[内容] » hit by an aphrodisiac quirk, you have no other choice than to take help from your pathetic classmate 𝗱𝗲𝗻𝗸𝗶 𝗸𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝗶 . . . 𝗰𝘄: aphrodisiac , mean!reader | 𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪 ! 𝗠𝗗𝗡𝗜 !
⋮ ⌗ ┆ 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗰𝗸 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ! 💌 | FINALLY some long awaited denki content for y'all (this is self-indulgent as fuck)...and HOW are we already at 1.9k followers i'm gonna cry wtf🥺
𝓜𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏𖹭
you don’t even remember how you got here.
one second you were losing your mind, heat pooling between your legs, grinding against your mattress and getting nowhere. the next, you're in denki’s dorm room, riding him like your life depends on it.
your hands are braced on his chest, nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave crescents. his head is thrown back against the pillow, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, a constant stream of whines and moans spilling from his lips.
pathetic. absolutely pathetic.
“f-fuck—y'feel so good—please, please—”
“shut up,” you snap, voice raw and breathless. “just— just stay still.”
he tries. he really does.
his hands grip your hips, fingers trembling, but he doesn’t push or pull. just lets you use him. lets you slam yourself down on his cock over and over, chasing something that’s been just out of reach for hours.
you tried everything before this.
fingers. yours, inside yourself, curling into your cunt as deep as you could, three of them even, but nothing. not even close.
your vibrator, the one you keep hidden in your nightstand, the one that usually has you seeing stars in minutes—dead. nothing.
a dildo, the biggest one you own, lubed up and shoved deep inside you, and you just laid there frustrated, feeling empty and wrong. nothing worked. that aphrodisiac quirk fucked you up good, left you aching and desperate and so fucking horny you thought you might actually die.
so you went to the only person dumb enough and desperate enough to say yes.
denki kaminari. certified simp. hopelessly in love with you since first year. you hate how much he wants you. you hate how easy this was.
but right now, you don’t care.
“you’re so fuckin' pathetic,” you hiss, bouncing harder. “look at you. lettin' me use you like this. you love it, don’t you?”
“yes—yes, i do— i love it, i love—”
“don’t.” you slap his chest. “don’t you dare.”
he whimpers, hips bucking up despite himself, and you feel him twitch deep inside you. close. he’s getting close. your own release is building too, a pressure coiling low in your belly, hot and urgent—
and then he gasps, his hands tightening on your hips, and you feel it. the hot rush of his cum flooding you, filling you up, and you scream.
“you fucking—i told you to hold it—i told you, you worthless—”
but the words die in your throat. the feeling of him coming inside you, the heat of it, the way his cock pulses against your walls—it’s what you needed.
the orgasm crashes over you like a wave, hard and sudden, and you feel yourself let go. a gush of liquid sprays from your cunt, splattering across his stomach, his chest, soaking his skin. you keep coming, body shaking, juices dripping down his abs, mixing with his cum.
you collapse forward, panting, forehead pressed to his sweaty chest. denki is frozen beneath you, staring down at the mess on his stomach with wide, dazed eyes.
“holy shit,” he breathes.
you want to hit him. want to scream at him for not holding back. but you’re so tired, so empty, and the aphrodisiac is finally fading, leaving you weak and shaky.
“…you’re cleaning that up,” you mumble against his skin.
he nods, still in a daze. “yeah. yeah, i’ll—i’ll get towels.”
“and if you tell anyone…”
“i won’t. i promise.”
you stay there, tangled together, sticky and exhausted. and when denki presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, you don’t have the energy to push him away. and part of you doesn't want to either.
you’ll yell at him later...and maybe suck his dick to thank him.
the thing about writing denki aus is that i can make him as pathetic as i want in the name of characterisation, for example:
“WET DREAMZ”
a mha college au WITH DENKI K. feat. HANTA S.
“got me daydreamin’, man, what?”
wc: 6.7k
this is for @rumisgf very late birthday gift
mdni.... cw: denki being foolish and bisexual, best friend reader!, reader is fem and black coded, bad language, spitting in his mouth, eating pussy, semi public, teasing, friend whereeeee????, minor kamisero, eventual threesome, bakusquad mention, less smut then you’d think. but still smut, recreational drug use.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
starting track….
denki fucked up.
he fucked up baaaaaaad.
and the thing is, he could've saved this, he could've saved himself a whole lot of trouble, a whole lot of sexual tension, a whole lot of bisexual confusion, and a whole lot of horny delusions.
his first mistake was letting sero meet you.
because, you're denki's high school best friend.
best friend, like, best fucking friend. best friend like you made denki what he is today.
he took his first shot with you, smoked his first joint with you, bought his first vape with your fake id.
every morning, he'd meet you at the bus stop, share those cheap ass, shitty ass, earphones of his, with your playlist saved onto his phone, only half of it downloaded with the 200MB he had left, using your phone to check the homework updates that neither of you completed.
and then you'd get the homework answers off some random, and spend registration scribbling out absolute bullshit, because even if it's incorrect and illegible at least it was done, and you wouldn't be given detention.
because you guys couldn't get detention, not when you had rustled up twenty dollars between you, to buy cheap weed off some sketchy guy, and smoke in the park next to his house.
late nights on face-time during family holidays, dinner at his house almost three times a week, helping your dad fix something that was broken in the backyard.
your lives were so intertwined, that when you made-out for the first time, it didn't feel like a big deal.
because, of course your first kiss would be with denki, of course the first guy to see you naked would be denki, of course the first guy to dry hump you on some random girl’s couch, would be denki.
so natural, so not-a-big-deal, so normal.
and then he left for college.
you knew it would happen at some point, that he would leave, that he would get tired of having to hide himself, quiet himself, tone himself down, in your small conservative little town, fucking duh. right?
and he told you he was going to leave, you were there when he applied for the university. and you were there, right fucking next to him, jumping for joy, when he got accepted.
doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
doesn't mean you didn't feel it in your chest.
despite the fact that you were doing your own thing, living your own life, becoming your own person.
it doesn't mean that every time you get a notification from him, an update about his new friend group, or something dumb that happened on a night out, or he comes back for a weekend, and he has a new piercing or tattoo or a different hairstyle, that you don't miss him so fucking much.
that doesn't mean that he doesn't miss you too.
every time he makes a joke that doesn't land, or references a meme from five years ago, or wants to go to a gig, or talk bullshit, or get high and go grocery shopping, he sighs to himself.
because no one really gets him like you do. no one sees him like you do.
you’re his person, his everything.
he had to invite you to come and see the city eventually, it took a while for your schedules to align for sure, but you got there in the end.
got here.
and denki's late.
you're late too if we're being honest. you missed the transfer, and had to wait for 45 minutes for the next train, enough time to leave the station for a smoke, fall asleep on the train, and nearly miss your stop.
but you're here now.
outside this big, loud, city station, suddenly feeling conscious of how you must definitely reek of weed, tapping your foot on the cracked concrete, lent up against the metal railing, idly scrolling on your phone.
travel bag full, headphones on, you don't even realise someone is calling your name till—
“—holy shit dude, are you that fucking deaf?” a sun-kissed hand waving in front of your face, “haven’t changed a bit—”
he cuts himself off to borderline tackle you into a hug, you nearly drop your phone, his warm body heat enveloping your system. arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he still smells the same, so do you.
you barely notice how he takes a deep inhale when he noses at the junction of your neck.
it’s so fucking weird to have you here, but in the best way. it feels like a dream, you feel like a dream, all disgruntled and weary from the journey.
“you gonna take her bag or what?”
oh right.
denki’s head stays where it is, nestled into your shoulder. the only move he makes is to stick a finger up from behind his back, but your gaze snaps up, meeting with the owner of the voice.
dark eyes meet yours, half-lidded, grin creeping onto his face, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a few paces back from where you’re embracing the blonde.
“hey—”
“oh, fuck off, man,” denki still hasn’t let go, you feel his voice rumble through your skin, “don’t even talk t’er.”
“relax,” you say grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him off you, he lets out a small whimper, minuscule really, but you know him, yank a bit harder, voice dropping to a whisper, “don’t you dare.”
but denki doesn’t budge, he hums almost dreamily, “don’t talk to me like that, y’know it’s been a while.” with his arms squeezing you tighter, practically melting into your chest.
“free show for the general public, i knew you were freaked out but seriously dude—”
that does the job, denki finally unwinds his limbs from you to turn and scoff at his friend, talking about some, “you can’t let me have a moment,” and then turns back without waiting for answer, grabbing your travel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“not if i’m uninvolved,” the other guy scoffs out, hands in his back pockets, and he smirks down at the blonde who’s marched over to give him a light shove in the chest.
denki snatches the lit cigarette from his friend’s mouth, with a mocking sneer, and pops it into his own.
“‘uninvolved’ that’s not even a real word,” the words curl around the smoke as he waves you over.
“maybe you should read a fuckin’ book.”
“maybe you should shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he clears his throat, then dramatically flourishes to the guy standing next to him, whom you vaguely recognise. from blurry snaps, from instagram stories, from half of his figure in face-times, the one, the only, “hanta sero.”
he smirks at the introduction, something you reckon he does a lot of, and nods at you in greeting, “i’m surprised you’re a real person, i was almost sure this shit-head was making you up.”
your smile is strained because of the sunlight glaring right in your eye line, but your tone is warm, if not a little dry, when you reply with, “talks ‘bout me a lot, does he?”
“you don’t know the half of it—” denki shoves him forward, and sero laughs, bright and loud, let’s the momentum carry him into a step, which turns into another, and another, and then denki takes your hand to pull you along with them, as you make your way down the street, away from the station’s exit, back to their place.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“finally.”
denki huffs as he flops onto his bed with a groan, it creaks and shifts when you drop down next to him, his legs intertwining with yours like second nature.
and denki’s smelling you again. it’s less weird than it sounds, but still weird. it’s not his fault, you smell like sunshine and home, how could he not, nose buried into the top of your head, arms curled around your body.
you both lay like that for a minute, content in the silence, just basking in each other’s presence. electricity buzzing under your fingertips as he softly grazes his knuckles against your back.
until you decide to be a little bitch.
“your friend’s cute,” you murmur into his chest, you can feel denki’s heart pitter-pattering, vibrating through your body.
he doesn’t say anything for a beat.
you crack open an eye, try again, “i said, your friend is hot—”
he doesn’t give you the reaction you’d hoped for, which is a shame. instead he chuckles, snickers, softly against your hair, still tracing patterns into your skin, “you really gonna talk about another guy while you’re in my bed, no class.”
“take that back asshole,” and he catches your hand when you move to hit him, brings a thumb down to curl around your wrist, rolls his eyes as you squint up at him, “no class?” you repeat, “i’m so classy, so fuckin’ classy i brought my own bud—”
yeaaahhh, that wakes him up.
and because it's denki, because he has no manners, or boundaries, or concept of personal space, both his hands start sliding down your body until they feel the bulge in one of your back pockets.
you squirm out of his grip, feebly kicking at his legs, but he's so solid. you can feel his muffled snickers as you smack his arms away from you, but he barely moves, just presses you further into the mess of pillows and blankets that cover his bedspread.
“you're such an asshole,” but your shoulders shake with the uncontrollable laughter that tumbles out of your body when he starts trying to curl his fingers into the pocket.
you get a face full of armpit. “and you smell so fuckin’ bad, couldn't even take a shower before inviting me over here—”
he kisses his teeth at your insult, but doesn't flinch when your heel catches his shin, just lightly slaps your thigh to get you to chill the fuck out, because his bed-frame is cheap and creaking like it might collapse any second.
"dude," as he sits back on his knees and sticks out his tongue in victory, shiny foil package dangling between his fingertips, "the water pressure here sucks balls, i promise you, i tried my best."
you kick at him again when he starts to open it, and the baggy drops from his grip. you snatch it up before he gets a moment to breathe, and point a finger at him in warning, “nah-ah-ah. say please.”
he collapses on top of you again, bullshit doe-eyed expression, and juts out his bottom lip as he simpers, “oh please, my perfect princess,” you don't budge, “oh, please, dear goddess, let us roll a zoot.”
“well, seeing as you’ve always been a loyal subject.”
“you’re such a fucking dork.”
“me? me? i’m a dork?" you repeat back to him, voice wavering in astonishment, “the first thing you did when you moved in here was put up that zelda poster,” and you gesture to the aforementioned poster, corners peeling, plastered onto his wall next to the window, “and you wanna talk about dorks.”
“well if i'm a dork and you’re a dork,” he says, and with his face so close to your own, you can practically count the freckles matted across his cheeks. and that annoying little smile, so unchanging despite the time you've spent apart, despite the distance. "what does that make us?”
he answers for you, not before his eyes flick down to your lips as his tongue pokes out to wet his, “it makes us perfectly compatible.”
your eyes roll and you shove his face back with the palm of your hand, “you're a fucking loser.”
his hands crawling over your thighs, “yeah, what else?”
“a freak.”
his eyes boring into your soul, “keep going.”
“pathetic.”
his breath ghosting over your ear, “nearly there."
“and,” your hand suddenly stretches out, and denki keens when you take a fistful of his hair into your grasp, his body folds inwards towards you as you pull him closer, gently grazing your teeth across his earlobe while he shudders and you murmur, “i don’t fuck with blondes.”
unserious to a fault, denki breaks down into snickers, nuzzling his nose against your neck. it would’ve been believable, if not for the fact that, “y’know i can feel your lil’ boner pressing against my stomach.”
that makes him chuckle even harder into your neck. “guilty,” sarcastically muttered, and then denki cranes his head so he’s at the perfect angle to lick your cheek.
you groan in disgust and push his face away, but that doesn’t stop him, and you get his slobber all over your palms.
“get the fuck off me, i swear to—” he covers your mouth with his palm and continues to lick your face like a demented cat, what the fuck? “is this what the city life does to people?”
“no,” he whines suddenly, interlocking his fingers with yours against either side of your head, “i-i just missed you.”
oh.
you didn’t expect him to say it outright.
there’s been an annoying, awful, nagging, voice that has been whispering in the depths of your brain ever since he left. whispering that he stopped caring about you, that you were just a placeholder until he got cooler, funnier, friends, that you were nothing but an insignificant speck in the long, vibrant, life he was going to live.
denki’s warm, honey, eyes scan your face.
he’s frowning, and, well, denki should never be frowning.
you shake his hand off one of your wrists and he sits back immediately. no longer breaching your personal space, a brief look of hurt flashing through his eyes as you say nothing.
but then, your free hand reaches up, and your thumb, very carefully, very gently, smooths out the wrinkle that has appeared between his brows.
“i missed you too.”
the corners of his mouth uplift, his eyes shine, god, it's like the sunlight breaking through the dawn, the way denki's face contorts into a smile, “you really know how to make a guy sweat, baby.”
you snort, “oh, you're sweating now?”
“amongst other things, yeah.”
"amongst?" you repeat, eyes squinting in the way they do when you're about to take this piss, “is that a new vocab word?”
you’re trying to ragebait, but it doesn’t work.
because denki can't stop smiling.
there's just something so fucking dreamy about how you're here, in his college house, on his horrible twin xl bed. it's really hard to describe the feeling, because, sure, he's seen you, during holidays, on face-time and the like, but it's different having you in the city with him.
with him.
as in, not only did you trek all the way here, three fuckin' buses, two trains, all your essentials packed, with the sole intention of spending time with him.
but you missed him too?
that notion, that suggestion, that you thought about him nearly a fraction as much as he thought about you.
it makes him dizzy.
"you really like being mean to me, don'tcha?" and he can't keep his hands off of you, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides.
"i think you like it more than i do."
"you can't prove that."
that makes you laugh, genuinely, because, it's like, do you mention the hard-on that is throbbing against your thigh, again, or do you let him live in his delusion? questions, questions.
or…
the secret third option.
bringing your hand down, and cupping his erection through the material that covers his bottom half. using your nails to scratch at the seam that is straining with his hard cock, and watching his breath hitch, his brow furrow, his eyelids flutter.
"you're playing dirty," denki whines, as if that could hide the guttural moan that literally comes from the depths of his spirit.
you lean up towards him so you can mouth at patch of skin where his ear meets his neck, and you murmur into his ear, "i think you like it when i play dirty."
“well, i think,” as he traces your pulse points with his nose, “that you only have one voice line option," and then with his teeth, like the most least obvious vampire, "where's the variety?"
"don't be a dick."
"thought you liked my dick."
"i like your mouth more."
"oh yeah," he turns his head, kisses along your jawline, softly, like you’re something delicate, something he has to hold very carefully, something that he couldn't afford to break, something he wants to take his time with.
it makes your heart race, being loved on like that, you needed it to be honest. someone that knows you intimately, someone that knows exactly what you want.
you shrug his hand off you, from where one of his palms still had a firm grip on your wrist, so you can grab his chin, bring his face closer to yours, your breath intermingling.
and the next time he opens his mouth to make a smart comment, you stop him before he can even start.
by grasping his tongue with two of your fingers.
you know him as much as he knows you.
and you absolutely could not miss the shudder that wracks his body, or the way his eyes practically roll back into his head.
you have to tut at him until he stops trying to wrap the pink textured tip of his tongue around your digits.
so you have the space, to spit in his mouth.
oh wow.
there are not enough words to describe the pathetic mess denki makes out of himself at that moment.
i won't bother attempting to walk you through it.
but sero can.
denki's bedroom door slams open, hanta sero, giving no prelude before making his entrance, "are we still gonna go out tonighhh…"
now imagine this, your best friend, practically on his knees, on top his best friend, literally eating out of the palm of her hand, with both of his hands underneath her shirt.
sero grins.
and carelessly swats away the pillow that comes flying at his face.
the three of you just kinda blink at each other for a minute.
before sero turns on his heel and walks right back out.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“this is the best spot in the entirety of the old town, i'm telling you.”
“you said the same thing about the bar by the river—”
“—and about that arcade on the high-street.”
“anddddd, when we found the spot along the bridge with the benches.”
"that, that, that, that,” denki slurs, well stutters, a step behind you, “that doesn't diminish my point.”
you can’t see him but you hear the sound of him smacking sero when he mocks the blonde with a, “uh-ba-ba-ba-ba-da-ba-dah."
"shut up, just shusshh,” oh god, he really is licked, you can’t take him seriously, “i'm trying to show my beloved friend–in fact, you guys are even proving my point.”
"and what is your point exactly."
"well... that old town has all the best spots."
they all hum in agreement.
all being, the rest of denki's new friend group.
honestly, they're a cool bunch.
the girls are fucking lovely, stunning, nice as hell, like surprisingly. not that you thought his friends would be dickheads, but still, it's refreshing to be around.
almost as refreshing as the cool night air.
the sunset a while ago, while you were still pre-gaming at this one girl's flat, mina. she's a fucking legend. super hospitable, one of those people who never let's anyone sit out of conversation, a little prying but not enough to make you uncomfortable.
but she mixes drinks like a demon.
sero had warned you.
after denki had, ahem, had a shower and cleaned himself up, the three of you made your way over to mina's together.
but, denki was on the phone the whole time. one of the guys was having a crisis and apparently, it was very, super, extremely, important, so he had left sero to entertain you on the twenty minute walk over.
this sero guy is something else.
there's something very telling about the way he talks, like he's constantly trying to sus you out, but in the least discrete way he can. his questions are really leading, and it doesn't matter how you answer, it feels like you've fallen into a trap.
it doesn't help that he's fucking sexy.
with the piercings, the way his hair falls into his face, and that ridiculous sleeve of line-drawn patchwork tattoos, that denki seems intent on copying.
but his smile gets you the most.
this annoying, slick, grin that he gets when you say something a bit too sarcastic, or a bit too rude, or a bit too risky, and he visibly bites his tongue while he cheeses, flashing his pearly whites, all half-lidded eyes and barely concealed snickers.
fuck denki for leaving you to your own devices.
you'd been walking side by side with the dude, bare arms brushing, up until you got to the front steps of mina's flat, and even then, denki had disappeared almost instantly, leaving you with this guy, again.
and sero had not left you alone, maybe denki had told him to keep an eye on you or something, but you can't deny it, the attention was addicting. fetching you drinks when you asked, lighting your blunt for you, letting you smoke his cigs with nothing but a shake of his head and another one of those confusing, biting, grins.
aside from that, the rest of denki's friends had been great.
aside from the drinks.
sero, and the other girl, jirou, had fuckin’ warned you, that mina enjoys playing bartender, and that she takes her job very seriously. you had waved them off at the time, because honestly, two blunts deep, the glass you had tasted like fuckin' juice. really sweet, really orange, and apparently chock full of tequila.
which leads us to now, a large gaggle of about seven undergrads, arguing, then bursting into cackles, then tripping over their own feet, then arguing again, stumbling along the high street.
one dude, the guy that was having a "major crisis sorry for stealing him," is on your right, recounting the lore of their last night out, the group of 'em, getting lost on the way home, missing the last train, no ubers picking up the request, and having to walk back to the student housing, two hours away from where the gig was.
"and then, and then, that's not even the worst part," kirishima nearly hits you in the face when he gestures towards the other blonde of the group. he pats you gently on the shoulder in apology, but the volume level of his voice does not lower in the slightest when he says, "this dude, this fuckin' dude, ran off, like literally, sprinted into the distance, and left us."
jirou, who is to your left, chokes on her snort, pulls on your arm, calling your attention back to her, "all of our phones were dead, mind you."
"don't start talkin’ shit," the blonde in front of you suddenly cuts in, he's been quiet most of the night, aside from the occasional jeer, "i left you with the portable charger, i'm not a fuckin' asshole."
kirishima buffers, and then cries out, "dude, you left us. stranded."
"y'all made it home, didn't ya?"
"that is sosososo not the point."
the girls burst into snickers again, you are included in the hyena laughter, and you take a deep breath.
the streets are not quiet. it’s late, but it’s still so busy. cars and buses whizzing past, laughter and music pouring in from every open bar door.
this place, this city, it’s no wonder denki wanted to move up here.
bright, loud, vibrant.
just like him.
speaking of…
there’s suddenly a horrific, wailing, screech, that echoes around the street. you spin your head, sero and denki, both two steps behind you. or… were?
sero’s standing, sorry, crouching, hands on his knees, in a fit of cackles, coughing and spluttering. and denki, poor, sweet, denki, rushing back over to the group from where, you’re guessing, he was pushed into the road.
“stop fuckin’ around,” the blonde, scary, one bellows out at the both of them, to which they suddenly stand up straight, like well trained military dogs, “i’m not goin’ to a&e again for you schmucks.”
ah, that kicks off the idiots, “whadidhesayyy?”
“schmuck.” —and they both burst into another fit of boisterous cackles.
“are they always like this…?”
“yup.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“mhmm, mhmmm that’s it baby, shiiiiit.”
denki’s always had this weird obsession with the way you smell. it’s not that you smell bad, usually you smell really fucking good, you have a… what’s the word… routine.
you have a routine. he’s seen you, watched you, even earlier tonight, he was sat on his bed ready to go, half scrolling, half watching you lather lotion across your limbs, practically drooling at the sight of your doughy thighs glistening with body butter.
and he thought that was the end. but then you pulled out your body oil, oh okay, which is actually very different to body lotion… apparently? and then, you’re done— oh, wait, no, now you have, uh, body spray? okay now you’re definitely finish– perfume oil? how many oils does one person need?
he can admit, the routine lasts, it does the job, he can get hints of it now, this close to you, whiffs of jasmine, and vanilla, and whatever that yummy spicy smell is, but that’s not what he means.
he loves the smell of your skin, of your sweat, of your natural body odour, that’s what makes it weird.
like right now, you’re sat on the closed toilet seat, in the back of that bar, the supposed ‘best spot in old town,’ with your legs thrown over denki’s shoulders, and him, on his knees before you, taking turns between viciously eating your pussy, and taking deep inhales of your cunt. he can’t help himself, there’s something addictive about you, pretty pink lips suckling on your clit, tongue lolling out to lick fat stripes across your sloppy, gummy, entrance, and his eyes rolling at you scent.
fuck, it’s “so good,” he dazedly mutters, nose buried into your bush, “sosososo so goooood mama holy fu-uck.”
your foot digs itself into his shoulder blade, as the vibrations of his drunken praise send shivers up your spine, “you’re so fucking nasty.”
“mmmm, i know, i know,” he does know, but he also doesn’t care, how could he, your fingers gripping his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp, your clit throbbing between his lips.
he takes a moment to very carefully trace his teeth along your pulsing bud, that makes you jolt, and hiss at him through your teeth, and clamp your thighs around his head, just like he wanted.
fffuck, he’s dizzy.
denki was already decently faded, but the smell of your pussy is even more intoxicating then any liquor, and so much sweeter, your juices just spilling into his mouth, so fucking delicious, oh lord.
you always get mean when you’re close, like your body doesn’t allow itself to experience pleasure without a negative output.
good thing denki likes it, right.
“shiiiiiit,” he gasps, between, disgustingly wet slobbers, his tongue prodding at your sensitive, stimulated, walls, “you gonna squirt in my mouth?” your mushy, gummy, pussy, just oozing with slick, all for him to gobble up, “oh, shit, please, pleasepleaseplease—”
and you cum with a hand burying his face into your cunt, hectic rolls of your hips, quivering thighs. your jelly legs collapse around his shoulders, your body slack against the wall, just panting for a minute, chest rising and falling with your laboured breaths. denki looks stupidly proud of himself, with that smug grin gracing his shiny lips. your heel kicks out again to smack that ridiculous look off his face, but it literally does nothing to deform his starry-eyed expression.
“well, shit,” you breathe out finally, your eyes, half-lidded, as you watch him stand up, and snort at the crack of his knees.
“s’that all you got t’say?” denki snickers down at you while dusting the floor imprints off of his jeans.
“what d’you want me to say?”
“oh, i dunno,” he fake contemplates, and then, in a stupidly high pitched tone that sounds absolutely nothing like you, goes, “kwahhh thank you, big dick daddy denki for eatin’ my pussy— OW FUCK.”
your foot, again, saying hello to his shin.
“who the fuck is calling you big dick daddy denki, you fucking loser?”
“ehhhh you’d be surprised.”
you’re about to say something else, maybe comment on how there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of his jeans, when a loud thump at the stall door interrupts your train of thought.
and, of course, no shame kaminari goes, “yellooo?” in the fucking most ridiculous, you’ve used ridiculous to describe him many a time but there really isn’t a better word, voice you’ve ever heard from a guy who was literally on his knees, seconds prior.
but, who’s voice is coming from the other side of the door?
“you’ve got all my smokes in y’er pocket, shitface.”
and you watch denki check, then pull a face, because he does have all sero’s smoke in his pocket, “oopsie, we’ll be right out!”
“we?”
and again, no-shame kaminari, just hits the latch on the door, and swings it open, while you’re still sat on the fucking toilet, recovering, and he’s still got your remnants smeared all over his mouth.
“stop fuckin’ disappearin….”
sero’s dark lazy eyes scan his friend, his glossy mouth, his flattened hair, the stain on his jeans.
he raises an eyebrow very slowly, then calls out to you, whom he can not see, but still, he knows his friend, “we have to stop meeting like this.”
“what did i say?” denki practically whines, “don’t fucking talk t’er.” and shoves his friend in the chest to make him back away from where he was leaning against the doorframe.
“what the fuck is your problem today,” sero sighs, not moving an inch, instead crossing one arm over the other and sneering down at his friend, “one minute it’s don’t talk to her, the next it’s please stay with her? what— i don’t even know what you’re thinking half the time.”
this is so fucking awkward, you wanna say something, or get up at least, but you also think, maybe, if you don’t move a muscle, they’ll both forget you’re there.
“unless…” sero pauses, the tip of his tongue peeking out, as he releases another one of those, vicious biting grins, “i know exactly what you’re thinking ‘bout.”
“you don’t know shit.”
“oh really?” he snarks back at denki, who is shaking with… you can’t even tell, and you’ve known denki for a long time, agitation? maybe?
until.
denki decides to make the very poor choice of turning his head, only slightly, to look back at you.
and it’s written all over his face.
because he's flushed, with something that is not the embarrassment of being caught eating pussy in a public restroom. in fact, he’s bitten his lips raw, his pupils are blown, and his eyes are formed into an expression you know very well.
you’re not stupid.
and this time you do want to say something, but you don’t even have the time to formulate the sentence in your head because denki pushes sero out of the stall with one hand, the other hand firm against the door frame, obscuring any vision of you from the outside, and says to you, “can you… uh… give us a minute? we’ll meet you outside—”
and then he’s gone. not by his own will, but because a tanned, flexed hand, has reached out, gripped his t-shirt and pulled him away.
the two guys stumble their way outside, through the bathroom and the purple lit bar interior, with sticky carpeted floors, and overwhelming chatter. there's no 'sorry’s' or 'excuse me’s' as they push past the intoxicated crowd with their elbows out, just denki spluttering the whole time.
“you are so— you’re such a— i can’t even—”
“then don’t,” sero breathes against his neck, as he pushes the blonde against the wall of the deserted alleyway. before his lips attach, grow teeth, and sink deep into denki’s skin, just below a mark that, sero assumes, you had left.
“so fucking needy, ain’t ya?” as he nibbles across the blonde’s pulse points, and curves his palm so he can cup denki’s straining erection. “s’kinda embarrassing if you ask me.”
“good thing no one was asking,” denki replies with his own fingers tracing along sero’s waistband.
sero groans at the tease, bucking his hips up into the sensation, “m’just saying, if you wanna ask her, ask her.”
this is like, the worst place possible to have this conversation.
it’s nearly 2am, the rest of the group is still inside, getting up to some bullshit like they always do, like denki has spent most of his college career doing. except he can’t participate properly, not this time, not when he has the self-proclaimed 'biggest moral dilemma of the century' looming over his head.
sero sighs, giving up on trying to undo denki’s belt, and rutting forward against his friend so both their crotches meet in this delicious tingle of friction, “i can hear you thinking y’know.”
“what if,” denki cuts himself off with a groan, and a roll of his hips, the cold brick wall doing nothing to soothe his feverish skin, “what if she thinks it’s weird?”
“why the— shit, that’s good— why the hell would she think it’s weird?”
his nails dig into sero’s shoulders at a particularly forceful thrust that has his head reeling, and his body whining, “’cos what do i even say like, hey i want you and my other-bestfriend-slash-roommate-slash-guy-i’m-currently-fucking-with to share me?”
“is that it?”
denki stills at the sound of your voice.
he tilts his head left and, you’re lent against the other side of the wall, half a joint hanging out of the corner of your mouth, patting your pockets down in search of a lighter.
sero, cheeses again, you roll your eyes at the sight of it, but hum in thanks when he tosses a zippo your way. the sound of the spark wheel is like a honing signal, and sero releases the tight grip he had on denki, who now crumples against the wall in embarrassment, to get a hit from you.
you inhale deeply, the end flaring up a bright cherry red, illuminating the bored look on your face in the dark alley.
you exhale in silence, pass the joint to sero, and make your way over to denki.
“dude,” you say softly, leaning your shoulder against the blonde, “you know you can ask me anything.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“now what do you say?”
denki’s bed frame sounds like it’s gonna break, for real this time. it’s creaking and rattling like it only has seconds left to live before it collapses in on itself and takes the three of you down with it.
your pussy won’t let go, denki thinks he might actually die, with the way your walls are pulsing around his dribbling cock, practically milking him.
it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, the crease where your stomach meets your thighs and the sight of your jiggling tits will follow him into the afterlife. along with the way your hips tortuously grind down on him, and the unforgettable sensation of your pussy bubbling around the base of his cock, coating him in a juicy shine of slick, leaving that creamy ring stained forever into his memory.
“s-s-sorry?” he gasps out with laboured breaths, his chest caving, his heart feels like it’s gonna fall out of his throat from how fast it’s beating.
“hmmm, sorry for what?” you don’t give him a moment to think, sucking the soul out of his dick, you see his eyes roll back into his head, dreamy, dopey, pussy drunk smile glazing his face.
“for–for being weird about it?” he finally croaks out when you slow at his silence.
you share a look with sero across denki’s shaking shoulders, from where he’s pistoling his cock into the blonde’s ass.
he sends you a smile, it forms slowly, beginning with a small grin, eventually spreading across his face, his lips stretching and curving, his teeth biting, with that same smirk in his eyes.
“and,” sero murmurs into his ears as his hands find purchase in denki’s hair, a mean grip that has the blonde carolling into your sweat slicked chest, the stimulus making his mind hazy, “you can ask for anything.”
denki’s head lolls, the sight of him, disoriented with pleasure, has you involuntarily clenching, which send him into another spiral, and leaving sloppy marks over any part of your body he can reach.
“say it.”
“i can—” denki groans against your skin, absolutely fucked out, his fingers bruising your hips with his grip, “holy fuck— i can a-ask for anything.”
"good boy," your voice is like honey in his ears, trickling sexual syrup right through his nervous system. the praise makes denki throb inside of you, you can feel it, the pulse, and you send it right back, rudely clenching down on him again, making him jerk his hips back in agony, right back into sero's cock.
it's disgusting, so fucking filthy, the room reeks of weed and your combined bodily fluids, his mattress is probably soaked in your sweat, and in denki's drool.
it's agonisingly good though, the near constant push and pull of three bodies.
denki feels like he's about to black out, and he keeps pathetically humping into both you and sero like that's gonna keep him from disaster.
his head tilts to suck on your tits, and you use his shoulder for leverage, so you can bounce on him properly, the motion sending him backwards into sero's hard chest, "denki, baby, you gonna cum for us?"
he gurgles in reply, too sex drunk to string any coherent thoughts together, just pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure, his kiss-bitten body trembling, all your grunts and moans poured into his ears like fucking music.
“denki, denki, denki.”
god, he's gonna cum, he can feel it building, the two of you aren't far behind if the pick up in pace is anything to go by.
he can feel it, fuck, hot under his veins, ecstasy thrumming through his body, it's never felt this good, he might die.
“denki—”
he's so fucking close, so close, oh god, everything, this long ass day, the constant tease from the both of you, and he finally gets to have this—
“denki.”
“huh, huh, what?”
his head flops back down into the pillow.
the sunlight streaming through the open blinds is hurting his eyes, and god, his head’s fucking pounding.
his tongue slips out to wet his dry lips, fully intending on going back to sleep, back to that fucking dream, anything to get away from this horrible sunlight.
oh, nevermind.
he can't go back to sleep, not with his excrutiating morning wood, leaking pre all inside his boxers.
he ruts down against his suprisingly smooth mattress with a satisfied groan, and another sleep filled sigh.
“dude are you serious?” an equally sleep stricken voice calls out from next to him.
oops.
turns out his soft, smooth, mattress was his best-friends thigh.
denki's eyes flutter open weakly, and sero stares back at him, his dark hair a mess, his limbs stretched out across the bed.
“are you gonna stop that or what?” sero drawls again, voice hoarse with disuse, he raises a tatted arm to cover his eyes, and curses the morning under his breath.
the blonde's hips are still moving on auto pilot, relentlessly chasing a pleasure he can only imagine, until sero swats at him to stop.
hands rubbing his face, denki turns back around with a deep yawn, then starts feeling under the blankets for his vape.
“aren't we—” sero yawns uncontrollably mid sentence, so hard tears start forming in his waterline, “aren't we supposed to go meet your friend at the station in a few?”
denki stretches his back with another deep yawn in reply as he grumbles, “s’too early man, s'way too early.”
suddenly, the blonde bolts up against the headboard, smacking his dry lips for a minute, and says:
“dude, i just had the craziest dream.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
… end of playback
taglist my asshole im so sorry im like dead on the inside lowkey
Denki K. / mdni . ◞ he sends you nudes while you’re at work .
Trying to stay focused during your meeting was already torture. Your boss has been stuck on the same subject for almost an hour, it was getting quite repetitive. On top of that, your boyfriend has been blowing up your phone with various messages.
11:34 [ Denks ⚡️] Babyyy I missed you a lil too much and now I’m horny
11:35 [ Denks ⚡️] If I sent you a nude what would you do❔👀
Before you could protest fast enough the photo already sends through.
The lights are dim, but his abs are on full display. Blonde hair trailing down, the waistline on his pants pulled down low.
And you have to admit, he looks good as fuck.
The next photo is more desperate. His pants are completely discarded now, his hand full of his cock. His thumb along that one vein that travels from the base to his tip. You’re so grateful the meeting already ended and now you’re alone at your desk.
After that it only got worse, because by time your lunch break came around, there was already a new notification.
12:02 [ Denks ⚡️] sent a video.
Play — Denki’s on the edge of the bed, his hand is wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly while whining into the mic. Stroking himself just how you would've. His thumb teasing his flushed tip. Small beads of pre-cum drip down his hands as he starts to stroke faster.
“Fuck- miss your tits so much right now.” You can hear the lewd sounds and how much his pre-cum has lubed up his length, “wanna cum- hah all over them.” His strokes get sloppier, the image of your naked body still in his mind, “miss you s’much.” Somewhere along the way he gets lost in the pleasure, gripping tighter around his cock. He’s not even saying anything now, just whining shamelessly into the phone.
And you can hear the exact moment when he’s about to cum, his breath stutters and he leans a little forward. White ropes drip down his hands, cock twitching slightly. Denki’s voice is a little breathy, “mm- still got some- ah left in me, s’all yours.”
Tag :: @kamislop 😋 haven’t wrote for him in a minute #needthat
the only time denki is silent is in the mornings before he wakes up, even then he lets out groans and mumbles as he rolls around the bed. not much wakes him up but you know this will.
your hands are braced on his hips as you settle in between his legs, tracing one finger up his dick and he instantly starts to harden. you keep up the teasing touch, only one finger until he whines, canting his hips up.
even in his sleep he’s whiny and needy.
you peel down his boxers, watching his dick bob out, fully hardening before your eyes. you lean forward, letting the tip of your tongue trace around the metal piercing on his tip, rolling your tongue around it before sucking him into your mouth. you let out a little hum as the metal slides down your tongue as you sink closer to his base.
“mmmngh.” he sleepily moans.
you start a steady rhythm, squeezing his hips softly as you suck him. his hips are jerking up softly, he throws one of his arms of his eyes and the other to the sheets to curl into his fist. you blink up at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls, feeling the tremble in his thighs next to you.
you pull off and press open mouth kisses down the length of him, letting you thumb play with his piercing while you make your way down to his balls. the second you suck one into your mouth his hips jerk up and a moan is torn from his throat.
“ngh fuck!” he rasps. “fuck baby.” his hand is in your hair now pulling you up.
“happy birthday baby.” you kiss and lick at his tip again.
“fuuuck you’re so good to me.” he tosses his head back when you take him back in your mouth. “i’m gonna cum it’s too good.” his stomach flexes.
you hum, bobbing your head faster, blinking up at him. he props up on his elbows, lips parted and letting out the loudest moans. his hips are jerking up into your mouth, making you gag but you’re happy to let him.
“shitshitshit.” the first rope of cum fills your mouth.
you keep sucking with each spurt until he’s shaking and sated before you pull off with a pop. you crawl up his body and press your lips to his, swallowing down all of his sounds. you slide your hand between the both of you, guiding his tip through your folds before you sink down onto him.
“oh fuck.” his eyes flutter shut as you start to ride him.
you start off slow, grinding and rolling your hips against him until he’s pleading up at you and then you really start to ride him. sticky plaps sound throughout the room, his fingers digging into your waist, loosely guiding you up and down. you lean down, staring down at him as he gets more wrecked.
you’re both so worked up, already on the cusp of more pleasure, lips brushing, moans mingling. your clit is grinding against his public ring just right and your gummy walls squeeze around him.
“fuck cum! need to feel it.” his cheeks are flushed, hips snapping up to meet yours.
“open your mouth.” you pant.
“fuck.” he whines. “yes, fuck yes.” he sticks his tongue out and when you spit in his mouth he cums. “mommy.”
you tip over the edge, the both of you clinging and fucking into each other. you come down, brushing his hair back and holding him while he’s still buried deep inside.
“what’d you wanna do today?” you nuzzle into his neck.
sending a saucy late night text to the timeskip!bnha boys
ft. bakugo, kirishima, midoriya, todoroki & kaminari
notes: mdni! everyone is 18+ (including you 🫵), suggestive to spicy, poor taste jokes of specific kinks (somno/psuedo-incest) (bro gender neutral?) and unaliving self in the pursuit of pussy, mentions of 'girl' in denki's, deku's a lil dom, shouto is Official Baby Girl™, many mentions of oral, denki is in his usual down bad hours
── .✦ katsuki bakugo
── .✦ eijiro kirishima
── .✦ izuku midoriya
── .✦ shouto todoroki
── .✦ denki kaminari
ˋ°•*⁀➷ an: lore is that shouto realized much sooner than he let on what was going on he just likes to be a little cheeky about it
"i wanna go home early tonight." — mha boys reaction to you telling them you wanna leave early [tiktok trend]
gn!reader x mha boys (deku, bakugo, todoroki, iida, kirishima, kaminari, sero) — 0.8k words
nana’s note: that one tiktok trend where people prank their bf saying they don’t wanna stay over the night LOL thought about kaminari’s reaction and decided to write everyone else’s. stupid, humorous, crack fic as the people say
deku: is on his phone and whips his head at you so fast you’d think he got whiplash LMAOO “w-wait, why?” he’s stammering already and frozen in place because poor izuku thinks he did something wrong to make you want to leave. drops his phone and all his attention is on you now and cue that inner monologue of his where he’s RAMBLING. his face gets all pink, eyes bubbling with concern as he tries to figure out what’s wrong, running through all possible reasons in the next three seconds until he just blurts out: “i can sleep on the couch!” PFFTTT you feel bad and stop the prank earlier than intended. he scratches his neck and laughs awkwardly as how quick he sold himself out HAHAHAA.
bakugo: “the fuck? why?” — instant hostility (toned down because it’s towards you). this mf was probably doing stretches on his floor because we all know he’s quietly all about that nightly wind-down routine. his brows furrow, lip curled in near disgust (you know that ugly face he makes all the time? yeah, LMAO) at the mere possibility that you don’t wanna stay the night. “because i’m not feeling it,” you retaliate with a shrug. bakugo watches you for a moment, completely silent as he scrutinizes your words. you almost break under his gaze cause like can he chill for 4 seconds… but he’s too smart and can see through your façade. “is this another damn tiktok trend? fuck outta my face with that.” (he spends the rest of the night by your side, doing whatever it is you want in silence)
todoroki: stares at you dumbfounded for a whole three seconds before quietly asking “… oh … why?” BUT SHOUTO IS SO SWEET BECAUSE THEN he’s questioning if you’re feeling okay, all gently and calmly. he’s quick to place a palm to your forehead, “are you feeling under the weather? i think fuyumi has some medication. do you want some water, too?” and he’s already half off the bed to fetch you whatever :( AWWW MY ANGEL BOY. you probably vow to never prank this boy in this sense again because he’s just too oblivious for his own good. got a good laugh outta you though because when you tell him it’s a prank he’s just like “.. oh, okay. i’m glad you’re feeling good, though.” with a cute small smile HAAHAH <3
iida: starts thwacking his hand in that chopping motion and he’s all flabbergasted like ???? has no genuine reason as to why you would say that, you seemed to be enjoying yourself the rest of the time. class rep takes off his glasses and cleans them like THAT COULD HELP HIM HEAR YOU BETTER OR COMPREHEND THE SITUATION LMFAOOOOOO. iida would gently hold your shoulders and ask you if everything is okay, like, did he… do something wrong? you burst out laughing in his face because he’s so serious and when you tell him it’s all a joke, the man’s glasses fog up in embarrassment. “do not play these games,” he says as he proceeds to grab a fresh pair of glasses off his wall. OKAY IIDA.
kirishima: you tell him from downstairs, yelling that you’re gonna head out soon. CUE HIS “what?! hey, babe—wait!” FROM THE TOP OF THE STEPS AND THE LOUD STOMPS OF HIS BIG ASS COMING DOWN. he’s like basically naked because he was in the process of changing before he heard you announce your leave LMAO. “why? what’s wrong, baby?” he’s so genuinely worried and confused, walking up to you with open arms. “don’t leave,” he’s POUTING. poor boy probably had the whole night planned out (movies, activities, snacks, hell—even your skincare regime he’ll do with you!). he wanted to do EVERYTHING. doesn’t find the prank very funny but sighs in relief. “don’t do that…” sharp-toothed lopsided grin <3
kamanari: i’m already dying at the thought of this man SCRABBLING to you from his bed to his door when you get up and announce you’re leaving. slides to you on his knees and wraps his arms around you. “BABE, WHY?” LMFAOOOO this dramatic mf I CAN’T. biggest puppy dog eyes. now see, i think he’d know about this prank but all reason flies out the window when his amazing and hot partner is threatening to leave his house for the night. all he can think about is HE CAN’T SPEND MORE TIME WITH YOU? it’s enough to make him beg at the camera that blatantly in his face (he doesn’t notice it).
sero: you two are chilling on the couch watching some trash television when you say you wanna go home early. then to your absolute horror, this man goes “okay, see you.” HELLOOOO???? but sero is snickering to himself because this man already knows what your ass is up to. he’s quite the actor because he deadpans at you with a “what?” when you stare at him like ???? LMAOOOOOO. but he knows he went too far when he says “i can call you an uber or something.” he doesn’t get to blink before his last sight is your body flying at him HAHAAH “i’m sorry! i’m sorry!!” but the two of you laugh so hard together. sigh, i love a man that can play along.
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: a heat advisory is issued as temperatures in japan near triple digits this week. residents are urged to stay out of the sun, wear light-colored clothing, drink plenty of water, never leave pets inside a hot car, or engage in extremely strenuous activity. guys—guys, i said no strenuous activity, why are you fucking?!
❤︎ CONTENT: eijirō kirishima, best friends to lovers, roommates, blowjobs, ice, katsuki bakugō, the boyfriend experience, hear me out—popsicle blowjobs, HEAR ME OUT, slut!calling, denki kaminari, pool parties, mutual friends, water balloon fights, making out, izuku midoriya,husband!izuku, stargazing fluff, l-bombs, penetrative sex, crying, idek what got into me fr, hanta sero, childhood friends to lovers, weed, confessions, no porn just yearning … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i’m just a girl with a dream…A FEVER DREAM H A (i’m not funny.)
♫ NOW PLAYING: midnight sun, zara larsson.
read on ao3 | 6.4k words | masterlist.
EIJIRŌ KIRISHIMA.
The AC broke last night.
Eijirō knows, because he woke up swimming in a pool of his own sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest and hair plastered to his neck. The current heatwave is killing everything, braincells and split ends included.
The heat might’ve fried his brain—and he tries to regain some semblance of thought as he lays on the cool hardwood floor, below the ceiling fan, spread out like a starfish—but, that’s not the issue, if he’s being honest. The issue is how you deal with said heat.
At this point, you might as well just walk around naked.
(Don’t do that. Please, please don’t do that.)
You lounge beside him in the shortest shorts and tightest tank top Eijirō’s ever seen in his twenty six years of living, holding a small hand fan to your face like it’s not just recycling hot air. A thin film of sweat sticks to your skin and builds a sheen he’s sure should be reserved for the bedroom, oiled up like some pornstar, and, as stated, he quite literally has two braincells left. He counted.
Braincells that will expose him if he says so much as a word.
So, naturally, you start talking.
“God, it’s so hot, I can’t even watch the TV,” you lament, lifting a limp hand to gesture, before it lands heavy on your thigh with a slap. Fat jiggles in its wake, and Eijirō watches. Licks his lips.
He should go to his room, or something.
But it’s hot in there—hotter than it is out here, full of cloth and carpet and blankets, and Eijirō is already melting. He’s still deciding whether he feels like the Wicked Witch of the West, or Olaf. Wicked Witch…Olaf. Wicked Witch…Let it Go…
“—ello, hello? Eiji?”
It’s the hand waving in his face that jolts him out of his heat-induced stupor.
“Huh?”
“I was asking if you wanted me to grab the ice from the freezer,” you snort at his vegetative state. Eijirō nods once, then looks back to the ceiling.
You get up and head into the kitchen. He watches you walk away, watches your ass peek out from your insanely short shorts. (Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.) Then, he feels guilty. That wasn’t manly at all.
Becoming roommates with his childhood best friend sucks. Why did nobody tell him that it sucks?
You return with a full bowl, and a new lease on life. Taking two ice crescents, you hold them to both sides of your cheeks. They start to melt on impact. Eijirō wants to lick it up.
He takes a cube, and shoves it down his shorts.
“Eijirō, what the fuck.”
He gets caught. Of course, he gets caught.
“It’s hot,” he whines, accompanied by a soft laugh to let you know, no, he’s not getting hard or anything, it’s just hot. He swears.
“You’re so stupid,” you snort, like you’re not the one holding melting ice to your face. “It’s gonna look like you pissed yourself.”
“I don’t care,” Eijirō whimpers. His spot on the floor is getting warm under his back. He’ll need to move, soon.
“Oh, I have an idea!” Your eyes light up, but then you think about it, and they dull. “Never mind.”
Eijirō blinks at you, slow and sticky, and keeps his eyes on yours and definitely nowhere else.
“…What is it?”
“Oh shit—”
Okay. Okay, okay. When you said you had an idea, Eijirō didn’t think this was it.
But, here you sit, mouth on his dick and ice in your cheeks. Eijirō isn’t even sure it’s helping. He just knows that he’s hard, and sweaty, and it feels really, really good.
Just to cool down, you said. Don’t cum in my mouth, or else.
And he—he is trying. The ice is almost a biting temperature, the sting immediately soothed by the warmth of your lips. His body rotates from hot to cold on a loop. He’s holding onto the couch cushion behind him for dear life, propped against the base of it, while you give him the best head of his life. In your shared living room. What the fuck.
There were a million ways Eijirō thought this would go down—a drunk evening, a poorly timed confession, a thinly veiled attempt at getting over someone else, when really, there was no one to get over in the first place. Definitely not at your recommendation to combat the heat.
Your mouth pulls of his cock with a pop, and Eijirō whimpers. The sight will never leave his mind, he’ll make sure of it—your lips, swollen and glistening with spit, water dripping down the corners of your cheeks from melting ice like you’re drooling. You reach over to the defrosting bowl and pull out another small piece. Pop it in your mouth. Then, your mouth is back on his cock.
Eijirō shivers.
“We might ne—we might need to take a break,” Eijirō swallows, staring at the TV—which isn’t even playing anymore, Netflix taunting him with those four words, are you still watching?—because if he looks at you, he’s going to blow his load. And, he damn sure doesn’t want you to stop.
But, if you don’t give him a breather, he’s going to cum regardless. Because, yes, there’s a mouth on dick but it’s your mouth, and holy shit, he knows what the inside of your mouth feels like on his dick—
Eijirō pulls you off with a little too much force, a solid grip on your chin, and wheezes. Apparently, it goes against every natural urge imaginable to do that.
“Why,” you ask, simply, wiping at your jaw with the inside of your wrist. Eijirō tries to laugh, but it falls flat.
“Because,” he whines, watching at the ceiling. “I was about to cum, what do you mean, ‘why.’”
You giggle, resting your hands on either side of his body to prop yourself up. Except, it squishes your breasts, which sit right under your mouth, and Eijirō can’t stop staring. The world could be on fire, and he’d still be here. Staring.
“Oh! Cool,” you hum and nod, clacking the rest of the ice between your teeth. Eijirō watches your tongue roll every time your jaw drops. You start talking about something else, something mundane, while his dick is just…out, twitching when you say a word a little funny, or something that could be taken as an innuendo. And, it’s not—an innuendo—just casual banter between best friends who grew up together, but now, Eijirō can’t unhear it. Can’t unsee.
He’s fucked. Fuck.
KATSUKI BAKUGŌ.
What. The fuck. Are you doing.
“Wha’” You ask around the popsicle. A popsicle you’re currently treating as if it belongs to someone else—someone’s dick—swirling your tongue and popping your lips and dropping your jaw like it can feel it.
You are absolutely working that thing—and yeah, Katsuki gets it. It’s a hot day. The AC is on blast, and somehow, he’s still sweaty behind the creases of his knees and in the crooks of his elbows. He’s returning from his third shower of the day with a towel around his neck, walking back into the living room to find an image most offensive.
You, laying on the couch, with a popsicle in your mouth, moving it so thorough it might as well be fucking your face.
What. The fuck.
“Babe,” Katsuki sniffles, because, for some reason, the heat makes his nose run. “Fuckin’ quit it.”
“Qui’ wha’?”
You don’t quit it. Instead, you pull the popsicle out to talk, tongue darting out to lick the melting edge like it’s... Is Katsuki losing his mind? He might be losing his mind.
Great. Everyone said it would happen one day, and he laughed in their faces. Now, look at him.
“Fuckin’—the popsicle,” Katsuki huffs in irritation (sexual) as he walks to the bookshelf and finds something to distract himself with. He’s not fucking you—refuses, actually, in this temperature, and he’s already wasted enough water as is. You suck the popsicle back into your mouth, with puckered lips and hollowed cheeks, and Katsuki points like it’s personally offended him. (It has.) “Quit that.”
“Stop…fucking the popsicle,” you giggle, and while that’s not what Katsuki said—
“Yes. Stop treatin’ that goddamn thing like it’s my dick.”
“Mm, Katsuki!” You force a moan around the stupid thing, giggling again when he scowls over his shoulder with pinked cheeks. He can’t even focus—just picks a random book and returns to the couch. It’s not until he sits down that he realizes that it’s War and Peace. Fuck, he’s not reading Tolstoy in this fucking weather. Not when you’re slurping right next to him.
Katsuki opens the book, regardless. Reads the first few sentences of part two. Closes it again.
“Why are you like this,” he grunts, watching you in his peripheral. By now, the popsicle isn’t almost gone, but at that point of consumption where it’s in a weird shape. Katsuki counts down the minutes until there’s no shape, just stick.
You pull it from your mouth, slow and languid, gathering juice in the corners of your lips with a tongue. “Can I not enjoy my popsicle in peace?”
“Not like that.”
You roll your eyes, and go back to what you were doing. This time, you build a steady pace—in and out, in and out—holding eye contact with Katsuki like you know it’ll kill him. And, it does.
You play Katsuki Bakugō like a fiddle, and he hates every fucking second of it.
Reaching over, he takes the stick of the popsicle, and shoves it down your throat. You choke. It sounds more like a gargle.
“Wha’ tha fu’h,” You scrunch your nose in distaste, but Katsuki keeps the pace you built, albeit a little heavy handed.
“No, if you wanna fuck the popsicle, then fuck the popsicle,” Katsuki says behind a glare, like his breathing isn’t belated. You hum and lean right into it, suppressing a smile around the frozen juice. Fucking brat.
This was not the reaction you were supposed to have—you were supposed to splutter off, glare at him, and learn your lesson. Give up. Suck the popsicle like a normal human being, Katsuki doesn’t fucking know.
You aren’t supposed to enjoy it, though.
Your eyes aren’t supposed to flutter shut like the popsicle is Katsuki himself, like you’re sucking to get a sound out. You blink up at him, and he…can’t breathe. He snatches the popsicle out, only for a string of artificially colored spit to stick, then drop on your lips.
“What the fuck,” he finally vocalizes, too out of breath for having done nothing but jerk a popsicle around for a bit, “is wrong with you?”
“So many things,” you answer without hesitation, swallowing, and cleaning up the corners of your mouth. “Now, give it back. It’s hot.”
Katsuki doesn’t know why he listens.
(He’s stupid, that’s why. Stupid and weak and horny—)
With a sigh, Katsuki pokes the pointed top of the popsicle at your lips. You open them, but he runs it across the seam and around until it coats your mouth like gloss. Then, he pushes it in, slow but sure. Your eyes close, and Katsuki’s dick jumps.
Katsuki can feel the weight of your mouth through the stick, how tight your lips sit around the popsicle, and hums to himself. God, you look so pretty like this—weirdly peaceful—with nothing to do but suck while he does the work for you. When he gets closer, you don’t notice.
Not until you blink your eyes open, and they crinkle on the sides with silent entertainment. You reflect nothing that alludes to what you’re actually doing, slobbering over a popsicle until it drips along Katsuki’s knuckles and forearm. Messy, just how he likes it.
Your hand comes to Katsuki’s thigh for balance. He’s so close he can count the eyelashes dusting your cheeks if he wants, can hear your little exhales and feel your swallows. His mouth moves faster than his mind, voice breathless and a little aloof.
“You’re a fuckin’ slut, y’know that?”
It has no bite behind it—if anything, it’s a protection, a barrier against Katsuki’s own arousal, thin and pointless. Pointless, when he’s clearly rock hard in his shorts, dick standing straight to the sky and pitching a tent so narrow it’s structurally unsound. You smile because you know he’s panicking, and open your eyes to get a view out of his misery.
“What,” he bites, and pulls the popsicle out from your lips. You catch your breath, swallow, and then:
“You seem to be enjoying this.”
Katsuki huffs, and chokes you with the popsicle again. That’s what he gets for letting talk. You quirk an eyebrow but take it like a champ, as if to show he’s proving your point, but he’s not, shut up.
Your hand finds his dick with ease—it’s right there, loud and screaming to be touched, leaking through the fabric—and wrap around the shaft, polyester cloth sticking to his cock. Whether its sweat or pre-cum, Katsuki really doesn’t know.
All he knows is that a jolt of electricity runs down his spine, something sharp and hot and devastating, and Katsuki’s making a sound before he can stop it. Not a curse, not a moan, but a goddamn whimper.
Now, Katsuki has a point to prove.
Now, he has to prove that it was, in fact, not him that made that sound—it was some chink in the matrix, a glitch in your hearing. Katsuki pulls the popsicle out—its not much but stick at this point—and nods at the space on the floor between his legs. He relieves the building pressure with a squeeze or two. You scramble to your knees in a heartbeat.
So much for not fucking you.
DENKI KAMINARI.
“Hey. Denki, right?”
The water ballon jumps out his hands and goes rolling into the oversized bucket. Denki looks back to see you, smile wide and unwarranted, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.
Denki Kaminari isn’t…good, when it comes to pretty girls. He gets nervous, and tongue-tied, and can’t even make fun of himself right, which is his definitive hat trick, the one thing he knows can get a room rolling and girls swooning at his witty brilliance. (He thinks—the second one has yet to be tested.) His hands get clammy, the only noise he can make with his mouth is an embarrassing ‘buh,’ and the most he can do with his feet is storm off. Luckily, pretty girls don’t talk to him like that, so it’s not an really issue he felt the need to address. Until now.
Who you are and why you’re here, though, at Hanta’s pool party, is beyond him. Denki thinks you two are coworkers, but he wasn’t really listening—you walked through the door, and poof, his historically rapid train of thought was no more. Not silence, either. Just a buzz in the back of his head. A buuuuuh.
You asked him a question. Right.
“Buh-uh—,” Denki fumbles, like, so bad, and has to shake his head to start over. “Yeah, yes. I am him.”
“Okay, cool,” you giggle, seemingly not off put by his inelegance or drooling. Denki doesn’t know what to do with this information—it’s so hot outside it feels like his brain is melting from his ears. (And you—you’re very, very, very hot, hotter than it is outside, hotter than the sun, and Denki sweats a little harder when you get closer. When you lean over his shoulder as he crouches by the hose.) “What’cha doin’?”
You say that with all the mischief of a kid with a Nerf Gun, or a little devil, a woman after his own heart. Denki snorts, and grabs another deflated water balloon, hooks it up to the hose, and watches it swell.
“Giving everyone a way to cool off,” he shrugs, completely talking around the real reason: to harass Katsuki because he can, until he gets strong armed into submission. Then, he looks up at you, and tries avoid blindness when the sun halo’s your head like a God. “Want one?”
You tap your lip with a nail. “Sure.”
He passes over the one freshly filled, and you take it with a glowing smile. He sees your lips twist in his peripheral as he grabs another to stock—and tries not to publicly freak out at the fact that you’re still talking to him. Literally, why.
Denki tries to reach deep into the recesses of his soul. Charm, where is his charm? Hanta said he was charming, once, when he was really sad.
(Apparently, it jumped ship at the first ‘buh.’ Either that, or it was never there in the first place. Hanta Sero, you filthy fucking liar—)
A pop, then water comes running over his head.
Denki looks up to see you fisting around a busted balloon, hand still dripping wet with evidence. His jaw drops as water spills off the ends of his hair, and into the bucket full of balloons below him.
“You did not…”
You giggle, reaching into the bucket—between his legs, mind you—to grab another balloon and slap it against his back. It pops on impact. (Damn, Denki’s really good at filling water balloons. A perfected art, if he says so himself.)
“What if I did,” you quirk an eyebrow, and Denki wants to kiss you. So, so bad.
Grabbing three water balloons from the bucket, two in one hand and one in the other, Denki mimics your smile.
“Oh, it’s on.”
By the end, water balloon carcasses lay everywhere. Everyone else went inside to protect themselves from the chaos, unwilling to get wet before the food is ready—leaving you and Denki to chase each other around like children, ducking behind bushes and walls, water balloons ricocheting off every corner of the backyard.
Eventually, you two run out of full balloons. There’s still half the pack left, so it becomes a game of keep away—who can get ahold of the hose and fill their water balloon, throw said water balloon, all while never losing control of the hose. And, Denki is losing. Badly.
You’re tits are on him, it’s not his fault.
“Gotcha again!”
You’re both throwing water balloons at point blank, hard enough to leave soft red circles on his skin. Denki doesn’t mind, though—instead, he chucks another at your face, only to miss. This is why he’s losing.
“Well, fucking—let go of it!”
Denki reaches over your lap in hopes he can grab ahold of the hose—and fails when you tug it out of his reach, putting your chest in the way like you know he’ll do anything to avoid touching it. He ends up falling into your lap, anyways, and scrambles his way out before you can blink.
“You’re not playing fair,” he heaves, a little out of breath from all the running, and rushing, and gets on his knees to get a better reach. You just lean back, about to stand up to dart away with the thing, so Denki grabs your wrist and yanks it around, using your hand to fill the last water balloon left.
“I’m not playing fair?” You squeal behind a series of laughs, trying to tug your hand away and barely managing. Sticking his tongue out in focus, Denki holds your wrist as still as he can. The balloon only fills halfway in the time it takes to fill three, water spilling over the edges because you refuse to sit still. Luckily, Denki is a man of many ideas.
He turns your wrist, snatches off the nozzle attachment, and hangs the hose above your head.
You gasp, then choke a little when you inhale water along with air. You try to turn your wrist, and get his ankles wet a little, but that’s about it. Denki cackles.
“I win.”
“No, you—”
You struggle again, but to no avail. Denki moves the hose once the wet spot on concrete widens, starting to feel a little bad. A little—he still won, shit aim and all.
“Keep struggling, Cutie, you’re not gonna get it,” Denki smiles. You fight so hard your shoulder rams into his, but Denki finally manages to snatch the hose back. He debates on the closet location to buy more water balloons, but gets a little distracted, first by your smile, and then by the rest of you.
He didn’t realize how much closer you’ve gotten during the scuffle, shoulders touching and knees bumping. He watches you swim in the afternoon sun, glowing and soaking wet, and when you turn your head, you’re close enough to—
You kiss him?
Denki doesn’t know why. All he knows is, suddenly, your lips are on his when they don’t have to be. You kiss him, you keep kissing him, and when he finally gathers himself enough to kiss back, the hose is forgotten at his side and still running.
His hands do what they’ve wanted to all afternoon and grab your waist, tug you closer. You sigh into his mouth and relax, tilting your head to the side for better access. Denki licks the seam of your lips, earns himself a whine, and melts.
You taste like strawberries from the kitchen counter, something natural and light and perfect for the summer. His fingers fiddle with the edges of your bathing suit, but don’t push further than that, can’t, or he’s sure to get a nosebleed or say something stupid like mmm you smell like the tech section in Target. Something that, honestly, has very little bearing on the current moment.
As he presses forward, Denki doesn’t notice your hand snaking behind him. Not until there’s ice cold water running down his back.
Denki hisses, then groans, then bites your lip in retaliation because he can, because they’re right fucking there. Then, he can act like a normal human being again.
“Kissing to get me back is a dirty trick,” he narrows his eyes in a pout. You smile, pulling the hose overhead so every inch of him gets wet. It’s only fair.
“It worked, though,” you say behind a self-satisfied grin. Your lips are spit slick and a little swollen, so Denki finds that he doesn’t care about getting soaked all that much, after all.
“Yeah, yeah,” he huffs, snatching the hose back. You’re so close he doesn’t even have to tilt it that far forward.
It earns him a water balloon to the chest. Where the hell you were hiding that, Denki will never know.
IZUKU MIDORIYA.
The sun has long passed, but a cloying heat sticks to the walls of your home like honey. So, you and your husband head outside.
Light pollution isn’t horrible at your house in the mountains. When you and Izuku first moved in together, his one and only wish was to see the stars from his backyard. That narrowed the options down tremendously. Wiped Tokyo and Osaka off the map.
It was a hot day, and somehow, an even hotter night—so, of course he hosts a fucking pop quiz.
“Can you tell me which one is Ursa Major?”
It’s a basic question, with one of the most popular constellations. You scan the sky on your back, grass tickling your knees and thighs, eyes in search for something that could vaguely represent a saucepan. You can’t.
“Izuku,” you whine, rolling into his shoulder. “You can’t point to a splatter of stars and ask me to find a pattern.”
Izuku giggles and pokes your cheek. “Fine, fine. It’s in this general area.”
The finger that was harassing your face points to the sky and makes a big, broad, woefully unhelpful, circle.
“Izuku,” you deadpan. He sighs.
“Okay, it’s over there,” he points, giving up with an amused huff. Even then, it takes you a good minute to line up your sight with the tip of his finger. “See? Polaris over there? It’s the end of the Big Dipper. And the little one, but.”
You squint, and finally, make out something akin to a ladle. “How does that even turn into a bear? God, our ancestors must’ve been so bored.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, gently jostling your head in the process. You grunt, and he lets out a small ‘sorry’ before continuing his train of thought while wiggling a pair of eyebrows. “Or, maybe they were just creative.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huff, but Izuku just smiles like he loves you, and tugs you closer. It’s probably a little too hot to be this close, the world cooling down slow but sure, but you nuzzle your sweaty joints into his skin regardless. Your head rests on his chest. “You calling me uncreative?”
“No,” he snorts, and soothes you with a kiss to the forehead. “I’m saying they didn’t have a 9-5.”
Your bristles relax and smooth over. “Just checking.”
Izuku scrunches his nose with something fond. “You’re so defensive.”
“And you need to stop treating me like one of your students,” you add, poking at his nose until it relaxes. “I hate pop quizzes.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You don’t, Dork.”
You get up on your elbows to get a better look at him, to brush a stray tuft of his hair back in place.
“What does that make you?” Izuku asks, raising an eyebrow. “Princess Dork?”
“Queen Dork,” you nod, humming when the thought hits just right. You scoot up higher, closer to his face. “And you can be my jester.”
Izuku gapes, chokes out a laugh in the process, and the way it makes the corners of his eyes screw into nothing is so sweet. “That’s all I am to you, huh? A little funny man?”
You nod, hum, and knock your forehead against his. “With little funny facts.”
Izuku just laughs quietly, smiles, and pulls you close—like you aren’t already close enough, like you can’t feel his breath on your face when he speaks, like you could phase into his body like Kitty Pryde from that X-Men documentary he made you watch. (It would’ve been fascinating if you understood any of it, you’re sure.)
“I love you,” he murmurs, nudging his nose into yours. You return the favor, then kiss him on the lips.
“I love you, too.”
There are a lot of things you love about your husband.
You love that he always wakes up first—impossibly, at the ass-crack of dawn—and you love that his brain is chalk full of a million random truths. You love that he has a fact of the day, you love that he has very specific special interests that he gets overexcited to share. You love that he comes home from work with a smile on his face, and you love that despite that smile, he lights up when he sees you in the living room regardless, that he immediately rushes to kiss you like he’s been away for months.
You also love his dick. Honestly, that’s probably further up the list than it should be.
“Fuck, Izuku—”
He’s not even going that fast. It’s slow and sensual and perfect for stargazing, if his eyes are stars and stars come in the shape of hearts. Grass tickles the arch in your back, while Izuku pounds steady but heavy, refusing to let you look away with a hand on your jaw. You’re fraying at the edges, regardless.
“I love you, Baby,” he huffs above you. His other hand is plastered beside your head, and grass peeks through his knuckles, wrought tight and torn. “I—I love you, so much—”
“’Zuku, I’m close,” you whimper, pawing at his chest. Izuku lets go of your jaw to grab your hand before it falls, tangling your fingers together with a polish that shouldn’t belong to a man who runs into a pole at least once a week. “Baby, I need—”
Izuku cuts your words short with a kiss, chaste but weighted, settling something deep in your bones that you didn’t know was there. When he pulls back, lips pink and swollen from the nights activities, “I know what you need, Baby. I got you.”
The hand beside your head drifts to where you’re connected, and starts rubbing your clit in tight, slow circles. They follow the pattern of his hips, and Izuku coos when you keen, stomach flexing as you cave in on yourself. It’s just along the line of too much, edging slightly past that border—it’s perfect.
“You look so pretty like this,” Izuku pants into your mouth, and squeezes your palm to stave off his own orgasm with a groan. “So pretty, all mine.”
The wedding rings on your clasped hands glint in your peripheral, bouncing the moonlight in reminder. A reminder that, yes, you’re all his—but also, he’s all yours. You choke on a whimper, biting your lip.
“I love you,” you breathe, your proud reservations stripped by intimacy and leaving you bare. Bare and bleeding, heart open and chest out, as you pass it to him for the thousandth time. When Izuku sniffles, you lift a weak hand to thumb a tear from rolling down his cheek. His eyes widen a little, when he realizes he’s crying.
“Sorry,” he huffs a wet laugh, tucking his head into your shoulder to keep him from further embarrassment. You let him, uncaring to how he soaks your top in the process. “S-Sorry, I just—”
“It’s okay,” you manage past a moan, a hand coming up the nape of his neck and tangling until it fits. Luckily, the lump in your throat is easier to swallow the longer you teeter on the edge. “I get it.”
“I just—” Izuku shudders a breath, but his hips never stop moving. It’s a weird combination of feelings—elation for two very different reasons—and it softens everything at the edges, blurs it all just enough to feel safe. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved something like this. I love you so much, it hurts.”
His voice cracks, and you, along with it—a hairline fracture shattering into the vague shape of your husband, ensuring that he fits, that he stays.
And, when you both cum at the same time, a cosmic alignment of two souls so perfectly intertwined that they become one, the cicadas sing along with you.
HANTA SERO
You haven’t seen Hanta Sero in years.
Not since high school graduation, you think. Not since you two went your separate ways for college, not since your families stopped hanging out so much, because people grow and change and most friendships are situational at that age.
The backyard to your family’s lake house is quiet now, save for cicadas, and the sound of a flicking lighter, still in the stiff humid air.
“So,” Hanta asks, lifting the joint to his lips. He’s sat comfortably—in a chair with his feet propped on the wrought iron table like he never left. And, in some ways, he didn’t. “How’ve you been?”
You still have the sweatshirt he let you borrow at that one football game, the socks he left at your place once because he ‘needed to let his feet breathe,’ whatever that means. You still have the memories, of him as your prom date (important note: as friends), of him sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of him getting caught sneaking into your house at dead of night because you were sad, of your first kiss in middle school.
No matter what, no matter how many of his things you throw away or give back, Hanta Sero sticks to you like the scent of weed after smoking in a circle—unavoidable, all consuming. Seemingly permanent, even when he’s no longer there.
This, though. This feels awkward. This feels like you two are still trying to get back to who you used to be—like you haven’t changed as people, completely.
Like it hasn’t been five years since you’ve seen him last.
“I’ve been good,” you nod, voice a little hopeful and a lot exhausted. “Work, friends…it’s all chill. You?”
He passes the joint. You take it graciously, and try to forget that his lips have been all over it.
“Decent,” he shrugs, teetering his head before he fully reclines in the chair and rests big hands behind his head. “Internships done, so, ‘m coming back home. Can’t tell whether it feels good yet, though.”
You scoff, nodding in agreement. “Moving back in with your parents is a…conflicting experience.”
“Right?” He almost says with relief, like he’s happy to not be the only one feeling it. That pressure. “Like, I don’t have to pay for laundry anymore—”
“Which is amazing,” you add, nodding, and pass the joint back.
“—or like, food, for the most part, but also, I’m back to living with my parents, so. You win some, you lose some.”
He weighs the options in both hands, smoke curling from the sudden movement. You smile, and maybe, possibly, say something slightly out of pocket. You mimic his gesture.
“You get to hang out with me again, but you get to live with your parents.”
“Exactly,” Hanta snaps and points without hesitation—the lack of it takes you by surprise. You think there’s more to that sentence, but there isn’t.
You two fall into a comfortable silence, watching the sun set on the horizon and douse everything orange, listening to cicadas chirp and leaves rustle, the chatter of your families inside the house filling the gaps. Someone must’ve said something really funny, probably at someone else’s expense, because the living room erupts on the other side of the wall. Even though you can’t see it, you smile at the wooden slats.
“I missed you.”
You look up—Hanta’s staring with something that’s not quite a smile, but not quite nothing, either—it’s a smile in his eyes, maybe, a glint of relative, peaceful amusement, and you falter. The setting sun emphasizes the soft edges, you think. It’s just a trick on the eyes.
The joint is more of a roach, at this point, and it nearly burns your fingertips as you pass it back.
“I missed you, too,” you cough, words a little rushed. Hanta’s full smile breaks across his face, finally escaping through the tight iron bars of it’s imprisonment.
“I can’t tell,” he says just before biting on the joint, and you huff.
“What do you want me to do?” You roll your eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Worship the ground you walk on?”
Hanta shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Mm, I feel like it should be the other way around,” you argue, gesturing until it vaguely represents a switch. “I feel like you should worship the ground I walk on, y’know?”
Hanta lifts an eyebrow, and moves to snuff the last glowing embers in the ash tray. They look like tiny flecks of sunset, flickering in just as bright of an orange. “What if I do?”
You choke.
On air, on smoke, on…something, but you choke. Hanta chuckles from his chest at the sight, licking his lips and finally, looking back to witness your aggressively flustered state.
“What if…I told you that I every time I saw your Instagram story, I’d get a little bitter.”
You swallow. You don’t know what you’d do if he told you that—but, he kind of already has, so. Cue the panic.
“I’d tell you that, uh, it’s good that you’re back, because now you can be in them,” you exhale. Great cover. Magnificent.
When Hanta flirts, it’s not a light joke. It’s…it’s batten down the hatches, lock the doors, and lock the locks on top of the locked door. He speaks with a smoothness that makes Katsuki’s knees weak, and he doesn’t like anyone save for Eijirō and himself. (Platonically—but also, romantically.)
You’ve been on the receiving end, occasionally. It’s a natural thing for him—just something Hanta does, who he is, whether he’s interested in a person or not. That’s not exactly what this feels like, though. It doesn’t feel hypothetical.
Not when he’s looking at you like that. Like you already hold his world on his shoulders, and he’s forever indebted to you for it. With intention.
“And, what if I told you I didn’t just want to be in them, but I want to be with you in them.”
Now. Do you understand what he’s getting at? Maybe. Possibly.
But—
“You’re saying the same thing twice,” you deadpan, resting your chin on a hand. Hopefully, the hot metal grating into your elbow is grounding. It is—but not enough. “I don’t want your riddles, Hanta, I’m high.”
He chuckles, looking off into the sunset with a tongue poking his cheek so hard it bends under the pressure. Then, he looks back, with something new in his eyes—a fire. A determination. Like it was grabbed from the sun itself.
“What if I told you to be my girlfriend.”
You make a small, pathetic noise—one akin to a small bird’s squawk, and Hanta snorts as your eyes go round. You swallow, again—because of cotton mouth, obviously. Not because he makes you nervous.
“I’d…” you gulp, damn you cotton mouth, “I’d tell you to take me on a date, first.”
His grin slips into something mischievous, something plotting. Something you know that you’ll regret, later. (What type of regret, though, and how much—that’s the question.)
“I can do that,” he shrugs, reaching into his pocket for another joint. You know he’ll have to face that one alone—you know he knows—because your eyes are already red and dry, and your tolerance is much lower than when you saw him last. His, seemingly, is just the same, and how someone smokes that much without getting a headache is beyond you.
“Can you?” You challenge, even if you know he can, better than most, because it’s Hanta. Hanta, who you met the first day of kindergarten, missing both front teeth with a Spiderman band-aid over his cheek. Hanta, who got into a fight in middle school because someone called you ugly. Hanta, who’s been as permanent of a fixture in your life as the stars, constantly revolving around you like you’ve got your own gravity. Hanta, Hanta, Hanta—
Hanta chuckles at the slight, lighting the new joint between his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow. “Find out tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at six.”
He doesn’t give you much room to protest, so you just nod.
And, when he offers the joint, despite your earlier lamentations, you take it with shaking hands, because holy shit, holy shit—
