SATORU’S HEAD falls back against the pillows, his glasses slipping down his nose, but he was way to focused on you right now to fix them.
His hands grip your hips tightly, his eyes fixated on the way your body moved on his cock. “Feels so good..” he muttered, you roll your hips as he thrusted up into you, your hands braced on his chest.
One hand moves up, cupping your breast, squeezing it gently, watching them move with each thrust. He sits up, his lips latching onto your nipple, running his tongue over it, glancing up at you through the top of his glasses.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling gently, your head tipped back, your moans filling the room. “Fuck.. im gonna..” your breath hitched, your walls clamping around him as he thrusted into you.
Your body shuddering against his, as you reached your climax, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave red marks beneath your touch. He keeps up his movements, drawing out your orgasm, moans continually falling from your lips. Your head drops to his shoulder as he continued pounding up into you, reaching his own orgasm.
He falls back against the pillows again, his eyes squeezing shut behind his glasses as his thrusts became more uncontrolled. A deep groan strained from his throat as he kept himself deep inside of you, filling you with his release.
His cock starts to soften inside you before he pulls it out, your body collapses against his chest. His arms immediately wrapping around you, placing a kiss on your head. “You did so good..” he breathed out, running his fingers through your hair soothingly.
𐚁 ₊˚ʚ c.w | smut :: p in v :: nerd!reader? :: degrading :: hair pulling :: swearing :: dom!toji :: spanking :: nicknames .
WHEN TOJI saw how intelligent you were, he couldn’t get enough of the idea of fucking you till you were too dumb to even answer a question.
“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t you handle it?” He mocked, he had you bent over the bed, pounding deep into you.
You couldn’t even reply, the only sounds coming from your lips were moans, tears streaming down your face from just the sensation of him buried inside you. He laughs lowly, a smug expression on his face. “Poor baby.”
He grabs your hair, tugging it back, your spine arching into the mattress. “Too fucking dumb to even answer me, huh?” He groaned deeply, his thrusts only becoming more erratic from the sounds of your innocent whines. “Mhhmm..” you moaned out, words failed on your tongue.
Your whole body jolted forward with each thrust, the headboard repeatedly tapping against the wall. The sound of skin against skin echoed through the room.
Your breathing became uneven as you felt your climax reaching you, your eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched tight around his cock. “Not yet..” he ordered, but his movements didn’t slow down, you whined in disapproval, trying hard to push back your orgasm till he said otherwise.
But the way his tip continually hit against that perfect spot inside you, made it hard to hold back. Your pussy gripped around him, you couldn’t stop yourself anymore, your orgasm pushing over. Your walls fluttered around him as your body trembled, a loud moan reaching his ears.
“Stupid girl, did i say to finish yet?” He grunts, a punishing slap meeting against your ass, leaving a red mark blooming across your cheek. “Head so empty you can’t follow instructions either, isn’t that right?” He says his breath hitching as his own orgasm caught up to him.
You nod your head frantically, your body sensitive from your previous orgasm but he didn’t stop till he was done. He grabs your chin, forcing your head towards him. “Use your words.”
“Yes..” you sighed out, he spanked your ass again before soothing it over with his palm. Only a few moments later, his orgasm caught up to him. His head tipping back as he buried himself deep inside you. Ropes of thick release filling you to the brim as a groan escaped his throat.
He let out a sigh of relief, pulling his softening cock out of you, both of your releases spilling out your entrance, dripping down your shaking thighs. He leans over kissing your temple possessively. “My dumb princess, hm..”
ᨳଓ * .ﾟ a/n | thank you for 1.3k im so happy 🥹 request from this. ᰔ ᰔ
instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?
synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?
pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)
content: mdni!! fluff, angst, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, HEAVY jealousy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, denying feelings
art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum
Most days, you woke up to a crying baby.
But the scent of something burning wafting through your open bedroom door snapped you out of your dreams, eyes shooting open as you scrambled to your feet, nearly hitting the wall as you hurried out into the hall calling for Gojo.
"What the hell is-"
"Morning, sweetheart," your baby daddy grinned, his mini-me chewing on the straps of the carrier he put her in, all pressed against his chest as he wielded a spatula. "Just making breakfast."
"You're going to set off the smoke alarm," you grumbled, suppressing a yawn as your stare swept over the mess he made of your kitchen. Flour and sugar scattered across pretty much every spare surface, three pans fighting for space on the stovetop. "And-"
"Uh-uh," he interrupted you, pressing the spatula to your lips in a playful attempt to shush you that really just left you tempted to snap the utensil in half.
You smacked it away instead, scowling at him as he had the audacity to look hurt by it. "I hope you're planning on cleaning all of this up."
"Of course," he whined, turning back just in time to flip his next pancake over just as the edges started to go from golden to brown. The burnt remains of his first attempt was on a plate, a bite taken out of it like he had to test to see if it was edible. "How dumb do you think I am?"
You stared blankly back at him, and he just frowned at you, pretty lips turning down before reluctantly parting again.
"Don't answer that."
And practically on cue, the fire alarm did go off, your hands immediately covering up Umi's ears as Gojo's face scrunched up in pure panic.
He was trying to say that he'd just turn it off, but even at over six feet tall, he couldn't quite reach the alarm - which meant you were forced to follow him as he grabbed a stool.
"Don't be stupid," you hissed, flustered and frustrated as you half-yanked Umi out of her carrier as carefully as you could, holding her against your chest and trying to keep her ears covered while she started to wail. Big fat tears rolling down her beautiful blue eyes, frightened by the noise or maybe the father of the year nearly setting your place on fire.
He was smacking the alarm, clearly confused on how it even worked while you shouted at him to press the fucking button on it, bouncing Umi as you paced. By the time he figured out how to get it to stop blaring, the food cooking on the stove was about to start it going again.
"Ah, shit," he groaned, flipping off the burners in quick succession as you stared at what had previously been your perfectly clean kitchen.
You pressed a soft kiss to Umi's forehead as you cooed to soothe her, glaring up at him as he sheepishly stared at the remains of the breakfast he'd surely have to dump.
Was this just your life now?
A whiny baby and a whinier baby daddy? Burned breakfast before you had the chance to even use the bathroom?
"Can I just get like, a coffee?" You asked, not even feeling like telling him off as you turned towards the couch, tempted to just collapse and feed Umi so at least one of you didn't have to go hungry.
"Yeah, whatever you want," Gojo mumbled, all low and defeated. "I'll just order delivery."
"Thanks," you exhaled, curling up into the corner of your couch and lifting up your shirt to let Umi drink, her chubby little fingers digging into your skin as you made a mental note to trim her nails later.
To your surprise, after he placed an order, he actually did start to clean the mess he made. Wiping down counters as he chewed his bottom lip, throwing out the food he failed to cook properly before doing the dishes and sweeping the flour off the floor.
Sometimes, it felt remarkably strange to watch him act all...domestic.
Like he really lived here instead of the frat house across the street.
Doing chores without complaints, existing in your life like he always had a place in it. You guessed he would from now on. You couldn't exactly untie yourself to him when you shared a daughter.
Would he always stick around to do the laundry? To order you food and vacuum the floor? Or would he get sick of fatherhood after a few more months? Resign himself to being the kind of dad who only sent cards around birthdays and holidays?
It was hard not to think that.
Not when you'd heard so many horror stories and seen it for yourself how easily men could discard someone the moment a better option came along.
It was simpler to assume that someday you would get replaced by a younger, prettier model. One who didn't have a child he never asked for.
Gojo was the kind of guy who'd marry someone like him. Rich and beautiful and well-bred.
Not the broke girl he accidentally knocked up in college.
"Um, by the way, my parents asked to keep her overnight next weekend," he awkwardly said, sheepishly running his hand through his hair the way he always did when he was on edge.
"Don't you think she's still a little young for sleepovers?" You asked, pushing a few wispy strands of white hair back from her face as she sleepily shut her eyes.
"I mean, I don't know, they just asked," he floundered, blinking too fast as he finished cleaning, drying his hands off on a paper towel and tossing it in the trash.
"Gojo," you said his name, resisting the urge to roll your eyes as you squinted, trying to figure out what his angle was here.
Was he going to try and ask you on a date?
Jealous that Suguru had taken you out before him?
A sick thought crossed your mind that maybe the only reason they both seemed so interested was because they liked the competition. You felt a little fucking ill considering it, picturing them bickering over who would get you to be their girlfriend first - just to dump you when they got bored.
You wanted to believe Suguru was genuine.
That he had a crush on you too - before you let his best friend put a baby in you.
"There's also, uh, a party next Friday, and I just thought, that maybe you'd wanna go," Gojo added. "Or go hang out with your other friends. I don't know, you deserve a break and-"
"Fine," you grumbled, gritting your teeth. Despite how their spawn turned out, you didn't mind his parents. They were relatively normal. Responsible.
More importantly, they adored their granddaughter.
And for some reason, actually liked you too.
At first, you were sure they probably secretly hated you. Harbored resentment for screwing up the big plans they had for him.
Instead, it seemed like they thought you were the only reason he'd gotten serious. Or well, as close to it that someone like Satoru could come.
His mother had confided in you that she was grateful he'd gone from a frat president to a father.
"You're her dad too, you know you have a say in decisions like these," you muttered under your breath as she popped off your nipple.
You glanced up at Gojo, expecting him to play it all off, pretend to be all unbothered like usual. But his blue eyes were soft, touched. Looking at you all tenderly as he scooted a couple inches closer.
"I never want to make you uncomfortable," he murmured.
"Thanks," you cleared your throat, the words coming out nearly a whisper as Umi squirmed in your hold, her head turning towards her dad, reaching out for him. "I'm just saying, she's ours."
You wished you'd kept your mouth shut once it came out.
But it was the truth.
She wasn't just yours, or just his.
She belonged to both of you.
It was just fucking annoying that he smiled at you all soft and cute, eyes crinkling as he echoed, "Yeah, ours."
ꕤꕤꕤ
You were supposed to be having a girl's night out.
How that ended in you at Gojo's goddamn frat party four drinks in?
Your head was too fuzzy for you to precisely recall.
Chest sore and swollen, nipples rubbing uncomfortably against the pads in your bra, the tiny dress you'd shoved yourself back into for the first time in nearly a year and a half rolling uncomfortably up your thighs as you downed another shot. A chorus of giggles erupting from friends you sincerely missed hanging out with, an arm wrapped around your waist as someone slurred in your ear, "Don't look so sad."
"I don't look sad," you argued, huffing at her as you untangled yourself. "I'm very happy."
Not particularly.
But you couldn't stop yourself from desperately trying to believe you weren't miserable walking around the house that had landed you in this situation before.
You'd only managed to get a few conversations in with Suguru all week. Mostly just talking about how much you both enjoyed your date (even if you spent the majority of it in your car) and how he missed you and Umi, too busy with some paper he had to write and his part-time job to visit for more than a handful of minutes at a time.
Gojo, on the other hand?
Wouldn't fucking leave your apartment.
Usually something would draw his attention away, whether it was school or work or one of the other thousand responsibilities he seemingly had.
But every time you needed him (and every moment you very much didn't), he was there. Whenever you needed someone to watch Umi so you could go to class. Whenever you were attempting to take a shower in peace.
Sleeping on your couch even when though the springs creaked and groaned with just the slightest movement. Waking up at midnight to coax Umi back to sleep with a bottle you pumped.
He had managed to successfully pack you a lunch in the fridge this morning, accompanied by a little note saying he hoped you attended the party tonight.
You weren't going to come.
But somehow, your paths always seemed to intersect right when you hadn't planned on it.
"How's it going with Geto?" Shoko asked, as if she wasn't friends with him and your baby daddy and hadn't already heard first hand.
"Good," you answered before half-heartedly shrugging. "I think."
It wasn't like he was your boyfriend yet.
Or the two of you were exclusive.
For all you knew, he could be talking to ten other women.
"How's Gojo taking it?" She pressed, a hint of amusement betraying her bored tone as she tilted her head to the side.
"I don't know," you mumbled, wondering if the guilt the question stirred was normal. Neither guy had ever treated you remotely normal - no wonder you were constantly so confused when it came to them.
Her mouth parted, but then Utahime came up, squealing and giggling as she drunkenly grabbed her arm.
You excused yourself, slipping away from them as your head swirled with questions you didn't want the answers to. God, it'd been so fucking long since you'd been drunk.
Chest all warm and fuzzy, your thoughts thick clouds that kept slipping away from you as if someone had stuffed cotton balls between your brain and your skull.
Your hangover tomorrow morning would be definitely be a bitch.
But that just sorta sounded like tomorrow you's problem.
People let you squeeze past them - even though you heard familiar whispers as you slipped through the thick throngs of sorority sisters and assholes trying to get recruited.
Slut.
The common theory around campus was you were just some poor whore who managed to baby trap Gojo.
Like you'd held him fucking hostage and demanded that he take care of all your needs or that you were somehow just playing hard-to-get to manipulate him into doing what you wanted.
Clueless that what you wanted was for him to just move on already.
"You're here."
You stalled at the sound of his voice.
Freezing right before the bathroom, glancing back to see him standing there, a red solo cup in hand and a cheeky smile plastered on his face. "You actually came."
"Uh-huh," you replied, not sure how you were supposed to feel as your throat went all dry.
"You look gorgeous," he grinned, letting his brilliant stare sweep over you, looking you up-and-down three times before his eyes finally settled on your face. "Holy shit."
"I'm drunk," you muttered, blinking a few times as you tried to come up with an excuse to evacuate. "I really need to pee."
"I'll go with you," he eagerly said, before realizing how that sounded and backtracking, "I, uh, I'll wait outside."
And like a needy puppy, he really did just stand there when you shut the door to the bathroom, pacing the tiled floor as you kicked aside a few empty cups to sit on the closed toilet seat and take a couple minutes to breathe.
He didn't seem drunk.
Maybe he could call you an uber or something or walk you across the street back home.
Staying seemed like a mistake waiting to happen. Someone would say something or you would do something stupid and you'd have just another mess to take care of in the morning.
You got up to splash water on your face, a pathetic attempt to sober up as you sighed.
No matter how much you wanted to, hiding away and pretending none of your problems existed wouldn't solve anything.
But when you opened the door, Gojo wasn't alone anymore.
No, just like you knew there would be here, a pretty blonde was grabbing his bicep, squeezing tight and laughing at something he said that surely could never be that funny. She had dragged him a few feet away from the door, trying to subtly pull him deeper into the crowd.
You couldn't see what face he was making.
You didn't think you wanted to.
Fuck.
You knew this was a bad idea.
But once again, you doubted your fucking instincts and paid the price.
Slipping your way back through, nearly spilling a few drinks as you had to force your way past where people had clustered, head swiveling to find the exist despite your disorientation.
A voice in your head begging you to just go, go, go, as you mumbled awkward apologies to anyone you brushed against.
And then you heard a low chuckle, and you were pausing your escape to look back over your shoulder - where you almost immediately spotted your other suitor.
Suguru was leaning against a wall, no drinks in his hand, but an easy smirk on his face as he listened to some dark-haired girl beside him.
God. Of course.
Zero for two tonight.
Minding your own business probably made you an easy mark.
How simple was it to sneak under your nose when you were walking around blind to what they did behind your back?
Once they were outside of your apartment, they were free agents.
It wasn't like you had caught them actually having sex with anyone. But you'd been the pretty girl at a party they smiled at before. You knew where it led.
They could go fuck whoever they wanted.
You could too.
All the maturity you'd been clinging to, pretending you were so abundant in flung out the first fucking window you saw at the realization that all you were ever going to be was a prize for them to win.
You fumbled for your purse once you finally made it through the front door and into fresh air, blinking too fast as you yanked your phone out and scanned through your contacts. Clumsily clicking on the screen until you found the one you wanted.
"Hi, um, Sukuna?" You breathed, swallowing hard. "Can you come pick me up?"
an: more about izukus cock and his hyperspermia bc he runs my brain I can't...
it's not only that izuku's cock is a big ass HUNK of meat. like yes, it's so sexy and so chubby and you wanna suck on it all the time. but it's so so sooooo sensitive.
the moment your velvet warmth wraps around his chubby length he is crying from how sensitive he is. the moment you start moving, goner. he's a fucking goner. he's in heaven at the moment and he'll be back in a bit. especially when he cums his thiiiiick creamy loads into you, his whole body is shaking, his back is arching, and his nails are digging so deeply into your hips that they cause bruises.
but his tip is the most sensitive. yea, the nice perky, cotton candy pink, mushroom tip of his is soooo sensitive. the moment you wrap your lips around it, he has his hands in your hair and tears are forming in his eyes while his hips buck upwards. any movement you do while sucking him off, especially to his tip, will most likely have him drooling and blabbering nonsense.
but also! his dick has to have a mind of it's own, because there's no way izuku could be a perv! (wink wink nudge nudge) because when you do anything at all, he's already hard and leaking!
"hey izu baby! can you fold the laundry once im done getting it?" you ask sweetly, bending over to reach into the dryer to grab some of his clean clothes that are hidden in the back. "u-uh, yea!" you hear his voice from the doorway of the laundry room. you turn around and low and behold when you peak down to look at his sweats; a nice darker patch is right were the thick outline of his tip is. you watch as his dick twitches in his pants while he oozes more pre, the dark spot getting larger the more worked up he becomes.
and the amount of pre that he produces is amazing. like, when you go to pull down his boxers, it is just so sticky and wet! there is just so much pre sitting in his boxers from how much he's leaking because of you!
sometimes you'll come home to find him jerking off loudly, and when you go to see him and look down, there is a pool of pre that is just covering his lap while he stare at you with tears in his pretty emerald eyes while his chubby cock is just leaking and leaking everywhere.
an: wait.... fuuuckk this is so hot oh my god oh my god someone sedate me I also love calling cocks chubby I just... think it matches how I'm viewing them so perfectly
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to keep the facecam on while you’re bent over the desk in front of him, one hand on your hip and the other clicking through chat donations like it’s just another Tuesday. “Yeah I’ll do the ranked climb later,” he says into the mic, voice completely even, then leans forward and pushes into you slow and deep. He mutes for two seconds, mutters “fuck, clamp down like that again,” then unmutes and answers a sub question about his sensitivity settings while his hips keep rolling.
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to make you sit on his face during the loading screens, tongue working slow and deliberate while the queue timer ticks down. Every time the match is about to start he lifts you off just enough to say “one more, don’t come yet,” then goes right back to licking into you like he’s got all the time in the world. When the game finally loads he sets you back in his lap, still dripping, and starts playing with one hand while the other stays between your legs, fingers sliding in and out in time with the fights.
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to edge you for an entire three-hour stream, never letting you finish. He keeps a toy inside you on the lowest setting the whole time, remote in his pocket, and every time chat donates he turns it up for a few seconds just to watch you shift in the chair next to him. “You good?” he asks casually. You nod too fast and he smirks, turns the vibe higher, and goes back to explaining the new update like nothing’s happening.
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to let you give him head under the desk during collabs, completely straight-faced while he talks to other streamers on Discord. His hand stays in your hair the whole time, guiding you slow, and every time someone asks him a question he answers clearly even as your throat tightens around him. When the call ends he looks down, thumb brushing your bottom lip, and says “swallow,” quiet and calm, with a slight smirk.
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to record a private video just for the two of you after a long stream, camera still rolling while he bends you over the same chair. He talks the whole time in that same low voice, telling you exactly how wet you are, how good you take it, how chat would lose their minds if they could see. “Look at the camera,” he says, gripping your hair and tilting your face up. “Wanna see later how pretty you look when you’re full.”
streamer byf ! satoru is the type to make you edge yourself on camera while he plays, just out of frame. He tells you the rules in that same calm voice he uses for tutorials: “Fingers only. No coming until I say.” Every time you get close he glances over, shakes his head once, and you have to stop. Chat keeps asking why he keeps looking to the side. He just smirks and says “checking something,” then turns the sensitivity of the toy up another notch without ever taking his eyes off the game for long.
᭡ kali’s notes ⸻ Guys I’m obsessed with him in this kind of AU... I wish he were real..anyway hope y’all enjoyed it ??mwahh !
people getting upset over oikawa still living in argentina and considering japan a place he visits but not a 'home' anymore is wild to me because. leaving your birth place far behind because there's no soil for you to grow anymore is something so deeply personal to me and the thought of someone expecting me to return to my birth place eventually after being gone for a long time makes me wanna hurl?
you don't choose where you grow up but you can choose (to an extent) where you wanna build a home, who you wanna call home, what home is to you. i think it's a beautiful thing to ask yourself all of this! it's freeing. oikawa, as tortured as he was during his high school years, has always been the most free character to me in his journey and i really love watching him grow and finding peace in his place and his people
You normally felt pretty okay about your body. It wasn’t perfect by any means, and it’s gotten a little thicker - well…a lot thicker - in your later years. But over all, it had done you fairly decently in your life. It worked pretty well most of the time.
But sometimes you looked at it…and you were left wanting. Today was one of these days. You had been doing laundry, and scratched your back and then winced as you realized you had scratched over a zit. A zit. On your lower back. Like, it was one thing to get acne on your face, but now it had to show up on other spots of your body?
It hadn’t helped your feelings. You put on one of your boyfriend’s volleyball shirts and realized…it didn’t go down to the middle of your thighs anymore. It was loose, but in the way a slightly bigger shirt was. Lightly brushing slightly over your hips and ass and stopping right at your crotch. Once upon a time, you would put on Oikawa’s shirts and be swimming in them. Adorable and sexy and in your early 20s with the collar slipping a little down your shoulder.
You had a decade on that girl now. And your body was showing it.
Tooru wasn’t home for the next few weeks - the 2028 Olympics called him over to LA. And you were glad for it. You hated feeling insecure when he was home. You couldn’t help it when you saw him on TV though. Athletic and sweaty and beautiful. He unfairly seemed to age like wine. He was a little thicker himself, but in a good way. In the way that lean muscles softened.
Not in the way that he spent the evening snacking on the couch while watching other people do incredible athletic feats.
You wiped your eyes as you looked away from the mirror. You would not cry, damn it. This is a happy time. Your career was on a high note. Tooru was at the Olympics. You finally paid off your car, and you and him had been talking seriously about expanding your family from just the two of you. You didn’t need to feel insecure right now.
So wouldn’t he pick this particular time to call you.
You cleared your throat, taking a breath to make sure you didn’t sound dour, and answered.
“Baby!”
“Hi!” You grinned at his voice. “I had a couple minutes, and I saw it wasn’t horribly late for you, so I thought I’d call.”
You rolled your eyes, moving into your bedroom and laying back against the mountain of throw pillows.
“You know you can call even when it’s horribly late.”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. You glanced at your screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“Tooru?”
“What’s wrong?”
Fuck.
“What do you mean?”
“Your voice is weird. What happened?”
You huffed out a laugh. “Nothing. Just a bad mental health day.”
The background of his line grew quieter. He moved to a more secluded location. Probably a bathroom from the echo of his voice.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No, doofus. You’re at the fucking Olympics. You don’t need any shit on your mind right now. You have a game tomorrow.”
“Exactly,” Tooru snorted. “So I wanna make sure my girl is happy so I can play my best. What’s going on in your head?”
Sighing, you brought your knees up to your chest, resting your forehead against your bare (slightly hairy as you hadn’t shaved) kneecaps.
“I just…am feeling a little fat and ugly today. That’s all.”
“What??”
He actually sounded like you just told him you saw a donkey give birth to a bear.
“I’ll get over it. Don’t worry.”
Fuck your voice was starting to shake again. You needed to get him off the phone so you could cry.
“Are you in bed?”
You blinked. “Yeah?”
“Okay. I want you to lean back against the pillows and put the phone behind your ear, okay? And hug yourself.”
“….why am I doing this?”
“Because I’m not there to pull you in my lap right now so this is the best I can do.”
Oh damn it he was going to make you cry again.
“Tooru…”
“Mi vida.”
You sighed, adjusting the phone so it was behind your ear against the pillows, and leaned back. You wrapped your arms around yourself in the same way you knew he would. One hand on the small dip of your waist, the other hooking over your shoulder.
When he spoke, his voice was soft. Tongue caressing around the vowels like linen curtains in the breeze.
“You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. It was true when we met and it’s true now. I love your body and how it fits against mine. I love that the fullness of it proves I have given you a life where you can relax and eat well. I love your face and your cheeks and your eyebrows and your eyes. I love all the things you think are flaws. My heart wants your heart and my body wants your body. One day, I’m gonna look at my children’s faces and see your adorable, pretty face looking back. How could it be anything other than precious and perfect?”
…..well now you really were crying.
You took a shaky breath and let it out slowly, sniffling.
“….there was a zit on my back today,” you mumbled.
Tooru snorted. “Yeah I have like 8 of them. I sweat when I sleep. Your body is a human body that does human things.”
You were quiet for a long moment. He let you be, and you settled as you listened to him breathing on the other end of the phone. Still supporting you from miles away.
PETER PARKER is so sensitive, especially when it comes to his organic web shooters.
thinking about running your finger across the vein of his forearm gently, watching the way his breath hitches and he visibly blushes, face a pretty pink all the way to the tips of his ears.
"is that okay?" you ask, voice impossibly soft and caring. your soothing tone only makes his dick twitch in his pants. :(
he hesitantly nods, squeezing his eyes shut at the pad of your thumb running over the barely noticeable flap the webs eject from. "feels-- shit-" he's trying not to get worked up, "feels weird– i-i dunno-" his voice cracks pathetically, leaning into your sweet touch despite himself.
he's not lying either, it's a sensation so strange, like nothing he could've imagined. seeing webs sputter from the slit disgusted him the first time he witnessed it, but it's different with you. how do you manage to make it feel so fucking good?
"s'okay, peter" you purr in that way that has him whining, "let me take care of you, yeah?" you rub slow, calculated circles on the flap, taking notice of the way he bucks his hips up, as if he needs release. "ohgod– s'good-- i- i like it" he chokes out, nodding his head feverishly and squirming impatiently on the mattress.
"oh yeah?" you challenge, curiously deciding to take it further. you start at the midway point of his inner arm, pressing down hard on the vein and dragging your finger up to the flap.
"oh fuck--!" he gasps, the sudden pressure has him humping the air mindlessly, chasing something that's not there. he's trying to be good, to control himself, but how the fuck is he supposed to do that when you're touching him like this?
his dick strains against his sweats as you increase pressure, skin hot under your thumb.
"waitwaitwait!" he cries out as your thumb nears the slit, so close to shooting out that sticky web, his cock so close to shooting out sticky release. "baby– m'sorry, just–" he pants, his heart beating a frantic rhythm, he's right on the edge. your hand pauses completely.
you glance at him, and he looks just gorgeous like this. his eyes are wide and glassy, lips bitten raw, and cheeks wet with a few tears, falling from just how perverted he feels. how is he able to get off from this? is he really that desperate?
"pete." your honey-smooth voice makes him go dumb, makes him nod along to anything you say, lets you do anything you want to him. "just... let me try this, okay?" you lean down to press a reverent kiss to his forehead, making him shudder.
without any warning, you quickly press down and drag your thumb across the vein, forcing a string of webs to shoot across the room.
peter immediately flinches, gasping and rolling his eyes to the back of his head. "oh shit--!" he moans whorishly, his cock shooting out hot release directly after. he didn't think he could cum so quickly, especially in his boxers.
you watch in a daze as he rides out his orgasm, leftover webs bubbling up to the flap and pitifully dripping down his arm.
he glances down at his wrist, gagging at the sight of the white liquid. "god– that's so gross" he groans, arm moving to cover his face in disgust. his chest is still heaving, pink lips slightly parted.
"yeah well–" a giggle bubbles up in your chest, "you're the one who came from me touching it" you point out, moving to kiss his flushed cheek when he groans further in embarrassment.
he peeks out from under his arm, hesitating to speak. "maybe uh– we can do that again? like– not right now, obviously... but y'know–" he stutters, chuckling nervously.
he's such a dork, you think.
you lay down next to him, smiling at his hopeful expression when you nod your head, before speaking.
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: you and kastuki invite eijirō on your two-year anniversary trip to hawaii. unfortunately, you’re quite the tease. are you the asshole?
❤︎ CONTENT: alternate universe - modern au, one bed trope (kinda), teasing, alcohol, grinding, choking, handjobs, everyone is impatient and horny, switch!everyone, nipple stimulation, hair pulling (eijirō), panty ripping, fingering, edging (f receiving), crying (eijirō), penetrative sex … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: thank you so much for 2k followers, what the hell?! i'm flabbergasted, befuddled, and overall, extremely thankful.
♫ NOW PLAYING: she is my drug, amaarae.
read on ao3 | 15.2k words | part one | masterlist.
r/AmITheAsshole
u/cyberch!ck69
AITA FOR ASKING MY BOYFRIEND'S ROOMMATE TO BE A THIRD WITHOUT ASKING MY BOYFRIEND'S ROOMMATE TO BE A THIRD?
lemme explain.
i [26f] and my boyfriend [26m] have a crush on our roommate/best friend. it was a secret i was planning on taking to my grave, because best friends can be hot sometimes, but i wasn’t about to do anything about it, either. then, my boyfriend got like really really drunk one day, and confessed. snot and tears and all. (don’t tell him i said that.) he explained that he still loved me, but he also kinda-sorta loved his best friend, and honestly, it was kind of a relief? like, cool, so i can keep liking him too.
we had a plan to make him our third. it didn’t work, but it was a plan. a seduction plan that failed miserably bc apparently his roommate is a goddamn saint and probably the bestest friend anyone could ever have and won’t do SHIT. so, we made a new plan—take him with us on our two year anniversary trip to hawaii. simple. easy.
except…my boyfriend thinks that i already talked to him about being a third, but i really haven’t. i just invited him on the trip hoping he got the hint LMAO
i don’t think he got the hint.
am i the asshole?
serious responses only. LOL
miyanolovessasaki
i’m…a little confused…
alienqueen
Rip the bandaid off and tell him girl, because what happens when y’all get there and he’s not down?
jetblackwings
RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES (nta.)
s.geto
I have a question.
Eijiro was working out when you came to him with the…proposition.
Yeah. You.
“Hey, Eiji,” you ask, poking your head into the room. Eijiro doesn’t hear you, but he sees you, and takes a headphone off before racking the weights.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Eijiro still sweats anytime you’re in his relative vicinity. He’s gotten better at it, but you make eye contact like a motherfucker—staring past red irises and into his soul, perceiving all the secrets he keeps safe, in little boxes with little organized titles. You make him want to spill his guts.
“Kat and I are going to Hawaii in a few weeks, and we're wondering if you could come,” you smile, unassuming and confident, like Eijiro doesn’t know what’s in a few weeks. What date it is.
The two year anniversary of his fucking suffering.
(Technically, you’ve only been moved in for a year, but his suffering began the day you and Katsuki met, so.)
“Oh, um, are you sure?” Eijiro wipes clammy hands on his basketball shorts as you enter the room and take a seat on the exercise bench. You literally have clothes on, a casual sweatsuit fit, and Eijiro’s already drooling. He needs to get a grip.
(Or a girlfriend, his brain helpfully supplies, but that’s not fair to his hypothetical girlfriend. Not when Eijiro has yet to find anyone that measures up to you, holy shit—)
“Yes,” you giggle, like his response is strange. Eijiro’s brain is busy reeling, busy trying to decipher what this invite really means, that he misses your next sentence.
“Sorry—what did you say?”
“Just that it’d be more fun if you were there,” you wave your words off like they’re unimportant, but they are so, so important. Eijiro still doesn’t know what to make of it, though, and eventually gives up. He licks his lips and nods dutifully. He shouldn’t go—it seems like a very bad, not so good idea to go, but will he? Absolutely.
He can picture it now: you and Katsuki, late at night, getting down and dirty in the bed across from his, as quiet as you can, while he squints through closed eyes and jacks himself off into a pathetic state. And then, he sleeps in it, because what the fuck is he going to do—get up to clean himself off? Tell on himself?
“Okay, then I’ll go,” he smiles, and tries his best to hide the myriad of emotions pressing in on his lungs. Excitement, nervousness, confusion. Misery. It’s like Inside Out, but worse.
“Okay, great!” You clap twice, adjusting to, for some reason, get more comfortable in your seat. “Do you mind if I stay to watch?”
Eijiro waits for the other ball to drop. For you to explain that Kat is in the shower, or not even home, and you’re overwhelmingly bored—but, no. Nothing. That was the end of your sentence.
What the fuck.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little breathless and a lot confused. You stay for the duration of his workout, quiet as a mouse, and just…watching…
Eijirō nearly drops the barbell on his toes.
s.geto
I have a question.
cyberch!ck69
i have an answer.
s.geto
What do I do in this exact scenario if I’m the boyfriend?
The resort is so nice.
The lobby is open and airy, with poles instead of walls, and leads straight to the beach. Eijirō can see it. Can smell the salt in the air and hear seagulls squawking over food. As Katsuki talks to the concierge and checks in, Eijirō looks out to see calm and blue waters, poorly tamping his excitement with an impatient, bouncing foot. He, also, promptly pushes the last time he went to the beach out of his mind. Nope, not even thinking about it.
“Race you to the sea?” You ask, saddling up beside him. Eijirō shrugs.
“Sure.”
Immediately, you take off—leaving your bags behind and everything—and out the opening that leads to the water.
“Wait, right now?!” Eijirō squeaks, and looks to Katsuki, who isn’t paying either of you much mind, too busy barking at the concierge about something, probably their organizational practices, or another thing equally as trivial.
Eijirō makes a break for it.
He sees you weaving and cutting past cabanas, tripping over blankets and children, and follows the path your feet left in the sand, stomping them five sizes bigger. You’re both still sweaty in airplane clothes that are in no way conducive to these temperatures, but he makes it work—even if he ends up with sand in his sweats in the process.
It isn’t difficult to catch up to you, all things considered. Eijirō feels bad, debates on letting you win—until you turn around and stick a tongue out. Then, it’s fucking on.
“Gotcha!”
He snatches your waist just before the sea, swinging you around in tight arms before you can cross the imaginary finish line. After putting you down, he steps both feet into the ocean and cheers at your pout, doing a little victory dance.
“Aha! I win, I win, I wi—hey!”
Eijirō gets a face full of salt water, drenching him down his side and deepening the shade of his grey sweatsuit. The water is warm, but he chokes from shock regardless, and turns to look at his perpetrator with a new challenge in his eyes. You gulp.
“Wait, I didn’t—fuck!”
You whine when he pours a handful of water over your head. You accept your fate, sighing with your head down and hands open. Your white shirt sticks flush to your body, giving Eijirō the pleasure of revealing your bra underneath, and that’s—
“Oi, the fuck are you two doing?!”
Katsuki comes storming up to the shoreline, shaking sand out of his slides and grumbling with every other step. You and Eijirō stand in the water, white wake pooling around your ankles as the tide starts to recede. Katsuki huffs.
“It was his idea!” You point at the redhead to your right, who gapes at your audacity. For that, you get another handful of water over the head. “Wha—c’mon!”
“No, you both c’mon,” Katsuki hisses, pulling out three cards from his back pocket. “Got the room keys. You Dumbasses can frolic in the ocean afterwards.”
You two grouse, but agree. Because, Eijirō’s sweatpants stick to his thighs most uncomfortably, starting to stiffen from the salt—and you need a better shirt, preferably one that’s not white and wet and doesn’t highlight your bra beneath. So he can be sane again.
(He can’t help but feel like that sentence was all ‘Eijirō, Eijirō, Eijirō’ but also, guys, please—)
Katsuki walks to the hotel room with two soggy cats in his wake.
The pathways are just as open and airy as the lobby, with no walls on one side to provide a proper outlook to the ocean, and numbered rooms on the other. Theirs is on the top floor of the hotel, and luckily, not much of a shuffle from the elevator.
The room is just as nice as the hotel.
It’s spacious—Eijirō wouldn’t even classify it as a room, but a small apartment. There’s a kitchen and living room, all matching in a calming mahogany wood. Wood floors, wooden ceilings, wooden…wood, until everything but the soft furniture melts into one cohesive image. A pair of sliding doors lead to a balcony spanning the whole room, including the one bedroom—
Um.
“There’s only one bedroom,” Eijirō asks, because the hotel must have made a mistake. Not only is there only one bedroom, but one bed. The bed is big, sure—like, an Alaskan fucking King, more than enough to fit three comfortably—but this isn’t his anniversary, too.
(And yes, he knows his earlier fantasy is contingent on him technically sleeping in the same room, but the same bed is just—)
“Mm,” Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement. That’s about all he gets before you two drag your suitcases inside the bedroom, leaving Eijirō hovering in the doorway. He can sleep on the couch. That’s fine.
“What’re you waitin’ for, Shitty Hair,” Katsuki grumbles as he starts folding his clothes away, and to be honest, he isn’t exactly sure. Maybe for someone to tell him where to go.
“Yeah, c’mon! Feel the bed, it’s so comfy!” And, you’re jumping onto it back first. You hit the pillows with a muted pfft, and Katsuki immediately jumps into action.
“You’re all fuckin’ wet, get off,” he swats at your feet in encouragement, but you kick his hands away, and snuggle on top of the covers. When swatting fails, Katsuki starts to lightly tug at your legs. You don’t budge, and he stands over you with a warning in his eyes, hands on his hips.
“Babe.”
“No.”
“Baby.”
“No, Kats, I’m comfy.”
You wiggle deeper into the mattress, and Katsuki growls. He goes for your legs again, but a foot shoots out to kick him in his knee, his bad knee, leaving his leg to buckle. He catches himself before he falls with hands on either side of your head. This feels like a very intimate, very domestic situation that Eijirō should not be privy to, and yet, he is. Every day.
He’s okay. He’s fine, really.
“Move your ass,” Katsuki says after a long inhale through the nose, carefully, voice low and words over-enunciated. “Or, I’ll move it for you.”
You groan, but loop your arms around Katsuki’s neck like you aren’t going anywhere. With a laugh in your eyes, you bite back a grin. “No.”
“Fine,” Katsuki huffs, picking you up by the waist. You squeal, legs wrapping around his torso as he carries you to a desk in the corner of the room and drops you rather unceremoniously. You don’t let go, though. He doesn’t make you. “You piss me off.”
“Wow, my boyfriend is so big and strong,” you whine, completely overexaggerating, while caressing Katsuki by his shoulders. You giggle when he sighs.
“Shut the ever-loving fuck up. Please.”
“Why?” Your hand snakes from his shoulder to tangle in the nape of his neck, and Katsuki shivers. Eijirō lingers in the doorway. “Like it too much?”
Katsuki stands there for a second, relishing the feeling of your hands. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers card through his hair with something precious, and his next grumble has a lot less fire in it. “Do you wanna go to the beach or not?”
Finally, he unsticks you himself, with fingers around your wrists. You squeal at the sheer mention of the beach, squirming off the desk to start getting ready. “Ooh, yes! I’m gonna get all the Piña Coladas!”
“Let’s start with one,” Katsuki says, pressing a kiss to your temple before he resumes his unpacking. Why he insists on moving into every hotel he’s stayed in is lost to Eijirō. All he knows is that he’s happy his torture is over. For now.
“Are you gonna keep standing there like a weirdo?” Katsuki says, eyes focused on his activities. Eijirō knows it's directed at him—he’s the only one lingering. The only one ‘standing there like a weirdo.’ Eijirō grabs his things.
“Right. Right.”
cyberch!ck69
talk to them?
s.geto
You’re useless.
cyberch!ck69
fine then, suffer in silence idgaf
When Eijirō finds time to get over himself, he realizes there is something about this that feels way too natural.
“That lady is staring at me weird—I’m gonna fight her.”
“No, you’re not,” Katsuki grunts, and grabs your hand before you can even consider getting up. Eijirō doesn’t really expect you to—you only say these things to give Katsuki a hard time, and he always falls for it, hook, line, and sinker. To the point that Eijirō is starting to think maybe he wants to. That maybe, that’s the whole point. “That’s just how old people look. They forget it’s fuckin’ rude to stare.”
Despite the all-inclusive resort, you three spend the first night eating out at a small restaurant not too far away. It’s a quaint and quiet barbecue spot, with cheap liquor and decent food. You insisted on going out, seeing the town, doing something, and despite Katsuki’s passionate argument—‘the whole point of an all-inclusive is to go fuckin’ nowhere’—he caved quick once it was two against one. (What? Eijirō wants to see the town, too—and he has a soft spot for cute girls with even cuter pouts.)
“I think that would count as elder abuse,” Eijirō says, once swallowing his food and getting a look at your newly proclaimed enemy. Empty shot glasses litter the table, some in stacks of three to make room for the food, and everyone sways a little from it all.
“Definitely does,” Katsuki sniffles and nods. He’s the most obviously drunk at this table—face flushed a bright pink and shirt collar askew. “Definitely would go to jail for it, too. I dunno how to get you outta Hawaiian jail, Babe.”
“Boo! Bribe them,” you heckle, throwing a big thumbs down in Katsuki’s face, and getting in the way of his barbecue chicken sandwich. Katsuki grunts and swats at the air twice until your thumb goes away. “Ooh! Or we could tunnel out, like El Chapo, or those guys from Alcatraz—”
“Those guys tunneled from the inside-out. ’M not going to jail with you.”
“Well—wait, no,” Eijirō says, gesturing to you. “What if we tunnel from the outside, and you tunnel from the inside, and we meet in the middle—”
“Omg, omg, I need spoons and a poster—”
“And, people are naturally corrupt, y’know, I’m sure there’s someone we could find to smuggle it inside—”
“You’re not goin’ to jail,” Katsuki groans through grit teeth, pointing at you, before his finger shifts to his friend across the booth. “And you’re not helping her escape from jail.”
“Oh wow, my boyfriend hates me,” you nod, picking at your food with a fork. Katsuki snatches a cherry tomato off Eijirō’s plate and stuffs it between your lips to keep you quiet. You spit it back out. “Would you even love me if I was a worm?”
Katsuki chucks his head back like this is a question you’ve asked many times before, and groans with nothing but pure frustration. “The fuck does that even mean?”
“It means ‘would you love her no matter what,’ Bro!”
“Thank you, Eiji,” you nod solemnly, suddenly, like this is a life-or-death conversation. “See? He gets it.”
“I’m gonna,” Katsuki incenses, looking at you with something heavier than just annoyance, something Eijirō, unfortunately, has seen too often to not understand—arousal. Suddenly, Eijirō feels like he’s shifting in the doorway of something unknown, again. Katsuki grabs your cheek and pinches. “You’ve been pissin’ me off all day.”
“Oh? And what’cha gonna do about it,” you smile smug past the distortion. Katsuki lets go of your face, and pats the sore area twice. Eijirō looks down at his plate. He’s not even here. He doesn’t even exist. (But, is he watching this entire interaction with one eye open? Perhaps.)
“You don’t wanna know,” Katsuki grunts in passing as he returns to his sandwich. Eijirō lets out a soft breath. This is going to be a rough trip.
“Well,” you say after a few moments of silence, clapping your hands together like they’re cymbals, calling to attention. “Now that I have a sufficient amount of liquid courage in me, it’s time to tell Eijirō the thing.”
Katsuki freezes—as does Eijirō.
“You didn’t tell him the thing,” Katsuki grumbles, looking at you like you’ve grown two heads. “I thought you told him the thing.”
“He’s here, isn’t he?” You argue, but when Katsuki’s look doesn’t budge, you deflate a little. “…I chickened out.”
“Again,” Katsuki adds with a sigh, running a hand over his face. Then, he redirects his gaze to Eijirō. “No wonder you’ve been acting weird.”
“Um,” Eijirō releases his own food to put hands in his lap. Would ‘the thing’ explain why he’s here in the first place? Because, if so, he’d like to know. “What thing?”
As you steeple hands in front of your face, Eijirō takes a sip of his Sprite. Sprite always tastes better when it comes in a cup instead of a can. He doesn’t know why—something about the fizziness, the freshness of it all. Honestly, he prefers Cherry Sprite, but that’s because he really likes cherry, and strawberry, and honestly, most things red, now that he thinks about it—
“I wanna watch you fuck her.”
Eijirō spits out his Sprite—he’s sure some came out of his nose with the propulsion, Jesus fuck—and possibly soaking his shirt in the process.
“I’m—sorry, what?”
Despite Eijirō’s respiratory distress, Katsuki watches with relative bemusement. You pass him a napkin, and Eijirō takes it thankfully.
“What part of that didn’t you get, Shitty Hair.”
“No, no, I—” Eijirō gives himself a few more seconds, a few more deep breaths, and slips half a grounding technique in there, just in case. “Just, like—I think I heard you correctly, but I’m—but I’m really not sure—”
“I wanna watch you fuck her,” Katsuki just…repeats, like Eijirō’s entire world hasn’t flipped on its axis. Like Atlas isn’t officially hanging upside-down, with his legs in the sky like a dying bug, flailing for any sort of friction to upright himself.
“So—” Eijirō starts, and coughs twice into a napkin before redirecting his question. “Why.”
“Because he thinks you’re hot,” you whisper, cupping a hand over your lips so Katsuki can’t read them. Not that it matters—you’re not muttering very quietly. “And so do I.”
Eijirō’s not sure if his face gets red, but he feels it, that heat. That overwhelming sensation to burn and melt away into nothing, and he’s simply trying to tamp it down, keep it safe, so he doesn’t end up making a fool of himself in this very nice, very clearly family-owned establishment.
He nods, though. You bet your ass he fucking nods.
He’d be stupid as fuck to pass this up, and Eijirō Kirishima does not take his curse words lightly.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
jetblackwings
RESIST DARK REUNION, ACCEPT YOUR URGES
kusuo_saiki
why are you everywhere i go
jetblackwings
fate, bro
Your energy is endless, and the next stop is a club.
It goes how it always does—you want something, Katsuki says no. Eijirō says it’s not that bad. Katsuki says fine.
The club is more packed than he expects. It’s not too far from the hotel, the place is full of foreigners, tourists looking for a good time on vacation, and then some. The theme is somewhat tropical, with warm orange lights, a smoke machine, and tree ferns in every corner. You hold onto Eijirō’s thumb and Katsuki’s wrist, yelling over your shoulder and above the heavy afrobeat that makes the floor rattle under his feet.
“Let’s go to the bar!”
“Where they sell overpriced shots?!” Katsuki yells back, almost immediately. You roll your eyes. “Absolutely not!”
And yet, you drag both of them closer to the bar, and further from the front door.
“I just want one,” you holler, and pull out that irresistible pout Eijirō loves so much. Fucked. He’s fucked. “If it’s really that deep, I’ll buy them!”
The bar counter is vaguely sticky, and the four working bartenders look a mess, screaming over the music to grab something, but no one can hear. There are two seats open—Eijirō takes one, Katsuki takes the other, and you take Katsuki’s lap.
“’M not letting my girlfriend buy me a shot,” Katsuki huffs, and pulls his wallet out from his back pocket. After waving a bartender over, he grumbles, “Three shots of Kauaʻi Coconut Rum.”
“Oh, boohoo,” you whine, dropping your head back on his shoulder. Then, with one eye open, “Eijirō would let me buy him a shot.”
“Hey! Don’t bring me into this,” Eijirō chuckles, resting a forearm against the counter. Sticky. Immediate regret floods his system, but he’s made his bed and proceeds to lie in it.
“Am I wrong?” You lift an eyebrow. Eijirō stutters.
Because, if a pretty girl bought him a shot, would he let her? Yeah, probably. And, if you bought him a shot, would he let you? Absolutely.
But, that’s neither here nor there.
“Shitty Hair…”
“Guys, I’m not a part of this,” he whines, and as if on cue, their shots slide across the counter. Everyone grabs hold of theirs.
“Okay, wait, wait, I wanna do a toast,” you sniff, a little wobbly. You lift your shot glass, waiting for the rest of them to follow suit. Eijirō doesn’t hesitate, and while Katsuki grumbles, he raises his own. Then, with your chest, you yell, “To me, getting plowed!”
Katsuki drops his head on your shoulder. Thank God you made the toast before they took shots to the head, or Eijirō would be choking all over again.
“Baby, you can’t just—”
“Why would you even—”
You pay their plight no mind, chucking your head back as you swallow the shot. Eijirō follows; he needs one after that, and is wildly unsatisfied when he realizes it’s watered down.
Katsuki sets his glass down with a clink and a growl.
“’Kay, can we fuckin’ go, now?”
“No!” You bark, sliding off his legs unceremoniously. You slip a little, and Eijirō catches you by the waist before you can stumble into him, and tries not to think about how well you fit. When he lets go, he still feels your warmth burning into his palms. His fist opens and closes on his thigh. “I wanna dance!”
Katsuki leans his head back, and groans.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Eijirō!”
You both say his name at the exact same time, like he’s been deemed the official tie-breaker—like it’s his fault you two argue like an old married couple, and he needs to fix his mess. When Eijirō shrinks in his seat, looking at Katsuki, both of you know what his answer is.
“Fuckin’—fine,” Katsuki huffs and stands almost as clumsy as you. You giggle a yay, and take Eijirō’s hand before he has a chance to stand.
“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” you bounce. Eijirō comes stumbling behind you—because, for someone with little feet, you move real fast—and you find a corner of the dance floor to make your own.
The beat grows in volume and aggression the closer they get to the dance floor. With a steady grip on both of their hands, you start jumping up and down, yanking at their arms to bounce with you. Katsuki grumbles something with a straight face—Eijirō starts hopping along, until it’s a two-person mosh pit, with Katsuki’s unimpressed shoulders jerking under the weight.
“C’mon, Kat!” Eijirō yells over the music. Katsuki looks at him, but his feet are firmly planted on the ground.
“Please,” you whine when he doesn’t budge. Eijirō thinks that Katsuki’s arms would be crossed if they could. “You’ll have fun!”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. His heels rise and drop, slowly, completely against the beat, and without the balls of his feet separating from the tiled floor. “This is not fun.”
“Because you’re not doing it right!” Eijirō says, tugging him closer. Katsuki stumbles forth. “You gotta jump!”
“It’s too late for this shit,” Katsuki huffs, but jumps. Once. “I don’t know how you two are grown-ass adults with this type of energy.”
You quit your jumping, chest heaving in a pant, and sweating skin glistening under halogen lights. Eijirō follows suit, a little less out of breath, but you were going hard. Katsuki exhales, thankful his torture is over, for now.
The song changes into something slower. Not too slow; a trap beat still hides underneath, but slow enough to calm his hammering heart. Eijirō has always loved clubs—enough alcohol to make people friendly, the humid atmosphere from too many bodies in one place, the way the music is all-consuming enough to block out the buzz of the world…
Eijirō shakes himself out of his reminiscent stupor to see Katsuki draped over your back. His hands hold your hips steady, swaying, and while you aren’t grinding, you’re pretty damn close.
You grab Eijirō by his shirt.
The redhead takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s not sure whether it's the alcohol or the sight that makes his head spin. Maybe, it’s the fact that he’s included, for the first time.
All he knows is that he really, really does not want to fuck this up.
No pressure.
His hands find your hips, running over Katsuki’s. He looks at his friend, double-checking if this is okay, if he’s crossing a line. Katsuki’s nose is in your neck, brushing against your jaw, utterly unbothered. He takes it as an O.K.
You hum, arms wrapping around Eijirō’s neck to the best of your ability. He’s not sure you’re even standing, simply leaning your weight against Katsuki, and trusting Eijirō enough to keep you from falling forward. There isn’t much space for you to, anyway. Your chin is pressed flush against his chest, looking up at him like he has something you want, and he’s not exactly sure what to do about that.
He lets a ‘fuck’ slip, quiet enough to fit under his breath and completely involuntary. It’s not his fault—your lip gloss glistens in the shifting light, and he can’t stop looking at it. Katsuki mutters something into your neck, and you giggle, hips shifting forward so you can grind against Eijirō, too.
He’s losing his mind, a little.
Because, this feels better than he could’ve imagined—you fit better than he could’ve imagined. The alcohol, the lights, and the faint fog soften the edges of everything, to the point where it feels like he’s walking in a very vivid dream, like he’ll wake up at the most inopportune time, sweaty, sad, and probably rock hard. Katsuki groans under his breath, and Eijirō finally peels his eyes away from your face to notice that his friend isn’t doing much better.
“God, this is fuckin’ hot,” Katsuki grunts, and you giggle with a bottom lip tucked between your teeth, eyes way too bright with excitement. Eijirō huffs a laugh.
“Cool, ‘cause I was thinking the same thing.”
Katsuki grunts again, and grinds into you harder, heavier. You don’t stumble forward, but you would’ve if the redhead weren’t there to take the brunt of the blow.
One of Eijirō’s hands starts to wander.
Completely of its own volition—he was totally content to keep them at your sides, swear—it caresses your waist, running up and down, contemplating the feel of your skin under your dress. He takes another deep inhale, for his sanity.
Katsuki, on the other hand, lost his sanity a long time ago.
One of his hands leaves your hip, too—the one that’s not still trapped under Eijirō’s own—sliding up your stomach, over your breasts. Eventually, it comes to rest at your neck. Eijirō knows when he squeezes, because as his wrist flexes, your eyes bulge, then melt. Eijirō simply tries to memorize it all—the wild look in Katsuki’s eyes, the entreating one in yours—just in case this is a one-time thing. Or, if you change your mind.
(This isn’t a one time thing, nor are you going to change your mind.)
While Eijirō doesn’t hear your whimper, he does feel it. Which is torture to someone who’s heard your moans through the walls for the past year.
“Aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Katsuki hums to himself, shaking his hand on your neck until your head bobs. Then, carmine eyes turn to Eijirō, piercing through the aimless float of smoke. “Ain’t she?”
Eijirō remembers the first time Katsuki asked him this question a couple of months ago, at the beach. He had an answer then, but didn’t want to say it. And, he’s got an answer now.
“Yeah,” he breathes, watching your body curl in between them. His thumb comes to pull at your lip, smearing lip gloss across your cheek in the pattern of his fingerprint. “Bet she’d look even prettier with something in her mouth, though.”
“Fuck.” Katsuki groans like the sound is punched out of his gut, and his hand on your waist tightens. Eijirō feels it and follows suit. “I wanna fuck. Like, now.”
Eijirō laughs, throat tight and voice hoarse from arousal. “That can be arranged.”
And, you—you’re just happily swaying between the two of them, eyes lidded and humming along to the music. Like you were built for this, built to handle both of them at once, and, that thought is—
Eijirō takes another deep breath, squeezing your side once more before stepping away.
“Hotel?” He asks. You and Katsuki nod and respond at the same time.
“Hotel.”
geordo.s
fascinating. is this how peasants live?
cyberch!ck69
PEASANTS?
kurapika.chu
You're slightly the asshole—not because of what you did, but because you didn't tell him beforehand.
eren.exe
mmmm idk if you’re the asshole tbh
When you three get back to the hotel, though…
“I don’t wanna fuck tonight!”
Katsuki’s got his shirt halfway off his head, cloth still stuck around his elbows, as he looks at you like you’re clinically insane.
“Fuckin’ what.”
“You heard me!” You giggle, collapsing into the bed with your club clothes still on. Everybody is reasonably drunk, at this point—and Eijirō starts to wonder if you’re having cold feet. Katsuki is quick to put that worry to rest, though.
“No,” he huffs, taking the rest of his shirt off, before he starts pulling your legs like he was earlier and wagging a finger in your face. “No—no, we’re not doing that shit again.”
You lift your head, voice gargling from the awkward position of your neck. “What ‘shit’?”
“You’re fuckin’—you’re fuckin’—” Katsuki stutters in the way he always does when immensely frustrated, and growls at the ceiling steadily, before starting again. “You’re fuckin’ ‘oh, let's wait, it feels so good if we wait.’ I’m not—no.”
Katsuki mocks your voice, as nasal and high-pitched as he can muster, and it earns him a hearty pillow to the face. He snatches it away, reddened face growing deeper in frustration. And Eijirō, who’s still a little confused as to where he’s going to sleep, lingers in the doorway once again.
“Like…edging?”
“Yes!” Katsuki points at his friend, now borderline pacing. “Except—except it’s fuckin’ worse. She’s a tease—it’s teasin’, that’s the fuckin’ word!”
“I’m glad we could come to that conclusion together, Katsuki,” you sit up with a bright smile. Then, kicking a leg out, “Now, help me take my shoes off!”
Katsuki groans, and looks at you with deflating shoulders. His pacing stalls.
“Are we really not gonna fuck tonight?”
“Nope!”
“Fuck!”
“Well, we are here for about a week,” Eijirō tries to placate with a shrug. “We have time.”
“Plus, when we get back,” you nod, kicking the heels of your feet against the bed. Eijirō didn’t know ‘when we get back’ was an option, but he’s most definitely not complaining. You lift your foot again. “Shoes.”
Katsuki grumbles something else that Eijirō can’t quite hear, and gets down on one knee. Your shoes are confusing to look at—they’re heels, with straps that wrap around your leg and end just below the knee. Yeah, if Eijirō wore those all night, he wouldn’t have the energy to take them off, either. As Katsuki starts to undo the bow at the top, you look at Eijirō, and lift your other foot.
“Shoes.”
“Oh, you want me to—”
You nod. “Shoes.”
Eijirō passes the threshold and mimics his roommate—gets down on one knee, and pulls your foot to his thigh. You let out a satisfied hum, nodding your head twice, like somehow, Eijirō’s added presence satiates something. What that something is, though, he isn’t quite sure.
“You happy?” Katsuki grunts, halfway done unlacing. He glares at you, but you just smile lazy and pat both of their heads.
“Mhm,” you nod. “Very. My good boys, taking care of me…”
You sound tired, and Eijirō snorts as Katsuki’s blush deepens. “Don’t fall asleep on us, now.”
“’M not,” you slur, resting a head on your shoulder. Katsuki slides off one shoe, and Eijirō takes the other. You wiggle your toes.
“Y’still gotta change outta this, though,” Katsuki grunts on his way up, snapping the strap of your dress. You whine, collapsing back into the bed with an exhale.
“No! I’m sleeping naked!”
“And, that’s fine,” Katsuki snorts in a soft voice, leaning over you. “Y’can’t sleep in this, though.”
You whine. “Why not.”
“’Cause,” he tugs at the bottom of the dress, “this shit was expensive. I know, ‘cause I paid for it.”
“Ugh,” you groan, loud and drawn out, before sitting up again. “Fine. Someone’s gotta unzip me, though.”
Katsuki runs the zipper down the back of your dress. Eijirō just…turns around, unsure where to put himself, opting to change as discreet as possible. You huff once free, hobbling towards your suitcase with your dress still on but unzipped, only to realize—
“Uh oh…”
Katsuki, who’s already gotten ready for sleep—no shirt and grey sweatpants—looks at you and huffs. “What.”
You turn to both of them with a guilty smile, still uncomfortably hunched over your suitcase.
“I forgot my pj’s.”
Katsuki sighs long until his Adam's apple pops. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
Your awkward grin just widens. “Oopsie?”
“Well, I don’t have a fuckin’ shirt for you to wear,” Katsuki drops arms at his sides, and proceeds to fold his clothes from today and put them away. “Like, literally. I brought fancy ass vacation shit—I didn’t bring a singular t-shirt.”
“You can wear one of mine!” Eijirō says, a little too quick for comfort, but what can he do about it? He already blurted it out. Your eyes light up, though.
“Really?”
“Yeah, one sec—”
He stands from his seated position on the floor (don’t judge him; he doesn’t know where to sit), knees popping, as he makes his way to his own suitcase. He files through the plethora of t-shirts he brought— that’s all he wears—and tosses one over his shoulder without even looking at it. You catch it with your face.
“Thank you!” You sing-song. Eijirō looks over his shoulder to give you a thumbs up, only to realize you’re fully stripped save for your panties, and very quickly looks away.
“Yeah, no problem,” he mutters weakly. When he closes his eyes, he still sees you naked, so he starts folding his clothes back into his suitcase like he’s Katsuki Bakugō, instead.
“Ooh, this is soft!”
Eijirō finally deems it okay to look—hoping you’re not just, like, feeling his shirt in your hands, but actually wearing it. Except, this sight isn’t much better. You’re only in his shirt, the Crimson Riot one. It’s beyond oversized, collar loose and hem ending mid-thigh. Eijirō tries not to think about it too much.
(He’s thinking about it. Oh, he’s totally thinking about it.)
Katsuki’s already on the bed, propped up on an arm. When he sees the shirt's design, he snorts.
“When are you gonna get over that comic book character?” He grunts, like Eijirō’s hair isn’t still red.
“When are you gonna start being nice to strangers?” Eijirō asks as he gets up, brushing stray carpet lint from his basketball shorts. Katsuki barks a laugh.
“Fuckin’ never.”
“Exactly,” Eijirō nods. You flop into bed right beside Katsuki, who wraps a steady arm around your waist. Eijirō takes a deep breath. Someone tell him where to go. Please.
It’s like you hear his internal battle. You pat the open space next to you, enough room for one more person, and Eijirō swallows. Wait, so like—
“Are you comin’ to bed or not, Shitty Hair?”
Yeah, okay. Yep.
Eijirō slides in right next to you, slow and awkward in case either of you wants to change your mind. You don’t. Katsuki reaches behind himself to turn the lamp off, and suddenly, everyone is plunged into darkness.
“Hi,” you giggle as Eijirō lays his head on the pillow. He snorts.
“Hi.”
“Hi, bye, goodnight—if we’re not fuckin’, go to sleep!”
You swat Katsuki’s bad attitude away, looking over your shoulder where his head nestles. “Okay, okay. Got it. G’night, Katsuki.”
“Good fuckin’ night,” he grumbles, but when you purse your lips, he meets them with his own. Then, you turn back to Eijirō, who’s lying uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, putting enough space between you and him to fit a tiny person.
“G’night Eijirō,” you smile, wrapping your arms around his waist to tug him closer. He lets you, sliding an arm under the pillows, right along Katsuki’s.
“Goodnight.”
Then, you purse your lips again, waiting for a kiss.
Eijirō hesitates.
And, apparently, you don’t like hesitation. Your puckered lips turn into a pout. “Kiss.”
Eijirō stifles the butterflies in his belly, and leans in.
Your lips are soft, warm from alcohol and the evening’s activities, and then, they’re gone.
Eijirō lays his head back on the pillow, rightfully worn out. A long flight, a beach race, a dinner, a club, new information—his head is still reeling, trying to catalogue it all, but he’s only focused on one thing. You.
With a yawn, Eijirō gets comfortable because he’s allowed.
“Night, Ei.”
Katsuki’s voice rings low through the quiet room—quiet enough that Eijirō sort of assumed both of you had fallen asleep already. The hand running on the underside of his arm squeezes it, three times.
“G’night, Kat.”
Eijirō squeezes him back. One-two-three.
t.kageyama
i have yet to decide whether im too old or too young for this app.
geordo.s
fascinating. is this how peasants live?
cyberch!ck69
PEASANTS?
cyberch!ck69
PEASANTS?????
Eijirō wakes up to you and Katsuki whispering like little conspirators.
“Ugh—who let me drink so much last night?”
Sunlight escapes through thick curtains, cut into thin lines and scattering the room in patterns. Eijirō’s slightly startled for a second, before remembering where he is and, more importantly, the events from last night.
‘I wanna watch you fuck her.’
Right. Right.
“I don’t wanna hear shit,” Katsuki yawns beside you, scratching his stomach. “We tried to cut you off. You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, I’m a grown ass woman.’”
“Oh,” you say softly, dragging hands down your face. “Yeah, I kinda remember that.”
Your back is facing Eijirō as you pillow talk with your boyfriend, and in a way, it feels like he’s looking through the crack in the door again. Except, he’s allowed to look through the crack, maybe step through it a little, and does just that.
Eijirō nods his bird nest against the pillow and lifts up a sleepy fist. “Work hard, party harder.”
“Hell yeah,” you nod, looking over your shoulder to fist bump him properly. While unconscious, he scooted closer, leaving you squished between two hard bodies. You aren’t complaining, though. With a voice raspy from sleep and screaming over club music, you smile, “Good morning, Eijirō.”
Katsuki grunts in acknowledgement, coffee-less and therefore relatively silent. Eijirō beams. “Morning, everybody. How’d we sleep?”
“Ugh, great,” you say, melting deeper into the covers. “Like a baby.”
“No, you slept like a menace—kickin’ me and shit,” Katsuki grumbles, placing hands on your waist to tug you closer regardless. And, it’s a little weird—seeing Katsuki so overwhelmingly unguarded. So soft.
“Oh, that’s what that was?” Eijirō wakes up feeling bold this morning, and tests the waters, wrapping an arm around your waist, too. It runs along Katsuki’s until it dips below, resting just above your belly button.
“Maybe,” you say, a little guilty. “But, it’s not my fault! I picked up the habit because Katsuki starfishes, so I subconsciously kick his legs back together. See?”
Eijirō has never seen someone kick so hard laying down in his life.
It’s actually pretty impressive—how you manage to know exactly where Katsuki’s foot lies, and aim with utmost precision. He sees Katsuki’s leg reel under the covers as he hisses in pain.
“Ah—the fuck? You’re not the only one with a hangover, y’know.”
You let out an evil little cackle, but kiss Katsuki on the forehead to placate him. He hums in satisfaction. Placation: successful.
“How’d you sleep, Eiji?”
“Like a rock,” he huffs, and snuggles closer. For warmth, he tells himself. Because he’s allowed.
“Good, good,” you wave over your shoulder, and yawn. “’Kay, well I’m gonna go back to bed—”
“Hell no. We’re fuckin’ now,” Katsuki grunts, eyes still closed and face still swollen. He’s half awake. You pout while Eijirō snickers, and the blond peeks an eye out. “Fuckin’ what.”
“Nothing,” Eijirō hums, shaking his head. He presses his chin into your shoulder to see Katsuki better. “You just seem impatient.”
“I am,” Katsuki makes a pained groan. “I’ve waited a whole goddamn year. Now, Baby—strip.”
A year?
You whine again, giving Eijirō absolutely no time to do the math, to understand the repercussions of what Katsuki confessed. Shit, maybe he should go back to bed too. Just to, like, sit on that information for an hour or two.
“I don’t wanna,” you pout, dragging out the last word in the most obnoxious tone you can muster. “My head hurts. Later.”
“When is later,” Katsuki over-enunciates, clearly hanging on by a thread. You shift under the covers, ass pressing against Eijirō’s crotch, and—oh. Is that morning wood?
“Later is…later,” you huff, tucking the fluffy hotel duvet under your chin. Then, with another wiggle of your ass, “You’re not the only one having a hard time, you know.”
Eijirō juts his bottom lip in a pout, and tightens his hand on your stomach to get you to stop, please. Because, Katsuki was right about one thing—not being able to fuck you is torture. And now that Eijirō knows he can, it only makes it worse.
“Hey,” the redhead whines, because, low blow. It’s a low blow from you, and a low blow from his body for telling on him. It’s a low blow from the gods, who put him in this situation to begin with. “Not cool, Dude.”
“Are you really gonna call me dude when your dick is pressed against my back,” you snort, and Eijirō hears Katsuki’s breath hitch. Feels the arm on your waist squeeze a little tighter.
“Yeah,” Eijirō licks his lips, watching your hips fall into a light and slow but steady pace. Katsuki’s hand slides to your back and drags a light line down your spine. “You’re being mean.”
Because, what’s the point of grinding if you don’t wanna fuck?
“I can be meaner,” you say, with a smile flashing over your shoulder. Eijirō whimpers as you push more weight into him, and keep pushing. He looks at Katsuki for help, but he’s busy watching your body curl, too.
“Nah,” Katsuki huffs, getting comfortable on the pillow, and pats your side. “Now y’get to handle what I’ve been dealing with for the past two years.”
All Eijirō hears is: at least it’s not me.
And, honestly? Fuck him for that.
“This is horrible,” Eijirō laments after a sharp inhale, rubbing his face into your neck like it’ll make him feel better. It doesn’t. If anything, he’s flooded with the scent of you, more than he already was, and it makes his dick jump in his shorts. Nudging you in the side, “Okay, c’mon—no more.”
“But, I thought you guys were horny,” you tease, the lilt in your tone undeniable. “I’m just taking the edge off a bit.”
You're pressed flush to Eijirō now—even the slightest grind, and he’d feel it. Except, nothing about this is slight. It’s heavy and hot and makes his breathing pick up in the way only one thing can.
“This isn’t—this is, like, sharpening the edge,” Eijirō reasons aloud, huffing into your shoulder. “This is like dangling me over the cliff, and being like, ‘oh, don’t fall.’”
You cackle at that, like you know. Another roll of your hips, then, “You can stop me if you want.”
Eijirō whines, loud and long and pathetic, because you don’t understand—he cannot. You feel too good, too real, too solid, and as someone who’s been dreaming of this all year, no, Eijirō cannot simply stop you.
You giggle when he doesn’t, when his hands scramble for your sides instead, sitting above Katsuki’s just like last night. And, at the thought of last night, Eijirō pulls you a little closer. He doesn’t know how long he can take this before returning to his natural state—weak, pitiful, and overall, severely down bad.
After a little longer, room filled with human humidity and heavy pants, you stop grinding. Sit up.
“Okay, I should probably get breakfast to help my headache,” you yawn with a hand over your mouth. “Before I fall back asleep.”
Katsuki gets up on an arm, hair still flattened on one side from sleep. “Y’gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
You smile, innocent and polite, like you aren’t the bane of their existences. “Anyone want anything?”
“Fuckin’—you, the fuck,” Katsuki huffs, tugging at your midsection to bring you back under the covers, but you don’t budge. Instead, you peel his hands off your hips.
Then, you crawl out of bed, on all fours and face first, and Eijirō is forced to watch your ass move in his Crimson Riot shirt, panties slightly askew. He’s so close he can taste it, and just watches at the overhead fan. He won’t know if he can’t see. (And, if he knows, he’ll lose his mind.)
You throw on a pair of sweatpants, and you’re out the door with a click. Eijirō and Katsuki are left with the hum of the AC and a very silent room.
“Cold shower?” Katsuki grumbles, staring at the ceiling with something wistful. Eijirō nods.
“Yep.”
akira.aaaaaah
this poor guy, ik he’s stressed
zenitsuckthesenuts
oooh lemme be a fourth
kid.death
What the fuck is wrong with people?
Eijirō doesn’t know why you left him and Katsuki alone like that. Also, cold showers suck.
So, they didn’t take one.
“F-Fuck, Dude, holy shit—”
Thanks to the wetness from constant running water, Katsuki’s hand slides easy. The tile is cold against his back, but Eijirō sweats anyway, arm pumping as his own hand glides smooth along a cock that isn’t his.
“Why the fuck are your hands so soft?” Katsuki pants into his neck. He has Eijirō pinned to the side of the shower, just out the way of the spray. This is a moment of severe weakness, and Eijirō hopes what happens in the shower, stays in the shower.
(Katsuki can always touch his dick, though. Not that part.)
“Lotion, Man,” Eijirō says past a breathless laugh, droplets sliding off the sharp ends of his hair and rolling down Katsuki’s shoulder. Eijirō’s face flinches in pleasure, and while he tries to keep his sounds to a minimum—this is still a little weird, this is still just his Bro—little squeaky whines slip from his lips. He was more desperate to get in Katsuki’s hands than he thought. “How are your hands so rough?”
“’Cause I’m a man that works with his hands,” Katsuki postures, and Eijirō snorts.
“Kat, you have a desk job.”
“Shut the fuck up, and cum already,” He grunts, lips moving against Eijirō’s neck in a way that makes him shiver, even if it’s accidental. Katsuki’s grip gets tighter, and so does his.
“You can’t rush orgasms, Dude,” Eijirō says, tries to say, but ‘dude’ turns into a really embarrassing whine he hopes was drowned out by running water. He knows it wasn’t. “That’s, like, Sex 101.”
“I’m not fuckin’ rushin’ it, she’s rushin’ it,” Katsuki says behind a deep growl, and Eijirō’s cock jumps. “We’ve got five minutes, tops.”
Eijirō knocks his head back into the tile, a little too hard, and winces at the feeling. Katsuki’s head falls off his shoulder. Shower smoke fogs the glass doors and curls toward the one canned light in the ceiling.
“I know, I know,” he whines. He’s not even standing on his feet anymore—fully leaned against the shower wall, with Katsuki keeping him upright at his front. And, Katsuki’s dick is so pretty. It’s curved and flushed and just as glossy and pale as his skin. Eijirō watches pre-cum bead at his tip before sliding down the shaft, running down Eijirō’s knuckles and disappearing in the slide. Katsuki’s cock jumps, too. With a weak grin and a lilt in his voice, Eijirō asks, “I turn you on, Dude?”
And Katsuki, whose eyes are trained on Eijirō’s own dick, finally looks away to huff in his face. “You already know the answer to that question, Dumbass”
Eijirō bites his lip. He wants to hold onto Katsuki, more than he already is. He wants a hand on his hip, gliding over those shower-slick muscles Eijirō remembers him working so hard to get, wants to see how easy it is to redden his skin, wants to see if his nipples are sensitive. He wants…he wants—
“Shit, I’m close,” Eijirō pants, eyebrows folding. He looks at Katsuki. “Are you close?”
“Stop askin’ stupid questions,” Katsuki grunts, but leans forward a bit. Incrementally—but enough for Eijirō to notice—like he’s melting. Then, an afterthought, “Not cummin’ before you, though.”
Eijirō wheezes a laugh, tight and bright and a little bit bitter. “Dude, now is not the time for a competition.”
Putting a hand next to Eijirō’s head, on the slippery tile, Katsuki’s eyes flit down to his lips. Return to his eyes. “Now’s definitely the time for a competition.”
“No, Bro,” he shakes his head, then licks his lips—because Katsuki keeps looking at them like he wants something. And, y’know, maybe Eijirō’s eyes slip a little, too. “’Cause then I’m gonna try to hold out. We don’t have time for that.”
“Then cum,” Katsuki says, like it’s easy, and suddenly much closer than Eijirō remembers. Katsuki’s smile turns cocky, and that’s the exact moment he knows he’s screwed. Or, maybe it’s when Katsuki drags a thumb along his jawline. “Be a good boy for me, and cum.”
“Oh, that’s not fucking fair,” Eijirō whimpers, finally caving and grabbing Katsuki by his waist. “That’s not fair at all, Kat, I—”
“Awh,” Katsuki coos and clicks his tongue. The thumb on Eijirō’s jaw lifts his head, and he can feel Katsuki’s condescending breath on his lips as he says, “’S okay, Ei. Just let go.”
“I—”
Knock, knock, knock!
They jump apart. Eijirō slips on water and nearly falls on his ass. Katsuki catches him, though.
“What are you two doing in there?!”
Your voice is muffled by the door, but still sounds just as lovely. The hands Katsuki has around his waist tighten.
“Fuckin’ showerin’!” Katsuki hollers, voice echoing off glass and tile. He lets go of Eijirō, and turns the shower handle from hot to freezing. Under his breath, he grumbles, “Nosy.”
“I heard that!”
“Good!”
horihori
nta, GET THAT DICK BITCH
yurikatsuki’sno1hater
Yuri Katsuki is a professional figure skater from Hatsetsu Japan, certified by the JSF. At age 18, he moved to Detriot to train under Coach Celestino Cialdini, only to come back and LOSE TO THE MUCH SUPERIOR AND EXTREMELY HANDSOME YURI PLISETSKY SUCK MY DICK
cyberch!ck69
what does this have to do with anything i just said?
yurikatsuki’sno1hater
It doesn’t
Unfortunately, before they both realized you were going to be a tease, Katsuki signed everyone up for snorkeling after breakfast. And, he takes his reservations very seriously. Especially ones with thirty-dollar cancellation fees. Thirty dollars each.
“Move your asses, we’re gonna be late.”
(And, Eijirō is really trying—to move his ass. But, it’s extremely difficult to stuff a rock-hard dick into awfully short swim shorts, and then hide it. He’s trying.)
They end up arriving about five minutes late, which isn’t late for the hotel, used to dealing with people on vacation with lax schedules, but it is late for Katsuki. Being on time is late for Katsuki.
The instructor gives them routine warnings and directions—stay away from the coral reefs, keep within the buoys, don’t wear anything shiny, remember to avoid breathing through your nose. Katsuki thinks the last one is self-explanatory, but people are dumbasses.
Katsuki didn’t realize how much of a dumbass he’d look, though, in goggles too big and the snorkel a comical thing next to his face. Somehow, Shitty Hair makes it work, and that pisses him off even more.
Snorkeling was fine—it was fun. Though he’ll never say it aloud, Katsuki liked looking at the different types of fish while floating on the water's surface. Eventually, Eijirō returns to the beach, too tired from last night’s activities and probably a little horny, opting to lounge on a chair to catch a tan. The tide slowly pulls you and Katsuki into a small grotto, still within the buoy's boundaries, and that’s where you two take a breather.
“This is fun,” you smile, picking the goggles off your head and stuffing them into your hair. It leaves your snorkel in a wonky position. “There are even fish in here, look!”
You point to the shallow waters lapping at your feet from where you’re standing on the rock. Katsuki watches your ass protrude as you bend over.
He might’ve made everyone go snorkeling, but there’s still only one thing on his mind.
Katsuki hums, but he’s not even looking at the fish. He’s looking at you—how minimal sunlight bounces off your wet skin and makes it shine, how your fat bends and curls with every shift, how you turn to him with bright eyes, like you forgot the whole point of this trip in the first place.
When Katsuki pushes you against the rough cave wall, he doesn’t know why you act surprised.
“Wha—Katsuki!”
His mouth is on yours before you can get another word in, clammy hands gripping your sides as Katsuki gives you a taste of your own medicine. Your kisses start out soft, broken by giggles, but Katsuki very quickly brings you down to his level—fucking desperate.
“Kats,” you whimper, and Katsuki moves to your neck, dragging his tongue along your pulse point and making you shiver. You press at his shoulders, but it’s not enough to push him away. “Kats—we shouldn’t—someone could walk in, or—”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Katsuki growls. One of the hands on your hips slowly snakes lower, grabbing the side of your swimsuit bottoms and tugging upward until you can feel it strain against your clit. You huff, looking up at him with that swell in your eyes he loves so much, so he tugs again.
“Kats—”
“I’m tired of your shit.”
His other hand slides upwards, wrenching your bathing suit top to the side and freeing a breast to tweak a nipple. He can feel your breath puff on his bare skin as you sigh, lolling your head to the right just enough to give him more room to work with. And, work with, he does.
After too much tugging and teasing, Katsuki dips a hand beneath a damp waistband. He needs to feel you—and groans when he finally does, because holy shit, how are you so wet.
“You drive me crazy, y’know that,” he grunts, fingers slowly rolling over your skin in a way you deem pleasurable. Your eyes flutter in response. Katsuki presses harder. “Prancin’ around in practically nothin’, and you still won’t lemme touch you.”
You let out a moan too loud for a public space, cracking against craggy cave walls and echoing through the grotto. Your hands find his shoulders for purchase, wrapping around his neck in a way that almost chokes, but Katsuki barely feels it. No, all he feels is you, and the swell of his dick.
“And here you are, all fuckin’ needy,” he huffs a laugh, grin scraping against your skin, bending it in his wake. Your hips buck, so his hands still. “Ah-ah. You’re not cummin’ yet.”
You whimper, licking your lips and panting, huffing, with your askew top shuddering with every exhale. Goosebumps rise on Katsuki’s skin, flatten into nothing, then rise again.
“Kats, please—”
“Please ain’t gon’ get you anywhere, Princess,” Katsuki growls, free hand finding your chin to lift it, while the other continues its steady ministrations between your legs. “You played with me—now it’s my turn to return the favor, right? Like a good boyfriend?”
Katsuki’s words are mocking enough to make you shiver in the way he loves, and your nails dig into his shoulders tight enough to leave crescents in your wake. The sting runs straight to Katsuki’s dick, and stays there.
“F-Fuck you,” you manage to hiss, lacking vitriol and replacing it with ecstasy and an undercurrent of annoyance. Your hips hitch again, so Katsuki stills again.
“See, that attitude right there is the reason you’re cummin’ last, tonight,” Katsuki’s grip tightens on your cheeks enough to make them squish, enough for him to feel the groove of your teeth through the skin. His hand is wet with you, now—fingers fucking soaked, and all he did was rub your clit for about five minutes. You whine.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, tonight,” Katsuki over-enunciates, hoping to bury it in your thick skull that you’re not getting an orgasm until the moon is high in the sky and everyone has returned to their rooms to knock out—you can sing with the crickets, for all he cares. Your face curdles into a pout between his fingers, the pout that lets him know you now understand that you’ve bit off more than you can chew. Katsuki clicks his tongue. “You’ve been actin’ a brat this whole damn trip. Y’don’t just get shit ‘cause you asked for it, y’get shit ‘cause you work for it.”
With that, Katsuki releases your face. You collapse against the cave wall, bathing suit still twisted and goggles hanging on your head by a strand of hair.
“I’m not being a brat,” you scoff, gathering yourself and your bathing suit, with a slightly unsteady voice and shaky hands. “I—I was…poetically and sexually inclined, okay, that’s not even—”
“Baby,” Katsuki grunts, and levels you with a look.
“…Yes?”
“Shut the hell up before I fuck you right here.”
s.geto
Okay, how do I ask them?
cyberch!ck69
YOU’VE COME CRAWLING BACK I SEE
s.geto
Nvm.
After snorkeling is lunch. After lunch is a lei-making class. Katsuki tore half the carnations with hands that aren’t built to handle delicate things, and you spent the whole time being a tease. Eijirō just tries to focus on his lei, because if he focuses on anything else, his mind drifts to you, and suddenly, the flower in his palm is missing a few petals. After that, staying true to Katsuki’s itinerary, is a dinner and a luau.
“Eiji—come take a picture of me!”
They’re getting ready for dinner, and per usual, Katsuki is the last one ready. You’ve had enough time to find and pick a hibiscus flower to tuck behind your ear, matching the same shade as your strapless wrap dress. It’s not as tight as last night’s—thank God—but just as revealing, especially when you bend over like that, holy fuck—
“Sorry, had to fix my shoe.” You stand, brushing off the bottom of your dress in two firm strokes. “Ready?”
Eijirō has a vice grip on your phone as you walk towards the balcony. Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—
Now, the sun is setting, fingers of orange and pink receding past the horizon. The sun is setting, but it’s still hot enough to give you that faint sheen, sweat or sparkle, as you lift a leg and pose. Your eyes glint in a way that’s nothing short of teasing—and while Eijirō assumes it’s for the camera, it damn sure feels like it’s for him.
You go through a few poses, all against the balcony railing. Eijirō’s knees hurt from trying to get the perfect angle, and when he hands back the phone, you smile. His mantra remains loud and true:
Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard—
“Wow, you take pictures so much better than Kats,” you amaze while scrolling through the images. Something akin to pride swells in his chest. Something also swells in his crotch.
Which is, like, totally not okay—drooling over the fact that he’s better than Katsuki at something. To you. When you’ve been the one dating Katsuki for the past two years, when it’s very clear you love him. But, Eijirō is stupid, and his brain is fried from severe blood loss over the past twenty-four hours.
“Thank you,” he smiles, and watches you swipe through pictures over your shoulder, pointing at one. “That one’s my favorite.”
It’s somewhat candid, of you in the middle of turning around to watch the sinking sun. The look on your face is nothing short of blissful—relaxed, at peace—and despite the looseness of the dress, your ass pokes out in something teasing, tantalizing, something—
Eijirō Kirishima needs to chill the fuck out. He knows this.
But, it’s hard. Hard when you drag your nails down his stomach in passing and say good job, hard when Katsuki grumbles at both of you to move it because they’re going to be late (like it’s not his fault), hard when he’s sat at a long table on the beach with strangers and dancers flanking both sides.
Eijirō is hard.
Fuck.
“Get your fuckin’ hand off my knee,” Katsuki grunts at you. You’re sitting between them, which is both the best and worst place to be—best, because Eijirō gets to be close to you. Worst, because Eijirō gets to be close to you.
And, he’s not the only one hanging by a thread—Katsuki has been pissy all day. He’s been mean and angry and a live wire just waiting for something flammable. (More than he already is.) And you, you’re starting to regret the grave you dug yourself, Eijirō thinks, because you wanted to fuck after snorkeling, wanting to fuck after lei making, but Katsuki keeps saying tonight.
“No,” you whine, and paw at Katsuki’s thigh in a way that you know will annoy him. “I wanna touch you.”
Your hand is also on Eijirō’s knee, but he’s not strong enough to move it. Just weak, and sitting in said weakness, feeling your drifting touch burn a hole in his skin. It’s a lot, honestly.
Katsuki grumbles, but doesn’t say much more, instead bouncing his other leg with an impatience that makes it seem like he doesn’t even want to be at the dinner in the first place.
Loud drums batter, accompanied by the patter of feet on sand and the swish of skirts. All of it falls into one noise, something steady and white, as your thumbs start rubbing circles on the inside of Eijirō’s knee. As it starts rubbing circles higher than Eijirō’s knee.
“What are you doing,” he asks. The food can’t come fast enough. The sun can’t fall fast enough.
“Nothing,” you say, in that tone that definitely means you're doing something. A lilt. Eijirō exhales sharp through his nose.
“Y/N…” he says warily and debates taking his leg away, knocking your hand off, anything. A stronger man might, but not Eijirō. Not today.
“What?” You pout in offense. Eijirō eyes the people next to him, then across, in hopes you get the message. You don’t.
Or, you do, but really don’t care.
“Baby, seriously.”
Eijirō looks at Katsuki’s lap to notice he’s not going through this alone. If anything, Katsuki has it worse, as you squeeze and pull at his thighs under his shorts, with no care for who might see or what they might say. There’s a sick sense of camaraderie that comes with the sight. At least he isn’t suffering alone.
“Oh, have I been banned from touching you guys, too?” You huff, a little bitter, a little like the thought is an impossibility. Where the hell is the food?
“At this point, yes,” Katsuki growls. He picks your hand off his lap and pins it to the table. The second he lets go, your hand falls back to where it belongs. His inner thigh.
Eijirō is tearing up the inside of his cheek. Soon, you’ve moved further up on his thigh too, drawing absentminded shapes that induce shivers. He whines.
“What if we…like…skip dinner.”
“We’re not skippin’ this shit, ‘m hungry,” Katsuki grumbles while crossing arms over his chest. Eijirō groans, but his stomach rumbles in agreement.
“Fuck.”
“So, I can keep touching y—”
“No.”
Both Katsuki and Eijirō take your hands and place them on the table. You giggle, but relent. The food doesn’t arrive too long after.
s.geto
Nvm.
cyberch!ck69
just TALK TO THEM
s.geto
Absolutely not.
s.geto
I need a five step plan, preferably one that doesn’t include me sitting them down and baring my soul.
cyberch!ck69
i give the fuck up
When they get back to the room, Katsuki slams you against the wall. Hard.
“Y’thought that shit was funny, huh,” he says in a low voice typically reserved for the bedroom—Eijirō knows, he’s heard it—and you bite back a smile and fail, wrists pinned to the wall above your head.
“A little, yeah,” you breathe, and Katsuki starts working his way down your neck. “You were the one who said ‘tonight.’”
“And you were the one who said no yesterday,” Katsuki huffs. He picks you up by your hips, tosses you onto the bed and, without a second thought, points and says, “Eijirō.”
Eijirō scrambles on top of you like there’s no tomorrow.
He presses you into the bed and kisses you heavy. Eijirō doesn’t even care about being polite at this point—he knows he’s allowed, you’re allowed, and takes what he needs because he can.
Your hands run up his sides to tangle in red hair, tugging, giggling when he whimpers, then tugging again. Everything fits so easy, like you were meant to be under him in the first place, made specifically to be slotted between his body and the bed.
So, maybe Eijirō’s treating you with all the impatience of an overzealous puppy, sue him.
Katsuki sits in the hotel’s standard cuck chair, slowly palming himself over fabric to relieve some pressure. Eijirō catches him out the corner of his eye, suppressing a grin when Katsuki lifts an eyebrow as if to say, what?
With a strong grip on your chin, Eijirō forcefully redirects your gaze to your boyfriend, the one impatiently writhing in the chair with a hand over his pants. Eijirō’s lips make their way down your neck, skating over a small hickey easily disguised as a bug bite that he knows wasn’t there last night—which makes him wonder what happened in those seven minutes you two disappeared during snorkeling.
(To say you came out of that grotto disheveled was an understatement.)
“God,” Eijirō breathes, mostly to himself, as his hand slides down and beneath your waist, arching your back just a little, just enough to be provocative. You get impatient when he doesn’t move fast enough, with lips still hovering by your collarbones and dress still on, and you yank his hair in admonishment.
“Hurry up,” you huff, and though it’s quiet, it rings in the vaguely silent room like a cry for help. Eijirō’s lips spread in a grin along your clavicle.
“What if I wanna take my time with you, though?” He pouts, and moves lower, but not by much. Just enough to give you false hope. His fingers play with the hem of your dress, lightly squeezing and tugging but never removing. Again, just enough to give you false hope.
You whimper, hips rolling into his stomach as you try to find some sort of friction. Eijirō tuts and pushes your knees down, one by one. He’s not gonna lie—a few more thrusts, and he might snap. With a deep inhale and exhale, determined to take his time because he doesn’t know when he’ll get this chance again, he starts moving down your body a little faster. A little.
He still has to get you back for teasing him all day.
When his hand finally dips under your dress, you sigh in satisfaction. Your arms wrap around his neck, nails scratching short hairs at his nape and sending light shivers down his spine. Eijirō’s eyes flutter shut as he mouths over a clothed breast, relishing the way your breath hitches underneath his lips.
“Respectfully, Shitty Hair, hurry the fuck up,” Katsuki grunts from the corner. Eijirō looks at him—there’s a flush running past the collar of his shirt, lips glossy with spit and chest heaving with impatience. Eijirō feels the balance of control shift, and grabs hold.
“Respectfully, Kat, I think I’m gonna take my time,” he smiles, and while the verb phrase I think gives room for argument, Eijirō hardens his voice until he’s sure Katsuki knows that isn’t the case. I think is a placation.
Katsuki snarls, but sinks deeper in his chair.
Eijirō unwraps your dress—unwraps his present, like it’s his birthday, his anniversary—and kisses down the valley of your chest. Both hands lift to cradle your breasts, shaking them on either side of his face and chuckling when you whimper. He thumbs over one nipple, obsessing over the way your body jolts, and takes another deep inhale like he can smell your arousal from here.
Eijirō takes your nipple into his mouth, next.
You choke out a moan, body strung tight from denying yourself the thing you want most, and your hips struggle to kick under the weight of Eijirō’s body, but they do try. He groans, hugging your waist to keep you from jolting, and sucks.
“Ah—fuck—”
You gasp when his teeth skirt your areola, light enough to soothe but tight enough to graze. Katsuki groans in his peripheral.
“Yeah? Feel good, Baby?” Katsuki pants past a clinch in his throat. You nod and whimper, eyes screwing shut, and he coos. “Yeah. Looks like it.”
You whine and tug at Eijirō’s head again. Not necessarily to instill pain, but to, “Move. Move, Eiji.”
Eijirō’s lips leave your breast with a pop, as he gazes at you with lidded eyes and a lazy smile. He’s exactly where he wants to be.
“Move where?”
You let out a strangled groan, something made of pure annoyance, as you try to push his head down. Eijirō doesn’t budge.
“You know where,” you huff, wiggling to work your knees out from under his body, to frame him and thrust up. ”My pussy, Eijirō—please, I swear to God—”
And, since you asked so nicely—
Eijirō keeps playing dumb, but runs a hand to cup between your legs. You're wet to the touch, through the panties, and he takes his third deep inhale of the night in an attempt to ground himself. It doesn’t work.
Eijirō is unwell.
He feels your pussy twitch under his palm, and he feels dizzy. The room spins, sways, does all the things a room is definitely not supposed to do—like the world kept spinning, but Eijirō stopped moving within it—and he drops his head to your shoulder in hopes it’ll stop. Holy shit, this is actually happening.
“Y’good there, Red?” Katsuki snorts, and honestly, Eijirō shakes his head.
He keeps playing with your pussy, though. A fucking war couldn’t stop that.
Eijirō sits up so his voice isn’t muted by your skin, so he doesn’t have to repeat himself twice. “I feel like I’m about to pass out.”
“Oh no,” your face turns from ecstasy into worry in a second, and your hands let go of his hair to cup the softer angles of his face. Eijirō melts into the hold. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”
He shakes his head, pinches your clit. Your body shudders. “No, no. I’m good.”
Eijirō takes another deep breath. His head still spins, but in a good way—a way he can lean into. So, he does, and rips your panties off in the process.
“My—hey!” You pout as Eijirō throws the useless cloth over his shoulders, forgetting about them the instant they leave his palm. He can’t look at your pussy yet, needing a breather and taking it, exhaling with his eyes closed.
“Someone’s impatient,” Katsuki grunts under his breath. Eijirō huffs a weak laugh. Opens his eyes. God, your pussy is pretty.
“You literally just told me to hurry up.”
“And?” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō hears the clink of a belt, the shifting of cloth. He looks up to see Katsuki working his jeans down to his thighs.
“And nothing, Dude,” Eijirō smiles. Then, he touches you.
“Fuck,” he whines, melting on his knees as you whimper beneath him. It’s something simple—just running a finger through your folds, testing the waters—and you feel better than he ever imagined. On his fingers. He starts to get dizzy, again.
“She feels good, doesn’t she,” Katsuki groans, slightly more breathless than when he last spoke. Eijirō swallows, then nods.
“Yeah, I—” his breath shutters as his train of thought runs into a wall and smashes into a heap of metal. His thumb runs over your clit, lightly, seeing what makes you squirm and what doesn’t, but he’s half-busy reeling in the unbelievability of it all. You, the most unattainable woman he’s ever met, so far out of his league, his best friend’s girlfriend, is here, laid flat and naked in front of him because you want to. What the fuck. What the fuck. He bites back a moan as he watches your eyes flutter, hips slowly picking up their pace as you rock between his hand and the headboard. “How’re you feeling, Pretty?”
The pet name just kind of…slips right out. And, while he probably shouldn’t be calling his best friend’s girlfriend Pretty, he also probably shouldn’t be touching her like this. And Katsuki shouldn’t be sitting in the corner, touching his dick, like this is all perfectly normal.
Eijirō dips a finger inside you.
You flex and flutter around him, clenched, enough to make him wonder how he’s supposed to fit in the first place. It feels like you’ve cut off his circulation, but…to his head. Somehow, he’s getting no blood to his brain—maybe, because it’s all going to his dick—and Eijirō whimpers as he starts pumping a finger, only for you to grip tighter on his way out.
“Oh my God,” he drops his head, eyes fluttering closed as he realizes, “I’m not gonna survive this.”
“Chill out, Shitty Hair; you’ve only got one finger in her,” Katsuki snorts, enjoying the visual of Eijirō losing his mind when he hasn’t even done anything yet. “Just wait ‘til you make her scream.”
Yeah. Eijirō might need to speed things up a bit.
He inserts a second finger right next to the first, and groans. It’s tight. No wonder he could hear Katsuki’s moans through the walls.
Speaking of moans: you’ve been letting out quiet whimpers the whole time, body writhing and breath hitching all cute. But, Eijirō crooks his fingers, and then—fireworks.
Your eyes rocket open, round and wide, and your stomach flexes. You release a moan that’s punched straight from your gut, loud and wanton and exactly what Eijirō has heard through plaster. Your body squeezes and shudders as he focuses on opening you up instead of pleasure, because if he focuses on pleasure, he’ll—
“Rub her clit,” Katsuki huffs. Eijirō looks over to find him pumping himself with a slow and steady pace, dick exposed and looking just like Eijirō remembers from the shower. The urge to lick it remains strong. When he moves to pull his fingers away, Katsuki tuts. “At the same time, Dumbass. What, can’t multitask?”
Honestly, in this situation, Eijirō isn’t really sure.
He keeps his mouth shut, though—whatever embarrassing ramble that sat on his tongue is swallowed—and does as he’s told. The hand resting on your waist drops to your clit, and you squeal.
“There she goes,” Katsuki mutters, with all the predatory satisfaction of an animal at the top of its food chain. You splutter and kick a leg on reflex, and Eijirō sort of has to fight to keep his hands from slipping.
“Eiji,” you scramble for his shirt, holding on tight and keeping him close, “I need you to fuck me—like, yesterday.”
“Then you should’a had him fuck you yesterday,” Katsuki huffs, and Eijirō isn’t sure if he’d be a really good or really bad porn director in another life. Maybe both. “Put in a third finger.”
Eijirō does, and your eyes roll.
“Fuck,” you whimper, and your grip tightens. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—”
“Stop touchin’ her.”
Eijirō removes his fingers.
You groan, slamming a heel into the mattress in frustration, and glare at your boyfriend across the room. “Kats—I hate you.”
You’re too out of breath for your words to have any fire in them, so Katsuki just smiles, slow and languid as he rests a chin on his hand. “What’s wrong, Princess? About to cum?”
“You know I was,” you huff, glaring at the ceiling. And Eijirō is too busy looking at the flexing mess between your legs, because, holy shit, you were about to cum, like, all over his fingers—
Eijirō needs to see that. He needs to see that, like, now.
“That’s too damn bad,” Katsuki snorts, then his eyes cut to his roommate. “Keep touchin’ her.”
Eijirō does so, and with a renewed vigor.
He stuffs three fingers back in so quick you yelp in surprise, body curling into his as he works you open. The little sounds you make are heavenly, breathy and whiny and everything he’s dreamt of and more. Eijirō notices when you get close to the edge, this time—the way your eyes flutter, and you squeeze around him like you don’t want to let go.
“Stop.”
You whine again, and this time, Eijirō whines along with you. He wants to feel it, so, so bad.
After a few moments of panting, you lick your lips, “Kats, I—”
“Doesn’t feel too good, does it,” Katsuki grunts, but he’s still smiling just as wide as before. At least someone is having fun. Eijirō, meanwhile, is a hot mess, because all he wants is to feel what he’s heard (and seen) for ages. And, his dick hurts.
You groan, fists squeezing into cute little fists on your forehead. “Why do you have to be an ass?”
“Me?” Katsuki scoffs. “I’m just givin’ you a taste of your own medicine, Sweetheart. Eijirō, you can move.”
It takes you longer to reach the edge than the second time. Maybe, you’re holding back—or, maybe you know it won’t be allowed—but Eijirō’s arm is working overtime until it cramps. He’s sweating now, the shorter hairs sticking to his face in funny designs, but Eijirō Kirishima is nothing if a quitter. He feels it again—the tightness—and looks to Katsuki, who says nothing. Maybe, this time, he’ll let it slide. This time, Eijirō gets to see it, feel it, taste it—
“Stop.”
Eijirō groans louder than you do, and drops his head to your shoulder.
“Kat, let her cum,” Eijirō practically begs, eyebrows bowing and lips quivering against your neck. You feel it, and your breath hitches.
“What?” Katsuki acts like he can’t hear him, but Eijirō knows he does.
“Let her cum,” he huffs after lifting his head off your sticky shoulder, looking at Katsuki with the most pleading face—the most pathetic face—he can muster. “Please.”
Katsuki scoffs, eyes narrowing at Eijirō like there’s something to study. There’s not; the answer is obvious—he’s sitting in between the legs of a pretty girl, unable to give her what she wants, eyes wild and chest heaving like he’s had any friction at all.
“Why?”
“I wanna feel it,” Eijirō says, quick enough to be embarrassed about it later.
Katsuki clicks his tongue.
“Fine.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” Eijrō sighs, hands officially moving with an end goal in sight. It would be cruel of Katsuki to deny both of you again, but Eijirō knows he’s not going to—the hand on his dick is moving faster, now. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”
Eijirō wonders how many times he can make you cum. He wonders what you’ll look like after the first, second, third—how much your body might quiver, what you could sound like without a wall in place. All it does is fuel the fire in his belly, running straight into his muscles until his hand moves at a numbing pace. As your voice pitches, so does the pace of your breathing.
“Oh shit, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
“Cum for us, Baby. Cum for Ei, make a mess all over his fuckin’ fingers.”
Eijirō doesn’t even blink.
He just watches as you unravel, starting at your edges and ending in your middle, as your body arches and hips flick. Your pussy squeezes around his fingers tighter than he thought was possible, and your face—God, your face—contorts in ecstasy because of what he did, his fingers. Eijirō can confirm that it's better up close. So much better.
He kisses you before you can come down, out of pure impulse and want. You moan into his mouth, hands lifting to quiver by his cheeks, an attempt to hold them, and it’s just so cute.
Eijirō’s fucked. Though he knew it before, he definitely knows now. He’s not going to be able to exist without this, anymore.
Note: Never make Katsuki mad, like, sexually.
Because, when Katsuki can’t cum, nobody’s fucking cumming.
“Kat, Dude, please, c’mon,” Eijirō wheezes into your neck, but he doesn’t really care whether Katsuki can hear him. Katsuki will do what Katsuki wants—it’s like whining to the weather.
Your pussy is squeezing the life out of his cock. You’re on your fourth orgasm, and Eijirō is on none, even though he didn’t do shit. This is a type of torture he’s woefully unfamiliar with, like he’s getting punished for being attracted to you in the first place. He didn’t do shit.
Katsuki has moved from the chair to the bed, cock still in hand. Eijirō can’t even be cheesy about it, can’t even look to the right and ask, need a hand, because he’s gripping the sheets for dear life, like they might take pity on him. But, sheets don’t bargain, and if they did, they’d write a contract for him to get the hell off.
Katsuki coos, both at Eijirō’s strung-up state and your fucked out one. You’ve got no fight left in you, instead uselessly whimpering and clawing at his back like he can save you. Spoiler alert: he cannot.
Katsuki thumbs at the high points of Eijirō’s cheeks, “Awh, y’want it that bad? You’re cryin’, Red.”
Eijirō sniffles. Yes, he knows he’s crying—despite the heat in his face, he can feel it.
“Yes,” Eijirō hisses between grit teeth, “I’m literally dying, please—”
Katsuki chuckles something dark, grabbing Eijirō by his cheeks and forcing him to look up—and suddenly, he's drowning in carmine eyes. Is Katsuki closer? It feels like he got closer.
“Hold out a little longer,” the blond says, in a voice softer than the bed you lay on, and Eijirō really isn’t sure what to make of it. He’s close enough that Eijirō can almost feel the tongue licking his lips, feel his breath as he says, “Y’gotta make her cum two more times, at least.”
At least? Eijirō’s going to die. Eijirō’s going to die from an arrhythmic heart and overexertion, and it’s going to be Katsuki’s fault.
(But, hey—he’s dying in Hawaii, with you below him, so how much can he really complain?)
Eijirō wheezes out a light and pathetic ‘ah’ in place of what was supposed to be a curse, but he really doesn't care anymore. Not when you blink up at him with watery eyes and palm at his chest, all weak like he did that.
“Eiji…” you whimper, exhausted and sweating into the bed. “Jus’ one more. Please.”
Eijirō’s hips stutter, but they don’t stop.
“Fuck,” he gasps, hands turning into fists in the sheets. He’s not allowed to touch you, not allowed to make this go faster—but God, does he want to. “Fucking fuck—this is so unfair.”
“She’s insatiable, ain’t she,” Katsuki says, letting go of Eijirō’s face to cradle yours, to thumb over your cheeks all soft while he plows into you with every fiber of your being. “’S one of my favorite things about her.”
You whine but don’t do much else, bottom lip sliding from behind your teeth to make room for the sound. As your pussy convulses around his cock, you gasp, soft fingers sharpening into nails to dig into the fat of his back and leave raised red lines in their wake. Eijirō’s going to look wrecked on the beach tomorrow, and that thought is just—
Katsuki grunts with a nod. The hand on his cock starts moving with purpose, now. “One more.”
Eijirō wants to touch it.
He wants to touch Katsuki again so, so bad, but he can’t, not with his hands full with you—not when he can’t cum yet. The ball of arousal is already wound tight in his stomach; one wrong tug, and it will unravel.
“I can’t—” Eijirō wheezes, voice breaking as he falls forward, catching himself with a hand beside your head. The other hand is busy holding your hips up, because you can no longer do it for yourself. “I can’t—”
The room is filled with the wet slap of skin on skin, pants heavy and hot enough to fog a warm glass, predatory groans and whiny whimpers. Eijirō keeps making sounds he’d rather not, but he’s too far gone to even register them. Katsuki’s saying something—his mouth is moving—but all he hears is the rush behind his ears.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Eijiro whimpers, in slight disappointment, but it was inevitable. He feels that tingle in his fingers that lets him know to pull out, and—
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
Katsuki’s voice snarls into focus, grabbing Eijirō by his hair and tugging so hard his back bends.
“I can’t, I’m not gonna—”
“You can, and you will,” Katsuki says with a finality that leaves Eijirō no other choice. And he’ll be damned if he loses this opportunity—he wants to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re properly satiated and leaking out of every hole you have. Eijirō whines through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry,” he sniffles, and another tear rolls down his cheek. Katsuki licks it up. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t d—”
But then, you’re squeezing around him with shaky legs, and Eijirō’s shoulders sink in relief. One more second, and he would’ve—
“Oh, fuck!”
Eijirō cums so hard his vision blacks out—whether it's from closed eyes or pure blindness, he doesn’t know—and his hands scramble for something, anything to hold onto. One hand ends on your hip and the other on Katsuki’s thigh, digging bruises in his thumbprint as veins pop in his neck and he floods your system.
Eijirō pumps his hips a few more times, slow but sure. He’s sure he’s making noise—groans, whimpers, whines—but he can’t hear much except for the throb of his heart and Katsuki’s own orgasm, feeling something lukewarm splatter against the fingers still resting on his thigh. Eijirō breathes himself back into his body, through his nose and out his mouth, and finally, pulls out.
His dick jumps, and squirts twice like it’s got more in it. Eijirō can confidently confirm that it does not.
He collapses right on top of your body.
“Holy shit.”
“Holy shit is right,” you swallow, voice raspy and crackling on the edges. Katsuki collapses next to him.
“That was fuckin‘ good.”
You three blink at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Eventually, you squirm under the redhead, so he rolls onto your other side.
“I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow,” you decide aloud, shaking your head. Your eyes are still closed—and you’re still coming down, body twitching every few seconds in places Eijirō didn’t even know you could. “You two are carrying me everywhere.”
“That can be arranged,” Eijirō huffs, still out of breath. Weakly, he reaches across you and taps his roommate. “…When I can walk. So, Kat, you got that.”
Katsuki groans, somehow also exhausted, like he did any of the work. “Fuck you.”
“No,” Eijirō shakes his head, neck still weak and loose from being tense for so long. “You made us fuck for hours. ‘S your punishment.”
Katsuki grumbles under his breath but doesn’t outright lament. Eijirō gives you a slippery smile, and lifts a fist. You meet it with your own.
A few more seconds of catching breaths, of opening pores for cool air and listening to the steady rock of the ceiling fan, and then:
“Hey, Eiji. Wanna be our boyfriend?”
Katsuki shoots up. Suddenly, he has energy.
“We’re not fuckin’ askin’ him like that!”
You don’t really have the energy to argue, so you raise a placating hand and push it into his face.
“How’re we s’posed to ask ‘im, then?”
You slur your words, and Eijirō doesn’t blame you. Tomorrow, he’ll panic about the new information—probably cry a little—but it’s the middle of the night, and he’s already half asleep from exhaustion.
“Fuckin’ properly, the fuck do you mean?”
Katsuki seems really stressed about this, Eijirō thinks distantly. He should probably answer before he knocks out, slowly sinking into a post-orgasm haze he’s not necessarily trying to escape anytime soon.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair—you’re not accepting it until we do it right. When we get back.”
Eijirō snorts weakly. “Okay.”
That night, everyone falls asleep with bone-deep satisfaction. The next morning, Eijirō does cry a little—but he promised Katsuki he won’t accept until you two do ask him properly, whatever that means. That doesn’t mean he’s not dying about it, a little.
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if you're on my permanent taglist and don't want to be, please reach out to let me know! i was a little confused sifting through the comments, trying to figure out who just wanted to be tagged for AITA and who wanted to be on my main taglist...i see why ppl make those google docs now...might have to get on that...
a/n: first fic on my acct @cinna-creme so it makes sense that it’s my first fic on this new acct too cus i’m sentimental and sad - come home to me babies im lonely and sad
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s. todoroki
“please.” you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair.
he’s looking up at you while slowly licking at your clit, moaning into you, making you squirm at the vibrations. his fingers are kneading into your plush thighs with each swipe of his tongue. you’re leaking down his chin, whining softly above him as he coaxes your orgasm from you.
your tummy is coiling and your thighs are shaking with each pass of his tongue. your hips jerk against his face and all he does is hold you closer. he closes his eyes and loses himself to your taste, licking down and shoving his tongue in your pussy.
“nghh! please!” your legs struggle to slam around his head while he holds you open.
“s’okay.” he mumbles into your folds. “let go.”
he licks back up to your clit and suckles it into his mouth, pointing his tongue and lapping at you the way you like. a high pitched cry comes from your lips as your pussy pulses, waves of pleasure shooting through you.
“‘s good. gimme some more.” he pulls you closer to his mouth.
—————————
k. bakugo
“stop fucking moving.” he grumbles, slamming your thighs to the bed.
you spring up when he attaches his mouth back to your sloppy folds. he’s licking at you so quickly you can’t even form a thought. he sucks your clit into his mouth, lashing his tongue against it while you bury your fingers in his hair and pull.
he moves one of his hands and your thigh is immediately pressed to the side of his head. you whine when he lifts up and glares at you. he spits on your pussy watching it slide down to your leaking hole before he shoves two fingers in.
“ahhhh !!” your hips jerk.
he pounds his fingers into you, watching the mess you make all over his hand. the sounds echoing off the walls as you babble above him all while pathetically clenching around his fingers. he dips back down, flicking his tongue against your puffy clit until all that’s coming out of your mouth are broken whimpers.
“‘s too- ngh!” your orgasm slams through you, soaking his fingers and face.
“you can give me more.” he mumbles into your pussy.
Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?
CW: NSFT-MDNI- So much mutual pining and longing, not sharing feelings. This chap- making out, masturbation (toru hehe), teasing and some very kinky ass thoughts, but mostly TENSION. Eventually - Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink. Gonna be a miniseries, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad. WC this Part- 7.5k
Songs for this - Lose Contol // My Boo // Friends
This was supposed to be a oneshot but it's going WAY too long, so I'm separating it into three parts! (Also ty for 5k hehe) Comments and reblogs appreciated <3
Masterlist - Part Two>>>
Part one
“You love me, right?”
You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.
“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.
“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”
You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”
Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.
Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.
“How much you love me, hmm?”
“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.
“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”
“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.
“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”
“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”
“Your car is old enough to drink.”
“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”
“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”
“Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”
“I love that movie!”
“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.
Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.
You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.
Not you and Satoru though.
For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.
“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.
“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.
“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.
“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”
“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”
“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.
“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”
“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”
“If I want to, what exactly?”
“Marry me?”
“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.
“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”
“Satoru…”
“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.
“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”
“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”
You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”
Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”
You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”
“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”
“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.
“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”
“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.
“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”
“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”
“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”
“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.
You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”
“Alright.”
“What!?”
He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”
“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”
“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.
“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.
“Satoru, you're insufferable.”
He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips. “Aww you’re still such a brat, since middle school.”
“You’re the brat here.”
“Meanie.” You both stick your tongues out, and when he’s walking you over to your shitty car, he wraps you in a big hug in his strong arms, making you melt against him. “Mwah, mwah, mwah you’re the best friend ever.”
“Oh, stop.” He’s smacking kisses on your head as you inhale his cologne, sighing as you contemplate just what the fuck you’re doing. “When do we do this?” You ask, pulling back a bit and looking up at him.
“I can have things going in a couple weeks, something super simple, like I said we’ll just live our lives, just be friends, it’ll be fine. Like a really long sleepover, hmm?” He teases, grinning now, putting back on his shades.
You figure, what’s it hurt? Your apartment is shitty, your car is old, Gojo is your best friend, and you’re down to help him avoid a miserable marriage for as long as he can. You nod then, smiling. “A long sleepover.”
One week of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend
Satoru Gojo thought he would control himself decently living with you, considering how many times you’ve slept over, how many movies you both have crashed out on the couch together. He’s seen you in bathing suits over the years, he’s caught glimpses of your pretty body of course, he knows how beautiful you are and he’s always maintained himself.
Satoru treasures you far too much to fuck it up in any way, despite the amount of times he’s almost lost it. Aside from Suguru, you have been the most important person in his life, and perhaps you’re closer now. But he can’t help but compare other girls to you over the years, and he usually makes quick work of the small relationships that he has with them.
However, what he hadn’t anticipated? Living with you walking around in your fucking panties and a crop top.
You nearly took him out the first morning you were here, when he went to brush his teeth, he has a huge house but of course you went to the main bathroom that divides his room and the room he set for you, it’s the bathroom you used when you stayed over. So he should have maybe anticipated it, but nothing prepared him for you bent over the sink, washing your face.
Your ass looked far too tempting in those damn boyshorts, half of each cheek tempting him to smack it, grab it, fucking lift you by it and slide into you. He was shocked when he was hard from the sight of it, he’s not inexperienced or not used to women, and he’s used to you, but something about the sight made him fucking feral, and he had to literally run to one of his guest bathrooms.
He now was almost used to you walking around in almost nothing, but this morning you’re in some little white tank top and he sees the outlines of the curve of your pretty tits, sees your nipples perked up, begging for his mouth. You’re wiping your eyes, yawning, using his Keurig to make coffee, smiling at him as if this is in any way normal or okay.
He gulps as you turn your attention to him, hair in a messy bun, his eyes struggle not to just stare at your body, he has to shut his mouth because it’s just slightly ajar. Satoru, a man who sees women naked frequently, fuck he has business meetings at strip clubs, nudity is nothing. But he can’t take it, take how your breasts are calling for him, how your thighs shift.
“Good morning, Toru! We have that event tonight, right?” You say sweetly, as his heart hammers in his chest, and then you feel his gaze on you, making your nipples tighten, more apparent as you look where he is now, biting your lip. “Shit, white isn’t the best color huh? How embarrassing… it’s kinda cold…”
“Yeah, cold.” He clears his throat, stepping closer, and your eyes drink him in, shirtless and built so perfect. You’ve seen him this way of course over the years, Satoru had no issue pulling his top off to work out, play a game of ball, but something about him in his soft sweats that show too much makes your brain run awry.
You should be immune to it, the god-like body Satoru Gojo has, how fucking perfect he is built, how pretty he is, but something makes your tummy heat up lately, especially when he comes closer, blue eyes lidded. “Um, I’ll make coffee?”
“Yes please.” He smiles sleepily, far too pretty, and you have to remind yourself, as you have all week, that you’re not with him, not truly.
It feels too easy, too comfy.
That was the point though.
“Got it.” You turn now, setting to put the pod in, tiptoeing to get his sugar, he chuckles deeply, reaching above you now, far too close to you, his bare chest pressing against your upper back. Your fingers grip the counters, feeling the cool granite of them, your breath catching.
“I’ll put them a little lower.” He teases, smirking as he sets them down, leaning a hip on the counter, and you smile, pretending to be calm, like your heart didn’t just beat out of your chest.
You’ve literally hugged this man every time you’ve seen him, you’ve even crashed next to him, why is he fucking with you so badly!? You suppose his presence in pieces was just easier to cope with than anything, but now your brain keeps having ridiculous images. Him having you up on that counter, your thighs spread, so intense you drop the spoon, it clatters to his tile floor.
“Shit, sorry.” You bend down, and your breath is right against him, over his thin sweats, and you look up at him, creating the worst images of his best friends he can ever imagine.
“It’s… fine.” He clears his throat, turning so you don’t see the clear evidence of what you’ve done.
“You okay, Toru? Tons of sugar, like usual?”
“Yeah.” His voice is gruff, as he glares at his cock, willing it to go down, you blink curiously at his back, wondering what’s wrong. You clear your throat again and hand him the cup, stepping next to him, he takes it, having put his cock up in the waistband of his boxers now, smiling nonchalantly. “Thanks sweets.”
“Of course! Can we go over a few things later today, before we go? I don’t wanna fuck anything up.”
“Of course we can. I also ordered you a dress and some jewelry, that cool?”
“Oh what? I have dresses, pretty ones!”
“I know, it’s really uppity bitches there though, you need something top notch.”
“Oh…” You trail off, a blush decorating your cheeks now, making you look even more tempting. “But you don’t know my size?’
Satoru brushes a tendril of hair that’s come out of your bun then, smirking just a bit. “Think I don’t know your size, sweetheart?”
“I… um…” Satoru has you flustered, dammit. “Oh?”
“Mhmm.” As if he hasn’t eyed your body a million times over. “It’ll be here later, I have to go to work for just a couple hours.” You nod then, for some odd reason wanting to kiss him, but you bite your lip instead.
“Sounds perfect, I have the day off!”
“Even better, go take a nice bath and relax before we deal with the snobby old fucks.” You giggle at him, you have always loved how he speaks of rich people, when he’s filthy rich, but Satoru? He’s very different.
He’s just…
Satoru.
Satoru’s heart doesn’t hammer in his chest, it almost falls out after he’s got his three piece pinstripe suit on, adjusting a skinny silk tie and peering at his silver Rolex, seeing what time it was, as you appear in front of him. The dress he picked out was a lacy black one, perfect for evening, but the way it hugs your every curve, the way your breasts are pressed up in that top?
You do a nervous spin, revealing your pretty back, the curve of your spine, the v neck so deep he sees hints of the dimples on your back. You turn back around, eyes glittering, enhanced with a little mascara and eyeliner, your lips the prettiest shade of red he can imagine. You look…
Beautiful.
Is that even the word?
How does he even explain it, when he’s speechless, when he feels his ears heat up at just how nervous he is to be in your presence then, eyeing a delicate gold necklace that hits just so in the hollow between your collar bones. You’re tilting your head to the side, hair falling softly in curls you’ve put it in, clutching your pretty little evening bag.
“How do I look, Toru? You look so handsome, but when don’t you.” You tease, and he tries not to look at the slit showing far too much of your pretty thigh, so tempting to slip a hand up it, find your surely pretty little pussy.
“You look…” He takes a breath, trying to act somewhat normal, smiling then. “You look… hot as fuck.”
You giggle then, rolling your eyes. “Oh whatever!”
“You look… amazing. Really.” He steps to you, giving into the temptation to brush the backs of his finger across the apple of your cheek, then across your jaw line, watching your breath catch, your red lips part, showing a hint of your little bottom row of teeth.
How would that pretty face look so fucked out?
God, it’s been a week, he needs to stop.
His hand falls, and you barely hold yourself together, breaths coming quicker and quicker. “You look beautiful, sweets. Gonna make quite the impression.” His husky admission makes you blush further, looking down and eyeing that little knot on his tie, as it’s like the entire room is holding its breath, everything so overwhelming, his nearness, his scent.
“Thank you, really for this dress. It’s so beautiful, and this.” You touch the pretty gold necklace, just making his eyes watch your pretty breasts rise and fall.
“Of course, it’s part of this, you know.” His little admission breaks you just a bit, for some insane reason, you felt like this was some date? You rein yourself in just a bit, smiling.
“Yes, but thank you. Shall we go, hubby?’
“We sure can, wifey.” You both laugh, the friendship of years prevailing finally, when you slip into the back of his limo with him, trying to ignore the feeling of his strong thigh pressing against yours, burning through the silky layer of the dress. “So remember the story?”
“Yeah, it’s easy to think of it happening, friends falling.” You then panic, as his blue eyes catch yours in the dark of the limo. “I mean-”
“No, of course it is. I’ll say that… I started falling in high school.” Because he did, god he did. After you all are about to be at the event, he notices it, your nerves, this just wasn’t your scene. “You look perfect, really.”
“Oh no…” He leans close, cupping your face, but it feels too good, your lips are too close.
“You do, gonna knock 'em dead, yeah?”
“We both will.” You smile tremulously, inhaling the night air greedily as you both walk up to the event, being ushered in. You’re clinging around his elbow as he casually goes about it, going into Mr. Gojo mode, you’ve seen him do it plenty over the years, still keeping his charm and sarcasm, but he’s just a force, the way he plays them all.
Knowing Gojo wants to take most of these people down is thrilling in its own way, you’ve always been enamored with how he fights for his principles, how real and raw he truly is with you about it. How humble when he’s come from everything, but still he knows that role he must play, and play it he does, his hand pressing on the small of your back as you two make small talk.
“I always thought of you two falling for each other.” Says your mom now, yes even your parents had to think it was true.
“I did too… so sudden though? Young love.” Gojo’s mom says, tossing back her silky long locks with a smile.
“What can I say? Your son is hard to resist, he’s so persistent. Like a cute little puppy.”
“A what!? Brat.” He’s glaring, but your parents and his mom are laughing, and you know it works, being real.
“Aren’t you two so in love?” Another person says later, as they observe Satoru placing a little peck on your temple, and he smiles with ease, not realizing the entire mess he’s making you.
“A beautiful couple. Gojo, you chose well.” One of his work friends says with a grin.
“We’re very lucky, both of us.” You say softly, stopping Gojo’s heart, when you peck a little kiss on his neck, tiptoeing in your heels, he turns then, your lips far too close, so close you taste the sweetness of his breath, and your eyes lock. “Aren’t we, Satoru?”
He blinks, realizing… you’re just helping him, and you’re nailing it. He tries to shove back the odd fluttering in his tummy, tilting your chin up. “We are lucky.”
The night ends up with plenty of dancing, plenty of schmoozing back and forth, and plenty of both of you being the perfect team. It was so easy, you both knew each other like no one else, the answers flow, the dancing flows, you’ve both danced in school before, you’ve partied together. You’ve been a plus one even as a friend.
Too natural, too perfect.
You soon need a breath, as you feel far too much as Satoru dances with a lovely girl, you recognize her, Gojo dated her and she’s a family friend. You assume she was a candidate for marriage as you recall her family ties, but seeing someone in his arms suddenly makes your heart break.
It’s only been a fucking week!? Can’t you keep it together!?
Later as you both get home, you’re taking off your shoes, wincing as the heels are off your feet, and Satoru looks at you curiously. “You okay, sweets? Kinda a long night of assholes, huh?”
“Oh it’s fine, Toru. Truly. Um… I recognized a couple girls there.”
“Yeah, they run in the same circles.” He takes off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves of that crisp white dress shirt, revealing the veins of his strong forearms, addling your mind further, how fucking attractive he is when he loosens that tie.
“Um, I know you said discrete, will you be… bringing them here?”
Satoru blinks at you, head tilting, soft white hair falling just so. “What? Bring who here?”
“Um, her, or any of the girls there really. If so I think I’ll probably… wanna know if you don’t mind? So I can make sure I’m in the room or whatever. A little notice?”
Satoru walks to you now, your head is tilted back when he hooks two fingers under your chin. “You think I am interested in them?”
“They’re beautiful. And we’re not together, so it’s fine! Just… a little notice would be cool?”
“And you, what if you bring someone over.” His jaw tenses, his words surprisingly sharp. “Will you tell me?”
You laugh softly. “That won’t even be a thing.”
“In a year?”
“It’s… never been a thing really.” You realize then, that you are almost spilling it, the fact that the entirety of your experience is one fuck in college, a two pump event that involved nothing really.
His brows draw together in disbelief. “Never? You don’t…”
“Listen, we’re best friends, but that’s private. Okay?” He nods, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck, looking down.
“Shit I mean you date a bit though?”
“Yeah, I do. But… it’s… I need to get out of this dress.” You say then, suddenly rushing to your room, leaving Satoru’s mind whirling.
How do you think he wants anyone when you’re here killing him.
“Toru?” You lean your head out from the bathroom a few moments later.
“Yeah?”
“This is embarrassing, but the zipper is stuck, and it’s so expensive… I don’t wanna fuck the dress up.” You murmur, he smiles, feigning ease as he steps into the bathroom, peering at you in the golden gilded mirror.
“No worries, got ya. Huh it is a little stuck…” He gently tugs at the zipper, humming a big. “Um… hang on I need to pull it up a bit.”
“Sure. Be careful!”
“You’re worried about this when I could buy you ten more tomorrow.”
“Still!”
He smiles at your reflection, hand palming your bare back then, making you bite back a gasp, body shifting in desire at just the touch, your eyes shut so he can’t see them rolling back, but he sees those goosebumps everywhere. He unzips it then, revealing lacy panties that make him pause, letting the dress fall, you’re catching it at the front, gasping.
“I think I got it.” He says huskily, unable to stop his fingers from trailing up your delicate spine, blue eyes so bright in the mirror they wreck you, while you barely hold the material on. “Need any more help?”
“No! I mean… n-no.” Shit shit shit.
You’re soaked from a brush against your back!?
“Got ya.” He smiles just a bit, leaving you now, resting his back on the door, hand running across his face, curious how he’s throbbing with precum from seeing your fucking back.
Two weeks of being ‘fake married’ to Satoru Gojo, your best friend
You arrive at his work, the coworkers all greeting you so friendly, as his assistant Miwa escorts you, giving you both soft smiles. “Your wife is here Mr. Gojo.”
Satoru looks up in surprise, you’re in your pretty work dress, looking all cute and professional, holding a bento box in one hand, a boba in the other. You’re smiling brightly, as his lips part in surprise. “I had an early day and I thought I should bring some lunch?”
“Oh… oh thank you… Miwa if you could?”
“Of course, I’ll give you some privacy.” You hear her giggle and you smile at Satoru, looking as he’s leaned back in his big leather seat, smiling softly back at you, eyeing your hands.
“I get lunch made for me, shit I am lucky with my fake bride.” You snort, rolling your eyes and walking up to him, setting them on the desk.
“It seemed wifey to do? But also I really do have a short day, figured you might be hungry?”
Fuck you’re sweet.
Fuck you’re pretty.
God, you’re looking at him like that, leaned over just a bit, his eyes darting over your body that tempts him every day more and more, but your sweetness ruins him, the thoughtful nature you’ve always had, but now so geared to him. Is it all for show, he can’t believe it is when you open the bento and show him sushi, onigiri and greens placed so prettily his mouth waters.
“You ordered this, yeah?”
“No silly, I’ve been practicing. You helping me have some time off work has literally given me so much time… I hope they’re yummy? Oh, I didn’t make the boba though.”
“Why didn’t you get anything?” He asks, frowning.
“Oh I’m good, I just was dropping it off. You’re probably busy, taking down the villains huh?” Satoru’s words catch in his throat, looking you up and down again, before looking back down at the food in front of him.
“Stay a bit, it’ll… look good you know, us having lunch together.” He murmurs, lying out of his fucking teeth, as if he didn’t want to eat you then and there.
Your thighs spread, panties to the side, lapping you up?
Yummier than this. Killing him to imagine.
“Oh, um… where do I sit, over here?” You go to scooch a chair over, and he stops you.
“Nah those are heavy, come on.” He pats his thigh, earning your eyes widening, pulse fluttering as he smirks. “You’ve sat on my lap at parties plenty.”
“Y-yeah… but it’s… I…”
“C’mon, have a couple bites please, I’ll feel bad if you did all this for me and didn’t eat.”
“Satoru, you have bought me a new wardrobe and a car, can’t I make some sushi?”
“Sit.”
You sigh, it’s true you’ve sat on his lap, but the past two weeks of constantly being wet around him are taking their toll. You smile brightly, sitting on one of his thighs, praying he can’t feel it, the heat from your pussy as you’re pressed on a muscled thigh, and he’s picking up sushi with chopsticks, popping one in his mouth and moaning, rolling his eyes.
“Fuck that’s yummy. You made it for real!?” You giggle, nodding and trying to be more comfortable, it’s your Toru, right?
“It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. That’s got eel sauce on it, this one is the spicy crab.”
“You like spicy crab, here.” He pops one to your lips, and something feels too intimate, on his lap like this. “Open.”
Open.
Open!?
The pictures of you hearing him that while on your knees makes your cunt dribble, you shift nervously, clearing your throat.
“Open, silly.”
You do as he says, as he pops the roll in your mouth, and you chew, feeling the flavor hit your tongue, he grins now, popping another into his mouth, and you wonder if it’s easy for him to be this way. He’s so natural at it, sipping his boba and humming happily, all while his thigh presses where you’ve been aching for him, forcing yourself not to touch your pussy to the thought of him.
You can’t do that, it’s fucked.
You try to get up, and he presses you down, big hand on your waist, far too close when he leans the thick straw to your lips. “Take a sip, it’s so good.”
“Oh… um sure. Thank you.” You take a sip, lips pressing where his had, and he can’t stop focusing on how good your lips look, wrapping as you suck, cheeks hollowing and making his cock twitch.
You both sit there then, staring at each other, breaths coming just a little too quick from you, as he sets the drink down, but you stay on his lap. “Y’know… the event tonight, we should probably actually kiss? There will be cameras all over.”
“Kiss!?” He laughs then, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I mean it’s kind of part of it. You’re comfy with it right, not gonna fall head over heels.”
“Psh.” You already have, long ago, it’s all fucking hitting. “You’re so cocky, Toru I swear.”
“I can’t help it, my lips are so talented, you know. Makes girls fall.” He brushes his silky hair back, winking at you then, and you swear you can hear your heart in your goddamn ears.
“I remember you were pretty good.”
“Yeah, you remember?”
“Yeah it… was my first kiss.” You mumble then, looking away, sipping his boba nervously, he blinks rapidly, blue eyes wide in shock.
“What now!?”
“No biggie, we were like seventeen…”
“But you… never told me?”
“It was embarrassing.” Satoru’s mind races to that night, as does yours, as you sit in his office, just the hum of the fan and soft music playing from his little device, staring at each other, both in a haze.
You and Satoru Gojo were thrown in a closet together, you’re sighing as you’re pressed against him, peeking at your phone in the dark to see the time. Being too close to Satoru wreaked havoc on your brains at times, though you have known him so long, you couldn’t lie and act like you didn’t think of things… kissing him, maybe dating him? But you know they’re silly thoughts.
“Don’t freak out, we’ll just let 'em think we made out.” He says now, and you turn your eyes up to him, adjusting in the dark, but even here you can see the glint of those bright baby blues.
“Y-yeah. You’ve kissed plenty, though.”
“You haven’t really?”
“Um, no.”
Satoru’s gently turning you to him now, tilting your chin up while his eyes adjust to see your pretty face, you’re thankful it’s so dark that he couldn’t see your blush. “We could practice, you know.”
“Satoru!”
“What? A little practice between friends? You know you wanna kiss me.” He taunts, teasing tone as he grins.
“No way!”
“Not at all? I’m hurt, sweets.”
“Oh whatever, it'd be weird, we’re too close. Do you kiss Suguru?”
“Oh yeah, have you seen him?”
You both laugh then, when he leans down just a bit. “Well, if you kissed Suguru, I feel left out now.”
“We can’t have that. Show me what you do know, I’ll advise.”
“Kissing expert, hmm?”
“Mhmm.” You lean up then, as he bends down, your arms wrapping around his neck, you pause as his hands press against your waist, making your heart race. “Ya scared?”
“No! Goofy ass.” He’s chuckling until you lean up, pulling him down for a kiss, and your lips meet for the first time.
Your first kiss.
He pauses, your lips connecting just do something. Satoru at seventeen had done plenty of make out sessions, but they were fun, something to do, exciting at times, but nothing prepared him for it. For your sweet lips on him, tingling them, his heart beating in his chest.
Satoru falters, and he never falters.
He doesn’t slip his tongue in, he doesn’t pull you close, he freezes, so in shock at how good it feels, how right it feels. You ease back, nervous then, clearing your throat, as he hasn’t moved his lips. “I’m sorry I’m not…”
Satoru yanks you against him then, pressing your body on his, kissing you over and over, so deeply, taking your breath away, you’ve never felt something like this, you’re trembling as you feel his tongue slip against the seam of your lips. “Open them up for me.”
This isn’t silly Satoru, goofy ass friend, his husky declaration destroys you, and he uses the gasp to slip his tongue inside, swirling with yours, igniting something between you that night that you will both avoid talking about for years. When he presses you against the closet door, sighing into your lips, and you’re being picked up in his arms, as your mouths move over each other.
You both pull back, gasping as the timer goes off.
What was that!?
“If I’d known it was your first kiss, maybe I wouldn’t have… gotten so excited.” He says with a little pink on his cheeks.
“No, you didn’t cross any lines, Toru. Don’t worry.”
He wants to laugh, because oh, he wanted to.
If he’d had more time he’s sure he’d have lost it, whatever control he has now he did not have as a seventeen year old. “Was it a good one at least?”
“The best a girl could have.” You say softly, smiling at him then, making his heart race when you both sit there, far too close, and he swears he can feel your heat against the hand that’s on your thigh.
“I know I’m pretty amazing hmm?” He teases, trying to hide the raging storm inside of him, you giggle, shaking your head and standing finally.
“You’re a conceited little shit.”
“Hey!?”
You’re both back at ease, as he stands now too, looming so tall over you, his presence making it hard to remember why you’re here. “I should go.”
“We should practice, though, yeah?”
“I mean… you think we’re that rusty?” You try to feign ease, he smiles then.
“Yeah, we gotta be. We’ll bump our heads together or some shit.”
“Okay… um…” You take a sip of his boba then, clearing your throat and smiling up at him. “Let’s practice.”
Satoru brushes his thumb across your chin, your ass pressed against his desk and you’re pinned between it and him, your hands sliding up his starch white dress shirt slowly, eyes lowering to his glossy lips. He presses a kiss against your lips, and you then know it, more than ever.
Nothing is like kissing Satoru.
Nothing is like his lips making contact with yours, as your eyes close, the feeling of him working his lips over you so gently, making you tremble, making you ache in ways you have tried to hide, to avoid. He pulls back, cupping your face and exhaling, his snowy lashes low over cerulean eyes, his lips parted just so, as you both stare at each other, speechless.
You don’t know if he’s as affected, and neither does he.
“How’s that?” He asks softly, and you lean up, your fingers enwrapping in his hair, as two of his hands bar you on either side.
“Maybe one or two more? To look natural.” You whisper, and you expect a smirk, or something cocky, conceited, but he slams his lips on yours now.
His tongue is swirling against yours in moments, as you both devour each other, hungry and needy, kissing each other desperate, messy now. A kiss like you’ve never had, as his hands press against your hips, then he lifts you on the desk, your thighs around his hips, making you cry out. The sound causes him to lose any semblance of control, he’s biting your lower lip, moaning into your mouth.
“Mmm!” Your hands pull his hair now, as his slip up your bare thighs, and then you feel it, the hardness under his slacks against your heat, your panties already sticky and damp, and you pull back with a gasp.
Your eyes shoot up to his when you break apart for just a moment, and Satoru’s breath is coming in little pants, his fingers scrunching your skirt up your hips, yanking you closer. You whimper now, head falling to the side, and he’s kissing down the side of your neck, your breasts pressing against his chest, dying for him inside you, as he’s ready to fuck you right on his desk.
“Satoru… what are-” You’re trying to whisper when his lips find the shell of your ear.
“I need-”
Knock knock knock.
You both pull back, his eyes dilated to the point they’re dark, his hands still on your bare skin, as his eyes dart down your body. “Yes?” He manages gruffly.
“Twenty minutes until your meeting Mr. Gojo.” You hear, and he curses softly, turning away, trying to calm his nerves, his racing heart, all while you’re hopping down, trying to pull yourself together.
You’re almost darting out of the door when he sees you. “Shit, please…”
“No, no. We um… were practicing?” You manage to whisper, as his hand is over yours on the knob. “I got carried away.”
He laughs, without humor. “You did?”
“I did. I’m sorry I don’t even do this.”
“Just how… inexperienced are you?” He asks softly.
“A lot.”
Because she can’t help but compare every man to Satoru Gojo.
“Well, you can’t tell, you’re an amazing kisser.” You blush furiously, looking down, biting your lower lip.
“You don’t have to say it.”
“You are, shit. My god.” He brushes your hair off the side of your neck, exhaling, breath tickling you, setting your body on fire.
“Thank you, so are you. We will be good to go tonight, you think?” You whisper, so nervous to say what you want to, and he pauses, clearing his throat, his hand falling off your shoulder now.
“We’ll kill it. Thank you again for lunch.”
“Of course.” You brightly smile, trying to remember.
It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake.
As you’re repeating it in your head, Satoru is struggling to not lift your skirt up and fuck into you right on this door, he wouldn’t care if the entire office heard you scream his goddamn name. When you slip out the door he rests his head on it, the cool wood doing nothing to his overheated skin, hands clenching into his fists as he tries to calm himself.
What was that, what is that with you both?
He promised he would be respectful, he has to try to rein it all in, he has to make sure your friendship isn’t ruined because he can’t stop himself. Satoru tells himself that as he wills his cock to go down, but he can’t stop himself, soon he’s stroking it right in that seat, remembering feeling your pussy pressing against his length.
God he needs you, he shuts his eyes, imagining sinking inside you while he twists his hand up and down his length, desperate for any relief. He had some regulars he would call back in the day, but not only does it feel so wrong to do so, he doesn’t want anyone but you, he can’t even put a vision in his mind but you.
‘It’s fine, baby girl you can take me’ he murmurs softly, snowy lashes shut as he imagines fucking into you, stretching you god he bets you’re so tight, and he could feel that warmth, imagining you as he spits down on his pretty cock.
His pink tip is oozing precum while his head rests back in his office chair, he can still smell your scent, that shampoo you use, the body spray you have worn since high school, it’s you. He’d kiss every inch of your body, have you so ready you beg for him, fuck you so good tears pool in your pretty eyes, he can damn near feel is as his hand strokes faster and faster.
He lets out a soft groan, muttering a ‘that’s it, you’re so wet f’me, huh?’ to the very image of you on that desk, tasting your sweetness on his lips, while he pinches his tip, the precum and spit wetting his cock enough that the sound of him stroking fills his office. His breath quickens as he thinks of shoving your thighs up high, slamming into your cervix, ruining you.
As he cums white hot spurts all over his palm he cries out softly, the release feeling so good, he’s fought it, touching himself to you, but he can’t anymore. He quickly cleans up, panicking as he sees what he’s done, jerked off to one of his best friend’s in the world, someone who trusts him, and he’s not even holding himself together for shit now.
He exhaustedly leans his head against the desk as his alarm for the next meeting starts, struggling to remember this isn’t real, but his cock sure didn’t fucking realize that, and by the time he’s home and he sees you all dressed up for the next event? He almost has to go jerk off again.
You’re smiling all nervous in this beautiful glittering gown, and he’s once again speechless, trying to pull together his usual charm, but it falls flat. You look at him, concern clear on your features. “Everything okay Satoru?”
“Of course it is. Look at you.” He smiles, putting on the best show he can, as you wonder if you’ve over thought that kiss, he just seems so normal really.
Maybe he just got carried away, should you act normal too?But how can you, when just the brush of his hand on the small of your back shoots desire straight through your body. It’s only been two weeks, how could you hold out an entire year?
Sooo to have written this in a oneshot would have been INSANE but expect the next two parts very quicklyyy ;) Gojo is DOWN BAD my god- smut in the next hehe.
katsuki i don’t ever want kids they’re hard to handle and little assholes bakugou is somehow so natural with kid in his arms, like scarily so.
holding a lost child’s hand as he weaves through the streets to find a police station, following the little kids directions as to where they last saw their parents.
crouched on the ground to sign little posters from kids with shaking hands and teary eyes. big scary dynamite making himself smaller to not scare the little ones.
balancing a kid on his hip as he debriefs with the hero commission after a mission. the kid has crossed the police tape, ducking under the flimsy plastic while shouting for dynamite who turned at the commotion, ready to bark expletives at whoever was demanding his attention only to spot the preschooler running with open arms. he gathers the kid in his arm in a single sweep, placing them on his hip as he continues on with the conversation.
it’s so natural the way he moves through the crowd, following the kids directions to their frantically searching parents (the kid saw the flash of katsuki’s suit in the air as he flew over the crowds and BOLTED headlong in the direct of his favourite hero) the press goes CRAZY for the photos, headlines and front page spreads, the explosive and scary number two hero (shush he is number two in my hc) seen being fatherly, soft, gentle.
katsuki i don’t ever want kids they’re hard to handle and little assholes bakugou is a natural born father. change my mind.
a/n: i am ONCE AGAIN writing this at work cause why couldn’t think inspiration find me when i was at home sitting at my desk with unlimited time so pls ignore typos
if anyone has fanart of katsuki with kids, especially him holding a lil one on his hip all domestic, i’ll give you head
sex ban — k.b + e.k
an: let me imagine here for a second
bouncing on a dildo while being watched by eijiro and katsuki.
your pussy squealing around the silicone that's suctioned to the floor as both of the men stroke their leaky cocks harshly. you put them on a sex ban after they both went off on a dangerous villain while on patrol without warning, after they promised to you that they'd be more careful.
your head is thrown back, your tits bouncing mesmerizingly with your movements. leaving both men whining and leaking all over their fists. "f-fuck, come on beautiful. don't do this to kats and i.." eijiro pleads out, his voice coming out harsh. his thumb rubs against his pretty tip that's leaking so so much pre. he always leaks so much compared to katsuki.
"stop bein' a b-brat, n' let us fuck you." katsuki groans out, his pace not slowing on his cock. his knuckles are white from how hard he's trying to replicate the feeling of you squeezing around him.
you run your hand down to circle your clit, you let out a soft moan that has both the mens eyes rolling to the back of their head. "n-no, you both were bad. broke the promise." you cry out, your pace moving quicker on the toy. your hips angled to find that sweet spot inside your pussy that you know both men know the placement by heart.
you look back and forth between the both of them, your eyes dazed out as you feel a heat coil up in your tummy. "'m gonna c-come.." you sigh softly, your hand rubbing faster on your clit as you buck your hips on the toy.
both of the men whine out, their cocks leaking. eijiro's stare is harsh while katsuki is trying to register that it's not him you're going to be coming around. their eyes track your movement like a hunter watching it's prey.
"I- fuck! coming!!" you cry out, tossing your head back. you don't stop circling your clit, your hips buck involuntary on the dildo. both men groan out at the sight, their own hips bucking into their fists. letting out the last bit of strokes they needed as the see you bounce on the now creamy dildo.
katsuki comes first. hard and loud. he throws his head back, his hips bucking up, up, uppp into his fists as he spills all over his lap and abs. his breathing is ragged, he strokes a few more times to milk the come out of himself with a sharp groan.
eijiro follows quickly after with a load moan of your name, he spurts rope after rope of come all over himself. his come is thicker and creamier then katsukis. it pools on his lap, his eyes never leaving the sight of you sitting innocently on the dildo.
you watch the both of them loose theirselves with a smile. you watch them both calm down and look at you, katsuki looks at you with a teasing smirk while eijiro looks at your with pleading eyes.
before you could start moving again, katsuki stops you. "don't think you're gonna come on that little shit toy again. you know were so much better." eijiro follows quickly after, "were both so much bigger too, don't think you can get away with that much longer."
safe to say, that sex ban didn't last long.
an: your honour pls let me whore out some more
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