“What’s My Favorite Bread?” You Ask Your Boyfriend During Early Morning Cuddles. It’s Warm Inside

HMMMMM bakugou being just. the absolute picture of sin.

he works overnight and comes home early in the morning, around 3 or 4 am or so, and you greet him and give him a kissy and ask how it all went. and even though it's still dark outside and he's been working for twelve hours—he's still coming off patrol, right ? so he's still got some energy left, and he eats something and takes a shower and winds down as you fall back to sleep.

and it's not until much later in the day that he wakes up, early afternoon, and you're kind of tiptoeing around so that he can get his much-needed rest. you slip into the closet of your bedroom for something and you think you're gonna get in and out without a sound, but his hearing is so attuned to just about anything and everything at this point.

so rough and raspy, he grunts out, "what're y'lookin' for?" and you whip around real fast and he's just—

half sitting up in bed, bare back leaning against the headboard. an arm behind his head, so that his bicep is tense and round and stone-solid. stretched like that, his obliques are more prominent, taut and rippling up the side of his ribcage. he must have gotten hot while passed out, as he usually does, because the comforter is all askew; one of his legs is bent, the fine hair a dark gold in the waning day; the other is hanging off the bed, lightly swinging as he watches you, and the blanket has come down enough that you can see the bulge of his thigh muscles beneath his stupid tiny black boxer briefs.

and he's just so. man. in every single way.

(his hair is flat on one side, too, and his eyes are still a little puffy from sleep—but you think that adds to it, all in all)

The Middle Ground

*Deep breath*

Woo. Okay. First of all I would like to thank everyone for 400 freaking followers. That is seriously so insane to me, I mean I’ve only been on Tumblr for like half a year.

This piece is a contribution to @bakugosbratx ‘s collaboration. It has around 40k words in total, so it’s my longest piece yet. Because Tumblr formatting is shit, I have provided an Ao3 link in case you like the chapter setup better there. I hope you all enjoy, and please please heed the warnings ahead!

Pairing: Bully!Fiance!Touya x F reader

Summary: You’ve been friends with Tenko Shimura for as long as you can remember…but when you’re forced into an arranged marriage with Dabi, that friendship is put to a test.

TW: Noncon, bullying, language, Dabi and Hawks are scumbags, gangbang, graphic depictions of violence, gang violence, arranged marriage

Tags: @hi–rubi @bakugosbratx

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31747549

Keep reading

sick day

katsuki woke up to the sound of his alarm.

huffing, he rolls over to turn it off.

“alright. come on baby, we needa get up.” he says, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing tight.

“mmmmmph. noooo.” you whine, sleepily.

he laughs lightly, shoving his face in your hair.

“i know. i know. but we’re gonna be late.” he coos.

you squirm a little in frustration.

“please. i need 5 minutes.” you whine.

he sighs turning you to face him.

“fine. but only 5.” he relents, throwing the sheets off himself.

“nooooo. stay with me.” you pout.

“i’ll see you in 5 minutes.” he replies sternly.

he spends his five minutes getting dressed then returns to his bed.

“it’s been 5 minutes, sweet girl. time to wake up.” he says, pecking your lips.

he watches your brows furrow deeply and you feel like you could cry.

“i need to sleep katsu. i cant.” you say and your voice breaks.

his eyes widen at your croaky voice.

“hey. hey. what’s wrong, are you cryin?” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face.

“oh.” he says as the realization clicks in.

you peel your eyes open, trying to snuggle into his hand.

“what?” you croak out.

his eyes soften and he kisses your forehead.

“you have a fever.” he says.

“explains why i feel so shitty.”

he drags his thumb over your cheek, caressing your face gently.

“stay in bed. i’ll tell aizawa you can’t be in class.” he says lowly.

you whine and he laughs as he feels your hands weave themselves around his neck.

“you won’t stay with me?” you say with watery eyes.

he leans in to press his forehead against yours.

“you know i can’t. i’ll go downstairs and get you some medicine, kay?” he says in an attempt to soothe you.

“be fast.” you whisper and he chuckles before pulling away.

“so clingy when you’re sick.”

when he returns from getting you medicine you’re fast asleep once again.

he drags his hands down your arms before landing on your waist and caressing your sides.

“wake up.” he says against your cheek.

you whimper, opening your eyes the smallest bit to see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“hi.” you mumble.

“hi.” he coos, exaggerating his voice to sound sickly sweet.

you grab his hand from off your waist and hold it close.

“got you medicine, open up.” he says while grabbing the medicine with his free hand.

you open and he pulls you up slightly, placing the pill in your mouth.

next he grabs the water he brought you and places it to your lips, watching you sip at it.

“good girl. lay down now, okay? see you soon.” he mumbles kissing your forehead and standing from his spot on the bed.

“bye suki.” you smile before rolling over and hugging one of his his pillows close to your chest.

he finishes getting ready before leaving his room and walking alongside kirishima to class.

“hey man! where’s yn?” kirishima greets him, giving him a high five.

“sick in bed.” katsuki grumbles.

“wow. how are you ever gonna get through the day without her?” kaminari pipes in to tease katsuki.

“shut the fuck up, at least i pull.” katsuki grumbles.

kaminaris jaw drops in shock and offence.

“damn. way harsh.” kirishima says, trying not to let his laugh slip through.

the three of them continue to bicker as they walk into class.

“hey, aizawa!” kaminari cheers to his teacher.

aizawa grumbles in response, too tired to respond.

kaminari and kirishima go to take their seats while katsuki stops at aizawas desk.

“what.” he groans.

katsuki huffs, annoyed.

“yns not coming today.” he replies.

aizawa raised a brow in question.

“why?” he frowns, untrusting.

“she’s sick.” katsuki answers, and starts to walk over to his desk, not caring enough about his response.

aizawa huffs at his rudeness but starts to teach the class anyway.

a couple periods go by without you and katsuki’s trying to keep his cool. he knows you need your rest but he misses you.

the period before lunch is when you call.

he steps outside to take it, despite aizawas protests.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, remembering telling you to only call for emergencies.

“kats- katsuki.” you say through your sobs.

“hey baby. what’s going on?” he says, trying to keep you calm.

“it hurts. it hurts so bad i cant-” you whisper through groans of pain.

“what hurts? what do you need?”

“my stomach. i threw up and i think there’s more. i need you. need you so bad.” you whine, more sobs following.

“i know it hurts, sweetness. can you wait until lunch?” he asks, tone still soothing.

you whine and whimper through sobs and gasps.

“i cant. i cant do it. i need you so bad, please katsu.” you beg, clutching your stomach.

“i’m on my way, baby. just try to breathe through it, okay? cryings only makin it worse.” he says and you agree before ending the call.

he walks back into class and aizawas frowning, arms crossed over his chest.

he grabs his bag and heads out the class without speaking, aizawa yelling behind him.

“i don’t get paid enough for this.” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose.

katsuki speed walks to his dorm, opening his door to see that you’re not in bed.

“yn??” he calls out before hearing the sounds of you throwing up.

heading into his bathroom he finds you curled up in a ball on the cool floor, hand reaching to flush the toilet.

you have tears streaming down your face rapidly, gasping for air and shaking.

“oh baby.” he frowns.

you turn your head towards him shakily, tears starting to stream down your face once more.

he watches you hand reaching towards him through trembles.

sitting next to you on the floor of his bathroom he opens his arms, taking your outstretched hand.

you whimper, crawling towards him onto his lap.

feeling his hands come up under your shirt to draw shapes on your back you release a deep exhale.

“what happened? hm?” he mumbles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your temple.

you nuzzle your face in his neck and shrug before bringing your head back up to look at him.

his eyes soften at your teary ones.

“i hate this.” you frown, pout on your lips.

he hums, lifting his hand to brush across your face and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

you kiss his open palm before laying your head on his chest.

“can we go have a nap?” you ask timidly.

he doesnt respond but stands with you still in his arms.

as the two of you lay down together he whispers praise and soothing affirmations to calm you.

his hands caressing your thighs and back, sometimes coming up to massage your shoulders lightly.

“mmmm love you.”you mumble sleepily.

“love you, sweet girl.”

You like to call your boyfriend cute when you talk about him to your coworkers, saying things like: “He’s so cute, he cooks for me all the time!” or “My boyfriend just bought me this flower bouquet for our date! Isn’t he the cutest?” and it planted an image into your coworkers mind of your boyfriend being this soft looking guy. So they definitely didn’t expect a tall muscular guy with a face that literally embodies “if looks could kill” to walk into the building claiming to be your boyfriend and that you had asked him to pick you up. But it did help a little when you run into his arms telling how much you miss him and for a moment, they catch his hard face turned soft. Ok maybe he was a little cute.

-Sakusa, Ushijima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Tsukishima.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

☆༉ — YUUJI ITADORI. isn’t it weird? how love never changes.

about. no matter what anyone says, yuuji itadori’s love for you is unwavering and he hopes that you’ll never see a reason to change. not for anyone, not even him. (1K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters are aged up to 20s and in college, weird gf and jock bf, yuuji is a jock and has obnoxious teammates, reader is an introvert and wears glasses, selfship coded i fear, fem!reader.

“itadori, don’t you think your girlfriend is a little.. weird?”

the pink haired jock blinks once, then frowns  as he tugs a fresh shirt over his head — practice with his soccer team had ran a little longer than anticipated and he didn’t feel like coming home to you, his girlfriend, in a stinky old shirt. 

yuuji’s not sure when the topic of locker room talk had switched onto him and his love life but he cares enough to bite — not about to let his teammates talk smack about his girl. “where’d you get that idea from?”

another teammate speaks up. “when she comes to your games, she wears your sweatshirts but doesn’t cheer for you at all.” 

“she’s just shy, nothing wrong with that.” yuuji counters.

“whenever we hang out at the after partie she’s always… clinging onto you… doesn’t drink with any of us.”

“i told you, she’s a little shy,”  he stands up a little straighter this time, narrowing his eyes. “and parties aren’t for everyone. she might not like them but she’s there to support me. shouldn’t that be enough?”

“but dude…” someone else speaks up. “don’t you find any of that strange? like she’s just… weird.”

yuuji can’t get home fast enough after that. he almost falls to pieces when he sees you singing and shuffling your way through the cupboards in his dorm kitchen — making yourself a snack. he loves it when you stay over and he gets to watch you like this, so calm and at ease in his space. he feels grateful to even be sharing it with you.

weird isn’t a word that yuuji itadori would use to describe his girlfriend. 

he finds you intriguing. your relationship is still new, so all of the differences between you both interest him beyond belief. each time he discovers a new habit of yours (like the way you forget to take your glasses off when you sleep) or a fact about your life before college, or finds out something obscure relating to your hobbies and interests… yuuji can’t help but to fall in love with you all over again. like an astronomer who’s searching for the secrets of the universe, the pink haired jock wants to know every interesting little detail that makes you, you. 

that’s created the very person he loves today. 

“please never change,” yuuji breathes against the back of your head once he’s home. you can’t even comprehend the speed at which he’s dropped his gym back before he’s wrapped himself around you in the same manner that a boa constrictor would. only more affectionate. “and if you do, let me change with you.” 

being this close to itadori, you can smell his baby-fresh soap and the tinge of sweat from his work out. you can feel the strength of his arms as they squeeze you close from behind — like he’ll never let you go. he makes you feel loved even when it’s not on purpose, you go your every waking moment cared for and adored by yuuji itadori. it’s always subconscious, unwavering and steady. your love is stable like that, never dampened from those outside of the two of you — that much will never change. 

“that’s a big ask, yuu.” comes your contented hum, but you don’t stop your actions — continuing to make your snack while the pink haired jock squeezes you tight. as if to become one with you. “people change all the time.” 

you hold up a hand behind you and he sucks the peanut butter from your thumb eagerly. “i know, but i don’t want what anyone else says about you or us to make you change,” he mumbles petulantly against the shell of your ear, trying to find the right words as he tucks his face into your neck. “you’re perfect to me, as you are.” 

it’s cute that he reminds you of such a trivial little thing. those big brown eyes of yuuji’s see perfection in all of your flaws. he loves you so much you wonder if how much you feel for him even compares. 

“what’s gotten into you?” you giggle, spinning in his arms to stand on the tips of your toes — pressing a soft kiss to the point at which your boyfriend’s jaw meets his neck. it’s all you can reach. “did something happen?” 

yuuji hesitates for a moment, lips pursed and honey-glazed eyes cast to the side. he would never lie to you, that’s not in his nature — but he’d never want to hurt your feelings either. “the guys…the guys on the team said some stuff about us today,” his voice trails off and his hands trail upwards, dipping underneath the jersey of his that you wear to draw circles into your waist using his rough thumbs. he figures it’s best to tell you before one of his teammates  let it slip and hurt your feelings. he would rather die then let that happen. “they… they think you’re weird and that… that we’re too different.” 

“o-oh.”

a flash of pain comes with the territory of yuuji’s honesty, but he’s quick to soothe it as though he’s running your burn under a stream of cool water. “but i like you. like…really really like you,” the words rush out while his eyes stay serious and set in stone. your boyfriend grasps both of your hands firmly before you can even think to cry or pull away.

yuuji is there and he is constant and that is never changing. not for anyone, except for you. “and i like all of the funny things about you. that you’re a little quiet, that you’re always by my side, that you leave me notes in my gym bag or share your celebrity crushes with me. i like you for you. even if you’re a little weird — then…then i am too!” 

his hands, strong and yet so soft, traverse up to your round cheeks — tilting your head up to face him. “please don’t ever change because of what people say,” yuuji repeats tenderly, his lips finding the crown of your head in a gentle kiss. he stays there, like a magnet on metal and the world stands still for a moment. remaining the same, no longer changing, so that yuuji itadori can love you as is. “the way you are right now, it’s everything to me.” 

itadori only moves when you tip your head back to get a better look at him, he looks down at you through his unfairly long lashes — brown eyed gaze latching onto yours while your hearts sync up, beating to the same drum. “i’ll never change, as long as you promise to always love me like this.”

“i’ll love you the same way that i always have. like i’m the luckiest guy in the world, yeah?” he laughs and you smile — because it’s hard to be upset when yuuji is around, and protects your love so genuinely. 

you lean up and he meets you half way — pressing a slow and lingering kiss to the swell of your lips, wrapping his arms around you once again as you away to a silent tune in his tiny dorm kitchen. 

change is inevitable of course. the two of you will grow and become different people than you are right now — but you will always find your way back to the beautiful love that you hold. 

much like a butterfly that blossoms into something beautiful too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

This is so sweet. I love Katsuki so much

You’re slow dancing in the living room with Bakugou one night. It’s later than he’s typically up, but neither of you could really sleep, and found yourselves in each others arms. His head rests on top of yours, and your feet are on top of his, as he gently waltzes you two around the room. You sigh into the naked skin of his chest, feel his heartbeat beneath your ears, kiss the scar on his skin.

“I love you so much.” You whisper, eyes fluttering shut. You can feel the breath Bakugou takes in, deep and shuddering. He’s quiet for a moment, as he sways you left and right, before answering,

“I love you too,” he tells you truthfully. You blink a couple of times, biting at your bottom lip to quell the emotions that always bubble up when it comes to him and your love. Why is it always so overwhelming?

“So much it makes my heart hurt, actually.” You confess quietly, squeezing him a bit tighter to you. He does the same, skims his mouth across your hairline as he takes in the smell of your shampoo.

“Mine too.” He mirrors you, makes you wanna hold him tighter until he combusts in your arms, the flames of his flesh taking you out with him. But all you can do in the moment is bite gently at his pec.

“Don’t ever leave me, okay?” You warn him, finally pulling away enough to look up at him. Bakugou frowns at you, eyes flickering between the wet stain and your teeth imprints on his chest, and up to your eyes that shine with vulnerability. He stares at you for another few beats before kissing your forehead.

“I would never.” He says, and he sound so sure. So sure that he’d never fall out of love with you. So sure that he’d never find anything better. So sure that he will escape death every time. So sure that he’ll come back to you, even if it has to be in pieces. So sure that his heart will forever beat to the rhythm of your name, sure that you will forever be apart of him.

“You’ll never catch me crying or begging for a man.” You stick your chin up to him in defiance, but he sees it wobble anyway. “But if you ever leave me, I don’t think I’d survive it. Don’t leave me.” Your voice gets soft, pleading, and you find him wiping away tears you hadn’t known escaped.

“I won’t.” Bakugou tells you, seriously, as he goes from holding your waist to your cheeks so that you can’t look away from him. “I wont I wont I wont.”

“Tell me you love me again.” You demand from him almost immediately, and he answers you just as quickly.

“I love you.” He doesn’t hesitate, confesses so surely, that your eyes flutter at the sound. You bring his face to yours until his mouth skims your own, whispering against it,

“One more time?” You plead, and he obliges you. He always does.

“I love you I love you I love you.” And he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you until you’re breathless and giggling, leaving behind the world around you. All you have is him, and you’re sure that he’s all you need.

kirishima x bakugou x f!reader

summary - you're a shy transfer student who's paired with kirishima for a project, by chance, you meet his boyfriend. porn with not a lot of plot.

a/n - smut, threesome, bakugou and kirishima are both bi and so is reader, college au, quirkless au, praise, degradation, shy reader, sorry for slandering shinsou, unprotected sex, face fucking, impact play, cumplay ig im, i forgot that this was mostly filth when i went to re edit it. repost from my old blog, katsupeach. kirishima and bakugou's heights are described but they're bigger than you, daddy kink, some mild hurt comfort, they like you more than a one night stand isn't that nice.

MINORS DNI - You must have an age visible on your page somewhere to interact with this post.

Being paired with the sunny extroverted football player for your essay project wasn’t your worst nightmare, but only because your subconscious was rarely so creatively cruel. You traced the assignment with your finger, checking again to make sure that it was right. F/N L/N, Kirishima Eijirou. Fuck. You look up, and to your embarrassment, he’s looking over at you, and you make eye contact. He shoots you a bright smile that you attempt to return. Professor Aizawa continues talking about the project, but you’re not listening, you’re too busy wiping your clammy hands on your jeans. You dart out of the classroom, through the hallways, and onto the quad but of course, he catches you. 

“Hey, hey y/n!” Shit. You turn around and there he is, towering over you. 

“Hi.” You say. 

“Do you wanna exchange numbers? Talk about the project?” He grins at you. “You’re a transfer, right? 

“Yeah,” you say quickly. “Don’t worry about the project, I’ll just do it. I don’t mind.” He blinks at you. 

“No, uh, no way,” He sheepishly touches the back of his neck. “I can’t letcha do that, I promise I won’t hold you back.” You swallow nervously. 

“It’s really fine.” You respond, barely audible. He shakes his head. 

“Come on, I won’t be that bad.” He reaches out to touch your upper arm and you flinch from him. “Sorry, I just,” he withdraws his hand, “Let’s get coffee if you don’t have class? On me.” You tuck your hair behind your ears. 

“Oh, um sure.” He leads you to the student union, chattering about the reading, making it so you barely have to fill in the blanks of the conversation. He leans down to you when you get to the barista, 

“Whaddya want, I’ll order for you.” 

“Just a latte.” You say. He moves around you to order, careful not to touch you. 

“She’ll have a latte, and I’ll have a Caramel Frappucino.” He says, smiling gently at you. “Let’s grab a booth, it’ll be quieter.” You let him lead you across the busy student union, holding both of your hot coffees. He’s right, it’s a little quieter in the booth. “Do you have any ideas?” 

“Yeah,” You tuck your hair behind your ears. “I was thinking, maybe um something about, the pre-raphaelites, and how their ultra-realism was a revolution that actually went so hard that it transcended realism to become nonrepresentational.” He blinks at you. 

“Yeah, uh, okay, let’s do that.” You sigh. 

“Just let me do it.” 

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I’m a little behind in the reading, that’s all, I’ll catch up and then I’ll understand. Let’s look now, at one of the paintings, and you can explain it to me.” You take a sip of your coffee and flip to a page in your three hundred dollar textbook, complete with glossy colored pictures. 

“This is Ophelia, by John Edwin Millais.” He looks at the pale woman lying in the reeds. 

“Oh shit, is she dead?” You swallow. 

“Yeah, of course, she is, she’s Ophelia.” He looks sheepish. “From Hamlet. She pretty famously dies.” He looks even more sheepish. 

“Uh, okay.” He puts his palms up. “Tell you what, I will catch up on the reading. I will. And then we can divide up work, and get started. I will not be the mean jock that makes you do this yourself. I refuse.” 

“Frankly that’s more honor than I expected from you.” He laughs, touching the back of his neck. 

“Jeez. Sorry that my fellow athletes did ya so dirty. Scouts honor, I won’t leave you high and dry.” He’s oozing sincerity. You don’t trust it. 

“Okay.” He raises his eyebrows and then straightens. 

“It doesn’t matter if you believe me now. I’m gonna prove it.” He looks down at the textbook. “Okay, she’s dead, keep explaining.” 

“So she’s dead, but look at all the flowers around her. Her death is a tragedy, and it’s considered one of the most eloquent descriptions of death in literature.” 

“Ooh,” Kirishima takes his phone out. “Let me google it. What’s it from again?” You smile nervously. 

“It’s Lady Gertrude’s speech, from Hamlet.” He squints at his screen. 

“Wait, what language is this in?” You laugh a little despite yourself. 

“English,” you say, “give it here, I’ll demonstrate.” He hands you his phone, it’s cool and heavy in your hands. “No case?” 

“I don’t drop things.” He says, a hint of pride in his voice. You laugh, genuinely. 

“There, on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds, Clamb'ring to hang, an envious sliver broke,” your voice is low, Kirishima leans in across the table to hear what you’re saying. “When down her weedy trophies and herself, Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,” He feels a blush creep onto his cheeks, there’s something almost sensual about the music of your words. “Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes, As one incapable of her own distress,” Kirishima’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“Oh,” he interrupts you, “Oh I get it.” You nod. “Wait but please don’t stop.” He begs. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Go on.” You give him a small smile. 

“Or like a creature native and endued unto that element. But long it could not be

till that her garments, heavy with their drink, pulled the poor wretch from her melodious lay, to muddy death.” He sighs with happiness. 

“Wow.” He breathes. “Reading Shakespeare doesn’t feel like that.” 

“That’s because he wrote plays,” you explain, “And plays, like poetry, were always meant to be experienced as spoken word entertainment rather than read.” He nods vigorously. 

“That makes so much sense!” He grins, still leaning rather close to you across the table. 

“Oi, shitty hair!” Someone snarls and you jump, gasping in surprise. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?” Bakugou Katsuki, loud, brash, and Quarterback of the football team leans over your table. You shrink from him. 

“Bakugou!” Kirishima chastizes. “You can’t snap at people like that. You scared the shit out of her, I just got her to start talking to me.” He shakes his head. “Y/n, I’m sorry, this is my boyfriend.” You blink in surprise. “Yeah, we’re both bi.” He confirms, fielding your expression with expert precision. Bakugou elbows his way next to Kirishima in the booth, dropping his textbooks. “Y/n was just reading me some Shakespeare for context on this.” He points to the Millais, your textbook still lying open. 

“That Ophelia?” He asks you and you nod. “So you were reading him Lady Gertrude’s speech.” You blink at him. “Yeah, we’re not all fuckin’ idiots.” He says, hitting Kirishima lightly on the back of the head. “But go ahead, I want to hear it.” 

“Oh um,” your face burns. “I was done. I mean it’s a short passage.” 

“Something else then,” he grins, “I like to watch him struggle.” Kirishima swats at his boyfriend, who dodges and smiles. You hand him his phone back.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” You say and he narrows his eyes, and scrolls through his phone. 

“Shitty hair we’ll give you somethin’ easy, just tell us what this means.” 

“Why can’t you read it?” You say a little annoyed and he grins. 

“You’ll see.” He selects something on his phone and then hands it to you. 

“Oh.” You say, a scowl forming on your lips, seeing Katherine’s monologue. “You want me to read the Shakespearean equivalent of yes sir, I would be happy to make you that sandwich?” 

“What?” Kirishima blinks. Bakugou looks like he’s about to speak but you cut him off. 

“Kirishima look at me.” He does. “This was the first thing we were supposed to read in this course. Have you done any of the reading for this class?” Kirishima goes bright red, shrinking nervously from Bakugou. 

“Shitty hair?” Bakugou growls. “Skippin’ out on the reading, huh?” You raise your eyebrows and start to gather your things. Kirishima buries his face in his hands. 

“Wait,” you stop and look at him, you’d already stood to make your escape. “Please help me study, please help me catch up.” He eyes Bakugou. “He’s the meanest tutor, and I feel like you wouldn’t be.” You sigh. 

“Kirishima, we’re not even friends.” You reach for your coffee but he looks so hurt that you pause. Bakugou snorts. 

“Never thought I’d see the day where it took you more than five minutes to make friends with someone,” he eyes you, “What’s your deal? You’re a transfer, right?” Your hands shake a little as you respond. 

“Yep.” It could be your imagination, but for a fraction of a second, Bakugou’s eyes flick to your hands before moving back to your face, softening a little. 

“Please.” Kirishima says, taking a step forward. “I’ll do something for you, anything.” You sigh, looking away. “I’ll introduce you to all our friends!” he offers. “You don’t know anyone, right?” 

“And I like it that way.” You counter and that gets a genuine laugh out of Bakugou. “I’ll tutor you, though,” you offer, “On one condition.” Kirishima nods, and you sit back down. “I will make every decision about this project.”  

“That’s fine!” He says brightly. “Thank you, thank you so much.” Bakugou clears his throat, you’re still holding his phone. 

“Actually,” you say, “This is an ok place to start.” You turn the phone to Kirishima on the table who shakes his head. 

“Read it to me, please, please it sounds so much better.” You massage your temples, watching Bakugou smirk. 

“Fie, fie, unknit that threatening unkind brow, And dart not scornful glances from those eyes, To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.” You say, not sure where to look. 

“Ok, so don’t question your boss.” Kirishima says, “Got it.” 

“Not quite.” You say. “Very sweet of you to immediately strip the clearly gendered terminology from this passage.” Bakugou knocks shoulders with his boyfriend. 

“Try again.” He motions for you to continue. 

“It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman mov’d is like a fountain troubled- Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty.” 

“Oh.” Kirishima says. “This is about, uh, like, when women aren’t sweet they’re ugly?” You nod, smiling. 

“Yeah, that’s as decent interpretation. Think about the words, a woman moved is like a fountain troubled, women who have strong emotion or even rational thought that’s being read as emotion due to a sexist lense, has as much value as a fountain that’s broken, spewing mud. Think about that metaphor.” Kirishima’s brow furrows. 

“I don’t like this. I love it when women aren’t sweet.” Then he smiles at you. “‘Course, if they wanna be, that’s fine by me.” You hand Bakugou his phone back. 

“I’m finished debasing my gender for your entertainment.” You say to the blonde, and scribble something down on a scrap of paper. “I’m free Saturday afternoon, this is my number, text me if you want to be tutored.”  

_______

On Friday night, you’re curled up with a mug of hot chocolate and your favorite show, with a soft blanket, happily alone in your single. You get a text from Kirishima. 

Kirishima: hey! We’re having a movie night. Wanna come over?

You: I’m good, thanks 

Kirishima: come on, what are you doing?

You: watching Jane the Virgin

Kirishima: alone or am I interrupting a netflix and chill session

You: aaaaaaaaa i like being alone it’s fine 

You toss your phone aside, ignoring it’s incessant buzzing, watching Jane pick out a wedding dress, tearing up when her father shows up. You have a moment where you genuinely struggle with the desire to respond, grappling with your own social anxiety before choosing the comfort of being alone. There’s a soft knock at the door. You throw a zip up hoodie on over your tank top. 

“Hey,” There’s a guy standing in the hallway with dark hair. You don’t recognize him. “I’m Shindou, your next door neighbor.” You shrug. 

“Hi, can I help you?” You can smell the alcohol on his breath, he runs his fingers through his hair.. 

“Can I come in?” He asks, smiling brilliantly. You shake your head. 

“No thanks,” you lean against the doorframe. “What’s up?” He takes a step near you. 

“You can um,” he says, smiling sheepishly, “I was hoping I could come in.”  He’s swaying a little. 

“Nope,” you try and close the door but he wedges an elbow into it, catching the door frame in a large hand.

“I would like you to leave.” You say, with as much firmness as you can muster. 

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.” He says, smiling, “Come on, don’t be a bitch about this,” 

“Don’t be a bitch about what?” A familiar voice growls from down the hallway.

“Just leave.” You say, pleading, trying again to close the door on him but he shoves his way in, stumbling drunk. You jump out of the way but he knocks into you, and you slam against the chest of drawers next to your door, the air rushing from your lungs. Strong hands pull  him back though, as you catch yourself before he can hit the ground. You see Bakugou slam him against a wall. 

“Walk it the fuck off.” Bakugou snarls, before turning his attention to you. “Text Kirishima back. You’re hurting his feelings.” He says, before registering your face, how shaken you are. “Oh shit, don’t fuckin’ cry.” Your hands shake, hard. 

“W-what are you doing in my building?” You ask. He blinks at you. 

“I live here.” He points to the black garbage bag he put down to grab Shindo. “That guys an asshole. Stay away from him.” You nod and he sighs, looking away. “Fine.” He pushes his way into your room, and before you can say anything he’s wrapping his arms around you. “Shh, or shut up or somethin’, okay?” You bury your face in his neck, it does feel nice, to be held. He lets you go after about a minute. “Come on. Movie night.” 

“I don’t-” 

“Did that sound like a fuckin’ invitation to you?” He snarls. “Because I meant it like a goddamn order.” You nod, sniffling a little. He waits for you while you pick up your phone and slip into some shoes. 

“Gonna uh,” he says, “Gonna put pants on?” You turn beet red and lift the end of your long hoodie to reveal the shorts you were wearing, he looks almost disappointed. “Come on then, we don’t have all damn night.” You grab your room key and phone and follow him down the hallway to the garbage shoot, and then up to his room. He lived on the fourth floor, and his room had slanted ceilings that were covered with posters. There’s a small crowd gathered on an array of beanbag chairs, and the small dorm room was spotless. Kirishima’s face lights up. 

“You came!” He says, getting up and giving you a quick hug. 

“Some fuckin’ asshole tried to barge into her room.” Bakugou growls. “Dick.” Kirishima’s eyes widen. 

“Who?” He says to Bakugou. Bakugou rolls his eyes. 

“Shindo, who the fuck else?” Kirishima’s jaw tightens for a second before turning to the group, snatching a remote and pausing the movie. 

“Hey! This is y/n. She’s really nice so try not to scare her off.” They introduce you to their friends, Denki, Mina, and Sero. “She’s a transfer.” They greet you, someone hands you a drink and you settle in an empty bean bag chair. Kirishima sits next to you, his face a little flushed. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “Did you read my texts or did Bakugou just spirit you up here to make me happy?” You blink at him. 

“Um I didn’t read them.” you confess. “I just, people make me so nervous.” He nods. 

“I can tell.” He looks away. “I was pretty excited to be partnered with you. I uh, I’ve missed everything we were supposed to be learning in class because I keep staring at you.” 

“You’re drunk.” You say and he shrugs. 

“Catch up.” You hit him lightly on the back of the head, 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” He laughs and slips an arm around you. 

“We have an understanding.” He leans over, “And honestly I think he likes you too.” You make a decision and down your drink quickly, then settle into the crook of his arm. He moves you, so that you’re flush against his side. You look around nervously but Sero and Mina are full on making out and ignoring the movie, Denki’s fallen asleep. You feel his breath on your ear and your neck erupts in goosebumps. “Can I get you another drink?” You nod, face burning. You turn your face and meet his eyes, for just a moment. “Hey, Bakugou, can you pass me that?” Kirishima points to the half empty bottle of vodka. You’d almost forgotten the blonde. Bakugou is lying on his bed, but he gets up, grabbing it and a plastic bottle of fruit juice. He sits down slowly on the other side of the beanbag chair with a grunt, taking your red plastic cup from you and dumping the rest of the cranberry juice in it. Kirishima gets on his side, resting his head in one of his palms. You mimic his movements, snuggling into his hard chest. Bakugou rolls his eyes and pours less than one shot into your cup. You pout.

“What? You don’t need more to drink.” He grumbles. You take the cup from him, and sip it. 

“This is basically just juice!” You complain and you feel Kirishima groan softly as you push up a little on the beanbag chair to get closer to Bakugou, inadvertently pressing your ass against his crotch. He takes one of your hips in his huge hand, reaching under your hoodie, fingers digging into your soft flesh. 

“I said you don’t need any more to drink.” Bakugou snaps. “I’ve got half a goddamn mind to take that from ya,” he eyes the cup, “And just get you both water.” Kirishima’s hand travels up under your hoodie, pushing your tank top up to rest on your waist. You give Bakugou your best, brattiest smile, and tip the cranberry juice drink into your mouth, chugging it and then handing him your empty cup. He smiles evilly and cocks his head to one side. “Brat. You’ll pay for that.” You shrug, feeling Kirishima start to rub circles into your skin, to draw your body closer to his.

“You should be nicer to him.” Kirishima says, as Bakugou climbs onto the beanbag chair, laying down and facing you. He watches your face carefully as Kirishima’s hand moves lower, under the elastic band of your shorts. You can feel his swelling erection rubbing against your ass. “He calls the shots around here, baby.” He parts your folds with two fingers and you feel your face warm as he drags his fingers lazily across your slit. He presses gently, experimentally, on your clit and your mouth drops open, sucking a sharp breath. 

Bakugou’s lips crash down on yours, muffling the sweet hiccuping moan that would have escaped your lips as Kirishima starts to circle your clit with one calloused hand. His kiss is hot, searing, and he swipes your lips with his tongue before slipping it between them, keeping you quiet in the darkness as the others watch the movie intently. He guides you carefully, cupping your face in expert hands, while Kirishima locks your body against his with one arm wrapped under your ribs, and tortures you with the other. 

“She’s so wet.” He whispers. “When’s the last time anyone touched you, baby?” He coos. Of course you don’t answer, you can’t, as he dips a finger into your aching core, and you bite down hard on Bakugou’s lip. You taste blood and the blonde pulls away from you, something wild in his eyes. You get out half a gasp before his mouth is back on yours, this time he reaches for your body, you hear your hoodie unzip. He reaches under your sweatshirt, palming your breasts, grunting softly. You hold onto his arms, digging little half moons in the contours of his bicep. 

“You’re so fuckin’ soft.” He says into your mouth. “Gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me?” You nod, Anything, anything as long as Kirishima didn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, pressing against that one bundle of nerves in a way that was making your eyes roll and your face hot. You can feel him grinding his hard cock against your ass. Bakugou lifts your tank top over your shirt and pulls your breasts out of your bra. “Nice tits.” He groans, before taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking hungrily. 

“She’s gonna cum.” Kirishima warns, and it’s true you can feel that tight coil in your stomach, feel the muscles in your thighs tense, as you near your release. To your dismay, Bakugou chuckles. 

“Nah, she doesn’t need it yet.” He moves back up into your eyeline. “In case you’re too stupid to understand that, you’re not allowed to cum yet, got it.” You meet his intense gaze and he rolls his eyes and covers your mouth with his free hand. “I wanna see you fuckin’ cry for it.” You flex your feet, squirming against Kirishima as you reach our and hold onto Bakugou’s muscled forearms. You feel his breath, hot on your ear. “C’mon bitch.” He growls. “I said I wanted to see you cry.” Kirishima drags his thrumb roughly across your clit and you nearly lose it, screwing up your face in concentration. 

“Aw,” Kirishima coos. “She wants to be a good girl so bad, Katsuki.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re doing so well, baby.” Bakugou grabs your jaw roughly, holding it so tightly that you’re forced to part your lips, panting like a dog. Your eyes start to water, it hurts, it hurts so badly, you just want to cum, you’ll do anything, you’re desperate for it. Your lower lip trembles as the first tear rolls down your cheek, disappearing into the fabric of the beanbag chair. 

“Harder.” Bakugou orders, and you can see him palming his cock with his free hand through his pants. For a second you think he’s talking to you but when Kirishima picks up the pace you realize you were wrong, he watches you tremble. “You look fucking pathetic.” He snarls. “What would you give me, to cum, right now?” 

“Anything.” You breathe, eyes watering. “Anything you wanted.” He grins again, that same wildness in his eyes before he spits in your open mouth. 

“Swallow.” He commands, still speaking lowly enough so that his friends, apparently incredibly stoned, can’t here. “Then cum for me, bitch.” You release the coil you’d been holding and your whole body spasms as wave after wave of pleasure hits you, Kirishima carefully carries you through your high. You’re vaguely aware, on some level, of how you’re gushing around his fingers, of his little groan,

“Shit, she clenches so hard when she cums.” Kirishima breathes. Bakugou’s mouth is pressed against yours, muffling the desperate moan that comes from deep within you. Your hands shake as you grab fistfuls of his t-shirt and hold on for dear life. When your vision clears you’re on your back between the two men. Kirishima is brushing the hair softly off your forehead, and Bakugou is pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your cheek. “Is your room empty, baby?” Kirishima asks and you nod, unable to speak yet. “Should we go there?” You nod again and try to stand, feeling how sticky your shorts have become, the drying slick on your thighs. 

“Wait!” Kirishima says and your knees give out. Bakugou catches you easily, lifting you in his arms and rolling his eyes. 

“Don’t try and walk after cumming like that, stupid.” He says, shaking his head. They walk down to  your empty dorm room, where when they flick the lights on, your long forgotten mug of hot chocolate is on the window sill, probably ice cold. 

“This is so cute!” Kirishima coos. “You know I’ve had a crush on you all semester.” He smoothes out  your baby blue comforter. “It’s not exactly how I’ve imagined it, but it’s so you.” Bakugou deposits you on the bed. 

“Knew there was a reason you had no fuckin’ clue what was happening in that class.” He looks at you. “When you can talk again he’s gonna need a goddamn tutor, so I hope we didnt fuck anything in there,” he taps your forehead, “up permanently.”  Kirishima looks sheepish and Bakugou continues. “But if you’re not talkin’ I can think of much better uses for your mouth.” You nod, and clear your throat with a high pitched grunt. 

“You uh,” you look at Kirishima. “You like me?” 

“I may or may not have begged the professor to pair us together for this project.” You giggle. 

“Oi, sorry,” Bakugou snaps. “I meant suck my fuckin’ dick.” You flush, embarassed, he sits on your chair, unzipping his pants and putting one of your pillows at his feet. “Crawl.” He says pointing lazily at his feet. You slip all the way out of your hoodie before obliging. 

“She’s really so good,” Kirishima coos, “I knew that attitude was all an act, right, baby, you just wanna make us feel good, right?” You barely hear him, Bakugou’s taken his dick out of his pants and there’s no other word for it, it’s pretty. Long and thick, the head a deep pink and dripping with precum. 

“Yeah.” You say softly, before taking the tip of him in your mouth, giving it a little kitten lick to clean the precum off of it before taking as much of it as you can, drooling sloppily on his lap. He groans. 

“Fuck, yeah princess, just like that,” He catches your eyes, “Love the way your lips look on my fat fuckin’ cock, look up at me, like that.” He looks up, putting one hand on the back of your head, setting a pace for you, forcing you just a little farther with each thrust. “What are you waiting for, shitty hair?” He growls. “Just gonna watch?” Kirishima runs his fingers through his hair and glances at Bakugou’s hands, tangled in your hair, “Awww,” Bakugou makes the sweetest sound his gravel allows, “You were waiting for permission, like a good boy.” Kirishima nods. 

“Y-yes, sir.” He says. 

“Take her shorts off.” Bakugou orders, leaning back in your fold up chair, the canvas groaning.” You lovinging flick  your tongue over the underside of his cock. He pulls you back off of him though and speaks, “Green means go, yellow means slow down, red means stop. If you tap me,” He says, tapping his own thigh, in case you were too stupid to understand that, “I will stop. Understand?” You nod. “Say it.” He says gruffly. 

“I understand.” You say, and he reaches down, parting your soft lips with his thumb. You suck it hungrily and he smiles when you scrape your teeth against the pad of his finger. 

“Get back to work.” He orders, and you do, taking as much of him as you can, concentrating on keeping your throat relaxed, swelling with pride at every little groan you elicit from his mouth. Kirishima kneels behind you, letting out a soft whine as he rubs the head of his cock against your slit. 

“She’s so wet,” Kirishima moans, ‘Can, can I please fuck her, please?” Bakugou takes his eyes off yours for a moment, not releasing the back of your head. 

“Have you been a good fuckin’ boy?” He asks huskily. Kirishima nods emphatically. “Hmmm,” Bakugou rumbles, closing his eyes in pleasure as you drool on his cock. “What do you think,” he grabs you by the hair and pulls you off his dick, “Want him to fuck you?” You turn around and look at him, and gasp a little. He’s so big, the biggest you’ve ever seen, wide and long, at least 8 inches, purple tipped and dripping with precum. He’s pumping himself slowly. You turn back to Bakugou. 

“I-Is it gonna hurt, daddy?” You ask, the title slipping from your lips like water. Bakugou’s dick twitches in front of your face. 

“He can go slow, for you,” Bakugou growls, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Make sure she’s prepped dumbass.” He nods at Kirishima, and you move to keep sucking Bakugou’s cock but he catches your face. “I wanna watch you take it.” He says gruffly, savoring the way your eyes widen at the pressure, and then the stretch, and then the pain, as Kirishima gently eases inside of you. He waits to move until he hears your sharp little gasp, your mouth dropping open and saliva dribbling down your chin. Bakugou grins, taking the chance to force himself back in your mouth, focusing on his own orgasm now, grabbing a fistful of your hair and setting his own pace. This time it’s impossible to relax, if you could concentrate on anything it would be the pleasant pain of Kirishima rutting his huge cock against your soft walls, but Bakugou forces your head all the way up his length, so that your nose is pressed to the blonde tuft of hair at his stomach. 

“Fuck,” Kirishima says harshly, “She got even tighter when you did that,” he picks up the pace a little and you see stars. Bakugou starts fucking your throat in earnest now, groaning, fingers tearing through your hair. 

“Take it, bitch,” He growls, when he sees your eyes start to water as  you gag, “Fuck yeah, baby just like that, you like this?” He looks at Kirishima, blushy and glossy eyed as he snaps his hips against your ass. “You like gettin’ fuckin’ spitroasted like some dirty fuckin’ whore, huh?” There’s no way for you to respond, not with your jaw aching, not as his thrusts become erratic and he slams himself all the way down your throat again. You feel him start to explode in your throat, but then he pulls out, coating your face in his cum and leaning back in  your chair. “Good girl,” he breathes while you gag and sputter, “Good fuckin’ girl.” He sighs heavily. “You look so good like this, daddy’s desperate little slut, arentcha?”

“Y-yes daddy.” You say with the first lungful of sweet air you’re able to get. “Oh god,” you choke out as Kirishima starts going even faster, hitting your g-spot with every thrust, hitting every spot, even now, it hurt a little, he was so, so big. Bakugou leans forward and pushes down on your shoulders so that you’re down on your elbows, forcing your back into a harsher arch. With nothing to muffle your sounds they spill from your lips like water, “K-kirishima,” you moan, and he laughs, slapping your ass lightly. 

“So what, he’s daddy and I’m Kirishima?” 

“Sounds right to me.” Bakugou says threateningly, from your chair, reaching out to brush the hair out of your face, surprisingly gently. “Do you want to cum again, bitch?” He asks and you nod vigourously. “Use your words.” He snaps. 

“Yes, daddy, wanna cum please.” You look up at him, eyes wide. 

“Do you deserve to cum?” He asks and you nod without thinking. 

“Please, please let me, I’ll, I’ll do whatever you want I-” The words come out of your mouth so quickly that he laughs at you. 

“So fuckin’ eager to please,” He taunts, “You wanna be a good girl so badly, don’t you, just wanna be daddy’s good slut?” 

“F-fuck.” Kirishima groans, kneading at your ass, grabbing your hips and fucking you butally, your knees give out, “She got so tight when you said that, keep going, please,” he begs, 

“You like when I tell you you’re a slut huh?” Bakugou rasps, grinning at your stupid fucked out expression, “You look so good covered in my cum, bitch, such a good little cocksleeve, just a sweet little cunt on legs.” Kirishima reaches down and pinches your clit between two fingers and  you keen, “You can cum, cocksleeve.” Bakugou orders and Kirishima rakes his nails down your back as you come undone beneath him with a soft cry, a choked sob. 

“I’m close.” Kirishima whines, “Where should I-” 

“On her.” Bakugou says. “I wanna see my pretty little bitch covered in our cum.” You look up at that. “That’s right, baby, you’re my fucking bitch now.” Kirishima pulls out, his hot release spurting all over your back as your whole body trembles. Kirishima collapses on the floor next to  you but Bakugou reaches into his pocket, grabs his phone and snaps a picture. “You look so good all fucked out.” He says. “Don’t move, dumbasses.” He gets up, fixing his pants and then leaves. You hear your door close and turn your head to Kirishima. 

“Hi.” You say very quietly. He smiles at you. 

“You okay?” You nod. “We’ll take good care of you.” He coos, “Aftercare is important. He’s right, by the way, you look so fucking good like this.” He takes you in, swollen lips, and glossy eyes, watery black lines on your cheeks from the last remnants of your eye makeup. He reaches over, dipping two fingers into the cum on your back and then pushing them between your lips. You lick them clean and he beams at you. “Such a good girl!” You warm with pride at the praise. You hear the door open and Bakugou comes back. He squats beside you. 

“C’mere.” He grunts, carefully, gently wiping your face with a warm washcloth, and when your face is clean he kisses your forehead and hands the towel to Kirishima, who cleans off your back. He cups your face in both of his hands. 

“Good girl.” Bakugou says gruffly. “Gonna lie down with us, let us take care of ya a little?” You nod and Bakugou climbs into your twin bed, flattening himself against the wall. Kirishima lifts you, laughing at your humiliating attempt at walking. 

“You might have a limp tomorrow.” He says brightly. “But maybe not! Not everyone does.” Bakugou takes your body, angling it against his, and Kirishima lies down, facing the two of you, giving Bakugou a sweet tender kiss before throwing his phone at the lightswitch, effectively engulfing the room in darkness. 

“That better not have broken your shit, dumbass.” Bakugou grumbles, as Kirishima slips a leg in between yours. “You got a case for your shit yet?” Kirishima freezes. 

“Oh fuck,” he yawns, “Oops. Set an alarm for me?” Bakugou nods. “You okay?” Kirishima asks you again, scrutinizing  your face. 

“Yeah,” you sigh happily. “Tired.” 

“Go to sleep.” Bakugou says. “Both of you. It’s late as fuck.” You close your eyes, focusing on the soft breathing of the two men holding you, feeling safe, and warm and comfortable. 

It’s much, much later when you stir. You’re sleeping on top of Bakugou’s chest and Kirishima is spooning you, with his face buried in his boyfriend’s neck. There’s a knocking at your door. 

“Hey,” you hear, “Hey, you up, I know you’re in there.” You move a little and Bakugou is awake immediately, anchoring you to his chest with one arm. 

“Someone’s here?” You whisper. “I don’t know.” Kirishima gets up  and rubs his eyes. 

“I’ll check it out.” He opens the door in his boxers. “Oh, hey Shindo?” 

“I-is, y/n there?” Kirishima grins. 

“Yeah, but it’s 3AM. She’s real tired, if you get my drift.”

“Fuck you.” Shindou spits, slamming the door in Kirishima’s face, he bursts out laughing. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugou growls, shifting you to the far side of his chest and reaching an arm out for Kirishma. “Do you know what goddamn time it is?” He pulls the slightly larger boy into him. “She’s gotta tutor you tomorrow.” Kirishima sighs with happiness. 

“Then we gotta take her on a real date.” You open your eyes. “Wanna go to olive garden?” 

“No.” You and Bakugou say at the same time. “Go the fuck to sleep!” 

if u enjoyed this fic please consider reblogging/leaving me a comment! It helps me know what people like so i know what to write more of <3

People seem to have forgotten that "proship" was the Fandom norm for the longest time.

Only, it wasn't called proship. It was called ship and let ship. Or minding your own buisness.

If someone had a ship you didn't like or thought was gross, you would avoid them. If they drew art or wrote stories you didn't agree with or like, you would ignore them.

There were tags like smut, whump, and angst to tell people about things they might not want to read. And then dead dove: do not eat for taboo subjects and especially gritty fic.

Then people started to ignore that. Younger fans started to bully people because they disagreed with shipping certain characters. Whether it be because it "wasn't canon", they thought it was gross, or they just didn't like it.

These people began calling themselves "anti-ship"

Pro-ship became a label to show that someone was against anti-ship.

Eventually, the anti-ship movement began to die down. So do you know what they did? They started accusing people. Of being pedophiles, groomers, rape supporters, and more. All because they wrote or drew things that these people didn't like.

They began claiming that THEY were the Fandom norm, and that these "proshippers" were the bad people. They started claiming that proship stood for "problematic shipping"

Due to this, the term "pro-ship" is often misconstrued as to what it means. Many people don't even KNOW what it means.

It means "anti-censorship".

It means that we support someone's right to produce art, no matter how gross, no matter how taboo, no matter how "problematic"

Because it's not hurting anyone.

If it's something you don't want to see? Block the person. Block the tag. Say in your bio that you don't like it. That's what they're FOR!

This was discussed in earlier days of fandom.

"I wonder why people would read a story in a genre they don't care for, then take the time to let the writer know that sure enough, they didn't care for it. That would be like me going to a restaurant, ordering a slice of cherry pie, then asking that the chef be brought out so I can say "I don't like cherry pie, and I didn't like yours either." To continue this analogy into its usual fannish outcome, the chef would say "Well gee, lady, why did you order it?" And I'd say, "Are you questioning my right to order cherry pie?"

-Unknown 2002

Except now, it would be like the person who didn't like the cherry pie and ordered it anyways then demanded that no restaurant serve cherry pie because it was poison. Not only is it a ridiculous request, it's blatantly untrue.

yandere!nagi x reader, kunigami x reader

summary: when your boyfriend moves to argentina, your leftover life is more bleak than you'd imagined. Nagi's willing to spice it up for you, but he's not about to let your opinion of him get in the way of his own pleasure.

a/n - extremely dub bordering on n0ncon, but nagi is genuinely into you. nagi has a super super strong dacry philia k/ink, like SO strong. he doms but lazily. both nagi and kunigami are genuinely into reader. post blue lock at least a few years. choking, vio lence, threats. manipulation. reader's parents were alcoholics and she's shy and timid, a bit of a pushover if you dont like that then skip it. part one probably. angst, hurt comfort, smut, reader has a panic attack and nagi comforts her so sweet. this is dark content, have an age in your bio to interact minors dni

Nagi remembers the moment he realized you didn’t like him. It’s not the kind of detail he normally notices, and it’s even rarer for something like that to bother him, and while it’s true that it takes the first three months of your contract with his pro team for him to pick up on it, once it’s there the truth is undeniable. Glaring. 

It annoys him, honestly, to watch you stammer your way through an earnest conversation with a fucking benchwarmer like Raichi, and then give Nagi short answers that ensure the conversation doesn’t last longer than it needs to. With him, you’re professional, that’s it. But Barou gets to hear about your weekend, hears you sigh about the plant you just bought, and you’ll even argue with him about the merits of scented cleaning products. It grates on him when it feels compulsory that you scurry over to him during the scrimmage break. 

“Is your ankle okay?” You ask quietly, not drawing the attention of any of the assistant coaches or other players. Maybe this is why it bothered him, you were good, good at your job, good at whatever bullshit ology made you good at reading body movements, predicting mood and injury. You also know that any theatrics about a possible injury could get him benched, that he’d spent the last year jockeying with Barou for the top spot on the team, and a single missed game would be devastating to that goal. 

“Hurts a little.” He says, not bothering to look at you. “Not enough though.” You understand immediately. “Can I find you, after?” You look up at him, surprised. He didn’t seek you out often, and you had plenty of needy visitors, inquiring about gameplay, old injuries, and new ones. You nod noncomittally, confirming his little insecurity, going back to stand behind Barou and one of the defenders. The dark-haired forward turns around and says something to you that makes you laugh nervously. Nagi steams. 

He stares out across the pitch for a moment, ignoring the conversation you’re pulled between, one of the defenders snarls at a midfielder, you try to sidestep but immediately you’re called in as a subject matter expert on the play, on their movements, and he’s not looking or caring as you shrink from the huge men. One of the coaches steps in, practically knocking you out of the line of fire, telling them both to fucking walk it off and play better. 

Your hands tremble, so you shove them in your pockets. It’s not too cold on the indoor pitch, but you hate it, hate being yelled at, hate how they’re so eager to touch you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into the argument. You hate how you feel like you’re the only woman for a square mile, even though in your heart you know there’s someone at the reception desk. Even the other experts the team had hired were men, doctors, and professors of game theory. Your contract was up in two months, you reminded yourself, of course, this would be different without him. 

___

“This is your dream,”  you’d told him, hand still swallows in his. He hums softly, nodding. “I won’t um, if you’re gonna say you shouldn’t go because of me, I’ll tell you off.” Kunigami Rensuke raises a single eyebrow. 

“You, you’re gonna tell me off?” He grins. “I don’t think so.” 

“I will.” You say firmly, rocking up onto your tiptoes. He sighs. The two of you are standing on a little bridge in a suburb of Tokyo, the sun setting brilliantly in front of you, painting everything gold. 

“No I’m uh,” he swallows. “I’m going. For sure. To Argentina.” The lump rises in your throat. “And I know you can’t come with me, so don’t bother. You just started your career here. You literally only moved to Japan a year ago.” You nod, pressing your lips together, and he lets go of your hand, slipping an arm around your waist, and tugging you into his body. 

“When do you leave?” You whisper, with all the breath you can muster. 

“Two weeks.” He confirms, and the tears in your eyes spill over. “C’mere.” He grunts, as if you’re not already inhumanely close, he wraps his arms around you. “A girl like you, I’m sure you’ll have another pro-athlete boyfriend in a matter of hours.” His attempt at humor falls flat, betrayed by the pain in his own voice, the idea of you with anyone else tears at him. You don’t laugh at the joke. 

“Don’t you remember I broke my rule for you?” You say, and he looks down at you as the memory surfaces. 

“Ah, yeah,” he surreptitiously wipes his own eye. “Yeah.” He manages a smile with enormous effort. “Not sure I wanna see you with any of those assholes anyway.” He shakes his head. “Who the fuck am I kidding, I’m gonna have to fight the urge to throttle anyone who touches you.” That does pull a laugh from your lips. “They better behave, on the new team, when they rotate you. If they don’t you can call me.” 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You wrap your arms around him, settling against his chest. “Let’s just think about right now.” 

“Okay.” He breathes. “Okay.” 

____

For the thousandth time this week, you miss Kunigami. You hadn’t realized how much his hovering presence forced his teammates to behave, to be polite, to not yell back in your face when you gently suggested a change in form. Your hands shake a little harder and you feel your heart race in your chest, barely managing to stave off the panic until the scrimmage ends, and the men thunder to back to their locker room. You were already dying for this contract to end, refusing to quit but lining jobs that would place you squarely back in academia. 

It felt like a failure. It felt like an admission of failure, that everything everyone had ever told you was true. Your legs carry you off the field, and down the hallway, but you don’t make it to your office before you start to cry, pressing yourself against the painted cinderblock wall, pressing your hand over your mouth to quiet the sobs. 

Nagi takes a couple of extra minutes to stretch, trying to reason with himself. What did it matter if you didn’t like him? Why was he even thinking about it, why was it interesting to him what you did, what you thought? He pushes to his feet and stalks off towards the door, wanting to refill his water bottle rather than heading straight to the locker room. He’s standing at the end of the hallway when he hears it, a soft, choked sob. He’s immediately hit with a wave of annoyance, followed by something else. 

He’d reasoned with it. Rationalized it. Even considered bringing it up to the expensive sports therapist that the blue lock participants had been given upon their release from the competitive program a few years ago. All the blood starts to rush below his waist. Some people had weirder things, he reminds himself, and it’s not that his dacryphilia bothered him, it’s that it was inconvenient. Hard to find in porn, even harder to find in a partner, but there was something about the softness and vulnerability of that moment, the way a woman’s lower lip would tremble, the way her face would swell slightly, and the big round tears that would fall from her eyes. Even better if she’d melt into him, let him touch her. He groans, barely keeping the sound inaudible. Everyone had their things. This was just annoying. Inconvenient. He wanted to shower, his body still sweat-slicked from the practice game, his muscles aching, but he’s got a problem now. And the problem is that you’re crying quietly down the hallway and even the sound of it is driving him to insanity. He could try, so what if you didn’t like him, he could try, women loved to be comforted-

“-Oh god,” you breathe, the air hitching in your lungs. “Oh my god, fuck.” You sob for real, the tears flowing freely. You cover your face with your hands, the abject sorrow breaking over you like an ocean wave. Your phone burns in your pocket. You could call him. He’d said you could call him. 

But he hadn’t called. Not since you dropped him off at the airport. Just a text that he’d landed okay, and he hopes you have a good day. Nothing. Complete radio silence. But you could-

Nagi steps around the corner and clears his throat. 

“Oh fuck,” you swear, flattening yourself against the wall. “Please don’t-” He takes a step towards you, no concern readable on his face. 

“What?” He asks, gesturing to all of you. You sniff loudly, wiping your face, sure you won’t be able to hide this from him but trying anyway. 

“Nothing, nothing it’s fine.” You start down the hallway and Nagi closes the distance between you with superhuman speed, taking your arm in one of his massive hands, and stopping you. 

“You’re crying.” He says, “It’s not nothing.” He watches you force an inhale, your lower lip trembling. 

“I just um, it’s hard,” you swallow, “I don’t like to be yelled at.” He nods slowly. “And um,” you wipe your face, “Sorry I just, just break up stuff it’s really not your problem.” He hasn’t released your arm, and he can feel your pulse racing under your skin. 

“Don’t be stupid.” He says, yanking you into his chest, knowing he’s sweaty and gross from practice and not caring. He wraps his arms around you anyway and feels you relax against him. He wonders if you can feel how hard he is and decides he doesn’t care as another little hiccuping sob bubbles out of your mouth, he can feel the vibrations in his chest. “Shhhh,” he breathes, comforting you like you’re an agitated animal. “You really don’t like it when they yell, huh?” You nod. He sighs. “They’re not gonna stop.” 

“I know.” You pull away from him and he almost doesn’t let you do it, he’s so strong, so much stronger than  you, he could- “My rotation’s over in a few months and I’ll do something else.” He balks at that. 

“Why would you do that?” He demands. “You’re good at this.” 

“I’m um,” the lump in your throat goes painful and new tears start to burn in your eyes. “I’m miserable Nagi, I’m so fucking miserable. All you all do is yell at each other, you and Barou spend every game at each other's throats, and all the other players snap at me even when I’m being helpful,” you take a shaky breath, “And, and I’m heartbroken and pathetic all the time, when I get home I’m so tired the only thing I have the energy to do is lie down.” You hide your face again. “You’re all so fucking entitled I don’t, I don’t wanna work with any of you ever again.” You shake your head and he realizes, that the last sentence isn’t a generalization. It’s about him. 

“You don’t like me because you think I’m entitled.” He repeats. 

“You are,” you wipe your face again and try to step away from him, but he immediately closes the distance between you. Your back hits the wall of the hallway. “You’re a trust fund private school kid who was born with a natural athletic gift that took you to the upper echelon of the sport without great effort, someone else had to drag you kicking and screaming into it. If you’re not fucking entertained by the team you’re playing you can only give it half your effort, you seem physically incapable of giving a shit about something.” You shake your head. “I,” you look up at him, and his eyes are dark and cold as he considers. “It’s fine, I’ll finish my rotation and leave.” You take another breath and wipe your face, trying to leave for a third time, and for a third time, he stops you, this time taking you roughly by the arm and pulling you back towards him, then pushing you back against the wall. 

“I seem,” he repeats, “I seem physically incapable of giving a shit, huh?” 

“Nagi,” he hears the fear creeping into your voice. “Come on, just let me-” He shakes his head, noting that the gesture alone is enough to stop you midsentence. He thinks about it for a moment and shakes his head again. 

“Lazy,” he mutters, “Entitled, shit,” he laughs but there’s no joy to the sound. “Yeah, I could see how you’d feel that way. But you’re not crying because you don’t like us.” Your eyes widen a little. “You’re upset because you don’t like it when big men raise their voice to you, huh,” he says, and he takes a half step forward, he’s uncomfortably in your space now. “Don’t like it when we snap back when we yell, betcha it doesn’t even matter if it’s not directed atcha?” You swallow. “That’s what I thought.” His eyes darken. “How many times have you cried on the bus home, on the train, because of us?” You look away. He reaches for you with the hand that isn’t pinning you to the wall, and you flinch when it touches your face. He ignores it, cupping your cheek and wiping at a tear. You swallow again, heart pounding. 

“Nagi, come on I have to go.” You glance down the hallway but know no one is coming, that no one can hear you, and that your office is the only one in this part of the building. He withdraws his hand and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking it gently for a second, and then he cocks his head. 

“No.” He says. “I don’t think you do.” You tug at the arm he’s holding in earnest, and he barely registers it. 

“I am not working right now,” you yank hard to no avail, “I’m sorry I’m not one of your fucking fangirls,” the fear in your blood makes you brave, singing a quiet steady song, “Let me go-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, in a tone of voice you’ve never heard before, and his hand flies to your throat so fast you’re not sure you even see it move. He tightens his grip, holding you against the wall. “You think I give a shit about any of them,” he leans in close to you, as you start to gasp for breath, pulling at his hand and gurgling. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever met who could be fucking useful,” he spits the words, “And so it doesn’t matter if you don’t like me right now.” He relaxes his grip just enough for you to draw breath as more tears spill over your cheeks. He can’t stop himself, leaning in and kissing them off of you, groaning lightly. “I’ll make you a deal,” he breathes in your ear, causing blood to pool in your cheeks. “You be a good girl for me, and I’ll make them stop. I can make them behave.” You freeze and stop fighting. He relaxes his grip even more, letting you fall to the ground, watching you sputter and gasp, hands flying to your neck, rubbing the raw skin. He watches you, curled at his feet for a beat before squatting down, and patting your head affectionately. 

“You wanna try again, wanna try liking me again?” He asks, softly, knowing the answer. You nod, crying in earnest now. “You don’t wanna go home to your empty apartment.” He says, and it’s not a question. “Come home with me.” You sniff loudly. “You know which car is mine?” You shake your head. “It’s the silver Aston Martin.” He stands. “I’ll unlock it remotely. You get your shit, sit in the front seat and wait for me. Can you handle that?” You nod. He reaches a hand down to you and pulls you to your feet. “Did I scare you?” He says quietly, and you nod again. “Aw,” he cradles you against his chest, he smells like sweat and musk. “M’sorry. It’s hard to piss me off, you oughta be proud of yourself.” 

“I don’t wanna be alone tonight.” You whisper, and he rubs your back. “But don’t do that again, okay?” He shrugs but verbally contradicts the gesture. 

“Yeah, alright.” He hugs you tightly, pressing his face into your neck. “Bring something to wrap my ankle with.” He leaves then, jogging off down the hallway to the showers. You stand there for a few minutes, throat aching, shell-shocked. You float back to your office, taking your back and making your way to the garage with the cars. You find the silver one and at your touch, it unlocks, you sit heavily in the front seat, attempting to take a deep breath. You do something without thinking about it. 

You: hi sorry

You close your eyes, what time was it even in Argentina, would he even look at it? How much would it hurt if he never-

Kunigami: hey what’s with the apology You: I don’t know 

Kunigami: everything okay? I’m on my way to practice, it’s 5AM here. I can call? You: no it’s okay I dont wanna take up too much of your time

You: just wanted to see how you were doing 

Kunigami: yeah alright honestly Kunigami: miss japan, miss you, but the food here kicks ass you’d love it. Kunigami: dream job helps though. I think it’ll be an amazing season. 

You: oh wow!! That’s great to hear Kunigami: what about you, they treating you okay? 

You: ahhhhh

You: it’s probably a lot to text 

Kunigami: so let’s call this weekend and catch up. Plus I think I fucked up my shoulder, you can bill me for the time spent on the phone. Kunigami: stupid question but it’s gonna kill me if I don’t ask Kunigami: have you been dating You: oh god no 

You: I don’t care if that’s embarrassing. Kunigami: thank fucking god it’s been killing me Kunigami: picturing you with anyone else makes me want to put a fist through the wall

You sigh, hands shaking now with relief. 

You: same except it’s throwing myself in the ocean 

Kunigami: this is so fucking hard 

You: yeah

You: Dream job helps though, right? 

Kunigami: sure 

Kunigami: your job still dreamy? 

You: not without you, no. 

Kunigami: listen I’m almost at work, let’s talk this weekend. I missed the fuck out of you. 

You: okay <3 

You steel yourself, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, leaning against the back of the seat in Nagi’s car. He’s another 15 minutes, sliding into the seat with practice, barely reacting to your presence. He presses a button and the engine hums to life, his hair is half-dried, and little tendrils of white cling to his forehead and clump together in his waves. He glances at your phone. 

“Miss your ex?” He says, and you scramble to lock the phone and hide the conversation. He laughs. “Did he used to keep the assholes in line for you?” He asks and you sniff loudly, closing your eyes and leaning against the car seat. 

“I can’t believe you choked me like that.” You mumble, and he shrugs, skillfully backing out of his parking spot and pulling through the garage. 

“You needed it.” 

“I didn’t!” You protest. “I didn’t and you scared me.” That makes him break into a soft smile, as he leaves the private garage it starts to rain. He reaches over and rests a hand on your thigh, rubbing a soft circle in your skin through your tights. 

“Better do everything I say so that I don’t have to scare you again, then, yeah?” He says, and you press your lips together. “Plus,” He shrugs, squeezing your thigh. “You know what’ll happen if you don’t.” You look at him sharply. “Oh,” He says, surprised, “You don’t?” He puts his hand back on the wheel. “I’ll make it worse so that you have to come crying to me.” He shrugs off your shock.  “What?” 

“Really?” You say, turning to him, and the sincerity in your voice knocks the air from his lungs. He’s able to recover in time. 

“Nah, I mean, I could but you’re not gonna make me, right?” He glances to the left and right before carefully making his turn. He puts his hand back on your thigh. “Come on,” he complains, “I’m a good guy, I’m gonna make you feel good, and save you the trouble of drinking alone in your apartment missing a guy who probably isn’t thinking about you.” Your chest aches and you scoot away from him. “Don’t be like that,” he complains, tightening his grip on your thigh, “Come here, like,” he pulls up to a light, and while you wait he arranges you carefully so that you’re leaning against his arm. “Like that.” He says. “See?”

“Mm.” You say softly, so tired from crying, your throat aching, the endless string of bad days has worn you down. You take his huge hand, and he softens. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so hard.” He says quietly. “Did something happen to you, like when you were a kid, dad raise his voice to you too much?” 

“My parents were alcoholics.” You whisper, pressing your face against his warm muscle. “Big tempers on both of them.” He hums softly. 

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rubs the softness of your thigh, delighting in the way you’ve crumbled in front of him. “By the way, I’m uh,” you detect the first traces of vulnerability in his tone. “A little worried about my ankle.” 

“Is that why you lost your temper with me?” You ask, voice barely above the hum of his air conditioner. Summer in Japan is disgusting, humid, and wet, and the rain picks up, hitting his windshield heavily. He shakes his head. 

“I just didn’t want you to go.” 

“And you’re used to getting what you want.” You finish the sentence. He shrugs the apparent insult washing off his back like soap in the shower. 

“I’m gonna make you say you like me,” He turns to you, a smile on his face that you recognize from the soccer pitch. “I’m gonna make you say you respect me,” that makes you laugh, “And I’m gonna make you say you think I’m hardworking,” you giggle, and the sound catches him off guard, “Plus I could tell you’re used to being handled roughly. You dated Kunigami, that guys got some anger issues for sure.” You shake your head. 

“I’m not discussing him with you.” You scoot a bit away from him. 

“Yeah,” Nagi artfully makes a left turn across a multiple-lane street with one hand, watching you watching him. “You think the way I drive is sexy.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You do,” He shrugs, “It’s okay to not like me but still think I’m hot.” He squeezes your thigh. “You’re gonna like me really soon, anyway so it’s not super relevant.” He frowns. “Go back to holding my arm, I like that shit.” You reluctantly cuddle up to him again. “Ankle first though.” He says. “Then I’m gonna make you say all that shit. And you’re staying over.”

“Am I?” You say, and he nods without looking at you. 

“Not like if I decide you’re staying you can leave.” He says, like it’s the most ludicrous 

thing he’s ever heard.   “What are you gonna do?” He rolls his eyes. “Outrun me?” Your hands shake a little and he reaches for them, taking both of them in his hand, releasing your thigh. “Don’t freak out, I’m a good guy. I’ll take good care of you. Betcha Kunigami would like that.” You shudder. 

“He wasn’t big on sharing.” 

“Mm, I’m not either.” He says evenly. “But I’ll earn that, don’t worry. When I’m through

with you, you won’t wanna fuck anyone else. That ginger asshole included.” He pulls up in front of an apartment building and catches the pained look on your face. “Aw, baby’s really heartbroken, huh? Sit tight.” He gets up and walks around the car, opening your door and helping you to your feet. “You look pretty.” He says, opening the door to his apartment building for you. He means it, something about the way you were just a little undone, just a little on edge, endeared you all the more to him. He whisks you up an elevator, watching you avoid eye contact with your reflection in the walls of mirrors. “Whatcha thinking?” He says lowly. 

“I’m trying to decide if you gave me a choice in coming home with you.” You look up at him, and the conflict on your face is genuine. 

“If you’d resisted I guess I would have had to find a way to make you,” he yawns, “But I don’t think it would have been unpleasant for you,” he shrugs, “You don’t date a guy like Kunigami because you’re uncomfortable being roughed around a little” 

“Does it bother you?” You blurt, realizing this is the third time he’s brought up your ex boyfriend. “That I dated him, and I don’t,” you catch yourself, “Didn’t like you.” He snorts at your obvious attempt to cover up the sentiment. 

“First of all, you do like me, you like me a lot, you’re gonna fix up my ankle and then I’m gonna hear you tell me how much you like me over, and over,” the elevator dings and he takes your hand, leading you into a hallway with only two doors, one on each side of it. He takes you down to the one labeled Penthouse A, and it’s hard to contain your reaction when he swings the door open. It’s beautiful, huge, and open concept with a wall of windows, a gigantic slab of marble that makes up the table, and the cabinets are black and gleaming. He grins at your reaction, slipping out of his shoes, and patting your head. “This is why you date first string, dummy.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head before collapsing on the plush leather couch, putting his foot up on his dark wood coffee table. It’s a huge tree stump covered in the varnish that only serves to highlight its natural imperfections in it. It’s a little uneven, and the stack of books on it looks purely decorative and untouched. “Get to work.” He says, and you nod, striding over and kneeling next to him, an action that makes him sit up just a little straighter. You take his foot in two hands, peeling his sock off. 

“It hurt while you were running?” You ask, and he nods. 

“Like a bruise. Soft pain rather than sharp. I can’t believe you noticed I was favoring it.” You nod, giving him a little smile as you press gently, looking for the tendon that was the usual culprit of these kinds of pains. “I was trying to hide it.” 

“I’m an excellent study of movement as well as character,” you straighten your shoulders. “I didn’t see you favor it, I saw you lead with it, which is not really your modus Operandi.” He rolls his eyes. 

“I took Latin, ya know.” 

“Ah yes I’m sure your fancy private school had Latin,” you press softly on his foot, grateful it doesn’t smell like the locker room, “French, Italian-” 

“And English.” He says, a smug smile on his face. “I’ve read Shakespeare.” He leans back. “Some poetry.” 

“Oh,” you look up, “Some poetry huh?” He grins even wider. “Bet that makes the girls swoon.” 

“It does.” He confirms, “What’s up with the ankle though?” 

“You have to rest it, it’s a repetitive stress injury.” You say, and he groans loudly. “If,” you hold up a finger, “If you rest it this weekend you can go to practice on Monday like nothing happened.” He breathes out a sigh of relief. 

“Wrap it for me.” He demands. “Then get up here.” You take your time, ensuring that the bandage isn’t too tight, and he sighs when you tuck it in. You climb up onto the couch next to him, and he wraps a huge arm around you, pulling you against his chest. He hums softly. “Actually,” he lifts you by the waist and settles you in his lap, so that you’re straddling him and facing him. He reaches for a throw blanket and tucks it around the two of you, then frowns. 

“What?” You ask. 

“You’re wearing too much.” He yawns. “We’re gonna nap, so go get one of my t-shirts.” He points down the hallway. You hesitate, and his eyes darken. “I don’t wanna have to make you,” he complains, shoving you off of him and standing. “Now you’ve gotta wear one of my jerseys.” 

“Nagi,” you start, and he waves away your words, lumbering down the hallway and returning a few minutes later with one of his extra game jerseys. 

“Is your skin gonna burn,” he says, shoving it at you good-naturedly. If you hadn’t essentially been kidnapped it would almost be cute. “Go change in the bathroom, I’ll see you naked soon enough, I know you’re not ready and I,” he yawns again, “Don’t feel like arguing.” You nod and disappear into his bathroom. It’s just as enormous as the rest of the apartment, even though it’s a guest bath, there’s a full tub and a beautiful sink with lots of counter space. You open his cabinets, generally snooping, finding some generic stale-dated antibiotics and an uncomplex skincare routine. You change quickly, swimming in his jersey when you step back out into the living room. He flicks his chin, some of his hair flopping out his face to look at you. “C’mere,” he grunts, and you obey, letting him fold his huge warm body around yours, “This is my favorite thing.” He sighs, locking his arms around your body, trapping one of your thighs between his. He spoons you, but only after ensuring you’re both covered by the blanket. 

“Hey,” He says quietly. “You’re still shaking a little.” He feels you nod, your face resting on his arm, your back pressed right against his chest. “Not cause you’re cold?” You shake your head. “You hate it when we yell that much?” 

“You don’t yell.” You say quietly. 

“And you still didn’t like me.” He tightens his grip on your waist. “You gotta know I could kick any of their asses.” He grumbles. “And that you’re safe here, right now.” You hesitate but in mind only, nodding outwardly. He kisses the top of your head. “Relax then.” He says, and you close your eyes, nuzzling into him. You’re not sure when you fall asleep, a few minutes before him, but when you wake your face is pressed to his chest, and he’s got one hand in your hair and the other around your waist. You’re warm, and deeply at peace, feeling loved and held for the first time since Kunigami left. He hums needily when you move, holding you in place. “You’re so soft.” He mumbles, and you see a slight flush on his cheeks from how you’re sleeping. He turns you away from him again, reaching under your shirt and palming your chest through your bra. You let out a soft sigh and he presses his cock against your ass with a groan. 

“Nagi,” you breathe, fuck it, fuck it, this was stupid, he was a dick, but he was here, and if he was here you didn’t have to think about work, about Kunigami, about- he cuts off your train of thought by reaching under your bra and pressing a burning kiss to your neck. 

“Like that,” he mumbles, lips moving up the column of your throat, “Sound so desperate when you say my name.” He reaches between your legs, into your panties, “Say it again.” He parts your folds and easily finds your clit, rubbing at it softly. 

“Nagi,” You breathe again, his free hand coming to rest on your throat. “Nagi, I-” He tightens his grip, cutting off your breath completely. You squirm, eyes watering at the pressure, and the mounting pleasure in your body. 

“Desperate,” he grunts, “How bad do you fucking want it?” You gasp, he doesn’t let you have enough air to breathe to respond. “So stupid already,” he tightens his grip and then you feel him push two fingers inside you, “Soaked. Thought you hated me?” You make some kind of noncommittal gurgle and he gives you a break, letting you suck in a sharp quick breath before the pressure returns. He fucks you with his fingers first, scissoring them and watching you gasp and squirm, but when tears prick at your eyes he groans, yanking you roughly underneath him. He tosses his shirt off and pulls his cock from his grey sweatpants. It’s long and thick, matching his sculpted frame, and the tip is a soft pink, leaking a little as he pumps it, running his thumb sover the tip. 

He lets out a short huffy breath as he eases inside you, cupping your teary face with one hand, bracing his weight with the other. Your legs are tossed over his shoulder, and when he leans down to kiss you with surprising tenderness. He watches your eyes shoot open at the stretch, your lips part as he starts to fuck you, leaving you so empty when he withdraws, that you dig your nails into his muscles back. 

He moves slowly, rolling his hips against yours, fucking you lazily, teasing your clit with his hand, bending down to suck and bite at your nipples, delighting in your glassy faraway expression, and he’s almost surprised when you cum, when you clench down on him, walls fluttering. 

“Next time,” he says, growling into your ear. “Ask me. I’ll tell you if you’ve earned that shit.” You whimper in response, you’re soaking, and he can feel it, can feel how badly you need it, can feel the way your nails are digging into his back, can feel you kiss him back when he leans down. “Tell me you like me,” he murmurs, and you squirm. “Tell me how much you like me.” 

__

He leans down and kisses you, blissfully exhausted, draping his body over yours. His hands move to tangle in your hair and his arms lock around you. You sense that he’s about to drift off to sleep, so you start to squirm. 

“What?” He mutters. “Stay still.” 

“I have to pee.” You whisper, and he groans, reluctantly letting you stand on trembling legs and walk to his bathroom. You splash some cold water on your face after washing your hands. You look at your reflection, disheveled, eyes wild, hands shaking. You run your fingers through your hair, the entire experience had been deeply disorienting, did Nagi expect you to come back and cuddle with him? After that, after choking you like that? Your mind flies again to your ex-boyfriend, and then you swallow, feeling the dull pain in your throat. Nagi would let you leave, you decided. As long as he let you leave, that means you had a choice, that means you could think of this as a mistake, as a weak moment. You swallow, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, pressing your palms to the counter, it’s cool and grounding. You straighten your shoulders and step back out into his luxe apartment, sighing with relief when you hear Nagi’s soft snores, see his huge frame draped over the couch. 

You tiptoe past him, stepping back into your clothes gingerly, feeling more and more like this is something you could rationalize. You’re halfway dressed when he opens half an eye, frowning. 

“What are you doing?” He says, glancing at the coffee table where you’ve folded his jersey. 

“Ah, just heading out.” You say, heart rate picking up a little. He raises his eyebrows, standing and stepping back into his boxers. 

“Nah,” He towers over you, it’s impossible not to note the difference in your size, even when he’s a few feet away. “Stay,” He reaches for you, pulling you back into him by the waist. “I’ll order us takeout.” You pull gently but he doesn’t let you go. 

“Nagi,” you say softly, coming back to honesty. “I feel a little weird, about this.” He cocks his head. “Like, weird about us hooking up.” 

“Oh,” He says, as he understands immediately, “Oh,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “Oh of course, of course, you do.” You blink a few times, stunned at his sudden burst of self-awareness. He gives you a soft, genuine smile, “I didn’t mean to like, make you feel used or weird,” he leans down, cupping your face with his hand, stroking your cheek, and your heart drops to your stomach. “It’s not just a hookup to me, don’t worry.” He presses his lips to your forehead. “I get it, you’re a relationship person. I’ll take you to dinner, just nowhere too loud because-” 

“N-nagi,” You stammer his name, genuinely pulling away from him, and he lets you go, confusion flooding his features again. “It’s not that I feel used,” you say, embarrassed as you lose your cool, your voice rising in pitch. “It’s, it’s that you pinned me to the wall by my throat and then, then told me to get in your car and I did, and then we had sex, and I don’t,” you start to get dizzy, the panic pulling you from reality. “Nagi, I, I don’t feel good.” You draw in a shaky breath, suddenly you’re freezing and burning at the same time, face hot body cold, and then they switch. 

“You’re having a panic attack,” you hear him say, but it sounds like his voice is miles above the surface of your mind. You try to swallow, and try to breathe, and find neither is a reflex you have control over, tears burning in your eyes. You barely feel him pick you up, laying you on the couch and lifting your legs in the air, rubbing a soft circle in your calf. “I’m here,” He says, and there’s a raw desperation in his voice as he feels his cock twitch in his pants, but there’s more too it. He feels it, that clawing ache, he wants you to reach for him, to be comforted by him, “I’m here,” he wants to be enough for you, to restore your breath, even though he’s the one with the power to take it away. “I’m here, and I’m real, I’m here for you.”

His voice carries in your panicked state, and your brain struggles to interpret the sentiment behind that information, a statement of a fact, or threat, or reassurance. It takes a few minutes of gasping, but your body, something physical latches onto his presence because when you sit up you reach for him. Something brittle inside Nagi breaks as your little hands fly out and reach for his, as he pulls you into his lap, kissing at your tears. 

“Tough day,” he murmurs, “Lots of yelling, right?” You nod, and he squeezes you. “I’m here, you’re mine now, I’ll take care of ya.” You shiver at his words. 

“I don’t,” you look up at him, “I’m not ready to date really.” Your teeth are chattering, you’re still visibly trembling. He rolls his eyes at you. “I’m s-serious, you have to let me leave.” 

“I mean,” Nagi shrugs. “No I don’t actually, I don’t have to let you leave, and actually,” his grip on you tightens. “You like me, remember?” 

“No-,” you squirm, still half crying. “No I don’t.” 

“Shhhhh,” he rocks you back and forth, “You’re so cute, but you have to breathe okay, just focus on breathing for a little and don’t think so much,” he kisses your head, “Shhhh.” You sniff and focus on breathing. “That’s my girl.” He tips your head up so that you can meet his grey gaze. “So we’re gonna clean you up, I’m gonna order us food from somewhere nice, I’ll take ya out tomorrow, we can go anywhere you want.” He senses your hesitation and leans down, kissing you tenderly on your trembling lips. “C’mon,” you hear him say, speaking right into your mouth, “Kiss me back.” At the moment, you obey, and he hums softly, feeling you move your mouth against his, concocting some kind of pseudo rhythm that your body keeps to much better than your mind does. “I’m here,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck, “I’ll keep ya safe,” he starts to tug your blouse off, and feels you stiffen. “You wanna stop?” He pulls away from you, and you shake your head a little, getting whiplash from the way he suddenly respects your consent. He holds you again. “Okay,” he breathes, “Just breathe for me, I’ll uh,” he laughs, “You did already make me cum, but fuck, seeing you like this, I could go again. You wrap your arms around his neck, making a decision. 

It was nice, nice to be held, and if he would make things easier for you at work, you could figure this out. You could ride whatever this was out until the end of your rotation and then bury yourself in another job. He cradles you to him until your heart rate calms. 

“Jeez,” He laughs lightly, standing while still carrying you in your state of half-dress, walking into the kitchen. He sets you on the counter. “Guess I gotta be careful with you, yeah?” He squeezes your waist before pulling back and wetting a paper towel under warm water. “You want a safe place to land,” he says softly, “That’s okay,” he starts to wipe your face with the warm towel. “We’ll use a safeword, alright?” You swallow. “You just say yellow, if you want me to slow down,” he takes his time wiping your smudged mascara. “You say red if you want me to stop, alright, and I’ll stop,” he pulls away, setting the paper towel on the counter. “And if you really wanna go, you can go, I guess.” 

“You guess?” You whisper. He shrugs. 

“You’re not gonna be the first woman who doesn’t want it from me,” He makes a face, “Not when I can tell how bad you want it.” 

“I didn’t-” 

“I don’t care.” He informs you. “I like you.  You admitted you like me.” You swallow. “Come on,” he mumbles, kissing you softly, and then pulling away, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve liked you forever. I’ll be nice, I will be.” You nod and he hugs you tightly. “You okay?” He asks and you shiver. 

“No.” You whisper. He nods. 

“Will sitting on the couch with me holding you help, maybe?” He asks, and your chest aches, your heart aches, your throat aches, you’re hurt, and your tired. You nod dumbly. You could do this. Could take advantage of this. Just till your rotation with his team was over. You could make the best of this. He plucks you off the counter and carries you to the couch, letting you cry softly on his chest until you fall asleep. He tangles his fingers in your hair. 

“All mine,” he hums. “All mine.” Your jaw tightens, and you think of the real owner of your heart, at this hour he'd he hard at work at the gym, stretching carefully, talking to his teammates. "Shh," Nagi breathes as he feels you tense up, "Shhhhhh. Relax."

I gotta get off this fuckin app I open it like you would a fridge door 😭