kase! 20, she, infp, taurus. lover of all things odd and shiny. kiri’s number one girl.
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recents: We’re Just Friends…Right?, perv!kirishima
walk with me omega!ochaco and omega!reader bot in heat at the same damn time going through it together
**if you don't f w/ omegaverse how about like sex pollen or smtg? (^∧^)
-zzz
s☆x pollen? - ochako uraraka 18+ MDNI!!!
you didn’t like this operation from the start. sweeping a laboratory based on dubious and barely backed up allegations, with little to no knowledge about what you might have even found in there. drugs? or even worse, nomus? it didn’t sit right with you that they would ask for the intervention of two pro heroes when there were still so many questions about, well, everything.
the only reassurance was getting teamed up with ochako. if things went south, you would’ve had each other’s back. but no training in your years at U.A. or out in the field could’ve prepared you for this. all it took was a police officer accidentally knocking over some containers of unknown substances, you and uravity pushing the man away to take the hit, and now…this.
it took a while for the symptoms to show, the medical staff said you were lucky because you only inhaled the fumes and didn’t ingest any of it, and the only way to get rid of the effects was to wait. yeah, right, like hell you can wait.
the “super dangerous” substance was sex pollen, a new type of diversion some maniac came up with, meant to distract heroes by puffing just a tiny bit, enough to mess with their minds. the amount in your body must’ve bean at least ten times greater, and it was a lie you told yourself to stay sane.
but how the fuck are you supposed to stay sane when you and ochako share an apartment!?
the moment the police escorted you home - in separate cars - you locked yourselves in your respective bedroom. it’s been an hour now, and your body is giving no sign of cooling off, the desire raging in your veins still as maddening as ever.
and for some reason, you don’t want to give into it. the mere friction of your clothes rubbing against you borders on painful. you should be locked up, yeah, that’s the only reasonable way to deal with this. because if your body was already making you go out of your mind, ochako is definitely making this worse.
you can hear her, or rather, her moans. loud as fuck, as she gets herself off over and over again until she’s crying, because it’s never enough. a nurse with a cheeky little smile, back at the hospital, told you something that you didn’t even dare entertain, not even at the back of your mind.
”you know, they say the effects go away faster if someone’s helping you out.”
yeah, no fucking way.
but now the words are coming back, infiltrating themselves into every inch of your poor, weak mind. perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea? but how would you even ask her? you locked yourselves away from each other exactly to avoid that, but—
“y/n,” a quiet mewl came from the other side of the wall. “fuck i— i-i can’t do this anymore, it hurts…p-please help me, please—”
that was all the convincing it took. you’re sure you almost detach the damn handle from your door when you fling it open, only to find ochako’s already unlocked— ready, waiting. “i’m so, so sorry b-but i can’t do this anymore, i feel like i’m going insane!” she whines, big doe eyes wide and pleading as she watches you from the crack in the door. “we can help each other out, no? m-make this go away fast.”
“yeah, alright,” you nod, hands shaking, barely keeping yourself from breaking down the door and pounce. “just let me in.”
ochako’s hand grabs the front of your shirt and yanks, the kiss she locks your lips is dizzying enough neither of you feels it when you topple to the floor. she’s in nothing but an oversized shirt, and as soon as you slot a thigh between hers, she starts rutting against it shamelessly.
“fuck, chako, you’re so wet…” you gasp, skin covered in enough of her slick to make the glide smooth. “i’m sorry,” she cries against your lips. “i’m so sorry, f-forgive me…i can’t stop…”
“shh, shh…you’re okay,” you coo, gently moving a strand of auburn hair away from her face to kiss her cheek. with her legs bracketing yours, your hips start moving on their own, seeking relief. “you’re so pretty, chako. so pretty…”
she kisses you again, a hand slithering inside your shirt to cup your breast. you double down, lifting up the fabric covering her chest and hunching down to take one of her rosy nipples between your lips. “ah, fuck!” ochako mewls, rutting faster against your thigh.
you try to match her pace, reaching down to move your shorts and panties to the side, needing the contact. and the feeling of bare skin against your hit is enough to throw you into your orgasm— the first of many. “oh— oh my god!!” the words are muffled, face buried between ochako’s perfect tits.
“yes…yes, please y/n, more!” she sobs, teeth sinking into the juncture of your neck as she violently topples into her own high, nails indenting crescents into your hip. purposeful to leave a mark.
after two or three hours, you were both aware that the effects of the pollen had passed. that you kept going simply because it felt so fucking good. none of the unspoken fantasy you’d had about each other could compare to the real thing.
and you’re positively, utterly worn when you finally collapse on ochako’s bed (a welcome change of location from the carpeted floor). her body is warm and soft, flushed face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “i think they really were right about helping each other out,” she giggles.
you can’t help but laugh, nodding your head. “yeah, damn doctors,” you joke. “are you feeling well now?”
“never been better,” she breathes, grinning up at you. “ten out of ten experience, but i never want to go through that ever again. i was pretty sure i was going to end up in a mental hopsital, lose my mind for good and never come back again.”
“ten out of ten, hm? was that the sex pollen talking, or…”
ochako’s fingers trace the line of your waist, watching you shiver. “nuh-uh, that was me talking. can’t believe we had to wait for that to happen to finally do it. i wouldn’t mind if we…helped each other out again, sometimes.”
it’s your turn to grin now, getting aroused again just by the way she’s talking so sweetly. “i thing that’s an amazing idea, ochako.”
┊┊a/n. the fact that i'm literally reading an omegaverse tgck fic as we speak...however i don't feel like i have enough knowledge to do the trope justice so sex pollen it is!! i educated myself on it through the official fanlore page it was actually rather interesting...
I’ve had this idea for quite long and will try to explain it as best as I can -> au where bandsinger!Touya has a huge celebrity crush on prohero!Reader to the point of having fan accounts of them (in secret but his fellow members know) and maybe having some song written for hero. Touya gets exposed of his crush on some aspiring hero by Toga on interview and now everyone, including the hero in question, are super eager to find out who is his “muse”
I will over the moon to see this come to life, but no pressure!! Thank you for opportunity 💋💋💋
P.S. I will come up with smth nasty I just need some time to let my freak free 😀
My Muse - Touya Todoroki
contents band!au, rockstar!Dabi x pro-hero!reader, fluff, mainly crack, i just made some BULLSHITTTTT and everyone is an idiot
┊┊MEET THE CAST (profiles)
┊┊a/n. i already have all the other stuff ready i just have to separate it in 2 posts because of the 30 images limit also this won't have a taglist bc i'll post everything today
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: mha men in the 80s! what could possibly go wrong?
❤︎ CONTENT: rollerskating with katsuki, strangers to flirters, record shop with shinso, best friends to lovers, tetsutetsu cameo, boy next door!denki, childhood friends to lovers, buff!denki, so sorry i had to blasphemize the resident twink, tech whiz!denki, play wrestling, arcade date w kiri, idk how 80s photo booths work and i’m not willing to do the research to find out, do know that i tried tho, semi-public makeout sesh, drive-in movie with hanta, cockwarming fail, semi-public sex, dubcon?, penetrative, hold the moan. 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: okay, so technically you’re playing a version of street fighter ii and that came out in ‘91, but shhhhh…
6.8k words | masterlist.
HOT STUFF, DONNA SUMMER—KATSUKI BAKUGŌ.
YOU HATE rollerskating.
You like it on principal—for all intents and purposes, it seems fun, but you have the coordination of a new born giraffe. If you and your friends went enough, then sure, you’d probably buy your own pair of skates and teach yourself in a parking lot. But, they don’t so you don’t, and you’re trying to save money to move out.
The disco music is loud, and the blinding multi-colored lights are even louder. You adjust your tights before hobbling across a carpet with geometric designs over to the rink, resting all of your body weight on the walker—because yes, you got the thing for babies and old people, but it’s better than clutching the grimy wooden half-wall for dear life, only to still fall. Mina skates beside you, giving you the space to work your way into the rink. Her glittery eyeliner sparkles under shifting lights.
“You got it, Girl?”
“Yes,” you hiss, fighting back the embarrassment of being one of the few people with wobbly knees as you finally stumble past the threshold. She waits beside you with open palms just in case. Typically, Jiro and Denki come with, and they join Mina in running laps around amateurs while you sit and watch in a pair of skates (because, you have to rent a pair to enter) and cherry slurpee in hand. But today, your comfortable seat on the bleachers and slurpee are a distant memory, and all your energy pours into you to avoiding a face plant. Maybe, you can ditch this once your feet hurt, and just watch Mina from the other side of the rink. It’s more fun that way.
“Are y—” You turn your head to speak, but an aggressive rush of wind followed by the smell of burnt sugar makes the flyaways rattle against your neck. You look around once ensuring your stability, current thought process absolutely lost, while you try to figure out what the hell could go that fast other than a fucking car.
Ah. A man.
It was relatively easy figure it out—you don’t know how you didn’t notice him before. The gust came from the guy who is now across the rink, skating backwards with crossing legs and hands tucked into pockets like it’s natural. A sturdy jaw clenches around a toothpick, and the gray t-shirt tucked into his jeans batters against his chest, short sleeves rolled atop muscular shoulders. You can’t tell whether his hair is flaxen blond or snow white thanks to the dim lighting, but you refuse to engage, trading one heart palpitation for another, as you begin shuffling across the hardwood floor very, very slowly.
“Ooh, Hot Stuff at seven o’clock,” Mina notes as she steps into the rink much easier than you did. She’s happily taken, and only pointing him out for your single self. You scoff and remove the focused tongue that found its way between your teeth.
“Absolutely not.”
And then, aforementioned Hot Stuff has the absolute audacity to bolt past you again, nearly toppling you over from the fear of it. “Aren’t fast skaters supposed to go on the inside?”
Mina just shrugs, drifting slowly until she’s in between you and the wall. You’re able to forget about Hot Stuff for a while, and your pink possessed friend drones on about the most random things—her partner and their fascination with collectibles, the plan for your upcoming birthday, a new show that isn’t really all that new. Your feet find a clumsy rhythm, wheels clanking against hardwood. It’s more of a hobble than a skate. The walker is more useful than you want it to be.
Eventually you can see her getting antsy, craving the adrenaline that she associates with roller skates, as she starts skating ahead a bit, only to pivot and return to your side. Which you think definitely breaks skating rink etiquette, but no one says anything.
“Go, Stupid,” you push at her back once she returns for the fifth time. “Be free!”
She shakes her head with an ugly little laugh. “No, I don’t wanna leave you!”
But you know it’s a lie because her eye twitches. Well, not that it’s a lie—you believe that she doesn’t want to leave you, but you also believe that she wants to skate faster than a snails pace.
“Mina,” you whine with a pout, carefully stomping a wheeled foot. “I’ll be fine. I’m probably gonna stop in a bit, anyways.”
“Ugh,” Mina groans to the ceiling, chucking her head back like it pains her. Then, she turns to you with a cartoonishly quivering lip. “But—”
“Go.”
You push her again, and this time she listens, even if it is begrudging. Mina huffs over her shoulder.
“Fine. But, I’m only going a few laps and then I’m coming back,” she promises with a wag of her finger and a lift of her eyebrows. You stifle a laugh at her solemnity and nod. With a smile, she turns her back to you and doesn’t pivot when she deems the distance too far.
“And…she’s off,” you mutter. You become more aware of yourself and your…elderly posture once she leaves, but you try to not let it get to you. Even if there’s a kid half your age doing tricks in the middle of the rink, this is the first time you’ve actually enjoyed skating. This is the first time your stomach isn’t in knots over the concept of absolutely eating shit and then not being able to get back up in the rush. You suppose, in the grand scheme of things, you look like less of an idiot this way.
Emphasis on enjoyed.
“Is that a fuckin’ trainer?”
It’s Hot Stuff again—you know it by the way he smells, caramel and cologne—and his skates glide across the wooden floor like he’s moving through water. You glare. And, maybe you’re biased from one sided beef, the beef that builds every time he made you clutch hollow plastic a little harder. Now that he‘s closer and you’re actually looking at him, you can see that his hair is in fact a pale blond, with aggressively red eyes to boot.
He skates circles around you, literally, slow and steady and predatorial, as he awaits your response. Your eyes narrow and you puff your chest—you’ll be damned before letting a fucking man make you feel bad about yourself. (And, whether you cry about it later in the privacy of your own apartment is irrelevant. Irrelevant!)
“No, it’s your Mom,” which, isn’t a great argument, but hopefully his mom is like…relatively walker shaped, or something.
It doesn’t seem like it from his snort, and he crosses his arms across his chest, making his forearms flex in a way you definitely don’t care for.
“Good one, Dumbass.”
“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, hoping to kill the conversation right then and there—but he doesn’t let it die. Why doesn’t he let it die?
It’s not that he has anything nice to say.
“Fuckin’, lock your knees—it hurts to watch ‘em wobble.”
“My knees are just fine,” you huff. Honestly, it sounds like something that would help—all the more reason for you not to do it. You will subject Hot Stuff to your wobbly knees out of pure fucking spite.
You see Mina with her back resting against the half-wall on the opposite side, giving you a sly smile while chattering on the phone. You wonder if she was on her way over here before Hot Stuff decided to harass you. You have the opportunity to plead for help with your eyes, but you don’t. She wiggles her eyebrows. You’re never gonna live this down.
But then, there’s a well-delivered (and soft) kick to the back of your knee, making it buckle, and you have to hoist yourself back up with very limited upper body strength while keeping a solid scowl on the man before you.
“What the fuck was that for?”
“To show that you suck,” and he huffs a laugh when your frown deepens. Placing a hand over his heart with a cocky twitch of his head, he says, “I’m tryna fuckin’ help, y’know.”
“Well. If this isn’t the shittiest help I ever received,” you mutter, locking your knees anyways. He seems to notice with a self-satisfied and lopsided grin.
“Now. Stop walkin’ and push,” he insists, and you listen, albeit resentfully. “And fuckin’ quit with the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
He forgoes his circles in favor of skating backwards, looking over his shoulder every now and then. You straighten your back, slightly, and know you pass Mina because you hear her snicker. You have half a mind to redirect your angry eyes to her.
Your shuffling issue, on the other hand, isn’t as easy of a fix—you’re still terrified of falling despite white-knuckling the walker, but you find that if you straighten your back and relax (as much as you can—which isn’t much), it’s a little easier. As you seemingly get the hang of it, his smile melts from something cocky to something proud, and you struggle understand why that look would be coming from a stranger.
“There you go, it’s like you don’t even need that fuck ass thing,” he says, and your eyes go for a loop again. Your head hurts, actually, from the amount that you’ve rolled them in the past ten minutes.
“Nope, still need it. You’re not that good of a teacher,” which is a lie, because technically, now you understand the principals of skating—even if you’re never going to use them. Because, you’re never coming back to the only skating rink in your small town, because, God forbid he shows up.
Instead of being put off by your sass and promptly leaving (aka, your intention), he just snorts.
“Anyone say you got a big fuckin’ mouth?”
“Anyone say you got a big fucking ego,” you quip with a roll of your neck, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Whether this man actually has an ego or not is beyond you—but, he is cocky, and that’s like…a synonym for stupid people.
With a shrug of his shoulders and a smile hidden poorly behind a frown, like you won this round of insults, “Got me there, Princess.”
And, well. If he asked for your landline after this, and you gave it to him, that’s your own fucking prerogative.
SPELLBOUND, SIOUXSIE AND THE BANSHEES — HITOSHI SHINSŌ.
You met Hitoshi at his job at the record store, a few months ago.
It all started because he liked your taste in music, and you hated his. Now, you visit on his breaks—when you don’t have work yourself—to engage in the newfound tradition of sharing sounds. You two are huddled in a corner, he points to the boombox with a fork.
“See? ‘S whimsical as shit.”
At least, it’s cold today. He wears both a leather jacket and a sweater due to the faulty heater, thankfully putting those sinful arms away. Hitoshi’s not necessarily muscular, but he is squishy and well-built. And, you would like to take a bite. You viciously stuff that thought in a box, along with all the others, and move Hitoshi back into his corner, labeled as ‘friend.’ A super hot, grungy, only-person-you-can-bond-over-music-with friend. Even if your taste is questionable.
“That’s not whimsy, that’s just a guitar—”
“Twelve string guitar,” he interrupts with a wiggle of bushy eyebrows, but you keep going.
“—and some hooting and hollering.” You finish with a huff and cross your arms. In all honesty, the song isn’t that bad, just not something you would listen to in your free time. But, your relationship is built off the precedent that he plays what he likes, and you rip it to shreds. You know you’re dragging it, he knows you’re dragging it, but his jaw drops regardless.
“You will take that back about Siouxsie Sioux right now.”
“Sues-a-what,” you deadpan, and he watches you reach over his crossed legs to grab a fry from his food carton with a scoff.
“Siouxsie Sioux, one,” he says the name slower, like that helps at all, “and two—get your filthy fingers off my fries, you said you weren’t hungry.”
He smacks at your fingers, catching you on the way to get another french fry. With a pout, you just use your other hand instead, and he’s choking on air.
“You actually suck.”
You shrug, taking a bite. That’s why he got extra fries this time. “I think that one band you showed me the other week was a lot more…whimsical, as you put it. What was their name? The Strangers?”
“The Stranglers,” he corrects with a snort, and moves the carton between the two of you before resting back on his hands. “I can’t tell whether your memory is shit or amazing.”
“Right! Like your music taste!”
That earns you a shove in the head, but you take it in stride with a giggle.
“Awh c’mon! I get it, I’m lonely!”
You tilt your head back to see Hitoshi’s co-worker, Tetsutestu, bristling at the counter. You don’t know him that well, but he’s always here, even if he’s not working. So, you suppose you know him enough.
Your face goes hot, and Hitoshi grumbles under his breath, sitting up to fiddle with the portable stereo. “Next time, you’re coming to my place for this shit—I’m getting tired of his commentary.”
“Ooh,” you wiggle your eyebrows and shoulders, suppressing a giggle when he realizes what he just said and groans a warning ‘no.’ You don’t listen. “Your place, huh? Ready to take things to the next step?”
“No,” he repeats, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I forgot you’re just as bad.”
One more song, and it’s time for him to get back to work. You know because there’s a clock behind your head, and he keeps glancing over you to check it. Hitoshi walks you to the street, like always, the bell to front door dinging on your way out. Honestly—it’s colder inside than it is out here.
“Well,” you say with a clap, spinning on your heel to face him. You clear your voice to make it as deep as possible. “That was informative, as always.”
Lilac eyes narrow, and Hitoshi leans against the corner between the sunken door and window display. He looks stunning, all glass skin and eyebags and intermittent moles, but that’s neither here nor there.“Are you mocking me?”
It’s less of a question and more of an observation. Your back stiffens when you get caught in the act, like you didn’t expect to.
“…No?”
He looks at you like he knows, but grunts anyways, leather jacket squeaking as he attempts to cross his arms past the fabric. His shoulders bunch like he’s holding himself, easily passed off a defense from frigid temperatures. Now—you might not have known him long, but despite the nonchalance in his voice, his body language gives him away every time. He wants to say something.
“What?” you ask, mimicking his position by leaning your whole shoulder against the display. Hitoshi sighs.
“They’re gonna make me clean that, y’know,” he grunts with an upchuck of his head, but you shrug. He bites the inside of his cheek, and a lone freckle bends under the pressure.
“What?” You groan, because not only is he making you wait in the cold, but, “You’re stressing me out, Dude.”
Hitoshi blows his lips and rolls his eyes. The spare hairs in his eyebrows disappear when they crease, like whatever he’s about to say is going to be painful.
“I—uh—um,” he swallows, straightens. “Would you like to go on a date sometime?”
Oh. Oh.
Maybe that is both here and there.
“Um!” Now it’s time for you to stiffen, as your shoulder leaves the display that you’re suddenly very conscious of smudging. Whether your voice comes out too shrill or too breathless is beyond you. Probably some embarrassing combination of both.
“Oh, uh, it’s cool if you don’t wan—”
“No, I want!” You clear your throat, and try again. “No, um, a date—a date sounds good.”
Hitoshi snorts, shoulders sinking in relief. He nods, slow but enough times that you think they might be nerves. Which makes you feel a little better about the butterflies giving birth to more butterflies in your stomach.
“Cool, sick. Great. Uh, when are you free?”
You giggle and sway a bit, before catching yourself in the act and stomping a foot to solidify yourself. Lock in, Lady. “How’s Saturday?”
It’s Thursday.
He smiles—a small, soft, yet brilliant smile that you only get once every few moons, and you try to rearrange your brain into the shape it in hopes that you can keep it forever.
“Saturday sounds good.”
I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW, TIFFANY — DENKI KAMINARI.
You get home with a huff.
You haven’t been back for a few years—not since college started, at least. Now, you’re a junior with a job and your own apartment, and figure you should probably come home before your parents lose their minds.
Home is aggressively the same, the point that it borders on surreal—it’s the kind of deja vu you know you’ve dreamed before, or walking past a celebrity you’ve only seen through a screen. The willow tree at the end of the cul-de-sac looks a little bigger, flanked by two two-story suburban houses just like your own, but it could’ve shrunken in your imagination. The living room, kitchen, your bedroom are all the same save for shifting dust. Your parents are painfully reliable, and you’re quickly missing the constant mutations of the city.
Your room is just how you left it—and you mean just, including the unmade bed and sweatshirt on the desk—frozen in time and waiting for your return in light dust. You don’t even bother with the lights, the window above your bed providing more than enough moonlight for you to function, as you shrug your jacket off and drop it on top the old sweatshirt.
Luckily, you like to travel in pajamas, especially for nights like this, when you take a red-eye flight and don’t have much energy to do anything but crawl into bed and sleep. Tomorrow, yes, you will be bothered by the fact that you slept in your plane funk, but that’s tomorrow—not tonight. Getting ready for bed was easy—you blindly unclasp your bra before taking it off under your oversized shirt, and step out of your sweatpants, and—viola. Ready for bed in under a minute.
You’re dropping face first into the mattress when you hear a crackle.
“Boo, Bitch!”
The sound is loud—too loud—and it has you jumping, nearly tumbling out of your twin sized bed. It takes a moment before you realize you know that crackle, and that voice.
You blindly palm under your bed, grimacing when your hand comes back successful, but covered in dust. Ew.
Blowing age away from the yellow walkie-talkie makes you cough. You prop your knees on your mattress to peer through the window, and into the matching one across the fence.
“No fucking way,” you chuckle into the walkie, crawling closer to get a better look out the window. A familiar moon lamp illuminates the somewhat parallel room in soft yellow hues, partially blocked by an unfamiliar body with a familiar electric grin. “Denki?”
“Oh, thank God, that was actually you,” his voice crackles through the equipment just like it used to. “I was worried you were your mom for a sec and, um, actually considered moving to Alaska.”
He heaves his bedroom window open (you wonder if it’s still broken) and shoves his upper body out and through, shoulders pressing into the sides, filling it out more since the last time you saw him. The streetlamp between your houses light the right side of his face.
“Still sticking your head out the window like a fucking dog, I see.”
“Hey! Screw you!” You watch his chest puff under his striped shirt as he says it. “Lift your window. Wanna see you.”
With a sigh and roll of your eyes, but listen. Your window shucks with a squeal, and you cough, waving dust from the air. When’s the last time anyone opened this?
“Happy, Loser?”
“Very,” he nods, smiling even wider. Then, his eyes narrow, like he’s trying to get a better look at you in the dark. “You look weird.”
“Ever hear about getting older?” You hate how easy all of this is to fall back into, like you’re ten again and he just moved in, like you haven’t been gone for the past two and a half years.
“You look weird too, fat ass bitch.”
Denki gawks at your audacity, before pointing at you across the lawn. “Uh-uh, just because I’m not smaller than you anymore does not make me fat, you take that back.”
You snort—honestly, unable to imagine a Denki that isn’t smaller than you. Even if he’s taking up the entire window frame. “Please. You wish.”
“Y’know what? No,” He shoos at you through the window before pulling his body back inside. His finger seems to stay on the trigger, though, and you can hear a thump and a tiny ‘ow’ before he says, “I’m coming over there. I did not spend all that time—“
There’s a thud.
“—in the gym—”
Another thud. Is he putting on his shoes?
“—for you to keep getting a way with that shit. One sec.”
The line goes dead.
You sigh and lean your chin against the windowsill so you can see the sidewalk in front of Denki’s house, so you don’t have to get up preemptively. He hasn’t changed one bit, save for age, but how much could age really change him? He’s like Peter Pan, and the concept of Denki Kaminari growing up doesn’t exist. Yes, he’s been in the gym, allegedly, but you also expect the allure of exercise to lose it’s shine for him after a few weeks.
So, who the hell is that stepping outside his house?
You’re being dramatic. You know it’s Denki from the silhouette and the way it shifts. He’s got a backpack slung tight over his shoulder as he takes the minuteless trip to your house. Except, the moment he passes the fence he hangs a right into your yard, heading straight for your bedroom. Which…makes sense. Since he’d moved in, your evenings used to consist of him harassing you over a walkie he built, and coming over to harass you in person. Except, no boy was allowed in the house past nine o’clock, so he’d sneak through your window.
Why he’s still insisting on it is beyond you.
A pebble flies through the window and nearly clips you in the face, pulling you back to reality.
“Dude!” You hiss through grit teeth, but Denki’s just standing under your window with a bright ass smile.
Then, he’s climbing the small awning that leads to your front porch. It looks more difficult than it was before, but you don’t know whether that’s because he’s out of practice, or too old for this. He digs his right foot into the missing brick in the wall, which you’re surprised hasn’t been fixed yet, and in swinging a solid hand onto your windowsill, wiggles with a lift until his body is halfway through.
“Help me up,” he strains, and you take his other hand and pull. It’s not as easy as it used to be—you have to brace both your feet flat on the wall and use all your body weight and then some. His body tumbles through in one swift movement, sending him tumbling over you and onto the floor with a loud thud.
“Shut up,” you hiss as all the teenage anxieties of sneaking someone in returning like they never left. Denki’s beaming, splayed across your floor, and chest heaving like he ran a marathon. “You’re gonna wake my parents up, Idiot. Why didn’t you just use the front door like a normal person?”
“For old times sake,” he giggles breathlessly, brushing down the front of his white t-shirt that now has a dirt smudge across the chest. You take him in after missing all these years—the baby fat in his cheeks is gone, along with his self-proclaimed twink status. He’s big enough that you probably can’t put him in a headlock anymore without getting put in one yourself, which leads to a whole host of complicating emotions.
Before you have the time to work through any of it, he stumbles to his feet only to come crashing into your chest. Your back tumbles into the mattress as he tugs you into a soul-crushing hug. A soul-crushing hug that has your arms pinned at your sides, so all you can really do to return the favor is twitch your wrists and pat at his elbows.
“Missed you,” he huffs into the fabric of your shirt, nuzzling his nose in your ribs. “Mm. You smell the same.”
“Get—” you manage to wriggle an arm free and start slapping at his head, “Get off of me.”
You kick him away and he lets you with a smile. You feel your face going hot in a way that it never did before, so you soothe yourself with a simple explanation—we’re not kids anymore.
Then, you’re suddenly very conscious about the fact that you don’t have pants on—maybe it’s the canary eyes that flicker between your legs before looking at you like nothing happened—and you tug at the bottom of the oversized shirt, before giving up and placing the comforter over your legs.
“Oh!” His eyes widen with a snap, “I forgot—I got somethin’ for ya.”
“Oh God,” you groan. Half the time, it’s something expired or with an open wire.
Digging into his bag, he pulls out two new walkies, still yellow, but less boxy than the last. He takes a seat beside you on the mattress, the bed bouncing under his little jump.
“Here ya go.”
He drops the electronic in your lap. It’s nothing like the last one—which, frankly, is five years old and falling apart. It’s smooth with no tape and welded tight, making you wonder what kind of electric chaos is happening on the inside.
“Dude, this is crazy…” you weigh it in your hands in awe. Then, Denki presses the button on his, and there’s a quiet blip before—
“Testing, Testing.”
You want to shove him in the shoulder for being a dork, but you’re too amazing at the lack of static that accompanies his voice. You glare at him.
“And yet, you refuse to take this shit seriously.”
Denki scoffs, resting his back against the wall.
“I like my English Major very much, thank you.”
You frown. “English? What happened to—“
“Pharmaceuticals?” He snorts, rolling his eyes with a shrug, and lifting a knee to rest his elbow on it. “Got bored.“
“Yeah, because you should be doing this shit,” you huff, waving the walkie in his face. A look that’s too melancholic for Denki Kaminari cross his face, but it’s gone just as fast as it arrived.
“‘Kay well, I didn’t come over for you to rip my major to shreds,” he snorts, turning his body to you with a new look of determination. “I came over here to prove a point.”
“Which is…” you frown, but he doesn’t give you much time to wonder. His hands find your wrists, and he pins you to the bed—head to the pillow and back to the mattress.
“Bigger than you,” he beams from above. You huff, and flex your arm in a feeble attempt to break free, but it doesn’t work. You try again, a little harder, with both arms this time. Nothing.
“Whatever.”
“C’mon, try,” he whines, and you are, but he doesn’t have to be such a pain about it. Eventually, you give up with a huff.
“Screw you.”
Denki lets out a satisfied hum, “I mean, if you ask nicely.”
Your breath hitches, and you know he knows by the way his smile slips further. Like he enjoys watching you writhe beneath him like the pervert he is. The hand pinned above your head curls into a fist.
“I’m going to hit you so hard once you let me go.”
“Try me,” he says without hesitation, eyebrows lifting as his face falls into something serious. “‘M not letting you leave again.”
SHE’S A BAD MAMA JAMA, CARL CARLTON — EIJIRŌ KIRISHIMA.
“What! No, no, no, no no no—c’mon!”
This is not how first dates are supposed to go. No, he’s supposed to woo you or something, with flowers and unmatched gaming skills and a plushie he won from the claw machine. The game is over, and you giggle as he collapses across the control panel in defeat. Eijirō’s not even that good at video games—he’s not Kat—but Street Fighter was one he considers himself pretty decent at. Considered, with the way you wiped the floor with him.
“No, don’t feel bad,” you say, rubbing his back in smooth circles. Eijirō just groans. “I’m in here like, every day.”
And yes, while that does make him feel a little better, the memory of absolute and utter defeat lives right beneath it. His best friend should not be able to whoop his ass like this. Not today.
“I thought I had that one,” he whines into grimy plastic, before lifting his head with a sigh. You’re still beaming, and put together the broken pieces of his heart along with it.
“We can try again?” You offer, but he seriously thinks you might just fake it and let him win. He groans again.
“I don’t wanna go again.”
“Okay, okay,” your hand returns to give him a comforting pat, before you’re standing off the stool with a sigh. You push hips forward to crack your back, and Eijirō can’t help but think—hips.
He takes a long (and loud) sip of his cherry slurpee to remind himself where he is. The arcade, with you, in public. Right. The brain freeze helps.
“What’s next?”
“Um…” Eijirō’s eyes scan the neon facility as he absentmindedly nibbles on a straw. It’s relatively new—so is the mall it sits in—and hasn’t been too tainted by sticky prepubescent hands and lazy litter just yet. “The Photo Booth? Apparently, they come in color, now.”
He wiggles his eyebrows like it’s something suggestive, and you snort. “C’mon, then.”
He guides you through machinery with his hand neatly tucked in yours. Which was something he had to work himself up for, if he’s being completely honest, and hopes that they aren’t as clammy as he feels. And, like—he’s wanted to kiss you all day, but he resists, because that’s the manly thing to do. No kisses on first dates.
It’s a tight fit—tight enough that he wonders if the booth is build for kids, to which he says, fuck that—and the seat is uncomfortably cold and cuts into his thighs. By the time you squeeze in, his shoulder is pressed flush to the wall, but he makes it work.
“Ready?”
And, he must sound nervous, because you just give him an endearing smile that was always reserved for him, always makes his chest tight in his favorite way. You lean forward, sliding a coin into the slot. The booth whirrs to life.
The first photo it takes surprises both of you—it makes you jump and puts spots in his eyes. Eijirō quickly prepares for the second one, placing two fingers behind your head until they look like bunny ears. Hopefully.
Click!
“Holy shit, that flash,” you huff a laugh, blinking through the blindness, and Eijirō can’t help but agree. You look up at him with a smile, and he returns it, tenfold.
Click!
“Yeah, I know. Let’s—just don’t look at it.”
He cradles your cheeks in both his hands, arm bent awkward where it presses against the wall. He doesn’t realize the position he’s got you in until he has it, and his eyes flicker to your lips.
Click!
He watches you lick your own, and he swallows a whimper, because that should be him.
Click!
Eijiro should let go. He should let go, and say sorry, and reposition himself for the next picture before you run out of film. But, he struggles and fails. He should say something. At least.
“You…”
Click!
“Um, would it be okay—like, hypothetically, if, um—”
You kiss him, instead.
Click!
And, Eijirō—Eijirō melts.
Because, he’s been wanting to do this for so long—too long, actually, since he met you at one of Denki’s parties six years ago—but the moment your lips pillow against his, he forgets exactly how long, as he braces a hand on the wall behind you and melts. You taste like artificial cherry and the love of his life, and Eijirō wants more, like, yesterday.
His other hand comes to cradle your waist as he runs his tongue along the seam of your lips. You let him in with a shudder, collapsing, and cupping his chin. Eijiro can’t breathe, doesn’t want to breathe, but you’re pulling away with a huff. He chases your lips anyway.
“C’mon Baby,” he whines, because you’ve opened his eyes—shown him that, it is, in fact, very gentlemanly to kiss your new girlfriend, and actually, he should be able to kiss you whenever you wants, wherever you want, because, that’s the manly thing to do, right? “One more.”
“Eiji,” you scold, and slap his shoulder, but it’s light and well-meaning, “No.”
“C’mon,” and, he knows he looks pathetic, but realizes he doesn’t really care. (He will—in about few hours, once it’s all over. He’ll scream, and kick his legs, and slam his head into his John Cena body pillow, and ask himself why, why did he do that.) All he cares for is your lips on his, and that is exactly where they aren’t right now. “The pictures won’t even be out for another few minutes.”
You roll your eyes, just like you did when you were just friends—but he likes it more, now. It makes him horny, now.
And, you cave for him, like you did when you were just friends. Eijirō melts into a puddle.
“Huh. They take multiple sets. That’s new.”
Eijiro pulls the photos strips from their loading dock. There are three strips. One that’s just him cheesing and you looking like an absolute model, one that‘s just you two staring at each other, and one where—
Oh. Oh, that’s—
Eijirō coughs, folds it in half, and pockets it before you can notice.
That one is his.
INTO THE GROOVE, MADONNA— HANTA SERO.
“Hanta, you asshole, stop moving.”
“I’m trying,” he wheezes through grit teeth. The projector switches from bright yellows and oranges to a blue, and his dick slides deliciously between your thighs. Your hand nearly slams into the trunk bed, muted by blankets and pillows.
A drive-in movie was such a bad idea.
In hindsight, you want to wack yourself for recommending this as a date—it’s still early into you and Hanta’s relationship, at the point where he can’t keep his hands off you, refuses to, actually, like you can up and disappear tomorrow. You hate to admit that you’re not much better, but—
“Hanta, I swear to God—”
“’M sorry Babe, lemme just—”
He adjusts behind you, you’re not exactly sure how, but you are sure that he shifts deeper, and it has you mewling. You try to remember how you got here in the first place.
‘C’mon, half these people are fucking, anyways—we can’t just kiss a little?’
Right.
“We are in public,” you hiss over your shoulder through the pleasure. “Chill out. We said no moving!”
Hanta sighs, settling his face into the crook of your neck. He, in fact, does not chill out.
“No, we said no thrusting,” he huffs, and you shiver, “No one said anything about grinding.”
His movements are slow and too innocuous to get caught, and you’re protected by the walls of the truck bed, but your mouth is not. His hand finds your hip to keep you pinned in place, pinned against the truck bed. You’ve decided that you hate this man.
And then, the idiot tries to distract you—like you don’t know what he’s doing, what he’s plotting.
“Wait, so I don’t get it,” he says, like his hips aren’t still moving in the exact way you told him not to. His head lifts from your neck to look at the screen, and you hate to say you miss it. “It’s Back to the Future because he’s going back to the future…that’s like…”
“That’s the point,” you whisper, but you’re too busy trying to figure out how to strangle this man but keep his dick after this is all over.
“Oh, no Dude, that’s your mom,” he drags a free hand over his face, the hand that isn’t holding your hips in place. You cross your arms with a huff, jostling your upper body, and you know Hanta notices when he slides a big hand up your side. “What’s wrong, Babe?”
“Don’t talk to me,” you glare into the grooves of the side panel. It’s petulant and you only partially mean it, and he knows that, if the chuckle into your shoulder is any indication.
“But you feel so good,” he pouts half-heartedly. His hand is clammy on your wrist as he guides your it between your legs. He nearly pulls all the way out, before sliding back in slow, making sure you can feel every inch of him, and dons that his new pace. His cock brushes past your guided hand and into your pussy, the rubber band of the condom catching beneath your fingers with every slow thrust. With his breath heavy and voice low in your ear, he says, “See?”
You hold onto that last string of sanity for dear life, but watch it fray by the second. With sniffle, you definitely do not shift your hips back a little bit, and if you do, it’s because you’re uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t know. My dick isn’t in me.”
Hanta moans, lifting his upper body propped on a forearm. “We gotta—someone’s gotta make, like, a mental link tech thing, I dunno. Y’gotta feel yourself, Babe. ’S fuckin’ incredible.”
You ignore him. You ignore him, because he doesn’t get the satisfaction of not being ignored!
It’s a struggle, but all he gets is a few quiet huffs in response. And, you think—success. You have succeeded in putting your stupid boyfriend in his place, your stupid boyfriend who you will be rescinding your sleepover offer from, because he doesn’t deserve it. No, you will drive back in silence, only breaking it to insist he drop you at yours instead of going straight to his. Karma’s a bitch.
“Babe,” he drags, and his chest shifts against your back to mumble in your ear, casual but heavy with something dark, something disbelieving, “Are you ignoring me?”
You clear your throat, but don’t give him more than that. You’ve been staring into the side panel so hard that you’re surprised they haven’t bore holes through the plastic yet. Hanta sighs, placing a chaste kiss to your neck, before a hand dives between your thighs to pinch your clit. The only reason you don’t yelp is because your lips are already pressed shut.
You reach around to slap him on the side, in the hips, and hiss, “I’m busy trying to figure out how I’m going to kill you after this!”
“But Babe,” Hanta whines (uselessly) while the hand between your thighs (less uselessly) starts rubbing steady circles into your clit. “You’re gonna be too fucked out to kill me.”
It comes out as a pout, like it’s oh so tragic that you won’t have the energy to follow through on your threat, and it’s annoying. It’s annoying, and puts bubbles in your blood, and melts your brain. The thread frays a little more.
“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, because you can’t say ‘I’m going to kill you,’ that warning has already been debunked. “I hate you so much.”
“Cute,” Hanta coos before leaving a trail of kisses up your neck. “Embarrassed?”
“Or,” then, he traces those kisses with a lick of a flat tongue—you suppress a whine, “Gonna cum?”
You sniff, adjusting your hips. “No.”
The question is—could you get away with cumming on his cock without him noticing? Probably not, you have a bad habit of trying to push him out every time. This thought process quickly disintegrates into nothing—into something else, when you feel his hips still.
“W-Wait,” you whimper (not your best moment) and rock your hips back, but he holds them in place with sturdy hands. The space between you and the precipice—the one that he somehow, always easily gets you to—widens, and the threads reattach themselves, laced red with rage. “Hanta, what the fuck—”
“Cockwarming Babe, remember?” The hand on your hip taps you twice, and you want to bash your head into the truck bed. You can hear his smile in the way he talks. “Can’t be cumming in public, that’s just wrong.”
You’re going to strangle him. You’re going to get a mold of his dick in his sleep, and then strangle him.
✩┊ PART 2 (and final) of I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor - KiriBaku x reader event for 1K!
synopsis: just a girl who accidentally became friends with the bouncers at her favorite club, who just so happen to be two hot best friends!!
contents: 18+ MDNI!!! bouncer!Katsuki Bakugou x partygirl!fem!reader x bouncer!Eijirou Kirishima, there's no time for plot so it's just porn, if you guys think bkg is going to have any control here you're in the wrong place, but everyone is a bit of a switch? idk, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected piv (don't recommend), spit, anal fingering, anal, double penetration, creampies, multiple orgasms wc. 3.4K
you crossed a line the day you hung out with eijirou and katsuki. the day they stopped being the two hot bouncers you messed around with. yes, the three of you texted on the groupcaht often, even when it wasn’t club related, but that was different.
why? because there’s a big difference between sending each other brainrot memes and planning a threesome. though you don’t really plan a threesome, do you? it’s just something that kinda happens after you go out with two best friends a few times, and one moment you’re at the club they work at giving them fuck-me eyes, the next you’re in the backseat of katsuki’s car making out with eijirou.
“oi, cut it out!” the blond barks from the front, shooting you a scowl over the rearview mirror. “that’s leather, and if you do something it’ll—”
“it’ll - mhhm - what, kats?” eijirou teases, a large hand still groping your ass over the sorry excuse of fabric you call a dress when he breaks the kiss. smirking when you chase after the loss of contact. “it just sounds like you’re jealous to me.”
“big boy bakugou is mad he can’t party with us!” you quip, a heady giggle following the tease. “don’t worry baby, there’s enough of me for both of you,” you add, reaching over to drag a finger over the bulging muscle of katsuki’s bicep, hand tightly wrapped on the gearshift. his only reply was a scoff.
“don’t worry ‘bout him,” eijirou coos, grabbing your jaw to shift your attention back to him. “you said it, he’s a big boy. he’ll live,” he cuts off your laugh with another kiss, drinking in your moan. your thigh is slung over his, and we can feel your growing warmer.
“better go faster,” the redhead warns his friend. “i don’t know how much we’ve got left before she turns into a little beast.”
and go faster he did.
⋇⋆✦⋆⋇
you kiss katsuki in the elevator. it’s different from eijirou. the blond is clumsier, all smacking lips and harsh paws at your body, but you figured he just grew impatient after driving the whole way from the club blue-balled. he pins you against the wall of the hallway, your hands already dipping down his chest, high on the fervor of his kiss.
“i know one of your biggest dreams is spending a night in jail, but let’s focus on ticking off that threesome box first, eh?” eijirou playfully calls out, waiting on the doorway to his and katsuki’s shared apartment, leaning with his elbow against the dark wooden frame. you pull away with a giggle, not noticing the utterly awestruck expression on the blond’s face. “you’re right, you’re right.”
you lead katsuki down the hall, a finger hooked inside his belt, and for once in his life he doesn’t dare to protest. you get to give the living room a quick look, from the cream-colored woods to the dark, sleek furniture, clashing with the flashy posters hanging next to the tv. it’s a perfect balance.
once inside, eijirou is quick to snatch you from his friend to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth with an impatience that already has you clenching around nothing.
he smiles when he feels your hands pawing at his sculpted chest. “needy girl,” eijirou purrs against your lips. “need your big boys to fill you up, hm? yes, you do…” from over your shoulder, he beckons katsuki closer with a nod of his head. “c’mon don’t just stand there".
the blond stalks over slowly, thankful your back is turned to him so you can’t see just how much of a mess he is, mustering up all the confidence he has (and the countless stupid lessons eijirou gave him that for some fucking reason he actually listened to) to place his hands on your waist.
you ease into his touch immediately, one arm snaking around eijirou’s neck, the other around katsuki’s. “much better,” you grin, kissing eijirou again. his friend can only watch, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as he watches the two of you, his cock stirring awake once more.
and he curses when you wiggle your ass right against his front, katsuki’s head dipping to your shoulder, where he leaves a few tentative kisses. pride sparks in his chest when you shiver, the redhead greedily swallowing the moan that spills from your lips.
“turn around f’me now, can’t let kats high and dry like this,” eijirou pulls back, and you obediently follow his hands’ guidance, finding yourself face to face with a pair of ruby eyes. “hey,” you chirp, fingers carding through golden gelled hair.
katsuki doesn’t even have the time to answer before your lips are locking with his, a gasp getting caught in his lungs when he can taste something that’s just so eijirou on you. it shouldn’t make him this excited, desire pooling in his gut at your sweetness on his tongue. the redhead gets sidetracked for a minute, watching the blond’s confidence grow, hand trailing all the way down to your ass.
he smirks, going back to his original plan of falling to his knees with a light thud against the carpeted floor neither of you seem to hear. but you sure do feel eijirou gently parting your thighs and bunch up your dress, katsuki holding the fabric up for him like he knew.
“eiji,” you huff. “what are you— oh, fuck!”
there’s no time for you to get used to it, your soppy cunt gushing into eijirou’s open-mouthed french kiss. “mmh, fucking sweet,” he moans, already pussydrunk. “kats, spread her— mmhh open f’me?”
katsuki didn’t really understand what he meant until the redhead grabbed his hand and put it under your asscheek, the other quickly joining and pulling lightly at the plushy flesh. “oh god!” you mewl, arching into the blond’s chest, his face dipping next to your ear. “you like it?” he rasps, biting right below your ear, down to the point where neck meets shoulder.
you let your forehead fall to his chest, nodding frantically. your head’s a mess, eijirou’s tongue tracing maddening circles around your clit before dipping in and out of your hole, wrenching the most sinful squelches. “eiji…eiji, fuck, right there—” you plea, bunching katsuki’s shirt in your fists to hold yourself up.
“d’you hear that, eiji?” the blond mocks you with sudden confidence, guiding your pliable body back and forth on his friend’s mouth. “oh my god,” you gasp, eijirou’s flat tongue pressing over your slit just right. “oh my god, ‘m gonna—” and then you’re shaking, each moan and slurred cry muffled by katsuki’s bruising kiss. their hands are everywhere, holding you up, leaving marks on every inch of skin they can reach.
you’re not sure which one of them carried you to bed after that, you just know you’re laying on a soft mattress, in a room that’s so painfully clear it belongs to katsuki from the lack of personality. the boys’ clothes - along with your own - were scattered in a sinful trail down the hallway, and your mouth is quite literally watering from the sight before you.
they’re all sculpted muscles and chiselled abs, which weren’t difficult to predict from the usual skin-tight, all black outfits they usually wear, but this is on a whole different level. “like what you see?” eijirou teases, flashing you a wide grin that you mirror. “oh, i do,” you purr, eyes jumping between the two friends. and their other sizes weren’t disappointing either— where katsuki’s was longer, eijirou made up with girth.
“what are you guys waiting for?” you held yourself up on your elbows, butterflies flapping erratically in your stomach once they stalk towards the bed. “i want you—” you point your finger at katsuki. “—here,” you tap your parted lips.
“oh, man,” eijirou whines, but he bites back any complaint when you let your knees fall to the mattress, your pussy, still glistening with your slick and his spit, staring right back at him. he almost jumps on the bed.
“fucking watch it,” katsuki barks, his glaring crimson gaze softening when his eyes fall on you, smiling up at him so sweetly and expecting. he climbs on the bed then, careful not to step on anything with his knees. “so bossy,” you quip, looking up at him with big doe eyes.
he grunts, but it quickly turns into a hiss as your hand snakes up his thigh before wrapping firmly around his cock, head flushed in the prettiest dark pink. eijirou watches, stroking himself a few times before letting a fat wad of spit hit his shaft to make the glide smoother when he rubs between your puffy pussy lips. neither of them says it, but they both need to take a deep breath and focus on not cumming from barely being touched. you’re just so pretty, it’s fucking with their brain.
the moment your mouth opens katsuki is pushing inside, your pleased moan vibrating along his length. he throws his head back with a groan, planting a hand above the headboard for balance. for each inch you’re taking down your throat, eijirou is squeezing into your soppy hole, stretching you around his fat cock.
“sooo fucking tight and pretty, fuck…she’s sucking me in,” the redhead praises, thumb easily finding your clit again, still sensitive from before, just to feel your walls flutter around him. you mewl, squeezing your eyes shut and forcing yourself to breathe in through your nose, drool dripping from the corners of your mouth and onto the blond’s shaft.
there’s a collective symphony of the lewdest sounds once you find your rhythm. katsuki’s hands holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail to keep it out of your face, huffin’ n’ puffin’ above you as you stroke his dick, tounge circling his head to milk out every salty drop of precum.
eijirou’s fingers are digging into your hips hard enough to bruise, the neatly kept, red tufts of hair at his base rubbing against your slit, wrenching a whine out of you with each thrust. praises and curses overlap, sometimes fucking into you to match the pace of your head bobs.
you don’t know how long you’ve kept your eyes shut in bliss for, opening them with a jolt when you hear the unmistakable smacking of lips.
and they’re kissing.
eijirou is holding a fistful of blond hair tight, and the way katsuki bites into his friend’s bottom lip, dragging before their tongue fight against each other tells you this is definitely not the first time they’ve done this. you can only watch in awe, hand idly moving up and down katsuki’s dick in slow, lazy stroke, too distracted by what’s happening.
it’s only when eijirou feels you clench around him that he breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connecting him to his friend until it breaks. he smirks. “who told you to stop?” he reprimands halfheartedly, ramming into you with a punishing snap of his hips. “i was just asking kats here if he feeling good. is she making you feel good?”
he doesn’t let go of his hair, tipping his head back enough to see his adam’s apple bob when he nods, mumbling something unintelligible. “what’s that?” the redhead tugs again, then forcefully makes katsuki turn to you. “don’t have to tell me. tell her, tell her how good she’s making you feel. if her mouth is even half as good as this pussy is, it must be pretty fucking amazing.”
you’re stuffing yourself full of katsuki’s cock again, cheeks hollowing and taking him to the base. he’s flushed, abs twitching with every heaving breath. “fucking good…” he pants, the hand he has pressed against the wall balled up into a fist. “your mouth is so fucking good.”
eijirou chuckles, tapping three fingers flat against your clit, his other hand leaving the other’s hair to hold your leg down when you dare closing them around his waist. he looks over to katsuki. “you want to fuck her?” he hopes the question doesn’t come out too strained, masking the fact that he needs to pull out right fucking now or he’s going to cum.
the blond is a mess, your hands playing with his balls are giving him a hard time, damp golden strands glued to his forehead. he can only reply with a whimper, ruby eyes meeting eijirou’s with a pleading look, even though he knows he won’t make it easy for him. “use your words, like a good boy.”
“yes,” katsuki whines, gazing down at you. “please.”
eijirou pulls out, your hole immediately clenching at the loss as you break away from katsuki, leaving his cock throbbing with need. the redhead pats the side of your thigh in a silent command, and you immediately shuffle to the side. “get on top of kats now, alright?”
all it takes is a look for the blond to take position. “oh, he really is your dog, eiji,” you giggle, cupping his jaw and tugging him down for a sloppy kiss. “that’s so fucking hot.”
“i’m nobody’s fucking dog,” katsuki mumbles, his pout only growing deeper when both you and eijirou turn around and look at him. “whatever…”
you snort softly, throwing a leg over the blond’s lap, his hands immediately settling on your hips. your hand wraps around his shaft to line it up with your drooling hole. eijirou’s chest is pressed flush to your back, fingers finding your waist, slowly maneuvering you to sink down on katsuki’s cock. chin resting on your shoulder so you both can watch him fall apart the moment your pussy sucks in the first couple of inches.
then he’s pushing you down all at once, making the two of you moan in unison so loudly when you’re stuffed full. “f-fuck! fuck you, eiji! a little heads up?” you cry breathlessly, hands planted on the blond’s chest. “d-did i hurt you?” katsuki asks, his poor little self trying his best to keep a somewhat seriously worried face through the overwhelming bliss.
“you’re good, you’re good,” you shake your head reassuringly. “your friend is a bitch though,” you add, hearing a snicker coming from behind you. “focus on kats,” eijirou kisses the side of your throat. “you can call me a bitch later, if you want. it was kinda hot.
you roll your eyes, but it’s hard to ignore katsuki’s hips twitching under you, so you start moving your own up and down, slowly, getting used to his size. the stretch doesn’t sting like his friend’s, but with the new angle you swear you can feel him in your fucking lungs.
your breath gets caught in your throat when eijirou’s index finger slides between your asscheeks, slick with spit, circling your puckered entrance. “you’ve done stuff here before?” he rasps in your ear. you nod. “heh, ‘course you have, naughty girl…go lay down for me then.”
you kiss katsuki when you do, a hand in his hair while the other fists the navy blue sheets, bracing yourself. the blond strokes your back, almost reassuringly, as you ride him slowly, groaning loudly in your mouth when your walls clamp down on him. “f-fuck, eiji…” you’re crying out, stretched on two of his fat digits.
“you’re taking us so well,” eijirou coos. “just getting you ready ‘cause this is gonna be a biiiiig stretch,” he spits again, scissoring his fingers until he can fit a third one. “eijirou, she’s going to fucking cut my dick off…shit—” katsuki bites down on your shoulder. “my steak too juicy, my lobster too buttery,” the redhead mumbles. “i can’t wait to feel this tight little ass on me,” he hunches over to press a kiss to your butt before withdrawing his fingers. “buckle up now, both of you.”
“you better be gentle,” you sneer, looking over your shoulder. “or i am cutting your dick off, kirishima.” the only answer you get is a toothy, shit-eating grin.
tears well up in your eyes when eijirous starts easing in, but both boys are worshiping every inch of you that it transcends the painful sting. “oh my god…” katsuki breaks the brief silence. he can feel his friend’s cock sliding so close to him, and your pussy contracting around him is positively short-circuiting his brain.
“what’s up, kats? getting overwhelmed?” eijirou taunts from above, then squeezes your ass. “see that? how about we pick up the pace now?” you flash him a smile, gasping when he grabs a fistful of you hair to pull you up, back arching oh so pretty.
only once he’s sure he won’t hurt you does he start going rough, the double stimulation wrenching screams out of you that bounce off the walls of katsuki’s room. the blond has no clue what to do with himself, panting and gripping the bedsheets so tight he might rip them to shreds. he doesn’t hold an ounce of control over the situation, he can only watch your tits bounce over his face, the pace set by eijirou, who’s drilling into you hard enough he can hear his balls slap against your skin.
“i-i can’t…slow down…oh fuck, oh fuck—” and then he’s spilling inside you. but he’s not sure either of you have realized, because you’re milking him until he’s raw and sensitive and then more. “eiji…please, harder! wan’ you to go harder, fuck!”
katsuki is too fucked out to protest, whining as your pussy gushes his cum and your slick back on him in short sprays, coating his stomach. he might as well be high right now, and whatever it is…he’s fucking addicted. it’s eijirou who snaps him out of his trance. “kats, rub her clit,” he orders, sounding almost as delirious as he feels. “can tell this pretty is close. hm? aren’t you?”
you’re sobbing, hips moving frantically as you try to fuck back into both of them, chasing your own high. “yes! yes, pleasepleaseplease— katsuki, please!” you mewl when his thumb finds your puffy nub, drawing tight circles into it. he pushes himself up to catch one of your nipples between his lips, driving you right over the edge. your orgasm topples eijirou into his own, and katsuki is glad neither of you supposedly didn’t notice his first, because his second load is filling you to the brim.
then there’s silence. well, not really silence, the room filled with heavy breaths as all three of you try to find some semblance of lucidity. you’re moving in slow motion, the boys careful when they’re pulling out of you so you can collapse on the mattress, flanked by their hot bodies.
“that was insane,” you whisper, swallowing loudly the bit of saliva your dry mouth is still able to produce. “insane doesn’t even begin to explain it,” eijirou chuckles. “i’m gonna get some water.”
you turn to katsuki once his friend has left the room. “hey,” you nuzzle your nose into his shoulder. “are you alright?” he nods, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “i’m great,” he replies gruffly. “are you okay?” his fingers brush against the back of your hand.
“i’ll definitely be sore,” you sigh. “haven’t been so flexible in a looong while, y’know?” he chuckles, shaking his head.
eijirou reappears in the doorway, holding a water bottle. “hey, do you know that was katsuki’s first time? i say we ought to celebrate!” you whip to the side, eyes wide and brows brushing to your hairline. “no fucking way!” you cackle loudly.
“yes way!” the redhead laughs, approaching. katsuki pushes himself up on one elbow. “eijirou, what the fuck!” he waves his other hand angrily. eijirou completely ignores his friend to hand you the water, which you take gladly, sipping two big gulps.
“if we don’t count the times i sucked his dick,” he shrugs. you choke, coughing in disbelief.
“oi!” katsuki protests once more.
“yeah, and i sucked his.”
your forehead falls against katsuki’s side, laughing uncontrollably. he can’t do anything but sigh, snatching the bottle from your lips to quench his own thirst. “i hate you guys, by the way.”
eijirou plops down on the bed, the mattress dipping with an obnoxious squeak. “no you don’t,” he pushes katsuki playfully. “aren’t you already thinking about the next time we’re doing this?” you straighten up at that, smiling ear to ear.
“i know i am!”
┊┊a/n. the fact that this took so damn long to get done is a reminder for me to NEVER post an incomplete series ever again and to wait until i've written everything to put it up. ANYWHOO krbk kissing since pride month starts tomorrow lol
omg i need more wlw content with mina and fem reader so bad like im genuinely begging for it
mina.... mina.......
sfw
dating mina would literally be so fun. even though she's the domineering one in the relationship, she still loves pretty things. so you guys get to go to the mall and pick each other cute outfits <333
sometimes you guys do each other's hair!! she puts extra care into learning & knowing how to style your hair for you because she loves treating you like her little barbie doll
her fans LOVEEE you omfg. u guys do that couples challenge where you guys do each other's makeup & the comments eat it up
matching pjs? obviously. and trust & believe shes taking selfies to upload online.
she takes care of you a lot, makes sure you're good. bksq can get kinda wild in their adventures, but she always does check-ins with you to make sure you're having a fun time (you always are)
she smells like vanilla. except her lips! she wears berry scented lipgloss hehe
& she always layers her lotions and oils when she gets out of the shower with her expensive products. sometimes when you're feeling lazy & don't wanna moisturize post-shower, she'll lay you down and massage you instead
nsfw
oh boy.
this woman is an eater. like fr. don't get me wrong, she will never complain when you return the favor, but she needs to taste you or else she'll literally die
commanding, in a sweet way. "you're making me feel so good, baby! right there, don't stop, okay?"
when she sits on your face... oh my goodness. she takes exactly what she wants, using your hair to guide you right where you need to be.
loves when u grab her ass, and thank god, because have u seen it? she's an ass girl herself, too. when you wear those matching pj sets and they're shorts? she has a hand on you the entire night.
sex literally lasts for hours. she has wicked stamina. and her gf is so cute can u blame her! but when you guys start to get a little tired after the first hour, she brings the box of toys out of the closet. oh yea, you're not going anywhere.
you guys have a double ended toy that ends up with both of you in tears, whining and pawing at each other. that one usually only comes out when she's feeling excruciatingly needy.
yall know those "x can't handle allat" memes? that's me. i cannot handle it. i would die. in bliss.
you've been subjected to the sassy man epidemic. and the worst part is, you only add fuel to the fire. | headcanons feat. katsuki bakugou, ejirou kirishima, hanta sero, and denki kaminari. wc: 2.2k
masterlist
katsuki bakugou
If you thought Katsuki was a princess before, just wait until he finds out about skincare. He's already naturally blessed with good skin thanks to his quirk, but he just has to be the best at everything. It started with you forcing him to do facemasks with you, mostly for the fun of it. He would grumble at you, telling you he doesn't need it, but would reluctantly allow you to smooth the sheet mask over his face, carefully ensuring everything was in place.
You pay him no mind when he starts using your skincare products, replicating your skincare routine next to you at the bathroom counter. You are surprised, however, when his collection of products begins to grow beyond yours, and you finish your routine far before he does. You can't suppress your giggles when Katsuki pulls a fluffy headband from his drawer and puts it on, pushing his spiky hair back.
He shoots you a glare, which is accompanied by a scowl. "Fuck are you laughin' at?" He grumbles. "Just showered, I don't want this shit in my hair." You roll your eyes and reach up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind the headband.
"Nothin', Kats. You look very tough with your fluffy skincare headband." You smile up at him, standing on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.
You two get into a routine where every Friday night, without fail, you're both sitting on the couch in fluffy robes and clay face masks, holding glasses of wine. On these nights, Katsuki indulges in your favorite reality TV at the moment. Since starting this routine, you've finished The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, Love Island, and Love on the Spectrum.
When he has to go on missions away from home, Katsuki is far from happy. "My skin's gonna go to shit while I'm gone." He complains as he meticulously folds his clothing and shoves it into his travel bag.
"Katsuki, babe, you literally produce nitroglycerin. From your pores. Your skin is actually genetically perfect. You don't need all that extra stuff anyway, you're just a princess." You give his shoulder a patronizing pat as you walk past him out of the bedroom.
"Who're you callin' a princess, huh?! Look at your damn closet!" He shouts, outraged at your accusation.
You mumble to yourself as you stand in front of your bathroom counter, taking in Katsuki's (incredibly organized) array of skin products. You've created this monster, and now you're dealing with the consequences.
eijirou kirishima
Looking at Eijirou Kirishima, the only thing that gives him away as being high maintenance is his hair. Not the color of it, necessarily, at least not when it's freshly dyed. No, it's the spikes and the length. You don't have a clue how he maintained it before the two of you started dating. Kirishima wakes up two hours earlier than he actually needs to before work to ensure he has enough time to do his hair. It's grown longer since high school, falling just past his broad shoulders. He still does his signature spikes, meticulously parting out sections and applying hair gel, then blow-drying each spike to ensure it stays in place. Usually, this endeavour goes smoothly. But on the mornings when his hair just will not cooperate, Kirishima is gently shaking you awake, begging you to come into the bathroom and help him with his hair.
You indulge him, trudging into the bathroom and making him sit on the edge of the tub as you help him spike his hair. "Eiji, you know your hair doesn't have to be perfect, right?" You gripe. "It's always messed up when you get home anyway." Though you may complain, you don't truly have a problem helping him with his hair. It's better than the alternative: being woken up by his frustrated groans, muttered curses, and the sound of the shower running as he washes gel out of his hair. On these days, Kirishima pulls his thick, unruly hair back into a low bun, sitting at the nape of his neck. He leaves the house in an uncharacteristically dejected mood, despite you peppering his face with kisses and telling him how handsome he looks.
You know you contribute to the problem by helping him with his hair instead of making him just deal with it, but you're the exact same way. When you and Eijirou have a date night, you start getting ready three or four hours before so you have enough time to ensure your hair is sitting just right. When you curl your hair and end up unhappy with the look, you're dunking your head under the bathtub faucet in order to start over again. Both you and Eijirou know it shouldn't be a big deal, but you treat it as such anyway.
When Kirishima's roots start to grow out, the black bleeding into red, he begs you to help him touch them up. You two take a trip to the beauty supply store to pick up bleach and his signature cherry red dye. Eijirou heads to the exact spot where his shade is usually stored, and lets out a loud gasp when he finds the shelf slot empty. Before you know it, he is asking the store employees if they have any more in the back, if the other stores have any in stock, and when it will be back in stock. When the employees let him know the shade has been discontinued, he very reluctantly buys a shade that they tell him is very close. Kirishima spends the entire ride home lamenting over the loss of his signature color. "Babe, I've been using this exact dye since middle school! It'll never be the same! This is like…it's like losing a best friend!" He cries, punctuating his sentence with dramatic fake sniffles.
You comfort him, assuring him that nobody will even notice, and that a new shade might be a good brand opportunity. You even end up telling him that he should release his own line of Red Riot hair dye, which perks him up. Unsurprisingly, the new shade of red is nearly indistinguishable from the old shade, and Kirishima is raving about how much better he likes this dye. You suppose you can't give him shit for it; after all, you're exactly the same.
hanta sero
Everyone knows that Sero loves a girl with an attitude problem. Your attitude is exactly why you're surprised when Sero's attitude starts to shine through. He matches you beat for beat, even copying some of your go-to moves. It starts when you two are in bed. It's a hot summer night, and the humid air in the small bedroom of your apartment feels sticky and syrupy. Your AC can't keep up with the heat, and your poor fan is working overtime trying to circulate the sweltering air around the room. You and Sero are lying on top of your covers, stripped down to the barest of layers, trying to beat the heat. He's been whining for the past five minutes about wanting to cuddle with you, but you absolutely cannot deal with his hot, sweaty skin against yours. "Hanta, it is way too fucking hot for you to even be thinking about cuddling right now." You chide, feeling irritation prickling under your skin.
"Oh my god, it's because you hate me!" He snaps back, pressing a hand to his chest in faux shock. "You won't cuddle me because you hate me." You sit up in bed and look over at your boyfriend, your jaw dropping wide open.
"Are you seriously using my line on me?" You hiss, jabbing him in the ribs with a manicured finger.
"Ow! Rude. I sure am, sweets." He drawls out, fixing you with a lazy grin.
"Oh my god, you're actually so annoying." You grumble, grabbing your phone and your vape as you crawl over him and move off the bed. "I'm sleeping on the couch."
"Babeeee, you're so dramatic, come back!" Sero calls after you, mimicking the tone and cadence of your voice. He snickers when you tell him to go fuck himself, and gets up to follow you to the couch.
The next time Sero's attitude shows back up, you two are in the car. You're chewing him out for eating the last of your snacks and leaving the empty box in the cupboard. As soon as you mention food, Sero looks at you with wide eyes, his jaw dropped. "Are you trying to tell me that I'm fat?" He shrieks, looking back and forth between you and the road. "I can't believe you!"
"Hanta, what the actual fuck are you talking about?! Look at yourself, you're a stringbean." You respond, exasperated.
"Oh, so now you're saying I have a flat ass." Sero huffs, making an effort to scoot as far away from you as he can get within the confines of the driver's seat. You recognize this move instantly. You use it all the time.
"For fuck's sake, Sero!" You huff, crossing your arms. Unintentionally, you mirror his exact position, with your head facing the window and your legs pointed away from him. Sero can't help but laugh at this, which only fuels your anger. "You're such a dick, you never take me seriously."
"Aw, come on, ma, don't be like that. You know you love me. I'll buy you more snacks." He sends you a cheeky grin, reaching over to grab your thigh and pull you closer to him. You simply roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. You're annoyed, but only because he's using your tactics against you.
denki kaminari
Having a fashionable boyfriend sounds like it would be fun, especially when you have the same style. You basically get an extra closet, both of you always look good, and you can match outfits. It would be fun if your boyfriend were anyone other than Denki fucking Kaminari. You both like to wear loose, baggy clothes, punctuated with chunky sneakers and the occasional jewelry. You have dresses and skirts in your closet, but you only break them out for nicer occasions. At first, you think it's endearing that he wears the same size clothes as you. You get to dress him up, with his closet as well as yours at your disposal. He indulges you, modeling the outfits, letting you post pictures on Instagram, and making TikTok videos showing off the outfits. Unfortunately, Denki thinks it's hilarious to raid your closet. It was fun at first, when he would strut out of your closet, wearing one of your tight bodycon dresses. He takes a look at himself in the full-length mirror against the wall and lets out a whistle. "Am I serving cunt, or what?" Denki laughs as he checks himself out.
It's less fun when you're getting ready for a night out with Mina and find that you're missing all of your favorite pieces. You're fuming as you call Denki, just knowing that your clothes are sitting in Denki's closet, in Denki's apartment. You're talking before he even picks up the call.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down! What're you yapping about?" Denki interrupts you, making you grit your teeth.
"You! Have you been in my closet again?" You snap, already irritated. Denki lets out a nervous laugh.
"Come on, babe, enough with the 'coming out of the closet' jokes!" He tries desperately to steer the topic of conversation away from your clothes.
"Denki Kaminari, do not play with me right now, or so help me God, every item of clothing you've left here is getting burned!"
"Okay, okay!" He yelps out. "The clothes didn't do you wrong, don't hurt them! I…may or may not have stopped by your apartment on my way home cause I didn't like my outfit." Denki sounds nervous.
"Denki, what did you take?" You hiss, pacing around your closet.
"Oh, you know, just, uh, some of my clothes! Yup!" Your boyfriend's voice is laced with guilt, and you know he's lying. You switch the call to FaceTime, telling Denki to turn his camera on. He hesitates, but switches his camera on, revealing that he's at the subway station with Sero and Kirishima. You squint at the screen and gasp as you realize he's currently wearing your favorite baggy crop top.
"Denki, you little shit! I was going to wear that tonight! What jeans are you wearing?"
Kaminari gulps, knowing that he's been caught. "Uhh…cargo pants?"
"Sero!" You call out to the dark-haired man. "What pants is he wearing?"
Sero doesn't hesitate to answer; he finds genuine joy in you and Denki's wardrobe quarrels, and he's not one to turn down free entertainment. "Black cargo pants! They look like they're Dickies!"
"Oh my Goddd, Kami! Those are my favorite pants, come on!" You wail over the phone, mourning the loss of the outfit you had in mind. "I'm breaking up with you."
"Wait, wait, no! Come meet up with me, and we can switch out—" You hang up before he can finish his sentence, and resign yourself to finding a different outfit. Before you leave, you check your phone, seeing a string of texts from the diva himself.
"twink <3: COME BACK PLEASE"
"twink <3: DONFT DO THIS I BEG OF YUO"
"twink <3: *sent you their location*"
"twink <3: U CAN HAVE UR PANTS BABY PLEASE"
a/n: yet another work born out of conversations with may <3
a/n: panty fucking w seroooooo and make it brothers bsf
you need your own place. you’ve been tossing and turning for hours, sero and your brother are playing music too loud and the smell of weed is seeping under your door. you kick your covers off, ready to say something when the music stops and the apartment seems to finally quiet.
you huff and settle into your bed once more, waiting for your eyes to get heavy with sleep. just as you get comfortable your door cracks open. you sit up, finding sero filling out your door way.
“you know where the bathroom is.” you hiss, throwing a pillow at him.
“yeah.” he steps in and clicks the door shut. “must’ve got lost on the way to the couch.” he stands at the end of your bed. “those are cute.” he nods with a lazy grin.
“what?” your cheeks heat.
“your panties with the little bunnies.” his eyes flick up to yours. “lemme get a closer look.” he grabs your ankle and yanks you down the bed.
“sero!” you gasp. “he’s in the other room.” eyes going wide.
“then don’t make any noise.”
your legs fall open and his eyes leave your face, sliding down the over sized shirt that’s now bunched up around your middle and stopping on your cotton panties. he reaches down and thumbs at the cotton, glancing up at you when you make a small sound. you bring your hand up to your mouth as he keeps dragging his thumb up and down.
“there you go.” he mumbles. “good girl.” he grins at the shudder goes through your body.
your chest is heaving with each pass of his thumb, hips jerking every time he avoids your aching clit. he watches a wet patch grow in the center, chuckling at you and the desperate cant of your hips. when he finally circles your clit, the sound that comes from you has him locking his eyes with yours.
“‘m sorry.” you gasp.
“try to stay quiet.” he taps your clit and pulls back.
he pushes his sweats down and your eyes go wide as he pulls his cock out, stroking himself a couple times before he smacks the head on your soaked panties. you jerk with the feeling, looking up at him with round eyes as he starts to slide up and down the cotton, nudging your clit perfectly.
“sero.” a small plea.
“shh shh shh.”
one of his hands is on your waist, the other is between the both of you holding his cock in place as he drags his cock up and back down. he groans lowly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he starts to pace up momentum. your panties are embarrassingly slick, the sound making its way to your ears.
“got my shit soaked and you still got your panties on.” he lets out a breathy chuckle.
you turn your head to the side, covering your eyes with your arm and clamping your teeth into your bottom lip so you can use your other hand to pull up your shirt. he groans when you show him your perked nipples, mouth watering and wanting to scrape his teeth agaisnt them to hear your noises.
“play with em.” he nods. you peek at him, bringing a shaky hand down to your chest and taking your nipple between your fingers. “good girl.”
while you play with your nipples, he fucks your panties faster, low grunts spilling from his mouth while small gasps fall from your lips. his cock keeps catching on your covered pussy, pushing in just a fraction before he slides back up to your clit. you’re bucking against him, panties so soaked he’s practically just rubbing himself against your bare folds now from how translucent they are.
“sero!” you whimper.
“shush.” his eyes lock with your glossy ones.
a low grunt rises in his chest when his cock slips under your panties and slides against your honeyed mess. he collapses over you, his hand clapping over your mouth as he starts to hump against faster. your panties are keeping him presses right against you as he slides through your slick. with another pass of his tip on your clit you fall apart, shaking beneath him as you cum, your fingers digging into his back.
he groans, twitching between your legs and with a low groan of your name he’s cumming. you’re both panting, staring at each other as you slowly detangle. he fixed your panties, rubbing over them with his fingers and smearing his cum all over your puffy lips.
“see you in the morning.” he pats your thigh, adjusting himself in his sweats and walking out.
sculptor!kirishima using his hardening quirk to carve a statue depicting his lost love.
Kirishima doesn’t trust tools for this. They’re too distant and cold. Detached.
A chisel doesn’t remember the warmth of your cheek, the exact curve where your smile used to start before it broke into laughter. It doesn’t know how your hand fit in his, or the subtle asymmetry in your legs he used to tease you about.
Tools reduce everything to angles and force. What he needs is memory, and memory lives in his hands.
The marble block stands taller than him, silently waiting. For a long time he just looks at it. Not because he doesn’t know where to start, but because he knows exactly where to begin, and that terrifies him.
Your face. It has to be right.
His hardened fingers press against the cold surface and he carves by touch. Slow. Careful. Almost reverent. Each movement is guided by the echo of you that still lives in his muscles. His hands still remember every shape and dip and small scar on your body, and that’s how he commits his heart to the marble.
He doesn’t rush. Every line he cuts feels like tracing you again, like you’re just beneath the surface, waiting for him to find you.
The slope of your nose. The softness he desperately tries to coax out of unyielding stone, where your lips should be.
The ache in remembering hits him often and sudden: a laugh, a glance, the way you used to say his name. He takes many breaks in between to steady himself.
His hands falter once. The marble cracks too deep along the collarbone and he freezes.
For a moment it looks like everything might shatter, like he’s about to lose you again, this time by his own hands. But he breathes through the tightness in his chest and adjusts. Works with the fracture instead of against it.
Hours pass, then days. By the time he steps back, his hands are still hardened, and now trembling. Not from strain, but from the weight of what stands before him.
It’s you.
Not perfect, that could never be. Stone can’t hold warmth, can’t capture the way you moved, the life in your eyes. But somehow it feels like you. Like if he just reached out—
He doesn’t.
Instead, he lets his hands finally go soft and hover just short of the statue’s face, afraid that one more touch might erase something he barely managed to keep.
PUH LEASEEEEE write more krbk!!!! 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼I love the smau soooooo much it's so peak fr
HEYY omg thank u so much 🥹
i DO have some krbk x reader wips 😋😋
ideas for two more series + drafts for a few one shots! (some smut, some fluffy / silly)
this one of the potensh series im thinking on…
🤤🤤🤤 pro heroes dynamight and red riot
plotting on that btw
im thinking they r maybe like. in their twenties somewhere… i looove the idea of them having their agencies joint together 🥹 very cute to me
also pr agent reader.. ooo professional boundaries being crossed… the tension… and sm banter cuz she has to keep bkg in check and yk kiri is all for it….. walk him like a dog 😛
only thing im worried about is that this would be a written series… since my only current krbk series is completely smau i worry a bit that no one will wanna read this BYE
driving HITOSHI to insanity during a heatwave because you take to walking around your flat in your old cotton panties and a threadbare camisole—the one that hugs your tits and the dip of your waist just right. his fingers itch to splay over the soft fabric and pull you back into his chest like a puzzle piece finding home but you're friends.
just friends, he reminds himself.
yet, this man is genuinely losing his mind because you have no sense of shame when it's this hot. you're splayed out pathetically on the floor, moaning about the temperature and your top rides up to show your belly. you don't bother tugging it down. in fact, you stretch your arms over your head and it drifts up even higher, the smooth plane of your tummy on full display and hitoshi's teeth ache with need.
then, you're shoving your face halfway into the fridge just for some sweet relief and hitoshi's gaze is lingering on your back dimples. how they peek teasingly over the low hem of your panties. how his hands would fit perfectly around your waist and his thumbs would slot into the little dips there like you're made for him.
and when you bend over? oh hitoshi is gone. lost. he almost passes away right then and there, because he can see your bush peeking out from your panties and you don't seem to care and his dick isn't going to survive this heatwave if you keep torturing him like this !!!
