LITTLE DARK AGE

Hi everyone....

To make a long story short, people are awful and I was robbed of $1,100. I'm not totally broke but I'm definitely seen better days.

And I am wondering, to help with this loss, if people would be interested if I did some commissions?

Like drabbles (900 words) for like $3. Longer ones (like 1k - 2k) for $6 and anything that's higher than 2k would be like $10.

If anyone is interested let me know so I can set something up. And even if all you can do is reblog this to let others know, that would be very much appreciated too.

Love you all 💛💛

Good Boy

Wolf Hybrid! Kageyama Tobio x Reader (Hybrid Au)

- my first time writing for Kageyama + hybrid au, he fits the wolf hybrid theme so well. final commission post for @nightmarelilyxd​ ! tysm for being patient <33

You were his to protect the moment you picked him at the adoption centre, his to fuck, his to breed.

Warnings: kageyama can shift between his human form/ wolf form, kageyama has ears + a tail, smut, slight dub/non con, slight somnophilia, pet play(?), this is literal porn w/o plot, breeding kink

Kageyama never really understood why you picked him.

You strolled right past the other hybrids practically vying for your attention and pointed a single, pretty manicured nail at him with an equally pretty smile before you opened your mouth, “I want to adopt this one.”

Keep reading

1:14 PM | sanzu h.

sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

summary: post kanto manji gang vs toman, you’re staying with your boyfriend to help take care of him after he was released from the hospital.

warnings: spoilers for most recent chapters — once again, yn does not care ab anything except him, cuz i don’t :D, can be read as part two to the timestamp from yesterday but also as a stand-alone; kakucho implied to have survived

notes: 🥹 this is my coping mechanism

taglist: @kxeyas @sano-obsessed @thomaphoria @dear-xiao @kisakiapologist @manjiroscum @arozaur @scandescent @tokyometronetwork

wordcount: 1.8k

your jaw was clenched tight as you slipped into the water behind him, acutely aware of the wince on his face that he was desperately trying to hide, and acutely aware of the way his body shook in pain with every breath.

his arms were trembling and his lips were pressed tight together, and you didn’t speak as you settled in the water behind him, palm gently resting on his back.

“lay back,” you finally said quietly and sanzu inhaled sharply as he slowly leaned back, a hiss escaping his lips at the movement.

you swallowed thickly as you brushed his hair over one shoulder, letting his bruised back lay flush against your chest as the two of you soaked in the warm water. your arms circled him loosely, nails tracing feather-light patterns on his skin, careful of the deep purple and black bruises covering his entire abdomen and half of his chest, disappearing below the water where you knew they were also decorating his thighs.

his eyes slid shut as he rested the back of his head against your shoulder and you brought one hand up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the blackened eye that slowly peeked back open at your touch.

narrowed blue eyes focused on you, “it looks worse than it really is,” he murmured for the millionth time.

and you only sighed, you knew he would say something along the lines of that—he had been saying the same thing since he got back from the hospital. sanzu hated showing weakness, especially to you. you let your eyes shut, leaning down to press your lips against his pale shoulder, resting there for a moment.

“you don’t need to put up this act with me,” you said softly, about to continue before you were interrupted.

“it’s not an act,” he said instantly, but his words were counteracted by the grimace that crossed his face as another wave of pain swept over him.

“baby, you can barely move,” you said gently, swallowing thickly, “you almost died, it’s okay to-“

sanzu bristled, and you should have expected this. he never took well when people tried to call him out on his weaknesses, even if they had good intentions.

“i said i’m fine,” he snapped harshly, but his body did not react well to the sudden burst of emotion and movement as he tried to sit up. he gasped sharply, eyes shooting open, and your arms darted forward to hold his shoulders, preventing him from doubling over because you knew it would only end up hurting him more.

you pulled him back against your chest, lips pressed to the top of his head as a ragged sob escaped his lips. sanzu had never handled pain well, ever since the first day you met him when you were younger — a fight gone wrong when he challenged a group of older, bigger and stronger boys who were talking down on the tokyo manji gang, who left him bleeding and unconscious in an alley for you to find on your way home from practice.

he had been insufferable then, going on and on about how it didn’t hurt all the while his legs were giving out with every step and he wasn’t even able to walk without passing out. and he was equally insufferable now, only the damage was ten times worse.

you knew better than to scold him—you had tried to talk to him about it at the hospital but his responses were less than desired—so all you could do now was hold him and help him get through it.

you murmured soft reassurances against his skin as his body trembled violently in your arms, as he gasped for air and as his eyes watered.

“i’ve got you,” you said quietly, “always got you, haru.”

you felt sick as you watched his abdomen tense and spasm, as his hand flew to his mouth to muffle another broken sob. you wondered how long it would last—the doctors had told him not to strain himself, physically or mentally, because he would be prone to waves of severe pain until everything healed properly.

but sanzu was sanzu, and sanzu didn’t listen to anybody except himself. the last time it had happened was this morning, and he had been curled up in bed, biting down hard on a discarded shirt to muffle the cries of pain as to not disturb you while you were making him breakfast.

you had come back to find him on the verge of passing out, eyes glassy and unfocused and face contorted in a sort of pain you’d never seen on him before. and you had dropped the glass of water you had been bringing him to rush to his side, holding him gently until the wave of pain passed, just like you were now.

“shhhh,” you pressed your face to the top of his head, hiding in his soft hair, “shh, it’s okay, baby, you’ll be okay.”

“hurts,” he gasped and you shut your eyes, a helpless feeling sweeping over you when you realized you couldn’t do anything except wait for it to pass, “i cant breathe, i cant-“

you brought your hand back to his face, cupping his cheek again and wiping away the tears that were slipping from his eyes.

and he always did this—when the pain became too much and he lost control over the facade he was so insistent on putting up. he always crumbled, letting out gasps and whimpers and mindless babbles about how bad it hurt, eyes wide and wild and glassy, searching yours for help. and it had your heart clenching so tight you thought you might die because you couldn’t give him the help he needed and you couldn’t ease the pain.

all you could do was hold him, press soft kisses to his shoulders and the top of his head until it passed.

and it did, you could feel his breath slowly evening out again, his erratic heart beat calming and his eyes fluttering shut. you didn’t speak, because you knew if you said something, you’d be met with resistance so instead you rubbed your hands up and down his arms soothingly, lips pressed to his hair, letting him settle down.

your hands tightened on his arms as he shifted but all he did was look back at you, and there was an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. sanzu had aways been difficult to read, he refused to open up at all and he kept his heart closely guarded but over time, you had learned to catch his cues and understand the words he was wanted to tell you that always went unspoken.

but this was new. a foreign expression that you couldn’t decipher. you frowned lightly, fingers dancing across his cheekbone and you let out a shaky breath when his long lashes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch.

“haru,” you murmured, but he didn’t say anything and your heart was in your throat as he shifted his face in your hand, pressing his lips to your palm and covering the back of your hand with his, holding it in place as his eyes slid shut again, lashes brushing his cheek.

your free arm slipped back around him, careful to not aggravate the wounds, holding him as he laid between your legs, back resting on your chest, head on your shoulder. and you noticed, briefly, just how small he seemed in your arms in that moment—a subtle grimace still marring his face, body bruised and broken and still trembling from the aftershocks of the pain.

“i hate this,” his voice shook against your palm, and you wondered if he was so frustrated that he was on the verge of tears again—he had always been the type of person that bottled everything up until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

you held his head close to you, stroking his hair, fingers scraping his scalp gently, and you ignored how he shuddered against you. and you ignored the wetness that hit the hand that he was clutching to his face. you knew very well just how much he hated reaching this point, hated himself for not being able to handle it—bringing extra attention to it would only make him feel worse.

for a second, you wondered what he would do without you. and it wasn’t a sort of conceited thought or anything along the lines of that—sanzu did not have anyone else. all of his old friends were enemies or dead, the majority of the kanto manji higher ups had turned their back on him after he nearly killed kakucho, kokonoi betrayed kanto manji for toman—the only one left was mikey and mikey was… mikey. he wasn’t in the right state to help anyone, or even to care to help anyone.

your lips trembled against his head at the thought of him having to suffer through this alone—struggling to get out of bed in the morning, struggling to eat, suffering through these brutal waves of pain alone, each second feeling like eternity as he waited for it pass.

you inhaled shakily against him. you knew he wasn’t a good person, he had done terrible things, and tried to do even worse things, without a hint of remorse and some might even say that he deserved worse than what he was dealt but…

but he was good to you. he was always so fucking good to you, always gentle, always looking out for you. and to be quite frank, you didn’t give a single shit about anybody other than him.

and you knew a part of him hated this because of the helplessness that came along with it. he knew that the rest of s62 generation would be after him because of what he had tried to do to kakucho, and he knew that if they came for him while you were around, which was more than likely considering you rarely left his side at this point, there would be nothing he could do—and s62 was not known for their kindness. he could barely walk on his alone, much less fight off madarame shion, mochizuki kanji and the haitani brothers to protect you. because he knew that when they came, you wouldn’t leave his side and they would not take kindly to that.

“you’re stuck with me, y’know?” and you hated how your voice caught and wavered.

sanzu only squeezed your hand gently. you knew you weren’t going to get a response from him while he was like this. you never did because he knew that if he opened his mouth to speak he wouldn’t be able to calm down.

but he didn’t need to say anything. sanzu had aways spoke louder through his actions than he ever did through his words, so when his grip on your hand tightened and his body relaxed back into yours again, it really was all you needed.

 put on a show 

Hanamaki Takahiro x f!reader (ft. Mattsun, Iwaizumi, Oikawa)

summary : cockwarming Makki during an online gaming session with his best friends, who were very clueless to what your boyfriend was up to. But one little mishap caused by forgetfulness, reveals it all

words: 3.5 k

warnings : smut , nsfw , voyeurism, unprotected sex, cockwarming, masturbation, webcam sex i guess, slight degradation

a/n:  was supposed to post this Makki’s birthday but had to re-edit parts. anyways, can you tell I’m obsessed with the Seijoh third year line up. Their just so gosh darn fine. Plys, this idea totally did not come up during a lecture that was boring me to death. Anyways, enjoy and give Makki some lovin.

ღ   tip me on  ᴋᴏ-ꜰɪ    ღ

Keep reading

ode to a conversation stuck in your throat

itoshi rin x reader smau

chapter XX: godfather

cw: cursing, silliness

a/n: there will be a bonus chapter (that i haven't written yet so it might not be up by sunday whoops) but otherwise this is the last chapter !!!, thank you all for sticking w me through my first smau<3 i treasure you all

chapter XIX > series masterlist > bonus chapter

** 9th slide is supposed to say to* instead of so but once again i am too lazy to fix it so sorry

chapter XIX > series masterlist > bonus chapter

THE END AHHHHHH i'm not crying u are

also i'm writing a nagi smau & also planning one for sae & oliver & also gojo satoru & eren jaeger if any of you wanna be added to a potential future taglist for these potential future smaus,,

anyway thanks again to you all i love you endlessly & i will see you once more in the bonus chapter🫡

taglist: @punkhazardlaw @sarah-saystuff @ashnootnoot @xiriela @froggie-zusya23 @vanitasbrainrot @lesliesleisure @shironagi @1isabelfox @celestair @rin1802 @rroxii @reiners-milkbiddies @arxliana @kiopanxp @kawaii-angelanne @sleepygraves @dei-lilxc @y-sabell-a @k0z3me @lilactaro @mellozhi @matchablossomsss @rainb3rrie @vernorexiaaa @httpsanon @bloombb @izumi-astra-123 @karmatiz @msameikanevaeh @ascybous @niko-ash @celioderso @91ed0

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST additional tws added when the fic is posted !! proceed with caution, DARK CONTENT

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SET 1: 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔

001. IWAIZUMI ♡༘ TROPHY tw lobotomised reader, noncon 002. ATSUMU ♡༘ DECAY

SET 2: 𝐉𝐉𝐊

003. TOJI ♡༘ SPARKSTONE 004. MEGUMI ♡༘ CADAVER

SET 3: 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐑𝐄𝐕

005. KAKUCHOU ♡༘ DROOLING 006. SANZU ♡༘ EXALT

SET 4: 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊

007. NAGI ♡༘ STAR 008. SHIDOU ♡༘ WHITE WHALE

SET 5: 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒

009. NICOLAS GANGSTA ♡༘ SWOLLEN 010. TRIGUN ♡༘ DRAIN

.`♱🪦ѻ 𝖉0𝖑𝖑 ♱’¡!

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𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: THESE FICS ALL CONTAIN TRIGGERING SUBJECTS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION

All Rights Reserved © IWAASFAIRY 2023. Works are exclusive to this Tumblr.

help, my boyfriend has no sex drive! (3)

Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)

Genre: smut, fluff

Contains: smut; thigh highs; semi-clothed sex; unprotected sex; oral sex (f receiving); fingering; cum eating (?); creampie; virginity kink; established relationship; forgotten homework ):

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1 || Part 2

“Fuck, it’s cold!” 

You curse under your breath as you rub your legs together underneath the blanket, desperate for any semblance of warmth in the freezing apartment. With the arrival of winter, Tokyo has steadily gotten colder and colder each day. Despite wearing your thickest pair of fleece pajamas and cocooning yourself in a bundle of thick blankets on the couch, you feel gooseflesh lining your slightly trembling legs. Each time you accidentally brush your feet against your shins underneath the blankets you recoil from the frostiness of your own toes. 

At your limit, you snatch your cell phone off the coffee table to open the Amazon app, intending to buy a pair of thermal tights to be express shipped. 

Instead, your eyes land on a conveniently placed advertisement on the home page. 

Extra Warm Fuzzy Thigh High Stockings 3 Pack for Women

Immediately enticed by the words “extra warm” you click on the image. The page loads to reveal a variety of colors to choose from along with some product information about the material and a satisfaction guarantee. You scroll down to read a few reviews, almost all citing positive experiences and expressing surprise to find how “cozy and warm” the stockings are despite their low price.

Thoroughly persuaded, you quickly select a set of versatile colors before using the one-click “Buy Now” feature. 

Just as you receive the notification of an order confirmation email, you hear the front door of the apartment open before your boyfriend tiredly shuffles inside. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Kenma murmurs, slightly struggling to shrug off his thick puffer coat. “Yoshida-san wanted to talk again…”

You laugh at that, recalling just how talkative the elderly lady from two doors down tends to be. Once the woman finds someone willing to listen to her rambling, she can go on for hours about topics ranging from her own life story to what types of seasonal fruit her grandchildren like. You can very clearly picture your awkward boyfriend, feeling too guilty to interrupt as Yoshida-san complains about the local markets increasing the price of eggs for thirty minutes. 

“You need to be more selfish, KenKen,” you chastise playfully as you hop up off the couch to help him with removing the complicated layers of winter outerwear from his person. 

“Tell people what you want to and don’t want to do. Yoshida-san would understand; you’re a full-time student and eboy, you’re busy.”

Kenma shoots you a disgusted look at your favorite way to refer to his streaming career to which you only cackle. With a few calculated tugs, you manage to remove his coat and hang it on the rack beside the door.

“Anyway, I’ll go ahead and call for dinner—I was thinking we could get sukiyaki and watch a movie for tonight,” you suggest, already making a beeline for your phone.

“Okay.”

The rest of the night is spent comfortably for you two, cuddled up on the couch while you both eat warm soup and watch a fantasy movie Kenma picked out. You hardly have any interest in the contents on the screen but you relish in the warmth provided by both the food and your boyfriend.

You all but forget about your Amazon order until two days later when Kenma comes home with a cardboard box in his hands.

“It says it’s for you,” Kenma says simply, handing the box over to where you sit on the couch. 

Your brows furrow in confusion for a moment before the realization hits and you nearly tear the box apart in your excitement to open it. Kenma lingers to the side, seeming curious about what could garner such a reaction from you. With your university student budget, it is rare that you buy anything outside of necessities and an unhealthy amount of take-out, so you are unsurprised by Kenma’s apparent curiosity. 

You grin as you pull the neatly folded pile of multi-colored soft material from the opened box, holding them in the air for him to see.

“It’s my new thigh highs! I was tired of feeling like I was in danger of getting frostbite in our own apartment.”

You drop all but a pair of striped pink ones back into the box and quickly shift to try them on, oblivious to how Kenma’s curious gaze has morphed into something akin to mild horror. The material glides easily up your bare legs, stopping just above mid thigh. 

“Ooh—they’re so soft,” you cheer, standing up to test their slipperiness on the wooden floors. Kenma swallows thickly from his post, eyes lingering on where your plush thighs slightly spill over the tops of the stockings. 

He nearly goes into cardiac arrest when you lift your right leg in his direction, toes unintentionally mere centimeters from his crotch. 

Keep reading

─  The two of you have argued before, there was nothing new or strange about it. Sometimes, though not very often, you'd get upset at something he had said or done. He’d act without thinking, or speak without consideration; words sharpened by negligence, actions spurred on without thought. 

Like a wheel that is fated to see no end, spinning and turning on its axis — over and over, again and again — you watch the cycle of anger unfold. He’d drag a hand across his face and tell you to stop overreacting. You’d get irritated and he’d change his tone with you. Lower. Stricter. Harsher. 

“This was nothing” or “That didn’t mean anything,” — “You’re overthinking,” he’d say. 

And though it was a vicious cycle, patient and damning, you’d learned to adapt to its maliciousness; to the parts of it that drew out the worst in you. You’ve molded yourself to its shape and tried to understand where it stemmed from. Twisting and turning, pulling and pushing — the worst parts of him met the miserable parts of you.

You tried. You really did try. 

But the carelessness in which he'd started to approach said arguments was new, and his dismissive manner was starting to thin your patience. 

He ignores you as you walk behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides in the heels you’d worn for the night. 

“Why won’t you listen to me?” You plead with him as he stops abruptly at the penthouse door, shoving the key into the slot aggressively. You were getting tired of arguing about the same thing — worn out from having to bring it up so often. Why wouldn’t he listen? Why did he refuse to understand?

The door had just barely closed behind you, when he turns around, slamming the wall beside your head with a heavy hand. 

“Enough.” 

Ran’s eyes are filled with fury and impatience as he stares down at you. A terrible rage fills his lavender hues and you hesitate. There was no room for your anger in this house. No room for you when he was so domineering and present. He’s never been this loud with you — has never been so upset or mean. His tone startles you. 

And though you’ve argued before, though you’ve disagreed at times, you find that you don’t know how to deal with his anger — anger that has never been directed towards you to this extent. You just don’t know. 

It’s unsettling. There's a hole in your chest that is torn open, a passiveness settling inside.

You’re upset that he has consistently brushed you and your concerns off to the side. You’re upset that your worry had been interpreted as childish jealousy. You’re upset that the only time he had decided to take you seriously was to yell at you — to shut you up. 

He runs a hand through his hair as he pulls back and heads to the kitchen, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it onto the couch. He leans against the counter and lights a cigarette in an attempt to calm his nerves. 

He'd expected you to start crying — half expected you to apologize even. You never liked fighting with him. He was never one to blow any argument out of proportion either. But this — this had to stop. No matter how many times he’d dismissed it, no matter how many times he’d told you not to worry about it, you still brought her up. Enough was enough. He looks up at you briefly, eyes flickering towards you as he exhales. 

There's a blank look in your eyes, a fragmentation he couldn’t understand. It felt as though you were looking through him. The parts of you that sought to intertwine with him and understand — that hollowed themselves out to make room for him — they fall back in defeat. 

Your eyes aren't glassy; they don’t even sparkle. 

He clenches his jaw and looks away. Guilt and haunt reach for his throat, as he shakily exhales the smoke.

You turn around, hand reaching for the wall as you bend to unclasp your heels. The right shoe comes off first. The left one follows after. He watches as you walk away with the shoes in your hand, fingers threading through the straps.

You don't say a word. He doesn't hear you make a sound.

The cold air of the restroom makes you aware of the slight wetness on your cheek. You stare at your reflection and you can’t help but wonder if the woman in the mirror was in the wrong. Were her feelings misguided by insecurity? Was her envy so green and her thoughts so vile? You tell her not to worry; that it’ll all be alright. You stare at your bruised toes as you fidget and sigh. You don’t even have it in you to cry.

You spend time with the other woman, washing away her fury; cleaning her anguish. Her breathing has steadied and she watches you from beyond the mirror as you wipe at your face, baring yourself to her. She’s satisfied and you turn your back on her temporary satisfaction, slipping into a loose dress and finding your place on the bed. 

He hasn’t bothered to come check up on you. To apologize to you.

 You push her nagging voice out of your head, stretching your legs out and picking up your phone instead. You scroll mindlessly for a minute or so before you decide to call a friend. It’ll help distract you, you think. You’ll call your dearest friend and she’ll make you laugh. You’ll laugh and you’ll smile and the filth encompassing your heart will wither away at your joy. 

Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what you’ll do. 

“Hello?” She says. 

“Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

Silence from your end. 

A minute. Then two. 

“Ah, I get it. Do you want me to pick you up? We can go eat somewhere.”

“Yes, please.” You aren’t hungry at all. She knows that too. 

“Give me 20 minutes, I’m finishing up a shift right now.”

“Okay.”

More silence, this time from her end. Another minute. Another two. 

“Did he…he didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shake your head, the rustling making its way over to her end. 

“No, never. Not physically at least.” You try to smile, but the other woman insists on tugging at the corners of your mouth, pulling them down.

‘Break,' she says. ‘Break and ruin,' she wants to scream. 

You hear a dramatized sigh of relief through the phone.

“Ah, thank God. That bastard scares the shit out of me, honestly. But I’ll kill him if he ever lays a hand on you, you know that, don’t you?” 

You laugh and she smiles. 

“He wouldn’t, I promise. He isn’t so bad.”

“You’re not seriously defending him right now, are you?” 

You find it in you to laugh a little harder. She bids you a temporary farewell and you feel a little lighter. This is okay. It'd be okay if you both took a break…if you were separated from one another for a little — just until you were both able to calm down and think things through. 

You stand and rummage through your nightstand, putting a few things in the nearest tote bag and pulling it up over your shoulder. A light cardigan is folded over your arms as you quietly leave the bedroom. Ran is still in the kitchen, leaning over the island as he wipes a hand over his face. There's a glass of water beside him. You think he's trying to sober up, even though he didn't drink much at all. 

He looks up at the sound of your feet against the tile and his eyes soften at the sight of you. He’d been waiting for you to come out of the room, not wanting to push you too far. Still, you won't meet his gaze. 

It’s then that his line of sight falls to the bag on your shoulder. Panic fills the emptiness he’d been left with since you’d walked away. 

"What're you…No, wait a second. Hold on —"

He rounds the corner and slowly approaches you.

"Wait, we can talk about this."

Your brows furrow as you slip on your shoes, voice soft as you respond. 

"You said you didn't want to anymore."

Defeat, he thinks. Defeat is what laces your tone…like you’ve given up on him. On you and him.

"No,” He shakes his head as he steps a little closer to you. “We can talk about it. Let's talk about it, baby."

His eyes are trying to read you in a panicked frenzy, but still, you won't look at him. You take a step back, grip tightening on the strap of your bag.

“I think,” you bite your lip, brows furrowing as you try to find the right words. “I think it's best if I spend the night somewhere else."

“Fuck no.” 

You hold a hand out, a weak attempt at stopping him from getting any closer. He steps forward. You step back. He reaches out for you and you deny him. 

“Come on, love. Please.” 

What you say next comes out of you so quietly — so dismissively — had he not been so close to you, he might’ve missed it. You find it in you to finally meet his gaze as you utter the word. 

"Enough."

His karma comes in the form of six letters — the ones he’d spat at you so harshly less than an hour ago. But you’re still kind, even now. How quietly the word tumbled from your lips, how beautiful you were in all your anguish. His karma grins at his misery, and rejoices at his self-induced tragedy. 

"Please," he begs.

How pitiful. How cruel.

He grips your wrist when you turn to open the door, caging you in between his arms.

"Don't," he pleads.

You try to turn in his arms, tugging at his rolled-up sleeves, nails scratching at tattooed skin. His biceps flex as he holds you to him tighter. Closer. Don’t go. Don’t leave. You feel the rise and fall of his chest behind you — the racing of his heart as he holds you against him. You sigh, deciding to ease his mind. 

"I’ll come back, Ran. Just one night.” 

"No, no. Don't walk out on me."

He shakes his head at the thought, in misery and denial at its implication.

“I'm sorry."

He apologizes and you freeze in his hold, fingers stilling against his forearms. 

“I'm sorry," He says again. "I won’t raise my voice at you again. I'll never talk to her again. Won't even look at her, baby. I’ll cut all ties right now. Please just don’t go."

He keeps one arm wrapped around you as he reaches for his back pocket, pulling his phone out in the process. You blink, watching as he brings the device over to you, his fingers unlocking the screen as he looks over your shoulder, chin propped against you. You watch as he removes her from his Facebook. You watch as he blocks her on Instagram. You watch as he goes to delete her number. It’s then that you start to cry. You cry so hard, your shoulders tremble and your hands shake. You cry and you cry until you're overcome with the urge to vomit.

“Don’t cry, love. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

How did he let it get this bad? To ignore the pleas and worries of the one that gave him reason and meaning for the sake of maintaining a business relationship he didn’t give a shit about ─ To brush your pain off for the sake of an organization that only brought him misery...The twisted cynicism was almost laughable. Over and over, you'd asked him to listen to you. And over and over, he’d dismissed you.

It's his fault. It's all his fault.

No one else but him. 

His arms fall to his sides and he stands there, watching you.

You wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. His hands tremble as you step back. 

"All I asked was for you to establish clear boundaries with her."

Your hands shake as you point an accusatory finger at him. Your breathing falters, salty tears meeting your tongue as you try to find your words.

The other woman licks at your wounds. 'Destroy him,' she says. ‘Leave him,’ she whispers. You dig your nails into the skin of your palm at the violence of her words.

"But you made me seem like I was crazy for wanting that."

His eyes widen as he stares at you.

No longer covered in the green of her envy and guilt, she lines you with her red. You become one with your sorrow and fury. 

"Why couldn't you establish one simple boundary until I was about to walk out? What kind of girlfriend is supposed to be okay with seeing another woman press herself up against her boyfriend?"

You quiet for a moment, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand and his heart breaks at the sight of your stuttered breathing and tear-stained face.

"Cutting her off means nothing. Not when you brushed me off every time I brought it up.”

“Love ─,” 

You cut him off, mumbling to yourself as you pick at the skin of your nails. 

"God forbid someone even looks my way. But with you —" you snort and it's void of any emotion. 

His face darkens at that. 

"Watch your mouth," He steps closer.

You look away.

Lithe fingers grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look up at him — into his eyes. Eyes that only desire you, that only love and lust after you. You, you, you. Always you. Only you.

She was nothing more than an old Bonten business partner, but you? You were everything.

He presses his lips to yours. Neither of you wavers in closing your eyes, the haziness of his own meeting with the anger in your irises, but he kisses you anyway. He kisses you and he kisses you. You don't kiss back.

The bag slips off your shoulder and you move to lift it back up. He refuses to let go of your jaw, lips moving against yours as he speaks.

"I love you."

"Liar," you whisper against him.

He groans and kisses you harder.

"God, I love you."

You shake your head in his grip but his hands are firm, squeezing your cheeks lightly, forcing your lips into a subtle pout. 

"Get this shit off already." He pulls your bag down to the floor and throws you over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to stay here tonight.” 

“Yeah? Where exactly were you gonna go?” He squeezes your hip as he walks towards the bedroom. He knows the answer, knows you would’ve been safe had you actually left. You might have smiled more tonight had he let you go with your friend; might’ve been spared of the tears you’d shed instead. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let you go. 

You rub at your eyes in exhaustion. 

“I’m not sleeping beside you. I don’t want you.”

He smacks your ass harshly before sliding a palm beneath your slip, stroking the skin gently.

"You're a liar, baby."

Please be lying, baby. 

You grip his shirt to keep from falling.

"I hate you,” You whisper out. 

He tightens his hold on your waist.

"No, you don't, princess."

His voice is low, strained. He prays you don’t hear the tremble in his tone. 

He sits you down onto the bed, kneeling before you on the floor. You go to pull your legs up but he stops you, palms gripping your ankles as he places his forehead onto your knees. 

“Don’t leave me.” 

The room is quiet, save for the low hum of the humidifier he’d forgotten to turn off before the two of you left. It’s a steady sound — soothing in its own right. You don’t say anything as his fingers rub at your calves, as he nuzzles his face into your skin.  

"I’ll do anything.” 

You’re stunned into a deeper silence, staring down at him in shock. It’s laughable really, how terrifying he is to others. Tall and threatening, dark eyes and a prideful smile — the Bonten executive’s standing was respected by most. Feared by all. 

And here he is, kneeling before his girlfriend, begging her to stay. 

You bring a hand down to brush through lavender strands, releasing a shaky breath, as you play with his hair. You speak and your voice is soft, not disturbing the still air around you. He freezes, listening intently. 

“She’s in love with you.” 

He can’t help the slight sound of indignation that he lets out. 

“No, she’s not. She’s just-”

“Just a business partner. I know.”

There’s a tremble to his hands as he leans forward on his knees, hiding his face in your lap as he grips your waist tight. 

“I’ll talk to the rest of the executives tomorrow, we’ll find someone else to ─”

You shake your head.

“That’s not what I’m asking from you.”

He looks up at you in confusion, fingers tight against your hips. 

“Then what?”

“I can’t —” You whimper and his heart breaks. “I can’t be with you if she’s going to disrespect me like that, if you’re going to let her disrespect me like that, every time we see her.” 

He watches you with a certain softness in his eyes as he climbs up onto the bed beside you. 

“What’re you talking about, baby?”

“Is it okay for her to touch you like that? You’re okay with that?” 

You pull away from him, folding your legs up to the side as you pick at a piece of lint on the comforter. 

He hadn’t thought much of it. The woman in question had been a long-time Bonten business partner, she’d known most of the executives for a decade. Her behaviors and antics, they were all used to it by now, aware that they had to put up with it to build a false sense of trust, to lul her company into an aura of security. Of all the execs to take a liking to, she’d chosen your boyfriend. Expensive nails that didn't belong to you were often wrapped around his bicep during events, and you’d watched off to the side ─ hoping, wishing that he’d say something. Anything. 

But nothing ever came out. Nothing was ever said. 

And you’d taken the brunt of it. Time and time again. 

“I can’t ruin Bonten’s relationship with her,” He had said once, the first time you ever brought it up. “Her company is a pivotal part of our projects.”

Watching her wipe the wine stain from his lips tonight, with you seated right beside him ─ it made you wonder how far she’d gone when you weren’t around. How far she was willing to go? How far would he let her go?

You look away at the thought. The light catches onto your tear stained cheeks and he hates himself.

He furrows his brows as he stares at the pattern you were making on the comforter, the trail your fingers created and left behind. He eyes the bruised skin of your cuticles and the chipped paint of your nails — a telltale sign of your anxiety. How had he missed that? He eyes the missing ring on your right hand and his breath hitches. When had you taken that off?

He feels sick. He’d noticed that you’d declined to go with him to Bonten events as of late. You stopped attending, telling him you were too tired. Too busy. “Another time,” you’d say. “Another time,” he’d smile and agree, kissing your forehead before he made his way out and left you alone. 

You’d lied to him to keep from arguing about this anymore, to keep yourself from doubting him. You’d lied and he’d fallen for it — thinking nothing strange of your behavior. And when you’d finally given in, deciding that you missed your boyfriend and that it was well within your right to go out to dinner with him — you had to sit and watch idly as she sat on the other side of him. On this cruel and unforgiving evening, you’d watched as she touched him and stared at him. You’d listened as suggestive jokes were exchanged and loud laughter was thrown across the table. You'd watched with a quiet that only the broken could understand. He’s a fool for not pulling your hand back into his once you’d pulled it out — an idiot for not following after you when you’d excused yourself to go to the restroom. He’s a moron for not seeing the hurt that you were in and the knives that dragged through your skin as he turned a blind eye. 

Cold metal is pressed to your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his rings against your cheek. His eyes carry a sadness you don’t recognize. 

“You’re my woman. You.” 

“Then act like it.” 

You move to your side of the bed, turning off your light as you send your friend a text. You’ll explain everything when you see her, you say. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.’ 

—

You sleep with your back facing him that night. Ran can’t find it in him to sleep at all. He’s scared, terrified that you’ll try to leave in the middle of the night — that you’ll leave just as wordlessly as you let your pain settle into your bones, and that he wouldn’t notice again. 

He’d been too careless with you recently. Too comfortable and neglectful. 

You turn in your sleep, unconsciously facing him, and he leans up on his arm to watch you. Carefully, gently, he lifts your hand up to meet his lips. Soft kisses are pressed to your knuckles and cuticles, to your palm and wrist. 

You don’t stir. 

He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead before it becomes too much for him. He’s overwhelmed and it hurts. It hurts to know that you hurt, and it hurts to know that you hurt because of him. 

Ran sits up and heads over to the living room, closing the door behind him quietly. 

He leans his head back against the couch, arm coming up to cover his eyes. A part of him thinks it’s ridiculous for a man of his power and standing to get worked up over his girlfriend like this. The other part of him doesn’t understand. He’d never been one for long-term relationships. Commitment had never been the issue either. They were just too much. Too much to deal with, too much work to be done — to care and to have to care, to trust, and to be trusted. It was all too much. He never bothered with the matter in its entirety.

But then he met you. And he’d asked you to stay. So you did. 

Caring came naturally to him then. Loving was even easier.

He sits alone in this dark room and thinks about you and him. He thinks and he hurts, and he's reminded of the words Sanzu had thrown at him last night. Ran is more than ashamed.

— 

“You’re losing her.”

“What’re you on about?” He had said, lighting his coworkers cigarette before leaning back to light his own. 

Sanzu had gestured to where you were standing, away from the crowd. You had an arm loosely wrapped around the street pole as you watched the Tokyo night traffic, waiting for your boyfriend to take you home. 

“She doesn’t look too happy.”

He frowns at Sanzu’s words, irritated by his comment. For an outsider to speak on his relationship with you, for another man to act like he could read you (and for him to be right about it too), Ran’s blood boils as he crushes the cigarette between his foot. He'd turned to look at you then, at the blank look on your face, wondering briefly just how much you kept to yourself. You had smiled weakly when he took your hand and led you to the garage. You said nothing else for the rest of the car ride. Until he prodded at you. Until it was too much for you to ignore. Until you came to the conclusion that should he want any other woman, you’d rather he let go of you first. Let me go, let me go, let me go. If I’m not enough, please let me go. 

He’d gotten pissed at you for that and had sped up his walking once the two of you got out of the car. The front desk personnel lowered their gazes as the two of you walked into the building, and you had quieted down out of respect for your relationship. 

─

His stomach churns and he soaks in his self-hatred. You could've reassured her. Could've held her hand a little tighter, could've kissed her a little longer. You fool. He hopes it isn’t too late. He groans and leans forward, running his hands through his hair aggressively as he covers his face with his palms. 

He’s too in his own head to notice that you’d woken up — that you’d been standing nervously at the end of the hallway, watching him. He lets out a choked sound and your heart falls victim to his silent pleas. You make your way to him, silently asking to be let into his arms and onto his lap. He startles but quickly makes room for you, staring at you with wide eyes as you place yourself onto his thighs, settling against his chest. 

Loving arms wrap around his neck as you turn your face to his chest. Undeserving palms stroke your back, pulling you in by the waist, ever closer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He stares down at you in shock at the words you’d chosen to utter. 

“What? What’re you –?” 

You look at him and the darkness accompanying his eyes ─ at the lilac hues rimmed with red and purple, and subtle traces of blue as his veins surface beneath his skin. He was tired. So tired. Fragile fingers stroke his cheek, finding their way to the fine lines around his mouth. His stubble pricks your palm as he nuzzles his face into your skin. It's fascinating to watch a man of his stature — a man of his strength and power — fall weak to your touch. He wonders if you knew that he’d give up all that he was for a chance at forever with you. The money didn’t mean shit and his position was for naught if it meant you were hurt — if it meant you would leave. ‘If you leave, take me with you,’ his core wants to cry out. His arms wrap around you tighter as he hides his face in your neck and you blink in surprise. 

“Why the fuck are you apologizing?” 

Your hands find the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the black and lavender strands, tugging them gently beneath your fingers. 

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He freezes. Your voice muffles against his hold. 

“I know you have obligations. I don’t want to get you in trouble.” 

Or worse, you want to say. I don’t want to get you killed over something so…

You shake your head at the thought.  

Even now, you’re still thinking of him? Even now, you’re putting him before you? He thinks it’d be fitting if he were to dig through the earth and call out to the devil himself. With bloody fingers and a dirty face, he’d call out and he’d say, ‘Come get me, come take me. This woman is too good for me.’

“I love you, I trust you. I won’t bring it up anymore.” 

You press a kiss to his throat, directly onto his tattoo, before you wrap your arms tighter around his neck, broad shoulders comforting you. He falls in love with you all over again. He keeps one arm firmly wrapped around your waist while the other trails up and down your thigh.

“Baby.”

You hum in acknowledgment, waiting for him to continue. 

He pries you off of him, gently setting you down in his place on the couch while you look at him in confusion. You settle into the warmth of where his body once was, watching him curiously. 

Ran kneels before you for the second time that night. His head is bowed slightly and his palms are flat against the cotton of his pants 

“This is all on me. Not you. I’m sorry, love.”

“Ran, get up.” 

You sit up, anxiously reaching for his arms but he shakes his head. 

“Please just listen." He swallows, gaze fixed on the ground. "I’m a real shit boyfriend. Put you through so much shit you shouldn’t have to deal with. I know you deserve better.” 

So much better. 

“But I love you. I need you. I’m selfish and fucked, but I need you. ”

You tilt your head at him as your lip quivers. His shoulders tremble slightly and you reach for his cheeks, hands on either side of his face as you lean forward. 

You kiss him then, for the first time all night. A languid kiss. ‘Feel all of me,’ it says. ‘Feel what you do to me.’ His brows furrow as he squeezes the skin of your thighs. You whimper against him and he smiles against your mouth, teeth touching, bones aching. 

He pulls you off of the couch by the waist and onto his lap as he embraces you. The two of you find refuge in the floor of the apartment. 

You stay on top, seated right on his hips as your tongue meets his. He bites the column of your throat and you tilt your head back in need, giving him access to the skin he wanted to mark.

“I belong to you,” he whispers against your skin. You sigh, fingers in his hair as he kisses and bites, as he licks and whines. He reaches for the palm you had spread against his jaw, moving it to his hips. 

“Ah, fuck.” 

He groans in your ear at the feeling of your skin against his, at the raw affection exchanged between the two of you. He missed you, he missed you — he doesn’t deserve you. You snap his train of thought in two as you slip your hand into his pants, watching the rise and fall of his sternum. You trail your eyes back to his face and find that he’s already staring at you. One arm reaches back for the collar of his shirt, and you fixate on the flex of his bicep as he tugs it off to reveal his chest.

“My woman,” he grunts. 

You nod distractedly, cheeks heating up at the intimacy. Something in him snaps when you slip the straps of your night dress off, lifting the hem to expose your underwear to him. 

“Shit, you’re —” He cuts himself off to slip the flimsy cloth to the side. You stroke him as he prods into you, moaning into each other's mouths, staring at each other with desperate eyes. Love and lust and need and want. He wants to fill you with all the words he couldn’t properly say. Again and again, he'd find you. Should he be damned to a fate where you aren't beside him, he'd spend forever looking for you ─ for the home he'd found within you. Never again would he let it get this bad. Never again will he make you feel unwanted or unloved. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful.” 

He kisses your chest, words vibrating against the skin as he speaks. 

“I’m sorry, pretty. I’m sorry.” 

“I forgive you.” you cry out as he touches you deeper, rubs at you faster. 

“Real shitty guy, aren’t I?” He lets out a strained laugh as your hand falters against him. “Not good for you, am I?”

You shake your head, eyes shut tight as a familiar feeling washes over you. 

“I – oh,” You cry out, unable to finish your sentence as you collapse in his arms.  “I love you. Please, please.”

“Please what, baby? What is it?” 

He lays you down, hovering over you as he bites at your lower lip, appreciating the curve and swell. 

You spread your legs and he swears. 

“Please.”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah. Anything for you.” 

He can’t find it in him to strip you completely. You don’t care enough that his pants are still somewhat on. But with each snap of his hips, he finds you and you find him. 

He’s a sorry excuse of a person, a vindictive, hurtful soul. A damaged man with the world at his feet and his heart in your hands. He’d handed it to you himself with a hammer in tow. Should he ever go too far — crush his very spirit and rid of him of whatever is left of his soul. 

But he knew. He knew that he’d be forced to sit and watch as you tenderly held the flesh. He’d sit with his legs crossed and his cheek in his palm, watching as you soothed the erratic pulsing.

‘What about the dark spots?’ He had wondered. ‘The filth and the corrupted gloom. How will she handle that? Will she throw them out? Look at them in disgust and try to change them?’

(He receives his answer time and time again — answered over and over by the one person who didn’t realize they were even being questioned.) 

He'd watched as you held his heart, with all of its twisted calamities, and placed it right against yours — as if it wasn't stained, as if it wouldn't taint you for as long as you stood. And for the first time in a long, long time, Ran Haitani had resisted the urge to cry. 

—

He doesn’t let you go as you try to get up from off the floor. 

“I didn’t pull out,” He mumbles. “That’s my bad.” 

“I know,” You whisper back, into the darkness of the room.

“Are you baby trapping me?” He lifts an eyebrow, cracking one eye open as he grins at you.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t let me go, perv.” 

You flick his forehead and he laughs beside you lazily. The two of you are eye to eye and a complete mess at that. 

“I need to go clean up,” you say when he shoots his hand out to your wrist to stop you from standing. 

“No, I want to go again.”

“You’ll fall asleep midway.” 

He grins and you laugh. 

“Hey.”

“Hm?” There’s still a hint of a smile on your face as you pull your gown back into place.

“Tonight…” he turns to face you, eyes heavy with sleep. “I won’t let that happen again.”

You don’t look at him as you fiddle with the straps, tugging at them till they seem somewhat right.

“Look at me.” 

He sits and tilts your chin towards him. Hesitance. Worry. (And though you’ve forgiven him, there’s still pain in your eyes.) 

“I was in the wrong, and I hurt you for a long time. It won’t happen again.” 

You stare back into his eyes — into the aftermath of your apocalypse. You want to tuck him into your ribs, to cage him in and hold him tight. And though he was older and had lived a life that had picked him apart more times than he could count, you don’t think you have it in you to surrender him to the darkness. Your naivety has you following after him eagerly — no matter where he takes you, no matter where you go. You’d pick up the parts he threw out on the way, and you’d ease yourself into the emptiness of his soul. You’d placate his hunger for love and give him a place to belong. 

He stares at you, anxiously waiting for a response. All you can do is nod. 

He sighs in relief. You kiss his nose softly before you stand, giggling as he groans at your insistence on leaving the confines of his arms. He lays back down as you steady yourself, eyeing your hips before he reaches up to lift the hem of your nightgown, whistling when he eyes the damage he’d done.

“Nasty old man.”

He laughs and it’s full of life – filled with love and joy and you. 

“You're into nasty old guys?”

You laugh as you walk away, turning to look at him as he grins at you. 

“Just this one.” 

He groans as he gets up, long legs chasing after you as you run away. It’s late, much later than he ever liked to stay up. But he’s home. He’s in your arms as he lets you fall back onto the bed, rejoicing in your laughter as he attacks your stomach with sporadic kisses. You’re here, and he’s home. 

You lay on your side, holding him to you, as he nods off against your chest. A tattooed arm is thrown over your waist while the other falls slack near your thigh. The pain of the night lingers idly, wondering what will become of itself. You’ve killed the envy inside you, held hands with the fragility of the red woman that had insisted on coming out of you.

Ran Haitani is a large man, not small by any means. But underneath the prying moonlight, you think he looks vulnerable. Men of hurt will only know hurt, while the good of the world remains a foreign entity. He’s lucky, in that sense. There is a woman to hold him as he sleeps, a woman he trusts enough to fall victim to. And if he came home to you covered in blood from head to toe, covered in the sin of the world, baring the weight of their tragedy, he’d stare at you and say “Disgusting, isn’t it?” And he’d watch you shake your head, ‘No’.

“It isn’t so bad.”

— heatwave

I’m suffering through the heatwave over here, and Bakugou is the only thing that could make it better or worse.

Warnings: 18+, not proofread, Bakugou is your roommate, sweaty sex, dirty talk, spanking, creampie.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 3.8k.

“It’s too damn hot,” Bakugou growled as he lay the back of his head against the couch. Even the soft, worn fabric was uncomfortable against his back. Retaining more heat than necessary paired with his body temperature it had sweat pooling against his skin.

Life as an up and coming Pro-Hero had been rough. With long shifts, terrible hours and little pay he was stuck in this dingy, stuffy apartment. Waiting for the day he’d add an extra figure onto his paycheck to have enough to move out. Things like air conditioning were a lavish luxury that he couldn’t afford right now, so it meant suffering through the torridness with a small ice pack he’d grabbed from the freezer.

The only bonus was having a roommate like you.

Originally Bakugou had been adverse to living under the same roof as someone, unable to trust anyone living in close quarters with him. There was an entire cacophony of issues that could arise from picking the wrong person— from being kept up all night, the mess they could leave behind to having friends or hookups in his shared space.

But you had been a godsend, understanding of his unsocial work schedule and his house rules. You could even argue that you were a better roommate than he was, with his friends delighting in showing up unannounced and causing a mess in his apartment. Something that you were always so understanding of when you’d join them for movie nights or dinner.

You were a blessing. Or now that he thought about it, perhaps it was a curse. Now forced to watch you practically saunter around in the shortest short shorts known to man in a feeble attempt to try and deal with the extreme temperatures. Your top half not much better, the stringy vest top you wore— without a bra no less— exposed your midriff and the cute stiffened peaks of your nipples. Not that he was looking, and even if he was what did you expect him to do.

Rubbing sweat from his upper lip as he spreads his legs wide on the couch as you made your way into the kitchen, his crimson eyes roaming your figure as the shorts hugged the swell of your ass perfectly. Dipping in between the cheeks as he imagined pulling them apart to see what was hidden between them, the material dangerously close to revealing it to him anyway—

You were doing absolutely nothing to help quell the heat oozing through his body. In fact, Bakugou was certain you were making it worse. His cock jumping at the sight of you, pulsing beneath his shorts as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Praying that this sudden heatwave would cease and he could stop being tortured by the sight of you like this every damn day, it was bad enough when he’d catch peeks of you in a towel coming from the bathroom towards your bedroom, or forgotten panties left strewn around. But this? This was unbearable.

“I can’t deal with this heat,” The whiny tone to your voice had Bakugou silencing a growl deep in his chest, watching you hold the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically, “I wanna sit in the freezer.”

“Don’t you dare.” Bakugou knew from experience the heat alone would be enough to shut down the entire machine, and you both definitely didn’t have enough money to replace it if it did.

And that freezer was the only thing satiating the heat so far. Shoving his melting ice pack against his chest, the contents quickly changing form to liquid as he tried to make the most of it before it would have to go back inside the freezer.

“Let me feel,” You came around the couch to stand in front of him, his eyes set in a heavy glare as he tried to weigh up whether it was worth letting you feel how cold the pack was.

It was bad enough having you so scantily clad in such short proximity to him right now, certain he could now smell the saccharine of your perfume as you pulled the top of your vest down, exposing the swell of your breasts as you presented your sternum to him.

Bakugou pushes the pack to your chest and immediately regrets it when the sound you let out is downright sinful. You have to know what you’re doing to him, the way your lips curl into a delicious looking pout and your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

“Oh god, that feels so fucking good.” You moaned, eyes clenched shut to focus on the cool chill that slowly washed over your chest.

His cock jumps in his shorts as he tries to shift his hips to avoid you from noticing the now very evident bulge, the throb pounding through his veins as he feels a different kind of heat beginning to take over.

He should stop here, take his ice pack back and tell you to go and sit in front of your mini desk fan again. Get you out of the room and as far away as possible and save this for another day, a day when you’re both not delirious from the intense heat.

But his depraved thoughts have already consumed him, the thought of your plush body pressed against his while he slides his throbbing cock inside you now at the forefront of his mind as he presses the pack lower. Watching as you arch your back towards it, welcoming the cool chill as you lean forward to splay your sweaty palms against his thick thighs.

And whether he’s delirious from the heat, or it’s the desperate look in your eyes he doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s kissing you fiercely, the ice pack drops forgotten between your bodies in favour of grabbing your hips.

“Fuck,” You kiss him back, words swallowed by his chapped lips as you feel the bulge between his thighs press snug against your crotch.

Your hands reach up to card through messy blond spikes as your nails graze his damp scalp, your tongue swiped against his as he palms your ass. Calloused fingertips disappear beneath the flimsy fabric as he squeezes the fat of it, tugging you down against his hardness as he pulls more sultry sounds from your throat.

“It’s too hot for this, Katsuki.” You whine, breaking the kiss as you gasp for air in the humid room.

At this chance Bakugou’s lips venture lower, peppering kisses along your jawline towards your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your vest. Tugging the fabric down to reveal your round breasts, his tongue pokes out to wet his lips at the marvellous sight.

His nighttime fantasies can’t compare to the sight in front of him, crimson eyes shamelessly ogle your skin to commit the sight to memory as he leans forward.

“Shut up,” He rasps back gruffly while mouthing your breast.

You’re right, it’s entirely too hot for any kind of strenuous activity, especially when he’s sweating so much it already feels like he’s run a marathon. But the way your soft body feels pressed against his is too much to pass up. Especially when this is what he’s been dreaming about ever since he moved in with you, fisting his cock too. It’s too much to leave it to chance that he may get this opportunity again later. Bakugou’s always been a greedy man, and he wants to have you now.

“Fuck,” You cry out when his teeth graze your nipple, pushing your crotch against his with more urgency.

Certain you’ve leaked through the flimsy fabric, desire surges through you dense and fast. A stark contrast to your lethargic movements as you grind yourself down on his lap pathetically.

“Katsuki,” You whine.

His strong hands are doing all the work as he moves you how he pleases. Strong palms pick you up by the meat of your ass to drop you back down on his length. Grinding your puffy clit against his pelvis with each motion as he has you crying out in pleasure.

“Fuck, Katsu. S’too hot—”

You weren’t sure whether it was the humid air permeating the room or the way that Bakugou was looking at you with smouldering eyes that had your body aflame. Muggy, vapid air filling your lungs as clammy hands stroked along his bare torso. Mapping out a course of newly discovered territory as you let your thumbs brush against his pebbled nipples, his chest vibrating against your touch with more sultry groans.

“I know you are, sweetheart.” He hummed, his fingers brushing the crotch of your shorts, “Let me make you feel good.”

“Oh,” You gasped when you felt the calloused pads stroke your labia, involuntarily leaning forward to give him more space as Bakugou began to spread you apart for him. Fingers gliding through your messy folds, dragging your essence along your slit until he found your puffy clit.

The contact had you jolting forward, nails grazing his chest as he focused his attention on it. Circling it tentatively with the pad of his finger as you began to rock your hips back against him, uncaring about how debauched you looked as you began to seek your own pleasure.

“Yeah?” He rasped, and the gravelly husk did nothing but increase the desperation inside you, “You like that?”

“Fuck, please—“ You buried your head in the curve of his neck, your lips pressed against the slick skin as you tasted the saltiness of his sweat on your tongue.

“Please what, sweetheart,” He cooed.

“Please—“ You gasped when you felt his thumb press against your empty hole. He knew exactly what you wanted, he was toying with you.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Your fingers.” You were shameless, your hips grinding back against him as Bakugou finally took mercy on you and pushed his thumb into your sloppy entrance. The slightest penetration enough to drag a deep moan from your throat as he kept his focus against your clit, leaning his head back against the couch to try and see the blissful expression on your face as he worked you with precision.

“Got no damn idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” He husked against your ear, lips soft against the shell as you clenched around him in response, “Always walkin’ round in those fuckin’ short shorts got me wanting to bend you over every surface in this house.”

“Oh fuck,” You mewled, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of your climax as he kept his pace constant against your clit, his thumb positioned to press against your spongy wall as his other hand tightened its grip on your ass. Spreading you open, as you found your bliss, “Katsuki.”

“That’s it, good girl.” He hummed, feeling your walls pulse around his digit as he kept his pace. Working you through your release as he pressed sloppy, wet kisses to your temple.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d wished the same, coming into the kitchen to see him still in full hero gear after work. Dirt and grime covering his body as his mask was pulled up over his forehead to show his blackened eyes, bending over to grab the carton of juice from the fridge as he held it up to his lips to chug it. Watching his Adam’s apple bob as the liquid flowed, giving you the perfect view of him as you tried to busy yourself to hide the fact you were blatantly staring.

Or the moments where he’d come out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on his hips to shout at you for using the taps in the kitchen while he was showering. The cheap apartment had one flow of hot water and it shut off that luxury whenever it was used elsewhere. The cold water catching him off guard as he glared at you, water droplets drooling down his perfect skin and making him look more like an ancient god or deity than your roommate.

“So why didn’t you?” You asked when you’d come down from your high.

“Huh?” Bakugou’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell me how you felt before.”

“I like livin’ with you,” He shrugged, “Didn’t wanna jeopardise that.”

“You wouldn’t have,” You smiled, pulling yourself back from his neck to meet his gaze, “I like you too.”

“That mean I can finally eat this pretty little pussy?” He groaned, shuffling his hips, “Been thinkin’ about it since the day I met you.”

“Later, please—” You pawed at the hard bulge between his thigh, his pre staining the fabric as you pressed against the tip.

“Fuck,” He grunted, shamelessly bringing his fingers to his lips to get a taste of you. His tongue sweeping against his digits to clean them of your slick, “Gonna take you over every damn surface in this house, princess.”

Your fingers curled into the hem of his shorts, Bakugou lifting his hips off the couch to help you drag them down just enough to free his heady cock— the sight of it better than you’d ever imagined in those nightly fantasies.

He was thick and long, bulging veins that forked along the length of him only made him seem that much more intimidating as his balls sat heavy at the base. Neatly trimmed blond hairs decorated his pelvis as they created a pretty trail along his abdomen, unable to resist running your hand along it as his stomach folded at the touch. A sharp hiss sucked sharp through his teeth as you wrapped your hand around him at the base, holding him steady so you could see the tip. The head a swollen pink as pre continued to bead at the slit, drooling down towards his frenulum as you moved to settle between his thighs. Wanting a taste of him yourself as you swiped your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock.

“Oi, I thought you said later,” He teased, rough hands steady on your hips to stop you from moving.

“Please,” You whined pathetically, “Wanna taste you.”

You brought your thumb to your lips as your tongue swiped at the surface, tasting him on your tongue as your lashes fluttered. Crimson eyes focused on your movements as his cock twitched in appreciation, tempted to let you do whatever you pleased. But he’d been waiting far too long for this moment, and there was no way he could wait any longer.

“You little minx,” He groaned as you sucked your thumb, “I promise later.” He groaned, tugging at your shorts, “Do you like these?”

“Yeah, they’re— what the fuck, Katsuki?”

You gasped when you heard the sharp sound of ripping fabric, “I said I liked them.”

“Sorry,” You could tell from the smug grin on his face that he was anything but as he positioned you above his leaky cock, “I gotta have you now.”

You held onto his shoulders as he wrapped a large fist around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick as he felt it catch against your tight entrance. His other hand on your hip slowly dropping you down onto his length as you felt the pleasurable ache of him stretching you open ebb through your pelvis.

“I got you, sweetheart,” He groaned, watching his cock slowly disappear inside you as he felt your warm walls wrap snugly around him, “Gonna take such good care of you.”

You felt hot, the heat radiating from your sex sweltering and yet you didn’t want to let go. The thick girth of his cock filled you perfectly as you felt him pressed against every ridge and groove of your cunt like he was made for you.

Your lips move together languidly, tasting the saltiness from his upper lip as you move together in tandem. Wet and sloppy while his tongue strokes yours, desperation evident by the way you try to deepen the kiss. As though you’re trying to melt into him, to feel him devour you whole.

“Oh, shit.” You choke back a cry when you feel the tip of his cock hit a spot deep inside you, certain you’ve never had something quite so big before.

You struggle to lift yourself up with your legs spread wide over his thick thighs as you grind yourself against his lap. Your clit catching against the trimmed hairs at his base as you roll your hips with desire, your chest pressed taut to his as you start a lazy pace. The scorching heat inside the apartment makes it difficult to breathe as you writhe in his lap, his warm breath fans against your skin almost feels cooler than the thick air clouding the room.

“Kats. It’s too hot.” You whine pathetically, your pace clumsy and sluggish as the desire inside you burns hot and heavy.

“You started this.” He retorts cockily with a smug smirk on his face.

“I did not.” You pout, “This is your fault.”

“Stop whinin’” He reaches back to bring his palm down on your ass in a rough smack, the sweatiness of his quirk has his skin tacking to you as it increases the sensation, clinging to your skin as you gasp in surprise. A painful pleasure courses through your veins as the skin prickles beneath his touch, your pliant walls clamping down around his girth in retaliation.

Without hesitating he reaches his large palms back to cup a cheek in each hand, lifting you up languidly as he marvels the glossy sheen your slick leaves on his cock.

“You just sit there and look pretty, let me do the work.” He spread is thighs wider, giving himself more air as he shifted your weight. Picking you up and dropping you down on his length as he listened to the pretty sounds that spilled from you like a siren, drawing him in and capturing his heart as you pulsed around him.

“Why couldn’t you have got an ice quirk?”

Clammy hands paw at his shoulders as Bakugou repeats the motion, skin tacking to skin as he bounces you on his cock. The kinetic energy builds heat swiftly and harsh as you feel the stickiness against your skin. Your wetness seeps out against his pelvis and matts the hair at his base, catching your clit with each drop of your hips.

“Shut the fuck up,” He scoffed, “You won’t be sayin’ that come winter.”

The thought of having his warm body to warm you during those cold winter months, still being with him then— had you clenching around him.

“Oh yeah? You like the sound of that?” He grinned, “Can feel this pussy clenchin’ around me.”

“Fuck, Katsuki.” The heat was becoming unbearable, radiating from your core as it burned molten lava. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as you danced on the crux of your release, gasping for air as he changed tact. Holding your hips tight under sweaty palms as he planted his feet flat on the ground, pistoning his hips up into your pliant sex, “There— oh, god. Right there—”

“That’s it,” He rasped, watching your tits bounce with each rapid thrust, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

“‘m gonna cum,” You choked out between moans, feeling the curved tip of his cock drag against the spongy spot inside you with each thrust, “Oh shit—”

“Cum for me,” He growled, “Cum all over my cock.”

The tips of Bakugou’s thumbs pressed against your pelvis, tightening his grip as it only increased the pressure. Sweat trickling down your temples as he sent you vaulting over the edge into euphoria.

“Good girl,” He grunted, feeling your walls clamp down around his cock as you willed him to come with you, trying to milk him of his seed.

The pleasure was unlike anything you’d felt before, mind-numbingly intense as you cried out a jumbled mess of his name. Your nails digging crescent moons into his skin as he hissed beneath you, shamelessly searching for his own end as the heat radiated from your body. Sliding against each other from the sweat that now trickled down your skin, leaving a glossy sheen against you both as he used you for his own pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bakugou grunted, moving to lift you off his cock before you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, unbothered about the stifling heat in the room as you kept him tight against you.

“Cum inside me, Katsuki.” You gasped a he choked back a grunt, your words all it took to meet his own end.

His guttural moans are sinful, erotic as you cling to him with fervour. Committing the sensation to memory as though it’s the last time you’ll have him like this, as if the heat has him in this delirious state. And maybe it does—

You never thought Bakugou could look so pretty like this, completely vulnerable as he exposes his most intimate self to you. Thick, white spurts of cum spurt from his tip as he empties his balls inside you.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathes hot and heavy as you feel his chest rise and fall against yours.

Bodies slumped together on the couch as you feel the dampness of skin against skin, your vest that now sits useless around your waist is soaked and warm as the fabric clings to your body.

“I’m so sticky,” You whine childishly, making no attempt to move as Bakugou’s fingers trace absent-minded patterns along your exposed back.

“How the fuck dya think I feel?” He rasps, “My ass is stuck to the couch.”

“Eww,” You tease, running your nose along his collarbone as you take in the musky scent of him, “We’ll have to get another couch.”

He catches you by surprise as he presses the forgotten ice pack to the back of your neck, although it’s mostly melted it’s a stark contrast to your sweltering body as you flinch in surprise. Your cunt clenches around him at the sensation as Bakugou grunts from the attention.

“Oh shit, don’t do that sweetheart—“ He hisses, wrapping an arm around your back to hold you tight against him, “You’ll make me hard again.”

Something that you’re not sure you’d mind, even though your body is screaming out for a different kind of relief now. Desperate to cool your temperature down as you scrunch your nose in irritation.

“I feel so gross.” You complain as he gives your ass another playful spank as you barely move from the impact, your bodies stuck together with a mixture of heat and sweat.

“Got no one to blame but yourself, princess,” He groans, “I was just mindin’ my business until you came over in those little shorts.”

“You weren’t complaining when you were balls deep.” You moved your head back to glare at him.

“My balls feel like they’re on fire now,” He scoffs, leaning forward to peck your pouty lips, “Cold shower?” He asks, although he’s already decided he’s showering with you— he’s taking every moment he can with you now.