Wish I Was Fictional

The sound of their collective panting filled the air, the thud of fists against skin echoing off the walls as they tested each other.

Quick jabs, hits to the ribs; it was push and pull as they were nearly on equal ground, two decorated professionals with national titles.

You had to keep a close eye— track his movements to take note of any injuries, run over how exactly you would deal with each one. It was your job to.

But, admittedly, you found your gaze wandering against your will lately. More often than you wanted to admit.

It was difficult to ignore the way his biceps flexed with each jab, how soft blond tufts fell over his face, stuck to the sweat lining his forehead, the low hang of his boxing shorts highlighted his abs straining with each motion.

"Fuck!"

The sharp curse broke your trance, eyes snapping up, immediately alert.

Eijirou's hands flew over his mouth, his fighter's stance softening, hesitant hands reaching out towards his friend whose head was angled down, fighting to not reel.

"Woah, man, I am so sorry—"

Katsuki slapped his hand away, wiping at the blood beginning to drip down his nose with the back of his hand, unyielding eyes meeting Eijirou's.

"Keep it goin', Shitty Hair. And you,"

He didn't bother to look at you as you approached, keeping his burning stare on his opponent while waving you off with a harsh motion of his free hand. "Get back."

His bite was nothing new. You didn't bother to fight the eye roll, stepping closer to assess the extent of the damage. "Don't be dumb. Let me look."

"You deaf or something? Beat it."

More blood trickled down, coming over the curve of his lip. You had worked with Katsuki long enough to know that he pushed himself until he was battered, had nothing left to give.

Your job was to keep that from happening.

With a sigh, you grabbed him by the crook of his elbow.

"You are gushing blood. Come on—"

"Get your fuckin' hands off me, you piece of—"

"Again, don't be dumb—"

Eijirou blinked between the two of you, watching as you wrestled to keep Katsuki's arm in your grip, ineffectively attempting to drag him away. With a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes, he began to take backwards steps towards the bench where he kept his water, knowing there was little else he could do in this situation.

"I'm gonna take five. Go with her, man."

Feeling Katsuki's resistance give in just enough, you tugged him towards the med bay, giving Eijirou a grateful look over your shoulder. You hoped he didn't feel too guilty. Sparring was never supposed to get this intense, after all. But, mistakes happened.

You offered soft apologies under your breath to the few nurses on the same late shift as you were with a tight smile as you rushed past them to guide him into the room at the very back, shutting the door behind you.

It was just you two now.

Katsuki was still panting, worked up from the fight. There was probably enough adrenaline in his system to keep him from feeling the real pain of his affliction.

You pushed him back onto the bed against the wall to your right with a hand over his chest, feeling the warm muscle rise up and down under your palm before you turned to rummage through the cabinet, fishing out a medical kit with a crease forming between your brows.

"Are you trying to get yourself put on medical leave before your match next week?"

He didn't say a word, only the sound of his heavy breathing filling the room as you felt his glare against your back.

You sighed.

"Right before I get off too..."

"Yeah," He scoffed, a mocking edge to his voice. "'Cause I did that shit on purpose."

"You kept pushing. That was stupid and you know it, the best athletes know when to call it quits."

Katsuki scoffed, his jutted lower lip pursing as you set down the kit beside him, opening it up to fish out some gauze. "Maybe we should get you in the ring. Since you're such an expert."

You pushed his thighs apart with an unimpressed look, standing between them to get as close as you could.

A hand went behind his neck, gently tilting his head down so the blood wouldn't trickle back into his nose, go down his throat.

You carefully pinched the sides of his nose bridge to stop the blood flow, wiping away at what had escaped with clean gauze.

“You love making my life harder,” you muttered under your breath. “Can’t you just admit I'm right? Say you’ll be more careful?”

“The day I say that shit you can put a gun to my head.”

You rolled your eyes, but he continued.

"I don't say shit I don't mean," he sighed out, abs flexing as he winced slightly. “If your meddling ass didn't get in the way, I would've won.”

“Or you would've gotten your ass beat, but whatever.”

“I've had worse. A fucked up nose is nothing."

"Is that supposed to be a good thing?" you raised a brow, getting a new piece of gauze. "You never know when to stop, Katsuki. That's your issue."

The room settled into silence only the hum of the AC, your shifting, and the quiet, reluctant winces that slipped past as you tended to him.

His eyes never left you.

Sometimes, you wondered why.

Why he allowed you to treat him, why he let you get close. But you shook yourself out of those thoughts, reaching down to grab an ice pack. No time to get sidetracked, not now. Especially on something that was very likely nothing.

"Bleeding stopped."

He didn't respond, eyes downcast as you alternated between pressing it to either side of his nose bridge.

When he finally spoke, his words were quick. Quiet.

"I was going for his blind spot."

Said like he had to explain himself to you, or maybe himself.

But he didn't have to. You knew that his slip ups were extremely rare, he never made the same mistake twice— he beat himself up over every error, obsessed over earned perfection, victory.

His high standards for himself were what got him so far, but you knew they got to him. That, quietly, he sometimes needed reassurance, like anyone would.

“I know you were.” you finally responded, voice gentle, without pity.

"Eijirou's right side was open and he was getting tired. That was the right move. You would've gotten him."

He blinked down at you, as if assessing your honesty before a slight smile touched his lips. He gripped the edge of the small bed a little tighter, leaning down closer.

"Knew you were starin'."

Your heart jumped in your chest, but you pushed it down.

"Well, that is my job."

"It's your job to watch for injuries. Not stare."

You couldn't help what came out of your mouth next.

"Maybe I was staring at Eijirou."

"You think you're so funny."

"I think your ego's inflated."

"Wanna say that again?"

You pressed the ice a little too harshly into the side of his nose, drawing a small groan from him.

"Save it, Katsuki."

You packed up your kit and gathered the bloodied gauze to throw away, rinsing your hands before coming back to assess your work.

Blood clean, no signs of continued bleeding. A small bruise forming under his right eye from the trauma, expected.

It took everything in you to ignore the weight of his eyes, how he looked at you with an intensity reserved for his opponents in the ring. Calculating, searching. You could feel the burn crawling up the back of your neck. Professional, keep it professional.

You nodded a little too quickly, turning on your heel. "Yep, all good. No more sparring, but you can go back now."

He tugged you by the back of your shirt collar before you got too far, pulling you back between his legs, face only inches away from yours.

"You don't want that."

The sudden proximity along with his words made your heart spike, as if caught.

What did you want? The question made you uneasy.

(Or, maybe it was the answer that you knew deep down that made you want to crawl out of your skin.)

You pushed back slightly, deflecting.

“I want you to see Dr. Tanaka as soon as you can. I'll make an appointment for tomorrow morning since he left for the day. I think your nose is broken.”

“No it's not.”

It wasn't. If it had been broken, you would've known from one look, you would have been angrier with him. But that was your out, your excuse to get away. And he had called your bluff, gaze unmoving.

"Don't play dumb right now."

“I'm not playing dumb." the words came snappy, brave; but you were just so close, that fire faltered. His hand that had gripped the back of your collar had shifted carefully to the front, so close to your neck that you were afraid he might feel your heart try to burst out of your throat.

"You're just…" you trailed off, struggling to find your words. "…difficult. You're being difficult.”

"Difficult?" a dry sort of laugh. "You're the difficult one. For someone smart you can be pretty fuckin' dense."

You bit the inside of your lower lip, eyes darting between him and the door.

You knew what he meant. This back and forth between you was nothing new. But when it got too real you had always gotten away, said something and acted like nothing had happened once you cooled down.

The sounds outside seemed to be getting louder, closer. These doors didn’t have locks. Anyone could come in, find you like this. One of the nurses checking in, a gym goer looking for band-aids.

“Or maybe you do know. Hm?”

The question pulled you from your thoughts in an instant, made your eyes snap to his— first mistake. Once his crimson stare bored into yours, you couldn’t look away.

Could you have been that obvious? You thought your moments of distraction were fleeting, imperceptible to the average eye.

He had never commented on it before, slipping back to his normal self even after your closest calls.

But you should’ve known better. Katsuki Bakugou was not average in any sense of the word.

(Of course, he noticed. Of course he did.)

You sputtered something before you could think, just wanting to hear something other than the sound of your own thoughts.

"Some…someone could—"

"No one's gonna come in." his voice flat, dismissal easy. All matter of fact as he craned his neck down closer to you.

"Unless you want Eijirou to come in. Since you were, what, staring at him, right? That what you want?"

"What?!" the word was almost a squeak, high and taken aback. "That's not— "

You fought the strange heat crawling up your face by shooting him a look, eyes narrowing.

"Katsuki. I was joking."

He hummed.

(Unbelieving? Amused? A bit of both?)

"Sure you were."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. The deflections that had once come so easy were heavy on your tongue. There was no joke, no eye roll, nothing you could say to slip away. Not this time.

You sighed, next words defeated.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to be real with me." you could feel his breath against your lips; hot, charged. "Tell me you don’t want this, that you haven't thought about it.”

“Katsuki…”

It came out weaker than you wanted. Small, kind of breathless. Almost pleading.

For what— to let you go?

(To keep going?)

He kept egging, eyes not once leaving yours. “Say it. I'll stop.”

And you knew he would. Because he was being serious, you could tell by his voice— how it was low under his breath, softened. 

For you, he was being intentionally careful.

Just the thought made you want to cave. But the entire reason your relationship worked, why you were able to handle him, was because you didn't give in.

"There are rules about this sort of thing—"

"You think I give a fuck about bullshit rules?"

"Yeah, I know you don't." you gave him a look. "But I do. I could lose my job, you could get me fired, or…"

You swallowed back the rest of it.

He didn't have to know how it made you afraid, testing the fragile nature of this relationship. How giving in meant that all of this could shatter, that this could all amount to one big mistake.

Katsuki blinked, taking in your expression. He looked off to the side for a beat, lips pursing in thought before, carefully, he took your hands into his.

"You know I won't let that happen. I don't see any of the other shitty medics here."

You snorted a little. Because you did know. You cocked your head to the side, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They're not shitty."

He didn't retaliate, just raised his brows slowly. The truth of his words wasn't what mattered, it was the implication behind them.

(You're the one I see. You.)

His earlier words rang in your ears.

Tell me you don't want this, that you haven't thought about it.

You couldn't, because you had.

Countless times— whenever you watched him hover over his opponents, keep them locked underneath him, the heat in his eyes, a cocky smile on his lips.

He wormed his way into your mind, more often than not, late at night. When sleep couldn't find you and your bed felt exceptionally cold. Empty.

(Him. You imagined him.)

Denying all of that was exactly what you should have done. That would have been the rational thing to do, the smart thing.

But as you traced his face, followed the soft curve of his cheeks against the otherwise harsh lines, watched the furrow of his brow deepen ever so slightly, as if he, of all people, was nervous— you couldn't fight the feeling anymore.

Because you wanted to kiss him, and you wanted him to kiss you— more than anything.

Hesitantly, you brushed your thumbs over the bruises on his knuckles.

“No, I… I do. Want this, I mean."

Something in his expression shifted. Surprise, for a brief second, before that cocky gleam in his eyes that you had seen when he was in-action settled over his face. Only, a little different. (A little sharper, hungrier.)

"Yeah?" he pushed closer, nose just barely brushing yours. "You want this?"

Slowly, you nodded.

"Yes."

His gaze darted from your eyes and lips before the sliver of space between you finally disappeared.

The kiss was tentative, careful. So unlike him that it caught you a little off guard.

Soft. His lips were so soft against yours.

He kissed you like he was trying to figure out the shape of your lips, go slow enough to savor the moment, commit the feeling to memory. The hand near your collar came up to cup your jaw, angle your face just right.

You had thought about what this would feel like for longer than you would ever admit. Did he think of you the same way? Were you what he had expected?

When he pulled back just enough to breathe, he drank in your expression; your pretty lips plush and parted, wide doe-eyes blinking up at him.

He groaned, "Fuck it."

You yelped when calloused hands gripped your arms, hoisted you up like you weighed nothing, thick biceps flexing as he pulled you down to straddle his thigh.

You planted your hands on his chest to steady yourself on instinct, unable to process it for a second. Your thighs were around his leg, his hands at your waist, holding you in a way you had only ever thought would exist in the secret fantasies you let yourself indulge in. The small bed creaking under your combined weight. His chest rising and falling under your palms.

Sometimes, you forgot how strong he actually was. How he wasn’t just some other annoying, short-tempered guy— his body was molded to his profession; brute strength and jagged lines carved from a life in the ring. His shoulders broad, a tapering waist, arms nearly the size of your head. He could probably pick you up and snap you in half if he really wanted to. Your stomach flipped at just the thought.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, he flexed the muscle of his thigh; deliberate, testing. Sharp eyes watching as your face flushed at his bare muscle pressing up against your core.

Your breath hitched, warmth pooled down between your legs, heart beating in your ears as his large hands slid down to rest over your hips, holding you steady— pulling you down closer.

"Feel good?"

Your ears burned at the mocking edge to his voice. You squirmed, caught between wanting to slap that smug look off his face and slowly seek more friction by grinding down.

You didn't have to choose, not when his hands slowly guided your hips down, back and forth against his hardened muscle. You bit your bottom lip between your teeth, clearly embarrassed, ineffectively fighting the whimpers that threatened to slip past with each movement.

His gaze never once left you, taking note of every little reaction.

Heat crawled up your face at being watched so shamelessly.

Leaning forward, you distracted yourself by pressing soft kisses up the side of his throat, staring to grind down on him yourself, your tongue darting out before gently sucking soft marks into his skin.

He let out a strained sigh, tilting his neck back just enough to give you more access.

You hooked your arms loosely around his neck, pecking across his jaw. Your fingers curled into the hair at his nape, giving it a soft tug, pulling his head back so his eyes met yours.

Pupils blown, eyes heavy with want, hair falling over them all messy and disheveled.

You didn't know how you had gone so long without this, how you could have ever wanted to keep your distance. Now that you let yourself have a taste, you didn't think you could ever get enough.

Tugging him to you by the hair, you pulled him to kiss you again.

This time, it was feverish, insatiable. Months of tension and denied desire pouring over all at once.

He kissed like he was still chasing you; like he had something to prove, like he wanted you to feel that you were his favorite taste. A clash of tongue and teeth, nipping at your bottom lip. Each time he pulled back to breathe it lasted less than a beat before he rushed back to steal the soft sounds that slipped past your lips as your hips continued to buck against his thigh.

But the fabric, it was in the way. No matter how hard you grinded down on him, there was too much between you and what you wanted, and the frustration was showing. Your slight sighs turning into small huffs, brows pinching against your will.

The next time Katsuki pulled back, you didn't let him kiss you again. The small string of saliva between your lips broke as you spoke, softly panting. "I want 'em off."

He looked down at your request, pinching the fabric of your pants between his index and thumb. Eyes looking up into yours carefully, like he was uncertain if that was something you really wanted.

You nodded, a little frantic.

"Off. Please."

He got straight to it. Getting them off wasn't pretty, but a controlled sort of desperate.

His movements were precise as always, fairly smooth, but you could feel that something was simmering under his palms as he moved you around to get them off just right, even more so when they finally rested over your bare legs, eyes slightly dazed as he gave the flesh a tentative squeeze.

You bit your lip at the feeling, skin burning under his touch, wanting it all over you.

You glanced down at your shirt.

"This too."

He scoffed, but there was something like a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Fuckin' bossy."

His hands slid under the hem, bunching the fabric up over your chest, too impatient to get it all the way off. He reached back to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as he took in the shape of your bare chest, the way your nipples hardened at the cool air of the clinic.

For a beat too long, he just stared.

On instinct, you wondered if something was wrong, if there was something about you that was weird or unappealing, the feeling twisted in you. But before you could tug your shirt back down, he cupped your tits with both hands, feeling the weight of them, squeezing slightly.

"Been waiting for this shit for so fuckin' long, y'know that?" He groaned out, leaning forward to bury his face into them.

You whimpered as he pressed wet kisses across the skin, thumb brushing over one of your nipples while his tongue lolled out to lick over the other, sucking it between his lips.

You began grinding down on his thigh again, the feeling so much more intense with just your panties on. You shifted your hips to find the angle that felt best, rubbing yourself down against the hard muscle of his thigh beneath you, solid and perfect, the friction sending sparks up your spine, your breaths coming out in shallow pants.

Each roll of your hips made your breath come a little faster, especially as his mouth pulled off one of your tits to give the other a fair share of attention.

Your nails dug into his shoulders when he nipped at your chest, sucking harshly, catching your sensitive peak between his teeth just to hear you whine. His tongue was hot against your skin, wet and needy.

Katsuki could feel your arousal starting to coat his thigh, soaking through your panties, smearing over his leg with every drag of your hips. Smiling against your chest, he pulled back with a soft pop, looking down at the glistening mess you left behind.

He moved a hand down between your bodies, slightly nudging your hips up with his leg to give him enough space in between to feel you over your panties, the fabric evidently damp as his index and middle finger stopped right above your clothed clit, pressing against it just slightly, enough to pull a shaky sigh from your lips.

"All this from just my thigh?"

There was a smug, slightly demeaning tone to his voice, like he was surprised you were so wet, as if it wasn't his fault. It made you want to throttle him. Or kiss him. Or both.

Your brows furrowed. "Shut up."

He only chuckled, drawing a line down your clothed slit. All slow, agonizing. Self-satisfied at the soft whimper that slips out of you.

"It's a simple fucking question. Haven't even touched you properly yet."

You huffed, mustering your most serious expression to meet his eyes. "God, just quit teasing, Katsuki. You're being mean."

He raised his brows, that smile on his face only widening. "You think this is mean?"

Finally, finally, he hooked his fingers into your panties, pushing them aside. The first touch, skin-on-skin, made you gasp. He dragged his fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, slow and deliberate, before circling your entrance.

"I can show you mean."

His eyes were locked between your legs, watching his own fingers move. "Look at you," he murmured, almost to himself. “Fucking soaked."

He pushed one finger inside, slow enough that you felt every inch. You whimpered softly, walls fluttering around him.

He groaned softly, watching your face contort, feeling himself get even harder in his shorts.

"Tight," he breathed. "Gonna add another. That okay?"

You nodded frantically, beyond words.

The second finger stretched you more, made you bite down on your lip to keep from moaning too loud. He worked them deeper, curling them slightly. Your chest heaved at the intrusion you fought to not cry out, your nails digging into his shoulder as he hit just the right spot.

"There?" His voice was rough, satisfied. "That the spot?"

You couldn't respond, forehead falling into the crook of his neck, clinging to him as he curled his fingers again, rubbing that soft patch inside you with devastating precision.

Once he found it, he didn't stop, pumping his fingers in and out, hitting it with precision each time.

You grinded down into his hand, feeling the heel of his palm press up against your clit. You chase the feeling, shameless. Lost in the sensation, the overwhelming feeling of him all around you.

You mumbled into the skin of his neck incoherently about how you were: "Almost… 'm gonna…"

You could hear his voice right by your ear. Hoarse, determined.

“Yeah?” his efforts nearly doubled. “Close?”

You could only nod, coherent thoughts gone from your mind, only a desperate haze of want.

"Yeah. Yes. Please, please more…"

He kept at it, silently savoring your desperate sounds.

You wrapped your arms tight around his neck, moans muffled into his skin as the tightly wound up knot came undone. Your breaths getting heavy in your lungs, head getting fuzzy, eyes fluttering shut, nails having left angry red lines down the skin of his upper back.

He ran a hand up and down your back as you collapsed against him, coming down from the high. He let you rest against him, breathing from a moment before pulling you back with a small kiss to the side of your head.

"Look at me."

It didn't sound like a request.

"Hm?"

You watched with hazy eyes as he slowly pulled his fingers out of you, the loss making you whimper. They glistened under the harsh light of the clinic, coated with the evidence of what he'd just done to you.

He held your gaze as he brought them to his mouth. His tongue darted out first, licking a long strip up the slick-covered fingers. Then, he took them fully into his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes never once leaving yours.

Your breath caught in your throat. Heat flooded through you again, despite having just come. Tasting you off his own fingers like you were the best thing he'd ever had— it was almost too much.

When he finally pulled his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, he smirked at your expression.

"Tastes good," he said simply, like commenting on the weather.

You clenched around nothing, already missing him inside you, feeling spent but somehow needing more.

"You're shameless."

"Last I checked, I wasn't the one humping your thigh."

Your face burned, a small, angry sort of pout settling on your lips.

He snickered, hand sliding up to your waist, giving it a small squeeze. "Little too late to get all embarrassed. Shit was hot."

"Uh huh…" You gave him a look, "Um. Thanks, by the way... that was—" You trailed off, not knowing how to express what you feel just the right way. "Good. It was good."

Katsuki snorted. "Just good?" you rolled your eyes, but leaned into his teasing with sweetness, something he didn't quite expect.

"Much better than good."

He searched your eyes for a beat, a hand coming up to brush back some of your hair. Then he pecked your lips— soft, almost sweet — before tugging your shirt back down carefully.

That was when you slowly realized, he was wrapping this up. But… he didn't cum?

He didn't cum.

"Hey, wait you didn't—"

He knew what you were talking about, the strained bulge in his shorts was nothing short of obvious.

"Does it look like I care."

His dismissal of his own need threw you off.

"Katsuki, that's not fair. I can't just—"

"Sure you can. You just did."

You turned his head towards you, pulling him into a soft kiss, parting his lips with yours, trying to not get lost in tasting yourself on his tongue. Gently trying to urge him to let you have him the way he had you.

You try to convince him, urge him to let you return the favor, do something.

You ran your hand over the bulge in his shorts, traced it gently, wanting. He groaned against your mouth, the sound strained in the back of his throat, like he was holding himself back. "C'mon, Katsuki," you palmed him over his shorts, wanting to hear more. "Let me? Please?"

He looked like he could give in, his jaw tense, eyes screwing shut as your finger hooked into the waistband of his shorts, drawing out a breathy sigh. You froze when the intercom crackled above you.

"The gym will be closing in ten minutes. Please begin wrapping up your sessions and make your way to the exit. Thank you."

You blinked. Fuck.

"…I can be quick?"

That was a lie. Ten minutes wasn't nearly enough time to do what you wanted to.

He waved you off with a snort, tugging your hand away from his throbbing cock, taking it upon himself to adjust the hem of your shirt with more care than you thought possible from someone like him.

"Relax." He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. "Shit’s not a big deal. Can take care of it in the shower."

The mental image of him standing under the shower, hand wrapped around his cock, thinking about this — you — made something low in your stomach tighten.

You must have made a face, because he huffed out a laugh.

"But if you want to make it up so bad," He leaned in closer, nose brushing yours. The soft curve of his lashes was so much more apparent this close. He pressed a final, lingering kiss, grinning softly as he spoke. His voice low against your lips, promising. "We'll go for round 2."

may blabs: baby's first smut dont throw tomatoes at me.. ok

btw if u ever genuinely have a bloody nose do NOT tilt your head back. that blood will go down your throat and if it gets into ur stomach u could throw up and that is not good so do NOT do that ✌️✌️

big special thank u to the mutuals ( @updownandbatty & @cupidkats & @hushedlotus ) AND irls i bothered w this fic… u are goated ❤️‍🩹

again, art in the header is not mine, credits to the artist !!!

taglist: @nanakamii 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ :

“hey firefighter, i’ve got an emergency,” you giggle softly, flirtation seeping in your tone.

you get a heavy curious breath on the other side, “what’s goin’ on?”

it’s whispers and sultry mumbles. you imagine him, leaning back in his office chair, phone to his ear with his legs spread. maybe doodling something on a spare piece of paper as he listens to your cosy drawl.

“i can’t sleep. i need some help.”

bakugou chuckles, hearty and thick. “of course you do. you wanna come, fall asleep and leave me here with a hard on for another… seven hours.”

you smile to yourself, playing with the elastic waistband of your pyjama bottoms. “nobody said you can’t come in your office. you have before.”

bakugou grunts, changing the subject before you seduce him with your sweet little tone and the memory of you against the door. “why can’t you sleep? that event botherin’ you?”

he reloads his emails again and nothing new. “hmm? tell me.”

“yeah… i know it will be fine, it’s just people are relying on me and last years event was so boring, so it just has to be better.”

you’ve moved to play with the loose string of your pyjama top.

bakugou hums on the other side, “you’re got all the sponsors sorted? your last event was fuckin’ insane. you’ve done it once before, you can do it again.”

you sigh wistfully, “it’s a big author though, babe. biggest i’ve ever worked with.”

“yeah and you’ll smash it. you don’t even have anythin’ else to do. you’ve completed your list,” he’s practically soothing you, cooing at you softly to recognise your own power.

“i know you’re right. just a lot of pressure,” you sniff.

“nothin’ my baby can’t handle.”

there’s two seconds of silence. breathing from both sides of the phone.

“what are you wearing?”

sweet, thick dreamy chuckles trickle down the line and right into your panties.

“seriously?”

“what! we’ve never done this before,” you whisper in the empty silence of your room, “phone sex.”

“shouldnt i be the one whisperin’?”

“answer my question and stop shaming me for expanding our sex life.” your smile is apparent through your words, rubbing the side of the bed katsuki lays when he stays over.

“babygirl…,” it’s a sexy drawl, even if he doesn’t mean for it to be. bakugou looks down at himself, “i’m wearin’ navy today. shirt with the collar, my name on my breast—,”

“sexy,”

“and matching navy cargos. keys on my hip. black boots.”

“fuck. classic outfit. not the beige,” you sniff, moaning softly, “i like the navy over the beige.”

“i know you do. you stare at me like i’m a piece of meat in it,” bakugou palms himself over his cargos. he’s having phone sex with his pretty girl, so what. “what are you wearin’ baby? details too.”

he slouches down further in his chair. his door is locked, blinds drawn. he’s good.

“i’m in my pyjama bottoms, those long striped ones. pink and blue—,”

“the ones i like?”

“you like them all! but yes, the soft ones.”

“mhm, continue,” he rubs over his cock. you wore them two weeks ago, when you made him eggs and toast. you ended up having to push him away because he couldn’t keep his hands off you.

“just in a big tee. one with… a book on it, from work.”

“fuckin’ cute, babygirl.”

you exhale, “if i was with you right now, i’d be sitting on your lap, pulling out your cock from those navy cargos.”

bakugou’s eyes widen. it’s like a movie is playing before him just from your words. blood rushes down his body and gathers at his groin, “fuck. nah, we’re tryin’ to get you asleep here.”

“katsuki,” you moan, kicking your feet in your bed, squeezing your eyes shut. “i’d nicely ask you if i could put you in my mouth. feel you harden when i run my tongue over you. would you let me?”

“‘course i would. put my jacket on the floor so your knees don’t hurt.” he grunts and to bakugou’s surprise, he unbuckles his belt—

“are you taking off your belt?”

“shut up, baby. take off your pyjama bottoms, put me on speaker and get your fingers wet.”

katsuki hears the shuffle of fabric against your phone. he imagines it all clearly. your excited little smile as you kick off your bottoms while staying cosy under the covers. how you always rub your thighs together once they’re bare like you’re trying to keep warm. he can also predict you’ve lifted your tee to show your breasts, basically naked when you look down, easy to pinch your nipples when he asks.

he knows he’s on speaker because you sound different now, he can hear every creak of your bed and shuffle of your bedsheets.

“how should i get them wet?”

bakugou groans immediately. he’s unzipped his fly but he still just palms his cock over his underwear. that makes him squeeze himself though.

“you wet? why am i even askin’. i know you are.” he flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, deep breaths to control his arousal. “put your fingers in your pussy and use that to rub yourself. nice and slow, just like i would.”

you hum in response. grabbing your phone to put by your pussy, you let him hear the squelch every time you curl your fingers. you let out an involuntary moan and you hear swears down the line from your lover.

“you’re a fuckin’ minx. you got that wet that quickly?” you’re sure he’s pulled himself out his boxers now, flicking a wrist up and down slowly.

you ignore him, giggling to yourself, “wish you were here with me. you’d lick this up. wanna feel your tongue.”

his laugh is pained, squeezing the base of his hard cock. even his hand doesn’t compared to you and your mouth. “this is fucked. wish i was eatin’ your pussy. tongue down you. playin’ with that cunt. shit.”

“are you touching yourself?” you mumble, rubbing two fingers over your soft puffy clit.

“yeah, thinkin’ about how you smell. always taste so sweet for me,” he grumbles, eyes shut. he’s not even surprised at how fast his cock is leaking over your bubbly whines, “go on your stomach. i know you do this shit on your stomach.”

you pout at the fact nothing you say to him goes unheard. you flip onto your stomach, cheeks squished against your pillow. that’s when your body starts moving without meaning to. you throw your duvet off, rocking back and forth on your fingers.

“oh ‘tsuki. feels so good. fuck,” you warble, words smushed and ass up in the air. the cold air feels refreshing between your legs, your fingers moving clockwise on your clit. “i love your hands on my tits, kissing down my back.”

you hear bakugou spit onto his hand, unleashing this crackled groan that sends shudders down your body. he’s touching himself now, you’re sure of it, the slaps of skin in the background, his harsh breathing and you know his teeth are clenched.

“spread that pussy open for me, baby. imagine me behind ya, playin’ with those tits, cock running over your ass.”

usually in sex, bakugou does a little bit of dirty talk. it’s your favourite. telling you how he feels, how you feel, how dirty you look slobbering over his cock and the next second, how gorgeous you look taking him. everything that comes out of his mouth has you whining and crying for him.

but you’ve never had him like this, over the phone, creating a picture for you both to imagine as you get off. it gets your whole body burning, pinching your own nipples to simulate his touch, rocking into your hand like you would if he was behind you.

“katsuki, oh fuck katsuki. wish you were with me,” you cry, dipping your fingers into your hole, “‘m so wet, because of you. i’d be wetter if you were with me.”

bakugou moves his hand faster, gripping his cock tightly like it would feel if you sat on him. though it doesn’t feel the same, neither does your robotic tinged voice through the phone. fuck, he wants to get up and leave and fuck you how you want. get you fast asleep.

“lemme hear her. lemme hear you work that pussy for me.” he slurs, head thrown back on his chair, balls heavier with every flick of his wrist.

you push your phone down to your hips again. your own wet sloshing gets you even more excited, curling your fingers against your walls, rubbing your clit with your every time you pull out. you’re a bundle of nerves, a burst of incoherent moans and warbles.

“you’re so fuckin’… driving me insane. i’d clean you up. have you come on my tongue then my cock for this. send you right to sleep,” a grunt passes his lips, “fuck i’m gonna come over your wet pussy.”

you mewl like a cat in heat, “i’m close, baby.” then a gasp, “i’m so close, i really wanna come. please.”

“same. fuck, go on then. never need to ask me. ‘m r-right behind ya.”

your orgasm makes you squeal into your pillow. ass arched into the air as you keep your fingers rubbing your clit like your life depends on it. bakugou catches his name in your moans and that’s what sets him off.

grunts and groans. a clear, “fuck, all over ya beautiful.” and a mumbled, “so fuckin’ sweet. shit.”

you roll onto your back to catch your breath, pulling down your pyjama top and covering up with your duvet.

this is when you really miss your boyfriend’s presence. just a cuddle after an orgasm, a kiss on your neck and being told you did well.

“you okay, baby? got a fuckin’ stain on my top.” you hear tissues being pulled from his box and you can practically see him wiping himself down, dabbing out the stain.

you giggle, “sorry ‘tsuki. was i a good girl for you?”

a grunt, a mumbled fuck. “don’t start, i’m not gettin’ hard again here,” but then he exhales harshly, voice hoarse and deep, “so good for me, sweets. my best girl.”

your eyes almost roll to the back of your head with the praise, thighs rubbing together. “come over when you’re done.”

your voice is sleepy, any second and you’re about to fall away. bakugou deems he done his job well.

“i’ll only be with you while you sleep for three hours and then you’re up for work.”

“so?” bakugou can see your bratty pout through the phone. “come over.”

he chuckles, throwing the tissues into the bin beside his desk. “if you send me a pic of you. keep me going for the next few hours.”

“if you send me one too.”

“i can do that, baby,” he leaves himself unzipped, refreshing his emails again. nothing. “then i want you going to sleep right after.”

“i will! promise.”

a beat of silence and you get an honest whine from him, “wish i could leave this shithole and wrap you up. sniff your neck, kiss you to sleep.”

“katsuki,” you’re breathless, biting on your lip, “i’ll see you when you’re finished.”

“i’ll see you baby,” his sigh is wistful, “remember that photo. wanna see your pretty face.”

when you hang up on the call you adjust your body to take the selfie katsuki asked for. you turn on your soft yellow lamp beside your bed and lay on your side. you’ve still got your bottoms off, your thighs with a slight shine from your wetness. you pull your tee up to under your chin and you snap a photo with a pouty stare.

it’s sexy, actually maybe one of your favourite photos of yourself.

bakugou regrets asking you for the photo as soon as you send it. how the hell is he meant to continue his shift knowing you’re looking like this right now. he zooms in and follows down the image. your soft skin, cute feet. those fucking thighs and your sexy hips. he can’t even start on your tits and your little face.

his dick is hard again.

Katsuki: What l’d do to have my face between your legs

Katsuki: That fucking face

You: send your pic NOW

bakugou chuckles and snaps his photo to send to you. he puts the bottom of his shirt between his teeth to show his chest and abs you love so much. he flexes his bicep and grips his cock. then he stares down the camera, the same stare he does when he looks down at you in missionary.

you whine aloud. blinking away the arousal brewing. you need to sleep.

You: good fucking night to me

You live in a two-bedroom apartment tucked away in a quieter ward of Tokyo—not too far from the city’s rhythm, but just enough to give you a breather. It's modern, clean, and honestly more space than you need. You could’ve gone solo. The rent was well within your budget, a little indulgent even, but something about sharing the space felt… right. Whether it was a leftover instinct from dorm life or just the quiet knowledge that silence in too many rooms can get heavy over time—you weren’t entirely sure.

Eventually, through a casual coffee catch-up with an old college colleague, you were introduced to someone else who happened to be in the same position: apartment hunting, strapped for time, and looking for something stable. The arrangement was convenient. She seemed easygoing enough, worked long hours like you did, and respected shared space. No red flags, no awkward tension. You didn’t overthink it.

And for a while, everything just... worked. You had your routines—brushing past each other in the kitchen during rushed mornings, the occasional shared takeout dinner in front of the TV, the soft hum of separate lives running parallel. You didn’t hang out much, but you coexisted comfortably. That was enough.

What you hadn’t expected, though, was the shift that happened a few months in. The subtle kind. The kind you wouldn’t notice at first—until a stranger’s shoes started appearing by the door on the weekends, or the low murmur of laughter drifted from her bedroom late at night.

You didn’t care.

She could do whatever she wanted, and it wasn’t your business. When she first told you she was seeing someone—some guy named Kuroo, apparently—you offered nothing more than a nod. They’d been together for a few months, she said. “He might start staying over more. Was that okay?” You told her it was. You didn’t mind. Not really.

Even the nights when the walls failed to hold their secrets didn’t bother you. You’d hear it, sometimes. Soft giggles turning breathy. The rhythmic creak of her bedframe against the wall. The occasional slip of a moan that crawled down the hallway. But it was always distant. Easy enough to ignore. You’d just turn up the volume on your music or pretend your pillow muted everything. It didn’t affect you.

You rarely crossed paths with him.

Work kept you out late, and on most nights, you slipped into the apartment quietly, careful not to wake anyone even when you knew they were still awake. Sometimes you’d see him in passing—a flash of dark hair as he leaned over the sink, his hoodie thrown carelessly over one shoulder. His voice would drift from the other room, low and teasing. But he never really looked at you. Never acknowledged you. And that was fine. You had no interest in making small talk with your roommate’s boyfriend.

He must have thought she lived alone.

And maybe she wanted it that way.

Still, there was something oddly satisfying about the way he lingered in the living room sometimes, eyes drifting over the shelves that lined the far wall. The ones filled with manga spines, collector’s editions, limited-release box sets. Hand-built Lego models positioned with the care of a gallery. You’d catch the subtle pause in his voice when he spoke near them, the shift in his tone from casual to curious.

“This stuff’s cool,” he said once, running a hand along the edge of a display. “Didn’t know you were into Legos.”

You hadn’t been close enough to see her face, but you could hear the disdain wrapped around her reply.

“God, no,” she laughed, that practiced little snort she used when she wanted to sound above something. “That’s my roommate’s. She’s like, a total nerd. Obsessed with comics and kids’ toys and whatever. I let her keep it out here. It’s, like, her thing.”

You stood just out of sight in the hallway, expression unreadable, your bag still slung over your shoulder.

You didn’t say a word. Just turned toward your room, the door clicking shut behind you as her laughter faded into silence.

Let her laugh. Let her act like it was something to be embarrassed about.

Because the way his voice had caught before she answered? You didn’t miss that.

It was subtle—the kind of pause most people wouldn’t think twice about. But you weren’t most people. You caught that split-second hitch in his voice. Like he was expecting someone else to respond. Like he had a different name on his tongue before hers came out. And once you noticed that—everything else started to unravel.

After that, your roommate’s colors started bleeding through her carefully layered persona. The kind of girl you swore you left behind in high school. Pretty, mean, passive-aggressive. The type who needed to feel above someone just to breathe easy.

She liked to act casual, like it was all girl talk. Like she wasn’t trying to sink her claws into your insecurities.

“Kuroo was so good last night,” she would say, eyes glinting as she leaned against the counter, always loud enough for you to hear. “I swear, he knows my body better than I do. He had me pinned—biting, moaning, choking. I couldn’t stop shaking.”

She’d glance at you as she said it. Smirking. Cruel.

“I mean... not that you'd know what that’s like,” she added with a fake laugh, stirring her tea like she hadn’t just thrown acid at your self-worth. “He doesn’t go for girls like you.”

You smiled. Calm. Unbothered.

“You’re right,” you said sweetly. “And I’m not interested. That’s fine.”

But inside? You were laughing.

Because she had no idea.

You’d lived that wild, messy, electric kind of life she only pretended to understand. Back in college, you’d had your fair share of boyfriends—and girlfriends. Pretty ones, sweet ones, dangerous ones. The kind who got on their knees just to worship your thighs. Who sucked on your tits like they’d die without the taste. You’d been kissed against dorm walls, fucked in music rooms, devoured in the backseat of a car while your heels dug into fogged-up windows. You’d had people beg to taste you—tongue-deep until your legs shook, until your moans echoed down quiet hallways.

You’d been wild. Reckless. Insatiable. You’d even tried a threesome with a married couple once—just to see if you could make them both fall apart. You did. Twice.

But then you graduated. Got a job. Realigned your priorities. You weren’t that girl anymore—not all the time.

You hung up the stilettos and the lipstick-stained wine glasses. You traded morning-after texts for early meetings. Nights spent tangled in sheets became nights at your desk, fingers flying across a keyboard instead of someone else’s skin.

You retired from the chaos and focused on your career.

But that girl—the one she thought you couldn’t possibly be?

She still lived within you, and she was just waiting to come out and play.

You’d almost forgotten her until that morning. The one where she sat at the kitchen island with bed hair and a proud smile, sipping her coffee like it was just another Tuesday. She didn’t just talk about her night with Kuroo—she dissected it, glorified it, sprinkled it over your morning like sugar in your tea. Not that you asked, but she offered every lurid detail anyway, like you were the best friend she never had and the enemy she always needed. He was so big. He made her gag. She choked a little—laughed as if the memory alone still lingered at the back of her throat.

You didn’t flinch. Not then.

But it didn’t stop. It became a pattern. Whenever Kuroo stayed the night—his shoes by the door, his laugh echoing in the kitchen—she’d find a way to mention it. How her throat was sore. How she could still feel him. How she couldn’t walk straight. All of it tossed out with that lazy grin and self-satisfied tone. At first you told yourself it was just her way—crude, bold, a little drunk on the attention. But something in her voice changed. Something smug. Pointed.

And then came the men who weren’t Kuroo.

You saw one first by accident. You’d woken early for work and padded down the hallway, half-asleep and still rubbing your eyes, only to nearly crash into him outside the bathroom. He was tall, wearing nothing but boxers and looking for a jacket. He blinked at you like you were the one in the wrong hallway. He muttered a soft “morning,” then disappeared into her room.

You didn’t say a word.

But the worst—no, the most unforgettable—happened one humid night when sleep just wouldn’t come. You'd tossed in bed until frustration took over, deciding a warm glass of milk might help settle you down. The hallway was dark, the tiles cool beneath your feet. But the second you turned the corner toward the kitchen, your breath caught.

Her bedroom door was wide open.

You froze.

The sounds were unmistakable—flesh on flesh, low groans, the wet thud of skin colliding with skin. Heavy breathing, slurred moans, and the distinct slap of motion too fast to be just hands. The room reeked of alcohol and sweat. And you saw it all—every obscene detail lit by the dim glow of her desk lamp.

One man was behind her, rhythm sharp and relentless, his hands gripping her waist as she braced herself on shaking arms. Another lay beneath her, her knees braced on either side of him while he thrusted up into her from below, mouth latched to her breasts, tongue circling one nipple then the other like he couldn’t decide which to devour first. And a third—God—the third stood in front of her, hips pumping as she sucked him down, her mouth stretched wide around him, spit slicking her chin and dripping to her collarbone.

You watched as her whole body trembled under the force of it—three men, three directions, all taking turns. Her throat constricted as she took him deeper. Her back arched as the one underneath groaned into her chest. The man behind her pulled her hips back, harder, rougher. She whimpered. Moaned. Her nails scraped the sheets. And when the one in front finally shuddered and came, you saw the spill of it leak past her lips, trailing white down her chin as she let out a breathless laugh—uncaring, uninhibited, completely lost in pleasure.

None of them noticed you.

Not even when you stepped back and nearly knocked over the dish rack in your daze.

You almost laughed.

So much for good sex.

So much for Kuroo not going for girls like you.

You didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, she confronted you in the hallway, freshly showered and still damp, eyes smug with victory. “You saw, didn’t you?”

You didn’t deny it. Just nodded once, softly.

And she beamed—fucking beamed. “I can take three cocks at once,” she said proudly. “Feels good, you know? Having every hole filled at the same time. It’s like—ecstasy. And they even took turns, babe. I lost count of how many times they came. My holes have been filled thrice as much.”

You stared at her, mouth dry, heartbeat unsteady. Her words were half confession, half performance.

And then, as if it were an afterthought, she added, “I wanted you to see it.”

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“I left the door open on purpose. Thought it might loosen you up. But I figured you wouldn’t join anyway. Those guys probably aren’t into your type.”

You didn’t rise to it. Not yet. “How about Kuroo?”

That made her pause for a second. Just a flicker.

She shrugged. “The dick’s good. But he’s getting clingy. Talking about labels and exclusivity and all that serious shit. I don’t like that.”

Your stomach sank. “You told me it was serious.”

“It wasn’t. Until he thought it was.”

And just like that, she turned away, humming to herself as she made her coffee like she hadn’t just shattered something in the room. Something delicate. Something quiet and private and stupidly hopeful that you didn’t even realize you’d been holding on to.

You never judged her. God knows college has been a blur for you too. You’d partied, drank too much, made your own share of mistakes. But still—something about seeing her like that, twisted and shaking and laughing with a mouthful of someone else, had done something to you.

Maybe it was the betrayal. Maybe it was the performance. Maybe it was that deep, unspoken part of you that had started to care about Kuroo even if you didn’t want to admit it.

But what you never forgot—what stayed carved in your mind, looping over and over like a cruel joke—was the smirk she wore as she wiped cum off her chin and looked toward the door.

She knew.

And you’d never seen her look more pleased.

It was one of those rare, treasured off days—the kind where time stretched and slowed, unbothered by alarms or obligations. You padded out of your room with a fresh mug of coffee and a sealed box in hand: the latest Lego Architecture set you’d been dying to build. The living room was quiet, lit by soft daylight filtering through the sheer curtains, and for once, blissfully yours. Or so you thought.

You settled cross-legged on the rug, carefully opening the box and sorting the pieces into neat color-coded piles across the coffee table. The soft clink of plastic against plastic was meditative, your fingers already moving by muscle memory as you started on the foundation.

Then, the door creaked open.

You glanced up, expecting it to be your roommate stumbling in from a late-morning hangover—or another boy doing the walk of shame. But instead, it was him.

Kuroo Tetsuro.

Hair tousled in every direction, eyes half-lidded with sleep, and wearing nothing but a loose shirt and sweatpants slung far too low on his hips. He blinked at you like you were a hallucination.

“…Shit,” he muttered under his breath before stiffening like he’d been caught stealing.

You raised an eyebrow.

There was a beat of stunned silence before he scrubbed a hand down his face and cleared his throat. “You’re—wait, you're the roommate?” He pointed at you like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re her roommate?”

You looked back down at the half-built Lego set and calmly clicked a few pieces together. “Mmm. That’s what it says on the lease.”

Kuroo stared at you, then at the Lego box, then back at you. “Is that—oh my god, is that the Fallingwater set?” His voice pitched up slightly, boyish excitement suddenly blooming on his face.

You blinked, slightly surprised at the sudden shift. “Yeah. Limited edition, too.”

His eyes lit up in a way you hadn’t expected from someone who, until now, had only existed in your mind as a tangled mess of sex sounds and sneaky exits.

“I’ve wanted to build that one for months,” he said, stepping closer without even realizing it. “Frank Lloyd Wright is—God. His work is insane. That cantilever design? Pure genius.”

You stared at him for a second, momentarily caught off guard. “You’re into architecture?”

“I’m into Legos,” he corrected with a grin, dropping down to sit a few feet away from you on the floor. “Architecture’s just the gateway drug.”

The way he said it was so earnest, so casually nerdy, that you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. He didn’t seem to notice he was still inching closer, eyes darting across your sorting piles with the practiced gaze of someone who had done this a hundred times before. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for a piece, to help build.

“You’re not usually home,” he added after a second. “She always says you’re working.”

“I usually am,” you replied, not bothering to hide the slight edge in your tone. “Today’s the exception.”

Kuroo paused, then gave you a sheepish look. “Well, I feel kind of dumb. I’ve been talking to your Lego collection like it was hers.”

You glanced at him, amusement tugging at your lips. “So you do talk to the Lego sets.”

“Only the ones that deserve respect,” he shot back easily, gesturing toward your build. “That one? Deserves a round of applause.”

There was a pause—just long enough to realize how quiet the apartment was with only the two of you in it. Just long enough for the tension to crackle faintly in the air, unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

For the first time, you were seeing him as something more than your roommate’s cocky lay. He was still smug. Still smug and way too attractive for his own good—but there was a softness there too, the kind that clung to people who used their brains for more than ego. A surprising amount of dork nestled beneath the devil-may-care smirk. You didn’t know what to do with that just yet.

Still, you couldn’t resist the tease.

“You can help sort, if you wash your hands,” you said, tilting your head.

Kuroo gave you a mock gasp. “You think I’d touch a limited edition set with dirty hands? I’m offended.”

You laughed under your breath as he stood up and headed to the sink, and as the sound of running water filled the space, you glanced back down at the instructions in front of you.

It seemed like, for once, today might actually be interesting.

And maybe—just maybe—so was he.

Eventually, you and Kuroo became close, as he sometimes helped you with your builds if you were free and he happened to be in the apartment.

It was just an innocent hangout since you two shared an interest—nerding out over collectors' sets, comparing mini-figures, debating Marvel versus DC, and even spending quiet evenings building modular LEGO cities in comfortable silence. It was never anything more than shared company, quiet companionship, and a love for plastic bricks and fantasy worlds.

But apparently, that probably hit a nerve with your roommate.

Because a few days later, you came home from work and stepped into the middle of a storm brewing in the living room.

“You always hang out with her now,” your roommate spat, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Why?”

You froze, one foot just inside the doorway, the other still outside. You blinked at the tension in the air—at the way Kuroo stood across from her, jaw tight, like he hadn’t expected this either.

“She’s cool,” Kuroo said simply, voice calm but edged in confusion. “We like the same stuff. That’s all it is.”

“That’s all it is,” your roommate echoed mockingly, rolling her eyes. “So what, you're into nerds now? You think you're gonna build a little LEGO love story with her?”

Kuroo frowned. “It’s not like that.”

She scoffed, arms flying up in the air. “Bullshit. You’re getting soft. And since we’re airing things out—guess what, Kuroo? I’ve been fucking other people the entire time. Not just one or two.”

You watched from the hallway as she stepped closer, lips curling into a smirk. Like this wasn’t a confession—it was a flex.

“Three guys,” she said, slowly, as if daring him to react. “At the same time. And I liked it.”

She said it proudly. Like there was no shame, no remorse, no thought to how it might hit him.

And it did hit him.

You saw it in the subtle shift of his stance, the way his shoulders pulled back and his jaw clenched. He didn’t yell. He didn’t crumble. But you saw the exact moment it clicked—that he wasn’t just some convenient hookup to her, but completely disposable.

“You’re serious?” he asked, slowly.

She shrugged, unapologetic. “Dead serious. And I don’t get why you’re acting like we were exclusive. I never promised you anything.”

He inhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away like he was trying to keep his temper level. “I just thought we respected each other. I thought you gave a shit. And I thought you and your roommate were friends. That’s why I even talked to her in the first place.”

The room fell uncomfortably silent after that. You felt a sting deep in your chest—for him.

You knew Kuroo wasn’t the type to get attached easily. But he had cared. He wouldn’t have lingered around your coffee table for hours helping you alphabetize your manga, or asked you what your dream Star Wars set was, if he was just killing time between fucks.

And now, he looked like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him.

You didn’t want him to see your face, the way your brows pulled together or how your heart ached with sympathy for him. So, quietly, you backed away from the hallway and slipped into your bedroom, shutting the door behind you before the fight could escalate further.

You didn’t want to hear any more of it—not the insults, not the ego, not the unraveling of something he’d believed was real.

All you could do was sit on your bed, palms pressed to your thighs, and let yourself hurt in silence—for the boy who never deserved to be treated like a backup plan.

After that argument, you never saw much of Kuroo again. You hadn’t asked for his number or any of his socials, and he never asked for yours either. Maybe it was intentional—maybe it wasn’t—but either way, you chalked it up to a chapter that closed before it could fully begin. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? Your roommate moved on fast. So fast that the same night you’d heard her moaning another boy’s name through the thin apartment walls while you buried yourself under a pillow and turned the volume of your anime up louder than usual. You weren’t sure if it was pity or residual anger that lingered in your chest, but either way, you avoided bringing it up.

A few months passed. Your job had picked up pace, and while your calendar was often cluttered with deadlines, you managed to put away enough money to indulge yourself a little. Which is why you didn’t even flinch at the entrance fee for the local comic and toy convention—hell, you even treated yourself to priority access, determined to beat the crowd before anyone could swipe that rare LEGO Star Wars Ultimate Collector Series set you’d been eyeing online for weeks. You weren’t sure if it would even be there, but the hope was enough. And if not, there were always manga volumes to haul home, limited prints, and maybe another blind box you didn’t need but would justify with weak logic about resale value.

The place was buzzing with life. Cosplayers brushed past you in elaborate wigs and armor; booths were stacked high with colorful displays; the air smelled like plastic wrap, buttered popcorn, and overpriced takoyaki. Your bag was already a little heavier than it should’ve been—three volumes of a manga you hadn’t even started and two keychains you didn’t need clinked together at your side—but your heart was light. It was a good day. You were in your element. You were happy to be spending money that you earned doing something you didn’t hate. That in itself felt like a win.

You were crouched in front of a display, squinting to read the fine print on the LEGO box tucked in the farthest shelf corner—your prize almost within reach—when a familiar voice slid in from behind you, smooth as ever, but touched with disbelief.

You turned. And just like that, the convention disappeared for a second.

Kuroo stood a few feet away, noticeably overdressed for the venue. His dark button-up was tucked neatly into charcoal slacks, the lanyard from the Japan Volleyball Association still clipped to his belt, a blazer slung casually over one arm. His hair was a little more tamed than the last time you saw him, like he’d just stepped out of a boardroom instead of a crowd full of anime fans and collectors. And yet, his expression—wide-eyed and visibly caught off-guard—was anything but polished.

“…Tetsu?”

He grinned then, that same crooked smile that used to flash your way over unfinished LEGO builds in your living room, the kind that warmed something unguarded in your chest.

“I thought that was you. I’d recognize that laser-focus over a brick set anywhere,” he teased, stepping closer. “You stalking LEGO aisles now?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you said, glancing pointedly at his outfit. “Did you just come from a funeral or are you here to do tax audits on people’s purchases?”

He laughed, the sound genuine. “Meeting at the JVA ran long. I was supposed to head straight home after, but I saw the convention signs on my way out and figured I’d pop in. Nostalgia, you know? Didn’t think I’d run into anyone I knew… especially not you.”

Your smile faltered only slightly, the past nudging its way in. “Yeah… I didn’t think I’d see you again either.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. The noise of the convention carried on—someone shouted about free pins at booth twelve, another person squealed over a celebrity sighting—but in that moment, it was just the two of you, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of a LEGO display that felt like a full circle too ironic to ignore.

“I didn’t get to say sorry,” Kuroo said quietly, his voice softer now, lower. “Back then. I should’ve reached out. But I didn’t even know how.”

“It’s okay,” you said, and maybe you meant it. Maybe part of you still felt the sting of that goodbye-that-wasn’t, but seeing him again like this, in the middle of a day you thought would be just another solo outing, made the ache feel a little more bearable. “You don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes searched yours for a long moment, as if trying to read between the lines. And then, with a small smile, he gestured toward the shelf. “So… you finally get it? That LEGO set you’ve been after?”

“Almost. Some guy just bought one before me. I’ve been debating if I should just fight him for it or cry in the corner.”

Kuroo smirked, like it was 3AM again and you were bickering over missing pieces. “I’ll help you strategize. Worst-case scenario, we distract him with a full-blown scene in the Gundam section.”

You laughed, and just like that, the heaviness began to lift. Maybe the past didn’t need to be reopened in full detail. Maybe there was something worth picking up from here instead—on neutral ground, between plastic bricks and overpriced manga—and maybe this time, neither of you would let it slip so easily.

You eventually started spending more time at Kuroo’s apartment—not because it was necessarily more convenient, but because the idea of inviting him over to yours felt layered with complications you weren’t ready to unpack. Your roommate still lived there, and after everything that had transpired—the awkward tension, the quiet spite, the ghost of her moaning someone else’s name just hours after things ended with Kuroo—it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel neutral. And you didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she had any space in whatever it was that you and Kuroo were slowly building now.

He never asked questions. Just unlocked the door, let you in, and cleared space on his coffee table for your snacks and whatever LEGO set he’d been tinkering with that week. It became your quiet ritual. He’d handle the bulk of the instruction booklet while you sorted pieces by color or shape, occasionally bickering about which build deserved priority. You laughed more often than you had in weeks. Kuroo, for all his smug quips and relentless teasing, had a calming presence when he was relaxed like this—lounging in sweats, hair pulled back haphazardly, glasses perched on his nose, and a cup of instant coffee steaming between you.

It was during one of these hangouts—somewhere between building a replica of the Millennium Falcon and reorganizing his manga shelf—that he really started noticing the little things about you.

You wore glasses at his place. Not the contact lenses or styled versions of yourself that the world got to see, but the comfort version—the one with oversized hoodies, your hair tied up, and those thick-rimmed frames slipping down the bridge of your nose every few minutes. You’d wrinkle your nose every time they slid too far, push them back up with a finger, then hunch further into the build like you were preparing for battle. It was absurdly endearing.

Kuroo found himself watching you more than he watched the pieces. The way your brow furrowed in focus, the way your voice softened when you talked about your favorite arcs, how your hands hovered when he got too reckless snapping bricks together.

And the more time he spent with you, the harder it was not to remember all the things your ex-roommate used to say about you.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. She’d speak in offhand remarks—half-laughed criticisms and quiet jabs that he hadn’t really questioned. Stuff like, “She’s sweet, but kind of childish, don’t you think?” or “Her room’s full of toys and junk, I don’t know how she lives like that.” It sounded harmless then. Maybe even normal, like the kind of light annoyance roommates always had about each other.

But now, sitting across from you while you earnestly explained the rarity of a certain manga edition you were planning to hunt down next weekend, he realized how misplaced those comments really were.

Your roommate hadn’t been annoyed. She had been dismissive. Cruel, in subtle ways that made him feel gross now that he understood the full picture. Because if this was you—brilliant, expressive, unapologetically passionate—you weren’t someone to mock. You were someone worth watching. Worth listening to. Worth knowing.

Kuroo was starting to think he’d like to know you even better.

And he did.

The more time you spent at his place, the more the line between casual hangouts and something softer, something more intentional, began to blur. It wasn’t sudden—nothing about it was rushed or dramatic—but rather a quiet shift, the kind that unfolds slowly when two people realize they enjoy each other’s company more than they probably should.

It started with the little things.

He began walking you home instead of just waving from the doorway. He'd pick up your favorite snacks without needing to ask. Once, he texted you in the middle of the workday just to share a photo of a new LEGO architecture set he spotted in a store near the JVA office—“Made me think of you,” he’d said.

Then came the first not-quite-date, when he asked if you wanted to grab ramen after a long build session. It wasn’t phrased romantically, but when he held the door open for you with a lopsided grin and a low, “Dinner’s on me,” it lingered like a promise. 

After that, it became a quiet pattern—late-night meals, museum dates disguised as “research” for future builds, bookstore strolls where he let you drag him into the manga aisle even though he always ended up walking out with more volumes than you did.

One evening, he surprised you with a black box tied in yellow ribbon, smugly handing it over like he was presenting you with a Nobel prize.

You opened it to find a bouquet of LEGO flowers—intricate, colorful, and painstakingly detailed.

“I figured they wouldn’t die on you,” he said with a small shrug, but his ears flushed red, betraying just how much the gift actually meant.

You smiled so brightly it made his chest ache.

Later that night, you sat side by side on his floor, building each stem and petal piece by piece. Your fingers brushed occasionally, and each time it happened, he didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

And when you were finally finished, the vase of plastic blooms sat proudly by his kitchen window, catching the light like real blossoms might. It stayed there—quiet, permanent, and real in its own way. Just like the two of you were starting to become.

More sets of LEGO flowers bloomed forever in the corner of Kuroo's bookshelf, perched beside a manga box set he'd later surprise you with. Then another. Then a collector's figurine. A special-edition Blu-ray. It became a habit for him—dropping by a shop after work, carrying something that made him think of you. Something you’d gush over while adjusting your glasses or scrunching your nose in delight. Kuroo loved how animated your voice became when you explained the significance of a certain volume or lore from a world he only half-understood but always listened to anyway.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you carefully peeled away the plastic wrap, reverent in a way that almost made him jealous of the object in your hands.

“Tetsu, I told you to stop giving me gifts randomly.” you scolded him after he just handed you a new set of Lego figures.

Kuroo shrugs his shoulders and gives you a sheepish smile, “I like giving you gifts just because, okay?”

That went on and on—nights tangled in LEGO instructions and accidental laughs, meals shared over manga discussion, and growing routines that never needed to be spoken aloud. Eventually, he started asking you on actual dates. A quick dinner after helping him with his laundry. A detour to the park after a weekend spent sorting model kits. You never had to ask if it was a date—he made it clear every time he paid, every time he walked you home, every time his fingers lingered at the small of your back.

Then one night, he took you somewhere just a little fancier.

A cozy, tucked-away place with dim lighting and soft music humming underneath clinking silverware. You wore something nice—not over the top, but enough to make Kuroo smile the moment he saw you. He was dressed in a dark button-down shirt, sleeves casually rolled, a silver watch peeking from his wrist. Formal enough to make your heart thump a little harder when he pulled out your chair for you.

You talked—about work, a new LEGO release, some anime remake coming out soon, and halfway through dessert, it slipped out.

“So…what are we?” he asked, fingers absently running along the rim of his wine glass.

You paused, lips parting—but he beat you to it.

“I mean, I already know what I want us to be,” he added, voice quieter, more certain. “I’d just like to know if you feel the same.”

Your heart skipped. You didn’t answer with words—not right away. Instead, your hand slid over his on the table, your thumb brushing his wrist like it had always belonged there. Kuroo’s smile widened, soft and crooked.

That night, after he drove you home, it was meant to end the same way it usually did—warm, unspoken affection lingering in the air, a kiss on the cheek, a casual “see you soon” exchanged in the quiet of the night. Kuroo leaned in like always, one hand still gripping the steering wheel out of habit, his lips brushing against your cheek.

But this time, you didn’t let it end there.

"Stay," you said—softly but with no room for refusal—as your hand curled around the lapel of his coat and tugged him through the door. The click of the lock behind you echoed in the quiet, both of you breathing just a little heavier now.

His brow lifted, slightly amused, but when you reached for him—when you pressed your lips to his without hesitation—Kuroo dropped all pretense. He kissed you back just as fiercely, meeting the pull of your mouth with a hunger that had simmered under the surface for far too long.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as if anchoring yourself there, while his large hands settled on your waist, grounding you. The soft press of your bodies swaying closer felt like gravity had chosen this moment to pull tighter.

His mouth moved down—along the curve of your jaw, then lower to the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. When his lips found your neck, hot and deliberate, you tilted your head back and let out a breathy moan that made something flicker in his chest and spark in his eyes.

"God, you have no idea what you do to me," he murmured into your skin, voice low and gravel-thick with restraint. His hands were already wandering—sweeping over the curve of your waist, tracing the line of your ribs, bunching the fabric of your top like he couldn't decide whether to peel it off slowly or just tear through it and devour you whole.

Then, in one fluid motion, he hooked his arms under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly. You gasped, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carried you through the apartment like he already knew every step of the way. He nudged open the door to your bedroom with his foot and kicked it closed behind him with a soft thud.

“Are you sure about this, darling?” he asked, lips ghosting over your throat, warm breath teasing your skin. His voice was careful, velvet-wrapped concern undercut by the tension thrumming just beneath it.

“Yes,” you whispered without a second thought—breathy, aching, already burning. “Kuroo, yes.”

That was all he needed.

He set you down on the edge of the bed, fingers already working the hem of your top. He tugged it over your head, eyes darkening as more of your skin was revealed to him. “Fuck,” he breathed out, like seeing you undone just for him knocked the wind from his lungs. “You’re unreal.”

You helped him out of his shirt next, palms gliding across his toned chest as if you needed to commit every line, every scar, every warm plane of skin to memory. His pants were next, discarded somewhere along with yours, clothes tossed carelessly onto the floor as your mouths met again in a kiss that was less polite now—more heat than hesitation, more teeth, more tongue, more everything.

When he finally laid you down on the mattress and hovered above you, bare and wanting, the look in his eyes wasn't just lust. It was reverence.

“You're so fucking beautiful,” he said, almost like he was scolding himself for taking this long. “You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this—about you.”

And then he kissed you again, slower this time, as his hand drifted between your legs—testing the waters, coaxing more of those breathy moans he was already addicted to.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he growled, “because after tonight, I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice was thick—low and rough with promise—as his mouth descended onto your chest. Kuroo's lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling slow, lazy circles before he sucked hard enough to make your back arch. His free hand slid between your thighs, fingers parting your folds before his thumb found your clit with practiced ease, rubbing gentle, teasing circles that made your hips twitch.

“Tetsu,” you whimpered, threading your fingers through his dark, unruly hair, tugging just enough to draw a low moan from him.

Kuroo glanced up, eyes half-lidded but gleaming. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your skin. “Keep saying my name like that.”

You gasped as his fingers pressed in deeper, sliding along your slick heat, fingertips curling just right—just enough to make your thighs tremble and your breath catch.

He sucked on your other breast, taking his time, leaving red blooms along your skin like a trail he’d follow again later. The slow, wet sounds of his mouth on your tits mixed with the obscene slick of his fingers fucking you open, setting your nerves alight.

“Tetsu—fuck, I can’t—” you choked out, hips stuttering beneath his touch.

“Yes, you can,” Kuroo whispered, lips ghosting over your nipple before he kissed the swell of your breast. “You’re doing so good for me.”

He pulled back just slightly, lifting his head to watch you unravel for him—your body flushed, eyes glassy, chest heaving with every broken breath.

“Taste yourself, baby,” he said, bringing his glistening fingers up to your lips. You parted them instantly, moaning as he pushed them past your tongue. His groan was almost feral. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

When he kissed you again, it was rougher—needier. He cradled your head in his hand, the other already stroking his cock as he lined himself up at your entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, voice trembling with restraint. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you, Tetsu,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “All of you. I’m yours.”

Kuroo didn’t hesitate. With a low groan, he pushed inside—slow and deep, stretching you open inch by inch until he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” he cursed, jaw clenching. “You feel… fuck, you feel like heaven.”

And when he started to move—thrusting slow, deliberate, grinding deep—you knew you’d never want anyone else. Not when Kuroo made you feel like this.

Each stroke was intentional, like he was mapping your body with every inch of his. One hand anchored beneath your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft underside, while the other stayed between your bodies, lazily circling your clit in time with the slow grind of his hips. The sounds he drew from you were loud, raw, almost embarrassing if they weren’t so fucking honest. You didn’t care. Not when Kuroo was whispering filth in your ear, kissing along your neck like he was claiming you with every mark.

“You feel that?” he murmured, lips brushing your skin. “That’s me. That’s all me, baby.”

When your back arched and your nails raked down his spine, Kuroo groaned—low and guttural, like the sight of you unraveling under him was too much to handle.

To say the least, Kuroo was obsessed with you in bed. He didn't expect someone so quiet, so soft-spoken and unbothered with drama, to be this wild and insatiable behind closed doors. Sometimes his stamina was off the charts—athlete-built and fueled by ego—but even he could admit: fuck, he couldn’t always keep up with you.

It drove him crazy in the best way.

You were demanding in all the right places. Greedy with your kisses, shameless when you rode him like you needed him deeper than physically possible, and vocal when you came, screaming his name like a prayer and a curse. Every time he thought he had you figured out, you flipped the script.

Kuroo used to think he was the one with the upper hand. He wasn't.

Your roommate—back when she and Kuroo were still trying whatever you’d call that—once mentioned you in passing. They were cuddling on your couch, legs tangled up in each other, when she scoffed and said, “She’s probably a virgin. You’ve seen her room, right? It’s full of Legos and manga. All that nerd shit? She’s definitely never been touched.”

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, just hummed and nodded, though something about the certainty in her tone stuck with him.

Months later, when things with your roommate fizzled and Kuroo found himself in your bed, tangled in your sheets and catching his breath after your second round, he brought it up.

“She said you were probably a virgin,” he told you, laughing, head resting on your stomach.

You had chuckled, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

“Yeah?” you replied, eyes gleaming. “Tell that to the guys I had in college. I practically broke one of them.”

You weren’t lying.

You proved it to him that same night. Straddling his face with that lazy smile and those goddamn glasses sliding down your nose. You rode him like you’d been waiting to prove a point and holy hell, Kuroo swore he saw the light. You had him pinned, hips grinding, thighs squeezing around his head like a vice, and he welcomed it. Happily. Drowning in your slick, drunk on your moans, Kuroo didn’t even care if he suffocated in your thighs that night.

He’d die a happy man.

You were so hot like that—uninhibited, filthy, hungry for him. And god, you looked so damn good when you sucked him off still wearing your glasses. Hair all messy from his fingers, mouth slick and eyes daring him to look away. He couldn’t. Not when your tongue ran along his shaft like you were savoring every inch. Not when you moaned around him like he was your favorite flavor.

“Fuck, baby,” Kuroo had groaned, head tilted back. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And you? You just smirked.

“I’ll make it worth your while.” He didn’t doubt it.

Kuroo had been ruined for anyone else after that.

The moment you rode him in his home office, shirt half-unbuttoned, your hands gripping the back of his chair, hair falling into your eyes and mouth hanging open when you moaned his name—Tetsurou—like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

He never wanted to let you go anymore.

If he could marry you right then and there—naked, sweaty, your panties dangling from his desk lamp—he would’ve gotten down on one knee without a ring. Just a promise. Just you and him.

But you deserved something better. Probably something by the ocean. A quiet, golden beach proposal with the sound of waves behind you and a little velvet box tucked behind one of his science joke t-shirts. Yeah. That’d be perfect. He’d plan that out eventually.

Still, your little dates didn’t slow down.

Lego-building marathons in his living room, your legs tangled across his lap as you bickered about which minifig was better. Cuddles during movie nights where you wore his college volleyball hoodie and snuck popcorn from his bowl. Quiet mornings when you stayed over, sipping coffee and flipping through manga in nothing but your panties and his button-down shirt.

You called it simple. He called it everything.

Kuroo kept giving you things. His love language wasn’t subtle.

Whenever you were at your apartment, a box would show up. Your favorite snacks. A collector’s edition manga you mentioned only once. That limited-edition Ninjago set you joked about. Sometimes he even had them delivered while you were out—just so he could text,

"Check your doorstep, sweetheart."

And when you opened the door, it was there. Sometimes with a post-it that read, "Build this with me tonight?"

And you always did. The second you stepped inside his apartment—his real home, now that you’d practically claimed it with your spare toothbrush and the fluffy slippers he bought for you—there’d be a new set waiting on the table. Or a volume laid neatly beside your favorite spot on the couch.

You would groan playfully, “Tetsu, this is too much…”

But your eyes always sparkled. And that was all he ever needed to see.

Kuroo wasn’t a man of restraint when it came to spoiling you. He liked seeing your expression when you tore the wrapping off. He liiked hearing your happy little gasps. And he especially liked the way you thanked him—sweet kisses at first, and then crawling into his lap and grinding down until his hands gripped your thighs, his voice rasping near your ear.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Is this how you're gonna thank me every time I buy you something?"

You always gave him cuddles… or him fucking you in return.

Neither of you would have it any other way.

Most of your dates happened right there in his apartment. It was your little world. The walls full of bookshelves, scattered Lego creations proudly displayed beside framed photos of his team. Your favorite blanket always draped over his couch, because he swore it smelled like you. You’d both start watching something—some superhero rewatch, some obscure Netflix docuseries—and end up tangled on the couch, kisses turning sloppy, laughter breaking into gasps as he dragged you under him.

It was always his apartment. His couch. His bed. His office. You bent over his desk, your nails scratching at the surface as he fucked you from behind. Or on his kitchen counter, panties pushed aside as he held your thighs apart and groaned against your neck.

"You’re fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart," he’d whisper against your skin. "Can’t believe you’re mine."

And you—smirking, breathless, always ready to drive him wild—would moan out, “I’m all yours, darling.”

That was the thing about you two. No matter where, no matter what—it was always just the two of you. A little domestic chaos, a little nerdy fun, and a whole lot of love.

Kuroo Tetsuro was ruined for anyone else.

And truthfully, he liked it that way.

He liked waking up in his apartment with your leg tangled with his. He liked how your shampoo clung to his pillows and how your glasses sat on his kitchen island beside your empty mug. He liked carrying you to bed when you fell asleep on the couch with a LEGO brick half-built in your hand. He liked that you left things behind—your books, your socks, your presence.

Kuroo Tetsuro had turned his apartment into a second home for you, and he didn’t even realize it until one afternoon when you opened a drawer in his bathroom and found your toothbrush, your hair ties, and your lip balm already waiting. It felt easy with him—domestic. Warm. Comfortable. Real.

But last night, he needed more than domestic.

He’d just come back from a grueling business trip—seven days without you. Seven days of restless sleep, ignored hotel breakfasts, and staring at unread messages while stuck in JVA meetings that ran longer than necessary.

And the second he saw your text, “Door’s open. I’m still up.”

He didn’t go home.

He went to your apartment instead. And the second he walked in and saw you in your oversized sleep shirt and those thick-rimmed glasses you forgot you were wearing—his restraint snapped.

He took you right there in your bedroom.

On the bed. Then again on the floor. And once more with your thighs trembling on the edge of your desk as his name broke from your throat in loud, obscene cries you couldn’t muffle even if you tried.

Kuroo always had a thing for your glasses. Something about the way you looked up at him while you were on your knees, eyes blown out, lips stretched around him, lenses fogging up while you sucked him deep like you missed the taste of him as much as he missed the heat of your body. And he always loved how you let him fuck you in them—wanted it even—telling him how dirty it made you feel when his cum splattered your lenses or dripped down your chin as he kissed you hungrily after.

And last night?

He made you wear them the entire time. Told you he’d missed seeing your pretty face get ruined while they were still on.

So yeah, Kuroo made good on every lost second from that trip. Filled you so many times you couldn’t remember if your name or his was the last thing you said before passing out. Your inner thighs ached. Your sheets were still crumpled with drying stains. And you still felt the wet, pulsing mess between your legs as you stood in the kitchen making breakfast the next morning, robe half-open, neck blooming with hickeys.

He had left early for another JVA morning call—but not before kissing your forehead and stuffing you full one last time in the shower.

But of course—unfortunately for you—your roommate had heard everything.

At first, she brushed it off. You weren’t exactly loud usually, and she assumed you were probably a virgin or celibate by choice. But when she heard your voice—unfiltered, breathless, begging—moaning “Tetsu!” like a prayer answered through gritted teeth and slick skin, it made her stomach churn.

And it was the final straw when his voice echoed in return.

Moaning your name.

Groaning about how tight you were. How much he missed your pussy. How pretty you looked taking every drop.

It made her snap.

So when you entered the living room that morning, holding your travel mug and your bag slung over your shoulder, she was already there—arms crossed, face sour, passive-aggressive aura bleeding into the walls.

“How long has that been going on?” she asked without looking at you.

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand. You just sipped your coffee.

“Define that.”

Her nostrils flared. “Don’t play dumb.”

You leaned against the counter, hair still wet from the shower, smirking slightly.

“If you mean Tetsuro—last night was just making up for lost time,” you said airily. “He missed me. So did my thighs, apparently.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Funny. That’s not what you said when you told me all about your foursome while dating him,” you replied, tilting your head. “One behind, one underneath, and one shoving it down your throat, right? You left the bedroom door open just so I’d see. Said you were trying to prove a point. What point was that again?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. Scoffed. “That doesn’t mean you get to snake away my ex.”

Your grin widened—sharp, knowing.

“Sweetheart, you cheated on him constantly. I just didn’t say anything because, frankly, it wasn’t my relationship to mourn.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s probably just using you to get back at me. You really think Kuroo Tetsuro would go for you? You said it yourself—he’s a career man. And you—well, look at you.”

You took another sip from your mug. Unbothered. Your petty meter had barely lifted.

“You told me he wouldn’t fuck someone who wore glasses. Now he asks me to keep them on. Funny how things change.”

She scoffed again, louder this time. “You’re seriously going to act like I wasn’t the best sex he ever had?”

“I don’t have to act. I know he’d disagree,” you replied, voice sugar-sweet. “Besides, we were just friends at first. You remember that, don’t you? He liked my LEGO builds. We bonded over manga. I still have the first limited edition he gifted me. First of many.”

“I knew something was up when he started hanging out with you more. You’re not even his type.”

“He said I’m exactly his type,” you said softly. “Smart. Funny. Loyal. And, apparently, really good at taking his cock.”

That was the one that hit.

Her eyes narrowed. “Just because you finally lost your virginity doesn’t mean you’re special.”

You laughed, really laughed, and set your mug down.

“Oh, sweetie. I’ve had a wild sex life in college. I just toned it down to focus on work. Tetsu just brought it back out. And then some. He fucks me in every corner of his apartment. Did he ever do that with you? Kitchen table? Floor? Balcony during rush hour?”

She didn’t answer.

“Didn’t think so,” you murmured.

“You’re lying.”

You stepped forward and whispered like it was a secret.

“He came in me three times last night,” you said casually. “Told me he missed seeing it drip out. Even helped push it back in.”

Her face twisted.

You raised your brows. “But if you want, I can play you the voice memo he sent me last month. He had his cock in his hand and couldn’t stop moaning my name. It’s really quite romantic.”

“Bitch.”

You tilted your head. “Always have been. Just quieter about it.”

She let out an angry shriek before stomping back to her room and slamming the door hard enough to rattle the coat hooks.

You took another sip from your mug and hummed under your breath.

Toned down? Maybe. But this?

This was your victory lap.

And you hadn’t even told her yet about the time Kuroo made you cum just from sucking on your tits while you rode his thigh—glasses on, mouth wet, his hand around your throat as he whispered that he wanted to keep you forever.

That story was for another day.

there’s an incessant thud against the wall, but he’s holding you so that his thick, muscular arms are taking most of the weight. he’s always been careful with you, even on nights that you explicitly tell him not to be, even when he’s fucking your soul out of your body like a bitch in heat. your wet cunt is drooling all over his cock, saturating his abs with each thrust and dripping down his thighs.

“I love this perfect pussy, baby, fuck, always need you so bad, you have no idea what you fucking do to me every single day.” he groans, stilling inside of you for a moment and you moan softly, feeling his heavy, full balls twitch and contract against your fluttering hole. he’s close, desperately trying to stave himself off from finishing, even if it means that you two are going to be late. he wants to take absolutely every second with you that he can ; he’s fucking obsessed with you.

“katsuki,” you whimper, pulling him closer, and his heart melts.

“m’never sharing you with anyone else, y’hear me? you’re mine.” he pulls away to look at you and his ruby eyes are glinting, full of hunger and need, insatiable.

“yours.” you nod, and you just look so cute with that pout and your tearstained mascara that he has to kiss you, readjusting to keep fucking into you and you yelp. you’re close too, and he knows by how your pussy has him in a death grip, and by the pretty, pretty sounds you’re making for him.

“yeah, cum all over me, this pussy knows who owns her.” he tells you ; his voice sounds so fucking sexy and this angle lets him pound directly into your sweet spot so good that you just let go, without any resistance. you choke out a cute little sob, crying, “m’cumming, want you to cum inside, please,” before your cunt squeezes down on him, long lashes fluttering and your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull. god, he feels good.

he bites down on your neck before his mouth drops open and he groans, cumming deep inside of your tight pussy, almost distracting you from the popping noise and scalding heat that you feel blooming against your skin. his quirk went off when he came, again, and you almost swear that you’ve never heard him this vocal or needy before.

“ow!” you whine, brows scrunching together and you nearly push him away, but he doesn’t want you to fall. “sorry, fuck, I’m sorry, baby,” he immediately goes to kiss the pink, sensitive spots that he’s left on your skin, his heart dropping into his stomach. he was too careless, too lost in you.

“you okay, angel girl?” his voice is soft, concerned, but his big cock is still hard inside of you. he can always go multiple rounds.

you just pout at him, huffing and turning your face away, so he kisses your cheek instead. he slowly pulls out, whimpering as he watches his thick length slide out of your warm cunt, the fat tip catching on your tight entrance, making you moan and keen into him. he sets you down, ever so gently, his hands on your jaw as he cradles your face softer than he ever has, kissing your other cheek, your forehead, your nose, pulling your dress back down even with his hot, milky seed still pouring down your plush thighs.

“I’ve got you, baby, m’sorry.” he’s so apologetic, softly rubbing your back, leading you into the bathroom to help clean up, holding your hands and kissing your neck. you look gorgeous, but he knows that you’ll want to fix your makeup and hair at least a little bit.

“c’mere. I’m sorry.” he takes you into his arms while you dab at your smeary eyeliner and reapply your favorite lipgloss. you check the time on your phone and can’t help but cringe. you were supposed to meet your friends half an hour ago.

“it’s okay, lovey, just wasn’t expecting it.” you stand on your toes to give him a kiss. “but you’ll have to make up for it later.”

he smiles at you, already halfway convinced that you guys should just cancel your plans. “anything you want, pretty girl.”

[ @slutsenpai × @sidesenpai × my masterlist × event masterlist ]

prompt 08 / 15 for my 2k follower event !! ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭

he has one hand in your hair, the other on his chest before sliding it down his scarred, toned body, then sinking his matte black nails into your sheets, hissing through clenched teeth.

he’s anxious, but he’s still closer than he’s been in weeks; his entire body is molten, flames flickering against his palms and threatening to ignite because he has so little control right now .. it’s all yours, and you’re loving every second of it.

“such a pretty face.” you purr, looking up into his eyes through your long lashes while you stroke his long, gorgeous cock.

the pale skin on his face flushes and he looks away for just a second, pouting and drawing his brows. “s-stop — don’t say that.”

“why?”

“because it’s not true.”

“dabi, baby, you’re a pretty, gorgeous thing.”

strangely enough, that was more comforting because you called him a pretty thing instead of a pretty boy. there are tears in his gorgeous aquamarine eyes, mixing with the small rivulets of blood that catch along his stitches and tint his thick, snowy lashes a soft, diffused red. he looks like an angel.

“f-fine, I’m close, just please—”

“I told you to shut up and take it, did I not?”

“yes, mama…” he pouts, before crying out, “oh! fuck,” feeling you suck him into your heavenly mouth again. you slide down his shaft, your soft lips gently catching on his piercings and it makes him shiver in your hold. you have to use your hand to stroke his base because it won’t fit, your other hand kneading and cradling his balls. he’s a wreck, both hands now holding your face as you do your best to deepthroat him.

“oh my god..” he’s whining and you have to pull back for air, stroking his length as quickly as you can while you watch him carefully. his hips are chasing your touch off of the bed, eyes crossing as he finally, finally cums all over himself. you catch some in your mouth, but it’s too much, painting his perfect abs in thick, glistening white. the poor thing is shaking, practically crying as he tries to come down.

“good boy, dabi.” you praise him, still gently pumping his cock, leaning forward to lick up every drop of cum and it tastes so fucking good.

“call me toya, please.” and his voice is shaking.

“t… toya?”

he looks at you with the biggest, sweetest puppy eyes, his brows drawn from pleasure, whimpering deep in his chest. that’s his actual name? huh, cute.

you kiss around his navel piercing, humming against his warm skin. “yeah, toya? you did such a good job, baby. are you feeling better?”

he nods eagerly, abruptly saying, “I can keep going, I need more of you.”

“yeah? you’re certain it’s not too much?”

“it’s not enough … I’ve never even come close to feeling this good, baby, please, I need you.”

“you don’t have to beg for it, I just wanna take care of you, okay?” your voice is so honeyed and sweet, and you’re saying exactly what he wants to hear.

“then let me eat that pretty cunt, baby, please, I wanna taste you.”

“yeah? you like eating pussy?”

“I love it.”

he sounds confident but he swallows nervously, gently guiding you onto his face. his chest is still sticky with his cum, but he doesn’t even care. you have an insane hold on him, and he’s completely lost in you.

“mmm, toya, fuck.” you mewl, one hand in his hair and the other on his thigh. you’re perfectly arched back over his body, just the right angle to grind your clit on his tongue and that little metal ball, gently rolling your hips up and down while you both gasp and moan into the cold air.

he tongue fucks you just enough to fit two of his fingers, and you’re close, but you need him inside of you. you forgo the impending orgasm for something even better — his big, perfect cock stuffing you absolutely full.

“just fuck me, please.” you cry, pulling him away from your aching pussy by his thick, snowy tresses.

“oh, was it bad? I haven’t done that in a while—” he pouts, softly kissing your inner thigh.

“no, baby, not at all, i just need to feel you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you—”

“toya.”

and that’s all he needed to hear. he sits up as you eagerly adjust to straddle him, laying your face against his warm chest, rubbing your glossy, soaked pussy against his tip. he shushes you softly as you whimper and whine, spreading you with his hands on your ass to help your tight pussy slide down onto him. his tip catches, and then his piercings — his cock is perfectly shaped, and the cool, smooth metal makes him feel like a living sex toy. the feeling is breathtaking, literally.

“toya, god, you feel so fucking good.”

( he whines whenever you say his name. )

you sigh in content once you’re seated fully, sucking on his neck as you slowly pull yourself up and back down, setting a languid pace that makes dabi’s head spin. you rotate your hips just enough so that you can feel each and every one of the barbels on his ladder piercing with each bounce, threading your hands through his soft, silky hair just to keep yourself grounded.

“you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me … I don’t deserve you.” he whispers in your ear between soft grunts and groans, lightly sinking his perfect teeth into your neck just to taste your skin. you whine and keen into him, riding his thick cock a bit harder now.

the dermal piercing on his pelvis bumps against your clit with each impact, making you want to melt into him and never let go. it’s like a soft little kiss with every drop of your hips to reward you for how good you’re riding him, and the added stimulation is pulling you even closer to the edge.

you’re both a mess, just kissing and panting and crying, with both of his big, pretty hands on your ass to help you keep pace. you pull away to flick your tongue against one of his cute, pink nipples, gently sucking the barbel into your mouth and he moans like a bitch in heat.

you do the same to the other side, and he almost cums right then with a deep, shuddering breath, but there’s no way that he’s going to let himself cum a second time before you do even once. he locks his hands around your waist and finally decides to take control. dabi doesn’t even pull out as he lays you down, sitting up on his haunches with one hand holding your hip.

you cross your ankles around his slutty waist, bringing him just a bit closer. his thumb searches for your clit, and his touch feels so much better than the pelvic piercing. it makes your back arch off of the bed so pretty, and dabi leans over you, his free hand stabilizing himself on the mattress by your hips while he fucks you even harder.

each push and pull has your tight pussy holding onto him for dear life. you can feel every ridge of him, be it his veins or the metal, as he desperately drags himself through your warm, velvety walls. his strokes feel ethereal, and his tip grazes your cervix if he gets just the right angle.

dabi is silently in awe of the perfect expanses of your soft skin, and he almost wants to dig his nails in to ruin it, to create bloody red tracks amidst the silken canvas but it’s you — and you’re allowed to be perfect, even if nothing else is … even if he wants to destroy absolutely everything else.

“god, you look so fucking pretty on my cock … my perfect angel girl.” he exhales, readjusting his hips upwards so that his tip hits your sweet spot. “I’m already so fucking close again, baby, doin’ so good for me.”

your toes curl and you nod, just letting yourself feel everything. “just like that, toya, just a little bit harder, you won’t break me, I can take it — o-oh!” and god, is he desperately obeying every single one of your words, just trying to make you feel good, to feel your pretty cunt squeeze and flutter around his big cock when you finally cum for him.

all of your nerves are buzzing, your stomach in scalding knots as the pressure continues to build. you’re close, but it’s not until he lays one of his palms flat across your pelvis to feel himself moving inside of you that your body can’t take it anymore. dabi is pressing on that little squishy patch from both inside and out, which makes you cum with a loud, unrestrained cry.

“oh my god, so pretty.” he’s practically whimpering, settling as deeply inside of you as physically possible, grinding that little heart-shaped piercing against your clit while your pussy soaks all over his cock, but you wrap your hands around his back and pull him in.

“keep fucking me until you cum again, I need it inside.” you tell him, and it’s way more intimate than you intend. you’re friends, but it’s not like your relationship will ever be the same after this. not when you make each other feel this good, not when you’re the first partner to ever make him cum, and it was so easy for you.

“you’re so fucking good to me.” he kisses you again ; it’s messy and heated, no thinking, just satiating his need to taste you.

it’s a lot, it’s too much, but you need him to feel good, and you need him to stuff your pussy full of his cream. the overstimulation is almost numbing, and you feel like you’re floating in a warm, gentle ocean while dabi’s body laps against you just like waves hitting the sand.

“fuck! gripping me so tight like you were fucking made for me, doll, your pussy is too fucking perfect, shit, I can’t—”

“cum, toya.”

he shivers in your hold, groaning into your mouth as you feel thick, hot ropes flood your cunt. he pulls away to rest his face in your neck and a shimmery, sticky line of spit briefly connects your lips. he’s panting, trying to collect himself while he listens to your breathing and you play with his hair, but he can’t stop shaking, it’s too much.

“that’s it, baby, good boy.” you shush him and he whines, nearly collapsing on top of you before pulling you into his arms. he brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your blushed cheeks.

you’re quiet for a few moments, just feeling him against you, letting him come down, gently running your fingertips along the stitches near his jaw .. but you can’t stop yourself from teasing him just a bit : “you’re buying the plan b.”

( this was only supposed to be a handjob .. and possibly head if that didn’t work … )

“hm? yeah, I guess we better stock up.”

“toya!” you whine, pouting so cutely that he has to kiss you. “sorry, sorry .. I’ll pull out next time.” he relents, feeling slightly guilty. you sigh, but you’re not actually annoyed, smiling when you look over at him. “fiine, I’ll refill my birth control just for you, pretty thing.”

先輩 ⸻ written by senpai with love

notes. I worked really hard to have this ready for valentine’s day, so I hope that u liked it :3 bakugo, kirishima, megumi, and yuji fics soon !! if you liked this, please consider reading my ↬ dabi headcanons :D

( I love love love love him and writing about him !! )

[ @slutsenpai ⨯ my masterlist ] — likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated! ◟♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason

Only, it didn’t stop there. Sometimes, Geto would comment on your appearance, calling you hot, saying your legs were sexy, that Gojo was lucky to have you. That it must feel so good to fuck you. Gojo admits that when Geto said things like this, it probably wasn’t the best move to indulge and tell him that you fit like a glove, that you were the best sex Gojo ever had. 

Gojo knows that in the past, whenever he and Geto were into the same girl, they’d talk about how hot she was, how they’d fuck her, and joke about who she would like more, but you were Gojo’s girlfriend. You weren’t just some girl at the bar, you meant more than that. Geto had never really commented on Gojo’s past girlfriends, so Gojo wasn’t really sure why the unspoken rules didn’t apply to you. And he definitely wasn’t sure why he liked telling Geto about you either. All he knows is that it was hot.

It was hot telling Geto about how good you were in bed, and it was even hotter when Gojo dreamed about Geto fucking you. Gojo had woken up extremely hard and he was too horny to realize that masturbating to the fantasy of you and Geto would do irreversible damage to your relationship, that he wouldn’t be able to unsee the images in his head. But he didn’t give a shit, he needed this. 

It felt so good to jerk off to the thought of Geto fucking you, using you. His girlfriend. He fisted his cock, imagining Geto manhandling you roughly, pushing his cock into you. He’d thrust into you fast and hard, just how you like it and you’d moan for him as if you belonged to him. You’d come for him like a good slut, but Gojo wouldn’t let Geto come inside you. There needed to be a limit to what you were allowed to do with Geto, or else what would be the difference between him and your own boyfriend? 

Gojo was jealous and hurt by the idea of you and Geto and he did want to keep you all to himself, but he couldn’t help being turned on. He didn’t know why but it drove him crazy to think about his best friend disrespecting him and his trust by fucking his girl. Gojo realizes belatedly that the betrayal was probably what made it so hot to him in the first place— and for the first time, he wishes you’d just cheat on him with Geto. He’d forgive you. 

As long as you let him watch. 

He comes to the mere thought of watching. 

Afterwards, he wonders if you’re attracted to Geto. He hopes you are.

***

Even though he’s not quite ready to voice these thoughts to either you or Geto, it doesn’t stop Gojo from planting the seeds and laying down the groundwork. 

He starts giving Geto more details about your sex life, telling him what you like in bed, how kinky you were. He knows Geto is suspicious of how much information he’s sharing, but he doesn’t care. He wants Geto to think about you. And if that means having you over more often and making you scream so loud he’s sure Geto heard you from his room in the apartment they share, then so be it. 

“Late night, I take it?” Geto asks when Gojo enters the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Geto takes a sip of his coffee before setting the mug down on the table. 

“Sorry, did we keep you up?” He wasn’t sorry at all. You had spent the night for the first time since Gojo’s dream and Gojo couldn’t help but fuck you over and over. 

Geto shakes his nod. “Is she still here? I made pancakes,” Geto asks, jerking his head towards the stove. 

“Nah, she left this morning. Early shift,” Gojo says, stacking pancakes onto his plate. Gojo sits down across from Geto, grabbing the maple syrup before pouring an obscene amount onto his pancakes.

“That’s disgusting,” Geto says, wrinkling his nose. Gojo’s sweet tooth was going to kill him before any cursed spirit would. 

Gojo shoves a huge chunk of pancakes into his mouth. “You just have bad taste,” Gojo says. Geto gags dramatically at the sight. 

“Don’t talk with food in your mouth. I don’t know how you still have a girlfriend with such gross habits,” Geto comments, disgusted. “I thought she would’ve left you by now.” 

Gojo rolls his eyes. “Maybe you’re not aware, but I’m a really good boyfriend.”

“Really?” Geto asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“You heard how she was screaming for me last night,” Gojo challenges, before taking another bite.

“You sure she wasn’t just faking?” Geto jokes. “Maybe she didn’t want to bruise your ego.”

“I doubt my ego was on her mind when she came around me and squirted all over my bed,” Gojo says, smug. 

“Did she now?” Geto sets his fork down, forgetting all about Gojo’s ego. 

“Yeah, you should’ve seen the way she looked, tightening around my cock, all starry eyed. It was so hot, Suguru,” Gojo says. He feels kind of bad for sharing intimate details of your sex life, but not bad enough to stop. Especially not when he sees the look on Geto’s face— he was so invested, hanging on to every word. It gives Gojo the push to continue. “She was begging me to come inside her, to breed her.”

“Fuck,” Geto says. 

Yeah, Gojo agrees, eyeing the bulge in Geto’s pants. 

Fuck. 

***

“Did you?” Geto asks softly, like he’s scared that if he’s too loud, Gojo will realize what he’s doing— saying too much about his girlfriend— and change the subject. But Gojo doesn’t. He just keeps going, giving Geto the details he so desperately wants to hear. 

“I didn’t see why I shouldn’t, so I did. I fucked her until she was dripping wet with my cum.”

Geto can’t help but palm himself through his pants. He knows Gojo is watching him, but he’s not calling Geto a pervert, so it must be okay, right? And besides, Gojo’s the one who was willingly telling him about how he fucked his girlfriend— he should’ve anticipated that it’d turn him on. Geto’s pretty sure that Gojo knows he has a thing for you at this point. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything when Geto pulls his cock free from his sweatpants. The sight is nothing new; they’ve had sex together before. He watches as Geto grips his cock, slowly moving his hand up and down. It’s bigger than his, and in the past it’d piss him off, but right now it was really hot. 

“Thinking about my girlfriend, are you?” Gojo asks. 

Geto looks at him like he’s stupid. “Obviously. You practically begged me to, making her scream all night and telling me about how you fucked her. I know you know that I’m attracted to her. You can only blame yourself for this.” 

“True,” Gojo says, pleased with himself. He palms his own erection. 

Geto rolls his eyes. “Are you feeling shy? We’ve done this a million times.” 

“Not when I had a girlfriend,” Gojo pouts, not sure where the sudden guilt is coming from. It’s not like he’s cheating on you. 

“Are you serious? You’re watching your best friend jerk off to the thought of fucking your girlfriend— which is completely your fault, by the way—  and you draw the line at jerking off in front of me?” 

“Well, when you say it like that it sounds stupid.” Gojo unties the knot holding his sweatpants tight, loosening it just enough that he can pull his own cock free. He wraps his hand around it, mirroring the pace of Geto’s hand. 

Geto scoffs. “It is stupid. Why deprive yourself,” Geto walks over to Gojo, and kicks the legs of his chair back so that there’s enough space between Gojo’s legs and table for Geto to stand and press their cocks together, “of this?” Geto says in a low, seductive voice.

Okay, maybe Gojo was cheating. 

“Suguru,” Gojo moans as Geto wraps a hand around both of their cocks, pumping them both together. 

Geto places a chaste kiss on Gojo’s lips, testing the waters. At Gojo’s dazed nod, he continues, trailing kisses from Gojo’s mouth all the way down his neck. 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Geto says, his breath warm on Gojo’s skin. Gojo almost forgot how good this felt.

“You know what,” he says, whimpering. 

“Say it,” Geto demands, running the tip of his thumb over Gojo’s cock, smearing precum. 

“I want you to fuck my girlfriend,” he says, breathless, offering you to his best friend. 

“I will,” Geto says. Gojo almost comes right there. “Shall we fuck her together, then?” 

“No,” Gojo says, a twinge of red on his cheek. 

“No?” Geto asks, confused. 

Gojo looks away, refusing to meet Geto’s eyes. “I want to watch you fuck her,” he admits, face hot. 

“Fuck,” Geto groans, pumping their slick cocks faster. “You want me to cuck you, Satoru?” He whispers into Gojo’s ears. 

“No.” Yes. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Geto says dangerously, cupping Gojo’s chin with one hand, and turning him towards himself. Gojo’s eyes meet Geto’s hypnotizing purple ones. 

Gojo swallows. “Yes.” 

“Good boy.” Geto kisses him again, both of them close to release. “I’ll split your girlfriend open with my cock and fuck her so good that she’ll scream my name louder than she ever did yours. She’ll never be satisfied with your cock again. Is that what you want, Satoru? Your girlfriend always begging for my cock?” Geto groans, his voice hot and heavy. 

“Yes! Fuck! I’m coming,” Gojo moans. 

Geto grunts, coming with him. Cum splatters all over, ruining their shirts and even getting in Geto’s hair. Geto pulls away from Gojo, and dries his hands on a napkin laying on the table, before cleaning himself up. 

Gojo follows suit, feeling a little guilty. Like his mind finally caught up with his actions. 

“She won’t care about this after I fuck her.” 

Gojo can’t really argue with that. 

“Maybe she’d like to watch me fuck you too,” Geto suggests.