Summary: Ngozi Achebe has big dreams and aspirations for herself, but she has an even bigger quirk. Can U.A. help her achieve her goals of being the hero that she’s meant to be? With a power that belongs to the stars, she navigates as if she owns the galaxies. She has to decide if she wasn’t to shine brightly or go out in a blaze of glory. Will she prove to be a blessing or end up cursed?
Dividers: @uzmacchiato
Chapter 2: The Umbrella Girl (Part 1)
Locker room talk with the girls was everything but also nothing simultaneously. They continued to learn more about each other. Places they’re from, ages, birthdays. Since Ngozi was the only international student in their class, it was only natural they would like to learn more about her. She didn’t see any harm in that and was pretty open to sharing what felt safe.
“So you’re from Africa, I’ve always wanted to travel there one day.” Ochaco slid her tank top over her bosom, smoothing it out. Ngozi opened up her locker as she began to place her school uniform. “Yeah, I was born in Nigeria. There’s so many different places, people and cultures. That’s what makes it very unique.” She reminisced about her homeland, spending a great portion of childhood there before moving around. During most summers she would go back and visit.
“Yeah, it’s a little funny. I was born during a meteor shower. So that’s how I got my name.” She was born in Africa, Nigeria specifically. A beautiful place with vibrant land and lots of culture. Her accent became more prominent the longer she spoke. “It means Blessing in Igbo. It’s a one letter difference, turn the ‘Z’ into a ‘S’ , my name would have meant Star. My Nana said it is the universe’s way of welcoming me home.” She used to cringe at this, but now she was starting to embrace it. It left a little bit of a sore spot as well since her passing, but it would be something she would cherish.
“That’s so wonderful how they thought of that.” Momo placed a hand over her heart, clearly moved by the gesture that paid homage.
She pulled down the black tank over her waistbeads, unaware her back was showing. Her skin was riddled with tiny spots that would twinkle, and a constellation that looked a little like a crab, the symbol for cancer.
“Whoa! Dude, is that a tattoo? That looks so damn badass!” Jiro zipped up her uniform before coming a little closer but keeping a respectful distance.
“Oh no, it’s basically a birthmark. It’s been like that since my quirk activated.” Ngozi explained, rubbing her side, where her skin would shimmer if she tried hard enough.
Ngozi felt herself starting to feel her to get a bit shy. Her fleckles would often twinkle like a natural blush, a tell-tale sign of her emotions. So she eased herself into new conservation of what Mr. Aizawa could possibly be planning for them.
“So, any ideas of what cruel and unusual punishment we might endure?” Ngozi pivoted the conversation off of herself to the actual task at hand.
Now dressed in the standard navy blue uniforms, Class 1-A stood underneath the warm sun, everyone had gathered around Mr. Aizawa. There was open track space, hurdles, and several other obstacles placed in various positions. Murmurs spread about what they could possibly be doing. They were going to have to see how capable they were to actually become heroes.
She absentmindedly twirled her parasol, a habit of hers recently. A handcrafted gift made of bamboo, it was navy blue laced with gold, on the handle was a Sun and Moon charm. Ngozi knew the real trials were about to begin. She had to make sure that she could stand out from the rest—especially since it looked like she already had a target on her back. She ignored the intense crimson gaze across from the field.
“Get ready for a good old fashion fitness test.” Mr. Aizawa lazily stuffed one of his hands in his pocket to produce a timer.
Many seemed a bit uncertain about how this was going to work for them with their quirks. Many of them could be at a disadvantage. No one was more nervous than Midorya who looked like he was going to be sick. This was just going to be a formality, just to gauge where they were at currently, no pressure right? “Mr. Aizawa, you’re seeing how well we have adapted with our quirks?” Ngozi raised her hand, asking what everyone was probably thinking.
“Essentially yes, it only makes sense to measure your abilities to see what kind of heroes you’ll be in the future. That being said, do take this seriously as you will be graded. The student with the lowest score will be expelled.”
‘Expelled?! Abeg, we literally just got here!’
Quiet gasps and nervous gulps overtook the students. Ngozi couldn’t believe it, he had to be bluffing. Gone if they couldn’t measure up with the best of the best? Surely her stamina had improved over the years. She had taken up track, dance, and gymnastics— which she ended up loving because they were great for her. She needed to do well and conserve her energy wisely. She couldn’t afford a fainting spell on her very first day, that would be utter humiliation. She could feel his prominent gaze on her as he spoke.
‘Pull yourself together girl and lock in real quick! You can do this!’
She attempted to hype herself up then began stretching her limbs just as the rest of classmates did. In the corner of her eyes was Izuku who was visibly turning the color of his hair. “You alright there?” She called out to him, slight concern in her expressions.
“Y-Yes! Never better, Achebe-san!” He was a bad liar, she couldn’t help but feel for him. They were probably in the same boat, quirks that were awesome on the outside, but brutal on the inside.
As always there was an overconfident blonde who sported a shit-eating grin, slamming his hand into his fist, crackling and popping emitting from his palms, leaving a smoky residue. Constantly wearing pride on his sleeve, it was very evident in his attitude.
“Hell yeah! Time to show all you extras the real deal!”
“Yeah, I’m totally cooked.” Denki anxiously chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Speak for yourself! Some of us don’t have a lot to work with!” Mineta cried, being the smallest and physically challenged out of all of them. Kirishima on the other hand was full of adrenaline, flexing his muscles proudly. “Whoo! Let’s gooo!!!”
“Let’s do our best!” Uraraka attempted to help boost their morale as well, with nods of affirmation and agreement.
Starting off with the distance throws, each of them would stand in the center circle, throwing the baseball to the best of their abilities. In true egoist fashion the explosion boy Bakugo was up first stepping up to the plate, throwing the most brutal of pitches.
“Take this! DIE!!”
The ball all but exploded into smoke, as it came back crashing down in a puff of smoke. He wore a satisfied grin as Mr. Aizawa announced his score, surely nobody in the class would beat that score.
“705.2 meters. Excellent range.”
Smugness radiated through Katsuki as he scoffed. This was apparently way too easy for him. How were they supposed to compete with that? As everyone took their turn to make their throws in the circle, many scored pretty fair or fairly low. He looked like he was about to combust when Izuku scored a tenth of a meter more than him. Even though it cost him a finger. She cringed, knowing the pain in must of caused him.
‘Mcwh, not a lick of sportsmanship.’
“Achebe, you’re up.” The exhausted gruff of a teacher held up his clipboard, marking the charts of his students.
Ngozi sighed softly before closing her umbrella, stamping it into the dirt as if it was a cane. She rolled back her shoulders before stepping into the circle. Catching the ball that Mr. Aizawa threw to her, winded her arm back, activating her quirk as a soft multi-colored aura began glowing around her body, tiny golden flecks of stardust emitted from her hand. Her deep bronze complexion seemed to shimmer, like millions of tiny stars dotting the night sky. In that instance, launching the ball as far as she physically could.
The ball propelled itself on stardust, shooting out of the field like a rocket, until there was nothing left but a twinkle in the sky. Her quirk was now deactivated as the halo-like aura disappeared from her.
“That was good…Right?”
Aizawa glanced down at the pacer, a brief sigh that was unimpressed but also unamused, leaving his lips. “It didn’t register, so I’m going to have to assume it’s an infinity.” The class interrupted into pure chaos.
“HUH?!”
“How did you even do that?”
“Incredible! Did that go into space?!”
To say she was flustered was an understatement. It went farther than she had anticipated, it was no wonder now why her parents didn’t put her in any sports that involved throwing or were quite extreme. There was a pretty good chance that the ball wasn’t coming back down. If it did, she hoped it was where that wasn’t populated, or some random ocean.
‘Chie! I’m so sorry nature!’
“Don’t think you’re hot shit, Sparkles! Being flashy doesn’t mean you’re the best.” Katsuki growled, moving past the Nigerian girl as he made his way to the next obstacle. Ngozi knew he was trying to get under her skin, but she wasn’t to let him see her stress.
“You’re right. I never said I was. But you probably think I am. It's not my fault you feel that way.” Ngozi flipped her hair, her long braids grazing his shoulders as she pressed forward, adding further insult to injury. She wasn’t going to give the satisfaction of getting under her skin.
Ngozi tried not to feel overwhelmed as it was only a single test, there were still several more tests left to do. She was just glad that she didn’t feel winded for the most part, she didn’t really experience aching and soreness. She could probably keep this up, making her rather hopeful.
The students continued through the courses, doing everything from the pacer, side jumps, distance running, grip strength. Countless tests to make sure they would reach peak physicality. Once completed, Mr. Aizawa rallied everyone together to discuss their scoring before he dismissed everyone. She had placed seventh, not the highest but not really low. It was rather safe. She thought she didn’t do bad at all, though she did wonder if she held back too much.
“Achebe. A word please.” She tried not to let dread fill her thoughts. Surely he hadn’t noticed, he couldn’t have been that perceptive. Who was she kidding? He probably had her entire file sitting somewhere in his file. He was the damn teacher, what could she possibly get away with? She walked over, ready to face the music.
Mr. Aizawa had called her over quietly to see him. He snuck a pass to Recovery Girl into her hands. She attempted not to frown. “End of day, I will be checking in” She nodded slowly as he gave a look of finality. She was not escaping this at all. “Yes, sir.”
Ngozi caught back up with the rest of her classmates, doing her best not to look forlorn. Today was one of her better days, though she couldn’t say how rest would be.
‘As long as I don’t run into anyone from class I should be good.’
She breathed out a slight sigh, her relief short-lived as she nearly forgot Midoriya was headed in that direction at the moment. She told herself to freak out, maybe he wouldn’t see her.
“Yup, you’re definitely not beating the fairy allegations!” Mina nudged her shoulders, as they walked back to the locker rooms to change before their academics.
“Are you sure about that? I don’t think I did anything gracefully.” Ngozi mused, pride was not her current state of mind. The note for the infirmary was burning a hole in her pocket, it was making her more anxious than anything. “GIRL! You literally sparkle, then you threw that ball so far into orbit we’ll probably never see it again! If I were you, I’d never stop bragging.”
“You have nothing to worry about, you all saw I short-circuited just running. I barely made it.” Denki shook his head, sighing loudly. This began to reassure Ngozi a little. Everyone was just trying to do their best.
This made Ngozi well up with laughter, because how could somebody be so honest? It made her think to herself, if they really knew what it was like? They wouldn’t be saying things so lightly. There wasn’t time to dwell on those things.
Lagos, Nigeria - 13 Years Ago…
The sun was beaming overhead in the middle of a school field, it happened to be a particularly warm day. That didn’t stop the young children from enjoying themselves during recess. They chased each other, played games, and played with toys. A tiny Ngozi ran across the field kicking a soccer ball. Her two tightly coiled afropuffs bounced, the gold clips holding them secure as she dribbled with her small feet, excitement shone through her features.
"Hey! Nyefee ya ebe a!"
“Hey! Pass it over here!”
A boy with hair with a buzz cute, a complexion of honey brown skin waved over to her as he ran.
"Ọ dị mma! Lee, ị gawa!"
“Okay! Here you go!”
She kicked over the soccer ball with rampant enthusiasm to the young boy. Her skin started to glisten in the sunlight as perspiration began to surcease.
"Bịa, mee ya!"
“Come on! Do it!”
Another young boy and girl were running besides them equally cheering and rooting to shoot the ball into the net. Ngozi began slowing down and as everyone picked up the pace, moving past her. Her breathing became heavy and her heart rate quickened.
"Chere m!"
“Wait for me!”
Ngozi cried as her legs began buckling under the weight of her small frame. She fell forward, collapsing as she couldn’t hold herself up any longer. Everything was tingling and she felt so exhausted. She struggled to pick herself back up but she didn’t have any strength.
"Enweghị m ike ịkwaga! Ọ na-ewute!"
“I can’t move! It hurts!”
She felt herself becoming dizzy as her vision blurred. The kids stopped what they were doing, running over to her, attempting to help before summoning a teacher to assist. Ngozi’s skin glimmered once more before her eyes rolled back, finally passing out.
"Ngọzi! Ngọzi! Teta!"
“Wake up!”
The academic school day came and went. Learning how to become a hero was one thing, but following the curriculum material was another beast. The classes packed a mean punch, math and science couldn’t even touch her. Ngozi mopped the floor with English. The only class that gave her a true challenge was the Japanese class, since it was mainly focused on the characters and writing systems.
“Whoever made all these classes back to back, may your bed be made of bricks.” Mina stabbed at her Omurice, nearly breaking the plate.
“Mina Ashido!”
Ngozi nearly hollered, clearly surprised by her clear disdain for academics. She couldn’t contain her laughter, cheeks subtly twinkling with amusement.
“I don’t care! I mean it!”
“You’re supposed to be scholarly or whatever Iida said.”
“You’re just saying that because you know how to do it.” Mina folded her arms and pouted.
“Maybe…” Ngozi giggled.
At lunch, Ngozi found herself sitting down with the other girls in their class, forming something of a girlhood already. She opened up the homemade bento box her mother had prepared for her. The strong aromatics of Jollof rice and Suya came waffling from the self-heated thermos. Her mouth immediately watered, only to be greeted with the taste of home.
“Ooh that smells amazing! And it looks yummy too!” Ochaco’s nose wriggled in delight. Eyes following the source of the smell. The girls looked over curiously at her bento box. She all of a sudden began to feel shy as she ate her meal.
“Yes, my mom makes the best food ever! Would you like to try some?” She remained hopeful, back then people would think such ethnic foods were weird so she would be nervous sharing such things. She was relieved to seem to be accepting of different cultures.
“Heck ya! Pass it over!” Ngozi broke off some of the Suya and gave them a scoop of Jollof rice, leaving a large portion for herself. The girls indulged themselves on the nibble, expressions bright as she watched.
“That tastes amazing!”
“So flavorful!”
“It has a spicy kick to it!”
She went to explain what it was and the spices it used. Slowly but surely she was starting to peel back the thinnest layers on herself. Ngozi was just a girl, finally beginning to feel a sense of normalcy. Even if it was just temporary.
“Don’t look, but someone is hoping you combust by how hard he’s looking.” Jiro’s loopy ear pointed in the direction of the boy’s table. Ngozi obviously didn’t listen, following her line of sight to a very agro ash-blonde.
Katsuki had been pressed since this morning by what happened. He couldn’t believe it, Izuku his childhood nemesis who he deemed worthless because he was quirkless, now here he was to compete with him. Then you have this girl who came out of nowhere basically stealing the damn show. It was getting under his skin, something had to be down about this.
“Oh hey!” Ngozi waved at him with the nicest smile she could muster. Bakugo’s head turned in the other direction with an eye roll and huff. She immediately frowned at his behavior, kissing her teeth.
“Somebody’s still upset, he didn’t even greet me back.” Ngozi tutted out her lips before looking back at the girls as they all bursted out in laughter.
“Damn, you are really bold!” Mina had to catch her breath because of that brief interaction.
“And very much alive.” Ngozi playfully rolled her eyes as she resumed eating her meal, still actively enjoying it. Hunger was currently overriding her annoyance.
The floating uniform of Hagakure became animated as she squealed. “I probably would have melted with that glare.”
Ngozi looked round the cafeteria not seeing the frenzied greenette anywhere, he must have been in the infirmary for the most part.
“Oh Midoriya left a bit early to get his finger fixed.” Tsuyu thought aloud, tongue languid as she was composed.
“That must have hurt a lot. But it seems like he’s used to that.” Momo felt sympathy for the young boy. The conversation seemed to drown out Ngozi's ears, no longer fully listening in.
‘How it is…A quirk that hurts you like that. Could he possibly get it?’
She tried not to think about it, nodding when the girls would speak, like she heard them. The day was nearly over, and she had to get ready to face the music. It was better to deal with it on a full stomach than have her gut collapse on itself.
Ngozi picked up her parasol that leaded beside her bag. She was thankful that they had a free period right afterwards. The girls were going to head over to the library to get ahead of the curve, but she declined.
“Sorry, I actually have another stop to make. I’ll catch you all later!” She called out, heading down the halls and turning the corners to head straight to Recovery Girl’s office.
Every step she took made her heart race and brought her further anxiety. She had to follow Mr. Aizawa’s orders, this was for her own benefit. It was probably just a routine check-up like they did before admissions. It wouldn’t hurt to just follow up, what was the harm?
‘No worries, you’ll be okay. Just get in and out.’
Ngozi had just made it to her office, taking a deep breath. She was about to knock on the door, when it began to slide open. She saw a bandaged finger, and internally screamed. She all but vanished before the door could fully open.
‘No, not like this! I didn’t think he was still in there!’
She held her breath, hearing their voices speak, then the door closed. She heard the sound of retreating footsteps, her shoulders started to relax. She popped her head to see the coast was clear, much to her relief. Ngozi walked back, knocking on the door before entering and shutting the door behind her.
What she was unaware of was a wild greenette was at the other end of the hall, right around the corner listening in.
His face was quite puzzled, as if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He though he heard someone, but they vanished. Was there somebody at the door going to see Recovery Girl as well?
He had looked down from walked, there was something flickering on the ground before it started to disappear
“Gold specks?”
He soon heard a feminine voice come out of Recovery Girl’s office. He attempted to pinpoint where he heard it before.
“Was that…Achebe?”
It hit him then. The specks were stardust. The girl with the cosmic quirk was his classmate! He rapidly sped through his notebook where he was already taking notes on his classmates. He already had a few facts about her, but a lot was still unknown.
‘It is her! But why is she going to Recovery Girl? Is she hurt?’
Panic began to set in, frantically thinking that he was so dumb to ignore a classmate’s needs and didn’t even know when it happened. He began to recall the physical fitness test, it had to have been then!
There was something going on with her. He knew he shouldn’t listen in, it wasn’t right. He removed himself, walking back down the halls to continue the rest on his day uninterrupted. Though his thoughts kept drifting back to Ngozi.
‘What’s going on with her? Is she okay?’
Sterile instruments and fluorescent lights made Ngozi’s stomach begin to churn. She had come in quietly, setting her pass down then sat down on the examination table, leaving her parasol close by. She looked around room momentarily before the petite elderly woman climbed up her chair to get a good look at her. Recovery Girl smiled warmly before placing a hand on her thigh.
“Something tells me we’re going to get real acquainted with each other. Care to let me know what’s been going on…?”
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend katsuki gets hit by a quirk, and splits into two versions of himself. this bodes both beautifully and horribly for you.
❤︎ CONTENT: boyfriend!katsuki, pro hero!katsuki, kat is actually lowk an asshole, light choking, making out, lots of petnames (sweetheart, princess, baby), cunnilingus (ew—that word), fingering, technical threesome, squirting … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: alternatively, y/n vs both of katsuki’s brain cells. also ty sm to @kamislop for beta reading !
♫ NOW PLAYING: what you want, angéle ft justice
read on ao3 | 3.9k words | masterlist.
“BABY, ‘M HOME!”
“Shut the fuck up—loud as shit, my God.”
“…We have explosions for hands.”
“And I said what I fuckin’ said!”
You hear the familiar jingle of Katsuki’s boots at the front door. Except, there’s double the sound there should be—louder belt clanking, extra foot stomping—and, at first, you think he’s brought back a friend. Probably Eijirō, maybe Izuku. But, as you leave the shared bedroom to the sound of the front door slamming shut, you remember the call you received from his redheaded bestie about an hour ago.
“Okay, I’d like to preface this with everything is fine, Kat is safe and unharmed—well. As unharmed as he can be, but, like—”
“Eijirō, you’re stressing me out.”
“Sorry—sorry! I, uh, just wanted to give you a heads up that he’s coming home early. He got hit with a quirk, and like—again, he’s fine, and Recovery Girl said he’d just have to wait it out, but. Just a heads up.”
Yeah. Vague as hell, and now, you understand why.
Either you’re going insane, or your eye sight is deteriorating with a quickness, or both—because once you reach the entrance to welcome your boyfriend home, you’re seeing double.
What. The fuck.
“Oh thank fuck—c’mere, Baby.”
Katsuki—a Katsuki, you suppose—starts moving independent of the other. He all but collapses into very confused arms, dropping his chin on your head and squeezing you tight. The other one glowers, messily shoving two pairs of boots under the bench with complete disregard for his strict organizational pattern.
“Um…”
You blink at the Katsuki that cradles you. He gives a soft smile in return, one that usually requires blood, sweat, and tears to crack (even if it takes you a significant less amount of blood, sweat, and tears than the average human—they’re blood, sweat, and tears nonetheless) and you don’t know what to do with it. Where to put it.
“Got hit with a fucker’s quirk,” the other Katsuki explains after giving up on making the boots fit. Typically, there aren’t two pairs, but one—and the shoe rack is feeling the added pressure.
“So…it’s the quirk that split you in two,” you ask, even though you know. The answer is staring you right in the face, but, like. Just in case.
The Katsuki still holding onto you grunts in agreement, and you finally manage to peel away. He steps back as the other Katsuki steps forward, and you finally get a good look at how identical they are. Which, obviously, but it’s still slightly alarming, nonetheless. Like…the shining twins, if they were blond and angry. And covered in grime.
“Holy shit…” your eyes dart between the two of them, trying to find discrepancies in anything other than mismatched dirt. You find none, save for the way they hold themselves. You need better names—you can’t keep calling them Katsuki and other Katsuki.
“Do…you know when it’s going to wear off?”
A self-indulgent question. Perhaps.
“Fuckin’—no.” Angry Katsuki digs a knuckle into his ear, and the other one yawns. “They gotta track the fucker down, first. Apparently, I can’t do my goddamn job like this.”
He gestures between the two of them, and you teeter your head in semi-agreement. The other Katsuki pipes up, and god, you need better names.
“’M not pissed about it, though,” He steps out of line to grab the hand limp by your side, kissing your knuckles with the lightest touch you’ve ever felt. “Means I get to see you.”
Oh?
“I am,” angry Katsuki growls, slapping his counterpart’s hand away from yours. “I should be out there, hunting that mitosis motherfucker.”
“If you go out there, you’re killing him,” other Katsuki defends. Angry Katsuki rolls his eyes.
“Fuckin’ exactly.”
Other Katsuki just sighs, turning back to you. Immediately his features soften along with his voice. “How’ve you been today, Baby? I left early.”
“Um…good? This is just…” you peer around Katsuki’s body to view the other one, who rolls his eyes again, almost completely ignoring your presence. That is, until:
“Ima fuckin’ shower,” he grumbles, and walks down the hall.
“A lot?” Other Katsuki finishes for you, watching his parallel until he disappears into the bedroom, and you nod.
Something like that.
“Okay. Kat.” You point to Angry Katsuki, who’s now glowering on the couch, much like he did at the front door, and much cleaner than before. Your finger shifts to Other Katsuki, until his head becomes a small point at the top of your fingernail. “Suki. That way, if I call, you both don’t come running. Cool?”
While Suki nods his head with diligence, Kat finally smiles. Not the soft smile that’s reserved for you, but the self-satisfied smile reserved for villains, the one that barely hides his hunger for blood.
“Hear that, Nerd? I’m Kat, not your bitch-ass.”
Suki blinks, relatively confused, and tips his head to the side. “Why the fuck does that matter?”
“’Cuz I’m the original!” Kat says loud and proud, digging a thumb into his chest. “Not you.”
“…Again, why the fuck does that matter,” Suki grumbles, less a question and more an observation. A statement. “We got split in two. We’re two halves of the same person, not a copy-paste.”
“I fuckin’ know that, shit stick.” Kat’s hands crackle at the prospect of being challenged, and while Suki tries to hide the way he shrinks in on himself, you throw a spare pillow at Kat’s head.
“Ow, what the fuck!”
“No explosions in the house!”
Kat grumbles, but his hands fizzle out. He shakes them out at his sides. “’M not doin’ this shit—’m goin’ to bed.”
“Ah-Ah! No,” you say, and Kat freezes like you grabbed him physically, like there’s an invisible wall that separates the living room from the rest of the house. “You said we’d watch that move tonight, remember?”
“We said,” he amends, looking unimpressed before jerking his head to Suki. “Make him watch it.”
“No! It’s exactly like you said—you both promised. Technically,” you smile and look at Suki, who, honestly, looks like there’s no other place he’d rather be—he just watches you talk with his chin propped on a hand and love in his eyes. “So. We’re both watching it.”
“Fuckin’—fine,” Kat groans, loud and obnoxious, and to the ceiling. He sits back down with a huff. “But I swear to God, if it’s some fuckin’ Twilight shit again—”
“It’s not.” You get up only to shove Kat over with a hip, quitting his manspreading, and make yourself enough room between them. He lets you. Suki wraps both arms around your middle, and cuddles you close and tight, like you might up and disappear tomorrow. “That was one time—”
“One horrible time, when I was forced to watch five fuckin’ movies of absolute bullshit—”
“It wasn’t that fuckin’ bad,” Suki defends with a quiet grumble, and you want to scoop him up and run away with him. “’S…campy.”
“Thank you,” you nod, before redirecting your attention to Kat, patting him on the leg. “See? Suki understands quality content when he sees it.”
“Get the fuck out my face.”
You don’t put on Twilight—but you do put on Argylle, and that’s not much better.
“So, you’re tellin’ me,” Kat trails off, and you watch the movie flicker in carmine eyes. “That the whole damn time, this chick was writing a book that predicts the future—”
“Specifically a spy-future, yes—”
“And, that’s why…y’know what? Fuck this shit, my head hurts.”
“You have no sense of whimsy,” you sigh, unimpressed. Kat rolls his eyes.
“Listen, Sweetheart,” He fills his voice with faux saccharine, artificial flavoring, and you scowl at the mockery. “I got a job—a real serious job. Don’t got fuckin’ time for ‘whimsy.’”
Kat hangs air quotes with a hand, and that just pushes your frown deeper.
“Oh, and I don’t?” you smile, but it’s just as artificial as his words. Kat glowers, and behind you, Suki goes:
“Uh oh…”
“Somethin’ like that.”
With a huff, you snatch him by blond spikes—and, if Kat is even a little tenderheaded as Katsuki is…
You yank and pull upward, and Kat rises with your grip. Yep. “Ow, what the fuck?! Ah—okay, fuck, I’m sorry—”
He hisses, face twisting in agony—and finally, you relent the torture. You let him go with a satisfied smile, and Kat snarls at you, rubbing the soft points of his head.
“What did we learn?”
Suki snickers under his breath. “Fuckin’ nothing.”
Kat scrambles at that, getting to his feet in preparation to attack. Fear flashes across Suki’s face, making you wonder if his statement was supposed to come out quieter, perhaps unheard. He scrambles over the arm of the couch, and you get thrown around in his rush.
“You’re fuckin’ dead meat!” Kat hollers. Suki takes off in a mad dash.
It isn’t before long that they’re chasing each other in circles around the couch, like a pack of wild dogs, snarling and huffing and puffing. (With the occasional spark—which you’re quick to put out.) You watch your movie, and occasionally, them, and eat the majority of the popcorn in the process.
Eventually, they collapse back onto the couch and into their respective sides, twin chests heaving and glistening in sweat until their breath makes the mile long trek to catch up.
“You two done?” You ask, but never take your eyes off the screen. It’s getting to the good part.
Suki nods. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kat snaps, and you double check to make sure he isn’t talking to you (because, if he is—you’re locking him in the basement), but he’s still glaring at Suki like he murdered his family. “You piss me the fuck off.”
“Clearly,” Suki snorts, this time quiet enough for Kat to not hear. Still vaguely out of breath, he squeezes your thigh to get attention, and slings his other arm behind you. “I wan’a kiss. Can I get a kiss, Baby?”
You giggle, because as stated, soft Katsuki is a Katsuki you’re used to having to work for, and then some. His hand lifts to your chin as you say, “Sure, Suki.”
And then, you’re getting snatched back by your pajama shirt, nearly choking in the process with an embarrassing and garbled noise.
“Abso-fuckin-lutely not,” Kat grunts, and you nearly fall backwards into his lap. “My girlfriend.”
“Your—” Suki cuts himself off with a scoff, grabbing your hand and pulling you up again—up and away. “One, we’re the same damn person, she’s both our girlfriend. And two, I want my fuckin’ kiss.”
Back.
“Well, that’s too damn bad,” Kat huffs, and you’re yanked again. This is starting to get dizzying. “I don’ want your bitch lips all over her.”
Forth.
“Okay,” Suki chuckles, and you’re tipped forward. Seriously? “And, I don’t want your ugly ass mug anywhere near my girl, so—”
Back.
“Oh, now it’s ‘your girl’—I thought we—”
Forth.
“Yeah. My girl, ‘cuz you don’ even know how to treat her.”
Back—Forth.
“You’re loud, and rude, and angry—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth.
“Y’don’t appreciate shit that she does for us, and it fuckin’ shows—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth. Back and Forth and Back.
“Yeah, and she loves me for it anyway, Dipshit—”
Back and Forth and Back and Forth an—
“Can you two quit it!”
When they still, you go tumbling forward and into Suki’s lap—which, Kat doesn’t like very much, and grumbles under his breath about it.
“Sorry, Baby.”
“Fuckin’ what.”
“You guys realize I can kiss both of you, right?” Your words border on exasperated. Kat rolls his eyes.
“Fine—I get first.”
“No, I do!”
“I will blast you to goddamn smithereens.”
“Fine! At least I get my fuckin’ kiss—”
“Oh my god,” you groan aloud, running hands over your face and sinking deeper into the couch. It’s endless. “Y’know what? No. Stand up.”
You pat both of their backs to urge them upwards, and they follow. Standing side by side and watching you—and if you thought that one set of Katsuki’s eyes were intimidating enough, try two.
“Okay, Suki—you asked first, so you go first.”
Kat grumbles under his breath, something about ‘well if I fuckin’ knew that, woulda asked ages ago,’ but relents relatively quiet. Suki bends over with a smile, cradling the side of your face to lift it higher.
“Thank you, Baby.”
Katsuki’s lips always feel warm, and Suki’s are no different—they move slow and soft and patient, like he knows what’s coming, when it’s coming, so might as well take his time until he can see the finish line. He inhales like he could breathe you in, and the hand cupping your face tightens with want and satisfaction.
When Suki pulls away, you’re both breathless, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Missed you.”
But, before you can respond—
Suki is shoved out of the way, out of frame, and in comes Kat, who would be on fire if he could. “Y’call that a fuckin’ kiss? Watch and learn, Loser.”
Kat grabs you by the chin and kisses you with weight. He presses into you with his upper body, using a free hand to rest on the back of the couch, and placing a knee between your legs. Kat kisses you into the cushions and out of any breath you have left, leaving you scrambling for air.
“How was that,” Kat asks once pulling away, dragging his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips. You swoon, before remembering that this Katsuki is downright evil.
“It was…um…” you try to say fine, try to say okay, I’ve had better, but the weight of two intense stares fill your veins and cloud your judgement. And, just overall ability to speak as a whole.
“See Dumbass, what’d I say?” Kat hollers over his shoulder, standing up to glare at his doppelgänger. “Kiss her right and she fuckin’ melts.”
Suki bristles at that, but doesn’t bite back with words. Instead, he quietly assumes Kat’s place with a hum, thumbing the highest point of your cheek as he looks down. He studies you.
“Mmm…looks pretty solid to me,” Suki mutters, tilting your head every which way, like he’s trying to find something that’s not there. Kat yells from the back, ‘shitty ass joke!’ “Wha’d’ya think, Baby? Who’s better?”
“Um,” you swallow, and try to stifle your inner goblin. “I don’t…I think I’ll need more than that to…y’know…know?”
And, yet. The goblin comes out, anyway. (At least she’s respectful, this time.)
Suki teeters his head in consideration, and Kat snorts from behind him. “Fuckin’ pervert.”
You gawk. Because, like, yes, but also, “how am I supposed to know based off a three second kiss?”
“Valid question.”
“Listen—I don’t know about Mr. Chastity over here, but mine was definitely longer than three seconds.”
Suki gives him a look over his shoulder, and though you can’t see it, you can guess based off the way he goes, “Seriously?”
“I said what I said.”
You see the tail end of Suki rolling his eyes as he turns back to you, and the look of pure annoyance on his face shifts to one of affection. His thumb brushes your cheek again, as he leans forward, close enough for you to feel his breath across your lips.
“Well, Baby? Should we prove that fucker wrong?”
But, you’re not paying attention to much else other than the way Suki’s lips round and soften to form words that you barely hear. So, you just nod, let out a quiet ‘uh huh,’ and let him close the distance.
Suki kisses you with more passion this time around, but less vigor and aggression than Kat. You feel comfortable and grounded, and gasp, hands finding the middle of his shirt as he tilts his head to the side. You don’t get kissed stupid like you do with Kat—like the earth got flipped upside down and you just have to deal with it—but held and loved, and that’s stupefying enough.
Suki moans into your mouth, making your body run both hot and cold. It takes ages and alcohol to convince Katsuki to make a sound, to stop holding himself back, but this one might not. This one might not, and God, if that doesn’t make your head spin.
A tongue licks the seam of your lips but never pushes further than that, just enough for you to be aware of the threat and the want, but never enough to give. You whine, pushing deeper—and Suki smiles against your lips like that was exactly what he wanted, before his hand encompasses the front of your neck to squeeze, restricting your airflow just enough.
When he pulls away, the hand around your neck slides to your collarbones, and your eyes flutter shut. It continues to snake lower, past the waistband of your sweats and even lower than that, until two fingers run along your folds. They’re gone as quick as they came, and Suki pulls them out to reveal—
“See? She’s soaked.”
Kat growls, but before he can say anything, Suki tucks both fingers into his mouth and sucks. It’s obscene, and you think you see his tongue poke through at some point.
But then, he’s getting shoved in the shoulder, falling into the couch and more importantly, away from you, as Kat takes his place between your legs. Before you have time to protest (which—you won’t, but you might’ve for a second, for like, posterity) Kat is shoving your sweats down to your ankles, clearly tired of playing fair.
“I’m sick of his shit,” he grumbles, shifting your hips forward until you’re nearly laying flat. “Aren’t you sick of his shit, Princess?”
You don’t really know what to say to that. Luckily, you’re not given much time to—Kat sticks his tongue out and licks a fat stripe up your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit, and dragging it back down.
“Fuckin’—take your goddamn time,” Suki growls, and Kat just rolls his eyes and continues his ministrations. “I worked hard to get her that fuckin’ wet, y’know—”
Kat only pulls his mouth away to give his double an incredulous look, pointing at your pussy like you’re not even there. “Oh, you think you did this.”
“I know I did,” Suki snarls at the slight, and when Kat chuckles around your clit, it makes your thigh seize. “But, fine—fuck her dry like an animal. See if I care when she comes runnin’ to me ‘cuz y’don’t know what the fuck you’re doin’.”
Kat doesn’t grace his words with more words, just flips a middle finger in his direction before that hand finds your thigh. Only to spread your legs wider, broaden his plate, and you nearly keel over when he sucks too hard.
“He bein’ too rough?” Suki coos, grabbing you by the jaw and running a thumb along it’s sharpest point. “’S okay if you can’t cum, Baby—he has absolutely no finesse.”
Suki rips Kat away from you by the hair, his lips flushed and glossed from you, and yanks him out of the way. Kat snarls and lets his palms pop, but one halfhearted glare from you, and they fizzle right out.
“He’s being a dick!” Kat defends, gesturing at the perpetrator with open hands—said perpetrator simply settles between your legs, licking his lips. Kat is ignored.
Suki moves a lot slower than Kat does—still hot and heavy, but languid, like he knows you’re not going anywhere any time soon. He licks you up and down, avoiding places that would do anything more than simmer. But, even low heat will eventually come to a boil, and your breath hitches when a finger brushes your entrance.
Kat yawns. “I’m fuckin’ bored.”
Suki rolls his eyes and can’t help but pull away, get another word in—but his finger finally quits (some of) the teasing and plunges right in. You shiver, then melt. “Well, that’s too damn bad.”
“Yeah, it is—make her scream or somethin’ before I fuckin’ fall asleep.”
“Oh, please fall asleep,” Suki insists, but never takes his eyes away from you—your pussy—as he berates his double, too fascinated by the way you squeeze and relax around him. “I’d love if you fell asleep—I could be both of us, and she wouldn’t even notice.”
Kat barks out a laugh, loud and sarcastic. “You get mad at me for bein’ rude, then you call her stupid? Some white knight.”
“No,” Suki says, and adds another finger and curls them upward—it makes your leg kick involuntarily, and it probably would’ve done some damage if he didn’t catch it in time. “I’m callin’ you basic. Bitch.”
“Oh, you fuckin—”
“Guys! Please!” You scream at the ceiling. You’re exhausted and annoyed, semi-horny and so far away from the finish line. “Stop arguing—do you want me to cum or not?”
And, well. That shuts them up quicker than you expected.
“Absolutely, Baby.”
“Ugh—fuckin’ whatever.”
Suki focuses on you, after that. Kat tries to distract him with playground insults, tugging at his hair like a childhood bully, but the most he gets in response is a middle finger. Suki hoists your thigh onto his shoulder, and, when you wiggle too much, uses a free hand to pin your waist in place.
It’s an embarrassingly short amount of time until you feel the fire in your belly turn dangerous, like wind carrying bonfire embers into trees to ignite them. It’s not your fault—there’s two pair of eyes when there should be one, equally eager, equally fascinated. Kat catches your chin and pulls you in for a rough kiss, and Suki’s eyes flutter when you squeeze around him, like he’s fingering himself and feeling every curve of his fingertips.
You squirm, understanding the specifics of the feeling that builds and hating them. “Ah fuck—think I’m gonna…?”
“Squirt?” Suki finishes with a knowing smile, like that’s what he’s been aiming for this whole time, and you bristle.
“Fuck you,” you pant, but it get infinitely harder to argue as your vision starts to blur with your breathing. “Yes, Asshole.”
“Hot,” Kat nods in agreement, and if you had the wherewithal to, you’d chuck a pillow in his face. Again.
“You know I hate this.” You give Suki an half-hearted glare, and he fights the smile growing on his face. “Why do you do this to me.”
“Because it’s hot,” Suki hums, and honestly, he deserves a pillow to the face as well. “C’mon, Baby—relax, let it happen.”
He starts stroking your thigh like that’s going to help any. It doesn’t, and the stick you use is no longer good enough to defend your impending orgasm, which is horrible, horrible news for the couch cushion. You’ll need to flip it over. Again.
(So—maybe you should just buy a new cushion, at this point. And avoid sitting in your usual spot on the couch.)
While the orgasm doesn’t catch you by surprise, the strength of it does. Your thighs squeeze around Suki’s head as much as they’re able—as much as he allows—and a hand finds Kat’s to hold on tight and squeeze. You feel Kat fall into your shoulder, or maybe you fall into his. Your body burns, buzzes, anything that starts with a b that sounds hot. You’re hot. On fire, actually.
You don’t open your eyes until the feeling subsides—in time to watch Suki pull away, face soaked, and the couch cushion even more so. Kat takes two fingers and runs them along your folds, only to dip them into his mouth and hum with contentment.
“Sweet, right?”
“Fuck yeah.”
And you, feeling the wet cushion under your back, haven’t decided whether you’re going to smother both (?) your boyfriends in their sleep.
(You make both of them sleep on the couch that night—the wet couch that’s their fault. Kat doesn’t get it, he didn’t even do anything. Suki accepts his fate with a knowing grin.)
previous chapter - series masterlist - next chapter
𓂃 ོ☼𓂃THE FIJI HUMIDITY hits you all at once and your skin is already slightly sticky from the hot air. You had entered the villa a few days ago during a challenge, and since then you have been getting to know the islanders.
That was the name of the game, isn't it?
To form connections, and choose the strongest one.
Over the course of your time in the villa, you and Katsuki has been practically eyeing each other since the moment you entered. He was so eye-drawing, how could you not?
You pulled him for chats here and there, he made you feel good, feel seen. He made you laugh, he made you smile. The tension between you two was so thick in the air that anyone and everyone could see it. Everyone but either of you.
Now, you were in the makeup room with all the other girls doing your makeup for the day.
"Sooo y/n, who do you wanna pull first?" Uraraka had turned to you, a playful smile growing on her face. Your face slightly flushed, there wasn't really a set plan in your head, you really were just kind of going with the flow.
"Uh, I'm actually not sure yet," you laughed, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, "I think I'll just pull random people throughout the day, see how it goes." you puffed your bottom lip slightly, your fingers rubbing the primer into your skin.
"Honestly, that sounds like the best way to start," she shrugged while she continued on with her own makeup routine, "never know what connections might form, y'know?"
You hummed in agreement, the corners of your lips curling into a small smile. Your hands fumbled in your makeup bag, pulling out a tube of foundation and concealer.
"Wait, so like who do you think is the most attractive?" Mina chirped in, a big smile growing on her face, her eyes glinting up as she chuckled to herself.
Your face flushed briefly, "Most attractive? I mean they're all attractive in their own ways." you replied as you blended in your concealer, "but like I mean maybe Katsuki? He kinda fits my type a bit more."
A wave of ooh's and hums echoed throughout the makeup room, you shook your hands as they shrieked and giggled. "I can totally see him being your type!" Momo pressed her hands together.
"Really? I didn't think it was that obvious." you laughed.
"Girl, is the sky blue? It's sooo obvious." Mina replied sarcastically.
You could admit, maybe your eyes lingered on him for a bit longer. But you didn't think it was that obvious. To be fair, he was one of the two you guys you consistently pulled for chats.
The makeup room was now filled with chatter about plans for the day, but shortly died down as the guys came in with breakfast in their hands and placing them in front of their corresponding couple.
Your head perked up as a particular ash blonde walked into the room looking directly at you. A small smile on his lips as he carried the plate to your area, placing it in front of you.
"Wanted to be the first one to give you breakfast," he spoke lowly as you smiled, opting to hug him instead of a kiss despite how badly you wanted to.
"You're so sweet, Katsuki. Thank you." you thanked him, pulling away from the hug. His cheeks were slightly tinted with a rosy pink.
"You're welcome," he hummed, trying not to let the color rise in his face. "keep doin' yer makeup, wanna see that pretty face soon." he murmured low enough in your ear to where only you could hear him.
You hummed in response, watching as he left the makeup room. Your smile growing rapidly as the girls gawked and giggled. You grabbed your setting spray, lifting the cap and misting it all over your face.
You hopped out of the barstool, walking over to your suitcase and grabbing a yellow gingham bikini top with matching shorts, and chunky sandals Once dressed, you grabbed your brush and ran it through your hair before placing it up in a claw clip.
"So dolled up for just a few chats huh?" Mina teased, adjusting the top to her own swimwear.
"Gotta make a good first impression." you smiled as you grabbed your water bottle and breakfast, walking downstairs to the villa. You walked over to the kitchen island where everyone was congregating.
"First morning in the villa, whaddya think?" Kirishima turned to you as you took a bite of your breakfast. Quickly swallowing, you smile.
"It's nice here, look forward to getting to know everyone." you replied, adjusting the strap to your bathing suit. You glanced over to Katsuki, who is already staring in your direction but turns away the moment you look at him.
"Yeah? Well I'm sure anyone here would be excited to get to know you more." Denki butted in, receiving a big glare from Katsuki from across the kitchen and immediately turning back to whatever he was doing before.
The dynamic of the villa was very welcoming, everyone seemed genuinely interested in getting to know more about you. You'd think that everyone would be hesitant considering the circumstances, but it was quite the opposite. The girls were so sweet and the guys knew how to make you laugh.
You finished up your breakfast, placing your plate into the sink. Cracking your knuckles and mentally hyping yourself up, you finally walk up to Katsuki, a warm smile on your face.
"Hey, can I pull you for a chat?" you asked, he immediately perked up in his seat.
"Me? Yeah. Yeah, let's go." he practically jumped at the opportunity, taking your hand in his and walking over to the daybed. He settled on the opposite side of you, a pillow in his lap where his hands rested. You tucked your hair behind your ear, turning your head towards him.
"So, I'm the first one you pull today? Lucky me." he chuckled while propping his head up on his right hand, his crimson eyes boring into yours.
"Had to start the day off with a bang." you laughed, trying to retain the smile growing on your face by biting your lip but ultimately failing.
"Yeah? Wanna get to know you better too." he leaned back, his eyes softening with each second he looked at you. He just knew how to flatter you without even trying.
“What do you wanna know?” you leaned in, your eyes meeting up with his own.
“Anythin’, just wanna hear you talk a bit more.” He smiled lazily, running his fingers through his hair briefly.
“Well, I mean I like painting and baking.” you responded sweetly, his smile just making you slightly giddy.
“Painting? You any good at it?”
“I dabble in it, not sure I’m the best at it though.” you snorted as you looked out towards the villa, the slight breeze wafting on your face; Your hair moving along with the wind.
“I bet you’re great at it, you gonna paint me anything anytime soon?”
“Hmm, I dunno. Maybe.” you let out a laugh before taking a sip from your water bottle. “What about you?
“Ehh, I’m boring. Just be workin’ and shit.” he shrugged, his free hand reaching to the back of his neck. His eyes were focused on the villa in front of you two. His body slowly relaxing into the daybed.
"That's not boring, love a man who works." you tilted your head to get a better look at his already gorgeous face. It was genuinely so disgusting to have a man so beautiful in your presence. "Where are you from?"
"Japan, but I've been livin' here for a couple years." he sighed,
God damn it, and he's foreign? You just can't stop winning!
You might of well had just gotten married right then and there, can this man genuinely be anymore attractive?
"You're from Japan?" you raised your eyebrows, trying to play off the fact you could literally jump this man's bones. "I've always wanted to go there, it seems nice."
"Yeah, born and raised." he turned his gaze back to you, "you'd probably like it."
You smiled, subconsciously scooting closer to him. "Can you teach me something in Japanese?"
"Like what?" he tsked, sprawling further out onto the cushion.
"I dunno, something cute." you shrugged,
He pondered for a minute, his lips pursing for a moment before he parted them again. "とてもおきれいですね。" his lips curled into a toothy smile, his hand now resting on your leg and rubbing small shapes onto your skin.
"What does that mean?"
"You are very pretty." his eyes glistened as he looked up at you. A rosy tint grew on your face as you threw a pillow at him.
"You're too good at this," you rolled your eyes playfully, "Gotta give the other boys a fair chance."
He leaned back, a childish pout that quickly turned into a small grin. "S'not my fault i'm so charming." he pulled himself up, his height practically looming over you now. "Can I at least get a hug before you ditch me?"
"Pfft, I'm not ditching you, I still have to give the other guys a fair chance." you snorted before you pulled him in for a quick hug.
"Feels like it." he sighed into your shoulder before pulling away, you leaned up and booped him on the nose jokingly before walking away.
You smiled to yourself as you walked away, adjusting the microphone hanging on your collarbone. Struggling to compose yourself as you're practically bubbling with energy as you walk over to main lounge where most of the girls were seated.
The conversations were so easy, they just flowed so naturally. He always knew what to say, he knew when to listen. Very few guys made you feel this way.
"So? How'd your chat go? Spill!" Mina jumped up once she saw you approaching, her eyes beaming with excitement.
You plopped onto the couch besides her and Ochako. "It went good, like the conversation just was really easy," you paused, adjusting your hair slightly. "He's really sweet."
"Sweet and Bakugo in the same sentence? Pfft, what'd you do to him?" she snorted, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes.
"That's kinda hard to believe." Jirou she raised an eyebrow, leaning over in the slightest to where the boys were working out.
'"Guys, you have to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he's genuinely sweet." Uraraka chirped in with a compassionate tone. You wished people got the same side of him that you just saw. Despite all his rough edges, he still had a softness buried beneath.
You just smiled sweetly, confused from all the thoughts running wild in your head.
You're in your confessional with your head in your hands. "I don't know what to do.. I really like him but like It's so early and he was legit my first chat." you groaned, throwing your head back. "This shit is so fucking confusing."
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The rest of the afternoon went well, your chats with the other islanders went well and you felt like you were in a more comfortable position in the villa. Though during every chat you had, Katsuki kept lingering in the back of your mind regardless on how hard you tried to fight it.
Now, you were sat in the makeup room, getting ready for the evening events. You changed into a brown polkadot dress and kitten heels, adjusting the fabric so it would fit in all the right places.
It was like subconsciously you wanted to look good for him.
All your actions were for him, it was getting ridiculous.
The girls finished getting ready and were now walking downstairs, the guys showering compliments as each girl stepped down the staircase.
Waiting by the end of the stairs stood Katsuki, watching patiently as you walked down with an open hand. "You look great." he complimented, his eyes lingered over your dress with his hand in yours.
"Thank you, you look handsome yourself." you smiled, walking towards the center of the villa where everyone was gathered around the table. He watched carefully as you spoke with the other islanders, a drink in your hand.
He leaned down next to your ear, "Wanna go to the dock?" he whispered quietly in your ear which was low enough for only you to hear.
"Dock? Yeah, we can go." you nodded as you stood up, walking with him over to the dock. He sat down next to you, his back facing the moon and the dark water.
“How were your other chats today?” he asked, his eyes glinting up to yours a few times.
"They went good, how were yours?" you leaned into him slightly, your body relaxing onto his. This felt comforting, safe, reassuring. He didn't push, he just listened.
"Ehh, just kept finding reasons why I wanted to talk to you more." he chuckled, his hand now resting on your hip, his thumb caressing small shapes onto the fabric of your dress.
You stood up, straightening your back as you pushed a few strands of his crazy hair out of his face. "I really like you, Katsuki."
"What?" he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as if he was trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming. He sure as hell felt like was.
"I really like you." you repeated, his eyes widening once the words finally hit him. "I like this. I like what we have." your fingers caressed over his callused palm, rubbing shapes onto his scarred, rough, skin.
He stayed quiet, just listening carefully. His gaze switching from your eyes to your plump lips. He just admired you quietly and the silence alone was eating you alive.
He inhaled before pursing his lips, leaning his head back as his arm rested on the dock behind you. He finally locked eyes with you once more, "Can I kiss you?"
And before the words can even finish leaving his mouth, you're pulling his mouth onto yours, your lips crashing onto each others. It was slow, and less rushed. Unlike the few other kisses you have shared during challenges.
No, this one was different. It was like all the tension between you two had snapped, and this was the aftermath.
His mouth burned into yours, his hand now loosely resting on your waist. You hummed contently, knowing you could savor this moment till forever.
Your lips moved passionately against each other. Your hand sliding up his neck and entangling your fingers into his hair. His hand rested on the small of your back, softly caressing your hips.
You both slowly pulled away from each other, a toothy grin growing on his flushed face. "I could do that a hundred times and never get sick of it." he grinned.
You smiled before pressing one more small peck to his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and brushing the hair out of his face. The two of you converse for a little longer before you finally get up.
You two are now walking back from the dock, his arm wrapped loosely around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The other islanders being too engrossed in their own conversations to notice the glow on both of your faces.
You both part ways, fixing the bottom of your dress as you walk to the kitchen where most islanders were gathered. "You look happy." Mina clocked the faint smile on your face.
"Do I actually?" your grin expands slightly as you start leaning against the countertop.
"You're practically glowing." Uraraka chirped in, taking a bite of her apple that was in her hand.
"Oh my god, you are!" Mina shrieked, grabbing both yours and Uraraka's hands to a more secluded part of the villa. "Wait, cause I need to hear all about this."
You three sat down on the cushion with you in the middle as they looked at you contently. "So? What's got you smiling so hard? Mina leaned in.
"We kissed." you blurted out, covering your face with the closest pillow in your reach.
"You did not!"
"With who?! Wait when?!" Uraraka looked at you stunned.
"Katsuki, on the dock." you peeked from the pillow as they both shrieked in excitement. Mina practically jumping out of her seat.
"Stopp, was it good at least?" her hand clamped onto her mouth.
"It was amazing, like the chemistry was there." you pressed your hands to your forehead, the corners of your lips curling upwards. "It's so weird cause I really like him but it's like I just got here." you groaned.
"No like I get it, you just got here so obviously you wanna explore." Uraraka shook her head in agreement with Mina.
"Yeah, it's still early on so I don't blame you." Uraraka chimed in.
"The spark is there, I'm just so bad at these things and I don't wanna mess it up.." you sighed, groaning into the pillow in your hands.
'I'm sure you'll be fine, he clearly likes you for you." Their reassurance definitely comforted you, but you still felt like you were in over your head.
It was so refreshing to have someone so genuine like him. He made you feel good, he listened to every little word you said, he was perfect.
And that's what scared you.
He was too perfect for you.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The high from your moment at the dock has now faded. And your mind is just exhausted from all the traffic that is happening in your head.
You sit upstairs in the makeup room, wiping off your makeup and getting ready for bed. You rubbed your eyelids tiredly, ready to just decompress from today's events.
You changed out of your evening clothes and into your pajamas. You stand up to go to the bathroom and wash your face as if that would cleanse you of all the doubts that are practically eating you from the inside out.
You stare at yourself in the mirror with your toothbrush in hand, mindlessly brushing your teeth, it was embarrassing how just the smallest things were getting to you. Yet just thinking about him could get you so giddy.
Eventually you just brush it off in hopes tomorrow you’d feel better. You ran your fingers through your hair as you walked to the communal bedroom, noticing that Katsuki was already in his bed alone. And he instantly noticed you too and patted the empty spot beside him.
You smiled and crawled next to him, your head resting on his chest as his arm slid to your back. “You’re always s’warm. I’m jealous.” you murmured into his chest, his heartbeat now beating faster as you spoke.
“Yeah? S’fine, i’ll just keep you warm.” he replied as he pressed a small peck to the top of your head.
Clearly you were being greedy cause that wasn’t enough for you. You picked your head up and placed several gentle kisses. Giggling to yourself as you got up from his bed and walking to your own across the room.
This was going to be a good summer.
— 𝒥uno’s note : gaah it's here!! this legit took me SO LONG for NO REASON? lowkey just because im a major procrastinator lmaoo. I genuinely had to go back and rewatch parts of s6 to get inspiration on how the villa life is, and simultaneously catching up with s8 lolll. Reblogs and likes are appreciated!!
"you're disgusting," as you wrap your legs around his ass. "stop cumming in me-- oh, my god--"
"Stop cumming on my cock!" he's ramming into you as hard as he can, slamming the headboard into the wall with every stroke. "cant pull out when you're dr-dripping down my balls and... god, fuck, when your body does that-"
his head dips down to suck your tits into his mouth and the sensation makes your body twitch and kick-
warmth pulses inside you
"I can feel it, that's so gross," you whine. "i hate you-"
note :: can some people just leave me alone, i don't get why scrolling is such a big issue...if you do not like my works, think its ooc or just maybe don't like me in general, you do not have to comment and you can block me or get off my page. i do this for fun, and it isn't fun at all when people feel the need to judge the content i whip up in my free time.
the phone is propped on the pillows, screen glowing while katsuki’s flushed face fills one side and the camera stays pointed straight down at your wrecked body.
eijiro’s been pounding you for hours now, thick cock still buried deep, every thrust making wet, squelching noises as it pushes more of his earlier loads out of your swollen cunt. your thighs are shiny with slick and cum, the sheets beneath you soaked through, and your voice is already hoarse from all the moaning.
katsuki’s breathing hard on the other end, fist working his cock in quick, rough strokes. “look at that messy fucking pussy,” he growls, voice low and ragged. “you two have been going at it for hours and you’re still dripping everywhere. shit, i can see fucking puffy she is, eiji. keep fucking her f'me.”
eijiro’s hips snap harder, the creamy ring around his base getting thicker with every thrust. “fuuuck, baby, you’re taking it so good,” he pants, big hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider. “been letting me use this cunt all night and you’re still so tight. mmph, sweetie—yeah, just like that. good girl.”
your head lolls back, tongue hanging out, eyes glassy and unfocused. every brutal thrust knocks another broken sound out of you. “eiji—haaahh—t-too much, i can’t—kats, p-please, it’s s'deep—i’m—m'gonna—” your words dissolve into high, pathetic whimpers as he keeps fucking you through it.
“you can take it,” eijiro groans, leaning down to mouth at your neck while his pace stays relentless. “gonna make y'squirt again, pretty girl. i know you got more in you. mmph, soak my cock—fuuuckk. come on, let it out.”
katsuki’s fist blurs faster on screen. “moaning like a fuckin' slut...eiji, make her cum while i watch. fuck, i’m so hard it hurts—wish i was there pounding your hole open with him.”
eijiro’s fingers find your swollen nub and he rubs fast, messy circles. the pressure builds fast, your whole body tensing up before you explode again. clear fluid sprays out around his cock, soaking his abs and chest in hot bursts while your cunt spasms wildly. “cumming mnghh—cumming again—haaaahh—f-fuuuckkk...eiji, katsuki, p-please—!”
“that’s it, good fucking girl,” eijiro praises, still pounding through your orgasm, cock glistening. “look at you squirting all over me again. such a messy little slut for us.”
katsuki’s breathing turns into rough grunts. “g'nna cum—fuuck—making me cum with that fucking greedy little pussy.” thick ropes of cum spurt across his phone camera, blurring the view in white streaks as he groans your name.
you’re still twitching and babbling, voice cracking. “kats… eiji… love you—hahh, love when you watch me get fucked like this…”
eijiro slows but stays buried deep, kissing your temple while his hips give lazy, shallow thrusts. “we got you, sweetheart. just keep on being good for us.”
ⓘ katsuki bakugo x fem!reader x eijiro kirishima ⸝⸝ fluff, smut, angst, alternative universe (au: fantasy), polyamorous romance, action-adventure, mature themes
what if you were a princess from distant land sent to another nation to marry a barbarian they call a dragon king only to find yourself tangled in a dangerous court filled with brutal traditions, political unrest, betrayal, and two possessive men who slowly begin to claim every part of you for themselves.
꒰ TABLE OF CONTENTS ꒱ ✶⋆.˚ ⌕
ⓘ one ⸝⸝ your a dutiful princess sent to marry the barbarian dragon king of the scarlet region for the sake of an alliance, only to find yourself caught between your terrifying new husband and the fiercely loyal dragon hybrid who slowly becomes just as possessive of you as the king himself. ﹙18.8k﹚
ⓘ two ⸝⸝ as political tensions rise and opposition against you grows more dangerous, you survive three attempts on your life before disappearing without a trace, forcing katsuki and eijiro to tear through the kingdom in a desperate search while threats from anti- royal extreamist “the unseen” push the realm closer to chaos. ﹙22.9k﹚
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more coming soon !
꒰ EXTRAS ꒱ ✶⋆.˚ ⌕
coming soon !
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in which, the great fire lord zuko… happens to be an “inexperienced loser” and gets taught about intimacy by his trusty maid
tags: smut + porn w/ a semi-fluffy plot, reader teaches zuko, he’s very awkward…, unrequited love (or so it seems…), you get caught, arranged marriage. #unedited, insp by this + art by @/n_i_k_e_l on twt <3 author’s note at the end!
“The council has decided; we need an heir, sir.” The annoying chamberlain kept droning for the last hour or so, and Zuko was beginning to get irritated.
It’s been a few years since his coronation, and a few years of the council trying to set him up with any refined lady the Fire Nation had to offer.
“But I’m not married,” he replied.
It clearly hasn’t worked.
An advisor cleared their throat. “We know that and… actually there’s a new fine miss in our radar who happens to—“
Zuko could feel his patience running thin and abruptly stood up.
“Dismissed.” “B-But, sir!” Zuko turned to the chamberlain and advisors behind him, tone evidently laced with malice.
“I said this meeting is dismissed.”
The men scurried along like rats, leaving Zuko in his study… contemplating.
Aang and Katara are engaged to be married, Sokka is currently with Suki—even Toph has someone!
Zuko is a prideful man; he’s the Fire Lord for crying out loud… But even he can admit that he lacks in areas. Specifically…when it comes to being charismatic and a particular insecurity he has.
Zuko sucks at flirting and specifically being brazen.
He’s been on approximately 45 dates in the past year… and not one lady has been interested. Or rather they have been, until he opens his mouth.
But not even that; if there was one thing Zuko was absolutely embarrassed about, it was his lack of experience when it comes to sex. He was a virgin, a prude, and shuddered at the thought of having to have his first with some random woman he never met.
There was even one time the council suggested concubines… there was no way in hell he’d do that (since… as disgustingly sweet as it is… he wanted to be an intimate relationship with someone he considered close).
Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he’s put off so many of those candidates, but a small part of him sulked at the fact that he’s going to have to have a wife sooner or later, and then have an heir.
“I can help you.”
Zuko’s lips pressed to a fine line, looking at your direction to see any reaction. Your face was completely neutral.
He’s always told you his dilemmas, and this was no different. You’d always come up with a solution or compromise, but for some reason, he felt especially… on edge.
You—L/N Y/N—have known Zuko since you two were children, as he attended the same school as you did for a few years before you and your father—were officially promoted to head staff, and you, Zuko’s handmaiden.
Zuko remembers how you always followed him back in his childhood—answering to every beck and call; he remembers how sweet you were, how compassionate too, and how you’d encourage him when it came to Fire Bending.
You never showed a sign of protest when it came to anything, always a neutral look on your face.
And he couldn’t lie, you were absolutely stunning (despite said neutral look), but he couldn’t help but be put off even more.
“R-Really?” His skin turned flushed.
“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping your tea calmly like you didn’t just make Zuko mentally haywire. You were currently sitting across from him, drinking tea with just him in the room while you listened to his problems like always. “I’m not some random woman, aren’t I? I can teach you.”
He nodded hesitantly. “No, you’re not.”
He’ll admit, he has to get with the times. Not many people are saving their chastity and he has to stop being scared. Especially when it comes to wanting to romance others.
“And how so? How would you teach me?”
You shot him a smile. “Trust in me, my Lord. Everything shall be situated.
Zuko cleared his throat, glancing once more at your neutral face and nodded gently. “When do you suggest we start?”
“Whenever you’d like, my Lord.”
—————
lesson one: foreplay
Zuko thought it over, coming to a conclusion two days later and then asking you to come to his chambers later at night where the rest of the staff wouldn’t see you.
He sat there, robe hastily put on and sat there awkwardly at the corner of his bed, waiting. And then he began thinking.
Zuko’s known you for a while—you’ve been at his service for a long time. Hell, there was even a moment in time where he had a crush on you.
It was back when he would stride alongside his mother around the palace, constantly meeting your eyes every time he glanced over where your father would be working. Then you’d smile at him and his heart would be pounding; his mother knew, maybe even Azula knew—she’d certainly mess with you sometimes, but overall respected you (more than him at least).
Sure, you were a “servant”, but it’s obvious that you were a great Firebender. He remembers how he’d have trouble sleeping as a kid and walk off to the courtyard where you’d be there in a small corner, practicing Fire Bending and moving so graceful, it appeared almost like you were dancing.
Even when he got banished, he’d think of you. When he’d look at the stars, he’d think of how your eyes would shine every time you made eye contact.
And now you’re in this situation? He feels sheepish for almost exposing this vulnerability to you…
Zuko jumped at the sound of a knock at his door being knocked, walking fast towards it and swinging it open rather quickly.
“Get in, get in.” He turned around all too fast, his back facing you in sheer embarrassment that he’d even have to ask this of you.
And of course you could tell; you always could. “My Lord, please don’t be embarrassed about this. It is simply educating you on your sexuality; nothing wrong with that.”
“Right…” He walked to the bed slowly and sat down, his eyes following your figure slowly approaching him.
He can’t deny it; you looked beautiful. Your nightly robes were a pretty white, its sheer fabric covering your body nicely and your nipples poking out in the fabric.
But as much as Zuko’s eyes were on your breasts, he quickly averted his eyes to you the moment you cleared your throat. You were holding a book…
“And that?” You smiled at his question.
“This is erotic literature. Clear source material in order to work as an example on what to do.”
He blinked awkwardly, whereas your smile was still glued onto your face. You opened the book to a specific page, being bookmarked by a folded piece of parchment.
Perhaps Zuko was out of his mind—or maybe he already was (because why the hell else would he even be in this situation in the first place?), but he couldn’t stop staring at you reading. God, he knew he was a prude but to get aroused by watching you lick your index finger every time you flipped a page? He felt his pants get tight and his mouth dry.
“Do I have permission to proceed?” He looked away, his face burning with embarrassment. “I guess.”
“So… first, you hold their face and look into their eyes.”
Before he knew it, you leaned closer, holding his face and looking deep into his eyes. Your eyes softened and the moonlight peeking through the curtains hit your irises—the color almost instantly becoming more vibrant.
“After that, lean closer…”
Then you just began kissing him. Zuko’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out; your lips were warm, plush and soft. You tasted sweet, like the pastries you’d make him on occasion.
Then your tongue slowly went in his mouth the sloppier the kiss went. Your hands cupping his face pulled him closer to you the more you kissed him.
But as Zuko was starting to get used to the pace of your lips, you stopped, pulling back.
He felt his heart race, blinking profusely like he was embarrassed.
The Fire Lord? Getting like this over a measly kiss? He can already imagine Aang and Sokka making fun of him should he ever accidentally tell this about this encounter.
“That was good, my Lord,” you smiled. “Maybe you don’t even need my teachings.”
“O-Oh…” He panicked, mouth going dry. “Um… I believe I still do…”
And damn, you smiled so kindly. “Okay then please position yourself and sit against the headboard, my Lo—“
“Zuko.”
He winced—God, did he really just say that? Your eyes widened a fragment and you blinked. “Sir, are you sure I can refer to you by your name?”
“We are practicing intimacy,” he looked away while saying this and was glad the moonlight wasn’t hitting him or else you’d see how absolutely flustered he was.
“Referring to each other by our given names is one of the most intimate things. I’d like to try it with you too.”
Only then he looked at you when he heard a light laugh slipping from you. “Okay, Zuko.”
Fuck, you said his name so pretty too… You said it like it was something precious; softly enunciating the consonants and not spewing it harshly like how he’s known for almost all his life.
He felt his heart race faster, observing how you slowly got on the bed and planted your knees on the sides of his thighs, straddling him. You then sat on his lap, your crotch against his, and from your small smile forming on your face, he can tell you’ve taken note of his evident hard-on.
“Now let’s try what we did again, but in this position!”
You sounded far too enthusiastic about this…
He blinked, awkwardly. He didn't know what to do. Hell, if he were to compare being in a room full of generals and his finest soldiers, he would consider that much easier than being stuck between your body and the wall.
Your eyes followed his hands, which were placed beside your thighs and you could sense how shaky they were. He let out a small gasp the moment you grabbed his forearms and led them to wrap around your waist.
“You can touch me, sir.” He nodded slowly and grabbed at your waist hesitantly.
Your lips met his again, except with more fervor. Like you were trying to get a taste of a candy you haven't tasted in years., with your head slightly rotated.
Zuko could feel his heart beat so. Damn. Fast. So much so that he felt overwhelmed and light-headed and aroused, but also nervous if he was doing this right.
Your hips began grinding against his, hands tangled in his hair while you let his hands travel across your skin. His callous fingertips lightly brushed on your warm skin under your shirt, on your hips.
But when he was kissing you, he couldn’t help but still feel so nervous—to be at such proximity to you and to be able totally touch you like this.
Then you pulled back and got off of him. As soon as he was in bliss, you quickly ended it. He couldn’t help but have a quite upset expression, noted by you.
“Don’t worry, sir. I must stop now since we are only at the beginning. According to this book, kissing intensely while grinding against one’s gene—“
“Okay… I get it. You’re dismissed.”
He laid on his bed, attempting to catch his breath before you spoke again. This time, without a blank look on your face and tone. You smiled so sweetly…
“It’s cute, but we have to work on your hesitation, sir. Please keep that in mind for our next lesson.”
He nodded, finally relaxing his body the minute you shut the door. You stole his first “make-out”. Sure, he’s kissed girls (and by girls, he means just Mai), but not like this.
Not like you wanted to practically taste them while caressing their face and pulling hair.
“Fuck…” he groaned. “What am I going to do with you..?”
And… he grimaced. He was still hard.
————
lesson two: fellatio + cunnilingus
For the next lesson, you had him sprawled out on the canopy bed of his chamber. Zuko swore he could fucking hear his heartbeat…
He glanced over at you, once again reading your "source material" pornographic novel, and felt his heart beat into his chest. Your previous lesson didn't inherently lead to any sex, rather it was foreplay that left him all hot and bothered the moment you left.
All you did was grind against him and kiss, and you had him practically burning for more. And now, here he was, at your mercy. You were kneeled on the bed beside him while you really examined what to do. He could tell how your expression shifted from one of amusement to one of slightly shock, and then you closed the book.
“Now we are trying oral sex!” Once again, he couldn’t help but be nervous at your demeanor.
“Okay…”
“Actually, oral sex is also considered foreplay for some before penetrative sex! But, I didn’t want to rush you and also considered how flustered you got after last session, I decided it was enough!”
Zuko stared at you blankly. “Right…”
You spoke so academically? Blankly? You’re kind and listen to his dilemmas, but he feels unsure. When the both of you were making out, he was the one that was all hot and bothered while you simply left. Was he that terrible at this? Granted, it was his first time making out with someone while touching their body like that, but really?
He wonders how you get during sex… if you’re just as blank or if you—
“Okay! I will strip myself, then you now.”
You then began to peel off your upper half, where Zuko made eye contact with your pretty breasts. He’s never seen a woman’s breasts before, but yours looked beautiful. Really beautiful.
His eyes widened at how quick you leaned over, sliding his pants fast and exposing his dick, all hard and resting on his abdomen.
“Now please let me show you how to indulge in fellatio.”
You took his tip in your mouth, tongue swirling on his leaking tip and pressing on his shaft.
“Hahh—fuck…” Zuko closed his eyes, almost in disbelief that you were actually doing this.
You then took him whole in your mouth while stroking him at the base of his cock. You looked so cute, just cheeked hollowed out while you sucked him off.
You stopped for a moment, still stroking his cock while looking up at him with those damn pretty eyes of yours. “Now, if you want, you can also push my head a bit in case you would like a more pleasurable experience according to the book!”
And just like that, you latched your lips on his length, bopping your head up and down while your tongue dragged on his sensitive veins. He was itching for a release, and clearly you could tell too.
“You can also ejaculate in my mouth if you so choose!”
And just at that moment, he did, with spurts of cum unloading in your mouth. Then you swallowed… Jesus…
Zuko took a moment to catch his breath, panting a bit before speaking again.
“Now let me do it to you.”
And for the first time, you looked hesitant. “Ca-Can you repeat your question again—?”
“Can’t I indulge in oral sex with you?”
Your eyes widened like they were going to pop out of your skull. “I-I mean yes…but it isn’t necessarily proper.”
Zuko pushed you on the bed by your shoulders, making you lie down, where he got off the bed and stood over you.
“If you are to educate me on my sexuality, not only would I like to learn how to receive but to give.”
He leaned towards you and grabbed the book beside you, flipping to the page you bookmarked talking about cunnilingus.
“Here we go…” He couldn’t lie that he felt nervous, but for some reason, just being in a situationship with where you were nervous as well, made him want to act more brazen. To take some type of authority.
“Do I have your permission to proceed?”
You blinked, your face feeling like it’s on fire, and nodded. “Only if you want, my Lo—Zuko.”
He kneeled on the floor, taking off your pants and underwear down and being face to face with your cunt.
Of course, Zuko’s taken anatomy during school and has gotten a diagram on how female and male anatomy look like: all technical.
But as he’s kneeled down, he can’t help but marvel at how pretty you look. Your sex was dripping with your arousal and as soon as you took note on how he was staring, you instinctively attempted to shut your thighs. His eyes traced your body, all stiff and hesitant like you were anxious.
“Please don’t do that; let me make you feel good…”
Zuko grabbed your thighs, dragging you closer to him, and slowly kissed at your inner thighs, leading to your cunt.
Your breathing was shallow, shaky—and you were so evidently shy.
He lapped at your cunt, tasting your essence and going insane off it. He took one hand and placed it above your abdomen, two fingers spreading your labia apart and went at it.
Zuko was almost technical with his movements, kneading your plush thighs like bread dough and cupping his mouth around the top of your slit. His tongue began to piston inside you, going side to side and in figure-8 motions. He attempted to heat up his tongue even, to make the experience maybe a bit more pleasurable, all the while your thighs were crushing his head and you were…crying?
“O-Ohh my God…! Zuko—!” You were whining, your voice so high pitched that he had to do a double take. Your voice usually was derived of emotion, but you were in absolutely bliss. “Hahhh… that’s so so good—!”
He began rubbing your clit with the bridge of his nose, feeling how you twitched every time he was grinding his nose against it.
And then you pulled on his hair, shoving his face in your cunt further. Your back arched from the bed, rotating your hips against his face and tangling your fingers within his hair further.
It was too much; you were practically crying out, tears streaming down your face while Zuko ate you out in such a sloppy manner, eliciting the most lascivious sounds to anyone who may walk in. He was practically making out with your pussy, savoring your taste. You were in a trance, practically almost reaching your climax.
Which is why, when the two of you were under your own euphoric state together, did you barely notice a councilman and his entourage barge in his chambers.
“My Lor—Oh my goodness!”
“Fuck!”
Zuko looked up, already seeing you covering your face with the covers while the councilmen were looking anywhere but the direction of you two.
“W-We shall leave you be…” one spoke, turning abruptly.
“Wait!”
Zuko abruptly put on his robe, following the councilman and his entourage.
“What is the meaning of this?! You dare infringe on my privacy?”
The councilman turned around, his expression going from embarrassed to slightly relieved.
The great Fire Lord was on his knees eating a woman out scandalously while he was supposed to be on the look-out for a wife.
The Fire Nation needs an heir now, and Zuko has a lover!
And the thing was, you were from a fine family. Your grandfather was an esteemed military officer to his grandfather and father; your mother taught at the military academy, your brother was a current general in the army.
This was perfect… An absolutely perfect candidate for a wife.
“That woman… That woman is to be your betrothed.”
————
final exam/the night of his wedding
Zuko sat beside you on his bed, looking away. He bit his lip all anxious and afraid to meet your gaze.
It happened too quick. It was uncharacteristic of the council, however apparently someone snitched and you soon became his betrothed, and were to get married in two weeks.
And now, you officially have gotten married, with you being the Fire Lady.
He could seriously scream (in rage because he couldn’t court you? In happiness because he actually likes you? In pure disbelief?).
His head turned to your direction, where you were blankly staring at the window. The moon was out and it was shining directly at your face, sporting a rather melancholic expression.
“I-Is everything alright?”
You were biting your lower lip and your eyes looked glossy, almost like you were stopping yourself from crying.
“Y-Ye—“ “Be honest with me.”
Your eyes met his and then, did the tears slip down your face and your lip quivering.
“I’m so—hic—so sorry… I can’t begin to express how sorry I am to you, Zuko.”
He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, a pit settling in his stomach at the thought of being the reason for your tears. “What do you mean? Why are you apologizing?”
“I-I—Your wife! I s-stopped you from marrying your true love! A-And I’m so so sorry!” You were bawling at this point, lightly clutching Zuko’s robes and head crouched down in shame.
“Wait what?” He lifted your head up by your chin and saw how you were looking up at him with apologetic eyes.
Your breathing was shaky and you couldn’t look him in the eyes, making Zuko’s heart hurt.
He hesitated. He didn’t know how to make someone feel better if they were sad—let alone a woman and someone he feels strongly about. His everything hurts looking at you cry.
So he tried something he’s never done, but reminded him of his mother.
“Here,” he whispered, holding your shaky hands. His thumbs caressed small circles on your palms, and you slowly looked up at him with eyes that were still overflowing with tears.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. At all. Don’t ever think that…” He held eye contact that made you cry even more. “My wife.”
At that moment, it felt so natural. You slowly leaned in, caressing his scarred cheek and running your fingertips through his skin, and kissed him.
It felt all too natural, to be undressing you from your new formal nightly gown, and to lay you down on the bed beneath him.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to… We don’t have to consummate this marriage.”
“I do. I want to.” You said it all too quickly, looking away like you were flustered and destroying whatever nonchalant neutral façade you had been building.
The truth of the matter was that you love him and have been for years. And to think that you almost stopped him from “getting his true love”, you felt terrible during the two weeks the council forbid you see your husband until your wedding ceremony.
“I want to see you, Y/N.” It was the first time he’d ever say your name so gently while being face to face with you, and he felt a pit in his stomach just looking at your soft smile.
He kept eye contact while he stroked himself, hesitant on touching you.
“Okay…” you whispered quietly.
He began rubbing your slit with his cock, spreading your arousal on his length and paying attention to your clit.
“I… I learned something from the book during these two weeks I haven’t seen you.”
You blinked and suddenly gasped.
Zuko placed a hand above your abdomen and began plunging his index and middle finger into your pussy and thrusting them in and out, eliciting a string of lewd shlick! sounds that echoed around your chambers.
Your eyes tightened, holding his muscular forearm as he continued. Your gummy walls clenched on his thick, quick fingers curling inside of you and hitting that spot.
“Hahh… keep going. So so…good.”
A sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak slipped from your lips at the sight of Zuko sticking his middle and index fingers into his mouth, sucking on them.
“My Lord—!”
He smiled, a sense of pride overtaking him at your sudden shock. “Can’t I know how my wife tastes like? You taste simply divine, my wife.”
“Oh my—!” You squeaked, using your forearm to hide your flustered expression and beginning to roll your hips against nothing. Your clit still ached in anticipation for that friction he gave.
Zuko’s nimble fingers traced your goosebump-ridden skin and he cupped your left breast while his lips went further down to your other one. “You’re so damn beautiful, my wife. All mine...”
The pit in your stomach grew and you looked away, embarrassed and aroused.
“Please…touch me further.”
It was silent between the both of you for a moment; the wing in which the both of you were at was silent, and you could hear your heavy heartbeat in your ears the longer you kept eye contact with your husband’s golden eyes, pleading with you.
“Let me pleasure you…Y/N. Please.”
You nodded your head slowly and bit your lip, your gaze trailing down onto your husband’s cock again, practically on the verge of cumming.
“Darling—please,” his golden eyes gazed at you, your flushed face and hesitant expression, and he smiled softly.
He felt nervous. What if he didn’t like sex? What if you didn’t like it? As much as he can call you darling, he was a nervous wreck internally.
“L-Let me know if it hurts. Please. I will stop.”
You nodded and dug your nails on his gentle skin, creating crimson crescents in their wake.
And just like that, your husband penetrated you while holding you so gently. Your lips pursed and your eyes followed where his were: at your cunt. The skin of the base of his cock wrinkled the moment he bottomed out in you and gleamed with your arousal when he moved his hips. Zuko hissed, his breathing becoming jagged and heavy.
“M-Move…Faster, Zuko!.” He rocked his hips into you, holding your arms down against the sand. Your supple breasts bounced with every harsh thrust.
Oh, Zuko appeared as if he was going to lose it. You were just so beautiful and you were all his now.
Your eyebrows pinched together, lower lip bitten down, and tears welling up in your eyes.
“Oh my God!” Every move of his was fast, pistoning himself into you with ferocity that you slapped your hand on your mouth to stop squeaking. You felt bad for whatever maid or guard was outside hearing you cry out your husband’s name.
Zuko leaned towards you, latching his lips onto your jawline, where he left soft kisses in their wake. His cock dragged lazily against your velvety walls, clenching against him like a damn vice.
“Ahh—nghh…Z-Zuko—!” Your legs clung onto his hips lazily, body arching onto his while your arms covered your face. He’d slowly pull his hips away and slam into you so lasciviously.
Even if he did not replicate the same growing emotions you had for him, you still found yourself wanting more. Your hips bucked against his and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him again.
“You feel so good, my Lord…” you whispered, against his lips as you tasted him.
Your legs clung onto his waist, feeling his hips buck and thrusts slowly become less consistent. “Let me make you feel good forever, my love…”
Oh…
He flipped you, to be on top of him. The moment he bottomed out inside you, you let out a cry, pressing down on his lower stomach and bounced yourself on his dick.
“Fuck! Oh my—!” God you looked fucking stunning, with the moon hitting your upper torso and your breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust of his hips upwards.
“Let me make you mine, Y/N. I beg of you…” He groaned, hissing at how your cunt tightened around him oh so good.
You were crying—like actually crying—rocking your hips and fucking yourself on him back and forth. Zuko felt like he was on cloud nine; you were just too damn perfect.
“Nghh-more! Please!” A wave of euphoria washed over you; it was amazing…something you’ve never experienced before.
“Are you alright, Y/N?” He paused, noting your labored breathing and maw slack.
Your body felt damn feverish and you could feel how Zuko’s cock twitched inside you, spilling his hot, warm load inside your hole, making you full.
“F-Fuck…” Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly tugged you down on him, his head on the crook of your neck as he burried his seed inside you deeper. All warm and filling.
Your weight was on him and you could hear his heartbeat, both of you breathing heavily.
“We should… We should do that again. That was nice.” God, you really are perverted.
Or maybe he’s the perverted one for having one hell of a time right now.
“Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow.” He sighed, running his fingers through your hair and feeling your legs’ hold against him become tighter.
But one thing’s for certain: he wouldn’t give this up for the world.
.
.
.
is this rushed? maybe so, but i just had to write this lmao. i’ve been really busy with school recently and haven’t gotten proper time to really write this entire thing out!! anywayssss!! wish me luck in my future exams heheheeh
this is probably the longest fic i’ve ever written in regards to smutty content holy shit 😭
Boyfriend!Sokka is the epitome of a lover boy and is literally head over heels for you, having been that way since you met. He’d literally drink your bathwater. Follows you around like a lost puppy and drowns you in kisses at every opportunity. You truly have become the center of his universe, so much so that he's named his boat after you.
Boyfriend!Sokka never stops trying to wow you. He plans elaborate date nights regularly, and even gets everyone to help out to make it really special. Like that time he commissioned Katara to make an ice sculpture of the two of you. Sokka also spends his free time in the workshop constructing gifts in the form of gadgets that make your life easier. He's even tinkered with special inventions for after dark.
Boyfriend!Sokka is obsessed with your scent. To him, you always smell like flowers and fresh vanilla, and he can't help but bury his nose into you. The crook of your neck, the middle of your chest, and the inside of your thighs are the best places to nuzzle into. You smell so good, he can’t help but take a bite every now and then.
Boyfriend!Sokka is definitely a cuddler. His love language is physical touch, of course. Sokka holds you close at night, one arm anchoring your waist and chest pressed tight to your back. Every so often, his arm breaks away to allow his hands to caress your thighs. The higher his hands roam, the more your legs melt apart. He's always so smooth, working his way unnoticed until he presses his fingers between your puffy, slick lips.
Boyfriend!Sokka, his touches always start off so soft and sweet. Drawing delicate circles on you sensative clit. Slowly at first, before he begins to pick up steam, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp and your legs flinch apart. His free hand comes around to tweak your pert nipples over the thin material of your night gown. He's never surprised by how wet you get for him; he only wishes you'd spoken up sooner. “You weren’t gonna say anything?” He leans into the shell of your ear. “My shy girl.” He teases.
Boyfriend!Sokka lives to make you feel good. He relishes pulling moans from you with his experienced fingers. Even if your moans are hushed and strained, he adores them all the same. “Let go f’me baby, I wanna hear you.” He downright begs as his fingers circle your clit faster with a bit more pressure. Sokka loves it when you can’t hold back anymore, and your mouth falls open into a silent scream.
Boyfriend!Sokka loves to watch your face twist and contort as fucks into you. His hands grip your hips, while your legs are secured over his shoulders. The pretty anklet he made for you is dangling near his ear as he kisses the back of your womb with every weighted thrust. "Oh my God, Sokka, yes," you hiss as he bullies into you. His teeth clench when he feels your pussy cling to him tighter. "Fuck baby, you feel so good," He groans, losing his restraint as thrusts become sporadic. His hand is stroking your clit to bring you over the edge with him. Sokka loves it when you finish together.
Boyfriend!Sokka is the undespuited king of aftercare; he always makes sure to kiss and massage where he knows your grip was tight on your waist. He always gets a bit carried away with the massage, moving down your legs until he's working the knots out of your feet. Sokka pats himself on the back for having created a functioning towel warmer, so that he always has a fresh, clean towel to clean you up-- anything to make you feel pampered. It always ends with you curled up into his bare chest and kiss 'goodnight' on the forehead.
Author's Note: Yay, I've done it!!! I've proved to myself (and all of you) that I can write for more than MHA. Need a break from that anyway... But I hope all my Sokka lovers enjoy this little bit of something, it seems like my boy gets no love fr. Also, btw idk why yall be spamming Zuko under the Sokka tag (very weird), stop doing that. He's his own person and deserves his own thirst lol
summary: during the day, he is the Fire Lord — but at night, he belongs only to you.
warnings: female!reader, established relationship, a bit of fluff, teasing, cursing, dirty talk, suggestive themes, nsfw, smut, p in v sex, riding/cowgirl position, creampie, temperature play, lots of fluids, orgasms, MDNI;
a/n: erm, it started nice and then i got carried…
wc: 1,4k
Complete silence surrounded you.
That’s how most of your nights were spent in the royal chambers, waiting for your husband to finish his tasks.
You were lying in your bed as usual, dressed in the finest sleeping robe you owned — lazily watching the candles flicker since you didn’t have anything better to do.
You were half-asleep, but slumber didn’t quite reach you. You refused to let it win. You and Zuko barely spent time together. During the day, he was needed by his people. During the night, he was yours.
After a few more minutes passed, the movement of the door handle completely stirred you awake. The wooden door opened with a loud creak, and you rose up, the silk bedsheets creasing under your movement as you looked towards the entrance.
The lights in the room were dim, but the silhouette of your husband was unmistakable. He was already wearing one of his sleeping robes, one that resembled yours. A part of his strong chest could be seen, and his long black hair was down, a few strands falling over his face as he stepped towards you.
He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.
“It’s late for you,” he frowned, his hand reaching your cheek, his finger slightly grazing your skin, the touch barely there — as if he was still afraid to do it properly.
“Time works the same for both of us,” you reminded him with a raised brow, leaning into his touch.
He narrowed his eyes at you.
“Are you talking back to the Fire Lord?” he asked, trying to repress his smile.
You huffed and took his face in your palms, squishing his cheeks together.
“Are you talking back to your wife?” you frowned, and he shook his head instantly.
“That’s what I thought,” you smiled proudly as you scooched over to make space for him. “Now sit down so I can hug you. I’m cold,” you commanded, and he sighed, but obeyed.
The room truly was colder than usual, and he knew it.
He got onto the bed, the mattress lowering even more because of his weight. He was a tall, broad man, taking up almost both sides of the bed, leaving you barely any space.
That’s why, once he was settled — head on the pillow, hair splayed on the sheets, chest barely covered by his robe — you crawled on top of him, placing your face in the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around his torso. The warmth he emitted made you feel fuzzy inside, and you nuzzled your face into his hair.
“What am I… your heater?” he sighed, his hands wrapping around your waist, massaging your skin through the thin material.
“A very handsome one, yes,” you smiled, and he scoffed.
“Compliments are not going to work,” he said dramatically as he stared down at you.
“Does the Fire Lord require anything else from me?” you asked teasingly, raising your head from his neck, balancing yourself on your elbows against his chest.
From his position, he had a very clear view of your cleavage. The robe sat loosely on your breasts, revealing the soft skin under.
He found himself staring a second too long — long enough for you to notice. When he realized, he faked a cough and looked away.
You only chuckled and lifted yourself from his chest, shifting your legs to straddle his lap.
“You know, you can touch me however you like. I’m yours, Zuko,” you reminded him.
Your hands moved to your robe, untying the knot completely, letting it fall open and reveal your breasts before him. The soft material slipped down your shoulders, bunching at your waist and hips, barely covering your bare cunt.
Zuko took a deep breath, his eyes beginning to wander over your exposed body. His face remained composed, but when his cock twitched against your inner thigh, you decided to take control.
“How can I assist you, my lord?” you tilted your head, slowly grinding yourself against his crotch, feeling him harden beneath you.
“You must have had a long day,” you purred, your voice low as your palms moved over his chest, massaging his muscles before sliding down to untie his robe.
“Take it all out on me,” you suggested, and he groaned under you.
His large hands instantly found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he dragged you over his crotch again.
You moaned at the friction, craving more. Your fingers quickly pulled down the material of his undergarments, revealing his hardened cock, veins prominent along the length.
“Ride me,” he commanded, his hands moving to your ass, gripping firmly.
You moaned in response, your fingers wrapping around his cock, giving him a few slow pumps before lifting your hips and aligning him at your entrance. His leaking tip brushed your clit before you slowly sank down onto him, gasping the moment you felt him stretch you.
He let out another groan, teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep quiet as he watched you take him fully, your pussy molding around base perfectly.
“Fuck… fuck,” he breathed out when you squeezed him, making it harder for him to move. “I needed this… needed you.”
“Mhm— me too,” you nodded mindlessly, beginning to move your hips, riding him, your pace gradually increasing.
“How can I stay away from you?” he grunted, his hips thrusting up to meet you half way. “When you take me like this.”
His breathing turned uneven as he watched you bounce on him. Wet, squelching sounds filled the quiet room, your breasts moving with each motion, your nipples hard from the cold.
A faint smirk appeared on his face as he lifted his hands, cupping your breasts, kneading them roughly, pulling louder moans from you. His thumbs pressed against your nipples, holding them there until a warmth began to build on your sensitive buds — heat spreading just enough to make you gasp and shudder. Your skin was cold with sweat, but his touch was hot and it drove you crazy.
“Zuko,” you cried, your legs trembling, your mouth falling open.
Your hands gripped him for balance as you kept moving, the tip of him hitting that sensitive spot every time you sank down.
“More!” you whimpered, and he responded with a low grunt.
Noticing your legs weakening, he released your breasts and grabbed your hips instead, taking control. He lifted you up and down with force, the sudden pace making your head spin.
He was lost in it too — muttering curses under his breath, hair sticking to his forehead, veins standing out along his neck. His cock twitched, his release close.
You felt him grow hotter inside you, your walls tightening as you took him deeper, faster, your body trembling each time you welcomed him in. His skin grew warmer with every passing moment, until his touch felt almost burning against your skin, forcing your head back as your moans blended with his groans.
“I’m— fuck— so close,” he grunted, his control slipping.
“Inside, inside,” you pleaded, your voice breaking as your own release approached.
And with one final thrust, everything snapped.
The next moments blurred together. Your senses sharpened, your eyes rolling back as a loud moan escaped you, your body collapsing against Zuko’s burning form.
His skin was hot and damp, his touch overwhelming, and when he breathed, steam came out of his nostrils and mouth. He groaned deeply as he spilled his cum inside you, making you flinch at the intensity of the heat. His body burned from the orgasm, taking him a few moments to cool down.
“Did the stress go away?” You let out a breathy giggle in his ear, and he shakes his head.
“Should we keep going?” You suggest with a teasing smirk.
“I have duties tomorrow, love…” he exhales as he watches you straighten your back and hoover above him.
“Then stop me,” you raise a brow at him.
But he looks away, hands remaining at his sides, not even lifting a finger.
I don't normally do this type of thing, but I had a thought...
Imagine you and Katsuki having a pet ( a kitty :p), and of course, he pretends to hate the thing. But the little kitty always gravitates towards him: sitting on his lap and following him around the house.
"Get out of the way, you damn bastard!!!"
"Kats-" you swoop down to pick up the cat, cradling it into your chest. "He's not a bastard, he literally has a mom and a dad."
-💥-
Or when you catch him napping, with the little guy curled up on his stomach. Both of them are just snoring away and can't help but snap a picture. If only to keep as evidence that the two actually love each other.
Katsuki is always the one to make sure that the cat is healthy and has regular vet check-ups. He always suggests new treats and even puts the cat tree you insisted on getting, all on his own, without you even having to ask.
-💥-
You catch him one afternoon when he thought you weren't paying attention. He was crouched over, stroking the cat's chin, the cat purring loudly. You were peaking around the corner to see how long the interaction would last. It went on for a minute, and Katsuki even muttered a few things under his breath that you couldn't make out.
"Aww, look at my two cuties," You teasingly cooed. His head whipped around, and he knew that he'd been caught red-handed. "Admit it, he's your baby." The corners of your mouth curl into a grin. Katsuki sucks his teeth.
firelord zuko and his royal advisor 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
༄ 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 coworkers(?) to lovers, he fell first AND harder, first kisses, too many marriage proposals for the fire lord, happy ending, lowkey power imbalance cause he’s technically her boss, sever angst in ch.3, fluff in all other chs, political concerns, unc iroh is alive idc, more to be added as i write!
༄ 𝐜𝐡.𝟏
when avatar aang’s letter accidentally outs firelord zuko’s feelings for his royal advisor.
༄ 𝐜𝐡.𝟐 ⌞coming soon...⌝
under the moonlight, feelings become more apparent but uncle iroh interrupts an intimate moment between you and the Fire Lord.
༄ starr's p.s. hi! i was not planning on this and i highkey such at consistently posting series’ [ahem regency jason ahem] but by popular demand of 30 ish people in comments, i will be doing this!!! the number of chapters might change a little but this is what ive outlined for now!! stay tuned!!! i’ll probably post properly starting 29th-30th after my exams!!
Synopsis: in which Choso's uber religious parents caught him masturbating and decided he must have been possessed by a demon. so they call on the Church for help.
experienced exorcist that you are, you're no fool. you know immediately what's really happened. but you still want to help. perhaps by reassuring poor, pent up Choso that there's absolutely nothing wrong with giving in to temptation.
especially when it feels so good.
Warnings: porn with a lil plot, dubcon - corruption kink and power imbalance, bondage, reader is a nun, mentions of Choso facing parental abuse (controlling behaviour, socially stunting him, drugging him, shaming him, forcing religious beliefs/practices on him etc.), heavy on breastfeeding, femdom, masochist!choso, sub!choso, whimpery Choso, virgin!choso, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus/face sitting, blowjob, 69, dacryphilia, face slapping, pussyjob, cowgirl, missionary, mating press, creampie/unprotected sex, belly bulging, briefest rimming, squirting, sacrilegious and offensive I already know — christians beware, Choso fanart by @mochikuyo on X, not proofread
Word Count: 9.4k
“Thank you so much for coming, Sister,” a trembling mother says as you step into her home. She cowers beside her husband, who looks pale and stricken with fear.
You cast your gaze around the interior of the house. In many ways, it’s just as it looks outside: pristinely kept, neatly arranged, flawless. From the perfect hedges to the carefully polished floors, the thoughtfully positioned paintings and books on shelves, it’s clear everything has been tended to with diligence bordering on obsessiveness.
Nodding, you politely reply, “Of course. The Church takes every report of demonic possession very seriously.”
The house isn’t silent — there’s the faint ticking of a clock somewhere deeper in the house, harmonising with the low hum of appliances in the background — but it’s not full of life, as one would expect from a family with many children.
Sons.
Immediately putting to use your training, you try to feel for any otherworldly presence, for something dark, something insidious.
Nothing.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean this is another false case of paranoia.
Demons can be tricky. They can obscure themselves from the senses very well, to the point where exorcists even more experienced than you wouldn’t be able to notice them at all. They can hide in plain sight, tricking those around them with a facade of passive harmlessness.
“Please take me to him.”
They jolt at the command, as though they hadn’t expected you, a woman much younger than them, to be so forward, so commanding. Still, they nod faithfully.
The two of them lead you down the hallway. Closer to the pictures hanging on the walls now, you see the children mentioned in the file: most of them are older than the Afflicted (or should you say, ‘potentially’ Afflicted’), certainly past living at home. The youngest is a toddler. He must be at school at this hour, or with relatives.
The Afflicted, on the other hand, is around your age. He should be college aged. Yet, the file states that he lives at home, has no friends, no hobbies, no reason to be out and about. Which is why his parents were so concerned; they cannot fathom where he could have come into contact with a demon.
That’s not always how it works, you wanted to tell them in your letter correspondence; demons can come to you. But the less they know the better. It wouldn’t help anyway. Not when they’d already made their minds up about what was going on with their son.
Soon, you come face to face with a door. It’s weighed down by thirteen locks. You cock a brow at that. Clinging rings out as the husband fumbles with a busy keychain. With a glance back at you to double-check that you’re really there or to make sure that you’re sure about this, he unlocks each padlock after your confirmatory nod, undos every chain, and loosens all the bindings.
The door swings open slowly, creaking.
“Please be careful, Sister,” the wife warns, hand reaching out to clutch your elbow. “Forgive me for saying this, but you are small compared to t-that thing. It may overpower you.”
Reassuringly, you place your hand over hers and give her a small smile. “He, Mrs. Kamo.” She blinks. You clarify, “Not ‘thing.’ Not ‘it.’ Your son is still here. It will help to fight off evil forces, if any lingers, if you remember a pure, innocent soul remains, waiting to be saved.”
She nods frantically, pale with guilt or shame or another thing entirely. Her husband places a hand on the small of her back, just as disturbed by all of this.
You lead the way down the stairs.
It seems they’ve kept the ‘Afflicted’ in the cellar. If he is indeed possessed, that would have been a good decision — having a vessel freely walking about, when there is a child around, is dangerous. If he is not…
Well.
The bulb above you flickers, buzzing.
Only when your feet touch the floor do you finally see him.
A man lying on the bed, fully clothed, with his limbs spread and bound to the bed posts. Lazily, his eyes drag to the staircase, expecting his parents, but not you. He stiffens.
“A nun?” he says, frowning. “You brought a nun?”
Mr. Kamo snaps, “You do not speak to us, demon!”
The metal restraints clink and clang as he tries to sit up, to no avail. He just groans, banging his head against the pillows and staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. “For the last time, I’m not possessed.”
“That is for me to ascertain,” you say, looking around. “Choso, yes?”
He huffs an affirmative. “Look, Sister, I’m sorry my parents made you come all the way here, but you’re wasting your time. I’m not possessed. I’m fine. Truly.”
You smile at him when your gazes meet. Something flashes in his eyes before he looks away, clearing his throat. Sweetly, you reply, “Even if you aren’t possessed, it is clear you need help. And as a son of our Heavenly Father and a member of our Church, it is my duty to see to it that you get everything you need to continue living a life of faith.”
Your words make him grimace.
It seems the files are accurate, at least pertaining to one thing: he is not a believer.
The cellar smells faintly of damp concrete and something sharper beneath it. Sweat, maybe, or nerves left too long to settle. The space itself is sparse. A large bed which he lies on, a small table pushed to the side, a bare bulb overhead casting uneven light that leaves corners in shadow, and a thin blanket that covers most of his body.
Setting your bag down on the table, you move with practiced efficiency.
One by one, you take out what you need — candles placed at intervals, a small vial of holy water, a worn book whose spine has seen years of use. A match strikes. Flame flickers to life. Then another. Warm light begins to bloom across the room, softening its harsh edges.
A sweet, herbal scent wafts into the air. It overtakes the damp smell.
“I’m not possessed,” Choso reminds you, frowning harder. He’s watching your every move.
“Silence, demon!” his mother snaps. She turns to you. “Please, can you do something? His evil influence is spreading to his brother; no longer wants to go to church or pray. Soon they’ll take control of the household!”
The file mentioned those symptoms: refusal to partake in prayer, reluctance to attend mass, marking his face and violating God’s temple, disrespect shown to mother and father e.g. talking back and questioning their orders.
It’s obvious from the file alone that he’s simply being rebellious. Thinking for himself, and choosing to disassociate from a religion, a community, that’s never brought him joy. From their witness reports, it seems like he hadn’t even done any harm. Not harm commonly associated with demonic activity anyway.
Choso merely displeased them.
You know what kind of people his parents are. Judgmental, controlling, misusing the word of God to spread fear, to subjugate, and showing no kindness in their actions. You see them every day. They come in different shapes, yet their spirit remains the same; damned.
To have lived under their roof all of his life, to have felt the suffocation, the misery…
It must have been Hell on Earth.
Telling them he is not possessed would not suffice. They already made their minds up. In many ways, you were invited for them, not for their son. But you came for him. And, under your guidance, he will come for you.
That is what it means to be a servant of God.
“Let us see, shall we?” you say. You open the lid to the vial and spray his body. Most land on his face.
He hisses.
“See!” both parents yell, hugging each other tightly and backing away from the bed. “Demon!”
Choso grumbles, “It was cold.”
Biting back a smile, you turn to the two and inform them, “You are right. He is possessed. It appears to be a Grade B demon. Nothing I cannot handle, but certainly not something you can face. So I urge you to leave the house. Go to a neighbour’s. Pray. I will call for you when I am done.”
Their son makes a noise. “What? No. I’m not possessed!”
His voice cracks with indignation, cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment, eyes darting between you and his parents as though searching for someone — anyone — to side with him.
“He lies,” you confirm, urging them out of the room. Then, making a show of praying, you look up and say, “Forgive him, Father. He is not himself.”
Mrs. Kamo nods enthusiastically, shoulders dropping in relief at being proven right as she lets you usher them both out. “Yes, thank you, Sister. Please, save our son. Bring him back to us.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll take very good care of him.”
Your word is law; they cannot and will not argue with a Divine Servant. Their footsteps fade gradually, the front door creaking open and then shutting with a dull thud, followed by the faint murmur of their voices as they retreat further away, leaving the house steeped in a burdensome, expectant quiet.
Finally alone, you return to the cellar and face Choso, who looks less than pleased with you.
“I’m not possessed,” he repeats, huffing in frustration. “I’m not possessed and you know it.”
Choso Kamo is a handsome young man in a way not many in this town are — lean yet not gangly, tall, exuding a darker energy to him what his brooding exterior and unimpressed eyes. Most of the men his age are pimply, clumsy, arrogant. He’s calmer and simultaneously clearly with a penchant for getting carried away and too excited.
This’ll be a fun one, you think to yourself.
You come to sit on the bed, right by his hip. He stills and grows even more so, if it was possible, when you pull the blanket off his body. “No, Choso, you’re not possessed. But you’re also not well. A powerful force has taken over you, blinded you, taken you deeper into the dark. But I’m here now. I will save you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he grits out, growing more and more tired by the constant need to repeat the truth.
Tenderly, you say, “Then explain why you’ve permanently marked your face.”
“It’s a form of self-expression. My body is my own,” he answers haughtily. “No one owns me. That might offend you, Sister, and for that I’m sorry. But I refuse to conform to religious conservatism. And neither should my brothers, especially Yuji.”
You smile. “That doesn’t offend me at all; I’m a firm believer in self-expression.”
Choso rattles his chains as he adjusts on the bed. “I find that hard to believe when you’re wearing a uniform.”
“Oh? You like?”
The candles you lit waft a sugary scent in the air. It makes your mouth water. Warmer down here now, you shrug your top layer off: a shawl. It reveals your habit. Black, ironed fabric covers most of you. It’s tight around the chest and waist, falling to your ankles, with slits up your both thighs. You feel the heat of his eyes on your breasts. They zero in on the imprint of your hardened nipples.
“See? A pure soul would not be salivating at the sight of a Sister’s breasts.”
He blanches. Then flushes. Hard. “I-uh-I wasn’t…” he stammers out.
You hum. “It’s alright.”
Choso’s brows knit together. “It is?”
“Yes. The starved energy inside craves flesh. It craves the softness of a woman’s tits.”
He flinches, like you’d struck him — he’s never heard anyone be so vulgar, and a nun at that. It must be befuddling him to no end.
“Yes, tits, Choso. It’s not blasphemous to say, and so I can.” Cupping your breasts, you show him how they recoil in your hold, how they pudge when you squeeze. Choso’s mouth falls open, entranced. “It is normal for you to want a woman, for you to desire my body, my tits. Natural and expected, even.”
He can’t take his eyes away from the movement of your own hands, how they dig into your own ample chest, how your nipples poke out even more and he can faintly see the shape of your areola through the thin material, and how you gasp when you graze against the buds by accident, or on purpose.
“You don’t wear bras?” he wonders aloud, breathless. But then he shakes his head, as though he had heard how dreamy his voice sounded and it was nothing short of humiliating. “N-no. No. I’m fine. There’s no ‘dark energy.’ You’re not needed here if you won’t believe me and convince my parents to let me out of here.” It’s almost like he’s trying to convince himself. He sounds so troubled too.
Bless his heart.
“If you’re fine and free from any ailments, then explain to me why you’re pitching a tent with your cock.”
Panicked and horrified, Choso’s eyes flit down to his pants. Just as you had said, there’s a noticeable, undeniable bump at his groin. Chains rattle louder when he reflexively pulls his legs up to cover himself. He can’t. He can only lay down helplessly, vulnerable to your judging eyes.
“I, um…I—Fuck!” he curses, beyond flushed now. He exhales through his nose. “Sorry. Please ignore it. It…It keeps happening. Ever since I stopped taking this tea my mother would give me, that keeps happening to me. It’s not a demon. I looked it up in the library. It’s puberty. It’s hormones. Urges. Biological urges.”
A hand placed on his thigh has him staring at you suspiciously. The muscles under your touch flex. You can tell he really wants to snatch his leg from you, if only because he’s unsure of what your intentions are and what the touch means. Maybe also because no woman has ever touched him there, and it’s frightening.
You nod, smiling. “Yes, you’re right. What you have is an erection. Science explains it as biological urges, yes. But we, at the Church, know it can also be caused by malignant energies.”
“It’s not anything,” he yells. Gritting his teeth, he glares up at the ceiling. “I thought you’d be different. I thought you’d see reason, despite your beliefs. I thought you would actually help me. Even just for a second, I actually believed someone would be on my side, would understand — I’m not a bad person. I’m not possessed. There’s. Nothing. Wrong. With. Me.”
Placing a hand on his chest, you firmly say, “I am on your side, Choso. I do understand. I am here to help. But we do things my way. Open your mind up. Listen and hear me out. I promise, you will soon come to see.”
He’s about to argue. You cut him off.
Sharp nails walk up his clothed thigh, savouring their sudden tensing. His breath hitches. The moment your fingers touch his erection, his hips jerk. “W-what are you doing?”
“Cleansing you. Purifying your body. You may not be possessed, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t afflicted.”
“A-afflicted?”
The glint in your eyes has him gulping. You vaguely say, “With sin. One of the Cardinals. The worst of the worst.”
You lightly grip the chubby thing.
“Sister!” he cries out, hips jolting and back arching.
It’s hot. And big. One of the bigger ones you’ll be facing. Through the layers, you can feel the ridges of his cock. You palm it, watching how his eyes widen before he bites his lips.
Oh, he must be so confused — all his life, he’s been taught pleasure is bad. Any hint of hedonism and sensuality must be condemned. Yet here you are, a representative of the Church, indulging in debauchery and convincing him it’s alright. How can he possibly tell right from left, up from down, wrong from right now?
“You were caught touching yourself, weren’t you?” you ask though it’s really not a question. “Was it your first time?”
He’s far too focused on the feeling of your hand stroking him to answer. You squeeze too tightly. Choso sucks in a sharp breath. “N-no,” he replies. “It was my, um, second. The -hah- first time, I was too scared by the sensation. I’ve never felt my…my… p-penis like this. I kept obsessing over it, and eventually tried again. I -ngh fuck!- could feel something building and building, and that’s when they caught me.”
“I see,” you hum, continuing to stroke him. “It felt good?”
Choso hesitates for a second. He’s gauging how honest he can be with you; honesty isn’t something commonly practiced in his home, obviously. But you are touching his erection through his pants so maybe you’re to be trusted. He nods. “Yes.” And despite his embarrassment, he adds, “This feels better though. You do it better. Your h-hand feels better.”
A small spot begins forming on his pants, right where his cockhead is hidden. You prod it. The chains rattle. His hips lurch.
“This is evidence of your possession,” you tell him. The glistening of the pad of your finger is all he can see after you bring it up to his face. “Taste your sin, Choso.”
Shaking his head, he tries to avoid your descending finger. “No, p-please. It’s dirty.”
“Yes, yes, it is. But if you complete this step of the ritual, then we can move on to the next, and it’ll taste so much better.”
That seems to entice him. He stops evading your finger, allowing it to rest upon his plump lips, not quite tasting just yet. Choso echoes, “Better? What tastes better?”
You grin mischievously. “Your reward.”
The slightest adjustment of your legs answers his question too — his eyes dart to the slither of skin showing, to the smoothness of your thigh. It’s a sight he’s never been allowed to see. A sight he knows instinctively he wants so badly. He knows if he ventures up your thighs, there’ll be something there waiting for him.
It’s really a thing of wonder, how biology leads the way.
Choso keeps staring, watching how candlelight dances on the shininess of your skin. Surrounded by boys all his life, he’s never known an adult’s skin to be so supple-looking. He only knows roughness, coarse hair, calluses, and scars. You promise so much more.
His lips fall open, whether intentionally or absentmindedly. You dip the sullied finger inside his mouth, encouraging his tongue to reach for the droplet.
He makes a face that can only be described as disgust when the taste registers.
You laugh. “It’s salty, isn’t it?”
“I want my reward,” he petulantly grumbles, spitting out your finger.
Not wanting to drag it out any longer, you come to kneel on the bed.
The mattress dips beneath your weight. You cast a shadow over his body with yours. Choso observes every move you make, cautious and suspicious. He’s still not convinced that you’re on his side, that you know what you’re doing.
Under your short guimpe, you unbutton the top part of your dress. Your breasts springs out, released from their tight constraints.
“Oh, god,” he breathes out, shocked, appalled, and entranced in one fell swoop.
This’ll be the first time he’s ever seen bare breasts. And up this close?
He must be out of his mind, must have hit it on his way down as his father dragged him to the cellar.
As though something’s taken over him, his head lunges forward, attempting to latch onto a nipple. You grip his face, preventing him from making contact. “Behave. To be cleansed by a holy instrument is a blessing. A privilege. You must be patient.”
He blushes. “S-sister, forgive me. I can’t think, c-can’t seem to control myself.”
Massaging your own breasts of their aches, you moan out, “It’s alright. You simply need to give me a second to prepare my instrument.” After a couple seconds, when they’re ready, you bring a tit to his lips. “Here. Drink. My milk will begin the cleansing ritual.”
“Drink?” he repeats, surprised. He spots the opaque liquid dripping from the small holes in your areolas. “Oh, fuck. I can’t, Sister. This is too much. This is…this is bad.”
In moments of crisis, at his absolute lowest, he turns to what is familiar, even if he has never believed his parents’ teachings his entire life. He knows what his body wants, but it’s so new, so sudden, that he cannot comprehend how any of this is possible, how this could be the will of his family, of the Church, of the God you serve.
But he needn’t worry about anything other than following your instructions. Anything beyond the confines of his cellar is none of his concern now.
Cradling his face, you coo, “I know, Choso. I know. Will you just try, for me? I made all this milk for you and it hurts. It makes my breasts ache, makes them so sore. Don’t you want to help me, to relieve me, to make me feel good?”
Choso follows the wasted droplets, which travel down the curves of your breasts and fall to the bed. He licks his lips. “Help…yes…yes, I want to help. I want to make you feel good.”
“Such a good boy, thank you.” You brush his unruly, raven hair from his face. You lean closer. A nipple’s fed to his parting lips. The moment skin touches skin, he dives forward and sucks you towards him. “Ngh! Choso!”
He’s no longer listening to you — his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, lashes fluttering against your breast. The force in which he’s suckling on your tit has milk rushing out, swirling in his mouth for only a second before they travel down his throat and sink to his stomach where warmth pools.
Moans after moans mingle together. It feels good. Really good. A mix of relief with exhiliration from his flicking tongue.
This may be his first time sucking on a woman’s breast in his adulthood, but he’s basically a pro.
Your hand returns to his clothed cock.
He grunts, the vibrations piercing your chest and whirring down to your core.
The small damp spot has grown. Shlick! Shlick! noises resound as you stroke him again. His cock throbs in your grasp in time with the waves of milk oozing out onto his tongue.
“We need to -hngh good, such a good boy- n-need to drain the sin from you,” you tell him. “My milk will purify you from the inside, but you need to be empty. We’ll work hard together, yes, Choso?”
“Mmm,” he hums, not quite processing your words.
Choso’s hands fight against his restraints; he yearns to touch your breasts, to knead the flesh, to squeeze out more milk, to feel even more of you. It’s driving him wild.
Juices soak the inside of your thighs, leaving a sticky mess.
To know that his parents are in the next house — worried sick for their son but trusting you to deliver him to salvation, none the wiser that your pussy’s fluttering in anticipation for the devious ways you were going to put their son through it — has you resisting the urge to just take him right here, right now. To hell with the proper means of purification.
This is truly the best part of your job; misusing lost, confused individuals for your own excitement.
Your body is for pleasure. That is how you will save humanity from sin, by absorbing all of the dark energy with your cunt, by taking the brunt of their frustrations, and feeding your body the salty ploughing of cocks and pussies in dire need of your holy guidance.
There is no greater Church, no greater sisterhood, no greater cause.
Unable to take it anymore, you pull away from Choso.
A whine leaves his lips. “No, Sister, please!”
Milk drips down his chin, leaving his skin and lips glistening. He cranes to take your breast back into his mouth. The chains don’t let him. He moans, head banging against his pillows. His hips are chasing your hand too, throbbing pushing the material of his pants to their limit as his cock bobs uselessly.
“Oh, Choso,” you mewl, tongue licking over your sharp teeth, “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”
That’s all the warning he gets before his vision is completely obscured by the black of your habit and the shadow of the apex of your thighs. His surprised groans are muffled by your cunt, which you rub all over his face, smearing the wetness everywhere.
“Sister,” he moans, tongue immediately slithering all over your pussy — through your slit, over your asshole, prodding your clit, wriggling inside your entrance. “Your smell…your taste…your warmth…I think I might pass out.”
Over his shirt, your fingers flick and pinch his nipples. His back arches. “No, Choso. It’s far too early to be tapping out. There’s still so much to do. Be a good boy and hang in there, alright?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be good. Mm, I’ll be so good,” he mumbles. As you rock your hips against his face, giving him reprieve to breathe here and there, he desperately says, “Tell me what to do. I-I’ve never done this before. Tell me what I’m supposed to do, please!”
You play with your own tits, spreading the milk over your skin. “Drink. Drink my holy water, Choso. Allow me to cleanse your body with my pussy’s juices.”
Your body’s getting hotter and hotter by the second. His breath’s fanning over your sensitive folds, tickling you. It didn’t even take a beat for him to follow your orders so diligently; he’s sipping your juices eagerly and enthusiastically. You squeal, pleased.
“Do it, Choso! Lick my pussy!”
His tongue swipes through your soaked, puffy folds, gathering as much of your wetness as he can before he gluttonously swallows. With animalistic ferocity, he feasts on your overflowing juices. Sloppy slurrrrrrpsss! and squeeeeelccch!! reverberate. He’s downright drowning in your taste, in the sweetness and tang, and he can’t get enough — you can see how his tied up hands reach for you, uncaring of the metal digging into his raw skin.
“Ngh! You’re so good at this,” you moan out, riding his face. “If only the others could see you like this, could see how devoted you are to serving God. They’d understand. They’d see. They’d be moved to heavenly pleasure too!”
Choso thrusts his long tongue inside you, scooping out your juices. He probably can’t breathe. He definitely doesn’t care.
Squeezing your tits and imagining it’s his, and Father Nanami’s, digging their fingers in the fat mounds, you hop on his tongue. He’s got a sinful tongue, more so than even Lucifer himself. It wriggles against your spongy walls, curling against a spot he doesn’t realise is deliriously pleasurable for you. He only knows that it’s making your juices flood his face. They flow down his neck, soaking into the sheets.
“My clit, Choso. Suck my clit,” you beg. He pauses, unsure of what you mean. “The small button here,” you say, grinding your cunt on his nose. You tap the bundle of nerves on the tip of his nose. “Suck here, Choso.”
“More juices will come?” he asks, breathless and sounding so innocent, one would think what you were doing was simply Bible study.
With a hum, you answer, “Yes, baby. So much more juices will come.”
That’s all he needs to hear. Choso wraps his lips around your clit, sucking intently. Your eyes widen. Your back arches into an unnatural bend. Your thighs clamp around his head. “Yes!” you cry out. “Yes! So, so good! Oh, your sinful tongue is driving me insane.”
You bend forward, hurriedly ripping his pants and underwear away with your sharp nails. His long, hard cock springs out. It’s so swollen it looks like it’ll burst with the slightest brush of the wind. The cockhead is so flushed it’s purple, and covered with a sheen of pearlescent cream.
He already came in his pants.
Yet his cock is raring to go again.
Good, you think.
Salty, swampy air fills your nose when you press your face to it. His sweat. His cum. His musk. It all shoots straight up to your brain. Your tongue lolls out.
It’s the prettiest, most delicious looking cock you’ve ever seen. So delectably thick and girthy. It keeps bobbing towards you, booping your nose with its slick tip and leaving a dollop of cum there.
“W-what are you doing?” he asks again, voice muffled by your cunt.
Always so edge.
“I’m gonna suck out all the impurities.”
Choso makes an embarrassed sound. “But it’s dirty there, Sister.”
“Then allow me to clean it up with my tongue,” you say. Planting a kiss on the bulbous head, you open your mouth as wide as you can and take as much of him into your mouth as possible.
“Sister!” he gasps. Beneath you, Choso trembles. His body’s straining against his restraints. His reflexes urge him to grab you, to take control, to wildly thrust in your mouth. But he can’t do anything more than lie here and take whatever you want to give him.
His cock is stretching your jaw to the point of soreness. You persist.
The fullness, the taste, the challenge — you want more. Greedily, you gobble his cock down your throat, reaching the base with experienced ease. You gag, throat clenching around his length.
“Oh, Sister! It feels so good. Your mouth is -fuck!- so heavenly! Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Hot cum explodes.
Choso cries out.
He came so quickly, not that you’re very shocked; it’s his first proper time, after all, and his cock was already so sensitive after he had his accident in his pants from eating you out. You swallow it all, every drop, every spurt. It warms your mouth and throat, settling in your chest. The saltiness stings your throat and your eyes in the very best ways. It’s years of cum that’s been stored in his heavy balls, finally released.
Spasms wrack his body. The chains rattle so loudly, causing the wood of the bedposts to creak.
Through it all, you keep sucking on his cockhead and tugging on his cock, making sure to get every bit out.
“What was that?” he asks, so terrified of the phenomenon he’d just experienced.
“An orgasm, Choso. You came. It’s the peak of pleasure, the height of sin, and the purpose of sex. A gift from God. Be grateful.”
At the mention of God, Choso says, sentence punctuated by a sob: “T-this is wrong,” “We shouldn’t do this. I understand now I was wrong, so please, Sister, have mercy!”
The poor thing’s crying. He’s overwhelmed with the religious guilt washing over him. It’s a lot for him to take at once. Perhaps you shouldn’t have started in this position. It’s too late for regrets, however. You simply need to distract him now.
“Shh, Choso. It’s okay. Trust in me. You are safe.” Rubbing your cunt on his lips, you muffle his cries. The taste of you which seeps onto his tongue halts his tears. As if remembering where he is and what he’s got right in front of him, he hesitantly licks your cunt again. “Thaaaat’s it. Good Choso.”
“You’re so -hah hah- sweet, Sister,” he murmurs between gulps of your wetness.
“As is God’s will,” you say, shaking your hips. “Just like it’s his will for you to submit to me, Choso. Be not afraid. Listen only to me and your desire. Let it flow out of you. Then and only then will you be saved.”
Desire renewed, he resumes eating your pussy. Hungrily. Like a man absolutely parched.
Quickly, he builds a rhythm back up — furiously assaulting your cunt with his wet tongue. You moan in time with his monstrous growls. He’s relentless, driven by his need to quell years of repression. “So sweet,” he gasps out in between beastly laps of your cunt. “So, so sweet.”
He slurrrrrrppss! on your clit until your orgasm splashes onto his face.
“Fuck, Choso!” you squeal. “Yessssssss!”
The man hardly seems to notice you’ve orgasmed. Or perhaps he doesn’t recognise what a woman’s full-body spasms and stuttering hips mean. Your cunt’s swollen and on fire. You crawl away, biting back a smile knowing that the snarl that pierces the air is because he’s not done with your pussy.
And you’re not done with him either.
Maneuvering yourself around, you face him.
Hair a mess, sticking to his forehead with sweat and slick. Skin flushed under his face markings. Choso’s face is slippery with your juices. He doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are blown out and glazed over. Despite that, he’s honed in on your tits, which heave with your panting. They’re shiny with your milk too. The two of you are positively soaked.
“W-what’s the next step, Sister?” he asks, voice deepening to something unrecognisable. Guttural.
You straddle his hips, lifting your habit to show him how your pussy sandwiches his pulsating length. Choso’s hips rise to meet yours, hissing. You say, “You must give in. You must accept God.”
Choso whines, hips chasing the slow grinding of your cunt on his cock. “I can’t. I don’t believe in it, in Him.”
Stabilising yourself on his chest, you hump his cock mindlessly. It’s so stiff, so hot, and rubbing against your clit perfectly with the prominent veins climbing up his length and the bulbous head. “You will,” you tell him. “If you want to -mm- feel what it’s like to be snug -hah- inside my cunt, to be c-cleansed in and out, to be rid of -ngh!- to be rid of sin and free from your parents' control, you will accept Him.”
He tries to resist. His hands grip the metal of his chains. His wrists and palms are pink — raw from his straining. “No, I can’t.”
Although as he says that, you feel him rutting up at you, stretching as high up as he can go with his legs pulled taut. Lewd, sloppy sounds reach your ears like a symphony. Pouting, you swivel your hips around his cockhead. Your clit kisses his tip, digging into the small hole.
“MmFuck!” He arches his back, and whimpers noisily. He’s panting faster and faster, throwing his head side to side.
“You can, Choso, and you will. For me?” you whine, grinding on his dick quicker and hastier. Pulling his shirt up to see more of his glorious body, you keep it tucked under his chin. “I want to feel you inside me. I want to help you. Don’t you want to join me? Don’t you want to feel good together?”
His cock spurts more cum, a lighter load than the first couple times; his balls can’t keep up with the rate that he’s emptying them.
Jaw clenching. Sweat darkening his shirt. Veins on his arms popping. Choso writhes, growing dizzier and dizzier with the waves of his sudden orgasm. You keep grinding and grinding as though you want him to cum again so soon.
“No, please!” he sobs, tears streaking down his cheeks.
“Aw, without me?” You drag your nails down his chest, feeling the stickiness of his cum which has painted his pale skin, splotchy with blood thrumming under the skin. “That’s not very Love Thy Neighbour of you, Choso. I’m so disappointed. You know, maybe you’re right.”
Choso blinks rapidly, tears coating his lashes. “W-what?”
“Maybe you’re right,” you repeat, hips halting. “Maybe you’re not ready to be cleansed. Maybe you’re better off. I have other cases to see; I should probably get going now, I suppose.”
When you make a move to get off him, Choso yanks on his chains so hard the wood threatens to splinter. He stammers, “N-no! No, stay! Please. I’m sorry. I’m ready. I want to be cleansed. I want to feel you. I want you to purify me. Oh god, I want it so bad. Your pussy’s so warm. You taste so good. You’re so pretty. So, so pretty. Please, I’ll be good. I accept, I accept! Do as you please with my unworthy body.”
In spite of the fact that he’s already cummed 3 times, he’s still ready for more, ready for whatever you think he’s worthy.
What a good puppy.
You clutch him by the base, angling him to your pulsing entrance. “Oh, I will.”
And in he goes.
The exact second that his cockhead worms itself into your gummy walls, streeeeeeetching your snug entrance, with a loud squeeeeeelchhhhh! he cums again.
It’s instantaneous. He doesn’t even know it’s happening until your nails are digging into his abdomen and your moans are stuttering. Meanwhile, Choso’s agonised groans are interrupted by mangled blubbering. He’s barely intelligible.
Hot cum fills your pussy. It paints your insides with magma-like drippings. Juices flood out in response, addicted to the soothing burn of his heat. So much cum. Everywhere. You can taste it in the air.
“Congratulations,” you purr, cupping your leaking tits, “you just lost your virginity to me.”
His eyes have rolled to the back of his head. He’s spasming. Shuddering. Shivering. Trembling. His body is no longer his own. It’s a toy for you to work yourself down on. You force your pussy to adjust, to take all of him, inch by inch, until its cockhead is kissing your cervix and your clit is flushed to the coarse hairs at his pelvis, which are drenched in your combined slop.
“No, no, no, please! It’s too much. I can’t take anymore. I just c-came.”
“Oh, Choso,” you mewl. “I don’t care if you came; I want to again, and I intend to, so keep yourself hard or we’re going to have problems.”
He agrees with some incomprehensible noises. Drool slips out of his mouth. You collect the wetness and rub it on your needy clit as you start bouncing on his still-hard cock. The bed creaks beneath you, wood complaining. Your claws draw long marks on his clammy skin. Goosebumps rise where you lay your claim.
So much is happening at once. He can’t keep track. It’s like he feels you everywhere — on his face, on his tongue, on his chest, his hands, burrowing inside of him, nestling in the pit of his stomach, clutching his heart and squeezing as tight as your cunt is around his cock.
You’ve taken a lot. He’s ready to sleep, to give in to the exhaustion.
Choso’s softening.
You growl. “No!”
SMACK!
His eyes widen. Redness blooms on his skin.
His cock hardens to full mast quick as lightning. You moan in satisfaction, hips grinding down to swallow the growth in his girth and length. He fills you up even better like this. Perfect, you think. He’s no good to you soft.
“Give me all -hah- your cum,” you command, the pleats of your pussy milking his cock ruthlessly. Another harsh smack! has his hips rutting up, driving him even deeper inside you.
“Yes,” he chokes out, cheek welting. “Take it all. It’s yours. Every-ngh!-thing!”
SMACK!
SMACK!
SMACK!
He accepts each collision of your soft palm against his face with humble gratitude. Choso’s honoured you’d dirty your hand with him, delirious with the thought that the same heat spreading across his cheek is spreading across your palm, that you’re connected in divine pain, colouring each other ephemerally. You’re a Master deigning to carve him out of flesh and blood, and it’s so wondrous he thinks he’s already died and settled in a corner in Elysium.
The speed and vigour in which you’re fucking up and down on his cock rattles his chains, rocks the bed against the cement wall, and seems to shake the very foundations of the house.
Earthshattering delight.
Destructive, undeserving rapture.
Carnal, gluttonous excess of all the joy in the world blossoming from your transcendental pussy.
You’re a marvellous, mind-melting Monet. A stone-turning marble statue carved by Bernini. A most cursed painting he can’t bear to look at and away from in equal measure.
Lewd howls and grunts and shrieks pound against all the walls, no doubt seeping through to the outside. Apart from bestial sounds he doesn’t even realise he’s making, Choso’s been driven speechless. All he can hear, see, taste, smell, and feel is you. You’re driving him to heaven and back, and it’s far too much exposure to bliss than he’s worthy.
“God, yes! Stretch my pussy out! So good, so fucking good!”
Hours must pass. Or maybe mere minutes.
The muscles in your thighs ache, burning with the exertion. Sweat drips down your back. Your habit sticks to your skin. Your tits bounce with your body, and he can’t seem to take his eyes off them — except for when they’re rolling so far back into his head that his eyes appear perpetually white.
Choso has been cumming over and over. His orgasms blur into one continuous burst of ecstacy; they start from his balls, rushing through the rest of his body: his sinewy thighs, cramping calves, curling toes, and up his torso, his chest, tickling his hardened nipples from inside, zooming up his tense arms, the veins threatening to pop, to the bruised wrists trapped by shackles, and his whitened knuckles.
“This is -hah oh god- so, so wrong, Sister,” he cries. “But I don’t care -hngh!- anymore. I’m damned. I was damned when I rebelled. When you walked in and my cock throbbed back to life, and I felt a -fuck, don’t stop- a h-hunger I have never felt before rise in me. I-I knew when you uttered my name so angelically that I would follow you anywhere. God, take me, Sister. Please.”
He feels you everywhere.
And yet it isn’t enough.
Light grows brighter and brighter. It calls for him. Beckoning.
More.
More.
More.
“Sister?” a voice calls out from a distance.
His parents.
They returned.
Choso stares up at you, distressed and teary-eyed. He doesn’t want to be seen, to be caught. He expects you to stop. But you won’t.
“I-is everything alright? It’s been a while and the noises… We’re worried,” Mrs. Kamo says, hesitant and unable to hide her fear.
Smiling down at her son, you reply, “Mm, yes. The exorcism is -hngh- going perfectly. His powerful demon’s reacting just as e-expected — it’s putting up a fight. Best not to come down —fuck, Choso, you’re doing so good,” you whisper, then shout to his mother, “Don’t come down here.”
“Are you sure?” Mr. Kamo asks. “If you need our help, please—”
“It’s dangerous,” you yell, rolling your eyes. “The Church forbids the untrained to bear witness to an exorcism. Leave now and I will not inform the Father of your mistake.”
Choso knows they can hear his savage growling and groaning, that his shaky whimpers are reaching their ears, and he can’t do a thing about it; your devious cunt’s too powerful, too demanding, too tight. And with every bounce, he cares less and less that he’s sounding like nothing more than a whore.
His parents can keep listening for all you care.
They can watch if they want, and they can see how splendorous it is to desire, to sin, to be wrong.
You squeeze milk out of your tit, catching the ounces in your cupped hand. Maintaining eye contact, you slurrrrp! your own milk. He pants like a puppy in summer’s heat. You lean forward, nipples scraping his chest, and it’s an added stimulation he can’t handle. Choso’s eyes cross at the changed angle.
Lips graze each other. Choso chases them each time you pull away. “Sister, please,” he pleads. “Deem me worthy. I want to be purified with your taste. Make me reborn anew.”
If only he knew you’d deemed him worthy the moment you laid eyes on him.
In a clash of tongue and teeth, you finally allow him to drink your breastmilk from your mouth. He greedily swallows with a pornographic moan, Adam’s apple bobbing with haste. He siphons it all. Relishing the sweetness. Savouring the refreshment. Delighting in his return to a more innocent time. Still wanting more, he licks the droplets from your chin and dives forward, sucking on your tongue.
Choso drains your tongue like it’s a cock, like you had done to his. He can’t differentiate between the taste of your milk and the taste of your saliva; it’s as delectable to him as the other.
Satisfied, you both melt into a sloppy kiss as your hips ride his restlessly. He must have cum again from that alone. So much semen is squelching out of your cunt, sliding down his length, creating a creamy ring, drenching his pulsing balls and soaking into the sheets.
You’re both so, so wet with each other’s liquids that your chests slip and slide together. But it’s still not enough.
He hasn’t stopped yearning to touch you, to grab onto your waist, to hold your hips and guide you up and down his cock, to explore bodily pleasure he’s never been allowed to before.
The chains…
He’s never found them more irritating than now.
“Fuck!” he roars.
Wood splinters in half.
Your back’s pushed down to the mattress. Suddenly, your whole vision’s obscured by broad shoulders and a hulking torso. “Choso!” you yelp, surprised by the display of inhuman strength.
Choso rips his shirt off with a frustrated growl. The useless material falls to the floor with a wet splat. His wrists are still adorned with the metal, but the chains are no longer held back by the bed posts. Sweat from his messy hair drops onto your skin; you stick your tongue out to catch as much of the salt as possible.
His cock’s popped out of your cunt. It slides through your puffy pussy lips, rubbing your swollen clit. He doesn’t know. Choso continues thrusting all the same. He’s overwhelmed with the realisation that he can touch you. Groaning, he faceplants right between your breasts. He lays wet kisses there, as though he’s making out with your lips, licking the drying milk on the curves and valley of your breasts.
“Oh, Sister,” he whispers, breathy. “You’re an angel. A miracle. My salvation.”
Scalding liquid spurts all over your stomach; his cock’s slipped under your thin habit, urged on by the clinging material. In spite of that, he keeps rubbing his dick on your slit and your clit, unrelenting and unsoftening. He can only whine weakly from the pain of having came too many times too soon.
Ankles locking behind his ass, you guide his slippery cock back inside your hungry cunt, which pitifully clenches around nothing. Choso sucks in a sharp breath, feeling the familiar tightness and, like something has been reawakened in him, he hastily ploughs his cock forward.
You scream, back arching.
Skin slap, fwop! fwop! Fwopping!
With the force of his thrusting, the bed moves an inch.
Mr. Kamo pounds on the cellar door. “Are you alright, Sister?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, hips working in tandem with Choso’s. “God protects me! His blessing’s filling me up!”
“Sister, purify me,” Choso mutters over and over again. He doesn’t seem to have heard his father at all. He’s tuned them out. It’s just you.
His mouth’s sucking and kissing where you’ve bared your chest to him before they, like a moth to a flame, find a teat and suckle hard. You feel your milk pulled from your ducts, trickling into his mouth, nipples tugged almost painfully.
The air is humid. Steamy. Made hefty by the fusing of your tangy, salty, and sweet scents. It’s an addictive concoction.
Purring in his ear, you say, “Make me cum, Choso. Be a good boy, yes?”
He nods furiously. Straightening up, cool air enveloping you, he grips the backs of your thighs, pushing them towards your chest. Like this, he can see where you’re joined so clearly. His lips part. You know what he’s thinking — he’d only recently discovered his cock and what it can do when uninhibited, and now it’s stretching a woman’s tight pussy out so obscenely. It’s like Christmas came early.
“I’m not -hah- hurting you, am I, Sister?” he wonders, though as he breathlessly asks that, he’s nudging his cock deeper and deeper inside. It’s clear Choso doesn’t care much for the answer.
You grin ear to ear. “Not in a way I don’t like.”
The parents must have left; you hear no more from them. Or perhaps you’ve blocked them out. All that matters is the euphoria resonating in your core. How can anything else matter when you’re being stuffed full by a fat cock?
Choso’s ramming it inside irrhythmically. He’s clumsy, only chasing what feels good. But your pussy’s so sensitive from the orgasms you’d been having that you find it all downright blissful.
“So tight,” he groans out. “You’re so tight. I s-shouldn’t be able to fit inside, and yet you’re sucking me in. I can’t breathe.”
“I know,” you coo, watching his abs contract, beads of sweat travelling down the hard contours of his body. “You’re doing so well for me, Choso. You’re nearly rid of sin, I can see it. Keep going.”
Panting faster and faster, Choso warns you of his next orgasm with a pained whimper. “N-not again!”
But nothing comes. No cream paints your walls. Despite that, he still shudders and digs his callused fingers into the plush of your thighs, certain to leave bruises. Apart from that, there’s no evidence he’d cummed at all.
You’d manifestly emptied his balls out of every drizzle of cum. All of it is either coating your skin and habit or being absorbed by your spongy walls, replenishing your soul directly.
He’s still prodding that sensitive spot inside that has your chest heaving and your eyes crossing. And every thrust pushes you further and further down the bed. Your head starts to hang over.
Blood rushes down.
Tingles exploding behind your eyes.
Peering up at him, you run your nails over the bump he’s poking through your stomach. He feels it; he throbs at your touch, and again when you press down. Tears are streaking down his face steadily, blurring his vision. “Sister!”
“Do you know what this position is called, Choso?” you quiz him. He shakes his head, biting his lip till it bleeds and red stains his chin. “It’s called, ‘mating press.’ Do you understand? You’re mating me, Choso. You’re fucking a baby inside. Will you take responsibility?”
Choso throws his head back, sobbing. “Yes, yes, Sister! I’ll do what you need me to. I’ll be a good father.”
“Aren’t you sweet?” you say, giggling.
As though enamoured with the thought of planting his seed in your womb, he replaces your hand and gropes his own cock through your belly. He presses down harder. You gasp. The pressure’s intense. You feel every part of him — every ridge, every vein, every pulse, every bullying of his mushroom head scraping his cum out.
You explode with a scream and a splash!
The rapid clenching of your cunt has Choso barking a plea.
The two of you spasm together, hips rutting and elongating your orgasm. It’s wet everywhere. Sweat, milk, cum, cream, tears, and blood from his lip and from his nose are mixing together. The heat and the exertion of every energy he had went straight to his head and burst a vessel.
He falls on top of you, woefully spent.
Limbs tangle together, limp and exhausted.
For a while, neither of you moves. The room is quiet save for the slow return of breath, the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours. The frenzy has ebbed, leaving behind a stillness, warm and almost fragile in its calm.
Choso shifts just enough to ease his weight, though he doesn’t pull away. His hand finds yours without thinking, fingers loosely threading together, as if anchoring himself. You let him play with your fingers.
Down here, it’s hard to tell what time it is outside. Is it night, the next day, or has barely any time at all passed?
Air cools the wetness all over, drying until they cake. His cock’s still inside you, softening. He doesn’t pull out. You don’t ask him to.
“Am I,” he starts, trying to catch his breath, “cleansed now, Sister?”
Raking your fingers through his hair, you answer, “Yes, Choso. Sin has been rid. You are free.”
Choso hums. There’s a disappointed note there. “So I’ll never see you again? I’ll return to the life my family wants me to live?”
“Not necessarily. You’ve accepted God, in your own way. You can join our religious order, live as we do. You see, I started out just like you — lost, out of place, angry, and with nowhere to release my energy. It is through the Church that I have been liberated from sin, and continue to be. Sin returns, always. So you must be dutiful and ensure you regularly expel it.”
Although his arm is dense with the weight of his chain, he still lifts it and cradles your breast. He tenderly massages it, eyes fixed on the milk that drips out. He licks it. You sigh. Then he asks, “I can do this more often? With you?”
“Uhuh, and with whomever else you’d like. We all owe a duty to each other to help, of course.”
He looks up at you, smiling. “I’d like that very much. Thank you.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, both of his cheeks, and finally his lips.
“You’re very welcome.”
.
.
.
You breathe fresh air in.
Dawn has broken, and the world wakes.
Birds tweet and fly overhead, a distant bell rings, chatter thrum under the wind. You feel lighter than when you arrived, younger, stronger. You always do after a case gone well.
“He’s free now? You’re sure, Sister?” Mrs. Kamo asks again, clasping a rosary in her hands.
Looking back at the house and the couple seeing you off, you incline your head, and respond with. “Yes. The demon that’s been holding him back is gone. He’s found clarity and peace with himself.”
She smiles, relieved, as does her husband, who nods in gratitude.
Behind them, Choso stands in the doorway. Washed, composed, new. He doesn’t sulk or brood. Doesn’t roll his eyes with rejection and dismissal. He simply folds his hands, quiet and still, as though he’s finally learned where to place them. “Thank you, Sister,” he says softly. “I’ve never felt closer to God.”
The morning light catches on his face, serene, devout. Transformed.
“I’m so glad.” A knowing glint in your eyes is shared. And, like it’s an afterthought, you hand them a brochure from your bag. “The Church holds a training course to join my order, if you’d permit Choso to attend. He can follow in my footsteps and rid the world of sin. At the very least, listen to a lecture and grow even more connected with our community. I think it’d be good for him.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Kamo exhales out excitedly, “yes! Yes, that would be perfect for him. It’d give him a purpose, a calling. Oh, how wonderful!”
Mr. Kamo adds, turning to look at him, “I would be most proud to have a son who’s an active, participating member of the Church, upholding our values and protecting other families from the tragedy we faced.”
Choso smiles. Not at his father, nor his father, but at you.
“Anything to repay my gratitude and service you,” he says coyly, “and the community, of course.”
If they notice the hidden meanings, they don’t show it. They merely look beyond pleased at the son they’ve always wanted — or rather, think they want. They have no idea that, soon, Choso will leave this house, enter the world as an adult in his own right, and fuck the sin out of the neediest, most desperate women.
He’ll bring more and more people to the Church, but not using means they’d support.
For the era of their puritanism is coming to an end.
And the era of hedonism your race has sown into the world, one drained lustforce at a time, is beginning.
“I look forward to it,” you say, still tasting his salty cum on your tongue.
Choso’s eyes drink up your full figure through your habit, flashing red as he licks a forked tongue over his sharp row of teeth.
content warningsﾉtags: NSFWﾉ18+ (MDNI), explicit smut, fem!reader, firelord!zuko, angry sex, hair pulling, size difference, biting, overstimulation, p in v, arguing, derogatory pet names, risk of discovery, not proofread, lowercase intended
author's note: based on this request!! they have me in atla jail. send help. (i don't wanna be saved unless it's zuko doing the saving.)
"you are impossible, zuko. genuinely, utterly impossible. did you think i was just going to sit there like a gilded doll while pakku insulted our lineage? i was helping you!"
your voice is a burst of fire, amplifying the heavy air of the imperial bedchamber. the room smells of burnt agarwood, expensive charcoal, and the metallic tang of unshed rage. you're pinned against the cold stone of the wall, the tapestries rustling behind your head as he drives into you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity. his skin is fever-hot, a living furnace pressing against your cooler flesh, and the contrast is a shock that travels straight to your marrow.
he doesn't answer with words at first, only a guttural sound in his throat that isn't quite a snarl and isn't quite a plea. his face is a mask of tension, that familiar scar—rough and textured like dried parchment—twisting as he grits his teeth. his eyes are amber fire, narrowed and tracking the way your lips curl in defiance. he’s beautiful even when he’s being a stubborn, spoiled brat, his long dark hair falling out of its topknot in messy, silken strands that brush against your collarbone.
you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in even as you glare. your heels dig into the small of his back, feeling the ripple of lean muscle beneath his silk robes. "don't you dare shut me out now. look at me. you know i was right about the trade routes. you know it, and you're just too proud to admit your wife has a better head for diplomacy than your entire council of ancient, dusty men."
"it's about... protocol," he pants, the word breaking in the middle as you shift your hips, catching him just right. he mouths the words against the curve of your jaw, his breath smelling of cinnamon and smoke. "you can't just... ungh... you can't just speak over the firelord in front of a foreign delegation. it makes us look fractured. it makes me look weak."
you let out a harsh, mocking laugh, the sound echoing off the high ceilings where the shadows of flickering candles dance like spirits. reach up, you fist your hands into his hair, tugging downward with a sharp, uncompromising jerk. his head snaps back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat, and a broken, high-pitched moan spills from his lips—a sound so fragile it almost makes you want to soften. but you don't. you squeeze him, your walls clenching around his thick, veiny length, feeling the way he pulses inside you, a frantic heartbeat in a place that shouldn't have one.
"weak? you think i make you look weak?" you tease, your voice dropping to a low murmur.. "you’re the one currently trembling because i pulled your hair, zuko. you’re the one who can’t even finish a sentence because you’re so desperate to stay inside me. is this what a powerful firelord looks like? panting like a stray in the dirt because his wife talked back to him?"
he nips at your neck, a sharp, stinging bite that will definitely leave a mark—a dark purple bruise for the maids to whisper about tomorrow. his teeth are blunt and hot, scraping over your skin until you shiver. "shut up," he hisses, his voice cracking. "just... shut your mouth."
"make me," you challenge, and the air between you literally ignites.
zuko inhales sharply, and you see the orange glow behind his teeth, the heat radiating off him in a sudden, violent wave that makes the sweat on your skin evaporate instantly. he doesn't let go of you; instead, he shifts his grip, his large hands hooking under your thighs to hold you steady as he lunges away from the wall,, carrying your weight with a desperate, clumsy grace. he stumbles into a low table, sending a ceramic basin of water crashing to the floor—the scent of wet stone and copper rising up to join the scent of smokel—before he slams you down onto the sprawling silk mattress of his bed.
the impact jars you, but he’s already hovering over you, his knees pinning your arms down, his chest heaving. this position allows him to sink deeper, bottoming out against your cervix with a blunt force that draws a loud, unbidden moan from your throat. you try to keep scolding him, try to find the words to tell him he’s a fool, but the way he’s filling you makes your brain feel like it’s melting into honey.
"you... you're still... a stubborn... idiot," you choke out, even as your back arches off the sheets.
he leans down, his hand sliding from your shoulder to your neck, his thumb pressing against your windpipe just enough to make you gasp. his other hand finds your tit, squeezing the soft tissue with a proprietary heat that feels like it’s branding you. he kisses you then—not a sweet kiss, but a frantic, unforgiving hunger, tasting of fury. his cock is thick, the head of it rubbing against your sensitive walls with every frantic, shallow thrust, the texture smooth but the pressure immense.
outside the heavy oak doors, the muffled sound of the palace at night continues—the distant clank of a guard’s spear, the soft chirping of turtleducks in the gardens—but inside the circle of his arms, the world is reduced to the friction of your intoxicating skin.
"my lord?" a voice calls out from the hallway, shrill and intrusive. it’s high sage ukano, his tone brimming with that self-importance zuko usually hates.
"my lord, i apologize for the late hour, but we have received an urgent scroll from the earth kingdom regarding the borders. we must discuss the response before the morning bells."
zuko freezes, his body still buried deep inside yours, his heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. he breaks the kiss, looking down at you with wide, dark eyes. you start to open your mouth, a smirk forming—ready to call out, ready to ruin his dignity—but his hand is there in an instant, slapping over your lips. his palm is dry and smells of old scrolls and fire, muffling your indignant yelp.
he doesn't pull out. instead, he stays perfectly still, his cock twitching inside you, the sensation so intense it makes your toes curl into the silk. he looks toward the door, his expression shifting from frantic lover to arrogant monarch in a heartbeat, though the flush on his cheeks betrays him.
"not now, ukano," zuko calls out, his voice surprisingly steady, though there’s a smug, sharp edge to it that makes your blood simmer. he looks back down at you, a slow, predatory grin spreading across his face as he begins to move again, slow and agonizingly deep, watching your eyes blow out as you struggle against his hand.
"the firelord is currently... occupied with matters of state. leave the scroll with the guard. i will deal with you in the morning."
he doesn't look away from you as the advisor’s footsteps fade. he just keeps moving, his eyes burning with a gold that’s finally, finally steady.
"don't you have something else to say?" he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "i'm listening."
whoever that 1st zuko anon was... look what you started.
synopsis: your boyfriends nurse you back to health
pairing: kiribakuxreader
warnings: sfw ,fem!reader, poly!relationship, fluff, washing, sick!reader
wc: 3,558
Y/n woke to the scent of ginger and the solid, furnace-like heat of Kirishima’s chest against her back.
His large hand rubbed slow circles between her shoulder blades. “Easy, beautiful,” he murmured into her hair, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through her. She felt the chills recede for a moment, absorbed by the relentless warmth of him.
The bedroom door clicked open. Bakugo entered, a bowl cradled carefully in his hands. His usually fierce expression was softened into focused concern, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on her face. He moved with a precision that was almost silent, the muscles in his forearms tight as he balanced the steaming dish. “Sit her up, Shitty Hair,” he ordered, his voice a low, gruff command.
Kirishima’s arm tightened gently around her middle, his strength effortless as he guided her upright against the headboard. He rearranged the blankets around her shoulders, tucking them close. “There you go. Let’s get some of Katsuki’s magic into you.”
Bakugo sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn’t hand her the bowl. Instead, he lifted a spoonful of clear, amber broth. Steam curled up, carrying the sharp, clean scent of ginger and something citrusy. His eyes tracked from the spoon to her mouth. “Open,” he said, the word not quite gentle, but stripped of all its usual edge.
She obeyed, her body too heavy to argue. The broth was hot, but not scalding. Perfect. The flavor bloomed on her tongue—ginger, lemon, a hint of honey. It cut through the stale, sick taste in her mouth. She swallowed, and the warmth traveled down her throat, pooling in her empty stomach.
“Good,” Bakugo muttered, more to himself than to her. He dipped the spoon again. His movements were meticulous, his focus absolute. A strand of ash-blond hair fell across his forehead. He didn’t brush it away.
Kirishima’s hand resumed its slow circles on her back. His other arm remained a solid band around her, keeping her propped against him. He watched Bakugo work, his own sharp-toothed smile soft. “Told you she’d take it. Man, that smells amazing.”
“Shut up. It’s just fucking soup,” Bakugo grumbled, but the line of his shoulders loosened a fraction. He brought another spoonful to her lips. “Slow. Don’t choke.”
She took it, her eyes drifting shut for a second. The simple act of being fed, of not having to hold anything or make any decisions, felt like a profound surrender. A safe one. She let her head loll back against Kirishima’s shoulder.
“She’s burning up, Kat,” Kirishima said quietly, his palm flattening against her forehead. His calluses were rough against her fever-sensitive skin.
“I know.” Bakugo’s jaw tightened. He set the spoon back in the bowl with a soft clink. His free hand came up, the back of his knuckles brushing her cheek. The touch was startling in its tenderness. His skin was cool compared to hers. “Fever’s still climbing. Did you take the stuff I left?”
She managed a small nod, her words a sleepy mumble. “Mm-hmm.”
“It’ll kick in.” He said it like a decree. Like he could will the medicine to work through sheer force. He didn’t move his hand away. His thumb stroked once, just below her eye. “Finish the bowl. All of it.”
Kirishima hummed in agreement, a soothing sound deep in his chest. “You’re doing great. Just a little more.”
Bakugo resumed feeding her. The silence that fell was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was filled with the sound of her swallowing, the shift of fabric, Kirishima’s steady breathing. Bakugo’s entire world had narrowed to this bowl, this spoon, her face.
When the last of the broth was gone, he set the bowl aside on the nightstand. He looked at Kirishima. “Keep her upright for a few. Don’t let her lie flat yet.”
“On it, boss.” Kirishima adjusted his hold, his hand splaying wide over her sternum, feeling the rhythm of her breaths. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Bakugo stood. He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached out and, with a carefulness that seemed to cost him, smoothed the tangled hair away from her damp forehead. His fingers lingered. “Sleep,” he commanded, his voice rough. “We’ve got you.”
He turned and left the room, the door closing with a soft click. The space he left behind felt different. Charged. Kirishima pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “See?” he whispered. “Told you he’s a big softie.”
She nestled deeper into his hold, the chills starting to creep back at the edges. But the core of her was warm. Fed. Anchored. His hand kept moving, slow and sure, and she finally let her eyes close, the world narrowing down to the beat of his heart against her back.
The warmth was gone.
Y/n woke slowly, the deep, furnace heat that had been pressed against her back replaced by cool, rumpled sheets. She blinked, disoriented, in the empty bedroom. Late afternoon light slanted through the blinds, painting stripes across the meticulously made bed. The air smelled different—not of sleep and sickness, but of lemon and clean linen.
She pushed herself up on her elbows. Her head throbbed a dull, persistent beat, and a wave of dizziness made the room tilt. But the bone-deep ache had receded to a murmur. She was… better. Not well. But better. The realization was followed immediately by a childish, overwhelming pout. They’d left her.
With a grumble that turned into a cough, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards were cool under her bare feet. She stood, the world swaying gently, and had to brace a hand on the nightstand. The empty soup bowl was gone.
She shuffled to the bedroom door, her body feeling both heavy and unsteady. Pushing it open, she stepped out into the upstairs hallway. And stopped.
The entire loft was spotless. The usual scatter of hero gear, discarded jackets, and coffee mugs was absent. Every surface gleamed. Sunlight caught the dust-free railing of the staircase that led down to the living area. It was silent, save for the sound of water filling a bathtub. It came from the direction of their shared bathroom, down the hall.
Her pout softened into curiosity. Using the wall for support, she made her way toward the sound. The door was ajar, and a plume of warm, steamy air escaped, carrying the scent of eucalyptus and cedar.
She peered inside.
Kirishima was hunched over the wide tub, one arm deep in the water, testing the temperature. His broad back stretched the fabric of his tank top. Bakugo stood at the counter, his back to her, methodically arranging bottles—bath salts, a clean washcloth, a bar of her favorite sandalwood soap.
“What the fuck are you doing out of bed?”
Bakugo’s voice wasn’t a roar. It was low, sharp, and crackling with an anger that was pure, undiluted concern. He’d seen her reflection in the mirror above the sink. He turned now, his crimson eyes wide, then narrowing into a scowl.
He crossed the bathroom in three strides. “You should be in bed! Saving your strength.” His hand came up, not to shake her, but to cradle the side of her face. His palm was cool, his fingers pressing gently against her temple and jaw, holding her steady. His thumb swept over her cheekbone. “Your fever’s still there, you idiot.”
She leaned into his touch, her stubbornness rising through the fog. “I’m fine. I’ve rested enough.” Her voice was a rasp. “The bed was empty.”
From the tub, Kirishima let out a soft chuckle. He straightened, wiping his wet hand on his shorts. “Cool it, you two.” His smile was all fond exasperation. He walked over, the steam clinging to his red hair, and without ceremony, bent to press a firm, warm kiss to Y/n’s forehead, then another to Bakugo’s furrowed brow. “We were just about to come wake you up anyway, baby.”
He slipped an arm around her waist, taking most of her weight from Bakugo’s supporting hand. “We prepared a bath for you.”
Bakugo’s hand didn’t leave her face. His scowl deepened, but his touch remained impossibly gentle. “You’re shivering again. The fuck were you thinking, walking around?”
“Thinking I was abandoned,” she mumbled, sarcastically.
Kirishima’s arm tightened. “Never.”
“We cleaned. The place was a germ-infested shithole. Not conducive to recovery.” Bakugo said it like a medical report, but his eyes were on hers, checking, always checking. “The bath is for the aches. And to break the fever. It’s not a fucking spa day.”
“Smells like a spa day,” Kirishima said cheerfully, guiding her toward the filled tub. The water was a clear, inviting deep blue, swirling with dissolved salts and a few floating eucalyptus leaves. “Temperature’s perfect. We checked, like, ten times.”
Bakugo finally dropped his hand from her face, only to move to the hem of her oversized sleep shirt. “Arms up,” he commanded, his voice back to that stripped-back, practical gruffness.
She complied, too tired and too cared-for to protest. He lifted the shirt over her head with efficient, careful movements. Kirishima kept her steady, his gaze soft and unwavering. The cool air of the bathroom hit her skin, raising goosebumps, but the steam from the bath promised relief.
Bakugo’s knuckles brushed her spine as he helped her step out of her sleep shorts. There was no hesitation in his touch, no leer. It was clinical and tender all at once.
“In you go,” Kirishima murmured, his hands firm on her elbows as he helped her step over the high rim. The water was blissfully, perfectly hot. It lapped at her shins, her thighs, her hips as she sank down. A groan escaped her—half-pain, half-profound relief—as the heat enveloped her aching muscles.
She settled back, the water rising to her shoulders. The eucalyptus scent opened her stuffy sinuses. She let her head rest against the cool porcelain edge and opened her eyes.
They were both watching her. Bakugo had knelt by the tub, his arms folded on the rim, his chin resting on them. Kirishima sat on the closed toilet lid, his elbows on his knees. Their faces were mirrored studies in focused relief.
“See?” Kirishima said, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. “Better already.”
Bakugo didn’t speak. He reached into the water, found her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. His calluses were familiar against her knuckles. He held on, his thumb making slow passes over her skin, his gaze fixed on the point where their hands connected beneath the blue water.
In that steam-filled room, held by water and by their unwavering attention, she was the center of their entire, spotless, carefully prepared world.
The warmth of Bakugo’s hand left hers. He straightened up from the tub’s rim with a soft grunt, his knees popping. “Alright. Enough soaking. Time to actually get clean.” His tone left no room for argument, but his eyes were still soft, fixed on her.
Kirishima stood from the toilet lid, stretching his arms over his head. “Yeah, you’re starting to look like a prune, baby.” He grabbed a fresh, fluffy washcloth from the counter and wet it under the tap, wringing it out with practiced ease.
Bakugo picked up the bar of sandalwood soap. He worked up a thick, creamy lather in his palms, the rich, woody scent joining the eucalyptus in the steamy air. He nodded to Kirishima, who moved to kneel on the other side of the tub, washcloth ready.
“Arms first,” Bakugo instructed, his voice low. He took her left wrist gently, his soapy hands gliding up her forearm, over the curve of her elbow, to her shoulder. His touch was firm, thorough, massaging the lingering ache from her muscles as much as washing her skin.
Kirishima mirrored him on her right side, the warm, damp cloth following the same path. His touch was broader, smoother, but no less attentive. “See? Just like maintenance on my gear,” he said, a playful grin in his voice.
She let them maneuver her, pliant and boneless from the heat. They worked in a silent, efficient tandem, Bakugo soaping, Kirishima rinsing. Her neck, her back, her sides. The care was so methodical, so devoid of any suggestive edge, that she almost forgot to be self-conscious.
Then Bakugo’s soapy hands moved to the front of her shoulders, dipping lower. Kirishima’s cloth followed. The water, now clouded with suds, did little to obscure her. Instinctively, her arms came up, crossing over her chest.
Kirishima’s low chuckle vibrated through the steam. “Relax, babe.” He paused, the washcloth dripping into the tub. “Just a wash. And nothing we haven’t seen already.” His tone was all warm teasing, stripping the moment of any awkwardness.
Bakugo didn’t tease. He simply looked at her, his crimson gaze steady. He didn’t pull her arms away. He waited, his hands resting on the rim of the tub, suds sliding down his wrists. His silence was a question.
Her face flushed, warmer than the fever could account for. Slowly, her arms uncurled, falling back to her sides in the water with a soft splash.
“There she is,” Kirishima murmured, approving.
Bakugo’s hands returned to their work. They were, if possible, even more careful. His fingers traced the slope of her collarbone, the soap slick and warm, before moving with a breathtaking, clinical tenderness over the swell of her breast. He was washing her. That was all. His focus was absolute, his brow slightly furrowed in his work.
Kirishima rinsed with the same reverent care, the cloth soft and warm. His knuckles brushed her skin occasionally, his touch grounding. “Almost done,” he promised, his voice a husky whisper near her ear.
She kept her eyes open, fixed on the ceiling where steam condensed and rolled. Her breath hitched, not from arousal, but from the overwhelming vulnerability of it. From being so thoroughly, so unceremoniously cherished. It was a different kind of nakedness.
Bakugo’s hands moved to her stomach, then her ribs, his thumbs pressing gently into the spaces between them, easing tension she hadn’t known she was holding. He worked down to her hips, her thighs, under the water, his movements efficient and complete.
Finally, he sat back on his heels. “Done.”
Kirishima made one last pass with the clean water from the tap, cupping his hand to pour it over her shoulders, rinsing away the last traces of suds. The bath water was now milky and warm around her.
Bakugo reached over and pulled the plug. A low gurgle echoed in the tub. “Up,” he said, standing and reaching for a large, terrycloth towel that had been warming on the radiator.
Kirishima moved to help, his hands under her elbows again as the water level sank. The cool air of the bathroom hit her wet skin, and she shivered violently.
In an instant, Bakugo had the towel unfolded, holding it like a shield. “Now,” he commanded, and Kirishima guided her to her feet, steadying her as she stepped out onto the bath mat.
Bakugo enveloped her. The towel was blissfully, almost painfully warm. He wrapped it tightly around her, rubbing her arms through the fabric, his motions brisk and heating. He bundled her up, leaving only her head exposed, her damp hair clinging to her neck.
Kirishima was already there with another, smaller towel, gently patting her face and neck dry. “All clean,” he announced softly, his sharp-toothed smile tender. “How’s the patient feeling?”
She leaned into Bakugo’s chest, the solid wall of him holding her upright inside her towel cocoon. The deep ache was gone. The chills were receding under the combined warmth of the fabric and his body heat. She felt scrubbed clean, inside and out. Light. Cared for.
“Good,” she whispered, the word muffled against his shirt. “Really good.”
Bakugo’s arms tightened around her. He rested his chin on top of her head. He didn’t say anything. He just held her, while Kirishima’s hand came up to cradle the back of her towel-wrapped head, his thumb stroking her hairline.
Bakugo’s chin lifted from her head. He released his tight hold just enough to look down at her, his crimson eyes assessing. “Bedroom,” he stated. “You’re not standing here all day.”
Before she could protest, his arms shifted, one sliding behind her knees. He lifted her, towel cocoon and all, against his chest as if she weighed nothing. Her damp head lolled against his shoulder.
“Hey, easy with the patient, Kats,” Kirishima chided gently, but he was already moving ahead of them, opening the bathroom door and then the bedroom door, clearing the path.
Bakugo carried her to the bed, where the rumpled sheets from her feverish night were currently being stripped and replaced with fresh, clean linen. He laid her down in the center with a careful, controlled motion, propping the pillows behind her once they were all changed. The towel still wrapped tightly around her.
Kirishima sat on the edge of the mattress, his weight making it dip. He picked up a bottle of lotion from the nightstand, unscrewing the cap. The scent of almond and vanilla drifted out. “Figured those aches needed more than just a soak,” he said, pouring a generous amount into his palm. “A little maintenance.”
Bakugo stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed. He watched as Kirishima rubbed his hands together to warm the lotion. A flicker of concern, sharp and new, cut through her haze of contentment. “Wait,” she murmured, her voice still rough. “All this… you’re both touching me so much. What if you get sick?”
Kirishima paused, then let out a low, rolling chuckle. He shook his head, his red hair catching the morning light. “Don’t worry about that, beautiful.”
“Tch. Idiot.” Bakugo uncrossed his arms, coming to sit on her other side. He picked up her hand, his thumb pressing into her palm. “You think I’d let something that stupid happen? Pumped us both so full of preventative meds this morning we’re practically antiviral. We’re not catching your weak-ass bug.”
He said it like an insult, but his fingers were already working at the tense muscles of her forearm, his touch firm and knowing. The lotion on Kirishima’s hands found her shoulders, his broad palms spreading warmth and pressure in slow circles.
She sighed, the sound shuddering out of her as the last knot of anxiety unraveled. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Bakugo grunted, his focus on the line of her tendon. “Just relax.”
They fell into a rhythm. Kirishima worked on her shoulders and the nape of her neck, his thumbs digging into the tension with a practiced ease that spoke of post-mission recoveries. His touch was grounding, solid.
Bakugo’s hands were more precise. He mapped the aches in her arms, her wrists, each of her fingers, his pressure alternating between deep and feather-light. He didn’t speak, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
“He made this special broth, too,” Kirishima said conversationally, his voice a warm rumble near her ear. “Simmered for hours last night after your temp spiked. Guy was a menace in the kitchen. Almost blew up the cutting board because the ginger wasn’t slicing right.”
“Shut up, Hair-for-Brains,” Bakugo muttered, but there was no heat in it. His hands moved to her calves, his thumbs pressing along the muscle.
“It’s true! You were muttering about immune response and capillary dilation.” Kirishima’s laughter was soft. “My point is, you’re in the best hands. The worrying is already done. We’ve got you.”
She turned her head to look at Bakugo. He was focused on his task, the sharp lines of his profile softened by the diffuse morning light. He’d done all that. He’d calculated the risk, neutralized it, and then prepared everything down to the warmed towels.
His eyes flicked up, catching her gaze. He held it for a moment, his hands stilling on her leg. “What?”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He looked away, a faint, almost imperceptible pink tingeing the tops of his ears. “Shut up. Don’t mention it.” His hands resumed their work, moving to her feet, his thumbs pressing into her arches with a firm, perfect pressure that made her toes curl.
Kirishima’s hands smoothed lotion over her back, now exposed as the towel had loosened. His palm was a steady, warming weight between her shoulder blades. “Just focus on getting better, okay? That’s the only job you have today.”
She closed her eyes, sinking into the sensation of being kneaded and cared for, piece by piece. The fever’s lingering fog was replaced by a clean, heavy warmth. The room was quiet, save for the sound of their breathing and the soft slide of hands on skin.
Bakugo’s voice cut through the silence, lower than before. “Sleep.” It wasn’t an order this time. It was an offering. “We’re right here.”
His hand came to rest on her ankle, a simple, steadying point of contact. Kirishima’s palm settled over the center of her back, a living, breathing weight. Held between them, anchored by touch, she finally let go, and slipped under.
Two days later, when you were fully nursed back to health, and Bakugo was back to screaming at you to pick up your socks, you almost wished to be sick again.
