relishing the way your cunt clenches around his cock without the layer of rubber in the way. He'd rather die than ever wear a condom again, and you share the sentiment, your cunt more than revelling in the way his cockhead batters your g-spot. There's no way he's not finishing inside you to memorialise the occasion, burying himself to the hilt before he cums with a deep growl of your name. When he pulls out, he eyes the cum dripping out of your cunt and pushes it back in, fingering the juices into your sensitive cunt, enjoying the way his cum fills your insides, marking you as his, his, his. The thought gets him going immediately, and his cock jumps at the idea of fucking you so full of his cum you're leaking for days. He imagines what would happen if he stuffs you so well you get pregnant, and that's enough to have him pushing his cock back into you, determined to pump you so well, you're dripping white.

"Shit— you're so fucking tight, can feel you clamping down on me real good, I'm gonna cum— gonna stuff you real nice and full of my cum. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Look at you, taking my cock like a fucking champ, you want my baby? Want me to fuck a brat into you? Huh? You gonna make me a daddy, and let me fill ya up real nice, so you get all big with my fucking brat? Fuck yeah, you'd like that, dirty slut, love my cum inside you that much? Here you fucking go then; spread your legs and take what your man fucking gives you, dirty girl."

unprotected sex, creampie, mention of oral (f rec), stomach bulge, breeding kink, praise, reader called girl

✩ KIRISHIMA EIJIRO

Two words: breeder balls. When he cums, you can't miss it because there's just so much of it. He's there pumping into you for a good five minutes before he's finally emptied himself. Just copious amounts of his cum drooling out of you, completely flooding the sheets beneath you. As long as you let him, he'll finish inside of you every time, and your cunt always feels so fucking full with his thick cock stretching you and his cum stuffing you to the brim. It trickles out around the sides of his cock, creamy streams flowing down your body, painting the fat of your thighs in white. There's way too much, though, and he always has to pull out, finishing over your stomach and thighs until you're drowning in his musky cum. He loves watching his cum dribble out of your stretched hole, fingering it back in because you can't waste a single drop of his precious seed, and he's so fucking nasty he'll probably eat you out right after, tongue fucking the mixture of your and his cum, savouring the bitter taste like it's liquid gold. And then he's stuffing you full once more, until you're delirious on his cock and your stomach is bulging from all the cum he spurts into you. Keeps you plugged up nice and full in hopes of getting you pregnant, desperately wanting to see your tummy swell with his kid.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, baby, taking my load like the good girl you are. Wanna stuff you full, fuck a kid right into you, you like that? Ngh— yeah, you do. Don't you worry, pretty, gonna fill you right up, stuff you so good you’re definitely gonna be pregnant when I'm done with you. You’re gonna look so fucking sexy carrying my baby, aren't you, pretty girl? Hm? Can't wait to see you all round with my kid, all pretty and big with my baby; gonna breed you so well, gonna fuck you so full you’ve got no choice being a mama."

titty fucking, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, creampie, cum swallowing, handjob (m rec)

✩ SERO HANTA

He's nasty. He's so dirty and filthy and messy when he cums all over you, not leaving an inch of your body dry; he adores seeing you covered in his essence, body shining with sweat and cum — his cum, all thick and creamy and abundant, completely drenching you in his musk. He'll cum wherever he can: if he's straddling your stomach, pushing your tits around his cock and humping your body, then he'll shoot his load all over your breasts, rub them into your nipples and squeeze the fat of your tits as his cum oozes between his fingers; if he's fucking your thighs, the length of his cock rubbing against your wet slit, then he'll cum with a groan of your name, spurting cum all over your cunt and thighs before he fucks it into you, lewd squelching invading the room as he pushes his cum into your cunt, pounding into you so hard until he's coming inside you as well, cramming you full of his cum until you're leaking all around him. He won't stop until you're drowning in his scent, until every hole is dripping with his seed, every bone in your body is soaked with his essence. He loves seeing his cum all over your hands, the way milky drops dribble down your digits and your tongue follows to lick them all up, eyes rolling back at the taste of him on your tongue. He can't handle when you stroke him off, drawing load after load from his spent cock, until his cum falls in stuttered, watery spurts; your chin is soaked with your saliva and his cum, and your hands are drenched from jerking him off, absolutely saturated with his seed as they bob up and down his dripping length, milking him for all he's worth.

“Oh, shit, baby, look at that. You’re so fucking wet, fucking— fucking soaking the sheets and I haven’t even put it in yet. Is that what you want, baby? You want my cock, yeah? Yeah? You gonna cry for it? Just like that, lemme hear ya. Beg me some more and maybe I’ll fuck you how you want; until then, I’m gonna play with your pussy how I want.”

#mine #mine.bnha

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touyaz · 3 years

Text

i do not know if i should hold you or eat you.

pairing bakugou katsuki x fem reader

word count 5,343

notes this is part of my 100 followers celebration but that was so long ago it’s a little embarrassing :)

WARNINGS smut, oral (f rec), fingering, vag sex, hurt/comfort, soft sex, mentions of blood. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

By the time you arrive at the scene, the fight is over and done with. Villains are being detained in the standard restraints — bloody and limping and thoroughly defeated — and the heroes who fought them look worse for wear but are thankfully all in one piece. Your eyes are darting from the rubble of several destroyed houses to the office buildings lit up in a precarious orange, all for one man in particular.

There isn't time to dawdle, however, so you help where you can, rushing to the closest civilians and carrying them out and assisting with some heavy lifting to stabilise the carnage.

You're shouldering an elderly lady who had been knocked back by a blast, hobbling your way to the nearest ambulance together, when you finally catch a glimpse of Katsuki.

His quietude is unsettling.

There have been days when he's softer, warmer, his voice less raspy and demanding, and more lulling, calm and matured. You cherish those days for softening the edges around his eyes, for lifting a weight off of his back, for granting his tired soul another hour or two of rest.

There are also days when his arms shake and his body crumbles beneath the responsibilities piled atop them. It's difficult to love those days when they bring out a side to Katsuki he hates unravelling. It's hard to see his fists clench with barely-contained ire, to spot the tears he forces away as quickly as they had come, to watch his body vibrate and tremble and nearly give out when his mind repeats to himself that he's useless, that he does more harm than good, that he's too weak to be what he's aspired to be for so long: a hero.

It's a twisted, complicated path to recovery. Especially when Katsuki is buried beneath self-doubt, unwanting of any help lest he be an even bigger burden.

(Your voice always comes to him in those times when he's lost in his head, soothing and tender, untangling the vines that tear him apart, reminding him that he's not a burden — not to you, not to those that care for him — that he deserves goodness, that he is capable of doing everything he wants because of how determined and persistent he is. But the mind is a fickle thing. His head is a minefield just waiting for the day he missteps.)

And there are days when you lose the trail or he rushes down the wrong route impatiently. But loving someone — loving him — has never been a straightforward path. It's full of rocky roads and turning back, losing your footing and staying steady with the other's arm.

Each time you navigate the winding roads, you learn which corners to be wary of, where to stop and take a break and enjoy the scenery, where to let him rest on your shoulder, and where to hold him by the hand and push through the thickets and thorns until you come to revel in the sun that shines on you, triumphant.

The way his eyes are fixed on his hands — florid from overusing his quirk, greyed from wading through debris — and the way he doesn't push away the medics from tending to the wounds on his face tells you all you need to know about his state. He's disassociating, losing himself in his own mind, running down the wrong tracks in hopes of finding safety, finding comfort, finding you.

You do what you can to help clear up the situation, keeping a mindful eye on Katsuki the whole time, before you can finally approach him.

(Duty first, though your gut wrenches with every look over your shoulder.)

A soft hand on his shoulder and he stands. He drags his feet as he walks, and every so often you stop to keep him by your side when he starts to fall behind.

You open the door for him when you reach your car and he's silent as he enters. He's idly holding onto the seat belt, gripping the metal buckle with enough force to bend it out of shape, so you ease it out of his clutch, locking it into its place.

"Katsuki," you murmur, tentatively resting your hand on his. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His throat bobs as he swallows. He looks down at your hands. A wordless understanding; you slot your fingers beside his, the car starts with a rumble, and he jumps through thorns to find his way back to you.

Head in his hands, he sits where you left him on the sofa. Dust and dirt flicker off of him and you add wiping the sofas clean to your mental to-do list. When the seat dips with your weight, he sits up to listen to you.

You start with his mask. The ends are singed and tattered, orange threads barely holding it together until it falls apart in your hands. Next is the neck brace (and you thank the universe that the crack is in the costume and not your lover), then his gauntlets, scuffed and scratched, followed by his gloves and knee guards.

"Dinner or shower?"

He looks down at his hands, caked in blood and grime, calloused with the havoc he causes, and clenches his fists.

You reel him back down to you with a hand atop his, easing his fist open finger by nimble finger, until the dirt and destruction is hidden beneath your hand, nothing but a side thought to the way you so easily twine your hands with his. It's silent, but it speaks volumes of how his hands have done good.

These hands that blast through buildings like they're made of paper also get to hold yours.

He won't think about how he's dirtying your skin with his misery, with his faults; he doesn't get the chance to when you lace your hand with his and pull him to stand.

In the bathroom, you take his clothes off first. His belt is unwrapped with the utmost care, put to the side so the remaining grenades don't blow up, and next to go is his top. The cold air bites at his chest, stinging the small cuts with its vicious, wispy touch, like little pinpricks of agony scattered across the planes of his skin, ever present to ingrain into him how broken he is; a walking wound, good for nothing but tearing into flesh, bathing in the running red, drowning in the devastation.

His trousers fall, too, exposing the way his skin, tender and golden, is now bruised and ugly, purple and black blots telling tales of losses and woe. His knees tremble with the weight of him and his burdens, and you shouldn't be there, but you are — you always are — to catch him before he falls, to let him slump into your body, to hold him up when his legs grow numb and he feels nothing but misery.

He doesn't hate being so vulnerable when you look at him like that.

When you see not a monster, not someone that sets aflame everything he touches, but a man, a boy, just Katsuki, your Katsuki; a monster undone by the tip of your fingers, by the brush of your lips.

He is a nightmare, a novel of angst and hurt with no happy ending, but he is gentle as he undresses you. Treating you like his most treasured jewel as he peels apart your layers with those pernicious fingers of his, ever so meticulous — too mindful, too cautious when he doesn't need to be, not with you — so as to not taint you with his bloody horror.

But still, his hands linger on the curve of your waist, imprinting his dirty fingers into the unmarred skin of your body, bruising you till you mirror him. He's too selfish to pull away. Too monstrous.

He wants to see you scar under the barbed wire of his palms; he wants to sink his teeth into your flesh and lick away your blood, let it smear across his mouth, dark red on white pearls, as he devours you whole, as he feasts on your virtue, that sweet goodness you serve him when you shouldn't.

Sinking his filthy claws into you feels almost religious when he aches beyond belief for just a drop of your marrow, for your heart in him.

He's washed from your body under the rivulets of the showerhead. Murky grey fused with crumbs of torn buildings and tinges of red pool beneath your feet until that, too, disappears down the drain.

He grabs the loofah from where it hangs and lets it fall to the ground. You use your bare hands on him instead. Cedar wood soap slathered over his skin, fingertips tracing the divots and dips of his body, across the bulk of his muscles, through the fine blond hairs until he's forgotten what iron smells like, the smell of a cruel victory slowly replaced by the hints of squeezed mandarin that soak into his body.

The body wash is so very him. With that citrus freshness cutting through the burnt, woodsy musk, it’s a breath of renewed air that gives him hope. He's quick to douse your body in his smell, almost rubbing your skin raw with how determined he is to drown you in him. Up, up, up the length of your arms and then meandering down the expanse of your body, around your hips to the back of your knees. He's thorough, as always, only ceasing his ventures when he's certain not a centimeter of your skin has been left untouched.

Then he savours the way your hands weave through his hair, nails gently dragging across his scalp, clearing out the debris knotted in the tangles. He passes you your bottle of shampoo — a wondrous blend of lavender and stardust — that you massage into the strands before he copies you. Brushing foam away from your forehead. Getting suds on your waist when he pulls you closer.

You close your eyes and he follows, immersing the both of you in water, letting it cleanse your bodies, your souls, following the sounds of the stream running back to you. His forever destination.

Dinner is serene. A memory-muscle routine of you moving left so he can reach the sink, him ducking his head so you can open a cupboard. There's no television playing when you eat, just the sounds of ice clinking in a glass, just the smell of paprika and chili in the air, just the feel of his pinky wrapped around yours.

And when you take him to bed, it's to the sound of a yawn muffled into his elbow, a sigh as he sinks into the mattress, the crinkle of bed sheets as he turns to face you. Half-lidded eyes and tired fingers travel over you until you place your hand on his cheek and he stills, waiting.

His lashes fan across the high-rise of his cheekbones. Your breath warms the sharp slope of his nose before your lips smooth the crease between his brows.

"I'm here for you," you remind him, and his grip on your waist tightens. A pact.

Another kiss, to the tip of his nose. "Always." A promise.

(He thinks of that line, 'When is a monster not a monster?'

When he's in your arms he isn't one — or, rather, he is still one, that feeling never leaves him, but you don't seem to care about that. You see his stained teeth and his deadly hands and you love him regardless; you curl your hands around his molten ones, and you kiss him until your mouth is bloody, too.

You see this broken man, this torn-apart beast, and you hold his face in the palm of your hands as if he's built the world from ashes all for you. As if he means something to you. He would burn it all down and do it again if you asked.)

A final kiss, lips feather-light against his, not hesitant, not wary, just gentle, delicate. Enjoying the feel of his skin on yours like the calm after a storm, like an artist's brush stroke on a canvas. "I love you." A vow.

(And the answer, 'Oh, when you love it.')

When he drifts off, it's with his head buried in the crook of your neck, drowning in a field of lavender.

Morning light spills like liquid gold through the gap in the curtains. Dust floats in the air, the birds chirp a joyous melody and your lover wraps his arms more tightly around you.

Like gentle waves rocking a boat side-to-side, his head rises and falls with your breaths. Your fingers smooth his hair, wild from tossing and turning throughout the night, gradually trailing away to trace the curve of his ear, down the scar on his neck and then back up, again and again and again.

His quietude would be unsettling if you didn’t know any better.

You can feel the way his jaw moves beneath the pad of your finger, trying to form the words he can’t quite voice yet. He huffs, an angry little puff of air, and you almost laugh at the way his brows furrow at his own ineptitude.

“Sleep well?” you ask, easing his suffering if only by a little, and it irons out the little crease that had formed.

“Yeah, you?”

You hum and the silence returns. The motions continue.

Another huff, slightly more aggravated this time, but before you can speak he’s moving, leaning on both forearms above you before shuffling down the bed.

“Katsuki?”

His hands are at the edge of your trousers, playing with the fraying thread that spirals around your waist until you lift the blanket.

Brushing back the locks of hair that curtain across his forehead, you still when he burrows his head in the plush of your stomach.

He can feel your warmth everywhere, peaking at the tip of his nose and spreading like wildfire across his face when he buries himself in your body, wanting, needing, craving to be enveloped in your heat.

He wants to tunnel his way through your flesh. He wants to sculpt a home between your lungs with the bones of your rib. He wants to immerse himself within you so wholly, so deeply, that you can’t breathe without him there, that losing him is akin to losing a limb, that losing him is like a gunshot to the heart — you’re bleeding out and he’s the only person that can nurse you back to health.

No — anyone could heal you, but he wants you to want him, only him, only ever him.

(He never wants to see you hurt.

He wants to know what your blood tastes like in his mouth. He needs to know if it’s just as sweet as the rest of you.

He hopes you never realise how needy he truly is.)

His lips won’t stop — can’t stop — caressing every inch of your skin, speaking the words he fails to every time he tries. He scatters thank you’s all across your sternum, moulds your stomach to the slant of his I love you’s, travels back upwards to engrave his name on your left side, right where your heart shines through your skin. He can feel your heart race each time he plants another kiss on you. He can see the way you arch your body into his mouth and it sets his body alight with pride, with ecstasy, giving him a high like no other drug could ever hope to.

It’s easy nudging his fingers beneath the flimsy fabric of your trousers and pulling it down. It’s even easier dipping his head down the apex of your thighs, where you part for his hungry mouth soundlessly, like you know just what he’s aching for without him even having to ask.

When he closes his eyes and sinks into the crease between your sex and your leg, when he burrows his nose into your skin and inhales deeply, he can smell the faintest hint of mandarin still lingering in the cleft. There’s a sheen of sweat on your skin, but he’s all too quick to replace it with his saliva, all too happy to flick his tongue into the dips of your body and taste you.

Tracing the line of your pussy with the tip of his tongue, he grazes your clit with his nose and uses one hand to spread your folds apart. He can see the glint of your arousal calling out to him — a lighthouse in the dark and he’s an unfledged sailor, a frail moth to your kindling flame — and he’s swift in answering. He bathes in your ambrosia, delving into your warm pussy with his tongue, swilling every drop of your honey like he’s a starving bear just awakening from hibernation. He flicks from side-to-side, listening intently to the way the sheets rustle as you squirm, focusing on the keen in your voice as you moan his name, revelling in the way your fingers weave through his hair and tug, pulling him in even further.

(If he can’t find out just how sweet your blood is, he’ll drink himself to death buried between your thighs.)

“Oh, God— Katsu,” you sigh. Your hips raise off the bed, and he holds you down. He keeps you in place and feasts on your bare body. There you lie, served on a silver platter, pretty and pliant and perfect for him to gorge himself on. As long as you let him, he’ll take and take and take. He’ll slide his fingers beside his tongue and take handfuls of your meal until he’s sick from overeating and there’s nothing left of you but crumbs. “Right there— fuck, please.”

How can he stop indulging himself when you sound so rich, so saccharine, all for his ears only? He doesn’t want to stop crooking his fingers against your velveteen walls when you call his name so dulcetly right after. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to — not with the taut grip you have on his head, nor with the way you hold him against you and rock your sex into his drooling mouth.

He pulls back for mere seconds to breathe and then he dips his head to latch onto that precious bundle of nerves. He envelopes the bud as it pulses with a desire for his touch, laving over it with sloppy flicks of his tongue as you stutter his name, as you tremble in his hold and your legs squirm around his head.

There’s no stopping the way your thighs pillow his head. He’s much too busy curling his fingers and drawing out your essence, savouring the feel of your plush thighs against his ears. He won’t move them. He’ll let you use his body how you wish. If you want to suffocate him like this, then so be it. It’s a boost to his ego, too, he selfishly realises, the way he can still hear your cries, your honeyed little r-right there, Katsuki, and your exquisite oh, god, I‘m gonna— I‘m gonna cum.

He’s ceaseless in his ministrations, rolling your sweet, little pearl in his mouth, working over it with a graze of his teeth to make you shudder beneath him.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. He parts for the briefest moment, licking a broad stripe along your slit before sucking your clit back into his mouth. His fingers prod at your silken walls restlessly, ghosting over those soft, spongy spots until your thighs tense around him, until your pelvis digs into the mattress as you careen up into the lust-heavy air.

He admires the way you jolt upwards, heels digging into the corded muscles in his back as he holds you firm against his face, letting you writhe under his mouth, under the constant tongue lashing, under the twists and curls of his fingers. He wishes he could see the way your eyes roll back or the way your mouth gapes to let out those chiming, bell-like cries of his name.

“That’s it— fuck, that’s it, baby,” he encourages, slowly bringing you down to settle into the bed, eyeing the arousal that trickles out of you in a slow stream, begging for his tongue to lap it all away.

He’s never been too good at controlling himself around you. He knows it, you know it; he knows you know it. It’s why neither of you are surprised when he dips his head back down to savour you some more, mouthing at your slick folds, working his tongue back into your fluttering sex to drink your essence right from the ever-giving source. He’s humming at the sweetness that suffuses every groove in his mouth, holding your hips down as you flounder beneath him.

“Katsu— Katsuki, I can’t,” you insist, a whiny, breathless little whimper that immerses itself into every single one of his veins, thrumming around the trenches in his body until it’s all he can hear, all he helplessly chases after. He’s lost in the bliss, rounding corners, stumbling over his own feet like a drunkard, until he reaches you, until you brush back his hair and guide him away to breathe.

His exhales fall in short, stuttered huffs as he stares at you.

(Beautiful, he thinks.

Your hair is a mess from your squirming. Your lips are bitten raw from the times you held back your moans — stupid, stupid, don’t hurt yourself when he wants to hear you, when he wants to ingrain your voice until not even his brain rotting away could make him forget the sweet lilt of your sounds. Your eyes are on him, just him, just Katsuki, your Katsuki.

You’ve never looked more captivating.

His eyes sting with a burning need to blink, but he can’t tear his gaze away from you for a moment. For the split second it would take him, his world would be drenched in darkness, he would miss the way your chest rises and falls, he would give you a chance to look away from him.

He’ll never say it — he’ll try, but the words will cling to the sides of his throat, desperately trying to crawl their way back down to safety — but there’s little he craves besides your eyes on him, besides your hand in his unlovable hand, besides you staying by his side until the day he dies.

Not even death can tear you apart, he thinks. He wants to die first, so he doesn’t have to go a single day without you. He wants to be buried in your arms. Let the maggots feast on him to their heart’s content, he just wants you to be with him.

He wonders how you can make ruination look so divine.)

His movements are always fluid, always seamless in achieving their purpose. So when his hands traverse the length of your body, you settle back into the mattress, eyes falling closed to bask in the kisses he plants along the way. His mouth tickles as he trails up. A bite to the skin of your stomach, a tender kiss to the curve of your breast before his lips slant over yours.

Your body is hot beneath his — clammy, despite the early hour, and all he can do is add to the mess as he drags a hand along your arm. His hands, sandpaper against yours, wrought with callouses, thickened down to the bone, seek out your own. It’s natural how his fingers fit between yours; it’s unnatural how your fingers curl around his and squeeze.

“Katsuki—”

“I know,” he says, screwing his eyes shut. He focuses on you. On the way your lashes fan across his eyelids, on the soft exhales that he breathes in, on your legs tightening around him. “I know.”

(The nature of his quirk means he runs hotter than the average person. It’s a hassle when he sleeps, overheating beneath a blanket, waking in a pool of his own sweat.

When he moved out, he started sleeping in just his boxers.

But he only grew comfortable with sleeping so exposed when he could feel your skin on his. Your body a barrier between him and those dastardly sheets. He doesn’t feel so vulnerable when you’re sprawled out on top of him, when you’re tucking himself in your arms, in your ribcage, so he can fall asleep to your heartbeat drumming in his ears.

He hates seeing your body shine with his sweat in the morning. He wants to wash his grime off of your body. And you, sweaty, nasty, perfect you, just wrap his arms around you more tightly.)

He shifts his boxers down, just enough to slip his cock out. He’s impatient — always has been, he thinks he always will be, especially when it comes to having more of you, having you like this — but he's ever so careful.

“Are you—”

“Please.”

It’s a small, tinny whine that he drinks in, that he drains from you until your throat goes raw from pouring out sweeter, richer sounds just for him.

Just as his fingers had twined with yours, his hips now slot between your thighs. There’s a simmering burn at the stretch of him, one that makes your breath stutter, and he’s there, he’s always there, to soothe you, to act as — no, to be, to embody — your balm, as you are for him.

He pulls out slowly only to return back home; he finds his footing and makes his way through the forest to safety — to you. There’s a soft, wet pap that punctuates each of his thrusts. There’s a sigh that floats in the little space between your lips and his. There’s the feel of your softness flush against his, smoothing out his hard lines and sharper edges until he’s moulded to your liking.

Red lines run down the thick of his back, scratching through the surface of his body. He’s damaged, littered with more bumps and cuts than a pretty boy — your words, not his, never his — like him should have, but he doesn’t mind when you’re the reason he’s marked up. He’ll hide his battle wounds, he’ll deny he was ever susceptible to anyone but you; he’ll only be at your mercy, he’ll only wear your scars with pride.

“God, Katsuki,” you sigh, letting go of his hands and his heart aches until they come up to cup his face. He’s about to drag your hands back down, lace his fingers with yours so hard they go numb and you forget they were ever yours, but then you brush the tender area beneath his eyes. He can feel wetness smear across his skin. His brows furrow and he blinks his eyes open, wondering how long it will take for you to look less blurry to him. “Baby?”

“Yeah?” It’s more choked up than he’d like, but clearing his throat and repeating doesn’t smoothe the hoarse timbre of his voice.

“I love you,” you say, pulling him in for a gentle kiss, a soft brush of your lips against his.

“Yeah. Yeah, I love—” and this time he can feel the tear drip from his eye to yours, he can feel the gravel churn deep in his throat, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut again, dropping his forehead to yours “—love you too.”

You hold him there. One hand cradles the back of his head, the other flattens across his upper back. You hold him there as he’s overwrought with sobs, as his entire body trembles with the force of his cries, as tears and snot and all his filth seeps into your body, you hold him there, right against your body.

“Thank you,” he pushes out through the grit in his mouth, digging one hand into the plush of your waist until you’re close to bleeding beneath him. “Thank— fuck— thank you, thank you.”

He doesn’t know if you can understand him, he hopes you can decipher the garbled mess of words gushing out of him, the ‘thank you, fuck, I love you, fucking love you, need you so fucking bad’.

He’s never been a man of words, though, and he tells you what he can’t through his actions. His hand finds its way to your clit, circling it to the melody of your moans, and his hips hammer into you, not much quicker, but so much deeper. Even through the haze, his precision is immaculate.

(Nothing but the best for you. He’ll be whatever that entails. It’s the least you deserve.)

It isn’t much longer that your thighs tense around him, that your gut tightens and that coil in your stomach winds to the precipice of snapping.

“Please,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck.

(Only you can make him beg for something. He’d only drop to his knees to raise you higher; he’d only let you step on his back until it breaks — and then, he’d let you walk all over his broken spine until your footprints are carved into each disc, until the shards of him are embedded in your body.)

“Cum for me. Please.”

A strangled cry of his name escapes you. His teeth sink into your flesh. The coil in you fractures into two halves.

He empties inside you just as you moan his name, delighting in the flutter of your walls around his cock. Hot ropes of white spill into you as he keeps drawing those shapeless figures on your sensitive bud.

His breathing slows as he basks in your overwhelming scent. Yesterday’s lavender and pine are washed away and all he can smell on you is his own sweat.

(He doesn’t hate the saltiness when it’s seeping into your pores, when it’s shining across your skin, making you radiate beneath him.)

The glassiness in his eyes gives way and a smile tugs at the edges of his lips when he sees the circle of his teeth indented in the junction of your shoulder. He can feel your chest every other beat, skimming against his as you steady your heaving breaths. He almost purrs at the way your hands, with the gentlest pressure — like he’s made of glass, like he’s been marked fragile and you actually care — massage his nape, drifting to his upper shoulders before returning.

“Katsuki?” you call, murmuring a hasty sorry when you rub over a scratch and he winces. “You okay?”

Yeah, he wants to say. I’m more than okay. I’m fucking perfect.

He has a bad habit of ruining everything — with his hands, with his mouth, with his very presence — so he settles for silence, resorts to breathing in that saltiness and sinking into your body. Maybe if he stays still enough, you’ll accept him as a part of you. Maybe if he burrows his face further into those dents he made, he, too, could sink into your flesh. Maybe if you keep rubbing his back and he keeps holding your body against his, everything will be alright.

(Katsuki knows that it’ll take more than that for everything to be okay. Life is too tumultuous, too unpredictable, for him to truly believe that this moment of reprieve will stay like this for much longer. No matter how much he prays, he knows his sanctuary can be snatched from his grasp — no matter how deep he sinks his claws into you, he knows he’s too weak to keep you there, with him, forever.

When he lies in your arms, knitting himself into each strand of your dna, bleeding his everything into your open wounds, so full of your love he can’t take any more (though he wants and wants and wants until he bursts), he thinks that maybe, really and truly, everything will be okay.

If not for the world, then just for you. He can wither away with the rest of the universe, if it means you’ll be alright.

Maybe that isn’t very heroic of him, but he doesn’t want to be a saviour for anybody else. He just wants to be yours.)

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bakugou scenarios #bakugou katsuki scenarios #mine #mine.bnha #bathing as an act of intimacy #leave the lights on

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touyaz · 3 years

Note

your last breeding fic with hawks had me deeply thinking of hawks and a reader who is like a grade school teacher or teacher assistant!!! like can you imagine

museum.

pairing hawks | takami keigo x fem reader

word count 2,325

notes holy shit i completely misread this as my breeding fic reminded u of your grade teacher and i was so concerned💀 ANYWAY.. yes !!! this dynamic… absolute gold. teachers make birdman go brr 😈 this got way out of hand & is more a scenario than hcs but it was so fun to write! enjoy <3

WARNINGS dubcon (the sex is consensual, but the breeding kink aspect is iffy on the reader's behalf), hawks is a little dark/ creepy, smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, vag sex, creampie. reader is called miss, ma and girl, but no pronouns are used.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

hawks is an in-and-out kind of guy. he'll stop villains as quickly as possible and move on before you can even blink, leaving his sidekicks and the police to deal with all the formalities and boring work. he doesn't stick around after a takedown, he'll brush off any injuries he gets, he's not a big fan of the cameras and questions, and most days he's too overworked and tired to deal with the crazed fans that want to snap a picture with him.

it's a different story that fateful day he meets you. a couple of villains have stormed into a museum, holding civilians hostage while they loot the artifacts there. it's a dangerous situation with so many people at risk, but it’s nothing the winged hero can't handle, orchestrating his feathers to capture the villains in anti-quirk cuffs from a safe distance. he does a quick look-over to ensure that everyone's safe, and he's just about to jet off to the next crime scene when he sees you, quivering in fear, crouching beside some children.

his heart stops in his chest when he sees the way you embrace as many as you can, the way they cling to you so desperately. oh, you poor thing. you look so shaky, so terrified, and what kind of hero would he be if he didn't ease your worries? he swoops down from his perch, greeting a few civilians and telling them they're all safe now, until he reaches you.

he can see the way the children wipe away their tears and put smiles on their faces for him, and aren't you just a darling, telling them that there's nothing to worry about now that a pro hero is here.

he plays his part as the triumphant hero well, cheering and praising the kids for being so strong, listening to the way they gush at how amazing his wings are. and, sure, he's facing the little tots, but his mind is focused on you — the way you flatten stray hairs, adjust the hem of your blouse, check your phone. he doesn't even realise that there’s another teacher here until some vile man puts his hands on your shoulders, asking if you're okay.

you're perfect, he thinks, when you stumble away from the hand on you, rubbing the nape of your neck as you reply. then, both of you are grouping with the kids and hawks takes the chance to speak to you.

"hey, you alright, dove?" he asks, flashing that award-winning smile of his, enjoying the way your eyes widen a little in shock.

"yes— yes, we're fine, thank you so much for saving us, hawks."

"just doing my job, miss…?"

you fill him in with your name, and it sounds so much more sultry — like something better whispered between lovers at night than in a public museum with children around — when it's rolling off his tongue as he repeats after you.

"got some brave kids with you, don't you?" he says, grinning at the way one boy shyly tucks himself beside your leg. "school trip, i'm guessing?"

"yeah, we're, um, learning the history of quirks."

just before hawks can reply, a few more kids join, and you crouch down to listen to them speak (and maybe, just maybe, hawks' eyes flit down to the curve of your ass, but you're none the wiser to his lusty gaze).

"maybe you should ask mr hawks," you say — and, god, don't you sound adorable speaking so softly to the children, calling him mr hawks and all, teaching them a little respect. he can already tell you’d make a fine parent, listening to your childrens’ woes (plural, definitely, he’s always wanted a big family), teaching them right from wrong and making sure they’re good kids — pretty like their ma, heroic like their dad.

"mr hawks, can we please, please, get a picture with you?" one of the girls says, and how can he resist the doe eyes and the nervous smile you have on your face.

"of course, kid." you take out your phone and call all the children back in so you can get a group shot, but hawks is quick to pull you back by the wrist when you start to walk away so you can take the photo. "none of that, dove, can't have the teacher missing from the pic, now can we, kids?"

and, whatever the hero says, goes. the kids immediately agree that you have to be in the photo.

"excuse me, sir, mind taking the photo for us?" hawks knows that that's another teacher, or your assistant, but no one ever says no to a hero, so it's easy to get the other man to distance himself as you all crowd together.

hawks makes sure you're right next to him, with the children scattered on either of your sides. he slips a hand around your hip, dismissing the way you look at him curiously with a quick, "smile for the camera, babe!"

the picture is perfect. the two of you are right in the middle, looking like a happy couple with his arm around you, and a lovely smile on your face. even better is the sight of the kids surrounding you both, like some massive, mix-matched family. it's so strange, this feeling festering in him, to want that with you; to see a kid — his kid — on your hip, to rest his chin on your shoulder when you're swaying a babe to sleep, to listen to you baby-talk to his child, little coos and quiet giggles filling the room. just give him a time and he'll be ready and willing to fill you up with a whole class of kids.

it doesn't take long for his sidekicks to enter the building, and, normally, by this time, hawks would have long since left the area, but he can't bring himself to part from you so soon. he asks for your number so you can send him the picture of you two, and then he says that it's protocol for him to meet up with witnesses later for reports of the event, and, well, what reason do you have to not believe him?

he texts you whenever he can after that. a message about how pretty you look in the picture, another checking up on you and the kids — god, doesn't that sound like a dream come true. you and his kids — and another asking if you're free on friday to go over what happened.

he invites you over to the agency, so it seems more believable, and you seem prepared to answer his questions about what you saw before he arrived. sure, you had gone over this with the police, but he needed to make sure the paperwork and whatnot were all in place — the boring side of hero work, he claims with a dramatic groan.

you look gorgeous in your knit sweater and blue jeans, trousers hugging your thighs so well, he wants to dig into your skin, squeeze the plump flesh until you're bruising with his love. it's easy to convince you to stay for lunch — "come on, let me treat you for coming all the way out here for me" — and he orders something expensive, something that has you sweetly gasping when it's delivered to his office ("oh, hawks, please you really shouldn't have." but how can he stop himself from showering you in all he's worth?).

you don't even realise how quickly time is flying by and you're still in his office, chattering about the work the kids have been up to, how you plan to kick back and relax this weekend. you don't notice his hand on your hip, soothingly rubbing circles, encouraging you to ramble on and on, and when you let slip that your shoulders have been aching lately, well, isn't this just a golden opportunity for him?

"come on, dove, i'm pretty talented with my hands."

you don't miss the innuendo, nor are you unaware of how the light in his eyes is lost to a flourishing darkness, but who wouldn't turn into a flushed fool beneath such a charming hero's gaze? you're so compliant for him, letting him turn you and knead at your shoulders, at the base of your neck as he whispers to you. "right here, babe? like this?"

"y-yeah, feels really good…"

he hums, quiet, gentle, but no less seductive than his wandering hands that slowly trail down your arm. his breath is warm on your neck from how close he is, and you can feel the heat from his chest on your back as he murmurs into your ear. "you're so tense, baby, gotta loosen you up and make you feel good."

you're so lost to the way his nose grazes along the side of your neck, his lips following in its wake with the most tender kisses, that you don't realise his hands have moved to massage your hips until they gradually migrate upwards, fondling your breasts through your clothes. you're too far gone now, arching into his caresses, sighing his name as he enjoys the weight of them in his palms.

you don't even know what he's saying, too busy moving your hand back to palm at his cock to focus on his muttering. "god, baby, can't wait to see these fucking grow, wanna see them leaking with your milk."

before you know it, you're completely bare before him, lying back and watching as he pushes his pants down and his rock-hard cock springs up, slapping against his abdomen.

a condom is the last thing on either of your minds — you're too lust drunk, begging for him to fuck you, and he's just giving you what you want, pretty girl, don't worry, he'll stuff you to the brim until you're dripping.

he's got the tightest grip on your body as he bottoms out, claws sinking into your plush hips as he revels in the tight feel of your cunt around him. he can't hold himself back for long, losing all self-control in favour of pounding into you with reckless abandon, carving your silky, pliant walls to the shape of his cock, so you can only ever get pleasure from his cock, so he's the only man you'll ever be creaming for.

"fuck, baby, been thinking about your pretty pussy since i met you. gonna fill you up real good till you're leaking for days," he rasps, mouthing around your nipples, latching onto the pert bud and sucking until faint marks bloom all around them.

his words are going in one ear and out the other, lost beneath your cries and pleas when his thumb moves to swipe at your pearl, circling it in steady motions.

you're trembling beneath him, little pants of his name escaping you, as he croons, "been aching thinking about stuffing you full of my load, seeing you swell all pretty with my kid — fucking hips are made for it, shit—! you want that, too, don't you, pretty bird? bet you want a little babe of your own, yeah? fuck, baby, don't worry, don't worry, i'll give you what you want, i'll give it to you, gonna, fuck— gonna fuck a kid right into you, baby, promise."

his pace is relentless, unyielding, as he pistons his hips into you, deeper and deeper until the blunt tip is kissing your womb with each thrust. his lewd words barely filter in your mind, but the animalistic growls that follow each sentence spark across your nerves, sending you into a burgeoning fire. you don't even know what you're agreeing to, mindlessly nodding your head, mewling a pathetic little "yeah, yeah, hawks, want it so bad, please," and what kind of hero would he be if he didn't give you what you wanted? what you were practically begging him for?

"fuck, yeah!" he groans, winding his arms beneath your back and curling them over your shoulders so he can sink into you even further. until not a breath of air can pass between your bodies. until you forget where you begin and he ends. "you want my seed, baby? gonna let me knock you up, yeah? fuck, baby, i'm coming, i’m coming—!"

his knees are digging into the cushions of the sofa as he puts his all into the last few thrusts. obscene squelches resonate throughout the room, the smell of sex stifling the air with its heady arouma as he buries himself in you. spurts of cum paint your insides white and the feeling of a warm stickiness filling your womb sends you over the edge, hurtling into your own orgasm. your cunt clenches around him, keeping his sensitive cock deep in your hole so he can't pull out even if he wanted to.

his body is folded over yours, breath coming out in puffs over your sore tits as you both calm your racing hearts. his cock is still shoved inside you, not letting a single drop of his cum escape.

"hawks," you murmur, nudging at his shoulder until he lifts his head. "you're still, um…"

your eyes flicker down to where the two of you are joined together, to where your cum trickles out and smears along his thighs, dirtying the sofa beneath you. he smirks at the shy way you avert your eyes when he locks his darkened gaze on yours.

he hums, tipping his head back down to nip at the lobe of your ear, to suck a sweet little love bite at the edge of your jaw. "you didn't think we were done, did you, birdie?" his arms encircle your body and you moan when he grinds his pubic bone against your clit to push his cum even deeper into your cunt. "made a promise to you, baby, and i'm not stopping till i'm sure you're knocked up with my kid."

#anon #mine #mine.bnha #tw dubcon

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touyaz · 2 years

Text

my love scars.

pairing dabi | todoroki touya x fem reader

word count 1,232

notes soft dabi for @killerdabi <3

WARNINGS smut, fingering, oral (f rec), blood (dabi’s body), reader has body hair. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

"Gotta stop moving," he murmurs, low and heady into the crease where thigh meets pelvis. Scarred lips brush your sensitivity in soft kisses, staples marking the tenderness with small crescents as he sinks himself in a little further, pressing in close and nipping where he knows you're especially susceptible to his touch.

He tells you you need to stop moving — his left hand even meanders its way to push your hip back into the mattress — but he doesn't stop teasing your delicate skin between the ridges of his incisors. He doesn't stop that hot and heavy drag of his tongue along your swollen folds. He doesn't stop before wrapping those raw, mismatched lips of his around your clit and sucking it into his mouth.

He chuckles, instead, a breathy laugh that fans over the damp hair on your sex. His hands find their way back down to pull apart your slick lips, mouth hovering inches above where you’re pulsing for him.

A kiss to your aching clit has you whimpering, a fragmented sob that pulls his lips into a smirk. Another peck draws a whine out of you, has your hips rutting up for a firmer touch that he isn’t willing to give you just yet.

He clicks his teeth. “What’d I just say?”

“Stop teasing,” you grumble, eyes falling shut when he grazes his nose along the patch of curls to leave a lasting kiss there.

“I’m not teasing,” he echoes, flicking his tongue over your bud so quickly you would have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. “I’m taking my time with you. Is that a crime now?”

“Yeah, it is, so—” Your words falter when he sinks two fingers into you, right down to the third knuckle. “Fuck— please, Touya.”

He stops for a moment to exhale a quiet laugh.

“I regret telling you that, you know?”

(He only regrets not telling you the truth sooner.)

“Calling me it just to get your way.”

“It's not my fault you like it so much, Touya.”

He counters your remark by curling his fingers, revelling the way your body mimics the arch and your voice keens so sweetly just for him.

“What were you saying?” he murmurs, sliding a heated palm along the underside of your thigh. He pulls your leg onto his shoulder, groaning as you dig your heel into the mottled skin of his back. “Not so smart now, are we?”

It gnaws at him — that sharp tug of skin splintering, the agony of being pulled apart staple by rusted staple, each pinch more acute and searing than the last. Then comes the warmth: that slow, steady, subtle stream of sanguine that seeps into the divots and wounds and battle scars that litter his body.

If he’s destined to bleed out right here, right now, then he wants to go with you being the only thing in his mind. He looks up and scores the curves of your body on the back of his eyelids; he looks up and all he can focus on is the tilt of your head and the way your moans are tangible and heavy and honeyed in the air around you.

He pulls away only because he knows what you’ll do next. Your plea will taper off into a cry, your head will drop, and you’ll look down at him — you’ll look down at him with love and lust and more than he deserves, but all that he’s ever wanted. You’ll look down at him, and he’ll look up at you, and he’ll go with you being the only thing reflected in the light of his eyes.

“Touya—”

“I know,” he says, and he burrows his head into the supple swell of your pelvis. Lips graze wiry hair in fleeting kisses as he curls his fingers, as he peppers more along his way to your clit. “I know, I’ve got you, baby. You’ve got me.”

He hears the muted thud of your head falling back, listens eagerly to the dulcet cries of his name that follow as he hollows his lips around your little pearl, and fixates on rubbing that soft spot in you only he can reach.

(That only he will ever have the opportunity to reach if fate would let him have it. He’ll become an optimist just for you, just for tonight.)

“That’s it,” he murmurs around the bud, flicking his tongue in short strikes to keep you teetering on the edge for a little longer. “So fucking pretty for me, yeah?”

You nod, pillow ruffling with the shaky movement as your heels dig into his back some more. It hurts, but his eyes soften when he feels you squeeze around his fingers, when the tremors in your thighs have your legs knocking into the side of his head.

“You close?” You hum noisily, voice strained as you bite back screams in favour of panting his name between breaths. “Yeah? Yeah, I can feel you. You wanna cum for me? Gonna let me see it? Let me see you, baby.”

Your body winds tight like a bow, toes curling into torn-apart flesh, but the pain is feather-light compared to the way you careen into his mouth and fall apart on his tongue.

“There we go,” he rasps. “Just like that — let me see it all.” His fingers are restless, drawing out what he can from you. His mouth works overtime, drinking what you offer so graciously, groaning at the taste of sweat and sex that souses his mouth, and spilling praises that you soak up all too diligently. “Always so fucking good for me, aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”

You’re breathless when you call his name, fingers trembling along his scalp as they weave through his damp hair.

“You said—” he smirks at the deep breath you take then, and you tug on the strands until it drops to a scowl “—said you’d stop me next time that happens.”

“Next time what happens?” he asks, moving your leg off his shoulder to crawl up a little ways further. He settles on top of you, burying his face in your sternum, smiling at the quick rise and fall of it beneath his heated cheek.

“Your back,” you grumble. “Stop acting like it doesn’t hurt, we need to fix it.”

He presses you down when you try to move, a bloody, crumbling, mess of an anchor, dragging you down with his ruination.

“It’s fine” — it’s not, but maybe the blood loss is sending his head into a tizzy, maybe he’s just intoxicated by the feel of his body moulding to yours — “Don’t wanna move. Can’t even feel it—”

“Touya—”

“Can’t feel anything but you,” he mumbles, listening intently to your heartbeat as it slows to match his, closing his eyes when your hand brushes back his damp tresses.

“That was cheesy,” you whisper, ghosting your finger over the jagged skin beneath his eyes.

“Just for you.”

You smile, not that he can see it. He can feel it, though, in the way you brush your thumb over his cheek gently, in the way you tighten your embrace on him, holding him together when he’s broken and bleeding out all over you.

“Let me fix you,” you ask. “Please, Touya?”

He huffs, eyes burning brightly when he peers up at you, half-lidded and feigning annoyance.

“Really shouldn’t have told you that.”

#reader: let me fix u / dabi: you can do whatever u want to me beloved <3 #dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #who is searching up shit for this man w his real name plssss #bnha x you #mha x you #dabi x you #mine #mine.bnha #blood as a symbol of intimacy

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touyaz · 3 years

Text

When I say food as a language of love, I'm thinking about how Katsuki breaks bread in half and doesn't even stop to think before sliding over the plate with all the tiny crumbs and the bigger portion to you. I think about how Eijirou watches you peel oranges with gentle precision (he always ends up squeezing it a little and the juices squirt out on him), and once you're done he'll take the fruit from you, feeding you one slice and then himself the next. And how Keigo watches you take a bite out of a burger and, when you offer it to him too, instead of eating from the untouched side, he takes another bite out of where you just ate from. And Touya opens his mouth whenever you're eating sweets and come across a flavour you don't like, letting you drop the chewed-up treat right on his tongue (even if he hates the taste, too). Shouto will wipe away the smallest traces of sauce that stick to the corner of your mouth, and he'll lick it off his thumb without thinking twice. Tomura insists on feeding you first, no matter the occasion. Even if you've already eaten, he can't start his meal until you've taken a bite out of his food first. Izuku always carries your favourite snack on his person; even if he won't see you that day, making sure he's got something saved for you (just in case!) is part of his morning routine. Denki isn't a fan of vegetables, but when he sees you push them around and leave them until the end, he'll scoop them onto his plate and give you some of his other food instead.

minors, ageless & blank blogs do not follow me. you will be blocked.

#we are being soft tonight :(((#i know i missed a bunch of ppl but it was getting long 😭 i am still thinking abt the others i swear <33 #mine #mine.bnha

965 notes · View notes

touyaz · 3 years

Note

oh i always love the thought of keigo having a breeding kink •v• he really wanted to be able to get you to trust him on your own accord as to not scare you away therefore doesn’t ask you to get off of birth control .. leading him to always become extremely sad after sex (his load was saved for you which means it needs to take properly that’s the point of this gift), so imagine his surprise when after a bit of googling you decide to randomly start praising him during one of his sad after sex episodes about how he’s the best mate ever and bred you so well that it most definitely took

the 3 f’s of the hybrids.

pairing hawks | takami keigo x fem reader

word count 1,700

notes i've never thought of him getting sad after sex for this reason but this..... is amazing. i adore it. thank you sm for sharing <3 i'm sorry for taking so long to respond sakjdh

WARNINGS smut, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, birth control, reader getting their period, v brief oral (f rec).

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

Please, this is so cute. I imagine the longer he's with you, the greater his urge to breed and start a family becomes. And, well, it's pretty intense for him because he sees reminders everywhere he goes: the little kids he sees and takes pictures with when he's at work, when he's in a drugstore for medicines and he walks past the aisle with pregnancy tests and condoms, when he's lazing around at home and an ad about a little playhouse comes on. He sees all those things and he just wants to have it all so badly, but he doesn't want to overwhelm you with it, no matter how much it strains on his self-control.

Every time he sees you taking your pill, he gets a little subdued because that tiny thing is keeping his load from taking and he hates it so much, but obviously he's still going to respect your wishes. Or, if you have an iud, he's secretly counting the days until it needs to be renewed/ taken out, hoping you'll decide not to replace it when the time comes.

He gets so sad and quiet after sex when he's still coming down from his high. When he pulls out and sees that stupid rubber around his cock, and he just wishes that he didn't have to wear it, wishes he could just cum inside you again and again and again. He hates tying up the condom and throwing it away once he's done because it's such a waste of his seed — if you just let him fill you up, just once, that'd be heavenly, but no, if he's not wearing a condom then you always make sure he pulls out, and as much as it pains him, he'll always listen to you. It's a little twisted that on the days he's not wearing a condom, he prays his seed takes and you end up pregnant.

When you notice how quiet he gets, he brushes off your concerns. Every "Kei, what's the matter?" is dismissed with a "It's nothing baby, I'm just tired," and a peck on the cheek, because he doesn't want to scare you away with how deep his desires run. You accept his answers for the time being, knowing how he's overworked and drained from heroics and whatnot, but when he gets pouty the day you get your period, and the silence after sex persists, you start to take matters into your own hands.

It goes from not knowing what to search for, to tumbling down a slippery slope of how people with animal mutation quirks may have more in common with their animal counterparts than it seems at first glance. You read about how those with water animal quirks have an affinity for the seas and are naturally great swimmers, you learn that people with bear quirks have been known to hibernate. All the research you do eventually leads to what a helpful little blog has dubbed the 3 F's of the Hybrids: feeding, fighting and fucking.

Keigo wasn't much of a chef before you met him, but he does have a lot of money, and with a large bank account comes many a night of takeaways and fine desserts. When he can, he enjoys taking you out to his favourite restaurant, making sure to order plenty for the both of you to dine on — and you're thankful for the privacy you get there because he always insists on feeding you a bite or two of his food. You've also caught him trying to prepare some meals for quieter nights in, and you enjoy those days because of how well you bounce around in the kitchen together.

Now, Keigo's a hero, so obviously he's been in more fights than the average bird quirk haver, but a little scrolling tells you that fighting could also be due to their territorial behaviour, and it makes you remember all the times you've watched Keigo shoo away pigeons for disturbing your alone time, all the times he's wrapped a wing around you so your body is pressed against his.

The last point, fucking, is something you're more than acquainted with, but you hope this section gives you all the answers that you're looking for. And it delivers so well. You learn more about ruts and heats, about how people can be overcome with their baser desires to have sex and produce offsprings — a breeding kink, the author had so eloquently called it — about how deep and intimate sex can be for them because it cements the relationship, almost like a mark of the close bond between the two people. You weren't blind to the way Keigo would sadden when he had to pull out, but you always chalked it up to him just wanting to cum in you, finding the sight of his cum dripping out of you erotic or something, you had no idea how much more than that it was.

You decide to have a conversation with Keigo about family and your futures, to make sure you're both on the same page. It'd be nice having a family together, you both conclude, and so that night you don't make him pull out when he cums, and he gets to dream about what would happen if you weren't still on your birth control. You both agreed that, whenever you were ready to stop your birth control, you'd do so, and then he'd get to really try for a family.

After that day, in secret, you talk to your doctor about how to safely get off of your contraception. You want it to be a surprise for Keigo, so you wait out however long the temporary after effects last, before initiating anything with Keigo, and he's none the wiser to your plans.

He comes home one day, looking a little tired, but that all fades away when you reveal everything to him. His jaw drops a little in disbelief, lips warbling as he's stunned speechless, and then, he's on you like white on rice. Tearing through your clothes without a care, lips biting and sucking and marking up any inch of your skin within reach, hands fiddling and yanking and pulling at your body, tugging you closer to him, digging into your thighs to part them, wrapping across your stomach to hold you in place when he goes down on you.

He's so different like this. Animalistic. Carnal. Dangerous, almost. There's no stopping him, no getting in his way and denying what he's been craving for so, so long. He's nice to you at first, licking your cunt with quick flicks of his tongue, latching onto your clit and humming until your body trembles beneath his mouth, but once he's made you cum a few times, it's his turn to be selfish. To be downright greedy. To fold your body this way and that as he pounds into you, as he squeezes the fat of your ass and spreads your cheeks so he can admire the rings of cream that cling to his cock every time he hammers into you. He'll have you every which way he can, round after round with that endless stamina of his, on your back, on all fours, legs thrown over his shoulders, mating press, you name it, he's doing it. Honestly, he's probably so far gone he doesn't really know what you're saying, all he knows is you're moaning and crying out his name, and he's revelling in the feel of your warm cunt, all wrapped around his cock, silky and pliant and literally dripping with his cum.

And his mouth is absolutely filthy, grunting about how fucking tight you feel, how he's gonna fill you up til you're dripping for days, talking about how you're gonna be begging for his cum now that you've gotten a taste of it. When you sob for him to cum in you, a flip switches inside him, and he's battering all the sensitive spots he can find in your cunt until you're whining for him to breed you, to stuff you to the brim, to mark you as his.

It's near the end when his energy is waning and you're so fucked out of your mind that all your words slur together into a pretty mess that things take a softer turn. He holds you so very close, one hand laced with yours, the other wrapped around your waist to hold you against him as he sinks into your body. His pace is slower, but so much deeper, each thrust marked with an obscene slap of skin on skin. He's gentler now, planting kisses over all the places he had bitten harshly, grazing his nose against your tender skin and basking in the heady scent of sex in the air, of the light floral perfume that's masked by all the sweat and cum. He's a little shocked when you start praising him, but he flushes under all the compliments, not expecting it to have such an effect on him. But he can't deny the way his ego grows as you mumble about how good he feels, how full you feel, how no one ever compares to him, how you just know that his seed's gonna take. It doesn't take long for him to spill into you a final time, not when you're pressing sloppy, fucked out kisses all over his chin and cheeks, murmuring how much you love him, how you can't wait to have a family with him.

When he's finally tired — a feat in and of itself, considering just the sight of his cum trickling from your pussy is enough to have his cock twitching in excitement — and you're completely breathless, the aches settling deep into your bones, almost half-unconscious from how long he's been going for, he lets out a quiet little thank you, gives you a gentle kiss on the forehead and takes care of your body since you're too dazed to move a muscle.

The very next morning, he gladly throws away all the boxes of condoms he has, and is ushering you out to the drugstore to get pregnancy tests <3

#mine #mine.bnha #anon

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touyaz · 3 years

Text

fascination.

pairing todoroki shouto x fem reader

word count 3,824

notes for my 100 followers event (closed). big thank you to @hoefortodo for making fanart for this! please give it some love, it’s amazing!! +link

WARNINGS smut, fingering, finger-sucking, squirting.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

The fascination starts one day when you're studying together in your final year at UA. You're cramming in study sessions for your written exams with Shouto, spending late nights in his room with your heads buried in your notebooks, learning and memorising different medical procedures and support items and other fanciful heroic terms. You're hunching over his low table, your cheek flat against the papers scattered all over, as you watch his brows furrow in concentration, his lips pursing in a cute pout as he writes notes diligently.

You watch his hand glide over the paper with each word, the smooth plane of his hand interrupted by the slight veins protruding from his skin, faint blue and grey lines running over the back of his hand, up his forearms and beyond his rolled up sleeves. His skin is flushed from writing and rewriting for hours on end, but the hard grip he has on his pen whitens his skin around the tool, as if the harder he holds the pen, the quicker the words will transfer to the paper.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, eyes unmoving from the lines of his flashcard. You hum in response and he continues, gaze flickering to yours momentarily. "You're staring. Did you want my notes?"

"Nope, just admiring the view."

He stops scribing, raising a curious brow. "What view?"

He's so precious, you think, stifling a grin when he peeks at his closed curtains.

"You."

"Oh." He blinks slowly before nodding. "Thank you."

You snort, sitting up and cracking the aches out of your back as he watches, twirling his pen with those nimble fingers of his.

"You're welcome." Your gaze drops to the way the pen quickly flits around his hand as he absentmindedly plays with it, watching the way it moves between each finger agiley, twisting like a spinning top. You know how good he is with his fingers and your core thrums with the thought of what else his fingers could be playing with, but you focus on the way the pen pivots around his digits. You almost groan when it stops, perfectly poised between his index and thumb, as though he's going to continue studying.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

You pluck the pen from his hand, lacing your own with his and he gives a gentle squeeze.

"Let's take a break, I'm tired."

"Would you like food?"

"Nope," you sigh, immediately collapsing to the ground, softened by the tatami mats beneath you. Shouto easily follows you, stretching out his legs beneath the low table as he stares at the ceiling from beside you. "Just wanna lie here for a bit."

He nods, content with the tranquility that fills the room, listening to the gentle exhales that leave you as you lift his hand, comparing the size of his to your own before you trace over the vague lines over the back; his fingers flex as you tickle his skin, gently drawing lines up and down the length of his fingers, circling over the curves of his knuckles, brushing against the palm of his hand.

He gapes, blinking owlishly at the ceiling when you bring his hand down to press a gentle kiss to the back of it. You've never done this before — paid so much attention to his hand (other body parts, like his shoulders, his abs, and lower, sure, but never his hands) — and he doesn't know how to feel about it. The care you take when caressing his skin is wonderful, treating his hand like a delicate, fragile piece of china when you both know of the destruction it can wreak; he bathes in the admiration, the fondness, you bestow upon his hands for a moment longer, until you bring it down to your lips once more and bite.

Instantly, his mouth curls into a childish pout and he pulls his hand away, cradling it to his chest like you've actually hurt him. You snicker when he turns to face you, looking cross and stern with his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

"What was that for?"

"What was what for?" You feign innocence, but Shouto's not so naïve to dismiss the way your lips pull at the corner.

"You bit me."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know." He almost sounds exasperated, like he's truly trying to decipher what was going through your mind, and the thought makes you laugh, placing a hand on his face and rubbing over his cheekbone with your thumb.

"Just wanted a little taste. You're very nice. Absolutely exquisite."

"Thank you," he grumbles, placing his hand atop your own, lightly brushing his thumb over your knuckles.

Before you know it, he's lifting your hand, singling out your index finger and dragging it to his own mouth so he can nibble at the tip. The way his teeth sink into your skin in small nips is ticklish, reminding you of a bunny chewing on a carrot. He looks so serious doing something so silly, and it makes you giggle as he pulls back. He purses his lips, contemplating what to say next.

“Salty,” he says, with a self-assured nod, and you gasp in mock offense, wiping your now-wet finger against the smirk growing on his face.

“I hate you,” you grouse, flicking his jawline, but he simply chuckles in response, holding your hand flat against his face once more.

“I’m only kidding,” he replies, and suddenly you fear your hand really is turning clammy beneath his; his palm, rough and hot to the touch, spans across your hand, and you can feel the warmth that simmers beneath his skin, slowly heating you up the longer he grazes his thumb across your knuckles lightly. “You were very nice.”

“How kind of you to say.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his sincerity. “We should get back to work.”

He closes his eyes, turning his face the few necessary degrees to plant a fleeting kiss to the heel of your palm. “Let’s stay like this for a bit longer.”

There’s no way you can say no to him when he looks so serene before you, long lashes resting against the slope of his cheekbones, lips the slightest bit parted to air out soft breaths; like the calm after a storm, he stays idle, washing away the fatigue that endless hours of training bring about, the weariness that comes from hunching over desks day after day. You feel your own exhaustion catch up to you, wanting to be at peace just like Shouto, and so you mirror his tranquility, letting yourself forget about any future worries and obstacles just for this moment; you feel your anxiety dissipate slowly, easily, until all you know are the quiet exhales that warm your lips and the sweet caresses of his hand on yours.

The next time you spend more than a second looking at his hands, the lithe digits are adorned in silver. Criss-crossed metal, weaved to resemble twisted branches and leaves, twine around his fingers in various bands, some thick, with black designs engraved onto the surface, others slim and dainty, like the small ring wrapped around his little finger, plain and smooth as the lights above glint off of its veneer.

You can’t peel your eyes away from his hands, the way the rings accentuate his lissom fingers, the way the bright, neon lights cast a rainbow over his skin — and you know exactly where the pot of gold at the end of it is.

You’ve never seen him put so much thought into an outfit — gone is his usual attire of a plain white tee and some fancy jumper over it; tonight, he's decked out in designer clothes, black slacks and a fitted blazer to match, with a perfectly crisp white shirt beneath it, graciously unbuttoned at the top to reveal a delicious slice of his pecs. The cherry on top is the thin silver chain that dangles around his neck, highlighting the dip of his collarbones that peek out. He looks good. More than that, he looks so tempting, and if you had your wits about you, you wouldn't be pressing yourself to his side so keenly, dreaming about tearing his shirt in two and letting him have his way with you.

"Shouto, let's go out," you suggest, dropping your hand from where it was teasing the sliver of uncovered skin on his chest, to reach for his own hand, pulling him to the closest exit.

He hums in response, holding you still with his other hand on your waist. "But we just got here. I think Kaminari will be cutting his cake soon."

"Yeah, yeah," you sigh, letting him tug you closer until you're leaning against him, and he sways you gently despite the upbeat, edm music playing in the background. "Just for a bit, I mean. To get some air."

He nods, following you out to the balcony of the apartment, shutting the patio door behind himself. He leans against the railing, eyes pouring over you as you fan yourself, staring out at the late night sky, watching as cars flicker down the streets, as people flit about different restaurants below.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, holding out a hand, and you can see the faint, icy mist that fumes from it. You shuffle in front of him, moving his hand to the nap of your neck, and you instantly slump into his body when it cools you down.

"Just felt hot," you mumble, and beneath your cheek you feel his chest purr when he hums in understanding. His hand moves in slow, rhythmic motions, just cold enough to cool you down, but all you can focus on is the way the freezing metal rings sink into your skin as he massages your neck. You're sure they'll leave little creases in your skin that you'd be more than proud to show off.

His chest rumbles with laughter when you let out a happy sigh. "Is it that nice?"

"It's heavenly."

There's a lull in conversation then, both of you more than content with simply basking in one another's presence, enjoying the quiet intimacy, until you speak up once more.

"You look really good."

"You always look beautiful," he replies easily, "I think that's the fifth time you've said that tonight."

"Really good," you repeat, grinning against him when he shakes his head fondly.

"Kaminari said he wouldn't let me in today if I was dressed like his grandfather."

You snort at that. "You do dress like an old man sometimes."

The hand holding your waist gives a little squeeze in retaliation and he narrows his eyes at you playfully.

"I'm kidding," you giggle, pecking his pursed lips. "But you do have white hair...."

He rolls his eyes, huffing out a grumbled, "I'm not old," as if you don't already know that.

With one hand, you play with the chain around his neck, twisting it around the tip of your finger before you trace over its joints, following along the smooth curve of his collarbones, and he shudders every time the pad of your finger brushes against his skin.

"I like the rings," you murmur, so quietly Shouto almost misses it.

"Tokoyami helped me pick them," he says, briefly pulling his hand away from your shoulders to show you them more closely, and you admire the way the rings curl around his slender fingers, shining in the silver moonlight.

"They look pretty," you reply, running your finger along the ridges of the band before he interlocks his hands with yours; the contrast is pleasant, the rings on his left hand are warm to the touch, where the ones on his right feel like snowflakes on your hands. He smooths his hands along your arms, and goosebumps raise along your skin as he drags his hands up and down your body, setting your nerves alight in a hot and cold dance.

As he does so, he tips his head to yours, grazing his nose against your own before slanting his mouth across yours in a gentle kiss. His lips are soft, like delicate petals fluttering in the wind against your lips, as he focuses on the swell of your bottom lip, on licking off the cherry gloss that coats your skin. It's sweet, he thinks, and he can't help but dive in for more, sinking his teeth into the plush skin as if he's taking a bite of fruit, near salivating at the taste of you and your syrupy lips. His tongue swoops into your mouth just as his palms curve over your rear, fingers squeezing at the plump flesh, digging into your fat and yanking you closer, until you're flushed against his body, melting beneath his touch.

When he parts from your mouth, a line of spit hangs between your mouths, and the wicked glint in his eyes rivals the sparkles shimmering across his wet lips. Before you can reel him back into another trembling kiss, his right hand is slipping into your gaping mouth, two fingers messily smearing the saliva in your mouth around, coating themselves in your wetness before you even wrap your tongue around them. He hums, a small smirk forming on his face when you hollow your cheeks around the digits; he doesn't miss the way your tongue seems enamoured by his rings, fixated on swirling around the silver bands, savouring the cold, metallic taste in your mouth.

He pulls back with a shudder, the cold night air cooling the spit on his fingers, and just before he can slip his fingers beneath your clothes, have you falling apart on his fingers, soaking the rings with a different kind of wetness, the patio door is sliding open.

"Ah, there you both are!" Midoriya calls, gleaming as if he hasn't just interrupted the two of you. Luckily for him, your body covers Shouto's messy hands, so he can't steal a glimpse of what you had just been doing. "We're about to cut the cake."

Shouto nods, telling him that you'll both be there, and he leaves just as quickly as he came. He scrunches his nose at the loss, wiping off your spit on his clothes rather unceremoniously, and you giggle at his forlorn expression.

"Maybe some other time, Sho," you say, lacing your hand with his cleaner one after you'd fix yourself up. You use your free hand to brush away some of the sparkles on his lips, but it doesn't help much. Hopefully no one would look that closely at either of your lips.

He sighs, wanting nothing more than to continue what you had been doing.

"Tonight," he says vehemently, already thinking about all the ways he'll make you fall apart on his fingers. "Right after the party."

Shouto's hands seem to have their own magnetic field, reeling you in impossibly close, until any hopes of escaping are nothing but pipe dreams. His hands are the only things occupying your mind, the only things that make any semblance of sense in your mind as you feel them curl and stretch you to your limits.

True to his word, when the party had died down and it was acceptable to leave, Shouto was dragging you out the front door and straight to his car. He threw open the door to the backseat, unceremoniously pushed you inside and then followed, hastily shutting the door behind him before he swooped in for a kiss, more teeth and tongue and rawness as he was more focused on ridding you of your clothes and having his way with you.

Your body is warm from the layers you were wearing, but Shouto is quick to change that; an icy hand with cold rings to match slides up your inner thigh, teasing the soft skin with pinches and scratches before his fingers graze against your folds. He's done away with your underwear already, and it leaves you exposed to the frosty air and his snowy hands; he circles your clit and it feels like ice pinpointing your nerves, cooling them until you're numbly dripping all over his leather seats, unaware of just how much you're soaking the fabric as he continues his ministrations. Your legs quiver from the cold, breath coming out in cloudy puffs as you moan for him to give you more, and he wastes no time sinking two of his fingers into your cunt.

The difference is overwhelming for both of you: your tight heat sucks his fingers in, clenching around them so he can barely pull back to keep pumping them in, and the rings around his fingers scrape against your velvety walls with each thrust, stretching you out until you toe the line of pain and pleasure. Each time he crooks his fingers, the rings curl against your insides, knocking against your weak spots to elicit filthy squeals from your lips, making you careen up in his grasp for him to do it again, please, Sho, please—

"Like this?" he asks, swirling his fingers in firm, mindless shapes before he pulls out, dragging his digits through the slick coating your lips until you can hear the lewd squelches, the obscenely wet sounds of your arousal dirtying your thighs, his car, his hands.

You're dripping all over them, palm puddling with slick, rings slathered and shimmering with your essence, but he can't bring himself to care about the mess when you're moaning and sobbing for him to put his fingers back in, to fuck you properly.

Instead, Shouto's icy hand slithers its way up your body, easily slinking into your open mouth as your saliva joins the mess already coating it. He can feel the way your tongue rushes to lick the slick, sliding his rings this way and that, the tip of your wet muscle slipping into the gaps when his rings come loose. You don't seem to care too much about possibly choking on the metal when you suck at his fingers like they're doused in an elixir of desire, but he pulls back and fixes the rings, admiring the drool that gleams all over.

He doesn't even notice your hand moving until it's wrapped around his wrist, yanking his fingers back into your mouth to slurp at them as if they're covered in honey and you're his pretty, starving, bumbling bee. He's stunned, mouth gaping and utterly enamoured by the way your cheeks hollow and your eyes roll back as you gag around his fingers; when he finally becomes aware of the way you're rutting up against his hips in time with each lick, he decides to move, bringing a heated hand down to your bundle of nerves and rubbing harsh, unyielding circles over it.

Your groan against his fingers, grinding your hips with each swirl over your clit, and Shouto's capitvated by how debased you look, frothing at the mouth for a taste of his fingers, getting all hot and bothered and turned on just by licking at his hands.

After being touched by a frozen hand for so long, the sudden heat that comes from Shouto's left hand is a blessing; it sends thrills up your spine, quickly heating up every icy inch of your skin as he shoves it into your soaking heat. Your back arches painfully when the hot rings kindle your insides, but you can't seem to care too much when he curls them against your walls so deliciously, using your own dripping arousal to slide in and out noisily.

His gaze flits between your mouth — still sucking on his fingers so messily, so eagerly — and your legs, twitching around his body, when you finally let go of his hand. He looks up at you, eyes wild and burning with curiosity and impatience at the hazy look in your eyes.

"Please," you murmur, panting against his fingers where they sit on your chin, skimming over your wet lips. "Want your— hands, Sho, please— want it so bad."

He nods, immediately taking his right hand and dropping it to your clit to circle your bud when you whine, shaking your head.

"Left— Left hand," you moan, and he spots your eyes beginning to water in desperation. He curls his fingers as he pulls his left hand out of your cunt, and your hands float in the air as you attempt to grab it, yanking it down to your mouth once more.

"Fuck," he groans, as your eyes close in satisfaction and you focus on lapping up his fingers like they're the sweetest candies you've ever had, like you’re being paid to moan wantonly around the digits as you lick them clean. "Oh god, you look so, so beautiful like this."

His right hand plows into your cunt once more, pounding against all the places you’re sensitive with practised ease; his pace is unwavering, unfaltering as he siphons more arousal from you, drawing out those dulcet whines of yours, slightly muffled with his fingers still shoved down your throat. Your mind is reeling, floundering between focusing on the way Shouto’s cold hands curl in your heat, the way he grinds his rings against your swollen clit, and the warm fingers that play with your tongue, making your drool run like a waterfall down your chin. It doesn’t take long for your legs to grow tense, for your back to bow in an excruciating curve as you climax; stars sparkle in the darkness that overtakes your mind, and all you can concentrate on is the way Shouto’s hot, sticky hand comes down to rub swiftly over your puffy clit, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he can. Slick, wet noises fill the car — they’re so lewd, so filthy, but Shouto’s eyes are glued to the way your arousal squirts out of you, absolutely drenching his hands in your release.

As if you’ve just run a marathon, your breaths come out in short gasps, but your body feels like liquid, melting into the seats as a sense of gratification washes over you. Your legs are numb when you finally come to, but shuffling just the slightest bit makes an obscenely damp sound echo in the car and you wince at the thought of the mess you’re currently laying in.

When you finally open your eyes, Shouto is just staring down at his hands; you don’t even need to see them to know that they’ll be dripping, soaked down to the bone. He looks up at you, though, with a sharp, adamant gleam in his eyes as he demands, “Again.”

Both hands drop to your overstimulated cunt, working it over intently, pressing his rings into your even more purposefully, and you sink into the seats once more, eyes rolling back as you feel yourself clench around him.

You don’t think you’re the only one with a fascination for Shouto’s hands.

#someone teach me how to end a fic???#mha x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shouto x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #todoroki smut #todoroki shoto smut #todoroki shouto smut #shouto smut #shoto smut #mine #mine.bnha #.100

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touyaz · 2 years

Text

Stop writing Bakugou as a cool guy when he's such a fucking nerd. He listens to classical music when he studies. He reads Sci fi books before he goes to bed. His most frequent apps are for the news/ weather, sudoku & chess bc he's actually a granddad. In his bag squashed under a hand grip is a box of plasters & pain meds bc his ma made sure he always carried them around & he can't break the habit (doesn't want to, either). He writes his initials on every single article of clothing he has. He watches lock-picking videos in his spare time bc he thinks they're cool. He has an All Might piggy bank in his cupboard that he still uses. He only ever buys those menthol-scented tissue packs. He spends his free time learning cool ways to shuffle a deck of cards. He actually spends time polishing his shoes and cleaning them when they get dirty. He keeps a little bottle of ittar with him so he always smells good. He reads literature analyses and meta in his spare time. He's a loser. I love him still ♡

#im all abt the details babey #everything ive said here is canon btw! i made it canon!#wintext #mine #mine.bnha #/bakugoukatsuki

499 notes · View notes

touyaz · 3 years

Text

freaky on camera.

pairing sero hanta x fem reader

word count 4,747

notes for my 100 followers event (closed). this man needs more love <3 enjoy !!

WARNINGS smut, oral (m rec), recording, foot humping (clothes in between), fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampies, dacryphilia, dumbification, dirty talk, slight degradation, praise. college/ uni au. reader is called girl but no pronouns are used.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

Sero’s really starting to regret not taking you home when the others left. Bakugou, Kirishima and Mina are most likely finishing up their nightly routines, if they’re not already in bed sleeping soundly, but Sero — who absolutely had to stay awake with Kaminari for god knows what reason — is left wide awake, watching as his best friend sits and giggles and plays around with you, his own girlfriend.

He knows Kaminari is harmless, that the blond is pretty touchy with anyone and everyone, moreso his closest friends, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates seeing the man swing an arm around your shoulders and pull you in for a cutesy little noogie. You squirm and whine when Kaminari ruffles your hair, and Sero knows it’s all in good nature when you reach over to get revenge, but did Kaminari seriously have to fall back against the ground and pull you on top of him?

“Alright,” Sero finally says, standing up with a yawn. “I‘m tired, we’re going to sleep.”

“Boo!” Kaminari heckles, frowning at the other man. “We were having fun!”

“Get your own girl, then,” Sero replies, helping you up from the ground and brushing your hair back. “Quit stealing mine.”

You roll your eyes, but Kaminari responds before you can.

“But sharing is caring!” Kaminari whines, sitting up and shooting you a teasing wink. “And y/n prefers me, anyway, right?”

“Well—”

“Nope,” Sero cuts you off, slapping a hand over your mouth, laughing when you glare at him. He spins you around, so your back is to his chest, before he starts to walk, forcing you to move as well so you don’t trip and fall. “We’re leaving. Good night.”

“Lame,” Kaminari groans. “Night, babe!”

Your reply is muffled, but you wave back to Kaminari who has, once again, dropped back to the ground. Sero pinches your waist, pouting childishly.

“You’re not his babe, what the hell?”

Once more, your response is suppressed by Sero’s clammy hand.

“Nope, stop, I’m not listening to you,” he grumbles. “You wanna stay over?”

You nod, and he uses his hold on your body to maneuver you around their apartment, even though you know your way around the place. It feels nice, though, the warmth he exudes settles into your body at each point of contact as you both stumble to the bathroom.

You lick the palm of his hand, wanting him to move it away so you can speak properly, and when that doesn’t work, you try biting him. A futile attempt, that Sero scrunches his nose at before he finally moves his wet hand away, wiping your saliva across your cheek in retaliation.

“I hate you,” you complain, bounding to the sink so you can wash your cheek.

“Yeah?” Sero grins, watching as you pluck your toothbrushes and some paste from the cupboard, handing him his one. “Wanna go back to your other boyfriend?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you retort, shooting him a cheeky smile in the mirror as he scowls at you.

“Gonna go kick his ass,” he mumbles, busying himself with brushing his teeth, but he continues speaking. “Thinks he can put his hands all over you, I‘m gonna shred his hentai mags.”

You half-choke around your brush when you giggle at that, and Sero’s face lightens up despite your panic.

He could get used to this, he thinks, leaning over you to spit out the excess and wash his brush clean. The domesticity is… Nice, welcome, definitely something he wants to fill his future with. He could do without his roommate banging on the door, yelling out how badly he needs to piss, though.

When Sero wakes up, the bed is cold with your absence. You haven’t been gone long, it seems, but he’d rather wake up to you and your messy bedhead, not his empty arms and morning wood.

He staggers out of bed, running a hand through his hair to tame the wild strands as he walks to the kitchen where he can hear something cooking.

Yeah, he’d definitely prefer morning breath and tangled legs over seeing Kaminari press himself to your back, peering over your shoulder at the frying pan.

“Yo,” he greets, suddenly wide awake. He hastily makes his way to you, ignoring the eggs sizzling in the pan to reel you into a sloppy kiss.

“Morning,” Kaminari replies, but his words are lost to Sero who focuses on planting more kisses on your lips.

He doesn’t let up, tongue lapping at your bottom lip, begging for entrance, despite the way you keep leaning back, out of his embrace.

“Han— wait— stop— your— breath—” His pecks interrupt you each time you speak and, with a heavy sigh, you resign yourself to his insistent lips. He pulls back with a satisfied, and slightly sleepy, smile, eyes curling with delight.

“Morning,” he mumbles, pecking your lips once more.

You shake your head fondly at his behaviour, resting your head on his chest as you reply.

“Eggs are burning,” Kaminari pipes in, bursting the bubble around you two, and you’re suddenly aware of the thick grey smoke billowing in the kitchen; Sero immediately unwinds his arms from around you as you turn the heat off, moving the burnt eggs off the stove to somewhere a little safer. “Aw, wait, show’s over?”

“Shut up and open a window, man,” Sero coughs, turning the stove top fan on. “I’m gonna go toilet.”

“Yeah, thanks for all your help,” you grouse, shooting him a glare. “You don’t get any breakfast.”

“Baby,” he pouts, “will some kisses change your mind?”

“Not if they’re from you.”

“What if they’re from me?” Kaminari chimes in, returning from opening a window.

“Nope,” Sero interrupts. “Not happening. Ever.”

“Never say never, right, babe?” Kaminari jests, winking at you, and you snicker at the way Sero’s eyes squint in annoyance.

“Weren’t you going to the bathroom, Han?” you say, shooing your boyfriend away before turning to Kaminari. “We should get back to cooking.”

“Hey, I want a little morning make-out—”

“Nope,” Sero growls, tugging you away from the sink. “You’re coming with me now.”

Just like last night, you’re stuck in the bathroom with Sero because apparently you can no longer be trusted around other men.

The day is spent ordering pizza for lunch and playing FPS games with your other friends; it’s fairly uneventful, but that’s exactly what you all want from a lazy day like today. There’s plenty of studying to be had, but that can wait for another day. For now, Sero and Kaminari focus on not getting their asses handed to them by Bakugou and Kirishima.

You’ve never seen these two look more serious, but you chalk it up to Kaminari’s earlier taunt of: “Whoever gets more kills gets a kiss from y/n.”

Despite your vehement disagreement, both boys were fired up, thumbs flying over the buttons as they navigate through the map to garner more and more kills. If only they put this much effort into their studies.

This little game they have going on is silly, but Sero looks so determined — his eyes are unblinking and intense, scrutinising every little pixel, so he doesn’t miss any opportunities to win; it’s hot — it’s stupid because he’s doing this all for a measly kiss when he can get that at any time of the day, but it’s also so immensely sexy watching his arms flex as he fiddles with the joystick, ogling the way his tongue wets his bottom lip as he concentrates on the screen. His mouth curls into a wider smirk each time he gets another kill, each time Kaminari whines when he dies, and, even though you had not agreed to this, you can’t wait to see who wins.

When the match draws to a close, you’re all on the edge of your seats, waiting for the results to display on the screen.

Kaminari falls back with a loud groan as Sero jumps up with a cheer, throwing his controller on the blond’s lap as he yanks you up from your seat in between them.

He wastes no time capturing your lips in a rough kiss, dragging one hand down your back as the other slides behind your neck, cradling your head and tilting it as he pleases. He’s shameless — especially when his hand drops to squeeze your ass, and he swallows your gasp, slipping his tongue into your mouth to tangle with yours, to graze around each corner in a show of dominance, of triumph, of absolute victory.

“So unfair, man!” Kaminari whines, then remembers he’s got a headset on and Bakugou and Kirishima have been speaking this whole time. “Oh, they’re making out right now, one sec. Gross, all I see is tongue. Way too much tongue.”

“Stop being a fucking perv.”

“Maybe you should leave?”

“It’s kinda hot…”

“Fucking creep.”

You’re unaware of the ongoing conversation, too wrapped up in the way Sero reels you closer before falling down on the sofa, hauling you onto his lap. You barely get a moment to breathe before Sero’s mouth is back on yours, nipping at your bottom lip before sliding his tongue in once more, fighting your own in a battle you lose easily; he’s high off the taste of you, the hint of tomato that lingers in your mouth, the sprite you washed it all down with, and he’s starving for more, hungry for a bigger bite, until someone clears their throat beside him.

“Believe me, I hate to interrupt, but Bakugou’s crying about a rematch, so…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sero pants, eyes already dark and glazed over as he stares at your parted lips, plump and raw from all his biting. Eyes half-lidded, he tilts his head to kiss you yet again, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He follows your little head nod to Kaminari who is smirking at him, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and he blinks a few times to focus himself. “What do you want?”

“Bakugou. Rematch.”

“Oh.” He blinks again. Then, he turns to you, eyeing up that little twinkle in your gaze, the way you raise a brow in question, the way you pucker out your bottom lip so tantalisingly… “He can wait.”

“He said you can wait, bro.”

Kaminari winces and you can hear Bakugou’s coarse yelling through the headset, but it grows fainter as Sero lifts you up and drags you down the hall to his room.

“Pretty sure he’s about to get some,” is the last thing you hear before Sero slams his bedroom door shut and presses you against it.

“Han—”

You can’t get a word in edgewise as Sero traps you between his arms, devouring the syllables you utter without mercy. Your shoulder blades dig into the wood as you arch into his body, curving into his wandering hands, canting your head when he dips to scatter kisses along your neck; teeth, quick and sharp, sink into your flesh, sucking on the softness until it blooms with darker colours, hickeys dotting along the column, across your clavicle, before his lips trail lower.

Swiftly, he pulls your top off, fiddling with the button on your jeans before he’s interrupted by his phone buzzing.

“Ignore it,” you groan when his hands stop undressing you, and your own drops to the bulge tenting in his sweats, squeezing his girth through the fabric, and, shit— he’s been commando this whole time?

Three seconds later, his phone is buzzing again, and your protest dies down when he pulls the device out, uttering a quick, “Let me just check.”

denkz: keep it down plz <3

denkz: or let me join 🥵

Sero scoffs at the texts, debating whether to reply with a very succinct “in your dreams,” or a more Bakugou-esque “fuck off,” when another idea pops into his head.

Clicking onto his camera app, he looks up at you with a mischievously lilt to his smirk.

“Can I record us?”

You sigh. “Kaminari?”

He nods, and you lean your head back against the door to think. Moments later, you’re sighing again, but a grin curls at your lips to mirror your boyfriend’s.

“Fine,” you say, and his smile widens until he resembles a Cheshire cat and its innate wickedness, “but I get to choose where we eat tomorrow, then.”

“Deal! On your knees, please, babe,” he replies, making sure the flash is on and the angle is just right to capture the pretty sight of you on your knees for him. “There we go, I’ll start the video in a bit.”

You pull his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock, already flushed and beading with pre at the slit, stroking the length a few times before licking a stripe from the base all the way up to the thick tip. He curses beneath his breath, bucking his hips with urgency, and you slip the head in, lapping at the precum that trickles out when you squeeze the base.

“F-Fuck,” he grunts, a hand on your head pushing you to take more of his length, until your tongue is tracing along the protruding veins, until the curve of his cock is slipping down your throat, testing your gag reflex. “Just like that, babe.”

He bobs your head up and down, cockhead pounding against the back of your mouth with each thrust, and you do your best to loosen your jaw, to breathe through your nose and catch a whiff of his musk, of the heady scent of sex that permeates the surrounding air as the seconds pass. Mindlessly, your hands float up to your chest, playing with your tits and pinching your nipples through your bra. He grunts, brazenly gaping at the way you push your tits together, eyeing the trail of spit and pre that dribbles out of your mouth, along your throat and down your cleavage.

“Shit, look up, baby, look at the camera,” he growls, keeping his cock buried in your throat as he tugs you by the hair, forcing your gaze up to the bright light. You blink back tears, widening your eyes to look more innocent, more desperate, and he groans at the sight of your clouded gaze, of the drool and spit dripping out of your mouth around his cock. “Who’s fucking your mouth, huh?”

He knows you’re enunciating his name in reply, it’s just a shame all the camera can pick up is you mewling around his cock, his thick girth reducing your syllables to nonsensical garbles, to slurred, wanton moans as he pulls back and shoves himself back in once more. The coarse hair around his cock itches your nose when he holds you steady, and you can feel his cock twitch in your throat when you gulp around it before he finally pulls back to let you breathe properly.

He doesn’t let up, though, pumping his cock in his free hand, smearing the mess of pre and spit all over your cheeks, over your rolled out tongue before he smacks the tip against the wet muscle.

“Whose cock do you want?”

“Yours,” you reply instantly, pursing your lips around the tip, and he slides his cock in further, making it poke against the inside of your cheek.

“Louder, baby.”

“Yours, Hanta,” you whine around his cock, tugging on his wrist so he’d push his cock in properly, so he’d fuck your throat until your voice turns raspy.

“Yeah?” He grins, moving his hand back to your head, and you immediately take him deeper into your mouth, one hand dropping to fondle his balls, squeezing so he jolts in your hold, hips slapping against your face.

You can feel your own panties grow wetter each time he groans your name, each time you look up to admire the way he throws his head back, mouth wide and singing praise, but are greeted by the bright flash of his camera instead; just the thought of him sending this video to one of your closest friends — Kaminari, no less, who you know will shamelessly jack off to it — has you clenching around thin air, leaking into your underwear. You sneak a hand down to alleviate yourself, trying to rub your clit through the fabric of your pants, and the movement doesn’t escape Sero’s notice.

“Look at that, you’re getting off on this? Fucking— touching yourself with my dick in your mouth? Shit, baby.”

He pulls out just to get a clear shot of the way you spread your knees and circle your nub, but the feeling is so underwhelming, muted because of all the layers of clothes in the way, and it makes you whine up at him childishly. “Hanta, please, need you.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he murmurs, voice low and husky, captivated by the way you roll your hips in search of a better angle. “How badly do you need me?” He’s cruel to ask when he can see how anguished and zealous you are, but he takes great pleasure in seeing the way you reduce yourself to whimpers and mewls of his name, sobbing for his help.

“So badly, Hanta, I can’t— really need you, want your help, please, please, baby…”

“Go on then.” He smirks at the way your brows cross, confused until he nudges your knee with his socked foot. “Help yourself, baby.”

You’re so cute, he can’t help but think, watching your lips drop in disbelief.

“Seriously…?” So fucking adorable. “Hanta…”

“It’s that or nothing, babe, now open up again.”

He slips the tip of his cock back into your mouth, but his eyes haven’t left yours, raising a brow as you just sit there and take what he does to you, keeping your mouth ajar so he can slide his cock back and forth, keeping your legs grounded as he taps his foot on your thigh. You shoot him a small glare, lacking any real fire, before scrunching your eyes closed, and pushing his foot off of your leg. It drops in the gap between your thighs and his smirk grows, his hips stop moving, as he watches in awe as you hover over him before lowering your hips.

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, lost for words as you grind down on him. He’s stuttering, choking on his own words as the heat from your sex engulfs him — never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d get to see you humping his foot as you suck him off, but god, he’s never forgetting this moment because it’s so fucking hot. His cock twitches in your mouth every time you rut your hips over him, digging your nails into his calf, and if this goes on for any longer, he knows he’s going to blow his load down your throat, and this is going to make for the shortest sex tape ever.

“F-Fuck, shit, baby, you’re so desperate, huh? Humping my foot like a fucking dog, fuck— fucking bitch in heat, oh god, oh shit, shit—”

His legs are trembling, like an earthquake is running straight through his body, and he’s sure the camera is a shaky mess, but can’t bring himself to fix his grip when you’re sliding yourself along his foot like you’re riding his dick.

“F-Fuck, shit, you’re taking me so well, I‘m gonna cum. Gonna let me cum all over you, yeah? All over your tits?” You nod around his dick and he snickers, but the sound isn’t nearly as sadistic as he’d like it to be. “Course you would, dirty girl. You want him to see you like this? Want him to see you fucking my foot, dripping in my fucking cum, don’t you? Let’s show him who you belong to, yeah?”

You whine when he slips out of your mouth, but you’re not left disappointed for long when he pulls you up to stand. “Get this shit off and get on the bed, on your knees.”

You almost stumble in your haste to pull off your pants — it takes more effort than you’d like to admit to peel your underwear off from where it’s glued to your cunt, darkened and absolutely fucking drenched in your arousal — and get to his bed, but you manage without embarrassing yourself too much, quick to assume the position Sero wants.

He rids himself of his own clothes, kneeling behind you, and you sway your hips impatiently when he grabs your ass, nails sinking into the fat before he slaps it once, twice, admiring the way your skin ripples with each smack.

"Fuck yeah, look at you," he grins, spreading your cheeks with one hand so he can get a better view of your needy pussy. "You're so fucking wet, huh? All for me? Dripping all over your fucking thighs…"

"Hanta, please— please don't tease, want you so bad…"

"Yeah?" Two fingers prod at your entrance, easily sliding in curling against your silky walls, and your body careens into the bed, pushing your ass out to take him in further. "Fuck, listen to that, babe, so fucking noisy, he can probably hear you from out there. You gonna cum like this, yeah? Just from my fingers?"

"Yeah, yeah." Your voice leaves you in high-pitched mewls, in whimpered ah, ah, ah's as Sero batters your g-spot with ease, as he crooks his fingers when he pulls out, only to rub sloppy circles over your clit, recording the way your cunt clenches around nothing until your orgasm hits you. You're teetering the border of satisfaction, happy that you've finally cum, but there's an emptiness that fills your body at the lack of anything stuffing you full.

You're whining his name into the sheets without even realising it, tears seeping into the bed sheets as he lets out a low, sadistic chuckle. His voice reeks of faux sympathy as he turns you over to speak to you. "Oh baby, why're you crying, hm? I made you cum, didn't I? I thought that was what you wanted…"

You look so pretty like this: legs spread around his body, barely aware of the way his heavy cock rests on your mound as he bucks his hips slowly, wetting his length with the arousal that coats your pussy; hair in disarray, tears running down the sides of your face as your eyes stay half-lidded, unfocused and bleary; your lips, gaping and breathless, bitten raw and swollen, mumbling his name and pleas. He makes sure to get it all in the frame — the lovebites that mark up your neck, the way your body shudders when the tip of his cock catches onto the hood of your clit.

He just knows Kaminari's going to be fapping to this for days to come. He should drill into both of your heads just who owns your heart and pussy, though.

"Han— Hanta, please, please wanna cum so badly, want you to fuck me, p-please, want— need it so bad, baby."

"Need my cock? Is that what you need, baby? Need me stuff your little pussy full, huh?"

You're nodding your head, hands uselessly trying to hold your thighs up to spread yourself more, but they feel so weak, still lost in the throes of your climax. "Mhm, need your cock. Now— Now, please, Hanta…"

"Whose cock do you want?"

"Yours! Yours, only yours, Hanta, please, please—"

"Good girl." He slaps his cock against your slit, and his eyes shine when more arousal leaks out of you then. "Who's gonna fuck your pretty pussy?"

"You, you, Hanta, you—"

Finally, finally, he slips the tip of his cock in, and just that has you delirious, has you moaning and sobbing and whining for more.

"Yes, oh god, oh f-fuck, Hanta, please, please don't stop, please— fuck, ah, ah—!"

He pauses when he's buried down to the hilt, staring down at the space where he's connected to you, where your cunt stretches just to fit his thick cock, where your legs quiver and tremble as he rears his hips and slams himself into you, balls slapping against your ass, back arching as he keeps up the brutally slow, harsh pace.

He's taking his time, relishing the way the veins on his cock drag against your velvet walls, but that doesn't mean it isn't pleasurable — far from it, the languid motions let him ram against your sweetest spots with pinpoint accuracy, cockhead bullying your nerves into obedience with each pump. He zooms in on the ring of cream that coats his cock each time he pulls out, excitement bubbling in him at the sheen coating your sexes, at the way you gush around him with each thrust.

"This what you wanted, baby?" he asks, enamoured by the way your eyes roll back into your head, the way your nipples harden against the cups of your bra, the way you clench around the bedsheets when he drops a hand to rub your clit. You're babbling and slurring your words, but he's sure anyone could make out the way you repeat his name, chant the words Han, Han, Hanta like it's the only prayer you know. "Yeah, yeah, that's my girl; always happy when you got my dick in you, yeah?"

"Y-Yeah, happy— so happy, Hanta."

He's pretty sure you don't even know what you're saying, you're just mindlessly repeating after him, too cockdrunk to think for yourself.

"Yeah, baby, come on, let me see you cum, cum for the camera, pretty girl, that's it." It doesn't take much to push you over the edge — not when Sero's targeting your g-spot like he's wired to tap, tap, tap against it, not when he's spitting on your clit and massaging it into the puffy button. "F-Fuck, fuck, can feel you— tight, so fucking tight, I'm gonna—"

Your cries and the lewd squelches of him hammering into your cunt are all that echo through the room before he shoves himself as deep as possible. Warmth spurts into you as he cums, groaning and leaning over your body as your cunt clenches in the aftershocks of your combined releases. His hair tickles the skin of your chest each time you breathe in, but you don't care about the way sweat drips from his forehead to your body, too busy sinking into the comfort of his bed, trying to calm your racing heart.

He's the first to move, slowly inching himself out, and he's not too fucked out of his mind (unlike you) to forget to record this moment. He could watch this on loop for the rest of his life, he thinks, ogling the way your cum, his cum, gushes out of your greedy hole. It's a mess of sweat, cum, spit down there, downright filthy and disgusting, and he definitely needs to throw his sheets in the wash as soon as possible if he ever wants to reuse them, but there's no way he's doing any of that right now, not when he's mesmerised by the way your cunt spasms around his fingers when he pushes his cum back into you.

"Can't waste a drop of that, baby," he says, sliding his fingers back out before hovering over you once more. Wet fingers prod at your lips, and you don't even question him before you open up, letting him rub off the wetness on your tongue, still recording the way he plays with your mouth. "Now, what do you say?"

"Thank you, Hanta," you sigh, finally blinking your eyes open to see a rather fond smile on his face.

"Good girl," he hums, dipping to kiss you once before speaking. "And who do you belong to?"

You think better of teasing him, body already feeling like jelly beneath his. "You, Hanta,"

"Damn right," he smirks, planting another kiss on your lips. "Now say fuck you, Kaminari."

You giggle at that. "Fuck me, Kami— Hey!"

"Fucking brat," he growls, dropping his head to bite at a sensitive spot on your neck. He cut the video before you could finish speaking earlier, but you're sure Kaminari knows what you were about to say.

You curl into his chest when he settles beside you, watching as he sends the video to Kaminari before turning his phone off and resting it on your chest.

Mere seconds go by before it buzzes to life on top of you.

denkz: pls tellm rthats what i hink it is

denkz: bro im

denkz: hoylshit fr??,

denkz: omg csn i come over

denkz: wait lemme watch it then we're 3soming idc

denkz: holyfuck m arleady hardd

#bnha smut #mha smut #sero smut #sero hanta smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #mine #mine.bnha #.100 #tw feet #JUST IN CASE LMAO <///3

1K notes · View notes

touyaz · 3 years

Text

trade-off.

pairing bakugou katsuki x fem reader

word count 1,675

notes bkg isn’t even super dark in this, he’s just a man in love ;(

WARNINGS smut, dark/ yandere bakugou, noncon/ dubcon, stockholm syndrome, implied kidnapping, spanking, oral (f rec), fingering. no pronouns for reader.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

"I know it hurts, honey," Bakugou placates, voice uncharacteristically quiet and caring, soft to soothe your discomfort. His palm, clammy and hot to the touch, comes down gently this time, rubbing circles over your ass. You wince regardless, but use the moment of reprieve to take in deep breaths. Whimpers still hiccup out of you and your heart begins to race when his hand lifts from your body — you've never missed his touch more than you do right now — but instead of his palm soaring down in another spank, it trails along your back, following the curve of your spine. "But this is what happens when you don't do what I say."

"I'm— I'm sorry," you stutter. You've lost count of how many times you've sobbed that phrase in the last 30 minutes, and though it has seemingly had no effect on Bakugou, you say it again anyway. "I'm sorry, I'll listen, I promise."

He hums, drawing mindless shapes on the expanse of your back. "What number are we up to right now?"

The mention of his cruel attack on your body makes you freeze in your spot, draped over his lap like a pliable blanket, but you're quick to answer lest that bring back his anger. "Fif— Fifteen."

"Fifteen… And how many did I say you'd get?"

"Twenty-five."

"Twenty-five," he echoes, voice sounding intrigued yet distant, as though he's lost in thought. You dread the ideas floating about in his mind, wondering if he's thinking of increasing that number, or changing your punishment. "That's a big difference, sweetheart."

You don't know how to reply, so you send a prayer that he's feeling merciful despite your earlier stunt. The dishes can be cleaned and the food can be remade, but the damage this has done to your pride, to your mentality, is irreparably scarring.

The tips of his fingers tiptoe up your back as he speaks. "You're really sorry?"

You nod, answering him with a frail "yes, I'm really sorry, Katsuki" — throwing in his name because he loves hearing that from you — "I shouldn't have acted out earlier. I'm sorry for being a brat."

"Alright. We'll stop at fifteen then." You want to melt into his lap with relief, eternally grateful that he's decided to end your suffering early, but your happiness is cut short when he continues, "You'll make up the remainder in a different way."

"Huh?" escapes your mouth before you can stop it, but he only lets out a breathy chuckle instead of berating you for speaking out of turn.

"Instead of ten spanks, you'll give me ten orgasms. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

No, it doesn't. Not in the slightest. But his question isn't really a question when the only answers are yes or yes.

"Y-Yeah," you mumble, and then, as he's expecting, you add on, "thank you, Katsuki."

"You're welcome, honey. You're so good for me, you know that?" he says, smiling down at the handprints painting your rear. He almost wants to add some more despite everything he just said, but he's never been too good at coping when you start bawling your eyes out. He's never gone back on his word, so he better get started on those ten orgasms.

He goes through the process of rubbing a soothing cream on your ass, and you almost fall asleep to the soft, rhythmic motions, but he keeps you awake by murmuring into your ear and littering kisses across your shoulder blades.

When the pampering draws to a close, he lays you down on the bed, a pillow propping up your lower half as he settles between your parted thighs. The elevation helps keep pressure off of your rear, and Bakugou easily steals your attention as he nips his way up one thigh and then down the other.

"You ready?" he asks, breaking away from where he was sucking a hickey onto your skin. "I want to hear a 'thank you, Katsuki' each time you cum, understand?"

"Yes, Katsuki."

Your nerves are alight with tension, hands clenching the sheets as he pecks his way to the apex of your thighs, and your muscles twitch in anticipation of what's to come. He starts off with long, languid licks to your folds, following the line of your slit with slow brushes of his tongue. His lips wrap around your clit and he hums, the vibrations making you buck up against his face. He chuckles, and the sound sends shivers down your spine before he goes back to moaning around the little bud. His groaning draws out your essence just as he planned, and when he sees the juices trickle out of your pussy, he releases your swollen pearl in favour of savouring your taste.

His hands join the fray, thumbs pulling apart your lower lips so his tongue can slide into your needy hole. You clench around the muscle at the breach and a smirk tugs at his lips for getting you worked up so quickly. With one hand now holding you down by the hips, and the other circling your puffy clit, his tongue fucks its way in and out of your pussy, making a show of slurping up your arousal.

The noises are obscene as they invade the room, sounding wet and filthy; Bakugou groans loudly every time a drop of your essence falls on his tongue, and you scream his name in response, sobbing for him to give you more, more, please, need more.

It isn't long before you're falling apart on his mouth, his nose brushing against your clit each time you rut against his face to ride out the high of your first orgasm. You slump into the mattress, the waves of your release slowly washing away as all your built-up tension rolls off of you. It takes longer than you'd like to admit for you to gather your bearings — especially after just one (of many) orgasms — but you soon realise that Bakugou has been patiently waiting that whole time, not saying a word.

When he raises a brow at you, you understand that he's expecting you to say something.

Moments later, it finally clicks, and you gasp out a "th-thank you, Katsuki!"

"Losing your head over one little orgasm, huh, sweetheart?" He grins, lewdly licking away the arousal that coats the lower half of his face. Spit and cum form a glassy sheen over his mouth, but he's uncaring of the mess that drips down from his face as he dives back between your legs. "Better get ready for another one, angel face."

Another one, he says, then proceeds to make you cum twice more with his tongue alone. Then he pulls you apart with his fingers — curling against your velvet walls, tapping against all your sensitive spots — before he wields both his hand and his mouth, using his tongue to flick over your sensitive button as his fingers stretch you out for something bigger.

Soon, his other hand replaces his tongue on your clit, drawing messy figure-eights over your clit as he slips his tongue into your cunt too. He drools all over your folds, pulling away only to spit on your cunt and use his fingers to fuck that into you. It's messy, downright disgusting, and you should be turning away and screaming at him to stop because it's too much, but you chase the feeling of another orgasm mounting.

Your back is arching off of the bed, wound tight like a bow, but the aches haven't settled in just yet, so you continue humping Bakugou's face so he can reach further, licking his way deeper into your cunt to bring you to new heights.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm so close, plea— Katsuki, please! Please!"

He growls against your pussy in lieu of a reply, slipping a third finger into your soaked cunt; his tongue is sliding everywhere it can to bring you pleasure, mouth drinking in all your juices, teeth nipping at your folds, but it's when his lips latch onto your clit and suck that you cry his name and lose yourself to get another orgasm. Your eyes roll back as your mouth stays open in a silent scream, panting as he continues pumping his fingers into you, twisting them this way and that to roll out your high and elicit more pretty moans.

There's an ocean of spit, cum and drool flooding the sheets and Bakugou's face. Your thighs are absolutely drenched in sweat and sex, but neither of you can bring yourself to care about the mess. Instead, Bakugou focuses his attention on the breathless "thank you, thank you, thank you" you're whimpering, like it's your favourite prayer. It's barely discernible as he overstimulates you to the point of pain, wet fingers sliding out of your pussy to rub against your clit.

"C-Can't," you grit out, thighs quaking and toes curling as he ignores you. "Stop, please, it's too much, I can't— no more—"

Your orgasm bleeds into another, or just stretches out into one extremely long, painful one, but either way, by the time Bakugou slows his ministrations, your body is spent and all you want to do is melt into the bed. You feel like you've taken a tumble down a steep hill, your entire body aching and screaming for sleep. Your legs are numb, though you can feel them twitch every so often against the bedsheets, and your head feels light and hazy, like you've just woken up and haven’t quite escaped sleep's sweet clutches.

Bakugou clearly has different ideas flitting around in his mind as he sits on his knees between your legs, bringing his fingers (that are positively doused in your cum) to his mouth to taste your release. He grins around his fingers, popping them out so you can see them shine with his saliva before they drop to undo his belt buckle.

"There's no time to rest, honey. You didn't thank me for the last orgasm, so you still owe me five more — and there's no way you're getting out of your punishment this time."

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