cw ; smut, afab!reader, todoroki is a little lovesick 18+
no matter what you thought of todoroki, good or bad, nothing prepared you for the intensity in which he has sex.
because in every other aspect of his life, shouto todoroki (26) is painfully placid and unremarkable. maybe it's on purpose, an unfortunate byproduct of a life-time of inherited fame and family drama that's slowly devoured any desire to be different. to stand out anymore than he does is burdensome. todoroki flourishes in his boring, in the fact he's so pretty and so notable that he's overlooked.
when you met him, you learned that he's only really pretending. that his habits always border on neurotic and he's more deeply complicated than one might expect. his inner world is something you don't understand and probably never will.
what you do know though is that you thought he would be stale in bed. that he'd be gentle and compassionate but not looking for anything too intensely kinky. too much. that he'd preen and praise all with delicacy and precision, because he's already like that.
the first time you invite todoroki into your bed, he fucks you to the point you don't remember your name. it's not rough, not really. it doesn't bruise or hurt - but there's some unspoken force behind all of it that bleeds into all of his touches.
and you think it's really something to do with possession. a man who's never wanted anything really finally has something he wants. can't live without out. so every time you end up in his bed, or under him, or above him - whatever you want, you can see nothing in his eyes but an emotion he's never learned to clamp down.
desire that burns and bleeds even if he's trying his very hardest to be patient. he touches you with intent. his fingers curve against your insides with a hot, sharp breath and fucks them into you down the knuckle. curls against the spongy space inside of that has your legs clamping his wrists and every time you moan, he lets out a deep and guttural sound like he's been holding in his wants for his whole life. he curses when you never hear him do it, he whines.
it's hard to feel undesirable when all todoroki does is want you. carnally and vulgarly makes you know that he wants you so bad. says he misses you sitting on his face. calls you between shifts to tell you that he thought of you, only to come home with a confession on his tongue "i thought about you riding my cock all day."
oh how terribly desperate he is for you. sweat beading down his forehead and eyes filled with mist, holding you like you'll disappear. like you're some mirage, todoroki's cock twitches when you tell him you want him. that there's something mutual about any of his sexual fantasy and deep longing. he needs your guiding hands, your kisses, your cunt to wrap around him like he belongs there. his cock will probably only ever stand straight for you anyways. he needs you to need him just a fraction of how he needs you. even for someone so monotone - it's something else when he fucks you. with a lifetime of suffocating impatience weighing each of his thrusts, knocking into you. balls slapping your clit and hands tucked at your sides, nose nudging your shoulders as you take him in so deep. he basks in how wet you are and that only makes him harder.
he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. he's never felt it in his life. it'd be cruel to dismiss him so you always let him have his way but you'd be lying if you said it didn't surprise you every single time.
SYNOPSIS : tsukishima kei has known he wants to marry you for years.
WARNINGS : fem reader, needy/emotional/desperate sex, established relationship, mentions of marriage, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple and breast play, oral (female receiving), slight handjob, pussyjob, cursing, body worship, slight praising, dirty talk, teasing, slight hair pulling (male receiving), riding
WORD COUNT : 3.2k
When Tsukishima got home in the evening, there was a flurry of rushed, almost-frantic touches.
While you were a bit shocked, his actions were not unwelcome; when he placed his lips on top of yours, kissing you deeply and passionately, all you could do was sink into his touch.
His hands are cold where he cups your cheeks, the rough pads of his fingertips pressing into your jaw, your cheekbones, urging you to part your mouth so he can press his tongue against yours.
The same chill on his hands has seeped into your small and modest shared apartment from when Kei entered through the front door. It’s appropriate for two people having just finished college – young twenty-somethings with the world at their fingertips.
“Missed you today.” Kei’s words are blunt and truthful as he murmurs them against your lips, and as he breathlessly kisses you again, you feel as if the room is spinning.
“You did?” you ask, shock yet amusement in your tone. You have the urge to laugh as you feel Kei’s brows pinch at your words, the furrow on his forehead prominent as you run your fingertips over it.
“Tch,” your lover makes a sound with his teeth as he barely pulls away – just enough to glare at you with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. “Of course I did. Wouldn’t say it if I hadn’t.”
And he’s kissing you again; Kei’s lips are rushed, and his kisses messy as he slants his lips over yours, kissing the air out of your lungs as he presses his tongue against yours. You ground yourself on him, clutching to his arms as he holds your hips, leaning his body over yours as his embrace deepens with every passing minute.
“Why’re we still out here?” Kei’s breath fans across your lips, his hands nearly digging into your hips as you sway towards him. He grazes his lips against yours again — not in his usual teasing manner, but as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.
The notion has a warm, fuzzy feeling quickly filling your chest, settling in your stomach pleasantly.
“Where do you want to go?” You’re teasing him, and Kei makes a low sound of displeasure at the back of his throat.
“Don’t play coy,” Kei scolds you slightly, though with how he holds you carefully against him, nosing the tip of your nose against your temple, you know there is no real bite in his words. “I want to have you. Can I?”
As if to punctuate his words, your boyfriend pushes his hips against yours, allowing you to feel the full effect of his desire. Despite being with him for so many years, Kei never fails to have you feeling flustered and slightly dizzy from his affections.
A gasp is caught in your throat as he grinds against you again, a rough groan of his own pressed against your lips when he feels you lean into his touch.
“Of course, Kei — oh!”
Your words are abruptly cut off as Kei — impatient and buzzing with a sense of need, quickly kisses you again. Faintly, you realize his hands are shaking a bit as he holds you, insistently pressing against your hips to guide you to your shared bedroom.
It’s a mess of clothes being strewn and spit-slicked kisses, but your arms and hands never leave each other. You can’t tell if an hour or fifteen seconds has passed when Kei finally pushes you to the bed, quickly joining you as he crawls over your needy form.
You both take a brief pause, panting and breathing heavily as Kei hovers over your body. His eyes — dark and blown wide with lust — roam over your features, a kind of softness present that has you insistently tugging at his hair.
“Are you okay?” you ask, a bit breathless, as Kei simply stares at you with a million words in his eyes. He doesn’t speak of any of them; instead, he cups your cheek almost reverently, looking deeply into your eyes as he leans down to kiss you again.
You reach up to meet his lips, but just before they can meet, Kei stops. He hovers over your body and mouth, pressing his nose affectionately against yours as your lips brush over each other's.
“Yeah,” Kei insists, and he seems to be insinuating something that you can’t quite catch.
The moment of curiosity is gone as quickly as it came as Kei presses his lips to yours in another searing, deep kiss. Immediately, your lips part as a slight hum escapes your lips, and your lover responds with an appreciative sound of his own.
Kei’s hands are hot as they trail down your body; years of being together have allowed him to memorize all the places that have you moaning his name. His fingers pass over your every curve, hands pressing against your breasts, pulling lightly at your nipples until he has you moaning into his mouth. It’s his favorite sound, as you soon found out after a while of dating, and you feel his faint grin against you as he continues kneading against your breasts.
“Kei…” your voice trails off as his lips wander down your neck, affectionately tracing along your jaw and the column of your throat.
He hums in return, his voice a bit distracted as he kisses you. “That’s my name,” Kei states, and you let out a huff of laughter at his words. “Sounds nice when you’re saying it, though.”
And then Kei glances up at you from dark, hooded eyes, wrapping his lips around the swell of your breast and sucking hard. He licks and bites and mouths around your nipple until you’re writhing underneath him, an intense heat building between your thighs as you tug at his hair.
Kei’s blonde strands are even messier than usual when he pulls off your nipple, but not before leaning down to press one more kiss to the soft curve of your breast.
“But it sounds even better when you’re moaning it. Can I?” Kei accompanies his words by trailing his fingers down your sides, stopping as they come to rest right above where your panties rest against your skin.
Biting your lip as you look down at him, you nod with a heady look, threading your hands through Kei’s hair once again. He likes it when you pull at his hair, he stated bluntly one afternoon, causing you to nearly choke on your rice. Yamaguchi had a coughing fit.
A sharp gasp falls past your lips as Kei immediately settles between your thighs, pressing his lips to your clothed slit. He mouths at you over your fabric, humming against you appreciatively as his lips drag over your panties.
Kei’s mouth and breath are warm as he makes out with your cunt, finally tugging your panties to the side to taste you. Another moan of his name graces his ears, and when he wraps his lips around your clit to harshly suck, he’s greeted with another.
“There you go. Always sounds so much better when it’s coming from you,” Kei mumbles against you, referring to when you moaned his name. “Wanna hear it again.”
His actions from before paled in comparison. Allowing spit to pool on your clit, Kei hurriedly suckles it between his lips again, moaning around you and digging his tongue against you. He harshly grips onto your hips and thighs as you writhe underneath his touch — as if he can’t get enough of you, can’t touch you enough.
Parting your lips with his fingers, Kei presses his tongue to your entrance, lightly pushing inside you before quickly pulling away. The brief loss of pressure has you rutting your hips along his face, desperate for more of the measly touch he had given you.
“Kei, please,” you moan, unsure what you’re begging for.
Your lover pulls off your aching and throbbing clit with a soft pop, and you nearly whine when his thumb begins to circle the firm bud with practiced motions. “What? Want me to fuck you?” Kei asks, smugness coating his words as his tongue drips with sweetness.
You hurriedly nod, tangling your fingers through his hair as you lean towards him. “Need you to fuck me,” you clarify.
“Mmm,” Kei hums, leaning back down to gaze at your dripping cunt. “I can see that.”
His words, always a bit blunt and often dirty in bed, have your head falling to the pillows. A fresh swell of heat flashes through your body as you feel Kei’s lips brushing over where you need him most, a soft kiss placed against your aching clit as his breath fans over your cunt.
Kei kisses you again, his lips hot and tongue wet as he dips it between your folds. He collects all of the slick he can on his tongue, moaning and groaning into you as he finally begins sucking on your clit again.
Then, in an act that is a bit unusual, Kei takes your hands from his hair, lacing your fingers together. They rest by your hips on the bed, and a warm feeling of affection fills your heart at Kei’s actions. It’s incredibly intimate, and as you feel your boyfriend messily making out with your cunt, you can’t help but call his name.
When he pulls away, Kei’s face is flushed with a light blush. He’s breathing hard, and as he kisses back up your body, he leaves only warmth in his wake.
“Hold on,” he states, and you do.
Kei leans back against the bed, pressing against your hips to have you move to settle over him. Swinging a leg over his waist, you slowly move to grind on top of him, Kei’s hands appreciatively rubbing over the soft skin of your hips.
“Want to see you today,” is his only explanation, and again, his actions have affection and a brief sense of confusion filling you.
You can’t seem to keep your hands off each other; despite saying he wants to see you, Kei quickly leans up to hold you, gathering you in his arms as he kisses you deeply. You moan into the messy kiss, moving your bare cunt to grind against his hard cock, straining against the thin materials of his boxers.
“Take these off,” you nearly demand, and Kei chuckles lightly against your lips. However, the throbbing of his cock is becoming painfully insistent, and Kei quickly takes off his boxers to relieve some of the pressure.
The heat between your legs nearly has him feeling dizzy, and Kei’s head falls back against the pillows as you press your hand to his thick cock. It throbs in your hand as you stroke upwards, pressing your thumb to his slit, dribbling with Kei’s arousal as you stroke back down.
Kei’s hips buck forward at your touch, small groans and pants falling past his kiss-swollen lips as you palm his cock. Your hand is hot, and Kei already feels as if he could cum any second, balls heavy and shaft throbbing to be sunk in your tight cunt.
Your hand is quickly replaced by your cunt as you grind over him again, your hands pressed to his chest as you slide his cock between your folds. A loud moan is heard from your lover as you slide over his shaft, grinding onto him as your thighs shake with the effort.
“Fuck,” Kei huffs out, cheeks pink as his grip on your waist tightens. The fat head of his cock — still leaking with lust — catches against your entrance as you grind on him again, and the fleeting feeling of him barely filling you have you both leaning forward to feel each other’s touch.
Swirling your hips one last time, you moan his name when his tip presses against your clit.
“Let me fuck you now, please?” Kei asks, his voice strained as his fingers dig into the fat of your hips. It’s a pleasant feeling, and as you drop your hips down again to grind onto his leaking cock, Kei presses his fingers against you a bit harder in warning.
“Please, Kei,” you respond breathlessly, still not ceasing in your movements above him.
You help him, wrapping your hand around Kei’s as he grips onto the base of his cock. He squeezes himself once, letting out a huff of pleasure as another bit of pre drips down the side of his thick cock.
“Oh fuck,” Kei moans loudly when you raise your hips, pressing the tip of his cock to your entrance. You sink down on him slowly, savoring how his thickness feels filling you, gasping at every ridge and bump of his cock buried between your thighs.
“Kei, oh my god —” your words are cut off as you tuck your chin to your chest, your mouth parting in pleasure as Kei finally settles deep inside you. You can practically feel his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you, being sucked inside your tight cunt as you drip down his thick shaft.
Kei is having trouble retaining his composure as you remain settled on his cock, your hips pulled flush together as you adjust to having him inside you. He watches as your eyes drift to where you’re connected — all of his cock buried between your thighs, your clit swollen and aching as you press and grind it against this pelvis.
“Good god, fuck — you always feel so fucking good,” Kei groans, his hands shaking as he grips at your hips; he feels a bit overwhelmed in the best way possible, his head feeling dizzy as your tight heat envelops his cock, sucking him in as an intense pleasure begins to build inside him.
“You okay?” Kei asks, tearing his eyes away from where he has his cock buried inside you. He meets your heavy gaze — lips parted, eyes wide as you continue grinding on his cock, hands pressed to his chest to steady yourself.
Kei feels like he can come undone from this sight alone.
“Yeah, yeah. You feel so good, Kei,” you say to him, a feeble moan falling past your lips as you raise your hips. You go slow, only pulling off about half his cock, before you’re slowly sinking your hips down again, savoring the feeling of your lover filling you completely.
“Fuck, so warm, you’re so wet. Feels so good around my cock,” Kei praises you, guiding you to begin bouncing on his cock. He juts his hips forward in stuttered thrusts, pressing against your hips to fuck along his length a bit faster.
Kei feels himself throb inside you as you sink down on him particularly fast, your hot cunt practically sucking his cock inside you. A choking sound slips past his lips as you continue fucking yourself on his cock, grinding every time you settle against him.
“C’mere.” Kei suddenly sits up, gathering you in his arms. He pulls your chest flush against him as he begins fucking up into you, keeping intense eye contact as you continue bouncing in his lap.
He feels his throat dry as he simply watches you in awe, lips parted and brows furrowed with pleasure as you fuck his cock. Kei does his best to help you; he holds you close to him, his chest hot where it meets yours, fucking his cock into you and pressing kisses to your temple as your head falls to his shoulder.
“If you keep fucking me like that, I’ll put a ring on your finger,” Kei states against you, panting heavily as you grind on his cock. He feels you throb around him, your walls tightening as you press your clit against his pelvis.
His words shocked you, he can tell. While you continue sinking down on his cock, dropping your hips against him to take his cock inside you again and again, you look at him with wide eyes.
“W-what?” you ask, and Kei can feel the flush leading down to his chest as he fucks his cock into you.
However, instead of shying away from the feelings that have been invading his thoughts for months now, Kei simply leans into them as he leans into your touch.
“You heard me,” is all he says, but as Kei looks at you, he guides one of your hands to his mouth. Carefully, despite the way he’s harshly fucking up into you, pressing you down on his cock in stuttered, desperate thrusts, he places a chaste kiss to your ring finger.
He feels himself becoming a bit dizzy once again, the pleasure unmistakable as it continues to build. His balls feel heavy as they slap against your ass with every thrust, your tight cunt grinding onto him every time he buries his cock inside you.
“Kei, we’re still so young — we just finished school, and you’re about to start the job at the museum —”
“So?” Kei responds, voice still tinged with breathlessness as you ride him. He feels his end quickly approaching, and wanting to feel you squeeze and gush around his cock first, your lover presses two fingers between your thighs. “I’ve wanted to marry you forever — I’ve known I wanted to for years now.”
Kei can’t help himself when he spreads apart your folds with his fingers, brushing over the spot where you’re connected before circling against your clit. Immediately, you tighten around him impossibly more, and he lets out a string of curses as he feels himself nearing his end.
And then, a brief moment of vulnerability passes through Kei as he feels you staring at him with wide eyes, still grinding and bouncing along his cock. “Do you want to marry me?”
But you cup his cheeks in your hands, leaning forward to kiss him dreamily as his cock throbs inside you. You tell him yes — a mumbled rush of words and euphoria pressed against his lips — as you cum around him, continuing to fuck yourself on his cock as Kei circles your clit.
Kei cums inside you as you say yes — a stuttered breath catching in his throat as you kiss him deeply, his hands moving to touch every part of your body because he simply can’t get enough of you. He groans into your kiss as he pumps you full of his cum, the warmth of it spreading inside you even as you moan from overstimulation, the rough drag of his cock inside you filling you with his cum.
A few beats of peaceful, blissful silence follow. Kei presses his forehead to yours affectionately, leaning forward every few seconds to press his lips to yours. His touch lingers, as does his cum and cock inside you, filling you with warmth as Kei’s chest does the same.
“Did you just propose to me?” you ask, grinning against your lover at your previous encounter.
Kei merely clicks his teeth together in feigned annoyance, leaning back to playfully flick your forehead.
“Of course not. My real proposal will be much better than that,” he explains, and though his words are teasing, they are dripping with the same amount of sincerity that he came home with.
Later, when you ask why he came home in such a frenzy, Kei doesn’t tell you it’s because he had passed a jewelry store on his way home. The windows had been lined with beautiful rings, some glittering with diamonds, some silver and some gold, some simple and some extravagant. He’d hesitated a bit, curious as to why they suddenly grabbed his attention, when thoughts of you filled his head.
⇨ series masterlist | spotify playlist | playlist guide
➪ wc: 11k+ || minors dni 18+ series
➪ warnings/tags: timeskip! pro hero! shouto (mid-twenties), arranged marriage au, modified canon au (refer to the series masterlist for details), oral sex (f! receiving), baby as a pet name, shouto is sooooo obsessed w/ you, slight praise kink (receiving), reader has a face injury/scar/marking, mentions of childhood experiences/traumas, mentions of failed marriages, HEAVY discussion on not wanting children, showering together and touching, food mentions (sensual peach eating (?)), barely edited but I will come back for it later, pfft
➪ summary: Shouto is quiet, absorbing your sincerity and how hard it strikes within him. If anyone should be fleeing, it's you, he thinks. No part of you's worthy of escaping, and he's too caught under the wire of your crimson bleeding heart to even consider it any longer. But you don't know that. You must not, not with how you shift and fumble like a wave too shy to roll over and crash.
➪ notes: I know I warned this from the beginning and in the tags, but I'll state again that this series involves a reader and Shouto who do not want children. This chapter includes a lengthy discussion about failed marriages and not wanting children. If the subject makes you uncomfortable or you disagree with those personal discussions/beliefs, I urge you not to read this chapter and, honestly, the rest of the series as it's a persistent theme (recall the vasectomy tag, pfft). Besides that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. There are some fun hints of what will occur in the next chapter and some smut to end it all <333 Thank you for reading, mwah!!!
"You're seriously gonna make me push the cart?"
You hum in response, back turned to the pro hero and his pride. Katsuki huffs as you walk ahead of him, staring at your back in disapproval before trailing after you.
"Why do you even have to go to the grocery store anyway? They can ship it to you, you know."
He grimaces as you lift an exceptionally bruised lemon, studying it.
"I like going in person. You get to pick your own produce," you say, eyes trained on every ridge, pore, and soft spot.
The amount of interest you take in the yellow fruit annoys Katsuki. You've barely looked at him once today. He was doing this as a favor for Shouto, and you dared to open the door and sigh that it wasn't Izuku's shift? He fights the urge to grab it from your hands.
"Yeah, well, you have shit taste. That's gotta be the ugliest fuckin' lemon I've ever seen," Katsuki chortles, shoulders dropping once you face him.
Your smile is smug.
"That's the point," you say, dropping the lemon into the cart.
Katsuki raises an eyebrow, amused, "Oh? Trouble in paradise, then? Don't think a rotten lemon will be enough to put Icy Hot six feet under, though."
Your face falters for a moment. Katsuki catches it.
"No." You shake your head, gliding your hand along the rim of the cart, gripping it as you begin walking forward. "No, it's not that."
He waits for an explanation, following your lead down an aisle, but you're silent.
"C'mon, you're not gonna tell me?" He groans, noticing the upward twitch at your lips as you scan the display of flours.
"Later," you dismiss, peeking over your shoulder to view him. Katsuki looks like a child when he scowls. You can't help but giggle.
It's a look he always sports, like a signature—natural. You've grown to find it endearing over the past few months.
Shouto kept his promise. Endeavor had vanished from your life, the only accidental encounters being television coverage of his rescues and the fading marks on your chin each time you passed a mirror. The area barely hurt to touch anymore—more psychological, if anything. You sometimes wonder if it's from the prescription's strength or Shouto insisting he apply it himself each time. Regardless, he held his vow to protect you. Maybe even too tight, you think, staring at Katsuki.
It was definitely overkill—Shouto's pro hero friends escorting you around for errands like babysitters whenever he wasn't available. You tried to refuse it at first, calling it an abuse of power, or at the very least, a waste of all of their time. Shouto claimed otherwise, stating that you needed a pro hero to keep you safe from another one. You were silent after that.
The lineup involved Deku and Dynamight, who both urged you to refer to as Izuku and Katsuki. Izuku was always great company, and Katsuki... well—
"Who the fuck eats chocolate hummus?" Katsuki squints, needing reassurance as he reads the label in disbelief. "This place is ridiculous. What are we doing here? They don't even have real food."
You frown, turning to him.
"I like this place," you say, carefully removing the hummus from his grip to place it back on the shelf. "It's never packed, they don't sell magazines up front, and people are nice here. Nobody tries to bother me."
You pause, turning back to him, then peer over his shoulder. "Except you, of course," you mutter, smiling apologetically at someone across the aisle, causing Katsuki to shift focus.
He looks around to find everyone glaring at him, clearly displeased at his loud disturbance of whatever weird hippy peaceful vibe the place has going for it. Despite the overwhelming objection, he has to admit you're right. He hasn't had to shove any pestering freaks out of your way or bare his teeth at any overly friendly paparazzi.
"Guess so," he grumbles, settling as he regrips the cart's handle. "But you gotta admit they sell the strangest things."
"Yeah, they do," you nod.
The walk home is mainly silent—supplied with Katsuki grunting whenever you get too far ahead of him, or some kid approaches you, begging to take a photo with a pro hero's wife. He stands there impossibly annoyed, hands full with the bags, watching it go down. It bothers him partially because they don't care enough to ask him, an actual pro hero, for his picture (not that he'd say yes), but mostly because none of them even seem to know your name. But you're poised, as always, crouching down to reach child height for each flash and gracious in declining when you must. He makes sure to double his annoyance to balance where you lack it.
"I can show you now," you grin, unlocking the front door of Shouto's apartment.
Katsuki blinks at you, confused.
"The lemon," you add, twisting the handle.
His mouth opens in realization before returning to a pout. "Yeah, whatever," he grumbles, following behind you.
You pat the counter for him to place the groceries, thanking him as he complies. He waits impatiently as you sort through each bag until you find the lemon.
"Ready?"
"Been ready. Hurry up. I've got shit to do," he mutters.
"You're so mean," you narrow your eyes, a smile hidden beneath the disapproval. You lay your right palm flat as you carefully drop the lemon onto it.
Katsuki shifts, interest regained at the sudden look of determination on your face. His gaze lingers there for a moment—your brows furrowed and lips drawn in a tight line—almost missing the performance. The lemon plumps above your skin, becoming healthy and vibrant.
"That's why," you say plainly.
"You just healed the fucking lemon!?" Katsuki exclaims, almost disturbed by your calmness.
"It's my quirk," you shrug, reaching into a bag to begin putting things away.
Katsuki stands there in silence, awe lingering at the nape of his neck, pestering him.
"You're kind of powerful," he notes aloud, earning a laugh.
"Is that shocking to you?"
"Kinda," he admits, tracking your movements around the kitchen.
"It's restrictive," you start, flicking your head to a pedestal by the counter, gesturing him to sit. You wait until he plops himself down to continue.
"My earth-sided quirk is from my mom. It grants me control of anything grown from the earth—to manifest, possess and repair." You halt to display a sprout blooming from the tip of your finger. Katsuki stalks the green root as it retracts into your skin, disappearing.
"She works to restore forests for wildlife, creating trees and healing the salvageable ones. Her quirk developed slightly stronger within me, which is why I can cure plants far past death. But neither of us can control animals or humans, so we can't save people."
"So couldn't you just make your own lemons then?" His head tilts, curious.
"I guess, but," you reach out, grabbing a case of blueberries from the counter, "I don't think that'd be ethical. I'd rather support farmers and pick the worst of the crop so nothing is wasted. Besides, I need nourishment from the earth to create. I'm not an infinite source."
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgment, storing the information as you open the fridge.
"I have limits, and it's… draining, sometimes. It makes my body incredibly sensitive to the environment, so I get sick easily. But, yeah, it's powerful," you smile, pushing a carton of eggs to the side to make room.
"And your dad's side?" He probes, entirely invested now.
"It's a lot simpler. He can control the wind and confine major natural disasters like tornados. That's only for rare occasions, though, so he works with wind power plants to help create renewable energy. I also got a more developed version of his quirk, but I use it for more practical things like—"
Katsuki jumps as he feels a pinch on his cheek, quickly pivoting in his seat, on full alert. He groans as you fall into a laughing fit, realizing you compressed the air to squeeze his skin.
"What the fuck was that? Who are you? Some fucking paranormal tree hugger freak?" He stands up, arms crossing over his chest.
"Maybe," you sigh, catching your breath.
He tsks. "Candy cane and you are perfect for each other. Both half and half idiots."
You smile at that.
"Maybe," you say.
Katsuki feels a tightness in his chest, gaping at you. Oblivious, you go back to organizing the fridge. He glares at the door, debating whether or not he should leave—the sudden urge to flee causing his foot to tap against the ground.
"Are you going to be at the party next Friday?" He asks suddenly.
You pause. "Huh?"
He rolls his eyes. "The one Izuku's been blowing my phone up about?"
You shake your head. "Izuku? He didn't say anything about that to me. Does Shouto know?"
Katsuki huffs as he whips his phone out, scrolling through multiple texts.
Shouto's house will be finished next week, so I'm planning a surprise housewarming party next Friday. Are you available?
9:32 am
Hello?
10:06 am
I know you're free. I asked your assistant.
1:14 pm
Don't try to back out of this.
1:20 pm
It'll mean a lot to Shouto and his wife if you're there.
1:22 pm
"Shit," Katsuki scowls, peaking your confusion, "Damn nerd."
You make a small sound, begging to be informed. He peaks up from his phone, sighing as he shoves it back in his pants. "It was supposed to be a surprise, I guess."
Your eyes widen. "Oh."
"Sorry," he mutters, scratching his neck to relieve the sudden guilt.
You shake your head, frowning, "No, I'm glad you said something. I hate surprises, so…."
Katsuki narrows his eyes at you, examining you doubtfully.
"I'm serious," you shut the fridge, walking over to stand in front of him. "They make me anxious. So thank you."
After a beat or two of continued scrutinizing, Katsuki drags a long breath, content. "Just don't tell Izuku. He'll never shut up about me ruining it for him."
"I'm a bad liar," you frown, biting your inner cheek.
"Hah?" He glares, bewildered by your genuine concern. "That's not lying. Just keeping a secret is all."
"Like how you were supposed to keep the surprise party a secret?" You perk up, grinning.
Katsuki exhales, chuckling slightly, "Very funny. You know what I mean."
"I'll try my best," you say, turning.
He nods to your back, tensing as he realizes you're heading toward the front door.
"Are you kicking me out?" He scoffs, trailing after you.
You tilt your head, already at the entrance, "Don't you have shit to do?"
"Duh," Katsuki straightens his back, peering down at you as you bob your head teasingly.
"Then go do it," you laugh, turning the handle and nudging your head towards the hall.
He's about to say something about how you've got an attitude problem, some real balls to be treating a pro hero like some measly pest—but you're smiling again and that… does something to him.
"I'll see you next Friday," you add.
"Never said I was going," he sneers.
"You're going," you decide for him, nudging again towards the exit. "Now go. I have to start dinner soon."
"Sheesh, you're a firecracker," he chuckles, moving into the hall.
"Isn't that your thing?" You quirk an eyebrow.
"No," he lours, twisting to face you, "it's way more complicated than that."
"Close enough," you shrug, beginning to close the door. "Thanks for helping today, Katsuki. Go get your hero shit done."
"Whatever," he submits, glancing over you before meeting your face for the last time. "Go get your wife shit done. See you Friday, lemon girl."
You smile, shutting the door.
Shouto should be home soon. You'll count the hours until then.
𓆱
It's late. You've counted enough hours to know it's late.
You pace the kitchen, lowering the stove after reheating dinner for the third time. Your inner cheek cushions your canines, allowing them to sink—gnaw.
He would have called you if something came up and texted you if he couldn't. You want to call him, but you've already sent five increasingly desperate messages. What if he's busy? You don't want to be the buzz in his pocket when there are cries in the night. People need him more than you do. Debatably.
Back home safe, so I'm gonna start dinner now :)
5:32 pm
It should be ready in about twenty minutes
6:09 pm
Hope you're hungry. I went a little overboard, haha
6:11 pm
Are you coming home tonight? I'm sorry if you already told me. I forgot to even ask.
8:09 pm
Miss you and hope things are alright. I'll keep dinner warm for a little longer, just in case.
10:23 pm
You feel a pit grow in your stomach, all the anxiety and every doubt you've ever known forming a nice, ripe fruit. It's leaking into your bloodstream, polluting the air with each exhale as you empty your lungs. You wonder if this is how it's supposed to feel. Has everyone felt this? The harvest of pain when the one you care so deeply about is too far to pick it for you?
It's nauseating.
You'd feel empty without it.
Reaching the highest shelf, you stretch onto your tippy toes, carefully grasping the glass food storage containers. Shouto probably wasn't coming home, and that'd just have to be okay.
Sirens call from a distance, echoing in the city as you pack up the meal. It's peaceful in a blissful ignorance sort of way. The sound is a low thrumming purr, pairing nicely with the click of the pots as you drop them into the sink. Somewhere the wails are loud, crying above someone's head as they're rushed to aid—their last memory or merely the one that keeps them up at night. To you—water splashing as you scrub sharply citrus-scented suds, eyes droopy and weighted—it's just a lullaby.
The apartment is always cold. Shouto apologizes for it each time he catches you shivering, offering a blanket and tea. You always reply with a polite shake of your head, promising you're alright. He then stares at you, a storm in his mind until he reaches out, tugging you to his side on the couch or his chest on the bed. The thermostat goes untouched. Neither of you suggests it. You like it better this way, anyway. It's a rhythm you've both fallen into—an excuse.
You slide a pair of fuzzy socks he bought you on when he's away, along with one of his thick sweaters. It's not the same, but the collar smells like him, and the ground is kinder beneath your feet. It's enough. Enough until it's not, and you're staring out the tall window panes, waiting for the food to be chilled enough to safely shut the lids. A gush of wind would be enough, but you're busy. You're playing the worried, caring wife waiting for her husband to return. It's domestic and yet cold.
Goosebumps tug at your skin, raising the hair regrowing on your arms (finally). You smile, remembering how Shouto reacted the other night once he learned about the wedding's obligatory waxing—the insinuation it held of him, the expectation it forced onto you. He was fuming, a huffing puffing freight train to your defense, your dignity. It was cute. He's so cute. You miss him.
Life is peaceful with Shouto. He wakes before you, leaving the closet door open so you can watch from the bed through heavy-lidded eyes as he changes for the day. Breakfast is a quiet performance. You kiss his cheek before he parts it. During the day, you work on packing boxes for the eventual move, browsing stores online for furniture, and going on the occasional outing with one of your pro hero chauffeurs. Shouto's patrols are long, so he visits when he can, picking you up for lunch or taking you out for late dinners.
Showers are always shared. They're never more than a caress, and he still hasn't kissed you (or so he said), but he can't bathe without you now. Sleep is the same. Shouto lays in the middle, and you remain attached to his side throughout the night. You sleep better beside him. The temperature is always perfect—Shouto is both the cool side of the pillow and the warmth of the golden hour.
There's no actual label on your relationship. Legally, you're married, but the word holds no merit to either of you. Marriage is heavy in some palms but not the ones who've seen it be dropped, time and time again bounced against the walls with each screaming fight and hit. You both agreed to an attempt to start over after your first night here in the apartment. With a slow crawl of time, you both realized that might never be possible.
You learned a lot about each other, the most prominent being that you were raised identically. Endeavor had given your parents a strict set of rules, which resulted in him influencing your life to the point where you'd consider he's the one who raised you himself. There was no comfort in this knowledge, especially when Shouto realized the significant difference between you two—he left home eventually and gained independence, and you had not.
Shouto felt responsible for that in a lot of ways. If Endeavor hadn't overtaken your life, you might have had one of your own. He still can't bring himself to fully submit for that reason. With each earned give, there is a fractioned break in Shouto. It feels good to be close to you, to come home and know you'll be waiting to hear about his day, but he feels dirty for it. Every time you smile, he wonders if you'd still smile for him if you weren't always meant to be here. If you had the choice—if you ever had a choice, would you have even known his face?
You wonder the same often. If Shouto didn't feel obligated to protect you from a predestined fate, if there was never one, to begin with, would he even know your name? It's horrible, but the thought lingers sometimes. When Shouto holds you at night, you drown in the feeling, the uncertainty that glistens in the shiny rock on your ring finger.
It hurts because you never take it off. You're almost afraid to—terrified the diamond is the only thing you'll have to remember him by if he wakes up one day and decides he's played long enough to leave. You stare at it, rocking the ring from side to side, so it kisses your digits, and think about how the band suffocates you both.
You're too aligned to ever become strangers, afraid to know what it's like to try. So you're stuck in the seats you were foreordained to sit, still unable to fill the roles. It's a strange paradox, but life is peaceful with Shouto. Not perfect, but you figure it's suitable for what it's worth. The foundation was flawed, and you're doing your best to grow flowers in the cracks to make it look prettier. Shouto holds his breath with each step, trying not to step on them.
Striding back into the kitchen, you hope you won't have to adjust the sheets throughout the night, constantly waking—too hot, too cold. Nights with Shouto away are a guaranteed nightmare. You almost forget how you slept without him before.
With a defeated sigh, you clasp and pile the containers onto your palm, grasping the refrigerator's handle with the other. The front door swings open.
"Shouto?"
There's no need to ask. You know it's him. You've memorized those steps. Turning on your heel, your heart sinks, resting on the blooming pit in your gut.
His face is more bandage and gauze than it is skin, and he's wearing loose-fitting clothes. He looks a bit like a mummy—wrapped up like he's prepared to die or already has. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth.
Shouto stares at you, frozen in the kitchen. You're in one of his sweaters, bare beneath the material. In your hands is—wasdinner. Stacked on your palm just about fall.
He winces as your grip slacks and a trail of ice skates across the ground, stopping at your hip.
𓆱
"Can you open this? I can't get a good grip on it."
Shouto's head lifts from studying the basket—the wide variety of fresh produce, jars of jam and spread, all neatly tucked away. He blinks once at you, the sun pecking at your neck, sneaking a kiss under the wide brim of your hat.
"Of course," he nods, carefully removing the container from your hands.
It's crammed tight. Shouto's eyes narrow, examining the latches at each edge. A sudden flush spreads across the bridge of his nose, stretching its wings out to his ears.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, warming the plastic flaps until they're malleable. He unclips each side, then gently grasps your hand, returning the container. "I forgot that I heat-sealed these earlier. I didn't want anything to spill," he explains.
You glance down at your palm, lifting the top to expose layered fruit slices. Shouto tenses as your lips turn down, sucking in a shallow breath when your gaze lands on him.
"I'm sorry too," you say, holding the presentation out, "I forgot the peaches."
Shouto exhales, shaking his head with a slight smile, "That's alright. You've packed so much already."
You stare at him for a beat, muscles relaxing under the curve of his lips.
Placing the fruit down, you flex your fingers. "I can just make one."
Shouto's eyes trail down your body, settling at your palm as a sprout forms. Your nose twitches slightly, a tremble snaking down your spine as the fruit appears on a created branch.
You both sit in silence, staring at the plump rounded pink.
"Take it," you say, looking up at him expectantly.
He gulps, breaking his focus to meet your gaze.
𓆱
The glass shatters in its ice encasing, but neither of you flinches at the sound.
Shouto's eyes are so bright against the white bandages layered over his nose and chin, trailing all the way down his neck and chest, the rest tucked beneath his bangs.
Carefully bending down, Shouto defuses some of the ice. You step away to give him room, reflexively turning to grab a garbage bag from under the sink. When the glass shards and remains finally release, you're there instantly with your wind, not letting it hit the ground. You manage to get it all into the bag, then tie it to drop it in one of the bins.
You make a good team, you think. You want to tell Shouto that, but you can't. The words are lost as your hands grip the counter, the silence deafening as you feel his stare burn through you.
"My phone broke in the blast," he says eventually.
You finally break, letting out a stunted sound—a distressed cry that crawled up your throat just to die on your tongue.
"The blast?" You turn, chest heaving as you struggle to carry its weight. Releasing your grip on the granite, you cross your arms. The kitchen's light paints you grimly, and your steps are muted as you approach him by the fuzz at your soles.
Shouto gulps painfully under the gauze, shutting his eyes for a moment. "I couldn't text you because my phone was destroyed in the blast," he explains, waiting until you've finally reached him, shifting his gaze to look down at your concern as it pools on your face.
Close to him now, you're able to take it all in. His skin is pink, almost raw looking, but smooth. From a healing quirk, you assume—able to clean the surface but leaving it exposed for time to repair.
"There was nothing on the news," you say, following the edges of the bandages down to his chest.
Shouto nods slowly, taking a deep breath. "There won't be for a while, not yet, at least."
Your chin tilts up, waiting for him to elaborate. He stares at you, a stirring in his chest holding him there. You're in one piece. The world is shattering, but you're in front of him, breathing shakily but there, and you're in one piece. Minutes pass before he finally speaks.
"I fought with my father. The blast was his," he clarifies.
You take a step back, horrified.
"I've been building a case on him for years, planning to take him down for good. He found out today. He...."
Shouto slowly reaches his arm out, sighing as tears trail down your cheeks and neck, pooling at the collar of his sweater. Your cries are muffled by his chest when he brings you into him. Despite the ache coursing your veins, you soften against him. The apartment is warm again—its heart has finally returned.
"I'm sorry I never told you. I didn't want to concern you," Shouto whispers into your hair, eyes shutting when he feels your arms carefully wrap behind him.
"But it's over now. Ironically, this incident gives me the final piece for my case." Shouto pets your head, dragging his dressed palm slowly. "Soon, it'll be official. He can't remain a hero under the evidence I have on him."
You pull away—mouth open, pupils blown.
His thumb traces your chin, and he takes a deep breath, "He can't hurt you. He won't, not ever again."
"You're going to be safe," he says, more to himself than to you.
Your lids grow heavy under his touch, the constant petting, and grooming from a bandaged hand. Shouto thinks you look so pretty under the kitchen light.
𓆱
You're so pretty here and now—just like you always are, but there's something in the way the light hits you. Sitting across from him in a bed of wildflowers, ones that don't grow here naturally but seem to follow your every step.
He finally has time off due to the incident. You've planned each day out so beautifully, only a peach short for the picnic, and now not even that. All the other couples and families are hidden beneath the trees, but you picked the most open spot—absorbing the sun like it feeds you. You're glistening and radiant beneath it, palm open and ready in that sundress and sun hat your mother bought you for a day like this. Your irises are speckled from the sunshine sneaking through the gaps in the straw—freckling your face. With lingering hesitation, Shouto raises his hand to meet the fruit.
He plucks it in a short movement, studying the sphere as you retract the branch into your palm.
"I have a question," his eyes flicker to you briefly before he uses fingers to turn the peach, admiring it.
"Mm?" You search the basket for a knife, nodding.
He continues to stare at the fuzzy softness cradled in his grasp, forming words at the tip of his tongue, which sits heavily in his mouth.
"Is eating this like… eating you?"
You choke slightly, eyes widening as your head shoots up. Looking at him, you realize he's serious.
"Oh," you shift on the blanket to face him fully, "well, I mean…."
Shouto leans in slightly, cutting the distance between you as you find it hard to breathe without it. You focus on the shadow created on his face from his hat—a plain cap he occasionally wears, hiding from his eyes.
"It's sort of like… It's sort of like your ice and fire, right? So it's sourced from my energy, but I don't know if it's completely me."
"But in some ways, it is you." He glances back down to the peach.
You suck in a breath as he brings it up to his mouth, brushing it with his lips as he speaks. "If I eat this, I consume your energy. It'd be like I'm consuming you."
"I'm sorry," you mumble, helpless as he slides his thumb over the side of the peach, "I didn't think of it like that. I didn't mean to offend you or anything—"
Shouto hums as his teeth sink into the fruit. Its juices flood into his mouth, slick and sticky as it drips from the corner of his lips. You're frozen—heart erratically drumming at your rib cage, begging to be released and held in his arms, kissed by his lips.
Your core tightens as he lowers the peach, a considerable chunk of it missing—a piece of you.
"It's sweet," he comments coolly.
Your eyes trail to his wet lips, then back to his eyes. Blood rushes to your face, making you dizzy as you nod slowly, in a trance. He raises the fruit to his mouth again, taking another bite. It's overly plump, so juicy it drips down his neck.
You feel the urge to lick the trail—the remains of you. Instead, you reach for a cloth towel, gently dabbing at the area as Shouto watches you, a fresh bite still in his mouth.
Focused on your task, you gasp, startled at the feeling of the fruit being pressed to your lips. Shouto looks down at you, waiting. You eat from his palm, taking a small bite.
It is sweet. It's overwhelmingly rich and flowing down your tongue. Both of your lips are slippery as you take turns biting the peach from Shouto's hand, teeth grazing areas Shouto's have already been, all the way down to its core.
The air is heavy and humid as you take the pit from his grasp, returning it into your palm, eyes never leaving his.
"You're so messy," you say, hesitantly lifting your hand to his face. Shouto softens as you cup his cheek, jaw slacked as you run your thumb along his chin.
You're motionless as Shouto replicates the gesture, his palm chilled against your skin. "You are too."
You've been here, you think. With soot on your body and tongues—you've been a mess together before. It should be uncomfortable, but it's not. With syrupy juice tracing your pulse down your neck, pooling at the collar of your dress, you feel just fine.
Shouto must feel the same. He's never looked so content—kissing your palm before placing it on his knee. There's a growing hunger in his eyes as his tongue brushes past his lips. He leans in closer, and you think he might finally dampen your lips with his own. You wonder how he tastes—if it's similar to you and the toothpaste you share, the peach still tingling on your tongue. Wordlessly, he takes the cloth by your lap, flash freezing and then thawing it so it's damp. You sit still as he washes it all away, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.
"I have another question."
You hum, keeping your lids shut.
"It's about something you said to me the other night," he mumbles, brushing over your lips with his thumb over the cloth.
A shudder chasing down your body awakens you, but you respond slowly, drunk on the sun, "The other night? The one of...?"
"Yes," Shouto confirms, finishing his job as he reheats the cloth until it's dry again.
You're silent as you wait, allowing him to dry the dampness on your skin. He prepares a cloth for you to clean him before speaking.
"Do you remember what you said to me then? While we were in bed?" he asks, sucking in a breath as you make contact with his neck, dabbing it.
"I don't know," you whisper, eyes flickering to his, "I don't remember much from that night. I try not to."
Your gaze drags back to his flesh, which has now regained full color. His adam apple bobs underneath your touch as he swallows.
"I know. I'm sorry to bring it up. It's just..." Shouto waits until you're done wiping his lips to continue, taking a moment to study the growing yet well-manicured anxiety in your face. "You said something that night, and I can't stop thinking about it. I don't want to think about it either."
You slowly lower your hand from his, eye contact held as he dries the cloth for you. Hesitantly, you begin to dry him.
"What did I say?"
𓆱
"I'm safe," you say, eventually.
Shouto sighs, taking you back into his arms before guiding you to the bedroom.
"Does it hurt?"
You stare at Shouto as he lays in front of you, pillows pressing into your cheeks as you gently trail a finger down the side of his face.
"Not anymore, no," he murmurs, blinking slow, heart calmed.
Your gaze lingers on the skin peeking from beneath the bandages under his eye, unbelievingly. It looks tender—like every breath must tug at the flesh, paining him. His arm hooks behind your back, bringing you into his chest.
"I'm safe, you're safe, and soon it'll be over," he reminds you, letting the words cloak over your hair.
"You're safe, I'm safe," you repeat, carefully burrowing your face into his neck.
He holds you there, his pulse dying as he sinks deeper into the mattress, slipping under the fatigue that's finally hit him. You pull back slightly to study his face. He looks so serene in sleep—delicate.
"When it's over, I hope we won't be too," you whisper.
𓆱
"I thought you were asleep."
Your hand pauses at his cheek, held there as Shouto shakes his head, brushing into it.
"I wasn't. I just didn't know what to say," Shouto confesses, taking your hand in his as he guides you to continue drying his face.
You move along with his motions, lips parted, helpless. He returns your hand to you when his skin is thoroughly wiped clean of your sweetness.
"I want to know what you meant."
In the open field, you feel cornered under his pleading gaze. Something rots within you, and you think you might be sick with shame.
"It was a stupid thing to say. I was just scared, I guess," you look down at the basket—the untouched food.
"Scared that I'd leave you?" He questions, sensing the answer in how you take in your bottom lip, digging into it.
"I just don't want to pretend it's not an option," you say ultimately, unable to meet his eyes.
Shouto is quiet, absorbing your sincerity and how hard it strikes within him. If anyone should be fleeing, it's you, he thinks. No part of you's worthy of escaping, and he's too caught under the wire of your crimson bleeding heart to even consider it any longer. But you don't know that. You must not, not with how you shift and fumble like a wave too shy to roll over and crash.
It's true that he's terrified to know you, to hold you so close, but the void you'd leave by slipping from his arms is so much more unbearable. Shouto feels selfish for thinking that—knowing that, but it's an active choice you make, and he's learning to respect that. If he wants you, and you want him, then what's gained from denying it? Maybe the avoidance of a reality where the wrong people are validated, where Endeavor was right about something, someone. Shouto can't let his father take ownership and credit for the best part of his life or allow him to live vicariously through it.
So, like his quirk, you'll have to be his in some way. You have to be different from the scheduled plan, even when it feels so tempting to fall into things on some days. There must be a line of caution, the constant urge to do things right, slow. Staring at you now—your slight cowering and avoidance, Shouto can't help but feel he might have taken it all too seriously. Maybe some things weren't meant to be trained, like a quirk. Sometimes, life has to be rushed, so you feel the wind when you fall.
The silence irks you enough to lift your face, swallowing your grief.
"It's only that... I don't know. I sometimes wonder if you'll still want me in your life once the air clears and there's no reason left. I don't mean to make you sound shallow. It's my own mind, probably," your voice softens as his lips turn down slightly, and you anxiously begin to play with your ring, spinning it on your finger.
"It's not your fault," Shouto starts, trailing his eyes down to the orbiting diamond, "I had told you I would leave once things were safe for you. I'm the one who implanted the thought."
You don't oppose the blame, but you can't meet his culpability either, tilting your face down to the ring.
"But it was never the truth. Somehow, I thought it could be, but it's unthinkable to me now," Shouto reaches out cautiously, resting his hand above yours, halting the rotations and regaining your focus. "And it's not that I'm letting you stay, either. I want to be clear that my feelings for you aren't an allowance. If anything, I should be asking you to stay. I will if I must. I want you to stay with me."
There's warmth in his words and the air, but a chill at your neck keeps you sober.
"You might not always feel that way, Shouto," you say, meeting his gaze, regretting it the moment you do. He's concerned but accepting, and you hate it. For a second, you wish he'd look at you differently, with vigor, perhaps.
Shouto exhales. "That's fair. Maybe we'll find each other intolerable at some point."
You release a pitiful huff, shaking your head, "How miserably depressing that'd be."
Shouto hums, examining you closely as he flips your hand on your lap, granting him access to rub circles into your palm. "I suppose we both already know, don't we?"
You tilt your head slightly, waiting. Shouto allows himself a moment to selfishly steal a glance at your face—for the sake of his heart and not for understanding.
"Our parents," he clarifies, blending back into his priority. "Do you ever wonder if maybe they weren't so horrific, then we'd be better, less... broken?"
"No. Well," you sigh, frowning, "I guess. Maybe. It's hard to really consider. I don't think we'd even be ourselves if that were the case. I'm unsure we'd even be born at all."
Shouto understands that, but he wants to understand you, so he asks: "What do you mean?"
You pause, collecting your thoughts. Your mind can't pull anything but memories that are fuzzy to the touch to explain, unable to link things without having a lock of hair in them.
"My parents never wanted to have children," you begin, gauging Shouto's reaction. He's calm, as always, but there's a shift in his grey blues—something swirling without range. "I think they call it a happy mistake, right? A slip-up, but they were too late to reverse it, maybe."
Shouto leans in a little closer, fully engaged. He was a choice, maybe even a forced one if he considers it entirely. It's hard to find the mistake in your eyes as they bleed into his.
"Whatever it is, that's what I was. I was a surprise, and I know people tell you it's never the kid's fault, but I'm sure they'd be happier if I wasn't born."
You feel his thumb press into your palm—notice the crinkles of his forehead as his face scrunches up in your defense. You shake your head to dismiss him, silently asking he let you speak. He softens before you do.
"I know they love me, I know they couldn't imagine life without me now, and they don't regret it all but... I also know they're not happy and that the only reason they pretend they're not is for me."
Shouto tenses as you move the basket in between you aside, creating empty space that you fill by turning and pressing your back into his chest. With a wave of your hand, a tree sprouts from behind you, providing shade as you remove your hat. You tuck your knees under your dress and into your chest as Shouto extends his legs out beside your body, letting you sit between them.
You're both silent for a while, watching as a family prepares to release a kite from a distance. With a deep breath, you finally continue.
"When I was six, my mother gave me the box my father gifted her to hold her wedding ring during the night. I had just started losing my baby teeth, and she told me I could use it to store them."
Shouto rests his chin on your shoulder as you hold your hand out, stretching your fingers with a slight wiggle, admiring the heavy rock on your finger before you lower it.
"I didn't think much of it at the time. I just thought it was a nice thing to do since it was such a pretty box. But I don't think it was so happy to carry my teeth. It was meant to hold a diamond, something permanent and meaningful. I felt sad for it, eventually. I even put a small pale pink heart sticker on its top as an apology. I didn't know how to tell it my rotting teeth were as good as it would get."
Both of your attentions return to the family, watching as the young son and daughter fight to hold the kite's handle.
"I was always getting such nice, pretty things as a child. Rewards for behaving well and special treats for complying with my lessons. We have this set of plates at our house for dessert. They're porcelain and identical except for one that has a princess on it. That plate was mine. Whenever we'd have guests, my father would cut me the first slice and hand it to me on that plate."
The older brother goes first, rushing to release the twine as his little sister criticizes from beside him. With the flick of your finger, you aid them with a focused wild. The children giggle as the colorful fabric soars.
"So it felt nice to have nice things. It felt good to know there was a show performed for me and my ignorance, something to preserve my innocence. But, the thing is, you always find out, don't you? When the curtains close and your parents are too loud behind closed doors, and when you can't sleep because your name echos between them, nothing seems so pretty anymore."
Shouto's arms wrap around you cautiously. He exhales when you lean into his touch, welcoming him.
"Acting for so long does something to a person, and sitting with nothing else to watch does something too. So, I don't think I'd still be myself if things were different. It's a scary thought to have, isn't it? That a better world may not involve you?"
A shudder runs down Shouto's back. He holds you closer.
"So, I don't want to believe that's true. I want to think that even with how awful things can be, they do matter—that we matter. We're wiser because of it too. Maybe too aware and cautious, afraid and flawed, but there's something gained regardless."
Shouto shuts his eyes, breathing you in with the weight of your words. He lets it sink into his bones, adjusting to the gravity before he speaks.
"I want to be better than them. I want to be better in every single way," he whispers, breath painting your throat.
"I don't want to repeat the cycle, which is why I was most afraid of you," he admits, rubbing your knee. "I know we're nothing like them, that we are better because we can see where they're not, but... I'm sometimes afraid they once felt the same. That at some point they were us."
You twist your head to face him, noses brushing with how close you are.
"My father still delivers my mother's favorite flowers to her in the hospital. I don't know what they mean now, but she thought he was kind for it when they first met."
You allow Shouto to maneuver your body—turning you, planting your feet on the outer side of his thigh as you rest your cheek into his collar bone. Shouto scoops an arm under your knees and wraps his other behind your back, securing you there.
"I don't like to think that way, but as you said, I don't want to pretend it's not an option," he mumbles, looking down at you.
He studies you for a moment, then flickers his attention to the family. You feel his body tense against you.
"I don't want children," he says plainly.
You're silent, and he's afraid to find your eyes again, unsure what lurks there at the ultimatum. He's surprised to hear you release a breath, relieved.
"I don't either," you confess, feeling his gaze warm your cheek as you stare ahead into an expanse of grass.
"Is there a reason you don't?" Shouto asks curiously as if he hadn't admitted it first.
"Enough that I know it wouldn't be right to, yes," you nod, swallowing. "It's not because I think I'd be an awful parent. It's that I don't want to find out. I don't get excited like other people do at the thought. It terrifies me if I'm honest. I was always told I'd mature out of feeling that way, but it's not something I think I'll outgrow."
Shouto feels his pulse racing, a realization hitting him. "But for the quirk marriage... If I wasn't—would that mean you would have—"
"I didn't think I had the choice," you cut Shouto off, a tremble rattling your bones at the thought. "I was trained to accept that reality, so yes, I would have."
Something turns in Shouto's gut, something ugly and enraged. His touch is delicate as he slides his arm from under your legs to brush his thumb against your cheek. It's damp, he realizes. Tears flow down your face without a sound, and it's almost haunting.
"You have the choice," he says, taking a deep breath, "You won't have to worry about it anymore, okay? I can promise you that."
"Because you don't want them either, right?" You smile weakly, trying to collect yourself.
"Right," Shouto says, words set in stone, releasing a weight on your heart. "It's similar to you. I don't want to become a parent. I don't think I'd be a bad father, per se, but I know I'll never be able to be what a child deserves."
You frown, and he pauses—his turn to ask you to listen. You soften to allow him to speak.
"I know what it's like to have a pro hero as a father. I've seen how it weighs on the family—how it affected my mother when she was left to become two parents in one. I couldn't do that to a child—to you."
Shouto catches the wobble in your bottom lip, the pouring raw emotion dripping from your eyes. He attempts to ignore it to continue speaking, afraid he might thaw with you if he acknowledges it.
"I know we were explicitly paired to have children because of our quirks, but that's another component. I also know what it's like to be born for power—raised to continue and improve the flaws of my father's legacy. And even besides those reasons, if I'm honest, I just don't see room for a child in my life. I barely have time for myself, and when I do..."
Shouto pauses, feeling his heart ripped from his chest and dropped onto your lap, "I want to spend it with you. I like how it's just us. Maybe that's selfish."
Your jaw slacks, lips parted as you fight to remain composed, dragging yourself to nod slowly.
"I like when it's just us too. I've always felt so selfish for thinking that way. So many couples wish they could have children—who deserve to and can't. I felt so selfish knowing my body is practically meant for it, and I don't want it to be."
Shouto frowns, cupping your face towards him, slightly lost as he searches for something there.
"Oh," you let a shaky breath tumble from your lips, shifting slightly in embarrassment. "So you don't know."
"Don't know what?" His brows burrow, and your heart threatens to sink.
"Your father chose me for my quirk, but not just because of its strength. My mother's side resonates the most within my body. It's my physical makeup."
You swallow as Shouto's gaze continues to pierce you. "But my quirk is more developed than hers, heightened. I can heal and create better because my body is... fertile. It's made to sustain and produce life by default. So..."
Shouto's eyes widen as he sucks in a breath. He's unsure how he hadn't realized that—he read all your paperwork and memorized it word for word. He stiffens at a realization. "On our honeymoon, you said... or no, it looked like you wanted to—"
"I did." Your cheeks burn as you escape his gaze, overheating in his hold. "I wasn't thinking. I'm glad you rejected me now. It could have been dangerous."
Shouto nods slowly, but his mind is racing, and he can't keep up.
"I'm sorry," you mumble, suddenly ashamed, "I was being stupid, and I was pissed that you said we never would, and I just—"
"You were listening to your body," Shouto stops you, dropping his hand from your face to rub along your arm. He pauses, remembering the night, the way you looked in that nightgown. "It's natural. I wanted to too."
You're scorching under his confession, releasing a slight noise that makes him break into a smile despite the circumstances.
"I'm sorry, I was trying to be honest," he apologizes.
You nod, taking a deep breath, wishing you could bury yourself from where you sit and stay there for an eternity. It's so strong, the chagrin beating at your chest—so strong you almost lose your fight against it, growing bold.
"Do you ever still want to?"
Shouto tenses beside you, focusing on your face as it softens before him in a mix of curiosity.
"Do I ever want to have sex with you?" Shouto probs, watching you shrink in his arms, quick to regret even asking. You nod sheepishly. Shouto swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, wetting it. "Yes."
The wind whips around the two of you like a strong current, threatening to drag you under the tide.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"Oh."
You're smiling whether you wish to or not because Shouto's smiling, and when he does, you can't help but mirror him.
"So you lied to me," you giggle, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.
"When?" He pulls back, tilting his head.
"At dinner at our wedding. You said we never would," you state like it's obvious.
Shouto huffs in defense, "It was the truth then. I didn't think—wait, but we haven't even—"
You blink at him innocently, and Shouto believes he might die.
"But you want to," you say, beaming, "So when we do, you'll be a liar."
You look so smug, so proud to have caught him in something. Shouto's expression shifts slightly, about to wipe the look off your face.
"When we do?" His eyes narrow.
"Yeah." You nod slowly. "When you want to."
Shouto's smile stretches into something vast and knowing. You gulp as he stares down at your lips before returning to your eyes.
"When you want to," he corrects, low and raspy as your mouth opens slightly, not a word coming out. It sounds so different from his lips, more solid and heavy on your mind as you nod.
You gasp lightly as Shouto leans closer, breath hot at your ear, "You do want me, then?"
You nod without needing to think, feeling Shouto's hand brush down your side until he meets your bare calf. You suck in a breath as his palm glides up your leg, flirting with the skirt of your dress.
"I want to taste you. The real you," Shouto murmurs, feeling lax beside you as you squirm under his touch. "Do you want that? Do you want me to taste you?"
"Please," you wrap your arms around his neck, clutching to him so desperately he fights the urge to give it to you here and now.
He needs to get you both out of here. You'll have a proper picnic on some other day.
"Let's go home, then," he says, already raising to his feet, helping you to yours.
You pat your dress down, quickly collecting the basket as Shouto swipes the blanket from the ground. You giggle beside him while walking to the car.
"What's so funny?" Shouto smiles down at you, squinting at your behavior.
"Nothing, it's just... This is all happening so quickly. We went from discussing failed marriages and not wanting to have children to rushing home to..."
Shouto hums, nodding, "It is a strange series of events, isn't it?"
"Kind of," you laugh, bumping into his side teasingly. "We haven't even kissed before."
Shouto halts, blinking blankly as you stop a few steps after, turning to him.
"We haven't?"
"No," you furrow your brows, tilting your head. "No, we haven't. You said that one time didn't count."
"It didn't," he confirms, continuing to walk. "I'll kiss you properly when we get home."
It's so blunt that you're delayed in joining him again, stumbling on a step before you reach his side.
"Oh, okay," you say, in a trance.
𓆱
The furthest you get is the kitchen. Shouto lifts you onto the counter, hips nuzzled between your thighs as he kisses up your neck. Your breathing is labored, chest bumping into his as he takes his sweet time.
"Lips," you plea, fingers raking his hair, tugging lightly to gain his attention. "I want you to kiss me on the lips."
Shouto nods into you, pecking your jaw to your chin, "Okay."
His palms move from your hips to cup your cheeks, keeping you steady as he stares down at you. "You're so pretty," he exhales, brushing his nose against yours.
"Kiss me, then," your voice is small in his clasp, desperate and needy.
"Pretty and demanding," he smiles, leaning in to close the space between you.
Shouto's lips are cool against yours, moving slow and patiently. He allows you to adjust to the pace he sets for you, sighing into your mouth when you wrap your legs around his torso. You gasp, feeling him pressing into your heat.
"Sorry," Shouto whispers between kisses, creating space between you.
You shake your head slightly, tugging at his hips to bring him back, rolling your own to meet him. Shouto bites down on your lip, groaning as his hands travel down your sides, adjusting you slightly off the marble so he can move you freely. It hurts a little bit—his teeth catching your plumpness there, keeping it captive—but above all, it feels good.
Shouto pulls away slowly, dragging, then releases. You whine involuntarily, rolling your head back as his thumbs dig into your hips—your sundress all bundled up there as a cushion, the thin straps loosely draped over your shoulders.
His mouth is sloppy and deprived as it trails down your throat, nibbling at your pulse as you writhe beneath him. You grip his shoulders as he meets your chest, staring at him with half-lidded eyes. Shouto's tongue lolls out of his mouth to lick along the valley of your breasts. Goosebumps surround the dampness it creates, making you shiver.
"I want you," he says, eyes meeting yours as he sucks delicately above the hem of your bra. "I've wanted you for so long."
You stutter on a moan as he takes a small bite at your chest, squeezing your thighs around him.
"I thought you—" you suck in a breath, swallowing, "you always act like you don't."
"I've wanted you since I first saw you," he reveals, confident.
That does something to you. You're dizzy and nodding. All you can do is nod and pant as his lips move down your stomach, pressing into the fabric of your dress until he's on his knees. You push your palms into the counter behind you, missing his support, as Shouto lazily throws your thighs over his shoulders.
You can feel his breath hovering over your panties, hot and heavy. "Lay down," he instructs you, nuzzling his nose into your inner thigh encouragingly, kissing it. You do.
"Are you comfortable?" He asks, kissing it again—again and again, and again.
The marble feels cold and hard beneath you, but your body is scalding, practically on fire, so it's welcomed. "Yeah," you slur, shutting your eyes.
Shouto hums against you. "Can I touch you?"
Your chest rises, and you rush to grab something, suddenly alert—unprepared. Shouto extends an arm to the counter, finding one of your hands, clutching it. "We don't have to do this now," he tells you, voice low and calm. "We have all the time in the world."
Your mouth slacks at that—eyes fluttering, blinded by the overhead light. You sit up slightly, resting on your elbows. Shouto carefully slides your thighs off his shoulders, standing to meet you.
He leans into your palm as you cup his cheek with one hand, gazing at him. "You promise that?"
Shouto frowns slightly, confused, "Promise what?"
"Promise that you're staying. That you want to."
Shouto stares at you, his head heavy but clear as he nods. "You have me," he says. "I'm yours. I promise."
You look at him, inching closer as you lift your other hand to his shoulder, letting his arm support you back. Shouto takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes as your forehead presses to his. "I believe you," you whisper, lips brushing his, "so don't break my heart, Shouto."
"I'm yours too."
Your kisses are sloppy and rushed—exploring each other's mouths with no technique, just desire. Shouto grunts when you press down on his shoulder, pushing him down your body gently. He smiles into your neck as he obliges, leaving a few open-mouthed kisses.
Shouto lifts your hips, tugging your panties down your thighs, sliding them off your ankles. He sucks in a breath, back on his knees. "You're so," he pauses, kissing your inner thigh, "so pretty, baby."
You make a tiny, pathetic sound when his finger swipes between your folds. He gives you his other hand, allowing you to hold it tight as he uses two digits to spread your lips, exhaling deeply at the sight.
"You're so good to me," he mumbles, leaning in, letting his tongue dip into you. He groans at the contact, closing his lips as he sucks lightly. "So good and wet. God."
"I want to be good for you," you say, all clouded from his mouth. "I want to make you so happy, Shouto. Wanna give you everything—be everything."
Shouto takes a deep breath, feeling his cock throb in his pants as he squeezes his eyes shut. He gives a few languid licks before he speaks, savoring you. "Be a good girl, and let me take care of you, then."
You nod, squeezing his hand as you arch your back for him. His mouth moves effortlessly, finding your clit quickly, bullying it with his sucks and the flick on his tongue. Your moans encourage him to continue as he travels further down, slipping his tongue into your cunt, hungry and hot inside you. Pulling back, your slick dripping down his chin, he sighs. "It's sweet," he says, stopping to take another lap at your pussy—a bite of your peach, all sticky and messy. "Fuck, you're so sweet."
Shouto is losing his mind, maybe, probably, definitely, as he returns to devour you, starved and willing to spend hours if you'd let him there. You're squirming too much, bucking your hips, and moaning so hard it becomes silent, open-mouthed wails. He loves it—Shouto loves the absolute unraveling of your body—but he needs you steady to really give you what he wants.
"Try and stay still," he murmurs, glancing up as he brings a thumb to your clit, biting back a smirk when you jolt from it.
"Okay," you nod, voice weak and strained, tears forming because you think you might die on this counter with how close you are to heaven. And you're trying, you really are, but Shouto is trying harder to eat you up, make you pliant and his.
Shouto stops when the ground beneath him rumbles, and vines circle around your ankles, waist, and wrists. He pauses in awe as you relax your body, securing it under your manifestation. "Wanna be good," you say.
Shouto snaps then, like an animal, feral and unhinged. He meets your cunt with added zeal, freeing his hand to maneuver you however he wants, sliding a finger into your hot, pulsing cunt. He alternates between flicking your clit with his tongue and rubbing it under his thumb. You cry out when he adds another finger, pumping both of them into that spot that has you shaking, fighting your own restraints. He pants, watching as he scissors them inside you and toys with your clit with his thumb.
It's so filthy, but you sound so adorable—so cute as Shouto takes out months of pent-up yearning on your pussy. You feel so alive under his tongue and tease—complete with his digits pulsing into you. It's almost too much, but you want him so bad you don't care. You need him—you have needed him, for so long, here with you.
Your body feels molten as it tenses, tightening all over as Shouto quickens his movements, latching onto your clit with his mouth as he curls his fingers just right. It hits you so hard that you can't hear anything but your own moans and how they litter the air. You release your quirk as Shouto laps up your fluids, indulging in the taste as he strokes his cock over his pants. He grunts as he spills into his boxers, squeezing your thigh as he continues to make out with your pussy, tender and gentle.
You sit up slowly, a little wobbly, as Shouto slides your thighs around his waist, gripping the edge of the counter as he stands between your legs. He's dripping with you, cheeks wet and flushed as his chest rises and falls nice and slow, steady and at peace.
"You're so messy," you say, breathless.
Shouto smiles lazily, taking your face in his hands as he brings you into a sloppy kiss. You moan as his tongue enters your mouth, feeding you your own release. "You are too," he says, pulling back.
Your lips curve, blinking slowly up at him as he slides you off the counter, wrapping his arms behind you.
"Thank you," you mumble, dropping your forehead onto his chest.
"Mm," Shouto hums into your hair, kissing the crown of your head gingerly.
You tilt your head, resting your chin on his sternum. "I want to help you too," you say.
Shouto pauses, studying you until it clicks, and his eyes widen. "Oh... no, it's okay, baby. I already—you already made me—"
"Oh," you mouth, face flooding with heat as Shouto grins at your embarrassment.
"Yeah," he says, pausing to kiss your nose, "I'm shocked myself."
"Did you like it that much?" You ask innocently, eyes trailing his movements as he lowers himself, scooping you into his arms.
Shouto begins walking to the main staircase, carrying you bridle style as he nods. "Probably more than I should have," he admits.
It's still relatively early, probably around dinner time if you had to guess, but you grow sleepy in his arms. You're quiet as he takes you upstairs, letting him undress you once you reach the bathroom, preparing for a shower.
The water feels like a dream, and with your muscles relaxing beneath it, you allow your mind to drift. "Are you good at keeping secrets, Shouto?"
Shouto quirks an eyebrow from behind you, rubbing body wash into your shoulders, "A secret?"
You turn, grinning. "A secret."
Shouto stares at you—your crazy kitten smile, the glimmer in your eyes. "I can keep a secret," he says.
You giggle lightly, still up in the air, right where his tongue left you. "Izuku's throwing a surprise housewarming party for us this Friday," you announce, studying Shouto's reaction.
He doesn't have much of one, more concentrated on how your fingers feel raking through his hair, your chest pressing into his. "How do you know?" He asks, his palms meeting your lower back, dipping a little lower to give a tender squeeze.
"That is my secret to keep," you sigh, melting under his touch.
You shut your eyes, leaning back to let one of the showerheads dampen your back, washing the suds away. Shouto watches, nodding slowly, indifferent.
"I hope your friends will like me," you mumble, breaking his silence.
Shouto frowns, finding your eyes as you return. "They will. They do."
"Izuku and Katsuki don't count," you say.
"Yes, they do," Shouto disagrees, running his fingers up and down your spine. "Katsuki especially," he adds, something fogging his eyes for a moment before he continues. "He's not easy to win over, but he likes you a lot. Trust me."
You shrug, blissfully unaware, turning back around. "I guess."
Shouto pauses, taking a deep breath. The mention of the blond unnerves him slightly, a chill setting in his body. "You'll be alright," he says. "I promise."
Something churns within him—something molten and fresh as he leans down into you.
"Okay, I trust you," you smile, feeling his lips pressing into your neck.
"Good."
You whimper as his mouth grows fervent against you. Shouto takes your hips into his hands, nibbling down to your shoulder as your back arches into his chest.
"Shouto," you breathe, reaching your arms behind you to cradle his neck.
"I like you," he reminds you, squeezing the meat at your sides, digging his thumbs into the flesh. "I like you the most."
You nod helplessly, lightheaded and spiraling as his kisses trail down your spine, and suddenly he's there, between your thighs again.
"I'll make you mine."
end notes: AHHHHHHHH. Okay. Okay. First of all, sorry this took so long to complete, but like, also not, pfft. I will be starting classes again, so expect releases to be a lot slower—but also know I work actively on this series, and the reason it's been taking so long to get out is that I write it out of order. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it!!!! Thank you for reading, mwah
☰ SYNOPSIS ⋮ kento’s adjusting to life with a scarred face and body, one day at a time, hand in yours.
— pairing ⋮ nanami kento x reader
— length ⋮ 5.2k words (it could be worse methinks)
— contents ⋮ nsfw and 18+ content, fem! reader, post-shibuya incident (i've not rly gotten that far into the manga, so there isn't too much from it), nanami lives, he's having a hard time adjusting to his scars :(, insecure nanami, hints at ptsd, mentions of marriage and having children, body worship, blowjobs, cum swallowing, unprotected sex, creampie — he might be ooc i tried my best 🥹
— notes ⋮ this was supposed to be posted for his birthday…which was a month ago :,) anyway happy (very late) bday to my first ever jjk love—you are still the most special in my heart i miss you dearly. ty bby mich for reading over this mwah ily lover 🫶🏽
“here,” you murmur, smiling at nanami before setting the mug of coffee down on the nightstand beside him, “just how you like it.”
it’s a routine by now.
every day, at nine am sharp, you rise from your side of the bed, adjust the curtains so the small peek of light from the cracks doesn’t disturb him as he sleeps, hum the same soft tune as you shuffle out of the room, and you make his coffee. it’s the same every morning—black with two spoons of sugar—and sometimes, it’s the only thing that feels the same for nanami since he’s come home from that day.
nanami doesn’t talk about the scars on his body. he doesn’t even really tell you details of how he got them after the incident. the only thing you really know is that it was bad, that he was half dead and half gone. he’d even left a voicemail—you still have it saved on your phone. he remembers walking through the pain, faintly thinking about how he couldn’t see through his left eye, and he thinks for a moment that he’ll die. he realizes that his goodbye kiss that morning would be the last kiss he’d ever give you, so he makes sure to part with at least one final piece of him before he does.
but somehow, he wakes up. he opens his eye—one of them is permanently gone—and he sees you tearily gasp and shoko breathe in relief. and then he realizes he’s alive.
“you should drink it while it’s hot, kento,” you say gently, carefully, like the wrong words are hot water to sunburnt skin. and you suppose they are—just that these burns are far worse.
he only hums, sitting up with his back against the bed frame and his eyes still trained on his phone in his hands. nanami’s never really been one to use his phone longer than he absolutely needs to, but these days it serves as a good reason not to look up and meet your eyes—a perfect excuse to hide that very visible side of him he just can’t ignore.
“thank you, love,” he mumbles.
“what do you want for breakfast? i can make—”
“i’ll eat later,” he says quietly. hallow. “you can go ahead and eat without me.”
nanami kento has never really dwelled on whether or not he’s attractive. not before missing half of his face, and certainly not after—that much hasn’t changed. what has changed, however, is that he now dwells on how unattractive he is. he stares a little extra longer in the mirror, walks a little extra faster when he strides past you, is a little extra cautious to make sure you’re never on his left side. you pretend you don’t feel him stiffen under your touch, and he pretends he doesn’t notice your eyes dim every time.
on most nights, he has the same recurring dream. one of a wedding—with pictures of you both gathered around by laughing friends and family, pictures on the wall in a house of your wide smile and his soft eyes staring at you. pictures that he’ll someday show your children, pictures your children will someday show their children, pictures that are worth reminiscing over.
but then, just as his hand reaches for the frame of one, the same agonizing burn from that day spreads through his cheek, down his neck and arm, and stops just at his hip until he’s left numb on one whole side of his torso. then he’ll glance back at the photos, and suddenly, the same sunken hollows of his bones and the same marred skin of his face greet him. he wakes up every time to you beside him, watches the rising and falling of your unconscious figure that’s noticeably closer to him as you find him in your sleep each night despite him maintaining distance.
he often thinks about the vacation photos you’ll never get to take, the family albums you’ll never get to make together, and sometimes, nanami wonders if he really is alive and well when he grieves for himself. he grieves for everything he ever was. everything he ever could’ve been.
“kento,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable on the mattress, right next to his figure as your arm presses against his. it’s quiet—but it’s not the same comfortable silence you’re used to with nanami. he’s not the same tall and steady mountain—now, you think, he’s just an ant pile on the ground, too easy to kick away as you pass by like it was never there. “come have breakfast with me,” you insist.
“i’m not too hungry right now,” he says instantly. he doesn’t let you hear any emotion to his words, doesn’t give you a lot of opportunities to pick up on how he’s feeling or what’s on his mind. it’s an added burden, he supposes—asides from caring for his wounds, asides from pretending like you’re fine and things are okay, you have to deal with all the feelings he can’t seem to handle himself.
nanami has only shown you a vulnerable side once since he’s come home. it’s after the first time he tries to take a shower, when the water pelting against his raw skin hurts too much for him to handle, when the heat of the water burns at the sore spots. he has to take a bath instead, so you help him wash his body gently, carefully rubbing over the skin with a washcloth like you would a newborn. he lays on your chest that night, clutches at your shirt and slots his body between your legs while you kiss his forehead and rub his back until he sleeps.
after that, he sleeps on his side of the bed every night, and he doesn’t dare let himself cross over to yours. you try to stay on your half of the mattress until he’s ready, but you can’t control the way your body seeks his out in your sleep. by morning, you’re curled around his good arm, and he’s painfully stiff on his back as he sleeps, not moved an inch from the night before.
“kento, you never skip breakfast. you’ve always lectured me when i try to,” you furrow your brows, “just eat a little.”
“i’ll eat later,” he repeats, a tad bit firmer this time. you sigh before pulling the covers over your legs and settling deeper into the mattress.
“fine,” you huff, “i’ll just wait for you.”
“don’t be stubborn,” he frowns.
“i’m not.”
you pinch your nose, rubbing over the bridge to collect yourself. you try to be patient with nanami. he’s always been patient with you, always gentle and kind even when he’s tired. he needs you now, so you try to do the same for him—try to be as perfect for him as he would be for you if the roles were reversed.
but it’s hard for you too.
it’s hard to see the shell of the man you used to know. you love nanami even with taut skin and rough scars. you love nanami even with an eye patch and a trembling hand. you love nanami even with distant words and scarce touches. you love nanami even if he doesn’t want to deserve your love, and you’ll keep loving nanami until he loves himself too.
but it doesn’t stop you from growing impatient some days.
“kento, the only one being stubborn is you,” you say frustratedly, the slightly irritated exhale you try to hide does not go unnoticed by him.
he sets his phone down and looks at you fully for the first time in a long while.
“i’m not,” he says dryly, “you can eat without me, i said i’ll eat later.”
“and you can join me for once instead of sitting here and feeling bad for yourself.” he doesn’t say anything after that.
you wonder for a moment if you’ve gone a little too far, if you’re making things about yourself when they should be about him. you wonder if you’re selfish, if you hope he’ll heal for the sake of healing, or for the sake of being your kento again. you suppose maybe both.
but then you wonder if maybe he’ll ever even be the same kento again. but you think you’ll love this kento just as much as the old one—you think you’ll love every version of kento in every life.
“i’m fine,” is all he says.
nanami does not want to have breakfast with you. it’s not because he doesn’t like being around you—on most nights, he counts his blessings that you’re still climbing into bed beside him instead of packing your bags and walking away. it would be the easy thing to do, and he wouldn't blame you. maybe then, you might have a semblance of a normal life, a normal husband who doesn’t—didn’t, he couldn’t go back now—fight cursed blobs for a living. a wedding with happy pictures. a house with photos on the wall. children with a father they can go to the park with. family vacation albums you can put together.
it’s all things he’s robbed you of, all things he let burn away along with the healthy flesh he used to have. he knows that if he tells you this, you’ll insist nothing’s changed. but paper does not smooth down no matter how flat you press it after being crumpled, nanami kento knows this better than anyone else.
he doesn’t want to have breakfast—he can’t stomach the idea of sitting across from you at the table, of feeling the aftershocks of failing you first thing in the morning. lunch and dinner are hard enough as is, and he doesn’t want to skip those and offer you lonely meals along with the pain and suffering he’s already brought onto you through his injuries. he also doesn’t want you to have to stare at his pink flesh and pathetic eye patch and trembling hand. he doesn’t want you to realize you’re stuck, bound to a cage to care for a flightless bird when you deserve the sun’s rays and the wind blowing between your own feathers.
perhaps if he’d died, you’d have mourned him for a year or two. maybe three. perhaps if he’d died, you’d keep one of the ties he’s always worn—the ones you can’t help but tease—and keep them in a box with a photo. maybe you’d meet someone new, someone who’d teach you how to laugh again, to smile and feel the wind on your face and the grass between your toes. maybe you’d get married and throw the bouquet with a sweet laugh and hopeful eyes. maybe you’d move on and be happy—and if he got lucky, maybe you’d take out the picture and tie from time to time, looking back and remembering him too.
but now you’re stuck somewhere in between a stranger and the man you love, he thinks. and he’s stuck somewhere in between the living and the dead.
“you’re not fine, kento,” you sigh, shuffling closer until you can hug his arm. he lets you, looks down at his lap and lets himself ignore his mind screaming no in favor of feeling you press your warmth against him. truth be told, he misses your touch—he just can’t find it in him to let himself have it. “and you don’t have to be. not right now, at least. but someday—”
“someday, i’ll have even more regrets than today,” he says skeptically.
the sun pours through the small cracks of the curtain, hitting the skin he desperately wants to hide. he almost feels the ghost of a lone tear in the eye he doesn’t have.
“no,” you say firmly, reaching to cup his cheek and turning him to face you. you trail your thumb over the scarred skin, rubbing over what would’ve been the apple of his cheek like you always do, like nothing’s changed. “kento, you’re alive. you have things to live for,” you say softly, leaning and pressing a kiss under his eye patch.
and when a single tear rolls down the eye he does have, you catch it with your thumb and rub it away.
“not a wedding,” he mumbles.
“why not?” you tilt your head in confusion, “you…you don’t want to get married?”
“of course, i do,” nanami says quickly. he pauses, ponders his words for a moment before he decides to turn his body and face you fully. “i’m sorry,” he offers with a strained voice.
“what are you apologizing for, kento?”
“you won’t have the pictures you wanted. we won’t have photos on the walls, or vacation albums, or—”
“of course, we will,” you argue, furrowing your brows like the words he’s uttered are completely absurd. he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair—thankfully, that’s grown back in full, otherwise he doesn’t think he’d go out in public at all. the stares from people are expected, but he thinks the looks he’d get from being half bald might just have been a bit too much to handle. “kento, we can still do all the things we wanted. nothing’s changed.”
“everything’s changed,” he clenches his jaw, “i’d ruin them. the pictures, the moments. everything. if we had kids, i couldn’t even take them to the park, or drop them off at school, or pick them up. they’d get bullied by the other kids, the parents would whisper about you. i’d ruin it all. i am ruining—”
he doesn’t get to finish that last statement.
you climb onto his lap, cupping his cheeks with both hands and silencing him with a kiss. he doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back even if he doesn’t understand how you can be kissing him in the first place. it’s like muscle memory. it’s involuntary, the way his lips mold against yours. like the way his heart pumps blood and his lungs breathe in air, like a compass points north and the sun sets west, nanami kento’s lips press back against yours as firmly as he can without fail.
“not to me,” you whisper against him as you stop to breathe, “you wouldn’t ruin a thing to me. our pictures would be perfect, and our vacation albums too. our kids would be lucky. i’m lucky, kento,” your voice wavers. your eyes are glossy and your lips are trembling. you clutch his shirt this time, inching yourself closer until all that’s left is to climb into his skin. you’d do it if you could—scars and all. “i’m lucky you’re here, i’m lucky you’re alive. that you’ll scold me to go to bed on time at night. that you’ll make sure i don’t leave the house on an empty stomach in the morning. that you’re here to let me untie that awful tie of yours or hang your coat when you come home. that i don’t have to sleep alone. that i get to take bubble baths while you wash my back. that we can hold hands while we watch a movie. that you’re here kento—with me. i’m not…i don’t have to be alone. i’m alone when you’re gone,” you croak, tears slipping past your cheeks and splashing onto his shirt under you. “i don’t…i don’t wanna be alone. without you.”
it’s nanami who kisses you this time—and it’s the first time he kisses you himself, the first time he closes the gap and presses his lips to your own since he’s come home. he pulls your body flush against him, trying to make up for the time he’s kept you away. you kiss him back hard, silent streams of tears running down your face as you desperately taste him on your tongue. it’s a messy kiss, not like most of the kisses you’ve shared with nanami. this kiss tastes like narrowly missing death, like the reaper’s scythe misses by a hair, like heaven has closed its gates to grant you one more day on earth.
you pull away first, and he almost protests until you kiss under his eyepatch again. you trail your lips down his cheek and jaw, littering soft pecks along the raised skin of his neck while he breathes heavier. he lets out a shaky breath when you gently lift the hem of his shirt up slightly, waiting for his approval—and he almost wants the pull the covers over his body and shut his eyes and sleep again, but he decides to take a chance and let you peel his shirt from his body.
he doesn’t meet your eyes. he can’t. not when you’re staring down at his skin, tracing along the line that separates healthy flesh from scarred—along the line that separates his past from the present. and then you cross over to the side that’s not so perfect, that’s not smooth and promising under your touch, the side that’s rough and tight and a reminder of things he failed to do—and you kiss it.
“you’re beautiful. perfect,” you murmur as you kiss along his collarbone, all the way to his shoulder and back again, down his chest and along his abs, right to his waist where you press one last kiss to his hipbone sweetly. he’s panting by now, and nanami is more than a little embarrassed that he’s as hard as he is from something as little as affection.
but your lips are so near where he needs them so badly—and it’s been ages since he’s let himself indulge in anything sexual. even on his own.
“can i?” you hum, making him groan when you roll your palm over his crotch, feeling his erection poking through his pants. he lets his head fall back, lets his hands clutch the sheets under them as you untuck him from his pants when he nods. “missed you, kento,” you murmur, kissing the head of his cock.
the gesture makes him shudder, a weak grunt falling from his lips as he breathes heavier, letting out a soft groan when you smear the dribbling pre cum from his tip along his length. he’s sensitive, you note, more than he usually is—maybe it’s from not doing this for so long, maybe it’s from finally letting himself indulge in your touch after avoiding it, maybe it’s from the excitement that you still want him enough to do this. whatever it is, nanami moans softly when you stroke him slowly, chest rising and falling as you squeeze the base of his cock with every drag of your fist, cursing when you lean and press a small kiss to his inner thigh from your spot between his legs.
he spreads them a bit wider to make more room for you. he’s on what used to be your side of the bed—he lays there the first night so his burns aren’t next to you, and you don’t have it in you to protest. looking up to meet his gaze, you smile gently at him.
“do you want to stop?” you ask as you rub his thigh soothingly, “we don’t have to if you—”
“no,” he pants, “just…i…i’d like to keep going,” he says quietly. with that, you shoot him a bright grin, one that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his cock twitch between his legs. you pump him a few more times in your hand before leaning in to press a kiss to his tip once more, this time swirling your tongue around the fat head of his cock, gliding through his slit. he groans, low and deep from his chest, lets a hand fall to your head while the other fists the sheets.
“love you, kento. i love you,” you murmur, and then you’re taking him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around his length and swallowing around him. he bucks his hips on instinct, gasping when your hand comes to fondle with his balls, massaging them gently while you bob your head up and down his cock.
“f-fuck,” he rasps, “feels…feels good,” he breathes, closing his good eye and letting his head fall against the frame of the bed. you hum around him, the vibrations making him twitch slightly above you before you pick up the pace.
it’s messy, the way you loosen your jaw and fuck him with your mouth, the way his tip hits the back of your throat as a mix of your drool and his pre cum drips down your chin. he lets out a breathy whine when your tongue drags along the vein under his cock—he’s always been sensitive there. you still know him like the back of your hand, like he’s the same, like he’s not a stranger but the man you love, like nothing’s changed.
nanami has felt the warmth of your mouth pull him into blinding pleasure more times than he can count, but he never thought something so vulgar could make him feel so warm in his chest. you bob your head down, taking him deeper into your mouth, and he chokes on a cry of your name as he cradles the back of your head.
“‘m close, love—f-fuck, you sh-should—” he tries to warn you with a gentle tap to your head, but you’re determined to push him off the edge, so your hand squeezes around his balls a bit tighter, rolling the sensitive sacs in your hand and making his hips buck upwards as he grunts in surprise. he cums with a twitch of his cock, his orgasm crashing over him sooner than he expected. you hear him gasp, moaning brokenly as his eyes close and his lips tug between his teeth, hips rolling into your mouth against his better judgment. you swallow what you can of the hot, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth, hand pumping the base of his cock where you can’t fit. every crack in his voice and every low call of your name as he spills into you makes the walls of your pussy clench around nothing, an ache steadily building between your legs.
“so good,” he pants, spilling the last few ropes of his cum as he cants his hips up, “f-feels so good.” you pull away, swallowing whatever’s in your mouth as you stare up at him, making his eyes close as he lets out a low groan at the sight. you giggle when his cock twitches again between his thighs, still hard and heavy between his legs.
“not enough, baby?” you tease, kissing just below his belly button before you climb onto his lap, cupping his face as he smiles softly.
“i suppose not,” he chuckles lightly, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough of you.”
“i love you, kento,” you murmur again, kissing along his jaw and nipping at his skin. his hands grip at your hips, squeezing firmly as he guides your clothed cunt to rub against his cock, making you sigh against his neck as your clit rubs over him through the fabric. “so much, you know. i don’t think i could ever stop.”
“yeah?” he asks quietly, “you think so?”
“yes,” you pout, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into the crevice of his shoulder. he wraps an arm tightly around you, rubbing the small of your back as he feels you as close as space permits you to get—and even then, it’s not close enough. “i’m pouring my heart out, right now. you could say ‘i love you too,’ you know. now would be a perfect time.”
you feel his chuckle rumble from his chest against yours, and it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh since he’s opened his eyes that day.
“no need to get so impatient, love,” he teases. nanami feels the sun soak his skin through the cracks of the curtains, and he sees the way it catches in your eyes and brings out the small flecks in your irises as you pull from the crook of his neck to press your forehead to his. the day has only begun, but he thinks for the first time in a long time, there’s more waiting for him. “i,” he presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, “love you too.”
“a lot?” you bat your lashes with a cheeky grin. he shakes his head in amusement.
“i’ll have to think about that one,” he pretends to ponder for a moment.
“kento,” you whine, pouting deeper. nanami chuckles once, then twice, and then soft, sweet laughter pours from his mouth like honey trickles from the comb. it makes you giggle with him, contagiously pulling you to join his moment of glee. his chest is light but his arms are heavy with the weight of you in them—and he can’t ask for more.
maybe nothing’s changed after all.
“a lot,” he agrees with a nod. “i love you a lot. more than anything.”
“i want you more than anything,” you whisper, gently grinding your hips down on him, biting your lip as he drags along your throbbing clit. you whimper softly when his hand travels under your shirt, kneading your breasts in his palms as you roll your hips against him.
“i think i can give you that,” he murmurs.
it happens quicker than you can imagine. your shirt is pulled over your arms and your bra is unclasped. nanami flips you both over so your back hits the mattress and he’s hovering over your chest, lips wrapping around a pebbled nipple as he sucks and rolls his tongue over it. your hand clutches at his blonde locks, head thrown against the pillow as you whine, back arching a little when his hand reaches for your other tit and his fingers rub and pinch at your nipple so as not to leave it neglected.
“k-kento, please,” you breathe, “more.”
he hums, switching his mouth and his hand to give the same attention to the other side, slotting a knee between your legs and spreading them wide. you’re dripping, pussy aching as it craves the stretch of his cock. it’s almost nauseating, how much you need him—thankfully, he seems to have an idea.
you breathe his name the same way you always do when he slips himself into you, breathless and in love, brimming with lust and awe, glossed with ache and need. he sets his jaw and presses his forehead to yours, feeling your tight walls squeeze him in as he lets you adjust. and when you buck your hips with a greedy whine, just like you always do, he all but pulls out completely before slamming into you, just like he always does.
“god, kento,” you moan, “so full. feels good—always make me f-feel good. only you.” he groans at your words, hips rutting into you desperately as he chases the friction of your wet cunt, lost on the way your walls flutter around him.
you were made for him, he thinks, the way your pussy hugs around him, the way he fits so perfectly, the way your bodies slot against each other just right when you pull him close. nanami kento is sure you were sculpted by steady hands, deliberate and slow—and he can only hope he’s enough to be yours, enough to reach for your hand and feel the way your fingers entwine and your heart seeps through your palm into his.
he’ll cradle it carefully, until he’s enough for you, until you’ll willingly take his heart when he hands it to you too.
but something tells him from the way your cling to him, arms around his neck, chests pressed so closely that your nipples graze, that you want his heart in your palm too.
“fuck,” he grunts, “missed fucking you like this,” he mumbles against the shell of your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as you mewl, raising your hips and meeting his sloppy thrusts halfway. “missed the way you take me so well, love. so tight,” he breathes.
he lets a hand travel between your bodies, rubbing at your clit in slow circles that make you squeal, legs wrapping around his waist as your thighs tremble. his fat tip kisses your sweet spot, the one he knows by heart as he angles his hips and slams into you with precision, the slow, sloppy roll of his hips building up your orgasm in a steady ache. your hands find his hair, tugging at the roots as you let wanton moans spill from your mouth. and he’s everywhere, his skin against yours, his mouth pressing hot, searing kisses along your jaw, his vein dragging along your walls as his cock curves into you just right.
you can feel the coil in your belly tighten until it’s just ready to snap, can feel yourself get closer to your high, can feel the way nanami is close too as he twitches in your dripping heat. he’s groaning into your neck, head falling into the juncture of your shoulder as he lets out deep grunts, balls heavy and aching to release.
“kento, kento,” you chant his name. it leaves a tender feeling swimming in his chest, fond and proud and a little grateful all at once. the way you say his name like that makes him think you still need him, that he’s still enough, that he’s still everything you want. and when you tug at his roots, letting out a soft sob as his thumb rubs harshly over your sensitive clit, he smiles a little against your skin. “‘m so close kento, n-need it. need it so bad, please.”
“let go,” he kisses your neck, “cum for me, love.”
and you do. hard.
it’s been as long for you as it has for him—sometimes you let yourself forget that. but he slams himself into your walls, your slick smeared messily along your thighs, and you cum on his cock with a silent sob. your back arches as you cling to nanami, tugging at his hair while he fucks you through your high, groaning deeply at the way your walls spasm around his cock.
your high sends him hurdling into his own release, his second orgasm rippling through his spine as pleasure burns through every nerve. nanami’s head falls to your shoulder, and he faintly registers your hand cradling the back of his head as he desperately ruts into you, rhythm sloppy. he paints your walls white, thick ropes of cum filling you up as he fucks his load deep into your sloppy cunt.
“god—you’re all i need,” he moans, “everything i need—c-can’t lose you, never you. i love you. i love you,” he chokes, panting as he trembles in your arms with the last new waves of his high. you’re repeating the words back—and through soft sniffles, he faintly registers—while your fingers are gently threading through his hair.
and when he slips out of you, slumping onto the bed beside you as he collects you in his arms, he realizes that this is the first time he’s laid on his side of the bed since he’s come home to you.
“i love you, kento,” you say for what feels like the millionth time that night. and you think you’ll keep repeating it for as long as he needs it. “thank you for coming home to me.”
“thank you for bringing me home,” he smiles, kissing your forehead.
you kiss over his scarred skin, he brings the sheets over your bodies, and nanami kento is home. nothing’s changed.
bully!reader is a demon and hasn’t changed kuroo’s contact name since they met in freshman year. (taking a break from writing big pieces so i don’t get burned out 🥺)
don’t mind me, just thinking about making loser!kuroo cry because you don’t let him cum 💕
will never get over these two lol
EDIT: I'M DUMB LOL
the ask for this scenario was supposed to be:
currently thinking about loser!kuroo having a wet dream while sleeping with reader and not wanting to wake reader up to ask for help so he tries to take care of it by himself but ends up waking you up and yeah…
kuroo’s breaths come in heaves as he stares up at the ceiling. he doesn’t want to make too much noise considering you’re sleeping soundly right next to him. it was rare to have you spend the night and it was a bit of a tight squeeze in kuroo’s tiny dorm bed, but he loved having you so close to him.
he apparently loved it so much that he woke up in the middle of the night rock hard. his cock throbs against the fabric of his sweats. it’s so stupid—the two of you have taken naps dozens of times. so why is his body reacting like a virgin who hasn’t so much as held a girl’s hand before?
but he couldn't’ help it. your body is so soft curled up next to his and all he could smell was the coconut scent from your body wash. was it his fault that all he could think about were those soft hands touching him? or cute sounds you make when his cock is buried deep inside.
normally, kuroo would make his way to the shower to rub one out, but he didn’t want to risk disturbing you. then he thinks about taking care of himself in bed. with how hard he is, it won’t take much to get him to cum but he can’t think of anything more humiliating than you catching him fisting his cock because he was too hard to go back to sleep.
you’d probably be so disgusted with him, call him names, push him out of his bed for being a “gross pervert.” your voice would get so shrill, your eyes widening in anger…
“fuck,” kuroo gasps, tugging his sweats down and spitting in his palm before wrapping it around himself. he shudders at the wet, squechling sounds the friction makes as he pretends and instead tries to focus on the sound of your breathing. kuroo savors those moments the two of you can be close to one another. you have your sweet moments sometimes—fleeting moments where you’re not as demanding and you just want to be held.
tonight was like that. you didn’t want to leave kuroo’s side and shyly asked between kisses if you could spend the night. he gave you one of his t-shirts to wear and now it’s riding up to expose your panties.
kuroo feels so stupid, so fucking ridiculous for pawing at himself like this. he tries to cover the noises he’s making, cursing and mumbling under his breath, but the rush of doing this while you’re sleeping so soundly isn’t lost on him.
your name falls from his lips as his hand speeds up, trying to get off as quickly as possible. he must’ve gotten too into his actions because kuroo fails to notice your body stirring beside him.
“you’re making so much noise, tetsu,” you murmur, and kuroo feels his heart sink down to his stomach. he tries to find the words to tell you to go back to sleep but it feels like there’s cotton in his mouth from how dry it is.
to his horror, you keep shifting around, snuggling closer to him and immediately whining. “why are you so sweaty?” you complain, rubbing your eyes and finally taking in the sight right in front of you. “really, tetsu?”
it’s so gross and he feels ashamed but kuroo doesn’t ignore how the sound of your voice makes his dick twitch in his hand. “no, no, no, baby,” he groans, trying not to cum from being caught. “go back to sleep, baby. kuroo can hear you huff and knows that you’re annoyed, he’s ready for your worst but isn’t as prepared as he thought when he feels you shifting around until you’re on top of him.
you lay on top of him, chest to chest as you straddle his waist. kuroo’s confused for a few seconds until he feels you grab his cock only to sink your cunt down on it, completely knocking the wind out of him.
a dreamy sigh leaves your mouth when your hips meet and kuroo swears he could cry at this moment. “baby, you don’t have to do this…”
“why? you were obviously thinking about this, creep,” you grumble, rocking your hips a few times and kissing along kuroo’s jawline. “i’m not doing all the work for you, tetsu. if you want it so bad, make both of us cum.”
in your sleepy state, you’re still so demanding and kuroo’s eager to please even if he’s two pumps away from bursting. wrapping his arms around your waist, kuroo plants his feet to the mattress and fucks into you, gasping at your tight heat.
“can’t believe you, tetsu,” you breathe, burying your face in kuroo’s shoulder. every so often, you’ll meet his thrusts, cunt squeezing around his thick cock. “touching yourself while i’m sleeping? could you be any more of a loser?”
your insults are cut off with a string of curses as kuroo snaps his hips. he doesn’t know how he managed to stave off his release but kuroo knows he needs to make you cum first. you’ll be such a little brat if he just uses you like his personal toy. but fuck that sounds so good—maybe if he’s lucky you’ll slap him around or drag your nails across his skin.
“shit,” he moans, grabbing your hips and fucking you harder than before, desperately trying to send you over the edge. it works, of course. you’re just as needy as he is. your body tenses for a few moments until your orgasam hits you, fingers tugging at kuroo’s hair as he fucks you through your release.
the combination of your walls spasming around him and the sound of you crying his name over and over has kuroo finally cumming. he holds you tight as his seed spills inside, making a mess of your over sensitive cunt. “so good, so good…” he whimpers, showering you with kisses.
after a few moments, you groan at the mess between your legs and pull at kuroo’s black strands. “clean me up, idiot, i want to go back to sleep,”
with a laugh on his lips, kuroo is quick to oblige.
Your sweet boyfriend, Armin, who still gets butterflies in his stomach at your touch.
Your loving boyfriend, Armin, who leaves you notes around the house. Little "i love you"'s and hearts-- hearts that he draws poorly, but it's the thought that counts.
Your good boyfriend, Armin, who reads to you before bed on bad nights. His gentle voice lulling you to sleep, words melting together until you're dreaming. He turns off the light on the nightstand, placing the book down. He doesnt need a lullaby, your warmth is enough. He scoots closer to you under thick blankets, arm around your waist pulling you into a spooning position. Sweeter than any dream.
Your gentle boyfriend, Armin, who holds your thighs open with his soft hands, face buried between them. Always taking care of you. His blond hair tickling your skin as he bobs his head, long strokes of the tongue making you release the sweetest sounds-- music to his ears, making him harder than before.
Your perverted boyfriend, Armin, who's shy and sensitive, yes, but has the nastiest thoughts about you. It's all he does when he's alone, think about all the places you might let him cum. His favorite is to imagine coming inside of you, even though you haven't let him try it... yet.
Your smart boyfriend, Armin, who goes absolutely dumb when he's about to cum. Unable to string a coherent sentence together, he opts for whimpering moans and desperate "please"'s.
Your cheeky boyfriend, Armin, who gives you hickeys on your thighs just to claim you. All his. He's nasty in bed, but only for you. Dirty talk escapes his lips while you ride him, begging you to use his body like a toy. He loves being used by you. He loves watching your face when you orgasm, especially when its his body that got you there. He strokes your puffy clit with his thumb as you bounce. He knows exactly how to get you off, just how you taught him.
Your shy boyfriend, Armin, who used to blush when youd flirt with him. The first time you let him touch your body was so cute. He was nervous and unsure, but eager as ever to try everything. He tried to pleasure you but was so technical about it, trying to remember where your spots were based off what he read. But you stop him, holding his hands and guiding them where you want them, "relax".
Your sensitive boyfriend, Armin, who always asks if you're ok as he puts it in, stretching your hole over his dick. Throbbing, the sensation when he enters you has you making tiny noises of pain and pleasure that always elicit care- "is this ok?" He asks you gently, thrusting in and out, slowly at first, coating himself in your juices. "Keep going," you beg, soft and needy. He loves you so much. You can feel it when he fucks you.
Your caring boyfriend, Armin, who asks you to take baths with him so he can wash your hair and graze your soft skin, rubbing lotions on you afterwards, massaging your aching muscles as he applies it. It's his favorite way to pamper you, make you feel protected and cared for. The best part was the way you look in your pajamas afterwards, so unbelievably cute in your shorts and his t-shirt. It never gets sexual, either, he just wants to be intimate like this sometimes.
Your funny boyfriend, Armin, who peppers conversations with inside jokes and little teases, making you giggle. His second favorite sound of yours. But your favorite is when he's the one laughing, hes so adorable.
Your patient boyfriend, Armin, who never pressures you into anything uncomfortable, willing to wait until you're ready, always. In the beginning this endeared you to him, as past partners have always been so pushy with your boundaries. Still, you never expected some of the dirty things he'd eventually tell you.
Your intimate boyfriend, Armin, who trails soft kisses and licks over your body to arouse you, whispering declarations of affection into your neck, telling you that "only you can make me feel this way".
Your forever boyfriend, Armin, who has picked a ring out and has it hidden in his underwear drawer until the perfect moment. He plans to be by your side for life, a team. You'll say yes when he asks, and It'll make him so happy to know you feel the same way.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this. I had fun writing it. Bf!armin is so good i love it!! Lmk any thoughts or criticism in the comments or tags pls ^_^
Kageyama is so hot I wanna corrupt him by takin him home from his first night out at a bar or club, having him all blushy and shaky and whimpery and “mouth feels so good, I can’t hold it, pleasepleaseplease,”:(((( and after you swallow his first orgasm out of him:(( he gets your legs over his shoulders pounds you into the morning, probably breaks a headboard and cries into your neck cause who knew sex felt so good with someone who feels soft and divoty and sweet like u:((( Kageyama not accepting it was a one night stand and seizing up after asking u on a date as if he isn’t planning on eating u out straight afterwards:((
pretty kitty you NEVER miss when it comes to these and this is absolutely perfect my heart lit skipped a beat 💞💞💞💞
— cw: breeding, overstimulation, kags is desperate i guess???
poor kageyama tries his very best to get over you because he knows he shouldn't be as obsessed and needy yet every time you cross his mind, he's rock hard and just a second away from fucking his fist.
you seemed so eager, so excited to touch him, something he's never had with anybody else. you made him feel adored and desired, begging him to just please fuck you harder after literal hours of having your cute little cunt stuffed. every time he closes his eyes, tobio starts losing himself in the memory of your whimpers, your breathy moans and your little sobs once it started getting so much.
maybe that's the the reason he finds himself knocking on your door at three in the morning, cheeks flushed and his pretty lips completely swollen from the abuse of his teeth as he tries to find the words yet fails because of the arousal overwhelming every fiber of his body.
"i c-can't do this anymore", he whispers, pushing his pretty hand into his messy hair before he looks up at you with glossy eyes; the gentle colour filled with hunger and literal need, "you're gonna make me lose my mind...please."
his voice is a mere whisper, the words feeling heavy on his tongue the longer he looks at you, trying so hard to not stare at the soft flesh of your exposed thighs and your nipples poking through the fabric of your shirt.
tobio knows he's being inappropriate, maybe even a little creepy but he simply doesn't have another choice. he's been sleeless for literal days because he can't stop thinking about you.
"tobio", you say softly, placing your hand on his toned chest and immediately eliciting a guttural moan from the professional athlete, the sound echoing through the hallway of your apartment building, easily having your cunt clench in despair at the response of his body.
"please", he whimpers and wraps his big hand around yours to push it in between his legs, burying his hot face in your neck the moment you touch his rock hard cock through his sweats, "it hurts so much..please."
how are you supposed to deny him such a desperate request? especially after fucking yourself to the thought of his big cock for the past few days in hopes of reliving those sweet few hours you've had with the young athlete.
and that's why all you can do is beg for more as kageyama pushes your pretty face deeper into the mattress, ramming his big cock into your cum filled cunt like a man starved. he's been waiting for this for so long, he doesn't give a single damn about the pain ripping through his body from being so overstimulated, all he can think about is cumming inside of you again and again and again and again.
and the best part about it is that you don't even mind that at all.
notes: long drabble + nsfw + warrior!kiyoomi + implied kidnapping + dubcon + they just don’t understand what the other is saying
being big kiyoomi’s found play thing, living in the middle of nowhere on a misty mountain, away from people and life. a defensive little thing he picked up on a campaign (collateral), far from home and brought back on a mere whim from the ruined remains of your desolate homeland.
he doesn’t understand what you say most of the time, leaning his temple against his curled fist as he watches you huff and puff around the cabin he calls home, mouthing off about one thing or another. so unalike the first day he brought you, shivering like a leaf on a windy day, mute and demure, unsure of what a burly man like him would want from you.
you are cultures and languages away from understanding each other, but he had nowhere else to keep you once the high of war faded away and he came to his senses. kiyoomi was supposed to be practical man; his fellow warriors at the village suggested he passed you to them if he got bored with you (women were always appreciated under men’s roofs, for all and any reason in the desolate wilderness of these mountains) but as the days passed you slowly broke out of your shell, and he soon began coming home to dusted shelves and clean linen. he decides to keep you around, if for just a while to see what else you can do.
kiyoomi is also a very meticulous man; has always been—a stark contrast to the dirt-smeared men with questionable hygiene he would turn his nose up at, the sort of men wives sniffle about their lack of sensibility at the community bakehouse. he takes pride in order and tidiness, and knows the ins and outs of his own home. and for him, routine states that everything should be put in strategic order. but now, things are all over the place and he thinks he might be beginning to hallucinate, because that item over there was supposed to be elsewhere, and he cannot find—
you come out of the outdoor storeroom, with baskets full of things out-of-place, and kiyoomi’s head spins. he stomps across the house and through the backdoor, hoping he doesn’t seem as affronted as he feels, and grabs the offending baskets out of your surprised hands. you look at him as if he’s grown another head, taken back by what you understand is an irritated rant, watching him put away his items the way he wants them in his house. you huff irately behind his turned back, ignoring his grumbling as you dust your hands on a tattered apron you’ve found in a corner of his house. probably his as well.
kiyoomi sees the way you look at him, as if he was odd. he wants to understand what you’re doing, why you are turning the house upside down when everything is fine, but he feels that he would be unable to get his point across unless he shook you by the shoulders until you stopped your nonsense. but kiyoomi has little experience with women, even less with strange women from foreign lands, and something stops him from stooping low and treating you in a way that might be discourteous by any standards, whether yours of his. he recognises the nagging guilt of having towed an innocent woman away from her home, regardless of if it was common practice for warring men like him to regularly partake in raids and looting of enemy lands at the orders of their lords. pinching his brows, he silently prays thanks to good fortunes that he hasn’t done anything else that would be irreversible.
you both sleep in the same room. kiyoomi’s house is modest; he is a bachelor who often stays away due to the call of battle, but he likes to think that his room is comfortable enough to host another person. his own bedding is large enough to accommodate the length of his limbs, and your own is comprised of softer linens he had stored away, for any guests he might have had. but kiyoomi hardly has people over, and often times he wakes up in the middle of the darkness to someone else’s breathing in the comfort of his room. it takes time getting used to, and sometimes he feels like he has an outstaying guest over, until you open your mouth and sharply complain about one thing or another. or at least he thinks you are complaining.
the fact that neither of you can understand each other slowly drives him up the wall, and he lays awake at night, thinking of whether this is all truly worth the headache, keeping you here—if he should just pass you on to another house; after all, helping hands would be appreciated elsewhere— but he also thinks about how he can make the best of the situation. and again, kiyoomi is a practical man, so he begins to point out certain items around the house, and repeats their name, slowly and clearly, until you enunciate well enough for him to move on to the next item.
“soap.”
“soap.”
“my soap. and don’t move it from here. please.”
“please.” you giggle behind his back, but he rolls his eyes and continues as he goes around tidying up the corners of house. all is well and in order, until he gets to his battle gear. you questioningly peek over his road shoulders when he stills for a moment too long, until your eyes lands on his armour.
kiyoomi quietly observes the change in your expression through his long lashes, saying nothing when your mood visibly drops. he can almost feel the sad lump in your throat, and your lips part as if to say something, but you press them together contemplatively, staying quiet. the sunlight shines through the window, warming the gear leather he set out to maintain, but he forgets about it in favour for turning his attention to you. the rays illuminate the hovering particles around you, but in the moment, he thinks they make you look soft and forlorn.
you are a beautiful woman, kiyoomi muses at that moment, eyes following the arch of your brows to the slope of your nose. even the displeased press of your lips look lovely, and his hand lifts from his side with the intention of caressing the soft curve of your cheek, until you slowly look up to him with a resentful glare, acidic words piercing the silence and breaking the illusion. tender strings pull on kiyoomi’s heart as you turn away from him, the hateful stomps of your feet taking your away from him and creating a distance he didn’t think he would start to hate.
the house turns colder over the next few days. figuratively. you start finding larger morsels of bread on your plate, fresh berries by your pillow in the mornings. and though kiyoomi has always done the heavy and more difficult work like wood-cutting, you find that even most of the smaller chores have also been done (like scrubbing clothes by the cold river) leaving you with some of the more relaxing tasks. you realise this because the man—who had taken you away from your home—has always observed you as you went around his house keeping yourself busy, and you’ve ignored his raised brow when you would snuggle in a cozy corner to slow down and do more delicate tasks like mending clothes. there is something comforting in the repeated task of sewing, taking your mind off of other upsetting things, instead reminding yourself of what was, before you got here.
kiyoomi leaves you be, mind easing as you take to thread and needle by the sunny corner of his lodgements. it is definitely the guilt driving his mind and limbs to get menial work out of the way of your comfort, but he doesn’t mind, seeing the way your eyebrow relaxes and then frowns in concentration. the realisation that he want to care for you is not lost on him. he wants to do more. he wants you to look at him, turn your chin in his direction wherever he goes, and lord help him, he wants your attention for himself. there is something rising fast within him—a need to monopolise you for himself.
but you already have. she is yours. a despicable voice in his mind whispers, and kiyoomi tightens his curled fists, willing the crescent of his nails against his palms to distract him from the fast throbing of his pulse, his mind daring him to act on the growing desire in his heart.
he takes it to the nearest tavern instead, braving the cold gusts to clear his mind. the air is stuffy and warm, and he drink he orders does a quick job of warming him up again when he settles. he doesn’t speak nor socialise, instead letting the surrounding conversation flow through his ears to stop his treacherous mind from drifting into territory he would rather avoid. he doesn’t want to think about the consequences of certain thoughts, washing away everything with another sip of his drink.
“—yeah but you see, and who will they run off to? they are way less trouble than the lasses from the village.”
kiyoomi catches the tail of a conversation, not really listening.
“…and they picked some sturdy ones from the loot. the lord kept some of the better ones for labour… but some of the men were given other women for their effort…”
it must be the drink making his tongue bitter.
“…my wife doesn’t live with me anymore… and these girls are better at doing all the house maintenance. so i borrowed one to come over to… she looked young and a bit testy, so i—“
slamming his mug on the wood, kiyoomi stands when the conversation takes a grisly turn too close for comfort, existing the establishment into the darkness of the evening to return to the comfort of his own house. except you are there, standing by the door when he enters, candle illuminating your frown. the cold air from the open door blows your (his) wayward shawl, and you shiver through the thin layers of your night clothes.
he stands towering over you like a shadow, neck bent and dark curls falling over his eyes. maybe it is the homey atmosphere under the candlelight, but your pinched brows remind him of a wife waiting for her wayward husband. he thinks you look cute, and an instinct makes him stoke the space between your eyebrows. you squeak back in surprise, and the wide-eyed look you give him through your lashes makes desire overtake his being. he wants you. he wants to make you his. he wants to be the only man to touch you. to be the only one to have rights to you. to touch the skin hidden under all the layers keeping you from him. to take your heat from himself, your lips on him, the soft sounds you would make for him only—
he comes to reality when one of your hands grips his wrist, blunt nails digging in his skin. the wrist of the hand on your neck, his large palm covering your thundering pulse. you’re looking at him with parted lips, an unsure look in your eyes, but the small touch you give him burns him, and he throws all reason out of the door, pushing your back with his larger frame. you almost stumble on the wooden floor, bare feet tangling with his boots, grabbing on the lapels of his coat so you don’t fall back.
kiyoomi’s lips are on yours in a searing hot kiss, sealing away any regrets and melting into a relief he thinks a thirty man in hot lands would feel when he reaches an oasis. he ignores your gasps and swallows any words you might utter, dragging his wet tongue against yours then on the outline of your lips. he wants to consume you whole, take everything you have to offer.
his hands run down your heating body, pressing your body to his tightly, closing any gaps of doubts as his hands gather and bundle your long layers of skirts to grope at the flesh of your thighs. you squeal in his ear as he moves to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck, sucking and biting every time you pull on his hair in shaky breaths. you say something tensely to him, but he’s too occupied with the soft skin of your throat, until he feels the uncomfortable tightness in his trousers pressing against your stomach.
kiyoomi takes a moment in his madness to take a look at you; your wobbly chin and wet eyes look so pretty to him as you still hold on his black curls in tight fists, and he knows he wants you desperately this moment.
“you can hold me properly in a moment.”
you look like you’re about to say something until he pulls your dress off of you, and in the chill of his chambers, you hands fly up to save any remaining modesty you can salvage.
“no—let me see you.” he says desperately, grabbing your wrists away from your body. he can’t tear his eyes off of the sway of your tits when you try to pull away from him, but kiyoomi is too far gone, a man too deep in his desires. he will make you his, please you until you forget all reason.
he grabs and traps your hands behind your back in one hand, pushing you down on the bedding laid out underneath, your knees knocking against his and pressing on his sides. your breathy moans fill the room as he deliriously takes your nipple in his mouth, his hot tongue lapping at your sensitive nerves. you try to wriggle away from his attentions and ticklish touches, tears streaming down the sides of your face. kiyoomi drags himself to your navel, which rises and falls with your shallow breathes, hiccups escaping your parted, wet lips. he thinks you looks ravishing, body quivering and trembling under him, chest pushed out over your trapped wrists and nipples stiff in the quickly warming room. your try pressing your knees together, wriggling nervously with his face so close to the apex of your thighs. you’re repeating something under your breath, but he doesn’t understand what you say, and with the smell of your arousal so close, he looses his senses. though deep down he knows it isn’t true, he thinks it’s partially your fault for being so alluring. when did this start? kiyoomi can’t tell right from left and beginning from end, and he lets go of your wrists to part your thighs and expose your hot cunt to his prying eyes. your hands fly to cover yourself and to press against his forehead, looking down at him through the valley of your breasts with eyes desperately asking something.
but he has run out of patience with your trembling cries, and he bites your fingers. when you take them away by surprise, he buries his nose into the fragrance of your fold, tongue lapping at your dripping cunt like a starved man. he hears you crying at this point, but your arousal is evident to him by the musk coating his tongue, and he presses inside of you, tasting as much as he can until the point of suffocation.
the wind wildly knocks on the window, drowned out by the wet slurping of kiyoomi’s insistent efforts. your thighs tremble around his head, feet pressing into his clothed back. when your rising whimpers alert him of your rising peak, he slurps and sucks until your high-pitched moan breaks into the steamy room, body twitching and hips swaying against his tongue as he aids you through your high.
kiyoomi backs up for a moment to take you in; tremors wrack your body as you try to suppress any further noise by covering your mouth, with your glistening cunt exposed to him, your cum dripping out in pearly drops onto the linen underneath. he takes this moment to rid himself of his own clothes, and you watch from the corner of your eyes as his battle scars and hard muscle are exposed to the dimming candle. you knew this man was a soldier, but some of these scars still looks fresh.
he notices your staring. “they are of no consequence. they won’t stop me.”
he sees your gears turning to say something witty he imagines, but he drags your body down with strong arms until he is directly over you, curls falling around his eyes. you’re distracted with the intense gaze he keeps on you, and you jolt when your hands graze something hot. and hard.
he observes your dumbfounded expression as his hands keep yours on his leaking cock, dragging your fingers across its length as he lets out shivering exhales. he’s tainting your skin with his own arousal, a thought that lights a fire under him. his cock falls heavily on your still wet cunt, and kiyoomi sees you starting to shy away, pressing your palms on his chest as he slowly drags his tip along your folds.
you say something desperately to him, almost on the verge of tears again, but he’s already pushing past the initial resistance of your heat, and he sees you struggling to breathe.
“shh… relax. i will make you feel good.” you’re shaking your head, but the soft gasps and little cries escaping your lips are so sweet to his ears, he decides he wants to hear more. so he pushes himself all the way inside you, the tight heat making him lose composure as he takes a moment to gather himself.
you’re gripping his forearms, nails digging crescents into his skin, and he presses kisses all over your face in an attempt to sooth your tense face.
“let me take care of you.” he shushes you before he begins moving, slowly dragging his hips away until he sheaths himself up to his balls again, over and over until he’s panting over you and you’re crying something. you feel unbelievably good, whatever guilt he was previously feeling melting between your bodies until he’s forgotten about his previous worries. the wet slapping of his hips has his ears red, as he looks down to your tear-streaked face and groping hands with a certain fondness. he wants to hear your sweet moans again, but choked out words pass your lips instead, and in the heat of the moment, he flips you on your side, pressing his cock into your hot cunt from another angle, one of your legs raised above his shoulder.
you’re drooling on his pillow by now, but he pays no mind, instead reaching his fingers down your thighs to press into the bundle of nerves in your clit, and your strained moans fill the room again. the light of the flickering candle cast moving shadows on the wall in an imitation of your acts. kiyoomi thinks he’s close now, and he feels you are too, so with a few drags of his hips and the press of his thumb into your swollen clit, he comes undone when your cunt wetly tightens around him. your hips thrash under his hold, but he keeps his cock inside you, releasing his cum in the heat of your body.
you’re both sweating profusely now, with the room reeks of arousal. kiyoomi watched over your collapsed body on his knees, coming down to wipe away your forehead with the back of his fingers.
“i told you to let me take care of you.” he coos at your whimpers and teary eyes. “rest now, and let me handle everything else.” he will take care of everything so you can rest in the embrace and security of his arms. he will be the only one for you, the only one in your world, so you won’t turn your attentions to any other man. kiyoomi steels his resolutions as you sleepily blink at him, your bitter glare hidden behind your fluttering lashes and closing lids, letting the darkness overtake your consciousness.
not a word has been said to you since you’ve entered back into katsuki’s car. minus asking how your friends are getting home, he just sits driving. jaw clenched, fists tight on the wheel. his ruby eyes are narrowed on the road ahead and his eyebrows are furrowed. he’s only touched you when first walked out. gripping your chin, pulling your head side to side then raking his eyes over your body for any signs of injury. once he was sure there was none, he stomped off to the car, opening your car door before walking around to step into the drivers side.
“they thought you were stealin’ the car. ran the plates saw it belonged to me and called,” he grunts, one hand on the wheel as he stares ahead in deep thought. lesson for next time is not to borrow your boyfriend’s car and get in trouble. not that you were planning on getting in trouble again.
“snitches. what else they say?”
“whole more than you’ve fuckin’ said,” he spits, one glance at you before he’s back focusing on the road.
you’re exasperated, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare out the window, “this is why i didn’t want to tell you… yet.”
“yet? so you were plannin’ on tellin’ me that you got in a fight with a group of men in the club and got your ass thrown in jail?” he’s way more annoyed than you thought he’d be and this was exactly what you wanted to miss.
“i was! just… when it was sorted out. i didn’t expect it to escalate.” you defend, your voice becoming a whine.
“yeah it escalated to me picking you up from jail. this shit is my fuckin’ job.”
“your job isn’t sorting out arguments at a club. your job is fighting world class villains,” you quip but it doesn’t give any effect as when the traffic light shines red, he takes his time to stare you down like you’re stupid.
“my job is protectin’ you. and if you don’t even feel comfortable tellin’ me when you’ve got an issue then we’ve got another problem.”
you shy away from his stare, heart beating heavy in your chest at his deceleration, “i just didn’t wanna see you worried about me.”
katsuki takes a second to relax his frown, trying his best to see the situation from your point of view, “did they deserve it?”
all your anger from before began to rise up and out of you, “fucking rich boys were pissing us off and then got scared like a pussy when they saw our quirks. called the cops. one of their stupid rich dads bailed them all out.”
katsuki listens, but huffs out a laugh at the end, “how’s that different to you? i bailed you out?”
“i’ll pay you back though. and it’s the principle!”
not even in hell would katsuki let you pay him back but he softens undoubtedly so, “baby,” you look over to him with the first pet name of the day. “i don’t give a fuck what happens. you tell me. before they were pissing you off, after they were, when they called the cops, fuck, even when you were even in the cell like the lil criminal you are… you call me.”
“y’know i’ll always be on your side? god forbid there comes a day when i won’t choose you. even if you were in the wrong i would.” he takes your hand off your lap and places it in his. he squeezes it before laying a kiss on your knuckles, “felt like i fuckin’ failed as a boyfriend when i got a call from a pig tellin’ me he thinks my cars been stolen by my girlfriend.”
you sigh, “i didn’t want to worry you and i really thought i had it sorted! i didn’t think that would happen.”
katsuki cuts you off quickly, “i don’t fuckin’ care. you know how i hate the cops. woulda got you outta there a whole lot quicker than whatever you were plannin’ to do.”
you nod, ultimately agreeing it probably would have been smarter to call your pro hero boyfriend. the one who was levels more powerful in raw strength and status than all the people involved combined.
it’s coming up to six am and you’ve been awake way longer than you’ve planned to be. it was only supposed to be a quiet night with your girlfriends and back at home with your man by three. it definitely wasn’t in your cards to land in jail and being picked up in the morning.
and whenever you were tired, your stubbornness has ran its course and you were wildly uncomfortable in your dress, tiny tears slipped out your eyes. with only one hand, since he was holding your other, you tried to wipe your eyes without him noticing. but he noticed everything, especially when it was only you both in the car.
“tired, baby?” he softly asks, previous moments of annoyance disappeared.
“yeah, v—very.”
“don’t cry, we’ll be home in ten. quick shower and we’ll be in bed. yeah?”
you nod, wiping your nose with a sniff, “love you katsuki.”
a/n: haven’t written in so long >< this is my first time writing since i just can’t fall asleep lolll enjoy;; not proofread
genre: fluff
warnings: f!reader, mention of marriage
—
it doesn’t matter if you’re fast asleep or wide awake— he’ll always find a way to convey his love to you. whether it be spooning you til he hugs you too tight or telling you directly that he loves you.
sometimes, a simple squeeze of your hand tells you all you need to know. he’s got you— he’ll support you no matter what, for better or worse, for richer or for poorer, and in sickness or in health.
you know this as he says his vows, holding your hand accordingly, as he squeezes it once more after hearing “you may now kiss the bride”.
a/n: haven’t written in so long >< this is my first time writing since i just can’t fall asleep lolll enjoy;; not proofread
genre: fluff
warnings: f!reader, mention of marriage
—
it doesn’t matter if you’re fast asleep or wide awake— he’ll always find a way to convey his love to you. whether it be spooning you til he hugs you too tight or telling you directly that he loves you.
sometimes, a simple squeeze of your hand tells you all you need to know. he’s got you— he’ll support you no matter what, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, and in sickness or in health.
you know this as he says his vows, holding your hand accordingly, as he squeezes it once more after hearing “you may now kiss the bride”.
authors note: first post back from my hiatus :D you guys have no idea how excited i am to be writing again ! also 🤨🤨 this idea was a request and for some reason it literally just disappeared as soon as i made a draft for it so that was odd but we digress … hope you all enjoy 🫶
Synopsis: beefy men using their weight to their advantage during sex
Notes: I learned that wonho is less beefy than bokuto, atsumu and others and I haven’t been the same since. Just eagerly horny to be crushed, like please sit on me.
warnings: fem body parts, public sex, handcuffing, MAJOR breeding kink, manhandling, unprotected sex
suna who fucks you up against the wall of the janitor’s closet. you’re the manager for his team and have been in a secret relationship for the past few weeks. it’s safe to say that the sexual tension between you two had increased overtime. most of the time it was the cause of you doing innocent things like bending over, chewing on your bottom lip, laughing at something someone said or the worst, touching another player as you help them. suna is notorious for getting jealous and in result fucking the shit out of you. you have your legs around his waist, his hips are doing most of the grunt work out of anger. not only are they holding you up but their movement causes rin’s fat tip to hit up against your gspot every time. your eyes roll back in your head and before you can let out a moan, the middle blocker shoves two of his fingers in your mouth. “look at you, acting like a bitch in heat around my cock right now. if you can’t shut the fuck up ill give you a reason to be loud.” he hissed, pressing more of his weight into you. but it doesn’t matter how quiet you are, not when anyone within a 20 foot radius could hear his fat balls clapping against your ass and the ‘thump thump’ of the door…
atsumu who drags you both to the rooms at the victory village to test out the beds durability…and your flexibility. you’re there for gymnastics, he’s there for volleyball. the minute he got alone time in the room without any of his roommates, he didn’t hesitate to tear off your clothes and his. next thing you know you’re folded over in a mating press, your boyfriend pounding your cunt. you’re a bawling mess as his pace doesn’t let up and your breathing is restricted because of his weight. if atsumu is one thing, he is thick. his muscular thighs hug your sides, caging your body. the place where both of your bodies meet is obscenely messy. there’s a loud squelch from every time the faux blond pulls out and he can’t help but crave more of it. he wants you be entirely ruined for him. and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. he’s going to go for as long as it takes to break you. “you can take more can’t ya angel? gotta see just how good these beds are…and how far i can spread these pretty legs.”
ushijima who batters your pussy with his absolute fat rod of a cock. the ace hadn’t used his full strength in the past but when you begged him to, saying that you could ‘handle’ it, you really didn’t know what you were signing up for. currently he has you laid out for him pretty on the bed, hips pounding your ass and causing your whole body to move up the bed each time. “t-toshi, slow down…” you whine, trying to grab his forearm but failing. he only takes your hands and pins them down to the bed, his hulking figure smothering yours as he readjusts his hips to move at a faster pace. a shrill cry escapes you as you lay there, unable to do anything but take it all. the ace tsks at your whining and shakes his head. “you asked for this love. you said you could handle it so that’s what you’re going to do. you’re going to be a good girl for me and take it all. got it?”
bokuto who absolutely lost it when he saw you holding your friend’s baby at a party you two went to. he can’t help but imagine you pregnant with his child and how cute you would look. that night when you both got home, he pushed you both into the bedroom and shut the door. bokuto pulls off your bottoms before removing his own. he strokes himself and whines when his hands come in contact with his sensitive balls. the man is just about ready to burst. he hooks your legs around his waist, instructing you to lock your legs together. the first time he pumps his load into you, there’s an animalistic look in his golden eyes as he feels your cunt milk him so well. he has you laying on your stomach, his weight basically on top of you as he drills into your pussy again and again. the best you can do is hold onto his arms and listen to his grunts. the poor baby has overstimulated himself for so long that he has both of you shaking. “i’m sorry baby, can’t help it…need to make sure that i fuck a baby into you by tonight. i can’t wait any longer-ha, you’re going to look so beautiful carrying our babies…my babies. you’ll give me a whole volleyball team, right? they’re going to look so cute…”
hate fucking with osamu. you’re business rivals and your relationship has never been the best. there is constant bickering and criticism of food ideas and recipes, often getting the better of you two. but one thing neither one of you two could admit was the underlying sexual tension that’s there. so one day when he sees you flirting chatting with another restaurant owner, one that you happen to be on way better terms with than him, he snaps. osamu marches over to your restaurant and drags you into his own, not caring that he interrupted your conversation. you sputter and complain the entire time, calling him an ‘asshole’ and a ‘human with no decent respect’. but as soon as he’s in his office he shreds your clothes before he fucks you over a chair near the window. he presses your bare body against the glass. “not so talkative now, are ya?” he breathes into your ear. “yer such a slut, anyone could walk by and see ya like this and you’d like it, wouldn’t ya?” he pushes your tits against the transparent surface, groaning when your plush ass grinds back on his cock. you whimper in response, the pressure too much but he only pins your hands above so they can’t move. “aht aht baby, you take what i give ya.”osamu really hopes that the man can see how well he fucks you and that he’s the only one who can make you feel this good.
daichi who handcuffs your wrists so you can’t move or touch him as part of your ‘punishment’. currently he fucks you from behind, his strokes slow and deep. each time he fully thrusts back in you feel yourself coming close to release but then daichi deprives you of it by pulling away. you whine, your hand itching to grab ahold of his thick thighs to bounce yourself back on him. “what’s wrong, baby?” he asks, thrusting into you for the umpteenth time. “want more, dai. want your cock.” “but that’s what i’m giving you right now, right? i’m being a lot nicer than i should be aren’t i? maybe if you ask politely i’ll let up on your punishment.” he doesn’t have to tell you twice. “please fuck me harder, i’ve been good m’deserve it! i promise i’ll be on my best behavior!” you plea, trying to back into his touch. he chuckles before he yanks back your tied up wrists so you’re pressed flush to his chest. he swiftly grabs ahold of your thighs before pinning you under him. police training has really paid off, huh? next thing you know daichi is bullying your cunt, his pace unruly. there’s nowhere for you to go or budge. instead of begging for more you’re now begging him to slow down. your thighs cramp from where he holds you in place and you hear him snicker. “but this is what you wanted, right? this is what you were begging for? my cock? i don’t think criminals get to decide what they don’t or do get and when.”
do not copy and or repost. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated though! (c) 2022 hyque
need iwa to tap his cock on my cheek and tongue :(
he would smile and laugh a bit when you pout for him to take his cock out if his pants. but instead of actually doing it he would take your hands and place them on his bulge, eyes never leaving yours so he can watch you get surprised by the tiny action.
mmm and he would call you his pretty princess when you would get on your knees so obediently :((( think ur so cute when you kiss his cockhead so gently even though he knows that in a few minutes you'll be drooling and slobbering around his cock, but that's what he loves about you.
and he really likes holding his heavy cock in one hand and tracing the precum lined tip over your pretty lips, painting them in a glossy sheen that you lick up with a sigh.
iwa thinks it's so cute that those little actions put you in a haze so quickly, that he barely has to do anything, before you're pawing at his dick whining to put it in your mouth.
makeout sessions with osamu are long. it’s 8;45, and onigiri miya closes in 15 minutes, but you can bare another moment without your mouth on osamu’s. you pull him in by his collar, wrapping your hands around to his grey roots. they’re sweaty from being up since six in the morning, but you don’t give a fuck. his eyes widen, flickering up to the door where there were no signs of customers. his hands find purchase on your waist, pulling your body flush against his. you whine, needy for him as you rub your tongue against his. he growls against your mouth, pulling away much to your dismay. ‘gimme a sec’, he grunts, stepping away from the counter and walking over to the front door. he flips the electronic ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, making his way back over to you. he could close 15 minutes late for you.
makeout sessions with sakusa are possessive. he wants you and only you. some may think his greatest pleasure was scoring the final point in the men’s v league grand final last year, but sakusa knows it’s only in second. his greatest pleasure was feeling your lips slide against his, hearing your small groans of pleasure. his fingers are long and wrapped around your throat, eyes squeezed closed. the feeling of rapture gushes throughout his athletic body, making his heart pounder faster than it would after a game of volleyball. he’s cradling your face, thumbs stroking at your cheeks as he presses his growing erection against your stomach, giving you the hint that he needed you now.
makeout sessions with daichi are breath taking. he treats you like you’re made of glass, so careful not to hurt you. it doesn't take much for you to succumb to his touch, only a mere palm on the back of your neck has you moaning into his mouth. his lips are soft and taste like vanilla lip balm as he rests his hand on the wall where he has you in a kabedon. his other hand cups around the back of your neck, pulling you in impossibly closer. his thumb hooks under the angle of your jaw, tilting your head up with a simple press. he's hooked onto you, taking a brief moment to pull away and admire your flushed face. he’s got an unreadable expression on his face, maybe, coy? you don’t waste another second wandering about it as you flex onto your tippy toes and press your mouth back against his.
makeout sessions with ukai are merciless. you’ve been sending him naughty texts all day, even sending a scandalous photo of your upskirt once. you hear the door slam when you come home, heavy footsteps quickly making their way to your bedroom door. you lay down your book, and you’re not even able to utter a word before keishin grabs your wrists, pinning them above you and pressing his crotch down onto yours. he takes a second to admire the fear and shock on your face, ahead of pressing his lips down onto yours, compelling his tongue into your mouth. fervently, he tongues every inch of your mouth, grasping at your tits through your shirt, grinding his cock down onto your crotch. he pulls away, watching your wide eyes and open mouth as you struggle to catch your breath. he takes the opportunity to spit inside of your mouth, reaching up and closing your jaw. ‘your mouth shouldn’t open unless it’s to put my cock in’, he says, rubbing his thumb over your lips as you swallow.
makeout sessions with tsukishima are unfair. he teases you endlessly, refusing to bend down to reach your lips. you pout, looking up at him. your puppy dog eyes make him give in, arching down you press his lips against yours. you sigh dazedly, allowing him to glide his tongue into your mouth. precisely as you’re about to start sucking on it, he pulls away and stands back up to his regular height. you look up at him, a perplexed look crossing your face. he leans back down, tricking you into thinking he was going to continue. he stops when his mouth reaches your ear, smirking internally when he hears your breath hitch. ‘if you want more, you gotta work for it’, he whispers in a low voice, slender fingers coming to your head and pushing you to your knees.
makeout sessions with ushijima are impatient. you knew when he slipped that ring on his finger, his training hours were long and you would only see him during the night and on the weekends. you often found yourself craving his touch throughout the day, but you knew better than to touch yourself without him. when he finally opens the front door at 8:15, you’re throwing yourself onto him, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he gently reciprocates, sliding his hands down your hips. your hands snake under his white tank top, feeling across his sweaty abs. this truly was the best part of your day.
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just thinking about when you’re getting ready to do the freak nasty with jean, connie, eren, or armin and you stop right before taking your clothes off cause you’re insecure about having pubic hair down there.
jean would reassure you that it’s normal and show you his little happy trail that connected to a light brown bush, in hopes that you’d feel somewhat better, but if you don’t feel like it anymore he’s more than willing to just cuddle or something.
armin who also would try to softly talk you out of that insecurity, telling you he has one too if that makes you feel any better (and he probably is insecure about his too), before sheepishly showing you his. he also wouldn’t pressure you into continuing.
connie who would already be booty-butt-ass-naked saying “shouldn’t everyone have that? anyway look at mine!” he’d kind of see it as a competition and get jokingly (or maybe literally) sad if you have more than him. man would be showing it off like a trophy. wouldn’t be serious about any of this and would probably forget you guys were about to fuck.
eren who’s only in loose sweatpants that he swiftly tugged off to show you mini eren’s well kept mane, looking at you like there’s something wrong with you before going over to you and continuing where you both had left off unless you don’t feel like it anymore.
lol why did this turn into “oh, you have one?! look, i have one too!”
