hot girl.

bakugou katsuki x fem reader smut | ~400 words cw: dumbification, size kink, manhandling, praise

18+ only. minors, do not interact.

bakugou loves to watch as you fuck yourself silly on his cock, drool steadily dribbling from your hung-open mouth while you bounce on his girthy dick.

each movement pushed you deeper into a bottomless pool of ecstasy, your knees threatening to give out as you slam down on him, your ankles quivering underneath your weight. when he had you like that, the only thing you could ever focus on is your need for him, the delicious fullness he provided that made your cunt weep with lust. it was such an ego boost for him, letting you tire yourself out from the overwhelming pleasure until he inevitably flipped you over, ready to abuse your sore hole himself.

bakugou never hesitated to manhandle you, large calloused hands gripping your hips to position you however he wanted, making you arch your back. you looked so beautiful; your face pushed into a pillow, your ass in the air, your cunt dripping, impatiently waiting for his large member to push inside of you once more.

the way your pussy fluttered around him when he bottomed out inside of you was addicting, your warmth tightening around his thick length. even when he could tell you were struggling to take him, you always did without a complaint. the sweet, muffled whines that escaped from your lips only motivated him to fuck you harder, the rough slapping of his hips against yours a whisper compared to your deafening pleads for more.

"mmh- please, katsuki, oh my god. i need you.. 'nd i need your dick. please," you begged, your mouth moving faster than your brain could function. your entire mind revolved around him in that moment, the satisfaction of being a good girl all you needed to take his overwhelmingly large cock. even with your brain so foggy, your core took note of every vein on his member, the familiar pressure throbbing against your insides. you clenched around him, pleasure swirling inside of your body as orgasm threatened to overcome you.

"what a dumb girl, all you need is to be fucked until you can't think, isn't that right? my personal fuck toy," he growled from behind, his hand firmly kneading your plush ass. he gripped your hair, pulling it to force you to look at him, your eyes closing themselves with each harsh thrust.

"you're such a good girl when you're fucked stupid on my cock," he smirked, releasing your hair once you let out a drawn out whine. his thrusts continued as he felt you rapidly tighten around his cock, your cunt clenching around him rhythmically as pleasure kissed frozen goosebumps onto every inch of your skin.

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When he doesn't say much about your plans for the summer, you can't help but feel disappointed. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd miss you just as much as you'd miss him. It's always been wishful thinking, though. This is what you get for having a silly little unrequited crush.

The last day ends as usual, with the three of you walking home together. Haibara always leaves first as he lives the closest to the campus. He says his cheerful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch the next few weeks, leaving you and Nanami alone. You've grown used to the comfortable silence that sometimes surrounds you two. That's just one of the many things you like about him; you never feel like you need to fill the space with useless chatter. The two of you can just be happy together, like this. This is good enough for you.

You arrive to your house, ready to say farewell. "I hope you have a good summer, Nanami," you smile at him. "I'll see you in the fall."

He stands awkwardly, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his bag for something. When he retrieves it, he hands it over, still not looking at you. "I made this. For you."

Your heart starts to race in your chest as you reach for it, grazing his fingers. It's a CD case with a list of songs displayed on the cover. You recognize all of them, the same ones he played for you, listened with you. You hold it in your hands like a precious treasure. "For me?"

“Whose pussy is this, baby?” He talks softly, voice husky in that way he knows you like. He speaks gently, lets you have control, or most of it. “Hm?”

“It’s my pussy.”

“Yeah?” His hooded eyes stare up at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He’s smoked out, and so are you, but he swears that is what makes these moments that much better. There’s no background noise in his head, just him on his back and you on his lap.

“Mhm.”

“And whose cock is this?”

“It’s mine, too.”

but this morning he is frayed at the seams. shadows under his eyes, sleep crusted in the corners. osamu stares back at his reflection as he combs wet fingers through his unruly hair, attempting to give it direction and fluff up the impression left by his pillow. thinking is a luxury; its on days like this that he falls back onto muscle memory, navigating his routine in a fatigue induced haze.

his gait is heavy, unsteady on his feet as he pulls his work shirt over his head, ruining the progress he had already made with his appearance. osamu can hardly find it within himself to care—because as he follows the satisfying, dull knock of a knife to the kitchen, he sees you.

the shift is immediate. pale morning sunlight pools in through the open windows and halos your silhouette. what was a stifling weight on his shoulders moments ago lightens with the warmth that spreads through his chest.

your attention is drawn away from the cutting board to where he stands in the doorway, a lazy smile curling at your lips. “morning,” you murmur, setting down the knife and wiping your hands on the nearby towel. “guessing you missed your other alarms?”

osamu opens his mouth with every intention of complaining. yet words fail him as his eyes drag over your figure—clad only in his old shirt, stretched and tattered, and a mismatched pair of socks. your thighs look soft, he thinks, and then that thought plays in an incessant loop, conjuring endless images of his face nestled between them.

“yeah—ah, shit. ‘a should probably get going,” he replies, voice thick even to his own ears. something indiscernible passes over you expression. whatever it was, you’re studying him with a look that he could only call fond, and it chases him out to the genkan.

the issue is that when his mind hasn’t yet separated the veil between sleep and reality it will steer him too close to the sun. because sometimes, when osamu is tired and the world is a buttery haze he can imagine there is more to all of this—that a future beyond being just roommates waits on the fringes, entirely within his reach.

you are standing behind him as he bends to tie his shoes, speaking to him in that gentle tone that never fails to work out the ache in his bones. “sorry, ‘samu. I really did try to wake you but you sleep like a rock. I shoulda tried more,” you ramble, taking a backward step as he gets to his feet.

he notices you’re holding a bento to your front. it’s wrapped clumsily in a blue onigiri patterned cloth. “take this,” you thrust it into his hands and flash a sheepish grin. “I know it won’t be as good as your cooking but I still wanted to do something for you”.

osamu blinks slowly. he turns the box between his hands and feels the heat seeping through. it smells good, like tamagoyaki and grilled fish. your eyes dip low, and you wring your fingers to avoid his gaze.

a calm settles over him. the longing that exists inside of himself rears to pick at the promise of more, more, more. osamu leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your lips, now parted slightly in shock—somehow it doesn’t feel quite as dramatic as he thinks it should. it feels normal, like maybe he was simply revisiting a dream. “thanks. I’ll make sure to savour it,” he says before kissing you again, short and chaste, lost in the moment yet conscious of his tardiness. “see ya after work”.

and then he’s ducking into the mild morning air, the bento cradled to his chest. osamu climbs into his car with a loud yawn, sets his work bag on the passenger seat and sticks the key in the ignition. the radio starts abruptly as the engine rumbles to life and he pauses, staring out the windshield at the quiet street. then it clicks into place and realisation washes over him like cold water.

an ache so deep in your spirit, that you could cry whenever he'd go on a mission. because you knew, that while he was fighting for a better society, for the eradication of curses and corruption, there was a large part of him that was fighting solely for you. for your safety. and if that meant he had to die for that to happen, so be it.

i don't want you to die for me. words you never thought you'd have to say to the love of your life. you want to spend the rest of your life with this man. why must he insist on showing his love in death?

he'd always give you a little smile when you'd say that, because he knows tears will be following soon after.

Osamu’s head swivels towards the sound, and he spots you right away even though you weren't the one who called for him.

You’re a few metres down the road, sitting on a bench in front of a bustling restaurant, slumped over onto the shoulder of your junior who seems to be doing everything he can to keep your head tipped up against his arm. Kimura, the name Osamu had once been introduced to him as at one of the events your company held, has blushy cheeks when the older man approaches—he seems flushed due both to being flustered and a little tipsy, and the knot of his tie is loosened at the base of his throat.

“Kimura-kun,” Osamu greets him with a dip of his head as he approaches, his eyes scanning your seemingly sleeping face. “She asleep?”

“No,” you slur in reply, but your eyes stay closed. Osamu’s not certain it’s the truth, and even less certain you realize he’s the one who said it.

“I-it’s all my fault,” Kimura squeaks, looking increasingly like he might burst into tears. “They were trying to make me drink more, but Senpai kept switching out our glasses when the other section leads weren’t looking.”

“Yeah, that sounds like somethin’ she’d do,” Osamu replies with a fond but exasperated sigh.

“sunflowers or peonies?”

“awe, nanami! i’m flattered—”

“they’re not for you,” nanami says flatly. “you can buy your own.”

shoko squints down at the man lying on her exam table, arm held up and behind his head. “i’m quite literally stitching you back together, you know.”

the blond thinks bitterly on what had landed him in her infirmary in the first place, injured and likely having to reschedule dinner tonight. it’s already well past the time he’d planned on picking you up, and the table he’d reserved at the new restaurant in roppongi has likely been given away.

he’s dreading calling to tell you, his heart already twinging at the idea of letting you down.

the fast, sloppy, wet and repetitive slap of skin vs skin is heard loud and clear in the dark, muting the muffled and distant music from the house party still in full swing.

izuku's in full swing too, his thrusts into you showing no signs of stopping any time soon, nudging and knocking every part of your insides as though he is anxious to make space inside you for him to stay forever. his kisses are pleasantly bruising, and equally as eager and numerous; you can barely speak through gasps and moans, the muscles of your thighs clenching around his thick waist as your body sucks him in and demands more.

breathless still, your arms wrapped around his neck, you remind him that he lied.

"y-you said you'd never done this be-" your breath cuts suddenly as he angles just slightly upwards, a calculated and deliberate move that has you seeing something - stars, god, your future? - then stills, looking down on you curiously as your soul resettles back into your physical form.

his eyebrows raise and he stops, propping himself up by his elbows as he waits for you to stop cumming and you unwittingly let out a whining sound that you never want to hear come out of your throat again.

the fact that he still says nothing, like he's unfazed, angers you even further and you resist the urge to slap him for making you look this stupid.

in one rushed sentence, you nearly hiss,

"yousaidyouwereavirgin!"

he blinks as though confused, and then as realization sets in, he laughs at your shocked expression, pulling away quickly and you use all your might to not press him back against you.

"i said i hadn't done this before," he clarifies.

"you've clearly had sex before," you snap.

he frowns. "well i mean yeah, i've clearly fucked."

the wanton way he says it as though it is meaningless, as though he hasn't just snatched your soul makes your tummy turn.

"s-so why did you lie?"

why are your teeth chattering?

"i didn't lie. i meant i hadn't had sex at a party before," he replies sheepishly.

your eyes widen, and he's not sure if you're angry or distressed, but he laughs again, raising himself over you and you swallow hard reflexively.

you miscalculated.

he dips down to kiss you, biting teasingly at your lip again as he pulls back. he looks positively demonic.