AnasAbdin
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
No title available
shark vs the universe
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
No title available
Acquired Stardust
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izzy's playlists!
styofa doing anything
@theartofmadeline
YOU ARE THE REASON
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Kaledo Art
cherry valley forever
Love Begins
todays bird
oozey mess
hello vonnie
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Chile
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from United States
seen from Paraguay
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@lunarkace
KACEY - 24 - 𝔰𝔥𝔢/𝔥𝔢𝔯 - 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦 𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪
𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰
𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯…
⭑ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ ꜱʟᴀʏᴇʀ
⭑ ᴍʏ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴀ
⭑ ᴄʜᴀɪɴꜱᴀᴡ ᴍᴀɴ
𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫…
⭑ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛɪᴛᴀɴ
⭑ ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ
⭑ ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ
⭑ ɢᴀᴄʜɪᴀᴋᴜᴛᴀ
(message me to inquire about other animes. i might be willing to write them)
꩜ Please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.
While I do not own any established characters, the writing itself is mine. Thank you for supporting my creativity fairly.
hi everyone
it’s been a minute.
i miss writing and i miss this platform. i just have been struggling with motivation to write. i got on here (and other platforms) because i finally felt confident enough to share my writing. and the feedback was great. so many of you have been so kind. it made me happy writing.
others…uhhhh not so kind. but that’s okay.
i’ve had some life altering stuff happen over the past couple months. i was in a bad car accident and lost my job as a result.
i do want to return to writing. i just need to find my way back to my creative mindset.
love you all. thank you again. we’ll chat soon and you’ll see posting again soon. your patience means so much to me.
~ kacey
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Fucking learn to use read more
i wasn’t aware of this feature. sorry guys. :/
i haven’t been writing anyways lately. i have lost motivation.
thank you. <3 maybe one day i’ll come back.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ he’s massive. but treats you like you’re made of something holy.
tw: size kink, deep penetration, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slow prep, thick cock, overstimulation, praise, creampie, missionary/spooning, established relationship
═══════════════════════
You swear you fall in love with him a little more every time he touches you.
Not because he’s gentle.
But because he’s gentle despite the size of him - despite the power in his arms, the weight of his body, the sheer overwhelming scale of him against you. He could move you with one finger, carry you with one arm, crush you without meaning to.
But he never does.
He never even comes close.
He holds you like he might break if he isn’t careful.
Tonight, it starts with his hands.
Not even between your thighs yet - just on your back, brushing slow, tracing down your ribs with the kind of worship that makes your eyes flutter shut.
“Lay back for me." He murmurs, voice a low, warm rumble against your cheek. “Let me have all of you.”
You do. Because you always do.
Your body sinks into the futon, soft and open, and he settles between your thighs, massive shoulders eclipsing your view until all you can see is him.
His fingers slide from your hips to your inner thighs - thumbs brushing close, but not touching where you need him.
“Beautiful." He whispers. “You always are.”
Your breath hitches, thighs twitching wider on instinct.
“Opening up for me?” He asks softly.
You nod.
Gyomei lowers his head - not fast - and presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. And another. Slow, warm, deliberate kisses that travel higher and higher until his breath is ghosting over your cunt.
Your hips jerk.
He pauses.
One huge palm smooths over your belly, grounding you. “It’s alright, little one. I'll give you what I need."
Then he parts you carefully with two fingers, leans in, and licks one slow, aching stripe from your hole to your clit.
Your gasp is immediate.
His responding groan is even louder.
“You taste…” He breathes, almost struggling for words, “divine.”
His tongue circles your clit - soft and deliberate, slow enough to make your spine bend. He takes his time, learning you all over again, kissing and licking like he’s savoring a sweet.
No rush.
No urgency.
Just slow, patient worship.
His hands stay wide on your hips, spreading you open, holding you steady as he sucks gently - not enough to overwhelm you, but enough to make you moan his name through your teeth.
“Gyomei.”
He hums into you, and the vibration sends your back arching off the futon.
“Shh." He soothes, pulling back just enough to breathe warm air over you. “Let me open you up.”
He brings two fingers to your entrance, coated thick in your arousal.
“You’re already dripping." He murmurs, cheeks slightly flushed. "So needy."
“I always need you." You whisper.
And then he pushes one finger in.
Slowly. So slowly it feels like your whole body is trembling with the stretch. His fingers are thick, longer than anyone’s you’ve ever known, and he moves them so carefully - curling just enough to make your breath catch, stroking deep enough to make you melt.
Your cunt flutters around him, tight and needy.
He feels it immediately.
“Easy." He whispers, leaning up to kiss your knee. “Let me in…there you go.”
A second finger joins the first.
You gasp, hips lifting off the futon, and Gyomei’s other hand immediately cups your belly, applying gentle pressure.
“You’re doing so well." He murmurs, voice thick with praise. “Your body welcomes me so beautifully.”
His fingers scissor slowly.
He knows your body better than anyone ever has.
“Gyomei." You whine softly, “Please - please, more….”
“No." He says gently, kissing the soft skin just above your mound. “Not until you’re ready. Not until it feels good. Not until your body tells me yes.”
He curls his fingers deeper. Hits a spot that makes you gasp loud, thighs clamping around his wrist.
He groans.
“There." He exhales. “There it is...”
Your walls flutter.
He pumps his fingers slow, deep, coaxing moans from your throat until your legs shake.
"Gyomei. I'm close…"
He lowers his mouth again - wrapping his lips around your clit while his fingers fuck you slow.
Your orgasm hits fast.
You cry his name, thighs trembling, cunt clenching tight around his fingers while he moans into you like he’s never tasted anything more addictive.
He doesn’t stop until your hips fall back limp.
Only then does he ease his fingers out - slow, gentle, stroking your thigh with his clean hand while he licks the other slowly, savoring your taste.
“Perfect." He whispers again. “You are perfect.”
He waits until you pull him up, until you meet his lips with yours, kissing him sweet and slow. His body dwarfs yours completely, arms caging you in.
“Ready?” He asks, forehead touching yours.
“Yes."
But he still moves carefully.
Gyomei lines himself up with one hand, the tip of his cock nudging your entrance. Even that alone makes your breath hitch.
He feels it.
“It’s alright,” he whispers. “I’ll go slow.”
He pushes in barely an inch.
Your back arches. Your nails dig into his shoulders.
He stills immediately.
“I’ve got you." He murmurs, kissing your cheek. “Just breathe. Let your body soften around me.”
You do.
And he feels it the moment you relax - your muscles loosening, your breath evening out.
He presses in another inch.
Then waits.
Kisses your jaw.
Your shoulder.
Your neck.
Whispers praise into your skin.
“You take me so well…your body is incredible…you make me feel so lucky…”
He pushes in deeper.
Slow.
Thick.
Overwhelming.
Perfect.
By the time his hips meet yours, you’re shaking and moaning softly into his ear.
You’ve never felt so full in your life.
He groans - soft, strained - his arms trembling as he holds himself above you.
“Tell me." He whispers, breath shaking, “Is it too much?”
“No." You gasp, eyes glassy. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
His whole body shudders.
And then - carefully - he begins to move.
Not fast.
Not rough.
Just deep. Long, slow thrusts that make your breath stutter, your toes curl, your arms wrap around his back like you need to keep him there.
"Gyomei…I love you…”
He groans. Bends to kiss your temple. Your cheek. Your lips.
“And I love you." He whispers, voice thick and almost breaking. "For all of our lives, I love you."
His hips grind deep, hitting that place inside you that makes your whole body go soft.
“You’re doing so well…” He murmurs. “I can feel you holding me. So warm…so tight…so perfect for me…”
You come again - silent at first, then gasping, then crying his name into his shoulder as your body squeezes around him.
Gyomei groans deep, thrusts once…
And spills inside you.
Slow.
Heavy.
Full.
He stays deep, chest pressed to yours, one hand cupping your cheek while the other keeps your hips still, holding you through the aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out.
He never does.
Not until you’re ready.
He just holds you. Lips brushing your cheek as he whispers,
“Thank you for letting me love you.”
And you smile - soft and drunk on him, on his gentleness, on the feeling of him still warm and deep inside you.
“Thank you for loving me, Giyomei." You whisper.
And he kisses you again.
═══════════════════════
this was requested by a couple people !! ⋆｡°✩
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ you ask what their favorite position is. they show you instead.
ft. sanemi, giyu, tengen, rengoku, gyomei, & obanai.
tw: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), face-sitting, praise kink, dom/sub dynamics, rough sex, impact play (spanking), restraint, creampie, overstimulation, possessive language, body worship, size kink, breeding implications, unprotected sex, canon universe
1K FOLLOWERS SPECIAL !! based off these results: POLL
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❥ GIYU — face sitting/cowgirl
His breath fans over your cunt in hot, reverent bursts, tongue still buried deep between your folds.
“Don’t move." He murmurs against your heat.
And you try. You really fucking try.
But your thighs are trembling where they frame his face, and your fingers twitch helplessly against the wall - grabbing for something, anything, to ground yourself as his tongue slides in deeper, slower, fucking up into you with that quiet, focused rhythm. His nose bumps your clit with every pass of his mouth and it’s too much. Your hips roll forward on instinct.
You curse under your breath, and your hands fly to his hair - fisting it, holding on.
This all started after one quiet question between kisses.
“What’s your favorite position… for sex?”
And this - this - was his answer.
He laid back, calm as ever, and motioned for you to climb his chest. Higher. Until your knees settled on either side of his head. And when you hesitated, when you hovered like you didn’t want to crush him, he looked up at you - serious.
“Sit. All the way.”
His answer wasn’t just words. It was in the tension of his forearms as they locked tight around your thighs. In the way his hands gripped your ass and pulled you down harder onto his mouth. It was in the way he groaned like the weight of you was something holy. Like he’d starve if you lifted off even for a second.
His hips shift beneath you - just barely - but you feel it. The strain. The ache. His cock is hard under you, untouched and leaking against his stomach.
And still, he doesn’t reach for it.
He doesn't want anything else.
Just this.
Just you.
The slick mess of your cunt grinding slow on his tongue, the way you rock into his mouth like it’s instinct, like you were made to fall apart like this on top of him. And all he does is take it. All of it. Over and over again - groaning like he lives for it, hands worshipful, letting you use him until you can’t remember the question that started it in the first place.
You rock your hips slowly, breath catching every time he sucks, every time he flattens his tongue and moans against you. His eyes flutter open - just for a moment - and lock on yours.
And fuck, it’s hot. That look.
You’re not sure how much longer you can take it.
Eventually - after your voice turns high and shaky, after your thighs start to give out, after your cunt clenches so hard around nothing it makes you whine - you pull yourself off him. Giyu follows with his mouth for a second, reluctant to let you go, his tongue still chasing you until he finally drops back against the futon, lips glistening, eyes half-lidded.
His cock is flushed and leaking, resting heavy against his stomach. You reach for it slowly. Deliberate. Fingers curling around the thick base, and the way he groans through his teeth almost makes you smile.
He thrusts into your palm once - instinctive, needy. But then you shift so you can slide down and sink onto him. Your cunt grips around him so tight it knocks the breath from both your lungs.
You ride him slow at first. Deep rolls of your hips. Using his body for leverage, palms planted flat against his chest. Giyu’s hands trace up your thighs, your waist, your tits - everywhere at once, like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you most.
He fucks up into you with every bounce, hips snapping to meet yours until your rhythm starts to fall apart, your legs shaking again as you collapse forward with a gasp.
But he catches you.
Takes over without a word.
One arm winds tight around your waist, holding you flush against him. The other tangles in your hair, dragging your mouth down to his. He kisses you - wet with your taste, all tongue and heat - and then fucks into you deeper, harder.
You whimper through it, moaning loud, forehead pressed to his.
He groans at the contact. At the slick heat dripping down his cock every time he drives in. At the way you tremble in his arms like you’re falling apart all over again.
“Giyu…” You whine, high and broken, “Giyu, please...I’m gonna-”
“Go ahead." He murmurs, voice low.
Your whole body locks up, cunt pulsing hard around him as your orgasm rips through you. You sob his name, fingers clawing at his chest, and he groans the second you clamp down around him.
His hips stutter.
Then he’s gone.
Burying himself deep one last time as he spills inside you, his face tucked against your throat.
For a long while, the room stays quiet.
Just the rush of blood in your ears, the warmth of his skin against yours, and the slow drag of his hand up and down your back.
You rest your cheek on his chest, just above the rapid beat of his heart. Still racing.
You close your eyes. Breathe.
And then - barely there - you hear him hum.
A small, amused sound.
You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his chest. “Hm?”
Giyu shifts just a little, his arm tightening around your waist, the other hand settling again between your shoulder blades.
“Those two.” He says, voice hoarse but soft. “That. And the first one.”
You laugh, quietly. You drop your head to his chest again, your lips brushing his skin.
And when you glance up, he’s smirking. Just barely.
Licking his lips.
They still taste like you.
────୨୧────
❥ SANEMI — doggy
You don’t even get the words out.
Because he’s already got your cheek smashed into the futon, one hand flat between your shoulder blades, the other twisting your wrists behind your back like he’s restraining a demon.
Except it’s you. Gasping into the fabric, back arching on instinct, while Sanemi kisses and sucks a slow line down your spine.
“Ask me dumbass questions...." He mutters, voice low and way too amused.
His hips roll once, slow, cock dragging thick between your thighs, the blunt head nudging your soaked folds just enough to knock the breath out of you.
“See where it gets you.”
He thrusts in the next second - no warning - just that bruising grip on your wrists and the brutal snap of his hips slamming deep, stealing the air from your lungs.
“That what you wanted?” He growls. “Wanted it like this? Bent over? Whining the second I shove my cock in?”
You nod, a broken little whimper catching in your throat.
“You ask questions like that…” He pants. “Then feel the fuckin’ answer.”
Your breath hitches when he hauls you back by the hips, cock punching in so deep your stomach clenches. His grip is iron at your waist now, fingers digging into your skin.
“Face down, ass up. Shit, look at you.”
He laughs, the sound wrecked. Your knees slip wider on the futon, thighs trembling. He feels it—feels the way you shake—and sinks deeper just to hear the way your moan breaks.
“That’s it." He breathes, voice dropping as his hips grind deep. “That’s how I like you.”
Then he snaps back into rhythm, hard, sharp thrusts that leave you gasping, face buried in the blankets.
Sanemi leans over again - chest pressed to your back, one hand still pinning your wrists, the other sliding up along your ribs, warm and rough.
“I’m thinkin’ this is your favorite too.” He kisses the side of your neck.
He grinds in again - slow, balls tight against your slick folds - before pulling out halfway and slamming back in. The slap of skin echoes sharp. You jolt.
“You feel that? Feel how deep I am?”
You nod again, panting something into the futon, barely coherent.
Sanemi hums.
His hands grip your hips like handles, dragging you back into every snap of his cock, each thrust hammering into you hard enough to blur your vision. You’re drooling now, face down, eyes glassy.
“Tell me this is your favorite.” He groans. “Say it.”
You try. You really do. But all you manage is a whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your eyes roll back.
Sanemi groans when he sees it.
“Good enough of an answer.”
Then he sits back on his heels behind you. One hand drags firm down your back. The other slaps your ass hard - sting sharp and blooming - before kneading it almost sweetly.
You don’t get a second to recover.
He slams back in, stealing your breath all over again as he fucks you with dizzying force. Fucking you like he’s lost it. Like he doesn’t care who hears. Which, you're sure the entire estate can.
Sanemi groans through his teeth, panting curses into your skin, thrusts hitting so hard the futon shifts under your knees.
“That’s it.” He pants, voice breaking. “Atta girl.”
Another slap to your ass. Then both hands grab you there, spreading and holding, as he drills into you deep, fast, loud.
You don’t remember your name. You don’t remember how to breathe.
He’s close. You can feel it. His rhythm falters - hips stuttering - as he pounds into you like he’s trying to fuck himself into your body forever.
You sob beneath him, body twitching, and he slams in one last time - deep, flush, buried to the base - and groans, loud and ragged, as he spills inside you.
You swear you feel it flood you. Hot. Thick,
His hips jerk in little aftershocks, cock twitching as he breathes sharp through his teeth, still pulsing inside you, riding it out slow.
And then, finally, he lets go.
One hand falls from your hip. The other drags up your back before settling between your shoulder blades, steadying himself.
He leans forward, his chest warm and heavy against your spine, his weight pressing you into the futon.
He shifts just enough not to crush you, arms curling around your sides, caging you in.
You feel his heart hammering against your ribs. His breath hot and ragged in your ear.
And then - soft.
His lips press to the back of your neck. Gentle. Warm. Another kiss at your shoulder. Another, slower, right where your spine curves.
“Still with me?” He mutters, voice hoarse.
You nod.
Sanemi exhales hard through his nose.
“That answer your question?”
You nod again.
────୨୧────
❥ TENGEN — reverse cowgirl/full nelson
He says it like a dare.
“Climb up, turn around, and I’ll answer.”
So you do. Knees planted on either side of his thighs, your back to him, hands braced on his knees as you sink down slow. Deep. Wet enough that every drag of his cock sounds obscene.
Tengen’s palms slide down your waist, gripping hard.
“That’s it, baby." He murmurs, a grin curling his lips. “Show it off.”
Your hips roll again - slow, deliberate. You don’t bounce. Not yet. Just grind down, letting him fill you, savoring the way he throbs inside you. The heat. The stretch. The solid strength of his thighs caged under yours, his cock hitting every perfect spot even with the laziest rhythm.
It’s so fucking good it makes you gasp - and that sound? That soft, breathless moan? It makes his fingers dig into your hips like he’s barely holding back.
“You like that?” He chuckles. “Needy little thing. Fucking yourself on me like that.”
You shift your weight, ready to ride him harder -
But that’s all it takes.
He moves fast.
One arm snakes under yours. Then the other. And before you can suck in a breath, he’s locking his hands behind your neck - full nelson deep - pulling your arms up, arching your back, holding you wide open in his lap while his cock splits you in half from below.
You choke on a gasp, tits bouncing with the first brutal thrust.
He buries himself deeper - some-fucking-how - and locks you there, chest to your back, hips slamming up into you with dizzying, relentless force.
“Yeah.” He groans, breath hot at your ear. “That’s more like it.”
You’re already gone. Mouth open, no words, just moans. Just helpless, messy little whines as he fucks you from beneath, arms trapping yours, cock pounding up like he’s trying to reach your fucking heart.
“There we go." He grunts, pace unshaken. “Taking it so well. Fuck - sweet girl.”
The muscles in his arms flex as he pulls you tighter, deeper, bending your body like it’s his to command. Sweat drips down his chest. His breath stutters every time your cunt clenches tight around him.
You feel it building.
That burn in your belly. That flutter. Your thighs tremble, your whole body twitching.
“Lord…Lord Tengen…” you whimper.
“Hm?” He hums, low and amused. “Go on, little gem. Tell me.”
“I’m...I’m gonna - Lord Tengen, I’m gonna come-”
“Mmm.” He smirks, so goddamn pleased. “Then rub that needy little bundle for me. Be a good girl, get yourself there.”
You don’t hesitate.
One shaking hand slips between your thighs, fingers pressing hard to your clit - and the jolt almost knocks the breath from your lungs. You circle it fast, tight, the way he likes. Chasing the edge while his cock hammers into you.
Tengen groans when he feels your walls start to flutter. His rhythm stutters - just for a beat - before slamming even harder.
“There you go." He growls. “Good girl.”
His arms flex again. One more thrust and your fingers stutter on your clit. Your thighs jerk. Your mouth drops open on a sob as your orgasm crashes through you.
You convulse in his lap, whimpering his name, legs trembling so hard you’d collapse - if he wasn’t holding you this tight.
Tengen loses it.
He groans through clenched teeth, deep and guttural, fucking you with short, brutal thrusts as your cunt clenches around him again and again. His head drops to your shoulder, voice breaking as he comes inside you.
And then - through the stuttering drag of his hips as he fucks every last drop into you...
“This one." He pants, ragged. “This position…”
Another thrust. Another moan.
“…is my favorite.”
────୨୧────
❥ RENGOKU — missionary
You ask him quietly.
Just a breath of a question. Half-embarrassed, your lips brushing his throat as you tug him closer beneath the covers.
“What’s your favorite…way? To have me.”
His arm tightens around your waist. He pulls back to look at you, golden eyes soft, warm, filled with something wordless and deep.
And then he smiles. Slow. Sure. Like he already knows his answer.
“I’ll show you." He says.
And he does.
With care. With patience. With the kind of aching tenderness that makes you ache.
He eases you onto your back, body covering yours, mouth brushing your forehead, your cheek, your collarbone. One hand curls around your waist, the other cradling your jaw.
“I like when I can see you." He murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips. “When you fall apart.”
It starts slow.
A kiss - soft, lingering. His tongue barely brushes yours, dragging the moment out until you’re squirming beneath him, fingers curling into his biceps. And when he finally pushes into you, it’s with a tenderness that borders on unbearable - hips rolling slow, cock sinking deep, drawing you open in thick, aching inches.
And fuck, you feel everything.
Every throb. Every drag.
The heat of him - always burning - like he runs hotter than anyone else, like the fire in him doesn’t quiet even here, even like this. He pulses thick against your walls with every deep grind, and you moan, barely able to take it.
“So good, my flame." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “You feel so good.”
You’re already clinging - legs wrapped tight around his waist like you need to pull him deeper, hold him closer. He groans at the desperation in it, hips faltering just for a second before he steadies again.
He doesn’t rush.
His palm stays at your cheek, thumb stroking soft beneath your eye, guiding your gaze back to his every time it slips.
“Stay with me." He murmurs. “Let me see you.”
Rengoku shifts - just slightly - angling his hips, rolling deeper. You gasp, head tipping back as he presses into you with dizzying precision. So deep your toes curl. So thick and hot you swear you feel his heartbeat in every thrust.
His other hand slips between your bodies, fingers circling your clit - gentle, focused, steady. Drawing gasps from your lips, soft and desperate.
“You first." He breathes. “I want you to come first.”
You try to hold onto it, but he doesn’t let you. He fucks you through every twitch and shiver, every broken sound that slips from your mouth as his fingers coax you over the edge.
You come with your legs locked around him, mouth open, eyes wide and wet, rolling back as your cunt clenches tight around his cock.
He groans when he feels it.
“Beautiful." He pants. “So beautiful. Every time.”
But he still doesn’t let go. Even as your body slackens. Even as your moans soften and your breath stutters. He stays close. Stays deep.
You feel every twitch of him, every slow grind - his cock still pulsing thick inside you, like it belongs there. Like he needs to stay buried just to keep breathing.
And then - when you’re trembling under him, still fluttering - he starts to chase his own.
It’s messy. Sloppy.
His thrusts get harder, deeper. His chest sticks to yours with sweat. His lips find your neck, your cheek, your jaw. Again and again, like he can’t stop.
You pant his name, dazed, soft - fingers curling in his hair as his rhythm falls apart.
And then he groans. He presses deep, hips flush, cock buried to the base - and spills inside you with his mouth still on your skin.
You feel all of it.
The way he fills you up so completely it almost aches, warm and thick and everywhere. His body melts against yours... and he kisses you like it’s the first time.
Every time.
Then you manage a weak smile.
“I like that answer.”
────୨୧────
❥ OBANAI — missionary / seashell
He says it just before he sinks into you.
Quiet. Commanding. A thread pulled taut.
His voice stays low - steady and soft - breath ghosting across your lips as his body settles over yours. His hips align with yours. His cock presses in slow. Your thighs tremble where they’re hooked high around his waist.
“Don’t look away from me.”
And you don’t.
You can’t.
Not with the way he’s staring down at you - eyes locked to yours. His hands frame your face, thumbs stroking gently at your cheeks, and even as he starts to move - deep, deliberate - he never looks away.
Every breath you take is his. Every moan. Every stuttered gasp you try to bite back. The way your lashes flutter, the way your lips tremble when you try to hold in a sound - he sees it all.
And he loves it.
The softness in you. The raw, unfiltered honesty you give him like this. You’re so real like this. So open.
And Obanai drinks it in like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
He leans down, mouth brushing your shoulder for a single soft kiss before he pulls back, just to see you again. To watch your chest rise, to catch that hitch in your throat. His hips grind in with slow, perfect pressure that makes your whole body jolt.
You whimper his name.
Your legs fall open wider, searching. You cling to him - wrists, shoulders, anything you can grab. That’s when he shifts.
He pulls back. Just far enough to hook your knees over his forearms - folding you up beneath him, bent open , thighs pressed high to your chest.
And fuck, he loves you like this.
Loves the way you let him bend you. Open you. Own you.
Your breath catches. Your fingers scramble for something solid - but then he thrusts in. Deep. Bottoms out.
And stays there.
Just breathes.
Just watches.
The stretch makes your head spin. The heat of him, the weight, the pulsing throb buried so deep inside you - it’s too much.
Still, he doesn’t speak.
Just holds you there, hips locked tight to yours as he fights to keep control.
And then - finally - he moves.
Slow at first. Grinding into you with a bruising, perfect drag. Eyes never leaving yours. Then deeper. Harder. The snap of his hips steals the air from your lungs.
Your eyes flutter.
His grip tightens.
“Mine.” It slips out.
“Mine.” Again, when your mouth drops open around a broken moan.
“Mine.” When your hands tremble, when your thighs jerk, when you try to close your eyes -
“Don’t.” He pants. “Don’t look away.”
And you don’t.
Not when his cock is driving into you this deep. Not when he’s got you bent up tight beneath him, folded as he pounds into you with brutal precision. Not when he looks at you like this.
Like you belong to him.
His voice stays low, steady and sharp, rhythm syncing with the litany that slips from his mouth like prayer…
Mine. Mine. Mine.
It builds between you - fast, hot, overwhelming. The pressure coils deep in your belly. Your thighs start to shake. He feels it, hears the way your breath catches, the way your eyes glaze.
And he groans, because he’s right there too.
Your hips jerk up against his. Your mouth opens in a choked sob.
“Obanai….I’m-“
He thrusts hard.
“Together.” He hums. “Come with me.”
Everything unravels at once. Your back arches hard, voice cracking as your orgasm crashes over you - tight, blinding, endless. Your cunt clenches around him so violently it punches a curse from his throat, and then…
He follows. Groaning. Shaking. Burying himself to the hilt as he spills deep inside you, cock twitching thick with every pulse. His arms cage you. His mouth presses to yours - rough and sweet all at once.
He doesn’t stop kissing you. Even as he softens inside you, still deep, still bent over your body like it’s the only place he belongs.
And when he finally pulls back to breathe - he whispers it again, one last time.
“Mine.”
And you nod, dazed, hands still clutching his wrists where they pinned you open.
────୨୧────
❥ GYOMEI — spooning / missionary
It was an innocent question really. Asked by you right when you two settled into your shared futon.
“What’s your favorite way? To have me.”
And Gyomei had gone still. Quiet.
Then -
His arms wrapped tighter around you. And he pressed his lips to your temple, so soft, so certain, as he whispered:
“This.”
Now, his cock is buried to the hilt, your body shaking from the stretch, your thighs quaking where they press against his.
And still he asks -
“Is this alright?”
You nod. You whimper. You breathe out his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever known.
Because this is so much. So big. So full. So gentle.
So him.
You’re on your side, curled tight into him. His chest is pressed flush to your back, one massive arm wrapped firm around your middle, the other cradling your shoulders, hand resting heavy over your heart like a shield.
He holds you completely.
There’s no room to fall. No space to drift. Only warmth. Only safety. Only the slow, aching grind of his hips as he moves inside you with a patience that borders on devotion.
He’d told you this was his favorite.
Because it feels good. Because he loves the closeness. But more than that - because it’s what makes it easiest for you. What helps your body take him. What lets you stay relaxed, safe, soft and open, even with how much of him there is to handle.
And it shows - in every slow, careful thrust. Every pass of his palm over your belly. Every breathless murmur in your ear as you twitch from the stretch of him.
“You’re doing so well.” He murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “So good for me.”
One hand drifts lower - spreads wide over the soft swell of your belly, grounding you.
“Right here.” He says softly, palm pressing just enough to feel the way he’s moving inside you. “I can feel how perfect you are. How much you take me.”
You clench. Shudder.
And Gyomei groans - full-bodied and low. But still, he keeps it slow.
Keeps you held.
He fucks you like that until your moans turn breathless, until your muscles twitch beneath his hands, until you can barely breathe from how overwhelmed you are.
Only then does he ease you down.
He shifts gently, laying you flat on the mattress. He props your knees up, hooks his arms beneath them, and folds you open without force - just quiet, patient strength.
His body covers yours again - never heavy. Just steady. Grounding.
His forehead brushes yours. His chest heaves.
When he sinks back in, slow and deep, you see it. That look on his face like you’ve just given him the sun.
His hand finds yours - no hesitation. He laces your fingers together tight, presses them above your head, like it’s a prayer. Like you’re his altar.
“You feel so good,” he breathes, his hips rolling deep. “I love this position.”
His lips find your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.
And then, so soft it’s nearly a secret -
“Thank you.”
A pause. Another kiss.
“Thank you for letting me love you.”
And again, quieter -
“Thank you for letting me have you.”
That’s what breaks you. The way he means it.
Like your body is a gift. Like he’s grateful for every second inside you. Like this - you - is something he’ll never stop treasuring.
And when you come, it’s all of that at once. Your cunt pulsing around him as you sob his name into the air between you.
Gyomei’s breath catches.
And then he follows.
With a groan that shudders through him, with his cock buried deep, with his lips still at your cheek and his arms still wrapped around you like he’s trying to hold the whole moment still.
And when he finally exhales, it’s soft.
Full of everything.
“How was that answer?” He asks.
You smirk.
“Perfect, Gyomei.”
────୨୧────
Not a prompt, but I just wanted to say that I just found your writings and they are so good 😌❤️ May your pillow always be cold and good luck follows you wherever you go 😌❤️
you guys are so sweet 🥺🥺
took a little break but i’m back to writing and will have some stuff posted soon ₊˚⊹♡
love u all xxx
i have reached 1k followers!! thank you for all the love and support!
which fandom should i write to celebrate?
this would be a group post (for example: mha boys when you’re… or the hashiras when you… then i would have a series of characters listed)
let me know what you guys think ⋆⭒˚｡⋆
1k post! Which fandom should I write?
jujutsu kaisen
my hero academia
demon slayer
haikyuu
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ pro hero bakugo fucks his pr agent
tw: rough sex, office sex, uniform kink, unprotected sex, creampie (he’s bad at pulling out), semi-public, fingering, orgasm denial, canon timeskip katsuki (mid‑20s)
═══════════════════════
It’s your job.
Literally.
Keeping Dynamight from ruining his own career.
And if that wasn’t already hard enough, he makes it worse…by being exactly who the fuck he is.
“No." You hiss under your breath, heels clicking as you walk ahead of him toward the press room. “You can’t call the guy a dumbass on air. I don’t care if he was one.”
Katsuki scoffs behind you, unbothered. “He was. If he’d kept his fuckin’ head down like I told him, I wouldn’t’ve had to blast through a whole damn wall.”
You stop walking. Turn.
He nearly walks into you, catches himself just short, and glares down at you like you’re the problem.
“You’re on live TV in four minutes.” You say calmly, like you’re not seething. “Do not go in there and curse out the other pro. Don’t grunt. Don’t scowl. Don’t call anyone an extra.”
He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s half my fuckin’ vocabulary.”
“I know." You mutter, then force a bright, PR-trained smile and spin back around. “That’s what keeps me employed.”
And you walk away.
Heel. Toe. Clip. Click.
You know he’s staring. You always do. Especially when you're wearing tights.
——————
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The tension.
The bickering. The heat. The way you look at each other too long.
You’re his public relations rep, for fuck’s sake. You handle his sponsorships. His press coverage. His approval ratings.
You’re not supposed to want to kiss the way he spits out a swear word.
Not supposed to like the way he leans back in an office chair, thighs spread, chest still heaving after a patrol, sweat clinging to the collar of his suit.
Not supposed to stare.
But god. When he's in that black and orange hero suit? Hands braced on his thighs? Jaw clenched like he's still thinking about the fight?
You’re not blind.
And he notices.
The way your eyes drop to his chest. The slow blink you give him when he runs a hand through his hair.
The sigh you let out when he shrugs out of his gear.
He notices. And worse?
He smirks.
——————
“You need to stop saying ‘fuck’ in interviews." You mutter, eyes on your clipboard, not looking at him.
He’s standing behind you. Way too close.
“What the fuck else should I say?”
“NOT that.” You whirl around.
He leans in.
Close enough that your nose almost brushes his. Close enough to see the mild amusement behind the scowl on his face.
He likes this. He likes riling you up.
“You got a better suggestion?” He murmurs, voice low. “Wanna write me a script, princess?”
You hate when he calls you that.
You hate that it makes your stomach clench.
Your gaze drops - for half a second - to his mouth.
His gaze drops - for half a second - to the neckline of your blouse.
You’re close. Too close.
You step back.
“I’m sending you talking points for the next segment.” You say, sharp and professional.
But your voice comes out breathier than it should.
It happens again two days later.
You’re both backstage at a hero gala, arguing in low tones near the emergency exit. You’re wearing a dress that hugs your thighs. He’s in a suit he clearly hates.
“You’re not skipping the meet-and-greet.”
“Tch. Waste of time.”
“You promised the agency.”
He rolls his eyes. “I never fuckin’ promised-”
“Bakugo.” You grit, stepping into his space.
He steps right back into yours.
You’re chest to chest. Breath to breath.
You can feel the tension rolling off him. That storm-thick frustration, the itch in his jaw, the impatience humming just under his skin.
Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides.
His arms are folding, muscle flexing even under the expensive fabric.
Neither of you moves.
You can feel his eyes on your mouth.
“You’re real fuckin’ annoying." He mutters, like a reflex.
Your voice is steady. “You’re lucky I haven’t walked out yet.”
“Why don’t you?”
You blink.
And for a moment, the room feels too hot.
“Because you'd fall apart without me.”
It slips out before you can stop it.
And to your surprise - he laughs.
Low. Under his breath. A smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah?” He mutters. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”
“No." You say. “But I know what happens when you don’t have someone to clean up your messes.”
You turn. Start to walk away.
But not before he mutters low just loud enough for you to hear.
“...Wouldn’t mind makin’ a mess outta you.”
You stop. You don’t turn. But your legs go weak for just a second.
You pretend they don’t.
——————
It’s a quiet evening.
Your phone buzzes with approval ratings. Even after that snarky remark to the press.
You’re in his office. He’s half-undressed, the tie from his suit he aggressively ripped off thrown over his chair.
“Did good tonight." You mutter, glancing at your tablet. “Only cursed twice.”
He’s watching you. From the chair. One leg spread wide, ankle crossed over the other.
“Did better than that." He says.
You glance up.
And he’s not smirking.
He’s watching you with that look - the one that makes your pulse skip. The one that feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes.
Your throat tightens. You clear it.
“You’ll still need to do the morning interview." You say softly. “Public’s loving the new outreach campaign.”
“Yeah?”
You nod.
You try to look back at the screen.
But he leans forward in the chair. Arms braced over his thighs.
“Y’know I’m not stupid, right?”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“I know what you’re doin’. Walkin’ away every time I get close. Pretendin’ you’re not into it.”
You open your mouth. Close it.
“I’m not-”
“Yeah, you are.”
His voice is low. Certain. Unapologetic. And it hits something in your chest that makes your heart beat louder.
You don’t move.
Just stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his gaze slides over your legs. The way he looks like he’s holding himself back.
“You’re my client." You whisper.
“So?” He mutters.
You swallow. And you don’t say anything else.
Because he’s not wrong.
Not really.
You clear your throat.
The air feels too thick.
“I’ll… see you tomorrow, Bakugo.”
It’s the most professional thing you can manage.
You grab your tablet. Keep your expression neutral even though your pulse is a hammer in your throat.
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you leave, jaw tight, that unreadable look in his eyes that sits somewhere between challenge and want.
——————
The next few days, you pretend everything’s normal.
You sit in meetings. Draft press statements. Edit highlight reels from his latest rescue operation.
You tell yourself it’s fine. That the heat in your stomach every time he says your name is nothing but stress.
But then night comes. And it’s just you, your couch, your laptop, and the soft blue glow of the TV screen.
Katsuki is on the news again. Hair still damp from the fight, arms crossed while he answers questions. You watch the way his throat flexes when he swallows, the way his forearms tighten under the black fabric of his uniform.
The way he doesn’t smile. Not even when they praise him. He just nods once. Lowers his eyes. Grunts something short.
And god, you shouldn’t. But you imagine what it would be like to shut him up with your mouth. To grab that stupid collar of his uniform and drag him down until his words die between your lips.
You press your thighs together. Turn the TV off.
——————
Three nights later, you’re packing up to go home.
The sun’s already down, the office nearly empty. You’re standing at your desk, tugging on your coat, considering the text from your friends:
Come out. Drinks?
You hover over your phone. Wonder if maybe getting drunk would drown out this thing that’s been sitting in your chest all week.
And then you hear it.
Heavy boots.
The door clicks open.
He walks in still in uniform - black and orange gear streaked with dirt, the faint smell of smoke clinging to him.
“Bakugo.” You straighten up. “Come to bother me for the last few minutes of my work day?”
“Was in the area.” His voice is rough, casual. “Figured I’d stop by.”
You raise a brow. “To do what? Critique my reports?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you - slow, deliberate.
“What’re you doin’ tonight?” He asks finally.
Your heart stutters. “Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just askin’.”
“You don’t need to know everything I do after hours.”
“Tch. The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you say evenly, grabbing your bag, “I have a life outside babysitting your public image.”
He snorts. “Babysittin’, huh?”
You glance up - he’s smirking, sharp and cocky. The kind of smirk that crawls under your skin.
“Yeah." You snap. “Babysitting. Because you can’t go a single day without me cleaning up your-”
“You goin’ out with someone?”
The question hits like a slap.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Didn’t fuckin’ ask if it was." He growls. “I asked who.”
You step closer, glaring up at him. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
And for a second, neither of you moves.
Just shallow breaths.
The sound of the clock on the wall ticking too loud.
Then -
Bang.
He slams the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the glass rattle.
Your stomach drops.
“Bakugo-”
But he’s already crossing the room.
You back up instinctively - until the edge of your desk hits the backs of your thighs.
He doesn’t stop. He grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel, and crashes his mouth against yours.
It’s rough. Unapologetic. Teeth. Tongue. Breath.
You shove at his chest once - not to stop him, but to feel how solid it is - and then you’re pulling him back in by his collar.
The sound that leaves him is somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
He kisses you harder. Deeper. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first breath after weeks underwater.
You grab a fistful of his uniform. He grips your hips and lifts you - strong enough that your breath catches as you’re set on the desk, papers scattering, his body slotting between your legs.
He’s still kissing you - the kind that leaves your lips raw and your lungs aching. You can taste him. Smoke, salt, adrenaline.
You drag your nails down his neck and feel him shudder.
He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, breath harsh.
“You done tellin’ me it’s not my business?” He mutters.
You tilt your chin up, meeting his eyes.
“Maybe." You whisper. “If you keep your mouth busy.”
And he does.
He grabs your hips, pulls you closer, and kisses you again - deeper this time, slower, tongue sliding against yours like he’s learning you one breath at a time.
The kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting months to happen.
You should shove him back, get your shit together, tell him this is a massive breach of every ethical boundary in your job description…
But instead, your fingers are tugging at the buckle on his duty belt, hands shaking with the effort.
Bakugo’s mouth is hot against yours and he groans when he feels you pull the strap free.
“Fuckin’ god, finally." He pants, helping you get it off. It drops to the floor with a loud, metallic clunk, utility clips rattling on impact.
You don’t even look at it. Too focused on the way he’s already dragging your blazer off your shoulders, his gloved fingers fumbling at the buttons of your blouse.
“You wear too many fuckin’ layers." He mutters against your mouth.
You huff a breath into his. “You’re the one in a Kevlar corset.”
He smirks - barely - lips brushing yours like he’s laughing. “‘S tactical.”
You roll your eyes.
Another kiss - rough and open-mouthed - and his fingers finally get one of the buttons undone. Then another.
You gasp when he brushes the fabric aside, his palm warm over the skin of your ribs.
Your own hands are already under his uniform compression shirt, fingertips gliding over the edge of his abs, the heat of his body soaking through the suit.
And then -
“Fuck.” He curses softly, tugging at your tights. “How the hell do these things come off…”
“You’re a pro hero.” You breathe, lifting your hips. “Figure it out.”
Your tights are halfway down your legs, bunched at your knees, when he leans back with a groan.
“Fuck this." He mutters. “I don’t have the patience.”
He fists your skirt and shoves it up around your hips instead, bunching the fabric at your waist in one quick, rough pull.
You exhale a sharp breath, blinking down at him. “Seriously?”
“I’m busy." He grits, voice low, eyes flicking to the dark panel of your panties. “Unless you want me to waste time getting it off right.”
You snort, breathless. “God forbid you use any finesse.”
Katsuki smirks -- that fucking smirk - and leans forward, crowding your body until you’re flat on your elbows, back arching, skirt hiked up, legs spread wide on the edge of your own desk.
“Finesse." He echoes, almost teasing. “You want finesse, princess?”
His fingers hook the waistband of your panties, tugging them all the way down, pocketing them easily.
And then you feel him. Two fingers, thick and callused, sliding through your folds - slow, firm pressure dragging over slick heat.
Your head falls back with a soft, involuntary gasp.
Katsuki leans in at the same time. Mouth catching the underside of your jaw. Kissing slow, possessive, hungry.
“Not so smug now, huh.” He murmurs against your skin, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat, biting softly at the hinge of your jaw.
You open your mouth to fire something back, but he curls his fingers, just right. Your breath catches. Your thighs twitch.
“Fuck.”
He grins again and kisses lower, under your chin, tongue flicking slow just beneath your ear.
You feel him breathe you in, that little grunt in the back of his throat when he realizes how wet you already are.
“All this for me, huh?” He mutters. “Just from makin’ you mad?”
Your hand fists in the collar of his uniform, yanking him back up to your mouth.
“Shut up." You whisper, voice wrecked. “You talk too much.”
“Thought you liked my mouth.”
You kiss him hard before you can answer - open, messy, his fingers still working between your thighs.
It’s hot. Deep. Desperate.
“You should’ve said somethin’ sooner." He rasps, dragging his thumb slow over your clit. “Fuckin’ coulda been doin’ this for months.”
Your answer is another moan. Sharp, breathy, hips grinding down like you’re chasing the friction, fast and sloppy.
And all he does is smile. That same cocky little grin against your mouth as he curls his fingers deeper, wrist flexing just right.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “There she is.”
You can barely think.
He drags his fingers slow through your slick. Rubbing tight, cruel little circles on your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch, just enough to make your stomach coil, just enough to make you almost come then backing off.
Again.
You grit your teeth. “Bakugo.”
He grins against your throat, not even trying to hide it. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“You’re cute when you’re pissed.” He mutters, kissing under your ear.
You slap a hand down on the desk behind you, lifting yourself up on one elbow, staring him down.
He's still in his hero uniform. Boots planted between your spread thighs.
And fuck, you hate how hot it is.
His hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, arms flexing every time he moves. You can see the curve of his biceps, the thick straps tight across his chest, the way his utility vest rises and falls with his breath.
You can smell sweat. Smoke. Him.
It’s all too much.
You’re wet, aching, toes curling in your heels. And he’s standing there acting like he’s got all the time in the world.
Your voice drops. “Stop fucking around.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?” He mutters. “You want it that bad?”
You stare him down. “You know I do.”
He breathes out a rough laugh. Then…
He licks his fingers.
Slow. Deliberate. Eyes on yours.
Your stomach flips.
Then he reaches for his belt, yanks his zipper down…
And your mouth parts before you can stop it.
Oh.
Oh.
You weren’t ready.
He’s thick, flushed, already leaking. You blink once, caught completely off-guard - and he sees it.
He smirks. “You gonna sit there with your mouth open or you want me to fill it later?”
You blink hard. “You’re such a…”
But you don’t finish, because he’s already grabbing your hips, dragging you forward across the desk like you weigh nothing.
You gasp, hands bracing behind you, legs spread wide -
He’s in. One hard, deep thrust.
He pushes all the way in, slow enough to feel every inch, but fast enough to make your back arch and a full, helpless moan spill out of your mouth.
“Fuuuck -”
His hips grind against yours, breath caught, head falling forward onto your shoulder as he groans just as loud.
“Holy shit - baby…”
You both freeze at the sound - loud, echoing off the office walls - and then, like instinct, you grab the front of his uniform and pull him down, slamming your mouth into his.
The kiss is messy, all lips and teeth and open gasps.
You moan into him. He groans into you.
His cock pulses deep inside, the stretch insane, thick enough that you feel it everywhere.
You’re clenching without meaning to. He swears again. Low, guttural, and thrusts shallow, just once, like he can’t help it.
His mouth breaks from yours, panting.
“Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt." He breathes, voice wrecked.
"Harder." You demand.
And yeah. He fucks you like it’s all he’s been thinking about.
Just deep, hard thrusts, slamming into you with all that strength he tries so fucking hard to hide during press events.
Your hips knock against the desk with every push, the wood creaking underneath you. Papers scattered, pens long gone.
He grunts with every movement, his jaw tight, eyes locked on your face like he wants to see every second of it.
“God. Fuck.” He pants. “So fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ tight."
You claw at his arms, nails dragging over fabric and skin. "You gonna narrate the whole thing?"”
He grabs your thighs, hoisting you higher on the desk, getting a better angle before slamming in again.
You moan, loud, eyes fluttering shut.
It’s almost filthy. The contrast. How professional you look half-undressed. Blouse unbuttoned, bra still on. While he’s slamming into you like it’s the only thing that’ll quiet his head.
He palms at your chest, squeezing. “Been thinkin’ about these fuckin’ tits since the first week I met you." He mutters, mouth brushing your collarbone, tongue flicking the sweat pooling there.
You roll your eyes, breathless. “Charming.”
“Shut up." He pants. “You know I have.”
His hands fumble at your back, cursing low when he can’t get the clasp - until it finally snaps free.
Your bra slides off your shoulders.
He doesn’t hesitate. Mouth drops to your chest, teeth grazing the swell of your breast, tongue licking a hot stripe over your nipple.
You cry out, legs locking around him, and he fucks into you harder, rutting deep and fast and rough.
You suck in a breath when he bites down - not hard, just enough to make you twitch. He soothes it with his tongue immediately after, lips wrapping around your nipple, groaning into your skin like he’s fucking starved.
Your hands are in his hair, tugging hard. His mouth is everywhere. Your throat, your chest, your jaw - sucking, biting, kissing, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach.
The sound of skin slapping fills the office. Your moans. His grunts. His voice muttering low filth into your neck.
“Been wantin’ this since the first time you yelled at me." He admits, nipping your ear. “Every fuckin’ meeting. Every press run. You’d stand there all smug in your little heels…”
And he can’t stop touching you. Even with his cock buried deep, slamming into you like he wants to carve himself into your body.
He can’t stop.
One hand claws at your waist, gripping your skirt like it offended him. The other’s everywhere. Cupping your tits, dragging down your sides, spreading over your stomach like he’s trying to memorize you by feel alone.
“So beautiful.” He grits, voice cracking on the words.
He palms your breast again, rougher this time, thumb brushing your nipple as he leans down to take it into his mouth for the third time, sucking so hard your hips jolt.
You moan - loud, unfiltered - one hand braced behind you on the desk, the other buried in his damp hair.
He groans against your skin, tongue flicking fast, teeth grazing, biting before he kisses the sting better again.
You suck in a breath when he pulls back just enough to look at you.
“This what you wanted?” He pants. “Shit - this what you been thinkin’ about when you stare at me in that fuckin’ pencil skirt?”
You roll your hips up into him, gasping. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He repeats.
Then he grabs your tits in both hands and fucks you deeper.
Harder.
It punches a cry out of your throat.
“Say it.” His voice is all gravel. “Say you’ve been thinkin’ about this.”
“Fuck…yes.”
“Say you wanted me.”
“I wanted you." You cry out. “God, I - fuck, Bakugo.”
He kisses you again - filthy, wet, lips dragging against yours with no aim but contact, connection, pressure. Tongue curling into your mouth like he owns it.
It’s insane.
It’s so wrong.
It’s your office.
But you don’t care. Not even a little.
Not when his teeth are back at your collarbone, sucking hard. Not when his hand slides down between your bodies to rub your clit in hard, perfect circles.
Not when he groans low into your ear, voice wrecked and possessive…
“You’re mine now. You know that, right?”
You can’t speak. Just nod.
You’re right there. So fucking close it’s unbearable.
Your legs are shaking around his waist, skirt bunched, tits bouncing with every thrust. One heel’s still on. The other is god knows where.
And Katsuki is pounding into you like he’s possessed. Jaw tight, sweat running down his neck, grunting through clenched teeth.
“You feel so fuckin’ good…tight little pussy….so fuckin’ wet for me….”
You’re panting so hard your voice breaks. And then you say it.
You whine it.
“Katsuki…”
His whole body jerks like you punched him.
“Say it again." He rasps.
You do. You’re not even thinking anymore, just crying out through gritted teeth, eyes shut, hand clawing at his bicep:
“Katsuki - Katsuki….fuck….don't stop…"
He loses it. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, thrusts deeper and rougher like he wants to fuck his name right back into you.
You moan it again, higher, more broken - and he grabs your thighs tighter, slamming into you so hard the desk rocks with it.
“C'mon baby…” He pants. “Keep sayin’ it. Fuckin’ love the way you say my name…”
You’re right on the edge. And it snaps. White-hot and sharp, coiling tight, then ripping through you like a wave that hits too fast, too strong—
“Katsuki!” You cry out one last time, voice cracked, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm slams into you, long and blinding and overwhelming.
You sob into his mouth, back arching, thighs locking around him like you’re trying to take him deeper.
“Shit…fuck…” He gasps, head dropping to your shoulder, and suddenly he freezes.
“Wait, ah…fuck.”
But it’s too late.
He pulls out right at the edge, cock twitching as he spills hot and messy against your thigh, the edge of your skirt.
"Didn’t pull out fast enough…damn it." He swears again, breath shaking, watching it drip.
Neither of you move.
You’re panting, chest heaving, bra discarded, his release leaking down your leg. Katsuki is standing between your thighs with his pants halfway down, still in full pro hero gear, eyes locked on you like he’s never seen anything better in his life.
And the room is hot. Sticky. Silent - except for your breath and your thighs still trembling open around him.
You lick your lips. Shaky.
“That was…”
Your voice breaks. You clear it.
“…so fucking stupid.”
He grins. Hair in his eyes. Still flushed, still panting.
“Yeah.”
And then - without even blinking - his hand slides back down to your ass, fingers massaging rough and slow, squeezing the soft curve of it.
His voice is hoarse.
“Now let’s do it again.”
… i have bakugo katsuki brainrot rn sorry guys xxx
𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱
𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯
★ giyu can’t go a day without burying his face between your thighs
★ sanemi wants to fuck the hashira out of you
PART ONE | PART TWO
★ tengen makes it fit
★ rengoku fucks like fire
★ HASHIRAS
you ask what their favorite position is
𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔬 𝔞𝔠𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔞
★ pro hero bakugo fucks the stress out
★ pro hero bakugo fucks his pr agent
★ pro hero hawks finally fucks the pretty girl who runs his schedule
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
i need a hawks from mha nsfw PLEASEEE
so glad this was requested since it was already in the works !! xxx
ִֶָ. .་༘࿐ pro hero hawks finally fucks the pretty girl who runs his schedule
tw: rough sex, power imbalance (consensual), creampie, praise, oral sex (f receiving), teasing/ dom-sub undertones, unprotected sex, overstimulation, light marking, soft aftercare
═══════════════════════
Keigo Takami had a habit of noticing things he shouldn’t.
He noticed how a villain’s shoulders tensed a second before they struck. He noticed how reporters angled their cameras to catch his wingspan. He noticed when an intern whispered something under their breath that was meant to sound like admiration but felt more like envy.
And lately - he noticed you.
You’d started at his agency six months ago, just another efficient face among the endless rotation of staff and sidekicks. Organized. Sharp. You always had your clipboard ready before he even asked for it, files alphabetized.
Then he started realizing small things.
The way your skirts hugged the back of your thighs when you reached for a folder. The faint scent of your perfume when you leaned past his chair to hand him paperwork. The sound of your voice when you said, “Takami‑san, you have that board meeting in ten minutes,” soft and polite.
You never used his hero name unless the cameras were around. He liked that. He liked it too much.
It was supposed to stay a passing thought. A professional appreciation.
But he started timing his landings after patrols so he’d pass your desk first. Started noticing when you wore something new. Started catching himself wondering what it’d take to make you blush. Make you moan.
And he’d shake his head at himself like - get it together, birdbrain, before dragging himself into another meeting.
____________
The office after hours was quiet.
He came back long after sunset, wings rustling from patrol, uniform half‑zipped. His body was buzzing from too much adrenaline and not enough rest. He pushed the door open and stopped dead.
You were at your desk. Hair pulled up messily. Your blouse rolled at the sleeves. Stacks of files around you, a pencil tucked behind your ear.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, one brow cocked. “Didn’t know we were runnin’ a 24‑hour agency now.”
You glanced up, smiling faintly. “Just catching up. Needed the distraction.”
His grin deepened. “Distraction, huh? That’s my line.”
You laughed softly. “Guess it’s contagious.”
He watched you for a moment longer than he should’ve. The sound of papers shuffling, the faint whir of the AC - everything else faded out. There was something about the curve of your back under the lamplight that made his chest ache with something dangerously close to curiosity.
“Y’know.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t have to stay late to impress me.”
“I’m not trying to impress you, Takami‑san.”
He smirked. “Yeah? Shame.”
You rolled your eyes, looking back down at the page. “Some of us like being productive.”
He laughed quietly, moving closer. “And some of us like staring at the prettiest thing in the room.”
That earned him a look over your shoulder, half amusement. “You say that to all your assistants?”
“Only the ones who make my coffee just right.”
“Mhm.” You stood, gathering your papers. “I’m starting to understand why your PR manager has migraines.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “You wound me.”
You smiled again - one of those real ones this time, small and soft around the corners. “Maybe you deserve it.”
He stepped closer, low enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Maybe.”
The air shifted.
You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until you could see the faint gold in his irises, the small scar under his eye. His wings rustled faintly behind him, feathers brushing against your arm as if by accident.
You swallowed. “You’re still in uniform.”
“Mm.” He hummed, eyes flicking down your figure. “So are you. I like this skirt…it’s my favorite one you wear.”
Your pulse jumped. “You’re my boss.”
“Only till five." He said. Then, quieter, “And it’s way past that.”
You should’ve laughed it off. Should’ve teased him. But instead, you tilted your head slightly, met his eyes, and said, “Unless you have something better than paperwork, I should probably finish this.”
Keigo’s grin turned smug. Dangerous.
“Oh, I’ve got something better.”
____________
The elevator to his apartment was quiet, other than the soft rustle of feathers as his wings folded close to his back. His place was exactly what you expected. Modern, warm, too clean for someone who never stayed still.
“Drink?” He asked.
“Sure.”
He poured something amber into two glasses, and you took yours, eyes scanning the skyline through the window. He leaned against the counter, studying you with that lazy half‑smile.
“You’re quiet.” You said finally. “Not like usual.”
“Mm. Too tired to talk circles.”
“So you actually can stop running your mouth.”
He grinned. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my image.”
You took a sip, smirking. “You have an image?”
He stepped closer. “Guess you haven’t been paying attention, sweetheart.”
That nickname made your pulse skip. You tried not to show it, bringing your glass back to your lips to hide the twitch of a smile.
He stepped in closer, setting his drink on the edge of the table, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. You felt it - that little static pull - and you knew he did too, because he didn’t look away.
You nodded toward the city lights glowing beyond the balcony glass. “Nice view.”
He hummed. “Yeah, it is.”
And he wasn’t looking at the skyline when he said it.
You laughed under your breath, taking another sip “Smooth.”
“Not tryin’ to be.” He leaned a little closer, just enough that you could smell the faint, sharp cologne he wore - something clean under the warmth of musk.
“You always this wound up after work?”
“Only when I’m covering for you and still somehow stuck managing your recruits.”
“Hey." He grinned. “I have full confidence in your ability to juggle everything I throw at you.”
“Oh, I can juggle.” You tipped your drink toward him. “But if you’re trying to butter me up just so I won’t yell at you in the morning meeting…”
“You yell at me every morning meeting.”
“You deserve it.”
He licked his bottom lip, slow. “What else do I deserve?”
The air got heavier between you, thicker than before - less playful. He was still smiling, still all warmth, but there was something else in the way his eyes dropped down your body, lingered on the hem of your skirt.
Your skin prickled. You reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his shirt. “…Is it wrong that I wanna sleep with my boss?”
His smile curved. “Not if your boss is already thinking about it.”
You scoffed, cheeks hot. But, you leaned in.
And when he kissed you - slow, teasing, a little smug - it felt exactly like him. Warm. Smooth. Effortless. The kind of trouble you didn’t even want to avoid.
But it didn’t stay soft.
His hand slid along your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your blouse like he was testing boundaries he already knew you’d let him cross. You didn’t hesitate - tilting your chin up, kissing him back harder, your fingers curling into the fabric at his chest, nails grazing muscle.
Keigo groaned low in his throat, pulled back just enough to look at you with a crooked grin. “You kiss all your bosses like this?”
You rolled your eyes, breath shallow. “Only the ones who fly.”
He laughed, then he reached down, fingers brushing your glass and set both aside on the table behind you with a quiet clink.
Before you could blink, his hands slid to your thighs. And then he was lifting you, strong hands gripping the backs of your thighs as your skirt rode up, your legs wrapping around his waist like they’d been waiting to. You gasped, arms tightening around his shoulders, and he didn’t hesitate - walking you toward the bedroom like he already knew the route blind.
The kiss deepened with every step, turned messier, hotter. His mouth moved like he wanted to taste every sound you made, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore. You nipped at his lower lip. He bit yours in return.
“Fuck." He muttered against your mouth. “You’re killin’ me.”
His grip tightened, wings twitching behind him with each step like he was holding himself back from launching. You could feel his heat through your clothes, the hard press of him between your legs as he walked - your hips instinctively grinding once, teasing, and he groaned again.
Your back hit the sheets, heart hammering. For a second, you were too stunned to move. Because it was him.
Keigo Takami.
Hawks. The Pro Hero.
Your boss.
The same man whose calls you transferred. Whose calendar you managed with color-coded tabs. The one you sat across from in endless meetings, nodding while he ignored his recruit applications to flirt with you mid-email. The same one who used to wink at you during press briefings while you took notes.
And now? His mouth was on yours. His hands were on your thighs. And your body was burning.
Your heart pounded faster. You didn’t even notice the way your brows pinched, how your breath caught.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard." He murmured, nosing along your jaw. “You always think this hard when you’re about to fuck someone?”
You scoffed, blinking out of the daze. “You always this cocky before you’ve even taken off your pants?”
“Ah.” He grinned, leaning up on his forearms to look at you. “There she is.”
You reached between you, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse. Your hands were shaking, but you played it off, undoing the top one, then the next, letting him watch.
“If I’m gonna lose my job…" You said, voice steady, “I’m at least gonna enjoy it.”
He laughed again, and it was warm - low as he kissed you, catching your lip between his, deepening it until you were breathless.
Then -
Rip.
Your eyes widened as he tore your blouse open, buttons flying somewhere across the room.
“Takami!”
“I’ll buy you a new one." He muttered against your skin, already kissing down your chest, the heat of his mouth leaving you gasping. “Buy you ten.”
Then he slid down the bed, kissing as he went - slow, deliberate, teasing.
Down your ribs. Down your stomach. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your skirt.
You lifted your hips for him without a word. Then you jolted when his teeth grazed the inside of your leg, your breath stuttering out of you. His tongue followed the same path, warm and slow, licking a stripe just high enough to make your thighs twitch.
“You know how fucking hard it is…" He said between kisses, “…trying to focus when you walk into my office in these little skirts?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair instantly - tugging, rough. He groaned, mouth still moving, kissing over the sensitive skin until you were squirming. Your heels dug into his back, your legs tightening around him, and one of his feathers tickled against your shin.
You gasped quietly.
“Sorry." He said with no remorse at all, glancing up with his mouth still against your thigh. “They have a mind of their own.”
“Mm.” You rocked your hips forward, chasing friction. “Then tell them to behave.”
“I’m busy." He grinned. “Worshipping my very hot assistant.”
And then he licked another slow, deliberate stripe, right along your folds.
Your eyes rolled back. Your back arched. And you forgot entirely about the fact that he was your boss.
He doesn’t stop.
Not even when you squirm - thighs twitching, hips lifting slightly, toes curling against the sheets like your body’s trying to run from the pleasure. His arms hook under your knees, dragging you closer, rough palms spreading your thighs wider like he owns the right to. And when he groans against your cunt, it’s low and deep, a sound that vibrates straight into your core, like you’re the only thing in the world he gives a damn about.
“Hold still, sweetheart.” His voice is muffled against your skin, thick with heat.
His mouth seals over your clit, tongue working in those same slow, unrelenting circles - tight, practiced, maddening - like he’s tracing his initials into your insides. Every flick feels wetter than the last. Messier. Hungrier. And he moans into it - into you - like he can’t help himself.
It shudders through you.
Your hands grip his hair, your back arching, chest heaving like you can’t get enough air.
“K-Keigo - oh my….fuck -”
Your moans splinter apart, tumbling from your mouth while your thighs start to clamp around his head - desperate, trembling. He groans like he likes that too, like he wants more of it, and the sound is obscene.
His whole body is warm.
His skin. His breath. His mouth. The quiet rustle of feathers behind him, twitching every time you whine. His wings twitch when your hips rock against his face.
It spreads.
Heat, thick and low, curling up from the base of your spine and blooming outward. You can’t tell where you end and he begins - it’s just tongue and lips and pressure - so perfect it feels cruel.
“Shit….shit, Keigo.”
He hums again, like he’s satisfied. Like he knew you were close.
But he pulls back at the last second.
Your whole body jolts - your orgasm teetering right at the edge, breath caught in your throat.
“Mm-mm.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste the skin there. “Not yet, pretty thing.”
You whimper, one hand clawing at his hair. “Keigo, please -”
“You’ll come when I say so.” He smirks, voice a low hum against your leg. “Don't you want to be a good little assistant and do what I say when I say?”
He dips back down - mouth hot, tongue insistent, circling your clit again with just enough pressure to make you cry out, arching so hard your spine curves off the bed. You’re right there - dizzy, clenching, grinding against his mouth like it’s instinct.
And then he stops again. Just enough to make you whine.
“Keigo…please, please, please…”
“Alright, fine. Go on, sweetheart." He mutters, voice muffled, lips brushing your clit. “Come for me. Come all over my tongue.”
You don’t even get the chance to answer.
It hits fast, harder than you expect - your thighs squeezing tight around his head, your body seizing up as your orgasm rips through you. You pant his name, nails raking down his scalp, your hips grinding helplessly against his face as he groans into you like he never wants to come up for air.
He licks it all up - every drop of slick, every broken sound you make - slow and greedy, like he's memorizing the taste of you.
When you finally go limp, thigh muscles twitching, he pulls back slowly, reluctantly. His lips are pink, glistening. His chest rises and falls in deep, uneven breaths.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then tilts his head, grinning, cocky.
“Still thinkin’ about agency rules?” He asks, voice hoarse but teasing.
You can barely breathe, let alone glare. So you just shake your head.
“Good.” He leans forward, kissing the inside of your knee.
He rises, smooth and effortless, standing at the foot of the bed as he strips. First the belt. Then the shirt. Then the pants, slow and deliberate.
You watch him with half lidded eyes - your body still humming, legs weak, mouth parted.
He’s all muscle and lean heat, every line of him graceful but solid. His wings stretch and fold behind him as he crawls onto the bed, lips brushing yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into his mouth.
Then you tug him down to you, roll him onto his back. He lets you - lets you climb over him, straddle him, bare thighs bracketing his hips.
“Takin’ control, huh?” He says.
You shrug. "Maybe I want a turn being boss."
He groans softly, hands sliding up your thighs like instinct, palms rough and reverent.
“Good, it's hot when you boss me around.” His voice is hoarse, but still light. “Gonna write that into your next performance review.”
You laugh and reach down, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. He’s already hard and twitching for you, thick and dragging heat along your palm.
“Better give me five stars." You murmur, watching his face as you drag the head of his cock through your slick folds - once, twice, deliberately slow.
The wet sound of it makes him suck in a breath, hips jolting up just a little like he can’t help it.
“Fuck.” He breathes, teeth gritting.
You smirk, rolling your hips forward so the head catches at your entrance, but you don’t sink down yet. Not fully. You hold there, pressed against him, grinding just enough to make him twitch again.
“What’s wrong?” You tease. “You looked so smug a second ago.”
His hands flex against your thighs, but he doesn’t force it - lets you take your time, lets you draw it out. But his jaw’s tight now, his abs tense, breath shallow.
“You tryin’ to kill me?” He mutters, voice strained.
“No." You say, blinking all innocent as you finally start to sink down - inch by slow inch. “Just wanna watch you squirm.”
And god, he does.
His head tips back, lips parting as you take him in. The stretch is deep, hot, your thighs shaking already as your body adjusts to the thickness of him. He feels impossibly big from this angle, pushing into you slow and steady, filling you so deep your vision blurs for a second.
He groans low. “Holy shit. Look at you…” His hands grip your hips, tight now, like he’s holding back from flipping you right there.
You bottom out slowly, thighs trembling as you seat yourself fully - your body hugging him tight, pulsing around him.
After a moment, you shift your weight - grinding your hips in a slow circle once you're fully seated, and it draws a groan out of Keigo that sounds like it’s been pulled from the center of his chest.
“Fuck." He mutters, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel so good.”
You start to move, slow at first. A slow rock. A grind. The slick sound of it fills the room, punctuated by the soft creak of the bed and the shallow catch of his breath. His hands slide up your waist again, thumbs stroking over your skin.
“That’s it." He murmurs, breath hot. “Just like that, baby. Ride me.”
You move again, a little harder this time, the wet slide of him inside you hitting deeper with every grind. His head tips back, exposing his throat, and the city light through the window casts over his whole body. His chest rises and falls fast now, sweat glinting off his collarbones, his wings twitching behind him like they’re too overwhelmed to stay still.
“You okay?” You murmur, teasing, your hands planted on his chest for balance as you roll your hips again, harder now - sharp enough to make his breath catch.
“Okay?” He laughs, but it’s strained. “I’m fuckin’ great. I’m-” He cuts himself off with a groan as you slam down a little faster, a little rougher. “God, you’re somethin’ else…”
You grin, grinding down again, feeling the head of his cock drag against that spongy spot inside you. You clench around him just to hear the choked sound he makes - and god, it’s worth it.
You bounce harder - louder now, messier, slick and wet and echoing in the dark. His hands slide to your hips, but he doesn’t take control - not yet. He just lets you use him, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet like it’s his new religion.
“Look at you…” He breathes. “Dripping all over my cock. Fuckin’ made for it.”
You moan, grinding down against him, chasing friction where his skin is hot between your thighs. His thumb brushes your clit again, teasing, circling, and you stutter - pace faltering for a second as the heat builds faster.
"There it is." He pants, smirking.
You can only manage a choked moan. Then you reach out, dragging your nails gently along the base of his wing - just to feel him jolt.
He hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up into you without warning, a curse catching in his throat.
“Shit. Baby, don’t…”
“Don’t what?” You hum, doing it again. “This?”
“Fuck.” He groans, one hand slamming against the mattress for control.
And that’s when it happens.
He loses it a little - hips starting to move beneath you, fucking up into you now, harder and rougher. The bed shudders under the rhythm, his wings flaring out wide behind him as he grips your hips like he can’t take it anymore.
“You wanna tease?” He huffs, voice wrecked. “Alright, sweetheart. Your turn to squirm.”
He sits up without warning, mouth crashing to yours, one arm banding around your back as the other grabs your ass, holding you flush against him as he drives up into you.
You cry out into his mouth, nails clawing into his shoulders as he grinds into you deep.
The angle hits different now - deeper, sharper - dizzying. You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and he groans like it’s killing him.
“You gonna come for me again?” He whispers against your lips, his voice hot and cocky and almost gentle. “My pretty little assistant gonna paint my cock white?”
You whimper, nodding, your movements getting sloppier now, more desperate. That coil in your gut tightens again - too fast, too much - and he feels it. Feels you start to clamp down on him, walls fluttering, thighs shaking.
It crashes over you hot and blinding. He moans right through it, watching your face as your whole body clenches around him, hips grinding down as you ride it out with his name broken and breathless on your tongue.
He follows you a second later, his head falling forward into your neck, hips stuttering as he groans through gritted teeth. Hot and deep and full. His whole body tight, then shaking, then softening.
You both stay like that for a long moment - breathing hard, skin damp, limbs tangled.
His forehead pressed against your shoulder, arms still around your waist.
“That's promotion worthy.” He mumbles eventually, lips brushing your collarbone.
You laugh weakly. “Good, I could use the raise."
"I'll give you anything you want."
You stay there for a while - sprawled across his chest, flushed and slick, heart still beating hard against his. His arms are loose around you now, fingertips drawing lazy circles down your spine. His cock is still inside you, twitching slightly, warm and deep.
Neither of you speaks.
Until he shifts.
Keigo curls an arm around your waist and rolls, flipping you underneath him in one smooth motion. Then he lifts his weight up onto his knees, rolls his hips once, slow and thick, and your body jolts from the inside out.
“Still with me, pretty girl?” He murmurs.“Or did I fuck you too dumb already?”
You try to answer, but it comes out like a gasp - your hips tilting up into his on instinct as he starts to move again. A slow, steady rhythm. Deep. Smooth.
His eyes never leave your face.
“You’re so beautiful.” He groans, one hand running up the outside of your thigh. “So fuckin’ sweet like this.”
You shiver when his fingers hook under your knee, and then he lifts your leg again, drapes it over his shoulder, leans down and kisses your calf so gently it feels like a tease.
Then his mouth opens and he sucks a little mark into your skin, just under the bend of your knee, his tongue warm and slow.
You moan and he smiles against your skin.
“That’s it.” He pulls back enough to look at you, eyes heavy. “Give me those little sounds. I need ’em.”
He shifts his weight and grabs your other thigh now, firm and possessive, and throws your other leg up to join the first, fully folding you in half beneath him.
Your breath catches. You can feel everything. The stretch. The depth. The burn.
Keigo groans. “Fuck, baby…this angle.” He huffs, cock dragging along your walls. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight. Feels too fuckin’ good…”
His hands press down against the backs of your thighs, holding them in place, keeping you folded. He’s over you now, panting, eyes dark and hungry as he starts to thrust harder. The rhythm picks up again - thick, slick, loud. Skin meeting skin. The wet sound of your cunt sucking him in, over and over.
And your little noises come back fast. Those whimpers. Those soft cries. The hitched little gasps that escape every time his cock slams deep, bottoming out right against that spot that makes your eyes roll.
“That’s my girl.” He doesn’t smirk this time - he just watches you with a raw kind of awe. “Been thinkin’ about this since the moment I saw you walk into my office.”
He’s not teasing now. He means it.
“My perfect little assistant." He murmurs, thrusting harder. “Knew you’d feel like this. Knew you’d look like this. Cryin’ on my cock.”
You whine, louder, and his head drops, mouth open against the inside of your thigh as he grinds into you, eyes flicking up to watch your face.
“Come on, baby.” He licks his lips. “Just one more.”
You don’t even hear yourself when you come again. It tears through you hard - hotter than the last, sharper. You clamp down around him, thighs shaking where they’re still braced over his shoulders, and everything goes white at the edges. You see stars.
Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first. Just a broken breath. A gasp. Your hands claw at the sheets, head tipped back against the pillow.
And he follows fast.
Keigo drops his weight into the thrust, buries himself as deep as you’ll take him - and groans into the curve of your neck, low in his throat. His hips stutter, and he doesn’t try to pull out.
He just comes inside you again. Thick, full, and deep.
You twitch under him - overstimulated, hips jerking away - and he groans at the feel of it. His cock still pulsing, still buried inside you, twitching with every tiny movement.
"Sorry, baby.” He mutters against your skin.
You flinch again.
He smirks, just a little. Can’t help it. “Too much?”
You nod, barely.
And that’s when he finally pulls out. Slow. Gentle. Careful not to press too hard as your body tenses again at the sensitivity.
He looks down for a second - at the mess between your thighs, at his pearly cum leaking out of your folds and it hits him all at once.
Maybe I should’ve worn a condom.
Yeah.
Probably.
He’ll worry about it later.
Keigo eases off the bed and pads into the bathroom. He comes back a moment later with a warm washcloth and kneels beside you.
“Hey,” He murmurs softly, brushing your thigh. “Lemme clean you up, yeah?”
You hum in response, barely coherent, and he’s already wiping between your legs, slow and careful.
When he’s done, he tosses the cloth into a laundry basket and leans over to his dresser, pulling out the first clean shirt he can find. Faded, soft, way too big.
He slides it over your head gently, guiding your arms through the sleeves.
“There we go." He whispers, smoothing the hem down over your stomach.
"Thanks." You murmur, voice quiet and hoarse.
“’Course.”
Then he grabs a pair of his sweats - gray, loose - and crouches again, lifting your hips and tugging them on for you, adjusting the waistband so it sits snug on your hips.
He kisses you once. Then again. Slower the second time, warm and full.
And then he finally stands, dragging on a pair of boxers without ceremony. Wings stretching once behind him, then settling.
You watch him as he climbs into bed, settles behind you, and pulls you against his chest like it’s instinct.
No hesitation. No space between. Just warmth.
Chest against your back, lips pressing into your shoulder as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in.
“You good?” He whispers.
You nod once, curled into him.
His thumb brushes your hip. And that’s it.
He exhales, then smirks.
Yeah, his assistant is too good to him.
____________
It’s a slow afternoon at the agency. Paperwork mostly. PR check-ins. A minor debrief about some clean-up operation. Boring, quiet stuff.
Keigo’s sitting at his desk, feet kicked up. His fingers tap against his tablet screen as he scrolls through his calendar, mostly zoning out - until he sees something that makes him blink.
MEDITATION - 4:30 p.m.
He stares at it.
No other notes. No meeting room. No details.
Just Meditation.
His eyes narrow slightly. Then he taps out of it, drags hismself from the chair, and heads out of his office.
You’re at your desk, typing something. He leans against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Head tilted.
“Hey.”
You glance up, cool and polite. “Takami-san.”
“Quick question." He says, lifting his tablet and wiggling it slightly. “What’s this meditation session on my calendar?”
You blink. Then smile. Small, sly. “Scheduled stress relief.”
He pauses. Still leaning there, watching you. “Stress relief?”
You nod once. Then - slow, deliberate - you cross your legs under the desk, and then uncross them again. And in the motion, he catches the flash of lace between your thighs.
Lacy black panties. Under that pencil skirt.
Keigo goes still.
Then he grins.
“Oh." He says softly, licking his bottom lip like it’s a reflex. “Right. Yeah. That kind of meditation.”
You glance back at your screen like you’ve already moved on. “Thought it’d help with your performance.”
“Oh, it does.” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping in closer now, lowering his voice. “Might need a few extra sessions, though.”
“I can make room in your schedule.”
He hums, eyes flicking briefly down your body.
“Perfect." He says. “Make sure it’s on my calendar tomorrow too.”
You nod once. “Recurring appointment?”
“Every damn day." He says, already smirking as he backs toward his office door, wings flaring just a little for show. “Gotta stay centered, right?”
“Right." You echo.
And he’s still smiling when he closes the door behind him - knowing full well he’s not getting anything done for the rest of the day.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ pro hero bakugo fucks the stress out
tw: rough sex, cockwarming, soft domesticity, emotional vulnerability, creampie, aftercare, canon timeskip katsuki (mid-20s)
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It always starts the same way.
The front door doesn’t slam anymore - not since you asked him to stop - but it still opens with a weight that only Bakugo carries. Like the day clung to him on the way home. Like the stress, the blood, the pressure, the noise of it all came with him. Still caught in the creases of his uniform. Still buzzing under his skin.
And the second he sees you?
It’s over.
"Shitty fuckin’ day." He grumbles, halfway out of his boots before he’s crossing the living room.
You’re already setting your book down, body responding before you even say a word - because you know this version of him. You know what he needs.
He presses you into the cushions, heavy and hard and hot between your thighs, barely managing to strip off his hero pants before he’s pulling your shorts to the side and sliding home with a groan that punches right into your core.
"Fuck, baby. Been thinkin’ about this all day.”
You wrap your legs around him. Let him fuck you into the couch until his growling turns into soft, strangled breaths.
Another time, it’s the kitchen counter.
You’d been plating dinner. He came in sweaty, still in full uniform, jaw tight. You barely got out a “rough patrol?” before he had you bent over the counter, arms braced beside you, your robe bunched at your hips and his cock splitting you open from behind.
He didn’t even take his gloves off.
"Fucking extras." He growled through his teeth, hips punishing. “Can’t follow simple fuckin’ orders. Had to pull two rookies outta a building they never shoulda gone into - shit, baby, you’re so warm.”
You moaned his name, clutching the counter edge, gasping when he reached around to rub your clit with those thick, gloved fingers.
“Only peace I get anymore’s when I’m inside you. You know that, don’t you?”
And you did.
Another night you're in the shower, head tilted back beneath the steam, when the door slammed open and Bakugo’s gravel voice came through.
“Move over.”
You’re barely able to turn before he’s behind you, soap already forgotten, uniform half-off, hands grabbing your hips and dragging you back against his cock.
“I missed you." You say.
“I know." He answers, biting your shoulder.
Water runs down your chest as he slides in from behind, thrusts deep enough to make your knees buckle, and you have to grip the wall with both palms while he lets it all out.
“Two fuckin’ interviews. Both fuckin’ useless. PR’s got me doin’ press for some dumbass collab with Jeans.” He pants into your ear, “-fuckin’ told ‘em I don’t do that shit. I save people. I don’t smile for the camera.”
You clench around him and nod. “You don’t need to. You’re already the best.”
He groans like it’s the first thing all week that’s gone right.
Some nights, he’s too tired to move.
Not too tired to want you - never that - but the exhaustion sets into his bones. After patrol. After hours of training rookies who can’t keep their damn heads down. After public relations meetings where he grits his teeth so hard, his jaw aches the next morning.
You always know when it’s one of those nights. He walks in slower, heavier. He doesn’t talk much. Just drops into bed in nothing but sweatpants, scarred arm draped over his eyes like he’s trying to block out the whole world.
You throw a leg over his lap, straddle him slow. Push the waistband of his sweats down enough to free his cock, already half-hard just from feeling your weight over him.
He barely opens his eyes, just lifts his hand off his face, lets it fall to your hip.
“What’re you up to, princess.” He mutters, voice rough.
You don’t answer. Just press a kiss to his chest - right over his scar between his pecs. Then another near his ribs. Then higher, up the column of his throat, where his pulse flutters beneath your lips.
By the time your mouth brushes the corner of his jaw, you’re sinking down onto him.
His thumb circles your hip, the muscles in his forearm flexing. You notice the faint tremor in his left hand - the one that’s never fully healed - and cover it with yours.
“Easy.” You whisper. “I got you.”
He lets out a shaky exhale. The tension starts to leave him, bit by bit.
“Shit…that’s it. Just like that.” He groans.
You ride him slow, patient, hands on his chest, your own breath catching at the stretch. Watching his face soften - eyes fluttering, jaw slack - like you’re draining the whole day out of him one thrust at a time.
Sometimes he slaps your ass, lazy but heavy-handed. Sometimes he grabs it in both palms and groans, “You’re such a fuckin’ problem, y’know that?”
But he always praises you. Always.
“So warm. So tight. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”
You just keep going - rolling your hips in long, smooth circles, holding his gaze when he opens his eyes, brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead when it starts to stick. You ride out every ounce of tension until his arms finally relax. Until his left shoulder - the bad one - goes slack against the mattress instead of staying braced like it always does.
And just when you think you’ve got him all soft, all sweet and melted beneath you -
He grabs your hips with both hands. Sits up with a growl, face tucked into your neck, arms flexing.
And he starts fucking up into you like he’s got something to prove. Hard. Deep. Fast enough to punch little gasps out of your throat and make your fingers dig into his scarred shoulders.
“That what you wanted?” He moans against your skin. “Huh? Wanted to treat me? You like playin’ house like this? Like takin’ care of your man?”
You nod, whimpering, riding every brutal thrust. His mouth is on your collarbone, biting, then soothing. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, louder with every slap of his hips.
But even when he’s taking over - even when he’s fucking you hard enough to make your whole body tremble - you can still see it in his face:
Relief.
And afterwards, you both lay there quietly.
“…Guess that counts as physical therapy,” He mutters, voice low, rough, and just a little amused.
You smile, eyes still closed. “You’re welcome, Dynamight.”
He chuckles softly, hand sliding up your spine. “Brat.”
And of course, it's happened in bed, too. More times than you could count.
You’d be half-asleep. He’d come in late, long after midnight, after another triple shift he didn’t complain about because he never did. You’d feel the dip of the mattress, the warmth of his body, the way he’d nudge your legs apart and slip his fingers between them like he belonged there.
“Need it." He’d whisper hoarsely against your thigh. “Need you, princess.”
You’d open your legs for him without a word. Always.
And another night, you heard him come in before you saw him.
Even when he tried to be quiet - which he never really was.
The front door clicked shut, low and heavy, followed by the dull thud of his boots being kicked off. Then the rustle of fabric, a muttered curse under his breath, and the sound of the shower starting. Water hitting tile. A groan as he stepped under it.
By the time he came into the bedroom, the lights were still off.
A towel hung loose at his hips, chest still damp, and his face scrubbed clean. You sat up slightly, already reaching for him.
He didn’t say anything. Just let the towel fall.
Then he climbed into bed with the kind of tired grunt you’d only ever heard from him after long patrol nights. Hands immediately on you - pulling you into his chest, nudging your thigh up over his hip like it was second nature.
He ducked his head down and pressed his face to your chest with a deep exhale, letting the weight of the day fall off his shoulders.
You smoothed your fingers through his damp hair, voice soft. “Long day?”
“Mm.” He muttered. “Long fuckin’ month.”
He didn’t move right away. But then, his hand slipped between your bodies - warm and rough, trailing down your stomach before cupping between your thighs.
He paused. Then let out a low, cocky breath against your collarbone.
“Already wet for me, huh?” He murmured, fingers teasing through the slick at your entrance.
You flushed, heat crawling up your neck. “You’ve been gone all day.”
“So?” He grinned against your skin, lazy and smug. “You needy or somethin’?”
“Shut up.”
But your legs parted anyway, lifted your hips a little, silently inviting. And he slid in with one slow, firm push, stretching you open inch by inch. You both sighed at the same time.
He stilled again, fully seated inside you, cock pulsing deep where it fit snug and hot. He stayed like that, heavy and quiet, one palm splayed low on your belly.
Everything outside was loud.
Dispatch calls, training drills, kids screaming for his name in the streets, citizens arguing with officers, villains roaring through buildings.
But here, with you, it was quiet.
He stayed like that for minutes - just breathing you in, cock twitching inside you while the tension left his shoulders one slow breath at a time.
Eventually, he moved. Just a slow roll of his hips at first, lazy and deep. The kind of thrust that made your eyes flutter. That made your body grip around him tight and slow.
You whined and he caught your face in one hand, kissed you without thinking.
Then again. And again.
His rhythm built with it, the slick sound of him moving inside you growing louder, messier. He groaned against your cheek, and when he pulled back, his eyes dropped to where your bodies met.
A crooked, smug half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.
“Shit.” He muttered, amused by the sound. “Listen to that.”
You could. Loud, wet squelches every time his hips rolled forward.
You wanted to cover your face, but he caught your wrists, pinned them. His chest brushed against yours. His breath stayed hot and shallow.
And for once - he didn’t say much. No rants. No swearing about rookies or the bullshit media or whatever villain pissed him off this week.
Just quiet.
Just the occasional hum against your throat, the warm grunt of his breath through his nose, and the heavy drag of his cock inside you like he finally had permission to stop holding everything up on his own.
Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your body melted into the sheets. And when you moaned - head tipped back, eyes fluttering as you felt him press deeper, brushing so far inside it ached - he leaned down to kiss the underside of your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek.
“Katsuki…ah.” You whined, breath hitching.
He groaned, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Yeah. I know.”
Another thrust. Another slick sound. Your body gave and clenched around him, dizzy with the heat of it.
And still, he didn’t rush.
Because the world out there was loud. But in here, with you, it was quiet.
⋆.ೃ࿔. sanemi fucked the hashira out of you
tw: rough sex, breeding kink, domesticity, creampie, soft aftercare
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thank you everyone who voted in the poll !! here is part two based off those results. xxx
PART ONE
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After that night, it was obvious. Sanemi had made it his fucking mission.
Every time he got his cock in you, he came deep. No pulling out, no hesitation. Just rutting hard, groaning low in your ear when his cum spilled thick and hot inside you.
You knew what he was doing. He didn’t even bother hiding it.
Sometimes you’d try to fight him on it, sitting up, grabbing the back of his white hair, yanking until he hissed. “If you don’t pull out, I swear I’ll - ”
But he’d only smirk through gritted teeth, fucking into you harder, the clap of his hips snapping against your pelvis loud in the quiet room. “Yeah? Gonna slap me? While you’re squeezin’ my cock like that?”
And then you’d both be coming, you yanking his hair, him groaning through clenched teeth, pumping you so full you felt it drip down your thighs. His scarred fingers always shoved it back in, two thick digits pressing the mess inside while he muttered under his breath about “wastin’ good cum” if he didn’t.
Other times he slowed down. Had you in his lap, riding him slow and deep, his scarred hands gripping your ass as his head tilted back. His breath came in harsh pants, his voice cracking with need.
“Fuck…just give it to me already. Want you round with my kid. Can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”
And the way he said it - passive aggressive, like a complaint, like he hated himself for wanting it so badly - made your body clench down on him even harder. And you couldn’t help it.
Morning after, nothing changed. You both pulled on your uniforms, acting like he hadn’t fucked his load into you the night before. You trained. You worked with the lower ranks. You listened to the Kakushi rattle off missions - and Sanemi always scoffed, clicking his tongue, throwing you an annoyed look when your name got called.
But you knew it was only a matter of time before his efforts paid off.
Because you were at it like rabbits. Sanemi’s stamina was insane, even by Hashira standards. Some mornings he came home right before sunrise, uniform dirty and still the first thing he did was shove you into the futon, pounding into you with adrenaline, chasing another orgasm out of you just so he could cum deep again.
Lately, you noticed it more. The way his hands gripped you tighter, the way his thrusts turned frantic when he groaned into your skin about the shit he saw on missions.
Every time, he fucked you like he was chasing a cure to it. Like knocking you up was the only way he’d ever let you out of that hell.
So yeah. Sanemi wasn’t gonna stop.
____________
You tried to keep things professional. Both of you did.
You were Hashira before anything else. There was no room for tenderness, no space for love in the Corps.
Still, it bled through the cracks. Especially now, with this new…assignment on Sanemi’s mind.
In meetings, when missions were handed out, Sanemi always started arguing.
“Not this one.” He’d mutter, glaring at the map. “Too far. I’ll take it.”
“It’s mine.’” You’d snap, snatching the slip.
“You’re not goin’ out there alone.”
“Not your call.”
“The fuck it isn’t.”
Shinobu would let out a short exhale. “Would the Wind and the…currently domestically entangled Hashira take this outside?”
You both glared at her.
It happened often now - bickering over patrol routes, over duty stations that were meant to last weeks, investigations. You could feel his stare burn through you during briefings, even when you refused to meet it.
Rengoku once laughed quietly, hands folded in his haori sleeves. “Ah, young love! There’s such passion in your quarrels.”
“I’ll show you passion.” Sanemi started to bark, and you elbowed him so hard in the ribs he choked.
And yeah, he pissed you off. Yeah, we was overbearing.
But, when you came home after sunset - when the world finally stilled, the wind calmed, and the weight of your sword had begun to settle heavy on your spine - you’d find him waiting.
He always waited.
Especially after the long missions. The ones in remote areas, where the threat ran deeper, quieter. The ones where you'd be gone for days. Sometimes weeks. Too far for his crow to reach often. Too dangerous for sleep to come easy.
So, he’d wait. Right there. On the top step of your shared estate, elbows resting heavy on his knees.
When you finally walked up that path - he always tried to act like he hadn’t been sitting there for hours.
“Don’t you have better things to do?” You’d sigh, shrugging off your haori.
“Yes.” He’d mutter, eyes sweeping from head to toe for injury, “But couldn’t sleep, I guess.”
You’d fight a smile, soft and small. “You’re terrible at pretending you don’t worry.”
He scoffed, gaze jerking away. “Tch. Don’t flatter yourself.”
But you saw it - plain as day. The way his shoulders finally dropped when you brushed past him. The way his chest rose fuller, easier, like he hadn’t really been breathing until he saw you.
Sometimes, he didn’t even say anything else. Just stood behind you while you peeled off your uniform, while you wiped the grime from your skin.
And when you sank onto the futon, muscles aching and eyelids drooping, he was there - pulling the blanket over you without a word. Calloused fingers brushing hair from your cheek.
You both knew - whatever rage he flung at the world during the day - his peace never came until he saw you, safe and whole, standing in front of him again.
Because he couldn’t rest - not really - until you did.
Until your voice met his ears.
Until your eyes - maybe tired, but still alive - met his across the threshold.
And gods help anyone or anything who tried to stand in the way of that.
____________
He never really slept. Not unless exhaustion forced it out of him.
Your estate laterns burned low, and Sanemi’s arm was slung around your waist, heavy and unmoving. His breathing came steady and deep, but you knew better.
You could tell by the way his thumb kept dragging the same slow circle over your hipbone. The way his chest stayed too tight against your back - not loose, not softened by sleep. And every now and then, his fingers would twitch.
His sword was always close. Within arm’s reach on his side of the futon, still sheathed but never far. Just in case.
And you knew it wasn’t about paranoia. Not completely.
It was that restless instinct to protect. The deep, marrow-deep knowledge that peace was a fragile, dying thing - that one blink, one breath, one wrong sound, and it could all be gone.
You didn’t try to tell him to sleep. You’d learned not to.
Instead, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and brought it to rest over your stomach.
“You’re awake again.” You whispered, voice soft.
He huffed against your neck. “No shit.”
You smiled faintly, brushing your thumb over his scarred knuckles. “You could try closing your eyes.”
He just huffed. Partially annoyed, partially defeated.
So you turned slightly in his arms, just enough to see his face in the dim light - the deep shadows under his eyes, the lines carved into his brow, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin.
And gods, he was beautiful in that moment. Rough edges softened. Vulnerable. Human.
You reached up, brushing a bit of hair off his forehead. “Close your eyes at the same time as me.”
He swallowed hard. His jaw tightened. Then finally, “Fine.”
Sometimes, if he did drift off, it didn’t last.
You’d feel it before you heard it - that sharp, quiet intake of breath as he jerked awake, eyes flying open in the dark.
He’d sit up, scanning the room and then, like clockwork, he’d reach for you.
Two fingers pressing lightly to your throat. Checking your pulse.
And when he felt it - the steady beat beneath his fingertips, he’d exhale. “Sorry.” He’d whisper.
You’d shake your head, catching his hand in yours, pressing it flat to your chest. “Don’t be.”
He’d hold it there for a while, feeling your heartbeat against his palm, until it lulled him back into silence.
And sometimes, instead of reaching for your pulse, he’d reach for you.
Fingers curling in the fabric of your robe, tugging it loose. No words, just that slow, careful movement - like asking without asking.
And then he’d fuck you, soft and slow - slower than usual - in the stillness of the hour before dawn. One hand gripping your thigh, the other braced by your head as he murmured into your skin.
“Want you to have my kids.” He’d whisper, breath catching in his throat, hips pressing deeper. “Need it…You’d take care of ‘em. Of all of us. Keep us in line. Keep me sane.”
You laughed softly, breathless. “You think I could keep you in line?”
He smiled against your mouth - small, aching. “You already do.”
His thrusts stayed deep, unhurried, his hands moving up your sides, feeling every tremor of your body under his. The room smelled like sweat and heat and the faint sweetness of the oil lamp burning low.
And when he came - hot, thick, deep - he buried his face in your neck, groaning your name.
He didn’t move right away. Didn’t pull out. Just stayed there, trembling slightly, breathing you in.
“I want it.” He murmured again. “A home. A kid. You. All of it.”
You brushed your fingers through his hair, your heart twisting.
“I know, Nemi.”
He pressed a soft kiss to your throat, eyes closing as he breathed you in.
Maybe, you thought, this wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe being his wife - being the home he kept coming back to - wouldn’t be so bad.
Maybe he was right.
____________
A couple weeks later, it was a quiet night at your estate.
No Kakushi lingering in the hall. No servants fluttering between rooms, lighting lanterns or drawing water for baths. You’d dismissed them all gently at sunset, murmuring something about wanting the house to yourself for the evening.
And for once, Sanemi was too.
Dinner was quiet, and simple. Miso broth. Grilled rice balls. Leftover tempura that you reheated yourself, waving Sanemi away when he tried to hover near the stove like he might actually offer to help.
You ate across from each other on the floor, cushions pulled in close, the lanternlight dim and flickering as you talked about nothing. Patrol routes. The last time you’d seen Mitsuri. The cracks forming in your favorite wooden teacup.
You didn’t realize you were watching him so openly until he looked up at you, jaw flexing mid-bite.
“What?”
“Nothing.” You murmured, looking away.
But it wasn’t nothing. Not really.
Because Sanemi had just licked rice from his thumb - and all you could think about was how those same fingers might look curled around something much smaller. Softer. How he might cradle a child the way he held his sword - too tight at first, until he learned gentleness.
You imagined him muttering under his breath about noise and clutter and how “no one ever puts shit back where it belongs.”
But the moment that baby tugged at his leg, or held their arms up to be picked up - he’d melt. You knew it. He’d groan, maybe. Pretend to be reluctant. But the second that wobbly little voice said “papa,” he’d drop everything.
Scarred hands scooping up tiny limbs. Battle-worn fingers smoothing over soft cheeks.
You pictured him out in the garden, sleeves rolled up, trying to help the kid balance on their feet while grumbling about “weak little ankles” and “who the hell falls over that easily.”
You imagined him coming home after a long mission, blood soaked on his knuckles, and setting his sword down before walking straight into the nursery.
Yeah. You could see it.
You could see him - the man behind the mean attitude - as a father.
And it did something to you.
You blinked down at your bowl, suddenly flushed.
What the hell.
You weren’t supposed to want that. You were still a Hashira. You were still capable.
Didn’t you?
You chewed slowly, lips pressed together. The thought lingered. And before you even realized it, your body moved before your brain could stop you.
When he stepped into the bedroom - yawning, loose robe slipping even further down his scarred chest - you reached for him.
“The hell’s gotten into you tonight?” He asked, catching himself on one foot as you tugged him down.
You didn’t answer. Just pulled until he dropped onto the futon with a grunt, letting you swing your leg over his hips and settle in his lap.
Your robe pooled around your thighs. His hands automatically gripped them.
“You’re in a mood.” He muttered. But his thumbs were rubbing circles into your skin, slow. Curious.
“Are you complaining?”
His jaw flexed.
“No.”
Your mouth caught his before he could say anything else. The kiss was slow, wet - lips gliding, tongue pushing past teeth with familiar hunger. You ground against him through the fabric, hips dragging low and deliberate, and he let out a quiet grunt against your mouth.
“You keep looking at me like that.” He rasped, eyes half-lidded, “You’re not gonna walk tomorrow.”
“And if I said that was my plan?”
Sanemi groaned, head falling back, the curve of his throat exposed to the warm lamplight. You kissed down it, slow and messy, even as your hands tugged at the belt of his robe. His cock was already thick and hot beneath you, twitching with every slow grind of your hips.
“Shit.” He muttered, squeezing your ass. “Didn’t even get through dinner before gettin’ needy?”
You should’ve teased him back. Should’ve called him insufferable, rolled your eyes, pushed his head down into the futon and rode him without a word.
But instead -
“How bad do you want me to quit?”
The question slipped out on a whisper. Too honest.
Sanemi stilled. His voice dropped low - that rare, almost reverent rasp he only ever used when it was just you.
“I’d throw myself in front of a blade if it meant you’d never have to lift yours again.”
You blinked.
“I’d tie you to this damn estate if I thought you’d let me.”
“Maniac.”
He grinned, but it was pained.
The words made your chest squeeze. Because gods help you - you were starting to get it.
You wanted to laugh. Or cry. You weren’t sure which. Maybe both. Because you’d spent your entire life fighting for the chance to fight. And now, with his hands on your skin, your body slick and warm and straddling his lap…
You were thinking about kids. About gardens. About quiet nights waiting for him to come home.
Shit.
What if you already were?
Your eyes darted down to where his cock was pressed against your soaked folds. You hadn’t bled in…how long now? Three weeks? A little more?
He noticed. “The fuck are you thinking so hard about?” He muttered, eyes narrowing as he slipped a hand between your bodies and palmed your cunt, rubbing slow.
“Nothing.” You lied.
Sanemi hummed, reached up, and tugged your robe open the rest of the way, dragging it off your shoulders until you sat bare in his lap, flushed.
“Look at you.” He muttered, sitting up on one elbow just to look.
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched his face as his eyes drank you in - the slope of your breasts, the sheen of sweat on your collarbone, the soft flex of your thighs straddling his lap.
You didn’t hesitate.
You reached between your thighs, gripped his cock, and lined yourself up - letting yourself sink down with a breathless gasp.
“Fuck.” He choked, hand slamming to your hip to keep you steady as your cunt squeezed around him.
You rolled your hips slow, eyes fluttering shut.
And all you could think about - between each wet, dragging thrust - was him.
Sanemi. Crouched in the backyard, holding a small toddler by the arms. Guiding their steps with loud, clumsy encouragement.
Sanemi. Holding a baby after a mission. Skin stained in blood, but whispering soft apologies as he cradled them against his chest.
Sanemi. Coming home to you in a quiet kitchen, arms wrapping around your waist, voice low in your ear, asking how his girls were.
You clenched around him so hard he groaned.
“Fuck - you trying to snap my cock in half?”
“I think I want it.” You whispered. “All of it.”
He blinked up at you, chest heaving.
“Want you. A family. All of it.”
He cupped your face then - both hands, suddenly - pulling you down into a kiss that tasted like home.
Your thighs started to ache, muscles trembling. His hands gripped your hips, dragging your body against his in slow, grinding rolls that made your breath catch.
Then one of his hands smoothed up your back, calloused fingers tracing your spine, before he cupped the base of your neck.
You let him move. Let him roll his hips up, deep and slow, cock dragging along every slick ridge inside you like he was trying to carve his name into you from the inside out. Every thrust was deliberate - measured, not rushed.
And gods, he was warm.
You could feel it in your core, that slow build starting all over again, your stomach tightening with every roll of his hips.
His hand cupped your ass. Guided you. Encouraged you.
“So fuckin’ pretty like this. Mine.” He murmured, glancing down between your bodies
He sat up suddenly, arms sliding around your waist in one swift motion - hugging you to him, pulling you in so tight you could barely breathe.
You gasped, arms looping around his neck, pressing your forehead to his shoulder as his cock stayed seated deep inside you.
“Mine.” He whispered, rough. “My pretty wife.”
You froze. Just for a moment.
“You’re all I need.” He breathed. “You hear me?”
Your fingers dug into his hair, gripping tight. You could barely speak past the lump rising in your throat.
“And you’re gonna help me…” He went on, voice raw and low, “Raise the best damn kids this world’s ever seen.”
You nodded, barely breathing.
“You’re gonna be such a good mom.” He whispered. “So good. So sweet. Gonna love them like crazy. Gonna - fuck - gonna love me even when I don’t deserve it.”
You kissed his temple, forehead, cheek - anywhere you could reach.
His arms tightened.
“I’ve never wanted anything like this.” He whispered. “Not ‘til you.”
You whimpered - just a little - because it hit too hard, too deep.
Because you wanted it now. You didn’t know when that happened. Didn’t know how his hands and voice and stupid, hopeful dreams burrowed their way inside you.
You buried your face in his shoulder, voice shaky.
“I think I’m already pregnant.”
Sanemi stilled.
His arms didn’t loosen. Just pulled you in even tighter.
“…Good.”
You lifted your head, and he kissed you before you could finish, slow and soft.
And then he moved again, hips tilting up, slow and deep.
You cried out - his name on your lips, nails digging into his shoulder, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.
He rocked into you with everything he had. “My pretty girl.” He murmured. “My sweet lady. My wife.”
“Sanemi -”
“Gonna make you a mom. Gonna take care of you. Always.”
You nodded, clinging to him.
“Even if I gotta cut down the whole world to do it.”
You came hard and he quickly chased after it. Your moans echoing off each other.
And when he stilled - come spilling deep and hot inside you, arms wrapped around your waist, body shuddering as he groaned into your skin - you stayed like that.
The whole world soft for once.
Just the two of you.
Maybe three.
____________
The front gate creaked open with a clang, wood smacking against wood.
“Shinazugawa-sama, please, let us—”
“Go home.” Sanemi barked, not even bothering to look at the two estate servants still waiting by the corridor. “I didn’t ask for a damn welcome party.”
“But your uniform, sir—”
“I said go home.”
You smiled faintly to yourself, the laundryline creaking as you reached up to pin the last yukata sleeve in place.
You could hear him now - feet heavy, pace sure, irritation in every step. A door opened. Another slammed shut. A muttered curse. A huff of breath.
Then silence.
And a heartbeat later -
“…there you are.”
You didn’t turn around.
Sanemi crossed the yard in ten strides, no haori, just his sleeveless corps uniform clinging to his frame - all scarred biceps, and sharp muscle cutting beneath his open collar. His white hair was damp from training, jaw tight, the scowl on his face softening the moment he saw your hands full.
“Tch.” He grumbled, coming up behind you. “Didn’t I say you’re supposed to be relaxing?”
“Didn’t you want a housewife? I’m doing wife things.”
A beat of silence.
Then a resigned scoff as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, palms immediately finding your stomach like they were drawn there by instinct. He pressed his face into your shoulder, muttering something indecipherable, and you could feel the way his chest rose and fell against your back, slower now.
“Be nice to the staff, Sanemi.”
“They’re annoying.”
“They’re trying to help.”
“I don’t need help. I need you.”
You laughed softly, leaning back into him. “You saw me this morning.”
He kissed your temple, voice gruff in your ear. “Wasn’t enough.”
His hands rubbed along the curve of your belly, slow and warm, and you could feel the way his shoulders dropped. Like tension bled out of him with every pass of his thumb. His cheek brushed against your hair.
“You alright?” he murmured.
“Mhm.”
“Feet hurting again?”
“A little.”
He turned his head and pressed a kiss into the space just behind your ear. “Should’ve had your ass up by early with me to soak.”
You smiled. “You’ll come bathe with me later, right?”
He snorted. “What kind of question is that?”
Another laugh. Another little pause, full of nothing but breath and breeze and the sound of laundry rustling on the line.
“I got a couple names.” He said suddenly, low and casual, like it was something he’d been sitting on all day. “For the next ones.”
You tilted your head. “Next what?”
He looked down pointedly.
You rolled your eyes. “We haven’t even had this one yet.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He muttered, rubbing lazy circles into your side. “Told you how many I want.”
You arched a brow. “Oh, so that’s all I’m good for now? Making babies?”
Sanemi gave a low snort, hands unapologetically sliding over your sides to settle beneath the swell of your belly. “You weren’t complaining about it the other night.”
You turned just enough to catch the smirk on his face.
He shrugged, unrepentant. “Said you’d give me four more while you were bouncin’ on my cock. Don’t remember? Sounded real sincere.”
Your face burned. “Sanemi…”
He ducked to kiss your cheek, all smug affection and rough warmth.
“Pretty sure you asked me to fuck more babies into you. That you wanted our house full of ‘em.”
You slapped his chest with the back of your hand, face hot. “That was the pregnancy hormones talking.”
He just snorted, mouth pressed to the side of your neck again, smirking against your skin. “Mm. Sure it was.” He mumbled.
You shook your head. “One at a time, Shinazugawa.”
Silence fell over the yard again. Just the two of you. Cicadas humming. Fabric flapping softly overhead.
His grip on you loosened slightly.
“C’mere.” He mumbled.
You followed him back inside.
And you thought - he had done it. He succeed in fucking the Hashira out of you.
Because nothing about you missed the corps.
Not when he was like this.
Not when home smelled like sun-warmed linens and sweat and his skin.
Not when his arms wrapped around you like this was the safest place in the world.
Not when you were pregnant with his kid, and he was already planning for the next.
You were his wife. His pretty lady. His soft place to land after long days.
And you were happy with that.
𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰
This blog is 18+ only. Please respect that and don’t interact if you’re underage.
★ I don’t work through requests in order - I pick what inspires me. If yours doesn’t get done, it’s because it didn’t click for me, it went against my rules, or I just wasn’t comfortable.
★ Please have your age visible somewhere on your blog!
★ I will only write for anime I’ve seen and manga I’ve read. If what you want isn’t on my pinned list, just ask! I’ll let you know if I can do it or not. My pinned is mostly what I’m fixated on at the moment, so that’s where my inspiration usually lies.
★ I will ONLY write NSFW for characters who are canon 18+. If a series has a timeskip (like Haikyuu!!), I’ll only write NSFW for their canon timeskip ages. Canon underage characters (with no canon timeskip) will always be SFW only if requested or if I’m inspired to write them (ex: Megumi, Itadori from Jujutsu Kaisen). Basically, I will not “age up” characters for the plot.
★ I will not write: sh¡t, p¡ss kink, big age gaps, ageplay, depression, incest (including step family), pedophilia, animal play, cnc, vore, vom!t, SH, ED, SA.
⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆
Thanks for respecting my limits and for being here! ᯓ★
⋆.✴︎˚｡ rengoku fucks like fire
tw: sweat, overstimulation, praise, noisy sex, creampie
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It was always like this with Rengoku. Loving. Sweet. Passionate. And yet - so hot.
Not just the heat in your belly, not just the fire licking up your spine every time he pushed deep. No, physically hot. The kind of sticky warmth that had sweat pooling at your temples, rolling down your ribs, dampening every inch of you until the sheets clung to your skin.
Because Rengoku ran warm. Always had. Always would. And when he fucked you - really fucked you - there was no escaping it.
Blankets were thrown to the side of the futon, windows pushed open wide for any hint of cool night air. But it never lasted long. The sounds carried - the sharp slap of skin, the messy squelch between your thighs, his deep whines and your moans tumbling together into the quiet estate, loud enough that anyone passing by could hear.
Sweat ran down his temples, dripping onto your skin, and you wiped it away for him with shaky hands even as your body bounced with the rhythm of his thrusts.
Your nails dug into his back, his skin burning hot under your fingertips. His chest pressed slick to yours, heartbeat hammering as he pounded into you, each thrust punching a gasp from your lips. He licked the salt from your collarbone, tongue dragging up your throat, lapping at the sweat beading at your jaw until his mouth found your ear.
“You taste divine.” He groaned, hips snapping harder as you clenched around him.
Your thighs shook, trembling around his waist, but he only held you tighter, palms spreading wide across your hips, keeping you open for him. His breath was ragged, hot puffs spilling against your cheek as he muttered in between sloppy kisses.
“So good. You take me so well, my love. Made for me. My sweet little - ah - flame.”
Every position, every angle, he gave you everything. One moment he was deep between your legs, your ankles hooked over his shoulders as he pressed you flat into the futon, fucking down into you until your voice broke.
Then he pulled you into his lap, sitting upright on the futon, and made you ride him. Your legs always shook from how big he was, from the way he stretched you so deep it made your vision blur. You’d clutch at his broad shoulders, whining, and he’d only smile, those massive hands gripping your hips, guiding you down, sometimes even lifting you up and slamming you back down onto him when your thighs gave out. His cock split you open with every bounce, the squelch of your soaked cunt echoing in the room, sweat dripping off both your bodies, making your skin shine under the soft flicker of lanterns and candlelight.
He loved it. Loved watching your body glisten, loved seeing you gasp when he leaned forward, licking the sweat dripping down your sternum, between your breasts, before shoving his face there, mouthing at your tits. All while he held you down on his cock, stretching you deeper, refusing to let you escape the heat.
Then he’d move you again, laying you back against the futon, pressing your knees to your chest so he could pound into you until your eyes rolled back. Or he’d flip you over, pin you to the tatami, fucking you from behind with his chest smothering your back, sweat dripping down your shoulders as he groaned into your ear.
And every time, you begged. For more. For him to never stop. For him to keep you full until you couldn’t breathe from it.
His hips would met yours with a messy slap, when his balls smacked against your soaked folds, when his praises tumbled rough and needy from his mouth - louder, harsher than his usual blazing voice, but so full of love it made you ache.
And he gave it to you. Again, and again, and again. Until your thighs shook, until your body was about to give out and your lungs couldn’t catch enough air.
Rengoku always put his heart into everything. Fighting, living, loving - and fucking you. He fucked like fire, unrelenting, burning, warm and wild.
And you couldn’t get enough.
Because when you came apart underneath him, nails scratching fire down his back, sweat soaking into the futon, his body locking tight against yours as he spilled hot and thick inside you - you felt it. The molten rush of his release, spilling fast and heavy, scalding warmth spreading through your cunt until your toes curled.
And you kept him there, deep, savoring it, clutching him close as though you’d burn if you ever let go.
Because he was fire in your heart too.
if you write a fic with gyomei my life will be yours
i was thinking about writing him hehehe 💚 !!
may I please request a tengen x reader x his wives ? 😓😓😓🥹 also do u take anons ? if yes can I be 🎀 anon ?
oh absolutely !! this is in the works!!
and im new to tumblr tbh!! so you might have to explain the anon thing but sure absolutely u can be 🎀 :) thank u so much for reading!
𐙚₊˚⊹ tengen makes it fit
tw: size kink, virgin!reader, praise, corruption kink, creampie
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The other wives had promised you he would be gentle. That he’d take his time, that you’d have nothing to worry about. And you believed them, you did - but that didn’t stop the nerves twisting in your stomach as you sat with Tengen on the futon, lanterns flickering warm shadows across the walls of the master bedroom.
He could feel it, see it in your eyes. His hand slipped to your waist, heavy and grounding, tugging you into his lap until you were straddling him, thighs spread wide over his, heart racing against his chest.
“Breathe, little gem." He murmured against your jaw, kissing softly, slowly down your neck. “It’s just me. Only me tonight.”
The ties of your robe loosened under his deft fingers, silk slipping from your shoulders. His mouth followed, tracing the dip of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts. His big hands kneaded, thumbs brushing your nipples until they stiffened, and then his mouth closed over one, sucking until you gasped and clutched his shoulders.
Before you realized it, you were rocking in his lap, rubbing your bare cunt against the hard ridge of his cock beneath his robe. He let you. Encouraged you, even - one large hand sliding lower, pressing you down against him while his teeth grazed your nipple.
The wetness sticking to your thighs embarrassed you, but his grin told you he loved it. “Good girl. That’s it.”
When his hand finally slipped between your thighs, your body jolted. His fingers spread you open, dipping into the slick heat and circling your clit. “Easy." He soothed, kissing your throat. “Relax for me.”
One thick finger eased in, stretching you slow, his thumb never leaving your clit. Then another joined, scissoring carefully until you were panting into his chest, the coil tightening deep inside you. He curled, pressed, stroked - until you came hard in his lap, cunt spasming around his fingers, thighs trembling.
He held you through it, kissing your temple. “That’s my girl. Knew you’d be sweet for me.”
The futon was warm under your back as he gently flipped positions, lanterns flickering low shadows across the room. Tengen slipped his robes off, and when you finally dared to look at him — really look — your throat went dry.
He was beautiful. Too beautiful. The kind of beauty that almost hurt to look at. Broad shoulders glistened in the candlelight, muscles carved and flexing as he shrugged the last of the fabric from his frame. His chest was sculpted, his arms thick and scarred, and every line of his body looked like it had been chiseled from stone.
And then there was his cock. Long, thick, flushed dark at the tip, a bead of precum already glistening. Heavy, intimidating.
You clenched your thighs together without meaning to, trying to hide your reaction. But his big hands caught your knees, pressing them apart, holding you open with ease. “None of that." He murmured, voice low and smooth. “You don’t hide from me, pretty thing.”
Heat crawled up your neck as he kissed you, lowering his body over yours, his cock heavy against your folds. The first push inside made your head snap back, a desperate whine escaping your throat. He’d barely eased halfway in, and already your walls were fluttering, your nails biting into the muscle of his arm.
“C-can’t." You gasped, hips twitching, tears pricking your lashes from the overwhelming stretch.
Tengen groaned through clenched teeth, his jaw tight as he forced himself to stay still. “Ah - you’re tight. Gonna break me in half.” He pressed his forehead to yours, kissing you softly, patiently. “You can. You got it, sweet girl.”
He reached under your hips, tucking a pillow beneath you to ease the angle. His lips brushed every inch of your face - your nose, your temple, the corners of your eyes - as he whispered, “Breathe, baby. Let me in. That’s it.”
When the tears finally spilled, hot down your cheeks, he caught them with his tongue, kissing them away. “Beautiful." He murmured, kissing your wet lashes. “Even when you cry. Especially when you cry for me.”
You sobbed softly, thighs trembling, the fullness already overwhelming - and he moved again, slow, deliberate, pushing another few inches inside. Your mouth fell open, a whine catching in your throat, hands clutching at the hard muscle of his arm.
“Easy." Tengen soothed, his voice strained but steady, kissing the corner of your mouth as his cock sank deeper. “I know. I know. I’ve got a lot to give you. We’ll take it slow.”
His words made you throb around him, your walls clenching tight, shame and arousal tangling until you whimpered. He groaned, feeling it, his hips twitching. “You like that, huh? My sweet wife, letting me stretch her open, crying on my cock. Gods, you’re perfect.”
Every bit of praise made you ache more, made the heat coil tighter low in your belly. You could feel yourself dripping, your cunt clenching greedily around him even as he stayed still, letting you adjust.
“Good girl." He whispered, brushing his lips against yours again and again. “My tight little gem. Made to take me. Gonna make you mine like this, again and again.”
And fuck, he loved it - the corruption of it. His sweet, nervous, virgin wife unraveling beneath him, already so wet and snug, walls fluttering like you were begging for more. His cock pulsed inside you at the thought of how easily he could ruin you, turn you into his perfect little toy, pliant and wrecked beneath his praise.
When your thighs finally relaxed, he rocked forward again, just a little deeper, his arms caging you in. You whimpered, legs hooking instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer.
“That’s it." He groaned, hips starting a slow, steady rhythm. “There’s my girl. Tight fit, but still a fit.”
He bear-hugged you against his chest, his body overwhelming yours, your moans spilling into his ear with every thrust. He licked at the tears still clinging to your cheeks, kissed your mouth messy and wet, whispering praise between every movement.
“Perfect wife. Gorgeous girl. My everything. You’re mine now. All mine.”
It didn’t take long. Your nails raked down his broad back, your heels digging hard into the muscles of his ass as the tension inside you snapped, your whole body convulsing around him. You came hard, squeezing him so tightly he almost saw stars.
Tengen, who usually took his time before blowing his load, nearly lost it right there. The way you sobbed in his ear, the slick gush of your cunt around him, the way you clung to him like you’d drown without him - it made his head spin. He kissed you softly, frantically, over and over, apologizing between the presses of his lips. “Sorry, sweet girl… I can’t… you feel too good.”
Then he sat back on his heels, chest heaving, his massive hands gripping your waist. With what little control he had left, he started to thrust again - deeper, harder. Watching your body bounce on his cock, your tits jolting with every movement, had his vision tunneling.
Your moans grew louder than they had all night, your head tipped back, crying out for him as overstimulation shuddered through your body. He chased it, chased your second orgasm, chased his own release - groaning through gritted teeth as your cunt squeezed down again.
“Shit. Look at you." He rasped, sweat dripping down his temple, smirk tugging at his lips even as his eyes rolled back.
Your walls clamped down, spasming tight, and he finally let go. His head tipped back, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he came hard inside you, thick spurts filling you deep. He gripped your waist tight, grinding you down on his cock, making sure you took every drop.
And he couldn't help but let out a soft laugh through his pants.
Yeah, it fit. Barely. And it was so tight there was no way in hell he was pulling out.