The air around the atelier felt charged these past few days. Neither of you willing to admit what was hanging around. Qifrey thought he ruined things, perhaps asking to kiss you was a cataclysmic mistake, you had seemed more nervous about it than he had initially thought you would be, and that made him a bit afraid. But if you had felt anything close to the way he felt when your lips touched his, well maybe there was hope for things after all.
Though you seemed a bit more awkward around him, Qifrey noticed the way you lingered more, not as chatty as you once were, but simply wanting to be in his presence—and he didn’t mind it as he quite enjoyed your company, preferred it actually. You hadn’t made any advances towards him, and he wasn’t sure when was the right time to make one himself. He wanted to touch you, he actually found any excuse to, brushing a hand across your lower back when scooting past you, grabbing a stray leaf that had fallen in your hair, touching your hand when you made dinner together and he was passing you the vegetables to chop, anything to get you to notice him, to gauge some sort of reaction of where you both stood.
You on the other hand, were a wreck. This started out as you helping your best friend experience his first orgasm, and now you couldn’t look at him without knowing exactly how his lips felt on yours. You had imagined it for years, thinking it would never happen, and certainly not thinking it would be as good as it was. Sex was something you were able to distance yourself from, using it as a way to feel good and it being nothing more, but kissing, the thought of it always made your heart race, where you were concerned that was the more intimate act, and doing it with Qifrey was a dream. One you thought you’d have to wake up from, so you tried to avoid him, but your feelings betrayed you each and every time.
You wanted to be near him, wanted to hear his voice, his breathing—those soft whimpers fall from his lips again. You would have to broach the subject eventually, but you still had things you wanted to show him, and he still wanted to learn, so you could push those feelings aside and focus on the physical aspect of it. Focusing on that was easy because every time Qifrey touched you—which you’d noticed he’d been doing more recently—it set your skin on fire, a wetness pooling between your legs, one you swore you’d never experienced before. Perhaps it had to do with the feelings for him, but each time he grazed your lower back, you’d have to clench your thighs together, or bite your lip when he skated his hand over yours when handing you vegetables for dinner. You wanted him to touch you so badly, you were willing to beg for it, something you didn’t typically do, and you would much prefer coming from him. You were discovering a side of you that you didn’t even know existed and it was a bit scary, but you supposed there’s no one you’d trust more with it than Qifrey.
Finally giving in to your desires, you sought him out in his room the next night. You knew that if you gave him enough time, he would come to you again—considering he couldn’t keep his hands to himself there was no way he was going to last much longer, but you simply couldn’t wait. The moment you raised your hand to knock, losing your edge and deciding it was better to go back to your room, the door swung open, Qifrey standing on the other end.
“Oh, [name], I was just coming to find you,” He jumped back a bit.
You swallowed, “What for?”
“Well it seems you had something to say to me first,” He inquired.
“Um,” You looked down at the floor, you were not supposed to be the shy one about this, what had gotten into you.
“Hey,” Qifrey gripped your chin, lifting your face to look at him, “Are you alright?”
There it was again, the fire igniting through your veins when he touched you. Your neck craned a bit to look up at him, the concerned look on his face making you fall even further in love with the man in front of you, but you came here for pleasure, for a way to try and forget about the feelings bubbling up inside of you. You wouldn’t acknowledge them until they were ready to burst, and you would do everything in your power to make sure they never did.
“I’m fine,” You tried to turn away, but he had a tight grip on your chin.
“You look flushed. Are you sure you aren’t feverish?” He lifted his other hand to your forehead.
“I feel fine, Qifrey,” You assured him, “I just,” You paused.
“Just what?” Qifrey finally let go of your chin.
You took a deep breath, you were the experienced one here, you could take control of the situation, “Would you like to touch me?”
Qifrey blinked, looking startled, “Of course I would, but—“
“Good,” You cut him off, dragging him to his bed before he could say anything more, before he could ask if you wanted this, because you did, you really really did, but you weren’t ready to admit just how badly.
“[name], hold on,” He stopped in front of his mattress, looking down at you still holding onto his wrist, “Are you sure you’re alright?”
You looked tense. Qifrey wanted you to want this, almost as much as he did, but he didn't want to push that if it wasn't something you were interested in. He could live with these little moments with you, no matter how tortuous they became--if they ever did because quite frankly all he had been experiencing was immense pleasure.
But now he wanted the same for you. He wanted to give you that feeling of bliss you had given him multiple times now. He simply didn't know how to go about it.
"I'm fine, Qifrey. It's just... been a long day." You sighed.
He knew you were lying; he could feel it in his very soul. But he knew not to push, you were quite like him in that way; you would come to him when you were good and ready. And he wanted to be delusional for a moment longer, to think that you came to his door to seek him out for the same reason he was about to come to yours--to feel that connection once more, even if it was only on a physical level.
"What would you like me to do?" Qifrey asked.
You mentally thanked him for not pushing, but also for giving you back control of the situation. Control that kept you grounded, kept you from spiraling further into something your mind wasn't ready to accept.
"I'm going to remove my clothes and lay on your bed, if that's alright?" You asked, hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt, "You don't have to remove your clothes if you don't want, though I would like to see you."
Without waiting for his response, you removed your clothes with haste, and knowing how Qifrey was, you set them nicely on a chair close to his bed before climbing onto his soft comforter. Qifrey had removed his outer robe and pants, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt--not that either of those items--which were incredibly tight--left much to the imagination, especially not since you had seen it all already.
Your mouth watered at the sight of the prominent bulge in his boxers, loving how easily your naked form affected him. Lying on your back, you prompted Qifrey to join you on the bed, spreading your legs to allow him to slot between them.
Except, Qifrey froze the moment you opened them. He had seen your cunt, seen the way it glistened when you bent over, but this was a whole new perspective for him. His cock twitched in his underwear, and he swore he could've come at the sight alone of your pussy pulsing onto nothing. Slick dripped out of your hole, wet, and oh so ready for whatever you had planned for him to do to you. It was in this moment, he wished he had more experience, because he would love to ruin you the way that you do him, wanted to watch you fall apart. He licked his lips, having no idea what you were going to have him do, but he prayed to whomever was listening that you would bless him with the opportunity to taste you.
“Qifrey,” You pulled him from his trance, “Are you alright?” You fluttered your lashes and he could’ve swooned right then and there.
“Yes, sorry,” He crawled further up the bed, placing his hands on either side of your hips, “Just a bit entranced.”
“By what?” You asked, the room suddenly feeling a bit too hot.
“You, of course,” He smiled down at you.
You swore under your breath. He looked so perfect, pupil blown wide with a glassy sheen covering the expanse of his eye, a slight pout to his bottom lip, and his bulge pressing into your inner thigh; and he was waiting to pleasure you, waiting for you to give him directions. Oh he was going to be the death of you.
“I want to touch you,” He whispered, “But I don’t really know how,” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed and you really wanted to lift up and bite it, but he wanted you to guide him.
“Do you feel comfortable using your mouth, I don’t want to—“
“Yes,” He blurted out, immediately turning a deep shade of red, “Please.”
You giggled, “I was going to say I don’t want to force you to do anything, but clearly that’s not the case.”
“I have—um—been dying to taste you,” He admitted.
“Well then,” You cleared your throat, trying to remain composed over his admission, “Do you want me to fully guide you, or do you want to try it out and I can tell you what feels good?”
“Can I try?” He breathed out.
“Of course, neither answer was a wrong one.” You smiled, running a hand through his hair.
You guided him down your body, sliding his arms underneath your thighs to lift your legs over his shoulders. His face was mere inches from your core and he was panting, staring at it like a dog you had just given a bone.
“Is that comfortable?” You asked, laying back on the bed, unable to look at the expression on his face anymore for fear you’d confess how much you loved him—like this and in all other ways.
“Mhmm,” He hummed, “Are you okay?”
“I’m good, yeah. I’m ready whenever you are, but take your time.” You said, though it did not fit how you felt.
You needed him to bury his face so far into your cunt that you would feel him in your throat, you needed him to be sweating and dripping with your slick. You wanted to be a crying, shaking mess, and have him baby you afterwards, but he wasn’t ready for that and well neither were you. This was your situation to control right now, you couldn’t afford to lose it, or you might say things you’d regret later—or maybe ruin something you weren’t ready to let go of.
Qifrey took a deep breath, almost groaning at the smell of you alone. Shoving his face into your pussy, he didn’t make a move to open his mouth yet, he simply pressed his face into your slit and breathed deeply. Your cheeks reddened, it’s like he was scenting himself with your cunt, trying to brand the smell into his nostrils so he’d never go another day without it.
Removing his face a mere inch, he flattened his tongue, licking a strip from your hole to your clit. Your body twitched, breath hitching at the feeling. Qifrey moaned like he was the one being pleasured.
“Was that okay?” He asked, still insecure in his actions but wanting you to feel good.
“Yes,” You breathed out.
“Okay,” He gulped.
You had expected him to be nervous, hell you were nervous, but you needed him to do more.
It was as if Qifrey could read your mind, while he was absolutely terrified, he was ecstatic to be between your legs. He had been dreaming of this moment. So before he lost his nerve, he dove into your cunt, lapping at your slit like it was his last meal. Kissing, sucking, licking, anything he could do to pull a noise from you. He listened intently, each time he would kiss your bud you’d gasp, a moan would slip when he would suck and twirl his tongue around it, and when he felt more confident and started fucking his tongue into your pretty little hole, you about lost your mind, hands flying to grab at his hair.
And he loved every second of it. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he wanted you to fall apart the way you had done to him.
“Qifrey,” You pulled him from his thoughts.
“Yeah, baby?” He asked.
You froze at the nickname, and his cheeks blushed.
“Um sorry, I uh—“
“It’s okay,” You laughed, “I wanted to say—um—you can use your fingers too.”
“Use my fingers?” He slid an arm out from around your thigh, “Like inside?”
“Yeah,” You giggled, “Like inside.”
“Okay,” He breathed out, staring down at your glistening cunt.
He circled your hole with his fingertips, listening for your noises that told him he was doing a good job; the way you gasped as he eased inside of you, your breath hitching when he pressed against your gummy walls, a particular spot inside of you that had your hands flying to the sheets and gripping tight. Qifrey observed and learned which of these actions were affecting you, feeling the way your cunt clenched around him with certain movements.
Then he put it all together. Attaching his mouth to your clit and circling his tongue while he sucked at the same time with his fingers grazing along your walls, looking and feeling for that spot that would have you crying out while also feeling good along the way.
“Oh my god, Qifrey,” You moaned out.
You had moaned out his name. The exact sound he wanted to hear from you. His movements fastened, feeling you pulse and clench around you, your breathing quickening, chest rapidly rising and falling with each breath you took. Hands fisted in the sheets and a sheen of sweat covering your chest.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d done this before. Precise fingers hitting spots inside you even you were unaware of. Places that had you crying out in pleasure, back arching off the bed as a cloud of lust fogged your brain, making you crave more, making the coil in your belly tighten and wind until all you could focus on was Qifrey between your legs, the man you adored and treasured, sucking away at your clit and thrusting his fingers so perfectly you were going to fall over the edge and drown in the pure pleasure flowing through you.
“Mm—mgonna,” You hadn’t been able to get anything else out before you fell over the edge, barely able to warn him about your impending orgasm.
Qifrey’s eyes widened as your body convulsed below him, moans and whines falling from your lips so beautifully he could die happily knowing he had the privilege of hearing it even once. He continued his movements inside you, knowing how good it felt when you moved on him as he was finishing.
When your cunt stopped spasming around him, he paused, looking to you for direction once more. You were breathing heavily, chest heaving, but feeling oh so good.
Qifrey felt like he had just accomplished a great feat, like this was exactly the thing he needed in his life. Knowing he was the one to have made you feel that way made pride well in his chest, and watching it with his own eye made it all the better.
“You can remove your hands now,” You said.
“Oh right! Sorry,” Qifrey eased his fingers out of you, sitting up on his knees, “Did I do good?”
You smiled, lifting onto your elbows, “Yes, that was… really good. You’re sure you haven’t done this before?” You giggled.
“Never. And I’d prefer to never do it with anyone else.”
Your cheeks blushed at his confession, watching the way his chest rose and fell, looking just as affected by your arousal as you had, perhaps even more.
“Not even by yourself?” You asked.
“Not sure I’d even know how,” He confessed.
“You see what feels good. Testing things, like you just did with me.”
“Will you show me?” He breathed out.
You gulped. You already felt like this was getting into dangerous territory. Already worried about blurting out the feelings you so desperately wanted to conceal, and yet, you were going to give into his request. If it meant you go to touch him again, you would give in every single time. Even if it was only physical, even if he didn’t feel the same.
“I think we can arrange that.” You smiled.
A/N: I think there’s only going to be two more chapters to this lil mini series and I can’t wait to write those. I have plans for our babies.
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
🏁 ꒰ ✩ smut ⋆ mdni ⋆ pro hero bakugou & fem!reader. established relationship, unprotected sex, talk of condoms, subtle size kink, dacryphilia if you squint close enough -> bakugou is a responsible guy. he never forgets a thing. aside from the one time he forgets to buy condoms — no worries, you’ve always wanted him to hit it raw.
“no… fuck. damn it, i swear i —!”
katsuki never forgets condoms, ever. he’s big on safe sex, tested regularly doesn’t want any happy accidents before either of you are ready… but the one time he does forget to buy some, he genuinely nearly breaks down.
“f-fuck. sorry, baby — shit, i think we’re out.” bakugou rasps gruffly into your mouth — upset, begrudging. the bedside draw slams shut with a disappointing creak but it does nothing to dissipate heat in the air.
he’s teary eyed as he pulls back from your kiss swollen lips with the realisation. he hadn’t stocked up before he left for his mission in kuwait and you’d used the last of them that same weekend. the blonde sniffs it off as nonchalantly as he can, the fact that he’s about to cry, because he’s painfully hard against your clothed cunt and he hasn’t been able to properly have you in two weeks. a fist around his pulsing shaft and a memory of you bouncing back on him is barely enough for a man.
now you’re half naked underneath him and wet against his crotch, clothes still in a pathetic pile by the front door of your apartment because you’d welcomed him in with the same unexpected feverishness of a bustling city’s summer heat wave. heated kisses and burning touches that speak more than a week’s worth of yearning. katsuki feels stupid, he doesn’t know why he cries, perhaps it’s because he knows — no condom means no sex. he hates to leave you high and dry, hates to have to go take a cold shower until he can hit the stores tomorrow, but then your fingers curl in ash blonde baby hairs and you pull him back into you as though he’s rope slipping through his fingers. firm. grounding.
“maybe… maybe tonight we can try without?” you suggest because you’re so perfect, so undeniably good to him in ways the blonde isn’t even sure he deserves. your lips are glossy, your eyes are glassy and katsuki can feel your pussy smear over him with a layer of sweet glaze — clenching around nothing just at the thought of taking him raw. “i don’t want you to go. just want to be close to you.” you add, pouty. so pretty.
he should say no. he should insist on going down on you and rubbing one out in the shower later tonight. but there you are, squirming against his thickness that presses into your soft tummy, peering up at katsuki with those captivating, hypnotic eyes that plead for a slither of mercy. “please.” you whisper, the secret lying underneath your tongue next to every form of begging you know possible. you’re prepared to do it, if it means having him sink into you completely free of rubber. just skin on skin and the passion burning in your lungs.
“okay,” pearls of sweat form a halo around his head, sand blonde locks stick to the feverish skin as it drops to your bare shoulder. blood diluted with droplets of sin set a course for south and katsuki’s thick shaft pulses to life against you — as if to lead him into temptation — put it in. “god, fuck, okay. you’re gonna be good though? g-gonna let me pull out?” he manages a choked groan, rooted strongly in his chest like a sturdy oak tree. reverberating through your lush, syrupy cunt with enough bass to make you bend into him.
when you smile this time, it’s relieved and earnest — a beautiful glow that settles against the natural slopes of your features because katsuki strips faster than he ever has in his life. cock rock hard, wet and bare against you, seedy tip lathered in pre cum already married to your aching clit which he taps so lovingly against.
“n-no promises.” you mewl.
it’s so crude, no unlike the two of you, to be messy and raw. the heat of him blooms within you as bakugou lines up with your entrance, shallowly thrusting past the quivering hole with a grateful hiss. because he’s so lucky to be let into the gates of heaven. that you’ll let him fuck you even with the risk.
“can’t play around like that, baby, c-can’t say shit like that,” his breathing stutters, you squeeze around every hot, bare inch he gives to you. “…mmm fuck— ‘m gonna —!” katsuki heaves into your neck, lips on your pulse point to check you’re still with him whilst he bottoms out — pelvis flush against yours, thighs hiked high on his hip, dick dragging along your welcoming walls. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”
end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!
yuuji is so tall and buff … no waist … so hugeeeeeee so big and so kind and he leans down to listen to you talk and smells like pomegranate and goes “hm?” when he doesn’t hear you and leans soooo close he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it big hands Very big hands that are like the size of his face n he’s always doing tricks with them spinning pens cracking them nice fingersssnverynice sometimes he wears a backwards cap idk
Evan sees regulus as a sister, a brother, a twin. All of them. None of them. Evan thinks himself regulus’ proper older brother. To keep him from dangerous undesirable things. Keep him cared for clean. But he also thinks of regulus as an older sister. Nurturing and soft. Holds him, not like a mother but something trying to be one out of destiny rather than choice. He sees them as twins. The same person, vastly different looks, different ticks that make them squeamish. But nothing else. Everything else is the same. They are the same. They are blood. They are bonded by a womb. He can feel it.
Regulus sees Evan as a cousin. He’s always had a strange relationship with his cousins. They’re distant figures. Too close for comfort. Nosy. Uninterested. Perfect. Ugly. Everything and nothing, hate him and love him more than anything. Bite him. Softly and gently. And of course. Arranged marriage candidates. When regulus pictured who he would marry one day, he knew it was family. And he pictured Evan.
Barty sees regulus and Evan as some twisted erotic switch of his parents. Regulus, his quiet and nurturing mother. Keep him too close, sheltered from harsh realities while being spoon fed jitters and allowed to suck warmth from their breast. Regulus. Like his mother. A being made to be consumed. To tell him how to do it. To guide him. Build him. Mold him against themself. Evan, his cold and punishing father. Beats him. Makes him know he deserves it. Never smiles at him. Clearly has more love for mother than for him. Pulls his hair. Curls his lip in disgust. Whispers things to mother while she’s petting Barty’s hair. Molds him from the other side without touching him. Keeps him on his toes. Keeps him angry. Motivated. Appreciative. Cold, and lost. Some sort of haze. Haze they both tuck him into like a child put to bed, kissed, and left in the dark.
Evan sees family. Regulus sees family. Barty sees family.
Family to Evan, is comparing to himself. Family to regulus, is neverending and by design to be resigned to. Family to Barty? Well he can’t say he knew until mommy and daddy showed him
once you and zuko wed, he finds himself constantly looking for your hands.
his honeyed-ember eyes drawn to the glint of gold, hand-forged by one of the nations finest blacksmiths, nestled neatly on your left hand — a circle of eternal fate that ties him to you forever. the sight of your wedding ring settled the dramatic drum of his heart, because you made a promise to him, one of forevers and late nights and early mornings and meals for two. you’ve always wanted to be his and he’s always wanted to be yours. now it’s true, now it’s a fact.
there’s no need to be jealous when you shake the hands of ambassadors that eye you like a prize to be won, because at every congress and gathering — you are introduced as the wife of the fire lord, queen of the fire nation. a little piece of him tied to your name. you find his hand and you squeeze, the metal cool against his palms that sizzle with flickering flames of annoyance. somehow you’ve always grounded him.
there’s a pride that fills zuko, when little girls from your home and tribe ask if you’ve married a prince whenever they set their sights on the bedazzled band on your ring finger. there’s a blush that spreads violently from the tips of his ears down to the back of his neck, a scarlet hue stark even against the burn scar from his youth, when the elders pinch and pull zuko’s cheeks inspecting him. you’ve done well, they tell you. they’d have snatched him up and married him too — if they were younger. though, the ring could have been bigger, they mention. he is the fire lord after all.
when you train, when your body moves with the fluidity of water that has shaped the earth into the one he’s lucky enough to walk with you — zuko teaches himself to locate your wedding ring amongst your bending. the pools of water that loop around your liquid like a shield or a weapon only you have the strength to muster, add to the ring’s dazzle. he finds you dazzling then, one with the water — where life both begins and ends in one full circle. you’ve always told zuko, that your destinies are looped, that water had guided you to him and vice versa. you would born for each other. to die with each other — even if you find your power a means to his end.
zuko wouldn’t mind if it were you who put his flames out. he had made a promise at an altar with the world his witness. he would live and die by you. for you.
at night, when the sun’s flames ebb way and fade into petal pinks and midnight blues across her sky — zuko searches for your hand in the dark like a moth drawn to a single source of light. his lips graze the ring and his hands map your body with the same determination he’s always possessed. the rock at the centre breaks the chapped skin there at the same your own lips part with a soft, shattered moan because the fire lord’s goal has been the same from the start. he wants to prove himself worthy of the wedding ring, the promise of eternity, that sits heavy on your finger. if not during the day with his actions and his loyalties, then at night where your bodies meet like the tides and shores under the guidance of the moon’s gentle command. tangled limbs and interwoven fingers, pleasure that hangs like stars in the night sky.
zuko, throughout it all, searches for your hand, the wedding band, just make sure that it’s still there and that you still love him so.
✶⋆.˚ ᴀɴ | omgggg this was sm fun to make!! i've been loving reading smau's lately so wanted to make one for iamb 🤭🤭🤭 keep in mind these don't align with the timeline of the chapters so don't take these too srsly! also ignore the emojis getting messed up i didn’t know how to fix it oops
anyways lmk what u guys thinkkkk and if i should make moreeee :)
ao3 is down...could I offer you a tiny andreil story from Sir Fat Cat McCatterson's POV?
~ ~ ~
Father has forsaken me.
Waking me from my afternoon nap is not normally an unforgivable offense, but that is because Father gives the best scratches behind my ears—not too rough, but not too gently either, and for just the right amount of time.
However, I am cruelly denied such pleasures. I am placed on the cold floor outside the bedroom, my complaints ignored as Father heartlessly closes the door in my face. There is a moment when the door opens again, and I dart forward with hope of slipping through the gap, but Father's foot is in the way.
Brother is deposited beside me, still too sleepy to understand the gravity of the offense, but it is not long before he joins me in my song, uselessly trying to fit his paw beneath the gap at the bottom of the door.
Only when the strange noises start in the room do I give up. The door will not open until long after the noises cease, but Brother always takes longer to figure this out than I do. I know there will be compensation for this madness, so I sit on the arm of the couch and wait. There I have a perfect view of the bedroom door. Father and Weirdo will notice me the moment they emerge and understand their mistake when I make sure they know I'm ignoring them.
Brother joins me after an eternity. Rather than sit in view, he circles the couch, tail flicking with displeasure. After a few laps, he flops onto his side, latching onto the side of the couch with his claws. All sides of the couch are already frayed from his antics, so I am not sure Weirdo will notice the difference. Father will, but Father does not care for such frivolous matters. I believe my method of rebellion is much more effective. After all, who would not want the pleasure of my company? I am wonderful.
It took a while for Father to figure this out. There were many times I doted upon him, allowing his lap to serve as my throne—only to have him unseat me. Father did not understand the futility of denying himself the joy of my glorious company. It is the greatest honor to have me in the comfort of his lap or the warmth of his bed. But after much time and effort, he has learned to be more agreeable.
I usually get my way—so long as I remain unimpeded by my greatest nemesis (closed doors).
Weirdo is more compliant that Father, but also comes with idiosyncrasies that I have learned to tolerate. Brother has much more enjoyment with Weirdo's strange style of play, willing to do certain tricks for treats. Brother sometimes even does them in front of Father when Weirdo commands it.
I am above such indignity. My presence alone means I am deserving. Weirdo must at least understand this to some extent—since he'll give me treats too when Brother is not looking. Thus, I have easily forgiven him.
By the time the bedroom door opens, Brother has fallen asleep and I am well on my way. I can't help but perk at the sound, even if I refuse to turn my head. I listen closely and track Weirdo's footsteps as he heads toward the kitchen and opens the cupboard where I know the treats are.
The air smells sweet. Father and Weirdo normally shower after making strange noises in the bedroom, and that means there will be tasty water beaded on the tile walls and floor. I will save it for later.
Father's heavy footsteps approach. The television clicks on as he sits on the opposite side of the couch. I close my eyes, hearing Weirdo appeal to Brother first. There is a crinkle as Weirdo digs into the bag for treats, then crunching as Brother eats.
How easily he forgives and forgets.
Even when Weirdo sits beside me, I ignore him. He coos. I ignore him. A gentle hand runs over my spine. I flick my tail. Those fingers trail up, scratching behind my ear. It feels so nice that I can't help but tilt my head into it.
Only when he stops scratching do I turn my head towards him and vocalize my grievance. Weirdo bares his teeth in that strange way that I have learned he believes is a positive expression. Is it a worthy bid for my forgiveness? The offered treats certainly indicate so. I graciously accept them along with more pets.
I get crumbs on the couch as I eat, but I manage to track down all tasty morsels except for those that disappear in the gaps of the cushions.
Once I finish, I stand and stretch. Weirdo's lap is empty, but I step across it. Father has a pillow clutched in his, but I paw impatiently at his leg until he wisely moves it. I do not think anyone in the world has a more comfortable lap than Father. I feel safe there.
Weirdo slides closer and cuddles up to Father. A tolerable addition, so long as he doesn't commandeer too much attention. Brother eventually joins us, curling up between Weirdo's feet on the floor.
A purr rumbles in my chest as Father lays his hand on my back and idly rubs circles with his thumb. Even with all the grievances and indignities, I could not imagine a better life.
just saying, Izuku’s most likely to make a sextape with his gf compared to Shoto and Katsuki
🏁 eighteen plus only ! ⋆ minors don’t interact ⋆ smut ⋆ sex tapes ⋆ fingering ⋆ squirting ⋆ edging ⋆ dom/sub ⋆ pro hero izuku midoriya, fem reader !
and you’d be absolutely correct. he’d have a collection that ranges from filmed on his phone in the dark in the middle of the night to ones filmed on a proper camera after a tipsy date night. some for you two to watch later n get off to together… others to show shoto n katsuki during a late night patrol.
i think izuku would take it so seriously, he’d buy a special digi cam for the event and let you use his card to buy whatever makes you feel prettiest. lingerie, new makeup that he’ll smudge later on, toys. whatever it is that you want to feel special.
think the first time you make one, it’s in a fancy hotel booked for your birthday. he spoils you with spa treatments and caviar and kisses that taste like aged wine until you’re a giggly mess, relaxed putty in izuku’s strong arms. it’s when you’re this at ease that he points to the phone on the dresser — large hands already casting their touch down your front to cup your breasts. kneading them, squeezing them between rough fingers as they spill over the top of the dress he bought you.
“wanna put on a show, f’me baby? wanna remember your special day, forever.”
izuku coos to you so delicately, that the idea almost floats right over your head — it’s no wonder you give in, when he’s pinching your nipples through a satin slip and his tongue crawls down your throat whilst he kisses you slow. keeps it sexy. dark, forest green hair tickles the nape of your neck and causes a giggle that catches on camera — one that fades into a moan as he licks and sucks on your neck from behind.
the sounds crackle in the static air caught on film, how you moan louder and your clothes rustle harder as izuku anchors you down to his lap — one of his hands sinking further between your thighs, beneath your dress to press against those pretty lace panties he had picked out for you. pulling them taut between your dripping folds to give the boys a special view.
“tell the camera how you want it, ask nicely.” he nods over to the sleek black device, the red counter at the top of the screen ticking as the seconds go by. he’ll record for as long as it takes to make you cry.
“fingers please, zu. fuck me with your fingers,” your hand slides up to cup his throat — squeezing it as he looks down at you. green eyes blown with mirth, pupils dilated. he can’t say no, not with how much he’s going to enjoy this later. “please, i’ll be so good…”
the camera will play back the way izuku’s breath hitches, his baby always uses such good manners when she wants something. he’s had you trained for this and rightfully so, he’ll spoil you for keeping up with his desire for control. tacky, wet and syrupy sounds crackle over grainy footage once he slides in — slow, dragging the dull edge of his fingertips against your rippling walls. even though you squirm, a strong hand keeps your thighs spread open so the glisten of your cunt reflects perfectly off the phone screen of your beloved viewers.
“isn’t she pretty? so wet like this…” izuku sighs like he’s in a dream, as if you aren’t leaking in his lap and wailing out his name in broken segments — scarred digits pulling out to lazily roll your clit from side to side, bringing them up into the view of the camera to show how your slick wraps around them. “kacchan loves watching you get split open on my fingers like this, baby. wanna say hi?”
if you were further down the line, closer to the edge. you might have forgotten to respond or to breathe — a shaky mess as the tight circles rubbed against you grow faster and harder. “h-hi k-kacchan!” you squeak, looping your thighs over the tops of deku’s to give his hand more room to work at your absolutely ruined sex. “can i cum how, izu? please?” your blinking slows to the point where you almost look dumb, not a thought in your mind as you feverishly buck into the wild strokes to your pussy. “kacchan likes it w-when i cum on camera…a-and sho thinks ‘m pretty when i squirt.”
then your boyfriend is pulling your pretty face up to his, teary eyed as he angles you just right — lips just an inch away from yours when he laughs cruel, slips those fingers back inside and curls them just right, hitting your special spot over and over again until you’re gushing down the length of his muscular arm, the precious gleam of your arousal caught by his phone lense.
“hear that boys?” izuku huffs with a pleased grin, glaze slinking over to the camera as you claw at his wrist and clench around the digits that make you cum. “she likes to cum for you too.”
next and if he was feeling generous — deku would arrange you all pretty against the sheets, your back arched away from expensive linen and your clothes pulled down to reveal all the skin and keep somewhat of your decency. because while he’s happy to show you off, you still belong to him entirely. every inch of your flesh caught on camera dotted with possible teeth marks and hand prints. “spread your legs, want them nice and wide for me…” and the mic picks up the hitch in your boyfriend’s voice even if he’s no longer visible as you blink innocently up at the device in his hand… slowly peeling apart your slick soaked thighs to reveal that glistening hole, ready to be used.
you gleam like a diamond freshly polished, pussy lips swollen and begging to be parted or rubbed. for viewing pleasure (for the boys, and for later) — the jade eyed hero slaps the thick slab of his cock against your dripping mound, the two of you sharing dazed and drooly moans muffled by the rustle of fabric as Izuku thrusts forward. smearing his cock with your juices and stimulating your throbbing clit for the camera. static and grainy, but a beautiful sight overall.
“should i let them watch me fuck you? see how good, this pussy takes my cock?” he murmurs, the lilt to his voice enticingly gentle — broken by sharp juts of his hips forward as he fucks the length of his shaft through your slippery slit. each part of you clinging to the veins that spiral down him, sticky sounds echoing through the phone. izuku angles himself lower, lets the lense follow — casually dipping the blunt head of his cock past your quivering entrance, the one that locks and unlocks around him and burns at the stretch from his size.
anyone watching your intimate video would be able to hear the way izuku laughs almost patronisingly as you bow away from the bed — soft mounds of your chest swaying with the sudden movement, swollen lips parted just enough for your boyfriend to stick a thumb in just for you to get wet and pacify your own whiny cries.
“bet they’d love to see it, see you full of me…” dragging the hand away from your needy mouth where you’d been suckling on his digits, in view of the camera that alters between izuku grinding his cock against your cunt and your wriggly tongue, he streaks a trail of your own saliva from your chin.. between the valley of your breasts and finally right over your tummy. where izuku presses down. showing both you and the viewer exactly where he’s going to be when he later bottoms outside of you. “righhht, here.”
a high pitched mewl is shared between the two of you, one more mocking from izuku and the other genuine and hungry from you. with a giggle and a taunting look towards the camera, you push the man’s thick and calloused fingers lower… biting your lip as they graze the little pleasure nub swollen and prominent between your pussy lips. he catches on to your mischief too quick, rewarding you with slow circular swipes that make your whole body tingle and electricity spark across your brain.
“you said we would give em a show, izu… let them know what they’re missing?”
and the gleam in your eye as your hips roll up towards the camera, buck against izuku’s dick just to wet it … tells him that you’re being greedy. that you just want to be fucked.
and he doesn’t mind at all, it’s always hotter when you play up being a good girl for the camera. neither do the boys ( kacchan and todoroki ) not when a ten minute video of you cumming for izuku over and over on his tongue and his cock and his fingers is sent to the group chat with a warning not to be saved later on.
end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
”with shapes.inc you can talk to your ocs!!” Dumbass. I’m already talking to them. In my head. “B-bbut what about your favourite charac-“ skill issue. In my head as well. get fucked.
fuck israel and the usa for these atrocities in iran and the rest of west asia/the middle east. bombing an all girls school for CHILDREN to "protect women" and "save the children" from an oppressive regime? really? that's your excuse? just say you want to kill women and girls when they're arab because the governments of israel and the usa don't see them as human.
“He lying to me, and I'm lying to him, fuck it, guess we both ain't shit.”
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: Suggestive themes.
Summary: You and Higuruma are both seeing other people, but your intense, possessive situationship blurs every boundary.
The first time you and Hiromi Higuruma mutually agreed it wasn't anything serious, it was over cheap wine and the sound of rain hitting your apartment window.
"We're both seeing other people," you had said, swirling the red liquid in your glass.
"Yes," he agreed.
"And this is...?"
"A complication," he answered, as if he were reading a legal definition he didn't particularly like but couldn't argue with.
Yet his hand had settled on your thigh like it belonged there.
That was how it started.
You know he's home because the lights are on, warm and deliberate against the dark hallway.
And you know he knows you're outside because Higuruma doesn't text "come up." He doesn't ask. He doesn't check.
He sends one message.
Door's unlocked.
It's almost 11:30 p.m., and the faint scent of another man's cologne still lingers on your skin beneath your own perfume.
Dinner had been pleasant. Easy conversation, steady eye contact, a hand at the small of your back that felt practiced rather than possessive. He had kissed your cheek, then closer to your mouth as if testing boundaries.
You didn't invite him over.
Instead, you came here.
The door clicks shut behind you, and the apartment greets you with low light and quiet tension.
Higuruma stands near the window, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, his collar slightly open.
He doesn't look at you right away, but you can see the way his shoulders stiffen at the sound of your heels on hardwood.
"You're late," he says calmly, his voice even.
You set your purse down, both slow and unbothered. "You're not my boyfriend."
"No," he replies, finally turning to face you.
The way he looks at you isn't casual. It's slow. Intentional. His gaze drags from your shoulders to your waist to your legs and back up, assessing. Measuring.
"You smell like outside," he says.
"I was."
"With him?"
You raise an eyebrow as you step further into the room, closing the distance by inches. "I thought we didn't ask questions like that."
"We don't," he agrees. "I'm making a simple observation."
"You didn't answer your phone when i called earlier," he said.
"You checked."
"You left your phone facing down."
"So you were spying on me."
"I much prefer the word noticing."
There's something restrained in his tone, something tightly leashed. It makes your pulse flutter despite yourself.
"He paid for dinner," you say, shrugging lightly. "It was nice."
Higuruma's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign that the statement landed.
"That was considerate of him."
"He kissed me."
Silence settles, much tthicker than before. His eyes sharpen, dark and unreadable.
"Where?" he asks calmly.
You tilt your head slightly, as if debating whether he deserves an answer. "Why?"
"Answer the question."
The command is quiet, but it lands heavy.
You step close enough that your bodies nearly touch, lifting your hand to brush your fingertips along your cheek. His gaze follows the motion without even blinking.
"Here," you murmur.
Then you drag your finger slowly to the corner of your mouth. "And here."
The shift is immediate. His hand closes around your wrist before you can lower it, firm but controlled. Not rough. Just enough to stop you.
"Careful," he murmurs.
"Or what?" you challenge softly.
"You know exactly what."
Your heartbeat betrays you, thudding against his thumb where he holds your pulse. He feels it. You can see the way his eyes darken at the confirmation.
"You don't get to be territorial," you remind him.
"I'm not," he says, though his grip doesn't loosen. "I'm deciding whether I want to erase it."
Heat flashes through you, both sharp and sudden.
He releases you, but steps closer at the same time, crowding your space until the back of your legs brush the couch.
The dominance is subtle — not overwhelming, but intentional enough to make you aware of every inch between you.
"You could've gone home with him," Higuruma says, his voice lower now.
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
"No."
His gaze searches your face, as if he's cross-examining you without speaking. "Why?"
You swallow slowly, then meet his eyes without flinching. "Because he doesn't look at me like he wants to win."
A flicker of something satisfied passes through his expression.
"Win?" he repeats.
"You treat this like a trial," you explain. "Like you're building a case. Gathering evidence."
"And what's the verdict?" he asks, stepping even closer until his hand settles at your waist.
The touch is warm and deliberate. His fingers spread slowly, dragging upward along your side as though he's mapping you from memory.
"You tell me," you breathe.
"You wore this dress for him," he says, voice steady.
"I didn't."
"You did." His fingers slip just beneath the edge of the fabric at your waist, grazing skin before retreating. The tease makes your breath hitch despite your best effort to stay composed.
"You don't get to interrogate me," you say.
"And you don't get to come here smelling like another man and expect me to be gentle," he replies.
You turn in his hold, pressing your palms flat against his chest. Beneath the fabric of his vest, his heartbeat is steady but heavier than usual.
"You're not gentle," you accuse.
"I am," he murmurs, one hand sliding to the small of your back. "You just don't notice because you like when I'm not."
The honesty of it makes your stomach tighten.
His fingers trail down your arm slowly, then back up, drawing attention to every nerve he passes.
"You enjoy this," he continues softly. "Walking in here after a date. Watching me decide how much I'm willing to tolerate."
"Maybe I just like having options," you counter.
His hand slips beneath the strap of your dress again, tugging it slightly down your shoulder, exposing warm skin to the cool air.
His mouth hovers near your neck, close enough that you feel the promise of contact but not quite receiving it.
"You want me to tell you to stop seeing him," you say, your voice barely steady.
"Yes," he admits in defeat.
The admission hits harder than any touch.
"But I won't," he adds, brushing his lips lightly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. It's not a kiss, just pressure. "Because if I asked, you would."
Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt.
"And I don't want obedience," he says quietly. "I want you choosing me without being told."
The words sink deep, stirring something more dangerous than jealousy.
"And what about her?" you ask, forcing yourself to keep the game alive.
"She doesn't make me lose focus," he answers without hesitation.
You push at his chest, not enough to create distance but enough to show defiance.
“I’m just honest.”
You pull him down into a kiss before he can say more. This one isn't careful or measured. It's hungry, teeth grazing, breaths tangling.
His control slips another fraction as his hand slides down your back and grips your thigh, lifting you just enough that your body reacts instinctively.
"You're playing a dangerous game," he murmurs against your mouth.
"You started it."
"No," he says, lifting you fully this time and guiding you back against the couch, hovering over you without crushing you beneath him. "You did. The night you told me you weren't staying."
You remember the way you left him standing there, frustrated and silent. You'd known it would linger.
He studies you now from above, gaze slow and consuming. Your lipstick had softened and your eyes were dark with want you're no longer hiding.
"Tell me," he says quietly, one hand sliding up your thigh again, stopping just short of where you ache for it. "Tell me you came here because you wanted me. Not because you wanted to see if I would react."
Your breath stutters.
You could lie. You could keep playing.
But the truth feels heavier in your chest than pride.
"I came here because he kissed me," you admit softly, fingers curling into his shirt again. "And all I could think about was whether you would do it better."
The air between you tightens.
His hand stills. His eyes darken, not with jealousy this time — but with something deeper. Something claiming.
"Is that so?" he asks.
You nod so slowly it’s barely noticeable.
He leans down slowly, brushing his mouth along your jaw, then your neck, slower than before. This time it was deliberate, controlled and proving a point rather than chasing heat.
"Then pay attention," he murmurs against your skin.
And the way he kisses you after that isn't about winning.
It isn't about jealousy.
It's about making sure that the next time someone else touches you, all you can think about is him.
jock yuji doing shirtless pushups above you awakened something in me bc he’d be making all these sounds that have you clenching your thighs together and just being so close to his biceps flexing ooooo i need him
🏁 eighteen plus only ! ⋆ minors don’t interact ⋆ smut ⋆ push ups ⋆ dry humping ⋆ pussy jobs ⋆ edging ⋆ characters in their 20s ⋆ jock bf yuuji itadori, fem reader !
no like he’d be so sweaty, droplets running down his face maybe between his pecs which jiggle with every movement. at first yuuji asks you to lay underneath him as motivation … but then it quickly turns to torture because he instinctively grunts all low and sexy every time he lowers himself over you and his expression is strained like when he first pushes into you after hours of holding back. n maybe he doesn’t notice how wildly turned on you are at first, too focused on counting his pushups to realise you’ve been squirming this whole time, unintentional grinding your clit against the seam of your panties because you’re so needy it hurts.
“ah, shit,” yuuji chuckles, starved for breath as he exhales into the next push up. “my arms are gettin’ shaky.”
he’s laughing, your undies are drenched and your whole pussy is throbbing and he’s laughing… because he truly has no idea how gorgeous he sounds while working out. showing off his strength, glistening and grunting. it’s not even funny, you’re like a second away from cumming untouched — keeping your own whimpers trapped under your tongue as your greedy gaze slinks down to the bounce of tanned pecs whilst yuuji stoops low and bends his arms in quick fire succession. you feel his stomach muscles ripple against yours, abs hot and hard where you are so so soft and you swear, you feel a small trickle of arousal run between your swollen folds — its scent tangling in the temperate, sweaty air of the gym.
it’s not until he looks down at you to ask if he should try one handed push ups because at practise the other day fushiguro said he couldn’t he catches your pouty lips and the glossy sheen in your eye. yuuji blinks, once then twice and then smiles. it’s neither cruel nor wicked — not that you can tell.
“oh, i see baby,” itadori coos down at you, not intending to be patronising — even though you like it. his head cocks to the side, chocolatey eyes peering through his lashes as though he’s seeing you right down to your needy soul. then suddenly, his waist angle a little lower — intentionally pressing against you so that all you can feel is his thick, oozing hardness through his shorts. “i’ve been holding back too. let’s try a different work out, that sound okay?”
now you’re nodding, legs instinctively raising and hooking onto his hips to make sure he hits just where you need. your hands fly up to steady themselves on his rugged, bulging biceps to anchor yourself to reality when yuuji finally nestles his cock between clothed folds — a breathy and amused scoff escaping him at the lewd squelch your sex makes from how sticky it is.
“p-please, yuu,” you sniffle, clenching around nothing, gushing even more so. your trembling thighs bracketing yuuji’s hips threaten to with draw and squeeze shut — desperate for any kind of friction to ease the aching heartbeat in your mound.
the jock tuts, bowing down on his forearms with his hands planted firm either side of your head, to press kisses to the teary apples of your cheeks. you had no idea you were even crying. “i know, honey,” yuuji coos softly. “so keep these perfect thighs open for me, yeah?”
one heavy hand claps against the side of your ass, short and sharp — enough to make you yelp…but itadori quickly offers you a short reprise, snapping his hips into yours and nudging his bulge against the swollen, precious nub tucked away behind your ruined panties. just enough to have you gurgling and quivering through your release.
end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
Yk when they say if you’re grinding your hips during riding it’s for you and if you’re bouncing it’s for him? Yeah bakugou doesn’t care in fact he would rather your grind and roll your hips on him cause he gets to see you fall apart
🛞 NEED A RIDE? ✩ katsuki bakugou .ᐟ
🏁 pit stop ! 𖦹 pro hero dynamight's fatal flaw is his inability to keep his hands off you and when he finally manages to lure you away from the hero gala and back to his car for the journey home, you end up taking him for a ride. (2K)
🏁 safety car ! ⋆ not safe for work ⋆ smut ⋆ eighteen plus only. pro hero au, canon compliant, established relationship, spit, creampies, car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, squirting, bakugou just likes to watch his girl have fun, reader is wearing a dress !! pro hero bakugou & pro hero fem reader.
dynamight’s one fatal flaw, is that can’t keep his hands off of you. never for very long. it’s not always sexual, sometimes it’s a hand in yours for reassurance, one on your thigh to let you know he’s there, one at the small of your back to help manoeuvre you through crowds and prying press. though tonight, it really is the latter.
dressed to the nines for some charitable hero event, the blonde couldn’t help but paw at your doughy hips and perfect thighs over the designer dress that you wore. all black and orange and dynamight colours — a slit high on your thigh. of course he was hard. of course he wanted to touch you. the whole evening was hell on earth, pure torture watching you flounce about in fancy fabric and smile for cameras you’d never met. so yes, katsuki bakugou absolutely pulled over his car somewhere secluded on the way home and dragged you into the backseat with him.
the bedroom nearly half an hour away couldn’t wait for this.
now you’re on top of him, riding him, straddling that tiny waist. now he’s touching you. everywhere on everything — the curve of your breast as your sleeve slips lower. the back of your neck when you reach down to kiss him, uncoordinated and giddy. your tummy, where you take him and he bulges from his thickness and the small of your back just to keep you close.
“ride me so good sweetheart, know that?” katsuki glances upwards with a spark lost in his vermillion eyes, the kind you get when you see the stars for the first time. he thinks he might be high, words strung together to form praise slipping out before he has much time to think — large hands squeezing your hips. “love the way you bounce on it, throwin’ it back like you fucking own me.”
he’s got your dressed hiked up enough to feel some skin, toying with the supple flesh at your waist with dangerously rough and explosive hands — but you handles you like you’re a precious porcelain doll. delicate. something to be cherished and admired, like the pro hero does from underneath.
“‘m tired, kats…” you huff, looking so dazed as your head rolls back between your shoulders — vacant eyes going with them. like you’re barely conscious. like you’re losing it. through his unfairly long lashes and hooded blood current eyes, katsuki admires the pearlescent sheen to your skin, a mix of saltine sweat and the body shimmer your stylists had lathered on you earlier. you’ve always been pretty, your beauty rivals that of the moon, but the blonde thinks you’re most pretty when you get lost in the motions. swaying above him, bouncing up and down to the point where your cunt let’s out a crude suctioning sound every time she swallows the stretch of him back in.
he hums, pawing at your doughy hips and fleshy thighs, fixing the strap of your dress as it slips down your bare shoulder. “then stop, lemme take over, baby.” he offers gruffly against your shoulder whilst he sits up — plush pink lips leaving kiss against your skin. bakugou sucks in a breath, choking on the air that rushes in as your walls wavelet around him hungrily.
“but i— ” biting down on your lower lip, you exhale carefully with your brain all happily fuzzy and your soul alight with katsuki’s explosive spark. “wanna ride you, feels nice on top of you.” you explain cutely, clenching down on the diameter of his leaky bulbous tip, loving the way it kisses those sweet spots along your ribbed walls. you keep him trapped inside.
for a moment, you pause, hips stuttering as you try to regain the strength to go on. bakugou’s calloused fingertips traverse your spine and land at your ass, holding you on his cock — shallowly fucking you with the tip as you bask in the weight of him stretching you out. “sit down.” he goads you with a slick rasp, pressing his sweaty forehead to yours. you’re still so sensitive from the work you’ve put in, close to the edge of bliss and falling over it. the blonde hero leans up, nipping your cheeks with no real bite. “grind on it for me.”
“wh— but what about…?” you question shyly through a pout. people say it never feels as good for the guy when you’re grinding on his dick, but you forget that katsuki only ever cares about your pleasure. you’ve always come first to him.
red eyes watch in amusement as you try to control the tears warping your vision, need and frustration coursing through you. “baby, pretty girl. i’m yours,” he whispers with that husky, sexy voice that has your belly erupting with butterflies. “use me, take what you want.” the more katsuki encourages you; the more you find the strength to lift your weight from his lap and peel your hips back — already missing the way the prominent veins decorating his cock; feel nestled against your insides. “w-worry about me later, just wanna make it good for you.” he just barely choked on a moan before you’re slamming yourself back down against him, a wet slap resounding through the sleek black porsche that rocks with the momentum of hot, passionate sex.
pride flickers within the maroon strokes to his eye colour, bakugou admiring you as you switch a desperate rhythm of swirling your hips over him feverishly, forcefully. it’s so much better this way, his achingly hot cock continuously jamming against that one particular spot whilst also churning up your gummy insides just the way you like. you throw your arms around bakugou’s thick neck in an attempt to keep yourself seated in his lap, his slacks burning deliciously against the backs of your thighs as a result of the friction. your gaze becomes misty and katsuki’s haughty moans become murky — breathes of exertion and delight coasting against your skin, as you jerk your hips back and forth, swollen mound streaming with sweet juices all over him.
a pink tint glows underneath the surface of katsuki’s golden skin, the blood carrying lustful hormones through his system begin to coagulate at his cheeks, the back of his neck and the tips of his ears in the form of a blush. with you barely pulling off of him, languidly rolling your pussy over his meaty shaft — a sticky glaze coats the blonde’s thick thighs and sinks into the polyester of his pants, leaving behind a scent he longs to carry with him for weeks.
“o-oh katsuki,” you mewl into the heavy hormone dusted air, drawing attention to the angelic contours of your face. “gosh, i don’t think i can…fuck!” slurring over sentences that don’t make sense, you reach for the headrest your boyfriend slumps against. he lazily circles his hips upwards to meet the languid flow of your grinding, because he can tell that you’re drowning and almost unable to take anymore. fat beads of his precum bead between your sore thighs like pearls, because nothing feels better than watching you fall to pieces above him like angel falling from heaven.
your body won’t let him go, your dripping mound keeps him warm and safe — pulling the blonde into the steps of intense, dreamy sex. his painfully red cockhead stays married to your g-spot because you’ve positioned yourself to make sure it hits deep, dotting your own line of sight with sparks of euphoria.
“god, you’re close aren’t you? gonna make yourself cum on my fucking cock?” bakugou ask you in a rough voice. tight and stretched with arousal. adoringly, his gaze snakes downwards to where the fabric of your dress bunches at your waist and his milky white dick disappears into your perfect, soaked pussy. his equally rough fingertips dart from your ass to your nether lips, thumb tacking to your clit to rub in tantalising circles and shapes. “just like that baby, grind on me. make yourself feel good on me.”
ecstasy slips into your veins with a chill but does nothing to soothe the white hot throb between your legs as you swivel your messy, precum streaked hole back and forth, back and forth over katsuki’s length. when you lunge forward, capturing his sweaty Cupids bow and soft lips between your own, his hips canter up quickly — easily kissing the pleasure spots you can barely reach with your own fingers. “so fuckin’ pretty, look at you go, gorgeous,” the wrecked and mighty pro hero dynamight heaves, once you pull apart snd the rope of saliva snaps between your open mouths. breathing hot and heavy. “take what you need, just wanna see you fuckin’ cum. see you feel so fucking good. use me baby.”
his plea makes you move faster, clench and squeeze and buck harder and in the meantime, a sheet of sweat layers over katsuki’s body — drops between his golden delicious pecs and over his abs until his baby hair is pinned to the back of his neck. you reach for it, wring your fingers through soft blonde as leverage to hump his thick, cock as it froths opaque white at your entrance. your lips barely graze on another’s, despite the proximity, only damp with the warm breath that condenses against them — the result of panting into one another’s mouths as they fall open with hearty moans.
bakugou then grabs at the fat of your ass uses his grip as leverage to hoist you up and down on his girth — viscous honey seeping from your core obscenely whilst slamming you down on the curve of his shaft. “lemme help you. gush on that cock baby,” everything is so messy, a mix of arousal splattering everywhere as the blonde pro hero jackhammers into you with a speed fast enough to give you whiplash. “can tell by the way you’re squeezin’ me, like you’re gonna milk me in the back of this fuckin’ car.”
you tip forward, leaning your weight on your palms that press against bakugou’s chest and torso. your nails dig into his expensive linen shirt. nearly ripping it. neither of you care. “f-fuck, katsuki. suki,” orgasmic waves start to roll through you, the car creaking and squealing the wilder your movements become. your clit smears all over his hipbone, painting him with your essence and the frothy white streaks over your ravaged pussy lips in a claim. staining your dress too. “o-oh god, feel so hot. like ‘m gonna burst.” your thighs squish together, practically touching despite how you straddle katsuki because you’re not sure you can handle the strikes of ecstasy tingling down your spine.
it’s nearly embarrassing, how your hood stutter above dynamight’s and your cunt squirts little streams of nectar each time the blonde is able to bully himself further along your welcoming walls. wailing out, you slump against his broad shoulder, too weak to hold yourself up but strong enough to swirl your hips down on his dick one last time.
“chase that feelin’ sweetheart, you’re right there,” katsuki’s rough palms ensnare your wrists — thumb pressing into your pulse points. “‘m right here with you.”
that’s all you need to hear, all it takes for the world around you to blur into a flashing white. static rings in your ears and your brain actually falters like a video game with a persistent lag. a scream rips through your entire body, shooting from the base of your lungs to your throat as you squirt hard on katsuki — quivering and gargling on a whine.
whatever you leak pools on the blonde’s dress pants and down to the leather seats of his car but the aftershocks of your high throw him into his own and before you know it, bakugou is cumming too. white ropes of seed spill into you, lining your perfect cunt with his claim. what doesn’t stay inside catches on your evening gown — but it’s not like either of you are paying attention.
“f-fuck,” katsuki gasps, blinking like his vision’s gone black. “fuck, you’re so hot.”
you grin against his neck from where you’ve hidden yourself in it, catching your breath, fixing your dress. “so are you,” you mumble and kiss his cheek. “made a mess of your car.”
“won’t cost shit to get it fixed up,” bakugou nuzzles into you. “‘n besides, watchin’ you ride it, watching you fall apart for me… makes the bill totally worth it.”
he’d be right, because katsuki would pay millions to have you fuck him like that again — even if it feels better for you than it does for him.
end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!
Someone at an old job asked why I wanted to write up the meeting minutes for our team and I said 'i wanna control the narrative' and they were like 'what' and I pointed out that no one was gonna remember what we said in six months and so my interpretation of the meeting would dictate the assumed reality of what happened
"none of you ever send corrections when I offer the draft so y'all have consented to my version"
"we don't read that shit"
"you must trust me implicitly to create our shared reality that's so sweet"
That's how several coworkers decided I was a supervillain and how I learned several coworkers didn't understand record keeping as like a CONCEPT
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