── ✶ before you read: 1.4k words ; female reader ; established relationship ; very unserious influencer reader ; pro hero katsuki ; fluff and banter ; masterlist.
based on this post and amira’s hilarious comment
“Get ready with me to dump my pro hero boyfriend!”
You grin into your phone camera as you prop it up against a bottle of moisturizer on the bathroom counter. Beside you, Katsuki is brushing his teeth. The brushing immediately stops. You watch as his eyes narrow at you through the mirror, stifling a giggle.
“The fuck did you just say?”
You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Hi, guys!” you continue cheerfully, waving at the camera. “Today I’m getting ready to break up with my pro hero boyfriend. Some of you might know him as Dynamight—”
“Is this some bullshit new trend online?” He crosses his arms, toothbrush hanging in his mouth as he looks at you unamused.
“—who I’m leaving because, unfortunately, he’s become a huge burden in my life, and I need to cut him loose.”
The toothbrush leaves his mouth, falling into the sink as he gapes, “What?”
You reach for a makeup sponge. “Normally, I would start with skincare, but he buys me the expensive stuff, and since I’m dumping him and won’t have his wallet anymore, I have to make it last. Can’t be wasting it on him, you know?”
“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.
“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”
“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”
“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”
“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”
You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)
“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”
“Easy to replace?”
You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”
“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement.
“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”
“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”
“Anger is the next stage of grief.”
The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose.
“Hi, baby,” you hum.
He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”
You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.
“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.
He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost.
“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”
Another coughing fit. “What?”
“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”
You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”
You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?
“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.
You gasp. “Lying?”
“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.
“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”
“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”
“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”
“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”
You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”
— — — — —
“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”
You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.
“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”
You blink. “Wait—”
“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”
“Katsuki—”
He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”
He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”
“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”
“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”
“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”
You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines.
going to the pharmacy with bakugou and the aim is just to grab two boxes of xl condoms but the five minute trip turns into twenty when he slaps the boxes on the counter but then you put down a new blush you wanna try, two lip balms, your multivitamins and a bag of chocolate for the car.
pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”
and he just laughs a huff out his nose.
when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”
“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.
“about ten thousand.”
“how many do you have?”
“three hundred.”
he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.
“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.
then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”
he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.
“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”
takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.
“it’s also free if i buy it for you. use your points for the condoms next time.”
What about toddler chubby who wipes daddy’s kisses off?
Jack takes it personally every single time. Tragic. But, you know, his suffering is the funniest thing to witness. Chubby goes through a phase when she's nearing two and a half where she decides affection acceptable only on her terms.
Don't get the kid wrong, she still wants love constantly. She wants to be held and wants her bedtime stories. She wants to end her bedtime stories asleep with Mommy. She wants Dada to carry her even though she full knows how to walk at this point. He will. He always will.
Kisses are a whole other thing, though. Jack is a victim of his daughter's politics.
He's nonethewiser when he comes home and she comes toddling to him in footie pajamas. It's a trap.
"Dada n' Leggy here! Yay!"
Jack picks Chubby up with one arm and a grunt. He buries his face in her little belly until she screams.
And then, like always, presses a kiss to her cheek.
"Mwah. What'd you dream about, pretty?"
Chubby, who was just squirming with glee that Dada came home, stills in Jack's arms. He watches as she lifts a tiny hand...
...To wipe his kiss off. She does it calmly, surprisingly.
Jack stares at her, unblinking. Chubby stares back.
"What the hell was that, Chubs?"
She brushes his cheek.
"No kissies from Dada. Kayyyy?"
"...This is unbelievable. Sleepy. Our daughter's fuckin---where did she learn to do this?"
You're about to laugh in Jack's face, but you don't think he'll take well to that, so you just shrug.
"You mean where did a toddler learn how to say no?"
"You wiped my kiss off. Don't do that. Dada doesn't like that."
Dada's wounded.
Chubby shrugs the way you do before she grabs his nose, smiling with all the teeth that's grown in so far.
"I wipped off!"
Unfortunately for Jack, his wounded reaction teaches Chubby that wiping off his kisses gets a reaction, and because she's, you know, your kid and Jack's karma, she's the smartest baby in the world in figuring out how to weaponize his suffering.
Sometimes she accepts Jack's kissies, sometimes she'll giggle and kiss him back. Other times, Jack feels like he's her paparazzi and she's merely tolerating her dada's affections.
But Jack lives in fear of the wipe that comes every now and again.
It escalates after bath time when you're waiting patiently for Chubby to pick out a bedtime story, and he's pretending not to hover. When he realizes how miserably he's failing he comes over and leans in.
Chubby cups both of his cheeks in her little hands, and he's unbearably, handsomely smug alreadly. You smile softly at what you're looking at, and you only smile wider when she gives him a peck on the nose.
He kisses her cheek in return.
"No, what the—why the hell did you do that?"
Without any hesitation, his toddler daughter wipes his kiss off.
And sorry, Jack, but you can't help but chortle something ugly when his head tilts low with the bob of his throat, the lines of his face furrowing into something gruffly hurt and horrified.
“Chubs. You kissed me first.”
Chubby giggles, kissing his nose again.
“This is mixed messaging. You're sending me mixed signals. Do you hate me or not?"
"She doesn't hate you, Jack. She's just being crazy."
And you, because you just love to side with the monster, put a kiss to her head.
Jack waits, waits, waits for a wipe that never comes. He's stuck looking at you and the mini version of you smiling at him.
"Oh, fuck you both."
But Chubby's just loving him like a toddler loves her parents, which means unpredictably, right? There isn't much tact to a toddler's affections, and that's why she's suddenly decided Jack's deserves one kiss when he's asleep after a shift.
Tiny feet toddle to him, and the little, little girl they belong to climbs the couch with all her strength. She studies his sleeping face, leaning closer.
"Mwah, Dada."
She simply presses a small kiss against his chin, but how awful is it for her that Jack's actually mostly asleep, and that he's able to catch her sneaky affection?
"What happened to hating Dada?"
Chubby gasps. The little criminal is caught, and the word caught is at its most literal when he hugs her tight to his chest.
Chubby's laugh come in shrieks.
"I'm collecting payment now."
Her shrieks come higher as Jack attacks her cheeks with scratchy kisses.
"Dadaaaa! Mommy, help!"
Yeah. He'll let the baby reject him a thousand times over if it means getting one secret kiss when she thinks nobody's watching.
we listen and we don’t judge trend with bf!katsuki
You carefully prop your phone against one of the pillows, adjusting it just enough so both you and Katsuki fit in the frame. After a quick glance to make sure it’s recording, you turn your head towards him, giving him a small look— your silent cue.
Katsuki notices immediately.
“It’s stupid,” he mutters, already rolling his eyes, his arms crossed like he’s been personally offended by the entire idea, even if he already agreed to it.
“Kats, we talked about this,” you groan, dragging out his name as you lean back slightly. “We have to say it together,” you insist, nudging his arm.
“The things I do for love,” he grumbles under his breath, but there’s no bite to it.
“We listen and we don’t judge,” you say in unison, though his voice carries a hint of reluctance while yours is far too enthusiastic.
“When I do your skincare… I use products I don’t like on you—”
“Hah!? Is that why my face broke out?!” Katsuki snaps his head towards you, eyes wide in disbelief.
“It was one pimple!” you shoot back, throwing your hands up defensively, already fighting a smile.
“On my forehead! I looked stupid!” he groans, dragging a hand down his face like he can still feel the humiliation.
“No, you didn’t!” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his. “Now you go.”
He exhales sharply, glaring at you for a second before giving in.
“Fine. When you piss me off, I put extra salt in your food.”
“I knew it!” you gasp, immediately lunging at him, kicking him lightly as he leans back. “And you called me crazy when I said that!”
“We listen and we don’t judge!” he reminds you quickly, grabbing your wrists before you can keep attacking him, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
“Fine—” you huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.
You take a breath, already bracing yourself.
“A few months ago, when you asked me to cut your hair, I accidentally—”
“What—” His eyes narrow instantly.
“—cut over too much with the machine and—”
“No—”
“—made a bald spot on top of your head…”
There’s a long pause from him.
“Oh my fucking God,” Katsuki groans, already starting to laugh, disbelief all over his face. “I knew something was off! Right after that you wouldn’t stop telling me to wear my hair pushed back.”
“Yeah…” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, still half-laughing.
“Alright. First time I met you—“ he stops, eyeing you with a mean glint. “…I thought you were really annoying.”
You immediately turn to him, offended.
“Excuse me? I was not annoying— you were just too grumpy,” you argue, frowning at him.
“Whatever,” he shrugs, clearly not interested in revising history.
“We listen and we don’t judge,” you say under your breath before continuing. “When I first met you and Izuku… I liked him more.”
“The hell? You liked Deku? Really?” Katsuki’s snaps again, brows pulled together.
“He was nicer! And he smiled at me! You frowned!” you defend quickly, pointing at him.
“Tch. He’s nice to everybody,” Katsuki clicks his tongue, clearly unimpressed. Then, after a second, he speaks again.
“Before we started dating, I kept showing up in places I knew you’d be.”
You blink a few times, trying to register what he just said.
“I thought it was fate that we ran into each other so often…” you slowly narrow your eyes at him. “You weirdo. How did you even know where I’d be?”
He shrugs like it’s nothing.
“I have my ways.”
“Okay, Joe Goldberg,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “That’s not creepy at all.”
He ignores that completely.
“We listen and we don’t judge,” you begin. “…when you upset me, I change your phone password, and when you ask for help later, I pretend you’ve always had that one.”
Katsuki’s head snaps towards you again.
“I knew I wasn’t going crazy—” Katsuki lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as it all clicks into place.
“You little manipulator,” he teases as his arm comes around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’m gonna teach you a lesson,” he murmurs against your lips.
“Wait— Kats, I’m still filming—“ you remind him, trying to push him back a little.
“Turn that shit off,” he rolls his eyes annoyed, but doesn’t let you make any move, as his large hand already grabs the phone, pressing the red button.
Then he turns to you, a smirk spreading across his lips.
"You know, this will only air after pr approval, right?" Bakugou tries to be the rational one, level headed, the one that thinks before they speak, because for the first time, he's with someone with a bigger record of well, unfiltered-ness.
"It'll be as appropriate as a thirst tweet video can be." You don't bother looking at him, cheekily winking at the camera instead, cherry red nails tapping against the table.
Bakugou sighed, despite it a grin spread on his lips, "This is Bakugou Katsuki, here for an updated review of the stuff you post online."
"And this is his wifey , here to add personal input." You grinned at him, eyes lingering on his bare chest peeking through his collar.
"She's already distracted." Bakugou laughed out loud, certainly more open and at ease than his solo interview.
Instead of shying away, you turned back to the camera, "Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn't do the same." You crudely gestured at his chest, making a motion of groping, "Big breasted men have always been a weakness of mine."
"Man." Bakugou raised his index finger, "Singular, it's me."
You shake your head, chuckling lightly as you reach for the box containing slips of comments, pulling the first one out.
Comment no. 23
By @/lookingather.
"Dynamight's wife once mentioned their affinity for public sex, do you think it's possible for me to ever find their used condom somewhere?"
Bakugou stared at the camera in utter disbelief, "With the way that comment started, I didn't think it'd take such turns."
He turns to look at you, eyes squinting in suspension as you twirled the paper between your fingers.
The camera shifted to your face, soft smile gracing your lips, "It's not possible." You shrugged your shoulders, answering the rhetorical question the comment asked, smiling innocently before continuing, "We don't use cond—"
"Next one!"
Comment no. 12
By @/ballsfullofnitroglycerin.
"Mr. and Mrs. Dynamight looked so good tonight at the hero's award ceremony, all I could think about was them exploring each other's bodies after the show."
Bakugou read the second one out loud, completely cutting you off, ignoring as you cackled loudly beside him. "—exploring each other's body—"
"—we certainly did." You chimed, leaning over to wrap your arms around his shoulders, "before and after the show, I have photo—"
"You are supposed to react to the comments," He puffed his cheeks, feeling slightly shy at your confidence, "You'll worsen the impact on these people."
"The only impact I'll worsen is the one on your chee—"
The entire clip is beeped out, before new take is started, crowd laughing loudly in the background, someone wheezing out their left lung.
"Cut that entire section." Bakugou gestured to the director, shaking his head as you looked at him in disbelief, "We'll be banned Babe, that's too inappropriate."
"You didn't even deny getting your che—"
The clip is cut again.
Comment no. 32
By @/leftatfamilymart.
"Do you think Dynamight's wife will take me as her pet, if I bark enough?"
#pickmechosemeloveme
"He doesn't let me take in strays." You pouted, fiddling with the strip of paper in your hand, peeking at him innocently, "Even though he got a stray kitty last year."
Someone from the production team quipped, "Why don't you, Dynamight?"
He looked between you and the staff, "We are talking about taking in a grown adult, right?" He tucked the paper from your hands, unrolling it, "Leftatfamilymart, first of all I am sorry about your abandonment and second of all do lurk around family mart in Musutafu, she will take you in."
Camera pans to you, grinning mischievously.
Comment no. 124
By @/lookingforlove.
"Gonna be honest with y'all, Mrs. Dynamight has got pretty suckable toes, this isn't even coming from a place of degeneracy, I just feel like they need to be sucked, at least thrice a week.
I hope Mr. Dynamight sucks them."
"Not coming from a place of degeneracy?" Bakugou raised his eyebrow in judgement, clearly unimpressed, "Seems pretty dege—"
"You're jealous, someone out there is going to suck my toes."
"Someone out there is going to suck my toes." He repeated your words, hands raised, middle and forefingers curling to form air quotes, "Do you not realise how scary that sounds."
"Pro-hero Dynamight, finding real threats in the wild." You mocked, hand placed on your forehead as you pretended to scan the crowd, laughing along the production team.
"Lookingforlove you better sleep with one eye open, I am watching you." Bakugou joked, reaching for the box of comments.
You looked at him sceptically, eyes narrowed as you pretended to scan him up and down, faint giggles filled the background.
"What?"
"You wanted Lookingforlove to suck on your toes, didn't you."
"What?!" He huffed in disbelief, "I already had someone wanting to suck on my toes, last time I was here."
"I don't even want you to elaborate." You shook your head, triggering as wave of laughter in the background.
Comment no. 27
By @/Discoballs.
"Just saw Mrs. Dynamight's latest lingerie collection, can Mr. Dynamight even handle all that?" #gotnothingtolose
"I can handle it plenty." Bakugou joked, leaning over to pull the leg of your chair, effortlessly dragging it closer, hand splayed on your knee as he continued, "Plus you can't give her everything I can."
You burst into a fit of giggles, cheeks rosy at his confession, swarm of butterflies fluttering in your belly as you hid behind the box of comments.
Regaining composure you started, "It's true, you might be good um, discoballs, but you'll never one up Katsuki." You admitted, sneaking glances at him through your lashes.
"He's so good to me, takes care of me so well, cooks for me, cleans up after us, everything you can ask for in a man and so much more." You confessed, smiling as Bakugou shyly ducked his head lower, thumb tracing shapes on your knee, you reached over and splayed your hand in his knee, reciprocating the action, before continuing.
"Don't think anyone can ever be as good as Katsuki," You sighed, fiddling with fabric of his pants, "He's so considerate and compassionate and empathetic and he listens to me and he remembers dates and he pounds my hol—"
"Think they got the point." Bakugou sighed, pretending to be stern with you only for a smile to grace his lips, corners of his mouth twitching up as he puffed his chest slightly, "She's prefect and I try my best to be as well."
The crowd awed, faint murmuring filling the studio at how in love Bakugou and you are.
"Should we end on this lovely note?" The production team questioned, camera panning towards Bakugou already hopping off his chair, whilst you cradled the empty box.
"You guys need to up you game." You sassed, taking Bakugou's hand as he helped you off the chair as well, "I thirst harder than y'all combin—"
"Behave!"
"Ooo—"
a/n: apologies for the excessive use of mrs. dynamight because I can't physically use y/n.
Pro hero Dynamight reads your dirty comments. 18+. MDNI.
The studio is bright.
Multitude of equipment illuminating the set, three separate cameras filming from different angles, sound proof ceilings and people scattered around, each one with a different task.
It's intimidating, not for Bakugou though, he's been here before, done this before, multiple times.
Interviews are something he had gotten accustomed to back in ua, long before his official debut as a pro, as much as he found it a waste of time, being in the spotlight was inevitable as a hero.
The only thing new about today's interview was it's concept, 'reading thirst tweets'.
"Ready?" The director asked, preparing the shot, "and action!"
"Evenin', Dynamight here." Bakugou introduced himself, not even bothering recalling the actual script, "Gonna go through the filth you all post on the internet."
There is hushed murmur in the background, along with the sound of someone clearing their throat, but he pays no mind to them.
Reaching over, he pulls out a stripe of paper from the box, unfolding and reading it.
Comment no. 42
By @/Bakugousleftnutsack. "Do the new kalvin clein, dynamight special edition boxers come with his balls sweat? Asking for a friend."
Bakugou looked directly at the camera, brows furrowed as he re-read the comment, the crowd breaking into laughter as he looked back up again.
"I don't even know where to begin." He sighed, scratching his temple, folding the paper into tiniest possible dimension, "My left nu—beep is curious about my ba—beep sweat."
He shook his head, cringing as the comment echoed in the back of his mind, "It only get's worse doesn't it?"
Sympathetic hum is heard in the background.
Comment no. 69
By @/Dynamightsarmpithair. "Just found out dynamight's sweat smells like sweet caramal, we need a candle scented after him, so I can pound my hole with his candle lit in the background."
He lifted head without completely reading the comment, "It's more like burnt sugar," clarifying the scent he continued, "I am sure you can get something similar in bath and body works, my wife gets those when I am away on long mission."
Awing echoed in the background, someone clapping lightly.
He looked back down, "so I can poun—" he deadpanned, lips pursed as he looked into the camera, folding the piece of paper and wordlessly moving on to the next comment.
Comment no. 34
By @/whyareyougae? "Not into feet, but I'll suckle on dynamight's toes, good night."
*Insert blurry, pixelated image of Bakugou's feet covered in dirt*
"The image is of my crusty feets after the camping in Osaka." He squinted eyes, bringing the piece of paper close to his face, chuckling in disbelief, "Don't even what to know how they got it, also the username." He sighed, shaking his head as chuckling echoed in the background.
"You know the youth is cooked," Bakugou continued, folding the paper and tossing it to the side, reaching for the next stripe, "when whyareyougae seems like the most decent username."
Comment no. 35
By @/Peenerexpert.
"According to my analysis, Dynamight has big dick."
#slaymyhole
He shrugged his shoulders, cheekily tossing the paper on the table, "Well, they do seem like an expert."
Hooting and hollering interrupted the video, backstage crew whistling and cheering loudly.
Comment no. 12
By @/saltedprecum.
"Does Dynamight know that we thirst over him, does he know every time he makes an appearance we collectively cum on the spot?"
"I hope it's not during news broadcast," He sighed, scratching the back of his head as he sceptically eyed the crew, "It'd be concerning if you got off to crime."
He leaned back, hands raised, "I don't judge."
Comment no. 100
By @/mrs.dynamight.
"While you are thirsting over @/dynamight.official. I am actually bouncing on his dick." #dontbothergettinginline
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. Older!Nanami trying to understand his younger!gf
“Explain it to me again, darling.” Your husband says in confusion, sleep laced in his voice and making it sound even deeper. “You are crying because your teddy fell on the floor?”
“No! I’m crying because our child fell to her death and neither of us were there to save her,” you defend quickly, brows furrowing as you pout, gaze fixed on Nanami as your arms remain firmly wrapped around the soft toy.
Even in the dark room, you could see the utter confusion on his face, blinking sleepily before looking at the time. “Okay, darling. Well, she’s safe now, yeah? You can cuddle her to sleep again and I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
You don’t budge from your seated position, the occasional tear still slipping down your cheeks. You frown. You wanted to protest that you weren’t a child despite him treating you like one but truthfully, what he said comforted you more than what anything else would have done.
With a huff, you slip underneath the covers again and snuggle into Kento, burying your head deep into his warm chest.
“We will cuddle her to sleep. And she will forgive us.”
“Of course, my darling. I’ll make her breakfast tomorrow as well,” he mumbles, delirious from lack of sleep.
A few days later, your teddy somehow manages to interfere with Nanami’s love life again. First cuddling, now sex.
“Nghh- kenny you feel sooo good,” you babble and grip the pillow in front of you, eyes rolling into the back of your head in pleasure. In speedbump, Nanami leans over you and presses his chest against your back, groaning right next to your ear as his hips thrust at a consistent pace.
When you lift your head again and look to the right, you see your teddy staring at you. Cute, innocent eyes having to witness such a vulgar act.
You reach one hand back, clumsily tapping Nanami on the side as you try and form a coherent sentence. “Ken… can you- hmgh- kenny move her.”
Nanami follows your gaze to the teddy sat on the side of the bed. His movements slow down to a stop. “Move her?”
You nod. “Mhm. She can’t watch us.”
“Darling, it’s a teddy.”
You whip your head around to glare at him. “So? That’s our child. We can’t traumatise her by having sex in front of her. Just turn her around.”
Nanami quietly sighs before leaning over and turning the teddy one-eighty degrees. “Is that better?”
You stared curiously at the peculiar muscle on your husband’s toned stomach, currently closed as he naps beneath you on his chaise lounge. One finger reaches forward, lightly tapping against the outline of the mouth before pulling back.
To your surprise, it opens, lips curling into a cocky grin before it starts… speaking?! Its voice is deep and matches Sukuna’s perfectly, large tongue flicking out.
“Curious, hm?” It drawls slowly, flashing the sharp canines that had been hidden just seconds ago. You lean over to the nearby table, pulling a strawberry from the box and holding it tentatively near the mouth.
“Do you eat food?” You asked, sounding a little stupid talking to your husband’s stomach.
It laughs lightly, lips spreading in amusement. “I do, woman. What do you have in mind? A finger? An arm?”
You grimace. “Ew. No, I have a strawberry.” You press the tip of the strawberry against the tongue, watching it pull the fruit from your grip and chew loudly, red juice staining the sharp teeth.
You watch mesmerised at the unusual body part, noting how expressive it was and how it still managed to work even when Sukuna himself was asleep.
“Do you want another?”
“Hm.” The mouth hums for a second before the tongue flicks out and presses down flat against your two fingers resting against his lower abdomen.
Hesitantly, you lift them, saliva coating your fingers as Sukuna’s mouth stomach sucks on them greedily as if trying taste their flavour. You’re sat in awe, entranced as lewd sucking sounds fills the room.
“Ngh-“ Ryomen grunts suddenly, arm lifting from over his eyes as they flicker open. Immediately, his mouth pulls away from your fingers, closing innocently and leaving you both dumbfounded and aroused.
It’s not that you spent too much, or that you were too controlling of the list, or that you didn’t help.
For some reason, you were so touchy. Not that Nanami would ever complain about such affection, no. He loved it, truly. However, it felt as if you had been possessed by a succubus whenever you both stepped foot into the food shop.
Your hands would trail everywhere, along his waist, fingers delicately wrapping around his bicep and squeezing every few seconds. In empty isles, his ass would be slapped until he was sure you’d left a mark, him silently ticking off items as you tried to act nonchalant playing with his belt loops.
What was a girlfriend meant to do, though, watching the handsomest man ever walk around with reading glasses perched low on his nose? Biceps flexing as he pushed the cart in front of him, brows furrowed in concentration as he checked over the list again and again. Were you really expected to keep your hands off?
Unfortunately for Kento, you couldn’t. Hell, he almost got a boner halfway through the shop when you decided to palm his bulge firmly in an empty isle. Nanami’s head tipped down with a groan, one hand gently taking ahold of your wrist and trying to pull it away.
“D-Darling, I appreciate the affection but maybe we could save it for somewhere more… private?”
You pout up at him, dropping your hand with a huff. “Fine, I’ll wait.”
Until the car.
Good thing Nanami parked in the back corner of the car park otherwise you were sure the whole town would have seen the vigorous rocking of the car as you pushed Nanami into the back seat, mounting him like some wild animal in heat.
You sunk down onto his thick cock quickly, head tipping back and moaning whoreishly. Nanami kissed up your breasts, quickly attaching his lips to yours as he guided you up and down on his cock, the wet phap phap sound filling the silence of the car. Your fingers entangled into his blonde locks, messing up the neatened style.
Heat bloomed in your lower belly all too quickly, movements faltering as his grip tightened, moving you himself as your legs practically gave up on you.
You came at the same time, one hand gripping the back seat headrest as thick ropes of semen shot up into your womb, leaving you feeling bloated and full as you pulled off with a sheen of sweat covering your forehead.
If this was what happened after every shopping trip, then Nanami couldn’t find a reason to complain.
alright, we all know the trend when the woman goes behind the camera while recording her man's reaction to her flashing her breasts?
Well, just imagine doing that with JOHN PRICE. He'll be out there in the garden (in the process of making one, actually, on his backyard, because you always wanted one, and he moved you in with him for a reason), with a shovel in hand, looking at what he had already digged out for your plants to grow nice and pretty when he sees something flashing from the sliding glass doors. And when he snaps his head and really looks, there's you. In just your panties, and lifting your t-shirt to show him you titties. The reason? Well, you were bored. And now you had your boyfriend all grumpy and possessive of just thinking that the neighbors could have seen you.
And when you do the same for KYLE "GAZ" GARRICK, you don't really do that for him in the first place. You daughter, who was entirely breastfed for a whole nine months, was acting cranky and sleepy, wining and sobbing, clearly tired and ready for sleep. You saw some trends of a breastfed babies reacting to titties, and decided to participated (without documenting it). Kyle licking his lips, and, scooping the immediately calmed down baby girl, murmured "Make sure to have 'em on display after I tuck the lil' one in."
You thought nothing could stant JOHNNY "SOAP" MACTAVISH anymore. You two tried a lot of stuff in bed, and, being together for years, you genuinely had no idea he would react the way he did. But when oversleeping and being in a hurry, you burst into the bathroom to hop into the shower real quick. Johnny was just brushing his hair out of his face, already in cargo pants and tight t-shirt, when you dropped your nightgown and stepped out the piece of silk, as if it was a routine at this point. "Bonnie, really?" He sighed heavily, and, quickly undressing, joined you in the shower. "Since ta girls are invitin'". They were not. But in was worth being a bit late to work that day.
SIMON "GHOST" RILEY doesn't react immediately. He just sits on the couch, beer in one hand, and staring at your titties as you flashed them out, jumping out of the corner. For a second you begin to feel a slight embarrassment creeping through your spine. But then he sets the beer bottle on the floor, gets up, and with two long steps, lifts you up and throws you over his shoulder. You're buffled, trying to straighten up, when he brings you to your bedroom. He wasn't indifferent. He was just thinking about the things he would do to those things of yours.
Getting your baby ready for bedtime is its own procedure for Jack. She must have her bath, her lotion, and her overly expensive sound machine. And once he's checked that the baby monitor is still working (it always is), you get a front-row seat to his utmost patience as he waits for Chubby to pick a board book to read.
You're assuming Jack's so patient because, one day, she'll have careful enough hands for regular paper books. No need to think about that heartaching future now, but you can't help it!
"Chubs...did you or Mommy pick this book?"
You're sitting on the nursery rug, folding Chubby's tiny clothes into a dresser that is already too full with pretty things you just had to buy. Chubby ends up in Jack's lap in the glider, all clean from her bath.
She smacks the book that "she" picked out.
'Daddy Hugs and Loves!'
Jack's glaring at you. You grin.
"She picked it out with the other two, Dad. She took advantage of her options."
Jack's avoided Daddy Hugs and Loves! since you bought it at Target. He's read a book about a truck, then a grumpy cow who learns to treat others with respect and kindness. He had to argue your joke that the book copied his likeness.
...But you managed to sneak in Daddy Hugs when he wasn't looking.
He groans. You know he feels ridiculous before he even opens it. But it's a book about a talking bear and his baby girl cub. Nothing in it should hurt him, unless he's insane about having to confront the representation of fathers and daughters in the media.
...Okay. You wouldn't put it past Jackie.
"You okay, Jack?"
Jack shrugs, shifting Chubby in his lap. It’s a children’s book---"
"Da...beeee."
She smacks the book again. His hands grip its spine.
Da can mean any of a number of things. It's usually reserved for Jack, but it's an interchangeable demand, really. She uses da when she wants something opened or given to her. But if you know your daughter as well as you think you do, you're sure it's her demand for Jack to read the damn book right now.
"Alright, alright. I'm picking up the pace. Here we go."
Jack opens the book. The first page is the paper bear standing in a nursery, holding his arms out to his cub.
"Daddy’s arms are big and strong."
His voice comes out low and steady, a little raspy from the long day and the way Chubby keeps curling her toes against his forearm. But that's just your guess.
"They hold me when the day feels long."
You slow in your folding when Jack clears his throat and turns the page quickly. The next picture is worse for him.
The dad bear is carrying the cub through a storm, holding an umbrella over her. She's smiling, and her papa is looking down like the only thing that matters is that she's dry.
Jack stares at it.
Well. Fuck the bear.
Chubby whines, impatient. "Mmmm."
"I’m getting there. Be patient. See? When the thunder rolls and the skies turn gray..."
Jack swallows.
"Daddy keeps the fear away."
...He needs to check the thermostat again. It's too hot in here. He'd open the window if it wasn't a safety risk. He'll just have to be warm while getting jumped by a ten-dollar book from Target.
Daddy keeps the fear away. Ha. What a stupid fucking lie to put in a baby book.
He doesn't keep the fear away. He installs too many cameras and gets mad that there are still blind spots. There shouldn't be. But Dad doesn't keep the fear away. He's full of it, just like he's full of his own shit.
"Jack, keep going."
"I'm letting her process the material."
Jack's chubby excuse shifts in his lap, rubbing her cheek against his shirt. Her hand finds his thumb as she fusses, cause she has processed nothing but the fact that his voice has stopped.
Jack turns the page. It's a bedtime scene of the bear and cub in a rocking chair, not unlike him and Chubby in the glider right now.
This is so fucking cruel. You're cruel. He reads the line in his head.
Daddy’s voice is low and deep. It sings me safely into sleep.
No. No, that’s not—
Jack sighs heavy. Chubby tips her head back against his chest, her eyes just as heavy with sleep.
"Daddy's voice is..."
...He can't.
"Daddy's voice is low and deep. It..."
The rest doesn't come. He hates this book. He hates the stupid papa bear. He hates that his breathing turns shallows enough that you stop what you're doing.
"Hey, you don't have to finish it."
"I can read a damn book for infants. It's just..."
"I know you can, doc."
God. He'd rather have kiddo argue. Your faith in him is more murderous than the little doubt you have.
He looks down at the daughter you've given him again. She blinks slower. He forces his voice back into place.
“It...it sings me…”
No. His voice is all the worst parts of him trying for protection, but it's been cruel, and it's snapped. It's made you flinch. His voice is the thing she'll copy, if he isn’t careful.
You cross the nursery and put warmth on his shoulder by settling your hand there.
"Let me?"
There's no point in not letting you, is there? He hands you the book, his movement is stiff.
You sit on the arm of the glider, one hand coming to rest on the back of Chubby's head. She blinks up at you. You smile. Jack tries to disappear into the chair while still holding the weight of your little girl.
"Mommy's got you. Daddy’s voice is low and deep. It sings me safely into sleep."
Your voice is soft and pretty, and that's why neither of you understands why her little face trembles into a whine, the one that always comes before her wail. Jack, for a moment, thinks she's just tired.
Yeah, me too.
"Oh, sweetheart--"
But Chubby turns in Jack's lap towards him, twisting clumsily as she grabs at his shirt.
"Daaaaaa!"
Your and Jack's eyes meet when she fusses harder.
"Daaaaaa! Da...BEE-DA!"
"...I think she wants Dada, right now, Jackie."
Apparently. Not the softer, perfect voice. She wants awkward pauses and his stupid-as-hell commentary? Why?
Because she knows you're perfect and wants you sometimes as much as she knows Jack as himself and wants him all the same?
Why?
Jack takes the book back, and his hands are not steady when he does. You slide off the arm of the glider, kneeling beside it instead, resting your cheek against his knee.
Chubby settles the second the book is back in his hand, though she keeps one fist locked in his shirt to make sure he doesn’t attempt book abandonment again.
...Two girls he doesn't deserve, loving him anyway. What else is he supposed to do but do whatever they want? Least he can do.
Jack clears his throat.
"Alright, I’ve got it. It sings me safely into sleep."
Chubby relaxes, just like that. He stares down at the top of her head before turning the page.
It shows the papa bear kissing the cub's forehead with a moon in the window. It's too sentimental, aggressively so. And no, he's not just thinking that cause looking at it makes him feel like his organs out falling out through his sternum.
"Daddy’s hug is where I stay…"
His voice catches again. You kiss his shin.
"In dreams until the morning day."
He almost gets through it in a way where he's confident enough to make a promise. I'll be here forever. But..he knows better. He's seen too many parents leave without meaning to. How many families have been ruined by a heart suddenly stopping or a car running a red light? He can't promise anything.
He presses his lips to her head.
"I'll be here for as long as I can be. That'll be enough mornings."
Enough practice to make it all the way through this stupid ass book without stopping. Almost.
style influencer yn doing her once a week styling my boyfriend for a date… for work… for a concert… for seeing my parents… for an event AND ITS bakugou just standing there in shorts and a vest quietly while you show the camera what you picked out for him and why. when you say you chose this slightly cropped shirt because bakugou’s got a shorter torso and it shows off his waist and bakugou lovesssss it. loves you talking about him like he’s not there and you saying things he didn’t even know about himself. like you pay attention to him that much! he takes it all very personally even though it’s literally your job.
lets you manoeuvre him around. using him as a male model and talking about him as body parts. grins when you say things like “katsuki’s got big biceps so i like to emphasise them just for myself.” “now katsuki doesn’t have the average build so it’s fun to work with his body.” “yeah? that’s right?” slapping his arm.
when he tries something on that didn’t go as well as you expected. “jeans are so difficult with you! these ones are way too tight on the thigh!”
and he’s got a mother as a designer, he’s never dressed badly in his life but you have your own style and what you love to see him in. he likes being your ken doll once a week.
“and i found this scarlet tie when thrifting, i bought it because it matches his eyes!!!”
and bakugou’s, “i like it baby.”
moments when he holds you by the waist, head on your shoulder as you’re explaining something to the camera.
you in a layered, well thought out outfit while he’s wearing his boring base outfit at the beginning LOL
you show two options that would go well and you let him choose.
“the denim feels rough. the other one.”
and bkgs done modelling and photoshoots before so he’s very good at the ending solo shots when you show the viewer the outfit. stands with his hands in his pockets. rotates around. you flashing him behind the camera to make him smile and his smirk is to die for.
asking his opinion for the whole outfit at the very end, holding a mic to his face because you don’t mic him up for the videos, just yourself.
“you always dress me better than i dress myself. it’s fuckin sick,” adjusts the jacket, looking at himself off camera. “woulda never have put myself in these.” he undos an extra button to his shirt.
“oooo sexy.”
“you think?” he grins at you.
and now you both match like it’s clear you’re going to the same event together. a stupidly attractive well dressed couple. not to mention that bkgs pr team loves the videos too. tells him to hold off on the groping you at times but you include it in the videos so who’s to tell you how to do your job.
editing out whenever you bend down and he thrusts against you. whenever he slaps your ass. when you’re adjusting the way something drapes, standing super close to him and he kisses you, little makeout where you have to tap his chest for him to stop. “we’re recording!”
also you rolling your eyes at people thirsting over your boyfriend. it gets engagement and views though.
When bf Bakugo calls her spoiled but he's the one who set that system up ^_^
Nobody warned you that dating Katsuki Bakugo would completely ruin your ability to function normally around affection.
Which honestly felt unfair considering he was the one responsible for it in the first place.
Because before him, you were perfectly capable of doing things yourself. You carried your own bags without complaint, opened your own drinks, reached for things on high shelves without immediately looking around for help first. You survived perfectly fine without somebody automatically fixing your necklace clasp when it twisted the wrong way or pulling your chair out absentmindedly before you even sat down.
Then Katsuki happened.
And suddenly somewhere along the line, your standards got impossibly, horrifically high.
Not because he spoiled you intentionally either. That was the worst part.
Katsuki loved you in such a natural, consistent way that half the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It wasn’t with grand gestures or dramatic romance movie nonsense either. It was smaller than that, like quuieter. The kind of affection that slowly settles into your routine until one day you realize you genuinely don’t remember the last time you struggled with something alone because somehow Katsuki had already handled it before you even got the chance.
“Stop staring at me like that.”
His voice cut through your thoughts from across the kitchen, low and mildly suspicious, and when you looked up properly, Katsuki was already glancing at you over his shoulder from where he stood near the stove.
The apartment smelled faintly like garlic, black pepper, and whatever body wash he used lately that kept sticking to his shirts afterward. One of the windows above the sink was cracked open slightly, letting cool evening air drift inside while the city lights glowed faintly outside.
You were sitting at the kitchen counter in one of his old shirts, chin resting lazily against your palm while watching him cook.
Or more specifically—watching the way his forearms flexed every time he moved the pan.
Which, in your defense, was distracting.
“Like what?” you asked innocently after a second, blinking at him like you genuinely had no idea what he meant.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes immediately at the tone of your voice, already looking unconvinced before you even finished speaking.
“Like I’m about to buy you something,” he muttered, turning back toward the stove again with a quiet click of his tongue. “You get that look every time you want something.”
A pause settled briefly between the two of you before your brows lifted slowly.
“…Are you?”
His head turned just enough for you to catch the flat look he sent over his shoulder.
“There it is.”
A laugh slipped quietly out of you almost immediately, your smile widening against your hand.
Because honestly? This entire situation was his fault.
“You did this to yourself, you know,” you informed him casually, adjusting your legs against the stool while he stirred something in the pan with unnecessary aggression. “I wasn’t like this before you.”
“Tch. You were absolutely high maintenance before me.”
“No,” you disagreed immediately, unable to stop smiling now. “I was independent before you.”
“That sounds fake.”
“I’m serious,” you insisted, your voice softer this time, more amused than defensive as you watched him move around the kitchen so comfortably like he belonged there. “I used to know how to function normally.”
Katsuki scoffed quietly under his breath at that, though there wasn’t much heat behind it anymore.
“What does that even mean.”
“It means,” you started dramatically, sitting up straighter now as you pointed at him accusingly from across the counter, “that before dating you, I was fully capable of opening my own drinks.”
“You still are.”
“No,” you argued immediately. “Because now you automatically do it for me before I even touch them.”
“That’s because your nails are always too damn long.”
“Exactly,” you said quickly, pointing at him harder. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
His eyes narrowed slightly while you looked entirely too pleased with yourself.
“You made my life too comfortable,” you continued after a moment quieter now, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the counter while you watched him. “And now I genuinely don’t think I can go back.”
Something in his expression shifted briefly at that. Subtle enough most people probably wouldn’t notice, but you did.
Because after years of loving Katsuki, you’d gotten embarrassingly good at noticing the tiny reactions nobody else ever caught. The way his shoulders loosened whenever he relaxed around you. The slight twitch near the corner of his mouth whenever he was trying not to smile. The quieter tone his voice slipped into without realizing it.
“You’re dramatic,” he muttered eventually, though it sounded weaker now, less like an insult and more like something he said out of habit.
“Yeah,” you agreed easily, smiling to yourself. “But am I wrong?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he grabbed your drink from beside the stove before finally walking over toward you.
You watched him quietly the entire time, your expression softening almost unconsciously as he stopped beside you. One of his hands settled briefly against the counter near your shoulder while the other held the bottle out toward you.
Already opened.
Your lips twitched immediately the second you noticed.
“Katsuki.”
“The hell.”
“You opened it again.”
“Tch. Don’t start.”
But he looked away slightly right after saying it, like he already knew exactly where this conversation was about to go.
A soft laugh escaped you while you took the drink from his hand anyway, your fingers brushing briefly against his.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” you murmured, looking up at him over the rim of the bottle. “You can’t keep doing things like this and then act surprised when I get attached to it.”
“You’re impossible.”
“No,” you corrected lightly before taking a sip. “I’m spoiled.”
“And whose fault is that?”
You smiled slowly then, unable to help it. Because he really walked directly into that one himself.
“Yours,” you answered simply, your voice quieter now, more affectionate than teasing. “Obviously.”
His expression flattened immediately like he regretted asking the second the words left his mouth.
Katsuki clicked his tongue quietly under his breath before turning away again, but not before reaching over to fix the sleeve of your borrowed shirt where it had slipped slightly off your shoulder first.
His fingers brushed against your skin briefly. Absentmindedly like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
And honestly? That was the dangerous part.
Katsuki never realized how affectionate he actually was because to him, taking care of you wasn’t some huge romantic gesture worth acknowledging.
It was instinct, natural like breathing.
He remembered things without trying to. The exact snacks you liked from convenience stores. Which drinks you preferred depending on your mood. The fact you hated crowded trains when you were tired. The specific side of the bed you slept better on.
He bought things casually if they reminded him of you. Replaced stuff before you even realized you ran out of them. Kept your favorite snacks stocked in his apartment like it was second nature now. He even carried hair ties around his wrist sometimes because you kept forgetting yours and stealing his whenever your hair annoyed you.
Then somehow still acted surprised when you became attached to being cared for.
“You are spoiled,” he muttered again a few minutes later while sliding your plate toward you across the counter.
You looked down automatically before pausing. The strawberries were already cut neatly into smaller pieces. Your eyes lifted slowly back toward him.
“…You cut the strawberries.”
Katsuki barely glanced up from the stove.
“Tch. You don’t like the leaves.”
Your expression softened immediately at how casually he said it. Like remembering tiny details about you was the easiest thing in the world.
“You literally proved my point again,” you said quietly, your voice gentler now as you looked back down at the plate. “This is why I can’t function anymore.”
“And? It's not like it's a problem.”
“It is, it’s a serious one actually,” you insisted, though your smile gave you away instantly. “If we ever break up, I’ll actually suffer.”
That made his eyes snap toward you immediately.
“The hell are you talking about.”
“I mean realistically?” you continued, trying and failing to sound thoughtful while resting your chin against your palm again. “Who else is gonna remember I hate strawberry leaves? Or warm my side of the bed first? Or carry my bags before I even ask?”
“You can hold your own damn bags.”
“But you don’t let me.”
“That’s because you start complaining after five damn minutes.”
“Exactly,” you said immediately, pointing at him once more. “You created this.”
He stared at you for a second like you genuinely exhausted him before exhaling sharply through his nose.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And deeply loved,” you corrected softly, unable to stop smiling at him now.
“Tch.”
But there it was again.
That tiny twitch near the corner of his mouth he kept trying to suppress whenever you said things like that too casually. Your eyes narrowed immediately when you noticed.
“Oh my God,” you gasped softly, leaning forward against the counter a little. “You’re smiling.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You literally are,” you laughed, already grinning too hard now. “Katsuki, you think I’m cute.”
“I think you talk too damn much.”
“But affectionately.”
Katsuki sighed heavily then, setting the spatula down before finally walking fully around the counter toward you.
“You’re annoying,” he muttered, though his hands were already settling automatically against your waist by the time he stopped between your knees.
Your arms slid lazily up his forearms without thinking.
“Yet here you are,” you murmured softly, tilting your head back just enough to look up at him properly.
“Tch.”
But he didn’t move away, didn’t let go either. And that, that right therewas exactly the problem.
Because Katsuki loved you so naturally, so constantly, that half the time he didn’t even realize how obvious it was. Meanwhile you noticed every single thing.
Boy dad! Brendon always gets you a gift on your son’s birthday as well, because he thinks you never stop deserving appreciation for giving him his little boy. He can never repay that, despite you insisting he doesn’t have to.
He’s such a doting father. Some men only soften for a little girl. Not Brendon. His baby boy is his universe now. His little best friend.
And Brendon is raising the sweetest, most polite, respectful, lovely little boy. His floppy dirty blonde curls, your sparkling eyes (you’d hoped your baby would have his, but god did Brendon love seeing your eyes on your baby), nothing but kind words fall from his little mouth. Gentle and patient beyond his years in a way that makes Brendon beam with pride, and his daddy’s sharp mind.
And your inquisitive little boy asks Brendon one day, once he’s old enough to understand, why does mommy get a gift for my birthday too? And Brendon settles in to explain. “Well, your birthday celebrates the day you were born, yeah? The day you came to life?” And your son nods. “Before that, mommy carried you in her tummy. Like how mommy’s friend Jessica’s tummy’s gotten real big lately? That’s becuase she’s gonna have a baby too soon. And when you were in mommy’s belly, it wasn’t easy. You made her sick, and you were heavy to carry around…” and your little boys lip wobbles. “I didn’t mean to.” And Brendon feels so guilty. “No, buddy, I know that. Mommy knows that. We’re not mad at you. It’s not your fault, babies. Just do that. And we love you no matter what anyway.” He explains. And gets back on track. “So you were in mommy’s belly for 9 months. That’s a long time to feel so sick and achey for, right?”. And a little nod. “You know how you get a lolly pop at the doctor when you get a shot?” Another little nod. “A shot is only a few seconds. 9 months is way longer. So because mommy was so brave, like you when you get a shot, we get mommy a nice gift every year to thank her for being such a good mommy.” Brendon explains. And then he ends with a common phrase in your house. “Because mommy deserves nice things.” And there’s never a reason why. Not because she takes care of us, because she’s a good mom, a good wife. No. You just do in Brendon’s opinion, just for being the woman he loves.
And your son is used to those words. When he asks Brendon why he’s buying flowers. Why he’s stopping for fancy coffee for mommy. Why they’re going to the icky fancy restaurant again. Mommy deserves nice things.
So when a relative makes a snarky comment about how expensive your new earrings look at a family party, and your baby proudly says “mommy deserves nice things”?. Brendon fucking glows.
STARGIIRL! (feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader)
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: Holy shit. It’s been so long bbgs, I apologize for the delay and i hope you guys like this one as much as i do <3 all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
These were intense times.
The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed.
There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft.
As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses.
It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk.
Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones.
As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf.
Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field.
His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table.
He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer.
Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls.
She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself.
And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts.
His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded.
“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”.
Part one?!
He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one.
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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20.
And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name.
“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”
He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty.
But in the lecture hall? Well…
His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II.
He was truly a lost cause.
He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never).
So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago.
At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast.
Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you.
And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter.
It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.
In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.
“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”
It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.
You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.
He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.
He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him.
His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter.
Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”
You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen.
For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.
What the fuck?
He took your phone.
“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”
He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones.
“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”
He hated how his dick twitched at your words.
But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.
He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake!
His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”
You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!
And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.
After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.
He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.
You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday.
The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission.
And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill.
He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.
Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days.
And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days.
“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both.
You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe.
He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…
“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare.
“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power.
You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!
You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache.
The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?”
He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly.
You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips.
“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you.
He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag.
“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”
And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest.
A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand.
“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.”
His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away.
“It’s a small place,” you warned.
He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”
He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them.
You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”
For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world.
All he could do was swallow and nod.
He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door.
The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road.
Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row.
The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen.
Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.
And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.
He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–
He coughed lightly.
What was he thinking?
As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine.
Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.
It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.
“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table.
You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down.
He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room.
And, holy shit.
No.
There was genuinely no way in hell.
He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it.
His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body?
Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.
His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it.
Everything looked familiar.
Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–
“Can I help you?”
You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours.
You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.
And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words.
All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.
“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??”
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He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.
The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.
And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself.
What. The. Fuck.
It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it?
No. He couldn’t. He’d never.
Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell?
He couldn’t tell.
What does this mean? How should he act? What does he fucking do with this information now?
He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer.
“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”
He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin.
“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled.
He tapped into the link despite himself.
“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”
He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video.
For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera.
But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded.
The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind.
He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look.
He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.
You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”
The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1.
His jaw ticked, hard.
“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before.
His dick bobbed in his pants.
This could not be happening to him right now.
You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”
He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie.
And he couldn’t help it, really.
Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers.
He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back.
Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit.
He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip.
He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him.
He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot.
He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.
It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner.
And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing.
He just finished to the thought of you.
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Toji Fushiguro had a problem.
No, scratch that.
He had a fucking crisis.
It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times.
And that was only how one of his practices went this week.
It had been five whole days since he last saw you.
Five days of being dogshit at his sport.
Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.
It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say.
How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?
How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay?
How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!
And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.
He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body.
A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him.
He stared down at your last texts to him.
⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree
Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive
It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet.
He needed time.
He needed space.
He needed to get this shit under control.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals.
It would be the perfect distraction.
About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light.
He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–
“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”
His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised.
Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him.
He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature.
You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame.
He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.).
“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily.
The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire.
He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt.
You looked good, really fuckin’ good.
Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding
Did he say that outloud?!
You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.
Back to the last name basis.
You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes.
A dull pang rippled through his chest.
He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started.
And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter.
And, you knew he was huge before.
But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms.
He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly.
You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled.
He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear.
You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing.
Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other.
You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.
But for him? That just would not do.
He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate.
“Because you scare me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched.
“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.
“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper.
“I can go-”
“Don’t.”
And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt.
“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.”
You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”
“Stay.”
It was as simple as that, really.
And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you.
Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.
He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits.
He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face.
Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start.
And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh.
You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous.
“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened.
“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell.
His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.”
Please.
His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission.
ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
You breathed.
The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–
“It’s not just you, Toji.”
Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest.
And that was all he needed.
He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.
He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom.
He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.
The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own.
He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own.
It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.
You put your hands against his chest.
“Toji-”
“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”
You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed.
His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place.
You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.
A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing.
“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?”
And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.
He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process.
“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?”
You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs.
You shook your head.
“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”
He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench.
Fuckin’ tease.
“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out.
A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties .
“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”
And - Holy shit.
The videos of you didn’t even do this justice.
Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.
And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric.
It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong.
But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots.
“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet.
His heart was thunderous against his chest.
And his dick?
Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.
He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.
After all, how could he say no to you?
He pushed your panties to the side.
And oh.
His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy.
Holy. Shit.
Everything was soaked and glistening.
He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process.
He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool.
It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room.
The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“Toji, I might-”
He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle.
You saw fuckin’ stars.
The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs.
He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again.
He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him.
Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three.
You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer.
Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears.
Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.
The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs.
You were orgasming before you even realized it.
And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks.
Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt.
You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples.
Your heart squeezed in your chest.
It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond.
“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.”
And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went.
You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso.
You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.
“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”
You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.
Who would move first?
His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist.
“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.”
Oh.
And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue.
And then he’s pulling you into his lap.
You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again.
A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.
“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting.
“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.
And oh fuck.
Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud!
The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.
Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.
You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff.
You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear.
“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you.
Pretty girl.
He squeezed tighter.
His pretty girl.
A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”
And who was he to deny you?
Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs
Your mouth gaped open.
And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.
You didn’t even think anyone could be this large.
Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head.
He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.
Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.
He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.
He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.
He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.
You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead.
And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him.
None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock.
You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.
But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together.
“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass.
“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices.
Your heart fluttered.
His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off.
You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you.
You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips.
He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.
Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt.
You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly.
Please, please, please, ple–
And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole.
“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.
Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip.
And this was just the tip.
He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant.
You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him.
“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.
“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him.
Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”
And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests.
He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.
You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.
You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need.
It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here.
“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features.
“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.
“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.
And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.
His dick bobbed from inside of you.
“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down.
“But-?”
He thought you would hate him if you knew.
He agonized for days for this reaction?!!
“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”
And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy.
“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?
“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.
And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again.
T-O-J-I !
He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air.
You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise.
In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.
He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck.
Oh. His cum.
His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming.
You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you.
“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?”
And oh, how his broken mind snapped.
The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear.
And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb.
It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.
Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white.
And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed.
And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.
And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.
“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”
And as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.
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Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.
After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.
There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side.
Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).
He still kept his same protein shake recipe.
He still kept his same choice of attire.
But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb.
And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38.
And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.
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