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After weeks away for “work”, Marc finally returns home completely touch-starved and desperate to be close to you. From the moment he walks through the door, the longing and pent-up desire spill over.
Marc Spector had been gone for weeks, buried in whatever dangerous work kept pulling him away. The second he crossed the threshold of your shared place, the door barely shut behind him before his hands were on you. His grip was desperate, fingers digging into your shoulders as he yanked you close. “God, I need you,” he rasped against your mouth, voice rough from disuse and exhaustion. His body pressed flush to yours, already hard in his pants, hips shifting restlessly like he couldn't hold still.
You backed him toward the couch without breaking the kiss, tongues sliding hot and urgent. Marc moaned into it, the sound low and needy, his touch-starved skin twitching under every brush of your palms. He was shaking slightly, breath coming fast as you shoved him down to sit. His legs spread automatically, cock straining visibly against the fabric.
“Please,” he breathed, eyes dark and glassy as he looked down at you. "I've been thinking about your mouth for days."
You dropped to your knees between his thighs, hands working his belt open with quick efficiency. Marc lifted his hips to help, shoving his pants and underwear down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip from how pent-up he was. You wrapped a hand around the base, stroking once slow and firm, and Marc's head fell back against the cushions with a groan.
“Fuck, yes. Just like that,” he muttered, one hand coming down to thread through your hair. His fingers tightened, not pushing yet, just holding on like he needed the anchor. You leaned in and dragged your tongue along the underside, from base to head, tasting the salt of him. Marc's thighs tensed hard around you. “Shit—more. Suck it.”
Your lips part and you take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking firmly. The heat of him fills you as you sink lower, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks. Marc's hips buck slightly, but you hold him down with a firm grip on his thighs. You bob your head, taking more each time, saliva dripping down his length to slick your strokes. The wet sounds fill the room as you work him deeper, throat relaxing to swallow around the tip when it hits the back.
Marc's breathing turns ragged, his free hand clutching the couch cushion. “You're killing me. Feels so fucking good. Don't stop, please don't stop.” His words spill out between moans, voice cracking with need. You pull off for a moment, strings of spit connecting your lips to his glistening cock, then dive back in, sucking harder. Your tongue swirls around the head on each upstroke, pressing into the sensitive spot just below.
He thrusts shallowly into your mouth now, unable to hold still. “You own me right now,” Marc admits, eyes half-lidded and dark with lust. “Been gone too long. This cock's all yours. Suck it like you mean it.”
You double down, one hand cupping his balls while the other strokes what your mouth can't reach. Your pace quickens, head moving in steady rhythm as you take him to the hilt. Marc's moans grow louder, body trembling from the overload after so much time without touch. His cock throbs against your tongue, pulsing with every suck. You hum around him, the vibration making his hips jerk.
“I'm close,” he warns, voice strained. “Gonna cum down your throat if you keep that up.” But you don't let up, swallowing around him again and again until his grip on your hair turns desperate. Marc's release hits with a guttural cry, hot spurts flooding your mouth as his cock twitches. You swallow every drop, licking him clean as he shudders through the aftershocks, still hard and sensitive in your grip.
You swallowed around him, milking every drop, not pulling off until he softened slightly on your tongue.
Marc slumped back, chest rising and falling fast, hand still loosely in your hair. “Come here,” he whispered, voice hoarse. Marc pulls you up into his lap afterward, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue. “Fucking missed you,” he whispers, already hardening again against your thigh.
summary: the first time he asks, you say no. the next few times become a game to him.
warnings: refused proposal, angst (with a good ending), mentions of the operation from the movie, tom is mentioned like once or twice (yes this counts as a warning), brief mentions of ptsd and unhealthy ways to cope with it (drinking), a tiny smut scene
tags: gn!reader, fluff, santi being silly, the first few scenes are really angsty but I promise it mainly gets silly and cute after that!!
please mind that for artistic reasons (lmao), the first few scenes are not following a linear chronology (I wanted to point that out in case it gets confusing)
word count: 3k
masterlist | taglist | ao3
updates blog: @eyelessupdates
The tip of your fingers drum nervously against the counter; the sound is awful mixed with the aggressive rumbling of the coffee machine. Like every other morning, you watch the birds outside the kitchen window, pecking through the bowl of mixed seeds, and like every other morning, you feel Santiago’s hand gently resting over your lower stomach as the prickle of his stubble scratches your cheek when he kisses it.
You hear him pull the stool to sit at the bar table, like every other morning, and like every other morning, you give him the coffee you just made – though hesitantly, this time – before you make yourself one.
And just like every other morning, he checks on his phone as he waits for his coffee to cool down, the smoke curling up in the air, swirls visible through the ray of sunshine piercing through the kitchen.
You gaze at him, at the way he scrolls through the news page on his phone, your stomach churning at the fact you’re both trying so hard to act like yesterday was an evening like every other one and like this morning is the natural follow up of a perfectly normal situation.
Then, all you can hear is the coffee machine, your coffee pouring and the birds outside, chirping.
“Are we gonna act like nothing happened?”
He looks up from his phone, to you.
“Isn’t that what you want?” he quirks an eyebrow at you, his morning voice deep and raspy.
You huff out a small breath through your nose. “No” the coffee machine stops, but you remain facing Santiago. “I want things to be clear between us.”
He puts his phone down onto the counter, with a small chuckle as both of his hands rub the sleep off of his face. “You made things clear sweetheart.”
—
Your body was curled at the edge of your side, your arm hanging off the bed, fingers brushing the cool floor. Sleep had been hard to find, for the both of you; you felt Santiago move behind you across the bed, turning to face the opposite direction.
How could either of you possibly sleep tonight?
Your heart ached inside your chest, your mind full and feeling like your head was about to explode, so you couldn’t even imagine how he must feel.
“Santi,” your voice was weak, quieter than you had anticipated.
He hummed softly in response, just enough to let you know he was listening.
You waited an instant. It all burned your tongue, everything you could possibly say to him.
“I love you” you reminded him, as if innocently trying to press a bandaid over the wide crack you had managed to create earlier. It felt stupid. You knew this wouldn’t fix the broken pieces.
Maybe it was even making things worse.
Santiago could hear the beating of his own heart reverberating through his ears; for you, the room was dead silent, and it remained like this for what seemed to be an eternity, during which you considered leaving the bedroom to take a breath outside, before he finally said,
“I know.”
—
The ride back home had been oppressively quiet. Santiago's playlist, though playing at the lowest volume, had somehow managed to mingle with the shitload of thoughts running through your mind, and the rhythmic drumming of his fingers against the steering wheel felt like a desperate attempt to ease the sickening tension between the both of you and to make it feel like it all wasn’t awfully awkward.
Back at your shared home, you watched as he slid his jacket over the coat rack like he was on autopilot before you followed, hanging yours beside his.
You glanced at him as he mindlessly tossed his cap over the couch. It felt like the right moment to address the elephant in the room – though you weren't truly sure there was a right moment to talk about this.
“Santi I–” you started, words dying in your throat, unsure where you were even going. He turned and sat against the back of the couch, knowing where the conversation was headed, his hands shoving into his pockets. “It’s alright,” he said quietly, his voice low, resigned. “You don’t have to explain anything. I get it.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to marry you.” you affirmed. His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a tight line as he looked at you. Out of all the things you could say, he hadn’t anticipated this.
You could distinctly see the hurt and confusion in his flickering eyes. “Then what is this? Because that’s sure as hell what it felt like tonight.”
You hated this. Hated to see him ache, knowing it was all your fault. Hated to hear the self defensive sarcasm in his voice – hated to see his conflicted furrowed brow. “It's just– not the right time.” you explained. You took a breath, stepping towards him, getting closer, but not too much. You could already see the frustration building up inside him, you didn’t want him to feel cornered.
“You don't know what you're doing. You're still processing what happened in South America”
It had only been a month; he was still having nightmares, was still dissociating at random times, was still pouring himself a glass at random times of the day, more often than he should.
You knew you were right. You wondered if he thought you were.
He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and you talked again when you started to see the defensiveness, the way his mouth gaped slightly as he searched for his words.
“You’re not doing this for us. You’re doing this for you, because you’re scared. You’re scared of things slipping away from you, so you jump head first into things to feel like you have control over your life. That’s what this proposal felt like”
He rubbed the stubble of his chin, nodding, not like he understood or agreed, like he acknowledged what you were saying. His hand buried in his jeans pocket again. "You think this is just because of what happened? I’ve been sure about this for a long time. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t." his eyes darkened, his jaw working as he processed the conversation. “You think I don’t mean it.” he said quietly, more of a statement than a question.
“I'm not sure,” you pinched your lips, stepping towards him, desperate to make him understand. “I mean, I know you mean it. I know. But Santi… Ever since you came back–” you shook your head. His jaw tightened, the crease of his brows becoming more visible. “You’re trying to hold on to something, to control something, because so much of what happened out there was out of your hands. That proposal– it felt like a reaction to everything, like you’re trying to ground yourself, to finally have control over something in your life.”
He shook his head, a small sigh leaving his mouth. “It wasn’t. I just didn’t want to waste any more time.” he nodded, a pleading look over his face. Your heart clenched inside your chest. “I know it may seem rushed after what happened, with Tom and everything, but–” he stopped when he saw you wince. “I want to make the most of my life. With you”
The confession should make you feel all giddy, just like the proposal was supposed to. It just makes your heart tighten inside your chest.
“So, I’m right.” you raised your eyebrows at the way he just proved your point. “You’re doing this because of the operation.”
You sighed with a shake of your head, your hand trying to rub away the ache lodged inside your skull. “So no, I don’t want to marry you out of emergency. Ask me again when we have it all sorted out, and I’ll say yes”
He nodded, biting his tongue. He knew he didn't have room to talk back on this, because he knew you were probably right.
“Jesus, Santi” you sighed, shaking your head once again, before you disappeared through the hallway.
—
“I don’t want you to feel like shit over this,” you say, turning away to pick up your coffee. His lips tighten into a sheepish smile before he brings his own cup to his mouth.
A soft frown grows over his face as he points a finger at you, his mouth still full. “So, next time,” he starts, having barely finished swallowing his sip. “Bigger ring, better speech, delivery?” he asks teasingly, testing the waters.
You huff out a small, genuine laugh, relieved he’s taking it lightly, and an easy smile grows over his face when he sees yours.
You lean in against the counter, onto your forearms, humming in reflection.
“Ring is perfect. Speech, delivery… I’d say save your talent in smoothness for our vows” you grin.
“Okay,” he chuckles, “So we're really getting married at some point” he grins, sliding his hand into yours.
“At some point,” you shrug playfully, gently squeezing his hand. “It just has to be the right time” you nod, more serious now.
“The right time…” he hums pensively, nodding slowly.
—
It starts rather innocently, at first, before it becomes a silly little game to him.
The tension regarding the proposal has gradually eased between the both of you, and you have managed to find your regular dynamic again, not needing to sleep on opposite edges of your shared bed anymore.
It happens for the first time two weeks after the proposal, while you are getting ready to go to work; you’re almost done brushing your teeth, Santiago standing by your side doing the same, when he asks, out of the blue, “Would this be the right time?”
You frown at his reflection in the mirror, unsure what he means, leaning above the sink to spit out your foaming toothpaste.
“What?” you ask, turning to him – his toothbrush is hanging from his mouth, his hand holding an open ring box. You freeze, once again, the same way you did the first time.
“Marry me?” he asks, the toothbrush hanging out of his mouth moving as he speaks, his toothpaste-full mouth making the question almost unintelligible. You would think he’s being serious if he didn’t go back to brushing his teeth with his free hand as soon as he asked the question, and if he didn’t immediately follow into breaking into a laugh, rushing to empty his mouth full of toothpaste in the sink.
“Very funny,” you sigh, your heart still thumping inside your chest as you watch him rinse his mouth.
“Oh you should have seen your face, babe” he chuckles facing you again, a playful grin plastered over his face.
“Too bad you will never know my answer to the question,” you tease. He huffs out a laugh, wiping away the bit of dry toothpaste in the corner of your mouth before he kisses you.
The next time it happens is more spontaneous, less staged on his part and more subtle – though still somewhat gently pushy.
You’re trying to assemble a shelf, reading over and over again the instruction manual that might as well be written in another language; Santiago’s sighing as he checks every side and angle of the half built piece of furniture, trying to figure out where it went wrong, when he confidently affirms, “If we can get through this, I think we can go through marriage.”
And from there, it goes on, and on.
It's little jokes about it thrown randomly through the weeks, making you playfully hit his chest with the back of your hand.
It's him getting on one knee, looking up at you with soft eyes, before he eventually just ends up tying his shoe.
It's him opening the ring box at the most random situations.
It all gets so frequent you don’t even get surprised when he kneels to grab something from the shelf when you're out for groceries, then shifting to one knee and dramatically pulling the ring box out of his jacket to present it to you.
“Santi, c’mon, your knees!” you urge him up, offering your hand for help, giggling like a teenager as you look around making sure no one actually thinks he's serious. He laughs and gets up, putting the item he was originally grabbing in the cart. “Are you really carrying that ring everywhere with you?” you scold him, pulling on his arm as you cling to him.
He shrugs. “You never know when it might happen,” he grins playfully.
He's not, in the slightest, kidding. He even does it in the middle of sex once.
He's under you, his grip hot and firm over your hips as you roll against his lap, small gasps leaving your lips swollen from kissing; he pulls your upper body down to his, silencing your desperate moans by licking into your mouth as he fucks up into you, one hand pressed against your back, the other gripping your side.
His hand comes to rest at your neck once he pulls away. “If this doesn’t make you wanna marry me, I don’t know what will” he breathes out, reaching to his bedside table to grab the small box resting there.
You grip his wrist. “Don’t do that to me. You know I’d say yes to anything right now” you whine, drawing a huffed laugh out of him. “You’re not playing fair”
He laughs into your neck, planting a kiss there.
Spring quickly fades into summer, so it gets more and more frequent for you and Santiago to spend your weekend evenings at the boys’; it is at Will’s place this time, so like each time you’re there, they play poker, and because Benny is a sore loser, he ends up hanging out with you by the firepit, further away from the group.
“So, are you actually gonna say yes one day?” Benny asks, handing you your glass refill, pulling the empty chair by your side to sit down next to you.
You smile, amused as you take your glass from Benny’s hand. You know the subject is no secret to anyone, but it still manages to make your heart leap inside your chest each time someone mentions it.
“It would require him to actually ask” you say with a tilt of the head before you take a sip of your drink.
Benny hums thoughtfully.
There’s a silence between you before you can hear a sudden commotion of laughs further away and Frankie’s familiar bragging sneer, breaking the prior focused mood of their poker table. You smile as you watch them, your attention drifting back to Benny when he nudges you with his bottle of beer. “You know, for as long as I’ve known Pope, he’s always had commitment issues.” he nods, a small scoff breaking through. “Could rarely keep a girlfriend long enough for us to see her twice. Hell, you should see how many girls he’s had casual sex with, it’s–”
“Okay Benny, you don’t have to–” you scoff, holding a hand up to stop him.
“I know, I know, it’s not something you wanna hear” he laughs, shaking his head.
“What I mean is if the Santiago Garcia I know is asking you to marry him, he means it.” he shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.
“I know,” you mutter casually, like he just said the most banal thing ever when in reality your stomach flutters at Benny’s words and you suddenly feel like a teenager with a crush.
The night goes on and quiets down until eventually, everyone ends up leaving or going to bed; Will offered his sofa bed for you and Santiago to sleep on, and you both agreed to accept, admitting you were too tired to drive back home.
“So how many games did you win?” you ask him, sliding underneath the thin cover to press yourself against him.
He chuckles, extending his arm so you can slot close to him. “Only one”
“You suck”
He grins at your teasing. “I’ll never be worse than Benny”
You chuckle, pressing your lips against his stubbled cheek. His hand slides down your back, pulling you even closer against him before he slips it underneath your shirt, his thumb dragging back and forth against your bare skin.
Your mouths meet when his other hand cups your face, his broad hands roaming onto your sides and back when you fully lie over him, the kiss deepening as his tongue slips into your mouth and you start full on making out; you would be fucked if anyone came by the living room to use the bathroom, but either of you could care less.
“Hm, I could ask you to marry me right now” he hums, barely pulling away from your lips; he’s still so close, so close that you can feel him smile. You chuckle, your hand burying into the short curls at the side of his head. “No, I mean it,” he affirms in a serious whisper, adjusting his position under you. “Look, I’m done joking. Marry me”
You back away, enough to be able to read his expression.
Something in his eyes tells you he might be serious, this time. “Really?”
He nods. “Yes. Fuck, I don’t even have the ring right now.”
You grin softly, shifting to rest by his side again. “You’re good. You’re really good.” you prop yourself onto your elbow, your other hand resting against his chest. “Because you’ve done it so many times throughout literally months and I’m actually surprised now that you’re asking for real” he smiles at that, his hand resting over yours.
“You know, I’m still waiting for my answer” he grins.
You shrug playfully. “Eh, you don’t have any ring, so I don’t know–” you tease, stopping when he rolls over you and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss him back, your hands burying into his hair again. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
He smiles contentedly, his eyes softly roaming over your face.
“I meant it the first time I asked” he admits, pinching his lips into a small smile. You mirror it, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone.
“But I get why you said no. And you were right to. But it’s kinda crazy that it’s now happening in Will’s living room” he snorts up a laugh, and you burst out laughing, before you quiet yourself with the palm of your hand against your mouth.
“I know, right? But it could have been at Walmart, so”
He chokes up a laugh, burying his face against your chest.
“Yeah, it could have been at Walmart.”
—
any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!
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he hadn't stopped. everytime he finished, he kept his cock inside you in mating press, muttering something about how "he needed to make sure you always had him". at some point, you blinked at him, cupping his cheek in your hand.
"anakin, what's wrong with you today? i mean, you know i have no qualms about sex with you but you seem a little off." you keep your voice soft.
the question seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in, as he stared at you. you try to concentrate as his cock is still buried inside you, the pressure somewhat overstimulating you as he hasn't stopped in over an hour. instead of responding, he starts kissing you, around your face, on your lips, down your neck.
"ani." your voice cracks, as he sucks softly beneath your ear. he doesn't respond. you feel him start to grow inside you again, thicker, growing against your walls, as he leans down against your clit. your
eyes well with tears, sucking in a deep breath.
"m'just been on so many missions baby..." he grunts, this clearly affecting him too, but he won't let on as much. you furrow your eyebrows, wondering what this really has to do with anything. sure, he has, but he's never been like this before. he presses your legs further back, tipping his forhead against yours. as he finds his release again inside you, you feel his hot breath against yours,
"just need to make sure you have me forever. carry our baby."
your eyes widen as you realize what he's been doing.
clay beresford:
he had known he was having heart issues for a while. he constantly reassured you he would be fine in the surgery, that he would make it out completely fine and there was nothing to worry about. he could see it in your eyes, that you still were beyond concerned. the way you bit your lip everytime he brought it up, tried to change the subject immediately.
at some point, maybe he did think about it too. what would happen if he didn't make it out of the surgery and you were left with nothing, he was gone. he sat in his office, staring out the window, his lips twisted into a frown. your beautiful face, in tears, he didn't want to think about it. but he could think of a way, maybe, to leave you with something. if all went wrong, if there was the possibility he truly didn't make it out. and in a sick and twisted way, a way for you to never forget him, no matter what happened.
"baby." you sat in his lap on the couch, as he pressed soft kisses against your lips. you cocked your head at him, letting him go on.
"i know you've been worried about the surgery," he starts and you sigh, looking away, your shoulders sagging and he can tell you're starting to check out of the conversation. "no, no. listen to me. let me give you a baby."
your head snaps back towards him, a look in your eyes he hasn't seen before. "clay."
"i want to make sure you have me. if something does go wrong..."
"you're suggesting i become a single mother. that's not exactly as romantic as you're trying to frame it."
clay doesn't want to be agitated by your response, but he is. that isn't what he means by this, and he believes in the success of this procedure so no, you won't be a single mother. and why wouldn't you want to always remember him? through a child at that?
"you won't be, though. the procedure will be fine."
"so why do i need to be pregnant." you cross your arms. he sighs. you're stubborn. he'll have to go about this the way he wants, not the way you want. which involves replacing your birth control. but you won't know that. and you'll be happy once you realize he made it out and you'll be parents together.
sam monroe:
it was an accident. you think. you and sam had been caught up in the moment, truly just happy that your parents were gone for the weekend. you remember him asking if he should just take the condom off, you, in the moment agreed. he had gone on some spiel, one he had definitely either seen or heard in some porn, about how he wanted to cum inside you, but it did the trick.
"fuck baby. you're so tight." sam was behind you, gripping your ass, as you whined wiggling against him. "wanna fill you up. please."
"oh sam, i dunno..." your voice was garbled against the mattress along with the throaty moans mixed in.
"it'll feel so good baby, i promise." he grunts, giving your ass another squeeze. the idea of pleasure from him already being intensified makes you throb, so you dumbly nod your head.
"m'kay."
and he did. the sensation truly felt not much different to you, but he was in pure ecsatsy so you didn't mind.
at the time, anyways. now you do. when your period was late, when you started tracking your cycle, seeing how late it truly was, pacing around your room, deciding whether or not you needed a pregnancy test. in the end, you did get one. your hands shaky as you peed over it, tears welling in your eyes, because this can't be real? could it?
it was. those lines were very much real, the call to sam was very much real. after a moment of silence, his response was,
"does that mean i can continue nutting in you now? since you're pregnant?"
james kelly:
james never wanted a child until he saw you interact with one, really. was always impassive about it, never a second glance at a child. but he saw you one day, cooing at a baby, your sisters, talking about how "isn't she just the sweetest" and whatnot. he thought about it all day, the way that could be his child. his child on your arm, showing to people his child was the sweetest, that you truly belonged to him.
so as he fucked you stupid that night, whining and limp on the bed, he mutters into your ear. "gonna make you a mommy. how's that baby."
and maybe you don't realize the ramifications of what he said, or maybe you do and don't care, he can't tell. but you nod, whimpering out a 'god yes'.
"yeah? you wanna be full of me so i can breed you baby? want all that?" he's harder than he's ever been, he thinks, imagining you round with his baby, being able to take care of you.
"fuck, james, yes." you're pushing up to meet his thrusts into you, as if you want to feel him deeper inside you. he holds out his release as long as possible, to feel you on him, around him, to make sure this is the one that impregnates you. and if not, he knows he'll fuck you dumb until he can.
i saw someone saying on twitter about a woman who said that her boyfriend was so nervous when propose her that he forgot everything and ended up just getting on his knees saying “please”.
i hope every writer who reads this makes the best of it
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thinking about watching jean play pool at some dingy, uni bar... the way his hands flex around the cue. the teasing from his friends breaking his concentration and the smile that splits across his face when he looks up to find you already staring at him...
Virgin bkg who’s so painfully stupid but acts so arrogant. And when it’s getting heated and you’re making out and want to see his dick… he gets all shy and embarrassed because he doesn’t know if it looks normal or as good as the other ones you’ve seen. When you ask what’s wrong he tells you it’s curved and you think it’s like BENT then he lets you see and it’s the prettiest most orgasm inducing upward curve you’ve ever seen on a dick.
bakugou katsuki knows why he is a virgin. it’s pretty simple really despite the fact he is surrounded by beautiful women often. socialites, the new buzzing influencers, actors and pro heroes like.
it’s because he’s obsessed with his job. always has been. since he was a child who was dreaming of becoming a hero, to his teenage years fighting wars to now in his twenties, working towards becoming number one.
women and mostly importantly, getting his dick wet, has never been number one on his list of priorities. sure when he’d go to film premiers for that hero franchise he loves, occasionally a gorgeous woman would talk to him.
but the thing about growing up uninterested in sex and the only women around him being his friends that share the same heroic goals… well bakugou has never been very good at flirting. which again, was mostly okay since he would just walk away when a woman was about to talk to him.
until he met you that is. the first woman to make him dream of more, that made him unable to get through a shower without tugging one out to the thought of you. that during patrols, he’d think about texting you. what are you up to? where are you? when the hell can he kiss you next?
anyone is experienced compared to bakugou. he’s kissed a girl once in his third year of ua. he’s made out with two in his early twenties.
but now at twenty six this is first time having a woman in his apartment, on his bed, on his lap. he feels like a rabid animal. unsure where to put his hands with the desperate need to touch everywhere so he leaves them on the globes of your ass, squeezing every few seconds when all the feelings inside of him gets intense.
he knows he’s flushed red. he knows his dick is hard and you can feel it through your leggings. but you’re so perfect, leading the moment, letting him react however the hell he wants.
bakugou releases a loud moan when you stick your tongue down his throat, breasts pressed against his chest like you want to live in his skin. he’s never felt a woman like this before, he feels as if the word virgin is in capital letters printed onto his forehead.
he hasn’t told you directly he is but he thinks you know.
“you’re so… fuck. this is so fucked up,” he breathes into your mouth and your fingers rake up into the hair on his nape.
your grin makes his heart skip a beat, falter slightly and he swears he gets winded.
you’re out of breath, chest heaving and your pussy is a centimetre away from sitting on his cock.
“why’s it fucked up? you okay?” you brush your nose against his softly, smoothing out his eyebrow with your thumb. “you look hot, do you want to take your top off?”
you’re being so sweet to him and he appreciates it, he does. but as soon as he knows what he’s doing he’s gonna treat you right. properly.
for now, he’s just worried he doesn’t have what it takes.
“oh, err, fuck. sorry, yeah i will,” he mumbles to you, yanking off his white tee from the neckline.
bakugou enjoys how your eyes glow, scanning his half naked body like it’s something you can eat. your hands immediately flatten against his chest. down his toned abdomen. up to his fat squishy pectorals. he’s never had someone touch him like this. he couldn’t be harder.
“you don’t have to apologise, you know. this is new for us both.”
“you’re not the fuckin’ virgin here.” he bites, “i’ve never even had a woman in my room.”
he can tell you like that idea. you inch closer to him on his lap, your hands are back on his shoulders. you brush your lips over his.
“i don’t know how. look at you.”
and you’re back to making out with him. slower this time. tasting all the flavour from his tongue.
you softly bite down on his bottom lip and like a ring of the doorbell, bakugou opens up to let you in. it’s wet peck after wet peck, tilting your head to taste more of him. he’s eager, too eager ducking closer to you, as to not waste any time with your lips off his. you can only think that if he kisses with this much passion, you’re dying to know how he’d fuck.
bakugou tightly grips your ass and without meaning to, he shoves you directly onto his cock.
you mewl like a cat, hips grinding down onto him like you can’t help it. “you feel so good, ‘tsuki.”
you feel good because of him. him.
your tongue sneaks into his mouth, twirls and brushes against his. he learns quickly, you’ll give him that. his tongue dances against yours, licking up everything you offer. you feel his body vibrate, his dick twitch. you begin sucking on his tongue and that’s when he releases a harsh grunt. you’re soaked.
“let me see it.” you palm his cock through his shorts, “let me see.”
bakugou opens his eyes, pulls away from your mouth for a moment.
“i… fuck.” he’s back to mumbling. then stupidly, he looks down at the lump in his fabric.
“you… you don’t have to?” you offer, unsure about his wide eyes, “we can keep kissing?”
“it’s just that… it’s just….,” bakugou looks up to the ceiling.
he’d love for you to touch him, do anything to him but nobodies seen his dick before. sure he’s seen some porn videos but he’s never seen a dick like his in them. he’s googled and nothing said there’s anything particularly wrong about his.
but what if you find it weird, what if it puts you off him completely?
“talk to me, baby,” you push, laying a kiss on his jaw. then making a line down his neck. “wanna make you feel good.”
he’d like that.
“listen. seriously.”
you pull off him at that, sitting up on his lap, your hands at his waist. he is stupidly gorgeous. puffy pink lips because of you. his long straight eyelashes. his beautiful cheekbones and that eyebrow slit.
“i’m listening. tell me anything.” you soften your tone, trying to get the horny out your eyes. your tits are basically spilling out your vest top and you don’t miss bakugou’s pupils darting to and from them every few seconds.
“i think…. i…”
you don’t speak.
katsuki takes a deep breath. he almost shouts without meaning to. “nobody has seen my dick before but me. right?”
you nod with a frown, unsure where this is going. “okay. nothing’s wrong with that.”
bakugou winces. he isn’t built for this. he’s always been attractive physically. his body works better than the average. can run at speed, stealthy, built for hero work. his quirk is best of the best and is only getting stronger by the day. but using his body for sex? that’s something he has no clue about.
“it might not be normal lookin’? like it works fine, i’ve never had any problems with it? but it might be odd for you.”
you’re immediately imagining the worst. it’s not small. you felt it a second ago between your legs. heck, you’ve seen it when he walks around in those stupid grey joggers. oddly coloured, oddly shaped? is it too big?
“what’s wrong?” you tilt your head.
his whole face is flushed. a beautiful pink to the apples of his cheeks. you would kiss them if he wasn’t so serious right now.
he closes his eyes, leans his head back on his headboard. his hands stay on your thighs. you tap his chest.
“c’mon tell me.”
he exhales sharply.
“my dick is fuckin’ curved. to the left. i don’t know why.” he blurts, embarrassment written all over him, “it’s always been like that.”
for him to be this stressed about it, it must be abnormal. is it like a hook? you’ve seen one like that on one of those medical reality shows. would it be able to go inside if you? you so badly want him inside of you.
you shrug. you can’t imagine anything about this man being less than perfect. “it can’t be that bad, baby.”
you rub his chest soothingly but his face doesn’t soothe you one bit.
“i’m fuckin’ sorry. i brought you here and we’re goin’ so well and—,”
“let me see. let me see your dick, c’mon,” you smile softly.
you sink your hand to touch his crotch again.
“you sure? i don’t want you to be put off me like i’m a freak—,”
“katsuki. come on.”
it’s in slow motion. your mouth immediately start salivating, his hands grip the elastic waistband of his shorts. he pulls it down in one go with his underwear.
“oh katsuki. baby…. honey.”
this man has nothing to worry about. bakugou katsuki has on him a cock that can rival your favourite dildos. it curves to the left, a smooth pleasing curve that you already know will hit your softest spots. you swallow your spit, your hands inching up his thighs. it’s darker at the base, twitching under your attention with two round balls (one a little larger than the other) at the bottom.
he is hefty. heavy. thick like a tree trunk with veins darting up the sides. you imagine the weight of it in your mouth. the deep pinkish purplish head on your tongue. most of all, you imagine it curved inside, pushing a sweet orgasm out of you.
of course, this big idiot didn’t know what he had on him. part of you wants to lie, never let him know how good he has it so he doesn’t go around sharing his goods. but you need to, it’s written all over your face.
“you must be joking, katsuki,” you hum, delighted. you run your finger down his shaft.
his hips jolt, eyes lazing slightly from your attention. he’s so hard it’s getting painful.
“what? what? spit it out.”
“you need to fuck me. doesn’t have to be now but someday. you have to.” you whine, “you don’t get it at all.”
“what? it’s not a problem? this okay with you?” he stutters, unable to keep a steady head as you sink down the bed to rest your chest on his legs. now you’ve got your face right in front of his dick, as if you’re measuring the curve by degrees.
you want to lick him.
“you’ve got a pornstar dick. a dick they base dildos off,” you breathe. the look in your eye is wild, untamed. “you’d feel amazing. even if you don’t know how to use it. you need let me bounce on it.”
bakugou blinks down at you. he doesn’t quite believe what he’s hearing, fuck, he doesn’t know what to do about you. not one bit did he think you’d even have this reaction.
“w-what… i know how to use my own dick.” is all he can manage but you shake your head.
you flick your eyes up to him, “we’re gonna learn together, okay? can i… can i…” you flatten your tongue against his shaft and give him one lick up.
bakugou’s sure he’s about to come any second now.
“y-yes but be fuckin’ careful. i don’t wanna nut on your face.”
Early Jackson 5 fans had their own headcanons ❦⋆ .❦on magazines❦. ⋆❦
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Vintage Jackson 5 teen fan magazines, likely Tiger Beat, 16 Magazine, or a Jackson 5 Fan Club magazine. Year: c. 1971–1972
Vintage fan magazine spread inviting readers to imagine spending time with each Jackson 5 brother. These captions describe romantic or playful scenarios with Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, and Marlon, reflecting the kind of celebrity fantasy and fan culture that was popular in the early 1970s.
Articles and captions placed readers in fictional romantic scenarios with Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael, showing that creating fantasy stories, “what if” scenarios, and celebrity crushes was already a normal part of fan culture decades before the internet.
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