18+ Satoru sometimes forgets the difference between a fidget toy and your clit ✧.*
Satoru is the type of guy to absentmindedly play with your pussy whenever he’s bored.
You’re lying on the couch, spooning with him and watching a movie? Expect him to dip his fingers into your pants and rub your clit for the entirety of it. He doesn’t even do it out of lust or perversion, it’s almost like a habit to him now. The tips of his fingers brush over your nub, rubbing it ever so softly, occasionally pinching it slightly. It’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s so casual with it, it almost seems like he isn’t even doing anything nasty at all.
And poor you, struggling to focus on the movie that did seem kind of promising, because he just had to start toying with you again, soaking your panties and shorts—and you’re sure the couch’s got a damp spot as well.
You’re writhing subtly, his fingers never really pressing down harshly, just tracing soft patterns on your clit like he’s stirring the spoon in his coffee. Neither of you say anything, nor do you try to stop him. It felt so good, you just wish he’d do it when you’re not trying to watch a movie.
He doesn’t even acknowledge the fact that you came, simply continuing to circle your clit like some sort of fidget toy. Your legs start to tremble at around the halfway mark, even if he was only lightly touching your poor, puffy clit, it was still enough to be so incredibly overstimulating after your third orgasm.
When the credits roll you don’t even know what the plot of the movie you were watching was. “What a good ending. Did you like the movie, baby?”, he’ll ask, painfully unaware of the fact that no, you can’t like it—you couldn’t even pay attention to the movie. Only when he pulls his hand out of your shorts and notices it’s sticky with your arousal will he realize his question was kind of silly, and you’ll get an apologetic grin.
katsuki was at the gym with kirishima, since the latter had just moved into the city and missed "having bro time at the gym together, like we did at ua!" katsuki had scoffed when he heard this over the phone, but you encouraged him to go despite his insistence to sleep in with you. no matter how tough he pretended to be, you knew how much he loved his friends, especially kirishima.
they were warming up on neighbouring treadmills: kirishima rambling about some hero themed cafe he'd stumbled upon when exploring the city with mina, katsuki thinking about how cute your face must look right now, all soft and sleepy (it was the reason he'd wanted to stay in so badly, after all). that's when kirishima had asked the question.
"so, what about you? how's the wifey?" at his friend's mention of you, katsuki snapped out of his train of thoughts, smirking. despite having been married to you for just over half a year now, he didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing you being referred to as his wife.
the nickname hit him second, "what?" he asked, now thrown off.
"your wife, katsuki, y/n. how is she?" kirishima clarified, "mina was wondering if we could do some double date kind of thing, but knowing her, she's probably set it up by now."
your husband's brow furrowed as he went uncharacteristically quiet, replying, "i know who my wife is, shitty hair, and she's doing good. she had some weird stomach bug a couple days ago, so she's been takin' it slow, resting, all that." he stopped himself before he went into more detail - he hated how chatty the mention of you made him, it made him feel like a hypocrite for pestering deku about his constant muttering.
the nickname stayed on his mind for the rest of his time at the gym, and on his way home, and as he entered your shared apartment.
"hey, kats, missed you," you said, still stuck between dreams and reality as you made your way over to the front door and burying your face in his chest, humming contentedly as katsuki's strong arms wrapped around you
it slipped out of his lips before he could stop it, "missed you too, wifey."
you giggled before pulling your body away from his to face him, and katsuki felt the tips of his ears burn as you asked, "what'd you just call me?"
he tried turning away so you wouldn't be able to see the look of embarrassment on his face, but there really was no hiding from you - you were the first to notice how the tips of his ears would turn red whenever he'd get shy or embarrassed. you were the first to notice anything beyond surface level about him. the first who bothered to dig deeper.
"'s nothing. stupid shitty hair called you that when we were at the gym 'n it couldn't leave my head."
"hey, its alright," you said, voice gentle as you cradled his face, your thumb rubbing circles into his jawline, "it just caught me off-guard, didn't think i'd ever hear something that silly come out of you."
after that day, it had turned into an inside joke between you. he'd call you wifey while tickling you to wake you up in the morning, or while competing against you in mario kart, or while throwing a handful of flour at you in the kitchen.
one time, he'd called you that after coming home from late-night patrol to find you crying into his pillow after a rough day. it was when you'd calmed down a little, no longer full-on sobbing, but still opting to play with his fingers as leftover tears occasionally streaked down your face. he'd said it then as a way to lighten the mood, to get you to crack a smile or maybe even laugh in that way only you did, the way that had him laughing right with you.
but you'd looked at him then with a look of pure, sticky sweet love, your eyes filling to the brim with tears all over again as you wrapped your arms around him and cried about how much you loved your sweet husband so much.
after that night, wifey was no longer a funny little nickname
an this one is written for all my fellow crybabies and SPECIFICALLY my crybabies who cry when people are so very nice to them <3 if only kirishima knew what he'd started...
Five years ago, when it first started, it was supposed to be simple. Two pro heroes. Long hours. Shared exhaustion. Something quiet that grew between stolen meals and bruises patched up at 3 a.m.
The media ruined that within a year.
Someone caught the way his hand lingered at your lower back. Someone zoomed in on the matching rings you’d sworn were just accessories. Someone noticed how Bakugo only ever smiled like that when you were around.
You tried to deny it. Both of you did. Badly.
Three years in, you stopped pretending.
The engagement lasted two months before Bakugo blew it.
It was supposed to be a throwaway interview. Thirty seconds. One question. You weren’t even there. You’d already rushed off to another press obligation when the interviewer asked him how he balanced work and personal life.
Bakugo didn’t even think.
“My wife keeps me in line.”
The interviewer froze.
Bakugo froze.
The camera zoomed in just in time to catch his eyes widen a fraction too late.
“My—” he cleared his throat, scowling. “I mean—”
Too late.
The clip went everywhere.
You watched it in a hotel hallway, hand over your mouth, laughing so hard you nearly dropped your phone.
The fans lost their minds.
So did the media.
By the time the wedding happened, it barely mattered. People already assumed. Paparazzi hovered. Headlines screamed. Fans dissected every frame of you together.
And then, slowly, things changed.
Year five came quietly.
You stopped going to events as much. Bakugo canceled interviews. You disappeared from red carpets. The agency gave vague statements. “Scheduling conflicts.” “Private matters.”
Rumors bloomed like rot.
Did they split?
Was it messy?
Did Bakugo drive her away?
Why was he alone at that one awards show?
That night was brutal. The photos of him standing there without you went viral within minutes. Threads exploded. Hate accounts resurfaced. YouTube thumbnails screamed betrayal and divorce in bold red letters.
You watched it all from the couch, feet propped up, exhausted, your phone face-down.
Bakugo paced the living room like a caged animal.
“I should say something,” he growled.
“You’ll make it worse,” you said calmly.
He stopped, looking at you, then at the tiny bundle sleeping against your chest.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re right.”
So you stayed quiet.
Until the interview.
The show was known for chaos. A popular YouTube channel, flashy set, loud hosts. A game where celebrities answered uncomfortable questions or ate progressively hotter wings.
Bakugo hated it already.
He sat back in the chair, arms crossed, scowl firmly in place. The host grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“Alright,” he said. “Last question. This one’s been asked the most.”
Bakugo reached into the box, pulled out the slip, unfolded it.
He snorted.
“Figures.”
He read it aloud.
“Did you and y/n split up?”
The crew went quiet. Cameras leaned in.
Bakugo sighed, leaning back, irritation sharp but familiar. “You people are real comfortable asking shit that ain’t your business.”
The host laughed nervously. “You can always eat the wing—”
Bakugo opened his mouth to snap back.
Then—
A baby laughed.
Clear as day.
High-pitched. Bright. Unmistakable.
Bakugo stopped mid-word.
The entire set froze.
“…What,” the host said slowly.
Bakugo closed his eyes. Just for a second. Then he rubbed his face and let out a long breath.
“Tch.”
He looked straight into the camera.
“You guys really wanna know?”
The crew was already losing it. Someone off-screen laughed. The camera shifted.
And then it flipped.
There you were.
Standing just off set, holding a baby against your chest. Your skin glowing, hair pulled back casually, eyes tired but warm. The baby was laughing again, tiny hands grabbing at your collar like the world was a joke she hadn’t gotten tired of yet.
The internet imploded in real time.
You walked onto the set like it was nothing.
Bakugo stood immediately, irritation gone, replaced with something soft and unguarded. You placed the baby in his arms without a word.
His entire face changed.
She giggled, reaching for him, tiny fingers curling into his shirt.
“She thinks it’s funny when I get angry,” he muttered, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
You laughed from behind the camera. “Ain’t that true, April?”
The baby squealed like you’d confirmed the greatest secret on earth.
Bakugo lifted her slightly so the camera could see her better. She kicked happily, blonde curls bouncing, tan skin warm against his hands.
He looked back at the lens, smirk sharp and proud.
“No,” he said. “Me and my wife didn’t split up.”
He adjusted his grip, secure and practiced.
“We just had a fucking baby.”
Silence.
Then chaos.
The video hit twelve million views in under an hour.
Headlines flipped overnight. Rumors died choking on themselves. Hate accounts vanished. New ones popped up just to scream about how unfairly cute your family was.
And at home later that night, with the noise finally far away, Bakugo sat on the couch with April asleep on his chest and you curled against his side.
“Told you we didn’t need to say anything,” you murmured.
He huffed softly, kissing the top of your head.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it felt good watching them shut up.”
You said something offhandedly, he gave you a sarcastic remark to gently poke fun at you. Nothing harsh, nothing cutting, like so many of his other words.
No, he’d never direct any actual bitterness at you. Though, others might not be able to tell the slight difference in tone when he talks to you. And the way his choice of words becomes a lot more forgiving. Not that they matter anyways.
You don’t miss the teasing glint in his eyes, the slight raise of the corner of his mouth. He knows what he’s doing, always having found amusement in poking and prodding at people to provoke a reaction.
So you do the obvious and swiftly swipe the pillow on his lap – that his book he is currently reading was laying on, oh, how handsome he looks when he’s completely absorbed in it– away from him, to smack him in the face with it. Lovingly, of course.
The plush hits his face with a soft thump, muffling the startled noise he made. The way it lands right back on his lap is almost comical. There’s a short pause, and you can practically hear his mind debating whether he should let out an exaggerated exhale and drop it or whether he should strike back.
After having stared into the wall with a deadpan for a few seconds, he seems to have decided.
“Really? That’s your move?”, he asks flatly, but you don’t miss the way his hand gently puts the book away. Minimising collateral damage of what’s to come.
You so saw this coming, and yet, the pillow being thrown your way startles you. You duck, barely dodging the ferocious attack that none other than your precious lover launched.
There’s no option other than retaliation.
Next thing you know, you find yourself pinned on the ground beneath the wanderer. He had given you a false sense of security right before he bested you, having pretended to be oh so weak with his wrists under your grasp. Of course you know that your boyfriend is much stronger than you, and still you gawked in disbelief when he easily freed himself from your grip and turned the situation right back at you.
“My, my, are you struggling?”, he muses condescendingly, looking far too satisfied with himself. And still, the look on his face is too endearing, the proud glint in his eyes, the smug grin, the way he inches closer and closer. “I’d almost call it cute, if you didn’t heinously ambush me”, he adds, letting out a dramatic sigh.
“Oh, please. I went easy on you”, you retort, making a show of threateningly leaning closer too, the playful grin on your face contradicting your actions.
“Ha, easy?”, he snorts, clearly in disbelief of your words. “Last chance to surrender”, he says in a singsongy voice. No outsider would ever believe you if you ever told them about this.
Right as you were about to shoot back a witty reply again, you hear a sudden gasp. Both of you turn your heads to its source, which is a very confused and mildly concerned looking Durin at the door.
Wanderer immediately backs off, looking like a startled cat. You instantly shift your attention to Durin, “Hey, you okay there?”
He looks even more puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Wasn’t Hat Guy about to…”, he trails off.
You blink, thinking for a second before it clicks in your head. “Ohhh, that’s what you– You misunderstood! He’d never actually threaten me, Durin. We were just… playfighting?”, you correct his assumption, unsure of how to explain what he just witnessed.
Apparently it didn’t clear up anything, as Durin’s eyes widened in curiosity. “What’s playfighting?”, he asks innocently.
Wanderer looks like he wants to die on the spot, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting out a loud sigh.
Sensing the very slight, totally almost unnoticeable embarrassment on his end, you take it upon yourself to explain the concept of playfighting to Durin, letting your boyfriend give a tiny nod of approval at the end of your explanation.
Durin listens intently and concludes that it’s another weird human custom he hasn’t learned about yet.
To further ease your lovers headache that this must’ve caused him, you take Durin’s hand and try to change the topic. “How about we go and draw something nice? Come on, Hat Guy, join us. You have skilled hands, righhhht?” You can’t help the slight teasing.
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
A few days have passed since that incident and you didn't think much more of it. Right now, you're in the kitchen, preparing lunch for the three of you. The pan sizzles, the chicken looking mouthwatering, if you say so yourself, prepared just how Durin likes it.
You hum a soft tune, taking a sip from your coffee. You're not really a morning person. Or a noon person either.
A soft patting on the floor distracts you, Durin sure is an energetic dragon. The kitchen door slams open with a slight creak and he looks at you with a determined and serious look, his wings slightly raised in preparation. Just what is he up to?
You don't have any time to ponder or dwell on it as he charges right at you, letting out a loud gruff when he tackles you to the ground with a heavy thud. You drop the wooden spoon you were holding, he almost tipped the pan with the burning hot oil over.
You rub your hip and groan quietly. Before you even get to turn to Durin and ask what this is all about, he gets swooped right off of you.
Wanderer is holding him by the collar– careful to not be too rough– and reprimanding him. "What do you think you're doing? Surely you know that attempted murder is a crime", he scolds the dragon, who looks pitifully guilty and confused.
Durin tries to open his mouth to reply, but your boyfriend is faster, now crouching down beside you and checking your head for tender spots. "You okay? You didn't hit your head, right?", he asks hastily, concern taking over.
"I'm... fine", you reassure gently. Looking at his unconvinced expression, you add, "I landed on my hip. Just glad he didn't knock over the pan."
This seems to calm him down a bit, which allows you to worry about your very confused assailant.
"I assume I didn't do this playfighting thing right?", he mutters, eyes downcast. At least that memo landed. You can't help but snort a little though, this is amusing.
Patting his head gently, you confirm, "Not... exactly. You're meant to hold back."
"Yeah, it's called playfighting, not playkilling", Wanderer adds unceremoniously. Still, his tone sounds more relieved than upset.
Durin's guilty look is too pitiful to look at. You pull him into a hug, softly telling him it's okay and that he didn't mean to be so rough. He keeps mumbling apologies and promises to be more careful in the future.
Your boyfriend, in the meantime, took it upon himself to plate your carefully prepared lunch onto three plates, setting them onto the kitchen table.
“It’s fine,” he sighs, pushing a plate toward Durin, who just sat down together with you. “Just… try not to knock anyone unconscious before lunch.”
nanami hadn’t been able to wear his glasses, lately.
no, not because the prescription was wrong or anything like that; it was his new pair after all, thin frame and all. but because his pregnant wife, you, would get a little too... excited about it, to say the least.
it all started one night, when he wore it to read a mystery novel he recently purchased next to you on the bed, slipping through the pages calmly under the blanket, his one hand on your belly. nanami thought you were fast asleep, but when the book he was holding quickly changed into his beautiful wife straddling his lap, he could not be more wrong.
your lips captured his in a swift motion, moving like someone who couldn’t get enough—insatiable. his hands that were grabbing air found your waist like an anchor. for a man who couldn’t process your gesture fast enough, his body worked hard to cover it. kissing you like that’s the only thing he was meant to do, moving along at the pace you set, taking only what you let him. “mmh, hello to you too. did i do something good today, love?” he asked in-between, smiling. not particularly fixated on the answer as long as he got to touch you, as long as it got you in his hold.
you pulled away, inspecting his face and the glasses that fit him in a way that you could no longer express appropriately. hair all messy, still slightly wet from the shower as his scent wrapped you like a dream. “you’re about to,” you whispered, kissing his neck as the memory faded, leaving the man all hot and bothered.
fine, nanami confessed. he also let it happened way more that he’d like to admit. he really should have held back, helping you relax so you could rest instead of getting swept away every time by your honey-like voice, soft kisses and how sweet you smelled like before bed. he really should have, somehow most nights always ended up with him and you partaking in such an intense... activity. well not exactly somehow, it had been an old news afterall—that he could not ever resist you.
somewhere along the lines, nights where he noticed, it always had something to do with two things. him and his glasses. it took him a while to figure it out, with his mind being quite infatuated by you. but when he eventually figured it out he could be more giddy, knowing that he was as desirable to you as you were to him.
but that had to stop. it really did. nanami would hate to wear you out, making you tired when he should be helping you feel the opposite. he did not want to contribute into anything that could possibly affect your physical condition negatively, even just a little.
that’s why nanami decided not to wear his glasses anymore for a while. he decided to be responsible for the both of you.
“ken? you're not reading tonight?” but then you asked. the answer came within a split second, right after he was done ogling the sight of you in your nightgown. he knew what you were asking, he knew exactly what it was implying.
“i’m about to, love. someone just couldn’t get enough, hm?” he asked gently, caressing your earlobe intimately. you nuzzled closer, and he knew he was done for.
tomorrow, nanami thought. tomorrow, he will definitely start being responsible.
bakugou pauses mid-sentence, then leans in, pressing his face right into your neck.
you squirm, trying to push him away. his nose brushes against your skin, and a reluctant laugh escapes you. you put your hands on his chest and push.
“stop! you know i’m ticklish there,” you tell him.
he grips your waist, holding you in place. his eyes narrow.
“what the fuck is that?” he says.
“what?” you furrow your brow, leaning back to look into his face. “what’s what?”
bakugou scowls. “you smell like shitty cologne.”
“what?” you turn your head, attempting to smell yourself. you do catch a wisp of scent on you. “oh! it got cold out, and i forgot my jacket so todoroki lent me his. his cologne must’ve rubbed off on me.”
“why the hell would you take it?” bakugou says, scowl deepening.
“it was cold!”
“so stay cold.”
“katsuki!”
bakugou reaches up and pinches your nose. “you call me if you’re cold, i’ll bring you something.”
“you were on patrol!” you say, voice nasally. you bat at his hand, and he lets go.
“i don’t give a fuck. now go shower. don’t fucking pull this shit again.”
“you’re so annoying sometimes,” you say. “he was just being nice.”
bakugou drops his head to bite your shoulder.
“are you a dog,” you say, deadpan. your hand reaches up to thread through his hair. you tug at the strands a little.
he growls into you in response, and you break into a smile, laughing.
⟡ ݁₊ . Your kids are acting up again but just wait till pro hero #7 gets home from work ⟡ ݁₊ .
“Wait till daddy gets home.”
That simple sentence alone was enough to send chills down the spine of your identical twins backs. They paused in their tracks frozen in place as their assortment of chalk crayons fall on the floor, leaving behind broken chips and dust.
You’d told Kenji (your little boy) and Kisaki (your little girl) to get somewhere and sit down a long time ago. Just this morning they’d woken you up from your nap by deciding to have a full on scream battle over who got the last waffle. Then when you asked them to help with the dishes they broke two plates and a glass cup which you had to clean up. And then you had to patch up little Kenji’s knee when he decided to take a dive off the sofa onto the hard floor.
And now they were drawing in the walls. With chalk.
Surely you were warned about the terrible two’s, but not one soul could’ve prepared you for the frightening four’s.
“I thought I told you two to watch cartoons in your room.” You said clenching your jaw in attempt to not raise your voice.
They just looked back at you with big bright crimson eyes as if they’d do it again. They were an exact replica of their father. Kisaki was stubborn just like him. She was firey and a mouthy from the moment she learned to speak.
Kenji not so much. He took after you in attitude a lot more and had a lot of your mannerisms. Which is why you were surprised that he decided to draw on the wall too. In fact, judging by the drawings he seemed to be the ring leader in this project.
“What are you gonna do when daddy gets home huh?” you mentioned again. The twins eyes couldn’t possibly grow wider.
“I’m home from work.” The door slammed open.
o, they definitely grew wider.
You made a ‘oooooh’ gesture as if mocking your kids.
“The hell you all standing around here for?” Your husband heavy foot steps approached as some of his hero gear struck the ground. The steps stopped. And just as his kids did, Bakugou’s crimson eyes widened.
“Who the HELL drew on the wall!?”
The twins quickly point at each other as if the blue and pink chalk left on both of their hands wasn’t evidence enough.
Katsuki was almost fuming. “How’d this even happen?” He asked you.
“I’ve already told them multiple times today to stop being cheeky but I just can’t get through to them.”
Katsuki quickly eyes his kids before sighing and sinking down to their level.
“Listen, I’m happy you two respect your father but you absolutely have to listen to yer’ mother too. If she tells you to do something you better listen. Don’t let her have to tell me that she asked you two to do something and you didn’t listen again, kay?”
The two nodded immediately as if eating out the palm of their fathers hand.
“Now go some wet towels and clean yer’ mess.” And with that they were off. “Damn brats” he whispered to himself.
“”Kats how in the world do you get them to do that?” You asked.
Katsuki stepped behind you, “Because you have to be firm. You baby them too much.” He said into your ear as his hands snaked around your waist.
“Well someone has to be the nice parent, and it’s definitely not you.”
秦彻 – pranking sylus by "losing" your ring… gone wrong | 18+ .ᐟ
“This can’t go wrong, Mephisto. You must hide the ring and not lose it, okay?"
"Caw! Cawww caw?"
"I don't even know what you're saying, but that doesn't matter. As long as he doesn't find the ring, the plan will go smoothly." You snap your fingers at the bird and step back, waving the ring at him before placing it on his beak. "And it's not like I'm divorcing him or anything. Luke and Kieran are in on the prank too... at least I hope they are."
"Caw..."
"Okay, let's hope the prank runs smoothly."
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
You stay silent, peering your gaze at the door. It couldn't be Sylus, right?
When the knocks erupted again and the sounds of two familiar boys echo through the other side, you sigh in relief and eventually open the door to be met with the twins who were grinning at you ear to ear. And that look alone meant something was up...like they had something up their sleeve.
"What are you guys smiling for?" You ask, tilting your head to the side curiously as the twins continue to giggle and not answer immediately. Something made you think they already told Sylus, but that couldn't happen... right?
"Nothing's wrong boss lady! it's just, Sylus will be home in a bit, maybe in five minute—"
Creeeeeaaakkk
Oh.
Oh.
He was home early.
Way earlier than the twins mentioned.
Well, as long as step one was complete-
"What are all of you doing in here?" The footsteps of heavy shoes grew louder at every step he took—Thump. Thump. Thump—you swore, at one point you didn't know if it was your heart beating at the same pace, or the same sound– because the moment Sylus stopped at the entrance of his door, staring at the four of you with a curious look, you almost, just almost dropped the prank right then and there.
But you weren't going to give up that easily! I mean, it shouldn't take long for him to figure out there wasn't a ring on your finger despite coming home just minutes ago.
"All three of you, go to your room. It's late." Sylus nodded at the twins and Mephisto, directing his head in the direction out of his room. But he didn't acknowledge you yet, and instead just waited for everyone to leave before speaking to you.
“Hey, sweetie.”
He didn’t waste a second before plopping on your shoulder and enveloping you in his embrace. You melted in the touch and eventually pulled away, staring at him breathlessly.
“Why are you home early?”
“Did you not want me to come home?” Sylus chuckled, averting his gaze lower before reaching for your hand. And at that very moment, you couldn’t move an inch. Frozen. Utterly terrified.
“–Actually! Let me go do the dishes!” You interrupt, running out of his room and striding to the kitchen before he could chase after you.
However, unfortunately, when you got to the kitchen and barely caught your breath—a strong force on your arm pulled you back and you slammed! against a hard chest—Sylus’s hard chest.
“Jeez! I was just kidding- haha-”
“We have people for that, kitten. Don’t try to escape now.” Sylus dragged you back to his room and slammed the door shut when you two were alone in the large space again.
“Sigh. I missed you Sylus,” you groan, splaying your arms open as an invitation for a hug. And Sylus didn’t waste a second, shaking his head and landing in your arms before sighing against your shoulder.
You wrap your arms around him as you let him speak—preferably about his day, but maybe instead of talking about his day, something else distracted him.
“I missed you t- Tch-”
“What’s wrong?”
You knew exactly what was wrong, and he couldn’t tell you it was the fact that there wasn’t a cool metal grazing his skin when you wrapped your fingers around the nape of his neck. No, he couldn’t tell you that, and instead...he took a different approach.
“Did you cook today? Clean today?” He removed your hand from his neck and planted a kiss on your bare knuckles staring at you with a look you couldn’t read. But from his feigned innocence—you knew he was acting in some way to get a few words out of you—ideally, your honesty.
But you still decided to play along.
“I was about to clean, but you pulled me away before I could.” You sulk, playfully jabbing his chest before pulling away and attempting to brush past him a second time.
And unfortunately, yet again, you were pulled to the bed while Sylus stares at you with a complex look mixed with desperation and frustration. He wasn’t angry at you, just confused.
“Where’s your ring?”
You suppressed the smile creeping up your lips and looked down at your hands; feigning shock—horror—filled your expression like you lost a precious item. Well, in this case, you did.
“On my finger?- Wait, where is my ring?!”
“Such a smart little kitten, aren’t you?”
-
“Are you going to tell me now? or is there a reason you took it off?” Sylus asked, voice strained with pretend misery—like he was in an act and playing a role for experiencing the worst thing that ever happened to him. But you could tell he wasn’t that affected… at least that’s what you think.
“I was about to- ngh- clean and then i lost it! It slipped out of my finger! I don’t know where!”
“Mhm, lost it.” He hummed, driving his cock deeper in your cunt, thrashing your sweet spots—hardening tip kissing your cervix—causing you to yelp and hold onto him by his arms.
But holding his arms didn’t feel the same as last time. Sylus didn’t feel like it was you holding onto him. That irreplaceable piece of silver wasn’t touching his skin like the other times—it was bare, lonely, empty.
“Please believe me- hck! I didn’t lose it on purpose! I'd never take it off for the reasons you're- hah- thinking!”
“Keep giving me excuses, sweetie. I’m almost about to fall for every. single. one. of. them.”
Your breath hitched and you felt a strange shift in the air—Sylus raised your legs to a higher position and eventually wrapped them around his hips; elevating you to a perfect angle so he could—
“Ah!”
With his cock stuffed deep in your fluttering, aching pussy; Sylus doesn’t bother moving when he feels you squirm and cling onto him tighter.
He eyed you down and gave you tiny thrusts, something to rile you up so you could spew. Unintentionally sputter words so he could get the answer out of you one way or another. But when he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted, he decided to keep you in a mean mating press before sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you close to his chest.
“Anyway, since you said you ‘lost’ it, shall we go find it?”
Without wasting a second he lifts you in his arms whilst still deep inside you, already pacing around the room for any sight of where your precious ring could be.
You suck in a breath, shake your head and try to deny his suggestion. “Not- ngh- not now! After this!” Your breathing started growing more ragged and more intense that it was getting harder to speak with so much on your mind.
“After, huh? Don’t you always want to rest and relax after we’re done with…”
Thrust.
“…This?”
“I-”
“Now let’s see…” Sylus walked toward the bathroom, peering his gaze through the open door, staring at the dimly lit room with no interest. “The bathroom?”
You whimper and tighten your grip around him, not answering—just impatiently waiting for him to stop teasing you. He knew it was a prank, yet he’s going this far?
“No…you’re not that dumb.” He hummed, walking towards the large curtains covering his extremely huge fancy windows. “How about the window?”
“Ngh- Sy! Wh-why would I put it there anyway?!”
“Put it.” Sylus repeated. You could hear the snide, mocking tone fall off his voice in challenge—no, like he fucking won. You got caught. How could you mess up like that?!
“Such a smart girl.” He teased again, causing you to hiss and squirm the closer you were reaching to climax.
“I also put my stuff I lost in places I don’t know. Especially if its something that slipped out of my finger.” Sylus continued, patting your head a few times before lifting off the window and stumbling to the wall nearby.
“Pleaseplease- m’sorry- it- it was a prank!”
“I knew that.”
Your head thrashes on the wall and you couldn’t help but wince when Sylus started losing control. His pace starts to speed up—he wasn’t angry like before—he actually didn’t even decide to bring up the lost ring. All he needed to do was cure and fulfill that frustration built up in him.
“I knew, way before I got home…”
“Don’t tell me the twins-”
“Aren’t they loyal to their boss?”
You sneer and shake your head, pouting in frustration as your prank got ruined before it could even start. How annoying.
You felt the knot in your stomach tie tighter when he grinds his hips against yours, causing an electric spark to rub between the two of you; making you cling onto his shoulder tight: digging your nails deep in his skin, and throwing your head back when pleasure hits you like an ocean wave.
Streaks of warm, sticky mixture shoot through your insides, coating your gummy walls like a painting at an art museum. You and Sylus sigh in relief, catching your breath before he cups your head, pulling you in a fiery kiss.
“Now tell me,” Sylus mumbles through kisses. “Tell me...” Kiss. “…Where your ring…” Kiss. “…Is.”
-
“Luke and Kieran, I’m never telling you guys anything.”
“We’re sorry!” They say in unison, raising their hands in mock surrender as they spew out the truth.
“Boss said we wouldn’t get video game time if we didn’t tell him what was up!” Luke interferes, bowing down at you in apology for messing up your plan.
You only sigh and turn your gaze to the metal bird peering at you with a curious look which only got you wondering…
“Did you keep the ring safe?”
“Caw!”
“Uh, Sylus… What did he say?”
Sylus glares at Mephisto, then looks back at you with a displeased smile. “That he didn’t keep the ring safe.”
Synopsis. How many doctors does Dr. Nanami Kento (MBBS) consult regarding his strange symptoms as of late? Six. How many different solutions is he given regarding them? Six. How many of those solutions include being ridden right back to health by you (MBBS, MS)—the cute lil’ surgeon he’s had his eyes on? Only one.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!surgeon!reader, doctor!Nanami, hospital AU, 5 + 1 if you squint, Nanami’s DOWN BAD, symptoms of yearning, slight crackfic, first times (Nanami’s), oraI (fem rec.), PÚSSYDRÚNK NANAMI, he goes feraI, fíngering, spítting, stopping you from running, p talking, improper use of stethoscopes, cúmming in his pants, ríding, MANHANDLlNG, improper use of examination tables, overstím, science talk, teaching him, being taught by him, p babbIing, slight bréeding, creampíes, cúmpIay, getting together, Gojo cameo, pet names, swéaring..
Word count. 14.9k
A/N. Since Santa Tony thinks you babygirls have been good this year mwahaha (jk y’all are amazing and I lob y’all sm)- inspired by this tiktok by the amazing @/v4mpyrf4e (SUCH a sweetheart y’all)!!
The first opinion.
“So…heart palpitations, chest tightness, tremors, poor concentration, and a lack of sleep. Is that all?” Dr. Haibara’s thoughtful tone carries above the buzz of the hospital canteen. It was like a never-ending pulp of noise—cries, conversation, and the remnants of consultations all brewing into one with the smell of coffee.
Nanami needed it. He’d gotten less than ten hours of sleep this week and was on his fifth cup already.
Decidedly not the healthiest lifestyle meant to be led by a general practitioner (and especially not by the ever-sensible Nanami Kento)- but that’s exactly why he was here.
Lying to his best friend of over ten years, “Yes…yes, that’s all the symptoms.”
“Hm…” Haibara taps the edge of his pen on his chin, “Is there any specific time when the symptoms worsen?”
“Not quite, it’s just…” Nanami furrows his blond brows, “-they inexplicably seem to flare up most when I’m around—”
And that’s when he sees it.
The flash of your white coat.
“-her.”
Haibara echoes, “Her?”
With the faint curve of your smile and your intelligent eyes.
With that uniform you seemed to make look like a wedding dress a beautful gown.
With the slight halo around you that seemed to blur out the rest of the world.
Younger than the both of them, and yet higher in rank (Nanami would never be ashamed to admit it, in fact, out of the entire hospital you might be a rare case that could rival him in grit. And for some reason that made him…well, he liked it to say the least). The sweetheart of the General Surgery department. A favorite amongst patients and staff alike.
You were everything that he had trouble becoming.
And the word blurts out of Nanami’s traitorous mouth faster than he can stop himself.
So awkward and feeble—weakly falling between his usually-stern lips that had no trouble telling off their most stubborn patients, directing lectures for the new residents, and earning him a reputation as one of Tokyo Jujutsu Hospital’s toughest doctors.
The Ratio Doctor, for his steady hands.
The Blond-haired Sorcerer at GP.
The Ice Prince (Nanami wasn’t quite sure whether he should be insulted by this one- though, given that it’d been created by a particularly annoying blue-eyed surgeon down in the ophthalmics department then maybe he should be…)
People both respected and slightly feared him - after all it took quite some doctor to climb the ranks and become the best in his department, the best of the best. And the youngest, at that!
Which is why most of the hospital staff would laugh in your face if you told them that Nanami Kento was suffering from a particular…malady himself, and had been wracking his brains day and night trying to correctly administer himself a diagnosis.
With nothing yet.
Hell, they might even prescribe you a neurological exam.
It’s with this thought in mind that Nanami had confided in his best friend, his oldest, his only confidant all through high school to university to medical school. Dr. Haibara Yu from the pediatrics department, who swivels around in his seat to catch sight of you—he brightens up…and commits the most heinous atrocity to friendship - he calls you right over.
He grits his teeth as the other man waves you down in the middle of scanning the canteen for a free seat- “Yu!” Nanami hisses underneath his breath, pulling down one of Haibara’s hands where it was dangling in mid-air. He pins it down onto the faux-wooden plastic of the table- only for Haibara to start waving at you with the other. “Yu, what do you think you are doing—”
“What?” Haibara turns to him with an innocent expression, both arms put down now.
But it was too late - and you were already heading their way with a polite smile and your tray steaming with your lunch.
Nanami feels like his face was much the same temperature.
Fuck—there it was again! With his eyes pointedly downturned, Nanami snatches Haibara’s prescription book right out of his hands to start jotting these strange symptoms down.
“Hey there!” He’s looking up at the sound of your voice- and is immediately turning away (for good reason). Palpitations. Perspiring. Possible heart murmurs or arrhythmia? The table rattles ever-so-slightly as you place your tray down and take a seat besides Nanami—jitters? “Thanks for having me, the canteen’s absolutely packed today.”
He can feel your warm smile against the side of his face, and the only thing that Nanami can possibly do is spare a half-glance your way and nod.
Heart attack?!
But you seem to take it in stride, and turn to Haibara - who beams right back at you, as he was always prone to doing. Now it seems that there’s a strange new symptom of stomach churning. Acid reflux. Not quite pleasant…He wonders how the brown-haired man seemed to never let you affect him in this way.
“Always happy to have you!” Haibara leans over the table to start the conversation, as he always seemed to do between the two of them. “How’s your day been? Kento and I just barely managed to squeeze out for lunch.”
You sigh, “Busy nonstop. Mostly recovering patients than anything-” And Nanami had the faint, fleeting thought that he’d make an appointment with you every day had he been one of your patients—thoughts of delusion.
“Tell me about it.” Haibara nods understandingly, “I have four walk-ins already waiting.”
“Mm, just had one for an acute abdomen.” You’re poking and prodding distastefully at the grey mush of potatoes they’d served up for the set lunch - and honestly, even after years of working at the hospital Nanami never understood why the food had to be like…that. Unbeknownst to the rational part of himself, he was halfway through jotting down a better recipe for mashed potatoes before he catches himself.
Automatic behavior.
He jolts at the sound of your voice continuing the conversation, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil that your colleague was in. “There were a few more that I sent for counselling, and then one case of gastritis which wasn’t too bad.”
“Mhm, I missed my rice for breakfast today and I’ve been kinda feeling it too.” Haibara places both hands on his stomach with a huff.
And Nanami—Nanami feels a lightbulb go off inside his brain.
With a sudden rustle of papers (that weren’t quite his, but he had more important things to worry about right now), he’s furiously jotting down. So rapidly, so urgently, that he starts to feel the metal nib dig into his fingertips, and the ink stain dangerously close towards his white sleeves.
Acute gastritis?
Stress and irregular intervals between eating.
Simethicone.
Antacids.
Possible ultrasound abdomen if doesn’t reduce-
“Do you have a patient that suffers from gastritis, Kento?”
Nanami flinches so hard at the sound of your voice so close - the feeling of your warm presence pressed up against his shoulder, the curve of your breast through your clothes - that the pen he was holding flies halfway across the canteen and makes a certain grey-and-black-haired urologist slip on it.
“I’ll go get it!” Haibara announces—and Nanami almost has half the mind to reach his hand out and grab his best friend. To stop him by the scruff of his collar. To make him forget about that damned pen and fucking help him because he’s near the point of requiring resuscitation.
But it’s too late - Nanami’s fingers are barely even twitching, and Haibara’s already slipped away to gather his belonging. Leaving the two of you very, very alone in this crowded canteen.
Was it getting hot in here or was he experiencing some sort of hot flash?
But listen! Nanami Kento has made it through the sleepless nights it took to pass his entrance exams, he’s trudged through the mind-aching years of medical school, he’s survived all the being-yelled-at it took to finish his residency. So surely - surely - he could try and not make an even bigger fool out of himself in front of you? Especially as someone so senior in terms of rank?
So subtly that one almost couldn’t see him moving, he semi-turns to you with a bow of his head. “H-hello.”
You giggle—that one was definitely a heart palpitation. “Why hello, Kento-san. I apologize if I interrupted you in the middle of your work.”
“Not at all.” He shakes his head and pushes up the sagging golden rim of his glasses, “I apologize for being so rude at the table, I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings.” And then he looks at you with a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “You could never interrupt.”
To which you seemed to stare at him for a lingering few seconds - was he just imagining it? Was there something on his face? “W-well, that’s good to hear.”
“It’s simply fact.”
“And the pen?”
“Not mine.” There were slight dimples on the sides of his cheeks, you’re noticing. They never did have a chance to pop out given the handsome doctor’s stoic nature. Nanami tilts his head slightly to the side, gaze somehow scrutinizing all of you at once. “If it’s not mine then why bother?‘
You startle out a slight chuckle, “Oh, you’re awful.”
“Who’s awful?”
You and Nanami lurch away as if the proximity between you two burned.
Never realizing just how close you’d been until you’re sliding about a meter away on the bench, never realizing just what it might have looked like until someone else was coming along to pop your little bubble—never realizing that there had been a bubble in the first place.
You’re sinking your teeth into your lower lip to silence your yelp of surprise, Nanami’s eyes meeting yours across the gap you’d just created as if two parts of the same heartbeat. Ba-dump—! The steady tips of his fingers twitch- shortness of breath, oncoming fever.
It seems to take him an age to break the charged eye contact, and by the time he does- Haibara had already taken his seat once more. Pen in his hand. Easy grin not dampened a single bit at the strange air between his best friend and you. “Who’s awful?” He asks once again.
“Kento.” You respond instantly, though he notices that the tone of your voice was slightly out-of-breath (not that Nanami spent time memorizing your exact pitch, inflection, and melody!) With a smile spreading across your face- you seem to lean in as if you were about to nudge the man with your shoulder, but thought otherwise. And you jab at him with your thumb instead, “Kento’s awful for throwing your pen halfway across the canteen.”
“I’ll say.” Haibara knits his brows in a show of joking anger, “Kento, what have I told you about getting so caught up in your work? It’s not healthy.”
“I know I know.” He grumbles.
“What are you working on anyway?” Learning your face in your hands, you take a good look at the towering man. “Within HIPAA, of course.”
“I-” To which…the alleged ice prince of the GP department seems to pale. He seems to let his lips part. He seems to look at his brown-haired best friend and signal for help—
“Ah- ah—!” Haibara starts up abruptly, catching your attention. “You see, Nanami here has been having just a bit of trouble with this new case. New patient. New consultation.” He looks between you and Nanami, wobbly smiles. “Wh-whole new person, of course…”
You narrow your eyes, “Right?”
“You could help us, actually!” Haibara babbles out at the sheer intensity of your stare - and Nanami understood the predicament, he really did. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to reach out and strangle the man. Though, before he could do anything of the sort, Haibara’s reaching over for his notebook and flipping through to the page he’d initially been writing on.
Placing it in front of you and thumbing through the scrawled writing, “These are just my observational notes, you see- heart palpitations, chest tightness, tremors, poor concentration, and a lack of sleep. I was thinking gastritis but-”
“But that would be more in line with more symptoms of intermittent GI discomfort.” You hum, thoughtful now. “Have you conducted any labs?”
Haibara shakes his head, subtly looking at Nanami. “Not yet.”
“I’d recommend an ECG, a CBC to rule out anemia, and a thorough examination of the patient’s sleep history.” You rattle off, and both men were slightly in awe at the ease with which you did. “If the tremors haven’t been accompanied by any tingling or brain fog then we might be able to rule out anything serious that needs an MRI for now. Did you already consider that?”
Nanami’s lips part, “N-no…”
Honestly, something in it made him…tighten in his pants-
“And what if the patient has symptoms of increased libido?” Nanami’s the one to ask at this time, to which you squint down at the paper.
“It hasn’t been written on here, but if there really is such an issue then maybe a hormone check can be done?” A furrow between your brows, one that he wants to kiss away—what?
“What about if they have delusions?”
“They’re displaying signs of delusions?” Your eyes widen, “Maybe we crossed off the MRI too soon- there are many things it could be, I really do think it’s subclinical anxiety, however.”
“Subclinical anxiety?” Nanami asks- did he get anxious around you? That made no sense. He sure did respect you, but that didn’t mean he was afraid in any way- “I disagree, I rather think it’s something to do with pylori-induced gastritis.” It has to be, right?
Your furrow deepens, “With GI symptoms, yes. But notice the context, the epigastric discomfort is likely functional rather than stands on its own-”
“You can’t just assume anxiety.” Tutting, and Haibara watches the debate like a tennis match. “What if it’s a deeper underlying condition? We can consider anxiety only after the appropriate labs have been done-”
“And what do you suggest then?” Crossing your arms.
“An endoscopy-”
“Hah! An endoscopy?” It was almost condescending, the way you laughed—so why the fuck did it only make his dick throb even harder between his legs? “An endoscopy now might be going too far, if you simply did the basic labs and rule them out-”
He squirms, “F-fair point but what if it’s necessary-”
“Then do it.” You raise a brow sharply, and Nanami has to crush his meaty thighs together. “I have never encountered a general practitioner so thoughtless. Ignore the basic labs and likely prognosis to over-medicate this patient.” You lean in even closer—fuck. “Do it. Worsen their somatic symptoms with your own distress, Dr. Nanami Kento.”
He stares at you, utterly breathless, for a few silent seconds.
Heavy breathing.
Before Nanami’s shooting up in his seat, and scrambling to wrap his stark-white coat tighter over his body. “F-forgive me-” All eyes at the table follow him as he staggers to his two unsteady feet and slips out of the bench. “Forgive me, I seem to have just remembered that I have a ah- terribly urgent walk-in-”
“What?” Even Haibara - who’d taken the opportunity during the heated conversation to dig into your mashed potatoes - questions his best friend. “But I thought you said you were free until-”
“Terribly urgent.”
And the withering glare that Nanami shoots his way is enough to make even the chatty man shut his mouth with a click! stuffing his face with a spoonful of mush. You’re looking between the two that seemed to be having a silent conversation that you weren’t privy to. “Oh um…alright, Kento-san, I apologize if I was rude to-”
“No, never—” And if anything, he was firm on this. Even if the rest of his body was so thrumming with feverish energy that it felt like he was about to break.
He turns his fiery eyes your way, melting a bit at the look of slight surprise on your face. “Never. I just ah- this is just a really important case. And it has nothing to do with our conversation - which I would love to continue sometime - I simply have to- go-”
And with that, Nanami Kento - the star practitioner - darts through the busy canteen as fast as he could without running. Still, he topples over a particular urologist once more.
It leaves you and Haibara stunned and speechless at his departure.
And Nanami being the only one to know where exactly he’d run off to: the nearest men’s bathroom. Where he’d locked himself inside a stall and jerked his aching cock raw.
.
.
.
The second opinion.
“Insomnia and heart palpitations…” Shoko furrows her neatly-plucked brows at the man before her, tapping her pen on her empty notepad. “And you’re saying that you’ve been experiencing some mild nausea?”
Nanami sighs, running a hand through his golden locks. “Only on some occasions-”
Her slightly deadpan tone cuts through, “And when is ‘some occasions’, Kento?” Those dark eyes of hers seemed to look right through him - not in the way that yours would, too. But rather they made him squirm just like a child caught doing something wrong by his mother.
His hand in the cookie jar and all that.
You made him squirm in a different way entirely…Nanami shakes his head free of that strange thought.
Dr. Shoko Ieri of the cardiovascular department.
Nanami supposes that if there was any one of his friends he could go to inquire about his strange heartbeat these days, then it would be her. “Some occasions being…” Mindlessly, he’s reaching a hand up to paw at the right side of his chest. Where he could feel his heartbeat - steady now - beat away in a normal staccato. “-when I’m around- people- sometimes.”
“Anxiety, perhaps?” Shoko hums, and Nanami squirms at how closely she seems to echo your words. “But I’ve never known you to be anxious around people, Kento—dislike them, surely. But anxious? The Ice Prince?”
Nanami grumbles, “Why thank you.”
And Shoko seems not to notice the slight hint of sarcasm in his tone, “Is this around the general public or someone in particular?” Ah—what did Nanami say about her seeing right through him? Her judgemental gaze seemed even more stark against the clinical room. And as he struggles to answer, she reaches for the stethoscope that was snaked around her neck.
“W-well—” His prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “-well nothing like that, really-”
“Right.”
She didn’t sound like she believed him a single bit.
And before he knows it, she’s snuck the cold metal chest piece past his medical coat. With years of practice, she slips it right above where his heartbeat ambled along. “Regular rate. Breathe in and out deeply for me?”
Nanami does as she says, lifting the button-up underneath his coat so that she can listen without the obstruction of fabric. He’s keeping his sights above her head on the dizzying diagrams and posters of anything to do with hearts. Certain memes that he couldn’t possibly imagine Shoko browsing through the Internet to pick. “I could have done this myself.”
“And yet, you didn’t.” She scoffs boredly, “Shut up and keep breathing before I stop you breathing myself.” The doctor hisses slightly as the icy circle skates across his skin. “Seems to be a normal S1 and S2. Regular rhythms, no murmurs or rubs either- I honestly don’t think you need an ECG.”
“But about the palpitations-”
“I’ll recommend one just in case, all boxes ticked for your own peace of mind-” There’s a sharp craaaack–! as she removes her rubber glove on one hand, murmuring underneath her breath. “-and mine.”
Nanami still holds his shirt up as she places the chest piece on him once more, “Quite the impeccable beside manner you have.”
“I get that a lot.” She counts down something underneath her breath and reaches over for the pen on her desk, starting to jot down something on her prescription pad. A handwriting far worse than even Haibara’s. “Hand this over to that new nurse Ken-”
KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!
Shoko sighs wearily, “Come in.”
And Nanami turns his head just in time for the clinical door to open and display…you.
In all your glorious, put-together beauty.
In all your intelligent gaze and the reports in your pretty hands—“Ieri, would you mind being a dear and giving me cardiac clearance for this patient before I-” Only then do you seem to notice him, “Oh! Kento-san.”
He thinks he whispers out your name like a prayer but he can’t be too sure.
He’s merely dazzled.
Shoko looks between the two of you with narrowed eyes.
You’re bowing - and only then does the frazzled man remember to do the same. He slightly grunts at the realization that Shoko’s stethoscope was still on him and she wasn’t showing signs of setting him free any time soon. He still holds his shirt up—and your eyes sweep down his exposed front…“I see you’re getting a check-up done. My apologies, I just seem to be interrupting you today-”
“Never.” It comes out so quickly that Nanami isn’t sure who it surprises more - you, Shoko, or himself. His breath slightly hitches as his friend presses the chest piece deeper against his left pec, “I-I mean, you could never interrupt- this wasn’t even a check-up anyway, this was just…”
“Just?”
Fuck, you were sharp. “Just…”
“Testing my new stethoscope.” His friend swoops down to save him - Nanami Kento always was a bad liar. She presses it harder against his chest as if to prove her point.
Your eyes narrow at the scuffed tubing of the device, which Shoko (not so) casually covers with her other hand. “Wanted to make sure that there was nothing out of the ordinary before using it on patients- wouldn’t want to let our patients down, right?”
“Right…” You supposed it made sense. And with a final flicker of your eyes towards Nanami’s thoroughly ripped core - tannish skin, the ladder-like indentations of his abs, the plumpness of his pecs, that slight tawny happy trail that seemed to just go on…(was he dreaming or did your eyes linger just a little), you’re patting the thick report in your hands. “Well- anyway, what I was here to ask was whether you could look through this patient’s report and clear him for anesthesia for me by tomorrow.”
“Of course, just leave it on my desk.” Shoko nods. And with that, you’re walking away.
And for how painfully his heart seemed to beat out of his chest when you were around, it ached even more to see you leave.
You’re going up a short distance to open the door, and turning around just before you step out. “And good luck with the stethoscope-testing, Kento-san! And remember, subclinical anxiety and basic labs~”
“E-endoscopy…”
The door clicks shut.
They’re both heeeeaving out in breaths of relief, and the flattened end of the stethoscope finally leaves Nanami’s chest. He rubs over the frigid sensation that still prickles at his skin, “I might not have specialized in cardiology but I do know that it doesn’t take that long to investigate with a stethoscope.”
Shoko doesn’t answer. Instead, Nanami’s fixing his button-up and raising his gaze—
Only to find that she’d picked up her little prescription for him and was rip-rip-riiiiiiping it straight down in half. And then in half once more. And then in half about five times more just to add insult to injury before she throws it in the trashcan placed underneath her desk.
She dusts off her hands neatly, “You won’t be needing that.”
“What-” Nanami sputters, as if he was about to lunge down and pick up the pieces of that paper right now. “For what reason?”
Shoko looks at him with tired eyes, “Is this a joke?”
“Why I’d never-”
“Forget that- Nanami Kento doesn’t joke.” She’s raising one of her hands as if to silence him, and using the other to massage her temples. For what reason Nanami has no idea - in fact, he should be the one so distraught over this inconceivable medical neglect! She continues, “You had a heart rate of 120 beats per minute precisely the moment that she entered my office. And no other time prior to that or after.”
He furrows his brows, “And so?”
“No other time prior to that or after.”
“And so?”
“…”
“…”
Wordlessly, Shoko shuffles through her drawers and brings out a slim pen light which she uses to flesh into each of Nanami’s eyes. And he’s not quite sure why he lets her go on with it - but he does, dammit! Maybe she saw something there that he didn’t.
Finally, with her inspection complete, she drops the flashlight back into her drawer and hums. “Would you like me to recommend you for a neurological exam?”
“Excuse me-”
.
.
.
The third opinion.
“Hmm…honestly, Kento-kun-” Dr. Geto Suguru’s handsome face simpers just a little bit in that feline way that made it hard to tell whether he was being made fun of or not. He’s leaning against the clean, clinical hallway of his department. Residents bowing in respect at the pair as they passed. The ENT sign hanging overlooking them. “-from all the symptoms you’ve told me, I think what I’d recommend to you is just some rest and relaxation.”
Nanami finds himself sighing - it might not be much, but at least it was something different from what Haibara and Shoko (and you, he supposes) told him. “Thank you, Suguru-san.” He’d accosted him just after a line of patients, on a direct path out to Shoko’s clinic, though the blond-haired man doesn’t have it in his urgency to feel too bad about it.
Dr. Geto Suguru was among the best in his department - and the most popular, he had to admit.
The man just had a way about him that made you blissfully unaware he was examining you to the T. And though Nanami couldn’t recall a single conversation with the man that didn’t leave him feeling as though he was having an aneurysm, he did admit that he one of the best to consult.
“Don’t worry about it.” Geto waves off, tearing off the thin black tie in his long hair to redo it. “Sounds like something stressful or anxiety-inducing in your life right now. Like I said, just take the day off: maybe watch a movie, go out and take a walk, lap some sun—wait, are you jotting this down?”
Nanami looks up from Haibara’s notebook (yes, he’d stalked down the man and taken it from him), with a pieced-together imitation of what Shoko had said during their consultation. He blinks, “Yes? Is that a problem?”
That feline smile only grows. “No- no, not at all. Keep up.”
“Of course, Suguru-san.” And Nanami keeps scrawling down.
“Then take a shower. Make your hair look nice.” With a furrow growing between his brows, Nanami keeps scribbling the words down as they came. “Rev up your nicest car. Go out to dinner- someplace fancy.”
“O-of course?”
“Meet a babe.”
Nanami snaps his molten eyes up to meet Geto’s amused ones.
“Take her home and fuck her real good.”
“Suguru-san, I think that’s highly inappropriate—” Times like this, he really did understand why this was Gojo Satoru’s best friend. Even more so when something beyond Nanami’s blubbering figure catches Geto’s eye.
“As a matter of fact-”
And to Nanami’s utter horror, he’s calling out your name across the hallway.
Nanami’s almost fearful to turn around- but how could he not when your very footsteps tread out softly behind him. Your presence. Your voice. Your chuckle. “What’s this all about now, Suguru-san? I have a consultation waiting for me at five.” Nanami turns to face you, and finds that you’re already looking at him. “We meet again, Kento-san.”
“W-we do-” He’s abruptly cut off by the feeling of Geto chummily throwing a hand over his shoulder.
“Kento here—” Geto starts, and Nanami already knows that he doesn’t bode anything well. “-was just wondering whether you were free next Friday night?”
“Oh, I believe so?” You think to yourself, “I don’t have any surgeries lined up- why? Did you want to discuss something about that mystery case of yours?”
“Not quite…”
Geto snorts, “Actually, I don’t think there’d be a lot of talking-”
“I do not wish to discuss this any further.” Nanami had grown slightly taller than Suguru over the years, though both did manage to tower above most of anyone who entered the hospital. And it gives him easy leverage to clap a hand over the dark-haired man’s mouth.
One he’s plucking away with an eyeroll, “Well fine then.” He turns to you - who’d been watching the conversation with your bouncing pupils. And with his most alluring smile added on, “I would like to know if you’re free next Friday?”
You raise a brow in suspicion now, “For?”
“Oh, don’t you know?” And Nanami already hated where this was going, “A handsome man like me, a beautiful woman like you. A nice car. A nice restaurant. A nice apartment that we go back to and- fucking hell.”
Nanami elbows Geto deep into his stomach.
Thankfully they were in the ENT department.
Geto hunches in on himself with a choked-up noise, and Nanami’s face doesn’t betray a single emotion of what he just did. “Forget he said anything.” Except for the burning blush that scattered across his cheeks.
“I usually do.” You answer, turning back to walk to whatever important case it is that you had to walk back to. He could see it - that importance, the utter respect you demanded - in your stride. Even more of the young medical residents spared you awed glances than they did to him, and it made a part of him…fuck. Calling out over your shoulder, “Headed to the labs for that subclinical anxiety case?”
He reaches a hand up to place over where his stomach was slightly fluttery, “Endoscopy, actually.”
Your giggle follows your departure.
And so does his heart.
.
.
.
The fourth opinion.
“Hey, ice prince Nanamin~” Such an annoying, graaaaating voice that he unfortunately knows too well calls out from beyond the open elevator doors. “Did you know that down in ophthalmics they’re saying that you’ve got a little condition because you’re a virg-”
Nanami closes the elevator right in Gojo Satoru’s smug face.
He breathes out in relief as the metallic box keeps moving upwards - sure, he was desperate for another medical opinion, but he wasn’t that desperate…
And from where you’d just-so-happened to have been standing in the same elevator with him, you’re laughing behind your clipboard. “You’re too much, Kento-san.”
“I am merely not enough.”
“Labs-”
“Endo-”
.
.
.
The fifth opinion.
The director of the hospital himself.
Masamichi Yaga stands across from where Nanami was sitting, facing the floor-to-ceiling window. It was one of those offices where all it took was just one look to tell that its owner was someone of high importance: where almost every surface was made of glass, where Nanami could see his own nervous reflection wherever he turned his eyes upon, where there was a perpetual ringing silence in the room.
Now, however, it seemed to have grown twice as deafening since the blond-haired man had entered. He’d confided in Yaga - a former emergency surgeon, his senior during his residency years, the one that had taken him under his wing during his blustering mistake-riddled days - about his malady. His symptoms, so to say.
But the silence only stretches longer, and Yaga keeps staring at the cityscape beyond.
Nanami fiddles with his fingers in his lap - and when even that grows too tedious, he’s just about to open his mouth and ask for a dismissal to return to his duties. Forget this damn strange illness and all!
But almost as if he knew what the younger man was about to do, Yaga speaks up with his gruff baritone. “You know, Kento, you have always been one of the smartest minds that I’ve had the pleasure of observing in this hospital. The sharpest. The most sensible.”
“Th-thank you, sir?” Nanami questions - he wasn’t quite sure where his former teacher was going with this…
Yaga turns around with a look that wasn’t quite one of anything but disappointment, “And yet, I never knew that you could be so fucking dumb-”
Nanami’s mouth parts—he doesn’t know what else he expected. But it certainly wasn’t for his ever-poised teacher to ever speak words like that-
“I’m afraid I don’t understand-”
“And that’s exactly why, Kento.” Walking towards him now, Nanami almost flinches at the heavy hand that the director places on his shoulder. Almost fatherly, to be quite honest - at least he seemed to have a slight bit more empathy than all the others he’d consulted. Slight bit. “You don’t understand, my boy, and that’s not entirely your fault-”
“But-”
“After all you’ve never had a girlfriend, have you?” Yaga asks. And Nanami? Nanami can only…shake his head. “Boyfriend? Love and Deepspace?”
He shakes his head to them all, “What even is a-”
“Nevermind that! You already have so much on your poor, overworked mind.” The man tugs down his shades and examines Nanami’s handsome face, tutting. There seemed to be something here that he was missing…“It’s alright, as your director I understand the consequences of not properly balancing your work and your personal life. But we have time, my boy, don’t we?”
“I don’t understand-”
“Exactly.” Almost as if every word he spoke only made Yaga dig his feet deeper into his notions. And before he knows it, he’s being roused from the cushioned seat and onto his feet- ushered in the direction of the tall doors. “Go- go downstairs and set this right.”
He’s stopping Yaga’s pushes by clasping onto either side of the glass door, “But- but really! I don’t understand what you mean the cure to be?” He wrestles out of the man’s hold and turns to face him, “Do I have to do an ECG? Maybe blood pressure monitoring? Echocardiogram?”
Yaga looks at him squarely - and he almost smiles. “That is, I’m afraid, something you’ll have to figure out on your own.”
And as Nanami is (for a lack of better words) thrown out of the establishment, he’s landing almost on top of the new visitor to Yaga’s office—
“You.”
“You.” Amusement splits your face as you take in Nanami’s harried expression, the way his eyes seem to glimmer ever-so-slighty as he takes in that yes…this can’t be anyone but you. He’d never mistake it to be anyone but you. “We just keep running into each other today, don’t we, Kento-san?”
“Endoscopy.”
“I haven’t even said a word about the subclinical anxiety yet!” You giggle. Before looking over Nanami’s broad shoulders at the older man behind him, “I believe we were supposed to meet regarding the cafeteria food improvements, Yaga-san?”
“Oh-” Yaga looks between the two of you, smacking a hand on his slightly-balding (though he would never admit it) head. “Oh! It completely slipped my mind- oh yes, do come in do come in!”
With a final wink at Nanami, you’re being ushered inside.
And Yaga turns back to the other man with an expression that looked as if he was trying to hold back a smile. “Kento? Would you also like to stay behind and join us in discussing the erm- cafeteria food quality?”
“I uh…” He catches your beautiful, beautiful eye from inside the office. And suddenly it feels as though every speck of marrowbone in his body had turned into lava. “I would love to, but I fear I have an urgent consultation that I must get to—now.”
And with that he’s speed-walking to the elevator, faster than your voice can call out to him.
The palpitations had started up again.
.
.
.
The sixth opinion.
Heart palpitations
Heart palpitations Brittanica
Shortness of breath, chest tightness, palpitations
Connection between early hyperthyroidism and heart murmurs
Why do I feel my heart race when I’m in the presence of someone?
Nanami blinks, taking off his glasses to wipe them down before putting them back on again. He always did make sure that they were crisp clear, and that not a single letter could be mangled out of place by some misplaced smudge (he’d been to the bathroom with his cock in hand about…five times today, you see). But that was neither here nor there.
His office room was slightly dimmed with night, the primary source of cold light coming from his glaring computer screen. And he’s blinking at his device once more - namely the suggestion that Google had written down underneath his search bar.
Did you mean: Why do I feel my heart race when I’m in the presence of someone I like?
Those strange heart murmurs start up once more—lighter, this time. But present nonetheless.
And Nanami Kento was just about to stab his tabs closed and conclude that he was dying, when a soft knock echoes into his room.
“Come in.” He grunts, absent-mindedly. Probably some resident who wanted to ask a question or two about a case they’d been handed.
And he’s looking up, fully prepared to lock gazes with some blustering youth who wasn’t sure whether they should refer the patient to a thyroid panel or a cortisol, when instead he sees none other than…you.
How was it always you?
He’s reaching for the place where his heart was, a slightly irrational fear that you’d be able to see it thundering through his coat seizing him. “It’s you.”
The door clicks shut. “It’s me. Subclinical anxiety and all.” And no truer words have been spoken—was he actually spot on about the brain fog?! You’re waving your hand in what almost looked like a truce - it was late into the night, and your shift must be long over by now. It seems that you’d dropped by just before you left, with all your cases lined and competently over, and that makes something within him stir. “I hope it’s alright, I just felt like checking up on you.”
Nanami swivels his chair slightly away from his computer, “Checking up on me?”
“Yeah- I always seemed to run into you today, and every time you seemed to have something on your mind.” You shift by the door, “Is that overstepping?”
“You could never overstep.” He doesn’t think about his answer - and he doesn’t need to.
“Never, huh? You say that a lot.” You’re raising a brow with a smile. There were enough chairs inside the office - his, whoever the patient is that needed to be treated, the examination table…but you weren’t quite like any patient, were you?
And so you’re sitting down on the edge of his mahogany table, and Nanami Kento has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting down, down, downwards.
He fails.
You grin.
Crossing your legs, you let your tight skirt hike up juuuuust a little as you lean over him. This particular angle helps him see the jumbled mess of sentences on his search engine. It makes you slightly chuckle, gaze sweeping down the words. Resting on that final sentence. “Tell me the truth. Do I make you nervous, Dr. Nanami Kento?”
The air seems to sizzle with heat. “N-no-”
“Tell me, there’s no patient is there?” In an easy motion, you reach out and slide the tip of your finger down the stethoscope at his neck. Twiddling it softly.
He rasps, eyes flicking down to where your index had started to intertwine—he has to bite back a damn groan. “I admit, no.”
“There’s no one other than you is there?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, “No…” Staring at your slightly exposed legs so intensely that it almost burned into your skin. You knew. You knew, you knew, you knew - but of course you knew, you were far smarter than him, weren’t you?
You start to lightly tug on his stethoscope - lightly. Light enough that it shouldn’t even phase him…and yet he can’t stop himself from edging even closer to you. Even closer. Even hotter. From tilting his head up to let your warm breath fan his face, “And you didn’t expect that I wouldn’t find out, did you? Did you lie to me because you thought me stupid?”
“No! Not at all-”
You’re inching even closer - and he could pinpoint the exact shade of your bra. Pray tell, was there a reason they were the very same chestnut color as his eyes? You then pull him in properly by his stethoscope, lips a mere centimeter from his. “So what do you think about getting a sixth opinion on that from a general surgeon, hm?”
“Please…”
.
.
.
“And this is your first time?”
“My first time, doctor.”
“Mhm, go ahead.”
“L-like this, baby?”
“Mmm—” A full body check-up. You’re sprawled back on the soft comforter, the faint swirling shapes pressed against your back. Nanami had insisted that you don’t find yourself laid back against the examination table by itself, and you’d simply asked him to make you feel so good that you won’t even notice the frigid platform.
With your legs partly cracked, you stare down at the handsome man that found himself standing between them. With his stethoscope at the ready and the chest piece placed down between your legs—“She’s beating quite fast.”
You whimper at the cold sensation, “Yeah? And why do you think that is?”
His cock twitches in his pants. “Perhaps our precarious position? Perhaps the feeling of the stethoscope end causing a physiological reaction? Or perhaps because of…” He looks almost sheepish, “-me?”
“What an astute observation- oh.”
The doctor slides the metal piece right down your slit, making your body zap with the contrasting sensations. “Is that sarcasm I hear, doctor?”
“N-not at all…” You flutter your lashes, “You can just call me by my first name if you’d like, Kento.”
Tall and attractive.
His high cheekbones blushing, his throat gulping as he looks from the sopping patch on your panties to your pretty face. Molten eyes flicking as if he didn’t know which pretty pair of lips he wanted to stare at the most—“Actually- can I call you…doctor?”
A thrill runs down your spine, and you have to stop yourself from arching. “Oh- of course you can.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Nanami spits out immediately, as if the words had been waiting on the tip of his tongue for a long time. Your skin-tight skirt was still on you- and without even hiking them up your legs, he’s pressing his rugged palms upon either side of your thighs until they’re stretch-stretch-streeeetching apart.
“Now let me see…” Pressing the chest piece even harder.
Colder.
Cock throbbing in his pants at the slight rips n’ tears that ring out across the stuffy medical office, “Fuck, your transudate is overflowing, and just so sweet-smelling—just so fuckin’ wet. I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, doctor.” And Nanami was just so strong - you’d thought as much given his hulking figure. But right now you could see the way his beefy biceps would twitch and bulge underneath his crisp white button-up. Letting the metal edge of it slide between your folds and smooch your cutesy clit, “I’ve really…”
Just bearing your sopping wet cunt all fully for him.
His strong arms firmly keep your legs apart as Nanami leans his head down and moves the stethoscope aside to triiiiickle out spit onto your swollen pussylips. That glistenin’ wad splatters all over your core and leaves straight down your crevice. “Now that’s just filthy-”
“I’ve really been- oh.” His mouth just seems to water even more at the way you squirm and whine and oh—he’s holding you down as if it’s nothing. “I’ve really been wanting to eat this pussy for a loooong time, doctor.”
“You have?” You question with wide eyes.
“Mhm.” He hunches over the examination table, close enough that his hot breath scorches your face. Your entire body shivers with his next words, “I have a feeling she’s the only thing that’d cure me.”
Fuck.
Every hair on your body seems to stand on end.
He sounded absolutely ravenous.
The stethoscope is dropped onto the floor in a second.
And in a flash of golden-blond and rustling—Nanami wraps both arms around your legs and draaaaaags you bodily towards his gaped maw. Manhandling you to him. Bringing your pussy between his spit-slicked lips as if you were the sweetest dessert he ever did have the pleasure of encountering. “Mmmm…fuck- fuck, your pussy is just so- ngh.”
Nanami’s words muffle out against your honeyed cunt and you see stars- “Oh f-fuck—” Hands flying down to scramble through his sweaty locks - you expected Nanami to be eager, but you didn’t expect him to act like he’d been starved.
“This is what a pussy tastes like? They didn’t teach this in medical school—fuck, it should be illegal for all pussies to taste this good.”
Parched for ages now.
“Oh, who m’I kidding? I’d be addicted to this sweet pussy no matter what she tastes like- just the fact that these pretty pussylips are yours that makes them all the more delicious.”
Mouth gasping and plastering anywhere on your cunt he could reach.
“If only I could eat your puffy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner instead of this damned hospital food…”
He doesn’t even hesitate before gripping ahold of both sides of your thighs and hauling you until he was placing himself nose-deep between your folds. The straight nub of his nose ending right where your clit was and press-press-preeeeeeesssing. “Sh-shit- most guys can’t find the clit even when it’s been pointed out to them. Beginner’s luck really is coming in clutch, huh?”
“Actually…” His hazel eyes look up at you - all half-lidded and drunk just from kissing your pussy through your panties. Almost dazedly, he’s opening his mouth even wider. “I did do some reading up and research…in case I’d ever get s-so lucky as to have her on my face like this.”
He’s shifting just a little, leaving you wetly squirming at the way that he was intensely massaging your nub. Slide after slide—every time you’re leaning backwards and Nanami edges in to chase your cunt, his nose rubs on top of your clit.
Rub after rub.
Kiss after open-mouthed kiss.
He feels your quiverin’ entrance splash out in even more slick and fucking groans. “Like I know that r-right now my nose is pushing on your bulbo-clitoral organ and causing the nerve endings to cause you immense pleasure right now.” He lurches away with a wet gasp, “She feels good right now, doesn’t she?”
Fuck, you didn’t expect him to use those terms. But you really weren’t complaining. “Y-yes- also her? Her being my pussy? You did research for my pussy?”
He blushes, “O-only for you, doctor.”
And you can only hum, unable to keep the smile off of your face. You can’t help but grow just a bit more excited at the fact, and Nanami can’t help but lap his textured tastebuds even harder. “Then go ahead- show me what that ‘research’ has taught you, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And you’d have expected the ever-stoic, sensible gentleman that was Nanami Kento to be a neat eater. You’d have expected for him to take his time, work you up into a frenzy and stay cool throughout it all.
But one taste of your splashin’ sap and he was gone for.
He was hearing that command slip from your mouth- and acting on it with pure carnal instinct. It’s as if something…breaks within him.
Something breaks.
And in a split-second Nanami grips your wrangling thighs so hard that you can feel his neat crescent nails leave marks. Nanami drags your unsuspecting body down roughly enough that the metallic examination table rattles with the sudden movements.
Dr. Nanami Kento slips his tongue past your panties and tastes your wet pussy properly for the first time- and his eyes roll to the back of his skull as if he’s seeing heaven. “Mmmm—” A guttural sound escapes his mouth before he can help himself, and he roughly thrusts his face even deeper. The frame of his glasses kisses your clit. The pointed end of his chin strikes your pussylips with a ringing smack! “And h-here I can feel your vaginal orifice squeezin’ around my tongue, your mucosa is just so soft…make me wonder what it’d feel like around my cock.”
“Sh-shit—” You’re bucking your hips up for more, more, more.
Which Nanami doesn’t need to hear from your mouth to crane his neck even deeper and start flicking the tip of his tongue inwards and outwards. Fleeting and feverish.
He was fucking you with his tongue.
He was letting the girthy end of his tastebuds slash inwards past your entrance, circlin’ a few times at your stretchy orifice before he’s fishing it back in. in and out. In and out. The honed tip used to maze between your silky walls, and expanding midway through to massage your walls thoroughly. “Shit– that cute mucosa really is soft, takes my stretches so well.” Thickly chuckling, he swipes your pussylips apart with two fingers and kisses you with his whole mouth in a way that leaves even you feeling shy. “You really are overflowing in transudate, it’s like a damn waterpark down here. Don’t the capillaries of your parietal pleura get tired after so much?”
Almost as if to prove his point, a sheeny layer of your slick slides down the inner part of your thighs. And you viciously smeeeear it all down the attractive sides of Nanami’s face by crushing his head between your legs- “Fuck, my capillaries won’t get tired.”
“And I won’t mind being suffocated.” The way he says it is so casual and matter-of-fact - as if there was nothing truer in the world. Emphasizing his point by clawing onto either side of your limbs and making you smush him even deeper, “Go on- harder now, it’ll only engorge that pretty vascular network of yours even more.”
“Like this?” You clench your thighs around his sweaty scalp.
“Even harder.”
“Fuck!” And you swear you can feel his thrashin’ muscle all the way deeply at your very throat- just the sheer mess he was leaving your insides driving you wild. “Like this then-”
“Even harder.” He humps his hips.
Nanami was like a man possessed- like a man gone completely feral. He’s drilling into you with his slurpin’ tongue hard and purposefully nosing at your clit even harder.
Jaws lapped open to tongue at your hole again and again and again.
He hears those cute noises of yours and wishes he could record them, replay them over and over - but since he can’t exactly right now, he’s doing the next best thing. Increasing the speed of his ministrations until you’re all but babbling on his tongue, your entire body twitching with pleasure any time the tip of his tastebuds were edging in just a liiiiittle too deep.
He swears he could count the exact timing of your cunt’s pulsations - regular, smooth rhythm, if rapid when compared to normal. And he swears - he just swears - that the constant ba-dump! Ba-dump! Ba-dump! sounded as if your pussy was spelling out his very name—
“S-spelling out what now, Kento?” You ask, not sure if your popped eardrums were hearing things clearly.
“Oh? Have I said that out loud?” The doctor’s asking - a genuine note of surprise in his voice. And you don’t know whether you’re more shattered by the fact that the intelligent man was so damn pussydrunken that he was babbling, or the fact that he didn’t even realize when he did.
You can’t keep the sheer awe out of your own voice, “Y-yes…yes, you did.”
“Hmmm…” Nanami hums thoughtfully, “It seems that your lubrication somehow s-seems to have liquor-like- almost addictive properties to it - I’ve never read about anything like this before in my life.” Before the most sleazy smirk spreads across his face - and you can feel it plastering across your throbbing pussylips and making his kisses disrupt your insides even further. “Allow the doctor to heh- investigate this, my love.”
“I thought I-I was the doctor here…” You’re mindlessly prattling.
But it wasn’t anything against the way that the inexperienced man was holding onto either side of your body and eatin’ away at your core like a madman. He didn’t care for propriety. He didn’t have the experience.
He was simply plastering your plump folds against his gaping maw and letting his tongue do all the work. Your slick sliding all down his throat and drenching the top of Nanami’s white coat, “But she’s the one in need of attention.” Talking to your pussy.
“F-fuuuuck—” Flipping from side to side, letting his tongue plunge juuust an inch deeper before he’s pulling back out - and with it, most of your sanity. Gluing his face between your legs again and again- at one point he’s helping your fervent hips slip n’ slide up his features. Such sloppy drags. And he’s rutting his hips in time with them, “I didn’t know you’d be so filthy- are you s-sure this is your first time?”
Nanami looks up at you with misty, blown-out eyes- your slicked plastered across the lower half of his face and all the way up to the top of his cheekbones. “Positive.”
“Shit…” You don’t even know what to say - only making the rickety examination table creak with your bucks. Each and every one that Nanami Kento meets by dragging you right back onto his greedy mouth- one such particular angle makes him swipe his tongue right near one of your sweetest spots and you moan. “Deeper then, Kento, deeper- wanna feel you.”
“Deeper?” He groans out in a gravelly tone, eyes completely dazed by now.
“Yes- deeper.” You choke out, so many whines and moans and wads of spittle clogging up in your throat. “Please please please, go deeper-”
And something shifts Nanami’s gaze, as if he was mentally flipping through countless textbooks. “With my tongue?” He ponders out loud, still not calming down the roughened movements of his tastebuds. “Y-yes you’re right, it certainly would make the endings of your pudendal nerve feel really good- and as for the Gräfenberg spot, she’s about 3 inches deep-”
You cut him off with a shrill- “Enough with the anatomy and just f-fuck me!”
He peers up at you with serious, sultry eyes.
“Is that an order from my doctor?”
You’re just barely managing to blubber out, “Y-yes- fuck.”
And, as expected, Nanami’s not even letting you finish your affirmation - not even letting you finish that thought - before he has two of his plump, puckered fingers nudging at your entrance and his mouth fastened to your clit.
They swivel and slide all down your ridged walls- and your cunt welcomes them so thoroughly.
So needily.
So greedily.
In and out, in and out.
You feel the sparks dart up your curved spine as he starts pistoning his lengthy digits inside of you—“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- you’re almost there, Kento.”
“Heh- s’like a study.” He croons out, letting his tongue alternate between licking up every translucent bead of sap that escapes you, and rolling over your poor nub. Nanami manages to synchronize it with the way he’s slashing his insides with his ruthless fingers - curving against your gooey entrance to stretch you wide open, thumpin’ at the roof of your cunt just because, scouring inside for your g-spot. “I already know. You don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing, ma’am. You’re in goooood hands.”
“Good—oh.”
“Literally.”
And even though Nanami Kento might not have been the most experienced when it comes to the matters of your pussy—he was the most precise. They didn’t call him the ratio doctor for nothing.
And with only a few vulgar strokes, he’s skiddin’ his orbed tips straight to bang against your scorched bundle of nerves. The sheer force of his thrust - so confident - ending shockwaves through your veins and making you bawl out in pleasure. “What the- so fast, fuck! How did you even-”
“Oh, quite easily, doctor.” Nanami hums out, pulling back his fingers with a wettened squeeelch! to pound another few strikes directly on your bundle of nerves. “I can hit it once.” Proving hit point by reeling those thickly glazed fingers out and delivering yet another spank! at your throbbing nerves once more. “Twice.”
And once more.
“Thrice.”
Once more as you can only yield and hatch out primal sobs at the back of your throat, tears rolling down your cheeks as the pleasure almost gets too much for you to handle-
“Four times. Five times. Six times-” And accompanying each of his slamming impacts, your clits being sucked on as if it was the cutest piece of candy that Nanami Kento has had in a loooong time. And he was the type of man overtly conscious about his health, rarely indulging in delicacies of sugar - but something like this?
He’s sucking on your clit as if to make up for all the candy that he hasn’t eaten before. Addicted to the way your pulse would rapidly increase whenever he sucked on it, he’s slobbering out. Rutting and rutting his hips wildly, “It really was quite easy. According to what I’ve read, the Gräfenberg spot is about 3 inches d-deep on the anterior vaginal wall and is said to be an erogenous area that-”
“Oh just shut up and keep doing what you’re doing.” You’ve had enough - you’re so close by now that you feel absolutely zero guilt grabbing Nanami by his silken scalp and shoving the man impossibly deeper between your legs.
Something that he welcomes. He salivates down the crevice of your pussy, gluttonously gulping down any pearly wad of sap that you might leak out. Wrenching that sweetness out of you with he ruts of his fingers-
They start swabbin’ and scissoring inside you and you almost sob.
The curvaceous tips always somehow finding your g-spot precisely and attacking it with a thorough few slashes, “Mmm—” Nanami groans out against your pussylips, Adam’s apple bobbing as his tone struggles to take form. “Fuck- this is…oh.”
“What is it, Kento?” You’re raising your bleary head to ask. Confusion growing as he doesn’t quite speak- “Why aren’t you- oh, you silly man. Is it because I told you to sh-shut up and keep eating me out?”
With his pinkish lips wrapped around your clit, he’s both sucking and nodding.
“Well—fuck! Just tell me what you were trying to say…” And with a particularly trilling tone, you’re losing yourself to the bounces of your own hips against his handsome face.
Again and again.
You barely even hear what Dr. Nanami lists off next, “Hyperventilation, heart rate increase, rhythmic contractions in the pelvic floor-” Reaching for your pelvic floor with the accelerating pushes of his fingers. “-perspiration, pupil dilation, tingling sensations, and excess of transudate-”
Somehow managing to raise your head off the soft comforter to look at him, “A-and?”
“And the diagnosis is…” He’s pumping out just one final press of that cute lil’ button of your g-spot, and then the most innocent peck on top of your clit. “-you’re cumming.”
Your question gets trapped in your throat as you really do tumble into your orgasm - faster than even you could compute it. Toes curling. Back arched perfectly.“C-cumming, cumming- ngh.” It’s predicted accurately by Nanami who then proceeds to gash at your most tender of spots right on time with the peaks for your high and you don’t even know how-
“In time with the contractions, my love.” He explains away, his smart voice so deep and husky with need. The vibrations shoot straight down between your core and make you see white.
You’re not sure whether you’d been the one babbling the questions, or whether he was the one babbling the answers. All you know is that this might just be the strongest orgasm you’ve experienced in your entire life - and Nanami was the sole cause of it all.
He’s bucking against the air wildly, making the table clatter a little. He drivels away dragging at your clit with his lips, making those waves of bliss last even longer than they usually would. And whenever he feels you restlessly squirming away with stimulation, he’s hooking a hand tighter around your waist and pulling you in even deeper. “Still not yet- the tension in your mucosa is s-still high, you’re still cumming-”
“With you like this then it’ll be impossible for me to stop-” You’re crying out, breath stuttering every time he plunges his tongue in and out.
And you wonder whether Nanami’s jaw must be aching by now. You wonder whether his fingers were rubbed all raw. You wonder whether he was tired and weary and yet somehow still addicted to your cunt…
“I am.” Nanami slurps, a sleazy grin on his face. “I am addicted.”
“K-Kento-” You’re breathily wailing, foolishly attempting to push back on his sweaty forehead - but the only thing that does is make him delve his slippery face even deeper—“Kento, the rhythmic involuntary muscle contractions have decreased and-”
“And so?”
It didn’t matter that your high was petering out, Nanami Kento doesn’t stop eatin’ your pussy out until you’re well and thoroughly overstimulated.
Brought well enough to tears with the lashing ridges of his tongue, and his mouth that simply quirks up - he’s chasing you right back any time you run away. “Kento, I swear if you don’t get your head out from between my legs and actually fuck me then I’m going to diagnose you with something so heinous-”
“Nothing heinous about it.” Though he’s finally managing to detach his puffy maw with a loud and ringing plop! “M’simply pussydrunk.”
Your heart races as you take a good look at him, “W-well at least you’re admitting it…” Because oh, fuck—was he just incredibly sexy right now.
With his usually-neat blond locks all disarrayed.
With the lens on his glasses all cloudy with your slick.
With his mouth all rawly pink and puffy.
Covered from the handsome tip of his chin and all the way up to his earlobes with a clingy layer of your syrup. He wears it like a medal, that tongue of his that was inside you mere minutes ago darting out to catch a few stray droplets. And without further ado, Nanami’s raising himself from where he’d been leaned over the examination table to eat you out.
He pats at the nail marks left by him on your thighs, “Best to put some iodine on that.”
Eager to repay him for the jittery mess he left you as, you’re reaching out to fumble with his belt.
“F-fuck, wait.”
Only for you to urgently tug them down and discover that…Nanami’s black boxers were absolutely soaked through. With his precum, yes, but more than that it was creamy wads of his cum clinging onto the thin fabric.
Slightly dripping down the insides of his thighs, a dark splotch that you couldn’t look away from
He’d cum just from eating you out?
You’re looking up at Nanami with your mouth slightly unfastened, “Did you really just-”
“Yes.” He replies, pressing both hands of his to his hot cheeks. Though it didn’t hide much - you could see the furious red of his ears peaking out from the sides, “Yes, I did. And I would argue that it’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction to having such a sexually-charged experience with the woman I lov-”
“Oh, just get in here.”
And it takes absolutely no time for you to tear off the rest of Nanami’s clothes (though he was neatly stacking them on a nearby chair) and flip your positions. Now with him sprawled out against the slightly-dampened examination table, and you hovering above him in admiration.
You take in all of him - all those details that you’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse of (out of sheer politeness, you’d have stared had it been socially acceptable) in Shoko’s office.
The rippling skin of a ripped body he kept hidden away underneath so many coats and layers.
The ripeness of his pecs.
The ridges of his abs all flexing.
The dusting of his golden happy trail that you follow like a yellow brick road down, down, down to the base of his aching cock.
The thing was- Nanami’s hilt was massively thick and covered in so many veins that it left your throat dry to imagine what he’d feel like from the inside. And not only did this apply to his base - but the rest of him was just as incredible as well.
A glistening layer of sap and seed clinging to him. A long few inches that you wouldn’t be shy to count as perhaps eight or nine. A rounded ballsack underneath him that still looked to be so full. A pinkish shade that brightens the further upwards you eye him. His red globular tip splatters out a few more droplets of creamy white and twitches—“D-doctor?” Nanami’s hoarse voice echoes out in your ringing ears. When you look up at him, he has a hand placed over his left pectoral once more. “M’feeling those symptoms when you s-stare at me again.”
“Aw, is that so, baby?” You coo - he was just too adorable when he was flushed a needy pink all the way down to the roots of his hair. This was his first time, wasn’t it? You’re pushing down on his clammy shoulder, “Then just sit back and let the doctor examine you, s’that alright?”
“Mhm.” He nods, biting down on his bottom lip. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Well you have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And as the towering man lies down flatly against the table, you straddle his hips and sigh as you slide-slide-sliiiide the front of your pussy down his thickened length. Long drags, uuuuuuup and down. “You’re in- haaaah, good hands.”
“I-I trust you, ma’am.”
And Nanami was just so thick and ready and rock-hard between the folds of your pussy- that all it takes is the slightest swerve of your hips for your tight hole to swallow up his tip.
With a gasp, you’re letting your head throw behind- fuck, the sheer stretch of him was enough to make you see pure white. He’d already molded your cunt to the shape of his multiple fingertips, but the girth of his cock was unlike anything you’ve ever felt.
As if he was filing up every bit of your elastic hole without even trying, and each pulsating ba-dump! he’s giving off makes your teeth set on edge. Red-hot.
And the ‘ice prince’ Nanami Kento wasn’t faring any easier, either.
Because Nanami was heaving underneath you. Nanami was groaning. Nanami was kicking his feet against the soft comforter as if he couldn’t handle the heat of your cunt for the first time, as if he was struggling to hold himself back.
His fingers sear upon either side of your body like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to pull you down or pull you off of him for the mere sake of his sanity. Ultimately—he’s at your complete mercy and doesn’t do a thing until you’re settling your hips down just a single inch deeper. “What’s the- hah- matter, Kento? Can’t handle my pussy anymore?”
“Oh, my love, if there’s anything m’made to handle it’s her-” He spits out with the wobbly attempt of a smug grin- only for it to immediately slip off his face the moment you clench your pussy.
The moment your velvety walls hug all ‘round him, squeezing as if you were trying to suck him dry already. You can feel the dewy excess of his cum start to beeeeead out into your tight channel, creating a slick coating that makes you even easier for him to slip into.
Nanami scrunches his eyes up and turns his flushed face to the side of the table - as if merely locking eyes with you would be enough to send him over the edge right about now. And neither of you would be surprised if it did. “W-wait—like I said, m’perfectly fine…just give me a second or two to catch my breath-”
“But, Kento you don’t understand-” He could practically hear the pout in your voice. The stern man looks up to catch you fluttering your lashes just the way you knew he liked, and you swear you can feel his bulging tip start throbbing even harder inside of you. “-it’s urgent, your sickness. We can’t waste precious time like this-”
“But move and m’gonna fucking cum again-”
“I don’t mind.”
With that said, you’re leaning your body slightly towards him - hands placed on top of his panting pecs and your ass raised slightly in the air.
Gaining the leverage for when you’re slamming his thickened length into you-
“O-oh—” Your shrill whines echo out across all four corners of Nanami’s office room, sounding like music in the man’s ears. And before that broken symphony is even finished departing from your glossy lips, you’re churning your hips back down again.
Up and down.
Up and down. Up and down.
It just feels too good to have his overlarge cockhead intruding between your pussylips like this - spreading them so far apart that you can’t even begin to describe the sheer stretch. The rounded beginning of him entering past your orifice and plugging up the sultry wads of slick that kept on leaking out of you, bullying his way iiiiiiiinside no matter how much your tight orifice starts to protest.
You wanted him inside.
And you were going to get him inside - just say the word.
Or, in this case, babble out the words whilst you’re mindlessly bouncing your hips down onto his in a struggle to fit all of Nanami’s massive erection. Barely even past the pinkish line that denoted his slit, and yet you were still keening—“I-inside. I want all of you inside, Kento.”
“All of me?” He breathes out, eyes widened. There was a breathless tone of his voice that made you remember all over again just how inexperienced he was-
“Mhm, all of you, Kento.”
Through the gaps of your teary lids, you notice the shy blush that spreads across his handsome face.
“Something the matter, baby—?” You’re cooing in that softened tone that makes his plump tip swell just a lil’ bit bigger inside of you, it was the perfect size to massage the most tender parts of your walls whilst still managing to maze inside. “What happened to all that- hngh, research you were telling me about?”
Nanami nervously avoids eye contact with you, “Y-you see, my love, I have researched and prepared for days on end in the wildest hopes of this very moment ever happening.” And he’s looking up at you with something utterly reverent in his eyes, “But now that I’ve finally felt your pretty pussy, I can’t remember a thing.”
You shiver- and you’re suddenly remembering that both of Nanami’s steady palms have been placed upon either side of your hips. “The Nanami Kento can’t remember a thing when you’re inside me?”
He shakes his head with glittering tears in his eyes, sweat beads at his forehead. “C-can’t! Can’t remember a single thing…don’t even think I can even remember my name if you asked?”
“And what is it?”
He looks up with a slightly dopey smile, “Your husband- hopefully?”
To which you have to stifle a fond chuckle, “We can see about that when you’re less…pussydrunk, baby.” Cutting of the fervent protests that were about to spill from his usually-stern lips with a single smushy clench of your walls. “How about- ngh, this - I teach you all that you need to know when you fuck me? Hm?”
Leaving him utterly speechless and drooling once you’re fitting inside a few more inches of his swollen shaft.
You eye the cute line of saliva that trickles down the side of his mouth, “How abooooout it, Kento?”
“Y-yes—” And you can’t believe the way that Nanami’s attractive baritone was breaking at the tail end of his response. You were utterly ruining him. “Yes, ma’am, oh my god-”
“Good.”
Still jostling your hips down to meet his throbbing length, you’re lifting one of Nanami’s hands off of your hips and setting them down at your core. Right on your very front. Right where he should be able to feel the slight bump—! of his crowned red tip entering and moving out of your cunt. “Can you feel the stretch? Feel the way your c-cock is so fucking big that you’re stretching out my walls like that?”
“The distention is just…” All that Nanami can respond, his parched lips dropping open in sheer awe. “And you’ve just gotten so lubricated with that sweet transudate that it just makes it so- oh—”
“Yeeeeeah, easy, huh?” Huffin’ down with a sultry smile, “How about making me even wetter, Kento? Pop quiz! Do you know how to make me wetter?”
He fervently nods, “L-likely with a mixture of pressure given at the anterior vaginal wall and the clitoris. As innervated erectile organs they activate mechanoreceptors and convert physical stimulation into electric nerve signals that travel through the spinal cord and activate the limbic system, somatosensory cortex, and hypothalamus.” Listing off as if his life depended on it - and you’re quite pleased to say that his palm only puts more pressure on your stomach. Thus make you twitch and whine with the added layer of stimulation pushing his thickened shaft against every ridge inside your walls. “I-in other words…it makes her feel good.”
“Full marks.” You respond. Fuck, did it get him hard to have you bossing him around and teaching him like this. “Now to put that knowledge to good use and actually bottom- oh!”
You should know by now never to underestimate Nanami Kento. Because with a few more sloppy drags- he’s shovelling all of his thick, throbbing inches between your pussylips.
Having them spreeeeead-spread-spread so widely open to take up his entire shaft - you could feel the curvature of his bulbous tip hit your cervix and splurge it in his dewy sap. You could feel his darker curly hairs kiss your cunt n’ scritch-scratch at your clit. You could feel him bottom out.
Finally.
After what feels like so long fucking you simply trying to get his immense size to fit inside - now Nanami was free to drill upwards into you like a madman.
“There-” Nanami takes the signal to reach down the looooong digit of his thumb down from where his palm remained splayed atop your core. Pressin’ down on your clit - still so sensitive after your last orgasm. “Does it feel good now, doctor?”
You’re jerking upwards as he thrusts and thrusts, “S-so good-” You moan out, your entire body wracking with primal shivers. You were already down so many inches of his vein-covered cock, and yet there seemed to be even more—“Fuuuck yeah, try to aim for the Gräfenberg spot, baby, try to aim.”
“T-trying…”
With his blond brows furrowed in concentration, he holds his left hand still on the side of your waist and manhandles your body into the most sultry figure-eights and curves.
You didn’t even know if Nanami even realized what he was doing - the way he was churning his thickly-covered shaft all deep inside of you. With the way he was moving you like this, it made it so easy for the patterns of his veins to kiss up against your sweetest spots, aiming for that one particular spot—
“A-and you said it was how deep along your canal, my love?” Nanami gusts out his scalding moans, and- fuck, was he so far gone that he’d forgotten that, too? It wasn’t even too long ago that he was reciting the same facts at you.
“Right at the front, remember? Where it feels so good?” You’re attempting to tone it down for him, “Anterior…”
“Anterior vaginal wall.” He nods, suddenly remembering now.
As you’re being fucked with all his rapid half-ruts and hammers - too ravenous to even properly pull out of your pussy to fuck you with his entire length - Nanami’s palm skids down where his cylindrical intrusion was turning you utterly stupid. And within absolutely no time, he’s splaying his fingers out - thumb rolling over the knob of your clit, the edge of his pinkie stretched out wide about halfway down your stomach. From the beginning of your treacly cunt and all the way to your—“Womb.” Nanami pants out, more to himself. “S’about this distance from th-the vaginal orifice and up to the cervix uteri.”
“I-is it?” Your mouth waters at just the way he was taking this so serious - all while he as fucking you so sloppily…
The general practitioner tilts his muddled head, “So measuring from here- my apologies, doctor, I can’t quite remember the exact distance so m’measuring…” And you can see the way those intelligent, half-lidded eyes of his twinkle behind his glasses. “-the Gräfenberg spot should be somewhere over…here.”
Trial and error.
Trial and error.
Trail through the thorough slashes he was placing with his mushroomy tip, and error at the way he…actually, Nanami Kento doesn’t make errors. Who did you think he was? With only a singular slam! planted against a spot in your walls, you’re feeling so much pleasure that you have to close your eyes and let your body be taken over by the raw pleasure.
And Nanami seems to notice this change in you immediately, “I-is that the one, doctor?” He’s breathily chuckling out, absolutely loving the way your walls seemed to melt around him. “Anterior vaginal wall. About three inches deep. Rapid palpitations—oh! I think I read about this.”
“Y-yes, that one—” Your mouth drips with watery spittle as he reaches straight for that spot once more.
“Heh, that was rather easy I must admit.” You wonder if Nanami realizes just how much he’s echoing his words from earlier, and simply bangin’ and bangin’ away at the treasure trove of your g-spot. “How could I ever think to miss this beautiful spot? Not when she’s callin’ out f’me every time I hit it?”
Your pussy was letting out just the most sinful squelches, “Yes- yes yes yes, keep going.”
“Mhm—” He’s slowly but surely learning then that he faster he’s roverin’ his thick inches up your channel, the stupider you’re growing on his cock. “Fucking this pussy f-feels so right. Having her pretty walls s-squeeze me like this- there’s no better medicine in the woooorld and I don’t need a single medical textbook to tell me that.” With each one of his jackhammers leaving you lurching on top of him until he pulls you back down with the hand plastered onto your hip. Like adhesive.
And now that he’d found your favorite spot once more, Nanami Kento wasn’t showing you any mercy.
He juts his hips upwards- he holds onto your pliable body as you try to move- he pins you back down onto his thickened base and simply keeps on ruinin’ you on his prolonged length. Fingers still twiddling on your clit.
A particularly harsh bang! against your throbbing g-spot leaves you scrambling on top of him and Nanami snapping up and letting his left hand bring your neck into a chokehold. He’s tightening his grip on your airway as you struggle, “D-don’t run away, ma’am. If you run away then who’s going to teach me-”
You gasp, being pushed and pulled by him. “There’s nothing more to teach-”
“But there is…” He’s looking up at you through his slightly pale lashes, something dark glinting within those kindred irises. “Won’t you teach me how to impregnate this pussy, doctor?”
“You- you should know that already-”
“But you’re the doctor.” Nanami insists in his predatory tone, holding your cunt deeper against the scruff of his happy trail. Not only does it cure a carnal itch at your clit that you didn’t even know you had - but it also makes the white-hot shockwaves of pleasure you were experiencing increase tenfold. His thumb starts edging all over that sweet nub, “You’re the one senior to me. You’re the one smarter than me-”
“Fuh-fuck but right now…” The words are being entirely fucked out of you by the maddened drilling of his hips.
His pistoning red tip swipin’ at your g-spot and leaving a few rotund bruises right at your cervix. Thud, thud, thud. “So go on- tell me something smart, doctor.”
And you’re left momentarily speechless by the way that Nanami’s toned pelvis only plummets up harder in anticipation for your response. It wasn’t you riding him any longer, right now it was him dragging his veiny cock down your walls and driving you absolutely wild with it.
He slobbers out a creamy droplet of pre right where the door to your womb was calculated to be - right where he could almost feel your pussy begging for him to empty out into you. “K-Kento—” You whine.
“Yes, doctor?”
“Shut up and cum inside me unless you want me to ban you from my pussy.”
Now wasn’t that genuinely the smartest thing he’s ever heard.
With a few more nudges against your puffy clit, Nanami pulls you down by the hand at your throat to kiss you. And that’s what does it for him.
That’s what sends him over the edge.
The two of you are crashing into your highs faster than you could count. Your orgasm crashing through you like an intense storm, and Nanami’s speed spurting deeeeeep inside of you—he’d been holding back this high for ages now, solely waiting to fuck you through yours before he eventually edged into his inevitable one.
And if you thought that the bliss he’d given you from earlier was the best high of your life, then you surely weren’t ready for this one.
Bulbous tears falling down your face. Throat wretched with constant sound. Your thighs shaking tiredly on top of his upwards-drilling hips, “Cumming.” You mewl out belatedly, your vision turning into one of a kaleidoscope. “Sh-shit you’ve made me cum-”
“The afferent nerves are carrying up the signals straight to those—ngh…parts of your brain.” Even he was having trouble keeping up by now, the blushin’ tip of his shaft twitching more sensitively than ever. “And then- and then here-”
“S-so sensitive…” You’re drawling out through the shakes of your high as he presses down the hand still latched onto your pretty stomach. The perfect position.
Because when Nanami was piling on the pressure, that meant he could feel the sensation of your channel bulging with the wads of his ivory sap. Folds fluttering as you tried to suck back in the miry ribbons, but there was so much that you just couldn’t help but overspill-
Nanami mindlessly prattles out his scientific knowledge, “From the vas deferens to the…ngh- s’gonna collect in the posterior urethra and become expelled through S2-S4 reflexes…” Slightly trailing off, he slides his hand to right above your womb. “Deposited riiiiiiiiiight here at your cervix- can you feel it, my love?”
“Yes yes yes yes-” You’re fucking back down onto his incredible cadence, even the slightest movements making Nanami’s cum splosh! deep inside you. All warm and gooey. “-can feel it so deep inside, baby-”
“In your womb.” He insists, something crazed in his eyes. “Oh, all in your womb like she deserves.”
Your toes curl.
Your hips start to feel sticky with the excess of sweat and slick that keeps spraying out.
It’s then that his steady fingertips start scooping up the white cum you were leaking out in a big ol’ puddle on top of Nanami’s abs. It’s like some glaze he’s getting on his fingers and stuffin’ between your swollen pussylips- still fucking you like a madman while he does so.
Letting his fingers probe inside.
Allowing your greedy cunt to gobble up each ounce of sap he’d given you.
Making your greedy cunt gobble up each ounce of sap he’d gifted you - and Dr. Nanami Kento always was the biggest stickler about cleanliness in his office room. Even though he was making the biggest, sloppiest mess out of you—
He doesn’t stop until every single dewdrop of his cum has been swiped clean inside of you, and you’ve been overstimulated until you were nothing but a whining, babbling mess. His hefty cockhead shoved deep and still throbbing inside of you, “S-say something- ngh, else from that smart mouth, my love?”
“Kento—” And that’s all he ever wanted to hear.
“Perfect.”
Your tearfully blubbering mouth continues, “Are you finally cured of your symptoms now?”
Nanami looks at you, he looks at where you two were connected. And he places a hand right above his rapidly beating heart, always eager to let himself be known around you. Always. “How about a second opinion of that sixth opinion? You may use the stethoscope this time.”
.
.
.
The seventh opinion (?).
You’re not sure how the two of you didn’t sound any alarms.
But sunlight seemed to be spying in through the blinds of Dr. Nanami Kento’s (MBBS) office, and the two of you had quietly snuck into his specially attached bathroom to freshen yourselves up. And it’s with immense, immense difficulty that you two don’t pursue an nth opinion in there, too.
Oh, alright…maybe you did pursue at least half an opinion.
But! You digress, it’s the early morning hours by the time that you and Nanami finally step out of his sex-saturated office.
It’s as if your little bubble of lust has - not popped - more so dissipated into the air until it was clinging onto every particle in the atmosphere around you two. Until wherever you went, even if you were merely stepping out into the hospital corridor, made you want to feel more of the man.
To hold him.
To touch him.
To kiss him.
Nanami, it seems, was facing the same internal battle. The need was palpable on his face and his hand reaches out—to fix the collar of your stark white coat.
With a soft chuckle, you’re sweeping a look around the hallway but ah- luckily the coast was clear. And it leaves you two enough privacy to check each other for any hairs out of place (Nanami, expectedly, was looking as impeccable as ever), to check for your disinfected stethoscopes, to fix each other’s medical coats.
It’s only once you’re done that Nanami leans down without any warning and presses a soft yet lingering kiss to your lips—“Yeah.” He murmurs into your mouth, “Still facing those symptoms.”
“We’ll have to check up on that.” You quip back.
“Basic labs?”
“Endoscopy.”
And it’s with a final nudge at Nanami’s shoulder that you’re leaving with the promise of calling him right after your shift (the two of you had a date planned for next Friday night, after all!). His eyes leaving you for the first time, and your back turning to face the other side of the hallway when—
Dr. Gojo Satoru, ophthalmologist.
Wide-eyed and even wider-grinning at the sight he’d just-so-happened to stumble upon in his valiant pursuit to give Nanami an unsolicited seventh medical opinion. What’s that saying about finding diamonds in the pursuit of gold.
“You two…” He points between the two of you, and before you can open your mouths to say anything- “Wait there- pose!”
In a split-second - so fast that you almost think you imagined it - Gojo’s plucking out his phone from his white coat pocket and snapping a picture of you and Nanami. Freshly-fucked aura and all.
The glaze in your eyes. The bite marks on your neck. The scratches peaking above his collar. The slightly unsteady quality of your gait.
The only thing that prevents you from thinking this was all some bad dream was the undeniable bzzzz—! vibration coming from your coat pocket.
And Nanami’s.
You both reach down into it and fish your phones.
GROUPCHAT: Dr. Johnny Sins but better (Hospital groupchat)
Six Eyes: Look who I just caught fucking in their office MWAHAHAH σ(≧ε≦σ) ♡
Six Eyes: *insert attachment*
SUGONDEEZNUTS: LMAO
Shoko Ieri: oh my god.
SUGONDEEZNUTS: KENTO MY MAN I SAID AFTER DINNER. AFTER.
Shoko Ieri: you all owe me 4000 yen
SUGONDEEZNUTS: I’m broke and Satoru will pay for the both of us
Six Eyes: I never said that??
Six Eyes: Wait how is no one surprised?? AND Y’ALL HELD A BET WITHOUT ME (；￣Д￣)
Shoko Ieri: satoru you would’ve cheated
SUGONDEEZNUTS: Truth, bro.
Director Yaga (who tf added him??): Truth, bro.
Director Yaga (who tf added him??): And congratulations, Kento. You have finally lost your virginity, overcome your emotional constipation, and made me proud (we will ignore this breaking of hygiene policy for today).
Sunny Haibs: Congratulations, Kento!! I always knew you could do it!! (That’s why I bet the highest on you, you all actually owe ME 8000 yen).
Shoko Ieri: fuck.
SUGONDEEZNUTS: Fuck.
Director Yaga (who tf added him??) left the groupchat.
“Those bastards.” Gojo sighs heavily, looking up from a text exchange that you, too, had been present in the live to. “I can’t believe they started a bet without me.” And the two of you stare down the handsome blue-eyed hotshot of the ophthalmics department in suspicion.
Gojo sweeps his eyes lingeringly down you both in slight impatience, “So? Yaga said he’ll overlook any breaking of the hygiene policy for today.”
“Yes…?” Nanami asks, resting his hand on your shoulder.
“So don’t you need a seventh opinion?”
A/N. YES GOJO I WOULD JOIN YOU- also don’t quote me on most of the medical stuff because I had Wikipedia and a dream….
𝜗𝒞 husband!toji and your son don’t play when it comes to you. mlist.
the sun beats down softly on the neighborhood park. megumi’s small sneakers kick up tiny clouds of dust as he scrambles up the slide ladder for the fifth time, his dark hair sticking out in every direction. you sit on a bench opposite of it, keeping half an eye on him while scrolling absently on your phone.
toji stretches beside you, one arm draped lazily along the backrest behind your shoulders.
“look, mama!” megumi calls out from the top of the slide, waving both arms wildly to get your attention.
you wave back with a grin, “i see you, baby! big slide this time, huh?”
toji huffs a quiet laugh at the sight of his son, “kid’s fearless. gets that from me.”
“mm, or from the fact you let him climb on literally everything at home,” you tease before nudging his side.
your husband can only smirk at that. he tilts his head toward the colorful truck parked near the entrance gates, its cheerful jingle floating over the playground. “i’m gonna grab us some ice cream before that line gets longer. ya want the usual?”
you nod happily, “cookie dough flavor, please.”
“got it,” he stands, ruffling your hair on his way past—his version of affection in public, “don’t let the lil’ gremlin run off.”
megumi still waves wildly from the top of the slide, wanting your eyes on him the entire time so he can show off his skills. “mamaaa! watch!”
“i’m watching, baby!” you call back, laughing as he launches himself down with a gleeful yell.
toji heads off toward the truck with his hands in his pockets, broad shoulders cutting an easy path through the scattered families. you turn your attention back to megumi again, who’s now trying to cross the monkey bars with fierce determination and very little upper-body strength.
suddenly, a shadow falls over the bench. you glance up to find a man standing there. he looks like he’s in his mid-thirties, polo shirt, friendly smile that’s just a shade too bright.
“mind if i sit?” he asks, already lowering himself beside you without waiting on an answer. he nods to megumi, “cute kid. yours?”
you shift away slightly, giving him a polite nod. you feel uncomfortable already, “yeah. thanks.”
he leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching megumi dangle from the bars. “he’s got energy. bet he keeps you on your toes,” his gaze slides to you, “you come here often? i feel like i’d remember seeing a beautiful lady like you.”
the compliment lands heavy. even more because it’s unwarranted. you offer a tight smile, “we try to come on weekends.”
“lucky weekends, then,” he grins, teeth white and even. “i’m kyle, by the way. just moved to the area. always nice to meet friendly faces. especially ones as pretty as yours.”
before you can respond, small footsteps thunder toward you. megumi abandons the monkey bars mid-dangle and bolts over, cheeks flushed a rosy pink, eyes wide as he takes in the stranger sitting next to you. without a word, he climbs straight into your lap, wrapping his arms around your neck like he’s staking a claim.
“mama,” he says seriously, staring at kyle with that unblinking stare only little kids can manage, “want juice now.”
you bite back a laugh at that protective yet adorable tone of his, hugging the little child close. “we only have water in the bag, sweetie. but papa’s getting ice cream, ‘kay?”
kyle chuckles awkwardly as he senses megumi staring intently at him. “hey, little man. you’re a fast runner.”
megumi just burrowes closer to you, resting his head on your shoulder with a huff, “hmph, you’re not my papa.”
toji appears at the edge of the playground, three ice cream cones balanced easily in his large hands. even from where you’re seated you can see the shift in demeanour—the way his lazy stride goes still, shoulders lightly squaring and chin lifting as he clocks the man sitting too close.
he reaches the bench in a few long steps. he doesn’t say anything at first, just looms, all sharp edges and quiet menace. kyle finally trails off mid-sentence.
toji hands you your cookie dough cone, megumi a smaller one with sprinkles and keeps the plain vanilla for himself. then he sits—directly between you and kyle, forcing the stranger to scoot over or be sat on. he chooses scooting.
“problem?” toji asks, his voice low and flat, piercing eyes hidden behind the sunglasses as he nonchalantly takes a slow bite of his cone.
the man blinks, “uh, no. just chatting.”
toji turns his head toward you, ignoring kyle entirely. “he bothering you?”
you shake your head slightly. you’re more amused than anything now that toji’s here, “we’re fine.”
megumi, now oblivious to the tension, licks his ice cream happily. he’s already forgot all about the strange man now that his father has returned, “papa, look! sprinkles!”
toji’s mouth curves. just barely. still trying to hold himself back from making a scene. “nice choice, kid,” he hums before glancing sideways at kyle.
“playground’s big. y’know—lots of empty benches.”
toji’s tone reveals that it isn’t a simple suggestion, but a clear warning that the stranger should immediately leave if he doesn’t want to find out what a man would do for his wife’s comfort.
kyle stands quickly, brushing imaginary dirt from his pants. “yeah, i should. . . nice m-meeting you,” he stammers and hurries off without looking back.
you nudge toji’s shoulder with yours after kyle disappears from sight. “jealous much?” you tease, though you’re quite grateful for your husband’s intervention.
toji grunts whilst licking a drip from his cone. “not jealous. just don’t like strangers thinkin’ they can as much as talk to my wife.”
“so you are,” you laugh and press a kiss to toji’s cheek. it’s adorable in a way. this big, muscular gruff man being jealous and protective.
megumi interrupts as he finishes his ice cream cone in record time. he tugs at toji’s sleeve with a whine, already hopping off your lap, “papa! push me on the swing?”
toji stands with a grunt, scooping megumi up with one arm while still holding his ice cream in the other, “higher than last time?”
“yes!” megumi cheers loudly.
you watch them head toward the swings. toji’s indulgent smirk and megumi’s little legs kicking in excitement put a smile on your face.
some things never change. and you wouldn’t want them to.
ᯓᰔ Katsuki is sent on a week-long mission and ends up missing his son's first word and first crawl
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
.
.
Katsuki was happily married with you, and the two of you already had a nine-month-old son named Kaito. His name symbolizes triumph and victory— just like his hero symbol, the “Symbol of Victory.” Fitting, because not only did the name match his symbol, but the kid looked exactly like him too. Your genes didn’t even stand a chance, and he teased you about it constantly.
He had everything a man could ever want:
A wife like you.
A perfect kid.
A career as one of the top heroes in the world.
What more could he ever want?
But some things always come with a price.
Being a top hero meant big missions. Big missions meant long hours. Long hours meant long days away from home. And long days away meant not seeing you— not seeing the tiny boy he loved so painfully much for what felt like forever.
So when he found out he’d be gone for a full week… something in him twisted. Leaving you, leaving his nine-month-old son, absolutely cracked his heart open.
He devoted whatever free time he had to you, even if it was only a few minutes before collapsing into sleep. It sucked, and he hated it, but he had to push through. He had to come home to you and Kaito no matter what.
Four more days left before the mission ended. It had already been three days since he’d opened his phone—he’d been too busy, too on-guard, too surrounded by danger to risk even a text.
When they finally made it to their designated hotel, Katsuki collapsed onto the bed immediately. His muscles were sore, his mind exhausted, and the mission had been rougher than he expected; more villains, more chaos, more nearly-dying—just more everything.
He let out a heavy sigh as adrenaline slowly drained from his veins and left behind something hollow.
He stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment before his eyes drifted toward his phone on the bedside table. The screen was dark and cold, almost taunting him.
Goddammit.
He was tired.
He was sore.
And he missed her.
He dragged himself up and grabbed his phone.
The screen lit up.
101 notifications. All from you.
Photos of Kaito. Updates of worry. Messages of longing. Missed calls. Your voice notes. All the moments he had missed while he was gone.
Little things he wasn’t there for.
His chest tightened as he scrolled. Photos of Kaito—smiling, pouting, sleeping, growing. Even the way his hair stuck up changed by the day. It hurt to look at, because he should’ve been there watching it happen.
And then there were your messages—your daily check-ins, your goodnights, the soft “I miss you” things he didn’t get to respond to. Every one of them tugged at him.
He reached the voicemails.
He tapped the first one.
“KATSUKI! YOU CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPEN, KAITO BABY SAY IT AGAIN—”
There was a shuffle, like you were repositioning your phone. A soft coo from Kaito.
There was a tiny pause.
Then a small, unsure voice,
“Da… dada.”
Your excited squeal followed.
“CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? KAITO SAID HIS FIRST WORD, I’M SO HAPPY!”
Katsuki froze. For a moment, even the air around him felt still.
He hit replay.
Once. Twice. Over and over.
Kaito’s little voice—soft, wobbly, slightly confused—
but definitely clear.
"Dada."
His chest compressed, tight and painful.
His vision blurred for a second.
It hit him all at once—
He wasn’t there.
You were the one taking care of him all day, feeding him, soothing him, rocking him to sleep.
You were the one doing everything.
And yet…
Kaito’s first word wasn’t “mama.”
It was him.
Dada.
He missed his own son’s first word that was him.
Because he was here instead of home. Because duty came first. Because he was a top hero— while you were home witnessing moments he’d never get back.
His jaw tightened. He swallowed hard and typed,
“About damn time.”
His thumb hovered for a second, then he added, softer: “…Make him say it again when I get back.”
He needed to hear it with his own ears.
From his kid.
In person.
He scrolled more. Another message.
“KATSUKI OUR BABY CAN CRAWL NOWWW AHHH”
There was a video attached.
He tapped it.
Kaito was on the floor in his little dynamight onesie at, his costume, palms slapping messily against the ground. You were holding a toy out in front of him, laughing softly, encouraging him.
“Come on, baby, you can do it—come to mama!”
He wobbled left, then right, then lurched forward in a sloppy little sprint. His brows furrowed in determination—so much like himself it almost hurt—and he made a proud, breathy squeal when he reached the couch leg.
You were behind the camera laughing breathlessly, cheering him on. “Go, baby, go—oh my god, look at you!”
Bakugo’s breath caught.
Fast learner. Stubborn. Already pushing past limits.
Just like him.
His lips parted in something between disbelief and pride and agony.
He should’ve been there behind the camera.
He should’ve been the one cheering.
He should’ve been the one catching him if he fell.
But he wasn’t. He typed back,
“Damn brat’s gonna be a pain in my ass when he starts running, isn’t he?”
He paused in hesitancy for a split second before he types again.
“…Save some firsts for me, damn it.”
Then—
“Bakugo? BAKUGO, ARE YOU OKAY MAN?”
Kirishima’s voice yanked him back to reality.
Katsuki blinked, disoriented, until he realized—
his cheeks were wet.
“What,” he muttered, touching his face. His fingers brushed tears he didn’t even feel spill.
“Bro— why are you crying?” Kirishima asked, eyes big and worried.
The blonde turned away sharply. “I’m fine, shitty hair.”
The video was still looping beside him. Tiny Kaito crawling toward the camera. Toward you. Toward the warmth he desperately wanted to be in.
His throat tightened painfully.
He slammed the phone face-down into the sheets.
“Bakubro… what happened, man?”
“I said I’m fine,” he repeated, harsher—but his voice cracked, betraying him.
Kirishima chuckled softly. “It’s manly to cry, you know.”
“Shut the hell up,” Katsuki snapped, no real bite to it.
Kirishima only smiled knowingly before heading to the bathroom and closing the door.
Katsuki sank deeper into the bed, feeling every ache, every weight in his chest.
“Four days left,” Kirishima’s voice drifted from the bathroom. “Then we’re outta this hell.”
Katsuki exhaled hard.
“Tch… can’t come soon enough.”
Just as he closed his eyes, his phone lit up with a new message.
"I love you. Stay safe always, suki. ♡"
His lockscreen appeared next— a picture of you in the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing, holding newborn Kaito to your chest. Your smile was tired but full of happiness. You looked perfect.
His expression softened into a small, unconscious smile. He pulled the phone closer, gazing at it intently.
“Dada’s coming soon, Kaito,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “Take care of mama for me, yeah?”
Back home, you were about to feed Kaito a spoonful of baby food when he suddenly sneezed —tiny shoulders jumping, his nose scrunching up adorably.
You laughed. “Aww, you’re so cute, my love. Just like your fa—”
ACHOO!
Your own sneeze cut you off.
You froze.
Kaito blinked— then burst into giggles, kicking his chubby legs.
You stared at him, then laughed too, picking him up and peppering kisses into his spiky blond tufts.
“Yeah… just like your father,” you murmured with a fond smile against his soft hair.
.𖥔a/n: Father katsuki strikes! Might be writing more of him in the future hehehe. That's it for now! Stay tuned for more rambles. ♡(> ਊ <)♡
ᯓᡣ𐭩 My strategy, strategy will get ya, get ya, baby!
.𖥔sypnosis: In which—ever since childhood, you’ve been determined to make Katsuki Bakugo marry you.
.𖥔part two! part one.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
.
.
Forward to middle school, Katsuki was walking to school when fast footsteps track behind him.
Katsuki doesn’t even need to turn around to know exactly who’s barreling toward him—his instincts have been honed by years of you ambushing him. He grits his teeth, shoulders tensing, before suddenly sidestepping just in time— letting you stumble past him with an undignified yelp.
”Tch. Like hell I’m letting you tackle me again, woman.” He snarks, already marching ahead—though there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
Damn brat never learns.
“Oof!” you let out as you stumble on the floor before pouting and looking up. “That’s not a very nice thing to do to your wife!”
Katsuki gives you a flat look as you pout dramatically from the ground. He looks absolutely unrepentant at the way he let you trip over thin air—if anything, his expression suggests that it was your fault instead.
”Maybe, if you don’t charge at me like a damn missile every time you see me, that wouldn’t happen, idiot.” He retorts with a huff, hands shoved in his pockets as he waits for you to get up.
“Sooo you’re not denying it? Does this mean you’re finally accepting me as your future wife!?” you gasp dramatically, pointing at him.
Katsuki chokes on his own spit—his face instantly flushing crimson as he realizes the fatal mistake in his phrasing. He sharply turns to your direction with a vein already popped on his temple as he hisses through gritted teeth.
“SHUT UP!! I DIDN’T SAY SHIT!!”
He then lets out an exasperated huff —but he can still feel his face heated up despite his best efforts to remain nonchalant about it. The way you keep bringing up the "future wife" thing still makes him flustered as hell, even now.
“Tch. Just get up, will ya? We’re gonna be late for class, ya damn lunatic.” He scoffs—avoiding your question, as always.
“So… aren’t you gonna help your future wife up?” you grin slyly.
Katsuki visibly twitches—his entire body stiffening as he debates between walking away or just exploding out of sheer frustration and embarrassment. His face is rapidly turning redder by the second—but instead of doing either, he suddenly snarls and reaches down, roughly yanking you up by the wrist.
”There! Happy now, ya damn crazy woman?!” He barks—though his grip lingers for a second longer than necessary before he abruptly drops your hand and storms off, shoulders tense.
"Hurry, husband! We’re gonna be late for class!” You call out as you quickly catch up to him—then suddenly loop your arms around his neck, planting a big kiss on his cheek. You pull back just as fast, letting him go, your triumphant grin already forming before you even land back on your heels. Then you strut forward, pride practically radiating off you.
Katsuki falters—practically wheezing as you plaster yourself against him, planting a massive kiss on his cheek before letting go and prancing off.
For a moment, he’s absolutely frozen—his brain shutting down as his face turns a shade of red so dark he resembles a tomato. It takes a solid five seconds before he can actually regain enough awareness to move—grumbling and cursing under his breath as he stomps after you, far too flustered to even respond to your antics.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Strategy 2: Commitment Trap— Make him verbally claim you (even accidentally).
Time skipped to the last day of middle school, Katsuki just finished his UA entrance exams and is attending the last day of school when in the middle of class a crumpled paper lands in front of him. Opening it, he sees:
'Meet me after school under the cherry blossom at the park ASAP. ♡'
Katsuki squints at the crumpled note—his usual scowl deepening as he reads it. The handwriting is unmistakable, and that little heart at the end? Yeah, only you would do something like that.
Because of course he does—who else would have the audacity to toss notes at him mid-class?
He almost scoffs and crumples it again out of habit—but there’s something about the urgency in your scribbled words that makes him pause a bit.
You never called him to the cherry blossom tree unless it was important.
So with a grumble, he shoves the note into his pocket and—once the final bell rings—stalks off toward the park without another word, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he tries to ignore the nagging twist in his gut.
What the hell are you up to now?
Katsuki walks briskly through the gates toward the park—his mind already bracing himself for whatever over-the-top declaration you have cooked up this time.
His heart is doing that weird thud-thud thing again—he blames it on the brisk walk and definitely not the anticipation of what you’re about to say.
And the second he spots the unmistakable sight of you waiting for him beneath the cherry blossoms, his stomach does a strange flip.
He knows he should be annoyed, but damn it.
His footsteps are surprisingly quiet on the cobbled path as he approaches you—eyes narrowing slightly as he gives you a once-over, searching for any hint of what you might have planned this time.
“You better have a damn good reason for callin’ me here on the last day of school.” He grumbles, almost succeeding in maintaining an irritated facade, if not for the faint, almost imperceptible flicker of curiosity in his red eyes.
You step forward, your eyes refusing to meet his as you stay on your toes.
“Uhm… uh…”
Katsuki stiffens instantly—your hesitation sending alarm bells ringing in his head. You never act like this—not unless something’s seriously wrong. His jaw clenches as he takes a sharp step forward, voice dropping into something uncharacteristically serious:
”Oi. What’s wrong?”
He’s already mentally preparing to hunt down whoever made you like this.
“Katsuki… you’re going to UA, right?”
Katsuki blinks—slightly off-guard by your question. Still, he nods slowly, eyes narrowing warily as he gauges where this line of conversation is heading.
”Yeah… and?” He grumbles—the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as he waits for you to continue.
You falter, gaze shifting away from him, landing somewhere off to the side. Katsuki immediately picks up on your nervous demeanor—his chest tightening uncomfortably.
”Oi. Spit it out already." He orders, the gruffness in his voice unable to mask the hint of concern that slips through. He hates seeing you anything less than your usual carefree self.
“Good luck.” Your voice cracks on the word, followed by a sniff as your hands rush forward to cover your face.
Katsuki stops dead—your words hitting him like a punch to the gut.
For once in his life, he’s completely silent, staring at you in disbelief as you sniffle and try to hide your face.
”What the hell…?” His voice drops low, dangerously so, as he steps forward and forcefully pulls your hands away from your face.
His red eyes burn into yours—his grip tightening ever so slightly as he growls out.
”What the hell kind of goodluck is that?! You don’t just—”
He stops himself abruptly, jaw clenching as he takes in your tear-streaked face.
He’s never seen you cry like this, not once in all the years he’s known you.
And suddenly—the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.
”…You’re leaving.”
It’s not a question.
His voice is eerily quiet—laced with something raw and angry—because how dare you pull this shit now? After everything?
He swallows hard—his hands still gripping yours like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.
”Where?” His voice cracks slightly on the word.
He needs to know. He needs to—
“Going to Nagasaki.” You croak it out. Katsuki exhales, relief flooding him that you weren’t going overseas—but still, the significant distance makes his chest tighten.
Sure, Nagasaki wasn’t foreign soil like he’d feared, but the fact that you still wouldn’t be here feels like a knife to the gut.
”Why… why Nagasaki?” He mutters. The usual sharp edge missing from his voice because damn it, he couldn’t find it in himself to yell at you right now.
“There’s a school there that fits better for my quirk, and I have a family there to help me.”
Katsuki exhales sharply—his jaw tightening as he processes your words. His fingers twitch at his sides—wanting to reach out, to stop this somehow—but he knows he can’t.
Not when it’s about your future.
Still—
”Tch.” He clicks his tongue—glaring off to the side before abruptly stepping forward and yanking you into a tight embrace—his nose buried in your hair as he practically growls:
”You better not fuckin’ forget about me then.”
You stiffen before smiling against his chest and burying your face into it, arms snaking around him with a muffled, “How could I forget my husband? If anything, I should be saying that to you—you better not find another wife.”
Katsuki lets out a sharp, incredulous scoff—his grip tightening around you almost painfully as he snaps.
”As if I’d ever put up with another damn lunatic like you.”
His voice is rough, but his fingers curl gently into the fabric of your shirt, betraying the softness beneath his harsh tone.
Then, quieter—almost hesitant—he mutters against your hair:
”…You’re stuck with me.”
“What was that?” You pull away slightly, raising a brow with a smirk.
Katsuki immediately scowls—his face flushing scarlet as he realizes exactly what he just admitted. He shoves you away gently with a growl—voice dripping with exasperation.
”I said to shut your damn trap! You damn clingy woman!!”
“I dunno… how about we make this official , just in case?”
Katsuki freezes—eyes widening as your words sink in. Once again, he’s well and truly speechless—brain struggling to reconcile the sudden proposal with the reality of impending distance.
He should be irritated. He should be telling you to stop pushing your luck—to stop playing with his heart like this. He should.
But instead—without even thinking—he hears himself mutter gruffly.
”…You mean… like… marriage or somethin’?”
“Gasp! Aren’t we already married!? We’re GONNA BE married, but we can’t just jump straight into it, can we? You know what I mean…” You whisper the last part, cheeks tinged pink, heart racing.
Katsuki chokes on his own saliva—face crimson as he seem to realize what you’re getting at. He splutters incoherently, mind racing a mile a minute.
He should be yelling, dammit—should be telling you to cool it with the marriage talk. He should.
Instead, he mumbles gruffly.
”You—you mean like… an engagement or somethin’?”
And he's supposed to be one of the smartest guys in class? You curse him internally but coo at the cuteness of his cluelessness.
“WHAT? Noo—I MEAN— I would love to but…” You let out a soft tch, adapting from him before averting your gaze, cheeks tinged.
“…I meant you ask me to be your… yk… because I uhm, I like you, Katsuki. I really do, and well… uh.” You’ve never been this shy in your whole life—always bold, blunt, straightforward—but all that drastically changed after falling for the man who was supposed to be just a dare at five…
Katsuki stares—brain short-circuiting as he registers your confession. Face erupts into scarlet—usual confident demeanor crumbling under emotions he’s never processed.
For a long moment, he’s utterly silent—just gawking at you.
Then his hands shoot out to roughly grab your shoulders, voice hoarse as he grits out:
“You— you idiot!!”
His hands are shaking.
He’s fuming while his grip tightens, red eyes burning into yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.
Finally, he exhales sharply through his nose, trying to sound calm, and failing miserably
“Tch. Fine.”
He looks away—jaw clenched—before muttering under his breath.
“Be my girlfriend… or whatever.”
Silence for a moment. Then—he’s tackled to the ground like five-year-olds all over again, first meeting in the sandbox.
“OOF!” Katsuki lets out a strangled noise as you barrel into him, back hitting the grass with a thud, your weight pressing down as he wheezes for breath.
Face burning hotter, mind short-circuiting at the sheer déjà vu—because this is how it all started.
Sandbox flashbacks intensify.
And yet—despite the indignity of being flattened into the dirt—he doesn’t shove you off. Instead, his hands hover awkwardly before finally settling on your waist—voice a gruff, flustered mumble.
“Goddammit…you’re still the same damn crazy woman…”
"Not very husband material to say to your wife." You grin before leaning in, capturing his lips—the first kiss after years of marriage declarations and bickering.
Katsuki tenses immediately. His entire body rigid as your lips press against his—mind blowing up faster than any explosion he’s ever created.
For a terrifying, blissful second, he doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move, just stares at you wide-eyed, frozen in shock.
Then—hands clamp around your waist, hauling you impossibly closer as he kisses you back, fierce intensity slanting over your lips, pent-up frustration, longing, and adoration pouring out.
You taste like victory and kind of homey—and he hates how right it feels.
When he finally pulls away, flushed, breathing ragged—he mutters against your lips.
”…Shut up.”
Unable to resist, he tugs you back in for another one as the cherry blossoms drift lazily above you both.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Strategy 3: Wife-Me-Up Level—Make him put a ring on that finger.
A few years later, their careers took off. Katsuki had successfully become a hero, while you had landed your dream job. You both decided to move into one house, and one day, while deciding to tag along with Katsuki on one of his favorite hobbies—hiking a big mountain—you were literally on the verge of exhaustion, while Katsuki was already at the top.
“Katsuki, I can't… I'm literally gonna die at this point,” you gasp between panting, wobbling on your feet. You slump forward, grabbing a nearby rock for support, glaring playfully at him. “Seriously, you don’t even feel sorry for me?”
Katsuki glances back from his spot at the summit—already catching his breath and looking infuriatingly composed—only to see you doubled over, hands on your knees, practically wheezing like you're one step away from collapsing.
"Tch. Weak." He scoffs but the moment the word leaves his mouth, he’s already stomping back down toward you, scowl etched firmly on his face.
Before you can protest, he crouches slightly and hauls you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes.
“Katsuki—what the hell!—put me down this instant!!" you yell, kicking your legs lightly, trying to wriggle free but failing.
He ignores your indignant squawk as he adjusts his grip and starts marching the rest of the way up.
"Shut up, before I leave you out. tsk. you're such a pain in the ass.." He grumbles—his voice rough, annoyed as always, though his hold on you stays firm, secure.
Then, without warning, he gives your ass a light smack, making you yelp in surprise at the back, while up front he flashes a triumphant grin, already striding forward like nothing happened.
When you both finally reach the top, Katsuki sets you down carefully, hands steadying your shoulders as you find your bearings. Once he’s certain you won’t keel over again, he takes a few steps back and crosses his arms, gaze sweeping over the vast mountain terrain below.
The summit was one of his favorite places to train at—and it was especially scenic with the sun setting.
He glances at your flushed face, chest heaving as you pant heavily, and snorts.
“Can't even climb one stupid mountain without losing your breath, huh?"
“Hey, I don’t do stuff like this a lot, okay!” you pout, planting your hands on your hips and pretending to glare. “And you didn’t even let me come with you much back then! You’re lucky I even showed up today.”
Katsuki lets out an amused scoff, lips twitching into a smirk as he turns away to avoid your adorable pout.
"That's your fault for being weak. Not my job to coddle you all the damn time." He retorts, subtle affection betraying his harsh words as you just roll your eyes playfully at response
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he sweeps his gaze back over the mountainside—as if avoiding you directly. When he speaks again, there’s a gruff hesitancy in his voice.
"Hey… uh, I got… got something to say."
“Yeah? What is it, my husband? Your dear wife is listening,” you tease, smirking before leaning in like a cartoon character listening intently.
He rolls his eyes, then drops to one knee—your eyes widen.
Katsuki grits his teeth, face already burning crimson as he kneels in front of you, scowl locked firmly in place despite the way his hands tremble slightly.
"Shut up and listen for once, damn woman." He grumbles, though there's no real bite to it. Fingers fumble slightly as he reaches into his pocket and then, with an uncharacteristically shaky exhale, he pulls out a ring.
It’s simple, sturdy—perfect for someone like you.
Jaw clenched, pride warring with vulnerability, he locks eyes with you, voice raw:
"So… you gonna marry me for real or what?"
Your eyes widen, mouth slightly agape, cheeks flushed as you just stared at him in shock.
Katsuki watches your stunned reaction with a mix of barely concealed panic and overwhelming pride—fingers tightening around the ring as he waits for you to say something—anything—that isn’t just gaping at him.
His heart is pounding so loud he’s half-convinced you can hear it.
”Oi. Say something, dumbass—before I change my damn mind.” He growls—but his voice cracks on the last word, ruining the threat entirely.
“Why… why are you questioning me when I’ve been asking you the same question ever since we were kids, YOU SWEET BIG OAF!” You tackle him once again, squealing like a fangirl. “YES! YES! YES!”
Katsuki yelps as you slam into him—back hitting the dirt again, some things never change. The ring nearly goes flying from his grip, but he clutches it tightly at the last second, other arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to steady you.
”GODDAMMIT— WILL YOU STOP TACKLING ME EVERY TIME YOU GET EMOTIONAL?!” He roars, face on fire—but the sheer, unbridled relief in his voice is unmistakable.
Then—with a grunt—he shoves the ring onto your finger, maybe a little too forcefully, before pulling you into a bruising kiss.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ FINAL STRATEGY COMPLETION: Marriage Secured
While at overseas, Becky had inherited her father’s legacy—taking over the Blackbell Company after his retirement.
The glass tower of the Blackbell Co. headquarters shimmered like a proud crown under the New York skyline, but inside, its CEO looked like she’d rather be anywhere else.
Becky sat behind her obnoxiously massive executive desk, legs not touching the floor as always, tongue absolutely bitten in concentration while wrangling paperwork into submission. Pen scribbling aggressively as she signs document after document.
A knock echoes against the towering double doors of her office.
“Come in,” she says briskly, not glancing up even once as her signature practically morphs into cursive lightning.
The heavy doors groan open.
Martha, her longtime butler, crosses in—gliding forward with practiced calm despite Becky’s office feeling like a hurricane brewed inside a cathedral. Becky catches the familiar silhouette in her peripheral vision, but her pen doesn’t stop, not even for etiquette.
“What is it, Martha?” she asks, already expecting coffee refills or schedule changes.
“You have a letter, my lady,” Martha answers—flat, unmoved.
Becky snorts. “Just one? Okay. Put it over there on the stack. I’m waging war against quarterly reports and they’re winning.”
Martha takes one step closer, and the air shifts slightly.
“This letter was personally delivered, My lady,” Martha adds, a single brow arching.
“I think it’s rather important that you should read it.”
Becky groans like a wilting anime protagonist, finally lifting her head.
On Martha’s tray sits a pink envelope—soft, frilly, violent levels of suspicious.
“…Pink?” Becky mutters. “Martha. Is someone proposing a magical girl contract to me? Because absolutely not, we already have a branding department.”
Martha sighs through her nose. “It has a wax stamp, ma’am.”
Becky’s eye twitches. “Fantastic. A royal pink messenger pigeon.”
She leans forward, dragging her fingers down her face dramatically.
“I don’t know— maybe it’s a stupid random company wanting a collab—ugh, whatever, GIVE IT HERE—”
Martha sets the tray down.
Becky snatches the envelope and wasted no time flipping the envelope over, grabs her reading glasses from the corner of her desk, and slides them on.
She unfolds the mysterious card inside.
“You’ve been invited to the wedding of…”
And Becky stops.
The pen hits the paper. The office clock ticks.
A distant car honk outside fills the silence because even the world is waiting for her reaction.
Eyes violently wide. Mouth open. Soul evaporated.
“M-Martha… call Anya…” she stutters—but the phone rings before she can finish.
Martha answers for her with a tiny nod. “It’s Ms. Anya.”
She hands over the receiver.
Becky snatches it again, speed demon, corporate PTSD, glasses tilted low on her nose and still staring at the envelope like it contains national secrets.
“DID YOU—” both girls exclaim at the same time.
Anya bursts into laughter on the other end.
“I TOLD YOU SO BECKY HAHAHA!!!”
Becky freezes—then looks at the phone like it stabbed her trust personally.
“…Oh my god.” She backs away from the desk slowly, wiping imaginary sweat from her forehead. “I did not think she’d actually go through with it. I thought she was joking. We were FIVE???”
She begins pacing—the phone still in hand—boots click-click-clicking like she’s rehearsing for a panic runway walk.
Meanwhile on the desk, the letter lies open—the pink marriage invitation card peeking out from the folds like files marked Mission Complete, your name and Katsuki’s printed boldly across the cover.
Operation: Strategy Get Ya, Baby— SUCCESS!
.𖥔a/n: HERE'S YOUR PART 2 MINA SANN (≧▽≦) I'm sorry that i posted it a little late despite telling y'all I would be posting it shortly—been busy with school and ofcourse the editing before posting this fic but ANYWAY— I hope you like it! Stay tuned for more rambles<3
Why is the class princess always a mess around Bakugo ⋆˚꩜｡
MINORS DNI 18+ .ᐟ.ᐟ
If U.A. ever handed out unofficial titles, yours would’ve been embroidered on a satin banner by now: Class 1-A’s princess.
Not literally, though with the way Mina decorated your side of the dorm hallway in pink fairy lights, it wasn’t hard to imagine, but socially? Totally. Completely. Irrefutably.
Sparkles followed you like loyal sidekicks. Your quirk, Glimmer Bloom, produced tiny bursts of colourful light that sparkled around you when you got excited, which was often.
You didn’t have the brute force of Kirishima, or Todoroki’s icy cool control, or Midoriya’s endless strategy spirals, but you had style, charm, and a hero costume so cute Aoyama nearly cried when he saw it.
You always knew everyone’s birthdays, kept backup lip gloss in your desk for emergencies, and brought pastel cupcakes to study sessions “because morale is important.”
Even Aizawa, tired, eye-bagged, living embodiment of a sigh, softened a millimetre when you cheerfully handed him herbal tea on late training nights. You were sunshine. Glitter. Kisses in human form.
And then there was Bakugo Katsuki.
The reason your sunshine occasionally short-circuited.
He wasn’t new, you’d been in Class 1-A together from the start, but your crush on him? Oh, that was very new. Very unwelcome. And very obvious to literally everyone except him.
Because Bakugo Katsuki existed in his own orbit. Explosive. Sharpened. Always ten seconds from blowing something up, and somehow that only made your heart do embarrassing, fluttery gymnastics.
He walked into homeroom, muscles tense, jaw set, eyes sharp and burning, and your brain just went poof.
Like your quirk misfired from inside your skull.
The first time it really hit you was during sparring drills last month. He’d pinned you, not on purpose, your brain insisted, though who could say with Bakugo, one arm braced beside your head, breath hot against your cheek, growling, “If you hesitate like that in the field you’re dead, princess.”
Princess.
He said it like it was an insult.
You heard it like a prophecy.
And obviously, you squeaked. Out loud. An actual squeak. In front of the entire class. Mina had to physically drag you off the ground after.
Ever since then, well. Things had not improved.
When Bakugo walked by your desk? Pens dropped. Papers fluttered. Your quirk fizzled little heart-shaped sparks that you had to smack away with both hands before anyone saw. When he spoke to you? Your sentences got tangled like ribbon. When he looked at you even a little too long?
Glitter. Everywhere.
“Girl, you’re hopeless,” Kaminari whispered one morning as Bakugo passed your row, shoulders broad beneath his hero course jacket, scowl somehow angelic on him.
“I’m fine,” you lied, smoothing your skirt, heart hammering so loud you swore Sero could hear it from across the room.
“You’re sparkling,” Jirou added dryly without looking up from her notebook.
You slapped your hands against your cheeks to stop the glow. “It's a quirk glitch, okay!”
Bakugo didn’t even turn around, just tossed a low, bored, “Tch. Cut the noise,” over his shoulder, which only made your stomach flip harder.
Bakugo usually sat in the back row, prime territory for brooding, scowling, and muttering insults under his breath, but today, for some cosmic reason you were certain the universe did on purpose, he took the seat directly behind you.
Directly. Behind. You.
You could feel the heat of his presence before he even sat down. Like your body had become some kind of Bakugo proximity sensor. Mina shot you a look from across the aisle like, oh this is gonna be good, and you tried very, very hard to act normal while your heart did full Olympic gymnastics.
Aizawa droned something about rescue strategies and topographical reasoning, and you scribbled perfect colour-coded notes like the good little class princess you were, pink pen, sparkly highlighter, tiny little hearts dotting your i’s.
Anything to ignore the boy-sized furnace breathing a foot behind you. You were so focused you didn’t register the sound at first.
Tap.
You froze.
Tap. Tap.
Your heart jumped sideways. That was a shoulder tap. A Bakugo tap. Bakugo Katsuki was tapping you on the shoulder. You turned around slowly, like if you moved too fast you’d explode.
Bakugo was leaning forward in his seat, arms folded on his desk, expression flat but eyes sharp , like he was annoyed and bored and confused all at once.
“Oi.” His voice was low, rough, rumbling right under your skin. “Lemme see your notes. He’s going too damn fast.”
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
Instead of simply handing him the notebook like a normal functioning human being, you panicked. And tossed the entire spiral-bound thing backward over your shoulder.
Like a bouquet at a wedding.
Like a sacrifice to the Bakugo god.
It smacked his chest. You slapped both hands over your glossy lips, mortified heat flooding your cheeks. “Ohmygod I'm sorry—” Aizawa didn’t even look up. He’d grown immune to your brand of chaos.
Bakugo caught the notebook in one hand like it weighed nothing, blinking once, twice, slow and perplexed.
“…The hell was that?” he muttered.
But not angry. Not even close.
When you whipped back around in your seat, spine straight as a ruler, staring at the front like your life depended on it, Bakugo just watched you. Not glaring. Not smirking.
Just… watching. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head, hot and questioning, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Why you always sparkled when he got near. Why you squeaked when he spoke. Why the loudest, chattiest, glitteriest girl in all of U.A. became a speechless mess around him and only him.
And he leaned back in his seat with a deep, irritated sigh that didn’t quite hide the confusion underneath.
“Did I do something?” he whispered under his breath.
Like he genuinely couldn’t understand why Class 1-A’s princess, the girl who practically twirled through the dorm halls, beloved by everyone, effortless sunshine, endless chatter, shut down completely the second Katsuki Bakugo gave her a single shred of attention.
He flipped open your notebook anyway.
The second Aizawa dismissed class, you bolted. Not gracefully. Not regally. Not like a princess.
More like a startled glittery rabbit in platform heels.
You scooped your notebooks and pens into your bag and you squeaked like a chew toy, which made your quirk flicker tiny pink sparks all down the hallway as you fled.
“Oi—” Bakugo tried, voice low behind you, but nope. No thank you. Absolutely not. You were running for your life. You didn’t stop until you were inside your dorm, door shut, back pressed against it, cheeks practically glowing from embarrassment and leftover Bakugo proximity.
Your room, your sanctuary, greeted you in full princess glory.
Pink fairy lights. Scented candles. Fluffy rugs. Heart-shaped pillows. And your huge white bed draped in a cloud of soft blankets that looked like they were crafted from baby unicorn fur.
You threw yourself face-first into the mattress with a dramatic whine.
“Why am I like this,” you groaned into a pillow shaped like a strawberry. You made the world’s most high-pitched noise and buried yourself under your comforter like a glittery mole.
Eventually, you changed into your comfort clothes, a tiny pair of bubblegum-pink satin shorts and a matching cami, silky and soft and very you. And reapplied your lip gloss, because even in panic you had standards, you flopped back onto your pile of pillows and scrolled on your phone to distract yourself.
You were mid-scroll through a video of baby bunnies wearing flower crowns when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
You froze.
No one knocked like that.
Firm. Impatient. Like the person on the other side of the door didn’t knock so much as declare open up. Your stomach dropped. Your sparkles fizzled.
Oh no.
Oh no no no!
You cracked the door open the smallest, tiniest, most microscopic amount and, it was him.
Bakugo Katsuki.
In the dorm hallway. Outside your room. Holding your pink notebook like it offended him.
He looked annoyed. But also weirdly tense? Like he’d been pacing before knocking. His gaze flicked down your body, from your bare shoulders, to your tiny pink satin shorts, and he jerked his eyes away immediately, jaw clenching so hard you could hear it.
“…Why’re you dressed like that,” he muttered.
You squeaked. Again. “It’s bedtime!”
“It’s four in the damn afternoon.”
“Nap time!”
A beat.
He breathed out through his nose like someone fighting God Himself. “Whatever.” He shoved the notebook toward you. “You left too fast. I wasn’t done with your notes.”
Your face went nuclear-level hot. “I’m sorry! I just, you were— I was— brain malfunction— you know—”
He stared.
You wanted to evaporate.
“Do I make you nervous or something?” he asked finally, voice low, rough, strangely gentle under all the gravel.
Your quirk betrayed you instantly. A tiny pink spark popped into existence right beside your cheek. You slapped it away with a mortified gasp.
Bakugo’s eyes widened the slightest bit. Not mocking. Just startled.
And then, God help you, something like a faint, smug smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, like he’d finally solved the puzzle he’d been chewing on all day. He leaned an elbow braced against your doorframe, stepping just a little closer.
“So that’s it,” he murmured. “That why you bolted? Can’t think straight around me, princess?”
Your breath hitched. Your sparkles flickered like a fireworks factory. Bakugo watched every single one. And he didn’t look confused anymore. He looked dangerous.
In a way that made your heart feel like spun sugar.
Before you could even squeak a protest, Bakugo nudged the door just enough with his shoulder, then stepped inside. One foot. Then the other. And suddenly, he was there, in your room, the scent of him, warm, sharp, faintly explosive, wrapping around you like a slow, impossible fire.
His eyes flickered over your fairy-lit lair, taking in the strawberry-shaped pillows, the pastel chaos, the sheer, unapologetic feminity of it all. His smirk deepened. "Figures," he muttered, but it didn't sound like mockery, more like he was filing this away in some private Bakugo catalogue titled You, Explained.
You backed up until your knees hit the bedframe, gripping the edge to stop your hands from shaking. "You—you can't just walk in here!"
Bakugo shrugged, tossing your notebook onto your vanity where it landed with a soft thud. "Too late." His gaze roamed over you again, lingering on the way your cami strap had slipped down your shoulder, the nervous flutter of your pulse at your throat.
When his fingers twitched at his sides, just once, you swore the air between you crackled.
Silence stretched, thick and sweet and unbearable. Then he stepped closer, boots scuffing against your fluffy rug, nostrils flaring slightly like he was breathing you in. "You know," he said, voice dropping to a rumble that curled your toes, "your sparkles get brighter when I piss you off."
They did.
Right now, they were practically strobing.
"You're imagining things," you lied, but your voice wobbled.
Bakugo scoffed. "Bullshit." He reached out, slow, deliberate, and caught one of your runaway sparkles between his thumb and forefinger.
It fizzled against his calloused skin, leaving behind a faint pink smudge. His grin turned wolfish. "Gotcha."
Your breath stuttered. He was close enough now that you could see the flecks of gold in his crimson eyes, feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Some primal part of your brain screamed Danger!, but the rest of you? The rest of you was leaning in.
Bakugo noticed. Of course he did. His smirk softened, just a fraction, as his gaze dropped to your mouth. "What, no comeback? No glittery speech?" He tilted his head, and oh god, was he, was he enjoying this?
You swallowed hard. "Shut up."
He barked a laugh, rough and surprised. "There she is." One hand came up, hovering near your cheek like he couldn't decide whether to touch you or throttle you. His fingers flexed. "You're fucking ridiculous, you know that?"
The words should've stung.
Instead, they settled warm in your chest. Because Bakugo wasn't walking away. He wasn't even scowling. He was standing in your glitter bomb of a bedroom, looking at you like you were the most fascinating problem he'd ever encountered, and Katsuki Bakugo loved solving problems.
Your quirk betrayed you again, showering the space between you in gold and pink. Bakugo's nose twitched at the sudden brightness, but he didn't back off.
If anything, he leaned in closer, eyes tracking the way the sparks reflected in your wide pupils. "Annoying," he muttered. Then, quieter, "Kinda pretty, though."
The confession hit like one of his explosions, sudden, violent, leaving you breathless. Your knees buckled. Bakugo's hand shot out instinctively, catching your elbow before you could collapse onto your pink comforter.
The contact sent a jolt through you, his fingers branding your skin through the thin satin. You could feel every callous, every ridge from years of detonating his quirk.
"Oi," he growled, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. "Nodding ain't answering. Use your words." He leaned in, close enough that his breath mingled with yours, smelling faintly of caramel and gunpowder.
Somewhere between a threat and a plea, he bit out, "Do you like me or not?"
Your sparkles went supernova.
Pink. Gold. Silver.
They erupted around you in a cascading halo, illuminating the sharp planes of his face in flickering pastel. You opened your mouth, nothing came out but a tiny, mortified whimper.
Bakugo's smirk curled slow like smoke. "That's what I thought." His thumb brushed your inner wrist, just once, rough enough to make you shiver. "Fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered, but his grip gentled.
Before you could process, he spun you both, your back hit the mattress, his knees bracketing your hips, palms planted on either side of your head. The fairy lights caught the molten gold in his irises as they dragged down your body.
"You're really wearing this shit just to sleep?" His voice scraped raw over the satin clinging to your thighs.
You arched up instinctively, bad idea. His knee slid between yours, heat searing through the thin fabric. His breath hitched when your sparkles rained onto his shoulders.
"Still not talking?" Bakugo's fingers traced the strap slipping down your arm. "Fine." His palm smacked the mattress beside your head. "Up. Now."
You scrambled upright, pulse hammering where his touch lingered. Bakugo sank onto the edge of your bed like he owned it, legs spread, arms crossed. That look, half challenge, half hunger, sent your quirk into overdrive.
Pink motes swirled between you like fireflies trapped in syrup.
One eyebrow arched. "Straddle me."
Your mouth dried. "W-what?"
"You heard me." His boot hooked around your ankle, dragging you forward until your knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his thighs. "Unless you wanna keep being a coward."
The first brush of denim against your inner thighs nearly short-circuited your brain. Bakugo's hands clamped on your hips before you could bolt, fingers digging in just shy of painful. His smirk turned feral when your sparkles burst against his collarbones.
"Look at you," he rumbled, "all glitter and no guts." His thumbs stroked the dips of your hips through the satin. "Gonna run again?"
You shook your head frantically, curls bouncing, then froze when his gaze dropped lower.
Bakugo smirked. "Bet you're pink everywhere, huh?" The words scraped out like gravel and honey. His grip tightened. "Bet your fucking cum sparkles too—"
Your hands flew up to slap over his mouth, face burning hotter than his nitroglycerin sweat. "Shut up!"
Glitter erupted from your skin in panicked bursts, peach, blush, rose, illuminating the way his irises dilated behind your fingers.
He laughed against your palms, the vibration traveling up your arms like livewire electricity. His tongue darted out, wet, scorching, licking a stripe across your fingertips before you could yank away. "Tastes like sugar," he rasped, watching your breath hitch with predatory satisfaction. "Knew it."
You scrambled , thighs clamping around his waist in the process, horrifyingly intimate. Bakugo's nostrils flared. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in the fine hairs at your nape.
"Deny it," he challenged, breath hot against your ear. "Say your slick isn't glowing right now."
Traitorous warmth pooled low in your belly. Your quirk betrayed you again, shimmering pulses radiating from beneath the satin shorts pressed against his abs. Bakugo's grin turned downright carnivorous.
One calloused thumb hooked under the waistband. "Prove me wrong," he dared, dragging the fabric down an inch, just enough to reveal the first hint of pearlescent wetness catching the fairy lights. His exhale punched out ragged. "Fuck. It is pink."
You whined, thighs shaking, sparkles refracting in the sweat beading along his throat. Bakugo groaned, a rough, punched-out sound, and hauled you flush against him. His teeth grazed your pulse point. "Gonna ruin me, princess."
The first tear of fabric echoed obscenely loud as his claws shredded through your camisole.
Pastel ribbons fluttered to the bedspread like cherry blossom petals, too soft, too feminine for the way his hips canted up against yours.
Your back arched when his mouth closed over one peaked nipple, tongue swirling the glitter beading there. Bakugo grunted, the sound reverent and filthy, when luminescent streaks smeared across his cheekbones.
"Told you," he panted against your sternum, fingers working your shorts past trembling hips. "Fucking sparkly everywhere."
The last coherent thought you had, before his teeth sank into you again, was that Mina owed you new pyjamas.
Bakugo flipped you onto your back with a single rough shove, your thighs spreading instinctively beneath his hips as he loomed over you, pupils blown wide.
His smirk sharpened when your sparkles erupted again, golden, frantic, illuminating the predatory hunger in his expression. "Pathetic," he growled, but his fingers trembled where they gripped your waist.
"Coulda had Deku fawning over you like some damn prince." His knee pressed higher between your legs, dragging a whimper from your throat. "Instead you're here—" his palm slid up your ribs, "wrapped around my fingers—" his thumb brushed your nipple, "glowing like a fucking firework."
You arched into his touch, tremors wracking your spine when his free hand yanked your ruined cami straps down your arms.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room, too loud, too obscene, but Bakugo didn't hesitate. He leaned in close, lips grazing your ear as his knee pressed harder. "Say it," he demanded, voice guttural. "Say you picked me."
Your hips jerked involuntarily when his teeth scraped your collarbone. "I—" A spark burst against his eyelid, making him blink. "I picked you!"
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose, half triumphant snarl, half shuddering groan, before surging forward to capture your mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory and nitroglycerin.
His tongue mapped every inch of you with single-minded focus, as if cataloging the way your breath hitched when he bit your lower lip just shy of painful.
When he pulled back, your sparkles had formed a perfect halo around his disheveled spikes. His chest heaved as he dragged a thumb through the glitter smeared across your cheekbone, then licked it clean with a low hum.
"Mine," he declared, fingers tightening possessively on your hips. "Every fucking shimmer."
Somewhere beyond your glitter-clouded haze, you registered the dorm hallway outside, the distant laughter of your classmates, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum.
Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
The complete antithesis of the boy currently pinning you to silken sheets with his weight and the molten promise in his gaze.
Bakugo noticed your distraction immediately. His palm cracked against the headboard beside your ear, making you jump. "Eyes here, princess."
When you obeyed, trembling, he smirked, all sharp canines and wicked intent. "Good girl." His free hand slid between your thighs, callouses catching on sensitive skin. "Now let's see how loud you sparkle."
The first press of his fingers drew a whine from your throat, high and broken. Your quirk responded instantly, pearl-pink luminescence spilling over his knuckles, dripping onto the rumpled satin sheets beneath you.
Bakugo's breath stuttered. "Holy shit," he rasped, watching the glow spread between your legs with something akin to reverence. His thumb circled once, twice, drawing out another pulse of light that clung to his skin like liquid glitter. "Fuckin' perfect."
You arched off the bed when he crooked his fingers, nails scraping down his biceps as your sparkles rained across his chest. Bakugo growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you where your bodies pressed together, and increased the pace, his rhythm merciless.
"That's it," he goaded, lips brushing your temple. "C'mon, light up for me."
The pressure built dizzyingly fast, your thighs clamping around his wrist as the room flickered gold and rose. Bakugo's breath hitched when your back bowed off the mattress, his name tumbling from your lips in a desperate plea.
Right before you shattered, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing your moans as your quirk detonated, a supernova of color refracting through the fairy lights, painting his skin in shimmering streaks.
Panting, you went boneless against the sheets. Bakugo pulled back just enough to examine his glitter-coated forearm with a satisfied smirk.
"Told you," he muttered, licking a stripe up his palm where your glow lingered. His eyes darkened at the taste. "Fuckin' addicting."
Then, before you could recover, he flipped you onto your stomach with a single rough shove. "Round two," he announced, kneading the back of your thighs. "And this time—" his teeth grazed your shoulder blade, "I'm gonna make you sparkle loud enough to wake up the whole damn dorm."
Your whimper dissolved into the pillows as his hands spanned your waist, the promise in his touch searing brighter than any quirk.
Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose when your sparkles flickered against the dark fabric of his belt, already half-undone, the leather slack against his hips.
His fingers trembled, just once, before he yanked it free with a sharp metallic rasp that made your thighs clench. You turned your face into the strawberry pillow just as his palm smoothed down the curve of your ass, possessive and rough.
"Look at me," he growled, thumb hooking in the ruined satin clinging to your hips. When you hesitated, his teeth grazed the nape of your neck. "Now."
The first stroke of his cock against your thigh sent a jolt through you.
Hot, heavy, glistening with the same iridescent slick your quirk left on his fingers. He hissed through clenched teeth, muscles taut as he pumped himself twice, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet of your room.
Your name tore from his throat when your sparkles burst against his knuckles, pearlescent streaks painting his forearm. "Fuck," he rasped, thumb smearing the glow across your hipbone. "Gonna ruin you."
The initial stretch burned, blissful, aching, as he pressed in with a groan that rattled your ribs. Your moan fractured against the pillow when he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, every ridge and vein slotting into place like you were made for it.
Bakugo's breath came ragged against your shoulder blades, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he adjusted to the vice-like heat.
"Move," you gasped, arching back against him. His answering snarl sent sparks skittering across the sheets.
He set a punishing pace immediately, each thrust punching little glittering whines from your throat. The headboard rattled against the wall in time with the wet slap of skin, Bakugo's palm splayed between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned.
His other hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back just enough to see the way your sparkles clung to his sweat-slicked collarbones. His teeth found the shell of your ear as the first real pulse of your orgasm lit up the room, gold, pink, incandescent, his groan reverberating through you like a detonation. "Fuck, there it is—"
Your muffled scream dissolved into the strawberry pillow as he fucked you through it, his rhythm turning erratic, brutal. Bakugo's hips snapped forward once, twice, before his grip on your hair yanked your head back entirely.
His lips crashed against yours just as he spilled deep inside you, hot, pulsing, his broken moan swallowed by your mouth. Your quirk responded in kind, pearlescent streaks erupting between your joined bodies, painting his abs in liquid starlight where they pressed flush against your ass.
He didn't pull out.
Just collapsed atop you with his full weight, his rapid-fire heartbeat thudding between your shoulder blades. His fingers traced idle patterns through the glow smeared across your thighs, sticky-sweet and still faintly luminescent.
When you shifted, his arm banded tighter around your waist. "Stay," he grunted against your nape, an order softened by the way his lips lingered on your sweat-damp skin.
Outside, someone's laughter echoed down the hallway, oblivious to the way Bakugo's teeth grazed your pulse point, marking, claiming, as his hips gave one last lazy roll.
Your fingers tangled with his where they rested on your stomach, sparking tiny pink flares at the contact. Bakugo huffed, annoyed, fond, before biting your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp.
"Quit it," he muttered, but his thumb stroked over your knuckles anyway. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across the walls as your breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling against your back, his breath warming the spot between your wings where his palm rested.
Heavy. Present.
"You're staring," you mumbled into the pillow, skin prickling beneath his gaze. Bakugo scoffed but didn't deny it, calloused fingers trailing down your spine in a slow, proprietary sweep that left glitter in their wake.
His lips followed, hot, insistent, branding each vertebra as he moved lower, pausing to nip at the dimples above your ass with a sound suspiciously close to a growl.
You squirmed, thighs pressing together reflexively, but he wedged his knee between them with effortless dominance. "Bakugo—"
"Katsuki," he corrected against the small of your back, the vibration skating down to where your bodies were still joined. His tongue swiped over a particularly bright sparkle clinging to your hip.
"Say it." When you hesitated, his teeth dug in, not hard enough to bruise, just enough to make your breath hitch. "Now."
"K-Katsuki," you stammered, flushing when he hummed approval against your skin. His lips curved into a smirk you could feel as he kissed lower, the swell of your ass, the crease of your thigh, each touch deliberate, lingering.
He exhaled sharply through his nose when your quirk reacted instinctively, dusting his cheekbones in gold. "You're—mmph—gonna be insufferable in class tomorrow, aren't you?"
Bakugo paused mid-bite, lifting his head just enough to pin you with a look that simmered with wicked promise. "Gonna sit way the fuck closer behind you now," he admitted, voice rough with satisfaction.
His fingers kneaded the supple flesh of your thighs, leaving faint pink smudges where your glow clung to his fingerprints. "Watch you squirm every time I breathe on your neck."
You whined, pressing your burning face into the mattress. "No—that's too embarrassing!"
His laugh was dark, thrilled, vibrating through your ribcage as he licked a stripe up your spine. "Don't care." His palm smacked your ass, once, sharp, drawing out another burst of sparkles. "Shoulda thought of that before you let me in your bed, princess."
The nickname shouldn't have sent heat pooling low in your belly again. Bakugo seemed to sense it anyway, his groan was half exasperation, half arousal as he rolled his hips lazily, still buried inside you.
Your choked moan disappeared into the pillows when his teeth found your earlobe. "Round three," he decided, voice dripping with sinful intent. "And this time," his hand slid around to your front, fingers pressing lightly against your clit, "I'm making damn sure every extra in this school knows who you sparkle for."
Your protest dissolved into a broken gasp as his touch reignited the embers of your pleasure, Bakugo's name tumbling from your lips in a litany that only spurred him on.
Outside, the dorm settled into evening quiet, completely unaware of the way the blond menace behind you was rewriting every rule of engagement between you with each possessive thrust, each glimmering kiss.
You find an old video from your teenage years with you and Katsuki in the dorms, where he’s failing to play a carol song on the drums after his injury, and the memory cracks both of you open in the softest way.
Tags/CW: Bakugo x fem!reader, fluff, kisses, kisses, many kisses, girl dad!Bakugo, they’re married your honor, soft Bakugo, angst if you squint a lot, high school sweethearts to married couple coreee <3
12 Days of X-mas with Strawb | Day 3 “Christmas Carols”
Doomscrolling on TikTok is always your favorite nighttime activity. Mindless, cozy, something to keep your brain occupied while the apartment settles into its quiet winter hush.
It’s how you ended up here, tonight, half-buried in an old drawer of your nightstand. Because you just wanted to post a funny ‘Late Night Finds’ video for Christmas on TikTok.
Nothing serious, really—just you rummaging through the messy drawer of tangled chargers and dead electronics, planning to find an old high school photo or perhaps the video of that one Christmas where Mina was trying to get Katsuki in a Santa costume.
But then you plugged in an old device—one of those chunky, half-cracked tablets you used for class notes back then—and it lit up like it hadn’t been waiting in the dark for years.
Notifications from apps that didn’t even exist anymore. A lock screen photo of BTS that looked stupid in the way it was edited; you and Katsuki once yelled about it, to convince each other to have your faces as lock screens on your devices.
And a folder labeled “DO NOT OPEN”—You huff, that’s so undeniably Katsuki’s old notes which he had password protected, on your device.
You reach to open it quickly, by tapping your anniversary as the password and sure enough —because your man is the biggest, yet most hidden softie, in the whole world— the folder is unlocked.
And suddenly you are eighteen again.
The video loads slow, fuzzy, pixelated. It must have been around the time Katsuki tried to film any positive development with his right arm. A night you barely remember anymore; you don’t even know if he was filming or if you were.
You hear your own voice first—young, bright, teasing in a way you don’t even remember having inside you.
“—Katsuki,” you whined, gosh, “the doctor literally said not to use your hand.”
The camera shook as your past self sat on the floor of the dorm common area, that was eerily empty, pointing toward him. Katsuki was in the corner, hunched over his drum kit like it was a lifeline.
His right hand was still wrapped so heavily it barely looked like a hand at all—bandages, support braces, self adhesive tape. Something weirdly shaped his physiotherapist had given him to keep it warm.
He was supposed to rest. He wasn’t supposed to try to make an effort to play just because his doctors told him he wouldn’t play again and he wanted to prove them wrong. But he had those damn drumsticks anyway.
Now, you understand why he did it.
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped—but it didn’t have heat. It had frustration. Fear. Grief. All jammed under his tongue like he didn’t know what to do with it. “I can play the damn carols just fine”
He lifted the sticks, fingers trembling around them, he struggled to even hold the drumstick with his right arm.
The first tap against the snare was casually, expectedly uneven but so soft—so, so soft it barely counted.
He winced.
You heard it in the video. And suddenly, you remember the sound in your bones.
“Katsuki,” your younger self whispered.
He ignored you, jaw locked.
Tap. Tap. Bambambambababam—
A stuttering attempt at “Little Drummer Boy,” because of course a stubborn idiot like him picked that song.
“‘S not funny,” he muttered, breaths shaky, though you didn’t laugh. “I used t’play this one easy. Like—like nothin’.”
You watch teenage you crawl over, sit beside him, and place your hand over his uninjured one. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t pull away either.
“You’ll play again,” you whispered again.
A promise you had no way of knowing the truth of. A hope you meant with your whole heart.
At twenty five, Katsuki still can’t play the drums, and you wonder, if teenage him, after knowing that, would be mad at you for making him a promise you couldn’t eventually keep.
Back in the cracked screen, Katsuki swallowed hard, eyes shining in that too-bright, vermillion way he hated anyone noticing.
“…Say it again,” he murmured, and you can make out his ridiculous pout, that protruding lower lip, through the pixels.
“You’ll play again.” You said, smiling at him then so encouragingly, carefully grabbing his cheeks and pulling him onto the floor and into your chest for a hug.
The video ended there. With Katsuki being grumpy about you not being careful and you squealing like he had triggered your cuteness aggression, rocking each other back and forth on the floor.
You sit on the edge of your bed in the present, the tablet heavy in your hands, something aching and warm unfurling inside you at the sight of how you used to be back then. Your eyes are wet, with teeny tiny droplets of salty nostalgia sitting on your lashes.
The faint glow of the small tree in the corner of your room—the cheap string lights Katsuki pretended not to like—casts soft amber dots on the wall. Almost Christmas again. Somehow it makes the ache stronger.
Behind you, from the hallway, an older, deeper voice—still gruff, still Katsuki, with less spikes in his hair and a tender side that shows more—calls out:
“Oi. You’re up? Why’s it so quiet?”
He says it softly, the way he does when he’s trying not to wake the baby he tried so hard to put to sleep.
“‘S nothing,” you sniffle
Yeah. Like that was gonna get past him.
You hear the pause before he even speaks—an almost-audible shift in the air, the kind that means he’s squinting, assessing, already walking toward you.
Heavy, familiar footsteps pad down the hall.
There’s a quiet exhale, like he’s just set something down—probably easing your daughter into her bassinet after a long fight with sleep.
Then the doorframe fills, impossibly, with him.
Your Katsuki now always looks a little like he was carved instead of born—softer edges, thicker muscles, taller, hair less spiky and a little darker but still unmistakably him. Sleep-ruffled tank top trim underneath his top pajama sweater, hair flopped half over one eye, the faint scar on his cheek catching the hallway light.
He clocks the tablet in your hands instantly. Then your face naturally follows.
Then the way you try and fail to swipe away a tear with the back of your wrist like it’s no big deal.
“The hell’re yah crying for, sweets?” he asks, voice low but not sharp. Concern wrapped in grumpiness—his native language.
You speak it fluently by now. No accent bleeding in to merge with yours.
You swallow. “I’m not.”
He lifts a slow eyebrow.
Okay, yeah, you walked right into that one.
Katsuki crosses the room, not hurried, just steady—like he’s done a thousand times before. He’s done it when you were crying and hiding in here due to pregnancy hormones messing with you, he’s done it when you always end up crying on your birthday. Or when you had to give up the puppy you were fostering.
He stops in front of you like clockwork and reaches out with his left hand, thumb brushing the corner of your eye, catching a tear you missed.
His voice dips, roughened by sleep, maybe a little tiredness too. The one only a pro hero who just put his newborn daughter to bed can carry.
“Somethin’ on there?”
You hesitate, the tablet warming your palms.
“It’s a video,” you say softly through a chuckle. It’s bittersweet, really, that feeling in your stomach. “From high school. You were trying to play the drums again.”
His jaw goes tight in that micro-second way, the private kind—the one that means a nerve got hit but he’s not about to bark about it.
“Oh.”
Just that. A quiet, grounding syllable.
Of course, he remembers the moment clearer than you. Katsuki’s forever curse in this fleeting lifetime is remembering small things that most people wouldn’t.
It was that night, a few days before Christmas. Class B was throwing a party that everyone in your class had attended. Back then, he was still obsessed with monitoring every little step of his recovery and he had taken your tablet to film his effort with the drums, so you could forever have a digital reminder that he was still perfect at everything on his first try.
It hadn’t gone as planned. Obviously.
You both look down at the screen again, the frozen final frame blurry and pixelated but still unmistakably him and you—bandages, crooked pouts, the way he leaned into you without ever admitting he needed the contact.
“I made you a promise,” you whisper. “And you never got it back. Your hand… it never—”
“Oh c’mon.” He cuts you off, gentle but firm, a calloused finger hooking under your chin. “Don’t do that.”
You blink up at him and that boyish, crooked pout you fell in love with is back on his face.
“‘M serious,” he mutters, and he sits beside you on the bed, thigh warm against yours. “Don’t sit here blamin’ yourself for shit I lost.”
Your breath shakes. “But I told you—you’d play again. You asked me to say it twice.”
Katsuki huffs out a tiny, humorless laugh. “Yeah. ‘Cause I was a fuckin’ mess. And you were the only one who could get my head on straight.”
He nudges your shoulder with his. “Still are.”
You don’t trust your voice, so you let the silence sit for a moment. Your stomach aches so deeply at the thought that no matter how many physios, no matter the low impact workouts, no matter the support items he uses in his hero life, his hand will never be able to let him play the drums again.
Your poor teenage Katsuki from back in the day. He… he would’ve hated this.
Your Katsuki now, the one who despite being in his mid twenties, only cares about having a functional arm to hold his daughter with, while he holds you with the other, glances at the tablet.
“Show me?”
That surprises you—he never wants to watch old footage, especially from then. But he waits, steady and present, hand resting on your knee like an anchor.
You hit play.
The room fills with the shaky sound of teenage him tapping out something broken and determined. Katsuki watches his younger self with an unreadable expression—brows pulled tight, lips pressed low, something wet and burning behind his eyes that he’d deny to his last breath.
When the video ends again, he exhales a long, uneven breath.
“Tch.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Look at that idiot. What a brat.”
You laugh, but it’s fragile.
“I’d never complain about my girl pulling my cheeks like that! The fuck he’s complaining for?”
You don’t reply, instead you chuckle again, giving him a side eyed glance, as if to tell him he still very much does that. But then, your face drops with a soft little sigh.
Katsuki bumps his knee against yours. “I couldn’ta played again even if you’d promised it a hundred times. My hand’s just—y’know.” He lifts it, flexing the scarred fingers under the light. “It is what it is.”
You look at him, throat thick, like some invisible individual decided to choke you with barbed wire. “I just… I didn’t want you to think I lied.”
Katsuki stares at you like you’ve said the dumbest and most heartbreaking thing in the world. He doesn’t quite laugh either, but the sound he makes in response is more than complacent.
“You didn’t lie,” he says quietly. “You gave me somethin’ to hold onto.”
His voice goes very soft, almost embarrassed. If it wasn’t for the dimly lit room, you’d swear he’s blushing.
“Still do.” He leans forward then, forehead pressing to yours. A slow, grounding touch; he takes your hand and wraps it in both his palms, right into his lap “You gave me a whole ass baby, my own family,” he murmurs. “That’s enough for me.”
“Is it?”
Katsuki’s forehead is still resting against yours, breaths brushing your lips in warm, steady waves. You can feel him settling—his shoulders dropping, the tension around his mouth loosening. The kind of softness he only ever lets out when the lights are low and no one else is around.
His thumb traces your cheekbone once, slow.
“C’mere, baby” he murmurs.
He doesn’t wait for you to move. He just tilts his head and kisses you—gentle at first, like he’s testing the temperature of something too precious. His lips are warm, a little chapped from the winter air sneaking through the window cracks, and he hums against your mouth when you slide your hands into his hair.
“Yah gave me a wife out of you, too” he mutters into your lips, before diving in again.
It’s not a hungry kiss. It’s homey. The kind where your lips move in sync, void of teeth and roughness. Just your chests that press together and everything else drops out of focus.
Katsuki pulls back just an inch, eyes half-lidded, lashes brushing your cheeks so softly that the tickle you.
“You were cryin’,” he says with finalty, voice low and almost petulant. “Hate when you cry.”
You give him a wobbly smile. “I’m okay, just memories.”
“Yeah. I know.”
He kisses you deeper again, his hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you into his warmth like he’s trying to erase the distance the years put between you and that old video.
You inhale a soft little sound into his mouth, and he smiles, wobbly, much like you, against you. That tiny, sleepy thing he only ever does when he just wants to hold you through anything that troubles him.
He shifts, nudging you gently until you’re both lying back on the bed. You, on top of him, head nuzzled between his pecs, legs wrapped around his waist. Him, under you laying down flat on his back, playing softly with your hair.
Your broken tablet slides safely onto the nightstand with a quiet clack, forgotten for now.
Katsuki immediately fits himself even snugglier against you—an arm around your head, the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest. His nose tucks into your hair. He kisses your forehead, your temple, the corner of your jaw, like he’s mapping you back into place with small, hollowed out rapid fire kisses.
“Still want me?” you whisper, not sure why that insecurity tumbles out, but it does.
His hand slides up your back and holds you tighter.
“Always wanted you.” His voice is a sleepy rasp. “Even when I was eighteen and pissed off and broken or sixteen and an asshole tah everyone. Wanted you then. Want you now.”
You breathe out slowly, matching the rhythm of his chest. “I do too Katsuki.”
Katsuki kisses you again—slow, lingering, lips on fire, thumb stroking the line of your jaw. You can feel him sinking, melting, getting drowsier with every pass of his lips on yours.
“We’re goin’ t’sleep,” he whines, kissing the edge of your mouth one last time. “Before our daughter wakes both of us up to eat.”
Ugh, he does have a point. No more sulking for tonight.
You let him lift himself with you enough to tuck you both under the blanket. And as his breathing evens out, his lips press to the top of your head one more time. Softly, half-asleep.
A quiet promise he doesn’t need to say aloud anymore.
~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work // the second image in the banner is my own edit, do not steal!
A/N: (Obs I saw that TikTok that said “reminder that Bakugo cant play the drums now” and it made me sob for hours)
Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3
tsukishima suddenly asks you to meet him at the park with no elaboration, and why is he so good at waltzing?
When you received an ambiguous text from Tsukishima, you were puzzled. Rightfully so, because all he sent you was the address to a park you frequented at a time to be there, leaving much to your anticipation. The time came and you headed to the location, feeling a mixture of confusion and excitement at what your boyfriend was planning.
Winter made it so that the sun had long since set by what would be mid evening and the sky was already blanketed by a veil of darkness and stars. It had just begun snowing and the icy flakes were falling at a steady rate. They reflected the warm light of the street lamps, illuminating a warm path for you despite the cold ‘crunch, crunch’ of your footsteps in the snow.
The park was scarcely populated when you arrived. The usual energetic younger children were replaced with older adults taking walks by their lonesome or in pairs. Your eyes scanned over the space, eagerly searching for a familiar head of blonde. It took a few seconds to spot him since he stood in such a secluded spot. It was hidden by a few shrubs and easy to miss unless you frequented the place.
When you reached him, he locked eyes with you, a serious expression on his face that made you falter slightly.
“Kei?” you called as you stopped in front of him.
His shoulders tensed and he cleared his throat with his fist balled in front of his lips. As if he had spent time practicing the move, he leaned forward in a bow and placed an arm behind his back while bringing the other one forward for you to take.
“May I have this dance?” he said in an uncharacteristically polite tone. You blinked, unmoving, which only made the blush on his ears grow redder the longer you took to respond.
You couldn’t help but chuckle at the nervous tremble in his hand as it was held towards you. Unable to stifle your entertained grin and playing along, you placed a hand in his, “You may.” If you weren’t listening carefully enough, you would’ve failed to catch the way he exhaled in relief.
Tsukishima’s hand guided yours to place it on his shoulder and the other holding his. His other hand rested warmly on your waist and you giggled at how surgical he was with setting up your positions.
Outside your field of view, the hand behind his back pressed the play button to a speaker he’d set up on the ground and a classical song began to play. He took the lead and was quite easy to follow. With each step he took back, you took forward and with each step he took forward, you took back. You were surprisingly in sync despite how clumsy Tsukishima’s steps were occasionally.
A bout of silence passed, save for the soft melody playing through the secluded space. Tsukishima was laser focused, doing his best not to step on your feet with his gaze trained downwards.
“What’s this all about?” you asked in a feather light tone. Tsukishima’s eyes met yours and he spent a few moments coming up with what to say.
There was a light, yet sudden gust of wind that sent a chill rushing your way. Despite being dressed quite warmly, you felt goosebumps forming in your upper arms. You shuddered, and Tsukishima pulled you closer to his chest in response.
“Your reposts…” he mumbled, his voice was tiny like it usually was when he got embarrassed.
It was supposed to be a slow waltz, but with how close Tsukishima held you to keep you warm, it felt more like you were a pair of penguins huddling and moving in unison to generate heat.
“My what?” you couldn’t help but tease him a little bit.
Tsukishima swallowed. The flush on his ears had now made its way to his cheeks. “You reposted a video of a couple doing this last week, and I waited for it to snow so we could too.”
When he finished his sentence, he returned to avoiding your gaze, feeling too fluffy and embarrassed to look you in the eye. You kept your steps in steady sync with his, but was suddenly quiet as your heart processed the warming sentiment.
Your response began as a soft chuckle. Brows creasing as a light laugh left your lips and Tsukishima could only stare at you in a silent fluster. The overhead street lamp was great at illuminating the space, but your smile was easily a thousand times brighter. “This is lovely, thank you.”
His breath hitched in his throat, and he almost missed a step in the song. The flattened snow under your feet was beginning to turn into slippery ice and even without it, Tsukishima felt as though he was going to fall over at any moment.
The song lasted a few more seconds and concluded its final note, the melody carrying like the ‘clink, clink’ of a melodic wind chime.
“That was amazing.” you breathed, unable to stop smiling.
Tsukishima rubbed the back of his neck, and replied with pretend nonchalance, “It was nothing.”
“And when did you get so good at dancing? You did the whole song so well.” you continued to gush. Tsukishima’s nose was practically growing longer and longer from the sea of compliments he’d happily drown in.
“I picked up a few things here and there,” he shrugged, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. He totally didn’t spend the last week practicing at home while you were out just so you could impress you.
You smiled, “I would’ve thought you spent weeks practicing.”
Tsukishima pursed his lips. “It didn’t feel like that long.”
“Still, it takes some serious skill to waltz like that as a beginner,” you squeezed his hands, “you’re ama—”
Your words were cut short by a soft warmth on your lips. One of Tsukishima’s hands snaked down to your lower back and the other held your head at an angle that allowed him to deepen the kiss. Gasping, you leaned into him, which gave him the chance to do something absolutely criminal with his lips.
A jittery shudder ran through your body and if Tsukishima wasn’t supporting your body, you would’ve melted into the floor like a jiggly pot of neon slime.
When he finally pulled away, you were left stunned— breath ragged and your face so warm that you could fry eggs on it. Tsukishima watched your completely blank expression, practically seeing the way your brain had malfunctioned.
“If you compliment me so much, I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle it,” he would’ve sounded shy, but the snark dripped from his voice like raindrops on a leaf.
You coughed.
“R-right.” As you turned to begin walking out of the park, Tsukishima caught your hand and planted a kiss on the inside of your wrist. He made sure to maintain eye contact the entire time and tactically inhaled while his lips were in contact with your pulse point. A smirk rested on his lips and you stumbled.
Tsukishima snorted, and you gave him your best annoyed look despite the voice in your mind screaming, “Do it again!”
Snow continued to flurry from the sky, though the cold couldn’t dare to begin diffusing the sweltering warmth in your face and neck. You walked home together, with Tsukishima looking awfully jolly for someone who almost made you pass out just a few minutes prior.
From then on, you couldn’t look at snow quite the same without feeling more flushed than a toilet.
