Mafia Boss Bakugou 🩸

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."

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!

Something about Bakugo being nosy just sits so right with me. It’s canon that he’s often listening in on conversations (even if participants of said conversations are unaware of his presence) so I imagine when he likes you he tends to hover around you just a little bit more.

You could be talking to Ashido and Kaminari in the common room and Bakugo will be there. Maybe not necessarily near you, not even looking at you. He’s off on the opposite side of the room, and he’s so uncharacteristically quiet that you could forget he was there in the first place.

You mention offendedly how you miss your favorite drink and snack from that one cafe near the heart of Musutafu, being too busy with your work study to find the time to visit.

A few days later, you hear a knock on your door. You’re met with a plastic bag with the very same food and drink combination you had just told your friends about the other day. Your eyes trail the arm and hand holding it and see Bakugo with a pinched look on his face.

“‘s for you,” he grumbles, head turned to the side as his signature scowl deepens. If you looked any closer, you’d clearly be able to see the blush accentuating his cheeks and ears. 

“Thank you, Bakugo,” you take the bag with a smile, and Katsuki has to keep from shuddering when your fingertips accidentally brush his. “Why don’t you come in so we can share?”

Bakugo is nosy, but if it means being able to share stolen moments (and bites of food) with you, then it’s totally worth it.

Dark!Toji Fushiguro x reader

Intruder

(Dark content, noncon/dubcon, threats of gun violence)

finally completed the toji fic hope yall like it~

(Yandere, non con, dubcon, breaking/entering, attempted plan to murder, etc, etc) 

Living near the countryside has desensitized you to the thumps and crashes you’d hear at night. In the beginning you’d be paranoid, laying in your bed for hours before gathering the courage to step out of the room, trusty bat in hand, only to find a stray cat staring back, right beside an open window. Nowadays, you’re cooly shooing away whatever creature that finds their way in your home. Mostly it’s cats, sometimes you’d get the occasional bird or racoon. 

The situation has happened so many times that you aren’t even surprised to hear the soft rattle that comes from your kitchen tonight. You’re already moving, rousing from your soft bed, grabbing your trusty broom ready to scare away whatever creature you’d find scurrying about your kitchen floor. A rat, most likely. 

But the thing rustling through your fridge is no rodent, and you don’t recognize this man. 

It doesn’t occur to you that you’re being robbed until half a second later. Mainly because of how casual this bizarre situation is. He’s rifling through your food like it’s normal and you’re the weirdo carrying the broom. 

“Damn, there’s nothing here. Do you not eat or something?” 

You assume he’s thinking out loud, but he glances back at you like he expected you there. 

“I-I haven’t gotten the chance to go shopping this week,” You find yourself replying. 

He gives a hum, slamming the fridge shut, standing to his full height and you’re instantly aware of how ill-prepared you are to fight him. He’s huge, not just in height. He looks better fit for a bodybuilder than a run-of-the-mill robber. 

You left your phone upstairs. Why the fuck did you leave your phone upstairs? 

You lower your broom, trying to make yourself seem as little threatening as you can. Your mind is running too fast to conjure any real thoughts, but the part of you that hasn’t completely broken down yet is telling you it’s better to avoid any confrontation. A distraction. 

“There’s a TV in the next room,” You numbly point towards the living room, “It’s brand new….would probably go for a thousand.”

He barely seems interested, eyes flicking to glance over before going to you. 

“That’s nice,” He waves your offer off, “But I’m not here to steal your stuff.” 

“You’re…you’re not?” You reply weakly. 

There’s a grin on his face, a touch away from being maniacal. His hand is brushing his hip, lightly playing with the hilt of a gun.

Oh. 

Maybe it’s because you’re still half asleep, your brain isn’t working as efficiently, it takes you a bit longer to process his intentions. When it finally does, the realization hits you like a train. Your mouth gets dry, it suddenly feels so cold. Fear. You’ve never felt fear like this before. 

You don’t notice the steps you take backward. He does. The man groans in something you can only discern as annoyance. 

“Don’t do that,” He frowns, “Come on, I’m trying to be nice here. I can’t chase you around the house, I'm supposed to make it look like an accident.” 

His nonchalance is terrifying. Like he’s done this before. He probably has. How many people has he murdered in their own homes? How many bodies does it take to be so calm around imminent death? 

You don’t have time to wonder, not when something he said catches your attention. 

“Were…were you hired to come here?” 

His mouth twitches and it looks like he’s thinking. Finally, he shrugs, like the information he gives won’t really do anything to harm him. 

“Yeah, some rich folk in the city. Can’t remember their names for shit though.” 

Someone had a vendetta against you? Enough to want to kill you? Your mind is running through every single name, every quarrel you’ve had. Family members, friends, aquantinances. Nothing enough comes up. 

Nothing is supposed to. Only crazy people hire hitmen. 

And hitmen are even crazier. 

You take another step back.

He takes another forward. 

You won’t be able to fight him, and trying to run will just piss him off. You know you can’t reason with him. If he’s come this far, if he looks so bored, nothing is going to stop him from actually killing you. Pathetically, you try anyway, if only to lengthen what’s left of your life. 

“Please just-” 

“Don’t start begging,” He groans, cutting you off, “That’s just annoying.” 

“Isn’t there anything else you want,” You desperately say, “Anything? That-that isn’t…” 

The hitman shrugs, “I mean, if you wanna’ try to pay me off, you can.” 

“How-how much was the…” You can’t bring yourself to say it, but he seems to get your point. 

The amount makes your eyes widen. Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the man. He sighs, cracking his neck. 

“Thought so,” He says, reaching to pull something out of his back, “Sorry, Princess, ‘Nothing against you, promise. Gotta’ pay rent somehow, right?” 

“I-I can pay!” You interrupt, “Really! I can pay.” 

He pauses, tilting his head. He’s probably thinking you’re pathetic but you don’t give a shit. The money will take a huge chunk out of your savings, but you could pay. You could live. 

“With-with interest?” 

He grins, “Now you’re speaking my language.” 

He leans away, walking towards the counter. You still don’t move. Stiff. He seems to notice.

“Don’t be like that.” He chides, the danger in his voice fades, as though it was never there in the first place, “I’m trying to be civil now, aright? Anyway, let’s talk. How do you want to pay?” 

“Whatever way you want,” You say numbly, “But…how-how am I supposed to know you won’t just go back to the person and ask them to ramp up his price?” 

You hated how clinical you were talking about your own damn life, but you’re too emotionally exhausted to do anything about it, let alone try to put any sort of emotion behind your words. 

“They won’t be able to find me.” A confident grin, that doesn’t make you feel any less uncertain. “Don’t worry about it.” 

He cocks his head, studying you for a second. 

“You look different from the photos I saw,” He’s saying, not necessarily saying them to you, “They don’t do you justice.” 

You don’t say anything, fiddling with your fingers, hoping this creep will just give you his card and leave. 

“Toji,” He suddenly says. 

Your head snaps up. 

“My name,” He says slowly, grinning all the while, “And yours?” 

“...You already know,” You reply warily. 

“I do. Say it.” This time his voice comes out sharper. 

You comply anyway, still too scared to face the man. His relaxed demeanor returns and Toji says your name a few times, like he’s trying it out. 

He’s looking around your house now, and you feel like it’s the first time he’s seeing it because it looks like he’s admiring it. Fingers tap on your counter. 

“Nice place you got here,” Toji says. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t really care, not until he gives you a sharp look, calculating. 

“Sharin’ it with anyone?” 

Oh. Oh. You did not like where this conversation was going. 

“...I do,” You’re saying, hoping your voice doesn’t sound as strained as you think it is, “...With my boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” Toji repeats, dark eyes flicking back to you in interest, “Where is he?” 

“Overseas,” 

His grin widens, “So he’ll be gone for a while, right?” 

“No, he’s-he’s coming back tonight-” 

“Hm, but you just said he was overseas?” You hate his smile, how cocky he looks, but it’s washed away by the dread of him slowly sauntering up to you. 

Unconsciously, you press yourself against the wall, hoping it can suck you in, and you can hide forever. 

Toji reaches you before that can happen. 

His touch is light, not gentle, but in the way that you can sense he isn’t really interested in touching you. Rather he’s just moving his hands unintentionally, around your face, your lips. 

“You’re real cute, anyone tell you that lately?” His voice dropped, losing the lightness of his tone. You don’t realize he wants an answer until he presses on your jaw. It hurts. 

“No…” You mumble. 

Toji tilts his head, looking oddly satisfied with your obedience. You wondered if you should fight him off, if you should at least try. At the very most, your pride would still be intact. You could say you went down screaming. 

“No boyfriend, huh,” Toji tsks, “You must be very lonely, in this big, empty house. Like an isolated housewife” His voice is low, and patronizing, and you feel like you’re being mocked but you can handle that. Tolerate it. 

But you can see the change in his eyes. The interest. Once again, you weakly open your mouth. 

“The money-” 

“Later,” Toji says huskily, “It can wait.” 

His lips are soft, but uncared for. You can feel the roughness of them as he glides them across yours. You think he’s thinking about holding back, being gentle, but it quickly disappears along with the lack of control. He’s rough, practically pressing you against the wall. You can feel his chest against yours. His shirt’s thin, it’d be no different if he didn’t have it on, but you think you prefer this. The barrier, no matter how papery it was. 

He’s aggressive now, using his teeth, biting your lips until they’re raw, irritated. His hands are losing the domesticity, running fingers up and down your body. You fought back once, just once, with a tight grip on his even stronger wrist, nails digging into skin, hoping it’ll hurt. There was an irritated growl, and you hear the metal click of something being set off. After that, you let him have his fill.

When he pulls away, there’s a delirious look in his eyes. He’s panting, out of breath, excited. You’re panting too. You’re trembling. He doesn’t notice, more likely, he doesn’t care. 

He’s sucking on your neck like a man in need. Wanton. His teeth are sharp, and you flinch when he bites down, just enough to leave a bruise. 

“You’re pretty nonchalant about this, huh?” Toji casually asks, like he wasn’t making you dig your back against the wall. It’s a rhetorical question, at least you think it is. You find yourself answering anyway. To distract yourself. 

“I don’t want you to hurt me.” 

You wonder if you’re being too honest, but he’s laughing against your neck. Amused. 

“Smart girl,” He breathes in your ear. 

“If-if I do this with you,” You start, gaining his attention, “Will you leave?”

You can’t delude yourself anymore. You know what he wants, but this can’t be for nothing. It can’t. He has to promise that he’ll go. He can take his damn money and go. You can pick the pieces you sold later, when he’s out of your life, out of your house. 

He smiles. You can feel it. 

“Yes,” He finally says, “I’ll go.” 

You both know his lying. You will yourself to believe it anyway. 

His hands crawl underneath your shirt, exploring and reaching at everything he could possibly reach. You aren’t wearing a bra. He hums his approval in your ear. His hands are cold as they glide over your body, making you twitch when he reaches your tits. He gives a rough squeeze. You yelp. 

“My bad,” Toji slurred. He’s not apologetic, but his movements are less erratic now. 

You’re complying. At least, you think you are, with your stiff body, not pushing, not fighting. But something breaks when he’s manhandling you like this. Maybe it’s your pride, dignity, maybe both. 

It doesn’t matter, not when the end result is still the tears dripping down your cheeks, stinging your skin. 

He pulls away when you shudder out a sob, observing you. You wonder if he’s disgusted, maybe your tears discouraged him. 

Your hopes dissipate when something hard presses against your thigh. 

“Fuck, I’m a terrible person,” He’s laughing, like this is a shared joke between you and him. Like this is funny, “That shouldn’t have turned me on.” 

It’s not funny, but you don’t dare say anything. 

You want to feel relief when he’s bored of your shirt, tugging it down, but it’s quickly replaced by even more dread when he’s moving to your shorts. Your bottoms might as well have been made from paper, with how easily he rips them off. He lets out a happy sigh when he sees you aren’t wearing underwear. You just fester in your humiliation. 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” He coos when you stiffly look away, “I’ll play nice, princess. Be soft and sweet.” 

You should be grateful that he lets you hide in his chest as he traces light circles on your heat. You’re already wet. Humiliation is throttling. 

He doesn’t lie. He’s gentle, at the very least. He thumbs your clit with a slow rhythm, constrained. It makes your hips bump into him. He laughs again. Every time you think about fighting him off, you think about the gun in his hands. You think about a bullet in your head. Your blood soaking the tile floor. 

So you close your eyes and you let him, but you tell yourself that you won’t give in. 

You fail at that too. 

It’s the hushed gasp that causes him to really pay attention. He pauses. 

“Ya’ like that, Princess?” As if to underline his question, thumbs your clit a bit more intently. It’s a lot harder to stifle your noises now that he’s trying to make you loud. 

You hate it. You hate him. You hate how good he makes you feel. It’s a never-ending high, getting you closer but never close enough. 

His fingers suddenly retreat, and whatever he builds up leaves with him. You sigh. 

“Can’t let you have all the fun, can we?” Toji sneers at your perceived disappointment.

 If it were anyone else you would have glared, but today, you timidly look away, just when he starts to unbuckle his pants. He seems to respect his clothes a bit more than yours. You don’t hear the rough sound of fabric tearing, just as he taps your cheek. 

“Deep breaths okay, Princess?” 

His statement makes you want to laugh. It almost sounds like he cared about you. Still, you unwillingly take his advice, just as something hot and thick lines up at your entrance. Your eyes widen, momentary panic makes you forget about the gun. 

“No-no please don’t-!” 

He harshly covers your mouth, just as he pushes himself inside. You give a muffled whine. He just gives a breathy hiss. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, as you choke on a scream. He has the graciousness to let you adjust to him. He rocks back and forth, letting his cock rub against your walls. 

“So fucking good. Goddamn,” He huffs out a laugh, “Can’t believe that ‘boyfriend’ of yours gets this sweet pussy every night.” 

You sob at his filthy praise, and yet, your body reacts. Your cunt clamps onto him like a vice as he stretches you out. Right to the hilt. 

He starts moving eventually. Slow and steady, as he presses you into the wall. His hands find your tits again, roughly palming them as your squeaks of discomfort turn to unwilling moans. You find yourself growing even wetter, much to your dismay. 

He seems to sense that too. His lecherous grin grows even wider. The scar tugs on his lips. 

“Aw, you do like me.” He teases. 

You glare at him. In turn, Toji slams his cock back into your battered cunt, extinguishing your look of disdain. You whine into his hand. He hums. 

“Too much, baby? Or not enough?” He’s so fucking delusional. Why is he acting like you enjoy this? This is a special kind of hell, one concocted just for you. Where he is your jailer. 

But he’s right. It’s not enough. It’s not enough because you’re stuck in that limbo yet again, but it’s okay because you’d rather die than fall apart by his hands. 

He picks up the pace. You gasp, unused to the roughness of his touch. You still hold yourself back, telling yourself it’s not enough, it’s not enough. Your spine arches, despite the way you try to control your body, forcing yourself not to react. 

It doesn’t work. It’s a laughable attempt at some type of control. He makes it worse by reaching down to thumb your puffy clit. 

You don’t last much longer after that. Your orgasm breaks you, shattering you on the floor as you let out the loudest scream. It’s almost painful. You can feel it rupture through your bones, your skin. Toji doesn’t have the decency even to let up, fucking you through it, carrying you from one high to the next peak. 

He crushes himself into you as he cums, grunting in your ear. You can feel the implosion inside of you, painting your insides white with him. The sudden warmth draws another reluctant whine out of your lips. 

You’d stop supporting your own wieght a while ago, with only him to keep you upright. No longer interested in holding up your weight, Toji lets you sink to the ground with jelly legs. His cock slips out of you, wet and dripping. Content, he tucks it back into his pants. 

The power imbalance is more apparent than ever. Dazed, you can admit to yourself that he’s pretty. Rugged, pieces of himself that he clearly put back together. His smile is nefarious as he gazes at you. His smile is gone, but there’s a satisfied look in his eyes. A tiger that’s sated but not yet full. You avert your gaze, feeling your tears well up again. 

“Think you can get up?”

“No,” You honestly reply.

He laughs, leaning down to pick you up, assembling the pieces of you in his arms. He’s so gentle; for some reason, it makes it worse. Out of sheer exhaustion, you allow your head to rest against his broad chest. 

The fan in your room is still spinning as he carries you toward your bed. You feel his hands leave your back as you drop on the soft pillows. You don’t know what you’re expecting, but he follows suit, shuffling under the covers after you. 

You shift, turning on your side, hoping he won’t force you to cuddle with him. Surprisingly, he relents, moving his attention to something nestled in the covers. Your phone is taken from its resting spot, and placed somewhere behind him. 

“That’s my-” 

“I know. I’m gonna keep this just in case you get cold feet and do something neither of us will appreciate.” 

“I won’t.” You whisper. 

He hums, draping a large arm around your body, drawing you into his chest. The stilted conversation dulls and you’re forced to feel his breathing tickle your neck. You’re unnerved by how domestic this feels, how naturally Toji is able to crawl into your home, into your bed. 

Despite your quickened heartbeat, you try your best to shut your eyes. You pray he’ll be gone in the morning. 

The tightening of his arm tells you he won’t go away so easily. 

“I just thought of something else I can use you for.” You can feel his grin on your neck. 

“Keep your money.”

you get sick of his shit talking and ask one of your friends to dress up and scare him (It has to be Kiri for safety reasons) and when he sneaks up on Bakugo, that boy SCREAMS, jumps from the couch and lands on his ass (leaving you in killing-range) and the split second hero training response and half his living room is a blast zone.

You absolutely have a hole in one of your walls because Bakugou got spooked.

You know he scares SO easy, and it’s just as well you chose Kiri to scare him because Bakugou activates his quirk at the exact moment Kiri grabs his shoulders, shooting an explosion directly on target as Kirishima hardens— but it’s not enough to save his, now singed, shirt.

Poor Kirishima has to borrow a new shirt from Bakugou that practically clings to his chest like a second skin, bulging arms borderline tearing the fabric as he tries to hand a pouting Bakugou a beer as a peace offering.

And Bakugou is just sat there mumbling about how it was a fluke, and because Kirishima crept up on him. And you’re just like “The same way the spider crept up on you? Or when you thought someone was watching us in the corner after we watched that horror movie last week?”

“x reader is so cringe.” to YOU. im reading this shit and having a ball ‼️

Bakugou is mean to your stuffed animals when he wants to tease you. He'll stare at whatever stuffed animal you're holding and then suddenly grab it by the neck.

"The fuck did you say to me?!" And you'll giggle and tell him to stop as you try to save your stuffed animal.

Of course he'd never really do anything that would seriously upset you. He just likes the sound of your laugh, the feel of you pressing against him as he holds the object of your desire far away from you

Sweet “I’m sorry” sex in the shower with Bakugou.

Train Ride Home

bully! bakugo x classmate! fem! reader x bully! kirishima

author’s note: i’m so sorry to you non-nsfw accounts in advance, just keep scrolling! i was screaming while writing this?? something’s wrong with me but i been knew that. @pervysenpaix you are the one to blame for this one, take responsibility for making me feel inspired! 😡

content warnings: bullying (obviously), a little violence, she/her pronouns, pet names, delusional bullies, someone gets spit on and its not who you think it is, stalking, slutshaming, the reader fights back and they have to put her back in her place, public sex, degradation, noncon, dubcon, nonconsensual videotaping + photography, kiri and bakugo are mean as usual, bakugo’s a little more transparent with his insults while kiri gives comments that take time to fully process, no prep, super graphic, overstimulation, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, misuse of quirks, turn taking, amongst other things that I’m sure have a name but I have no idea what they’re referred to as! grossness below the cut. ive always wanted to get stuffed on a train

Everywhere you went, you avoided the blonde and redhead duo like the plague, dodging them every chance you get so that you don’t have to deal with their shit. You’d hoped they wouldn’t notice but its so obvious that they have considering how whenever you locked eyes with them they’d begin to approach but you always made a quick escape.

It was really pissing them off. What are you thinking avoiding them like this? Did you wish for hell on earth to open and swallow you whole? They were more than happy to let you have a taste of what you seemed to be craving.

No one else sees anything wrong with your relationship with them. They always think its just them being their usual selves around you, some even believed that they had an adorable little crush on you.

They missed the way the duo would purposely make you trip over one of their shoes, watching in delight as one got a flash of your panties. And then you’d get “miraculously” saved, captured in the arms of your other assailant who held you close to their body, fondling your ass with faux worry or an irritated expression paired with an insult.

They missed the way the two of them would follow you after school and loudly degrade and objectify you all the way to your home from behind while following at a safe distance away. You still never understood why they did this, they would keep their distance up until you reached your house and then disappear without another word. Little did you know, they had their own sick ways of “protecting” you, and stalking happened to be their way of doing so.

You could only hope that today they would get bored with you due to the lack of interaction and would let you make your way home by yourself.

And as you pretty much expected, your hopes were never answered and mercy was never an option.

One can only expect the subway to be stuffed to the brim with people, like a school of fish packed away into a tiny can but you couldn’t have asked for a more any less-than-desired scenario than this.

Here you were, pressed against one of the doors with your bullies pressed up against you, caging you in with no escape.

“Missed us, pretty girl? You’ve been avoidin’ us all day. S’whats the matter? You can tell us,” Kirishima tenderly whispers to you, his eyes scanning over your face as one of his hands pressed up against the window behind you, blocking you in further.

“We’re listening. Spill it before I make you,” his angry, blonde counterpart adds, taking the opportunity to mirror the other man’s actions to your opposite side.

You feel your body sinking into itself, trying to push yourself even further away from the two of them but that was impossible since you had already been shoved into an inescapable corner. You couldn’t even lift your leg to attempt to kick one of them in the dick because of how close you were to them.

Biting back the urge to whimper you spoke before thinking, “I’ve been avoiding you two assholes for a reason. Why can’t you just take a hint and fuck off already? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The words leave you before you can stop them and you find yourself being stared down by none other than Bakugo while Kirishima attempts to shush and console him with a nervous smile.

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to like that, you little bitch? Have you lost your damn mind? Cause I’ll be more than happy to help you find it.”

“Bro, just take a breath. She obviously wanted our attention which is why she’s acting like this, it all makes sense now. Dont’cha think? What other reason could she have to openly avoid us like that when she knows better. You’re our smart little girl, aren’t cha, Y/N? Just say you’re sorry and we’ll give you all the attention you want,” the redhead offered, offering you a friendly smile that usually made your heart flutter but right now you were feeling a little frightened.

Maybe you should say you’re sorry and say whatever else they wanted to hear and receive a lesser punishment but you were feeling especially bold today, tired of being pushed around by them.

“No! Fuck you,” you replied before doing something even more daring. You spat right into Kirishima’s pretty face.

Panda bears are cute to look at and there are so many adorable videos of them falling over or being manhandled by their human caretakers. But remember… *they’re still bears.*

One minute you’re smiling at yourself for sticking up to them, and another minute you can barely fathom the speed in which Kirishima moves, shooting a hand forward to grab your face with his hand, squeezing your cheeks so harshly that your lips pucker and your jaw goes slack.

His usual smile has dropped and he’s staring at you, his usually sparkly scarlet eyes were now dulled over and looked much, much darker.

“Oh damn, never seem him this mad before. Guess you really fucked up, huh, Y/N?” Bakugo asked, eyeing Kirishima who simply stared at you in silence. You knew it was serious when Bakugo had suddenly referred to you by your first name instead of his usual “pet names.” Even more so solidifying the obvious power imbalance between you and them.

“Aren’t you bold?” Kirishima calmly asks, squeezing your face which earns a whimper from you as you reach up to grab at his wrists, tears beginning to prick at the edge of your eyes as the pressure on your face was starting to become unbearable.

Your spit had landed on his cheek and some of it dribbled onto his unifirm but the shiny remnants remained on his cheek, he had yet to wipe it.

“Pleesh,” you begged, knees nearly buckling as you tried to squirm out of his grip, words slurred by his grip on your jaw, “M’shorry. Won’t d-do it again!”

Squinting, a sinister smile creeps up onto his face and he agrees, “Damn right you won’t. I gave you a chance and this is the thanks I get?” He then sighed, almost like he was about to do something he was going to regret but you knew better.

Suddenly, he’s released your jaw, which you’re thankful for, but you get the wind knocked out of your body when he’s suddenly flipped you over and smashes your face against the cold glass. It is a little bit of relief on your bruised cheeks but you feel especially nervous in this position, you begin to shudder violently when your skirt is suddenly flipped up and you hear the sound of unzipping.

You push back against Kirishima, which only edges him on further as he swoops an arm around you and hardens his pointer finger, cutting right through the fabric of your shirt and bra without so much as a second thought, a few buttons popping off into varying directions. You gasp and protest at his actions, to no avail, shivering when your bare chest is pressed into the glass, flashing the city as the train moves along. How long was this fucking subway ride????

Given no time to think about the usual time it takes for you to get from point A to B, your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of your panties being shoved aside, a fleshy object being pushed between your thighs.

You react immediately and close them around the foreign object despite your better judgement and nearly scream when you hear Kirishima groan from behind you.

It appears that you had squeezed your thighs right around his cock.

“Be a good girl and don’t make a noise. How embarrassin’ it would be if other people saw you like this? So indecent and bare,” he whispered, rutting his hips ever so slowly that no one outside of you three could tell what was going on, “You could go to prison for public indecency. That wouldn’t look so good on your record, now would it, pretty girl?”

He reaches around and grabs one of your tits, starting to roll your nipple around in his fingers while slowly fucking your thighs, occasionally speeding up. His movements went unnoticed thanks to the train that constantly moved on its own. And his big, brute of a body blocked you from anyone else’s vision so it didn’t matter anyways. All he needed to do was unzip his pants and slide right between your legs. No one expected a thing.

“You recordin’ this, Kat?” Kirishima asked, still focusing on his movements as he continues to toy with your body like his own personal toy, in which the blonde grunts in response.

You turn your head to try and get a look at the other, wanting to know if he really was recording and you squeaked when you realized he told no fib when you locked eyes with him.

Naturally, he took it the wrong way.

“Oi, shitty hair. Think she likes it. She just turned to look at the camera. What a fuckin’ whore,” he chuckled, zooming in on your face before you quickly looked away from him and his devious smile.

“Does she now?“ He cooed into your ear, thrusting just a little bit faster as his shaft rubbed against your clit in a disgustingly delicious way. Why did it have to feel so fucking good? Not to mention the way he was squeezing your tit and pinching your nipple like he was trying to get milk out of you. What was wrong with these lunatics and why were you letting them have their way with you?

You bit down on your lip to keep the noises to a minimum, hoping to keep the other patrons out of your business as this continued.

Minutes of this went on unchecked until you felt yourself becoming increasingly closer to your release, the same for the male that was shamelessly fucking your thighs.

“Gonna cum for me, princess?” He whispered when he felt the way your lower lips had fluttered over his shaft that was pressed flush against you, making him move even faster now as he got near his own end, “Do it. If you’re good, Kat might go easy on you when it’s his turn.”

Somewhere in your little orgasm-driven mind you thought it was a good idea to listen and quickly nodded your head, unconsciously pushing back against him as you let your release take over, your pretty folds drooling over his cock and even some on the dirty train floor.

The shattering orgasm nearly ripped you in half but nothing could have prepared you for when Kirishima suddenly moved back and shoved the tip of his cock into you, groaning into your ear as ropes of his cum shot up into your weeping cunny.

“W-wait! Not there!” You called out in a low tone, wiggling around on his cock, causing him to push even further into you as he filled you with his seed. “Ugh, stop moving,” he growled, putting one hand on your hip to steady you, “Just take it. I told you to be a good girl, guess you get what’s gonna come to you next.”

After he’s filled your worthless cunt with his cum he pulls out, his cock bobbing up and down as he comes down his from release, your mingled nectars dripping down your inner thighs.

“Your turn,” Kirishima commented and you felt shuffling around behind you along with the sound of unzipping and zipping.

“Don’t need your fuckin’ permission, just hold the camera already. Took you fuckin’ long enough, dumbass. ‘s almost time for us to get off this stupid thing” Bakugo cursed his best friend out, moving to press himself against your back. You felt it again. The fleshy hardness of cock that pressed right up against you poor cunt.

Unlike Kirishima who had only fucked your thighs and slipped into you at the very end, Bakugo wasted no time in burying himself inside of you even if your walls took a little time to adjust to his size. He groaned in pleasure, filling your ears with the sinful sound as he felt you swallow him whole with little to no resistance.

“Fuck, always knew you’d feel good but not this damn good,” he hissed, not bothering to waste anymore time as he started to fuck into you like he was in heat, his hand moving to push onto the lower part of your stomach, his middle finger pushing down onto your clit as you felt the cold metal of the multiple rings that decorated his fingers on your heated skin. You were starting to feel like a furnace.

The speed he’s moving is unbelievable and bold, considering you were still in a public space but it seemed he couldn’t care less. All he was interested in was getting a hit of your glorious pussy, it was a punishment worth giving.

At some points, he makes it his mission to bully himself into your twitching walls and kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick, relishing in the feeling of your stomach pushing up against his hand, and at other points he makes sure to thunder himself right into your g-spot, pushing Kirishima’s cum up further into you.

You don’t remember when you started crying but you couldn’t ignore the feeling of hot tears that spilled from your eyes as he moved without remorse, and could not deny the overwhelming pleasure that left you limp and tired against the glass.

You don’t remember spreading your legs for him and bending over just a little bit more to give him more access, forcing him against your spot. All you know is that it left you yearning and reeling forward, the sweet harmonies of pleasure hitting you intensely in continuous motions.

In such a short time you’ve gotten used to being so full that you whine when he finally pulls out after dumping his load into you like the cum bucket slut you are. You don’t even know how you manage to keep standing after being used like that, cum dribbling down your legs, skirt pushed up and displaying your ass, with just a glimpse of your swollen pussy that’s painted white, along with your insides.

You can’t protest when Bakugo starts to fix himself back up to look presentable while Kirishima takes a close-up picture of your glistening cunt, grinning when he flicks your flagged clit that sends you jolting awake from your fucked-out state.

“You did good today, princess. Sorry for ruining your shirt, Kat can buy you a new one,” the redhead sweetly says before he takes it upon himself to push your panties back into place and pulled your skirt back down over your ass, “Guess we better get you home, huh?”

You can’t even say a thing when Kirishima turns you around and buttons up your uniform jacket, effectively covering your exposed front and tucking away the shreds of your shirt that spilled from the bottom.

Wow, how thoughtful.

Study Date

kirishima x bakugou x f!reader

summary - you and your boyfriends attempt to study. attempt.

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, exhibitionism, 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. poly au <3

this is within the kiribaku au that this fic is in

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

“So if you look over here,” You guide Kirishima’s gaze to the painting on the glossy page of your $300 art history textbook, “This is a scene from the tempest, by William Hamilton,” you turn to look at the redhead, who is chewing on the end of his pen. “Are you listening to me?” He blushes. 

“No.” He admits, reaching over and smoothing your hair. “You look so pretty today.” You swat at his hand and across the study room table, Bakugou scowls. 

“Shitty hair. You cannot fail this class if you want to graduate on time.” He gets up and sits down on the other side of you, scooting his chair over. “What are you trying to get through his thick skull?” He growls. You turn to the blonde. 

“It’s just that he has to remember that this is from the Tempest, which wouldn’t be as much of an issue,” you cock your head a little, “If he’d bothered to read it.” Kirishima groans. 

“It’s so long, and I read a bunch of the other plays, maybe I read the Tempest!” 

“Kirishima!” You say indignantly. “This is not a class that you can pass without doing the reading!” Bakugou puts a calloused hand on your thigh. 

“S’not your fault the idiot doesn’t care about school.” An evil grin spreads across his face, “Baby just needs some incentive to pay attention, is that right?” Kirishima blushes at the pet name and looks away. 

“I don’t need anything,” He mumbles, “I’ll, I’ll try harder, promise.” Bakugou shakes his head. 

“You’ve got an exam tomorrow.” He raps his boyfriend’s head with a plastic pen. “The time for tryin’ harder was about two weeks ago.” He pushes you to your feet and moves one chair over, taking your seat. 

“Katsuki,” You say quickly, “What are you…” You trail off when you see him unzip his black skinny jeans, and free his hard cock from his green boxers. “We. are in. the library.” You hiss. 

“You say that like it’s church.” Bakugou snorts. 

“It is to me!” You snap, and he shakes his head. 

“We’re in a study room. It’s 2AM. We’re probably the only one’s in the fuckin’ building.” He argues. 

“Probably isn’t good enough for me.” You respond haughtily and he grins. 

“Princess.” Blood pools in your cheeks. “Princess,” he growls again. “Take those panties off and be a good girl, bend over for daddy.” You look over to Kirishima, his mouth is open, eyes wide. You bite your lip and bend over a little, slipping your hands under your skirt and pulling your pale blue lacy underwear down to your ankles, and stepping out of them. You go to hand them to him and he shakes his head. “Shitty hair will hold onto those.” A low whine escapes Kirishima’s lips as he takes the soft fabric in his hands, watching as Bakugou reaches a hand under your plaid skirt, 

“This is what you wanted, right?” Bakugou rasps, squeezing your bare ass, now positioned in front of him. “Fuckin’ slut, wearin’ that skirt, knowing what it would do to us.” You feel the cool air between your legs and let out a low hum. Kirishima reaches for you but Bakugou glares at him. 

“Shouldn’tcha be studying dumbass? I’m fucking busy. If you want to get your dick wet you better finish that fucking chapter.” Bakugou squeezes your soft thighs then runs a finger up your slit. “Oooh,” he almost coos, “Baby’s wet, huh?” He grabs your ass so hard you gasp. “Keep tutoring.” He orders, and you look back at him, surprised. “Did that sound like a suggestion to you?” You shake your head. “Then get to it.” You clear your throat and attempt to focus. 

“So in, um,” You turn to Kirishima, whose eyes are lust drunk, but you can see he’s trying as hard as you are to focus, “In the Tempest, when Prospero,” you take in a gulp of air, as Bakugou parts your folds with a finger, “When Prospero is seeking, uh, ah,” Your eyes widen, and your pupils dilate as you feel him slip a single calloused finger inside of you. 

“Focus.” Bakugou taunts. 

“When Prospero is seeking justice,” You get out, “He really does um, after losing his throne,” You take a deep breath as Bakugou scrapes your velvet walls roughly, “He does believe he’s in the right.” Kirishima nods. 

“Uh, uh-huh.” 

“And you have to remember,” You say, closing your eyes for a moment, squealing softly as Bakugou adds a second finger, “That, that, um,” 

“Help her out, Kirishima.” Bakugou says, “What’s she gettin’ at?” Kirishima wracks his brain, lost in your already debauched expression. 

“Uh, if he believes he’s okay to uh, do whatever he wants to get his throne back?” You swallow. 

“Y-yes!” 

“And uh, but he does do some bad things, to try to get it back.” Kirishima continues. And you nod emphatically, eyes unfocusing when Bakugou scissors his fingers inside of you. 

“Right, so justice,” you pause, hands curling into fists when Bakugou presses up against that spongey spot inside you, “Um, in this world, justice is, justice is subjective.” 

“Prospero could be like, an unreliable narrator!” Kirishima exclaims, forgetting for a moment, that Bakugou was knuckle deep in your core, so proud of himself for getting it right. 

“He-he could be!” You choke out. “G-good job.” Bakugou withdraws his hand and you let out a shaky sigh. He holds the two fingers out to Kirishima, who sucks on them hungrily, groaning. 

“Can we uh, take a break?” Kirishima asks desperately and Bakugou looks livid. 

“You got exactly one question right and you wanna take a break?” He pulls you onto his lap and spreads your legs across his. “No fuckin’ way.” He taps the textbook in front of him. “Keep going.” You turn around a little to protest and Bakugou snatches your wrists. “And you,” You melt under his stern gaze, “Stop fuckin’ squirming.” He lets go of one of your wrists and you shiver with anticipation as he rubs the head of his cock against you. “Yeah, baby,” he says, “You want this, tell me what you want?” Your face burns. It’s late but anyone could open the to the study room, and it makes your heart race. 

“W-want daddy’s cock.” You mutter and he shakes his head. 

“Louder.” You look at him desperately and he chuckles. “Think you heard me just fine.” 

“I want daddy’s cock.” You say, a little louder, but it’s enough for him to, thank god, start easing himself inside you. “Ah, fuck, Katsuki.” You groan as he settles you on his lap, and scoots the chair in, under the table. 

“Get back to work.” He snaps and you turn around, he can’t be serious, you’re so full you’re dripping down his cock, you squirm a little and he presses your thighs down against his. “Stay. Still.” He growls, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

“O-okay,” You say softly, “Kiri, um, Eij,” Your eyes are glossy and unfocused as you turn back to your boyfriend. 

“Katsuki,” Kirishima says turning to Bakugou, “That’s not fair, to punish her because I haven’t studied enough.” Bakugou moves, and even a small thrust of his thick cock against your walls is enough to elicit a tiny whimper from the back of your throat. 

“If you don’t want her to suffer,” Bakugou emphasizes the last word, “I suggest you buckle the fuck down.” Kirishima nods, blushing a bright red as your face contorts in frustration. You try and move a little but Bakugou holds you fast to him, not allowing any friction or pressure to change, you feel so full, you can feel his cock stretching you but you can’t get any relief for your aching core, for the coil tightening in your stomach. “Focus.” He growls in your ear, and you whimper again.

“R-right.” You chirp. “S-so, back to the painting.” Kirishima nods, you have his full attention now, “William H-hamilton was an architect,” you swallow, Bakugou leans back on the chair, enjoying the feeling of your soft walls, tight around his cock. “This isn’t one of his well-known works, but if, uh, if we think about it in terms of the themes of justice, or uh, subjective justice.” Bakugou snickers. “Katsuki,” you whine, “Please move, please please please.” You turn around and beg him, eyes wide, pleading. 

“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.” He rasps, shrugging. “Beg him.” He gestures to Kirishima.  

“Tell me about the painting,” you whine, tears pricking in your eyes with frustration as you struggle against Bakugou’s iron grip on your soft thighs. 

“What’s your color, first?” Kirishima says, eyes flicking to Bakugou. 

“Green,” you choke out, “Green, green, green, just tell me about the fucking painting.” Kirishima’s ears go as red as his face when he stairs down at it. 

“Uh, uh, the angel, the angel is choosing, right?” You bite down on the bottom of your lip, “She’s like lighting up the guy in the right,” you nod emphatically, “Prospero,” you nod again, a single tear rolling down your face, you need some kind of relief, you need something, the agony of the gentle press on your g-spot was enough to make you choke out a sob. “But he isn’t necessarily the good guy. Because he did bad things, so um, if I look at the painting, again, uh,” he runs his fingers down the page and Bakugou thrusts up cruelly, pressing his palms down on top of your thighs so that he’s buried in you to the hilt. 

“Fuck,” you warble, a sad little song as you bury your face in your hands. “Please, please daddy, need you.” 

“When he gets it right we’re gonna make you feel so fucking good.” Bakugou snarls, pressing a burning kiss to your neck. “So hurry up, shithead.” 

“Oh oh, could he be, could he, uh, the villain, is he protecting the girl, from the other guy?” 

“Possible.” You whine. “With oil paintings, watch the light,” You close your eyes quickly.

Then open them again, squinting in the harsh industrial flourescents. 

“Oh shit, he’s uh, he’s standing in the shadow.” 

“Yes!” You say, too loudly because Bakugou lifts a  hand and covers your mouth with it. 

“That’s good enough for me.” He groans, lifting you and bouncing you up and down on 

His cock. Even once, your vision goes white for a full second at the feeling of his withdraw and then the return of the pressure against that bundle of nerves he always found so easily. Your mouth drops open, a harsh cry escapes your lips, only slightly muscled by Bakugou’s huge hand, at finally receiving the relief you’ve been seeking. Bakugou keeps your legs spread and thrusts up into you, groaning. “C’mon dumbass,” he snaps at Kirishima, “Say thank you to your tutor.” Kirishima wrenches the chair out from under the table, diving onto his knees and flipping your skirt up over his head. He licks up from Bakugou’s balls all the way to your clit, and you cry out sharply when he starts to ravish it with his full attention, rough tongue flicking over your sensitive nub as tears stream down your face from overstimulation. Bakugou feels you clench and flutter. 

“Does she want to cum?” He growls. “Does my little bitch wanna cum?” You nod vigorously, words fail you, your mind is completely and utterly blank as Bakugou fucks you brutally, with your legs wrapped around his, he frees his arms up to touch your chest, pinching your nipples hard through your shirt. “Cum for me, slut.” He rumbles, and you go to scream, or you would, if Bakugou didn’t shove three of his fingers in your mouth as you come undone between the huge men, gushing all over Kiri’s face, as he slurps it up hungrily, making loud smacking sounds in the quiet of the library. You gurgle around his hand, eyes rolling in the back of your head, drooling a little as Bakugou keeps fucking you through your orgasm, getting impossibly hard and groaning loudly as he finishes inside. 

“Gonna paint that pretty fuckin’ pussy with my cum,” he rasps, and when he hears your choked sobs he swears, “Fuck yeah, you like that baby, wanna be fuckin’ mine?” It’s so much, you can feel everything, Kirishima’s huge hands on your shaking thighs, Bakugou’s cock filling you up all the way and then some, and of course, Kirishima sucking on your clit to the point of painful pleasure. You’re twitching and crying as you come down from your high.

“Jesus Christ,” Bakugou says, “You bit the shit out of my fingers.” You mumble some kind of apology, but he just slaps your thigh. “Shitty hair.” He says. “Fuck her brains out. We’ll carry her home.” Kirishima grins, standing, 

“Come here,” He coos, positioning your limp form over the table. “Open up,” he says, just as sweetly, as he tucks your panties into your mouth, “Gotta be quiet for me, okay princess?” You mewl softly into the fabric, tasting yourself as you bite down on the cotton. He puts one huge hands between your shoulder blades, forcing your back into a slightly harsher arch. “Wrists please,” he says, and you extend them behind you. He takes both of them in one hand, you’re still trembling from cumming a few seconds ago, as he eases gently inside of you. “Good girl,” He says kindly, “Takin’ me so well.” Even after a month of dating you’re still not really used to how big Kirishima is, and you know he’s marveling at how you stretch to accommodate his huge mushroom head, pink with need, pushing Bakugou’s cum further into your pussy with a lewd squelch. 

“Kiri,” you whine through the panties, “S’so big,” he chuckles, brushing his fingers through your hair with his free hand. 

“I know baby, I know.” He lightly runs his nails down  your back and you shiver. “Bakugou’s so rough with you, so rough with baby, hm?” You nod. “Aww,” He says, and then cruelly shoves his whole cock inside of you in one thrust, and you let a harsh whine out that even the panties can’t muffle. 

“Fuck,” Bakugou says, getting up and stabilizing the table as Kirishima rocks into it and knocks it back and forth with his brutal thrusts. “Careful, idiot, don’t break her.” Kirishima nods, keeping a firm but careful grip on your wrists for leverage, 

“She’s so good for me though,” he coos, “So perfect,” you hum with pleasure as he fucks you slowly you’re so wet that you’re creaming around his cock, your plush lips open, eyes teary and glossy. You can feel every inch of Kirishima, and you’re becoming accustomed at least, to the painful pleasure when he fucks you. He groans loudly every time he bottoms out in you, every time the tip of his cock kisses your cervix you see stars. 

“Mmmh,” you whimper, your toes curl in your sneakers, he presses you down harder on your back, flattening you against the table. 

“What do you want, sweetheart,” He says, “You can have it, whatever you want?” 

“M-morrrruhhh,” You choke out from around the panties and he chuckles. 

“You want more,” he asks, looking up at Bakugou, “Our little slut wants more, huh?” Bakugou shrugs, smiling evilly, 

“Better give baby what she wants.” Kirishima pounds into you, hard, and the tears start to fall again, and you bite down, you’re so distracted by Kirishima fucking you into oblivion that you don’t even notice Bakugou sitting down in the chair next to you. “I want her mouth.” He orders, and Kirishima spins you around so that you have to stare directly at Bakugou while Kirishima rails you. The blonde is lazily stroking his cock, which is mostly hard again, you lean down to suck him off but he catches your chin. 

“Uh, uh,” He growls, He removes the panties from your mouth, shoving them in his pocket before he pushes your head down to his balls, and you try to focus on what you’re doing, try to lick and suck softly at them while he jerks off above you, while Kirishima fills you up completely, you feel your stomach tightening, listening to Bakugou groan with pleasure as you drool on the base of his cock, 

“Fuck,” Kirishima snaps, “Gettin’ tight again, huh babe, gonna cum?” 

“Yeah,” you pant, lifting your head, looking up at Bakugou, “Can, can I daddy, please, can I cum?” He takes your head and shoves it all the way down his cock, so that your nose is buried in the tuft of blonde hair at his base. 

“Yeah baby,” He snarls, “Go ahead and cum.” You’re so full, you can’t breathe, with Bakugou’s length all the way down your throat, but you let go of the coil in your stomach and he moans when he feels the vibrations of the sounds you can’t hold back from him. Tears leak down your face as your orgasm rips through your body like a knife, you feel Kirishima finish inside you at the fluttering of your walls, he always cums so fucking much you feel it leaking down your leg. Bakugou lifts your head off of his cock and you fall to the ground of the study room, sputtering and gasping for air, curling up in the fetal position as the last aftershocks of your orgasm run through your body like an electric current. Bakugou finishes himself as Kirishima wipes his brow, gathering you from the floor and peppering you with kisses. 

“Baby,” He sings softly, “You alright baby, come back to me.” You moan in his arms, snuggling into his chest. “Such a good girl, the best girl.” You smile a little and open one eye. “Anything hurt?” 

“Uh,” your hoarse voice says it all, “My throat a little.” Kirishima nods. 

“Katsuki will make you tea, okay it’s late, we should get back to our place if we’re going to crash there.” Bakugou cums again with a loud groan and a viscious stream of swears. 

“Didn’t mean to get hard again.” He admits. “Somethin’ about watchin’ you fuck her just drives me fuckin’ feral.” He leans over and kisses Kirishima’s forehead as he stands. “Good boy.” Kirishima’s face burns at the praise. 

“Just uh, takin’ care of her.” Bakugou nods, gathering the backpacks and textbooks while you yawn in Kirishima’s arms. 

“Eij,” You say, sighing, “M gonna be sore tomorrow.” He nods. 

“Yeah, baby.” 

“Will you give me a massage,” you whine needily and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

“What the fuck’s wrong with my massages?” Bakugou roars, leading you out of the little study room and into the empty top floor of the library. 

“We always end up fucking again.” You mumble and Kirishima laughs. 

“Ohhhh, baby needs a break, is that it?” 

“24 Hours without getting my brains fucked out, yes,” you pause, “I think I do need that.” You think about it. “The question is, do I want that?” Bakugou barks out a harsh laugh as he stabs the button for the elevator, running his hand absentmindedly up and down Kirishima’s arm. 

“Think I know the answer, princess.” You yawn again. 

“Yeah I think you do.”