really, you didn’t!!! the plan was simple: try on the lingerie set you panic‑bought for your first ever tinder date this weekend, snap a quick photo of the lacy orange set in the mirror, and send it to mina for her honest opinion. easy.
except you weren't paying much attention. and now your phone screen is staring back at you in horror: Message sent to: Katsuki Bakugou.
you swear your heart might have actually stopped. The phone almost drops as you scramble to type WRONG CHAT before he can even open it, but the three little dots appear instantly. of course he saw it. bakugou’s annoyingly fast like that.
the call comes through 30 seconds later.
“you fucking serious right now?” his voice is low, rough, carrying that familiar mix of irritation and something else you haven't heard before.
you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the phone to your ear. “imsosorry. it wasn’t for you, katsuki. I swear I was sending it to mina.”
“yeah, no shit?” he scoffs, but there’s a pause on the other end, long enough that you feel heat creeping all the way up your neck. “the hell you sendin’ her pictures like that for anyway?”
you freeze. “because she’s my friend? because i wanted an opinion?”
his exhale is sharp, static buzzing in your ear. “you’re wearin’ that for a date?”
you swallow, throat feeling strangely dry. “yeah. why?”
another beat of silence. and then, lower, almost like it slips out of him on accident. “he doesn’t deserve that.”
your stomach flips. bakugou never says things like that. not to you, at least. he’s your best friend, your anchor, the one who’s been around since forever. you try to laugh it off, shaky and thin. “it’s just lingerie, katsuki.”
“‘just lingerie,’ my ass.” his voice drops even further, rasping now, deliberate, pulling the words slow. “don’t go wearin’ shit like that for some random extra. he won't even know what to do .”
your chest tightens. the warmth in his tone makes you bite your lip without thinking. “and you would?”
there’s a pause. a faint chuckle. “don’t know. maybe.” his voice is low, teasing now, and you can almost feel him leaning closer.
your breath catches. you don’t answer for a minute. you can’t. because suddenly you’re replaying the picture in your head—except it’s not some faceless tinder dude seeing you in it anymore. it’s him. "katsuki?" is all you can comeuppance with when you finally do speak.
“don’t start something you can’t finish,” he mutters, quieter now, his voice rough in your ear.
and then the line goes dead. your phone feels impossibly heavy in your hand.
really, you didn’t!!! the plan was simple: try on the lingerie set you panic‑bought for your first ever tinder date this weekend, snap a quick photo of the lacy orange set in the mirror, and send it to mina for her honest opinion. easy.
except you weren't paying much attention. and now your phone screen is staring back at you in horror: Message sent to: Katsuki Bakugou.
you swear your heart might have actually stopped. The phone almost drops as you scramble to type WRONG CHAT before he can even open it, but the three little dots appear instantly. of course he saw it. bakugou’s annoyingly fast like that.
the call comes through 30 seconds later.
“you fucking serious right now?” his voice is low, rough, carrying that familiar mix of irritation and something else you haven't heard before.
you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing the phone to your ear. “imsosorry. it wasn’t for you, katsuki. I swear I was sending it to mina.”
“yeah, no shit?” he scoffs, but there’s a pause on the other end, long enough that you feel heat creeping all the way up your neck. “the hell you sendin’ her pictures like that for anyway?”
you freeze. “because she’s my friend? because i wanted an opinion?”
his exhale is sharp, static buzzing in your ear. “you’re wearin’ that for a date?”
you swallow, throat feeling strangely dry. “yeah. why?”
another beat of silence. and then, lower, almost like it slips out of him on accident. “he doesn’t deserve that.”
your stomach flips. bakugou never says things like that. not to you, at least. he’s your best friend, your anchor, the one who’s been around since forever. you try to laugh it off, shaky and thin. “it’s just lingerie, katsuki.”
“‘just lingerie,’ my ass.” his voice drops even further, rasping now, deliberate, pulling the words slow. “don’t go wearin’ shit like that for some random extra. he won't even know what to do .”
your chest tightens. the warmth in his tone makes you bite your lip without thinking. “and you would?”
there’s a pause. a faint chuckle. “don’t know. maybe.” his voice is low, teasing now, and you can almost feel him leaning closer.
your breath catches. you don’t answer for a minute. you can’t. because suddenly you’re replaying the picture in your head—except it’s not some faceless tinder dude seeing you in it anymore. it’s him. "katsuki?" is all you can comeuppance with when you finally do speak.
“don’t start something you can’t finish,” he mutters, quieter now, his voice rough in your ear.
and then the line goes dead. your phone feels impossibly heavy in your hand.
🍋🟩 𝐥𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐫-𝐰𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞
established hinata/reader x kageyama ⸻ 2.7k, mature, minor humiliation, accidental semi-voyeurism
Tobio is surprisingly pretty.
It shouldn't be a shock, really. He's tall, lithe, handsome. Cool, calm, collected. Slightly blunt. Thoughtful. Talented. Truly, the perfect coalescence of traits given to every famous romance k-drama lead that have viewers like yourself screaming into your pillow.
You'd never tell him this of course.
Tobio would be insufferable about it. You can already picture it. The insistence with which he'd pretend he couldn't care any less about you comparing him to those characters you openly crush on. The quiet ways he would find a way to weaponise it and make your life miserable. You’d never be able to insult him. Or compliment him.
You’d never be able to talk to him again, realistically speaking.
It's just not worth it.
Boy do the words sit primed on your lips, though.
Because he is pretty. A this-boy-looks-like-a-girl type of pretty. With delicate, soft energy to his features that is, on reflection, probably why he had a hoard of chocolates in his locker every valentine's day in high-school—much to your chagrin.
Whatever. They're not the ones with Tobio in at their feet right now.
You are.
Gently, you touch your fingers to the underside of Tobio's chin and tilt his head up to examine the dark brown eyeshadow smudged along his upper lash-line.
"My back hurts," Tobio mumbles tiredly, eyes closed.
You drag your brush from the corner of his eye, outwards, beginning to blend the pigment out into a subtle wing. "Beauty is pain, Kags. Hold still. Besides, you've only been sat for like 20 minutes you big baby."
Tobio scoffs, fiddling with the cuff of your sweats absently. His knuckles brush the skin of your ankle.
At your request, he’s seated on the floor between your legs. Your perch on the sofa gives you the best angle, because you take your job as newly appointed makeup artist very seriously, and it comes with the added bonus of Tobio’s big wide eyes staring up at you whenever you give him permission to open them. Although it may be a drawback considering how you keep getting distracted each time he does so. Simply a matter of perspective, you decide.
Now, you have no real explanation as to why Tobio is allowing you to do his makeup. Perhaps he got also bored of the Star Wars movie marathon that has been your entire afternoon so far, but he's usually a star student of lazy days. You, on the other hand, can only stomach them for a limited amount of time before you start to feel that familiar itchiness of inactivity. Your boyfriend is much the same.
"Can you do mind next?" Shoyo asks, splayed out on the remainder of the sofa beside you. His feet are resting on your thigh, and tucked between his legs is your makeup bag. "I wanna match Kags."
"Like I don't do yours all the time," you huff, half-distracted as you select a brown-ish maroon shade, cant Tobio's head further back with your fingers, and use a new brush to run it under his lower lash-line. "Let him have his moment."
Tobio grumbles his wordless dissent.
“First of all, untrue,” Shoyo begins, “Second of all—“
"Hush," you interrupt, chiding. “I’m focusing.”
Shoyo digs his toes into the side of your thigh playfully. "Please?"
Ignoring him, you repeat the action on Tobio's other eye before leaning back. Tilting his head side to side in order to check your work is even.
"Pretty please?"
You hum a random tune, pretending to not hear him.
"Pretty please with a cherry on top and the promise of a sexual favour later?"
Tobio makes a sudden gagging noise, blinking one eye open to shoot a dirty look at your boyfriend. Shoyo's expression is the epitome of virtue, eyebrows raised as though what he said was a perfectly average thing to utter in your unfortunately-platonic-best-friend’s presence.
The gall of his statement makes you forget why you were even ignoring him in the first place and you snort, amused.
"Well that certainly changes things," you joke, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively towards Shoyo, brush floating over Tobio's face.
"I'm right here," Tobio mutters, leaning back on his hands so he doesn't get accidentally poked in the eye while you're distracted.
"Never been a problem before," Shoyo replies.
Tobio looks bewildered. "What?"
"You heard me," Shoyo doubles down, a cheshire cat grin spreading across his face.
"Don't be gross," you say, wrinkling your nose. "Besides, Tobio doesn't know about that."
Shifting your focus back to the man between your legs, you gesture him closer. He obeys easily, but not before shooting you a weird look.
"What don't I know about?" he asks hesitantly.
"Close your eyes," you reply instead, silently praying that he drops it. Tobio is nothing if not predictable, and as expected he easily lets you to brush over the comment without fight, doing as you say.
It falls quiet. Only the gentle clinking of products knocking together can be heard as you rummage, one-handed, through your makeup bag in search. When you feel a familiar eyeliner pencil under your fingertips you make a triumphant noise, retrieving it and biting off the cap. You run it lightly around Tobio's outer corner to add some depth to the look.
"You really wanna know?" Shoyo asks lowly, propping an arm under his head as he regards an unknowing Tobio.
Tobio makes a thoughtful noise.
"Shoyo," you warn, the vowels mumbled around the cap in your mouth as you concentrate.
"Nevermind," Tobio replies quickly, lips thinning as he presses them together.
"Whatever..." Shoyo sighs, slumping back down and fiddling with the zip of your makeup bag between his legs, dragging it back and forth noisily. "Your loss."
You slide the eyeliner back into the cap between your lips and dump it back in the bag before pulling out an eyebrow pencil. Bracing your fingers on either side of his jaw, you hold him still. Quietly you draw small strokes through Tobio's already full brows.
"One time we fucked while you were in the flat," Shoyo blurts, the end of each word blending into the start of the next as though his mouth couldn't catch up with the dialogue option his brain decided to choose.
"Shoyo!" you gawk, eyes darting to the somehow satisfied look on his face in shock.
"I thought I said nevermind," Tobio says, voice pained.
You sigh sharply through your nose, baffled at your boyfriend's idiocy. "What the fuck is your problem?"
Since the two of you figured out your feelings towards Tobio, it's been an unspoken—but meticulously upheld—rule to keep respective hands to oneself whenever he's around your shared flat. You had one fumble. One. A combined product of soju and Shoyo's new haircut at the time. And really, it wasn't even your fault because how were you supposed to resist dragging him off to your bedroom when he looked that good.
Your fingers tighten on Tobio's jaw as you cringe at the memory.
Naturally, you had felt guilty afterwards, and Shoyo was always quick to remind you that Tobio was asleep. Now, with this delightful decision that your boyfriend has made, you're not so sure that excuse holds up anymore.
"My bad," Shoyo says, not sounding particularly remorseful at all.
"Didn't realise I had to chaperone you guys," Tobio says, glancing up at you.
"You don't," you hiss, feeling the blush on your cheeks. "Shoyo needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut," you say pointedly, eyes fixed somewhere on Tobio's forehead.
Yet you still see how Tobio's eyes widen at your sharp tone. Wincing, you release his jaw and run a hand down your face to hide from his gaze.
"Not usually your stance on my mouth," Shoyo says airily, seemingly determined to dig his grave.
Tobio makes a startled noise. You echo it into the palm of your hand.
"You've got fuckin' issues, Sho," you say half-crazed, reluctant to look at either of the men who you now feel cornered by.
"Why are you being so shy, hm?" he asks, digging his feet under your thigh. You bristle but don't brush him away. "Is it because Kags is here, baby?"
Your hand holding the eyebrow pencil, previously floating paralysed in the air, now joins the other on your face as you, for lack of a more mature, dignified explanation, hide from having to acknowledge that particular statement. Because it's true, to an extent. And that's the worse part of this humiliation singing through your veins. Shoyo's right.
Between your legs, Tobio is utterly silent. And so badly do you want to peek through your fingers to check that his expression isn't one of pure disgust.
You're not brave enough, though.
"Sorry Kags," Shoyo says, and you can practically hear the shit eating grin in his voice. "You're not usually here when we do this."
You groan, a noise like a dying animal crawling up your throat.
Tobio makes a confused sound. "Do what?"
"Talk about you," Shoyo says simply. As though he's not shooting your friendship with the man in question at point blank range. "All nice things of course," he continues thoughtlessly, chuckling.
"Enough," you gasp. "Enough, Sho."
He hums, unconvinced.
"When?" Tobio asks quietly, thankfully not realising, or simply bypassing what Shoyo had just admitted to.
Beneath your hands, your eyebrows furrow.
Why the hell is he asking that?
"When what?" Shoyo prompts, and you can't help but wonder how they're looking at each other right now. If you're the only one feeling awkward. If you’re the only one that feels a teeny tiny bit, stupidly turned on.
Tobio seems unwilling to elaborate, and silence fills the space.
"Last month," Shoyo replies anyway. "When you fell asleep while we were watching Godzilla. Which is crazy by the way, I still don't get how you managed to fall asleep mid-battle, it's so loud. Worked out for us though," Shoyo tacks on casually.
You peak between your fingers. Tobio is considering your boyfriend thoughtfully, a gentle wash of red (not a credit to the makeup you’ve put on him this far) high on his cheeks.
Then, he turns to face you. You startle at being acknowledged again, and slowly drop your hands into your lap. An apology lays on the tip of your tongue. As though sensing it, Tobio shakes his head.
“C’mon,” he says, looking at you expectantly. “Finish what you started.”
Only after a few long, awkward seconds do you realise that Tobio is talking about his makeup.
🍋🟩
It’s giggling that rouses Tobio from his impromptu nap on your sofa. The soft, muffled lilt of your laughter and the deep baritone of Shoyo's chuckles crawling through the wall, poking the edges of his consciousness.
Half-awake, and with no one around to tease him for it, Tobio smiles at the sound. Lovesick, that's what he is. And for once, he doesn't berate himself for it. Not when the only witness to his affliction is the fictional giant reptilian monster destroying a city on the TV.
"Shh— Sho— shut up—"
"Babe— you're the one being— ngh— loud—"
"Am not—"
"Are too—"
"Am not—"
"Are too— you're always— loud—"
Tobio rolls over onto his side and blearily stares at the flashing screen, listening to the two of you bicker.
Thump.
"—ouch."
"Sorry— ah— can't help— it— you look—"
"You like— it—?"
"Yes— now— be quiet—"
Godzilla's tail swings through a power-line and wrenches it up from the concrete.
"Yes ma'am—"
"Sho— I swear— to god—"
For a few seconds, Tobio wonders if he should holler so you can both talk normally. It is your flat after all and while he appreciates the efforts you're taking to keep the noise down, he's awake now anyway.
Then a moan rings, clear as day, through your little flat.
Tobio freezes.
Static fills his brain.
Another moan sounds—yours, Tobio realises—and another.
A knock against the wall.
A clatter of something falling onto the ground.
Tobio swallows, slowly piecing together the context of the conversation he's been listening to. He lifts the back of his hand to his mouth as it escalates way faster than he's prepared for.
"Sho— fuck—"
"Quiet baby— Kags is—"
"Ngh— don't—"
If Godzilla could kindly climb through this TV and put me out of my misery, now would be the perfect time, Tobio thinks despairingly.
"You look—"
"Sho, right there baby— right—"
"I know— I got you—"
Grabbing the nearest pillow, Tobio presses it over his face and debates the pros and cons of smothering himself. He should be uncomfortable hearing this. Especially when you both clearly believe him to be sleeping.
Instead, Tobio feels hot as his blood pounds in his ears. The guilt swims heavy in his stomach, weighing him down with the force of a thousand suns. And he's pretty sure he can feel himself getting hard. Which is. Brilliant. To say the least.
Maybe he should leave?
But then you guys will know that he heard you both and he'll be put through the beyond-awkward ordeal of accepting your needless, blameless apologies to him because he can already guess that you wouldn't let it lie if you found out you made him ‘uncomfortable.'
In a sense it’s not untrue…
"Ah— ah— ah—"
"Fuck— feel so— good baby—"
Vaguely he registers a loud crash, Godzilla no doubt wreaking some havoc on Tokyo, but Tobio can barley pay it any mind with his two best friends wreaking havoc on his own heart.
Shoyo moans, and a second later it gets cut off. Muffled. And Tobio is awful. A degenerate to his bones. Because he pictures the way you may have tugged Shoyo into a kiss to cover up the sound.
"Doing so well—"
"Baby harder— please—"
Tobio's ears burn.
His mouth is bone dry.
His limbs feel strangely unattached from his body.
And the pillow over his face does nothing to block out any of the visuals his brain is supplying to the soundtrack of you two fucking.
High, sharp, pleasured noises tangle together, creeping up and up and up. Tobio can feel his heart fighting to break free of its cage.
"Ngh— gotta be— quick—"
"Yes, yes— don't stop—"
"Gonna— come?"
"Mm— ah— yes!"
Unbidden, Tobio's palm lands on his crotch.
He doesn't move his hand, but instead shallowly thrusts his hips up into it. Tobio exhales into the pillow at the minimal relief.
"Sho— oh god—"
"I got you baby— go on—"
A filthy, strangled keen hits Tobio like a truck. He wrenches his hand away as you come, face twisting in anguish.
"Keep going—"
"Fuck— pull my hair—"
The chime of your laughter coincides with a deep, gravelly moan as Shoyo comes. Tobio wishes he didn't now know what that sounds like.
It falls quiet. Tobio tastes his fear like bile in the back of his throat.
Then.
"Gotta clean myself up— ew— Sho why do you have to—"
"Hold on— c'mere, babe—"
Another laugh. Another moan.
Tobio makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.
"Sho— seriously—"
"Alright, alright— call me if you need me—"
"I will—"
A door opens and Tobio scrabbles to readjust his sweats, shove his face further into the pillow, and pray that his hard-on isn't obvious all in the same breath.
Steps pad across the wooden floors and the sofa dips next to him. Godzilla roars. A palm lands on his bare ankle, a pinky slipping underneath the hem of his trousers. It's warm. Uncomfortably so. Tobio doesn't dare move a muscle for fear of being found out. The hand strokes his ankle and the person leans back, sighing softly.
Shoyo.
He itches to crawl out of his skin. To push into the touch. To drag the palm up higher.
Most of all though, Tobio just wants to stop feeling the way he does.
Lovesick.
Well and truly lovesick.
🍋🟩 mel's note: kags' makeup is based on my wife sunghoon and his boyfriend sunoo from enhypen, see inspo here <3
atsumu loves when you act a little bratty. he can't resist teasing you for it! but when he finally decides to put you in your place, it's exactly the kind of attention that makes your knees go weak.
Miya Atsumu never let you forget how good he thought he was. On the court, off the court, even in bed.
The blonde walked through life with that grin plastered on his face, the kind that made you want to kiss it just as much as you wanted to smack it off. He was arrogant, loud, smug as hell, and worst of all? He knew exactly how much he got under your skin.
He thrived on it.
Which was why you couldn’t help yourself. Pushing back against him was second nature, the brat in you practically begging to knock him down a peg. And right now, watching him sprawled back across the pillows with that wide grin, full of lazy confidence, you decided you weren’t going to make this easy for him.
“Thought you said you were gonna ruin me, ‘Tsumu,” you taunted, stretching deliberately slow, your shirt slipping further off one shoulder. “Can’t say I’m impressed so far.”
His laugh was sharp and quick, a little too sharp to be amused. He tilted his head, blond bangs falling into his narrowed eyes as he looked you over. “Oh, is that so?”
You shrugged, feigning boredom. ““Maybe I should’ve asked Osamu instead.”
That did it. The grin fell right off his face, replaced by something darker.
Atsumu was on you in seconds, faster than you could blink, pinning your wrists above your head with one broad hand while the other pressed into the mattress beside you, caging you in completely. His chest pressed flush against yours, heat radiating from his body, the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
“Ya wanna run that by me again, princess?” His voice was low, all bite and no play now.
You swallowed but kept your chin high, refusing to back down even as your pulse hammered. “You heard me.”
His smile returned, but this time it was sharp enough to cut. His grip tightened around your wrists until you could feel the press of his calluses, strong and unyielding. “Brat.”
The way he spat the word — low, rough, biting — sent a shiver all the way through you. He knew it, too, because the smirk of his face only intensified.
“Ya know what happens t’ brats, don’t ya?” His breath ghosted across your lips, so close but not the kiss you wanted. “They get taught a fuckin’ lesson.”
You wriggled beneath him, arching your back against the weight of his body. “Maybe I like lessons.”
His jaw flexed, eyes glittering with challenge. Then he laughed, short and humorless. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til ya learn.”
The hand pinning your wrists didn’t move, but the other slid down slow, tracing the line of your side, calloused fingertips teasing over the dip of your waist. He was deliberate, making you wait for it, making you squirm. His blond hair fell into his eyes, damp with sweat from how worked up you’d already gotten him, and his flushed skin glowed in the dim light.
“You think you’re so cute when ya push me, don’t ya?” His thumb hooked into your shorts, tugging at the waistband but not moving lower. “But I got news for ya—” he pressed his thigh up between your legs, hard.“I’m the one who decides when you get what ya want.”
You gasped, your body betraying you instantly, grinding down against the solid muscle of his thigh. He watched you with something close to awe, jaw slack for a split second before that smirk carved its way back onto his lips.
“You’re so fuckin’ stubborn,” he murmured against your ear, “Look at ya,” his voice dripping smug satisfaction. “Already drippin’ all over me, and I ain’t even touched ya yet.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” you snapped, trying for sharp but your voice cracked halfway through. “Maybe you just can’t handle me.
That earned you a sharp thrust of his thigh, hard enough to drag a moan out of you before you could bite it back. He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest where it pressed against yours. “Sounds like I'm handlin’ ya just fine, princess.”
Another thrust of his thigh stole your breath, your head tipping back against the pillows as a moan broke free before you could swallow it. His smirk turned feral. Your pride burned hot, warring with the ache between your legs. You wanted to tell him off, to snap something clever back, but your thighs trembled with every roll of your traitorus hips as the pressure built and built.
“Say it,” he demanded, voice thick with authority. “Say you’re done bein’ a brat.”
You shook your head stubbornly, even as your thighs quivered around his. “No.”
His eyes lit up. “Fine.”
Before you could react, his hand left your waist and shoved into your shorts, fingers finding you with humiliating ease. Two slid inside without warning, burying to the knuckle, his thumb grinding down against your clit.
The stretch punched the air from your lungs, your back arching high off the bed as a broken cry ripped free. His golden eyes locked on your face, hungry, devouring every twitch. His blond hair stuck to his temples with sweat, his flushed skin glowing under the dim light. He looked a mess already, chest heaving, lips parted, and he hadn’t even gotten his cock inside you yet.
“Bet ya change your tune real quick now,” he rasped, his voice strained even as his smirk stayed in place.
Your pride fought tooth and nail to keep quiet, but the relentless pace, the way he angled his hand just so, had you crumbling fast. Your breaths came out in desperate gasps,pleas spilling before you could stop them. “‘Tsumu, please—”
“There it is.” His grin softened just slightly. “Knew I’d get ya beggin’.”
He didn’t let up. If anything, he doubled down, angling his hand so every curl of his fingers rubbed the spot that made you see stars. His thumb circled mercilessly over your clit, keeping you teetering at that edge until your thighs trembled violently around his hips.
“C’mon, brat,” he taunted, his voice hoarse now. “Where’s that smart mouth now? Can’t talk when I got ya stuffed full of my fingers, huh?”
You wanted to argue,but the words were lost in the mess of your moans. Your body writhed helplessly under his weight, the heel of his palm grinding against you with every thrust of his hand.
“Look at ya,” Atsumu groaned, his own voice cracking with need as he watched the way you squeezed around him. “So tight, so fuckin’ needy—” He leaned down, biting at your jaw, his breath hot against your ear. “Say you’ll be good f’ me. Say it, and I’ll let ya cum.”
You whined, shaking your head stubbornly even as you were arching into his hand. “N-no—”
His laugh was ragged, rough. “Fine. Guess I’ll just keep ya right here.”
His pace turned even more brutal, every pump of his fingers punching a whine from your lips. Your thighs clamped around his hips, your wrists still pinned above your head as he wrung every ounce of resistance out of you.
Finally, finally, your pride cracked fully with a sob. “I’ll be good! I’ll—fuck, I’ll be good!”
Atsumu’s smirk returned full force, face full pof triumph. “That’s my girl.”
The orgasm slammed into you with no mercy, tearing through your body so hard it left you trembling under him. Your back arched, mouth open on a scream you barely registered, and Atsumu didn’t let go until he’ddragged every last wave out of you.
When you finally collapsed back onto the pillows, boneless and gasping, he leaned down and kissed you slow, deep, and filthy, licking into your mouth like he owned it.
When he finally pulled back, sweaty strands of blond hair falling into his eyes, his smile was wider than ever. Dangerous, playful, devastating.
“Lesson learned?”
You glared weakly, chest still heaving. “Maybe.”
He chuckled, low and dark. “Guess we’ll keep goin’ ‘til ya don’t sound so unsure.”
Giyuu doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to. The weight of his hand on your thigh already says enough, fingers inching higher like he knows exactly how badly you want him.
You breathe his name, soft and shaky, and he finally looks at you. That unreadable gaze of his pins you down harder than his hands ever could.
“Impatient,” he mutters, almost amused, though his voice is low enough that it rumbles against your skin when he leans in. His lips brush your jaw, light and teasing.
Your fingers curl into his haori, tugging him closer. You don’t mean to beg, but the quiet little sound that escapes you gives you away. He hears it, of course he does. Giyuu doesn't miss anything.
His hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt, enough to make your breath catch, and his mouth hovers over yours like he’s still deciding whether or you’ve earned the kiss you’re so desperate for.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, thumb dragging slow, infuriating circles against your skin. “But you don't get to rush me.”
Then he finally kisses you. Deep and unhurried, stealing every bit of air left in your lungs until you’re clinging to him like he's the only thing still holding you upright.
gojo just can't help himself... he loves showing off, teasing you in ways that make your heart race while trying not to get caught.
warnings: mdni!!!! explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, semi-public play, teasing, edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, praise, pet names (brat,angel). wordcount: ~1k
The restaurant was lively, humming with laughter and conversation, forks clinking against plates, waiters weaving in between tables, none of them knowing what was happening beneath yours.
Gojo sat back in the chair next to you, long legs sprawled, one arm casually slung over the back of it as if he wasn’t currently knuckle-deep inside you. His blindfold tilted just slightly, white hair catching the warm light, sharp jaw flexing with every grin he tossed your way.
You could barely breathe, thighs trembling as his fingers curled inside you, slow, deliberate strokes that had you hovering so close to the edge it was maddening.
“You’re so jumpy, angel. People might start to think you’ve had too much wine.” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear as though he were leaning in to tell you some casual joke. You tried to steady your hand around your glass, but your grip faltered when his thumb pressed against your clit in a slow, devastating circle. The stem wobbled between your fingers, a droplet of red nearly spilling over.
“Careful,” Gojo murmured, that cocky smirk tugging his lips upward. “You wouldn’t want to make a mess in front of all our friends, would you?”
Your nails dug into his thigh under the table in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. He chuckled low in his throat, as smug as always, and flexed his fingers inside you, pulling another sharp breath from your lips that you barely managed to mask with a cough.
“That’s it,” he cooed, his voice like silk. “Pretty little brat, trying so hard to behave. Look at you squirming for me.”
You tried to focus, you really did! But the conversations around you blurred into static, laughter rising and falling like background noise to the rush of blood in your ears. He had you strung tight, hips trembling against his relentless rhythm. Each time that molten heat coiled low in your belly and the crest of release threatened to break, he shifted. Fingers curling inside you with devastating precision, pressing down against that spot that made your breath stutter, only to ease off at the last possible second, dragging you down from the edge cruelly, smirk deepening as he whispered, “Not yet.”
Your thighs shook. Sweat prickled at your temple. Your teeth sank into your lip so hard you thought you might draw blood, anything to keep the moans trapped in your throat.
“You’re soaking me,” Gojo teased, tilting his head like he was discussing something normal, like the wine list. “I can feel it dripping down your thighs. Fuck, angel, you’re so messy and no one has a clue.”
You turned your face toward him with trembling breath, eyes pleading. He only leaned closer, lips brushing your cheek.
“Beg for it.”
“Please,” you whispered, desperate. “Please let me come.”
For a moment, you actually thought he would. His fingers sped up, thumb pressing hard against your clit, dragging you right to the brink until your thighs clenched tight around him and your back arched in your chair. But just as you teetered at the edge, release clawing at you, he slowed again. Fingers stilled, pressure lightened, your orgasm ripped away again.
You bit down on a whine, trembling so hard the chair nearly scraped against the floor. He only laughed under his breath, savoring your frustration. “So close, huh? Bet you thought I was gonna let you. You should see your face right now.”
Tears of need pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body aching, throbbing, and oversensitive from being denied. You hated him for it. You needed him more than ever.
And Gojo knew it, too. He smirked, pressing a teasing kiss against your jaw. “Alright, angel. This time.”
His fingers picked up their pace immediately, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns. No slowing down this time, just raw, unrelenting pressure that shattered every last bit of control you had.
You shook violently, nails clawing into his thigh as heat exploded through you, your orgasm ripping free in shuddering waves that had you clutching onto him desperately, hips bucking under the table.
It was impossible to keep quiet. A strangled moan tore from your throat, quickly masked by his lips crushing against yours in a fake kiss. His mouth swallowed every cry as he guided you through it. Your body trembled, clenching around his fingers, overwhelmed by how long he’d kept you teetering.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he hissed against your mouth. “So pretty when you come for me. Look at you, soaking my hand. All mine.”
You slumped against him, heart racing, body weak, and thighs sticky. He pulled his hand back slowly, only to let his thumb brush lazily over your clit again. You jolted, a helpless whine caught in your throat as another sharp aftershock wracked your body.
“Sensitive?” he teased, fingers barely circling.
You gasped, clutching his wrist, trying to still him, but your body betrayed you with another shudder, your thighs pressing together around his hand.
Before you could catch your breath, someone from across the table leaned forward. “Hey, you okay? You look a little flushed.”
Gojo didn’t miss a beat. His fingers never fully left you as he leaned back in his chair with that dazzling grin.
“She’s fine,” he answered smoothly. “Just a little warm in here, right, angel?”
You nodded quickly, cheeks burning. Only you knew the truth, but the look on Gojo’s face told you that he was still far from finished with you.
Jean's all talk until you're the one calling the shots. Watching him stumble over his words while you stay steady on top? Yeah, it turns out nothing flusters him faster than giving up control.
warnings: mdni!!!! explicit sexual content, kinda sub!jean??, riding, begging, power play, teasing + praise, a little degradation, creampie wordcount: ~1k
Jean Kirstein had always been a mouthy bastard.
He had that cocky little smirk, the sharp tongue, the constant teasing that usually left you flushed and biting back a glare. In his mind, he always had the upper hand. He was always ready with some smartass comment about how easily he could have you ruined, how fast he could make you beg. And to his credit, he usually backed it up. Jean had a way of taking control that left you dizzy, wrecked, and clinging to him.
But tonight was different.
Because you sat flush on top of him, straddling his hips, the solid heat of him filling you to the hilt. That confidence of his was slipping fast. And God, he looked gorgeous like this—sprawled out on the bed, jaw tight as he tried to keep himself together. His broad chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, stomach tensing every time you rolled your hips. Jean’s hands were on your waist at first, guiding, trying to keep some illusion of control. But every time you shifted, grinding down instead of rising up, the words caught in his throat. And eventually his grip faltered. You could feel him surrender in the way his fingers slid helplessly down to your thighs, just holding on.
“Fuck—” his voice cracked, and his head tipped back against the pillow. His eyes wide like he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him. “You’re—shit, you’re driving me crazy.”
It made you smile, leaning forward so your chest brushed his, lips ghosting over the column of his throat. “You always run your mouth so much,” you murmured, breath brushing his jaw as you leaned over him. Your pace never faltered; slow, deliberate, squeezing him in a way that made his legs twitch beneath you. “What’s the matter, Jean? Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re— shit— you’re not playing fair.”
You smiled sweetly, leaning back to drag your hips over him again, letting the angle hit just right. His chest arched, a low, broken sound slipping out that he immediately tried to swallow back, cheeks burning red. You felt the shiver run straight through him. That proud, smart-mouthed soldier was reduced to a mess under you. It was addictive.
“Not fair?” you repeated, tilting your head like you were considering it. “Feels pretty fair to me. You get to sit there, look pretty, and I do all the work.”
You kept him right there, right at that edge where his hands twitched and his hips bucked, but you never let him take over. The flush spreading down his neck, the way his jaw clenched and unhinged on every shaky exhale, it was everything.
“God, you feel—” His voice cracked again, dissolving into a broken moan when you pressed down harder, taking him even deeper. His hand came up, shaky and unsure, brushing your cheek before tangling in your hair like he needed to anchor himself to something. His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving, sweat trailing down the hollow of his throat where his pulse thundered.
Every thrust of your hips drew another sound out of him, low and unguarded, the kind of noises Jean would never make if he were the one in control. He tried to chase your rhythm, tried to bite back the whimpers, but you could feel him breaking apart beneath you.
“You’re so—fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he gasped, the words tumbling out raw and unpolished, nothing like his usual swagger. His hands tightened on your hips as if he could slow you down, but you just leaned into him, nails digging lightly into his chest.
“You like this, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice steady even while his was falling apart. “Being underneath me. Letting me use you.”
Jean’s lips parted, a soundless moan breaking into a desperate, “Y-yeah—fuck, yeah.” choked by the weight of his own pleasure. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”
The sound of him begging nearly undid you, but you held steady. His thighs jerked, his hips stuttered, and you knew he was close—so close he couldn’t hide it.
You slowed the pace, just enough to make him whine. The sound tore from his throat, rough and needy, his whole body bucking up as though he could force you faster again. You tightened around him, watching his entire body jolt, and his hands finally left the sheets, flying to your waist in a desperate grab. But you caught his wrists, pushing them back down to the bed with a strength that startled even him.
“Look at you,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching the way the muscles there tensed under your touch. “All talk until someone puts you in your place.”
His throat bobbed, a broken sound catching there, and you gave him exactly what he wanted. You picked up your rhythm again, hips snapping harder. The bed creaked beneath you, headboard tapping faintly against the wall with the force of his thrusts trying to meet yours. His skin was hot under your hands. Every sound he made was raw, moans and curses bitten off halfway only to crumble into whines.
“Oh, fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” His warning was barely coherent. His hips bucked hard, muscles locking as his whole body arched against you.
You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a kiss that swallowed the rest of his words, and that was all it took. Jean shattered beneath you, hips jerking wildly, a strangled cry tearing out of him. His whole body tensed hard, veins standing out on his neck as his orgasm ripped through him.
He came hard, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves, his hands clutching you like he was drowning. His moans were loud and broken, drawn out of him without shame now, his voice rasping raw with each sound. You could feel him twitching inside you, feel the aftershocks ripple through his body as he gasped against your mouth.
And fuck, if watching him like that —flushed and undone, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, lips swollen from your kiss— wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen. It was almost enough to push you over the edge on its own. He looked absolutely perfect.
You slowed your hips gradually, letting him ride out every last pulse of release. Jean slumped against the headboard, chest rising and falling in rapid, shaky breaths, his hands still gripping your thighs.
When he finally blinked up at you, eyes glassy and lips parted, you couldn’t help the satisfied little smile that tugged at your mouth.
chris doesn't need to say much–he just keeps you pressed close, hands on your hips, eyes tracking every shiver and gasp. His amused gaze makes it clear just how much he enjoys watching you squirm.
warnings: mdni!!!! explicit sexual content, thigh riding, size kink vibes, begging + whimpering, lowkey strength kink?, a lil possessive, praise, overstim undertones, chris is unfairly hot wordcount: ~1200
It started with his hands.
Big, calloused, steady—Chris Redfield had a way of holding you that made resistance feel impossible. Not that you’d ever want to, of course. One hand at your hip, the other spanning your thigh to anchor you exactly where he wanted. Just the weight of him was enough to keep you pliant in his lap, caged between his broad shoulders and the chair beneath you.
And then there was his thigh.
Solid muscle beneath rough cargo pants, spread wide to support your weight, flexing occasionally in ways that made you gasp. It was thick enough to press right where you needed it, the seam of his pants dragging against your clit each time you rolled your hips down. Every little movement set sparks under your skin, and the bastard knew it.
Chris doesn’t need to say much. Just sitting back, relaxed as if he wasn’t completely undoing you with nothing more than the press of his body. The silence made it worse (better).
“Chris…” It came out as a whimper, and you hated the way your voice trembled.
His hand tightened just slightly on your hip. Not stopping you. Just pressing you down, reminding you who had the strength here. His leg shifted beneath you, and suddenly the pressure doubled, the thick muscle of his thigh flexing hard against your cunt. You gasped, clutching his shoulders, nails dragging faint crescents into his broad shoulders.
He smirked then, just barely. Your forehead falls to his shoulder, but he tilts his head just enough that his mouth grazes your temple in a gentle kiss. The faint brush of his stubble has your stomach clenching even tighter than the friction alone.
You moved again, a slow grind of your hips, and heat flushed your cheeks at how easily your body gave in. He was so damn big beneath you, the sheer size of him swallowing you whole. Sitting in his lap like this made you feel small, pliant, like you could lose yourself in him entirely. His thigh was unyielding, every drag of fabric against your clit a reminder of just how powerful he was, and how utterly at his mercy you were.
Your pace quickened; you couldn’t help yourself. Chris leaned back slightly in the chair, spreading his legs wider to give you more room, his relaxed posture at odds with the sharp way his gaze tracked your every move.
“Please,” you breathed, the word tumbling out raw. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for. Release? Permission? Just anything he’d give you.
His thumb stroked a slow line across your hip, almost gentle compared to the roughness of your movements. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you rocked harder, chasing the heat pooling low in your belly.
The sound you made next was high, something between a moan and a sob. His eyes darkened at that, but he still didn’t say a word. Just watched, steady and intent. Then his grip clamps down, dragging you back to that slow, steady grind. A frustrated whimper slips out before you can stop it.
“Easy,” he finally mutters, low and quiet, voice rough like gravel. It rumbles through his chest beneath your palms, sinking straight into your spine. The word alone has you shuddering. Easy. As if you could be anything else in his hands.
His thighs flex beneath you as he shifts ever so slightly, angling you forward until the seam of your clothes hits just right. You gasp, nails digging deeper into his shoulders, and his eyes light up with amusement, like he’d been waiting for that sound. “Right there?” he asks, though it’s not really a question. He already knows.
“Chris, please—”
The desperate edge in your voice finally earns you a smirk, full and deliberate now, tugging at his lips in that way that makes him look even more devastatingly handsome. He leans in, lips brushing your ear as he breathes, “That’s it. Keep going.”
Your body obeys before your brain can catch up. You move against him, guided by his hands, lost in the steady pressure, the unbearable heat building with every pass of your clit against the thick muscle of his thigh.
The burn in your legs doesn’t matter anymore. The ache in your lungs doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way Chris is watching you, jaw set tight, like he’s holding himself back from doing so much more.
You could feel it coming—the slow, coiling build that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your nails dragged over his shoulders, leaving faint red lines against the spread of muscle there.
“Chris,” you gasped again, louder this time, the edge of desperation clear in your voice.
His hands tightened, anchoring you to him, pressing you down harder. His thigh flexed deliberately, and the jolt of sensation made you cry out, head tipping back as your rhythm faltered into shaky, frantic grinding.
The look in his eyes turned sharp, focused, almost predatory in the way he tracked every shiver, every sound. He looked like he could devour you with his stare alone, and it only made the heat pool lower, the pressure in your belly snapping tighter.
You tried to fight it, tried to hold on, but the pace was brutal now. His grip gave you no escape, no chance to slow down. You were trembling, gasping, moaning his name in broken little sobs until finally, finally it shattered.
“Fuck, fuck, I can’t—” Your voice cracked, tumbling into broken sobs of pleasure.
He didn’t say a word. Just watched as your body gave out, as the orgasm slammed into you with brutal force. It ripped through you, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your thighs clamped hard around his, your hips jerking in helpless, stuttering motions as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you.
Chris didn’t let you go. His hands kept you grounded, holding you steady as you came apart on him. His thigh stayed flexed, letting you ride it out.
Your body shuddered violently, clit throbbing against the seam of his pants. You were sure there was a wet patch soaked into the fabric of his pants as you ground against him helplessly. His eyes stayed on you, unwavering, memorizing the way your face twisted in pleasure.
When the peak finally ebbed, leaving you trembling and boneless, you slumped forward into his chest. His arms came up immediately, wrapping around you and pulling you close. His lips brushed against your temple before pulling back enough to look down at you again.
“You done?” His voice was rough, low, that gravelly edge sending another shiver down your spine.
You whimpered softly, shaking your head against his chest. “No… need more.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through him, the sound vibrating where your cheek pressed into his solid frame. His smirk returned, and his hands slid back down to your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin.
“Then keep going,” he murmured.
The way he said it: quiet, commanding, so sure of himself. It sent heat rushing through you all over again. You realize, dizzy and overwhelmed, that Chris Redfield hasn’t even started to show you everything he’s capable of.
Jean's all talk until you're the one calling the shots. Watching him stumble over his words while you stay steady on top? Yeah, it turns out nothing flusters him faster than giving up control.
warnings: mdni!!!! explicit sexual content, kinda sub!jean??, riding, begging, power play, teasing + praise, a little degradation, creampie wordcount: ~1k
Jean Kirstein had always been a mouthy bastard.
He had that cocky little smirk, the sharp tongue, the constant teasing that usually left you flushed and biting back a glare. In his mind, he always had the upper hand. He was always ready with some smartass comment about how easily he could have you ruined, how fast he could make you beg. And to his credit, he usually backed it up. Jean had a way of taking control that left you dizzy, wrecked, and clinging to him.
But tonight was different.
Because you sat flush on top of him, straddling his hips, the solid heat of him filling you to the hilt. That confidence of his was slipping fast. And God, he looked gorgeous like this—sprawled out on the bed, jaw tight as he tried to keep himself together. His broad chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, stomach tensing every time you rolled your hips. Jean’s hands were on your waist at first, guiding, trying to keep some illusion of control. But every time you shifted, grinding down instead of rising up, the words caught in his throat. And eventually his grip faltered. You could feel him surrender in the way his fingers slid helplessly down to your thighs, just holding on.
“Fuck—” his voice cracked, and his head tipped back against the pillow. His eyes wide like he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him. “You’re—shit, you’re driving me crazy.”
It made you smile, leaning forward so your chest brushed his, lips ghosting over the column of his throat. “You always run your mouth so much,” you murmured, breath brushing his jaw as you leaned over him. Your pace never faltered; slow, deliberate, squeezing him in a way that made his legs twitch beneath you. “What’s the matter, Jean? Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re— shit— you’re not playing fair.”
You smiled sweetly, leaning back to drag your hips over him again, letting the angle hit just right. His chest arched, a low, broken sound slipping out that he immediately tried to swallow back, cheeks burning red. You felt the shiver run straight through him. That proud, smart-mouthed soldier was reduced to a mess under you. It was addictive.
“Not fair?” you repeated, tilting your head like you were considering it. “Feels pretty fair to me. You get to sit there, look pretty, and I do all the work.”
You kept him right there, right at that edge where his hands twitched and his hips bucked, but you never let him take over. The flush spreading down his neck, the way his jaw clenched and unhinged on every shaky exhale, it was everything.
“God, you feel—” His voice cracked again, dissolving into a broken moan when you pressed down harder, taking him even deeper. His hand came up, shaky and unsure, brushing your cheek before tangling in your hair like he needed to anchor himself to something. His pupils were blown wide, chest heaving, sweat trailing down the hollow of his throat where his pulse thundered.
Every thrust of your hips drew another sound out of him, low and unguarded, the kind of noises Jean would never make if he were the one in control. He tried to chase your rhythm, tried to bite back the whimpers, but you could feel him breaking apart beneath you.
“You’re so—fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he gasped, the words tumbling out raw and unpolished, nothing like his usual swagger. His hands tightened on your hips as if he could slow you down, but you just leaned into him, nails digging lightly into his chest.
“You like this, don’t you?” you whispered, your voice steady even while his was falling apart. “Being underneath me. Letting me use you.”
Jean’s lips parted, a soundless moan breaking into a desperate, “Y-yeah—fuck, yeah.” choked by the weight of his own pleasure. “Fuck, yes—don’t stop—please, don’t stop.”
The sound of him begging nearly undid you, but you held steady. His thighs jerked, his hips stuttered, and you knew he was close—so close he couldn’t hide it.
You slowed the pace, just enough to make him whine. The sound tore from his throat, rough and needy, his whole body bucking up as though he could force you faster again. You tightened around him, watching his entire body jolt, and his hands finally left the sheets, flying to your waist in a desperate grab. But you caught his wrists, pushing them back down to the bed with a strength that startled even him.
“Look at you,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching the way the muscles there tensed under your touch. “All talk until someone puts you in your place.”
His throat bobbed, a broken sound catching there, and you gave him exactly what he wanted. You picked up your rhythm again, hips snapping harder. The bed creaked beneath you, headboard tapping faintly against the wall with the force of his thrusts trying to meet yours. His skin was hot under your hands. Every sound he made was raw, moans and curses bitten off halfway only to crumble into whines.
“Oh, fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—” His warning was barely coherent. His hips bucked hard, muscles locking as his whole body arched against you.
You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a kiss that swallowed the rest of his words, and that was all it took. Jean shattered beneath you, hips jerking wildly, a strangled cry tearing out of him. His whole body tensed hard, veins standing out on his neck as his orgasm ripped through him.
He came hard, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves, his hands clutching you like he was drowning. His moans were loud and broken, drawn out of him without shame now, his voice rasping raw with each sound. You could feel him twitching inside you, feel the aftershocks ripple through his body as he gasped against your mouth.
And fuck, if watching him like that —flushed and undone, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead, lips swollen from your kiss— wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen. It was almost enough to push you over the edge on its own. He looked absolutely perfect.
You slowed your hips gradually, letting him ride out every last pulse of release. Jean slumped against the headboard, chest rising and falling in rapid, shaky breaths, his hands still gripping your thighs.
When he finally blinked up at you, eyes glassy and lips parted, you couldn’t help the satisfied little smile that tugged at your mouth.
gojo just can't help himself... he loves showing off, teasing you in ways that make your heart race while trying not to get caught.
warnings: mdni!!!! explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, semi-public play, teasing, edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, praise, pet names (brat,angel). wordcount: ~1k
The restaurant was lively, humming with laughter and conversation, forks clinking against plates, waiters weaving in between tables, none of them knowing what was happening beneath yours.
Gojo sat back in the chair next to you, long legs sprawled, one arm casually slung over the back of it as if he wasn’t currently knuckle-deep inside you. His blindfold tilted just slightly, white hair catching the warm light, sharp jaw flexing with every grin he tossed your way.
You could barely breathe, thighs trembling as his fingers curled inside you, slow, deliberate strokes that had you hovering so close to the edge it was maddening.
“You’re so jumpy, angel. People might start to think you’ve had too much wine.” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of your ear as though he were leaning in to tell you some casual joke. You tried to steady your hand around your glass, but your grip faltered when his thumb pressed against your clit in a slow, devastating circle. The stem wobbled between your fingers, a droplet of red nearly spilling over.
“Careful,” Gojo murmured, that cocky smirk tugging his lips upward. “You wouldn’t want to make a mess in front of all our friends, would you?”
Your nails dug into his thigh under the table in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. He chuckled low in his throat, as smug as always, and flexed his fingers inside you, pulling another sharp breath from your lips that you barely managed to mask with a cough.
“That’s it,” he cooed, his voice like silk. “Pretty little brat, trying so hard to behave. Look at you squirming for me.”
You tried to focus, you really did! But the conversations around you blurred into static, laughter rising and falling like background noise to the rush of blood in your ears. He had you strung tight, hips trembling against his relentless rhythm. Each time that molten heat coiled low in your belly and the crest of release threatened to break, he shifted. Fingers curling inside you with devastating precision, pressing down against that spot that made your breath stutter, only to ease off at the last possible second, dragging you down from the edge cruelly, smirk deepening as he whispered, “Not yet.”
Your thighs shook. Sweat prickled at your temple. Your teeth sank into your lip so hard you thought you might draw blood, anything to keep the moans trapped in your throat.
“You’re soaking me,” Gojo teased, tilting his head like he was discussing something normal, like the wine list. “I can feel it dripping down your thighs. Fuck, angel, you’re so messy and no one has a clue.”
You turned your face toward him with trembling breath, eyes pleading. He only leaned closer, lips brushing your cheek.
“Beg for it.”
“Please,” you whispered, desperate. “Please let me come.”
For a moment, you actually thought he would. His fingers sped up, thumb pressing hard against your clit, dragging you right to the brink until your thighs clenched tight around him and your back arched in your chair. But just as you teetered at the edge, release clawing at you, he slowed again. Fingers stilled, pressure lightened, your orgasm ripped away again.
You bit down on a whine, trembling so hard the chair nearly scraped against the floor. He only laughed under his breath, savoring your frustration. “So close, huh? Bet you thought I was gonna let you. You should see your face right now.”
Tears of need pricked at the corners of your eyes, your body aching, throbbing, and oversensitive from being denied. You hated him for it. You needed him more than ever.
And Gojo knew it, too. He smirked, pressing a teasing kiss against your jaw. “Alright, angel. This time.”
His fingers picked up their pace immediately, thumb circling your clit in tight, merciless patterns. No slowing down this time, just raw, unrelenting pressure that shattered every last bit of control you had.
You shook violently, nails clawing into his thigh as heat exploded through you, your orgasm ripping free in shuddering waves that had you clutching onto him desperately, hips bucking under the table.
It was impossible to keep quiet. A strangled moan tore from your throat, quickly masked by his lips crushing against yours in a fake kiss. His mouth swallowed every cry as he guided you through it. Your body trembled, clenching around his fingers, overwhelmed by how long he’d kept you teetering.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he hissed against your mouth. “So pretty when you come for me. Look at you, soaking my hand. All mine.”
You slumped against him, heart racing, body weak, and thighs sticky. He pulled his hand back slowly, only to let his thumb brush lazily over your clit again. You jolted, a helpless whine caught in your throat as another sharp aftershock wracked your body.
“Sensitive?” he teased, fingers barely circling.
You gasped, clutching his wrist, trying to still him, but your body betrayed you with another shudder, your thighs pressing together around his hand.
Before you could catch your breath, someone from across the table leaned forward. “Hey, you okay? You look a little flushed.”
Gojo didn’t miss a beat. His fingers never fully left you as he leaned back in his chair with that dazzling grin.
“She’s fine,” he answered smoothly. “Just a little warm in here, right, angel?”
You nodded quickly, cheeks burning. Only you knew the truth, but the look on Gojo’s face told you that he was still far from finished with you.
FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!
i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛
It’s the first thing he says, his hand already finding your wrist before you can protest. Izuku tugs, gentle but firm, and suddenly you’re falling into the space he’s created for you—his lap.
The room is buzzing, the kind of loud that only comes with too many people crammed into one place. Mina’s sprawled on the floor with a deck of cards fanned out in her hands, Kaminari’s whining about how unfair the rules are, and Bakugo is already threatening to leave if everyone doesn’t “play it right.”
There’s no space left on the couch, the floor is cluttered with shoes and your sprawled-out friends. There's nowhere else to sit. It makes sense! That’s what you tell yourself as Izuku settles back into the couch, one hand instinctively finding its place on your hip to steady you, the other propped against the armrest as he continues the conversation he’d been having with Kirishima.
But the truth is, your pulse is already tripping over itself.
Izuku's different now. All the years of training and patrol have been kind to him; carved new lines into him, broadened his chest, strengthened his thighs until they feel unyielding beneath you. His hand is bigger, rougher, warmer where it rests against you. He’s not the boy who stuttered his way through every sentence anymore. There’s an easy steadiness in the way he holds himself now, a confidence that grew slowly over time.
It shouldn’t throw you off. He’s still your best friend. Still the boy who once ran back three blocks just to return the umbrella you left behind. The one who texts you photos of stray cats because he knows they’ll make you smile. Your pulse shouldn't jump at the heat of him pressed against your back.
But now… now he rests his chin on your shoulder while he listens to the game, his breath fanning across your neck, and it makes your skin prickle in ways you definitely can’t ignore.
The game gets heated (Kirishima’s accusing Kaminari of cheating, Bakugo’s swearing loud enough to rattle the windows).And then the couch shifts, jostled by someone standing up too quickly. The motion tips you forward, and his hand comes up automatically to keep you steady, fingers splaying wide against your waist. It pulls you closer, your weight settling more firmly across his lap—right against the solid line of his thigh. He doesn’t notice how tight your breath catches, how all your muscles tense.
Your shorts press tighter, denim rough against your most sensitive spot, the seam resting just between your folds and against your clit. You try to ignore it, but every bounce sends another pulse of warmth curling low in your stomach.
He’s focused, nodding along to something Shoto says across the room. But his thumb is moving again, slow and thoughtless, rubbing a small circle into your side like it’s muscle memory as you discreetly rock yourself against his thigh.
It unravels you. Quietly, but completely.
“Hey,” he murmurs suddenly, low enough that it’s just for you. “You comfortable?” His voice vibrates against your back, warm and genuine.
You force a nod, a smile he can’t quite see. “Yeah. I’m good.”
And he believes you. Of course he does. Izuku’s always been like that—taking people at their word, absolutely clueless to the fact that you're growing wetter by the second in his lap. Unaware that your mind is currently filled with downright nasty thoughts of him, of how many times you've imagined yourself all pliant and desperate for him.
Later, when the night winds down and everyone stumbles out the door, you’ll catch a glimpse of him again. Izuku stacking stray cups in the kitchen, hair falling into his eyes, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. He’ll look up and smile at you softly.
And you’ll feel it again, that pull low of heat in your stomach, the memory of his hand on your waist and the warmth of his breath at your neck. You’ll take it home with you, heavy and sweet, and try to bury it.
Izuku doesn’t know. And you can’t bring yourself to tell him. Not yet, at least.
Giyuu doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t have to. The weight of his hand on your thigh already says enough, fingers inching higher like he knows exactly how badly you want him.
You breathe his name, soft and shaky, and he finally looks at you. That unreadable gaze of his pins you down harder than his hands ever could.
“Impatient,” he mutters, almost amused, though his voice is low enough that it rumbles against your skin when he leans in. His lips brush your jaw, light and teasing.
Your fingers curl into his haori, tugging him closer. You don’t mean to beg, but the quiet little sound that escapes you gives you away. He hears it, of course he does. Giyuu doesn't miss anything.
His hand slips beneath the waistband of your skirt, enough to make your breath catch, and his mouth hovers over yours like he’s still deciding whether or you’ve earned the kiss you’re so desperate for.
“I’ll give you what you want,” he whispers, thumb dragging slow, infuriating circles against your skin. “But you don't get to rush me.”
Then he finally kisses you. Deep and unhurried, stealing every bit of air left in your lungs until you’re clinging to him like he's the only thing still holding you upright.
-A/N: This is my first ever kinktober! This list is subject to change. Anyone can request drabbles or prompts for kinktober, send me a message anytime! My taglist is open and will stay open until October 31 . I hope you enjoy!! mdni
Oct 3 - Gojo Satoru (Jujutsu Kaisen) Kink: Exhibitionism / Semi-Public play Gojo just can't help himself... he loves showing off, teasing you in ways that make your heart race while trying not to get caught.
Oct 5 - Jean Kirstein (Attack on Titan) Kink: Cowgirl Jean's all talk until you're the one calling the shots. Watching him stumble over his words while you stay steady on top? Yeah, it turns out nothing flusters him faster than giving up control.
Oct 7 - Chris Redfield (Resident Evil) Kink: Thigh Riding Chris doesn't need to say much–he just keeps you pressed close, hands on your hips, eyes tracking every shiver and gasp. His amused gaze makes it clear just how much he enjoys watching you squirm.
Oct 10 - Miya Atsumu (Haikyuu!!) Kink: Brat Taming Atsumu loves when you act a little bratty. He can't resist teasing you for it! But when he finally decides to put you in your place, it's exactly the kind of attention that makes your knees go weak.
Oct 14 - Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil) Kink: Chokeholding Leon knows exactly what he's doing when he pins you with his arms, keeping you right where he wants you. Strong, steady, and a little dangerous –he leaves you dizzy in the best way possible.
Oct 17 - Levi Ackerman (Attack on Titan) Kink: Hand Fetish Levi's hands don't just touch, they take their time. Every stroke and squeeze makes it impossible not to react, and somehow he always knows the perfect ways to make you shiver.
Oct 19 - Sanemi Shinazugawa ( Demon Slayer) Kink: Blood Play Sanemi has always been a little rough. He bites, scratches, and leaves marks just to see you flinch. He's reckless and messy about it, but the sting mixes with the heat until you can't tell where pain ends and pleasure starts.
Oct 21 - Suguru Geto (Jujutsu Kaisen) Kink: Corruption Geto eases you into it, sweet words that slowly twist darker until you're tangled in his spell. It's intoxicating and impossible to resist, even when you know he's bending you exactly the way he wants.
Oct 24 - Toji Fushiguro (Jujutsu Kaisen) Kink: Size kink / Breeding Toji's raw strength is overwhelming, and he doesn't hold back. Every touch, every movement has an intensity that makes it impossible to ignore who's in control. It's hot, messy, and completely consuming.
Oct 26 - Choso Kamo (Jujutsu Kaisen) Kink: Edging / Dom Reader Choso shivers under your touch, whimpering every time you pull back and leave him on the edge. He's desperate, needy, and completely obedient, hanging on your every word in hopes of just a little release.
Oct 31 - Eren Yeager (Attack on Titan) Kink: Spanking / Rough Dom Play Eren keeps you right where he wants you. His hands are firm and demanding. He doesn't like when your attention wanders, and each smack reminds you (and him), that you're completely his. He loves to leave you flushed, breathless, and craving more.
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