interests: desperate housewives, reading, psychology, conversation, meeting new people (send asks!!!! tell me about yourself!!!), sza, frank ocean, mac ayres, shitposts on ig reels
i will not tolerate disrespect towards minorities on this blog or EVER. i will also not write about rape, incest, scat, piss, just overall dark themes are not up my alley.
my masterlist is linked here! idk what other fandoms i’ll write for but we’ll see as we go :p
the purpose of this blog is for me to relax and get away from everyday life lol! hope it helps you guys do the same.
Laying on your back with a vibrator strapped on your clit while he fucks you with a toy until you scream, until you squirt all over him, until you push the toy out with the clenching pressure of your walls and he makes a groan that’s half a laugh as he thrusts his aching cock so easily in your soaking pussy
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: a heat advisory is issued as temperatures in japan near triple digits this week. residents are urged to stay out of the sun, wear light-colored clothing, drink plenty of water, never leave pets inside a hot car, or engage in extremely strenuous activity. guys—guys, i said no strenuous activity, why are you fucking?!
❤︎ CONTENT: eijirō kirishima, best friends to lovers, roommates, blowjobs, ice, katsuki bakugō, the boyfriend experience, hear me out—popsicle blowjobs, HEAR ME OUT, slut!calling, denki kaminari, pool parties, mutual friends, water balloon fights, making out, izuku midoriya,husband!izuku, stargazing fluff, l-bombs, penetrative sex, crying, idek what got into me fr, hanta sero, childhood friends to lovers, weed, confessions, no porn just yearning … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i’m just a girl with a dream…A FEVER DREAM H A (i’m not funny.)
♫ NOW PLAYING: midnight sun, zara larsson.
read on ao3 | 6.4k words | masterlist.
EIJIRŌ KIRISHIMA.
The AC broke last night.
Eijirō knows, because he woke up swimming in a pool of his own sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest and hair plastered to his neck. The current heatwave is killing everything, braincells and split ends included.
The heat might’ve fried his brain—and he tries to regain some semblance of thought as he lays on the cool hardwood floor, below the ceiling fan, spread out like a starfish—but, that’s not the issue, if he’s being honest. The issue is how you deal with said heat.
At this point, you might as well just walk around naked.
(Don’t do that. Please, please don’t do that.)
You lounge beside him in the shortest shorts and tightest tank top Eijirō’s ever seen in his twenty six years of living, holding a small hand fan to your face like it’s not just recycling hot air. A thin film of sweat sticks to your skin and builds a sheen he’s sure should be reserved for the bedroom, oiled up like some pornstar, and, as stated, he quite literally has two braincells left. He counted.
Braincells that will expose him if he says so much as a word.
So, naturally, you start talking.
“God, it’s so hot, I can’t even watch the TV,” you lament, lifting a limp hand to gesture, before it lands heavy on your thigh with a slap. Fat jiggles in its wake, and Eijirō watches. Licks his lips.
He should go to his room, or something.
But it’s hot in there—hotter than it is out here, full of cloth and carpet and blankets, and Eijirō is already melting. He’s still deciding whether he feels like the Wicked Witch of the West, or Olaf. Wicked Witch…Olaf. Wicked Witch…Let it Go…
“—ello, hello? Eiji?”
It’s the hand waving in his face that jolts him out of his heat-induced stupor.
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you wanted me to grab the ice from the freezer,” you snort at his vegetative state. Eijirō nods once, then looks back to the ceiling.
You get up and head into the kitchen. He watches you walk away, watches your ass peek out from your insanely short shorts. (Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.) Then, he feels guilty. That wasn’t manly at all.
Becoming roommates with his childhood best friend sucks. Why did nobody tell him that it sucks?
You return with a full bowl, and a new lease on life. Taking two ice crescents, you hold them to both sides of your cheeks. They start to melt on impact. Eijirō wants to lick it up.
He takes a cube, and shoves it down his shorts.
“Eijirō, what the fuck.”
He gets caught. Of course, he gets caught.
“It’s hot,” he whines, accompanied by a soft laugh to let you know, no, he’s not getting hard or anything, it’s just hot. He swears.
“You’re so stupid,” you snort, like you’re not the one holding melting ice to your face. “It’s gonna look like you pissed yourself.”
“I don’t care,” Eijirō whimpers. His spot on the floor is getting warm under his back. He’ll need to move, soon.
“Oh, I have an idea!” Your eyes light up, but then you think about it, and they dull. “Never mind.”
Eijirō blinks at you, slow and sticky, and keeps his eyes on yours and definitely nowhere else.
“…What is it?”
“Oh shit—”
Okay. Okay, okay. When you said you had an idea, Eijirō didn’t think this was it.
But, here you sit, mouth on his dick and ice in your cheeks. Eijirō isn’t even sure it’s helping. He just knows that he’s hard, and sweaty, and it feels really, really good.
Just to cool down, you said. Don’t cum in my mouth, or else.
And he—he is trying. The ice is almost a biting temperature, the sting immediately soothed by the warmth of your lips. His body rotates from hot to cold on a loop. He’s holding onto the couch cushion behind him for dear life, propped against the base of it, while you give him the best head of his life. In your shared living room. What the fuck.
There were a million ways Eijirō thought this would go down—a drunk evening, a poorly timed confession, a thinly veiled attempt at getting over someone else, when really, there was no one to get over in the first place. Definitely not at your recommendation to combat the heat.
Your mouth pulls of his cock with a pop, and Eijirō whimpers. The sight will never leave his mind, he’ll make sure of it—your lips, swollen and glistening with spit, water dripping down the corners of your cheeks from melting ice like you’re drooling. You reach over to the defrosting bowl and pull out another small piece. Pop it in your mouth. Then, your mouth is back on his cock.
Eijirō shivers.
“We might ne—we might need to take a break,” Eijirō swallows, staring at the TV—which isn’t even playing anymore, Netflix taunting him with those four words, are you still watching?—because if he looks at you, he’s going to blow his load. And, he damn sure doesn’t want you to stop.
But, if you don’t give him a breather, he’s going to cum regardless. Because, yes, there’s a mouth on dick but it’s your mouth, and holy shit, he knows what the inside of your mouth feels like on his dick—
Eijirō pulls you off with a little too much force, a solid grip on your chin, and wheezes. Apparently, it goes against every natural urge imaginable to do that.
“Why,” you ask, simply, wiping at your jaw with the inside of your wrist. Eijirō tries to laugh, but it falls flat.
“Because,” he whines, watching at the ceiling. “I was about to cum, what do you mean, ‘why.’”
You giggle, resting your hands on either side of his body to prop yourself up. Except, it squishes your breasts, which sit right under your mouth, and Eijirō can’t stop staring. The world could be on fire, and he’d still be here. Staring.
“Oh! Cool,” you hum and nod, clacking the rest of the ice between your teeth. Eijirō watches your tongue roll every time your jaw drops. You start talking about something else, something mundane, while his dick is just…out, twitching when you say a word a little funny, or something that could be taken as an innuendo. And, it’s not—an innuendo—just casual banter between best friends who grew up together, but now, Eijirō can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee.
He’s fucked. Fuck.
KATSUKI BAKUGŌ.
What. The fuck. Are you doing.
“Wha’” You ask around the popsicle. A popsicle you’re currently treating as if it belongs to someone else—someone’s dick—swirling your tongue and popping your lips and dropping your jaw like it can feel it.
You are absolutely working that thing—and yeah, Katsuki gets it. It’s a hot day. The AC is on blast, and somehow, he’s still sweaty behind the creases of his knees and in the crooks of his elbows. He’s returning from his third shower of the day with a towel around his neck, walking back into the living room to find an image most offensive.
You, laying on the couch, with a popsicle in your mouth, moving it so thorough it might as well be fucking your face.
What. The fuck.
“Babe,” Katsuki sniffles, because, for some reason, the heat makes his nose run. “Fuckin’ quit it.”
“Qui’ wha’?”
You don’t quit it. Instead, you pull the popsicle out to talk, tongue darting out to lick the melting edge like it’s... Is Katsuki losing his mind? He might be losing his mind.
Great. Everyone said it would happen one day, and he laughed in their faces. Now, look at him.
“Fuckin’—the popsicle,” Katsuki huffs in irritation (sexual) as he walks to the bookshelf and finds something to distract himself with. He’s not fucking you—refuses, actually, in this temperature, and he’s already wasted enough water as is. You suck the popsicle back into your mouth, with puckered lips and hollowed cheeks, and Katsuki points like it’s personally offended him. (It has.) “Quit that.”
“Stop…fucking the popsicle,” you giggle, and while that’s not what Katsuki said—
“Yes. Stop treatin’ that goddamn thing like it’s my dick.”
“Mm, Katsuki!” You force a moan around the stupid thing, giggling again when he scowls over his shoulder with pinked cheeks. He can’t even focus—just picks a random book and returns to the couch. It’s not until he sits down that he realizes that it’s War and Peace. Fuck, he’s not reading Tolstoy in this fucking weather. Not when you’re slurping right next to him.
Katsuki opens the book, regardless. Reads the first few sentences of part two. Closes it again.
“Why are you like this,” he grunts, watching you in his peripheral. By now, the popsicle isn’t almost gone, but at that point of consumption where it’s in a weird shape. Katsuki counts down the minutes until there’s no shape, just stick.
You pull it from your mouth, slow and languid, gathering juice in the corners of your lips with a tongue. “Can I not enjoy my popsicle in peace?”
“Not like that.”
You roll your eyes, and go back to what you were doing. This time, you build a steady pace—in and out, in and out—holding eye contact with Katsuki like you know it’ll kill him. And, it does.
You play Katsuki Bakugō like a fiddle, and he hates every fucking second of it.
Reaching over, he takes the stick of the popsicle, and shoves it down your throat. You choke. It sounds more like a gargle.
“Wha’ tha fu’h,” You scrunch your nose in distaste, but Katsuki keeps the pace you built, albeit a little heavy handed.
“No, if you wanna fuck the popsicle, then fuck the popsicle,” Katsuki says behind a glare, like his breathing isn’t belated. You hum and lean right into it, suppressing a smile around the frozen juice. Fucking brat.
This was not the reaction you were supposed to have—you were supposed to splutter off, glare at him, and learn your lesson. Give up. Suck the popsicle like a normal human being, Katsuki doesn’t fucking know.
You aren’t supposed to enjoy it, though.
Your eyes aren’t supposed to flutter shut like the popsicle is Katsuki himself, like you’re sucking to get a sound out. You blink up at him, and he…can’t breathe. He snatches the popsicle out, only for a string of artificially colored spit to stick, then drop on your lips.
“What the fuck,” he finally vocalizes, too out of breath for having done nothing but jerk a popsicle around for a bit, “is wrong with you?”
“So many things,” you answer without hesitation, swallowing, and cleaning up the corners of your mouth. “Now, give it back. It’s hot.”
Katsuki doesn’t know why he listens.
(He’s stupid, that’s why. Stupid and weak and horny—)
With a sigh, Katsuki pokes the pointed top of the popsicle at your lips. You open them, but he runs it across the seam and around until it coats your mouth like gloss. Then, he pushes it in, slow but sure. Your eyes close, and Katsuki’s dick jumps.
Katsuki can feel the weight of your mouth through the stick, how tight your lips sit around the popsicle, and hums to himself. God, you look so pretty like this—weirdly peaceful—with nothing to do but suck while he does the work for you. When he gets closer, you don’t notice.
Not until you blink your eyes open, and they crinkle on the sides with silent entertainment. You reflect nothing that alludes to what you’re actually doing, slobbering over a popsicle until it drips along Katsuki’s knuckles and forearm. Messy, just how he likes it.
Your hand comes to Katsuki’s thigh for balance. He’s so close he can count the eyelashes dusting your cheeks if he wants, can hear your little exhales and feel your swallows. His mouth moves faster than his mind, voice breathless and a little aloof.
“You’re a fuckin’ slut, y’know that?”
It has no bite behind it—if anything, it’s a protection, a barrier against Katsuki’s own arousal, thin and pointless. Pointless, when he’s clearly rock hard in his shorts, dick standing straight to the sky and pitching a tent so narrow it’s structurally unsound. You smile because you know he’s panicking, and open your eyes to get a view out of his misery.
“What,” he bites, and pulls the popsicle out from your lips. You catch your breath, swallow, and then:
“You seem to be enjoying this.”
Katsuki huffs, and chokes you with the popsicle again. That’s what he gets for letting talk. You quirk an eyebrow but take it like a champ, as if to show he’s proving your point, but he’s not, shut up.
Your hand finds his dick with ease—it’s right there, loud and screaming to be touched, leaking through the fabric—and wrap around the shaft, polyester cloth sticking to his cock. Whether its sweat or pre-cum, Katsuki really doesn’t know.
All he knows is that a jolt of electricity runs down his spine, something sharp and hot and devastating, and Katsuki’s making a sound before he can stop it. Not a curse, not a moan, but a goddamn whimper.
Now, Katsuki has a point to prove.
Now, he has to prove that it was, in fact, not him that made that sound—it was some chink in the matrix, a glitch in your hearing. Katsuki pulls the popsicle out—its not much but stick at this point—and nods at the space on the floor between his legs. He relieves the building pressure with a squeeze or two. You scramble to your knees in a heartbeat.
So much for not fucking you.
DENKI KAMINARI.
“Hey. Denki, right?”
The water ballon jumps out his hands and goes rolling into the oversized bucket. Denki looks back to see you, smile wide and unwarranted, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.
Denki Kaminari isn’t…good, when it comes to pretty girls. He gets nervous, and tongue-tied, and can’t even make fun of himself right, which is his definitive hat trick, the one thing he knows can get a room rolling and girls swooning at his witty brilliance. (He thinks—the second one has yet to be tested.) His hands get clammy, the only noise he can make with his mouth is an embarrassing ‘buh,’ and the most he can do with his feet is storm off. Luckily, pretty girls don’t talk to him like that, so it’s not an really issue he felt the need to address. Until now.
Who you are and why you’re here, though, at Hanta’s pool party, is beyond him. Denki thinks you two are coworkers, but he wasn’t really listening—you walked through the door, and poof, his historically rapid train of thought was no more. Not silence, either. Just a buzz in the back of his head. A buuuuuh.
You asked him a question. Right.
“Buh-uh—,” Denki fumbles, like, so bad, and has to shake his head to start over. “Yeah, yes. I am him.”
“Okay, cool,” you giggle, seemingly not off put by his inelegance or drooling. Denki doesn’t know what to do with this information—it’s so hot outside it feels like his brain is melting from his ears. (And you—you’re very, very, very hot, hotter than it is outside, hotter than the sun, and Denki sweats a little harder when you get closer. When you lean over his shoulder as he crouches by the hose.) “What’cha doin’?”
You say that with all the mischief of a kid with a Nerf Gun, or a little devil, a woman after his own heart. Denki snorts, and grabs another deflated water balloon, hooks it up to the hose, and watches it swell.
“Giving everyone a way to cool off,” he shrugs, completely talking around the real reason: to harass Katsuki because he can, until he gets strong armed into submission. Then, he looks up at you, and tries avoid blindness when the sun halo’s your head like a God. “Want one?”
You tap your lip with a nail. “Sure.”
He passes over the one freshly filled, and you take it with a glowing smile. He sees your lips twist in his peripheral as he grabs another to stock—and tries not to publicly freak out at the fact that you’re still talking to him. Literally, why.
Denki tries to reach deep into the recesses of his soul. Charm, where is his charm? Hanta said he was charming, once, when he was really sad.
(Apparently, it jumped ship at the first ‘buh.’ Either that, or it was never there in the first place. Hanta Sero, you filthy fucking liar—)
A pop, then water comes running over his head.
Denki looks up to see you fisting around a busted balloon, hand still dripping wet with evidence. His jaw drops as water spills off the ends of his hair, and into the bucket full of balloons below him.
“You did not…”
You giggle, reaching into the bucket—between his legs, mind you—to grab another balloon and slap it against his back. It pops on impact. (Damn, Denki’s really good at filling water balloons. A perfected art, if he says so himself.)
“What if I did,” you quirk an eyebrow, and Denki wants to kiss you. So, so bad.
Grabbing three water balloons from the bucket, two in one hand and one in the other, Denki mimics your smile.
“Oh, it’s on.”
By the end, water balloon carcasses lay everywhere. Everyone else went inside to protect themselves from the chaos, unwilling to get wet before the food is ready—leaving you and Denki to chase each other around like children, ducking behind bushes and walls, water balloons ricocheting off every corner of the backyard.
Eventually, you two run out of full balloons. There’s still half the pack left, so it becomes a game of keep away—who can get ahold of the hose and fill their water balloon, throw said water balloon, all while never losing control of the hose. And, Denki is losing. Badly.
You’re tits are on him, it’s not his fault.
“Gotcha again!”
You’re both throwing water balloons at point blank, hard enough to leave soft red circles on his skin. Denki doesn’t mind, though—instead, he chucks another at your face, only to miss. This is why he’s losing.
“Well, fucking—let go of it!”
Denki reaches over your lap in hopes he can grab ahold of the hose—and fails when you tug it out of his reach, putting your chest in the way like you know he’ll do anything to avoid touching it. He ends up falling into your lap, anyways, and scrambles his way out before you can blink.
“You’re not playing fair,” he heaves, a little out of breath from all the running, and rushing, and gets on his knees to get a better reach. You just lean back, about to stand up to dart away with the thing, so Denki grabs your wrist and yanks it around, using your hand to fill the last water balloon left.
“I’m not playing fair?” You squeal behind a series of laughs, trying to tug your hand away and barely managing. Sticking his tongue out in focus, Denki holds your wrist as still as he can. The balloon only fills halfway in the time it takes to fill three, water spilling over the edges because you refuse to sit still. Luckily, Denki is a man of many ideas.
He turns your wrist, snatches off the nozzle attachment, and hangs the hose above your head.
You gasp, then choke a little when you inhale water along with air. You try to turn your wrist, and get his ankles wet a little, but that’s about it. Denki cackles.
“I win.”
“No, you—”
You struggle again, but to no avail. Denki moves the hose once the wet spot on concrete widens, starting to feel a little bad. A little—he still won, shit aim and all.
“Keep struggling, Cutie, you’re not gonna get it,” Denki smiles. You fight so hard your shoulder rams into his, but Denki finally manages to snatch the hose back. He debates on the closet location to buy more water balloons, but gets a little distracted, first by your smile, and then by the rest of you.
He didn’t realize how much closer you’ve gotten during the scuffle, shoulders touching and knees bumping. He watches you swim in the afternoon sun, glowing and soaking wet, and when you turn your head, you’re close enough to—
You kiss him?
Denki doesn’t know why. All he knows is, suddenly, your lips are on his when they don’t have to be. You kiss him, you keep kissing him, and when he finally gathers himself enough to kiss back, the hose is forgotten at his side and still running.
His hands do what they’ve wanted to all afternoon and grab your waist, tug you closer. You sigh into his mouth and relax, tilting your head to the side for better access. Denki licks the seam of your lips, earns himself a whine, and melts.
You taste like strawberries from the kitchen counter, something natural and light and perfect for the summer. His fingers fiddle with the edges of your bathing suit, but don’t push further than that, can’t, or he’s sure to get a nosebleed or say something stupid like mmm you smell like the tech section in Target. Something that, honestly, has very little bearing on the current moment.
As he presses forward, Denki doesn’t notice your hand snaking behind him. Not until there’s ice cold water running down his back.
Denki hisses, then groans, then bites your lip in retaliation because he can, because they’re right fucking there. Then, he can act like a normal human being again.
“Kissing to get me back is a dirty trick,” he narrows his eyes in a pout. You smile, pulling the hose overhead so every inch of him gets wet. It’s only fair.
“It worked, though,” you say behind a self-satisfied grin. Your lips are spit slick and a little swollen, so Denki finds that he doesn’t care about getting soaked all that much, after all.
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, snatching the hose back. You’re so close he doesn’t even have to tilt it that far forward.
It earns him a water balloon to the chest. Where the hell you were hiding that, Denki will never know.
IZUKU MIDORIYA.
The sun has long passed, but a cloying heat sticks to the walls of your home like honey. So, you and your husband head outside.
Light pollution isn’t horrible at your house in the mountains. When you and Izuku first moved in together, his one and only wish was to see the stars from his backyard. That narrowed the options down tremendously. Wiped Tokyo and Osaka off the map.
It was a hot day, and somehow, an even hotter night—so, of course he hosts a fucking pop quiz.
“Can you tell me which one is Ursa Major?”
It’s a basic question, with one of the most popular constellations. You scan the sky on your back, grass tickling your knees and thighs, eyes in search for something that could vaguely represent a saucepan. You can’t.
“Izuku,” you whine, rolling into his shoulder. “You can’t point to a splatter of stars and ask me to find a pattern.”
Izuku giggles and pokes your cheek. “Fine, fine. It’s in this general area.”
The finger that was harassing your face points to the sky and makes a big, broad, woefully unhelpful, circle.
“Izuku,” you deadpan. He sighs.
“Okay, it’s over there,” he points, giving up with an amused huff. Even then, it takes you a good minute to line up your sight with the tip of his finger. “See? Polaris over there? It’s the end of the Big Dipper. And the little one, but.”
You squint, and finally, make out something akin to a ladle. “How does that even turn into a bear? God, our ancestors must’ve been so bored.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, gently jostling your head in the process. You grunt, and he lets out a small ‘sorry’ before continuing his train of thought while wiggling a pair of eyebrows. “Or, maybe they were just creative.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huff, but Izuku just smiles like he loves you, and tugs you closer. It’s probably a little too hot to be this close, the world cooling down slow but sure, but you nuzzle your sweaty joints into his skin regardless. Your head rests on his chest. “You calling me uncreative?”
“No,” he snorts, and soothes you with a kiss to the forehead. “I’m saying they didn’t have a 9-5.”
Your bristles relax and smooth over. “Just checking.”
Izuku scrunches his nose with something fond. “You’re so defensive.”
“And you need to stop treating me like one of your students,” you add, poking at his nose until it relaxes. “I hate pop quizzes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You don’t, Dork.”
You get up on your elbows to get a better look at him, to brush a stray tuft of his hair back in place.
“What does that make you?” Izuku asks, raising an eyebrow. “Princess Dork?”
“Queen Dork,” you nod, humming when the thought hits just right. You scoot up higher, closer to his face. “And you can be my jester.”
Izuku gapes, chokes out a laugh in the process, and the way it makes the corners of his eyes screw into nothing is so sweet. “That’s all I am to you, huh? A little funny man?”
You nod, hum, and knock your forehead against his. “With little funny facts.”
Izuku just laughs quietly, smiles, and pulls you close—like you aren’t already close enough, like you can’t feel his breath on your face when he speaks, like you could phase into his body like Kitty Pryde from that X-Men documentary he made you watch. (It would’ve been fascinating if you understood any of it, you’re sure.)
“I love you,” he murmurs, nudging his nose into yours. You return the favor, then kiss him on the lips.
“I love you, too.”
There are a lot of things you love about your husband.
You love that he always wakes up first—impossibly, at the ass-crack of dawn—and you love that his brain is chalk full of a million random truths. You love that he has a fact of the day, you love that he has very specific special interests that he gets overexcited to share. You love that he comes home from work with a smile on his face, and you love that despite that smile, he lights up when he sees you in the living room regardless, that he immediately rushes to kiss you like he’s been away for months.
You also love his dick. Honestly, that’s probably further up the list than it should be.
“Fuck, Izuku—”
He’s not even going that fast. It’s slow and sensual and perfect for stargazing, if his eyes are stars and stars come in the shape of hearts. Grass tickles the arch in your back, while Izuku pounds steady but heavy, refusing to let you look away with a hand on your jaw. You’re fraying at the edges, regardless.
“I love you, Baby,” he huffs above you. His other hand is plastered beside your head, and grass peeks through his knuckles, wrought tight and torn. “I—I love you, so much—”
“’Zuku, I’m close,” you whimper, pawing at his chest. Izuku lets go of your jaw to grab your hand before it falls, tangling your fingers together with a polish that shouldn’t belong to a man who runs into a pole at least once a week. “Baby, I need—”
Izuku cuts your words short with a kiss, chaste but weighted, settling something deep in your bones that you didn’t know was there. When he pulls back, lips pink and swollen from the nights activities, “I know what you need, Baby. I got you.”
The hand beside your head drifts to where you’re connected, and starts rubbing your clit in tight, slow circles. They follow the pattern of his hips, and Izuku coos when you keen, stomach flexing as you cave in on yourself. It’s just along the line of too much, edging slightly past that border—it’s perfect.
“You look so pretty like this,” Izuku pants into your mouth, and squeezes your palm to stave off his own orgasm with a groan. “So pretty, all mine.”
The wedding rings on your clasped hands glint in your peripheral, bouncing the moonlight in reminder. A reminder that, yes, you’re all his—but also, he’s all yours. You choke on a whimper, biting your lip.
“I love you,” you breathe, your proud reservations stripped by intimacy and leaving you bare. Bare and bleeding, heart open and chest out, as you pass it to him for the thousandth time. When Izuku sniffles, you lift a weak hand to thumb a tear from rolling down his cheek. His eyes widen a little, when he realizes he’s crying.
“Sorry,” he huffs a wet laugh, tucking his head into your shoulder to keep him from further embarrassment. You let him, uncaring to how he soaks your top in the process. “S-Sorry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” you manage past a moan, a hand coming up the nape of his neck and tangling until it fits. Luckily, the lump in your throat is easier to swallow the longer you teeter on the edge. “I get it.”
“I just—” Izuku shudders a breath, but his hips never stop moving. It’s a weird combination of feelings—elation for two very different reasons—and it softens everything at the edges, blurs it all just enough to feel safe. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved something like this. I love you so much, it hurts.”
His voice cracks, and you, along with it—a hairline fracture shattering into the vague shape of your husband, ensuring that he fits, that he stays.
And, when you both cum at the same time, a cosmic alignment of two souls so perfectly intertwined that they become one, the cicadas sing along with you.
HANTA SERO
You haven’t seen Hanta Sero in years.
Not since high school graduation, you think. Not since you two went your separate ways for college, not since your families stopped hanging out so much, because people grow and change and most friendships are situational at that age.
The backyard to your family’s lake house is quiet now, save for cicadas, and the sound of a flicking lighter, still in the stiff humid air.
“So,” Hanta asks, lifting the joint to his lips. He’s sat comfortably—in a chair with his feet propped on the wrought iron table like he never left. And, in some ways, he didn’t. “How’ve you been?”
You still have the sweatshirt he let you borrow at that one football game, the socks he left at your place once because he ‘needed to let his feet breathe,’ whatever that means. You still have the memories, of him as your prom date (important note: as friends), of him sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of him getting caught sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of your first kiss in middle school.
No matter what, no matter how many of his things you throw away or give back, Hanta Sero sticks to you like the scent of weed after smoking in a circle—unavoidable, all consuming. Seemingly permanent, even when he’s no longer there.
This, though. This feels awkward. This feels like you two are still trying to get back to who you used to be—like you haven’t changed as people, completely.
Like it hasn’t been five years since you’ve seen him last.
“I’ve been good,” you nod, voice a little hopeful and a lot exhausted. “Work, friends…it’s all chill. You?”
He passes the joint. You take it graciously, and try to forget that his lips have been all over it.
“Decent,” he shrugs, teetering his head before he fully reclines in the chair and rests big hands behind his head. “Internships done, so, ‘m coming back home. Can’t tell whether it feels good yet, though.”
You scoff, nodding in agreement. “Moving back in with your parents is a…conflicting experience.”
“Right?” He almost says with relief, like he’s happy to not be the only one feeling it. That pressure. “Like, I don’t have to pay for laundry anymore—”
“Which is amazing,” you add, nodding, and pass the joint back.
“—or like, food, for the most part, but also, I’m back to living with my parents, so. You win some, you lose some.”
He weighs the options in both hands, smoke curling from the sudden movement. You smile, and maybe, possibly, say something slightly out of pocket. You mimic his gesture.
“You get to hang out with me again, but you get to live with your parents.”
“Exactly,” Hanta snaps and points without hesitation—the lack of it takes you by surprise. You think there’s more to that sentence, but there isn’t.
You two fall into a comfortable silence, watching the sun set on the horizon and douse everything orange, listening to cicadas chirp and leaves rustle, the chatter of your families inside the house filling the gaps. Someone must’ve said something really funny, probably at someone else’s expense, because the living room erupts on the other side of the wall. Even though you can’t see it, you smile at the wooden slats.
“I missed you.”
You look up—Hanta’s staring with something that’s not quite a smile, but not quite nothing, either—it’s a smile in his eyes, maybe, a glint of relative, peaceful amusement, and you falter. The setting sun emphasizes the soft edges, you think. It’s just a trick on the eyes.
The joint is more of a roach, at this point, and it nearly burns your fingertips as you pass it back.
“I missed you, too,” you cough, words a little rushed. Hanta’s full smile breaks across his face, finally escaping through the tight iron bars of it’s imprisonment.
“I can’t tell,” he says just before biting on the joint, and you huff.
“What do you want me to do?” You roll your eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Worship the ground you walk on?”
Hanta shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Mm, I feel like it should be the other way around,” you argue, gesturing until it vaguely represents a switch. “I feel like you should worship the ground I walk on, y’know?”
Hanta lifts an eyebrow, and moves to snuff the last glowing embers in the ash tray. They look like tiny flecks of sunset, flickering in just as bright of an orange. “What if I do?”
You choke.
On air, on smoke, on…something, but you choke. Hanta chuckles from his chest at the sight, licking his lips and finally, looking back to witness your aggressively flustered state.
“What if…I told you that I every time I saw your Instagram story, I’d get a little bitter.”
You swallow. You don’t know what you’d do if he told you that—but, he kind of already has, so. Cue the panic.
“I’d tell you that, uh, it’s good that you’re back, because now you can be in them,” you exhale. Great cover. Magnificent.
When Hanta flirts, it’s not a light joke. It’s…it’s batten down the hatches, lock the doors, and lock the locks on top of the locked door. He speaks with a smoothness that makes Katsuki’s knees weak, and he doesn’t like anyone save for Eijirō and himself. (Platonically—but also, romantically.)
You’ve been on the receiving end, occasionally. It’s a natural thing for him—just something Hanta does, who he is, whether he’s interested in a person or not. That’s not exactly what this feels like, though. It doesn’t feel hypothetical.
Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like you already hold his world on his shoulders, and he’s forever indebted to you for it. With intention.
“And, what if I told you I didn’t just want to be in them, but I want to be with you in them.”
Now. Do you understand what he’s getting at? Maybe. Possibly.
But—
“You’re saying the same thing twice,” you deadpan, resting your chin on a hand. Hopefully, the hot metal grating into your elbow is grounding. It is—but not enough. “I don’t want your riddles, Hanta, I’m high.”
He chuckles, looking off into the sunset with a tongue poking his cheek so hard it bends under the pressure. Then, he looks back, with something new in his eyes—a fire. A determination. Like it was grabbed from the sun itself.
“What if I told you to be my girlfriend.”
You make a small, pathetic noise—one akin to a small bird’s squawk, and Hanta snorts as your eyes go round. You swallow, again—because of cotton mouth, obviously. Not because he makes you nervous.
“I’d…” you gulp, damn you cotton mouth, “I’d tell you to take me on a date, first.”
His grin slips into something mischievous, something plotting. Something you know that you’ll regret, later. (What type of regret, though, and how much—that’s the question.)
“I can do that,” he shrugs, reaching into his pocket for another joint. You know he’ll have to face that one alone—you know he knows—because your eyes are already red and dry, and your tolerance is much lower than when you saw him last. His, seemingly, is just the same, and how someone smokes that much without getting a headache is beyond you.
“Can you?” You challenge, even if you know he can, better than most, because it’s Hanta. Hanta, who you met the first day of kindergarten, missing both front teeth with a Spiderman band-aid over his cheek. Hanta, who got into a fight in middle school because someone called you ugly. Hanta, who’s been as permanent of a fixture in your life as the stars, constantly revolving around you like you’ve got your own gravity. Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—
Hanta chuckles at the slight, lighting the new joint between his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow. “Find out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.”
He doesn’t give you much room to protest, so you just nod.
And, when he offers the joint, despite your earlier lamentations, you take it with shaking hands, because holy shit, holy shit—
hello luna hunnyy, “close” for your prompt game “close” ?
[ CLOSE ] our muses have sex in lotus position, clinging to each other desperately.
“what the fuck, baby.”
bakugou practically groans out the words, his hand automatically coming to cover his hardening manhood in his underwear. he sits perched at the edge of his bed, his eyes raking over your figure with eager desperation.
“i just wanted to do something for you. you know… since i haven’t seen you in three months.” you smile shyly, hands linked behind your back as you stand in the prettiest, daintiest white lingerie. your bra is lacy and a push up, your tits jiggling with every turn and you’ve even got sheer knee high socks on, clipped onto the tiniest piece of underwear you’ve ever worn. you look cute… sexy and you know it but you also can’t help but feel a little nervous in-front of your boyfriend after not seeing him for so long.
“no fuckin’ way you’re nervous in front of me, beautiful. come over here, lemme touch you.” his voice is deep, arousal coating every word as you patter over him, easily settling yourself in his lap, crossing your legs behind his back.
you place your hands flat on his chest, muscles upon muscles hard against your fingers. katsuki’s breath hitches as you do, his chin resting in your breasts. “i missed you, katsuki.”
his full name. not baby, not gorgeous, but katsuki. you missed him.
“missed you so fuckin’ much angel,” his calloused hand covers yours, dragging it down his chest to rest on his hardened dick beneath his underwear. he chuckles, but it comes out almost pained, eyes fluttering at the tiniest bit of contact. “he missed you too.“
katsuki’s palms squeeze at your thighs, laying light pecks on your neck. you shiver despite the heat rolling throughout your body, “i’ve never wanted you to fuck me more than i have now, katsuki.”
your voice is a sugar sweet whisper, lips brushing against katsuki’s ear as your breasts press against his chest.
“fuck, fuck baby you can’t say that, the fuck am i sayin’ yeah you can,” holding you up with a hand on your ass katsuki yanks down his underwear to his thighs, plopping back down on the bed and pulling your underwear to the side.
your pussy is glistening, even the fabric of your underwear is near enough soaked in his hand and katsuki can smell your arousal. you’re whining at the almost touch near you, sitting up on your knees and hugging his head to your chest. “go on, wanna be close to you baby, wanna feel you.”
“want you too ‘ki,” you mumble before sinking yourself into his already leaking dick.
with the first inch you both gasp, clinging onto each other, sweat already building from the desperation of it all. “fuckin’ shit. missed you so bad.”
he slid into you easily, no resistance as you sucked him into your wet walls. you could feel his pulse inside you, every twitch and every vein, truly a closeness you’ve never felt with your boyfriend before.
before you knew it tears were trailing down your cheeks, sinking down further and further until you were practically sitting in his lap, filled to the brim of him.
“love you baby, you’re all i want, all i’ve wanted.” katsuki sighs, the feeling of being completely coated in you equal to a dream.
you brush all katsuki’s hair off his face to see him clearly, usual ruby eyes with his stone cold glare now warm and soft, practically pouring out his love for you wordlessly.
“i love you too.” you mewl, closing your eyes as katsuki kisses away your tears. then he pecks your lips soft and slowly, so slow that you’re chasing after his lips when he pulls away.
“wanna hear you moan, baby. fuckin’ loud and sweet, yeah?” he punctuates his sentence with a kiss to your bottom lip, rubbing your thighs back and forth. he runs his eyes over your face, “so beautiful, gonna be loud f’me?”
you give a him a nod, a tiny smile sliding on your face as you wrap your arms even tighter around his neck, “yeah. gonna be loud for you.”
getting so high and handsy with sero and you’re humping against his sweats like some cock hungry bunny and he’s leaning back, hands behind his head, lazy grin on his face while you grind against his cock. he rests a hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close but doesn’t kiss you, lets your lips brush against his, chuckling at the noises that spill from your lips.
he starts jerking his hips up, smirking at the wet spot you’re leaving on the front of his sweats, the way your nipples are poking through your shirt and pressing into his chest as you scoot closer. he lets you rut against him faster, knowing you’re close with the way you’re trembling and then he stops your hips and you whine.
“hush bunny.”
he bucks his hips up and flips you over so he can grind his dick into your little shorts and kiss all over your neck while you fall apart under him.
Ass eater yuuji just made me think of the fact that he’d be that kind of guy in college that’s known as ‘that guy who loves eating ass’ and it’s lowkey a little weird, but yuuji’s rlly hot and kind and charismatic and beefy so you do end up experiencing the rumors are true
🍥 ENTRY #16 LET HIM EAT CAKE ✩ jock bf yuuji .ᐟ
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 through rumours and campus chatter, one might find that jujutsu tech’s favourite jock is a renowned ass eater. his girlfriend, as shy as she might be, is desperate to test this theory out for herself. | magnetic - jock bf yuuji masterlist.
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. characters are adults. jock bf!yuuji itadori and weird & fem!reader. jock bf series, college au, no curses, established relationship, mentions of alcohol, fingering, squirting, oral sex (f!receiving), anal sex (f!receiving), dry humping. me when i turn everything into jock yuuji.
this is soooo jock bf yuuji coded im insanely unwell but over this …
he’s like most people’s first experiences with eating ass and he’s never the type to keep pushing for it or start consensually he’ll just be tongue deep in pussy, sucking the sensitive bundle of your clit into his mouth and shaking his head from side to side maybe even spitting on it before he looks up — pink hair matted to his face, maybe his sweat tinged with a cherry blossom hue and his golden skin glowing. “can i…fuck… can i eat your ass? please?”
i don’t think anyone would say no to him because it’s yuuji itadori. he comes with hazy puppy dog eyes that glow amber in the sunlight and turn chocolaty warm when he’s horny. he’s got plush pink lips, soft on your sex that shine with obscene amounts of slick and spit. not to mention, he’s so sweet and so kind — he holds open doors and helps freshman students across campus and he’s such a good fuck, why would you say no to his tongue dipping a little lower?
word gets around at how good he is at doing it, how he’ll spit on pussies and cocks and let it slide between the ass cheeks of his partners before he sucks it up, leaving sloppy kisses against their holes and he’s good at it. not ashamed to admit it when someone calls him an ass eater over a game of drunken beer pong.
so then you’re a few months into dating yuuji, he’s taken your virginity and indulged the kinks you thought you might have had before then… it never comes up. not to you at least — you catch whispers of those before you, sticking to the walls at parties it’s hard to miss what they say about the all star jock and your boyfriend … it makes your stomach turn. not because of jealousy, but because you want to know what it’s like.
yuuji would rather indulge your desires over his. spend hours between your legs running languid and lewd circles over your swollen clit — he makes out with your pussy as though he’s running out of time. trying to do everything he can before he’s caught in the act or your body gives way. from sucking slick from your folds, to drooling on your pussy lips, and fucking your quivering hole with his tongue like it’s his dick. he hardly wastes a second.
it’s not until he feels you push his head lower, stuttering broken letters that crumble like chalk into moans, that yuuji realises how much you want something else.
“you gotta use your words if you need somethin’, baby,” yuuji coos, words all wet as they fall from his gleaming, swollen lips. he blows cool air over your feverish mound, watching you clench around nothing. watching arousal run in pearlescent beads from your sex down between your cheeks. “what’s the matter, mama? talk to me.”
“want you to — oh!” you squeak at the cruel sensation of itadori’s teeth graze your beating clit.
he whispers hot into your pussy, folding your knees into your shoulders with one hand. “want me to what? speak up, pretty.”
“eat me lower…” you cry, feeling his smile spread into your sluice sloppy cunt. “e-eat my ass.”
“yeah? you’d let me?” a grin is painted onto yuuji’s lips, wicked but not cruel. just carefully crafted excitement that buzzes in the charged air like particles of kinetic energy fired up. you feel it trickle into your sex as the jock inhales you like you’re oxygen. spitting onto your mound and smearing it into your clit. “fuck, you’ve no idea how long i’ve been wanting to. needing to. kinda my thing and i love this pretty ass, baby. i really do. you’re heaven sent, made for me. my good girl wants me right here, yeah?” the drawl to his voice mimics a whine, needy and hungry like his own greed has pulled him open with nimble fingers that toy with his cracks.
his own creep lower, take the globes of your ass and knead them raw in an attempt to ground himself. pink hair sinks lower too, wisps of cherry blossom tickling the soiled backs of your thighs as though they are trying imitate the kiss of a spring breeze against the back of your neck. yuuji leaves a trail of open mouthed, treacly kisses from your cunt to your asshole, moaning desperately at your flavour as it rolls across the palette of his tongue.
“s-sensitive, yuu!” you squeak at the new pressure, clenching in two places around nothing — pushing out a fresh wave of violently hot slick.
he makes somewhat of a chuffing sound between sucking on your rim and coming up for air. he could die, drown himself in your flavour and never surface again simply because you feed him so well. douse the fires of his appetite with what your body has to offer. the hybrid noise comes out as wrecked in his throat. “i know, baby, i know. ‘m sorry, i know. just hold on a sec… trust me. s’gonna feel so good.”
to soothe you, make it easier for you to take him — yuuji tacks two fingers on your little pleasure bud that swells prominently between your puffy folds and attentively knocks it back and forth. the motion contrasts with the insistent, wet slurp of his tongue whilst he circles the rim of your ass — sucking your pussy juices into his mouth and spitting them back onto the second tight hole. frothy from his added spit.
“m so lucky, my good girl gets off on having ass played with. doesn’t she?” thick fingers replace his tongue at the puckered entrance, just one for now. he’d never want you to feel hurt by him. your back arches where you stretch over him, gripping every segment of his finger as it passes deeper into your warm walls. “fuck, you’re so right. look at you squirm, mama. you take it so well.”
meeting his brown eyes, calid and mirthy. yuuji latches back onto your pussy — entire mouth engulfing the length of your slit, pink muscle squirming against spoken walls to thrust, much like he would with his cock, and you ripple around him desperately every time. “taste so good, fuckin’ dripping for me.” he says, heady and hungry, chin wet and lips raw? moaning against you impatiently because all he wants is for you to cum.
when yuuji switches, tongue back in your ass and fingers rubbing your clit in misshapen circles — you squeal so high that the sound shoots down his spine and his eyes roll back into his skull, cock rubbing itself sore against the bed.
“can feel you… s’like you’re all the way in my throat. s-so deep, baby.” your voice is a tremor, barely holding itself together whilst your sanity comes apart. it’s true, his fingers scissor your clenched hole as if to make room for something thicker, girthier later on.
“hmm, you like that? me in your tight, warm little holes,” he’s got filth locked and loaded behind his teeth that graze your clit here and there — ecstasy striking you like a lightning bolt. yuuji’s pitch rises like hot air over cold, whiny and needy as though he’s seconds away from losing it all. “cum for me baby, i know you need it. let go for me baby. c’mon, come on. ohoho, shit. there it is…”
yuuji laughs brightly as you squirt — as if the very sight is the reason why the word joy holds its meaning. the corners of your world turn fuzzy with a black vignette as if a cloak of night has been pulled over your eyes. for a second, your presence in the world slips like it was always meant to be fleeting — you are sure that your heart pauses in place and your lungs exhale their last breath all while static jump-starts across your brain, cables crossing. electricity crackling. the jock licks you clean throughout, tongue curling to cover your clit, dipping lower to gather what juice runs between your ass cheeks. glistening, glazed — a sweet treat that has him bucking wildly into the bed until you’re both coated in your own mess.
“holy shit,” he licks his lips clean, wipes the remainder of your orgasm from the corners of his mouth with the back of hand in a manner that’s so sexy it gears you up for another turn. “you gotta let me do that more often. you cum so hard.”
you reach for him as he crawls up the bed to join you, the scent of yourself permeating his skin whilst he peppers you with affectionate kisses. “only if you fuck me there with your cock next time.” you beam, too buzzed to keep on being shy with your words.
yuuji’s eyes roll back into his skull and swears he might actually die.
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
ex-husband katsuki! who you’d been with since you were in high school and he was just a loudmouth teenager training to be a pro-hero. your first love. high school sweetheart. first kiss. first everything.
ex-husband katsuki! who promised you the world and followed through. almost followed through.
ex-husband katsuki! who surprised you with the news of his agency opening over a home cooked meal on the back patio of your shared apartment. not only that, he surprised you with a proposal. your hand in his for life.
ex-husband katsuki! who, as a wedding gift, bought a house big enough for the two of you and whatever the hell else you could ever dream of.
ex-husband katsuki! who did everything in his power to make sure you never had to want for anything. working extra hard and staying behind long hours at the agency. in hopes that after a few years, he’d have enough money to never leave your side again.
ex-husband katsuki! who started sleeping on the couch after his shifts in fear of waking you up after seeing how peaceful you always were when sleeping. he couldn’t stand the thought. he’d just have to hope you’d be awake before he had to leave again.
ex-husband katsuki! who had been so busy with working, he’d almost forgotten your anniversary coming up. until he didn’t. he even booked a small weekend getaway. letting everyone know he’d be gone and not to bother him. no excuses.
ex-husband katsuki! who left early that day to come home to you. he even stopped for flowers. your favorite, too. only to be met with one of his worst nightmares. no. it was his worst. you were gone, and so were all of your things.
ex-husband katsuki! who had no idea what, when, or why this was happening. he never knew you were feeling this way. maybe that’s the fucking problem. he didn’t know anything about you anymore. anything except that he’d lost you.
ex-husband katsuki! who didn’t put up a fight. he signed the papers because you asked him to. he still has no fucking idea why he was stupid enough to do it. did you really want this? because he didn’t. of everything he imagined for the two of you, this was the last thing he ever thought would happen.
ex-husband katsuki! who desperately stopped at nothing. he offered for you to take the house. his car. the savings he’s set aside for you so far…nothing short of an even bigger heartbreak when you refused all of it. you didn’t want any of it. you didn’t want anything. why wouldn’t you just take something? at least his guilt would grow smaller.
ex-husband katsuki! who spent weeks. no, months on end going through every scenario. wondering where it all went wrong. a moment to pin. the night you met. wishing on every shooting star that you’d come back to him one day.
ex-husband katsuki! who learned from a friend you were moving on. it didn’t make him angry. even worse, it left him with an indescribable feeling in his chest. he couldn’t imagine it. you with someone else. you being with another person longer than you’d been with him. years down the line. still off to the side watching the life he could of had pass before his very eyes.
ex-husband katsuki! who almost fucks it all up again by texting you. he couldn’t help himself any longer. he just couldn’t bear the thought of someone else learning you. your habits. your skin. your sounds. the way you…fuck. whined against his neck.
ex-husband katsuki! who learns his best friends are engaged. who also happen to be…your best friends. meaning you’ll be sucked into each other’s space again no matter what.
ex-husband katsuki! who searches for any and everything that might help him in getting his wife back. even if it means dragging your drunk ass out of mina and kirishima’s engagement party and bringing you home with him…he even washed your hair. not that you’d remember. maybe you wouldn’t hate him too much when you wake up and realize where you are, and that he took care of you.
ex-husband katsuki! who watches you all night at the bar during the bachelor and bachelorette party. even when some random shows up, throwing herself on him, doing anything for a sliver of his attention. only for it to still be on you. your curves. the way your lips scrunch when you’re upset. were you? upset? but by the time he makes his way over to ask, you’ve disappeared.
ex-husband katsuki! who drunkenly invites you to his hotel room. (not much of a drunken thought) but nonetheless, his heart almost tears right through his stomach when his door opens and there you are.
ex-husband katsuki! who just couldn’t fucking believe it. you were here. with him. asleep in his arms for the first time in such a long time. he was scared to even fall asleep. in fear that you’ll somehow disappear from his arms in his dreams. and that you did.
ex-husband katsuki! who has you under him almost every single night after. you’d swear to everyone you love that you hate him and will never forgive him. but never in his ear late at night when your body remembers everything your heart swore to forget.
ex-husband katsuki! who’s always coming up with new reasons to see you. a package delivered to his doorstep. your favorite artist releasing music. offering you rides. (all sorts of them)
ex-husband katsuki! who gets a little too jealous watching you hold conversations with men who should be him. the thought of you being with them the way you were with him only minutes before coming to this damn rehearsal dinner. he feels partly defeated. he thought things were finally going his way.
ex-husband katsuki! who brings a date to the wedding despite his overgrown and undeniable feelings for you. he only immediately regrets it. especially seeing how upset you are. today was supposed to be about love. not his own damn ego.
ex-husband katsuki! who sits with you hours after it’s over and everyone has gone home. helping you clean and pack things up while also reminiscing about the small, intimate details from your own wedding.
ex-husband katsuki! who starts showing up again. more and more. to the point you’ve become overwhelmed with emotions yourself. what if he hasn’t changed? what if the next time is no different?
ex-husband katsuki! who’s never once taken his wedding ring off since the divorce. except for when he’ll be seeing you. even then, he puts it around his chain and tucks it into his collar or back pocket. no one around him has given him shit about it yet. but you would.
ex-husband katsuki! who cooks for you every night. just like the old times when he first learned to cook and made a date out of it. the curry was burnt, but thank goodness his cooking skills improved over the years.
ex-husband katsuki! who can’t take not being your husband anymore. he’d say anything. do anything. he just wants you to take him back. he’d even beg on his knees if you’d only ask.
ex-husband katsuki! who goes out on a limb, heart in his hand holding out for you. “marry me again, please.” he takes your hand one random night after dinner…though he was supposed to be leaving. this time he doesn’t.
-
an: this is just a little something based on the series <3 so i’ve tagged everyone who was already on the list :)
Suddenly imagined leading on a guy you've been seeing by making out with him after your dates and abruptly stopping to tell him that you're gonna go home and think about him when you masturbate and then you just leave him high and dry. And of course one day he snaps and fingers you outside of your home bc you've been teasing him too much
"Someone's gonna see," you whisper with worry, trying to peek over his broad shoulder to look around the neighborhood.
"Let them," he grumbles into your ear, hiking your leg up higher on his waist so he can stuff a third finger inside you. He smirks when you mewl at the stretch. "You like that? You like being filled up?"
"Uh-huh," you whine, high and needy. He hums against your cheek, pressing a kiss there.
"I could fill you up so well, Y/N, hit every spot you like inside you. I could make you feel so good."
You moan his name when he curls his fingers, his palm rubbing against your clit as he thrusts the digits inside of you. You can feel yourself leaking down your thigh.
"I could make you cum as much as you want, could go all night if you wanted. I'd do anything to make you feel good."
"Please," you whisper harshly, digging your nails into his shoulders. "I'm so close."
"Let me give you what you need, darling."
He keeps his pace and technique, hitting the same spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Other guys would've sped up or fucked something up, but your boyfriend is consistent, just what you needed.
God, you should've done this sooner. The orgasm creeping up on you is going to be big. You vaguely pray that his dick could make you feel just as good as you topple over the edge, tucking your face into his shoulder to muffle your moans.
He guides you through it, massaging your cunt as you flutter down. He pulls out his fingers and begins sucking them clean, moaning low.
God, you need him. You need him so badly. You'll even fuck him on your porch, you don't care anymore. You just need his cock buried deep inside you, thrusting wildly and meticulously until you're braindead.
When you go to palm his cock, he grabs your wrist. You pout as he brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it, then leaning forward to press a tender kiss to your temple. He lets you go and turns away, stepping down off your porch.
"W-Wait—"
"Sorry, dear," he says, looking back at you. "I promise to think about you when I masturbate later."
kinktober 2026 will be all-connected in one story for each day, but if anyone would like anything i didnt write (or stuff i did write too) for this year, LMK! no promises it'll make it in tho but i will try to fit it into the story :D
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: your voice helps satoru fall asleep. your voice also helps him do…other things.
❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, antisocial!reader, alternate universe - college/university au, light angst, phone sex, kind of, he’s jacking off on the other line and you’re none the wiser, so, dubcon? … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: the chapter titles are a little ominous…i was just trying to be creative and use the lyrics…
♫ NOW PLAYING: nightcall, kavinsky ft. angéle and phoenix.
read on ao3 | 2.5k words | masterlist.
“NAH, SHE’S JUST a three am call.”
“Oh okay, because I just…” the girl Satoru is talking to gestures between them, and he’s really not picking up what she’s putting down. She’s pretty—not prettier than you, but pretty enough. A little stupid, though. “Didn’t want to impose, y’know?”
She laughs it off but seems relatively genuine. Luckily, you’re not here, or else you’d cackle, pat him on the shoulder twice, embarrass him further. Satoru can see it now: “Oh, him? I wouldn’t touch him if we were the two last people on earth!”
So, the random girl takes the open seat to his right. Satoru lets her—wants her to, because he’s bored out of his mind. Going to a club or bar after sundown just isn’t your thing. He tells you it’s stupid, that you should go at least once for him. But, you don’t care, you never cared, and somehow, that pisses him off more.
Does it matter? It doesn’t matter to you, clearly, Miss Do Whatever You Want, Miss I Wouldn’t Touch You With A Ten Foot Pole. You don’t like him like that, you’ve made it very clear—and while Satoru is of the belief that everyone likes him like that, he’s also starting to believe that you do not.
Does it matter.
Not really. Random girls tits are big enough for it to not matter.
CALL #1: THERE’S SOMETHING INSIDE YOU.
Your phone rings at three am. Of course, it does.
Fortunately, you’re still awake, and pause your game to answer.
“’Toru?”
“Hey,” his voice crackles from the other side of the line. He sounds…off, exhausted in ways he only is in the middle of the night when his family gets too loud—too angry—for an enclosed space. His voice cuts in and out, so you know he’s home—the hills always have shit service. “What’cha doin’?”
You hum, pushing away from your desk and pausing the game to stretch. You needed a break, anyways.
“Playing the Sims.”
“Ooh, still working on that throuple?” Satoru says, huffing through his nose. Laughter, you think. Guilty, you are.
“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. He wasn’t. But, he came over one day, when you already had the game up and running, your desktop coughing dust from the file’s size. On the screen were your heavily cc’d sims, mid-fuck, Wicked Whims and everything. Long story short, Satoru is never allowed in your apartment again. “Maybe.”
Satoru cackles, but something about it feels wrong. It’s too bright—sounds too wide, and you bite the inside of your cheek before asking, “You okay?”
And, well. That takes the wind out of his sails. Your phone goes quiet after the last weak ‘aha, ha.’
“Yeah,” he drags lazily, in the way he does when he’s lying, when his eyes get shifty and he starts fiddling with any loose string he can find. “Just family stuff—y’know the drill.”
And you shrug, because you do. Somewhat, at least.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Satoru lets out a bitter laugh at that, accompanied by some miscellaneous rustling. “No.”
“Okay,” you nod patiently, running through your usual check-in script. “Do you want to talk at all?”
“Mm,” Satoru hums. “Talk about the Sims.”
So, you do. Against your better judgement, you tell him about the throuple your working on—how polyamory in the Sims 4 is a pain in the ass because it’s not built in, how turning the jealousy down only works sometimes, because occasionally, your game glitches, and you have to turn it down all over again.
You tell him about the CC’s you download and how they kill your laptop. Your favorite creators and design impulses, and how you built a lot so complex it shut the game down. Satoru listens to it all with a quiet ear, and somehow, manages to do what he’s been trying to all evening—fall asleep.
CALL #2: IT’S HARD TO EXPLAIN.
Two nights later, and another three am call. It surprises you—typically, it’s at least four days until you hear from him like this. He sounds better than he did, last time. More alive.
“Good Morning!”
“…’Toru, it’s the middle of the night.” You roll your eyes, tossing your phone on the bed and quickly following suit. You just got out the shower, pores sticky with humidity as your body officially dries off beneath pajamas.
He cackles, and pays your debunk no mind. “Exactly—’s the best time of the day. I get to talk to you.”
Though, something tells you that if he could go to bed earlier, he would.
“I see you nearly every day,” you huff. And, it’s the truth—you see him so often that half the campus thinks your dating. You’re not dating. No, you’re determined to keep him in the friend zone, determined to avoid being another girl on his roster, even if you provide him means for escape at least once a week. You’re not stupid.
“Yeah, and it’s still not enough.”
That doesn’t prevent him from being a flirt, though. It’s not necessarily a compliment—you’ve seen Satoru get so drunk he flirted with a plant.
“Whatever,” you say, rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling, and begin tracing absentminded shapes across it. “How was your day?”
“So boring, actually,” Satoru groans, and leaves it at that. “I wanna hear about you, though. What’d you do today? Who’d you talk to?”
“’Toru, you know I don’t go anywhere but class and back. Plus, the occasional library visit,” you smile, listening to a rustle on the other end of the line, and wonder if he’s shrugging.
“God—see the world. Experience new things, the fuck.”
“I’m okay.”
“What about the club I sent you? Did you see it? The writing one?”
You snort. “Yes—and while I appreciate your attempts to get me out the house, I’m good.”
“Fine,” Satoru groans, loud and obnoxious. “Tell me the best thing you learned today, then.”
“Um…” your eyes trace the ceiling as you try to remember your day in any capacity. Honestly, you step through the threshold of your apartment, and promptly forget most of the things that happened. “Oh! In philosophy—”
Satoru groans again, somehow louder and more obnoxious. “No philosophy. It’s the middle of the night, you’re gonna make my head hurt.”
Oh, now it’s the middle of the night.
“I—You can’t ask me what I did today, and get picky.”
“Yes, I can,” Satoru says around a smile—you know, you can hear it—and you roll your eyes for the fifth time tonight. “Tell me about something else. If I think past midnight, my brain melts from my ears.”
“If you think at all,” you amend, and Satoru giggles.
“Yeah, something like that.”
You end up talking about philosophy, anyways.
Something about Descartes, something about Plato’s Allegory—Satoru doesn’t really know. All he knows is that your voice before you fall asleep is very, very nice. Rasped from the day’s use and exhaustion, lazy in the way smoke spirals.
It isn’t long before he falls asleep.
CALL #3: THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT YOU, BOY.
Bzz bzz. Bzz bzz. Bzz bz—
“Yo!”
You run a hand over your face.
“Bitch, you keep falling asleep on me,” because, you haven’t seen him since the last call, and haven’t had time to properly pick that bone.
“’S not my fault!” Satoru’s whine is accompanied by some intense rustling. Getting into bed, maybe? “Your voice is so peaceful…Just wanna hear you yap, again.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you huff, crossing your arms, and fighting the rising heat in your face with a passion. “You sound half dead already. Just go to bed.”
“Can’t,” Satoru says. “What’d you do today.”
At this point, it’s less of a question and more of a demand. But, Satoru’s very good at talking around the truth. If your voice is what he needs to fall asleep, so be it.
“Actually, I went on a little adventure,” you nod, and continue organizing your desk. “There was a cute little library downtown that I went to check out.”
“What?” Satoru whines, dragging out the a. “Why didn’t you take me with you?”
“Because you’re horrible in quiet places,” you say. The last time he came with you to the campus library, the quiet one, he got both of you kicked out. Promptly.
“Fine, whatever,” he huffs, clearly a little butt hurt. You organize the pens you own by color, even if the effort is for naught once you close the drawer, and everything jostles. “Tell me about it.”
You tell him how the place had an interior waterfall and enough greenery for vines to grow onto books. You tell him about the built in coffee shop, how everything smelled like roasting coffee beans and humidity, how a guy approached you and asked for your number, an—
Wait, what?
Satoru doesn’t fall asleep that night, but he does stay quiet. Eventually, you hang up.
“G’night, Loser.”
He watches the red end call button blink once, and his phone goes dark.
CALL #4: BUT YOU’RE STILL THE SAME.
It becomes a thing—you talking Satoru to sleep.
He calls you almost every night—the nights he doesn’t spend outside with friends, bar hopping and clubbing and doing all the things that you refuse. All he can think about is you though, despite bright neon lights and loud house music. He’s become some sickening iteration of Pavlov's dog, yearning the moment he yawns. The moment he thinks he could go to sleep.
Tonight, he purposely ignored Suguru’s invitation to go out, just to talk to you. Like a fucking idiot.
He starts with the same pretense, just like every other time.
“What’d you learn today?”
And you’re off, rambling on about Plato, again. Unfortunately, Satoru is more awake than he’d usually feel at this hour, despite not being able to sleep. Less exhausted. Like his body is finally getting it’s revenge after his surprisingly peaceful month.
It’s his dick. Tonight, his dick is the issue, and he should just cut it off, but also, he loves his dick. You chat about cave shadows, and something about the way you say cave tickles a spot in Satoru’s brain that he didn’t know he had. Cave, really?
Satoru loves how you sound when discussing something you have a genuine interest in. The way your mouth runs a mile a minute, eyes frantically tracking the other person for signs you should stop, the way you gesticulate wild enough to knock a glass or two off the table—he can picture it now.
But, Satoru doesn’t give it to you. He doesn’t want you to stop, ever. If someone told him listening to you talk was hell, he’d sin so quick.
Him and his dick, apparently.
“So, he had this thing, right, where he’d—”
Satoru hisses when a hand ghosts over his crotch, completely of its own volition. It’s not his fault—his body is pent up because he hasn’t been able to enjoy a good fuck after meeting you a semester ago. And now, half the female population thinks that you’re his girlfriend, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Satoru isn’t one for commitment. Maybe, he just needs to rub one out, and he’ll be back to normal.
He stops responding after a while, giving you all the air time to ramble without cutting it with a ‘yeah’ or ‘uh-huh.’
So, yeah. Maybe, he runs a hand under the waistband of his sweats, but he has no control over that.
When he pulls his cock out, its weeping and an angry shade of red. Satoru can’t help but relate. Can’t help but think, real.
Clearly, he doesn’t fuck enough in general, by the way he had to suppress a whimper and a shiver the second he wraps a hand around himself. He’s hot to the touch, and his dick cries a little more if he squeezes his fist. This is embarrassing.
As you continue your story, Satoru’s hand moves slow, like you’d hear him make the slightest movement and just know. He’s stressed, he’s ashamed, but most importantly—he’s horny.
“-ello, hello? ‘Toru did you fall asleep?”
Satoru bites back a moan as the modified version of his name falls from your lips, and starts to wonder what else he could put in your mouth, and how you’d look. He blinks himself out of his stupor, because if you hang up now, he might cry.
“No, no!” He rushes, maybe too quick and too loud. He tones it down lest he sound a little too excited. “Sorry, um. I was just listening.”
“…Are you sure? Sounds like your falling asleep to me.”
“And what does that sound like,” he’s a little breathless, but gets his question across. His cock jumps at the prospect of what you could sound like.
“Like silence,” you snort, and rustling follows. “You don’t not talk, it’s weird when you aren’t.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I want to hear you.” Satoru stares down at his traitorous dick with a scowl, and tries to keep his voice as even as possible when he starts moving his hand again. A puff, and then, “Keep going.”
“Fine,” you relent, because when has anybody ever passed on the offer to talk about themselves. Something about a teacher on Zoom with bottles of raid in the background, something about somebody asking about it, he doesn’t know.
He just knows his hand moves quicker this time, in a race to finish before you start asking anymore questions, before you notice.
And, Satoru’s mind—Satoru’s mind runs rampant. He imagines you in the worst and best positions he possibly can, imagines what you look like under those sweatpants and hoodies you love so much. You’re talking about the most boring, inane thing possible, and he’s so close, the universe hates him.
“Oh my God, and ‘Toru, he has this cat—”
“Yeah?”
“It’s the most adorable thing, always walking over his keyboard and shit—”
“Say it again.”
Satoru is stupid—he’s delirious, can barely see straight, and it’s your fault.
“Um, say what? The cat?”
“No—my name.”
“Satoru?”
“No, the other one.”
“…’Toru?”
It’s a nickname almost everyone gives him, but he likes it best coming from you. Likes it enough to cum, apparently. Hard enough that he has to bite on a free hand, thankful he put you on speaker before deciding to start this mess. And man, is it a mess.
Satoru blinks away stars dancing across his ceiling. If you said something in the past thirty seconds, one minute, five minutes, he doesn’t know. His sense of time and sense of self are fucked, because he’s floating, and even after post-nut clarity, his feelings (ew) about you haven’t shifted an inch. Fuck. Fuck.
“Are you okay?”
Satoru pulls his hand back and spreads his fingers, all coated in a milky white guilt he’d rather not look at for too long. So, he doesn’t, and rolls over in hopes that he can find a t-shirt inexpensive enough to dirty.
“Yep. Peachy,” he huffs, despite feeling anything but. He sits up, and runs a clean hand over his face. What does he do?
(The right answer is to ask you out—the right answer would be to keep you all for himself, but Satoru Gojō is nothing if not a coward.)
He's in your neighborhood and you see him occasionally, always greeting him kindly and asking how he's doing. He's handsome, tall and strong, you saw him help carry furniture when another neighbor moved in. You want to get to know him better, but it seems as though fate is not on your side bc for the first couple of months, you barely see him.
Summer comes around and suddenly there's a knock at your door. When you answer, he's standing there holding a watermelon under his arm. He gives it to you, telling you about a sale at the farmer's market, and you chat a little before he leaves. Your heart flutters at the interaction. The watermelon is sweet and delicious.
But it keeps happening. He comes by every Sunday to give you fruit: mangoes and strawberries and raspberries and cherries and peaches and even pineapple! Every time he claims there was a sale at a local vendor and never takes up your offer to pay him back.
It doesn't stop at fruit either. He brings bundles of asparagus and ears of fresh corn on the cob, broccoli and tomatoes still on the vine. One day he even brings sunflowers and a loaf of foccacio with cherry tomatoes and feta and herbs.
You're flattered beyond belief and your mouth is delighted by all the seasonal produce, but your heart wants more...
So, next Sunday, when he arrives with two bags of produce, you ask him if he will show you around the farmer's market some time. He gives you a soft look that you've never seen before, almost as if he's relieved.
friend/neighbor nanami coming to chubby fem reader with a proposition to marry for tax reasons ……. he secretly likes you ofc. he thinks that marrying him for tax reasons is the only way he can have you.
he’s so respectful of you the whole time, never crosses any lines, treats you like a friend like always- bc in his mind you can’t possibly want him. he’s ‘a stick in the mud’ and you’re fun, you’re friendly. you’re warm and bright- he’s just there to hold your jacket and purse for you,,,sipping a glass of water while ur on the dance floor w ur other friends, the ones he kinda knows the names of. he plays the role of a good husband perfectly….,,,,knows he has to indulge in the role as long as he can. he keeps that distance between the two of you, forever mindful of you, too considerate to ever confess or kiss you outta nowhere-
which is why you have to be the one who crosses that line……
I have been ruminating over this ask for a while...
CW: chubby fem reader x Nanami Kento, marriage of convenience, yearning, smut, breeding kink, marriage kink, possessiveness at the end, got a little carried away my bad
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Nanami would be the most respectful, perfect husband there ever was, and i say that with confidence bc i know in my heart it's true. He would do exactly as you said, support you in your endeavors while he stands to the side and holds your things. He's just happy to be around you. He feels so lucky that you accepted his proposal at all.
The proposal comes almost out of the blue. Of course you knew each other before, were kind and friendly, but you had never spent more than ten minutes with each other at a time. And yet, he was infatuated with you, and when he heard you complaining about taxes through your shared wall, he came up with the idea of an arranged marriage so you could both get benefits. He didn't expect you to agree so quickly, a part of him didn't expect an agreement at all, but he was ecstatic when you said 'yes'. He was swift with the arrangements, and within two weeks you were together signing the papers for your marriage agreement.
The benefits started rolling in. He was able to add you to his company's insurance, decreasing your spending, and your tax refunds increased after you combined your taxes the next cycle. Once your finances were set, the two of you moved into a nicer two bedroom apartment together, saving money on rent.
He loves spending time with you, but as you said, he never crosses the line, although he wants to at times. He finds it especially difficult to control himself when he sees you in your casual clothes, sees the outline of your free breasts under your crop top, sometimes your nipples are hard and poking through the fabric, and those tiny little sports shorts that give him a perfect view of your ass when you bend over. It's torture, really, seeing you so comfortable and relaxed around him. What he wouldn't give to feel the weight of your plush body against his, the soft expanse of your skin. Late at night, in his room—because he insisted on giving you a room of your own—he fantasizes about you in all the ways he can't have, every position possible, imagining the sounds and the feeling of your lips against his, the wet heat of your cunt sucking him in, aching for his cum—
This is dangerous territory. He needs to be careful lest he do something that will push you away forever. He'd hate himself for eternity if he made you uncomfortable in any way, so he keeps his distance, doing his share of the chores and cooking for you often.
You don't make it easy on him. You've started wearing these skimpy little pajamas around the house before work and after you get home. It looks more like lingerie than a sleep set, but he doesn't comment on it. This is your home too and you are free to wear whatever you please, but you've been getting touchier lately too. You insist on cuddling while you watch TV and now expect a hug every time he leaves the apartment. Is he going crazy? He swears you're seducing him somehow, brushing your ass against his crotch when you squeeze between him and the counter, hands lingering and crawling over his chest and arms whenever you're close. No, he must be losing his mind. You're too sweet to do something like teasing and tempting him. He's just overthinking your innocent actions. Yeah, that's it, this must be normal for you and your other close friends! He'll just let you do as you wish and not pester you, no matter how difficult it is for him to control himself.
Meanwhile, every night without Nanami in your bed leaves you to scream into your pillow, beyond frustrated. The perfect, most handsome man asked you to marry him, but he won't even touch you! God, this is infuriating! You were hoping for the romance to begin when you got married, but he just kept acting serious and aloof no matter what you did. All of your slutty clothing and extra touches have been in vain since he won't even hold your hand yet. You need to up the ante, yes, that's it, you just need to be more forward! Maybe if you straddle his lap one day and beg for his cock then he'll give it to you? He always does what you say... No, that won't work. He'll just brush you off and lock himself in his room the rest of the night like he always does when you get touchy with him. Oh, what to do, what to do...
A lightbulb appears above your head and you smirk.
The next Friday night, you suggest watching a movie together in the living room. You can have popcorn and candy and just relax and watch something you both enjoy! Should be fun, right?
Of course he agrees. He wants nothing more than to please you. He lets you choose the movie while he makes popcorn. When he joins you, you snuggle up to his side and press play.
It's a romantic movie, one he's never seen but has read reviews for. Apparently, there is quite a bit of sex in this movie. He braces himself for what's to come.
Once the couple has their first makeout session, you sigh longingly and rest your head against his shoulder.
"Are you bored of the movie?" he asks.
"No," you pout. "I just... nevermind."
"What is it?"
"I... oh, it's so embarrassing... I just miss kissing so much, you know?"
He gulps, glancing at you.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I miss it so badly." You huff in frustration. "Ugh, kissing used to turn me on so much. I could get wet just from one kiss. It's been so long since I've really kissed somebody; I bet I would get soaked if I made out with someone now."
He pulls at his collar. The summer heat must be getting to him.
"Ah, well, um... I-I guess you could find someone to kiss you, if that's what you really want. I won't stop you."
"Oh, Kenny, I could never! This may be an arranged marriage, but I would never leave you to find someone else. You're my husband and I want to be faithful to you."
Husband. Oh, that word gets him going so easily. He's always wanted to be a husband, to have a beautiful wife to love for the rest of his life. And now he has it, but... no, he can't act on these feelings. He could never force himself on you. He'd rather die than—
He pauses when your hand finds his thigh, squeezing gently. He swallows hard, looking at you, blushing at the lustful gaze you're giving him.
"Kento," you whisper almost sultry, "do you miss kissing too?"
"Uh... w-well, I... I guess so—"
"Don't you miss feeling lips against yours?" you coo, leaning closer. "Feeling their tongue glide over your lip, pushing into your mouth? Have you ever had someone bite your lip or suck on your tongue?"
You're crowding his space, making him shift away from you on the couch, but you just inch closer, following him until his back reaches the arm rest, stopping him in his tracks. He sputters when you crawl into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, ass planted on his groin. Your hands find his chest and you lean down to him.
"If we both miss kissing, then why don't we kiss each other? We're already married, so who cares if we fool around a little?"
Nanami thinks he might be dreaming. The woman of his dreams is straddling his hips as he lives and breathes, asking him to kiss her. Why can't he just say 'yes'? Why can't he pounce on you like a tiger and get a taste of what he's wanted this whole time?
You pout, sitting up.
"You don't find me attractive, do you?"
He blinks.
"W-What?"
"That has to be it. Why else would you stay away from me this whole time, even though I've done everything to try and get you to look at me like as a wife instead of a friend?"
You begin to stand.
"Wait—"
"I'll stop flirting with you. I won't bother you anymore."
"Wait!"
It happens in a flash. He pulls you down to the couch, bracing himself so he doesn't fall on top of you. You stare up at him with wide eyes, and he can't hold himself back anymore. He dives in and kisses you fiercely, the way he's wanted to for months. You squeak in surprise, but it melts into a moan, arms wrapping around his neck and keeping him close.
The pieces come together so beautifully after that. You're such a good kisser but you let him take the lead, letting him press his tongue into your mouth and circle it around yours. Within minutes you're practically purring beneath him, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him down to you. He can't help himself when he starts humping against your cunt, greedily drinking in all the precious noises you're making as he thrusts against you.
He only stops when he feels something wet on his cock. He furrows his brow, pulling away from your lips to look down in between you. There's a stark wet patch on his sweatpants, an even bigger one on your shorts.
"Sorry," you mumble. "I told you kissing makes me wet."
He's breathing heavy as his finger trails the waistband of your shorts.
"Can... May I...?"
"God, please, yes."
He's quick to peel off your shorts, marveling at the mess your cunt has made just from some kisses and dry humping. You let your legs fall open, allowing him to peel your chubby pussy lips apart with his thumbs, your cunt glistening back at his awed expression. He wants to taste you, he needs to taste you.
"May I taste you?" he breathes, beyond excited. You whine and nod your head, humming in approval. That's all it takes for him to lean down and glide the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit.
God, he's good at this, too good at this. You envy every woman that's had his mouth on them before you, but you're also grateful that he's gotten enough practice to know what he's doing. His tongue feels so good when it flicks your clit, and when he sucks you into his mouth you see stars. It takes everything in your power not to pull his hair and hump his mouth, but you hold yourself back. After all, you don't want to scare him off now that you've got him right where you want him.
Your climax hits you fast and hard, legs trembling over his shoulders. When he comes up for air, your lips catch his, licking your slick off his mouth. He moans into you, his voice only growing louder when you palm his aching cock and pull down his sweatpants. You pull away, looking down, eyes going wide. He swallows, catching his breath, praying you're not disappointed. You look up at him with a gleam in your eye.
"Put your cock in me right now."
He almost coughs, clearing his throat.
"I-I don't have any condoms."
"Ken. We're married. Who cares if you knock me up? Just get your cock inside my cunt right now before I go crazy."
He can't argue with that, his cock throbbing at your words. You lie back on the couch as he towers over you, hand guiding his member towards your cunt. He hisses as he rubs the head against your pussy, catching it on the entrance and slowly inching it inside. He pauses when you gasp, but you pull him closer by his shirt.
"Give it to me," you moan, your tone demanding. He obliges, pushing in the rest at a steady pace, letting you adjust to his length and girth. You're so slick and hot that it's hard not to force himself inside you with one quick motion. When his hips reach yours, he can feel the end of your cunt pushing back against him, struggling to accomodate him. He's about to ask if it hurts when you ball his shirt in your fist, yanking him down so you're face to face.
"Fuck me."
How could he say no to his precious wife?
He starts slow, but when you insist on more, he gives it to you, increasing the speed and strength behind his thrusts. He finally finds a rhythm that has your eyes rolled back and your mouth wide open, desperate noises leaving you with each slap of your hips. The smacking sound filling the room is wet and lewd, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Every thrust makes you squeal and moan and beg for god knows what.
Your cunt starts squeezing him rhythmically, almost pulsating around him. He prays that you're close when his hand settles between you and his thumb finds your clit, pressing rough circles into you. You cry out in delight, clawing at his chest through his shirt, making nonsensical noises as your cunt pulses faster. He keeps going, never faltering as you thrash and quiver beneath him, and suddenly you pause, wailing high and sweet as you clamp down on him. He struggles to keep moving, takes deep breathes to keep himself from falling apart. You relax beneath him, panting, almost going limp. He leans down to press kisses over your face, tender and loving, the way he dreamed for so long. Your hand finds his hair, carding your fingers through blonde strands as he kisses down your neck.
"Ken?" He hums in response, kissing your shoulder. "I want you to cum in me."
He stops, pulling back to look at you. You're drunk from your climax, but you seem serious which only makes his body burn hotter.
"Y-You do?"
"Mm-hm," you hum, wrapping your legs around his hips once again. "I want you to breed me."
It's like something primal is unleashed within him. He pulls at the neck of his shirt until it's over his head, tossing it to the floor. He starts fucking you again, faster than before as his hand palms its way from your stomach to under your crop top. You mewl, pulling your shirt under your chin, exposing your bouncing tits to him. He groans low, leaning down to suck your nipple into his mouth while he palms your other breast. All the while, he keeps thrusting into you roughly, stretching you open over and over again.
"Please, please Ken, I—oh god—I wanna cum again!"
He hums against your breast, slobbering over your nipple as he pinches the other, his free hand moving between you to find your clit again. You cry out when he presses it firmly, using your slick to lubricate you and make his movements glide easier. He finds a rhythm and pace that has you pulsating again, hips rocking to meet his thrusts. He releases your breast with a 'pop', leaning back to stare down at you hungrily. You're such a mess right now, but you've never looked lovelier.
"You're beautiful," he sighs, squeezing your love handle tightly.
"I want your cum," you moan back, squealing when he hits your favorite spot.
"Yeah? You really want me to cum in you?"
"Fuck, yes! Yes yes yes! You're my husband so this cock and your cum is all mine and I want it. I want it, I want it, I want it. Give it to me, Ken. Fill me up. I want it all inside of me, I don't want to waste a drop—jesus fucking christ, I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum!"
He almost chokes, keeping his pace as another orgasm rocks through you, leaving you convulsing beneath him. He can't hold back any longer. He's so close he can taste it.
"I'm gonna give it to you. I'm gonna give my wife what she wants. I'm gonna cum in you, I'm gonna cum, I—"
His voice dies out as his hips stutter. His cum shoots out almost forcefully, leaving him shaking and struggling not to fall on top of you. He rides out his high, filling you to the brim with all the cum he's saved for this moment that he prayed for.
You're both breathless. He comes down from cloud nine while you savor the warmth filling up your womb. Your legs go limp at his sides, sliding down to the couch. When your eyes flutter open, he's staring down at you with the most lovesick expression you've ever seen.
He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss which you eagerly return. As you peck each other lovingly, he begins to pull out his cock, making you whine unhappily, trying to suck him back in. He shushes you gently as he pulls away, reaching for his shirt before using it to wipe you clean. He balls it up and drops it back to the floor. He maneuvers you to lay on top of him on the couch, grabbing the blanket off the back of the sofa and unraveling it, pulling it over the both of you. He sighs when he lays back down, wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into the crown of your head.
"Hey, Ken?" He hums in response. "Does this mean you'll sleep in the master bedroom with me from now on?"
He's too tired to laugh fully like he wants to, but he still chuckles lightly, kissing your forehead when you gaze up at him.
𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ summer breaks at your aunt's house in the countryside are always your favourite part of the year. though this year, there's a rather sweet surprise awaiting you. 𝗸𝗮𝘁𝘀𝘂𝗸𝗶 𝗯𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗴𝗼, the grumpy (and unfairly hot) southern boy who comes to help out your aunt with garden work. and you've got one new mission for this summer: get him to fuck you, no matter what it takes.
𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 .⋆♱ ⤿ southern!katsuki ⨾ countryside!au ⨾ tanning in a bikini ⨾ semi-public sex ⨾ p in v sex ⨾ unprotected sex ⨾ backshots ⨾ hair pulling ⨾ degrading kink ⨾ a bit of spanking ⨾ massages kinda ⨾ kats likes your ass ⨾ rubbing through panties ⨾ southern dialect & 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 // 𝘄𝗰: 6.8k ⤷18+ 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧 , minors get out!
𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘𝗦 .⋆♱ ⤿ oh boy, there go my pants. THIS IS A 2000 FOLLOWER SPECIAL BTW! thank you all soooo much, i really appreciate it. i couldn't have done it alone. i will be publising tons of fics in the next weeks, so stay tuned!😚 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧!
the summer heat hung thick over the countryside, wrapping around everything like a heavy blanket. cicadas buzzed a lazy rhythm, the scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass drifting through the air.
your aunt's old farmhouse sat nestled in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wildflowers and rows of tomatoes that your aunt tended to with religious fervor.
every summer you came here, escaping the city for the wide open skies and the slow, syrupy pace of rural life. it was always a charm—the sweet people, the sweet tea, the sweet, sweet fruits you could pluck right off the vine.
but this summer, there was a whole different kind of sweetness waiting for you.
katsuki bakugo.
the first time you saw him, you’d nearly tripped over your own feet.
he was standing in your aunt’s garden, in a white tank top that was completely soaked through, clinging to every ridge and dip of his torso like a second skin.
the water hose was in his hand, spraying a fine mist over the tomato plants, and the droplets caught the sunlight like diamonds against his tan skin.
his arms were scarred, corded with muscle, and his face—sharp, angular, with a permanent scowl etched into his features—was the kind of beautiful that made your stomach do a slow, dangerous flip.
you’d walked outside that first day in a short skirt and a tight tank top, lips glossed, hair falling perfectly over your shoulders, a wicked grin already curling your mouth.
you’d leaned against the porch post and said something sweet, something flirty, something that usually worked on every boy you’d ever met.
he’d looked at you like you were a bug he wanted to squash.
“fuck off,” he’d said, voice low and rough with that thick southern drawl that made even his insults sound like honey. and then he’d turned back to his plants like you didn’t exist.
you should’ve been discouraged.
you should’ve rolled your eyes and moved on.
but instead, something sparked in your chest. a challenge. a game. and you were never one to back down from a game.
so you made it your mission.
every day, you found new ways to get his attention. you’d walk into the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel, water still dripping from your skin, while he stood there drinking a glass of water, sweat beading on his forearms from working outside.
he’d barely glance at you, grunt, and walk right past like you were invisible.
you’d leave your bedroom window wide open while you changed, making sure the curtains were just sheer enough to silhouette your body.
not even a flicker of interest from him.
you’d bend over in front of him to pick up something you’d “accidentally” dropped, wear the shortest shorts you owned, brush against him when you passed in the hallway. nothing. he was a fortress, and you were determined to break down every single wall.
and today, you had a new plan.
your aunt had gone to town for groceries, leaving you alone in the house with him. the perfect opportunity.
you’d slipped into the tiniest bikini you owned—a scrap of pale pink fabric that barely covered your breasts and a matching triangle bottom that rode high on your hips.
you’d spent a good twenty minutes making sure everything looked just right, then you’d grabbed a towel, a bottle of sunscreen, and a book you had no intention of reading, and you’d made your way out to the garden.
he was already there, of course. bent over a row of daisies, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a thin gray t-shirt that was already starting to darken with sweat across his back. you could see the muscles shifting under the fabric as he worked, could see the way his shoulder blades moved like wings.
your mouth went dry.
you laid your towel out on one of the sun chairs, positioned perfectly so that the sunlight would hit you just right, and you stretched out on your stomach, arching your back just a little more than necessary. you let your head rest on your folded arms, closed your eyes, and pretended to relax.
for a long while, nothing happened.
you could hear the snip of his shears, the rustle of leaves, the occasional grunt as he yanked a weed from the earth. he didn’t look at you. not once.
you kept peeking through half-lidded eyes, watching him move, watching the way his jeans sat low on his hips, the dark line of hair trailing from his navel disappearing beneath the waistband. and every time, he ignored you.
it was maddening.
finally, after what felt like an eternity, he straightened up, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and turned to look at you. his crimson eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight.
“the hell you doin’ out here?” he asked, voice flat.
you stretched, letting your back arch just a little more, letting the curve of your ass shift under the tiny scrap of fabric. “tanning,” you said, all innocence. “is that a problem?”
“tannin',” he repeated, like the word was stupid. “in my garden.”
“your garden?” you lifted your head, propping your chin on your hands. “last i checked, this was my aunt’s garden. you just work here.”
a muscle in his jaw twitched. “i’m the one who takes care of it. means i get a say in who sprawls around half-naked innit.”
“half-naked?” you looked down at yourself, then back up at him with a sweet smile. “this is a bikini. it’s for swimming. and tanning. perfectly normal.”
“you ain’t swimmin’.”
“no, i’m tanning. didn’t you hear me?”
he stared at you for a long, hard moment, his eyes tracing over your body in a way that was almost clinical, like he was assessing a piece of furniture. then he scoffed, shook his head, and turned back to his work. “whatever. just don’t get in my way.”
you bit your lip, fighting a grin. he was talking to you. that was progress. even if he was being a dick about it, he was engaging. and you could work with that.
you let the silence stretch, listening to the sounds of him working. you shifted on the towel, making sure your movements were slow and deliberate, making sure the light caught the curve of your hip, the dip of your spine. you let out a little sigh, just loud enough for him to hear.
he ignored you.
you flipped onto your back, letting the sun hit your stomach, your chest. you arched your back, stretching your arms above your head, your breasts pressing against the thin fabric of your bikini top. you let out another sigh, this one a little louder, a little more breathy.
the snip of his shears paused. you didn’t look, but you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and hot. then it was gone, and the snipping resumed.
you smiled to yourself.
“hey,” you called out, your voice sweet and syrupy. “could you do me a favor?”
“no.”
“you don’t even know what it is yet.”
“don’t care.”
you sat up, letting the towel fall away from your chest. you ran your fingers through your hair, pushing it back from your face, and gave him your most innocent, pleading look. “i can’t reach the sunscreen on my back. and i really don’t want to burn. could you…put some on for me?”
he stopped. turned. looked at you like you’d just asked him to set the garden on fire.
“you didn’t think of that beforehand?” he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.
“i thought i’d be able to reach,” you said, pouting your lips. “but i can’t. please, katsuki? i’ll be out of your hair faster. i promise.”
he stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. you could see the war in his eyes—the part of him that wanted to tell you to go fuck yourself, and the part of him that was too damn stubborn to let you win by whining. finally, with a heavy, put-upon sigh, he set down his shears and stalked over to you.
“turn around,” he said, his voice flat.
you bit back a triumphant grin and turned, presenting your back to him. you heard him pick up the bottle of sunscreen, heard the squirt of it hitting his palm. then his hands were on you, and every thought in your head evaporated.
his hands were rough, calloused, warm. he started at your shoulders, spreading the lotion in firm, efficient strokes. his thumbs dug into the muscles on either side of your spine, and you couldn’t help the little moan that escaped your lips.
“shut up,” he said, but his voice was a little rougher than before.
you bit your lip, staying quiet as his hands moved lower. down your shoulder blades, down the curve of your waist. his fingers brushed the edge of your bikini bottom, and you felt a jolt of electricity shoot through you. he didn’t linger. he moved on, smoothing the lotion over your lower back, his thumbs tracing the dimples just above your ass.
“you’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “that ain’t like you.”
“just enjoying the view,” you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended.
“view? you ain’t even lookin’.”
“i’m enjoying the view of the garden. through the reflection in your eyes.”
he snorted. “that’s the dumbest thing i’ve ever heard.”
“you love it.”
“i hate it.”
but his hands didn’t stop. they moved lower, smoothing the sunscreen over the tops of your thighs, his fingers pressing just a little harder than necessary.
you felt your breath catch, felt your skin prickle with goosebumps despite the heat. his hands were wandering, and you could feel the heat radiating off him as he leaned over you.
“y'know,” he said, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous, “you’ve been pesterin’ me all summer. walkin’ around in towels, leavin’ your window open, bendin’ over in front of me like a damn cat in heat.”
“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, your voice innocent.
“liar.” his hands slid lower, his thumbs brushing the curve of your ass. you felt your breath hitch, felt your thighs press together. “you think i ain’t noticed? you think i’m fuckin' blind?”
“you never said anything.”
“what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, thanks for the free show, but i’m tryin’ to work’?” his hands were moving now, slow and deliberate, massaging the sunscreen into the skin just above the waistband of your bikini. “you’re a pest, y'know that?”
“you keep talking, but your hands haven’t stopped.”
“shut up.”
he was rubbing circles into your lower back now, his fingers slipping lower with every pass. you could feel the heat pooling between your legs, could feel the way your bikini bottom was already starting to get damp.
this was working. this was exactly what you wanted.
“you’re a real piece of work,” he muttered, his voice thick with something that might have been anger, might have been want. “think you can just prance around in your little outfits and get whatever you want.”
“is it working?”
his hands stopped. for a moment, the only sound was the cicadas and the pounding of your heart. then he moved, and suddenly his hands were on your hips, gripping hard, and he was pulling you up, turning you over so you were on your back, looking up at him.
his face was flushed, his crimson eyes burning with a fire that made your breath catch. his jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked furious.
he looked hungry.
“you didn’t think i’d notice?” he said, his voice low and rough. “you didn’t think i’d see what you were doin’?”
“i knew you’d notice,” you said, your voice soft, your heart pounding. “i was counting on it.”
he stared at you for a long moment, his hands still gripping your hips. then he let out a harsh breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head.
“you’re stupid,” he said. “y'know that?”
“i’ve been told.”
his hands moved, sliding up your sides, over your ribs. his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, and you arched into his touch, a soft whimper escaping your lips. his eyes darkened.
“you’re gonna regret this,” he said, but there was no heat in his voice. just a low, rough promise.
“i doubt it.”
he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re gonna be beggin’ me to stop by the time i’m done with you.”
you shivered, a thrill running through you. “try me.”
for a long moment, he just looked at you. then, slowly, his hands slid down your body, over your stomach, over your hips, until they were resting on the curve of your ass. he squeezed, hard, and you gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders.
“you’ve been askin’ for this,” he said, his voice a low growl. “all fuckin' summer. you’ve been beggin’ for it.”
“maybe,” you said, your voice breathless. “maybe i have. what are you gonna do about it, hm?”
his hands moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your bikini bottom. his fingers found the soaked fabric, and he let out a low, dark laugh.
“fuckin’ hell,” he said. “you’re already wet.”
“shut up,” you said, echoing his earlier words.
his grin was sharp, predatory. “make me.”
and then his fingers were moving, pushing the damp fabric aside, and he was sliding two fingers through your slick folds, slow and deliberate.
you gasped, your back arching, your hands tightening on his shoulders. he watched your face, his eyes hungry, as he circled your clit with his thumb.
“that feel good?” he asked, his voice mockingly sweet.
“y-yes,” you breathed.
“good.” he pressed his fingers deeper, finding your entrance, and then he pushed inside you with a wet, obscene squelch. you cried out, your head falling back, your hips bucking against his hand.
he fucked you with his fingers, slow and deep, his thumb still working your clit. his other hand was gripping your hip, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. you were moaning, whimpering, your body arching into his touch.
“look at you,” he said, his voice low and rough. “so damn needy. so damn desperate.”
“katsuki,” you moaned, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
“what?” he said, his voice sharp. “what do you want?”
“more,” you begged. “please.”
he smirked, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision go white. “more? you want more?”
“yes, yes, please—“
he pulled his fingers out, and you whined at the loss. but before you could protest, he was grabbing your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach. his hands were on your ass, squeezing, spreading, and you could feel the heat of his body behind you.
“you want my cock?” he asked, his voice rough. “you want me to fuck you?”
“yes,” you said, your voice muffled against the towel. “god, yes.”
“then beg.”
you turned your head, looking back at him over your shoulder. his eyes were blazing, his face flushed, his lips parted. he looked like a man on the edge, and you wanted to push him over.
“please, katsuki,” you said, your voice sweet and breathy. “please fuck me. i need your cock. i need it so bad.”
a low growl rumbled in his chest. “that’s more like it.”
he pulled your bikini bottom down, letting it fall to your knees. then you felt his hands on your hips, his thumbs spreading your cheeks, and the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. he pushed, just a little, just enough to make you gasp.
“y'sure about this?” he asked, his voice a low rasp.
“yes,” you said, your voice desperate. “fuck, yes, just—“
he pushed inside you in one smooth, hard thrust, and you both groaned. he was thick, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. he paused, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises.
“fuck,” he breathed. “fuck, you’re tight.”
“move,” you whined. “please, move.”
and he did. he pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing pace. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with your moans and his grunts. his hand came down on your ass, hard, and you cried out, your fingers digging into the towel.
“y'like that?” he growled. “y'like gettin’ fucked like a little slut in the garden, huh?”
“yes,” you moaned. “yes, yes, yes—“
he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and you gasped at the sharp pain. his other hand was on your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you, his thrusts deep and relentless.
“you’ve been such a fuckin’ pest,” he said, his voice harsh and breathless. “walkin’ around in your little towels, flashin’ your tits at me, thinkin’ you could get away with it.”
“i did get away with it,” you managed, your voice choked with pleasure.
his hand tightened in your hair, pulling harder. “you got a smart mouth. ever thought about that being fuckin' annoyin'?”
“you love it.”
“i hate it.” he thrust deeper, harder, and you cried out. “but i’m gonna fuck it out of you.”
his pace increased, relentless, unforgiving. the world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you, the sound of his breath, the heat of his body against yours. you could feel the pressure building, coiling low in your belly, and you knew you were close.
“katsuki,” you moaned, your voice breaking. “i’m gonna—i’m gonna—“
“not yet,” he said, his voice a low growl. “you don’t fuckin' cum until i say so. torturin' me all summer..”
he slowed his pace, pulling out until only the tip of him was inside you, then pushing back in slow and deep. it was torture, the most exquisite kind of torture. you whimpered, your hips bucking back against him, trying to get more.
“please,” you begged. “please, katsuki, i need—“
“what do you need?” he asked, his voice mocking. “tell me.”
“i need to cum,” you said, your voice desperate. “please, let me cume.”
“beg harder.”
“please,” you said, your voice breaking. “please, please, please—“
he leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing your ear. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut,” he whispered.
“yes,” you said, your voice a sob. “yours. your slut.”
something in him seemed to break. he pulled back, grabbed your hips, and started fucking you again, hard and fast, his rhythm wild and desperate. his hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles, and you felt the pressure build, felt the wave rising.
“come on,” he said, his voice rough. “you can cum.”
and you did. you shattered, your body convulsing, your cries filling the air as the orgasm ripped through you. you were barely aware of him pulling out, barely aware of the hot, wet spurts of his cum painting your back, his grunt of satisfaction.
you lay there, panting, your body trembling, your mind a haze of pleasure. you felt him collapse beside you, his breath coming in harsh gasps. for a long moment, neither of you spoke.
then he sat up, and you heard him fumbling for something. you turned your head, watching as he picked up your phone from where it had fallen on the towel. his fingers moved across the screen, typing something.
“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice hoarse.
he didn’t answer. he finished, tossed the phone onto the towel beside you, and stood up. he pulled up his jeans, buttoned them, and looked down at you with a complicated expression that was part annoyance, part satisfaction.
“you got what you wanted,” he said, his voice flat. “now stop botherin’ me.”
and he walked away, leaving you there, cum drying on your back, your phone buzzing with a new contact name.
you picked it up, looked at the screen.
a single name: “katsuki.”
you smiled, wide and wicked, and lay back down in the sun.
tongue-kissing is incredibly intimate to bakugo, like I legit believe he does the equivalent of saving it for marriage, but once you cross that threshold with him oooooo boy
he is the BEST kisser. he’s so judicious with his tongue, teases and tastes into you all heated and almost shy at first, puffs soft, hot, panting breaths against your mouth when your tongue finally brushes back against his. he reads how you like it and matches it effortlessly, learning with you how the two of you move together.
he will make out with you on the couch for an hour. his cheeks all red as he tilts your head how he wants it, makes soft little sounds he doesn’t realize he’s making
