hey. you have to love your trans brothers of color okay. and your trans sisters of color. and your nonbinary siblings of color. you have to okay. its simply non-optional
cw: tipsy bkg, head (m) (ikr how crazy), fluff, smut, established relationship. probably typos. i’ll add borders later.
“where…,” there’s a soft slam of your front door, keys being thrown on the table and boots being kicked off. a light stumble with a swear tacked on at the end. “where are you?”
“bedroom!” you call, sitting on your bed to pull up your large pyjama t-shirt to the tops of your thighs and opening your tub of vanilla body cream.
your response gets an incoherent mumble across your flat as there’s more shuffling down your hallway. a jacket being tugged off and… something else?
bakugou katsuki’s head pops through the doorway first. droopy eyes, wrinkled black t-shirt (he did leave here with a jumper so you wonder where that is) and no trousers (jumper is probably where the trousers are).
“did you lose your clothes outside?” you laugh as strong thick legs wade their way towards you.
he moves like a zombie with his fluffy messy hair, slow walk with his arms out to you.
the six foot four pro hero shakes his head at you sloppily, towering over your frame for a second before dropping to his knees between your legs. he rests all his body weight on you, exhausted.
you watch him enamoured, like he’s a dog just trying to show he wants some attention. he circles his arms around your waist and his head drops on your lap, snuggling into you tightly.
“took them off by the door. you don’t like my jeans on your bed.” he breathes, closing his eyes, “you smell so fuckin’ good.”
you opt to creaming your arms instead.
“did you have fun tonight then?” you offer, dipping your fingers into the cold cream and slathering it over your arms. bakugou holds you despite your movement, pecking the bare skin of your thigh.
the man grunts, a slow lift and quick drop of his shoulders in a shrug.
“sparky is investin’ in a stupid cocktail company. he wanted us to try them all,” he sounds disgusted by it, “they were all disgustin’.”
you’ve got a tipsy katsuki tonight. you smile down at him, pushing his hair off his forehead to get a proper look at his face. bakugou looks up at you, innocent and pitiful but you know he’s anything but.
“how many did you have?”
“three?”
“you little lightweight.”
he opens his mouth to push his top row of teeth into your thigh. you splutter when it tickles, shoving his head off you. together you eye the imprint of his teeth as he sits back on his ass on the floor. just in his underwear and a tshirt.
“they were high percentage cans. too goddamn high,” he huffs, eyes flickering over your body, “you just showered.”
you nod, resting back on your arms behind your body. you’ve finished moisturising, you’ve done your skincare and you’re practically ready to roll into bed.
but it’s not often you get a drunk or tipsy bakugou. he hates drinking, was one of the first things he mentioned when he met you because he heard it was a dealbreaker for some. it definitely wasn’t for you, especially when he said he just hates how slow and out of control it made him feel.
“you’re like an ‘88 first edition gold rimmed mint all might winter suit card,” he rambles, standing up to push you back into the bed with all your confusion.
“what?” it’s times like these when you remember you’re dating a nerd.
he grabs your hips to push you up the bed so he’s got enough space to seat his body between your legs and rest his forearms by your head. you open your legs wider, letting his head sink into the crook of your neck.
you feel him inhale again as if he’s a wolf scenting you.
“it’s the best card you can get, rare as hell. less than twenty were made and it’s out of the old card material before that company went out of production,” you circle your arms around his shoulders, listening. bakugou, speaks into your neck, kissing after every couple words. “i’ve got one of the cards. ‘ts in my office.”
you lock your legs behind his back.
“okay…” you drawl, brushing your fingers through his hair looking up at your ceiling with a frown, “now what’s that to do with me?”
bakugou freezes, resting on his forearms to look at you properly. you make his heart ache, a sharp pang in his chest and he grunts. your face has a glossy shine to it, the t-shirt you’re wearing (which is one of his) is fresh out the dryer with that cotton smell and you’re holding him just as tight as he’s holding you.
he doesn’t realise he’s looking at you like he’s confused that you’re confused.
“comin’ in here was like openin’ a rare pack,” he sniffs and when you’re still frowning he continues, “you ready for bed after a shower is my favourite you. seein’ you is the same feelin’ as when i got that card.”
it’s soppy and silly.
“and that card is so rare and so are you. i have you and i’ve got that card.”
you nod slowly in understanding and a small smile lands on bakugou’s cheeks.
“you’re saying you love me a lot,” you reply, pouting your lips out for a kiss which he quickly responds to.
“i’m sayin’ more than that baby,” he whines but it only makes you laugh, “im sayin’ you’re rare and only i get to see you like this and i’m the fuckin’ luckiest motherfucker in the world.”
“you’re a soppy nerd when you’re drunk, katsuki,” you slap your hand over his mouth before he can reply, “but that’s really cute. i love you too.”
“‘m bein’ romantic. that card sells for thousands,” he whispers when he presses his lips against yours again but this time he opens his mouth and tilts his head. you copy, letting his tongue swirl with yours. minty fresh toothpaste with maybe a pina colada from him at the back. your body heats when the kiss gets messier, a moan releasing from the back of bakugou’s throat. when your legs tighten around him, that’s when he gives in, letting the full weight of his hips rest between your legs.
you inhale when you feel him, hard and heavy, both covered by your underwear.
“why were you hiding from me?” you say as he runs his lips down your jaw. you’re reactive now, body jolting on its own, sighing softly from his thickness resting on your ass cheeks to your clit.
“‘t’s fine if you don’t wanna fuck. you’re goin’ to bed.”
“you can’t call me the best pokémon card ever and expect me to not want you,” you laugh to yourself and bakugou rolls his eyes.
“stop pissin’ me off. wasn’t talkin’ about fuckin’ pokémon,” he curses but he can’t help but kiss you again, right on your smile with your arms tangled around his neck.
though you’re clearly pressing him into you, lifting your hips to feel him.
bakugou’s completely aware of how much bigger he is than you. in size, in height, in power and yeah, even his cock. it’s because of all those factors, why he prefers for you to initiate, to stop him feeling like a raging beast pulling a princess from her tower.
he can’t get his hands off you, now sneaking up your t-shirt to feel your hips, then your waist and your soft breasts. you’re smooth, a layer of that cream you just put on. good enough to eat with that vanilla smell.
“‘ki,” you breathe and he jolts his head up, “what do you want from me?”
bakugou wouldn’t say he’s a horny drunk. well he’s hardly ever drunk for one so he wouldn’t say he’s an anything drunk since he doesn’t have enough data. but you came up in his mind more than usual while he was drinking with the boys and then his walk home. and he just said, this is his favourite you, after a shower and ready for bed. his rare all might card.
“don’t ask me that,” he grunts, but he starts grinding down into you without meaning to. you react like a flicker of a flame, soft moans from your throat. “what d’you want me to do?”
“why’re you so stubborn?” you arch your back and bakugou’s greedy hands pull your top up to under your neck. your whole body exposed to him, minus your tiny little underwear bottoms.
“‘cause i’m the one that came in here drunk and all over you.” but he’s speaking to your body like you’re a meal he needs to get his hands on yesterday. “fuck. fuck, you’re so beautiful.”
“take your clothes off,” if you have to be in charge here, so be it.
your boyfriend listens, digging his knees into the mattress as he grabs the fabric at the back of his neck and yanks it over his head. you hum in appreciation, drifting your fingertips over his toned muscled chest. you point to his underwear.
“those too. off.”
bakugou inhales sharply but listens, pulling the tight fabric down his legs and your mouth practically waters when his appendage slaps against his chest. his cock is right in your face as you lay back.
“it’s up to you, baby. don’t wanna pressure you,” he warns, cupping his heavy balls for some release.
you know for a fact your underwear is stained through, especially when he throws his head back with a sweet curse.
“i know, i know. you’re so handsome, katsuki,” that gets him looking back at you. your face, then your tits, then back at you.
“what?”
“you’re so gorgeous. i’m lucky to have you too.”
“fuck,” he can’t stop swearing, taking hold of the base of his cock and squeezing. “i don’t think i can fuck you, i’ll come as soon as i’m inside.”
it’s honest and a little cute, a smile blooming on your face. you take the pause to pull off your t-shirt, throwing it off the bed.
“that’s okay—,”
“‘t’s not. ‘m not usin’ you like that.” he shakes his head sharply, enough to know you can’t change his mind on it.
“what if i want your dick in my mouth?” and you show him how as you sit up on your bed and he still rests on his shins. you’re at the right height to slide it in your mouth.
you press a kiss to his cockhead, licking up all the pre and pressing your cheek his length. “‘ki?”
you give him these round, shiny innocent eyes that hold the stars. bakugou feels as if he can’t hold a single thought in his head.
“you just cleaned up, ‘m all dirty—,”
“katsuki, let me.” you push and he twitches against your cheek, “i really want to.”
it’s not often you give him head compared to how often he gives you head. bakugou is never one to ask for it and you rarely want to give it even though he always asks to be between your legs. you asking to suck him off is another rare card, a fucking ‘99 gold rimmed—
“okay, baby,” he murmurs, moving all your hair out of your face and behind your shoulders.
“don’t touch my head,” you warn and bakugou nods his head rapidly, adjusting his hand to your cheek.
he’s on edge, holding his breath as you, his perfect, beautiful fucking girlfriend holds his cock with a single fist. then you hold the rest with your other hand, pointing it to your lips.
“i’m gonna come quickly. i already fuckin’ know i am—,”
“that’s fine, ‘ki honey,” you soothe, “just tap me when you think you are.” you lick around his sensitive tip with your tongue then you swallow as if you’re giving him a taste test. “not bad,” you whisper to yourself.
then you get started. removing one hand to sink yourself onto his cock, just as far as you can go without choking. when his tip his hits the tightness at the back of your throat where saliva has gathered, bakugou groans, holds the underside of your jaw.
“sorry, fuck, sorry baby,” he grunts every few seconds, apologising for simply being a man aroused.
you bob your head, swirling your tongue around what you can and pressing your thighs tightly together.
you’ve never been a fan of giving head but once in a while the want bursts through you, the power of having him under your command. this big groaning man falling apart because of you.
and katsuki is always a good listener. careful with you. makes sure not to buck his hips and you can tell he wants to because he bites down on his bottom lip. he doesn’t stop with the noise and he never pushes your head down.
“so fuckin’ good,” he whines, throwing his head back. you sharply suck, your hand at the base of his cock squeezing tightly. his moan is crumbled, choked on every sound trying to escape, “tryna kill me? babygirl.”
you pull off him for a second, stroking him in the meantime as you wipe your nose. you’re just about to wipe your eyes when bakugou swipes his thumbs under them both.
“you’re my beautiful girl.”
your moment of control falters a little, as you become focused on one aim and one aim only. your boyfriend’s pleasure and that’s all.
“kiss?”
he ducks down, hand on your chin as he stuffs his tongue in your mouth. he takes control of the kiss, like he’s giving you mid sex aftercare, making sure you’re okay because you had his cock in your mouth for a few minutes.
“doin’ so well, baby.” he speaks into your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip before letting it snap into place.
that’s enough, pushing him off you so you can take his cock back.
you’re faster now, less careful about being comfortable, especially when you’re able to sneak your fingers beneath your panties to press onto your clit.
your lips and cheeks suction around him, tongue flat on his underside. bakugou’s eyes widen, staring down at you. “holy fuckin—,”
his hand cups the nape of your neck though he doesn’t move you.
“shit, any more and i’m gonna come,” his deep grumbling voice gets pitchy, unable to keep levelled, “i really… oh shit baby.”
you place your hands on his hips to help guide your head. it’s loud, the sound of your spit and the friction of him. your small whines every time you rub sweetly on yourself and bakugou, his grunts take up the whole room.
he taps your shoulder lightly, “i’m gonna now. i’m fuckin—,”
you slow down as he does, ropes of the stuff pouring down your throat. you let it all happen, laying a palm flat on his chest as the man above you grunts your name like he’s cursing you to damnation. he definitely isn’t.
when he’s done he slides out of your mouth and you hop up to your bathroom to spit.
when you return only a few seconds later, bakugou is laying back on your bed with his arms open. two thick biceps wrap you up in a cuddle.
“i haven’t forgotten about you. lemme see your panties.”
with your cheek pressed against his pectorals, you playfully roll your eyes.
“how do you want me to show you?” you say, cheek smushed.
“sit on my face? or you lay back and i eat you?” he looks funny from this angle, lifting his head to look down at you. cheeks flushed and heartbeat still racing to come down.
“i’ll sit on you.” you begin to sit up but pause, hitting his shoulder, “don’t look so happy!”
bakugou adjusts his body, hands finding your waist as you shuffle up. his smile could light up a city, “i’m lookin’ like you just accepted my offer to sit on my face. what’s with you tonight?”
you pout, sitting on his upper chest, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“you don’t usually ask to suck me off. you usually say no to sittin’ on my face. today’s my lucky fuckin’ day.”
it’s true, you always moan it’s too intimate but letting him eat you any other way.
you shrug softly, pulling off your underwear and throwing it in his face. bakugou’s a dog with a ball, grabbing the fabric and stuffing it under his nose.
>> bokuto koutarou requires praise. he works very hard for yours. <<
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tags: smut, friends to lovers, puppy play, slight bdsm, and they were roommates, literally just 4k of pwp
a/n: everybody say "thank you narn!" to @saffrondaddy for commissioning this! puppy play bokuto,,,, now lives in my head for good.
[commission honee here!]
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Bokuto Koutarou is a good boy.
He always has been, from a very young age. Motivated by praise — by the ruffle of hair from adults as a child, the clap of teammates' hands on his back in high school, the press of an interested hand to his chest once he'd gone pro.
But it's yours that had always mattered most to him. A constant presence, an unfortunate victim of his daily bad habits, your tone is and always has been chiding, from the moment you'd met.
"Jesus, dude, do you have no spacial awareness?"
He'd turned, realizing — only after noticing his hand was wet — that he'd knocked your coffee over in passing you at the library, your latte spilled all over the table and your exam papers floating pathetically on top. Akaashi had been beside him, immediately apologizing for him and helping you clean up. You'd only huffed in annoyance and brushed Koutarou off, mumbling 'like a damn dog' under your breath.
Bokuto Koutarou doesn't do well with criticism.
He'd followed you around after that day, running to catch you in the halls and skidding past your classroom door at lunch, all but begging in his booming voice for just a few minutes of your time. The thing is, you'd always given it to him, but he'd never been satisfied. Lunch picked at while he talked, bag packed after classes while he asked what your after-school plans were. Your tone, your expression, your body language: you never gave him what he wanted most. At best, a grin snuck when you thought he wasn't looking (he's always looking). At worst, that scolding glance, most often brought out when he'd break something or knock something over.
When he'd sat on your glasses, the crunch echoing between you as you'd fought to regulate your anger.
When he'd tripped over his feet while trying to catch up with you, his body knocking into yours and sending you crashing to the floor, his apologies loud but not as loud as that cutting glare you'd shot him.
When he'd been so excited to tell you about practice that he'd smacked his hand into your lunch, his eyes wide with fear while you'd picked food out of your hair.
And that word, bitten out under your breath.
"Just a fucking dog."
"Damn dog, no training."
"Clumsy ass dog."
Two years pass like that, high school come and gone, and then college, too. He's famous now, praise flooding his social media and random run-ins with fans more than enough to make his day. But not a single moment with you is satisfying enough.
Walking you to class in college, your smile tugging at his nerves but never good enough for his ego. Your glare coming out when you have to duck under his flailing arms, because he talks with his hands, his arms, and his whole damn body.
Driving you to your first day of your big-girl job, careful with his limbs because you would never forgive him if he spilled something on you right this moment. Trying not to beam too hard when you give him an appreciative smile and mumble "thanks, Kou" under your breath, your hand squeezing his quickly before you exit the car.
Sitting on his own hands at dinner, because you're asking if he wants to move in with you. "The rent's too high," you say. "I need a roommate." But he doesn't care what the reason really is — Akaashi's right next to him, and you didn't ask him. You didn't ask the person who'd make the better roommate without question. Quiet, clean, meticulous, and sure as hell not likely to break or ruin something. You'd asked Koutarou. He doesn't care if you need a ride or a roommate or even just a fucking pen. You'd asked Koutarou.
He knows why your approval means so much to him. He won't say it, but he knows why it means so much to him that you don't give him what the whole world is begging to. He knows why he hangs onto your every word. He won't ever say it, because he can't even get this from you. Why would you ever give him more?
—
Bokuto Koutarou has no clue you're in love with him.
You're a little mean, you know. You don't give him the exact kind of attention he's so obsessed with, mostly because he needs someone to ground him, and he's gotten so attached to the desire to hear it from you that you know giving him even an inch more would make him insufferable.
But he's so busy obsessing over your approval that he hasn't realized — never did, to be honest — that you're still around. That you seek him out first, before anyone else.
He hasn't realized that you're just waiting for him to realize.
After so long, though, you're starting to think he never will. So maybe it's up to you to make the first move.
—
"Found it!"
Crash.
"… Oops…"
You sigh, not even bothering to turn from your spot on the couch. You just let him clean up what could only have been your favorite wine glass, because that's what'd you'd asked him to get from the kitchen while he was in there. The wine bottle from the table is raised to your lips — chugging from the source is better than waiting for him to get a fresh glass.
"Damn puppy, Kou. Seriously."
You're not sure he would hear it, but the sweeping of glass behind you stops short. You glance back, finding that he's already looking at you. His eyes are wide, and there's a very interesting shade of pink that's spreading over his skin.
"What?" he whispers, eyes flicking between yours quickly. He's nervous.
You track the wash of heat that's flooding his face and ears. Was it something you said?
"What?" you echo. "What happened?"
"You-Uh…" He lowers his gaze, sweeping more glass up. "Nothing."
He finishes up quickly, returning to the couch and your movie. You let him, dissociating into the TV. What had you said? What had he reacted to?
His knee bounces once, and then again. And then repeatedly, his nerves all but jostling you where you sit.
"Kou, cut it out," you bite, glancing at him. He freezes immediately, still staring at the TV but attention clearly on you.
You sigh, rolling your eyes and getting comfortable again. "Good boy," you mutter snarkily.
The sound that leaves his body can only be described as a moan.
You don't look at him, even when he clamps his hand over his mouth. He doesn't look at you, either, too busy sinking into the cushions.
Several moments pass. The movie keeps playing, but all you hear is static. All you can focus on is the way his chest starts to heave, caught in your periphery.
He tries to run. You don't let him.
Your fingers catch around the material of his t-shirt, and you use all your strength to yank him back. He's strong, but right now, you're stronger.
He falls back with a half-grunt, caught in his throat when you throw your leg over his thighs and sit your entire weight down on his lap to keep him there.
"What was that, Kou?" you ask, breathless. Excited.
"Nothing! It was nothin-" He sucks a breath in, because you're planting hand on his chest and leaning into his face, gaze sharp.
"Don't fucking lie to me, Koutarou."
He melts under you, a shiver running down his body. His fingertips touch lightly against your ankles, and his eyelashes flutter as he tries to look away. You just lean in further, following his gaze and forcing him to look at you.
"What was it, Kou? What happened?" You're smiling now, almost cruel.
His skin is radiating heat, and you can see the hazy glint that's washing over his gaze.
"You know what it was," he breathes weakly.
Yeah. You do.
"You know," you start. "You're not supposed to like it when I say you act like a dog. It's not a compliment."
His fingers are drifting up your calves. "'s not what you said," he protests.
"No, I guess it's not."
"Was that a compliment?"
You tilt your head, unashamed to admit you're teasing. "Was what a compliment?"
He groans, eyes shutting. "You're being mean."
You don't like that he's not looking at you. You need to see those eyes.
The breath he sucks in when you roll your hips against his is shaky and surprised, but his eyes shoot open, and that's all you really wanted.
"Good, Kou," you whisper, your own voice a little shaky, because he'd felt really good, and you want to do it again. Especially when his fingers drift to your thighs, exploring your overheated skin almost unconsciously and tugging on the fabric of your shorts curiously. So you press your chest to his, allowing yourself a moment to appreciate how good he feels, and press your mouth against the shell of his ear. "Is there something you need from me?"
You feel when he swallows hard. His palms slide up the backs of your thighs, and you shiver. Your breathy exhale hits his ear, and he groans quietly, fingers digging into your skin and kneading cautiously.
"Can I touch you?" he whispers.
You drop your forehead to his and nod.
His fingers climb up to your ass, slipping past your shorts and panties so he can plant his palms right against your skin.
You whimper, feeling the huff that leaves his lips. His breath is warm against your lips, and you can feel every shaky exhale. His hands are tugging you closer to his hips, and you just let him, because you can't imagine you feel any less desperate than he does right now.
When he nudges his hips forward, sweatpants leaving nothing to the imagination, you moan under your breath and drop your lips to his.
The whine he lets out is urgent, and he extracts his hands in order to press one against your spine and the other against the back of your neck. You lean into it, hands on his chest and fabric bunched up in your fingers. You grind down on him, swallowing the moan he spills down your throat. He's fully hard now, cock strained against his pants and pressed right between your thighs. You rub yourself on him, breathy moans falling out with every rut of your hips.
"Nghh-" he moans, hands clamping tight to your hips. "Hurts."
You just drop your mouth to his throat, latching onto his pulse and sucking hard. He shivers, distracted by your mouth, so he doesn't notice your hands sliding down to his lap until you're curling your fingers into the band of his sweats.
"Oh, fuck," he breathes, head dropping back against the couch. "Fuck."
You tug hard, and he gets the message — barely, because he's slow to process everything right now — and lifts his hips for you. You yank his pants down, following his example and taking his boxers, too. Your brain stalls when his cock slaps against his stomach, because Bokuto Koutarou is big in all senses of the word and you're just a little bit afraid of what you're about to experience, but you choose to move past it quickly and not process that part.
Bokuto hooks his fingers into your shorts and tugs once, a question. You nod, dropping your lips to his again and letting him undress you. Once your underwear hits the floor, you lower your hips to his again. He hisses into your mouth, moaning 'oh, shit' against you when you rub against him. You do it again, and then again, because the heat he's radiating is making you shiver and because he's starting to lift his hips to meet you halfway.
His tongue slides against the seam of your lips, and you let him in, kissing messily and eagerly and sloppily while you slide your cunt against his cock. Every moan you let out is echoed by him, and every lift of his hips means that he bumps up against your clit, drawing tiny whines out of you.
And then the tip of his cock catches on your entrance, and you're both moaning loud enough to echo off the walls. He slips out, sliding through your folds again, and you have to pull out of the kiss just to catch your breath.
He panics. "'m sorry, I didn't mean to-"
You just tug your fingers through his hair. "You're doing so good, Kou. You feel so good."
He watches you like you hung the moon in the sky. "Am I?"
You nod, smiling breathlessly down at him. "Yeah… but you're holding back." When his eyebrows lift and he starts to protest, you cut him off. "I can tell, Kou. You're scared."
"'Course I am," he breathes. "I fuck everything up. I fuck things up with you so easily."
You just shake your head. "Not this. You can't fuck this up. You could never fuck this up."
His grip tightens on your waist. "Really?"
You lean down, pressing your lips to his and murmuring a response against them. "Long as you listen to me." His breathe catches in his throat. You just smile against him. "Can you do that?"
His nod is urgent and immediate.
"Lay me down, Kou." You're on your back in an instant, his mouth still pressed to yours. You kiss him back, breathing hard. "Do whatever you want. But-" your voice hardens slightly when he starts to shift excitedly. "You can't fuck me.'
He pulls back, eyes wide. "What?"
You grin wickedly up at him. "You heard me." His brow furrow, and he looks so distraught that you can't help but show him some mercy. "If you're good, I might let you. Eventually."
He looks confused, like he's struggling to understand where you might be going with this. But you don't give him anything else. You just roll your hips up, sliding against him. He moans low, dropping his head and watching how you look when you move like that.
And then he presses one hand, big and wide and warm, against your stomach, keeping you still so he can take over.
You watch, practically drooling, as he slides his cock through your folds, the tip pushing against your clit and drawing your whines out of you. He speeds up, his hips stuttering forward every time like he can't control himself. You just hold your thighs open for him, unable to help that you want him to stare and obsess over this moment like he does with every other moment with you.
His moans start to echo off the walls again, and he plants both hands on the backs of your thighs, fingers hooked under your knees as he presses you in half so he can kiss you. You whine and whimper against him, and when his tip catches on your entrance again, sinking into you just enough for him to let out a full-bodied groan, you can't resist clenching hard around him.
"Fuck," he moans into your mouth. "Don't do that. Please."
You clench again, grinning when he whines, and then whisper "What did I say, Koutarou?" against his lips. He pulls out, but you can hear another whine building in his throat, so you reach down between you and take his cock in your hand. "Good boy, Kou. You're so good at listening."
Bokuto shivers, hands planting down on either side of your head. "Oh, god, that feels so fucking good."
Electric flies down your spine, and in that moment you completely understand why he's so obsessed with praise. So you give it to him, shamelessly.
"You're so big, Kou," you croon, sliding your hand down his shaft and flicking your wrist. His breath is short and caught in his throat, so your slide your palm over the tip, running your thumb along the slit. "You might not fit."
"I'll fit," he grunts through his teeth, visibly shaking now. "I promise I'll fit. I'll make sure."
"Yeah?" you start, teasing. "You gonna do anything to prepare me, or are you gonna make me do all the work?"
You're not ashamed to admit that you've always wondered how his fingers would feel.
It turns out that just one is enough to have your back arching.
"Fuck, you're tight," he mutters, distracted by how your cunt looks wrapped around his middle finger and completely oblivious to the way your eyes are starting to roll back in your head. He massages your walls, curling up and grinning to himself when your body starts to tremble. "Does that feel good?"
"More, Kou," you croak. "More."
With his ring finger added, you feel stretched to your limit. But he's meticulous, focus razor sharp and fingers working you open. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the breath comes back to your lungs, and the stretch starts to feel more like an impending orgasm. You push down against his fingers with every thrust, trying to get closer.
He doesn't need direction to get you there. All he needs to do is curl his fingers and press hard.
Your whine rings in your ears, and you feel him press his other hand against your stomach to keep you down while you twitch around him.
"Good?" he asks, eyes manic as they fly between your face and your cunt. "Is it good?"
You just slam your hand against his chest, fisting his shirt and dragging him down to you. "Shut up and kiss me, Kou."
He's more than happy to listen, lips sliding against yours roughly. He takes up his previous post, pushing through your folds and smiling, pleased, when you're overstimulated and twitching. "Sorry," he says, clearly not sorry at all. "You feel so good, I can't help it."
You don't have it in you to fire off any snarky remarks, especially because you're back to fighting for air in your lungs. But you want to shut him up, so you push through it and gather the energy to plant your hands on his chest and push him off of you.
"Get up, Koutarou."
He blanches, examining you with concern. "What? Why?"
You force him to stand, and then you grab him by the wrist. "Because we're going to my room."
—
"That's it, puppy. Good boy."
Koutarou doesn't know how he got here. He doesn't know what you've done to him, what that single word could have possibly done to him. He doesn't know how he ended up here, tied up to your bedpost with his own fucking jersey while you ride him.
He can't breathe. He hasn't been able to for over an hour, his head too fuzzy and his ears ringing too much for him to be able to focus on breathing, too. And you feel too good — you're squeezing him so perfectly every time your thighs hit his. And he can tell, even without doing anything but sitting here like a pathetic idiot, that his cock is bumping up against the perfect spot, because you're practically singing your praises.
Without doing anything at all, he's gotten exactly what he's been looking for from you.
The realization nearly makes him come.
He has to close his eyes and bite down hard on his lip just to stop himself from doing exactly that.
"Where'd you go, Kou?" Your hand on his chin. His saliva, stuck in his throat when he looks into that wicked gaze.
You tug your fingers through his hair, nails scratching gently on his scalp. It should embarrass him, the way his cock twitches inside of you. But he can't bring himself to be embarrassed or humiliated or shy or anything he should be feeling. He's too busy staring up into your eyes, too busy moaning when you yank on his hair and force him to focus.
"Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere," he breathes. "I'm right here. Promise."
"Good. I don't want you anywhere else."
He doesn't want to be anywhere else.
"Do you want me to let you go?"
Fear shoots through him, and his eyes widen as he shakes his head with force. "No, no! Please don't."
You just smile, your breath coming out in pants that match the rhythm of his cock hitting that perfect little spot. "I meant your hands, Kou."
He still can't bring himself to be embarrassed. "O-Oh. I mean, I like it-" He moans, because you clench particularly hard when he admits that. "But I wanna-I mean-I just-"
You stop moving for a moment, beaming down at him when he whines in disappointment, and lean over him to untie his hands. Immediately distracted by your chest in his face, he latches onto a nipple, groaning deep in his chest when you moan for him.
"Good boy," you whisper, carding your fingers through his hair and holding tight. "Go ahead, Kou. Be my puppy."
His hands grip your waist instantly, and your back presses into the bed when he flips you over, never once slipping out of you. The pace he finds is eager and aggressive, and you can tell he's using his strength to press you into the mattress and fuck you like he won't get another chance.
He must not realize you're never letting him leave this bed.
"That's it, Kou," you pant, your voice shaking with every slam of his hips against yours. "So good for me, so eager."
"Need you," he grunts. "Need to feel you come around me."
"You have me," you whisper, watching his eyes widen as his gaze snaps to yours. He falters for a second, but you just wrap your legs around his waist and tug him closer. "Did you really think this meant nothing? Come on."
He doesn't answer, just watching you. And then he leans down, nearly flattening you when he pushes his lips against yours. You hold tight, biting and nipping on his bottom lip and moaning down his throat when he starts to move again. It's more certain now, the way he pins you down and slams up against your g-spot. Like it's okay now for him to do what he wants, because you're his.
It doesn't take long for you to come, your voice pitching up and your body tensing when your walls squeeze tight around him. He only picks up his pace, your headboard slamming repeatedly against your wall as he grunts and moans and bites out your name through his teeth. Your eyes roll back in your head, but you keep a tight grip on his back, your nails scratching deep into his skin. You can hardly hear yourself, the words coming out in a mindless babble and broken up by every vicious smack of his cock against your cervix.
"'s my puppy. 's good, baby, such a good puppy f'me."
"Agh, fuck-" he whines, face buried in your neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck-"
"You a good boy, Kou?"
He comes with a choked cry against your skin, twitching inside of you as he presses his hips as close to you as he can. You're warm, inside and out, and all you can do is wrap your arms and legs around him and let him crush you against the bed.
"Fuck," he whispers, a whine laced under it. "'m sorry. I got out of hand."
You're on the edge of sleep, your head fuzzy and your body so perfectly warm. But you can still scratch your nails through his hair and guide his lips to yours, murmuring against him.
dumbfounded, that's it. you felt completely and utterly dumbfounded as geto called your name after class to ask you out on a date.
suguru geto, the dude every single breathing soul on campus had a crush on. every girl liked him, and it wasn’t only because of his looks, he had this shy facade that no one could decipher, yet somehow lured everyone to like him and do their best to be liked back. failing, obviously, but still everyone tried. needless to say he had a lot of friends, who were all as shocked as you when they found out he had asked out a girl. it didn’t even matter who she was.
just the fact that suguru asked someone out and it wasn’t one of the countless people that showed interest in him or that he had previously rejected, made each one of them angry at you. and secondly, no one had any idea he was into you. not that there weren’t signs, obviously he wasn’t as clever as he thought, but nobody cared enough to notice them.
when you would walk past suguru’s seat, wearing a top that slightly revealed your boobs, or when you’d bend over in class to pick up a paper that landed on the floor, and he got to witness the glorious sight of your upper thighs.. oh he was gone for. he had to run to the bathroom, his cock physically aching, making him look almost unwell after noticing the smallest detail about you. you had a mole on the back of your thigh.
he swears everything started innocently, he genuinely liked you and couldn’t help looking at you when you were working on a project, listening to a lecture, or just zoning out as the conversation you were having with your friends became background noise. you were just so pretty, and looking at you made him feel calm, at ease. he liked everything about you, the way you dressed, the way you talked so smoothly, but only to people you already knew, the way every time you were too focused on an assignment the same strand of hair always fell over your eyes, and each time you tucked it behind your left ear, forgetting about it.
but what he liked most about you was that you kept to yourself, like him. and for some reason, barely any guy ever approached you because of that. when he finally realized it, there was no coming back. that’s when it started. that’s when he began feeling like you were already his.
at first it was so subtle, looking at you and subconsciously mimicking your expression. he smiled when you smiled, frowned when you frowned, and sighed when you sighed. it was just his way of feeling closer to you, feeling like you were experiencing the same things. but it wasn't just that anymore.
he'd do anything to feel closer to you. gradually switching seats so that he could look at you better during the classes you had together, following you to the library after class, discarding the plans he’d made with his friends, just to ask for a copy of the same book you got, not even reading it after he sat down, but fucking stealing glances at you, daydreaming about what it would be like to be in your head and have your sweet voice read the book to him.
and how pissed he'd get if someone came up to him as he was looking at you. “could we talk another time?” he’d only reply, trying his best to sound nice “i have this really important class tomorrow, and i need to focus right now” he would add, as the girl who interrupted him, probably to ask him out had the saddest look on her face before apologizing and going away.
oh what a relief it was to look back at you and notice you barely even moved, fortunately he hadn’t missed too much.
it was during one of your “study sessions” that a notification popped up on his phone, and strangely enough, he checked it. it was you, you followed his instagram account. he gulped and had to take a moment to let that sink in. he had been looking for your profile for a while now, but as you didn't have your name as your username, he didn't know how to find it, yet he finally did. or actually, you found him.
he looked at your pictures almost in a trance, noticing way too late how tight his pants had gotten, but he was just so grateful for you finding him, finally being able to look at you as he hurriedly jerked himself off in the closest room he could find, before rushing home with your pictures still glowing on his screen.
he looked at your smile, loving it, then at your halloween costume, swiping down as he wished he'd found your profile sooner to buy a matching one for himself. he swiped a couple more times until he saw a post from last summer where you were only wearing a bikini. god, you were too fucking perfect. he couldn't stop looking at you, huffing and groaning as he came, making a mess over himself and filling the room with soft pants, ultimately deciding to follow you back, he'd waited enough.
he'd check your profile a couple of hundred times a day, smiling to himself when you uploaded a story, and even liking some from time to time. he followed your friends too, mainly to look at the pics they posted of you, but also to get on their good side, can't hurt to have your friends telling you how great of a couple you'd make, right?
right. and that's how he found himself sitting right next to you in class, unable to concentrate on anything but your smell, and how fucking sweet it was. he swore he could get hard just by that, and he probably would have if it wasn't for the professor dismissing you a whole eight minutes early.
you didn't even leave him time to think, you just packed your things and got up, looked at him for a full second before politely saying bye as you walked away. his ears turned bright red as you finally spoke to him.
for you it was just a polite way to excuse yourself from suguru, who you noticed started liking all of your instagram stories not even ten minutes after you posted them, but for him it was a sign. a sign it was his time to make a move.
he quickly got up, leaving all his stuff behind as he followed the sound of your steps, finding you just outside the classroom, and he called your name, his mind going blank as you actually stopped and turned around, waiting for him.
im on that pathetic frat!guru agenda and i dont plan on leaving anytime soon
۶ৎ “just the tip” with satoru during ovulation week
you’re not supposed to be doing this.
he’s not even in you. that was the rule. that was the compromise—dry humping only, hands above the waist, no slipping, no skin, no tip, no nothing, you promised, swore up and down that you could behave, that it was just about the pressure, the friction, the grind, the way his sweats catch your clit just right when you angle your hips and rock down slow—
but that was twenty minutes ago.
and now your panties are soaked, his dick’s leaking, your thighs are trembling, and you’ve already cum twice with your face buried in his neck like that’s gonna hide anything.
“satoru,” you gasp, rocking down again and again and again, desperate and slick and not even pretending anymore.
he grunts. his fingers dig bruises into your hips.
“jesus christ, baby,” he groans, “you’re getting it everywhere.”
you can feel it—wet cotton, sticky fabric, the hot mess you’ve both made of yourselves just from humping like fucking teenagers, and it’s not enough, it’s not enough, it’s not—
“just the tip,” you whisper.
he stares up at you.
“baby—”
“just the tip, please.”
and then you’re already shifting, already dragging his sweats down just enough, already pulling your panties to the side, already sinking onto him with one long, slow grind that makes you both go silent at the same time.
he doesn’t even push in. he doesn’t have to. your cunt takes him.
just the tip, technically—just the thick swollen head of him seated snug inside, no thrusting, no rocking, no cheating—but it’s warm and full and perfect and your eyes roll back immediately like your pussy’s trying to kiss his cock goodnight.
“jesus fucking christ,” he pants, arms shaking, “you’re—you’re holding me, baby, i can’t—”
“shhh,” you murmur, already lowering yourself until your chest is pressed to his, your cunt clamped down tight and still around him like you were built to do this, like you were meant to do this, like this isn’t the worst fucking idea you’ve ever had—
“it’s just cockwarming,” you whisper, breath hot against his ear. “we’re not moving.”
but your pussy keeps fluttering. every breath he takes makes his cock twitch. every twitch makes you clench. every clench makes him groan and every groan makes you want.
you bury your face in his neck. breathe him in. smell the sweat and the shampoo and the sharp clean scent of his skin and pretend you’re not slowly dripping around the base of his cock like a fucking needy whore.
“fuck,” he whispers, voice shaking. “baby, you gotta stop—”
“i’m not moving,” you whisper, biting your lip hard enough to leave a dent.
and you’re not. technically. because if you move it doesn’t count, right? if you stay still you’re a good girl, you’re not cheating, you’re just sitting here still like someone who didn’t accidentally impale herself on her boyfriend’s cock during a desperate dry humping session while ovulating, because it’s just the tip, it’s cockwarming, it’s not a real fuck if you’re both crying about it inside.
“you sure?” he breathes, eyes glassy, jaw clenched, fists buried in the sheets like he’s one centimeter away from fucking up and five seconds away from nutting inside you just for being warm.
you nod. try to look convincing. try to ignore the way your pussy flutters again—because it’s not your fault, it’s muscle memory or instinct or the devil, maybe, but definitely not you.
he groans. sharp and guttural. one of those stomach-deep noises like it’s pain, like it’s good, like the pressure’s so much it’s tipping over into agony.
“you’re fucking tight,” he mutters, voice strangled. “like—like blood flow cutting off tight. like medical emergency tight. like—fuck, babe—”
you clench again, experimentally.
his whole body jolts.
“baby.”
“sorry,” you say, not sorry at all.
his hands grab your hips like he’s going to stop you. like he could stop you. like he’s not actively losing his grip on reality while his cock is sheathed to the tip in your sweet, wet, fluttering fucking cunt.
you are. you’re clenching again. because he’s leaking. because it’s hot. because your cunt is drooling around him and your brain is going static and your whole pelvis feels like it’s glowing and you swear it’s just the hormones, it’s not like you want this, you don’t want to—
“fuck—fuck, i’m gonna cum—”
“don’t,” you gasp, tightening your thighs around his hips, not moving, still not moving, “satoru, don’t—”
he whines. actually whines. high-pitched and broken and fucking precious, like his soul is trying to escape through his teeth.
“baby,” he sobs, “i told you not to clench—”
“you’re such a little bitch,” you spit, just to be mean, just to win, just to distract—and he cums. just like that.
no thrusting, no warning, no control—just his back arching and his arms going tight and his face twisting like he’s seeing god as he empties his soul into your cunt in slow, hot, endless waves. every pulse another betrayal.
every spurt another nail in your coffin. your mouth falls open in shock and awe and disbelief and pure molten fuck as he fills you past the point of saturation, creamy and thick and so much more than just the tip.
you can feel it leaking down already, soaking your panties, sticky between your thighs, staining everything.
he’s panting. blinking up at you. ruined.
“…oops,” he says.
you stare down at him.
“…satoru.”
“technically,” he whispers, grinning, “you moved first.”
you shift a little and flinch immediately because it’s still coming out of you, warm and viscous, soaking through your poor panties like they’re tissue paper, and satoru’s just lying there, flushed and panting, looking way too proud for a man who just came like a teenager in a movie theater.
“you’re disgusting,” you mutter, voice flat. dazed.
he grins. “you’re welcome.”
“i’m going to kill you.”
“that’s fair.”
he’s still inside you. you can feel it—softening now, twitchy and spent, and still plugged up tight with his mess—and you should climb off, you should run for a towel or the bathroom or a time machine, but instead you just stay there. legs spread. pussy full. brain fried.
satoru lets his hands settle on your hips again. not to move you—just to hold you. like he’s grounding himself.
“you okay?” he asks, a little softer now, and you hate that it sounds real. like he means it. like he knows he pushed it.
you nod once. barely.
he presses his thumbs to the curve of your hips, gentle. “wanna get cleaned up?”
you exhale. long. still dizzy. “not yet.”
he hums. smug. self-satisfied. then, quieter. “we can try again later. properly, this time. y’know, if you really wanna warm my cock.”
you don’t dignify that with an answer. just close your eyes and stay there. stuffed. soaked. ruined.
Making olderbf!Nanami pay for his mistakes... literally... suggestive
“Dating a younger lady will keep your dick hard and your wallet empty.”
Is what Gojo said to Kento Nanami, and while Nanami would likely say it in less vulgar words, he would have to agree.
“This is getting ridiculous, darling.” He says with an exasperated sigh. You are sitting down at the desk in your and Nanami's shared flat. He’s sitting under the desk on his knees, his head lying on the lap of your crossed legs. “What's ridiculous is my boyfriend coming home three hours late from work, no call, no text.” You spat out at him. You shake your leg in an attempt to kick him off, but it is of no use.
His eyes are tired and hungry, and the furrowed lines on his forehead make it difficult for you to maintain your angry demeanor. He looks completely disheveled underneath you, as if he's a starving man and you're depriving him of much-needed nourishment. His blonde hair a mess, some sticking to his sweaty forehead. You would be lying if you said he didn't look delicious like this.
“Baby, that was four days ago. I've apologized, written you letters, bought you flowers, and taken you out for dinner.” His put-together persona falling apart, a desperate whiney one taking his place. “Don’t you think my punishment has lasted long enough?” He whines into your lap.
“Are you insinuating that you have a right to my body just because we are together?” You say with a smirk on your lips just to get on his nerves. He groans loudly, his gentlemanlike demeanor completely out the window. “No, Love, I’m saying that my usually eager girlfriend is withholding sexual relations from me out of spite.” He’s visibly annoyed by your antics.
He looks up at you defeated, his eye bags deep and sunken. You swear you can see tears well in his sharp eyes. “Baby, please. Just tell me what you want from me.” He begs, his calloused hands rubbing up and down your bare thighs. You giggle at the older man's desperation, unable to keep up the cold-hearted act. You run a hand through his disheveled hair, and he closes his eyes at the feeling of your euphoric touch. “Ya’ know, everything comes at a price.” You say to him innocently.
His ears perk at your sentence as he understands every underlying message behind it. He eagerly reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his old, brown leather wallet. He pulls out a couple of random dollars and his card, placing them into your hand as quickly as humanly possible. You count the cash with a sinister smirk on your face, before shoving it into your bra. You slowly uncross your legs, and Nanami sighs in relief. “And what's my budget on this?” You ask while meanly tapping the blue credit card on his forehead. “Anything, baby. Fuck. Anything you want.” He says absent-mindedly as he hungrily pulls down the shorts you're wearing. “You sure, Kento?~” You ask singsongly.
"If you-if you put a buck in my cup, I will shut the fuck up—"
You froze.
What was meant to be an ordinary Saturday morning doing your groceries turned into an encounter you so desperately wanted to avoid.
Sitting cross-legged outside your local 7/11 was none other than your ex-boyfriend, Toji Fushiguro.
He was holding up a cheap Styrofoam cup, waving it up at your face with the same shit-eating grin he usually sported when you were around. Beside him was a cardboard sign, a message scribbled in messy marker:
"Homeless. Will sing for $$$."
Toji was lying through his teeth, the bastard.
You had kicked him out of your home, granted — but he had his own cheap, rundown place not too far from yours.
Toji continued to stare up at you. You stared back.
Then, he shook the empty cup at you again, messy hair falling in front of the green eyes you had spent countless nights looking up into. ". . . hey, doll."
You pinched the bridge of your nose, sucking in a harsh breath of air through your teeth.
"Toji."
"Yes, doll?'
"Genuinely, what the fuck are you doing?"
He shrugged half heartedly, looking into his empty cup. His tank top hung off one shoulder, clearly having been bunched up to make it look older than it actually was. "New marketing strategy. You interested in investing?"
"Get the fuck up," you hissed, dragging the man built the bicep. A couple of kids walked past, snickering and pointing at the spectacle. "I am not dealing with you in public."
Despite his buff stature, Toji let you drag him round the corner of the convenience store, a dopey look on his face like he had already won. Without missing a beat, he buried his nose in the crook of your neck and inhaled deeply.
"Missed you, y'know," he muttered low, lips already nipping at your skin. "Really bad. Had to get your attention somehow."
You scoffed, shrugging him off of you. "Toji, we broke up barely two weeks ago, and you're acting like this?"
"Two weeks and four days, actually. I've been counting."
"You're so ridiculous—"
But the second you opened your mouth to argue, Toji was pecking your cheek — all the way until his mouth reached yours. His desperation was almost laughable if it wasn't for the fact you were kissing back.
Instead of saying no, instead of telling him off for thinking with his dick again — you pulled Toji closer, all the way until he was rutting against your thigh. Then shame kicked in, eliciting a garbled noise from you as you pulled away.
Toji, of course, chased your lips. A hand to his chest kept him back, causing him to groan. "Fuck," he rasped, licking at his lips to taste whatever remnant of you was left on them. "C'mon, doll. Take me home."
It was only then that you truly took in Toji that morning — at the half feral, half pleading look in his eyes, at how ridiculous he looked — and your resolved cracked at the seams.
"Fuck— fine. But I'm not paying you anything."
"Sold.
⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃⊂⊃
Stuffed grocery bags fell onto polished floorboards. A door slammed shut, a resounding click echoing throughout the hallway as Toji shucked your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop.
It wasn't often Toji lowered himself down to such a humiliating level — save for when he was begging not too long ago, but eating you out from the back was something too enticing to pass up on.
"N-not too much now, Toji—"
"Mmph, 'm hungry."
Your tits pressed up against the door you had been shoved up against, thigh straining as your ex bullied one of your knees onto his bulky shoulder.
Toji's tongue dug in, prodding around the hole he had spent two weeks and four days dreaming of.
"Yeaaah, fuck back down onto me," he managed to say after long, lecherous minutes of him soaking his face in your juices. You bucked down, squealing when two large hands spread your asscheeks apart. "Fuckin' tastes as good as I remember."
"Mmh, y-you're so fucking gross," you manage to croak out, shaky puffs of your breath cooling against the door.
"Tch, I haven't even ate your ass yet.
"Yet—?"
And then Toji puckered his lips to shut you up, eyes honed in on his target before he spat right onto your pussy with a wet pwah. He spread you apart with two thick thumbs, digging his nose and inhaling before curling his tongue back in with renewed vigour.
Truly, Toji had finally shut the fuck up — tongue flattening and licking up a fat stripe at the throbbing expanse of your cunt.
It was filthy the way the man slurped, jaw angling deeper so that he could nip at your clit and feel the way your entire cunt seemed to pulse over his face.
Your orgasm was inevitable — your cries having reached its all-time high as the peak of your pleasure hit you like a freight train. "Mmph, go on. Cream all over my face like you used to."
So you did, thighs almost cramping as your pussy gushed hot and messy over Toji's face. The freak gulped it all down, face moulded snug against you like he'd die without your pussy.
Toji's own boner had been leaking steadily in his shorts, forgotten in the throes of making you feel good. Only when he looked down had he seen he had come untouched — a steady puddle of white cum already dripping onto the floor from his clothed crotch.
He grimaced, then looked back up at you, face to face with your quivering pussy once more.
“kei, do you ever think about how strange it is that we've never fought?” you ask, limbs tangled with his as you cuddle on his bed.
it’s 10:03 PM and you’re doing your best to fight against the chilling, icy atmosphere of tsukishima’s room. for some reason, he likes to sleep like a vampire.
“do you want to?” he offers with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. tsukki doesn’t even open his eyes when he responds, too sleepy to entertain another one of your late night overthinking sessions.
“no,” you say calmly, “but we’ve been together for 7 months. we must either be like, the greatest couple of all time or the exact opposite.”
you feel his chest rise and deflate against your head as he lets an overly dramatic sigh.
you knew tsukishima kei wasn’t one for pda. hell, it was one of the things you loved about him. he knew how to make you feel loved without having to scream it to the world.
like that one time on one of your first dates, when you had accidentally fallen asleep on the soft grass of the park while waiting for his weekend practice to end. you woke up with a hand massaging your scalp.
“how long have you been waiting there?” you giggle, rising from your slumber as you rub your eyes awake. he pulls away, casually avoiding your gaze. “why didn’t you wake me?”
kei only shrugs, “you looked peaceful.”
or that other time you got sick for a week and couldn’t make it to school, so he immediately visited you as soon as you got better and brought his backpack with him.
“i got two copies of all the homeworks due next week, so you don’t have to ask the teachers for them.” he unpacks his notes and fishes out two pens from his bag before turning to you. “come, i’ll teach you everything you missed.”
your teachers praised you for how responsible you were, and told you how much they appreciated that you took the initiative to study.
yeah, you totally did that.
or like right now, and all the other nights you’ve spent at his place. because unbeknownst to you, tsukishima kei sets up his bedroom every single time you visit. he tidies up, cleaning even spots that you would never think to look at. but most importantly, and tsukishima knows this routine by heart, he turns the a/c to the highest setting so you’d be forced to cuddle against him underneath his sheets.
“the former,” is all replies with, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.
“but seriously though. how lucky are we to never have fought even after seven months.”
tsukki sighs again, before reluctantly revealing, “we don’t fight because i make it a point to always agree with you.”
you’re taken aback by his words, sitting up slightly as you look him in the eyes, though his are still closed as he tries to focus on sleeping.
“...huh?”
“idiot,” he teases. maybe he thinks calling you names will cover up for how unbelievably sweet he’s being right now, “why would i want to argue with you?” he shifts, trying to subtly move his face away so you don’t see him fully.
“but i can’t always have my way, you know. a relationship should be 50/50, right?”
“not ours.” he presses your head back against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat fasten a little. “you’re the boss.”
BONUS: “and you’ve never paid in your life anyway. you don’t believe in that 50/50 bullshit.” “hey!” “i don’t even know what your wallet looks like.”
You left Jujutsu High after that. Not by your choice, not really.
Itadori said it was for your own good.
You remember the way he smiled, tired and broken when he asked-no, begged-you to leave with him.
"Let's start over, okay? Just the two of us. Somewhere far away... away from everything."
You couldn't say no.
Not after all he'd lost.
Not after all you had seen.
You were the only one he had left, and he made sure you knew that. Every single day.
Now, you lived in Osaka. In a quiet apartment on the 6th floor, where the trains were too far to hear and the neighbors were too polite to question your tightly shut windows.
Itadori was still him-still smiling, still cheerful, still cracking jokes that made you laugh even when you didn't want to.
Still Itadori Yuji.
But not entirely.
Not the same.
Because now, he never let you go anywhere alone.
He kept three phones to track you "just in case."
He still had nightmares, and sometimes you'd wake up with his arms so tight around you, you could hardly breathe.
But... could you really blame him?
It was Sunday today. The weather was surprisingly bright for once-clear skies, warm breeze.
So you agreed when he asked if you both could visit one of his favorite spots: an old record shop tucked behind the main shopping street.
He was walking ahead of you now, guiding with boyish excitement.
"There's this place I told you about, right? They've got actual vinyl from the 80s-I mean, original press!"
His voice was animated, hands flailing as he talked, his joy infectious.
You smiled quietly, watching him from behind. He always did look happier when he talked about old things. Nostalgia clung to him like static electricity.
And then-
Something brushed against your fingers.
A chill ran down your spine.
You paused, looking down.
A book? No-a magazine.
Bright cover.
Big bold red letters.
HOW TO TAME A YANDERE?
Steps, Types & Tests to See If Your Partner is One!
You blinked, confused.
A soft frown formed on your lips as you slowly looked up.
A small shop had appeared on the side of the alley. One you swore wasn't there yesterday.
Or even two minutes ago.
The front window was hazy, shelves inside cluttered with odd trinkets, books, dolls... things that seemed too old to be real, yet too new to be antiques.
Weird...
You tilted your head, inspecting the place.
"Y/N?"
His voice broke your trance.
You turned around quickly.
"Oh-sorry!"
You hurried to catch up, footsteps echoing lightly beside his.
Itadori tilted his head slightly, smiling. "Spacing out on me? What caught your eye?"
You blinked, looked down...
...And saw the magazine still in your hand.
What the-
You didn't remember picking it up.
You didn't even buy it.
How were you holding this?
Itadori glanced at it with casual curiosity.
"What's that?"
You panicked.
"A-ah! It's a new magazine!" you blurted. "Looked interesting so I wanted to read it..."
He stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
Then he smiled again, easy and sweet.
"Ahh, okay. Let's go then!"
He started walking.
You followed.
But something was off.
Not about him.
About you.
You looked down at the magazine again, the words now feeling heavier in your hands.
How to Tame a Yandere?
Step 1: Observe. Step 2: Test boundaries. Step 3: Push just enough to see the cracks.
Your breath hitched slightly.
Why did you lie?
Why did you hide it?
You don't know...
-
After spending the entire day wandering around Osaka with him, the two of you finally got back home-hands full of little shopping bags, mostly snacks, some stationeries, and a cute hoodie Itadori insisted on buying for you "You have to wear this. It's soft like a mochi."
As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he stretched out his arms with a soft groan.
"I'll shower first, yeah?" he said, heading toward the bathroom already tugging at his shirt.
You nodded absentmindedly, placing the shopping bags down on the table. The apartment smelled like warm rain and lavender soap. Calm. Normal.
You started sorting through the bags when your hand brushed against something stiff and papery.
Your eyes narrowed.
That magazine.
The one from that shop.
Your brows pulled into a deep frown.
You definitely threw it in the trash yesterday.
You were sure of it.
So how...?
You stared at it in your hand again. That same red cover. That same cursed title:
HOW TO TAME A YANDERE?
You glanced toward the bathroom door. The water had just started running. You hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the edge of the page.
You really shouldn't.
But curiosity doesn't listen to logic.
And cats aren't the only ones that suffer for it.
So you opened it-just a peek, just to see what kind of nonsense this was spewing.
The first page had a bold header:
Step 1: Ignore him.
You slammed the magazine shut.
"The fuck- Ignore who??"
You said it out loud without thinking.
Your eyes twitched in irritation.
There was no way in hell you were doing that.
You'd rather wrestle a curse naked.
Disgusted, you tossed the magazine into the trash-again-this time deeper, underneath empty chip bags and tissues. Let it rot there.
Just then, the bathroom door opened, steam curling out softly as Itadori stepped out, towel slung over his shoulders, water still dripping from his hair. He gave you a bright, sweet grin.
"You can use the shower now!"
You nodded quickly, trying to act natural.
"Thanks."
Your steps were calm, steady. Nothing suspicious.
And yet, for some reason, your spine prickled.
Was it guilt? Anxiety? Or just the thought that maybe that magazine wasn't entirely lying?
---
The night passed quietly.
He didn't say anything odd.
He snuggled against you like always. Whispered goodnight. Kissed your forehead.
Everything was fine.
It always is. Until it's not.
---
The Next Morning
You were halfway done tying your hair when you spoke.
"I'll go grab a few things from the store later."
Itadori, who was buttering toast, froze for a second too long before smiling.
"Oh? I'll come with you."
You blinked. "It's just down the street. I'll be quick."
But his smile didn't waver. "Even better. I'll drive you there. We can knock out all the shopping for this month in one trip."
You sighed.
Here it was again.
That clingy insistence.
That shadow behind the sunshine.
You wanted to believe it was just love. Protection.
But sometimes, it felt like a leash.
You pressed your lips together. "You don't have to-"
"I want to," he said quickly. "Let me."
You didn't argue further.
The car ride was the same as always. He opened the door for you, waited until you were seated just right before closing it gently.
But then-
Just before getting in, he paused.
Standing there, one hand on the car's roof, he leaned down, smile still on his face-too wide, too tight.
"I'll be in the driver's seat in a sec, okay? Don't move. Yeah?"
You blinked. "Okay..."
Then you watched him literally run to the other side and slide into the driver's seat like he was afraid you'd vanish if he blinked.
Engine roared to life.
"Let's buy everything we need for the month," he chirped cheerfully. "That way, you don't have to go out again!"
His voice was bright.
Too bright.
You stared at him, watching the soft movement of his jaw as he kept talking, listing things to buy.
But your brain wasn't listening anymore.
Why did he say it like that?
Why is he always with you?
Why did he run like that?
And most importantly-
Is this really how it's always been... or have you only started noticing now?
-
You didn't mean to do it.
You really didn't.
But the magazine sat there in your memory like an itch you couldn't scratch.
Just a little try. A tiny harmless attempt. That wouldn't hurt, right?
So you did it.
You followed the first step.
"Ignore him."
It sounded easy. Silly even. But it wasn't.
Not when he was the one you were ignoring.
You'd never done it before. Not even once.
Not even after your worst arguments-because Itadori never really argued. He smiled. He softened. He loved like he was afraid to lose you any second.
And now, here you were-avoiding his gaze, brushing past his jokes with hollow laughs.
You saw it.
You felt it.
The confusion in his eyes when you stayed too long on the phone beside him, barely acknowledging his presence.
The way his shoulders would tense when you left the house before he could grab his coat.
The way his hand always hovered-wanting to reach out but too afraid to break whatever delicate space you were putting between him and you.
He even asked once, tentative and quiet:
"Y/N... is something bothering you?"
And you'd smiled-fake, thin, heavy.
"It's nothing."
Liar.
You were such a damn liar.
And still, he didn't press.
He never pushed. Never accused. Never pried.
Because that's how Itadori was. He'd rather hurt in silence than make you uncomfortable.
You could feel it all.
The ache in his silence.
The silent "please" in his soft glances.
And god, it hurt.
You weren't built for this game. Not with him.
This was wrong.
So that night-
Unable to sleep with guilt chewing on your chest-you turned toward him in bed. His face was calm in the low light, his breath steady, arm loosely around your waist like he didn't want to hold you too tight.
You didn't deserve that kind of love.
You carefully slid out of bed, tiptoeing downstairs to get some water. The house was too quiet, like it was holding its breath.
As you took a sip, your eyes drifted toward the kitchen trash bin.
You blinked.
The lid was closed. Too neatly.
But something in your gut twisted.
Did I ever... take out the trash?
You stepped closer, reaching toward it with slow fingers.
Before your hand could touch the lid-
"Are you looking for this, Y/N?"
Your heart dropped.
You froze, turning slowly.
And there he stood.
Itadori.
Leaning against the wall. Magazine in hand.
But it wasn't the magazine that made your breath hitch.
It was his face.
Not angry.
Not sad.
Just... empty.
Those soft brown eyes that used to light up like stars were hollow now.
No warmth.
No sparkle.
Just a dull flicker of something else.
Something broken.
Something you did.
"Itadori..." you whispered. "I didn't mean-"
"I'm not a yandere..."
The words came out suddenly-raw, trembling-from his lips.
You froze.
He stood there, eyes wide, like even he didn't expect himself to say it out loud.
"I'm not a yandere..." he repeated again, softer this time. As if trying to convince himself.
Your throat tightened. Something in you cracked.
He looked like a mess. Hair sticking to his forehead, his hands shaking slightly-like the idea of you seeing him that way terrified him more than anything in this world.
"I'm not... I'm not," he whispered again, voice unraveling. "Please don't leave me... please don't be scared of me..."
And that's when his voice broke completely.
Like the weight of what he feared had already become reality.
Like the only thing keeping him together was your silence.
The magazine slipped from his fingers and hit the floor softly-pages fluttering, flipping.
You didn't look down.
You couldn't.
Because right now, he wasn't the overprotective shadow.
He wasn't the suffocating guardian.
He was just... Yuji.
Terrified.
Wounded.
And still begging you to love him.
Your heart shattered in your chest like thin porcelain.
You never thought this stupid game would end like this.
You thought you were just being curious. You thought it would be a joke.
But this?
This was cruel.
Without a second thought, you stepped forward-your foot landing right on the damn magazine, crushing it beneath your heel.
You didn't care.
All you cared about was him.
You wrapped your arms around him-tight, desperate-as if that hug could stitch back all the broken pieces.
As if your warmth could undo what your cold shoulder had done.
He stiffened for a moment, startled, then melted into your touch-his face burying in the crook of your neck, arms locking around you like you were slipping away again.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry-I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't think it would go this far-I was stupid-"
"I... I thought you hated me..." he whispered into your skin.
Your throat closed up.
You shook your head furiously, pulling him closer.
"No. Never. I could never."
There was silence then.
Only the sound of your breathing, tangled together. Sniffling. Soft hiccups. Fingertips digging into each other's backs like you were anchoring each other to this world.
And then-
A faint rustling.
The magazine, still half-smashed beneath your step, its pages catching the soft breeze that snuck through the cracked window.
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